Jaundiced Pigs Spitting

In May 1998, a series of riots took Jakarta by storm. Our eyes, flooded by tears, witnessed the violent abuse of the pribumi towards the ethnic Chinese, as Suharto’s regime came to its ultimate demise. In our metropolis, solace was nowhere to be found, as the rancid stench of grim suffering and odium poisoned the arid minds of the victimized. Our great Jakarta, past its façade of glass and steel, was reduced to social debris, as discord between the ethnic Chinese and the native Indonesians disjointed our people in an infinite void of grudge.

My people, yellow-skinned public spitters of horrid artistic tastes, pride ourselves for our cunning wit, perseverance, and willingness to do anything to achieve success. This is who we are, and for being who we are, we have achieved much in this archipelago of seemingly endless opportunities.

In our short time of living here, we, who constitute for just about two percent of the Indonesian population, have grown to dominate the Indonesian aristocracy, with over eighty percent of Indonesia’s wealthiest being of Chinese race.

Funny how the minority comprises for the majority of the privileged. They hate us, but it’s certainly understandable. Envy, after all, is among the most effective catalysts for strife. Throw in obese Italians and you have yourself an opera.

We whine about how we are not given equal rights – how Indonesia will never have a Chinese president; how we are viewed as treasure houses for which we are to be exploited with bribery and corruption. Taxation is targeted at Chinese people and we complain. Sure, it’s irritating, but it is only logical that they tax the people who actually have money to be taxed for.

The reason the Chinese people are so wealthy in this country is that we are selfish and devious enough to exploit the naïve pribumi. Our industriousness doesn’t purely owe to our natural intelligence and determination – it’s more about how fortunate we are that these people are gullible enough to tolerate THEIR underpayment; THEIR mistreatment; the harvesting of THEIR natural resources for our capitalist mindsets. Take a look at America, the capitalist haven where WE are the used ones – mere chefs, butchers, maids, and takeout boys confined to ghetto Chinatowns.

A chauvinistic Chinese idiot keeps on saying how we are the superior race; how CHINESE people are better at designing AMERICAN furniture than AMERICANS are; how sleazy and faulty every non-Chinese person is; how we strive while others fail. True, such is the case in Indonesia, where the natives are not fully acquainted with capitalist evil. But if his bigoted remarks are so true, then why does he continue admitting that he would not be able to do business in Australia – a land of capitalist Caucasians?

Our successes are based on their failures. We took hold of Singapore – Malayan land – and converted it into a thriving Chinese metropolis while its neighbors, Jakarta and Kuala Lumpur, remain overshadowed by the merlion. Worst of all, they didn’t even realize that we stole their land, and they remain kind and naïve enough to supply Singapore with water.

We ought to stop complaining that they’re not giving us enough rights or that they treat us as the filthy exploiters that we are. We ought to stop viewing ourselves as the finer people and realize that our cousins in Western Chinatowns aren’t doing as well as we are. We ought to realize that though we dwarf the Indonesians here, we remain overshadowed by Caucasians in their lands. We ought to end our parade of social superiority, sympathize, and help, rather than shrilly whining about the poverty and hunger that we – jaundiced, ravenous, conceited, spitting gluttons – have brought unto them.

The Best Title For This Entry Would Be: PINK

This is how I see the world.
The majority of you should not be surprised. To everyone else, welcome to my life. If there is a more intense word than 'love', I would use it. But for now, I will just use 'love'.

I love pink.

This is how I see the world.

I think everything looks better in pink. I'm very patient when it comes to purchasing electronic goods, because deep in my heart, I know, everything eventually comes in pink.


That is my camera. I personalized it with three rows of bling (not shown). It's 1.30 am and I can't sleep. This entry is simply the result of my boredom + randomosity.

I'm so pink, people raise their eyebrow when I wear some other color. They would ask why I bring a blue bag or why I don't dye my hair pink. I want to! But I would violate the school's rule.

I can't exactly explain why I love pink.

You know how when a baby girl is born, the nurses just assume the baby will like pink so they wrap them with a pink blanket? Those baby girls eventually grew out of it; I didn't.

I'm sorry. I'm just really, really bored.

My life was complete the day I bought my pink laptop. Up to then, the only thing in my room which was not pink was my laptop. But I'm content now. Seriously, my life is complete with the presence of my pink VAIO.

You will never find anyone who loves pink more than me. I promise.

I'll end this entry with a list.

The Things-Which-People-Usually-Have-in-Another-Color-But-I-Have-in-Pink List

Laptop
Mouse
Phone
Cell Phone
Camera
Refrigerator
Ukulele
Toilet
Sink
Trash Bin
Toaster
Baseball Bat
Baseball
Basketball
Volleyball
Soccer ball
Tennis ball
Lint Remover
Tweezer
Post-It
Shaving Cream
Speakers

I suggest you assume everything else I have are pink, too. Normal things like my wallet, backpack, pens, pencils, erasers, notebooks, shoes, walls (my room), curtains, sheets, sofa, picture frames, and everything else one can come up with.

From Monks to China, a relfection on my ever swinging cultural crisis

Monks versus the Myanmar Military Junta

A reflection of my ever swerving condemnation…

I hate China.

In a post relating to the monks versus the military Junta of Myanmar, you would probably not expect that I, a Chinese adolescent girl firstly condemn China.

Well I must assure you, I myself am not quite sure of where that hatred spawned from or how long it will last, but I implore you to stay with my jumbled train of thoughts.

It all started this afternoon, I had nothing to do and well, was somewhat leisurely skimming the New York Times (albeit the fact that I do have homework). Noting an article by SETH MYDANS (se article at http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/27/world/asia/27myanmar.html?em&ex=1191038400&en=44b7d786792f3376&ei=5087%0A)

I recalled some rather vague facts about the protests. My initial reaction was somewhat mild, I was amused. I, Stephanie Andini Tangkilisan was amused by this news.

Instead of being, ‘awwhh, that’s too bad, poor monks! Go monks!’ I was more like, ‘Hah! Those moronic junta’s can’t act brutally against those monks’, and started to think of circumstances and in a way was sort of naïve to think that the protesters being predominantly monks could stop a dictatorship eventually.

I was optimistic, I for once was optimistic, and my thoughts just drabbled away to my schoolwork and rested the thoughts based on my still slightly rose colored glasses, denying that I was just a vitriolic cynic.

Well, today, that glasses were even more smashed, even more trampled, but much more significant to the loss in my faith of humanity was the loss complete depravation of my faith in my own race, in my own supposed motherland, China.

“In response to the violence, the United Nations Security Council called an emergency meeting on Wednesday to discuss the crisis, but China blocked a Council resolution, backed by the United States and European nations, to condemn the government crackdown.” – Seth Mydans

I know, I know I haven’t done what proper methods there are to journalism, but from what I can comprehend, my China, the land from which about 90% of my heritage comes from are acting against monks, defending another dictatorial regime!

And with that paragraph, the hate fluttered and then, SOARED. I am ashamed of being Chinese, why in the name of all things wonderful would they block this resolution?

Why is the government, such a bloody (literally and not literally) religion-less and cold hearted nation?

Where were they when Chinese people living in Indonesia was massacred and purged in the anti-Communist purge of 1965 (which by the way had the death toll at a vague number of 500.000-1.000.000.

Where were they when the anti-Chinese riots of 1998 happened?

I heard, they even denied entry and denied asylum! It’s not like they are Singapore, their land could actually, I don’t know fit a lot of refugee’s! I don’t know, maybe, just maybe, they really don’t count as Chinese citizens, and even worse, maybe they don’t even care if we are Chinese and if we are dying.

What I wouldn’t pay to have a nation that respects my heritage, that respects the fact that I exist, and want to exist!

By now, I have strayed far away from the topic of Monks and Myanmar, I beg your apology, but at this present moment, I am simply GLAD that I am not 100% Chinese, despite the fact my friends have called me less than kind words of my other 10% Indonesian blood. (YES I AM STILL INDIGNANT OVER YOU RACIST INDIVIDUALS…)

Perhaps I am merely vengeful, perhaps, I’m simply odd.

But pray tell, when the nation I supposedly belong to simply alienates me, perhaps, I must say I’m glad to be Indonesian. (Yes, the Chinese were also harmed yet again in 1998, but I'm ignoring that at the present moment (I'm illogical that way))

Perhaps instead of the Great Land of China, the supposedly next Super Power of the World, I can be contented and proud with the fact that I am a citizen of Indonesia, who despite not being the best of nations, still grant me civil liberties, still give me the land, food and daily necessities that I all to often am less than thankful for.

So my most sincere (albeit unashamed) apologies if I do not share the same affinities towards China as you do. As most Chinese do?

Why should I?

Yes, I'm soar over certain recent events, yes, I'm acting completely illogical and as seen by this post, I've totally shredded every ounce of what was left of my reputation as a logical and reasonable person, I stand by my opinion of being less than loving of the government that China is now. (A particular purely scathing and ultimately EVIL communistic and (now capitalistic bastards).

You see, when my great grandfathers fled from China and into this Indonesian archipelago, they left their motherland but gained a new one, Indonesia, in which, my ancestors finally found the contentment we so desired.

So yes, when Chinese New Year rolls around, you can bet I will still say those endearing (and somewhat magical) four words, but I’ll promise to you now, those words are not a symbol of my respect or affinty with all that is Chinese, but merely my longing for those sweet red money filled envelopes.

Catholics and Christians

Note: I’m blabbering, I’m a blabbering moron. This post is seriously rambling and blabbering! See! I am blabbering! Wohoo! *promotes self down to A2 SL*

***

being edited*

*vitriolic/ Steph

Riding, Chasing The Moon

I would like to try something new. Something that does not involve "love" and everything that is attached to it. Thing is, I'm poetic and I can't help not to be. I have the tendency to describe things with my heart. My heart, filled with romantic thoughts. I am very emotional, but not in the I'm-angry-all-the-time kind of way. I'm poetic, and i find it very hard to separate exaggeration from poetry. So forgive me.

I want to try something new. Please bear with me. I will try my best not to think of romantic thoughts for this entry. But just you know, I am currently in love. I am in love with a smile; a smile I constantly and patiently wait for everyday in school.

You can start here.

I love ojek rides. I love the wind, the freedom, even the dirt which sporadically gets into my eyes. I have not rode on the ojek for a while now, and frankly, I miss it. I don't know why I stopped riding. I'm guessing it's the accidents; my mom never approves of motor cycle rides.

Once when he was young, my dad fell off a motor bike and broke a bone. The scar? Permanent. His wife, being the protective mother that she is, forbid her kids to even try riding. She won't let history repeat itself, so she had my brothers and I tucked safely behind a seat belt as often as she can. She loves us, I know, but I had to break the rule.

I was in the second grade when I first rode. I felt safe, I felt covered; I sat between two adults. Not once did I think of falling. Windy. Each and every ojek ride I took eversince are always windy.

Incase you never notice, Indonesian women have this special way of sitting on a motor cycle. Both legs put to one side and hands ever so firmly hold the rider for safety. Helmets are, of course, required. But I was, am, and always will be an improper passenger. I never rode the ojek the conventional way and I refuse to protect my brain from scattering if ever I fall off the bike.

I love the wind. I love the way it pushes all my hair back so I can see everything in full scope.

And then people started dying.

Accidents happened all over Lippo. So many, that my mom hired another driver just to get me to my lessons. I accepted the gift and got my self adjusted to sleeping in the car.

My last ojek ride? Probably to school when my driver was sick in fifth grade.

I began to forget the feeling. The sensation. All of it. I abandoned my close friend, The Wind. But yesterday, we were reunited.

My brothers were busy and my driver was at somewhere-I-don't-know; I was at Vania's house, starting this blog entry actually. But of course I had to go home. How? I had no car or driver. We have a motorcycle, I thought. I never use it, I'm pretty sure my mom bought it for my mbak-s so they can get around. But I had to go home, my weekly fellowship was about to start!

I called. She came, helmet and all. But none for me; I wouldn't wear it even if she brought one. I held my laptop tight and she drove away. Everything came back to me. The feeling, the sensation, all of it. I was about to meet The Wind.

The moon was beautiful that night. Full, bright, but fairly small. I have seen a bigger and brighter moon that that, but nonetheless, it was beautiful. It just hung there because it didn't feel like doing anything. It shone; it just shone. The moon moved and began leading the way as my mbak turned the steer. She sped up and the ride began. The moon teased me and asked me to chase it.

The feeling, the sensation.
I loved the way every particle of wind kissed my face. My hair, now short, surrendered and let the wind took action. The moment simply took my breath away, when I looked up and saw the moon smiling at me; close, but completely unreachable. No stars came out to play. She drove without hesitation. I hugged my laptop tighter. Cars said hi to each other, honking. I smiled. The moon was still there.

I felt a slight heat from the asphalt road, mixed with the mild night breeze. Soon, I had to fight with the trees to get a glimpse of the moon ray. I won. Then I realized the ride was going to end, I was getting closer to home.

The Wind said goodbye as the engine died. I sighed. I will ride again. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. Maybe next time, it's sunshine I will find. The moon stepped right when I stepped out of the vehicle, and it smiled it one last smile to me that night. I looked straight up and saw a few stars vaguely twinkling. I didn't see them earlier because I was too focused on the moon. I locked the door and took a shower.

I sang a few songs to seize the night. It was my first ride after a very long time and I'm glad the moon was there to greet me and the Wind was there to kiss me. I will ride again.

On Ambitions

Sometime ago, at a church event, one part of the schedule was writing notes to people and putting them in bottles with names on them, so that at the end of the event you would get to take the bottle home and see what people thought of you; especially people who you'd gotten to know during the course of the event. One of the messages I received said things about how nice I was--the kind of things you write about people you don't really know that well--but then the end of the message surprised me.

"You come across to me as a very determined and ambitious person. Of course, this is just my own opinion, so don't get upset... Just don't let your ambitions consume you."

Ambitious? Really?

In my head I told myself, No way, this guy has never met some of my friends. Now that's ambition. Among other things that I could say about myself, or remember other people saying about me; overambitious, no, ambitious was just not one of them. What in the world could have inspired this anonymous writer to get that impression from me?

It took me a whole lot of thinking before I began to make sense of it.

I suppose without me realizing it, I had developed into someone inherently different from the person people expect. In primary school I achieved fluctuating grades ranging from fours to sixes on a one-to-ten scale--even now when I see people from my old school they're always tentative when asking about how I'm doing at school. I guess they're slightly worried that I've failed a few times and had to repeat the entire grade curriculum (I can assure you as of now I'm not at much of a risk of failing), so they always try not to bring it up.

Eventually, after we talk, they tell me I'm very different from the person they remember.

That's because the person they remember is the girl in the back row who still hasn't finished copying down that sentence from the board; you know, the one who still doesn't get how mathematical roots work? Uh huh, the one who multiplies by adding them. Yeap. That one.

The person they can see is the person who really outdid what she expected of herself in the first place. Who has her mother to thank for the change in mind that came about as a result of threats (which, by the way, is perfectly acceptable way to get your kid to do stuff), and a whole lot of other people to thank for helping her get so far.

When I look back at how much I've changed from the mute idiot in the back row to the person who takes chances, I begin to think; Yeah, maybe I can be a little ambitious.

Just that when you see a dream come true, and you witness a difference, you begin to believe that it's not complete folly to believe in absurd hopes, and to reach farther than you can grasp. When you look at how far you've gone and how much you've changed, you begin to have more faith in humanity, and you place hope in its dim but existing glimmer of kindness and morality.

You begin to ignore the darker side of the coin (even if it's not the best idea) and you risk looking like an entirely different kind of idiot by wishing for the unrealistic. You begin to find people call you naive simply for having faith in the possibility of a change. You begin to notice that the world you build around you is full of unrealistic hopes that you're more than happy to harbor for the rest of your life. You begin to speak out in defense of what you know to be true; and you're secure in the knowledge of being right without the need to rationalize it to bits.

You begin to think it's normal to actually have some conviction in what you're saying. You begin to melt outside of the norm and determine that you'll lead instead of follow. You begin to close your ears to the incessant snide criticism and your eyes to the 'truth' shoved in front of you, and you lead with hope and the belief that things will work out anyway.

So I guess maybe I have a slight tendency to be ambitious. I guess this is the point where you begin to realize that even though it's expected of you to be normal, you know you're more than capable of doing more.

Call me ambitious; but I think it's just faith when I say I have hope that in the future global warming will cease, that in the future Indonesia will truly get back on its feet and establish itself as a significant power in Asia. I think it's hope when I say 'we'll get through this'. Ambition is taking your chances because you know you can't fall far enough to break. :)

Indonesia, not a Democracy?

"The Attorney General Office’s banning of some history books.

On 5th March, the Attorney General’s Office banned the further printing and distribution of thirteen history books from the 2004 junior and senior high school curriculums because they play down the role of the Communist Party of Indonesia (PKI) in the 1948 uprising in Madiun, East Java, and the 1965 coup attempt in Jakarta.

According to the AGO the books not only failed to state the facts about the PKI’s role in the events but went further and challenged some “accepted truths”, which could create public disorder. The AGO has the authority to monitor the circulation of written materials and has in the past banned a number of books deemed capable of disrupting political stability since the Soeharto era."

http://www.indonesiamatters.com/1172/book-banning/

Disclaimer: This is a piece I wrote for History, one that I sort of rewrote, and one that all history students are familiar off! Sorry people and Ms. Jess, (IT IS A CURRENT EVENTS PIECE) if it’s a just a temporary entry, all the homework and tests pilling up forbid me from making a coherent nice piece..

"Once a government is committed to the principle of silencing the voice of opposition, it has only one way to go, and that is down the path of increasingly repressive measures, until it becomes a source of terror to all its citizens and creates a country where everyone lives in fear."

August 1950, Harry Truman sent this message to Congress; that despite all the problems that the Communist Soviet Union has caused America, Congress does not have the right to silence communist ideas and teachings. Ignoring dissents made and insults hurled at him, he stayed true to the fundamentals of democracy; liberty and equality.

To him, democracy meant that the government could not control what its citizen’s listens, reads or says, to him, democracy meant that the government had no right to declare and demand submission from its people and be treated as if they were subjects instead of citizens. Truman is correct; the idea of banning thoughts is the very betrayal of all that is democracy.

Americans are so fortunate; they also have presidents with backbones. *cough* SBY *cough*

Today's government has by and large ignored the fundamental freedom promised by democracy, FREE SPEECH. Even today the fear of saying what we truly want still looms in our head. In my head.

Friends advise me not to be too vocal, sadly they are right.

It has been 9 years since the fall of Soeharto, a fall that would have supposedly lead us to a true democracy. A democracy that entails free speech, a freedom that for so many years have been suppressed and caged tightly by Soeharto.

Now the ban and the propaganda against Communists is still alive and healthy. In public schools, and even National Plus schools, the young and even the old still mostly fear Communism although not knowing what it means; all they know is that Communists had killed the heroic generals back in 1965.

Book burning and book banning is still alive, still active. The Attorney General’s Office censor history books, and in doing so aren't they hailing themselves supreme in intelligence? Are they not proclaiming that those bureaucrats in the Attorney General's Office are superior to ordinary civilians, superior to us?

The truth is that the government is still supreme, and a true Indonesian Democracy has not been accomplished. You would argue that it’s better now, it’s free now. But they have and still are successful in indoctrinating Indonesians their warped account for their past.

North Korea claims that they are democratic, a claim that is absurd. Sadly, there is a similar danger with Indonesia.

We can claim we are democratic, but if our actions and our government actions totally rebuke the foundations of democracy we too, could fall back to Soeharto’s era, banning and freedom of speech is a slippery slope.

One that hopefully Indonesia will not slip once more.

Note: I'm not proposing that we are not a Democratic country, only that in this aspect we're defying all that is democratic, and the dangers to it.

Why, Girl?

Love, I'm simply asking you to appreciate him.

He mustered every ounce of confidence he has to ask your father's permission to take you away, to fly you to cloud nine. He cares about you. He notices every time you curl your hair, he thinks you look pretty, and you know that. His heart dances when you walk beside him; he wishes every step would take two minutes because he wants as much time with you as he can get. Everything else looks blurry when it's you he sees. You're his focus, his aim. Is it so hard for you to see?

Why, Girl?

Have you ever noticed the glitter in his eyes? It only lights up when you're around, you can't miss it. He smiles all the time, to the extent where it seems humanly impossible. I don't understand how he can be so... full of bliss. I think it's because of you, and because of Him, too. There is never a hint of lachrymose in his days. The Word of God really is his sword. He's strong, I'm sure that you know. His music instrument is huge, but there's always enough strength to carry your things, too. Isn't he lovely? Don't you want to reply his smile?

He loves you.

I'm simply asking you to look at him with an open heart.

:(

No thanks to you, the glitter in his eyes are now nonexistent. His smiles are no longer vibrant. His laughter sounds fake to my ears. You blighted his hopeful heart, Girl. He gave you his all, and you put it all to waste. He's a great athlete, an admirable musician, a creditable pupil, and a committed Christian. He, is in a lot of ways, very much like you. His hand would only be still if you fill in the gaps. He's every girl's dream, but why not yours? Hundreds would kill to walk with him, but he'd kill to have a stroll down the corridor with you. You are one lucky dame, do you really need me to tell you that? I'm a stranger, but I can see everything. These days, his smile hides misery and weakness. You stopped everything altogether. He is Samson and you're his Delilah.

Why, Girl?

I have no right to tell you what to do, but would you please just listen to the world. They want you to be with him. They think you two are a match made in heaven. If you search deep enough inside your heart, I know you'll find it. Your conscious which says, "Oh, why did I turn away?" Trust the world. You are the only girl for him.

His soul is plummeting. Please do raise him up. Someway. Somehow.

I can practically hear him crying everytime I see him smile.

No other person in this world can do what you can do to him. Make his heart billow with joy once more.

Love him.

Please, I beg you.

Oh why, Dear Girl? I would take your place anytime now.

[to those who understand who and what I am talking about - *tears*]

I Fell Apart

Please, excuse this clichéd melancholy. I am extremely downhearted and unable of writing about anything else of more significance.

I recall a distant past where my life was continuously filled with a sweet scent of the early spring bloom. Now all that’s left is a void of asthmatic suffocation.

My life hasn’t always been so sour. I once had joy – back in the day when my smiles weren’t so artificial. Yet I don’t know why, but it feels like I haven’t tasted anything sweet in decades. Memories that are in fact not so far away from this present day all seems so distant - faded and shrouded in a lightless mist of desolate gloom. These memories of friends, love, and spirit are only mere remembrances of a person I once was.

Just a year ago I was on top of the world. Among my peers, I was of the highest caliber. I had the skill; the commitment; the persistence to make myself really mean something, and nothing could stop me from becoming someone – someone whose existence in this world won’t be left unnoticed.

Things fall apart. Nobody knows why, but they just do. You fight for good intentions; you build yourself a lavish life based on those intentions; and for several years – decades, if you’re lucky – you believe that you may actually have a shot in life. Then a minute detail – a tiny crack on the foundations of rapture – leads your life into becoming less than what it should be.

Not so long ago, I had two intimate friends with whom I confided in. I remember our many small moments – coffee in the local Starbucks, their forcing me out of bed to go to Bogor, and the laughter we shared that continues to echo through my mind. With them I felt as though I could really be myself and feel accepted, as though I was liberated from all the confusion of this harsh labyrinth.

After a series of unfortunate events, misery took hold. These two now treat me as though I am a stranger. They view me as though I am a nuisance who divests them of the joys of their youth.

I avoid seeing them because doing so reminds me of what I’ve lost. The hollowness within me is palpable, because losing a friend – someone who, over the years has become a part of you – is like losing an integral part of yourself.

I have no one to turn to. My best friend doesn’t care because she’s unaffected. The other person I can confide in is thousands of miles away. My fears of becoming a shadow have, in actuality, been realized. I am only someone they used to hang out with; a former acquaintance.

Things fall apart, yes. But that’s just how it is. When your life is shattered into pieces, you rebuild those pieces. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Those who find happiness are those who are persistent on their pursuit of happiness. Friends leave, tears are cried, happiness is lost, but even in the remnants of rubble there is still light.

I once had a horrible fear of leaving high school, in anticipation of how I’d have to leave these wonderful people. But things don’t look so bad now, since these wonderful people have become much less wonderful to me.

College – a new world; a chance for a new beginning. High school and this ensuing melancholy will all disappear into the dusty photo albums of my unvisited attic. At least there’s some hope that that will happen.

Should I remain in this state of depression, then I’ll soup myself up in Prozac and die of an overdose. Who cares, right?

LAST NOTE: to 'Nicholas', to everyone

To 'Nicholas',

I have never felt so upset about a person I do not know. I haven't even been directly involved in this issue and I cannot believe how angry I am right now. You have driven me to boiling point.

"As for my bashing of homosexuals and others, haven't you ever felt like pissing people off?

Hey, apparently you people are pissed off. I'm glad to see that my efforts have not been futile."

You just admitted that you're simply out to annoy us. Not only are you a pathetic person who corrects other people and doesn't look over his own writing; you're doing it because you have nothing better to do.

We're here to learn and practice our writing and we would love constructive comments. If you think cynix is "rash" then why do you comment and criticize in the same tone? You're no better than us, 'Nick'. You're so much more pathetic. And as a side-note; some part of me is beginning to think that you're even targeting certain people as victims to your poorly written bouts of verbal abuse. I have reserved judgment in the past, but honestly, no wonder you don't have a blog of your own. How embarrassing would that be?

'Nicholas', this is a last warning. You are seriously getting on my nerves. I don't think I'm alone when I say that I think you're from SPH. Perhaps from our own grade, or the 12th (in which case you are a socially retarded person with no other purpose in life but to make others' lives living hell) If you are then you had better stop and not cross the line. Worst case scenario; don't think that having an anonymous profile makes you invisible. We can trace your IP.

If you're not from SPH, I will ask to close our blog to the public and make it exclusive. I don't need to be subject to a pathetic, pompous scholar's pointless, poisonous commenting.

Last warning; back off and criticize your own aimless and otherwise negative existence. The rest of us have better things to do with people who are worth our time.


To English bloggers,

I'm also addressing my team members here; let's stop wasting our time on this person. Just recently, epitath of twilight posted a comment that was unnecessarily rude. This chicken of a man who calls himself 'Nicholas' is seriously interfering in the whole point of the blog here. We're here to practice and develop our writing skills. It is our hope that we will constructively criticize each other and mature together in our education. We don't need--and now that things are this way, we must not have--a pathetic, cowardly something-or-other with too much time in his hands making us unreasonably upset and disturbing the whole process.

I'm aware that some people think it's exciting that this whole comment-war is happening. I disagree. I find it, in the least, heavily annoying, and now it is beginning to border on verbal abuse. I've only been watching the ensuing battle between you guys and this 'Nick', and it's tiring me out. In the beginning I was so happy with the idea of a blog; I wanted to see what other people's writing styles were like and what kinds of things they'd talk about when given the chance.

I don't want to see people spitting fire and using up space on our blogs at an anonymous user who is, honestly, not worth our time. This 'Nicholas' is being given more attention than he deserves (which is to say, none). He's giggling with undisguised glee (see above comment excerpt) at our attempts to bash him. This guy doesn't care--he has no good name to uphold anyway. With his hidden identity, he assumes that he's not accountable for the things he says. But we are; you are responsible for what you say in your comments, just like I'm responsible for what I say here. We can hide under nicknames and aliases, but we know who we are. Sooner or later things are going to get worse and maybe then you'll agree when I say I don't really see how this is exciting.

It annoys me when I see tons of comments on the posts made on 'Nicholas' and so very little on topics you guys have written that I think deserve feedback. On the other hand it angers me when I see this aliased twit making snide and hurtful comments on blogs that I think deserve to be paid attention to in other areas.

I think we should stop this; and this time I'm doing what I can to help it stop. From now on, any more scathing and pointless comments by 'Nicholas' in Monochromatic Rainbows will be immediately deleted. Comments that attempt to egg this retard on will also be deleted. That includes any comments to follow this post.

Please take this seriously. I'm sick of hearing 'Nicholas this,' and 'Nicholas that,' when you could do something else with the breath you're wasting on a guy who's not even brave enough to be held accountable for his own words. Personally, I would rather back off. Worse comes to worst; no more blogging. It's not worth the grief.

-Rachel, English A1 HL, 11 IB.

P.S.: Twilight, I deleted your comment. Please mind your language. 'Nicholas' is not the only person who needs to learn to be civil.

On The Incessant Downgrading of our Blog Layout

Dear whi. DO NOT CHANGE THE LAYOUT OF THIS BLOG AGAIN!!! The London layout is horrible-looking and although this one may be a tad bit unintuitive, it certainly is more aesthetically pleasing. Please, end your incessant downgrading of our blog template.

Sorry for the obnoxiousness. I'm ticked off.

After The Basketball Game

September 13, 2007

I was sitting with a friend, a boy, conversing. I do not remember what we talked about, because he came. He casually said goodbye to my friend then he said goodbye to me. Bye, Kar. He packed his bags: a yellow backpack, a black Nike sports bag, some noisy plastic bags, and a basketball, ready to go home. Half of the basketball team came running down the stairs like a pack of wolves. All smiles, all laughter. Amazing, I thought, they just lost a game. He lifted them up, not struggling at all. Strong and capable like he has always been. He said goodbye to my friend one more time and walked between dirty lunch tables. I exhaled. At that very moment, I knew, I am not his anything anymore. He didn't say goodbye to me.

His basketball.

A few months ago, when he's not around, his guy friends would deliberately adhere dirt and lint all over his basketball; playing, shooting, dribbling on the red and green concrete court. After they are done playing, they would hand the ball over to me as if I owned it. This came into my mind when I saw him effortlessly picked up that same rubber ball this afternoon. I remember how I used to watch and cheer for him during lunch times. I would wait for him to change and pack up, only those days his hands were always full and I had to come to the rescue, carrying the only thing light enough for me to hold: his basketball.

He never asked me to wait for him, he never asked me to watch. It was all me. I wanted to wait and I wanted to watch. It only occurred to me now how he must have liked me being there back then. I'm sure he waited for me to come and sit down on the side lines just like I waited for the bell to ring so we could walk together to class. He never needed my assistance, he let me carry the ball for him. This I know, because I saw he did not need anyone's help to pack up. I did not see signs of weakness or helplessness; I saw a boy who could lift anything up not hindered by injury. He lifted my heart once, and God knows how heavy that is.

I observed him closely and absorbed a picture of him in my mind today. He was wearing his favorite shirt, not the shirt I gave him. I have never bought him any shirt, actually. The shirt I bought has a different story, holds a different memory, and it doesn't belong to him.

He still walks the way he usually walks; shoulders back, feet silently thumping the ground. He still grins the way he usually grins; mouth open showing a unique set of teeth. He still opens the door for me; he is a true gentleman and he will always be. He has not changed a bit and I like that about him. He still smiles the way he usually smiles; only now, those smiles are not meant for me.

His smile is simple with a meaning only I can interpret. Most of the time, it means 'I'm glad you're here with me today.' Often he would continue with holding my hand or simply letting me rest my head on his manly shoulders. His smile never said 'I love you', it said 'I missed you all through the weekend' and sometimes it also says 'Sorry' on his behalf. He was not a man with words. He acts and he smiles, and I always smile back even when I don't feel like it. I feel selfish and I feel low. At least he meant everything he did... He didn't smile when he was angry, and by the time we grew apart, he stayed out of my side completely. It ended without a smile and with the absence of words.

It's a new day today. A lot happened but only one moment stayed in my heart. One voice recorded in my mind. It was a picture of him leaving and the sound of his voice not saying goodbye. Everything has changed. It changed with the color of the court, now blue, and monotone. As flat and as boring as my feelings for him: Nothing.

To Inherit Fire

Living fire begets cold, impotent ash. –Things Fall Apart

Earlier in English class we were discussing Part Two of Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, and we got around to talking about whether or not Okonkwo deserved any of our sympathy when his own son turned against him. Most of the class were against Okonkwo, and I suppose their dislike of him is justified. But despite his hotheaded temperament and condescending attitude towards other people, I think Okonkwo is still entitled to a little bit of pity, or, in my personal opinion, a substantial degree of sympathy.

I could never imagine walking in his shoes. If I had been in Okonkwo’s place, how would I have felt? I don’t know what it’s like to be a parent, but I suppose it has a lot to do with placing your hopes on someone else’s shoulders; expecting them to carry it onwards into the future that you can’t be a part of.

Wouldn’t it be heartbreaking, then, if the very person you trusted with your everything shrugged your cherished dreams off his shoulders and let them hit the ground?

Maybe my friends are right, to some extent. Okonkwo has to take some responsibility in causing Nwoye to run away to the Christians. He should never have pressured Nwoye so much. He should never have assumed that Nwoye wanted the same things as he had as a young man. Maybe despite knowing Nwoye wanted different things, Okonkwo was doing all he could to give Nwoye the best out of the life he knew. Okonkwo is a father, after all, and perhaps—even if we’re not willing to acknowledge it—he, like our parents, knows what it’s like to not want to follow your father’s footsteps; your mother’s footsteps. Perhaps when our parents were like us they had decided never to follow someone else’s decisions, and ended up making choices they never thought they’d agree to; walking down paths they’d hoped to avoid while still dreaming that they would end up somewhere different.

I think we sympathize with Nwoye more easily because most of us know what it’s like to fall under the pressure of someone else’s expectations. We readily back him in his decision to tear away from his father’s ways because some part of us has already known what it’s like to want the same thing. If I had been in his position I would have done the same—I suppose I would have at least contemplated running away.

Let’s imagine it this way; Okonkwo’s modern day equivalent would be a prominent bussinessman with influence left and right in a sprawling metropolis—a highly successful public figure whose life is characterized by outstanding achievements in an Ivy League university and an offer to join a prestigious company upon finishing his second year. It is hard enough to imagine being a daughter to such a man—but to be a son who is expected to continue the legacy? In my head I imagine Atlas with the world on his shoulders, passing it on to a nervous, slippery-fingered, scrawny teen who knows the world will tumble and crash out of his hold.

Then again, isn’t that just what we are expected to do?

In an episode of Heroes, Peter Petrelli comments that “...we’re just cheap knockoffs of our fathers.” For me personally, it feels like a punch to the gut. It hurts more than a little to know that no matter what we do we’ll still be compared to our parents. That we won’t have any trace of things that people thought would still be imprinted in us. That we’ll probably never be good enough to satisfy what people expect. In this sense, I sympathize with Nwoye.

Is it any wonder then that we want to break away from the paths our parents have set out for us? Isn’t it plausible to think that we attempt to build paths other than someone else’s because we’re scared of being less than what they were? I don’t ever want to be known as ash remaining from someone else’s fire.

I don’t want to grow up chasing my father’s shadows and pursuing my mother’s victories and mistakes. I don’t want to destroy what they worked so hard to build. I don’t want to be the one responsible for the look in their faces when they find their life-long struggles are for naught.

Do you still think Okonkwo deserves no sympathy?

A part of me wants to exclaim that I could never forgive Nwoye for tearing down what Okonkwo had given his all to build. I could never forgive Nwoye for taking the dreams Okonkwo had carried with him from childhood to fatherhood—the dreams he had kept alive by pouring out his sweat, blood, and tears for—and allowing them crash and burn. I could never forgive Nwoye for insinuating that Okonkwo’s lifelong struggles held no importance, by walking out on everything his father worked for.

If Okonkwo held true to the hotheaded and violent nature we have associated him with, I would have expected him to take his machete and separate Nwoye’s head from his body. Doesn’t that sound like something he would do?

But people like me who have no idea what it’s like to be a father or a mother will never understand what it is that makes them love their children so much. I may never understand why Okonkwo still allowed Nwoye to pursue his own choices; why Okonkwo would allow Nwoye to build a new life and support dreams of his own when Okonkwo’s hopes had been sullied and broken beyond repair by his son’s betrayal.

I may never understand how Okonkwo can retain love for a traitor. But at least I can imagine him thinking about Nwoye and sighing at the fire. Perhaps at that moment some semblance of weakness crossed his features. Perhaps at that moment we would be able to see the face of a broken old man, mourning the death of his wasted, uncontinued dreams; still harboring an amazing, undying love for the boy who blew out the fire and left behind only ash.

A Gay Darkness

This is a response to a dear peer's post which I just can't stop getting out of my head.

'They (homosexuals) say, "But we love each other!" What's loving about medically dangerous behavior? Love seeks the ultimate good of the loved one.' - Kendal Metcalfe quoting Frank Turek

HEED THE IGNORANT CLANGS OF BIGOTRY AS WE IRRATIONALLY DENY THE EXISTENCE OF LOVE THAT IS OBVIOUSLY GENUINE AND SINCERE!

Although you may perhaps consider me to be one of them, religious and conservative people often confuse me.

Bewilderment strikes me each time Christians openly profess their disdain towards homosexuals, bashing them unsympathetically for their so-called divergence from God's plan.

Homosexuality is, after all, involuntary. What man or woman would want to marry a person who would not be able to bring upon them any offspring? Why would a woman want to have a sexual relationship that is almost entirely dependent on prosthetics - where the mutual coalesce of flesh is virtually impossible? Surely people who take preference on such irregularities have something that is wrong with them to a psychological, even spiritual level.

Plenty research suggests that sexual preference is decided on that basis of a person's upbringing. Parental relationships, among the many things that shape a person's psyche, are prevalent in most cases of homosexuality. Traumatic experiences, and sexual abuse, are among the numerous things that contribute to deviations of sexual preference. Most importantly, after a certain age of maturity, sexual preference becomes of permanence.

Heartbreaking, isn’t it, how an unfortunate childhood can trail a person to their death? Sin is fused into the very core of a human soul that escape from it is impossible. Christianity condemns homosexuals who supposedly refuse to give up their fleshly sin. But how can Christians be so sure that homosexuality is escapable by mere devotion to Christ, when people who profess these things don’t even know how hard being gay is?

The subject of sexual rebirth is tricky. It’s a bit like sex change procedures; no matter how “female” a transgender man can become, a part of him – a part that is untouchable by medicine or therapy – will forever remain a man.

Ex-homosexuality is a myth. Those who profess to have been sexually converted are simply denying their sexual desires for the sake of sanctity. Complete liberation from sin is nonexistent - we are humans, after all. As normal and "heterosexual" as homosexuals can become, a the will always want what they have left – that hollowness and dissatisfaction in them that will never be contented by a normal sexual relationship.

Besides, after years of research and attempts to de-homosexualize gay men, psychologists have said that there are no "cures" for homosexuality.

This isn’t to say that I don’t believe homosexuality is a sin – I do. It is one that is so deep-seeded that it can never be completely removed, rather simply denied and suppressed. The legalization of gay marriage equates to the incubation of habitual sin.

Am I a biased hypocrite for sympathizing over homosexuals – which the bible deems as among the most immoral and perverse people to walk the face of this earth – while condemning the practitioners of pre-marital sex, something supposedly less perverse than homosexuality?

Homosexual people are generalized as effeminate, narcissitic, lustful, and perverted. True, many of them are, but aren't we all - heterosexuals and homosexuals - imperfect?

When you think about it, homosexuality is not voluntary, while fornication is. Homosexuals fornicate because marriage is impossible for them, while heterosexuals fornicate because they are unwilling to wait just a few years for marriage. Needless to say, both are sinful and ultimately result in death - what I view as wrong is how people approach these issues.

Why is it that the selfish, impatient, lustful animals are tolerated while those handicapped in sin - even celibate ones - are unloved and exiled?

The dreadful irony is that many of these gay bashers aren't even practitioners of abstinence.

Nobody is doing the right thing.

Homophobes and conservative Christians make life a living hell for gay people. Homosexuals are inculcated with fear and hopelessness as narrow-minded protesters declare the unfortunate fates of these people. A peer of mine posted a jaundiced remark on how immoral gay people are, without any viable solutions other than the complete rejection of these people.

Gay rights activists encourage this immorality, as nude men shamelessly parade in gay pride as they profess pride over the illness that plagues their people. Liberal churches admit their own defeat as they encourage gay marriage under the false idea that all love is sacred. - Gay love is very much real, true, but not so sanctified by God.

Lives are hard enough as it already is for gay people; don’t make it worse. The reality is that most of them are walking towards hell, with the world encouraging this. Compassionate truth has been eradicated! All that’s left is a violent reality or empathic lies. Can homosexual celibacy – the only way these people will ever find truth – be practiced when support and encouragement is nonexistent? In this lightless war against pitch-black darkness, where do you stand?

To the delightful Nicholas Vosalalalblah. Person, thing.

Disclaimer: This post is solely the intellectually deficient opinion of Steph/Tank.S, and in no way reflects on her A1 blog buddies, class and or teacher.

~

My post today bears little or no importance to the world or our lives in general. However since I have very little to write on (due to my less than exhilarating life), and I MUST post an entry by tomorrow, I suppose I shall have to make do with the topic or a person that per say, antagonizes (almost) all current A1/2 bloggers.

Nicholas Vosanovic.

Nicholas Vosanovic, for those who have not been paying attention to this blog's, WWJD, etc.'s comments, he is a person, an anonymous person with no blog under his belt, who blocks his profile and who needlessly complains and criticizes everyone’s blog entry.

I’ll give you all several excerpts. (Trust me, there are a lot to choose from)

Nicholas Vosanovic said... (on Dante’s recent blog entry)

…
Considering the fact that your style is meager, your writing feels forced and suffocating to read, your words are not even contextually correct, and your grammar is like that of a child, I am quite sure that you picked these words from a thesaurus and will probably forget what they mean in a couple of hours or days.

I mean, just take a look at what you're writing. Your style is very casual and unstylish yet you use such uncasual words. It makes me feels constipated.
…
Using your thesaurus, you are attempting to glorify yourself and cover up your insecurities about how bad a writer you are. Since NONE of these words in your first paragraph are even used correctly, it makes it look even more obvious that you are using a thesaurus and that you are doing so very ineptly.

Thus you are making a complete fool out of yourself.

September 9, 2007 10:58 PM

(Still on Dante’s blog)

… So if you insist on practicing your english and using these words that you don't deserve to use, write in a diary or something. Don't embarrass yourself.

September 10, 2007 8:00 PM

Nicholas Vosanovic said... (on Cynix’s blog entry)

you are repeating the same ending as the one you had for your previous post.

don't you have any new ideas?

by the way I don't think its true that technology is causing people to become socially incapable.

maybe you're just socially retarded and you're blaming it on technology because you have noone else to blame.

September 11, 2007 7:54 PM

Nich V. again on Cynix's gay blog entry.

Nicholas Vosanovic said...

why are you so self-righteous and acting like you know everything about morality?

who are you to say that homosexuals don't choose to be gay? they're so perverted that for sure, they had to make decisions to become so sick.

and you are very passionate in this writing. are you homosexual?"

Alright, honestly, while our dear Nicholas is not always wrong, is it really necessary for him to stalk A1/2 blogs 24/7 for grammar mistakes and errors?

Granted, cynix is often times overly self righteous, and all of us don't have the perfect English he insinuates he has, still, Nicholas honey, whoever you are, you must be a very, very, VERY sad person. Do you honestly find pleasure in criticizing others? This is an ENGLISH CLASS blog, which is meant to be an outlet for people to improve their, wait for it, WRITING SKILLS. Sure, correct our grammar if you so desire, but those malicious comments?

Don’t get me wrong, I adore web fights, it is fun, but you are doing so anonymously and without having a blog yourself. You mock us so indiscriminately whilst shrouding yourself under the anonymity that is the World Wide Web.

If you are so grand, please DO enlighten us of your writing prowess, Nicholas Vosanovic! Do you really have enough gravitas to claim superiority over us all in content, style and grammar?

I know, my blog entry is at the moment sub-par, but unlike Nicholas I actually have tests to study for, essays to write! Why are you so intent on shattering our already brittle shards of self-confidence?

Do you (and in certain cases I) derive instant self glorification from it? A smug sense of superiority? Just as you said to Dante, “Using your thesaurus, you are attempting to glorify yourself and cover up your insecurities about how bad a writer you are.”

Aren’t you doing the exact same thing? You said it yourself; you are using your superior grammar knowledge to glorify yourself!

Yes, we may indeed suck, but what are we, 16, 17? We have more essays to write, grammar mistakes to pen, horrid sentences to articulate, but unlike you we don’t hide behind the system of anonymous commenting.

We type our pieces, hoping that our effort will be rewarded by a kind comment, but what do we get? You, Nicholas dear, stamping whatever satisfaction we had five minutes prior. (Yes, 5 minutes people, Cynix posted at around 7 PM then Nicholas posted at around 7 PM)

You see Nicholas, whoever you are; I commend your love of English and your particularity on word usage. But when that love of English turns to hate and that once beautiful love turns to glaringly spiteful comments, (which probably made someone cry *cough* cynix *cough*)I really think you should take another leisurely pursuit.

Like making your own blog. Enlighten from of our dreary simpleton-esque mistakes; enlighten us all to what blogging is really like. And you know, use that obviously superior talent of yours to actually, I don’t know, WRITE?

What is it with people and their ‘smug sense of superiority’ anyhow? Why do we try endlessly and ridiculously hard to hail ourselves superior to another person verbally and mentally? (Or is that just me and dear Nick?)

Is it because we try to compensate our short comings by scoff at another’s even shorter short comings?

Is it because we simply don't want to become ordinary and therefore boring. The thing is, if everyone is superior in someway, and if everyone is special in their own way, then isn't everyone basically and drearily bland and un-special?

Why are we all so terribly afraid of being ordinary, at being seen inferior, of being seen useless, weak and pathetic to the extent that highlight other’s weakness solely to hide our own from others and even unconsciously from ourselves as well?

Succinctly said, I have no idea.

Maybe, Nicholas does.

Van Wyck Brooks once said, "People of small caliber are always carping. They are bent on showing their own superiority, their knowledge or prowess or good breeding."

Is that true for you Nick?

Much love, Steph.

P.S. : Please DO engage me in a comment fight Nicholas V.!

I pinky promise you that I shall copy paste your comment onto this post! :)

No more anonymous postings!

Due to some rather offensive and overly discourteous comments by many anonymous people, the anonymous commenting will now be blocked.

Sorry all, it just gets to the point where it becomes this retarded melodrama that goes around in a continuous and ultimately annoying cycle. (the cycle, I shall say succintly is cynix writes something insulting, he gets insulted back by anonymous's and then more insults are hurled, and whee and tank gets all annoyed and gangs up on poor cynix.

Why, oh why has blogging become such drama?

Seriously though, people do write constructive comments!

Much love, S (Tank.S) &R (Whee) & G (Cynix)


note: Tank.S is very sorry for not posting this Monday, or Tuesday, or yet. I WILL POST.
(Not that anyone cares T___T)

A Digital Apocalypse

Note: This is not to be graded. This post is so horrid that I am considering deleting it. If you grade it you will cause extreme strain to my highly vulnerable ego.

In an eccentric movie being shown in TOK, I realized that humans have an innate need to make everything complex that even when they try to make things simpler, they unconsciously complicate it in the process.

Its human nature, after all.

Technology is paramount to our development. It serves as a backbone to the functions of our world. Conglomerates such as Intel, IBM, and the Japanese giants shape who we are today. True, the extent to which we are capable of innovating is admirable, and what we've come up with over these past years are in fact joys that I delight in – for heaven’s sake, I’m writing in the offspring of human innovation right now.

But past a certain extent, our indulgence on these good things might as well be our self-imprisonment. Because after all, as we find ourselves further and further taking advantage of the technologies we have at our expense, we are involuntarily making ourselves reliant on these things. In fact, technology has become so crucial to our lives that a relatively skilled hacker could take down an entire country from the comfort of his personal computer. In our pursuit of making life easier, we have instead chained ourselves unto this digital web of binary codes and iThings that our world has been morphed into a gigantic maze of circuitry.

What can I say? We are naturally self-damaging.

Cellular messaging, online messenger clients, and social sites such as friendster and facebook have been deemed great inventions that bridge communication gaps. Miraculous isn’t it, how people on separate ends of the world can be connected by a simple click of a button? Clicking and typing have now become comparable to making friends. Lovely.

Yes sure, communication on a superficial level has become as easy as getting a drink or taking a piss. But in reality, have we become more social creatures through the aid of these so-called social “tools?” Are we so much more social than our parents, or our grandparents – old folks who have no remote clue of what the world-wide-web is? Or have some of us instead become overly dependent on this system that without it, we are rendered socially dysfunctional?

Because nowadays, in our pursuit of taking advantage what is there for us, there’s a long, gradual, unnecessary process involved in socializing. First, meeting randomly through friendster or facebook. Next, when things become more comfortable, chatting. After that comes SMSing. This is then followed by calling. Only then can people become comfortable enough to meet in person.

Long gone are the days when socializing is the way it’s supposed to be – frank, straightforward, simple. In fact, for some, it’s impossible to go back to the way it was. They are so adapted to having a digital social life – an artificial social life – to the extent that face-to-face communication becomes a nervous chore that is impossible to do without that dreadful awkwardness and an unforgiving urge to urinate. It truly is ironic how something that was designed to help people socialize have instead caused social retardation to some unfortunate ones. Marvelous, isn't it?

In the domestic household, communication has become so easy that the use of a phone or a pager is parallelized to staying in touch. Members of a family feel free to come home late and not meet their siblings or parents as long as they’ve made contact during that day. Familial union is slowly becoming nonexistent as parent-children interaction is based on radio frequencies.

In this digital era, our digitalization is inescapable. As we reinvent, we reform our world into a prison of encryption plague-ridden by the fear of malicious codes. As we restructure society, we make human interaction artificial. As we try to connect, we instead disconnect. As we play into this symphony of irony, our intentions backfire, our control is lost, and our self-sufficiency becomes just a mere shadow of our "primitive" past.

Karina's Deep and Meaningful One-Liners

I've been on hiatus from writing poetry for quite some time now. That is mainly due to the existence of Facebook. But a few days ago, Facebook Administrators disabled my account and I fortunately had no homework. So I opened Microsoft Word and began writing. My inspiration: Butter.

Butter is but a code name. I can't say his name here; the whole world can see. I am much too smart to do that.

Anyhow, I gave the poem the title High School Amore. You can ask me for it if you're interested. But today, I am interested in giving you a list of my precious one-liners which, most of the times, really stands out from the rest of the lines in the poem. My regular readers told me so.

So here are the one-liners which some people love from my selection of poems. Tell me what you think.

Love is a seed; it grows, it dies.

Love is selfless, sincere, and sacrificial.

Life without you is like dancing with no partner.

Sincere is my middle name.

I want us to be. I want you and me.

He flew me to the moon and left me there.

I want my heart to beat faster; I want you to hear it.

I wait for impossible moments.

That is all so far.
Don't forget to quote me if you want to use it. :)

My Restraint is my Own Suicide

*Not to be graded, unless I don’t post anything next week*

Disclaimer: This post was written at a time when the writer was in an extremely emotionally unstable mood. Therefore what is said here should not in any way be taken seriously.

Happiness to me is among the rarest things on earth. Yet happiness is knocking on my door, only to be rejected by my idiot self.

Christians claim that Christ is the only way to true happiness, and that worldly and iniquitous pleasures only brings out a temporary joviality within ourselves - the rest is supposed to be a hollow, lightless emptiness.

Not so, I have come to learn. The happiest people I know are the most dissolute - those who are wise enough to indulge in everything the world has to offer. The emotional train wrecks are the uptight, prissy, unrealistic nuns who drown in this pool of heinousness.

If God really is just, then where is he? Why is it that morality is punished by exclusion and loneliness, while evil is rewarded with popularity and a sense of social significance?

On the night of my birthday, I was greeted by a deeply unwelcome sense of emptiness and rejection. My bestfriend, angered by my chauvinistic idiocy, told me that she wouldn't be coming on time for my birthday party because she has a date, and I am now sure that the people I care about won't be there for me as I "celebrate" my coming of age. Imagine that, being left out from your own birthday party. Here, on the day that was meant to be the day I bask in the joys of friendship and hope, I instead mourn the loss of my hope – the deathlike feeling of seclusion.

In truth, perhaps I do deserve to be excluded from everyone else. I am a chauvinistic, intolerant, uptight, two-faced bastard, and inconsiderate of other people’s privacy. In my fruitless endeavors to please God, I have instead angered everyone around me.

Why then should I continue my one-legged dance of unfound hope and light? No good can come from it – my peers will be infuriated by my fanaticism, social tension will arise between those who judge and those who are judged, and I will of course be devoid of any sense of belonging as I witness the crumbling of my social life.

I look back to the old me – a rebellious person on the verge of expulsion from school, a person with a 13GB porn collection, a person everyone sees as fun, a person with an actual “life” – and realize that life was so much better for me back then than it is now.

Why then, should I continue committing this social suicide, when no one benefits from my irrationality? Shouldn’t I just conform so that I am accepted?

Christ is an illusion. Persistence for the truth is nonsense – merely a byproduct of Christian denial of God’s non-existence. Spiritual euphoria is resultant of the insanity associated with Christianity. I will never find light in Christ. Heaven is already here – this heaven of sex and drugs – yet I am too stupid to accept it. These thoughts continue to resonate in my mind like an echoing scream of despair.

I’ve always told myself that what everyone around me does doesn’t affect me. Peer pressure is very much real, my friend. I struggle to juggle my spiritual and social lives as I enviously witness others who manage to completely segregate their spiritual lives from their social lives. But my passion, unlike theirs, is uncontrollable. My raging fury is beastlike, and my own integrity is self-destructive. My soul is on the verge of its own demise. And my words turn into my own poison, as my restraint becomes my own suicide.

It's Not You, It's Me

You should know it is a huge lie when a person says that line to you. Whether or not it be in a romantic relationship or a brotherly one; it is You. It is Your fault. You ruined it. At least that is what they feel.

That other person is just trying to be nice. They are rejecting You, but they don't want to hurt Your feelings. But their attempt is useless; You're already hurt. They are blaming You, but they are smart enough to rearrange the words instead of just blurting their heart out. To make it sound less accusative. You know better; it is Your fault.

Take a pair of young lovers as an example.

It didn't take long for him to realize she's the one he's been looking for. Her hair more beautiful than Snow White's, the princess he's been measuring every girl against. She, too, was attracted to him. The chemistry was obvious.

It lasted a little more over a year.

"Who is it?" she asked.
"No one, it's not about that," he told the truth.
"Do you not love me anymore?" her eyes filled with waves of tears.
"It's not that I don't love you anymore, Baby. It's..."
"What did I do wrong, Alex?" the wave crashes.
"It's not you, it's me."
"I don't understand."
"You're too good for me, Case."

Liars.

You're not good enough is really what he meant, and she knows it, she's just being oblivious. He thought she was perfect, but perfection can get weary over time. Discontentment. He now wants something better. He now wants a Cinderella, because he knows Cinderella has always been the leader of the whole Princess Clan. He now feels Snow White is not as popular or pretty as the other princesses. But that's okay, right? It's only high school. 

What about marriage. You can't say it's only marriage in a marriage like it's of no importance. It's your life and you can't leave it at that; you have to delve the problem. You learn from experience so you know what to say the next time someone says those fake words.

Husband: It's not working.
Wife: Try to tell your kids that.
Husband: My kids? They're your kids, too.
Wife: You're the one who said it's not working.
Husband: Well, who's fault is it?
Wife: Oh, so now you're blaming me?!
Husband: I never said that.
Wife: But you might as well shout it out. I'm sorry I ruined our marriage.
Husband: It's not you, it's me.
Wife: Yeah, it is you.

I have no idea whose side I am taking here. The Say-er or the Say-ee. But anyhow, I want you readers to learn something: It is you, not me. Or you can just save time and agree with this preposterous line.

I've no idea why I'm discussing this so-not-important topic. It's nothing personal. I'm just... I
don't get why people lie when they can tell the truth. I, for the record, am brutal. I would never use this line to break up with someone. I would just say, "I don't like you anymore." 

:)

All conversation is purely fictional.

[late post due to BAD internet connection. I'm sorry.]  

finespun; a vignette.

Above us is the sky; beneath us, the earth. Between us is fire; beside us, a mountain and a churning drop into the valley. Within me is the blowing of a hollow wind.

There are strains of song curling around the frayed edges of my senses, but I am fully aware of the sober stillness constructed like an arc over the fire. It licks at the fading skylight, spitting firefly embers that flit like comets moving against gravity, shooting and fluttering wildly as the flame and the life leaves their darkening cores. They fade from this temporary glamour into ash; and the half-lived possibilities and half-true thoughts in my head go with them.

I wonder how your mind works. I imagine words; colored in pastel and rogue and cyan or pearl; marching in cursive or undecorated blocks across your head. And then I imagine your brain whirring and clicking; like machines producing 3D and 4D; and your heart, perhaps, supplies it with a fifth dimension.

I wonder what it feels like to be upwind; watching the smoke and ash get into my eyes and make it harder not to cry, while you look at me through it as through a silken veil. I imagine tendrils and little broken fingers reaching out from the back of my head to part it aside. But they die, and they fade like smoke itself; just a distance away from you, and you make no effort to help, so that we remain separated; cold and more than a little frozen in our sweating skins.

I am fully aware of your lips bending around the words; your voice curling around the melodies and your heart twisting around the hidden meanings of this song. I am only vaguely interested in what the words mean. I decide instead to listen to your keening voice and the breath that carries the notes to my ears. I imagine a wail or a scream rolling off your tongue; or a laugh, since it’s not that I want you to hurt.

Did you know? I have Polaroids of you taped to the walls of my heart; like stills from a movie scene, split-second differences in light and motion and meaning. You are standing still, and the wind whips your hair round and here and away, and your eyes blink and glow and flutter shut. In my mind I picture you that way; standing silent and perfectly still.

In my dreams I picture you laughing, or weeping, or screaming or maybe smiling. In my head I hunt down every memory I have of you and I search for the semblance of some distant emotion. I find myself filing away the subtle accidents; like your hand brushing against mine, or our gazes catching. I collect the pale confessions pencilled in the days passed in a shared routine. I cradle the heartfelt wish and possibility of falling in love with you.

But we linger here, fenced apart by fire with the precipice at our side. Now and then we gaze over the lip of the deathly drop, and we see the preparations of a war; a catastrophe just waiting to begin. And it is here, at the beginning of everything’s end, that we pause, watching, waiting for the stage to be set. My wish and fragile possibility is clutched in my hand. It strains; spiderweb lines tracing the blueprint of its destruction.

We are moments away from the end of all things, and we say nothing. Half of me is still trying to imagine the pictures and words etched and scrawled over your neurons, and I wonder what you are feeling. The other half of me watches my hand slip, not unintentionally, and let go.

I watch my dream crack as the Polaroids take on a sudden harshness, and a lusterless cold rests in your face.

(It falls and hits the ground, but I will not break.)


A short piece from some time ago. :) To make up for the terribly pointless post of last week, I'm posting quality and posting early this week! Plus I won't be here for my column (Friday) because me and Tank, as well as some other people, are flying to Bangkok on Wednesday! We'll be back by ten-ish Sunday night...and then we'll have loads to tell you! In the meantime, enjoy~.