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

Speed Blogging!

Okeydoke, peoples. Some people (*coughs* muzzah *coughs*) have been asking that I update my blog. The reason I've been putting it off so long is because internet is ridiculously expensive in New Zealand (sometimes as much as $6/hour!) and I'm a cheapskate.

And this is not gonna stop now. I'm gonna write this as fast as possible because I don't want to pay more than the $1 charged for 20 minutes at this cafe.

So here's my update:


I'm in New Zealand

I'm going to bike around the country.

New Zealand turns out to be rather chilly

I got a #@$%%$!!! cold and changed my mind.

Now I'm wearing a sweater in Christchurch and doing squat all.

I think about starting running, but then a string of booger drips into my morning porridge and I figure it's not the brightest idea.

I think about starting to paint, but then I go to an art supply store and look at the prices and how much @#$%$ stuff you need just to paint a picture and think maybe I should stick to writing.

I spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes because all I had were bicycle clothing and one pair of jeans and a t-shirt, which were starting to attract flies (I exaggerate not!) (PS - so if the credit card people call, mom, tell them that it's OK. Lentil's just temporarily lost her mind)

I've ga- goddammit! Now I'm being charged $1.05. I'm off now.

Love love love!!
Lentil,

The Girl Who Missed New Country Music and is Listening to Enough to Kill All of My Family Members Aside from the Doeberts' (love ya) Ears Bleed

Sending out Birthday Wishes to Melanie

Hi everybody!

I just wanna say I got all of your birthday wishes and I'm very grateful. I also wanna say that I've noticed that a lot of you have noticed that over in this part of the world, I can now legally drink. I'm glad to know that I can count on you to not let me forget the important stuff ;)

Anyhoo, seeing as I'm lazy, instead of writing a blog update from scratch, I'm gonna give you an excert from another one of my emails. This one's to Melanie, and for those of you that don't know her, she's been one of my best buds since I was born, and I'm not exaggerating, because she was born less than 24 hours before moiself. So here it is; enjoy (or else)

-------------------------------------------------------

Melaniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!

Happy Birthday!!!!! Well, belated birthday. But still!

How does it feel to finally be legally an adult? Personally, I feel overcome with a sense of OVERWHELMING POWER and MATURITY. . . and I giggle just a bit when I can just leave the "parent or legal guardian" part of documents blank. . . OK, maybe "giggle"s not a good word. "Cackle" is more appropriate. . .

What did you do on your b-day? Me 'n' Stump (didja hear, the person you used to know as "Sydney" is now called "Stump". This is because for the longest time I wanted to name a pet "Stump" but I never got my own pets, and Stump kept on saying "You can name my next pet Stump". But each time she just found an annoyingly cuter and much more appropriate name for the unfortunate animal, and eventually I lost patience with her and said "Fine! If you won't let me call one of your pets Stump, I'll call you Stump!" And so she is Stump.). . . where was I? Oh yes! Me 'n' Stump didn't do much on my actual b-day (she was sick and everything) but the next day we went scuba diving!!!!! It was the coolest thing ever and we saw:

-cuttle fish (they look like swooshy squid and they changed colours and I got so mesmerized by them that I almost sank onto some sea urchins that have neon coloures anuses)

-baracudas. A whole school of them. They actually kinda only floated there and stared at us menacingly. They were kinda boring.

-a sea slug with its head buried in the sand and its fanciful and colourful butt hanging out and looking exceptionally like a bit of coral until the instructor dropped some sand on it and FWOOP! it disappeared into the sand and gave me such a shock that I accidentally breathed in some water

-a sea turtle in the distance (I saw three while I was there; two while I had been snorkelling before)

-around 20 sharks. They were about a meter long and they reminded me of cats.
a moray eel hanging out in this terribly dark and eerily cave-like bit of coral and looking all evil and creepy

-Nemos!!!!! They were hanging out in the coral and everything (right next to the baracuda! I was all "Don't worry! I'll protect you!" and they were like "Dad, the creepy girl with the mask is back. . ."). One bit me! XD

Oh, and Stump says that she wants you to know that she says HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!! Caps and all. She couldn't come down to say it herself because Dad just bought her a Nintendo DS and she's currently addicted to Pokemon Pearl. It's actually kind of annoying because she's all the way on the other side of the world and all she wants to do is play video games. . . of course, all I want to do is read. . . but that's different!

OK, so I'm sure that with my happy birthday email describing my shenanigan antics overseas (aka - painfully horrible predicaments that I get myself into that could so easily be avoided if I only hired somebody to think for me. . . kinda like a mom, you know?) you're thinking that your day has already gotten considerably better (if not, please don't tell me so, because me ego is more fragile than peace in the Middle East) but it's gonna get BETTER!

Because guess what?

On Saturday (this Saturday) I'M GOING TO NEW ZEALAND!!!!!

Don't ask me how I decided to do this. You know that I'm a terribly capricious person and I change my mind about 60 times a minute. Let's just say my dad was saying that Australia would be too hot for bicycle touring; since you guys talked about New Zealand so much when we were younger I've always really wanted to go; the idea of bicycle touring across an entire country instead of just a portion of it in Australia seems romantic to moi; and New Zealand's obviously so much cooler than Australia and I'd have to be mad to go to that region of the world and not visit.

So yeah, I changed my mind approximately two days ago and I got the tickets approximately yesterday. I'm flying in to Christchurch this Saturday and I'm going to get my bike all put together (you have to take it apart to take it on the airplane), gonna buy a helmet and some biking shorts, and then I'm going to catch a bus to the southest (it's a word) point of New Zealand that's pratical, then I'm gonna bike to the Northernest point practical. Then I'm going to take painting classes and run a half-marathon.

I'm gonna be there for a total of 3 months (April, May, and June). I'm guesstimating that it'll take me between a month and a month and a half for me to cycle New Zealand, and then after that I was thinking I'll stay at somebody's house (in exchange for odd jobs around the house, like tutouring their kids if they have any (I'm thinking that I'm particularly good at Math, French, and Piano), doing the shopping, mowing the lawn, doing the dishes, shearing their sheep (wouldn't that be SO COOL?!?!?!?), etc.) for the remaining 1 1/2 to 2 months.

You can see where I'm headed with this, right? I'm not saying that I want to stay at your family's place (No pressure or anything. Where do they live by the way? On the North or South island? On a farm or in the suburbs?) but it would be nice if you could ask them if they could see if anyone they know would be interested. You know, try and sell it as a "cultural exchange". You wouldn't believe what people will do in the name of a "cultural exchange". Like once, there was this Korean who I managed to convince that in Canada other people's boogers are considered a delicacy and. . . . yeah, and tell them that I'm a very mature girl who's very lovely and charming.

Anyhoo, hope to hear from ya soon,
Happy B-day, m' girl,

Namaste,
Bisous,

Lentil,

The Lovely and Charming Girl Who Was Just Kidding About the Korean, By the Way.

Why You Should Be Glad You're Not My Mother

Just today I got an email from my muzzah, where after telling me about the details of her life (which always make me feel comforted/homesick), she wondered in passing whether she should be more worried about me traveling alone in India, or about me bicycle touring alone in Australia. This question made me laugh and demanded an answer. While I was writing it, I realized that what I was writing was good blog material. So here's my reply to my Muzzah, and why you really should be glad you aren't her ;)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Muzzah!!!!

To answer your question about which place you should worry about most I have to say, without even having to stop and think about it because the answer is so obvious, that you should have worried a bajillion times more about India than Australia. I feel fine telling you this now, because I'm leaving in two days, so I figure now it's safe to tell you. Also it'll make you feel much better about Australia by seeing how much it pales in comparison.

OK, so India is like the most dangerous place I've ever been to. Ever. And that includes all of the middle of nowhere places that dad has taken me to without so much as a bandaid in the way of first-aid.

Let me explain why:

The roads are absolutely insane. There are no rules that anybody follows; even the "drive on the left side of the road" rule is completely optional.

Every road (even the ones where a car can barely squeeze through) has at least four "lanes" in that 2 women with bundles of wood on their heads, 1 bicycle, two mopeds, an autorickshaw, and a truck can and do all pass each other at the same time.

The key is to pass while honking your horn, so that they don't try to pass the person in front of them at the same time. Of course, this doesn't always work. It quite depends on the assertiveness and timbre of your honking. If your horn is of the door-bell buzzer variety which so commonly adorns mopeds, a car has a 50% chance of ignoring you, whereas a pedestrian or cyclist will immediately jump out of the way. For some reason, though, while a car, which is higher up on the hierarchy of the road than a moped, has a 50% probability of paying attention to your presence, a fellow moped-driver, hearing the dulcet tones of a brother or sister mopedist, will 100% always ignore it. Don't ask why; some things are best left unquestioned.

There are no speed limits. This is because nearly all of the hodgepodge of vehicles have different sized motors. Basically, everybody just goes as fast as their engines will let them. On my moped (which I got for while I was fasting, and since I've already paid for it I'm not going back to my bicycle) the highest speed I can get it to go is 50 km/h.

This may not seem very fast to you, but while I'm driving, I do well over 90% of the passing. Only the maniacs go faster than me. Most people go along at an average speed of 30 km/h on their good days. I'd like to think that it's because they're appalled by the unsafe conditions of the road and that they're just more responsible drivers than me, but I know the truth. They would go faster if they could. Fortunately they're too poor to get more powerful engines (yes, I say fortunately, because if you saw how crazily these people drive, you'd be wanting them to only be able to go in sheep-drawn carts with square tires. Just so that they couldn't go any faster.)

Then there's the whole thing that there are cows, goats, dogs, chickens, mongooses (mongeese?) peacocks (I just found out that these peacocks are wild, making them a lot cooler than they were when I thought they were just pets) and an assortment of other stupid animals that I sometimes think, when I've just nearly died to avoid one, are just stupid enough that maybe they deserve to be eaten.

The peacocks being the exception, of course. They're so loud that they deserve to be eaten. Screw stupidity. It's mating season for them right now, and while that does mean brilliant plumage (which they shed for most of the year), it also means them squawking like a jackal's gnawing on their leg.

And the jackals? Well, the jackals I like. Mainly because they're shy, meaning that they don't try to get themselves run over by my compassionate soul, and I hear that they eat mongooses, which are quite possibly the ugliest animals on this earth. Now, I'm sure you're thinking "But that doesn't mean that they deserve to be killed! Just because something's ugly doesn't mean it doesn't deserve life!" But don't you worry; I quite agree.

Tentatively.

And it is only this tentative grasp on basic morality that keeps me from speeding up when I see them crossing the #$@$% road. But every time they do that, my esteem of the noble jackals goes up.

Moving on, there's another reason why India is bloody dangerous and, now that it's over, I can safely say,

"Never let your daughter under the age of 20 travel there alone."

No. Let me rephrase that.

"Never let your daughter, sister, aunt, wife, or female relative or even acquaintance who you care mildly about travel alone in India unless she is an ugly old hag with a 20L jug of pepper spray and a black belt in karate, kung fu, and cussing."

I say this because Indian men have this idea that all Western women are sluts, and that back home in our rich countries we sleep with a different man every night (who we're not married to *gasps!*) and that since we're such sluts, we won't mind (nay, we'll even enjoy) being sexually molested, harassed, and assaulted.

EVERY SINGLE GIRL I HAVE EVER TALKED TO IN INDIA HAS BEEN MOLESTED IN SOME WAY.

I exaggerate not.

In fact, I'm sugar-coating it.

You see, I've gotten off lucky. I've been catcalled at, leered at, and followed for short distances by more men than I can count; I've been groped by 3 men (including one boy of around 15 years of age who was on his bicycle and just reached out for a grab while passing by in the opposite direction); and that's about it.

I've had it easy.

Here are some of the stories of some of my friends.

On her second day in India, one, who shall remain nameless, was offered some yoga lessons in the woods. She said yes, thinking that since this was Auroville, she was safe. He took the keys of her motorbike, drove her into some deserted woods, and proceeded to rip all of her clothes off, telling her the entire time to stop playing coy, that Western women do this all of the time with men they don't know.

She managed to escape without being raped, and when she told people (rather bravely, I thought) they said that the man was well-known in Auroville (to those who'd been there for awhile, that is, and he always goes for the newbies, so it's not much help) and they once tried to get rid of him but the law wouldn't help them. This figures, because the general mindset of the Indian men here is that Western women are asking for it and are only facing the consequences of their lifestyle choices.

Now I say this because not only has this man been doing this for years (not once or twice, but very very frequently), but my friend actually told one of her Indian male friends, and the friend and went to confront the sexual predator and when he came back he scolded my friend for leading the man on!

*screams wordlessly in fury*

Then there's another friend who was stalked by this guy, who she'd met a year before and become pen pals with. She'd come to visit him (among the other multitudes of her Indian friends) and when she realized that he seemed to be getting the wrong impression, she told him that she just liked him as a friend and that what with the cultural differences it would never have worked out anyhow and did he understand?

He said "Yes, yes. Of course."

He then proceeded to send her over 50 text messages a day, asking how she was, did she get out of the shower OK? has she been eating her veggies? Does she want to meet him at the restaurant at 5:00 instead of 6:00? etc etc etc.

My friend asked me what she should do, because she didn't actually want to talk to this guy anymore. He was being super possessive and wasn't leaving her alone. I told her to be firm and harsh, because no matter how she worded it, you can't tell someone that you don't want to ever be in their presence again without hurting their feelings.

She did and he took that as a message to try harder. Eventually she just turned off her phone so he couldn't leave any messages. The day after this she got a call from one of his friends telling her that he was in the hospital for attempted suicide.

As far as she's kept me updated, this guy is still sending her gigabytes of messages and making her phone all but useless.

Then there's another friend, who was bicycling along at night, and this Indian guy on a motorbike came up alongside her wanking. Looking straight at her, and going the same speed as her. She couldn't very well outpace him, being on a bicycle, and she couldn't very well stop, so she just tried to ignore him.

He started bringing his bike closer and closer to hers, and she kept on edging farther and farther away, until finally she was run off the road.

Fortunately he drove off after that. Can you imagine what might have happened if he'd gotten off his bike to "join her"? *shudders*

And while these are the more extreme cases, the fact remains that every single woman (regardless of age or relative beauty) has been sexually assaulted in India. It's just that sort of place.

Which is why if any girl in my family ever suggests going off to India, they will not go with my blessing unless they're going with a male consort (even a boy child will serve to protect them against unwanted sexual advances in this painfully sexist country).

Australia on the other hand, has wide roads with lanes, enforced speed limits, and mostly people who obey traffic regulations. Australia is a first world country with first world views on the equality of the sexes. Australia's got a lot of poisonous creatures (including platypi!) but they have first world medical facilities, so it's OK.

Australia's going to be fiiiiiiine.

So don't worry.

Instead, just think of all of the worrying you should have been doing whilst I was in India. ;)

Lurve ya tons and tons, o mother o' mine,
Bisous,
Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who's Sad and Glad that She's Leaving India

Toilets Solve Melancholy! Read all About it!

As my departure date from India looms near I'm pondering my life here and the thought of leaving it with a very melancholy outlook.

No more will I be able to buy my exquisitely sweet but tiny bananas for Rs 1 ($0.02) apiece. No more will I be able watch an Indian villiagewoman walk sedately down the side of the road in her bright multi-coloured sari with a pitcher of water balanced on her head. And I can just say good-bye to my beloved sambar and iddly in the mornings.

(I just have to note here, that you may have noticed that I’ve spent way more time complimenting Indian food than I ever had French food. This is because I frankly think that Indian food is underappreciated worldwide. Not that I don’t think French food is good (which it is) it’s just I love Indian food way way more and I really don’t understand why more people don’t know about it)

As I was becoming overcome with the despair of being deprived of my favourite foods of all time, I decided to pull myself out of my funk by thinking of all of the things that I don’t like about India and that wouldn't happen Singapore (which is my next stop by the way) once I got there.

Here’s what I thought of:

Toilet Paper.

Aaaaaaaaah. Now this is a great example of one of those little things in life you take for granted, but when it’s not there, you notice it a lot. Like when somebody knowingly uses the last bit of toilet paper off the roll and leaves it to the next person to replace it cause they’re too lazy. That somebody’s usually me, but let’s forget about that right now. I’ve been sufficiently punished, you might say.

In India nobody ever does this.

That’s rather considerate and industrious of them you might say.

WRONG!

They don’t ever forget to replace the toilet paper roll because they don’t use toilet paper!

None whatsoever.

Nada.

How do they wipe themselves, then? you ask? Water. Next to their “toilets” (which are squatholes, basically. The picture on the right shows a typical one that smells even worse than it looks (like death having one of its moods). And yes, those little silver ovals are designed for you to stand on) they always have either a tap with a bucket underneath, or, if you’re in a relatively fancy place, a funky hose with a nozzle that reminds me of the thing that hooks up to my old kitchen sink that makes it easier to wash dishes.

After they’ve done their business, they. . . splash themselves clean. They’ll also touch themselves (*giggles immaturely*) to get rid of the more stubborn bits. Always with their left hand, because they eat with their right hand (no cutlery here) so as to avoid poisoning themselves.

Then they “flush” the toilet by filling the bucket once more and washing out the entire thing, and continue on their way, letting their privates dry in time. It’s hot enough down here for that to work, but I feel sympathy for those poor blokes up in the Himalayas right now.

I, being the intrepid explorer that I am, decided to try it.

It’s fine when you pee, because you don’t have to do anything other than a few quick splashes. But when it comes time to poo. . . well, I’m sure you don’t wanna know.

And now I carry a roll of toilet paper with me at all times. 'Nough said.

OK, so that took a longer time to explain than I’d thought (whoever thought that toilets could be such a rich topic? Of course, I have an intern architect friend who’s assignment was to design toilets, so you’d be surprised. Maybe we should take some more time to appreciate the toilets who take our crap so stoically every once in awhile.) so I’ll just end with two notes:

Note #1 – I haven’t had a hot shower in almost six months, now. India doesn’t seem to believe in heated water. So cold showers all the way!

Note #2 – I’m really starting to look forward to leaving. ;)

Luff y’all tons and tons,

Bisous,

Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who Just Drew A Mural on Her Wall With Her Roomie

Oh my God! An ACTUAL Blog Update

OK, so I just realized that my last actual blog update was before Christmas, so I decided to have pity on you guys and do another one. (I'd give you pictures, but the @!#% computer is being a bum, and unless I want to spend 36:54:12 amount of time waiting for the stupid pictures to process, you're not going to get any.)

I think that since so much has happened since I last wrote, I'll just give you a little summary of some of my friends (in the comfort that haven't told any of them about this blog ;P)

Friend #1 - BooYeon (aka Chicken Soup, aka Wednes, aka Pabo, aka Krazy Korean, aka Kenyan)

BooYeon is my room-mate, she doesn't speak very good English, and she's nutters. I think that's why we get along so well, because with her level of English and my level of Korean (I can officially call you crazy, stupid, and delicious in Korean. I can also say "I'm so clever" and "Don't speak Korean!") we can hardly have deep philosophical discussions.

She actually acts like an anime character (in fact, exactly like the one at the beginning of the update. If you don't recognize this character, just thank your lucky stars that you're not a nerd like me. Muzzah, ask Stump to explain.). She swings her arms back and forth while she walks, jumps up and down, and goes "Waaaaah!" (crying) if you poke her juuust right. . . >:)

Every day we playfight (in two memorable days we had a banana peel war all over the hostel (the cows ate them up, later) and another day a hairspray war) and bug each other, and I sometimes give her English lessons in exchange for tea.

We're going to Singapore together (because she needs to renew my visa and I need to leave India *cries*) and I'm going to meet her dad. That'll be cool, although she says that he won't like me (Because I'm Canadian. But that's an inside joke, so don't be offended :P) so now I'm nervous. She might be staying long enough for you (Dad and Stump) to meet her. That would be neat, because then the two worlds that I seem to be living in would overlap. . . weeeeird. . .

Friend #2 - David (aka Uncle David, aka Thur, aka Bobbysoxer, aka American)

David is an Indian on the outside and an American on the inside, although he'll deny his Americanness indignantly (and can you blame him?) He was an orphan in India and was adopted before he can remember by an American couple. Since his parents wanted to give him the choice and he's far too liberal to do anything to associate himself with Bush, he never got an American passport. So he's still Indian.

Of course, I call him American just to bug him.

He's my "intellectual friend" although half of the time, we're bugging BooYeon together (we also mess with her mind. For example, we've (OK, I've) taught her words like pug-fugly and biallistic, and the like).

OK, so those are my two best friends over here. I shall proceed to give you mini-summaries of my other friends

Johannes: this guy is skinny (but still muscular) Swarzenegger. For real! You know Arnie's deep grumbly German accent? Johannes talks exactly like that! It's hilarious. I get him to say "I'll be back" on a regular basis because it makes me feel happy inside.

Carmen: she's my Canadian friend. She got sexually assaulted (badly. Every Western girl gets sexually assaulted in India if you stay longer than a week, but hers was really bad. And on her second day here, which is especially horrible) and had a bike crash and injured both wrists in her first week in India. Damn, if I were her, I would have left right away!

Johanna: she's my German friend. She's really nice, but I don't think she's grasped the cultural differences of India quite yet. For example, she was all confused about why this Indian guy-friend of hers was totally getting the wrong idea and asking her to marry him. I asked her if she was doing anything in particular that she was doing that could be confusing him. She said no. It was only later that Carmen told me that she kissed him.

Crazyhead!

Doesn't she know that even eye contact is considered flirting over here. Eye contact of any sort, not just the bat-bat-eyelashes-eye-contact sort. Even the please-get-onto-your-side-of-the-road-you-stupid-truck-driver eye contact is flirtatious. Kissing is basically the same as sayinig "Marry me now, baby!"

Graar. . .

Steve: an Irish dude who's actually gone right now. But he's really fun and once, without me even asking him, he did the Lucky Charms voice. After that, I can die happy.

Krishna: an Indian on the outside, German on the inside girl (kinda like David) who laughs nearly as much/as loudly/as weirdly as moiself. Scary, I know, but true.

Leelee: an American genius. She started university when she was fifteen!!! She's a scientist (at the age of 23) and is going on to study to become a doctor when she goes back to the States. . . I feel unaccomplished. . .

Valentine: a Frenchie, she's the one who cut my hair and while we don't have much in common aside from BooYeon and finding the horns of autorickshaws hilarious , we get along pretty well.

And und so weite (I've learnt some German! That means "and so on and so forth". . .actually, no! I just looked it up on altavista.com/tr and it says it means "and in such a way widens". . . eh???? Weeeeeird. . . )

Anyhoo, and so on and so forth. I have other friends, but I started writing their little summaries and I realized I had nothing of interest/funny to say about them. So you just won't hear about them.

So love ya lots,

Bisous,
Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who Just Cooked a Delicious Lentil Masala When She Woke Up (In a Tank Top and at 11:00 Am!!!! *cackles*)

OK, so this is gonna be, once again, just a quick update (or that's the plan. You know how my plans usually work out ;P).

Since I'm feeling lazy, I'll just give you some anecdotes and jazz.

Anecdote #1 (aka - Destroying my Social Life Before it Even Starts)

I've recently joined the Acadia Class of 2012 facebook group and I was looking at all of the pictures of these people who are soon to be my classmates and I was like "Whooooa. . . weeeeeird. Just think about it. Maybe that person I'm looking at right now is going to become my best friend ever, or my boyfriend! And I don't even recognize them. . . creepy. . ."

So, being the newly discovered extrovert that I am, I decided to write something to my future classmates. So I told them "Whooooa. . . weeeeird. Just think about it, etc. etc." I posted the remark then left the computer for Mitra, my youth hostel.

There David (aka. Uncle David, aka Bobbysoxer, aka American) and I were talking and I told him about how weird I thought the whole thing was. Then he said "You know, if you were a stranger to me and you said that I would be really creeped out. I would think 'Yeah, it is weird, and you're definitely not going to be my friend.'"

He realized he'd said something devastating when he saw my face.

"What? What is it?"

And that's when I realized just HOW CREEPY I HAD BEEN.

I hadn't felt that particular tight feeling in my chest since I realized after Mat left that he hadn't been going in for a hug.

God, how can I be so stupid!!!!

Immediately plans came rushing into my head. Tomorrow I would go on and see if I could erase it. Or maybe I could laugh it off. Or tell them the truth, that I'm really not creepy and that that was just a mistake. . .except that would just draw more attention to it and make me seem more creepy.

I imagined coming to school this September and everybody pointing and talking behind their hands and saying "That's the girl who was all creepy before we even met her. Lets ostracize her so that her only friends are the librarian and that dustbin."

My journal entry that night contained despair, tears, and unicorns (don't ask about the unicorns) as I agonized over my already destroyed social life. Why why why did I have to say what was on my mind. Haven't I learned yet that doing so usually causes pain, death, and New Zealand?

New Zealand aside, I went onto the internet today, dreading it more than a pickle dreads grilled cheese sandwiches and. . . nobody found me creepy!

Or, at least, if they did, they didn't post anything about it. Actually, quite a few people posted back saying that they thought it was weird, too. Yay!!!!

I'm not creepy!!!

Or my classmates are just as creepy as I am. . .

Yay!!!

And, actually, I think I'm going to end it with that. Hope you guys are having a blast in the freezing cold,
Love ya bunches,
BIsous,
Namaste,
Lentil,

The Girl Who's Gonna Miss Auroville and Who Feels a Slight Flutter of Panic Every Time She Thinks About Uni. . .

Don't worry. I'm FINE.

Have I told you lately that your guys are all bewilderingly worry-warted but I love you anyhow?

OK, so that comment was a little bit unfair. I realize that my last update might have been a worrisome. . . but still! Didn't you read about the part where I was all "I actually have a whole bunch of non-worrisome things to tell you, but I just don't have the time right now."?

Well, actually, that's what I'm going to say now.

I'm healthy. My wounds have healed, my rash is nigh-on vanished, my knee is pink again, and all is well.

I have made lots of friends (half of them have left, because this is a hostel and people are all travelling), I have made a few close friends (including my Korean room-mate (Boo-Boo) who's a hyperactive blast, a Norwegian girl (Crunchie), who has a similar sense of humour to moi, and who has introduced moi to dancing, which is fantastic, and a German girl (Krishna) who laughs nearly as much as I do) and I've recently decided that I'm going to stop going to work and dedicate the next month to writing and finishing a novel.

I'd tell you more but I'm just not in the mood for writing (blog updates. Fiction-wise I'm on a roll), so I'll just leave you at that.

Please don't send me any more worried "You should go to a doctor" emails because I've been (twice) and I'm fine,
Love y'all,
Bisous,
Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who, Along With Her Korean Room-mate, Have Become Known As the Crazy/Hyper Girls at the Hostel

Sunburnt on Christmas

Hmmm. . . so lots has happened since I last updated this thing. . . one of those things was that I got sunburnt. On CHRISTMAS!!!!

OK, so maybe it wasn't actually on Christmas day itself, but I got burnt on the 22nd when there was this Christmas Fair thing so it's practically the same thing, right?

Anyhoo, writhe in jealousy rain/snow-ridden Canadians!!!! *cackles*

Actually, the Christmas Fair thing is a good place to start my stories. So, me, Steve (irishman), Krishna (german girl. I know I know, Krishna is the name of a blue man-god, but Lentil is the name of a small lens-shaped legume, and so there!. . . wait. . . ), Divya (an Indian girl from Chennai who I think is going out with Zeb, but I'm not sure, because nobody bloody here ever introduces their partner as "Lentil, this is my boy/girlfriend so-and-such" but instead just tells me their name and allows me to make a fool of myself later on ('cause I don't do enought of that as is! . . . *cries*)), and Zeb (an American who claims to be Canadian, even thought he's only lived in Canada for 4 Whole Months. . . as Steve says, I've lived in India for four months. Does that make me Indian?). . . dammit, I've totally forgot what I'm saying. . .

Ah yes! So me and some friends decided to go to this Christmas Fair thing. I got a ride on the back of Divya's bike (for future reference, when I say "bike" I mean "motorbike" and when I say "cycle" I mean "bicycles". Just to clarify, because that's what they say in Auroville to differentiate, and at first I was so confused). Before I got on she said "Are you sure you don't want to drive?" and I was all "I've never driven a motorbike before (not counting the mini-bike Dad bought). You're asking me to drive for my first time on Indian roads with two people? I'd rather fly my first airplane into that cyclone from the Wizard of Oz."

So she drove.

We crashed before we got out of the driveway.

The cut on my foot, which didn't seem so bad at first, quickly got infected, because it was where my foot joins my leg, and so kept on bending and reopening and bleeding, then pussing, then flies kept on landing on it when I wasn't looking, and I'm not sure if they were eating me or trying to lay eggs in it, and. . .

Well, being the typical cheapskate that I am, I refused to go to the doctor's, because I was all "It's fine. I'm sure I'm just being a hypochondriac and making a big deal about nothing. Plus, I don't want to pay the Rs 100 ($2.50) for a checkup."

Then, while returning from a party with the same friends and some Brazilian girls, riding with a Brazilian girl, and the Brazilian girl (Adriana) was teaching me how to say "I don't wanna die" in Portuguese, we crashed.

Again!

Gah!

So then I had an oozing but on my right foot, and a purple eggplant-sized knee on my left.

I still didn't go to the doctor's.

I was all ""It's fine. I'm sure I'm just being a hypochondriac and making a big deal about nothing. Plus, I don't want to pay the Rs 100 ($2.50) for a checkup."

Then there's this rash on my hands that started up at the beginning of November. At first I was all "It's fine. I'm sure I'm just being a hypochondriac and making a big deal about nothing. Plus, I don't want to pay the Rs 100 ($2.50) for a checkup."because it didn't itch or anything.

But then, after it stopped peeling and everything, I saw

"Eggs?" I asked Steve.

"What?" said Steve.

"Do those look like eggs growing underneath my skin?" I explained.

"Sorry, I was just too busy looking at the fly nesting in your wound."

Still I did not go to the doctor's.

It was only when Elizabeth (a Malaysian woman who lives fulltime in London) told me "It looks like your cells are duplicating abnormally fast" that I was all

"O my god I have cancer!"

And, already planning how to tell everyone the news that I was dying and deciding whether I wanted roses or dandelions at my funeral, I finally decided that I wasn't being a hypochondriac and went to the doctor's.

After forking out Rs 200 for the checkup and for the creams and antiseptics he gave me, I have to tell you that my oozing fly-nest has finally scabbed over, and he thinks that my hand either has a fungus, or it's having an allergic reaction to one of the veggies I'm preparing. I've been putting a cream on it for the fungus but it's not working, so it's looking like I might have to give up peeling carrots people. . .

Console me.

Anyhoo, I have plenty more to tell you than the complaints about all of my aches and pains (it's the old lady in me. Sorry) but unfortunately, this Internet cafe thing is closing sooner than I had intended, so you'll have to wait till next week for more news.


Happy New Years,
Thanks for all of the holiday emails (they made me laugh so hard that the flies scattered for a moment),

Lurve y'all tons and tons,
Bisous,
Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who's Just Realized That Her Last Blog Update Was About Personal Epiphanies and This One Was About Pus and Cancer. . .