1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

Dude, I can't, I thought to myself, Pulling my history textbook from a shelf. Dude, I can't, Take how everyone here is obsessed with being a prefect, The ties they wear around their neck and sins they collect, In their small books and in their dusty cranny and nooks, DUDE, I just CAN'T, Take how every book I read is scrutinised and picked apart, Pushed and pulled in directions, I'm called an upstart For being 'outspoken' in the words of a Fish, Who was half-Scandy and half Miss. Dude, I can't, I screamed at my table, Help but wonder why everyone is able To do things I can't really think of doing, Multitude of ideas in my head brewing, Dude, I can't, I whisper to my enemy, Did you hear, Elisa built anemone! Dude, I can't, It's a reef, she whispers, Quieting my minor-mass hysteria... Dude, I can't, Really stand how everyone would kill to go to LSE, When they insult Warwick, and praise to no end, Berkeley. Dude, I c...

MOOD: I am super happy and this post isn't mood it's just me trying to describe a part of my day in an exaggerated Sylvia Plath style. The peals of an alarm bell pierced my conciousness and once again, the heavy oppression of stale morning air recycled by the ancient air-conditioner pressed against my face. It felt claustrophobic and I wanted to scream but I was far too tired. Another morning of studying and studying of history, of economic theory, of mathematical proofs proffered no respite from the punishing reality that awaited, hunched and ready to spring like a gargoyle-goblin hiding in the murky shadows. I felt the noose of justice hang heavily upon my frail neck and indeed it weighed far heavier upon my heart. Grounded yet again. The uniform strangled my shoulders and the I could feel the stifling heat of the bell jar again slowly, as it descended around me, the heat of my own madness... I clenched a fist and brought my hands back and punched through the glass....

A letter to my future children Dear son, daughter or non-gender conforming, probably, adopted child. I've always been asked, “Would you want your children to be gay?” And my answer frankly is no. I sure do hope that in a foreseeable future, the LGBT community will finally be seen as a community not created out of social sigma and segregation, but one of the many layers of a dynamic, liberal society; playing a big part in world without fear of social injustice. But I don't think you and I will ever live that long to see it happen. That world I have dreamed of and the one I long to see, is a bit naive to believe in. As I write to you now, the queer are still being treated as if we are the scum of the earth, and that we deserve to be hated. What parent would want their child to be persecuted on a daily basis? Maybe that's really the reason why my parents right now will never accept the fact that I am proud of who I am, who I stand for. I don't want you, my childre...

New York. *darkness* A  female distinctly  trying to be Brooklyn voice says. Open to first scene. Two words, she thinks, pauses and smashes the keys of her MacBook pro. Leans back in her chair, swivels her unlit cigarette in between her fingers. Savours the feeling, camera pans to her fingers. She lights it and takes long drag. There is a pause and she looks directly in the camera and blows out. CREDITS APPEAR, Title of film.... *same voice says again, more aggressively: NEW. YORK. The sound of clicking keys and audience now sees Hong Kong, billions of busy people on their cellphones, walking in a herd. Camera shots of HK skyline, fashion stores, banks, traffic, , people smoking, gangsters threatening people, shopkeepers selling, and finally cut to same  girl buys newspaper in a trench coat from newspaper stand. She walks out carefully, cigarette between her lips, reading the paper. Blends into crowd. Doesn't look at the camera but knows where she is going. * h...

"Devils don't come from hell beneath us, they come from the sky." - Lex Luthor, Batman vs Superman When you talk about movie crushes with your best friends, in secret, behind closed doors at sleepovers, you're not supposed to say the name "Jesse Eisenberg". That's the name you're supposed to say in front of your anxious parents who become relieved that their daughter likes a weird, nerdy, intelligent, somewhat-respectable Jewish boy.  'He sure doesn't look like the kind of guy to do stupid things,' they say to each other in private, while high-fiving. When you get to your friend Neena's, or Lee Ling or Siti's or Mary-Jo's house, you're supposed to quickly laugh and burst out, in a high-pitched tone, 'OH MY GOD! Was Ben Affleck cute or what??' Ben Affleck was cute in Batman vs. Superman, don't get me wrong. He was probably the only reason I REALLY REALLY liked it, so much so that I watch...

'Cha.' 'What?' 'Cha,' I say calmly, stirring a cup of thick, milky brown tea and gazing into her cornflower blue eyes, hoping she would understand. She doesn't. As expected, really. I almost want to withdraw into my dream land, filled with a starry cosmos and interesting fairy-people, with names like Dylan-Bob and Mary-Jo, and grass that looked like gold and nearly end the conversation. But I don't. Instead, I tuck the ends of my shoulder-length black hair behind my ears and try again, to explain the intertwined concepts of family honour and chai. Which is, by the way, pronounced 'cha'. She sits behind her desk, hair up in an untidy blonde bun, mascara evidently clotted on her sparse Nordic eyelashes. 'Could you explain? I'm confused,' she says with a self-satisfied smirk on her face that doesn't really annoy me. I drag a plastic Ikea chair over by her desk and try to sit gracefully down, hoping to God I do not spill the...