On Eagles' Wings

I am so terid of radneig Pyogucnlitsihics. It is crtianley a vrey itesntrnig suejbct to sudty, but for an etxanimaon? It is srosileuy kllinig me ! It deos not seem to mtater taht I hvae arldaey gnoe tguhroh the txet book ocne dirnug sutdy week. Rnadieg it aigan is lkie the fsrit tmie ALL. OEVR. AIAGN. Why cna't I rmebeemr the fvie bniefets of ealry raednig? Or all the mtoheds of scenod-lgnaague tcahnieg? Tehir smliriaiteis and dfirfecnees? The fuor mian tehroeis on the rleatoin of lngaguae, tuhoght and ctulure? And tiher agrnmuets? Troehy of Ntarual Gmamrar, Uvnisrael Gamramr, blignauliism and ahpsaias. Sgih. Trhee are smoe itnetrsenig suftf. Lkie waht I am tyrnig out hree. Rsreaceh dnoe swhos taht fnulet Eglnsih rdeears eteuvalnly lrean to itnedfiy wlohe wdros rheatr tahn sngile lrtetes. Sllnipeg may be iprfemcet, but mnaenig can siltl be rcoereevd. Tihs has been crilcnig the itnreent snice 2003: Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't m

Rain. I know how the phenomenon of rain occurs. (I mean, I do remember something from Form 3 Science and Geography.) I understand how it happens. It's logical, reasonable, predictable. But, what I do not understand, is why it rains when you do not want it to rain, but there's not a drop from the sky when you do want it to rain? >.< Walking out of the exam hall after my (horrible) second paper, I am greeted by sheets of rain, large wet puddles, and soggy squishy grass. The prospect of squashing myself into an almost-toppling-over bus full of other people with equally as damp clothes and hair was not very inviting. And considering my height, I have underarm odour to worry about too (since my face is just at that right height). But how do I walk back in this rain? In a baju kurung too. (Alamak ! >.<) I took a deep breath and whipped out my brand new maroon umbrella from its plastic cover (it's that new) and took my first steps out. *spla

I really dislike plagiarism . I really dislike people who take the credit for things that are not theirs, for work that does not belong to them, for ideas that did not come from them. As a writer myself, I would HATE anyone who took my short-stories, my poems, my writing, and called it theirs. I do not know what I would do if I should browse the net one day, to see MY poem, or MY short story, or MY writing there with someone else's name at the bottom. That was MY work, MY words, MY sweat and blood. MINE . And I'll be d***ed if I allow such things to happen before my own eyes. I shall not remain quiet. You might not like me very much then. But I feel strongly about this. So there. Such people should not have the right to demand respect from others. How dare they ?? How can I ever look at someone like that again without disgust ? Plagiarism is theft. A crime. One that I do not, will not , tolerate.

I just got back from a faculty lunch - Majlis Meraikan Pelajar Yang Menerima Anugerah Dekan . Pretty straightforward, no fancy-shmancy names and stuff. I didn't really care. Was just excited about having lunch with a few other course mates - free lagii . When we entered the restaurant, the first thing I noticed was that there was a whole lot of people already waiting. But very few tables. Definitely, not enough for the whole lot of us. >.< Oh, well, what can you do? We moved outside to the adjacent dining hall. True, there was no fancy table cloth, or pretty ribbons tied to the back of the chairs, but at least we get a table to sit at. We had to squeeze 7 of us at a table meant for 4. Then began the waiting. We were there since12pm. And according to the programme, it was supposed to start at 12.15pm after the VIPs arrive. Well, waiting for the orang-orang besar - what else is new? >.< We entertained ourselves in the meantime, despite growling stomachs, by ta

Even with the final examinations drawing awfully near, and the semester in its final week of study, burdened with assignments yet to be completed before then, my beloved faculty decided to help us relax and reduce our pressure and tension by giving us: A QUIZ. Whoopee. Strange that this quiz for beloved Curriculum and Pedagogy class seems to be so poorly publicized. All we received was an announcement on SPIN (student e-portal) asking all of us to attend the final lecture on the 13th of October in Dewan Budiman at 2pm where there will be a reflection of our micro-teaching, oh, and a QUIZ. Nothing else mentioned, like how many marks were allocated, the format of the paper, nada . I frantically searched my (very dusty) notebook where I had written notes for the class (when I successfully managed to stay conscious long enough to actually write) and lo and behold ! There was something about a quiz during the final week. I had written: IMPORTANT !! QUIZ WEEK 14 (ESSAY) - 30

I always thought of myself as a nobody. I don't mean much to anybody. Every day, I stood and waited. Waited for what, I did not really know. All I did was wait. I stood in the store, surrounded by people just like me. But I found no comfort. I felt alone. And useless. What is my purpose in this world? And then she came. She was small, and young. Very ordinary looking. She was nothing special either. But she walked right up to me and held me - as if she had come just for me. At her touch, I knew she was The One. We had been together ever since. I had never felt so needed, so cared for, so loved ! Her touch was what I craved for most. When she was not around, I agonized over the next time I would see her. Somehow, I felt this innate need to protect her from harm. Even if it were just the mild heat from the evening sun, or a slight drizzle, I wanted, no, needed to protect her. I felt wanted, I knew I was needed here. Gone were the days of loneliness and aimless wait