I'm Sorry?

I'm not sure this blog is going in the direction I necessarily expected-- not that I had a set plan or anything. But I feel like I'm putting too much about myself into it. I know it's only been three posts, but I've revealed a lot about myself, especially in "Vanity." And it's never a bad thing to withhold some information, especially personal, life-changing experiences.

The fact is, I don't even know myself right now. To say this blog is a representation of me may be a completely false statement. If I don't know who I am, neither do you. And my posts, while opinionated, I will start treated more like a self-discovery type thing. I know it's public, but only two people that I know of are reading it and if you're bored feel free to stop. I won't be offended.

I guess this is almost a response to the person who left that message on my Formspring about not feeling like they know me anymore after reading this. There are a lot of things people don't know about me and I know that I may not be the person you thought I was but I don't think a lot of people are the same person you talk to everyday. I'm certainly not being fake around you, I'm just showing you one side of my personality and shielding the other(s).

I don't want to discuss fluffy, irrelevant topics. Writing "Candid Photography" was painful. I was forcefully trying to move on from a depressing topic to a lighter, funnier one. While I joke around more often than not and can see the humour in life, I'd like to be serious sometimes and this blog is kind of my ticket in doing that since I never really get the chance with my friends otherwise.

So I'm sorry if you're reading this solely for laughter. There will be laughs, I'm sure, but they may be a bit harder to find. Maybe not in some posts. I'm sorry to myself and to you, reader, because this blog will never truly represent me. My opinions, tastes, and interests are ever-changing and to be true next your to what I've said this year is near impossible for me.

I'm sorry, but I'm going to be selfish with this.

You can go back to your life now.

Kiah

Candid Photography

So this is a weird topic but it must be discussed because it is one of the worst ideas ever made in the history of ever.

Sure, seeing someone laughing for real as opposed to fake laughter captured in photography is nice. But when they happen to need to attempt to control their laugh from going all witch-like and then notice you wielding your dinky ol' camera ready to take a picture, it's a little hard to try to focus on perfecting a normal laugh that won't terrify children along with a decent smile that is controlled with the addition of not flaring their nostrils. Yes, you could take a picture of that person anyways but they will ask you to delete it. And maybe said person is me.

I have a hard enough time trying not to look like a lemur and now I have to worry about having my photo taken when I sneeze? Or when I'm tired and my right eye goes all lazy-like? Ridiculous! What kind of person do you think you are? Capturing 'real' human emotion...

Real human emotion my ass, you take a mental picture if you want that, photos are for faking. As ye shall fake, ye shall look good.

Unless you're wearing a toupee. Those rarely look good. My dad wore a wig to a costume party once. Not his best look...

For the goodness of what is good, quit this candid photography mess. Embrace the fakeness needed in photos. Look at all those old photos with the first cameras invented that took forever to take a photo. All the people in them look like they have a pole up their ass, which I'm pretty sure they do. Is that real enough for you? No, that's custy. But I forgive them, they hadn't had the experience in photography that we do today.

Fake, it's that simple. Who wants to see "I'm on my period right now and am wearing a pad" on a person's face in a photo (Ladies, you know what I mean.)? Not me!

Stop taking candid photos, please. Or at least avoid taking them of me. And give me forewarning when you're about to take a picture. I need to practice smiling for a minute or two to get my 'charming' one correct.

You can get back to your life now.

Kiah

Vanity

WARNING: This post is utterly depressing and extremely self-indulgent. A sob story, if you will. Read at the risk of disliking me. (Well, I hope not)

I knew I'd get to this topic eventually, so why not sooner rather than later?

Remember that phase of non-confidence I mentioned in my last post? Well, that really affected me. I absolutely hated myself to the point of...extreme measures (open to interpretation). It was a horrible time for me. I avoided my reflection some days and cried habitually. Why couldn't I look the way I wanted to look? Anyone who complimented me I immediately put on a list of mistrust. What kind of sick person, I thought, would compliment me and get my hopes up?

I think the big question is where this all starts. Obviously the hugest influence today is the media. For me, the media was a non-issue. In grade one I was determined that I looked like a mix of Jennifer Lopez and Beyonce. What hurt me were my peers. We often put children on pedestals, announcing their innocence and always good intentions. But think back to your childhood: were your friends like that? Were you like that?

I absolutely was not. In grade four I was a grade A bitch and thought I was better than everyone. It was an attitude I developed in junior kindergarten when I was bullied by this horrible girl. At first I cried and then I realized that to get back at her I'd act like I was better than her (after kicking her a few times in the vagina. I'd only ever kicked my brother in that area and it hurt him because, you know, he has a penis. Unfortunately my bully was a girl).

I have a big ego, I think, that is easily offended. I recover fairly quickly but am still hurt sometimes. One of my least favourite memories took place in grade five. That was a time when the boys at school started being openly interested in the girls and vice-versa. One day we were rating the boys on a scale of one to ten. After we told them their 'scores,' they rated us. They would whisper between themselves briefly first before turning to the girl they were rating to tell them their score. All of my friends got nines and tens. And then the boys got to me.
I remember getting really nervous but at the same time feeling confident. I was good-looking, in my opinion, and I knew it. If the girl next to me got a nine, surely I'm a ten, I thought.

The boys finished whispering and looked at me. Traces of smiles marked their mouths--I took that as a good sign. The--shall we say--"leader of the pack" stepped forward. For the past few weeks I had developed a little crush on him.
"We decided that you're a..." He looked back at the boys who nodded for him to go on. "Six."

Being a six is in no way a bad rating, even in this totally non-valid system. But having such a low score in comparison with my friends and especially hearing it from my crush, that's tough for a girl who's just about to hit puberty. My heart was shattered along with my ego. My confidence held up, but not as strongly. To make matters worst one of the girls was complaining that she had a nine, the lowest score. To cheer her up I said, "Hey, at least it's not a six. That's what I got." Instead of feeling bad for me, and I'll admit that was part of the reason I said it, she giggled and told all my other friends who silently laughed at me some more. And then I realized that the smirks on the boys' faces were not a good sign but a sign that they had been laughing and mocking me as well. Yes, children are so innocent. Their mocking was with good intention, right? Sure.

The next year in grade six I was a little bit kinder and a little more self-conscious but not much. That was the year I was first able to go to these dances that took place the first Friday of every month. I remember my first one. I wore my hair in my 'signature' ponytail (my hair was so damaged by chemical relaxers, it was the only thing I could do to get it out of my face) and I'd put on my favourite jeans and a pink long-sleeve tee that said 'Lucky Ducky.' The two friends I went with and I met this boy at the dance who kept talking and flirting with us. We eventually asked him why he was talking to us. He said, pointing to my one friend, "Well, you're tall and pretty--" he pointed to my other friend, "--you're hot--" and then he pointed to me "--and you're..." The smug smile he'd had on his face faltered and he scratched it head. "I don't know."

Confidence shattered.

I moped as my friends giddily discussed the compliments they had received, just as I had moped the year before after the rating situation. I didn't feel that I looked like JLo or Beyonce anymore. I decided at that point that I was ugly.

Sot this is a super depressing topic, I know. Sorry for the sob story. It sounds a lot sadder typed out. The fact is I needed that to toughen me up. But I do have something to prove.

Why should I care about what others think of me? Because everyone needs to think I'm attractive? Because I need the confidence boost? Even when all those boys told me I was unattractive I still had people complimenting me, telling me I'm beautiful. But it's not just about looks. For a lot of people I know, they're not movie star-gorgeous, but their personality is so attractive that I'd rate them higher than Leonardo DiCaprio or Zoe Saldana (who I wish I looked like now).

Despite my revelation, I'm still obsessed with vanity. What can I say? I like to look good. Some people think I succeed and others don't. And for those who don't, screw them. They're probably ugly anyways. (Kidding.) We can't compare ourselves to others or the people we see on television. Do you know how much work goes into making them look like that? See the Dove Evolution video. They don't just do that for movies, for some this is a daily routine.

Just work on being happy with yourself first. Worry about others later.
Sorry for this horrendous message that I'm sure you're sick of hearing everywhere, but it's true. And I've only recently come to realize that.

I'm getting my haircut later today. Let's pray I don't look like a tool with the new look.
Was that statement hypocritical, going against everything I just said? Maybe. But we're all hypocrites so stop judging me.

You can go back to your life now.

Kiah

Ah...Hello.

I suppose an introduction is in order.

Well, my name is Kiah (pronounced Kai-ah) and if you're reading this you probably know me and a lot of the things I'm going to mention. This post is primarily for the lurks out there in need to all this information. (For what? I have no clue. A lurk is a lurk is a lurk.)

I was born April 2, 1993 at a hospital in the city I live in now. Maybe I'll get a little personal--I was born with a not-fully grown right ear. Weird, I know. At least that's how my mom put it. I came out sucking my thumb and holding my right ear (now that I think about it, that must have been painful for my mother). I guess the reason for the non-growth was the pressure I was putting on it. By the way, the ear was still attached to my head. It was just flat and stuck out a lot. When I was five I got that little thing fixed. The doctor put a bandage horizontally around my head which stayed there for one or two months. I don't remember it much, but I remember it was a pain for my mom to do my hair. Literally, a pain. All she could do is put it into a high ponytail and she is not a weak woman. I'm surprised I don't have a receded hairline because of the whole experience. My fifth year of life was a changing one, now that I think about it. I got braces then, too. But not the kind for your teeth. No, this was a metal plate attached to the roof of my mouth that, when cranked, it stretched my jaw out. I'm positive they called it 'braces' is to make it sound more friendly and to confuse you. You know, because 'jaw-stretcher' is just a little too literal and imagery-inducing. I didn't have enough room for all of my adult teeth. I'm sure it was a painful experience but all I remember about it is sucking on a Fruit Roll-Up. The thing got stuck to the roof of my mouth. So I spent the whole rest of the day salivating because of the fruity fake goodness stuck in my mouth. I couldn't eat it--that was what bugged me! I wanted to so bad...

Is it weird that the only moment I remember that involved suffering with the ol' jaw-stretcher is not being able to eat a Fruit Roll-Up?

Moving along, I'm someone who rapidly goes through phases. All throughout my childhood I always had a different dream. In kindergarten I was going to be a journalist. Grade one: a singer (I could sing back then, apparently). Grade four: a professional soccer player. Grade five: a computer hacker. Grade six: novelist. Grade eight: actress. In those phases and aspirations I had mesophases and microphases, such as my anime obsession, attempts to learn Japanese, as well as my butch phase. However all of that has shaped me into the girl/woman that I cam today (except "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman...").

Today I still want to be an actress but with an even stronger drive. I love fashion and music and movies. But I am also very interested in sports and health too. I'm a little too passionate and over-the-top. Sometimes my life is like a soap opera (in my head), but most of the time it's like a sitcom. My family pisses me off to no end, but I still love them. I like boys (and men...) but have never had a boyfriend nor my first kiss. This doesn't bother me much--I'm selfish and do not like to be touched. I am easily influenced by the things around me yet I still have a mind of my own. I hate eat and sleep even though I need both. I have a short attention span and am very spontaneous. I like last minute switch-ups. I went through a time that I was too cocky for my own good. What followed was a time that I was too self-conscious for my own good. It's leveling out now though.

I think that's enough about me for now.
I'm not entirely sure what direction this blog will take on, but we'll see when it happens.

Okay, the end. You can go back to your life now.

Kiah