Webster's New World College Dictionary says this:

love (luv)

1) a deep and tender feeling of affection for or attachment or devotion to a person or persons

2) an expression of one's love or affection

3) a feeling of brotherhood and good will toward other people

4) a. strong liking for or interest in something (love of music) b. the object of such liking

5) a. a strong, usually passionate, affection of one person for another, based in part on sexual attraction b. the person who is the object of such an affection; sweetheart; lover

6) a. sexual passion b. sexual intercourse

7) tennis score of zero

8 Theol.) a. God's tender regard and concern for mankind b. mankind's devotion to and desire for God as supreme good

Well, that about covers all concepts of love, with the exceptions of love in verb form.

I hate it when people (usually kids, like most of you) say that love can't be defined and that it's some mystical thing that can't be explained or defined, only felt and expressed by a single individual. It's an immature attitude and it shows an immature desire for something more than what it is. It's a glamourization and over-estimation of something that is far too simple to be dealt with in these terms. If love was supposed to be something felt only between two people or by a single individual in a totally unique way, then how do people agree with the love stories/poems/songs/screenplays/etc that are written about it? Why do people cry at sad love movies or romantic comedies? Why?

Here's why: they relate to that story and the feeling that love evokes within them.

Love is not a feeling, it evokes feelings that come from a strong attachment to a person and a devotion to that person's well being. Love is when you desire nothing more for a person than for their ultimate healthiness and happiness. It is not how much you feel good and all tingly about them. That's just a physical response to a profound connection (or, in most of your cases, infatuation that will result in nothing but embarrassing memories of immaturity).

If love couldn't be defined, then how can it be discussed in sociology classes on Marriage and the Family (or, the dictionary at the least)? Sure, there are many specific definitions of love, much like the one given by the dictionary entry above, but it's still classcially defined. Why must you people mysticize and romanticize something that is so human and natural to us?

Why?

Here's why: you're bored with yourselves and scared of being unhappy. You all desire that wonderful, fairy-tale, happy-ending where you feel all happy and lovey-dovey forever with your soulmate and where you could never feel sad or lonely. Yeah, right. That just shows emotional immaturity and dependency issues. It's a bratty desire for something that cannot and should not be sustained. Humans can't stand to be uncomfortable in any way possible and, by saying that love is some profound mystical journey away from the real world shows a strong urge for something that can never be obtained but is still naively thought about and wanted. What a waste of time. Shame on you.

Saying, "I bet no one can define it" is illogical, silly, naive and all-around stupid. Yeah, it all has different meanings for us individually because of our own unique surroundings and social interactions and personal events, but, when it comes down to the basics, it all means the same single thing that does not escape definition.

PS If you feel that this doesn't apply to you because you're of a higher tier on the maturity grade then ignore it. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people in the world this applies to.

I kinda agree with his comments. This is a comment by some guy in a forum

A university professor challenged his students with this question. "Did God create everything that exists? A student bravely replied, "Yes, He did!" "God created everything?' the professor asked. "Yes, sir," the student replied.

The professor answered, "If God created everything, then God created evil, since evil exists. And according to the principal that our works define who we are. then God is evil." The student became quiet before such an answer. The professor was quite pleased with himself, and boasted to the students that he had proven once more that the faith in God is a myth.

Another student raised his hand and said, "Can I ask you a question, professor?"

"Of course," replied the professor.

The student stood up and asked,' Professor. does cold exist?" "What kind of question is this? Of course it exists. Have you never been cold?"

The students snickered at the young man's question. The young man replied, "In fact, sir, cold does not exist. According to the laws of physics, what we consider cold is, in reality, the absence of heat. Everybody or object is susceptible to study when it has or transmits energy. Absolute zero (-2730C) is the total absence of heat. All matter becomes inert and incapable of reaction at that temperature. Cold does not exist. We have created this word to describe how we feel if we have no heat.

The student continued. "Professor, does darkness exist?" The professor responded," Of course it does." The student replied, "Once again you are wrong, sir Darkness does not exist either. Darkness is, in reality, the absence of light We can study light, but not darkness. In fact, we can use Newton's prism to break white light into many colours and study the various wavelengths of each colour. You cannot measure darkness. A simple ray of light can break into a world of darkness and illuminate it. How can you know how dark a certain space is? You measure the amount of light present. Isn't this correct? Darkness is a term used by man to describe what happens when there is no light present."

Finally, the young man asked the professor, "Sir, does evil exist?" Now uncertain, the professor responded, "Of course, as I have already said. We see it everyday. It is in the daily example of man's inhumanity to man. It is in the multitude of crime and violence everywhere in the world. These manifestations are nothing else but evil." To this the student replied, "Evil does not exist, sir, or at least it does not exist unto itself. Evil is simply the absence of God. It is just like darkness and cold - a word that man has created to describe the absence of God. God did not create evil. Evil is not like faith, or love, that exist just as does light and heat. Evil is the result of what happens when man does not have God's love present in his heart. Its like the cold that comes when there is no heat, or the darkness that comes when there is no light." The professor sat down.

The young student's name, Albert Einstein

I suppose everyone heard of this dan brown's bestseller and most should have read about it before. Recently, there's many speculations floating around forums regarding the "facts" of the book. Maybe because it's an important week in the Christian calendar with good Friday, Easter Sunday and all. There's even an article in Newsweek talking about how this cardinal opposes of Christians reading the book.

In Yahoo News.com. there's an article saying that top Catholic cardinal has blasted "The Da Vinci Code" as a "gross and absurd" distortion of history and said Catholic bookstores should take the bestseller off their shelves because it is full of "cheap lies."
Later, he goes on to say that "You can find that book everywhere and the risk is that many people who read it believe that those fairy tales are real," he said. "I think I have the responsibility to clear things up to unmask the cheap lies contained in books like that."
See the irony? A fairy tale is supposed to be fake; If it's fiction, then he shouldn't even be worked up. That's like saying that people reading about... fairies or monsters in a book, will believe that they are real just because of what they read.

Here are some abstracts of the article:
A central storyline of the book is that the Holy Grail is not the cup which Christ is said to have used at the Last Supper but really the bloodline descended from Jesus and Mary Magdalene. Bertone calls this idea "a perversion."

Bertone is so incensed about the novel that he will be the key speaker at a roundtable in Genoa Wednesday night attempting to dismantle the book, which also accuses the Church of covering up the female role in Christianity.

He said it was "sad" that even Catholic bookstores were selling The Da Vinci Code "for purely economic reasons."

"This is one of the most vulgar of inventions. The feminine element is present in all the Gospels," Bertone said.

Come to think about it, it is highly possible that this already bestseller will be piping hot next year with the movie by Tom Hanks coming up. More insults, more claims should be brewing..

I was reading a editor commenting about the book in New York Times. She said.. (some abstracts again)
Some may mock the Vatican for waiting until everyone on earth has read "The Da Vinci Code" to denounce "The Da Vinci Code."

I am not one of them. It's Easter, and I don't want to blot my catechism.

It's a little late, now that the two-year-old thriller by Dan Brown is a publishing miracle - with 25 million copies sold in 44 languages, a cascade of other books inspired by the novel and a movie with Tom Hanks set to start filming this spring - for Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone to intone on a Vatican radio broadcast: "Don't read and don't buy 'The Da Vinci Code.' "

Mr. Brown's zippy version has Jesus and Mary Magdalene marrying and having children. This "perverts the story of the Holy Grail, which most certainly does not refer to the descendants of Mary Magdalene," Cardinal Bertone said. "It astonishes and worries me that so many people believe these lies."

For years, female historians and novelists have been making the case that Mr. Brown makes, that Mary Magdalene was framed and defamed, that the men who run Christianity obliterated her role as an influential apostle and reduced her to a metaphor for sexual guilt.

The church refuses to allow women to be ordained as priests because there were no female apostles. So if Mary Magdalene was a madonna rather than a whore, the church loses its fig leaf of justification for male domination and exclusion.

It's obvious that Vatican officials did not read to the end of Mr. Brown's novel or they never would have denounced it.

The woman who is the descendant of Mary Magdalene and Jesus tells Robert Langdon, Mr. Brown's Harvard symbologist hero, that the secret saga of how the church smeared her ancestor as a slut and swindled all women out of serious roles in the church does not need to be aired. It can continue to remain a secret.

"Her story is being told in art, music and books," the woman says, adding that things are gradually changing for women: "We are beginning to sense the need to restore the sacred feminine."

No whistle is blown. No alarm is sounded. Talk about an anticlimax for a fantastic ride. As it turns out, Mr. Brown is not the tormentor of the Vatican, but an ally.

So much about the book. Yeah, actually, I think the book is over-rated. I prefer his other book, Angels and Demons. Yeah, about the same concept again.. abit on Catholic. ancient brotherhood. I find the book more interesting as it's more thrilling and apprehensive. and cool. You got to read the book to understand what I mean. The four different ways of killing..

I like his books mainly because of his endings. The three books that I've read: Angels & Demons, Da vindi code, Deception Point all have endings that are totally/almost unexpected.

Sources:
http://www.danbrown.com
article 1
the review

AUSTRALIANS love coffee, chocolate and computer games, and more than two-thirds say they routinely ignore chores to do something more fun. Survey results released today found 95 per cent of Australians admitted to having an everyday addiction.

The Reader's Digest survey found just about every Australian admitted to "a harmless everyday compulsion – something we do or buy not because we have to but because we find it just too hard to resist". The survey, taken by 750 adults, was split into three categories: eating, retail therapy and time-out activities.

Advertisement:
According to the poll, 41 per cent of Australians regularly shopped for "treats" rather than essentials, with nearly one-third keen bargain hunters.

Women were more likely than men to consider themselves shopaholics, many stating that clothes and accessories were their weaknesses. Men preferred to treat themselves to hobby items and DVDs or videos.

The survey found 67 per cent of Australians routinely ignored essential tasks in favour of "time out" activities. One-quarter watched television, another quarter would surf the internet and 29 per cent opted to playing computer or video games.

Sixty per cent of those polled said they regularly craved certain foods and drinks. Coffee topped the addiction for almost one-third of people, with chocolate a close second followed by soft drinks, chips and lollies.Only one in 10 people said they were addicted to exercise.

credits: news.au

Talking about australia, I remembered the chat we had with mdm during pccg. we had class eating and drinking in the canteen. Love mdm. she's so easy-going and fun. Anyway, back to the topic, she was telling us about the holiday she had in sydney during our one-week break. Then someone was saying how sydney's so similar to Singapore. You should have seen mdm's eyes. She shot up, widened her eyes and went on like "BS. Sydney's so different." yeah, true, a outdoor air-con.. etc. then, we went on talking about the racism in australia, queensland to be specific cos it's known to be the most racist state. Then, we started sharing experiences, stories we've heard. So, i guess Singapore is still the best place to live in, at least we are not second-class citizens. I guess studying abroad would be a very good exposure; learning about another culture, learning to live independently, making new friends from all over the world, etc.

Hey, check out this website www.googlefight.com
quite a hilarious site. I tried out paris hilton vs britney spears. eh, the results were close, with britney winning by a bit. U can try out different words. Guess, it's for someone who's super bored online. lol.
And this is the history of the f-word
quite interesting. just take a look (: on the speaker btw

tommorow will be another week of school. But hey, I will end early next week. yes only next week. end at around 1.10 i think. That's cos we only have lectures to accomodate the 2nd intakers. I wonder when will we know our classes. Pretty sure our class will split though we might be able to keep a bulk of them. Out of 21, 5 left. Some are changing combi, some have to change classes, so... But i can't wait to see new classmates too.

Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you"re sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter"s body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don"t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, infact come off during the course of you date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:
I"m sure you've been told that in today"s world, sex without utilizing a "Barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: "early"

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden tool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to introduce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid,. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveways you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you
to come inside. The camoflaged face at the window is mine.

i think this dad is so so cool. lol
Ya, so anyway, I was surfing through blogs yesterday. Bumped into some random people's blog. Most were complaining of not getting into the jcs of their choice and are desperately appealing. Some managed to get into their preferred choices, but most didn't. And those who didn't mostly ended up in AC. And they are dissing the school even before they attended lessons. Liz was telling me about this girl who was talking sh*t about ac. hmm, without even crashing the school and just hearing rumours, you claim that ac suck. Ok, maybe there are indeed a small minority of acsians who are snobbish, arrogant, irritating... hateful. but most are fine.. i think. There's an article in the ST this morning interviewing the 2 RI boys who appealed out of AC into RJ. good luck to them.. that means more places for ac appealers. My mom was jokingly saying that their faces are even shown in the papers, aren't they afraid of getting beaten up. I agree with this JJ spokesman who said that parents/students shouldn't be so busy with appealing and stuff. Just stay in your jc and live with it. Cos the earlier you settle down, the better is it for your child/you.
very true indeed.

haha. i came across this OMG pic

super scary right? she's a polaire, a french singer frum 1890. Her waist is 16 cm which is 8 or 9 inches. Her waist was said to have contributed to her death.

Like Something Out of a Cartoon...

Wed Mar 23,10:26 AM ET Oddly Enough - Reuters LONDON (Reuters) -

Can't get out of bed in the morning?


Clocky is a clock for people who have trouble getting out of bed. When the snooze bar is pressed, Clocky rolls off the table and finds a hiding spot, a new one every day.

Materials: carpet, velcro, foamScientists at

MIT's Media Lab in the United States have invented an alarm clock called Clocky to make even the doziest sleepers, who repeatedly hit the snooze button, leap out of bed. After the snooze button is pressed, the clock, which is equipped with a set of wheels, rolls off the table to another part of the room. "When the alarm sounds again, simply finding Clocky ought to be strenuous enough to prevent even the doziest owner from going back to sleep," New Scientist magazine said Tuesday.

haha, that's something that we all need. but it's an evil invention i gotta say, though it should really work

Source: Y

anyway, i shall blog something about myself. yesterday was the 1st official day of school, after the posting results are finally out. i remained in ac, so there wasn't much anticipation. well, there were so many people looking so lost yesterday. i bet i was like that 3 months ago. We the 1st-intakers didn't get to join their orientation ): and got to continue with lessons. heard it was quite boring.. fun-filled with talks by the prinicples, DMs, etc. No doubt it would be boring cos it'd be displinary talks etc. I heard AC took in at least 67 RJ rejects. no wonder i saw so many bitter faces wearing the rg uniforms esp. Not only that they were sour, they came in late *cough*no respect*cough*for AC*cough*. Some of them were even more ridiculous; wearing the rj or vj t-shirts. Hello peeps. the reason why you can't go to vj or rj cos you didn't you didn't qualify. so stop wearing their t-shirts man. But i heard alot of the rj rejects are appealing back to rj cos they dun want to remain in this 'dumping ground'. i sincerely wish them all the best cos there are 500+ (number is still rising) wanting to appeal into ac. So, if they leave, there will be more places for this appealers.

some pios.. haha

Politics summed up
Lil' Johnny goes to his dad and asks, "What is politics?" Dad says, "Well son, let me try to explain it this way. I'm the breadwinner of the family, so let's call me Capitalism. Mommy is the administrator of the money, so we'll call her the Government. We're here to take care of your needs, so we'll call you The People. The nanny, well, consider her The Working Class. Your baby brother, we'll call him The Future. Now go think about this and see if it makes sense." So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what Dad has said. Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying and runs to his room only to find that his diapers are very soiled. So the little boy goes to his parents' room. Mom is sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny's room. Finding the door locked, he looks through the peephole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed. The next morning, the little boy says to his father, "Dad, I think I understand what politics is now." "Good son, tell me in your own words then what politics are." The little boy replies, "Well, while Capitalism is screwing the Working Class, the Government is sound asleep, the People are being ignored and the Future is in deep sh*t."

I bet I can gross you out
Two men are sitting around drinking. One guys says to the other, "I bet I could gross you out right now" The other guy says, "No way you could gross me out, whatever you do I could top" So the first guy looks at the second guy and sticks his fingers down his throat and vomits all over the table. The second guy looks at him and says " Nice Try ", and pulls out a straw....
wth.. this is hell gross. urgh.. face turning green

blondes will always be blondes.. lol
There were a blonde and a brunette watching the 6 o'clock news. On the television they saw a man standing on top of a tall building about to jump off. The brunette then takes out 20 dollars and puts it on the table and says "I bet you 20 dollars that he's going to jump off the building." The blonde thinking he wouldn't said "Okay I bet 20 dollars that he won't jump off."A few minutes later the man jumps and falls off the building to his death. The blonde then handed the money to the brunette but the brunette felt bad so said to the blonde "I'm sorry I can't take your money. I watched the 5 o'clock news earlier and knew he was going to jump already."The blonde then looks back at the brunette and replies "Yeah I saw the 5 o'clock news too. I just thought that he wouldn't do it again twice."

How do you keep a blonde busy? (see below)
How do you keep a blonde busy? (see above)

White, purple, black
After the wedding, the couple went on their honeymoon. The wife didn't want to get pregnant, so she told her husband to go buy a condom and come back soon. So the husband went to a shop and asked for a condom. There was a white one (15 cent), a black one(20 cent) and a purple one(25 cent). The husband only had 20cent on him, so he bought the black one.While the wife was waiting for her husband to return, an African-American robber broke into the hotel room. She thought it was her husband, so she dragged him in bed and they did the dirty things. Then the African-American robber left.When the husband got back, he did the dirty things with his wife.

+2 YEARS LATER+

Kid: Daddy, why am I black and you're white?Dad: For 5 cents more, YOU WOULD OF BEEN PURPLE!!

2 Asian men..
A bus stops and two Asian men get on. They seat themselves, and engage in animated conversation. The lady sitting behind them ignores their conversation at first, but she listens in horror as one of the men says the following:"Emma come first. Den I come. Two asses, dey come together. I come again. Two asses, dey come together again. I come again and pee twice. Then I come once-a more."

"You foul-mouthed swine," retorted the lady indignantly. "In this country we don't talk about our sex lives in public!"

"Hey, cool down lady," said the man. "I'm just telling my friend how to spell Mississippi."

extras.. (:

1. Money isn't made out of paper; it's made outof cotton.

2. The 57 on Heinz ketchup bottle represents the varieties of pickle the company once had.

3. Your stomach produces a new layer of mucus every two weeks otherwise it would digest itself.

4. The Declaration of Independence was written on hemp paper.

5. The dot over the letter 'i' is called a "tittle."

6. A raisin dropped in a glass of freshchampagne will bounce upand down continuously from the bottom of the glass to the top.

7. Susan Lucci is the daughter of Phyllis Diller.

8. A duck's quack doesn't echo ... no one knows why.

9. 40% of McDonald's profits come from the sales of Happy Meals.

10. Every person has a unique tongue print.

11. 315 entries in Webster's 1996 Dictionary were misspelled.

12. The 'spot' on 7UP comes from its inventor who had red eyes. He was albino.

13. On average, 12 newborns will be given to the wrong parents daily.

14. During the chariot scene in 'Ben Hur' a small red car can be seen in the distance.

15. Warren Beatty and Shirley McLain are brother and sister.

16. Chocolate affects a dog's heart and nervous system; a few ounces will kill a small sized dog.

17. Orcas (killer whales) kill sharks by torpedoing up into the shark's stomach from underneath, causing the shark to explode.

18. Most lipstick contains fish scales.

19. Donald Duck comics were banned from Finland because he doesn'twear pants.

20. Ketchup was sold in the 1830s as medicine.

21. Upper and lower case letters are named 'upper' and 'lower' because in the time when all original print had to be set in individual letters, the 'upper case' letters were stored in the case on top of the case that stored the smaller, 'lower case' letters.

22 Leonardo Da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time.

23. Because metal was scarce, the Oscars given out during World War II were made of wood.

24. There are no clocks in Las Vegas gambling casinos.

25. The name Wendy was made up for the book Peter Pan, there was never a recorded Wendy before!

26. There are no words in the dictionary that rhyme with: orange, purple, and silver!

27. Leonardo Da Vinci invented scissors. Also, it took him 10years to paint Mona Lisa's lips.

28. A tiny amount of liquor on a scorpion will make it instantly go mad and sting itself to death.

29. The mask used by Michael Myers in the original "Halloween" wasa Captain Kirk mask painted white.

30. If you have three quarters, four dimes, and four pennies, you have $1.19. You also have the largest amount of money in coins without being able to make change for a dollar.

31. By raising your legs slowly and lying on your back, you can't sink in quicksand (and you thought this list was completely useless).

32. The phrase "rule of thumb" is derived from an old English law, which stated that you couldn't beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb.

33. American Airlines saved $40,000 in 1987 by eliminating one olive from each salad served in first class.

34. The first product Motorola started to develop was a record player for automobiles. At that time, the most known player on the market was the Victrola, so they called themselves Motorola.

35. Celery has negative calories! It takes more calories to eat a piece of celery than the celery has in it to begin with. It's the same with apples!

36. Chewing gum while peeling onions will keep you from crying!

37. The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher

38. GuinessBook of Records holds the record for being the book most often stolen from Public Libraries.

39. Back in the mid to late 80's, an IBM compatible computer wasn't considered a hundred percent compatible unless it could run Microsoft's Flight Simulator game.

40. Astronauts are not allowed to eat beans before they go intospace because passing wind in a space suit damages them.

interesting huh? anw, i'm going back to acjc AGAIN. well, i can't wait to see the 2nd intake people. and i really hope liz can make it into ac. i wanna see her in an ac uniform. and to the rest who are going to new jcs, all the best and enjoy your next two years there.

"Min-yun, get up it's time for school.."

I woke up to my mom's voice.

As always my eyes went to the old alarm clock with the broken face plate.I saw the time and I started yelling."Why did you wake me up now?! God!!"

SLAM.

The sound of the door slamming rang throughout the house.

I put on the school uniform and was leaving.

Then I heard my mom's voice.."I'm sorry, Min-yun. I'm not feeling so well.."

"Is it ANOTHER cold?! Why do you catch so many colds?!"

"I'm sorry... that I woke you up late... Here... take your lunch."

Thud.

"It's okay. I'm late I have to go."

I threw the lunch to the ground and went my way without a care.

I looked back while I was running.

My mom was quietly picking up the spilled contents of my lunch.

She was pale...She always looked pale.

Because she was always sick.I started running again to school.

Class began.

Our school is going on a trip this Saturday.

I want to go..I want to have fun with my friends.I want to forget poverty.

I want to forget about my mom for a while.

I came home.I made a face looking at my mom lying down as usual.

"Oh, you're here, Min-yun.""Mom! I want to go to the trip on Saturday!"

I didn't even say hi and I just demanded an answer.
"What?... A trip?..."
"Yeah."
"How much... is it?"
She always asked about the fee first.

She always needed to consider if we had enough money for such luxuries.
"I heard at least 80,000 won (around US$80? roughly)."

"Wow... that much?"
"We don't even have that much?! Why aren't we living on the streets?!"

I hated poverty.I hated the fact that I couldn't do anything.

I hated it.
I hated my mom, and I hated the fact that it was just me and my mom because I was so lonely.

Mom sighed and took out the bank account book."I have some money saved up in the bank... Take 80,000 won out of it."

I saw the book and a smile lit up in my face.I grabbed it and ran to the bank without thanking her.

I looked at the book and it had 1,000,000 won.

I hated my mom even more now that I knew how much she had saved up without spending any.I took out the 80,000 won..

Now there was 920,000 won left.Because there was that much money, it felt okay to spend some more.

I thought to myself, 'I always wanted a cell phone, didn't I?"I took out 400,000 won.I went to the nearest store and got a good cell phone.

I felt happy.It felt like the first time I was happy.I browsed through the streets with my cell phone in my hand.

I saw lots of pretty clothes.I wanted them. I went to the bank again and took out 200,000 won.

I bought lots of clothes.

Seeing me with pretty clothes in the mirror made me smile.

Then I noticed something.It was my hair, the ugly hair style that my mom cut for me.I went to the bank again.

I took out 50,000 won.I got my hair done.

Everything was perfect.Now I needed to buy things needed for the trip.I just bought whatever came to my attention.

It all cost 90,000 won.

Then I went home.
I didn't want to go home but I knew I had to.

Mom was in bed again. I made some noise.

"Ahem!!"She heard it and woke up.

She took the bank account book and put it back without even looking at it.

Then it was Saturday, the day I had been waiting for.

All my friends complimented me on my change.There were some hard training in the trip, but I forgot about my mom and poverty...It felt good not to think about it so much.

It was over. I didn't know three days could go by so fast.

Now I have to go back to that hell hole.

"I'm home!!""..............."
It was quiet in the house..

"I said I'm home!!""..............."It was still quiet. I was mad so I slammed open the door.
My mom was sleeping..She'd always smile when I came through the door but now she's sleeping and ignoring me.

Maybe she's mad at me because I spent so much money...

Whatever... I'm gonna win anyway if we fight.

I shook my mom.

But then....But then.......She was cold.

Tears started flowing from my eyes. I felt like my heart had stopped.

The woman I hated was cold.. and it was strangely sad...I couldn't believe it...I tried shaking her awake.

But.. she didn't wake up.She didn't open her eyes.

I took out the bank account book and showed it in front of her face crying.

"MOM! I'll never do anything like this ever again! I promise!!!! Just wake up!!!!!!!"

Something came out of the bank account book.

It was a letter from my mom.

I carefully opened it.

To my lovely daughter Min-yun..Min-yun..You hated me right? You hated poverty more than death, right?
I'm sorry... I'm really sorry...
I didn't know anything, and I was poor...
All I had was love...
And my beat-up body...
I'm sorry for having to leave you all by yourself...

I got sick... so I'm leaving first...
I could have had surgery...
But the cost was enormous...
So I thought...
If I didn't have surgery... then Min-yun could buy whatever she wants.

So I gave up on having surgery.

But... time passed by and it keeps getting worse.

Now I only have a few months left.Min-yun...I'm grateful that you at least thought of this pathetic person as your mother.
You know that I love you the most in this world, right?

Min-yun...I love you... I love you so much...

From Mom.

Also... look around in the blanket... There is another bank account book.

I worked without you knowing and I collected 20,000,000 won.I'm happy knowing that you'll at least live without poverty.

I see my mom lying peacefully.

And I hate myself.

I hate myself 100 times... no, 1000 times more than I ever hated my mom.

I hate myself so much.

How can you love this brat like me? Huh?

The money for surgery... All the money I spent...Why didn't you tell me? Why?

I would throw the lunch you packed for me down on the ground..

I always threw tantrums..

Why did you love such a bad daughter like me..

Huh?Are you stupid? Why did you love me? Why... why...

Now I can't even see you lying down.

I can't eat the lunch you packed..

I can't hear the voice that would wake me up...

If I ever live again...

If God really gives me another chance...

Then I would treat you so much better... I really can...

Mom, let's meet in the next life.Okay?

Mom..... I'm sorry..... I'm really sorry....

I'm sorry.....This is the first time I ever said sorry to you.

Mom... I love you...

Official: Son Mistakes Parents' Sex For Domestic Abuse
Boy, 16, Charged With Assault With Deadly Weapon

POSTED: 6:50 am CST February 11, 2005
UPDATED: 3:20 pm CST February 11, 2005

HOUSTON -- A 16-year-old boy was charged with shooting his father in their southwest Harris County home Friday, Local 2 reported. The shooting was originally reported as a case of domestic abuse, but deputies said the boy apparently witnessed a sexual act between his parents and thought the father was abusing the mother.

Sgt: Kids Interpret Mother's Noise During Sex As Cry for Help
Officials Arrest Teen For Shooting Father

Sheriff's deputies charged the boy with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, a first-degree felony.

Detectives told Local 2 the mother and father were engaged in consensual sex when the shooting occurred at about 3:30 a.m. inside the family's home on Mira Monte near Corta.

Investigators said the couple's 11-year-old son woke up to his mother making loud noises.

"During the course of love making, the wife was evidently being somewhat loud … loud enough to where it woke the children up," Harris County Sheriff's Department Sgt. Mike Smith told Local 2.

The boy woke his brother, who then walked into his parent's bedroom and told his father, 43-year-old Jacob Hughes, to leave his mother alone.

Officials said that is when the teen shot his father in the arm.

Detectives originally told Local 2 that the son said he fired the gun as a way of defending his mother during an argument he thought she was having with his father.

"The children interpreted the noise as their mother being in danger," Smith said. "The 11-year-old went into the room, forcibly went into the room, to protect his mother. (The child) observed his parents making love and got the 16-year-old. The 16-year-old came back in and fired the shot."

After investigating previous problems at the home, officials said there have been previous reports of abuse in the family and that father had been charged and convicted of domestic violence.

Officials said the children feared their mother was being hurt due to their father's previous convictions for abuse and that is the reason the oldest son shot his father.

Authorities said they have not determined whether the mother was screaming for help.

"That is a very important question. I can see why you are asking that. We are trying to work that out right now. We are trying to decide if it was a passionate scream or was it a cry for help," Smith said.

Hughes was transported to a hospital to be treated for his injuries. He was released late Friday morning.

Officials said the couple has been married for 20 years.

Copyright 2005 by Click2Houston.com.
All rights reserved.
This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

------
Questions asked on robarnieanddawn.com by Rob.
Believe it or not, a 16 year old kid thought his mom was being attacked in her bedroom late at night. Turns out she was just having great (noisy) sex. The kid grabbed a gun and shot his dad by mistake. So should the father be charged with a crime for allowing his teenage son to have access to a firearm??

the boy is such an innocent 16 year old. I was laughing as I read about it. or maybe his parents should just have kept their volume down. (: and some sex education is required for this poor boy.

btw, i think this pic is hilarious.

a story from the seventeen magazine worth sharing

{Simple Plan - Welcome to my Life}
It always took my mother two doctors, and a shot of anesthesia to calm me down. My mother would stand silently by my bedside while the doctors administered the drug. Resignition and despair would mist her pretty features like a cold, lifeless mask. She looked still and rigid like a tin soldier. I couldn't exactly blame her. This wasn't the first time she'd found me tangled in my sheets in the wee hours of the morning, retching and shrieking uncontrollably at the same time.

"Julia. Would you like something to eat?" Dr Werner would ask gently for the umpteenth time, laying a gentle finger on my bony, chalk-white wrist. Frankly, I was surprised she even bothered to ask. She knew what my response would be - a vehement refusal.

My nightmare lasted for over a fornight, after which I would simply lie curled in a fetal position under my quilt, my fingernails scratching absently at my flimsy cotton pillowcase, my eyes large and wary. I was too terrified to fall asleep. I feared that an unknown force would seize me by the neck, pry my mouth open, and start emptying vast quantities of McDonald's down my unwilling throat.

The morning after, I was always startled to discover that I had clawed my sheets to threads.

My father, a well-to-do corporate lawyer, was transferred to his firm's American branch in central Los Angeles shortly after my sixteenth birthday. Our family was to remain there for at least a year. I was ecstatic. I was eager to leave this no-name place- or so I assumed - and really accomplish a name for myself, preferably in some Hollywood blockbuster or long-running soap opera, like so many others my age.

I was a teenage girl, a naive idealist

Back home in Singapore, I was a fairly major celebrity. I'd enrolled in my first drama class in a kindergarten and was a regular on various television sitcoms and commercials by age eight. My real big break came when I turned thirteen - a casting agent had viewed my performance in a modest community theatre production and insisted I try out for a supporting role in an up-and-coming movie. Four months later, a nationally-distributed newspaper raved over my work, branding me a "rising child starlet whose ingenious delivery of the character was outstanding and worthy of praise of the highest degree." This review soon sparked off many others, and dozens of modelling contracts and endorsement offers began streaming in. The low-budget film never made it off local shores, but it was my mould for pre-pubescent success.

The week before my departure, my father ducked into my room and handed me a pair of glossy pamphlets. I had two educational options in LA - either a diploma at the exclusive Beverly Hills High, or a place at San Angelo Academy of Performing Arts, one of the most prestigious institutes on the West Coast. I chose the latter without hesitation, not knowing the ruin it would bring me.

Our new home in San Angelo was a large, elaborately furnished Victorian mansion with a lush green courtyard and sparkling backyard pool. My bedroom window overlooked the picturesque Hollywood Hills, stark white letters against a dark velvet backdrop. I traced the impressive alphabets against the glass until the words etched permanently in my mind. I longed to belong there.

One evening, my mother stood in the door of my room and watched me brush my hair. Hollywood Hills was at its splendour. Shafts of blinding white light beamed majestically from each alternate structure - H, L, Y, O, and D. I counted them off as I drew the comb through my ebony mane. My mother approached me and set her hand lightly on my shoulder. It smelt faintly of Ulay, not Jergen's, which was what most residents here used.

I could tell the move had affected her emotionally. She was more reticent, more withdrawn. After all, she had to abandon her friends, her job, her all-Asian life. My dad was an ambitious workaholic and I was ambitious in my own way, so we were ready to embrace new and better opportunities. My mother was the only one who did not welcome her chance. She calculated risks, a characteristic that anchored her to routine and to a lack of spontaneity.

San Angelo Academy was sited on the remnants of an acre-wide villa before it was converted into a performing arts school in the early 1960s. World-renowned, with affliations in 17 different countries across the globe, it was the alma mater to some of the most celebrated performers, musicians and playwrights. It was rumoured that Madonna was once enrolled there as a cgikd.

The campus was sub-divided into three centres, one each for dance, drama, and music. A combined-school production was organized twice a semester, and many talent scouts from various heavyweight film empires were invited to attend. In addition, there were talks conducted by various well-known persons from the media industry, and weekly health inspections, during which out vital statistics would be meticulously recorded in a large leather-bound diary. A polished image was essential, especially in Hollywood. We were continually reminded that if we weren't beautiful, nothing in our lives would ever be. This was the unofficial San Angelo philosophy.

My drama coach was a middle-aged woman with the physique and poise of an 18-year-old. She eyed me beadily as I stumbled into the classroom on Monday morning. "You are late," she said sharply.

"Yes, Mrs Whittmer." The entire class was already settled at their desks, as meek as mice. I winced, "I'm awfully sorry. I couldn't seem to find..."

She dismissed my feeble excuse with a curt wave of her manicured fingers, then turned to address the other pupils. "Now listen up, every single one of you. This is your very first grave mistake - never apologize. You'll never get anywhere if you don't go to all lengths to achieve what you want. This is a cut-throat business. Nobody here is concerned about your welfare. No one here is your friend."

I could taste the silence in the air on the tip of my tongue. None of the others even flinched at her harsh advice. I squirmed, tugging nervously at the hem of my pleated skirt.

She fixed her cold gaze on me again. "I expect discipline and commitment from all my students. That means you are to be on time and prepared for every lesson of mine. I do not tolerate slackers. I have little patience for those who refuse to participate in this learning process. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs Whittmer. I'm sorr.." Then I caught myself. "I mean, yes. Absolutely."

She groped for the register. "Julia, is it? Julia A..An.."
She squinted at the sheet of paper in her hand. A redhead in the front row tittered. When I glanced solicitously at her, she hissed, "Chink!"

Mrs Whittmer did not seem to notice. She was still puzzling over my apparent cryptic last name. "Ang," I supplied quietly.

She grunted in response. "Very well. You may sit down."

I crept to a seat in the back. The redhead tossed me a smirk as I passed. Her lips were curved, but her large green eyes were flat and hard.

I scanned the room as unobtrusively as possible. No one caught my eye or even acknowledged my presence. My mind strayed back to what the redhead had whispered. She'd called me a "chink". And I'd been on TV too.

Back home, I was a child star. Here, clutching the edge of the table as if it were a life bouy, I came to the sinking realisation that I was nobody,

I was an outcst in my peer group. No one seemed to want to befriend a "chink" or a "gook". Every class was spent slouching in my chair at the back row, staring at my knuckles. Rachel Armstrong, the redhead who'd christened me with the unfortunate nickname, took pleasure in tormenting me everyday. She repeatedly asked if my vision was obscured by "those slit eyes of yours", usually during lunch hour, when the area was teeming with people. Many kids would chuckle at the joke, and I would blush and make a beeline for the nearest empty classroom.

The diet commenced when I was nearing the second month at San Angelo Academy. During the next health check, I was told to remain behind for a private consultation with the nurse. I gulped, fearing that I'd somehow contracted some sort of contagious virus and had to be suspended from school.

"I've rather bad news for you," the nurse began, tucking a strand of honey-coloured hair behind her ear. Here in LA, practically everyone was blonde, with bronzed skin and long limbs. My throat constricted. "what is it?" I asked anxiously.

The nurse looked solemn. She leafed through the record book. "According to this, you're eight pounds overweight."

Air rushed from my lungs as I let out a sigh of relief. "You mean that is it?"

The nurse's ice-blue eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Perhaps you don't recognize the severity of the issue," she said distinctly, as if speaking to a petulant child. "Here at San Angelo, you are not allowed to even exceed your specified weight group my an ounce."

Then it registered. I half-stood, "wait a second, there must be some mistake!" I wasn't exactly the skinniest girl in the grade, but as far as I was concerned, I wasn't a walking tub of lard either. I peered ath the book. "It says 110 pounds. That's alright, isn't it?"

The nurse's brows knitted. "I'm afraid not," she said shortly. "We use a different system as San Angelo Academy. Here we want slender, graceful performers, not hulking rhinoceros. If you want to be a star, we dedicate ourselves to making you look like you. You are from the drama department, aren't you?"

"Yes.."

"Then take it from me. If you are not five-feet-nine with a twenty-three-inch wasteline, you'll never make it out of Sunset Boulevard. This is show business, Julia. You don't get anywhere just by reciting a couple of lines in front of cameras. You have to look the part, too."

I blinked slowly. My mind was reeling. Her words had thrown a new light on things. I needed to be beautiful. I needed to be perfect. I would be cast out if I failed to meet that criteria. My palms felt clammy. If that was to happen, I would keel over and die. I would be a has-been, doomed to mediocrity.

"Thank you," I uttered. I snatched my belongings and fled from the room.

That night, I refused to touch dinner. I spent half the time examing my body critically in the mirror and the other half staring listlessly out of my bedroom window.

Miri Kim was the only other Asian at San Angelo. She was in the fitness programme as well. Miri was from the dance department and was in LA on a ballet scholarship. Born and raised in Hong Kong, she had a gentle, drawling accent that never failed to intrigue me. She had a melodious voice; it had a clear lilt to it, like the peals of a triangle.

We met in the courtyard, after a lecture by a dietician from San Diego. The doctor emphasized the importance of healthy eating (all meat had to be completely trimmed of fat and broiled in olive oil and nothing else) and proper exercise ("Balance is the key! You don't want toned legs and flabby arms, not a good combination.."). Before we were dismissed, the school nurse handed each of us a creased brown paper bag and explained that we had to consume a specially-prepared lunch daily until we met the ideal weight requirement.

Miri and I sat cross-legged on a low wall several yards away from the drama centre. We crinkled open our bags for the first time. Skim milk and a carton of plain yoghurt. Miri made a face.

"No way am I going to eat that," she declared, tossing the contents of her bag onto the ground. "Doesn't this place just sicken you? I was the best dancer in my school back in Hong Kong," she continued in a low, slightly wounded voice. "And here the teachers barely notice me."

I felt a rush of gratitude at Miri's words. I wasn't alone, after all. Hope rose in my heart like a diver surfacing from the depths. We swayed our legs rhythmically from side-to-side, both wishing that we had a dish of sushi, or deep-fried Chinese spring rolls instead.

'My Fair Lady' was the first combined-school musical of the term and I was desperate for a part. I wanted to show the Hollywood talent scouts what they were missing, what I had to offer. I devoted my heart and soul to memorising the script, cues and all, and rehearsing the songs with Miri (who had an impressive record collection) every afternoon. When the cast list was posted, I was sorely disappointed. Rachel Armstrong was to play Eliza Doolittle. I was named an usher.

Miri clucked her tongue symphathetically when I broke the news; it was like she'd known it all along. Undaunted, I marched into the teacher's lounge and demanded to see Mr Blackburn, the dean of the drama faculty. My impulsive behaviour startled me. But this was Hollywood. Slowly, but surely, I was morphing into someone else.

"You see, Ms.. er.. Julia," Mr Blackburn said, flashing me an apologetic grin. "You did a fine job at the audition, we both know you did." He spread his palms on the mahogany desktop. "But as much as we would love to be theatrically experimental, we can't afford to lose the play's autheticity. You are not..." He appeared to be struggling for the appropriate words ".. blonde."

I thought of Rachel Armstrong and her auburn curls. "Thank you very much" I managed to stammer. I dropped a sloppy curtsey and retreated from the office.

That night, I had an apple and a glass of water for dinner. I had already down four pounds.

"I'm thinking of leaving," Miri told me matter-of-factly. We were perched on the low wall again, leaving our lunches untouched as usual. I was well within my approved weight range, but I wasn't about to take any chances. I'd stopped eating dinner altogether. My mother was visibly distraught at my sudden health obsession. Breakfast was usually a slice of fruit or a granola bar. Lunch was dressing-free salad and lemon juice. My stomach was becoming concave, my cheeks less puffy. I was filled with renewed triumph.

My eyes widened. I felt a twinge of panic. Without Miri, I would be in complete isolation once more. I needed her company. "B.. but.. you can't" I sputtered feebly.

"I have thought about it," she said pensively. "I can't stay, Julia. This place..," - she swept her hand to indicate the school grounds - "the people, it's all too overwelming. It's just stifling, you know? They are all clones, identical models of the same perfect, six-foot blue-eued creature. I can't do it. I never will be able to. I'll reimburse the bond. I'll dance till I'm fifty if I have to. Just not here."

I bit my lip. Her statements sounded eerily familar. A part of me was tempted to agree. But the other half was drifting lazily over Hollywood Hills, in Mann's Chinese Theatre, in the footprints of the stars.

We sat in silence. The faint wisps of a violin sonata weaved through the air. We coked our ears and listened.

Finally, I spoke. "Why don't they like us?"

Miri shrugged. WE both surveyed each other. Our skins were like the underside of fishes, pale cream against a mass of tanned bodies, two raven-coloured heads amidst a sea of gold.

Two days later, Miri was gone. I waited patiently at our usual spot at the low wall at lunch every single day for a week, assuming that she was held up at ballet practice or musical rehearsal. It was not until I caught sight of her bare gym locker did it dawn on me that she had returned to Hong Kong and washed her hands off Hollywood forever.

Miri's departure was my fuel. I was determined not to follow in her satin-toed footsteps and shatter into worthless, unwanted shards. I was going to make it as an actress in Hollywood and I was not about to let trival matters such as my weight obscure my my aspiration.

The pharmacy in Los Feliz was nearly deserted when I slunk in on a Saturday morning. A creaking rotary fan sat near the counter, where the dozing sales clerk huddled. I swallowed hard and pretended to wander innocuously down the aisles. Hair care. Bath supplies. Magazine racks. I reached down and ran my finger lightly over one of the glossy pages. Rows and rows of covers, an entire gallery of stars, enough to drive one insane with longing.

I paused in front of the 'Health and Fitness' shelf and scanned its selections. I'd spent dinner time drinking in the perfumed contents of Vogue, Cosmopolitan and Bazaar, leafing through them repeatedly as though they were paged miracles. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my jacket and fingered the soft, almost down-like dollar bills I'd stashed there. My gaze darted to the palm-size bottle of laxatives, then at the drowsy cashier. I knew exactly what I had to do.

I strode purposefully towards the clerk and slid a Snickers bar across the countertop. I set two folded bills next to the chocolate and cleared my throat expectantly.

The cashier looked at me through heavy-lidded eyes. She snapped her gum loudly. The pale green film clung wetly to her chapped lips. "That's all?"

I nodded mutely as she processed my sale. I accepted the candy, together with two quarters in change, and barrelled out of the drug store. My heart was hammering my chest. I felt exhilarated, like how I imagined eagles were before taking flight.

The snickers bar let out a sickening cruch under the heel of my left sneaker, its caramel-peanut butter innards seeping into the blacktop from under my sole. The laxatives rattled quietly in the waistband of my jeans.

"Thank you, come again," the cashier called out tonelessly after me. I ignored her and quickened my pace.

I stopped consuming dairy products first. Once, I sent a china plate crashing against the dining room wall because my mother attempted to make me eat a hard-boiled egg. During trips to the grocer's, I would watch my mother's every move obsessively, examing every can or package closely before setting it into the cart. I scanned nutrition labels compulsively, keeping track of every calorie, every ounce of fat. Soon, I rejected even fruit and vegetables. The sweet scent of apples and tomatoes sent waves of nausea snaking through my body.

My mother was convinced it was a psychological problem. My father insisted it was just an adolescent phase I was going through, but did not protest when she hauled me to a private clinic in downtown LA for a consultation. Dr Werner spent the entire appointment peering at me over the rim of her tortoise-shell glasses, throwing me occasional concerned glances. She moved stethoscope around my spine, over my now-prominent ribs, murmuring inaudibly to herself. She asked me ceaseless questions about my life, San Angelo, my diet. I was made to draw pictures of my family, decipher abstract drawings, and formulate stories about inkblots. Realization hit me like a ton of bricks while I was constructing airplanes from sheets of neon paper. They were treating me as though I was a delusional lunatic. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

I answered Dr Werner as thoroughly as I could. I gushed about the Californian weather, San Angelo, and let dozens of faceless names tumble from my lips. "Oh, I have tons of friends, all right." My voice reverberated in the chambers of my brain. "Rachel, Cammie, Lynn, Joanna, Melissa.." These were some of the most popular girls at school, and to put it mildly, they had never given me the time of the day. Well, with the exception of Rachel Armstrong, my biggest destractor and nemesis. "We have lunch everyday at the low brick wall next to the drama centre. We are inseparable."

"I don't know what I'll do without my parents, " I went on, punctuating my statement with a blissful sigh. "They've been invaluable pillars of support to me. I adore the times when we would just sit down and have meaningful conversations, like a real close-knit family..."

Dr Werner nodded sympathetically at my words, absorbing my pretence like a sponge. I spoke carefully and deliberately, examining her hair, skin, nails at the same time. She had delicate cheekbones, and was fairly tanned. But her shade of mauve lipstick seemed out of place, and there were hints of grey in her chocolate-brown hair. And her ghastly posture would send Mrs Whittmer screaming into the night.

I noticed an intricate gold wedding band on Dr Werner's ring finger. The piece of jewellery glittered in the harsh lighting of the office and I blinked rapidly. All of a sudden, everything seemed unreal, like swirls of Technicolour. A fog was beginning to bloom in my mind. "May I leave now, please?"

During our next meeting, Dr Werner voiced her suspicions that I had an eating disorder known as anorexia. I twirled a finger around a fat lock of my dark hair as she spoke. Her announcement was lost on me. Next to me,my mother clapped a hand over her mouth at the news, looking stricken. I rolled my eyes upward and toyed with the cuffs of my jacket.

"Julia, are you listening?" Dr Werner prodded.

"Yes," I muttered. I stifled a yawn.

Later, Dr Werner placed a platter of spaghetti in front of me, together with a tall glass of juice. I wasn't allow to leave the clinic until I'd cleaned the entire plate. The spicy intoxicating aroma of tomato and meatballs hit me squarely in the face, and for a split second I thought I was going to vomit.

I grasped the fork with trembling hands and began shovelling the noodles dutifully into my mouth. My mother was relieved and gratified. The meat tasted raw and flavourless, like sawdust. I swallowed the pieces whole, not willing to chew.

I beamed painfully at Dr Werner as we left the office, but my innards were churning. I felt soiled and contaminated, having consumed such a substantial amount of fat and carbohydrates. I could feel the impure contents surging through my viens. My meal was rising steadily up my gullet. I shuddered and bolted into the nearest bathroom, plunging two finger down my throat as I fell to my knees next to the toilet, convulsing uncontrollably.

The next musical was 'The King and I', with Rachel Armstrong as Anna, of course. I'd auditioned for the part of the eldest royal daughter, feeling apprehensive and optimistic at the same time. The character was a Thai princess, and I was Asian, after all. But Caroline Bennett was awarded it, instead. Shattered, I blamed the setback on my weight. The tae-bo, the laxatives, and the late-night heaving were apparently not enough. I added daily workouts to my regime, long jogs around the neighbourhood where I would pause occasionally to stare hungrily into the warm, lit villas of strangers, and wonder if an actress or casting director was lounging in the glistening pool, or on the manicured lawn. I like to believe I was just like them; I had the backyard jacuzzi and the flat-screen television. But deep down I knew that I was worlds away from their chauffeur-driven limos and home spas, because I was an unknown, a visitor, here one day and then gone the next existence. Nobody knew my name.

Caroline Bennett had blonde hair.

One Sunday, I leapt onto the weighing scale and watched anxiously as the luminous numbers flashed their verdict. By then, my arms resembled bamboo stems and purple veins criss-crossed my thighs like meandering rivers on a world atlas. I glanced at the reading and my jaw dropped. I was four pounds heavier than I'd been the week before.

I reflexively grabbed my toothbrush and lowered my head over the sink. The pink narrow strip of plastic felt cool against my gums. I thrust it frantically down my throat. I had to get rid of my body of these toxins. I was convinced I was contaminated.

The familar watering of my eys, the subsequent retching. I nearly wept with relief. Bitter yellow fluid splattered against the teal marble. The revolting taste caused me to gag and on it went, until I was satisfied with my newly-achieved purity.

My mother carted me to Dr Werner's once again. According to the psychiatrist, my weight gain was due to constipation; my bowels were not functioning normally. Once again, ?I was deaf to her advice. I raced out of the clinic before she could give me my prescription. I stumbled onto the sun-warmed street, panting, My mother did not hurry after me. She had abandoned all hope on this teenage stranger, this daughter, the one she had and loved before we moved to California. She knew I would be home before she was; she knew I had nowhere to go.

"Caroline had to drop out of the musical due to a family tragedy," Mr Blackburn looked sombre. His charcoal-grey blazer was wrinked around the breast pocket, and there were smudges of black ink on his fingers. Blue-lined notes papered his desk. "And her understudy, Heather, has the German measles. I don't suppose you'd like the role of Princess Saovabha?"

Euphoria bubbled in the pit of my stomach. "Excuse me?"

"Tuesday after school. Three o'clock sharp." His attention had already turned to some documents in an orange file folder. His gaze was directed at a region next to my left elbow. "Please be punctual."

The monotonous rapping of the wall clock behind us brought me back to my senses. I scarcely believed my ears. "Y-you mean... "

He smiled thinly before returning to his paper work. "That'd be all"

Bulimia stripped me down to mere skin and bones. I had shed thirty pounds since the start of the semester. I was two inches taller, but the additional height was no consolation to Dr Werner. Twice, I passed out in class. Needless to say, this sparked off a new round of jeering, tauting and ridicule from my schoolmates. I would encounter long, inexplicable lapses in my memory, large hollow shells where yesterday or last weekend should have been. Bruises, the size and colour of eggplants, dotted my twig-like calves. Still, I would purchase family-size bags of Snicker miniatures, binge and purge them an hour later. It felt satisfying, knowing that I'd successfully cleansed my body of junk food. There was a definite tingle of success, as if I'd accomplished an amazing feat.

Opening night was in a month. The rumours flitted through the hallways of San Angelo like a herd of hummingbirds - two off-Broadway producers were in LA to recruit several teenagers for their latest production, and they would be attending the school play to identify potential candidates. I had no doubt that my name and photograph - jet-black hair, single eyelids, and all-would be down on their next cast list.

"You. Julia," Mr Blackburn said curtly, rapping me smartly on the shoulder with his clipboard. He was dressed elaborately for the occasion, with a crisp white shirt, gleaming leather boots and navy-blue silk tie. "We are on in five minutes."

I nodded, trying to suppress my mounting sense of excitement and anxiety. Lucy, the costume manager, was hastily pinning the stray folds of my dress into my collar, sleeve and hem. The green velvet gown was slightly oversized due to my recent laxative diet.

"Places!" Mr Blackburn bellowed, addressing the entire cast this time. There was a frenzied clatter of heels as the group thundered towards the wings. Lucy slid the last pieve of fabric in place and nodded. I fell in step beside Rachel, my heart pounding with anticipation.

The stage curtains rose majestically, and the audience applauded wildly. I gasped as a dizzying sweep overcame me. Everything seemed to garish, the way it had been in Dr Werner's office. A hurricane of images hurtled through my mind. Dazzling lab coat. The sputter of liquid in the syringe as the needle bit into my skin. Pink notebook on an aircraft heading west. Orange California sun on the cream-coloured walls of an apartment.

My feet seemed immobile. Rachel flounced onstage with the others trailing behind her. "Wait.." I cried hoarsely, but the heavy dust-caked curtains swallowed my imploration.

I glanced around desperately. The area was deserted. Splinters made excruciating burns in my stomach, and my palms were moist with disorientation.

It came, chilling me to the bone. I froze like an ice sculpture, my hair matted with perspiration.

My cue sounded once more. Gritting my teeth, I lurched onstage. The audience was invisible; we were facing a wall of perennial black. The stage lights hovered like a set of orbs - yellow, blue, white. The colours swarmed together until they became the blur of a spectacular sunset. I could feel the world's eyes on me, waiting with bated breathe.

I had an opening line, but it escaped my consciousness like air rushing from a tyre. I did not remember my name, not my purpose in teh universe. All I knew was that in a mere second, I was feather-light and wind gusted beneath my beaded toe shoes as I crumbled. Startled yells, then nothing at all as I let myself be released and the fround rushed up to meet me.

The coma lasted for three weeks. When I finally came to, Dr Werner delivered the truth in an even, neutral tone. Anorexia had caused several major damages to my nervous system. I would never regain full usage of my left arm again. Also, she went on to inform me, there was a likelihood that I would have to undergo physical therapy for the rest of my life. She looked me straight in the eye as she spoke, her gaze meeting my horrified one steadily and unblinkingly, as though she wasn't afraid.

I was expelled from the academy. A livid Mr Blackburn had bombarded my parents with accusatory phone calls and letters, stating that I was the sole reason behind the disastrous outcome of the musical. Most of the guests, including the off-Broadway team, were made to leave after the arrival of the ambulance. He even threatened to press charges and refer the case to court.

Later, I discovered that the two producers had returned several days later and conducted individual interviews and auditions with the other students. A group of four were jetted off the New York City to participate in their next production. One of the chosen few was Rachel Armstrong. The play was an embarrassing failure, but Rachel took her flight to mega-stardom as one of the youngest girls to be signed on by a major actors' agency.

I remained at St Magdalene's Hospital in California. Under strict orders from my psychiatrists and parents, all mirrors - including the compact on the night table that elderly patients used for removing dentures were to be cleared from the toom. I did not protest. I knew for certain what lurked on the other side of the silver pane- a has-been.

After my evening counselling sessions, I would pull a wicker stool from the corner of the ward and survey the scenes of Hollywood, California, The hills were not as prominent as the view I had from my bedroom, but the sparkling white alphabets were unmistakeable. I inhaled them in, bordering on fascinated admiration and warped revulsion.

I though of my mother, pictured her in the kitchen back home with the stir-fry wok and a dish of marinated pork slices. Though five-and-a-half miles apart, our thoughts were rattling down identical tracks. I had my wish. I'd travel to Hollywood to join the stars and now, it seemed like my very desires had been fulfilled. I was a shooting star - I had fallen.

here are some interesting pics i came across while surfing the net...

his parents hated him


Patriotic pads


erm...

lol

here are some pics of a pretty lady.. but there's more about her




even endorsing a bra advertisement


well
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when she's young she's..



yeah, she is a korean transexual. I'm featuring her in my entry cos I think she's really brave. Korea, being a conservative country, she actually dared to confess that she's a transexual. Well, most accepted her, while some still find her really gross. She makes the female sex green with jealousy. pretty face. great body. successful implants. what more can you ask? Even undergarment company wants a share of her. She even broke into the Chinese industry, appearing in quite a few taiwanese variety shows. Btw, her name's HARISU. a hottie you can't miss (:

I had my history symposium today. nah, i was just the audience, sniggering at the participants (ok, that's mean.. commenting) The two questions directed were "if Singapore-Malaya merger was successful, how would that impact Lee Kuan Yew/PAP" and "if Lenin had not died (so early), how would that impact WW2"

Regarding the 1st question, my alma mata, MGS, did quite a good job, though the speakers weren't very fluent. They were expecting LKY to be arrested yet PAP would then be in the hands of Toh Chin Chye. But these made us, audience, ponder. Hence Jowell, went forward and threw a question, "if the arrest of LKY was made legal, wouldn't the tunku of Malaya try to destroy PAP instead of letting it strive in Singapore?" I think they didn't anticipate this question, so they answered, but wasn't relevant to the question.

Next was the 2nd question of which ACSI and Nanhua gave their hypothesis. Nanhua presentation, sorry, was quite boring. Too wordy and I couldn't understand what are they driving at. But I'm impressed by the way they stayed by their stand when SCGS girls threw them questions. Nanhua people were the right ones, while SCGS just didn't get their facts right. SCGS was asking "why did USA need to drop two bombs to scare USSR?" In fact, it was true that USA had two intentions when dropping the A-bomb. Of course, the main reason was to destroy Japan so that Japan would surrender unconditionally. Next, was the hidden reason.. a reason that was not exposed by the Americans, but the historians.. that was to demostrate USA's military might-- to show USSR that without the help of the Soviets, USA can destroy Japan. In one of the war conferences (Yalta i think), Truman (US then president) declared that they had a "very powerful new weapon" in front of the Soviets. At that time, Soviets were still part of the Grand Alliance, yet they were clueless about it, showing the mistrust both had. Besides, in one of the conferences, it had been agreed that USSR and USA would invade Japan TOGETHER, yet USA defied the agreement and dropped the bomb.

Yeah, so basically, SCGS didn't get their facts right, yet trying to debate with the poor Nanhua kids, who were the right parties. Eventually, after the presentations were over, my friends and I went over to the SCGS people to correct them. We weren't being smart alecs, just telling them that Nanhua people were right, cos they were sounding like sour grapes to us when they were asking those questions (they didn't get into the finals)

YEAH, So much for the symposium.

I was talking to my cousin who's studying overseas not too long ago, and she was telling me about how her friends (citizens of singapore's neighbours) there are still very traditional. These two girls are in her class. They are both muggerish and super smart
"1 of them admit to me today that when she was doing her A levels, her ambition is to be a housewife!"
"and the other gal, her fam is really traditional as well...and she does most of the washing and cooking at home"
"& they think that its a tragedy if 10 yrs down the road, they're a high powered career woman but unmarried"
"they have no ambition or watsoever.. except to be a great wife"
"despite having so much education and mugging so hard in uni"

My cousin was puzzled, so am I. So, what's the point of studying so hard, getting a good degree, an honours even, when you can just hang it at some small corner of the house while you are busying entertaining your hubby. Ok, maybe i'm exaggerating a bit, but i think that's the case for most indo girls. In Singapore, guess the better way to call these housewifes are "taitai". these taitais are educated and rich, who carry louis vitton bags, wear dior perfume. Actually, come to think about it, I don't mind being one. You can hang out at some high-class cafe having high tea, shopping in Paragon or Takashiyama whenever the new season of clothes arrive, cruising around the island in a mercs or BMW, fetching your kids from place to place, playing mahjong whenever you feel like it, pampering yourself with facials and spa weekly. Great life. But meaningful?

COEUR D'ALENE, Idaho - A teenager has agreed to admit to three counts of disturbing the peace after anonymously sending semen-frosted brownies to a fellow student. The recipient shared the treat with two other teens, police said.

They said the 17-year-old Coeur d'Alene High School student was upset after a prank in which the other student put peanut butter in his cheese sandwich days before. He told a school resource officer that "he hated peanut butter and it made him more mad than he could explain," according to the police report.

The teen later told School Resource Officer Jeff Walther that he got the idea of putting his semen on the brownies from the movie "National Lampoon's Van Wilder," in which characters send pastries filled with dog semen to a fraternity house.

The student was arrested and booked into a juvenile detention center. He has since been released on a judge's order that he has no contact with the students who ate the brownies.
The youth is to be sentenced on April 4 on the three misdemeanor counts, which are each punishable by up to 90 days in detention, prosecutors said.

The victims' parents were notified and the children were tested for anything that could have been transmitted through the body fluid, although Panhandle Health spokeswoman Susan Cuff said the chance of the students' health being affected would be "extremely remote."

School Superintendent Harry Amend declined comment on any school discipline against the teenager.

credits: yahoo news

FREAKY disgusting!!! Such pranks teens played these days. This article reminded me of an article reported some time ago.
This article was about the different pranks that are "cool" and "in" to play in school. A parent wrote into the forums saying that this prestigious college was playing a game called "taupok". When someone shouts "taupok" pointing at this boy X, 10 over people will run forward and crush the boy.
What a stupid game to play in orientation. I don't see the fun in it.
This complaint in the forums lead to a reporter writing an article about the other games played. Such include a "no father's day" birthday prank. The guys will ram this birthday boy, with his legs open, against the rugby pole. Yes, ouch! ouch! ouch!!!
Then there were the "dirtier" games that international school kids take fancy in. Something like the prank the boy in the news played. In a chalet, these guys, about 10 of them, will take turns to masturbate on this large cookie. Any guy failing to do so has to eat that semen-filled cookie. The thought of it just brings disgust to my face.

I got to admit my college doesn't play such stupid games. In orientation, we played with starch, flour, paint, mud, etc. We merely got ourselves dirty, but these can be washed away. But i heard of some gross canteen pranks that we play. Once, this guy dared another guy to scrap bird shit off a table and eat it. The worst part is that guy actually did it. I'm not sure what was the bet on, but I don't think it was even worth it. Another incident was I saw this bunch of j2s playing with ice-cream. They bought a cone each, flip it upside down, holding them above their heads. The first guy who got ice-cream dripped on gets something. My friends and I were laughing hysterically at how foolish these guys were. Too free kids.

neutralize the effects of my previous post. (:

Who says only valuable jewelries can become heirlooms?

My daughter showed me a copy of a letter written by her friend's Dad on her 13th birthday. A few months after he wrote it, he died of a heart attack.

Today, this letter is regarded as a family heirloom, shared not just with the immediate members of the family, but shown proudly to relatives and friends alike.

I felt the message in this beautiful letter should be shared with as many peopleas possible. So I asked my daughter if her friend -- the letter's addressee --would allow me to reprint it in BusinessWorld.

She said there shouldn't be a problem, except that a note should probably precede the letter asking the readers to share this with their young married children. Hah!, a not-so-subtle inference that BusinessWorld readers are not exactly "young parents" anymore.

So, dear readers, do share this letter with your young married children.They will certainly find this letter -- as I did -- a very insightful treatise on how brats are created.

Daughter Dearest
Happy 13th Birthday!

When you came to this world 13 years ago, you brought your Mom and I alot of joy! We've always wanted a daughter and God in His wisdom gifted us withyou.

This is not to cast any aspersions at your four older brothers; theyare also a great blessing and we love them very much, but boys are boys, and I look forward to the day when I am old and gray to have you by my side. I can't see this happening with your brothers; you know what I mean, as we have talked about this at the dining-room table many a time.

You have also heard me say that we are gifted with a lot of material wealth. That's something we should be very grateful to the Lord about, but we should be aware that this has been loaned to us, as you too are loaned to us by God and that we will be asked to give a full accounting when our day ofreckoning comes.

The reason for this letter is to warn you about one big, big danger you and your brothers may face in the next few years. I have seen it happen in other families. I don't want to see it happen here.

I am referring to having you guys grow up as brats!

Brat-manship' is the process one has to go through to become a brat!

Unfortunately, it is an ailment imposed by parents! They are the creators of the brats!

In their desire to try to save their children from the difficulties they have been through, they do whatever possible to shield them from this. Little do they realize, that it is precisely these difficulties that have made them successful. Their love for their children may make them overprotective. They may even prevent them from taking public transportation. They come up with all sorts of rationalizations, going by public transportation is not safe, the buses are too crowded, the fumes on the road are bad for ones health, and so on!

They mean well, but in the process, they deprive their children of what it really means to live in a city like Manila which is comprised of two strata of society -- the 'haves' and the 'have-nots!' And sad to say some of 'the haves' live in their little world. Unaware of that sampaguita vendor, drenched in the rain, so that her siblings may get a least one meal that day.

The other day, I was with an elderly wise gentleman, we are at the Polo Club waiting for his car. There was a girl, about your age. She, too,was waiting for her car. When her vehicle got there, she jumped into the front seat ,and as she did, tossed her beautiful pair of riding boots into the back seat. Shethen asked the driver if her Mom was home. 'Wala po! Nagma-mah jong (She'snot home. > She's playing mah jong),' came the reply! The car drove off.

My friend turned to me and said, 'There is an example of the underprivileged rich.' Then he followed with, 'They have everything and they have nothing.'

This incident, short as it was, left me with a deep impression. I guess this is why I am writing this letter.

Your Mom and I have tried to raise you kids to realize that our country is made up of the very rich and those who may not even have enough to have one decent meal a day. I hope you never lose sight of this. This is why we have taken it upon ourselves to adopt a squatter family during Christmas and share with them some of some things to make their Christmas more meaningful. In the process, we hopethat you and your brothers will appreciate the conditions we live in . In the process, I hope that you always have compassion for these lesser fortunate.

So that next time you see that sampaguita vendor knocking at our car window drenched in rain you do not get annoyed, but instead pull out your wallet and share with her in a small way your allowance.

You will notice your brothers take public transportation to go to UP.It's not that we can't afford another car; we can't afford for them to grow up thinking that its part of their 'birth right' to be in the ruling class.

This is why we insisted that you do your bed in the morning, and to pick up your own toys and clothes, rather than have a yaya trailing you.

And I could go on and on. As you are apt to say, 'You catch my drift!'

When you feel you are not getting enough money in your allowance, or get new shoes like your friends always had or the latest fad of Guess jeans,take this letter out and reread what I have written.

We love you far too much to create a brat!

Your Loving Father

I love this story. The father was so wise. This is really touching. Hmm, he taught his children well, and I believe these kids would grow up to be people with integrity and love. Paris and Nicole should read this.. oh wait, they can read? *lol*

no offence to guys when you read it. i just happened to come across it and find it interesting

1. Tests have shown that women rate 3% higher in general intelligence than men, though their brain size is smaller.

2. Women are walking radar detectors, that is why men have difficulty lying to women. Their brains have the ability to integrate and decipher verbal, visual and other signals of body language.Hence,women will always be safe when faking an orgasm.

3. Women wants lots of sex with the man she loves. Men just want lots of sex.

4. When men flirt, they will lower their pitch of voice. Women will raise theirs.

5. Women talk and think aloud while men do them silently. As a result, men think women talk too much and are nags.

6. Women talk about their problems as a way of relieving stress. She wants to be heard, not fixed by being offered advice and solutions.

7. Speech and words are not a specific brain skill for men. They find it hard to express themselves. That's why they often choose greeting cards with plenty of words inside. That way, there's less space for them to write.

8. Women leave men, not because they are unhappy with what he can provide, but because they are emotionally unfulfilled.

9. Women uses an average of 20,000 communication words, sounds,and gestures a day. Men only use about 7,000.10. So if a woman is talking to you a lot, she likes you. But if she's not talking, you're in trouble.

11. Men are more thick-skin than women. Literally. Which explains why women have more wrinkles than men. Boys loses their sensitivity to touch by the time they reach puberty. So where does all that sensitivity go? It all goes to just one area.

12. If a woman is unhappy in her relationship, she can't concentrate on her work. If a man is unhappy at work, he can't focus on his relationship.

13. Men can only do one thing at a time. When they stop their car to read a street directory, they have to turn down the radio.Women's brain are configured for multi-tasking performance. They can talk on the phone, watch the TV and cook at the same time.

14. Most men get a brain haemorrhage after 20 minutes of clothes shopping.

15. When it comes to sex, women need a reason; men need a place.

16. Most women prefer sex with the lights off - they can't bear to see a man enjoying himself. Men likes the lights on - so they can get the woman's name right.

17. Every actress in the history of movies has had to do a nude scene. This is because a man has produced every movie in the history of movies. Men will only show their asses, because ###### size doesn't really matter.

18. A man has six items in his bathroom-a toothbrush, shaving cream, razor, a bar of Dial soap, and a towel from the Holiday Inn. The average number of items in the typical woman's bathroom is 437. A man would not be able to identify most of these items.

19. Men's magazines often feature pictures of naked women. Women's magazines often feature pictures of naked women. This is because the female body is a beautiful work of art, while the male body is lumpy and hairy and should not be seen by the light of day. Men are turned on at the sight of a naked woman's body. Most naked men elicit laughter from women.

20. When a relationship ends, a woman will cry and pour her heart out to her girlfriends, and she will write a poem titled "All Men Are Evil". Then she will get on with her life. A man has a little more trouble letting go. Six months after the break-up, at 3:00 a.m. on a Saturday night, he will call and say, "I just wanted to let you know you ruined my life, and I'll never forgive you, and I hate you, and you're a total floozy. But I want you to know that there's always a chance for us." This is known as the "I Hate You I Love You" drunken phone call, and 99% of all men have made it at least once. There are community colleges that offer courses to help men get over this need.

21. Men's magazines often feature pictures of naked women. Women's magazines often feature pictures of naked women. This is because the female body is a beautiful work of art, while the male body is lumpy and hairy and should not be seen by the light of day. Men are turned on at the sight of a naked woman's body. Most naked men elicit laughter from women.

Truly men are from mars, women are from venus.

I came across this site on the net. I'd call it "adult babies" http://geocities.com/daria7483/sellingout.html
After glancing through her little intro about her, I kinda pity her. She seemed to lead a hard life, forever trying to hide her darkest secret from everyone. I think trials came when she got to expose them to her boyfriends and things turned out sour. So much for "accepting who you are" BS. (: Then i went on to read couple of chapters of her book. The content was weird. Just read it for yourself and you get what i mean.
But, i'm not sure if she was faking it cos she might just be talking about this fictional character in her story. The whole concept of diaper-loving is just so barfworthy. if the story is true, then i feel really sorry. If it's not, what an attention-seeker.

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