Everything in my life happens in twos!

Hear me out. It's more a theory than a hypothesis, you know, because it's been tested. A hundred times, even, and a hundred times it's happened. When a thing occurs in my life, it occurs again. Everything in my life happens twice!

Last week the keyboard tray on my computer desk fell apart. Just fell apart. The screws had been loosening themselves, I guess, and all at once three of them popped out. The next thing I knew, my fingers were typing the air.

I reattached the keyboard tray, which took longer than expected because there were screws that had to be undone to get to the screws that had undone themselves; but eventually it was back in place. A minor setback on my easy life, I thought. But not one second after sitting back on my chair did my computer blue screen on me! Coincidence? I think not!

"Um, but those are two different things happening," I hear you say. In a sense, you are right, but they have one thing in common. They are both minor inconveniences. One minor inconvenience occurred right after another! Not only that, but my computer (which I've had for two years) had never blue screened before that point, and the keyboard tray had never fallen apart before that point! 

Still not convinced?

Last week a friend was in town for a few hours, and she called me hours in advance, asking if I wanted to catch up. I did, so we did, over dessert. Two days later another friend called me to say that she was in town for a day and asked if I wanted to catch up. I did, so we did, over coffee (at Starbucks). See the pattern!?

The week before last week I'd caught up with yet another friend at the same Starbucks mentioned above, at the same seat at the same time of day. (I didn't choose the place to sit. They got there before me). Also, coffee!

NB: I'm so introverted that I myself never take the initiative to catch up with people. All of these ideas were theirs!

LAST WEEK I tutored a student named Finley. His dad only had twenties, so he paid me $10 too much, and asked if it was okay to pay me $10 less the following week. Not being a thief, I said, "Sure." On Wednesday I tutored Stephanie, who requested $10 change because she too only had twenties. I checked my wallet, but having no change, suggested that she pay me $10 less at the next tutorial. She agreed, and then it hit me. Everything in my life happens twice! (I promise I didn't orchestrate that second instance).

NB: I only tutor two students at the moment, and never before has this kerfuffle over payment occurred.

These are just four examples within the same week. No biggie, right? Wrong! Consider every other week in my life and the possibility that they contain at least four instances of stuff happening twice! (Believe me, I could go on).

I've shared this (tested) theory with several mates. Tatai's dubious to the say the least. The sceptic in him says, "You only take note of the things that happen twice, so of course you'd say that. If you compared those four things with everything that doesn't happen twice, you'd find that the proportion of things happening twice to things happening once is extremely small; and therefore, the things that happen twice are merely coincidences."

Uh, good point. However, "Things that have happened once are only things that have yet to happen again, testified by the examples I have just provided." Come to think of it, I'm fairly certain we've had two conversations about this theory!

Perhaps you too are sceptical. Fair enough, I say, nodding. It isn't a science (yet), for I have no current way of presenting a cause-and-effect relationship between the stuff in my life and the fact that said stuff tends to happen twice. But I'm working on it.

The other obvious question is, "How do you know that the stuff that's happened twice won't happen a third time?"

The answer: "Stuff that happens a third time is destined to happen a fourth. In other words, 'A thing happening twice is itself a thing, which can also happen twice.'" 

Therefore, my theory boils down to this. Everything in my life happens in twos. While 'everything' might be an exaggeration, my theory wouldn't be a theory unless 'stuff happening twice' in my life wasn't so prominent that I became aware of it. Four cases in seven days, I tell you. Beat that!

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My smartphone is a culmination of first world problems

I swear that my phone hates me. I've come to believe that it's teeming with thousands of tiny first-world nanomites that refuse to vacate their nest whenever I'm forced to open my phone and fiddle with the battery.

I try to console myself. Think realistically. Be grateful. I mean, none of us is free from the gripes and annoyances that make our lives slightly less convenient. For some it's that dishwasher that doesn't dry the dishes properly; for others it's the unreachable in-flight magazine in Business Class. (You have to get up from your seat and walk three steps in order to attain it). But things could always be worse. A lot worse. I mean, you could---
POOF!
Sorry, that was the sound of my reverie snapping, because my phone decided to die. See what I mean?

My 19-months-old LG-P970 Android and I have had our moments. There was that one time when the battery lasted a whole day, and that other time when my message sent. But I've come to expect none of that any more, largely based on the fact that it fails.

1. About once a fortnight my phone turns itself off -- annoying if I'm sleeping and have to, you know, wake up.

2. About one in every four texts doesn't send. When that happens, my phone notifies me, to which I think, "Oh, a super fast reply!" Then I read it. "Message not sent." RAGE!

3. In about 29 days of every month my phone functions incredibly slowly.

4. My phone battery dies in about nine hours. You can almost watch the green meter whittle away.

5. The headphone receptacle no longer clips the jack properly. So, when I go for a run, the plug pops out after the fifth step, and I lose all motivation to exercise.

6. My phone freezes at the same frequency that it turns itself off.

7. Of all the apps that crash, the home screen crashes the most. HOW DOES THAT EVEN MAKE SENSE!? 

8. When someone calls me, my phone takes until the fourth ring to display the answer and decline options. And then how I answer is itself a mini-game. It might be that all I'll need to do is touch the green 'answer' button. But the next time someone calls, I'll instead have to drag the button from right to left. And even then my phone tends to amp up the difficulty by LAGGING. So by the time that it registers my commands, the caller has already reached my voicemail. DOUBLE RAGE!

9. Apps open by themselves minutes after I close them.

10. Sometimes, when I want to text, say, Nicole, I'll select her name, but my phone will take me to Hamish instead! Since I won't think to check the name at the top of the the screen, it's only when Hamish replies, "Huh?" that I realise I've texted the wrong person. You can imagine the potential for awkward here.

Well, how do I do it? I hear you ask. Believe it or not, there are worse first world problems than a headache-inducing phone. I've considered buying a new phone, which would eliminate this mass inconvenience; but then that would only create the issue known as having no money. And having no money could easily become a genuine problem. So, you know---
POOF!
Oh look, there it goes again.

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Why I didn't study at the Auckland University of Technology University

It was late last year when indecision plagued my mind. The days were becoming longer, the air warmer. Summer was coming, and I had no idea what to do with my life! After much indecision and frustration, a plethora of infinite possibilities was hammered down to a much more surmountable two. The options were:

1. A Masters in Creative Writing at AUT

2. An Advanced Diploma in Applied Writing at Northtec

Both were one year courses, both full time. Thing is, I still had to make a decision, which was, like all decisions, hard. So, being the outside-the-box thinker I am, I decided to do something unspeakable. I decided to cheat Fate. I decided… to apply for BOTH!

Naturally, both institutions got back to me with promising information, playing their respective cards, talking themselves up and whatnot. Some things I noted were that AUT requested a portfolio five times longer than that of Northtec, AUT's site was more sophisticated and easier to navigate, and AUT had a far better reputation. Yet, I was swayed towards Northtec for one simple reason.

Turns out AUT wasn't (and still isn't) its full name. It's AUT University! Or, in full, Auckland University of Technology University.

Not wishing to study at a tertiary institution that can't proof-read - or, at least, explain - its own name, I wrote them an email to withdraw my application.*

I get it. They don't want their university confused with, say, an airport. But there's a reason why you don't go to the ATM machine.

So now I'm studying at Northtec, and it's going rather well. I mean, my thesis-type assignment in this course is, wait for it, the novel I'm writing! Woo!

Still, I shake my head. Surely a reputable institution such as AUT University, which offers advanced courses in Creative Writing, would have editors smart enough to note the jarring, mouthful-of-a-name University University they represent. The name hasn't changed, however, so I can only infer that they do not. I think I made the right choice.

------------------------

*This scruple - and, believe me, it was a mammoth of a scruple - was not actually what vanquished my indecision, but that doesn't mean it wasn't flippin' annoying!

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Ten Reasons Why I'm the Most Ignorant Human Being Alive

Need someone to laugh at? No worries! I've compiled a list of reasons why you - yes, you - are more smarter and more better than me.

1. I never really know whether to 'bake' or 'grill' something. If it's sweet, I bake it. If it's savoury, I refer to the recipe. If the recipe says something vague like, "Cook at 180 degrees," I go nuts.

2. I googled how to change a tire one time when I had to change a tire one time --- only until I had the flat tire removed, though. The rest was self-explanatory. Heh.

3. I've never been on a bus besides a school bus.

4. I have almost zero geographical awareness. Almost. I've been brushing up, but I just can't shake that American-ness off of me.

5. Until a few years ago, I thought that the internet was some magical, invisible substance that floats in the air, which computers and whatnot can grab and interpret. Who knew that instead there are these massive, bulky wires that sit in the ocean, extending from country to country like a worldwide web!? Oh wait.

6. Until last year, I didn't know what a Hen Party was. Nobody tells you these things!

7. I know next to nothing about cars. I mean, I know more about planes than cars, and I hardly know anything about planes.

8. List of things I know about alcohol:
            a) Moscato is cheap and yum.
            b)

9. I'm half American Samoan, but I can't speak any Samoan. What I can do is switch up my accent.

10. To counterbalance my ignorance, I keep up with current affairs so that when someone asks me, "Did you hear about x happening at y?" I can say, "Yes."

What? Oh, don't you worry about me. I mean, if these are the only things I'm ignorant of, then life can't be all that bad, right? Right? Someone say something.

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The pros and cons of wearing prescription contacts

While cooking dinner last week, I noticed I wasn't tearing up while cutting onions. Granted, 'tearing up' is a bit of an exaggeration, but, to clarify, I was completely unaffected. Then it dawned on me: I was wearing contact lenses.

Then, because I've worn them for seven years, and because cooking was relatively unexciting, I thought of a pros and cons list for wearing said lenses!

Pro:

Since you're wearing something non-human in your eyes, you become slightly less human yourself, and slightly more cyborg... and therefore more awesome.

Con:

You're 5 times more likely to get an eye infection - 15 times if you sleep in your contacts.

Pro:

You acquire a moderate resistance to tears while cutting onions. (Cut onions with confidence!)

Con:

They cost you about $250NZD/year, $350 counting the stuff you put them in when not in use, $420 counting the recommended annual check-up.

Pro:

You get to enjoy 20/20 vision without the blurry border, a la glasses.

Con:

Applying and removing them (each) requires an extra minute out of your day.

Pro:

Instantly obliterates the common fear of touching one's own eyes. (Touch slimy surfaces with confidence!)

Con:

Deciding which side is up can occasionally be a pain (literally).

There are two methods to tell whether or not you have them in the right way.

1) Sight

If they're inside-out they look less like a bowl and more like a pitcher plant.

2) Touch

The pitcher plant is carnivorous, much like the Venus fly trap, or the inside-out contact lens. If method (1) doesn't work for you (and there are days where the visual difference is so minimal you end up guessing), then the subsequent sensation that your eye is being eaten and/or stabbed by daggers will no doubt eliminate the ambiguity.

Of course, if you don't experience this feeling, then you can rejoice, because it means you guessed right! 

All in all, you can't go wrong.

Pro:
If one falls out (or you only wear one for whatever reason), you can see clearly and blurry all at once! But that's not all. If you shut one eye, everything's perfect; if you shut the other eye instead, everything's fuzzy! Not bad if you're bored on the bus ride home.

Con:
If one falls out, that's a loss of $18.

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Cockroach vs Conscience

"Murder the damned thing!" My voice hammered at the walls of our flat like a drum at an execution.

The creature was a spawn of hell, a black scourge brooding against the cream-white fibreglass. People bathe in that. My crooked smile warped into a grimace. That cockroach has to die.

"I can't find the fly swat, or the spray," Douglas announced. His news spelled doom for us all. I turned to him and frowned, but my gaze was never far from the creature. Its monstrous antennae lashed and lurched in my peripherals.

"I found the spray." Thank God.

Josiah soaked the thing, which, minutes later, tumbled onto its back with a light pat. I've always hated that sound.

The ordeal laboured in silence; not a single word was spoken save a few eughs and hmms. And then Douglas decided he wasn't through with it.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he reached for the faucet. "It's already dying!"

"It's not dying fast enough!"

The rush of water muffled the critter's pleas for mercy. I couldn't watch, yet my eyes wouldn't stray; the same eyes that glared with fear now trembled with pity.

The dying critter lifted with the current, helpless and scared, and then stuck in the drain.

"Stop, you're drowning it!" In truth he was water-boarding it.

"It's a cockroach!"

"It's unnecessary!"

"You're unnecessary!"

He fitted the plug on - not an easy task with the thing you're trying to murder in the way.

"Masking your sins is no way to deal with them!"

He just laughed.

We returned to the scene minutes later to find our victim twitching helplessly. I think one of us must have freighted it to the bin. It was over two years ago; the memory becomes hazy where the emotions start to wane. Yeah, even I wonder how manly our seven-man flat must have been, or not been.

Those emotions were real, and they revive every time I think of the ordeal. When there isn't a swat in reach, when the horror takes but one second too long to die, my perception instantly transforms, injecting compounds of sympathy and guilt, convicting me. The horror becomes a helpless soul sacrificed for convenience.

I once drowned a moth - a large moth - because it was perched on my towel and I had just got out of the shower. Thank goodness for manoeuvrable shower heads, I thought. Curse it for this damnable conscience.

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Why tax forms are among my worst nightmares

I've always struggled with maths, much to the superficial irony of my high school mates who used to remark, "But your dad's a maths tutor," to which I'd reply, "And your dad's in prison. Shouldn't you be robbing a bank?"

Sure, I could grasp the concepts and reasoning behind all those formulas, but I found it difficult to apply them to questions where the working hadn't already been done for me, regardless of practice. Even worse, I had a knack for making stupid mistakes: typing the wrong number into my calculator or pressing multiply instead of divide, and then failing to realise that the resulting answer was so horribly inaccurate.

Yet, when the test or what have you came back marked, I'd see where I'd gone wrong and immediately realise how stupid I was. In short, I knew how to get it right, but couldn't. I had good days, of course, where I'd get lucky and make next to no mistakes. But these moments were few and far between.

It was a horrid past, I agree; but it was not I who uncovered it. No, it was the tyrannous, ever-conspiring government! Evidently they like to laugh at the mathematically challenged by over-complicating tax return forms. I'm self-employed, so I had to declare my own tax. There was no opting out.

Older and wiser, I naturally assumed the process would be easy. My thoughts went something like, "It's designed for everyone to handle; and I'm not entirely stupid, so this'll be a breeze!" I was mainly replaying that thought to suppress the fact that tax-return-filling-out had to be the most boring thing anyone could ever do ever (this fact alone led to hundreds of 'I'll do it tomorrow' days, until I received a warm letter in the mail saying it was overdue).

Preferring not to pay a fine, I retrieved the forms and slumped them onto my desk. And boy did they slump. There had to be at least four double-spaced pages in there. Four! And the front page was devious, too. It made the process look easy with its 'Enter name here' and 'Enter IRD number here' instructions. Don't get me wrong; I do know my name. But it was what followed that reminded me exactly why I failed Year 11 Accounting.

From page two I was stricken with the inevitable headache of frustration and confusion. Frustration because I had to make multiple calls to IRD since, as it so happens, I had three jobs during that tax year; and confusion because I had no idea what 'residual income' meant, or why I had to keep copying box 2 to box 12 to box 17 to box 24. You see, writing the same sum a million times (when really it should've only been once) made the process feel, in contrast, too simple. Surely I was doing something wrong, right?

And then it asked me to add box 5 and 10 and 12; and I ended up with so many added-together numbers that I forgot which came from where, and thus what meant what. It didn't help that most of the tax jargon didn't make any sense to me.

Three hours, I tell you, and a handful of Panadol. That's what it took to get it done. Even with the aid of my dad, I still got confused.

In the end, like any good achievement, I made a copy of it for future reference. I don't want to have to go through that process ever again.

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