No Happy Ending.
As dictated by Faranza Syns
Due to popular demand from countless fans (Ruz only, actually) I've decided that really, letting something so damn important to me die just like that is silly, stupid, and a sure sign of a budding ignoramus.
In simple english: Heck, I love my blog, and what's the point of closing it down?
Diagnostics is just around the corner. Two weeks, tops. And heck yeah, it's important. The level of its importance ranks up there right under Trials exams which is consequently right below SPM.
Now we're getting serious. Intervention? Pfft. That's rat patootie compared to this. This is monumental. This decides whether my life would end shortly. This will be the bump on the road. This will determine how I leap, and how I fall. This will be the wind that brings me up high, or the unforgiving storm that renders me immobile as I watch it destroy the remnants of my frivolous youth.
Okay, I have had enough of dramatics for one day, so let's focus on the logical stuff, eh?
Whatever logical stuff my brain can process right now without going into cramps and spasms.
Let's take a look at my schedule throughout Intervention, shall we? Let's start with the weekends right before it.
Saturday
Materials read: A quarter of Chapter 3 from Sejarah.
Others: Did anything but study. Re-read The Undomestic Goddess, read the "Love Me Through the Night Anthology", read Lori Foster's "Indulge Me", and searched the net frantically for "Drive Me Wild" by Lori Foster. Again.
Sunday
Materials read: Erin McCarthy's stories.
Others: No damn studying.
Monday
Materials read: Maths. I didn't bother to read it throughout the weekend because I thought that the book was (conveniently) still inside my desolate old locker. Then, I looked under my bed and the horror of a textbook was sitting there, innocent as you please. So, there I was, at 5.50 in the morning, frantically reading through Number Bases and whatever that second chapter was.
Others: At night, I know, I should've learned my lesson. But noooo. I had to sit at the dining table that was oh-so-conveniently-placed near the big, tempting TV, and heck. I'm not human if I could resist that kind of temptation. Not a strong one, at least. And so, I sat there, enraptured, watching Black Hawk Down, falling irrevocably in love with Josh Hartnett. Oh, oh, oh. Of course, I fell all over for him only after he tried so hard to save all his rangers. I do have my standards, you know. A pretty face ain't gon' make me melt that easily. But that fact remains a fact: I did not study that night. Went to sleep at 11.50. Blissful, restful, sleep.
Tuesday
Material: Chemistry Success Book. Woke up at 5.50 (again, eventhough I vowed to wake up at 5.00) and read through chapter 7. It's sad really. This is what we call incorrigibly idiotic. But I was happy, so bear with me. Struggled through AddMaths, and smiled through Agama (although I only read two chapters from the text book.) I have a niggling suspicion that I'll soon be leaking waterworks when I get my Agama marks.
Others: Stayed in bed, from 8 p.m. to 5.a.m. Read ebooks on my phone while lounging on the bed. Did not even bother to sneak a peek at the Physics book, nor the Sejarah book. Lori Foster and Erin McCarthy were more interesting anyway.
Wednesday
Materials: Sejarah. I did not even study Physics. I have false bravado in me and my bizarro mind seemed to think that pseudo courage would get me anywhere. Ah, the illusions we entertain.
Others: Read Erin McCarthy. "Houston, We Have a Problem." Not as delicious as her previous anthology, but mature (as in the writing style. And the content. Sheesh) and well presented. Loved every inch of it. Did not bother with Bio.
Today
Materials: For the first time in three consecutive days, I did not wake up at 5.50 to read Bio. No, I left that for 2 hours before the exam. And heck, if that was not enough, I even sat outside with Euge, Amanda, and Nurul. Apparently, I have the darnedest effect on Nurul. Whenever I am in the vicinity, she starts yakking and starts cracking dirty jokes. Not that I don't contribute too, but heck, I never knew I could make Nurul speak a 1000 words a minute.
And apparently, Euge was talking about me making a spectacle of myself over Joshua. Eesh. Enough already. It's bad that I think the guy's partially hot, when he so definitely is not.
And that is the darned truth, I tell you.
But anyways, I've made a discovery too:
And there I was, sitting between the two of them, blinking in bewilderment.
I can't even be sure I'd get a brand-new spanking laptop after SPM (instead of getting my brother's lousy, albeit red-hot-cute, one). Much less a car. It's something that would get the "Haha, quit pulling my leg" reaction from my parents.
What I really wanted to say was: "Damn, so I'm NOT an anak manja for asking for a spanking new laptop (that, might I add, I have never owned)?"
Now that SPM is getting closer, I can't help this feeling of dread. Not dreading the exam. Dreading what'll come after.
I've known you since forever.
Been with you half my years.
I don't think I'll know any other way to live, than with you.
So how exactly am I supposed to leave school, never to see you again, except on rare occasions?
Heck, I suppose we'll be fine. But it doesn't mean I'm not having an onset of trepidation. What if I just fall flat on the first time I have to make an impression? What if I suck to high heaven?
But then again: What's the point of it all, if you're not terrified to fail?
So when the time comes, I'll remember what I always tell myself (amidst the screeching of panic and non-stop head banging going on inwardly) and take a deep breath, and just kill it.
Because heck, I'll have long enough to make other impressions, huh?
Oh agony.
Haha.
Wishes, wishes.
Let's leave those to dreams. Because let's face it: I'll never find my guy with the hip-shot stance, sex-swagger and leather jacket.
I'll really miss him in my dreams, though.
You, primitive.
Me, tentative.
We're dimensions apart.
In simple english: Heck, I love my blog, and what's the point of closing it down?
Diagnostics is just around the corner. Two weeks, tops. And heck yeah, it's important. The level of its importance ranks up there right under Trials exams which is consequently right below SPM.
Now we're getting serious. Intervention? Pfft. That's rat patootie compared to this. This is monumental. This decides whether my life would end shortly. This will be the bump on the road. This will determine how I leap, and how I fall. This will be the wind that brings me up high, or the unforgiving storm that renders me immobile as I watch it destroy the remnants of my frivolous youth.
Okay, I have had enough of dramatics for one day, so let's focus on the logical stuff, eh?
Whatever logical stuff my brain can process right now without going into cramps and spasms.
Let's take a look at my schedule throughout Intervention, shall we? Let's start with the weekends right before it.
Saturday
Materials read: A quarter of Chapter 3 from Sejarah.
Others: Did anything but study. Re-read The Undomestic Goddess, read the "Love Me Through the Night Anthology", read Lori Foster's "Indulge Me", and searched the net frantically for "Drive Me Wild" by Lori Foster. Again.
Sunday
Materials read: Erin McCarthy's stories.
Others: No damn studying.
Monday
Materials read: Maths. I didn't bother to read it throughout the weekend because I thought that the book was (conveniently) still inside my desolate old locker. Then, I looked under my bed and the horror of a textbook was sitting there, innocent as you please. So, there I was, at 5.50 in the morning, frantically reading through Number Bases and whatever that second chapter was.
Others: At night, I know, I should've learned my lesson. But noooo. I had to sit at the dining table that was oh-so-conveniently-placed near the big, tempting TV, and heck. I'm not human if I could resist that kind of temptation. Not a strong one, at least. And so, I sat there, enraptured, watching Black Hawk Down, falling irrevocably in love with Josh Hartnett. Oh, oh, oh. Of course, I fell all over for him only after he tried so hard to save all his rangers. I do have my standards, you know. A pretty face ain't gon' make me melt that easily. But that fact remains a fact: I did not study that night. Went to sleep at 11.50. Blissful, restful, sleep.
Tuesday
Material: Chemistry Success Book. Woke up at 5.50 (again, eventhough I vowed to wake up at 5.00) and read through chapter 7. It's sad really. This is what we call incorrigibly idiotic. But I was happy, so bear with me. Struggled through AddMaths, and smiled through Agama (although I only read two chapters from the text book.) I have a niggling suspicion that I'll soon be leaking waterworks when I get my Agama marks.
Others: Stayed in bed, from 8 p.m. to 5.a.m. Read ebooks on my phone while lounging on the bed. Did not even bother to sneak a peek at the Physics book, nor the Sejarah book. Lori Foster and Erin McCarthy were more interesting anyway.
Wednesday
Materials: Sejarah. I did not even study Physics. I have false bravado in me and my bizarro mind seemed to think that pseudo courage would get me anywhere. Ah, the illusions we entertain.
Others: Read Erin McCarthy. "Houston, We Have a Problem." Not as delicious as her previous anthology, but mature (as in the writing style. And the content. Sheesh) and well presented. Loved every inch of it. Did not bother with Bio.
Today
Materials: For the first time in three consecutive days, I did not wake up at 5.50 to read Bio. No, I left that for 2 hours before the exam. And heck, if that was not enough, I even sat outside with Euge, Amanda, and Nurul. Apparently, I have the darnedest effect on Nurul. Whenever I am in the vicinity, she starts yakking and starts cracking dirty jokes. Not that I don't contribute too, but heck, I never knew I could make Nurul speak a 1000 words a minute.
Nurul: *cracks joke about butts and how much I liked smacking them*
Me: *grins*
Nurul: *laughs, somewhat near hystericals*
Me: *turns to Amanda* Was she this talkative before I came here?
Amanda: She was pretty darned quiet.
And apparently, Euge was talking about me making a spectacle of myself over Joshua. Eesh. Enough already. It's bad that I think the guy's partially hot, when he so definitely is not.
Me: He's only hot when he opens his mouth. To speak.
And that is the darned truth, I tell you.
But anyways, I've made a discovery too:
Julia: Eh, Eugene, you're going to get a car?
Eugene: Yeah, my mom wants me to try out driving and stuff.
Julia: That's not fair! I'm not even sure I'll get a car.
Me: *blink blink*
Julia: That's not fair! I've passed my "L" and my parents still aren't sure about getting me a car. You haven't passed a thing, and yet you're getting a car for sure!
Eugene: *speaks something in the fast manner he has always adopted till I could not make out what he said*
Julia: *whines* Aww, Eugenee. Gimme your car okay?
Eugene: After SPM.
And there I was, sitting between the two of them, blinking in bewilderment.
I can't even be sure I'd get a brand-new spanking laptop after SPM (instead of getting my brother's lousy, albeit red-hot-cute, one). Much less a car. It's something that would get the "Haha, quit pulling my leg" reaction from my parents.
Julia: Aih, Eugene, you're so anak manja.
Eugene: *turns to me* She says I'm anak manja, but she's actually more of an anak manja than me.
Me: ...
What I really wanted to say was: "Damn, so I'm NOT an anak manja for asking for a spanking new laptop (that, might I add, I have never owned)?"
Me: You BOTH are anak manjas. So shush.
Now that SPM is getting closer, I can't help this feeling of dread. Not dreading the exam. Dreading what'll come after.
I've known you since forever.
Been with you half my years.
I don't think I'll know any other way to live, than with you.
So how exactly am I supposed to leave school, never to see you again, except on rare occasions?
Heck, I suppose we'll be fine. But it doesn't mean I'm not having an onset of trepidation. What if I just fall flat on the first time I have to make an impression? What if I suck to high heaven?
But then again: What's the point of it all, if you're not terrified to fail?
So when the time comes, I'll remember what I always tell myself (amidst the screeching of panic and non-stop head banging going on inwardly) and take a deep breath, and just kill it.
Because heck, I'll have long enough to make other impressions, huh?
Oh agony.
Me: What's your ideal man like?
Nurul: He has to be caring... etc... (I've forgotten. Sorry!)
Me: Hmm... *thoughtful*
Nurul: How about you?
Me: *raises eyebrows.* Me?
Nurul: Yeah. What's your ideal man like?
Me: He must be tall.
Haha.
Me: But not so tall. I don't want to have to look up too much and get a crick in my neck.
Nurul: *laughs*
Me: And... he has to be caring, too, yeah. He must be able to withstand my sarcasm. Because sometimes, I just can't help myself, and I tend to hurt people with my words.
Nurul: *understanding look*
Me: And... well... this must be crazy. And I might've told you this before: there was once when I was feeling discomfited and felt this ache on my lower back. It felt horrid. I laid there, on my bed, on my side. Then, in my half-conscious state, I suddenly felt a soothing massage down my back. And suddenly, I didn't feel to awful atl all .Now that I look back, it was really just a dream, but it's pretty vivid. That's what I want in a guy. My guy.
Wishes, wishes.
Let's leave those to dreams. Because let's face it: I'll never find my guy with the hip-shot stance, sex-swagger and leather jacket.
I'll really miss him in my dreams, though.
You, primitive.
Me, tentative.
We're dimensions apart.
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