It doesn't matter if you cry
Cry if your day's been bad
Cry if you're feeling sad
Cry if you must
It's not your fault that things turn up bad
no, not always even if it is you are entitled to cry
Question is when are you going to stop crying?

P.S. Don't cry to stage a production and soil my poem

I remember crying a few years ago to get people to recognise my pain and suffering. I was in fact suffering from what you called cramps and headache but no one practically paid much attention to me. Because there was another girl suffering from cramps and she was crying (I wasn't crying at that point yet).

Even when the message 'I'm in pain' was registered on my face, no one practically bothered about me, they were all busy attending to the other girl who was crying. It was then I decided I should cry to get some attention and let people know I need medication too and so I cried. The effect? People started running towards me and checking on me, giving me the same, pampered treatment as the other girl who was crying. And yes I was sent to the hospital eventually.

That particular night, I tossed and turned around, feeling angry and perturbed by what I've learnt that very day, cry to seek attention. I then remembered this particular incident, which my mum taught me how not to look at others' actions superficially. It was at the crematorium at Mount Vernon, where my maternal grandmother was cremated. The usual procedure before cremation was for the families to say a little prayer before bidding the person goodbye. The whole family together with some friends walked my grandmother to her final step before the body's swallowed in the ball of raging flame. Almost everyone cried when gran was cremated, but not my mum.

"Mum why didn't you cry?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you are sad and that's why you should cry, are you not sad since you didn't cry?"

"People do cry when they are sad, but not all, some people cry because they have to in order to create an impression, these tears are what we call crocodile tears. Sadness is not only recognized in the tears of those who shed them, sometimes people can be very quiet and not shed a tear and still be sad, or the ones feeling the most terrible inside out"

"Are you sad then mum?" (What a stupid question to ask!)

"Yes I am..."

I took my mum's words seriously and started observing people when they cry. I always asked myself the same old set of questions "Why are these people crying? Is she really sad and that's why she's crying?" and I came to realised the profound knowledge encapsulated in my mum's wise teachings.

People do cry to get attention, people do cry to create an impression that they care when they don't, people cry to show others they are the victims when at times they are not and so much more reasons why people cry.

Generally they fall under 3 categories, those who cry because they are genuinely upset, those who cry because they need to put on a good show and last but not least, those who cry to seek attention (Which one do you belong to? In case you are wondering, I don't basically ask myself those questions anymore, I know now how to differentiate and distinguish. Tears are not the only sign that one's sad or in pain and many failed to see that. I once know of a manipulative girl who used tears as her weapon against guys and her own kind. She basically cry to get things done her way, to make people see things the way she do, to make people think she's the only victim and no one else matters and I really hate her for being so fake but many don't see it my way and some even think I'm jealous of her. Please don't scare the bejesus out of me, I never wanted to be her so why would I be jealous anyway when I've never even once envied her. Rubbish.

Why is it then that only pain and suffering is only recognised in those who shed them? Why do people take things at face value and so superficially then? This is probably something which I'll never understand and not wish to know any o how. But please people, next time open your eyes wider, learn how to distinguish and tell when one's really sad and react appropriately, please do not ignore people just because they are not crying, please do not over react to those who cry and let them manipulate you in one way or the other or even form good impression of those who cry, crocodile tears don't exists for no reason or rhyme. If you choose to ignore my advice, good luck to you, you'll need them, tons of them in fact.

I feel like a child all over again. It's strange and I don't even know why. Suddenly, the beauty of life just fills me inside out, I can feel the surge of excitement and weirdest thing is I haven't the slightest idea why.I don't know why I did it but last night I checked my cupboard to see if there's the scary boogy man. I chuckled and giggled upon finding none not like I'm expecting any though...eew..scary..It's so strange and funny, I'm like travelling on a history roller coaster bringing me back to my younger years where I fear there may be monsters creeping under my bed, hiding in my cupboard and at times I get so afraid I pull my blanket over my head to seek refuge.

Yeap, that's my security blanket that keeps me safe from monsters and boogy man, it seems like as long as I am covered within the perimeters of my blanket, I am generally well protected. Those were the carefree days where you don't basically have to be responsible for all the naughty acts or things you say. I must admit that at times, as much as the process of growing up fulfills one's life with experiences and moments, the stage of being a child is equally fulfilling, in that you basically enjoy the best moments of your life being a child and staying one.

Why do I say that? Haven't you tried retaining a part of yourself that seems so innocent, so real, so pure? Haven't you seen how much people like children because they are truthful and not deceitful, how much trust people place on children on the things they say because children don't lie, they are genuine and expresses their likes and dislikes most openly without engaging in politics. This is something we forget as we grow older, things that make perfect sense to us as a kid no longer make sense as we grow up, we find ourselves being deceitful, passive and aggressive (i.e. loaning notes to people whom we don't like but find it hard to reject), we tend not to show our true emotions and likes and dislikes.

I try so hard at times to hold myself back where I started but at times it's just so difficult. There are times where I've been so fake and do stuff which upsets me terribly as I reflect. There are times where I find myself trap in a situation where I cannot afford to be truthful and that makes me sad at times. Inquisitive is a child's natural gift, asking all the whys about the world or things which he/she never understand is what that makes them never taking things for granted, boastful for there is a lot more to life that they can never learn all about, that is what I understood as a child. I fought so hard to bring back my inquisitive mind I had back then as a child, the free spirit who never fails to ask questions to understand and I'm glad I brought it back. Adults don't ask questions as much as they used to when they were kids, they seemed to know the answer to everything and take almost anything that happen as of right that they should happen and it's not ever surprising why certain things happen, sometimes adults don't ask questions because they fear being ridiculed by their own peers but if you don't ask, you'll never win or walk out of the rat race. Bear this in mind that no question is ever stupid so long as you asked it because you are seeking for an answer to your troubled mind. It is thus important to know why sometimes, you don't just rote whatever you are supposed to learn and don't understand the true mechanics behind what you are learning, or do you? There are just so many reasons why I like being a child, but I shall not dwell on it here, you'll probably unravel the mystery one fine day yourself or when you get to read my official piece of work, that is if you too think the same way as I do.

What has flown away will never return
For it has sought a greener pasture
For it has seen the new ray of light
For it no longer needs your company

What is it then one cannot understand
that one have to cling on to his/her own beliefs
thinking what has flown away will return
when in the first place one gave it up?

To not see the beauty of what lies within your grasp
is nobody's fault but your loss
For it has always been there by your side
until it decided to bid goodbye

To not treasure what you have and pursue something else
is nothing but a foolish act
for when you turn around it slips away..

I've been thinking alot about death recently, ever since I got here. I fear death, honestly. It's not just about me feeling the pain when I go, but the people I leave behind if I should go one fine day. People like my parents who matter a great deal to me and my very close friends, which are few. I am perfectly conscious that any moment may be my last thats why I chase life doubly hard. I make moments count because everyday could be the last opportunity for us to say something, do something.

That is why I always make sure I say everything that's on my mind from telling my parents I love them to telling my friends how much I treasure and appreciate them. I don't waste my time by feeling bitter about past events that hurt me in a way or another, neither do I waste time being petty with trivial matters, I don't basically live in the past but future. I live for the future. I try making every moment meaningful, real. I try entertaining people who I care so as to make them happy. I try not to spend time pondering and wondering the 'if' situations or hoping I can somehow turn back time (although @ times I really hope I could).No, not that the thought of me dropping dead bugs me 24/7, it's not that. I am just being aware of what might happen and being conscious of it leads me to living a more meaningful life. Because sometimes you don't always get a second chance to say things you want to say, do things you want to do, be somebody you want to be. As much as dying is part of of life, so is living and living is really all about being satisfied with what you have done, not what you could have done.

It's not uncommon that I come across as aloof, arrogant, proud, unapproachable, immature, childish. I get these half the time from people who are:a) who are different from me hence the reason why they misunderstand what I am like b) judge me by my appearance & voila ici they know everything about me and basically full stop. c) don't really get the chance to know me as a person and/or know me via rumours (Half of them originate from girls, don't ask me why, this is the girl thing that guys can never understand, this is an inherent find fault factor that exists in girls) d) people who judge me almost so quickly before I can even finish saying "Hi, my name is ..."

I dislike type B & D the most. As much as they like to stereotype me as some bimbo or some brainless cute chic chick (the want you for the day but not for life) etc etc, I label them as shallow ones. You find that I hardly rebutt or refute these claims about me, the reason for not doing that is these people don't matter so why bother? Besides who I really am must have been of no importance that they can conclude so quickly what makes you think by elaborating or illustrating the murky water will turn clear? In any case, it's difficult to refute those stereotyped description of me. I used to practice the concept of 'ignore these people, time will show" But growing up changed my perspective totally, especially in political settings like office, school etc. I realised I cannot wait for time to show who I really am, as much as I like to I can't. And I am preaching it to everyone reading this entry.

When you work, you tend to get yourself tangle in a web of deceit spun by the political spider/s, when you find yourself being misunderstood, don't just sit there quietly hoping that things will turn for the better, for all you know you might be asked to leave the following day. I am not asking you to spin the same web plus more boos boos and traps, no I am not asking you to do that, how different are you from those vicious spiders then? All I am asking is for you to clarify and not sit at your desk subject yourself to such attacks, don't think about 101 things you may have done wrong to trigger this whole event, sometimes spiders don't spin web for a reason. Same goes for school, else you may find yourself the ostracized oddball subject to relentless vicious attacks. 'Sure, it's easy for you to say...' hello dear guy/gal, it's not like I am asking you to attain immortality, this is mission possible not impossible. What does it take to speak out for yourself? Isn't reputation more important than anything else? Isn't your good name worth something? All it takes is guts and guts can be acquired, when you start speaking out for yourself, demanding what's right for yourself, it should be smooth as driving a ferrari from then on baby. Take the first step, go on try it, I promise it will be fulfilling and enriching

I was sitting on the latch yesterday. Yes, again, it has now become my little den where I reflect deeply or place where I sit and consolidate all my random thoughts. But then again, sometimes I just sit there to stare back at the sky the way it was looking at me.

I thought about Isabel last night, her friendship. Her friendship is priceless and I'm so glad that I've met her. We have shared so many precious moments together, be it happy, sad, angry, worried and so on and so forth. It's not the duration that makes me treasure this friendship, it's the effort we both contributed to this friendship that makes this friendship something different from the others. She is the one friend who takes precedence over all others. (sorry not that you guys don't matter!) She is someone whom I really like to grow old to be little old ladies together with, the one whom I would reiterate those 'remember back then' moments together and put on silly big hats and get away for behaving badly in public with when we are both old. We have been through so much together, been there for one another, took turns to role-play aunty agony for one another, encouraged and motivated one another.

Sometimes it's strange to note how much she believed in me because apart from my parents there's no one else that truly believe in me at times. Not that I am not credible but it's just dreams which people chided me for having them (a portion of these people have issues which they cannot resolve within themselves and they actually chided me for having dreams which they dare not even think of, let alone take steps to achieving them). Honesty, is something I admire about our friendship. We never allow each other to wear an ugly top or dress out, if a skirt looks ugly on her, I will just say it's ugly and nothing more nothing less.

That's something you don't often find in friendships between girls. It's controversial I know but you would know what I mean if you were to look at the old pictures of you in those fashion that has gone terribly wrong dresses or tops, and you might remembered the real culprit who induced you in getting them. Get it? We are not only honest with each other in that aspect, we are sometimes terribly honest with each other as to how we feel about certain actions each has done.

We are simply not afraid to say "I'm not very happy with what you have done.." or "I am angry.." kind of stuff. Thankfully, we don't end up having cat fights, we merely discuss, get over the issues and move on. We are the true friends who change and grow with each other and learn through each other's experience, be it bad or good. We are the best friends who can share the most insignificant and best parts of our life (esp me, always repeating myself, telling the same old stories and somehow she's never sick of them or rather listening to me hehe, I'm so blessed!) with the same degree of joy, laughter and openess. We practice nothing negative like jealousy but admiration and envy.

We are the lifesavers that last for lifetime for one another and yes, I mean no expiry dates whatsoever. I was once afraid to define her as my bestest friend for fear that the magic may disappear or that she'll be taken away from me somehow (I don't know how, don't ask me) and I really don't want that to happen. But now, I have no qualms about defining her as my bestest friend. Isabel's indeed my bestest friend and our friendship will continue to grow (grow grow grow! Grow ok?) and evolve as we evolve!

Life is as good as it gets

Living in moments makes one happierNot in the sense that one should pick the best moments and live in the past but every little thing can be moments that can make you happy every now and thenI feel happy just by having a meal with my parentsI feel happy and content just by being hereI feel content and at peace when I make a good cup of teaI feel delirious when a friend tells me how much I meant T

hese are little moments in life which I chose to define as perfectI know I am one oddball, who seems to think life's a bed of roses I am what you call the optimistic type I am the carefree one But these ain't no crimeI chose to make my life a perfect one by cherishing every little thing that matters Every little insignificant thing in life is something to me subjectively I can never seem to convince anyone to accept my theory And I ain't going to try no more Life is always full of difficult situations We always have a choice, to see it in a better way...

I enjoy flailing myself mercilessly all around my room to the music. I feel beautiful, I feel happy, I feel wonderful. Today I'm flailing myself to Whitney Housten's I'm every woman & MJ's You rock my world. I love MJ alot, his songs never failed to get me moving. And that's good. Everytime when I feel bad or upset, I'll give songs like these a go at my hi-fi and swirl 360 degrees left and right then flail my body all around my room (I once knocked myself against the wall while doing that). I feel almost perfect when I'm doing all these movements and I am saying almost perfect not perfect. It doesn't matter if my movements are co-ordinated or not, I am not particular about all these not because I lack passion for dance or music but I don't like feeling restricted or constrained.

I enjoy freedom of movements and I usually don't give a damn if I am graceful or not, I am just into enjoying myself thoroughly if I may add. In fact, movements like these should come au naturel so as to benefit from the experience. Every session to me is a new different experience, I derive different pleasures time to time.Sometimes I club just to move my body, when I recommended this method of enjoying oneself mentally and physically to my friend, she said this "Yeah, you enjoy them because you are small and people love watching you when you do that, you have a nice frame.." That is of course not true, anyone who knows me would know I have an imperfect body. I am short and equipped with two flabby arms, some scars here and there, a tummy and I still dance. Anyone can dance to the music, it doesn't really matter how you look or how you move, anyone that laughs at you ignore them, for they lack substance and ain't worth any attention.

"I'm every woman, it's all in me...."

Je ne sais quoi. I'm sitting on the latch now, my room's all dark and cold. Today I don't get the privilege of falling asleep before the heater's off because I am kept awake, yes kept awake by thoughts. Lovely thoughts of how treasured I am, how loved I am and much much more. I am marvelled how most of the people I've met actually saves a place for me in their hearts when I am so ordinary and plain. I am content just by this very fact. These are the small little things in life, which I am glad for.

Why people write? I write to empower, entertain and let people have a good laugh. I write because I wish that people derive some pleasure in reading my writing bits. I write because I want to share. But what about the other writers out there? Do they..a) write for profitb) write to become famousc) write to influence people & provide pleasureIf the writers out there fall into any of category A or B, they ain't writers. They don't have the soul for writing. But ironically, most of them gets famous and earn big bucks.

Maybe if category A writers contribute part of their royalties back to the society, they aren't such bad writers afterall, they might just have a soul. Maybe if category B writers gets famous and influence people in the positive way and empower people, they are nice people afterall. But will most of them do that? I am not saying writers should not write for a living, but at the end of the day, it's not just about earning, it's about giving back to the society of what that has been given to you, your gift to write may be god-given or acquired as time passes, I am almost certain that anyone that makes the slightest effort to write consistently can be eventually a writer, but just what kind of writer are you? Where will you stand after publishing 30 best-selling novels or what have you?

There's a lot of things I've been trying and experimenting of late and I really liked that. From whipping up some weird looking dishes (And yes, they are damn edible!), napping, yoga lessons, grocery shopping. And the one thing I've been doing more than any of the listed is writing. And this is something which I am awfully glad that I am doing. Mum always thought that I had talent in writing, for some strange reasons unexplained. In short, I doubted her as well as my abilities. I used to write really well but I've grown lazy over the past several years.

Then the laziness developed into fear which became a sore spot for me and I started doubting in every darn thing that I wrote and I started branching into doing some other creative stuff like painting, still arts. Then came the unanimous comment from both my mum and my art teacher, mum says I can't paint or draw, art teacher says my still paintings / drawings look as though they fly and no one can understand what I was painting or drawing. My pig looks like a cow, my dolphin looks like some shark. Everytime I draw something I have to explain to people what they are, then I started growing tired of describing my wonderful creations because I finally understood why nobody understands my drawings.

They have all grown rusty and used to taking things for granted, used to making assumptions and hence before they even pay attention to the details I've added in my master pieces they assumed it's one of the other. Oh well...the last piece of art I've ever done was at the age of fourteen and fifteen was the age when I decided to give up arts. Age seventeen was a good age for me, creativity in writing was re-ignited, I composed a few poems during some boring lectures on computers and gadgets and some short stories during my breaks. The only thing that I have been doing more than any other stuff was creating. Creating my own written works, in which I allowed no one to criticise nor improvise. Not that I am receptive towards opinions or suggestions but I felt that as a writer or creator, you should be the only one deciding what should be in and thrown out of the windows. To allow others to influence your style of writing is to let others manipulate your work. Where then is creativity? Age twenty is the best time of my life, for now, I've been encouraged by my mum, my close friends to write and I started writing. I am currently in the midst of production of a story which I hope it will one day not just be a story, but a book, a book dedicated to my Dad, his life, his story.

At age twenty, I feel more reassured of my own natural abilities, ask me for some ideas on how a particular essay should be written, I'll have it. It just takes me 5 minutes to generate an opening paragraph and tell me how good am I? I think growing is the best part of one's life. I can feel the change in me, ideas having form of its own, ideas becoming words. My mum's words still rings in my ears every now and then and I truly believe I too, one day can become a successful writer. It just takes a little more time to catch up with what I've been missing for the several odd years and it doesn't matter when I get there, what matters is the process of getting there.

Research has proven that one third of our lives are spent on sleeping, the second instalment spent feeling like it would be nice to go back to bed. The last and final instalment is spent hoping/ wishing it will soon be bedtime! Yay! Now don't cheat yourselves, how many times have you wished school starts at late noon and daydream about the catnaps or noon naps while attending classes? OOPS! Waking early has become such a major problem for me of late that I have to spent some noons napping away to recover from the trauma of waking early.

Sometimes I feel so tired that I felt I have conveniently left my brain under the pillow as I pick myself up for school. I don't know if anybody actually feel exhausted at times just by waking early or is it just me but sometimes I feel so lazy that I just want to sleep in and not attend lectures. But thankfully, my conscience won't let me. So I am safe for now. haha yes for now is the word. When one is really tired, the mere thought of moving any part of your body becomes exhausting when of course, in reality doing something is less tiring than thinking about doing something. Get it? No? Oh give it some thoughts and you'll get what I mean.

My friend was telling me what an insomniac charmer he is and I patronized him by nodding my head vigorously but back at my head I was thinking if there's such thing known as insomniac charmer. How can this be possible? How can anyone be an insomniac charmer when one gets more and more tired and the things that one can talk about are probably absolute rubbish. When you get tired, you can't say anything charming, then you can't say anything interesting, then nothing is amusing and/or intelligible or mentally stimulating and finally nothing at all, because your eyeballs may just pop out if you attempt moving your mouth another inch.

There is this phrase that I've read somewhere that says "Early to bed, Early to rise, makes you healthy, wealthy and wise" and this other phrase by some writer that says the exact opposite (which I thought was real funny) "Late to bed, Late to rise, makes you unhealthy, poor and stupid" Haha There are times where you slip yourself into a nasty condition where sleeping becomes an issue for you as you can't sleep because you are so darn tired that sleeping is no longer possible! Solution: Bang your head against the wall, haha nah I am kidding, this will probably send you off your way much much earlier or to the A&E department of the hospital. So don't try it. And I mean it, don't try it. Oh why don't anyone listen nowadays? Everyone just loves practicing selective listening huh? Well your life, what can I say or do about it? Ok as I was saying you get into a nasty condition where you get too tired to sleep and the whole business of falling asleep is too much of effort and you just suffer.

Sometimes people can have 8 or 10 hours of sleep and still feel tired when they wake and they will then spend the next few minutes either cat-napping or feeling how nice it would be to go back to bed again, but don't get cheated, I mean seriously research has shown that 6 hours of sleep per day for a grown adult (Please don't get me to define what I mean by grown adults, ask the researchers) is grossly sufficient and 8 to 10 hours of sleep is therefore more than enough (or is it?) Sometimes I feel having a nap is like a tiredness enhancer that sends you fleeting moments of pleasure for napping but wake up 2 or 3 hours later with a cramp, dry mouth (not to mention stinky breath), wobbly legs, puffy eyes sitting in the lecture theatre wondering if you are dead!
(Resources for this material came from G Browning's Article)

Moments of Life

Haven't been blogging for awhile since I've reached Manchester, been really lazy. Yeah lazy and no other cheap excuses. I felt an urge to blog today when I got out of bed and had this inspiration to write on this particular topic which I would like to name it Moments of Life. Moments of life, be it happy, painful, sad, hard moments, they are temporary and not eternal. No, moments don't enjoy what we call longevity.

Sometimes we just like to embrace the happier moments and chase the painful ones away. But hey, you know what? You can feel happy forever by choosing moments that mean something to you. It's not a difficult concept, pain is inevitable but not suffering. It's always a matter of choice. I am not a preacher or what have you, but life's all about being practical. Although at times, I daydream and hallucinate (ooh scary) and let my imagination go riot, I am still a very pragmatic person. It's like the classic cliche modified by my good old self (which I have fallen hopelessly in love with) that goes if you don't like something, change it, if you can't change it, change the way you think about it and make things happen for you. This is the benefit of being intellectual. You identify problems that's affecting your life, get to it, take charge and solve it. Easier said then done? Well sometimes this invites heart ache, heart-wrenching moments but again they are like moments, temporary and will, i mean WILL go away. So you decide what you want to remember for the rest of your life and hopefully, you can choose the best ones to remember and be happy!

Walk me Home

I've been walking home alot of late, either from Isa's place or from my old place, not because I have to, but because I like to, I choose to. I like having the 'alone time' you get when you are walking by yourself, stealing moments and spending them all by yourself. It's just me, walking past a park, lively shopping malls and few blocks of neighbourhood. Walking. Thinking. I think alot while I walk. I go over the details of my current affairs as I walk.

Sometimes I sing as I walk, rather loud at times but the traffic drowns me out. I would sometimes laugh aloud to myself when that happens, a few strangers that walk past me find me weird and perhaps alittle insance. I am of course, without doubt perfectly sane. I walk to resolve problems by thinking them over. Contemplating all the silly thoughts, shallow thoughts, the things I wish would work, but I know won't. With those out of the way, the answers are clear. No room for stray "if only" thoughts to creep in and mess my life. Today I was walking home reflecting on how different things are now and then and on the whole, I thought things have been rather good.

Things may be good because they aren't different, things may be good because they are different. Sometimes I wished things would stay the same, not that I am receptive to changes but because I enjoy embracing those moments or rather appreciate the way things are and at times it's due to sentimental reasons. On the other hand, I welcome changes not solely by the virtue I've grown sick and tired of the old stuff but because change improves one's life. The world's always revolving, things always change, people change too, at the end of the day it doesn't matter when, how and why, what matters is keeping hold of who you really are that makes for the one constant in life.

Love for a friend of mine

Isa gotten herself a male puppy, chihuahua breed and named it Bachiku! What a queer name one may wonder but it's her sister's dream of naming a dog bachiku one day when she starts keeping one and voila! According to Isa, Bachiku's damn adorable and well I'll have to judge it for myself when I see it. Oh it should be him! lolz I love dogs, have always loved them and will always love them. I kept a few back then and the one I dotted the most on was Charlie. He was not of any breed / cross breed and so on and so forth, he was just a little brown stray puppy that Dad brought home to accompany me for a few days and that few days became months and a few years or so before Dad gave him away as Charlie was growing much too big and noisy for my flat back then. I've missed Charlie terribly...yes till now....Somehow a part of me died when Charlie left. Somehow I'm not all that complete, one may wonder how can this be possible?

How can anyone feel that sad for a pet? Well to me he is more than a pet, he is a very dear friend of mine whom I've spent my happiest & saddest moments with and we have been company for each other, I've seen him grown from a puppy to a young doggy and I've showered him with my love and affections, all of which are priceless. My parents never understood how much he meant to me, to them, the adults, he is just 'it', he is just a pet. Later on, as I grow older, I tried explaining to my mother how much Charlie meant to me before and now and it was only then she was convinced that I in fact love Charlie. All these years, I've spent some quiet moments thinking about him, I would sit and wonder and ponder thoughts like if he's still alive, if he's happy and if he's been treated decently and so on and so forth but I know I'll never get the answers. I can only hope and wish it's well and healthy. I can't help feeling sad and guilty for I failed to protect my friend ("the pet"), failed to keep him with me, failed to honour my promises to him, I hope he still remembers and loves me for I have reserve a special place at the back of my head for him and I still love him. I do.

A mind of its own

A mind of its own
needs no influence
needs no comments

A mind of its own
has strength others can't see
has courage others fear

How many in the world
dares to define themselves
dares to say No?

A mind of its own
In its unique way,
oddly if I may add
impresses all by defining itself

Sometimes one gets to a point where he/she gets so sick of waiting that he/she gives up. One must then wonder if giving up is the right choice because life pushes us all around and some gave up by quiting, some submit to such pressure and accept their lives as it is and few fight for what they want in life instead of waiting. I guess there's always a few alternatives to a problem at hand rather than just accepting or rejecting it at face value why don't one question him/herself or do some reflective thinking and start thinking out of the box to solve problems?

"Over time, some degree of loss will always be there, but the feelings will occur with less intensity"

"Have you finished packing your stuff? You're bound to miss out something, told you to pack earlier. See. See. Did you bring enough sweaters? Bring those that will keep you warm and not just look pretty ok? Remember to bring the ...""Aiya Mum, I know, I know, I've already done them!" I said impatiently.

It was September 2003, a few days before I left for Manchester to pursue my degree. Mum and Dad's been nagging for the past few days and trust me they almost drive me bananas. For I never really like the idea of my parents nagging at me, telling me what to do and yada yada, but then again who does? Afterall, I am already twenty years old and had been to a few places with them and my friends, somehow I just know how to take care of myself. Dad and Mum's "you are still a little girl" tone sometimes irritate me but they sort of make it up by believing in my ability to take care of myself, but still I was eager to prove myself.

Thus with much confidence I left, like a proud little young bird flying from the old, warm and fuzzy nest, without even looking back at its aging parents. University life was, not quite what I had expected, it's not as exciting as I thought it would be (perhaps it's due to the fact that I hardly attend any faculty parties) and even the people are not as hip and fun as I imagined them to be (save for the people I'm hanging around with). But but but, the city itself fascinated me with its freedom in the atmosphere and the exchange of fun ideas in its shops and restaurants.

I observed my surroundings with hungry eyes, hunting for excitement, yet something else surprised me even more. I found myself getting lost and my life a little out of control. There was no longer wake up calls to ensure I get to school on time or calls to check if I have had my lunch and so on. I would wake up and find myself missing the 9am lectures and making up for missed work always made me feel that I was trying to catch a plane by riding a bicycle.

Many other things did not just "happen" as of right, they had to be "done." Back home, the only thing I had to do with dirty clothes was to throw them into a pink basket (yeah, girly stuff rules!). They would, and yes they would disappear automatically and then re-appear inside my drawers, folded, clean and with the faint trace of concentrated laundry wash. Now the magic no longer worked (I must have missed a few black art lessons as well!). The pile of dirty clothes would just accumulate and get higher and higher unless I carry them down to the laundry room and feed the white machines some coins. Back home, a cold or a flu was nothing dreadful.

When I was sick, I only had to transform myself into a 4 year old baby. Then if I need my favorite snacks, I just need to mention it briefly and it will then appear on the table in a few days time. Everything's autopiloted at home. Now? Nothing can just be pulled out of the air, and the world is no different from what it was because I am sick. Everything had become my responsibility. I can blame the alarm clock for not ringing loud enough or accuse the fly viruses for attacking me, but the fact that I missed classes and got sick did not change save for the miserable part. I am still responsible for everything, there is no way out except for me to get on my gear and play the game by the rules. No wonder people used the term "homesick." It's like a chronic disease, a perpetual obsession. When I was fixing up my own meals (Don't worry, they are edible!), the smell of the steaming white rice and Dad's curry chicken suddenly became vivid sensations.

When I walked home out in the cold and dark streets at 5pm, the picture of the white light emitted from our cozy living room and the purple coloured couch where I spend much of time couch potato-ing appeared in my mind. The desire to have a cup of hot Lipton tea and allowing the brown liquid to run all the way down through the esophagus to the empty stomach became some unattainable dream. Whenever my hallmate blast me with her superpower digital stereo to the maximum volume and the screaming voice of some hysterical girl filled our corridor, my little bedroom with my favourite R&B's music seemed like a lost dream. Where was I going to find those old memories that seem so far yet so near, and when was I going to experience them again? After sacrificing say 450 GBP, I gotten myself a one way ticket back home.

There was a certain strangeness and awkwardness when I met Mum at Changi Airport Terminal 2. Maybe it was because I had been away for almost three months (My longest record was 11 days). People wearing spaghetti straps and shots looked almost like some erm aliens to me. The sight of the trees along the highways and the sun shaped like an egg brought back some unfamiliar familiarity. In 30 minutes, we reached my favourite prata store and had roti prata for breakfast, it tasted heavenly, I had never craved for any food like this before. Soon we reached our neighbourhood, and Dad drove the car slowly down the streets, passing the shadows of the HDB estates slowly. As I watched the things outside the car window passing by, the strange feeling began to disappear and something stirred in me. I took out my suitcase with Mum helping me with some other stuff and walked to the lift. While waiting for the lift, I looked at my Mum again, as though I was making a final confirmation. Then the stirring feeling of anxiety and fear disappeared, I smiled and said to myself "I'm home."

NB: This post was first posted in December 2003 and not January 2003.