Post 444.


23.5/25 for history. -hugs myself- 94%!
It isn't the highest mark (I think that's 24 or fullmarks or something) but I'm happyhappyhappy. But my other history assignment only scored 16.5/20. It's a high A1, yeah, but I don't really like anything less than 17. I don't like the number 16. Just a pet peeve.


66/100 for my Chinese compo, and 39/50 for the chinese test. According to sulaoshi, that's the average score for the entire year.


I actually scored an A1 for Chinese! Alright, the test was way, way easy, but ladifrickin'da.


I wonder. Should I rewrite my English essay?


*To the reader, note that I am talking to myself. My readers don't deserve to be talked to. They accept, by default, the fact that they are here to witness my fantastic self-ramblings in this self-centered website that is almost all about me, the minute they enters this blog.

toilet paper

She always seemed like the lackey to me, the stooge, the sidekick. I think she's pathetic, the way she disses us and licks their boots. She always bought boots she couldn't fit in, but paraded around in them, looking like a grovelling clown. Stooge stooge stooge. I can't believe it, they way I used to almost admire her. Pretentious, petty- argh.


I like our toilet paper; it's got turquoise dolphin prints on it. Prettay.


Toilet visits are now much anticipated. Yo baby, it's wipe-ass time!


Ahaha. Both meanings, I'm literally ambiguous.


FIGURE. THAT. OUT.


I mean, wait... nah.


I can't wait to graduate.


I'm getting designs. On blogs.


No, I mean-


OMFG, Relient K rocks.


will our jokes still be funny
Cai hua, kai men...


I miss Zhonghua, all of a sudden.


Dolphin-print toilet paper.

(knowing everything else is silent)


Silent is a very overused word, but nevermind. Shatter in the silence. No one hears my voice in the painful silence. I call your name... silence. Bleh. Amateur angst-ers.


I suddenly miss primary school. It's a cycle, I'd like to think. Early part of the year, late part of the year, metamorphosize into uncaring fools and then we start remembering again. I don't feel like going back to Zhonghua anymore, knowing that it will not be the p6s2004 but the p6s2005 that will be the priority of the teachers. We'll be forgotten, more or less. No, I still cannot move on, and I don't think I ever will. Though I can't wait to go to JC, preferably RJ or ACJC, depending on my results.


It's like I've fulfilled an obligation.


I wonder if people think I'm a nerd because I type in near-parfait anglais. And imperfect French. Losers. XD


But then, it's not too bad, being a nerd. Nerds don't need to do what the hundred percent average girl does to be reassured, comforted, accepted, et cetera. They seek comfort in the very fact that no one knows who they really are. Nerds like veils, and at the same time, for people to love them. It's rather contradictory.


People keep saying, "omg!!!111 so cheeeeeeeeem!"


It gets tiring, really.


Not to mention ear-threatening.


BLEACH.


Aha. ha. ha.


Emphasize, dahling.


EMPHASIZE. As a writer you need to twist the priorities of your readers via emphasizing.


Or re-enforce them.


You understand, I take it.


If not-


loser.


(:


Bleh. Make 'em go away.

Unholy heaven, check this out:


http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5137581991288263801&q=loose+change


AHAHA. Ce pwns. And even if you don't like the content, the music kicks ass.

CNY today wasn't exactly the best, except maybe for badminton and dinner.


James likes dissecting frogs.


XD


Gordon plays floorball.


Eloquence in hockey. Hmm.


I love the word 'eloquent'.


They left early -- 9.15pm. Gosh. I don't remember ever leaving that early at any dinner party. The earliest would be about 9.30, only because I wanted to get back home fast to Uncle Bernard's party.


Shit. You know, I've just realized that all this while I've been wearing headphones, and the music isn't even on. P.f.f.t.


Emphasize all the syllables, dah-ling. There you go. P.f.f.t.


Ha.


I can't wait till 13th Feb. I think.


My blog posts are becoming less and less introspective, and more on-the-surface. No, I do not have any messages hidden within the lines. Except for a few scattered here and there -- not that you guys would ever be able to figure any of them out. You'd have to think like me write like me breathe like me first And even if you can do all that, it'd be hard, because my mindcar takes several dizzying turns before reaching a final conclusion. These dizzying turns happen in a second or two, or I stumble upon the conclusion in a single instant, so if you ever try to re-figure them out again it'll be practically impossible because what happens in a split second in the mind cannot be analyzed and fished out.


Unless you accidentally stumble upon my thoughts, of course. D'you get my point? It's a split-second thing. Analysis will only dissolve it.


It's so much more fun than raping your turtle.


I haven't yet reached the stage of philosophical nirvana. Or however you spell that freakain thing.


Relient K pwns, yo.


Social life. Lack thereof. I need to move to America where there are cafe bars and really cool clubs and all that jazz. New York, fille.


Why else the filledelamonde?


Oh, I simple pwn.


ED, dear ED, sweet ED, lamp of truth.


Do the brevity thing.


I'll set up a blogsite.

Schweet.


I have developed a love for abstract poetry; in other words, poetry I have to struggle to understand. Or something like it.


We must've pissed Etienne off really bad in French class today.


You know, I'm not all the inner-badass I'd like to be. I still wince when teachers/adults swear. Even if I'm fine with people 'round my age swearing.


That portrait looks horrible.


And people keep missing the 'm'. No, not mushroom. THIS IS RELEVENT. THIS IS SERIOUSLY SERIOUSLY RELEVENT. If you live in Serangoon Gardens and have played badminton with me in front of my house before.


Anita Brookner, oh Anita Brookner. Why'd you have to fuck up the ending of your lovely book.


Max seemed handsome. And you had to...


You know, Max is relevent to the 'm'.


Not technically, I mean.


Alphabetically.


No, I'm getting too abstract here, bleh.


I'll be going downstairs now. For dinner. With my relatives.

devil quoting

I broke my record: 150 situps! Not in one minute, of course, but nonetheless. I've been working myself to death on situps these days. It sounds absurd, but I want to break the school record for situps. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but it must be 70-80 ish.


I might have cheated a little bit, though. ^^; Like, taking a rest for about 10 seconds.


You know, Weng Jun isn't a bad poet. Hmm... her poems kinda look like the ones I wrote when a few years back.


Oh, shit. That must've sounded bad. Er, Weng Jun, if you ever read this, it wasn't meant as an insult. In fact, your poems are pretty good. Better than lots of others in the class, anyway.


You just need to work a bit on your structure and rhythm, which should be a piece o' cake for you since you're a good musician and probably have a sense of rhythm drummed into you already. Your rhyming is okay, need to work a bit on imagery, read a poetry guide, and you should be pretty good.


Wonder why I even said that. It's not like she'll ever read this post anyway. But if she does, yeah.


And Esther Ng, the one beside Ivy, is pretty good s'well. She. Uses. Imagery. And while they're a tad cliche, they're good nonetheless. At least she knows how to use imagery. Huzzah for her!


Eleanor should be able to write a poem that's at least halfway decent; she's one of the better ones.


I don't think I'll get good marks for my poem. Mrs. Lee wanted us to write mainly about the war, but mine was more focused on the emotional trauma of the survivors. Not relevent, I think.


I sounded so arrogant in the above paragraphs. =/


BUT! Anyway. Hockey today was, surprise, surprise, good! Ahaha, we started late anyway, so that as well.


Isabelle got a new stick. Hmmm. It's really pretty, turquoise and all, a glittery carbon GRAYS stick.


GRAYS pwns the most, you Amazon stick wielders. XD

Hallucinations
The trauma of the survivors of the Holocaust.

Block 10 and the water cans of gas-
They spill and flee and transcend tests
of dreams and time and insomnia.

Virgin philosophies stole away in the night the Nazis came.
The Nazis poached us hook-nosed Jews in the night that seemed so tame.
The Jews held on so tightly to the faith that was their bane.

The 'Hit' and the 'Ler' we'd tossed around
in bitter words, defenestrated
but swinging back like boomerangs.

They haunt us in screams, gunshots, blood:
Our doors they invade, our houses they flood:
They are the ghosts of the Holocaust past,
Fifty years dead but revenge they do cast.

Plant our gravestones; our lives are unused,
for death has come and our souls have defused.


-


This is the alternate poem I wrote for English class. The other one, Living Sub Rosa, might've been too... I don't know. Stupid. I'll ask for opinions tomorrow morning in class.


I don't want to come across as conceited, I'm just honestly stating a fact: I don't know if the teacher might accuse me of copying it from someone else. I wrote a far crappier poem last year and Mrs. Doris Tan asked me if I wrote it myself.


And recently I read a horror story of an eleven year old girl trying to make an original story out of the plot 'The Magic Schoolbus', and she put some really cool things inside involving bullying, smoking, slang words, that kinda stuff. Pretty impressive, for an eleven year old. Very realistic. But no, the teacher screamed at her, scribbled all over the story, threw the paper away or something, shouted 'no slang! blah blah blah! blah blah blah!', et cetera. Asshole.


The girl is about eighteenish now, I think? I don't know. I got this from the Writer's Forum on gaia. Lots of cool stuff there.


I know, this poem is just angsty crap, but still.

I may turn into a schizophrenic in the future, I think, given my current situation.


Also, just because there are kids much more unlucky, poor etc etc. than us, living in Africa, Iraq, whatever, so doesn't deprive us of our right to angst and cry and stuff whenever we hit a rut in life.


By the way, I wish... oh, peepholes, peepholes.


If only someone was there!


Guys are so much easier to talk to, as compared to girls. Save for the fact that guys run away from crying girls. Haha.


Pros and cons. But it's not like there'll be a girl there anyway.


Oh, self-centeredness.


I'm looking forward to this Saturday, and next Wednesday.


I like my male cousins better than my female cousins.

My writing seems empty, somehow.


She gave him her virgin dazzling smile, the very one that was to weaken and shatter scores of hearts in years to come. Months later, she was to realize the power a simple tilt of her lips could yield, manipulate it to her own use, little white lies. Gavin blinked, a moment’s epiphany; approval in his brief caressing glance, the shy raise of eyebrows.