The Truth Of The Contrary

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"The world had brainwash us into believing
that fame, popularity and victory leads us to happiness,
where on the contrary, it is the exact opposite."



Specter Stop Light

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a little hum-dee-dum project I did using photoshop

look at the cool blue stop light.
it looks like a specter.
(kind of fitting, Halloween's tomorrow.)

Ducky PhD

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Dad gave me this after his trip from KL.


I'm never a duck enthusiast
but this picture of Ducky PhD from back to back
made me a little giddy.

I need it.
And it's orange.
Yea :)


matches my pencil, no?




Chocolate-Zilla

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hoko.
I go nuts for this thing.
I'm quite aware that it is just common chocolate spread
but I eat it right out the container.
It's my self-indulging snack.

I kicked this habit a few years before
but when it reappeared once more in
the kitchen pantry, I can't deny it.

after that, I demand it to be bought
for every other week.

the chocolate monster returns.


When The Play Ended

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The play ended.
Among the hoots and claps,
I saw you making out of the crowd
in a white shirt.
You turned your head around, 
knowing that my eyes are trained on you.

What did you think when you saw me?
Were you as surprise as I?
How did my face looked like?
It must have been pitiful.

But it made you stop.

Momentarily, we locked on each other's gaze.
I didn't even know you would look at me that long.

You never understood me.
 We're just like two rivers of different speeds.
But somehow, at the end of the play,
I could see the acknowledgement on your composed face.
You watch me with that bored face, 
the poker face you put on only reserved for me.
You were always weary.
But why was this one different?
This intensity.

My feet came forward.
You were just there.
I widen my arms and,
as if you knew,
you opened yours to me.
Since when were we in sync?

I meant it to be a congratulatory hug.
Well done. Good job.
On the play.
But I strained it with misses.
The clutch was like we've been through a war.
Did you miss me as well?

What part were you in the play?
I can't recall.
I was the girl who made the sound of birds.
Always calling.
Like how I called for you.

I looked up to your face.
The timing felt right.
I need to tell you something.
You nodded, never spoke.
But when you took my hand,
it was like you knew.

I found a used store with the lights still on.
Hesitating to close the lights, I did not
and we hid in the corner behind broken wooden chairs.
I would confess my feelings I harbored for such long years.

and I remember no more.

that dream really shook me.
I knew it was just a mind game.
but I can still feel how it felt like to hug you.
we never did.
we never even knew we wanted to.
and perhaps, 




we never will.

_____________________________________________________

unrequited love.
I really wouldn't recommend it.



Horse Ride To The Sunset

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Watch me speed by to the horizon and feel sorry that you choose not to be on the horse ride with me.

Now you have to walk.




Phrases like that really keep me going.




*such an Indy ending.

I Like Your Makeup

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Dream

There was this Goth Guy.
I told him "I like your makeup."
And he kinda fell in love with me.

Seriously.
I don't know how these things happen to me.



Thank goodness it was just a dream.
(Or is it? Because Goth Guy was pretty okay-looking.)








drew this because...I didn't want to study.
I'm so sorry if it's not that focused and
you cannot see the shading.
(And I shaded so hard!)
My phone can do so much.

The donut in hand (my hand, I assume)
well, that's another fact in the dream,
I was in a donut/ice cream shop.

I wanted a donut but changed my mind and wanted ice cream.
(What was wrong with my dream-self?
I obviously like ice cream FAR MORE than I like donut.)
But the lady who makes it already did the donut.
I have no clue why I agree just to hold it like a dimwad while she preps up my ice cream.
So it's there. Dripping down my arm.
Hmm.

Also, Goth Guy works there as a waiter
because his mom is the owner of the shop.
His mom's is his boss.
I can't decide if that is uncool or cute.
Well, he donned on Goth clothes so Cute it is.


And I still didn't get my ice cream.
Dang.
(Dreams always end before you get what you want, huh?)


Click Clack Shimmer And Shine

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100th Post!


To celebrate with me,
play this song and dance jiggy
with swinging your arms around
while still sitting facing your computer screen.
You'll look like the most happiest bloke :)
(Or at least the weirdest. But ah, who cares?)


note: if you're scared of that thing that pops up, just hit deny. then click play :)

Thank you for clicking and waving your arms.
To another bagozillion more posts.

God Bless.


was planning not to post this but since it's special, meh.

Planning To Fail Ain't That Bad

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Conversation with a friend online:

Friend   Me

on Excel this next Monday

...I didn't study. How bout you? ^^

of course not. WHO THE HELL STUDIES.
I've been playing my guitar :)
learning a song.

that is awesome. plan to fail has never been a more fool-proof plan.

When you plan it that way,
all stress are off.


They Are Appealing, How Dare You Say Otherwise

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I want to post some pictures up of the things I drew
when I'm suppose to study for Excel Form 4.
But I doubt my I'm going to use the scanner anytime soon.
(It would be a lot easier if the scanner is compatible
with my Windows 7. I'd scan it later. Perhaps.)

Here's a sneak peek of whatcha gonna see:



which is cute. haha.
by the way, I am currently really digging
the 'detective hat' look.
it just growls a certain masculinity.
agree?



*scratches cheeks nervously*
about this.
the chronological order
(chronological needs no SpellCheck)
of this is the black-haired guy to the left
to the guy with the book
to the man in sunglasses.

| here is what I wrote in each one of them |

Black-haired guy to the left

the ambitious general.
what knows what possessed me to draw this thing.

 (kind of reminds me of Oscar from Season 3 of 90210.
I just found out---through Wiki---that the actor shares
the same birthday as me! my jaw dropped.)

Guy with the book

the bored detective.
perhaps jealous of the general's vision in life.
and doesn't like his mustache.
he should shave it soon.

Man with sunglasses

George is curious of your hair.
Really curious.
He wonders when are you going to cut it.
Real soon?
He wonders if the general & detective needs
some help with their hair issues.
General has too much hair and
  Detective needs to trim his mustache.
As you see, George is curious and thinks a lot in a short period of time.


The side note at the bottom right-hand side says:

What is with these random & stranger characters?

Later, I kind of analyse myself through this and came up with these results:

The General is probably my unconscious desire to do something
splendidly marvelous some time soon.
I'm planing. I'm just waiting.
What it is you might ask?
I don't know.
Another point, this antagonistic General 
shares an uncanny resemblance to
Blair Redford might show my dislike
to his character in 90210, Oscar.
I like his hair though.
Reminds me of mines.

The Detective might be my unconscious salute
to the character in The Interpertation of Murder,
Detective Jimmy Littlemore---later to be known as Lieutenant.
The mustache...well, I rarely draw someone with a mustache.
That's it.

The Hair Stylist would mean my curiosity to crew-cut hair
and my unconscious need to trim my hair.
I need to trim my hair.
The floral shirt...I meant to be festive.

So what did Sis aka #1 Critic said?
"Your drawing is different...but it's unappealing."
What? D:


Unappealing?


Look at them!!!
How do you even judge them as unappealing?
General has a little power.
Admittedly, that is kind of sexy.
Plus, he has awh-some hair.
Detective, he's a brooder.
And MUSTACHE. Hello.
MUSTACHE.
And Hair-Stylist has that cool sunglasses.
And fashionable-never-will-go-out-of-style hair.
To top it all of, a floral shirt. Yeah, a floral shirt.
What screams 'I'm a dude, but I wear floral shirt because I have taste' more?

Unappealing?
Shizz no.


Question : What do you say?



Procrastination, It's A Crime

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Freaking finished this thing:


it turned out there IS a twist at the end.
not surprisingly.
(I mean, what do you expect?)

Now I've got nothing to read.
I should really start to learn how to write again.

But kind of got wayward from this artist.
Truly this person is amazing.
His humor gets me.
For those curious enough, please check him out.
Trust me, you won't be disappointed.

Should I be writing right now?
...
Nah.



This Romantic Weather

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19.10.10
The rain woke me up this morning.
Sometimes, you can't help but feel
God has an awesome romantic side.
:)



Thank you.

Now I want to curl up in my blankets and gently snooze in the cotton.
Just for a little while.
I'll be back.


Which One Would You Choose?

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How is
realizing your dream 
and
being happy 
such different things?


Reduced Rank

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You make myself my second best.


Wing In The Sky

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that is the cloud in the sky today.
it reminded me of wings.
a little of God's Greatness was seen today.
I'm really fortunate to manage to take this shot
while the car is turning around the bend.
kind of makes you wonder what other things in this world
that you had never laid your eyes on.

I need to see a gigantic mushroom one day.
Must.



My Letter To A Dead Man

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This is a continuation to the post before. I wrote this the next day of my English essay, during my Chemistry Paper 2, because I felt so bad and guilty, hence I tried to calm myself by writing an unsent letter to a fictional character.
I felt better after writing this.


"

Dear Teri,

I am so sorry you had to die. Although it has been a well-formulated plan to cut you out like beef in a Swedish butchery, I can't help but to feel deep remorse and chagrin at your passing for my selfish endeavour for a high score in my English essay. Forgive me.

I have turned cynical nowadays and tend to revel in the most disturbing prospects despite my efforts to sunny up my essay and venture into a happy ever after. Sadly, I'm not that kind of person. My characters are dropping dead like flies in a zap-away-cage, having a weird twist of sad fate or by the most, a hopeful ending. Oh, but that is no excuse to what I have done to you. You died. I am still human and cannot detach this instant fondness I feel over you Teri, maybe because I named you after the sweetest character in True Blood.

Please note that I sent you off in a noble way. You died for your brother, Tommy (I just realized that that is another True Blood character. I'm sorry for being a parodist. I did not mean to.) You will forever be the sign of gallantry. I hope you can find compensation with that while cleaning the witch family's cauldron from iguana gunk and fish slime. It is my fault for picking witches out of the supernatural index, and not some sexy vampires or fairies. But pixies doesn't send out just the eerie vibe I was aiming for, you see?

I would also like to apologize that your predecessor, Tipsy Tori, was such a malicious alcoholic, taking away his brother's great-great-great-great-great grandson (you, I mean) like that. Don't bother. I'll make sure he has a bad ending to take you away from the world. (Did I just diverted the fact that I was the one who killed you off, where Tipsy Tori was just a lowly goon?)
He'll rot in hell, Tipsy Tori will.

Moving on, your death left many questioned about the validity of the town's myth (which, you know personally, is quite true.) The police concluded your death as a result of extreme hypothermia (it was raining when they found you; your bloody arm made them assumed that you almost drown in the lake---though there were no test results that you were in lake water.) The morgue assistant thought otherwise but kept mum about it so as to not start an uproar. Your cause of death was identified but remained a mystery. How does it feel like to leave the living in mystery? Well, I'm sure you didn't want to die but that is pretty cool, eh?

I also wanted to send you news about Tommy. He's alive and doing well. He has just started third grade and has a knack of being a charmer. You don't need to worry about him. He'll grow up and name his firstborn son after you. Just guessing. You must be so delighted. I hope you will.

Anyways, I hope you to be forever well (whatever state of form you are in now) and accept my apologies, once more, to have ended your life. But if you would ever reply me (in whatever way you will), could you answer this one question of mines?

Will you haunt and take another soul so you could be free?

I know you are not like that and you will never befall another misfortune to a family like what Tipsy Tori did to you. Hey, here's an idea. Take a lonely alcoholic! That should do the trick! He's bound to die anyway. But if you still say no to that suggestion, I would fully understand.

With love and utmost respect, I bid you ado. I still hope you would forgive me, if your heart has the emotional stretch to accept it. I wonder if the witch family is treating you well. When you feel like you're pretty sick and tired of them, you know what to do.



Your everlasting friend who killed you off,
Ashiqin
"


My Horror Story

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This story was for my Section B Essay for English. It's Question 4 that went
"Continue a story with 'He hurried home quickly. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky..." 
Not one of my greater works but it influenced me in a way I would never imagine.
You'll know soon enough. The question practically grovelled on its knees for me to write something spine-tingling---and not in a good way. Muahaha. I rarely flex my fingers for a horror story, so this would be my first try in trying my skills in the horror genre.
 I'm proud to say that, in my opinion, it would have been cast as a C-Grade movie.
Or lower. Whee :D
I'm writing it back just to remember it and perhaps, for your entertainment as well.
If you don't mind, this is not the orignal version and I would not like to have the unedited and edited version on one post because it would be rather boring to read the same thing twice, so I'll just post up the nicer, cleanier and sparklier version. So enjoy :)






"




    He hurried home quickly. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky. So much for the name of the town, Bluesky Woods. Under the concealment of his coat, he hid his bloody arm from his neighbours. This was ridiculous. Home was the last place he should be. Teri did not want his father and little brother to get hurt or taken away.
    Passersby darted into their respective house as a powerful wind picked up from behind him. He tried to see from the flurry of his hair the paveway. The ominous clouds were now overhead and stretched till they eyes can see. Everything was dark. It is hard to believe it was only one o' clock in the afternoon.
    Teeth chattering at a sudden chill that crept his spine like a vinestalk, Teri tried to figure out where to go, where to run. He should be away where they are no civilians. He did not want anyone else to get hurt, or worse, taken away. He contemplated the park. No one would be there on a stormy day like this.
    Teri tried to run without screaming. It was terribly hard. Once he remembered what he was running away from, his lips started to bleed. The prospect of tomorrow suddenly felt impossible. He was halfway across the street, making his way to the park when he heard a snap like a switch echoing in the air. He was unsure if that sound was even real.
    He turned as a gust of wind came howling behind him, eerily moaning his name. He looked behind him to the middle of the street. He staggered forward but did not tear his gaze away and almost fell. Luckily, he did not but stayed, his shoes bolted to the asphalt, watching in horror or fascination as the creature came gliding from the sky like a black-robed angel.
    There was a legend.
    The town where Teri lived, Bluseky Woods, despite the sunny name, had a dark past that everybody in town knew. The old townfolks during the turn of the 19th century, shared an unusual court case. They have prosecuted an entire family out of suspicion of practicing witchcraft. The one and only case of its kind in Bluesky Woods.
    The family was sentenced guilty without trial. The father of the family of four, who had been charged for associationg and accomplicing with witchcraft with his steely-faced wife, swore before they were burned alive that they will have vendetta. He cursed that they will take a man from this town with them to serve them in the afterlife. That man can only be free if he takes another man's soul. That night, the mayor's brother, Tipsy Tori was found dead. There were no other records of mysterious happenings after that day. The townfolks always wondered when will Tipsy Tori get tired, who would be serve the witch family in the afterlife?
    Teri guessed he was next.
    The creature (a ghost? a phantom? a reaper?) glided his way, plumes of black smokes escaping his robe to the ground it was not touching like he just escaped from a fire. Teri had enough of anxiety and started to run into the park, trying to get his run fast while clinging on to his bloody arm that scraped through a wire fence while escaping the masked phantom. He had an urge to look back and found the hooded creathre was not pursuing him. Not satisfied, he ran some more until he reached the lake in the middle of the park.
    He stopped next to a tree and leaned against it. His sides burn in aggression and he slumped downwards. He opened his coat, his blood sticking to the fabric and wrapped it to his wounded arm.
    He gulped in some air, trying to make sense on why Tipsy Tori (he was assuming the hooded creature was him) wanted him to exchange his place in the afterlife. Is it becasue their names were almost alike? Hardly unlikely.
    Teri closed his eyes for awhile, trying to subside the pain and struggle with a plan. He opened his eyes again and jolted seeing the hooded creature at the centre of the lake, appearing from nowhere (no that's a joke). Teri scrambled to his feet but the creature swooped up to him in an instant. He had no choice but to look straight ahead. He was amazed with himself for mustering enough pride to face the hooded thing head on.
    "What do you want from me?" Teri asked, through gritted teetg. He was shocked when it answered in a voice that sounded like a hiss of a boiled kettle,
    "To getssss yoouuu."
    "There's no reason to get me, out of all people."
    "Ah, but there isssss," it extended its hands, long nails with grime, wrinkled, decaying, "I came to get Teri Barthemelow Thomas Harry Bruce Kingston Deimus Arlingtonssss."
    "Arlington?" That name ringed a bell, "The mayor Arlington? The one that brought to court that family of witches?"
    It was silent. But it agreed.
    Teri knew he was somehow related to Mayor Arlington, but never a direct line.
    "You can't take me," Teri said defiantly, "I can take you on." Though, he highly doubt it.
    "Ohh...you can ressssissst, you can fiiight, I will back aaaaway. I am...fraaaagile. But I can alwaysss take sssomenone elssse...liiike Tommyyyy."
    Teri's eyes were still. A flash of image of his four-year-old brother holding his one hand and beg him to play with him and his toy fire truck came into mind. Tommy had large brown eyes and was a teary child.
    "Not my brother," Teri quickly stated. His heart sunk a the thought of that little boy in this thing's hands. Teri could not live without him, and he just cannot take the thought of his little brother as a servant to witches. How much will he cry then?
    "Chaaanged yourr miiind, I seeeeeee?"
    Teri was dumbstruck. Should he actually agree to this?
    "I caaan eassssily take boooth of youuu, if youu fiiight Teeeerrri."
    He wanted no more of that. Anything but that. "Take me then."
    "Noble, noble," One of his acrid hands struck to his neck, tight, "not like my brother."
    In a flash, its scabbed hands pressed on his throat like a vice. Its smell as it came closer was chokable, undescribable. It really stank like another, unpleasant world. Teri stared at the dark shade under the hood, tears brimming his eyes as it slowly took out the cloth covering its face. He opened his eyes wide as he stared at Tori. At his death. For the last trace of memory of his life among the living, he was happy that Tommy did not have to see this.


"


Should Leave The Internet And Read

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currently reading :




It's so awesome because it's a murder mystery!
And not the lame ones that draaaaaaaaaaags on.
What's more the main ways they're solving it is by (I'm guessing),
PSYCHOANALYSIS.

HOW STUPENDOUSLY CALLIFFRAGALISTICLY MARRRVELOUS IS THAT?

I want to be a psychologist.
This can be, like, my reference book.
Plus, one of the characters is a neurologist who
freaking founded the psychoanalytic school of psychiatry.

I should really get off my laptop to finish this bad baby.





Really Is Contagious

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I am currently into this song that
I have this persistent need to
play it every single day.




You can click it.
You could not.
Your choice.
Your lost.
No pressure.

If you clicked :


She said: "Don't take too big a breath."

She said: "Don't breathe in too deep,
you might choke over the words you don't swallow."
She said: "Don't take too big a step."
She said: "Don't run too fast,
you might trip over the path that you follow."

I get my way, I get my way.
Your complaints can't explain it.
I get my way

I don't need your direction. (I'm catchin' up to you.)
And I see my imperfections. (They're creeping up on me.)
And I don't need your direction. (I'm catchin' up to you.)
Don't turn down the bed, 'cause I'm not comin' home.

I told her "Keep your money straight,"
"Don't spend it all in one place,
you might find yourself too broke to borrow."
I told her life is gonna fade:
"Don't let the youth go to waste,
you'll soon drown yourself all up in your sorrow."

I get my way, I get my way.
Your complaints can't explain it.
I get my way...

I don't need your direction. (I'm catchin' up to you.)
And I see my imperfections. (They're creeping up on me.)
And I don't need your direction. (I'm catchin' up to you.)
Don't turn down the bed, 'cause I'm not comin' home.

I'm runnin' dry,
Is this real life?
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
So cut me loose, this has gone too far,
I'm getting out while I still have a shot.

I get my way...

I don't need your direction. (I'm catchin' up to you.)
And I see my imperfections. (They're creeping up on me.)
And I don't need your direction. (I'm catchin' up to you.)
Don't turn down the bed, 'cause I'm not comin'...
Don't turn down the bed, 'cause I'm not comin' home,
I'm not comin' home.
No, not tonight.




If I had an animation series, this song would be in it. Guarantee.







Fatal Attraction

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What the?
I didn't make a special post for 10.10.10?
OH WELLLL.

(I am unhealthy. Viruses are seriously attracted to me.)


Final Exam Is Over

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With exam over,
it left me no distractions
to the fact that
you're here.
And I can't come to you.



Maybe one day you'll come to me.

Is This Some Kind Of Sick Joke To You?

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My stomach is upset.
It makes me hunch forward out of pain.
I'm sorry, I shouldn't describe it to you.
Writing this now is painful enough.

Last paper tomorrow and its Literature!
*twirls in fields of flowers*

When I'm happy, I twirl in an imagination
of flower fields.
I never seen a flower field :'(

Alright, enough sob story.
Tomorrow is Literature and...
we can go home early! YAY.
But then the next day school as usual.
Which is unfair.
Because we come as often as the PMR kids
minus three days.
And other people...did not.
I'm thinking of skipping school on Wednesday
just to defy it.
But I heard there was a SRM meeting.
Dang.

(I plan something, and it backfires. WHY???)

I write some other time when my tummy
feels like awesomeness.
I can't think of anything witty to write
because my stomach is like...eating itself.
And I just finished Biology Exam today
and learned a lot about the human digestive system.
Is this.......................................some kind of joke?



D:<



From Your Drawer, I See Your Soul

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they say you could know a lot of things from a person's personal space.
I don't know what's more personal than the drawer of your vanity dresser.
Let's analyse it together shall we?


1. A head-scarf. I wear veils.
2. Hair band. My hair is long.
3. Empty purses. Never use purses.
4. A container for glasses. Wears glasses.
5. Deodorant. Has sense of hygiene.
6. Money. Actually keeps money.
7. Badges. Still in high school.
8. Various cards from friends. Likes to keep friends close.
9. A picture of parents. Likes them.
10. A Paramore album, Brand New Eyes. Likes Paramore.
11. An Adam Lambert album, For Your Entertainment. Likes Adam Lambert.
12. A broken glass music box. Cherishes her childhood.
13. An open money bank full of changes. Does not like changes.
14. An empty notepad. Does not know what to do with the notepad.
15. Jewelries under the lower cabinet. Does not wear jewelries.


well, that sums it up.
surprising.


I Gave Up

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I try to twist the words and rhymes 
as intricate as a   s t r i n g  o f  b e a d s
 to poetically declare on how much I just---oh, the hell with it.

I love you.


Rotten Relationship

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When Laptop Lags :

Me 
Ugh. I hate it when it does this to me...but I still love it. 
It's like a bad boyfriend.

Sister 
*hides head in crossed arms*



Butterfly With A Bullet

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 To Leonnie, my poem&quote buddy,


You ran off with someone.
Who puts her heart on her sleeves
As clearly as you do
And I stand here, logic-shattered
As I crushed on how deeply I let you in
And tell it-in my own way-how much I love you
and stop before the words "I hope" come out.
Stole what I perceive
and feed it to your ego,
now you're just a flitting butterfly.
At my hand's reach 
but just something I
will never really keep.

Perhaps before the sun rises,
you are amazing
and your distance is 
irresistible.
You look ethereal 
in the shine of day.
You drive me to the wall
when you 
lean away.
Maybe I just like the chase, 
adore the tease.
There were--was--no love.
Just a pursuit to amuse my destructing satisfaction.

But when you were my ears,
Things happen faster 
than a bullet
The adrenaline was wonderful 
as the world speeds pass by.
When I say, It wasn't love, 
it backfired on me twicefold
So I succumb to the warm pillows 
in the centre of your eyes.

Then just as quick 
as that speeding bullet,
I woke up shivering.
And those eyes turn away.

You ran off with someone,
Who puts her heart on her sleeve
As clearly as you do.
I clutch a towel 
and drop my butterfly net.
I pick up the shards of my logic
And you were left stuck in a spider's web.





Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

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Who Won 'Being Two Members Of 
Different Bookshops In One Day'?

I DID!

(Though I feel as if I'm having an extra-marital affair, 
despite not being married.)





*so got the title post from the movie, 21

Post Promise Part Two

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This is Part Two from the Part One to finish the Collection of Two Posts I Promised.
Yadda yadda yadda read.

After my Mum picked us up from the hotel, she had a sudden urge to pamper herself all day which she doesn't have often. We were lucky enough that she wanted to spend some time with my sister and I too.
We went to a mall and got ourselves some soft ice-cream (the shop was closing down, sadly, and I was three more stamps short for a free ice-cream) and bought some books to read during the PMR holidays. And somehow, I don't know how and why I didn't resist (was it the ice-cream?), but we ended up, weirdly, 
getting a foot massage.

We entered this small shop that struck to me on how could anyone have a massage in here? It had the garden wood floors, the pebbles between the cracks, soft low lighting and the trickle of water from...somewhere. I happily thought my Mum alone was getting this foot massage and try to concentrate on The Intrepertation Of Murder by Jed Rubenfeld (my taste of books. Huh.) Apparently, my Mum confirmed a full set of foot massage for the three of us. The lady who took care of the counter said we needed to go to another place to get them, which I thought of course, they can't massage in here. Then what's with the bed and the Zen-like garden? Decorations? Oh, wait.

The other massuesse place was outside the main mall enclosure on another winged shop at the highest floor. So we went where the lady pointed as she rush back to the reception shop where it is currently on auto-pilot. We passed by a bridal shop and gawked at the froo-froo of a red dress on display. As we climbed the stairs to the top of floor, I started to wish that this was not one of those seedy massage places I saw that would always get raided by police that offers more than a massage, if you get my drift.

After I excitedly ring the bell to the door, we went in and I was completely piqued by the smell of aromatherapy, (which I'm guessing is the smell). The main shop looked similar like the reception shop. It was wood-themed, had a low lighting, a Buddha statue and the sound of the trickle of water which I cannot seem to place but I failed to spot a speaker anywhere.

We waited for awhile on the chairs at the front of the door. I watched my sister following her massuese to a chair on a pedestal with a bowl at the front of it (a picture would explain this better but I don't think they approve of photography) and rolled up her jeans so that her feet could be washed from the dirt and bacteria. Another lady came and plopped a towel on the coffee desk. She looked up and said, "Hai." I muttered a "Hey."

She was actually my massuese and I had to go to the same rinsing treament my sister had. The water was warm to the more hot side but after walking a few miles in five hours non-stop, it felt really good. This made me sad that there was no hot water for my bathroom. You are designated a slipper and I head off to one of the four out of the six available chairs (two were taken by a four-year-old kid and an older woman which I could only presume to be her mother) and sat beside my sister where her massage was already undergoing. I sat awkwardly, not knowing either to make myself comfortable or do not try anything so you won't break anything. My massuese helped me to prop myself up and I just gave in to be stupid.

She started to use a cream to massage my feet and did some small talk.
Intercepts of Small Talk :

"YOU TWO AREN'T TWINS?" she said in disbelief, "but you look so alike!" 
That was the second time we heard it that today. My sister and I still can't see it.

or

"So you never had a massage before? So you're like massage virgins?" and she started to snigger with my sister's massuese. I just laughed it off, not seeing the big deal but when you see from their point of view it could be humourous to massage a first-timer, like they have so many things to still learn about the "world of massage."

Right, so if you asked me if I liked my massage, my answer : Yes and No.


Why I Said Yes

Most of the parts of massage was really nice. To sound like a massage virgin, I never let a stranger touched my feet like that before. And the scent with the sound of trickling water and the background forest music lulled myself to almost-slumber.


Why I Said No

Some of the parts were really painful. I'm not one to complain on pain but I am still going to complain. One of the excruciating one was when they rub between your big toe and your second toe. Even the masseuse expresses a "Yeah, I know. It hurts." look to me. I try to bear it but I wanted to bit something. And the next part, whoa, it got me raising an eyebrow.

I have only seen the hot stone massage performed on TV and how people look so relaxed when they have it one them.
Lies.
After a short intermission, my masseuse came back with a basket of smooth, black stones. I always wondered how these feels like. Then, I don't want to wonder no more.
When my massuese was happy with a stone that was not slightly hot, she rubbed it on my leg and I instantly jolted upwards involuntarily. What are these stones??? They are like Blazing Stones From Hell. I repeat: BLAZING STONES FROM HELL.
Okay, fine, they were actually from the Philipines but the heat might as well be FROM HELL.
Not that I was that sensitive to heat but when the stone grazed my leg too long and I was too nice to say, "OH MY GOSH THIS IS TOO FREAKING HOT! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!", it feels like these evil stones (yes, I used evil because I might as well be flat-out honest to you) were melting my into skin and burying through my white, hot flesh. Most of the time I just gritted my teeth together because I don't want to call the hot stone massage off because I'm too much of a cheap to waste my mother's money like that. I think I left my nail marks on the leather seat. I really hope they don't notice that.



I asked Sister and Mother on their opinion and they said that the hot stone massage was very nice.
Have they grown accustomed to heat of hell?

So you see, I came back home at 7 pm because after the massage we went to pick an appliance (which I'm not quite sure what it is, that is why I'm dubbing it an appliance), went to the supermarket to buy some coffee and roam a CD store and then we had to wait in the rush hour. Tired out off my mind, I went back home and needed to get ready for school and the examination tomorrow. After that, I wrote that Rant Post about how tired out off my mind I was which you have the misfortune to read but I'm making it up by writing TWO posts about how I got to Rant Post so you should really be happy by now and I'm starting to get beat after writing two posts in a row and we would not want it to end like Rant Post.






I hate stones from volcanoes.