Sweet are the ixoras

like candied rose petals dipped in egg white then dried with caster sugar.

In the end, the hug wasn’t even a real one after I complained and instead she offered to eat some of my fruit.

My little sister asked me for a hug after she went, “Ooh! Chupa-chups! s’thankies.”

Such is our relationship – I gave her the lollipop I got in school today for being an entertaining troll.

She says she doesn’t have homework today. Though, it’s not a Wednesday I’m inclined to believe her, since if not, she wouldn’t be bugging me with fruit.

She left the fruit bowl at the door, running off to her anime shows and stuff, I had to call out to ask.

Yesterday we cooked nasi lemak for dinner, I got an ikan bilis bone stuck in my throat and drank diluted fruit juice to wash it down.

Instead of eating pineapple I went to sleep.


They were going to arrive in 10 minutes.

Read from the bottom up.

I guess just wait till the end

If the flow doesn’t flow because it’s confusing doesn’t matter.

I’m confused too.

My question today is, would you compromise your morals and values for a friend?

The next is, what kind of friend would make you do that?

Another could be, how much would you compromise for a friend?

The most important is in the end, how important is that friendship to you..?

My answer is a lot of things because I think something I value is friendship.

The follow-up to that is, how much would I compromise before I decide that this person isn’t a friend?

Or what about, why do you need to compromise?

Why you?

Because no one else will do it..?

Is this moral obligation or yet another personal value, a hypocrisy of the grandest scale or a perfect alignment to a person’s subjective morals?

They made me question today the idea of having friends, the same way they remind me that physical contact is reassuring in that you remember you are real.

You exist, and sometimes that’s both a shocking and helplessness-inducing thought.

I edited only one ‘today’ to a ‘yesterday’, and, reading through homework and prior entries I wonder what I was really thinking about.

I can’t remember what put me in the mood to write a question like that, but since self-censorship affects the clarity of this thought, I’ll leave it.

Also, I read a piece (astuffedcarrot, Day 2) on how memories tend to be deceptive. It’s a thought that hasn’t quite forced itself to mind though it is a real thing.

So, for Wordsworth who rambles on and on about the scenery and nature and rivers, how much of it is his actual memory, how much is ‘the rest’ embellished description of what he thinks he experienced?

The more vivid the memory then more we’re supposed to believe that he has an extra connection to nature that few other people have.

But combined with his own portrayal of himself as chosen and special… I wonder.

Bamboo is a grass made to last,

They eat the shoots and hack at roots,

but bamboo just grows again.


Capped with plastic,

attempts to tame are drastic,

but they are in vain.


Bamboo – feel the smooth skin of the unyielding beam,

the pierce of the thin splinter in through your skin.


They ate the shoots, those didn’t last,

hacked at roots which went not fast,

cast much plastic that choked the grass.


Pity the bamboo didn’t split with a violent thrust,

to kill they which felled it – how unjust.



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