Stop child abuse!

I had to witness with my own eyes the cruelty of a mother towards her own child under the scrutiny of the public eye. The crazy woman was whacking her 4-year-old daughter in the parking lot just outside my home, and the poor girl was bawling her eyes out. Clad in pink and white, her tear-stained face was painful to look at, especially when her mother kept pushing her away from the car. The father? The useless moron was sitting at the wheel, not giving a damn that someone is raining blows down on her daughter. I had the tendency to yell down at the nutcase, but we’re living in a civilized world, so I wouldn’t want to stoop down at the level of the child-abuser. I just want to make it known to the world. Whoever’s out there, whether you’re a parent or a child, you have to right to decide all this. Whether you should torture the young soul physically, and let it all lead up to an unhappy childhood full of cries and helpless pleas, or learn how to communicate with the child in a more effective manner. Beating the child is not education; it’s a crime on your part, as well as tyranny in the eyes of the innocent child.

Beat you next time

I cringed, the papers ruffled,
Passed it on, the regrets.
IT’S YOUR FAULT, my head screamed.
I know.

Faces flashed, I didn’t bother.
Walking on, seeing null.
My face sunk, ugly, sullen.
Frustration.

Class again, steps ahead heavy.
Fallen heart, fallen hope.
Then you laughed, crisp, clear.
I woke up.

I had to get pass the fact that I’ll most probably fail today’s Math test, without a doubt, and I can place a whole month’s allowance to bet on it. Just to fuel my stinking mood, I barely passed the latest Chemistry test. Perhaps I studied the wrong way? Perhaps I hadn’t studied enough? Perhaps, perhaps I’m just too dumb?

I suddenly felt the need to have someone there for me to run to in the face of adversity. I don’t have a heart strong enough to shoulder all my emotional baggage, much to the fact that I generate too much of that load whenever I put my head and heart to think about stuff.
I’m tired, but this just powered my thirst to achieve even more.

P.S: To that someone whom I’m always aiming to beat, I didn’t do it this time, but I swear, I’ll thrash you at your game the next time.

*cough* save *cough* me!

I landed myself in a coughing fit just at the beginning of Math lecture and had to escape to the nearest toilet to finish off a 10-minute non-stop, non-skip cough to ease the itch in my throat. Someone’s thinking of me, they say. Someone’s cursing me, I’d say. And I came back watery-eyed and exhausted from all that hacking. This throat irritation’s been following me for almost a week now, and no amount of sweet cough drop or grotesque-smelling lozenges can cull it. Damn.

Just to share a little on my escapade to K-Box last week (I guess that kind of added to the torment I’m suffering under now), it was the first time I attempted a Backstreet Boys song there, and I’m pretty amazed by myself, other than the lacklustre budget MTV of a woman strolling by the beach. That, of course, was definitely NOT one of the Boys’ MTVs. I did ‘I Need You Tonight’, which was a solo by Nick in Millennium, without the cover singer’s voice. And I swear, I’ll be back for more BSB songs. Watch out for me.

Help this impulse shopper!

I hate myself for being an impulse shopper. The moment I see something eye-catching, I’ll just grab it, provided it’s not too expensive. Shucks. This was how I blow half my week’s money on a cell phone pouch. Great. And I’ve just made orders for a silicon case for my cell, because I can’t risk accumulating more scratches on this phone which is going to stick around for another 2 years. Where am I going to find the money to spend after college?

I’ve recently (or rather, today) declared myself unavailable for the rest of the year. Sorry people, but homework (a.k.a my boyfriend) is keeping a tight rein on me. If I don’t submit my assignments or study for my tests, I’m most probably going to fail the year. I don’t want to repeat school (after experiencing the horrors of it), so I’ve got to do my stuff religiously. Okay, it’s back to homework again.

Post-concert blues

“A friend bought a pair of jeans and was saying that they were like a 4-star hotel --- There wasn’t any ball room.”

This joke from school didn’t exactly cheer me up for the entire day. Great--- we had to do our modules today. No portfolio to mug over, but the teacher spoke as though he should have joined Broadway. His jokes weren’t exactly entertaining, but I just laughed conformingly.

It’s been more than a week since the concert, but I’m still suffering from its after-effects. The songs are still swimming in my head, the images flashed back every now and then, their voices still bombarding my senses. They had the power to set such a simple concert into my head without gimmicks, and this is their power. I miss them. I miss the Boys.