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.