YAY I AM BLOGGING AGAIN

how did you guys miss me

anyway. I have been watching some random China drama (apparently their Chinese standard is better than other- rather expected, though) and it's about the era when there were dynasties and I think it was 清朝 with   雍正皇帝 or something :D And it's quite funny, amusing when they quarrel. But the way they fight- it's just BURN BWAHAHAHA because they're really good at secretly hurting people, hinting things and beating around the bush and stuff. And there was this one scene: XD

松公公：奴才最该万死！
皇帝：不必了，你这种人死一回便足够了。

And the concubines actually have ranks and whatnot! And they always say things like, "这是自然的" and "都怪 臣妾/奴婢 嘴笨" and also "失宠了". It's quite funny I think I can reply to people aptly with these lines.

Friends: Why am I always the one chosen D:
Me: 这是自然的。

Friends: You shouldn't have said that!
Me: 都怪奴婢嘴笨。

Friends: I'm so bored. My friend just abandoned me.
Me: 失宠了，失宠了。

Friends: Would you like coffee?
Me: 那是自然的。

Friends: What are you doing- what?
Me: 这是自然的。

Friends: Why don't you ever go out?
Me: 这是自然的。

Friends: Oh, you don't say.
Me: 这是自然的。

Friends: Why do you have a- potato on your table-
Me: 这是自然的。

Mom: Go do your homework.
Me: 如今，我竟然落到了这个下场，失宠了。失宠了。

Wait, what? Anyway, that was just to prove my point that you can practically answer every single question with "这是自然的。" No matter how weird it sounds.
...

This is when you stretch your arms across walls and continents and pat my back before unplugging my computer. And then you will whisper, "it's time to stop posting."

of bloodied horses and broken carriages

The world's spinning round and round and round in circles, turning on her axis, circling the pathway of the sun. It keeps turning, turning, turning in never-ending circles.

It's what they told her. Turn, spin, whirl. Forever.

And at the same time, people are going about their own circles, riding the merry-go-round of life, seated daintily on porcelain horses and carriages, their monotonous lives running past their minds, their very eyes. It's a slow slur, almost drunken and oblivious. It starts out with blasts of colours, excitement seeping through the thin, thin lines of discovery and exploration, then flashes and shimmers in the fading smudges of the rainbow. Sparks fly out in weak glimmers, piercing through the darkened (it's not even night, yet.) folds of our very skies.

And then it dies out.

Then what's remained of the inky, iridescent display melts and crumbles and mixes together into nothing but black. Putrid, evil, ugly black. And then the nightmare dawns upon us (you, we, her, him, them, all of us) and leads us to a routine of monotony, a penciled line that rushes on forever, never stopping, always the same. The headache sets in and turns all of that black into white and black again, flashing pauses of enlightenment are only mere illusions of the eerie tune the ballerina creaks and twirls to. It's desire.

Then sometimes it's too much and you regurgitate your memories and skills, sending them far, far away to somewhere much more blissful (in hopes it won't burn out like that candle that scalded you--it's the faint scent of the joss sticks lingering in the air like wisps of culture drifting away--when you knew you weren't supposed to touch it. That's red.)

And then the world falls to darkness.

Sometimes you wake up with a hangover, supported by tubes and clean, white sheets of death itself.

Most of the time, you don't.

And sometimes, you'll be kicked off the merry-go-round, off the surface of your planet, off to orbit around your own axis, your own route, a piece of rock floating around in space, undecided, lost, done.

She's probably the one who kicked you off.

It's her job, you know. Or so she thinks it's her job.

Perhaps not within the boundaries of a four-walled occupation. Something that's burning, leaking, sizzling under her sheep skin, something that's creeping up (like a wisteria. It's there, just happily settling in, curving around your finger [when you're the one curled around her finger]-- and then it kills you) beneath the pale porcelain of her doll-like innocence. Maybe it's a lust to feel cobwebs interwoven with tall, sticky tales of flaming scarlet upon your cold, clammy skin. Read the letters and words of your complicated and yet so foolish life. Read the names of every single girl or guy that's made your heart race, every single adrenaline rush you've had with coffee running down your system and pushing your head to a light, dizzy tilt.  

It's  interesting. Like abstract art, gore blotting your cold, peeling canvas-of-a-skin. Frayed threads of lost (it was never there, even from the start) life streaming down trembling, cracked skin.

Maybe it's a hobby.

A hobby with 'B's in full capitals, forced out of cracked lips vehemently with sadism pulsing down the curls of its 'Y' and dotting a glossy red neon, puncturing tanned skin. Tanned- you've gone out, but not all out. She's gone far too out. Too far. Like some disoriented moon drifting on the light-headed wisps of hell, skipping between the lava and orbiting- twirling- in its own path, destroying a black hole or two. (They were never big enough to capture her. She would dig and gnaw at their insides, till her nails bled, all just to watch them tear apart and cripple.)

And before you know it, you're off the spinning edges of the glorious ditch-of-a-home. She's laughing, her passion-smothered eyes haunting your last memory, and she's the last person you'll ever see again. You've just been kicked off the planet and left to spin, float, drift apart in space, your bones eventually breaking apart into a million, billion shatters of what you could have done. They dissolve into the thin, thin air (oh, what is air, when you've already departed from life?) and stir faintly around you, before even your own name, your own memory disappears and rots away to a finale of creaking doors and stagnant air.

There's really, nothing much to it.

And you're off the chain, the metallic stains of supposed freedom releasing its hold (grip, tight- suffocating grip) on you. And you're dead. Just a waste of space. Nothing. Nothing more than a disfigured lost cause (that you always were) waiting for nature to claim you back into her gentle arms.

Really, you're always being kicked around. Why don't you ever kick back?

Your morals(teachings on how to gain enlightenment and live forevermore, when you're just dangling precariously on the edge, waiting for her eyes to label you as her next target). Your fervent hope for a better future, forever living by the mantra that claims your kindness will eventually be rewarded. Yes, rewarded. She'll kick you off this nasty world, live the last moments of your life in sheer fear. Sheer realisation the world just is as bad as you might have thought. At least you know the truth before she's unhooked your fingers from the puppet strings you were clinging so tightly onto. Fall away as a helpless victim before the world can transform you into one of those monsters.

Fall away, then.

Fall away.

From my private notebook:

At first, they tell you that everything'd work out.

That you'd fit into a frame of expectations, high hopes threaded meticulously into your name.

Then you'd hear their light, flitting wishes as they'd call out your name.

It's like an investment: they pay in decibels and hues of tone, waiting for your ambitious, guilt-ridden heart to spin out a list of accomplishments. But sometimes you don't fit into the frame- your fingers can't stretch far enough to accommodate the ivories of whites and blacks; your legs and arms work into a frenzy as the beats of crochets and minims clamber upon your clammy heart; your vocals can't pierce through the gentle breeze like the melodious ballad of a nightingale.

And through countless resizing and resetting of the frames, you feel the last of your breath taken, squeezed out of you, the leatherbound hopes working you to your last gasp- a wheeze painfully working its way out of your despair-ridden bones.

I can't breathe.

My P6 class is planning a party.

To be honest, I'm not sure how I should react:

• happy, because I would get to see some close friends.
• torn, because there are many people I won't want to see.
• cynical, because this really seems just another one of their attempts to be more inclusive. I'll tell you what. It won't. There'll be cliques all around, it won't be a class party. And who's going to be planning it? Are they going to just talk about it for fun and do nothing? 
• Rolls eyes, because not everyone will be going.

I don't know. 

Although I've said that I intensely dislike my P6 class, I did like it at one time. Class pride, that was. At least I had that. Idek. But we weren't that close. I bet they still think I'm a quiet, thoughtful girl who's very nice and will sacrifice herself for almost anything.

Ouch. Almost everything was true. I guess. I'm definitely not going. I don't care. 

Okay, maybe I'm hesitating. I guess.

I'm not comfortable with most of them. 

Besides, Faye-Anne's in America. D:

And I don't want to embarrass myself in front of them. I'll probably be alone, again, with a few close friends by my side and sitting there and stoning like that last class party except I was helping out.

Besides, we'll probably be awkward around. One year without contact, of course we'd have nothing to talk about. But I really want to show them I've changed. I'll wear the same clothes. Idek. It sounds childish. Yep. Childish. 

Siiigggghhh.

Some of them were nice. I don't know. There was a nice person. She was loud and about. But she was nice. I guess. And she called me 'bluebird' all day long.

...

Ah well.

POTATO'D.

they're all having nice social lives while I am here derping why this is unfaaaair.

Very unfair.

Extremely unfair.

What can I say.

Anyway. I wrote the first entry for the Discovery Journal Writing.

And I realised how restricted the prompts were. Okay. I was already complaining about it a loooong time ago. The book I'm doing is Never Let Me Go by K. Ishiguro. The starting is interesting enough but I haaaate the prompts.

Why.

I can barely write something out of them. I think Miss Lim won't mind, right? I hope so.

I should try writing a poem, but I don't want to. But recently, there's an idea about writing a book about a fictional character who falls in love with the reader.

That, my friend, is amazing. It would be beautiful. I'm not sure. I should, right? At the same time, I really should finish my other works.

...

Sigh. And Project Jannock. 

BUT OH HEY I'M GOING OUT TO HAVE A LIFE WITH RACHEL :D We're going to go iceskating. Can you imagine?

Potato: on ice.

...

Like Disney: on ice, you know.

And I really should find the poetry transcript for Surburbia so I can practice it every day and suddenly burst out into it for the fun of it because it would sound so pretty  look at it.

And on Friday, I'm going back to school WHEE to get the prize for the SPH competition! I'm so glad we got Merit :D We could have gotten a writing award, too. But I guess, it's a good start! :D And of course, I'm just going to the school library for the sake of it.

I miss wearing the RGPS pinafore.

Sigh.

Oh well.

...

WAIT TODAY IS WEDNESDAY WHAT

rubbish. Me is rubbish.

I feel like randomly blogging. Ahahahahaahahahahahahhaahhahahaahha.

So it's me at my randomnest. I've finally done it. I've screwed up my body clock. I woke up at 1++ today. Well, to be exact, I woke up at 8++ but then went back to sleep.

I am a koala.

Now I am slacking even though I have homework.

I haven't found my book yet.

What is me.

What is life.

What is holiday.

What.

I should get offline and start. Idek. Sighhhhh.

Potato you lazy buumm.

B U T T.

haha I don't know why.

My degree got worse.

This is horrible.

conformity's really just a big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey... stuff.

I was reading through my previous posts on blogger :D

Blogger is a nice place. I'm still trying to learn HTML, which I am obviously miserably failing at.

I'm still trying to learn how to get a new blogskin, just to try it out. HTML is a really strange and evil thing. It does weird things to your brain and makes you explode. Not that explosions aren't nice, but if you get some on the floor... Let's just say your ears are in for it too.

I haven't been on blogger for a while- been on tumblr more. Sigh. I wonder if people even read this blog.
But anyway.

Going out with Jerry and Loon was fun. Like, yeah. But loon was overreacting about my hair. Cool to know I was never registered as a female. No, I am a potato.

Potatoes are ultra fluffy and the best thing? They do nothing.

YAY :D

okay now going to try out one more blogskin.

edit: google sites make you go mad too. It's like you can't really operate anything and you have no idea on the html so you just hobo there. Staring at your computer screen, thinking that you really should try changing the logo that they set for us. Ugh.

double edit: HTML hates me. Ugh why can't just one blogskin work I intensely dislike you, HTML. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO GO ALL IRRITATING AND 'error line 22 column 18' or whatever. ROLL BACK THAT ATTITUDE.

they told you we could do anything and that we were strong. I think they were right.

I'm tired.
I really want to concentrate on writing a decent blog post but nah.

I really should write a decent blog post.
I don't know.
Sighpienigh bloob.

Oh I feel like such a coward. Why, why, why do you do this?

Today's the end of the school year.

Oh. My. Crap.

I don't know.

As I passed Rachel the graduation bear, I suddenly felt like there was something pulling me off the stage. And that they were all going to leave. And I, this lovely potato over here, am going to become a senior. To many other potatoes.

ugh.

And now, my reflections for the year.

The first thing I'm going to say is: I screwed almost everything up.

But here's a list.

• LSC 
• CCA
• Dramafest (even though I wasn't part of it...)
• My general school life.

LSC- Lifeskills Camp.

We were all new to the school and each other and by that time, I was pretty much sure that there were already cliques but the whole camp was extremely fun. Even though I screwed up some of the activities and dragged my classmates down with me, they didn't blame me. They didn't even mention it, only laughed it off and smiled. I was worried that it was just an act, because sometimes, people remember you for the strangest grudges.

But then I kinda realised that they were indeed forgiving and caring. When I slipped and almost fell, they were concerned, even though I had drastically reduced their chances of getting a prize for that activity.
I made friends quick enough, although I wasn't one of the more popular ones. I was cheerful and bubbly, rubbish coming out of my mouth- okay, I was pretty much sane the first few days. Sheeman was the first friend I kinda made, but she scared me because of her uncanny resemblance to another friend. It wasn't the looks, but more of the feeling/aura that she gave me. I was so desperate to try get another seat, but then it was the only seat left. So I had to sit next to her. And right in front of the teacher.

Back to LSC. It was interesting. Well, we had already kinda knew each other- okay, forgive my ever-deteriorating memory. So. We had a lot of fun, even during the performance. I was told that I was going out of beat, but I was only reacting to the music. Sigh, I really should try working out my coordination skills. Really.

And in the middle of the night, I heard kids giggling. Like, real kids. Not teenagers. And the scary thing was, Master Xueqi also heard it. She turned to me and I tried to pretend it was nothing but when I asked her, she said that she had heard it too. It was like some kind of amplified, airy kinda laugh. I'm still spooked. But I'm pretty sure it's the teachers. They probably played it to scare us to sleep. I don't know.

And the football interclass games. I loved it. A lot. Even though I was horrible at it and kicked the football out of court or let it in. We had fun. A lot of it. Sheeman found her talent in goalkeeping XD And we also learned that "Dancers can play soccer too!" --by our class team :D Jonana was extremely strategic, but she decided not to scare us with all the tatics. We just decided to go by this motto: When the ball gets near you, kick it away from your goalpost. The strikers or whoever in the middle field will take care of it.
I was defender, so it was relatively easy. :D We had a lot of fun screaming when the ball reached our side, but most of the time, it was on the other side of the field :D

CCA. English Language Publications Society- English Society.
I love my CCA. Everyone in it. My batchies and even the large population of sec3s and 4s. Even though the sec4s are leaving. But still. I've made quite a few friends in sec3, a batch which I always avoided because they were just so foreign. Even more than the sec4s.

I was at first, a little worried about my CCA. English Society. What did we do? Read books? That was very, very generic. And being a nerd didn't really sound very entertaining, with CCAs twice (it used to be once) a week for two hours each, all committed to reading books. It would be hard explaining to my parents.

I am in reading group. Sounds nerdy? Trust me, it's not that simple.

Well, true, we do read most of the time. But we're always doing discussions on texts and analysing of them. Reflections were introduced in the later part of CCA, but it was always a chore. Sometimes discussions were boring and nobody was enthusiastically participating, except perhaps a few sec2s or mostly sec1s. We also had the exhibitions, which I was excited about. Until I realised that no one really saw it. Perhaps a few, or a handful, but it seemed like no one was looking at them. Still, we kept trying and trying. I think the August one was the best. The October one... well, it was a pity. They were trying to 'keep to the budget' and hence, no boards. It was hardly an exhibition D:

I'm tireeeeed. D: continue more next post D: