First up, here’s the Kumuri Uta music video. The song is really.. it just touches you. I highly recommend listening to it repeatedly at the newly-built Terminal 3. I had it on repeat for the whole time and the music just fills you. I especially like the part where they alter her voice with some swanky technology, it really ups the tender quality of the song. This is perhaps partly due to the chilling air-conditioning they have there. Overall, a nice place, though a few itty-gritty bits could be improved on. Particularly, the food court and the scenery. The mainstay eating place there is yet another Kopitiam, which is yet another impact of globalisation, which is yet another factor that rings the cash register. The food there doesn’t work, really it doesn’t, and the prices are steeper than a gradient of 1000 plotted on a piece of generic brand graph paper. I got this “asian style barbeque” chicken leg with rice for along the lines of 7 dollars, which is frankly quite a large amount of money. One day, I shall attain the nirvana that is wealth and buy over Terminal 3 from the government, converting the Kopitiam to a toilet in the process. But for now, I have blown all my hongbao money and it’s time to face up to the reality of things. The last few dollars went toward an Ayaka album, and it’s a real good buy considering her vocal standards. Her songs are all meticulously produced to ensure clarity and of course, great music. Still, Yui can whoop her any day, because Yui owns, and people who own… well, just own.

After the dinner, I was dragged along to one of the upper floors to send a relative of mine off. Amid teary goodbyes and the like, I sneaked off to take a walk around the terminal. Man, there is this Blush! next to an eatery christened “Dian Xiao Er”. The customers there can bask in the experience of dining in a rustic Chinese inn setup, and take in the wonderful scenery that surrounds them, comprising of bamboo poles, more bamboo poles and mannequins in lacy black brassieres. I’ve always thought of Blush! as inferior compared to other.. alternatives, and this still holds true. Want to know why? I suggest you pay them a visit. There’s one located at Tampines Mall, on the second floor. A word of advice, always be accompanied by one of the opposite gender before deigning to descend into the realm of numbers and alphabets. Going in alone is like running into a MRT station brandishing a knife, you’ll get owned bad, and appear on the cover of tomorrow’s Straits Times. I can picture it already.

“Man caught for trying to purchase female undergarments”

Not that I’d ever want to buy any. It’s just an example. Really.

I’m bored now, and I am bored most of the time, so I guess I should write a story to pass the time. The character shall be a hardcore, go-getting ecchi fanatic. Let’s begin.

Instance 1 : Swiping from Bamboo Poles
Slowly, succinctly, he brought the pole out. The loose fibers grazed his wrists as he positioned them at a suitable angle to the target. Alas! It was held in place securely by a cloth peg. He cursed. Was he to be daunted by a mere peg? The pervertic nature that lay dormant in his genes suddenly awakened in his fit of rage, and his very vessel was consumed by the immense power. Raising a hand to the sky, he bellowed, “I have the POWAA!!”. His eyes had changed. Spheres of burning passion enveloped his irises, all fueled by an unknown source. He felt.. strong. Clenching his hand into a fist and curling it backwards, he placed his weight onto his lead foot and threw a punch at the window grille. Nothing happened. He breathed. His respiratory system produced clearly audible gasps in the tense situation. Then, it happened. The grille shattered into pieces, as if it had been ionised by gamma radiation. A particularly large fragment of debris flew at the clothing peg, and knocked it loose. Ahha! Reaching for the trusty bamboo pole, he brought the target into his kitchen in a mere fraction of a second, a true testament to his honed skills. Grabbing it from the bamboo pole, he clutched his deserved prize, and brought it to his nose for a quick sniff. It was ecstasy in its purest form, and he couldn’t resist the clutches of perverseness. The pleasant aroma had long soaked into the cloth from recent use, and by inhaling it he could picture its owner before him in a suggestive pose. He was intoxicated by it, and had no intention to stop.

This is only the beginning of what is to come, but we shall end here for today while I think of more situations to put him into.

I had initially wanted to post the essay that I had written for the common test here, but after receiving the marks for it, I won’t do it for now. The reason being that it attaining 22 marks out of a possible 30 really bugs me. I shall review it and post it another day, spicing it up a little in the process. Mohan criticised the essay for being overly cynical when she was handing it out the other day, and this surprised me. The story wasn’t that deep; it was rather easy to understand, and it’s realistic. Proof of this lie among the various lorongs of Geylang. Damn, this is fubar.

I’m trying to learn Mahjong by playing on Right now, I feel fubar. I had amassed a potential Dai Sen Gan(Da San Yuan) hand just now and was in Tenpai waiting for a Dong(East) tile. That would get me like 10 tai or something like that, which would allow me to purchase new items for my avatar there. Then, this son of a bitch tsumoed(self-picked) a tile and won with a 3 tai hand, the miniumum requirement to game. WTF LAR! Following that, I didn’t win for a while until I played a particular game with Looly inside as well. I had poned(tiles in 3 of a kind) all my tiles and was waiting for a zhong(red dragon). Then, I tsumoed it. SONG BO. 7 tai win you know. What a good feeling man.

On a sidenote, I currently hold a sense of failure in my heart. The reason? Results, of course. When I got back my termly report, I was stunned. Stunned like I had been targeted with a storm bolt or something like that. If my calculations had gone the way I wanted them to, I would have gotten 8 points. The disgusting L1R5 on the paper was 11, and I felt that I had failed. The tests that I had studied for, albeit in a rather slack fashion, were overidden by nonsense such as Geography scrapbooks and misreading of questions. The perfect scenario was ruined when Mohan did not want to take the lastest common test into account, our dear Geography teacher grading my scrapbook a B4, which effectively brought my Geography down to a B3, and the rubbish Chemistry question that I misinterpreted, and as a result lost a grade for. I have to work extra hard now, to get that dream L1R5 of 8-9 for mid-years. And even then, that’s not enough. I plan on getting 6 for the O’ Levels, one way or another. It’s more a matter of pride than anything else, if you get my meaning. Being average is like failing, and failing is like suicide. Having this mentality somehow seems to motivate me more than pep talks on our T-scores by ignorant principals. Yes, the feeling is back. I feel it already. Long time no see, now let’s own.

Time for some manga, so bye.


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