Sunday, 4 August 2013

Tea Lady's version of 'I fight like a girl'

This was partly inspired by this post shared by an old high school friend of mine whom I've only just rekindled on Facebook and partly by a lesbian friend of mine who thinks that because I've never dated men up until now(I just turned 24) and refuse her offer to be introduced to a single and desperate friend of hers  that I ought to be a lesbian or with a bi-tendency.

I've always loved men, and know what I want from men down to the specifics. I like them to be bigger and physically as fit or fitter (I'm über active- not the gym kind), as spontaneous as I am, and at least intellectually compatible as I am. I don't just 'koala' myself onto any men that comes along my way because I think it takes a lot of effort for men to keep up my pace, and I don't have the patience to wait.

Plus, topics such as raping, beating and nor gaining respect don't particularly apply to me, so I decided to write my own version of I fight like a girl. Here's my attempt:

I fight like a straight girl who refuses to confine to gender specific careers,
who has ample energy, independence and no barrier.   
I fight like a straight girl who thinks prettiness does not always spell cosmetics, 
neither do I ought to rely on men like prosthetics.   
I fight like a straight girl who sees no fault in prophesizing what I want in my men, 
and refuse to lower my standard because everyone else is doing this in the mundane. 
I fight like a straight girl who detest conformity, seeks verity, individuality and novelty, and titillate the notion that for women of a similar plight, 
my poem brings a deluge of hope, comfort and a sense of gravity.   
We all fall prey in the pursuit of happiness,   
and our personality wax and wane as we dart back into reality, 
but I would like to be reminded sparingly, 
that I'm not that dynamic uno, the minority, or in my own drunken stupour.
Sorry but I'm different and being a bore.

Lovingly Yours, 
  Miss Ginger Tea

Saturday, 27 July 2013

Was I a normal kid? A confession.

Banally, my childhood was not all about sunshine. 

In retrospect, I may not have been the normal kid that I thought I was. You can be the judge as to how well I sit on the normal scale and whether I am disqualified as a fellow ADHD child.

{One} Apart from my friends at school, I'm a lone soul at home when my parents are at work. I've professed the art of monologue, I build my own marble run, participate in my own plays, and read over my collection of books and if I care enough, I'll rearrange them in terms of height or in terms of colours. I have plenty of time to ponder about my own matter and my own feelings pre-kindy.

{Two} When I'm old enough for the munchkin's school, the few remarks I recollect from mom was that while others are learning alphabets, I was doing cartwheels at the back of the classroom. In turn, I had to retake the class a second time before I fully grasp what I was learning. I probably didn't see the point of sitting when I can kill two birds with one stone, but my cartwheel days still remain a mystery to me because apart from mom's, I really can't recall a thing. [Moving in a way soothes me, and clears my thought.]

{Three} As a lone kid,  I am significantly disturbed by the fact that I am always the one that has to go to bed early while my parents enjoy their late nights in front of the TV. I would toss and turn and do yoga or ballet type warm-up routines (because I did ballet for a short while) on the bed when I really should be sleeping; or veil myself with doona and breath underneath it until I feel I need some fresh air, or that I'd try to hold my breath and see how long it will last,  etcetra etcetra.

{Four} Social situations are not so fairy either. I remember this one occasion that I was base enough to lie to my mate - with a full conscious that it is worse than pure mischief- that I have destroyed her toys only to make her cry. I felt that my impulsiveness was on an overdrive that if I don't do it, I will feel very uncomfortable as if trying to stop myself from sneezing. (As a young kid, I was shocked by how apathetic and callous I could be)

This was not the only incident that happened. As I got a bit older,there's this one incident where I justified myself for stealing money from my parent's wallet to buy some coloured pens that my mom has refused to purchase for me earlier (but later did only to find out that I have already bought them myself). I cannot fathom what it would be like, if my parents have not been capable enough to meet my needs, stealing would probably be my initial instinct if I have to earn a living. I think I would have been in juvenile detention (which still haunts me today).


{Five}Growing up, I was a very sensitive kid. My parents have the habit of having midday snoozes before work, so naturally I followed their regime. On several accounts, I have woken up not finding them on my sides, I would run to the stairwell and yell out to my mom. If I can't fetch her-knowing full well that my dad is only 2 stories below me-working- I will still sob like there's not tomorrow. Once, I decided I dash back to my table, draw a portrait of mom, and cleverly stick it on our bedroom door, and sob as it as if my mom's never returning (again knowing full well my father is in the vicinity). As I sat in front of the portrait, I'd think about the probability of having both of my parents dead, and what I'd do as a lone kid in this world. I worry a lot of these things, but then again, I never told my parents. (Is it weird at all that kids as young as 4-6 think about death?) I also have the tendency to empathize with a mass of sufferers.

However sensitive I was, bereavement and caring aren't always a breeze. Grief wasn't present when my maternal grandfather and uncle (whom I'm both really close to) died, which I was too reluctant to discuss with my mom. I also find it extremely hard to genuinely care about someone else's misfortune, when they're clearly in agony  e.g. severe joint dislocation due to sports injury.

{Six}If my parents (esp. my mom) would have to describe the younger me, they would say that "forgetting" is a prevalent occurrence. I would miss pack a book or two to school or forget to bring things that we're asked to bring for school subjects. 

{Seven} I feel that the best way to ease into some homework is to listen to some music . My mom especially loathe it, because she thinks I am excusing myself of work. I get more frustrated when she decided to turn it off.[I didn't know at the time why I had to do it, but again, in retrospect, I realize that like running or moving around, this has a soothing effect for my brain. ]

{Eight} Reading time. I remember having an immense difficulty understanding how the long hand works in a clock. Vast majority of the class got the gist, it took me 1 or 2 grade levels up to understand why. On a separate note, I prefer clock face watches as opposed to digital watch [not sure if this has an bearing on ADHD.


{Nine} I have the propensity to start a book and not finish it.

There is a whole host of other reasons why I see ADHD in trickles of my childhood. The statements that I've provided may not pertain strongly to ADHD , but I think they are faint signs of the problem. Having said that, I refuse to consider hyperactive & the occasional distracted mind a "disorder". I think there should be more research done to justify this term.

* I shall discuss more in-depth about how these things affect me in adulthood.


Yours, lovingly,

Miss Ginger Tea

Monday, 15 July 2013

Narcissistic talk about Documentaries

When I was much younger, I thought documentaries were abundantly boring because I've witnessed a dozen more collection of black-and-white films develop before my eyes, and they are not very appealing to watch.


As age and 'fortune' (not the pecuniary kind) took place, I began to realize that documentaries not only satiate my appetite for knowledge, are immensely educational, and at most very enjoyable for the eyes.

My first encounter was purely by accident. I have ran out all possible drama&comedy options on ABC iview and had to resort to other categories. I thought I'd embark on a documentary marathon (and so I did for more than two consecutive years now).

A few of them I've gone through were Louis Theorex, the Food Clinic (UK) & Grayson Perry's Journey on exploring UK's social classes , my recent fixation are sourced from YouTube, as they are far lax on sharing these days, and not as geologically restricted and more accessible than iview when you travel to different parts of the world.

My inquisitiveness led me to realize that my surreptitious wont to watch more of them have been primarily of the lack parenting from my folks as I've exhausted a vast amount of my adulthood studying abroad, and not very many people I have around me do not chance to politically, morally, or socially challenge me, except the occasional obstacles I stumble upon, so I'm a fairly restricted unrestricted kid. I sometimes merit this 'upbringing' for my ability to think independently from others, and on occasion be at odds with the public perception of girls as I do things that one might not envisage girls do- even amongst this burgeoning modernness we reside in (ooh blog idea!)

As a consequence, with a desperate need to feel at norm, I suspect that by watching more documentaries and pledge to do more of the things I relish, I'll find myself in the right group of aliens, and I honestly think I'm not only en route I'm also marginally close to creating my own circle of aliens.

Yours,with thoughts,
Miss Ginger Tea

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Writers and Orators of my liking

With central heating on at Fisher,
I'm in a charitable mood to write at this very instant.

Throughout my years at university,

I've been plagued by textbooks that are not particularly delectable,
partly because to enjoy such, means lugging around my calculator, papers, and pens,
which in most instances is considered cumbersome for a minimalist of my sort.

In turn, my affinity towards non-scientific books grew.

The more I accumulate the more I detect the pattern among my selection of books.
Eloquence & satire seems to be the main themes and pre-requisites.

Thus far, my liking has mainly been confined to Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron, and Christopher Hitchens. Although Hitchens' political views may not always be agreeable, his diction is the only contemporary kind that I am most inclined to emulate. Profundity of knowledge as well as lucidity are also admirable traits of his.


Poems, from my personal experience, are not dis-likable but they are not particularly enjoyable either (yet), so Lord Byron, before I stumbled upon a compilation of his correspondence with his close associates, has been a pretty forlorn figure in my life. To my amusement, his quaint humour resonates particularly well with me, and very digestible. With very little rigour as one might find with letters these days. I highly commend R.G. Howarth's anthology of Byron.


Wilde has a respectable command of the demonic side of human nature, and aptly accurate at portraying it. So acute that I'm often awestruck.


More often than not, their traits are interchangeable.

As a non-literati, I have very little time to expend on reading their works,
nonetheless, I do endeavour to read as much as earthling possible.

I'm only young.

But I do strive to do my best.
I'll write better next time.
OR perhaps
“I am not young enough to know everything.” ― Oscar Wilde

Yours affectionately,

Miss Ginger Tea