Overheard.

Someone from CS told me that a certain other school in NTU said this:

“CS videos are like powerpoint presentations! Still shot after still shot, then cut cut cut then call short film!”

This is so freaking hilarious.

Pissifying Agent.

The camp is coming to a close.

While I may be easily irritable, it is rare that I would even feel downright pissed off. Kudos to the bitch of a junior who actually manage to succeed in that.

Juniors, one easy way to piss your seniors off is to not give face at all. Especially when the senior is not particularly fond of you as well. And when the senior has no choice but to ask you to do something so that he or she can get his job done, the last thing you should do is to be such a bitch and ignore him or her totally, evening after coaxing.

What a bitch. And don’t say it’s unqualified. It’s more than once, twice or even thrice.

And c’mon, even if you are a pragmatist don’t let it show. Going around being all PRish when you need favours, and turning your face away when you no longer need it is pure stupidity. Because this industry is just so fucking small, you never know when you’ll see them again.

Good luck to you.

Punk’d.

I have not seen a more obnoxious guy than him. And I can’t find any other way to put it.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m as self-centered as he. Wonder if life centers around me, and weighing my own wants, desires, needs and emotions against what other people wants. There’s no wrong in demanding certain things and cravings, but where does one draw the line between hopeful wishes and self-indulgence?

I looked back, ashamed of certain things, glad of others. Memories seemed mostly bittersweet, as though pain and gain always seem like such a natural pair in life.

The story that ended tonight sparked off painful memories. And yet it felt like a proper closure, as though it’s a new chapter in itself. Watching the enactments through a gleeful mask while hiding the sorrow was just painful. It’s not the pain that hurt, it’s the culmination of life pouring its wrath on me that struck me bad. It was sort of an out of the body experience, looking at how we were a year ago.

It was expectedly emotional for some, and even some people whom I never expected to tear did so too. Looking through all the tears and (god knows what kind of) pains, I looked within myself and wondered where all my emotions gone to. All the tears that used to fall so free, seemed like a distant memory, so hazy in my mind. Have I hardened myself so much that I am merely just a little more than a robot with a beating heart and a working brain? The thing that made me human, I can’t find it anymore. If only I can feel my own heart again, like the nagging pain in my cheekbone right now, I’ll be glad.

I always believed that a good cry is a good outlet. I need a good reason to do so.

“We’ll be so less fragile if our hearts was made of steel.”

Why am I so fucked?

Dreams

Dreams all too brief, dreams without grief,
Once they are broken, come not again.
Since glad dreams haunt your slumbers deep,
Why should you scatter them in vain?

-”Serenade”

Ever woke up and wonder if your dreams are merely dreams, or a reflection of reality? Or have you ever thought about something, and wondered if it really happened, or was a dream?

Settling back into the country was a lot easier mentally, yet painful physically (no thanks to my stupid nose). Now that it’s a little over two weeks since I returned, the half-year just seem more and more distant, almost dream-like. The only thing that remains are memories, photographs, and traces on facebook and blogs that told me that, hey, I’ve been there.

Pondersome.

I wonder why some people just can’t keep their mouths shut.

So much for not telling, so much for moving on, so much for this and that and altruistic concerns for circle of friends.

Like seriously, whatever. Credible writer? Incredulous bastard, i say.