HOMESICK

It's entirely too easy to loathe the happy family next to me at the bus stop, laughing together and having so much fun.

I miss home. I miss my dad and brothers. I miss my friends. I miss my room. I miss the comfort of all things familiar.
I want to hear noise. I don't need that much tranquility and quiet, countryside peace. More than just noise, I need Malaysian noise.
I miss the knowledge that company is just out of sight, but within reach. I miss being only a message away from my friends. I miss being able to saunter over to Shawn's room whenever I'm bored, and always be welcome there.

It's entirely too easy to think of home.
I wonder how I shall ever hope to study abroad.
I miss Malaysia.
I miss my home - or rather, everything about home that makes it so.

It's funny how things are taken for granted like that.
I guess it's true that you never know what you have till it's gone.
Lucky for me I can get it back, then.

;)

oh and:
I AM FREEZING!
this place is too cold for a born-and-bred Malaysian, seriously. I finished Carpe Jugulum, and it is an AWESOME read. Why oh WHY don't we study Terry Pratchett for Eng.Lit.?
I love everyone who misses me ;) QC

ps: the bostress was right about goodlooking guys when she returned from london last year, i can say that at least.


BYE
pps: how're the tests? LOL
*dreaming of Vlad...of laughing at him*

HALLLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this is me from switzerland, using the uber-expensive internet service at the hotel. 2 francs for 10 minutes, can you believe?? and this keyboard's all messed up with funny characters like éöàäüè and whatever. retarded. the view's pretty but too cloudy! I'm going to ride some weird cablecar thing later today. Could be fun X)

my punctuation is off, cos i can't find half the keys i want, dammit.
oh shit, one minute left. Ciao!

>_<

Ahh, the stress of planning and packing. It's more than enough to make you grimace and think,
"This had better be worth it..."
I wonder if it will. But then again, anything's better than sitting for some stupid monthly tests. XD

I think.

I'm off! :D

daddy and the pretty bird that fell into our garden

I'm emptying out my mum's camera in anticipation of good photo ops in Europe.
Mum's orders *salute*.

!@#$%^&*

QWERTYUIOPASDFGHJKLZXCVBNM.

A continuation of Grace's rant on BANDWAGON JUMPERS

I'm making this post since I was invited to continue it. Get my drift? I'm not doing it just 'cause Grace's doing it, which is a multitude more than I can say about plenty of people out there.

I bought Twilight ages ago, ages. And fell in love with it immediately; having thoughts of the story running through my mind every waking hour, wishing I could read the next already, grinding my teeth to uneven edges just thinking the whole damn thing over and over, going online everyday to check for updates at the author's site. This is why I hate bandwagon people so much. The hypocritical ones, who've become so accustomed to jumping around that they barely notice it anymore. They delude themselves, tell themselves that they're one of the 'pioneers', swallow their own lies and tell it wholeheartedly to everyone else. But that doesn't change the fact that it's a lie, now, does it? It doesn't change the fact that they're shortchanging on what the pioneers go through. They're making the pioneers' suffering, depression and longing look like cheap exaggeration due to their stupid, senseless overdoing it.

Quote: Oh, I'm so addicted I can't even sleep properly; I keep thinking about it!
Point: Stupid retard. If you had any brains at all you'd be more sparing about how you read it, and not flaunt your I-Love-Twilight-ness at anyone within reach.

How do these people do it, I don't understand. I've not read Narnia books, neither do I feel any need to. I doubt I'll ever, ever read a single one. I haven't read many Roald Dahl books, either; most of his works that I've read are his older-readers books. And I'm not about to start fawning over something just so I can have a topic of conversation with people about what's in at the moment.

Anyway. Back to the Twilight saga.
There're so many people, in one school alone, that have picked up this latest in-thing. I've lost count of the number of times I've seen a copy of one of the three books around school; brought by people desperate to prove their now-ness.
You know what that proves, skanks? Your own fraudery.
If you loved the books as much as you say, why on earth would you subject it to the harshness of those surroundings?
Why the hell would you bring it to someplace where the delicate, precious pages are open to the damned elements?
Why in heaven would you leave it to be battered and bent and creased by people picking it up and going, "Ooh, I read this too! Don't you think Edward's just soo hot?" Of course, that is the idea, I suppose. To show everyone that you're not left behind? Is that not it?

Disgusting. You'd think some people would have the decency to admit, "Actually, I'm only reading it based on the response it received. I'm quite liking it so far, though."
I mean, come on. Despite how wonderfully I think of Meyer-sensei, it's impossible that her style of prose is everyone's cup of tea.

Absolutely revolting.

These vile organisms are so caught up in the books because these books are popular among young adults. But do you see them squealing over The Host? No. Oh, dear me, no. Why would they? They have no knowledge that it exists; no true love and respect for the author that they'd look up her other works and spend sixty bucks on it if it wasn't famous among their peers.

And anime or manga? What's with all these kids barely out of pri-school uniform trying and failing miserably to draw manga? Half of the bonebrains don't even know the difference between the manga and anime, for crying out loud.
I've been interested in the stuff since nearly a decade ago; long before the sudden surge in interest. I can't stand the way these halfwits're all suddenly using "Ganbatte!" or "Kawaii!" every four seconds in their speech. I'm a genuine fan but even I wouldn't make a foolish-looking habit of it.

*
*
*
Well, I'm about done. Sod all you greenhorn bandwagoners out there, even if you believe you aren't. May the heavens shut their pearly gates in your face.


k.
p.s.: G, you knew I'd have plenty to say, didn't you?

reminder to self: I must get round to linking everyone soon...

asparagus on the sidewalk

And now, my decision has been reached!

Katoo @ Kertoo @ Fruitfruit @ Cowdung @ Katoomba @ Tong @ KayT @ Toomba Relic @ Kay @ Kari Sotong...
...will be going to Switzerland. For slightly less than a week. With no irritating brothers around. And SOON!
*fanfare*
.
.
.
.
.
.
Postcard applications now open X)
Leave your address and we'll see what we can do

raving...about ravnica?

I am problematic. Half-assed stories like the Magic: The Gathering ones are coming back into focus, thanks to dearest, darling, much-loved and highly-appreciated Kiun Chiat. He just hAd to go buy Morningtide, now, didn't he. So I'm rereading a host of old M:tG books and now I'm big on the Kamigawa cycle all over again. Stupid, stupid half-assed books. To be fair, Lorwyn and Morningtide aren't thAT bad, I guess...but but but. Still. :(

meh.

The Raven

In keeping with my theme, here's the full version of the poem:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'`Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!