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Post by nny on Nov 29, 2008 2:42:08 GMT -5
Name:
Sofia Clemenza Tattaglia [tah-TAH-lee-ya].
Nicknames:
Sofie, Clemenza -- for Mother and Father only -- Fia, or Fi (also Soaf, Sofa, Tatta, or Fi-Fi; use any of these at your own risk).
Age:
I just turned eighteen. :O [Birth date: December 13, 3129]
Gender:
Female, o' course! :)
Clique:
The Suck-Ups.
Clique Status:
Being one of "those in between", I barely do a good job as a part of the clique. Practically the only reason I was ever there in the first place was because nobody really knew where else to put me.
Picture:
Play by:
Audrey Tautou! :D
Appearance:
Having to describe the way I look has always been such a tedious task for me. There's just not much to describe, as there isn't anything incredibly special about me anyway. And if, by any chance, I *do* describe too much, I might come off as some vain, egotistical person. So I don't know. I guess I've always been average -- average on everything concerning physical appearances. Average hair, average eyes, average skin complexion, average build and et cetera plus other average things. Except maybe for the height, which is a little bit more than average. I think I'm about... five feet and seven inches, but seeing as I've already reached my age of reckoning, I doubt I'd grow any taller -- that's all right with me, though; I've never had height issues. And I suppose I don't have average body proportions either, but times-are-a-changing, so maybe weird body proportions are average now...?
But anyway. Other things.
My hair. It has been -- and forever will be, no doubt -- in this fine shade of black. Not really jet black, but not really grayish or something. Maybe a bit on the brownish side. I guess you could call it a really, really, really dark brown, or, perhaps, a brownish-black sort of hair-color concoction; if you don't understand it, then I suggest you don't bother trying to. The style is something I can't describe in one word, like curly or wavy or straight, especially since my mother has this strange affinity for styling my hair up [she wishes she had a haircut or something, but she can't because Dad insists she stay at home and be a housewife, for that's what women do nowadays] and cutting and letting it grow again and again -- kind of like plant-growing, only she uses the same test subject again and again. Long story short, my hair has been everywhere and everything, from waves to curls to straight to everything else in between. ...Right now, though, Mummy's been experimenting with lots of curls, so expect more of that come.
Uhhh. I'm not skinny. Not really. But I'm not the opposite either, no! I'm more like in the middle; a normal build of sorts. My arms are slightly long, and so are my legs, but they're only long enough to fit my five-foot-seven height duration, so for taller people, they might not be that long at all. I haven't got curves as well, I think, as I've always thought of myself as straight and stiff with a little angle-y bend at the back, somewhere a few inches above the waist or so. It's a pretty rough bend, hence the weird body proportions -- whoever made me this way must've been in a hurry. My face is also a bit on the strange side. I can't tell if it's really bony or not. My cheekbones are a little more than slightly visible, but they're not exactly skeleton-like, as it appears like I've got something in my cheeks -- they're round and odd. So I don't know. Best to not to dwell on the mysteries of life. ...Or my life, at least.
My eyes are probably one of the biggest, roundest eyes out here. I'm not sure if it's a really large "out here", but you get the picture anyway. They're probably waiting to pop out of the sockets and are, consequently, pushing against my skin, forming horrendous eyebags. ...Yes, I hate my eyes, go figure -- I'm allowed to anyway because I own them. The lashes are pretty all right, though. People usually comment on how long and graceful they look, and that, at least, makes me the slightest bit happy. My lips, one of the few other things I hate about the way I look, are weird and thin on the top and I-don't-get-it-worthy at the bottom. They look like wrinkly, old tuna-fishes stacked on top of each other. I guess I'm starting to become a bit more blunt, but when you get passionate about parts of yourself that you like a little less than others, you just get too harsh sometimes.
Onto the way I dress! ... Well, I'm not sure. Describing my sense of style isn't really all that easy for me as well. But I guess I'll wear anything if I find it likeable. Women of this time wear skirts all the time, and I don't really mind what length they're in, as long as they're not incredibly short. Shorts, I dunno; pants, I dunno -- they only exist for men, and I'm not really into "Guy Pretending" or being a "tomboy" something or other. When it comes to prints, I'd rather have simple prints. Or maybe none at all. I guess perhaps a few stripes here and there, some nice, not-so-distracting patterns; nothing too eye-catching, as I'm not really into attracting too much attention to myself... As for tops... anything goes, just so long as it's not too revealing [slightly revealing dresses are for party dresses, or so Mum says]. And shoes are not much of an issue. As long as they're comfortable, they're fine in my book. :]
So you see? Nothing special about me.
When it comes to Sofia Clemenza S. Tattaglia, what you see is definitely what you get.
Personality:
How do you describe something you don't understand?
Ever since the beginning of time, I have never really been able to "get" or "read" myself. It's like I don't really know what I'm thinking of -- or what I'm supposed to be thinking of -- until the action itself comes out. It's pretty weird, but that's actually one of the very few things I like about myself -- that I can be unexpected when I want to. It's like a strange talent or something, and I tend to surprise some people with it. Mostly, I do that to my parents, and the two of them exchanging glances because of something you said or did can give you a certain sense of satisfaction. While some other people just think I'm peculiar because of it, I don't really mind because that can be quite satisying as well [except when I'm in my sad, stupid moments where I do nothing more but reflect on what other people think of me].
I used to think that this type of attitude tied in with the whole "Innate Curiosity" issue. It's genetics or something. My Dad's line of work requires him to be curious, which leads me to conclude that he might have been truly curious anyway, otherwise he would have chosen some other job. But my point is... I'm one of Those People. Those people with the annoying tendency to question almost everything and everyone. Those people who'd managed to inherit the thinking patterns of the folks back in the Renaissance era. Those people who just won't quit poking around and around until they find something worthwhile to waste their time away with. If I don't understand something, I assure you that my mind will never truly be put to rest until I find out exactly what it means. I'm the kind of person who needs to find a point -- a purpose -- in EVERYTHING around me; exploration often works best on my part.
Also, learning makes me happy. Unlike most teenagers my age, it really does. I consider education as an important part of my life, and I appreciate being sent to a nice school with a nice curriculum and all that jazz. Getting new ideas makes me even happier. I get the feeling that whenever I find out about something undoubtedly, well, new, I get closer to finding out more on the essence of "life" and its complexities. I love knowing about people too. I don't necessarily need to know them well or anything. It's just really fun to find out about their quirks or their habits or simply what makes them them. They're not really for gossip, though. They're more on... helping me appreciate the person for more than how they treat me on the outside. For all I know, one of those Pretty Faces Something or Whatever could actually be a kind, caring and loving older sister. Or that one of those Elite people are actually capable of feeling insecurity from time to time.
Maybe this is because of the star-sign nonsense. I've been a Sagittarius my whole life, and those hardly believable horoscopes have been proving to be quite believable at times. Sagittarians love to explore, whether that means traveling or learning about new ideas or taking up a different hobby every time. Some other people tend to say that Sagittarians also think they may know everything. This can be true with me. I guess I might appear a bit snobbish or annoying sometimes, especially because of my strange adherence to Pro-Education -- I'm doomed to delusions of "I know more than you do" Moments. And I suppose I'm a bit hard to get along with too, yeah... I'm usually stuck with trying to convince everyone I know to "adapt" to my pattern of thinking, which often leads to debates and slight arguments. This pretty much explains why I've never been really close to someone before, except maybe for my cat Beet, but he doesn't count for anything.
I'd like to think, though, that when I truly care for someone, I'd definitely take good, good care of them. Some people might think I'm stuck up, yeah, but, really, still waters just run deep. :/
History:
History... What to put in history... Can't I just say, "Born on December 13, 3129 to parents Constance and Michael Tattaglia" and end with it? ... ... No, not really. Okay, here goes nothing.
I was born on December 13, 3129, just when the clock struck ten minutes past midnight. My parents were Constance and Michael Tattaglia. I knew nothing about the world I'd just come into, and I guess this was where the curiosity had started. As I grew up, my father fed me lots of useful bits of information, but he wasn't around a lot. Instead, my mother kept me company. She was not, however, very good at it. She never told me stories -- sometimes, I guess, but not much -- and she never told me about the stuff she experienced in her past. Usually, it's just Father who tells me about her. ...Which is odd, considering how it's not *his* past but Mother's past. If it's not obvious by now, I take more liking to my father than to my mother. :3 FEAR THE PARENTAL BIAS.
My mother -- let's start with her because I don't like talking about her much -- is Constance Tattaglia. She used to be Constance Rimmer, but then she married my father and became a Tattaglia. But anyway, before that. She came from a family of six; Reverend Rimmer and Mrs. Rimmer, plus two other sisters and one younger brother. The younger brother was made to grow up like a fine, young gentleman; he was sent to school and had to take lessons -- things like that. The other two sisters, plus my mother, were all taught to grow up as perfect husband-hunters -- women during their time were made for husbands anyway. Aside from that, my mum never really did much else. Dad said she washed dishes, looked after the pigs, helped her Reverend of a father arrange sermons, and searched for husbands. Mrs. Rimmer, my mother's mother, served as some sort of cheerleader ["Go find a rich man! Make us happy!"]. But anyway, mother got to be the first one in the siblings to get married and was, quote and quote, "extremely happy to have left her small, cramped home".
Now, my father, Michael Tattaglia, came from an extremely wealthy family. His father was a court judge [complete with the curly white wig], and his mother... Well. She had died because of childbirth. His older siblings -- really, really older siblings -- also worked for the family [they were all men, see], and, predictably enough, they were *all* aspiring judges. ...Except for my father. He didn't want to be what his father and his siblings wanted him to be. Not a judge, no. Instead, he wanted to be a scientist. Quite idealistic was he. My father's father was not pleased and did not allow Dad to work as one. So my Father, having no choice, served as a member of the jury. However, during his spare time, he worked on various *other* things. He studied Scientific postulates and learned them by heart. Pretty soon, he started making his own experiments and inventions. One of his friends, old John Davis (my godfather) suggested he go public with it. My dad wasn't expecting this to get big with the general public, so he said no. But good ol' John Davis wouldn't take no for an answer.
He took my father's experiments and inventions into publicity, but he didn't claim them as his own. Word soon came out of my father and his friend's doing, and it didn't take very long to reach Justice Tattaglia. My dad, not wanting to face his dad, ran away and took his beloved "Science" with him. To this day, he continues his work as an independent Science Geek, and he might not have been as rich as he was before [his family never sent *our* family anything], but he was happy anyway. He also met my mother, and while I still don't see why he couldn't have just chosen someone else, it's all still well and good. So, of course, the two of them got married, and ... I was born, pretty much. Not a lot of things have happened in my life, except that one time where I got to go to a pet store with my Dad -- he bought me Beet, my pet cat.
Well, okay, so... I guess I'll just dedicate a paragraph to me or something. Err... I've never really had a friend before. Not a real one. Most of my childhood was spent with books and stories and little myths that my Father told me [he tucked me in; my Mum only did it on some occasions when my Father would get home really late]. I was inside the house at all times, and I guess I never really got to enjoy my childhood. I never got to enjoy anything with my mother either -- the only "moment" I remember sharing with her was when she taught me how to cook. Then there was my Father's "lab". I went there whenever I couldn't take being separated from the old man anymore. Because mother is far too boring to be worth anything. ...And what is with her experimenting with my hair? :(
Now, my school life is a little less than interesting. I'm here to learn, yes, but it wouldn't hurt if I got a little bit of excitement. The most excitement I had was getting placed into a clique, but even I didn't like the clique. I'm like a pending clique member. ...So they dump me there as a suck-up. I'm still waiting for some *real* excitement to pop out of nowhere.
Fears:
- Spiders.
- Snakes.
- Enclosed spaces.
- Crowded areas.
- The dark.
- My dreams/nightmares.
- Death.
- Dying alone.
- Losing anyone I care about.
Likes:
- Books.
- Reading, in general.
- "New Book Smell".
- Having some time to myself.
- Writing.
- Being called weird.
- My innate curiosity.
- Exploring.
- Getting lost.
- Pencils.
- Sewing.
- Willow trees.
- The smell of freshly baked cookies.
- Waking up and realizing that you've got the rest of the day to yourself.
- Waking up real early.
- Morning dew.
- The sunrise.
- The sunset.
- Rainy days.
- Candles.
- Yellow. <3
- People who accept me for what I am.
- Dad.
Dislikes:
- Crowded places and enclosed spaces.
- Spiders and snakes.
- Empty houses.
- Jewelry boxes with music.
- The smell of freshly-cut grass.
- Ink.
- Sewing.
- Being called weird.
- Being made to stay in one place for a long time.
- Being reprimanded.
- Getting lost.
- My innate curiosity.
- My mouth.
- My dreams/nightmares.
- The color brown.
- Rainy days.
- Wasting time.
- Sleeping in.
- Wasting time by sleeping in.
- Annoying people who just won't let me be.
- Judgmental folks.
- People who "just don't get me".
- Mum.
Dreams:
I have dreams of orca whales and owls, but I wake up in fear.
I've always wanted to write a novel. A nice, thick substantial novel. One with a nice plot, and a nice message that can make people *think*. I dunno; so far, my attempts at novel-writing have been anything but. But yeah, it's not like I ever really finished ANYTHING anyway. I've written tons of things, yes, but none of them were ever really... well... finished. Maybe I'm a little past five to ten chapters or so, and then I give up because it's either: A. A pointless piece ofdisappointment. B. A really big pointless piece of disappointment. Or C. I lost all interest. Usually, it's a mix of all of them. I doubt this dream will ever come to a reality. I mean, I've got tons of ideas swimming around in my head, but they refuse to be organized and be made into one epic novel.
I have another dream, though. This one is something I think about more than the first one. ...I'd like to have a friend. Like a best friend. A real one, you know? Someone you can talk to; someone you can share secrets with; someone who won't leave you no matter what the cost, or no matter what it would do to them... I'd like one. I've never had one. Maybe "friends", yeah. Some last for two years or three, but after that, something usually happens that breaks it all apart. It's either we lose contact, and he/she stops talking to me and forgets me all together, or we had some sort of misunderstanding. I suppose I'm just a really difficult person to befriend, but sometimes, I just wish. Really wish. Wish that I could be myself for once around a person. Drunken, cheesy things like that.
...And I guess everyone wishes for Peace on Earth, so. :/
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