Fanfare.

Fanfare

Blares of red and yellow leaves

Rebel against the gray sky and asphalt.

Currents of colour flutter through the air,

Saluting dying summer with a fanfare.

A student of logic and memory

Recalls a superstition of wishes.

Puts her pack of knowledge on the ground

And dances in a flurry to catch one.

The more she misses the more she laughs.

Aha! Success!

She holds the crumpled colour in two hands.

Closed eyes.

A secret wish.

She jumps. 

Plummets back to reality.

She's in the road's middle

In a car's way.

Flustered.

Apologetic waves.

Mortification.

Then she sees the driver.

Smiling,

Sadly.

And they share a laugh, 

Saluting dying summers with a fanfare.

Hiya peoples!!!!

'Tis Xeo/Lentil/Xak/Hey You. How's it going? 

I am in a good mood, because it was just Thanksgiving (hope you had a Happy one by the way) and I should be doing homework right now but I HAD to share this. 

Why? Well, because I love torturing peoples with my writing and because this is Based on a True Story. That is to say, just this morning I was walking down to the library to study (more or less successfully) and there were these brilliantly coloured leaves and I was all *looks shiftily in all directions*. I saw nobody around so I spent the next 4-6 minutes attempting to catch a leaf before it touched the ground. 

Just as I succeeded I realized that I was in fact BLOCKING THE WAY OF A CAR!!!!! And I had been for the past THREE MINUTES!!!!!1!!! O.o

As I realized that I also realized that my water bottle (for while in the poem I put down a bag, I in fact put down my water bottle) was ROLLING DOWN THE HILL TOWARDS THE CAR!!!!!!

So yeah, I nearly died from mortification, until I realized that the man in the car was laughing. In a very nostalgic way.

And I just thought I'd share that terribly touching part of my day with you. 

A Canadian Summer (ie. Far Too Much Camping)

Halloo everybody!!!! Sorry for the long delay in updating. It's just that coming home is exciting only to the person who's returning. For everyone else it doesn't matter that much. Especially if your long-missed close person doesn't believe in souvenirs. ;P

There were some things though that might be of interest about returning home though. As always, I was blown away by how much water we put in our toilets. You could drown 6 kittens in them! Or, if that offends you, you could drown 6 of those ugly gray naked chihuahuas in them. 

Also. . . our accents are hilarious!! I mean, after living overseas where everyone either spoke with a Ozzie/Kiwi accent or a British accent (there aren't that many North American travelers in India and NZ) ours just sounded so. . . flat. But now, after I've been here for awhile, I've once again come to the inevitable reality - we don't have an accent. Everybody else does. 

'Tis amazing how quickly you become acclimatized to home.

But there were some interesting things that have happened since. I am a Kikauka after all.

July was mostly spent camping (any jokes from friends abroad about being Canadian can remain unspoken :P). 

Canada Day was spent camping with friends- with alcohol. ^_^

The third week of July was spent car-camping at Quadra Island. I went with a nerd friend and a friend of the family's around the same age brought his nerd friend and - well, let's just say we had debates about law of gravity and the best japanese anime. 

*sighs happily*

The fourth week I went hiking on the North Coast Trail with Squash. The trail just opened this year so it was very rugged and beautiful. We saw more whales than people, more bear poop than outhouses, and more eagles than seagulls.  The experience so inspired me and Squash that we wrote this poem. 

Those queasy at the sight of profanity please skip.

The Hiker's Refrain

O fuck I'm so hungry,

O fuck I'm so tired,

O fuck I'm so smelly,

In mud am I mired.

O fuck shitty fuck,

Is the hiker's refrain,

Despite always knowing,

They'll do it again.

O fuck I'm in pain,

O fuck I'm so sore,

O fucking hell PLEASE God,

Don't let there be more.

O fuck shitty fuck,

Is the hiker's refrain,

Despite always knowing,

They'll do it again.

O fuck I'm in Heaven,

But mostly in Hell,

O fuck when you're hiking,

It's so hard to tell. 

Of fuck shitty fuck,

Is the hiker's refrain,

Despite always knowing,

They'll do it again.

We got lost more than once on the trail. Can you tell.

I'm particularly proud of this poem because it's so versatile. It can be used on any trail you ever hike, gives you a way to vent artistically, and can even be put to the tune of "O Come, All Ye Faithful". Please, use on your next hike. No copyright has been issued. ;)

On the day we got back to Victoria I went to a party with some friends and saw one of my best friends (Nibbles) for what was probably the last time I'll see her for over five months. She's going to McGill. :(

The day after I was given half an hour to pack from Dad and I was on the road again. . . to 2 more weeks of camping. 

And now here I am, at Haven Lake, working for my Dad in the actual middle of nowhere. It took us over a day of driving to get to Burns Lake, then we flew in a four person float plane for 2 hours into the bush. But it's worth it, because the view we get from the lake must be where all of BC (my province's)'s postcards come from. 

Now I spend my days splitting core (basically what prisoners do - breaking rocks), making labels for the core, and cutting down small trees (which hurts my inner hippie) to clear the forest so that the drillers can get more core. 

Despite how fun that sounds, though, this gig is actually quite cushy compared to what I did 4 years ago with dad. Next time you see me ask me about eating rice crackers and tzatziki sauce off of a frisbee and  the guy in the middle of nowhere who had no teeth and a pet goat. Actually, never mind; that explains itself. 

Yep, so that's where my life is. Eventually, someday, maybe, somehow, I might find some pictures for these words. 

I Love Being a Foreigner

Aside from having an indecent amount of sheep, New Zealand is very similar to British Columbia. It’s a very young country, has lots of mountains (I’m going skiing on them this June), and is home to a very outdoorsy lot. In essence, ‘tis Hippieland.

There are some slight differences, however, that make sure I never get too disoriented.

For example: this place is ridiculously safe.

No poisonous creatures, like the big spiders, jellyfish, etc., that I’ll be finding in Australia.

There’s hardly ever any serious earthquakes or tsunamis, considering that they’re right on the edge of the tectonic plate that keeps on giving South East Asia so much trouble.

There aren’t any big carnivorous mammals, like the bears and cougars of our homeland which we take so for granted but leave the Kiwis I meet in awe and fear. You should see their faces when I tell them.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen tons of bears. No, don’t worry. They’re not dangerous. As long as you don’t get in between them and their food or young. Or provoke them. Or if they’ve grown used to humans and are in the dump or something. Or gone camping with food in your tent. No seriously, I consider myself lucky when I see a bear.”

*preens under awe*

“And is it true you have. . .” They pause, as if determined to pronounce a complicated word properly. “. . . squirrels?”

“Yep,” I answer knowledgeably. “And when the colonists first arrived we didn’t have much else to eat so the Indians showed us how to hunt them. That’s why in Canada we celebrate Thanksgiving with roast squirrel instead of turkey.”

*cackles*. God, I love being the foreigner. People’ll believe anything.

Note to self: never pursue a career as an ambassador.

Love!
Lentil,

The Girl Who Might Have a Compulsive Story-Telling Disorder. ;)

I Heart House!!!!! XD

The name “New Zealand” comes from the first European discoverers of the two main islands, who were Dutch. The funny thing is that even though they got to name this country after a region in their be-tulipped homeland, they never actually set foot on land.

For you see, there were already some people there, and unlike our naively trusting Algonquins and Mohawks, these natives weren’t so quick to trust these pale wusses. In fact, the moment they saw Mr. Tasman and his ship they started throwing spears at the ship, managing to kill one of the sailors before the Dutchies had so much as set out on a dinghy. Understandably, Tasman beat a quick retreat, figuring they didn’t need fresh water that badly.

It was only some years later when Cook, the guy who played a vital role in exploring the Vancouver Island region as well, arrived that Europeans actually started to settle on these far-flung Pacific islands, keeping a very tenuous peace with the locals. Might I remind you that this “peace” is from the guy who got roasted and eaten in Hawaii later.

New Zealand is famous for its above average relations between the Europeans and the natives. I can’t help but think it’s because the Maori, and I’m going to take a step out of the politically correct arena, are as or even more violent than we are! Yeesh. . . That’s kinda scary. . .

They certainly have an interesting culture. They arrived by canoe around 700 years ago from the Philippines and named the two main islands The Land of the Long White Cloud. They lay a huge emphasis on their heritage and the nobles could recite their bloodline all the way back to when they first arrived.

My favourite tidbit about their history, though, is that they introduced the dog to this previously mammal-less country and drove the moa, an enormous flightless bird, to extinction. It’s nice to know that it’s not just us who were so mindlessly stupid. J

Despite all of this sophistication, though, they sure didn’t believe in the whole “live and let live” bit, or “let’s gang up and face the bigger enemy” idea.

They were constantly at war with each other (much like the Greeks) and they didn’t stop even when the whiteys came. For instance, once this Maori got all dressed up and up-to-date on diplomatic jargon and went to Queen Victoria and asked for his people to be recognized in English law. The Queen liked him so much that she accepted his request and even gave him lots of money to help his people get back on their feet. He got back on his ship, had a stopover in Australia, spent all of the money on guns, handed them out to his clan, and slaughtered all of the neighbouring clan.

Another example is how there’s these Chatham Islands to the east of NZ’s “mainland”, which was populated by a people anciently related to the Maori called the Moriori. They, in their isolation, had created a Utopia. They didn’t kill. Seriously, they didn’t kill a soul. Had a religion against it that actually upheld it. They never had a war. They never had squabbles that ended with a tomahawk to the head. Nothing. Nada. They were the nicest people that have probably ever existed.

Then a white settler gave a group of five hundred or so Maori a lift to the island and the Maori slaughtered half of them and enslaved the rest. The last non-métis Moriori died in 1933.

Fortunately, New Zealand’s done more than enough to, if not erase, at least make up for its violent past. For example, the Maori are so recognized by Kiwi law that Maori is actually legally the country’s second language. It’s also one of the most liberal countries in the world. It was the first country to give women the right to vote (in 1893. Canada only let us in 1918, and that was only in federal elections), the first country to give the citizens free health care, it’s a nuclear-free zone, and it has the best environmental policies I’ve ever seen.

Plus it has lots of kiwi fruit.

Thus: New Zealand’s the best country ever.

Case dismissed.

. . .

Or blog dismissed. Whatever.

PS - I'm in love with House right now. Hence the title.

*dies*. . . so. . . smart. . . and pretty. . .

Hiya peoples! . . . Can't think of a good intro to my ramblings. . . so just read, and I'm sure you'll get the idea.

Over here things are going great and I'm meeting so many people who would make the best characters in books (lots of the time because their personalities are so exaggerated and two dimensional, but what the hey, eh?).

For example, there's a shuffling old "gamekeeper" who has a certain fondness for animals that most find annoying. Remind you of a certain Harry Potter character? *nudge nudge* But in this case instead of Blast-Ended Screwts it's pheasants, which are, I have to tell you, the most skittish and retarded animals belonging to the bird kingdom, and that's saying something.

Also there's the stay-at-home trophy wife of the mansion who hires her neighbour to off the peacocks (pets of the gamekeeper's. Not wild) without telling him. Then there's the Australian couple who're helping out as well. The woman is a masseuse who believes she has psychic abilities (if you've ever seen Friends, you know who I'm thinking about) and the man has a great sense of humour and I like him a lot.

Actually, "liked" is more like it. He just told me and Liam (nephew of owner of the property) about how when he was young he used to go gay-bashing boys at his school. Shocked, he seemed to realize his mistake, he quickly became more serious and said "Of course, I don't do that anymore. I have gay friends, you know."

I breathed a sigh of relief. So he had been stupid and cruel in his youth. Who hasn't made mistakes in their past? As long as he's realized his mistakes and feels remorse, I shouldn't judge.

"But," he continued thoughtfully. "That doesn't mean that I don't think that they shouldn't be all piled into a rugby field and left to die and rot into compost."

Jugde! Judge! Judge!

"And to be honest," he added, his usual grin coming back. "If it weren't for the fact that them gays were small and all" *does impression of weak girl* "-back then and are now many of them are tall and tough, I'd still be doing it!"

He and Liam laughed.

My opinions of them reached a low lower than mine of Dr. Delbray (aka - the Evil Scotsman who made me cry at least once a day in my first week in India). At least Dr. Delbray had the courage to insult me to my face (frequently). This Australian guy (Paul) admitted that the only time he did it was when they were smaller, weaker, and outnumbered.

And now, after my defense of homosexuals, asking him (with a bit of an edge to my voice) what he held against gays (which he said he only minded if they were men. Lesbians were fine. . . grrrrrrrrr. . . >:( ), etc. he keeps on doing impressions of stereotypical impressions of homosexuals and making stabs at them.

Damn this man! I swear, if he ever gets the hint from my falling silent whenever he talks about homosexuals through his narrow-minded cowardly skull and asks me what's wrong, I may explode and tell him exactly what.

I mean, I have nothing against people who have something against homosexuality (ie. certain Christian people in my family), but that's because I respect that other people can have different opinions. But to go from not approving of it to beating them up? And to do it just because others do it instead of upholding a moral belief? Now that's another story.

Anyhoo, but yeah.

I'm actually having a great time here. I've just helped prepare for a nice wedding, I'm getting spoiled (it just seems to follow me wherever I go. And yes, I am gloating), there's a cat and dog here that adore me, and I've just finished rereading a Harry Potter book which always puts me in a good mood (and everyone else within hearing distance in a little uneasy one. Apparently I cackle quite a bit. . . )

Hope y'rall having a ball (dance, sport, piece of anatomy, or otherwise),

Love!

Lentil,

The Girl Who Actually Started Writing This As An Email to a Friend Met in India

Lentil Plays at Sorting Hat!

Hiya everybody!

Lately I've been (re)reading Harry Potter (and the Order of the Phoenix, currently) and, as can be expected, my mind did funny things. For example, it latched on to the question, "Which House would the people I know be in?"

My mind answered immediately for some people, but for others it was actually kinda tricky. But as you can imagine, once I started thinking about it and finding the perfect Houses for people, I had to tell. I'm not very good at keeping thoughts to myself. Thus. . .

In this blog update, instead of telling you what I'm up to, I'm gonna tell you what House I think you'd be in if Hogwarts were real (a delusion I cling to harder than the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus)! Yay!

First, I'll tell you what each House is known for (according to what the (true) Sorting Hat says and what I've observed of the characters in the books).

Gryffindor:

Positive traits - brave, noble, stick to their principles

Negative traits - see the world in black and white, quick to judge, jump into things without thinking, can play martyr, arrogant

Slytherin:

Positive traits - ambitious, resourceful, shrewd, good leaders, unafraid of others' opinions/prosecution/prejudice

Negative traits - can often forget about others' in reaching their goals, can be cliquey, prone to starting malicious rumours, cunning

Ravenclaw:

Positive traits - intelligent, creative, wise, into learning and books, self-disciplined, can keep their irrational emotions under control

Negative traits - can often seem a bit reserved, perfectionist, they find it a little hard to let loose, can be shy

Hufflepuff:

Positive traits - hard workers, loyal, tolerant, like fair play, can be a bit quirky, because they're the mixed bag. They're the House that you get put into if you don't fit into any of the others (the founder, Helga Hufflepuff, was the only founder who wanted to educate everybody, not just a few, which is where your open-mindness can come in)

Negative traits - can often have a follower attitude, have lower self-esteem

OK, now let's get started. If you don't know the people I'm talking about, just skip over it, because there won't be much use of it. And, I just have to add, that putting this up is rining alarm bells in my head, saying "You're gonna hurt people's feelings! They're going to get angry at you!"

But I just can't listen to that voice. I need to tell you all now that I've thought of it. So if you think you might get offended (remember, I don't think any House is better than any other. ie. I don't think that if you're in Slytherin that you're a bad person. Or that if you're in Hufflepuff you're a wuss. I like them all. They're all Rowling's babies, after all ;P ) don't read them. It's that simple.

Muzzah - Gryffindor

Fajah - Gryffindor

Stump - Hufflepuff

My uzzah Fajah (Herb) - Slytherin

Ryan L. - Gryffindor

Trevor - Slytherin

Ilona - Ravenclaw

Gramma - Ravenclaw

Granny - Hufflepuff

Grandad - Ravenclaw

Gramma L. - Gryffindor

Grampa L. - Hufflepuff

Squash - Ravenclaw

Nibbles - Gryffindor

Ali-the-Fair - Ravenclaw

Aunty Yo-Yo - Hufflepuff

Uncle Dale - Hufflepuff

Mandy - Hufflepuff

Chelsea - Hufflepuff

Zak - Hufflepuff

Aunt Laura and Uncle Gordon - Ravenclaw

Ryan K. - Gryffindor

Drew - Gryffindor

Aunt Alison - Ravenclaw

Maija - Gryffindor

Uncle Ed - Gryffindor

The Apteds (Uncle TJ, Aunty Cheryl, Jonah, and Laura) - Hufflepuff

Stacey - Ravenclaw

Eric - Gryffindor

Jen - Hufflepuff

Aunty Anita - Gryffindor

Uncle Alex - Gryffindor

And then there's me. But the Sorting Hat can't sort herself! (I took a few online quizzes (OK, tons) and half put me in Ravenclaw, half put me in Gryffindor, and one put me in both! But I don't trust personality quizzes. They've only known me for a few minutes, and you can manipulate the results) Helpeth me! Leave your comment or send me an email telling me which House you think I belong to.

Or just ask why I put you in a certain House and I'll spill all. I just didn't think that certain people'd want everybody knowing certain things about them when they don't even know who might me be reading this (don't worry, sometimes I think it's just my Mum and Gramma. ;) )

Love!

Lentil,

The Girl Who Just Realized That This Was Kinda Like One of Those "Which Sort are You?" Quizzes Except That You Guys Didn't Get To Take the Quiz!!! *cackles*

I Have Developed a Hearty Dislike of Sheep. . .

OK, so here are the answer to all of your questions that I’m sure you’re all dying to ask me: yes, yes, no, maybe, of course, I only did that once, and I can so do a whole blog update without getting lost in my own side tracks! Oh yeah? You watch me!

I started bicycle touring in the second week of April. I left my hostel, waving goodbye to Benny, an employee at my hostel who’d helped me with assembling my bike and who I had somewhat of a crush on. He looked at me worriedly as I fumbled clumsily with my heavily ladened vehicle.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I know it looks like I’m depressingly incompetent, but I can do this.”

Two seconds later I’d run straight into a bush.

Blushing furiously I thanked god that it was cold outside so my Benny had hurried inside right away and so hadn’t seen me. I righted my bike, brushed back my hair, and started my journey again, this time with some anti-bush sentiments. Not political – only vegetational.

I set off again, laughing at myself, saying at least that I’d gotten my little bit of embarrassment out of the way now.

Before I’d navigated the driveway a saddle-bag fell off.

Thus began a trip that only ever figuratively went downhill. Before I’d even reached the city limits of Christchurch, my start-off city, I made a wrong turn and had to ask directions. Before I’d reached my second town I realized that I’d forgotten to fill any of my water bottles with their key ingredient – water. And then I got bit by an ostrich.

I explain that last incident by saying “If you saw an ostrich farm off the side of the road wouldn’t you try to feed them bits of grass through the fence and film them while you’re at it? Wouldn’t you?”

Actually, never mind. Don’t answer that.

Just look at those ostriches though. Aren’t they so funny-looking. They remind me of those yo-yo-ing flamingos in Disney’s Fantasia. . . hey; don’t give me that look! Disney’s a genius. And that was so not getting sidetracked.

The trip only got worse, and I got so cold and so smelly, that by day 5 I quit. I was actually very close to quitting my entire trip going back home. Fortunately Melanie, my friend since (literally) birth, sent me this thing about volunteering at NZ farms in exchange for room and board and restored my trust in travel. I started. . . oh god, not again. . . anything but that. . . nooooooo!!! . . . DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN. . . .Planning!

Yes, I know. Lentil planning is a Bad Thing and must be Avoided at All Costs. But alas, ‘tis a vice I find hard to escape. I tried my best.

I got a bus back to Christchurch and stayed at a different hostel than the Jailhouse that I’d been at before. I didn’t want everybody (read: Benny) to see how quickly I’d given up. I didn’t have a serious crush on Benny; just enough so that I didn’t want him seeing just how stupid I really am. Unless it’s a cute sort of stupid. Then it’s OK.

I bought some “civilian” (non-biking) clothes, hung out an indecent amount of time at the public library, considering I couldn’t even take out any books, and got a job at a certain NZ “farm”, from where I’m writing this. But that’s for another update. ;P

Ta,
Lentil,

The Girl Who Decided To Give Up The Multi-Lingual Sign-Off For An Oh-So-English Goodbye

PS - the explanations for the photos are as following

Photo #1 - is of me in my tent, feeling very cold, and trying to capture in camera just how much a particular shirt my sister got me glows. I actually couldn't sleep with it as a makeshift pillow because it was too bright!

Photo #2 - the guy on the right is Benny. Isn't he so cute?!?! More comments about him can be found on my facebook album