Last night, I downloaded the entire Wicker Park soundtrack upon watching the movie again and I love it. I swear, it's music for the soul. When I listen to it, I just feel like lying down with my eyes closed, and the thoughts naturally come and go.

Here's my favourite few from the compilation:

Stereophonics: Maybe Tomorrow
Mazzy Star: Flowers in December (If I'm not mistaken, their vocalist is Corrine Bailey Rae, who sings 'Another Rainy Day'. Either that or their voices are way similar!)
Coldplay: The Scientist (because I don't like the cover version included in the album)

Haunting Instrumentals:

Mum: We All Have A Map of The Piano
Mogwai: I Know You Are But What Am I

Different Vocals:

+/-: All I Do
Aqualung: Strange and Beautiful (also listen to their 'Take Me Home')

And the other tracks I find amazing:

Lifehouse: Everybody is Someone
Snow Patrol: How To Be Dead

The whole album is a great listen, so try to get it and listen in sequence. As you relax to it, I recommend you read this: Fix You, by Otto. Despairingly beautiful. The ultimate touch is the last part of the post; even if you already know it, read it.

I hope I can make Food For Soul entries weekly. Some of you might think it's just a flashy name for my emo words, but just remember that what feeds my soul might be entirely different from what feeds yours.

Today, I'll introduce the family I live with here in Brisbane:

The Dad is John, who's a scientist in Zimbabwe. He works with farmers and his latest achievement is having the big fertiliser companies sell their goods in smaller bags so that small farmers can afford them. He's around for 2 weeks or so every quarter of the year.

The Mom is Clare. Her job circulates around the house, and she travels a lot to the Gold Coast and Toowoomba to visit her parents. She cooks very well, and likes buying anything from the supermarket that can be frozen (hence the extra freezer in the laundry area); it's a habit I haven't gotten used to yet, since my family back home loves meals with fresh ingredients.

The Big Bro is Ryan. He studies economics in my university and can be spotted at the Regatta or the Royal Exchange on weekends, two of the main night spots in Brissy. I suspect he wants to become Tucker Max, even if he confessed one drunken night that he cannot drink as much as TM.

The Big Sis is Kassy, also the reason why I'm living here. I met her in January two years ago when I first started studying at boarding school. She was new as well, and is now one of my closest friends. She's a sports-holic, and I doubt there's any sports she can't excel in. She's now attending a boarding school in France. Her birthday is a day after my older brother's.

The Lil' Bro is Hayden. He's a nerd, literally. I'm quite sure he'll top his year, again. When he's not studying, he's on his computer. I like to tell people that I live with him, but I almost never see him in the house, cause he's either in his room or out with his friend/girlfriend. If he's not eating bread, he's eating cereal. This family has so many boxes of cereal that they stow them in their rooms as well.

The Lil' Sis is Jo. Turning 14 and she has a model's height. She does go for interviews for modelling jobs, I believe. She likes to think of herself as a comedian, and sometimes she does strange things, like pinching me for no reason or saying random things. Her birthday's a day after my younger brother's. Yes, I do think it's strange the way the girls' birthdays work in pattern with my brothers' birthdays.

The other two students who live in the garage ala bedroom are Eddie and Magic. They're from Hong Kong and on the weekends, they live at their aunt's. I have disliked Magic ever since he complained to his mom in HK about me and Ryan surfing the Internet in the garage, who then proceeded to complain to his aunt, and she sounded Clare for that. I now have no patience with him and one night, I snapped at him at the dinner table when he was joking about.

Yup, include me, and we're the occupants of that townhouse. :)

Ooh, I watched the match last night! Well, I was meant to go with Ali and Tristin to a party at a suburb a fair distance away from where I live, but I complained about missing out on the match. So the guys agreed that we should try to go to the pub instead.

The dilemma, of course, is that I'm not of age. :P Ali's 18, and Tristin's 19.

Pig and Whistle is an English style bar and restaurant, and the guys thought that maybe we could go to the restaurant, have a bit of food, and then proceed to the bar, where the matches would be shown. We left to have dinner, but I bumped into a woman who used to work at my uncle's restaurant. I never used to like her, but I thought, no harm in talking to her. She asked me what I was doing in there, and I told her that I was going to watch the match with my friends. Then she asked me how old I was and I stupidly told her. She replied that I couldn't be there then and to look for somewhere else. Shit.

Now I hate her even more. Grrr...

So we head to a pizza place that always shows football on their wide screen. Turns out they're really DVDs, not live matches. Damn. The guys had a Subway dinner and then we went to La Dolce Vita, the Italian place with the sinful hot chocolate. They don't have cable TV. Double damn. Final try: the city. Queen Street Mall.

We finally chose the Pig and Whistle and since they didn't check ID, I was fine. Phew. We sat down and then Ali recognised a Russian guy that used to study at my old school. He was there with another guy and he bought us beers. Yes, I will update my drinking log. :) Ali got them to change the channel and for the first 10 minutes of the game, it was r & b music on the speakers. Then they switched on the commentary and the whole pub cheered. Haha.

Lots of Man U fans, very few Chelsea fans. The Russian guys were sticking with Chelsea because of the gazillionaire, so Ali made a bet with them. First goal and loser buys a jug. Naturally, Ali lost. So one more jug comes our way, and Ali bought a Malibu and Coke for him and Tristin. I got half, yay! I remember Ali buying another jug as well. Then an African dude joins us and he's a Manchester fan. Too bad he's a loud one.

Some memorable things he shouted:

'They pay you so much for nothing!' - referring to Rio Ferdinand

'Chelsea players are so fat! They can't run!' - Russian guys retaliated that they may be fat but they can score goals.

'I'm not supporting them' - referring to Man U after the 3rd goal from Chelsea. I hate glory-seekers. :P For the record, I did not start supporting Liverpool when I thought they were winning. The reason why I started supporting them is stupid, really. I can't say Redknapp had nothing to do with it. ;)

A minor sitting next to the loudest guys in the pub that's located in the middle of the street mall downing beers. Lovely. Lol. Well, I was rooting for Man U to win this one. I don't think Man U did badly; I just think Chelsea played exceptionally well. It was fun to watch everyone just groan and laugh at the extra commentary from the African guy as well as the Russians' retaliations. Well, at the end of the game, I made the Russian guys buy us another jug since Chelsea had won. Silly, really, considering it should come from the Man U supporters, but ah, it worked. ;) Anyway, I believe I've found my new football hideout. It's either this place or Jimmy's. Jimmy's is second choice because their speakers are busted and I reckon half the game is missing when there's no commentary. :P

Watching football in a pub is goodddd...

I remember hating you, or at least, trying desperately to. I didn't understand. When you are so deep into something that you had devoted your entire self to, only to find that you've been disillusioned the whole time, describing hurt or just plain pain as what you feel is the biggest understatement. But if I had to put how I felt in words, they'd be hurt and pain.. and devastated. It's not an antbite feeling.

It was the feeling of having been burnt over and over again.

I remember the time that we first spoke to each other online. I wonder if you do. Even more so, I recall the first time I got a phone call from you, and your complete disregard as to how much it costs. The giddy feelings. The sneaking around to sms you, and then having the whole computer shut itself down from placing my mobile phone on the CPU in the middle of class.

I realised that distance was just a word that didn't matter.

I remember how you could always read me like an open book, and people who have known me for much longer than still didn't understand the simplest part of me. I thought of you so much, it seemed that everything took the back seat. I dreamt of bigger things and hoped for even greater. And I thought that all the dreams in the world could realise that I had reality in my hands. But it was just that. Just a dream.

No one wants to walk back up that one way street alone.

I remember thinking something was there. No.. more like, I remember KNOWING something was there. But from what you told me, I was wrong. One way streets were not meant to magically transform into a selection of paths that you can happily take your pick from blindfolded. And when I accidentally let slip how I felt, you only told me not to think too much because I'd get hurt.

Oh, if only it was that simple.

I remember the nights with the endless tears, and the hurt that continued to echo. If you've never known what it was like to cry yourself to sleep, I'm well acquainted with that now. I couldn't find it in myself to stop breaking down everytime the thought of you came, and continued to imagine inviting you to walk with me. Screw the one way street. I continued waiting for the train headed to nowhere that wasn't going to come.

And then I finally took the bus, crying throughout the entire journey home.

I remember how I cried the night I revealed to you what you had already known for so long. Yes, I knew you'd already known, and I knew there would be no reciprocation. Not now, not ever. But I only wanted to hear it from you. Maybe that was the only motivation I needed. And I did. I let someone go the way you did to me, the exception being I kept my word and I remain a friend to him.

You didn't.

I'll remember now how it feels to have words thrown at you without thought, and that sometimes, the words that mean the most to you end up the words that were never fulfilled. I learned a hard lesson. I don't hope for anything else to materialise between us. I will keep you in my thoughts. I will wish you success. I will pray that you will make it to where you want to be.

But I will never forget.

My essay on depression (it was indeed a depressing thing to write!) is finished but I'm so sure it's nothing short of Shit. Capital S. It should all be in capitals actually, so SHIT. Think complete toad green, butt ugly, fresh, smelly poo. Lovely. Maybe it's because my spirits got a bit broken, battered and fried yesterday. I received my marks for my political science assignment. 16/20. I was dreading seeing a red 12 or lower scrawled on the paper, so obviously, I was happy. All smiles; you'd think that someone told me there'll be no finals this semester.

Next thing I know, the lecturer announces that the average mark was 17. SEVENTEEN.


*stomp stomp scream bloody murder!! stomp some more*

Do you know what that means?! It means every bloody person got a high distinction, BUT yours truly. Okay, not exactly, but it might as well be that. :P Sure, I got a distinction, but big fat hairy deal when you know that the people sitting next to you, in front of you and behind you got one whole damn grade higher. Not a mark, a GRADE. Someone please shoot me. I never thought that one day I'd be so mad at getting distinctions in university. What. the. hell.

It doesn't help that I overheard a bastard behind me say that he got an eight-bloody-teen and that he didn't put in any effort... He deserves to be shot! :( Well, the next essay is out of 30 and the lecturer said the average mark should be about 15 or 17. I almost feel like I should expect a 14 or 16. :P Or worse. Argh nooo...

Fried assignments, anyone? *beams like the sun is shining from her arse* They're free. Just promise me I'll never see them ever again.

Isn't it obvious I'm not concentrating even though my sorry arse is here in the uni library on a public holiday? I swear, if I have to read any more on depression, I'll turn depressed myself. :P Who the hell doesn't know that women are more prone to suffer from major depressive episodes than men? Hello? This essay is pointless, pointless. I should've decided on the other one: would you prefer your romantic partner to have positive illusions about you or see you as you see yourself?

Now that would be interesting, wouldn't it? Okay, example: a man and woman (romantic partners) are off to a party. Man tells woman she looks so beautiful, she'll be the belle of the ball (I know, who the fuck says such things, but just take it). Well, she isn't that beautiful, and the 'ball' is gonna be full of supermodels. But what enfolds...

1) The woman is happy. Oh, they've happily forgotten about the party.

 OR

2) The woman screeches, "OMFG, what is wrong with you?! Can't you see this bloody humongous zit on my face? I swear, that woman at (insert expensive beauty products brand name here) told me it'd disappear once I buy this gazillion dollar product and apply it overnight. What complete BS! And I've put on so much weight from last week's binge drinking that I went up one dress size! You bloody didn't notice it! And we're gonna be meeting the new Heidi Klums and Kate Moss tonight, what the hell makes you think I'd be the most gorgeous woman there?!" She continues bitching and bitching, the man ends up apologising over.. nothing, really. He really does think she is the most beautiful creature alive, but that doesn't sit too well with her.

And if the man didn't have romantic illusions about her, he wouldn't have told her any of that. All he would have said to her would've been along the lines of 'You look fine.  We're late. Come on, let's go.'

What do you think?

Next example: woman loses her job. Man tells woman it's the company's loss because she's so bloody brilliant, they're gonna be begging for her to come back once she hits it big (in actual fact, she's far from brilliant). And the next thing that happens:

1) 'Aw, thanks, darling.' Lots of TLC. Wow, the bedroom's suddenly too far away.

 OR

2) 'No, it's not their loss. I was horrid at my job. I never finished any of the company's assignments, I was late thrice last week and twice the week before. I think that I do have no future in this field. Don't see how I ever thought I'd be good at this." cries over her loss. Man is confused, and tries to tell her that they're wrong, but obviously, he's too blinded to see that she's actually right.

The man with no positive illusions: You can get a new job somewhere else. I saw a vacancy at blah-blah (not necessarily even a teensy bit glamorous). Resume, chop chop.

Interesting topic, isn't it?

I watched the Lee Hom DVD Ben sent me all the way from London last night and I've decided that it is impossible that every straight girl does not lust for her very own Lee Hom. There has to be something so wrong with you if you don't. Can't you picture the man himself singing to you as you snuggle in your own bed with the warmth of your quilt and drift off slowly to a Dreamland filled with rainbows and chocolate fountains and of course, more Lee Hom? ... Those vocals are out of this world!

Chinked out, alright. Completely.

(For those who don't know, he has created his own Oriental hip-hop sound that he calls 'chinked out'. I'm not dissing my own race, doh.)

Gotta love Lee Hom!