The End of the World… Again!

The End of the World…AGAIN!

I know this is a little late, but why do we KEEP falsely predicting the end of the world?

I believe it’s our fear and trepidation of ‘the unknown’. Because we do not know what to expect, whether we believe that God controls it or not, we fear it. That is why we as a planet have put so much money into our weapons and science. We want to research and uncover as much as possible so we can protect ourselves against any future dangers that may come from outer space or a disease epidemic.
Space travel and satellites are physical evidence of our curiousity and our desire for knowledge.
The end of the world is one of the biggest mysteries we have ever encountered, so to make up for this gaping abyss in our knowledge we try our best to predict thee answer, resulting in a whole load of false predictions and alarm for no reason.
The world will end… someday; but it will be unexpected and unforeseeable.

Food of the Gods…

Baking is something I’ve done since the age of 8. I never learnt how to make soup or simple, white rice, but instead I jumped straight on to the good stuff!

I’ve always loved the sheer delicacy of an evenly balanced combination of ingredients, the way a good cake melts in you mouth, but even better, the way a GREAT brownie lifts your every individual taste-bud up into a fudge-brownie heaven.

There’s absolutely nothing like the satisfaction of a delumptious, scrumplicious home-baked cake. The commercially bought cakes taste so normal and have a texture like dry powder, or else like they’ve been soaked in water to make them moist.

Since I started baking, there has never been a time I haven’t felt the amazement and wonder of a wonderful aromatic cake fresh out of the oven, the moist, spongy to the touch but heart-melting in the best sense, tofeeness of a golden brown steamed treacle pudding, the dark, chocolatey, fudgieness of triple chocolate brownies, the way the whole house glows with the smell of soft, chewy, mouth-watering goodness and you just want to bottle up the smell and make it last for ever and ever and ever.

It literally is: “Heaven on a plate.”

Baked goods are food of the Gods…

…lucky for us they felt like sharing 😛

Live in the Moment

Live in the moment. How many times have you heard someone say that to you or some stranger in a magazine/self-help book tell you it’s the best thing they’ve ever done for themselves?

We, as kids of this generation, have forgotten to just go outside and have fun. We’re always at home either delaying something that has to be done or waiting for something to happen. We tend to wait for everyone to be available to go ice skating or postpone our homework until the last minute so that when it’s time to really do something, you’re stuck at home trying to finish your homework while everyone else is out having fun. We don’t always have to have a planned activity to have a good time, often we can make our own fun, because when you’re with your friends or family the moment you start talking it doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, but rather, who you’re with. 

We need to live in the moment, stop and smell the roses, play with toddlers, talk to new people, ride a horse, watch a fireeater, dive into a pool of coloured, plastic balls, visit new places, capture fun visual memories on your camera, play dress up, laugh, get to know someone really deep inside and in turn open up your heart to someone you trust. Learn a new skill (cooking?) or try hula-hooping, fly a kite, have a family car wash day, spontaneously clean up the house, play in a park in pouring rain, make snow angels and snow men, play ice hockey, invent a wacky food combination, make someone a story in a series of pictures, sew some mini teddy bear clothes, call your best friend in the middle of the night and go for pizza.

Life can be anything you want, as long as you try to make it that way because nobody knows exactly what you want and who you are and so you need to express yourself and make every moment of your life worth remembering rather than making sure you don’t miss a single episode of CSI: Miami or Glee.

Imagine growing up and realising that your childhood only consisted of a couple of memorable moments struggling to keep afloat in the sea of endless cartoons and TV series that you can’t even remember now; a worthless bank of pure imagination. Instead, you’ll be left with just two or three ‘When we were young, we used to…’ stories that your grandchildren will be sick of hearing again and again, by the tender, young age of 7, or ‘Remember that time we…’ recounts that characterise all 25 year reunions.

We have the freedom and the facilities that people didn’t have a single generation ago, and it’s changed us…for the worse. Social networking sites are no replacements for actual interaction with people in the immediate vicinity. We refuse to make that extra effort for people we care about. What does that say about us?  Television has made us mindless and lazy zombies, gamers are addicted to video games and technology; and most of all the junk food that saps our energy leading to an inescapable cycle of obesity, cravings and lethargy.

 These are moments you will never get back; you will never be 16 again, never live this day again. Many times there are second chances, but for somethings it’s one and done. Finished. Khalas. Finito. C’est fini. Færdig. 終了.

Procrastinators Unite Tomorrow

Procrastination. The epidemic that students of this generation are born with, a tiny little word ( well, pretty long actually, it’s five syllables, but you get what I mean) with enormous consequences.

We, the students of today, are constantly given homework and assignments, all not due for atleast another 5 days. This liberty and time has paved way for a habitual delaying of our duties and homework, which in it’s own time, after constant repetition, produces an unalterable state of affairs.

I, personally, admit that I am a devoted patron of the Procrastinators United Society (ignore the fact that it’s antonym spells out ‘P.U.S.’ :P). I and a few fellow classmates (who I will keep unnamed, but they themsleves have the opportunity to reveal themselves in the comments below, should they wish to) are Procratination buddies.

We keep each other company, awake late into the night before the said assignment is due, running ideas back and forth, discussing all the possible answers and methods that can be applied in order to emerge victorious in the violent battle against bearings and cosine rules, or circumstantial application of a certain french verb in a specific context. All this through our never failing (though it sometimes does, at the worst moments) MSN or our trusty cordless phones (that die in the midst of ‘x is equal to 14.3 squared multiplied by the inversed 12 over 5’).

We’re our own little nation, and though we’re spread all over the world, we’re there hiding behind the smartest of the smart and the Queen of the stupid-though-not-really-but-only-seems-like-it. It may not be the best of qualities, and if you can change for the better, I urgently urge you to do so, but if not, we can only do the best we can with the least of our abilities.

And  remember, “Procrastinators Unite TOMORROW!”

So yeah…

My special place

This room knew me better than any parent, friend or relative. It had seen me in the extremes of my emotions from melancholic or at the precipice of depression to the epitome of insanity and joy, and every nuance of feeling and emotion in between. The wood walls, made smooth by the hands of time, heard every whisper of sorrow and exuberant whoop that told a story of ups and downs in my life, of the highest hills and the deepest, dreariest valleys; of a timeless tale, marked for future generations, to encourage their conquests and convey stories of wisdom founded by my trial and error. The smell of warm, soft musk emanated ubiquitously from the very soul of the room, wrapping its occupants in a warm clinging cloak of security and serenity. The dusty window on the far side of the secret room provided a very muted sunshine, with soft, glittering light making the room glow with a magical aura. A place away from the fake, plastic world; the concrete jungle that traps you like prisoners in its shallow, superficial, artificial pursuits. This room was mine alone, and I shared it with no one. It was my secret place behind the small, narrow, camouflaged door behind the double doors of my closet.

Message in a bottle…

The unending length of sand, as white and unchanging as a blank canvas, stretched out before me, in a constant battle, warring with the waves for a satisfactory border. The constant lapping and incessant squawking of the gulls added to the dull, repetitive, monotony of the days that were, the days that are and the days to come. My endurance had petered out and despair set in, the debilitating hopelessness of the situation all but consumed me. As the ocean clung to the vast expanse of blue on the horizon, static, never changing, I prayed for a way out of this kaleidoscopic nightmare in one last burst of desperation.

 I started off on this trip, hoping for a break from the dreary day-to-day life, the computer’s ceaseless glare, instead I end up here, in this more-so dismal walk of life. The voyage started off well, luring you into a false sense of security, but then, without you really noticing, little things changed, like the build-up to the climax of a storm, which was exactly what happened, a storm. As we struggled to head to the life boats, the ship capsized into the ocean, pulling the unfortunate victims into its briny depths. Somehow I was lucky, but I wonder if I was really lucky or did fate bestow upon me an infinitely worse fortune.

Now my lonely days are spent scouring the shores for useful junk that may wash up from who-knows-where. As I was walking along the shore, staring out in the distance, a sudden sharp bullet of pain shot up from my left foot. There, buried under the sand I saw a greenish, glass bottle, it was the first interesting thing I’d seen in a long while. I scratched away at the surrounding ground thinking that maybe it could be useful. I picked it up, and as I peered inside, I got the shock of my life!

Within the confines of that average bottle was the largest, most beautiful, diamond solitaire, untouched by its inconceivably long ocean voyage. Along with it was a note, one that said,

“To whoever may find this message, I give you this ring, as I no longer have any use for it. I have wed three times, and was never granted a happy ending. Do with it what you will. Signed and sealed, hopefully bringing you better luck, Jamie Gilligan.”

 Short and sweet. I re-read it several times before it consciously sunk into my brain. Here, this guy has truly given up trying to communicate with people or build a relationship with another in a social environment, whereas I struggle to keep sane in the wilds of an uninhabited island, verging on delusional from lack of social interaction. The bitter irony of the situation.

Sleep. Books. Vampires.

Sometimes I feel like a vampire. I hate waking up in the mornings, I’m allergic to the sun (literally, but mildly), and if I could, I’d stay awake all night. Reading, finishing up homework, toying with the idea of yet another blog make-over, or simply listening to music. Too bad I have to wake up early.

In some previous life, I was, undeniably, a creature of the night, prowling the dark streets, captivated by views the sleeping would never behold. A member of a different world.

Yet I detest the deluge of vampire stories weighing down the book shelves of Borders, Magrudy’s and Kinokuniya. stacks upon stacks and rows upon rows of books that would never leave the false warmth of a temporary home. Unnecessary, and surely undesired, products of ‘unimagination’, of conformity.

Vampire Diaries.

Vampire Academy

House of Night

Vampire Chronicles

..and, no, I didn’t forget…’Twilight’

There’s no originality, no variety, but most of all no longing to spend as long as possible devouring every book in sight, because, in the end they are all the same. *sigh*

We’re losing our grasp on thousands of other worlds and giving way to one. A single genre, pathetically over-used and abominally exploited.

Potential Authors out there, I wish you good luck, but if you have something remotely ‘fanged’, ‘ pale-skinned’ and ‘nocturnal’ in mind, don’t even bother!

Confuddled melody.

Has anyone else ever noticed that “Twinkle Twinkle”, “Baa Baa Black Sheep” and “A, B, C, D” have the exact same tune?

“Twinkle, Twinkle,

Have you any wool?

H, I, J, K,

Three bags full.

Up above the world so high (pronounced: ‘hiyeee’),

W, X, Y and Zee”

Either there was no such thing as copyright, or it was stuck in the respective inventors’ heads for a very, very, very  long time! (Who knows, maybe it was a combination of the two :P)

It’s a mystery to me, but, on the other hand, as we grow old it’s probably a good thing to have all of them sung to the same tune. It’ll save us the trouble remebering different nursery rhyme melodies, as we sing them to sing to our grandchildren. 😛

“Why do people kill people who kill people to show other people that killing people is wrong?”

Why do people kill people who kill people to show other people that killing people is wrong?

You may have to read it several times before you can make sense of the question, but this problem it is a real and major issue in society today. The Death Penalty.

What I’m trying to say is:

Why do people (the government/prosecutors) kill people who kill people (murderers) to show other people (potential criminals/murderers) that killing people is wrong?

It a simple question (in a not so simple form :P) that has caused a massive controversy, especially in the United States. While several states have abolished the practice, others continue legalising this form of MURDER!

 I find it pretty stupid and largely hypocritical. I mean, come on!