Antisocialitis.

Symptoms: Intense paranoia, acute discomfort in the presence of other human beings, an omnipresent sense of trepidation, etc.

Firsthand experience: "Of late, all I've wanted to do when faced with a group of people is burst into tears and run to the safety of the library. I blame it on the crippling effect of adolescent conspiracies and the not-so-discreet whispering of those who get a kick out of the misery of others."

Antisocialitis is like necrotizing fasciitis (i.e. flesh-eating disease). It eats away at you. And they both end with -itis.

Lack of trust is an obvious factor. Trust is an elusive, cheating bastard. I so badly want to kick his ass.

Totally disjointed post, I know. Just wanted to write something that wasn't about The Handmaids Tale. I so badly want to go all Terry Jones on this book.

Lalala pickles.

This is so awkward.

So, er, hi. I'm pretty sure I wasn't missed, and I apologize in advance for this fairly random post.

I was actually thinking of shutting this thing down completely. But recently, and again quite randomly, I began receiving compliments on it from friends and strangers alike. So I thought, since I finally have a few minutes to breathe, I could maybe post something and see if I've still got mojo.

I kinda doubt it. You see, when you get sucked up into the world of the International Baccalaureate Diploma (aka IB, I be screwed, Worst Mistake Of My Life.)- you tend to lose track of your entire life. It's like those geniuses from Harvard, Oxford, NASA and places like that. Super brilliant when it comes to their research, but often needs assistance to walk or tie their shoelaces and stuff.

I myself haven't gotten into that phase yet, but I've been told that it's coming. And like a rat caught in the path of a subway train, I can only watch.

Already, there is so much work that I constantly look like I have conjunctivitis, what with the countless hours staring blankly and in despair at the computer screen, tearing up and frantically trying to finish the overload of assignments. It's hell. Satan must be getting quite a kick out of watching us slowly lose our sanity.

And apparently the death of our social lives doesn't apply to the problems. No matter how sucked up into the academic world you are, drama always follows. Like a leech on your sensitives.
I'm speaking out of experience here, and while I'd rather not get into that, I'd just like to make it clear that you can never escape the bastards in your life.

(btw the part about me not wanting to talk about it is all lies. I love talking about it, makes me feel slightly human again. But I'd rather not complicate the delicate balance again by posting such things on public websites. DM me? lol jk.)

Anyway, life's a bitch. And then you die. This is the kind of bleak outlook on life that IB warps you into thinking about.

Aiyo, I meant for this is to be a very short post. But I suppose talking like a normal person and not using big words in every sentence has evoked some strong feelings in me, that were born out of happier memories. Like the times when I'd stay up till 3am doing nothing. NOTHING. What bliss.

Okay, shutting up now. Anyway, I just want to say that I'm glad I'm back. And I've missed you guys terribly!
Oh, and if you could give me some topics for future posts, that would be great! I can't rack my brains anymore, it hurts physically.

Ciao!


PS: Check out this site: http://www.ibquotes.com/latest/ and you'll figure out why us IB-ers are usually massive freaks. :D

Bloggers Block?

I've been getting quite a few requests to update the blog- and I probably should. Can't leave my brainchild sitting around unattended for too long- god knows what will happen. I don't even want to imagine.

Well, as to why I haven't updated in so long...
Whenever someone asked my why, I'd always attribute it to exams, the need to revise, the constant stress, pressure to study, etc. I mean, really, to a normal person this is quite an adequate reason right?

Right. But then I realized that none of that actually matters to me.

I used to be able to write chapters upon chapters of stories or book ideas that would suddenly come to me whenever I least expected it. Whatever I was doing, I'd drop it and scribble on the nearest blank surface. I don't know why that was- but it earned me nicknames like Flashpen and the like.

Or maybe I coined that myself. I choose not to remember the petty details.

But lately- I've noticed that my ability to write has somewhat diminished. No, scratch that, it's virtually gone completely. I mean- take this blog post as an example. I'm writing a post about not being able to write posts. Sad, no?

I miss being able to write! Not only do I really need to regain it in time for my upcoming English exam- *shudders at the very thought*- I want to write again. I want to be able to let my thoughts flow from my brain through my pen and be able to hold a hard copy of what I'm feeling or thinking. That's a special ability, I've been told. Not many people have it... or had it, in my case.

I don't know what made me lose it. Lack of practice? Well, that's partly true since all I've been writing lately are hideously boring essays about hideously boring subjects which I'd rather stick a fork in my eyeball than study about.

Lack of opportunity? Since I'm meant to be cutting down on procrastination, spending more time with my face in a book and not on Facebook, etc.
Balls to that, like I ever care? I used to stay up till the asscrack of dawn writing all sorts of things. The last time I did that was when somebody asked me to do their English coursework for them. I refuse to comment on that.

I think it's actually just a lack of inspiration. I mean- I don't have a single thing to be inspired about anymore. No interaction with anyone other than my parents- well sure, I'm online all the time and all but without much to do or say even there.
Come to think about it- I really don't have any reason to write.

That's catastrophic. Nay, to me, it's apocalyptic. I really need a life. And fast.

Subtle Variations of Blue

...is what my life is like right now. Sometimes it’s like the bright blue of a cloudless summer sky, sometimes it’s so dark it’s almost indistinguishable from black. Sometimes it’s that shitty gray-blue that depresses you just by looking at it. Sometimes it’s a watery, sorry excuse for the colour. But it’s always blue. Blue, blue, just freaking blue.

So that got me thinking- what exactly is it that adds colour to life? Sure, being happy is said to be like all the colours of the rainbow rolled into one big ball of colourful Play-Doh. But what makes the individual colours stand out? How different are the all the shades of each colour? What’s the perfect mix of colours?

Why am I even thinking of philosophical psychobabble like this when I should be studying?

Ah, who cares. I’ll flunk out and become the wise hobo that people would pay money to see. Bullshitting sells these days. *cough*politics*cough*

This is why I think kids are smarter than adults. We know the real value of colours. We know what they denote. We know that crayons have the same effect as cigarettes, minus unfortunate side-effects (except for that one time I ate a purple crayon. Don’t ask.)

If only we could retain that knowledge when we grow up. Instead, it all gets pushed out by other useless stuff, like HTML. I detest HTML. If I had to put it in a colour, I would pick the lightest, most boring looking grey ever.

You get my point. I’ll shut up now. Visions of rainbows and brightly coloured candy is getting to my head, leaving me quite.. exhausted..

Zzzz.

 

Cheer up and dry your damp eyes and tell me when it rains
And I'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins
‘Cause your heart has a lack of color and we should have known
That we'd grow up sooner or later cause we wasted all our free time alone

-Owl City, Rainbow Veins

Giving you more scope to pwn my soul.

Thanks for the title, Anj. \m/

Wow, I've been ignoring the blog for way too long. =/ shame on me.

Believe me, it was mostly unintentional. I have been submerged in a shitpile of work which, for the love of all that is chocolatey, I cannot even begin to comprehend. Everything just becomes harder, and the pile keeps on growing steadily and quickly with no end in sight, no chance of reprieve or redemption or-

Meh, I'm sick of that metaphor already.

Yeah, I hope you understand my situation. Exams are just a couple of months away, teachers and parents are bretahing down on my neck like vampires (not the shineh homo ones, the actual blood-sucking, mean, historically-accurate ones).

Not to mention the SCHOOL OF DOUCHEBAGGERY that I have been forced to attend, making things THAT much harder by cutting classes to make way for gayshit like Project Week and Sports Day and the almighty stupid Christmas concert and stuff. Plus they dont give us enough time to prepare for ANYTHING, they haven't even bothered to complete our syllabus even though our exams are in less than a few months, then they bitch that it's our fault-

And you wonder why I'm such a complaint box.

Then there's the non-academic bullshite too. Full of bollocks like my laptop breaking, being pressurized to be a certain hundred ways, dealing with not being able to fit in anywhere in this vicious country (hyperbole alert- the place isn't that bad rly. Until you try to make friends.).
Then there's the 'best friends' coming and going, bitches, backstabbers, ditchers, hurtful gossip, oodles of drama, discrimination, domination (wut.) and so on and so forth.

Oh and being dumped and taken for granted and heartbreak and stuffz. Several times this year already.

What a RIDONCULOUS year. Turn it around and fuck it i the ass. wtm.

I'm also going to include issues like world famine, wars, cancer, mosquitoes, the utter fuckery that is Sri Lankan politics, Haiti and stuffz to this list too. Just to retain some semblance of unselfishness to my tangled life.


And recently, I sortof walked into a wall and acquired a GREAT BIG HONKING SCRAPE on my cheek that is steadfastly turning all the colours of the rainbow. I had to wear an equally GREAT BIG HONKING PLASTER on my cheek, which attracted a whole slew of pointing, staring, giggling (-.-) and a sizeable amount of faggotty questions.

(After the first few OMGWHATHAPPENED's, I changed my reply from 'Meh. Don't ask' to a rather complicated and fantastic story about dragons and castles in a mystical land far far away, accessible only thru an old smelly shoe, with piratez and knightz and majik and YAYNUZ.

"I tripped, you mofo. Stop staring at my face before I shove your head up your ass. thanksforyourconcern kthxbye")

And one person in particular (who i will refrain from naming, in case i get carried away writing odes to his assholishness) found my mortification DELIRIOUSLY FUNNY for some inane reason, and laughed at me whenever he remembered my existance.

and one FINE day he laughed UBER LOUD and named me, with malicious glee in his eyes, Scarface.
And did a jig.

While I was insulted at first, I realised that Scarface is actually one awesome badass motherfucker, and I have an uncanny resemblance to him personality-wise.

But mostly because now I can fulfill my true destiny of telling all the luzrs who get in my way to 'say hello to my lil' friend' and violently gunning them down, watching with vicious pride and satisfaction as their blood and brain matter make million-dollar works of art on the walls.

DIEMOTHERF-

Damn, break is over. Back to my life as the ultimate loser geek princess.

16 is just a goddamn number.

GASP. I have been tagged by the crazy potayto-hugging n00bie and the raving purple-socked supercookie.

And this proves as a bit of a dilemma, as I'm not sixteen yet.

GASP. YES. I KNOW. You just couldn't tell, could you? *flips collar*

BUT. A tag is a tag. And I have absolutely nothing better to do. So I'll write a letter to the future me.

K HERE GOES SO SHHH.

Dear 16 Year Old Self

 I'm gonna go out on a limb here and predict that you will be an even bigger nutcase than you are now. Hell- I can FEEL IT. Because I'm psychic like that.

And right now, you're fifteen. Yes, when you read this you'll be like 'Chikey who is this batta who's wasting my precious time' but hear me out, bruv. You owe it to me since, well... you're me.

You're well into your O/L year right now. And right now- you're not studying SHIZ. You know you should've- and judging by the fucking grades & such, you're probably going to regret all the countless hours you've procrastinated really badly.
Hell- I don't know, though. Maybe you'll haul arse later and work like a madman or you'll end up being a bimbo stripper who's leeching off your parents and signing up for reality shows for extra cash and to show off your supposed cleavage...

Okay, moving on.

Well, let me remind you of what you used to be like. You were boy-crazy, obnoxious, air headed, giggly, loud, neurotic, obsessive, whiny, frivolous and quite possibly bipolar.

Oh, and pessimistic. Which you probably already guessed thanks to the rather harsh description above.

But it's true. You're in love with a boy who quite frankly just screws you up mentally. He played with your mind, made you think about him perpetually, got you all crazy with the slightest action, told you things which made you obsess over him like a psycho & turned you into the consistency of jelly with a single kiss, and left you craving for more.

And you're probably wondering if you actually did love him. Well, you did. The masochistic moron you are, you loved him. Hell, maybe you still do. Or maybe what I'm saying now will bring back painful memories.
I dont know. But this is what you were.

And here's where it gets complicated. There's another boy- a sweet, loving, caring boy who's far away from you but loves you so much that the distance almost doesn't matter.

Almost. Because you gotta face it, man- you have a combination of intimacy, long-distance and commitment issues.

And right now, you dont know what to do. You're at your wits end trying to deal with it.
I hope you chose right. I hope you finally decided to stop faffing about and take control of your damned life.
Because it's about fucking time.

And you were a total freak, lemme tell you. I know you thought you were the best thing that ever happened to the world. If you still think that about yourself- STOP IT. You look and act like a spaz.

And you had a gay haircut. Sorry.

And hopefully, you've lost the addictions. To chocolate, ice-creams, boys, alcohol, cigerettes, so on.
Well.. at least cut back a teensy bit.
Who am I kidding, you'd never listen to anyone about how to run your life. Not even your own self.

And don't lose your friends. Don't outgrow them or do stupid shit like that. You've done it before- and remember how painful it was when you finally realized that you just lost the only people who knew the real, unabridged you?

And remember the 'tewtalleh kewl' people you had to sacrifice your sanity to be friends with? THEY ARE NOT WORTH IT. Never was and never will be. Stop being so goddamn shallow.

Well, I could give you more advice and all- but where's the fun in that? And you're probably going to give up on this blog like you give up on everything else you start in life (except for a bar of Toblerone. And cigerettes. What is up with that, anyway?).
So chances are you'll never read this once you hit sixteen, let alone after.

But hey- you try. And hopefully, the world hasn't ended by then. And judging by the movie 2012 (which you went to see with your BIS friends & totally had a great time), it probably might.

So live your life. Get good marks, find love, be happy, la di fucking da. You get it.

And never never never stop being you. Take it from me, you're not that bad a person, despite all the above.

 ___________________________________________________________________________________

I'm quite late in posting this, so I bet everyone's already done this. But if you haven't- I TAG YOU!

Lame Excuses I Make

You've got me smoking a pack a day
But I thank you
I haven't been able to finish anything I started.
Until now, until you.

You've got me hitting the hard stuff
But I'm grateful
I've forgotten how much I love Tanqueray gin
Tequila shots, vanilla vodka... Good stuff.

You've got me spouting craploads of filth
But that's okay
I've finally found the words to describe my situation
& I've discovered that I have some pretty good imagination

You've got me crying myself to sleep
But it's alright
It's reassuring that I still have feelings
& I'm finally able to fall asleep.

You've got me walking into walls deliberately
But whatever
I'm a klutz; it's bound to happen anyway
& the physical pain takes away the emotional one

You've got me trying to look pretty in vain
But it's not a complete waste
Now I know that I look like crap in green
& that I can look like a girl if I try

You've got me running back to you in desperation
But now I know
That your beautiful words are hollow & fake
& that nothing's changed, & it never will

You've got me underestimating myself
But I'm not looking back
Now I know that I have issues
& I'm going to face them. Just watch me.

You've got me lying to like there's no tomorrow
To myself & to others
But it's easier to hide behind a smile
Less questions, less pain.

& you've got me writing intentionally sucky poems
Instead of concentrating on the piles of work i have


& I've run out of excuses

(drawing is by me, at the back of my Math notebook :) )