You Don't Get It, or Everything Else in Between.

found via (*) The Only Magic Left is Art

You don’t sign a contract that legitimate you to an unlimited access of free time and a ton shit load of guilt trip for months when you've graduated from college. Certain people—like your parents for example, because it is that simple—expect you to get a job almost immediately after you graduated because for them, the student loan you've got to finish your study in college gave you this incredible qualification that came in the form of printed papers, and that rubbish is supposed to get you a job that pays four digits numbers by the end of every month.

That is what you get when you believe in college, and probably as a side dish if you believe that your excellent grades are going to be guiding you down the lighted road to an excellent job. You know what; fuck that and all of the shits that accompanied it. 

Not Making Any Sense, As Usual.

There really is nothing worth a story within my current life, thus I don’t feel the need to bore anyone with my long and unacceptable act of rant. I am going to keep my mouth shut for once, and pretend as if nothing will ever matter. I am pretty good at it, after all.

Life could get a bit lonely at times, but then again, I am always lonely; like all the time. I am used to that, because obviously growing up is like going to school without knowing it and bam, in the end you just end up with all these knowledge you’re not sure about and act as if they will matter one day.

I am running low on the imagination and it caused the lack of self esteem and ideas to write and pursue my creative writing. Perhaps I should blame something right about here, but I can’t find the perfect words to describe this despair I feel at the pit of my stomach. Even with that, I just don’t feel like moving on.

Nothing is making sense in my life right now—not even my sanity, or my ability to close my eyes and shut the damn world out from my mind. Yeah, I think I am somehow losing my mind with this continuous silence and loneliness as my companion but even on my better days, I am always at the edge of losing my mind, and everything else in the process.

Let’s look at this as an effort I showed to prove that I should write, even when my words don’t make any sense and my horrible grammar is calling for some grammar ninja assassin to chase my ass around with machetes. Ignoring that, I shall revive these dying brain cells of mine, or else I might as well lose my mind for good.

Truth is, I am feeling utterly useless. My existence doesn’t make any sense, just like my brain and my sanity. I am here, but I may not even be here in reality. You know what I mean, the void feeling in my stomach every time I think about a day from now. I don’t want to say the future, because that sounds so cliché and again, mainstream.

I am just thankful I am able to survive yet another day, and have to put up another fight to battle tomorrow. In the end, what I think and what I write don’t make up any logical sense. I appreciate the time you spent to read my ridiculous piece of shit right here, and once again, I love you all. I just don’t love myself, end of story.

Life Sucks, So What?

found via AllPosters.co.uk

I honestly can't withstand people who really like to complain about things, especially those little quirks in life that most population in world actually experience. Surely it would happen to everyone, of which it even at times happen to me because who does not like to complain, but seriously. Do you really have to complain about everything that is happening in your life and let others suffer by listening to all that you have to complain?

Let's face the music, life really is unfair whether you like it or not. If life is all fair and perfect, nightmares won't exist, wound and cuts would evaporate, pain would never come, disappointment will never exist, heartbreaks would be fairy tales. Life and all that is going on right now is unfair, but that is what we have to live through every day unfortunately, until the day we die.

You could complain, once in a while. But it would be better if you keep it all by yourself. People don't have to listen to you, all the time. Your problem is what you have to face by yourself. Life is all about yourself, life is selfish. Deal with it, whether you like or not.

I am tired of doing this, because either way this is also a form of complain. I hate myself for doing this, but I can't say it all out through any medium other than this blog of mine. However, please don't note that although life sucks and unfair, don't quit.

Breathing, Underwater.

found via I still care. That's the problem. 

She feels as if she is breathing underwater at times. She could not find the proper way to adapt into how lungs suppose to work as how gills do, but because she lives in the nature of breathing air—and not salt water in any way—she allows her self to just endlessly drown.

That is how she portrays how life falls upon her; all seems terribly right but yet all feels correctly wrong. It never quite fit—those pieces of puzzles—on how the life she lives does not even feels as if it is hers to begin with. It is like her whole world is really just simply underwater—all transparent and unable for her to grasp—even when she uses the sanest part of her imagination.

Friends around her are like chorals—pretty but really are for nothing. She really does like them, really could even be an understatement because even for a small fish underwater, the chorals are the whole world for it. It applies the same law in her life. Friends are there for her, around her. But she could never fit in. It never makes her feels as if she truly belongs—like a fish unable to swim near the chorals, in fear it might hurts it, it might kill it.

If she could describe the taste of her life she would say it is salty—like sea water, perhaps. It never gives one feeling of satisfaction, as it gives out constant thirst, as if nothing in the world would ever be enough. It is as if she dives underwater and takes in all the salt water she could comprehend before she drowns, before she dies.

Closing her eyes and putting her ears to work, she would hear the noises around her all blurry. There are no distinct noises she could point out—no familiar voice, no apparent sound—just a mix of all and brings out nothing, really. It is as if she is listening to the faint buzz that fills her eardrums while being underwater. Everything sounds the same, simply similar one to another.

To walk on a path in her life is just like swimming through an open sea with no definite destination. Just simply allow the waves to carry her somewhere, maybe. It would bring her to an end, her end apparently. But it really is a long journey of just swimming or just drowning all altogether. Life never quite has one distinctive destination to her, or she could say not yet. She never makes a decision about after all.

In the end, all that she ever would believe is that her life is simply an ocean of everything and she really is just breathing underwater.

- all the tragic nights 

I am currently doing my practicum, thus the lack of updates for such a long time. I hope to be back, one day. This is my haven, remember. I am doing lots of writing, but none give me satisfaction like the one I am doing here. Oh well, let's just say that life is getting in the way, as usual.

Disappeared, But Alive.

found via anime is life

Don’t think of me as suicidal or anything. I may be overly pessimistic and all, but that does not mean that I literally want my existence to disappear into the thin air. I am a coward, remember. I don’t have all the courage one needs to eventually be my own reaper, to take away my own life. No, I am a Muslim. It is a major sin to take our own life. Life may be all shit and stuffs, but that does not mean death is a solution. Keep all the hopes high, even if it is impossible.

In case someone thought I died, I am just here to prove that I am not anywhere near being a walking dead. No, I have zero intention in becoming a zombie, what so ever. I would appreciate the offer, but I am gladly turning it down because putting aside how shitty real life could be, I absolutely cherish my chance to stay alive as long as I could. This is not the part where I admit that I am finally allowing my self to be a little optimistic about this and all, but I am just saying that being away for months does not anywhere mean I am permanently gone.

If one is wondering whether there have been any exciting things going on with my life—as for example, like being in a serious romantic relationship, or finally owning a small sedan to my self, or perhaps graduating with excellent achievement and all those sorts—you are basically wrong. I have not achieved any of that yet. But keep the hopes high, it may happen, eventually. Let us all have our fingers crossed.

Things Never Last, Sweethearts.

I guess at some point I just have to learn to accept the fact that I probably will not see my lovely Kipling wallet which I bought at such an affordable price while on family vacation in Bandung, Indonesia, ever again throughout the rest of my life.

My worst fear eventually comes true—I become a victim of pick-pocket on Saturday while following my mother and younger sister out for some shopping in Suria KLCC—and the worst part of it is that I do not even realize it until it is already two days later.

Ah, I do not even know what to think anymore. I cried like a child when I could not find my wallet this morning while preparing my stuffs to attend college. I rummage through everything—just to see if I misplace it again as usual—but to no luck; I could not find it any more.

Since Suria KLCC is the last place I visit on Saturday before I went home and did not even come out from the house on Sunday at all, it is possible that it was where I lost my wallet. I did walk through some crowd and there was a possibility for someone to just secretly snatch my wallet which was inside my bag.

Dah takde rezeki, which were what my mother said when we could not find my wallet this morning and I have learn to accept it. It is all right, it is not my luck to have that beautiful wallet with me for a long time anyway.

But I lost my identification card, my driving license, my CIMB ATM card, some cards—including the POPULAR bookstore card and BONUSLINK point card—and several passport-size photos of my self. I also lost approximately RM300 in terms of cash, which I keep so diligently with the allowance I receive every month to buy the stuffs I really want.

What is there left that I could do but to accept this reality? My mother willingly replace RM200 of the amount of money I lost and my father will bring me to the police station to file a police report and get my self a temporary identification card later—since we both need to go to work and attend college.

Goodbye lovely wallet, goodbye my awesome cash and stuffs. I will miss you a lot.

Farewell To A Good Life.

found via PicShip

I really do try to keep my optimistic side high regarding this one particular matter but it seems that regardless how hard I try to put on this horrible façade and pretend as if nothing will ever bother me, certain things really do invade my life and makes it all miserable—as if it is not miserable in the first place.

The one thing I really hate and try not to complaint about is my social life. I realize it that I have such a poor social skills—all due to that ugly incident that occur during my senior year in high school of which makes me cringe every time I think about it—and I am horrible when it comes to making friends and communication.

Yes, you may see me writing such a damn long essays every now and then on this blog but do you actually expect me to be able to talk this long to a stranger out there in real world? Oh hell no, you are absolutely wrong if you think I could.

Here is a secret; I avoid making eye-contact even with my closet friends. Yes, I know that making eye-contact is the most vital part of communication, but I could not do it. Now everyone knows my secrets that I do not make eye-contact. I tend to look away every three seconds during a conversation—even during a personal conversations and the only time I do not look away is when I am talking to my family members.

I am that horrible in social skills. I manage to get a good grade for Effective Speaking class and even the Public Relations class but in reality, I just do not apply all that I ever learn. I am afraid to be out there in the real world.

My social life is already halfway down its own grave. I abandon my social life after I graduate from high school and probably most of friends from high school might already forget my existence. It is that unfortunate, seriously. I do not know what part of me that shut my self out from the reality and the social life out there but all I know I am always by the side, just watching my friends rather than to be with them.

What most teenagers do with friends I do it alone. I go to the cinema and watch from romantic movies to action movies by my self. Really, I am not telling a lie. I go for a shopping spree by my self for hours. I have breakfast and lunch at the popular fast food restaurants by my self. I sit at the library by my self. I take the bus by my self. I sit at the cafeteria by my self. I really do everything by my self.

I am an observer, really. But it pains me that I am only observing them from the sidewalk. That is why my social life is disappearing fast. In college, I assume it would be better if I participate with my friends a lot. It works at first but then it disappears fast too. I may be among their group but whenever they are going somewhere and doing things I am always the one to stay behind.

I am not saying that this hurts my pride or things but at certain point it does get onto my nerve. I have friends but I can’t say that I really have friends. They are around me, but they never make me feel as if I am a part of them.

This may be my hallucination but even my mother says that my friends only need me when they really need help. I try not to think about it and dismiss it quickly but then I realize. My mother is right; the only moment I have all of my friends around me is when they really need my help.

Back in high school, the only time I ever feel as if I am the part of an active club in high school is when I have to do all the secretariat work like a bitch by my self and submit it all to the teacher in charge—only for her to ask me all about my work because she does not like it. In the end, my name is not even in the school magazine under the particular society.

It does not hurt at first but as time goes by, it becomes a wound—and a permanent one too.

In college, the only times I ever spend such a long time with my friends are when they need me for assignments and projects. I do not feel bad, because I feel as if they need me. But then I begin to think whether they are only using me—because I tend to do all the work even in a group project because I am such a stupid perfectionist that does not know how to appreciate other works.

Sometimes I wonder who the real friends among the friends I have are. I maybe someone that they could not even remember because I never tend to stand out in a crowd. I maybe just a person they once meet and forget the next day. I maybe the geek who they could rely on certain things but never the one they want in their circle of friends.

I guess this is the time for me to give up on trying fixing my social life. I mean, I have been living a lonely life ever since I graduate high school. No one ever dies because of loneliness and I am pretty sure I could survive all well.

I am always a loner and will always be one. I have my own world to live in and I do not think that I could accommodate anyone else. I believe I would do well by my self. I would not fall because I am by my self. I will always be by my self either way. I just need some time to adjust into the reality that I no longer have brag worthy social life.

Then Come The Stories of Her Language, Sweetheart.

There are obvious reasons why I choose not to have my creative writings in my own language—which is Malay, of course because it is apparent that I do not speak Russian or Japanese in all the logical ways—and I do intend to say it out loud that I do not intend to write in English because I am such a show-off brat who does not know how to converse in my own language.

No bitch, you need to listen to me carefully and just listen to me well. I do speak fluent Malay—and along the way after I graduate high school I may lose some of the creative writing essence for the beautiful Malay language—but that does not mean I have no longer appreciate the beauty of my own language. No, I love Malay language so very much that it hurts my brain, and no, no sarcastic point taken here.

Why I write in English is that I am able to say certain things that only makes sense in English rather than in Malay better. I could not simply curse someone—or more than just one person—in Malay because it will be directly rude and just utterly pointless. But I could curse anyone in English and still somehow sounds so indirect, and it seems my sarcastic point makes it better for me to be cynical in English rather than in Malay.

I have my Malay creative writing roots way back when I am still in elementary school—and yes, you could ask my parents about all those stories I write in Malay—and at certain times I do wish to write back in Malay language. Apparently it is easier to write in my own language than in English—considering that my grammar sucks that my late-grandmother would definitely kills me if she ever reads my lousy English—but I love the way I am able to play with words in English.

I am not that arrogant bitch who does not know my own roots. I know Malay; I still do speak Malay ninety-five percent in my daily life. I am not saying that I like other language more. I speak all sorts of gibberish Korean and Japanese but that do not take away the beauty of Malay out from my life.

Yet I have to admit, if you ever read my Malay creative writings, you might just die because I reek of cheesiness when I write in Malay. All those romantic stories I write in Malay, I wish I could burn them into ashes and never let anyone else see it, ever.

It Was Raining, But There He Was.

found via You are loved
Ah, I do not intend to write anything that involves awesome anime boys in school uniform—not that I want anyone to ever label me as a pedophilia or some sort of anything relates to it. I just do not want to ruin this moment and I mean come on, anime boys in school uniforms are hot. I have to say, if they really do exist in reality, I would not mind becoming a stalker for them.

I tend to like boys who are mostly in the art department—the one who smells of oil paint or perhaps the one with pencil stains on his rough fingers, or just the one who sits in a corner with a sketch book and an old pencil—those kind of boys who spend more time with their creativity sides rather than reality.

It may be the fact that I use to imagine my life in that world, the world of endless arts. I picture my self to work with lifeless utensils and apparatus to create an art that seems alive even may be just for me. For that I have the tendency to like boys who could draw, or simply those who are in the art department.

He wears a blue shirt and carries a black backpack—of which I see the most because I stalk him from behind—and one thing that makes him stands out is not the fedora he wears or anything—but the black case art students usually carry to bring along humongous drawing or layout pads around. I don’t even know its name, silly me.

It clicks in all the right places. I like that kind of boys and I mean a lot. I like someone who would talk more about his art and most of the time when he does not talk; his eyes would look as if it is deep enough to drown in it. I hate boys who talk so much—considering that the boys in my faculty all talks like shit, literally—and the ones who are mostly in the art faculty seems quiet and reserved.

I do not even know why I am writing this but perhaps I just want to keep this memory alive. I mean, I really like boys who are very good with arts. I like them more than boys who talk shit about music and stuffs. You do not know how deep art people could get when they actually talk about their arts.

Anyway, I hope to bump into him again next week. I try to catch up with him while we walk from the LRT station to the college but I am wearing my pair of flats and the one who walks in front of me is too slow that I do not have the chance to walk pass him. Let’s meet again, art boy. Even if I could only see you from far away, I would like that.

This And That Life I Own.

found via weheartit
I have obvious reasons why I do not prefer if any of my classmates from college follow me on Twitter. It is not the case of arrogance or simply ignorance but this is a serious case of privacy. I am not quite fond of privacy when it comes to the things I write here but I am especially precise about what others will say when it comes to my Twitter account.

First of all, does anyone actually read the Twitter updates I have as my widget here in this solemn blog—because if anyone actually reads it, one will know more than what one should know about me.

I am practically an honest and open person when I am on Twitter. I would write about anything without thinking about the consequences. Yes, I would see your ugly sneakers and I will write shit about it openly on my Twitter account without the fear of you coming to me and butcher me down into pieces. Yes, I am that honest.

That is why aside from my Tumblr which is my ultimate secret life—Twitter is my second secret life. I am a different person when I am on Facebook and when I am at college. My classmates will only see me as a geek who reads and writes and wear boring clothes to class and does not care about anything else except to excel in examinations.

No, on Twitter I am not that person they see in college. I am a blunt obsessive fan girl who watches yaoi as if it is my daily drug. I am that girl who listens to Vocaloid as if those songs are my official crack. I am that person who sits for hours in my bedroom reading online mangas that range of melancholic tragic love story to gore psychological twisted murder cases. I am that oblivious girl who cares about nothing else but my interests in music and FT Island and anime and manga and yaoi—yes, I do like yaoi thank you very much—and all these things I do not want anyone to know.

So basically yes, I live two different lives. One is the clean-cut and conservative twenty-one year-old college student who is in her final year in college and the other is the obsessive fan-girl who is on her path to become an anime maniac who spends hours talking to herself about her love for fictional characters’ persona.

I want to make sure they only know me for the clean-cut personality I show, not the scary secret life I own when I am at home. I do not want anyone from college—aside from several who still manages to follow me on Twitter—to know how crazy I am over fictional characters. No, I do not need anyone to think I am scary and weird. I am already a geek. Don’t make me a weirdo too.

This may exposes the two lives I currently live in but who cares when I don’t have readers to read my updates anyway. I just need this to get my emotions out. I don’t care if I don’t have followers. I just want to have a place to return and be able to write my heart out.

Just For A Short While, Honey.

Practically enjoying this semester break by distancing my self away from this home where I usually come to speak up my mind. I am welcoming 2012 and all its agendas with a smile—this is just me being awfully sarcastic lately—and wishing that everything is going to be alright. Life is moving forward as usual but I am still in the same position where I am before, because obviously I am not going anywhere.

Just here to put on a new media player—its volume gets really annoying at times so please put off your headphone when you come and visit my humble home right here. Getting off the Korean Pop train for a short moment to realize that there is a world of beautiful Japanese music out there that originally is my root before I come across the alien we all know as Korean Pop. Will get back on the Korean Pop train probably later but right now I am enjoying this life without the massive mass from the mainstream Korean Pop.

After All The Hard Work, Thank You.

found via Flickr
It still feels somehow unreal that after all those hard works throughout this long and rough year, I finally passed the driving test and successfully received my driver’s license. It may sounded ridiculous to those who passes the test on the first trial but for me who have gone for the third time—it is still something that I thought would only happened in my dream.

Alhamdulillah, I have successfully finished the second course of the driving test on the third time. Well, I guess sometimes certain things really do take up to three times. I have not disappoint my parents again and finally made them feel somehow a little proud of this useless daughter of theirs. Hey, at least this time I did not return home from the test with a failure and actually brought back a proof that mentioned that I passed the test with my own effort.

Thank you Allah for this amazing year-end gift, especially for my parents because they have spent a lot of money and time to make sure I pass the driving test and Alhamdulillah, I have finally passed it. Although not with flying colors but at least I have passed it quite successfully.

No more learning how to drive and wasting my money to pay for the hours I spent learning to drive. I will no longer have to receive continuous phone calls by the staffs at the driving school and going to the test venue. Oh God, this is a very wonderful year-end gift I could ever ask for.

My last resolution for the year 2011—to get my driver’s license at the age of twenty and before 2011 ends—has finally been fulfilled. Alhamdulillah, now I am ready—well, just partially ready though—to focus my attention toward the upcoming final examination on January 3. Talk about the best way to ruin the New Year’s mood, is it?

Alhamdulillah once again for this small achievement of mine and next, I will be praying for my younger sister to pass her driving test soon.

Dear First Love of My Life, Thank You.

found via Near the lighthouse, there's my heart
In one way or another I will rather choose not to discuss over the matter of first love. Generally it will be quite ironic for me who is quite a fan of all things romance to not to fond the idea of reminiscing the story of first love. I will however be able to give one explanation about this—my story of first love stretches out for thirteen years. Even my self will laugh when I think about how thirteen years might not make it a story of first love anymore.

First love—even with just the phrase it always manage to bring out a smile from me. It is that sweet sensation when you see one particular person, the ability to feel your heart burst with excitement. It is that sequences of time when you lay your eyes on that particular person, unable to look away. It is that childish excitement when you think about that particular person and the joy that flows with every idea of it. It is that pure and innocence feeling you never knows but manages to overwhelm you with more than a thousand of emotions. It is that experience when you feel as if you can remember everything—and nothing else but you and that particular person ever matter.

Lovely how everyone has different first love stories to share and tell, because I believe even the most ridiculous first love story lays that same pure feeling that everyone once experience. It is not about the end of the first love story that always matters—it is the beginning of it that makes it special.

Adults may refer to it as puppy love but even the silliest puppy love blossoms to the most beautiful feeling in the world a human could ever experience. It is that one moment in life when everything seems to slow down and no one could hear a long classical string composition that plays through your mind when you first lay your eyes on that particular person. It is that first experience when your heart seems to speak through your mind and tells you sincerely—this is my first love.

My first love story begins thirteen years ago and unfortunately it remains without an end. If I am to put an end to it after these thirteen years it will obviously become a sad one—because him who I love since thirteen years ago does not even remember my existence—but I am that selfish person who wants to treasure my first love story, even if it drags out to twenty years in the future. In the end I always remind my self that it is not the ending that matters the most, it is the beginning.


found via Google Image
I encounter a chance to watch a 2009 Japanese movie by the title 僕の初恋をキミに捧ぐ (I Give You My First Love)—typically a loose adaptation of a Japanese manga by the same title—that deeply evolves around the story of a first love. I actually write a report on this excellent masterpiece for college and through it does I realize how much pureness and all sort of emotions flow through when I think about first love. It is that simple matter that has a big influence. I eventually finished reading the eleven volume of its manga yesterday and apparently, it teaches me more about first love and how it changes throughout our life. Through this movie do I begin to understand that the end does not really matters because a first love is a memory that you will remember for the rest of your life not for how it finally ends but for how you begin it and how you live through it.

Fortunately for me that my first love story is not as sad as the one in the Japanese movie but still I am grateful that I am able to experience a first love that I will remember until the very end of time. First love is that innocent feeling one will experience just once in a lifetime and yes I will treasure it. I want to remind my self that sweet feeling of falling in love for the first time.

I do not know why but I want to tell that particular person who I treasure as my first love for thirteen years—thank you for giving me wonderful first love story to remember and treasure throughout my life. Thank you for being that first person who makes my heart flutters and brings out the childish smiles out of me from time to time. Thank you for making me experience the wonderful years of able to see you and almost skip every beat of my heart. Thank you for your existence, because without it I will not be able to experience such beautiful first love story. Thank you so much for this memory. I wish nothing but happiness for you and your partner. I may still foolishly in love with you as I always will for perhaps another thirteen years in the future but do know that I am letting you go. I do not have any regrets for loving you. Even after all these years, I do not regret falling in love with you for the first time. I do not regret having you as my first love. Thank you for the memory. Thank you for the smiles. Thank you for the happiness. Thank you for the friendship. Thank you for the tears and even the sadness. But in the end, thank you for making me fall in love. Dear first love story of my life, thank you.

Now I feel like pathetic. No—please do not sympathize my pathetic love story, it does not worth any attention, really. I just need to get this out from my chest before it literally consumes me as a whole. It has been thirteen years after all. This first love story might one day have a life of its own.

But please remember this—it is not about the end of the first love story that always matters, it is how you begin it and how you live through it.

It Happened Once, It Happened Twice.

found via Faded from the Winter
It eventually happened because of my eagerness in writing as much fan-fictions that I could that lead to this decision actually. I did this earlier—a couple of times to be precise—but I really do hope this one chance lasts forever. I may not have an ample time to run two blogs in one time but I will give it a try again. I need something to keep my mind off my crazy life after all.

六等星の夜 - Night of Sixth Magnitude Stars

So here it is again—my new creative writing blog where I post all of my fan-fictions and all sort of creative writings I write whenever I feel like writing one. You can drop a comment and tag me once in a while. Only one chaptered fan-fiction is currently up and it is still on chapter one. More one-shots and drabbles are coming soon. Please support me, do not bash me in any cruel way. I am practically just doing what makes me happy.

Choices Are Hard To Make, Sweetheart.

found via under cover of darkness...
I hate it the most when I have to make a choice—I have to choose between this and that. It always feels as if it is the hardest moment in life to just think and choose. It is pleasant to have options in life but it seems that making a decision is not quite as pleasant as it sounds. I hate to think thoroughly about options I have—sometimes there are more than just two or three—and I always end up making the incredibly horrible choice. I know that everyone makes mistakes but I do not forgive my self easily upon a mistake. I will continuously blame my self.

It is apparent that my inability to memorize the nineteen Arabic lines for a subject in college is entirely my fault. The lecturer clearly gives ample time for us to memorize each line and I only spend a week out of the long period of time to memorize. I only memorize five lines out of the nineteen Arabic lines. I know I should blame my self but I refuse because I am stubborn.

I should recite the nineteen Arabic lines tomorrow in class by nine and here I am in my bedroom alone by my self—considering the choices on whether to attend class and allow the lecturer to kill me for not be able to recite the entire nineteen lines or to just skip class and pretend as if nothing really happen as I return back to class next week.

This should be an easy choice—if the lecturer is not getting on my nerve almost every week. I know it is her responsibility to say things about this and about that regularly in class as to remind us but she obviously does not have to become horribly sarcastic about everything. It is fine if she advices us nicely and in a proper manner but seriously, she could drop the sarcasm. I should be the only one with a delicious treat of sweet sarcasm.

I know that choosing the later option will influence my grade badly for this semester while I am already screwing up half of my grades for the other subjects. I am completely a mess in this fifth semester. I should not choose the later option because I do not want to be a bad example but I have no courage to face the sarcastic lecturer tomorrow and allow her to say whatever she wants about me when I have no space to voice out my opinion.

This deserves to give another thorough thinking. I should rethink about what I should do—should I continue to memorize the remaining Arabic lines or should I forget everything and pretend nothing actually going to happen tomorrow. I do not know anything anymore. Half of my friends who are taking the same subject but in a different class have already given up entirely and my other friends from the same class are thinking about the same option.

Should I really just give up and walk away?

I do not know what I should do anymore. I just want to bury my face in the ground or hide somewhere where reality will not bother to look for me. I just want to evaporate and choose not to make a choice. I want to disappear and allow no one to search for my existence. I do not want to live in this suffocating reality anymore.

Takes A Month To Disappear, Darling.

found via weheartit
It takes me a month of procrastination to actually write something. I do not what I should actually write anymore, that I do not feel as if to come here anymore. I try hard not to ditch anything—I mean; somehow I still love this small space where I am free to be my self.

I spend too much time trying to make excuses to my self—I will not do any assignment because I am probably too lazy to even write the cover page, I will not move out from my bedroom because I do not have anything else to do in the living room, I will not wake up from my sleep because I need more time to sleep, I will not stop my interest in anime recently because it is the only way I do not feel alone in this world—and yeah, the list of excuses will continue. I do not find life to be anything near interesting anymore lately. I am basically alive for the purpose of the human shell that I continue to occupy.

Surely I know that I am probably becoming too melancholic with my own life and I am a little dramatic with the little downs of life but I need to say something—at some point, I am nothing but a time bomb. I am off to explode; I am just waiting for the right time to transform into pieces.

Fifth semester of college begins and here comes the hell in shape of assignments—it gets pretty ridiculous lately with the insane amount and type of assignment. I mean, I do know everyone does this but oh fuck, I hate this. I do not give any fuck to anything relates to college anymore.

In the end, I continue to rant about my life to bore almost everyone—if barely anyone who reads this. I will brush off this melancholic side of my self, which probably happens because it is currently raining and I am feeling a bit homeless to have to bring all of my things out from the bedroom and move temporarily into the living room at midnight to allow my younger sister to properly use the bedroom for sleeping purpose tonight. I hate this, seriously.

Anyway, good night world, I need to put a rest to my self too. Probably the crazy idea to skip class tomorrow would make me happier. Yeah, I will probably do that. Mom, I am going to skip class tomorrow. I do not feel like attending News Editing—the main reason would be that I do not finish my assignment, thank you.

Disappointments Are Not Yours, Not Ours Too.

found via weallhavememories.blogspot
I do not think I will ever be able to understand a person thoroughly regardless how many years it adds up to a certain relationship. I may consider my self a fool or maybe stupid for this inability to understand this type of living creature God creates yet I will never bring my self to fully accept eccentric miens of different people I encounter in life.

Disappointment surely is a major issue in life. One is not quite a human unless it faces disappointment, it is the reality and yeah, even reality it self is quite a major disappointment—not that I am going anywhere close to admit that.

It is perfectly fine to express disappointment—especially when certain something fails to meet expectations—but to continuously express it eventually will hit the annoyance level. Surely it is alright to say what is on your mind or to perhaps, rant a little bit. I mean, to have high expectation on something and yet witness it crumbles into pieces a moment later is not quite a comfort feeling but to saying it continuously feels as if you are putting the blame on someone. You will make someone else feel guilty, even for something that is at no one’s fault.

Here is the thing.

I know she has damn high expectation over the original plan—alright, I do not blame her because obviously I do have my hopes high for the plan to eventually happen—but when it fails, it does not give her the full rights to randomly express her disappointment, even more continuously expressing it. She has to take in the consideration of the other people who has to cancel the plan. She has to consider the reason why someone has to cancel it. She does not have the rights to be selfish and expresses her disappointment in this inappropriate way. She makes everyone else—including me—feel guilty.

Damn it, I hate to make a rant post.

Reality is, I could perfectly handle bits of disappointment. It is fine; everyone is disappointed about something eventually. But to face this kind of annoyance when I suffer the same disappointment but does not make any ruckus about it is not a good feeling. I am sorry to say this but surely you are aware that someone else has disappointment too. You are not the only one, for God sake.

If you are unable to face this kind of disappointment, how do you expect to live a life out there in the real world?

God, I still hate to make a rant post but this is bothering me, when I should at least allow my self to relax now that fourth semester of college finally ends. I know it should not bother me much but I could not stand seeing this disappointment things going on around me when it should be just something anyone could simply forgets. God, why can’t you take it as casually as I do? Why do you have to take every single damn thing seriously?

How do you actually live your life?

This moment, I even refuse to see you, even more to read your name. I do not hate you, oh God, how could I ever hate you—but this is making me feel ten millions time horrible. I am a bad friend, I admit it my self but to watch you drown in this disappointment that supposedly to be nothing in the first place surely makes me feel as if I want to punch you. No, I want to shoot you with a revolver. I want to put a bullet—no, make that three or four bullets—into your brain and instantly kill you. No, maybe torture you a bit would be fun. I want to teach you a lesson about life.

Life is not only about your disappointment.
You do not live on this world all by your own.
It does not work that way.

I maybe the one who is taking this seriously but I do not mind. I obviously take everything seriously lately and if that annoys anyone, well then—fuck you. Fuck this life; fuck this reality if you would. I would not care because this is the place where I am able to say what is on my mind. I do not ask anyone to actually read. I do not do this for the worthless attention. I need to say what is on my mind to put me at ease.

This is rather a disappointment, and look at me.
I do not make any big deal about.
I just create a rant post for my self, end of story.

Dear Final Examination, Farewell.

found via weheartit
Final examination is officially over—it is time to throw the confetti, bring out the drinks and let us have the wildest party as I celebrate this temporary freedom. I do not think I have done my best for the three subjects I sit for the final examination—none could actually give me an outstanding grade, as far as I am concerned—but yeah, at least I did what I think I could. Not my best, but still acceptable.

Goodbye goodbye my dear fourth semester, it has been a short but fantastic journey for the past several weeks. It will forever be in my mind—how could it not when I spent hours finishing ridiculous 1000-words assignment for Feature Writing, building a Japanese castle model for three days and participating in a choral speaking for the first time since high school. It has been a wonderful journey while it last but when it is over, it suddenly feels better.

I do not feel like writing any longer. I am off to enjoy the night—No.6 anime is on at midnight, I must not distract my self from the beauty of this anime. I will try to post some appropriate things tomorrow or maybe later, but before Hari Raya which is in a few days’ time.

Final Examination Took This Weekend Away.

found via Rich World Problem
I am sorry for the lack of updates recently. I know I will usually insert some lame excuses here—come to blame my internet connection or probably some lousy assignments that take up half of my time every day or maybe something else that will always bothers me, all the time—but I am going to skip that part and jump straight into the conclusion where I will usually state, this is when I need to announce my disappearance.

For this, I gladly blame the final examination which starts unfortunately, today. Out of all the days through the week, I have to force my self to drag my lazy ass to college and sit for my first final examination question paper on a freaking Sunday. Oh well, there goes my lovely weekend.

I am going to sit for my Feature Writing at one this afternoon so please, if you are reading this—of which I horribly think not—please send me all the good luck wishes that I need to at least do well on this paper. I need lots of luck and perhaps bits of fairy dust. I need magic.

The other two final examination papers—which are for Academic Reading and Writing and Critical and Creative Thinking will be on Tuesday and Thursday respectively before I amazingly begin my awesome semester break that will last until September 11. I fucking love my love; this is with an obvious sarcastic tone.

Anyway, since today is the birthday of my husband no, scratch that—since today is the birthday of the 16-dimensional face behind the amazing Good Morning Bob series, Song Seunghyun of FT Island—I am here to humbly wish this one hell of a perfection, Happy Birthday. Oh God, only God knows how much love I have for this amazing guitarist. Anyway Seunghyun, have fun on your birthday as Hongki already mentioned that your birthday cake will be on the stage during your concert today. I will definitely find my way to meet you one day, so prepare yourself for this crazy fan of yours. Happy birthday again, Seunghyun—and oh, do not forget to eat a lot and put some weight into your thin figure.

Okay, I am done with this nonsense. I am off to take a bath and pretend to memorize my notes. I still hope I could do well—if not well, at least able to answer all question before I could storm out from the examination room. Dear God, help me out. Dear people of Blogger world who I never know but yet still care to mention here, wish me luck.

Not For Popularity, This Is Not Worth The Attention.

found via INSPIRING-PICTURES.COM
I do not think I actually start my blog to become blog famous—I mean, I do not have any intention in building up popularity through my blog. I began writing on blog to be able to have one place where I am free to be my self as I am more reachable through words—if you understand what I mean—and I want to keep my blog as a place where I could freely write what I feel and like, rather than what someone else feel and like.

It is not honest to say that I am perfectly okay with anyone who feels like becoming blog famous. It just that I do not walk on the same path as any other bloggers—I do not write to grab attention, I write to express my intention. I do not detest the population that feels like they want to become blog famous—because none of it has anything to do with me—but if the link to their blogs are literally flooding my timeline on whatever social network website I am currently on, it somehow gets on my nerve, seriously.

I know you are a blog famous person—oh yes, I do sometimes click on your blog whenever I feel like I should read the words you have properly written—but to have it flooding my timeline is rather sickening. You could post it once, I get it. You might post it twice, I could still understand. But trying to post it for at least five freaking time, oh you got to be fucking kidding me.

Hands up, I am not the rightful person to say anything about this. I am not judging anyone—even if I do, I will be do the judging all by my self, no verbal need—but your sickening routine is making me sick in the process. It is fine if you want to become blog famous and I do not feel the same but please be more considerate than someone here—I am waving my hand sarcastically at you—does not bother to look at the link of your blog for more than two times in one night. You can post as much updates as you like but is it appropriate to post it five to six times on my timeline, all in one night?

It will be a lie to say that I do not once feel as if I want to be blog famous—who would not like popularity, right. Yet when I discover that some of my friends could actually find this haven of mine and read all the words I genuinely write from my feelings and emotions—it feels like a betrayal. This is my safe haven—this is the place where I could always come back to write whatever I want and like. I do not need people to stalk or to read my updates. I am not hungry for attention or popularity of stats number. I just want to be free to write. I do not want people to judge. I do not want to be blog famous. I just want to be my self.

I could not and might not be able to write to satisfy someone else, ever. I am a person who writes what is on my mind. Why would in a million years would I bother to write about what someone else want to read? I am not calling for readers, I am not seeking for popularity or comments. I just want this to be a place where I could write—putting aside my horrible grammar and vocabularies, fuck them all—the place where my emotions are visible in words rather than voice. This is the place where I feel as if I keep all of my memories and bits of my life—I do not need someone else to read and judge. Even if there are readers—I thank you all from the bottom of my heart—they are just readers and they do not judge me. Do not judge my words, do not judge me and do not judge my blog.

I am not blog famous.
I am a writer in my own tiny little world.
This is my wonderland and perhaps I am still the Alice of this tiny wonderland.

I am not pointing this post to anyone out there who is blog famous. Keep up the good work, dear blog writers. It is okay to taste the sweetness of becoming blog famous. I am not with the major flow; I am on my own tiny world. I am that minority that hides in my own safe haven. You are welcome to read and to share my experiences in life as I do what normal people will do—I will not stay all optimistic about everything. This is a blog for expression and freedom to write whatever I want and like. I am not blog famous—I might never be one, forever.

This is my life and the dramatic effects.
This is my safe haven.
And this is still my wonderland, I am the Alice and I am the only one.