What's in a name?

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

Do you know the meaning of your name, and why your parents chose it? Do you think it suits you? What about your children's names?

My name is Silvia.

The first and last time I checked its meaning was in Grade 6 when I had to complete an assignment. It means something along the lines of 'girl in the woods' or 'girl in the forest' or 'girl in a place that's green and nature-y and filled with dangerous animals that would eat her as soon as she tried going feral'.

In that sense, no, my name doesn't suit me. I couldn't survive in the wild for even a day.

However, I've been thinking about my name in another sense. Just the other day, my Short Fiction tutor said my name is something to live up to. I'm assuming he was talking about Sylvia Plath, which is pretty cool because she was a great writer and I'm aspiring to be a great writer. I was happy he made that remark, at least until I remember Sylvia Plath committed suicide. Still, my name gives me a goal and I love it all the more for that.

Sylvia Plath

As for my children's names... don't get me started. I don't have children yet and I don't plan to for a long time, but those poor things are going to hate me for their ridiculous names. It's very likely I'll name them like I name my characters because they're both my babies. Wren, Junia, Mell, Alcor and Feri are some right off the top of my head. But I might go in another direction and name my children after my favourite anime characters. Ace, Zoro, Nico Robin and Law.

Nico Robin from One Piece

Either way, I'll be naming my children with love and I hope they'll learn to accept their names as I have accepted mine.

Mess. Mess! EVERYWHERE!

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

Does a messy home (or office) make you anxious and cranky, or is cleaning something you just do before company comes over?

I'm messy by nature so books on the desk instead of the shelf and pencils rolling around instead of standing in a pencil jar doesn't faze me at all. In fact, my creativity and motivation thrive on mess because as Einstein so eloquently put it: "If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?"

After reading that quote, I became quite proud of my desk, what with papers filled with novel ideas, lecture notes, books and sketches scattered everywhere. Lots of people look at it and see a giant towering stack of rubbish but most things making up that tower are important and systematically filed. By systematically, I mean everything is stacked in the order of: Monday's things, Tuesday's things, Wednesday's things etc. and then Wren, Fall, plot bunny #1, plot bunny #2, plot bunny #3 and so on.

However, I do become quite cranky when I lose a piece of paper in that tower and can't find it, or when there isn't enough space to work. That's when I roll up my sleeves and do a massive purging/exorcism of the unwanted things lurking in my desk. I tear through everything and separate it into three categories: bin, recycle and keep. I am heartless when it comes to cleaning. I keep what's necessary and everything else is rejected. Sentimental value? Those words aren't in my dictionary.

The only other time I clean is when guests come over and I am commanded by a scary dragon called Mother to clean up my desk and my room so our special visitors won't think I'm a troll who crawled out from under its bridge. Instead, they'll think I'm a civilised person with normal hobbies and tastes.

It's like false advertising.

Growing up or growing old?

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?

There's been no specific time when I thought, "Wow, I'm all grown up now!"

It doesn't matter that I'm over eighteen, that I'm actually in my twenties and study at university or that I can drive (sort of) because I have the mentality of a ten year old and that's reflected in my childish personality.

However, there have been moments in my life, particularly in the past three or four years, when reality snuck up behind me and whispered, "Wow, you're old."

That usually happens when I'm talking to people younger than me and I start my sentences with one of these three beginnings:

1. When I was younger...
2. When I was your age...
3. I remember when...

I don't think I've lived a long life by far, but throughout my childhood, technology has made leaps and bounds so far I'm still scrambling to catch up. All the little things I told myself I'd have as a child are now obsolete. Like VHS, walkmans and the old Nintendos. It's like having my dreams taken away from me.

It doesn't help that children have asked me if I'm married or pregnant (!), call me Miss and Lady and see me as a teacher figure because I am their tutor. It's even worse when new tutors, fresh out of high school, come in and they say, "You must have a lot of experience since you've worked here for so long!"

It's even worse when my friends say, "Silvia is like the grandma of this place!"

Growing up is fine. But growing old is not and I don't think I will ever truly feel like a grown up. Maybe not until I'm married or have my own kids or something I associate completely with adulthood.

So much for my happy ending

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

“And they lived happily ever after.” Think about this line for a few minutes. Are you living happily ever after? If not, what will it take for you to get there?

This was the first thing that came into my mind after I read the prompt. Yes, it's an old video and I honestly have not heard the song in years but for some reason the lyrics resurfaced and my brain started singing the song with burning passion. Even in my head, I am off-key.

Now, about my happy ending: I don't believe I have achieved it yet.

I don't know what I want to do career-wise. I study the zoological aspects of science and as much as I hate to admit it, I can't see myself working in this field twenty years from now.

Instead, I see myself typing away on my laptop with a mug of hot chocolate steaming next to my hands. I'm a novelist and I create worlds and people and stories for a living. That's what I want to do more than anything.

But I know, and everyone has mentioned it far too many times for me to count, that writers don't earn a lot. In fact, unless my books become a bestseller like Harry Potter, I won't be able to support myself much less a family and my dream pets.

In that case, I decided I would do both as a career-- a journalist who reports on new findings or something to that effect. If I can't, then I could always work in the labs or fields during the day and become a writer by night.

When I really think about it, I realise I'm not really fussed about myself in terms of careers. There are thousands of possibilities out there and as long as I can live without too many hardships, I'll be happy.

What I am burning to do is to finish and publish my manuscript. It's been tough work so far but I'm running as fast as I can because the end is in sight. I can see my dream slowly taking form each day I work on Wren, Fall and until I hold it in book format, I won't feel like I have achieved anything worthwhile.

So my happy ending is some time away but rest assured I am working my best towards that goal.

Penny for your thoughts?

I admit even though I used that expression, I don't actually know what a penny looks like or how much it's worth. But it ties in well with today's prompt from The Daily Post which is:

Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?

My couch doesn't have gaps between the cushions, I don't own a purse and the only cars I own are in my dreams. I had to do a little improvising today and went to this little bowl where my family and I keep our silvers and a few golds.

I stuck my hand into the bowl, pulled out a 20 cent piece and flipped to Queen Elizabeth's head. I almost burst out laughing because the coin was made in 1975 and at that time, I wasn't even alive. Hell, my parents were still children then!

So I tossed the 20 cents back and dug out another one. The next coin was made in 2010, which was perfect.

Twenty-ten, as I call it, was the year I graduated from high school. It was the most stressful year of my life yet because my school had us preparing for exams which they insisted would determine the outcomes of the rest of our lives. Of course, they were lying but they wanted us to do well so I spent a lot of my days slaving away on homework and practice exam papers.

It wasn't as depressing as it sounded. I had many free periods at school and because I'm me, I'd spend them in the library either reading a good book or going over my (many) mistakes in tests and other papers. However, my best friend often persuaded me to dump my work and muck around at the playground that's a five minute walk from the school.

We spent practically every free period there and to be honest, it was the highlight of my year. There's nothing better than shouting and running around, being a kid and going down slides, across flying foxes, taking pretty pictures, ugly pictures and being silly. It made me forget the pressure that seemed to box me in around my desk and chain me there.

I have never regretted spending time with my best friend when I "should have" been studying, not even when some people hear about it and give me a look of derision to imply I could have gotten much better marks and gotten into a better course at university. But their opinion doesn't mean a thing to me because in the end, I got into the university I wanted and I'm doing the course I wanted.

I might not have gotten the highest marks but I got enough to get me where I wanted to be. I'm happy with that.

Food. Need I say more?

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

Describe the most satisfying meal you've ever eaten, in glorious detail.

Have you ever been so hungry that your stomach cells ooze hydrochloric acid and practically digests itself to make you feel like there's a bottomless abyss in the pit of your torso while your guts growl like the big, bad wolf and demand that you shove some food into your mouth and fill up your stomach?

I've had that feeling a few times.

Now that I think about it, every time I felt like dropping dead in hunger were when I holidayed in little 'tourist' spots and crawled all around the little towns to find little shops that were open. In my experience, places with low population densities have shops that open their doors just before noon and close them in the afternoon.

Dinner wasn't much of an option.

But after trawling around, I chanced upon a tiny fish 'n chip shop which I never would have noticed if it weren't for the lights shining out of the windows-- they were a beacon of hope in the dark, dark night. I managed to scrape myself off the sidewalk where I'd collapsed from hunger and stagger through the doors, which welcomed me with a gust of warm air from the heaters. Almost crying with relief, I croaked at the cashier for a burger.

I don't usually eat burgers because they're too simple. They're something I could toss together at home, fail-cook me. But at that moment, I was desperate for something huge and filling that I could devour without being delicate and a giant burger stuffed with everything was the first thing that surfaced in my energy-deprived brain.

It was the best burger I had ever eaten. The buns were soft and when I poked it, they sprang back to their original form like puffy marshmallows and I swear the meat was still sizzling in juices and fat when it was served. The mayonnaise was sweet on my tongue and it complemented the lettuce and tomatoes well, which was a big deal because I don't eat tomatoes if I can help it.

As Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory put it: "This has a much more satisfying meat to bun to condiment ratio."

Everything about that burger was perfect. The buns, the meat, the sauce, the condiments. It all worked and it satisfied my starving body well.

Long live the burger!

Trees, flowers and goats

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

You’re given a plot of land and have the financial resources to do what you please. What’s the plan?

Wait, someone gave me land and money? Is there a long-lost uncle who left it to me in his will?

If I'm ever that lucky, the first thing that shoots into my head is re-vegetation.

I love walking past trees because their whispering leaves beckon to me every time. They urge me to grab onto a branch and climb to the top where I could imagine, just for a few minutes, that I was a perching bird overlooking a small part of its kingdom.

If there were trees, there would be flowers. Flowers are pristine and one of my favourites is jasmine. They have a beautiful scent, especially in the evenings and they remind me of quiet times when I sat down with a good book and a mug of jasmine tea.

However, I'm a pragmatist. Re-vegetation is good for the wildlife however it would do me no good. I can't live in the trees or off the trees so I'd add a veggie patch full of carrots, peas and potatoes. I love fruit so I'd section off another area for a strawberry patch, a raspberry vine, and an orchard of nectarines and apples.

If I had any land left over, I'd keep a few goats (I don't know why, but I love goats) for milk and cheese and perhaps a chicken or two for their eggs. I would also have two dogs, not just because I love dogs, but also because the other animals and the land need to be protected and I can think of no better guards than two faithful German Shepherds.

Nightmare

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

Describe the last nightmare you remember having. What do you think it meant?

I'm not the type of person who remembers dreams. But nightmares? I remember a few of them, especially if they're enough to scare me awake. You know what it's like: heart racing in fear, panting in fright and sweating so much you have to change shirts.

Surprisingly, my last nightmare didn't scare me a lot. I say surprisingly because I'm a big chicken and jump at the smallest things. But I remembered it because while I was dreaming, I thought, "Wow, this would make such a cool book!"

It was similar to a zombie apocalypse. No, don't roll your eyes! It was good, I swear!

My friends and I lived in a Big Brother-esque society that sheltered people from zombies. These zombies looked a lot like the Darkseekers in the movie I am Legend and everyone lived in fear of them.

One day, when we were mucking around in some public toilets (I believe we were vandalising) we stumbled across a strange mechanism built into the walls and the roof. We investigated further and pulled it apart only to find it was covered in blood.

The blade on the roof swung down to chop off the heads of unsuspecting victims. The head would fly into a chute in the wall and somehow, in the way that only happens in dreams, my friends and I figured out that our government was creating these zombies to control society and used this very contraption to kill those who found out.

This family would be ideal zombies.

We devised a plan to trek to the capital and destroy their zombie-making equipment. A large group joined us on our journey. Old friends and people I haven't seen in years made guest appearances in my nightmare.

On our way, we ran into groups of zombies but we were always safe because these weird little creatures, which looked like sea slugs with fluorescent red dots and green stripes, always appeared, like a sign that the zombies were approaching.

At one point, we were fighting zombies in a handbag store and I was standing on a shelf and chucking handbags at zombie's heads while shoving two children (I don't know where they came from) behind me.

The next thing I knew, my eyes were creaking open and I rolled over to grab a notebook and a pen, which I keep on my nightstand for these purposes, and scribbled every detail down before I forgot. My brain kept saying, "It's fine, Silvia, you'll remember. Just grab another hour of sleep."

But I've been tricked by my scumbag brain before and knew better than to trust it.

End result: a fantastic plot bunny I intend to work on!

As far from normal as you can get

Today's prompt from The Daily Post is:

Many of us think of our lives as boringly normal, while others live the high life. Take a step back, and take a look at your life as an outsider might. Now, tell us at least six unique, exciting, or just plain odd things about yourself.

Unique? Exciting? Plain odd? Yup, here's your list!

Thing the first:

"That's enough ice-cream for a week." -Father

I like ice-cream therefore I eat lots of ice-cream. It's basic maths. However as good as this maths is, my family doesn't agree. Little Sister once remarked I eat more ice-cream than I do rice, which is a big deal considering I'm Chinese and love my rice. Father also constantly tells Mother not to buy ice-cream because I apparently eat too much.

Thing the second:

"Why are you laughing? Are you mad?" -Father, Mother and Little Sister

If only I laugh as prettily as she does.

I spend some of my free time watching anime or reading manga. On occasion, I stumble upon funny dialogue or facial expressions which make me laugh. Not a normal 'Haha, that was funny!' laugh, but a high-pitched, cackling shriek which turns into a giggle which then fades into silence. But I am still laughing, so I'm basically a shaking mess of bones, muscles and skin. I also clap my hands like a retarded seal.

Thing the third:

"You're such a stick." -Everyone

I was a skinny kid and everyone told me I needed to gain weight, although I never understood it. But a few years back, I was out with friends and saw myself in a mirror. I was horrified by how skeletal I looked and vowed to gain weight. Now I'm heavier but still need to eat more, as evidenced when I offered to help a friend move a couch and she started screaming, "NO, NO, NO, SILVIA, NO! GET AWAY, YOU'LL SNAP IN TWO!"

Thing the fourth:

"You've got daddy-long legs." -Longtime childhood friend

My hips are relatively high on my body so by default I am a bit leggy. I've received a few comments about this but my longtime childhood friend's comment is the one that stuck because it made me laugh. Sometimes I think back to our silliness and end up laughing all over again, to the point of respiratory failure and tears.

Thing the fifth:

"You have too many stuffed toys." -Mother

I love animals and since my parents won't buy me another pet (I have a beautiful Belgian Shepherd/German Shepherd cross) I resorted to collecting stuffed ones. They've come from all the places I've ever visited and people buy me stuffed toys for birthdays and other celebrations. Each toy has a gender and a name and they share my bed, my nightstand, my shelf and my wall. Yes, my wall. Father strung string across my wall and hung toys up with pegs.

Thing the sixth:

"You're such a man." -Everyone

I don't wear skirts or dresses because the wind could decide to blow up at any time and show every passing pedestrian and car my choice of undies for the day. Wearing shorts is not a possibility when the skirt/dress material is so flimsy you can see the colour of your shorts through it. So jeans all the way for me!