![]() First and foremost, before you call me a hypocrite, I'll call myself out. Me, vocalising your thoughts before you even comment it: "Hey -------! You're an effing hypocrite!" Also me, while sipping a cup of coffee: "I know, thanks." The me who has achieved enlightenment through acceptance: "Okay, just letting you know." Now that that's done and over with, don't get me wrong... I absolutely love filters. Who would've known I looked so hot as a female dog (get it?)? With some hearts over my head, or maybe a flower crown from Snapchat; I am a goddess. I look pretty cute with that blue-ish filter on Instagram. Snow makes my skin brighter and clearer than it really is. With a smaller face, a smaller nose, and emphasised eyes; I am absolutely irresistible (someone, please agree with me). ![]() I turn off the apps and switch to my phone's own camera app and what do I see? I'd hate to use this word, but its the only appropriate word to be said... MONSTROSITY!!! Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little. However, you get what I mean. I have large pores, uneven eyelids (I literally have one monolid eye, and the other has double eyelids), big nose (so much so that when I take selfies, the lighting almost always highlights it), big mouth, gummy smile, braces, messy eyebrows, a stache, and a heck lot of facial moles. Truthfully, I am not your standard beautiful. I probably am no one's #beautygoals nor #bodygoals or #sopretty or #IWishIWasHer. Let's be real, I am probably not #goals material. And THAT... affected me for a very long time. In fact, it's still something that still affects me occasionally. If you read this week's #WriteUpWednesday , it pretty much explains what I still feel some days. I just learned how to better deal with it; and I'm still learning and I'm still coming to terms with the different ways to deal with it. And I write these, to deal with it; to put things into perspective; to create a tangible evidence to help me (and you) realise how ridiculous this whole #Beauty business is. So... what did I realise and what's my take-home advice? a) I am still not your standard Instagram-perfect, influencer-style beautiful. But then I realised, why be a standard when I could become a premium ;) <--- (truthfully, the reason why I gave up on Instagram aesthetics altogether--- but that's for another Friday) b) I am hella cute as a bunny, pig, dog, and cat. And you probably are too. (If you disagree to that, I applaud your powers of self-denial... Or you should probably get Snapchat or Snow and see for yourself.) c) Am I going to stop filtering my pictures? Probably not. It's fun. It's quirky. It gives me confidence. BUT, what I won't do is post filtered pictures exclusively. Basically, the advice is to try and keep it on a down-low and post more natural pictures. As some people on Instagram suggested, add stickers to the background, take pictures in good lighting (near a window has been highly suggested), find your angle----- but try not to alter your face shape, enlargen, or minimise your facial features through photoshop and filters, just let yourself glow. I am not against adjusting the contrast of the picture or whatever, it does make your pictures look sharper (My picture in the About Page has enhanced contrast just because I thought it looked too dull without it.) One word, but it's the most important message of this post: Acceptance.
0 Comments
Am I pretty? I ask no one often when I am in the comfort of being alone, unseen by judging eyes and gossiping mouths. I have troublesome skin, tear-stricken face for every night that I spent thinking of the reasons why I was not made pretty. Although I have a rather decent nose bridge, I have a wide nose which does it no justice. Big eyes that see blurry. A big mouth with a gummy smile. Braces that remain there overdue. A face that is rather angular but not in a very pleasing manner.
Am I pretty? I often ask myself but receive no answer. There were days when I would want to answer yes. There were days when I felt like I could actually answer yes. And days when I actually, excitedly answered yes. But among those were days when I shook my head sadly, mumbling no. Days when I laid my head down and sighed, thinking no. Days whn I cried myself to sleep, knowing that the answer was no. Am I pretty? I thought as I close the camera app in favour of Snow and Snapchat which has filters to make me look better. Filters to hide the flaws, the unevenness of my face, the asymmetry, the ugliness. Maybe if my eyes were bigger I could actually be cute. Why is my hair never like I want it to be? It is sometimes too straight or too frizzy. Maybe if my nose was any smaller I could actually be pretty, a less messier set of brows, a prettier set of lips. Am I pretty? I tried asking others. They were either friends and family, of course. They said, yes, you’re pretty. But it never did satisfy me. Why do I still feel ugly when the outside validation is there. I don’t believe them, theyre just saying that--- I somehow often manage to convince myself. I am not pretty, they’re just being nice. Am I pretty? I look to the internet for answers. I post a selfie to see if anyone would comment or like. But as usual no one comments and those who like are the same people everytime—friends and family who never fail to reassure my dwindling self-esteem although it’s not working. Am I pretty? Am I? Because I want to feel like I am... I first learned of the word "autonomy" in my Year 9 History class when we were studying about World War I. How is this related to what I'm about to say? Nothing. None at all. I just wanted to mention it. ;)
. . . Anyways, I turned 18 last April, on the day before my first IB exam. I just finished high school, I graduated last May. I am, according to law, of legal age. I am, however, according to my current state, still very much a kid. I am more like a responsible kid, per se. I can live alone in terms of taking care of myself. I can cook. I can clean. I can wash and iron my own clothes. I have no problems contacting any authorities or establishments for anything. I can cross the road. I can ride a taxi. I can set up a doctor's appointment for myself. I can go on a medical check-up by myself. However... I've barely crossed the street alone. I've only ridden the taxi alone less than 5 times; and by alone, I meant, with a friend and I didn't ask my parents permission to do it-- I called them when I was already in the taxi. I have to call my parents whenever I ride a taxi. I can't drive. I've never gone grocery-shopping by myself. I'm chauffered to 98% of the events I go to. I've set up a doctor's appointment and attended the check-up alone, just once. And so based on all that, I can safely say I'm just about 25% adult and 75% child. I have no one and nothing to blame for it. That's just my situation. I do say that I feel less autonomous and capable of independence than most of my friends, especially the ones from the Philippines. Since my batch was the last one to be permitted to attend university even after only completing until Year 10 of secondary education. most of my Filipino friends and former classmates are now already in their 3rd year of undergraduate studies while I am here, not even in university yet. My usual stance on the topic is a state of indifferent acceptance. I studied under an international secondary curriculum which ends in Year 12, and so, it is only natural for me to start university later than my Filipino peers. However, I would have to start university even later because I am taking a gap year (that may be something I rant about some other time). Speaking of my Filipino peers, since they have been in university earlier than I am, and therefore, have already been living independently for quite some time while I still am not, I do get a sense of insecurity sometimes. I feel that I have a lacking of sorts, like I'm weak and incompetent compared to them. My consolation is that the circumstances that I am in are partly responsible for the reason why I am not like them; and my confidence, is in the fact that I am ready to take on a life of autonomy once the circumstances permit. I am in no particular hurry, however. I recognise that with autonomy comes the fact that I will be leaving behind my family. Alas, for now, I'll enjoy living in the moment. I crave a sense of autonomy, I believe that would be a freedom most gratifying. However, I also already long for the comfort of being surrounded by my family, and Arima. That is my curious issue with autonomy. I was afraid for neither had I wings to fly nor my own two feet to walk in--- never without the support of overbearing hands which held my every move, anticipated my every thought—caring they were but learning I could not do. I was afraid that I could account to no more than this for I was dependent on the way that my life that was lead even though there was a tug that has been increasingly distracting and harder to ignore with each passing day that I near independence. I was afraid I would not learn for I was told that I was always scared. I was afraid that they were right, that I am what they said I am and not what I think I could become. I was afraid and I was hesitant for what flowed out of my hands in the words were not mine but of a created self that I have to assume when I am in the sights of others. I was afraid that I’d always be afraid for it had always been the role that I assumed although there were times that I never truly was afraid but rather just excited however I have tricked myself into thinking that I was… afraid… very afraid… ever so afraid… And then I realized that the only thing I was afraid of was the fact that I could not release myself from the imaginary prison I’d had assumed that somehow I had to be afraid.
What are the odds? I did relatively well in my IELTS, overall. I received a cumulative average of 8.0 out of 9.0. I scored 8.0 in the reading and speaking sections and a 9.0 in listening. However, when it came to writing... I was given a score of 6.5. Honestly, and I've mentioned it previously on my post on the actual day I took the IELTS (), out of all the things I thought I would mess up-- it would be the speaking section because of all the stuttering I heard from myself. No matter; I refuse to let a single test account for my writing capabilities. Instead, let this blog be my testimony. P.S. I'm not bitter.
Hello! This is the first #ThrowbackThursday which is a feature I will be every last Thursday of each month. Since this is my first #ThrowbackThursday in Unhesitant-- my brand new blog from which you are reading this on, I will be doing a feature on my old blog (justinedoesib.weebly.com/). Although I am no longer updating the "Justine does the IB" blog, it remains special to me. I consider it to be my very first blogging site. It is an online portfolio of the various stuff I have been busy with throughout my IBDP years. Since I was sure no one was reading it, if you look hard enough, you would find some very personal rant sessions and self-consolation sessions in there.
Originally created for the purpose of being a CAS portfolio, it became so much more than that. My classmates often told me that I was spending way too much effort on something that wouldn't even be graded but amidst the stress and deadlines associated with the IBDP, I craved for a creative outlet. When I was still in MYP, especially Year 10, creative writing was my expressive outlet. 'Awry' had been the result of it, in addition to various stories I have posted online under anonymous usernames (they shall remain my little secrets :P). However, creative writing required time and energy above all things which I neither had while I was in the IBDP. Whenever I had energy, I didn't have time for there were more urgent and important things I needed to attend to. Whenever I had the time, I didn't have the energy for all my mental juices have been spent on homework and various assessment tasks. A blog, which I was confident no one would read (or even if they did, I did not particularly care), was informal and quick. It was like an online diary. Whatever I had in mind, at the moment, I could just write it. Granted that there are not very many blog posts in "Justine does the IB" at the moment (I have since deleted some), I still consider that blog a necessary component to my sanity while being under the IBDP. Additionally, that blog contains so much memories--- just look through the Gallery section and you'll see. A thousand smiles for the countless miles
For the countless miles, a hundred steps A hundred steps for the destination unknown No room to back out, in front of you only road (P.S. This was extremely short, it's not even a poem. Haha! Anyways, I couldn't think of anything else to write after it. Well, I did but decided not to include them since they didn't make sense. Attempted explanation: over. Byee!) The last #WriteUpWednesday "Not human" was truthfully something I did not write recently. I did not have anything prepared at the moment so I started rummaging through random drabbles I had saved on my computer from previous years. "Not human" was a drabble I wrote down in 2014 around the time I was still suffering from that year's *post-MUN syndrome.
The MUN topics that greatly interested me were always the ones regarding Human Rights. That is why, to this day, my favourite committee is SOCHUM and not DISEC--- which is the committee that the greater portion of my MUN friends favour. I do not want to get too political as I'm afraid I may say something inappropriate out of ignorance. However, I believe that the message behind the drabble was something that deeply bothered me at the time: it was about child soldiers. "Not human" was written under the narration of a child soldier who had become "dazed and detached". The tone was a mixture of apathy, spite, and monotone to symbolise the fact that the narrator had already gone past the point of no return and no longer cares about anything in the world. The narrator exists in the world of no morals, no mercy, and no principles. This was how I imagined child soldiers to be like. This was how I imagined some evil acts are made. In my opinion, there are some instances wherein some people have been so deeply wronged by the world that they become unfeeling and therefore easily influenced by those who have truly evil intentions. They become unable to think for themselves, and especially not for others. They lose their autonomy and sense of principles and values. At this point, they become "not human" and are easily influenced by those who wish to make them pawns for evil intentions because they simply lack any semblance of care for anything. They neither care for others or anything, not even themselves. For what I really am, a sheltered kid whose deductions are simply based on what I read off of fiction and news articles (the disparity between both that which is sometimes a very thin line that breaks occasionally), I could be very wrong about anything and everything. However, the scariest thought that comes to me whenever I think these things, is the thought that I may be right. *Post-MUN Syndrome: a syndrome that affects MUN delegates immediately after MUN conferences. The symptoms may persist from as short as 3 days to 2 weeks depending on the case. The symptoms include: bringing a placard to the classroom and raising it up whenever answering a question posed by the teacher, referring to people and themselves in third person, communicating in an extremely formal language, topics brought forth by sufferers become exclusively related to the MUN conference that just passed much to the annoyance of their friends and colleagues who were not part of the event. I feel no remorse as I stare into the pleading, dead eyes of a child I just killed. One. Ten. One hundred. Hundreds of people were killed, are being killed. Men, women and children. No one is safe from the guns and explosions all around, from the knives held by people just like me: dazed and detached. We were trained to kill, taken from our homes from a very young age and our family members all killed right in front of us. We pleaded for help but no help came. Then we were tortured, beaten, and then forced to do immoral things. Our childhood, our innocence, taken from us in an instant just as how I now take the lives of the innocent, people just like who I used to be without a minute’s hesitation. There are sounds of cries, sobs, mingled with the screams and the last dying breaths. I am no longer human. I stopped being one, a long time ago. From the day my family was killed, I died with them; not physically, though it no longer matters if I did. I am no longer human. Stripped from all emotion, I am now only a drone: existing only for the sole purpose of bringing terror to the world. I am no longer human. I can no longer be saved.
I registered for it two weeks ago in a panicked whim and vain attempt to include to to a university scholarship application I should send by the second week of October. Is it crazy? I assume so. Have I taken it before? No. Did I study? I guess, I did. In all honesty, I don't even know what exactly to study for. I just did whatever mock IELTS simulation I could find online. Am I nervous? Possibly. Can I do this? Well, I have no choice. Just kidding, maybe.
Anyways, Lord please help me but whatever happens, happens. Let's not be anxious, okay? Remember your truce to yourself, -------. It's all positive vibes from here on out. Unhesitant, remember? Just do it. :) P.S. As I was writing down "positive vibes", I just remembered how dark my last #WriteUpWednesday had been. Well, please excuse me for that. Not to confuse you or anything but #WriteUpWednesdays are drabbles that I right in various mental states (mostly half-awake, half-asleep states when your brain is in a condition similar to when you're drunk--- probably, I wouldn't know because I've never actually gotten drunk...) Anyways... the point is that no matter how dark and borderline concerning my #WriteUpWednesdays could become, please pardon it because it's an expressive writing style and theme that I got accustomed to. Remember, my first book was a horror/thriller. In their essence, despite the darkness that my creative/expressive writing may exude sometimes, their purpose is to relate to those that may be suffering from the same thoughts. In them, may they find solace and relativity--- things that I realised had been important to me when I was in a less positive mindset. And so, thanks for reading, and I hope that cleared up any misunderstandings. I had a thought so late at night
A thought I thought I would never think of if it was another night That while the stars shine behind the clouds And the night slumbers on and no one is out That while I lay in bed myself While sleep is yet to claim me yet Could I ever think of such thoughts I thought Too happy I thought, too positive they were For just last year on this very night I thought the thought that maybe I could die That maybe I should die That maybe tonight, the night that is now Is much too much of a dream to be real But here I am, in the same old bed, in the same old town Laying down with my head about And thinking thoughts of the future near and far And though I am afraid and nothing is certain Though I may be scared and hope for the best Though I am still like I was the other year A hopeful little girl in a body of a new adult I no longer think the thoughts of thought of dying For I now think the thoughts of thinking thoughtfully That there was a purpose here on earth that I am yet to fulfill But before all that I must rest for the night and lay my head here I can't remember exactly when it happened--- when the baqalapocalypse occured, when once individually distinctive and individually named convenience store in Abu Dhabi had all transitioned into a singular, uniformed identity that was 'Baqala'. Landmarks gone in a blink of an eye. No more Greenhouse, Hanarum, and White convenience stores to be found in sight. They're all just named Baqala now.
However, even though this might be the case, whatever you need and whenever you need it, a Baqala is there to supply you with your necessities. No man is an island. That’s what they always say. But maybe an island isn’t as alone as we think it is. An island isn’t just a barren piece of land in the middle of oblivion, so how is it alone? An island actually has tons of friends in my opinion. If an island was a person, I think it would be really happy. An island has trees, unique plants and wildlife living on it. To add to that, an island also has the creatures of the surrounding sea; fishes, turtles, whales, sharks, and corals. But, the island’s real best friend is the sea itself. With all these things said, how is the island alone? The island is actually full of life, adrenaline and excitement. Well, I think that the island is actually a really social gal. And sheesh, everybody loves the beach. People would pay hundreds of dollars just to go to a southern tropical island. When people think of Seychelles and the Maldives, they think paradise, not hell. And I don’t think you’d even be alone in hell. I, for one, certainly don’t want to know. Well, going back to the topic, how can anyone be alone if there’s tons of life around and on them? And to add the fact that they’re also rich and famous?
Tssk, tssk, tssk People should be more jealous of islands than to think that they’re lonely. Or maybe the reason why people think islands are lonely is because they were just jealous in the first place? Hmm, who knows? Well, technically, this post isn't even the beginning. It's not even the first blog post I did on this site. It is in fact, the second. #WriteUpWednesday "The Quiet Zone" was the first one, but this will be rather similar. BUT, it is the first #FreeThoughtFriday so, WOOHOO! Let's begin!
When I had the crazy idea of starting a blog, which is what I am doing right now, I was perfectly aware of the fact that I would have no readers (at least initially). After that, I thought about the point of doing this at all if no one's reading it. These early posts which I spent time on might not even be read... ever. If I do get readers on my blog later on, these posts, the pioneers of this blog, would be buried under several others. Therefore, what is the point? I am talking, rather, writing to a void. However, and with this I shocked even myself, I did not mull over that thought for more than a few seconds. This blog... it is a form of journal for me. It is an expressive outlet. It does not matter much to me whether I get 5 or 500 readers. Of course, I wouldn't want this blog to be in the "Quiet Zone" forever with no one reading it aside from myself, but the immediate purpose of this blog is not for others but for myself. I made that choice early this year, at around March, that I would start making decisions that are beneficial to myself as well. Call it selfish; I call it regaining my sanity after spending such a long time being so needlessly selfless. Everything has its limits. So here's to humble beginnings, and to anyone else who gets to read this blog post, no matter how far away in the future you may be, thank you... I can’t quite remember when I first discovered the Quiet Zone. I guess I must’ve been too young back then. Though, I can still remember how I felt during that time, how can I forget? What I’ve discovered was something remarkable, but a kid of my age back then would be more terrified than astonished, and I was. I remember vowing not to go to the Quiet Zone, until that vow was broken when I’ve reached my teenage years.
. . . . . (P.S. Hello, hello, hello! I decided to start with the topic of something "quiet" since this is my first post. If I make this any longer, it'd be corny, so, BYEE!) |
Notes from the author: If you'd like to have a conversation with me about anything I've written in this blog, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, memes, or anything at all, slide into my DMs at:
![]() ![]() ![]() The cover artwork featured above is used with special permission from IG: @squackoud
Special hashtags to watch out for:*** the following are specialised blog entries that have no set schedule compared to the usual bi-weekly postings.
#WednesdayWritings - drabbles, poetry, prose, short stories--- creative and expressive writing in no one's style.
#ThrowbackThursday - the cringey, the I-did-that? moments, the tear-inspiring, and the embarrassing moments of the past gone by--- available only here so shhhh...
#FreeThoughtFriday - a collection of 3AM thoughts for your collective amusement and might get you asking wtf?!
to see older posts:To view some of my older posts, there is a "previous" button hiding just below the bottom left corner of the last post of this page.
Categories
All
Archives
October 2022
|