The reader accepts, on reading of this disclaimer, that the Internet is a vast wasteland of crap that spews out of human minds. This blog is no different. Any assumptions or conclusions that the reader draws from this blog are not the responsibility of the author, along with any physical or psychological harm that might result from the reading of this blog.
Author
The author is a paranoid, deranged and cynical misanthrope who records snippets of her life so that she will remember them when she grows old and withered. The identities of any names or initials on this blog are based on the assumptions of the reader unless otherwise specified, and the author claims no responsibility for them.
Reality
The author somehow got into medical school. Yes, you of the general public, shudder and fear the wrath of an inept doctor.
Loves
Reading, Maisy (my dog), tea, writing (albeit badly), piano, music, junk food.
Hates
Almost everything else besides the things mentioned above.
Friends
Bao Cheng' Bernice' Chien Young' Chun Hing' Claire' Faustina' Felicia' Ferly' Gloria' Irene' Irene & Jiaying' Jac' Jiamin' Jiasin' Jiaying' Lutheng' Karene' Marissa' Melesa' Mingyi' My fictionpress' Pamelia' Pei Rong' Qiu Ting' Rachel' Satires Site' Stasia' Sylvia' The Clique' Vinette' Wenjia' Xin Rong' Xue Ying' Yanne & I' Yanne & Jamie' Zeena' 203'
Archives
03/01/2004 - 04/01/2004
09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004
10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004
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09/01/2009 - 10/01/2009
12/01/2009 - 01/01/2010
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12/01/2010 - 01/01/2011
06/01/2011 - 07/01/2011
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05/01/2013 - 06/01/2013
06/01/2013 - 07/01/2013
07/01/2013 - 08/01/2013
11/01/2013 - 12/01/2013
12/01/2013 - 01/01/2014
02/01/2014 - 03/01/2014
03/01/2014 - 04/01/2014
05/01/2014 - 06/01/2014
Chat area
Dear Mum,
Sometimes, I wish you would listen to what I have to say, or how I feel and think. I wish you would care about me instead of thinking of what is practical, which is what I hate. With each decision you force me to press myself into, you unwittingly pull me away from who I really am and what I really love. Your insults push me deeper into a bottomless pit of darkness of which I can never find the edge of again. You expect too much: Just too much for me to show who I am. I hate it when you always ask me to 'think' and 'reflect', for at times, you ought to listen to your own advice too.
You may think that I'm lazy, stupid and disrespectful, but have you ever tried understanding why I feel and act this way? No, you only care for the many certificates and report cards with the plentiful 'A's and awards. You see me as a medal you can carry around your neck around your friends, gleaming in the sun in pride and glory, but at home, you toss me away in a corner and abuse me with your neglect. I lie, unpolished and unattended at the bottom of the huge pile made up of grades, books, depression and society's needs: The very same pile you threw on me; made up of YOUR needs. I know you may think that this is the best for me, but have you ever found out what I've really liked?
Maybe you should stop in your murderous tracks and pull the knife you embeded in my back out and question the motives of my many actions, the many clues that I hate this life that I'm leading. Sometimes I have the impulsive wish to tear up the many certificates, awards and report cards that I've garnered for you all these years for these merely show the paper churning machine you've turned me into. With every achievement I bring home, I kill a part of myself, in a slow torturous way. But no matter how loud I shout, you never hear me. How I wished you would realise what you were doing. Each time I see other parents asking their children what they wanted, it inevitably brings tears to my eyes for I know that you would never ask that of me, as hard as I might pray to a God who never was there for me.
Please free me from your merciless grip for I wish to fly away on my own wings, yet I'm being restrained by all your needs for high quality toilet paper designed with the gold-printed word 'awards'. With each 'no' you say to my questions, you make the real me stand even smaller and further away than she already is. I beg of you, allow 'me' to return. Banish this machine away: Pull the plug out, tear the copper wires apart, unbolt the many screws which keep me incarcerated within.
Please, I beseech of you.
Signed,
Your brainless, disobedient machine.
5:08 PM