Two nights ago, my beautiful friend and I were wasting sleeping hours on reminiscing over past events and fond memories. After reliving some of them, we found even the tiniest of moments we'd thought we had forgotten entirely were still brought back to mind and brought smiles along with them.

So Steph, the ever-intelligent human that she is, came up with the idea of using our blogs as an online collection of past experiences we can look over in the future like an archive of sorts.
Not just some kind of dot-point list of vague moments of our past, but detailed paragraphs, written thoroughly from our memories before they fade completely from our minds. Maybe some could be written as though the reader is living them out all over again... Who knows! Haha.

I've tried countless times to keep a journal for things like this, but every time I've failed not-so-miserably (trying to keep the journal was actually the more miserable part for me than the 'failing' part).
The only time I've successfully kept a detailed recount was actually over the course of maybe 18 months or so, in one little notebook acting as insight to a timeline of moments lived with my best friend for what I think may have been her 15th birthday present. (Correct me if I'm wrong there, Steph!)

So if I have a good enough incentive, I can keep up with it. This way I'll be able to read some similar memories through Steph's point of view while I write my own. I'm pretty excited.

Right, so that's it from me right now! Let's see how this ends up ;)

Standing at a bus station, waiting for a train.

After all this time of teaching myself patience, I realise; what exactly am I waiting for?

No one is aware I am here. Nobody knows I'm waiting. So what do I think is going to happen?

Even if I find the train station, I don't know where to go. Or rather, I know very well where it is I want to go, but I don't know how to get there. Uncharted journeys are sometimes less of an adventure and more of a frustration.

Next stop: __________. I don't even know.

Oh, how many times I find myself wanting to simply go back to bed.

Lies a Harvest Yet to Come

When the autumn colors pass through the season's hourglass
Once again, there is winter in me

When November's grass is browned by the frost upon the ground
It is then you'll find the winter in me

But underneath the fallen snow, lies a harvest yet to come

For just as spring is guaranteed

Life is etched into the seed

Time to welcome the winter in me

Wildfire

I wrote a new song about 24 hours ago.
It's always these moments at night time where perhaps the most genuine side of me flourishes. I have no idea why. I wish I were a morning person. Things would be so much easier.
But there's simply something about this time at night, where everything is still, and there's no one here to please. I can start dancing around stupidly in Elmo pyjama shorts if I want to, and feel confident that no one is going to be watching.
So that's a really bad example, but it's an honest one since I actually did that last week. You know that song by the New Radicals, called You Get What You Give? "Don't let go, you've got the music in you" etc. etc.
Such a good song.

Ahem...

This song that I wrote is probably one giant fluke.
Somehow, through the simplicity and the analogies, I managed to (for once) successfully put the way I've been feeling into words.
That never, ever, ever happens to me, just so you know. 90% of the songs I write are ones I don't feel completely satisfied with, because it's just too difficult to find words that accurately portray how I'm truly feeling.

If you thought I was going to share the lyrics to this song in this post, then you are wrong... haha.

I'm just so relieved that I could sufficiently convey what I've been feeling in musical form, in a way that makes me feel happy with the outcome.

At the very least, I've told you the title of the song, since it's the title of this post.

If only I could do these kinds of things during daylight hours.*sigh*
Perhaps my aunt knows what she's talking about when she calls me a nightingale bird...

I can't count the reasons I should stay; one by one, they all just fade away.

 ~

Oh, how it astounds me; this change that is occurring at such a fast pace that I feel as though I'll be fined for speeding at any given moment.

The majority of this change (ha- unfortunately) is not happening on the outside as of yet. Some of it is, I suppose, but that change is a whole different ball park in which I don't actually understand the conventions of the ball game.
No; see, that change is something incredibly unexpected. It had come about in the most unexpected of ways, from the most unexpected of sources. Ever. These sentences are very much cryptic and therefore pointless to continue with, so I'll stop there.

But the other more internal change seems to establish itself in my head while I sleep. Then all of a sudden I will wake up with this... thing... growing as a thought I cannot shake.
And now I've got that whole weird, cliché, fate-like situation going on where suddenly all the songs you hear and all the movies you watch relate to these very things growing in your mind.
I always believed that happened simply because you were looking for those 'things'. And when you're subconsciously keeping an eye out for things, they seem to pop up everywhere.

But that is just it; Suddenly I'm keeping an eye out for 'things'. By things, I suppose I mean ideas.
Ideas about things.

Haha okay so I'm just gonna go with 'things', and leave it there.

But it's getting creepy now, to the point where the lyrics of a bloomin' Taylor Swift song start following me around and making sense amidst these... 'thing'-based... ideas.

'This hope is treacherous; this daydream is dangerous.'

I think instead of having to cut my ties in this place, they've been stretched for so long that they have all reached their breaking point. Funnily enough, I think that's a good thing.

I always wondered if those shadow-thoughts, following me throughout my life and telling me I didn't quite fit the bill for where I stood, held any real worth or value. I was never sure if they would amount to anything, so I think I just wrote them off as insecurities.
Turns out they were never such things. Instead, they're becoming prophecies.

'Forever going with the flow- but you're friction.'

I was always so astounded by the way each and every one of my brothers suddenly reached a point where they decided they were ready to move out and own a place for themselves. It would seem like it just happened in the space of a couple of days.
We would go from one year finishing to a new year beginning, and one of them would be screaming 'freedom' from living under the shade of our parents' wings.
I never understood how they could feel so confident in the idea of moving out and living away from everything they'd provide. At least I never understood it when I was younger. Whereas now...The average age that occurred for all six of my brothers was around 19.

'Nothing safe is worth the drive.'

I'm currently six thousand, nine hundred and fifty-nine days old.
And I'm hearing the silent sound of my own thoughts screaming at me to leave this place and fly away, and sing - or stay for perhaps one more day and sing while I wait for tomorrow to come, that I might leave this place and fly away, and sing.

There are very few things keeping me here, and they are becoming fewer by the heartbeat.

~

Some Things. (I promise I'm not actually this much of a chocoholic)

 Here's a new word for you, blog.

Vorfreude - (n.) The joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

Oh, well hello, word that so easily defines my life. How are you this evening?

I suppose on every second day, however, I would need to replace the word 'joyful' with something more like 'restless' or 'frustrated' or 'stupidly impatient'. We can leave 'intense' where it is.

I don't even know how to pronounce you properly, new word. But I do know that you seem perfectly capable of pronouncing and giving a voice to my multitude of unspeakable thoughts... so, you know, kudos for that.

~

The following is a whole lotta' stuff. Stuff with things in it.

~

This photo was weird because that
hand is actually my hand.
This girl edited the photo and put
her face behind it and that's
just weird but I guess it's cool.

I'm spending so much of my spare time (which is often as of late, huzzah for me! Kind of. Kind of huzzah.) in our caravan parked in the carport, ruining the pads of my left index, middle and ring finger on mum's 12-string guitar.
Which I have now claimed as mine. Think of it as instrument adoption. I've taken the sweet, melodious little baby in and have given it a better home. One filled with nurture and love, rather than dust and cobwebs and the skeletons of dead spiders.

Port Lincoln, SA (during our almost-trip to Perth)

But I like the caravan. It has this distinct smell about it that reminds me of the time I almost (but did not) go to Perth just under 2 years ago. Wow, how the time has flown by since then...
Plus, the caravan provides a more isolated sanctuary away from the crazily lovable and lovably crazy nieces and nephews when they come to visit just about every day. I love them a lot. But my new baby (12-string needs a good name, doesn't it?) doesn't love them so much.

Jon Foreman, lead singer of Switchfoot
(Ringwood, Melbourne - 22nd April 2011)

So in the caravan, I can relax, I am in a more peaceful environment, I have a mini fridge, air conditioning, a tv and dvd set and two double beds to choose from if I wish to have a nap.

Basically everything except the kitchen sink. Except it does actually have a kitchen sink.

If only I could fit my piano in there somehow.

Daisy - Switchfoot

I spend my days writing songs and eating chocolate, then writing a fictional story which may never be shared with the outside world.
I spend my nights thinking, and on the rare occasion, sleeping.

I uploaded a video of myself singing a song I wrote recently onto YouTube. Never before (or at least not in a long time) have I felt as lame as I did when I uploaded it.

My dad is now constantly pointing out each and every reality television show associated with music. So that means X-Factor, The Voice, and apparently Australia's Got Talent.

I forgot to fangirl about how Steph and I
met New Empire and I had about
three or four little 'moments'
with the lead singer
Jeremy Fowler (to the left of me)
because we understood each other
when it came to music. Oh well.

My answers are (aside from the fact that my first preference would be to find my dreams on a more 'respectable' path) that X-Factor has some cool things to offer people like me, but the extreme media exposure and the whole voting system just makes me want to bang my head against a brick wall, and I suppose the same goes for The Voice.

Australia's Got Talent is great to watch, though I always seem to forget when it's on. I don't know why I enjoy it so much. But I would never be a singer on an all-encompassing talent show like that. Because I know for myself, I always feel so disappointed when a singer wins.
There are other contests specifically for singers (i.e. those two above this paragraph), but nothing like that for the other kinds of talents you find on that show. Ergo, the other talents deserve winning something in my unnecessary opinion.

Tonight mum and I watched a documentary
on Cirque Du Soleil's production called
"O". I was full-blown mesmerised.

Oh, have you noticed? I like to sing. In fact, I love to sing. In fact, I have discovered that music and song is one of the biggest aspects of my life.
So big that I dream almost every night of dedicating my days and nights to it.

For some reason, playing guitar makes playing piano easier. I don't understand how, and I don't really care to try.

The last school production
I was in; Alice in Wonderland.
I was Alice, hence the blue dress.
Beautiful Talana next to me
was the caterpillar who
smoked a shisha
apparently filled with bubbles.
I miss school productions.
Oh and Kirsten's getting
in on the photos to
like the little minx she is.

Chocolate is great though, isn't it?

I have this silly fear that people see my passion for song as a frivolous, childhood dream.
You know back in those days where we'd say "When I grow up, I want to be a famous singer" alongside "When I grow up, I want to be a princess"?
The adult answer would be to smile sweetly at the innocent children that we were and simply nod.

When I tell people I want to be a singer, many seem to look at me as though I haven't grown out of some childish dream.

When Steph came with me
on a family holiday to QLD
when I was 15, we went shopping
and decided we'd try on every item of
clothing we bought at once.

But PEOPLE OF EARTH! You must understand that becoming a singer, though the industry is tough, is much more of a sensible answer than wanting to become a princess, surely...

I'm not aiming for royalty.
I'm bursting to share what I can with others to inspire, encourage and empathize with them. My heart is in music. How else can I live my life?

I think that fear of mine stems from a teacher from school last year, among a few other adults who to this day, still tread carefully around me when the subject of my future arises in conversation.
 Thus resulting to the present times where I still feel reluctant every time someone asks me what I have 'planned'.

We were in year 8 I think, going along a
year 7 excursion to "look after" the younger
students. We didn't really do that at all.
We found a creek and sat on giant boulders
and it was fun.
I miss Kirsten and Dylan.

At least chocolate is inanimate and cannot ask.

Mmm.

Also, with nearly every song I love, I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to write a fictional story built on the lyrics. The trouble with that, is that I go through probably 50 songs a day as I listen to the playlists on my phone.

Last year's Philippines trip. This was
taken in Manila as we walked to a
shopping complex.

Then there are (many, many) moments throughout my days in which everything inside me seems to implode and I am left there, speechless, silent; unable to express anything to anyone, anymore.

Or perhaps it's because in all honesty, nobody is there to listen anyway.

Does that sound depressing? I suppose it feels depressing. But chocolate releases endorphins that make you happy, so I'll just get me some more chocolate.

This was while we were on our way
to Brunei, the stopover before
Manila.

I like Amy Stroup and her simply music. And then Boyce Avenue does a cover of any song by anyone and makes it a thousand times better (with the only exception being Switchfoot, Fiction Family, and anything Jon Foreman. Because his voice and his passion and his heart and his understanding and his wisdom and... *takes breath* is what makes everything he sings so perfectly established. Oh, and probably Coldplay too for obvious reasons).

I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy.

And I'm exhausted from all the times when others unknowingly encourage me to settle for less than what I know I need to do with myself. They do it in a loving and caring way, but that only makes it more exhausting, because they simply don't understand.

And this was in the plane
from Manila to Laoag.

I'm not as naive as I'm sounding, I promise.
But I'm not going to lower any expectations, because I strongly believe that I would not have this insatiable passion if it were to never come to pass.

I shall end this bi polar post now, knowing that there will have been most likely about 2 or 3 people who actually have read these words.
So thanks to you for that, I suppose.

My thought process was completely muddled together throughout this entire thing, can you tell?
I don't even know if I agree with everything I just wrote, but I don't really care all that much.

I try to make a good impression on people, but I don't like that I do.
So with this post, I'm not going to try.

And I'm ending with this photo, taken in Laoag, Philippines after the big school rally.
It speaks for itself quite perfectly. Royce is great.

Inevitability

I'll get there.