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Something happened at the mall the other day

I knew I’d have to write two versions of this post: the first, a stormy tirade and the second, a more sober analysis of what happened at the mall the other day.

Before I start, I should say that I have seen and experienced much aggression at the hands of men. As a teenager, I had an iron thrown at me by my addict brother. I’ve had my head banged against a radiator and witnessed countless rages, replete with smashed plates and broken furniture.

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Let's stop lying about class diversity


My most embarrassing work-related mistake happened not long after graduation. While working on a presentation with eminent epidemiologist Professor Nicholas Wald, I paused on an image of H Pylori, “a bug that lives in the stomach,” he said. I noted its arthropodal shape and sharp pincers and, thinking it was an insect, asked what size it grew to. Professor Wald looked bemused. “It’s not a real bug,” he said. “It’s bacterial.”

Is this thing on?

I recently read an interesting article called I Don’t Know How to Waste Time on the Internet Anymore and it resonated strongly.

I’ve done the exact same thing as the author of the article: sat at my desk and stared at the blank address bar of my web browser, wanting to waste time but not knowing how to do it. Like him, I’ve ended up at a news site, which is why I laughed at the following line.

Atlas & Boots

I do have loose plans to bring this blog into the 21st century at some point. Until then, I'll be blogging about travel at Atlas & Boots. Hope to see you there.

Snippet

Niece: What's a dutchie?
Me: Something that must be passed on the left-hand side.
Niece: Huh?
Me: Something that must be passed on the left-hand side.
Niece: *Comes back 5 minutes later*
Niece: You're not funny.

Oh! The Drama

“People don't want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.”   
– Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor

Tribe Talk

Once in a while – perhaps five or six times a year – I’ll find myself standing next to an Asian girl on the train silently wondering what she’s like as a person. She’ll usually be like me in many ways: not ├╝ber glamorous but not Waynetta Slob either; dressed conservatively from a western point of view, but liberally from an eastern one. Perhaps I’ll catch a snippet of her phone conversation or see her pause at an interesting poster, and suddenly I’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wistfulness.

7 Tips for Travelling Alone

As someone who lives alone and who has spent much of her career freelancing, it’s safe to say that I’m pretty comfortable in my own company. When it comes to travelling, however, it’s a different story. I like sharing the experience with someone else, be it a friend, boyfriend, family member or colleague. I like having someone to share thoughts and ideas with, someone to put me right when I'm heading down the street in the wrong direction, someone to fret with when it's 3am and the bus that's meant to take me from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville is 2 hours late.

Snippet

Z: What are you listening to?
Me: The Weeknd.
Z: Aren't you too old to be listening to The Weeknd?
Me: You know The Weeknd!? I'm impressed.
Z: *Giggles*
Me: Wait, you're blagging, aren't you?
Z: I think it's safe to assume you're too old for anything you listen to.
Me: Fucker.

Things I know at 30 I wish I knew at 20

A 30th birthday is a peculiar creature. For some, it’s a day of genuine celebration; for others, a time of wistful reflection. As mine fast approaches, I find myself suitably philosophical. I look back on the last 10 years and while I agree that we are who we are because of what we’ve seen and done, I wish I could reach back through the years with these five simple truths:

The Fourth Decade

Is there a term to describe an abandoned blog? Perhaps it entered the vernacular a few years ago and has now become obsolete because everyone already knows that the cool kids don’t blog anymore. Even so, it saddens me that my blogging frequency has dwindled from one post a week to one post a year. It used to be a place in which I could voice my anger and disappointment, trumpet my triumphs and lament my failures. Here, I could write outside of my ‘writer mode’. Some posts were tooled together in seconds, others took a bit more thought.