... crap.

Two Uniformed Personnel Face Court Over Rape.

Disgusting.




Cracked.com always manages to cheer me up, especially when it comes to the Photoshop Contests.

If Everything Was Made By Microsoft

I love the Mona Lisa and the Solitaire ones haha.

... get quite disturbed when my tracker tells my people've found my blog by typing my name in Google. If it's my parents, I have nothing to hide. Except my lip piercing, but you guys should be used to my love-affair with needles, and I promise I'll hide it best I can when I'm in Brunei, I know how people talk and assume. I miss you both.

So I've been contemplating the pros and cons of getting braces, versus going back to Brunei. Yes, I've been dying to get braces for the longest time, but a couple of days ago I was looking through videos my friend had taken over the course of my last year in JIS.

Yes, they were all quite insane.

But point is, I noticed that the vampire-y nature of my teeth was sort of my trademark.

So braces can wait, for now.

Which means... Brunei, here I come (: Shan't say when exactly, though. So just keep an eye out for me sometime in June, if you know me. If not, feel free to wave erratically at whoever you think I am.

... how strange interesting beautiful it is.

Ideas.

Theories.

Belief.




Sincerity.


Balance, m'love.

Salvation is merely the beginning. Of what is yet to begin.


Thank You.

... like a waterfall"

Was looking through some videos I've taken, found one from about a month ago from when my friends and I were hanging out on Di's balcony, showing her roomate that waterfall trick you can do with the plastic cover on cigarette boxes.*

Sorry it's on its side, I was lying on the floor when I took it.



And no, those aren't mine.




This has been stuck in my head for pretty much the whole month, thanks to various music players and FIFA on the Xbox. Love, love, love.



No, I'm not sure why I'm still awake, either.


*In no way do I promote smoking, or the purchase of cigarettes just so you can do the waterfall thing. It's bad for you. Really.

... despite any level of nonchalance an individual portrays, the need for the bittersweet L word still exists, be he/she even remotely aware of it or otherwise.

And unfortunately I'm far from an exception to that.

I stumbled across some old pictures of myself with my old flame, and I suppose it is true what some people say: that you tend to not remember how the person was, but how they made you feel. Were I to know what he was capable of, I'd be chuckling at myself for having been so naive. But, of course, being the sentimental nerd that I am, I instead found myself longing. Not for him, and not even for the person I thought he was back then, but the sense of security I found myself in; the sense of relief of feeling an invisible entity surrounding you with its presence. And I could probably generalise this idea to any relationship, but given that I'm not all that close with my relatives, I wouldn't really be able to touch on that subject. Maybe that's why relationships seem to weigh doubly to me.

Either that, or I'm just overly sensitive. Ha-ha.

About a year ago, my teacher gave each student in my class a book that he felt represented their personality. Being a Literature teacher (and, I freely and wholly admit, is a beautiful person), he was a difficult man to dissect - basically one of those people who manages to say anything and everything with a double meaning, a lawyer and conversational wizard in his own right. Which is why my friends and I contemplated, for a good half-hour, I might add, why he decided to hand my friend The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes.

No, I never imagined something like that to exist, either.

But this is a man who, after a good two years of observing the minor habits that would usually filter through others, can pinpoint to a good extent the kind of person his student is. Or rather, the way his student thinks. After much deliberation (and attempts to analyse his decision using our despised comrade Structure-Imagery-Diction-Attitude-Theme*), it sort of made sense.

Sort of.

When he handed me a book of poetry, I wasn't all that impressed. Mainly because everyone else seemed to get novels and books upwards of 100 pages (summer was coming, I wanted a free book to read). Death of a Naturalist. I won't pretend I knew what it meant, because I didn't; I later found out that naturalism is "the system of thought holding that all phenomena can be explained in terms of natural causes and laws", which I suppose made much sense, because I tend to justify peoples' actions according to their nature and the typical human psyche (as morally and ethically deviant as they may be) as per my belief that everyone must have a "good" side to them. Why he gave me a book concerning the death of a naturalist, I couldn't quite figure out.

That is, until I realised just how transparent I am when it comes to certain emotions. Specifically those related to romance and my own self-image. The justifications I attempted to adapt to the actions of others were the same ones I used to sabotage my own well-being; by assuming that someone's action was in fact a reaction, I then assumed it was my action that caused them to behave in such a manner, and so began the cyclical dance of self-destruction.

Before I dive headfirst (yet again) in a matter than engages too many emotions I myself am sometimes unaware of, I need to stand at the water's edge and observe my reflection.

I know this may not make sense to quite a few people, and just writing it is sending my brain through multiple waves of insanity. But somehow, seeing my thoughts jotted down semi-obscurely is making it just that more tangible. I suppose ideas truly do possess the highest, most fundamental kind of reality.







*which is quite useful for poetry analysis

... that little survey that's been going around asking random questions, and you have to fill in the answers with whatever song's playing in your music player? My friends and I, being on a drug-free high, decided to play a somewhat X-rated version of it, and just found proof that someone up there does have a sense of humour*:

1) N: Why do we fart?
- Hillary Duff - Come Clean

2) N: Where's Zitler? (the name given to the zit that has taken residence on my forehead - oh yes, it's almost that time of the month)
- Slim Thug - Like A Boss

3) A: Why does N keep kicking my chair?
- This Is Me - Camp Rock Soundtrack

4) S: Why do people get crabs?
- Usher - Let It Burn

5) N: Why do you have all the answers?
- Akon - Sorry, Blame It On Me

Okay, so 2 is sort of strange. But you have to admit the rest are pretty darn accurate.

Times like these, I really do adore my friends. I can only hope we'll still be like this when we're all old and saggy. Which I additionally hope will not happen until I reach the tender age of 120.


*names have been changed to protect privacy/ sanity

... and battle wounds.



Brunei Students' Society Walkathon tomorrow, 7AM at Southbank (:

... me, baby, if I were to ever start a stripping career, I'd be charging a small fortune for it.

My friends and I were talking the other day about how we needed to be cautious of the friends we make, considering the tendency people have of bitching and spreading rumours over in Brunei. I consistently remind people that I do enjoy a good bitch-fest, but spreading rumours I do try my best to avoid. And hey hey hey, I'm all the way down here and it's happening already.

Here's a little something, though, about the Art of Lies: think of the person you're targeting, think about how they carry themselves, and try to mesh the two to see if anyone would ever believe it to be plausible. I'm no whore, sweetheart. Unlike some people, I do have a sense of dignity, which would be quite a useful instrument in the launching of my future and career. A future, in fact, that you wouldn't be able to touch with a 30-foot pole due to your self-destructive, self-sabotaging nature. Think about where I'll be in ten years, and compare it to the piece of excrement reality's going to be handing you. And God forbid, if I do go to Hell...

... I'll see you there.

If you studied as much as you wank, you'd be the Einstein of the new millennium.

In other news... I have none, really. Or at least none that holds a candle to the waning (but still existent) pissed-mist up there.

But, at least, I've found solace in a new family. Love, love, love.

So a ticket to Brunei in June costs about $1200, money that I don't have. And I'd rather not my parents fork out cash just so I could go back for three weeks. Which I guess means I'll be seeing you all come late November til mid-February (:

Oh, and this song's been stuck in my head all week. Followed by my new-found powers of making a certain someone dance with my glowing bitch-stick.

Which unfortunately, doesn't look as sexy as it sounds. Oh well.