Algebra

Sweat drips from you brow, your brain is boiling, you're losing grip of your pen, and next thing you know, POOF you're lying on the floor in spasms. Why? Your teacher has decided to give you an algebra pop quiz.

I may be exaggerating, but some teachers are cruel enough to do such an evil deed so as to give you a surprise pop quiz that counts in your semester result slip. Great. You're probably going to fail.

I feel that theres too much injustice done to me and my classmates. As if we are not loaded with an overdose of homework, you throw tests that come daily at us, and more often than not, pop quizzes.Where is the justice? Sure sure, its part and parcel of education and a journey of school, and everyone goes through that, and i should live with it. Thats just it?

I'm very sure our teachers are real-life monsters feeding us with injustice. They sit all day in a nice air-conditioned staff lounge drinking Starbucks and eating a triple choco chocolate cake, while we are locked in a room with no such privileges and slog away.

Algebra tests are horrid.

Train Ride

What do people do in train rides? Some take some time and snooze before getting on with their hectic life, some blast their headphones and nod vigorously to the beat, while ignoring annoyed stares. Then, theres the me-kind.

What do we do, we create a flash mob in the train. Getting random unsuspecting victims to dance with us, and getting looks that has the word "weird" written all over it. Some secret cameraman filming it all, and putting it on YouTube, next thing you know, we're the next big thing. Going for autographs sessions and all. The glamor, the fame, walking down red carpets with cameras flashing down our million dollar smiles and thousand dollar dress.

Then, the overstretched limo pulls up at your front door, and before you know it, a charming old man wearing a suit brings you your glass of iced water and licorice on a silver tray, dusting the gravel path for you to walk on.

Of course, its just all your imagination, as you stand in the train, bored from a tiring journey, but the whole time, secretly smiling to yourself. Then your phone rings, and its your friends screaming down the line that you have five minutes before the movie starts, and you're back to reality, and the boredom continues.

Empty refrigerator

Have you ever woke up from a nice nine hour nap, realizing that no one is home, and your stomach is grumbling so bad, the only thing you manage to do is well, nothing.

It feels... Terrible, sickening, horrid and every nerve in your body frozen in you. Today i woke up from my nine hour tour around dreamland, hoping that when i walk to the dining hall, the whiff of a ten-course meal would drown my nostrils with its heavenly goodness. I felt around for my glasses, threw my feet over the floor, caught my balance, and started my endless, treacherous journey to the dining hall.

Sitting on the cold hard wood, was a note. A note of mockery, of shame. A despicable peice of paper staring me in the eye.

It said: Honey, I wont be home until 11. Here's six dollars. Love, mom." Either my mother was trying to bribe me or its for my dinner. Bribe me. Definitely. Pulling my numb body into the ktchen, i opened the refrigerator, hoping to see an array of cold, microwavable food or something, but all there was were expired milk and soy sauce. Im very sure i couldn't eat soy sauce, and its most definite that I do not want to have a nice stay in a hotel filled with white linen sheets and a "nutitious diet" and some bald old man in a white coat, holding a clipboard giving me a new biology term every two hours.

Just as I was still dreaming, the doorbell rang. Hoping its a complimentary pizza, i flew to the door, anticipated the dancing pepperoni pizza to come right in my face to let me lick off. The cheese, to be savoured in every corner of my lips.

I jiggled the lock as fast as i could, and standing there with a toothless grin was my six year old cousin, waving a red plastic bag of noodles.

Better than nothing. (:

Mystery of the missing shorts

I walk around the little house, skipping across a spread of books, sweaty and sticky, wishful thinking of taking a nice hot shower at 12 midnight. Of course, my health advisor would not allow me to.I slammed open all the door of my cupboards and pulling out all my dressers, grabbing collared shirts, black shirts, dri-fits. Then, alas! The drawer labelled "shorts" is empty. Staring mockingly at me was the plain brown wood. I can feel it chiding me. My drawer probably ate it up. Slamming my drawer shut, i was determined to look for the missing shorts.

I switched into detective mode. A desperate detective at least. I will not be humiliated by a childish act by my drawer. Eating up my shorts may seem preposterous, but i did catch a guilty look from it. I rounded up my gang of trusty detectives. Mr.Notepad, Mrs.glasseyes and last but not least the thinking cap. We scoped and cleaned every corner of the house. The tv and radio refused to speak when questioned. Changing its channels constantly and torturing them still did not not lead us to any clues. I slammed my fist and decided that that was it. I will not let this conspiracy continue.

Then, the draconian came out and sreamed, " GET TO BED! ITS 12AM! YOUR SHORTS ARE IN THE WASH!"

This explains alot.




(I took this from personal blog, dated 15 July 2010)