Tag Archive | beauty

Looking at people

These hot weathers are making me very sleepy between 2 PM and 6 PM, which is now, while writing this. If it wasn’t so hot, I’d go to sleep.

Since it is, I’ll write about beauty standards.

This is Luka Modric, footballer. I think he is handsome.

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This on the foreground is Fabio Cannavaro, also a footballer. I don’t think much about him.

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I’m fully aware that on any who-is-hotter internet vote between these two, Cannavaro would win hands down (if using photos where they are the same age certainly) and I’d be among the very small minority who prefers Modric.

This is my peculiarity number one. I don’t fully know why I sometimes have unconventional preferences but I’ve managed to connect it to the way I look at people. This is my peculiarity number two.  I tend to view people more as an artist than as …. anything else. This means I do the very confusing thing of sometimes having a crush on a person without actually ever having thought of them through the lens of sexual attractiveness. I simply find a person inspiring. Striking. Paintable, photographable, a challenge sometimes.  Not blandly conventional. Not wallpaper-like. During World Cup, I did have a crush on Modric, maybe still do or this post would not be happening, but one of my most infatuated declarations of the time was “The entire Croatian team is like wallpaper to me compared to Modric” And it wasn’t about his qualities as a footballer.

I’d declare the same if he wasn’t a famous person. Because yes, yes, I did that during school, when I had class mates and training group members – I frequently liked someone no one else seemed to. And sometimes was teased for it, like now I’m being teased for liking Modric and Shaun Evans, and people like that.

Of course I also liked people everyone else liked. I like Marlon Brando, Charlton Heston, James Dean, Morrissey, James Norton.

They are conventionally handsome but not blandly so. I would be inspired to paint them.

This post is getting all over the place. I wanted also to write about female beauty in connection to my peculiar way of looking at people. At school, I always seemed to single out some girl for her beauty or charm. So I was often gazing at her full of admiration, wishing I could be more like her too. Nowadays I do that on Instagram. I think for the past few years, M has been for me the epitome of perfect female beauty (if interested, I can share who this M is). Yes, of course it has got misinterpreted too. But no, not lesbian, just fond of beauty.

So while people fail to realise the purity of my admirations, I fail to get their harshness and it is often confusing to me why people judge other’s looks so harshly and with such narrow-mindedness too.

Cannavaro above. Not my type, but I see he is handsome. It doesn’t inspire me, but I see that objectively he was/is.

Average people though, they seem to have their taste and then everyone outside it is ugly. Ugliness is rare and I don’t think one sees ugly people too often. When one does, it is as transfixing as beauty.

 

God this post is bad.  Sorry Internet, for polluting you further with rubbish (I decided to cross out all bad bits). Maybe I get  back to it and write a coherent one later.

And that is why I’m putting it up here in all its draft-like state to taunt me and inspire me to get back to it and fix what I begun.

 

 

 

Cooking and miscellania

I think most people who know me are aware of what a terrible cook I am. I don’t shy away from informing people about it because I want to avoid possible disappointments or false expectations in the future. I’m definitely not the person who’d be a useful participant in making a grand dinner. I’m no good for anything beyond cutting carrots or peeling potatoes. Even that, I probably do badly according to experts. And the way I use or don’t use kitchen utensils can be frustrating to people who know a bit about cooking.

My particular catastrophes are soups and vegetables. Me cooking a tasty soup happens maybe once a year and I won’t be able to repeat that success. Me managing not to under- or oversalt the potatoes is a rarity too. My oven-baked vegetables will usually end up raw inside, my meat dishes dry and difficult to chew, and soups, the less said about my soups the better. Vegetables in boiled dirty water.

When I moved out of home to university and transferred to my own cooking, I lost 5 kilos. If I can avoid it (I usually can) I don’t inflict my cooking on others. And when I must, I feel bad and insecure about it. None of the long years of attempting to cook well have made a difference.

Until recently.

I think I can no longer claim that I’m a terrible cook all around. There are things I cannot make (soups, sauces, potatoes, pasta), but I’ve gotten very good with salads.  I could serve them to anyone at a dinner party and would even brave a food snob to do his/her worst. As I’ve improved with salads, I’ve also started using them as side dishes, and doing away with the more traditional side dishes that I cannot cook (potatoes, pasta). I’ve also started to use frozen fries and some other ready-mades. I avoided them for years because I deemed such food unhealthy, but I’m quite pleased with my choice to start using them.

My cooking has improved a lot since I gave up on the stubborn insistence on making everything from scratch myself. Now that I use these frozen or ready-made products in areas where my skills are poor, I get good results and can focus on the things I can do well. And I do actually improve in these areas now that I have one third or half of the plate less to worry about.

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PS. After writing this post, I managed to cook up another culinary horror. I attempted to make mushroom pasta. As I complained about my failure to a friend, I was told I’m not that bad of a cook, I simply have gourmet taste. And while I dismiss this as a compliment, it may have a morsel of truth in it. I tend to hold myself to too high standards sometimes.

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I wonder if it would be at all possible to give this blog a scrapbook style look, so I could write marginalia on old posts, and publish bits of saved drafts months later, and use cuttings from old texts, so they’d look like cuttings, and paste them where I want.

Wishing the internet to be more like paper….I should just write on paper.

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Nightingales are singing outside the window and I’ve decorated my room with what I love best – the sweetest smelling blossoms – cherry and apple. There is an abandoned garden next to the house. It’s not charming as my fantasy childhood one, the house on this property has no roof and looks depressing, but the garden is a beauty in spring with two gigantic bird cherries, apple and pear trees in bloom. No one goes there, except children, and myself.  It’s a bit creepy to a coward like me. A part of me thought that perhaps there is some drunks residing in that house, but the non-wimpy side was tempted by the short-cut and the blossoms, so in I went. And now my room is filled with spoils.

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Why is it that some people can look both beautiful and ugly? Why do I have to be such a person? What is the truth? Average? Yes, but these contrasts can be disturbing. I look in the mirror or take a photo: ugly. And feel bad about myself and curse my fate. I look again from a different angle: tolerable. I go out and walk past a mirror in the store and am astonished and confused by how pretty I am. And all these things must be true. The ugliness, the averageness and the hint of beauty somewhere between the lines.

Graveyard charms

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Most people consider graveyards to be grim places. Quite often, when I’ve chanced upon the subject, either as a suggestion of taking a stroll through the graveyard or by mentioning my fondness for local graveyards, I’ve met with raised eyebrows, avoidance or a mixture of reverence and horror. And no doubt, this is the proper reaction to graveyards.

To me, however, graveyards at day time have never been gloomy, but sunny and peaceful oases to escape to. It’s as if I lacked the symbolism and associations.

This is taken in the graveyard near my home.

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When our family moved to a more densely populated and traffic-heavy area, the graveyard was the closest thing to a park one could find nearby. So whenever I wanted to be alone amongst nature and was in a hurry with it, I crossed the street and found relief in the calm of the graveyard. I went there when in distress and in need of a private spot to be miserable and ponder my existence. I went to have an idle happy stroll and look at the spring flowers coming to bloom around the grave sites. I probably also went when in the first euphoria of early love. I’ve composed poems and come to understand a few personal truths. Graveyards are part of my very childhood and adolescence. They are like my home outside home. Snug and safe.

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My favourite graveyard is located on one local island. It is surrounded by a cobblestone wall, as seen above, and at the other side is the sea. I had never encountered a place of such perfect delicious tranquillity. The sound of the sea and the tree tops rocking gently in the wind.  If I ever become famous, may I be buried there.

This old graveyard is almost abandoned.

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Very few people visit their buried there. Most are long forgotten. Almost no names or gravestones are visible. One gravestone did mark the death to have occurred in 1913. How short is human memory, but at least the flowers remember. No graveyard I’ve been to is as beautiful in spring.