Sorry for my moment of weakness.
Sorry for all of you that had to witness my moment of verbal weakness here on tumblr. You see the Wellington plan has gone terribly wrong. Because of the new student loan policies anounced in the new budget, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep studying or not. Either way, I’ll probably have to work for about 6 months in order to save up enough to go now…
Man life sucks sometimes. I really wish I would stop having such horrible luck. Hopefully I’ll have the willpower to write you something to explain what on earth is going on, but for now I’m going to take my sorrows out on Diablo 3.
Happy Friday.
Parental barrier
I feel so isolated. For the past 2 weeks I’ve sat at home alone in my room. I don’t know what to do with myself. I seem to be suffering from this crippling sickness that never goes away. It has no physical symptoms and I feel no pain. I just feel empty and unfulfilled. I feel anxious to move on with my life, but I don’t know how. It’s just easier to sit in my room and watch reruns of gossip girl on demand. Everything seems to be too much effort, all because of this crippling sickness seems to have a chokehold on my life.
I’m dying to get out into this ‘real world’ and be a part of it. Except my parents are still trying to shelter me from it at the ripe ‘ol age of 21. Every single day they still instruct me on how to do day to day things. It’s beginning to drive me up the wall. It’s like they think I’m not capable of doing things on my own without their guidance. For example tonight when I cooked them dinner (I do so almost every night now) - my dad watched me like a hawk and gave me prompts for everything. From cooking the veggies setting the cutlery correctly… I know he’s just trying to teach me something, but it’s become such a regular occurrence that it feels condescending.
I want to move out of home, but to tell you the truth, I’m terrified. The way they’ve constantly babied me all through my life has led to me feeling fearful of moving out of home. I tried to tell dad I wanted to move out of home a couple weeks ago. Obviously because my mother is completely bonkers, I didn’t want to bring the subject up with her (yet). I thought I would discuss it with my dad first, since he’s always been the more understanding between the two of them. But the only time I get to see dad one-on-one during the week is on sunday mornings when he drives to work. Because the drive to work is only 5 minutes, I chose to break the news to dad in the supermarket that evening, since it was the only window of opportunity I had.
Not my brightest moment.
We ended up having an all-mighty fight in the vegetable isle in countdown. Luckily for me it was 8pm on a Sunday, so hardly any people were around.
What gets me about my parents is they’re always the first people to criticise me. My mother’s favorite card to play in an argument is ‘When I was you’re age Nina-Sue, I was married and your father and I bought our first home in Timaru!’. Well mum, I’ve got news for you: this isn’t the 70’s anymore. Most 21 year olds are lucky to have even graduated from university by my age let alone get married. She’s so infuriating the way she uses that example. Times have changed completely. You just fail to see it.
What irritates me the most, is I don’t have the confidence to stand up to them. They make me feel like their happiness is dependent on me and what I do. The little confidence they gave me is easily destroyed in seconds when they lecture me about how they know whats best for me. How can anyone live with this pressure? I just want to run away and hide. Which is why I have decided I want to move to Wellington.
I’ve had this idea in my head for a couple of months now. Every time I tell someone new, it feels a little bit more realistic. Like when I kept the secret to myself it felt like it could never eventuate. I’ve saved a little money, and I’ve talked to a few friends about flatting and everything looks like it’s possible. The only problem is, I’m too scared to tell my parents. All because I don’t want them to be disappointed in my ‘poor life choices’. I want my parents to respect me. But it never feels like I’ll earn it at this rate.
Moving to Wellington will be a great financial risk. But I cannot stay in Auckland any longer. I hate this place. There’s nothing keeping me here apart from my parents and a handfull of friends. I hate how Auckland is a city divided because of the 4 areas. I hate how far away everything is. I hate how poor the public transport is. I hate the weather and most of all I hate how unfriendly everyone is all the time. That all makes for a pretty good reason to leave in my books. Of course, this all depends on whether or not I get offered a place at the Wellington Natcoll to study web design. It all seems so overwhelming. But I’m making baby steps. I want this to be the first of many good things I’ll do to make myself a better person.
I have to manage to stand up for my parents. Because if I don’t learn to stand up for me, who will?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m being yelled at for not doing the washing correctly.
Quick update: After being yelled at for not doing the washing correctly my mother continued to scream at me for 3 hours because I accidentally broke her ring binder. I can’t take this anymore. I just want to run away from home.
My bed is literally inches away, but if I even so much as sit on it - I’ll fall asleep. I can feel it calling me. I can’t wait for this all nighter to be over. Thank god there’s not a lot of effort involved with creating a document in the Swiss typographic style. I’ll probably only sleep 2 hours. But then there will be no more deadlines. Until July. Fantastic.
(via si-savvii)
If there’s anything I’ve learnt thorougly during my university studies - it would be how to procrastinate like a pro. But that’s not really something to be proud of.
The wanted woman
I decided that it was time for me to face the music - AUT simply isn’t working out for me anymore. I went to hand in my letter of resignation today. My tutors were a little sad to see me go, even Karol. After I cleared out my locker and finished signing the papers, I took them to the admin to finish it up. I didn’t feel so bad once I got to the service desk. There were two other girls also quitting the same course as me. It’s weird how our whole year can barely fill half a lecture hall - yet you don’t get around to meeting everyone. After about 10 minutes of waiting, the clerk called me up to the office. He stamped a few papers and made a few phone calls. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing. He jotted down a few notes then hung up the phone. I’m always amazed at how receptionists can jot down so much in a split second. When I try to write as quickly as they do it - my writing looks like a Parkinson’s patient tried to draw a straight line.
The clerk told me to take seat in the room behind the receptionists desks. The other girls from before. There was a woman sitting behind yet another desk. Some councilor or some shit. She made us fill out a quick test. Something about checking mental stability. Is that legal? I’m not so sure. The next thing I knew, there’s bloody red sirens goin’ off left right and centre. A couple of sturdy looking guys came in to take the two other girls away. apparently they failed the test. The woman gave me a look as if to say ‘stay put’. Fuck that, do you think im going to hang around and wait for some sturdy security guys came back for me. Hells-to-the-no. I gapped that shit. What was my train of thought?
”I know, I’ll hide in Albert park.”
Smart. Nothing like hiding in a park believed to be crawling with rapists and drug addicts at night. Perfect. The only problem is, there’s no internet in the park. Or food. Or shelter. So I whipped out my trusty sunglasses and pretended to be someone else. It worked fantastically. The city was crawling with cops looking for this ‘lunatic university student’. News stands were handing out flyers with giant pictures of my face with the caption ‘wanted : dead or alive’. Lucky for me, that picture had been taken in 2009 and ironically- I wasn’t wearing my sunglasses in my ID photo. It was as simple as tagging onto the bus and sitting in the back of the bus. No sweat. I’m a master of disguise. Thanks sunnies.
After the long bus home I thought about a lot of things. It felt like my life had been ruined by AUT. Hell, I probably couldn’t even find a job if I wanted to now. Especially not a graphic design one. Probably everyone in the country knew what I looked like. It wouldn’t surprise me if I wasn’t on the news. I decided that for me to still be able to work in design, I had to create a new identity for myself. I decided that I’d have to find myself a low profile job. Just so I could lay low long enough to make some quick cash. I can always move to Wellington if I need to. I know I have friends who will support me. They know I’m not crazy, right?
Luckily, a woman living on my street was looking for a house keeper. She knew who I was, but she didn’t seem to mind. She told me that she once attended AUT, they did the exact same thing to her when she left. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one that has been manipulated by the faculty. She said that she would let me stay with her at her home. She had blind children, so I didn’t need to worry about concealing my Identity. Everything was great for a couple of days. My boss even gave me a wig so I could go out in public without being exposed. I must say, blonde is definitely not my colour. I look like Hannah Montana.
Everything was well and dandy until one of her nosey neighbors realised who I was. I was officially on the run again. I decided I should go to my last safe place : Dad’s workplace. I began my journey by walking along the beach. After all, everybody knows police don’t go to the beach. It was quite strange, I ran into one of the girls who was taken away by the security guards. Apparently she had broken out of the AUT asylum. After I had ran away from AUT, they had to bulk up their security. She removed her bracelet to show me a giant AUT tattoo across her wrist. I was lucky to escape when I did. She also told me that she had been microchipped, they knew exactly where she was. it was only a matter of time before she was caught. She continued to warn me that Browns Bay was crawling with police and sniffer dogs. I didn’t worry too much. After all, I had my trusty sunnies. I’m a master of disguise.
I continued walking across the beach into browns bay. I noticed the human-shield of policemen, soldiers and ninjas. It looked almost like they were there to stop a riot. I didn’t know that Ninjas were enlisted int New Zealand law enforcement. The game was up. I couldn’t run anymore. They Ninjas took one look at me and began dashing at me from all angles. Each one equipt with a curly-wired telephone. I didn’t even feel the pain when they hit me. Why? Because I was asleep.
I know that the number-one-rule about creative writing is to never end it by ‘~and then I woke up’. But I couldn’t help it. It was just one of those insanely real dreams. So real that I was apparently yelling in my sleep when the Ninjas attacked me. That’s when my mum came in to wake me up. Thank god for mothers.
If I learnt 3 important things from my dream:
- Sunglasses are good for going incognito. I recommend a pair twice as big as anything Nicole Richie is wearing.
- Always keep your hop card topped up. You never know when you might need to use public transport as your getaway.
- Sleeping after 2am is dangerous. You can force yourself to have dreams Lewis Carol would die to write about.
Oh my god… I need to stop sleeping and writing so late at night… It’s doing weird things to my mind.
Fail again, fail better.
Dear lord, I would do anything right now for my creative process assignment to finish itself. I’m so over it. Why can’t they just let me pass if I did so last year!? Idioticmoronicish AUT. Can slit my wrists and write ‘You’re a bunch of douche-bags’ on the side of WE and call it my creative process? In all seriousness, It looks like I’ll be creating some anti-gaga advertising over the next few days. Bitch, how dare you steal my meat dress. I got a lousy C+ but people applaud yours?
I see straight through you
“Cause baby, you were born marketed this way. ”
RAGE RAGE RAGE
It’s been a while hasn’t it, Tumblr? Over a month since my last somewhat-decent entry. For the last 3 or 4 weeks (I’ve lost count), I’ve been hanging out in Hamilton. It’s not that I’ve been stranded without my cellphone and laptop or anything, it’s just that when I write I prefer to do it alone over an episode of gossip girl or something easy and greasy (like a can of pringles).
Chris and his family are so much more friendly. When I’m in Hamilton I feel like I don’t have so much to bitch about. Now that I spend more time with them, I feel like I’m a happier less stressed person. I always knew that people influenced each other, but I didn’t know it could work so simply. When I’m in Auckland, I stress to the max because of my mothers personality. I stress because my mum does. Even Chris says he notices the difference between Auckland-Nina and Hamilton-Nina.
However, Hamilton-Nina and Auckland-Nina are soon to merge together and become a huge ball of stress and anxiety. Because of the new law changes to university funding and grading system, there’s a small chance this will be my only summer as a university student. Although it’s unlikely, there’s still a chance. Even though I was hospitalised and I have proof of illness, It might not be enough. It was out of my control, but whether or not the government will grant my student loan or allow me back to AUT. For all this time I’ve wanted a real job, and now that I might have that fate forced apon me, I want to go back to being a full time student.
Oh, and get this, The goverment is supporting 5804 bran-spankin’ new university beneficiaries. excuse me? what the fuck? not only are you trying to rob me of my education (a right we all have), you’re also making me PAY to not be at university? I’ve had a part time job and paid taxes since I was 14. I haven’t been out of a job since. How does this calculate?
I know shit happens. Shit happens to everyone. The amount of shit-luck to good-fortune couldn’t get any lower. How come parents with lying accountant parents can score the highest student allowances available for their children by manipulating their earnings? Yet people like me can’t even qualify for a student allowance. It really grinds my gears to hear a friend of mine spend their allowence on drinking and a Louis Vuitton satchel bag. Obviously if you can afford such luxury, you shouldn’t be on a benefit while other students can’t even claim their bus tickets.
My god, I need to calm down before I smash the keys through my key board. Maybe I need to find a new way to out my anger. Perhaps egging Studylink. I’m sure I could get more than a handful of pissed off students to join me. Buhhhhh… Tumblin’ when you can’t sleep makes everything fifty times more ragey.
Ttyl, Tumblr. Turns out there’s a design theory paper due worth 60% of my semester on Tuesday. How come nobody told me? including my tutor? I’ve only been sitting in your class for the last 5 weeks. WHY MUST YOU BE SO DIFFICULT!
Only 2 more weeks, then it’s summer. Thank god!
