You can't see me. You can't feel me. But, you have to believe in my existence.

I am back for another blog post! This certainly is a surprise- since I rarely am (bothered) enough to actually type out another 'literary essay' as my friends address it. Of course, this is at the sacrifice of my personal studying time, which I have re-scheduled to a later time slot so as to allow myself some 'relaxing' time to get on the ingenius Internet and type a flurry of words so as to spare my brain some unneccessary fuss.

Recently, I've been thinking about what kind of a person I am. And what is my mission in this life. Life, is beautiful thing, like I've always mentioned and insisted. Yet, what on earth is life? What is the purpose for the beings sleeping up in the firmament, watching over us- to give me this precious, fragile little gift? I keep staring through this pair of eyes of mine- and I start to think- why am I in this body? What's the true, genuine reason that I'm able to see, feel, hear, speak and think?

If I were to sum up myself in one word, of course that word would undoubtedly never stray away from this, "insane". I'm not calling myself mentally deranged without any evidence, of course.

Insanity?

Just what on earth do you define 'insanity'? Personally, I define this word as someone who does things out of the ordinary, things that normal, average people do not engage themselves in and they stand out with their peculiar behavior that others deem inappropriate and at times disturbing.

Indeed, I seem to fill in all the gaps- all the requirements to be labelled 'insane'. So should you ring up some random mental hospital and admit me into their care? Probably, but when they take a good look at me from up down, they'd be seizing you into custody instead. True, I look normal and I act normal.

As such, what's up with this 'I'm insane' crazy talk? First and foremost, I don't think there's any one who doesn't know that I have an odd obsession for languages. It seems to me that the only things that my brain can register are words, pronunciations and meanings. It is so speedy in understanding and comprehending words that even I am in awe of its might and prowess at times. (Even though, well, when you are the person possessing the awesome ability...) French is a romantic subject. Japanese is a refined, funky language. Korean is a queer language that strikes out to me just as squares, circles and line, but it holds its own charm, English, with all its complex and beauty, Chinese, with an even more profound aura surrounding it... And all the rest of the languages that I haven't even had time to dabble in.

How many people really look at a word and go, "WOW, this word is just... so beautiful..." Can you feel it? When you see these words such as "Midnight", "Euphoria", "Melancholy", "Masquerade". Do you feel this adrenaline rush through your blood as these words pop up on the screen? 'cuz you know what?

I do.

All these words can send little sparks of static energy curdling through my bloodstream.

Secondly, I have a habit of talking to myself, even if I clearly know no one is listening to me. I just like to mumble and mumble to myself like a demented fool, grinning and laughing out of nowhere as I speak- to myself, and feeling blissful over what I've just said- to myself. Plus, I have rich facial expressions to go along with my mad self-conversations. So, when you see someone with all the above traits, what's the first thing that comes into your mind? Yes, indeed. "This person has got to be crazy." No?

Thirdly, getting engrossed and indulged in my own world. Why, some people really do understand me well and can even read my character. One of my friends mentioned, to my astonishment, this exact statement, "Don't bother about her, she's always trapped inside her little world." I was really shocked, and my mouth nearly hung wide when I heard that, since rarely was there anyone who could do such a startlingly accurate analysis of my personality. True enough, I am trapped inside my fancy, beautiful, imaginary world where unicorns and leprechauns unite, rainbows cascading over azurean blue skies dotted with fluffy, magnolia-colored clouds, grasses a sparkling green, coupled with flowers of a million hues. Yes, it seems like the colorful world of a toddler who still has high hopes about the world that he is so foreign to.

When you look inside a baby's eyes, what do you see?

Do you see a glint? A glimmer? Almost like hope? Like excitement? Don't their eyes just seem to shine- as though they enjoy being alive, just being able to see all the things around them move past in a blur?

The joy of not knowing anything of the acrid pain that lies beneath the intricately embroidered facade.

With all those said- what is my world like? When I retreat inside my little world, it is a confined space, black, complete nothing-ness. I can distinctly see the four different walls, as they restrict me inside the imaginary, made-up space, before it begins to spread out, vanishing into the distance; the boundaries slowly disppearing into oblivion. And then I can see sakura petals, floating off a certain source, before the floor beneath me transforms into a sea of dark water, and I simply fall right through the water, sinking deeper and deeper, bubbles escaping from my lips- in a cry for help, but I've lost hope in it all, because I know nobody's in here with me.

The moon's image reflected at the surface of the sea is a crooked, distorted sickle, tainted red as though bathed in blood.

And I just sink, sink, sink, and sink.

**

Today, Mdm Choo has also kindly returned us our scripts which she deemed 'underachieving and disappointing'. Of course she did not have to spell it out for a dunce like me to fathom that we fared poorly for the free-writing test. When she began announcing the distinctions and what-not, I bet everyone was a little surprised not to hear my name being mentioned as one of the top scorers, even though the other top scorers were mentioned.

Actually, I did not really care since this time I had slipped up and failed to complete my essay. While everyone could be mulling over my failure and wondering if I had, just like Mdm Choo had mentioned, been too arrogant about my own achievements and capabilities in English and had slipped up in this test, performing non-consistently.

This time, I'm just going to bite onto all these words, all these words that I think people have (just another of my delusions), chew them, and then swallow them in full, for my poor stomach to digest them all.

The next time, I promise. I will show the class what I am capable of. Just they wait.

I'm going to get back at them and prove to them who's strongest.

Even though my mark of 19 is considerably good considering that I had failed to EVEN finish the bloody essay- I wasn't going to allow another one of these to happen and make people think they've overtaken me in English. Hell no. I don't mind if it's comprehension or what-have-you, but essay? Sorry, but this is my territory. Strictly my property, no?

I'm contemplating revenge.

And when I'm done with all- I want to see my A One on my 'O' Level certificate.

I'm going to get right back up from where I've fallen.

D3stinyx is never going to go down.

At least not for English.

**

In this few weeks since I've ended my guitar course due to a hectic Secondary Four life, I have been missing my guitar. I have no intentions of actually picking it up just to strum a few songs, because, well, for reasons unclear. Yuxuan, like the bastard he is, had been flooding my sms inbox with senseless comments that make no sense like, "If you stop playing guitar, you'd become even more stupid."

Well, sorry mate, your comment did not even make a single sense.

I know it sounds curt to address him with such insolent mannerisms, but do not fret, he treats me in the exact manner and I've had enough of him and thus, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. If this is how he treats me, it'd be how I treat him.

While he acts like a jerk all the time, he always has this soft side to himself that I don't think even he knows. He's just a contradicting person, honestly. On one hand he's like this, but sub-consciously he's someone else. He has kindly been arranging time to come to my house just to teach me how to play guitar, but I told him it's all right, since most of the times it ends with him just sniding at my face, "You can't even play such a simple song?" Thus, to save my knuckle from being bruised from landing a blow on his face- I have refused his kindness.