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.
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Stopping to smell the roses is not an option. Once you stop, you know that motion was purgatory. How can you start again?
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Because when you move, you feel nothing, there is no effort. It is instinct. It is natural. There is no other way.
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We are restless.
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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.

Okay, I know I said I won't post anymore negative stuff. But p-lease. It's only bad stuff that's exciting, i'nn'it? What's that phrase? Negative bias. Yeah well, it's usually the embarassing/angering/saddening things that we brood about, that we think about. So I'm not surprised that I've already broken the "write about good stuff" promise.

Sorry I didn't post sooner, but when I wanted to yesterday, there was some kind of bug affecting Google. I couldn't bloody type. I couldn't even sign in! Very frustrating, I can tell you. That was one of the few times I got mad at Google, even though I was using their map for my Geography folio. I suddenly wasn't so grateful.

Yesterday, I went to school feeling a li'l aggrieved. You see, on Thursday (here we go with the choronicles!), a classmate did something rather disgusting (read: lewd) to another classmate. Of course, Classmate 2 got mad and tried to give Classmate 1 his due, but laughing all the while. And so did the others. In fact, the only unsmiling face was my own. I was stricken, shocked that she did not seem as angry as I expected, weird as that may sound.

It reminds me of another instance in my class when boys were pelting pieces of paper at the girls' behinds. It was right in front of the teacher, and us girls scattered, but the teacher didn't seem angry - she did not reprimand them in the least. But then, who can? If you do, it's not like they'll understand. I really felt like crying with frustration. Try making a crawling plant stand on its own without tying, and you'll see what I mean. There was, like, no solution. How to make them comprehend the discomfort, embarassment and whatever feelings caused, when they couldn't, unless they themselves were girls.

I have to thank another friend of mine now. I was ranting to him to unburden myself, when he said the most encouraging, reverse-psychological (though I know he does not mean it to be) phrase I could hear: "What can you do? It's all fate." Which absolutely convinces me there IS a way, even if I'm just 13.

What more, it RAINED during assembly. The SPM students were laughing at us. When it started to drizzle, the teacher on stage didn't even seem to notice, and all the more those comfortably seated under the roof. They should've known, I can't help but think - the sky was as dark as a crow's wing, and quite as foreboding. Anyway, the teacher just mentioned that he had to end his speech due to weather complications when the drizzle became an absolute downpour. The students, including myself, of course, bolted. Some even screamed. Yeeowza.

That was pretty dumb.

I would have more to talk about, but I gotta sign off for lunch now. Tata.

Haunts, hatred, haze, and H1N1. (and holiday homework, of course.)

Spuuukeynesss. Ghost month again. Isn't it strange? Rather like a climax, in a way. These months, since the football competition, my classmates have been exchanging ghost stories at every event - birthdays, camps, and whenever the teacher is out. I don't know what's their obsession with the supernatural, but I do believe it's infecting me. And I know it can't be healthy.

To tell the truth, I was so spooked out on Wednesday night that I COULD NOT SLEEP. I was sleepy but didn't dare go to sleep, because then I would have to turn off the light. And in my state of mind I was sure something would grab my leg as I was getting back in bed. I watched my phone clock with an uneasy eye. Terrified that midnight would strike.

I fell asleep in the end, but woke up twice. My dad switched the light off for me, I think. When I woke up in the morning I didn't dare open my eyes for fear of what I'd see. I waited till my mum had to come into my room and turn on the light before I got out of bed. In the bathroom I leaned against the wall to avoid looking in the mirror, worried that someone would be behind me. I avoided the toilet unless it was urgent, and almost didn't brush my teeth.

Aren't I superstitious.

On another note, one of my good friends had a sudden fit of temper yesterday. I didn't realise how severe until today. It was very severe. But she obviously vented her spleen quite completely - she did not say anything particularly evil-tempered today. I hope she's herself again. A single moment of anger is better than a long drawn-out feud.

The haze is worsening, so much that we cannot detect it by scent anymore - it has been affecting our nostrils for too long. My eyes sting even now. I hate haze. a glance outside my house tells me how thick it is. H1N1 infiltrated the school, by the way. A fourth-former got it. Yikes.

Aaaaaaaaaagh. I have tonnes of folios to do, and not a single inclination to! Gobshite. I have to finish my civic folio by the end of the hols. Oh, sucks to the world of folio work! Not to mention homework. And the exams. Yippee yea yea.

I wish all the people in my class - especially the more rowdy ones - could read Lord of The Flies. It's not written very interestingly, but it's dark and ought to give them a prick at their conscience. If they bothered to understand it. Then maybe they'd be more respectful of rules.

Holidays. No fun involved. Just folios.

Food for thought -

Maybe it's just me, but it seems that things always seem better when you look back on them. The present lays the facts down bare, clean and honest, but the past exaggerates them. Another weird thing about life, along with where the socks go after laundry is done.

I also see that the less you care about society, the better it treats you. Either that, or you just don't realise when you're being outcast. When I was ten and thought friends were life, pretty much everyone hated me, including myself. Now I'm three years older and couldn't care less who does. It feels gooood.

However, I'm still trying to unravel certain mysteries. Like why most people instinctively fear facing the truth, or rational discussion. Really. Example: when you have a fight with your friend and he or she wants to talk about it, you dread the moment. Or when you know someone likes/hates you, and are scared that he or she wants to talk to you about the feelings between the both of you. It's strange.

Also, I am adopting a new doctrine: to step in someone else's shoes. When my teacher yells at the class, I won't blame her instantly. I'll try to understand why she's upset and attempt to remedy it. If possible. And I'll take a new motto I got from Anne of Windy Willows: "If you carry a smiling visage, to the glass you meet a smile." Although it won't be easy smiling at people with a mask over my mouth and nose. Figures.

I think I should be more assertive. Maybe I'm acting rather doormat-ish in my efforts to be a forgiving, diplomatic person. Perhaps I'm too forgiving. But blah. I so need my sleep now.