Ok, lets sum up.
I'm still fat, I'm still clueless...
And I'm still, alone...
Not in a ooo I'm so lonely kind of way...
But in a omg I'm turning 21 and the only person that I have is, me.
Oh. Great.
Its been 6 years and I'm still 15.
Yay me.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Honey Cherry Tomatoes
Do you think, if I scream at my bloated stomach to flatten down, 60 times a minute, my dreams would hit reality? Because frankly speaking, my large-framed body is in excrutiating pain from the lack of food. Let's face it, I'm practically giant sized, and my stomach lives up to that expectation. I just, want to be thin. To fit in those vintage t-shirts, to not hide all that horrid fat under sweaters and cardigans. To be able to wear basic tees without being infected by the fear of being snarled by every person, disgusted at my disproportionate body. Salads and fruits and a chapati a day must not be "healthy" for a six foot tall man. You need to eat more, the family says. I say, in my heart obviously, by doing that, eating more, I'll look exactly like you, all of you. God. I miss those days where I could eat a twiggie without wanting to kill myself, or toast in the morning, or a bar of chocolate without studying the nutrition facts.
Some might claim I'm suffering from delusions, what, with my admittedly already underweight frame. But hey, the mind wants what it wants. Screw that, let's be honest for once. The mind wants, what it truly, does not want. Take for example two people with four children who are obviously out of love, and we're talking borderline hatred here, but still manage to stay together, and for what, because the fucking heart wants what it fucking wants? No, it's merely not accepting what should be accepted, the truth; that divorce amounts to public humiliation and much sneering from people who are probably stuck in some messed up marriage themselves.
Another example; a person so scared of falling in love, he falls for those he knows would only reduce his urge of ever loving. Cause hey, why suffer the pain of being alone, unable to love without breaking the boudaries of political correctness and social, moral obligations or whatever. One fake, unhealthy, and doomed relationship should be enough to kill the existence of any form of love inside you, but two of these, and you're basically romatically impotent. Oh how painful it is to close your eyes and see that person, that sadly, imaginary person who makes you ache with joy and feel pathetic sadness at the same time. You don't exist. Not in this world, in this surrounding. Even if you did, life itself would be at liberty, because when has going against the norm ever led to anything remotely good? Jack died in freezing water, Henry's whore was killed for abnormally being unable to have kids, and he too was killed just because he fell in love with him. These might come from movies we all want to not want to watch, but hey, they make perfect sense. But shouldn't love trump life? What are those (aforementioned) parents doing, sticking together when they know it's totally over. Well, I wouldn't know, I wasn't made yet, but I think, at one point, even if it was for a mere second, they might have loved each other. But no one said that would be permanent, heck I know its not permanent, I've had it on various occassions, and on all those occassions, "it" faded away the moment I realised how wrong right could be.
Oh, I love you both, I really do. Yes, I plan on leaving all of you the moment I gain a life, but I'll always love you. Some retard came up with the saying; "love is unconditional". Fuck that. Love is solely based on conditions. I love you, but only with sex. I love you my dear, but only because people are watching. I love you ever so dearly, but only because you're the only one who would love me back. I love you more than anything, but only because you made me. I. Love. You. But, fucking but this and fucking but that. Is love ever enough? Enough for, anything?
Oh I'll pretend I love you, and after I mentally abuse you, I'll beg for forgiveness, so I could mess with your stupid, pathetic head again, next week. In the mean time, I'll just insanely throw books across the room just because you touched my stuff, and threathen to kill you because you dropped my cheap laptop. And because I love how much I don't love any of you, I'll critisize your every move, because I'm always right, and so, no, you can't watch The Nanny or Seinfield because they're Jews, and we Muslims hate Jews! And of course I'm saying all this, all the while not really knowing why we're supposed to hate Jews or even worshipping Allah the way a person protecting Islam should.
Thank you, darling. In return, I'll pretend that I'm over you, and everytime you hurt me, you, hurt, me, I'll rant and talk shit about you, just to hide that secret, that secret that nobody must ever know; how i love you with all my heart, and how my life would be meaningless without you, how I'll never let you go and how I spend every second of my empty life praying that you, will never, ever, let me go. In the mean time, I'll bitch about my pathetic life, seeking sympathy from anyone who will listen, and even those who would not.
So who's more foolish? The Pretenders? The Delusional? The One in Denial?
We're all stupid. Plain fucking stupid.
p/s: I love you. And yes, I'm only saying this because this is what people do...
With <3 , IKJ.
Some might claim I'm suffering from delusions, what, with my admittedly already underweight frame. But hey, the mind wants what it wants. Screw that, let's be honest for once. The mind wants, what it truly, does not want. Take for example two people with four children who are obviously out of love, and we're talking borderline hatred here, but still manage to stay together, and for what, because the fucking heart wants what it fucking wants? No, it's merely not accepting what should be accepted, the truth; that divorce amounts to public humiliation and much sneering from people who are probably stuck in some messed up marriage themselves.
Another example; a person so scared of falling in love, he falls for those he knows would only reduce his urge of ever loving. Cause hey, why suffer the pain of being alone, unable to love without breaking the boudaries of political correctness and social, moral obligations or whatever. One fake, unhealthy, and doomed relationship should be enough to kill the existence of any form of love inside you, but two of these, and you're basically romatically impotent. Oh how painful it is to close your eyes and see that person, that sadly, imaginary person who makes you ache with joy and feel pathetic sadness at the same time. You don't exist. Not in this world, in this surrounding. Even if you did, life itself would be at liberty, because when has going against the norm ever led to anything remotely good? Jack died in freezing water, Henry's whore was killed for abnormally being unable to have kids, and he too was killed just because he fell in love with him. These might come from movies we all want to not want to watch, but hey, they make perfect sense. But shouldn't love trump life? What are those (aforementioned) parents doing, sticking together when they know it's totally over. Well, I wouldn't know, I wasn't made yet, but I think, at one point, even if it was for a mere second, they might have loved each other. But no one said that would be permanent, heck I know its not permanent, I've had it on various occassions, and on all those occassions, "it" faded away the moment I realised how wrong right could be.
Oh, I love you both, I really do. Yes, I plan on leaving all of you the moment I gain a life, but I'll always love you. Some retard came up with the saying; "love is unconditional". Fuck that. Love is solely based on conditions. I love you, but only with sex. I love you my dear, but only because people are watching. I love you ever so dearly, but only because you're the only one who would love me back. I love you more than anything, but only because you made me. I. Love. You. But, fucking but this and fucking but that. Is love ever enough? Enough for, anything?
Oh I'll pretend I love you, and after I mentally abuse you, I'll beg for forgiveness, so I could mess with your stupid, pathetic head again, next week. In the mean time, I'll just insanely throw books across the room just because you touched my stuff, and threathen to kill you because you dropped my cheap laptop. And because I love how much I don't love any of you, I'll critisize your every move, because I'm always right, and so, no, you can't watch The Nanny or Seinfield because they're Jews, and we Muslims hate Jews! And of course I'm saying all this, all the while not really knowing why we're supposed to hate Jews or even worshipping Allah the way a person protecting Islam should.
Thank you, darling. In return, I'll pretend that I'm over you, and everytime you hurt me, you, hurt, me, I'll rant and talk shit about you, just to hide that secret, that secret that nobody must ever know; how i love you with all my heart, and how my life would be meaningless without you, how I'll never let you go and how I spend every second of my empty life praying that you, will never, ever, let me go. In the mean time, I'll bitch about my pathetic life, seeking sympathy from anyone who will listen, and even those who would not.
So who's more foolish? The Pretenders? The Delusional? The One in Denial?
We're all stupid. Plain fucking stupid.
p/s: I love you. And yes, I'm only saying this because this is what people do...
With <3 , IKJ.
Monday, December 14, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, July 13, 2009
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!
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!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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