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December 31 And It's New Year Again...'Yeah! New Year is coming!' Not my kind of cheer. In fact, I don't cheer for new years. I sigh, instead. New Year equals to 'school is starting soon' and 'I am nearer to The Year of Torment'. SPM is going to be at the end of the year (so fast?!), and I've done nothing regarding it. Well, maybe not exactly nothing, but not much anyway (I've only read one of the three literature books). I haven't even finish the last chapters of the fourth-form sciences syllables.
Why is holidays starting so late but ending so early nowadays? School is going to start on the 3rd of January (so soon?!). Hate it, loathe it, resent it, detest it. But I don't have much things to do besides school. No, I have a lot of things to do aside from school, but it's just that school is the top priority since it's a neccesity. If I needn't go to school, I would have so much time to do whatever I want. But problem: if I didn't attend school, I wouldn't have any skill at all to do the stuff that I can do now. And if I can do nothing, I wouldn't even have any interests or hobbies. Right, so school is good, it's just that everyone hates it, just like healthy food; healthy food is good for our body, but no one-- okay, maybe a few ones-- likes to eat it. Conclusion: good things are mostly hated.
New Year is near, and I guess I should do what everyone-- maybe not everyone, but most people anyway-- is doing, which is: New Year resolutions. What do I have in mind? Be a better person, maybe? Right. Let's try listing the resolutions:
1. Be hardworking, be industrious; no more lazing around (because SPM is 11 months away!).
2. Be bold, be brave, be spontaneous, be decisive.
3. Be active, be optismistic, be outgoing, be talkative; express myself.
4. Do not fantasize. No more 'what if's'. Break free from my fears.
5. Sharpen my skills, if I have any at all.
6. Work harder to grow taller.
7. Find my calling. Decide my future.
8. Quit being a worry wart that worries about everything.
9. Try out new things.
10. Get a life. Live it to the max!
I should start worrying about what I should do after SPM now, and which course I should take for my tertiary education. How come there aren't those counselors that help you choose your course in Malaysian schools? If there are, everything would be much simpler. I wouldn't have to spin between Language and Mass Com. and Architecture and etc. until I get giddy. I really hate to have to make these choices just to realise that I made the wrong one after a couple of months studying the course.
Okay, there is officially nothing good about New Year. To add salt to the wound, people get old every New Year. Right, I repeat: there is officially nothing good about New Year. Period.
December 29 When My Parents Are At EuropeI couldn't publish these because my Internet connection plus phone line broke down for no reason for a few days.
*written on the 23rd of December 2006*
My parents are on a ten-day trip to Europe. This is the second day now, and things are already starting to go of out hands. How am I to hold up to the eight more days?
When parents are gone, children are supposed to stick together, because in that way, everything would be easier for everyone. The elder children would have it easier to distribute the choirs and babysit and be in charge; the younger children would have it easier if in any case they are in trouble even at home. The best way to stick together is to STAY together, and that means staying at home as much as possible. But looks like my siblings aren’t doing a good job about that.
Big brother is supposed to be taking up the job of being in charge and keeping everyone together, but looks like he is not being so good of an example himself. Yesterday, the sloppy him had just been out since afternoon till late night. Afternoon was excusable, since supposedly he was looking for employments with his friends, now that his STPM is over, but night wasn’t so acceptable: he was out to attend a party. Okay, the party supposedly was at his teacher’s place or something, and the fun should have been much restricted, but it’s still not right to go out and have fun and leave everything out of his mind and dumb all the responsibilities on me and leave me at home to suffer from asking the two brats to take baths and do the dishes and blah blah blah. Albeit the two didn’t say it—and they didn’t have to—I know I sounded absolutely like Mom and Dad. And he’s going to go out tonight again. Looks like I have to get from assisting him to substituting him.
My sister is at her stupid friend’s place now. She’s going to spend the night there. Her hideous, devious friends are throwing her a birthday party, WITHOUT CONSULTING HER CURRENT PEOPLE-IN-CHARGE, who are undoubtedly HER BROTHERS! And those minxes even argued with me on the phone to let them have her until tomorrow, when it wasn’t t all in the bargain when she made a deal with my foolish-enough-to-listen-to-her big brother—she didn’t even mention anything about spending the night at her friend’s place! Which part of ‘no parties when Mom and Dad are out’ doesn’t she understand? Letting her go out is already a lot to ask from me, but spending the night at one of those rich-and-spoiled brats’ place? You’ve gone over the border, sister! I can still remember her saying ‘yes’ to her friend on the phone, despite my big brother and I clearly telling her a big, fat ‘No!’ when she asked—no, demanded—permission to attend it. And she’s smart enough to talk my brother into driving her there, thus ignoring my strong reasons to forbid her. What’s more? She didn’t do her side of the deal: in order to go, she’s supposed to do the laundry, which includes (first) putting the clothes into the machine and (second) adding detergent then (third) taking them out when they are clean to (fourth) hang them up under the sun and wait until they are utterly dry before (five) collecting them back into the house again so that they can be (sixth) separated, grouped and folded. She’s only done the first half of the job and she’s off to some birthday party already.
‘You don’t give me anything on my birthday, so is it wrong that some other people want to give me something and do something nice for me?’ she said. As if she gives me anything on my birthday. Besides, it’s not even her birthday yet until tomorrow. When she was leaving, I was fuming already. Then she had to infuriate me furthermore by calling to say that she’s going to spend the night at her friend’s place. First, she disobeyed her managers (attending the party). Then, she ate her promise (not finishing the laundry). Next, she lied (spending the night which she didn’t tell me or my big brother until she’s at the party). She’s so going to get it when she’s home. At first, she was only going to get it when Mom’s back, and that was also might or might not happen, depending on her actions of redemption, but now, plan changed. I am going to ‘give her some sugar’ if she does something wrong when she gets home. Call me a sadist. She can defend herself with the ‘I didn’t know they are going to keep me there for the night when I got there’ excuse, but that’s NOT going to work. Another when-parents-are-not-at-home rule: no impromptu plans/activities, and if there happen to be one, no agreement on it.
Her friends said, ‘We organized this party purposely to celebrate birthday with Emmy (my idiotically rebellious sister), but her birthday is tomorrow, so we want to keep her for the night,’ when my sister called and teamed up with her brainless friends to demand another permission to be with them, and I replied, ‘Then organize it tomorrow.’ Then they pushed their luck by saying, ‘but the friend(who is volunteering her house)’s parents say cannot do it here (at her house) tomorrow,’ but I won over by, ‘Then what’s the point keeping Emmy until tomorrow?’ They were speechless. Nice try, suckers, I thought. And then my sister kept on begging, ‘Oh c’mon, it’s just one night,’ and I got annoyed and fumed and couldn’t go on with the argument without bellowing at her or them. But, I controlled my fury and told my sister, ‘Fine, go ahead, but when Mom gets home, you are going to get it.’ Sis, you love your friends so much, why don’t you never come home and forever stay with them, sleep with them, eat with them, go to school and skip school and get busted into the principal’s office with them, put on those stupid oh-so-punk make-up and pointlessly rebellious attitude and turn ugly on the outside and inside with them, smoke with them, take drugs with them, get raped by your future good-for-nothing boyfriends with them, and get caught to the police station for doing all those stuff with them? But here’s the twist, their oh-I-love-my-daughters-so-much parents would bail them out but not me. Make sure you don’t call me when you get into trouble. Don’t even say you know me, because I won’t save you like big bro.
Albeit my failed attempt in forbidding my sister to stay the night with her busybody friends, here’s what I really wanted to reply at the first place: ‘Why don’t you just plan the whole thing tomorrow or not plan it at all instead of going through all the troubles to keep Emmy for the night, stupid?! And don’t you think that when you want to plan a party for someone, you should at least inform that someone’s family about it first, stupid?! Don’t even try to ‘but…’ with me using that pitiful voice ’cause that voice doesn’t work on me. Whatever you say, she’s not staying the night with you bunch of idiots and actually she’s crossed her bargained curfew now which was 10pm and her big bro or I am coming to drive her home now, stupid!’ Too bad I can’t drive and my big brother is busy playing Risk Your Life on the computer.
I am not going to let that anger consume me any further because I’ll make sure she won’t be going anywhere anytime soon and she’ll do all her choirs at the moment she’s asked—no, after tonight, it should be: ordered—to do them. Call me mean, call me cruel, and call me sister-tormentor, but she’s too idiotically rebellious to not be tormented.
So far, chores and my younger brother haven’t given me any trouble yet, but in the coming eight more days, who knows? Maybe they’ll be bigger headaches than my sister.
12:34 am – the starting of the next day ***** *written on the 24th of December 2006*
Today is Christmas Eve, my parents and sister are not at home, and the Internet connection is not working. The former is okay, though, because it’s not like my parents would have any plans for today. The Christmas spirit in my family is very low. The problem with it is only that today’s my sister birthday, and she’s not at home. I was planning to do a little celebration with my brother for her, albeit my parents’ absence, but looks like she wants her friends more, even when my parents are out and no one is nagging her like Mom. Okay, I might nag a little about chores and stuff, but I don’t nag like my Mom—kind of miss playfully hitting her thighs rapidly and continuously with my palms, and her buying breakfast for us. It’s kind of quiet and unlively without her at home. The real problem that bothers me is the latter of the first sentence. I let my siblings use the computer full-time yesterday because I wanted to watch TV, and today’s supposed to be the other way round, that is me using it full-time, and it was supposed to be good since my sister is not at home to disturb me typing, but too bad something is wrong with the phone line today. Darn it, why does it have to be spoilt today?I was supposed to wake up earlier (which is at 8) than I normally do in the holidays (which is usually after 12) to restock joysticks and buy some breakfast for ourselves with my elder brother driving, but there I went again: unable to pull myself up until it’s 12 already. So I had to make breakfast, or rather lunch—or really, brunch: Milo with wheat biscuits. It was lame, I know, but according to my younger brother, the biscuits had been kept for quite sometime and it’s time to finish them up. And I turned out to be the one finishing most of the biscuits. Elder brother had already finished his Milo before I knew it; younger brother didn’t really eat much. I thought there would be plenty of shows to watch on TV since it’s Christmas Eve, but no, it turned out to be just like normal days. Just like every year, I am not really hoping much presents from and for my friends, especially since this year there’s not even any party to attend, but I think I’d be getting quite a number of presents (should be mostly clothes) from my parents as New Year and belated Christmas gifts when they come back from Europe. Oh, a friend of mine has just sent me a message inviting me to her birthday party on the 1st of January, so I guess I have something else to worry about other than not having any school books on hands yet and how I am to catch up with my studies next year, that is, of course, a decent birthday present. I am running out of good-conditioned disposable items now, so looks like I’ll have to shop for one soon. But I still have to hold up the ‘stick together’ rule, so how am I to go shopping? Wait, I haven’t ask permission from my chauffeuring brother and my soon-would-be-home parents to attend it yet, so why am I so worried about shopping for presents already? Maybe of what they’d normally say which is a simple ‘yes’, they’d say ‘no’ this time, just out of the blue. After all, I didn’t allow my sister to attend a party, so maybe I’d get forbidden this time, though the circumstance has big and obvious differences (the day of my party, my parents would be at home; the day of my sister’s party, my parents are not. I know the rules and circulations, the limits; my sister doesn’t. I do chores; my sister does too, but only when she get threatened or wants something.). I’m officially not upset about yesterday’s incident anymore now, but my sister won’t be getting her small celebration with her brothers anymore—not with me, at least. I suddenly feel like I am magnifying every single flaw of my siblings and problem in my family. Maybe I am. I should change to be more considerate, and tolerable, and accepting and forgiving. I should treat my family like a treat my friends, only that my family are much more stubborn that my friends, and I’d be considered involved if they get into trouble. I am being indecisive again, my angel fighting with my devil.
4:40 pm
***** *written on the 25th of December 2006* It is Christmas night now, and I’m watching TV alone. MY elder brother is out again, at Jaya Jusco to watch some choir or performances by people from some church. My younger siblings are playing computer games, still as active as when the Internet connection worked. Either their games are as fun when single-played as it is when multi-played, or they are really optimistic. Or maybe both. But not me. Most of my affairs with the computer require Internet connection, like chatting, blogging, song-downloading, and sometimes some Java games from websites. Christmas is boring this year, or maybe every year, especially when no parents are at home to plan anything at all. No shopping, no exclusive dinners, even no presents. And this year, the programs on TV seem especially boring. Not much specials or exclusives, except for the usual Disney Channel (well, it’s a kids’ channel, not that I mind watching it). 8TV had a number of shows delayed, if I am not mistaken, mostly for 1 hour, which brought down the impression it had on me. If the people working there are smart, they’d put up better shows with better timing, or it’ll go down. I don’t know how exactly, but eventually it would if it doesn’t keep up the good job it had been doing. There’s no Christmas party to attend, and even if there is, I wouldn’t be attending any of them, since my parents are not at home until Sunday. Hopefully they bring back enough gifts for New Year, since they’ve already missed Christmas. I suddenly want more new clothes, though I find the thought a little ridiculous, because it’s not like I go out everyday or something, so what’s the point wanting more clothes? Call me weird. Christmas is officially over for 1 hour now, and I—everyone, I should say—should buckle up for the New Year now. It’s almost time for new hopes, new wishes, new resolutions, but I haven’t got things organized in my whimsical and capricious mind. I haven’t got ready for it even on the outside. I haven’t packed up my old books (I haven’t finished the ending chapters!) and bought my new school books yet. I don’t need new uniforms, since the Short and Slow-growing me can still fit into the old ones. Darn it. Oh wait, there’s one New Year wish already: I wish I grow taller and cuter and more masculine and handsome. Call me superficial, but looks are as important as intellect—it is, to me, at least. I think I better get all my hopes and wishes organized, so that I’d know specifically what I want next year. 1:10 am December 22 BlogsMany of my friends are blogging. In fact, many people is blogging nowadays. Blogging is like the new groove for everyone and anyone who's not an computer-handicap (unlike the 2006 La Sallian Magazine editor). What is its purpose? There can be a lot, or none at all. You can say it's something to boost up fame and fortune, like Xiaxue and May Zhee; or you can say it's just something for you to share your stuff, like writings or photos or even videos, and express yourself to the people you know and/or care about and of course, the world (the 'big picture'). It can also be your public or private diary. Why am I doing it? Well, it's somewhere for me to do what I like, that is to write, and make myself clear about things as sometimes people can't hear or understand me orally, and maybe even let people know more about me (as that is what people say blogs serve to do).
I am not one of the pioneers among my peers to start a blog, but I'm sure I am one of the pioneers to think about it. It's just my home's condition that made me couldn't be the former. But I've been reading others' blogs to get some ideas as to what I want for mine so that when I started one, it'd be good (and maybe better than the others). And it is, so far so good. But I can't say the same thing to my friends'. I'm not trying to be skeptical or cynical or supercilious, but I find some of them bland and boring and even disgusting-- with all the attention-seeking graphics and annoying music and indecent language and hard-to-read fonts-- Yeesh! Not all of them, of course. Some of them really pour their 'hearts and souls' and put effort into making their blogs readable and should I say, favourable? Those are the ones I 'patronize'. But really, it's not like I hate those fancy blogs or anything, after all, it's their blog and it's their choice of ways of presenting them. Maybe it is just not my point of aesthetics, but I appreciate the effort.
One thing I notice is that most of my peers use Manglish instead of English in their blogs, especially those Bananas (no offence) who usually score in English tests and whose English is obviously better than mine. I know, people might say, 'What is my problem? They want, they problem la!' But I have to say this: Is it so hard to write in formal and normal English besides exams? The effect of Manglish may be more dramatic, but with properly and proficiently expressed language, the effect can be as dramatic, because if otherwise, English movies should be dull. Besides, they can always use the fancy graphics to boost up the effect-- despite disliked by people like me-- just beware to not overuse them of course. For me, I see blogging as a form of practice of writing too, other than self-expression.
Blogs can create fame and start careers-- providing it is not abused, of course. In fact, it has done so. Xiaxue is an example. She keeps a neat blog: acceptable color scheme for background (it's pink); readable type and size of fonts; proper English minusing a little Singlish and swearings; good, clear photographs; and no over- or under-detailed reports or writings about her daily lives. Due to this, the Singaporean now, as I heard, has her own reality show, which stars her, of course. But I heard her oral English ain't so good. Lim May Zhee is another example. She is a Malaysia, a teenager, who has a book published. The name of the book is Vanitee Bee; I haven't read it yet, and I notice I'm digressing. She has a blog too, but for her case, I don't know which comes first. Published first, blog then, or the other way round. But anyways, she has a blog and she's famous of it, that's my point.
You don't have to be a frequent writer-- in fact, you don't have to be a writer-- to have a blog. It's your thing, and you can write whenever you feel like it, and whatever you have on your mind. If you are frustrated with pen running out of ink when you are half way writing your diary, you can try blogging. It's free, (to be dramatic) it's environment-friendly as it doesn't require a pen (it's made from mineral and chemicals) and paper (trees people! Cut down paper usage!), and best of all, it won't run out of paper and it won't go missing! It also saves up space for your home as you don't have to keep on buying new books when the old diary books finish. Wait, why am I promoting blogging? Oh yeah, because it's becoming the new 'trent', and to put it into fashion term, 'Blog is the new black.' Okay, it sounds ridiculous. Then again, of course, it doesn't kill if you are 'outdated'.
Start a blog, if you are amateurish enough to be convinced by me; don't, if you hate blogs at the first place.
December 20 The Name of a Job And the Job of the NameI've just missed a Leo meeting project recently. Couldn't wake up on time because the day before the project was exhausting and I slept too late. I just hope the President doesn't think I'm lacking interest in the club and sack me off, because I'm not lacking interest. Even if I am, I'd force myself to like it, since I'm given a position already, and I'd try to do a good job.
The club had been fun, active, and organised. But after my first year there and a new President was elected, the club deteriorated. It turned into a labourer club, with lame and expensive projects, which make members didn't even want to attend anymore, let alone volunteer to help. And the desperate President couldn't think of anything but demand the members to attend the projects and seldom 'lectured' them. Due to that, members fled, which made the President depressingly desperate and 'lectured' the remaining members even more, telling all sorts of excuses and irrelevant reason to the members for them to be active in the club and to call all their friends back. As expected, the method didn't work. A co-curricular club should be fun, and relaxing, but he turned it into a 'fie!', something that people want to avoid. All thanks to the commitee members, who weren't commited at the first place. Maybe some of them were commited, but they didn't make any effort to show their commitment. I still remember there were always delays or cancellations of projects.
But this is what's happening in school: people crave for name and fame, and power and positions, but they don't work for them-- they don't even work when they got them. They want the name of a job (the position), but they don't do the job of the name they got (the duty), regardless of race. They don't care if they have the ability and capability to fulfil their duty, they just want the name. They think that when they have the name, they'd have the power and respect too, but what they don't know is that people can see through those. For me, whatever position you have, if you don't carry out your responsibility properly and responsibly, I'd scorn and sneer you and ignore and look down on you, even if you are my superior; as long as you are responsible and do your job, I'd respect you and listen to your orders. I'd even salute you if you are holding many positions and you are still managing all of them equally well.
That is why I don't give much respect to Head Prefects. I mean, yes, they are good in their studies, which is the top priority, and are as excellent in their co-curricular-- but that is just superficial. They are only doing good in their co-curricular (note the capital and Italicked letters) On The Surface. In case anyone doesn't know, they hold many jobs for their co-curricular activities, but they only do some-- maybe None-- of their duties. They are using their authorities as efficiently as they are pushing away their jobs: they divide and distribute most-- and maybe All-- of their jobs to their peers and juniors, and they can't say 'no', because as I've said earlier, Head Prefects use their authorities Very efficiently. So now, being a Prefect is no more a pride and fame, but notoreity, and that is also only when you have a position. Many Prefects noticed that and quited. At one point of the year, the teacher-in-charge for the Prefectorial body actually called names to go interview to be Prefects. Depressingly desperate.
Period about Prefects. The librarians were as bad. The past Presidents used to get the name but not the work. They don't have to do anything, except giving ridiculous and superfluous assignments to torment the juniors. One jakun and cool-wannabe past year President used to give us the 'Know Your Seniors' assignment, where we had to ask for signatures from the seniors with positions and were requested-- no, ordered-- to do stupid acts, like singing at the assembly point so that the whole school could hear us, until they were satisfied before giving us the signatures. Of course, I wouldn't surrender to such humiliation and refused to do the assignment just like many of my librarian peers, and complained to the teacher together with my hitherto partnering President. We suffered the same thing for two years, and we defended ourselves for the two years, until the last bit of the clueless but cruel President's kind were gone from the school. I wonder how he is doing now. I bet the miserable him is living his miserable life, miserably slacking in his studies and failing his assignments and getting boycotted and abandoned in his miserable college (even if the college wasn't miserable, with him inside, it's miserable).
After he is gone, the librarian community became utterly calm and peaceful, and the friend that complained with me and I got elected as the Presidents, by the new teacher-in-charge. The library totally metamorphorsed. I bet the newbie first-formers can't even imagine what the librarian used to be. For me, it was a ruin; a morgue with corpses of unliveliness and negativity and cobwebs and ancient books. Next year is going to be our second year as Presidents. I think a lot is still going to change, this time, of personnel. The teacher fired then hired a lot of librarians, but now many of the third-form librarians are quiting, because their librarian lives aren't as relaxing as they used to be when they were in their freshmen and sophomore years: Positions are starting to be aimed for; names starting to be noticed and pinpointed for the new administration; their workload, thus pressure, is rapidly increasing. And it all goes back to what I've said at the start: many wants the name but not the job.
When would this change? No one knows. Maybe it would in the future, but most probably for the worse. How 'worse' can it get? Now, the competition is mainly between the 'better' classes; in the future, maybe the whole student body would start fighting for the name and fame.
An Old FriendRecently, I found an old friend-- or rather, he found me, through my friend. He asked for my e-mail address and added me in his MSN messenger and Friendster friend list, and we talked again, by sending messages in Friendster.
I don't miss him; I don't miss anyone. I only think about them and reminisce the times we spent and the things we did. That is not missing him/her, because missing someone requires also the urge to see him/her again, the want of knowing how he/she is doing right now, the itch to do stuff again with him/her again, and the wish of he/she never left. But I don't have the above impulses-- not all of the above, at least. I only want to know how he is keeping up now that he's not schooling anymore, and how much he has changed since I last saw him. I am actually a little sympathetic that he's given up school. I mean, it's not the end of the world if you fall into Arts Stream, and it's not that bad to slack and can't keep up with the lessons and cope up with the homework anymore, because studies are not everthing in school. You have all sorts of activities, both organised by the school and the clubs-- regardless of their attractiveness and interesting-ness-- too, and more importantly, your friends. And to be cynical, at least you get your certificate for finishing and leaving high school at the end of Form 5, even when you didn't really 'finish' school, or didn't finish it with grace and the supposed results. No one should abandon school, at least until they finish high school or get their Diploma.
I can still remember the times we talked about X-men and Charmed and other stuff that only one of us understood and the other was always confused. I can still remember us writing amateurish stories that we wanted to publish or sell to the TV companies. Those naive times, it makes me think. I still love X-men and Charmed, and I think he does too. But, hey, I just realise I never finish reading his story. I wonder if he's still writing it.
I can also remember the thought I had when I first saw him: Lose some weight. I still had that thought when we knew each other better, and even now. I wonder if he did lose some weight. Oh, he has a set of white and neatly-arranged teeth. That always used to make me envy, but now I'm putting on braces already. I wonder if he put on anything. A lingerie to help lose weight maybe?
It's really good to have contact with him again. Maybe we could re-connect. I have new favourite TV shows to tell him, and maybe he has stuff for me to update about him too.
Okay, maybe I misinterpreted the meaning of missing someone. Maybe I did miss him, but it's just that I'm not the kind of person that have urges when I'm missing someone.
Welcome back to my life, Deena. December 18 The Song-Composing & Singing Competition of Selangor/KL DistrictIt happened yesterday. This competition was organized by the Nanyang Student Club cum Student Journalists, of Selangor and KL District of course, and I was one of the commitee meember (as always, the secretary. I think I'm a bad secretary, but don't know why people always choose me). I can't say it was a blast, but it was rather successful-- at least it was better than the previous years', honestly (don't cry, President). The commitee members knowing their jobs and supposed-to-be-there places without being instructed was one thing; having acceptably suffiicient people attending it and staying there throughout the function was another. I'm glad the attendants stayed, and I'm sure the other commitee members are thankful too.
This year, I have to say my jobs were easy but I had them hard and I think I pissed some of the commitee members off. But it's not like I want it though: I hadn't sufficient sleep and I was sick. I can't use the former excuse of not having enough sleep because I know everyone didn't too, so I'm just going to excuse myself with the latter: I was ill. I seriously was having slight fever and sore throat and my whole body was heating up constantly like a volcano. I had my 'sea water ( salt water)' to cool down and freeze the boiling 'larva' within me, but the brine wasn't much help. I was breathing steam and losing water fast throughout the function and I could hardly quench my thirst and re-hydrolize my body. I only had a couple of beverages. The first one was a packet of RO water, which was too little to lower my temperature, and the second one was a cup of iced soy milk, which was merely enough to heal the dehydration but at least it was cold. I'm sure I looked all worn out and sleepy and bad. Poor me, and poor others, who had to cover much of my job when I overslept in the morning because of the fever.
Yup, I overslept. Everyone (as in the commitee) was supposed to be at the Nanyang Headquarters by 7.30am, but I only woke up at 8! After bathing and breakfasting and being stuck in the traffic, I only managed to get into a train at 9.15am. The journey was supposed to be only 20 minutes, but the slow train took about 30 to 35 minutes to get to my destination. I can still remember sleeping in the train because I was feeling too hot and the air-conditioner was too cold. After walking to the place, it was 10 already. One of the commitee told me, 'Why are you coming here at all when everything's done already?' Ouch, I felt so hurt and guilty. But she was right, all the briefings in the morning, the final touching up of the backdrop, the carrying the newspaper to the registeration counter to be given out to all attendants, the registering the contestants and other attendants and handing them their copy of the newspaper and the fantastic booklet (the booklet was fabulous, seriously), all the things that another commitee and I had to do, they were all done. I have to thank everyone for covering for me. Thank you very much.
The function started at 10. The host was great; the hostess: try harder next time-- if there's a next time at all. I didn't pay attention to the speeches though. I was just getting myself in the atmosphere, and at the same time resisting my body's continuous attempts to putting me into rest mode.
The song-composing competition was good. Good contestants, good songs, good judges-- oh, and a Great judge! Some of the contestants were amateurs, with their acceptable songs and improvisable vocals, but nice try. There's a particular song I like, both the melody and the music composition. I thought she only played the guitar, but she played the piano amazingly well too. She wowed me. And I think her song is very professional, but too bad, if I'm not mistaken, she only won the third place. Two of the judges performed. One is a recording artist, but his looks, his vocal, and his songs are only okay to me. But the other, a composer cum singer, she's Amazing! Beautiful, polite, humble, elegant, and a great musician (nice song, both the demo and the 'packaged' version). Oh, she sings like Faye Wong too! She's absolutely the full package for celebrity. I'd look forward to her music and maybe even album. Love her.
After the competition, the audience was brought to a tour around the Nanyang building. And it was when I sucked as well. I only ushered the people to follow the tour then follow behind the group. I didn't know what I was supposed to do besides that. Then when the tour ended, I didn't know whether they are supposed to be brought back to the hall or to the cafeteria! Then the confusion was settled: they were supposed to be eating at the cafeteria. Okay, but then there was another inefficiency of me. I was supposed to usher them back to the hall at the fixed time, but I did a bad job. Oh my God! I was such a bad coordinator. I hope I didn't offend the President. I'm Sorry!
After having lunch ourselves, a commitee member and I went back to the hall to rejoin the others. The singing competition already started. But I have to give a thumbs-down to most of the contestants. They were not as good as I had expected, but what makes me think bad about them is: they aren't good already, and they still have all sorts of requests during rehearsal. 'Mic louder please,' 'music louder please,' go to hell! Just sing and get lost! No one wants to hear you sing, so don't bother so much about the volume of the mics or music. Hmph. But one of the judges is an amazing singer. The tone of her voice sounds like a combination of Whitney Houston and LeeAnn Rimes. So just imagine how powerful her voice is.
There was a voting session to determine the Audience-voted Most Popular Contestant Award for both the competitions, and some of the parents were just bad people. Everyone was supposed to get a voting paper each to vote for both the competitions, and a few people were distributing the papers to fasten up the process. But the parents were so immoral. They got the papers already, and they said they hadn't get it when the next distributor came around. Bad Parents Award. But whatever heck they did, justice was there. Those parents whose children sang bad but they multiple-voted, their children didn't get the award. Good for them. Nice try, parents, NOT!
Overall, the function ran smoothly-- well, except for the lunch-time part-- and there weren't much delay. Definitely better than past years'. Well, we learnt. I hope it won't be cancelled next year, because I'm starting to think it's not bad of a competition, and of course, because it's reputation is building up already among the people, especially the parents. And you know how much promotion parents can do.
You did good, President, so don't feel sad.
December 13 Sunway Lagoon: My Sexy Back3 E's: I was enthused by the idea; I was excited when I was there; I was exhausted at the end of the day.
I still can't believe I stripped in public, in front of my friends, showing my sexy back-- and flabby front-- to them! Amazing me, always astonishes myself...
Well, it felt 'cooling' and 'empty' without my shirt on, both when I was dry and after I got wet. It felt like too much of the open air was touching and caressing me. Not exactly the best feeling to feel, but I think I can live that, as long as no one suddenly comes and yells, 'You look disgusting! Go away from this place!' If that happens, I think I'd never take off my shirt again. Ever.
I could still remember the fuss I made about stripping and the effort that I've put into getting my front as flat as possible a few days before this outing. I drank more than plenty of water, thinking that it can dilute my blood, so that I get weak a little and slim a little; I also drank alot of vegetable juice, hoping that it can fasten my bowel movement even more, so that I'd 'excrete' more and clear my stomach to make it look flater; I skipped more than I do normally, hoping that the layer of fats would get thinner. But despite all the effort, I don't have the best body among my friends as one of them, and I, had expected-- nor did I have the worst, fortunately. But it's not like my friend would say anything about it anyway. Aside from this issue, the day was fun, and coincidental.
Well, I'd never been to Sunway Lagoon before this, and it's not bad, though I think the fee is a little expensive. The rides don't worth all the paid amount of money. But then again, paying a little more to get some fun and enjoyment with your friends doesn't hurt. Anyway, to me, Lagoon feels like a mini Genting, minusing all the high, big and seemly dangerous rides, plus more water and exposed flesh and skin. The rides are cool, and so is the water. For a person who hadn't been swimming for four years, such as me, it's espcially fun. It's been a whilst since I touched the water (as in pool water, because I do shower everyday), and I'm glad I did today (or rather yesterday, since is's past 12am already). It feels so good to have water surrounding me again, hugging and massaging me once more, tantalizing me like it used to do. But one thing is, I think I've lost most of my swimming skills already, for I haven't been practising them for 4 years.
Fortunately, it was Lagoon, not some hotel swimming pool, and I didn't exactly have to swim. Well, I had to during the Monkey and Catching games, but other than that, I can just relax and let the water sway me around. I especially like the artificial beach, because I've never swam at the sea before. According to my Mom, it's filthy and salty and mostly haunted, so better don't than do. Besides, I'm afraid of sea creatures touching and crawling all over me, so I don't swim at the sea, and have never been pushed by waves before, which makes me love the artificial beach. It is most definitely 'clean (of those stuff)', and there's for sure no sea creatures or dead corals haressing me.
Besides that, the slides at the wet park were pleasurable-- well, maybe just because I'm new to them-- though the lines are kind of long. It wasn't exactly the best day to go there.
Coincidental. This word is used just because something coincidental happened at Lagoon. I saw a absolutely pretty and cute and hot mat salleh girl at the entrance. She's just so beautiful. She has a really pretty face with large blue eyes. She has brown hair, which she dyed blonde, and it was just perfectly tousled. Her outfit totally showed her slim but full-at-the-right-parts bodyshape-- a white, body-hugging spagetthi-stripe top, and an adorable layered blue-and-white skirt. She's a wow. I saw her when she passed by me and looked at me, and I just can't stop looking at her. My friends noticed me looking at her and asked me to go talk to her but I said no, it'd seem odd.
Then when we were done with the waters and walking to the lockers to retrieve our stuff, I saw her again, wearing the same outfit, buying ice-cream. And my friend asked me to talk to her again, and I said no again. After that, when we were walking around to see if we still wanted to ride anything, I saw her for the third time, now finishing the ice-cream. And my friend made noise again, which I, once more, denied.
Well, isn't it coincidental? I mean, of all the people that I saw at the entrance, I saw her 2 more times, of which I did nothing about. Maybe I should've talked to her. Something nice and simple, something casual, like:
'Hi. Can I bother you for like, a minute? My friends are daring me to talk to you, so here I am, talking to you. The name is Timmy, (stick out my hand for her to shake) what's yours? (wait for answer) Right, <name>. <name>, I think you're cute, and hot, and pretty. (wait for her thank you, and maybe blush) Er...I guess my one minute is up, and mission accomplished. (smile) Well, bye, see you around.'
Actually, it wouldn't hurt if I talked to her, but I just didn't, though I bumped into her for 3 times. Worry wart me.
But then again, you can't expect a day to be perfect. It was so fun already, maybe it wasn't meant to happen.
P/S: Oh, next time i might want to try wearing nothing within my surfer pants. Genting: Family Day & Annual DinnerIt happened last Saturday. My Dada's company (of the peninsular chains) had its annual dinner and family day at GICC (Genting International Convention Centre), Genting (duh!). We were late, I think, and when we were finally up at the First World Hotel building after squeezing in the fully loaded lift, my Dad actually forgot to take his phone from his car seat. So he and my brother had to go all the way back down to the car to retrieve it. And I got scolded just because my Dad asked me to search for GICC and I didn't do it. How could I possibly have done it? I mean, I'm such a direction-handicap. What if I went, couldn't find it, and didn't know the way to go back? Then I'd get even more scolding for being stupid and direction-senseless.
Anyway, so we checked in and put our stuff into our room. Well, the rooms in Tower 2 are different from those in Tower 1. But the 'supreme deluxe (or something like that)' rooms in Tower 1 are much more bigger than Tower 2's, although Tower 2's rooms have more fashionable furnitures and look neater compared to Tower 1's.
After slipping in more clothes for warmth, we went back down to GICC for the treasure hunt. My Dad's team partners had finished reading the instructions and questions and were just waiting for my Dad to start. My Dad pulled the whole family in, when he saw the rule: family members can assist voluntarily. Great. So I was a 'volunteer' then. But since I've got no plans or activities there, and I wasn't in the mood to 'enjoy' anything at Genting, I just helped-- a lot, i might add. I myself was surprised by how much I know about the First World Complex. My silly sentivities about places actually helped-- of course, together with my brother's sharp eyes. But I didn't expect winning it, because I always don't win-- let's be straight-forward: lose-- treasure hunts. But at least I did my best that time, really. Those partnering colleagues of my Dad sucked, and it all depended on me and my brother to plan and look for the answers. And my Dad actually chose one of them to become the team leader. Right. Try: being an encumbrance.
The treasure hunt ended at about 6.30pm, and we went back to our room to 'prepare' for the annual dinner. Actually, i didn't know about the annual dinner, nor the treasure hunt. I only knew that my Dad was bringing the whole family to Genting on Saturday, so I didn't bring any appriopriate outift for the annual dinner, which was a formal dinner, Orintal style, again. So, the so-called 'preparing' was actually just a hour of resting and watching Alexander. Great. I looked bad at the dinner. Or else, during the agenda of 'who is the best-looking/most macho/most stylish/etc. guy', i would've shamelessly stood up and nominated myself up to the stage. The performers for the dinner weren't good as well. The 'Mama Mia' didn't sound good, especially the two girls who only sang-- oops, I wouldn't use that word; it should be, 'performed'-- fast-beat and rock songs with their depressingly destroyed voices obviously due to over-singing. But the two good things about the dinner were: the excellent emcee, Andrew Anthony, who kept everything on time, in place and under control and made the dinner un-draggy; and me sitting at the VIP table. I didn't have to cut my own food and dirty my hands and mouth and maybe even my shirt, and only had to eat, and take more if I wanted more. There were ten seats at the table, but only my family, which consists only 6 members, sat at it. So obviously I ate plenty.
After that, of course, it was about midnight already, and my siblings and I (4 people) went to our room, which was a small and only-for-two rooms, while my parents (2 people) headed back to their double-bedded, spacious room. Unfair. I did my toilet business and was actually hoping to have more of it so that by Tuesday (which was Lagoon day) my stomach could be as flat as possible. Anyway, then I slept, though it wasn't a really good one.
The next day, I was waken up by my brother at like 8 something, saying that we needed to go for the buffet breakfast. The breakfast actually started at 7 and would end at 9. Instantly, I was like 'What?!' The organiser is crazy. He expects people to sleep at 1 (after cleaning up and all) and wake up at 6 (to wash up and all) to have breakfast?! He/she must have either a cracked brain or really dark eyerings, or both. The breakfast was just okay.
After breakfast, my siblings played a little arcade while my parents spent a whilst at the casino. Then we could've gone back at 3, after checking out, but my Dad didn't want to. He wanted to play a little at the indoor theme park, but ended up playing small games and spending plenty on grabbing a doll from the meant-to-cheat-couple's-money doll machine (or whatever it's called), because he wasted all the time waiting at the Ripper Ribbit machine with the small kids for his turn (of course, my younger brother and I had to stand in line for him), killing his play-time mood. But according to him, the wait was for my elder brother to play. Right. As if my brother, or anyone else, would want to spend time waiting in a long line just to play a few hundreds rounds at the machine where you hit a button and the frog on the screen sticks out its long tongue to catch insects and apples. Absurd. Then after waiting for too long, he finally gave up and we went home.
I'm glad it's over, because it was not exactly the kind of Genting holiday that I wanted. But I noticed one thing in Genting: there are all kinds of people there-- tall, short, slim, fat, old, young, dark, fair, pale, blondes, burnettes-- but there isn't much pretty people there.
December 08 Granny and Her PhotosMichelle loves travelling, and she loves taking photographs. She would take all sorts of pictures of the places she's inviting. Currently, she's having a holiday in London. She's actually staying there for a while, at her friend's place. Well, she doesn't just crash there lotus-eatingly, but she keeps it like her own house and helps out with the choirs and other stuff. She's having a good time at London, experiencing the snow and the atmosphere of winter that she can't possibly enjoy back in HongKong.
On a slightly sunnier day in the winter, she went with her friend to the grocery shop to, well, grab some groceries. Of course, she'd never leave her camera behind. She wanted to snap some casual daily-live photo of the people. So, there she was, at the giantic and modern and advanced and clean grocery shop. She was picking some fruits when she saw a very elegant old lady. She was wearing classical fashion, a hat with a ribbon on it, a long-sleeved knitted jacket over a fitting button-up shirt, a khaki knee-length skirt with normal heels. Her outfit was of pink colour scheme, only differing tones and shades for the hat, shirt, skirt, and shoes. Oh, she was wearing pearl earrings. The classy outfit with her graceful movements made her even more elegant. She looked as if Queen Elizabeth was shopping there.
Seeing that scene, Michelle wanted to snap it down. But the old lady noticed her when she took out her camera. Michelle asked her to carry on with her shopping as if she wasn't there and explained that she wanted to take photos of people doing normal stuff. And she did as she was told.
Then, Michelle wanted to take a picture with her, for she's too elegant an old lady, and she was cooperative. Michelle asked her friend to take the picture for them, and she did. The old lady wanted to see how did she look in those pictures. Michelle held her the digital camera for the old lady to look, because she didn't know how to function it. But when she saw her pictures, her enthused face dropped into a expression of horror at once.
'Oh,' she mumbled, then quickly raised her voice to a normal tone, 'Those are my pictures?' But her face showed surprise.
Michelle sensed something wasn't right, and she asked, 'Yeah, they are. What's wrong?'
She remained surprised and didn't speak for a moment. Then she suddenly said, 'I look bad. I look so... old.'
Michelle exchanged gazes with her friend.
It turned out to be: the old lady hasn't look into a mirror for a long time. She didn't know that she has turned old. She thought she was still young and elegant and attractive as she was during her younger days.
(based on a true story) Malam KimiaIt happened last Saturday, but now only I found the time to write-- or rather, type-- about it.
What is it? It's the annual dinner of IKM (Institut Kimia Malaysia)-- I don't know why they don't name it in English-- where long and boring speeches are given, (of course) food is served, and money is conferred (Merit Awards).
Well, if I'm to direct-translate it, it would sound odd. 'Chemistry Night?' Nah... Malam Kimia sounds odd enough already. Personally, I don't even think it's appropriate, but what can I do? Obviously it's coined by the old chemists, the I-only-know-how-to-work-and-earn-money stereotypes. It's not like I care anyway.
This year's Malam Kimia sucked. It was improfessionally done-- to be nice, it was too oriental; to be rude, it was too chinese-based, discriminatively chinese culture-promotive. To be judgmental, 90% of it sided chinese.
It was at PWTC, and I was invited to attend it (they even sent an invitation card) because of my distinguished (I'm boasting) PMR results. I was actually one of the recepient of the Merit Awards. But I don't understand why the awards are given at the end of the year. Weird club. Anyway, my parents were at Sabah-- or maybe it was Sarawak-- on Saturday, so my father's colleague was driving me and my brother there-- after some argument with my Dad, I might add.
Here's what happened. When my Dad and I first received the letter from IKM stating that I would be given a Merit Award, my Dad told me already that we won't be attending the dinner this year because he and Mom would be over at the East of Malaysia, and I was fine with it. But then when I received the invitation card, I just said for fun, 'We're so tua pai. People are giving us money and inviting us to the dinner and even sent a invitation card and we are not going.' And my Dad took it seriously and kept on asking me, 'You really wanna go?' I explained to him so many times that it's okay and that we didn't have to go if we couldn't. Besides, this kind of formal dinner is always long and boring and I'm not longing to attend it. But he seemed to can't get the point and actually got a seat for my brother too (with the people from his lab). He even asked his (nerdy) junior chemist or some sort to chauffeur us to and fro between PWTC and our house. How could I say no anymore when my Dad went through all the trouble to arrange all these?
Dad said the guy would come at 6, and so I prepared myself and dressed up by 5 something nearing 6. Then my brother made me changed because if I don't, we'd look like freaky brothers wearing the same colour scheme and design. When I just finished changing and took my socks, the guy was at my house already. So I had to let him wait while I rushed to pull up the tight socks and my comfy, weightless shoes (which I love). But I was glad I changed, because the first outfit wasn't Me enough. The second-- a darkish maroon-coloured button-up shirt and a pair of straight cut jeans-- fits me better, and I was more comfortable in it.
After a silent (the guy didn't even switch on the radio) and boring journey, we were there. We had to search and ask for direction to find the hall. But we were early, way early. So early that I could choose my my own table, not seat, but table. Here comes the chinse-based moment: On the table, the table settings were a plate, bowl, and spoon of crockery, a pair of chopsticks and a chinese teacup. Fortunately there was a glass for lemonade to 'justify' and 'neutralise' the settings a little, but it didn't help much.
A schoolmate of mine was coming, together with his brother, who was getting a award too, and his father. But he wasn't ther yet. I made my brother sit with me until he came, otherwise I think I would freak out, or be bored to death. But when he came, I must say I was a little surprised. He had told me on the phone that he was going to wear a lounge suit, but I didn't expect it to be oversized and made him look improportional (small head, big body). Whilst waiting for the dinner to start, we had small talks, and checked the list of Merit Award recipients for familiar names. We actually found one: She was my classmate during primary school, and the person who I had rumours with. But after a while of craning our necks looking over tables to search for her, we gave up and decided that she was absent, though I was keeping the slightest of hope to see her when her name's announced-- if it was going to be announced at all (names of absent recipients of the Merit Awards would not be announced).
The dinner and function started at 8. I can't exactly remember the order of the performances, but I do know that the hired performers (from some performing school) only sang and danced chinese songs, and the middle-aged female singer even spoke fully in Mandarin. Only the VIPs sang some English and Malay songs. Oh, there was something funny: some of the teenage performers actually said, 'Who are we?' When I heard that, I gaped at them, speechless. Luckily I wasn't consuming anything in my mouth, or else I think I would spit them out. 'Who are we?' It should be 'Who are us?'! What were they thinking? They are not a bunch of small kids, but (from look) teenagers studying in secondary school! Gosh! What do they learn in school? Looks like performing schools only care about, well, performing.
Then there's another laughable scene when the food was served. There were only two chinese sitting at my table, and not fork or knife or metal spoon was provided. When the appetizer was served, the other chinese and I, and my schoolmate's father and brother who apparently know how to use chopsticks, easily grabbed food while the others looked blankly at each other, handling their chopsticks with trouble and holding food unsuccessfully between the two plastic sticks. Then one by one, they asked for fork and spoon, including my friend. At that moment, I really felt (though I shouldn't be) supercilious, and proud to be a chinese. And the dinner went on with acceptable food and average performances, and my schoolmate bugging me with 'What are they singing?'
After a few course of meal and plenty of chinese tea and artificial lemonade (it's from packet), I had to clear my fully-stretched bladder. And they chose that moment to start presenting the Merit Awards. When I came back from the toilet, everyone who were receiving the award were gone, except for my schoolmate who was teaching his Dad how to function of the camera, and I knew immediately that something wasn't right, but I didn't know where they were lining up. Then I heard a faint call from my brother and I turned to see him pointing at the side of the hall. I quickly rushed to it when I heard my schoolmate's name being called out. I asked the lady with the checklist where in the line I was supposed to stand but she didn't bother me, and instead I attracted attention from some of the guests. *paused and continued at 1 something midnight of the same day* One of them so happen to know my Dad, and asked me all sorts of questions. I hope the answers I delivered were smooth enough to not lose my Dad's face.
It ended up that my name was not called, together with two Malay girls, even though I had it ticked on the checklist earlier of the evening. So the 3 of us had to wait while the emcee finished the list then slipped our names in before moving on to presenting the SPM Merit Awards. One of the Malay girls tried to start a conversation with me but to no vain. She asked where I am from, I answered her and we never spoke another word. When my name was called, I walked to the stage with confidence and grace, until something in my shoe or sock got caught between my toes and made me stumbled a little. Luckily I managed to pull it off, and didn't look too bad, I think. I regained my composure, shook hands with the whoever VIP and accepted a A4-sized envelope with a purple-and-silver ribbon on the upper-left corner from him. But I think I was the one to walk to the stage looking the most confident, and of course, looking the best. I can be so full of myself sometimes, i must say.
After taking the award, my schoolmate and I went back to our seats and compared notes-- i mean, prize. Both of us got a hundred ringgit, but his was in cash while mine in cheque. He asked why and I gave him the most ridiculous answer, 'Because you're cheap.' Then he started talking about his 'love life': A girl who he fancied and now un-fancies invited him to her birthday party, and he was telling me that he was going to give her a bookmark-- the bookmark-- which he made some days earlier, after she called him for the invitation. According to him, it has her name on it. He said he was going to give her an angpau of 21 ringgit too, for the compensation of his cheap gift. I didn't know whether to sneer or to gape in surprise. I mean, which sixteen-year-old living in this era gives angpaus as birthday presents? Besides, he's not even married, and it'd be odd for unmarried people to give angpaus, even for an Indian. So I suppressed both of my feelings and told him that it was not an good idea at all. And as if for the sake of eye-rolling, he actually said, 'It's not?' incredulously. I felt like giving myself a heavy smack on the forehead. I mean, like, duh?! So I gave him some suggestions. I tried jewelleries-- those necklaces or bracelets that cost 10 to 15 ringgit each (he can actually save up the extra 11 ringgit from the angpau)-- but he said no. He said that bringing a present out of his house is like getting passed the customs at airports, and it's impossible for him to bring a piece of jewellery out of the house without being questioned like a suspect/criminal/prisoner. So after a little talking and thinking, here's the outcome:
'Is there anything in your house or room that you don't want and wish to dispose but it is still in good condition?'
'Er...yeah, there's one. The book, 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea (or something like that). I received it as a gift, and I never read it. Well, I read it, for like 2 chapters, and it almost bored me to death, so I stopped,' he said.
'Good. Then give it to her.'
'What?'
'Give the book to her. Wrap it up, put a ribbon-- oh, put this ribbon (the one on the envelope) and give it to her, together with the bookmark. You can give the book to her first, then if she opens it up on the spot, give her the bookmark and say, "This comes with the book."; if she doesn't open it up on spot, pass the bookmark to her right before you leave, saying the same thing. That should keep her thinking about you for sometime.'
Personally, I don't know if this plan of keeping her thinking about him (she sort of didn't bother him when he fancied her and made a lot of effort gaining her attention, and now he doesn't fancy her but wants her to think about him) would work, but I'm not the experiment over here, so I've got nothing to lose. Call me nasty. Besides, it's way better than the angpau idea.
Then after hearing the people onstage speaking but not knowing what they were saying (I think it was time for lucky draws) for a while, I was called to leave. My chauffeur for the night wanted to go back already, as he couldn't stand the boredom no more. Personally, I think he has no manners and was being rude. I mean, if you are invited to a function and you've decided to go, why complain that it's boring and want to leave early? Couldn't he at least try to listen to whatever the people onstage were saying and enjoy himself? Okay, he's a vegetarian and the served food was not exactly vegetarian food, but that's too bad for him, for he was dumb enough to still attend it when he already knew the food wasn't his flavour. Besides, who asks him to become a vegetarian anyway? I think vegetarians are denying their canines and the human nature.
Back to topic, he and his girlfriend, my brother and I once again sat in the car in silence, 'enjoying' his bad driving skills all the way back home. What a 'great' night. December 01 Fully-Clothed Freak.That's me. I need to put clothes on at anywhere and everywhere except in the bathroom. Not just pants, but shirts too-- fully-clothed. I can't stand going anywhere without fabric covering my skin, like a phobia or something. I'm a freak, i know.
I don't know how other guys can be without their shirts. Jonks strip their shirts off at basketball courts; construction-side workers work shirtless; lifeguards or swimmers wear only pants at swimming pools even when they're not swimming-- all they have to say is, 'I'm sweating,' or 'The weather is hot.' Or they don't have to say it at all, they just strip. But that's not me. I don't even play basketball (maybe that's why I'm so short); I don't like getting my body dirty with sand and dust, and mud and paint; and I've given up water sports since I hit puberty (and I miss it a lot). But I just can't bring myself to taking off that stupid shirt of mine.
How I wish during a hot day-- or when I play sports at all-- I could just take my sweat-soaked shirt off with a swish, like how my Dad and brother and cousins do; how i wish I could swim in the cooling, and deep and wide swimming pool again, relaxing myself at the rhythm of the water bobbing up and down due to being pushed by swimmers and water-splashing kids. But I can't. I just can't bring myself to grasping the sides of my shirt with crossed hands and pulling it over my head. It's just too hard. No exaggeration made.
And I say I want to be a model. Like Marcus Schenkenberg. Like Jon Jonsson. Ya, right. Big joke. Farce. Who am I kidding? Let alone being short; let alone not having long legs; let alone not having a masculine face and built. How possibly can I be a model if I have problem taking off my shirt already?
I have standards too high for myself and my bodyshape, I know. But I'm not exactly metrosexual, because if I was, I would be working out and playing sports everyday to keep fit and all my skin tan and taut. I guess what I really have too much is: Ego. I mind, very much, about how people see me, especially my outer appearance, and maybe that's why I'm not showing it unless-- no-- until it is in great shape, no need perfect. I want people to look at me and go, 'Wow!', but not 'Yeesh!' But who is looking at me at all? It's not like I'm a superstar or have a third nipple or anything. Stupid ego.
But everyone has ego, right? At least, every guy does, as far as I know. But they can still be shirtless in public. So why not me?
What's wrong with me? |
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