In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “If I Had a Hammer.”
When I was younger, I wanted to be a ballerina/fairy/princess because I am a girl and that is what girls want to do when they are young.
When my little brother was younger, well, younger than he is now, he wanted to be a footballer/cowboy/alien shooting spaceman because he is a boy and that is what boys want to do when they are young.
But then we grew up a tiny little bit and matured a tiny little bit less and our answers changed. Mine became nurse or writer or most commonly Hermione Granger, and my brother answered doctor or plumber or cricketer.
Now I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being a nurse or a writer if you’re a girl or a doctor or a cricketer if you’re a boy but it never even crossed my mind to think about becoming a plumber or a carpenter or an electrician because it was never given to me as an option. So now, at the ripe old age of 18, the Daily Prompt is asking which of these trades I would like to have learned and my answer is this. I would like to have learned that it was alright to think about learning them.
If that makes any sense at all.
I currently live in the same place I have currently lived for approximately 18 years. Which is to say that I’ve only ever lived in one town. I can, however, appreciate that moving to a town such as my own is a daunting prospect, especially when one considers that my town is a – gulp – school town.
Let me clarify; I live in a town (its more of a villagey suburb now that I think of it) which is built around the existence of three well performing single sex schools and an odd university college thing that only offers courses on religion. And a coffee shop.
So ultimately, there’s a lot of kids around. Particularly teenagers. Teenagers who go to single sex schools. Who don’t meet other kids except in the coffee shop or sometimes in the teeny tiny park. So my town is basically a mating ground for the underaged and underdeveloped. Those of us who have grown up around it have learned to ignore it (read: hide from it). My warning to you, oh unfortunate stranger, is never to make eye contact. You might not come out alive.
Inspired by the daily prompt.
As daily prompts go, this should be a no-brainer. As previously established in this post, I am possibly the most stereo-typically white girl you will ever meet, in both looks and actions, despite being half Indian. My whiteness has also, apparently, permeated even my taste buds, and so without a doubt I would give up the ability to taste spice if given the choice.
This, dear readers, would not be an issue. At all. If I could do it right now, I most definitely would. I think there is something inherently masochistic about willingly placing spicy foods in your mouth. They literally burn your mouth. Literally. Hurt. Your. Mouth. Is it only me that seems to feel that?
My mother definitely does not understand that. On our last trip to the US she actually brought back a chilly sauce called ‘Death Rain’ because tabasco is now too mild for her. She actually puts something called ‘Death Rain’ on her food and then willingly ingests it. Willingly.
Spicy food is definitely something I have yet to enjoy.
Inspired by this.
Or in other words, why punctuation is more important than spelling.
This daily prompt has indeed prompted many thoughts – I have an issue with overusing (misusing?) hyphens, ellipses, and commas. However, I personally believe that it is far more important to use punctuation correctly than spelling.
In the news recently, I’ve seen a vast array of articles warning of the importance of great spelling in job applications, because we have grown so reliant on spell check that we have simply forgotten how to spell. But have you ever come across a misspelled word so badly spelled that it became incomperhnesible?
You seemed to do just fine with my spelling of incomprehensible.
But, consider the following sentences (which I think are subject of a book I haven’t read but seem to have a copy of in my downstairs loo?):
- “Strangely, the panda only eats shoots and leaves.”
- “Strangely, the panda only eats, shoots, and leaves.”
And thus the horror of misusing punctuation appears. It is the difference, my friend, between a homicidal mammal and a hungry teddy. But if I had merely misspelled ‘panda’? I think then that we would be far safer from potential serial killer pandas, and also be more inclined to type.
Inspired by this.
I’ve had a recurring nightmare since I was young, and although it sometimes starts differently, the overwhelming terror it evokes remains very much the same.
I’m running through the woods (the one at the bottom of my road) and I’m being chased by a group of men, young men, probably in their early twenties. Their skin is pale, really pale, as in Twilight Edward Cullen pale, and they’re carrying some kind of long spear. I keep running and screaming and running and as I run I can see newspapers flash by with a faceless girl on them. I don’t know what happened to her, but I know it was bad. And eventually I wake up.
Now you could probably interpret this as a combination of a) watching too much Criminal Minds at a young age and b) living in a big (often violent) city, but I’d like to think that the cause is something more mysterious. Perhaps it is a manifestation of my deep rooted fear of pointy chopsticks? Or maybe that I really don’t like trees? I don’t know. Still creeps me out though.
Inspired by: daily post
“Aha!” cries a Daily Post blogger. “My time has come! I have been given the Right to Brag!”
And so I was going to tell you about all the homework I handed in on time this week (that is indeed a mighty achievement for me), but instead I find myself stuck. You see, I have always been told that bragging is mightily unattractive for a young lady, and that I should therefore always be humble and modest, even when describing my life’s most prolific achievements. If I tell you about an act of which I am proud, and you think that it is ridiculous, I am cocky. Pretentious. Possibly laughably so. But, if I don’t tell you, then I am not confident, I am shy and insecure and am therefore not interesting enough to cause an opinion.
So maybe the Daily Post blogger should cry “Aha! My time to be judged for things I actually like about myself has come! I have been given the Right to Brag!”
I’d like to be able to tell you a wonderfully moving story about how I judged somebody too quickly and was then left with an existential crisis resulting in my transformation from an immoral caterpillar to a beautiful emotionally balanced butterfly, but I can’t. I can’t say I don’t judge people by their ‘covers’, and I can’t say that it doesn’t work for me, because it does.
Maybe I’m a horrible, superficial person, but I’m not referring necessarily to the physical aspects of a person, I just believe there is a reason our perceptions of others are fundamentally framed within our first impressions of them. It’s awfully hard to forget first impressions, and, I think, awfully wrong to try to forget them. Because once they’re emotionally invested in a relationship with you, you never know what they might try to hide from you.
My, this sounds ridiculously bitter. Although, that doesn’t make it untrue.
Inspired by: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/binding-judgment/