The Illusion of Wasted Time

I'm currently in the middle of a wonderful week off from work, in which I've set myself lots of goals in the areas of studying, reading, writing, drawing, correspondence, cleaning and more. In typical me style, each day I've given myself way too many things to realistically do and then spent most of the day wallowing in a mixture of indifference, apathy, self-loathing and pure joy as I procrastinate to high heaven.

I'm starting to wonder if, by making a task something I should or need to do, I psychologically then don't want to do it. By that logic then if I put 'watch seven episodes of Frasier in a row and eat chocolate' on my list then maybe I will instead practice cartwheels and eat a bowlful of apples.
I'm noticing a trend. One day I might put 'do the washing' on my list, and end up drawing a picture. Then the next day if I put 'draw a picture' on the list, I might find myself cleaning my clothes. The activity in question is irrelevant- its mere presence on the list renders it undesirable.
So by the list logic I will eventually do everything, but I'll do it in an order that makes me feel perpetually guilty for not having got things done 'that day.'

As a (tortured) writer I definitely suffer with guilt. There is no escape from the feeling that anything else I'm doing is a waste, a dreaded procrastination. 
I sometimes lament the fact that my blog isn't bigger, that more people don't read it. Occasionally I join a link up or something to try and get more traffic. Then I stop and ask myself- do I even really want this? Needless to say popularity would be fun and it would be nice to have more of a blogging community. On the other hand, there are the following drawbacks:

• Do I want to do sponsored posts for money? You get sent cool stuff for free, but you're not free to blog about what you want to). 

• Do I want to feel pressure to reply to comments left on a blog post? Some bloggers get a hundred comments every time they post something. At my average 0.0047 comments per blog post, I have no problem staying on top. 

• The most popular bloggers blog upwards of five times a week. How on earth would I find five things to write about each week?

No, I think all in all I'm better off being free to ramble at my own pace, allowing it to be a fun pastime rather than edging into the dangerous territory of chore. 

I sometimes dream about being a concert pianist and wish I was (infinitely) better at playing. But then if it was my day job I'd probably hate it. Not to say I hate my day job now or anything, I just mean that sometimes we think if we could have our favourite hobby as a career then life would be perfect. In actual fact for many people, being paid to do something (with the resulting deadlines and boundaries and pressure) can turn the thing they once loved into a pain in the ass. 

In short, sometimes hobbies are best left as hobbies.
 
I read a great quote the other day in Writing Children's Fiction. On the subject of 'Writers Magic' Linda Newbery says, 

"imagination only comes when you privilege the subconscious, 

when you make delay and procrastination work for you.’’ (pg79)

So maybe as a writer I'm lucky. I can do an activity totally unrelated and still call the time spent a success in terms of the daydreaming I did.
But even if I'm not doing what I'm 'supposed' to being doing, or even thinking about it in any way, shape or form, should I feel guilty? Should I care? I've decided the answer is a big fat no. I'm the only one putting this pressure on myself and creating a false sense of what's important and what's not. 

In the end it doesn't matter what we do with our time. All that really matters is that we're enjoying doing it. Is that not what life is about, after all?

 

 

Getting into Nature

Whilst not being a fan of new years resolutions, I have decided that this year I want to make an effort to get out in nature more. I've spent the last few years living in cities- and capital ones at that- and find it's easy to get sucked into the charms of the man-made and forget to do anything else. When I'm at home especially, I spend the majority of my time in Coventry, Birmingham, London or other cities, with not much chance to get out into the countryside. It was only last summer when I had the use of my Mum's car that I have the chance to see some fields and trees.
It is often argued that how much time we spend in nature can have an impact on our mental health. In today's world it's easy to go day to day from building to building, from concrete to concrete. We are guilty of sometimes valuing technology and money above animals, trees and water, which when all is said and done are things we cannot survive without. To not ever experience the natural world, is, quite simply, unnatural.

Our school here in Seoul is right next to the mountains. A few days ago I went on a hike with a friend, finding ourselves away from the hustle and bustle of the busy city within ten minutes of leaving the house. There are various trails, a Buddhist temple (with chants emanating through the doors) as well as a tower that shows an incredible panoramic view of the city. There are also some outdoor gym areas dotted around. One place was like a youth club; music blaring, people hanging out and chatting, the only difference being that they were all over the age of fifty.
The mountains are such a calm and tranquil place so close to home. I must remember to go there more often, and next time I will attempt to fit in with the Koreans by taking some makkoli (rice wine) to enjoy at the top.

Yesterday Lee and I went to Seoul Forest, which is meant to be the biggest park in Seoul. It has been compared to London's Hyde Park and New York's Central Park, but I have to say it paled in insignificance in comparison to either. Perhaps it would be nicer at a different time of year, with leaves on the trees and running water features, but I still couldn't help being a bit disappointed. Seoul is known for its lack of green parks, and Seoul Forest is no exception, favouring concrete over grass in most instances. We had hoped to hire bikes but were told when we got there that you had to hire them from the subway station. The park is also so surrounded by freeways that the constant hum of traffic was never far off.   
Complaints aside, we had a good walk and had fun playing in the children's play areas. We drank warming coffee and visited the adorable baby deer park. 

 

Some rules for the park. No burping? Seems a little strict.

And one last ramble on the theme of the 'natural.'
Recently I've been going to the gym a bit and am thoroughly enjoying the Korean attitude towards nudity. The women parade around stark naked in the changing rooms, chatting and blow drying and generally seeming ultra proud of themselves. One girl even put on her bra, t-shirt and jumper before even thinking about putting on a pair of knickers. I'm not sure whether to call them weird for being so open, or to admire their lack of prudishness, but either way it's pretty entertaining. 




Well that's it from me. Have you been anywhere nice recently?

The Decline and Rise of the Attempted Hobby

I'm currently reading Miranda Hart's "Is it just me?" (it's a rivetingly hilarious read, you should try it), which has got me thinking all about the subject of hobbies. Miranda talks about the change from childhood, where you could try anything and be anything whether you were good at it or not, to teenage years where hobbies were only generally pursued if the person was already somewhere along the road to success in that chosen pastime. And then when you're an adult, you invariably begin to feel bad about your lack of hobbies and therefore endeavour to take some up, most probably leading to embarrassment, feelings of inadequacy, and often downright failure.
This made me laugh so much (and cry a little inside) because it's just so bloody true. I often think I missed my calling on the stage/in a choir/as a concert pianist/artist/tennis star, but can't find it in myself to take any of these things up as hobbies now- except the piano because I started when I was six, but woe betide I think of playing in public. Of course I often pretend I'm in a stage show of Sister Act (a proper one, not the west end silliness with different songs to the original, urgh) but the idea of auditioning for a just-for-fun-no-pressure choir brings me out in a cold sweat.
When I was sixteen I auditioned for a part in the Beatles version of A Midsummer Nights Dream at school. My friend and I (you know who you are) thought somehow that the teacher might catch a glimpse of our innate brilliance and cast us as Lysander and Hermia. But in reality we sucked, were given parts in the choir and forced to stand in the background as hippy clad 'trees' along with a load of year 7's and 8's. Despite being a highly amusing experience, I do believe that this is where my fear of 'giving things a go' stemmed from.
At Uni I tried out a few hobbies. Buddhist meditation was fun for a while, until it got serious. I remember sitting on a precarious tower of three cushions, eyes closed, pretending to be 'focused on feeling the same feelings towards someone you love and someone you hate' (impossible), when my friend and I had a wildly inappropriate giggling fit for no reason. Needless to say this was met with sincere disapproval by the other meditators and it was then that we knew we needed to leave.
After that there was the kayaking society. Whilst I love kayaking on holiday, I had a few issues with the club itself: #1. I didn't want to spend my weekends off at a random lake somewhere instead of in the pub. #2. Practicing in a swimming pool is plain old crap, however you try and dress it up. #3. I didn't want to do the 'Eskimo roll' in front of everyone.
The longest stint in a new hobby at uni was my street dance and tap classes. Despite my dreams of grandeur, both of these things proved that when it comes to dancing I am very much a clumsy elephant. I did, however, force my housemates to come and see our 'performance.' I still have the photos- one of me in legwarmers, the other wrapped in a feather boa, and in both the look on my face is something of pride mixed with intense mortification.
After uni there was circus club, which was full of weirdos- who would've guessed?
In Saudi I was proud of myself for climbing an indoor wall. It was terrifying and painful and I spent the whole time egotistically convinced that everyone was laughing at me. I got to the top, but rather than make me want to do it again, this achievement enabled me to happily retire from the sport, glad that I hadn't embarrassed myself too much, or in fact died.
Lee and I also embarked on a 'trek in the desert' venture in Saudi, all set with good intentions of fresh air and exercise. The reality was, however, that we got a lift with a crazy American man who didn't actually know where we were going so instead just drove us to a random place in the desert somewhere outside of Riyadh. There was a scary moment where he stopped the car, miles away from anywhere and announced that he 'needed to get something out of the trunk.' Convinced that he was going to emerge with an axe or hacksaw, we sat nervously waiting until much to our great relief he pulled out a bottle of (half decent) homemade booze. We then spent the afternoon driving around nowhere in particular, getting pissed and not finding the walking group or indeed getting out of the car. Much more fun in my opinion.
And of course I've also taken up the ukulele, although I'm not very good at it. But then that's exactly Miranda's point- why can't we simply enjoy doing things, without this pressure to be miraculously good at them?

 

The Gym/Club disguise

After ten months of sitting on my arse eating chocolate and doing no more exercise than walking the ten paces between my house and the school bus, I've decided to take drastic action by joining a gym. Eek! I'm certainly no fan of the gym atmosphere: the repetitive grind of the treadmill; individuals keeping themselves to themselves and probably pretending they're somewhere else; everybody inserting exercise into their lives because it isn't there naturally. It's true, the gym is a pretty hateful place. But never fear my friends, the one I've joined is no ordinary gym! Pure Gym in Coventry is in an old nightclub building, a nightclub that entertained me for many happy hours between the ages of 16-18. My main nights there were Thursdays, and I have fond memories of staying out till three then dragging myself into sixth form the next morning to giggle my still drunk self through group readings of Shakespeare in English class. Those were the days.The building still has the layout of the club, with all the equipment pointing towards the glitter ball in the middle. I was told the other day that at night they even dim the lights. Ooooh! My way of enjoying myself is to pretend I'm back at the club, the songs they play making for easy inspiration. Yesterday I jogged to Base in the Place London by Public Domain, instantly transporting me back to the days of 'raving' around my heels and handbag. Sigh.

And in those heyday years of the 'superclub' Ikon, it came complete with podium dancers, stilt walkers and a strict dress code. It was so cool.  
But rather than focus on the depressing downward spiral trend of all things Coventry, I am instead being grateful that through the powers of reminiscing, my gym experience is more exciting.

Transformations of a building from one thing to another is a delicate and problematic business. For me it is never more delicate than when a disused church is taken up for another purpose. In Leeds I remember a big old church that was part of the Theatre department. Fine by me. And in Nottingham there's a lovely Pitcher and Piano pub in an old church building. Also fine by me. What was not fine, however, was when a new nightclub opened in Leeds in an old church building. Its name Halo struck me as a bit insulting from the off, but I'd seen nothing yet. The club had stripper-dancers dressed as Nuns, and the stained glass windows were one by one getting smashed thanks to the lairy clientele the place was attracting. Now I'm not particularly religious, but I couldn't help feeling that it was all a little disrespectful, not to mention a terrible waste of a beautiful building. Makes me mad.

Anyway, that's enough ramblings. I'm off to party at the gym!
    

 
 

Make a Decision!

Usually the new year is a time for feeling refreshed and ready for new challenges. But right now I feel tired and over it and totally ready for my holiday in two weeks time. I'm going home for a week, which feels like the most exciting thing EVER!
At school we're in a bit of a pickle due to two things: being pulled in different directions by varying levels of management, and not making decisions early enough, or sticking to any decisions made. So we have a situation where there are some kids at school, most kids not, and staff being asked to 'teach' a program that we haven't planned for, with no books.
But hey, I'm getting pretty used to the disorganisation and am finding the key to sanity is to not expect anything until it actually happens and, more importantly, to just laugh at the mess.

On the new year theme, I read a blog the other day about goals and getting into new habits etc. Always keen to develop good habits (still need to work on not picking my nose!), I tried to take in some of the advice. One thing that definitely applies to me is making quick decisions. I am classically indecisive- a fact I often blame on being a Gemini- and can usually argue with equal vigour why I should do one thing, or another. The blog says that you shouldn't worry about making a bad decision but go for what you feel is right. It also says most decisions can be reversed, or if not, you'll get over it, so don't worry so much. Just the simple act of making a decision is a very good idea if you want to get anything done.
Another important way in which to be more productive, is apparently to pick one thing to do, and do it. Sounds simple and logical, but I have a really hard time with this notion. I've always liked to have lots of 'projects' on the go, and I've noticed particularly recently that I have developed a very short attention span. Of course if I just focused on Arabic for example, then it follows that I'd be very good at it within a few months. But then what about my story, and my 'exercise plan' and my blog? Not to mention practising my juggling skills and cross stitch and making bracelets and all the other little things I want to do. I admire people who're focused, but I've always preferred a bit of everything, which perhaps accounts for why I'm never that successful at anything!!!
Speaking of new projects, I've ordered two musical instruments (small enough for travel) which I'm going to bring back with me in January.



My new Ukulele.





An Ocarina! I have no idea how to play it but it looks like fun.
 

There is no way I could possibly pick one thing to do. For now I think I'll try to 'keep my fingers in lots of pies' and see how it goes. But if you have any ideas on how I can focus on one thing, whilst getting to do lots of other things too, a.k.a having my cake and eating it, then let me know!

Toys, toys, toys.

Last week, in a mad quest to find things to occupy our time, Lee and I went a bit toy mad. Of course I place all of the blame on the fact that we discovered Toys R Us. I got some amazing light-up juggling balls, which came with a CD to help me better my skills. So far I haven't looked at it though as I know it'll require a lot of hard work to master any tricks, and I'm just not sure I'm up for it. But the lights are very pretty though, so for now I'm content just to juggle and watch them change through all the colours of the rainbow.
I also got a hoola hoop. At first I thought it was broken, but then realised it was just my rusty hoola hooping ability. After a lot of practice I managed to do 90 in a row (yes, counting makes me happy). But I woke up the next day with an massive ache in my side, which went on for 3 days, so I haven't touched it since. I think these things should come with a health warning- "Not a Toy. Danger of Injury."
Lee is now the proud owner of a remote control Ferrari, and has been literally driving me crazy playing 'I've just been to the golf club' in our living room, which involves going through security at the mansion (our coffee table) and parking in the garage (the table). He's also taken to following me around flashing the lights.

I found a game that I liked but wasn't sure it was the right Sunday afternoon fun for me:

Maybe it means to say, "The Only Game ever made for Muslim Children"?

On the back I was further enlightened as to what 'The Path' involves.

Whilst some of these are worthy things to ponder on, I'm not sure 'Cars to Own' or 'Shopping Trips to Take' really qualify as moral dilemmas. Should I get a BMW or a Mercedes, God? Please Help!

And our final toy buying extravagance was a bit crazy but also a perfect way to use the spare room:

 

A little frivolous you might think, but I figured it only cost as much as about two nights out at home for the two of us, and seeing as that privilege is denied us here, I thought 'why the heck not?!'

 

 

A Potential New Hobby

I don't know if I've mentioned before how crazy the roads are here and how bad the driving is, so I'll say it again just in case. The roads are crazy here and the driving is very bad. A lot of main roads are dual carriageways or bigger and extremely busy. Life as a pedestrian here is not easy, partly due to the big roads but also because the drivers generally act as if walking is an alien concept.
Out on the streets and indeed in our apartment, we constantly hear the screech of breaks and the skidding of tires. People drive fast, brake fast and relish skidding and handbrake turns.
It's funny to me that women are deemed unsuitable drivers, yet young boys are not. I have seriously seen boys that look as young as twelve behind the wheel. The other day I saw a little boy driving along with his door open, watching the floor instead of the road ahead as he went. At least when they're older they just look at their phones whilst driving rather than the ground.
The price of petrol is extremely low here, I believe it to be less than one Riyal per litre (approx 17p) and I think you can see that in the way they drive, and in how many cars are on the road. People are also not afraid to bash their cars, and it appears that vehicles are almost never deemed unroadworthy. I've seen bumpers hanging off, smashed bonnets, and cracked and even smashed windscreens, but none of this seems to matter. 
I don't know if this made international news (I think it should've really) but in the Eid holiday there was a massive accident where an oil tanker crashed into a flyover, exploding and killing around 26 people. It happened in our area of the city, but we were in Sri Lanka at the time, although we saw the aftermath on our return. It was pretty scary to look at, as several nearby buildings were completely destroyed and ones further away had no windows. From what I've heard, this was an accident caused primarily by lack of care taken on the roads.
The other day driving home from work I also saw an accident where a car had gone into a huge lamppost. The lamppost had fallen, landing on top of the car and crushing it from front to back. I think these things are quite regular occurrences here.

On a lighter note, it is entertaining to see what happens to a car when the driver has finally had enough of the state it's in. There are 'car graveyards' dotted around, where people dump their wrecked cars for good.

 

 

Other than driving recklessly, another popular pastime here is playing with the abandoned cars. So here we have it, if we get really, really bored here, we might just take up a new hobby- burning out cars!

 

 

 

 

Lulu in Marrakech- A Warning

As is my custom and an ingrained habit since childhood, I don’t ever leave a book half read. Somehow it just bugs me, so I always carry on to the end, however painful this proves to be.  Last night I was finally released from the clutches of a 300 page god awful book, which has kept me prisoner for the past two weeks. I am left feeling bewildered by it; both insulted and strangely encouraged. How can such a terrible novel find a willing publisher? But at the same time, this in itself is proof that there is hope for us all. If this book was published, then surely there is a publisher out there for me too!
I now feel the need to review said book, to spread its joy to you, in the hope that you will be saved from the same fate as me (having to read it). Lulu in Marrakech follows Lulu on a secret CIA mission to Morocco, where she is to stay with her recent lover Ian, who happens to live there in a big old house. I don’t know whether it’s intentional, and if so then her profession makes no sense, but Lulu is one of the most stupid characters I have ever met. She is pathetic and clueless and has no idea what she is really doing in Marrakech. She hints from time to time about her many hidden CIA talents, such as being able to make an impression of a key using wax, but other than that she appears to be a complete waste of space. Added to which she is a total racist, insensitive and ignorant to the culture of the country in which she is in.  She makes regular sweeping and insulting statements about Islam, especially regarding terrorists, implying more than once that Muslims could at any time be blown up by close family members. And also with regards to women, Lulu assumes that all female Muslims covering their heads are doing so because they are oppressed, and she feels sorry for them regarding the issue of virginity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are some Muslim women that are oppressed (but certainly not all), and of course the obsession with preserving the hymen is, to me, a bit unreasonable, but Lulu simply has her own, outragious way of putting it. For example:
I tried to remember being a virgin and I couldn’t. That is, there was no difference in me either way; it was exactly the same, and it was terrible to think there were whole continents of poor girls for whom that inconsequential poke might mean life or death.
Firstly, whole continents? Which would those be then? And secondly, inconsequential poke? Speak for yourself luv, haha.
I hoped at least that Lulu in Marrakech would be a trashy romantic romp, but even the love life side of the story is completely glossed over and crap. About a third of the book is spent with Lulu going to tea with her pregnant friend Posy (honestly?).
Three quarters of the way through Lulu is joined by some other CIA agents, who keep her completely in the dark about what they are doing. Regardless of this, however, she mindlessly joins them in kidnapping a ‘suspect’ (of what? I still have no idea). They strip him naked, tape his mouth shut and drive him somewhere, only to find that he has choked on his own vomit on the way there and died.
After this, Lulu goes on a short lived emotional journey of remorse, her main point being that if she knew he was going to die she wouldn’t have looked at the man's willy. Even after the man turns out to be innocent, she still remains preoccupied with her lover Ian- who she has forgiven for running off with another woman in the middle of the book- rather than being riddled with guilt at the murder she has assisted. 
Overall, the book has terribly drawn characters, none of which you feel you know at all by the end. The plot is almost non-existent and hardly includes the reader in what is going on. Terrible.
I am warning you now, that if you choose to open its cover and delve in, you will only have yourself to blame for the consequences.