Angels, Cereal and wasting time.

I think perhaps the greatest loss of my relatively short life is my sudden disregard for cereal. Once- recently in fact- cereal was as god to my morning routine- I was infamously unconscious, and frequently still in bedclothes as I stumbled towards my manna- the stuff which somehow made monday mornings bearable. Chocolate flavour, weetabix, fruit studded, honeyed- you name it, I devoured it as I dragged myself out of my dreams- contemplating each spoon before savouring it in private bliss.

Sadly- I've forsaken this. I'm afraid the temptation of my duvet overcame my cat like love of milk in my breakfast- and now its fallen to the bottom of the priority list. This all came together when, after several attempts at trying to wake me- with light, hairdryers and strawberry laces (or so I'm told) my roommate proclaimed my likeness to a brick and gave up. Blearily, half an hour later I rolled out of my bed's embrace, and realised I had five minutes to get ready. Not good. What was worse was realising that it was Thursday, not Wednesday. No- this did not happen straightaway- in fact, it took a double lesson of french grammar stabbing superlatives into my sleep muddled mind for me to catch the glare my teacher was giving me. Because I missed my mandarin lesson. Because I thought it was Wednesday. Ever been glared at by a french professor? Because honestly- that particular breed of educator has honed it to an art. Still- it made me wonder, had I been having my regular installment of some cardboard wrapped wonder, I would have paid attention to the day of the week. That way I would've known when I would be able to get some more. Maybe- this whole missing breakfast thing was even worse than I'd first imagined.

Then I remembered that I rarely knew the day of the week, and promptly forgot. Even if I'd had any further doubts, in the chapel that morning our chaplain proudly announced we had a new angel in school, and everything was alright again. Cue doubletake. I mean- everything was a bit new- but angels? Was that going to be part of the establishment confessed oddity of routine? Within seconds my gaze was drawn, with the dozens around me- as if by a collective magnet, to the back of the chapel where the chaplain was pointing proudly. I felt my heart sink. A somewhat 'abstract' angel- which was less conceptual or philosophical than a traditional angel shape made in white painted squares of balsa wood, hung at a precarious angle from the whitewashed wall. Well- so much for heavenly host- it was more discount at B&Q. I mean, I know Angels/Christianity should be to do with humility, building up wealth in heaven rather than on earth- but this looked like something taken from a scrapyard, lacking even that rough redeeming charm.

As the week went on- my disappointment began to change into something else, and it all started with time wasting.

We had a talk- as promising adolescents, on how to spend time doing the right things to get into ever more competitive universities. We were told not to worry- our social life would not be sacrificed, but our freedom would. Or rather our free periods should be spent under the college's academic watch. Having just read 1984- this thought already gave me an irrational shudder, and when the biology teacher went on to combine the elements of a timetable with molluscs (no I still don't comprehend how) this transformed to full on horror. Organising my time? Knowing the day of the week?! Giving up my free period chocolate??? Horror of horrors- let it not be so. But all this came afterwards, and even now only lingers at the surface of my consciousness- mixed up with merlin, myth, strawberry laces and straps, and chocolate. All things important- but then, underneath it all- the honest stuff. The stuff that you know makes you who and what you are- be it a chemical cocktail, a bias of external opinions, or something some people would call a soul.

There was one thing that the biology teacher said that really stuck with me. 'Let your time be spent, not wasted.' A bit cliched yes- but ponder it a second whilst I go on a relevant tangent. Angels, according to Saint Thomas Aquinas- are semi-contingent. They have a beginning, but no end, they are immortal. For an angel- maybe even for our odd little balsa fellow, time should be spent wisely. It is, one would suppose, the reason for their existence.

On the other hand, returning to the point post haste- can human beings waste time? Please don't point out the obvious, 'if you have an exam/commitment/job/time to wake up you can't spend time chilling/eating/ sleeping- or my personal favorite, 'whatever it is you lot do these days'.

Really- our days are numbered, fair enough. Our experience throughout this life is limited- every choice we make closes as many doors as it opens. But when we get to those last few seconds, afterlife or not- surely our lives have been worth every second? Surely then we can realise that? Because no passing fad- be that a job or an education (ha! such useless things) can define our perception of the times of our lives. We have lived them- and surely that's the key. That in each of those seconds- be they spent in sleep, study, invention or indulgence- we have spent them. We have breathed the air around us, our hearts have beat to the dance of our emotions- we have seen, not seen- felt, not felt- experienced life and time and the earth around us. In that sense, though time may be used wastefully, it is never wasted- always spent as we progress through our lives, and let every moment- consciously or not, shape who we are.

There's no need to worry about the loss of cereal epiphanies or vengeful french teachers with chinese as a side- no need to panic about which day you've reached. You reached it- you lived it- you spent the time as yourself. Let the angels worry about wasting time. They're far less likely to slip up.

Even at the End of the Road-

You can't find Cafe Java. You can find Sea Gypsies, shark teeth, tsunami escape routes and golden buddhas- but the elusive cafe likes to switch cities, and is, as a result, impossible to find- even if you spend two hours searching for it last thing at night in the back streets of Thailand. But hey! I guess that's life.

On the other hand, at least neither I or my hypothetical ox were killed horribly by a curse from the vengeful half buried buddha we visited- maybe it's because of my brand new protection charm. Maybe it's because the buddha decided to take a vacation. Either way as of yet I have not yet fallen into terminal illness after the inexplicable appearance of a piece of gold leaf (normally put on the buddhas as a sign of worship) on my thumb. I'm sure that's some kind of omen- I'm hoping it's a good one, because as the days before I get my gcse results dwindle away painfully slowly, I'm developing a sort of bipolar disorder.

One minute I'm hiding in my bed till midday feeling sick every time I check the date on my possibly waterproof watch. The next, I'm laughing madly whilst flying down zipwires 50 feet above a jungle canopy. Maybe it's just me- but really, these examiners seem to have devised the perfect slow torture for the hordes of normally indifferent teens- it's like payback for all those years of missing half the lesson because of a lie in- or just savouring a chocolate bar- or once talking to my headmaster having dinner with my parents in Hong Kong. What can I say? Time is immaterial to me- it brings neither snow, strawberries, yorkshire puddings, bubbles or puppies when I want them. Why should I obey it's namby pamby laws?

Ok, scratch that- it's impossible not to, but it doesn't mean I have to pay attention to the fact.

Regardless- time is most certainly at a standstill when you're having a fish spa. This quaint custom involves you putting your feet in a tank full of fish for a period of the afore mentioned T word and having your feet nibbled and groomed by several dozen small fish. Yes, I am incredibly ticklish, yes, I went through with the fish spa, yes, I screamed and laughed like an idiot for the first ten mintues- and no, I'm not entirely sure it's a good thing that these fish are being raised on human flesh. But it's an experience I can scratch off my 'bucket list'. (The list of things you want to do before you die, nicked from the excellent film by the same name.)

If only time stretched the same way whilst I'm lying with a cocktail, 'far from the madding crowd', and the azure ocean stretching out before me whilst lying on a sun lounger on a beach in the sun. Really dislike me yet? (apparently hates a strong word- incidentally, what does that make love?)

I suppose it doesn't matter the situation, circumstance, country or gibbon reserve- time and monsoon rain will carry on regardless. You don't have to pretend to pay any attention to it (I doubt I ever will), but sometimes, maybe- it's best to make the most of it. After all, no one ever knows how much 'time' they have left- but nor do they often realise any 'time' they have is infinite- and therefore, to steal a cliche, full of endless possibility.

There are fish in the sea;

God is a saxophonist who goes by the alias of Morgan Freeman; and in the end, everything comes back to Uncle Howard.

It's funny, the things you learn from people. Whether that involves sailing a sixty five metre long ship, or taking a friend wakeboarding, our fellow human beings can be some of our closest friends- and still remain a mystery.

I mean, I get each one of us is an individual- or at least I try to comprehend 6 billion different chances for a new imagination, opinion, spirit and mind. But really- from a fear of fish and cats to the dangers of cursing someone with a wart up the nose, sometimes, though I find it fascinating, I am presented with the most impossibly bewildering pieces of nonsense even I can not begin to comprehend in my own dotty mind.

It could just be me- I'll accept that, I've heard that daydreaming every few seconds and putting the book you just bought back on the shelf in the second hand bookstore you just bought it from is supposed to be a sign you're losing touch. Also, talking to yourself and craving chocolate- though I know that's far less unusual. (In fact, I consider chocolate cravings positively healthy- I mean, a cocoa bean is a vegetable/fruit/berry- whatever the real category is.)

But I try my best to find out about normal people- I watch them on TV, and read about them in books. (We haven't yet wired up the broadband to my hermit cave, but we're working on it. The satellite man will be the first guest in years, and I've cleared out all the pythons for him.)

Seriously- I have a terrible sense of humour, even I don't understand it. I have a friend who may never get above a C in an exam, and still remains one of the most intelligent, diligent people I've ever met- I know the most decent gentleman in the world, who at late thirty something is still happy to be openly promiscuous with every female he comes across. I look at reality, then flip back to the one Jacqueline Wilson book I ever read- and I don't get it- I mean, am I missing something?

In the immortal words of Sue Sylvester- "Is it me?"

Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I expect my ever so slightly skewed perception of everything from my brother to floating blue beach balls belonging to white haired chinese men may be somewhat responsible for the apparent oddity of even the most sensible people I come across.

However, I'm fairly sure it's possible it's them too. I cannot imagine sharing every experience, every spoken word, lesson learned, book read and dream or nightmare dreamt with even one other human being. Biology and genetics aside- can you imagine the multicolor mess of experiences that build each human being?

I mean, I'm sure it's easy enough to consider from time to time- to let it flash across your mind, but if you really think about it, really make yourself try and imagine that many scenes- the acting out of a liftetime, and then multiply it by six billion, the result will make the amount of stars in the sky seem numerable.

On the Star ferry, crossing Victoria harbour, or on the parade of sail in Antwerp, or the sailing festival in Aalborg- one thing repeatedly struck me.

My Mum used to say to me that beaches are graveyards- fantastic, beautiful, halfway points, the cemeteries of the sea. I realised, suddenly, that cities are the beaches for human beings and their oddities.

It sounds bizarre, but give me a moment to explain- beaches are what's left of 'la fruit de la mer'- the 'peoples' and wildlife of the oceans, the objects they've constructed, and given their lives to- to have as shelters, birth places, and opportunities for exhibition.

So a collection of buildings, on occasion so cluttered they seem to be overflowing, inhabited by hundreds of thousands of people, who live there and leave their mark and build their heritage upon the foundations of their homes; a collection of buildings that are often as different in shape and size as a daisy and a rose; a collection of buildings made for shelter, exhibition, safety.... Are the two really that different?

How many stories lie in a building? Even a boring old apartment block will have hundreds- and each one will be the result of an individual personality, an individual set of emotions and experiences, some of which will have been played out inside all four walls.

You can look at a city like Hong Kong, or London, or Paris- and you can consider those six billion epic stories- about anyone, from a janitor to a Duke- each dotted and flavored by preference: Uncle Howards; not leaving New Shoe's on table; an inherited love of the ocean- and maybe you'll start to realize, as I'm trying to, with the proof right before your eyes, that the human race- though faulted, predictable, and often primitive- is just as varied, and brilliant as the universe it inhabits.

Mortal Peril

It's something you face quite often when on Adventure Training Camp. Or at least you'd like to think so, climbing a cliff, scrambling up a waterfall, hiking up a hill which really should be a mountain, or nearly giving yourself a heart attack going uphill on a mountain bike, half a kilometre behind your sixty year old instructor....

It's these kind of things that make you feel tough, hard as nails, confident and mean- a fighting machine. And then you trip on a rock on the way back down and hurt your ankle and realise your probably not Demi Moore. Still, it's hardly our fault if any of us were disillusioned- we were hallucinating from lack of food. I mean, sorry, but who eats American Cheeseburger flavour crisps?? (Bleh!!)

Actually, then again, maybe the hallucination was from sleep loss- what sane person gets up at 6.15 in the morning to clean an industrial size kitchen?? Why? Just why?

I mean, I'm sure we can all agree that myself and my companions were not at all convinced we'd suddenly gained sixty pounds of muscle because of all the 'perceived risk' and numerous loopholes in the health and safety agreements which were kept well hidden under the great metaphorical carpet in need of hoovering. That would be ridiculous- we were all far too experienced and sensible. Honest.

Really- the camp was pretty cool, and drinking from a waterfall, scaling a rock face and sleeping under the stars sans tent or shower felt wild- and gave me an awesome set of bruises which go well with blues and purples, and make their own statement when I'm wearing white.

Sadly though, the fact that the most painful thing anyone did whilst I was there was me falling down the stairs in my socks sort of took away from the whole extreme element. Also, the proximity of the Co-op and the fact we weren't allowed into the park in case we got mugged did tend to take away from the whole Bruce Willis die hard idea.

But heck, laughing at Independence Day and getting glued to chicken run made us all feel better, so it was alright in the end.

I'd done the camp before, so I was expecting the whole sweat, bruises, rain and mozzie bites. I admit I'd forgotten how hard working in the kitchen was, and I swear now never to pursue a career as a chef, but otherwise, camp was as good as I remembered, if lacking the thrill of being able to go into the park across the road without being mobbed or sworn at. But hey- we got chocolate every day, and we got to see Shrek the four millionth and something, so all was right with the world.

As you can probably assume, this camp was just less impressive now I'm a bit older- but I'm glad to have done it again, to know I can still rise to the challenge, and there's one more thing I'm glad of.

I'm glad of the people I met- because that's the best part. Whether their shy or teddy like, Irish or Jewish, sunburnt or chatty- you can find out more about people when they get out of their everyday situation and onto a hill beneath the pouring rain than you can everywhere else. And do you know my general conclusion? Human beings are a pretty nice bunch. Everyones been through difficulty, everyone has random pet hates and love- and everyone I've met is just a little bit mad.

But all of them secretly, truly, want to be nice- to have friends, to be wanted. And so far, they all deserve it. (although I reserve the right to hold back friendship from creepy guys with cameras who look down my top when I shake their hand.)

Tomorrow I embark on an epic journey across the Atlantic ocean for 10 days. I don't know if I'll come back alive of covered in scars and tattoos like a proper sea dog- to be honest I think neither is likely. But I do know I'll have met 47 new people, and I hope I'll have learnt and liked something about each and every one of them. Maybe they'll even forgive me for sleep talking about Johnny Depp.

Eccentricity...

Is just another brand of insanity, I discovered shortly after arriving in English country paradise. And since this is the case, it means my entire family, on my mother's side at least, is completely and utterly mad. But I doubt you're surprised by that.

It's a bit like being in an incredibly funny, completely random tv show- like, 'This is your life'- jumbled up and put on random on some kind of defunct VCR. One second we're talking about my Aunt's collection of Hong Kong Phooey memorabilia(two pairs of socks, one pair of boxers and a lunchbox) , and the next it's whether or not Atlantis exists (a favourite topic of my Mum's Dad). When his cousins come to stay, we discuss the chances of finding life or beneficial minerals on Mars, in juxtaposition with how useful it is to be able to wear the same outfit you wore to Buckingham Palace to collect your MBE at the wedding you have to go to. And to be honest- lets not even get started on Cryptic crosswords, bonsais or french cooking- trust me, it would twist your mind. In a sort of good but mainly confused and completely and utterly eclectically chaotic way. I'm still lost halfway between bikes in Paris and my Granddad's collection of vinyl cd's.

Honestly- I'm not sure if they'll let me publish my autobiography. I suppose the only way I could retain a claim to my clinical sanity would be a single chapter on my Mum's side.

This is roughly what it would say:

MAD- in a good way

It'll be the shortest block of text I've ever written- because frankly if I started on this brilliant, mental lot- the last Harry Potter book would be light reading.

So here's a question- if my 'growth' is one part nature and one part nurture, why aren't I yet as nuts as they are?

I mean, clearly, I'm a very straightforward, sensible person.................right?

Ok, so I wouldn't fit into any one's idea of ordinary (except maybe Roald Dahl?) but then, would a single person on this planet? The way I see it- anyone who's completely normal is probably very very weird indeed.

Anyway, back to the point. Maybe it's because I've had a bit of a random upbringing. I mean, do 4 deserts, three mountain ranges, most of Asia, some of Europe, several rain-forests, several jungles, a small collection of waterfalls, islands various and a glacier count as a regular setting for a child to grow up? Nah- didn't think so. And then of course you've got the people: the poet laureate, a man with the initals BA, another who's just called H (he's a funny guy- his true name's being kept hidden by an upside down version of MI5, and no, that isn't WIS) and, most excitingly of all (for me at least) the guy in charge of Lindt chocolate!!!!

I wouldn't call 'em your average joe, but as I said, I've never met an 'average joe', if I did, it'd be pretty creepy (see above).

But I am so grateful, so, eternally, hugely grateful for every person I've ever met- for every place I've ever been- every random moment, embarrassing situation, witty flooring comment- and every single, breathtaking, awe inspiring place- from pink salt lakes to monsoon rain on an island outside Borneo.

Recently, I moved, and a few people I know are going through...changes, on varying levels- and for them, and myself I suppose, I just want to say this.

There is no such thing as the past, and no such thing as the future- we live on the very edge of reality every second we're alive, every second we exist. But if we could ever revive the past, and look back at what brought us here, it might be mad- and heartbreaking, or laughable and pretty ordinary. But I can absolutely promise you this- there will be a moment, a second, a smile- hundreds of them, and they'll be beautiful.

PLEASE HELP NOW

It's possible that in AGADIR ON THE 21ST JUNE THE WHALING BAN WILL BE LIFTED IF WE DON'T STOP IT. An endangered species- and the US government among others is even CONSIDERING allowing this pointless, brutal murder to be legal once more. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE watch the video, sign the protest and pass it on- we're sentient beings, we don't have a right to just kill things till there are none left- we have responsibility- we're the ones who can be selfish and hateful and cruel. Don't be like that. WATCH THE VIDEO AND SIGN THE PETITION http://www.youtube.com/wdcsuk THEN PASS IT ON, PLEASE BY 21ST JUNE. STOP THIS MINDLESS CRUELTY!!

An epiphany over tea and french

The great thing about revision is that it really makes you appreciate the little things. Like...how soft your duvet is, the way the curtains shut out the light, the pure splendor of birdsong, how tasty your cereal is, what genius created the kettle....And as you stand there, making your third cup of tea at 12.00pm, in your pyjamas, musing on the glory of the little things, you start to contemplate how great it would be for your teachers if a world existed where you could make yourself revise and not get distracted by what's on the music channel right now.

But hey, you win some, you lose some.

Of course, what I'm really interested in right now is whether or not the rain's ever going to stop- if 'The Secret' will help me get into the TARDIS, and what those luuuuurvely salmon steaks are going to taste like. I am living 'Carpe Diem'. I'm seizing the day. Exams are completely out of my mind. I'm so unstressed I could write a book on how unstressed I am and de-stress the nation, I could end the war in Iraq and stop the oil leak, because everyone would just chill as a result of my awesomely relaxed, non-stressed/panic vibes.

Yeah, I haven't convinced myself that yet either.

Positive thinking is the way forward though- I'm sure of it. It hasn't worked yet, but I remain optimistic I'll wake up tomorrow and the world will be a better place. I'll just keep telling myself that.

In the meantime, I'm wondering if paracetamol is going to help me sleep, get rid of my headache, and stop me incessantly clicking my pen long enough to let me write this in a way that makes some sort of sense.

It's funny how wound up you can get. I mean really, I've only got three subjects to revise for, and, if I say so myself, I'm relatively strong in all three. I shouldn't be stressing this much. But I am, so I've decided to retreat into philosophy. Actually, that's not true. I've decided to retreat, on a frighteningly more frequent basis, into fantasy.

It's also curious how we have to dream. Honestly, I'm not sure you could be genuinely human if you didn't dream. How could we not? Ambitious, eccentric, erratic beings that we are, with a superiority complex to match those of the angry deities we create for ourselves- from getting a new washing machine to riding a dragon, people have got to dream. We've got to create something better, wilder, brighter, stranger- something that encapsulates our secret hopes, our burning passions and honest loves. Human beings have got so much to offer, even if we only ever achieve it in dream.

I mean, take me. In my daydreams I climb Mount Everest, eat strawberries and cream for breakfast every day, sail the 'seven seas', have a chat with Shakespeare and bring along a few of my fave authors, and at some point write a book. Every one a pinnacle of achievement in which I don't lift a finger. Now there's true triumph for you.

I can go to the stars, and meet alien races, see nebulae up close and visit planets teeming with life to discover. I can find fay at the bottom of the garden, appease spirits and learn magic, find dragons and dig up treasure. I can do everything in the world I create in the moment I close my eyes, or 'momentarily' give up on the French past perfect and just wonder, What if?

The world we live in is a beautiful place. Enormous, glorious, spectacular. An entirely eclectic collection of the bright and beautiful, the great and small, and whether or not you believe in some kind of higher power- you've got to admit that next to life it's our greatest gift. But that doesn't mean that we can't take it, mash it together, and see something more in the golden light of the sun, pooling like spun silk on the surface of a sapphire sea...

It doesn't mean we can't somehow find a way to hope for the best, against all odds, and see a place, or a person, or a world, where there is greener grass to be found. And it's our imperfection, our madly fantastical mix of thoughts and feelings and loves and hates that let us see it. We hope and dream of a better world, because we know it's the price we paid to get this one and love it just as much.

Maybe in that better world I wouldn't have to revise, or stress, or pack or be a hormone loaded teenager.

But let's be honest, that's not going to happen, and if I lived in that world, I might not get chocolate shreddies, and that really wouldn't do.