free? i wish i was...

Yay. The day we celebrate our independence. From what? We're still shackled. Only thing is that we're now deluded into thinking we're not. Which is probably the worst kind of bondage.

My captivity is a sort of a different kind. I don't know what to think. To criticize the other party would not exactly be fair. But my parents seem to have issues about me using the computer. They say I'm wasting my life away. Games are futile. There are so many other things to be doing in the world. They fail to realise that they're also against me doing anything I have serious interest in, even though their opposition may not be direct. Sure. Do this. Go ahead. Fine. But so sour face, I don't know what to think. And I'm not liable to directly antagonize them now. At least, not while I don't have my own steady supply of cash.

It's not easy being bound and then made to feel like you're a liability. I don't choose to be bound. Hell, I don't choose to be born, and given the choice, absurd as the concept may seem, I choose NOT to be born. Or since I can't do that, someone come kill me. Seriously. It's very little worth living. I don't see myself doing anything of consequence anytime soon. For one, whatever I achieve is nothing to what I want to. And even if I do get what I want, will it matter?

So many other things to do in life. Like what? Are you even the slightest interested in what I do? You expect me to do so many other things. You don't say it, but I know you're comparing me to other people. So, you'd have me do what other people are doing? Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you. People will soon see that it's better I do not do as they ask. I always do things my way, and sometimes it's just better to let me be.

Maybe the whole point of this contention is the computer. My dad, for one, has issues about me playing games and stuff. Not that he could empathize, really. No, it's easier to believe that I'm wasting my time, that I'm addicted, anything but to admit that I might actually be enjoying myself. I know, I'm a disappointment to his genes. I'm not the athletic sportsman, all buffed with muscles stacked up one on top of the other. I disappoint that I would rather spend what little time left I can reclaim as a kid than do 'adult' things like research and whatnot. I don't blame him. After all, it's one of my many flaws that they would rather dispose of but can't do legally. So sad.

Merdeka katanya. Kononnya. Kalau merdeka, kenapa lagi masih tinggal dalam sangkar? Tidakkah kau mahu terbang? Terbang ke mana pula? Baik tinggal dalam sangkar, tidak ditangkap kucing, tidak ditembak orang, tidak kebuluran, dan terutamanya sekali, tidak sesekali menikmati hidup sebenar yang sengsara.

Life sucks. Or maybe I do. Either one explains the huge vacuum between us.

Jin out.

merde-eka...

Merde is French for shit. Or damn. I think. At least, it's used as an expression of annoyance. And here I sit, exactly half an hour away from the 48th birthday of the titular endowment of this ground, with a half baked lab report waiting for me. I know not what I'm doing. At any rate, I'm pretty much emotionless enough for me to talk on the following topic with much amusement. To myself at least.

The country's about 48 years old I think. Yeah. Something like that. I don't really recall. Anyways, it's well about the time of a midlife, which kinda explains the midlife crisis this place has been going through, though arguably the process has been running for the past 20 or so years. Mostly, the society is beginning to show signs of maturity, as in age, not mannerisms. Well, they're starting to act like some cooped up old crones with anal-deficient nurses. What do I mean? Good question.

Society is becoming very self righteous, not to say that it wasn't already in the first place. But more so than ever now. Each group believes that it has a sovereign right to say anything it likes. Seems that Malaysian society has reached a critical point, where people are becoming a bunch of uptight halfwits who drive like they had eyes on their kneecaps. People should not wear jeans, in that case. Everyone's become so accusing (much like me), everyone else is to blame for your own problems, which I cannot help but agree. I mean, who's the one causing all my problems? Definitely not me! Why'd I be so stupid to do that? Isn't that right?

Another clue is the knee-jerk reaction to every God-forsaken thing that manages to make its way into mainstream media. Oh, a rape case. Let's chemically castrate all males above the age of 12 so that they won't feel like fucking every other girl who waves her left breast in public. Or interestingly, let's abolish Approved Permits cuz they're causing Iron Lady Rafidah Aziz to rust. Or the classic: let's have National Service because our education system admittedly sucks and the kids are unpatriotic and we have no idea why and they're also hooligans cuz they're not mindlessly serving their 'elders' and also I need more money to build my hilltop villa so let's siphon money from the Treasury on pretext of designing this program and most importantly we must have such a program because other countries have it though we have no real idea what they do in it and what they have it for. Sign of midlife crisis? Obviously.

Perhaps an even fairer comparison would be to compare kids here with kids everywhere else. Besides, as the most favourite-est statement of any politician wishing to point the blame on young people, "they're our nation's future leaders!" Let's see. Kids here are spoilt and selfish and boring and fat and rude and not to mention fat because we pamper them too much. Let's run down their self esteem by writing about it in the newspapers and hope that we're right and they're too stupid to read it. Overseas kids are a lot more polite, especially those starving kids in Africa and Ethiopia, where they're too fucking starved to rebel and make trouble for us older people. Indeed. It's much better having undead rather than kids who can think. Yeah, sometimes they're good kids, but mostly they're just retards, from no fault of ours. After all, we're older, and apparently wiser, so we couldn't possibly have made a mistake. No, let's blame it on their personalities and call it a day.

Maybe we should point out how lucky that independence was achieved through bloodless means, and is maintained by all races fairly and equally. Yeah, it's such a fantastic feat. We took the money from our stupid Malay relatives to go to some tea party in London and in return we screw them royally by making some 'protection' scheme for them that seems to be extremely beneficial but actually renders them all secretly sterile by quietly making them dependant on us! Haha. Fools. And those bastard Cinas. They're so good at making money, we just tax them, and use all that nice nice money to make pointless monuments to our equally fantastic stupidity. And let's not forget our Indian friends. They need jobs since they came from such a poor country. Why not put them in plantations to work, barely above the poverty line, which is better than below the line, what! Oh, and take all their SMART children, teach them nonsense in law schools and medical schools, then we put them under conscription, but not official lar, in government service and whatnot. Good what! They got jobs!

Aiyar, let's also not forget our mat salleh kawans. We lure them here, pretending to be all polite, smiling at them at the same time we're picking their pockets. And we can't stop at that. We also con them into thinking this is a very racially harmonious place, so definitely no race issues. No. Unless you're orang putih. That one, cannot gerenti, okay?

Happy Merdeka Day, dudes.

Jin out.

a comment leading to contemplation...

The Malaysian issue. Interesting no? Everyone has a thought. But very few seem to be able to argue intelligently. And stupid people annoy me. Anyways, to be able to comment fairly, you must be a Malaysian, must have lived a significant amount of time in your country, must have also seen some life outside your country, and must stop being so excitable and self righteous, not to mention undergone a frontal lobe lobotomy. Got that? Good.

Malaysia is screwed for a few reasons:

- Goverment sanctioned racism. It's true everywhere else in the world there is racism. But very few other countries officially sanction it. Saudi Arabia might be worse, by why compare yourself to them? If you hate the way they're doing things, I'd hardly think it logical to put yourself on the same level.

- Thinly veiled suppresion of religion. Touchy subject? Deal with it. Seperation of church and state. Or mosque and state. Or temple and state. Whatever. Religion is personal, and while the leaders may choose to incorporate several 'values' or their religion in their administration, if they have any intelligence whatsoever, they should never, never, never, state that we should govern using the principles of this this this religion. That's retarded. You do not add fire to a powder keg.

- Education. don't be so shallow as to looking only at universities. Even the primary and secondary schools are retarded. And it's basically a culmination of the deficiencies of the current government. While the official agenda is to remove segregation and racism and inculcate patriotism and what-have-you, the actual efforts, sanctioned no less, promote the reverse effect. And let's not even get into the quota system and what shit. The very fact that they have to seperate classes by religion for different classes like Moral/Civics/Whatever-Shit-They-Decide-To-Call-It-Next and Religious studies. And there's only one religious class. And also History. Haha. What a fuckingly amusing joke. If only it wasn't so blatantly propaganda.

- Expensive cars. This one I have a personal problem with. Why the hell are they shielding the local car makers? If their products suck, they should suffer for it. This is an exact mirror of the bumiputera issue. You don't really make a plant stronger by propping it up and fertilizing it IF it refuses to make any food of it's own, or grown it's own stalks. And this is exactly the problem. Our national car makers are spineless plants. And also the amusingly stupid AP issue. And besides, I want a CLK.

To be fair, we have to look at what's right:

- Food. this one, cannot argue. You can eat anything here. Cheap summore. If you want expensive oso got. Whichever. There's no food made that cannot be found here. Just try. Look up a dining directory. There is NOTHING that cannot be found here. It may be a bit more gross, but you can find everything edible here. And it explains our current health issues, at that.

- Corruption. I won't say this is a bad thing, although it's not really acceptable. Sometimes, it's necessary. Besides, the courts are already so inefficient, adding to their workload is not helping the social system any. Just make sure that the bigger cases don't escape. If they do, what will we have left for our gossip columns? Oh, and they should make the government more sue-able. That way we can get back our tax monies that they're wasting on colourful lighting and ugly random architecture.

- The people. Sure. There are some fuck-tards out there. And stupid people. But it's my sincere belief that stupid and moronic people should not be allowed to reproduce. But then again, there are also nice people. And Malaysians, although we're a greedy, self centered, and hypocrticial society, we're smart enough to put on a thick enough veneer of niceness to make life pleasant here. And besides, since it's an open secret, no real problem right? It's a lot harder when you're not sure who's really nice and who's pretending.

And everything else, screw that. If you don't like it, make it better or find a new game to play. And since I'm probably never going to vote in this country anyway, I don't really give a damn about the politics. That makes for pretty comfortable living. Got thoughts? Got an argument? Got milk? Bring it on. Meh.

Jin out.

chewing on a bamboo stick...

I like chewing on things I realise. Right now I'm chewing on a bamboo stick. The kind you get from eating aiskrim potong. I like aiskrim potong. Much better than the outrageously expensive 'gourmet' ice creams. Although I must say I do know how to appreciate luxury when I get it. Which is not quite often.

As I was saying, I enjoy chewing things. It's straight forward. I like putting things in my mouth. I chew on straws till they look like a dessicated pile of gooey plastic coated in saliva, which it is. Chewing gum I can do, though I don't quite like the thought of chewing something so sweet but not get to swallow. I chew on keys, paper bags, anything that can fit in my mouth, although I hardly say I do this in public. But the straws, yeah.

So the next logical think to chew on are my thoughts, although it's probably true that I've been doing that too long. And what I've masticated gave me much to digest. It's true. I've lost my purpose in life, considering that I ever had one. And the few people who do care about me do not really know what's the deal on my life, not that I could help them out there. It's hard to give directions when you're lying face down in the mud. In the shit infested mud.

I'm quitting my job. Haha. What a joke. I haven't even started and already I want to quit. Still, it's quite justified. It's strange that they wonder why they can't keep any pianists. 10 an hour is pittance for skills at that level. Artists never stoop so low. And with the number of hours, and the placing of those hours, I think they should at least draw a connection as to why I am not interested anymore. I make more sitting in my room picking my nose. Transport alone costs more than the measly 15 they'd be paying me each day. So I can't even pay for parking and I can't pay for lunch. Why am I doing this again?

Is it any wonder why I'm this way? Is it? Hmm. Being funny is no longer an ability I have. I haven't been witty or amusing in the longest time. I want to just curl up and die somewhere. But it's so hard to do when you know you'll be killing someone out there when you do. There's never an easy way out, is there?

Jin out.

i thought i knew...

I thought I knew so much. I thought I was a good writer. And how could you blame me for either assumption? Everyone told me that least. And I believed. And a stupider thing I have done, though they are hard to list, for the sheer fact that there are so few. I thought I knew. I thought I understood. And maybe, now I DO finally understand. That I know and understand nothing. As much as this veneer of confident arrogance and know-it-allness serves it's purpose, I know better.

Why do I even bother writing here? Good question. Then again, I'm more likely than not alone again. I've lost my audience, or they have lost me. It doens't matter. I write for myself now. Pictures will serve as stimulants of memory, nothing more. To amuse is to amuse myself. To understand will make about as much sense to me as they do to you, assuming that is that you ARE reading this, more the reason because I'm liable to be the only person to read this. I'm sure you'd have noticed the basic outlay of the page before you. A far cry from the slightly more elaborate complexity it used to be. A shadowy form, suited to a shadow of a man. Or boy.

To say that I am who I was, is to lie, blatantly. And yet, I'm more what I used to be than I have been in previous months. With much hindsight, I'm beginning to think of this as an annual cycle. Kinda like having a year-long period. Which explains the constant PMS-ish condition I'm perpetually in. My mood reflects me well. It is quicksilver. And given it's the outside lining of this that I present to the world, I am aptly self appointed quicksilverlining. Does it make sense? Does it matter?

Poetry dies when the writers ends them. And yet they live almost limitlessly as they die for all eternity. The thing about a completed work is that it's both alive as it is dead. As solid as the beginning as the end exists. I'm confusing you? Good. Then you will soon leave I'll be left alone. Like I was meant to. I'd cry, but she would be upset. Or perhaps, she'd cry with me. She loves me that much, and I know it's true. The question is, was she right about me all along?

She's always avoided verbally admitting the fact, the fact that she loves me. And for good prudence. For people so bound by randomness, we both share an unwillingness to allow Fate to thwart us. And to speak something in arrogance or foolhardy confidence is to challenge Fate. And to do that is to invite, at the least, an uncomfortable situation. Maybe that's why I'm beginning to doubt my feelings for her. I say it too often. Ah. Recitals become meaningless words. Whole nations have lost loyalty through the reciting of oaths. Makes sense, no?

Jin out.

long time no blog...

Meh. I don't feel like blogging anymore. My life's not that interesting. But since I suppose some people DO come here, I should at least write something, no? Maybe I should just write what comes to mind.

Okay. First, I think I should mention that Evon came back over the weekend. T'was good to see her, indeed. I think she had about as much joy in coming back as I did seeing her, if not more. Supposed to have met the whole group of marauding CHSers in Itallianies, but some transportation issues caused my delay by a good 3 hours, I reckon. I forget. Anyways, met them OUTSIDE the restaurant and we went walking around not doing anything in slightest way productive. A worthy mention of that day is that I discovered that I suck at foosball. Meh. And also, what little romance skills I have/had, if at all, are more or less dead. It's good thing that I'm ALREADY part of a whole, if not I seriously doubt the chance of ever being occupied. Yeah. Talking stupidly goofy things that I find pretty stupid and embarassing myself, but then, to think about it, I've been this way for the past few weeks. Girlfriend withdrawal symptoms, maybe?

I have a job. Yeah. I think I'll suck at it. But since they're desperate, they're not liable to fire me anytime soon, which is good, cuz I plan to quit. But wait, I haven't mentioned the job yet. I'm playing the piano, or what passes as a piano, at the Jean Gan Academy of Ballet in the 1 Utama branch at Kidsport. Strange thing coming from me, eh? Especially since I've so recently rejected the piano. Ah. The lure of the pay was very strong. 10 bucks an hour. Nice? Very. Only one serious issue. It's less than 3 hours a week. Come to think about it, less than 2 hours at that. One and a fucking half hours. That's 15 bucks a week. Petrol costs more than that. Minus out parking and lunch, I might as well NOT work. Hell. And to add to it all, the hours are broken up. 45 minutes in the morning, 45 in the evening. Maybe I might just kick up a fuss after the first day, since I heard they're desperate. It's hardly justification for me to do this. Ah. On Saturday at that. Meh. Fuck it, unless they can give me more hours, or SIGNIFICANTLY more pay, I think I might quit.

Okay. Now I forget. What else did I do? My world's been in sallow shades of depression and boredom lately, I tend to forget details about everything. I have very suitably shallow levels of enjoyment, and they are quickly forgotten. Stupid life. At any rate, I've been left feeling depressed more than once these few days. Mostly about money. Not mine, but my parents'. Seems that there may not be enough to go around. Maybe I'll have to sacrifice? I've been contemplating very morbid thoughts. Strange that my parents mentioned life insurance. I was thinking the same thing. What do they pay for suicides?

It's a gloomy outlook, maybe. But where is the old cheerful self? Was there ever one? Maybe I realise how dark my life really is. Or maybe I'm deluded into believing it. More often than not, Dad seems to be steering me towards the more economical education path, the wisdom of which I can see. But truth be told, I want to get out of this place. I can't picture myself alive anymore. More often than not, I find myself smiling at suitably morose thoughts, like having myself mowed down by a speeding bus. I have contemplated a Panadol overdose, but figured I'd need more Panadol than I can swallow at once. No, my life isn't hard, nor is the pressure too great. It's the future outlook that's terrible. As you should guess (I say this often enough), that I hate hate hate being alive. Few things keep me alive, mostly it's the equation that Evon and I just talked about.

Yeah, I love her, but is it enough to stop hating myself? I can't really see much to love. Behind the superficial skills and horrible appearance, there's nothing much but a twisted eville mind and an empty void of a soul. Which may explain a lot of things about myself. I'd like to say I feel a pain when people insult me, when they tell me how much I'm likely to fail, or what an embarassment I am. But I can't. Lying brings no guilt, nor does it bring pleasure. More like a relief. A relief from reality. Maybe that's all I need. And even though these psychological releases can be drug induced, I doubt my ability to meet the economic demands.

Another idea for survival has come to mind. I take on the very materialistic superficial world. Meaning, become a yuppie. On constant search for good money, good food, good sex. Moral values will only be a convenient table on which to place inconveniences (much like it is now, I must admit). To be bound only by your pocket and appearances. And appearances can be bought, I heard. So the only preoccupation is with lining your coffers. Fuck buddies galore. Kinda like living in a Friends episode, which reruns and reruns until you go blind. It's hedonistic, but repeated temporary pleasure produces the same effect as long term pleasure, does it not?

Maybe I should die, leave my money and possessions to more deserving persons. I still believe that it should have happened a long time ago. Woulda saved so much time. I used to be less self destructive. That was when I was more self deluded, believing myself to be the superior physical and mental specimen, which was also conveniently emotionally perfect. Then all it takes is a single idea to tear apart that hollow rock. It's strange to see yourself fall apart before your own eyes. But isn't everything fascinating? It should be.

To love is to live. Maybe she's my only source of life. Maybe. Then again, sometimes I question whether I do love, or I THINK I love. And these few days, I'm more inclined to believe the latter.

Jin out.

just a little pussy...

Yesterday, my Mom asked me to pick out a kitten from the drain. It looked like a worm. With legs. But much noisier. And since I didn't know how it got there, I put a floor mat into the drain, and waited for it to crawl onto the mat to be safely lifted up. Apparently, you should never, ever, touch a newborn kitten. If the momma cat comes back, she will be killing the baby cuz it smells funny. Like, who wouldn't kill a funny smelling baby, eh?



Anyways, the stupid looking worm-like kitten was mewing away the whole afternoon, thereby making it a hell of a difficult time to concentrate on playing my level 17 wizard trying to save NeverWinter from imminent destruction from some ancient saurian Creator Race. Eventually, everyone got home, and they brought the kitten, which was by now in a bucket, into the house. And it incessantly mewed. Like before.



Anyways, I went to the pet store to try to find out how to feed the stupid looking thing. So the auntie in the pet store, which was most accomodating in speaking in Engrish to me, told me I had to force feed the thing. Gross. I'm not touching something that was picked out of a drain. Anyways, they gave me a straw to try, and I was too polite to decline, especially since I had solicited free advice, without buying anything from them.



Went back, told my Mom what the pet shop people told me. She made some baby formula then proceded to try to feed the kitty with a syringe. Stupid thing refused to eat. Anyways, managed to force a few drops down the throat of that thing, just enough to keep it alive. Stupid cats. Stubborn eating behaviour will get them killed.



Anyways, this morning, came back down. Strange. It was still alive. Normally, at this age, they don't live very much longer than a day. Came back from college, Mom took him to PAWS. Yeah. That place again. The guy there said it was the right thing to do, cuz they won't feed unless from another cat. Oh well. Gave the kitty to the guy, with my brother insisting all the way that we should keep the cat. Strange thing was that my dad said we could keep the cat for a few days. Which wasn't a good idea, cuz knowing us, keeping that baby rat lookalike would mean it would stay for about the rest of its life. Meh.



In other news, I got my certificate for joining the Euclid maths competition. Apparently, I'm in the top 25% of the participants. My score is 66%, with the global average of 42%. Apparently, Taylor's is number 3 in the world. Meh.

Jin out.

shoes!

Finally got my new shoes. Very nice pair of Nike Airs. Very nice indeed. Color scheme is exactly the same as the previous pair, since I like my shoes brown/black. Particularly nice thing about this pair was that they were newly shipped in yesterday. Went around the whole of Ampang Park for them, didn't find any shoes there, but bought a few CDs. As in game and mp3 CDs. Very nice.

Went to the older section of KL, older malls. Apparently, all the shoe shops there are owned by the same guy. At any rate, I got my shoes, very nice. At least I think so. Take a look. First the old pair:

Then, the new pair!


As you might be able to tell, most of the exterior is leather. Very unusual for Nike, but it's a solid boot-type of shoe that I like. Heavy, which will prove useful in a fight. And the interesting thing is that the base of the shoes are about an inch thick. Mwahaha.

Hmm. Don't know what else to say. Maybe should try not talking so much once in a while, eh?

Jin out.

the good, the bad, the smelly...

Much must be said about the current air condition. Looking outside, it really looks like Gentings. Too bad for the absolute lack of any other similarities. That aside, I suppose it will make perfect sense to look at the good, the bad, and the smelly side of this situation.

First, old fashions are back. Fashions from '97 and '98 are back. Namely, face masks!

Everyone's doing it!

Even the security guard's doing it!

Anyways, I think it was yesterday. My brother went to kindergarten. He came back with one of those now-in-fashion facial accesories, and said: Mom, today everyone in school was a dentist! Talk about accuracy.

Anyways....
To showcase the hazardous air condition, we will take a visual adventure around the college of Taylor's.

The skyline around Taylor's is bad. This view is just over Inti's.

Then there's the view up front. This one is towards the program offices...

Even the garden is like, smokey. It reminds me of those RPG games, especially those combat ones. The smog is absolutely like the fog of war, lolz.

And on the way out, shit, can't even see more than 100m in front. Bloody dangerous. Gonna get someone killed, if no one's dead yet.


Anyways, this is so visual, my eyes are starting to tear up. Gonna wash my face and take a nap. Take care while driving.

Jin out.

so thick you could cut it with a knife...

I look out of the glass wall seperating me from the outside. Everything has taken a milky hue. A yellowish pale opalescence. The situation is kinda like a constant cloud hanging in the air, kind of being like on a mountain, where you really can have clouds between your knees, thus rendering your pants wet. But this one does not wet your pants. This one stings your eyes, clogs your nose, burns your lungs. And it makes everything smell or smoke like. Yet, there are idiots enough that continue smoking at this time. Why not open your mouth and breathe in deep? Same effect, right? Meh.

It's seriously fucked up, the air. It's damn thick, so thick that you could cut it with a knife. In fact, if you run of pencil lead, all you have to do is take your pencil, wave it through the air for a second, and then you'll have enough carbon, lead, and other trace elements to continue writing. It's horrendously ridiculous. It's remeniscent of 1997, where everyone was walking around with masks on their face. Maybe I should. If I do come to college tomorrow. Even under airconditioning, it doens't do much. It still gets in here.

The coughing is getting worse. I'm already suffering brain damage from overheating. And as it is, I don't have very many live lung tissue. The stupid bastards responsible for this thick thick layer of pollutant infected air are not making my life any easier. Strangely, no one else in the room is coughing. Oh wait. There's one behind me.

I remember why I rarely use draft anymore. I wrote everything before this in the Web, found out I was late for a class, and now I'm at home and forgot what I was going to say. Anyways, at this rate, I hope that college not be on tomorrow. But I have a test to do and so I can't afford to skip this time round. Meh.

Take care of yourselves, people.

Jin out.

the fourth...

To be honest, wasn't going to blog today, but it's a marker of a special day, so why not?

Fourth month with Evon it has been. Amazingness. Both random people, I kinda expected that we both somehow randomly forgot about the whole arrangement and go off and do something totally irrelevant. But that didn't happen, which is notable in itself. Mwahahaha.

Four months four months. Wonder how many more we can go. It's like wondering how long till the candle burns out. Eesh. Thinking so hard about an end we do not know will come. Kinda like watching a movie you are anticipating to end. Or watching it backwards. Meh.

It's a short post, but then again, not much else to mention besides the solid brick of smoke that sits outdoors right now, and my incessant coughing. Meh.

I love you, Evon.

Jin out.

back for more...

Finally, fever's gone. Apparently, it's a viral sort, which explains the long period and especially high temperatures, recorded at 38 degrees. Like, shit. And given the dazed effects I'm suffering and my particularly slow reactions, I'm worried that I might have suffered an amount of brain damage, for real. I can't seem to think very properly, my motions are slow, everything smells and tastes funny, my sense of touch is numbed and worse of all, I can't think of anything witty or sarcastic. It's horrible. Worse than being dead.

Then again, being less than myself is better than being constantly in a pressure cooker. The sore throat's still here and is plaguing havoc on my voicebox. I can barely speak above a whisper without tearing a tiny chunk out of my throat. It still tastes like blood (mmm), and the constant phlegm flood is extremely annoying. Coughing is constant and I think it's beginning to freak some people out. At least my nose is clear, which isn't necessarily a good thing considering the dark dark cloud that floats about 2 feet of the ground in this area. Ah, fucking daft people burning equally daft things. Meh.

The good thing is that I do not anticipate a particularly difficult week, which might supply enough time for me to recuperate and revert back to my acidic self again. The labs for this week are all for fun, with no accompanying reports. Hopefully Geometry and English will prove similar. And also, let's hope that no random things come up this week. And I don't think the photography session will start this week. I hate all this indecision. I don't know whether or not I should get the draft session papaers up, or should I leave Mrs Tan to do it. Meh. I'm not gonna do nuts until I get the proper papers ready. If they want to play bureaucrats, then they obviously do not know they have a master ignorer of procedures playing with them. Meh.

I don't know what to do in this condition. I should be at home sleeping, but then again, my subjects this semester do not allow for much skipping of anything at all. It's pretty annoying, cuz unlike last semester, I really cannot afford to miss anything. My head's still very light. It's like looking through a one-sided mirror coffin. I can see out, but no one can see in. It's all very fine and dandy for them, but I don't seem to be able to think clearly through this fog. And you should know by now that I HATE being confused. Confused I am being.

I haven't come up with anything witty lately, have I? Well, it's hard to have any wits to use when they mostly have been incinerated by 38 degree fevers. Wits have a very low activation energy requirement to burn. And mine are particularly volatile, as most can tell.

Ah. Time to leave, into the knee level smog I go. My lungs are already half dead from a childhood occassion, and another half is about to go. Au revoir.

Jin out.

dying...

This morning, I really thought I'd be dead by afternoon. Woke up with a fever, and it was the one frome last night. Like, fuck. It's the pulsating kind, where it gets warm and cool in random intervals so you don't really know if you're sick or not. At any rate, today was NOT a good day to say the least. College was barely bearable. Dragged my corpse through all the classes. I think I aggravated the situation with fried rice for breakfast. Meh. But then again, it's a pulsating fever, so I really thought I was all better. So much for that.

Anyways, music exam was this afternoon. I screwed the first two pieces, and by the time scales came around, I could hear tappin on the calculator. The nice examiner was probably trying to save me or something by giving as much of a passing mark as possible. Meh. Anyways, I think the scales went RELATIVELY well, as did the sight reading and random singing. And I had a sorethroat too. The ones where you constantly taste blood everytime you swallow. Ergh.

Anyways, I have a shitload of work to do that needs handing in tomorrow. I still feel like I'm gonna die, and if I do, I'd like to state a few last words:

~I'm sorry it couldn't have been a longer relationship, Evon. Lolz. You can have my camera. Yeah, not as sleek looking as the one you'd like, but it's the best I can give you considering I'd be dead. And don't HAVE to kiss me at the funeral. Dead lips are like kissing a fish.

~I'm sorry, Hidzuan, Evans, Ing Ling, Veevs, that I can't make tomorrow's dinner. Enjoy yourselves yah? And make sure to make stupid jokes about me.

~I'd like Darien to have my Zen Micro. And he's still supposed to get me a writing job. Hahaha. Let the guilt of not having done that haunt him forever! Oh, you'd need to get new earphones, by the way.

~Kim, I think you can have my collection of poems. If you know where they are. I think there are a few copies all over the place. Meh.

~PokX can have all my coins. That way he can pay for daily parking instead of him complaining that the monthly parking pass is too expensive and he will always have coins to pay. I have a lot of coins.

~Jee Kwan can pour a cup of teh-o ais onto my grave in lieu of my missing the yum char thing we planned. And yes, you can take the tab out of my pocket. If they remember to put in my wallet that is.

~My TravelSound goes to Sing Kwan. I don't know why, but might as well give it to him. Err, my clothes he can take if he likes lar. Dunno he can wear or not. If cannot, then I suppose they'd make good raw materials for making a hot air balloon.

~My handphone, dunno leh. Maybe I'll have it pawned away to pay for funeral expenses. It's a good thing my fixed deposit account has more than enough to pay for a reasonable farewell. Meh.

~To all my online friends who are likely to be reading this too, I guess you'll need to be reading someone else's blog. If you do see a post here AFTER I'm dead, you'd better be pretty scared. Mwahahah.

~Like to say sorry to all my friends who didn't get anything. Although I'm kinda expecting to die, I can't think up a suitable list of things to put in my will. So you'll have to be content with the buffet I'll request for my friends at my funeral with my last breath. And when I said you DON'T have to bring presents, I mean it. What, you're gonna throw it in the hole issit? I want to be cremated leh, so there WON'T be a hole. And burning presents is rude and polluting.

If I forgot anything else, you all pandai pandai mari, okay? You want anything specific not mentioned here, you can leave a comment. I have a nice brass container somewhere in my room. Not very useful for anything, but looks real nice. And my collection of trinkets. Oh, that goes to Evon.

Jin out.

P.S.: I just noticed. That was a really large number of few last words.

it's been awhile...

I've been frustratingly pissed and stoned and headached and whatever shitness that can disrupt your system the past day or so. I really don't have any inspiration to blog anymore. Yeah yeah, said this a hundred million times divided by a hundred million multiplied by seven. Meh.

I really have nothing insightful to say, or do. It's been a fucking corrupted week this time round, and will continue to be so for the next 3 days. Details include the below:

~Yearbook cover that SHOULD have been done by the stupid design department, but they are stupid.

~Formal lab reports. Meh.

~The doom-ed piano exam.

~My corrupted headaches.

~My seemingly okay mornings followed by dementedly destroyed afternoons.

Meh.

Just read the stupid second story for the MPH competition. I really can't be bothered anymore. The only way I'll feel anymuch better is if I win the competition, or if Evon deigns to attach her face to mine lip to lip for a significant amount of time. Meh.

Whose War?

World War II. Is that what they’re calling it? Curious. As far as I know, only the grown-ups have any argument with themselves. We young ones are happy just to be left alone. We are absolutely content in our silly games, foolish pranks, schoolwork, crushes, and even the mostly nonsensical complaints of the older folk. A childlike manner, quite befitting of children. Who says the world is at war? Is it those big people in government offices? Or those noisy dictators on their high wooden podiums screaming at crowds? Or those steely generals barking orders at lowly foot soldiers? I have no idea why they are pulling us into their stupid fights. It’s not as if we ask them to join in our games. I don’t see why they have to.

These senseless arguing defies logic. At least, they defy mine. Worse than children they are. Which may explain why they get us to do their work these days. Instead of playing, we work in factories to make guns, tanks, planes. Instead of learning, we go into battle, with guns, to shoot other children who should also be learning. Instead of being children, we are forced to become adults. And it’s a wonder why anyone would want to grow up. We have enough childish quibbling as it is without having to waste a lot of time making things to fight with.

Grandma always said I thought too hard. She said I was putting this too simply. It was too complicated for a simple mind like mine, she said. Mother doesn’t say much about it. Father can’t say anything about it. He’s dead. Stupid grown-ups. It is as simple as a bunch of overly arrogant playmates not willing to play properly. Then they fight. Then they get other people into the fight. Then there’s an all out brawl. It’s absurd that they teach us to play nice, but don’t do it very well themselves. The only one who agrees with me is the strange old man who lives around the corner. Well, lived. He died in the V2 bombings. I never knew his name.

The soldiers come to bring me to the training camp. There’s nothing left to think about. It’s not as if I have a choice on the matter. If I did, I would be sitting at the junction of Killiger Street and Newton Avenue, gazing at the girl who helped her mother in the candy shop. I heard that her family made it safely to America. I don’t think my family will be so lucky. They haven’t come for us ever since our area got hit by the V2s. Well, except when they felt like they needed me. They need children to fight their wars for them. How silly.

The training in the camp is not difficult. No more difficult than trying not to break down crying seeing another friend lying dead in the street. The rubble and the smoke and the regular explosions tend to numb you after awhile. I didn’t feel a thing when I saw the strange old man from around the corner lying lifeless among the rubble of his house. Not even the news of Father’s death did anything. And the training in the camp is hardly anything, in scope of everything that I’ve been through already, although the guns they give us are strangely familiar to me. As are the uniforms. Of course. Father used to wear them.

The commandant tells us that we will be sent to some strange place that I’ve never heard of before. The younger boys are crying at night in their bunks, though they try to hide it. I hear the quiet hush of the older boys in their bunks, traumatized to silence. I hear the older men speak in whispered tones about sweethearts and newly wed brides. Late into the night I hear them toasting with the cheap ale that the camp rations out. But I cannot hear my heartbeat. I cannot sleep, even though I’m exhausted from the day’s training. Am I afraid of dying? Perhaps. I cannot tell anymore. Thoughts of dying are constant companions.

We land at the field camp, not too far from the battlefield. The camp chaplain speaks to me. He tells me not to be afraid. I tell him that I stopped being afraid a long time ago. A tear runs down his wrinkled face. His eyes are filled with sorrow. In an almost silenced whisper, he said that boys were not meant to fight men’s wars. I walk away. He sits there on a wooden crate, containing the guns with which we would kill other young boys.

The mess bell sounds. We are given what I suspect will be our last meal. One of the veterans, his name I do not know, he hands me a letter. From London, he says. I open it. It seems that my home has been hit by the Luftewaffe. Everyone is dead. He offers his condolences. All the more reason to go kill those Nazis, he says. I do not think boys my age flew the planes that dropped those bombs. No, it was grown men who did it. It was grown men who ordered it.

We are lined up for the charge. Why they put boys in the vanguard, I do not know. But some of the veterans seem friendly. They willingly join us in the front line. The others, I’m not too sure. They seem to prefer to be backup fire. As we lead the charge, the world seems to delay. Everyone is moving so slowly. I run towards a monstrous tank, a grenade in hand. I lob it, and feel a sharp pain in my right. I have been shot. Twice. As my eyes go dark, I hear a deafening explosion. A cheer goes up among our men, but they do not see me fall.

My name is John Doe. I am 16. Not that anyone will remember. Silly adults.

Jin out.