Sick Dream

Warning: This is a shit post

I wonder if after I write this post whether I will change my mind and delete it like I did to the previous one

You wanna know what's freaky I had that previous post up on my blog for all of five minutes and in that five-minute window Hui Jan somehow manages to read it five minutes oh come on

But that freaky is nothing compared to what you're about to read next

I just remembered what I dreamed about last night and I storied it to Cha it was disgusting I am disgusted with my own subconscious know like seriously I feel like horrific right now

Here goes

So I dreamed I was in this warzone place. Like in Iraq or something. It was deserty. Sandstormy. Bomby. I was like part of a unit or something. We were moving through like one sandy tunnel to another in sleeping bags. Yeah in case you didn't get that I was in a warzone.

And that's where I met this demon cat

It looked just like a normal cat. About the same colour as Crookshanks, but it didn't look like a walking carpet bag like Crookshanks does. It was one of the sleek, handsome, pointy-eared cats. Yeah, I said this already, but it looked just like a normal cat.

But it could talk. And boy was it sadistic. It was evil. This cat was evil. It was a demon cat. Purely villainous. And it just kept talking to me. It followed our unit for days. It wanted to kill me more than anything else in the world. Me and my unit. And because it was a demon, it couldn't die. There was no way I was getting rid of it and I would be foolish to try.

But after days of fear and desperation in the warzone, unable to sleep because of the talking cat watching me and talking about my impending doom, I finally reached my breaking point. I seized the cat from under the armpits (you know the way you carry cats) And I took a  knife - a standard Swiss Army Knife - and I stabbed it where I thought its heart would be. But the cat just laughed at me and told me I couldn't get rid of it that easily. And that the minute I let the cat go I would be dead. And so I kept stabbing its white-furred undercarriage trying to find its heart, which was still beating, but to no avail. And the cat kept laughing at me and I knew I had to kill it so I started sawing off its limbs. With a Swiss Army Knife. I started sawing, one by one, paw by paw, and it was such a painfully slow process. I knew everything in detail. Like when you cut through the thin layer of fur and skin and then flesh and then you hit the bone and you have to start sawing and I saw bone marrow and muscle and sinew and ligament and warm blood gushing over my hands and the whole time the cat was still talking so I kept sawing and hacking and sawing until I finally sawed off its head and all I was left with were cat body parts.

And then I left the cat's remains behind.

In a pile.

There was fur and blood all over my hands.

But at least the cat stopped talking.

I am a murderer.

September the 11th

I'm not here to make a post on the conspiracy theories, or the numbers, or the heartwarming stories, or even make a semblance of a very good post at all. There are plenty of those flying around in the whirlwind of the past week or so, with the whole of the United States counting down to the tenth-year anniversary of the nightmare of 9-11. No, this is just me, an ignorant Malaysian girl, for me, taking time off from trials to remember this.

I was only seven, but ten years ago I can still remember being glued to the old television screen, watching the live broadcast that interrupted almost every channel on TV with my parents. I think we started watching the minute they had footage of the first plane crash or something. Yes, I can remember watching the whole thing, for all four coordinated attacks (so many forget that there were four coordinated attacks). It's not something you'd be likely to forget, as far away and irrelevant as it may have seemed to me that decade ago, and it was the only time in my life I ever saw footage of the 9-11 attacks. I remembered almost every thought that went through my head, too, and I'd like to take some time to record down here some of those things I think I should always remember.

Firstly, of course, the victims in the World Trade Centre. So many people, just trying to live through a gruelling day of work, that didn't live through it, and not because of the piling amount of paperwork or their sniping bosses. The ones who died instantly, and the ones who didn't, some of the latter choosing to end their lives by jumping off goodness knows how many stories instead. I think watching that - those people, jumping off to their deaths to avoid another death - was what chilled me the most when I was seven. I asked my mother why they would do such a thing, and my mother told me it was because they had no way out either way. I kept on thinking how bad it must have been for them to have done that. And I distinctly remember wondering, how would I have chosen if I were in their shoes? It was horrible, really, the whole picture of it. The ashes, of course. But another thing I remember was the papers. Papers, papers, so many, flying everywhere, in the air, on the ground, just everywhere. I also found it slightly worse somehow that the buildings didn't collapse straight away - I don't know how, but it just feels worse.

The passengers in the two planes that hit WTC. I'd wondered whether they knew if they were flying to their death. I think the fact was that they didn't. But they knew that they'd been hijacked, and I'm sure some of them must have seen their aircraft flying towards the city and those two buildings. It's no wonder it so deeply rooted a phobia of flying in so many people in the aftermath. Because all these people wanted to do was fly home, or to a family holiday, or finish a business trip, and in the end they get hijacked by terrorists and used as a tool to kill some thousands of other people.

The emergency responders who lost their lives in the rescue attempts. Oh my God, my heart goes out to these true heroes who went in and tried to save lives and had to give up their own in the process. Taken from Wikipedia: The New York City Fire Department lost 341 firefighters and 2 paramedics. NYPD lost 23 officers. Port Authority Police Department, 37. Eight EMTs and paramedics from private hospitals were also killed. Because they went in. I don't know how they did it, but they went in. It was insane of them, but they did it anyway, to try for the long shot, to - I don't know. I'm at a loss of words to describe what these people did - woke up to a nightmare in their very own city and walked straight into it. They made a tribute film some years ago, World Trade Center, I think, and I went to the cinema and watched it and I cried throughout the whole thing.

I don't know much about the Pentagon attack, for some reason, but just because the death toll wasn't as high, it doesn't mean it was any less sickening than the deaths of those in WTC, of course. But what really touched me was the passengers of flight 93. "The Flight That Fought Back". They say this plane was meant for the White House, I think, but it never made it there. The hijacked passengers, after receiving calls from family members about the other hijacked planes and where they ended up, decided to revolt. They all stood up and revolted, and clearly would have won, too, because the hijackers gave up their mission as a lost cause and crashed the plane in a field. The passengers doing that, caused them their lives, yes, but saved what could have been a potential of so many others, and nothing can be said about the bravery of what they did.

And the families. The families who woke up to hear that planes - planes were crashing into WTC, and the very next thought that flashes through their mind is that my wife, my brother, my sister, my loved one, he or she works there. Do you know how many remains of the victims were never found, not at all? The families of the passengers, those who were called by the victims on the flight, to say their last, tearful goodbyes, and those who never got to even hear their voices. The families of those emergency responders who must have been so, so angry at them for going into a deathtrap, no matter how proud they felt. The scars of these families are what is still being felt today.

I need to go now, but I'm happy with what I wrote here, because I don't pretend to know much about anything, but I've gotten it all out, and so there. There's not much you can say to wrap up such a sad post, so I'm not going to try. Thank you for reading.

My Dreams Are Weird

Okay so I have this amazing ability to have like really long dreams and wake up in the middle of them and then decide I really like the dream and go back to sleep to continue right where I left off. Also when I dream like that it's usually two or three dreams sometimes unrelated that I dream back to back because my mind is in epic dream mode. And I usually refuse to wake up and sleep for like twelve hours straight because my dreams are so awesome.

Unfortunately I can only remember bits and pieces, but here you go.

So in the first dream of my dreams last night, I redreamed an alternate-universe version of the last Harry Potter. I swear if it had been made into a real movie the ratings would've topped Inception let me tell you that. It was like mind-blowing, I swear. The movie was set in India, in a part slum, part ancient ruin part of India. It was amazing.  The story line started out following Harry, Ron and Hermione who were on the run from Death Eaters. They kept on hiding out in various Indian slumhouses and being helped by various Indian people-who-lived-in-slumhouses. Then they met McGonagall and kept running from the slumhouses that kept on getting blown up. The whole time they were counting on Snape to bail them out, because they already knew about Snape being a quadruple agent and his past with Lily but he didn't die (see my version is so much better). And there was one extremely pivotal part when Harry & Co. were being jinxed at and they were waiting for the stone doors of this ancient open-air ruin to open so they could like get in and not be jinxed at and they were waiting and waiting for the doors to open so desperately like, God where is Snape, and then suddenly the ancient stone doors swing open, and the jinxing stops, and Harry looks at Snape standing dramatically in the way, waiting for them to run in and take cover, and for one fleeting moment Harry looks into those cold black eyes and has a wavering doubt. Could he really trust Snape, he wonders. But then there's a beat and a flashback sequence ensues, and from the still bat-like figure of the standing Snape a silvery, Patronussy Snape figure steps out. And the flashback sequence takes place so that only Harry can see it while in reality time has frozen, and he with tears in his eyes watches a most beautiful series of scenes outlining the pure and sweet yet tragic love that Severus Snape has always had for Lily Evans. Yes, there was also a silvery Patronussy figure of Lily in this awesome flashback sequence. And then there's a huge explosion behind Harry, bringing him back to the present, and Hermione screams his name, forcing him to make a decision, and this time Harry's sure: he surges forward through the gateway, and Snape joins them as they all scramble to push back the stone doors against the Death Eaters and for the moment, they're safe.

That's all I can remember really of the Harry Potter dream. The dream then changes to uh someone (don't ask who) using my MyKad for something which is bad because bad guys are after me and that's like unfortunate because well bad guys want to kill me and then it changes back to me being stuck at this castle-like school where we are all dragon riders and I'm very special like a chosen one or something and people still want to kill me and my family the villain is this evil woman with red hair and a green high-collared dress btw the dragon I ride (my very own dragon, very huge!) is pale jade green in colour. And there was this awesome guy who helps me when I'm like trying not to be killed haha his dragon was blue.

This is almost as bad as the other day when I dreamed I was a detective investigating how people keep getting kidnapped/murdered whenever they leave this departmental store. So I'm checking out the departmental store when I realise that it's because the kidnappers/murderers are leaving messages inside the envelopes of greeting cards for sale and that's how they lure the victims. As I make this important discovery my fictional best friend is with me and she's getting all snappy I see that it's because she was behind it all along. She pushes me to the floor and rushes out of the departmental store and my head is bleeding and my fictional boyfriend helps me up but I realise that he was in on it with my best friend all along but he says he's sorry. And then I make my way home to an orphanage on top of the hill with my bleeding head where I meet all my church friends and then we have to cover up the blinds because duh people want to kill me now. And then the orphanage is having a walk around town and I have to go but I can't on account of my bleeding head so I get this enormous flying gorilla to take me on his back instead.

You see guise, this is how my subconscious works. It's not a very sensible place up here, I'm afraid. I'm sure people have weird dreams too but I'm also equally sure not many of them have dreams as weird as mine. And these are only the ones I can remember. So give me the benefit of the doubt when I say I think I have dreams weirder than is generally considered weird.

Sunshine

Sunshine

by jacietanchenghwee

Take that golden sunshine

And collect it with your finger

Drip it off your fingertip

It'll be just like golden butter

Take that sunshine, spread it far

Spread it yonder 'cross the earth

Because with that sunshine there'll be stars

And smiles and laughter will be birthed

Don't forget to remember me

When you're giving out sunshine free

Don't forget to remember me

In your sunshine-spreading spree

I'll love you, yes, I will, I will

If only you and sunshine come,

I swear my heart will be yours to still,

If you gave me sunshine, oh just give me some.

haha omg what even I don't make sense sometimes you know that?

Guise, I'm not eating. If you know my appetite, you'll know how bizarre this is, because it's not even exam period. I don't know why. Everytime I see food I feel like throwing up. Is it because my mind is all calm and unstressed so my body needs to make up for it by being depressed instead? If so, then dear body, please cheer up, because you've successfully sobered up the mind, seeing as how undernourishment does that to someone.

Sigh. Going to go drink coffee now.

Hi guise. Sorry I never really have time to blog, as much as I do want to. Blogging is pretty tiring work. I started on a post on Kellie's Castle yesterday, but then I realised I was rambling, which is not good. So then I decided to put in pictures to offset the rambling, but then I realised it was taking up too much time. And now I have no time at all to even ramble. Haha.

I really enjoyed myself, though, yesterday. It was a great trip with the parents, I got to drive for over an hour on the North-South Highway, and I fell head over heels in love with the shambled old stone castle. You would, too, if you had an appreciation for British colonisation-era architecture and an imagination. Everyone should go to Kellie's Castle.

Do go check out the pictures I took of the lovely place - there are pictures of the place, yes, even if I happen to be in them! - just in case I never get down to writing the post. ):

Click. :)

One Day by David Nicholls

So I was in Borders TCM and a book called to me again. I read the first chapter there and went home and downloaded it onto my Kindle. Bless my Kindle.

One Day is a very unique novel because each chapter tells the story of only one day of a year. Basically, the novel visits the lives of Emma and Dexter every 15 July starting on the year they first met, 1988, and spans twenty years. They are sometimes together, sometimes not, in each chapter.

It's a life story, not really a love story, and that's the greatest part about this book. Em and Dex, Dex and Em, they're best friends, which is pretty hard to believe, because they're so incredibly different. When they spend graduation night together in 1988, Emma's got double first-class honours and dreams of changing the world, and Dexter's a wealthy charmer who want to smoke as many cigarettes and dance in as many bars as he can.

As we follow their life stories, we see these two evolve from university graduates to young working people, from young working people to family people, and these transitions are not the typical story-bookish kinds - Nicholls isn't one to shy away from the darker side of life, the harshness of reality, the bitterness of disillusionment. Unemployment, unglamourous jobs, peer pressure, loss of friendship, loss of family, the ending of dreams, and broken love - it's all there. It's a bit painful, really, not usually my sort of book, especially towards the second half and ending, but I like it all the same - partially because I feel like I can relate a lot to Emma, and wholly because the murky adult life is still a bit of a mystery to me.

Also, this book is very British, which adds a few couple thousand plus points to it. Thanks to this book, I now want to go to Scotland not only to fulfill my lifelong dream of getting married in a castle (clearly this book hasn't been that much of a wake-up call for me), but also to visit Arthur's Seat. Fifteenth July is known as St. Swithin's Day, by the way - I didn't know that! Another couple thousand bonus points to the book for highlighting this poem.

St Swithun's day if thou dost rain

For forty days it will remain

St Swithun's day if thou be fair

For forty days 'twill rain nae mare

Now as you can see, I've put the movie cover of the book up as a picture because this is one of those rare instances where the movie cover is much better than the original cover of the book. Yes, it's be made into a movie; it should be out August, and I can't wait, although it probably won't even reach Malaysian shores. I've seen the trailer (which I recommend you not to watch if you dislike spoilers.)

It stars Anne Hathaway (I love Anne Hathaway!) but I'm feeling a bit apprehensive. I think she's a bit too pretty to be Emma Morley. Also, I've heard Anne's British accent in Becoming Jane, which was borderline atrocious. Emma's supposed to be Scottish! I agree with some of the people online who think Carrey Mulligan would've been a better choice. Or maybe not, because remember Emma is a character who ages twenty years throughout the movie, and that's not easy to carry off. Jim Sturgess (whoever he is) seems a bit too soft to be Dexter, as well, but that's only what I can tell from the trailer. Still, I do have high expectations for this movie!

Read the book, if only once through, and hurry - do it before the movie comes out.