Sze Hooi

For a friend who is no longer here, this is to your memory.

The last time I saw you before the funeral was last year. I never expected that to someday be true; meeting you again at a later date was an assumption. We were never especially close, hence, no need to meet up and all frequently.

But then you slipped away.

Only you will hold the clues to why you did it. Fifteen. Your life, so long, still ahead. But if you were not happy to be here, then I hope you are happier... wherever you are.

Even though we weren't best friends, we were classmates, and you were closer to me than many. You were always sweet and funny and bubbly. You never shied away from me, or were disgusted by me, or even looked at me strangely. You were a genuinely nice person. Smart, sporty, warm, good-natured. How could anybody not like you, want less than your regard?

Now you're gone, and I wish I could have told you all this when you were still here.
Now you're gone, and soon we, your friends, must forget our pain and keep our memories.

For even beyond death, you are my friend.

Why is it that so many people seem to think all young adults are incapable of rational thought?
Especially snooty adults. Scratch that. Snooty teachers.

Look. A lot of teens have brains. Brains that aren't gonna be demolished by a couple of stray hormones. In fact, sometimes they actually stimulate us, if you can believe it! If someone is in a position of power in a student body, chances are, (s)he should be, and (s)he can make the right calls. That person is probably chosen for his (for convenience's sake, not sexism, let's call it a he) talents, leadership skills and THINKING ABILITIES. Even if he doesn't possess these three (and who are we kidding, a lot of adults don't) he always has his trusty committee members to aid him.

Some adults don't even have the same level of clear thinking as a teen!

And have you noticed that there are just as many, if not more adult wrongdoers as there are YAs? Helll-lloooooo!

The youth generation has the ability to make the difference, to improve the world. Teens have brilliant ideas because as of yet, the older generation hasn't molded them into its own ideals. Teens, they're the change agents. Can people stop stamping the thought that teens need more control than adults into us, eroding their creativity? Because personally, I think we need but just as much.

Then again, what do I know? I'm just a teen.

Ah, but here's another one.

I had my palm read on one of those facebook app thingies. Turned out that I was a bit too analytical about my emotions. And cold.

Don't, please don't ridicule me when I say I almost believe it. A microscopic particle is all. But still, part of me does, actually, believe such utter, ridiculous nonsense.

Why?

Because, perhaps, I just feel abnormal. While everyone (or almost everyone) my age has crushes left and right, I never seem to care. Guys have come and gone but my last crush was way back when I was twelve. Which, for a teen, is pretty asexual.

Well, I never thought I was normal.

Excerpts from Notes of B.A.

I used to think, it's not fair. It's not fair to have people who have more rights than others because of the family they were born into. Not for a service rendered to the nation; not for earning it, but through a coincidence. It isn't fair at all.
But then I see the poor on the streets, hungry, without shelter, and I think, what's fair? What's fair when you have people dying of starvation when others can die of overeating?
Is this equality?

*

Suddenly I don't know where we are anymore. Am I at fault? Are any of us? We've moved on. New friends, new lives, new worlds. We have less in common.
There's no real reason as to why we drifted apart, nor a turning point, a line where we divided. We didn't fight.
Maybe that's the cause. How we parted.

*

[fiction]
..so congratulate yourself - from being another face, somehow you've snuck into the cracks and made yourself indispensable, holding my life up, stopping collapse. But let me tell you: many have done it before, and each have not succeeded in their goal which is now yours. You see, if I took every person I could not exist without and had them lie down flat in a line, heat to foot, they would circle the globe and a little over. Yes, you are important to me, but there are many above you, as well as those who are also important in a different away. I am sorry. I cannot accept what you offer.
If there were a way to define your relationship to me, it would be as the classic, "a very close friend", which is, in fact, exactly what you are. Yet I know you will keep trying. Try. I will not stop you. I merely discourage you for fear that you build your hopes too high for stability. But if you can, if you dare, why not? Try! And for aught you know, you may succeed.

*

[random points to ponder]
Just a step away from freedom... Just a moment further to go. Then in a blink you wish you were bound, as before.
-
You stretch to your limits, you strive. It's a tortured life to lead. Sometimes each particle of you aches with an unnameable pain you wish would end you. No resent; no false, decorous hatred. You hurt without source.
-
Liberty from pain is mere existence. Where do you go? After struggling, what do you know anymore? The prize is no longer of import. The mountain has been scaled.
-
You live for the climb, th uphill-sprint. So you may stand upon the top and say, I did that, I suffered for it. The aim is not to reach the peak.
-
Stopping to smell the roses is not an option. Once you stop, you know that motion was purgatory. How can you start again?
-
Because when you move, you feel nothing, there is no effort. It is instinct. It is natural. There is no other way.
-
We are restless.
-
So forgive us for not joining your choir of freedom, we prefer imprisonment. We would rather be led than lead, we want Them to show us where to go. Is that not the tune we oft sing? The melody we play when we conform? Are we not blind?

*

There were more, but chances are low that I would ever publish those. Nite now.

Fresh beginnings are raw.

Raw as flesh rubbed against leather. It's only now that I realise how easy it is to be caught up in the past. How bad sweet memories are, how they cause decay of the new.
You walk looking behind, and nothing behind you is new. Everything is familiar, unthreatening. You are happy. You do not realise what is coming towards you - you are too engrossed in that which is going away.
But you turn around. It is the world. New, frightening, dangerous.
Would you watch out for dangers, or wrap yourself up in the old?

Change is hard, but I need it. Badly. Because change keeps me alive. Memories are for those whom have nothing left, and as of yet I have it all. I must make my memories to last till I can make them no more.

Ages and ages hence..

It's been a ridiculously long time since I've posted. There're lots of things I've thought of saying... half of which I've forgotten.

We're moving soon. It's a bother packing, but actually, I don't do much of it, since it's hard for me to throw stuff away - I'm a bit of a magpie, or pack rat, you might call it. My mum can dump old things like she was born doing it, though - a trait not one of us have inherited.

I've turned my interest to comedy, thanks to my brother. British humour is amazingly satisfying, it really spoils my appetite for the American variety. After watching so much Monty Python, Howie Do It is curiously stupid and dull.

I've watched a lot of Monty Python lately, actually. For those of you who don't know them, Monty Python is a British comedy group consisting of John Cleese, Graham Chapman, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Terry Jones and Terry Gilliam. They had a TV series called Monty Python's Flying Circus.

The reason why I'm so tediously insipid at the moment is due to my drugged sensation of sleepiness. I'll go appease my brain now, g'tie.

Screaming blue murder

I have no idea what that means, but it looks cool. I'm writing not because I have something to write about, but simply for the sake of it.

Yesterday, while I was on MSN, I saw something about a thirteen-year-old blogger who was famous and being invited to all sorts of fashion shows and blah. Apparently some fashion people saw her blog, which reviews, I think, the clothes that wacky fashion designers come up with.

One thing's for sure: if we ever met, we would never see eye to eye.

First of all, the fact that she likes, and keeps up with, trends of the day. Call me old, stiff, close-minded, whatever you like, but I simply cannot understand modern fashion. Just like abstract art. Who in the real world actually keeps up with these things? Seriously. In my opinion, if it's not your job to critique or design or model, and you're not a celebrity, then why do you bloody care?
(I'm not criticising her, actually, since it is her job now. I think.)

Then the way her blog is written. Okay, I know, I know, she's not a writer, but just reading it makes me feel frivolous and rather groupie-like. Of course, it doesn't matter, since she's a critic and not an author. Just sayin'.

My dad said I should start commenting on books, but most unfortunately, there's no Borders or MPH or Popular or any proper fiction bookstore here. So bluek. I don't think I wanna be the next great book critic prodigy or whatever, anyway.

My head is throbbing, my vision is splotching, my temper is irritable and I gotta go.