Yours Truly

My photo
is behind you.
I am a confused, dangerous little girl. And I bite. Fear me.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Upon the lit late night blue sky,
Lay a queen cutting into her chocolate pie;
Dining astern in a wrecked ghostly ship,
Humming herself quietly the company she'd keep.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Thought of the Day #26

When did we decide that white skin was more beautiful? Or that tanned skin, brown skin, dark skin or pale skin was more beautiful or not? All skins are beautiful.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Thought of the Day #25

Isn't it funny how some people are so different in real life to what they are on the internet?

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Thought of the Day #24

Death is not a sad thing.

Death is only sad for those who are left behind.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Thought of the Day #23

i want to run away from spm.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Thought of the Day #22

I WANT TO WRITE!!! but i don't know what to write about ):

Studio Ghibli movies inspire me :)

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Dislike Buttons

I can't see how shallow some people are, demanding for a dislike button on facebook.

Do they not truly realise how many people use facebook? How many of them who are less confident, more insecure and certainly more suicidal than the average human being? And how many more mean people exist on the same social networking website?

Imagine if facebook did have a Dislike button. And most of the people on someone's friends list did not like him/her and disliked nearly everything s/he did on facebook. Even the most confident of people would suffer a major drop in self-esteem.

It's not a nice feeling to know you're disliked.

A lot more people will become suicidal.

It's not a nice feeling to know you've helped someone kill oneself either.

The number of cons greatly outweigh the pros of having a dislike button which can be used on pages such as "WAR".

Don't let Facebook become a cyberbully website so easily.

Stay off the dislike button.

Monday, June 20, 2011


sometime last year, near the end of school, Ms Susie walked into class and told us to think of a single word. Any word. After we had done so, she forced us to make it into a poem to be passed up the next day, a friday. I didn't make it xD so I negotiated for a monday. and she told me, "For that, your poem must be excellent. You must make it excellent. Heh heh this should teach you not to negotiate with me. >D"

i ended up writing it at 1am on monday. cough.

hope i met your...expectations xD;


There used to be a little girl,
Of age no more than nine.
She used to love her little tree,
With its branches and leaves just fine.

She'd climb its branches day by day,
And sing it mindless lullabies.
So when the wind doth blow
and rage and roar, the tree just sways and sighs.

She'd sit in its shade rain or shine,
Laughing at birds flying by;
Wishing she could climb her tree,
And take off to the sky, just as free.

But alas, for came a time,
Where she was too sick to even eat;
And so was taken to the hospital,
Where every second was measured by the clock's tick.

The tree, without her voice,
Started to wither, fade and die.
Till she came back one day, half-bald--
Saw her tree, and started to cry.

Her body as frail as her tree's smallest twig,
Her face as gaunt as her tree's withered branch,
Still she sat under its shade with her voice of magic
Singing, singing, till it filled the air, the ground and all around.

Her voice was like the sound of morn,
The triumphant call of victory.
It was like the first breath after a coma,
And the happy ending of a story.

It filled everything with hope,
And the tree started to grow.
But as the tree strengthened, her body weakened,
And around her settled a heavy sorrow.

And so came the day,
When a white van took her away.
The wind blew and raged and roared,
But the tree could only sigh and sway.

But she had given her voice to the tree,
Her magic voice, so full of hope.
And as she uttered her very last word,
She imagined herself, free as a bird.

Now as the wind doth blow,
And the leaves of the tree rustle and fall,
You might hear the sound of morn;
Or perhaps, the triumph of a victory call.

© Christine Ling, 2010.

reminder: must. stop. procrastinating. ...EVERYTHING.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Thought of the Day #21

why my chin so sharp!!! D:

Thursday, June 9, 2011


I'm a not a fighter. I'm a coward. I give up a lot and I never try my best. I think the last time (and maybe the only time) I tried my best was when I was writing essays in Brother Albinus' English class. In 2009. Two years ago. Ever since then? hahahah lol.

I don't know why I never push myself. I don't know why when anyone else tries, I just nod but do nothing. Am I stubborn? I've never really thought of myself as stubborn, just more of a "yes, I hear you and I agree whole-heartedly, but I shall do that later teehee" kind of person. Is that being too complacent? I'm very laid-back.. And I procrastinate everything from waking up to going to sleep. But yeah, I'm starting to think yes, I'm stubborn and rebellious. a quiet way.

Because whenever someone pushes me, I resist. ): I don't dare be pushed forward. The harder you push, the harder I dig my heels into the ground. And I do it unconsciously. It's so stupid. I can give great advice, I can see what's clearly wrong with me, I know what I should do...but I can't. And saying, "No, I can! Because nothing is impossible." hasn't changed me yet.

So I'm really scared. I don't think I can make it out there. I don't think it's fully hit me yet that, "Hey, Chris. You're 17. You're actually your seniors' age when you were form 1 and thought they were so grown-up and confident and ready for life and success. You're leaving this town soon. Your friends, your family, your shelter, comfort, childhood, your everything. You're growing up."

No. I look at myself in a mirror and still see a fifteen-year-old, at the very most. I don't know how the form 1s see me, but I'm pretty sure I don't carry that aura my senior form 5s of 2007 had. I cannot, I just can't.

And telling me things like, "No, Chris. I believe in you. I KNOW you can do it. I can just see it." makes me feel even worse. Because I can't see it and I can't even begin to imagine it. How can you see it, when I'm not even working for it? And when I don't understand myself how it...or anything else, really, could happen, I reject it completely.

Also what scares me the most is knowing I have a very high chance of getting cancer and dying because I'm not a fighter. I don't have the strength or will to persevere and force myself out of bed or to overcome such a disease. And me saying this already reduces the chance of surviving even more. I'm not like my dad, who never gives up and fights against cruel fate, who forced himself up every day during chemo when weak and shaking to exercise and sweat the toxins out to get healthy again, who told me, "I won't let myself die until I see you graduate."

I'm now even scared of having a family or getting into anything because if I do die, I'll cause so much trouble, pain, heartache and regrets among them. What more if I leave when my kids are barely toddlers (if I do get kids). I want to be able to fight to live for my kids, but..I don't think I can. Unless I change.

But I don't know how.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Thought of the Day #20

ya i love my braddah :D

Tuesday, May 10, 2011


i just like that song. HEHEHE.

bye bye exams!

hello sony vegas, my flute, my uke and long long hours on the computer. ehe!

btwwww i'm planning on switching to tumblr xD any new link-name recommendations?

Friday, May 6, 2011

What Science Has Taught Me

Problem statement:
What are the effects of Christine's need for sleep on her will to finish her exam papers?

To investigate the relationship between Christine's need for sleep and her will to finish her exam papers.

The greater Christine's need for sleep is, the greater her will to finish her exam papers.

Manipulated variable: Christine's need for sleep
Responding variable: Christine's will to finish her exam paper
Fixed variables: The pen used and the amount of brainpower supplied

Apparatus and Materials:
Christine, an exam paper, a clock, a Pilot 0.4 blue pen and a fan.

  1. The exam begins.
  2. Christine stares at the clock and calculates how much time she has left (to sleep).
  3. She spends about 1-2 minutes per question. Any longer than that she moves on.
  4. After finishing the whole paper, she returns to her unanswered questions. If she cannot figure out the answer even after 10 minutes, she randomly writes whatever she hopes the answer is.
  5. Christine finishes her exam.
  6. She stares at the clock.
  7. She is usually left with 30 minutes to an hour, or more.
  8. She sleeps the rest of the time away.
  9. The exam ends.

  1. When Christine's need for sleep is stronger, she'll only spend 5 minutes on unanswered questions.
  2. She writes faster and more desperately when more sleepy.
  3. She is (usually) one of the first few persons with their heads on the table.

The greater Christine's need for sleep is, the greater her will to finish her exam papers. The hypothesis is accepted.


Thursday, April 28, 2011


I’m not clumsy. It’s just that the floor hates me, tables and chairs attack me, and the wall just gets in the way.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Thought of the Day #19

NO act of kindness,
no matter how small,
is ever wasted.


Thursday, April 21, 2011

Thought of the Day #18

If you mah friend, you be cared for :D always. ♥

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Never Shout Never - Harmony


Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Man He Killed

"HAD he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
Of help to half a crown."

~Thomas Hardy

why must we fight and have wars? i wish people weren't so selfish. then freedom would come without the need of bloodshed. a happy, perfect eutopia.

...sounds funny. LOL. yehh not gonna happen, i guess.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Thought of the Day #17

I wish I could be as courageous and kind as Mother Teresa.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Thought of the Day #16

Never ever regret anything that has made you smile. (:

Sunday, April 3, 2011

April 3

The bluebird carries the sky on his back. ~Henry David Thoreau

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Thought of the Day #15

I think my blog is more like a tumblr now.


Friday, April 1, 2011

Thought of the Day #14

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Thought of the Day #13

“Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.”

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Thought of the Day #12

I love Kuching. :D

i realised it on the flight back, when they were playing this advertisement on the tiny screen about sarawak and kuching and they showed the sungai sarawak, those cat statues in town, india street, angmohs staring at these places... and i suddenly felt so proud because i knew these places and i actually wanted to cry.

(that may or may not have been due to the depressing music i was listening to.)

i'll definitely come back to this place one day.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

me and my daddy

I was such a self-sacrificial child.

Today at dinner, as I attacked my dad who was sitting down from the back, I realised his ears were super cold, and I suddenly remembered a memory of when I was a super young kid, when we went to China during Winter.

Dad had put me on his shoulders and I had taken off my gloves to eat those crystallised fruits on a stick and after I finished it and started messing with dad's head, I realised his ears were cold cos he didn't have ear mittens. I immediately covered his ears with my hands so that his ears would be warm cos I was scared if it gets too cold his ears would fall off. D:

So I let my hands freeze to warm my da's ears.

...I could star in some heroic drama. ahahahahah! xD

Thursday, March 24, 2011


Just Some Doodles on the Wall
© Christine Ling, 2011

“Zoe! Where are you? It’s time for dinner!” I heard my mother calling me. Startled, I dropped my Razzle Dazzle Rose Crayola crayon on the floor and looked around nervously to check that my mother wasn’t anywhere in vicinity. After making sure that yes, she was indeed in the kitchen downstairs, I quickly hopped over my fallen crayon and ran for the bathroom to wash my hands clean.

“I’m coming!” I called back, my voice a few notes higher than usual as I scrambled for the sink.

“I hope you weren’t drawing on the walls again, Zoe...”

I glanced over my shoulder to see some Burnt Orange stickman figures and Cotton Candy trees on my bedroom wall. Freshly bloomed Blizzard Blue flowers dotted the trees. I scrubbed a Fuzzy Wuzzy smudge off my cheek with some soap and toothpaste. “Of course not, mama!”

I could hear my mum sigh and her light footsteps as she ascended our parquet stairs. Oh no! I quickly scrubbed the remaining smudge (bad Fuzzy Wuzzy crayon!) off and ran out to meet her with my best and most innocent smile. I even tiptoed and fluttered my eyelashes at her. “Hi mama!”

“Oh my... Did you eat something sour?” my mother asked me, recoiling slightly from the sight of my bright smile. My smile faltered. I began to frown, thinking back. Did I eat something sour...? What had I been chewing on for the last few minutes? It wasn’t my Magic Mint crayon...was it? No, no, that’s not sour... I was so absorbed in my thinking that I didn’t notice my mother making her way towards my room until she was two steps away from the door.

I screamed in panic. My mother jumped. And then she whirled around. “What’s wrong?!” she asked, her voice filled with anxiety, probably thinking that I had been attacked by a wild bird. Then she looked at me and realised that her daughter was still quite alive and had not been devoured by some wild bird. She frowned at me.

“A wild bird that looked like a turkey just flew in and I screamed to scare it off,” I told her, giving her my best wide-eyed expression. “I think I should have gotten an award for that.”

My mother shook her head and sighed, as if wild birds that looked like turkeys and could fly didn’t exist.

“I can already see it in the newspaper! ‘Zoe Lin, aged 7, professional wild bird fighter’!” I yelled excitedly. My mother gazed at me sadly, her expression resigned. She sighed and made her way back down. “Come and eat, dear.”

“Okay!” I chirped, happy that my mother had forgotten about my room. I thundered down the stairs, past all my scribbles and interconnecting lines that ran down the wall of the stairs with me and barrelled into my sister, who was already in the kitchen. I grinned sheepishly at her and took my place, just like any other good 7-year-old girl would.


I stood with arms akimbo as I regarded my bedroom walls proudly. My drawings stretched from the corners at the bottom of the walls until the highest height my arm could reach (which was about the height of my bed!). I twiddled my Mountain Meadow crayon in my fingers happily and promptly snuggled into a giant floor pillow, surrounded by my Crayola crayons and some doodles on the walls.


When I woke up, the sky was purple. It had about 4 different shades of purple. Fuschia dominated most of it while it faded off into my Razzle Dazzle Rose crayon colour. I was confused. Usually skies were Sky Blue in colour. I stood up, and found myself on a long road which dipped down low and rose up high with multiple swirls and curves in it. The sides were a Screamin’ Green. Little Cotton Candy trees lined the right side, while Sunglow flowers were sprinkled in the Sunset Orange grass. Birds that looked like turkeys flew overhead, their feathers a Robin’s Egg Blue. A lone feather fluttered down and I swiped at it excitedly. As my fist closed around the feather, it suddenly lengthened and I found myself holding a Robin’s Egg Blue feather the size of a sword!

“I’M A NINJA!” I yelled and brandished my feather. I heard a soft cough. Turning to glare at the offending sound, I saw a Denim-coloured worm, looking at me strangely. It coughed again.

“You’re blue. Why aren’t you a caterpillar?” I asked the worm bluntly.

“The same reason why you’re not a ninja,” the worm replied, its voice sounding very weak yet cynical. I frowned.

“I am a ninja.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am you oversized blue not-caterpillar-worm!”

The worm sighed. “As you wish. But do beware of the flaming flamingos up ahead. It’s been a hot day; look at the sky.”

I looked. To my surprise, it was no longer purple. Instead, it was a light shade of green, almost like my Granny Smith Apple crayon. I turned to the worm, wanting to point out my amazing discovery of the changing skies, but the worm was gone. I scowled. “Bet I can beat his disappearing speed, ‘cos I’m a ninja,” I muttered. “Hmph.” I turned my nose up, and continued on my way.

I had just passed some Burnt Orange stick figures dancing around a Razzmatazz fire when I saw the flaming flamingos. They wore crowns of Blush dandelions on their heads, the dandelions seeds spiralling up into the air, only to catch on fire, fade into dust and ashes, and reform on the crown. It was a continuous, instant cycle. They had long flaming wings with swirling, delicate looking feathers the colour of Cerise, while the feathers on their bodies were a startling, burning White. The air shimmered before them as they took light, small steps with their long Tickle Me Pink legs.

I stood, transfixed, watching them leave trails of flames in their wake that flickered between orange and black. Suddenly feeling light-headed, I realised I had stopped breathing for the past few seconds and immediately drew in a deep breath. Instantly, all the heads of the flaming flamingos twisted towards me, their intelligent black eyes piercing my skull. I could see the reflection of their flames gleaming in their eyes. The heat emitting from them was beginning to sear my blue sword feather and I felt very, very scared.

Just as the flamingo right in front of the flock took a step towards me, I suddenly felt cool air blow around me and I smelled a familiar scent of fresh dew on grass in a green, green meadow. It was a scent I remembered since I was three. The flaming flamingos recoiled as a figure formed in front of me. They screeched and stretched out their wings abruptly, and I felt gushes of hot wind rush past me, scorching some of the Cotton Candy trees behind.

“Leave her,” said the voice in front of me. The flamingos reared their heads and I felt a consciousness tug at my mind. “Why?” it asked, “Why ssshould we?”

A chill ran down my spine as I realised this was how the flamingos communicated.

“She has done no harm and she will do no harm.” The man in front of me said. I titled my head sideways, certain that I had seen his figure somewhere before. I felt reassured, here behind him with the scent of the meadow drifting around and masking the smell of burning flames. He wore some kind of scarf, where the ends were constantly shifting and waving to an invisible breeze. Branches, flowers, birds, leaves… It looked magical.

“Howw can you be ssso sssure?” the voice inside my head hissed, and I felt a sharp pain through my head. I gave a cry and flinched.

“I said to leave her!” he yelled, and a gush of cold, icy wind blew past and into the flamingos, causing them to stumble back. They hissed and fumed, their feathers bristling and their fires disappearing as steam, but they retreated.

“We’ll remember thisss, Zachary… We do not forrget.”

He laughed heartily as he waved them goodbye, suddenly jovial. “Well, yeah, see you on my birthday!” The flamingos hissed one more time and they were gone. Zachary gave a single nod and turned around to face me. His brown eyes looked familiar, as did his shock of black hair. He kneeled down to my height and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay, Zoe?”

I nodded my head. “How do you know my name?”

He laughed. “Trade secret. I’ll tell you when you’re my age!”

“How old are you?” I asked him suspiciously.

“I’m seventeen,” he grinned, and ruffled my hair. A sense of nostalgia washed over me and I frowned at him.

“That’s my sister’s age!”

His smile stretched. “Oh, really now? That’s cool.”

He seemed really suspicious now. I rubbed my chin and told him so. He laughed and laughed, his scarf shifting into ribbons and feathers and roses. “Why do you have such a…a…a…weird scarf?” I asked him. “It’s so…”

“Flamboyant?” he asked, shrugging good-naturedly.

“Whassat word mean.”

“Um, loud, colourful, flashy, oh-look-at-me-I-want-attention, showy?”

“Yes! That’s the word,” I said haughtily. “I knew that. Yep.”

“Heh,” he snorted. “Of course you did.”

I sulked. It’s not fun being seven when no one took you seriously. I kicked his foot. “I did!” I grumbled.

“Okay, okay!” he laughed, holding his palms up. “I surrender! I wave my white flag.”

“Hmph,” I said, turning the other way and crossing my arms. But secretly I was very pleased. After a short while, I turned back to him. “You can be my big brother.”

He looked stunned. “What?”

“You can be my big brother,” I repeated. He stared at me.


I gave him my best you-are-an-idiot stare. “Because I say so. So now you must be my big brother!”

He smiled slowly. “I would like that, Zoe.”

I beamed at him, satisfied. He was already doing a great big brother job! “Okay, now you must bring me around and show me pretty things.”

“Okay, little one! Up you go!” He picked me up and placed me on his shoulders and jumped off the road. I screamed and swung my arms around his whole head while he laughed. We landed on something soft, and when I dared open my eyes, I saw that we were in the sky. Staring in wonder at the soft fluffy clouds we stood on, I reached out my hand to grasp a piece of cloud. It broke off easily, pulsing gently in my hand. He then coolly walked on, tendrils of cloud swirling lazily before him to form a new pathway and he led me to a crescent moon, where a little boy sat on its edge, holding a fishing rod. He wore boots like Puss in Boots and he was forever blurred. I couldn’t see how he really looked like—he and his surroundings were constantly shimmering, and I could only really see him from the corners of my eyes.

“Howdy, Zach,” the boy greeted my friend.

“Hallo, Dreamworks. Caught any new ideas?”

“Not yet, but I’m almost there. It’s been swimming around my bait for a while now. Something to do with a green ogre and a donkey…”

“Sounds crazy, but good luck! This is my little sister, by the way.”

“Hi,” I said shyly.

“She’s usually noisier than that,” Zachary said. “But we best be on our way! See you.”

And Zachary was on the move again. He took me to see the sun, where bubbles full of sunbeams floated around. He took me to see the stars, where I met more of his friends that glittered and sparkled whose hairs were dark green and blue and purple at the same time. He took me to see the machinery and clocks, where he told me all about the mechanism of time and I was filled with the lovely sound of the clinks and ticks and kerchunks as memories were recorded. He was showing me the forest full of rainbow trees, some green and yellow and blue while others were red and orange and purple when a bird screeched and he suddenly stopped.

He put me down on the ground and looked at me solemnly. “It’s time for you to go back home.”

I stared at him, aghast. “But why must I!”

He looked at me sadly. “Because you don’t belong here, Zoe. You won’t belong here for a very, very long time.”

I felt hurt. I started to cry.

“Ah, don’t cry. It’s good, not to belong here,” Zachary said, giving me a big brotherly hug. “When you go back, could you do me a favour please?”

Sobbing, I nodded my head, because mama always taught me that no matter what, we should always help others. He smiled and pressed something into my hand. It felt cold against my skin. “Please, when you get back, please pass it to your mum. And tell her it wasn’t her fault. Could you do that for me, Zoe?” I nodded, and rubbed my running nose against my sleeve. He ruffled my hair affectionately and took my hand as he walked me towards a river I hadn’t notice before. He placed me in a small boat, with ribbons on the front, and pushed the boat out.

“Zoe, I’ll always be here, watching over you, okay? So don’t cry anymore,” he said. “And remember, I will always—“

I strained to hear his last words, but it was no use. He was already disappearing from my sight. I started to cry again and I curled up into a ball in the boat, and I fell asleep.


“Zoe! Zoe, wake up!”

I opened my eyes groggily to see my mother staring at me crossly, her hands on her hips. “Zoe, what did I say about drawing on the walls?”

I looked at my walls and was surprised. I didn’t remember drawing that much. A Cerise flamingo flapping its wings was on a wavy, Electric Lime rollercoaster and a Denim worm reading a book was under the road. Gentle Periwinkle clouds dotted my walls, and the blue-green-yellow trees grew everywhere in a corner. But the one that stood out the most to me was a black scarf, its ends spiralling into branches and leaves of different colours. I smiled happily and turned back to my mother.

“Ma, I have a brother,” I told her dreamily. “I saw him.”

“What?” She looked stunned, and I was reminded of his first reaction.

“He looks just like you,” I said. My mother stared at me. Something cold was still in my hand, so I took my mother’s hand and placed it inside it. “He says that it’s not your fault. I love you, mummy.” I still felt so sleepy.

“I wish I had a big brother…” I whispered, my consciousness already fading as I snuggled back into my floor pillow. “His name would be Zachary.” I heard my mother gasp, and I fell asleep.

My mother stared at me snoring gently and slowly looked at her hand. In it was a locket, the locket, and engraved on it was three words. “Your son, always.

She crumpled to the floor, and cried, as the scent of fresh dew on grass in a green, green meadow filled the room.

(2,588 words)

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Thought of the Day #11

I'd be able to help everyone then. (:

Sunday, March 13, 2011

My teacher called it entertainment

She said my voice is like Minnie Mouse's and it amuses her when I speak. D:


Saturday, March 12, 2011


I have this bruise on my right wrist and I don't know where it came from. No one grabbed me during prefects' camp, right...? O:

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

To You,

Please don't ever be ashamed to be who you really are!

Monday, March 7, 2011

Thought of the Day #10

When I hear somebody sigh, "Life is hard," I am always tempted to ask, "Compared to what?"

- Sydney J. Harris

Sunday, March 6, 2011

yes i'm still sick D:

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Thought of the Day #9


Thought of the Day #8

Headaches really make your head ache. D:

Friday, March 4, 2011


I HAVE FB LIKES ON MY POSTS NOW! eheheeehehehehehheheheehee!! xD

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Thought of the Day #7

EYEBAGS!!!!! OOOO: wahahahahahhahaahahah! xD

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Young Me

When I was a small girl, around maybe 6 years of age, I was addicted to Shandy.

I kid you not. At first my parents thought it was cute to see me sipping on a whole tin of Shandy by myself and hiccuping happily here and there, but as the weeks went by my parents began to worry, seeing me chugging down the whole can with a swagger like a pro. "Oh no," they thought. "Our little girl is going to grow up to be an alcoholic!!"

So they tried hiding it. They placed all the tins of Shandy on the very top compartment of the fridge, where I could see it if I tiptoed but could not reach it, even when I stood on a high chair and flailed my tiny arms at the tins. They never did budge.

I was completely devastated. I cried, I screamed, I kicked, I bit, I did everything to cause pain to my parents and their tormented souls. How could they do this to me! Finally, my parents decided to give me just one tin, just one, to pacify me.

I then proceeded to a small, dark corner where I huddled in, facing inwards, sipping on my Shandy like a very shady little 6-year-old. It was a happy day.

Look at me now though, the only alcohol I take is the red wine found in dishes like my Foochow mee sua!! Ah heaven♥ I can't even drink Shandy anymore. Hahaha!

Happy Birthday my cousin, Alex, who only started drinking Shandy what--4 years ago?? Hahaha u can finally buy ur own beer (: happy evenmorelegal day!

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Thought of the Day #6

I quote Father Jepi, "It is good to be good." c:

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Thought of the Day #5

I love smiling. But what I love even more is to see everyone else smiling back. C:

Friday, February 25, 2011

Thought of the Day #4

Sometimes, I think about how cruel and somewhat twisted the world is with all these crimes and lies and pain going on and I get very sad. But then I think of all the goodness and love that exists in people's hearts and I get all warm and fuzzy again. (:

Say what you want and I call me a stupid optimist, but I choose to believe in the world. Everything will be alright in the end. Just you wait and see. ♥

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Thought of the Day #3

When one starts feeling super ugly, it probably means exams are next week.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Thought of the Day #2

my friends are kinda more awesome than yours. ♥

Friday, February 18, 2011

Thought of the Day #1

Isn't it funny how our parents can't imagine us old and we can't imagine them YOUNG? :D

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The Reason Why

Okay. So you ask, "Why can't I dye my hair to school? Why can't I paint my nails? Why can't I wear bracelets, big earrings, rings and super gorgeous necklaces? What does any of these have to do with me getting good marks in school?!"

Obviously, it has nothing to do with you or how much it affects your results.

The reason why we wear uniforms is because Malaysia has a code of uniformity. This code of uniformity is because we do have poor students, who cannot afford to spend money needed to LIVE on such super gorgeous necklaces.

How much is it to dye your hair? How much is it for all that nail polish or manicures? How much are those bling bracelets, bangles, leather straps adorning your wrists? How much are those big, shiny, beautiful earrings? How much did your eyeliner, blush, powder cost? How much are all of those things?

Other students who see you will be jealous. They will want some of what you have. Then what if their parents don't/can't let them buy these things?

Anger, disappointment, jealousy, sadness, inferiority complexes, dissatisfaction.

Do you think these are nice feelings to have? No.

So stop your stupid crap on "OMG stupid prefects ruining my LIFE cos I can't wear my oh-so-pretty-anklet!!!!!!"

How shallow can you get? The world doesn't revolve around you. Shut up and start thinking about how others feel.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Footprints in the Sand

Write an original story ending with one of the following:
a) “…and all that remained were footprints in the sand.”

Footprints in the Sand

Ever since Maya was young, she had a friend who lived in the sea. Maya lived in a big house by the sea, where the seagulls cried every day and the sound of the waves were her lullaby every night. She was about seven years of age when Maya first snuck out to the beach late at night.

Once again, Maya had found difficulty in sleeping. It was nearing midnight when she was sure her parents were asleep, and so opening her bedroom door quietly, she tiptoed downstairs and out of her house with only the light of the moon to guide her.

Maya loved this beach. It was a serene, quiet place with golden brown sand when the sun was up and silver white foams that sparkled at night. Maya let the wind play with her long hair as she walked barefooted to her favourite spot on the beach. But when Maya reached it, she found that she was not alone.

A girl sat in Maya’s favourite spot, next to a big rock where the waves would lap right up to her waist during the high tides. She had long wavy hair that was tinted silver by the moonlight and her skin seemed to radiate a soft white glow. Maya stood entranced. Maya would have stayed that way for a long time had not the wind changed directions. Suddenly the girl turned and saw Maya. She gave a loud gasp and immediately dived into the waters, where she was instantly lost in the waves. Maya ran towards the waters, but the girl was gone. Maya climbed onto the rock and sat there until the first rays of the morning peaked through the clouds and a kind fisherman took her home.

Maya could not stop thinking about the girl with silver hair. Who was she, and what had she been doing there? Maya frequented the beach more often, especially at night, but she never saw her and Maya would spend countless nights just sitting upon that rock and gazing out across the sea, watching the waves.

About a month later, Maya snuck out again and as she made her way to the rock, she saw her. The girl whose hair resembled the waves and glinted silver in the moonlight. Maya’s breath stuck in her throat but she forced herself quietly onwards, towards the girl. Once again, the wind suddenly changed its direction but as the girl turned her head towards Maya, she didn’t run. She just stared calmly as Maya made her way across to the rock. Maya saw that her eyes were green in colour.

“Hi,” Maya said.

The girl tilted her head sideways, and replied with a soft, “Hi.” Her voice could be barely heard over the waves and she had an accent, but Maya couldn’t place it. It was almost like a mix between all the accents in the world.

Maya didn’t know what to do after that, so she sat down beside the girl. “My name is Maya.”

“Names are a powerful thing,” the girl said, and nothing else. After a while, Maya finally said, “You have seaweed in your hair.” The girl reached up and touched the seaweed that seemed to crown her head. Her hands closed on it tightly and after a slight pause, she threw it into the sea.

The girl turned slowly and regarded her with big, wise eyes. “Your name means illusion, does it not?” the girl asked softly.

Maya nodded her head.

“Why do you wander the seashore so late at night, young one?” the girl asked softly.

Maya shrugged. “I have trouble sleeping.”

“I see you, many nights, upon this rock. Do you ever sleep?”

“Only sometimes.”

“I do not sleep either. I am a nereid, a water spirit. I do not sleep.”

The way she said it sent a shiver up Maya’s spine. “A water spirit?” Maya asked. “Why are you here?” Maya never once doubted her. It was the only possible thing this girl could be. She was definitely not human.

The nereid turned her eyes sadly towards Maya. “My waters are being polluted. Can’t you sense it, young one? My sea is dying.”

Maya faced the sea, watching the waves lap across the sand, rising and falling. Sure, the sea didn’t look as blue as it used to, but dying? Maya couldn’t understand. “It’s still alive.”

“My sea is dying,” she repeated, hugging her knees to her chest. “It is dying.” And with that, she dived once more into the sea and disappeared among the waves, her words still ringing in Maya’s ears.

Over the next few weeks, whenever Maya couldn’t sleep, the nereid would quietly join her next to the rock. One minute it would be just Maya with the waves splashing against her rock, and the next the nereid would suddenly be there when the waves subsided. Most nights they didn’t talk, but Maya somehow felt the nereid knew her better than anyone else. Maya has never been close to her parents. She was an only child, and her parents worked late often. She went to an all-girls private school where only the rich frolicked and they all looked down upon Maya just because she wasn’t as interested in make-up and boys as they were. A lot of people ignored her. It was as if they never saw her. The nereid was the first and only friend Maya had. The only person, or thing, that truly saw her.

“Do your parents not worry about you?” the nereid asked one night.

Maya shrugged. “They never notice when I am gone.”

The nereid looked at her in a way that made Maya think she could read her mind. “Names are a powerful thing,” she said solemnly. Maya nodded. Though she did not understand, the nereid said this often. “What is your name, then?” Maya asked.

The nereid was silent. Maya realised she wouldn’t answer and rested her hand in the crook of her arm around her knees.

“My name is Galene of the Calm Seas.”

And the nereid was gone.

Five years passed, and nothing much changed between Maya and Galene of the Calm Seas. One day however, Maya found out she was to move countries. Her father had gotten a job overseas, and they were leaving in the next few days. She waited till night fell, and ran out to the sea. There was no one there. Maya sat upon her rock and called out to Galene. In a few minutes, the nereid was there.

“I’m moving.”

The nereid looked at her.


The nereid said nothing.

“It’s very far from here.”

The nereid ran five fingers through her long wavy hair.

Maya covered her face in her hands and cried.

“You do not have to follow them,” the nereid said softly.

“W-what do you mean?” Maya choked.

“Names are a powerful thing.”

“I know that.”

“But you do not understand it.”

Maya kept quiet.

“Names are powerful. They define a person. Do you not remember what yours mean, young one?”

“I’m confused.”

“You lived your life according to your name. You can choose to leave them. You are getting of age, young one. Think of your name. What does it mean?”

Something clicked in Maya’s mind. She thought of her life, where she hardly spoke to her parents. She thought of her school, where she didn’t speak at all. She thought of everyone, and how they always seemed to barely look at her. As if she wasn’t there. As if she was just an illusion.

She had never enjoyed her life here, in this world. She reckoned there wouldn’t be much of a difference if she were to leave.

“Come with me, Maya,” the nereid whispered, slowly disappearing into the waves. “Come with me, young illusion.” Her hand was reached out to Maya. It was the first time the nereid had ever said her name. Maya made her choice. She took the hand and without looking back, she walked into the waves.

Not far away, in a big house by the sea, a couple had a dream about a little girl, their daughter. She had the brightest smile anyone could ever have and the biggest, liveliest eyes in the world. Her laughter filled their dreams, but when they awoke, they found their house empty, just as it had been for the last twelve years.

Out on the beach, the sea was quiet, and as the waves retreated silently, all that remained were footprints in the sand.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

i don't remember how to write anymore.