confessions (3)

Gawd...more likes since yesterday. 15 down, 16 to go!

#11: I hated piano lessons...I hated them so much that I gave piano up at the first chance my parents gave me to do so...

#12: I don't forgive; I only forget. I'm really not as flippant about these things as I try my best to seem.

#13: I've had crushes on dead people/historical figures before.

#14: I don't usually like things as much as I make it sound. I've trained myself to be able to exaggerate convincingly--in written text, at least.

#15: I cannot stand malapropisms, and I know some people who are extremely guilty of misusing big words in the hope of sounding profound...but I keep quiet about it, as much as I can. ><

我的家

From the geniuses, my P4-6 classmates.

我的家 爆炸
爸爸变gorilla
妈妈跳楼自杀
婆婆大声笑哈哈
我的家 chaoda
我们应该跑吧
我的家真的会爆炸
因为我泡了太多茶

confessions (2)

Once again, from the FB status. Next five! Blah I think the next few will come tomorrow.

#6: If I've stalked you, there's a good chance I'm either a fan of you or have taken a brief fancy to you before. Not 100% though...

#7: The pain of those days of heartbreak never really left me. It's just like they tell it in songs--it hurts as much as the day it happened, every time I think of it. I still cry about it when no one is looking.

#8: I don't like being a Christian; I hate having these rituals and beliefs forced down my throat just because the figure of authority in my home is a devout believer.

#9: I like fame. I like it when a lot of people know my name. To me, breach of privacy is really no breach at all.

#10: No matter how often you tell me I'm great at something, I don't think I'll ever be able to believe you.

confessions (1)

From the Facebook status. Eighteen likes so far O_O ah well. I'm posting them in bunches of five.

#1: I'm really a little scared of the reality of love. Am I able to give that much? Is it really so tame? It's nothing like love in the books, and I must confess it's alarming.

#2: I really, really, absolutely abhor the feeling of discussing schoolwork with people who are better than me at every single subject, people who seem to get everything right without even trying. Just because they're smart and there's nothing anyone can do about it. One such person, unfortunately, is Huan Yan Qi. I know you're reading this.

#3: I learnt Japanese for no reason except that I wanted to translate the ending theme of Jirachi: Wish-maker. I began to lose interest in Japanese lessons after I managed to do so.

#4: I cheat on my novel word counts by spewing out useless text that doesn't contribute to the plot at all...just to chalk up an impressive number.


#5: I secretly enjoy the feeling of breaking bad news.

you don't have to feel like a waste of space
you're original, cannot be replaced
if you only knew what the future holds
after a hurricane comes a rainbow

Good luck... [ to a friend whom I never really spoke to but care about all the same. ]

on my sudden unreasonable anger while watching award reception today

Judgmental and sweeping and fallacious, but let me get it out will you.

Logical, mathematical genius is superfluous and too common. Sure, help me balance my checkbook. And will this make you any more of a person than you are? Would you, as you plummet towards the ground from the top of a building, be furiously estimating your distance from the ground by the number of levels up you ascended earlier, just so you can calculate the force of impact, assess your chances of survival, predict how many bones you will break, how many organs you will rupture?

Sharp critical insight, talent with humanities, produces frightening people, but is ultimately pointless--he/she can out-argue me, but does he/she not live chained by knowledge of these things? And whyever would I want that? Would you think and philosophise on the futility of order in humanity for we all bow to our base instincts and are no more the 'civilised population' we envisioned ourselves to be than the rest of our clade--ponder so hard that, at last in despair, you desire to be rid of your humanity and conscience and cognizance? You pound at conundrums you know you will never solve. Ethics and politics and theology--where do you intend to go with this? Is it any wonder to be able to write essays about them--such a futile exercise?

Comprehension of psychology; it draws honour, it terrifies hearts, but this is a class of pitiable people. They may map the labyrinth of my mind, comprehend the manner in which I take in, process, respond to the stimulus of the world. They may hope to predict how I act next, pre-empt my moves, outsmart me and tangle me up. I'm sure that's satisfying in some twisted way. But try as they might they cannot take my mind and happiness as their own. They can analyse and scour as they wish, but no multitude of analyses will yield them an answer to the question: how can I be happy?

Creative intelligence shuns everything else, seeing itself as the only sane one in the world. Yet it, itself, is the insane one, living in illusion. It encloses itself, away from the world, within a bubble that is essentially defined by selfishness. It matters, no longer, how the world runs, as long as it is happy. It craves acceptance, love, singularity. It runs from your concerns because my concerns are all that matter. It tries to reproduce reality in the way that suits it best, the reality it desires, the reality it knows it will never have and all the more must bring forth. The creator is a disillusioned fool, who refuses the truth, and hides within his/her own religion, the synthetic, esoteric religion of the dream and the love and the nonexistent story. Opens the windows but closes the door. Refuses the electric bulb for a candle. The creator doesn't understand. Refuses to understand. Clings sheer to his/her own selfish, flawed, unreal understanding of the world as it is. And doesn't want it any other way, because it loves its own too much.

But at least it is truly happy, or at least as close to happiness as anyone ever will be.

aftermath

2011 mid-year CTs. I feel kinda bad in both directions, knowing that there are people who paid attention during every lecture, didn't watch YouTube videos during tutorials, mugged for days, did their TYS's with fervour, and still did badly in their Biology/Chemistry/Mathematics papers. The fact is, I hardly worked.

Final grade tally: 1A, 2Bs, 2Ds, 1U.

The U, quite obviously, for Chinese. Odd to hear me saying it, but I really need to work on this. My mother intends to send me to a local university, whether I like it or not. Education in overseas universities is apparently too costly, even for her dear daughter for whom she would wish the world(?!) and if there isn't a Chinese D7 under my belt by the end of these two years, it's either a) lousy local college that doesn't even need my D7, or b) university in Malaysia, e.g. the one my aunt went to, which is frankly the only one I've heard of. Neither of which I really want, but seem set on the road to. God, how do I do that. Improve my Chinese.

My D for Chem was painfully disappointing, but that can be put off to the difficulty of the paper. I'll do better next time. D for GP is unforgivable, but sadly inevitable given my track record. The rest, I could not desire better of. B really is enough. Now...to sustain it. Or to aim even higher.

Well, I'd say I've done a good job. I'm doing better now than I did for the entirety of Secondary school, and it's not even difficult. So now...I wonder if there's hope for me. I wonder if I should go for it. If I should try. I don't know if it's worth the effort...

the loop is closed

Here we go again. Yet again.

Going one circle so I can learn again what I thought I'd learnt before. Finding these problems just as unprecedented every time, and at the same time knowing that this is just a great wheel, turning.

And here I am, using and reusing the same metaphors. All over again. Half a year, and nothing has changed.

perhaps you do not realise how much my heart hurts with every word you're saying.

Sometimes I condemn the person I am, the circumstances I have been subject to, the inevitability of things I dread. I used to take pride in being different and strange and abnormal--but I realise now that there are real, biological reasons for the majority's hate for unnaturalness.

How I wish I weren't genophobic or tokophobic. It'd save me all these misgiving. We all know, some way, that life exists for itself--to reproduce, only concerned as far as the next generation. The pounding dogma of life--the viruses destroying to create themselves, the mayfly in his first and last flight-dance, the baby cuckoo murdering the unhatched wren.

Does being unable, unwilling, to have sex and to give birth make me any less of a human being?

Then it's emotional too, because never mind how my future will look--will I ever be a wife? Will I ever let myself? Will I ever let myself burden a man that way?

not expected

There's this thing called a crush, that kind of short-lived romantic fancy that one has for another for a day to a week, that quickly vanishes to be replaced when a more fascinating person comes along. Everyone knows these silly, irrational little feelings. But being in love isn't no longer having these crushes. It's still having them, and yet knowing that none of them can compare to real love.

I'm starting to *gasp* care about my appearance. It's noticeable, though quite pathetic if I could say so myself. And not because I've grown any vainer or any more conscious of my self-image, mind you. I'm concerned about what implications my unkemptness and ugliness might have on someone else. The questions and sniggers and snide remarks they'd have to tolerate because of me, yet outside of my presence.

I guess there's no changing things like who-I-am, but I might as well try because it guilts me so that I could be shaming someone by being this way.

frozen

I like to think the best of people.

Even so, it is unfathomable to me how you can be as cruel as you are. You are not soulless. You seem to understand better than others. And yet you choose villainy, as if you've given up on the worth of goodness.

Understandable. But is it necessary? I'm sure it's in you, around you, somewhere--a reason to walk the other way.

to a more favourable location

The tagboard has moved back here, because it seems no one can see it when it's on a different page.

Or maybe no one tags when they visit.

All I know is that my hit count is waaaaay higher than my tag count.

Which points to a high incidence of stalking, or blogwalking on my blog.
Or yeah, that. That no one can see my tagboard.
Whichi s why it's moved back here.

departure gate

A bit of poetry that makes me sound a lot sadder than I actually am.

through airport gates, a flail of wind
that chases leaves down corridors
these rose-white sheaves of love were pinned
upon a noticeboard before


and here i watch departing planes
locked in by glassy skylight slats
of everlasting song refrains
and raindrops streaking rivulets


across my face. without a sigh
your smile has fled; a dream can't die.
your wings are spread, eternity
rests in your shadow. it's goodbye.


it's goodbye now, through airport gates.