Dots

Wahlao got people say my writing style annoying le, i better flood this page with essays liao..
Reverting back to my singlish, i shall bedazzle you guys at how good am i in this singlish - though i'm not a Singaporean. Anyways, talk like this easier, no need think of grammar mistakes.

Maybe i try too hard if i talk like a british, no i like irish better, but sometimes i have their perfect accent when i talk - a few words or two. Like ' would you like a cup of tea ? ' for british english, i donno how to do irish actually, but i like the irish dude in the Heroes episode, the dude that was dead kana whack. so sad - he was my inspiration and why doesn't collin farrell ( how to spell his name ? ) talk irish english? i heard before when he aired on scrubs episode, but its like he's trying so hard, almost sound like me. Then since my face look like him, i laugh at myself the other day.

Anyways, everyday rain like toot, not that i no like it, its just that its so freaking cold till i so lazy get out of the bed to pee. Its 8 degree to 15 degree out there, and probably 6 degree in my room. I'm so bad at math.

Bye bye.

Another essay by my sis , titled Season.

SEASONS

It was spring, 1973. The season of birth and renewal, where daisies glamour off their bright pink petals in the grassy lawns, where light spring showers penetrated the soft earth, where swallows proudly chirped out their melodious voices to celebrate their new-found roles as young parents.

She skipped her way to town, a smile hung upon her rosy cheeks. Never would she miss the opportunity to visit the CD shop.

He locked the doors and flings the keys, the morning sun tanning upon his freckle-filled face. He was going to the CD shop.

In the shop, they were strangers. And yet they bumped into each other while browsing through the stacks of traditional folk song discs, the gleam in their dark brown pupils sparkling as they reached out spontaneously for a similar piece. He and she withdrew their hands hastily as the tip of their fingers intermingled with the others.

She apologized first, the shade of her cheeks emphasized with each blush. He instinctively fingers-combed his ruffled hair, running them through the mangled knots in a hurry. The awkward silence was loosened by a smirk on his face, and a smile on hers.

They became a pair.

It was summer, 1974. The season of warmth and maturity, where sandy beaches and cool waters seemed like home, where life revolved around the sweet delicacies of sundaes and ice creams. Along with the season, their seed of love nurtured and blossomed into an elegant flower.

She would tiptoe out at the break of dawn into the silence of the morning, careful not to let her delicate footsteps be heard.

He would dress into his casual clothes, stepping out into the comfort of the darkness.

They would meet at the beach, enjoying the breath-taking view of sunrise. Later in the evening, he and she would once again visit the CD shop to pick out their favorite folk songs, a shared earphone connecting the two. The owner of the shop would always welcome them with warm greetings, secretly happy that they found their blessings in his shop a year ago.

It was fall, 1975. The season of peace and forgiveness, where the greenery would shed their evergreen covers in replacement for nut-colored dressings, where the air was windy and comforting.

They were holding hands, softly whispering and chuckling into each others’ ears. He took off his windbreakers and gently placed them on her shivering shoulders, a mild gesture of affection. As though it was planned, he shielded her eyes with the scarf coiling around his neck, and guided her footsteps to a special place he did found. She gradually felt a rush of aroma blowing into her nostrils with every breeze that passed, as if hinting to her about the mystery place.

He finally untied the confinement of her sight, and she slowly opened her eyes to her amazement. The four corners around her were shrouded in different shades of pink, the origin being of the numerous cherry blossom trees. She smiled in utter joy, still in disbelieve. He had fulfilled her childhood wish she did casually passed a remark on 2 years ago.

He was suddenly on his knee, a velvet box with its cover wide open lying on the width of his palm. A diamond ring sparkled as the brightness of the sunrays hit upon it.

Beneath the showers of the cherry blossoms, he had clumsily asked for her hand in marriage.

And beneath the shades of the cherry blossoms, she had shyly nodded her head in agreement.

A smile broke through his freckled face, and he twirled her around in happiness. She beamed at him, unspeakable glee written all over her face. The air around them was suddenly still, as if giving them the momentary privacy of silence.

It was winter, 1975. The season of celebration and reunion, where Jack Frost would paint the windows with snow, where Christmas carols roamed the streets. It was the month of their wedding.

It was initially a season filled with laughter. And yet as though God turned an envious eye towards their joyous occasion, he died in an unfortunate car accident, leaving behind the cruel world and her. She wept for days, until the tears in her eyes seemed to dry up. Her mother in pain of sighting her in this state gave her a word of advice. Winter would be over, and spring would come again, her mother had said. She hung her head in silence, despair taken over her soul.

It was spring, 1976. The exact day when he and she met, she trudged her way to town, a sorrowful smile hung upon her sunken face. She was back at the CD shop, picking out the traditional folk songs they once loved, as if those were the only memories left she had of him.

She suddenly felt something warm beneath her palm as she reached out for a disc. It was a hand. But yet this time, neither withdrew their contact. She trailed her eyes upwards to meet the stranger’s. It was a young gentleman, bearing a similar resemblance to that of him. The stranger grinned, having no hesitation in loosening his grip of her hand. She smiled back in response, an indication of acceptance.

It was as though he was up there giving her his blessing, urging her to continue her life as before, without his company.

The End

Work?

Money - they doesn't grow on the trees, do they?

To all teenagers out there, who is thinking of becoming the next Sir Richard Branson - it is not impossible at all. Why ? Lemme roll up my sleeves first to type.

I just read an interesting, eye-opening article on the site www.entrepreneurship.com. It features many arising teenagers tycoon, most notably - Donny Ouyang. At just 16 years of age he is making more than $6500 a month as CEO of Kinkarso Tech, how the hell did he do that ?

Apparently, the little wise dude flipped open his daddy Computer science book and began learning HTML coding and blas blas and BOOM ! jackpot.

Now excuse me whilst i run up to the attics and search through dad's old boxes of wisdom.

My Tofu.

My dog, My Tofu, My Pet
You look so angry,
Everyone else should be wary,
Your eyes look fiery,
i cant rhyme any more.

This is lame, I'm no poet

See here on my left is the reason why i am moving. Nobody want us anymore, we are unwanted.

She, is a she, doesn't look that angry all the time, she frowns when you frown though. Now the picture on the right is when she looks petrified, she is a shy shy dog. She is only 5 months old though, and she's a tad fat.

On the top picture is how she sleep, on an afternoon nap. She will fumble-jumble herself and doze off. How uncomfortable is that. Well, whatever makes her happy.

Peace out.

On the Move

Apparently i am on the move, from apartment to apartment, this is because of my dog, no one wants a dog in their house nowadays. So what is the point of having a cute face and a loyal companion if people overlooks it with its pee, poo, and damages on your furniture? Maybe i should just get a house.

Moving isn't so bad a change either, you can get a better view, better air, better degree - in celcius that is. Since i am moving beside the sea, literally, i can see more seagulls now, and floating jellyfish huddling together - i swear zomg. Even though there is a rent hike and still no pets allowed, the hell with it, the perks are more than the jerks - i just love to rhyme.

See, i can even fish now, if i would have lived in a lower floor and beside a pier, i could have just take my lime green fold able chair and sit there in my balcony with my fishing line down the sea. What a life that would have been.

Sister's Essay

Sup guys, i forgot to put up an essay that i intended to a couple of minutes ago.

It was written by my own sister. Hear, hear.

Personal Recount: Describe the time when you spent a holiday away from your own home.

Michell Wijaya (21) 4SE

‘Flight crew, prepare for landing’, the Captain’s voice boom in the aircraft. Strapping the safety belt neatly around my waist, I could not help but broke into a grin. We caught one another’s eyes, and I was certain my excitement had spread to my parents seating on my left. We had finally reached our long-awaited destination, Melbourne, after seven hours of tedious flight.

It had been years since my last visit to Australia. The six-years-old me practically could not recall anything from the trip except for the fact that the sausages in Gold coast was scrumptious, and how I could not express my gratitude to the tour guide who generously offered me a second helping. Aside from that simple pleasure, the remains of my memories was already displaced by Biology facts, Chemistry notes and Physics formulae. It was June 2007, and I was thankful for the long resting period provided to my overworked brain.

I huddled gratefully into the warmth of my woolen jacket, in an attempt to avoid the cold chills sent down my spine with every opening of the airport’s sliding doors. It was winter, and despite the absence of snow, the uncontrollable chattering of my teeth proved otherwise. As I waited impatiently for my parents to complete the arrival procedures, I tried to catch a glimpse of the crowd gathering outside the arrival gates. The faces there were all of similar expressions – happy, glad and anxious to meet their loved ones. And yet, nothing. In exasperation, I was to the point of stretching my calves so badly in the process of tip toeing that I believe the sore would not go away for a few days. And from the corner of my eyes, I saw the familiar face I longed to see – my brother. Two years ago at my age, he had bravely left Singapore to further his studies in a foreign country.

He still maintained his cheerful disposition, his bronze skin seemingly to have lost its glow due to Australia’s four season’s climate. My mom hugged him affectionately, as though she was afraid he would leave her side once again. She commented on his diminishing frame when he still looked the same to me – an exaggeration perhaps triggered by motherly love. My brother and I exchanged glances, the mischievous twinkle in his eye which never failed to make me smile. I realized how much I had missed him, despite the annoying quarrels we used to have in our early adolescence.

My brother had taken off his school hours to fetch us, a sacrifice he was nonetheless happy to make. A shiny Mercedes Benz greeted us extravagantly in the car park, a birthday gift given by my father which he had taken pride and care of. Along the way, my brother took on the role as our personal tour guide. I saw many breathtaking views of Melbourne – little cottage houses furnished with chimneys and complimented by the blooming flowers in the garden, small children chasing each other gleefully under the strict scrutiny of their parents, and of course, Winter had cast its spells on the once evergreen trees, causing them to lose their leafy covers. I even managed to pick out a few street signs out of fascination, and realized the comical names they had been given. Some examples were Blueberry Street, Bacon Drive and Love Lander. My brother remarked casually that it was just how Australians applied their unique sense of humor.

It was 9am in the early morning, and our grumbling stomachs soon gave us away. My brother proposed to take us to a Western Cafeteria which was recognized for its famous waffles, a refreshing change to the normal Chinese cuisines we were once exposed to. I was initially disappointed at the absence of my favorite Gold coast sausages, which of course turned into a joke after I blatantly expressed my cravings. I ordered the house specialty of buttered waffles drizzled with strawberry syrup and topped with a scoop of vanilla cream – they called it Berry Burst – together with a plate of curry rice due to my extreme hunger. The food was served in the short moments of 5 minutes to our gratitude, but the humongous portions literally scared me. The rice provided on the enormous plates were double that Singapore restaurants served, and the mutton in the curry would easily amount to heavy kilograms. It was also costly, and my brother expressed his pains to this. He thus resorted to consuming a daily staple of sushi, since it was a mere $2 for a long piece and was filling. My mother got into her naggy mood and reprimanded him for scrimping again, and we broke into a chuckle.

Over the spread of the next few days, I was brought closer to Australian culture. Despite it being a Western dominated country, the distribution of races there were nevertheless equal. Chinese characterized by their yellow skin and dark hair roamed the streets, giving me a sense of security and warmth like I feel back home. It thus dawned on me that many overseas students prefer to settle in Australia, perhaps due to its rich entertainment and nearer location to the Asian region as compared to other countries like America. The Australian parents were less stringent of their infants in terms of cleanliness than the Chinese, allowing their children of tender age to crawl around on the soft ground of the parks. My parents would never have given permission for us to do so, expressing their unhappiness at our soiled clothes and the possibilities of contracting germs the grounds were rich in after a play.

Time passed like an unstoppable running tap, and on Thursday the second week, it was time to part. My brother waited to send us first before heading off to school, but my father chose to order a cab instead since taking the car would consume too much time. With our luggage fully loaded, we were to drop my brother off before continuing our journey to the airport. Along the way were those sceneries I saw when we first arrived - but this time my mood was different. I found no fascination at pursuing my observations of this foreign culture and avoided looking into my brother’s eyes, staring blankly outside the window instead. I was on the verge of crying. My brother told us of his experiences in Australia, but I found it extremely hard to concentrate on the conversation in my emotional state. When it was finally time for him to get off for school, we exchanged our last glances. The tears then started rolling down my pale cheeks. It was painful. It was tough. I watched his back walking slowly into the school building in a dreamlike quality, and could not help but to let out a scream for him to turn back.

And as though he heard me, he turned his head. The grin once again formed on his face, a very warm one to my heart.

I miss him.

P.S - Sorry but i just couldn't be bothered by re-writing the essay, copy-pasting is so damn useful. Oh and you know the fact that all essays must be exaggerated, the shiny mercedez benz is one of them.

Find her in Singapore Chinese Girls School if you want, get her autograph or something - though she's no JK rowling - though i don't like Harry Potter that much - well, shucks.

Second day into it.

Wooohoo ! Up and running ! Today might be that special day that the gypsy promised me last year. Alright you got me there, there's no gypsy involved, but it should be a.. lepp-something. I cant remember his species..

Do you read the difference between the last post and this recent post ? I'm not that mysterious character that you thought i am, i have no dark clouds shrouding over me. I'm a cheerful dude.

Oh, its a LEPRECHAUN !

So anyways, as an arsenal fan, i still can't get over the fact that they lost to Chelsea. What hurts more is that the scorer is an obnoxious snub Didier Drogba !

Trite Fact :
Didier Drogba actually spent a fortune in the Chelsea's gift shop buying his own jerseys just to boost his shirt sales. That happened after teammates Frank Lampard and John Terry tease him that his jersey sales are much lower than theirs. Wow, what a proud arse.

Well, never the less, he is a wonderful striker unfortunately, and he probably deserve those two goals.

How did i jump into soccer ?

Looking for Arsenal fans out there, lets sing in unison.

P.S - it was a biased one, i repeat, one vote out there in the polling. it was me.

Welcome note

I would like to welcome myself to the blogging world once again, as i have failed miserably many times before. Why do i fail ?
Due to the lack of interest, the lack of enthusiasm, the lack of know-hows to create and beautify one.

Now, this blog will not be included as a wonder of the world nor will it be a beauty to see.
Is just a showcase of simplicity.
A showcase of random stuffs and mundane trite - as i mentioned at the link, stuffs.

Why do i make one then?

Its personal.