"Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real." -Dr. Hannibal Lecter What would you do if the world were to end tomorrow? Would you die happy? What makes me happy? I guess there are many things I want to do but have yet to in life, such as bungee-jump and play a banjo and sing with Philippe Jaroussky, but I still think if I were to die tomorrow, I'd die without regrets. There have been many, many painful moments in my life. Too many, in fact, due to my own stupidity. May 16th occurred because I left my phone unprotected with a password, by my pillow overnight whilst charging. If you look at my blog archives, you'd realise that there were no posts for May 2006. I've also failed major exams, and it always happens so that I have to take it again in order to move on to the next level. I guess this isn't stupidity, just due to my terrible methods of studying. Mr Jiow, my teacher at Sec 3, told us that Express students are what are known as "knowledge sponges". They absorb all the information quickly and efficiently, and regurgitate well and get good grades. He then went on to say that he preferred Normal Acad students because we aren't sponges, we use more logic to argue, etc etc. I'm still half sure he was just trying to make us feel better. Sometimes I wonder if anyone will remember me after I die. Would they remember the acne-ridden, angsty young teenager that gushed on and on about Clay Aiken, or would they remember the girl who, seemingly confident, sought to prove society's opinions about lesser students than Express ones wrong? I lie in bed, night after night, plagued by early memories of my childhood, about a certain computer game I played long ago. There was a particular scene, at which I stood in front of a dark cartoon woods, where dark creatures of the wild lurked, faeries danced around toadstools, and elves walked. Or the time in real life when I used to hang out at my old condominium, playing alone in the afternoons, having "picnics" and walking on a stone path leading to towering hibiscus flower bushes. Not knowing they were poisonous, I picked them and threw them everywhere, creating a flower-confetti shower. It's late. Even with the numerous earthquakes and ravaging signs of global warming, people are still skeptical about 2012. It's 2011, and though there is an exact day and date for the presumed apocalypse, the world around me has started to crumble. I won't know if I will wake up tomorrow warm in bed or hundreds of kilometers under the sea, looking at my own body. Then I'll be like the character in one of my stories, who got thrown overboard by the men who killed him.
