Lately I’ve unleashed my do-things-on-a-whim side(a little too much), which requires a hell of an emotional compensation by reflecting on things I’ve done here.

Well for starters I used up my only five choices in UCAS applying to five renowned schools with super low admission rates. So uh … I guess thick accents and the no-sun climate are just not my thing huh. Getting a conditional offer from Warwick is slightly flattering, would have been more flattering if mom actually knows it’s a pretty decent school. Her mind is occupied with Nottingham , the reason being it has a campus here in Malaysia. Uhm.... Now that I’m done with SAT I (DON’T ASK), I can’t even conjure up a right word from the list of meaningless pompous-sounding bombastic words which I have somehow managed to memorise. Part of the list anyways. By the way, nothing’s big with Warwick – it’s only like, what, the 26^th best uni worldwide. (You DO know that I’m being sarcastic right? Because lately people take me at face value – yes, I mean it literally – and think I’m incapable in sarcasm. How insulting! And yes, I’m being sarcastic AGAIN.)

My second mistake-turned-out-well? Not accepting the JPA offer. Well, it’s done pretty much on a whim, not solely though cause there’s still this prejudice towards the school. So they gave me this school with >95% of Malays. (I, well, less than anticipated to go cause I couldn’t string a Malay sentence without stuttering. Even my “Terima Kasih”s and “Selamat Pagi”s sound awkward. No joke. And the receptionist was less than welcoming and, let’s just say, a little arrogant. HUGEE understatement. Flaws aside, I managed to meet up with a lecturer that I’ve been emailing with not long ago. Nice man really, Doc Gelo.) And my offer was to study medicine. (Yeah I get a lot of “WHAT?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! YOU REJECTED AN OFFER TO STUDY MEDICINE?! DO YOU KNOW THAT BEING A DOCTOR IS LIKE THE MOST LUDICROUS JOB IN THIS COUNTRY? DON’T YOU WANT TO GET RICH OR SOMETHING?”) Or something. That’s how I would answer, if those looooooooong lectures about (THEIR screwed-up) priorities in life aren’t given by my elderly relatives who SUDDENLY HAVE A SAY IN MY LIFE WHEN THE TOTAL ACCUMULATED AMOUNT OF TIME THEY HAVE BEEN IN MY LIFE DOESN’T EVEN BREAK PAST A YEAR. Hell yes, I am furious. I am fired up with bitchiness whenever someone gets started on this matter. Mainly because some nosy Penangites LOVEEEE blaming it all on mom when the other parent of mine hasn’t been doing anything AT ALL – how about showing me some paternal love that I’m so deprived of, huh? Oh wait, isn’t that something you should have done ELEVEN years ago? OH WAIT AGAIN, you’ve been too busy loving your son, that’s what. I don’t know which is worse now – a biased traditionalist or an infidel whore-seeking man. Why don’t you tell me?

Another thing done on a whim? Starting the whole US application process. They say once you ‘ve started, there’s no turning back. You bet it’s true. I’m less than halfway through it and already dying too. My SAT scores are … what a lot of people would call good, but just not something worth mentioning in front of 2400s geniuses. Just like the sort of difference between an A and an A* in A-level exams, if you get what I mean. Application essays? Nowhere done. Ugh. If only my ideas come gushing out like when I’m blogging. But I crack under pressure, like eggs, so nuh-uh. My resume? Trying to build it. Trying really hard, in fact. Took up a position as a volunteer translator in a NGO, but my Mandarin is uh… not really up-to-par to that A I got in SPM (In fact, someone actually thought I failed Mandarin. Ouch, ego blow! And a lot more hate me for my A in SPM when they hear me speak. I even had to conjure up this lame joke about how the examiner who marked my paper was a Caucasian who was so impressed with my bull-shitting skills that he/she had to ace me, so that they would let me off the hook. But, truth is, nobody is willing to forget about my strike-it-lucky A in Mandarin. )

If I could just submit posts in my weblog as my application essays, things would have been a hell lot easier. But nobody loves dark poetry errr I mean, true depiction of life – instead an excerpt from very brief happy moments in life is ALWAYS preferred over the former . (Everyone has a dark and twisted past of his/her own. I might be only 18, but let’s just say people around me have lives dramatic enough to make me realise that point. Proof? I have an eclectic blend of relatives, ranging from whore-seeker to SUPER-superstitious believer (in what, I do not know. SERIOUSLY.) who insisted that females go barefoot during a funeral (OUCH!) to loan shark evaders. )

It’s one in the morning and I need to sleep to lay off my crankiness. I don’t think there’s a cure for my bitchiness though. ;) Ciao!

And excuse my incoherence and babbling that doesn't seem to make sense.