Untitled title titling title.

Once more, I’ve wasted away the weekend like a half-can of Pringles chucked into a ravine.

I have not been studying for Tuesday’s mid-term, I have not attempted to start on my MPH Young Writers essay, I have not even thought of which book to review for this month’s book review competition and I have not called anyone for my in-depth report.

Instead I slept the mornings away (after buying breakfast and doing some marketing), chatted online for hours, watched a considerably good amount of Japanese anime, deleted 7 blog drafts, hunted for movie trailers and read Arabian Nights.

I should’ve asked her out for a movie instead. Wasted.

A lot people reckoned that I have not been aggressive enough, you know, in terms of hitting on her (wait… this doesn’t sound so right…), and I know I’m not. And I don’t know what I’m playing at. I hate myself.

Alright, perhaps I shall divert away from this recurring topic of posting tonight. I believe I have already arrantly disemboweled a number of you with such immense idiocy, so let’s keep the body count lower.

You know, sometimes I wonder why I can give someone advice but never seem to be able to adhere to it. I can tell someone the best possible solution over a particular problem, but when I’m toiling with the same thing I’ll find myself floundering at the surface of despair. And I can’t say that I forget about them either. In fact, the first possible explanation and answer is always there when I need one, but I never seem to be able to use them properly. It sucks. It’s like having the right keys to a door, and finding myself banging, slamming and hollering for it to open because I can’t seem to get it working.

A few days back I told a friend (via late-night SMSes), who was in sort of a love predicament, to stop dwelling in uncertainties and seek for the ultimate truth and answer. And she did, and it is my utmost delight to tell you that she found a very satisfying answer. I don’t mean to place this as a pompous brag, I mean, I just gave her something I know and it’s her choice to do it or not. Sorry if I make it seem so.

Anyways, I throw this back at myself and I discover that I’m kind of still living under the shades of uncertainty. A little instinct picked off from studying journalism, I guess I’ve come to accept that there should be no uncertainty in answering any questions asked. Uncertainties suck, and they suck like hell. Before this I was somewhat deluged by a cascade of heavy uncertainties, and those days is like being trapped in some forsaken cave-in with life leaking away from you slowly, and then you suffocate silently but painfully, and those days every single piece of answer is like a perpetual ray of hope, and you cling on to it like your life depends on its thinning tread. It’ll affect your every thought, actions and decisions. Those days were all about asking questions to myself, plunging myself into intense worry and unnecessary fear with answers that are neither true or false, and it eats the heart like termites to wood. And everything then, whatever a friend says, or a brother’s advice, or a song lyric, EVERYTHING, is like the way to sanctity, no matter how good or bad is sounds. Those times were like drowning, and you’re groping at every piece of wood hoping that it’ll keep you afloat. It’s tormenting, and it’s suffocating, literally. Bad place to get into.

A good journalist gets questions answered. No assumptions. No guesses. Plain, hard facts. And I guess that’s what people should do. Just ask. Get the answer. And be content with whatever you get. I have the confidence to guarantee that whatever answer is, whether it is to your preference or not, will definitely if not subtly give you some form of satisfaction.

Irony, perhaps, to find myself still stuck under uncertainty and assumptions when the freaking way out is right in front of me (complete with an escalator and showering confetti). While it doesn’t hurt as it used to, it still sucks to be down here. It stinks. It stinks worse to think that I have the answer out, and I’m not using it. Why? This I cannot answer. Cowardice or stupidity, I don’t know. There’s a wall I have to vault over, and I’m not making it.

… I apologize. I’ve once more steered back into the very thing I don’t intend to speak about tonight. Sorry if you’re puking with utter disdain again.

It’ll be a long while before I get out of this crap.

Ah well, at least there’s badminton to look forward to. The college inter-school sports carnival is soon, and the badminton line-up is as good as set. We’re training now, though progress isn’t all that well yet. At least the girls are improving. And there’s a glitch in a line-up which I have to settle. A very huge bug which is dauntingly hampering.

I know the chances of winning are a tad slim, but it’s competing that I’m excited about. Last year I made the team but I didn’t play, because I backed out for a senior to play instead. That time I’ve just practically picked up the racquet after a decade of not playing (and I never did play well last time), I sucked and I thought that my senior will play better. Well he did play better, but only the slightest fraction, and we got trashed. What pisses me off is myself for skulking out without trying. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve improved a great deal in a year, and now I want to compete to know my stand.

There’s no way I’ll back out this year… unless I break a bone or something (touch wood, baby. TOUCH IT).

It’s time I hit the sack. I have Wai Yee’s birthday to look forward to tomorrow =)

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Mordant ~ Sarcastic.

Currently reading: Araaaaabian Niiiiiights….

Song of the day: Still Fighting It by Ben Folds.

Anime of the day: Blood+ ep 32.

Frustrated about myself...

She’s so close… and I have so much to say…

But the words, as usual, rust and dissipate into dust somewhere between thinking and acting.

So much for mustering every ounce of confidence I have… sigh.

I can’t get myself, really. Somehow I know all my flaws and I correct them the best I can, and yet I dwindle into despair every single day. It’s frustrating to see myself falling into the same pathetic chasm time after time, watching the hole filling until it opens the next day, and I find myself buried once more. What can I do? My fault, my flaws, my own incapability.

I wish myself back to the times when I just got to know her… we were pretty cool back then, and I wasn’t such a loser and fucked up idiot. Then the revelation hit me and I realised that I like her more than just a friend, and things snowballed downhill from there. I became a worthless cunt and now I frustrate myself with my self-inflicted suffocation and arrant idiocy.

SIGH.

It’s like waking up daily with her in your mind, with all your confidence and courage emblazoned like a banner of war, and you summon all your will to walk up to her, or get close to her, and then finding herself not noticing you, not giving a damn, ignoring you when you try to get her attention because you’re not good at it, trying to make her laugh or joke or sneer even, but in the end you made a fool out of yourself and you find despair slowly shrouding you in its misery. And you know that this is stupid and juvenile and idiotic even but you can’t help drowning under its persistent currents, and then comes the bouts of assumptions and worries and fears that can go from downright stupid to fucking crazy chicken squeezing down a gun barrel. You feel like shit, you feel like crap and worst of all you feel like a worthless loser. Then you tell yourself that it’s ok, and it’s all about spending time with her and trying and trying and trying again until you’ve said your heart and you know hers, and after everything will be alright. The next day dawns, rinses this down the drain, and repeats.

SIGH.

Man, I’m like, what? I freaking loser.


Goodnight people…


Word of the day: Imbroglio

Song of the day: Dirty Little Secrets by The All American Rejects.

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence i have...

And cannonball into the water.

I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence i have...

For you i will....

For you I will

Fuck Today.

It has been a long day, but time felt a fleeting ship. Fast, merciless perhaps, never waiting.

It’s somewhat funny to imagine that 12 hours ago from this hour I was sitting here wondering about my freedom of independence and decisions, minutes after my dad irrationally hollered at me for donating blood without seeking his permission. I was angry, aghast, an insatiable void of angst crumbling into a large canyon of nothingness. But no one, and nothing, was there for me to talk to, and the anger somewhat swelled into temper. I wasn’t afraid to have go, and I almost had one with my brother, another tactless individual of the house that wouldn’t see an act of kindness as compassion but instead deeming it as an act stupidity.

And I almost lost it at my assignment partner. If he was standing with me during that moment I would’ve hit him, I admit with much guilt, and that moment the rage seething in me was almost close to eruption. One could only tolerate laziness and utter irresponsibility for so much. The only thing holding me back from totally deluging him with every stinking fault of his was the fact that he is a friend, and a companion. I held back, but I remembered the heat of my replies to his fucked-up answers. I apologized later, but looking back I realized that I never really meant it. Cold as it may seem, I did it only to maintain the friendship between us. It struck me that he never apologized.

You’d wonder how someone should feel when they had practically cost the sleep and rest of a friend because of pure idleness. Perhaps there was guilt in him, I pondered, as I sat in a very long and silent night typing down a feature with no planning and limited information. I can’t blame it entirely on him; my own procrastination and unfortunate delays had their cause it in. Lonely, tired, dejected, one could only feel this much depression in a night. One can of coffee, Questionable Contents open in a separate computer window and some snacks snuck out of the kitchen, I set down to finish the story. It took me 5 hours.

I read back and saw how messy it is, but what is done is done, and I don’t have the luxury of time to retrace my steps and start over. And I was late. A good amount of dallying and immense drowsiness caused me to miss my intended train. The event I’m supposed to attend was held in KLCC, at the convention centre, and when I arrived I was 5 minutes past entrance time. So I ran, like an idiot and a stupid moron, foolishly afraid that being late meant that entrance to the event would be troublesome for another party’s part. I ran on a body devoid of sleep, food and water with only the remnants of the caffeine in my 3 a.m. coffee drink. It was sickening. It was fucked-up above all things.

I found the class, panting, sweating, wanting to puke and only finding that there was nothing that could be regurgitated. The guys looked at me as though I was the foolish bastard, as though everything that matters me to them is gone. I felt childishly dejected and ignored. The girl I’m that I am so deeply infatuated with barely acknowledged my existence there, despite me heaving away like an asthmatic patient right in front of her. It was only later when she asked what was wrong with me, and before I can answer properly she was away with a hand phone. And if there was anything that felt worse than crap this stinking morning, this was it. The feeling of dejection and ignorance.
I know that I am naïvely and irrationally pissed off, but the pain is there, stabbing, nagging, tugging at the rib cage and toiling my already numbing mind. It was my own fault that I am ignored, this I can readily admit. But it comes to show that I am the insignificant bastard no one gives a damn about. Not until I make a show of involuntary groaning. That is something you can’t ignore. And fuck it.

There was no real reason for us to be there at the event, apart from being fillers in that large hall. Everyone was there for nothing, just there, sitting, half-heartedly listening, sleeping, reading, all that jazz. By then I was so thoroughly under a case of self-inflicted mellowness I took the liberty of acting like a journalist and made a small coverage over the stupid event. Yes, it was stupid, and even more stupid for us to be there. Top my crappy morning off with something that I’m practically forced to go only to make a half-assed coverage, listening to dull speeches and being annoyingly blinded by irrelevant light shows. Fuck. Yes, fuck. Fuck that fucked up stupid shit of an event. Fuck the person who wants me there for nothing and fuck the morning. Fuck everyone, I don’t care. The point is that I don’t wanna give a fuck and I’m giving a fuck anyway. Fuck it.

I apologize. But if there’s one day where I ought to have the privilege of saying fuck at, well, it was today.

Fuck it.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: Fuck.

Song of the day: Better Days by The Goo Goo Dolls.

Up when I shouldn't.

It’s 11 at night or so, and I’m wondering what I’m doing here, sitting up typing this when I should’ve been asleep. And I REALLY should be sleeping, having only slept 3 hours last night, and now the head is toiling with pleads that I should just hit the sack. But I have a couple of stuff to get off my chest, though I doubt I can really go all out here in this publicly viewed blog, but it’s gonna be a relief, at least in a small way.

Brother is stirring. I should avoid typing loudly (a habit of mine, which is an attempt to simulate the sensation of using a typewriter). I’ve spent an hour or less creating relatively similar pie-charts for my Bahasa Malaysia assignment, feeling that the overall theme and topic of it could’ve been so much better. But it’s my fault for missing out all those discussions, and now I’m practically someone head-butting into a group expecting to do nothing and gain marks for it. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a general loathing for people who do this without realising their wrong, so I very much despise the fact that I’m so close to being one.

Somehow I was glad that the assignment wasn’t fully completed… and I get to help pitch in a thing or two. Yeah, well, it’s actually making my week three times more hectic that it should’ve been, but at least I don’t need to live with the guilt of being a hypocrite (I am one, perhaps, subconsciously and without knowing).

Still, extra work can be a bummer, especially when it means that I don’t get sufficient time to hit a decent sleep, and tomorrow I have to miss out on a dinner with my aunt. I miss my aunt and family… they are, somewhat, my preferable ‘second-family’, though our lifestyles and er… social culture are poles apart. But I guess work is work…

Today felt like a heavy baggage stuffed with unnecessary clothes and jumbled up underwear… I was feeling like crap. Tired, lethargic; signs of staying up late trying to catch the finals of the World Cup. Then there was that shot of envy and jealously, which was totally stupid and childish of me. But it’s one of those things where you know you’re being utterly pathetic to allow it to happen, but it just deluged you anyway, whether you like it or not.

So much for feeling optimistic and cheerful. I’m feeling like a sandbag collecting dust as the buffalo drags it up the beaten track. And fuck myself for feeling so. It’s stupid. Plain stupid. Stu-fucking-pid. Yet it nags down your heart like some persistent asshole trying to prove his point. These feelings should be long gone when I made my most recent resolutions. Sigh. It’ll take a couple of days.

Well, emotional baggage checked in into Flight 749, bound to Tomorrow where I have to collect it and heave it throughout the day once more. Time I hit the sack (my GOD my suckiness can tip the entire city of Ipoh into the Malacca Strait).

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: cap-a-pie ~ From head to foot; at all points.

Song of the day: For You I Will by Teddy Geiger.

" I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
and cannon ball into the water
I'm gonna muster every ounce of confidence I have
For you I will "

Starting the day, crappy style.

I’m always having this problem; how do you begin something which you can start telling it at any point and time? I know, well, basically I can always start with “Today was a bad day,” or “it was raining this morning”, but I’ve been thought to avoid clichés like the plague of impending doom, so it’s always a bummer trying to cook up a good beginning.

… wait, I just made a beginning, didn't i? *confetti*

Lol, alright, sorry. That was as cheesy as today’s pizzas can come. Well, they always say that the simplest solution is often the best, so here’s how I’m going to start;

This morning was a crappy morning.

Somehow I’ve taken to dally myself until I was late… real late. Alright, well, VERY late indeed. I took my time eating, bathing, packing up and wearing my socks. But that was the least of the crappiness this morning.

Because I’m so god damn fucking stupid today.

Well, a friend asked me to help him hand in his assignment for him (he had stuff to do in the afternoon), and I agreed. I mean, how hard/troublesome would it be? It would’ve been something a 5 year old with a drooling disorder can do, but wait, in case you forget; it was I, aka JE, taking this up. And when I take something up, I’m bound to screw it up somehow somewhere sometime, one way or another.

For today, I’ve managed to drop it into a FREAKING tiny gap between the seats and a divider (or something, I dunno what to call it) while riding the LRT. Fuck. It’s the freaking dumbest thing to happen. The worst thing was when I had to apologize. How do you apologize for something so fucking stupid that it can make the entire state of California puking at its idiocy (ok, I exaggerated, but it IS fucking stupid)? Well, I’m used to it… and I threw in a good amount of profanity (all directed at myself, of course). I’m forgiven, but I don’t think I can ever, EVER, forgive myself. *sigh*

That lose-envelope-into-fucking-gap rendered me very late to class, but the teacher didn’t seem to mind (my attendance was taken). And I managed to skip the questions. Not very good for my CGPA, but it’s a bummer when you’re asked to answer something you didn’t bother to study about, so I’m alright with it. It didn’t help with my mood, though, which was soon a class 3 tantrum a few minutes into lessons. 1 hour later, I was off paying bills at Maxis and heading home. Which means I traveled (to and fro) for 3 hours to attend a one hour nothingness. *cue laughter from Friends*.

Note this though; helping someone can make you feel GOOD. I’m skipping the details here for fear of branding myself as a hubristic fat-ass emblazoning his ‘kindness and empathy’ (but then again, I AM branding myself so, by saying this anyway). But it’s true, helping someone, especially random people in need of a little help heaving their suitcases up a flight of stairs or guiding the disabled folk down the corridor. What’s best was the Thank You and the occasional praise. It’ll most probably stamp in a silly smile on your face the whole entire day. And give you a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Very soothing.

So, here’s my usual Goodnight People, and if I may add allow me to thank you lot who actually took time to read something as mind-numbingly crappy such as this. Thanks .

Word of the day: genuflect ~ 1. To bend the knee or touch one knee to the ground, as in worship.
2. To be servilely respectful or obedient; to grovel.

Still reading: Staying Alive by Matt Beaumont.

Anime of the day: xxxHolic ep 13 (I think I missed episode 11 and 12… damn)

Song of the day: What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts.

“What hurts the most,
Was being so close,
And having so much to say,
And watching you walk away.

And not knowing,
What could’ve been,
And not seeing that loving you,
Is what I’m trying to do.”

Of optimisms and positivisms.

What’s gotten into me lately? It’s like some sort of optimistic-inducing bug has bitten me, rendering me in a state of being very cheerful (ok, I’m aware that I may not look cheerful if you’d happen to see me today). I’m positively happy and lively, I mean, in a consistent manner, not one of those on-off mood swings. I’m taking more time to blog now (a very blissful thing to do, mind. I don’t normally have the mood to blog daily). I’m thinking about her more and more daily (creepy, I know, but I can’t help it). I’m actually writing; not typing, mind. WRITING. As in using utensils on a paper. And we’re talking about fiction, monologues and songs here, not lecture notes or memos. Very unusual of me (being one who have a disdainful dislike for being a bad speller).

I’ve practically taken to singing on the streets (when I’m alone, of course, or far within earshot), sleeping, typing, making coffee for dad and cooking. I’ve been mentally making remarks of everything I’ve seen. I’ve been starting to ask more questions (which is always good, considering the line of my studies). I’ve taken larger but still unsuccessful attempts to try and engage her in a conversation (to be honest, there’s no difficulty in it. It’s just that I’m a tad little on the coward and shy side). And I’ve been dancing. Yes, dancing those darn (very feminine) wriggly-jiggly things I’ve picked up on my contemporary dancing lessons during my first semester. Thank mom for this. She’s been dragging me about trying to get her rock n roll steps right, and yesterday I had to dance with her in front of her colleagues. For demonstration. Embarrassment level 69. Still, strangely, it HAD been fun. And I did get praised for being sporting. Sporting? Seriously?

So, Tan Jee Yee, 19 years old, Diploma in Journalism student, world’s fattest idiot, social misanthrope and the apotheosis of useless and self-depressive males… now finds the world an oyster of optimisms and positivisms, was called ‘sporting’, has been told that he is loved, has fallen in love all over again, monologues with his mind and actually tried to take time to read his Malaysian Goals lecture notes.

You’d think that I’ve started taking crack during lunch breaks.

*sings* “Who will buy my beautiful morning? I’m so high I think I can fly…”

And Italy beat Germany in the world cup semi-finals. Great! I woke up and found my whole family (mom included. MOM!) yelling as Italy scored their second goal. Woohoo! Now that bet between me and my bro is evened up. Come on Portugal! Make my peanuts!

Well, if there is ONE thing that has made me a tad regretful was my stupid refusal to go and have pizza with the gals in class for lunch. Not only had I managed to char-keuh-teowed one of those rare chances of being able to spend time with her, I’ve somehow managed to tick\ Amanda off with my untimely stab at being an LSE. Not very smooth. Another day without progress. The rest of my entire life to go.

You know, now that I think of it, perhaps I’ve been living a life of being overly concerned with the consequences of my actions. I guess that it has something to do with the very horrible results of my several mistakes, and most of them tend to come back and give me a little old haunt. A poke in the memory, a reminder of painful and wounding errs.

I’ve been too much of a coward. I’ve been too afraid of the consequences to make a stand, or to take a risk. Time to courage things up. Time to make a difference. Time to make a risk.

(I certainly hope that I shall remember this resolution and not one day find myself reduced back to my pathetic state.)

Alright, now I’m going to sound very ambitious, but heck, I want to WIN something. Or at least attempt at winning, banking all my chances, you know, placing the best bet and hurling the very best I can muster (which is very little, sadly, but there is something, at least). I’ve been stagnant at these achievements thing for a little too long now. Time to try and do myself proud for a change.

There’s an upcoming book review competition, and I’m hoping to at least lap in a consolation price (I submitted one last year to my lecturer who wants it as a coursework assignment, and I didn’t win anything. So it was either 1) I suck or 2) he didn’t submit our stuff).

... which made me realise that I’m running the risk of not being able to make the Malaysian Young Writer’s competition. This is my last chance… oldest contending age is at 19. I hope it’s not past the deadline. So brush up the writing skills, JE. You’ve got some serious writing to do.

Anyways, if I’m not mistaken, there is a worldwide novel writing month or something, in which people pit themselves against themselves in trying to write a 50000 word novel before the end of the month. No prices, though, just achievement. And I want to DO it. The best excuse to get myself starting on my novels (all which will probably suck, though, but it’s something good to get off the mind. Unrealized ideas are a weigh in the mind).

Time for me to turn in… and see if tomorrow will still be an optimistic, happy day.

This, I gotta see.

Goodnight people.

Word of the day: apotheosis ~1. Elevation to divine rank or stature; deification.
2. An exalted or glorified example; a model of excellence or perfection of a kind.

Currently reading: Staying Alive by Matt Beaumont.

Song of the day: Complicated by Avril Lavigne.

Classroom monologue.

(Written during Malaysian Constitution lecture, in a notebook).

What am I doing here? I’m sitting here in a joy forsaken classroom listening to bespectacled female version of Professor Binns tonelessly chanting through things that I can never place my attention at, which is quite irresponsible of me, being one who pays to learn. So it is, on my part at least, a duty of mine to actually try and absorb whatever knowledge that is practically thrown at me right now. So focus, listen, and try not to write pathetic nonsense into this notebook. Do it for the family. Do it for yourself. Do it for HER.

…ok, remind me again of my attendance here, which I believe is well more important than slouching down on this book and penning things down with hopes of becoming the next Matt Beaumont (I deduce that if I keep this up, it’ll take me a fair 6 decades to finally be able write like him. 7 decades to write like Gaiman and 10 to write like Phillip Pullman). Damn you Matt Beaumont. You’ve completely influenced the very way I write and think, you freaking bastard. Curse you and your damn book, and curse myself for liking it.
Remind me that I’m here to study and not drift off into the land of Ivalice where rabbits play drums and pirates rule the skies, and TRY, for crying out loud, TRY to comprehend these things that I can’t seem to comprehend now (I may, you know, if I actually try). What am I doing here? I’m sitting here in a tormenting cell suffocating under this drawling drone of a crane-like lecturer and penning crap, while the girl I’m having a crush with is sitting 4 rows in front with her attention on full blast (or so I assume). Way to show dedication, JE. Way to show.

Alright, I give up. Now my eyes are already devoid of any lively colour; a shade of plain, morbid grey (save that figure sitting 4 rows ahead), as though the tastes of the world has been reduced to a metallic nothingness of immense boredom (save that sweet little thing sitting 4 rows in front).

Allow me to quote Remy Jones’ song:
SOMEBODY SAAAAAAAVE ME!!

Lethargy… my mind is drained of any will power. I might as well lie down on the table and doze away, and pray that I hopefully go unnoticed by the (seemingly) sharp eyes of the lecturer (and she might make some snazzy comment. Let’s not give her that privilege).

So what am I doing here again? Sitting lonely behind the class and lamenting the sad fact that the guys had ditched me for the sake of surviving this monotonous drawl of a lecture, and penning this thing down. So let’s change the question here a little; what can I DO here (I mean, apart from penning this, which I believe will be running out of things to say in a few moments)?

Ok, gather my options. What can I do? Sleep. No, not sleep. Apart from sleep. Listen. Can’t. Will bleed with severe depression due to overwhelming boredom. Perhaps I can settle myself in a 2 hour session drawing really crappy manga on the tables (do the class a favour, by inducing a little if not ugly art to liven things up). Ah, what the heck. Maybe I can try to list things out like what Matt Beaumont does, or Sophie Kinsella (now that I notice it, the two authors does have certain similarities, mainly their first-person perspective writing. Rachel, I need clarity).

What to list? Right. Nothing. As expected from the brain dead spectacle of JE the er…Brain Dead. The back of Isaac’s head is tempting me to stab it with a pencil. His hairs are literally brandishing banners saying “Stab me! I’m fun!” and “You know you want it. Just do it.” Whoa. Ok, now I’m hallucinating. Better lay off the fantasies and start listing.

Hence this list of lists of things I want to list:

1) Moments to confess to HER (which I have a feeling will always end up with something like this…)

(on a New Zealand hill overlooking a plain)
Music: “The hills are alive… with the sound of music…”

HER: (wearing something of a close resemblance to Julie Andrew’s dress) Oh, the beauty! Look at the flowers, and the wind! Oh, all so sweet!

ME: (in a Tux and James Bond British accent) But all of this… such trivial beauty… they cannot match yours. That dazzle in your eyes, that warmth of your smile…

HER: But surely none can compare to the beauty of summer.

ME: (whips out a ukulele, singing) “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds to shake the darling buds of May. Summer’s lease hath all too short a date…”

HER: *Swoon*

ME: I have always loved you, always.

(And the winds lift the dandelions across the horizon and into the setting sun, as a shower of spectacle rains down from the heavens illuminating two silent figures standing hand in hand on top of a hill…)

(Ok, pardon the cheesiness. FAT chance to happen. And I just remembered that she prefers coke machines to flowers and hills.)

2) How to think faster, answer smarter and not make myself look like a fucking fool.
(I doubt the usefulness of such a list).


3) Things to do if I happen to be diagnosed with testicular cancer.
- Confess to her. ASAP.
- Taste every single food in Malaysia.
- Finish up every novel that I have in plan.
- Travel the world.
- Watch every single great movie that I happen to miss.
- Confront Phillip Pullman and demand that he tell me what the fuck happens to Lyra and Will later in their lives (and if I’m unhappy, I’ll kill him with a BB gun).
- Walk up to JK Rowling and reads her ending to Harry Potter.
- Make requests so that my ashes are to be scattered across the south china seas, or perhaps poured over some hill in New Zealand.
- Have Daniel Powter’s You Had a Bad Day playing at my deathbed.

4) Things that make her look beautiful.
- Her smile.
- The cuteness in her smile.
- That look and smile she makes whenever she sees something so shockingly funny.
- The way she silently mocks the people she dislikes by muttering something in a discontented look.
- Her “Oh, I see” face.
- Her “Oh, I see. Whatever” Face.

(This list can go on for another 3 notebooks, so I guess I’ll leave it here).

5) Why she would never like me (this, I put a lot of emphasis in).
- My horrendous looks, physique and idiocy.
- My slacking, procrastinating behaviour (remediable)
- The boredom that I can severely induces.
- I’m about as charming as a blackboard with hair.
- I’ve seen a ton of other guys with her. All better looking, more charming, and closer. A chance? Nope.
- My utter stupidity.
- My cowardice.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m glancing at her too much.

Is this thing here all about her? Perhaps I’m thinking about her a little too much above the healthy level.

Did I mention how pretty she is with that hair of hers? The way she brushes her fringe… (I’ll list it under 4)

I AM thinking too much of her. Time to stop.

My sincerest apologies, lecturer. I have NOT been listening closely to you, hence I do not understand what you’re trying to say now. Please let me go home. Now.

Isaac’s hair is tempting me again…

It’s over? It’s finally over?

YES!

Now to go pay my bills.


Word of the day: emblazon ~ To deck in glaring colors; to set off conspicuously; to display pompously; to decorate

Currently reading: Staying Alive by… Matt Beaumont…

Song of the day: Save Tonight by Eagle Eyed Cherry.

Sick (sung according with the tune of Ben Folds Five’s Brick)

5 a.m., day after Sunday,
I finished up my damn report,
The smell of cold; air cond is freezing,
My bro is sleeping I am… not.

Amanda’s box was set to busy,
She must have been tired out,
I fried some ham, toasted some wholemeal,
Ate some egg and I was out.

And I drive…
Now that I’ve eaten up
But I’m feeling like a mould
Than I ever had… before…

I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly,
Down the drain and I’m headed nowhere
I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly…

The bloody pumps, they aren’t working,
Petronas can suck my sock,
The God damn jack was pretty fucked up,
My tire’s air is running out…

And I slept…
Now that I have eaten up,
But I’m feeling like a mould
Than I ever had… before…

I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly,
Down the drain and I’m headed nowhere.
I feel like sick and I’m drowning in it…

As time went by,
It shows that work is not fine,
And dad came home, he screwed my ass like some shit,
No I’m not wrong, the tire’s long gone
And I was tired… of sighing.

Closing down my car’s compartment,
For a moment I’m alone,
I feel like mould,
I ate some mould.
Now I knew it…

I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly,
Down the drain and I’m headed nowhere,
I’m so sick and I’m sighing slowly…

(Goodnight people)

Word of the day: Complaisant - exhibiting a strong desire to please; obliging; compliant.

Currently reading: Staying Alive by Matt Beaumont (dead slow progress)

Anime of the day: KIBA ep 13

Movie of the day: Monsters, INC.

Song of the day: Tonight, tonight, tonight by the Beat Crusaders