I hate deadlines with a passion that rivals my hatred for church, A Math, Chinese and Physics combined.

Anyway AHH I AM PANICKING THE DEADLINE IS 26 FEBRUARY 2010 FOR CAP MENTORSHIP SUBMISSIONS NO SUBMISSIONS = NO PARTICIPATION CERTIFICATE HOW AH AHHHHHHHH

And what is this progress report? My mentor and I only met up ONCE. Yup, ONCE. The other time we tried, he apparently forgot all about us poor students. Till today (since early December), he's been online AND NOT COMMENTING ON OUR NEW WORKS.

Lesson learnt: mentorship is not all it is hyped up to be.

Frankly, I don't think I learnt much, except to be careful with mized metaphors. Oh, and the joys of having someone treat you to a free Starbucks drink.

What the heck.

I didn't learn shit about characterisation and style. I didn't learn anything I hoped ot learn like varying voices or creating belieavable characters. All I got for my time and two hundred dollars is fifteen pathetic minutes with my barely-there 'mentor', who casually flicked through my story I spent TWO HOURS PORING OVER, NON-INCLUSIVE OF EDITING, RE-EDITING AND QUALITY CONTROL and told me to be careful of mixed metaphors and language.

What. The. -----

Sheesh. I think Mrs Pereira is way moree helpful than my mentor whose presence lingers like drawn perfume in a still room. At least I can rely on her to give my ego a boost, and improve my writing (even if it is from a more mechanical point of view), as opposed to my supposedly more-artistic, understanding bulwark of support that is my mentor.

Frustrated. Tired.

Why the HELL did I even apply???!

Oh, right. To get published in the EOTW, even for a few pages (but I am afraid I can't get in
because my writing sucks platypus shit)

AHHHHH PANIC AH HOW AH I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING ON THE DAMN THEME YET.

WHAT THE HECK IS THE THEME ANYWAY.

I AM SO FRUSTRATED AND PISSED. Yes I am still pissed off about that bloody sales assistant with bad attitude. But I don't want to talk about it because there's this insanely huge block in my head again, no thanks A MATH.

In select literature, anyway.

If the title got you livid with fury and positively panting with anger, ready to volley back a stream of insults ranging from hokkien (chao cheebye!) all the way to French (Merde!), well, it certainly served its function and gotten your attention, hadn't it?

Take A Thousand and One Arabian Nights. The emperor/king/potentate/(insert whatever glorious mandate of heaven title here) was apparently cheated on by his first wife, so now he decides to marry a new virgin girl every day, and send her to be beheaded the next day.

I wonder how their population fared, with such a king. No doubt it must be an aging population like Singapore, and the equation: emperor marries vigin girls + chastity the most important thing in a girl + men without wives = no wives to marry cos emperor beheads them = no sex = no procreation of children = population rate goes down.

Well, it's supposed to be a story, but I'll go on anyhoo because it pleases me to do so. Shut up about Mr Darcy, he was a right old asshole from the start, I don't care if his intentions are pure. Go to your crappy rom-com movies and stop whining, romantics.

So anyway, where was I? Ah yes, declining population rate. Mr emperor has killed three thousand women by the time he was introduced to the heroine, Scheherazade. (Damn, her name is hard to spell).

Against her father's protestations, Scheherazade volunteered to spend one night with the King. Once in the King's chambers, Scheherazade asked if she might bid one last farewell to her beloved sister, Dinazade, who had secretly been prepared to ask Scheherazade to tell a story during the long night. The King lay awake and listened with awe as Scheherazade told her first story. The night whiled away, and Scheherazade stopped in the middle of the story. The King asked her to finish, but Scheherazade said there was not time, as dawn was breaking. So, the King spared her life for one day to finish the story the next night.

The above paragraph was copied from Wikipedia because my palms are sweating from gosh knows what and I didn't feel like typing, aside from bitching. Okay, so Scheherazade continues this pattern for a thousand and one nights, whereupon her stories run out and guess what? The king spares her life.

No, I'm not incredulous about this. I am merely incredulous about...

Did I mention that the dear olde king fell in love with her and she had borne him THREE sons?

This is impossible in itself, based on logic. Let's do the Math:

1001 / (365 1/4) = 2.7405 years


He spends two years listening to her, and BAM! He decides he's in love with her, although previously he has not demonstrated the same patience with other girls, being the lustful arse he is?

Three sons, right?

Gestation period: 9 months.

9*3 = 27 months
Total number of months he's known her for: 2.7405 * 12 = 32.88706 months.
Assuming he has sex with her immediately after she gives birth, 32.88706 - 27 = 5.8870 months.
So he lounges about for 5 months, hurt and abused just to listen to her stories at night? Previously he took VIRGIN girls (hmm I wonder what for, why not behead them immediately? Perhaps to take advantage of the wedding night?) and beheaded them the next day, and assuming he's a loose, lustful arse who gets it on with a girl for 3000 nights (8.21 years! Enough to form a permanent habit!) he drops everything for her during the five months when he is deprived of what he is used to?

The stories better be hellaluva interesting.

Supposedly he listens to a thousand and one stories, one each night. What about the days Scheherazade has to give birth? I doubt surgery or numbing medicine was available those days. And during the act? A more realistic depiction, instead of him eagerly listening to the stories like an attention-starved boy would be "Damn it, woman! I'm trying to have sex here and all you do is jabber on! Shut up about the damn stories for once!"

Either he's an insensitive prick, or has terrible technique;or she has excellent control. Not to squirm or scream or moan (well, there has to be a reason why people have sex right? Because it probably feels good. Just like how people take drugs. Because it feels good) and continuing her story in a well-measured voice.

I supposed after giving birth one would be tired as hell. She still has the energy to continue the story? Wow. Zhen pei fu.

My point is, the stories are unrealistic. There.

Yes. The title has no relation at all to the topic at hand. Boo hoo for those who are looking for an argument.

Can't somebody cry in peace or lick her wounds without the god all fucking up???

Wanted to hide my sobs under loud music and guess what? The stupid, useless hunk of plastic, metal and LED lights decides with its miniscule brain or lack thereof that the time is ripe for it to fuck up. Despite me pressing on the buttons repeatedly, swinging the joystick this way and that, all ths stupid phone could come up with as a punchline was 'Closing applications...'

The stupid memory card slot slipped out. TAMADE!

I scotch taped it and threatened to drop it into the nearby fishpond, a lovely ten metres of flight if it refused to listen to me. Needless to say, apparently phones, having a very clean vocabulary which does not consist of a potpurri of Chinese, Hokkien and Olde English swear words, did not understand the sentiment I was trying to express.

It died on me. IT HAD THE MOTHERFUCKING TEMERITY TO DIE ON ME, A VERY PISSED OFF, CRYING, HORMONAL TEENAGE GIRL WHO NEARLY CRACKED THE SCREEN WITH HER CLENCHED FIST.

Smartphone? Ha! More like Stupid #!#!@%^! phone.

Shit, why on earth did I ever choose to buy this useless hunk of metal and plastic that hangs up suddenly between calls, dies mid-sms, laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaags for all of eternity loading the music page, insisting that 'memory full. Please close some applications' and consumes electricity like an African man at a all-you-can-eat buffet?

USELESS. ALL IS USELESS.

Then I thought my ipod would be in perfect working order since I hadn't touched it since Monday, but NOOOOO. It had low batt as well, probably because my wallet was digging into the play button, activating it. I had either forgotten to turn on the 'switch off keypad use' little clicky thing, or God is trying to be funny and fuck around with his human playtoy.

Yes, I don't believe in God, but heck it's good to always have an invisible force to be the scapegoat. SCREW YOU YOU INVISIBLE SO CALLED OMNIPOTENT AND OMNIBENEVOLENT EXCUSE OF VACCUM UP THERE, I HOPE ONE DAY YOUR DELUSIONS WILL SEND YOU TOPPLING FROM YOUR THRONE AND THAT MAYBE YOUR POWERS WILL FAIL THAT VERY DAY, YOU'LL LAND VERY PAINFULLY IN CAMBODIA WHERE THE LANDMINES ARE AND DIE.

Anyway, when to my rage I couldn't turn the ipod on, I spent a good 15 minutes looking for the motherfucking USB cable, half-blinded by my tears, now slowly turning into exasperation and fury. Slammed doors, cupboards, and hugged my frustration into my doggy plushie (which didn't help). When I finally found it in a shopping bag by the side of my desk, I think I howled with rage, then forced the cable in. When one is in anger, one has no patience to figure out which end should be correctly plugged in. One needs immediate gratification.

Much like sex, I suppose.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT PISSED ME OFF IN THE FIRST PLACE?

On the bus I realised that the statement, "Writers are megalomaniacs with low self-esteem" is true.

Now let me tell you a story about a sparrow and a crow.

Shaken from her comfortable perch of confidence an enjoyment of her craft by a most hideous upstart crow, coming cawing into Singapore and driving all the resident birds out. Flying higher above the others, as if challenging them, as if all that matters is winning and winning alone.

Now, long ago there is a sparrow, though small in stature, very loud in chirruping and her passion for flight. She flew high above the others, particularly in English lands, and was constantly assured that she had talent. She was treasured. She had spent years perfecting the flight, sweat, blood and tears all contributing to the somewhat-success she now enjoys.

Now this upstart crow wanders into her territory, and nevertheless, miss sparrow wasn't amused. Within a span of two months the upstart crow and his noxious accent and cawing had flown higher than the others in her pack, he was just below her. Previously, this upstart crow monopolised Chinese lands and flew perfect mathematics-rounded curves and used science to propel him further. She didn't mind...until the crow began to nudge into her land, climbing up, slowly and steadily.

Six years. Six years of sweat, blood and tears, now dissipating into nothing by a young upstart crow who had, within two months, done what she struggled to in 3 years. She felt trapped. She wanted out.

This upstart crow wanted war. He will get war.

-----

I absolutely DESPISE people who just get ahead because they have to, and not because they love the subject or language.

Think about it. It's not wrong to want to establish yourself, but know your place. Don't do things that might mislead others into thinking you passionately invested in a subject, when all you want to do is beat the rest. There is somebody who spend and devoted all her time to growing and maturing and accepting parinful criticism. What about you? You, a stranger to the field of expertise, want to challenge someone more experienced? You, who want ot override this person, this person who loves the subject to bits, just becaus eyou want ot be the best?

Screw you. Go back to whence you come from. I hope you remain throughout your life alone, miserable and surrounded by material wealth and academic accomplishments, with a successful career but finding no joy in life. I hope you become one of those people whose words reflect those of a poet but whose hearts are empty. The type of person I absolutely DESPISE. Nobody wants you here, jutting into our lives. Competition is one thing but doing it just to spite someone or 'be the best', for the sole purpose of elevating your ego and depriving someone who is truly passionate about the subject opportunities is DESPICABLE.

I would rather converse with a primary one student who loves my subject rather than spend one minute in your insufferable presence.

I think people from my class will know what or who or whatever situation I am talking about, aye?

No, if you are reading this and think it's directed at you, don't. Because sometimes we humans are suspicious creatures who assume too much and overguess from an overly emotional blog post. Yes I am mean-spirited and bitchy and everything else horrible, an immature bitch who cannot handle failure. So what? This is who I am. This may or may not be directed at real life persons, it may be a response to a situation or to a book. Who knows? Only I. You know nothing, and do not make assumptions about my character. I do not entertain questions about this, unless we are closely acquainted.

If you think I have no reason to be pissed, you can go take a jump into the lake or spend two years with crows by your side. Annoying creatures who caw and ruin your otherwise perfect Singaporean streets, eat their own shit (saw a crow doing that in the backyard the other day, I know not what to say), splattering everywhere, spreading diseases and germs and polluting our pristine skylines. PESTS that deserve to be shot.