Well ok so I am insecure. But above all, I don't know why but feel SO threatened when someone asks me to lend them my notes. Not so much for selfish reasons, instead more of I get so worried that my notes do not actually live up to the expectations of the other party. The sense of inferiority plagues me and I can't help but feel like I am in no position to extend help to another, simply because I can barely save myself. And yet as I struggle to come to terms with my internal torments, I do not know how to reject someone politely without being deemed a self-centred snob. Which I am not; I merely do not want to distribute work that I am not proud of, or fully confident of. Either way it seems there is no way for me to go unscathed of judgement – it's a lose-lose situation. (This is in no way an indication that I am not glad to share my notes though)

Then again perhaps I am just being downright selfish. Perhaps I am trying to find an alternative cover-up to perpetuate the self-denial I allow myself to indulge in to justify my ungenerousness. I want to be nice, I want to help; but at the same time I fear. I fear being overtaken, I fear being left behind, I fear being used. Maybe it is just the unspoken knowledge that I have long been overtaken by many; dismissively abandoned a million miles behind; continuously been exploited and trodden over.

Maybe I am learning to close myself up, to hide myself away into what they would consider a "safe place". Somewhere unreachable; deep inside, where only I have access to. To detach myself from Them, and rely solely on Me. What is mine rightly belongs to me; it is not yours. What I have worked ever so hard for, it is mine, back off. Possessiveness need not be a bad thing. It is afterall inevitable in our corrupt society.

And since we are once again returning to the eternal subject of how fucked up humans are, let me just outwardly reiterate how miffed I am towards my present predicament. These few weeks with social media out of the way, I am gradually beginning to understand the freedom it has offered in the release of pent up thoughts and sporadic bursts of volatile emotions. In other words, the world has lately been spared from my frequent I-am-so-mad-at-that-dumb-bitch-so-I-am-going-to-mindless-post-shit-and-delete-it-in-an-hour's-time tendencies. I have to say, Facebook has indeed done a perfect job in offering solace and modelling a virtual sanctuary cum refuge sort of platform for the inwardly-conflicted and the emotionally-unstable.

A hell lot of rambling underway again tonight.

But yes, recent weeks have been filled with the repetitive silent wishes that people will just combust and disintegrate, like ants under a magnifying glass on a scotching day. When you spend approximately 87% of the time trying to contain your disgust or detestation towards particular subjects of incompetency, you can just imagine how – wonderful – life is right now. That is, with account that the remaining 13% is often spent on restraining the excessive use of wordless expletives you hurl at whatever gets in your way. (Said statistics may vary) And when you're going at a rate of approximately 8o1379126416912 'fuck yous'/hr, you think to yourself, yes perhaps it is time to expand that vulgar-vocab-list of yours. Or maybe anger management classes will do wonders as well. Trust me, look hard into yourself and you know you know that feeling as well.

Basically, in short, if exile was an option, quite a handful would long be rebuilding their lives in say, Mbanta or Mantua. Maybe I'd submit myself to exile. Far far far away from this absurd land filled with throngs of repulsive drones, dripping with gut-retching stupidity, and emitting ineffectual noise they self-righteously deem as intelligent discourse. Oh just shut the fuck up, I think to myself – say, what do you know. Was that a rhetorical question?

"Two oppose kings encamp them still – grace and rude will – when the worser is predominant full soon the canker death eats up the plant." Sometimes I do feel I am very much ruled by passion. Sometimes I feel so Juliet – sans the wuss of a Romeo – deprived and desperate.

Cynicism gnaws at me. Bit by bit, every single day. I hate you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and maths, and life, and me. And then, I love you, and you, and money, and praise, and special treatment, and blah blah blah. Interests of heart fluctuates more rapidly than that of Wall Street figures.

"Thy wild acts denote the unreasonable fury of a beast." I should stop.

I have (rambling) issues.

---

SIDENOTE: Pangdemonium's SWIMMING WITH SHARKS was amazing!!!!! It's like Devil Wears Prada hollywood-film-industry style – loved it!! (Janice Koh is such a fab actress!) "This is the only way that you can hope to survive. Because life... is not a movie. Everyone lies. Good guys lose. And love... does not conquer all."

Well ok so I am insecure. But above all, I don't know why but feel SO threatened when someone asks me to lend them my notes. Not so much for selfish reasons, instead more of I get so worried that my notes do not actually live up to the expectations of the other party. The sense of inferiority plagues me and I can't help but feel like I am in no position to extend help to another, simply because I can barely save myself. And yet as I struggle to come to terms with my internal torments, I do not know how to reject someone politely without being deemed a self-centred snob. Which I am not; I merely do not want to distribute work that I am not proud of, or fully confident of. Either way it seems there is no way for me to go unscathed of judgement – it's a lose-lose situation. (This is in no way an indication that I am not glad to share my notes though)

Then again perhaps I am just being downright selfish. Perhaps I am trying to find an alternative cover-up to perpetuate the self-denial I allow myself to indulge in to justify my ungenerousness. I want to be nice, I want to help; but at the same time I fear. I fear being overtaken, I fear being left behind, I fear being used. Maybe it is just the unspoken knowledge that I have long been overtaken by many; dismissively abandoned a million miles behind; continuously been exploited and trodden over.

Maybe I am learning to close myself up, to hide myself away into what they would consider a "safe place". Somewhere unreachable; deep inside, where only I have access to. To detach myself from Them, and rely solely on Me. What is mine rightly belongs to me; it is not yours. What I have worked ever so hard for, it is mine, back off. Possessiveness need not be a bad thing. It is afterall inevitable in our corrupt society.

And since we are once again returning to the eternal subject of how fucked up humans are, let me just outwardly reiterate how miffed I am towards my present predicament. These few weeks with social media out of the way, I am gradually beginning to understand the freedom it has offered in the release of pent up thoughts and sporadic bursts of volatile emotions. In other words, the world has lately been spared from my frequent I-am-so-mad-at-that-dumb-bitch-so-I-am-going-to-mindless-post-shit-and-delete-it-in-an-hour's-time tendencies. I have to say, Facebook has indeed done a perfect job in offering solace and modelling a virtual sanctuary cum refuge sort of platform for the inwardly-conflicted and the emotionally-unstable.

A hell lot of rambling underway again tonight.

But yes, recent weeks have been filled with the repetitive silent wishes that people will just combust and disintegrate, like ants under a magnifying glass on a scotching day. When you spend approximately 87% of the time trying to contain your disgust or detestation towards particular subjects of incompetency, you can just imagine how – wonderful – life is right now. That is, with account that the remaining 13% is often spent on restraining the excessive use of wordless expletives you hurl at whatever gets in your way. (Said statistics may vary) And when you're going at a rate of approximately 8o1379126416912 'fuck yous'/hr, you think to yourself, yes perhaps it is time to expand that vulgar-vocab-list of yours. Or maybe anger management classes will do wonders as well. Trust me, look hard into yourself and you know you know that feeling as well.

Basically, in short, if exile was an option, quite a handful would long be rebuilding their lives in say, Mbanta or Mantua. Maybe I'd submit myself to exile. Far far far away from this absurd land filled with throngs of repulsive drones, dripping with gut-retching stupidity, and emitting ineffectual noise they self-righteously deem as intelligent discourse. Oh just shut the fuck up, I think to myself – say, what do you know. Was that a rhetorical question?

"Two oppose kings encamp them still – grace and rude will – when the worser is predominant full soon the canker death eats up the plant." Sometimes I do feel I am very much ruled by passion. Sometimes I feel so Juliet – sans the wuss of a Romeo – deprived and desperate.

Cynicism gnaws at me. Bit by bit, every single day. I hate you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and maths, and life, and me. And then, I love you, and you, and money, and praise, and special treatment, and blah blah blah. Interests of heart fluctuates more rapidly than that of Wall Street figures.

"Thy wild acts denote the unreasonable fury of a beast." I should stop.

I have (rambling) issues.

---

SIDENOTE: Pangdemonium's SWIMMING WITH SHARKS was amazing!!!!! It's like Devil Wears Prada hollywood-film-industry style – loved it!! (Janice Koh is such a fab actress!) "This is the only way that you can hope to survive. Because life... is not a movie. Everyone lies. Good guys lose. And love... does not conquer all."