I have a foul tongue that I apply indiscriminately, a temper that I cannot immediately hope to protect my family from, no discernible talent of solid substance and laziness to boot. The reason that God, knowing the end from the beginning, put me on this Earth is yet to be discovered. It either gives me hope that I was made for a great story, or fear that I’m here to be an example for wrongdoers of none inspiring. 

My cat looks like a rabbit and acts like a dog. Tell me that is not a most startling identity crisis. 

I might not complain if the world ends this year. 

Self-discovery has always been a topic most seriously expounded upon by those at leisure to think beyond the necessary components of survival. As such, I feel that my current endeavor to chronicle this little ditty of realisation will be permitted by those who silently (or not so silently) judge their surroundings in the increasingly consequential world of social media. As I am presently seated at a desk that bears the weight of a mess that is growing prodigiously fast and furiously it has become very clear that this is the most conducive environment to puke into utterance the thoughts that I have supported today. 

Today, as the mother and I were walking to the foodcourt at Century Square, we passed a child that was throwing a tantrum of Mother proportions. That was when she said (my mother, not the kid) that “I never got this kind of trouble when you and your sister were young. I just let you do whatever you wanted to do and I think that made you happy babies.” That explains a lot. I cannot claim to not care at all for the world’s opinion of me or my behaviour, but in the end, I do feel like I generally do whatever the fuck I want. My reasoning has mostly been, I am fine as long as I don’t hurt other people’s enjoyment of life and all its good thing. So in my mind, I get away with being riotous as and when it pleases me and when I am shamed I can easily console myself by saying “So the fuck what?” 

Ought I be ashamed? I can’t tell - I’m too accustomed to serving only myself.

Today I:

Bought tickets to watch The Kooks at the Esplanade Concert Hall (weird venue or what).

Finally sent my stupid questions to my interviewee so that she can prepare.

Went home early because I felt unwell after lecture.

Felt like shit the whole afternoon.

My nerves are wearing very thin, school’s not a month through and I already have problems keeping myself from foaming at the mouth. I guess it’s cos I give so much fuck about my grades but am not anywhere near sure about how to effectively attain them. And my stress should not be pushed to my group mates for consolation because they don’t deserve that stress. On top of that, I’m insecure about radio because it was my weak point the semester before last, it’s just always left a bad taste in my mouth… (that’s what she said).

I need to take an internal chill pill cos I look calm on the outside but my insides are coagulating.

I’m not sure how I feel about Tumblr. While it’s a new platform to blog on, I think it’s far too “rebloggy” for me. The niggling thought at the back of my mind that I’m not using a website as it is intended makes me uncomfortable. Concurrently, however, it IS supposed to be a platform for blogging. Clearly, I don’t fully understand what my gripe is. Part of me is tempted to go back to Blogger while some percentage of my remaining consciousness is urging me to give Wordpress a whirl. The fact that I’m even having a dilemma about what blogging platform to employ makes me feel quite stupid so let’s have a convenient change of subject.

I have begun writing for a local lifestyle website for youths called Fever Avenue and while I’m mighty appreciative of the opportunity to write for it, I must say I feel quite lost attempting my first foray into Fashion writing. I put that down to the lack of identity as far as fashion writing goes. I have, in my history of writing, become very much accustomed to describing my own thoughts, my own reactions and justifying my mistakes with words. Descriptive essays about other things however, throw me off - I suddenly scramble to find words befitting of the cause I aim to push, to fluently tie an idea together so that it may make sense to my potential readers. And more frequently, I second-guess myself - click into google to ensure that Tweed is Tweedy and “endeavor” is not in fact “endeavour” (after which I ponder the American-ness or British-ness of said word and think myself into headache). Needless to say, I’m a blubbering idiot in severe want of some literary respite. Reading the Hunger Games series enriched my mind none, save for the vague nightmares of running from nothing and trying to kill seemingly indestructible insects. So I picked me up a couple of books, hopefully sharp-tongued, hopefully blunt enough to jolt me back into sensibility. 

Other entries on my list of endeavors include learning the harmonica, teaming up with people who will whip my work ethic into shape and coping with my undesirable desire for romance.  Fuck this, I’m not ready for the bullshit that comes with being human and growing up. 

I also blew $30 on a cab ride today. A cab ride that had me stuck in three different traffic jams and one mega rainstorm. Bloody waste of money. Next time, I’m digging a tunnel to school.

I’m not quite sure if I will ever be sufficiently intelligent to understand all that I read. To fully appreciate the complexity of words and emotions, and the display of the latter through the former. The loss of a beloved heroine is painful but did I receive all that was intended by the author? I think not, but indeed I gained a great sense of despair and it is clear that I become much more attached to Renee than should have been supported.

The Elegance of the Hedgehog was just as, if not more heartbreaking than I expected it to be. I have never been more shamed by any other book or had my faults more exposed internally. With time, I hope to build on my own patience and understanding so that I may appreciate more fully the contents of this beauty when I read it again one day.

Everything is a learning experience. 

Is it just me or do Ellen Page and IU look alike? O.o

SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY SO BUSY 

But lao niang still got time to squeeze in a post. :P 

Modules of MCM Sem 1.1

Idea Jumpstart (done)
Gracomm (done)
Webgra (done)
Sports and Wellness (done)
Marcomm 
Medsoc
Locvid 

Let’s finish this semester well!