Killer Tomato Surprise

The 'Tomato Surprise' is a story writing technique.

Basically, you have a character who goes about doing normal/abnormal things, stuff happens, and at the end of the story, you reveal that your character is actually a tomato!

Or a werewolf, smurf, egg, caterpillar, table, pixie. Hm.

This has nothing to do with anything. The problem is that I myself am turning into a tomato.

I've never ever ever ever had an allergic reaction before, but I guess there's a first time for everything. My first time occurred a few days ago. It started with the itches. The twitches. Then the red splodges up and down my arms and legs. My face went all funny - kind of swelling, but not really. It just... mutated, I guess.

But I am a tough cookie. I survived.

The problem was, we didn't know what I was allergic to. I hadn't had anything particularly new in the recent days. I'd started medication a week earlier, but it seemed odd that it would take so long to react badly. My dad brought sweets back from Sri Lanka, but I've eaten them before. They tried blaming Kiko, and I was like -

I know, dramatic reaction, but that was my cat they were blaming! How dare they! So I lectured my mother on how the Prophet (SAW) said that cats are members of the family, and Lilo said that family meant no one gets left behind. So no matter what, the cat stays.

Yes. So all that was left was just to stop eating some things and wait. I was on the border of completely transforming into a tomato,  but then everything just went away. And I was okay. Funnily enough, my skin felt so nice and soft afterwards. Maybe it just felt that way because of the weird bumpiness from before. Either way, I couldn't help feeling my face with a glazed-eyes look for ages. It was kind of strange, I suppose.

It reminded me of the time I hurt my leg during the epic sport of Residential Hiking (ech-hem.). By the time I'd dragged my agonised body home, my... left leg... had swelled to ginormous proportions. At first it was ghastly, but when I compared it to my normal leg, I realised that I had rather attractive legs - when they were normal, anyway. Hm. 

Oh, that was an awkward thing to say o.o

Anyway, any insecurities regarding my legs vanished.

The point, though, is a lesson I've learnt. Basically, to sum it up, it's: sometimes the worst has to happen before you realise where you're wrong.

Maybe it's already been discovered. Maybe it's a bit late to figure that out. But it was important to me. I know that realising your skin can be nice and soft, and your legs are not ugly is a bit of a superficial example, but I have another one to share.

I posted a post called 'Operation Abby' a while ago, and you don't have to read it because I'll explain now what it was about. Basically, Abby is my friend, and she's a lovely girl who gets involved in all the wrong things. Something happened along the way in her sweet life, and she started on the dark side - drugs, alcohol, and intimate things done in bedrooms. It scared me a lot because I'm not used to having friends like this - all my other friends are goody-goodies like myself.

Anyhow, the first signs of her rebellion were in the piercings. I know, people have different opinions on them, I don't really care. But she was getting them everywhere, and it was driving me nuts because she's so pretty and for some reason she wants to cause strife to all the metal detectors in the world. Anyway, because we're in the same form class, I always try to persuade her from her rebellious endeavours, and I actually managed to convince her not to get... some ring or another. Don't remember which one. Never mind that she got a dozen others to make up for it, the point is, I realised, I have some influence on this girl! I can help her! She takes me seriously.

So life went on. Enter the Big Bad Influence, Jen. She's a year 12 girl with weird priorities. She's very focused on education and she's going somewhere in life, but that's it. She's also into drugs and alcohol and intimate things in bedrooms, and although she 'controls' it so it doesn't affect her schooling, it's rather insane. I've heard the details in French class, and I don't want to repeat.

So she invited Abby clubbing and partying and getting stoned between classes. Abby's like her little protegee. She's thrilled. I knew she looked up to Jen, God knows why. 

But the problem wasn't just what Jen was getting her up to. It was the fact that while Jen had a solid backup of education and a job, Abby did not. Abby flunked school. She never studies. Even for French - she may be fluent, but she doesn't do formal. It's like how everyone can speak English here, that doesn't mean they pass the subject. There were times I bet Abby in French, and that's saying something.

I tried speaking to Abby, but it was no use. Jen just had a bigger hold. I can't go up against Jen because Jen is formidable - the kind of girl not above violence. So although I continued my pleadings during form classes, I knew Abby was slipping away. Not just on some kind of life path, but physically too. Her skin was going funny, and she smelt awful. Her hair was horrible too.

Then came the episode whereby Abby Came to School Drunk.

She did that. Can you believe it? I couldn't. For a start, it was the first time I'd been in such close proximity to a drunk person. She was the giggly type, and while our French teacher helped us work through a French advertisement for shampoo, she squealed something about cancer. It was strange.

The worst part was, people congratulated her. They thought it was funny and cool and... well, you know how it is. Now try getting to someone who had the support of what felt like an entire year level behind them. Great. In my head, Operation Abby was aborted.

That didn't mean I just stopped with her. I did talk to her every form class. Everytime we had a SAC and she came running the period before, I'd help her. I'd keep begging her to quit smoking and being an alcoholic. But now, I kind of figured nothing would change.

But then, one day, something really bad happened. Jen and Abby ditched French class to get 'stoned'. I don't know what they did - whether it was drugs or alcohol, all I heard it was 'really strong'. They apparently went nuts, throwing up and staggering, and the school had to call an ambulance to get them.

You can imagine how awful it must have been. I felt sick. At lunchtime, I was sitting with my friends, when they all started spilling how concerned they were for her. Granted, they had never taken direct measures to telling Abby what she was doing was wrong, but all along they had tried their own means. It felt comforting that we all felt the same way, so we put out heads together to figure out some grand intervention scheme. We came up with nothing, but oh well.

The next day, in form class, she strolled in, and she said her typical, chirpy 'hi', and I shook my head, like always.

"Don't talk to me, I'm really disappointed in you," I told her. I know, I sound like an annoying teacher, but I couldn't help it. That's really how I felt, I couldn't put it another way. My surprise came with her reaction.

"Don't be," she said, deflated. "I'm more disappointed in myself. I can't believe I let myself go like that. I felt so disgusting. I've already decided to quit smoking, and I'll only drink at celebrations now. That's it. I just feel so disgusting."

Those may seem like empty words, but I tell you, never, during this entire year, has she expressed regret. She's yeah-yeahed me, but hasn't been fussed by her own doings. And her expression was so genuinely devastated, I hugged her. I was so proud.

But it got worse during the day. You see, while she was regretful for what she'd done, my entire year level - besides my friends - were still congratulating her. Teasing her. Bringing back memories of yesterday. The only difference from last time and this time was that Abby didn't want the congrats. She didn't want the memories. But now they wouldn't leave her.

In English, she was with the last group to do their orals. When she got up, some guys started playing around with her, saying things the teacher wouldn't understand, but clearly insinuating to the events of the previous day. I felt sick again, because she couldn't do her oral then, and when she went back to her seat, her eyes were red rimmed and she looked so fragile.

Of course, teenagers forget, and new gossip turns up. This episode occurred months ago. From my understanding, Abby's still clean. She may go back. She may not.

The point is, no words I could have said could have struck her more than witnessing the consequences of her own doings. It's easy to list all the potential hazards of one's actions, and the wisest would be mindful and heed the warnings. But sometimes it's best to let the worst happen, because once witnessed, it has a more powerful effect.

I had to go back on the medication to see if that was indeed the cause of my allergic reaction. I started mutating into a tomato again last night. Gosh it was painful. At least now I know what to avoid.

ATM:
Reading: Skulduggery Pleasant: Kingdom of the Wicked. Derek Landy. 
Writing: Chipped. I'm working on it, I am! I think the WANwC thing is actually helping!
Listening to: ... yeah, I'm seriously considering getting rid of this ATM thing. It's kind of bothering me.
Feeling: Itchy. 
  

Peace in,
Laila

Love Story

Haloomi broke up with Ben today. 

I knew it because when she strolled into my room after school, she was very snippy and all that, so I just asked her straight out if they were having problems. She said yes, in fact, she'd broken up with him. They're sweethearts, see. 

The first time I heard of him, Haloomi was sitting at the table colouring, and singing: 'Me and Ben, swinging together...' Something like that. He kept coming up in my conversations with her, and eventually I figured it out. As usual, I asked her straight out, and she admitted that yes, she did love him.

Hm.

At a baby shower function thing, I was sitting with my friend, Cowgirl, and I asked Haloomi if I could tell Cowgirl (because Haloomi made me promise not to tell anyone... though she had, in fact, shared her love interest with my other sisters too...), and she gave in. Cowgirl, as amused as I, started questioning her. She asked Haloomi if Ben loved her back. 

"I don't know," she said carelessly. "I think he does. Once, we were sharing secrets, and I asked him what his favourite land-animal was, and he said it starts with H. Then I said 'horse?', but he said 'no, the second letter is A', then he went on to whisper, 'Haleemah'."

Romeo, much?

And in between all this, she's mentioned that she's going to marry him, that they're going to have shared bank accounts, and blah blah. They broke up once before, but she said they got back together and lunchtime.

So all in all, when this six-year-old diva strolled home and admitted that, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Until she dropped the second bombshell. See, she didn't just say 'Yeah, I broke up with Ben', she said: 'Yeah, I broke up with Ben. I broke up with all five of them.'

O_O My little sister is a maneater. When did this happen??? How? What?

So I obviously had to start digging. One of the other guys is Keanu, who is Ben's friend. And there's another - Nick - who's Keanu's friend, I think. And they're in a gang. And it turns out, she didn't break up with all of them, just those three, because they were being mean. 

Why were they being mean, you may ask? Or how? Well, apparently Haloomi forgot her socks today, so they were teasing her and saying she was smelly and gross, so she broke up with them. All of them. Like shock, horror, GASP!

I had a high school scene in mind, so I asked her if they were the 'bad boy group' of the school. 

"Well, Ben isn't really," she said. "Sometimes he says 'I just want to do my work.' So yeah, he's that type."

Anyway, back to the Famous Five. Because it's the season to be jolly, the Christmas cards were making their rounds, obviously. Ben gave Haloomi a card, as well as Nick, and Keanu gave her two. And then her new man gave her one. 

"I like Sebby's card the best," she told me. I asked her if that's why she started liking him.

"Yeah, that's a little bit why I have a crush on him," she said. "But he's cute. His face is cute."

Then she expressed some annoyance at the other guy, her second new man on the scene. See, he hadn't gotten her a card. I mean, what the flip?? How dare he! But she likes him anyway, and forgives him because he doesn't know that she has a crush on him yet.

But, she told my sister once that Ben would always be her favourite. He's the best looking too, apparently, and all the girls like him. 'But', she adds, 'I'm the only one who loves him.'

Where did this little monster come from? She's nothing like me, for sure. And FIVE. FIVE BOYFRIENDS.

Just to be sure, I asked her what a boyfriend was. She said it was someone who you have a crush on. I asked her what a crush was. She said it was something like 'loveydovey stuff' about them.

I swear, she may be a midget, and she may be six, but she's like a little woman. A control freak one, at that. For example, apparently sometimes, Nick likes to go off with some girl called Pat, because they need to have a 'private conversation'. She doesn't mind, until she notices they're not really talking and they're just playing, so she calls out: 'NICK! I'm telling on you!'

And he comes running, begging for mercy. 

Poor leetle boys. My sister has them wrapped around her finger. She has them beneath her toes, I think, and she's crushing them. 

And my older sister sighs, in the background, saying: 'How is it she has five boyfriends when she's just six, and I still can't get myself one?'
 
ATM:
Writing: Chipped. I've joined 'The Pink Ninjas of Doom'. Basically, the aim is to write (or in my case, finish) and 50k novel in two months, and then the revising and editing processes follow afterwards. The difference to NaNo is you're a part of an official team, so you have to help each other stay on track.
Reading: It was on fire when I lay down on it. Robert Fulghum. I just finished another one of his books, on rituals, which was dull. But this one has his humour how I like it, so far (:
Listening to:...
Feeling: Irked. My sister and I just had another argument. I want to keep my money with me. She wants me to put it in a bank account - maybe even hers. Isn't this my own choice?

“Life is wonderful. It's a gift to be alive, to see the sun and breathe the air. And there isn't really anything else.”
(Michael Crichton)

Peace in,
Laila

A Superdy Long Post

If you haven't realised, my posts have gotten shorter.

And I wouldn't usually mind, but see, I had all the pictures on the side to line up down the posts. Now I'm mildly irritated that they go on forever and my posts do not. So for that superficial reason alone, I shalt write a really long post on all the story of my life since Wednesday. And Ali, if you're reading this, I challenge you to try and write a longer comment for this one ^^

Mwahahaha. Hahahaha.

Okay, on Wednesday, Star and I went to a preview thing for The Perks of Being A Wallflower, which was released here... yesterday. Anyway. 'Twas a lovely movie. I got teary. It was so powerful and devastating and heartrending. Completely worth the watch - from someone who hasn't read the book, btw. I wrote my review for that ... other... website, so I can't be bothered going over it. Now, I'm not waving a rainbow flag, nor do I recommend looking up the recipe for those magic brownies. Just watching it for those messages of love and staying strong, and the overall storyline, is worth the watch.

Oh, before I watched it, Star and I strolled up and down Chapel Street, where the cinema was. It's a renowned fashion strip in the city over here, and... okay. I wasn't impressed. I mean, I can only look at clothes for so long. Besides, we saw this one shop with clothes, and walking down a block or two, another shop said it had clothes from the first shop. Say whaa?

But we came across a mini-Dymocks (book store), which was just so nice. I could have cried. Those are so rare around here these days. It was almost unbearable leaving the place.

We were, in fact, looking for Ben 'n' Jerry's ice cream, which was allegedly on Some End of Chapel St. We walked down one way for a superdy long time, didn't reach the end before we decided we should walk the other way instead. Yup. We walked the other way and realised it was actually up the way we had started off on.

So we went into a Woolworths store and bought a little tub instead. Star's older brother said that was cheating, but we said we were just applying our wisdom and using our resources.

Ben 'n' Jerry's Chocolate Fudge ice cream = yum. The tub was so tiny though, and we still couldn't finish it.

We also bought cookie dough, because apparently that's another must-have in order to classify yourself as having 'lived'. We didn't try it then, because the ice cream was filling. We didn't try it until yesterday, in fact. Now that is what you call filling. I had the tiniest pinch and I was like YUM... I'M FULL. So it's in our fridge right now, and I shalt eat it in smidgeons, every now and then.

Yup.

So yeah. Cometh Thursday. I finished my Legal and French exam (mwahaha, night before exam, I go to the city to watch a movie (: ). Uhh... life goes on.

Friday. My dad went to Sri Lanka.

Usually, in my house, these things are planned months before. I was told on Thursday.

See, my grandmother is sick. Really sick. She's been in and out of hospital, and apparently she has lung cancer :/ Now I feel really horrible for saying this, but I have to. I'm just... not that... sympathetic. I love her, truly, and I feel for her pain, but honestly... she's old. When I was in grade two - eons ago - I used to think she was 100 years old. I'm 17 now, and yeah, I know she's eighty-something, but really... she still looks about a hundred. It's not that I don't care for her or anything, it's just that, I can't help that think, with regards to my father: didn't you see that coming?

We're in the midst of a financial crisis, and he borrows money from his friend to fly over there for about two weeks. He complains when we leave a light on a for a second extra, but he borrows $650 from my cousin to buy all this food and even some kind of biscuit just in case she has a fetish for them. If it's such a sad and worrying occasion, why is he going all these extra miles?


My mother was upset. She cried, once again, because she does not like being left behind. More than that, though, she was furious with his family.

I understand why, though I just can't find it in myself to be mad at either party.

Basically, I've mentioned before, my dad likes to be the hero. He loves going over there and dishing up the dollars to whoever's in need in his village. He loves to be the one that everyone runs to with their problems - family or financial, whatever. My cousin even said, that out of his brothers, he's the 'cool' one - as in, if this was good cop, bad cop, you know who he'd be. I don't think he means it with any arrogance, or fame seeking, it's just how he is. Because of that, he hasn't really told his family that we're in a financial crisis, so they love to appeal to him with their problems. And he can't say no.

My mother's annoyed with them because they always want him around. I've also said my father's side is the 'cuddly' side. It's true. They dote on him soooo much, it's kinda sickening. And he dotes on them equally as much, especially on his mother, and I don't think it's bad, so to speak, until it gets to the point he neglects us.

So yeah, there's conflict, and I'm not nearly as sad as I should be about my grandmother. It's just that with someone as old and frail as she is, all I can think of is that you can't live forever. She's had a good, long run. More than eight decades. If she goes, she goes. Such is life. I love her, I'll miss her, but expecting her to live until I'm thirty or something is just pathetic. She has great grandchildren. Isn't that an enough said?

Okay. So that's the Friday episode. My mother has been bitter, so as crude as this sounds - I kind of have to treat her like a dog. I don't mean insult. She just wants me to walk with her, most afternoons when she's particularly peed off, to let the stress go. She walks furiously, just to expel the energy, just so she can sleep. I've never been really cuddly with my mother - we're not the kind on Full House, sharing our problems, hugs and kisses and all, so I was worried I wouldn't be able to help her get over this. But I've realised she doesn't really need me to put some deep input in, or hug her every second or something. Sometimes she just needs to rant. Other times she just needs someone to be there, in the house, or something, with her. And I can do that. No schmaltzy required.

To add to the drama of the Financial Crisis, the family of the dude who swindled us threw a party. (Let's just call this dude Swindler, okay?). So it wasn't actually Swindler who threw the party, but his sibling's family. They had a massive dinner party while our family - and dozens of others - are broke as a result of their bro, and my father pitifully borrows money to go visit his sick mother.

Now I know they can't pay us back. Swindler somehow got away with millions of dollars, from dozens of families, and they're just one. But what we did expect was at least some kind of apology, or expression of sympathy on behalf of Swindler. That never came. At least to lay low? Nope. They throw a massive dinner party, and guess what? All the Curries go. They know. One even had the cheek to call us, sharing her horror and disgust at how they could do such a thing, whilst adding as a side note that yes, indeed, she did go.

Curries. Sometimes I really hate them. Such superficial, materialistic, social climbing, desperate carrots.

No offence to carrots.

SUNDAY. Star invited me to her family's St Patron's Day. Now I knew it had religious connotations by the very fact that it has a 'Saint' in it. I just didn't realise to what extent. I had to stand there awkwardly while they did some ceremonious, symbolic breaking of the bread, and taking a bit out of this funny (but rather yum) concoction, whilst also making the cross across their chests. And gosh, my faith was tested and I realised how weak I was. See, they had this one long table set up across their lounge-y kind of open kitchen dining room thing. I was sitting in front of a small row of young, presumably attractive Serbian men. The more families that came, the more hands had to be shaken. I just couldn't bear to seem rude you know, so I shook the hands - the hands of men. I'm hoping that because most of them were old, they don't count. Also, alcohol was served. They weren't getting stoned or anything, but it was there. I just couldn't leave - I felt like all eyes were on me to see how I handled this religious celebration, where I was the sole green pepper amongst the red.

Also, my cutlery skills were being tested. I eat with my hands almost everything - besides noodles, soups, Italian food, and food in general that doesn't require cutlery. How am I supposed to know what spoon is for what, and that you actually use the small fork for dessert? I felt like all eyes on me for that too, but they weren't. Still. Felt like a freak show.

Hm. I wonder how I'm going with length...

Never mind.

Anyway, I guess one of the reasons why I haven't blogged much despite the many happenings is because of my blogging for the State Library. Gosh. It was fun. I'm going to miss it. And the team were so lovely, they even want to continue emailing me despite the fact it's all over. Also, for once I feel proud to put something down on my resume - this is something I actually genuinely enjoyed, you know? Not like Work Experience -_-' *shudders*

Oh, and obviously NaNoWriMo was eating my words too. SUCCESS. TRIUMPH. I started on the 10th day and I made it! Even funnier - I've only just began scratching the surface of the Conflict of the story. The main problem hasn't officially even been introduced, only hinted to. For the first time in my 2 year NaNo experience, I think I actually have to look at my NaNo story after the month is over. And finish it. It's just so weird, 'cause usually I'm floundering to keep the plot going, you know, throwing in dragons and all that... kidding. But you get my drift. Either way, I have a whole summer to work on it. And our Dream story. And Chipped.

Fun fun fun.

I really can't tell if this is superdy long or not.

Oh, yesterday, I went to Star's house to hang out for the day. It's so freaking HOT. I once told Sam I wouldn't complain about weather because Saudi's a lot hotter, but so help me, it's sweltering here. I hate summer. I almost turned into a puddle yesterday. Star said she would say some nice words if I did. Anyway, we just talked, and I tried a coconut. I mean, obviously, I've had coconuts in Sri Lanka, and they're DELISH. But because of that, I never felt motivated to try coconuts over here, 'cause I knew it wouldn't be good enough. I was right. Refreshing, but just missing the Sri Lankan touch. The white stuff wasn't even that great.

What a pity.

Now I was supposed to leave it here, but then I had to go do some frying for my mother, and another Interesting (or Amusing) Episode took place.

This morning, when my little sisters were getting ready for school, they were fighting, as usual. I was still in bed, but I heard the whole kerfuffle, and, a certain word starting with B and rhyming with 'itch' tumbled out of my 6-year-old sister's mouth. Loud and clear.

Just to clarify, the 9-year-old one came tearing into my room to report the crime.

I was sleepy, so I just rolled over and said I'll deal with it later. This occured about ten hours ago.

Now, while I was frying, some kind of incident occurred, and my older sister locked the Haloomi (nickname of my 6-year-old sister) out of the house, in the backyard. Standard punishment, running in our family since 199something. No big deal. She came running around the other side of the house to get back in through the outdoor kitchen, where I was frying. I decided now was high time that she get punished.

My real concern though, is she didn't look sorry one bit. She gave me the attitude of a teenager. A bit disconcerting coming out of a tiny thing, but there you have it. 

"Don't you feel bad for saying what you did?" I asked her. She kind of place a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes.

"Yes," she said, with snotty tone of someone saying le duhhh. I shook my head sadly.

"Well, you sure aren't showing it," I told her.

"Showing what?" she asked.

"Guilt," I sighed. She got all iffy about it, raving on about how could she possibly show it, how Asma (9-year-old sister) started it, how everyone was being mean, how she wanted chicken, blah blah blah. So I told her the story of my first ever swearing experience. My older sister and I had been fighting, also as usual, and having learnt this word recently, I decided to experiment by throwing it at her.

She just went on reacting as enraged as usual - the one word didn't particularly encourage or discourage her anger - but I burst into tears. I felt so dirty and yucky and horrible and cruel and evil and pathetic and just plain awful. This was probably when I was in about grade five - so I was 11 years old.

Anyway, it's not like I went around begging for mercy and apologising, but I think that bawling my eyes out like I did was a clear sign of my guilt, and I never swore again. From memory, anyway. I know a lot of people don't really care, and weirdly enough, I've stopped caring when it's my peers and stuff, but when it comes to a six year old, for God's sake, someone has to be worried, right?

But she just kind of snorted and went: "I can't just cry. I cry for other things. Not this."

"This isn't about crying," I said. "It's about showing that you're really sorry about what you said. Not acting like a stupid, snotty little brat."

She huffed and walked off, and I immersed myself into the wonderfully intriguing world of frying chicken. I even accidentally flicked some oil on myself. Boiling oil on skin - not fun.  Don't try it. Then, at some point, she kind of coughed and said: "I'm finished!"

And she kept repeating it, and I kept saying I was too busy to turn around and look. Frying. It takes all your attention with its charm and wit. Eventually, though, I finished. I turned around, looked at the floor, and this is what I saw:

Can you see that? She drew it on the floor. I think I taught my sisters well ♥

ATM:
Writing: Untitled Dream Story. More like planning. And I guess I'll be working on my NaNoWriMo too.
Reading: The House of Special Purpose. John Boyne. Reading slowly 'cause of NaNo, but because it's kind of fragmented, I can afford to. I love Russia.
Listening to: Nothing. Ehm. Yeah.
Feeling: Meh.

Just because I'm still in crazy cat lady mode:

Doesn't he look like he's amused or something, sitting there on my lap? D'aw.

Peace in,
Laila

Peek-a-Boo

Ladies and gentlemen, 

last time I posted, I mentioned a possibly awesome thing that may happen in the future. That thing happened yesterday. I'd like you too meet that thing:

Meet KIKO. Our kitten!

His name took a while to pick. Basically, my sister wanted to call him something cutesy, and at the time, we didn't know his gender. But I found that he kept hiding away, and for example, when we walked away from his box, he'd just stick his head up and peer at us. Like PEEK A BOO.

That got me thinking. I don't know if this is a Curry thing, but rather than saying 'peek a boo' when it came to babies, my cousins said 'KIKO!' (like kee-koh!) And I was like... why not use that as our kitty name? So lo and behold, he's Kiko now. He's sooo sweet and bouncy and crazy and mild all at once. This morning, while I was writing NaNo, after running around like nuts, he just came and sat on my lap and fell asleep. 

I'm in love.

I'm not going to get married.

I'm going to be a single, old, crazy cat lady.

Okay. I'll stop with the spammage.

D'aw =^_^=

I hope you're all having happy days ♥

ATM:
Writing: NaNoWriMo. Like actually writing. Word count stands at 22, 712. Still going strong, ish.
Reading: House of Special Purpose. John Boyne. So far so good. He can make a scene so dramatic with just one line o.o
Listening to: Nothing. Kinda tired, actually.
Feeling: Wonderful. Finally, I got my dream kitty.

 An Arab proverb Star sent me:

DEAD.

Death is a black camel that lies down at every door.

Sooner or later you must ride the camel. 

Peace in,

Laila

Post-Exam Blues

Wahnsinn.

Insanity, madness. The term used to describe the euphoria that throbbed in the atmosphere with the fall of the Berlin Wall.

The term I was supposed to feel after walking out of my Literature exam today.

I really don't want to be this upset, but I am. I probably didn't fail. I wrote two complete essays. I had a tiny bit of time to go through my first and make it legible. It's probably average. But I.. I just don't want average for this. Literature was supposed to be one of my best subjects. I knew it was hard, but I had A+ all year. I'm not talking an average of A+ - literally  every SAC was graded A+. Three out of five were full marks. I just don't know what went wrong. The passages on the exam were okay, there was lots to write on, but... but something just... didn't work. I knew from the moment I finished my first introduction that these essays were not going to be to the standard I wanted, but I couldn't change it.

It's not just that though. It's my... No Regrets policy, that I'm trying to maintain. All I wanted was to walk out of the exams and say that I had put in my best and the rest is up to God. Even if it wasn't to a high standard, I just wanted to say it was my best. But it wasn't. I have so many regrets. I know I could've written better. I could have written an amazing piece. There was such potential, and... and why? What went wrong? I don't even know.

And I know Arvie, that I shouldn't think too much on others' expectations. But I can't help it, at least for my Literature teacher. He's an amazing guy. I adore him, he has taught me so much, and, and he even got so far as for me to actually appreciate Shakespeare (I don't like Shakespeare usually, I don't think it's fair he gets to make up words and be called a genius, whereas I just get marked down). I wanted to get an amazing mark just to make him proud, and, well, it's kinda the best show of appreciation, right? Getting an amazing score for your teacher? But mine's going to be average.

I know, it sounds kinda snotty, bratty, I donno. But Literature just means so much to me, it was my 'thing', and now I'm just going to be shoved into the middle lot.

Well, still, though I can't say it was my best, at least I can still rely on God. Insha'allah, maybe it's not as bad as it seems.

Okay, I needed to get that off my chest. But nowww....

... well, I did experience some wahnsinn. Me after the second maths exam?

 And I mean literally. Star and I staggered home like we were drunk, just literally laughing hysterically while we played this loudly. Everytime we twisted a lyric to suit our relationship with maths, we cracked up again. Then there were these moments where we'd just be quiet, but there were these smiles plastered across our faces... gosh, people on the main road must have thought we looked nuts.

I mean, that exam wasn't any better, but I expected that, and I never intended to ace it. That being said, everyone found it difficult, so I'll probably average it out x) Either way, it don't matter, 'cause

I'M NEVER. EVER. EVER. DOING MATHS AGAIN!

Okay, it doesn't have the same ring to it. Shut up.

And, also, ladies and genetlemen, you're officially reading a post by my school's vice captain for Arts for next year!

CHYEAHH.

I didn't expect it. I had another interview - you know the story with interviews and I. This one wasn't bad, but you know, I didn't think I stood out enough. Either way, it was a pleasant surprise, I get to be L's second-in-command, and she says we're going to lead La Resistance (put on your best Frenchy accent, guys), and although I don't know what that entails, it sounds exciting x) Also, the theme for next year's art's fest is:

PHANTASMAGORIA.

Tres epique, much? You gotta love L. She has ideas, I have ideas, and we're going to rock it. Mind you, there are two guys, but, I think they're more into the performing arts part of it, which is fine by me. They can have their performances, and we'll keep our paint brushes, thank you very much.

And now the month is brightening up... I'm going to dive into NaNo, and there's... certain other stuff that will insha'allah happen, but I don't want to say so in case of jinxing them. But never fear, you shalt hear all about it should it eventuate :)

ATM:
Writing: NANO. FINALLY.
Reading: Okay, I have two to read right now, this instant. I'm not sure which one, yet.
Listening to: Roll With the Punches. Lenka. She understands.
Feeling: Better. What's done is done, I suppose.

It's unexpected, it usually is

When you're rejected, or you take a hit

Suddenly everything's thrown in a spin

No time to grow a thicker skin

What kind of situation am I in now?

When life tries to knock all the wind out of you

You've got to roll, roll, roll, with the punches

If all life offers is black and blue

You've got to roll, roll, roll, with the punches

♥

Peace in, 
Laila

Ready-set-go!

See that? My impending doom. So near, yet so far away.

It's strange. A part of me feels sick. In those three days, part of the fate of my education will be decided. There are so many expectations it's scary. There's my mother, who chants 99.9 everyday - and my cousin and sister join in. There's my Literature teacher, who dropped a hint that he thinks Star and I are capable of 50s. There are all the peers, who laugh lightly and say: it's not possible for you to get anything less than perfect.

And it's kind of encouraging, I suppose, that they think I'm capable. But it's more terrifying than anything. What if I don't do well? How many disappointed glances? How many awkward consolations? After my sister got a ninety-plus, people think that I'll breeze past 95. But it's not so easy. All these practise exams - they're not all that comforting, you know. Sometimes I do fairly well. Sometimes dreadful. But never perfect.

I'm an atomic bomb, I think. I'm going through these crazy moodswings. I get so frustrated so easily. I don't think it's fair to say that it upsets me more than anyone else, but it feels like it. I hate randomly exploding, and then that guilty feelinng afterwards. I'd like to apologize, but it just doesn't happen in our house. I do it sometimes, but most of all, this house based on let's-just-forget. It's all so... ADASFADFHKJ. I can't even find words.

I guess this is sounding really slow, as opposed to what the title would suggest, huh?

There's this other side, though. It's this really nervous, adrenaline rushing side. You see, if someone were to say, at this moment, right now, that the examiners, the education department, the... whoever-is-concerned, decided to have some mercy and move the exams to a later date so we had more time to study... well, I would slap them.

I can't wait. I can't wait for the exams to be over. I wish they'd happen now. I just want to be able to shut the booklet, put down the pen, leave the hall and never look back. I want to be able to say 'what's done is done, it's over.' I want that... closure, I suppose. I'm sick of studying, sick of anticipating, sick of being sick. I need a break.

That's my flip side. In less than a week, I will never have to study maths again. Oh, sweet bliss.

And NaNo's started. I'm a participant. My word count? 0. Yeah. Brilliant huh? I just can't bring myself to start yet, 'cause I'm not sure I can stop. And these day are flying by in a weird kind of slow motion. I can feel like a practise exam is taking forever, but after doing one, two, three, it's suddenly so late and I can't keep my eyes open. I'm aiming to start before the exams anyway, but I'm not sure I will. Either way, I'm still doing it. I'm just... waiting, for that kick off. That moment the exam finishes, and I'll be a free bird.

Anyway, I'm going to leave you guys with some awesome. Star and I have this thing going on - I've mentioned before - it's like the Things We Forget campaign. We stick up inspirational/funny sticky notes up around the school, anonymously. It's our little anonymous way of making a difference, I suppose. All credit to her - she comes up with these ideas, initiates them and all, I'm just her side-kick. Moving on - there's another thing we've been experimenting with. You may have seen pictures up around the internet. Well, here's one we made for the Study Hall:

And the chances did disappear rather rapidly, if I may say so myself. We had one to do with smiles too, but that still hasn't run out. I wonder what that says about our school? Anyway, that being said, there was an Incident. Where somebody had left us a comment. A negative one. I guess Star and I knew what we wanted to say, but not exactly. So she texted her older brother, and his reply was so perfect, we edited to be the reply to the person... and, well, you can see the awesome:

Mwahaha. J'adore this response. I'm allowed to brag about it, right, considering I myself did not invent it?  Whatchu think?

ATM:
Writing: NaNo. Hahaha. Not. I will, though.
Reading: The House of Special Purpose. John Boyne. Again, not. But I will.
Listening to: Stars. Grace Potter & the Nocturnals. It's so.. pretty.
Feeling: Somewhere on the line between thrilled and depressed. I donno.

I lit a fire with the love you left behind

And it burned wild, 

and crept up the mountain side

I followed your ashes into outer space

I can't look out the window,

I can't look at this place.

I can't look at the stars,

They make me wonder where you are

Stars,

Up on heaven's boulevard

And if I know, you at all,

I know you've gone too far

So I, I can't look at the stars

All those times we looked up at the sky,

Looking out so far,

It felt like we could fly

And now I'm all alone in the dark of the night

And the moon is shining,

But I can't see the light.

Peace in,
Laila