regeneration.

At first glance that word makes me think of one of my favourite tv shows, Doctor Who. In that sense, regeneration is whenever the doctor “dies” and comes back with a different face, personality, etc. Basically a new actor comes in to play the character and viewers accept that this man, who looks exactly nothing like the previous, is the same character.

The next association I make with this word is to the British musician and youtuber Alex Day. every time he changes his clothing style, he says he goes through a “regeneration”. Much like in doctor who, Alex looks very different each time he regenerates. That’s because his style is so extreme that he only wears six items of clothing and changes the entire set of six each time he decides to regenerate.

What I’m trying to get at here is that I feel like I’ve recently regenerated myself. I was thinking about the stages of my life where I would label major changes as regenerations like the Doctor or Alex might.

What I consider to be the First Tiffany is me around primary school. I was the worst version of me back then, not really caring about how I looked, just mindlessly drifting through life. I didn’t have any friends/didn’t consider 99% of my classmates people I really cared about. I only had two friends I cared about, and even them I rarely talked to.

The Second Tiffany was when I forced myself to be friendly and sociable in grade 9. I had quite a few of friends who I now consider to be acquaintances as I don’t talk to them anymore but will still say hello to if I pass them in the hallways at school or on the street. My clothing style developped more into the style I currently have as I wore the sweater+tshirt+jeans combo every single day. I’m certain that if you asked anyone back then to draw me, they would have done a picture of me with that combo of clothes and the black hairclip I always used to get my bangs out of my face. My days consisted of waking up, going to school, doing last minute homework during lunch if I forgot the night before, going home and sitting the afternoon away on youtube, facebook, twitter and tumblr. The Second Tiffany stayed for two and a half years.

I think I’m on the Third Tiffany (yay, alliteration) right now. I’m caring more about my style and not always wearing the sweater and jeans, mixing it up with sweatshirts and stuff. I used to wear single coloured things only, but now I’m wearing stripes, graphics and…well actually I’m in a stripes phase right now and I love them.

School-wise I’m learning to balance it with my health. I still have trouble because it’s hard to shake the mindset of “grades are the most important thing in the whole world and nothing else matters you can’t go to bed yet too bad if you’re tired” when you’ve been hearing people sing praises about your intelligence. If you’re reading this and you tell people that grades are more important then health… I’m telling you right now that that mindset really screwed with me in August-October 2012. Honestly, I think I lost over 10 pounds in those months. Learned my lesson though: health over school, always. Although my math marks dropped over 10 percent this year, I’m learning to balance my tutoring with the other activities in my life so I can improve but stay sane at the same time.

The most important thing to happen to me that made me “regenerate” from 2 to 3, probably, was accepting that I was not going to be the social butterfly I so desperately wanted to be during Tiffany #2. I am an introvert through and through and I have to find ways to make it work for me. It’s hard in a world where extroverts, aka most of my friends and family, are the dominating force. I’m doing what I do best in smaller settings so I can feel comfortable but still work towards things I am motivated and excited to do. For example, the amount of time I spent volunteering as Tiffany #3 is way higher because I figured out where and how to volunteer without stressing myself out. If I just motivate myself, now, to get reduce the ridiculous amounts of time I spend on the Internet and use that time to exercise instead, I’ll be the best version of me to date.

If you’ve read to the end, wow and congratulations. Thanks for indulging me through this incredibly strange post. I’ll be back to posting my poetry and other less lengthy creations soon. And since you’ve indulged me, I’d love to know your regenerations!

matryoshka dolls.

it seems
from the outside
that everyone is perfect.

it seems
to me
that I am the only broken one.

but I guess we are all
matryoshka dolls
hiding our true emotions
and problems
from everyone else.

maybe love is
showing someone
the smallest dolls.

a dreamer’s pearls.

I clutch my pearls like precious thoughts:
with cautious bravery.
for I have had my pearls stolen before;
strung across my neck, resting on turquoise cashmere,
held together by a simple golden clasp-
that broke apart too easily.

I cradle them softly,
too scared to wear them too often;
for I know pearls can be crushed
and the world is brimming with mallets.

lackluster.

he walks along the boardwalk at four am;
feeling the moist air seep into his graduation day suit.
holding a new leather briefcase with shining silver buckles and a small imprint of his initials;
he has been strolling on the weathered planks on the coast of the sea for a long time –
how much time, he does not know.
his shoes, that were polished and gleaming yesterday have become lackluster;
his grey suit crumpling on itself as an old man would fold himself into a short chair;
his gait has slowed like an old mare in her last race.
the pale yellow light of the sky is muted
while a silent drizzle descends to darken the sand.
still he walks on, ignoring the burning in his legs
and the burning in his chest.

school stress.

when I say I don’t like school,
it’s not because of the learning.
I love learning, just in my own time and speed.
bring on the friends and group discussions,
lunch and chats in the hallways,
doodles and work periods where everyone falls asleep.
that’s all fine and dandy, but:

what I dislike about school is
the constant pressure by my peers;
the constant pressure by my teachers;
the test and quizzes and projects and labs,
one after another on a never-ending, always speeding assembly line;
and the tests are never designed for my mind:
the creative thinker is not welcomed, invited,  tempted or encouraged
to a test designed for the theoretical and analytical thinker.

the stress is never ending.
my head might explode soon
and it’s only been one day back from march break.

dragons.

there were faces aghast,
torches burning
and somber silence reigned;
the moon and starlight muted
half hidden behind thick clouds;
colours washed into variations of blue and gray.

the village was destroyed;
smoked out;
burnt to the ground;
trampled away.

who was too blame?
the scribes, the archers, the cavalry?
no, not them
not humans, not villagers.
the fault is to be placed on the dragons
who wanted the chickens, cows and goats.

too long denied by the guards with arrows, slings and fiery torches
they took what they wanted and left
a village quickly abandoned;
those who stayed left for the dead.