you're just like an angel; so fucking special.

I sit on this chair which connects me to a desk; upon which a metallic silver laptop lies.
I am thinking of what to type; I want to make it sound nice, sound spontaneous, sound inspiring. But my mind is blank.

Like the symphony of sound produced by a clicking keyboard. The song playing in the playing in the background is a cover of Creep, by Radiohead. I like things on repeat.

I am thinking about cars; people; streets; names; people in their cars; names of streets; names of people; names of streets named after people; the empty 1.5 L water bottle lying on my desk; hydration, dehydration, antibiotics, bananas, ipods, commercialisation, advertisements, the bombardment of advertisements in our everyday lives; consumerism; our obsession with consumerism.

I like jazz; but I don’t listen to it enough.

I have an exam tomorrow, followed by the day after, and the day after the day after. Most part of me wants to die but the other wants me to live on. Obviously the death bit is an exaggeration; symbol is key. But yes I find it hard to survive at this point. I need food I need sleep I need air I need more things than a normal day. My life is filled with facts of the lives of anglo-saxon people whom I do not care about; the opinions of elderly anglo-saxon men who sit upon a high bench dictating to the world below them what they think should matter.

Who cares?

But because my dad has spent almost half of his entire life savings into the greedy money making institution that is the university; I have a moral/social/filial/conscionable obligation to pretend to care; and to allow a 3 hour paper in a crammed badly ventilated room to dictate what I do for a living in the future.

A future where people wear black robes to distinguish their high and mighty selves from the common folk, where they argue struggling single-income families' money away, under the blanket fantasy of helping a good cause. These people build their own castle of white ivory and mix and mingle within it with their like-minded narrow-minded peers; amongst cocktails and rich cuisine fuelled by the hopes and dreams of the ordinary person.

I am surrounded by a sea of notes; half-read, half-highlighted, half strewn all over the table. I feel like a lone ship in the middle of a deep dark black sea.

I feel more accomplished when I eat noodles from a $6.50 bowl compared to the average $8.50 you have to fork out for a bowl of stringy dough + soup. I like cheap noodles! In this continent, noodles are expensive shit.

Sim Tia- It means ‘heart pain’ in hokkien. That’s what I feel when I pay more for noodles than I think they’re worth.

You learn a new word today!