Ya know, I must've written about this 5 billion times already, but by reading someone's blog, you don't KNOW them. All you know is the parts of them that they might blog about, or let you know. So just because sometimes I write about my family, you don't know my family. Don't pretend you do. I might write about my surrogate family in Brisbane but there's so much more you don't know. I can tell you that yes, I've done a bit of drinking, but that doesn't mean I'm an alcoholic.

See, the thing with this blog is it started as a bit of a joke, really. Back then, it wasn't even THE in thing. Right now, everyone and their babies and their babies' babies have blogs, especially with Friendster and MSN Spaces, so it's not as if blogs are French. I digress. :P Anyway, my friends urged me to start one because they had one, and we could write whatever we want. Liss was the funny one, always making me crack up in tears. Pris was the all-around nice person, inviting everyone to say something in her blog. Thanks for getting me started. :)

Then when I came to Brisbane, it became my way of letting the guys back in Malaysia know I was still alive. Never would I expect that one day, I'd be linked to any other blog that didn't belong to people I know or see in everyday life. I'm still honoured, guys! I didn't know I was link-worthy. :) And so maybe I've cut down on my 'I had pasta for dinner' or 'Pris, you should've seen the amount of Japanese hotties' posts and written about PPS noobs or Blogs Malaysia members plugging their own posts (Yes, I've said this 29 billion times already).

But I know that my friends know me best. They know that if there was anything that I needed to tell them, I'd let them know. MSN, blog, phone, whatever. I might talk a bit about stuff like that fainting episode in university (I still don't reckon it's a big deal, guys. Really. :P), or my encounters with strange people (the barista is one), but all I write about is what I don't mind a perfect stranger knowing. I don't care if he knows that I think Steven Gerrard is a right hottie. Or that the doctor at the hospital was a cutie. I don't care if he knows that I watched a football match in the city with my friends and their random Russian friends bought me one of the best beers ever.

Oh, but you can bet I'd be pissed if he thinks I'd drop my undies principles and just walk into Steven Gerrard's/that doctor's bedroom blindfolded. Or that I would just drink anything and everything this world has to offer if it was free. You don't know me. All you know is what I say and what you think it means. You may be right, but maybe it's nice that you ask instead of just shooting your mouth off, feeling damn proud of yourself. A blog's a blog. It's not my autobiography. I don't record every moment in my life that I consider a milestone, or highlight my every footstep.

All I'm saying is people who haven't known me in real life long enough, or funnily enough, haven't even spoken to me, don't know me. Nope. Not at all. I don't see why you think yourself qualified to speak about my life. Just because I think that Stella Artois is one of the best beers you can have here (I consider it on par with Hoegaarden, actually) doesn't make me an expert. Or an alcoholic. So yes, those of you who dislike the way I am because of what I say, maybe you just don't know me. But I'm not gonna bother myself finding out and whining about why the hell you don't like me. I've been told life's too fucking short for that. You can tell me if you're so inclined to do so.

But don't assume you know me, hide behind nicknames. Anyone older than 8 knows that nicknames are reserved for playgrounds. By being derogatory or insulting me, you're only telling others that you sink that low because you can't find any substance for what you have to say. I'm only telling you this because I feel sorry for people who cannot for the life of them hide their level of intellect.

Blogs are not meant to tread on people's toes, but whoever said you can tread on mine?

Fuck. Okay, I took this tiny amount of text I had written after the picture on the 'Temptation.' post cause I thought it diverted the attention from the message. Because the message is obviously what's important to me. Here's the deal: The vodka bottle is sym-fucking-bolic. I'm not an alcoholic.

Shit, I like the taste of water and latte better than tequila and tequila is my favourite drink. It's not a fucking crime to have a favourite drink. I take pride in the fact that I do not walk into walls after one beer, because I was always told, by my parents, no less, that it's good that girls know how to drink. So they won't get cheated. But I'm a self-confessed coffee-holic, what the hell does that say to you?

Then again, I do not need to fucking defend myself, shit.

For fuck's sakes. I'd appreciate it if the commentary is not on how much I drink but the message. THE FUCKING MESSAGE. I took the time with Macromedia Fireworks only 'cause I wanted it not to look like a random chunk of text I regurgitated because people obviously wouldn't be interested in that, and all I'm after is constructive criticism of my work. Yes, it's MY WORK. I did not just paste some lyrics I heard in a song. I actually devote time to what I write.

I'm not after another mom or dad who'll tell me whether I can drink or can't drink or how much I should drink. Fuck.

I love writing. I like that sometimes words is all I have because I know I have the ability to put anything I want down in words. It's not me being cocky; it's knowing that I can actually do it that makes me feel like I can do something right, even if it's the only thing I can do right. So when I do it, if I'm doing it wrong, I want people to let me
know. That's the point of me making it look like the most readable thing in this blog. So that you guys would actually speak up. It's not like one of my normal 'I'm bitching to you about my day' posts.

I'm done. You done? Okay. Now if you want to say something, please don't say that I drink too much, or any shit like that. You wanna say it, let it be a joke. It's not funny when you're being fucking serious. Please let it be about the message.

P/S: I'm sorry about the amount of swear words in this one, but I really am mad over this. This is my breaking point.

A whole bunch of us went over to Leonard's yesterday for steamboat. Whoever had the idea of steamboat on the 3rd day of winter is completely genius. :) Mahjong and cards last night were really fun. I've learnt new games to play now, yay! Maybe next time, we'll remember to bring sleeping bags. Four people cramped on a double bed is a certified bad idea, especially with a running quilt! :P

Funny how when you're having such a good time, you conveniently forget all about exams. Heh! I just need to get my head around to revising my work before exams. 15th-20th June. And then I'll be free for a month! I'll be deciding my subjects for next semester soon, and it looks like it's all gonna be psych subjects. No more smart and interesting electives that I'll do badly in. Awww... maybe I ought to be happy. :)

Honestly, Political Science and International Relations were my interesting subjects. They kept me alive, made me feel a bit more aware and much less stupid. I mean, to be able to give constructive opinions about the Cold War or Liberal ideas may not be the best thing to be armed with when studying about Freud's development theory, but who says it's gotta all be about my field of study?

Trust me, it isn't easy to analyse one of Bush's speeches. Especially when you know the ending to the story: he was lying through his tiny teeth.

But I've decided that I'd better get my compulsory subjects over and done with, and then leave the electives for another semester when I will crack with too many intense subjects. And the CGPA needs to look just a bit stunning till the end of this year. ;)

Picture: Kristov's Vodka Cruiser, Guava.

Wayy back, we celebrated Anna and Justin's birthday. To be honest, I didn't even know it was Justin's birthday as well. *shy*



The chick in white's Anna, and the other one's Angel. Certified gorgeous creatures!



Birthday boy Justin. Now you won't be able to brag to me about drinking illegally in the Red Room! Hehe..



This is from Surfer's Paradise Gold Coast, when I hit the beach with Jo, Ali and Nelson.



We found this really funky hat shop! We took a gazillion photos, until we were told that it wasn't allowed. Hehe, not that we didn't know that already! ;)

Dear McD (I think I rather like establishing pet names for everyone),

I used to wonder how you did it. How you could easily pretend that you knew nothing about it, or had anything to do with it. Because the knowledge that I have everything to do with it is making me feel guilty. It's weighing me down. I'm really not any good at this. You could always just ask me what's wrong when you knew it was all about you. I can never find it in myself to speak up. Did you ever feel like the easiest thing to do was just to find yourself blind?

Did I used to harp so much on my pain? Scratch that, I know I did it much more than him. Compare him and me? He can take a number. And then some more. Now I might even feel a little sorry for you. But no, not really. I can't. Even more so, not for him, because that would be taking a step backward. That's something I'm not eager to do. Not after all this. My white flag was up a long time ago, why would I suddenly detract it?

Here I am, being that actor on stage I once envied, the girl acting out the soliloquy. She pretended that the hundred pairs of eyes weren't fixed on her, and the same hundred weren't feeling the waves of emotions that she conveyed through her actions. It's no longer envy; it's hatred and anger towards the necessity of her role. How was your stint on stage anyway? I'd hate to have mine continue longer than needed. I'm not after encore requests or a standing ovation anyway.

So it is that now I'm trying to be you, playing the lost sheep, feigning blindness, deafness, anything that could possibly shield me from what holds me responsible. I ought to thank you for your guidance. After all, if it weren't for you, I would've been lost from the beginning. Maybe one day, over a drink or two, I'll tell you about how he is. How I am.

Actually, make that three.

Love,
Alynna

I spent Sunday at the beach with Jo, Ali and Nelson and even if it was too damn cold, we still had fun lazing, eating, swimming, eating, shopping, eating, shopping, eating, shopping. In that particular order. ;)

Then Jo's mom, Clare picked us up from the beach so we could catch the train home since she was staying over at her father's. We got into the car, happily discussing the day, and when we had stopped laughing about how us girls didn't go swimming, Clare said, "Now Jo, your grandfather died at 4 pm."

It was suddenly very quiet. Deafening silence, with such an air of numbness. They had been expecting it. Clare had always calmly talked about it whenever she told me she was going to the Gold Coast to visit him. But somehow, to finally hear that it had happened... it was like someone slamming the door in your face.

Jo finally said quietly, "Okay." Then I heard a sound emitting from the driver's seat. It was so foreign to me that I didn't recognise it at first. And it dawned on me that she was crying. Jo reached over and gave her mom a hug from the front passenger seat. This scene enfolding in front of me has never been real, only in movies.

I have seen people cry over pain, anguish, hurt. I've comforted, cried together, kissed, hugged and whispered soothing words to them, hoping that they will help. And if they want advice, I try my best to be objective and honest. But I've never experienced... knowing death. The ones that I know have passed have always either been strangers or I've never known them well. So I didn't know what to do.

I reached into my bag and tore open a packet of tissues. I passed it to Jo, who gave it to her mom. Clare has always appeared a very tough woman to me, trying her best to manage with her kids, parents, husband and tenants. She has strong opinions about a lot of things and is very knowledgeable. I have learnt a few things from her that'll definitely help me.

So to see a strong pillar crumble before my eyes... was very hard. The last time I saw my father shed tears, even though I didn't know why (I found out later that my mom was in danger), I began crying myself. When the people you depend on, or look up to, break down, and show that sense of actually being human, not flawless like we perceive them to be, we feel a part of us tearing too. You realise that even for them, life isn't always a bed of roses.

Death is a bold reminder to all of us to live like tomorrow spells the end. To appreciate what we have because we might not have it all tomorrow. To not waste time because it waits for none of us, slips through our fingers without us noticing. If you've watched 'Just Like Heaven', then you ought to know what I'm talking about. If you spend all that time working for something, ignoring other things and people who should matter to you as well, and then lose it all... what are you going to be left with?

I've had two other reminders of the fraility of life today. I participated in a research study today, and it examined, among other things, the effects of the thought of death. I actually had to write about my emotions when I thought of my death, and what would happen to me physically after my death, and it wasn't pleasant at all. I cringed a little but kept on going. I can't say I didn't think of walking out of that study.

And then I went to a lecture and saw my Singaporean friend. She asked me what I did over the weekend and I told her. Then when I asked her the same question and was about to comment that her eyes and nose were a little red, she replied that her friend had died in a motorcycle accident. Because her friend was a Muslim, the funeral had to be held in 24 hours and she wouldn't be able to attend it. She was still in shock and all I could do was give her a hug, completely at a loss for words.

This sounds like one of those typical forwarded e-mails, preaching corny advice, and for the record, I hate those e-mails... but I really realised how brief life can be for some of us. The song "If I Die Tonight" by Too Phat has been repeating in my head for the past hour or so. I really wonder sometimes what will happen to me, but it's too much to ponder. I'd be wasting my time wondering anyway, since I'll eventually find out.

I don't want to have that mentality that I'll have all the time in the world for what I can do today. I'm often tired of people wasting time. I don't see why people take 2 hours for what they can achieve in 20 minutes. This isn't about exams or assignments. I'm talking about the simple things in life, like taking so much time to think about the effects of our actions, when really, they don't matter in the end.

Nisa used to think about every single damn thing that the guy she likes does. If he says hi, she swoons. If he doesn't, she wonders what she did wrong for 3 days. If he says something, she analyses it so much that it's a wonder the words don't just convert itself to an essay. If he keeps quiet, she thinks that he's uncomfortable around her. In the end, she confesses, after much persuasion from her friends.

She never stopped to consider that there is nothing bad that could possibly result from her confessing. He'll either say yes or no. If he goes in between, well, make him decide anyway. What is the worst that could happen? If he says no, there'll be an awkward moment or two. But if you were friends to start with, or meant to be friends, it'll blow over and everything will go back to normal. Maybe one day he'll fall for you, or you'll look back together and laugh about it. If he says yes, even better, right?

Sometimes, you aren't meant to consider stuff and by doing so, you're wasting time. You're losing the time you could've had doing something else more beneficial, falling for the right person, and you miss out big time. And then you think back and the only thought that hits your head is, I've been a stupid git. So realise this now. Why the heck are you waiting and waiting? Red rain isn't going to fall from the sky, no matter how long and hard you stare at it.

There's only so much you can do in one day. But that doesn't mean you should do nothing. Life isn't going to live itself. Change, and maybe one day, when it's time to go, you'll know you've lived a fine life, and whaddya know? You're even proud of yourself. :)