1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

She fingered the cross around her neck. Quinn Chan, the devout Christian, the most faithful, the good Protestant fundamentalist daughter- she it was who now had no faith. Looking at the bible on her table, she turned her face away and stared at herself in the mirror. Her once long, thick black hair had been cut short, close to her chin. It was now more fashionable, as Mr. Quentin said, her Geography teacher, longer at the back and short at the front. Like a horizontal upward sloping slash. She watched carefully the gap between her two front teeth, her pale almost purplish lips, her mole just above her chin that stuck out slightly. Where was He? She'd sat with Cosima, crying her eyes out. Her sallow hands clutching at darker ones, wringing them again and again. Where was He? Cosima shook her head, I don't know. I don't know. She'd always felt this inescapable sense of people leaving , always leaving her life. Johnny had left, and for months afterwards, she saw ch...

She spits the blood out of her mouth onto the bathroom floor; staining the impeccably white marble tiles a scarlet red. He pushes her down to the floor and kicks the area she thinks her left kidney might be and slams the mahogany door shut. A sudden bout of nausea takes ahold of her and she crawls, with great difficulty to the expensive toilet, and grips the toilet seat. Her stomach heaves a few times. But she doesn't throw up. Too little food, she thinks, silently in her mind. She lies against the wall, a frail hand resting on her throbbing back, the other on her throbbing head. Out of nowhere, or perhaps somewhere, a dark faraway somewhere, there flitted out a memory. Blurred, unfocused and most certainly hazy, but still a memory. She was sitting at her neighbourhood's library and worrying about her university exams, rubbing a spot just above the left side of her temple, where she frequently got headaches.  Her hands were shoved inside her warm purple jacket sleeves as...

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...

Ok, so if it hasn't been made obvious, although I think it is pretty obvious, I am a left-winger. What does this mean??  Quite a Nice explanation Yeah, this generally means I wouldn't support anything remotely related to Donald Trump/ Republicans (for you Americans :) ) or for a matter of fact, anything Israeli.  If a country itself should be so blatantly right-wing, I think the award should go to Israel. And yet I do not condemn Israel. Or rather, I do condemn its actions especially in Palestine, but I think I am free from prejudice about Israelis in general or Jews.  Most people, particularly in Asia mistake anti-Israel sentiments for anti-semitism. It is a most dangerous mistake.  Jerusalem But, back to the BREAKING NEWS bit. So my senior- let's call him Tom, recently defended a certain local celebrity for selling hijabs to Israelis. This made me infinitely more interesting to me. Think how a guy with a girlfriend would be infinitely more interest...

'Wrong   does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.'-Leo Tolstoy The train rattled along, the three girls stood facing each other, clutching the same pole that gave them support. They stood close but in truth, there were oceans of circumstance separating them.  It is plausible that they might never have met, were it not for some trick of nimble-fingered Fate hoping to create some change in the world. 'It's unfair,' the tall girl whispered. She had ebony skin, and short black hair. Her strong legs were sturdy against the rocking of the train. Bangles jangled noisily as they slid down her hand. The girl with dyed red hair and an unpronounceable name pursed her lips. The unspeakable words had been said, and worse, she agreed with them.  The other becomes distant and listless. She longs to disregard the words, to say they are not true, to condemn her friends as ignorant but she is afraid to. She is afraid she is wrong. xxxxxxxx...