Picture Perfect

I can hardly handle it. The tension within me built to the extent that I actually had a thoughtful look on my face this afternoon. As if that wasn't enough, I have to wait until Monday until I can phone the addmissions office in King's College, and see if they'll take me. If not, I'll be a lawyer. If yes, I may very well be a doctor, taking up arty's suggestion of running around in a lab coat plotting to take over the world between seeing patients (whoever said being a doctor lacked job opportunities?). And no, I never actually thought of doing that before, but I can't say it wont be fun doing it for the first few times.

Shan, most unfortunately, I doubt that a doctor's life is like Scrubs. And I doubt very much if anyone in a doctor's apparel is as obnoxious and sarcastic as Dr. Cox, although I must say, it would be fun meeting said person. And if I don't become a doctor, I hope and pray life resembles Scrubs not one bit, because if that were the case, I'd be Ted, the lawyer. And no one wants to be Ted.

I have decided that a year is not long in the grand scheme of things, and that a first job at 30 isn't so terrible. I shall apply to my college for a deferral. The deadline has passed, and I shall plead special case. If they say no, I can still take the course. If they say yes, well...I shall never have to look back and say "what if..." What shall I say? I'll think of something, I was/am thinking of being a lawyer, y'know!

I just feel so stressed at this sudden, extremely late change of career. This is especially so, as I am currently in a place where many, many people wish to be: I have a guaranteed place in a top university in England (and, of course, therefore the world ;-) and I have a guaranteed career at the top end of many law firms.


Then there's medicine. Forget the years of study. I'll only be applying to ONE university. I may not get in, due to lack of places. And even before I can apply, I have to have the grades enabling me to do so, and I have one shot at this. No second chances. I have to learn one module of English Literature again, re-submit one coursework (to get 90/90, instead f 81/90. Yes, I'm scrounging those last marks) and re-take that GCSE maths course that people take when they're 16. And all of THAT is contingent on having my place in university deferred for a year...because I have no doubt I will be skinned alive by just about every member in my family for turning down this college.

And if, IF, all that goes well, I'll be able to get into medicine. It's a bleak street on the shaky road to medicine.

And that, my dears, is that. I guess I'll just have to keep that thoughtful look on my face until Monday, when I see if I should even consider re-submitting work, or asking my uni to give me a year off.

Yes, there are many if's, along this road. Too many for the liking of someone who likes stability.  

So there I was, on what appeared to be an ordinary Wednesday morning. The only unusual thing about it was that I was eating breakfast in a restaurant, not something I have ever done before. I was happily poking my mushroom and Bulgarian cheese omlette with salad and bread side dishes, with some fresh orange juice to wash it all down with, when someone asked me what I was doing next year.

My reply, well rehearsed, was "studying Law and History at LSE" (no one knows what Anthropology is, so I just make it simple for them). "Oh" I added as an afterthought "and I'm volunteering in a local hospital in the Accident and Emergency ward, come September, for three months." This was the fatal error.

"You should become a doctor!" I choked on my mushroom omlette. A doctor? Uh-oh. I've always wanted to be one of those, and get to wear those ear-thinggies. But unfortunately for me, I consistantly chose law throughout the school system, and do not qualify at all for any medical-related subjects. Believe it or not, but "science" was lacking in my education the second I turned 15. Maths was finished a year early and left behind when I was 16. Whilst I intoned these considerable boundries to my qualifying with anything starting with "M" at university level, they proceeded to explain this wasn't such a problem (it is). "Forget that you're volunteering in a hospital at a time when you're doing your law degree. The fact that you're even here, discussing it with me, and are interested, rings alarm bells."

Crap.
They're right.

I don't know if you've noticed, but I like to fix things straight away. Therefore, the past two days have more or less been dedicated to finding out if I qualify for any medicine (I don't), and if not, what do I have to do, in order to be considered.

My aim: to do the least amount of work, in the least amount of time possible, to qualify as a doctor.
Whilst the top medical college in London, indeed in all of England, said I could join them after my Law degree. All I needed was to dedicate 6 years of my life to it, after those initial 3 years for law. Whilst I don't even qualify for the "grade B" (I have a "C") in maths, my addition is in check enough to realise that that would be 9 years of my life on just study. Add 3 years of internship, and we arrive to the total of 12 years (the same amount of my entire school career) at the age of 32. No way.

I have settled for King's College, which is still in the top 10 of medical schools (it's 10th), and learned that I must have the grades AABC for A-Levels (I have ABBB), and a grade B in english and maths in those exams I took at the frand old age of 15/6 (GCSEs). Whilst I have an A for English language and literature, again, it's only the C in math (the result of 5 maths teachers in 2 years, and the fact that the school lost some of my work resulting in my having to take another exam instead, one which I was very, very unprepared for. But no use pointing fingers now). My general aim here, is to negotiate an entry: forget the B in maths, and I'll aquire another A in another subject.

If they accept that, or something close, this means I'll reject my unconditional place in the third best university in England (After Cambridge and Oxford, in that order. I couldn't get into those places. As you can tell by now, I didn't/don't work especially hard at anything. This is indeed shocking). Yes, folks, unconditional (someone had the gall to exclaim "how on earth did you do that?!" whilst I'm not quite sure myself, I managed to pull off an indignant comment).

          Of course, If I used the Law degree in LSE, I could pull off something spectacular in medical malpractise law suites. There's an interesting twist to it.

Why the change? I always wanted to be a doctor. I still remember raiding my sister's A-Level biology books when I was 13 (I later raided my brother's psychology books when I was 15). But I never chose it as, for years and years, it was drummed into me, never to be a doctor by various nefarious characters. And also because I thought History was so much easier than Chemistry (it was actually harder, more irony for me).

If I do change my course, I believe I shall have to sleep with locks on my bedroom door to prevent both my parents and the people in LSE from killing me in my sleep. It will mean taking another year to do something else (Israel again), and then starting uni when I'm edging on 21. + 6 years uni+med school = 27 + three years internship = edging on 30. instead of edging on 28. I would have "lost" 2 years. 1 year now, (possibly taking more exams - and ending up with 5.5 A-Levels where people usually take 2 or 3 [Woo! Go me!]) and 1 extra year as a pre-med.

And so, I have hardly slept. In many days.
I know how many - and even who - of my readership will be dissaprove of this post, if only that it's about me, and has taken this long to read. But in my defence, it's my blog. And, between you and I, no kid dreams of being a lawyer. No. Instead, law is the default profession for those with a great amount of ambition, or none at all (me).

And, guess what? If it involves too much work, I'll stick with law.
The only practical difference (besides education costs, and when I finish the course) between law and medicine for me, is that law will not be a profession I stay in, whereas medicine probably will.

It's boiling hot here in London - apparantly it's not just the heat generated from my single computer which has turned my house into a steaming oven, but the larger effects of the north atlantic drift and other such hot-air currents (including most things out of Tony Blair's mouth) has affected and effected the entire country. Indeed, it's the hottest weather seen here for 95 years, and we don't even have smoggy factories running on every street corner like they did back then.

And so I have once again been musing about the seasons, and which one I enjoy most. I have to say, I love each season for what it brings: and summer, of course, brings heat. Which means there's lots of sun. And wherever there's the smallest amount of sun, there's lots of pretty girls.
But it's not even the pretty girls (they seem to sprout like beans in summer!) which is the reason why I like summer so much (ok, maybe it is). Something about nice weather brings the fun out in people, everyone laughs more, and things don't seem quite so gloomy as they did before the sun came out.

But I digress.
Autumn, I love too. For some reason I love the drop in temperature, the changing colours of the leaves, and the fact that said leaves tend to scatter the sidewalks. Being in Israel for a years, I have missed the musty smell of rain water and leaves. Indeed, I have missed rain. My perfect Autumn picture would probably be just before dark (which, of course, is early evening at that season), just after rainfall, walking in the midst of the wet, slippery leaves. Thunderstorms are very, very cool too.

Winter. Ahh, the freshness in the air, the crunchy frost beneath one's shoe, the struggle with heavy coats, gloves and scarf. The fact that the wind always penetrates. The perfect time is when the leaves are crunchy, just turning old from autumn, before any slippery frost (black ice) hits the ground.


Snow, of course, deserves a mention. As does snuggling on a couch with hot cacao, in front of a fire, whilst it's snowing outside. How cozy. Throw in a loved one, perhaps some mellow music, and we have a photograph moment.

Spring usually rescues us when winter become too intolerable, just as autumn rescues us from the summer heat. Spring comes with the promise of summer, and is therefore loved by all.

What's my favourite season? I love 'em all, for the reasons you've just read.
But it feels like a poetry moment. And poetry I shall write:

The sound of new frost,
Crunching under leather boots,
Footprints left behind.

The swish of the wind,
Felt beneath glove, coat and scarf,
Turn our faces red.

A falling snow-flake,
Drifting softly towards us,
Heralds snow to come.

As you all know, this is a haiku. Or, 3 haikus in one poem (well, why not?). Brr. I feel cold just reading it. And now, before I say something more sentimental than sipping cacao at night in front of a fire with a loved one, I must leave you all, for my bed. It's calling my name. Quite loudly, actually.

Later, children!

Ah, my dear children. How you've all grown! And how nice it is of you to come in and pay me a visit. Please! Sit down by the hearth. Have a drink. Maybe 3. 

For what I have to say to you has, as usual, absolutely no importance to anything substantial. But it's not as if it's my fault...Whenever I do speak about anything substantial at all, my readership is cut by at least half, and the attention span of that remaining half is about the same as a chopped and quatered fruit. Even those who pay attention to the 10 o'clock news shudder at the possibility of having to perhaps, just maybe, finish a whole serious post of mine. And so I continue to write about absolutely nothing, for months, and now even years, thereby appeasing my fickle readership of 3 people, and quelling their search for mind-numbing activities to complete in the time they should be working.

Even he who does not usually work at all, finds work to work on when he encounters a serious post.
I am therefore not going to tell you that I hope Israel occupies the south of Lebanon, nor am I going to tell you I hope Syria takes a hit along with Iran and it's nuclear programme.

Instead, I'm simply going to mention that it's absolutely stifling hot here in London. Though it may just be hot in my house. Or just in the room I'm in. And that may be because of the computer running. But who knows?

 I must leave you. Not for better things to do, but just to escape this darn heat. I've discarded my shirt, and still, I sweat and sweat. A shower may be in order.

Take care, kids. Oh. And sorry for that long poem. I just couldn't be bothered to delete it before now.

Well, well, well!
Isn't it lucky I got out of Israel....A SINGLE DAY BEFORE WAR BROKE OUT?!

This is particularly lucky, as I need not remind you, I may qualify for Israeli military duty, and getting shot in the rear (or anywhere else) by Lebaneese troops - or any other gun-toting person - is hardly my idea of fun. To top this up, the British government would not move a finger to help remove me from the situation. It says so on my British passport, giving particular reference to military service of another country.

As for me, I otherwise think that this war is a good idea (yes, as long as I'm not in it) as it was and continues to be obvious that negotiations with terrorists is not plausible (despite Jack Straw's meetings). My friends, however, are there. But they're more or less safe, as they reside in the south, and do not qualify for any military service.

I really hope that southern Lebanon is taken, and used as a buffer area as it was 20 years ago. It is enough that the terrorists have acted with impunity whilst the rest of the world ignores them, besides to read about their doings in the morning papers. For once, it appears America is not meddling too much in Israel's affairs, and therefore something concrete has finally taken place, like this war.

Stalin is reported to have said "1 day of war is better than a thousand years of peace" and I do not hold of such a notion, crazy as it is. What I will say, is that war to secure peace in a situation where negotiations are not possible, is a good thing. And if terrorists were capable of sitting down around a negotiations table, and giving reasonable demands whilst expounding upon their motives for their political goals and the reasons for their beliefs, they wouldn't BE terrorists. And therefore, I applaud Ehud Omert (Israel's Prime Minister) and the action he has taken.

Now, many people may be thinking "wow, what a coward, he doesn't want to sign up to go to the army to defend his country" this would be correct in one place, and wrong in the other. It goes as follows: am I a coward? When faced with almost certain death on the battlefield, yes, I am. I am a yellow-bellied coward (or just very, very clever), who shall skulk at the back lines. In England. Would I defend my country? "my" country being both England and Israel, England by birth and Israel by heritage: I would have no problem defending those two countries, and would go forth into battle happily should their existance be threatened. Though I can't say I'd gladly die, I wouldn't go down without taking a few "bad-guys" with me.

I just think 20 is too young to die, and no old man sitting in office will dictate when my death certificate should be signed. So what about this 19-year old fellow who's just been kidnapped?

I think it is a tragedy, and therefore, once again, applaud Israel's action. It may, however lead to his death. All I know, is that if I were captured by Arab millitants, I would kill myself before they took me. And if this was not possible, I would not co-operate with them at all, and would not expect to be saved: indeed, I would not WANT to be saved (although it would be nice) for I would understand that one death would save many others, and keep more Arab terrorists in Israeli jails.

If the Arabs believe that one Jewish soldier is worth 1,000 Arab terrorists, I shall agree. But equally, I would kill all those 1,000 terrorists for the death of that one Jewish soldier. Harsh? Perhaps. But would the situation re-occur if it was dealt in this method? I doubt it.

Oh, shout "humanitarianism" and "ethics" and "morals" at me all you want. All those terms differ in meaning depending on where you are, both regionally and in perspective.
What if it were your brother, or son who was captured?

And if these killings would be so wrong, would it be ok if, through it, you were the one who was saved?
Yes. Perspective is all imporant. And for those of you who would say "I would rather die, than have those 1,000 others die," is either lying, or so apart from the world, that I'm surprised they haven't left it already.

But let's face it: war is war, and people die, and one aspect of winning the war is that more of the other side has to die than your side. And finally the host government has been invaded in response to this government-funded-and-tolerated terrorist organisation. Of course, Lebanon is run by Syria, however.

But why, you ask?
I happen to believe that all problems in the middle east goes back to the British Empire. Yes, ashamed as I am to admit it, it was the British who messed up everywhere: Lebanon used to be part of Syria, until the British landed there, and unilaterally cyphoned off the land and created a new sovereign government. How would England like it if the French landed at Devon, and created a new country out of Devonshire? I'm sure they wouldn't. 


By creating Lebanon, they were responsible for the Syrian-Lebanese wars, as well as all the Lebanon-Syria diplomatic affairs which greatly allows Syria to control Lebanon anyway.

Britain is also responsible for the India-Pakistan affair - both countries now have nuclear weapons, and take pride in blowing up the bombs at each other's immediate borders. For Pakistan used to be part of India, until England decided to - guess what? - take a tract of land and - you guessed it! - unilaterally create another country, only this time, hoping that the muslim population would all go to Pakistan (this is indeed, a muslim country) and everyone else would stay in Greater India. What happened was, despite much of the populations staying just where they were, England created two counrties intent on killing each other, right next to the other's border.

This is a great example to show that creating a Palestinian state just wouldn't work. In a few years, you'd have an impossible situation, where two countries with nuclear missiles and opposing ideaology (the "I must kill you" against the "I must survive and therefore kill you" situation) right next to each other, just like India and Pakistan.

Iraq was also created by the British, in 1921. Or, more accurately, the League of Nations (Britain in the League of Nations was much like the USA in today's United Nations: without them, the rest of the organisation was nothing. They ARE the organisation) ceded the territory to Britain (surprise surprise), encompassing much of Mespotamia. What followed were years of changing governments, and even war (Anglo-Iraq war in 1941). That is, until the USA decided to back Saddam Heussein and his cronies (familiar name, hmm?) in a coup against the government, which succeeded and saw today's troubles.   

Afghanistan was also invaded by the british, sometime during the First World War, I believe. I'm not sure what happened there, but it was probably the Brit's fault again.

And that's really that. In short:

The war between Israel and Lebanon is good, if Israel wins.
The British Empire was vast, and messed up everything for the modern world (I forgot to mention Cromwell and Ireland...).
The USA are carrying on the legacy of the British, and should strut about the stage for their hour and enjoy it, as did the Babylonians, Persians, Greeks and Romans, to name a few.
I don't want to go to the army.
I love life.
I particularly enjoy living.

Take care, all!
And if you think I'm too harsh, just remember to take your perspective pills. And if you've already done that, take a bigger dose. And if you STILL don't agree, I'm still right. Because it's my blog, and I decide I am right on my blog. So there!

Arty, there was nothing covert about that haiku. Nor was it obvious.

In fact, you may as well just have written an annotation of it. Then hid it inside a folder entitled "I do not exist" whilst leaving it next to the poem.

My news? I leave Israel for good upon the morrow, sadly. Who knows when I'll return? I don't. I do hope to, however. I am now using the last 30 minutes of my internet card, by the way, hence the post. Wouldn't want to waste it now, would we? (Give it to a friend, I hear you ask? Well, I'm afraid I have no friends who have any interest in using it, AND who are coming back next year).

Can't wait to return, however, Israel shall be missed.
And just when I was settling down, too! A random lady at the bus stop asked me if I was born in Jerusalem, after she discovered my all-knowing knowledge of the bus routes.

I could live in Israel, if only there was not such a poor economic situation.
As it stands, pay is very low, and life is generally hard. The only options therefore, is not to live here, to commute (fine if I'm single, except I'm too lazy to do this), or to continue with my original plan: become a millionaire by the time I'm 21, then move to Israel.

Unfortunately, time is ticking away, and I'm no closer to being a millionaire than the next unemployed student.

I have made a scrap book of my year here, and have been swamped with orders for reproductions, and e-mailings of pictures from both Englanders and Americans alike. I may even put a few up here.

Anyway, must shoot off.
I'm starving hungry, and a friend is currently waiting for me to stop procrastinating, and go and eat somewhere with him.

By the way, I like vindy's ideas for topics, and shall even take some of them up when I get back to England, maybe, possibly, perhaps.

Take care now! 

Trust Arty to turn a lovely discussion which had absolutely nothing to do with gay people, in to just that.

Would it be so bad, considering the amount of "banter" which goes on between myself and anyone of the opposite sex?

With my response to this comes the difference between ignorance and apathy: I don't know, and I don't care.
I've never thought about that and I'm not about to begin. I'd rather wallow in my blisfull ignorance of the opposite sex and ignore my sex entirely, just like everyone else.

On this subject, today I saw two very pretty girls. They were both too short for me, however. I kid you not, they didn't even come up to my shoulder. And YES they were above the age of 10, I assure you. There was a sign outside the building saying "not suitable for children under 10," so there!

There is a large tourist presence in Israel now, mainly American (although there are a few British accents, such as the lovely but short girls mentioned above).

And one more thing. I met a very interesting girl on Friday afternoon. For sure, she has a heart of gold (just my type :p). However, I did not wish to get involved with this particular girl due to ..err ... reasons not fit for public consumption (I suppose this is the gateway which will doubtless be harnessed by the mockers on my site).
However, it turns out she too is having a major rift with a good friend of hers, for almost exactly the same reasons as I had with my friend. It was this fact that I was most interested in. I never asked her name, nor her number, for the afforementioned reason.

Time here is running out. As per usual, I'm having a marvellous time, marred only by the grumpy person who is my roomate. He neither says good evening, good morning, or even a hello. I used to, but stopped when I felt I was talking to the wall behind him, rather than him.

My one pleasure from him is the way he goes to pains to avoid me. I have yet to run after him and shout "Flee! Flee from before my presence!" As well as many other one liners I think of every time I see him. I restrain myself, however, due to the simple fact that as he is my roomate, he has easy access to water, and my belongings, including my bed. I do not wish for the two to be combined at, say, 2:00am. Especially if I'm IN the bed.

I had the deepest pleasure of waking him up yesterday, on the authority of one of the lecturers. I told him so too. Muahahaha.

Question of the day: Am I evil? Or just really, really mean?
(NOTE: If your name is Cat [or any derivative thereof] you may not vote. Your vote has been automatically cast for you under "evil.")

So long! I must return to college for dinner, else starve!
-----

A poem:

I put my hand in my pocket,
And noticed I'd lost my keys;
But it's ok, I can make another pair.

I opened up my cupboard,
And saw I'd lost my hat and scarf;
But I can get some more.

I looked inside my drawer,
I'd lost a silver pen, a watch and wallet;
But these too, can be replaced.

I went about my house, and noticed I'd lost a lot of things,
A camera, a birthday present from last year,
A coat, must have left it on the train,
Binoculars, though not lost, broken.
But these aren't the things which matter most.

I put my hand to my heart,
and noticed I'd lost the world,
for I lost a friend,
who can never be replaced.

I wrote this 5 months ago about my friend. I gave it to him the other night [y'know, arty, the one where we frolick about under the stars?]. I'm not entirely sure why.

It's whispered amongst the flowers,
In reds and blues and yellows,
Passed through all the hours,
Flushed with colours mellow.

To bring it to the bushes,
The little insects rush,
New leaves their way begin to push,
In mints & evergreens lush.

We see it in all the trees,
For their flowers begin to shoot,
It must be carried in the breeze,
For now they show their reddened fruit.

And straight into the sky,
From many cedars tall,
The birds now begin to fly,
And Springs Sweet Song, to each other, they call.

I like this one. I may have pinned it up here before.
Anyway.

Must leave.