Thursday, 30th December 2010

I LOVE MY DOCS!

However, they're black, so this photo doesn't actually apply. I just like the colours in this one.

Can't believe how much I bought the other day. I bought the perfect pair of jeans, Dr Martens, tops.. In fact, I can't really remember what else I'd bought, except that I spent a lot. I felt guilty, but then again, I don't usually go on shopping sprees. I waited two years for a pair of Docs!

Just came home from a chalet and stay-over, and I'm pretty exhausted. I did somewhat miss the comfort of my laptop, because I was faced with having to blog on my iPhone, which didn't work at all because it didn't allow me to type anything for my post. I need to get it jailbroken to download the Blogger App for free.

Oh yeah, I got Twitter.

By the way,
tell me-

If people are so evil, why should I hope to save them?

draft

Saturday, 25th December 2010

New phone, new beginning.

Mom woke me in mid-slumber this morning. I was rather groggy as I hadn't had enough rest. Plus, I dreamt that the worms were out to get me!

Ehem.

Anyway, she told me to copy down and compare the details of the different iPhone 4 plans under different phone companies, and before I knew what was happening, she told me to get ready and Dad, Mom and I went down to the Singtel shop to get my new phone.

It turns out Mom has some kind of work bonus so many people in our family are changing their phones. Mine is an exceptional case, since the colour on the screen has gone all funny, the words linger after I cancel them, the buttons are cracked, the spacebar doesn't work, etc etc. Plus, I was surviving on a top-up card! However, I am proud to say that after almost 3 years of usage, it is still in quite good a condition. No scratches or anything!
Yes, I am a good phone owner.
You should see the care with which I treat my laptop. The people looked at me crazy when I brought my laptop and charger to get my charger changed. The original keyboard tissue-covering thingy is still there, and I store my laptop with a soft wipe-cloth.

So, well, I finally got what I wanted. I can't help feeling guilty, though. I am lucky, SO lucky. There's Wii, there's laptop, there are iPod(s), there's camera, now there's iPhone. I can't imagine the number of people this amount of money could feed. I felt guilty just having a feast on Christmas Day.

But, thank you, God. I know I am so lucky.
I wonder how Franco's doing now? Are Charlie, Oscar, Bob, Rabbit and Elvis throwing a party in Heaven? Philippe Jaroussky must be all snuggled up in his overcoat and sipping wine.

Please let me meet them all one day, some day, soon.
Thank you, God.
Merry Christmas.

Friday, 24th December 2010

Well, I finally got my candycane.

Beautifully coloured in vibrant red, green and white, it's peppermint flavoured, and two cost me a dollar. What luck :)

I've been rather desperate for a candycane since I missed the chance to buy one last year. I still haven't taken the first lick, so my tongue is still itching for a taste.

I used to wish my family's christmases would be so typical: huge decorated christmas tree with brightly-wrapped presents under it, christmas cookies and other sweets in the kitchen, turkey on the dining table, everyone just coming together to give and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ.
Only it wasn't to be.

My family's christmases have always been about food.
They've always been too lazy to cook for Christmas, and so we've always had order-in. Pizza, KFC, garlic bread, you name it. I've never had turkey.

Mom and Dad are kind of against any religion, so they obviously wouldn't celebrate Christmas being the birth of Christ. For them, anything is about food. Travel is about food, celebration is about food, birthdays are about food. I don't know what to say, I guess they just like to eat.

To this day I still wish for that typical Christmas. Fireplace alight, christmas tree in the corner, candycanes in socks, turkey and mash on the table, carols on the porch, cookies in the oven, candy on the counter, presents to open.

I wore my cargo pants out today.
I can't remember the last time I felt so happy and comfortable. My cramps immediately vanished into comforting space, my body could breathe, my soul was free.
I felt myself again.

Merry Christmas.

Wednesday, 22nd December 2010

How good it must feel to be that lion.

What I can't say out loud in real life, surely I can type on my blog?

And yet, when I'm ready to type about it, I can't seem to make the words flow from my fingertips.

I'm stuck.

Friday, 17th December 2010

I want to be there.

Term tests are finally over, the ones that I've been cramming so crazily for over the past few weeks, apart from the usual weekly quizzes. I'm still not so sure about my HPI paper, because there were some questions I really didn't know how to answer so hopefully, I'll manage to pass it.

Air-con repairmen are at my house now, repairing the air-conditioner in my room. It broke down in the middle of the night a day ago. I was left perspiring in bed, but was way too tired to get up and switch on the fan. I had been getting up at 6.30am just to get to school early. Yup, term test week was a crazy one.

My dear boy is having his last paper today.
I haven't had much time to reflect on our relationship lately. It's been pretty stressful, what with the pressure of school and tests and, you know, for a Biomed Science student, the work is always incoming. It gets to me and I think my subconscious turns mean, and I blurt out something jokingly-mean to him without realising it's hurtful.
I hate this.
I hate being mean to him. It's weird being mean to someone you love so much, you know? It's contradictory, and there's never reason in it. I don't like it when he talks about how I can't go overseas to study, when all I want is to get far away from here from all these people I know. I just want to be with things that can't talk back with me, can't reason, can't argue or pick fights. I'd even talk to Oscar Wilde's tombstone.
I don't like it when he tells me never to wear a particular piece of clothing again, because I don't look good in it. Sometimes I just want to heck it anyway because I'm having such a bad day and can't be bothered to deal with anyone else's unhappiness. And yet, time after time, I still can't being myself to wear the clothes he doesn't like.

I wonder if I'm lying to myself.
I cry about these things and, if you know me, you know I don't cry about just anything. I want to live life my way, do things I want, when I want, wear what I want, study what I want, work where I want, eat where I want, and not have to think about somebody else's opinions. That's what freedom is about, isn't it?

It's frustrating to cry about something stupid every two days, just because the other person is unhappy about it and starts to argue. I never argue back, I don't like to. Sometimes loneliness is best. I just want to steal away and sulk quietly somewhere, or buy a plane ticket out of here.

Yet, under all this, I know I still love him to bits.

Monday, 13th December 2010

What's so great about porn anyway?

Thursday, 9th December 2010

My heart took a plunge, my stomach twisted into a knot, my brain refused to function, my legs became numb, my hands turned cold at the touch of the HPI quiz 1 paper.

They'd finally given it back, and alas, I failed, by a mere 1 and a half marks. Again. Everybody around me were comparing results, exclaiming and swearing about their 25/30 marks.
I know, I should be used to it by now. I've been in Biomedical Science for over half a year, I should've gotten used to how kiasu the students are, the stress levels, the system and workload, but no, apparently not.

My hands grasped the thin paper, and then quietly slipped it under a pile of papers in my file. They worked quietly, quickly and expertly, as if having practised this move too many times. I guess they have.
At that very moment, I thought I was quite smart, asking for a blank piece of foolscap paper to copy the model answers as the teacher went through, so nobody would see my results. Bloody teacher. So much for a high-ranked lecturer, her attitude shows nothing. In fact, she's always been rather repulsive in character, at least, in the lecture hall. I should have known.

I knew all the correct answers. I did my work, I put all my effort into studying for her stupid quiz. And yet, I couldn't answer the questions. Why? They weren't clear. Had they asked a less twisted version of the question, I would've scored. Still, I didn't flare up. Perhaps it was my fault I didn't do well? I asked around; everybody I asked said they weren't sure what the questions were asking for either, because the questions were rather convoluted and twisted.

Still, I diligently took down the model answers, determined to improve, to get it right next time. I asked a few of my closer friends to accompany me to talk to the teacher after the lecture, they agreed.
After the lecture, I went up to the teacher while my friends sat at the seats. I was so sure I could convince her, because she did mention being puzzled at why so many students gave the correct answers for the wrong questions. The questions and answers didn't match, because nobody knew what exactly they were asking for, they just regurgitated, desperate to put something on the blank face of the paper. Some even left them blank. I mentioned all this to her, asking her very nicely, with a smile, if she could make the term-test questions slightly more straightforward. I'm afraid of being faced with the same Quiz 1 situation again, and it shall rain bloody hell if I fail it just because the questions were phrased unclearly. I don't deserve to fail.

Instead of agreeing to consider my request, even to consider it, she defended herself, asking what was so indirect about her questions, what was so confusing. She said that if she gave direct questions in the test, it could be sat by Primary 1 children, and that it's not University standard, blah blah. She simply, in other words, blamed my understanding of the subject and questions.
Bullshit.
I sacrificed so much to study for her damn Quiz. I started studying for her subject on the first day of school, when I got the notes. I sat outside D's church service to mug, I didn't get to watch any DVDs because I told myself that I had to study for her test. I even came to school 2 hours early on the quiz day itself, just so I could do some polishing-up.
I broke down in front of her.

I'm pretty sure she was rather unfeeling towards my crying. She just brushed it off, saying "you just have to work harder for the term test lor". I could barely believe what I was hearing. Not even an effort to reason, to compromise, to encourage. Was this really my lecturer, a qualified teacher? The one who says sarcastically, "I'm not going to waste time going through this. You all so smart right, go and read it yourself" when we have no idea what she's talking about and protest. We go to lecture to have an explanation of things we don't understand, but no, no explanation for people who don't understand, everybody should just fail it and go to hell.

---
On a lighter note, my French listening and writing test went rather well. I know I got one or two questions wrong, but that was it. I'm not willing to look through my French book now, because what's the use of sulking over wrong answers right after a test? It's done.
I wish the world could be filled with people like Madame Phan.

Wednesday, 8th December 2010

French is so beautiful.

I've been breathing and dreaming French over the last few days, especially since my French test is tomorrow. I spent the day speaking French and memorising the numbers and phrases, and listening to French music.

Jerome showed us a song from "Le Roi Soleil" during lecture yesterday, and my God, I fell instantly in love. I listened to it on repeat for hours today.

Anyway, I'm becoming more anxious by the day. Time is running out again, and I'm not willing, not willing at all to let history repeat itself. I had enough bullshit in Sem 1.1, and there's no excuse this time. I'm doing well in my CDSs, but perhaps not as well in my core subjects. I failed my Bmic Quiz 1 by 1 and a half marks. I studied so hard for it.

Just got to try harder.

Saturday, December 4th 2010

"Sometimes I think my head is so large
because it is so full of dreams."

What makes a monster and what makes a man?

Can you imagine the life he must've had?
No, of course not.
None of us can.

Wednesday, 1st December 2010

I feel like I've lost a good friend.

Monday, 29th November 2010

Nostalgia hit me like an eclair in the face- painful, but so comforting, so delicious, so loving.

I was having a really bad night, for some strange reason. Mood swings, maybe. Everybody just felt like assholes to me. I came home to search for stimuli for my Creative Writing class tomorrow, and shuffled through some of my favourite old music.

The pain was just washed away in an instant, and I was in heaven, blissful consciousness that was so lovely, floating on the back of seagulls that hover above the mirror-like surface of the dark waters. I was sucked back into the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, where the plague ran rampant but the music ripened in its own glory, and people held hands and danced the night away at little pubs till the dawn broke the deep violet sky.

Saturday, 27th November 2010

I believe that all human beings are equal. Men and women are equal. No person should be another's slave.
If you think slavery is no big deal, try being someone else's slave.
Get whipped by leather and hooks, branded with red-hot irons, chained up until you get sores. Nobody cares if you die, you are nothing, nothing.

Just a slave.

Oh, Rabbit.

Have you turned away?
I've been crying an awful lot nowadays, I wonder if you're still here?
I'm so tired.
I need your comfort, I need your kisses.
You always made me feel better when no one else could.

Saturday, 20th November 2010

Plants are amazing.

They thrive anywhere, even though sometimes soil is nowhere to be found. One way or another, they weasel their way through cracks in concrete, patches of dry sand, rocks by the path and water in swamps.

Tonight, I went to this plant stall at a pasar malam with my Love. I'd been wanting to buy some fertilizer of some sort for my little sprouts (Papaya and some unknown plant), because all babies need their nutrients. I saw some little bottles and bags of fertilizer, and asked about them. The auntie told me how much to give, after asking me about the type of plants I have.
Then, she joked,
"Remember to give its neighbour some fertilizer as well or it will be jealous!"

-----

I'm letting my hair grow.

I don't really know who I am anymore. I came into Poly, so sure of myself and who I want to be. So sure that I wanted to wear short hair and crazy hairclips and dresses and jumpers and cargo-pants. So sure that I could study for 6 days a week, 2 hours a day, and get a 4.0 GPA.

It's back to having long hair then, but I won't wear it like a loser. Back in secondary school, I couldn't really do much with long straight black hair, after all, there were rules to abide by. I had no imagination whatsoever, so my hair was mostly in a ponytail, neat and proper.
After May 16th, I started to explore more styles, like plaiting and using more rubberbands and having bangs.
Until I got tired of everything and chopped it off in 2007.

Then, came the butterflies and flower clips and hand-painted hairbands and wooden candycane-clips. It was fun having short hair, it still is, but somehow I keep feeling this pressure, like I'm missing out on something. It's like I'm not girly enough or something. I can't even wear cargo-pants without looking like a little boy.

It's not fair.

Thursday, November 18th 2010

[Beautiful hair, no?]

Love.

Wednesday, 17th November 2010

Amore mio,

se la pioggia o sole,

sia chiaro o scuro,

sia caldo o freddo,

se felice o triste,

se siamo sani o malati,

mio voglio noi stare insieme, e rimanere cosi per sempre.

Thursday, 11th November 2010

My agar plates have BLOSSOMED!

That was the pleasant surprise waiting for me when I got home late tonight. It had been a rather interesting day, I must say. I'd spent three whole hours this morning in the world of microbes, playing catch with bacteria, gazing at adorable cheek cells, being annoyed at dust specks, watching microbes swim after one another. It was as if the tiny blue-stained slide was a huge playground, and I got lost in it after the first two minutes.

It was somewhat comforting, really, being able to escape into another world, even though staring into a microscope for so long might render one blind after a few years. The world of microbiology is absolutely fascinating. I was so worried that my new home-made agar wouldn't culture anything because it was too hard, but I needn't have worried.

Using both sugar and broth in the agar mixture hit the jackpot, because my agar plates are now rather... hairy. The one labelled "nose" has a huge colony of bacteria climbing upwards like thin, white hair, and there's this small lonely black hairy speck at the corner. The one labelled "tongue" has the same white colony growing, only a smaller one this time. It's going to take a few more days to see more. Nothing much has grown on the skin that can be identified, so I'm going to wait patiently, seeing as my super-agar has indeed effectively cultivated microbes.

Damn, I want a real microscope to call my own.

Sunday, 7th November 2010

Once there was a boy, Narcissus, who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He gazed at his reflection, the handsome face that kept gazing back, and fell in love with it. He returned to the lake, day after day, to gaze at his lover, until one day he leaned too far, and plop! He fell into the lake and drowned.

At that spot, the bud of a beautiful flower appeared.

Saturday, 6th November 2010

"You must believe in Jesus."
"Jesus will not harm you. I told him you had to be baptised, I do not oppose you two being together but you have to believe in Jesus and get baptised."

Or you will go to hell.

The more I hear about this, the more I feel this incredible feeling building up inside me. The more I get preached to, the less I believe, the more I dislike. It's a peculiar feeling, really, when people insist they're not forcing anything on you, but then they don't give you any other choice either, so you're stuck in limbo and forever unhappy.

I'm not ready to worship a God who would send me to hell, as he would to anybody who isn't baptised.

Thursday, 4th November 2010

It would be called Luna.

Protected by Milai, the great city of warriors, Luna is a gentle little town tucked away behind the woods, in the valley. The river runs right through it, and a cobblestone bridge hangs over the water. Bicycles cross over them, there would only be bicycles, no cars.

It would be inhabited by mimes, in their monotonous black and white, they would give each other flowers in the streets. They would smile their clown-red smiles, and always hold in one hand, a black suitcase, and in the other, a strawberry ice-cream cone. They would lick it as they went about town, about their lives, oblivious to the world and its problems.

There would be no war, no distress, no sadness. Each and every mime would be equal, each one polite, each one selfless and sensitive. Despite the ice-cream cones, they would remain skinny little things, clad in a black beret, shoes, gloves and a stripy skin-suit. Occasionally you would see a few carrying backpacks, only weighed down by art materials; paint, markers, coloured pencils, pastels, anything to make their art brilliant and colourful.

You'd think that they'd be so monotonous in their choice of colours, mimes, but no, their art has to, must be colourful. Mimes love colours. It makes them feel not quite part of this world. They paint their cute round-spherical houses shades of the brightest colours; red, green, orange, blue, purple, yellow, and delight in designing their own furniture that stick to the walls so that if need be, they'd be able to move their house to another part of town to, perhaps, be with their other half, the one they love.

Saturday, 30th October 2010

Would you see beauty in such a face?

Love diminishing, he says, dying, dying.
7 months past.

I couldn't go. There's no closure. The nightmares won't go away.

A quote.

"They are the ones who will stay with you until you die." -Lecturer on the topic of Memory B cells, Immunology.

Who says Science isn't romantic?

Thursday, 28th October 2010

Gnarly trunk, crooked branches,
great big fields of grass,
graceful leaves that fall to the ground,
orange pigment with hues of yellow
and pink, sun-cast sky and
calm serenity,
all there together in the lonely field.

Tuesday, 26th October 2010

I feel tired and a little vicious.

Have been suffering from insomnia for the past few nights, and I feel awful, awful. I was still patient with the world, and couldn't have been more of a good girl than I had been today.

I memorised my scores, studied my subjects, revised my Maths, paid attention in class, held friendly conversations with people, met new people, practised my singing, waited for my Honey to finish his comm meeting to have dinner...
I feel like I've truly exhausted myself.

Yet.
Yet.

Why do I still find myself tossing around all night?

Monday, 25th October 2010

Insomnia befell again last night.
As it did the night before.

Thoughts of you kept me awake.
I thought about us.
Not a wink of sleep.

Not a wink.

Saturday, 23rd October 2010

It was dark there at night.

In absolute darkness, he felt himself shiver. The goosebumps appeared before the sneezing began. He felt cold and lonely and, having eaten his last meal the day before, heard his stomach protest noisily.

Suddenly, he saw them.
They were feathered, winged creatures, flying beneath the surface of the ocean. They glowed. Surely they couldn't fly, after all, they were underwater. Surely?
They continued to move in their flock, wing after wing after wing, their beaks swallowing the slippery fish as they went. The birds continued to fly until they disappeared into the distance, never once leaving the water.

His mind was an ocean.
He was but a drop, and for once felt so small in the vastness of the world. The rocks on the beach waved to him, it was time to go.

Opening his eyes, he found himself back in his room. The screen lit up in anticipation, it had been awaiting him for several hours now. He looked on eagerly, expecting an image to appear. Instead, he touched a hand, soft and warm, that extended from the screen.
It opened in invitation.

Thursday, 21st October 2010

I've seen it before-

The same vacant gaze, the blank eyes with which they see, the open mouth, wet and drooling, the busy hands, the strained neck, the tiresome slouch, the shaking of legs.

Yes, it's the Gamer's Syndrome.

It applies to everything that has to do with staring at a screen. Televisions, computers, PSPs, mobile phones, small hand-held games, you name it, I've seen it. It's been too long, too long that I've been living around people with this syndrome, for me not to notice it at first glance.

The victims suffer from this syndrome in such a way that they enjoy it, and they neglect everything else. One has to be very careful whilst trying to engage in conversation with them while they are gaming, or watching television, for they would kill to continue their task. They would swat at you like some buzzing fly, or simply yell a bit.

This is a very dangerous syndrome.
Beware.

---
Meanwhile, I am rather happy.
The new term is starting on Monday, and I have new subjects, and that means new challenges. I get to stay in choir, which has 2 performances coming up, and I got the Cross Disciplinary Subjects I wanted. Since it was on a first-come, first-serve basis, being kiasu this time worked like a charm.
I'm taking French and Creative Writing.

Both of which, I think I'll do quite well at. I like languages, and I enjoy writing stories.
As impartial as I am towards the English language, here it is, being one of the few languages I'm marginally fluent in. I like to write, even though my characters tend to die. I have "Finding Neverland" to thank for that.
As for French, I kind of like the idea that I'm finally learning it in a classroom setting. It's a rather sensual language, if I may say so, and so deliciously fluid. As a singer I need to know French, German and Italian, and perhaps Latin as well, but the first three are priority. Grade 6 will require knowledge of the beautiful French language, so might as well learn it now. (Grade 5 has been conquered with Distinction!)
If all else fails, I'll be able to survive in France.

I've been learning Braille.
It's such a lovely, anal-retentive language. Every dot has to be in the right place, so precise, so clean on white paper. The language of the Blind. I love how they use their sense of touch for everything, even reading.
It's beautiful, beautiful.

Tuesday, 19th October 2010

Piercings..

Hmm.
Hmmmmm.

Monday, 18th October 2010

I can breathe again.

Over the past few days, I had to go through what I call "over-socialization", which was terribly exhausting, not to mention suffocating. I just felt the need to be alone, somewhere, anywhere else. I keep wanting to watch "Amadeus" but I always seem to face the lack of time.
It is exactly 1am.

ABRSM took pity on me and gave me a distinction for my Grade 5. I made it, although I think I did quite badly in my sight-singing and aural portion. Thankfully, the examiner was a nice man, and (probably) isn't a singer. Thank God.

And to my lovely Rabbit:

I miss you, you cute bunch of fur. Your long, pinkish ears that I like to tickle, your kisses that land even on my pyjamas, your bright eyes that gaze so lovingly. I miss your company; so quiet yet so strong, so graceful and gentle, never questioning, never unaccepting. Such a sweet face, such a sweet nature. Such a beautiful Rabbit. I miss you.

I miss you.

Sunday, 17th October 2010 (2)

I had to endure half-a-tedious-hour of political talk aboard the taxi on the way home.

You know me, right?
I'm the last person on earth who wants anything to do with politics. I despise it. Some of you find it essential to livelihood in society, some of you even enjoy it. I ask myself, how? It's not that I'm an ignorant little twit who hasn't the least idea how to survive in an urban city, I just don't want to dabble in politics. It's not my style.

Politics seems to me to be all about corruption, assassinations, controlling, insisting that people live how you want them to, think how you want them to. If they don't and refuse, you give out orders to the guards and soldiers to capture or kill. Wars start from the smallest spark of the stupidest argument between two people. Millions get killed.
Racism, sexism, homophobia, anything that has to do with someone disliking another for various stupid reasons. Religion, views, skin-colour, clothing, the list is endless.
It's like how my parents would die when they finally realise that most of my good friends aren't Chinese.

Well, go to blazes.
I live the way I want to, and to hell with people who are racist.

To hell with people who think "it is essential for all the youngsters to know about current affairs and be involved in politics". To hell with people who think "youngsters nowadays only care about their friends and the latest pop-stars". To hell with people who think "youngsters nowadays don't think as logically and smartly as the older generation". To hell with people who think "youngsters are just so ignorant nowadays".

Assholes.

Sunday, 17th October 2010

I feel like disappearing.

I want to get away. I want to be there.
Time passes so slowly now, why can't it fly by faster?

Everyone's around the table, eating now. I feel full and left-out. Is it just me? Maybe I want to be left out. I like these people, I enjoy time with them, they have good humour, they are intelligent. They can hold serious conversations when they want to.

So why do I feel the need to be alone?

Saturday, 16th October 2010

Friday, 15th October 2010

It has its grip on me. Its grip is strong and firm, gentle, but with swift movement can crush me to bloody bits.

I wore my best dress out today. I left the house feeling at the top of the world, and went home feeling like lowly crap. There are new fears. It will be some time until I eat xiao long bao or catch a movie with anyone again.

I hate to cry. It was not therapeutic this time, just plain frustrating. I just wanted to get away, to leave, to go home and hide in my room forever, then I'd probably just starve to death and it would all be over.

But.
I was brave. I stuck it out. I'm so difficult to love.

Oh, Oscar. I want to be there so badly. Away from here, these people, these places, these habits, these fears. What is the price of freedom?

Am I too poor to pay?

Wednesday, 13th October 2010 (2)

You know, the world is hypocritical.

They say love has no boundaries, across race, across religion, across gender, across age, across status, across beliefs, across opinions.

Then, they insist that someone of religion A has to marry someone of religion A, or convert, or the other will go to Hell. They insist that someone of race B has to marry someone of race B, no argument, no questions asked. The people who choose to do otherwise will then be shunned by society, as if they'd done something disgraceful.

I hate people.

To Hell with them. If I love someone, I love someone.
If the world bred across boundaries, there would be no more racism, no more people against a certain religion, because everybody down the line would be mixed equally. Nobody would be able to discriminate against another.
Why would you have to consider if someone is Catholic or Christian before accepting your love for them? Why should you have to think about somebody's skin colour before you make friends with them? Even people of the same religious roots don't like one another.
What have you to say about it? Do you feel the pride?

I feel so sad.

Wednesday, 13th October 2010

Oh, Oscar.

I want to be there, but it seems so far away.

Tuesday, October 12th 2010

I don't have enough good books.

Just yesterday, I dug through my entire storeroom. I found books, all right, but I've read them all so many times before. Well, except the one Harry Potter book I have. I remember trying to read the first two pages but t'was simply too boring, so I gave up on reading it forever.

I've finished E.M. Forster's "Maurice", and Oscar Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Gray". I can't bear to finish his book of dark fairy tales. People around me seem to be reading Jodi Picoult and the Twilight series but I can't seem to fathom why. Worse, some don't even read. Not to say I didn't try, I read the first book of Twilight, and the language seemed to me rather disappointing. The plot was, meh.

I find myself clamouring after more timeless classics or, at least, good fiction. I need good books. I've outgrown Jacqueline Wilson, I'm hungry for something more. I love Jostein Gaarder's work, and Roald Dahl is great, though I haven't gotten round to reading his more adult work yet, apart from "Skin". I want to read more of Stephen Fry's books, they intrigue me. Right now I've just picked up my sister's new copy of "The Life of Pi", and soon I hope to buy some John Steinbeck and the novel "Perfume".

God, why didn't Oscar Wilde write more books?!

Sunday, 10th October 2010

It has come to my stark realisation that I may not end up at the University of Edinburgh after all.

Last night, on my way home, I had a conversation with the taxi-driver about education standards, and I think it infiltrated into my sub-conscious mind. I dreamt about some upsetting things last night.

Early this morning, I awoke to look up admission criteria online. Strange that they consider students with a Poly GPA of 3.0-3.5, while they only take 'A' level students with about 6As or more. However, Trinity College, Dublin, has lower standards, and I actually don't mind going there, too. Of course, my aim will remain Edinburgh, but if something should happen and I don't make it there, I'll welcome Dublin with all my heart.

What worries me is that I'll feel some sort of guilt going overseas. I'm worried, I'm worried. Should 2012 really occur, that would save me a lot of trouble, a lot to think about.
I yearn to be there, far away from here, far, far away from all these people, and being able to lead a life that's mine, to go where I want, to visit Oscar Wilde's grave, to stay at Medical School to draw specimens in my sketchbook till I feel like going home.

It sounds selfish. I have someone else to think about, but I can't help yearning to be there. I hope he can come with me, so we can set out on this adventure together.

Dear God, please help me get past this semester and move on to the next. Now that I know what it's like and what to do, I think I'll do much better than I did. Please help me, God, please help me stay alive through this.

I yearn to be there.

Saturday, October 9th 2010

He climbs up a steep, smooth slope, his feet slapping against the surface. He takes a few steps, and then falls into a dark, moist hole.
"Where am I," he wonders.

*COUGH SPUTTER SPUTTER*

Thursday, October 7th 2010

Feeling so distant tonight.

I find I'm learning to auto-censor my thoughts again. I can live with it, I won't die if I don't say what I want to.

Our body fights so hard to keep us alive, and yet, we abuse it day after day.

When I was younger, I had a fantasy;
My world would have nobody else in it.

If people didn't know what love was, would they feel deprived of it?

"She's silently defiant"

Joy was the only one who gave me a hug every morning so that I would face the day without fear.

Ice cream, fudge and cookies = mudpie!

"She has to be baptised, do you want her to go to hell?"

Monday, 4th October 2010

Feeling... detached.

detached

detached

Friday, 1st October 2010

A few days alone.

She'd time aplenty to think, in a dark room, with nary a sound. Occasionally, a few notes escaped from within her, a constant furrow upon her forehead, her eyes fixated upon the sheets of formulae and questions, endlessly, endlessly doing.

The blood drummed in her head as she racked her brains. Why couldn't she get it? The others made it look so simple, so effortless. It wasn't fair, all the work she put in seemed to slip through the grills like sand. They kept her locked in her own prison.

If only the others knew her secret.