Honest Opinion:
i cannot stand people who had a hard life, worked really hard and became successful just so they can sound like a walking friend machine who is very arrogant about their work. I don't fucking care if you had a hard life. If all you can do after having experienced the 'painful' humble past is 1) sound like a smartass who gets angry with every little thing that detractors say, 2)pick on the words of a detractor with a lousy command of language and fire back with the general opinion, while making it sound as if you know what you're saying ,3)refuse to buck up by saying that he only knows how to use the best to make the best or 4) all of the above, then fuck off. The industry will only phase you out sooner or later when the new generation sets in. and all your backings fall apart.


get a life, be real.

PROLOGUE

They said, well done. Now that you have made it, you can have all the choices in the world.
That they said.

They said, now that you’re successful, you can be what you want in the future.
That, they said too.

They said, now that you’ve cleared all these difficulties, you’re free.
That, oh my god, that, they said too.

I am eighteen years old. I know the difference between the ‘Thinking’ and ‘Saying’.

I regret to say that i do not like vitas. His face and his voice do not match and i quite wanted to punch him when he started singing. I apologize for our difference in preference. Syou, Bill Kaulitz and the failed mainstream stars with rather generic voices may in the end, still be better for me.

And here, i redeem myself with the lastest decent photo from syou.

David Horvitz says

'Coordinate a "group nap" with people who live in different places. Schedule a time in which you will take a short nap for a predetermined length (20 minutes is a good duration). Invite others, who are not where you are, to participate in this (by taking a nap where they are at the exact same time). The idea is that this oneiric moment of solitude is consciously experienced simultaneously in different locations.'

I'm sitting here trying to be friends with price discrimination and all i want to do is to forget that i ever existed.
They talked so much about hope that after a while, i wonder how much of hope do they know.
They talked about songs they'll never write but they've never wondered why they've never written.
My brother's application to work has been rejected and i sometimes wonder how it feels like for him. I wonder if it's the first time anything has ever failed for him.
The failchild here wonders how much more she has to try to catch up. Every race is a drag. Every drag is a race.
I am in an endless cycle. It's not some shit theory about the ratrace. You could end it and climb the mountains, join the monks. You aren't and you know why you aren't. Either that or you don't know but that just means you don't know what a ratrace is. you can't comment. I can't. I've never been in a rat race. I'm in a maze, that is all. When you see the exit, you'll know there's no such thing as competition. You'll know you're all just individuals and with each individual breath you each take, you're just trying to find your path, your exits. There's nothing such as a winner, or a loser. The first to get out will only either wonder what happened to everyone else. The first to get out will be lonely and will wish he can somehow help the rest.

that is my theory. there is no rat race.
I am aimless, pointless and should really read what that chapter is all about.

I started on They Said mostly because i don't have alot of materials to work with. And this makes starting on it a good way to take a break from studying(other than writing here). It's less distracting and since the materials that i've gathered have already runned dry, i can't write. Which makes me stop earlier than i expected. This is good.

Finally, Resolution: I will not go on My Life is Average for the next three weeks, solely because when you're having Alevels, your life isn't Average. If you catch my drift.

Then you be hot, because i'm the North Atlantic Drift, remember.

We were your last hope for humanity and yet you stabbed us.
We were your proud kings and queens, but as the dew settled and slowly disappeared, glittering and floating in the air, we were breathless. literally. we were dead. You prepared our deaths and made a festival of our funerals. We must thank you, my lovely.

The dead and the undead, sitting by the picturesque stream and having a picnic that noone will ever witness.
It's like a dream come through except until now, you haven't spoken. Spongecakes and black tea, silverwares so expensive and china so precious. on a picnic mat that we were supposed to sit upon pretty. Rococo beauty that we didn't accomplish. We didn't exist to feast. The last we remembered of our memories were the war days where we were your heroes, fighting for our kingdom, or whats left of it. Or what we thought was left for us to see.

The kingdom had never existed. You were a lie. You didn't want us to belong anywhere but you were. You were jealous we were magic in the air, cool wind, rustling the leaves and waking the summer.
We were spring, summer, autumn and your bitter winter. We killed your glow but we must have been your midnigth sun.

Yet, you stabbed us.

Blanket fort

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For the record label, see Couch Fort Records, for the Civil War base see Fort Pillow

A blanket fort suspended on strings

A blanket fort is a construction commonly made by awesome people using blankets, bed sheets, pillows, and sofa cushions.^[1] A blanket fort is also sometimes referred to as a couch fort or pillow fort.

As a staple of early childhood entertainment, blanket forts are commonly referenced in children's books including Corduroy's Sleepover and If You Give a Pig a Party. Parenting books frequently suggest building blanket forts as an activity for parents to participate in with their children

I told you, i felt as if i was wronging someone for being against my wave.
And i know that even as i spoke, i was wrong, because i can never be right.
Noone can ever be right. There is only so much that we can get away with.
I sat on my bed and wonder about all the sad things i can see in my life.
I know my love with the Boy is going nowhere, and i know who he likes.
I just don't really know how to put things down nicely. I cannot see how to pack them up,
fold them neatly and archive them. As i grow, i know why you've missed out what i saw,
and i know that there is nothing i can do about now that won't screw us all up.
But it's okay, that's life. And i'm not going to meddle in life's problems now.

On the other hand, having friends like Leonard makes life easier. While Huiyu dishes out logic that i can understand better and Jessica gives me courage to face this all in four weeks, Leonard helps to pick up the pieces by doing pretty much nothing other than talking to me. I think I can do this better than i thought i could.
Catlady and all.
I think it's quite interesting. and i am on withdrawal from you.

An Empty Monologue Between the Air and I

Empty dreams crisscrossing the air,
above us is a set of stairs, a monologue of sorts.
Dialogues between the stars and the red lady
across the dining room.
Our conversations span ages,
time is not of the essence.
A monologue, between you and I.

To the wall i've been speaking,
warm with my breath,
i punched your number in its skin,
hoping
the blood would drench the engravings
times spent under the pale moon, where wolves howl.
One day, this wall will cave in.

It's not the day that has ended
but the lives that just started,
Stealthily stealing the names away.
One day,
reappearing on the list of the wanted,
Is your forsaken name,
and my bloodstained number.
 

On the surface, it seems like you find the papers too harsh, too difficult. Well, if you would stop being so insecure about your kid's intelligence all the time, maybe they'll be alright now. We overcompensate our own insecurities by giving the kids hell and at the same time, throwing them into the 'real' world when they're 2 years old. When their tiny brains have been worked to hell, we blame authorities. When authorities step back and the kids become stupid compared to the rest of the world, we blame authorities. When the kids cannot do the PSLE paper, we blame MOE. when our kids cannot handle the setback, we blame the world for progressing too quickly. But no, we are never at fault. Parents are always right. says you.

I dislike parents who are insecure about their children's intelligence. If parents spend lesser time telling their children that they have to excel and score better than their friends just because they want them to, then maybe everyone will have a better time and will feel more like doing what they have to do, and thus doing better than usual and PSLE will stop being a nuisance to everyone. There's a mindset we need to change. Plus, what has calculator work got to do with your kid's A*? If you want a smart kid with a A* that's worth boasting about, you get him to take the paper without the calculator, you stupid midlife crisis controlling meritocracy-overdone idiots.


 

I told Jo today that i will attempt to survive with the comment button closed.
If i can't truly tell them my personal tragedy, then noone else should be given the chance to tell me.
no, that was a lie. i only told Jo that i would close the comment options. If you really, really want to tell me something, with such a burning desire, maybe you ought to email me, or just call me on the phone. but don't tell it to my face. that is the greatest disrespect you can pay me because you know i can never ever answer in verbal vomits.

Maybe to counter all these hype of the show i am not going to watch until people stop telling me i should, I should come up with a show called -|500| nights of winter. maybe i'll tell you how the protagonist cannot ever, ever get out of the beautiful tragedy loop. Not everyone in this world gets out of their trouble. no movie can ever solve it. Maybe some of them snap out of their dreams, but some more don't. Maybe a more in-your-face and make-your-own-future movie will appeal to me more. No matter how beautiful, i prefer the hartwrenching, non developmental endings. don't give me something unsubstantiable to pine for, to hope for, to wish for.

on the other hand, life is NOT as bleak as it seems. Huiyu makes sense and i promise myself, you, or whoever else who cares, that in four weeks, i will be ready for anything.
It's not just Huiyu, but the old catlady outside school. After my previously failed attempt to talk to her, i quickly chased after her and thanked her. She told me i could try to feed the cats with some dry food too, if i wanted to, because she was worried the cats would be hungry should she be late on days. or if it rains. She told me, i was a lovely person. She told me, God will bless me. She added, 'you will do well for your exams.' She's a very lovely lady. Maybe her make-up is a little strange to strangers, but i don't know. I know my first reaction was that she had done some strange makeup, but Roald Dahl said something like, no matter how physically unappealing you may look, so long as you're a lovely person, the light shines through you. and it was true, i saw her as a very pleasant lady. there was no airs or manic acts that people associate with cat lovers and stray cat carers. she was just this very caring being who learnt that she could spare some for the strays. and i love that lady. she's such a gem.

sometimes, i think i live for very strange reasons.

they always said too much of anything is bad, so i've always believed that living in the past is still a sort of magic that comes to some of us just naturally. Too much magic is too much power that we usually, unfortunately, cannot control. My sentences are starting to make sense.

Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love. Girl doesn't.