True, true.

For every minute you are angry, you lose sixty seconds of happiness.

Chiam is cool. (:

Fucktard: Why do you smoke Japanese cigarettes?
Me: huh?
Fucktard: You know, they brutally colonized Korea. You shouldn’t support them.
Me: They’re made in Korea.
Fucktard: Doesn’t matter.
Me: Listen up, are you a father?
Fucktard: Yes, I have two sons. They are in middle school.
Me: Do they play video games?
Fucktard: Yes. It’s hard to get them to look away from their DS for even a second.
Me: You do realize that the DS is Japanese, right?
Fucktard: Yeah, but…
Me: YEAH SHUT YOUR NINTENFUCKING PREJUDICE-WHEN-ITS-CONVENIENT MOUTH. DO YOU FUCKING REALIZE HOW STUPID YOU SOUND? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE BEFORE I GET ALL LUPINE WOLF ON YOUR ASS.
Fucktard: How dare yo….
Me: BANZAI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

his Tumblr HERE.

We are fake and opportunistic creatures.

Michael Jackson faked his death.

(click above to see this ridiculous “news”)

Come on dude, can you just leave the guy alone?

This world has treated him with utmost unfairness this past decade. Countless allegations, countless lawsuits. Controversies here and there and everywhere. Some of them might be true, some of the might simply be all for the sake of making money out of his disgraced name.

And now that he’s dead, some people continue to act as freeloaders, taking advantage of the possible ‘extra’ money that they can dig out of his death.

And at the same time, people all over the world are showing sympathy towards the tragic end of his misconstrued life.

How sincere is your sympathy?

This society functions like a coin. It has two sides to it, two faces. Half the time it’s heads, half the time it’s tails.

The test of real literature is that it will bear repetition. We read over the same pages again and again, and always with fresh delight.

~Samual McChord Crothers

********

On the same day as last year, we went to the same place, to attend the same occasion.

But there was something different this time around.

OMFG I HAD THE BEST LECHON EVER. EVERRRRRRR. FUCK ALL THE BAD CHOLESTEROL, WHO CARES, I WAS EATING THE GOD OF ALL FATTY FOODS – AND IF I DIE DUE TO SOME  BLOCKED ARTERY, I’LL DIE A HAPPY MAN, GASTRONOMICALLY IN HEAVEN.

********

And I finished reading A Streetcar Named Desire today! Amazing play. I love all the sybolisms used in the play; they mainly touch on the ubiquitous theme of appearance versus reality. I love how the stark contrast between two different American cultures were immortalized in the characters of Blanche DuBois and Stanley Kowalski. I love how the book relates to the two other plays we’ve already learned for the closed-book written English IB exam, Antigone and A Doll’s House. AMAZING! I should be making notes about Streetcar soon and start comparing it and drawing parallels with the other aforementioned plays. I’m already beginning to draw in my mind awesome connections among the male characters Creon (Antigone), Torvald (Doll’s) and Stanley (Streetcar), and female characters Antigone, Nora, and Blanche. The only thing I have to do now is to write them down on paper to make them tangible evidences of my ‘productive’ holiday (and to reduce the load of my incapacitated brain because memory space is kind of scarce these days).

Hahaha who knew that a person like me, known last year for having no interest at Literature at all, would actually begin to embrace and appreciate the subject? Mrs. Hammond will surely smile from ear to ear if she discovers this new-found interest of mine.

Rowland’s reaction sequence after seeing his SAT score.

page loads…

scores appear…

takes out calculator…

sums up the total score…

–>Blank

–>Silent

–>Sad

–>Depressed

–>Counter-intuitive

–>Contemplative

–> Rational

–> Satisfied

–>Regretful.

I should have aptly prepared for it. Wait. Let me rephrase that statement: I should have prepared for it. I didn’t realize that a higher score was so, so within my grasp.

Terminal 3.

Taken by Jonas during our Gawad Kalinga trip to Bacolod.

I’m scared/screwed.

SAT RESULTS.

Tomorrow. Demain.

How in the world didn’t I see this coming?

Rosary. Where’s my rosary?!!!!

Looking through the glass door one Wednesday afternoon.

I don’t understand why the friggin’ ladder is placed over there.

Alternative escape route in case of fire?

Oh, by the way, I nearly got caught doing something extremely wrong.

Don’t ask me what it is.

VIRUS.

Awesome. How do I punish a stupid agglomeration of microscopic infectious bastards which do not even show signs of life (e.g. respiration, locomotion, reproduction, etc) outside their host organisms? How do I single them out and torture them one by one without harming myself in the process? How do I protect myself in case they decide to angrily retaliate at me? How do I go about my future daily activities without the fear of them inhabiting my godforsaken body without my wholehearted permission? And how am I supposed to go out and have fun on my first week in Singapore if I have to abide by the newly implemented order for poor overseas Filipino students like me to self-quarantine ourselves for the fear of the microscopic infectious bastards spreading even further within the infinitesimal island that only grew a little bit bigger because of land reclamation?

It’s the most socially responsible thing to do, so being the socially responsible person that I am, I shall incarcerate myself in a few weeks. I have lots of revision to do anyway.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

“Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don’t you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can’t think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you’re supposed to read? Do you think every thing you’re supposed to think? Buy what you’re told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you’re alive. If you don’t claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned.”

—	Chuck Palahniuk (via fuckyeahpalahniuk)

Voulez-vous parler?

It’s 11:10 in the evening and I have already written thirteen pages of French notes. I’ve been contemplating on whether or not I should just print my notes since they’re already nicely presented here.

Seriously. This website is one hundred times more effective than going for French lessons in school. I don’t know why, but suddenly the French frenzy I had during the first half of last year has been gradually coming back. Hopefully, I will be able to fully regain my interest in studying French not because I want to re-like the subject, but because I don’t want it to be a nuisance in my IB studies.

You see, I’ve been showing commendable performances for the rest of my subjects – except for French. That’s why it’s painful to see my stagnating progress report here at home, which states that

Rowland has impressed his teachers with the quality of his work, his application and his attitude. He has obviously laid a very solid foundation for his final assessment and his teachers believe that he will perform well, with the notable exception of French. It would be a shame if Rowland’s final grades were marred by one poor performance and given Rowland’s ability and attitude…… BLAH BLAH BLAH AHHH FUCK SHIT

With the time.

Avec le temps…
avec le temps, va, tout s’en va
on oublie le visage et l’on oublie la voix
le cœur, quand ça bat plus, c’est pas la peine d’aller
chercher plus loin, faut laisser faire et c’est très bien

avec le temps…
avec le temps, va, tout s’en va
l’autre qu’on adorait, qu’on cherchait sous la pluie
l’autre qu’on devinait au détour d’un regard
entre les mots, entre les lignes et sous le fard
d’un serment maquillé qui s’en va faire sa nuit

avec le temps tout s’évanouit

avec le temps…
avec le temps, va, tout s’en va
mêm’ les plus chouett’s souv’nirs ça t’as un’ de ces gueules
à la gal’rie j’farfouille dans les rayons d’la mort
le samedi soir quand la tendresse s’en va tout’ seule

avec le temps…
avec le temps, va, tout s’en va
l’autre à qui l’on croyait pour un rhume, pour un rien
l’autre à qui l’on donnait du vent et des bijoux
pour qui l’on eût vendu son âme pour quelques sous
devant quoi l’on s’traînait comme traînent les chiens
avec le temps, va, tout va bien

avec le temps…
avec le temps, va, tout s’en va
on oublie les passions et l’on oublie les voix
qui vous disaient tout bas les mots des pauvres gens
ne rentre pas trop tard, surtout ne prends pas froid

avec le temps…
avec le temps, va, tout s’en va
et l’on se sent blanchi comme un cheval fourbu
et l’on se sent glacé dans un lit de hasard
et l’on se sent tout seul peut-être mais peinard
et l’on se sent floué par les années perdues- alors vraiment
avec le temps on n’aime plus.

Food for thought.

The methodology of choosing the right relationships can be paralleled to the act of conscientiously masticating food. But before that, you usually decide to eat something that looks initially appetizing; a fried rice meal will most probably look more mouth-watering when placed on china than on a box of Styrofoam, and an ordinary piece of chocolate will most likely draw gastronomic attention if the outside packaging looks elegant and expensive. In this sense, first impressions do count. In a world where a man’s perception is limited to his five senses, it may seem crucial for the opposite sex to extort his physical weaknesses (for women who seek sex), or to fulfill his long list of nearly impossible requirements (for women who seek pure love). Inevitably, and sadly, this causes some women to feel horrible, dejected and unimportant, and puts the world into chaos and unfairness. The famous line “Can you imagine a world without men?  No crime and lots of happy fat women” may hold some truth to it if we are to blame men for being so abjectly egocentric, selfish, and vain.

However, it is indubitable – taking my viewpoint into consideration – that she will catch the attention of a man if she’s already got the assets. A nice pair in front and at the back will surely stimulate and catalyze interest; accompanied by a pretty face, an hour-glass figure, a nice dress and a suitable cornucopia of flattering embellishments, a casual walk around the mall will definitely have some male eyes glued to her from all directions, and cause some female eyes to scorching-ly stare with utter jealousy. Well, one cannot deny that women, too, look for the lean, sexy man, with a nicely styled hair, a pretty boyish pimple-free face, and that tall, inverted pyramid statute. Nevertheless, it is known that men, in their natural environment, are more psychologically influenced by what their senses can simply perceive.

For food, what looks good outside usually tastes good inside. But for human beings, it may not necessarily be so. A beautiful lady with perfect almond-shaped nostrils may have the most abhorrent and disgusting personality or the most vilifying mannerisms ever known to mankind, while a woman with a godforsaken face and a godforsaken figure may have most wonderful heart and soul a man can ever have. After the examination and retrospection of a woman’s physicality, he may either continue to know her more or simply dismiss the idea of getting to know even just her name. After all, he’s just a man; he’s not programmed to initially see through a woman’s heart and soul, nor he is designed to resist temptation looking at beautiful beings and ignoring the not-so-beautiful ones. “The first time you buy a house you see how pretty the paint is and buy it.  The second time you look to see if the basement has termites. It’s the same with men,” says Lupe Velez.

That said; this manly behavior is pernicious to all fragile, sensitive, and vacillating womanly emotions. But sometimes, it just can’t be helped. Perhaps it is this manly frailty that has driven me to be so finicky, so particular and selective – like a hard-to-please, ancient university admissions officer, or simply someone like Simon Cowell. It was only a few years ago when I ditched my girlfriend not because I didn’t love her anymore, but because of the countless rumors that had stained the image I had of her. It was a mistake on my part when I conceded and allowed myself to be twisted and manipulated by them, but it was a bigger mistake to have left without knowing the truth. Well, I do not desire for another relationship yet, because I want to be more careful about whom I choose, but the burning desire for me to find the right someone has been building up quite immensely inside this encapsulated heart. Like any other guy, I long for the good-looking, nice, well-rounded girl, although recent events around me have made me realize that nobody is perfect (maybe except for Scarlett Johannson, ha ha). And who am I to set standards when I myself am equally frail and weak and imperfect as everybody else?

Everybody wants good food; in parallel with this, every man wants to be with a wonderful woman. But it all boils down to how each individual male sets his definition of the word wonderful. To me, I still am very much influenced by the stereotypical nice-face-and-hot-figure idea of  woman, but I’m pretty sure that time and the future course of events will shape (or even change) these ideals. After all,  there is no rush for a girlfriend yet. But if ever she comes pretty soon, I’ll make sure that I’m going to love her for who she is. And I hope that she will love me just the same.

Painting dreams.

I paint my dreams on the sky,

but they drift away with the clouds.

They fall down with the rain,

back to the ground where they came from.

Like sunhine, they burst forth in all directions -

countless hopes reaching for every possibility.

But some disappear with the setting of the sun,

blanketed by the dark of the night.

And some, like the constellations, form patterns

of aspirations,

amibitions,

the wildest imaginations,

and the desires of the heart.

But like the evening stars that populate the sky,

they can only be reached as far as the eyes can see.

You may stretch your hands high up into the air,

but you’re still nowhere near from reaching them.

The sky, as vast as your imaginations,

as endless as a circle,

as everlasting as the immarcescible,

is no place for them.

So paint your dreams on your hands,

so that you may always look at them

and know that no matter what,

you can always reach them within your grasp.

You’re the only man that’s ever been inside of me.

 

Whoa, whoa, i just took out his appendix.

LOL

Answer: C

 

You know why? Because my school holidays officially BEGIN today.

MWAHAHAHAHAHA

SATs are finally over!

A(H1N1) infested Philippines here I come!

[I just realized that Singapore has A(H1N1) cases too LOL]

Nigerian, Sri Lankan, Malaysian, Filipino, Indian, and a Singaporean taxi driver who made a mistake of taking FIVE people who badly wanted a taxi ride after a midnight dinner at Carl’s Jr because they were so full they couldn’t bear to walk back to the house.

Amanda: I’m surrounded by perverts. You guys are retarded. Seriously.

Rowland: You will miss us.

Amanda: I know.

Nalaka: Hey, Chris is the catalyst when it comes to this.

Rowland: Yeah, he’s the enzyme called Pervertase. (everyone breaks into laughter)

Nalaka: I’m the substrate. (still laughing)

Chris: It’s like Lock and Key! (tummies begin to hurt)

Rowland: Yeah Nalaka you’re the only one who can fit properly inside Chris’s. (amanda is showing signs of insanity)

Savy: … (no response. the rest are laughing hysterically)

Amanda: Oh my god, stop it, my tummy hurts!! (she’s reaching her turning point)

Rowland: Oh do you realize that a substrate is broken down after the reaction? (everyone is still laughing)

Nalaka: In that case the substrate will be Amanda. (She breaks into tears)

Rowland: Oh! And Savy will be the… the… inhibition.

Chris: Inhibitor! (Amanda starts going haywire)

Amanda: Stop it, I’m starting to imagine dirty things.

(everyone’s crazy now. Taxi driver really annoyed)

Amanda: Omg if I start to pee here all of you will be wet.

(i can’t remember the rest of that intellectual discussion)

Somehow, everything just doesn’t seem right.

I’m fed up with all this crap.

I don’t think I’m going back here ever again.

Should I just leave permanently after the end of this term?

Calculus test in a few hours.

I need to be more considerate to myself than to other people.

I can’t turn down promises. Wait, I never even made any promises at the first place. You just simply dragged me like a robot. Oh well, maybe it’s all my fault, because I’m too kind to say NO to anyone.