Unplanned Detours

I'm going to try something different today. It's been a while since I last posted anything, and I've sort of missed ranting a little. I don't know if anyone even reads these things, but that's probably a bonus since I'm not convinced people actually enjoy reading what I write.

So. On to what I want to try.

For this post, I'll just start with a single topic and let things develop any which way they like, (mostly) unscripted.

Topic: things that have changed since I was a child

For one, I'm trying to be less of a projected ideal and more of a person. At some point in my childhood, I'd decided that being girly was something disgusting, something undesirable. I didn't want to enjoy Barbies anymore--I wanted sports and shorts. And I suppose it was around this time that I started actively dissociating myself from typically feminine traits, completely disregarding my actual opinions of each individual trait I was putting down.

Make up was for girly girls, so I won't like it. Skirts were for girly girls, so I won't wear them. Romance was for girly girls, so I won't let myself read about it.

Needless to say, the real me isn't actually so black and white, and I'd like to think that, at this age, I'd stopped trying to delude myself, if not everyone else.

I'm fine with make up. I like how it looks, sometimes, how it blends and how it makes somebody look completely different. I like the possibilities, the way different styles were suited for different contexts, the way it could hide flaws and accentuate pretty much anything. I like the eye shadow palettes with their perfectly coordinated shades, I like the surreal juiciness that gloss gives to lips, I like the smooth lines of properly applied eyeliner. I like the different shades of blush that range from pink to orange to brown, the shimmer of subtle eye shadow and the unreal boldness of mascara. It's a bit like art, really.

I'm fine with skirts. They can be a little impractical, but at least I'm allowed to wear them. Many males will probably never know what it's like to wear one, so I should at least indulge in this privilege for a bit. It's also been far too long since I've worn one anyway, and the first skirt that wasn't part of a school uniform that I added to my wardrobe felt like the start of a new chapter, the armour for a more honest me. It's still slow going, but I've recently (well I say 'recently' but I really mean half a year ago) acquired a dress. I pretended that it was unwilling because I still had a reputation to maintain, but in truth I think it suited me fairly well. I wonder what this says about me and how I've been throwing away the chances I could've had to wear feminine clothes that I would've enjoyed for the sake of upholding a ridiculous tomboyish disdain for all things girly. My mother wanted to buy me a skirt, once, a long time back. I did want the skirt--I thought the checkered pattern was cute--but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. I wished that she had pushed harder, forced me to accept it, because I was quietly hoping that her stubbornness could overcome mine. Maybe, if she had, I would've started accepting feminine things sooner.

I'm fine with romance. I may not say this out loud, but I'm starting to allow myself to voice a desire to find somebody to share my life with. It's slow, and it's difficult, because I've been denying this part of myself for so long, but it's happening. I'm opening up. I'm chipping away at the indifference that I've forced on myself as a child and learning to give voice to what I really think--thoughts that, to be quite honest, I'm still coming to terms with myself. Of course, I've not entirely deprived myself of it all. I do read stories with romantic primary plots, but this all happens online, anonymously, where I can pretend that I'm not myself and then ignore what happens online the next day. I remember saying, when I was in secondary school, that I don't ever want to get married, but even then I knew it was a lie. I'm fine with getting married. I do want to get married. But see, the thing is, I'll admit that I'm a little difficult to love, and I'll also admit that I don't want to settle for anything less than perfect, even if I have to personally make it perfect.

So you see, I can be honest with somebody that's not myself. It's just not easy when I'm face-to-face with somebody I've known since I was still firmly in denial about all things traditionally feminine. Even now, if you ever catch me saying I don't like something girly, there's a very good chance that it's just all for show and that I actually do like it. There's also a very good chance that I won't admit it yet, but hey, nobody's perfect.

But you know, things slip through anyway. I have hair combs. Freaking hair combs. I used to put my long hair up with chopsticks, and liked it so much I even went out to shop specifically for nice ones. I watch hair and make up tutorials because why not, and I develop ridiculous crushes on fictional characters. I do ballet. I read shoujo manga. I always look out for romantic subplots in novels. I dream of finding "the one" (even though logically I know they probably don't exist). I stare a little too long at some skirts. I enjoy every chance I get to wear those heeled boots I got a few years back. I'm not as repulsed by pink as I let people think--in fact, I think some shades of pink are downright gorgeous.

But it's also not like everything is a lie. I genuinely can't be bothered to shave or wax even if most people think it's unsightly. (Well, so do I, sometimes, but not enough to do anything about it. At this moment I'm big on accepting my body the way it is and trying to ignore what society tells me females should look like--because, honestly, if guys don't have to shave body hair, why should I?) I vacillate between liking my hair cropped short like a boy's and left long like some Heian noblewoman. I prefer chunkier, simpler, and matte accessories. I think I look good in straight jeans. My colour scheme is dark and unsaturated, with a strong preference for black. I like backpacks with thick, practical straps. I may care about my weight but I would dine at KFC every day if I weren't so afraid that I'd eat myself to an early grave by heart attack.

Well. I guess this rant didn't take much of a detour, but hey, at least I managed to get something off my chest.

Violently Varied

I dislike that I'm now known as the 'sister of a soon-to-be-doctor'. I dislike that my opinions about biology are only valid because I'm the 'sister of a soon-to-be-doctor'. I'm studying for a degree in BIOLOGY. I have some authority when talking about biological systems, and that authority is not dependent on my brother's undergraduate degree. In fact, some may even argue that I have more authority than my brother when discussing general biology, especially in areas not pertinent to human physiology, because his education is designed to prepare him for diagnosing human beings.

I mean, are you kidding me? I work my ass off studying something I'm passionate about, and the only reason my opinions regarding topics DIRECTLY RELATED TO MY MAJOR are valid is because my BROTHER is studying to be a doctor?!? They didn't even have the excuse that they didn't know my major because I was literally wearing a shirt that says: "National University of Singapore Life Sciences"!

I get that studying Life Sciences is apparently less glamorous and less memorable than studying Medicine to many people, but COME ON! What on earth is it with people and assuming that people studying to be doctors know MY FIELD better than me? I mean, if they said that my opinions are valid because I have a brother who is crazy smart and who likes to share things he knows with me, then yes, I would agree with that because that's completely true. But what on earth does my brother studying Medicine have to do with my grasp of biology?

You know what's worse? The people accusing me of knowing my field only by virtue of my association with a brother studying to become a doctor ARE MY FAMILY. My extended family, yes, but still my family.

What does somebody have to do to get some recognition around here? It's no wonder nobody wants to be a scientist and everybody wants to be a bloody DOCTOR!

Open Letters, Never Sent

To a colleague,
I'm sorry that you dislike me. I'm sorry that I have appeared to insult you (and managed to successfully offend) – I never meant any of it.

I had an inkling previously that you may not have the most sparkling opinion of me, but did not seek to confirm or deny it. It just was. It was a state of affairs with which I was distinctly unconcerned and which I decided could be left unresolved. It was one thing I did not deem necessary to clarify as we rarely interacted anyway.

As one of my favourite personalities once expressed in not so many words, the desire to explain oneself to others can be loathesome. I find that I detest myself for having to reason publicly why it is that someone whom I have not openly disdained has concluded that I am a waste of space and air. Clearly, given the circumstances surrounding this particular trait which urges me to enumerate the manifold personalities of my being, I have already handed you a clue as to why you may dislike me so.

It was not in the way you spoke that hinted at your disregard for me. Rather, it was the way you regarded me with apparent disinterest and a marginal measure of irritation. Your words were perfectly polite, your tone (perhaps carefully) pitched to present the very image of amiability, but I have seen the way you stand apart from me. All this, I have chosen to ignore, however, in the light of my recent employment and thus my lack of understanding of your person.

Maybe you were always like this, I reasoned. Maybe you were aloof to everybody else. Maybe you perpetually give the impression of being on the brink of expressing outright annoyance. Maybe it was just the way your face was constructed, something over which you have no control (I understand this point full well; I have always been self-conscious of my angry-looking eyebrows and how I must appear to those who do not know me).

I should have known you were giving me "preferential treatment" the day a close friend of mine whom I have known for years and who was employed in the same cohort as I responded to a comment I made by saying that you were very nice. I should have suspected at least that it was only me whom you dislike.

This was what I had told my friend (not verbatim, obviously, because my memory is infamously horrid) before she pronounced her favorable assessment of you: I told her that you and your friend (with whom you were much more pleasant than I had ever witnessed and who had earlier reproached me with more venom than I may have deserved, given that I was new and still learning the ropes at my first job) were scary.

I based this assessment on both your facial expressions and extensive coolness around me, the way your eyes were half-lidded as if to say that I was not worth your time.

I did not express any dislike for you, merely wariness. For your friend, however,  I had no such compunctions. I made a rookie mistake which was not deserving of a strict dressing down as had been delivered. Furthermore, you are two years younger than me, and your friend probably around the same age as you, thus compounding the unfairness I felt when berated as if your friend had been mightier and better than I in all ways, as if she could do no wrong and everything that I did will always be a misstep, as if I had not lived two more years of struggling with social relationships which have always proved to be an obstacle requiring immense willpower from me to overcome.

I am not like the rest of you. I am not comfortable at all around new people and in new surroundings. I fear slipping up and making mistakes, so I always always always act as if I know what I'm doing so that others will be less aware that I have committed a mistake. My way of dealing with too many new people at once is to shut them out.

When my friend told me today that you dislike me, I was not particularly surprised. You were never warm to me anyway. I was in fact startled to see how well you got along with her because I never had any hint that you were capable of that around new people. I may not have disliked you, but I did feel highly insulted and ignored and insignificant and all round unimportant (too unimportant to matter, too unimportant to mean anything to anyone, too unimportant to have my feelings looked after, too unimportant to bother being kind to, too unimportant to be human) when you situated yourself firmly between us and set up a human wall that prevented me from speaking to my friend, whom I have not had the pleasure of being assigned to adjacent counters until then (and whom I was almost desperate to have a decent conversation with, a hope which you readily dashed, thank you very much). It was my first real opportunity to work alongside her and you ruined it. Did you know that?

My mood was pretty sour but I tried to not let it show. I may or may not have succeeded – I cannot tell. Maybe you can. Maybe you could discern that I was a little distressed and very disappointed. Maybe you reveled in the knowledge that you had saddened me. Maybe you were selfish and wanted your new friend all to yourself, or maybe you were just innocently happy to have someone to talk to and did not realise the I too needed familiar companionship (in which case I'm sorry for any disparaging remarks I may have made about your kind nature). I don't know. I won't pretend to know what runs through your mind, how you think. I do not think that I will be capable of that anyway, given my social ineptitude.

Suddenly I began questioning myself again. Did I really matter?

What you should probably know is that I am highly susceptible to self-doubt. Every social interaction is conducted with a keen awareness of my own inability to interact agreeably with any amount of ease. My actions are either calculated or so spontaneous that I frequently (and most definitely unintentionally) offend others.

Was I like that with you? My friend offered that perhaps you dislike me because I first disliked you, which is certainly not true as I hadn't really formed an opinion until today. She suggested that I hadn't talked to you enough, to which I can only say that I do not ever recall you looking receptive to any conversation I might start.

Being that this was my first job, I was probably too focused on learning everything that I neglect to remember that I needed to plan every single one of my social interactions in order I prevent myself from insulting others or giving them the wrong idea that I dislike them (my eyebrows already have me at a disadvantage here). I don't remember much of my interactions with others back then.

Did I ignore you? Did I insult you? Did I say something offensive? How can I remedy this? I'm not sorry that I need time to acquaint myself with my surroundings, and I'm not sorry that I can only do this by shutting out the human element from most of my mental processes (hence my chronic inability to make friends in new situations), but I'm sorry you took things the wrong way.

Looking back, I think you may have crowed internally when your friend chastised me, leaving me rather embarrassed and mortified. I don't think anyone deserved that. I certainly would not wish it upon anyone I know, not even you or the one who had inflicted such wounds.

Maybe I was being subject to the bias against less attractive people (of which I am one of).

I'm not sorry that I do not like you, however, for we have not conversed at sufficient length and with enough breadth and depth for me to make an appropriate assessment of your person, and therefore can neither say that I like you nor dislike you. Therefore I do not like you, nor dislike you. I was leaning toward the latter, but something then happened that made me understand what had potentially caused your dissatisfaction with me.

I may have once again accidentally insulted you earlier with a slip of tongue that resulted in me calling for attention by a word which was less than courteous. I regret that. I'm sorry. I was not thinking. Believe me. I realised my mistake almost immediately after I said it but by then it was too late. Could this have been why you dislike me? Could it have been my tasteless "choice" of words?

What have I done? How can I fix myself?

Red, Pink, and Inaccurately-drawn Hearts

Here's what I expect, if I ever find myself a significant other, on Valentine's day: nothing.

I don't need a socially designated day of "love" to celebrate my relationships. I don't want a relationship which ups and downs are dictated by commercialised traditions which origins have nothing to do with their current meaning. I don't need a love that needs to be reminded annually that it exists.

If I ever fall in love with someone, I wish that they will understand that I don't need to celebrate this day because every day that our relationship still persists is a celebration in and of itself. If either of us wanted to commemorate our love, any day of the year would work as well as, if not better than (owing to the fact that I know for certain it has nothing to do with an obligation to act more like a couple on this arbitrarily determined day of love every year), Valentine's day.

If it so happens that one such day that we feel like enjoying each other's company is the 14th, then so be it. However, if it is because of the 14th that our relationship is suddenly treated with so much more reverence, then clearly we have different opinions and priorities.

The eve of Valentine's day, however, is a different matter altogether, given that it is the anniversary of the day of my birth. I would not be opposed at all to celebrating my existence, celebrating the fact that my parents loved each other enough to have me, loved me enough to raise me, that I may meet whoever it is who will (ideally but not realistically) complete me.

On the 13th, there will be no influx of couples giddy on manufactured love. My birthday will be full of other people's anticipation and my own fulfillment. It will be MY day to celebrate. A day for 1/365 of the world's 7 billion people to celebrate, not 1/2 of the same 7 billion.

Make-a-List Day 7: Cookie Cutter Mold

5 ways I conform to the Asian stereotype:
1) I am smart (I believe).
2) I have dark hair and dark eyes.
3) I am family-orientated.
4) I have slanting, shallow-set eyes.
5) I am short and slim.

5 ways I do not conform to the Asian stereotype:
1) I am not knowledgeable in the art of sexual pleasure.
2) My hair and eyes are actually brown, not black.
3) I speak close-to-perfect English. (Although I do have an accent, given that I was not raised by primarily English-speaking parents.)
4) I don't consider my eyes particularly small or squinting.
5) My skin is not yellow. It's merely less pink.

5 ways I conform to the female stereotype:
1) I like to dance.
2) I like fashion.
3) I have weak arms.
4) I like drawing more than I like sports.
5) I like jewellery. Just not the sparkly, gem-studded ones. I like mine simple, metallic, and with unique designs.

5 ways I do not conform to the female stereotype:
1) I don't particularly like pink.
2) I don't like shopping.
3) I'm better in the Sciences than the Arts.
4) I do not have 100 different nail polishes, shoes and accessories.
5) My wardrobe has no skirts.

5 ways I can gross you out with the hypermobility in my hands:
1) I can bend all my fingers (except thumbs) back 45 degrees with respect to the back of my hand without assistance, and 90-110 degrees with assistance.
2) I can bend the last joint of each of my fingers (except thumbs, for obvious reasons) forward together or individually while keeping the rest of it extended. Without assistance.
3) I can bend the last joint of each of my fingers backward 20-60 degrees (depending on the finger) with assistance. This makes it very uncomfortable for me to write for protracted periods of time (e.g. 3-hour long H2 Art papers in which 7 essays are written.)
4) I can achieve a 45 degree angle bending my fingers at the first joint alone assisted and unassisted.
5) I am very comfortable bending my wrist back and forth 90 degrees without assistance.
NOTE: I do all this without pain, so no humans were harmed in the process.

5 ways to identify my skeleton:
1) I have a conical right canine in my maxillae.
2) I have Brachydactyly A3. (i.e. the middle phalanx of both my little fingers are unnaturally short.)
3) I am very slightly knock-kneed.
4) While I do have larger-than-normal metatarsophalangeal joints, the lateral deviation of my big toe toward my other toes is not pronounced.
5) If finger and toe nails are considered part of the skeleton: I have relatively thick fingernails that rest atop criminally long nail beds. The nail of my large toe is longer than it is wide, while those of my other toes are relatively squarish (except for my second toe, which is wider than it is long).

5 ways in which I am (even more) unique:
1) I have inexplicable stretch marks on my thighs, given that I have never rapidly gained or lost weight.
2) I have fingers long enough and wrists small enough to wrap one hand around them and have my thumb fully cover the last phalanx of my middle finger.
3) There is some yellowish discolouration in the whites of my right eye that I have yet to discern the cause for.
4) My elbows easily hyperextend by 10-15 degrees.
5) My second finger is the fattest of all my fingers (excluding thumb) for reasons I know not.

Make-a-List Day 6

I recently watched Pacific Rim and Cloud Atlas, and have many opinions on the movies.

Inaccuracies in Pacific Rim

1) Carbon dioxide does NOT delay any acidic reaction. CO2 is itself acidic, hence it should, if anything, accelerate any acidic reaction of Kaiju Blue (but only if the order of reaction with respect to H+ is not 0).

2) Stacker Pentacost (Idris Elba) keeps insisting on mispronouncing "nuclear". It's "new-clear", Idris Elba, not "new-cue-lar".

3) Her name's Mori Mako, not Mako Mori, given that I'm certain "Mori" is her family name and the Japanese traditionally refer to a person by [familiy name][given name].

4) Why do Kaiju have DNA if they are extraterrestrial? One of the surest ways to prove that organisms descend from the same common ancestor from Earth is to determine the chemical composition of the molecule(s) which encode inheritable traits. In Earthlings, the molecule is DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid). Who's to say the Kaiju don't utilise some other molecule?

OBSERVATION: Did they even have anyone proofread the script and "proof-watch" the film?

Favourite Characters in Pacific Rim (in decreasing order)

1) Newton Geiszler: he is the star of multiple scenes in which my amusement skyrockets and which also redeem the movie magnificently

2) Hermann Gottlieb: I cannot get that scene where Geiszler offered his hand to Gottlieb for a bro-shake (or whatever it was, I have no name for it that I know of) and Gottlieb just...doesn't know where to fit his hand

3) Hercules Hansen: he's simply the polar opposite of his son (and also, I love his accent)

4) The secondary Kaiju brain in Geiszler's lab (it's adorable when it waves its vein/artery around and makes popping sounds when it adheres to the walls of its container by suction)

5) Tendo Choi: what? He's smart. And Asian. Well, we could have summed that up with "Asian" and leave it at that, given the stereotype that all Asians are smart.

OBSERVATION: Clearly I have no preference for American heroes and main characters, and a strong liking for smart people/things.

Least Favourite Characters in Pacific Rim (in order of increasing likeability)

1) Chuck Hansen: the bully

2) Raleigh Beckett: immensely boring despite his tragic past

3) Hannibal Chau: he's not number 1 only because he's comic relief and named himself "Hannibal" 

4) Stacker Pentacost: I hate how he's always figuratively manhandling the K-science team

5) ...Kaiju? There aren't enough characters I dislike enough to include in this list.

Favourite Characters in Cloud Atlas (in decreasing order)

1) Sonmi-451

2) The Archivist

3) Adam Ewing

4) Rufus Sixsmith

5) Mr. Meeks

Least Favourite Characters in Cloud Atlas (in order of increasing likeability)

1) Henry Goose, the doctor who poisoned Ewing

2) Seer Rhee

3) Denholme Cavendish

4) Dermot Hoggins

5) Nurse Noakes

Night Skies Hidden in Diamonds

Typical Reader Measures, by Grade

Grade	Reader Measures, Mid-Year 25th percentile to 75th percentile (IQR)
1	Up to 300L
2	140L to 500L
3	330L to 700L
4	445L to 810L
5	565L to 910L
6	665L to 1000L
7	735L to 1065L
8	805L to 1100L
9	855L to 1165L
10	905L to 1195L
11 and 12	940L to 1210L

This was taken from: https://www.lexile.com/about-lexile/grade-equivalent/grade-equivalent-chart/

And for some reason, when I took my test in 2010 as the equivalent of an 8th grader, this was my score:

Thanks for the ego booster.

Operation:

Because I have terrible self-image (especially in the physical appearance arena), I'm going to make a list of my positive physical attributes which I usually ignore in favour of weeping over other things. They are not very plentiful.

1) Hair
- My hair is so straight my friends think I had it re-bonded.
- In the sun, the individual strands of my hair shine like burnished copper.
- The shape of my hair is uncommon when I plait it.

2) Face
- I have a nose bridge (which one of my friends is insanely jealous over).
- I have eyebrows. Although they do look more like angry, hairy black caterpillars.
- I have a relatively slim face.
- My teeth are naturally aligned nicely, even if my incisors still have a curly edge as if they'd been cut by a child's patterned scissors.

3) Body
- I am fairly well proportioned.
- I have a relatively slim and long neck.
- I am not missing any body parts or internal organs (YES!).
- My body-fat ratio is consistent with an athlete's even though I haven't exercised outside of stipulated PE lessons and weekly ballet lessons since I was 12.

4) Arms
- My fingers are narrow. They are, in fact, bony, which is my preference, but some people don't like them that way.
- The nails on my fingers are large, long, and taper elegantly into an end.
- My nails look beautiful without nail polish.
- My wrists are thin and bony. Again, my personal preference.
- I have slim upper arms despite being an artist and writing many essays.

5) Legs
- My ankles are bony and the tendons at the back are prominent-ish. Once more, personal preference.
- There is very little fat content in my calves; they are predominantly muscle and bone.

6) Miscellaneous quirks
- I'm certain there are more moles on my right arm than the rest of my body put together. This is possibly only interesting to me.
- One of my canines is conical, which strikes me as highly unique.

The Colour of Starbursts

Student wearing their school crest: pride.

Raffles Institution students wearing their school crest: elitist.

Society makes it hard for me to be proud of where I am. They almost make me feel ashamed of being where I am on account of my efforts. They make me feel ashamed of having worked hard. It feels as if I am being punished for achieving by my own merits.

It is very likely that this very stigma against RI students is what further isolates us from everyone else in an effort to be with those who do not influence us to be ashamed of ourselves, of putting in our best. We may go as far as to don masks to avoid becoming vulnerable to attacks on our person, become the very person others think we are, the very person whom we may not be proud of, just to protect ourselves.

Why can't I wear my school crest, school name and school badge proudly and not feel like it is something I should be ashamed of?

Confessions

...that might get me flamed.

1) I don't think Susan Boyle is all that brilliant.

While I do agree that she has a good voice, I find her performances dull -- not because all she does is stand there, but because there is little variation in the quality of her voice. She applies the same formula to every long note, which gets boring after a while when you've listened enough impressive moments. There also appears to be little emotional cadence to her singing, which I what I look for when I assess singers. I am of the opinion that Adele is a better singer.

But what do you know, I'm not a professional music critique.

2) I don't see anything wrong with homosexuality.

I used to believe that it was wrong, having been brought up in a Christian family and conditioned to never question our pastors. However, the thing is, I pride myself in being a rational human being. After comparing heterosexual to homosexual couples, the only differences I came up with are: (1) the genders of the couple, (2) the ability to bear children and (3) the eagerness of states to deny homosexual couples the right to marry. I don't think that any of those constitute sins against any moral or ethical standards. Homosexuals don't harm others by being who they are -- I believe that pardons it from being a sin, especially since the New Testament appears largely in favour of a liberal sort of acceptance so long as none of the 10 commandments are breached.

I still consider myself a Christian because I prefer to think that the God-given laws governing the acceptance of homosexual relations has changed since the Old Testament (among other things) and that all this homophobia is the product of bigotry and unwillingness to understand. I'd also like to think that Jesus, who dines with tax collectors and heals lepers, would not condemn homosexuals for minding their own business behind closed doors.

Make-a-List Day 5

My lists got too long so I had to inject paragraphs. And underline things.

Commentary on popular X-Men First Class' minor characters
1) Moira MacTaggert has too little control over her emotions (or, at the very least, her expressions) to be a convincing CIA agent. To me, she basically embodies why "the CIA is no place for a woman", and explains perfectly why so many movies fail the Bechdel test.

2) Angel was a weak character with insufficient development and a rather unimpressive set of mutations. Another failure which exclusion and the movie's consequent failure of the Bechdel test would be forgiveable.

3) Darwin shouldn't have died.

4) Hank McCoy's feet had opposable thumbs. Opposable thumbs. On his feet. Like an ape. Did the comic specify that? No, really, that was a genuine question. I've never actually read it.

5) Magneto's helmet looks clunky, gaudy and terrible.


Scientific inaccuracies in X-Men First Class
1) Radiation does not necessarily make mutants any stronger. In fact they stand about as much chance of getting cancer as non-mutants.

2) I'm not even going to talk about how improbable the mutations are.

3) Identifying a marker in Raven's DNA sample does NOT imply an ability to generate a serum that induces one's default appearance to become normal. In fact, all a marker does is, essentially, sit somewhere along the genome and express itself like any other gene. It's often used in transformation of plasmids and bacteria.

4) For the record, I think diamond should be able to cut through whatever metal was wrapped around Emma Frost's neck.

5) Why wasn't the bullet pulled out of Charles Xavier's back bloody?


Commentary on relationships in X-Men First Class
1) How on earth did the producers think that hooking Raven up with Erik Lehnsherr immediately after her falling out with Hank McCoy was a good idea? Raven had never indicated any interest in Erik and Erik was more interested in Raven's status as a mutant than Raven herself. It was probably a one-time thing, though, and nothing too serious, because Raven did not stay in bed after but went to seek Charles.

2) Charles Xavier and Moira MacTaggert was so surprisingly unsurprising because Hollywood just needed its main character to get a girl -- any girl. Never mind if she's just someone insipid that helps the movie pass the Bechdel test. Which it didn't, by the way. This pairing was even worse than Erik/Raven.

3) I was sort of hoping that the movie would elaborate more on Hank and Raven's relationship. I think she had the potential to transform his doubts, just like Erik transformed hers, although I understand the need to make Hank inject himself with the serum as a result of him disagreeing with Raven on their appearance.

4) While I really don't understand the relationship between Emma Frost and Sebastian Shaw, I think Emma's comment (to Colonel Hendry) that she was "Sebastian Shaw's associate" seemed fitting. It appears that Emma and Shaw's relationship verges on the professional while maintaining a level of impersonal affection.

5) Hands up anybody who thought that Erik and Charles should just build their happy mutant orphanage and ditch the government already (Moira did NOT in any way inspire positive opinions of the government or the CIA). That way they'd get to keep their friendship AND share Raven, even if I think Erik/Raven was a mistake. Also, there will be epic bromance. On the downside, the entire X-Men series wouldn't have happened.


Commentary on the main characters of X-Men First Class
1) Erik Lehnsherr should probably have clubbed Sebastian Shaw's head off (instead of merely crushing a bell and rattling some instruments) when Shaw killed his mother. That would have saved everyone so much trouble.

2) Charles Xavier really should have been a little less calm about a stranger breaking into his house and stealing his food. But then I suppose that if you'd been able to tell that the blue-skinned girl wasn't a threat because you could READ HER MIND then it was justifiable.

3) Erik Lehnsherr (or should I say Michael Fassbender) looks really good when he's doing his thing with metal. I particularly enjoyed his invasion of the senior Soviet Official's house.

4) Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) actually looks nice in his frumpy cardigans and with hair. Too bad he eventually lost the hair he wanted untouched.

5) Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier would probably have made one of Hollywood's best fiction couple if either one of them were female. If only because Hollywood wouldn't dare to screen a gay couple (and because that might ruin the comics).


Favourite scenes from X-Men First Class
1) That satellite scene where Erik found the point between rage and serenity.
2) "...I will find you." (In French, spoken by Erik)
3) For some reason, the Argentina scene where Erik was looking for Shaw.
4) The beach scene when Charles was struck in the back by a bullet deflected by Erik.
5) Charles reading about his thesis.

Make-a-List Day 4

More words that mean different things
1) Graduated: post-college vs. marked with intervals
2) Inclined: agreeable vs. slanted at an angle
3) Solution: answer to a problem vs. homogeneous liquid mixture
4) Save: write a backup vs. prevent a goal
5) Vulcan: fictional alien species vs. did someone spell volcano wrongly?

Science-y words starting with 'P'
1) Palpitate
2) Peristalsis
3) Polypeptide
4) Panthera
5) Praseodymium

Non-science-y words starting with 'P'
1) Pagination
2) Prevaricate
3) Pontificate
4) Pintrest
5) Perfunctory

Colours that sound nice
1) Citrus
2) Mahogany
3) Ivory
4) Fuchsia
5) Burnt sienna

Nerdy quotes
1) BDE (Friendship) = infinite kJmol^-1
2) Bond. Covalent Bond.
3) You must be fructose, because you're sweeter than sugar.
4) I was a line but you have made me a vector.
5) ___________________________?

Make-a-List Day 3

I'm not even going to bother explaining myself anymore.

Words with less than 4 syllables that most people have never heard of
1) Eyot
2) Ablution
3) Moribund
4) Sacrosanct
5) Amaranthe

Words that mean different things to different people
1) Orbital: orbit route vs. area around an atom with certain probability of finding an electron
2) Unionised: recruitment for union vs. deionise
3) Gravity: importance vs. weak force
4) Shell: cockles vs. electron shells
5) Evolve: Pokemon vs. change in allele frequency

Words I think are catchy
1) Dodecahedron
2) Isle
3) Hannibal
4) Isosceles
5) Vignette

Names I will not give a child
1) Diarrhoea
2) Mary-Jane (alternatively, Mary-Sue)
3) Ching Chong Ching Chang Chong
4) John
5) India

Names I would give a child
1) Lucille
2) Esmeralda
3) Ian
4) Will
5) Sabriel

Make-a-List Day 2

Since I liked generating those 10 lists so much the last time, I'm going to make some more.

Things most people don't know about me
1) I have a thing for jewellery of the well-designed metal variety.
2) I am not homophobic.
3) I used to collect stamps and stickers.
4) I knit.
5) My short-sightedness measures at 900 degrees per eye.

Things you should know about Star Trek
1) If you want to survive an away mission, don't wear red if you're not part of the main cast.
2) Paper beats Spock, Spock beats Tribbles (sort of), Tribbles beat Klingons.
3) "Beam me up, Scotty" was never said.
4) Everything was invented in Russia, not S. Korea.
5) Kirk and Spock have some sort of permanent link that makes it impossible for them to break eye or physical contact for protracted periods of time.

Things that school will not teach you
1) Two positives do make a negative. ("Yeah, right.")
2) How to be a proper Victorian lady.
3) 2B is not the only variety of pencil available.
4) Persistence is does not get you everything.
5) The panacea of everything but death is death. Kind of.

Words I know that have more than 4 syllables
1) Discombobulate
2) Pulchritudinous
3) Hypochondriac
4) Serendipity
5) Tintinnabulous

Similarities between TOS and reboot-verse
1) Kirk has a protruding belly.
2) Spock sometimes uses contractions.
3) McCoy has the answers to all of Kirk's (medical) problems.
4) Scotty likes Tribbles.
5) Chekov is a Russian genius too young for his own good.

Make-a-List Day

In commemoration of Make-a-List Day, I am submitting 10 lists of 5 items each.

Things I can do that most people can't
1) Brush my teeth with my non-dominant hand at 90% efficiency.
2) Do the Vulcan hand salute and recite "live long and prosper" in Vulcan.
3) Dance en pointe.
4) Draw.
5) Understand nerdy jokes.

Things I do that most people don't (or won't)
1) Wear 3 different accessories (watch, necklace, ring) because I feel bereft without them.
2) Wear my jacket even though it's noontime at a tiny equatorial island.
3) Run away from cats because they're assembling a Secret Kitty Assassination Squad.
4) Set the audio track of Star Trek (2009) on repeat on my phone.
5) Laugh at nerdy jokes.

Things I won't do that most people would
1) Attend concerts.
2) Watch cats play with a ball of yarn for 5 minutes and then proceed to spam YouTube with comments about their cuteness.
3) Spell "maneuver" instead of "manoeuvre" because the English invented English, damn it!
4) Use "txt tlk" because there is a perfectly functional language that sounds and looks beautiful and shouldn't be butchered.
5) Confuse "loose" with "lose", "effect" with "affect", "your" and "you're", "deprived" and "depraved". Etc.

Things I like that most people don't
1) Star Trek: The Original Series. (Even though I like it, I have to admit that it's one of the worst TV series I've ever had the pleasure of watching.)
2) Correcting grammar.
3) Lady's fingers.
4) Smart people.
5) Nerdy jokes.

Things I know that most people don't
1) The extent to which I can tolerate annoyances.
2) How to distinguish a plumber from a chemist.
3) The name of a genetic disease that causes the ossification of muscles.
4) The number of comics currently residing on my shelf/shelves.
5) The secret code that deciphers nerdy jokes.

Types of friends that I have
1) The nerd
2) The fan girl
3) The oblivious one
4) The one that doesn't realise she's propositioning to everyone all the time.
5) Any combination of the above + mandatory insanity

Things I spend more than 1 hour a day on
1) Reading fan fiction (~6-16 hours a day)
2) Sleeping. (~2-13 hours a day)
3) ...
4) ...
5) Studying. (This remains conditional; it applies only in the pre-examination season)

Things I don't like about Shatner's Kirk
1) He has a distended tummy despite being so fit elsewhere.
2) He probably waxes his chest.
3) He sleeps around too frequently.
4) He is prone to histrionics.
5) He looks terrible in combat despite being regarded as proficient.

Things I loved about reboot-verse Star Trek
1) Sexier NCC-1701/USS Enterprise.
2) Lens flares.
3) Kirk had the potential to be smart -- very smart.
4) Sneak peek into life at Starfleet Academy.
5) Parody after parody which I recognised.

Things I hated about reboot-verse Star Trek
1) Amanda Grayson and Christopher Pike died.
2) Vulcan was destroyed (and 6 million Vulcans died, leaving an estimated 10,000 survivors).
3) Spock and Uhura are in a relationship that never happened (and was never hinted at) in  ST:TOS.
4) Kirk did not fulfil his destiny as a very smart man; he was unexpectedly immature and ignorant even after his promotion to Captain.
5) WHERE IS THE BROMANCE IN STXI??? Granted, I'll give you that they more than made up for it in STID (Star Trek: Into Darkness).

Now that I've made you read through 10 lists, I will reveal to you that there is no such thing as "Make-a-List Day".

I also figured that making a list of things I hate about ST:TOS would most definitely have me sitting at my computer until I die from sleep deprivation, although it would also have an equally long list of things I love.

To borrow a phrase from someone on YouTube:
Yay 60's.

Postulating Trans-warp Theories

That it. It's official.

I'm attracted to nerds.

I mean, I like a great-looking person like any other girl (although my tastes do sometimes gravitate toward the outlandish and not-conventionally-dashing -- see Benedict Cumberbatch), but my primary concern tends to lie with nerdiness. Or intelligence. (Which are, by the way, not interchangeable.) Possibly because I myself am not particularly physically attractive and therefore do not expect the same of others.

My favourite actors, which are far and few between, have all been to university and studied some ridiculously pretentious-sounding courses like Classics (Tom Hiddleston).

It really doesn't matter what kind of nerd this person is, although I draw the line at politics. They could wax poetic about the etymology of 'pulchritudinous', expound the the degeneracy of the genetic code, ramble for hours about the sweeping force of supercells, dissect the Declaration of Independence word by word, be righteously angered by a pair of misused parentheses, or just plain warble about the universality of Mathematics and I would effortlessly be drawn toward them.

Or they could be Star Trek nerds, which (to me) defer from geeks insofar as they have genuine academic interests in and actively pursue the study of working theories to warp space-time or development of universal translators.

I'm just, really, a huge sucker for people whose eruditions give me insight into things I have an interest in.

It explains my fervent interest in House M.D. and BBC's Sherlock, although not my highly inexplicable fascination with Star Trek: The Original Series (which is, in general, a terrible television series compared to the others from the Star Trek franchise, from props to script to acting -- although there were some occasionally brilliant storylines).

I am not surprised to realise, therefore, that I have surrounded myself with friends who are (a) intelligent (I'm talking about SAT 1 > 2300) (b) obsessed and/or (c) talented.

I am, however, slightly saddened that I am not quite anything like the kind of people I find myself inexplicably drawn toward. I have neither extensive knowledge in any particular field nor all-consuming passion about any discipline. I kind of just...flop around on the surface of a great number of vastly different (and sometimes nearly irreconcilable) subjects like a spineless marine creature.

...that wasn't very eloquent, was it.

Here's a birthday gift idea: a shirt that says 'talk nerdy to me' would be very much appreciated. I am about done with inane conversations regarding the colour of shoelaces or the logic of painting nails fire engine red instead of rose (there is none; nail polish is illogical).

Live long and prosper.

Dif-tor heh smusma.

Unwilling Competition

I have lost myself again.

How can it be, that I have lost myself yet once more? How can it come so soon?

Why do I lose myself so easily?

It is...difficult for me to bring this up. I can easily, almost casually, acknowledge that I once experienced relatively strong rivalry between my cousin and I when I found myself floundering because I had not expected to be pitted against her in such close proximity (in the same class), when I had never once felt the need to do so.

I overcame that hurdle, somewhat, with the unwitting help of my parents who will probably never realise what a huge favour they did for me when they told me that they did not expect academic excellence from me. I still struggle with this issue somewhat, but the worst is behind me.

There were days when I begrudged some higher power that I had been placed in the same class as my cousin, who, despite being new to the school and stranger to almost everybody, had a friend in the class with her. I was different. I was not acquainted with anybody in the class despite coming from the same school as most of the girls. I felt terribly, terribly lost.

My inability to socialise did not help. Friends were hard to come by for me, and I cling onto those I make. For me to be in a class full of eager strangers comfortable in a foreign environment nauseated me, frustrated me, terrified me. Why could I not be like them? Why must I be the only one suffocating under the curious gazes of strangers?

It had taken me three months to make my first friends in class, and by then my cousin had already established herself as one of the popular kids -- cheer-leading, exuberant personality, kind soul. I was the one at the back of the classroom eyeing everyone else and thinking to myself, "I can survive these two years without them. I don't need any friends."

(If I were in an American high school, I may be the kid who gets pushed into lockers, whose head is dunked in the toilet.)

I nearly had myself convinced. If I could not make friends, I will make do without them.

But I did find friendship eventually, and oh, what a magical feeling! I no longer dreaded school because I saw it as another day of dredging myself up from bed to study amongst strangers, not alone, yet lonely.

I have accepted that I do not make friends easily, but it is perhaps because of that that friendship, when given to me, is such an unbelievably precious gift.

I cannot thank my friends enough for their courage and will in pursuing me.

I found myself again, with friends, and a unique subject combination (Biology, Chemistry, Mathematics, Art) that never failed to remind me that I have a niche, I am irreplaceable, I am who I am, and I am going to be happy with that.

I now know and accept that I will never be like my cousin, and that I don't want to be her.

For half a year, I was content.

Then my sister was accepted into my school and the whole process started all over again, only this time, I have to contend with it both in school and at home, which is the entire day. It wears me down that I must contemplate such issues when I know with the rational part of myself that it is utterly irrational to do so. I cannot do anything, so I should just let it be.

But the thing about me is that I think too much sometimes, and I feel more than I think.

I never expected to react so strongly to my sister's enrolment into my school. I knew, logically, that my competitive streak was only going to get worse, but great gobbling geraniums, I never knew I could feel so lost, insignificant, useless, and unspectacular after she came.

It was a period of great adjustment for me. All my life I thought of my sister as "the one who is in St. Nick's" and "the one who is very smart but cannot be compared to me because we are graded by different standards in different schools". She was never "the one over there with long hair" or "the one who looks like me, but is prettier".

And then, all of a sudden, she was all that, and more. She was "the one who has more friends", "the one who is more popular", "the one who will get better grades", and, most recently, "the one who encroached upon my niche".

You must understand that my niche is something that I protect and guard jealously. For all my life I have always been the artistic one (or, well, the more artistic one of my siblings). There has been no one who has actively pursued art as I have. I can admit that my brother is a far better artist than I am, but that is largely due to the fact that I had learnt to draw from him, and that I had always admiring him and had no qualms admitting his brilliance. I have never once doubted that my brother was and is my superior in many areas, Science, Mathematics and art amongst them.

What I had never considered, was my sister. I had always thought of her as the one who is academically excellent, someone whom I have come to accept will always be my academic superior (despite some part of me trying very hard to deny this, wanting to claim that I am the smarter one). But after I accepted that, I learnt to build a niche area around myself to distinguish myself from her: art.

I am not the best art student, nor an excellent one. I am merely doing something I have great passion for, and I find peace and mental calm in the idea that there is only me in this, that there is no one to compete with, not my brother (who does not intend to pursue art), not my cousin, and most certainly not my sister.

Except, she joined the school's Photography Club this year.

I confess I expected her to join some uninspiring club like "Entre" (which attempts to nurture entrepreneurs) or something academic like "Biology Society". Photography was way out of left field, and it hit too close to home.

Suddenly I wasn't so unique anymore. My niche wasn't my niche anymore. It became "our niche" and I hated it.

Because I am an Art student, I used to be the only one in my family who had a...not claim, but a great stake in the lone DSLR camera in our household, but that's not true anymore. My sister will be using it weekly for her club's activities, and it sickens me that I have thought to sabotage her by demanding the use of the camera every club session (because I am certain my parents would side with me, as Art is not merely a club activity for me, but an examinable subject).

I can't help but feel dwarfed by her presence. Is it strange that an elder sister feels as if she is living in the shadow of her younger sister's greatness? It probably is; if I could change my sense of insignificance I would.

But I can't. All I can do is live with it.

I am known for my snark -- if one does not know me well enough I would come off as very mean. I have, over the past month and a half that my sister has been in my school, snarked at her for not knowing everything there is to know about my school -- simply because I was feeling inadequate and needed a means to prove my superiority, no matter how petty that means is.

When I compare myself with my sister, I fall short in nearly every aspect: I am not as beautiful, not as slim, not as smart, not as friendly, not as dedicated, not as confident. And that is where all my problems stem from, isn't it?

My self-esteem is not very well established; it flounders in the face of even the slightest of waves. What has taken months, years to build can be washed away with just one word.

I feel pathetic for it.

All my life I have lived under someone's shadow (except for the brief periods when, by fluke, I was admitted to both the GEP and one of the top schools). Their greatness overwhelms me, frightens me. I want to be somewhere not there, to bask in metaphorical sunlight so that I may spread my leaves and grow.

I found a piece of land of my own, and had begun to take root and grow, slowly because I was afraid to fail if I grew too quickly, afraid to learn that I had made the wrong decision about that piece of land and had to relocate my roots. I had found my niche when I took that step forward and applied for the Art selection test (which I had previously failed two years prior to then) and was accepted. Finally, I found somewhere unique. Some place I thought no one would encroach upon, especially not my academically brilliant sister.

Yet now my sister competes with me.

She has taken root beside me, or perhaps had grown elsewhere, but so quickly and strongly that her leaves now tower over mine, now that I am forced under her shadow. Again. Yet once more, I have to share with her.

I have shared many things with her: a house, a room, a bed, but this has come the closest to pulling me apart.

I had no say in the abovementioned, but I did have a say in my choice of subjects. I chose Art. I had thought that I could finally stand apart from her.

Not so, it turned out.

As if sharing a home, a bedroom and a bed wasn't enough, I now have to share a school and my facilities with her. I say "my" facilities because I believed them to be owned exclusively by the Art students, with occasional usage by the Photography Club's and Art Club's. I don't actually mind the Art Club using the art room much, though, because I know most of them.

But now that my sister's joined the Photography Club, I feel as if my sanctuary is being violated. No more a sanctuary, no more safe place.

There is nowhere to go where she will not be.

The world is closing in upon me, first my cousin, then my sister. What next? Will I implode upon myself?

I feel like yelling at her, "Why must you keep doing this? Why can't you leave me alone?"

But I think she wouldn't understand. This insane jealousy of my sanctuary is probably unique to me. The spaces once safe from her are now crowded with her. I see her image everywhere. Will I ever be free of her? Why is it that as I grow older, more independent, she seems to grow increasingly omnipresent?

She reminds me of all my shortcomings -- not beautiful enough, not smart enough, not sociable enough.

Why can't I just be?

Then I think, this is all in my head. All this competition, this need to have a safe place, is no more than a desire to stand out, to not be one of many, to not be constantly overshadowed. Have I reason to believe that I am? No, not really. I just do. Perhaps it's self-esteem issues, perhaps it's just me being unreasonably competitive.

Either way, it is through no fault of my sister's that she engages in activities she enjoys, joins a school which she believes will benefit her. Perhaps I should have done the same, transferred to some other school since this one now seems to be infested, crawling with family members whom I feel are walking right into my personal space.

It's all in my mind, surely, but it doesn't make it any easier to handle.

I wish there was someone there for me who will lend me their shoulder to cry on, who will understand when I say that I feel breathless, who will know what I mean when I say I suffocate.

I tell myself to be the better man, to not resent them for what they cannot help.

But I also think, why must I do this, when I too cannot help what I feel?

Then it all comes to me. It is not what I do to someone who deserves it that makes me a great person. It is what I do not do to someone who deserves it that does.

In this case, no one deserves anything. They do not deserve my resentment, neither do I deserve to feel crowded. But if I do not do anything, no one will suffer (save me, but then, what is one person in the grand scheme of things? And this sort of suffering may be no suffering at all next to the starving in Africa, Indonesia, etc.).

If no one (involved) ever comes to know of my efforts to keep from exploding, that is perhaps for the better, because I will not know what to do otherwise.

Transcended from Shadows

It struck me suddenly how liberal I am with reading romance fan fictions while hesitating to pick up proper published novels of the same genre.

Fun fact: I only own one romance novel in my not insubstantial collection of book.

I'm not particularly embarrassed to say that it is a copy of "Twilight" by Stephanie Meyer, because I truly thought that it was well-written (granted, I was still in Primary school when I made that judgement). I never did get round to picking up its sequels, though, because it seems to me that all the reviews of all subsequent books in the series were in adamant consensus that Meyer had nothing fresh to add and was merely recycling ideas and phrases, and making things even more convoluted than I would have thought possible.

I suppose that one of the reasons I enjoy reading romance fan fictions is the fact that I knew the characters before they were thrust into any semblance of a relationship with each other.

I like for romance to be moulded to the characters, not the characters to be carved to fit whatever romantic notions the author decides to put in place. Similarly, I like adventures and turmoil and conflict to be shaped by the characters' unique mix of personality traits, and not have them cast to fit the plot.

Perhaps I find the idea of being introduced to new characters whose personality I have no grasp of to be repulsive. Perhaps it is the thought of delving into a trashy and cliched drama that is similarly repelling (all the blurbs I've read seem to revolve around the same thing: boy meets girl, girl is enamoured with beautiful boy, boy has unspeakable secrets, girl helps boy overcome them, read on to find out what happens next).

Whatever it is, I find I have no fondness for fumbling with character development throughout a romance story.

Because I am of the opinion that romance is not a "BANG-I-love-you" kind of thing. It is hardly love-at-first-sight, though I must admit that instant infatuation seems to be a probable happenstance. I like it to be slow-moving, to be thoughtful, to be deliberate. The idea of not having any control over yourself when you first find someone who appeals to you on a sexual level is relatively disturbing.

Of course, I myself cannot deny dreaming of fairytale romance. I mean, come on, wouldn't it be nice to know that there is a soul mate out there, and before you meet that person you can completely ignore the hardship behind courtship and seeking out that perfect someone?

I would really like it if there is someone out there tailored for me, whom I will know upon first sight (yes, typical sappy romance storyline, but the difference lies in the fact that THIS IS REALITY and you cannot expect any such things here) is the one I will forever dedicate myself to.

In this way, I guess I envy fan fiction characters. It all seems so clear that they were meant for each other, that they can be fully certain that this person is the right one for them, that whatever they do they will still be in possession of that enviable affection.

I find that real life deprives us of such surety.

Maybe life is short-changing us, maybe it's giving us a choice, but I really wouldn't mind if I were to be spared the agony of ploughing through a million, a billion faces to find someone whom I can live with for the rest of my life without tiring myself or my partner out.

Maybe I read fan fictions because, when I am reading, I find myself able to "live in a dream." It's nice to depart from reality every once in a while, truth be told. Refreshing, even.

Isn't it painful that every relationship that you will endure in reality has to be deliberate, a choice to love? Maybe this is why I want to see this sacrifice in romance fiction, to observe how this imperfect process can be made perfect and beautiful.

You can never know for certain that you will give up your life for this one person unless you were hanging above a roiling pit of molten rock with your loved one hanging on the other end of the rope, and to live is to swing yourself to safety, cut that rope when you are above ground, and let your loved one fall into that molten pit.

I would rather not experience that myself, but oh, what I would give for such a selfless love.

The thing, though, is that I'm not sure I can properly reciprocate that all-consuming an affection.

I have my reservations. What if I am hurt? What if my partner decides that I am unworthy? What if? What if? It is too easy to say "I love you," but too difficult to be prepared to lose everything to hear that phrase echoed back at you.

Well, my dear counterparts in fan-fiction-land seem to lack such hesitance. Bless them.

I don't think I can truthfully say that I have ever been in love with any living, breathing mortal. I love my parents, my siblings (yes, even my sister, despite the sometimes-venom that I vehemently project), my art, my friends, and (be warned, one obligatory religious example coming right up) my God, but can I every truly, sincerely say that I am in love with someone?

Being in love implies some sort of sexual attachment, which, really now, I am a little too premature for. But it is more than that, I think. It is an all-consuming river of affection that should never let up once it starts to flow, it is the unstoppable sensation of wanting to lay in "perfect" arms and never get up, it is something I read so often about but can't imagine ever experiencing myself. It seems too wonderful to ever exist, or even if it does, to ever happen to me.

But it must be mitigated by love. Love, to me, is the deliberate choice to shower attention upon someone. Sometimes it is obligatory, such as in family, but you can never force yourself to love someone you do not wish to. I could probably be in love with someone but not love them. I could definitely love someone but not be in love with them. I could, most likely, love and hate all at the same time.

Love is a fickle thing, and the English language is wholly ill-prepared to define it adequately.

I am a difficult person to even love. Who in their right mind would decide to fall in love with me?

Well, then again, since I believe falling in love to be an non-cognitive development, I suppose that "deciding" is the wrong word. The correct phrasing would be: "Who in their right mind would be audacious enough to instinctively desire the pains that could only come with falling in love with me?"

I don't even make friends easily, although one may argue that the friends I do make are firm ones, like rocks embedded in the earth. It takes an age of digging to get to me and be my friend, forget any mindless attraction. To become my friend is to be patient enough, willing enough, bull-headed enough, and most of all, smart enough to know when to stop pushing.

Because I will push away those who press too hard at the wrong time.

So, with all these factors, falling in love with me is definitely an 11 on a difficulty scale of 1-10, 10 being most difficult.

But I think I will settle for loving, and being loved in turn. Being in love is troublesome, especially when there is no guarantee like in fan fictions.

But somewhere, maybe I just want someone to prove me wrong.

Incandescent

I'm not entirely certain how they knew which words to say and when to say it, but however they went about selecting the occasion and means, it worked perfectly.

In essence, this is what they told me:

"We know you're not exam-smart. We just want you to try your best."

And boom, there goes my insecurity. I may not have realised it then, but that put me to rest. A lot.

My worries mostly revolved around having to compete with my super-exam-smart sister, who has this crazy affinity for memorising through verbal cues, when she gets back her 'A'-level results in, say 2-3 years time and discover that she's done better than I have (I will be taking my 'A'-levels NEXT YEAR and I frankly don't think I'm going to score well enough to get into any university based on grades alone).

I admit that I've always been slightly paranoid about my grades. Coming from a rather no-name Primary school and then rushing into the Gifted Education Programme (GEP), I went from first in class to last, which, I must say, did wonders for my self-esteem.

I stopped trying so hard to excel, because I discovered, early on, that no matter how hard I tried I will still be behind somebody, and the fact that I can't find a way to catch up to them just simply...pushes me off the edge of caring so much any more. I suppose you've figured out by now that I have some sort of "first or last" mentality. If I'm not one of the top, I don't see much point.

That is, admittedly, a terrible philosophy to live by, but I managed, somehow.

And then, after obtaining rather more spectacular a Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE) score than I expected, I found myself in one of the most prestigious Secondary schools and, once more, floundered at the bottom of my class. I might have almost given up on actually doing well at some point when I realised that everyone around me was scoring 3.6 GPAs for their first Common Test and I, a miserable 3.14.

Thereafter I think I threw myself into the monotony of just caring enough to do reasonably well, but not exceedingly concerned with outdoing anybody whom I have resigned to always do worse than. Which, without saying, is quite a lot of people.

Of course, I loved it when I exceeded my own expectations, low as they were. But I think, somewhere, I've always set the bar rather high for myself for certain subjects and assignments. When I've actually worked for something, I think I expect a 3.6 GPA at least. I mostly did fine.

I ended Secondary school with a bang at 3.54, worse than the 3.66 I got mid-year, but fantastic nonetheless, considering my terrible start to my Secondary school career.

Junior College was simply...crazy. Some parts of it were fun, such as the one memorable holiday where we had to return to school to complete our paintings in time for our Common Test. I don't think I ever spent as much on bottled green tea at any other time. Others, not so. I particularly dislike having to orientate myself in my new class, and did not take well to Physical Education (PE) at all.

From Secondary school up to Junior College, I had been rather shielded by the Integrated Programme (IP) I was part of, which allowed me to transition into Junior College without having to sit for the 'O'-levels. This spared me from having to compare with my other crazy relative, my cousin.

Oh, she's delightful, I'll give you that, and I'm not saying this out of spite. Well, one thing that bothers me is how I seem to have lost some important memories between Primary school and now in order to explain the somewhat cool relationship between us, but other than that, I've gotten to know her better, and she's perfectly fine.

Have I mentioned that she's in my class?

I was terrified when I first discovered it. The IP rendered me immune to comparisons with her, since, hey, no 'O'-levels, but now, I really fear for my grades. I keep thinking that because I went to a supposedly better school and had a supposedly better education, my parents would expect me to do much better than her in exams (which is ridiculous, of course, since she's been admitted into my school and she wouldn't have gotten here if she wasn't competent).

I don't want to disappoint them.

In comparison, I think losing to my sister would be the lesser evil.

There are a couple of factors influencing my fear, including the fact that I believe her mother to be somewhat competitive about the "rivalry" between us, as my aunt was a student at my Secondary school, which my cousin did not attend (I blame one-time PSLE scores for her not getting in, I suppose she would've if we assessed her long-term), and neither did my mother.

I don't know why I perceive it this way. I really don't.

My sister attends the same Secondary school as my crazy smart cousin, which is really not much of a relief to me. Either way I'm still going to be compared to them. Sometimes I think I should have transferred to a Junior College offering the International Baccalaureate to spare me this stress of being compared, of comparing myself with others.

I don't know how many people know this, but I'm absolutely terrified of letting my parents down. Apart from my miraculous admission into the GEP and my allegedly excellent Secondary school, I am nothing spectacular. In fact, I think most teachers would venture to say that I'm probably one of their worst students.

And I won't deny that.

I have absolutely no idea how to study for exams. I think I would do much better if you perhaps gave me a few tasks spread over the year and assessed me according to that. Sometimes, it seems as if I have luck on my side because I have failed every single one of my General Paper essays for practice but scored an 'A' for my Common Test, but this isn't going to hold out.

I'm terrified, and I have no idea what I need to do.

And then my parents came along and told me that they don't expect me to do excellently academically (or, rather, in examinations, because I'm just that exam-stupid).

For that, I'm willing to work hard. For them, who trust and believe in me, I'm willing to give my best, not to show results, which would be nice, of course, but to express my gratitude for their faith in me even when I have none in myself.

It's like a weight off my shoulders. I know they'll be disappointed if I fail terribly, certainly, but now I also know that they won't look at me and judge my worth by my grades. I no longer have to judge myself by how well I do in examinations, how well I score. I just need to do it. The pressure is on a different area now, and this kind of pressure, I think I can live with.

I'm actually rather disappointed by how I perceived my self-worth. I thought I was beyond that.

Ah, well, I guess there are some things I don't really know about myself.

Without this burden of obtaining top grades, I feel as if I could just study with earnest and actual vigour instead of merely memorising facts to regurgitate during examinations. I feel as if I could potentially actually enjoy school, that it's not about achieving, which I have thus far failed to do and for which I have set no expectations for myself for fear of failing.

It's about me just enjoying things.

It's about me learning things my own way.

It's about me, just being me, and them loving me for all my academic failings.

It's about me, loved by them.

I love them, and I am not afraid to say it.

The Broken Subterfuge

Disappearing Distance: 43.4

For the sake of my rapidly vanishing sanity, I have decided to hold a monologue (with myself, obviously) on this blog. Must be very exciting for you all, being able to sneak a peek into my otherwise obscure and shrouded-in-shadows life. Yes, so very exciting.

But come on now, who do I kid? There's probably no one to read this anyway.

Well, here's a little inconsequential trivia for you: my weight is currently a palindrome. Or at least, it was when I weighed myself a couple of hours ago.

What truly fascinates me is that I have never, not since I was 5 centimetres shorter (that might have been more than 5 years ago), weighed under 45.0 kilograms.

...oh come on now, you can't expect me to be ashamed of my weight. I'm not one of those flighty girls on the street who giggle and blush when you compliment their make-up, then act all offended when you pry about their measurements (actually, I don't know my sizes, so don't bother). Really now, do you actually expect to see me with make-up?

That is, however beside the point. I digress.

In a most interesting twist of what I hesitate to call fate (because, surely, not many of you believe in fate), I find myself much lighter (almost 5.0 kilograms lighter, in fact) than I was a few months before, around the time of NAPFA. This has been most surprising, considering how much fats I consumed during my little stint in New York where I was fed the equivalent of 6-7 proper Asian servings a day when 3 would already have been more than enough thank you very much.

(I didn't finish around half of that, of course, but still...)

I must also add that most of those meals consist of deep-fried chips (fries, if you're American) and BBQ chicken (not exactly my cup of tea) with way too much oozing oil for my comfort.

ANYWAY.

When I weighed myself this morning out of curiosity, I found myself at 43.4 kilograms, which left me quite stupid for a few moments as my hard drive struggles to discern what could possibly contribute to this stunning loss of weight.

Must have been the days I spent sleeping and the nights I spent awake, it finally (and brilliantly) deduced.

Jet lag, I blame. I don't eat in the nights (no appetite) so naturally, sleeping in the mornings and waking at night led to only one or two meals a day, certainly not enough to maintain my impressive weight of between 45.0 kilograms to 48.0 kilograms.

For the record, I have never exceeded 48.0 kilograms -- never even reached it, in fact. It's kind of like a weight ceiling for me. Similarly, I have never lost so much weight that I fall to below 45.0 kilograms. It just doesn't work that way, you know, when you're actually eating proper meals and not fed the garbage they load onto your tray on aeroplanes (or the hunk of junk they dump onto your disposable plate -- almost every meal in New York is taken with disposable utensils -- when I was back in the US).

Pity.

I'm not actively trying to correct my sudden weight loss, though. Perhaps I see it as a challenge to myself; my sister posed to herself the challenge of being 43.0 kilograms by some day in May, so maybe my subconscious just wants to prove to myself (because, really, who else am I proving to?) that if she can do it, so can I.

I almost did it (not that I was actually consciously trying).

And I'm using this as an excuse to binge -- not that my stomach is letting me eat much. I need to ease a little into eating more than a handful of rice. Ugh. Ooh, I miss gorging on food.

My point is, I'm taking full advantage of my delightful loss of weight, but I suppose I should caution myself not to go too far. I realise that I am becoming somewhat obsessed with maintaining this sub-45.0 weight and it's not good for me. I think I might be verging on anorexic soon if I don't stop harping about how slim I'm going to be if I lose just a kilogram or two more.

Hey, if I'm going to continue losing weight, maybe I'll be as thin as Cumberbatch who plays Sherlock Holmes in BBC's modern-day adaptation of the famous detective!

(...Grace, Awa, what have you done to me? Now I'm hopelessly pining for Sherlock season 3 which won't be aired until end of next year and it's ALL YOUR FAULT!)

Although, that's not particularly a pleasant thought. I mean, his leanness is nice to admire and all, but I don't really fancy being all awkward elbows and knees (not that in my current state I'm not close to -- I've been told I've got thin arms -- but I try to be less sharp...unless you're talking about wit and tongue, then I would dearly love to hone those).

Okay, my stomach's feeling really funny now. That can either mean that I'm really hungry and should probably swallow a whale or that I'm really full and all that churning's warning me to head for a toilet. I think I'll go for the latter, seeing how I just had a really big lunch earlier (mm, frozen lunches and bananas is a really good way to fill you up when you're home alone and bored to death trying to procrastinate on homework).

Ta.

Expunge the Darkness

I was approached by a stranger yesterday regarding a drawing I had been working on then. I believe it is the first time I have ever been publicly commended for my art before.

As it happened, I was attempting manga-style after a term (or more) of abstinence from the style. While I waited for the bus to arrive, I took out my sketchbook and continued from a previous drawing (which subject matters were China, Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong and Taiwan from Hetalia: Axis Powers). All in all it was a pretty mundane situation.

Despite being more than pleased with my drawing, I did not expect to be praised by a complete stranger. He was, I estimate, in his early twenties, and spoke to me in rather fluent Chinese. One of his questions, as I recall, was, "你画的啊？" (approximate translation: Did you draw this?) which I personally believe to be a rather silly question considering how he could've observed for himself that I was indeed drawing it.

Disregarding his less than desirable observational abilities, it was flattering to be complimented in public space. He proceeded to ask me, "你会画 One Piece 吗？" (approximate translation: Are you able to draw the characters from/in the style of One Piece?). I told him (in considerably fluent Chinese, I should hope) that I regrettably do not as I do not even read One Piece. I neglected to say that I did not think that One Piece's art was all that fantastic anyway.

To be honest, his honest (and bold) articulation of how much he liked my art stunned me and at the same time made my day. I believe I will forever remember him as the first person to proclaim appreciation for my art without knowing me at all (even if I no longer remember his face, only that he was wearing a white shirt).

Dry Oceans

I don't think I've ever felt so ill before.

Things started out pretty mild -- slight lethargy with occasional throbbing headaches. I actually developed goosebumps even though I knew, logically, it wasn't even cold.

It got progressively worse after dinner. My body felt too heavy for me, and it seemed to demand rest even though I wasn't actually tired enough for it. My movements became sluggish and walking became lumbering. I took my temperature (after attempting to hunt down the school-issued thermometer and giving up, using instead the common thermometer at home) and discovered, much to my chagrin, that I had a mild case of fever.

37.8 degrees Celsius.

To most people that isn't very high. However, my body temperature hovers at around 36.7 (or lower) when I'm healthy, which makes 37.8 at least a whole degree higher. It definitely constituted a fever.

So I downed a Panadol tablet and went to sleep a couple of hours later at 21:00.

I woke up this morning at 06:40 feeling hot. For a moment I wondered if the temperature was suddenly cranked up all around the world because I don't remember feeling so warm in the mornings when it hasn't yet reached June or July. My head pounded and I could barely shuffle my way to wash up. My legs hardly held me up as I changed into my uniform.

When I went down to prepare to leave the house I felt light-headed and indescribably warm. Sweat was literally being secreted from all my pores. I think I asked if it was warm today, but I don't recall receiving a reply.

A wave of nausea overtook me and I stumbled into the nearest wash room before collapsing against a wall when my sight all but disappeared behind black. I realised that I had almost fainted. I've fainted before and I recognise it. It felt like my whole world was going out behind my eyes, like gravity simultaneously disappeared and reasserted itself ten times over.

Diarrhea followed, accompanied by the sensation of throwing up. I went through the motions of vomiting but I could expel nothing. It served only to choke me of air and make me feel terrible. I began burning up again. It was too hot, too stale, too uncomfortable. My stomach lurched and my head began throbbing again.

My mother came to check on me and decided that I shouldn't report to school today.

So I didn't. I passed time resting in a chair until 08:15, when my father drove me to see a general practitioner. I lay in the back-seats of the car with the buckles digging into my back. At that time, I was to exhausted and lethargic to bother about the discomfort.

I had begun to cool down. Things weren't so bad. It didn't feel too hot or too cold. I wasn't shivering or sweating, but I was feeling slightly sleepy and unsteady on my feet. The family clinic opened at 08:30, but it wasn't until 09:00 that we got to see the doctor.

In that 30-minute window I once more experienced vertigo and the impending urge to throw up, feeling weak and nauseous and decidedly uncomfortable during the wait. It got so bad that I had to lie down with my head on my father's lap because my head felt too heavy to hold up. I tried to vomit into a plastic bag but wasn't successful.

I was diagnosed with recent food poisoning since there was more throwing up urges than diarrhea. The doctor prescribed me activated carbon tablets and some liquid medicine (couldn't read his handwriting). I rested in the car again while my father drove me back.

Once home, I took the opportunity to fall asleep on the couch (my bedroom was on the third floor, and since I couldn't even walk, I settled for the sofa in the living room). It was about 09:45 when we got home.

I continued to sleep until 10:30, when my father had to leave for work. He informed me that he had made me some porridge (the watery kind with absolutely no flavour whatsoever), which I consumed when I awoke again at 11:30 (after downing my medication).

I used the computer until 14:30, after which I decided to take a rest. Once rested, I didn't really wake again until 21:30. It would be easier to count the hours I was awake than the hours I was asleep. I'm sure I slept for more than half a day -- I'm guessing somewhere around 14-15 hours, and it isn't even the end of the day yet.

Things are getting better. My mother also got me a new watch since the strap of my current (or previous, depending on how you see it) one was breaking apart. Yeah, the watch is that old. Actually, it's even older than you think, because I had the strap for that watch replaced before. In fact, I think I replaced the battery at least twice too. The watch wasn't being very reliable either. It stopped for 5 minutes a couple of days back.

I'm still having acute stomach pains (cramps, the doctor called it, and gave me a tablet for that during the consultation) and the occasional shooting head pains, but I think I should be viable for school tomorrow.

Temperature's a lot better now: 36.8 degrees Celsius.

Violation of Memories

I don't understand how I can continue leaving things behind in classrooms.

Just 2 weeks ago I left my writing pad. Just this Friday I lost my homework file (which has my timetable in it as well as - you can infer from its name - my homework). I think I'm beginning to forget more important things.

I'd like to just screech my indignation to the world, but that's not going to make it better. First thing tomorrow, I'm going to go look for that damned file in B46 AND the SAC. If I can't find it there, then I'm screwed. Royally screwed. Because without my timetable I have no idea where to search. Or if I'm supposed to be somewhere during Protected Time.

Damnit, I only noticed that it's missing now, and I can't even be certain that I haven't brought it back and left it in some random corner of my house because I DON'T REMEMBER ANYTHING about it.

Sometimes I can be such a fool...

Meteor Rainfalls

Things are radically different now.

For one, I find myself surrounded by a population half constituted by males instead of the "all female with the random male teacher thrown in" profiles I've been around in RGSS. It makes for some rather interesting classroom entertainment (because, seriously, the guys have this strange, inexplicable tendency to embarrass their fellow male classmates), if you're not averse to them bouncing about like monkeys on drugs. Personally I think they're weird, but hey, that's just me.

One of the most disturbing things I noted was that girls don't seem to know how to conduct themselves -- especially when sitting. Some sit on chairs with their legs crossed as if the chair was the hall floor, others propping their legs on their other knee and baring their thighs wide apart. It wouldn't have mattered so much if their skirts weren't as short as Singapore is small compared to Russia. It's so indecent I don't even know where to begin. Perhaps I'm just being a stuffy prude, but I'd like to keep my legs closed, thank you very much.

Homework isn't too difficult, unlike what I was expecting -- perhaps only so because I'd been hearing horror stories about JC life. Whatever the case is, lectures are boring to the point of having levelled up their "put students to sleep" ability until they achieved "spontaneous slumber."

It is super effective.

Especially in Biology lectures.

Now I'm not saying that the lecturers don't know what they're talking about. What I'm more concerned with is that while I know that I don't know the content, I somehow can't seem to stay awake. Perhaps the lectures are dry, perhaps something about note taking just strikes me the wrong way, but damn it, there has to be some way of getting through a Biology lecture without nearly succumbing to Morpheus, who for some reason finds me unreasonably attractive during lectures and wishes me to join him in his realm.

So, here I am, being tempted (quite successfully, I might add) to marry myself off to Morpheus and live happily ever after in his land of forever slumber, with a terribly boring life to keep up with when I am awake. My choice should be pretty clear, but things can't always be as I wish them, and hence I am stuck with my continued existence in this plane of consciousness that does nothing but bore me and further screw up the mechanisms in my brain my insisting that I process more information than my poor grey matter is willing to.

Friendships between myself and someone else within my class are pretty much non-existent at the moment, most likely due to my detachedness and markedly icy countenance with every attempt at class bonding instigated by either the Civics tutor or some class effort.

I am not one for socialising, you must realise. I am incredibly awkward around strangers, especially those who try to include me in everything. If you want to get to know me, just be there, don't talk too much, don't ask too much, don't try to get me involved in anything. With time, I will warm up to you (whoever you are) and will learn to appreciate your company.

For now, though, things are still rather lukewarm. There are some people who are, in my opinion, trying too hard to get me involved, and others who look on and don't know what to think of my two-faced attitudes. Even I myself don't know what to make of my reactions, much less people who don't even know me.

I'm learning to welcome the presence of those trying to get to know me instead of merely tolerating their efforts (that, at best, I can only appreciate the intent but not the way they went about doing it, because I'm not your average student and I don't bond over sports), and I find this gratifying since I'm going to have to spend 2 years with them.

It's probably going to be painful if I were to endure 2 years of people tip-toeing around me simply because I don't give them the right impression off the bat.

Go slow, don't rush, let me come to accept you. If you push, I will distance myself. Let me come to you instead, don't make me claustrophobic with your efforts, don't be someone you're not. I'm not a pleasant person to people I hardly know, and you may not appreciate my brand of sarcastic humour once I'm comfortable enough around you to unleash it, and if you find yourself deterred by these, then you aren't going to enjoy being my friend. We'll settle for acquaintances.

Sometimes things develop differently and we get to know each other by rather unconventional means. That's fine. Just don't expect me to hug and hold hands like a good RGSS girl. Abstinence of hugs has been my modus operandi since Year 1; I don't do casual contact.

I don't like people interrupting my rhythm and plans. Stay out of my way, smile a little, and maybe I'll decide that you aren't just one of those people who want to involve me in the class just to show that you can. I'm not a tool for you to practise your people skills on. Go find someone more average.

...okay, I don't know how it devolved into a rant about my expectations of people and the way they treat me, but whatever. There's my rant, there's my personal discourse, take it or leave it.

Vulcan Salute

I honestly can't remember a time I couldn't do that. Ever since I tried it it's been as easy for me as breathing.

If you're feeling kind of lost right now, the Vulcan Salute is a hand sign originating from an alien species, "Vulcan", in a series called "Star Trek".

It's pretty simple to do in theory. Simply hold out your hand as if to indicate "stop", press your pinky to your ring finger and your index finger to your middle finger without compromising the space between your ring and middle fingers. Try it if you're feeling particularly smug about the dexterity in your hand. Heck, try it with your feet even (I can't do that, by the way, but then again my toes can barely separate from each other).

...it seems that I am a pretty rare type of human. Some people can do it after intense practice, others find it impossible for them if they try anything short of tying the appropriate fingers together. I think the general consensus is that it is not impossible, but highly improbable that anyone should be able to successfully demonstrate the Vulcan Salute on their first try.

Well, I live to defy.

Anyway, this was brought up by my recently renewed interest in Star Trek. I loved (and still love) the series, although I must admit that the special effects when the series was first aired in the 1960s were that close to making me tear my eyes out from their...lack of sophistication. I can't really imagine how that particular season managed to win "best effects" at some awards ceremony.

Then again, 1960s. The people then probably had rather...ah, low expectations of their special effects specialists. I'd imagine that technology advancements gave our modern TV films their much deserved advantage in "wow" and realism factor.

As odd as it is for me to open my first post in half a year with my opinions about the Vulcan Salute, I find it oddly suitable. At least, suitable when I'm trying to convince myself that I'm indeed set apart -- in some marginally enviable way. I can't fathom anybody getting jealous over my eyebrows.

I am human, after all, I like to have something that is (even just minutely) sought after. Like my ability to do the Vulcan Salute first time trying. I didn't actually realise that it could be so hard for others to do it. I just did it, went on my merry way, and forgot all about it until I read up in a Star Trek article on-line that the Vulcan Salute was so difficult to do on the spot that many actors had to arrange their hands before being filmed. I...thought it was funny.

What? Can't I find something like that funny to boost my ego? It's pretty bruised right now, you know. I've been reading quite a number of fantastically written fan fictions and I'm wondering if I'll ever reach that level of skill in my writing. I mean, I'm fairly certain that I am above average but I am not completely certain. It would be nice to have proof.

And now you must be wondering why I'm being envious of writing skills instead of artistic prowess. I must admit that I enter a lull stage during the holidays. I don't tend to draw quite as much when I'm sitting in front of a computer and have an entire world (of fan fictions) to explore out there via the Internet. I'm just a little fickle-minded about my interests like that. I haven't painted anything digitally in months. I'm kinda itching to do something, but I don't know what, and I don't know if my abilities will be able to help me carry it through to completion. I tend to abandon projects halfway if I do not have adequate motivation to sustain my interest.

No, wanting to paint for the sake of painting is not interest enough. I should probably have something like...a project to finish to make me rush to finish something. I need a healthy dose of urgency to get anything done, I guess. I don't like pressure, but sometimes I think I need it.

Well, I do have a book cover to paint, but I'm not quite sure when my commissioner needs it done by...

If anyone wishes for an update about my trip to the US (specifically the states of California and Nevada), you'll have to ask me personally. I haven't typed a ridiculously long blog post in ages and my fingers need time to break in to the habit again. Ugh, my knuckles are kind of punishing me right now.

You'll have to pardon me if I come across as easy to set off when we next meet. I've been experiencing a series of unfortunate events lately, the least of which include a cut that had me freaked out because it caused the flesh within one centimetre of it to swell for half an hour before subsiding. The cut is only about .3 centimetres long, for goodness' sake! You know what else? I got it while changing bedsheets. I don't know how I accomplished that, and honestly, I don't want to know. I must be the first person to get what looks like a paper cut while pulling sheets over beds. Fantastic.

Besides, my flesh has never really swelled around any cuts before so this one had me really afraid. I thought it was infected with some fast-acting bacteria. For those thirty minutes I contemplated that I might die.

Oh, I also contemplated my own death on an aeroplane on the way to the States. There was this one point during the flight when the turbulence managed to upset my cup and in-flight meal. It also managed to upset my heart rhythm, which was admittedly much more terrifying that overturned food. I really couldn't find the mind to think about food when I was facing the very real possibility of dying before my holiday began (the "before my holiday began" part wasn't what was bothering me, just for the record -- it was the dying part).

There, you have my mind in a nutshell. My day is so boring I can't even begin to express how...utterly uneventful it is.

Perhaps I should blog more often about my internal monologues. Seems fun, somehow, and it will mean the promise of more frequent updates. I don't tend to feel like updating about my day because, now that I think about it, it's pretty personal, and I devolve into hideously long rants without further prompt whenever I recount anything. The last thing we all need is a ten-mile long blog post.