Today - or rather, on Monday - I spent pretty much my entire afternoon playing tennis and I studied maybe two hours.
I think I need a more balanced approach to this revision thing. By 'balanced' I really mean that I need to cut out all this extraneous non-LLM shit and FOCUS on getting what I want.
Alas, I am going to Athlete's gig this Friday (I can't wait!!!) and I just told my friend that I'm going to this Latin American party at his hall on Saturday...but that just means that I have to work extra hard in the week, no?
I am so fucking stressed out.
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A note on the tennis: My backhand died. My forehand keeps flying out. I haven't been able to time my backhand properly since the LSE social tennis thing on Saturday (won one match due to slippery conditions - opponent didn't want to run - and lost the next one when the sun came out and dried up the court) and my forehand has been sending balls long since then too. My strings are getting a bit loose which I hope is the reason because I don't think I'm hitting the ball that differently?!?!
I don't restring until I break a string, so I'm gonna have to live with this for a couple of months more. I did order a spare racquet though - my current model has gone on sale and it's SGD50 cheaper than what I got my racquet for (and it was after a bit of a discount), and I've experienced breaking strings in the middle of a game before, so it's wise to have a back-up at the ready. Maybe I'll ask my stringer to string it a bit tighter...but I don't want any loss of power because I am the epitome of a brainless ball-basher (who can't bash the ball consistently). I don't know. We'll see.
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I can't remember if I've written about this and I'm too lazy to read back on my rubbish entries, so I'll just relay it anyway. A couple of weeks ago London enjoyed a really rare warm day - it was about 20 degrees and really sunny. Having not worn shorts since the beginning of time, I decided that I had to wear shorts on that day. I wore my old dusty pink Mango shorts, paired it with a flowery shirt also from Mango, and, because I literally had no shoes to wear apart from a pair of heels that I wanted to return but couldn't as I had exceeded the 30-day return period, finished it off with a pair of heels.
Half of London stared at me.
I left the library at half past 11 at night, and while at the Tube station, I stood outside the entry gates and rummaged around my bag for my Oyster card. All of a sudden, I heard someone say, "No stockings!" and a second later, I felt someone's hand brushing against my thigh. I confronted the asshole - some drunk and ugly British man with a belly, oh my god ew - and he actually had the gall to deny touching me. I glared at him and told him flatly, "You're drunk." He had no reply to that. I decided this person wasn't worth my time, so I stomped down the escalator and got into the Tube.
I got into the Tube and EVERYONE stared at me.
It was like Londoners had never seen a woman in shorts with no stockings before. It was really quite sad. On the one hand, I obviously enjoy attention from men; on the other hand, however, there is a limit to that. I do not enjoy being stared at by everyone on the Tube the second I get on, I do not enjoy being gawked at when I'm innocently walking to school from the bus stop with my red LSE plastic folder, and I certainly do not enjoy being molested by some drunk arse with a belly who probably can't get laid which was why he had to go around touching random girls. All this just because I wore shorts. It almost made me miss Singapore, where I walked around in shorts half the time and no one gave a shit because everyone did it.
A few days ago, I wore a skirt with no stockings again, and as I walked down Hatton Garden on the way home, a man who looked to be in his late 40s or early 50s said something to me. I stopped, thinking that I dropped something or whatever, and he said, "Are you Japanese?"
It took me a few seconds to realise where this was going. By then it was too late, because I had already replied, "No, I'm from Singapore."
Blah blah blah, and then, "You're very beautiful, by the way."
He asked me if I wanted to go for a drink. It was 5pm. I said that I was headed home. He asked if this meant that he'd never see me again. Inwardly I thought, Yeah obviously; but I was in a good mood that day, so I replied, "Yeah...I'm flattered but...yeah."
The next time someone tells me that I'm beautiful, I may just reply, "Yeah I know." It would be interesting to see how the other party would react to that.
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I just read an article on Thought Catalog from a supposedly pretty girl whining about being pretty. I would get started on the terrible grammar and punctuation, but I haven't got all night, so I'll just say this:
Good-looking people that whine about being good-looking and make implausible claims like "I hate being a pretty girl" are lying through their teeth. There is not a single good-looking person in the world who genuinely hates it, or dislikes it, or finds it to be a significant liability. It is not possible. Sure, it's a bit irritating when members of the opposite sex only want to get to know you because of your looks; but isn't that half the reason we want to get to know anyone anyway? Besides, it's better than no one being interested in you because you're not good-looking. More importantly, I am positive that good-looking people would take all the inconveniences and annoyances that come with the territory and continue to be good-looking as opposed to not. Who doesn't like getting free stuff? Who doesn't like getting special treatment from superiors or getting an edge in a competitive work market because some horny older man finds you attractive? Who doesn't like attention from members of one's preferred gender(s)? Only disingenuous liars, that's who.
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On a slightly related note, it's incredible how bloody and unapologetically superficial I am.
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Lastly, David Cook's new single is so awesome.
Can't get it out of my head!
