Rama Lulut

OCIP Sarawak 2005 is destined at Rama Lulut, This is the exact same village I spent my OCIP in. I know I cannot make it, I know I cannot join yet I so wish to. Make a special arrangement and fly over after A levels???

I feel cheated and jilted. I have planted so much memories, emotions and personality into the village and now, it would all be washed away by a new batch. I want to return, I need to.
__ Would Rimung remember me? Would Treddy still play water polo-cum- dodgeball with the inflatable beachball along the river bank? Would Aarong still make the lame jokes that connects and transcends all language barriers, with me in mind? I need to go back, I just need to.!!!

web

I shall begin to revive my dead site starting today,
How I miss Xenoglossia.tk

Mr. Sticko makes a return

Bitch

I commemorate this week: Bitch Week.
Never have I bitched this much , been such a (retarded) bitch, done such bitchy things and engaged in so much bitchanusiness before.
Happy Gone Bitch week everyone.

I shall try to let out all my steam to my soft-toy crocodile by midnight tommorrow. No more bitching.

The Adagio of life and death.

Today, a part of my life revived. But when life is given, from else where is life taken. I saw another dead bird today, this time its a beautiful huming bird on the wrong side of the see-saw of life. I moved it from the road to the bushes and thank god that he placed my heart and hopes on the higher end of the balance.

Thank God

It was a good match

Water Polo: We kicked them good.

The Council Swim team :)

Passive photography II

Run with God. Run. We're all proud of you.

At cross country

No Hard feelings Ian :D

A dead bird

I took 2 cows home around 2 midnights ago. I then realised that I was stealing state property, so I carried the cows all the way back down agin.

Things They Carried

I just flipped over the final page of O'Brien's work and for some strange reason, I continued to hold the book in my hand. Perhaps, it is the smoothness of the cover, with those little dents and stuff, that makes me want to cling on to it a little while longer. Perhaps, this is one of those few books I click with.
(sorry william) When I read Othello, or Regeneration, or EMPIRE OF THE damn SUN, the story is constructed through words, compiled via layers of foundations and ideas into the framework of my mind. But this book, it is just different.
Surely, it may be sliiiightly more vulgar and crude than the other texts, yet in a very cultured way, my mind my memories my being somewhat melts into the book. For that 7 hours, Tim O brien was me.
My friends seem to find a fondness in the short stories that showed the emotions of war. One included a guy called Lemon being blown into a tree, causing a comrade to sing 'lemon tree' while plucking his corpse down. Another preferred a story about a girl who flew in to visit her boyfriend medic and ended up mixing with Green beret commandos, causing her to go wild, desolant from her boyfriend, making a necklace from human tongues and eventually running away to the forest.
On the other hand, I personally liked the story about his first love the most. Its roughly about losing his first love at 9 (yes age 9) and how he found solace in dreams, not as an escape but as a means to be with her again. I liked it. Nothing much to do with the Vitneam War, no mines, no bombs, no guns, just plain life. I felt the click. A nudging pry that opened my old wound apart, a logical analysis of what happened to my very first one too. After I knew we can never be together, I slumbered to dream, never at once daring to admit I slept not to rest but to search.

Nostalgia. I like it.

Soon a war of my own shall start. One that has already been lost once and I may very well be crushed a second time. But still, I'l rather find solace in defeat rather than solace in dreams.

Jackistory

Below are some observations I have made recently

2003(sec.4) -- I was the sharp tongue of the hostel. I could insult anyone I wished to, weather them down into a speechless rubble.

2004(JC1) -- I no longer insult on impulse but I still retain the ability to redirect any insults and jack the offending person.

2005(JC2) -- I have lost all ability to jack and have ironically become the jacked to the extent of even being jacked by teachers.

Last night -- I am jacked publicly so badly, I felt like plunging my head into my carbonara if marc and audrey did not splash (note: not drip) tabasco sauce into it.

Direction

Red Eye

Flood of red

Passive photography: process by by camera automatically charter its journey via photos taken by other people

Surface Run-off

A Bridge's view

The Singapore sky-line behind a wire

Look what the cat left behind

Fireworks in the pouring rain

A s.m.s

A short message.
That is simply all what it is. A few press of the thumb, translated into digital signals and data. Yet, it is these few small clicks that disarranges me, block by block. Watching the phony clock in my phone spin around on its axis. If i hold it close enough, I can feel the small minute clicks away

It is raining outside and that unkown nudge made me run out with my camera. I love the rain, I love the tears. Forget my own, I shall not miss Heaven's.

Blogspot

Blogspot screws up eveything.

Maria

frenzy

Waiting

Flowers of Yellow, against the sky of grey