I'll try. (Keep me accountable)

I'm just gonna randomly type out things just for the sake of filling up the void which are overdue blog assignments.

Here's a reality check:
1. SPM examinations are in approximately 6 months
2. Trials are in 4
3. For the first time, in a school exam, I'm actually gonna get a grade lower than an A for English, due to the beloved English teacher's marking scheme which include blog assignments and written work-- of which I've failed to maintain...
4. The rest of my grades are still playing average to below average
5. I still suck at self-management
6. I still suck at time management
7. I'm still trying to get rid of porn addiction
8. I'm fighting myself
9. Still trying to set my priorities straight.
10. Trying to get myself to actually practice what I preach.


   Here are some things about myself: firstly, like we all are, I am lost. I don't know what the future holds. I'm still not sure of my ambition. Also, I tend to picture myself alone sometimes, with no friends; I mean, hey. People do come and go...right? Even my parents won't be around anymore to nag and lecture me, what more my brother and sister? I am on my own, even from here on, trying to figure myself out.

  I try to take my faith seriously; I am a Christian...but what the heck am I doing? I am no better than any other sinner out there (God forgive me). I kinda hate myself for this. If I am supposed to live in the light, why do I still hide in darkness? "Christians are hypocrites". Of course we all are because we are human like you! But I don't get it. I'm supposed to be different. I'm supposed to change. I am nothing more than just mere sinful flesh.

     I'll just try to start over again, I suppose...

I need to know the balance between silence and sound.
My mind is all over the place; I am like the sea being tossed and turned by the waves of the wind.
I talk too much; it shows how foolish I am.

Give me wisdom
Give me

peace.

I'll try again.
I'll just

try.

Ode to Love; and to Care. ©

Mother.
Her eyes, like sweet pearls
yet tired
her face, fair,
yet longing
her soul, beautiful
yet shaken and stirred.
Her love, keeps going
her love, presses forward
her love, is not sweet.

Her love shouts,
her love kills the spirit of joy
but at the same time resurrects 
the common sense in the meaning of
the word "priority"

"Life is not fun", she says.
"It is not all fun and games.
Out there is a war
you are not willing to fight
just because you have it all."

"Life", she says, "is not all daisies and roses.
Out there you have to struggle
with all your might
through the thorns of life,
the pangs of labour"

"Life is not your own", she says
"Out there when you find love
that's when you'll struggle.
You'll realise I was right
and you'll know what it's like to be
just like me.
I have to sacrifice everything I have for you
the life I have in these veins
the time that slips from my hands
the breath that I give away
my strength
my might
my will
just to give myself
for food on the table
for a roof over your head
for a car to go from point A to B
see, everything costs my hard-earned cash that I worked for you
to sustain you.
And you live like this;
you take me for granted!
You live carelessly thinking like everything else is all cared for, done and given to you
like you don't need to do anything
everything is provided for, but you see, dear darling.

Life is harsh
Life is cruel
Life is against what you thought life to be
Because when you go out to face life's true face
life feels more like death!
Everyday you feel like you've come to the end of yourself
but you know you gotta just press forward
because you have love.

And you just gotta work a little harder", she says.

Her love is like medicine
chemically fixing my physical ailments
helping me fight my own flesh.
It is not sweet,
as she scolds and weeps
and shouts and rants and rages

She literally tells me to not cut myself
whilst threatening to stab me
if I were to ever reach for the blade!

It is like

Father.
When he reaches his fist towards my face

"I want to punch you", he says
I wonder, is his love for me based on my grades
that he should be angry because I do not please him?

I remember my cousin
when he told me
"My father once said 'I hate you' to me, to my face"
and I felt it was something like that.

The way he, no, both my parents rage at my little brother
for losing his textbook
and when questioned
accusations pour forth
death threats rain down from the doom
which is my father's sky.

It reminded me of when I was little,
traumatised,
wanting to leave home,
disappointed,
because when I was seven
my mother was right:
it felt like the whole world were against me; 
including my parents.

I was a "liar"
but the irony
when poetic justice marches in victorious,
when the truth wins out
as I pressed forward.

But if Life were a hurricane
and Love, a pain
then I wouldn't wanna go through all that

But the truth is,
as always, the truth, it hurts
Life is against you
and so is Love
but Love, is special.

It is not for me but it is for you.
It isn't sweet sometimes but it is healthy.

Father has done well
Mother is still working
and both brother and sister
still naive
still ignorant
still...safe

and I, I'm getting ready to leave
searching for a love
I'll be struggling to receive
'cause, I'll be looking for the sweetness you didn't give me, Ma
but they won't hand it to me

like you have.

- Aaron J. Patrick
(overdue; 4/3/2017)

Creativity: A Story of Restoration.

             So it was on last Tuesday, on the 21st of February that the whole of Form 5 had an inter-class English drama competition in conjunction with Curicullum Week in school (we were separated into two categories: the previous day, the 20th being the first category which is the second half of the form, and the second day, 21st being the second category which is the first half of the form). The theme of the drama competition is called "Creative and Innovative", and our story, a bleak, dystopian world in the near future with no creativity under the dictatorship of a leader of a political corporation. This story of ours had come a long way (well, not exactly "long" long, but like, a few weeks old...), from the time we began script writing, to practicing, to shouting at each other, and finally, managing to perform well.

            From the people we had in our class, we knew we had good game. So, we salvaged whatever resources we could find; we chose directors, playwrites, wardrobe and props managers from amongst ourselves and formed a core team. We then took to ourselves the then soon-to-be story for our play, in order to form a script to act by. It wasn't easy. We had various ideas; from a robot and its maker, to a flower in the village tribe, and finally to a more realistic/futuristic society without creativity. We settled with the final idea and started producing the script, all thanks to our playwrite, Zhao Lyng. The script itself was not that all perfect, I mean, it was really good. Just that I had noticed a few typo errors here and there, a redundancy in terms (martial arts artist *smh*), and that it needed to be edited along the way during our practices as we noticed that we had a time limit for our act and that the script was all a tad bit too long-winded, due to unnecessary scenes and the narrator's long lines.

         We then chose for ourselves suitable candidates to be our players. The main characters are: Alexander Knight, our hero; the three powers of creativity: Tiffany Jean the Musician, Josephine Koo the Dancer, and Alan Tyler the Artist; the antagonists: Mr P. Salvatore the Dictator, Lana the Assistant, and the six henchmen.
We then discussed characters and traits that relate between the characters and classmates, and soon after, held an audition within the classroom during our English period. At last, we managed to settle the cast within two days and it was on to practice! We were rough around the edges; it took us what seemed like forever to get that one fight scene down! But after a while, we managed to nail it down and continue with the other scenes. It was during practice when we discovered we were dragging the time as we found out later on that we had a time limit of 12 minutes for the entire play! So it was here then, that we had to edit parts and pieces of the script to make it more concise and efficient for us throughout.

         Weeks after weeks and to of no avail was our play rehearsal able to be under the stated 12-minute time limit. It was the last week before the drama competition. In all desperation did we throw in and take out ideas, scenes, parts of the script and etcetera. Throughout most of the rehearsals, you could see us directors, Zhao Lyng especially, try our very best to direct the cast (in my honest opinion, I think I did the least "directing" work compared to Ryan and Zhao Lyng). When all didn't seem to go well, we sat down, took a good look at the script, and started reading the script aloud by ourselves to see how it would go, whilst measuring the time with a stopwatch. Guess what? It was perfect, but we didn't understand why we couldn't do it under the time limit. So we sat down. Ryan became anxious and then started to sing a hymn, hoping his prayer to God would work a miracle, and I sang along with him, being familiar with the chorus of the song; but Zhao Lyng scoffed at him, saying, "at this point even Jesus won't bother hearing you" or something along those lines. I know that for that statement, she would be proven wrong; a miracle was definitely bound to happen.

           It all came down to competition day, where we drew lots as to see who was first to present their play. I can't recall exactly in what order were the classes but I remember we got to be the last class to perform. After witnessing the other classes' plays, I must say, some of them were better than ours in certain aspects; 5 Cengal's fight scenes had put ours to shame! But we had nothing to worry about as we had already covered everything we had got from storyline to presentation and everything in between. The other classes' stories as presented are: the chief of a tribe seeking the longest and funniest story in the world, investigating a murder case, seeking vengeance for the loss of a loved one, and opening an ancient artifact. The other classes did a splendid job presenting their play. Finally, after a long wait, it was our turn. Before we began, time had been given for us to set up. Whilst other classes brought their laptops for sound effects and backing tracks, I brought my phone (and that was one of the biggest differences between us and the other classes. HAHA) as I was in charge of the sounds, and I began to test my phone; everything was just right (sort of). Ryan then called the cast together and had a small motivational talk with them. I, on the other hand, was busy checking this and that, hoping everything would go fine (I did go there for a while, but I didn't stay long with them and I don't remember what Ryan said to them).

         At long last, our show began. Everything was going well as planned. The scenes transitioned smoothly, and the actors played their characters and said their lines efficiently. Although there was a slight delay in the sound effects (*cough cough*), overall, it went pretty smooth, and guess what!? Our play went so well it was under 12 minutes and 49 seconds, which is so much better than our previous rehearsals! To cut the already-long story short, we did it; we won first place amongst the others due to our storyline being the best with the right message portrayed! Dhurka, who played Lana, got the "best actress" award too (and from what I heard, our main "bad" man, Kaveenesh aka Prakash, a longer name for Mr. P, was supposed to get "best actor" but the judges felt that it would be unfair to give everything to us, so they let the main actor of Cengal's play get "best actor" instead).

       Truly, our hard work definitely won this out for us. Should we have had any doubt, all we had to do was just have a little bit of faith and go according to plan. Truly, I say, it was a miracle for us indeed.

Thank you, 5 Angsana.
It was an honour working with you.

What a memorable day indeed.

Consequence ©

Pull the strings,
then release.
Feel the vibrations;
face the music.

Pull the trigger,
then release.
Feel the vibrations;
face the music.

Press the button,
then release.
Feel the vibrations;
face the music.

Press on in prayer,
then release.
Feel the vibrations;
face the music.

For with every move
there is vibration;
a sound that
makes music.

For with every action
comes consequence.
Pull the strings,
face the music.

- Aaron J. Patrick

Opinion.

In my opinion, my opinion doesn't matter to you.
Because no matter how hard I try, I will never be good enough in your eyes.
I am rendered unworthy to state my thought or feeling because I am not "valid".

Yeah, go ahead and use my past and flaws against me, "proven" of
how I'm already a failure.

You are a reminder to me;
you are the reason why I hate myself.

Listen ©

When the teacher speaks,
you ought to listen.
Pay close attention,
focus.
Just listen.

Do not talk when she talks,
Do not speak when she speaks,
Only sit in silence,
patiently, just listen.

Listen as she
breathes a breath of life into you;
as she gives you the knowledge you need to understand
and grow.
Just listen.
Patiently.
Respectfully.

And if you are eager,
to genuinely ask a question,
humbly raise your hand
and speak what is needed.

And then listen.
Listen to how much she is pleased
when she knows a sincere heart
willing to hear and know more
of the breath that gives you life.

Just listen.
When the teacher speaks,
you definitely ought to listen.
Listen as she spends her time invested in you
her life sacrificed for yours
all her strength
all her emotion
all her breath into words into meaning.

If somebody were to come up to you,
and wants to show you something
a work or a masterpiece of their own
consider yourself fortunate to be even considered worthy
to have her open up to you.

This is all she is
Her identity,
Her life,
Her purpose,
Her soul.

And if you were to treat her
like how you treat your teacher in the classroom
well then, consider yourself unworthy
because by then, you would have lost something
which she had deemed so precious.

Respect was all she asked for in return.
Yet, you disregard her
like the air you breathe.
And make mockery of her art.

If I were to be such a person,
and have you treat me like a teacher,
if you should ask me for a poem
or a song,
I'll just shake my head
and sit in silence.

- Aaron J. Patrick

My Sister and I

         My sister and I are two very complete opposites of each other; she's a reader, whilst I, a writer.
"What's the difference?" you may ask. Well, for one thing, she loves stories. She loves reading stories. In fact, she reads more novels than I, and also has a long collection of online novels on her Wattpad library. As for I, I am not much of a reader myself. I can read, and I read when I need to. It just so happens that I'm not as much of a fanatic as my sister about story books and the sort. But one thing I have that my sister hasn't, is the uncanny ability to be better than her in terms of vocabulary and its usage, thus having a skill greater than hers, though slightly, to be able to write and create my own masterpieces; and so I write.

      My sister and I are polar opposites. While I create, she consumes; when I build, she destroys; what I construct, she devours. I am the peacemaker, while she is the aggressor. Her personality is split, doubled, two-faced, all the more proving how much we are each other's irony. If you know her like I do, she's either 100% crazy happy, or 100% crazy pissed; there is no "in between". I honour my parents in their instructions and advices; she rebels against them. Rude, inconsiderate, disrespectful all the more. Her mouth is like a fountain of poison. At most times when she speaks, she blurts out whatever comes to her mind first, as a natural response to a typical conversation (and only amongst my family) and without thinking twice, she plunges a spear to the heart, piercing it through to create a hole deep enough that it would bleed out like how our patience bleeds itself dry like we could stand anymore of her attitude.

           My sister and I are each other's inverse; and like I said, we are each other's irony. At home, she is more than bold enough to stand against us, speak her mind, and express her rage, her sarcasm, and her nonsensical sense of humour. Outside of home however, she becomes shy and timid, is respectful of others, and would think twice before saying something. I, on the other hand, am quiet at home, think twice before I speak, and sometimes keeps certain things to myself. On the outside, however, I am never afraid to express who I am, what I want to say, ideas and opinions, and could be considered as the "loudest person on earth" (as what my sister could say about me). Like, really, I don't know how to judge the volume of my voice. So you could say that I speak like I'm shouting.

         Despite the differences however, there are things that I do appreciate about her. I believe she is a gift (so happened she was born a day after my second birthday), and one of the strangest kind. She tests our patience, not so that we could stand growing in irritation and frustration but more so that we grow in more patience and love towards such a person. She has such an exuberant, crazy happy attitude sometimes, even with her nonsense she calls "humour", there are times within our family where we do laugh with each other. She dares speak out at home, so that we can try to understand her but sadly, that isn't always the case.

       And like the irony we are, though she may be a reader, and I, a writer, she dislikes poetry. (What!?)
Even though I may not be like the reader she is, I have my own interests in things. I read when I need to and when I want to and usually, it'll be something that catches my eye. I find inspiration in things, and it's not always easy. Yet, poems of which I read and write, they tell good stories too. Short, concise, yet so full of elaboration, exaggeration, emotion and meaning, with every hyperbole, simile, metaphor and maybe even a pun or two in just two to four short stanzas. I like simple things, she likes complicated ones.

     She is a novel, and I a poem.
     She is a story, and I am a song 
     She is an essay, and I a mere sentence.
     She says a word, and I disappear.

My sister and I are total opposites; she is a reader, and I, a writer.
She loves good stories, the long ones
I love good stories, the short ones.
and though I a writer, and she a reader,
by the way, if she should read this,
this is no good story.
I don't even know if the paragraphs connect
or how they transition
or whether I have judged her right.

But the thing is, this a story of my sister and I, how we relate to each other. There are those days when we relate to each other, when she seeks my advice when she needs it, when she tells me things she wants to share. We are opposites and yet one of the same kind.
Sweet sister, although bitter,
you are still fine.