1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

She rolled the cigarette between two calloused fingers, savouring the feel. A wisp of smoke from between her chapped lips floated into the air, a silent song of something. 'Vol vol vol.' Indila's 'Derniere Danse' played in the cafe elsewhere, the melancholy song filling her ears and slowly falling into her. This is France, she thought to herself, a twenty five year old Malaysian immigrant with a baggage of hyphenated identities sitting in an isolated French cafe smoking a Chinese cigarette listening to a French-Algerian-Cambodian-Egyptian-Indian singer. As Indila works herself into a beautiful tragedy, she puts her head in her hands then takes a drag of her cigarette. There is a certain delicious irony in that ,she feels, especially with the rise of the National Front in France, people looking at her funny because of her name, the fact that she doesn't go to Church, mostly reads East Asian philosophers instead of Satre, eats neither pork nor beef, has a ...

'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...

JAYSUS! When I first encountered CF, it seemed like a perfectly fun, Jesus loving thing to do. I mean, every brown person's secret dream is to be a) white b) say the words "I'm Christian" c) marry a hot white person and d) have mixed milo-coloured babies.... #truth So, can you really blame me for wanting to join? At least the second one would be kind of fulfilled... (something is clearly so appealing about wanting to say 'Hail Mary') because the only white people in our school, are a) intellectual girls or b) the 50 year oldteachers (one of the white girls isn't fully white I think) . But, for your exclusive perusal *shoutout to the SATs, which I probably WONT TAKE because CF ruined my life, I'll get to the point* -5 REASONS WHY CF RUINED MY LIFE ^GG^ #Reason 1: The FIRST maths test I took after I joined CF was a. BARE. MINIMUM. PASS. Like, legitimately *coz computer doesn't understand what legit-ly is* the worst grade ever at KT-Blog/jai...

She. Is. Beast I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. -Bella Swan, Twilight, Chapter 1, p.14 Satsriakal! Shalom!Yeah, we're officially BACK in EP! And I couldn't resist the temptation to start the blogpost with horrible quotes from "Twilight:The Movie"I have so much to tell you! Yes, you, the invisible hypothetical quirky audience that reads my blog. I've been inspired by the 'Confessions of a Klang Valley Girl' post; like hello where was my incredible sense of politically incorrect but somehow spot on-ly hilarious sociological satire essays.  As I am writing this, I am currently surrounded by hordes of pre-pubescent (JKJK, most of them are older than me) trying on prom dresses. It. Is. Crazy.  I am Crazy, but then again, news? I think not. Okay, I digress. Essentially, I became obsessed with Twilight again (is re-obsessed even a word?) because of the (thorn bush song, a.k.a Full Moon-Black Ghosts), spent a INAPPROP...

As I have unrelentingly been unproductive besides a few SAT questions, I have decided to grace the internet, once again, with my awe-inspiring virtual presence. "You cry like a little girl!" This blog is probably going to become a lot more academic since I am so caught up in the 'A-levels' and 'SATs'. (HAHA KIDDING. WHAT IS 'ALEVELS'?) Okay so now to address the elephant in the room, or rather the webpage, little boys cry too. Two words; watch Whiplash. The drum teacher, JK Simmons, yells at Miles Teller and says something along the lines of 'You cry like a little girl' or 'Stop being such a nine-year old girl'? IDK. (#shoutout to my cousin, Mansheel Kaur Randhawa from Kuala Lumpur who gave me this idea) Moving on... Why is this such AN insult? #FEMINISM My cousin said she felt really uncomfortable when she watched the trailer with us, 'us' being a bunch of my male cousins' male friends (one of which I really rea...

Mazel Tov, loyal readers! My relatives have come to visit and one of them, Harry (that's not her real name) is married to a Jewish man, I think? Also, I am obsessed with Jewish culture for some absurd reason; I think it has something to do with shared features, a.k.a the disproportionately large noses. But, moving along, I feel like I must introduce you to Vitas, an absolute legend. The story of how I came about discovering him is quite funny ( WELL did you expect anything different, I mean it's me. :) ) So, basically, one of my best friends from Eastwood Prep tagged me in a Facebook post, with a link to this song- called Opera N2 by Vitas. This is essentially a not-so-subtle reference to when I screamed in the common bathroom in my boarding house. Do I regret it? NO! It was the most therapeutic things I've ever personally experienced; shouting in a public place, that is. I plan on making a parody video of me stepping on a Lego piece to the tune (hard to explain, when y...