Ah, yes. The earthquake. Sorry pill. I didn't tell you that I felt it too, but I didn't wanna freak you out last night. I mean, both our beds shaking at the same exact moment while we're on the phone. You were scared enough. Haha. An apology is due. I'm sorry.
Anyways, yes. For the rest. Just in case the others didn't feel it because, well, you were all asleep at around 1am, you missed an earthquake. They say it was the biggest in years. But then they don't have too many earthquakes here.
I thought someone was trying to wind me up. Y'know, one of those pranks. I thought someone was hiding under my bed shaking it just to scare me. I checked under the bed, and then I realised there is no way someone could fit under my bed, simply because I have way too much stuff in there. It's proper carnage in there. I swear, if you hid a dead body in there, it'll be quite hard to find.
I need to get a sailor hat, a pipe, and a sailor tattoo. And oh, a can of spinach. I can't wait to meet Olive.
Get with it.
Signing out
Over and out
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
It Is Confusion
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The birthday cake, flat on the floor, the candy flowers broken and cracked.
The birthday cards, ripped and torn, some even burnt with the candles from the cake.
Dried blood stains on the white sofa, which is ripped to shreds with what was possibly a knife.
Blood on the floor, something has been dragged across the room. The stench of something foul cannot be ignored.
A door opens, the creaking is slow and careful. The feet of a mangled copse appears,followed by a man walking, and strangely he is walking backwards. He seems like he is pushing the corpse into the room with his back forward, but is effortless at it, as if the corpse is a pram in front of his back. The blood stains on the floor disappears as the corpse slide on top of them. It's as if the blood is seeping back into the corpse.
With his back facing the couch, he throws the corpse onto the sofa. The floor is clean of blood. It is then clear the corpse is of a woman.
The man panics. He holds his head in disbelief. He looks around, making sure that they are the only two in the room, though he already knows it. The corpse breathes, and it is slow. The woman is opening her eyes. She looks at him with hatred. She cannot believe what had just happened. Her breathing is getting faster. Her hands reach for her chest, and there is a knife where her heart should be. She reaches for it. She pushes the knife further into her heart.
The man is still unsure of what he has done. He stands still.
The button is pressed.
The woman attempts to take out the knife out of her chest. It pains her. She tries to breath, but she knows she cannot force it. It is getting slower. The hatred in her towards him was burning. Anger and disbelief dominates her. Her eyes slowly close, and she finally takes her last breath.
The man surveys the room. It is empty except for them. The realisation is sinking in. He has killed her, and he holds his head in utter disbelief. He panics.
He grabs the woman by the shirt and drags her away from the couch. The blood is staining the floor.
He heads for a door at the far end of the room, with the corpse behind him. He opens the door and he pulls the corpse into the room. The door closes.
The sofa is still ripped to shreds.
The birthday card is torn apart.
The birthday cake is on the floor. The candy flowers are broken.
It is confusion.
The birthday cards, ripped and torn, some even burnt with the candles from the cake.
Dried blood stains on the white sofa, which is ripped to shreds with what was possibly a knife.
Blood on the floor, something has been dragged across the room. The stench of something foul cannot be ignored.
A door opens, the creaking is slow and careful. The feet of a mangled copse appears,followed by a man walking, and strangely he is walking backwards. He seems like he is pushing the corpse into the room with his back forward, but is effortless at it, as if the corpse is a pram in front of his back. The blood stains on the floor disappears as the corpse slide on top of them. It's as if the blood is seeping back into the corpse.
With his back facing the couch, he throws the corpse onto the sofa. The floor is clean of blood. It is then clear the corpse is of a woman.
The man panics. He holds his head in disbelief. He looks around, making sure that they are the only two in the room, though he already knows it. The corpse breathes, and it is slow. The woman is opening her eyes. She looks at him with hatred. She cannot believe what had just happened. Her breathing is getting faster. Her hands reach for her chest, and there is a knife where her heart should be. She reaches for it. She pushes the knife further into her heart.
The man is still unsure of what he has done. He stands still.
The button is pressed.
The woman attempts to take out the knife out of her chest. It pains her. She tries to breath, but she knows she cannot force it. It is getting slower. The hatred in her towards him was burning. Anger and disbelief dominates her. Her eyes slowly close, and she finally takes her last breath.
The man surveys the room. It is empty except for them. The realisation is sinking in. He has killed her, and he holds his head in utter disbelief. He panics.
He grabs the woman by the shirt and drags her away from the couch. The blood is staining the floor.
He heads for a door at the far end of the room, with the corpse behind him. He opens the door and he pulls the corpse into the room. The door closes.
The sofa is still ripped to shreds.
The birthday card is torn apart.
The birthday cake is on the floor. The candy flowers are broken.
It is confusion.
Infatuated With The Sweetest Pill
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I just got back from James Higham's art exhibiton opening, in the Art School. Compared to Geo, James has a more realistic style, much less abstract, and admittedly a better painter, but Geo is much more entertaining, with bolder ideas, and more creativity. Abstract really suits him. But who am I to comment though. I'm not the most artistic person in the world. Haha. Oh, and congratulations goes to Geo for getting into Wimbledon Arts.
Anyways, today has been tiring. Although I only had 3 lessons out of 7, I had to use up my triple PR and breaktime to finish my English notes.
My pill. Colon D. She knows what I'm talking about. Haha.
I've got no work to do, till.. No. I actually don't right now. All the set work has been done and handed in. What a gem.
Signing out
Over and out
Anyways, today has been tiring. Although I only had 3 lessons out of 7, I had to use up my triple PR and breaktime to finish my English notes.
My pill. Colon D. She knows what I'm talking about. Haha.
I've got no work to do, till.. No. I actually don't right now. All the set work has been done and handed in. What a gem.
Signing out
Over and out
Monday, February 25, 2008
Are You Listening?
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A man stands on the roof, alone. It is night, and the darkness hides him from the pedestrians down on the streets. He is about to jump, his left foot about to take the final step into eternal nothingness. He hesitates. He remembers waking up on a lovely Sunday morning, savouring the smell of freshly made toast, made magnificent by the accompanying sight of her in his t-shirt, obviously oversized. That smile, forever etched into his mind, unforgotten and unchangeable. For that moment in time, she was his, and he was hers. He cannot stop this last step. A few seconds later, a little girl screams as she sees the mangled corpse of a man with a note in his hand.
A woman sits alone, in her dark apartment. In her hands, a few dozen sleeping pills. No one knows she is at home, contemplating eternal nothingness, wiping the stale tears off her bruised cheeks. She is about to put the pills in her mouth, and for a split second, the scene of one particular Friday afternoon flashes into her mind. It was spring, and the flowers came out to play. She was holding her baby, her little princess. The little baby adored her, giggled as she played with her nose. The baby's eyes trusted her with her life. She isn't going back. In the next few hours, a husband comes back home to find his wife lying on the sofa, lifeless, with photos of their baby all over the floor.
The things we lose. The people we can never see again. The deaths that we mourn for.
Are you listening?
A woman sits alone, in her dark apartment. In her hands, a few dozen sleeping pills. No one knows she is at home, contemplating eternal nothingness, wiping the stale tears off her bruised cheeks. She is about to put the pills in her mouth, and for a split second, the scene of one particular Friday afternoon flashes into her mind. It was spring, and the flowers came out to play. She was holding her baby, her little princess. The little baby adored her, giggled as she played with her nose. The baby's eyes trusted her with her life. She isn't going back. In the next few hours, a husband comes back home to find his wife lying on the sofa, lifeless, with photos of their baby all over the floor.
The things we lose. The people we can never see again. The deaths that we mourn for.
Are you listening?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Chaos. Confusion. Anger
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Chaos. It starts.
You stand there, watching, unable to figure out what's happening. You stand helpless, powerless, without the ability to make any sense of any of this at all. The chaos surrounds you, you are trapped. You are unable to do anything. So you collapse, in hesitant tears you weep. You shout injustice, but no one hears. No one listens. Only chaos embraces you, and only time will tell if you will embrace chaos in return.
Confusion. It lingers.
You question. You argue. Nobody answers. Nobody argues back. You don't know what to think. What is right, you are unable to decide. You are confused. Everything you believed in, everything you thought was the truth, turns out to be an illusion. Your hands shiver and sweat. The headache is getting worse. It is throbbing. You are unable to stop this pain, and you don't know why. Again, you weep, and for what, you are unsure. It is confusion, it blankets you. Confusion, it surrounds you.
Anger. It dominates.
Arson of the heart, you feel the hatred swell inside you. You relish this sinful passion. It empowers you. Your fists clenching, you embrace this profane emotion. Blissful anger, what joy in hatred. What joy in violence. You secretly embrace this spiteful fire. You are exhilarated, almost rejuvenated, by it. You welcome the anger with open arms.
You stand there, watching, unable to figure out what's happening. You stand helpless, powerless, without the ability to make any sense of any of this at all. The chaos surrounds you, you are trapped. You are unable to do anything. So you collapse, in hesitant tears you weep. You shout injustice, but no one hears. No one listens. Only chaos embraces you, and only time will tell if you will embrace chaos in return.
Confusion. It lingers.
You question. You argue. Nobody answers. Nobody argues back. You don't know what to think. What is right, you are unable to decide. You are confused. Everything you believed in, everything you thought was the truth, turns out to be an illusion. Your hands shiver and sweat. The headache is getting worse. It is throbbing. You are unable to stop this pain, and you don't know why. Again, you weep, and for what, you are unsure. It is confusion, it blankets you. Confusion, it surrounds you.
Anger. It dominates.
Arson of the heart, you feel the hatred swell inside you. You relish this sinful passion. It empowers you. Your fists clenching, you embrace this profane emotion. Blissful anger, what joy in hatred. What joy in violence. You secretly embrace this spiteful fire. You are exhilarated, almost rejuvenated, by it. You welcome the anger with open arms.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Whispering Nights Under The Tapping Of Angry Men
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I have just had my last Maths lesson, ever. I've finished my Core modules last term, and I've finished the Stats module just today. That means I have an extra three PRs a week, making it a grand total of 20 PRs, more than half of all my lessons. Hahaha. never thought this day would come, when I have more free periods than I have lessons. In fact, if I cram all my lessons together, I would only have two and a half days of lessons. Nice.
Apparently my room is a lot messier than I'd like to think it is. Okay, sure. I can hear you say that your room is much more messier. Blah de blah. Well, beat this. The cleaners refuse to clean my room because they say it's way too messy, so they gave me the hoover and a couple of rubbish bags, and I had to spend half an hour cleaning it. Last term, after I had cleaned up extensively, one of the cleaners saw how different (and clean) it looked compared to the usual, so she called her colleagues to awe at the results. Hahahaha.
Shit. I've got Chemistry.
Signing out
Over and out
Apparently my room is a lot messier than I'd like to think it is. Okay, sure. I can hear you say that your room is much more messier. Blah de blah. Well, beat this. The cleaners refuse to clean my room because they say it's way too messy, so they gave me the hoover and a couple of rubbish bags, and I had to spend half an hour cleaning it. Last term, after I had cleaned up extensively, one of the cleaners saw how different (and clean) it looked compared to the usual, so she called her colleagues to awe at the results. Hahahaha.
Shit. I've got Chemistry.
Signing out
Over and out
A Man Conquering A Mountain
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.jpg)
Today is the end of the weekdays for this week, and as have been frequently said by other people, TGIFF! I've added another F in there. Guess what it's for.
Anyways, school hasn't been too bad. The amount of work has substantially slowed down. So I'm coping.
We went to Geo's art exhibition opening a few days back. It was pretty interesting. And the jazz band was brilliant. They played Sublime's 'What I Got' at the end of the opening, and if it wasn't for the microphone suddenly becoming shit, it would've been amazing. The whole exhibition was on figures, and I think Geo based his work on a guy called Baselitz, who drew his paintings upside down. It was well good.
The night before last, me and Clive also helped Geo out with his graffiti for the Rec Room, which was a big piece with the word 'Everest.' This is, if you're wondering, a tribute to Sandy Irvine, who was in Severn Hill ages ago, and was argued to be the first person to go on top of Mount Everest, but his body was never found.
Oh, well. Nothing much else really.
Signing out
Over and out
A Man Conquering A Mountain
Today is the end of the weekdays for this week, and as have been frequently said by other people, TGIFF! I've added another F in there. Guess what it's for.
Anyways, school hasn't been too bad. The amount of work has substantially slowed down. So I'm coping.
We went to Geo's art exhibition opening a few days back. It was pretty interesting. And the jazz band was brilliant. They played Sublime's 'What I Got' at the end of the opening, and if it wasn't for the microphone suddenly becoming shit, it would've been amazing. The whole exhibition was on figures, and I think Geo based his work on a guy called Baselitz, who drew his paintings upside down. It was well good.
The night before last, me and Clive also helped Geo out with his graffiti for the Rec Room, which was a big piece with the word 'Everest.' This is, if you're wondering, a tribute to Sandy Irvine, who was in Severn Hill ages ago, and was argued to be the first person to go on top of Mount Everest, but his body was never found.
Oh, well. Nothing much else really.
Signing out
Over and out
Anyways, school hasn't been too bad. The amount of work has substantially slowed down. So I'm coping.
We went to Geo's art exhibition opening a few days back. It was pretty interesting. And the jazz band was brilliant. They played Sublime's 'What I Got' at the end of the opening, and if it wasn't for the microphone suddenly becoming shit, it would've been amazing. The whole exhibition was on figures, and I think Geo based his work on a guy called Baselitz, who drew his paintings upside down. It was well good.
The night before last, me and Clive also helped Geo out with his graffiti for the Rec Room, which was a big piece with the word 'Everest.' This is, if you're wondering, a tribute to Sandy Irvine, who was in Severn Hill ages ago, and was argued to be the first person to go on top of Mount Everest, but his body was never found.
Oh, well. Nothing much else really.
Signing out
Over and out
Friday, February 22, 2008
I'm Here
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I'm here, aren't I?"
Yes, you are. And you always will be.
You are a lasting memory that will never be forgotten. The sheer thought of not having you pains me, but the prospect of losing memories of you or your friendship pains me greater. I will indulge myself in this pain, for it is much sweeter a wound than one of forgetfulness and lovelessness.
"Talk to me. Aren't you happy I'm here?"
Ah, yes. I am. Nothing could make me any happier than I am now. Just your presence here soothes me greatly.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
I just want to hear you voice. It is the most beautiful sound in the world. No symphony could match the intensity of which your voice excites me.
"I'm leaving."
I have to say something.
"Wait. I-"
"Yes...?"
"I need to be alone. Go away."
Yes, you are. And you always will be.
You are a lasting memory that will never be forgotten. The sheer thought of not having you pains me, but the prospect of losing memories of you or your friendship pains me greater. I will indulge myself in this pain, for it is much sweeter a wound than one of forgetfulness and lovelessness.
"Talk to me. Aren't you happy I'm here?"
Ah, yes. I am. Nothing could make me any happier than I am now. Just your presence here soothes me greatly.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
I just want to hear you voice. It is the most beautiful sound in the world. No symphony could match the intensity of which your voice excites me.
"I'm leaving."
I have to say something.
"Wait. I-"
"Yes...?"
"I need to be alone. Go away."
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Half Of This Was Away With Half Of Me
So how was your half-term?
Shut up. I don't want to hear about it. Instead you're gonna hear about mine.
For both weekends, I stayed in Oxford, and spent most of my time there with my pill. Which was brilliant. I enjoyed myself so much with her. I can't wait for her to come to our house dance :D
The rest of it was alright. The weekdays were spent in sunny London. Yes, I'm not actually being sarcastic here. London was indeed sunny. Sunshine and sunny rays. Sweeties and sugar days. Spent the day before Valentine's playing football with the lads. Heh. That was actually really quite fun. Of course playing for four straight hours gave me a really bad headache and a really sleepy head that felt as heavy as an anvil strapped to a cow. With three fat (sorry, I meant clinically obese) Americans on its back shouting "Yippe-Kay-Yay."
Of course when I was about to have a pre-sleep lunch, one of the cleaner ladies told me my brother was in the hospital, and out of obligation I had to stagger my way to St. Mary's hospital. Feeling probably worse than my brother, who was actually on the hospital bed having a nice little nap, I had to sit there for a couple of hours doing nothing, waiting for the doctors to actually find out what the hell was happening with him.
Almost dead, I excused myself for a few hours, saying I haven't eaten anything but dirt from playing football, which was actually true (Well...). It was an hour before I came back to the hospital, with Churn, Faiz and Deebs. If it wasn't for Deebs, I would've injected myself with morphine out of boredom, though I'm not sure how that would help. Then there was this curious guy who kept talking to me about football because I was wearing an Italian football jacket.
"Waff wafff Italy waff waff wishy waff World Cup 2012 waff England" was all I heard at first. Of course I didn't have the heart (or the balls) to tell him he was wrong, that there won't be a World Cup in 2012 (it's in 2010 and 2014) or that it wasn't in England. Then I pretended to understand what he was saying, and I managed to get away with it.
"Waff waff boosh waff Italy win waff Cup waff England not winning waff waff south african team maybe waff waff" he said. So I replied:
"Ah yes, but I think the Italian team is way too old, and some of them might have retired by then." To which he grumbled and mumbled out of grudge because I actually knew a thing or two about the Italian team.
Did virtually fuck-all for Valentine's. I did plan something for the pill, but by that stage it wasn't my job, it was the girls from Headington's job. I just giggled in the corner of the lobby wondering how well it's going, proud for having thought of such a plan.
I can't wait for March 1st.
Signing out
Over and out
Shut up. I don't want to hear about it. Instead you're gonna hear about mine.
For both weekends, I stayed in Oxford, and spent most of my time there with my pill. Which was brilliant. I enjoyed myself so much with her. I can't wait for her to come to our house dance :D
The rest of it was alright. The weekdays were spent in sunny London. Yes, I'm not actually being sarcastic here. London was indeed sunny. Sunshine and sunny rays. Sweeties and sugar days. Spent the day before Valentine's playing football with the lads. Heh. That was actually really quite fun. Of course playing for four straight hours gave me a really bad headache and a really sleepy head that felt as heavy as an anvil strapped to a cow. With three fat (sorry, I meant clinically obese) Americans on its back shouting "Yippe-Kay-Yay."
Of course when I was about to have a pre-sleep lunch, one of the cleaner ladies told me my brother was in the hospital, and out of obligation I had to stagger my way to St. Mary's hospital. Feeling probably worse than my brother, who was actually on the hospital bed having a nice little nap, I had to sit there for a couple of hours doing nothing, waiting for the doctors to actually find out what the hell was happening with him.
Almost dead, I excused myself for a few hours, saying I haven't eaten anything but dirt from playing football, which was actually true (Well...). It was an hour before I came back to the hospital, with Churn, Faiz and Deebs. If it wasn't for Deebs, I would've injected myself with morphine out of boredom, though I'm not sure how that would help. Then there was this curious guy who kept talking to me about football because I was wearing an Italian football jacket.
"Waff wafff Italy waff waff wishy waff World Cup 2012 waff England" was all I heard at first. Of course I didn't have the heart (or the balls) to tell him he was wrong, that there won't be a World Cup in 2012 (it's in 2010 and 2014) or that it wasn't in England. Then I pretended to understand what he was saying, and I managed to get away with it.
"Waff waff boosh waff Italy win waff Cup waff England not winning waff waff south african team maybe waff waff" he said. So I replied:
"Ah yes, but I think the Italian team is way too old, and some of them might have retired by then." To which he grumbled and mumbled out of grudge because I actually knew a thing or two about the Italian team.
Did virtually fuck-all for Valentine's. I did plan something for the pill, but by that stage it wasn't my job, it was the girls from Headington's job. I just giggled in the corner of the lobby wondering how well it's going, proud for having thought of such a plan.
I can't wait for March 1st.
Signing out
Over and out
Thursday, February 7, 2008
The Exaggeration Of Underachievement
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Okay, I have achieved something monumentally great, it deserves a statue of epic proportions, an allegory so unsubtle that future generations will immediately understand the epic scale of my achievement.
I have written a 3,000-word essay, last minute, in what was essentially less than three hours. And I've managed to get a B (rather than a D+, like on my last one), which is the highest in the set (surprisingly).
Obviously it's not an A, but it's still rather pleasing.
Sure, I exaggerated in the first paragraph of this blog, but you could not imagine how much I was grinning on the inside when I was looking at the essay after being given it back. And my introduction was read out loud as being one of the best.
Ah, yes. The small things in life. I almost gave up on this coursework. I thought I could never get a B, never mind an A. And yet, in the first draft, I managed to get a B from the harshest (yet fair) marker I've known in my entire life. I reckon with a little more work, I could get an A in this easily.
Good day today. Played Squash with my housemates. Though I lost 10 out of 12 games, I still had fun. Some of the shots I made were absolutely amazing. Clive and Lowco, who both beat me 4-0, even admitted it. My two wins were against Fudge, and he wasn't terribly good. We drew 2-2.
I should go out and play sports more. Hahaha. Lose a little bit of my tummy. What will Pill say about that? :P
Meeting my pill soon.
Signing out
Over and out
I have written a 3,000-word essay, last minute, in what was essentially less than three hours. And I've managed to get a B (rather than a D+, like on my last one), which is the highest in the set (surprisingly).
Obviously it's not an A, but it's still rather pleasing.
Sure, I exaggerated in the first paragraph of this blog, but you could not imagine how much I was grinning on the inside when I was looking at the essay after being given it back. And my introduction was read out loud as being one of the best.
Ah, yes. The small things in life. I almost gave up on this coursework. I thought I could never get a B, never mind an A. And yet, in the first draft, I managed to get a B from the harshest (yet fair) marker I've known in my entire life. I reckon with a little more work, I could get an A in this easily.
Good day today. Played Squash with my housemates. Though I lost 10 out of 12 games, I still had fun. Some of the shots I made were absolutely amazing. Clive and Lowco, who both beat me 4-0, even admitted it. My two wins were against Fudge, and he wasn't terribly good. We drew 2-2.
I should go out and play sports more. Hahaha. Lose a little bit of my tummy. What will Pill say about that? :P
Meeting my pill soon.
Signing out
Over and out
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Anger Will Be The Name Of It
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Oh, bloody hell.
I'm so pissed off right now, I feel like screaming and strangling someone. I'm being serious here. Yesterday wasn't the best of days. Nothing extremely bad happened. I guess it was bound to happen. Gradually, I guess, bottling itself up.
In some respects the past 12 months have been hard, but I soldiered on. I braved on. I showed relatively no anger, no emotion. Nothing compared to how fucked up I sometimes feel. Sometimes when something fucked up happens, I don't evel feel anything, and that failure to emote properly, to manifest my anger, it puzzles me. Sometimes all I want to do is cry, or shout, all in sadness or in anger. But somehow I couldn't. I stop myself short. And I go on with my life.
I don't see anything wrong with showing any emotion, but ironically, I sometimes can't. It's so frustrating at times.
Last night was the one of the few times I showed any anger. Even then it was calculated i.e. I was able to restrain myself. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but there are times I wish I would just explode.
I think all this need for anger, ultimately comes from a need for passion.
I need my pill.
Signing out
Over and out
I'm so pissed off right now, I feel like screaming and strangling someone. I'm being serious here. Yesterday wasn't the best of days. Nothing extremely bad happened. I guess it was bound to happen. Gradually, I guess, bottling itself up.
In some respects the past 12 months have been hard, but I soldiered on. I braved on. I showed relatively no anger, no emotion. Nothing compared to how fucked up I sometimes feel. Sometimes when something fucked up happens, I don't evel feel anything, and that failure to emote properly, to manifest my anger, it puzzles me. Sometimes all I want to do is cry, or shout, all in sadness or in anger. But somehow I couldn't. I stop myself short. And I go on with my life.
I don't see anything wrong with showing any emotion, but ironically, I sometimes can't. It's so frustrating at times.
Last night was the one of the few times I showed any anger. Even then it was calculated i.e. I was able to restrain myself. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but there are times I wish I would just explode.
I think all this need for anger, ultimately comes from a need for passion.
I need my pill.
Signing out
Over and out
Barbarity In Civility
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Hmmm..
I feel like I want to explode right now.
Signing out
Over and out
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
We Can Hear You Shouting
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Tension is in the air, or more specifically, in the house.
Remember a few weeks ago I complained about my neighbour who couldn't stand my loud music? Well, things just went up to another level.
Apparently last night he went crazy, shouting and swearing at another guy, Will, in front of our housemaster. He's lost it, I think. He has cracked under the pressure.
Lauitt's ears must have been pretty fucking sensitive to even hear Will on the phone. Will was on his phone, under his duvet, under his pillow, as quiet as possible. Fuck knows how Lauitt heard him, so he went to Will's room, and warned him that if he didn't stop talking on the phone, he'd call the housemaster.
Okay, let's get this clear. Lauitt is a fucking snitch. He told Vicars (housemaster) on me when I was on the phone at 12.30, and when my music was 'too loud.' Last year someone had sex in his room (hahahahahahahahahahaha) during the house dance, and he told Vicars about it.
Anyways, here's how it went on. Will ignored him, and said "Go on, tell him." Lauitt being a stubborn bastard, went to tell Vicars.
Funnily enough, Will had finished his phone conversation and was in bed when Vicars and Lauitt came in to his room. So Lauitt just lost it. Apparently he shouted "Stop FUCKING lying to me, Lan!" (Lan is Will's second name). Vicars had to tell Lauitt to leave Will's room. It's quite funny, actually, when you think about it.
He went absolutely mental (I'm not really sure that's PC, haha) and stormed out of the room. Apparently, me being only a room away, was the only one in the corridor who did not hear anything. Clive said Lauitt's eyes were mental. "I told him not to talk after 11, but he still persists!" or something like that was what Lauitt said.
He's an odd fellow, Lauitt.
I think he's gonna switch rooms with someone from the D-wing. If he's not, he's in for a very torturous time. This corridor is a pretty lively one. He's not gonna last long before he cracks again.
Signing out
Over and out
Friday, February 1, 2008
Speaking Moments, Crashing Computers
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school,
writing
Once upon a time, early January of 2001, a timid yet enthusiastic little boy walked through the wooden doors of the Multi-Purpose Hall at Rimba with his parents, to the sight of another hundred or so fresh-faced little boys and little girls, also with their parents, wearing proudly their new uniforms. The little boy knew none but a few of them, and he was excited at the prospect of making new friends with the other little boys and little girls. That day was the day the little boy first stepped on Maktab Sains’ grounds.
Today, that little boy is standing in front of you, presenting this very speech, not as little as he used to be. Not as timid as he used to be. But still as enthusiastic as he was then, if not more.
Time passes by so quickly. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s only a cliché because it’s so true. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six years. Six truly wonderful years, in which I’ve made some wonderful friends and been taught by wonderful teachers. Yet no matter how many wonderfuls I use in a sentence, it will never be enough to describe how I enjoyed those six years. If I had the opportunity to start over, I’ll do everything just as I did them then. Every decision. Every mistake. Every single moment.
There’re some lines from a song I particularly like, from The Ataris, called ‘In This Diary’. The chorus goes:
‘Being grown up,
Isn’t half as fun as growing up,
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters is just
Following your heart,
And eventually you’ll finally get it right.’
I basically shaped my life’s principles around these lines. I learned to enjoy myself. I learned to trust my instincts. I learned to not take life too seriously and always look at the bright side of it. And best of all, I learned to be a teenager.
But I never ignored my responsibilities as a student, especially being a member of a school as high a stature as Maktab Sains. I wasn’t the best student to work with when it came to homework or assignments. Just ask some of my former teachers. But I always listened to what the teachers taught me. I always tried to catch and make a mental note out of what came out of the teacher’s mouth, even if at the same time one of my classmates might be talking to me about his outing with his friends the day before in all its glorified detail.
I also tried to not depend too much on teachers when it came to doing classwork. I wanted to think for myself. I wanted to solve it for myself before consulting the question with the teacher. And I didn’t want to bother the teacher with every little question that I know I can find out for myself. Even though I worked like that, I always checked my answers with my friends, to see if I had done it correctly. If my answer was wrong, then I’d try to find out why it was wrong. How I got it wrong. Then I’d start again and correct my mistake.
Quietly and slowly I had gained confidence in myself. Quietly and slowly I had increased my self-esteem. I rarely volunteered for any activities in Primary School, yet in Maktab Sains, I started to join the school’s many extracurricular activities. The PowerPoint Presentation, I hope, have shown / will show the activities I’ve joined in the past six years.
I attribute being awarded this scholarship to my parents, my teachers, my friends and the Bruneian government. I am thankful to have so many wonderful people alongside me. Parents who support me. Teachers who are willing to educate me. Friends who can pull me through.
Although this is not the end of my journey, it is a big step in it. I have no particular destination at the end of my life’s journey, because I want to live my life and do what I can do when I can still do it. I want the journey to last as long as this soul still resides in this very body.
Once again, I thank both my parents and family, all my teachers and friends, and people along the way who have helped me one way or another. To sign off, I will recite this poem I wrote recently, just for you guys;
Waiting for the life-changing aeroplane,
I wonder over what’s next after now,
I ponder over how’s life after here,
And I let out a smile
Uncertain yet unafraid
Unintentional yet honest
Shaking the hands of the years gone by
Teary eyes are infectious
Goodbyes are heartbreaking
And I slip out a teardrop
Just one, not many
Refrained, certainly not the last
And then I finally say goodbye
Assalamuaikum Warrahmatullahi Wabarakatuh
------------------
Again, I found this while checking all my documents on my laptop. This was the speech I was supposed to give for the Farewell Ceremony we had in MS, and as some of you know, my laptop crashed that night, and I had to make a new one on the spot.
This one’s so much better than the one I presented that day. I cringe when I think about it. I wanna throw this bloody laptop to its doom. Put it out of its misery. And get myself a Mac. But no point in doing that. I’ve got massive loads of work, and I don’t have £3000 with me right now to buy a new Mac. So I’ll just have to be content, and squeeze out this laptop’s dying life.
Signing out
Over and out
Today, that little boy is standing in front of you, presenting this very speech, not as little as he used to be. Not as timid as he used to be. But still as enthusiastic as he was then, if not more.
Time passes by so quickly. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s only a cliché because it’s so true. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six years. Six truly wonderful years, in which I’ve made some wonderful friends and been taught by wonderful teachers. Yet no matter how many wonderfuls I use in a sentence, it will never be enough to describe how I enjoyed those six years. If I had the opportunity to start over, I’ll do everything just as I did them then. Every decision. Every mistake. Every single moment.
There’re some lines from a song I particularly like, from The Ataris, called ‘In This Diary’. The chorus goes:
‘Being grown up,
Isn’t half as fun as growing up,
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters is just
Following your heart,
And eventually you’ll finally get it right.’
I basically shaped my life’s principles around these lines. I learned to enjoy myself. I learned to trust my instincts. I learned to not take life too seriously and always look at the bright side of it. And best of all, I learned to be a teenager.
But I never ignored my responsibilities as a student, especially being a member of a school as high a stature as Maktab Sains. I wasn’t the best student to work with when it came to homework or assignments. Just ask some of my former teachers. But I always listened to what the teachers taught me. I always tried to catch and make a mental note out of what came out of the teacher’s mouth, even if at the same time one of my classmates might be talking to me about his outing with his friends the day before in all its glorified detail.
I also tried to not depend too much on teachers when it came to doing classwork. I wanted to think for myself. I wanted to solve it for myself before consulting the question with the teacher. And I didn’t want to bother the teacher with every little question that I know I can find out for myself. Even though I worked like that, I always checked my answers with my friends, to see if I had done it correctly. If my answer was wrong, then I’d try to find out why it was wrong. How I got it wrong. Then I’d start again and correct my mistake.
Quietly and slowly I had gained confidence in myself. Quietly and slowly I had increased my self-esteem. I rarely volunteered for any activities in Primary School, yet in Maktab Sains, I started to join the school’s many extracurricular activities. The PowerPoint Presentation, I hope, have shown / will show the activities I’ve joined in the past six years.
I attribute being awarded this scholarship to my parents, my teachers, my friends and the Bruneian government. I am thankful to have so many wonderful people alongside me. Parents who support me. Teachers who are willing to educate me. Friends who can pull me through.
Although this is not the end of my journey, it is a big step in it. I have no particular destination at the end of my life’s journey, because I want to live my life and do what I can do when I can still do it. I want the journey to last as long as this soul still resides in this very body.
Once again, I thank both my parents and family, all my teachers and friends, and people along the way who have helped me one way or another. To sign off, I will recite this poem I wrote recently, just for you guys;
Waiting for the life-changing aeroplane,
I wonder over what’s next after now,
I ponder over how’s life after here,
And I let out a smile
Uncertain yet unafraid
Unintentional yet honest
Shaking the hands of the years gone by
Teary eyes are infectious
Goodbyes are heartbreaking
And I slip out a teardrop
Just one, not many
Refrained, certainly not the last
And then I finally say goodbye
Assalamuaikum Warrahmatullahi Wabarakatuh
------------------
Again, I found this while checking all my documents on my laptop. This was the speech I was supposed to give for the Farewell Ceremony we had in MS, and as some of you know, my laptop crashed that night, and I had to make a new one on the spot.
This one’s so much better than the one I presented that day. I cringe when I think about it. I wanna throw this bloody laptop to its doom. Put it out of its misery. And get myself a Mac. But no point in doing that. I’ve got massive loads of work, and I don’t have £3000 with me right now to buy a new Mac. So I’ll just have to be content, and squeeze out this laptop’s dying life.
Signing out
Over and out
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