1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

The child's loose curls doth bounce so lightly on his head, Causing a tight pain in my strange heart. Oh, how could it not! How could this babe not bring back a humorous, paining memory? It was... The Mukherjee. Tall, be-pimpled, gangly, tennis god, deep of voice, shy of girls, You-who-seemed-to-never-speak, I adored you! And that adoration translation became silence, hiding behind my fringe! My conquest of you, had, in, my mind, Failed. So I rushed for a glass of water, Oh fateful, Christmas day. The baby reminded me of future we could have had, Amit Mukherjee. Remember? Remember, with trembling hands, I beseech, Look upon my face, and the hands, which so embarrassed me. The tale I must grudgingly and happily tell. Christmas day, I had not eaten, my stomach as bare inside as the manger we didn't have, I went into the kitchen, swearing to this day, for a glass of water, WATER, If only I had just water, sipping demurely, We might be Mr and Mrs Mukherjee...

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...

The brilliant Margaret Cho For months now, years even, I'd been fantasising, like every other budding teenage novelist, of writing THAT article, THAT blogpost, so quirky, so authentically raw that I would soar out of the depths of being unknown to being the greatest individual to yield virtual pen over nonexistent paper. One could be forgiven for calling me out on my dreams to be a slightly less whinging, less millennial  Suzy Weiss . You'd probably be right! But it wasn't just words. I unashamedly admit, I wanted to be the next Mindy Kaling, the Malaysian-Indian Margaret Cho. The precocious teenager who questioned whether her identity should always be hyphenated, and thus alienated. The one who produced, at a startlingly fast pace, mini documentaries about poverty and socioeconomic justice to the background soundtrack of 'Talk Show Host' by Radiohead.  I longed to come up with brilliant ideas, quotes of the century or even, worse comes to worst...