– A place of refuge or asylum.
You remember in Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, when the Baudelaire kids’s parents died in a fire, and they were thrown to live with Count Olaf?
Klaus asked, “Do you think anything will ever feel like home again?”
Then they build a small sanctuary from curtains (or were they sheets)?
And the narrator (Lemony Snicket?) went, “Sanctuary… is a word which here means a small, safe place in a troubling world. Like an oasis in a vast desert or an island in a stormy sea. “
It reminded me of when we were young.
Just my brother, my sister, and I.
Our little sanctuary, you know?
Sometimes my brother would hide our soft toys in obscure corners, then we’d turn off the lights and “Go a-hunting” in the dark.
Our cousins came over once and played with us. My brother was the “wild animal”, and all of us were holding some sort of weapon to “protect ourselves”.
My sister ended up crying because the head of her favourite Barbie doll flew off, from when my cousin brother was “killing” my bro with it (which involved repeatedly hitting my brother on the head with the Barbie, accompanied by a very effeminate scream).
Or we’d pretend to be mountaineers, and we’d climb all over the beds, telling each other to “be careful, don’t fall off!”
Another game we had, which my sister and I didn’t like very much, was “Armour Man”. It was where my brother would roll himself up with the mattress (the very light, thin kind) and charge at us. We’d have to run out of his way, or he’d sit on us. We could hardly breathe under him and his mattress.
It was one of those games that gave me a near heart-attack, it was that scary.
We also played baseball in my parents’ room with my baby bolster, and ended up breaking the glass lights. And football, where the ball ended up going right through the ceiling.
Anyway. After spending approx. 200 nights in my sister’s room, I’ve finally moved back to my own place!
I’ve completely forgotten how wonderful it feels to sleep in one’s own bed, to send SMSes in the middle of the night without having to worry about disturbing my sister, to sing along softly to the tunes in my iPod before going off to sleep, and best of all, to be able to sleep at 3 a.m. without someone going, “Eh, can sleep or not?!”
So nice la!
(Speaking of “sanctuary”. You know that scene when Quasimodo lifted that gypsy-what’s-her-name-girl at the top of the bell tower, and he was yelling “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”.
I always thought he was saying “century, century”.
It used to puzzle me so much.
“Sanctuary” always reminded me of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.)
(Esmeralda. Her name was Esmeralda.)
* * * * *
Everybody’s going off to the JPA interviews!
My friend who got 9A1’s, one B3, was rejected for the interview. (No, she didn’t apply for medicine.)
This person who got four B’s, had a slot for tomorrow.
As BlackAdder says, “But you know Baldrick, the world isn’t fair. If it was, things like this wouldn’t happen, would they?” *hits Baldrick at the back of the head*
I always thought you needed straight A1’s for them to consider your application. I’ve another friend who didn’t apply because she had A2’s, and now she’s kicking herself because she could’ve had a chance.
Well good luck to all of you then!
(Hundreds of thousands you’re saving, fui-yoh!)