29 April 2005

The alphabet man has come visiting

My neck is sprained.. and my colour test says that i need to relax.... i think there are lines on the screen that i can see except i am not sure if it is just something in my eye that is moving... am goin to sleep in a minute... not really... prb in the next half hour... and then i am going to hunt for cigg burns frm last nite cz if i remember i knw that i got quite a few..bt yea fun has its price...bt then again nothing comes for free...

WEll what do i have to write...? What is a writer after all...some one who pens down their thoughts on paper... that is all there is to the writer... he is nothing but a social commentator...

n 1: writes (books or stories or articles or the like) professionally (for pay) [syn: author] 2: a person who is able to write and has written something


26 April 2005

The Temple Widow

A narrow dirt path, generously peppered with tiny pebbles, tiny miniatures of their gargantuan ancestors, leads to a bridge. It hangs, rickety and old. Old but not well used, old like abandoned and not frequently used. The bridge hangs low over a small stream that slowly gurgles past, happy unlike those that visit the place.

The bridge leads to a temple. It is not very big, only perhaps the size of a small hut and at the most the size of an average temple hall. The temple has no deity; the temple has no one corner that doesn’t look like the other. It is clean, well swept, and empty. It has no furniture, and excepting a series of well spaced out windows, the walls remains uninterrupted.
She stumbles in, the lady. She is not very tall; the ten foot door greets her mid way. Her face is a pale, marred with bruises and leaf cuts over her face that show like rain drops on the window of a moving vehicle. Her hair, a silvery black medley of fading youth is in disarray, playing house to numerous twigs and dead leaves.

However, she feels free. It is as though all the worry that she had on her way there seeped out of her through the windows into the surrounding hills, echoed their way out as sounds do, dissipating into nothing.

“Is that all they are, my worries? Nothing?” she wonders as she looks around this temple that she was brought to. She had started out early that morning, under the guise of jogging; she let herself be lead through her neighborhood listening to some voice that sounded a lot to her, like her heart. She liked to believe in the scientific, and therefore later convinced herself that it was an instinctive decision that she had made when she turned towards the forest, as opposed to turning the other way round toward civilization.

She called herself mad many a time, along the long trek that she took, randomly walking along the forest, not marking any trees, not leaving a trail nor breadcrumbs, not leaving any sign of her whereabouts. She thought of the possible consequences of getting lost many times over, but she found herself unable to turn back, to give up the one chance that she had to break free.
One thing that she never had done was to doubt herself. It never occurred to her, the thought of being in the wrong. She knew that she was doing the right thing. Where ever it was that she was going to it was away from the man that she had once loved and cherished. The one that had promised to protect her from all the harm the world could churn out; except, it seemed to her, the harm that he undid on to her.

She never faulted him; strangely enough she thought that…that it would end. They were going through a rough patch of time, and she got over it by crying. And he couldn’t cry, that is what society did to men. It made it socially unacceptable for them to show they cared, show their distress. So he had taken it out on her.

And soon the rough patch that they were going through expanded horizontally, growing linearly into years, and years and now, with but a few years left of what one would call life; at an age when companionship was meant to mean the most, and the number of old people that they knew reduced dramatically with each passing day, she sought life in the outside.

When she had realized that perhaps it was second nature to her husband to be mean and to be awful as he were, she grew numb. She no longer justified his actions or her own inactiveness. She had become numb, try as hard did her friends, her relatives, her own mother, to pinch her out of it, it did not work. It fell on deaf years and a dead heart.

She never did express the sense of betrayal that she felt, the loss of love, hope and. Her one fundamental significant piece of land had refused to flower; her seeds had not grown to anything but rotten sprouts and she had gotten sick of shoveling out the dead and replanting.
You couldn’t make things grow depriving them of what they need. Neither could you make someone love you the way you want them to.

Mascarra clots

How annoying are mascarra clots on ur lashes?

well they are itchy, make ur lashes feel heavy, make you want to sleep, make u want to comb ur lashes, scratch ur lower lids in an effort to make everything allright. WHen by right what you ought to be doing is washing the damned thing OFF so that u knw, u feel like u have eyes again..that are functional. =)
In short, kutu eggs on lashes.

yuck *puke*



Well, it mite be late according to ur time... it mite be late according to mine as well....but what's new there...well oldie....happy birthday again...may i remind you that i am the last one standing and i'm proud to say that i am the last one standing...and guess what.... u'd allready be two whole months into being twenty...yes that's what i said t-w-e-n-t-y ... by the time i turn into what u have become... eeew... bt wt the hell...u knw wt they say.....ur a now a young adult so behave responsibily.... ha ha ha i still have 2 mths....woooooooohhooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!

25 April 2005

And still lost...

I thought that this was interesting.... what we all yearn for.... he he it's a not bad presentation/movie....


Note: Why is that God only talks about us. I mean us as in us humans. Things are important only if we think that they are important, a tree is useless if it is not usefull for us. Doesn't mean that the tree just happened to stumble into becoming alive, unless it did. Anthropocentric.

And i thought this was hillarious...

At the top of this website is a prayer: "God, protect me from your followers." Well, needless to say, it doesn't work, thereby providing concrete proof that God doesn't exist and that prayer doesn't work. And those who have squeaked through the supernatural protective net have expressed psychosis, which proves that religion creates it.
Some of the nutty messages received include the following. I could provide the names of the people who sent them, but these comments are so generic and typical that they apply to basically any blind believer, with the emphasis on blind.

  • "When you die, you will meet your Maker and fall down on your knees before Jesus and ask His forgiveness." Ditto with the above. Why would the "omnipotent" Jesus and "His Father" be so threatened by our unbelief? Did "He/They" not provide us with intelligence? Yet, "He" wishes us to spit on "His" gift and not use it? This asinine comment also means that the hundreds of millions of Buddhists and others who don't believe in the Jewish godman are diabolical and will be severely punished. Those who subscribe to such bigotry are already living in hell.
  • "Have you read the Bible cover to cover?" Actually, I have, and the hypocrite who asks such a question obviously hasn't, because the Bible is full of dreadful stories about genocide, murder, adultery, incest, deceit, greed, arrogance, megalomania, sexual perversion, and all sorts of despicable behavior. On second thought, perhaps the people who ask such a question HAVE read the Bible, as we are sure it creates dementia.
  • "I'll pray for you!" This comment sounds like an alien language to freethinkers. It comes out something like this: "BZZZPPFFFFTTT." When interpreted, it becomes clear that the person who is making such a comment feels quite smug and superior in that he/she has chosen the RIGHT god, compared to whatever it is you do with your consciousness, such that he/she now has a direct pipeline, whereas you do not, and he/she will put in a good word for you, you lowlife scum. Since the concept of "God" is completely arbitrary, we could respond that we will pray to the Cosmic Mickey Mouse that our well-wishers become intelligent. Naturally, we are not talking about loved ones who make this heartfelt prayer comment in times of true trauma. We are addressing the condescending offer presented by missionaries and proselytizing fanatics who have never even met us but who feel they know we are sinners who need prayer to their "Father in heaven." Theirs is a rather unctuous and smarmy mentality.

You are NOT displaying critical thinking, not using your mind. You are also uneducated as to the world's cultures and history. It is not a sign of great intelligence to blindly believe what someone else has told you is true, especially when such beliefs basically condemn hundreds of millions of other people. Many of these blind believers are simply not very bright, yet they assume that their belief equalizes them with those who are smarter. "Jesus loves you just the way you are!" is the hypocritical hue and cry of those who feel inferior but who will not recognize it and admit it. Yet, according to these same cheerleaders, Jesus DOESN'T love you just the way you are - you must thoroughly change, surrendering your mind and soul to him. A bit of a psychotic extortion racket.
The bottom line is that those who dare to question and challenge cherished beliefs which are not rational and reasonable, and who live relatively righteous lives without such irrational and intolerant beliefs, should be recognized as being the epitome of what any god person would wish in "his children." They are utilizing all of the gifts that such a god person would provide, were "he" real. And if they have utilized these "God-given" gifts, they know that the interpretation of "God" is a cultural artifact, not an absolute truth that must be defended and beaten into other people. In using these gifts, they will discover that over the millennia, hundreds of millions of people have held differing opinions as to the Infinite, which is only common sense, since it is, after all, Infinite.
Humans need to lighten up! Their gods and religions are dreary, humorless, wrathful, intolerant, oppressive and generally unpleasant. There is no love, no joy, no fun! Humans are under the dominion of ideologies that are slowly but surely killing them. They need to release them and be free! No one is going to punish them for enjoying life, and there is no point to living if they can't enjoy it. No good god person wants to see people stumbling around in dread seriousness, doing cockamamie rituals and constantly beating up themselves and others. Life is a joke. There is no purpose, so everyone is free to create his or her own, making it as amusing, joyous and scrupulous as possible.

2001- S Acharya


There's no easy answer... but there are interesting thoughts.... ;)


21 April 2005

Where is God? What is God?

What is God? Where is God?

It's a question that one of my roomates asked me and to that i have this to say.

He does not exist.

She agress wit me and rationalizes, if he existed then there ought not be so much suffering in this world.

not necessarily, i say. Happiness is relative: a man from the hills who has been deprived of all the technology that we in the city posess pities us. They do not have the peace that i have at home.

What about the people in Somalia, she sayz.

well sure, they have enough reason to be unhappy. The have no food, they have nothing that we can see for them to be happy about. But if all ur life one of the only things that u felt, as a constant was hunger then how would u knw the difference. I gave her an example of a program i watched on discovery. Basically there was a woman stating, she did not want to leave her house or her home. Considering the government was relocating everyone, because her land was not meant to be fertile. And she says, i do not care if it is. it will be hard for us to live, but i cannot relocate like the others. this is the only place that i have lived, and i think the hardship is easier to take than the relocation.

So how do we knw that there are ppl suffering. I am not sayin that they can't live better, ofcourse they can.I am not sayin there's harm in sympathesizing. But i mean, happiness is what u choose it to be. U can make it, u can unmake it. No need for God to get involved.

So, she sez, u say God does exist.

I told her i don't personally believe he does. I mean, when we can find happiness and satisfaction we have to look inside. A person who is looking for their soul mate will find them. But if they dunno what they want in their soul mate they can never be happy with what they find. A person to think they are not complete singular, mite think they are with another. But u are born as a person, so why would a person be born incomplete? When all that is taken into account, we are happy individuals. If we are happy within, then wheres the need to look, find God outside? If he exists, then fine...good for him. But I'd rather he have nothin to do with my life, i'd prefer to find my own happiness- another story, borrowed frm the series called LOST.
A moth, is in a cocoon. It struggles to get out of the cocoon. Anyone watching it can help its struggle, we cld always take a penknife and cut it open gently so that it can emerge. It will emerge, pretty. But it will not survive, because it's not strong enough to face the outside.
So i want to be strong on my own, i don't need God. I think he needs me to remember him, for if no one remembered God....he wouldn't exist.

19 April 2005

Mon Cherie

mmm... the bar can only be set that high, and as a person i can reach only that high... if i falter or if i fake it it would not be true to either myself or my person... but at the end of the day i am Sabitha. A character in a book called life, and when the day comes when this book is all that i am a part of, a character who is toyed with by a non-existential author, a play and its director i knw then that i will be very very very pissed off.... =) (tried to sound smart but not today)


It has come to my attention that i care entirely too much of what happens to you. When one day you fail, to be someone who amuses me so, makes me feel wretched, happy; makes me go through a rollercoaster of a ride everytime and everyday, I fear that i will die and live again. I do not use such words so often, but I fear any word I can use will not express, to the fullest, what you do to me. What you make me feel, the way you lift me and drown me, in your actions, in the way you say what you say, the way you can make me do things I didn't think i would do for anyone. This is fucking-amazing.

17 April 2005

What the hell are we?

Nuthin like the early morning bird squawk to make u wanna buy a gun and go on an excution mission of all the feathered creatures that u mite come across. SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Bloody Squawk-head!
In the 80s we had the Afros... we made fun of all our parents/uncles for running around in permed hair that was so large the face looked like a fullstop next to giant wheel, ha bt now we have the Nigga-Speak... running arnd heads in caps, sunglasses at night, bandannas, bandages and block pants..the lower it goes the cooler it is... but it won't slip off coz there's that belt holding it all together..ofcourse it hangs loose at the end as well, to tuck it in is too un-cool, too white-boy. Try explainin that to who ever it is that laughs at u.
Bitch fights in open air, the question of 'fake love'- was it true or not? Did u really really love me?? (batting eyelids)- or was it all just pretend because if it was pretend ur such a whore, i hate u forever and ever-
If it was that fake, there's not ne thing that u can say to make them feel jack shit regretfull cz it was all in the plan and well, if it wasn't fake ur only hurting the person who cared for u, hurting them because ur too busy batting ur eyelids, house-pourin ur tears into a well soo deep, it could be a metaphor for ur brain.

At the end of the day, i wonder could it, pardon my blasphemous state of thought, but i wonder, is it all in the quest for attention...cz someone just has to has to look at u ALL the time.

INFIDELITY: so u would take ur boyfriend lying to u, nt showing up for half the dates that u fix for him, nt necessarily making u feel like gold, treating u like an acessory a forgotten one at that but he's highly a one woman man, what a commendation, what an achievement...like it was his natural right to have more than one, like he chose to be with one that he loved, when infact it was his instinctive need to have more that one woman. When it comes to him kissing someone you call it quits? So all ur life u go around looking for that man of character, that sensitivity, that job but when it comes to the touching of one lip with another, all THAT down the drain because nevermind he is the person u love the most, never mind he is the nicest guy that u've met, never mind he makes u think ur his princess, but what a shame he's chosed to kiss someone else. What a shame he has to go. Tsk tsk, he din respect u enuff. What a shame tht ur only human(much like him) prone and allowed to make mistakes.

SLUTS: I respect sexual workers, for what ever reason they are in their profession they have my respect, the same amount to ne one who's nt bumming arnd. I think their profession should be legalized, am all for ne thing that accounts or equals an acknowledgement of their existence not only as women, citizens but at workers, as those who feed the economy. But I get insulted when i am called that. Why? I mean i totally respect them- what is this socially inbuilt constraint that i need to identify and get rid off coz it's sooo not the me that i am right now....like seriously!

Consciousness is a potential technology; we are exquisite machines, nothing less than sentient patterns. As such, there's no convincing technical reason we can't eventually upload ourselves into matrices of our design and choosing. It's extremely likely the phenomenon we call "intelligence" will cease to be strictly biological as we begin to merge with our machines more meaningfully and intimately. Philip K. Dick once wrote that "living and nonliving things are exchanging properties." I suspect that in a few hundred years, separating the animate from the inanimate will probably be an exercise in futility. Ultimately, we have two options: self-mutate by venturing off-planet in minds and bodies of our own design, or succumb to extinction.


16 April 2005



Gulitinous rice balls covered with generous amounts of grated coconut, thick kuay teow noodles in spicy soup, barbecued chicken and okra,cold coconut milk jelly. One wet, cold, muddy, shivering indian girl amongst the havoc raising, amazingly charged sharpshooting Burmese youngsters. WELCOME TO THE BURMESE WATER FESTIVAL! (where no one leaves dry or hungry!)

ha ha ha, that was as fun to write as it was to attend! So yea, the celebration placed on the last day of the Burmese New Year (which lasts 4 whole days)is absolutely AMAZING. Started as one of my housemates and I made our way to what appeared to be a crowd of strangers. Ha ha apparently, at this festival u dun have to knw someone to chuck water at them.

We were greeted by smiles and ppl holding mugs of water that was non-hesitantly chucked over bth of us while we still struggled to look for someone we knew. After being thoroughly drenched by the welcoming fire brigade, we found our two burmese housemates, ready to hug us, it din matter they were wet and soaking for we were the same and in a minute, the food, the yummy food arrived along with some rummy-fruit punch.

But to let someone off so easy is apparently also not the tradition. While were were sitting there, generous friends comtinued with emptying out their mini-pails, some warm water, some normal water, some bloody cold freezing water and floating ice cubes..on our heads and bodies...all to the accompanying sound of burmese music.

Ofcourse, u din hear that very well. What with everyone runing everywhere with water jugs..that ofcourse until someone mixed up the charcoal with bits of water to make mud that was generously shared... and so i went being so naive, to think that now that i was practically pretty wet, i would be excused, to fill up some water with a stolen pail to wash my face...except i was chucked head first into the pool... all in the name of good fun...that went around plenty..the only regret being that i din get there earlier...well till next year!

Jesu Ba..to all those today who made the evening one so fun!

15 April 2005

KISS the breath of the life that was =(

Sign...from discussing authorial criticism to 'showing my fee receipt' (which apparently warranted three calls in the first part of the day, freaked the shit outta me and when i actually made it there-)- i got there and they marvelled at the fact that she (the recepit person) had given me a blue slip as opposed to a white slip...photostated it and then sed i had a nice pic in the hostel card, handed it over to me...and i thought i was gonna be kicked outta the hostel for nt handing it in earlier...
and then walking back to class and laughing over Dr Andrew's witticism, and having one of the girls clarify- "when u say 'drawing out the author' u mean we can draw or write?"(Suet's smart comment: So dumb when u talk to her ur voice echoes in her head)...
thats life right...contradictions, the black the white, the omnipresent gray...the shades of life..shades of the rainbow...where is that pot of gold, mr leprichaun?

13 April 2005


There once lived a young wommon named Cinderella, whose natural birthmother had died when Cinderella was but a child. A few years after, her father married a widow with two older daughters. Cinderella's mother-of-step treated her very cruelly, and her sisters -of-step made her work very hard, as if she were their own personal unpaid labourer.

One day an invitation arrived at their house. The prince was celebrating his exploitation of the disposessed and marginalized peasantry by throwing a fancy dress ball. Cinderella's sisters-of-step were very excited to be invited to the palace. They began to plan expensive clothes they would use to alter and enslave their natural body images to emulate an unrealistic standard of feminine beauty. (It was especially unrealistic in their case, as they were differently visaged enough to stop a clock.) Her mother-of-step also planned to go to the ball, so Cinderella was working harder than a dog(an appropriate if unfortunately speiciest metaphor).

When the day of the ball arrived, Cinderella helped her mother-and sisters-of-step into their ball gowns. A formidable task: It was like trying to force a ten pounds of processed nonhuman animal carcasses into a five-pound skin. Next came immense cosmetic augmentation, which it would be best not to describe at all. As evening fell, her mother and sisters-of-step left Cinderella was sad, but she contended herself with her Holly Near records.

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and in front of Cinderella stood a man dressed in loose-fitting, all-cotton-clothes, and wearing a wide-brimmed hat. At first Cinderella thought he was a Southern-lawyer, or a band leader, but he soon put her straight. "Hello," "I'm your fairy god person, individual diety proxy, if u prefer. So, u want to go to the ball, eh? And bring yourself into the male concept of beauty? Squeeze into some tight fitting dress that will cut off ur circulation? Jam ur feet into high heel shoes that will ruin ur bone structure? Paint ur face with chemicals and make up that have been tested on non human animals?"

"Oh yes, definately," she said in an instant. Her fairy god person heaved a great sigh, and decided to put off her political education to another day. With his magic, he enveloped in a beautiful, brought light and whisked her away to the place.

Many carriages were lined outside the palace that night; apparently, no one had ever thought of carpooling. Soon in a heavy, gilded carriages painfully pulled by a team of horse slaves, Cinderella arrived. She was dressed in a clinging gown, woven of silk stolen from unsuspecting silk worms. Her hair was festooned with pearls rendered from hardworking defenceless oysters. And her feet, dangerous though it may seem, she wore slippers made of finely cut crystal.
Every head in the ball room turned as Cinderella entered. The men stared and they lusted after this wommon who had captured perfectly the Barbie doll idea of feminine desirability. The womyn, trained at an early age to despise their own bodies, looked at Cinderella with envy and spite. Cinderella's own mother- and sister-of-step, consumed with jealousy, failed to recognize her.

Cinderella soon caught the roving eye of the prince, who was busy discussing jousting and bear baiting with his cronies. Upon seeing her, the prince was struck with a fit of not being able to speak as well as the majority of the population.

"Here," he thought, "is a wommon that i could make my pricess and impregnate with the progeny of our perfect genes, and thus make myself the envy of every other prince for miles around. And she's blond too!"

The prince began to cross the ballroom toward his intended prey. HIs cronies also began to walk toward Cinderella. So did every other male in the ballroom who was younger than 70 and not serving drinks.

CInderella was proud of the commotion she was causing. She walked with head high and carried herself like a womon of eminent social standing. But soon it became clear that the commotion was turning into something ugly, or atleast socially dysfunctional.

The prince had made it clear to his friends that he was intent on "posessing" the young wommon. But the prince's resoluteness angered his pals, for they too lusted after her and wanted to own her. The men began to shout and push each other. The prince's best friend, who was a large if cerebrally constrained duke, stopped him halfway across the dance floor and insisted that he was going to have Cinderella. The prince's response was a swift kick to the groin, which left the duke temporarily inactive. But the price was quickly seized by other sex-crazed males, and he disappeared into a pile of human animals.

The womyn were apalled by this vicious display of testosterone, but try as they might, they were unable to seperatethe combatants. To the other womyn, it seemed that Cinderella was the cause of all the trouble, so they encircled her and began to display very unsisterly hostility. She tried to escape, but her impractical glass slippers made it nearly impossible. Fortunately for her, none of the other womyn were shod any better.

The noise grew so loud that no one heard the cloxk in the tower chinme midnight. When the bell rang the twelfth time, Cinderella's beautiful gown and slipers disappeared, and she was dressed once again in her peasant's rags. Her mother- and sisters-of-step recognized her now, but kept quiet to avoid embarassment.

The womyn grew silent at this magical transformation. Freed from the confinements of her gown and slippers, Cinderella sighed and stretched and scratched her ribs. She smiled, closed her eyes and said, "Kill me now if you want, sisters, but atleast I'll die in comfort."
The womyn around her again grew envious, but this time they took a different approach: Instead of exacting vegeance on her, they stripped off their bodices, corsets, shoes, and every other confining garment. They danced and jumped and screeched in sheer joy, comfortable at last in their shifts and bare feet.

Had the men looked up from their macho dance of destruction, they would have seen many desirable womyn dressed as if for the boudoir. But they never ceased pounding, punchin, kicking, and clawing each other until, to the last man, they were dead.

The womyn clucked their tongues but felt no remorse. The palace and realm were theirs now. Their first official act was to dress the men in their discarded dresses and tell the media that the fight arose when someone threatened to expose the crossdressing tendencies of the prince and his cronies. Their second was to set up a clothing co-op that produced only comfortable, practical clothes for womyn. Then they hung a sign on the castle advertising CinderWear (for that was what the new clothing was called), and through self-determination and clever marketing, they all-even the mother- and sisters-of-step-- lived happily ever after.

--> Garner, James Finn (1994)
N4- Macimillan

11 April 2005


A rose dreamed day and night about bees, but no bee ever landed on her petals.

The flower, however, continued to dream: during the long nights, she imagined a heaven full of bees who flew down to bestow fond kisses on her. By doing this, she was able to last until the next day, when she opened again to the light of the sun.

One night, the moon, who knew of the rose’s loneliness, asked, "Aren’t you tired of waiting?"

"Possibly, but I have to keep trying."


"Because if I don’t remain open, I will simply fade away."

At times, when loneliness seems to crush all beauty, the only way to resist is to remain open.

-Open to love
- By Paulo Coelho

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

- William Blake

10 April 2005

Ten Cents- Cantaloupe.

Oi what's wrong with you?

Oi no, what the fuck is wrong with you?

So i ask you to come and you don't want to come because for once ur not given a fucking red carpet invitation... well i'm sorry but if ur thinking your still 'in' it, go ahead but note to yourself, you're not that in it. You are not the person that i knew, and i know that you can do so much better that what you are now. Why should i respect, acknowledge or be with a lesser than better version of yourself? Your not yourself, or your not the self that i knew you to be. I've seen you as a better person, I mean, since when did you get so self conceited, where the hell did that ego come from? There was a time when you sed you would give so much just so that you could keep all the friends that you make and all the ones that you made, and now you don't even care. I mean, i Understand people have their own growth patterns and perhaps your looking at something in such a different light that i don't get it, but but, i don't like the person that you've become. And i don't want to be a part of that person anymore, it's not your fault it is my own because i cannot force this. I Cannot be that person that you have become, fake my friends and fake my feelings so that i don't have to walk alone. I'd rather walk alone than wake up one day and find that i've lost the sense of myself that i've been building long before i even came to know you. In short, forgive me for not wanting to be and no longer being the person who gives a shit about you.

03 April 2005

Maddening Thought Bolt Bombardment

missing u...missing u...missing u...missing u....missing u....my heart is so heavy...tears brewing under.... if u were here right now... i'd feel so much better...i can't forget...i hate myself right now... why does he always make me feel so ashamed? So sick of myself..how can he do that...why does he have the power to make me feel so shit... please come now coz i need someone like u more than ever... i'm never too big on admittin...bt yea i admit..i need u now...i'm scared of him..i'm tired of caring...uncaring...caring...being confused...why tie my legs and push me under water in that i manage to stay but afloat only a short while before i fall again into the water till i can't breathe ne more and then my heart feels heavy like it feels right now except then i feel more comforted because i will die shortly and now i knw that i will have to wake up tommorow to see the bloody sunshine again. I can cry unfair and i want to plead unfair i wanna see what's goin to happen tommorow and the day after i wanna knw if doin this here will make u come back i wanna knw if i can will ever see u again for right now i think i never will see u and that my life will be filled with people like him that make me scared make me whimper within while all the time i try to keep a brave face and tell myself no ocean is too large for a swim no pebble too small to lift but i knw that at the end of the day none of this will happen like a battle between my left and my right my logic and my emo i wanna be numb i wanna be urs i wanna be most of all rid of him and them that think like him and act like him and more importantly them that wanna be him how odd and disgusting that there would be people that would wanna immitate that imperfect creation or that creation that which mutated to become that thing that i fear that thing that i loate that thing that makes me not want to see the sun tommorow..i need ur help i need ur grace i need ur courage and i need someone i cant do this alone ne more..i don't wanna be one ne more i want u now please come and make him go away make him go away i fear he will come get me and make me turn into him i


Bob Marley- Turn Your Lights Down Low

Turn your lights down low
And pull your window curtains;
Oh, let jah moon come shining in -
Into our life again,
Sayin’: ooh, it’s been a long, long (long, long, long, long) time;
I kept this message for you, girl,
But it seems I was never on time;
Still I wanna get through to you, girlie,
On time - on time.
I want to give you some love (good, good lovin’);
I want to give you some good, good lovin’ (good, good lovin’).
Oh, I - oh, I - oh, i,
Say, I want to give you some good, good lovin’ (good, good lovin’):
Turn your lights down low;
Never try to resist, oh no!
Oh, let my love come tumbling in -
Into our life again,
Sayin’: ooh, I love ya!
And I want you to know right now,
I love ya!
And I want you to know right now,
’cause I - that I -
I want to give you some love, oh-ooh!
I want to give you some good, good lovin’;
Oh, I - I want to give you some love;
Sayin’: I want to give you some good, good lovin’:
Turn your lights down low, wo-oh!
Never - never try to resist, oh no!
Ooh, let my love - ooh, let my love come tumbling in -
Into our life again.
Oh, I want to give you some good, good lovin’ (good, good lovin’).


Lessons in Light

I never knew strength till yesterday happened. For what it's worth i've always thought that i am strong, physically....or atleast strong enough to keep myself safe... and yesterday's experience of trying to stop a friend if i may call him so, from being picked on or rather beaten up by his 'nemesis', made me realize that the last time i probably experieced the full force of someone's stregnth was prb the fights that i had with my brother so long ago.

I mean, i was there slightly tipsy or rather pretty tipsy and trying to hold him back to prevent him from kicking the dude, bt he could just push me aside, as though the weight i was putting on him was nothing. It scares me in an integral way because, well... this is when it hits me that perhaps i am in someway a liability to myself....i mean yes, there have been many a time when people have told me not to think i'm some sort of strong woman yadda yadda ya....bt i never listen to them because i have had no reason, up until now to believe that i am not that... but now i do... it mite seem like i have lived my life under a cotton wall... but it's just a matter of what u knw versus what they knw... why believe wholly and completely something u are sure of urself just because everyone else says so... that's the thing...the reason that life is never supposed to be easy,.. we can learn our lessons from someone else's mistake or we could put ourselves in the spot and learn from our own mistakes...i have to say that i prefer the former... and well lesson well learnt... when two ppl want to get on eachother's case...they will find ways of doin so...regardless of what ne one in between says...and as far as vested interest goes...if there is enough reason for u to look into the matter go right on ahead bt if there's nothin in it for u then screw it... he he he....

'Blessed is the one
who reads the words of this prophecy, and
blessed are those
who hear it
and take to heart
what is written in it,
because the time is near.'

Revelation 1:3

But i want to knw how it feels to be un-blessed... so why take to heart something that hasn't been shown to be right still?

01 April 2005

Yes or for the lack there of of Yes

Theres no water...no shower...no daisy plant for someone else bought the plant with the flowers and i dunno which one is pink or orange...
watched spanglish... and i realized that perhaps i will have a problem with never gettin to be a mother ever...but shall wait fr that laproscopy... when i get it done...
Today is April Fool's Day... Prithvi dies/died allready...told puneet...that's what i meant in the first entry when i sed the world is full of fools... cz i'd just made Pithvi up..
Theres no beauty if there's no one to say there's beauty...

Apart frm all that Pumpkin ur pissing me off... why wld i bitch abt u when i'm on vacation...we had a mature convo where u told me what u wanted and i told u wht i or rather we wanted...doesn't mean it was a fite and i'm not like u, i dun bitch abt someone when i can say it to their face... u want ur space, take it... i'm nt one to complain when my expectations have been reduced... so stop bitching, the walls have ears and i knw wt ur saying...whether i care enuff to confront u or nt is anotehr issue all together...
whether i am reminded once again why ur so full of bull is a matter open to debate...
whether i ever forgot ur full of bull is a bigger matter open to bull...
and why i should put up with the shit nonsense is a bigger matter all together...


My body has also bailed out on me. It seems to have decided that it is sick of me playing around with it to such an extent that now for the first time in my life i have an eye thing. I dunno what to call it...cataract--> perhaps? I dunno what to call it except a thing that is located on the underside of my upper eye lid. it's white, looks a lot like a pimple which is prb why jane sed ' don't tell me u managed to get a pimple on your eye.' But alas, it appears that i have managed to do so... i wonder if a grain of sand frm pangkor remained there, scratched the upper eye lid and then made it turn white with a structure similar to that of a pimple... how tragic but how true at the same time. Either ways it's raining in malaysia, ujval says the most practical things...like stay out of the rain when ur sick... bt well i say how does one expect one to do that when it rains all the time... sigh... somethings in life has no answers right....

People have never had a problem disposing of the past when it gets too difficult. Flesh will burn, photos will burn, and memory, what is that? The imperfect ramblings of fools who will not see the need to forget. And if we can't dispose of it we can alter it. The dead don't shout. There is a certain seductiveness about what is dead.