I !looove to f-f-f-lip my hair!

What is this four-lettered word that has made us all lose our minds.
It always seemed to weaken the strong and falter our actions, what is this?

I woke up 6 in the morning, wide-eyed while peeking into the shadows of my covers. So afraid that i'll find myself losing the joy of my life. Scrambling out of bed with fingers crossed that you might be in the bathroom, i held such mighty hopes eventually finding out that you've gone over your league.


Leaving the dormitory of my bliss. What is this? Cold sweat broke out despite the scorching sun shining. I felt deserted. For the first time, i begin to revive the ill memories that somersault pass me like a strong breeze. My head begin to throb so hard, my lips swelled in paleness and then, I saw you again.

At the front, queuing for something else. Just how I met you the first time, the exasperated desire to jump in line while innocently leaning to catch a little glimpse. What is this?

What were you doing? Then a flash of light stormed it's way and made the crowds submerge to the corners of the room and vaporising them. It was just me and you, Again. My hand reached out to welcome you back but you carried yourself away in full speed on your heels.

"What is this?" I shouted faintly to the four walls.

I woke up, engulfing myself with fresh air. The morning sun was screaming it's way from the blinds, my forehead was dripping with beads of sweat. I hate it, another nightmare.

Those kinds where I'd wake up and have no clue what happened but I just know, something did happen.
And, it wasn't just a mere nothing.

What is this?

I know i haven't been updating this already-dead "blog", that's why I am here right now?
Okay, so i know i have been snapping quite a few pictures from EMDD [Evening of Music, Dance and Drama] and have YET to upload it. So here it is?
Unfortunately, it is still uploading into my ScrapBook, so i shall begin typing some rubbish insignificant stuff first.

Emdd was amazing. Really.
It felt just like Choir camp, with the senior-ly laughters (AND THEY'LL BE LEAVING US!!), mmm-mmm chuckie chuckie, cam-whoring, listening to songs and getting all emo-ish and just going crazy?
I still remember when I was in sec 1, our holding rooms for choir was on the 4th floor in Victoria Theatre.
Can i just brag about how this year that we managed to get a bigger, cozier and less tiring place to wait?!
But we were suffering with saliva splashing everywhere: "SHHH! SHHHH!"

Apparently, we got the room nearest to the backstage.
So we were not allowed to make ANY noise at all, not a mutter, not a whisper. But of course, choir! WHERE CAN KEEP QUIET.
Yeah, imagine the amount of people who were making the pee-ing syndrome noise.
Muahahaha, i was a fine contributor too.

It was just super memorable. I love gala night.
And vanessa wee looked mighty mighty fine. After days and days of desperation, you still look super duper nice.
Idiot!

Time: Will start about 1.45PM to 2.15PM
Venue: Near the chapel area.
For what?

We will be sharing with you news on Nine Feet Under.
An event... [WILL TELL YOU GUYS TOMORROW!]
On Guitar: Chermaine & JoeyNg
On Keyboard: Annabel
On Voice: JolynTan, Nicole, Ariane.

Please support us!
Don't give us your money, by the way!
Edit: Called off. Bye.

For I am willing to be a dreamer of yours.


The shirt says it all.

Thank you for saving me, for pulling me out of my wilderness and capturing me into your embrace. For overwhelming me with your presence, in the moment where I felt most vulnerable, you'd make sure I was feeling better in a minute's time. Written all over my life, I see your name, i see it high above every name listed and felt secured that You also place me somewhere in your ever-forgiving heart.

You see through my wrongs and correct them and marked them as 'The Past' so I would not dwell on it. For you have erased my illness and renewed me to becoming a better person. It is your unconditional love that makes life spark.

God is moving, can you hear the sound of revival
Hallelujah

> >>You know sometimes when you are in a hurry and don't have time to
> >>read
> >>emails that friends and family send to you so you just close it and
> >>think
 >>to yourself that you will read them later, but then you never get
> >>around
> >>to it? Read this email. Don't close. I don't care if you forward it
> >>on
> >>or
> >>delete it afterwards-just read it.
> >>It's about an essay written by a teenage boy called "The Room". I
> >>hate
> >>the
> >>thought of what my file room will look like. May you be as moved and
> >>blessed as I was when I read it. Thanks for
> >>letting me share it with you.
> >>--------------------------------------

----------------------------------
> >>
> >>THE ROOM
> >>17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for
> >>a
> >>class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later
> >>told
> >>his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing
> >>I
> >>ever wrote.." It also was the last.
> >>
> >>Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it
> >>while
> >>cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School Brian
> >>had
> >>
> >>been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every
> >>piece of his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his
> >>homework.
> >>
> >>Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about
> >>encountering
> >>Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the
> >>teen's
> >>life.. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore
> >>realized that their son had described his view of heaven.
> >>
> >>"It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feel like
> >>you
> >>
> >>are there." Mr. Moore said.
> >>Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was
> >>driving
> >>home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in
> >>Pickaway County
> >>and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but
> >>stepped
> >>on a downed power line and was electrocuted.
> >>
> >>The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the
> >>family
> >>portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point.
> >>I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs.
> >>Moore
> >>said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's
> >>vision
> >>of
> >>life after death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know
> >>I'll see him."
> >>
> >>Brian's Essay: The Room...
> >>
> >>In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the
> >>room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall
> >>covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in
> >>ibraries
> >>that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But
> >>these
> >>files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in
> >>either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the
> >>wall
> >>of
> >>files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I
> >>have
> >>liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly
> >>shut
> >>it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each
> >>one.
> >>And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
> >>
> >>This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system
> >>for
> >>my
> >>life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and
> >>small,
> >>in
> >>a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity,
> >>coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening
> >>files
> >>and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories;
> >>others
> >>a
> >>sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my
> >>shoulder
> >>to
> >>see if anyone was watching.
> >>
> >>A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have
> >>betrayed."
> >>the titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I
> >>Have
> >>Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have
> >>Laughed
> >>at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've
> >>yelled
> >>at
> >>my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My
> >>Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I
> >>never
> >>ceased to be surprised by the contents.
> >>
> >>Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer
> >>than I
> >>hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
> >>Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of
> >>these
> >>thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this
> >>truth.
> >>
> >>Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with
> >>my signature.
> >>When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I
> >>realized
> >>the files grew to contain their contents The cards were packed
> >>tightly,
> >>and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file.
> >>I
> >>shut it,
> >>shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time
> >>I
> >>knew that file represented.
> >>
> >>When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run
> >>through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to
> >>test
> >>its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.
> >>
> >>I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost
> >>animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must
> >>ever
> >>see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy
> >>them!"
> >>In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I
> >>had
> >>to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began
> >>pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I
> >>became
> >>desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel
> >>when
> >>tried to tear
> >>it.
> >>
> >>Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot.
> >>Leaning
> >>my
> >>forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
> >>And then I saw it.. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel
> >>With."
> >>The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I
> >>pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long
> >>fell
> >>into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
> >>And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they
> >>hurt.
> >>They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees
> >>and
> >>cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.
> >>The
> >>rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must
> >>ever,
> >>ever know of this room. I must lock it up and
> >>hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
> >>No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched
> >>helplessly
> >>as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to
> >>watch
> >>His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His
> >>face,
> >>I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.
> >>He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to
> >>read
> >>every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.
> >>He
> >>looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't
> >>anger
> >>me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry
> >>again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said
> >>so
> >>many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
> >>
> >>Then
> >>He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end
> >>of
> >>the
> >>room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over
> >>mine
> >>on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say
> >>was
> >>"No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on
> >>these
> >>cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive.
> >>The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently
> >>took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I
> >>don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so
> >>quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last
> >>file and walk back to my side.
> >>
> >>He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up,
> >>and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were
> >>still cards to be written.
> >>
> >>
> >>"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Philippians
> >>4:13
> >>"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever
> >>believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." If you feel
> >>the
> >>same way forward it so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also.
> >>My
> >>"People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how
> >>about yours?

I want a life, with a perspective that is always flawless. Why? I don't know and even if i do accomplish in venting out on a stupid blog that nobody really reads (so, it's like I'm talking to myself. Weirdo) It's so incomplete. You know, the funny thing that you'll cry over a thousand and one thing for bullshit and smile for individual genuine happiness.

What the fuck. I bet my hormones are raging, i am feeling terribly happy meanwhile like a poseur sadist.

I see people breaking up. People throwing away their lives to run away for a mirage. Nothing can beat a dream. I hear people's muffled cries in their self claimed non-existent lives. And the bitches that ditch it should just sink their heads to drown. I taste revenge, hatred, discomfort. To live in this society, what society? Hell. Getting pulled in, getting disfigured by some lame ass that sticks their noses into your lives and than pulling it out once you've settled down with it.

GET A LIFE, DUDE. You think lives like us are ripped from a damn storybook? Hell no. "One can never forget love, there are others who can never forget the ones who killed their love." Damn it. I am speaking from a bitch perspective, like i-did-it-before-thing-i-know. And i feel bad. I feel sinned. Obviously, no water can wash away my guilt so i will suffocate it with angst. Whenever i read my memory, it was filled with opposites.

One moment, you're so sweet and the next, you're avoiding. For what? Is that part of a plan? A motive? A disgusting scheme to rip us up, to pull us away from that one moment where we could dream for something more than real life? Millions can speak for one, but one cannot speak for millions. Everybody leads a different life, meet different disgusting annoying think they all that females or truly low-down crap.

I really don't know. Is this the life you want? Is this the life i wanna be lead? To be one of those 'i will forever obey you, master' hoo-ha? I don't know. Seriously and i know i've been a serious damn it walking cursing idiot but i felt my life has changed a bit in trying to accept someone in my life. Someone i thought that wasn't all that or how i think mumbling ourselves comforting words to ensure he is there. I know i sound so ironic and stuff, but this was the past.

During the exams, i know. He was there and this is what good peer influence had lead me to become. Thank you. Usually, i am so afraid to lose myself. To know that i'll die before twenty or how i wanna be that strong not emotional character but i know i can't. Despite drugs or hypnotism or anything, it's up to me. "It's up to yourself to control yourself and not anybody else."

And i know, this is self reliance. Hell, i don't care if people are backstabbing me or plain spreading unbelievable talking. I just know, i'm not taking the bad road. Cause... I have the most precious, most amazing, most no more descriptive words can be placed for them in my lives. My family and my friends.

Okay, my blogging days are gotta stay mute for awhile. So this post was not supposed to vent anything?! But... Great. Okay. To sum it up.
Life been good. Feels like home, sweet

One moment, i want to let it all go. To not suffocate in such undistinguished reality, to just hide behind the dust and shadows of my bedroom. Crawling with fears and disappointment, we all had our deals.

Mine had it's due date, apparently. It just never seem to give up and die.

I have no clue what's taking over your world. I don't even wish to talk to you with eyes that burn with pride. Your mind's locked, you've raked something out of nothing. I wanted to go silent and joined the crowd in their murmurs. But it soon became so still, so clear. You were taking away that peace.

That joy.

I'm so uptight. My brain's exploding. I have never studied until i could feel the knowledge stabbing my veins, literal. I want to sleep, but my eyes won't give in. I want to take a break, but my heart's so unfeeling. This feeling, this emotion, what is it called?

Discomfort? Stress? Upset? Disgrace? Paranoia? Pathetic? Stupid?
But what i can sum: I am very, very, very tired.

I see tragedy, upon the smiles that soon fade to enriched monstrous tears.
Why? Is there a need to pull apart their lives?
I would want them to be freed from your clutch, not in your prisonment.

The past few days had been fun. I don't know.
I feel a distance, hell. I hate it.
How could your smile like a clown (awesome use of simile) when an individual's in their worst of moods?
Maybe you never had a taste of life coming down at you. What a bitch.
And no, my life isn't ruined yet.

I have cute parents.
I have an annoying brother (And i know he cares for me sometimes :/)
I have a super darn shitty maid (We're family!)
I have friends too.

How on earth would my life ever be screwed? Oh, is it because of the LOVE category?
Well, i'd prefer being single.
Maybe it lessen my risks of having premarital sex *cough*

What a kill joy.

If you wanna be so upfront about some stuffs, please do not sneak in the crowd and shout.
Cause baby, it's too childish.
Wanna talk? Come up to me, it's me who you wanna spit all those venom on.
Muahahaha.

I love today, playing in the rain and small celebration of crystal's birthday.
Maybe it wasn't the best but i wanted it to be better than last year's.
Ariane and Joey, i swear, your make me laugh really hard. Oh boy, did i love English today.
I've got a feeling i screwed it big time but i just know, i did it with my best effort and if i were to fail:
It's not the end of my life.

Yeahhhh! Chinese, i'm gonna kill you with my excellent caucasian speaking.