Theory vs Practice

Any sciences student is familiar with the little Theory/Practice argument.  But when you apply that particular dichotomic pair to life and love, all bets are off.  Or in a less elegantly worded way, the shit hits the fan.  And I've been plagued with the "theorically" curse.  

I'm perfect for him.  On a theoretical level.  And I don't know if you've been following, but in life, practice pretty much kicks theory's ass.  Which doesn't bode well for me.

I once had a friend who told me I was the perfect girl for him.  He said I 'was cute, funny, smart and his parents loved me'.  Then he killed it by saying this was why we'd probably never work out as a couple.  Just the thing you want to hear when you really really like this guy.  

Alright, so... let me get this straight: you should only go out with people who are completely, utterly wrong for you.  Fair enough.  But the thing is, I've done the whole dating-the-wrong-guy thing.  All I want now is the right guy.  

The right guy who'll probably say "You're too perfect for me.  I'll come back to you when I'm done dating all those perfectly wrong girls.  See you in another life."    

So...despite what Paul might say, I am pretty much pathetic.  But at least, I'm not a coward (alright, reading previous posts might prove that statement false, but whatever).  Because most of the time, I think people go for the wrong person because they're scared.  Finding the right person can be scary, because the stakes are higher.  And so we go on a sabotaging quest in order to not get hurt, I guess.  Which isn't logical, but since when has logic had anything to do with love?

It's like the Archie situation.  Now, I grew up with that comics and I don't really know how a freckle-faced, red-haired teen going back and forth between two best friends is good role model material, but anyway... Apparently, Archie Andrews is ready to grow up, and is proposing to rich and bitchy brunette, Veronica Lodge.  While sweet, honest blonde Betty Cooper is kicked to the curb.  The usual consensus is that he chose wrong.  And indeniably, Veronica is all wrong for Archie, but to be honest, they deserve each other.  I always thought Betty deserved better than a guy who, were we in real life, would be titled a cheater.  And anyway, I've always been a Jughead fan, despite his apparent misogyny.  At least he wasn't all about playing games.  And he ate like an army, which is always something to look for in a guy.

My new resolution (which I hope I'll keep, unlike my new year's one) is to not let fear stop me from embracing love.  I want to regain that kind of faith I used to have, when I thought life could only get better.  Wish me luck.  I'm pretty sure it's gonna be one hell of a ride.  Paul will have something to laugh about when I'll tell him all about my lovescapades.

So Over We Need A New Word For Over

Note to self:

I'm done.  It's over.

Case of the Ex

He's the one that screwed me up, fucked me over, broke me and the one that put me back together multiple times.  Not really in that order.  And now... I'd like to think we're friends. A particular kind of friends. The kind you don't really talk to anymore unless he's drunk-dialing.  The kind who shows up unexpectedly when you least expect it and messes up everything, just when you finally thought you had it all figured out.  The kind you'd like to leave in the past, but always end up bringing up. 

Stupid ex boyfriends.  Sometimes I think I'll never date again, so I'll never ever have another ex boyfriend to worry about.  I'll live as a nun. 

If you're reading this, I've moved on.  Don't bring me back.  Once again.  And I'd like to say we'll be friends, but I'm not one to lie to you, so here is the truth people know but are afraid to say: We won't hang out, we won't spend our birthdays together, we won't have lunch.  We'll be friends, because with our history we can't be less, but in name only.

The ABC of Life As I Know It

Let me see: 

Friendship: Great. P is always there to hear about my pathetic little stories.  C is there with me every step of the way.  And not just because I'm forcing her.  M always offers her expertise, even when she's no expert. Which is great.  G and Ku are showering me with unwavering support. E is just amazing. K is a huge factor in my sanity. S is...good for my emotional health. Mx is willing to go buy bagels in the middle of the night with me.

Love: Disaster.  What's up with Love anyway?  Honestly, subtlety is not appropriate for me.   I'm too slow for it.  Just tell me frankly or else we'll still be there ten years from now.  Really I lack the smart gene when it's about love.  Psychology, Chemistry, Maths... or even Physics, no problem, I'll ace it.  Love?  EPIC FAIL.

Family: I love my family and my family loves me.  The rest is too fragile to talk about.

Academics: If I can convince my friends to go to the same college I'm going to, it will be perfect.  So far, it's a good thing I gave up law and went for medicine, because I suck at convincing people to think like me.

Job:  Good.  

Life is too simple.  It complicates everything.

Am I a Geek If I can't Even Geek-Up My Printer?

Well, I survived my week of hellish stress, only to be brought to my knees by some piece of plastic and ink, namely, my printer.  I've got this amazingly modern printer, designed to print the most amazing pictures, but for the life of me, I can't make it work.  I wonder if I could find a Printer for Dummies somewhere?  

I should have been born in the 18th century, or whenever it was that electricity was a novelty.  I can't even change my bulblight (but to be fair, it's not technological limits...more of a... height limit), going shopping for a new computer gives me the chills and ... I have no idea how I'm gonna handle my new Iphone.  My dad was all happy to offer me one (probably because he'll get my ipod) but honestly... unless there is the app 'iphone for dummies' I'm sure the wonders of the Apple phone will be lost on me.  I'd like to be technology-savvy but... whenever God handed that particular talent, I was probably in line for the clumsiness gene. 

As for the computer... My ibook is now five years old, which in computer years is about a gazillion years old. At least, that's what I've learned from my friends, who can't help but wonder how it is that my mac is still up and running.  I even have a friend who "offered" to throw it out the window so I could get a new one.

So beware, Apple sale assistants.  I'm coming and chances are, you will be earning your salary today. 

Equations of Life

Why is it that whenever one aspect of your life can't get any better, another inevitably takes a downfall? Is this some sort of screwed equation, or even better, some universal rule? Seriously...

Job? Good.
Studies? Great.
Friends? Even better.
Family? The world is falling apart.

It's been a hell of a wake-up call. It was sort of easy to forget for a while and pretend everything was fine, or at least getting better. But now I'm forced to go back home because my father can't deal all alone with my mother's illness. And while her being sick is always in the back of my head, seeing her makes it all the more real. I can't NOT see how skinny she's gotten and how weak she's getting.

What do we do when hope is all we've got and it's not enough anymore?

As bad as the situation is, it made me realize how great my friends are. Rallying around me, offering to go pray for my mom, making sure I always have someone to listen to me... without me having to ask. It means the world to me and it makes me love them even more. Thank you.

The L-Word I'll Never Say

Are we afraid of asking for what really matters?  I think we are.  But in an attempt to NOT generalize (which is harder than it seems) I’ll change my answer for ‘Yes, I am.’  I’ve got no qualms about arguing/asking/demanding for silly little things that wouldn’t even make a blimp on the grand scale of things, but whenever I really really want something, I turn into an all 18^th century-quiety-modest-wallflowery lady.  Please ignore the grammatically incorrect form of the previous statement. 

            I mean, if I want ridiculously expensive, impractical high heels, I find a way around my broke-student status and I buy them.  If I want to not lose contact with an old friend, I write to him inappropriately long messages so he won’t have any choice but answer and remember me.  If I want to wear… anyway, you get the picture. 

But when I really really like a guy (we’re so not ready for the L-word) I get all defensive and try to minimize everything I feel for said guy.  I turn into this person I don’t even know and don’t really like and I play the “friendship” card a bit too much, which is why most of the times, I end up “one of the guys”.  So if I’m really friendly with you, act like nothing you say or do faze me but still giggle awkwardly around you chances are I like you.  And if I throw in a couple of playful insults or roll my eyes at you, chances are, I really, really, but really like you.  God forbid I should act on my feelings and pursue that guy.  Hell would sooner freeze over (although, technically, if Dante was right, the inner circles of Hell are already frozen).  And I know, modern times and all, female empowerment is all the rage and I should so make the first move, but…  I never had to do it in the past and I’m too afraid to do it now.  It was way easier when we were younger and used to throw around the word Love carelessly. 

I don’t like to invest myself fully when it’s about something that really matters to me, because then I’ve got a lot to lose.  I’m a scared coward.  But sometimes I force myself to do it… guess that’s how I got into med school.  But really, I’ve got this weird tendency to pull back whenever things are getting serious.  Just ask my ex boyfriends.  But I'm working on it and I promise, my next relationship, I won't coward away.  I'll talk things through and won't run away when things get complicated.  I mean, it's about time I grow up, right?           

The more you try, the more you fail.  The more you try, the more you succeed.  I guess it’s all a balancing act.  Shame I’ve always sucked at it.   

Mag’s Guide on How to Let a Guy Know You Like Him (follow only if you want to ruin your chances at an healthy relationship)

1.     Don’t be afraid to roll your eyes at him.

2.     See him often and never hint at anything remotely romantic.

3.     Mock everything related to love in front of him.

4.     Talk about HIS lovelife (but only if you’re emotionally strong enough to bare it…I’m not)

5.     Give him relationship advices (but see rule #4)

6.     Never tell him about your feelings. 

So there it is…  Six simple steps to achieve complete misery. 

            Misery can be good.  You know what they say: misery loves company.   

Things I learned

1. The end of the world has happened.

2. But the world still turn on itself.

3. Life will go on.

4. It's the wrong kind of fear, and the right kind of courage.

5. I'm avoiding the unavoidable.

I don't feel like trying to be witty or something today. Because it takes everything I have to just survive being myself today. Point of the day: I FUCKING HATE CANCER.

It's spelled H-O-P-E-L-E-S-S C-A-S-E

I should throw myself out of a window, hope I survive the fall so I can drown myself in the park's pond.  That's how sick of myself I am.  I've spent 20 years living with me and so far, minus the occasional feud, I had no problems with the-girl-named-me, but lately, she's been very difficult to live with.  And I don't know how friends like P or M, for instance, can still bare to talk to me, to listen to me and I really don't get how they can say things like "no no, I'm still listening, you're not bothering me." in a very sincere and heartfelt way.  They're better people than I could ever hope to be, for sure.  So ok, maybe God made me an effing mess of a girl, but at least, he gave me some effing amazing friends.  

So to those friends, I'm sorry I'm such a mess but at least I'm entertaining. No need for tv, I'm a tv-show all by myself.  And maybe one day I'll grow a backbone and be able to reveal this BIG DARK DEEP secret of mine and my friends won't have to hear my "why can't I just say it", and my "Why am I such a coward" and my "Arghh I'm hungry, let's go eat something.".  

On a brighter side, I almost got killed by a ring today.  And by ring, yes, I mean the small, tiny and delicate thing you put on a finger.  I also caused a major electrical breakdown.  Sometimes I wonder how these things happen to me.  And I'm thinking 'surely there must be a limit to the number of stupid things I can do' and so far, I haven't reached it. So I'm pretty sure that limit is non existent.  I should start investing in a good life insurance policy.  Anyone knows one?

Agonizing Over the Smallest Things Is Always a Good Thing, Isn't It?

P: You should just be honest, and tell him.
Me: And then run to Ireland and never come back.
P: Errr...

P is a wise wise man. And he actually knows what he's talking about. So I can't even have the satisfaction of telling him 'It's easy to say, but it's not easy to do'. He's right, I know it, and he knows it. But of course, unlike me, he's too nice to rub it in my face. And regarding this situation, he should rub it in my face, considering I pushed and pushed him to be honest with his feelings in the past. So....I guess karma's a bitch.

So sorry P, you're great at giving me advices but I should probably tell you that every time I ask for advices, it's because I already know what I'm supposed to do (were I a sensible and pragmatic person, which I'm not ....anymore) but I just don't want to do it. Or I'm too scared to do it. I'd like to be fearless sometimes, but then I'd probably end up destroying the world or something like that.

One thing is weird: I've got the most amazing (female) friends ever, but whenever it comes to my lovelife, I automatically go to my guy friends (except for Sofie-M). Wonder why? Because it's obvious most of the time, they're as clueless as I am....which I guess is part of the fun. Thanks guys.

Find Me a Culprit!

As an old Psych student, I’m a firm believer in the environment dictates our development theory.  Furthermore, as an adopted child, I’ve noticed that I’ve got a lot in common with my father (sarcastic sense of humour, blatant disrespect for most formalities, a knack for photography, a stubborn streak and fiery temper, among others).  And so…whatever in my childhood is to blame for my… weird messy albeit very entertaining life? 

Let’s start with childhood heroes.  Mine ranged from the Princess Astronaut to Alice in Wonderland, which might explain the somewhat bipolar-like persona I’ve so carefully crafted over the years. 

One of the first book I remember reading is Mary Poppins.  The best nanny of all of London is actually to blame for my first brush (but unfortunately not last) with death.  Soon after watching the movie, my mother found me on the edge of the balcony with an umbrella and before she could do anything, I jumped.  Of course, the fall wasn’t that high, but for an unnaturally small 7-year-old, it was quite the ordeal.  And now… while I do get the fascination for that iconic character, if I had been Mary Poppins, those kids would have been duct-taped in the closet faster than you can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

But to be honest, and I don’t know what child psychiatrists will make of that, the one book I remember reading over and over and over again is probably Robin Hood.  I had (and still have) an unhealthy obsession with the outlawed crusader.  Of course I don’t rob the rich to give to the poor, but there is something in me that snaps whenever I’m witness to some blatant injustice.  While I might not be a efficient with a bow and arrows, to be fair, I’m pretty sure I wear the tights a lot better than he ever did.    

Another unhealthy obsession is Alice in Wonderland.  Alice is no good role models and I don’t think she strived to be.  I’m quite sure she would have been horrified to be seen as such, actually.  But nonetheless, she’s one of my childhood heroine, for the best, less and the rest.  I suppose it can account for my insatiable curiosity and weirdly spacy interrogation skills and my being unfazed in the face of insanity.  Oh and the infatuation with white rabbit and pocket watch.  Although I’m proud to say I’ve outgrown the blue-dress-white-apron-mary-jane look.   

As I grew up, it started to become a little more complex to find role models in the medias, which is completely normal, I hope.  I’m trying to distance myself of fictionally constructed characters to find my own mess of a character.  And as most of my childhood models are better fitted for children, it was time to let go of them.  But to replace them hasn’t really been an option, seeing as age-appropriate models aren’t that easy or obvious to find.  I went through the chick flicks phase, and while Cher Horowitz is an adorable ditz of a sweetheart, it’s a bit hard to conciliate my ever-the-feminist-crusader temper with damsel-in-distress persona so often displayed in movies.  No luck either in action movies.  Jean Grey is all for female empowerment but for those of us without mutants abilities, it’s not easy to channel her.  Not to mention all that control/Phoenix issue. 

I shall be a modern Emma, doomed by a lack of proper matchmaking skills and a bit too much vehement in my opinions, or a Marianne, destined to realize that to be right in the end, I had to be irresistibly wrong before, or even a Natasha, poor creature of fickle tastes but passionately resolute even in the worst of decisions.  I reckon it means I’ll ultimately get my every heart’s desires, but only after being terribly wickedly foolish and much sufferings.  Don’t quite know what the proper emotional response to that prospect.   

I’ll never be a Mother Theresa or a Marie Curie but I’ll always aspire to be a tiny bit like them.  Which is a very good thing.   

Isn't Life a Hoot?

There are many many things that make me want to rip my hair off.  

1. My mother being sick

2. Med school interviews coming up.

3. The Love Issue

4. Well three is enough at the moment, right? 

Well I now have the physical proof that this whole messy-love/med-school-admission/sick-mother situation is taking a toll on me.  I found my first grey hair.  And I’m pretty sure it’s stress-related because it started growing black and then suddenly turned grey.  How awesome is this?  I’m one heartbreak away from becoming Rogue.  And unlike her, I don’t have totally hot Wolverine to save me (or to drool over).   

         I’ve got to stop stressing.  Great.  Now I’m stressing about not stressing.  Isn’t it some sort of paradox?  And given my life-long quest for paradoxical irony, you can only imagine how thrilled I am. 

            Anyway…  I don’t want to seem like some sort of girly slip of a girl, so I went to the last hockey game before the playoffs.  We lost and I’m seriously thinking I’m some sort of bad luck charm.  Oh and here’s my only girly indulgence about the game: Evgeni Malkin is hot.  And the sweetest guy ever.  Too bad he’s like four feet taller than me.      

A Day at the Movie

This is for G, who issued the following challenge: an entire day without mentionning the words 'failed relationship', 'stupid git', 'boys suck' and 'mixed signals'. So here's a totally un-complicated report of an un-complicated day with un-complicated people.  (Ok I'm lying with the un-complicated people, but two out of three is still pretty good).  So here it is G, shame on you for doubting me. 

I went to the movies today.  Last time I went, it was an incontestably girly outing, both in the choice of movie (Confessions of a Shopaholic) and in the choice of my entourage (aka Mariame), but this time, it was all boy territory, on both parts: Watchmen and K.P.. 

 The initial awkward moment that inevitably occur when you haven’t seen someone for a while (although I’m known to be awkward no matter what so maybe I’m just making excuses) was quickly discarded as K.P. made yet another appropriate comment about me being...  how shall I put this? … vertically challenged, to which I promptly answered with a probably inappropriate and unthreatening physical threat.  Note to self: when on a moving staircase, don’t place yourself lower than the people you’re with.   

 K.P. also discovered something Caro knows very well (and my parents but they’ve known me for 20 years so…): I’m highly, very, extremely indecisive.  I’m pretty sure at one point he wanted to shake me like a banana tree (I know, my metaphors suck) and scream : MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND WOMAN!  So for further references, NO I don’t know where I want to sit (and I don’t really mind), and NO, I don’t know what I want to eat.  As long as it’s not healthy.       

 K.P. enjoyed the movie and even if he hadn’t, I’m pretty sure I was entertainment enough to cover the price of admission.  And I don’t mean entertaining in the traditional meaning i.e. witty comments and hilarious jokes, no, I mean sheer embarrassing antics.  I don’t know how you watch your movies, but I really, really, but really, get into it.  I jumped, I startled, I hissed and I, in an unfortunate childlike move, had to cover my eyes with my hands when it got too intense.  This is also why I shall never see a horror movie with a tierce person.  And I tried (tried being the key word here) to not show how sugar-addicted I am, but K.P. kept offering me candies.  It would have been rude to always say no and my mommy taught me to never be rude.  So really, if I think about it, K.P. and my mom are to blame.  Not me.  And I kept saying thank you every time he offered me one, which isn’t really necessary and kind of redundant I guess, seeing as I probably said thank you a gazillion times.  He laughed every time.                

 My biggest achievement is probably not choking to death when a stray gummy bear found its way into my oesophagus during one really awkward sex scene.  Sliding down in my seat, I ignored my first instinct which was to cough it out in an undeniably unladylike manner and I swallowed it whole, hurting my throat in the process but keeping my pride intact, and gulped down a four dollars bottle of water.

 I somehow suppressed the urge to reveal this unfortunate gummy-bear-attempt-on-my-life and along with it, my clumsy nature.  It will certainly be revealed soon enough.  Or if K.P. hasn’t figured it out in the three years we’ve known each other, he’s either not as smart as I thought or I somehow was able to fool a lot more people than I thought into thinking that I’m a normal, graceful person.  I like to think it’s the latter.

 I have to come back to the subject of that one awkward sex scene.  I don’t see myself as a sexpert (I’m sorry, I just had to use that horrible pun of a word) but here are four reasons it was so awkward (or maybe I’m just a prude):

Reason #1: They’re doing in on some sort of flying vehicle shaped like what seems to be a balloon-fish.

Reason #2: Aforementioned flying-balloon-fish-vehicle spits fire.

Reason #3 : Hallelujah is playing in the background.

Reason #4: She’s doing it with a loser.  A poetic loser, but a loser nonetheless.

 There was a bit of an argument when K.P. couldn’t find another word to describe me than ‘cute’ which prompted him to present me with a myriad of synonyms later in the evening, all of which were a bit suspicious.  Looks like Le nouveau dictionnaire de synonymes doesn’t hold all the answers.  But I think he settled on the word “mignon”.  And anyway, I don’t really mind K.P. using that term to describe me because there are worst things to be called than ‘cute’.  Like Magflumsyglucosaurus (right, Paul?) or some highly offensives words (coughmeanTimothycough).  Now I need to find a word to describe him.  Because Self-proclaimed-Nerboy-#1 is a bit long to use.         

 And I guess I should have let K.P. escort me back home because I seem to have a big WEIRDOS BAIT written all over me.  Maybe I’m a bit shy or downright prudish (as mentioned before), but I don’t think staring and stalking someone in the subway is proper social etiquette.  I’m sure it’s because I’m too unthreatening and weak-looking but there’s nothing I can do about it, short of biting everyone’s head off when they approach me.  And that’s not in my nature.  But the next one to follow me everywhere I go in the subway will find my wrath.  So beware crazy-weirdo-stalkers.  The warning is issued.                 

And So, Thank You

As every self-respecting human being, I blame everything and anything but the real culprit.  But tonight, I am at loss because I believe there is no one, nothing to blame but a matter of circumstances.  Or really, really, bad karma.  How else could I explain (beside my scholar upbringing in sciences) the fact that I find myself with more experience in drawing perfectly accurate heart diagrams than having healthy relationships?  When it comes to my love life, only one thing is sure: it’s certainly uncertain.     

But that’s all old news, and tonight we shall focus on something a little more up-to-date.  Love relationships are fun to brag/lament/torture yourself about, but there will be plenty of time for that later.  Right now friendship is what is on my mind.  I’m split between complete and utter elation and ill-placed guilt at the moment.  A dichotomy which only serves to emphasize the chaos my life has become lately.  Is it possible to be completely happy when your friends aren’t?  Since when has happy begun to mean selfish?

I can’t help but feel guilty because I got something I didn’t even really want while someone I care about didn’t, when he certainly wanted it more than I did.  I know it’s not as if I took it away from him but I find it hard to be happy about it.  The worse thing is, my friend is such a sweetheart about it, never ever trying to make me feel guilty or never resenting me.  No bitterness, only sheer, unwavering support.  Genuine support.  And I know this will make me sound like such a bitch, but here’s the awful truth: I kind of envy him.  I envy his ability to be such a great person.  He doesn’t even seem to be trying, he just is.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an awful person (at least I don’t think so but maybe I’m just delusional and people around me are all ‘what a bitch she is’) but there are times when my internal thoughts make me worry about my decency as a human being.  Maybe it’s the case for everybody and the only thing that separates us from awful jerks is whether or not we act on those terrible thoughts. 

Anyway, I guess I should fight my natural instincts and not overthink this issue.  Why do I always try to find something to torture myself over?  I mean, it’s completely natural to find me sputtering dramatic quotes that are spurred on by what is obviously sugar-induced insanity.  Really, I shouldn’t even bother to pretend to try to attempt to demonstrate normal behaviour.   I’ve got amazing friends and let’s leave it at that.  So, thank you. 

Thank you Caro, for being the maturity to my insanity.  For always being such a comforting force, and for never giving up on me, even though you’ve seen me at my worse.  Your friendship has been a safety haven for me and thanks for all the pre-anthropology donuts.  Your door is always open for me, both figuratively and literally, and I can’t believe you’re still my friend after everything you’ve seen and heard from me.  I hope you’ve realized the insanity will only get worse and… you know you can do better, right? :P  I’ll miss you.    

Thank you Mariame, for being willing to join me on my silliest quests and for listening to my every (stupid) worries and (many) love troubles.  Your insight on the most complicated stories has helped me deal with my chaotic life and the many faces you make are the most entertaining thing ever.  I love that we can talk about a lot of things, whether they’re deep, serious issues, or completely random and pointless stupidities.       

Thank you Manue, for being my friend, even after all those years: 19 years is a long time.  You’ve got such a big heart and I feel blessed to be your friend because I know you’ll always be there for me.  You’re always worrying about the people you care about and despite your heartbreaking losses, you’re still able to open your heart, which is something I really admire.  Love you, can’t wait to see you soon. 

 Thank you Nathie, for being the closest thing to a shrink I’ve ever had.  You’ve seen me at my worse, and you’ve seen me at my craziest.  You were there for my insane midnight speeches, for my “délires de française” and you’re the one person I’ve told all my darkest secrets.  I’m never afraid to tell you everything because you’re too kind to mock me, even though I deserve it most of the time.  I miss you and I’ve got one thing to tell you: MARACASSSSSSSSS. You know what that means.

 Thank you Paul for inspiring this post and for being… there.  I can always count on you to listen to my stupid problems and I’ve come to rely on you a great deal.  You’re braver than I could ever be and yet you never seem to judge me or all the stupid things I tell you.  You always know how to make me laugh and you don’t seem to mind the out-of-nowhere-things I tell you and if you had a dollar every time I say ‘I’m hungry’, you’d be rich by now.  You’re the P to our PSMM and so, thank you, dad.     

Thank you Shu, for being such a close friend.  I can tell you everything and you’ve never betrayed the secrets I’ve shared with you.  Especially that one secret I’d die if some people found out about.  I never have to censure myself with you and you’re probably the only person I let call me Maga.  You’re not always sweet with me, and you don’t always sugarcoat it and I mean it in the best of way.  You’re the S in our PSMM. 

Thank you Minh for being such a sweet person.  You always think of others before yourself and it’s something very rare nowadays.  I can’t believe how quickly we’ve bonded and that you’re such a sensitive soul.  I know you don’t always like to hear this, but you’re like this amazing big brother I never got to have.  You’re the M in our PSMM.   

Thank you Stefannie for being … simply amazing lol.  I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like, but every time I see you makes it all worthwhile.  You’re such a mature and strong presence in my life and yet you never make me feel bad about myself.  Whenever I feel bad/sad/upset/worried/happy/excited, I know I can call you and you’ll tell me what I need to hear.  That’s a priceless thing and so, thank you.  I guess you’re one reason my physics class with WILSON was worth it.  I don’t know if I told you, but I really admire your inner strength. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I really hope we'll stay friend for a very, very long time.    

Thank you Evelyne, for being THAT amazing.  You’re fun, funny, smart, an amazing musician, TALL, pretty AND you’re a great friend.  You’re too cool, I’d hate you if I didn’t love you so much lol.  You’re my favorite person to take pictures of (what can I say, my camera loves you) and to buy shoes with.  You’re part of the Sisterhood of Easter Converse, after all, and my profile pics would suck without you :P    

Thank you Timo, for being a great friend, although you do call me bitch more often than you call me Mag.  I do the same, so I guess it’s no problem.  We’ll probably duel each other someday, for the amazing Kovalev, but you’re always willing to hear my problems and you’re there for me when I need to talk about sad things.  I would not have survived physics and maths without you, so thank you.  Kovy is mine, bitch.                                 

Thank you Giao, for being there for me when I need MCDOOOO.  You truly understand the importance of Mcflurry to a balanced and happy life and that’s reason enough to keep you in my life.  You’re also an amazing friend, always willing to help me and give me advices.  We’ve suffered from a Organic-chemistry-induced depression together, and we pulled though, thank God.  Thanks for being Monkey G and Golden Arch gathering soon. 

Thank you Stephanie, for being such a cutie pie.  You’re a bit intense, and that’s great.  You know what you want, and you’re not afraid to go for it.  I have to admit, I’m a big fan of yours: how can you be so smart?  Despite how serious you are about school, it’s nice to have a girly chat with you, where we talk about boys, what else?  I’m really happy I got to know you more this year, because you’re a really great friend. 

 Thank you K.P., for being… you I guess.  And for always answering my longer-than-long messages.  And for guessing the answer to my silly little riddles.  And for always calling me cute and making inappropriate comments about my height (or lack of it, whatever).  Ok, that one I could do without.  Thank you for wasting a bit of your time to reassure me on my possible psychological disorders or “troubles de somatisation”, whatever that is.  So… I’ve pretty much been stroking everyone’s ego and I don’t want you to feel left out so here it is: you’re funny, you’re super smart, you’re sweet and a bit crazy, which is always good and you’re a great friend. 

 Thank you Maxime-FRANÇOIS, for having such awesome blond hair.  And for living in ganster Outremont.  I guess I can overlook the fact that you use a NIKON (just kidding, I love Nikon) but seriously, you’re such a Canon snubber.  Maybe one day I’ll let you touch my Hasselblad.  Right after my father allows me to touch it myself lol.  Anyway, you’re a great friend, even though you’re a bit too tall for my tastes.       

  It’s pretty clear what my problem is: I’ve been spoilt for life.  My friends are too great, too amazing.  Life is a hassle, isn’t it?  

P.S. No your rank in that list does NOT reflect on your rank in my life and I've forgotten a lot of people, I know.  Sorry, love you all.  

It’s a matter of Illusions

Illusions are powerful things.  And none so more than the ones with create.  If we’re honest with ourselves (a concept to be avoided at all cost, it seems) we’d have to admit that illusions, regardless of the meaning behind them, are well-fabricated pieces of lies and delusion.  Despite knowing this, we find it hard to let them go.  We somehow deem them worthy of the sacrifice of a  firm grasp on reality.  Which brings me to this: Is there such a thing as being so wrong on paper that it becomes right in practice?  Illusions are bad.  They cloud your judgment and make you ache for what will never be.  But they also fuel hope in a way reality and sense can’t.  Can we find that elusive and precarious balance between illusion and plain delusion? 

No, we can’t. 

Or at least, I can’t.  Maybe there is a fine line between illusion and delusion, between right and wrong, but with my warped sense of reality, everything is a blended matter.  One big piece of complications. 

At first I thought, maybe it had to do with an inner, deep sense of dissatisfaction, or something as pathological as behavioural disorder.  But now I’m leaning toward pointing the finger at the most accusable, yet less condemnable culprit: human nature.

We were genetically engineered to suffer from illusion et delusion.  It’s woven in our DNA.  A belief becomes delusional when it meets some criteria, such as when it’s held with absolute conviction, when it can’t be changed by proof to the contrary or when it’s just patently untrue.  All clear signs of DENIAL.  And denial is an instinctive human reaction (or is it just me?). 

I guess delusion is some sort of false belief based on erroneous conjecture about surrounding reality and that despite what constitutes incontrovertible evidence to the contrary, is still firmly secured in one psyche.  It’s also not commonly shared by the delusional person’s culture or subculture, although I’m afraid some of the biggest delusions of all are on an universal level.   

You know what I think?  Love is textbook delusion.  Love is arbitral illusion.       

Of course, I could be absolutely wrong about this (and it’s probably the case) but I have a severe need of sleep and Caro is too tired herself to offer her expertise. 

The good (or worse, depending on whether you’re a ‘half-full or half-empty glass’ kind of person) thing about illusions is that you inevitably end up losing them.  Quite painfully, most of the time.  Like about two years ago, I really really liked this guy.  We spent most of our time together, and I ended up filled with expectations and I daresay, illusions….half-baked notions of happily ever after would be the correct term I guess.  I also had this really great friend, with whom I shared a lot of common traits, despite the short span of time we had known each other.  I introduced them one day and of course, in a cliché turnabout, the friend and I turned out to have the same taste in guys.  I’m not one to make big scenes and demand in a dramatic voice that she stays away from him and all that Jerry-Springer kind of things but even if I were, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to do it because my great friend did everything behind my back.  She only came clean about it after the guy told me, which sort of negates the karma points she’d earned by finally telling me the truth.  But being the pushover… I mean the good friend that I am, I gave them my blessing but lost some of my illusions that night.  Looking back on it, it was a great lesson about trust and loyalty and all that I took for granted. 

Did I mention they broke up soon after that?  But of course, you knew it.  It’s textbook relationship matter.      

So here’s the verdict: I love my illusions.  But I can’t wait for the day I’ll no longer need them.  

In Which Mag Gets It Right, But Only After Getting It Terribly Wrong.

I woke up one day and had a massive panic attack because I couldn’t write anymore.  A year and a half of immersing myself into physics, chemistry, biology and other entirely too rational sciences had finally taken its toll.  Everything I wrote either sucked or sounded like a science report.  I had become someone else, too mature and too reasonable for me to like myself, or for myself to like me.  And before anyone objects, yes, I am taking far more liberties with drama for drama’s sake than I should.  Take it as an early disclaimer that I make big deals out of small things, I never say the right things at the right time and that odd things lay ahead.  Anyway, as I was saying, things were becoming too serious and so, in an wicked reverse-psychology thing, I decided the best remedy was to tackle the most serious thing of all: the meaning of life.  That’s a satisfying ambition: Attempt to find the meaning of life, and fail at it.   

All joking aside, this project was born before I even knew something was happening and has since developed a mind of its own, mercilessly thwarting any attempts at letting reality and sanity come in the way of Life.  It started quite innocently, actually.  Something happened and I didn’t want it to become another fleeting moment.  I needed tangible proof that something as wonderful and as cherished had occurred.  That’s when I decided that…  I’d like to prove that my painful time as an anthropology/psychology student wasn’t just a waste of time and that it gave me a better understanding of human nature.  It’s a rather pretentious ambition but here it is: I hereby auto proclaim myself social/love anthropologist.