For all students;

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I t be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not t be?

All of us- from external appearance t superior social status- are incapable of escaping the immutable law of inferior complexity. We correlate ourselves with someone else, usually in possession of qualities most of us refer t as better 'standards', like the hot Zach Effron- his sharp features matched with a nice bod, or like Angelina Jolie- her sassy curves, with those thick, succulent lips. We read fashion magazines, visit forums, purchase posters- and make the obverse comparisons. We laugh at our thighs, at our stupidity, at our lack of success. We elevate the confidence of others, and through so, we extenuate that of ours. All our lives, we strive t be someone else we are not, and by doing so, we gradually lose ourselves.

Are all these- superficial, pessimistic perceptions that make you feel terrible about yourself- worth it?

In truth,
We are beautiful.
We are intelligent.
We are brilliant.
We can be just as perfect as anyone else, in our own individualistic way. Selling a cup of lemonade for its retail price, is as much an entrepreneurial success as starting your own business. Just that slight deference in mindset could change your countenance; mould that frown into a smile, that dejection into confidence.

So why belittle yourself?

Don't, because we're all amazing people.

P.S. This post goes out t all who feels they lack the ability t score well for the promotional exams. You're wrong. Because you can. Good luck.

I just ruined my blog.

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

	I, zhihao, being of sound mind, hereby bequeath my entire estate to the Power Rangers. I do this because they are my one true love. My only regret in this life was that all my friends were wankers, yes, that includes you, Sid.
'What will your Last Will and Testament say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

You are Lord Voldemort You want Harry dead, and you’ve decided that the best way to do that is to kill off all of Harry’s friends one by one, until he has no one left to protect him. But look out, because unlike you, Harry has much more hair. And zhihao says so. Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Stupid silly out of my mind stuff. I just ruined my blog.

Your mind, a funny thing.

Like the sun;
a rise or a set-
that's just your myopic perception.

If the sun never sets,
how then, if i may ask,
does it rise?

The stern definition of what's good and what's bad- that in itself, revolves around the subject of controversy. There is- in my book of facts- no clear distinction between good or bad; it is a mere image which society wants you t perceive, a norm that has been socially accepted for so long, it seems silly t even question it's authenticity. But is it true, really?

That's the question.

You struck lottery- that's a good thing, isn't it?
(Society wants you t think it's a good thing- how else do they get you t buy the tickets)
But... what about greed?
What about being 'down t earth'?
What about the belittlement of the importance of hard work?
What about the notion of 'easy money'?
Now that's bad, isn't it?
So, do you still call it a good thing?

Yes, you do.

Why?
Because you've won the lottery, God damn it, who complains when they win lottery; there's nothing bad in getting more money, is there?
But there is.
There is.
That's the thing, see.
Everyone knows (or they think they do) that there're pros and cons in everything that happens t us. We define something t be good, when it's pros over weighs it's cons, and vice versa, for something bad.
That's it.
That's the particular 'weighing process' that discerns one individual's claim from another.
The process that explains why your mom thinks football is stupid when you clearly don't;
why your school sets regulations about your skirt when you find it utterly silly.
So, there really isn't a clear cut definition.
Good, Bad.
It's all in your head.
Up there.

Taking that everything above is accurate (however minutely possible that might be), and that your mind defines what's good and what's bad, then for that and that alone, I choose optimism, where everything (no matter how terrible) is good eventually. Shit's not getting me down; for

'What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.'

The last time i checked, I'm still alive.

It's part of a greater plan. It always is.

On the cross-
of gore, of blood,
of nails, of pain,
of cruelty,
almost inhumane.
Jesus, his name
unnerved, unstained,
for he died for us-
for our sins, with fain.

I know, i know,
or i think i know.
Come what may,
let it be so,
engulf me whole,
but i'd never,
never let go.

I know; or i think i do; maybe, i just hope i do (yes, hope came back). Whatever I'm going through now, it's happening for a reason- a much larger reason. A reason I believe, attributed to Him. It's possibly due t the recent exposure of films like 'Evan Almighty' and 'Bruce Almighty' that has inclined me t that perception. Life isn't that easy, and you ain't going round getting your prayers just because you want them t happen; it's makes perfect sense t think that He doesn't give you what you want, but rather the opportunity of getting what you want.

And i think, this is an opportunity.

It's funny, because just the day before, i made a prayer before i slept, and on the contrary t what i prayed for, i received (possibly) the veracious opposite. For a moment all i did was t question, deprecate, and ascribe my misfortune t Him. It spoiled my night, for the most part.

And then i thought different;
It meant something else, as i slowly overturned those cynical and blasphemous paradigms, i saw how everything could turn into a chance, into a learning opportunity. I felt much better, after.

So.
The next time something bad happens, don't blame God.
Ask, and you shall receive;
Pray in his name, and he will never deny you.
He'll give you what you want... in due time.

It's all part of a greater plan. It always is.

Hope is not in what I know.

In days of former precedence
Whenever i encountered a doubt,
a question,
an uncertainty,
i turned t optimism,
t hope, t god, t faith;
a positive anticipation-
a wish,
that the worst wouldn't happen.

Today,
Hope is no longer in what i know.
I can't find it in my head,
in my heart,
nor in my soul.

Too many a time i have been greeted with disappointment,
answered with apologies.
Disappointment-
it has struck me
once,
twice,
thrice.
like a never winning lottery ticket;
slowly even the chance of winning,
however minuscule it might be,
becomes... an impossibility.

You stop buying lottery.
You stop turning t optimism.
You stop believing.
and eventually, like me, now-

You stop hoping.

I remember it well.

I remember it well,
the year 1936,
ships engorging the docks,
as vessels pass continents-
people flocking the theatres
t watch you play
your august scene;
'The lies of obsolescence'

As the curtains draw,
your enigmatic demeanor
-with it an elucidative carriàge-
puts Shakespeare down upon his knees
you, the discountenancer, triumphant,
as you take center stage
the pedestal beneath your feet,
unreservedly yours.
I remember it well.

The acts played out,
in seven ages,
your exits,
your entrances-
you, the leading protaganist,
you, the adversative antagonist
you; assuming both the role of cast and of crew.
Oh yes, i remember it well.

The curtains coalesce
-a sheet of red-
behind the commoving applause,
of whistles,
of clamor,
superseded by an auricular confession on my left,
'Subliminal performance.'
I pause briefly in aftermath,
that breathtaking éncore-
I remember it well.

The stands clear,
seats empty,
the marking of the end-
the end of the play,
of year 1936.
You waved goodbye,
t faces of enthusiastic crowd
in waves of curtsy
in pulses of bow.
That, i remember it well.

You were 45.
mid-life, gorgeous, charismatic.
Your soul-sundering pair of blue-
I remember it well.

The year 1946
ships scarce; none in sight
docks empty; void of light
only through the filter of neon signboards-
your august play;
'The lies of obsolescence'
still carried on.

I remember it well.
The curtains coalesce,
-a sheet of maroon-
behind vague claps of silence
deafening in its context;
no shouts,
no applause,
no éncore.

The irony of your last act,
'The lies of obsolescence' ;
as gradual transformation take its place,
the highest notch of roleplay,
when you and play become one;
Obsolete.
I remember it well-
I remember, you were forgotten.

A simple lesson drawn : Whatever you possess is temporal. It may be long-lasting, assuring while it still exists, but never eternal. There can never be a forever; humans remain, unfortunately (or fortunately, if you ask me) mortal. Death draws a line, however fine you may perceive it t be- perhaps in your aspects of the afterlife. It puts an end, even if for the most minute second, t whatever you own, whatever you've achieved. This does not apply merely t the silly defects of materialistic possessions. Ideologies, emotions, and even something as great as love comes t an end when you depart; a dead mind does not have the ability t think nor feel. We are- as are all other human beings- but a living entity; clasped in books of history if you're significant enough, but when life as we know it ends, we cease in existence t our present world. We may be remembered a little, for a while- grieved over, perhaps- but eventually, at the very very end of time... we, are forgotten.

We will be forgotten- that's an unspoken truth- but honestly, do we care?
No.
Maybe infinitesimally, yes, we feel an inexplicable tingle of unjust, for the massive belittlement of our individualistic presence, but in all truth- i can assure you- that doesn't matter.
It doesn't.

For years, millions have tried thrusting their names upon the glamour of "Guinness World Records" or history texts; books which might leave a trace of their once, minuscule existence in years t come.

History? -laughs- It could be as much of a hoax as the man next door being President of India. History's written by victors... so the extent of truth? Not reliable.

Why then, may i ask, would people want t do that?
(The following part is pretty controversial, just my two cents worth.)

These are the people, who are terribly unsatisfied with their lives. They wish t be remembered; t show others how wonderful (or shitty, really) their lives were. T be held in high esteem, maybe, for things that they might or might not have done. These are the people who require evidential proof as t how amazing their life is. It explains their lack of meaning and their overwhelming need for constant reassurance as t how their life should be led. I dare say this, for a person who has led his/her life with satisfaction, wouldn't see the need in seeking substantial proof for their wonderful years spent here, in mortality; they are clear of what they have, and they are contented.

Bottomline: Cherish whatever you have- it won't be eternal, it won't last forever, but it's as real as it gets- for real things don't last.

Let's embrace death; the dawn of a new life.

Mentos- the freshmaker.

How does it feel t know you're everything i need
the butterflies in my stomach
they could bring me t my knees.

How does it feel t know you're everything i want
the intertwinement of fingers
a fleeting moment, a short linger.

How does it feel t know you're everything i love
that goosebump infested embrace
that kiss, upon your face.

these are the moments i live for-
the moments, i adore.

Let it fall.

Hanging like a dead weight,
firmly attached t the floor;
the truth staring in my face
my college sophomore.

Drenched, wet, and cold;
Arid, dry, and warm.
'pitter patter pitter patter',
down the window pane.
for words are right t say,
bodies get sunshine through the rain.

it's funny, now asked,
what those few words can do.
a silent seal of promise
and i, belong t you.

(; good bye, mr marcus tan. last night would be the last, for at least a year. and till we meet again, i wish you, the best of the leprechaun's luck.

Aim a little higher.

Of tranquility; and of pulsation
Of happiness; and of anticipation
Of heaven; but that's where it ends.
That blurring distinction between pain and pleasure-
No hell, just heaven; heaven here, on earth.

Any kind of expression with regards t my innerthoughts, wouldn't be in the form of words; they wouldn't mean half a thing.

It's impossible not t believe in fate; it hits you (without direct contact) where the jaws drop: the rendezvous of the unexpected and the unbelievable. Without it, coincidences remain as accidents, cases of fortuitous events and the unexpected, gradually become the unexplained. Fate, unravels it all. Pre-arrangement; a very simple conclusion and understanding, yet not illogical enough for you t doubt its existence.

A hundred dollars; wakeboarding- a worthy investment. In ways, more than one. And t think just that little course number made the difference.
All the difference in the world, don't you think.

I'd say it wasn't fate
but really, who'd believe me?

If you were t hit the mark, you must aim a little above it; every arrow that flies feels the attraction of the earth.

Some strength, that's all it takes.

Of lightyear speeds,
of heightened leaps;
too fast for me t grasp,
too high for me t have-
but held it, i did,
that, remarkable feat.
and i'm glad it happened, somehow,
for sweetheart, it's all okay now.

Terribly busy week.
Making through these wasn't easy: Getting caught for inappropriate attire in the morning, the wakeboarding sessions, the rain, horrible emcee-ship, stage frights, rehearsals, awful blazers- but i got through that. Half the time was of dread, swearwords and memory; the other half, of excitement, anticipation, and insanity. When light blares upon you, amidst the bright-dark visual readjustments, faces form -in multiples of hundreds- and pupils dilate, heartbeat doubles. Not quite the adrenaline rush, not quite the nervous fuss; more of unexplainable, more of unforgettable. The experience -not fame, not pride, not the necessity of acceding t requests- i later realised, was all i was up there for. The possibly once-in-a-lifetime, intangible experience.

Loved yesterday.
Went back t KongHwa Primary, after close t half a decade, i suspect, and i wish i had gone back earlier. The place brought back memories; more so than anywhere else, with all extents of truth as proof. With almost every step i took, i felt as though i was retracing my steps; the life i once had lived, the place i had once stepped into, every single day. Reminisce struck further when i found out my former primary teacher was still working in the premises. Maybe it was a stroke of luck, or maybe it was god's will; i managed t climb t the fourth floor, without being stopped or questioned by any operation personnel where i soon met her, -still looking as kind and demure- Mrs Sandra Lim. She turned t me, and asked me, "Yes?" Clearly, she didn't recognise me. It was perhaps disappointment or just a certain loss of identity that made my heart sank, but when i told her my name my heart went back up the right direction. The following moments were occupied by courtesy and laughter- the usual things asked when two individuals meet after a long separation. It was different, speaking t her now, like an adult, and it was obvious -through her evidently older complexion- that she saw me too, no longer as the kid i once was.
...
It was only then i realised how much i actually miss this place, amongst all its unhappiness and cruel memories; they were the gradual factors that made me, me. The school- i later found out- was scheduled t be torn down next year to be rebuilt. The impromptu decision t go back this year turned out t be of bliss and perhaps a little coincidence; i'd have never been able t feel this way if i went back any later, for the school i knew it for, would no longer be there. And that, i have someone t thank, for without, i would never have gotten near the area in the first place. Thank you. ^_^

Everything after that, was close t perfection.