The Inconvenient Inevitability

The news got through to you.

It is midnight, unnoticed as it is, it is the start of another day. Yet how ironic that it is to be the end for another person's, forever. Eternal nothingness, he has stepped into. Yet no one will accept that. He will live on, at least in our heads, in our memories. He will live on.

Eternal nothingness, as they say.

You pick up the phone, and there it is. It is to be the messenger of death, of one's eternal nothingness. No need to re-read it. No need. You knew it was coming. You expected it, it was only a matter of time. But it did not make it easier. If anything, it made it harder for you.

You drop the phone, and it fades away into irrelevance. The world blurs. You ignore the people in the room as you dash to the toilet. In one quick movement the door is locked and you collapse onto the floor. The tears fall like angels of death, if that would even make sense. It does not. You know it doesn't.

Two in twelve months. Unsurprising now it seems, yet still unwanted. Such an inconvenience, death is. Dreams left unfulfilled, debts left unpaid, love left unexpressed. An inconvenient inevitability. Yet without it, life is worthless. Life would be an irrelevant concept were it not for the existence of death.

Solace is here. Your much needed solace is just right beside you. Unmoving, your solace keeps you warm for the night. Your solace helps you sleep tonight.

Solace in death.

May your death be solace from the pain you fought through to survive.

You fought hard.

Yet death is, an inconvenient inevitability.

--------------------

I was better prepared for it last night than I was about twelve months ago. Yet it did not make it any easier. Almost a year on, the tears came again to haunt me.

My grandfather, the late Haji Abdullah bin Hj Bakar, passed away yesterday, 6.15 am. In one year, both my mom's parents have gone. Now I only have one grandparent left.

Again, I found out through my cousin. But this time it's almost forgivable, since my parents called me a few hours after, rather than two weeks after my grandmother's death, and only because I called them to say I found out through my cousin's blog. Almost forgivable.

Nini Laki, you will not be forgotten. You were a strong man. You went through a lot after Nini Bini's death. I remember being in the hospital taking care of you for what was maybe a couple of weeks, and it was only last summer. I would never forget that. It taught me a lot.

You were loved by your sons and daughters, and your grandsons and your granddaughters, and everyone else you knew. And you still are.

This isn't the best eulogy, but it's hard to write something when you're trying to hold back tears.

We love you, Nini Laki. And we love you Nini Bini.

Both of you now gone. But not forgotten.

Signing out

Over and out

A Population Of Unnoticed Solace

It's the last day of term, but really, there's almost no one left in the house. So in fact, the actual last day of term was indeed yesterday. That was when 80% of the school population buggered off. Not to mention another 5% leaving before that. So the remaining 15% are left to rot and die until saved by the sweet coming of Thursday.

So yesterday was alright. It was the Assassins final, which was an 8-man match. It's quite complicated how it works. Well, not really. I just can't be bothered to jot down the details here. Haha. And guess who won?

It's the same guy who knocked me out in the 2nd day, or the 1st round after the preliminary. It's Paddy fucking Thornycroft. No, I don't really have anything against him. He's a good lad. And I guess it's some kind of a consolation that I was knocked out by the eventual champion, not some beef obscure guy who nobody knows.

It's Thursday. It's the day I see Pill :D It's the beginning of a whole Easter holiday with Pill :D

Signing out

Over and out

Blame Everyone For The Unsaid Disaster

It's been a good, relaxing weekend. Of course that weekend has not taken into account of the fact that I'm on monitor duty tonight, which is the second crappiest thing to do at 9.30 at night, the first being kicking a bunch of bricks barefooted.

So how was the weekend?

As always, on Saturday, I only had one lesson, and Woodling is such a funny little character. Try closing your ears and just watch him. He is the single funniest moving thing you could ever observe that is unintentionally ridiculously hilarious. If you're lucky, he could be trying to emphasise a point by raising three of his limbs into the air. Yes, two arms and a right feet, It's much funnier than it sounds here. I promise you, it is as much a distraction from Chemistry as his red herrings involving tennis and jet engines.

Then that night, we went to Ridgemount's house dance, or Sci-Fi Convention. Kamillin invited me, by the way. Thanks for that. James Lyons is a great DJ, but I'm not sure why that night his tracks kept scratching and skipping. I'm not even talking turntables scratching. I mean the fucked up kind. I enjoyed myself though. But it took a while because all I kept thinking all night was that I would've enjoyed it oh so much more if Pill was there. I enjoyed Severn Hill's house dance more even though it wasn't very good simply because Pill was there. So that made it infinitely better.

I came as Neo by the way, from The Matrix. Quite easy to go as really. Never mind that there were two more Neos and an Agent Smith around.

Today, as usual, we had the weekly Shrewsbury Bruneian Posse Brunch. Haha. Ha. It just so happened that there was Easter Sunday chapel and the Eton Fives national championship, meaning more fresh food, meaning fresh hash browns. Which in turn meant a full plate for me.

We decided to play basketball after that, only to be greeted by the sight of Ingrams running into the gym with footballs and rugby balls. Of course we reached a compromise and played against them in football.

Ah. Good times.

I fucking missed Tea. I'm starting. If I wasn't vegetarian, I could eat a horse. Haha. Not that there are any horses around.

EDIT:

But then I decided to ask Mubin for a couple of Indo Mee. Couple that with some orange juice, and you've got a simple recipe for a somewhat filling yet strangely unsatisfying dinner.

The most interesting that happened today was the Assassins duel between Geo and Leo. Geo represented Severn Hill, and Leo, Oldham's. We agreed to meet Oldham's in front of KH, where there's that pathway to the other side, near the Bursary.

The rule was that there will be 30 seconds for both duelist to run away, but there is a designated area that they cannot go outside of. After thirty seconds, the shooting starts.

There was no contest. Geo had a normal water gun. Leo had a fire extinguisher, which meant he had an obscene range, and he could go on spraying without losing pressure. Geo lost after what was maybe a couple of minutes. Too bad.

Signing out

Over and out

You Are Happy

You are happy.

You can't help but smile, but in that cheerful gesture there is a poignant sense of inevitability, of destined failure and doomed words. You are not sure why, but that sinister emotion haunts you, every second of the day.

Nothing is wrong. It's almost perfect, but why do you fret? Why do you worry?

Are you afraid to be hurt? Are you afraid to be caught by suprise? Is that what you're afraid of?

You try not to think about it. You enjoy the moment, and that is enough. For now. What happens in the future, that is for the future you to worry about. It is none of your business. There is nothing in the present to suggest that anything is wrong at all. You are just being irrational.

Even if this will hurt you someday, you don't really care now. It's what's happening now that matters. It's the moment. You are happy. You are content. Do not fret. Just because you've never been through this before does not mean you will fail.

Do not fret.

You are happy.

You are content.

You will not fail.

Three Burning Ducks In Tandem

Fuck, I'm so fucking bored out of my fucking mind.

Fuck.

I guess I should be grateful. I could be doing three courseworks at the same time. Now I've got none. Absolutely zilch. Zero.

All the work that's been given have been quite lightweight. Even Doc Law, or The Claw, who's notorious for giving work that will take six hours off your Sunday (I'm not even exaggerating) is being quite carefree at the moment. Get this. He actually tolerates late work. Oh my fucking jeez. And he's telling us to slow down with the work load. This is the same teacher who made us finish our coursework weeks before the other sets have even started. This is the same teacher who set us 30 hours of work for the Winter holidays.

Of course Fanning gives no work at all, except really beef essays. Just spend 40 minutes and do 600 words and you'll probably get an A or B, quite easily. Do that with Doc Law, and you'll barely scrape an E.

I like orange juice. Especially when they're free. And the fact that I can use my window as a fridge, so I can just wake up and take a sip early in the morning.

I like socks. Especially when they're colourful. That applies to boxers too. They're a sight for sore eyes when you take off your shoes.

I'm not sure why I needed to tell you that. I just did.

Pill's busy seeing Little Women being performed in school, so I can't call her up.

I'm bored. Out of my fucking mind.

Bored.

Mind.

Fucking.

I need something to do. Quick.

I haven't heard anything from Warwick yet. Procrastinating bastards. You heard me. Reject me now so I can get on with my life. I'm not just saying that because I'm bitter, but because I'm not actually gonna accept Warwick. In fact, I'm not even considering going there anymore. I never did. It was my sixth choice. I was actually going to put Cardiff instead, but found out they had interviews. That put me off completely. So Warwick is basically just a last-minute filler.

Why do ducks have flat feet?

To put out fires.

Why do elephants have flat feet?

To put out burning ducks.

Signing out

Over and out

Run Away

“Do you want to run away?”

The soft wind whispered gently to her ears, stroking her long, black hair with its gentle, loving, but invisible fingers. The wind seemed to comfort her, and this comfort the wind brought her, it was a familiar feeling. A feeling from memories gone by. A feeling, from the fading recesses of her mind. Sometime long ago. When she was young. When she was happy.

The streets were quiet. The moon lighted the night with a reluctant shine, the streetlights flickering, dimming themselves more by the moment. She couldn’t see the streets clearly. The darkness was taking over, painting vague silhouettes in the background. She quickened her pace, aware of the dangers of the night, the sinister shimmering of the moon. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not even the owls could be heard. Silence, except for the whispering wind.

“Well, do you?”

Did she? She couldn’t quite decide. She had a stable job at an up-and-coming company, a good life in a posh apartment in the centre of the city, and many friends who she could call at nights if she felt lonely. She had wild nights out in the city with her colleagues, after which she would wake up in the morning either completely hungover and not remembering anything, or waking up to some stranger she met at a club, and then feeling worthless after all that. She could never say she was disappointed with how her life turned out, but she also could never say she was genuinely happy with it either.

The question repeated itself in her head over and over again, as if demanding an answer. An immediate answer that she could never quite come up with. The wind then brushed against her cheeks, with a cold and heavy swipe. The splinters of winter pierced her skin. She turned away from the direction of the wind. It was now hurting her, with its cold and lifeless claws. The cold clawed itself into her skin, reaching her bones, causing her to shiver with the most violent of shivers. But shivering only made it worst. The more she shivered, the deeper the claws pierced her skin. The crueller the pain. Most definitely this reminded her of days when she was young. When she told herself that she was happy.

Of course, she was happy at first. She loved every minute spent with him. She savoured those moments. Times when he carried her on his back along the sandy beaches back home, with the orange sun watching them as it faded into the distant horizon. Times when he would surprise her with a bouquet of freshly-picked roses in dark red clusters. Times when he stroked her hair softly and slowly, running his fingers along her smooth, silky hair, whispering how much he loved her, while they danced in the darkness of still night. And she was happy.

Everything seemed to go perfectly for the both of them. She and he were talking about getting married, having children of their own, and growing old together, sitting on the front porch of a countryside home, reminiscing of how young and how in love they were, and how they still would be. But he began to change.

It started when he asked her if she wanted to get away from the place they called home. Away from everyone else. When he said that it would be so much better to leave and start a new life together. He talked of exploring the world, living their lives with the exhilaration of spontaneity. And sometimes she wanted to be convinced by him to go. But she was far too rational and to leave the comforts of home so early an age, when she was told she had lots of potential, to just risk it all in the name of love.

The darkness of the night was blanketing her. She could barely see the vague figures from a distance, if only with a little help from the moon. The vague figures served as signposts to her way home. She could see the large billboard that seemed to change its face every week, so much so that the only way she could tell it was the same one was that it had graffiti at the back of it that resembled something like ‘Style’, or ‘Steal’, or even ‘Stag’ for all she cares. But in the night, all of it was just fused into one single massive silhouette. A different shade of black amongst other slightly different shades of black, that was painted by the slight shine of the moon, with its soft, intricate brushes, subtle in its strokes. As a result some of the usually recognisable landmarks were transformed into shapeless figures, morphing into hundreds of different forms of beings at once, and yet still retaining their shape enough to be barely recognisable.

The mutterings and mumblings of the night were becoming unintelligible to her, the sad and ignored voices muffled by the cold, heavy nocturnal winds. The ten-minute walk home always seemed like forever to her. A lingering pain of having passed by and ignoring things she shouldn’t have passed and ignored never fails to haunt her in those ten minutes. Flashes of days gone by went whizzing past her head, some she didn’t even realise she had.

As total darkness descended, the faint sound of her footsteps faded into the night, and the moon didn’t move, still looking down, shimmering, unsatisfied, and deep down, it was mournful.

Believing In A Two-Thirds Possibility

Assassins. Day Three.

One of the favourites for the tournament, Johnny Shaw, got knocked out by Severn Hill's very own George Rae. Of course it took quite meticulous planning.

The window at the end of the Upper Sixth corridor in the house had to be covered so that Johnny wouldn't be able to see through into the house. And in this case, we knew the best plan of attack would be defence. Battling it out in the outdoors would be suicidal against Johnny. He had full combats, and could sneak behind you like a mouse.

So Geo decided to wait around the corner at the end of the corridor, near his room. It was the best course of action to lure Johnny into Severn Hill. The motion sensor for the lights in the toilet had to be covered so that Geo could camp in there without giving out light. To bait Johnny into the house, Geo left a window open in the bike room. And he took the bait. All Geo had to do was wait.

He waited for about 2 and a half hours before Johnny came sneaking into the house. As Johnny was sneaking to Lowco's room opposite the toilet, Geo squirted his face.

Tom Allen got knocked out by Jimmy Taylor from Rigg's. Clive got knocked out by Welshie in a duel at the dump because they went over the time limit. Hairy has yet to fuel with Sam Tay from Ridgemount.

Away from Assassins, today has been quite relaxing. Because it's Field Day, the Upper Sixth has no lessons. Instead we have to work on our own.

Yoi.

I did fuck all today. I did clear up the things under my bed, but that's it. We had a buffet lunch at Pizza Hut. Of course being the greedy schoolboys we are, we piled our plates with a ridiculous amount of food. I had about 10 pieces of pizza, and 2 plates of pasta, which isn't even close to being the most. In Severn Hill, Pete ate 14 pieces. One guy from another house - Patrick Lapage, I think it was - ate 22 pieces by the time we left, and was still going for more.

Fuck damn it, I didn't feel well. My stomach wasn't happy at all. But it was a good laugh. Alan Lau had ice cream with Tabasco sauce. Of course that isn't too weird since Pill has Peri Peri sauce on her yoghurt. Haha.

Shit. Nelly is playing on my iTunes. Change it, quick.

Ah. Gorillaz. That's better.

~The digital won't let me go~

Which song is that from? Right answer gets a cookie. Quick. Offer ends after I finish this sentence. Oh, shit. You missed it. Oh well. Next time, then.

I'll miss this place. Five more weeks, and I'll have no more lessons here. It's been an amazing one and a half years here, in Shrewsbury School. I enjoyed myself here, and I'm still enjoying it. The ethos of the school fits me. It's such a carefree school, and yet it's academically excellent. Other things like sports and debating, we usually dominate. I guess it's my kind of school.

Maximum yield with least amount of effort.

The Salopian way, they say.

It's amazing how much it is a 'students' school. You get the real sense of community in the school, and with the other houses, there's that refreshing friendly rivalry in everything from football to debating to music to even organising house dances. The closure that things like doing house plays brings is amazing.

And even though it's quite an expensive school to get into, there's no snobbery at all. A lot of them are quite down to earth. You won't know by looking at a person that his father owns three mansions and is a millionaire. I guess a show of wealth is really just asking to be ridiculed. You'll get a lot of stick if you came in wearing a flashy suit and being driven in a Rolls Royce.

We're not posh. Rich, maybe, some of us. Not posh.

And we play harder than we work. House dances, Assassins, football. And oh, the occassional rule-breaking. None too serious. But we live a little.

We have massive food fights.

We have massive water fights.

We have massive snow fights.

There's even a WWBrook thing going on. A kind of wrestling tournament.

But like everything here, the controlled violence never goes over the top.

It's funny, one of Pill's teachers said that Shrewsbury students aren't really known to be perfect gentlemen. I guess it's partly true. We let ourselves go a lot more than other schools like ours. And we are who we are because of that.

I'll miss this school.

Signing out

Over and out

Assasinations From A Theatre: Part Two

So...

I'm annoyed. I got eliminated out of the most unfortunate circumstances. Unlucky. We were going for Josh Hurcomb from Ingram's this morning, which is Clive's target, and we saw this guy in a trench coat and white hoody coming out of the sides going to the Ashton Theatre. Pete said it was Josh, so going in as a team, I went to him first as a diversion, as a shield. Clive's cover, if you like. But it turned out to be Paddy, my target. So I got squirted out of Assassins after two and a half hours in the cold, windy outdoors.

But then later, we did get Josh Hurcomb. The back door was locked even though we knew the code, so we tried to look for another way in. It turned out the changing room door was open, so we got in through there. Creeping in quietly to Hurcomb's room, we went in slowly and switched on the lights, but he wasn't there in his bedsit. He changed places with his brother.

So of course that meant Josh is in his brother's bedsit. Now this was a real team effort. We found out where his bedsit was, and when we tried to open it, it was wedged in. It took quite a while and some effort before it opened. Josh was behind the door, panicking and shooting blindly. Geo kept the door open with his feet. Tom got in. I, again, acted as a shield. Then when Josh found out he wasn't squirting Clive, he popped his head through the door, and got squirted in the face by Clive. Mission accomplished.

Now I'm fucking tired. I only had four hours sleep last night, and I only have one PR today because they decided to move Thursday lessons to Wednesday.

Next round, probably tomorrow. I'm going to help out my housemates with this one. It was fun going out as a group. Team Hill, as Geo called it. Still four people from Severn Hill left in the top 32. That's a decent number of people.

Signing out

Over and out

Assassinations From A Theatre

Target:Paddy Thornycroft (Oldham's) Status:Lost

I've been eliminated out of Assassins. At around 7am this morning I was assassinated just at the entrance of the Ashton Theatre, under unfortunate circumstances. More of that soon.

Severn Hill went out as a team of 6: me, Geo,Clive, Hairy, Tom and Pete. Geo woke everyone up at 4.20am, and we were out of the house by 4.40am via the window in the changing room. It was cold. The wind was exceptionally strong.

The night before, I did not have much sleep. My make-shift door alarm kept going off because the wind kept pushing the door open. I found myself clutching the water gun when I woke up. It was hot inside my room, but I couldn't keep the windows open because there was a storm.

The game started at 5am. We were outside Rigg's, waiting for Josh Williams, Pete's target. It took around 15 minutes before we saw them come out of the house. Chaos ensued. Using a clever diversion, Josh got Pete.

We met and joined forces with other houses at stages, but ultimately we were our own team. Geo got Georgei in School House while he was sleeping. Hairy got Ed Shone in Churchill's. Fudge got Santi in School House. Clive got Josh Hurcomb in Ingram's.

As predicted, breakfast was an absolute ruckus. Shaw camped on the roof of KH with a sleeping bag for two hours. There were several duels going in KH at the same time. It was possibly the wettest breakfast in a long time.

There are still some duels going on. This will last till 5pm. This is Assassins.

Signing out

Over and out

Assassinations From A Cup

Target: Rich Wang (Churchill's) Status:Eliminated
Time of Death:Between 0730-0800, 11/03/08 Weapon Used:Orange Juice

The Assassins tournament has started. It's that season again, when all the upper sixth get silly by lobbing glasses of water and shooting with water guns all around the school site.

I was drawn against Rich Wang in the first round. Not that I had any idea who it was when I found out. But my housemates pointed out who it was, and I was already trying to figure out a plan to assassinate him, before he assassinates me.

The first round started at 0000 hours, and will end at 1500 hours today. I have eliminated my target. So has a few people. Some even stayed up till the early hours of the morning to sneak in and assassinate their own targets. The people who stayed in their rooms barricaded their doors, or exchanged beds with other people. I kept a water gun on the side of the bed, and installed a make-shift alarm on my door that consisted of simply a chair, a rubbish bin, and a trolley bag.

The night went well. No attacks. I slept well. But Sam Waterworth who's a housemate of mine, got assassinated by Welshie, a guy from Ridgemount. This morning in breakfast, Peter Stewart assassinated Nick Carling in KH with a bottle of water.

Mine was next. I was looking at Churchill's way all the way through breakfast. Rich Wang had not come yet. But when he came, he saw me too. He had a bottle of water in his hand. So did I. But it was a delicate situation. Going in for the kill would almost be suicide. It's easier when you're chased but you're aware of it. So it had to be timed perfectly. And I timed mine brilliantly.

There were two tables inbetween us. They were empty. But then some Oldham's lower sixths filled in one of the tables, and he lost concentration for a bit. In that twenty-second window, I sneaked towards him, with a glass of orange juice in my left hand and a bottle of water in my right. The plan of attack was to use the orange juice as a diversion, as a fake attack, and then when he is trying to avoid the orange juice I would squirt him with the bottle of water.

But he didn't notice I was coming at all. So it was unnecessary of me to use the orange juice. But I forgot. So I spilled the orange juice all over his jacket, and walked back to the table. Mission accomplished. He was not happy.

Next round starts in a few hours. Most probably some time tomorrow.

Signing out

Over and out

The Overreaction Of An Understatement

The weekend is over. We're back in school, and already I'm looking forward to the Easter break. Now, officially, we only have at the most five weeks of lessons time left. Including next term. How amazing does that sound? Five weeks and A' Levels over and done with. No more 3,000-worders to be done three hours before the lesson. Of course I haven't mentioned the exams. And the 10,000-worders (probably more) in Uni. But from what I've heard, there aren't too many lectures for the English course. I've heard something as ridiculous as two lectures a week, which would just be amazing.

So how was my weekend, that's the question everyone asked me today. Of course I only greeted it with the polite response of 'it was good. How was yours?' and then not actually bothering to hear how the person's weekend went.

But if I bothered to answer your question properly, it would be an extended version of that. This is how it would go.

'It was good, thanks. I went to London, stayed in Brunei Hall. Went to see Pill, which is always a treat. This time we didn't intentionally get lost anywhere in London, but it was fun nonetheless. It was great. Then there was the ICUBS Brunei Night, which, to be honest, was complete balls.'

I'd take a short pause and then,

'The acting was poor, the jokes were recycled garbage that failed to be funny after the second time being told. The standards were close to that of a high school production. Not much better, really. Probably the only few good bits were the dancing, especially the modern dance. The traditional dance was a bit messy and out of sync. The sound editing was horrible. The stage management, the lights, it was amateur. I mean, I've seen much better performed, much funnier and more professional plays written and directed by high school 16-year-olds.'

'I'm pretty sure they worked hard at it. And I appreciate that. But...'

'It was overacted... Poorly. The diction was unclear at times, and the plot was absolute nonsense.'

And then I would remark on how mean of me to say that, but I wouldn't apologise because I'm allowed to criticise, aren't I?

I went to that because I thought it would be good seeing a theatrical performance by Bruneians. I'm not saying that all Bruneian productions are automatically bad. I've seen some pretty good ones. But I expect better from a bunch of Uni students. Much better.

Signing out

Over and out

Multiplication Of Miltonian Melodies

I am feeling quite irritable at the moment. Really. I cringingly went through two lessons yesterday with a sense of utter boredom and immense irritability. I even found my fringe extremely annoying. I felt like cutting it off with a pair of garden scissors and burning it in a big bonfire, which just so happens to be in the middle of the Science building.

I had no lessons in the afternoon, so I went to town with Clive, essentially doing nothing useful, wandering around like there's nothing else to do but wander around town. I treated myself to a mug of hazelnut hot chocolate from Starbucks, which didn't taste as good as I remembered. Oh well.

Actually I was gonna do some work for Paradise Lost for English over my double PR, but I forgot the most essential thing, the actual book itself. So that plan has gone to pieces. Now I'm just Multiplying and G-Mailing. If such terms do exist. I mean, if Facebooking is an actual word, then I would imagine it would involve slapping someone's face with a book, but hey, apparently it's staring into a computer screen for six hours ignoring friend requests from people you don't know from the U.A.E. and blocking invitations to applications asking if you want to know if you share your personality with Britney Spears. Even Multiplying means something else. In the past it would mean reproducing mini Jays that run around wreaking havoc and destruction plotting world domination, but now it means posting up seven hundred photos on one album so that it will take that one person on a dial-up modem three days to fully load the whole page.

Ah, the wonderful threat that modernisation brings to the world. Cyberspace. Even that term has gone out of date, out of the list for 'hip' terms. I mean, the only people who would actually use the term cyberspace are people who thinks to justify in Microsoft Word means you have to argue the point you just made in your Word document. Word.

I think Microsoft Word sounds like it was developed by a bunch of programmers doubling as ghetto gangsta's who carry guns around, with a massive amount of bling around their necks and on their fingers. Word.

I still have the image of mini Jays running around. I'm sorry. It's a bit freaky now it's come up.

I bet I would have a favourite mini Jay who would come complaining that the other mini Jays have been bullying him because he's the smartest one.

Which brings me to my next point. For my 21st birthday, I want a Mini. Whichever Mini it is. The Mini Cooper S maybe? That's what I want. Better save up. I'm not even being subtle here. I'm throwing it out in the open. I want it wrapped in a wrapping paper with little Mini prints. And the birthday card would have the keys inside it. Don't forget. It's only, what, 8 months away.

I need a girlfriend. Oh wait.. Never mind. Forget I said that, Pill.

Hahaha. Joking, Pill.

Signing out

Over and out

Dancing Amidst The Chaos

Finally, I have finished my phone bill, which has been bugging me for months. £678.75 it was by the end of December, and only in early March have I paid the full amount. Of course that meant I had to basically eat dust during the holidays, but I survived through. Of course my friends kept me afloat. Hahaha. Every little helps. Thanks anyways. Especially my pill.

So... Anything else?

Oh. Oh.

House dance!

It was good fun. Too bad there weren't too many people on the dance floor. Half of them just congregated in the corridors, shweffing and trying to find empty rooms to sneak into and have some, as Borat would call it, 'sexytime.' The chill-out room was essentially the make-out room. The theme, Cartoon Characters, brought out some very good costumes. Two people came as Smurfs, essentially painting their upper bodies and faces completely blue. I came as Popeye, unfortunately so did two other guys. But never mind. People said I had the best costume. Hahaha. I had Olive Oyl with me as well :D Haz (McHale) probably had the best hairdo. He came as Sonic the hedgehog, so he sprayed his hair metallic blue and spiked it up. It looked absolutely amazing.

Though Pill arrived late (which isn't her fault, really), I enjoyed the dance even before it. When she finally came, I just couldn't stop smiling. Everyone in my year in the house knew about Pill just because they kept on sneaking in and making noises when I was on the phone with her, so to finally have introduced her to everyone, I was glad everyone liked her. Even our temporary matron, Heather, said that Pill was lovely. She kept on asking me when is the next time I'll see her again.

It may not be the best house dance for most people, I did enjoy the night with Pill, and I enjoyed helping out with the preparations, and finding the costumes, and looking at the faces of the Lower Sixth when they were told they weren't coming. Muahahaha.

I still haven't got any photos up yet. Mrs Wright, who was the camerawoman for the night, has not posted the photos yet, so blame her. I may get some pre-dance photos from Lan of when we were getting ready.

This weekend I get to see Pill again :D

Signing out

Over and out

Intertwined Lives

Her: "I'll miss you, but not quite as much as when I'm about to meet you again."






A moment
Unchangeable
Two souls under the starless sky
Eyes fixed, they smile
Unchangeable
One moment
Two smiles
Under the scene of this starless sky






You: "I'm falling for a girl I'm not supposed to fall for. And I like it."






The colours filled the night sky
With songs and laughter
Then there we were
Amidst the hundreds of thousands
Dancing in embrace
Your hands in mine
The night seemed ours
And ours alone