Weet-bix

I say this very rarely. Because between feeling sorry for myself and all this studying crap, I hadn't the time. As much as I bitch about it, my life, doesn't suck that much.

I had a great childhood, minus the "upbringing" part, of course. School was a little rocky, but nonetheless bearable. And now, I'm 20. And apart from the fact that I'm 20, my life is, well, just how I hoped it would be. Money, car, apartment, clothes, decent future...

I mean, don't get me wrong, it could be better. As I've grown, I can't believe I'm saying this, older, I've learnt to handle things quite well.

They mess up, I run. The beauty of being 20 and not living with your family is that, when you don't need a family, you know you can drive 96km away and go home. Home. Let's be honest, growing up, I never had one. This room, with its crappy floor, and anything-but-comfortable bed, feels more like home than that enormous double-storey ever felt.

I've learnt to cover up all my physical imperfections, learnt to be fake, learnt to take charge, and heck. Learnt to just agree. Learnt to bottle up. Learnt to settle every problem by puncturing my lungs and widening the possibility of cancer. But most importantly, I've learnt to appreciate everything I have, this life, and evrything in it.

It's the simple things like, health, and a car, and money, and body shop, and new cardigans etc. I'm not picky, and no, I don't complain [much], as long as I earned it, I would learn to love it...

Oh my life could be perfect. In fact, it's close-to-perfect as it is. The thing is. I've got all this baggage, unwanted baggage. It took me a while to realise, all this sacrifices, and for what, just so the million people around me would feel happy. Screw that. As stupid as this sounds, I want for one second of my life, to do something for me, without worrying about wailing mothers or suicidal fathers or disturbed brothers and most definitely, pathetic peers.

No, I'm not pointing fingers. But thats only because after much trying, I've come to accept that no matter how hard I point at your facebook pictures, you're just unable to see.

Ok, I don't know where this is going. So let me sum it up. After a gazillion years of feeling unworthy for anything, anyone, I'm happy to finally, god finally, be strong enough, and stand above all of your manipulating pathethic heads, and smile and whisper silently in my heart;

"I'm just to good for all of you... Always was, and always will..."

Long gone are those dreadful days where I would curl up in my bed, screaming silently at god for the imaginary burdens imposed. I don't glare at the advertisements for other universities [private of course] and literally ache seeing the life I could have had, I don't burst out bawling with tears everytime I see images of the life that has been unkindly opressed from me. I don't bow my head just because a zit decided to plant itself on my face.

But baggages. These, well, "things", pulling me down, dragging me along with their somber lives, how the hell do I get rid of them.

MUST. IMPROVE. SELF. LEARN. TO. SAY. FUCKING. NO. DIE. BITCH.

DIE.

Pancakes

Dear God,

I know I've been absent.

But if you could just give me a break, for even one mere day...

I promise I'll be a better person.

Thank you.

I love you.

Kit Kat

This might sound stupid, but, as the Malays would say it, "who's cares".


I think, God hates me.


Ok, so maybe God blessed me with my ehem, good looks and personality. Narcissistic? Me? What? No...

But God also deprived me from mathematical intelligence.

It wasn't a big deal back when I was young. Er.

I figured, so I can't do maths, I'll just study law then.

But now...

Being 20 and all, I have finally come to realise that, my life basically sucks, because of my mathematical impairment.

Example of how much my life sucks, because of maths;

If I was good in maths, then I wouldn't have to study law, which would mean that I would have never had to go to MMU, which would mean that I would have never had to take mooting as a subject, which would mean I would have never had to study maths, AND chemistry, in class ever again.

That Kon Fatt Kiew Rubber Scrap crap case really ruined my life.


X-?





X = 30.




HAH?





What is this mathematical calculation process called?


Erk, erm.... Bumi Sebagai Sfera? No no... Penaakulan Mantik? Pemfaktoran? Ungkapan Algebra?????????








Water = H2O.

H+ + O2- -------> H2O.



What Apa???



What is the name of this process?


I know I know. Proses Penurunan? Proses Penyulingan??? Elektrolisis? Pengoksidaan? Penyahtinjaan??? ARGKH SCREW IT! PROSES PEMBIAKAN.





Do you see it now??? I finally know who to blame!!!


My family sucks.... DAMN YOU MATHS!

My money is menipis-ing... DAMN YOU MATHS!

That annoying bitch is ruining my life, by being alive... DAMN. YOU. MATHS!

Memorial. Bundle. DAAAYYYYYYYUUUUUM YOU MATHHHHHHS!!!!!!!!!!!!







bye bai.

xShad.





p/s: I love looking at my pictures on other people's blogs.

Jello

Girrrl, I know you di'nt say what I think you said.
Ma name iz Shontelle and immabout to wipe yo skinny white ass on da flo.
Girrl hold ma hooped earrings.





So yeah, if you haven't heard, I've finally decided that, I, am straight. On most occasions.


Oh, and my beautiful life sucks. Big time. But hey, at least I'm smart.


Oh wait, my CGPA dropped tergolek-golek last trimester. Haha.


Oh well. At least I'll do better this trimester.

But wait, have you met my friend, Mr. Mooting? Owh, no? Well this is Mr. Mooting. He doesn't know it yet, but he's gonna destroy my life. Yesterday, Mr. Mooting asked me a question. It was so fun!

How do you interpret interpretation?

OMG, soooo coooool.

My answer... Prepare yourself. Shocking.

Interpretation can be interpreted by interpreting the many forms of interpretation it has. According to the interpretation of interpretation, interpretation can be described by interpreting the interpretation interpreted through the interpretation of the interpretation of the interpreted interpretation of its many interpretations.





It's bull crap like this that really gets me thinking, what the effing hell am I doing with my life. While other 20 year-olds are being 20, I'm stuck being 45. Heck, I've actually got more issues than most 45 year-olds. The family crap, check. Trying to interpret interpretation, check. Financial instability, check. Reading thick, heavy, and artistically retarded books (refer to the covers of all our text books), check. Knowing the difference between the murder and culpable homicide, check. Knowing how to get a divorce, check. Tired of living, ch-ch-ch-check.


Truth is, my life isn't that bad. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's horrible and very, very unbearable. But it's actually quiet ok. I mean sure I may lash out and bitch about it, but I still want to live, and one day, see Kris Allen [lalalalala].

What the hell am I talking about. God, I should've have studied journalism instead. I mean, I'd like to think I would make a good writer.


"... and as I sat there, staring faithfully through the large glass window, with coffee in one hand, and the other pressed across my forehead, I began to question myself. Why can't I be like those people out there? That family looking ever so gay, and those group of homosexuals looking ever so gay. How gay it made me feel to see the the gayness spread across that gleeful day, with the shimmering lights shimmering as it shimmered across the shiny floor that shimmered. And then I saw it, that of what I have feared for for a lifetime of fear. My heart began to quietly whisper a loud scream. My body began to tremble as the sheer intensity of my tense vibes began to tremble the veins in my trembling body that trembled ever so violently. I wanted to scream aloud, inside my own secured mentality, so that no one would hear, as everyone listened. I gathered whatever courage my trembling body could offer, being the sole offeror of my offering self. I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU! YOU WILL NOT ASSAULT ME. TODAY, I FEAR NOT OF YOU, PERFUME AVENUE! ..."










Oh, now I remember, I suck at writing. So law it is... Mooting, and everything else it has to offer/offor.


Yay me!

Biskut Bantal

Dear God,



I love you.

Roti Pisang

With the finals over, I finally got rid of that I-wanna-puke-every-5-minutes feeling...

The past week has been, erm, I'll define it as bittersweet.

Just when I thought Contract Law was bound to slaughter my CGPA, along came Malaysian Legal System, sneering as it sung silently in its demented soul "na na nana na, you're gonna fail me...".

Ok, that "na na nana na" thing was a little too much, even for me. But my point is, I think I speak for everyone when I say we overlooked Malaysian Legal System. I answered 2 questions, averagely. Totally screwed the "which court?" question, and I think the darling lecturer would be literally rolling on the floor with laughter screaming "this idiot thinks he's a law student!" when she reads my "advocate & solicitor" answer.

Owh I'm so uninspired. I promised myself I wouldn't rant on this blog. I didn't want to end up writing posts about how my day went, how I'm feeling and what not. I'll let the bunch of people who are way more interesting, fun and cooler than me to right those posts. [yes Lynette, Ruby, NKC, Rishi, Joanne, I'm talking about you guys...] But look at me now, contradicting my very own self, being the hypocrite most people say I am...

Ok then. I'll stop...








I found you back, and I always knew I would, because I never stopped caring for you. It was nice talking to you again. It was nice seeing again, even though it was only for a mere half hour...

I sometimes feel that you see right through me. You know me more than anyone ever did, or even ever will. The fact that I can't do what I do best; I can't fake a smile, I can't lie, I can't even be happy without you not noticing it, it scares me to death. But it's amazing how after three weeks of silence, you still manage to say aloud the things which would kill me if the world knew.

It was that simple sentence.

"... Anda, even though you hate each other, you can't deny the fact that the both of you have the same mindset..."

I've denied it many times in my head. Just because we share the same birthday, it doesn't mean we are the same. But the truth is apparent. I know it is. I just thought, if I kept on denying it in my head, I would eventually never think about it.

...


I was packing the few belongings I had kept in my room. As I picked up my foundation notes, images of the young[er] me flashed across my eyes. God I can't believe I actually wore that. God I miss those times. God I miss him. God I miss her. God I miss the way things were...

I love it how you will find the most nostalgic items when you're about to leave a place. I was dusting the shelf when I found that blue book. It stood out awkwardly beneath the extra Federal Constitution I had bought and my most favourite book, Where Rainbows End. I tried to hide the smile that was forming in my face. I failed miserably.

That night, together with my "1Malaysia" [my landlord had called my group of multiracial friends as 1Malaysia, which made me think "...if only she knew the things we say to eachother..."] friends, I cleaned my new apartment, though it was Katherina who actually did most, if not all, of the cleaning. While cleaning the apartment, my new housemate, Su, told me someone had given him curtains for his room. I told him I'd already bought the fabric, and was waiting for my dear mother to sew it into curtains.

... I asked him what colour was his curtains. He said black and white.

... I got excited and screeched, "OMG MINE TOO!!!"



Hours later, he told me she had given him the curtains.




As I said, we are very much alike, no matter how much we deny it. And I'm not talking about same choice of colours when it comes to curtains. Or same taste in food. Or being born on the same day. Or both being unbelievably stubborn. I'm talking about literally being the same person, but in two separate bodies...

I don't hate you. I never did. And I don't mean half the things I say about you. How could I. Hating you would mean hating myself. And I don't think my ego could handle that.



...



Did I mention I have moved apartments? I went from living in the coolest place in MMU to the place where no person wants to live. Dodgy, the ghetto, people call it. But the way I see it, isolation from MMU? Allah has truly answered my prayers. Thank you Kai Choy and Kat. And thank you Izzat and Su. For all the help, despite my over the top demeanor, lack of masculine strength and argumentative nature.




And to Rathi and Adiba [cherish this moment for eternity, because I'll never ever be this nice ever again, not even on your, and by "your" I mean "my", wedding days], 2 years later, and massive changes everywhere, it's nice to know that we have beaten all odds, and remained together. I love you both, even more than my beauty products.






And people laugh when I tell them I should've taken Creative Multimedia instead of Law? I totally don't get it. Jealous bitches.

Taa, happy hols.

Bubur Kacang Hijau

The horror that was contract law is over. For now.

Countless of hours, a river of ink, a whole tree of paper...

And did it pay off?



In short,




Irshad v. Contract Law II BNL 1624


Court was in favour of the defendant.




It amazes me how many things you can do in three hours.

Watch a decent movie.
Imagine walking on the beach with Kris Allen.
Go back to your hometown.
Imagine you and Kris Allen embracing on your wedding day.
Dance in the Astaka.
Ponder upon Kris Allen's pictures.



Or...



Sit, and stare blankly into the papers in front of you, with a pen in one hand, and the Contracts Act in the other, while thinking to yourself "oh shit, i now this case, I read it like an hour ago, oh shit, oh shit, Yong Enting v something? eh no, Kau Daw what??? or was it Yong Yung Ung Kai??".











Oh well. At least Kris Allen won (Boo you overrated-screeching-raccoon-Adam-Lambert). I hate his (Kris Allen's) bitchy wife. Urgkh, some people have all the luck. She's married to Kris Allen. And I'm a failing first-year law undergrad. Yay me.



Whatev. Imma read some French.


Au revoir. J'aime grands mammelles.

(I think I may have an addiction towards Kris Allen, and I think, it might just be a little too harmful.)