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hedgehog-moss · 3 months

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I was talking with a friend the other day about how I was fascinated with American school life when I was a teen because it seemed so different from how things are in my country (I knew about US high schools thanks to Hollywood, an accurate and trustworthy source) and we talked about which aspects of US schools felt foreign or strange to us and one thing I brought up was, how American teens only seemed to have like 15min for lunch (I had 1h30 here in France), as evidenced by the cafeteria scenes (no one seemed to eat a proper four-course meal? I definitely never saw a separate cheese course), and I was like, I envied a lot of stuff about US schools but not this

... and I went looking in my old diaries to see if I ever wrote about this, and you know what? I was wrong. I did envy their school lunches which, like almost everything about US schools, felt intriguing and different and cool. The reason middle school-me thought American school lunches were superior to French ones is because, since American teens in TV shows only seemed to get like 4 chicken nuggets and a milk carton for lunch, their lunch tray was very light and they could hold it with one hand under it, the other hand in their pocket or holding their bag strap on their shoulder all casual-like. Sometimes there was no tray, even!

I envied these American teenagers for their lunchtime nonchalance. I would have liked to handle lunch in this cool-cat way but my French lunch tray being loaded with 4 different heavy and breakable plates, I had to hold it carefully with both hands. In my view this was unfair as the hindrance of governmental nutrition guidelines made French students look like uptight nerds, unable to strut around the cafeteria with one hand in our pocket like we didn’t care. Same for the absence of lockers in our schools, we had to carry all our books on our back all day like studious turtles whilst the beautiful 25 year old American teens on my television casually leant against their lockers chatting with friends then strolled around school with just a couple of books tucked under their arm like they were in Dead Poets Society. Thank god there was an ocean between us, imagine a French kid entering a US school cafeteria carrying 3 binders and 5 textbooks in their big rucksack and holding their tray with two hands like a complete loser

Note that these comparisons are quite worthless since I don't know what US school life / food is like in the real world (I imagine it varies a lot!)—I just find it funny to re-read old diaries and discover what was important to kid-me. Discussing these little cultural differences gleaned from US TV series, adult!me is like "yeah I remember being intrigued & envious about a lot of things! Not their school lunches though, they didn't look balanced and nutritious"—meanwhile middle school-me, focused on what mattered, was like, imagine what we could be... imagine being able to hold your lunch tray with 1 hand instead of 2 thus accessing a realm of coolness unfathomable to us in our backward country

#i'm glad i used to spend hours writing diaries... as a kid i never thought i'd enjoy re-reading them later i thought it'd be too mortifying #but no. i'm glad i wrote down for posterity the 4-page-long detailed account of how i embarrassed myself in front of my crush in 2005 #crucial historical document. to me

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pearlydewydrops · 20 days

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This past week I have been cleansing myself. For three consecutive days I drank a mug of peppermint tea, washed and moisturised my face, bought a new lip balm, cleaned my room, read two books at a time, and, on the first of september, I got my period.

Normally, I would be in complete despite over this (because starting a ‘ber’ month bleeding is torturous and unacceptable when its one of the top 4 best months). But, this week, I've felt like this has been a refresher - like a rebirth to my *pretty miserable* year. I've been taking more photos and I've been consuming, not just skimming through, but really consuming the art I watch and read.

On Tuesday morning, I thus far read up to page 103 of Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel and page 21 of Too Much of Life, which includes the entries from Clarice Lispector's old newspaper column.

From what I can recollect, Still Born follows two friends, Laura and Alina, who have always deprecated the concept of having children — an arduous trap that confines women to a sole devotion to their blood family and from discovering more at too young an age. However, later on in their 30s, Alina and her partner decide they want to have a baby. After a taxing struggle to do so, she gets pregnant but later finds out her baby is dead inside her stomach. When the time arrives for her to be delivered, her brain will be immobile, and they'll end up having to cremate her soon after. To add onto this grief, a big reason as to why she’s going through with the pregnancy would be to increase the unlikely chances of getting pregnant again. Despite this, Alina, following her counsellor's advice, still wants to prepare all the things she would've done with her child; listen to the playlist she made for her baby Ines; create a photo album of her pregnancy; write down in a diary all about her own life-story leading up to Ines’ birth. Laura finds this illogical. 'Why did she want to get to know her daughter if she was going to die straight away?' Commiting to this not-so-funny bit would only accelarate her grief for her child - a yearning that would ultimately lead to further despair and torment, especially if another pregnancy was implausible. But then she figured that, after all, love is illogical, so why wouldn't latching onto what remains of her baby be the most logical thing to do?

"Many of us do the same when we fall in love with someone who is very ill, or who lives far away, or with someone involved in another love story that has no room for us. Who has not plunged headlong into an irreconcilable love affair knowing it has no future, and clinging to a glimmer of hope as flimsy as a blade of grass? Pourquoi durer est-il mieux que brûler? wondered Roland Barthes, sceptically. Love and common sense are not always compatible. In general, one tends to choose intensity no matter how little time it lasts, and in spite of all that it puts at risk." - Page 101, Still Born

A piece of writing that stood out to me in Clarice's column was about a program self-titled Chacrina, the name of the show host and Brazillian comedian. As of 1967, it was the most popular show in Brazil. Clarice describes it as a 'talent show for amateurs', moreso a humiliation ritual towards the participants that the audience, Chacrina, and the participants themselves can't get enough of.

"The man wears absurd outfits, the contestant performs his or her party piece, and if he or she fails to please, then Chacrinha sounds his hooter and sends them packing. There’s something sadistic about Chacrinha, you sense that he gets a certain pleasure out of blowing his hooter. And he repeats the same jokes over and over—does the man simply lack imagination or is he obsessed?" - Page 20, Too Much of Life

The show creates an uncanny unity among Brazillians of all backgrounds and ages (even up to 70). The contestants frequently look undernourished, yet the audience emanate a wave of disconcern, and an unwavering support even. A support for not the contestants, but for the game. 'And in every one of them you see the same longing to appear on television, to show off, to become famous, even at the cost of being humiliated and making complete and utter fools of themselves.’ Clarice concludes the entry expressing disappointment towards the Brazillian public and a confusion towards the widespread popularity of Chacrinha.

"There are money prizes for those who guess the number of honks Chacrinha will give, at least that’s what happened on the one program I watched. Is it the chance of winning some money, like with the lottery, that makes the program so popular? Or are we just a mean-spirited people? Is there a sadistic streak in the viewers which allows them to take pleasure in Chacrinha’s sadism?" - Page 21, Too Much of Life

With the currency of social media present day, the phenomenon that was Chacrinha’s popularity has transformed into an ubiquitous normality across Tiktok, Instagram, Twitter and Youtube. Now more than ever, people will do anything to get famous, whether its for one minute or what they think will be longlasting. I've always percieved this willingness to be globally demeaned something that originated from social media, perhaps from Youtube 'prank' videos (that was all most definitely a fraud). But now I think it’s just human nature. If an entry that Clarice wrote in 1967 is so reflective of the now of social media, just how far will our vulnerability and openness go to feel valued by the public? Is it all in the name of self-expression or is it the rewards we reap from such self-expression?

During Tuesday, I completed my first ever VET course on first aid. Something to add to my resume (when I finally finish it...)! We learnt how to aid a sprained or fractured muscle; treat anaphylaxis; help a person with asthma; relieve a person who's choking; bandage snake bites; and how to perform CPR with and without a defibrillator. I believe a defibrillator shocks the person if they're in cardiac arrest and their heart isn't pumping? Truthfully, I didn't retain any of the information from the course, so if I add this to my resume, I sincerely hope no one needs an EpiPen in Cold Rock Ice Creamery. I'm just glad I didn't have to do mouth-on-mouth CPR with the human-sized doll. The things I do remember is that you connect one pad of the defribillator to a teenager or adult's chest and the other to the lower side of their stomach; a baby only needs two pumps from the index and middle finger of your hands and one tiny breath when undergoing CPR; and you have to bandage all the way from the top to the bottom of the arm if a person has a snake bite. At least this course ensured I'm never doing anything medical as an occupation.

On Wednesday, I was many hours late to SYC because, admittedly, the activity just seemed more strenuous than it actually was in the moment. My attendance has also been far too low at the community centre, which only made me feel worse. I'm very appreciative and relieved that the people who work there are okay with my egregious attendance. I just need to get over it and take the bus in the morning.

After a Thursday of SYC, I went to the Royal Show to hang out with my friends. My bus trip to the showgrounds had some complications but I got there. I was there from 1:30 to 5-something I believe, and I took lots of photos from daylight to nighttime. My photos aren't great though — I still require plenty of improvement, which reminds me that I need to start reading the photography book I was given. There was nothing much that I observed to write about, as I was too engrossed with my friends. The friends were obviously the best part. Other interactions that come back to me were two tightly-knit couples in their 60s-70s sitting on a bench together. The two old ladies on the bench were scrolling and typing on their phones as they talked to each other, while the two old men were pointing in different directions, probably discussing the different areas they could go during the show. I wondered how long they'd all known each other, and hoped that maybe they lived out my 'The O.C.' fantasy of being four friends who'd known each other since their teen years. I also remember a mother holding four or five containers of cotton candy in a bag with one child on her back and her son next to her. The flavours were things that were personally sickening to my appetite; things like green apple, watermelon, pink cherry, bubblegum or maybe it was blue raspberry. I reckoned the mother ate two bites max of each when they got home, and I hope that those two kids were able to eat the rest over time. Or maybe I just assume that anyone above the age of 35 are disgusted by overly sweet things and maybe the mother did have her fair share of the cotton candy. I don't know! But, overall, the experience was very fun.

Friday was very uneventful. I ate leftover Korean food for lunch and got 30-40 minutes into Blue Velvet until things started to get weird (if you know you know I guess) while my sister was heating up the rest of the leftovers. It always pisses me off whenever people are in the kitchen while I'm eating for some reason, so now I was even more pissed off because I couldn't watch the rest of the movie! I say 'the rest of the movie' not just that part of the movie because I know the remaining minutes get increasingly sexually weird because hahahaha these filmmakers just LOVE Freud and his theories on psychosexual dreams.

Out of everything that happened this week, my curiosity sadly leavened most by reading, rather than my outdoor experiences. However, I think the balance of both kept my mind active and running, which is what matters most. I think my mind and writing is deteriorating as I continue to, so I'm leaving this entry as it is. I hope to finish Blue Velvet sometime and actually form some answer to the questions I've been asking myself on here. But for now, I'm learning to be in the moment and I'll ponder on the irrationalities of love laterrr bye!!

‘It might be hard to believe it now, but I’m sure you’ll feel OK again one day. You have to wait for time to pass.’ ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Right now, the only thing that excites me is getting to know Inés, touching her, looking at her little face. I don’t care what happens after that.’ - Laura and Alina in Still Born

(1/09/2024 - 5/09/2024)

#my rare diary entries #my reading diary #my writing diary #reading & writing #reading #writing

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