i'm not happy. honest.

end of semester. again. i don't exactly know whether i should be elated for my heart feels heavy, my eyes teary.

reckon it's because i've bombed at the exams. this time for real. it doesn't matter if i stayed till the end of the time allocated for the exam papers. but i just couldn't do them with ease. i was in fact, to be honest, Struggling, just to complete each paper before the time was up.

once again, i'm at war with myself. wondering if i should have spent more time on revision, playing less, slacking less, lazing around less. naturally, the answer would be 'yes'. it's quite rhetorical right?!

but it's all over now. i can't really hit the rewind button and go back, can i? i'm not exactly elated now.

right, i can't possibly be elated if i'm feeling that unhappy. that dissatisfied. that pathetic.

i'm so afraid. guess i need to enlist someone's help to check my results again this semester. the question now is... Who?

story via the phone.

my cousins had to be locked up in the closet before the hurricane hit. it was some weird safety measure my aunt and her husband deviced. but it was wise i reckon... in retrospect.

my baby cousin got pissed that he had to have endless numbers and his long long ( yes very long) name written on his arms in perma ink. he was upset to have to stay inside the closet despite the numerous food and drinks and torchlights ( that he absolutely loves playing with, Trust me). he sensed something was wrong, put up a little fit of a fight in hope to stay out of the closet.

eventually, he managed to keep his bum where it was supposed to be- inside the closet. with specific instructions should their parents not be around, who to follow should help come and how to identify the people they could trust. tags, uniforms, badges. whatever. i'm not sure either.

the doors were shut. and my cousins were thrown into darkness.

i don't exactly know what happened in the thought processes of my baby cousin, but that kid decided to have a fun time and treat the experience of being in the closet with sleeping bags and torchlights and food just like any other camping trip. he started playing with the torchlight, and making out imaginery bugs and what-nots.

ah, i wished i could be a kid once again. and people would laugh at my antics. that i could do certain things completely irrelevant and inconsistent with the mood of the time. and still get away with it... unscathed.

however, i truly wonder what would've happened if he ran out of batteries? ( he's really afraid of the dark.)

of late...

of late, i've found myself unable to construct proper arguments in my head. that suddenly a lot of loopholes appear in the things i say. that each sentence i utter needs a triple take before it actually leaves my lips.

of late, i'd wake up in jolts and then panic thinking about what i was dreaming about. or i'd break out in cold sweat in the middle of nothing. goosebumps would appear at the strangest moments.

of late, my fingers don't run on the ivories as well as they used to. lack of practice perhaps, but i can't find the urge to play. and each time i do, i play sad sad songs. that even fast pieces become slow, and off tempo. i'd play dreary pieces. those that allow me to lose count of the beat. those that required little haste from my stubborn, retarded fingers.

back till a few moments ago, i've been hearing howls of wind from what i experienced back in Japan one tropical storm day some years back. cat. 2 perhaps? i don't exactly remember. but it's scary enough considering that i'm so accustomed to only experiencing cat. 1s in sgp.

my aunt called, at about 2300hours just to inform all of us that they're all fine and the hurricane had past. i heaved a sigh of relief. the fears i've built up in my head for the past couple of days gone. lifting weight off my shoulders.

perhaps it will all be gone- the jolts, the cold sweat, the sad sad songs tingled out on the piano. i'll attempt to sleep now and hopefully it will be peaceful.

mitigation.

Q: explain, with an illustration, what it means to "mitigate one's loss" and state the effect of the illustration [ 5m]

A: to mitigate one's loss would be the attempt to reduce the margin of loss by taking reasonable steps. i attempted to mitigate my loss by writing pathetic one-liners to fill up a one page space allocated to a 10 mark question.

the effect would be lessening the risk of the lecturer hunting me down and questioning me for spaces left completely blank due to my inadequacy to answer the questions adequately.

-

how the story goes...
*
he laughed, then got a bit restless and frustrated ( in that order), and decided to leave. he took the car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to me, telling me to make the drive down myself whenever i felt like turning up.

he booked a cab. i didn't exactly know why when there seemed to be at least 3 taxis out of every 10 vehicles that passed by. i couldn't be bothered anyway. it's not exactly my money. i left him to sulk. turned on the tele and popped a dvd into the player. ignored him as he walked out the door.

oh boy, i can be so heartless.
*

the moments when i lose control of what i write.

i sat in the freezing cold, cursed the air conditioner for its inability to be set anywhere higher than arctic temperature. cursed the humid weather that made me turn on the air conditioner. in a situation like that, i had lost to nature and technology simultaneously.

i put on my track suit to prevent the cold from biting into my skin. my hands shook as i typed out all the words sprinting in my head. each word came out as a release, each phrase a progress to coming to terms with the old me.

i knew not why i chose the topic except that i was in a sort of panic on a friday searching for a story idea that was workable and manageable for a tuesday deadline. a topic where validity would not be much of an issue. that meant writing about something that i've had some form of personal experience in and knew relatively well enough to write without haze.

writing has always been a form of therapy. and that is its primary purpose to me. it doesn't matter really if i got an A for the final assessment. though it'd be good to have a module that i've invested so much of my heart and soul to at each test to give me my first official A of the year.

contradictory statements. hah, i'm just glad i have the ability to manipulate the power of the pen in each of my writing assignments. that edge me closer and closer at each hurdle to reaching gratification and pride in my own abilities.

but blogging doesn't give you that choice. because it's public property.

and i reckon that's the danger of blogging, because you can no longer stay true to the purposes you have set it out to be. the essence of why you created and continue maintaining a blog. because at any second, perceptions of you are placed in jeopardy because of a single post. a single paragraph. a single line. a single phrase. a single word.

the power of the inability to show, to ensure that messages are clarified because there's always so many different interpretations, so many different perspectives. and i post with a nagging feeling each time, wondering what others would think.

the fingers would itch to click on the 'publish' button. but the cursor moves towards the red 'x' box. and the warning message pops up. and a little double click on 'OK' is all it takes to delete the post forever. from preventing others from seeing it and from the potential of a content analysis popping up somewhere else. on some friend's blog. in someone's little conversation. in someone's.....

but somehow this one made it. and it's got published on my blog. and at this very moment, i've just lost control of what i wrote.

died-ed.

had an exam paper at 0900hours today. needless to say, i died. see you in heaven.

oh, by the way, have i ever told you that one of my relatives runs a funeral service business?

inspired. for only awhile.

if i ever get a job that allows me flexibility in my work hours...

i'll be doing my work at night since that's when i get totally inspired. and i'd go trigger happy sticking post- its all over my table. with enough scribblings to give others a hard time deciphering all the ideas and notes i've made.




given that, i wonder how at 0900h-which is the scheduled time for my exam paper- would i be able to get in sync with my inspiration and attempt to get a good enough grade to average a B for this semester.

i truly wonder.

trashed.

i was searching for an eraser in the drawer to clean my scribblings. the only picture of you and i, sitting at the coffeebean caught my eye.

didn't we look fab together? the best of friends, talking about all the crap in the world. sitting at that same spot, never another as we stoned the wednesdays away.

i've been trying to remember your face of late. couldn't summon it from my memory. your smile in the picture looked so foreign. really. that mess of hair. weird. the way you held that paper cup filled with your usual poison. strange.

what's your usual anyway? i don't exactly recall.

you called the other day. it was kind of strange. could hardly remember that crackle of a voice, that accent. that laugh. whatever. i knew not what to say but what i've wanting to say all these past months. to ask you to never ever bother me again.

i seriously don't need you anymore. i feel less secure without you hanging around me. that things are more certain. stable. and i like them that way. cos i no longer need to run into the wall that's waiting for me at every corner.

that i can finally let my heart heal. disallow my insecurities from controlling me. life without you is just like that. Better.

that's it. it's better. without you hanging at every bend in my life.

the photo was so picture perfect. but time has worn the perfection thin. i hate keeping imperfect things.

i take a last look at the picture. hopefully my mind has captured (what i used to think was) the most beautiful smile and ingrained it in my memory.

hopefully.

the picture's torn now. lying in a heap. at the bottom of my bin. under all my paper, stickies, sweet wrappers and what nots.

trashed. and lost. forever.

found this at Post Secret.

sounds oh-so-familiar. guess everyone of us has been through this at least once in our lives eh?

especially if you've been given the opportunity to do so, yet rejected the option. and now all you can do is see him walking around town with someone else.

with a hole in your heart- filled with emptiness of what may have been.

i'm not okay

honestly. i can't even lie to save my own life. so why should i be lying now?