Beanie level: Rooftop room dweller

This is it, The End.
Day 14

I have no ode to romantic love
I have no tales of warm beds and plump babies
This month I wrote and wrote and wrote
Hundreds of words on love and
None of them were of romance
Love with a capital nothing
A litany of loneliness, landscape and loss
Empty beaches, lost friends, battered paperbacks
The sunrise in beautiful unfamiliar places
The sunsets of relationships
The love of art in films and books and television
But with people?
Just an empty nothing
I love my family
I love my friends
But that love is complicated
It’s fiendish
It defies me, mocks me
Winds around my words
What is love?
Love is
Bad Indian films at Christmas with too much wine
Laughing so hard I wonder if I will ever stop
A cup of tea delivered on a cold morning
The afternoon in the pool
A crying child coming to you for a hug
It’s boiling up dakjuk at 5am and
Yelling at someone in your head instead of to their face
It’s
Boring
So ordinary
I can’t write it
It just is

Love, February

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19

Feeling the urge to post this photo for some reason

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You sit on my bookshelf even after all these years.
You are worn; your cover lined and cracked and your pages thinning and drying out like aged skin.
You were nothing but a cheap paperback even then but somehow you’ve aged gracefully despite it.
Of all the books from my childhood you were the one I returned to again and again: each time I dove down was a new experience coloured by my extra years and experience.
Even now I see you for what you were and are; a cracking good yarn by a young and inexperienced writer. No wonder you spoke to me when I got you at the age of ten.
You were a post-apocalyptic young adult novel started a good 40 years before the Hunger Games existed and long before that was recognised as a genre. You were conceived even before I was and the years and years it took for you to be published show how long it took for the world to catch up to you.
You had the rawest of young adult themes; difference, alienation and a fear of how people would react when they saw the real you. Somebody is out there, you said, one day you will find your people.
You were the book I first thought of when the time came for me to buy novels for my nieces and nephews years later. But what a glorious realisation I had then! You had sequels! I had never known.
I bought you for each of them in turn, oldest to youngest, as soon as they reached their first decade. And they loved you just as much as I had. And hated me for introducing you to them. Your sequels were still being written, the series unfinished.
“How dare you, Aunt,” they cried, “Why introduce us to this wonder if the story is not yet done!”
“Mea culpa,” I said, “mea culpa. I DID NOT KNOW.”
I didn’t like the sequels anyway. When I finally sat down to read them I found them forced and contrived; sequels for the sake of sequels. Like Highlander, I will just pretend there was only one.
Because that is what you are.
The only one.
The one I still sit down and read again. The one book on my shelf that has been read almost to death. Read even more times than my collection of Terry Pratchett novels. Loved even more than my copy of The Name of the Rose.
I pulled you off the bookshelf again today.
I think I might read you again.
Thank you, Obernewtyn.
For being with me all these years.

Love, February

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The handbag thing remains a complete mystery to me…

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    “My style is free stuff. Please give me the free thing. The End.”

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      My style is “Can I fit what I need for the day in here, and is it a shade of black or grey?”

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        It just goes to show that any random item can be deemed a fashion must-have. I vote for the next one to be… belts. We’ll have designer belts, and women judging other women over their belts, and expensive belt knockoffs, and dramas being sponsored by belts, and intelligence agencies using expensive belt shops to cover for their spy activities.

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        My style is no handbags, just use pockets or a backpack! 😉

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          How post-modern feminist of you

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            Oh I tried to google what it meant, but it was not easy to understand what exactly is post-modern feminism. Ha, I will try again on weekend.

            My no handbag is because I carry a lot of stuff everyday which will never fit into a reasonable size handbag without hurting my shoulder (like my laptop and a few books …) or it can just fit into my pocket (like keys).

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            *reconsiders off-the-cuff jokes*
            Still, the idea you tried to reconcile my comment with actual post-modern feminism is kind of cute actually. I was just joking about the whole ‘pockets’ thing because an Australian commentator tweeted that the lack of pockets in women’s trousers was the victory of the patriarchy and we were joking about that.

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      All I have to say is this…
      I love you guys. XD

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    This reminds me of the time a shop owner insulted my handbag, composed of 100% recycled material and made in my state (don’t judge my green upcylced ways). She said she had a more sophisticated less thrifty handbag for me.

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      Really? This is a thing that happened? I know she was selling something but that’s still weird to me. While someone might go, “nice handbag!” they never mean it as designer label or expensive. They mean it as “I think that handbag looks nice”.

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        It was amazingly rude and she didn’t make a sale.

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          She did not deserve either. It makes no sense to say something like that to anyone, forget to a customer.

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      Seriously? That is NOT how you make a sale.

      Tell me more about your recycled materials bag. While I’m not a handbag kind of girl, I do have a something of a bag addiction as I need to stash my books and knitting in something.

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        Haiku brand. I loved having a large one for hospital IV center visits (held a heating pad to warm up IVs, books, headphones…).

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This week on rabbit
1800 AEDT

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I\’ve been debating when to post this piece or even if I should. But @isthatacorner has inspired me so here it is. My Day 12 piece.

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    Mum calls to tell me about her dream
    She’s trapped in a cage and phones are ringing outside it. She cannot reach them to answer them but they keep ringing and ringing and there’s nothing she can do about them.
    She sees her doctor outside the cage and she begs him to let her out to answer the phones.
    He says he doesn’t have a key. Only she has the key. Only she can get herself out.
    But she knows the truth. She doesn’t have the key. There is no key, no way out. She’s trapped in that cage, bars between her and the rest of the world for life.
    There is nothing anybody can do about it.
    I remember the night she first had the stroke.
    We went to the hospital. She’d had her clot busting drugs and we crowded around her in the emergency room.
    She was awake, alert, bright, grateful to be there. She thanked everyone for getting her help so quickly.
    The slurring was gone; her face normal. She was normal. She seemed normal.
    Now I realise we were watching her brain die. That clot, unbroken, unmoved, killing off her cells as we watched unknowing.
    A black wave washing over her brain as we were talking to her.
    Strokes are quick. The effects take longer. What would have been if we’d removed the clot then? If the drugs had worked? If targeted removal had been rolled out through the system? If she’d had her stroke one month later. Two months?
    If. If. If.
    No. That way lies madness.
    Blame was the first thing on everybody’s minds. Guilt and blame. But guilt and blame achieve nothing. They’re emotional dead ends.
    Mum went off Warfarin for her overseas trip. But Mum also had the memory of that trip, her dream trip, the one she’d wanted since she was a child.
    Which is more important for a life?
    The things is, this was all four years ago now. Four long, painful years.
    An accident or an illness – however stressful, painful or exhausting – ends. It ends. Things revert. Things settle. Things change but they also change back.
    When someone you love dies, a hole is blasted in your life but then that hole fills in. Space abhors a vacuum. The hole will still be there: the edges clear even after your repair. You can see it out of the corner of your eye, feel it as you walk over it. It’s just that now you won’t fall in.
    Grief after death, to extend this metaphor, is like earthworks. Done right, your foundation is secure. You know that the work is done: you can see the cracks around it, feel the place where the hole was dug and then filled in. But one day, eventually, you’ll walk over it and realise that you’re no longer in danger of falling in.
    Strokes are the opposite of death.
    Strokes dig the hole and then ask you to pretend there is no hole. Strokes take somebody you love and know and replace them with somebody else.

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    Those changes can be small, they can be fine, they can be subtle. Impulsiveness. Candour. A new struggle with irony or missing social cues.
    Or those changes can be gross, they can be large, they can be stark. Social inappropriateness. Lack of empathy. Self-absorption. Crassness.
    As humans we have a great capacity for rationalisation. But trying to grieve and to celebrate at the same time? Trying to be happy a loved one is alive while grieving for the person that isn’t there any more? That is a cognitive dissonance at which even the most nimble of us fail. Strokes ask us to dance on the hole as though it isn’t there.
    It’s Christmas and Mum is crying in the bedroom because she has so many things to do for Christmas Day and nobody will let her do them. Anosognosia is a symptom associated with a right hemisphere stroke. It’s a condition where a person who suffers a certain disability is seeming unaware of it. To this day, Mum insists that she can walk, it’s just that Doctors or her nasty family won’t let her. Over the years, her Anosognosia has gotten better but there are still days like this when she’s upset and confused as to why we won’t “let” her do the things she wants to do.
    It’s heartbreaking.
    It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted.
    I love you, Mum
    I miss you, Mum
    I’m glad you’re alive
    I’m sorry you’re gone
    Love, February

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3JwGgNNUcc

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When the only footprints on the beach are yours…

Love, February

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I present to you…. drumroll…
The first male pot plant in dramaland.

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    He’s pretty, enduring, cheerful and hardworking and he’s exactly the same at the end of the show as at the beginning except he now has a girlfriend

    Everything that happened in the show kind of happened around him by other people and he survived it by enduring while other people took action

    Aside from quitting his job and opening the Chicken restaurant he took no action himself. His role in the last two episodes was being there to support his girlfriend while she did stuff.
    The show even ended with a monologue from HER about how she’ll never give up
    The entire story was her story
    Even though it’s his chicken restaurant.

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    That’s when a man is the head of a family and a woman is his neck! It happens often 😎

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    LT, last 2 episodes should be titled Best Property. Also, this dude almost always walks out from his kitchen any time he wants, which restaurant owner does that? smh =_=
    I do somehow appreciate that this drama changes the classic role of FL and ML.

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      This drama was kind of terrible, right? All those customers and Who’s cooking the chicken, chicken? Where are you going?

      But I was amused in that episode where they had *him* be exhausted from all his part-time jobs and she packed him off to bed to sleep the episode away while she went off and did stuff. So many times they do that to the female lead and I laugh thinking they don’t know what to do with her while the man is doing stuff.

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        The 1st 9 eps were okay but then that confession happened and it went downhill after that. Urgh. I really like that the ML is nice, but because of the writing he didn’t appear that good because that’s what we have been complaining about pot plant. Also, I have a theory, the reason this show didn’t show much about the fried chicken is because S.Korea is still not ready to share their secret of this delicious menu.

        Yeah, that tuck to bed scene was interesting.😂. Because of this show, I thought wow FL was written as quite useful and not just a prop.

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I love trash.
I’m a trash roomba
I lurk across the floor of dramaland ready to suck up trashy shows whenever I’m lucky enough to find them.
Why do I like trash so much? And while we’re at it, what even is trash? How do you define trash?
I think it says something that good trash, like good art, defies description. You just know it when you see it.
I may not know much about trash but I do know what I like.
First and foremost, trash has to be fun. It can’t be boring. About Time, for example, was bad trash because it was boring trash. Even the actors looked bored. About Time was one long, unfolding realisation that everyone was stuck in a bad drama and there was nothing they could do about it. Good trash doesn’t know it’s trash or it at least embraces its trashiness with glee.
Risky Romance? Blood? Even Trot Lovers? These are various forms of good trash.
But my love of trash predates Korean dramas by several decades. At Uni, I would celebrate the end of my exams with trashy romance novels. When I was unwell, I would inhale bad sci/fantasy television.
To this day, my favourite piece of trash is the Sci-Fi Channel’s hilariously awful 2007 reimagining of Flash Gordon. Never heard of it? No one has. My brother gave it to me to watch when I was recovering from dental surgery and – maybe it was the drugs – but I loved it. Every cringey awful second of it. It even ended on a cliffhanger but with only three people watching it a second season was never going to happen.
To this day when I’m feeling unwell out comes Flash Gordon. Sure I fast forward through at least the first six episodes (and any time they decide we might want to know what’s happening back on Earth – we don’t). But this is great trash, people. This is a comic book meets a gay floor show meets pulp fiction. This is bad actors running around cheap sets in funny outfits while extras plucked from the local weightlifting circuit pretend to be birds in the background or run around painted blue.
So what makes Flash Gordon good trash while other similarly-bad shows are just trash? For a start, underneath all the silly there’s quite a good, quite an interesting story going on here. Flash Gordon isn’t a hero in this so much as an impetus. He’s a stone thrown into a pond that then ripples out. Everyone loves him, of course, and he’s the ultimate walking American Ideal. But this Flash does nothing alone. If anything, his main skill is inspiring people to act themselves and bringing them together. Flash isn’t Mongo’s Great White Saviour, Flash just believes that Mongo can save itself and so the people of Mongo eventually do too.
Nobody yells out, “Flash I love you but we only have 14 hours to save the Earth”. They’re more likely to yell, “I have Flash’s support in my quest to save Mongo”.
It’s an extremely appealing subversion of the usual superhero tropes. Flash doesn’t save the day and get the girl. Flash is there supporting and nurturing those who save the day and is willing to let the girl make her own decisions about these things, after all she’s been through a lot. Also his love interest is the weakest character and the weakest actor and I kind of hated her so I was glad the romance thing never loomed large.
But there it is, Flash is a nice guy but never a Nice Guy. He was never bothered with strong women kicking ass and saving the day, if anything he admired them for it. His best friend in Mongo is a better fighter and he thinks she’s awesome. His other best friend is smarter than him and he thinks he’s awesome. His ex seems to have moved on but is doing well and he’s genuinely happy for her. And his eye rolling frustrations with the crazy of Mongo were kind of funny, even if Eric Johnston was never the world’s greatest actor.
So maybe good trash is just trash that makes you want to watch it despite it being trash. Maybe it’s just a show that draws you in even with its trashiness. Maybe you have your own type of “good trash” just as everyone has their own type of “good art”.
But for me, I unabashedly admit that I love trash.
Love, February

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    AMEN

    This immediately turned my mind to the trash that I love, romcoms and Hallmark movies ( @egads ), and one very special show. I’m talking about Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon. The best, cheesiest live action Japanese drama ever. Look it up, watch it if you dare (and can find it).

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqP-CE4uUxk

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    Oh my God I totally used to watch this in university too! It was cringeworthy and oh so trashy but I loved it. I thought I was the only person who watched this. Even my housemate who watched the trashiest of trash TV with me didn’t watch this. (Legend of the Seeker, anyone?)

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      Ha! I quite liked Legend of the Seeker too. At least until l read the source books and realised it was awful neo-con propaganda. That was a dash of cold water.

      But I can’t believe you even know about the existence of this Flash Gordon reboot, let alone watched it. I guess that really does make two of us. Writing this has sent me back down that rabbit hole and gosh I do still love it. In all its ridiculous, cringeworthy glory.

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        I fondly think of that show every once in a while. It was one of the few shows I didn’t watch with my housemates in university. Sometimes I honestly wonder if I dreamed it up it was so bananas.

        As for Legend of the Seeker — yeah…I read about the books that sucked. But at least that show gave us Bridget Reagan, and she is just such a wonderful actress. I have yet to see her in a role where I didn’t enjoy her. Also, her hair is spectacular.

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          No it really was that bananas. I think my favourite thing was the first time we met the Dactyls and the leads are delivering their lines while behind them a whole heap of grown men wearing leather beak headdresses were bouncing around squawking like birds. God it was so terrible! My Mum loved that episode for some reason. I was watching it one day when I was sick and she came running into the room going, “Oh, this is a good episode! I love the Birdmen!”

          I agree about Bridget Reagan. She was great and that character was good too.

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            Now you have me watching this on YouTube and I cannot think of a better way to spend my Saturday night. I will keep you updated. I may need to make a snark post.

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            I’ve been on YouTube as well thing to find the perfect clip for highlighting the wonder of this glorious show. But for some reason not a lot of people have uploaded stuff on it? Don’t know why. I did see the episodes were there though.

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            I forgot how much I loved all of Princess Aura’s hairstyles. Also, she and Baylin were the best.

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            I still like the idea that Aura eventually became a kickass ruler and nabbed Flash for herself. Baylin and Aura were the best. Dale was the worst.

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            Speaking of trash TV, did you ever watch Blood Ties? Dale was in it as a gothy assistant to the lead. I think she’s how I found Flash Gordon. She was not as terrible in that, if I recall.

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            Yes I remember Blood Ties. Also based on some books but not the best adaptation. Still, I really liked the female lead and I also liked some of the stories. I remember they had a really cool reincarnation story that came down heavily on the side of mundane love. I thought it was a clever show. And, yes, the actor playing Dale was much better in that than in Flash Gordon.

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            My brain is suddenly digging up all the mediocre sci-fi shows I used to watch and it’s fantastic. Lost Girl? More campy than trashy, but still fun. Primeval? Terrible but there were dinosaurs so it kind of didn’t matter. Torchwood. Oh Torchwood. I pretend that whole season where people didn’t die never happened. Robin Hood, the one with Richard Armitage. Atlantis. Oh man, that one was baaaad.

            But if anyone tries to tell me Merlin was trash TV I’ll fight them. That show was campy for sure, but it was fun and watchable in a non-cringy way.

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            Okay, this is the second time in one week that Merlin has come up and so it is the second time in one week that I admit to writing Merlin fan fiction. Which is super weird because in the first instance @bammsie and I realised she used to read my fics and it blew my mind.

            I actually thought Lost Girl was really good. It had its ups and downs but was definitely a step up from other similar shows. I had forgotten about Primeval but if I remember correctly that piece of trash got better rather than worse. I fuzzily remember thinking one of the later seasons was actually not bad because two of the leads had quite a good romance plotline.

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            Not gonna lie, I love Merlin so much it’s ridiculous. The knights, Merlin and Arthur, Gius, MORGANA, everything about that show was amazing. I hadn’t watched in ages, and then a vid was suggested to me on youtube recently and now I am seriously debating a rewatch from the beginning. Never read any Merlin fic but now I’m curious.

            Lost Girl was definitely good in a lot of ways — the storytelling was pretty tight, and the characters were good. I think it got a little messy around season three or four? I didn’t watch the last season, after Kensi died, but I always keep meaning to go back. But you cannot deny that the early seasons were high on the camp factor. Which is not a criticism! I love camp.

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            Oh, Lost Girl was definitely campy.

            If you are interested, here’s the link to my fan fiction. https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2125104/

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            *still mind-blown*
            @snarkyjellyfish YT didn’t cause me to watch stupid Merlin moments today, oh no….

            (And absolutely not is it trash TV. I will defend this to my death.)

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    *cackles and claps, very pleased*

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    “First and foremost, trash has to be fun. It can’t be boring.” THIS IS THE TRUTH.

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    As long as you’re enjoying it and having fun , it’s all good *hugs* 💛💛💛💛

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I remember my first love even after all these years. He was a younger man.

He was five and I was six.

That meant for our first year I was at school and he wasn’t. But it was okay, because he lived next door. Every day I’d race home from school and we’d play all afternoon.
One day we decided to kiss like they do in the movies and my father caught us and I was grounded for two weeks.
Or maybe that never happened.
i was six.
I also have a vivid memory of flying around the back yard and that dinosaurs lived behind our house.
Memory is a funny thing.
But one thing you can’t falsify is that memory of emotion.
I loved him – at least as much as a 6 year old could.
He was my boyfriend for two years but then we had to move and I never saw him again.
My parents kept in contact with his and for a while I got updates.
I heard you studied engineering, got married, had kids. A normal life.
But sometimes I wonder if you look back on or even remember those years. And if you did, do you remember them the same?
Farewell, first love. I hope you had a wonderful life.

Love, February

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This has the twin benefits of being the most true and the most feminist statement I’ve seen on Korean television .These women are so driven to live through their children because that’s all they’re allowed to have. All their own dreams, all their own aspirations are squashed, all their own desires discounted. And that’s what makes Sky Castle such an amazing show because it’s ultimately about fairness and equality – not just for bright student who can’t afford tutors and favours but also for brilliant woman forced to sacrifice themselves on the altar of their families. Forget female martyrdom – everything would be better if these women had their own lives. And that is the show’s ultimate – and ultimately uplifting – message. There is hope in this show. Real hope. For all its brutality and catalogue of banal cruelty and myopic selfishness. It’s a show about hope. And that’s what makes it so good.

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    The thing that gets meL this is one of the few shows I’ve watched where the message is that things can be better if you just choose for them to be better. It’s not about grand societal change or overthrowing the status quo. Their lives were better because they just chose for them to be better. I love that. It’s the most hopeful thing I’ve heard in a long time.

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    Yes! That fact that women cease to exist as themself after becoming mothers (they are called “mom” or “name’s mom” even by their peers), and are expected to leave everything behind and pour it all for the kids “future” (the scene where coach dismissed and shamed successful working mom for not being devoted enough).

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    I laughed so hard when she told her grandmother that.

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    The message is hope and I liked how they got there even if I didn’t love the show. I don’t think it had much to do with feminism though? That grandma could easily have been a grandpa and she was the only one who was from a generation when women could not do what they wanted. The 3 original men in the place were as oppressed by society’s rules as their wives. Nobody forced these women to choose that path, Sue Lim was an orphan and she chose not to live by other people’s expectations while being from the same generation as the other three women.

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      Sue Lim wasn’t orphan, her parents run orphanage, and she was looked down for not devoting herself to WooJoo studies, same in earlier episodes, Coach Kim didn’t choose one of the mother who was the owner of successful business, because she wasn’t devoted mother, choosing work over spending 100% of her time on her kid studies, there was a shot of SuJin reading book with title to the effect that college admission depend on the mothers in 95%. Basically we were shown this educated, intelligent women who are expected by society to focus only on children educational success at all cost. It wasn’t main message of the show, but it was part of the message nonetheless.

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        Thanks @shach, I forgot about Sue Lim’s parents. I know it was part of the message but it was for me, a small part of the larger story. We knew almost nothing about the past lives of the 3 main women who were there before SL and none of them had any personal interest in anything but their children.

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          Yes, it wasn’t main part of the message, but we got snippets of info on each of them throughout the series to learn about them.

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      The grandma would never have been a grandpa. That was part of the drama’s point.

      As @shach says, it wasn’t the main point but it was a big one.

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        Why not? We had countless controlling grandpas in kdramas always trying to decide what was best for everyone in his family.

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Love is a flushing toilet

Love, February

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I stood overlooking Machu Picchu at the top of the world. I saw the fog rolled back and the past revealed. I watched the sunrise over Angkor Wat and the Taj Mahal and climbed the Eiffel Tower.
I saw the remnants of civilisation buried at Easter Island, was shuffled around the enigma of Stonehenge and kicked Hadrian’s Wall. I saw the pyramids and the Sphinx and rode a donkey while guarded by boys with scary guns.
I climbed to the Acropolis and the Parthenon and sat writing my journal at Delphi before wandering through the preserved cemetery of Pompeii and the restored city of Ephesus. I took a bus through the Balkans and stood on the beach at Split and the mountains overlooking Dubrovnik and wandered at the beauty in the heart of human chaos.
I ate breakfast soup for 20 baht at Kanchanaburi and scooped Tagine with sopping bread in the Sahara desert. I ate guinea pig in Peru and cake and cake and cake in Hungary and Vienna. I rode camels in India and elephants in Thailand and only later wondered if I should have. I camped with the Berbers and shopped at the night markets in Luang Prabang and sailed in the polluted waters of Halong Bay.
I did karaoke drinking cheap Thai whisky in a dive somewhere near Chang Rai and danced to Come On, Eileen at London’s Walkabout. I had a DJ in a strange bar in the south of Ireland insist on playing Downunder ten times when he found out where I was from and was forced to participate in a magic show on a ferry to Wales. Wibbly! Wobbly!
I did Hogmanay and drank hot chocolate In Bruges and ate wurst in the Christmas market in Munchen. Took a train through the majestic beauty of Switzerland and skied in Andorra.
I lived in a four-bedroom house with 10 South Africans, shared beds with strangers and even survived a night in a Greek youth hostel that was bug central. I stayed in a gorgeous room in the Intercontinental in Singapore and drank martinis in the exquisite cocktail bar with hiking boots on. I got upgraded to business class coming out of the Amazonian jungle and sat in the lounge covered in DEET and sunscreen with clothes (and a body) that hadn’t been washed in four days. I fell down a mountain in Borneo and had to walk 10km down the Headhunter’s Trail covered in bruises before I could get a soft bed.
I had food poisoning on an Egyptian train with a broken toilet and “Bali belly” in the Indian desert with only a hole in the ground and one roll of toilet paper.
I got marched off a train in Macedonia with a semi-automatic in my face and nearly didn’t make it through a mountainous Montenegrin checkpoint at midnight in the middle of winter, snowing.
I negotiated a hair cut in Kosovo and a shower in a pension in Morocco with sign language and somehow got both. I got lost in a medina and took the wrong tram in Bratislava and both times got shown kindness and consideration and random acts of generosity from total strangers.
I saw the sun set over Santorini, gazed at the beauty of Cappadocia and sailed through the geological and biological wonder that is the extraordinary Galapagos.
But most of all, I stood shivering on a ship to the end of the world. I saw the majestic wonder of the pristine seventh continent. I moved silently and respectfully through giant tabular icebergs and floated past seals and penguins surviving in the most remote parts of Earth.
And as I came back into Ushuaia I almost cried at the sheer beauty of everything.
This is love.
I love this world.
Love, February.

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Murakami Bingo

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I just love you, mostly
All of you
I love your bravery
I love how raw you\’re letting yourself be
You\’ve killed me
I\’m sorry
That\’s all
Love, February

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The Director of Sky Castle loves this creepy, manipulative and sociopathic woman. She gets the most perfectly-crafted images, even more than silly pyramid man.

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So I hear that Clean with Passion just finished but you dropped it at episode 3.
How’s that Year of Dropping going, Chingu?

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    I’m glad that you have seen the light.

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    My only new years resolution is to not be afraid to drop dramas. So far so good.

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    Meanwhile I’m a stubborn bastard and decided to at least skim the last two episodes even though I should’ve dropped///

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      I don’t know how people can drop with only two episodes left. You may as well find out what happens at that point.

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        Oh I often drop at two episodes left… cos usually the last two episodes are the most pointless to watch anyway pffffffffft and often nothing important happens…

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        *looking sideways* what do you mean you don’t understand? 😛
        Here I am a practitioner of art of dropping dramas at any possible time:
        I have dropped dramas at 13th ep or 14th episode and I have dropped dramas 5 min into ep 1 as well, though CWP comes in that later category.
        The motivation is be late than never.

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          How do you stop the cravings?
          Don’t you want to know? You’ve come so far? You’ve endured so much. The end is right there.

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            Its more like, I don’t even want to know. Also live watching helps. I just start watching something else and I have been trained a lot by watching indian soaps where its impossible to not drop, because they are never ending.

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            Headbutting in to also reply hehehe
            Not really. Like that’s what a recap is for. Or if the show is predictable trash you don’t need to waste three hours finding out (Cinderella and the Four Knights). Usually the ones I drop at that point are ones I’ve lost my craving for anyway. Like I have no interest in watching them or seeing how they end, it’s all gone, so it’s a chore to finish.

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            @oppafangirl @sicarius
            It’s true I do have dramas like Rebel that I never technically dropped but have somehow not watched more episodes. But I will, one day. I’m sure. I will.

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I want to feel again
The way I felt
The first time
Love, February

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My Strange Hero Final Verdict:
Joy/10

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Please don’t step on our children who are like flowers

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