Saturday, April 30, 2011
Death of Writing.... Really?
I think I'm gonna take back my words.
Without realising, I've been thinking A LOT and writing A LOT. Thinking used to be about the dream girl, distractions, bits on school and stuffs. But recently, thinking has entered the world of politics!
Talking about politics on this blog isn't really a wise idea. But I've been talking and reading and commenting about politics on Facebook. And studying a little here and there. I'm (still) unhappy that the people up there chose to put the elections right smack between NUS and NTU exams. Suspiciously fishy, but that's the scene here in Singapore.
Like the revolution in the Middle East, a change seems to be in motion here. It's moving to say the least. People around me are very much aware of the going ons, thanks to Facebook. Some are not thinking or commenting as maturely as I feel they should, but they're special and cooler that way. Which also makes me special and cooler. Yeah.
Singaporeans complain. And through complains, one need to identify the root of that complain and find a solution to it. To me, every complain is a treasure. It gives me the opportunity to analyse, identify and think of a solution. I'm really loving it - this General Election.
A small part of me thinks that an even smaller part of me would love the chance to be paid $15,000 to listen to problems, solve them and make people happy. Thus why I used to want to be a counsellor or a teacher. Perhaps, one day a politician.
The death of writing, really? Who am I kidding?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
The Death of Writing
The Singapore General Election 2011.
Examinations are round the corner. Exactly 15 days.
Facebook and Tumblr are making me lose touch with my thoughts and writings. Not a good sign.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Time, flies
It's starting to get a tad too quiet. 4 weeks 4 days to my first paper. 4 weeks 5 days to my last paper. 10 weeks Industrial Orientation begins shortly after. Following which, my final year in university, insyaallah.
O Allah! There is nothing easy except what You make easy, and You make the difficult easy if it be Your will.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Thoughts
Sometimes,
little events,
little little things that people say,
jokingly or not,
mostly jokingly,
but you know I feel about jokingly,
that it often always mean seriously subconsciously,
blurted out unknowingly,
but obviously,
to me.
Most time,
I'm wrong. But who cares?
No one does, coz if they do,
wouldn't they have watched what they say,
or do?
Yeah,
these little things,
make me retreat into my dark little cave and hide for days, weeks;
Sighs,
7 days of not writing usually means,
no thoughts, lots of thoughts,
kept all to myself.
Things are all fine,
and happy,
and dandy,
but for how long,
can one hide behind a facade,
behind one mask,
after another mask,
after another mask,
you get the idea.
Be calm,
prayers,
give good advice,
a pure mind,
a pure heart,
but then we fall,
and hide in our caves,
ashamed,
because we find it so hard to be good,
because we question ourselves,
by asking questions like why try so hard to avoid music,
when many others are not,
coz afterall, there's nothing wrong,
right?
Frankly,
I don't know,
for music, I,
just hate it when it gets stuck in the head,
hate how it distracts me,
how not listening to music for a fair while suddenly,
made me click on one link after another,
and another,
like as though,
I'm in total control,
I'm free,
to do as I please,
but really I'm not,
coz I consistently think about the can, cannot, better not to,
and so on.
And how I miss conversations,
and talking,
and how I fear talking,
all because of the little things,
the little little things that people always say,
or do,
without,
thinking about how,
the other person might feel,
or do,
as a result of what they say,
or do.
I really do.
Thoughts,
they get pretty circular sometimes,
most times in fact,
and when they do,
that's when I know,
I'm ending.
Labels:
Creative writing,
dreams,
flaw,
future,
introvert,
me,
parenting,
reflections,
school,
sweet distractions,
thoughts,
writing
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