Reckless & Stupidity | #SpmDay1

Day 1 of SPM was such a bitch.

It was one of my best Malay essays I ever wrote in life, threw in nine idioms & a poem, great elaboration of points, and guess what - the worst that could happen actually happened.

My essay was off the topic. My first time going off topic, and it decided to occur on SPM.

As the matter of fact, the way I knocked in the realisation was hilarious. Thinking that a word from the question owns a meaning of such, I wrote the 4-page-long text obeying its requirements. Coming out of the hall with a slight grin, Nedd & I proceeded to the library to revise for our next test. There, I flipped open the Malay dictionary to triple-confirm the meaning of that word, shockingly discovering the exact definition of it.

Basically, the question wants us to write about the methods to promote World Peace. 

Well, I scribbled ways to promote our country's peace.

Fucked, am I?

Nedd stared at me hysterically while I began to laugh like a psychopath ready to map its next killing because seriously what else could I do? Start shedding tears, flooding the library? You guys probably know it's not my thing to tear up in public (especially in a library) but I admit, it's tough to hold it in. Malay was a subject I sank my heart into just to understand, furthermore it was a subject I actually 'study' for. Not the brag, deep inside I knew that if my essay was right on track, an A for Malay might not just stay as a dream anymore. And yup, I screwed it up because of my stupidity of blindly believing that I knew the meaning of such word, and confidently chose the risky path instead of a safe but boring one. Definitely learnt my lesson, eh.

In a blink of an eye, I felt my world collapsing. It's impossible to accept the fact that this subject might give me a grade below credit, or even failing it. If I fail, I would have to retake this heartbreaking subject a few months later. If I pass below credit, I would have to take up this subject in college. Worst, I might not even get into the course I aim for if I don't get at least a C for Malay. People around me would find this as not a huge deal that I should move on from, but it hurts because my essay was good. It wouldn't scar so much if I'm usually bad at Malay or I already screwed up the elaborations of the essay in the first place. Trust me, I tried so hard to forget about it so I could focus on the other subjects, but it just couldn't work. I'm not okay at all. It's really something that obstructs me to forgive myself, all because of plain stupidity & my reckless habit with a touch of overconfidence.

Sniffs.

With the objective to draw away my miserable thoughts, (lame) puns & jokes were naturally pulled out from my tongue to spark a laugh or two. Did not expect they would choo in a train of asthmatic guffawing till we barely revised a single thing during the 3 hour break. Deep down, my inner soul was tired of crying. Got a little (unhelpful) kick after Nedd told me that she could see the tearful me under my laughing coat. Somehow, watching my buddy laugh her lungs out cheered me up with a twisted thought of 'at least I'm making someone else happy, ain't I?'. Nope, not heading for some sacrificing-happiness-of-oneself-to-make-others-happy bullshit because that's just attention-craving crap, but I gotta say, seeing someone being joyful because of the jokes I pull out really glues a smile on top of my frown. Genuine smiles, of course - Don't frame it up just so I could sell myself a lie!

Hmm on the bright side, at least I get a short day's break as I'm having English for tomorrow. Hoping for the best for tomorrow, screwing up one favourable subject is already way more than enough for me! Better head off revising a little more idioms for tomorrow's essay, SPM's not something I could excel by the seat of one's pants!


All the best, SPM candidates! Cheers, Alanis xx.

Beats Before Talent

Memories pulled me back to when I was five, I remember randomly hitting objects with stationaries such as pencils and crayons because I feel like to. Annoyance was the term teachers and adults pinned on me besides weird and noisy. But the truth is, I don't know why. Why are my knuckles always hungry to knock, why are my fingers so playful to play the piano even when the keys aren't present. Mom & dad used to say it's a bad habit of mine that I need to get rid of, which I found hard to understand back then. How is knocking objects a negative addiction?

Question marks continue to hunt my immature mind when I hopped onto elementary school. As usual, I drum my desk with out-of-ink pens or sometimes fingers when I wasn't aware of my physical side. Students dislike my company in class because of the distractions I create. Of course I felt down for some time, but I was pretty fine with such an unexplainable habit of mine. At least it's better than grinding my teeth that produces a sandy resonance, which I told no one before.

Things began to clear its rainy clouds above my head when I got enrolled into high school. My addiction sort of 'improved' through years of heedless practice I perform everywhere I went. Soon, my beats got noticed by a true friend of mine. She referred my convention as a talent which gently blown my mind away. During the time, I discovered an amazing musical expertise from my classmate. As you guessed (or not), it's a thing named "Pen Tapping", which is creating fruitful beats by only one or two pens on a desk. I was staggered by such a rare informal performance my friend played in class and decided to get my itchy hands on it. With a month, Pen Tapping was a flair I could include in my casual application.

Yup, just two pens & a desk.

Very unexpectedly, this stage of mine became my main spotlight of my YouTube channel. My first cover went viral within the humans I know in days. Subscribers click the button more for pens than piano, proving that something I learnt in a month was attractive than a skill I took years to master. I admit I feel down sometimes watching my piano covers lose gas while on their way shooting to the stars, but a long lost invincible spark managed to drag me back on stage. 

I never knew my randomness in knocking solid objects could turn into my spotlight till now.

The focal message I want to send to you all amazing humans is real simple: Everyone owns a talent that allows each of us to shine in our own unique ways. Hidden or not, never give up on cultivating it even if you may meet harsh barriers on your hilly journey. 'Cause trust me, you're going to need that talent with you one day in order to permanently frame that cheeky smile on your face.

Meow. (Yup this cheeky smile)

Subscriber or not, thank you for the support on YouTube from the bottom of my heart. ;) 

Cfn 2015

Here's a scene of the event's BOD.

Qianrou - 4 years Cfn buddy. <3

I actually don't know what to start off with. To be honest, satisfaction isn't even included in it.


Screw the plot I'm not even in the mood to list out the stuff I went through in details, but it was a heck of awfully grey clouds I once threw in my letter of departure just to not let myself collide into that sight again. Imagine something I would die just so I wouldn't need to witness it happen in front of my empty eyes again. And it's heart-tearing to say this, but yes, it's happening again. The crap I used to cry in bed every single night as I didn't stand a chance to be in control of things, it's reliving history with a whole new level.

Now it sucks even more as my blog can't act as my smoke vent anymore as it's invaded with humans who shouldn't be knowing all the shit that's mashing up my life. Obvious enough, I'm not really in a role where I could explode whenever I feel like to or wherever I want to. My depression set to drain my thoughts in the morning hours only worsen things at the most incorrect time. It sawed me open in gory when the person whom stands on the fitting capability that offered real help became the main source of this repeating tornado. Admitting my current vulnerability, I cried nights & currently do so as I don't see a math equation that's able to fix this soul-fracturing drawback.

What's so dolorous that made words unfindable to express my unseeable tears? How can I even unleash the truth when the people around me also play a character of cause? How can I explain my dignity shattered into fine sand, mental persistence no longer hanging on the edgy cliff when there's not even one there with all ears in? Maybe I really am so odious I shouldn't be surprised seeing no shadows nearby to listen, maybe I'm just an idiot suffering with severe depression who can't face the mirror to obtain real help & instead lie dead on my desk every single day, smile so I could inspire people who look up to me, laugh like Mad Hatter so people think I'm okay. The strong cover I used to hold with feeble grips will soon be blustered off by the hurricane of realisation, it only matters on time.

To the man whom I once believed you could lend me an opaque helping grasp, I thought you knew what it feels like being in my shoes. I thought you knew how painful it is to witness out-of-control happenings slapping your face repeatedly with no mercy. Yet you're throwing such a scene straight into my eyes, like reflecting sunlight directly onto a Vampire's face. I don't what else to say, but thanks for breaking me till the point I am today. I probably seem as if I don't need support as I appear to have this lionheart-cover on me with my boycut & stained army tag, but you're furiously hitting the wrong keys this time. Overpolishing the sensitivity of another person for the reason she's not as strong as me only ships things closer to the iceberg of Titanic.

I'm sorry for being such a weakling, if that's what you crave to hear.

The Wonderland of Mine

"Good Night, daddy. See you tomorrow." I spoke with a soft voice towards my marble door, watching daddy's shadow disappear.

Hmm, a day spent well at cozy home, I though. Basic freedom, breezy sunlight, a kitchen to mess up with my still-in-practice culinary skills. Although it's a little sad being alone, at least I could be myself. Doesn't it feel extremely comfortable being so? Even though if I'm put through tough conditions, or even death, at least it's the real me on my cover. And that's all I ask for, a space to be myself.

Soon before I realised, my exhausted mind dozed off with my midnight thoughts as its lullaby. Across this dot, my souls has traveled into another dimension which its existence unknown. Only I can figure out the answer, but without an answer to search for. Confusing, ain't it? Well, people call them "dreams" or so. If I doesn't make you grin, then "nightmare"is its name. As what I prefer it to be named, "Wonderland". Inspired by Lewis Carroll. Finally, it sounds fair and mystical, good and bad combined into such a wonderful term. But the wonderland of mine ain't worth a smile at all.

"Tick-tock-tick-tock-ringggg....." a familiar sound woke my soul lying in another girl's body. As what it felt I was programmed to perform, I stood up and proceed to clean myself and get dressed. The first image that gave me a shiver was my uniform, hinting me that I was heading to an accident. Oatmeal for breakfast later, I sat my dad's car to what I call "Institution of Hell", as it was the only venue I was permanently coded to be someone else.

First step over hell's boundary, I could already feel the thickness of the air that caused me ill. The people around me, friends, rivals, unknowns, all made me felt lifeless in seconds. The inner me walked with an old man's stick while my cover seemed totally alright. Feared for conversations, I forced myself to sleep in the room I was ordered to be in. Oh, my internal soul, I meant. From the exposed, I looked like I was daydreaming through the rusted walls. Not even half a day was history yet.

During the break which I preferred as "Torture of Crowds", my coded self went to greet humans I envy. The hatred towards myself grew as there was no one else to blame except for me. Fortunately, I had control to get myself food so I could much my bites at a snail pace to prevent involving myself into any kind of chatter. My inner self teared up at this point, dying to wake up from this terrifying wonderland. Of course, a classical pinch stopped working since year 1865.

Back in our miserable boxes of erudition, my stopwatch was the one and only sight my eyes locked on. My traumatic brain calculated time to rain a drop of hope for my internal soul. Humans walk, run by my opaque body as if I wasn't an existence. Ignorance never tried itself as I guessed its outcome of waving hello. Sprawling on my dusty desk like a corpse left floating on the ocean, I ponder about why was this nightmare-ish wonderland fated on me, why wouldn't it accept a twist and just let myself be free for once. My rage grew but coding did its working numbing my unapparent feelings.

"Dear sun, you can rise anytime now." I begged in thoughts.

After what it felt like days, my real daddy snapped me out from a land I would die to never return. He informed me to get ready for a picnic by nine. I questioned him about school as the day's mad Monday, he answered, "Silly, yesterday was just Friday! Are you that eager for school, Alanis?"

And the cycle goes on.

Was that even a dream?

The Boy Who Changed

It all began two years ago. Nothing much, our first glance of each other in school. It's astounding that we only met after three years being in the same environment. But our meet was a mistake I should had known at the start.

The actual stare was in January 11, 2014, where we share the same band in some club I'm pretty active in. I was the assistant head of the band, which means I'm sort of his 'senior' although he's a year older than me. During ice-breaking session, he was sort of the only person responding to questions, I guess that's when I situate more awareness on him than the others. Without regards, we started chatting online almost every day. He would began it with questions concerning the club, then slowly drifting away to unrelating contents that kept the conversation going. To be frank, I was comfortable with this happening, as I felt being mildly cherished in a way I was never before. Our talks were arbitrary, which is something I looked forward to after coming back from boring school.

Months passed, our chats never came to a halt. Our relationship became distinct, but without the terms of love. I would say a guy best friend of mine. We shared our life happenings, glee, hatred, everything exactly. I was temporarily out of solitude, surprising I know. The indelible chapter was during the night of a camp in a forest. We lay supine on cold beige ground, head to head, enjoying the beauty of dense midnight blue and glowing stars. It was a phenomenon not everyone could live, a memory I could never forget.

But I was drowning in oblivion.

Weeks later, we skyped about random thoughts again. Out of the blue, he created an epiphany. He first asked me for a favour, I agreed. He then unveil words I never hope to hear.

He fell in love with a close friend of mine.

I stunned like rock, not knowing what to feel. Lucky that we weren't skyping through video. Momentarily shutting down my feelings, I congratulated him with emojis and suggested ways for his success to chase his girl of dreams. Minutes later I ended the call, breaking down forthwith on my pillow. I suddenly realise I was crushing on him all the while. Our bond was so ephemeral I didn't know how to drag it to an end.

Soon, his relationship with the girl he love shattered into bits without a single doubt from the spectators. It was kind of presumed from their different types of traits that hardly click.  Me on the other hand was crippled, vanquished. I found out he treated other girls like how he treated me. To be more specific, he was basically flirting to every other girl I know. I attempted to let it go, but it couldn't break free unless I spit the truth. And I did after a deep breath during our last friendly chat. It certainly didn't went well, but my gloom soon freed itself into the past. Hooray?

Time pass while I observe the change of our lives. Soon I thanked myself for not crushing too hard on him. He isn't the guy I thought he is. He took a turn after his graduation. Changed his looks from smart to trashy. I don't know. I sort of taste grief of not understanding him utterly before I lay my crush, but also because I don't want him to change. I want him to stay as that boy who's neat, astute, kind. Maybe he doesn't know he once owned these qualities, but he truly did, at least in people's eyes. To be honest, I experienced a dash of relief and joy too as I'm completely over him.

To the boy who changed: If you're reading this, pause and refresh your mind. You're driving on the wrong side of the road, and it's not too late to make a U-turn. Change not for me or the people around you, but yourself. Please.

Summer, the Husky

A day I would say sunny
I met a little Husky
He acted cute and funny
In a blink, we became buddies

I named him little Summer
It was when I met this hugger
No matter how cold was winter
He never fails to make me warmer

Who cares I own no friend
But a companion that allows a two-man-band
Summer rarely hides in his den
Whatever I do, he's my biggest fan

"Hey Summer, let's go out to play!"
The line I excitedly say everyday
I wonder why they couldn't see us bray
My parents say he's just my imaginative stray

Summer, Summer, please don't leave me soon
You kept me sane like Earth and Moon
Without you, my heart would lose its glee
So get me a husky, Summer it shall be.

Summer in the Autumn.

 - Inspired by my dream of having Summer -

Infamous: First Light

School just started & last year's marked test papers started flying back one by one, but I never thought I would ever see my favourite English essay again. From the title you guessed it, I wrote about Infamous: First Light!

Well, it wasn't fully the same as the gameplay, I changed some parts of it (can't remember during the test) but it still turned out the way I like, and I would love to share it with you guys! The instructions of the essay is to end it with "since that day, I have never done anything bad again". 

So this is how it goes. 

    "Fetch, mind lending me a hand here? It's our last day of work, after I get my share I'll get you that Shiba Inu dog you wanted." said Brent with a laugh.

    "Are you kidding me? Let's go now! I can't wait grabbing its furry little paws!" I screamed with excitement.

    My name's Fetch, you probably don't find it a common name, but it's as uncommon as I like it. I am one of those so called "Conduits" who are born with unbelievable powers, but am not happy to be one. My parents called the "Conduit Cops" which are known as D.U.P. when they can't cope with neon lights shooting out of my palms. They rejected me as their own daughter, but luckily my brother, Brent saved me. He grabbed my arm, leaped out the back window and there we ran, to start out new life.

    It was tough. No shelter, no food. Brent always protected me from kids who threw pebbles at us or cops that were trying to find us. We have no choice but to steal from grocery stores to stop our bodies from shivering, our tummies from rumbling. I bet you were wondering, why not use my powers? Brent always told me the first rule is to hide my powers. We need to live like normal citizens if we don't want to get into any trouble. Without Brent, we would already be dead or busted. So thankful to have such a great brother.

    After years of living under the bridge with the company of rats, things started to come to a change. Brent got a job, an unpleasant one. He was hired by drug dealers near Lantern Town. They said his stealing skills were amazing, letting him go would be a waste. We were given an apartment to stay in, an average pay and the best part - unlimited amount of drugs. Of course, how could we even resist?

    Our lives were getting better, or should I say exciting. Shipping drugs in the day, getting paid, sniffing cocaine all day. I can describe it as the life in heaven. Sometimes I would get out of control, I start shooting neon fireworks all around the town, flying around like a neon maniac. Brent was worried, he would ground me and restrict me from going out. I understand his actions, I know he loves me, I just can't help it sometimes.

    Last month was the month of my birthday, also the last month of Brent's job. The deal between him and the drug dealers are coming to an end. He wanted to get a better job, at least a legal one. He think that it's too dangerous, especially having to care for me. I could be in trouble if he screws up. It was our last day of drug shipping, I was all hyped up with the drugs spinning in my head. Brent sneaked the drugs onto the boat and we were ready to set sail.

    Suddenly, cops appeared at the dock. They look like they are doing their daily patrolling. Brent and I hid in the boat without the sound. I felt itchy and decided to go out and "play" with the cops. Brent tried to stop me, but my ears weren't even functioning at that time.

    So I leaped out like a monkey and showed the cops some magic tricks. I shot them with neon lights and chased them while they ran. It was fun, seeing them running off like a heap of zebras. I chuckled and walked back towards the boat.

    But things weren't as fine as it seems.

    In a sudden, D.U.P. helicopters and army tanks arrived at the scene. Brent and I were surrounded by a deadly team. Without my mind awake, I fought back with neon blasts and grenades. Explosions were everywhere. Gunshots were fired. I was actually enjoying myself, unleashing my powers after so long. It felt awesome, like I'm unstoppable.

    Soon enough, I realised the D.U.P. were starting to fall back. My evil laugh filled the town. I can't believe I'm beating the deadliest force on earth. It was a once in a lifetime experience.

    "Fetch! Look out!" shouted Brent as these are his last words to me.

    A rocket bomb dropped onto our boat. Then what I could remember seeing was a bright explosion that blinded me. Everything was muted, I was thrown into the sea. When I was awake, I found myself in a cage. Yes, a cage, with the initials "D.U.P." engrossed on its door. I broke into tears, my panic attack struck once again. Everything was in a big mess.

    When I still had the hope to see Brent again, a D.U.P. officer handed me his half-burnt cap. I was the the cap I gave it to him on his 18th birthday. That was when my world tumbled down like an earthquake, crashing onto my soul. I regretted so bad as it was all my fault being such a brat. I couldn't even listen to my brother's first rule. What kind of sister am I? I know you'll never forgive me Brent. I'm so sorry, Brent.

    Since that day, I have never done anything bad again.

I miss you, Brent.