I am leaving for my CAP camp tomorrow.

I'll bring my phone along, so if you want to contact me, please SMS or call me okay? (PLEASE PLEASE DO).

I dunno. I feel appehensive yet excited, and I also have that typical goddamn-my-work-sucks-lyk-shit type of feeling when re-reading my work. Argghh.

As well as the homesick feeling and the oh man I am gonna miss my flute feeling, and a lot of other things, like my computer.

I mean this is a nice camp and we'll be living in a hostel which looks kinda nice but there are 2 CCHMS students in this CAP thing, including me.

AND NONE OF MY FRIENDS ARE INTERESTED IN WRITING (okay, those who are didn't get in) and I am scared about feeling lonely and rejected during the group activities.

I mean, it's so unfair. Even though I and Sheena made fast friends, at least she has her own group of friends to hang out with, while poor poor me has no one ): And there is a hell lot of RGS girls in the program, and they are sec 2, but even though I am older than them I still feel intimidated by their large numbers.

It's kinda pathetic to be sitting in a convention with a large number of people who are definitely smarter than you, but oddly enough I happen to make friends who are less intellectually...stimulated. Heck, I realise none of my friends are better than me in terms of level position and PSLE aggregate. NO, I AM NOT BOASTING. THIS IS A MERE OBSERVATION.

Holy crap! Do I have an inferiority complex or something? I'd really hate to be a bitch who just hangs out with less...gifted people to appear smart. I hope I'm not like that, but if I find out I am this sort of person I shall go drown myself in...er....A Math homework. Yes, A Math and Physics.

(Urgh.)

OH SHIT I FORGOT TO PACK THE ALARM CLOCK!

--

Okay. Settled.

Anyway, back to whining.

I am really scared of not making friends and being all awkward and stuff despite having loads of thing in common i.e. we're all aspiring writers! But it's just weird.

Hey...maybe I can make use of this opportunity to talk about stuff I can't talk to my friends in school, because they'll just give me that blank look or run away from me. Hmm...

But I'm still scared. And reluctant.

WARNING: The following post will contain explicit mentions of menstruation (not mensuration, math nerds) and may be religiously sensitive. So if you are an anal retentive prude/ a prim and proper person with a stick up your arse, kindly arse off. The authoress is not responsible for the mental trauma/implanting of perverted thoughts / kids expanding their vocabulary of foul words. Thank you.

I seriously can't figure out the point of menstruation.

Yes, according to the acient wise sages of Science, the womb has to prepare itself for the potential baby, hence the planting of the endometrium lining and etc, etc. However, what's the point of shedding so many eggs (and wasting so much cells and blood that could go to my brains and hence improve my results) when I only use about 2 in a lifetime? (Assuming that a woman produces the worldwide average of 2.1 children.

Why can't our body be like a machine that can be switched on and off? So when the parent is ready for their whiny progeny they can happily flick the 'on' button for producing of eggs. Then we don't have to clean up the stupid mess that comes monthly.

Personally, I call it the curse.

No, I am not ashamed of it, I know it's part and parcel of life, but it's mighty inconvenient! Oh, if I were a man! All that differentiates a man and a woman is just an asinine reproductive organ, a chromosome and hormones!

What's the great deal about penises in the ancient times anyway? It can be chopped off as easily as your butcher chops chicken for chicken rice, so isn't it temporary? But I suppose that having one of those is better than a womb which bleeds monthly and aches like nobody's business, and then everyone would pressure you to have kids.

Stupid reproductive organs.

Today I Brought a hugeass packet of sweets to school as usual (mentos, fruit), but oddly, every single little sachet containing a sweet I opened is strawberry flavour.

Weird. I opened 3 of those little sachets again in hopes of finding a lemon or orange, but they were ALL strawberry.

o.0

Also, the first sachet of mentos I ate contained one and a half mentos. Kinda cool. Seriously, the other half was still perfectly preserved -- you can see the many layers of the sweet. My final conclusion of mentos: It's the topmost layer to the middle that has taste, the center just tastes fainly of strawberry and burnt rubber.

Today I created a new character in my head, admidst silence from my part and the chattering of classmates and friends (or mere acquaintances? I couldn't tell)

Her name is Anne Whitdale.

Okay, so I lied, I created her quite a few days ago, and she's been in my head ever since, mostly pacing in the confines of my mind and languishing in silence. So is cyborg 213, whose gentle whirrings and fake-breaths lull me to sleep.

Honestly, that is the main reason why writers (and artists) are isomniacs. Because to them, their characters are alive and speaking, they are alive and bonded to you because they area figment of your imagination, a childhood friend you've never had. But I dare not label myself a 'writer', for this is a title only to be bestowed upon others who recognise your talent or gift, no matter how minute.

My writing sucks. I know. I face it everyday, what with the unlimite purple prose that make me wince and pretentious speech. Because I am just fool's gold, I have no talent at all in the art of weaving words, and I ound like an andriod most of the time, and my characters are endlessly one-dimensional even though i have tried my best to flesh them out and show their emotions.

They are alive in me, but I just can't breathe their life on paper.

I could see a black streak of something mobile whirring around happily from my peripheral vision as I surfed the net.

Annoyed, I tried to kill it because it was pissing me off (yes, very yakuza like, not like a lady at all) but the fucking cretin just darted out of my smacking hands.

Whatever, I thought. As long as it buggered off (weak pun intended) and kept out of my way, I am perfectly happy to let it live its miserable existence knowing it'll perish due to insecticide or my demonic, sadistic alter-ego who kills bugs for fun.

Bored, I turned my attention to my phone, and was about to open the inbox when I noticed something unsightly sitting on my royal highness' perfectly tan, caramel arm (ahh... I do do a good Stephenie Meyer). Well, I supposed it can't be helped, since my blood is so delicous smelling and attractive (the product of eating too many sweets today). What now, Bella? I might just steal your sparkypire and tell him to be a real vampire!

What did I do?

Well, my royal Highness howled in rage and whipped out a weapon emlazoned with so much frills and lace, Sailor Moon would drool at it and oblierated the creature from this face of earth.

Unfortunately the above paragraph is a product of my imagination.

Okay, what I did was that I took opportunity of the situation. The little fucker was so engrossed in sticking her stylet into my perfectly untainted, virgin skin, penetrating me and taking her fill of me she didn't notice my ru lai shen zhang descending to smack it to a squashed death.

I imagine this is what must've gone through the bugger's mind:

Mozzie: Oh, yum yum, delicious blood. I want to drink. *Starts stinking in stuff that doesn't belong to my body* Hang on...there's a shadow. Oh never mind, it's nothing, since humans are such fidgety creatures...now where was I? Oh yeah, the blood... Here I come, baby! OUCH! ZZZ! My poor guts are squeezed out and I'm dead so maybe I should shut up now...

Okay, maybe I am assuming that mosquitoes have intelligence. However, IF a mosquite speaks English, I bet the last thing that went through its mind was....Must. Drink. Blood. Unfortunately for the poor mosquito, her thought process was interrupted by a resounding smack.

Upon closer examination of the corpse in my hand, I noticed some black stuff on my arm and hand. Do mosquitoes gather dust or something? But that's not the point. The point was that this irritating bugger had white spots on its legs!

If I had not smacked it to death, I would be the one down with dengue fever.

Grr. First she wants to claim my blood, now she wants to make me sick? Why, the ungrateful little bastard! I gave it sustenance to survive, and this is how it repays me?!

Well sucks for you, because you are somewhere in Singapore's waste water system, being filtered. Ha! I hope you are reborn in hell where all the demons there will smack you and kill you thousands of times in a day, and you have to be reborn again...and again...and again reliving your death!

RAWR! I hope all mosquitoes drop dead!

I am very scared about what happens tomorrow. About my results and the stupid A Math file.

Argh I don't want to live, I see no reason living on if the world is gonna end in 2012 anyway.

Just lemme die in advance. Please.

Somehow I am getting the image of screaming, screaming so hard until my throat bursts into ssplinters and my lungs constrict themselves, screaming until no sound leaves my lips except the rush of wind through my trachea, a wordless, mouthless, silent scream.

No one can save me from m demons this time. I hear them whispering and giggling in the dark, I see them wind their knotty wrists up my thighs and their jaws snapping on my breast, I feel them blanket me in murky nothingess of static and insecurity, they whisper...whisper...whisper...

I know it's all imagined. But every now and then fear grips my heart.

Just let me die or let me be numb.

Some people call God the great big bastard/asshole in the sky.

At first, I was scandalized, and thought that it was too harsh. Now, I thoroughly agree.

Right now I want to stick my head out of the window and yell, "Oi! The great bastard in the sky! Get your holy ass down RIGHT NOW and help me find my AMath assignments!"

But I suppose it'll make me look deranged instead.

Fuck.

WHERE THE BMFH ARE MY ARE MY COMPLETED ASSSIGNMENTS?! I DON'T WANT TO REDO THEM!!!

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

Before you wonder what warrants such an explosive reaction, allow me to tell you what made the bomb detonate:

Presenting to you, my current list of people I hate.

1) PEOPLE WHO BORROW MY COMPUTER AND CLOSE MY RUNNING PROGRAMS.

Is it so fucking hard just to CLOSE THE GODDAMN WINDOW I SPECIFICALLY OPENED FOR YOU ONLY?!

Or is your twitching fingers accostomed to be overcome by sporadic bursts of uitchiness and mind-numbing idiocy?

Even a five-year-old could manage to close the explorer window he/she has been working on and leave the other running programs alone.

Fopr goodness' sake, you are not computer illiterate., How fucking hard is it to close a single window? What I would really like to know is how you maged to close the tabs as well.

NEXT TIME YOU COME WITHIN A 50-CENTIMETER RADIUS OF MY PRCIOUS CPU AND MY MONITOR SCREEN, DON'T FUCKING TRY TO GUILT-TRIP ME INTO GIVING IN. Because I know exactly how emotional manipulation works. I am a master myself.

So. Next. Time. don't. expect. me. to. fucking. let. you. close. my. running. programs.

And saying sorry won't help. If the word sorry could help resolve matters I bet Huang Na's killer would be languishing in a villa somewhere and drooling and pedopliac videos. And then there won't be guantamono (sp?) bay or religious wars or melodramatic revenge plots that could come straight out from an opera.

So what if you brought home the computer? I enrich it and use it, I install m programs and help to enhance its effects. If you don't ask me for help, how the hell am I supposed to know you need help? I'm not fucking God or a seer or a clairvoyant. It's just like a patient expecting to get treatment for a certain illness even though he/she didn't tell the doc about any prevalent symptoms or the sickness itself, just because of pride. Pricks.

Which leads me to number 2.

Stupid people.

I cannot stand stupid people. Stupid people take eons to decipher a simple sentence (heck, during that span of time I even could double and triple check it for sentence strucutre and grammatical errors), and claim I am mumbling despite her obvious need for hearing aids. C'mon, how expensive can that be? Nowhere near your cupboard full of SKII, I am sure.

I have enunciated even dratted syllable and even did voice projecti on, to no avail. Perhpas I am not the problem. It's you. Don't worry my dear, it's never too late to master the art of lip-reading...or just put that money you spend on cosmetics to good use and BUY A PAIR OF HEARING AIDS INSTEAD. YOU KNOW YOU NEED THE,M.

Fucking hell. Thinking about them makes my blood boil. Of course the term 'stupid' is rather subjective, but anyhoo, the list of people considered 'stupid' are:

i) VERY VERY LAG. e.g. I have been telling you for 26 times (YES, I COUNTED) about the motherfucking CAP and everytime I mention it(there was once I clued you in and exactly 5 minutes later I mentioned it again only to have you stare at me blankly) you ask me to define it. And you claim that you have a lot on your mind.

That's not a fucking excuse, and you know it. What person doesn't have a lot on their minds? Either you care (and that means listening, if you love someone you'll definitely listen instead of bitching about how busy you are and disregard what the other party has to say) or you don't. Simple as that. If you care, you jolly well listen, and I will repriocate. If not, don't be a fucking hypocrite and ask me to carry your burden without the benefit of sharing mine.

ii) People who mess with my digital equipment. This includes files, downloads, MOVING MY SPEAKERS, CLOSING MY PROGRAMS, and reading my unedited prose passages. I will never forgive anyone who does that, and trust me, you will feature in one of my prose passages...how does a part playing the whore or a cockroach sound?

P.S. I have nothing against whores, except that they spread HIV and AIDS. I bet they'll make very interesting subjects, but then again for the sake of this curse...

iii) People who try to lead, but have no clue what they are doing.

iv) People who have no clue about politics and try to act cool and talk about it anyway.

v) PEOPLE WITH BAD PRONUNCIATION AND TERRIBLE GRAMMAR. (And yes, I am talking about THE infamous egeog teacher)

vi) The creator of mutant vampires that friggin sparkle in the sun instead of bursting into dust or flames.

vii) Amateur writers who try to act professional. (Yes I know I am an amateur writer, but I don't pretend that I am the best in m age group).

viii) Bimbos & people who are too cheery so bloody early in the morning & people who wake me up too early & noisy people who disrupt my shower/thinking process/writing with irrelevant comments

ix) People who take bad writing as good writing and even fangirl over it. And peope who don't give constructive criticism.

x) PEOPLE WHO KEEP ASKING ME WHAT A WORD MEANS/try to take advantage of me. I am not your free dictionary. You want my services? Pay me.

Anyway, on to number 3

For some reason religion bugs the hell out of me. The reasons of which I will not disclose, for I know I will be apprehended under the internal security act for trying to spread disharmony among religious groups.

So I shall try to be as vague as possible.

1) Please do. not. try. to. convert. me. I am not interested, okay?! I am being very polite in demurring, if you don't want me to start an uproar similar to the AWARE saga please kindly shut the fuck up and put your trap where it belongs.

2) I do not appreciate being forced to accept a religion. Libertating enlightenment? Ha! I only see prison bars, shackles and manacles dragging me closer to my fate because it's what good daughters do, they bow down to fate.

Yes, I think God is an asshole, a theory that has proven through a string of seemingly inconsequential events:

1) My exams were tough, despite my sparse prayers (I hardly pray anyway, so it's a considerable achievement).
2) Ill luck e.g. loosing a bangle a day after I bought it, then losing a bracelet as it slipped from my wrist.
3)Losing money.
4) Isomnia.
5) Plauged by near insanity
Well I can go on and on about the list of bad stuff that happen to me week after week, but I suppose it would fill several thick Stephen King novellas. Anyway, I am an athetist. I don't realy care much about religion, so if you try to force me, you are only pushing me away from it.

Because God has lost my trust, and I don't see any reason why I should just let myself fall to a spiritual and psychological suicide, hoping after hopes being dashed.

Number 4.

Okay I feel so much better now. So I shall continue this list in the future when I feel pissed off again.

Note to self: I need a skull. Or a voodoo doll. Pronto.

God, you gotta liove that word.

I officially promulgate that that is my !wordcrush.

Diasporadiasporadiasporadiaspora.

I can go on saying it over and over, rolling and twining the briny bits of syllables in my tongue: diaspora.

Yesterday when I attended the CAP briefing, I was gobsmacked.

Why?

Because out of the whole CCHMS, only 2 of us were in there. Majority of the students were from RGS. Majority of the students there were also females.

But I digress.

I was heaving a sigh of relief when I realised the other student from CCHMS who got in was a girl (and, a sidenote: for some reason my genger on the namelist was listed as a male...I am OBVIOUSLY female! Look at my boobs, c'mon! Ahem.)and juding by the look of relief on her face, she obviously shared the same sentiment.

While sitting in the lecture hall gazing at the rows of black bobs and ponytails, as well as the massive surge of navy pinafores and snow white blouses (shut up and let me have my Stephenie Meyer's moment of purple prose), Sheena said, 'I feel shorter than I really am.'

I eyed the RGS female (sec 2) sitting next to me, and her badge that read 'prefect-in-training', and I nodded (while completely disregarding any situations associatd with the word 'in training', like heiresses...but I digress. Again.)

But after I learnt why the hell the stupid selection process took so long (Words from the organiser: "You sent in 3 portfolios. 1 goes to the officers at MOE, where they decide whether you make the cut. The other 2 go to experienced writers. So your portfolio has probably been read as many times as 5-6 times before yuo got [your sorry ass] in.")

Okay, so she didn't really mention the part about 'your sorry ass', it was all my own invention. But I stunned. I went, 'OMG, I survived all that?!'

Sheena responded, "I feel taller than I am, suddenly."

I gave her the 'don't-suan-me-too' look. YES, I KNOW I AM SHORT LA, DON'T BULLY ME OKAY?!

Short but fierce. Like Hermia!

Anyway nafter the seminar was over, I heard the sound of rain, a very welcome sound had it not been the fact that I didn't have an umbrella with me. Sheena's dad offered to drive me to the MRT, but he drove on and on...and he ended up giving me a lift righ to my doorstep.

I was wincing as we left the CBD area and as every precious dollar was deducted from the ICU, as the ____ (fill in a suitable invective) ERP was in operation. Beep. Beep. Reminded me of the life support machine and the beep of every heartbeat.

I went back and rewarded myself with a huge bag of Chipster's and a packet of pocky. Yes, I know my nutrionist will be appalled and that it is egregiously unhealthy. Yes, I know the amount of saturated fat there is in one packet. But do I care? Oh, as much as I care about doing A Math or Physics assessments after the MYE.

For those lost in translation, that means that I don't give a cockroach's wriggling ass about it, unless it's within a 1km radius of my revered self, and I would whip out a canister of Bygon and spray it to a stinky death, and watch it flail about helplessly in the contaminated air while giggling with vicious glee.

Too bad I can't exterminate teachers I dislike like cockroaches. There's nothing we poor abused students can do except hope that the teacher twists her/his ankle and falls off the stairs, hits her/his head against the banister and get a concussion. But even that would be too far fetched for something Stephenie Meyer would write.

(And yes, I do have something against sparkypires). Vampires. Don't. Fucking. Sparkle!!!!

I wonder how much glitter they had to throw onto poor Cedric's face to make him sparkle like that. I imagine that he'll even outshine the brightest neon brothel lights in Geylang. Reminds me of...nail polish...

Okay this sounds quite incoherent now. Anyway, the rebonding has lost its effect on my stupid hair and the waves are back with a rage. Urgh. The knots are back too. And the frizziness that defy all forms of conditioner and moisture, like a petulant younger sibling.

RAWR I WANT TO GO AND REBOND AGAIN!

I am a woman.

So?

This means I am a regular, two-faced bitch with confidence problems, bogged by insecurity in everything I do.

I am calm. I embody calmness. Everyday before the start of each paper, I eye my watch and time my breahing according to seconds that tick by. One, two, three, four five, inhale; one, two, three, four, five, exhale.

I just lost my head during Physics and A Math, as well as Chinese.

Muse whispered in my ear during English compo, but I didn't listen to her, stupidly deciding to do an argumentative.

Because sometimes what our heart tells you is better than your brain. Sometimes our minds are smarter than our logic in the sense that you can 'predict' stuff.

I'm tired. I am scared. I am alone.

But I am glad I feel this loneliness


Because it's the only way to reassure myself that I am sane, and I can still feel. I'm not numb


yet.

--

Went shopping today, bought a bangle. It is kinda too big to fit on my wrist though, hangs there like clothes from the starving.

I wanted to buy that lolita fashioned dress I saw, thinking it was $18. Today I went back to check. It was $118.

Fucking hell.

It looked much better with the '1' in front eliminated.

Speaking of which, I saw a lovely bracelet today. It was fake pearls and rather lolita style (ribbons and bows, very girlish but elegant).

Only $10. I regret not buying it. I fell in love with it and was reluctant to leave.

Wonder if I could go back for a refund on the dumb bangle which just lies suspended on my thin wrist. I look undernourished when I weasr it. Who cares whether it's 'in' or not.

Hmm. Perhaps tomorrow I shall do a manicure and buy that. Shall also go to orchard to ask for a refund, even if the bangle was only $4.90.

I know why I am suddenly embracing my girlish side. Because I finally admit it's the side of me that still dreams and dares to hope. Well, there's the dream of making big bucks, but I suppose it's more of a symbolic representation of me wanting to go back to what I was when I was in secondary 1. My sense of humour and my death glare. ESPECIALLY my death glare, and my readiness to embrace the new and ponder over seemingly minute aspects of life, questioning humanity and being able to write poetry on the spot.

I miss that side of me. I miss my easy imagery and my swift command of vocabulary, I miss my metaphors and alliteration, I miss my deadpan humour as well as a love for all things macabre, I miss the days where I can feel something other than misery and stress. Joy that is not bought.

I miss my flute.

I miss everything that I was going to be, and thought I would be, I miss the dreams and hopes blown away by the harsh winds of change, I miss the past because it is always filled with regrets.

Heck, I even miss my creative cussing.

And YES, cussing can be creative. To hear it I have to be pissed off, but I don't recommend pissing me off because I frankly don't know what I will do if I lose the last strand of reason and control. Probably fulfill all my darkest fantasies of execution.

The carcasses and stench would be a major problem, though. Reckon I could mask it with some Anna Sui or hide the screams through loud revolutionary music? Music whose lyrics proclaim 'Give Chanel all your life savings. Because you want to and she's beautiful,. strong and deserves every shred of material wealth you peasants can scrounge up.'

Okay, please tell me you didn't take the above line seriously. But if you DO want to give me money, well...I guess I can accept with a ready smile (:

A VERY ready smile.