as the years race by.

at seventeen.

at eighteen.

Nineteen will be spent either in my room studying, or with my books in Hyde Park. Either way, I'll have a ton of law cases to learn and a guilty conscience on my chest, and EU law that I'll need to learn. But never mind, for soon it will be over.

And done.

Things that students do during exams...

The very wonderful Jasamine and I have been thinking of rather creative ways to waste our time, including finding ridiculous flash games on the Internet. One of them being Robot Unicorn Attack, in which you take a unicorn (that also happens to be a robot) and have it ram its way through these giant star-shaped rocks without falling off cliffs. It can be found here: http://games.adultswim.com/robot-unicorn-attack-twitchy-online-game.html 

Even the background music is full of rainbows. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUaKxFjlOpw I swear this is a freaking parody of Barney or something, I don't know. For a game that sounds so inane, though, it's actually really addictive. My high score is, what? 20000 points. Which is really pretty shit, considering Jasamine's high score is 50000 points. But hey, here's the screen shot of the score board that I found:

HAH! See, I'm really not all that bad at this game. It's just her who has no life at all.

But then again, I know someone who's gotten over 100,000 points. Though this was like a couple of months ago? I SWEAR THE GAME GOT HARDER. YEAHHHH.

So whenever exams come...

I get stuck in this rut. It's not a very nice rut to be in, but it's brown and deep and somewhere in the middle of a giant field. Some field with flowers and bunnies and little butterflies dancing in the wind, and I can see the little animals and the signs of life. It would be nice to pull my ass out of said shithole, but...

I won't be out of it until June 3rd, because that's when the wire gauze keeping me in rusts and falls apart, along with any kind of hope I ever had for the future. My future.

We all know I fall apart during exams. Last year was a testament to that. All the time, my life has revolved around work, and procrastinating at work. Whatever I do, the fact that I need to do something I hate has always lingered at the back of my head.

This is who I am, I want to do what I want, and I can't dig myself out of a shithole of shit cause I'm not strong enough to pull apart the chains. So yeah, I'll wait in my rut...

Only to fall into it again.

What kind of mother...

Jeopardizes her daughter's future over one childish choice?

I hate people like that. I hate people like you. Even if I've never met you, my friend deserves so much better than having to bear with you, you stupid bitch.

Dammit, I hope she walks away and never looks back.

A response to an e-mail my mother forwarded to me:

A couple of days ago, I was sent this e-mail by my mother. It was forwarded to me from my mother's friend:

To refine Gold, intense heat is needed.

The Gold ores are heated to their melting points. Gold melts at 1102 degrees C.

When the material is melted, borax or soda ash is stirred into the crucible to bind with the impurities. 

The liquid is poured into a mold, where the larger impurities float to the top as slag. The more dense gold sinks to the bottom.

When the mold has cooled, the gold can be broken off from the slag.

Returning from the Wake for Guan Teik's mother last Sunday.

I could not help but to reflect on these two sentences:

""The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, 

       but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.""

The effect of mourning to the soul, 

is the same as the refining process to the Gold ore.

It stir up deep seated fear, insecurity, guilt and suppressed emotions.

These toxic emotions, 

like the impurities in melted gold ore, come floating up to the surface When we mourn.

They must be confronted, dealt with, detoxified, separated and thrown away.

Only then, we can be made pure in the spirit.

Pleasure to the senses,  

will only temporarily numb our pain, and 

momentarily deflect our attention from the hurt that is buried deep within.

They remain lurking in the dark recesses of our soul, 

ever ready to leap out and haunt us when triggered.

Gold, in order to be made pure,

must go through the furnace of fire.

Our soul, in order to be set free,

must endure the process of mourning.

A wake.. though it is a gathering to honor the dead. It is very much...

A wake up call for the living.

Here is my response.

Dear Mum,


To say that fleeting happiness was something foolish to relish in would be to state that it is foolish to crave the happiness that comes with chasing dreams. It would be undermining the warm feeling you get in your stomach after you have had a good meal. It would be dismissing the smiles that are put on your face when you get a hug, when you live, laugh, love, play, all the things that, while quick and temporary, are etched into time forever.


Even if these are things that we won't remember for eternity, these moments are also the ones that we hold onto when things fall apart, when the glass walls shatter and the mirage breaks, when we are thrust into the claws of adversity. These are the things that keep us going when we are alone at night and empty inside; these are the pieces of the puzzle that motivate us to chase something better, chase something more. It would be naïve to assume that when you wake up the next day it'll be happiness and sunshine; but some day, the rain will subside and you'll see the edges of a rainbow.


Before that though, it's the knowledge that things won't always be bad that keeps us going. Yes, we might have deep fears instilled within us of death and dying; what would it be like to not exist? What would it be like to fall asleep one day and not wake up the next? Muslims believe that the soul stays conscious within the body even after you die- what would it be like to be trapped in a coffin, that lifeless contraption of metal and wood? Thoughts like these are what make people turn to religion for the answers, an assurance that in this world where nothing is permanent, at least the last fibres of your being will be lasting; somewhere up there, in a hole in the sky. But what many don't realize is that the thought that we might not last a lifetime doesn't mean that our legacy won't.


That's why we do irrational things, silly things that might not make sense at a given time. Finish a novel. Write a play. Talk to our siblings. Hug a friend. The small things, the brief moments that put a smile on your face, the little things that add up to make a person human. Every word that spills from your lips has the potential to lighten someone's day or darken their whole life, and a general principle that I try to hold myself to is to make my mark for at least one person while I'm still here. To change things for the better, even if it's just to make myself feel good.


I'm in a foreign country sloughing away at a course I hate. Sometimes, I miss my parents, I miss my bed. But what keeps the fire burning is the fact that in three years, even if I might not see it now, it'll be worth it in some way or another. Even if all I learn is that law is a stupid course and that I should never force it onto my future generations, at least I had three years to learn it, and three years to experience the city of my dreams. London! It might be a childlike naivete that keeps me holding on, but my hands are still there, and I'll stay there grappling for something better. Even if you are motivated by sadness or fear, it is the light at the end of the tunnel that makes people slog, isn't it?


And it might be a cliché, but let me end my message with the age-old statement:


"Life isn't measured by the number of breaths you take, but the number of times things take your breath away."

So. What's your take? What do you think of life and happiness?

What do you think of life as a whole?

Stress-

Is one of the worst things that I could bring upon myself.

Funnily enough, it's one of the last things that anyone would expect me to feel by looking at me on the surface.

THE PHOTO MEME.

1. Take a picture of yourself right now
2. Don't change your clothes, don't fix your hair...just take a picture...
3. Post the photo with no EDITING!

Because this blog isn't quite my blog until it has a photo of myself on it.

I tag anyone who reads this. Which isn't very many.

taken from PostSecret:

This postcard made me smile, because it's exactly how I feel. Not every morning when I wake up, but when I take a step back and evaluate the person I am now compared to the person I used to be... See, sometimes I miss home but there are the days where I look around me and think "Damn. I. Love. England." Especially now the sun is out and the weather is getting good, I can walk around in a sweater and jeans without having a throw a thick coat on top, and it's 8:30 pm and it's just nearing sunset...

Last night my grandfather called and asked where I was. Instead of saying "my room" I answered "home". It was a Freudian slip, but still, sometimes I do wonder whether it's that. That I've managed to find my place in the world, a home away from home. Even though I miss the hot weather and the good food, there are some things about this place that make it special. And even though I say I left a part of my heart in Malaysia, England might just claim yet another bit of it too. That doesn't mean that I won't be happy wherever I might go- it just means that wherever I step foot on, I'll always look back, smile, and remember the person I was at a certain time, at a certain place, and that that person enjoyed her life as it was.

This is me in England.

This too. Yes, it is fun rolling down hills.

And this is me back home. Bad photo, but it was the best picture in my Facebook archive that really captured the Malaysian theme, okay? But that's not the point. The point is... 

I'd like to think that I'll always be making memories, be smiling and laughing and taking too many pictures as I go along, living life not the way I want it to be lived, but the way I make it so that it is worth living.

tearing down my walls ;;

whispers, they spring from the blackness of the night to
devour all life, cheer, joyful thought, drag me
out of sugar and citrus fruits to a
lulling sense of hate. induce me into a
half-drunken stupor of selfishness, self-pity, selfish self-pity,
ill will and a strange urge to gnash my teeth into a pillow,
tear my hair out - spill my lungs out - bleed my throat dry of
words unspoken and feelings unthreaded into words

these thoughts don't mix with people, darling. they only scream when
i'm alone

there is a prize like a mirage, an image that seems to be within my
grasp, a snapshot of a future that i just can't see as real. and as the
days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into years, the
seconds melt into puddles of sludge. pull up your wellington boots,
it's time to go dancing in the rain, or is it not? prancing in a
thunderstorm will only get you struck by lightning, pelted by hailstones or
torn up by wind. besides, it's too late to go out now-
too late at night to knock on your neighbour's door
feel human skin brush against yours as you pull her in for a hug

take these pent-up thoughts of failure and
spit on them, someone

please, anyone ;;

[pull me into your arms]

and destroy these monsters

these welled-up pits of depression,thoughts of opression;
these nightmares that creep up, these
wolves made of wispy shadows, dreams that have been
held up on a pedestal then shattered like glass, these thoughts that
come to haunt me, gnaw at the edges of my being. these things that
never hang over my head, never stare me in the face

until the hour before the dawn

This blog has been...

Inactive for quite a while.

So while I scramble for final exams and lament about the sheer stupidity of Public Law, why I don't give a flying fuck about the British Constipation, why I only get upset when most of my friends are asleep or overseas and unable to give me a physical hug, and why my cosplay troubles are not being solved by the fact that I can't find a proper Namie wig...

Here. Have some anime opening/ending songs. Because I don't know what else to say here right now. Other than the fact that I'm stressed out of my mind.

it's just one of those days

Where you feel like life has shat on you, stamped all over your bowels and drenched your head in piss. Grotesque imagery as this may be, that's how you're feeling now- it's not that anything has gone wrong, it's not that there's been anything different about this day except the usual drone of normalcy. Yet at the end of it all something or maybe someone sparked a strange kind of fury within you, a negative mass of emotion that has welled up inside and is bursting to come out.

It's not like you can ask him, ask her, ask you? These feelings are spilling out like tomato sauce on fries, gushing from your heart like a woven string of lies. You want to give out your soul but you're afraid that it'll be hurt, you want to share your feelings but you're so scared of rejection, of hate, scared of fear itself that you're holding yourself back. You aren't the best of people... You aren't pretty aren't talented aren't awesome aren't bright, you aren't anything that you wish you could be even if people keep telling you that you are.

And yet you know that this is only temporary, that when you wake up the next morning it'll be all sunshine and butterflies and smiles again. You're not a depressing person but sometimes you feel that way, you feel guilty for being that way because there are people whose lives are worse than yours who face every day with a laugh. Which is what you do when you don't think too much... So why are you being such a whiny brat? Why can't you just accept what you have and run with the flow? Why do you hesitate, hold everything back?

... Why?

There are ways to make a rant sound poetic

And this is not one of them.

I have an essay due tomorrow, laundry that needs to be done, a headache, a stomachache, and diarrhea. To top it all off I would really like to throw a shoe at an idiot's head.

Oh GOD how difficult is it to suck it up and ask for an extension? I... Don't want to do it. I've never had to ask for an extension on an essay before. Not in school, not in university... Pride is a very powerful thing, and while I don't have much of it I have a certain image of myself that I have to hold true, even if it's to only me.

Must do it. Even if it means staying up till five. Must. Must. Must.

The stuff you listen to...

Do you think your music reflects your personality?

Recently I've rediscovered F.I.R, a band I used to listen to when I was what. Thirteen? Fourteen? They were literally the only Chinese group I ever liked, and probably will always be since my taste in music has changed drastically since then. Crashing cymbals and guitar riffs have long since drowned out melodious voices and cutesy bopping in the background. But I suppose a part of me will always have a soft spot for bubblegum pop- if you can really call it that. Because what are genres, really, if not means to limit the reaches of a song?

I still haven't done that freaking essay, so here's some F.I.R to keep you busy while I drag Jasamine's ass to McDonald's, play some tetris, chat to people on MSN and gain about a zillion kilograms in the process. After all, I have until Wednesday to get my ass into gear. Hard work pays off tomorrow, but procrastination pays off today. So why wait?

... I got that last line off a T-shirt in Camden Market by the way. Yes, that is where I gather most of my genius. T-shirt slogans.









The optimism. The sheer levels of happy. They kill me with the feeling they give off that everything is going to be all right, there's a wide horizon in the distance and that all your dreams are going to come true. Not quite sugar and lollipops but maybe citrus fruits and minty breath- I was like that when I was fourteen, and I'd like to go back to being like that now. Where everyone was good deep down, where I didn't second-guess everyone I met, where it didn't matter that I could cry a river in public and drown my sorrows in tears.

When did I become like this? When did the happiness suddenly manifest a darker side, one full of anger and pent-up rage? Not that the happy isn't still there- it's still what dominates, what holds me to be true. But where's the trust? The naiveté? The feeling that I was number one?

... Where?

Just a little introduction.

I'd give a frank reason as to why I started blogging again, but really you don't want to know. Don't worry, guys, it's not something like I've got some long-lost lover across the globe or anything like that; neither is it because I'm horribly depressed and need an outlet to channel my energy into. If I was, I'd consult a therapist, thank you very much. I think it'd incite more of a response than a computer screen.

No, the reason is simple: I don't want to do my Contract Law essay. Eight hundred words left, two hundred words down, a book open in front of my computer and my fingers typing away. Not at the work, mind you, but at a random blog post for a random new blog that I swear (like I did the last time, and the time before that) that I'm going to actually keep. Like fireflies or ants or brains my online diaries have died, and hopefully it won't be the same with this one. I've just gotten off Skype, I can't be arsed to do proper writing, and I don't really feel like talking to too many people at this time so yeah.

Another channel for procrastination. How awesome is that? But really, this is also supposed to be an outlet for me to post ideas, dreams, thoughts, rants. Just like the last blog, and the one before that- only this one will be better.

... Which is what I said the last time, but whatever. So. The usual stuff. Hi, I'm Wei Yun, I'm not posting my last name here and if you know it please don't put it up either. I'm eighteen going on nineteen, 23rd May, but presents are welcome any time of the year so long as you don't use my address to stalk me. I like cookies. I like orange.

I have a freaking Contract Law essay that really, really needs to get done.