Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy New Year, fools. :)

It doesn't feel like it's the eve of a new year.

On the contrary, it feels like any normal Thursday evening.

Minus the citizens of Madras who have decided to stop hating each other and have joined in merry-making and some other happy celebrations.

What are you doing for New Year's? Have you jotted down any resolutions?

I haven't. For lack of better phrase, I can't be bothered. I never keep them anyway.

So, you unicorn turds.

Have a happy new year.

Don't get hit by a bus!


No, really.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

I've utterly ruined the meaningfulness of this. Sorrypleaseforgiveme.

Yeah, so I kinda just realized that Makuluwo tagged me for the "write a letter to your 16 year old self" thing. On the 27th of November. It's now the 23rd of December.

Aren't I the most tech-savvy person in like ever? -.-

& I KNOW. I'm not over the age of 16. Who knew, right? :)

& I KNOW. I think everyone's already moved on from this tag.

BUT I still want to do it, OKAY? Thank you.

So I'm just going to do what I do best.

Bear with me. :D

Dear 16 year old me-

FIRST of all don't open letters from people stating to be you and shizz. What if it's some psycho bio-terrorist sending you an anthrax sample? :O I reprimand you.

So let's get back to you. Me. Us. Whatev.

I'm currently at this point of time 30 years old. I know. You actually made it to this age. We're all surprised.

So now you're probably out of school, and headed to university. You skipped a grade, right? You lucky girl, you.

Some pointers- Drop anything mathematical. But you knew that, right?

Start going to the gym- which won't work, btw till you're 27. & even then... :[

Oh and invest in some rabbit cages. Don't ask. Just do it.

You'll end up the CEO of a major children's publishing company. By day, you're printing Lucy And The Shiny Red Firetruck.

But by night you're publishing anarchist pamphlets for 7 year olds.

You'll remain a spinster for the rest of your miserable life.

NO YOU WON'T. You're engaged to be married to a billionaire who owns a Coca-Cola factory. & a Jolly Rancher Lollipop manufacturing company. I'll give you 2 minutes to do your "Squeeeeee! Dance".


Okay yay.

By age 23, you would have written a novel. I know that you're now really stuck on ideas, but it will come to you sooner or later.

You will never publish your novel. Ever. Because it is really too awesomelyawesome to be understood by common plebeians like Barbie.

Yes. The Barbie you know and loathe is still alive. You haven't killed her yet, but it's only because of the restraining order she filed against you.

Damn that 100 feet.

Okay, now I'm bored.

So, I'll just leave you to be.

Remember to look both sides before crossing.

Because maybe Barbie will suddenly appear 98 feet from you and the cops will come and put you in stinky jail. Especially when they find out about the anarchist pamphlets.

Hubby won't be happy, hun.

Not that this has ever happened to me before. Not at all.

With lots of love,

You. Me. Us. Whatev.

PS- You know that feeling you get all the time? That you're being watched?

It's true.

I live in your closet. It smells nice in there. Bahahaha.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Our Freaking Feathered Friends.

Warning- Multitude of references to bird poo. No, I'm not kidding. I wish I was. I so dearly wish I was.


I'm back from a drive around the beach.
Nice drive, nice drive.

I ate some ice-cream.
Nice ice-cream, nice ice-cream.

What? You think I'm being boring? You think that I'm not being my usual hilarious, genius self? *ahem*



Some stupid pigeon/crow/evil bird decided it had too much of food to eat last night, and gratefully used my very expensive shoes as a place of excretion.

The left shoe, to be precise.


Birds, I feel, have radars in their little brains. Sort of like- "ALERT. ALERT. Girl has just stepped out of the house after a nice shower. Engage missile."

Stupid birds.

Let's make a pact, okay? Let's train birds.

No, really. Not joking.

Let's TRAIN those freaking poo-zookas into knowing exactly where and when to let out their S-Bombs. No, not the cuss words. An actual S-Bomb. O.o

I'm going to write a letter to our state government saying that we all want bathrooms for birds. Nice colorful toilets with therapeutic oils that instigate the dropping of bird S-Bombs.

What say you? They may laugh?

So what.

Because when a pigeon decides to drop an S-Bomb on the Chief Minister, only I shall be having the last laugh.

& the pigeon, though that is entirely besides the point.

A classic example

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

I was listening to 21 Guns, in case you were wondering about the Green Day song.

Chilling in my room, listening to Green Day. I have an english test on friday... writing obituaries, how appropriate... we're out of maltesers, dammit-

Piercing scream.

Stunned. Looks around suspiciously for mass murderer armed with steak knife.

Aiyyo! it's reaching the banister! Oh my gaaawd!!!!

Runs down hallway. Finds mother and grandmother cowering behind sofa.

What are you doing?!

Listens to teary tale of finding a rat on the ground floor. Widens eyes at the shrieking adults pointing at a small, mysterious figure trying to scurry up the stairs.

Piercing scream from three generations of frightened women.

Grandmother narrows eyes. We have to get rid of it. NOW.

Mother and myself nod furiously.

Well?! bellows grandmother, Call the watchman!! What are you waiting for?!

Mother runs to intercom. Grandmother spots another pest- this time an enormous white cockroach.

Mother runs back. He's coming-he'll take another 10 minutes!

Mother spots the cockroach Grandmother has found. Wields her house chappal in crazed fashion.

No no, says grandmother, picking up a chair from the side Let me do it-

And she decapitates the cockroach.

I almost pass out, but the sound of the scurrying rat downstairs hits me like a speeding train.

EEEEEEK! AMMA WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! screeches mother.

It had to be done says grandmother with a defeated sigh.

I'm here I'm here! Memsahib rat where it is?!?! shouts watchman.

It's crawling up your leg!!! I yell.

CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE says watchman, shaking his legs in an oddly comical dance.

Another shake of the leg causes the tiny rat to be flung across the ground floor. The rodent lands with a thud.

Is it over? I ask fearfully.

The rat scurries out of the house as if in answer.

It is over says grandmother looking at the decapitated cockroach Now who wants to eat idlis for dinner, eh?

Mother and myself pass out.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Sadness, without a doubt, is...

A mystery.
You can be surrounded by a bunch of happy people who always smile and still feel miserable.

Said bunch of people can be saying hey, how's it going? life's good?

And you say i'm fine, watched a movie, sang karaoke.

And they say really? karaoke is cool, though i'm no good.

But they're thinking this person needs to stop moping around and be happpppyy like meeeee.

And you're thinking MAKE ME, loser. I want to mope around gimme some spaaaace.

Sadness is a mystery.

It's like a... poltergeist, even. It creeps up on you when you least expect it.

I don't like being sad. Being angry or happy... that's ok.

So when the situation arises wherein I start moping around, feeling like a failure, feeling like nothing can compare to my "pain", I don't like it.

At all.

So when I'm sad, I read.

When I'm sad, I eat a million Maltesers.

When I'm sad, I look out the window and watch the clouds.

When I'm sad, I drink a big cup of coffee.

I write sad little haikus and throw them in the bin.

I take a nap.

I dream.

I try and make people laugh.

I listen to music for hours on end.

I draw cartoons of people I've never met, and people I'd like to meet.

I text my friends and they text me back.

I ask my dad to drive me to the beach. I sit in the water till my legs get numb.

I'm sad.


Now GTFO and make me a box of Rocky Road before I kill youuu.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Any similarities is purely coincidental.

The world is at a stand still. It was deemed unimaginable, but it has happened.

Yes- Anonymouse, one of the greatest entrepreneurs/authors the world has had the opportunity to see, died in her 900 trillion dollar mansion last Friday.

The Times of Bloggerdom gives you this exclusive report on the life and times of the phenomenon that took the world by storm.

Anonymouse was born in a small town somewhere in Asia where her family's only source of income came from selling dairy products. Anonymouse grew up in the secluded village with only her pet goat Harvey as a friend.

Anonymouse grew up to be a lonely teenager. She had no interest in continuing the family's dairy business and was almost thrown out of her village when she expressed her desire of becoming a writer: most likely because she was illiterate at the time.

However, this brave girl started to learn the English alphabet and soon became smart enough to get a scholarship at Harvard. No one knows how, and neither does anyone care. Her studies at Harvard Law were tough. Even Anonymouse has admitted that she felt "ashamed that Harvey was not allowed into her dorm".

After getting her degrees, she went on to get a job at a prestigious law firm where she went on to become one of the most successful prosecutors the legal system has ever seen.

During her period of awesomeness she wrote many best-selling novels that remained in best-seller lists for more than 25 months. One of her books won the Booker Prize, one won a Pulitzer and 4 others were nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature.

After many years of such awesomeness, Anonymouse decided to set up a business revolving around Harvey. The goat was now very well known and had gained popularity in many countries- it also featured in Vogue, Grazia and Esquire.

Anonymouse decided to set up a goat facility that could provide care for underpriveleged goats. It became very famous and was growing at a fast rate. Many donations were made in favour of this noble and ingenious cause, most notably from Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, who donated 200 million dollars to the organization. Many frowned on this vast expenditure, which many felt could have been spent on the poverty struck people of India. But the PM responded by saying that "Goats are much cuter than poor people. So boo-hoo."

Anonymouse was now at her golden years. Anonymouse did not choose to marry, because she felt she was too awesome to be held back by some one else, so she remained a spinster till her demise.

She soon fell into depression when the doctors said that her persistent allergies were caused by goat fur. Harvey was soon sent to GOATS HUZZAH Inc and Anonymouse once described her feelings at the time- "When Harvey left, he took away a part of my soul. It was painful. I was like Voldermort. And Harvey's my Horcrux".

Because of her depression, she focused her attention on eating and not managing GOATS HUZZAH Inc. Because of this, the company crumbled and all the goats were adopted by Prime Minister Manmohan Singh.

Anonymouse soon suffered from coronary heart disease, and her doctors said that her painful death was caused from eating a packet of Maltesers.

Anonymouse is a legend in her own right. We should pay our respects on this sad occasion.

Harvey is still alive, and is now the heir to a small fortune.

Rest in peace, our pride... our joy... our goat-defender... Anonymouse.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Hmmm. Well...

... yes. There HAS been a lot of controversy regarding the issue... BUT let me assure my fans out there that the nude scene where I'm jumping on a trampoline with some cake smeared on my face has been done very AESTHETICALLY.
I really had to write that down. *laughs manically*
Noh, noh. Don't worry. It's not me. O_o
It's today's SUPAHSTARS.
Apparently, if you say that something has been done AESTHETICALLY then it's okay.
But what does "aesthetically" mean, anyway?
Like hell if I know. >.<
Probably just some excuse for directors and actors to say that playing basketball in slow motion in a barely-there-bikini is actually RELEVANT to the script.
Because, of course. Without the basketball playing, barely-there-bikini clad girl, the entire script will collapse.
No, really. It's CRUCIAL to the script. WTH.
The entire acting industry relies on barely-there-bikinis now.
But it's not like I'm saying it's morally wrong God will punish people wearing revealing outfits.
I'm just saying there has to be a REASON.
Why introduce a barely-there-bikini clad girl after the hero wins a cricket match?
Or when he's been kicked out of his family?
You say well we go to movies to escape day to day monotony. why watch something realistic?
I say that there is realistic cinema and fantastical cinema. It's either the plight of poverty, or ninjas wearing lungis.
But there is also genre where movies can incorporate both. You know the sort. A bit of everything. 'Tis fun, for shure.
However, I don't see how a barely-there-bikini clad girl can jump out of a truck and start singing.

Conclusion- This post has absolutely no point to it. But it feels good to get back at at the how lame stupid no sense want to die movies I am forced to see by family members.
That is being the end. Ok, ok. :)

Friday, September 25, 2009

Evil and its evil paws.

I don't like cats. Don't be offended, cat-lovers. I just don't.
They're sneaky little devils, I say, with their swishy tails and their oh-so-innocent meows.
I mean, honestly. What is UP with all the fur-licking?
Sure, sure. To clean their fur, you say, that's what Miss told me.
Yeah, well if Miss told you that fairies didn't exist, you'd actually BELIEVE it? :(
They're hiding nanobots in their fur, them cats. That's what's happening. And when they lick their fur, they scoop it up into a nice hairball and spit it at you so that you die of a nanobot invasion that halts your nervous system.
There's this one cat in particular. It's an EVIL-ER cat than any other.
It sneaks into the garage at night, says the watchman. And it leaves at around 7:30 in te morning, IRONICALLY around the same time I leave for Slave Academy.
Stalking me.
What if it comes into my room at night and chokes me with its evil cat claws? I don't want to die by cat. Natural deaths and bomb explosions are okay. But not death by cat.
Is there no one that can save me from this ferocious feline?
Anyone except Superman and Batman, coz they wear their underwear on the outside. NASTY.

Evil cat. With its evil stare.

Nothing, really.

Okay, just realized something. I really don't care about my blog layout.
I don't care about yours either.
BUT I DO CARE about what you've written in it.
So I should do the same. :D
Okie, that's all with the personal blog posts.

I still have the umbrella.

I'm on a temporary layout until I have time to use Chavie's link.
Is it okay? *bites fingernails*
Hang in there. Because I'm a perfectionist and I work like that. :D

Monday, September 21, 2009

I have a tomato proof umbrella. BEAT THAT.

I don't want rotten tomatoes thrown at me.
Rotten tom-ah-toes are also not okay.
But, you see? The layout has changed. Again.
Why? Because no one is kind enough to help me out. >.>
Somebody. Anybody. Please help this poor soul.
Coz the red looked gawdy. You're right, whoever you are. It hurt my eyes too.
Conclusion- PLEASE HELP.
Okie that's it. :)

I cut off my hair. Not my ear. =_=

*Warning- Rant post ahead*

Your hair is gone.
What?! I’m turning bald?!
No. I mean… you cut it.
Oh. Yeah. So?
But it was so thick and lustrous!
Okie, you’re creeping me out now.
You don’t look like yourself.


Did cutting my hair suddenly become an immortal sin?

It's hair, morons. It'll grow back. What, did I cut my wrists? Or YOUR hair?!

But NOH you don't get it.

Cutting off my hair is not a PAGAN PRACTICE.

And, The Auntie Federation of The World- cutting my hair will NOT affect my eligibility to get married.


In that order, yesh.

And it's so sad when I Barbie asked me "Didn't you like, cry, when you like saw your hair fall slowly to the ground, when you were like in the salon? Like, CRY?"

Oh, lyk YAH, Barbie. I was weeping so hard, I also tried stabbing the stylist with a pair of scissors.



Friday, September 18, 2009

An empty stomach is the Devil's workshop.

The pain sears through my body,
A white hot flame that is
The work of the Devil.

Yes. It is hunger.
Images of food pass through my eyes
Like as if I near my end.

Is that so far from the truth?

I lust after John F Kennedy, with his
Bold claim- "I am a jelly doughnut."

Pasta marinera, fish & chips,
These trivial things prickle through my mind
Like guilt for a crime worse than death.

Why, that sandwich across the room,
Nestled safely in the loving hands of another call out to me-
"Eat me" croons the Nutella, "EAT ME."

I can now feel the acid burning my stomach lining.
"FEED ME" coaxes my stomach, as I wonder why in God's name
I'm making conversation with my digestive system.

Suddenly, the girl with the sandwich extends her arm
And says those marvellous words-
"Would you like a piece?"


The Nutella has won. So has my stomach.

I willingly raise my white flag in surrender.

"Yes, thanks. I would like some."

Saturday, August 29, 2009


As you mortals may have noticed, my blog layout has changed into an allegedly "christmassy" theme. You know, green and red and what not.
I just wanted to say that you all don't have to worry and that my genius remains unchanged.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

The Day The World Refused To Stand Still

“I triple-quadruple-dog-DARE you”

“But I could lie to you. I mean, you don’t travel in my bus.”

“Do you know Person X?”

“Yeah, why? She’s in my bus. So?”

“I’ll ask her to keep an eye on you.”

“What? Oh, you sneaky little- FINE. You’re on. Expect disappointment. “

*death glares exchanged*

Wonder what that was? A bet being made. A bet that may change the world as we know it.

Ok, fine. Maybe not the world. Maybe just the bet-er and the bet-ee of this situation.

Dare- Try to fall asleep while on the Bus back home.

Fine. Whatever, meh. =_=


I stay awake the whole night before D-Day. Or at least for a few hours. See, because I can’t
seem to remember anything after 2:30 am. Either I slept off, or the bet-er has unleashed her legendary evil on me. O_O

I change into my morning dress with a steely glint in my eye. That may or may not have been the reflection off my glasses, but doesn’t “steely glint” sound cool?

It’s time. I crack my knuckles and wait outside my stop. At precisely 7:25 am the bus arrives with a HONK.


I sit in my usual spot with a feeling of achievement and smugness. Pah! This is going to be a breeze.

I mean, come on. Bragging rights for the whole year?


The bus starts with a strangely ferocious ROAR. I slowly retreat back into my shell. How did I miss that sound for the past three weeks?

*remembers loud music blasting through headphones*

And we’re off! Ha, why did I even worry? This is so easy. Just. Fall. Asleep.
I close my eyes and am about to drift off thinking about a warm, comfy bed and a good book-


"AAAAAAARRRGHH!!!” I wake with a start. No. NO.


I look around the bus with a dazed expression.

No way.


This isn’t physically possible! How can a tiny vehicle with only three wheels block a gigantic bus?!

Our bus pwns your auto, okay?!?!?!?! So get outta the way, foo’!

Ah. It’s moved. Thank you God, you are so so kind, I will never threaten to convert to atheism again-


Oh sweet mercy what is it now?!?!

At this rate, I’ll never fall asleep. I sneak a glance at Person X. She gives me an evil grin that truly and honestly looks like this.

Yikes. Where are those sleeping pills when you need them?!

And cheh.

I left a dose of Day Blogs at home. :D

Ok, quick time check. 20 minutes more.

Fine. Get drowsy in 2 minutes, and then-


Please. Shoot me now.

With a sudden JOLT, I actually end up in mid-air for about a milli-second.
Cool, but hello? Aren’t these seats supposed to be COMFY? What about your aching Gluteus Maximus?!?!?!

Okay. Just close your eyes, and count to 10. I mean, you haven’t slept for at least a quarter of the night.



What does our government even do with our money?

Oh wait. I know.

They make them into bundles, lay them on the ground under the bitumen, and VOILA!
Your own personal road bump! It’s a win-win situation! This lets our taxes increase EVEN FURTHER!

The wonders of our democracy have finally shown its true colors!

I’m so tired. And sleepy. And wishing my bet-er wasn’t right.

Hey, we’ve reached the coast! A long strip of flat land! HAHAHAHA my bet-er doesn’t know about this bus route-


Wow. Are we really paying them so much?

Oh no! I’ve reached my destination!

The bet-er has won!

Person X looks delighted. Crazy, tyrannical-


She was falling down the cascading waterfall, like an elegant dancer gliding through the air, into what she assumed to be a clear, blue river- full of promise and potential.

She refused to look down, however. Rather, she chose to look up into the horizon, the golden, beautiful horizon, where the birds seemed to fly without worry or care.

She eventually landed in the river with a great splash but she did not float.

She refused to float.

She sunk into its depth, and made a late observation- the river was neither blue nor clear. It was dark, stormy and hopeless.

Yes, she could relate to that.

She landed on the river bed. But there is no water around her. The land seemed barren and dry.

Yes, she could relate to that as well.

She sighed in frustration. What was this place? It seemed so beautiful at first. And now...

An inhumane cry pierced through her thoughts.

She looked back, and saw her old friends Fear and Anger making their way towards her. In usual circumstances, she would have greeted them with open arms.

But somehow, they did not seem to be in the mood for one of her pity parties.

She ran away, because that was what she was good at.

Unfortunately, she was too busy running to notice Friend and Family waving at her. She also did not see Hope and Love calling out her name.

Yet, she ran into Arrogance and Ignorance, Jealousy and Lies.

Laziness persuaded her to slow down and just chill but, she could not.

She had to get to Safety, the paradise she had heard of in the past.

She ran and ran, and just when she thought her lungs would give out, she teetered on the cliff of the Crater of Despair.

She looked intently at the area across the Crater. Yes, it was Safety. Her home.

She would have to cross the Crater, then. It wasn't that big, but incredibly deep. She shuddered at the thought of getting caught in it.

She gave up. After all, when was she ever brave?

She began to sit on the cliff, when Cowardice suddenly appeared from nowhere and gave her a push.

And as she fell, a thought struck her.

Her loved ones and better feelings had tried to stop her. But she just ran.

Away from the pain, the disappointment, the anger.

And into the end.


I lie.

Like all the time.

Even when I don’t have to, I lie.

My parents don’t trust me, my friends don’t trust me, and I’m finding it hard to keep up with the lies I made in the past.

I want to change, but whenever I do something wrong, I just blurt out the most whimsical lie and avoid getting blamed or punished.

I want to change, but I can’t.

Why can't I change?


Friday, July 17, 2009

Hypothermia, Apes, And Inefficient Presidents

The thrill of breaking rules is exciting. I’m supposed to be asleep now. You can obviously guess that I’m not asleep. Unless I’m sleep-typing. Which I don’t think I’ve ever done before. Except when I was writing that report on Waste Management.

That assignment was very stupid, by the way.

Isn’t it obvious?


End of report.

The A/C is on 21 degrees Celsius and I still feel like I’m on the brink of hypothermia.

I’ve just realized something. I think I write better in the night, no? Surely you must have noticed. The stuff I write during the day is so boring that I fall asleep during my validation.

“What? Are you sick of those frisky tablets of Valium? Try our patented sleep-inducers… Aisu’s Day Blogs! Guaranteed to get you the doze and the snores we’re sure you need! Warning- In case of overdose, there is seriously nothing we can do.”

But on a more serious note…

Yeah, I’ve got nothing.

You know, I’ve always found it annoying when people go on and on about how bored they are.

Except when my friends do it. Then it’s interesting, because I can understand how their minds work.

Difficult to catch up with them, you know.

Oooooooh! I know! I can write about my friends! My current friends, I mean. My old friends treated me like water. Taken for granted, potential unexploited, compared to several more popular drinks until…

A huge wave of… guess what?... water comes and sweeps them off their feet and pushes them to an uninhabited island where active volcanoes and evil apes rule.

Yes. I have been known to hold a grudge.

But moving on-

I had better not talk about my friends. Not only would I be totally violating their privacy (although I wasn’t going to name names) I think my fingers would fall off with all the typing and the brink-of-hypothermia-ness that’s going on in my room.
It’s actually pretty cold. I should turn it off, but then the noise of my typing would be incredibly audible, and now that I’ve mentioned evil apes, I’m not feeling very safe. O_O

God, I’m definitely going to hell for sleeping this late.

But it isn’t late in Japan. It’s the afternoon.

So I don’t think I’ll be going to hell after all. Details rock my socks, although I’m not wearing any at the moment.

Which brings me to freezing toes and once again… brink-of-hypothermia-ness.

On a strictly random note, nothing is ever truly our fault, is it? I mean look at this-

You’re late for school, and you go by public bus...


And you say, “Well, Miss. I stood at the stop on time. But the bus was having technical difficulties so it was having trouble starting. I got out and watched the driver fix the engine, which was broken because of the engineer who built the bus. The engineer was hired by the secretary of a business man who owns the bus lines. The business man takes orders from our local council. The council takes orders from the regional assembly. The regional assembly takes orders from the state government. The state government takes orders from the Lok Sabha. The Lok Sabha takes orders from the Prime Minister of India. The Prime Minister of India cannot do anything without the approval of the President of India. Thus, we see that it was THE PRESIDENT’S FAULT THAT I WAS LATE FOR SCHOOL!”


And you say, “Awesome.”

Sorry. My brain just exploded there for a minute.

I blame the evil apes and the brink-of-hypothermia-ness.

A Reason to Follow Your Heart

There’s this voice in my head.

It doesn’t tell me what’s right or wrong.

It just tells me what to do, more or less.

No. I’m not

A) High
B) Suffering from depression

The voice is just THERE.

It’s there in all of us, I think. It tells us who to be, what to say, who to love.

And yet, it doesn’t tell us the more important things- what to be, how to say, when to love.

Either way, you can’t get rid of it.

The voice, I mean.

Believe me, I’ve tried. Politely asking it to go away. Yelling “SHUT UP!” when my verbal filter that I use for normal conversation goes on strike.

But it still doesn’t LEAVE.

Ok, ok. It doesn’t suck the life out of me. The whole thing is symbiotic. We live in compromise. You win some, you lose some.

In any case, I still don’t like it.

It USES me to say the things it wants to say, and to do the things it wants to do.

But as the years go by, the voice inevitably becomes fainter and fainter. You start to miss it, whether you like it or not.

You start to miss the voice in your head.

And on your deathbed, when it’s too late to matter, you’re bound to find out something about the voice in your head.

Because during all the times you’ve argued and disagreed with it; YOU have failed to realize, that the voice in your head was in fact- your heart.

The Man On The Rubble

I’m on the way to school, and I’m writing in my journal. God, these bumpy roads make my already curvy handwriting look like a 1st grader’s-

Oh, wow. Is that what I think it is?

I see a pile of rubble near a construction site, in front of which we have gotten stuck in a traffic jam.

Now there really isn’t anything special about this pile of rubble, except for the tiniest detail that a man is lying unconscious on it.

No, this isn’t one of my stupid jokes. In fact, I think this is the moment the Unconscious Man on the Rubble enters my life.

He’s alive, I’m sure of it. The Unconscious Man on the Rubble probably had an especially “fun” night at the bar.


But the sad part? No one was helping him get up or anything.

Doesn’t the Unconscious Guy on the Rubble have a family? A wife that drags him home after a wild night at the pub? A son that slaps him silly and then hugs him when he finds his father on the rubble? A daughter that cries for help to lift her intoxicated father up?

After coming to all these observations, I notice that none of my guesses has come true. In fact, a little kid is now trying to steal the Unconscious Guy on the Rubble’s bicycle.

Welcome to India.

I look at the other passengers in the bus. All of them were talking and chattering, or listening to music.

But no one has noticed the Unconscious Guy on the Rubble.

I start to wonder, though. How would it be if I was the Unconscious Guy on the Rubble? Would anyone help me? I mean, for sure my family would be screeching for an ambulance, and my friends would be laughing at the stupidity of the situation while screeching for an ambulance at the same time. But what about the general public? The people that DON'T know me?

Do they have an obligation to assist an Unconscious Girl on the Rubble? Or would they be too scared to go against social norms?

I mean, don’t deny it. In India, it’s every man for himself.

Honestly, if I was walking passed the Unconscious Guy on the Rubble, I don’t think I would have helped him.

I mean, if I had the guts to call an ambulance myself and ask for help, then yeah, maybe one day.

But not now, I’m certain. I don’t have the courage to walk up to him, in front of all my classmates and say “Need a hand?”

So… end of story.

But let’s end with a question, shall we? Because I really do like asking almost-rhetorical questions. They’re so… mysterious.


I am possibly one of the few people who find linguistic features “mysterious”.

Live with it.

But getting back to my question-

If you were to make a similar decision, would you choose the one that you think is right, or the one that society has deemed to be right?

As the traffic dissolves, and I pass the Unconscious Man on the Rubble, I finally realize another thing most people don’t like to admit.

Sometimes, it really is too late.

So, try and answer my question.

I’m sure that the Unconscious Man on the Rubble would love to hear your views, assuming that he becomes the Conscious Man on the Rubble once more.


All this thinking and lessons haven’t even started yet.

Puppy Love? Well, It’s The Same Puppy That Got Run Over By a Truck. *sob*

If there’s one thing that has always puzzled me, it’s love, man. The damned thing is everywhere, hurting people, and making people ecstatically happy.

Don’t deny it. It’s legal crack.

I am, suffice to say, more than a little mature in my understanding capabilities than my fellow just-turned-14-year-olds.

Of course, none of that really matters now, does it? When it comes to… luuurve *wrinkles nose*

It’s a whole new level of understanding. There’s true love, a fling, a crush, a love-hate relationship.

If anything, God decided to have fun screwing our heads around when he made it.

I mean, I don’t even know why I think about it! Surely I have better things to do and just wait and see what happens.

Go with the flow.


I have to be surrounded by love sick teenagers whose love lives are usually shorter than the life span of a mayfly. And is worth as much as Bush’s opinion on almost anything.

Ok. Let’s have another look at the matter. I have this friend who's with a new girl every week. He's the "Cool Guy" now.

Nevertheless, I will remember him as the guy who once told me how cool it would be if evil dwarves really existed.

Now look. All I'm saying is how “love” can be skin-deep as well. And that’s just sad.

My opinion on love is final, though. One person. Somewhere. Someday. That’s it.

Then again, I wouldn’t have anything remotely interesting to talk about here, now would I?

So, what are disgusting are the reactions of some people I really wish I didn’t know-

Day 1- “Like Oh Em Jee, Aisu. Look at him.”

Day 5- “Yippee! I’m going out for a movie with him! Yipidee doodle dooo!”

Day 8- “He’s kind of mean. And he didn’t call me last night.”

Day 10- “Oh! I should never have gone out with him. Jerk. *gasp* Like Oh Em Jee, Aisu. Look at him. “

And the cycle continues. *rolls eyes* I should seriously be given a medal for being forced to mingle with people like these.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that people with boyfriends and girlfriends are superficial. Absapalootely NOT. I don’t have an opinion on that. I actually say “Totalleh!” to the people in a long-term thing.

But it’s the people who move from one person to another with crushes and infatuations as excuses that really piss me off.

And this is a disclaimer. This is a pure outsider’s perspective on love. I don’t expect you all to suddenly say “Oh, ok! Let’s do what this Aisu person says!”

Because that would be stupid. Admittedly kind of cool, but-

So. Where do we all stand on the issue of luuurve?

You can be in the deep pool of it, or swimming safely in the shallow area, which, come on.

Is TOTALLY for scaredy cats.

That’s right.

I insulted you.

So stop wallowing in the shallow bit and jump right in.

Because if you want to do the whole “love-gig” at all, you gotta do it right.

Me? I’ll just be sitting on the lounge chair, sipping my iced-tea and watching the fun from a safe and secure distance.

Dying Language

“Forsooth! Thou shalt not advise unto me, for it is known that this humble servant of God art awesome”
“Good morning, Sir! Now, how was your day? Marvellous? Jolly good!”
“Hey, come over to my house tomorrow, ok? I got that new PSP thing you saw. You can totally use it!”
“Dude hi got tix 4 da nu hp flik! 2 cool no? ya gotta go tel me if u wanna go. c u ... l8r k?”
Our language is dying.
It has changed from Sentence One to Sentence Four in what seemed like days, but were actually centuries.
Time flies like the letters in Sentence Four that are officially M.I.A.
In any case, people around the world are committing homicides with every SMS or email they send.
Our language is dying, I tell you! DYING!
If you ask me, if people are arrested for murder, then people should be arrested for this too.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Momentary Introspection.

I'm losing hope in the world, you know. I thought that my outlook in life would change as I entered my teenaged years. But I still hate it. I don't know why. Not MY world, though. My cushy world, with loving family and friends, a great house, and a well-off future. I hate THE world, in general. Poverty. Unemployment. Murder. Mathematics. Rascism. War. The works. Everyone has hated the world once in their life. Or you will in the future. When you look in the mirror and wish you were fairer, slimmer. More beautiful. When you look at your test scores and want more. When you look at your clothes and notice that they aren't Calvin Klein. When you read the newspapers and read about the female foetesus that get killed each day. When you read about the man who was refused a loan because he was black. When you watch the starving children in Ethiopia, die of thirst and starvation, while the US government decides to dump their surplus food produce in the Atlantic and Pacific. When you look into the eyes of the people you love and see disappointment.

When you look.

When you see.

When you hear.

When you KNOW.

Irrelevant. And yet...

I still remember the first time I read the Philosopher's Stone. I think I was 7 at the time. More vividly, I remember reading the enormous Order of The Phoenix book when I was in the 4th grade. My classmates, bar four incredibly excited guys and three incredibly excited girls, regarded the book with much puzzlement. I remember the hours we used to argue as to whether it was "SEE-REE-US" Black or "SIRR-EE-US" Black. I remember watching the Chanber of Secrets, and completely ignoring my popcorn and coke. I remember the hours we used to try and figure out whether Snape was the bad guy or not. I recall sobbing when I left my copy of The Prisoner of Azkaban in the rain. I recall jumping when I received the book again, almost two months later. I remember waiting patiently in line for The Goblet of Fire in front of Borders in Singapore at 7:00 am.
More recently, I remember delaying my check-in for a flight to Bangalore because I stood in front of Odyssey at 5:00 am, only to get my book at 8:30 am, and to leave on a flight by 9:45 am.
I remember being called crazy. I remember converting my friends into Potterism in a matter of chapters.
I remember reading about a robber who didn't kill his victim because he saw a copy of the Order of the Phoenix lying around. I remember being called to Harry Potter celebration parties and staying up till about 11:00 pm with friends as we deciphered the Prophecy, and why we all thought that Tom Feton was growing pretty cute as the years went passed by.
I'm sure that I'm not the craziest, hard-core Harry Potter fan there is, and neither do I admit wanting to be. Everyone says that the reason Harry Potter is popular is because we can relate to the characters.
This is entirely false. We can't relate to boys that say spells and defeat evil wizards. We can't relate to flying on broomsticks.
But, I suppose, the best part about Harry Potter, is that it makes you believe you AREN'T normal. Makes you believe that you have special powers, and a considerably cooler destiny.
It makes you believe.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Debate via Sony Ericsson.

Enjoy! I haven't made this up, BTW. It was just a series of SMSs between me and a friend. I'm AJ and she's AR. I take credit for any jellyfish or Princess Diana references in the story.

AJ- Hello, and welcome to ADBATES! Our first topic is-

AR -Basically, if you're all thin, fair and rich, you're the only one who deserves to live.

AJ- Interesting! Nominated by...?


AJ- Right. And I'm AJ, neh?

AR- Totes.

AJ- Some people are just BORN half-wits, AR.

AR- I know, AJ! There's this one I know who thinks she's the reason the rest of the world dwelleth for, because she's a size NONE.

AJ- Gasp audibly, audience! *widens eyes*

AR - Honestly, you there! In aisle 3, eigth lass from the left! I invite you up here onstage!

*cue applause*

AJ- Yes, come on up! *whispers to co-host "You SURE she's a... lass, then?*

AR - *Whispers, "WATCH!"* What's your name, darling?

Girl- Gina.

AR- Well, you look like a pretty teenager! Tell me, do your friends think you are humble about your looks?

Gina - Of course! I'm extremely modest about my ridiculously good looks and great figure. I just don't want to hurt others who aren't as perfect as I am.

*crowd boos*


*ducks but is tripped by AJ into jellyfish tank*

AR - AJ, NO VIOLENCE! Now, Gina, I'm going to call up the friend you came with. *points to average looking girl*

Girl 2- Hi, my name's Darcy!

AR- Well, Gina. Let's see what Darcy here has to say about you?

D - THAT bytch? She thinks she's princess Caroline! In fact, I wish she was Princess Diana. BECAUSE THEN SHE WOULD BE DEAD. Although those burns do seem kinda awful-


AR- Moving on. And stop thinking about jellyfish, AJ! What is WRONG with you?

AJ- Sorry. I was thinking about my Economics test, if you get my drift. Now Gina, what do you have to say to Darcy?


D - Because of your body odour, loser.

AR- You know, Gina. Some people CAN be better than you!

D - You couldn't know who Nietsche is to save your life.

G - I do too! Look, I'm wearing her awesome shoes RIGHT NOW!

D - Please be joking.

*AR and AJ snigger in the audience*

G - Hmmph. You're all jealous because I'm pretty and smart. I want CHADDY- POO!!!

AR - Shut up, and understand why we hate people like you.


It's short and unbelievably stupid. Just like how AR and AJ roll. =D


Moral Of The Story- We hate airheads who think that their ruined pair of Versace sunglasses are more important than being nice.


*vulcan hand gesture*

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Rambling Is What I Do.

Have any of you had the feeling you're being watched? And I don't mean "Hey, baby. How you doin'?" or "I see you! Now stop hiding under the dining table and do your homework."

I mean "M15 - Is - Watching - Your - Every - Move - And - You - Can't - Hide" kind of watched.

Yeah, me neither.

But it's a good conversation starter, right?

"Hello, Taylor. What's new in your life?"
"I'm sorry, Cynthia. But I can't talk. I'm being *looks suspiciously around bushes* WATCHED."
"*wide eyes* REALLY? You have to call the police!"
"Sigh. My sweet Cynthia. The police are NO MATCH FOR THE *looks suspiciously around bushes* M15."
"*gasps audibly* No!"
"*yelps suddenly* They're coming to get me!"

It's interesting the way it would have turned out. Taylor, being the suspicious one, would have a nagging feeling that Cynthia may not be an ally. In fact, she may be *looks suspiciously around speakers of computer* ONE OF THEM.


You may have guessed right now that I'm not in a very stable state. Indeed, as I type these words, I am gulping down my fourth mug of coffee. Coffee GOOD. Me like COFFEE.

*frazzled look*

Let's talk about more pressing issues, though. Like my BIRTHDAY!!! YAY ME!!! I'M TURNING 14!!!

Which is still unbearably young, but I'm not too fussy.

Alright, now that the joy for having a birthday is over (It actually started this morning and ended after I ate breakfast) I want to talk about something else.

As many of you know, I'm not the best person you ask to make decisions on what to do. I mean, my idea of fun is to crawl under my quilt, put the Air Conditioner at 16 degrees Celsius, have a glass of Coke (the drink, you freaks) and a chicken sandwich next to me, as I read a nice book.

It would also be nice if there was no one there to knock on the door and say "AISU! GIVE THIS BOX OF HEAVY EQUIPMENT TO THE DOWNSTAIRS OFFICE!"

But, like I said, I'm not too fussy.

In fact, right at this moment, the doorbell has rung twice, and my dad is yelling at me to open the door.

From across the hall. Don't comment on my father's freakishly strong voice. It just makes me think of a jail warden

Or Mussolini.

But my dad ALSO uses that freakishly strong voice to shout at annoying Subway cashiers who force me to get more change.


Oh, dear. I have to leave for my birthdy lunch.

So for the time being, just ponder on the words of wisdom here while I run to the car.


The Curse Of The Ratings

Me- "Hello, Theatre x?"
Theatre Guy (T.G) - "Yes, Information speaking, how may I help you?"
Me- "I'd like to book three tickets for the 3:45 show for Angels & Demons."
T.G- "Alright, may I have your Theatre x Membership number?"
Me- "x1x1x1x1x1x1x1x1x"
T.G- "Great. The bill for this booking will be deducted from your original deposit."
Me- "Thanks. I'll let my parents know."


T.G - "I'm sorry, what?"
Me - "My parents. I'll let them- I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep you from your other calls. Thanks a lot."
T.G - "No! Wait! How old are you?"


Me - "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm at liberty to answer that."
T.G - "No, what I meant was that you don't sound older than 18, and because Angels & Demons is rated 'A', we won't be permitting you to enter unless you show valid ID."


T.G - "Miss, are you there?"

* c l i c k *

This was how my conversation with a certain theatre went this evening.
I'm sure many of you would have experienced something like this before-

"Mum, can I watch the new James McAvoy movie?"
"Sure. It isn't rated Restricted though, right?"
"Um, sure?"

Ideally, I'd like to tell my mum the truth. But, HELLO. "WANTED" was rated ADULT because of its violence sequences. NOT BECAUSE OF YOU-KNOW-WHAT. (My aunt and uncle read this blog. To them, I show nothing but respect, obedience and a value of my life).

Back to my rant -um- point.

These ratings. They're PREPOSTROUS! But no. I'm not talking about American ratings. Since they have a broader variety to choose from, it's not that bad. I mean,you have General, PG, PG-13... In the end, the only ones I can't watch because of the stupid theatre security would be NC-17 ones, and Restricted ones.


We only have Universal, Adult, and Universal/Adult.

What good is THAT?

Most of the time, ADULT would be for the most DUMBEST of reasons. Did you know that Universal/Adult was given to an ANIMATED MOVIE?

*cue bad Indian accent*

"Oh, but there is the so much violent!"

Yeah, because watching ElastiGirl throw a bad guy out of the aircraft while morphing into a boat to save her kids is SO SCARY.

I want to watch Angels & Demons. Is that such a bad thing? I mean, COME ON. It's got Tom Hanks and Ewan McGregor in it!!!


Breathe. In. Breathe. Out.

So what happens NOW, you ask? "Does Aisu FINALLY get to see the movie?"

Yes, she does. In a crappy movie theatre with bad popcorn and flat Coca-Cola.
What GOOD, is watching a box-office hit, in a bad theatre?

It's so sad, I think I might cry.

And kill the Indian Censor Board in a fit of violent rage.

Ooooooh. DOES THAT COUNT AS "ADULT", buddy?

*death glare*

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Thank you for flying @#$%^& Airlines!

*I just uploaded this from my laptop, which I used during the flight. All emotions are true, even if I may not remember the captain's speech fully.*

I can't take this anymore. How long will this flight take again?

Oh right. I'm talking to an LCD screen.

That's the only good thing about this flight, you know? My laptop.

Ok. I can't take this. I HAVE TO COMPLAIN. RANT. ANYTHING to make me feel better.

Ok. Let's start. First of all, I'm travelling in the Indian Express IX 661 flight. The people on this flight seem to have forgotten to take a bath for the past 12 days. The air hostesses look like Emily Rose. One of them is giving me the stinkeye because she feels like it.

It is so hot I could melt. But not before I spontaneously combust. WHY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AM I WEARING A FULL SLEEVED SHIRT???

The food is... don't get me started on the food. I won't tell you. I can't. Naa naa naa naa naa.

Oh, all right, if you insist.

Imagine crap (pieces of metal, toilet paper, etc) with tomamto sauce on it. Now take OFF the tomato sauce.

This is my dinner. Yummee! Not.

I am sweltering. I try looking out of the window from my window seat, and what do I get? A blank wall. That's right.


Must get caffeine. Must stay awake.

I have a feeling that you don't understand my situation.

I am in a bubble. There are no windows. The seat is uncomforatble. Children are crying. The food can't be defined without using vulgar words. All the books have been read. My mp4 is out of charge. We obviously can't use internet.

I can't read the Airplane Safety pamphlet like the lady in Seat 7 C.

Who does that anyway?

I can't turn the reading light on an off like the guy in Seat 8 B! No wait. That's a lady too.

I hope.

All I'm saying is that-




Oh great. The inflight movie is something with subtitles.

Is there a spare parachute here? No. I guessed not.

My mother has noticed my frenzied look. She has separated me from belts and shoe laces.

Hmmm... I wonder why.

I have to get off this plane.

Oh great idea! Why don't we just jump off this plane which is at an altitude of over 1000s of feet above sea level?

Stupid Stupid Stupid Stupid-

STOP KICKING ME!!! I turn around to see a man who look quite scared at my expression.


So has the rest of the plane.

Maybe I should pretend I'm in somewhere cold, to get my mind off of things you know?

Okay... fine... er...

Wow!!! That really... DID NOT WORK AT ALL.



Ha. I OWN you stupid airplane.

Naa naa naa naa naa!!!


Well. I have to go-


"Good evening, passengers! This is your captain speaking. We are sorry to inform you that there is going to be a slight delay in our arrival due to some turbulence. I request you all to remain in your seats, as the fasten seatbelt sign is on. Thank you."

Sorry for the-


Ok! Well, I have to go and do other stuff, you know.

Like shoot myself.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

RomComs Forever!

Ah, yes.

You've finished school/college/work/community service and you've got a tub of popcorn, a bottle of coke, and a nice comfy sofa at a practical distance from the TV. The A/C is on, and you switch on the TV.



You get the idea.

But what ARE Romantic Comedies?

Rather than getting too technical, you can say that it is just an escape from your boss/stalker/head teacher/ neat-freak room mate.

Basically, it makes you laugh, cry, and fawn over the actors and actresses.

Something which you can't do in real life in a span of 2 hours.

But my opiniated (read- extrememly jobless) friend says that RomComs are just mush that don't instill any values.

Um, dude.

We're not in Moral Values class, FYI.

And, by the way, they do teach you lessons. What about "You've Got Mail!"?

Lesson Learnt- When you fall in love with your chat buddy, meet each other in a public restaurant. And don't chicken out when you find out you are enemies in the book industry. Yeah that's for you Tom Hanks!

"Shakespeare In Love"-

Lesson Learnt- When you are in the 1600s, know that amongst all the men auditioning for the play, there will be a girl in disguise. Fall in love with her. Complicate things.

"John Tucker Must Die"

Guys, don't have three girlfriends and ditch them all at the same time. YOU'RE GOING DOWN!!!


PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not fall in love with your immortal enemies. Bsically what happens is- you like, you like, you die.

"Never Been Kissed"

Be suspicious of the girl who enters high school and kinda looks like a university graduate. And looks like Drew Barrymore.

"10 Things I Hate About You"

Never agree to get paid to date someone who you are very likely to fall in love with.

I could go on.

Are you happy, bud?

*Go away, I'm in the loo*

Ah well. The disadvantages of having a friend with a small bladder.

Anyway, I assume you now know why we love RomComs. I'm happy that I've brought some sort of understanding into the minds of pre-teen bloggers.

God, I'm so jobless that I actually wrote this huge blog post.

Screw it. I'm going to bed.

As soon as I watch "50 First Dates"


Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Season's Sarcastic Greetings


I'm sick, I'm tired, Subway isn't picking up the phone- and to top it all- I HAVE A FREAKING BIOLOGY TEST TOMORROW!!!
Life can't get worse.
Crap. It did.
Apparently, we're not supposed to use the meat knife for cutting bread. Ouch.
Anyway, I just wanted to wish everyone a good new year.
May your life be devoid of insects, reptiles, humiliation, and meat knives.
May your life be full of love, hope, joy, faith and all that jazz.
I know, I know. I'm kinda ruining this beautiful moment(understatement of the century)
But, seriously- I know that although the world may seem crappy, unfair, embarassing, and hopeless; there is always a light at the end of the long, dark, creepy, bizzarely structured, animal infested tunnel. There really is.
Or that might be the flashlight the kid from the Omen carries before he kills you.
Either one.
Have a Happy New Year!