My Claws

Last night I had this dream.

I was in this world where humans had the abilities to change into monsters. Monsters, as in actual, terrifying beasts, because if you think about it, putting Pokemon into the context of the real world would be quite terrifying, because creatures with with claws and fangs would be able to just hunt you down. 

But I loved that dream. It's up there on my Favourite Dream List, which only has two at the moment - this one, and the one where I dreamt I was spider-man. 

I'm not saying I had nightmares for my other dreams (that were non-violent), its just that they were deeply unsettling and I made to forget about them as soon as I woke up. I can still remember, though. Like how a robot made to look like a human is unnerving because there's something wrong with them (look up: uncanny valley), a dream in which the real, everyday world is messed up and twisted (and it's not even Alice in Wonderland kind of twisted, just, wrong) is frankly, horrifying. 

By that sentence, then those dreams must actually be nightmares, huh?

But I'm getting sidetracked. Back to my dream. I was a creature like this:

Weird little guy, huh? Kinda creepy too.

But it was more then just being a creature that bore a strong resemblance to Gengar from  Pokémon (and of all Pokémon, it had to be Gengar). 

It was something like Gengar. But not quite. The skin colour was darker then a Gengar. The creature was less... cartoonish. The most prominent features, as far as I could see (because there was no mirror) were my claws. 

And my very loud roar. 

The most wonderful part was, obviously, the creature that I would grow up to be (evolution, like in games, ya know?) - a big, powerful, purple, gothic and fearsome looking dragon that I only managed to glimpse slightly.

And like in games, there was also this boss that I had to fight and defeat. 

See, I think I was travelling in this group of five, and we were running, with me in the lead, this maze of pathways between HDB's in Singapore. Every now and then a loud, magnifying roar would shake the grounds, a challenge to me, but I'll still charge on (to my might foe) without stopping. I'll roar back, and here's the thing: I couldn't roar. It wasn't a loud and proud monster roar. It was the weak roar of a human being who didn't know how to roar and knew it. 

But I roared (badly) on, regardless - and here's where it starts to get a little hazy - I find my foe and it's a human, and I'm not really sure what happened, but I had to try again.

So I did, and this time, when I roared, I fucking roared; I jumped over downhill highways, roaring and thundering all away with my still-human friends to meet my foe in a cheap small shopping centre.

I must have ran up some escalators because I was not on level one and as I charged down one direction, someone picked up the scent on him and we all backtracked and turned right, dashing to one of the shops that contained a middle-age man wearing a doctor's coat, aka my foe. 

I don't remember his face, I don't remember anything much of what he did, but I remembered the feel of his face in my hands, my paws, my claws, I remembered how much the texture of it felt like rubber. I remember digging my claws everywhere: I was smaller then him, but I was so much more powerful, because I have my claws, I have my claws. I remember drawing blood, lots of it, anytime and everywhere he tried to squirm to, I clung onto him, drawing more and more blood, snarling, growling, ripping skin and flesh, etc. 

I remember walking up to him as he slumped shivering and bleeding on the wall, when my assault on him was finally over (because he didn't get me at all). I remembered I was grinning. I was happy, I was proud. I did this. I defeated him. He couldn't do anything against me. He was powerless. My proudest moment, ever, in dreamland. I was fucking delighted. Never again will he look down on me, or threaten me, or roar louder at me. No more. 

And then I woke up, and the dream was so good, that I had to write down the best moments of it - keep it as a record - the feeling of ripping flesh, beneath my claws. 

So today I went...

So today I went to the shower and cried.
It wasn't a good cry - it was muffled sobs and hastily stifled hiccuping, because obviously I don't want anyone to hear. 
It's not even my business, really, so its even less of my business to cry.
Which is what I tell myself. A few times I would suddenly straighten and focus my eyes into a glare and the pouring water would run into my open mouth and I'll have to loosen myself because so stiff I've become that while I'm not moving neither and I breathing.
After a while I stop with the sobs and start screaming. My lungs seize up, my eyes scrunch up, and so loud it is, it echoed all around the shower walls and I drowned in the sound my lungs made.
No, of course not. Those are stuff of romance novels. I screamed with all my might, but I couldn't make a single sound. 
Obviously, because I don't want anyone to hear.

Judging

You.

Don't look at me like that, don't look at me, don't say in that tone of voice: "You're, like, judging me, you know."

Don't say that. Don't you say that. Not from you. Please, no. You little hypocrite.

Who's been judging who, exactly? Who's been deciding who are idiots, and who are not? Who's been deciding who deserves listening to? Who deserves attention?

You. You have been the one judging.

You have been the one judging me. Judging all of us.

Don't roll your eyes. Don't lose your temper. Don't bang your head on the table. You're not the only one pissed.

Don't talk so loudly. You're not always right.

Don't think that just by talking loudly, slamming your hand down on the table, and tuning out others in your 'idiot - not worth listening to' list makes you right.

They act like idiots, but they're not idiots 24/7.

They have brains too. They have good ideas too. It's not a one man crusade. It's not your ideas, your faults, and my responsibility.

一人计短，二人计长。

加上你这一个，真的是三人计多。

Start listening. Don't bitch about it to us when it turns out you're the one whose not been listening. Stop making me repeat everything a second, third, fourth, fucking fifth time. My saliva runs dry and my patience runs thin.

My patience. Your lucky that my tolerance level is so high.

Get this straight - you're not the only one with a loud voice. You're not the only one who knows how to raise your voice.

You're just the only one talking loudly, and thats the only voice you ever listen to, anyway, since its the loudest.

You're lucky I don't try and argue back at you, voice for voice, loud for loud, temper for temper.

You're lucky because I care. I care. I fucking care more then you do.

It's not for my sake, its not for your sake. It's for everyone's sake that I hold myself back, because I know, I realise, I fucking understand, that its a fucking group project and its everyone who has to work, everyone who has to care.

But you don't care, obviously. You just want to bitch and make yourself heard and throw your hands up in the air when we all try and tell you politely, "We don't like your shit idea so stop trying to convince us of it otherwise."

And for fuck's sake, stop fucking judging me. You don't want to be judged, and neither do I.

Who, in the first place, told you that you could judge? Who gave you the right?

Don't use words that you don't understand. You look and sound like a fucking moron, and that vexes me up.

You little bitch.

You hypocrite.

You messed up in the head moron.

You fucking judge.

Sometimes (more recently, actually), I wonder why I care so much. It's like talking to a loose cannon. Nothing goes in, but everything comes out.

I want to jam you up in your damned barrel. I want you to stop firing for a moment and start listening. Start listening, and this time round, for once, actually look at your fucking target before fucking firing.

It's tiring. But you're not the only one tiring.

I'm not fucking invincible. I don't have infinite patience. There's a line before I snap, too.

I like you as a friend. But I don't like, don't want, you, as anything else.

We can befriend each other, but we sure as hell can't work with one another.

And for the fucking record, no one, in this world, should be able to judge anyone else. Not the best friend you giggle to during class. Not the guy in the black gown and white curly wig. Not the person who got a PhD in law.

Nobody should judge anybody, because nobody has the right to do so. I don't care how many diplomas you've got. I don't care how loud your voice is.

I don't want a complete stranger judging me. I don't want my best friend judging me. Neither of them are fit. Neither of them have the authority to judge another being.

But then again, this is our messed up world, run and controlled by us messed up human beings. No wonder Mother Nature cries.

Who wouldn't, with us stupid, judgmental, all-assuming beings ruling the world?

Porcelain People

Some people treat other people like porcelain.

Like, glass. Something fragile. Maybe tofu. The kind that smashes into smithereens if you so much as accidentally shove it against the wall.

I mean, I get that there are many kinds of different people in the world. Some were made to break things. Some were made to be broken. But I don't think I would have so much to say were it not for the fact that these people, who get treated like porcelain - let's call them 'Porcelain People' - don't deserve to be treated like porcelain.

It's not like they're emotionally unstable... on a social, everyday basis. It's not like they weep over every little thing.

In fact, they're people just like you and I, and borderline on being bitches at the same time.

Why would someone treat a bitch like they would handle porcelain? I, for one, don't think they deserve the care they receive. Even if these people were to fall down, it isn't as though they couldn't pull themselves up. There's a saying, "once bitten, twice shy". Is that it? Did something massive happen in the past that caused people to turn bitter towards each other, and now that things are patched up, to save such a catastrophe from happening again, they are treated and handled with care?

But wouldn't these people be stronger now, after the previous disastrous attempt? Wouldn't they be more careful now? Wouldn't they now how to handle their feelings? Why then, do people still treat them like porcelain, giving them guilty, regretful looks behind the back and laughing off everything lightly as though whatever the bitch did wasn't hurtful at all?

Why then, do people cling on to these porcelain people, who are tougher then tough (like raw, stubborn hide) and sharper then sharp? Aren't they themselves afraid of getting cut?

Why not just let the porcelain smash? Wouldn't gluing it together with superglue make it stronger then before, and less likely to break? Why so worried, so cautious?

Its hard to be around people and their porcelain companions. Everything becomes so light-hearted and serious.

Get away from this world

It's been so long since I last updated this blog, but I still have as many things to say.

I'm not even that old, but you know how big the world is? You know how often it gets so big that it just about stresses the hell out of your life?

That kinda sounds like the teenage-identity-crisis, 'the angst-filled years of teenhood' that adults repeatedly mention. Not sure if they're the same thing, but...

More often then not, on these days, I'm getting tired.

Like, dead tired. The world is so crowded nowadays. So stuffy. It's getting hard to breathe.

It'll be nice to get away once in a while, to go to an entirely different place and not to have to lift a finger over anything - but sadly, we're all stuck on one planet and in one world - Earth.

So instead, we have to settle for a lesser alternative - almost there, almost to this other, less suffocating world, but not quite there.

Like when you play the piano.

It was surprising to me at first, but recently, I've developed more than an interest in playing the piano. It's not like design - that one is most resolutely stuck at interest - it's something else entirely. It's passion. I actually feel passionate about playing the piano.

Not the ones that the teacher makes me play. I get my own off the internet.

And I don't have a piano. I have a keyboard. Lesser alternative.

But the keyboard is just behind me, in the small room I have as a working area, so it's desk and computer, electric fan on the left and keyboard behind.

All I have to do is switch the plugs.

But back to topic - the good thing about playing the piano, or the good things about playing the piano: the songs I pick, are, of course, fantastic. One can never go wrong with one's taste. They're all slightly depressing and very hopeful - with the almost there but not quite feel - and I love it. There are so many great composers out there. Yiruma, to name one. Really beautiful songs.

Plus people - the people in this house who have no other choice but to hear the piano - enjoy it. There's something about playing something that other people enjoy. Sort of like a crowd-pleaser. I'll play the piano as long as there's someone to hear it. An audience - why not?

And the best thing about playing the piano? This, by far, is my favorite - the volume. The sound of the keyboard can be adjusted, and I always set it above max. It's just as well, since a real piano is louder then maximum. Not just for the sound quality of an actual piano, but because its so loud, that it muffles all the other sounds. You can't hear the TV or the fan over the sound of the piano. You can't hear any worries, any deadlines, anything even mildly irritating over the sound of the piano. And that has to be the best quality of playing the piano - because it offers a respite, a small, small world away from the one we're all stuck in.

Which is such a pleasing thing, it is such a pleasure, to be away from our world, that I don't ever want to stop playing the piano, don't ever want to stop blasting it at such a loud volume; it is so emotionally pleasing, so comforting, that I don't know what I'll ever do if I don't have a piano nearby to vent all my emotions out on.

But even way above that - just to plain, get away from this world.

Heartbreaks

This matter got me thinking. You know how they show dramas, and there's this couple in it? For some sort of reason the couple breaks up. The guy walks off and leaves the girl crying.
In the really dramatic ones, the girl attempts suicide.
In most, she fails, gets pulled back to life, and wakes up in the hospital. In a few, she dies. But that's besides the point.
These kind of things happen in real life too. Whether it's because she's too upset, or it's because she's just trying to gain sympathy or attention.
Whatever. The idea is just plain stupid.
I don't mean this from a person who never went through a heartbreak before. But before you go so far as to take your life, you might want to slow down and think about it a little bit first.
Like the, 'I found my prince charming but he dumped me.'
The thing is, prince charmings don't dump their princesses. If the guy does dump the girl then its because he is not prince charming. The prince charming is suppose to love the girl, even though she might be ugly or bitchy or just annoying. Their definition is to 'love you no matter what'.
After coming to the conclusion that he is not Mr Right, you will miraculously realise that he is in fact, Mr Wrong.
And now we may proceed to the 'He dumped me so let me kill myself' part.
Kill yourself over Mr Wrong?
The fuck? How many lives do you have? If you do the math then it's just one. And you go and waste your only life on a Mr Wrong?
That is just so, so wrong.
So much so that its stupid. I mean really. What's the point of killing yourself over someone who isn't worth it? That's just plain stupid. It's like paying money for something you won't be getting. The idea just doesn't make any sense, and that's because it's stupid. Throwing your life over Mr Right sounds more sane. (The only way I can see that happening is because Mr Right died, leaving Mrs Right all alone, because Mr Rights don't make you feel like killing yourself.)
But maybe, the reason those suicide cases happen is because people who are in love are just delusional, falling in love with the wrong people in the first place, and then subsequently killing yourself.
If aliens really landed on earth, they would probably look at us and think, weird.
And they would be right.

Something is good only because someone else applauds it, no?
In that sense, isn't life all about what other people think?

In My Class

In my class, although we are pretty much immature brats, there are definately crushes between boys and girls.
One is a guy named Ju**** and my friend, Yi***.
Even though secondary school is supposed to be cliquely, this is Asia, and even though cliques do exist, the line between them and the rest of the school is not so defined. And when I say cliques, I'm not talking about the girls, I'm talking about the boys.
There are the basketballers, who are not as good in certain subjects as they are in P.E. There are the nerds, who make up their lack of physical strength with their IQ of 300. In a small school, the whole place is pretty much a happy community, everyone cracking jokes everyone can understand, everyone copying answers from everyone. In other words (for the boys), no matter which category you're in, the gap is not so large that is awkward.
And then there are the outcasts.
Ju**** and Yi*** really, really like each other but being teenagers, they deny it. In a class with only 8 girls and 9 boys, everyone is pretty much friends with one another. Ju**** takes the initiative and gets pretty chummy with Yi***. As a result, he becomes closer with the remaining 7 girls.
But his way of approaching Yi*** is frankly, different. In getting close to her, he starts to play with the girls, so much so that Yi*** and her two other girl friends are now including him within their group work, that they are visiting one another's houses, and they're even catching a movie together. So much so that to please and make Yi*** happy, he goes as far as to act niang so that the girls would crack up and Yi*** would shower him with affection.
So much so that when he has to do group work with the boys, his choices are very limited. And given a choice, he would rather stick with the girls then go with the boys.
Even though his actions are making Yi*** happy and everything, come on; really, which girl would want to go out hand-in-hand with someone so niang? He's pleasing her so much that he's distancing himself from the boys.
And another thing: Ju**** really changed a lot. Not appearance wise, but rather personality-wise. I grouped him in the outcasts because the boys never seemed to hang around him. He's tempermental. As in bad, bad temper-mental. He is proud and arrogant, and never does things he considers beneath his dignity. When he doesn't like something he doesn't hesitate to show his feelings, going so far as to shout at a teacher.
His temper gets on my nerves, but so far neither of us hasn't clashed yet. Thank goodness for that, because there would be blood. But when he started to get to know Yi*** his temper changed to that of a docile, attention-seeking puppy. He does the right things at the right times to show his love and care. If Yi*** wants something, say she was cold and she wants to turn off the air-con, no matter how much everyone else in the class shouts and screams at him he will get up and turn the air-con off. He is utterly devoted.
But its just that even though there is a significant increase in his tolerance level, some things just remain the same.
Old habits die hard. We were playing in the classroom during lunch today. Ju**** is used to the girls teasing him playfully and he accepts it with much laughter. Today we exaggerated what he did to Yi*** (by accident) so much so that 'Ju**** harrassed a young, innocent girl' was written in big letters all over the white board for everyone to point and gasp. There was a lot of harmonious laughter, and in the end, Ju**** was to get on his knees, acknowledge his sin and ask for forgiveness.
He repeated after Ja** (one of Yi***'s friend) on his knees, but he wasn't sincre enough so we demanded him to do it again. I laughed, but as time was almost up I took the whiteboard duster and started to clean off the words from the whiteboard. I had erased off 'young, innocent girl' when there was a sudden, angry shout. Ju**** was no longer on his knees. He was standing, in his full height, glowering at all the girls. Playtime was over.
He had lost his temper again. The ridiculeness of it. Emberassed and perhaps a little ashamed, Yi*** and her friends went out of the classroom for a while. Ju**** stormed back to his seat. Disgusted by his actions, I ignored him, glared instead at the whiteboard and proceeded to scrub every little dot off the board. They were sorry and he was angry.
The girls came back in again, walked up to Ju**** and gave him a 90 degrees bow. "I'm sorry." Their voices were meek and small. The frown on his face somewhat subsided.
It got me thinking then, if Yi*** weren't so lenient with him, he would have ruined his own master plan of getting close enough to Yi*** to acomplish his mission successfully. But she was a nice girl, and even though it wasn't her fault she apologised. They were laughing together again by the time school ended.
Why did you apologise to him, Yi***? You should've let him see just how much trouble his own temper could've gotten himself into. And Ju****, if you can't take the joke, then don't play with us. Besides, how could kneeling on the floor and apologising to the girl you like (we were playing, mind you) be below your diginity, if you are willing to act like a niang and lose your status among the boys just to make her happy?

Change

Change is when something is no longer what it used to be.
Change is when the caterpillar lost its mouldiness and gained its beauty as a butterfly. Change is when the ugly ducking lost its dullness and ganied its magnifence as a swan. Change happenes everywhere, in politics, in economics, in nature, and in people.
Outside in the living room, there is a picture of me, my cousin, and our dog. We were both so much younger then. I was younger, happier, and more innocent. My cousin was younger, not as pretty, and probably still had the awkward air of trying to fit in around her. And lying in front of us was out Shetland Sheepdog, Fachoi.
When my cousin was that age, my grandmother would carry on about her as though she was a saint. She compared my results with hers. While mine were appaling hers were astounding. She compared my sitting style with hers. I would bend and slouch on the chair while she kept her back straight like a ruler. This was the wonderful cousin of mine, the wonderful image she sent out to everyone: I'm a good girl, I'm smart, and everyone is proud of me.
Same cousin now, grown up, taller, prettier. She'd changed. A few alterations to her out look, longer, bright red hair, contacts, and she had a confident air around her. While I took on the glasses, had thich hair, and walked around with an arrogant air. If she was over-confident, then I was over-arrogant. I take the credit for my work, for my contributions, which always catches the eyes of the beholder. She was confident, maybe not so smart, in the world that she lived in and the world that she lived for.
I look at her around seven years ago and I look at her now. And I think, are they really the same person?
My grandmother loved my cousin. My cousin loved my grandmother. My grandmother still loves my cousin, but I don't think my cousin loves her so much now.
Gone was the gawky kid with a big brain and a big heart. Here was the confident adult with a confident smile and an air of importance. Her heart was probably still the same size, but the love is now divided into many other people. She is the girl that made my grandmother so proud, she is the woman who makes my grandmother cry.
It's like looking a caterpillar and a butterfly. The caterpillar comes to your mind as the same group as worms and centipedes and millipedes. Disgusting, moldy and insignificant. It does nothing but eat and sleep and eat and sleep. The butterfly is the direct opposite. Magnificent, beautiful, and bright. It flutters around flowers and becomes something that little children points at to their mothers. It becomes something significant, and here's where you think: How the hell did it change so fast?
It's the same with the ugly duckling and the swan. One moment, the ugly duckling was living up to its name, being an ugly grey fluffball that you laugh at, and the next thing you know the grey feathers are gone, the ugly duckling grew up; a magnificent, graceful swan with angellic wings. Or like watching the clock. You'll train your eyes on it and watch the minute hand and the hour hand, wanting to witness it moving. You'll train your eyes on it forever - and then you get distracted and look away. You look back, and all of a sudden the minute hand isn't where it was and the hour hand isn't where it was.
Does change always happen like this, when you are least suspecting it, and all at a sudden? When all of a sudden, the caterpillar stopped being a caterpillar and became a butterfly. All of a sudden, the cygnet stopped being a cygnet and became a swan.
Or maybe it didn't happen quite so suddenly. In fact it was a gradual process, happening slowly, so slowly that you didn't notice the minute details. And then something happens - you look away, and when you look back, you'll start noticing every single thing that wasn't there before. But in fact it had always been there, it just took so long, too long, for you to realise, that's all.

In a Rush

Everyone is in a rush nowadays. A bloody, goddamned rush.
Rushing here, rushing there. Come to think of it, I was in a rush too. Rushing every school morning, catching up on homework. Rushing to the computer every day, rushing to check my games. So much rushing to do. And then, one morning there is no homework to rush. One day, there is no game to check up on. One day, I did not turn on the computer.
I was rushing so much, that when I stopped, it felt awkward. There was nothing left for me to do. Rushing had become part of my life.
Books that I'm reading now tells lifes of twenty-year olds and teenagers. Excited about their future. Always wanting more. In a rush, in a rush, in a rush. Like my twenty-year old cousin. But that seems to be all twenty-year olds are doing nowadays. Rushing off to parties. Rushing off to work. Rushing off to dates. Always rushing, never stopping. They leave behind messy rooms, worried parents, upset grandparents. Rush off and rush back. The twenties are the materialistic years, I read. It's when people worry about dates, about boyfriends, about how they look, about how they talk. Dancing till 5am. Playing till tomorrow. It's alright, the twenty-year olds don't need sleep. They just want to have fun. They just want to live their lifes.
But when you are rushing so much, when will you stop? Will you ever stop? Will you ever remember how to stop? In a rush, people forget bits and pieces of their lifes. Maybe they forgot that someone didn't like blue. Maybe they forgot that someone was allergic to seafood. Maybe they forgot about someone. Maybe that someone was important and special.
But that 'someone' was important. That someone was special. That someone used to be around for 24/7. But in a rush, that someone was forgotten. And once in a blue moon, you'll look back on your life and think about that someone. And you'll remember what that someone and you did together that was special. And you'll remember that you were the one who left that someone behind.
My cousin is living with us now. I don't mind my cousin, we get along well. But living under the same roof, there are some things that I found out that I didn't want to know. She used to be like a godly figure to me. She brought me out for treats. She let me know her really wonderful best friend. But we didn't live together then. We were not strangers, we were close. And I liked that.
Now she's in our apartment. All of a sudden, a goodness and her badness become more visible.
She takes us out to watch her perform. Her wonderful best friend tutors us in math. But she gets mad when we wake her up too early in the morning. She loses it sometimes when someone tells her to do something.
She talks like someone from England to get a better pay, she says. When she talks to people, they all gap and ask if she studied aboard. No, she didn't. She studied in Singapore.
But I hate it whenever she talks like some student who had studied in England. I hate it that she doesn't like her Chinese heritage. That she is ashamed of being a Singaporean. Foreigners are looked up in the current society. If you study abroad, people will look up to you too. But if you are from China, people look down on you or people look away.
The smart people of this world teach the younger generations about the Holocaust so that things like that would never be repeated again. The Holocaust was a matter of racial dislike gone big. We shouldn't despise on other races, we should al live together in peace and harmony, else things like the Holocaust will happen. Yeah, right. So what the hell is this? I have a Chinese teacher who doesn't speak Chinese. I have a Chinese cousin who acts like she's ashamed of her Chinese heritage. We have people from all over the world looking down on one another, just because their status is not as highly or as important as they themselves. So what the hell is this? What the hell happened to peace and harmony? Just because mass killings didn't take place doesn't mean we all like one another in this world. Genocides happen because these minor skrimishes between races crossed the line. And they say that things like the Holocaust should never have to repeat again. They obviously don't know our society very well.
But back to being in a big fat rush again. Sometimes I think, will I be in a rush like this when I grow up? I hope not. But now is only now. Who knows what the future would become? Maybe I'll take drugs. Maybe I'll become a criminal. Maybe I'll talk, act, and pretend to be a rich bitch so that I'll be liked. Maybe I'll rush about in the cold and cruel world to dates, to parties, to pubs.
But now for the moment, I just want to sit down and be content with my place in life. It's not like I have nothing better to do. It's not like I don't have any friends. It's not like they don't ask me out. But it's just that sometimes, I just don't want to go out. I just want to stay in bed and wonder about the great philosophical questions in the world.
Are teenagers suppose to care so much about these kind of things? At thirteen years old, I'm too young to date. I'm to young to enter a casino, I'm too young to drink alcohol. But I have male friends. I had a bird's eye view of a casino once. I downed cocktails and Bacardi during nights.
I guess my point in this blog is that I don't get why people have to rush about nowadays. And also why people try so hard to be someone they're not, just so as to get what they desire. I like my cousin, I really do. But I just wish that I hadn't seen so much of who she was really like. Ignorance was probably a bliss after all.
I probably shouldn't put this kind of things up onto blogs, but if I don't then I'll just explode and have a restless night again. I feel really bad for that someone. AKA my grandmother. When I reject going out with my friends and my parents are not at home, we'll both sit on the bed and talk. We'll talk about things that should only be mentioned to someone you trust. We'll just talk. And she tells me so many things. Like how she loves her son for being so filial. And how he treats his cats better then he treats her (during a moody hour). She tells me how close she and my cousin were in the past. How they stuck together like glue for 24/7. And how quickly her temper was lost when my grandmother tried to do something for her. (My grandmother slightly cleaned up her room a bit, but my cousin reckoned that she had shifted and messed with her things).
Sometimes I feel so bad for my grandmother. It sucks to be one of those forgotten people.

Admirable Fish

There is an admirable fish in my house.
This fish is just like the others, but around 2 months ago it started flipping upside down: a sure sign that it was dying.
Amazingly, it is still alive, even until now. Sometimes it stops moving completely and sinks to the bottom, but then it will suddenly filp up and then slowly fall down again. When my uncle came over, he said that the fish had a broken spine. He grabbed the bottle of fish food and sprinkled some of it on top of the fish, saying that it needed help to be able to eat.
I am awed by the fish, surprised that it is so strong and persistant. But sometimes I see its lifeless body at the bottom, unable to move except to flap its fins and rotate its eyeballs; I pity the fish. It would me so much easier to die, and to stop living to save itself the pain.
I did as my uncle said and tried to sprinkle the food on top of the fish. But the fish is at the bottom of the tank and the food floats on the surface. In the end the food gets washed away, out of reach of the fish's mouth. If one or two manages to sink, it always lands somewhere unbearbly close to the fish, but to far for the fish to it it. It lands on the fish's body, right in front of its mouth. I get frustrated, too. So close, and yet so far. I feel sick to the gut whenever I try to feed the fish. It's eyeballs rotate as it sees the food, but they are always out of reach.
So much easier to just die and end it all, then to live and continue.

I rejected

I rejected the Student Council position that I was offered.
On tuesday, I was given the task of collecting the replies of all the Student Council candidates. I went around asking them for their choice, and honestly said 'No' when they asked for my decision. Their faces were surprised and shocked. Everyone said yes, except for Ja**, and Yan*** because she was absent.
I went downstairs where the teacher in charge was conducting a PE lesson. I waited a while before I got a chance to talk to him.
I looked him in the eye and told to his face that everyone was keen on joining the SC, with the exception of Ja** and me. And that Yan*** was absent, so I didn't know her decision.
"OK, sure. No problem. Thank you very much." he replied smiling.
I walked away, feeling slightly uneasy. That generous smile? That easy-going answer? Why did he sound like I had told him the weather? I told my friend Je** about his reaction. She laughed out loud and told me "Maybe the tachers only consider those that say 'No'".
I had said 'Shit' but I don't think it would do me any good.

Meanwhile there are more pressing matters, like english. We are suppose to print out a short story, which our teacher had cleverly uploaded on the internet. Apparently she scanned it in using Adobe. Amazingly, I had lost my password for that particular site. Resigned to asking friends to send me a copy by email, I was replied that neither of them could open the file. Too emberassed to ask my teacher AGAIN for my password (which would be the third time now), I asked my other teacher for my password (the site is a learning site; if a student loses her password, she would clikc the 'lost password' sign, and a new password would be sent to the teacher). Chances are she would reply me tomorrow. In the meantime I would just sit here and sob. But by some stroke of luck, a logical idea (during camp, my teacher praised me for being 'logicak, straightforward and frank'. He added 'thanks for your honesty', and then also 'be careful') comes into my head. SImple, I just surf the net for that short story, and then print it out.
Now I just need to worry about my teacher's less-then-serious reaction...

I got asked

On the second and last night of camp, I was asked to urgently report to a teacher, sometime before 12.
I was curious, so I showered, skiped the drinks and ran with my friend to the teacher's dorm.
We weren't alone, though. A group of students were going in the same direction. They were all Student Councillors. Only a few weren't. And they were all worried that they were going to get scolded for something that they had done.
I didn't say anything because I got this feeling in my gut. And I was right.
When we reached the teacher's dorm we were made to wait outside. After about 10 mins we came in, while the SC moved out. The the teacher told us.
Told us that we were recommended by the teachers a position in the Student Council.
Ru** clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes shining. Ja** went pink. Yu* ** looked excited and shocked. Cla**** and Ve** smiled. Only my expression remained unchanged. Because I had expected it, and I wasn't feeling keen.
The teacher asked us all on our feelings. When he asked "How many of you feel like you need to seriously think it through?", I raised up my hand. My expression was dead serious. The others looked like Christmas had came early. Was being offered a position like that really that good?
The the teacher launched into a talk on what would we have to do if we joined. What would happen to our future, since the school could recommend us to the better schools when we get older. I wished he hadn't. It would have been much easier for me to reject the offer. Everytime I think that "No, I don't want to join", I think of "SIS can recommend you to good schools in the future".
When I raised my hand, the teacher must have overlooked my reluctance as exhaustion. He said that we were all tired and should seriouly think about it. I didn't say anything.
I only wished that he had never asked at all.

Stomach-ache

I have stomacha-ache today again.
And it's not just today. It has been hurting ever since Monday. But today is different.
Today there is a ache in my chest. I've only felt like this once before: 3 in the morning on Father's Day.
On the eve of Father's day I had terrible dierreahea. I had sushi for dinner, and they all came up when I vomitted in the basin.
I took some pills (Po Chai Pills) and tried to go to sleep. It wasn't unusual for me to have stomach-aches, but it was for me to vomit. I slept well until 2am. I was tossing and turning, and I just couldn't sleep. There was an ache in my chest, and not just that, but there was also a similar one on my back. To top it off, my stomach was hurting again. I finally climbed down my bed and made for the toilet.
My parents were departing for Singapore later on that day. They were still packing. When I came out of the toilet I sat down on one of the dining chairs and tried to rest. It was hard. My breath came out in long, shaky sighs. My chest was burning. My whole body was trembling. My mum told me to dress in my jeans and jacket, and she and my dad took me out. All the clinics were closed, so I ended up going to the hospital. The nurse told me that I looked shaky and tired. The docter said that I had a case of food poisoning. I was given an injection and we came back to our house. On the way back the radio dj wished all fathers of HK a happy father's day. Sitting at the back of the car, I thought, present company included.

Cats and my Grandma

My grandma really, really doesn't like the younger cat, Can-can. And she really has a lot of good reasons for disliking him:
1. Toilet paper craze!
One fine day, Can-can walked in the toilet only to see the toilet paper dangling down.
It was such a tempting bait, well, who could have resist? And the next thing that we know, the roll of toilet paper became a mess of tissue paper. A pile of white mess on the floor, with our dear little cat in the middle. I opened the toilet door, and yelled for my grandmother to come.
Can-can got chased out by a long, wooden stick. My grandma grabbed the stick and started jabbing, Can-can gathered his wits and started running. Whack! Gonk! Most missed, but some hit. He dashed all the way to underneath the dining table, and was soon followed by my grandma and her stick. She whacked underneath the table, and he shot back towards the toilet. I grabbed my shoe and started whacking, and he moved backwards. However, my grandmother's stick came from behind. Now he was trapped. Whichever way he went, he would get whacked. In the end, he ran for the dining table and stayed down there for a long time. My grandmother stood nearby with her stick, threatning to kill him if he dared come out from under there.

2. Nice breakfast!
This morning, Can-can went walking on our dining table. Our breakfast was in a bag, and he came over and took a great big whiff.
I'm not sure what happened next, because I was in bed, refusing to get up, but then I heard my grandmother yelling at him for eating her breakfast.

Obviously there are many other reasons, but let's get on with the older cat, MontBlanc.
Good, old, MontBlanc. He lies there all day, except when it concerns Can-can, Summer, or his food. No wait, he doesn't even budge at the sound/ sight of his food. We have to carry him over. Then pim him there to make sure he finishes his food. And then shoo Can-can away from eating his food. And make sure Summer doesn't bark at him. But other then that, MontBlanc has really nice, soft fur. White with black patches, he is very different from Can-can, who is striped like a tiger.
Anyways my grandma likes MontBlanc better then Can-can because MontBlanc doesn't do anything much besides laze around. Basically she doesn't see much of him, which means that he won't get into much mischief. That's why tonight, when I was brushing my teeth, she walked over to the washing machine and started stroking him. He mewed a few times, but she merely asked "What's wrong?" before resuming her stroking. She even petted him to sleep.
In the rare display of affection from my grandmother, I stopped giggling at her actions and went back to brushing my teeth, leaving them together, for that few seconds of theirs alone.

Cat in Box

Today we stuffed Can-can into a thin, rectangular box.
The box was just sitting there innocently, when Can-can came over and batted it. The whole box toppled over him, and we pushed the flaps open to let him in. Then we shut the flaps.
"He can come out himself." says my grandma. "Wait and see! He's smarter then you!"
Well, he did try very hard to get out. The box was placed vertically up, making it more difficult. He batted with a small window at the side, trying in vain to enlarge it. Then he tried the 'entrance' of the box. He almost got out, but my grandma shut it before he could. On his third attempt, (after getting shut in again by my grandma) he jumped up, and his head pushed the 'entrance/exit' open. He clawed his way out and tumbled down the side. Everyone clapped. It was pretty amazing. Now all we have to do is to grab the other cat, MontBlanc, and then stuff him in. Grandma says that MontBlanc should be out of there in double the time.

The Evening Cat

There's a evening cat downstairs.
I see it most frequenty during evening time, when I walk the dog. It's jet black, with green eyes, those kind of cats described in stories as bad omens.
I'm not sure if this means it's a bad omen for me. But the cat is pretty, in a sort of scary, intimidating way. I couldn't get it to come close to me, and I didn't want to get too close because I was walking Summer. And my uncle said that Summer doesn't like anything black - from our black and white cat MontBlanc to Indians.
I'll try again tomorrow.

SA2 Results

Yes! My results were so statisfying! Not one of them are below B3(means not one of them is below 65)!
English:
73/100 (A2)
I improved so much for English as compared to SA1. Apparently, my EL Paper 2 was the second best in my class, which was 42/50. It's just too bad that my compositions had to pull me down(even if I didn't fail any this time round).
CA2: 67% (B3)

Chinese:
65/100 (B3)
Well, Chinese wasn't that good, but then, I wasn't expecting really good results for it. Its just a little shameful - Chinese is my mother tounge.

Mathematics:
67/100 (B3)
I'm really pleased with Math, even though its a B3. Getting 67/100 without any tution/ revision help means that my result is totally my own effort. Its only 3 marks from an A2.

Science:
82.5/100 (A1)
My best result in SA2. I was so shocked when I counted my own marks. My teacher was beaming at me when she read out my result, but this is the only exam which I got A1.
CA2: 70% (A2)
Therefore, the total consolidated mark for Semester 2 Science is 77.3% (A1)

History:
70/100 (A2)
I was really surprised with History. I thought I would fail. It was actually my most difficult exam. Just goes to show that I was wrong. For History, it is a A!!

Geography:
67/100 (B3)
This is emberrasing. Even though Chinese was lower then Geog., I still feel that this is my worst subject. The idoit sitting behind me thought it was nice of him to say "Wah. 33/55? Thats 67/100 only leh"
CA2: 76% (A1)

English Literature:
74/100 (A2)
This time round, its an A2. Still. I feel really proud, because this shows that my English composition isn't that bad after all. It makes me feel a lot better.

NDS GAMES:
Dad says that if I hit a certain amount of bands, I will get certain amount of NDS games. Here they are:
1x A1 = 1 NDS game
3x A2 = 1 NDS game
(1x A2) + (3x B3) = 1 NDS game
TOTAL NDS GAMES = 3

A Midsummer's Night Dream

Arghhhhh!
I hate my E. Lit. teacher! Picking me to be Hermia just because I'm in her CCA. How fair is that? My CCA, which is Magazine and Media Publications, was subbed for our school magazine. I picked interviewing, and ended up under her. I was the oldest, and supposedly the 'most responsible', so I became leader. I don't like it. I hate it. And yet I don't flunk in her class which is English Literature. Nevermind. I'll definately DROP IT in Sec 3. It's not that long. Come late August and I would be in Sec 2.
It's not that long.

Fur

Like it to happen to you? Like to feel it? Like to open your closets look again? Look at where and how it came to be?
http://www.petatv.com/tvpopup/video.asp?video=fur_farm&Player=wm&speed=med
It's bloody, its cruel. Its still happening, and we're still buying.
I couldn't even bring myself to watch the whole video.