November Tales

fill your paper with the breathings of your heart...

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I am left-handed. According to several different resources, of which I won't name because I can't remember, the fact that I'm left-handed means that I am either creative or evil. To still the ongoing debate, I shall settle for being creatively evil (or evilly creative).

I am Chinese. Sort of. British, too. Sort of. I am also Burmese. Sort of. I think I have some French in me to add to the mix as well. Sort of.

I have been told that I'm a paradoxical situation, which doesn't quite make sense because I am a Homo sapien, and not a situation. However, I have learnt to take the term as a compliment for lack of anything else to take it as.

I read. I write. I am part of the 99.9% of the United Kingdom that is literate (I actually looked up that statistic. Fear my wikipedian power). But I, unlike the majority of that percentage, enjoy both reading and writing. I do both quite regularly each day. Sometimes as replacements for eating and sleeping. They may not provide as much sustenance, but they don't provide as much sustenance. May I add my lack of sustenance?

I paint. I draw. I play the piano. I can write backwards (I can also write forwards). I can beat you at poker, granted you show me your cards prior to each round of betting. I have visited the world, and continue to visit every year for 365 days (366 during leap years). I grade cities by what they smell like and the amount of chewing gum squished on the pavement (less = good). I eat Ferrero Rochers layer by layer.

Stylesheet by refuted

That Is All