That Singapore actually has 1,000 notes and 10,000 notes in circulation! I thought the biggest was $100...

I have decided that my second official favourite colour, right after blue, is orange, followed by purple! (For obvious reasons...look at the colour of the money...)

I WANT I WANT I WANT I WANT.

Ok, even if I will have to be a tai tai in the future to get my hands on these notes, I don't care, because these are the most amazing superlicious wonderful resplendent notes I'll never have a chance to lay my hands upon in my lifetime!

Tag replies:

To LY:

Duly noted. Thank you, I shall remember that. Are you someone I know?

---

I hate Physics! I abhor it! Detest it! I wish it would go screw itself beyond the hemisphere os earth and into inferno!

The reason for the declarations of hate?

Because I can't score well in it.

It seems kinda useless to me at the moment. Besides, it can only be applied to inanimate objects. What about living organisms? Can it be used to tweak genes or something? As far as I am concerned, it does not help at all, unless you want to calculate your impact when you fall down the stairs, or carry a thermos flask, or try to stay cool.

It's downright boring. I have no interest in gravity or forces, thank you very much, I am more interested in the cure of cancer, or the emotional impact an event can give you, or the quickest way to kill a person (but then again this owuld involve Physics. Damn.)

Anyway, I hate A Math too (:

Are these mathematicians so free and leisurely, they have nothing better to do than to sit around idolently in their houses all day and craft out theories about the roots of a bloody equation no one honestly gives a damn about?! Who cares about modulars? Who cares about partial fractions? The most useful bit of Math I learned was in my primary school, where you can actually apply it to real life situations! What are you gonna do with the roots of an equation in real life? What do you get from knowing the biggest prime number (other than a hefty remuneration for your discovery?) What have you acheived in life, other than a miserable theory you've spent your life thinking about, and die thinking about? Is that all life is to you?

Then I pity you.

Literature is a much better use of time than Physics, any day, any time.

There's a thin line between love and hate.

It's amazing. Minutes ago I felt nothing but happiness and pleasant expectation, but all this changed just because of SOMEONE inept in prepositions (within CCHMS or OUT?) and coordinates. I fumed all the way home.

Sorry Pu Yin if I shot that death glare at you accidentally.

My classmates walked past me as if I'm invisible. WTF. Three periods ago we were laughing together, now we're just two strangers on the road? Acquaintances are really so shallow. At least smile or show some form of recognition or something! I'm not a stranger, for goodness' sake.

But Pearly, that was a very sweet dedication. Thank you (: Even though I didn't really like HSM.

(And yes, I know I am going to be mauled by a mob of rabid fans.)

Ahh. My humour is back. Yipee doo yay.

How many ways do I hate thee?
Le me count the ways:

1) I am bloody suay. I lost at Monopoly. TWICE IN A ROW. I used to win all the time when I was younger, playing over the Internet. And I lost. BADLY.

2) Stupid skirt got stained during cha yi ke. Thank you, Amanda, Sue Ann and others who tried to help me... I had to make a mad dash back to the classroom (If this was shuttle run I bet I'll break a record) and grab my...refill. In the sultry weather.

AND IT LEAKED FROM BOTH FRONT AND BACK (You know what I mean).

Pissed off. But hopefully the guys didn't notice.

3) Walking with my lunchbox, belated valentine's day gifts, a wet skirt, and my personal effects dangling from my arms is no fucking joke. Especially when Chung Cheng is too f***ing big. People stared at me in my catwalk down the classroom block, across the canteen, past the concourse and into the General office.

4) People asking me why I got into the state should be stabbed repeatedly in the thin line of skin separating your vagina from your rectum. Unfortunately, the General office had a CCTV camera trained. And the VP asked too. I suppose it'll be hard to hide those dead bodies and explain their absence. Damn.

5) Just to let you know, waddling with stained undergarments is really cold, wet and downright repulsive. If you don't know what I mean, try urinating in your pants, run down three flights of stairs, run about 100 m to classroom block, run up 3 flights of stairs, and run about 3 m to the girl's toilet. Unpleasant indeed. My sensitive nostrils detected the faint musky smell of dead cells (endometrium lining) and blood. Not appealing at all.

6) Scrubbing it out at home was hell, too.

7) I just loathe my red friend who visits uninvited every month.

8) Bloody hot weather.

9) Can't join triathalon because it's on the week before tests and exams. And, though Sue Ann and I wanted to join (with her running and me swimming), we don't have a cyclist. Double damn.

10) Refer to the point about directionally challenged people who tell me I 'can definitely catch up one lah'. I'll have you know that running with blobs of...you know what in between is most certainly an uncomfortable sensation, and you wasted my time and energy.

11) I hate the world.

12) Religion can go fuck itself in hell.

13) The 'Eye on the world' book I borrowed from MRL (Ha! Students who attented CAP indeed.) was lackluster. The writing was mediocre at best, though I did like one or two for the effective use of repetition. Otherwise, it was dry and bland. It was publish in 1992. Was that the year of bad writing or something? I HATE Singlish in works, no matter whether it's in conversations or thoughts. I hate ridiculously run on sentences which have no obvious subject and predicate, and go against the rules of grammar.

An example?

I know you think you know that all stories which start with once upon a
time had happy endings because all the stories your mummy and daddy used to tell
you which started with once upon a time had happy endings but sometimes life is
not what we want it to be and one day when the little girl's daddy came home to
the little girl's mummy because Margie Darling had been cheating on him with his
best friend he found a horrid little girl who didn't look in the least bit like
his own little girl but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to love her but
it was alright because the little girl who lived in his house couldn't bring
herself to love anyone or anything anyway.

There is too much repetition, useless sentences and details. It feels like a second grader just wrote his/her first composition. I don't see the use of repetition here, the whole thing reeks of a wannabe writer trying too hard to impress everyone. What is the use of run-on sentences? Is it used as a prose deivce here? I don't see it. Is it trying to show how long-winded the author is, how conscientious and pretentious? Run on senteces usually are jumbled and disordered, giving a feel of disillusion and subtly drawing the reader into the person's frame of mind. However, in this case, it's just repulsive. After the third line, I lost interest.

Downright terrible.

And no, this isn't the longest sentence. All the sentences was about this long, with the shortest being 'Good night and sweet dreams'.

You call this good writing?

A third grader can come up with better. Don't insult us other writers who can do better than this with your ineptitude.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, PEOPLE.

Happy Friday the 13th, people.

Now for storytime!

The actual origin of the superstition, though, appears also to be a tale in Norse mythology. Friday is named for Frigga, the free-spirited goddess of love and fertility. When Norse and Germanic tribes converted to Christianity, Frigga was banished in shame to a mountaintop and labeled a witch. It was believed that every Friday, the spiteful goddess convened a meeting with eleven other witches, plus the devil - a gathering of thirteen - and plotted ill turns of fate for the coming week. For many centuries in Scandinavia, Friday was known as "Witches' Sabbath."

LEGEND HAS IT: If 13 people sit down to dinner together, one will die within the year. The Turks so disliked the number 13 that it was practically expunged from their vocabulary (Brewer, 1894). Many cities do not have a 13th Street or a 13th Avenue. Many buildings don't have a 13th floor. If you have 13 letters in your name, you will have the devil's luck (Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Theodore Bundy and Albert De Salvo all have 13 letters in their names). There are 13 witches in a coven.

Wonderful! Let me find 12 guests to sit with...

LEGEND HAS IT: Never change your bed on Friday; it will bring bad dreams. Don't start a trip on Friday or you will have misfortune. If you cut your nails on Friday, you cut them for sorrow. Ships that set sail on a Friday will have bad luck – as in the tale of H.M.S. Friday ... One hundred years ago, the British government sought to quell once and for all the widespread superstition among seamen that setting sail on Fridays was unlucky. A special ship was commissioned, named "H.M.S. Friday." They laid her keel on a Friday, launched her on a Friday, selected her crew on a Friday and hired a man named Jim Friday to be her captain. To top it off, H.M.S. Friday embarked on her maiden voyage on a Friday, and was never seen or heard from again.

I, on a sporadic burst of insanity and inanity (is there such a word?) decided to look at my ranking for the Amaths quizzes we did on acelearning.

I wish I didn't.

Being such a copetitive and a person used to getting nearly the top in everything, being average was...disorienting. I felt strange. My saliva suddenly tasted sour, the sour of scid and air.

I don't know. I'm not used to such competition. Suddenly I have to fight hard everyday just to remain at the top, and fight off my descension to insanity.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of putting on a smile for everyone to see every single damn day, I'm tired of pretending to be approchable and have humour I don't have at the moment, I'm tired of people not getting my jokes and drama + sarcastic humour, I'm tired of being an enigma, I'm tired of being a wallflower that fades into the shadows, and I'm tired of being nobody.

I'm trying to find my Identity. I know my name but I don't know who I am. I don't know what I am known by in other's eyes, and I'm tired of being judged every single millisecond of my life, and I detest and adore being alone by myself in class.

Being alone does help to clear my thoughts and help me relfect, a very essential thing for me as a wannabe writer. But it leaves me to my demons. There is nobody to distract me from my suicidal intentions and my depressing thoughts, no one who can actually uphold a conversation I am interested in, no one to save me from myself.

Yes, I am capable of feeling happy and content. I am. But I can't shake off those bouts of melancholy anymore. It's not that easy. It's suffocating me.

I'm so tired of fighting. I just want to give up and slink off to a dark corner to lick my wounds. So tired, so tired, so tired of having to keep up, so tired of having to study constantly, so tired of being lonely, so exhausted and weary of the phantoms that live through my characters I create.

So tired.

I am seriously getting suicidal, it's just that I haven't started slashing, because I have enough scars on my body and I do not need a couple on my wrist, the most important part of my body I treasure, because my watch and bracelets sit on it and i write with my hand and I play my flute and i look at my veins and i know i'm alive.

Just let me die already. I've seen all there is to this world-- there is more suffering and those imagined path to alleviate suffering (nothing but palliating the symptoms, and depriving oneself), so there is nothing else to live for. Nothing. I can depend on nothing but my mind.

Lit is the only thing keeping me sane. It is only when I immerse myself in another world when I feel completely at peace, trying to interact and dissect all the characters and the subtle nuances of the story. It is for this very reason I became addicted to manga. Simply for the immersion.

But after that, it's nothing. I feel pain in my thighs and my calves and I awake screaming with my empty throat. I sleep with my screams in my head. I dream about death, being pursued, dying myself and dying people. The streets are littered with the dying. The embers of heaven have long died out. Hell is a myth. There is nothing for us to go to or seek solace in the fact that we know what is waiting for us beyond death's door.

I awaken sometimes to see my pillow is soaked with tears I can't remember shedding throughout the course of night. Is it sweat? Impossible, since I sleep in an air-conditioned environment.

I'm getting desperate. I need to believe in something.

But not religion. I cannot handle another misplace of trust, because I'm sure I'll break.

It is those with the strongest exteriors that are the weakest within.

Sometimes I wonder, almost dazedly in between lessons and my conscious mind, a drifting of thoughts and emotions, whether anyone will miss me if -just the very possibility if- I died.

Probably not.

I feel empty. Just...nothing. As I transcribe these words onto the keyboard, I feel a subtle shift, and nothing. I hold my breath for one minute - exhale, inhale-, hold it for another, -exhale, inhale- repeat while walking, just to feel my heart pumping furiously to supply oxygen to every part of my body. To feel the pain. To feel something other than the sun sneering down at my back.

Tomorrow I have my church class. I don't want to go, but I havr to, because I'm forced by obligation of a religion I don't even want to be in.

Isn't it amazing how sometimes we curse God and yet sometimes we thank him. Odd, indeed, even for one who doesn't believe.

Never mind.

Ok, my official new abhorred subject is none other than Physics.

I HATE PHYSICS!!!

Not only is tremendously dull, boring, inert, monotonous, sleep-inducing, humdrum, tedious, dreary drudgery, I don't understand the @!^$# kinematics.

O kinematics, thou is most abhorred! The thorn among the jewels, the toad's skin among the swan's feathers, the wart upon the hag's nose, and the values of little consequence!

I HATE HATE PHYSICS.

I do understand the basic formulas and remember them, but I don't know how to use them. E.g.

A skater moves off from rest with a steady acceleration of 4 m/s2. What is her speed and distanced travelled after 10s?

To the setter of this question:



Firstly, why the fuck would I care about that goddamn skater? He/she can lose a leg/ do a face plant in the ice and I frankly don't give a flying fuck. Unless there's blood and gore involved.



Secondly, how would I know? Acceleration is (v-u)/t, so the it's 4 = (v-0)/ 10


Thus, v = 40.



Distance = ??????????



SEE?



Unless it's calculated by the formula displacement = 1/2 (u+v)t

=1/2 (40)10

=200



Is that even correct?

----

I found something which I detest more than Physics, and that is noteworthy, considering that the hate-o-meter currently registered for physics is at 99.99%. Apparently, something else gets my goat, it forces this hate-o-meter to shoot egregiously off scale into the yonder.

Guess what?

Yes, TERRIBLE WRITING.

I simply scorn bad writing. ESPECIALLY bad descriptive writing, when it's truncated by those jerky full-stops and inept spellings that make your tongue curl to the arc of your throat. A descriptive essay can be like a river, a beautiful stream which flows in the midst of a meadow filled with redolent flowers and their yolk crests, or it can be a polluted water source sitting at the back of a dumping factory. In other words, Singapore River, pre cleanup era. Or the Thames during the Elizabethan period.

The essay which I just read sounds something like this: I am hungry. I find food. I fuck with it. I sit. I open mouth. Chomp chomp. I eat. The end.

In other words, TERRIBLE, since I can summarise it in such cogent / pithy sentences which probably do not obey the rules of grammar.

Those who can't write, please spare us the torture of having to read those mangled words you call a masterpiece, piercing the downy spheres of our eyeballs and blemishing the lovely, vestal white of our monitor screens. If we want to be traumatised, we can go watch porn (those BDSM stuff) or maggots being removed from within human flesh. There is absolutely no need to pollute our mind with terrible sentence structure and mediocre descriptions that make you sound like you have a case of Multiple Persona disorder. Or schizophernia. Whichever.

I SHALL IMPROVE MY WRITTEN AND ORAL ENGLISH SO AS TO NOT SUFFER THE FATE OF THOSE IDIOTS! ROAR!