#BEDJ 5 Happiness hit her like a bullet in the B-A-A-A-CK

A sidenote from yesterday: A girl who was sitting infront of me on the bus looked super familiar, and after some intense facebook searching, I can confirm I knew her because I've listened to her music before.   How whack is that? Out of all the things to recognize someone for, their fricking bandcamp. I should have said hello, but meh. Something I thought I would share on the blog.

I've been thinking a lot lately about happiness and what it means to be happy. Some do things in order to bring themselves happiness, while others do things for other people to make them feel happy.  Either way, we all have motivation to make ourselves - or others - happy.  But how exactly do we do that?

For me, I am a personal lover of the small gestures. Even the really simple act of  when strangers smile at me gives me warmth.. But for other people they need the grand gestures, which I always seem to (personally) hate. For example, I hate when people buy me an expensive gift on occasions like christmas or birthdays, mostly out of the fact I can't afford to reciprocate, and secondly because I always feel as if the money doesn't validate the style of our friendship.

With most of my friends we are pretty relaxed and understanding. If one can't do something, or doesn't want to do something, we accept it. We don't need to constantly spend money in order to have a fun time when hanging out. And with gifts, it should be the same. I don't want someone to feel as if they have to spend lots of money in order to give me happiness - or feel is is they have to do something, when they can't. I also think it's pretty lame how money can be a signpost which says 'You owe me one' in a relationship. My mum constantly brings up the fact we went on holiday when we are younger, and seems to think that's the reason why we had a good childhood. I did have a good childhood, and I am very appreciative of the fact we got to cool things and have cool things, but man, that's not what was at the root of it. I was happy - and it was good - because of stories, and imagination, and loads of new experiences, and because of  the existence of dogs (still am happy about dogs being in the world). Not that materialistic things don't make me happy. Because they make everyone happy.  Marathoning  TV and eating a ridiculous amount of unhealthy food makes me extremely happy.

My other tips on maintaining happiness (or at least how I do it are as following:

1. Set a timer for half an hour.  Get a piece of paper and scribble down whatever is making you feel down or sad or confused. After the half an hour, throw away the paper - and know that now the feelings are out, they can't bother you anymore.
2. If you are feeling lonely, ring an old friend for a chat. I find that can really cure lonely spells because it reminds you that you can still have awesome conversations and the loneliness isn't your own fault.
3. Listen to Chumbawamba. Instant happiness guaranteed.

Music for the blogpost

I Like Giants - Kimya Dawson

Famous Last Words - My Chemical Romance

Don't Stop Believing - Journey

Heard Em Say - Kanye West

The Thing About Things (is that they make you write a blogpost)

Two posts in one day?  What in the hell.

So four months ago I promised my friend Uroosa I would dedicate a blogspot to her because it was her birthday. Happy birthday to one of my best buds, Uroosa. Sorry it is now nearly June.

Uroosa was one of the first people I became friends with at the beginning of high school. I remember thinking she was really shy until one day in our year seven music class she asked to be my partner. I don't think anyone has ever laughed so much at the DJ function on a keyboard like our year seven selves did. Nostalgia, I believe, is one of the best human emotions the human brain has accumulated. I love the idea of it being unique to one person - one thing, for example, a piece of music could be a catalyst for all the sadness a person experienced at a time period in their life.  Sounds in people's ears act as a way of channelling time and memories. That is so, so wonderful. And to another person, that same piece of music is a catalyst for all their previous happiness. Nostalgia is entirely subjective, and I love that.

Recently, Amanda Palmer released a song called ''The Thing About Things.'' It's beautiful; simple, raw and emotional - the song details Amanda's experience with objects in her life gaining sentimental value. It struck multiple heart strings for me.  The reasons being is because I'm exactly the same when it comes to objects. I am a self confessed hoarder due to nostalgia. I love having things that remind me of the person I am, things that reflect my personality. And getting rid of things that do that is hard. It's like getting rid of a little bit of me.   You can listen to it here. I strongly suggest you do.

Recently, I created my own memory box. In this was dumb little box are anecdotes which I can take with me in my life's journey, as a way of satisfying the ever present nostalgia I have. Things like concert tickets, cards my friends have got me, etc - quirky things I've picked up along the way. My mother, who noticed I had made it, then decided to give me a bunch of objects which she says have sentimental  value. At first I thought they would be the same type of objects  I was collecting -  semi useless, scratty looking things. But when I looked in the box she gave me,  I was seriously so overwhelmed.

She gave me her wedding ring. My parents are not together, nor have they been for a long time. This doesn't bother me, nor did it ever bother me as a child, but looking back in a way it kind of sucked not getting to know what they were like as a couple. They were together for quite a long time and did lots of cool things like live in Australia together. It's weird to think I'll never fully understand that. Only through a series of half spoken tales and old photographs do I really learn about my parent's relationship. I mull about what my life would be like if my parents were together, but move on when I realize it doesn't so much matter anyway. It's j nice to know my mother trusts me to keep that half spoken memory by giving me the ring.

She gave me the first  pendant from Louis' collar when we first got him. My dog has been a huge part of my life. Not only offering my companionship, I really have learnt how to care for something. I've not been exposed to children that much, nor anyone who has been in a vulnerable situation and required my deep level of care, so with Louis - as a dog, who needs a little bit of the human's help, has taught me essentially the ability to look after something. He's also just a total babe in every way and I love him so much.

She gave me the only things of her Father's that she has, a coin which he used to carry around, and a letter he sent to his brother join the war. I've never met anyone outside of my immediate family, nor do we discuss our family history too much, but I always ponder what it would be like to meet them - in a Doctor Who-esque way, I'd travel back in time and I'd pretend to be someone who doesn't matter to them, and just watch them go about their daily life. Having the letter, and this weird mysterious coin in my possession can only be described as overwhelming. I really feel  the  history interwoven in them when I pick them up. My mother also, similarly, gave me beads which belonged to my father's grandma. In a really strange way, having these objects fulfils the fact  I never got to meet them. It provides me with a sense of their character, and creates an odd but truly unique connection between them and I.

She gave me a lot of other things, too, but those are the ones that stand out to me. The box is now not only a selection of my history, but the histories of others, too. Because That's the Thing About Things, they can start to mean things, nobody actually said.

I'll be doing BEDJ next month. I wanted to do Blog Everday in April, but alas I didn't have enough time in April so I'm doing it in june. Kinda like the ring BEDJ has more, anyway.  See you around next time, folks.