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!