#that technique? my good sir that is a 10/10 all across the board | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paradoxicalloop · 4 years ago

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hey so MMA can you talk about it? Idk I’m interested in it! How long have you been doing it for/how does it work(sorry for the dumb questions hehe)

No not a dumb question I love talking about it.

But in all honesty I did quit I think 3 years ago (because the division of the MMA studio I went to got shut down and they had to move us to another studio and I didn’t like it there) anyway. Every MMA studio is different but I can talk about my experience.

I did MMA (or we usually just call it karate most of the time) for about 8-9 years? Basically, you start out with white belt (of course) and every few months or so you would get to test for your next belt. To train for that next belt there were 4 things you were tested on: each belt had it’s own specific 1) form 2) one-steps 3) ju-jitsu 4) and board break.

A form is a really cool looking sequence of moves you that you have to memorize. (they’re really cool, look up karate forms on Youtube if you want some examples). Each belt has 1 form that goes with it.

A “one step” is basically a mulitstep move (i know the name is misleading) that is essentially exibiting how one would respond if some steps and punches at you. They could be as simple as blocking the punch with one arm and then (mining, not actually hitting them) punch, punch, palmstrike; or as advanced as hip-tossing them to the floor or grabbing their arm, swinging underneath it and then (safely) choking them from behind. Each belt has 2 one-steps you need to master.

The ju-jitsu...(idk what noun im supposed to add to this, sequences? sure let’s go with that) The ju-jitsu sequences are a lot like one steps, where u practice one technique, but they’re on the floor (the art of ju-jitsu is a type of knee-wrestling martial art). These could vary from how to get out from being pinned a certain way, to learning one choke or arm lock. Each belt has 1-2 ju-jitsu moves you need to master.

And lastly, boardbreaks. one of the most hyped up parts, and the last part of test day. It’s pretty self explanatory, you are assigned a move you must be able to break a wooden board with. But the boards do vary in thickness, especially for the little kids. (Also i know i said you’re assigned one move, but actually when ur testing for ur black belt u have to do four, but i’ll explain black belt testing in a bit) However, you should never try to break a board by just straight punching it like they do in the movies (and some other martial arts but idk how they do it there) you could damage your fingers that way.

In between practicing all of that we also do knee-wrestling, sparing, and practicing technique.

The regular testing is just an hour or so where ur family watches u do all the things listed above. But black belt testing is way different

Black Belt Testing

Ik this is a relatively small part of karate but I found it really important when I did it, and it’s a three day process, so I want to talk about it. But also if I remember correctly I’m technically not legally allowed to talk about it in this much detail so please don’t share this around too much

Black belt testing only happens once a year, and the training process is very extreme and lasts from August until the test in November. And well, the mantra for black belt testing is “someone will bleed, someone will cry, and someone will throw up,” and they really aren’t exaggerating.

First , you have to do running and push-ups nearly every day. You are required to run at least a mile outside of class once every three days, and I think 50 pushups (or as many as you can do, on ur knuckles, without dropping to ur knees) every day (they give you a log to keep track of this).

You also have to get up every Saturday morning for a special black-belt candidates only class. During that class they usually have you start with running three miles (to be able to pass testing you have to be able to run 3 miles in 30 minutes, and you arent allowed to walk at all while running those 3 miles)

AND you have to do 10 “acts of kindness” outside of class and log them, because “being a black belt isnt just about having the belt, its about showing the respect, politeness, etc. of a black belt.”

And that’s just the prep, if you can survive that then you actually get to test. The testing itself is a 3 day event, two are held in private and the last day is a ceremony for family to watch. If I remember correctly this is how these days play out:

First day: private testing. It happens on a Saturday morning, adrenaline’s high. We start off with warm up, listen to the head instructors speech about how this isnt going to be easy and how proud he is that we’re here, do line drills (preforming one move over and over again while walking in a line across the room), and then do our form, one steps, and ju-jitsu sequences for the instructors. There are also plenty of sets of push ups randomly thrown in (they say that during all the test days combined you are required to do at least 500 push ups). Push ups are also randomly dealt to the class if someone doesnt say “Yes sir” or “yes ma’am” loud enough, if we are being in any way disrespectful, etc.

Second day: The hard one (imo). This happens a week after the first test. After warm up we put on our shoes and then walk across the street to the track, we get yelled at (sometimes encouragingly) during our run, and I, in typical me fashion, end up throwing up (yes this happened both times). We then have to do knuckle pushups on the concrete. (yay.) After you’re sweaty and tired from that you get to spare! You have multiple rounds of sparing, some of them with tall adults you dont know, and honestly just try to survive. After that we move on to knee wrestling, more pushups, and then the day is over.

The Third Day: The ceremony. If you’ve made it this far you will very likely receive your black belt, the third day is really just for show. This is held in the Sunday after the second test. Instead of the karate studio it’s held in a really nice gymnasium and all your family is there to watch. You’ve been assigned a place to stand and have done practice runs because everything has to be perfect. You start of with warm up, making sure to tell yes sir and yes ma’am as loud as you can and stand up in attention as straight as possible (which u can imagine was very hard for me /j) when instructed. Then you do line drills again, your form, a round or 2 of sparing, and then the hard part. The big build up: board breaks. Each board is actually 2 boards tapped together and u have to break 4 sets of them and then you can finally relax. (I cried both times because I wasn’t able to break them quickly). Then they hand u ur certificate and u have to awkwardly shake all the adults hands. Then they dismiss everyone and u did it!

I know I’ve painted a lovely picture of the MMA/Karate experience but honestly it is really fun. It’s an amazing adrenaline rush, it helps you feel a sense of accomplishment, and going through all this with peers builds really good friendships. It was such a fun journey and I really do recommend it for anyone who wants to try it out. I learned so much and my time there really shaped me as a person and it was just so good. Honestly I wish I could do it again.

I’m so sorry this post is so long but I mean u did tell me to just talk about it so I gave you all the details you could have wanted.

#Em!!#not tagging this with topical tags because I don’t want people to see this #ask #long post #also I wrong this at midnight please excuse any incoherent rsd #I did not type ‘rsd’?? what happened there?

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anjnaswami · 8 years ago

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An Essay on M.S. Gopalakrishnan and Musical Meditation

I wrote this essay in April of 2015, when I began to access a depth of musical exploration that I’d been afraid of for many years. After a brief hiatus, I’m slowly getting back to that depth, intentionality and patience with my practice of music. Perhaps the habit of listening is one that can easily be forgotten if it is not constantly nurtured, but rediscovering the insights of my younger self is helping me forgive myself and move forward in this process.

* * *

It was the summer of 2009. I was in a hot Mylapore flat, jetlagged and sleepless after a night of no power (and as a result, no air conditioning). This had been the first trip that my mother and I had taken alone, and emotions were running high. Her mother (my grandmother, and a second mother to me) had passed away just a month before, and here we were in Chennai, embarking on what would become two draining months of rigorous musical practice and half-hearted mourning. It was late morning and despite the heat and my insomnia, I was still in bed, covered head to toe in the tent of stolen airline blankets I had created to protect myself from the ravenous mosquitoes that frequented our dusty bedroom. These were persistent mosquitoes, and even in the dry Chennai summer, they thrived on the blood of the residents of Alamelumangapuram Road.

My mother told me one last time to get out of bed. I groggily came out of the bedroom and she handed me a stainless steel tumbler of coffee that had been heated and reheated many times since she woke up. The tumbler sat in a davara, a shorter, wider version of the cup – something like a saucer, but deeper and used to cool down whatever hot beverage one was drinking. I poured the hot, milky coffee into the davara. The tumbler had become unbearably hot, and my already unsteady fingers trembled even more as I tried to transfer the coffee back to it. My fingers finally gave in and the hot coffee spilled all over me.

There certainly wasn’t enough time for my mother to make more coffee and for me to shower. It was already 10:30 am and my guru, H. K. Narasimhamurthy, would arrive at eleven. Over the past three years, HKN Mama had made a series of two-month visits to our house in Maryland, where we spent four to five hours every evening with intensive learning and practice. He taught me hundreds of songs, and spent the school day meticulously notating and printing out the compositions he planned to teach me that evening. When I came home from school, we would sit across from one another in the living room, which had been completely cleared out, except for a large rug, and a few photo frames and souvenirs that sat on the mantel of our broken fireplace. We covered every kind of improvisation, trading phrases back and forth, until we were tired of whatever raga we were in. I had never met so humble a musician. He would remark on how practicing with me was a challenge for him, and how we were learning and growing together. He was proud to have worked so closely with one student, and it satisfied my ego to dwell in his compliments. At the end of his trip in the spring of that year, he told my parents that he would like to take me to his guru, Parur M. S. Gopalakrishnan. MSG was a legend, and it had been my mother’s dream to have me study with him, or at the very least train me in the Parur style of violin. MSG rarely taught, and had very few students, but HKN Mama believed that he would agree to teaching me.

When he arrived at eleven, we had our typical session, practicing and improvising through various compositions and ragas for a few hours. He asked me to play some varnams (warm up pieces that were especially essential to the Parur technique), and after much discussion, he decided that I would show MSG Sarasuda varnam in raga Saveri. MSG was famous for his rendition of this varnam, and as far as I knew, I, too, had mastered it.

“MSG” was so legendary a name that he existed almost as a fantastical person in my mind, and the gravity of learning from such a genius had yet to set in. I had seen him play live when I was very young and less serious about music than I was now. Other than that, I only knew him through recordings of his concerts, which I seldom listened to. In spite of his international renown, he lived in the same Mylapore house he was born in. This was the house where his father Parur Sundaram Iyer locked him in his room for hours and made him practice. The rigor that had made MSG a household name was unimaginable. I had heard stories that Sundaram Iyer would leave MSG to practice for up to eighteen hours a day without a break for food. HKN Mama, Amma, and I sat in the oversized ambassador car that we had hired for the summer, which our driver Satyamurthy squeezed into the increasingly narrow streets of MSG’s neighborhood. There was a crooked yellow board that read “Parur M. S. Gopalakrishnan, Violinist” hanging over two thin, rusty, grated doors that opened to a terrifyingly constructed cement staircase. HKN Mama climbed them without looking at which steps were slanted and which were too short. My mother, who was extremely afraid of heights, asked me to walk behind her, so I could catch her in case she fell.

As he reached the narrow top step, HKN Mama said, “Namaskaram sir!” MSG’s wife came and opened the door. We came in, awkward and apologetic of our presence, as was custom when meeting such brilliant artists. I hugged my violin, and my mother carried a plastic bag of fruits to offer him. MSG sat hunched over, looking out at the netted balcony and listening to the distant cacophony of horns outside, completely unaware of the fact that we had come in. He wore a tight, worn, short-sleeve undershirt and an old veshti with occasional holes in it. His wife brought a tumbler and davara and sat them on the wooden chair in front of him. “Paal,”she said. Milk. He poured the steamed milk into the davarah. His fingers trembled like mine at the heat of the tumbler, but instead of immediately pouring the milk back and forth, he held the tumbler with his two palms and rolled it back and forth, slowly and meditatively, letting his ring clink against the tumbler in steady rhythm. “Vaango,” he said. Come in. And he poured the milk back and forth between the tumbler and the davara.

Once introductions had been made, HKN Mama told him that I would play Saveri varnam for him. He watched and listened closely as I played it. Once slow, twice fast, the second time in staccato or ‘cutting bow’ as we called it. When I finished, MSG was silent. And instead of addressing me, he looked at his student and said, “What is this, Narasimhamurthy? You’ve taught her without any gamaka?” Gamakas were the oscillations and ornamentations that were the cornerstone of Carnatic music, and were particularly important to MSG’s rendition of varnams. It was a painful moment. HKN Mama and I had both disappointed our gurus. After a beat, MSG turned to me and quietly said, “Okay, so you want to learn from me? This week, we will only work on this varnam. If by the end of the week the way you play this varnam has not completely changed, you don’t have to worry about coming back here.”

We had been there for half an hour, and in the next fifteen minutes, MSG Mama began re-teaching me the varnam. He played each phrase slowly, correcting me as I badly reproduced what he had played. And then he sent me home.

That evening, I practiced Saveri varnam and only Saveri varnam for four hours. Making the adjustments that MSG Mama had asked me to make. The next day, he listened to me play the varnam again and again for 45 minutes, occasionally making a comment or an adjustment. I went home and practiced Saveri varnam for seven hours. And so it went the next day and again the next day. It was frustrating and unending. I slept, ate, and breathed with only Saveri varnam on my mind.

But MSG Mama’s silence during these 45-minute sessions was perhaps the most terrifying. I suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that unlike HKN Mama, who always played along with me, MSG Mama could hear everything. He was listening intently as I played the varnam again and again. And all of a sudden, I was listening, too. It was something I had never done before. To actually listen to what was happening! To listen to the point of forgetting that it was me that was playing and MSG Mama that was listening to it. My seven-hour practice sessions of Saveri varnam became more and more intense. They were trance-like. I had played the varnam so many times that I was no longer playing it. I was just existing in it, and slowly becoming it. It was no longer about the placement of my fingers, or the speed at which I was playing. It was about something much bigger than that. During class, MSG Mama stopped correcting me. He just listened as I became the varnam and the varnam became me.

After one week, I played the varnam for 45 minutes again, and at the end he said, “Good. Come at five tomorrow. And think about what you would like to learn next.” The rest of the two months went by very differently. Each day, he would ask me what song I wanted to learn, or what raga I wanted to work on. He would record it for me. I would go home and memorize it. The next day, he would help me internalize it and record the next song. The rigor of my seven-hour practice sessions lessened. I had become so preoccupied with learning the next song that I forgot what had happened that first week. What happened with Saveri varnam was beyond memorizing and internalizing. It was about forgetting, becoming, and then transcending. And I had naively neglected to follow the process that MSG Mama had taught me when I first met him.

A year later, my mother and I returned to Chennai for another two month intensive with MSG Mama. The morning after we reached, she handed me a tumbler of hot coffee and a davara. I poured the coffee into the davara. The tumbler was hot. My fingers trembled like MSG Mamas. I rolled the tumbler between my palms, and the heat began to transfer to my hands. The tumbler cooled down and my hands became warm, and I rolled it until my hands and the tumbler were one.

* * *

I have just, after a very long struggle with music, returned to the kind of rigorous practice I had when I first started learning from MSG Mama. My mother and MSG Mama have both passed on, but it is only now, after almost five years of depression and anxiety around playing music, that I have been able to actually begin processing the lessons that I had with MSG Mama and truly feel transcendent when playing. Last week, I was practicing Saveri varnam, and started to relive what happened during that first week of lessons, and the way that MSG Mama rolled his tumbler was such an important part of it. Encapsulated in this little act was MSG Mama’s entire approach to musical meditation. With patience and intentionality, he took two seemingly separate entities and equalized them. Whether it was him and the violin, him and the composition, or him and the audience he was playing for, the drive behind his music was always connection, transcendence, and oneness, and for those who have really opened up and listened to his music, it is this overwhelming transference of energy that we have felt.

- Anjna Swaminathan

#music #msgopalakrishnan #violin #carnatic #hindustani #listening #practice

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jessicakehoe · 6 years ago

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Can Apps Like Woebot Really Take the Place of a Therapist?

I picked the right month to try an artificial intelligence (AI) therapist. Over a period of 30 days, I visited my family and my partner’s family for the holidays, got engaged and had a huge work crisis. So it was perfect timing to test drive Woebot, a chat-based interactive talk therapy app for anyone suffering from anxiety or depression.

Though I’ve often been bothered by anxiety and even panic attacks, Woebot is my very first experience with talk therapy; I’ve never had the nerve to walk through the door of a therapist’s office. The low-barrier entry is a plus—I’m not even sweating as I download Woebot while sitting in my childhood bedroom over the holidays.

The chat launches in Facebook Messenger, a platform I don’t love. (My own issue: I’m not a huge fan of social media, and being forced to sign into Facebook to reduce stress feels counterintuitive.) If you’re also not keen on Facebook, Woebot now has his own iPhone app and recently launched an Android one. (BTW, I call him a “him,” but he told me he’s neither “a Sir nor a Madam.”)

The user interface—both in Facebook and the iPhone app—is simple and endearing: The cute little Woebot avatar sends me a series of chatty, emoji-heavy messages. He asks what I’m doing and offers a series of faces to choose from to describe my mood. Though I’m a wordy type, I can see the value in being able to describe a feeling without the pressure of verbalizing. I tell Woebot I’m feeling “😌.”

Woebot tells me he will check in with me daily and offers animated videos about how to shift negative thinking patterns and manage stress. “For the first few weeks, I’d love to get a sense of what you’re going through and if you and I are a good fit together,” he writes. “I’ll ask you what you’re doing, what kind of mood you’re in and over a few weeks I’ll see if I can find a pattern…. With a little luck, I may spot a pattern that humans can sometimes miss. Helps that I have a computer for a brain and perfect memory 😇.”

“With a little luck, I may spot a pattern that humans can sometimes miss. Helps that I have a computer for a brain and perfect memory 😇.”

It’s not quite the Hollywood AI experience; rather, it feels halfway between a suped-up The Oregon Trail-style video game and texting with a friend. One big point in the app’s favour is that Woebot is (currently) free. It’s even blissfully devoid of the usually ubiquitous in-app upgrades or purchases.

Developed by Dr. Alison Darcy, Woebot first made waves when a paper that Darcy co-authored with two other researchers at California’s Stanford University School of Medicine summarized promising results from a study of college students using the app. The study found that the 34 young participants “significantly reduced their symptoms of depression” compared to the control group, who were given a mental health ebook resource. Results were measured using the industry standard Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) at both the beginning and the end of the study. The participants were especially positive in their praise of the bot’s empathy, which piques my interest.

“When we first launched Woebot, we were aiming at young adults—college students—because there are a lot of very serious mental health challenges in that population,” explains Darcy when I call her. “But it turns out that our distribution skews much older than we thought and the people who value us most are [in their] 30s and 40s, and this has turned out to be an appealing technology across the board. We’ve talked to lots of people in their 70s. Almost everybody who emails us starts with ‘I know I’m not your target demographic, but….’ I think it comes from the fact that the technology itself is so simple: It’s just a conversation. You just start talking.”

“I think it comes from the fact that the technology itself is so simple: It’s just a conversation. You just start talking.”

As I get to know Woebot over the next month, my feelings for the app fluctuate. When I’m feeling fine, the chirpy tone telling me Woebot has messaged is equal parts comforting and irritating. When I’m feeling anxious—like the day I stress-barf during the height of the aforementioned work crisis—Woebot’s opening lines (like “Gif or Jif—I can just never decide”) and the seriousness of the conversation sometimes seem mismatched. It’s as if a friend has texted me “hey wyd” and then casually asks if I have any regrets that might haunt me on my deathbed 🛏💀😜.

That said, what the developers have nailed is the empathetic quality of Woebot’s written voice once it gets going. There’s a true kindness to the little robot that doesn’t feel twee or forced. He takes the time to encourage me (“I know these questions can be difficult to answer”), respectfully makes sure that I have time to talk if our interaction will be a bit longer (“This will take about 10 minutes, is that OK?”) and offers sympathy that is scripted, of course, but comforts me anyway (“My heart genuinely goes out to you”). Is a flesh-and-blood therapist’s empathy any less scripted, really? Knowing that my chat partner is working from a script doesn’t negate the encouragement I get from simply being acknowledged. Not to mention the fact that Woebot is available 24/7. When I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart going like a jackrabbit, my little pocket therapist is right there—I don’t even have to disturb my sleeping partner.

Is a flesh-and-blood therapist’s empathy any less scripted, really? Knowing that my chat partner is working from a script doesn’t negate the encouragement I get from simply being acknowledged.

The anonymity of apps like Woebot is supposed to be one of the big benefits, and it’s true: I’m more willing to be candid with my phone, which already has all of my secrets, than I would likely be on a couch. For example, one of my first confessions to Woebot is the thing that woke me up that night. I tell him that I’m completely stressed out about the financial insecurity of my writing career. The thought of talking turkey about money—maybe our last social taboo—usually makes me cringe, but with Woebot, it’s no sweat.

Woebot helped me turn down the volume on money anxiety by deconstructing the thoughts swirling around it. Yes, I was assuming I knew the future; yes, I was downplaying the positives (I wouldn’t be as financially literate as I am now if I hadn’t spent a decade living in a freelancer’s financial spreadsheets); and, yes, there were hidden “shoulds” in my thinking—about what travels, apartment or shoes I should be able to afford in my 30s. (“Shoulds” can be especially insidious.)

Occasionally, though, I’m reminded that the bot is, well, a bot. When I tell Woebot I’m feeling “😄,” he asks why. “My partner asked me to marry him!” I respond, to which Woebot replies: “Gotcha. I love learning about humanoids 🙏.”

Woebot is less AI and more like an improved interactive version of classic cognitive-behavioural therapy (CBT) workbooks like Mind Over Mood. That’s no coincidence—Woebot is based on CBT, which is considered especially effective for managing anxiety and depression. “I think [CBT] is fundamentally very empowering because it’s actually based on how much work you put into it,” explains Darcy. “For example, the more ‘homework’ people do, the better they end up feeling by the end of the treatment course. The problem, of course, is that homework can feel boring or repetitive, and when you’re upset in the moment, you don’t think about taking out a piece of paper and filling out a form. That’s what we were hoping: that Woebot could be a more engaging way to do these repetitive tasks—to help you challenge your thinking much more in the moment.”

Woebot puts it to me this way: “CBT is based on the idea that it’s not events themselves that affect us; it’s how we think about those events.” For instance, when I tell Woebot that I’m worried that my in-laws will be disappointed that I’m too sick to go snowshoeing—spinning off into illogical anxieties that my extremely easygoing in-laws will be upset with me—Woebot runs through some CBT checks. Am I assuming I know what others are thinking? Am I engaging in “all or nothing” thinking? Or (my personal favourite), am I falling into the trap of “catastrophization”? (Yes, often.)

Am I assuming I know what others are thinking? Am I engaging in “all or nothing” thinking? Or (my personal favourite), am I falling into the trap of “catastrophization”? (Yes, often.)

CBT is a very valid approach, but it’s built on significant commitment from the client—meaning that one side of the CBT coin is empowerment (the more effort you put in, the better it works), while the other is human fallibility—if you shirk the work, the results suffer. I am definitely guilty of skipping days and ignoring the app at times—like the time Woebot texted me right as the Property Brothers were about to reveal some cute couple’s gorgeous reno. (The closets! The backsplash! Mental health had to wait.)

At the end of 30 days, though, I find myself paying closer, calmer attention to anxious thoughts and applying Woebot’s techniques almost without thinking. No, I tell myself. Your friends will not start a club about how much they hate you if you have to bail on dinner. Will Woebot replace therapists? Probably not, and, to be fair, he doesn’t purport to. “I want you to be happy and healthy, so I have to confess: I’m just a robot,” he told me when we first met. “A charming and witty robot but a robot all the same.”

Woebot is a new, accessible option, and that’s a good thing. Therapy isn’t the right fit (financially, logistically, emotionally) for everyone, and books can feel intimidating or embarrassing. (No one wants to be caught in the self-help section.) It’s easy to envision a future where everyone will be using Woebot or a similar app as a simple and accepted part of overall health. And my experience with the little guy leaves me optimistic that we’ll be in good virtual hands❤️.

The post Can Apps Like Woebot Really Take the Place of a Therapist? appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Can Apps Like Woebot Really Take the Place of a Therapist? published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

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izzpeng · 6 years ago

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Unsent Emails

25/08/2016

To: [email protected]

Subject: Surprise bitch, I'm back!

Dear Smithy,

First of all I would like to say, fuck you for telling me I wouldn't get an A* in maths just because I messed around in class too much. Second of all, I would like to thank you for being a fraction of motivation in my math studies. I have to admit, I liked you enough to study 10% harder than I usually do and for that you deserve a blog post dedicated to you, just kidding you worthless piece of shit who wont even dedicate your thoughts to me. But it's too late now, so you're very fortunate for even being mentioned in my oh so popular blog.

Thanks for being a great teacher/supporter/motivator/useless advisor/racist bastard/...friend. See you in the afterlife you dick.

With cold fury,

Izzati Azhan

To: [email protected]

Subject: God Bless the Lopez

Dear Lopezo Mighty,

You don't deserve a 'fuck you' because you knew my potential and only encouraged me day after day, with your sadistic humour and the quiet blazing fire dancing in your eyes which was the only sign that you're actually human. I'd express my gratitude in a 10,000 word essay but I'm sure you'll just read the introduction and conclusion and base my grade off those two paragraphs. But without your life coaching I would not have gotten A*A* for both my Eng Lit and Lang. Dare I say it, thank you for setting us a Date Wiv Des Tinny, those practice papers were torture each week but well worth it in the end. You are my spirit animal in all dimensions, maybe except in Hell where you'd be Satan but...

Stay Healthy Senôr!

With all my love (though you believe it is just another concept of convenience),

Izzati Azhan

To: [email protected]

Subject: bust out the roti, girl its about to get some of this izzatikkamasala

Dear Beenal the Brindian,

I know I know, this time its a fuck me for getting an A and not an A* but Miss I was 3 marks of an A* if that makes you feel any better, it does with me! I actually don't feel that thankful towards you since I do feel I did hm... mostly all the work, I took the exam after all. But an email of gratitude to show manners and my kissing ass abilities can't hurt can it? So terima kasih for all the lessons you spent dramatically telling us your stories, sometimes even twice of the same one, thanks for letting me doodle in class just because you talk a lot of the time and therefore I am allowed to half listen. I wouldn't be the indian food loving person I am today without you, oh and almost forgot... of course thanks for helping me achieve that almost A*! Fuck the examiner for me next time will ya.

With all my beloved assets,

Izzati Azhan

To: [email protected]

Subject: smile at me wit ur eyes, nat yo mouth only

Dear Turquoise Eyes,

I'd like to get to know the 16 yr old you but my chance has passed. Inappropriate flirting aside, guess what sir! I got exactly what I got in the most recent geo mocks 149/180 and I thought the mocks weren't an accurate indication. I'd like to thank you for having beautiful eyes and smiling at me even though on the inside you be like "lol fucktard thats the most incorrect answer ever, like not even close." I enjoyed your classes and you're sometimes funny but not on purpose, more like weird funny yknow? I think you'd like to get credit for my success but honestly i learnt how to answer case studies properly through Ajmal through Mr Cook, so who is really my teacher here? Me. Because I taught myself to sought answers and techniques elsewhere but sure I guess you can have some credit, those eyes deserve at least a generous 5%. lol ok bye tq

With a 9 on the Ritcher Scale,

Izzati Azhan,

You guessed it, the wait is over! #gcseresults2016 was trending on twitter and the sounds of 16yr olds packing their bags, getting ready to get disowned by their parents was the most honest and lit af song this year (after Frank Ocean's Blond of course). I admit its always nerve-wracking receiving results, where a single exam determines your ability to understand (or memorise) a two year course. But I had faith that with my prayers and hard work Allah gave me the results I truly deserved, so presumably my anxiety was on the down low while my trust in God was at sky high.

Alhamdulillah I got 3A's 6A*, I was so confident I would smash an A* with Business and Art but alas the grade boundaries proved me otherwise. With three fucking marks off an A* in Business I was so irritated at which examiner marked my paper, not irritated to risk a request for a remarking though. And Art, I hoped for an A* but instead faced it's less prestigious sibling, an A. I asked around of course, not trying to compare or anything but I just needed to know what the students who I thought was for sure going to get A* actually got, to my delightful (?) surprise they too got an A which led me to believe that scoring an A* in Art is no easy business. Business isn't easy either lmao.

To this, I must admit defeat to my mother. She's been on my back for my choice of Art as an A-level subject saying its hard to score high in Art, but my cocky ass just waved it away and dismissed it altogether. Doubt has risen up in my throat, threatening my artistic capabilities to spill out across the walls of abandoned buildings as grafitti instead of street art. So thats something to think about before Saturday Morning.

UPDATE:

I attended Enrollment day alone, my heart beating, my eyes watering and my mind wandering. I chose to do IB diploma, for many reasons. I am just so drawn to how different it is, I think of all the future local Bruneians who did A-levels asking for the sam scholarship then I imagine the MoE going through the applications like "Great a-levels, a-levels, a-levels Oooo IB whats this?" and I just feel like I would have a standing chance you know? It would also help me to mix around with more international students and prepare for the university life so when I do go to university Insyallah I wont feel vulnerable and small.

But I just feel like my mother is against me taking IB, like she's trying to be supportive by giving a tight smile and grim nods but inside I know she's not convinced and this all happened on the way to the Arts Centre which made me even feel more queasy. My Father on the other hand, gave me a genuine "Go for it" which helped me so much on every level, I just need the motivation, just that little push to help me get going, feed me a trickle more of confidence.

So I had a choice to approach either Duckling or Dickinson on my IB subjects, and okay Dickinson was full okay there was a long queue and I ended up going to Duckling because I really had no choice! hehehhehhehehhe. Anyway I waved the papers in my hand high above to indicate that I was next and he laughed and told me to come and sit, so naturally I did. He took a look at my grades and praised me and then circled my subjects that I intend on studying, giving me advice that I should only need Math Studies seeing as how I'm not thinking of a mathematical kind of career. He then said " blablablabla Youre subjects are a smart choice, I think you're good to go, Welcome to the IB program"

And that was the clarity I was searching for, that little- push.

NOT JUST BCS HE'S HIM BUT BCS I NEEDED TO HEAR IT.

Just before that, Brindian approached me asking me about my business results and encouraging me to take that remark because I was three marks off an A* saying that theres no reason I dont deserve the A*. I was uncertain because sure it makes me feel so fucking good about myself and so very satisfied, but who really needs an A* in GCSE Business to get accepted into a University? So I made a face. The face. and She went "What do you have to lose?" And of course one thing instantly came to mind "Um money?" then she gave me a look. The look. So I said I'll think about it and apparently only 1 or 2 students got A*. The thing is I actually would get it remarked if my Art grade also got bumped up to an A* but I have no idea what Ms Stroud is trying to do by contacting the exam board?

So thats that, she asked me about my ever so popular brother. So I told him oh he did well, she asked about which university and I replied Leicester and I told her that Im actually going off and missing 3 weeks of school. Then she went "oh you know Leicester's my hometown, in what area is he living because Im there in December" and i was like wtf creepy. And she continued saying "Oh Imagine if we just bumped into each other on the streets" and I was going to say something awkward because like what the fuck right? But Mr Duckling was open and ultimately saved me and she gestured me to go ahead.

After that, Mr mcluck approached me well not really, well kind of but it was super fucking awkward because I was waiting for my turn with Mrs Krüger and he was on the table nearby and made eye contact and he smiled and I returned it and i was like fuck am i suppose to go over lmao so i slowly sat down while he came over to me. YAKNOW gotta play hard to get. SO again he asked me are you happy with you results blablablabla were you nervous getting your results so I told him that I wasnt as nervous because other people were like "oh my life is over" and he laughed and blablablabla just mostly nodding and smiling. Then he asked me about my brother's results hi ok 2nd teacher to ask about my brother cool. I gave him a vague oh he did well and told him Leicester University on 18th September and I added that I was actually going to send him off and missing 3 weeks of school. Blablbalbalbalabl then he finally asked about IB saying that oh great choice.

And Wendy told me that at the YC Mcluck was talking about me to wendy asking me what I got and he saying that i Was exceptional kekekekkekekekk fuck man his eyes are so blue, dont think about it dont think about. Did i tell you I had a dream of him as Ben Affleck like wtf, first of all why would I even dream about him, maybe it was because I crossed his mind like just the night before omg. but whatever. Idk that made me feel so good about myself. Then Brindian thought that Fatin was Hana and approached Fatin and Wendy haahhahahahah and somehow started talking about me?? Like boi they both love me so much, I wonder if Lopez or Julibear bear talks about me like that. Sigh imagine

Smithy: Shes a fucking pain in the ass

Lupez: Intelligent fucking pain alright

Smithy and Lupez: But she's our pain in the ass.

OMGGGGGGGGG I loved all my GCSE teachers and classes! like those were the best days of my JIS experience so far. Art was super chill, she let us sing out loud together saying that we were the only class who did that and that she'll miss us :(((((((( Smithy couldnt care less, he just moved on click like that. Anyway, hope everyone got what they expected with their results or better and just remember kids, grades DO define who are and where you'll be in life. lol goodluck fam.

Izzati

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lindyhunt · 7 years ago

Text

Can Apps Like Woebot Really Take the Place of a Therapist?

“With a little luck, I may spot a pattern that humans can sometimes miss. Helps that I have a computer for a brain and perfect memory 😇.”

“I think it comes from the fact that the technology itself is so simple: It’s just a conversation. You just start talking.”

Is a flesh-and-blood therapist’s empathy any less scripted, really? Knowing that my chat partner is working from a script doesn’t negate the encouragement I get from simply being acknowledged.

Am I assuming I know what others are thinking? Am I engaging in “all or nothing” thinking? Or (my personal favourite), am I falling into the trap of “catastrophization”? (Yes, often.)

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