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Sep. 12th, 2004 03:04 pmOn the first day of Bio, Mme Wiseman gave us a pretest to see what we knew and what she'd need to actually teach us. One of the questions was something like "What is the difference between animal and vegetable cells?"
My first thought was "Midichlorians!"
School is not as bad as it could be, all things considered. African Canadian studies is my homeroom, which makes me happy- Boutilier pwnz me, and all of that. And in European History we're watching a movie about Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth. I can't help but grin stupidly whenever the latter does something clever, or makes a witty remark, or... well, is just there. I have a crush on a dead Queen of England. Ew.
In other news, I can't believe it's been three years.
No one told us what was happening at school, you know, even though they were watching it on TV in the office- just watching those towers fall down again and again. It was all anyone could really watch all day.
I remember walking home, wondering what was for supper and why my street seemed to be so quiet. Dad was outside when I got home. He said that the end of the world was coming. I wondered what he meant.
Mum told me that the towers had fallen, and then she had to explain to me what they were. I was only twelve, what did I know?
I watched it happen again and again. It felt horrifying, but it was the horror you feel when you're watching a movie- I could not grasp the idea that it was real, that it had happened. That sort of thing doesn't happen. It's for movies, for comic books, for cheap airport novels.
Michael passed by our house with his dog, and I stuck my head out of the door and asked him if he'd heard. I didn't realize, at that point, that there was no way for anyone to avoid hearing.
That was the first time I realized that there was an actual possibility of war. And even though I'm not American, I got so fucking scared.
I'm still scared. I still get jumpy when planes fly low. I can only imagine how people close to it, people in the city watching those planes hit, feel even now.
That being said, I'm scared of the US, too. It's a funny thing, that. Three years ago I felt so sorry for everyone there- and then a year, a year and a half after that I watched them go to war and wondered when they'd start here, when they'll decide we're a huge threat to peace, justice, and the American Way.
If it's that bad for a "friend" of the States, how bad must it be in other places? How bad must it be to know that any minute this empire could invade you, blow you up, and then call it "liberation"? To live with that every day?
I'd go mad. Sometimes I think I'm going mad as it is, just living with the worry of being annexed.
( And now, for something a little more lighthearted. )
Someone has thrown out my lunch. This displeases me.
My first thought was "Midichlorians!"
School is not as bad as it could be, all things considered. African Canadian studies is my homeroom, which makes me happy- Boutilier pwnz me, and all of that. And in European History we're watching a movie about Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth. I can't help but grin stupidly whenever the latter does something clever, or makes a witty remark, or... well, is just there. I have a crush on a dead Queen of England. Ew.
In other news, I can't believe it's been three years.
No one told us what was happening at school, you know, even though they were watching it on TV in the office- just watching those towers fall down again and again. It was all anyone could really watch all day.
I remember walking home, wondering what was for supper and why my street seemed to be so quiet. Dad was outside when I got home. He said that the end of the world was coming. I wondered what he meant.
Mum told me that the towers had fallen, and then she had to explain to me what they were. I was only twelve, what did I know?
I watched it happen again and again. It felt horrifying, but it was the horror you feel when you're watching a movie- I could not grasp the idea that it was real, that it had happened. That sort of thing doesn't happen. It's for movies, for comic books, for cheap airport novels.
Michael passed by our house with his dog, and I stuck my head out of the door and asked him if he'd heard. I didn't realize, at that point, that there was no way for anyone to avoid hearing.
That was the first time I realized that there was an actual possibility of war. And even though I'm not American, I got so fucking scared.
I'm still scared. I still get jumpy when planes fly low. I can only imagine how people close to it, people in the city watching those planes hit, feel even now.
That being said, I'm scared of the US, too. It's a funny thing, that. Three years ago I felt so sorry for everyone there- and then a year, a year and a half after that I watched them go to war and wondered when they'd start here, when they'll decide we're a huge threat to peace, justice, and the American Way.
If it's that bad for a "friend" of the States, how bad must it be in other places? How bad must it be to know that any minute this empire could invade you, blow you up, and then call it "liberation"? To live with that every day?
I'd go mad. Sometimes I think I'm going mad as it is, just living with the worry of being annexed.
( And now, for something a little more lighthearted. )
Someone has thrown out my lunch. This displeases me.