I'm a big girl now.

It's weird, being here. In Edinburgh. At uni. Alone. I feel like I waited for such a long time for it to happen, and now it has. Maybe I thought I would notice the change. Maybe I thought I would just suddenly be a different, much happier person.
And I am. It's so much easier to be up here than down there. There are aspects of down there that I miss- my friends, the familiarity, all those little people who aren't really you're friends but are just people you like to see. But here, I can do what I want. I know that's what every young person wants when they leave home. Freedom. But for me it's different, because at home I was so much less free than most other people. I was always watching what I said, what I did, where I went, who I was with, just so that life could be peaceful on both sides of the battlefield.
I love it here.
I love walking through the Meadows and feeling like it's mine.
I love meeting new people and telling them about myself.
I love letting myself into my flat.
I love cooking my own food.
I love buying my own food.
I love showering whenever I want.
I love being alone.
I love being with other people.

It's not so easy. I still have to fit everything into a certain amount of time. I still have to buy everything myself. But even that feels good, even when it doesn't. Even as my the amount in my bank accounts disappears week by week, there's this little thrill you feel when "oh, that's my rent money", or, "oh yeah, that one was for a blender" (N.B. I haven't actually bought a blender yet, but I've spotted one in Argos for £4.97-- I'm gonna make SO MUCH SOUP!).
I guess I'm saying that, yeah, I have worries. I'm a worrier, it's what I do. But now, at least, they're MY worries, about me and my life. They aren't someone else's issues that I'm being forced to deal with, or someone else's sadness that's being pushed on to me.
It's my sadness, and I can do what I like with it.
So I think I'll scrunch it up, and put it in the bin under my desk.
It's not a recycling bin.

"I'm out to learn more about who I really was before. Yeah, I'm going north." Going North by Missy Higgins

I had an adrenaline rush. It's quite common. You can google it.

I felt like there was something my blog needed, and that thing was a quote from Robert Pattinson as our very own Edward Cullen. When I say "our very own", I mean, mine and Sarah's, that is.
I feel very bookish at the moment. I just bought some more books, because I figured I should get as many as I can before I go to uni and I no longer have the money to buy books. I ordered a second copy of City of Ashes, which I KNOW, is a -bit- of a waste, but let me explain...

I got City of Bones last August, and it's now one of my favourite books. I'm re-reading it now, for like the 5th time. Anyhow, the sequel, City of Ashes, came out in America in March, but has only very recently come out in Britain. So, me being so impatient, I ordered it from America, although it has a different cover to the English version. But the English cover is really so much prettier and it goes with the copy of the first book I have. Also, it's much smaller than the American version which will save me space when I take it to Edinburgh. All these reasons I have to justify my purchase, but it was only £3.99, so I don't really care.
I love those books.

I also ordered Breaking Dawn, which looks to be an exciting read. Although, I read something on the internet which -may- have ruined the ending for me. I say may because it's so ridiculous I can barely believe it happens. You never know though, it may work. We shall just have to wait and see.

Most of my friends will be on holiday for the next week and a half; I'll need something to keep me busy.

"Why? Why? Why exactly? Be more constructive with your feedback." - Hiphopapotamus vs. Rhymnocerous by Flight of Conchords

I'm sorry, guys.

I feel kind of guilty.

Everybody's so excited about this summer, but, to be honest, I just want it to be over.
I know that sounds insane, because we don't have anything to do and everyone's going on holiday and having fun and doing fun things, but I really can't wait until September.
You see, this year has felt like a lifetime. I knew it would be a hard year to get through, being alone and everything, but it has been REALLY HARD. And right now, it's like, there's so little time left. It's the last bit, the home stretch, if you will. But still, it's like twelve weeks, and that's a pretty big bridge to cross. That's quite a bit of time. And I have to spend two of those weeks in Iran. And I'm so excited about Edinburgh, because after so many years of waiting, it's finally here. Almost.
Why does twelve weeks seem like such a long time?
This must be what Abiy feels like, when she has to go through Christmas day, knowing her birthday is the next day.
So I'm sorry, I really am, if I'm not so into the summer.
I'm just trying to get through it unscathed.

"She's got an old death kit she's been meaning to use, she's got blood in her eyes, in her eyes for you. She's got blood in her eyes for you." -Fake Palindromes, Andrew Bird

I'm seriously considering taking chill pills. Literal ones, not figurative. Except not Kalms; they really freak me out...

I'm just really tired of everything. I want to focus on my exams but I can't, because I have a dad who drinks all the time, and smokes weed, and glares at me a lot. And my mum's just pathetically passive and she lets Taraneh come round and smoke in my room, which I'm sure cannot be good for the books. And I have to apply for student finance and my head hurts and...there's an ant running manic right next to my elbow...

Anyway, my dad came up with this ridiculous suggestion that we cut off all contact with my mother and come and live with him. He said it would solve all our problems, but who the hell is he kidding? It's revenge. Sometimes I wonder whether he stuck around for 18 years for us, or to stick it to my mum.

(That's another thing I need to add to my list of worries: I'm a bitch!)

So Parissa came up with this positively genius idea to placate him, which was that me and her write a letter to my mum telling her how we feel. I was completely against the idea. I mean, it was getting to the point where I was considering saying, "Dad, just give it up, mate."
And last week my dad gave me a four hour lecture on how he already expected me to have had a draft written up. And I'm like "WTF? FOUR A-LEVELS!!!"
But today, Parissa sent me her letter (which, by the way, I'm pretty sure was not written in a state of sobriety), and now I'm thinking that maybe this might be a good idea. I mean, I'm equally of the opinion it's a shocking idea, but still there's a part of me that likes it. Because, despite all the grammatical errors, her letter actually says a lot of good stuff. I'll post it below:

"Im writing this letter because I feel I need to say something important to you both and I think this is the best way for me to communicate this to you as I don’t feel I could confidently express this to you verbally.

This year Yasamin is going to go off to Edinburgh and I am obviously in London. With us moving away I think its important that certain issues are resolved before moving. The issues im talking about are the issues between taraneh and dad that affect us all. Its been 5 years since taraneh and dad last spoke and both me and yasamin think it is time we all tried to fix things and sit and talk about it. We feel weve been somewhat overlooked in terms of our feelings in all this over the concern for taranehs mental health, when its plainly obvious that weve been affected too, and that weve had an unfair amount of pressure put upon us from all sides. I don’t enjoy coming home from university as much as id like to because I know that things are still hostile and just because we don’t talk about the problems, or just because you ignore dad it doesn’t mean him or the issues you have with him are going to go away. All this has made me feel under pressure and has previously caused me to have anxiety attacks. Although Yasamin doesn’t express similar feelings as obviously as I do, she is does show hostilities towards everyone in this family but me, which are in no way coincidental and you’d naïve to think they were just some teenage thing. All this may sound fairly selfish but I just want the weight of this off mine and everyone elses shoulders for good.

We propose a meeting, me, Taraneh, Yasamin, Mum and Dad to try and clarify the issues that have been there for the last five years. As were all pretty much adults now I figured we would be able to do this.

I think that although this letter may sound like were choosing sides I promise you were not, we just want our feelings considered in all of this and action taken for in the long run the benefit of not just me and yasamin but the overall benefit of everyone.

Love

Parissa"

It made me cry. Just a little bit. It bothers me though, that, although this letter is so painful, there's still so much more to say. Keep this quiet. I'm pretty sure Parissa would kill me if she knew I'd posted this.

"I know you're scared, even though you say that you're not"- I Won't Be Left, Tegan and Sara

It's nice of you to ruin Christmas.

Dad.

I'm so mad. So so angry. He's unbelievable, he really is.

Every year. Every fucking year he has a tantrum about how we spend Christmas day with my mum, despite the fact that he doesn't celebrate Christmas, despite the fact that he's from a Muslim family. So every year, Parissa and I have to go up to his stupid flat and sit whilst he moans at us for hours about how its our fault Taraneh still isn't speaking to him, how it's our fault he lives like he does, how if we don't do something soon, he's going to go back to Iran (an empty threat).

So this year was no exception. We figured we'd go up Christmas night, go back Boxing day to see Dave's family and then, because it would be a Wednesday, go back to Dad's like we would normally. But no. He talked for hours and hours and hours on Sunday about how that was a really thoughtless plan and how we were just playing our mother's game and no one ever cared about him, when that's all we ever do. Me and Parissa spend our lives looking after him. It's like we have a child we never wanted.
So he talked and he talked and he talked. And we said we'd change our plan, just to shut him up, but he said no, stick to the plan you've already made.

And then today, Christmas day. 1pm. He rings me up. He sounds either drunk, stoned, or as if he's just woken up. And he talks to me normally. He asks me what time we're coming up, and I say "about 5". He doesn't say anything else, just asks to speak to Parissa. So I pass the phone over.
And I read my book.
After I finish my book, I want to send a text, but I can't find my phone. Then I realise Parissa had it; she was talking to Dad.
When she comes back, she's crying. She doesn't cry often.

So I ask what's going on.
She's swearing under her breath, cursing him.
He asked her what was going on today. She told him. She said, we're coming up later, then we're going home in the morning.
And he insisted that we didn't go home in the morning. That we stay with him from tonight until Thursday morning. You know, because otherwise, we are playing our mother's game. We are not thinking of him.
So I have to stay with him for a day and a half, and I don't get to go home tomorrow, or pick anything up. And it doesn't matter that Dave's family are coming round, or that I won't get to see Joe. He's my stepbrother. And I actually really like him. And I don't see him anymore, because he's at uni.
And we have to lie about it. We've already told mum and Dave we'd be there, but now we have to change that. And we can't tell them the truth because that would just start an argument, and really, we have enough to cope with.
And I'm so angry. And his whole thing is because of Taraneh, who's moping and sleeping and stinking up my bedroom, and SMOKING in my bedroom. I'm so furious. I'm always so furious, and I hate it. For once in my life, I'd like to feel a little less tense.

And it wouldn't be so bad if we actually did anything. If we were going to have a nice Christmassy time. Even a present might console me just a little bit.
But there's nothing.
No Christmas thing whatsoever. Because, of course, he doesn't celebrate Christmas.
We spent £30 on a fucking jumper, and he doesn't even deserve it.

He won't even let us relax. Even now, on Christmas day, he's talking. About how we're just not good enough. How we ought to do more for him. You know, because we don't run our lives around him as it is. I hate him right now. I really, physically detest him.

And he just won't shut up.
And I get so angry. So fucking angry, that I twitch. My whole body is itching to throw something at him- the glass, my phone, the computer mouse.

And to be honest, I'm not sure how much longer I can restrain myself for.

"All this time wasted being so good for you" -Function, by Denali

I LOVE SCHRODINGER'S CAT.

At least, I think I do.
Or do I?
I'm not too sure.

When I was younger I thought nothing of it. I talked to myself, imagined weird things and wrote stories. Nothing so weird for a nine year old. At seventeen it's a bit different.

I know other people like me, but it doesn't seem so weird on them.
It seems like I have too many thoughts in my head, and none of them make any sense. The thought of picking up the computer mouse and throwing at him, the thought of laughing maniacally at something completely unfunny, the thought of making friends with a stranger. I lie awake at night thinking of conjugated verbs, integrated sine functions, and suitable adjectives.

I've been wondering for a while why I'm like this, and why other people find it funny, and why no one else thinks like that. And I reached a conclusion:

I will never know.

But I won't stop trying. That's what I like. I look at other people, who are so content to go through life, sleeping late and doing their work and answering questions without wondering WHY? Why is it that the natural logarithm of x differentiates to 1/x? What is it about the word the word fateful that gives it a negative connotation, when it holds so much positive imagery? What's a gyroscope? What's the Karnaugh map? Sierpinski's triangle game? The correctly conjugated form of s'assesoir in the first person indicative?

I can't understand it. I don't understand why one wouldn't want to know these things. I don't get why you would be content to learn about Shakespeare without understanding it. I don't understand how you could use Alice in Wonderland as a stimulus (not meaning to offend, Megs) without knowing it. I don't really know why you would read a book and NOT look up the words you don't know.
It's not that I expect everyone to understand everything. I certainly don't. But I couldn't sit back without questioning.
How could I not shiver at the mere thought of limiting equilibrium? At standing in the balance, on the edge of something I couldn't fathom. A slip, a pull, a fall? And this is maths! This is A-level maths! And the philosophy of it baffles me. Why is something like that not the same as the chaos theory? Why is it not the same as the butterfly effect? The pendulum effect?

I think, therefore I am. If I ceased to wonder, I would no longer be. Or no longer be me. I'm not so sure. But other people manage. I heard someone today (I shall not mention who) who was telling a friend they were behind on their coursework even though they were only taking two subjects. FTW? How? What he/she must spend his/her time doing is beyond me. If it was something productive like writing or reading or something other than drinking and taking certain narcotics (which I assume is the case), I wouldn't mind. I deem spending all night on the internet as a pretty productive past time. I deem spending days making origami cranes as productive. But, let's be honest, is that happening?
I doubt not.
I don't think you have to particularly clever to wonder. You just have to have your eyes open. Is it not common sense, general knowledge that Africa is not one SINGULAR country? Why, then, are there still 18-year-old girls who are not aware it's a fucking CONTINENT.

There was much more I was going to get onto. Philosophically, I could have drabbled on for hours. But that would make a pretty boring and/or confusing blog. But I was just sitting here, thinking, wondering. And I thought I'd share these thoughts with you.

This is not snobbery, I would like to point out. I am genuinely questioning a lack of enthusiasm. When the world is so exciting, how can we ignore it?

So there you go. My blog of reflection. Think on it? I think I do. I think this is why I don't sleep. I think this is why I cry when someone breaks their glasses. I really can't handle broken glasses. Kills me. But I would rather have my hyperactive, child-of-four-fed-pixie-sticks brain, than a languid, lazy one.

(btw, Sierpinski's triangle game? FASCINATING. Take a look.)

Further reading/watching:

The Moth Diaries
Justin Case
The Science of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials
The Science of Sleep
The Number Devil

“Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the things you can think up if only you try!”- Dr Seuss

How To Survive A Family Meal
when it's not your family.

I'm not quite sure how much more of going to eat at the restaurant I can take. I gets worse every week.


Week 1: Not too busy, forced to eat far too much, and have a starter of Brie. Ew.

Week 2: Seated in the middle of the restaurant. Busy. Complete and utter humiliation, degradation and loneliness.


Week 3: Well...
I'd pretty much resigned myself to my fate. I had it all planned out- I'd go in, deal with the usual humiliation of the table for one, refuse a starter and a dessert and leave as fast as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn't on the agenda, apparently.
I knew it was bad as soon as I got there and I saw how busy it was. And not with just anyone. Hamid, the owner, had brought in his entire family for a lovely meal, including his beautiful daughter, wonderfully named (as everyone cared to point out) Yasmin. To be honest, she seemed quite nice. But I must say, she did not look Iranian. Not at all.
My dad, being so fabulously sensitive to my emotions, paraded me, in all my ragged finery, around their table, so I had to shake hands and smile sweetly at a million people who I will never remember.
That wasn't all.
Matthew, the other manager, has HIS family round, because it was his birthday. And because of his wife, Khatuna, half of them were Georgian. I was paraded round them too. They looked pretty confused.
I sat down at my table, but Matthew (who had had a few by this time, let's be honest) was all "NO NO, YOU SIT WITH US" except in his Australian accent. So there I was, sat at a table full of people speaking rapid Georgian, waiting for my food, Matthew chattering in my ear.
Then Khatuna brought they're 3 month old baby over and passed him to me. "YOU HOLD HIM AND I TAKE PICTURE", Oh God, Oh God. I do not know what to do with babies. He's adorable, but I was so afraid. I really like Khatuna and Matthew and so I was worrying so much. All I could think was "Oh, god, I'm going to break your baby". Luckily, they took him away before I could. But not before they could snap an awful picture of me.

The Georgians sang. It was amazing, actually. They have beautiful voices. One of them kept toasting anything and everything (I think he just liked to drink.
"To our countries!"
"To the children!"
"Who died!" It took me a while to realise he was trying to toast to dead relatives.

See the thing is, I really like everyone at the restaurant. They're very friendly people. There's Matthew, who kept trying to pour me some wine when my dad wasn't looking (never mind my protests that I didn't drink) and the Iranian chef who was horrified that I couldn't speak Farsi, and there's the really sweet Italian guy who calls me darling ("Here you go, darling.", "You want another drink, darling?"). It's not them I begrudge. It's my dad. Why does he subject me to such humiliation on a weekly basis? Can he not see how embarrassing it is to be a seventeen year-old girl who comes into a classy restaurant, sits alone, eats alone and then just leaves silently. And yeah, this week, I wasn't by myself. But honestly, when I was surrounded by the singing Georgians and the drunk Australians, I've never felt more alone.

"Time away is all I need." -Denali