Departure

She sat facing the glowing skyline. It was beautiful. It was all beautiful.
But she could not see it.
She sat, eyes unfocused, mind in a distant field.
"Little lady?" he called. She didn't answer, but he knew. They both knew. He threw his legs over the ledge beside hers and they both sat in the calm, contemplative peace of the settling sun.
Then she said, "I failed."
"No you haven't. Not yet," he quipped.
"It would be different," she replied, "if I were getting up again."
"You are up."
"Not up in that direction." She sighed. "I don't know - I don't remember how I use to be, but I don't think I can be that anymore."
"But you don't have to be..." He paused for search of a better word. "This."
She shrugged. "But I've decided to be."
He looked at her sadly. They were still, both for a time.
"I might," she voiced haltingly, "change my mind."
He looked up with the slightest flicker of hope.
"In time."
It blew out.
"Will it be soon enough?"
"Let us - we must - pray so."
His forehead creased into a frown. "I will pray, little lady," he said. Her lips twitched.
And since it was the truth, and nothing else need be said for she had said all she had to and he had listened as he was obliged, he pulled back his legs and left.
And she, leaving the blank pages of prayers on the table, crawled into her bed and pulled the covers up over her head.

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Queues of Ayes.

No names. Or initials. I promise.
Only the right questions will ever garner the right answers.

1. "Why aren't you serving anymore?"
   This was the only question anyone has ever asked me about serving that I could answer truthfully to. Yet despite the fact that I have spent day after day rehearsing reasons and arguments in my head to counter such a question at length, my unreservedly honest reply lasted as long as...a line. About a dozen words, to be exact.
   But it meant more, I think, than all the other times numerous annoying dingbats have repeatedly hit me and questioned in what I can only recall as infuriating squeaks of voices:
   "When are you coming back?"
   To which I would like the fibbing phony I am answer, "Oh, um, I don't know...maybe after I stop working, or maybe once I settle down in college."
   But then being a liar would be far better than losing my patience. Which will probably result me going "NEVER." Which would result in them going "WHY?" Which would result in me getting exasperated because they obviously don't get the bigger picture and going "BECAUSE I'D HAVE TO SEE YOUR FACE."
   Because that would require a lot less explaining than actually trying to explain everything.
   But I do admit there was this one occasion where I actually answered one of those irritating pipsqueaks with the truth. The squeak handled it well. Proud of him.



2. "Oh, my dad used to work there! Yes. He was a lecturer for law."
   I understand that not everyone's father can be a former lecturer in the school I am attending. I can understand if you have doubts about the institution having heard of the fee structure. I can understand if you query why I chose that particular college over the other seemingly more recognized one. I understand that the spoilt rich brats I hang out with never hang around that side of the city and could never be bothered with such a practically unheard-of place.
   But really, asking scornfully,
   "Why don't you just go to Sunway or Taylor's or HELP or somewhere people like us go?"
   I just don't go to Sunway or Taylor's or HELP or somewhere people like you go because...well, it's somewhere people like you go, and your class of society does not agree with me. I don't deny that I know great people who go to these institutions with slightly higher brand value. But are the majority of the people there that great? No. Are they all brilliant high achievers? No. Are they the kind of society I value, run on the same wavelength with and share views and principles with? No.
   There we go.



3. "Are you happy?"
   Round of applause for this person who actually knew what mattered. I suppose I can't exactly blame everyone else because they didn't know what to say. I suppose I can't blame them for assuming I'd be ecstatic. I can't blame them for thinking I'm normal. But that's the problem, you see. I'M NOT NORMAL. And because I am the oddity I am, resounding echoes of "Congratulations" on every side makes me crave a wall to loose my forehead upon.
   But I don't do such things because even though I am a social freak I know how to behave. Hence, I smile stupidly and say thank you and pretend to mean it when there are other things to be ecstatically worried about.



4. "Sam, you're too skinny, why'd you lose so much weight, why did you freaking do this to yourself, stop being unhealthy you stupid cow, you are so sick and wrong on so many levels it's just getting disgusting."
   But no one ever says that. Not even me, though I know I should.
   Everyone is all like,
   "Oh Sam, you've lost weight, you're so slim, you're so pretty, you look healthy, you could model (if you were taller - yes, rub it in.)"
   And yet again, I stare blankly and mechanically recite my thank yous because the "compliment response" play button is somewhat automatic though it shouldn't be.

Disclaimer: There was no spirit of vengence whatsoever throughout the writing of this post. All insults were intended as personal truths.

One session with the kids. One catch-up text conversation with an old teammate.

Ten Reasons why ATC needs a debating society (if they do not already have one):

1. A law school not having a debating society is just unheard of.


2. A law school not being represented at debating competitions and tournaments is just completely ridiculous.


3. Law students not being able to partake in this wonderfully exhilarating art goes against natural law.


4. Those of us not currently pursuing a degree in law should not be denied the opportunity to enhance our eloquence because we're not allowed to moot.


5. The fact that every motion can and must be viewed from numerous angles will encourage us to think critically and analytically when approaching issues, even and especially exam questions.


6. We will not only have the opportunity but be forced to stay abreast with current issues and contemporary arguments, hence making us more concious and liberal as citizens and members of this world.


7. Because I'm there and I need to debate.


8. Because if the founder of TARC's debate club can get 4A*s then so can I.


9. Because if this guy can get 4A*s for the (almost) exact subject combination I intend to take and debate (granted he's only a novice but still) then so can I.


10. Sucess in the debating arena will no doubt ensure that the college receives due recognition and respect for producing not just high achievers but intelligent, well-rounded assets to society.

And for the reasons stated above and many others, I am proud to propose.

Omai, I'm a genius.

Free-IQTest.net - IQ Test For Free

Catholics. Are Just. Awesome.

Our Culture Sucks Bad Catholic

I dislike clicking on links as much as the next person, but I am telling you this is a must-read if there was ever any must-read to be read. I mean, really. And I couldn't even peel my eyes off the comments.

God. Bless. This Man.

And all the other awesome Catholics out there, and all the people providing arguements that prove yet again why Catholicism is just awesome.
Like the Obama administration.

Skinny Love

It did not suit her, that they were saying such things about her; and what was more, they were saying it right to her face. She could not blame them, for she knew that they assumed they were paying her compliments. She found it a little bit funny how people only accepted and ran along with things that they knew and understood, and that to them there was no bigger picture. But then she was just like them, so she should not have said anything.

But it wasn't right, you see, that these people thought it was pretty, and haute couture and all that, to be a couple of kgs underweight in order to appear what they called slim and beautiful and characteristic for a model. It wasn't beautiful. It was an unnatural, influenced, worldly and evil process. Not in every case, of course. In some cases, it was perfectly natural and good. But this was not one of them.

We couldn't all live in a Tinseltown world, where we were expected to rapidly pack on or shed kgs for another role. She couldn't at least. She was a normal girl with a God-given being that deserved to be cherished and respected and not treated the way it had been.

But they didn't know that. They didn't have to. So they continued paying their compliments and she continued saying her thank yous because it was easier than telling her story. But inside she watched herself in horror, at the way she had no restrictions in playing along to the norms of society regardless of how wrong they were.

They didn't know, you see. Sometimes she barely knew herself. But He did and He watched as He always did, very sadly and with tracks of tears on His beautiful, worn face.

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Kisses on the Inside

... One of the kids said, 'How many times does it flap its wings in a
minute?'
'Must be millions', said another kid.
Anna dashed indoors
humming a low-pitched hum. I was sitting on the doorstep. With a few quick prods
at the piano she had identified the note, her hum and the drone of the bee.
Coming to the door again, she said, 'Can I have your slip-stick?' In a moment or
two she shouted out, 'A bee flaps its wings such-and-such times a second.'
Nobody believed her, but she was only a few counts out.
... 'Mister God made
everything, didn't he?'
There was no point in saying anything that I didn't
really know. I said 'Yes'.
'Even the dirt and the stars and the animals and
the people and the trees and everything, and the pollwogs?' The pollywogs were
those little creatures that we had seen under the microscope.
I said, 'Yes,
he made everything.'
She nodded her agreement. 'Does Mister God love us
truly?'
'Sure thing', I said. 'Mister God loves everything.'
'Oh', she
said. 'Well then, why does he let things get hurt and dead?' Her voice sounded
as if she felt she had betrayed a sacred trust, but the question had been
thought and it had to be spoken.
'I don't know', I replied. 'There's a great
many things about Mister God that we don't know about.'
'Well then,' she
continued, 'if we don't know many things about Mister God, how do we know he
loves us?'
I could see this was going to be one of those times, but thank
goodness she didn't an answer ot her question for she hurried on: 'Them
pollywogs, I could love them till I bust, but they wouldn't know, would they?
I'm million times bigger than they are and Mister God is millions times bigger
than me, so how do I know what Mister God does?'
She was silent for a little
while. Later I thought that at this moment she was taking her last look at
babyhood. Then she went on:
'Fynn, Mister God doesn't love us.' She
hesitated. 'He doesn't really, you know, only peole can love. I love Bossy, but
Bossy don't love me. I love the pollywogs, but they don't love me. I love you,
Fynn, and you love me, don't you?'
I tightened my arm about her.
'You
love me because we are people. I love Mister God truly, but he don't love me.'
It sounded like a death-knell. 'Damn and blast', I thought. 'Why does this
have to happen to people" Now she's lost everything.' But I was wrong. She had
got both feet planted firmly on the next stepping-stone.
'No', she went on,
'no, he don't love me, not like you do, it's different, it's millions of times
bigger.'
I must have made some movement or noise for she levered herself
upright and sat on her haunches and giggled. Then she launched herself at me and
undid my little pang of hurt, cut out the useless spark of jealousy with the
delicate sureness of a surgeon.
'Fynn, you can love better than any of the
people that ever was, and so can I, can't I? But Mister God is different. You
see, Fynn, poeple can only love outside and can only kiss outside, but Mister
God can love you right inside, and Mister God can kiss you right inside, so it's
different. Mister God aint like us; we are a little bit like Mister God, but not
much yet.'

- Anna, in Mister God, This is Anna by Fynn

I must have this book.