Rambles in (Grammatical) Shambles.

My brain is tired; my mind has over-thought itself into possible oblivion. How do I know this? Well, for one I typed and deleted the non-word thinked in place of “thought” in the previous sentence at least twice just now. I did realize something wasn’t right with the sentence because I kept trying to justify the linguistic exactitude of the word by making up sentences with the past tense of think in them.

“I thinked about this problem and could come up with no solution.”

“I thinked about you yesterday.”

“I thinked she was a brilliant pianist.”

I understand how anyone reading this may be appalled by this lack of basic grammatical knowledge, especially coming from someone who claims to have a slightly better than average understanding of the English language.

But at this point of mental saturation, my brain (always thinking outside its little box, that little genius) offered me just that and another non-word, thunk. So you can see why I went with the less preposterous (but still offensive) thinked.

I actually cursed the efficiency of MS Word’s spellcheck because they kept underlining my thinkeds in red, indicating a spelling error. They’re still doing it, but the difference between now and five minutes ago is that my ‘errors’ are deliberate.

I could also tell you about the two separate occasions where I used be’d instead of was in a conversation but just in case any English school teachers are reading this post, I’m gonna spare you folks the coronary.

In my absolutely poor-on-account-of–being-so-tired-I-can’t-think-straight-let-alone-smart defense, it’s 3.30 AM in the morning. The fact that the worst thing I’m doing right now is badly conjugating a verb should be of some comfort to you, O English school teacher brave enough to still be reading this eyesore of a post. I know of some kids who’re up to bigger acts of blasphemy, and who knows, you probably teach a couple of them!

Okay, so, Confession Time. When I’d originally started off with that opening line about my mind  currently is being in such a sorry state, I’d intended to steer it in the direction of the topic I really had in mind: how being smitten by someone can really mess with your head and turn into a schmaltzy slush.

I know romanticism is a theme endemic to my blog, and everyone’s probably tired of reading the same old crap, but doesn’t it fascinate you that when you excessively like someone everything you do suddenly seems at the mercy of that person? I mean, it starts off with the songs you listen to. Suddenly you start hearing certain lyrics more distinctly than others. For example, “I’m so obsessed, my heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest,” suddenly holds appeal to me, and not just because singing about chest hair cracks me up every time I do it.

Then it’s the movies you watch. You begin relating situations in them to your own life, more specifically moments in your life involving that person. You know what I’m talking about. They’re mostly scenes in movies that make your heart sigh, but you’re too jaded to admit it. However, you know you’re really far gone when you are even able to relate to an action movie about a married couple who’re secretly assassins hired by competing agencies to kill each other. Either that, or your relationship with your person of interest obviously needs help.


Mr. & Mr.s Smith: the picture of wedded bliss and charming domesticity. Doesn’t Jolie look hot in those red Wellies and Pitt look dashing in those boxers?

If you’re recognizing the symptoms of mild obsession and are afraid, don’t be…yet.

It’s only when you can distinguish said person’s laugh from everyone else’s in a fairly noisy classroom, or when you make a subconscious mental note of his/her facial expressions, or when the outcome of your entire day depends on whether the two of you engage in uh, casual…er, conversation (what did you think I was going to say, you dirty English school teacher?) or not, or when the only difference between your dreams and reality is the act of waking up, that’s how strongly your thoughts are laced with well, him,  that you should be really, really afraid.

Here’s Victor Krum, looking at Hermione. The glazed over eyes indicate that he’s under the Imperius Curse. What did I tell ya?

I mean, let’s face it: you might as well be under the Imperius Curse.


2011 in review

This is not only awesome, it’s also very encouraging to a lazy amateur like me.  Thank you, WordPress! I loved the fireworks! And the adorably presented stats!


The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,500 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 25 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.


(Belated) Day 2: Words

As the words left her mouth
They did so with reluctance
As if sensing that the simple  sentence
Belied the magnitude of its meaning

Still, she wrenched them out, one by one
All the while reassuring herself
That “It Was All For the Best”

They pierced the silence as they fell upon it
Impregnating it with a sudden tautness
And then she saw, too late, that she’d hurt him

With her words.
Her foolish words.
Mere words.
Seemingly innocent and harmless.

Black symbols in a white speech bubble, that was all they were.
Words that her logical side perceived as a sensible idea
While her heart declared them to be seven shades of stupid.


The One Week “Write About Whatever Challenge”

So the title is pretty much self explanatory. I am to write about anything and/ or everything in the multiverse. The idea is to see how random I can get without actually missing the point. The reason behind the challenge? My sister. I was whining to her the other day about how all I want to do is write. Really write. But I can’t, because I’ve been destined for greater things, it seems. Apparently saving people’s lives is less narcissistic a profession than shoving your ideas down their throats in a column in a magazine or newspaper. (However, it can be argued that statistically, the chances of having blood on your hands both literally and figuratively speaking, are marginally low when your career choice is journalism, as compared to medicine.  So yeah, lots of pros and cons to weigh.)

But I digress. The point is, as I was wallowing in self pity after beating myself up over my lack of assertiveness and the cojones to stand up for the things I really love to do, my sister provided the solution, simple and clear as day.

She said, “So write.”

I looked at her incredulously. It couldn’t be as simple as that. No, not after all these months of playing the confined rebel, the tortured artist, the unsung martyr of all wannabe-writers-who-get-steered-towards-the-more-science-related-profession-due-to-familial-pressure-and-etcetera. There had to be a catch.

Sensing my disbelief, she tried another way to convince me.

“I challenge you to write.”

My ears pricked up at the word ‘challenge’.

I love challenges. Challenges tend to be the perfect opportunity to prove people wrong, and nothing makes me happier than doing just that.

“Every day for a week to begin with,” she continued, and when I had neither rejected nor accepted her challenge in the next minute she played her trump card.

“I betcha you can’t do it anyway,” she said with a dismissive shrug, and proceeded to do whatever it was she’d been doing before I interrupted her.

I think there’s this saying, “You only know your true capacity to do something when your older sister who is constantly mocking your general inadequacy tells you that you can’t do it.”

No? There’s no such saying? Well then, I guess I’m just going to have to patent it now.

That’s when I gave in.

“Fine. I’ll do it,” I sighed, and this is why here I am, writing a post about writing.

Hah, it wasn’t intended to work out this neatly, but I technically just completed my criteria for Day 1 of the WAWC!

Pfft, it’s not called cheating, alright? I was asked to be random.

Expect another post tomorrow, non existent reader!


Caution! I’m Disgustingly Human.

The Oxford dictionary says that an emotion is either a strong feeling, such as joy or anger (really, Oxford, that’s the kind of definition more dictionaries ought to publish) or an instinctive feeling as distinguished from reasoning.
Bingo. An emotion is approximately the opposite of logical reasoning.
This word originates from the Latin word emovare which means ‘disturb’.
And disturb it does. It messes with everything. Does the ability to make logical decisions make us human? Indeed not. It is the ability to let this fickle and feisty (and other adjectives beginning with F) thing called emotion virtually eliminate the existence of our logical side that distinguishes us from the other anthropoids
So, in conclusion if you have ever experienced the annoying discomfort of being on the verge of taking a major decision that would in all likelihood do nothing but improve your life, and suddenly spot the emotional twist, say for example an ex-flame you’re not sure you’re really over, or an untrustworthy friend who you can’t help but love cause s/he’s just been around for too long or an overbearing parent who you just want to make happy (you get the point), and then out goes that sensible idea, you can proudly wear a Hello! I’m Human sticker. Preferably on your forehead, where everyone can see it.

 Or maybe a Caution! I’m Human sticker would work better, depending on just how disgustingly human you are.
Presence of emotions should be classified as a form of retrogressive evolution. Not to be carried forward in the next generation. Maybe then the more competitive of our lot will buck up and make a bunch of stone-hearted, smart babies.
On second thoughts, that might not be such a good idea. I just imagined a population explosion of Stewies and the mental image gave me the creeps.

Way-Too-Progressive Evolution: Population Explosion of Stewie Griffins

(Although an increase in the number of people with British accents would be bloody fantastic.)

Back to the point. The reason why I’ve developed this sudden antipathy towards my kind is because I’ve developed a little crush, and that little crush has developed feelings of it’s own. The worst part is, it’s probably my fault. I fed that stupid crush of mine scraps and morsels of sentiment and pinches of idle daydreams that all began with “what if…” and now it’s grown into this monstrous entity that cannot be banished from my head. Believe me, I’ve tried. But it’s already taken control of my mind and obliterated all paths of rational thinking.

Yup, it’s an emotion. And a big fat one at that.

Stewie's human too.



Tomorrow is selfish
She holds all the promises of the future
That wily, cunning child

Always a step ahead of me
Always beckoning to me
Teasing me
Challenging me to come closer

But every time I think I’ve found her
She disappears again
Into a place called Tomorrow.


Help Me Think Up A Title (I’m bad at this!)

A conversation with a good friend of mine made me think about certain things…and see them a little differently. And well, some of it I was feeling already..

You have no good reason to go
But you have no good reason to stay
Maybe we should take things slow
Maybe we should wait

Caught in stories of the past
Because that’s all we’ve got
Trying to make this last
Trying to give it our best shot

A smile, a look, a birthday card
Like charms collected on a bracelet
A memory of a touch, a beauty unmarred
Things we cannot forget

Knowing what we are together
And what we can be
Makes it so much harder
For us to let go and leave

I feel we are not ready
Yet why does it feel so right?
It ought to be as clear as day and night
But it’s an unfathomable twilight

Love isn’t just a feeling
Or a lucky co-incidence
It isn’t a state of being
Or a result of providence

It’s a fifteen-year-old’s choice
To give you her heart
And to hope to have yours in return
If only just a part

If we have chosen each other
Our stars will be aligned
We’ll find our fates written in the cards
Intricately intertwined.