Surprise

The RoboCop finally returned to school today after being posted to an undisclosed location (near Russia) on a top secret mission for 2 weeks. The information regarding Operation Kneecap (haha) remains highly classified. Thus, for the preservation of its confidentiality and protection of homeland security, I cannot reveal further details.

Not deceived by him writing "Kieran" on the top of his assignments or his Facebook account, I remain convinced that "Kieran" is an alias for Malcom. I also have a strong speculation that the twisted brown doodles drawn on his chest that peek out from his unbuttoned collar are optical fibers. As such, I will spend the next few days fine- tuning my theory about how he sprays on a tan each day to make himself look as if he was perfectly sculpted from chocolate to conceal his real identity: 20 years old, one part British, one part Annoying, mentally retarded.

During the initial days when "Kieran" first started walking with a limp and wearing a knee brace on the outside of his pants, he received a thousand waves of sympathy and support from 99.2% of the girl population at school. (The remaining 0.8%- my friends and I- can spot a chick magnet from miles away.) Unaware of his occupation as a ninja assassin and unimpressed by the manipulation of his pain for profit, I fully utilized/abused the chance to mock him with my fancy footwork and agility. Now remorseful and with a new- found respect for RoboCop "Kieran", I think that I will offer to do his homework for the whole of this week. (_|_ no.)

Otter

Shaun came over in the afternoon yesterday because it is part of his job description. If we were lucky enough, we watched Animal Planet while commercials were showing on The Discovery Channel, and The Discovery Channel while commercials were showing on Animal Planet. If we ran out of it, Shaun tried to make the TV explode by flicking through as many channels as his fingers would let him work the remote.

My brother Stuart used to- or still does, but I wouldn't know because we stopped watching TV together a couple of years ago when he bought himself a TV to put in his own bedroom- do this a lot, irregardless of whether the show was having a commercial break or not. Each time I filed a report against my brothers with my mom (which at that time was what I had to do almost hourly because making me cry was one of their top 3 reasons to live), she'd laugh and say that I would miss all of this when it stopped- something that seemed to defy logic back then, which I am beginning to understand now.

In the evening, I finally gave some money to the blind man who makes music (not Stevie Wonder) in the underpass in town. Even though it must have been my 2387984th time walking past the man, yesterday was the first time I actually paid any attention to him. To be completely honest, I would've snubbed him again, for the 2387985th time if only I'd bothered to charge my iPod the night before. Sometimes I think I believe in the future more than it is good for me. I'm very glad that I got to kiss my grandma (my father's mother) when I went to see her earlier in the day.

Eat

Long before we were obsessed or even slightly interested with the kinds of food (organic/GM/free range) we were putting into our bodies, before the statistics were 11 out of 10 people dying from chronic illnesses linked to obesity, or before it became fashionable to eat more of certain foods (brown rice, salmon, olive oil), my family was indoctrinated by our mother to adopt a diet that corresponded with our blood type.

As you are aware, the society in which we live in today favours unhealthy eating habits and behaviours while simultaneously glamourizing the Big Mac with the help of the media. My family (a mix of blood type A and O) is often victimized by other families (of curmudgeons) who show us no mercy at Christmas, weddings, and birthdays- where our habits of consuming enough fish and vegetables for a village whilst carefully avoiding the dishes laced with wheat, pork, or dairy, are exposed and then ridiculed.

Being a staunch follower of this dogma since a young age, I've become widely known for my absenteeism at social events arranged in fast food outlets, and more recently known for bringing food (unpolished rice and vegetables) prepared by my mother to eat in such places. In the eyes of many (unhealthy) people, I'm seen as gossip fodder. Hopefully, I do not suffer a heart attack before they do (or at all), otherwise I kind of wouldn't have anything to substantiate my efforts of forestalling diseases with a good diet. And this would obviously make me really pissed. Possibly even dead. (Either- or, because if I'm dead, then I can't be pissed. Vice versa.)

Anyway, even though I know giving up the whole concept of dessert would make the next 40 days more meaningful and super miserable (which I think is the purpose of Lent), but because I don't want to set my expectations too high or be overambitious, I have decided on chocolate to be my Lenten sacrifice this year. Unknowingly, I finished 2 Mars bars at 9:07 AM- I know this because I was hoping to get a text message from Shaun so I was checking my phone a lot- only to find out that they weren't pieces of broccoli at 9:15 AM. (Oops!)

Cya!

Waste

I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I got a pretty impressive bouquet of roses and at least 4 kg of chocolates for Valentine's Day. (I win.) Frankly, I don't know what else to do with a handful of flowers other than look at admire them, so that's just probably what I'm going to end up doing. I guess I could make a bowl of potpourri this weekend once they're withered..

Anyway, I stopped reading those self- esteem books when I started seeing Shaun a lot last year, and coincidentally, my bathwater stopped collecting between my bones shortly after that. I'm not sure of the significance of this- because it doesn't mean we'll always be together, nor does it mean that we don't hurt each other (unfortunately)- but I find it very interesting when people remain deeply enamored with each other sometimes because of who they are, and sometimes in spite of it. I think being with someone who knows what they have when they have me is one of the best things I've done for myself of late- aside from learning Mandarin (though unsuccessful, but just barely unsuccessful) and going for facials.

I bought myself a book today even though I'm only at page 89 of the book I bought 2 weeks ago, page 133 of the one I bought 3 weeks ago, page 40 of the one that got made into a movie- which I'm now learning didn't do any justice to the book, page 54 of the one my brother Jarrold gave me for Christmas, and page 96 of the one I'm reading for the forth time in less than a year. I should have noticed this sooner, but I think I've cultivated a potentially bankrupting (hence life threatening) habit of buying books whenever I feel particularly unhappy about something. Example: The time I excused myself to the toilet when I got upset with Shaun but wound up at the bookshop by accident, with my mobile phone switched off, where I spent 2 hours and half of my allowance.

Working on the assumption that I don't learn to control my emotions, inculcate within myself the virtue of thrift and become more receptive to the idea of borrowing books from the public library by the time I get my driver's license, I'd have felt unhappy enough times to run up a huge deficit.

Incidentally, there would be no more coal to mine on Earth, because coal is a nonrenewable resource which (as its name suggests) is nonrenewable. Taking full advantage of this opportunity and out of desperation, I would build a really large fire with all my books to create enough heat energy to power 2 small cities. (One being the city where I have a permanent address in, for obvious reasons.) I would extort the shit out of everyone by charging ridiculously high prices for a kilowatt hour of electricity. (Free electricity for loved ones. Duh. Unless they start leaving their water heaters on 24/7.)

My monopolistic reign will last for 5 years before what I thought was an undying fire, would eventually die. Being the short sighted kind of person that I am, I wouldn't have thought of a Plan B. Subsequently, I would say my goodbyes and then throw myself into a volcano.

On a lighter and less extreme note (eg: D flat or A sharp), buying a book is at least 5 times less destructive and harmful than crying excessively, beating other people up, breaking things, drinking alcohol, and snorting cocaine. As an emotionally spastic (but impossibly adorable and good looking) individual with a strong tendency towards escapism, I often withdraw from my community and believe that I'm the people in the book I'm reading whenever something unpleasant happens, mistaking it for an effective solution to every problem. But because it is way past my bedtime and I've always had very little perseverance and a lot of difficulty writing proper conclusions, I will end off awkwardly with a quote.

"Here's to books, the cheapest vacation you can buy" - Charlaine Harris

I will go read now. Until I am completely exhausted and have to go to sleep. Goodnight!

Mono

We celebrated Chinese New Year in college yesterday where I involuntarily danced a quick, impromptu, self- choreographed routine on stage. This inspired and spurred a lot of my friends (and non- friends) who don't know how to appreciate the art of dance to point, laugh, and call me names.

Many comforted me saying that "it could've been worse"- I could have involuntarily danced a long, impromptu, self- choreographed routine on stage, but didn't. (Oh. Phew??) Others (the obese, ugly, vicious, unkind, and inhuman. Obviously.) offered me no comfort whatsoever by validating that the embarrassment came to me deservedly, that I "should've saw it coming"- considering my presence in the form of spirit only during the practices leading up to the performance, and how unproductive sessions may be- or to put more accurately, are in fact- attributed to my disruptive, ADD type of behavior, if and whenever I chose to make a special appearance in flesh.

Uhh..... Whatever, man.

Shaun and I took a train into Chinatown to soak in a bit of the festivities last night. The area, gaudily decorated with red and gold as well as human litter, thrived with energy while locals and tourists thronged the streets. Salespeople using loudhailers along with gaga and frenzied gesticulations were impossible to ignore. (Try ignoring someone while he/she is having an asthma attack next to you.)

Living up to my reputation as the poster child of the idiom 'curiosity killed the cat', as well as other people's expectations of a mental retard, I got told off in a dialect I don't understand or speak, for fiddling with the flowering shoot of a pussy willow. Shaun watched me with a look of distaste as I, someone with an imperfect grasp of nutritional science, shamelessly gorged on free food samples as if my life depended on them.

Irritated by humidity, a fierce growing hunger and an inflated self- consciousness about my increasingly apparent Rexona deficiency, we sat down to share a barbecued stingray, something that I'd been secretly craving all week.

All right, that's all. May I be able to slow time down and resist succumbing to the forces of procrastination. Until next time, much love all!

Genius

I really should be more careful because I've been losing days as if they were just buttons or paper clips. My Chinese New Year's resolution is to slow down time. Shaun turned 18 early last month and I know this might be hard for you to absorb and understand, but I've let the dust in my room accumulate on this thing that I'd meant to give him as a birthday present. Devoid of a conscience and as if vying for the Most Awful Girlfriend '10 crown, his (so- called) birthday present is missing shiny wrapping and a bow, and even has its price tag still attached. I must try harder.

Actually, whatever. There is nothing but good music and bad silence on the phone right now. I would like to end my world shortly for today with sleep. Cya