Tuesday, February 23, 2010



He brushes sleep from the eyes that refuse to open. Somewhere in the fogginess, he hears Fergie crying that she's already so 3008 and that he's so 2000 and late. A weary hand slides out from under the quilt covers, snaking its way through the jungle of stuff toys. The velvety covers give way to plastic, cold from the hours in the aircon. The fingers reach up, the open phone slides shut. Fergie stops. Good. It's too early to krump.

It's a Wednesday. His fingers pass over the blue t-shirt, coming to rest on the uniform.

It's maths again. What's the number of ways that he could pick thirty-two people from fifty-eight? He doesn't know, he doesn't really care. What's the probability that he's picked? His hand movements elude even his own consciousness as they bring the pencil across the paper. The vague outline of one over fifty-eight appears.

he looks down. he doesn't remember writing that.
he's not paying attention, a voice tells him.
he looks up. it's not the face he wants to see.
the pencil slides across the paper again. only numbers appear this time.

somewhere in england, the tempestuous pair rage for each other; rage at each other. people come, people die. hope eventually triumphs, evil succumbs to good. life has come full circle; what must start must end.

the lights shine on him. his hands are raised, not in surrender, but in victory. hopeful, victory. he tells the girl in front of him that her banana is blocking him. she gives him a funny look.

he wonders if she's a great friend.

he walks into the room. it's noisy. it's messy - bags and papers lie dead on the battle-table that his eyes fall open. there's a sudden clattering as plastic meets the tiles. fireworks of laughter explode; glittering elation seems to float in the air, ringing sweetly. a boy notices him, a smile opens on his face as he hollers hallo. the 'lo' sound spikes several semi-tones higher than the 'hel'.

he wonders if he smells like sulphur.

one sits quietly amongst the rest. mini-rockbands are plugged into his ears, his mane falling over the deep wells of his eyes. he doesn't look up as a shadow falls across him; a hand clasping his neck in brotherly embrace. a phrase that both asks for his departure and a female dog is heard.

he wonders if he's feeling better.

forty sit in front of him. their eyes glimmer with a hope not yet fatigued by work, illusions not yet extinguished by reality. he can see the dreams blaze so fiercely in their eyes. it hurts, almost.

he wonders if the fire will burn forever.
he wonders if they'll love each other like he loves his others.
he wonders if they'll have cam-whoring bbqs.
he wonders if they'll fight over stupid things and reconcile almost immediately.
he wonders if they'll cry, some nights, because they're scared of the journey's end.
he wonders if they'll be a real students' council.

...
and yes, he wonders why tears sometimes fall from the eyes of the happiest.

Saturday, February 20, 2010



today i learnt that we've got to love somebody for all that they are.
for the parts that are easy to love.
for the parts that are difficult to love.
because we love those people.

love hannah. love wet. love council. love.

...
and yes, it's another one of those half-past-one days.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010



kill him.
kill him.
kill. him.

blood is red.
red is auspicious.
happy murderous chinese new year everyone.

as usual, i despise chinese new year. yes, not even the angbaos make up for this massive waste of time. i'm sure if i don't give oranges, the world will explode.

it's only good for blackjack. and the holiday. oh sweet glorious holiday.
i lost $40 plus these two days of gambling. mad laughter and shizz though so i'm not too miffed about it. anyways it's angbao money which wasn't even mine so no loss.

i'm going to kill him.
bam bam bam.
die.

...
and yes, it's kinda fun to think about killing someone.

Thursday, February 11, 2010



it's funny how we can sometimes miss someone
even when we've only known that person for such a short time.

maths test today didn't go well. 7/25 ftw. too bad PermNComb constituted so damn little of the overall marks and Vectors had to be a chunky 60% worth of marks. since it's literally impossible to pass given the questions i even attempted, no one's going to be surprised ifwhen epic phailure comes knocking at my door.

also for once, i'm sure it's nice to see a relatively-normal blogpost instead of the weird cryptic ones of yesterday. yes, literature flows through me and i must channel it sometimes. like the famous quote from Cymbeline II, "I must write all down". Indeed, i think i'd burst without any way to express myself creatively.

alas now i am out of creative juices.
tomorrow's the steamboat at the wushu girl's house; vegetarian food ftw. we are so going to jump on her bed.
Fear me, rongming, ph33r me.

...
and yes, i really do miss him.

Tuesday, February 09, 2010



doubt in his eyes
he walks the corridors
faces around him.

Sunday, February 07, 2010



lino sometimes does stupid things.
like applying a blackhead-removal strip onto his sunburnt face.
peeling it off hurt.
like hell.
and now the white colour glue-sticky thing is still stuck.
epic phail much.

considering switching to WordPress or even GASP LiveJournal cause Blogspot is getting more and more annoying. for no real reason actually. wouldn't mind Wordpress though LJ is bad cause hannah and wet will never let me live it down.

back to school tomorrow. real school. not orientation school.
real school.
catching up on work sucks.
particularly when you're not motivated to do work even at the 'usual 'pace.
gahhhh. school.

friendship and ctc ftwftl.
friendship booth with hadi and hannah tomorrow going to be epic.
"buy a sunflower. bitch."

...
and yes, i may actually say that.

it's sunday.
i'm waiting for lunch with yongyong.
and i've got tuition later at parkway with wet and dori.
something's just not quite right but i don't know what.

this week has been the rollercoaster of rollercoasters.
from the highs of orientation to the lows of thursday and friday.
i mean, it just doesn't get any more mama-drama than this.
tears flowed thrice this week.
that's more than....
the past year?

i'm hungry.
and my stomach hurts.
and i don't really want tuition which i signed up for.
fever sucks.

...
and yes, i didn't go church again.