I fink its amaezin'

It's just amazing, how I can completely forget about the existence of my hand phone instantly.
It's amazing how I can easily get inspired by muse concerts - especially the one of Hysteria in Glastonbury. It's amazing how I move from simple 60's class, to 50's blues, to today's Alternative rock genre. It's amazing how I never really want to drink tea.

It's amazing how everything can just change in a blink of an eye. I am going against the current of my own rules. It's life, it is anything.

Controlling my feelings for too long...

What is immaturity? What exactly does it mean being mature? These little standards, we have set to the most difficult perceptions recorded to your personal activity.

The only thing I'm worried about, is how I over analyse things - but don't think right about myself enough. I dissolve, while I give them way. They stand tall - heads up high, affirmed.

Getting pulled into a situation so fragile, is one of the last thing you need, but cannot avoid. Say I am among the three in the tightest of friendship, witnessed. There's friction acting against the two - and everyone has their own opinions. The problem was closed, but it opened itself up to the public. It so happened that one breaks down at the right time. Oh, why is it so naive of people to jump into conclusions, without considering things properly. Though people could not help it, judging people's personality by the profile of their past misbehaviour. All the negatives, comes in towards the opposition team ... whoever lends out a hand to keep in his side. The other gets spoilt with attentions, and the ability to go back and mend to living in the past. What else should I do? Help another friend, who has something to get life going and to unleash anything they felt like without getting threatened, or to someone who's life had just stopped - even with their greatest effort to fix with a tendency to get hurt at times they feel threatened?

I help any individual that feels and are lonely. Finding that their crossroads have gone missing, I'll guide you there. Even if it means just losing my sister's side.

I know the conciquences though briefly taught, I eventually got pulled in. Now I am hurt, the conciquences coming heavy on me - soon or later, thye are going to come for me. They're going to clamp me into their hands, their control, because they know I am vulnerable. Heck, I am only doing what's right. I'm trying to make things better. I've always been the third person, even before a dozen people rushed into to take sides. They gonna pummel me...

People say, Ignore them - feel better for yourself. No... I can't ignore feelings, though I do have the power to control. Things can go out of hand.

I'm losing you, sis. You're growing up, I know that. But I don't want you to grow up in the wrong way. The rebellious, self-based opinioned person that opposed to make blame. You're becoming one. And you're breaking away from me - from all of those childhood moments we had. I've always been the person to tail you from behind. You're way far behind. I don't see you.
I want you to realise and analyse what you've done. To Sammy, ...." to me.."

"You hurt me... You never thought how to minimise, our depression in response to our sensititivity. You want to externally influence other people to hurt us... me... more? What kind of sister are you now? Soem kind of icon you turned out to be."

...but I guess. People, just, aren't perfect. You cannot turn to the past. Think that, and you're just immature.

There, There.

Throughout the day, I managed to keep myself bouyant. Totally floating up in the air. Come to my art assessment, it's like facing reality. I am not myself, she said. I am dreaming. Where have I gone? Looking down, it's as if I expected a grand piano to come down on me, and accepted it. The tears stream off, without my control. I just don't know why.

She'd said we would talk outside about what's wrong. I kept silent for a long while.. and assumed it was my sister, an issue that happened a few days ago. It was a pretty bad state, but having to talk about it, my chest didn't feel too heavy, nor did I felt like it was carried off. It seemed like I've suffered being in the middle, but the more I think about it - the more I am convinced it's to do with me myself and I.

There's nothing wrong with me. I'm a perfectly healthy happy girl, who's got nothign to worry about at the moment. But I just can't find the puzzle. The fact I am losing it on my best subject - a subject I can totally be honest with if any, only means there is something missing. That drive, I once have in art, is not there anymore. There's no push. No inspiration. Not me...

Let Down

When you're growing up, you change, without you knowing it. It just seems like in every academic year, it's always different. You just want to adapt to it, and go along. But what you don't realise is that you lose little bits of you as you gain more new. You would think differently, or at least , you would look ways into thinking differently so that you could improve - just you exploring the world. When that happens, you confuse yourself. You can't think about the thoughts of your past, because you are not a book. You are the character, so how can you look into a thrid person without an effort?

Even the best of people, can become unstable and forget where they stand. My feet is on the ground, but I can't feel them.

Everything is surreal to me. Maybe it's how I was brought up. I couldn't really blame anyone, it's me. When I step into a new house, my mind pictures it as it was. Like learning a new word, it's a new photographic atmosphere everytime. Words, literature, are just not the doorway to my emotions for me. I couldn't describe the atmosphere through that - it's more than just printed on text. It's more than where your imagination could take you. That is why I don't 'feel' when people tell me what's extraordinary. I'm always struggling to find where and how they put their words, and what is extraordinary anyway?

Somehow I've always wanted to incorporate that visually. I forget sometimes. You forget things.

I move all the time.

When you're stuck in the middle, you just want to stand at bay, and watch the situation rest in the depths of the water, never to surface again. And that it could all be fine, before the tide heightens, before dark clouds hovering the sunshine, before the heavy fury of the winds feel slapping on your face.

But you can never stay at bay. It always does wash up on the shores, and you will have no choice but to be in the region of danger. Or atleast you think you have to be.

It's not for anyone to say on their behalf, not to even assume, who's right and who's wrong. It's a problem that arise from both the contributor and the reciever. When there's no sound of peace, there's always something that bugs one. And if someone has the bug, someone's bound to catch it. Me, I'm like the police investigating the case. I'm not so sure who's got the right picture here, but being the sister and the friend, and seeing this all happening, I want it to go back like how it used to. I am kidding myself, because nothing stays. You can't live in the past, because it's gone. You just move on.

And it's not to say who's the culprit either. So don't tell me who I should believe, when I am in the situation itself.

Bitter

I woke up fresh and early, and greeted a weekend morning with a smile. Everyone's asleep, so I got up and freshen myself. I did numerous house chores which I never paid attention to, while looking forward to a checklist of homework to finish by noon. It's a good feeling to be the only one roaming around the sun-brighted house, with the others staying dormant in their curtain-closed dark rooms. On my study table, everything was kept in place the right way for once. Starting on my physics homework seems a piece of cake, and the second I knew it, I was on to my chemistry questions.

It was until then, they woke up. I settled in my seat a little bit uncomfortably.
When I was called down for a second breakfast offering, it turned tables.
And the biggest mistake was when I agreed to come along.

I watched in horror, the situation turning from bad to rotten. The earphone plugged on my left ear is my only hope to bring me to the light I've been in. Hopeless, it never cease to freeze the situation. No chance of slipping anywhere else. I shouldn't even be biting my nails. It was someone else's worry, but I was pulled into it without intentions.

I washed the plates and went up, back to the desk where I have left my homework books open. The place was disturbingly clean and kept organise. I dipped into where I had left off with the questions, but they were just appear like a block of words waiting to be over and done with - and shelved away. I was sloppy and slow, with my work now. The sense of independance was lost somewhere in the far reaches fo the stars. Words from the discussion flooded my head instead... "far from development from your friends.." "inefficient" "not improving..." degraging! Stop this madness!

They are just humans! Stand on your own two feet, your flow of thoughts are precious! Only you can change you if you want it! When are you going to depend on you?

Somewhere in the distant memory, I was taught as a kid to follow straight with the black and white rules, or it meant deep trouble. It's ridiculous, having to live with the habit all these years.
It's the only talent I am missing from when I put myself with my other friends.

Shitbrix

Anything can happen in a few months.
You can call yourself single and proud,
standing on your own two shoes,
but have a phase with a bastard.

Anything can happen in a few weeks,
All of those around you have highlight topics of life on their own,
and they don't need you.
Or at least you don't think,
because you're too bobbed down with you.

Anything can happen in a few days,
You can feel ups and downs and turn arounds,
like riding a roller coaster,
and how bad is it to know,
that there's no one in that empty seat beside you.

Anything can happen in one night.
But when you dream about Chemistry...





...I wish I could remember my invented theory thought to revolutionise science.
Been wondering about it all day. ):

Boundaries are meant to be broken

It's amazing how one comment- one demotivating comment that makes you feel small can make you realise that your worth more than just where you are. It drives you to the edge, put you on the spot of the actuality of your capabilities, and sometimes - your potential outward.

It's the kind of thing I need. One strong comment or memory, that is not too demotivating - but enough for me to realise that I am not pushing it. It's the only thing that got me where I am now. I was silly enough to forget that until today.

In Art, all she ever said was, " Oh, yes you are well not up to date". Then poof, I thirst for progress. My ipod on full blast, inspirations come as easy as rain. It all just falls into place.

Don't you feel the same way?

Dear Mr. Thinker

Dear Mr. Thinker,
You think about everything you could,
Thinking everything has a reason,
A solution you could bite on.

Dear Mr. Thinker oh,
How I wish to show you
that the world you touched
Has never been touched
By your filthy hands
Dusted with logic's name

Beyond that thin silver line that
You have ever thought you've seen,
Oh how you are so wrong.
You never really been
The one with the answers
Have you Mr. Thinker?

Dear Mr. Thinker please chew on this,
That may tomorrow become surreal
The friend you could never see
Had made their existence to you
Can't you see?
Oh, No. You cannot even go there.

Please Mr. Thinker
Don't be blind,
Please lend me your hand
And let us show you the brighter light
And I'll put trust your scarred minds
And I'll give you the youthful freedom
Enter a pure world as we see it

So Mister, Did you leave your skin behind?
Shred off all your wrinkles
And start anew.
You have so much to learn from us,
But your skin has crawled back into shape,
You must let my hand go
We could not help you anymore

For you are just Mr. Thinker.
And you always will be.

You may be a lover, but you ain't no dancer

This all-out murky song is really got me knocking the place down. I love it to bits. My interest in the Beatles - restored. Best to listen out loud. To preserve my feel for it, I shall not listen to it a lot. It leaves me quenching for more. Tempting, and almost irresistible.

But regarding the way I get neutral with songs which I am able to play whenever I want, I'll start ignoring my iPod anytime soon.

"I got blisters on my fingers!"

Receive Results.

My hands felt bloody cold, though the sweat trickled down my neck from the heat off my body. My fingers carefully touched the mouth of the seal and began to rip it open, with every pull shrieked a tear. My heart beats faster. In a minute's time, the result would be obvious.

A silver hope of confidence burst out of me as I ripped the last flap of the seal from the paper folder. I kissed the seat and opened the envelope that reveals two of the most important paper of my life at this point. I took a deep breath, shoulders and chest high up in the air. My fingers shivered a little bit, then I drew it out.

Perhaps I was expecting too much that I am subconsciously prepared for the worst, or at least what was expected. My shoulders fell pulling down a hunched back as if a crate of rocks tumbled on it. My eyes were dead when I spotted the C's, then completely stripped from its liveliness when the two subjects I hoped for had rested with Bs. I looked into the envelop for more paper, surely this isn't just it? Surely I had more As? I was sure I had worked for it!

None. I fell back to the cushion seat as soft as leaning against splinters. All the heat rose up to my head, and I was drained in confusion. The sun shone brightly against the empty sky bristled and blinded me. My ears were could not receive anything. Numbness was felt and I could not move my body as freely as I want. Everything had no life.

It was only those few seconds of deep silence and remorse did I realise that I'm in for it. Trouble is waiting at bay and I am drawing nearer to it. I pulled all my energy to focus on Dad in the front seat. He did not move, he did not flinch. I could not tell the emotion out of the man. It was then he turned his head half to my direction and asked for the papers. Hesitation held me, but to hold it for longer is to sign a death warrant. So I drew a white flag and surrendered.

He read it out loud. His confidence was significant though my hearings were frail. I was unsure what I could make of it. He did not look happy, he did not look sad, nor driven by anger. What's really on his mind? Is it bad?

He gave back the paper to me politely for me to keep in the envelope. I did, and with all my anger gushing in a moment, I wished I would have brought a match with me to burn it.

Dad was surprisingly ok with it. He joked a little, and tried to make things better. Even so, such devices at such times could not avoid the heavy silence that followed right after, prolonging most of the journey home.

I wasn't too sure if I am in a land full of mines, or that my safety was well assured but I sure was lost. I could not decide where to rest - my bed, the computer table, or on the sofa. I was itching to forget, but I did not know what to do. I turned on my iPod, but it just sounded like a radio full of anonymous songs clearly not suited to the mood. Nothing was right, and it was a cycle I've grown to hate over the years. It has gone on for hours.

One thing was clear... Mum cried. Of tears of happiness or sadness, that has yet to be revealed.

It took long for me to realise.

Until the month of Ramadhan, the late age of 16 had I realised how beautiful the sound of adzan, the way the Imam reads aloud his recitations. How I wish to know Arabic, so that the stories of the Al- Quran would unfold and reveal its greatness to me. How I had realise that a mere believer like me is not enough to prove my belief towards Him. There are so many things I did not know, which I had unfortunately taken for granted. It took me the holy month of Ramadhan to realise, for all these years. I would not question Your teachings whenever I can help it. For You are the Merciful, The Forgiving, the Great, the Mighty Allah. The Creator of all Worlds.

Like analysing a black and white picture.

After scrolling down page after page, reading tentatively to each word stitching together to sentences, I felt as if my feet lifted the ground then sucked in to a realm where fantasies and dreams comes true. By the time I reached the end of the page, my heart was pounding. I uncomfortably settled myself in my seat as I considered the possibility of, while I fight my emotions with embarrassment.

My pride won over my emotions and I closed the word document.

At one frail moment, I sat very still realising what I had just done. That this might be what had kept me from giving in for all these years. What had held me from expressing myself freely, distorting and manipulating my emotions without my knowledge – why it just comes as natural. What caused it, might be from the failure of my first few relationships, maybe?

I shook my head to come back to my own senses. It is what had made me who I am today. My actions to stay as stern as a brick wall saves me in several occasions from further fatal destruction of my self-esteem which I tried hard to keep up.

I resume my internet surfing like nothing happened. The thought of the fiction was greatly appreciated, but it still makes it what it is – a 'fiction'. Merely something made up, that might not even come true. It's nice to think about it though, maybe I fancy having those moments as a dream in the upcoming nights.

It's amazing how I could easily ignore and take things to my own control.

In the distant fracture of my mind, I know that control does make me emotionally impaired compared to everybody. Shredding off hopes and worries for later are the best way to ignore your feelings, and finally, forget about them.

...
...
...
...


This makes this. Looking at the way I write- like how I usually write – they are nothing but information. About how I felt, about what I thought. Never a given theme, never a given atmosphere, never include enough 'senses'. It's the present, the fact, and the still.

Just as I was analysing a black and white picture.

I don't understand why?

I may not be the person with the word and complete understanding, but I am learning. During the season of Ramadhan, I was brought closer to my religion that it is by time I should learn some more things about it. It was then I came across of people on the internet having 'problems' about the religion.

But I just don't understand why people address Islam as being stereotypically violent? Yes, they have some twist and turns in their history (and like other religions too) , but it's a religion serving for the Greater Purpose. Why do people believe in these things, what do they owe to media to make them think like this?

It is not a forced religion. It is not a violent religion. It is not a fanatic religion as well. In fact, it's everything the otherwise. Islam believes in One True God (peace be upon him), and teachings in the way of life are written from the Holy Quran for guidance of the human being. It is a pure gentle religion - pure in its sense. For example, Cleanliness is one of the priorities to keep in Islam, for a healthy and bright lifestyle - which is why you take wudhu before you pray. Another is praying - the practice is merely like an exercise five times a day. Exercise are really important, who wouldn't do without being unhealthy? And Alas, to become a believer you are not forced into it. Allah says that when embracing Islam, it has to come from the heart, their own interest. Only then they would become good believers, and be accepted fully in Islam. If not then believing something you don't believe or practice only does more harm to you, and to the religion itself. So it is up to the person, to choose to accept and love, or to groom in hate but with a show of respect, for the religion.

I know the things I say might be biased to you, but I saw the neutral side of things. I completely understand why people turn Catholics, turn Jews, or even became atheists. Some people prefer things the way they are, some people want to have faith to brighten up their life, some people want to overcome things through their mind and body.

Although there are conflicts between religion, but religion serves and has lead a good purpose that can be seen today. Togetherness, Moral Values, Appreciation, Faith, Belief - all that brings people together as one in peace and serenity. A way to distinguish a right and wrong, and increase in spiritual awareness to have better lifestyle. It depends which you believe in.
Personally, I believe in Islam being the purest- that's my own honest opinion. I think some people should take the initiative to learn about the religion more. It's nothing like what you see on television - nothing at all like that.

So stop complaining, and stop getting in the way of people who are interested in Islam. Let them learn more about it, it is their choice. By preventing, it's like stripping toys from a child and build a concrete wall around them. No one likes people getting in the way of their ability to explore. It would only bring more curiousity and feed more interest. Preventing the spread of the religion due to relations, is the same. A person has the free will to believe, and if does not stick to the person, then believe me the person would not want to crawl for it. If it attaches to them, then why prevent it?

The least you could do is to give some exposure of the religion you don't want him or her mixing with, but on the fair side of the arguement. No biased sides, so that the person would only at the very least, devote respect towards it.

Dreams

I couldn't remember what I had dreamt. I would wake up in the morning, remembering a bit of the information like the 'feeling' of the atmosphere, but as soon as I lift my head from the pillow - everything would just evaporate. Could be the extension to my short term memory loss over where-I-place-my-things habit? Could it be that I am losing my grip in the sense of recalling? Is this the early signs of aging off?

I am aware that sometimes dreams are better forgotten. Even so, the more I think of it, the more I crave for it. Dreams are like theatre shows that writes a script consisting of mixed experiences, and you are often the star. It portrays mood, and it indicates if you're troubled or contented etc. Dreams can help boost up your creative mind. It can inspire you to do a lot of things!

That is why I decide to want to remember what I dream every night. It doesn't matter if it's about someone I fancy, something to do with my personal fears, emotional events of the past. It makes me think a little bit, and hopefully spice up the routine I'm following a little bit.

It might be embarrasing to admit, because I would never really allow myself to admit. I was sort of expecting something exciting to come up in my dreams, something that tears from reality. Certain someone to appear. It's a star I was inspired to, that's all. Who wouldn't want?

Arguements

There was a bit of a twist of mood tonight.

In a distant I heard the gate lock, the car lock, the doors clicking. I was getting ready a video that would maybe send them laughing, kept it on pause. The door swung open, and I heard a mumble. It got louder, and louder. I was frozen, it couldn't be could it? They went up storming. The music was dead. I stopped at my tracks. Voices were raising, and I shivered, facing my back against, just keeping it still.

Then there was ignorance between. The Music remained dead. I kept my attention to the computer quietly. How is it going to go?

Seperate rooms now, then the glorious silence. I immediately turned to Blues Rock and gave all my confusion to the guitars.

It hadn't been bad for two weeks, now it surfaced quite unexpectedly. I'm not going to leave home if we stand as the reason. I don't want things to happen before. Never again.

I close my eyes. The carpet was soiled. There were low breaking voices close to tears. I was happily skipping down a second ago, but the next was still on the spot. Half an hour till we assemble for the exam. There it was grounding, the earthquake. Awestruck, I broke down and cry, I didn't like being in the middle, I would rather spend it all off alone in the bedroom. After all of it, I gradually stepped into the crowded library with a red nose, sat down on the computer table, and stopped. I left a bit of my knowledge back where I dropped those tears. My hands began to shake, I began to tumble. That night it was pleasant and it went like a dissipated tropical storm. I never thought, never think, never want to think, of that significant event ever again.

I opened my eyes, and starred blankly on the computer screen.

a sense I am messing

Guitars by Eric Clapton, John Lennon, Keith Richards playing Yer Blues by Lennon/McCartney down in Youtube made me in love with the way their guitar talks. The expressions while they play - priceless. Solos, priceless. It just makes me want to roll on my guitar and feel the rock blues.

Investigating and going through the comments, people had inspected that Keith Richard's Bass was out of tune. Out of tune and out of it, and I wasn't able to detect it. I couldn't even detect if my guitar is out of tune, and that's the most basic thing that any guitarist should learn : to get in tune.

It's like a disorder to be laughed at if you're out to set yourself playing for a band, or just rolling.
I want to get rid of this disorder, if not - how am I going to properly learn what's rock and roll, what's blues rock, what's anything about guitars and their worth.

I must press my ears gently to the echoes of the sound and affirm the notes.
Even if it involves listening for hours. I just want to jam, and if I could I'll jam like legends to my heart's content.

Love Sick

Everyone's talking about love. Everyone's sayin' they got the fever. Everyone's shoutin' they need someone. Well let me tell somethin' that I am not gonna fell for the spell. I ain't gonna have them fever. I can walk the couple district with my own two feet thanks. Imma always thinkin' about that special feeling, is it special at all? Science say your things, It's all in the mind.

A feebish attempt and slightly influence by the easy-flowing lyrics of rock and roll.

Anyway, what it all leads to is why? Why is everyone over reacting about this certain feeling? Yes we are human, but is there a need to be acting like you're available and playable? As if your whole life is reserved for the special someone but yourself and yet you find it fun to do. It's a whore's job, so pay your attention to something else - and act very sane until the time comes. I believe in a love so pure and untouchable, unapproachable with merely any attempts of a flirt.

And yet they say I am not experienced. After regretting some naive experiences of early love bugs, I constantly repel myself from the spell - and analyse a two lover's psychology from a distant. It's funny that people can jump to conclusions, when all they need is to stop and think for a second or two. I used to think these kind of things are unavoidable, but they can be repelled. It's all in the mind!

But I do end up fantasising something I could never get.

Visiting hometown.

We boarded the plane, and my heart skipped a beat. Sitting in the usual group where sammy, my sister and myself sit in unison (and always drifted myself away from their yaoi conversations), I started to wonder - How's everyone? Are they any different? Have they changed? Are they used to a life wihtout me? How long has it been anyway?

My head swirled with questions. I couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous meeting my family, my friends, my hometown.

It hadn't been how it used to be. With the company of a friend in Oman, I felt that I brought along the personality I had developed there to here as well. I didn't switch back to reminisce the old times, and that's how it felt so very different. I saw through everyone and pushed away the desire to copy, to follow along, to just be how I am. For the more reasons, I stuck myself with my friend who does not speak the local tougne to make her feel at home. Also, to prevent myself to be sucked in the false fiasca. They would understand if I divided my attention equally.

Why are the roads so small? Why aren't there loads of people like how it used to be? Why is Mercedes shrinking? Why didn't I come across anyone I might know of?

They called me an oldie - that I had a wierd taste in music. It's just the way I liked it, being different.

Finally, I didn't get to comment much about the food because I simply didn't have much. Yes, I fell sick with a spinning head, overheated body, and dry throat. The very next day, I was screened for any detection of swine flu carrier on the way to Brunei. I wasn't caught, so I was feeling much better.

I might have been a carrier of swine flu though, but it was brief- and thank god.

Flying from countries

Come to think of it, there were a lot of flying. It's much more than I would have thought, being on the air. Is this how wanted celebrities feel like when they have a concert to catch up in the next continent? Then there was so much time to waste just doing nothing.

But enough about flying. What about the places to visit? The glorious English land that I have heard so much. Ah, the British air, a little droplet of your blood through the traces of my own line of blood tingles. But alas, I am just a tourist to your land. My oh my, it is a busy little city.

Paris, the land of love. Of high dominating architectures such as the Eiffel, then the home of artists. Ah, Tour de France were certainly taking place while we were there. There's that cold rainy day, and we just simply ran into the sheds but enjoying every trickle. The environment is just admirable. But the tougne which knows no other seems so foreign, even to my tougne which has the knowledge. Maybe it was shy.

Then we were off to our baseland, my home country. Or, as ignorant as I was when I was small, the world as I came to see it. My eyes were immune to the trees, the high rised buildings that were not living up enough to the standards, the people all shiny and sweaty as they walk past. But bringing my Muscat self, a built and updated personality, back here opens up a new eye. How could I've been so blunt all these years. It really seemed different. It's like stepping into a different environment, another world really. I began to see the forests crowned with magnificent creatures, the people as helpful and trustworhty as ever, and technology building all over the place. Does it really only take fetching a friend from Muscat to break that naughty perception and ego that I have built everytime I come back home? Bless. I'm not afraid to show who I am to anyone anymore.

And now, back home again. Muscat. All the Air condition's broke, and it's even too hot to sit and write away on the blog.

Caption Commenting

they say i am clumsy. i had fries in my pocket. they say i am bitchy. aren't all girls the same?

This comes from a Facebook profile, by someone I know. It's quite sensitive. But it does keep me wondering though about a million things, just exploring the perspective of the person who submitted it.

Describing herself as clumsy would mean she has been observing herself, assessing her qualities while exploring her personalities. The step seems natural for a teenager to become curious of their personal traits. On the otherside, it does mean that she overall gives out a negative vibration about herself and the others around her of the same gender. This negativity engraves doubt of the people around her and herself. Assuming this, she might have gone through the sort of same condition or environment for her mind to close itself from arriving to a rather positive conclusion.

Because for all you know females and males are same but only wired very differently. Females mature physically and mentally earlier than males, but the mental format for each and everyone is not very the same. This theory does not really apply to everyone, depending on the environment they grow up in. So everyone's the same, and everyone's different.

Remember, words are expressions. Expressions are biased depending on the person's inner thoughts. Thoughts (or simply the 'voice'in your head) selects the vocabulary. These variety then affects the emotion which then creates expressions. See how they are related?

Hieroglyphics

I know I wasn't meant to look but curiousity have left me itching to open up the exercise book of a university student who had entitled it in the front cover "the recreation of solar energy..." and the rest were self-assured. Lifting up the front page slowly to reveal the content, something unrelated caught my attention. Merely a thin bookmark had sent me typing away in to google for some discovery - and in less than a minute, I saw a full chart of hieroglyphical alphabets in front of me.

Determined to seek an understanding of the system, I stumbled upon a tutor from a website about understanding the hieroglyphics. It is, naturally, educational and highly interactive.

From there on (although I won't be there for too long to actually memorised all of them), I found out that the hieroglyphics are somehow related, if not, is the point of creation in literature used in the civilisation. The use was dated back 5000 years ago - and was used for quite sometime till the romans.

The glyphs (or diagrams) represents not letters, but the sound/phonetics to make the sentence. Naturally, as the phonetics are taught but not recorded to affirm the exact way they sound, the phonetics get different kind of ways to say. This easily leads to general confusion when encrypting it on to the structure. Thus, ideogrammatic glyphs (also called as derminitive glyphs as they 'determine') are presented usually in the end of a sentence so that it does not mislead. They are not however, phonetics but represents ideas or objects. To be simply put, it helps to identify the meaning.

Hieroglyphic tutor website: http://www.mnsu.edu/emuseum/prehistory/egypt/egypttutor/

Yey Egypt for the invention of civilisation.

The Past : when writing that

I never actually told this to anyone, and if I was freaking scared if anyone spotted me when typing all of that in the previous entry.

It's a childhood memory. But nothing could surpass that. That little piece of puzzle made it harder for me to fall for anyone. It's a secret, that only a few people know of.

Pinky swear.

Besides it would be tiresome to explain it over again, and I would feel so exposed, so .. naked.

The Past

We were naive, we should have known better. It's not really your fault, this time it's mine. I don't want to cause a concussion by going up to you, heart beating fast, and to tell you that I really really like you too. Sometimes I wonder if I did tell you that, what would we do? What would the rest of the class say to me? To us? Would we be together, hold hands for the first time in almost more than 2 years?

But I resisted, because I was scared. Scared for that ending. I am not selfish, but I am frightened that the others who I heard liked me too, would be heart broken. My exams are also vital, and if I entertain would I slip and fail? The walls enclosed, and the door sealed shut - from the opportunity that I sometime yearn.

I really really like you then. I daydream about the time I looked deep into your eyes although it's accidental, the time when you told my friend you liked me though at first you said you didn't when you first came to avoid the rumours, the time where you shyly but finally confessed through a message, when you called me telling me that you told your mum about me. There's more to that than these few things I mentioned. I let it happen, I listened, but I didn't respond - although I do really, I do, like you. You were the best of all of them. But I'm afraid to say that. I am insane.

When that year has gone, you were gone. I met you for the last time when we crossed each other in a mall. I let that go again. And I never met you ever.

When we grew you changed. I stayed the same, but I changed in the end. We weren't meant. After two years of your absence, I was finally cured. I stopped thinking of you and about those three years we went through together, suddenly I am free from your clutches. Knowing that you are not there anymore, I wouldn't dream for another guy then. I grew independent, not needing another love to shatter. I can walk around on my own two feet.

Who is this guy? Why should I need him?

Those days are long gone. Until last night, it all came back.

You were there, in my dream. We were facing each other, talking and smiling. It suddenly came to me how sweet your presence is. It all came back, and we were as good as we were kids. But you left after realising a bruise on my arm. I know what I said to my sister exactly yesterday, that dream are mere replays of your thoughts and experiences. But I came to wonder what it meant... It's been puzzling my mind since then.

But I guess, I could let this little leaf go again. It's all hopeless after all.

Psychiatric Disorder?

"Lissa took the What Psychiatric Disorder Do You Have? quiz and the result is Dependent Personality

You have a hard time breaking away from a relationship. You hate being alone and you feel that you must have a relationship. You have a hard time making even the simplest of decisions and you will often subordinate your needs to keep your significant other with you. In other words, you are co-dependent even in a toxic relationship."



That's a test I did in Facebook. I denied the result as I implied it on myself, but as I read further begin to wonder - to really refer back I have came into a revelation. It's almost true at times, though it really depends on how I feel. I do recall giving into whoever I was close to.

I remember being turned down by a friend, a best friend in fact, from the internet. It was stressful and it was tense. I was literally out of my soul that time, blaming it all on me. It took me hard to convince her back and I did in the end - we came into a resolution. Even so, I could still remember the feeling. It was horrible and I felt empty, drowned, useless. For my aid at the time, I sleep them all off with tears running down my soured face. I was so happy when we were back together again. Lookin back, I couldn't believe how weak. I've always adored someone who is strong for themselves.

For my lovelife, I am not very prone and vulnerable, though secretly I do care whether they like me or not and why for, and if they still like me. I may be independent as I always say I am in my lovelife, but once I got the concrete set up on my feet knocked down, I'll fall head over heals though I do not look like it. So far, no one I have met had done that.

So this result is true. Well, very true. But nowadays, because I am currently and constantly aiding that weakness, it depends on how much that person had convinced me in the first place. Still though, If I have a problem with another person, I would escape to someone other who I could lean on.

You shouldn't shut someone completely.

I know there's no reason for me to write this at all - heck, it's not even my problem - but it's just one of those days you would want to write about something when you know that somethin is not right.

This could last only for awhile and just disappear like nothing's happened, but I can't help but feel.

My sister has been hanging around with her a lot. It's crazy, but I know she's found - both of them found - someone to lean on. It is sweet, but in some ways bends many rules that we played all this while. The people around, just became suspicious. Then I see changes evolve around the friendship status (added with insecurity), but I guess it is worth it. They were pretty happy with each other and she became closer to me, to us as a family.

But just the day before at late hour, my sister started not talking at all. Not to me, not to her - especially not to her. She shut herself in silence and went off to bed without any sort of notice. Because of this, the visitor would feel left out, right? And I feel that's totally wrong.

The same thing happened the next day when we were picking up my brother from the airport. Well, the whole day actually. Not a word. Just silence. When someone urges, no answer came out from my sister. There must be something going on, something big perhaps - but it shouldn't lead to this. She tried to cheer my sister up and she refused.

All I am saying is, that it is totally unfair to her, the way my sister is treating her. She stays overnight and to shut her in her loneliness - let alone leave her completely - that's just selfish and unfair. Sure we dealt with problems, we all have problems don't we? But that's just too selfish. Taken things too far. Jeopardise others and your relationship. But what could you do? At least be considerate. I know it's hard but you shouldn't just leave and let alone, you know? It's cruel.

She hung out with me most of the time, which I am perfectly fine with because she is my best friend too after all - almost like a sister to be frank. But usually she would play with the both of us.

bored at home.

Confined at home for almost about a week makes me sick. It gives me headaches, and I feel like I don't want to do anything though I have tonnes that I could. Sleep the pain away? Just makes it worse. Amazing how boredom can just take you completely off your pathway. I guess I have to be more open minded.

Asked to prom

Don't get me wrong, I like you. I know the times you've been telling my friends and my sister, you like me, and shoving it off. I know, but I pretended, and it's not your fault. It's mine, it could be me for all you know, and I shouldn't have it I would have known but it would be nice.

Don't get me wrong, but it's too early to ask me right there in the internet. I feel a bit odd, but greatful neither the less, and I appreciate you asking me. This is i'm not looking to prom and I would rest to that idea. I am already have beaten that time, half feeling like I want to get the day over and done with. It wasn't right. But I said I would be thinking.

Don't get me wrong, I didn't want to do this, I didn't want to ignore the matchmaker while I was fully online, I didn't mean to. I just didn't want him to influence my decision, like the time he nudged me on this other guy the same time last year. I didn't want to, because I know the tricks he would pull up his sleeves, and you don't need that if you want it to be true.

Don't get me wrong, but I knew I had to do it last night before it's going a bit too late. I remember my words clearly when I told you "I won't take long"and I did and I could not let it pass anytime longer. So I grabbed my friend's help and experience and words and put them together in a message. You were awake at night, and I told you straight. And boy, did I feel so heavy that time. I didn't want to break you, but I did. Like jumping into a big whirlpool I did. And I didn't like it at all..

Dont'get me wrong, it's myself really. It's not you

Boys listen

You didn't have to do that, though I did sortof expected you to.
I stand on my two feet when I tell other boys, I am not ready.
Because I am not ready.

I don't have a pretty face,
I might have ugly fits of giggles,
I'm insecure.

I hunger for experience.
But Ï may have flinched once or twice.
Giving off my independence,
And surrendering to this drug people call love.

I repel from the very word,
Though I do think of if once or twice in real life.
And continue to dream for people who I can't simply reach.
True story.

So don't cry in sorrow,
In emptiness, in vain.
It will all shed to past.
You will come to the light again,
And fly your freedom.

One day, you'll meet the other
You longed your hand in his
And he'll take it with respect
With an endless love that will take you far
And you will celebrate you two to one.

disaster

Someone asked me to the prom about two days ago. It was online, while I was chatting aimlessly to anyone online - a few hours after my exams had ended. I had said that I would give a think about it, just give me a few days.

This is the first time I've ever been asked to prom to. Maybe the last, I don't know. But all I know is that I wasn't really looking forward to the prom so much in the first place, and only decided to go for my friends - some people who are moving. I wouldn't mind, although there is a tweek bit of me that resent this, to skive the whole dancing part of the social event. Especially slow-dancing. I even agreed this with my friend beforehand.

Due to my experience last year, I didn't really like the dance floor nor the dancing. Last year was my first ever prom night. There was a lot of sweating and heating, the dance floor is really tight, and a lot of hard techno music with lights flicking and beaming in every direction. The whole experience gave me a headache and my blisters on my ankle.

Slow dancing? I was a bit insecure. I didn't like it too much when a guy draws his breath on your neck and gets too touchy. Or maybe just touchy in fact. I'm more of a "I'll have to get to know you in depth before you touch me that way" kind of person. Well, there's one bit of that just haunts me literally. I would say to myself, until the person is right will I wait till that kind of stuff is appropriate.

Drawing back to the present, I am at loss whether I should say yes or no. Whether I should reject this guy or accept him. Whether I should make his day, or pride my independence. This person is after all, moving, and I've known he's been showing signs since last year. He told some of my friends he does fancy me, a few weeks before the exams started. But should I? I did say I would give it a thought.

It's literally bugging me. Just tonight, I ignored everyone and I received a lot of nudges for it. I didn't want to make up my mind now, not yet. I'm just scared that I'd be that bad mean person that I don't want to be. I don't want to let anyone down at all. I don't want to ruin anyone's best nights or last few days here. But I don't want to make it bad for me either.

Sometimes I think I needed a life, or some hormones.
But I'm happy the way I am.

If I am asked by one of my favourite Beatles, would definitely... but in my dreams you know.

In my love life, I am an independent person. I may have a breakdown from time to time, but I'll be back on my feet and brush the feeling off my shoulder in no time. Loneliness and individuality are the two elements that a youngster should pride, but not many realise that. When I question my feelings, I could hear nothing. No racing, no pumping - I can live this way in a long time. I am not vulnerable.

But in every independent person, there's always a story behind it.

Mine happened even when I was small. A tint of desire to be out there own my own, roaming the streets with my head held up high on my two feet without my parents supporting me. It can often be quite scary. But it's a nice feeling. That's half of the story.

Tracing back to my past, it happened earlier than everyone else.
~~~~~

I am 10 years old. It's quite an environment actually, being in a new school. SKJB isn't it? I needed the exposure anyway. I wonder if my friends back in SK Agama would think about me. I wonder if they realise the real truth, the reason why I agreed to move anyway. I wanted to protect my cousin. But I didn't feel like it's time to spill it to anyone. Not in a few years at least.

Cikgu Irene shifted our seats. Meeting new people had always made me as nervous as ever. I am to be seated next to this boy. He has thick black hair, a bit chubby but clean. Great, being next to boys isn't my thing. I feel insecure, and I talk to girls better.

Eventually, we started talking. About transformers, about cartoons. I talk to him in monotone, but at least we are getting on well. Sometimes I felt my lips cracking, but I kept my eyes on him as he set them on me, grinning. He's a good friend. Then he told me, that he liked this girl in the next class, called Marianne or something.

Rumour flies around quite quickly. He likes me, He doesn't like me. It only made it awkward between us. I never liked him in that way, it's alright. But the further we are apart, the more I begin to accept and eventually, begin to like him in the way. But who am I to say that I know that feeling anyway?

It's been off for awhile. But one day, as we were walkign to our class, he told me that he's going to move to Kuala Lumpur. The Capital, awesome. But by this time, we didn't communicate much. So he just packed his back and went in the holidays. We never spoke a word. In the next school year, he's not in our class list.

Sleep Paralysis.

I wafted around with my sketch book, continuing my sketch of the smoke incident in 9/11. Feeling rather sheepishly bored, and sleep deprived, I exited the room for my brother's room (the room in which I sleep in now, to reduce distractions). Closing the door behind me slightly, I slipped myself on the bed to listen to music in my iPod for awhile. Out of battery. Flinching slightly in the bitter disappointment, I tilted my head on the pillow, and decided on a few seconds of shut eye before I get to work again. And that's where it happened.

I could feel the presence of more than another in the room the instant my eye lid come to close. Through the heavy darkness in which befalls after, I could still 'see' the swoosh of the beings across the room and around the bed - surrounding, disappearing and back. Curious and partly disheveled, I open my eyes and delighted to find that it was as they were. That there were no 'beings', that it might have been fast-flowing imagination I had - which always happens. I welcomed the light and relaxed my shoulders.

But there it was, semi-transparent and in the broad daylight, the afternoon sun drowns its figures quite briefly as what looked like a 'white-shadow' at the corner of my eye. It was standing in the column between the bed and the dressing table, which was on my right. I turned to the face and confirm, but retrieved a punch full on the face. I fell violently on the left-hand side and expected pain to greet me after. Instead, I found myself on the bed again, as still as stone. Skeptical about the environment, I hesitated and looked around for signs. I'm safe. Or so I thought.

I tried pulling myself off the bed but as soon as I attempted on leaving my position, I felt a tonne of weight pulling me back. That I am still lying like a statue on my back. I tried moving my arms, but they would not budge. I began kicking wildly, but it made no change, except for the ghastly shifts of what my legs suppose to react from the actual still mount legs. It's useless, I could not even raise an eyebrow if I could. I am left without control of my motionless body.

Then it struck me, about the rumours of being 'sat'. That's it, I've never experienced it before, but I heard a lot of stories similar from many people whom I have known. They claim to believe that the an 'evil spirit' is responsible. I thought of it, and reflecting back to the first few seconds in which it all happened, the conclusion was possible. And so I prayed and prayed and prayed.

Another try then, I thought. So I gave another push. I could feel my semi-invisible-self lifting from the body. Resisting the heavy force, I dragged myself towards the door with great effort. The furhter I was from my body, the greater the force. At one point I could not hold in any longer, and was pulled back to my fixed position. I started to pray again.

The world went blank, and I woke up. With great relief I smiled. Brushing off the memory, I jumped off the bed. Bloody hell, I'm still as heavy as I was, it wasn't a dream - again. I could not leave this bloody position. With fear overpowering, I looked for a solution. Should I wait and find out? Should I try to reach for the door again? Then, I was blessed with my parents footsteps that echoed through the corridor. I began to scream for help, but what got out was a constriction, merely a croak. I shout even louder and a small yelp escaped. With a brink of hope, I began to reach for the door again, pulling tighter, resisting more than ever. My cat was struggling for in at the otherside of the same door, and it motivated me further -

I finally reached for the door, holding the knob for dear life. My cat was let into the room, and I joyced. I could reach my parents, I could not lose now, light is at the end of the tunnel - and it's coming close! The darkness hovered my vision slowly. I became weaker, still holding on to the door knob. It became darker, and through the faintest of light, I witnessed my cat running from the room - then, nothing.

I awoke from the same fixed statue that my body was. I'm waking from dream to dream to another, I concluded, and the feeling of nausea rose. Half beaten and defeated, I closed my eyes and prayed, trying my best to ignore the voice at the back of my brain chanting the words that the next will be the same. I shut my eyes even harder, partly for desperation, partly to resist the pain - keeping myself into the darkness instead of repelling from it.

I opened my eyes for the 5th time now, and saw my index finger flinch. Drowning myself with doubt and disbelief, I tapped my fingers on my stomach. It worked. I wiggled my legs and they obeyed. Kicking myself off the bed, I could feel the body heat rise to the neck, my blood pulsing, and no magnetic pull from anywhere. I celebrated the winning of the battle by running frantically towards another conscious human being.

artefacts.

Artefacts Exhibition done and dusted

I entered, cowered behind the banner as I saw a crowd of audience before me. They didn't look too many, but the air of excitement converted into chills as I imagined the scenario. Then we waited for the opening ceremony. Speeches were given. Ribbons were cut. The audience flooded in. We assigned our posts.

The first sprang and I explained a great deal on all three of my artwork. The second draws forward, and I compressed the previous explanation in a short time. More audience coming now, and I became more spontaneous, learning to answer only when asked and when they have the patience.

Three portraits hung on the wall - and the one that catches people's attention was the I, Me, Mine. The one I did with the zombies seems to stand out so much that the other two of my work was ignored by most people. Everyone's amazing but I didn't have much time to roam around to look. I will tomorrow.

In other words, I wouldn't have dreamed of displaying an artwork in an actual official ceremony/exhibition. Artists and the talent itself are so heavily-taken-for-granted. Honestly, the past two years I had discovered that Art is more than pretty drawings. They are personal, meaningful, expressive - like authors with books only that they use words.

I'm so sleepy right now.

An Overhang

Dad was holding his patience while mum blamed all the little things for my disorganisation. This morning, I spent half an hour in the bathroom, going through as quickly regretting the fact that I did not wake up to the siren of my alarm. I looked away in heavy guilt, thinking that it would be over soon – that it would not get any worse. I forced a banana down my throat and splashed open the orange juice in effort to rush, which blistered the open wound on my thumb. I gulped the little portion of juice and grabbed the tissue along my way to the car.

Finally settling in the back seat, I faced a mouthful of argument from my mum. I did not dare to speak out, to say anything that would harm me further. The slightly edged voice of my father's broke the conversation. I jumped slightly, not realising that he had kept in a dangerous silence all the time. He asked me, what time precisely would I like to come home. With a moment of hesitation, I thought that it would be wise to leave them at their peace. So that I would not stress them further, because of my careless behaviour. So I mustered all the confidence and struggled with a croak, "2pm, with the Driver."

That did it.

There was an ear-splitting shout in the break of his patience, bangs on the dashboard like gun shots for man slaughter. I shuddered in fear, as he screamed a gurgle of words like "selfish", "inconsiderate" and "arrogant", commenting that I was provoking his anger, that I would rather go home with an 'Indian' driver at 4pm. And just like that, I could feel my chest tightened, tears blurred my vision, as I choked for air in effort to gain control. I covered my face with the blood-stained tissue in shame and cried silently. I looked outside the window pane, desperate for light, but only to see the dark dreary sky falling.

I got both my parents worked up in 10 minutes without meaning to. All I wanted is to make the situation happier, but I'm such a careless f*cker that I even f*cking failed at that. As soon as I reached school, I shriveled for a quiet forgiveness in asking for their hand and quickly slipped away across the road and into the depths of the building. For a split-second, I wished a car met me.

I hid my sore face in the dark curtains of my hair away from the faces that scanned me as I passed. I had cleared slightly when I reached to the library and greeted my friends, a reasoning lie ready at the top of my head. Their kind voice of concern hit me like a hurricane and I could feel the tears collecting again. Change the subject, sympathy is not deserved for the culprit.

Art Exhibition will be held tonight, on the the day of the dreadful morning. I don't know how I will cope with it, them being there. I'm a sinner. I could only pray it would be alright. Confidence, dissolved and forward was an air desperate for a environment to take my mind completely off of it.

Breaking your shells.

The spinning singers,
Screechings on the strings,
The batting beats blasting,
Veins showing,
Cripple to the ground,
And blurt it all out,
Run away
Repel.

Roots are reaching,
Etching to the tallest light
You've grown immune
and begin to crawl, creeping
for the thirst of pleasure
stepping over, slowly
standing
somber
and stay.

Alien between two

Me and this girl, we were sort of walking all the way up the hill after school. And I felt suddenly like it was just as it was before. But I knew I had to be careful. They are not for long though.

We went to the Tuck shop and all and after we bought our things, and hung out in the baking sun instead of the freaking shades. Out in the freaking baking middle-eastern sun and boy, was I sweating. I was sucking the life of my chocolate milk for it to cool me but it did not obviously helped. I stayed around there because we were in this circle, where we talked and jiggled and roar with laughter. Well, I was anyway, I stopped and became sane. I did not laughed along, instead I had forced myself to neglect, by standing in the pathway shaded by trees beside the girl's toilet, which is not far. And then I waited, just standing there. I figured if any of them cared, they would come along. I waited 5 minutes in front of them four and none came. I was depressed like mad, that I'd just want to walk off, but that would be nasty on them. They eventually came to me though, making physical jokes and stuff in the shade with me, but I did not get absorbed in that so much. I was not in the mood, but I did though, because I never would totally ditch anyone like that. It makes me a coward.

When I figured we were late by my sister who's effortlessly telling me we are, because she wants to stay for the 3pm ride home with Sammy. I ran up like mad, all the way up to the entrance, not even giving a hug goodbye to Veronica like I would usually do. I just didn't care and I felt a bit of fury. Sammy let out wails of staying back till three, convincing me adn sasha. Well, probably sasha, but me out of curtosy. I ran all the emotions out, I just didn't give a penny and it was last straw.

I came up just in time, the others still behind, and Zahura looking for us with the driver bursting his bubble like mad. Well he doesn't look mad, he's aaalways smiling, btu you could tell he is mad if you'v done something wrong and he's smiling at you like mad. Sasha and Sammy were behind, not even running though. They wanted to stay no doubt but I rushed them. I felt sorta bad afterwards, but I didn't feel like talking to them. Neither of them.

Sasha's just obsessed over Sammy. She slept on the pillow Sammy used when she slept over, and she cuddled the dog plushie that Sam had written all over and brought to school everyday. I am just wierded out, I mean, what would you feel? I've known Sammy since Year 10, it's alright, and then Year 11 came along we were closer. She called me one of her best friends. She started hanging with us, me and my sister a lot and having sleepovers and stuff. Sasha and her had shared an interest in anime and all of the sudden she became obsessed over the friend you knew. After that, they had appointments. Appointments with each other everyday after school to watch these episodes on Youtube. My sister sortof sacrificed out lunch together for that, I ended up cooking lunch and eating it on my own. It doesn't take a genius that them two became closer than ever. Closer than me, but only dragged me along for the curtosy. No one wants to admit it, but you could tell - I mean I didn't have much things to talk to her about anymore. Not as much as they do with each other because they share the same interest. No problem, of course, I didn't mind it. Maybe it's punishment, you know.

But the thing that wierded me all out is that thing I've sortof felt when I first heard my sister is going to repeat her year. When she's going to sit in my year. That sort of feeling came back when I imagined my sister blending with my personal social group. And I was very particular ya know, about posessions sometimes. And it sort of wierded me out. Maybe because I was afraid - am afraid - that my sister would be better than me. That I'll make such a slob, and because we sortof look like each other, she would be the preferred other. Just my fear of being alone again - in that lonesome tower.

So I sortof have to bear with it, whenever she comes over with my sister and I know that they've been hanging out a lot and better. I'd be there just minding my own business sometimes when they watch their Animes, talking alien. I'd be alien sometimes. It's just a matter of time anyway, to kill this selfish and possessive personality of mine.

It makes me depressed though, that it kills my confidence and physical posture. That might be the cause of my jaw disorder... Perhaps.

Feelings

Sometimes, well most of the time, I could not help but feeling. That I am iscolated, in a space on top of the tallest tower in existance. That I am alone, though company came and then flew past now and time again. But I am still alone, looking down to the globe in distant.

Eversince I knew the very word of friendship, I never trusted anyone, no matter how close they are. A habit that I carried till now, a truth that is kept successfully in secret from the knowledge of everyone. And i've been really trying, to find that one person who would accompany me, whom I would feel comfortable to confide into, whom I would nag on and on and they would just listen then give me a soft but broad shoulder for me to cry on. Whom I wouldn't worry he or she would fled off from me, and just stay. I haven't found that person yet, to tell you the truth. I'm not easy to convince, but yet I do want to find a solution for me to mend this ... absence.

Maybe it's just payback. It's punishment. I've done it so many times, who knows who I've emotionally hurt along the way. There's bound to be a hundred, and I know for sure there are a couple of tenths. I deserve it... I guess.

I am jealous, of this one friend I know. She came to school early and sombre. When the bell rang, she bursted into tears she could not hold in longer. Her friend came along, just arrived from school, dropped her bags at the spot and immediately gave her a shoulder, welcomed with open arms and soft-spoken voice, for her to drown her tears on to. I stood and stared for minutes, rudely. I only went the moment the person supporting her shooed me to give her some space and time. I walked to registration, jealous and sad. She was lucky to have a friend like that. And yet, the saddened friend had countlessly hurt her, she stood strong for her still. I'm green with envy, and downed with sadness.

In an art lesson, I am suggested into drawing myself. Self portraits, though how much I am against it. And I couldn't. Everytime I drew this girl, I thought, she was as sad, as ugly in form, as lonely and as cruel as she could be. I knew my mistakes though, but I couldn't stand to draw them.

Ella Enchanted

Library lesson. I've always thought it useless, because I do not digest what I read. Often pretending to do so, so that I could keep from dozing off.

Went in and scanned the shelves for something. Maybe another round of Eldest? Lemony Snicket perhaps? I felt so half-hearted. Then, something caught my attention. A book that tilted forward, that made the tidily arranged books uneven. The title was gold against the yellow coloured spine, which makes it less stand-outish than the other books either side of it that offered me the blinding bright colours. I pulled the book out, the covers blank. Wrapped completely in forest-green, it offers no picture, no sypnosis whatsoever, apart from two things mentioned on the bind. The title, and the author's last name.

"Ella Enchanted" it read. I hesitated the mention of the alliteration. It tells me a tale of magical possibilities, of gnomes and fairies, and charming princes galloping to the rescue with their white horses. All in subject of which I loathed so far as my childhood's concerned because it was too fake for me and refused to believe it all in all. I refuse to imagine childish stories and waste my memory, so it often lead me to sleep.

Though unconvincing the experience of fairy tale may be, the secrecy of the book had won me to give it a try. I simply gave in, and walked towards the end of the library to join the others. I turned the first chapter, and the weak pages beneath the hard cover amuses me. I like how it feels.

I read on and on, till I borrowed the book. And on and on I went. On in midnight when the moon was high and full, On in the day where I sacrificed the light through the hours. And as I went along, I began to enjoy it. I conclude that it is not about typical magical maladies, the fact that it is twisted with such realism on top of all the creatures, it morphs the expectations of their characteristics and the plot was unpredictable. I felt that my feelings towards fairy tales were morphed, too.

Most of all, I especially loved the fact that the cover let you judge its story. When people say "Don't judge the book by its cover" literally, it's not always the case, because appearance always associates with your first impressions. Never-you-minding-it is another story.

A blank book does not fancied itself with outstanding covers for you to let the images play in your mind. It lets your imagination do them for you as you go on, however way you like to think it like. If they were to paint a picture of a girl on the cover of "Ella Enchanted" I would, without a doubt, shove it back to the shelves and cast myself away with yet another unentertaining book.

My points been brought up. No wonder I don't find many books as attractive as this. I like the sense of secrecy.

I, Me, Mine - with secrecy.

I could feel the flow of thrill and excitement through the veins under the sheets of tissues deep below the surface of the skin. My pupils dilate as I eyed from on corner to the other of the Presentation. Inside the tucks of my brains, the neurons connect each other with such vibrancy, the train of thoughts are endless, ready to witness creative ideas exploding through the cracks of its shell.

All were frantic, all except the one the feels half-hearted, needless to say more it's the heart. Completely convinced to pursue with the ideas that are ever-boasting, but the likes of securing personality from exposure are still very firm. Expressing meaning give-away, something that I was against since a young age. Expressing in the act of this exam topic would mean violating the rule which was obeyed for as long as almost most of the years the body was created. The effects it will bring?

I will begin to lose interest quickly, bulldozing whatever interests I have tried hard to build over the few weeks. Icing the road to drive my life in a way that is mislead and inconsistent. Pulling the strings, and then looking for something new. These, in that matter of many possibilities.

I do not know why I like to live in shadows, to secure than expose. I think that is what keeps me going, at some point - like a spy against the whole world, against myself. Maybe, that is why I never get to know myself well, maybe that's when my indecisive-self begins to develop.

Maybe that is why, when my skins were tighter, hair was thicker, length of bones shorter.. I've always dreamt of beinga spy or having some secret power that must be blind-folded from the world's eyes.

Hurrican Hits the fool.

The stupendous sharp spin twisted her stomach,
Ir woke her up Half the night,
She lay awake, turning and crippling,
on the bed,
It bothers her so,
Like red ants scarping on the blisters of your skin,
Painful but still standing.

The clock screamed,
My eyes were red,
MY feet were heavy,
And dragging,
I longed for a warm night's rest.

Why could it not be a holiday still?
Suffer the day?
Stress was building, exams calling,
I was tumbling,
Can time just stop for time?

School bell shrieked my ears dead,
Feeling alien in my sitting position,
Mumbled my neighbour,
Over and over again,
I raised an eye brow with patience gone,
For Once,
Oya hit this deafened fool to her place.

O why is her heart chambered?

... There's no turning point. The Day is the day is the day, and English is.

[Originally written by Grace Nichols, "Hurricane Hits England", but is sadly altered with a fake story of a typical teen anxiety on that certain day. She had been jerked up early by an annoying stomach ache, gone back to her original English class with a bad start and ending, having Exam revisions with coursework making it all difficult, and the last one to go back from school that day]