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| its the freakin' weeken' |
| 10.24.03 (6:14 am) [edit] |
how many of us can safely proclaim pristine records that are goddamn clean? or entirely non-racist thoughts?
i say none.
naive me used to despise and deem bigoted actions beneath contempt. i lashed out at those headlines of protestants assailing catholics (or vice versa) or aborigines getting the axe et cetera. i cringed when i heard a neighbour verbally assaulted a fellow resident of a minority race. i winced at peers who dared not walk down the very streets of little india.
not to say ive mellowed very much, i dare believe i have, to a certain, though negligible, extent, grown. and consequently, i have come to accept the clauset racist in me. the indespicable veneer of bigotry towards those different from the way I have been nurtured thus far. why, i honestly love the indian and thai culture. they cradle a very distinct and sharp mystery only stemming from their very land. i love black rappers, that damned tongue i would very gladly have replace my own, and those dreadlocks which i dreadfully can't have.
still, when my dad related his experiences in turkey, i involuntarily winced. a tug at the most fragile heartstrings.
he had sat in a turk cab for approx. 10 minutes, a rather appreciatively smooth ride, so to speak. upon reaching his destination, the meter read one hundred. that is a fairly reasonable sum for a ride that long/short. dad fished out a one hundred buck bill and paid the turk driver, who kept the money at a speed even neo could not disintegrate into an exaggeratedly slow motion. dad stepped out, while extremely jovial hotel bellboys rushed up to help with the unloading of luggages. as he closed the taxi door, dad came face to face with the driver, who stretched out his palm in the most indignant manner. his brows furrowed as his left index finger stuck out so very rigidly to tell a most surprised dad that the ride had cost one hundred. my dad said he had paid, but the driver shook his head in fierce denial, coercing dad to pay up lest he had authority brought in. dad, convinced by situational oppresion, that it would be vain to attempt saving the waters, submitted a second bill, while the driver immediately, upon winning the game, sped off into the frigid fog that wreathed the town.
that incident was one of many dad and his business associates enountered.
to me, honesty is a paramount trait in distinguishing the gentle from the crook. trust is founded on honesty, and should be treated with all due responsibility.
of course, i dare not speak for chinese taxi drivers. although most will agree that the service industry has been improving by leaps and bounds.
a smeared impression leaves an indelible stamp of filth on one's mind. if ever an erasure is possible, the infallibility of man has then been conquered.
till then,
to each his own.
i still carry well impressions of the human race. dad's encounter wan't mine. and they say seeing is believing.
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| We text as we eat |
| 10.12.03 (6:43 am) [edit] |
swim was as usual today i guess,
safe the sun was not [i]that[/i] blazing hot.
these days as i grouse in my chair, wheedled effortlessly into checking the dates of the ordinary level examinations, i find myself (corny it may sound) fighting an losing endless battle with time. moving on swiftly to another topic- i'm genuinely not too thrilled by the prospect of discussing tests-, i caught, at the corner of my peripheral horizon at the market this morning, a largely inspiring scene, only to conclude this.
men are perpetually intrigued by the seam complementing two tantalizingly concentric assets. their owners, nonetheless seem more than delighted to strut those adrenalinrush-inducing stuff. few go to the jaw-dropping extent of revealing them in a [i]metallic lycra power suit, zip favourably as low as possible[/i]. i walked into watsons the other day only to have a absolutely voluptuous vixen winking at me, her torso bent a wicked ninety degree, shooting my body tempo to 200 degrees celsius. i could have nose bled there and then, if not for the cardboard that she were, and that box of "cleavage-inducin pills" she so firmly gripped with utmost pristine gusto. its rather understandble, forgivable, so to speak, that females with such works tend to flaunt them, priding themselves with femininity. althought i dont see the need for such display, i must admit, their appearance does wonders to heads of males. it provides a somewhat undeniable prowess to the entire frame of the woman and draws attention, in ways one can not imagine. who knows? i may be the next boxomous babe looking you in the eye the next time you step into watsons.
heard they're having a buy-1-get-1-free discount.
[u]while stocks last[/u]. =)
till next time,
yh for you.
audio excitement:
[i]My life got cold
It happened many years ago
When summer slipped away
So chill now oh
We've got many years to go
So take it day by day
And on the go
I lost my soul
To some forgotten dream and
How was I supposed to know
It wasn't what it seemed
And even though the last to low
Has left me on the floor
I don't believe in Romeos or heroes anymore[/i]
--girls aloud. -meow-
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fcuk |
| 10.06.03 (6:24 am) [edit] |
i seldom swear, and when i do, i mean every letter of the damned word.
why am i shattered when ms jeya just consoled me, mr wong just expressed hope and friends did their best to salvage the bottomless pit of my grief. i suppose i can't just take it yet, this blow of language being that imperfect, and also the scratchy infuriating attitude i get from overly modest beings denying optimism to play fiercely safe. ah to hell with the lot of them. i admit, im no bubbly cheerful twit myself, yet i dont go around entrenching myself in forbidden grounds, where failures tread and successes flee. i look forward, fullstop. perhaps not enough, even as my face is slurried and grossly red. i truly feel my papers deserve a final resting stop in the bin, if not for the instruction to return them soon. messages floodin in "its ok yoggs, u'll get your one for Os" "cheer up, its never the end", "dont bring yourself down".
thanks, in a word.
but im afraid im still in bad shape to continue from thus.
my brain is dead
my fingers numbed.
my days, plausibly numbered.
my college, far beyond my peripheral horizon.
my parents, unknown to my folly.
my eyes, weak from strain and abrasion.
my shoulders, fatigued with excessive heaving.
my nose, cloyingly annoyingly runny.
my fate, sealed.
oh lord, do let me a.s.k.
[i]i pray you'll be our eyes, and help us where we go
and help us to be wise, in times when we don't know.
let this be our prayer,
just like every child.
lead us to the place,
guide us with your grace,
to the place where we'll be safe.
[/i]
if i make it to school tomorrow
and gather enough strength to walk out on my own
behold,
the power of the faith.
thank you almighty father.
in you i place my mind, soul, being.
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