MONOSACCHARIDE: The simple sugar.

I’m sorry there hasn’t been another love letter. They have been increasing in content and frequency at which they compose themselves in my head, but these days I’ve been offered a better outlet for all my cheesy thoughts. They go direct through his ears and straight into his heart (I HOPE!) and yeah I’m lovin’ the new found intimacy and openness. His lips are constantly sugar coated as well but I like it best when he tries to act otherwise; And the romantic in him tumbles out in waves of (strained) manja voice and childish whimpers. Of course his bunkmates hear, but recently it seems he’s given up the tough boy facade. How did one get so easy to love?

I’m sorry.

It’s the ridiculous roaming charges that I truly do not agree with! I can probably handle not seeing him for weeks on end, maybe even up to a month or two, if I’m kept occupied with school… But I cannot take this not hearing his voice bull!

Who would have thought? That in a span of just a few weeks I could have grown so fond and attached (and I admit, a weeeeee bit obsessed) to a boy so vastly different from me. Certainly not I!

Kids, always always consider if the addiction is worth the cold turkey when it does come down to that. Sometimes the pain is more real that you’d think possible.

Ok I shall stop being psycho now and just act it… For how long do you think I can stare into the white walls before I go blind you reckon?

This is so I don’t forget.

I think I miss you. A little bit too much.

I have been reduced to the likes of every other medical student in this region. Boring, uncreative and whose life centers around school, family, boyfriend and friends, exactly in that order. No more talks of events, party dresses, booze, art, models, sports, hobbies, fashion or music. I am uncreative, untalented and uninteresting. I am almost minah, save the boobs. And those who personally know the object of my entries will soon barf, cause I am unceremoniously cheesy/corny/sweet/romantic, amongst other reasons. But yeahhh, I hope you stick around, cause summer break ends with the dawn of the sun on monday, and term life will soon reprise, meaning with 3 planets crossed out from my universe of 4, I will be scornful and grumpy and with the lack of enjoyable things to do, my only escape outlet for all that angst and dissatisfaction will be this dear old blog of mine. I feel lonely already.

I am happy. Things get more complicated with each passing day, what with my leaving and all, and on some days we disagree and we raise our voices and we shut each other off mid sentence and we roll our eyes and we nitpick and we hang up abruptedly… But then we make up almost immediately and he apologises and I explain and suddenly we’re laughing and teasing and giggling and blushing and I’m happier than ever.

So maybe I’m not girlfriend of the year. In fact I won’t be surprised if mothers kept their sons away from me hehehe. And perhaps we’ve both still a long way before we can safely say we know the other. And god help me I have a million and one issues to settle in KL starting next week… But I am happy. Right here, right now, I am happy. And I make his mornings that bit brighter and both our weekends (plus Tuesday and Thursday nights if I’m lucky) hold more meaning now… And I guess that’s enough to love.

No grand gestures, maybe just spontaneous crazy ones, no fool-proof blueprints, no concrete travel dates, no contigency plan for emergencies, no rules (not yet maybe?), no restrictions, no promise of the sun, moon and stars… And that’s just the way I like it. I’m leaving with nothing in my back pack but joy, a whole lot of faith, and an eagerness to see those pretty lashes again, soon-ish.

I think love should be easy; Light and enveloping like the wind, flexible and pleasant and flowing like the river.

So there you go, my first love letter on this newly acquired quest for what’s warm and true.

This video I dedicate to Nas and Aish, and the boys all/some of us aim to please. Good luck to us this week!

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Sure I can. I am an emotionally stable person. I am not a commitment phobe. I am not emotionally unavailable. I am open, simple minded and not bagged down by fickle mindedness. I will not get privy. I am not demanding. I will not expect to be understood and accepted all the damn time. I will agree to disagree. I will be proactive, efficient and precise in expressing my feelings. I will make a concious effort to share my thoughts. I will not get privy. I will not panic. I will not hyperventilate at this very long list of reminders, that’s beginning to sound more a rule book which translates to death wish for Lyn. I will work with limitations, and make the best of situations. And not be demanding. I am disciplined, considerate and able to compromise. I will not hyperventilate. I will not hyperventilate. I will do well with labels. I am able to profess love. I will not hyperventilate. I am a strong person. I am flexible. I am able to digest and absorb new perspectives. I will not expect standard mannerisms that I am accustomed to, because I am a flexible person and I remember that everyone’s different. I will not be spoilt. Or throw tantrums. And I will stop panicking right this very instant! I will not hyperventilate. I WILL NOT HAVE COLD FEET. I will not hyperventilate. Because, I can do this.

…I WILL NOT KID MYSELF. ZANNA WHERE ARE U. I NEED YOU. :(

I’m over blogging again I know.

but, yeay genetics! come and get me you sexy chromosomal studies you.

I didn’t mean to break your heart.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

In retrospect, I can’t wait for school to start in a week’s time. I am hoping it’ll settle me down. It did a year ago, I’m sure it will do just that this time.

Why can’t I stay dramaless for at least one summer?

My weekend was amazing. Like the amazon! Only with less er, bush?

But just as thrilling and mind blowing. Hee.

Like Aish’s Twit…

Yay, halfway through Friday

This list serves to remind me when I grow old.

Things I shall do before I die/ get too old to:

Go to Muse and U2 concerts.

Dreadlock my hair again, this time I want it shorter.

See Rome and all that it has to offer.

Pick up, and be fabulously good at, horse riding.

Go on a UN mission like Daddy did.

Buy 7621494 designer bags with her own moolah like Mummy did.

Grow another fucking 2 inches. LOL.

The few people I was supposed to be around for, I let down.

I’m sorry I disappeared for a year. I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you needed me. I’m sorry I let you miss me and I’m sorry I cancelled on our dates. I’m sorry I neglected you. I’m sorry I let you go for a year without letting you know my new number.

I didn’t think you’d need me… I’m sorry I thought so little of us.

I’ll make up for it I promise.

My blog drama has officially shifted to social networking sites.

Malays can be so weird sometimes. They happy happy cheat on each other, they pretend not to know about the other’s scandals, and get stepped on like cheap rug from kedai ahpek jual hardware, and live life with the cheating half like nothing’s even happening.

You want that life, go ahead. Those sort of partners are produced locally there, takyah susah2 carik seberang laut. I’m sure there are at least a hundred or so girls who are willing to pack into your travel luggage your favourite condoms before they wave you goodbye and good luck for your ‘business trips’ across the lands…. As long as you ‘provide for the family’ and ‘put food on the table’, they’ll be your dutiful housewife/sex toy waiting patiently at home… To come home to after you’re bored of the 45678 other girls across the land and want something secure, though a little older and less attractive with age, to come home to.

Does my passport look Malaysian to you?

Well if there’s one thing that I’ve learnt, always keep your options (just under) sufficient(ly) open and always keep Option Bs tucked away on an easy to reach shelf. Feed, water, provide sunlight and everything else that it might need to survive, but never in over-whelming quantities.

Shower with love, vitamins and other luxuries to set in activity, but only when your main batteries are dead and you need a new set.

I am so angry. But here I stand to remind you something.

I am with you for you.

I am definitely not with you for your friends, not for your cousins, not for your parents with whom I disagree with all the time, not for your money because you usually have none, or when you do I have way more anyways, not for anything.

I am with you solely for you. For the purity of your heart, for the innocence in your eyes, your laugh and the twinkle, your humility and how easily pleased you are. You are such a child, true and pure and innocent. You are a miracle. Most of all, I STAY with you for your perseverance to change and be a better a person. A thinking person. A proactive person.

But if ever you jeopardise that faith for a better you, .

I do not believe in first loves. I do, however, believe in the pain that first loves cause. I also believe that the wounds earned during the first do not ever heal, but even if they do, they are the battle scars that anyone and everyone will have to wear out into the world. It is the one war nobody can quite avoid.

They told me to buy grounding stones, they said my head is frequently in the clouds and it isn’t healthy. I ended up buying clear stones instead, those that mirror my character, when I should have bought stones that can provide the yin to my yang. I am one unstable sonnofagun.

I need insurance for buying precious stones in case they bring about adverse effects to physical and mental health. Or one year return policies. Or longer.

Like I’ve said time and time again, letting go includes being able to speak of the past without wincing. In contrast to moving on, letting go is a step further.

A best friend who is also your boyfriend is any girl’s dream, but life’s taught me never to keep my eggs in one basket.

Simplicity and stability are in anyone’s prayers, but .

What do you look for in a partner?

When will boys ever learn how to grow up?

I need to make new friends. Pronto.

I’ll give you a week or two to FUKING NOTICE ME ALREADY YOU BLIND PIECE OF EMOCRAP, before I walk away.

K thanks.

Don’t harp on it, don’t think about it and most importantly, don’t write about it… And maybe it won’t overwhelm you afterall. Maybe then it’ll be kept under control.

Another thing not to do in relation to emotions if you’re a woman: Never bank in on it.

There is a difference between boredom and self imprisonment.

Let’s conspire to ignite
All the souls that would die just to feel alive

Heartbreak, of heartbreaks, of painful heartbreaks.

There is the boy with whom things are so difficult all the time, it seems. When nothing is wrong but everything seems to go wrong. When our happy times scatter in small paint spatters on grey walls. The wounds won’t heal, the sutures won’t hold, the scars won’t stop burning, we can’t heal. And we don’t know why. I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.

And then there’re the others.

But it wasn’t actually real till recently.

In-law issues.

In the wise words of Bette Porter, it’s an issue of different core values.

You know what, as many times as she has screwed up her otherwise perfect relationships in every single season by cheating on her partners repeatedly, and subsequently allowing the love affair to develop into raw attachment to the 3rd party, as destructive her character has been since season 1, amongst all of them, I think if I were to be anyone of them, I’d be Bette Porter.

Otherwise I’d give up MY CATS to be Helena Peabody! Have you SEEN that gorgeous hair!!!

Now seriously how am I to feel truly single if I keep refusing dates?

There I was thinking that this trip home could possibly be different, an exaggerated reflection of how I lived before, a couple of cups of coffee here, a couple of movies there, and voila! I would have successfully made that transition into singlehood once more.

And yet here I am googling for pictures of fruits for my Mandarin assignment due next week.

I am boring.

I am currently taking a break from writing an article for the faculty newsletter, one which I have been going at for hours already. I do not understand myself, and how writing another entry here, albeit on wordpress this time not words, can possibly be therepeutic, but I think it’s working.

Back to work.

I knew it wasn’t all perfect. There just had to be a glitch somewhere in the system.

Nat for the ang mohs, Mya for the pretty faces, and the rest of us for indecently materialistic criteria too horrid to mention here. Don’t know about the rest of them, but I am totally retracting my deal now.

Application officially re-opens tonight, and for the first time ever, and the required documentation list has just been revised.

Fuck the 5 C’s, I’m creating my own from now on. Starting with Chivalry.

Nobody can ever say I didn’t give it my best shot, you saw that I did.

The rich kid disease has never been a real issue to me because back where I came from, the lazy tarts starve from poverty and the ones who work fervently sunbath in a pool of hard earned cash every Sunday morning.

Studying in Malaysia has changed that, and me. I am constantly angry here, at the norms, at the system, at the filth I see on the roads and in people.

I am disgusted with the complacency of the richer kids. How lazy they have becomed, incredibly guiltless as they embrace corruption just as long as it makes their life easier. Where their lives are aimless, meaningless, and absolutely nothing that they do holds any meaning.

How they think so highly of themselves because they think the globe buys the stupid act they put up, and as such they think they have earned the right to bring down others.

I find it absolutely repulsive how every single Malay in this cursed land has literally accepted the fact that hypocrisy, backstabbing, first degree bitching  and pretense as normal traita in human behaviour, as if it was the National Attitude.

Fuk I just wanna go home.

I wish everyone would understand the significance of time. And the remarkable possibilities it holds. This might be our last chance to start anew, I was hoping you’d give it time.

And not shove your desperation and depression in my face when all I need is time and space. It was after all, your own fault. One of which you have to bear the consequences for. It was your bad decision making that got us here in the first place, and it is not my end of the bargain that I shoulder guilt for your lack of gratification that things are not going back to the way they were before.

Maybe you can go on like nothing’s ever happened. Well what can I say? Letting go is probably a little harder on the other end of the pole, where hearts were scarred and trust was broken.

I have been nice enough to not make it difficult. I am trying my best to maintain comfortable friendship here, one of which we might have trouble forging since we’ve been so comfortable where it is past all that, but I am no longer willing (or at least for now) to go beyond that.

I refuse to force myself into anything for you again. Cause the last few times I did, my efforts were not reciprocated and my faith was taken advantage of.

I think I must have horrible time management. The last time I blogged was almost a month ago! Must really pay more attention to this space!

So the past few weeks have been absolutely crazy. If I were to take you on a tour of each significant event then it’d probably go something like this;

Valentines was amazing, I was treated a trip to Kuching. You’re not surprised, I hear ya.

So Isabelle got married. I’ll give you a minute to recover.

Ok, done? You alright now? Ok.

Yeah I know absolutely fuck off amazing! Many many congratulations babe! And I want to meet your husband! This time under more comfortable conditions, hopefully one that is entirely from the last time when we bumped into each other. Remember that evening? I was at your D. Ghaut place after work and we were rushing to get you ready for a party before he gets back, but he got back early anyways, and oh was he pissed that you were sneaking out! I stayed in the room, scared shitless, while you guys ‘worked things out’ on the stairway outside.

I remember those times during MILAN outings when went over the top with absolutely everything! When we lived HUGE, played hard and we held on to each other even tighter, like we’d fuking suffocate if we didn’t party without the group. Our boyfriends, flings, scandals and dates then are merely a fuzz to me now, I only remember the laughs we had from ridiculing them, and the tears we dried off each other’s face when Karma bit us back hard in the ass. Oh how we loved drama!

Of course, the one who flew highest would naturally be the first to be satiated with life and settle down. I guess we always knew it’d be you first.

Now when we go, ‘one down, four more to go’, I guess this time the statement bears a whole new gravity to it, brings new emotions that we never have felt before when we used it to describe how one of us have gotten attached/broken up (attached, broken up, attached again, broken up again…). It’s a feeling sad abondonement in a sense. Haha. BUT! One of which is lined with hope, pride, change and pure happiness; That one of our own has erm, progressed.

That aside, as you would have found out from my Facebook status changes, I am currently single, after almost a year of being in my first proper relationship. The cause of break was pretty serious, but I feel this is just a hiccup, and I have decided to mend things, when the time is right.

Thank you, to those who have always been with me, for months and some, years, and are with me through this, urging me in the right direction, comforting me, supporting me, offering me advice, listening to me rant when I am angry and calming me down when my temper goes overboard as it always does.

Thank you too, to those who surprised me, after months of not being in contact with me for whatever reason, when you suddenly pop up all over my cell phone and my chat windows, to offer advice, ask me of my well being, offering me your friendship for when I need it, and shoving random chat topics in my face for when I need distraction and cheering up.

Special thanks to Faris who sent a letter all the way to KL when you could have just passed it to me by hand since I am coming back this weekend, despite us chatting online on an almost daily basis, and who spent 60 cents more than needed on stamp cause you think it will get here faster if you do. BUT! I WILL retract this paragraph if I do not receive it within a week and assume you cheated my feelings (again). I do not care if it lands in the postman’s drawer along with the rest of his semen covered porn!

Regarding the debate, both the teams presenting my College lost horribly. 22 teams and I don’t think we’re even top ten! Funny how the losers are the undergrads of the longest lasting course in this institution, the medics and the vets. But we have been invited to represent UPM in the inter-varsities, and I’m hoping the judges would be less biased and more consistent at that level.

Hockey, UPM trashed UITM Shah Alam 4-3. Wonderful!

Finances, pretty bad especially since after I’ve spent thousands this month shopping for course materials, importing books from across the globe, and buying heels and oddly matched clothes that I will never wear.

Weight management, not looking so great but it can be fixed.

My studies, self revision non-existant and assignments are backlogged because I am having so much fun with extra curricular BUT course related activities. I do not feel too guilty.

Next homecoming? This weekend.

Ok so maybe I won’t die from good trance fun tonight afterall, cause meetings just ended and the hostel gate is already locked. There is absolutely no way I can climb the fence in these heels and no I will not try.

What makes it ok is probably the fact that Zouk KL plays hip-hop music tonight and we all know how sick I am of the whole ghetto scene.

The girls try too hard, the guys are too boisterous, skirts too short and tight, jeans hang too low and loose, everybody either bounce on the spot or breakdance on floors that are obviously filth ridden, everything feels cheap, sleazy and amateur and cover is overpriced for such shotgun entertainment. Not to mention the music… It is so… Weak.

I have sworn off rap, but rnb I can do, during study sessions. Not beyond my bedroom, though, especially not through the doors of the most expensive club in this country.

I need some fine wine. Where creativity, imagination, intelligence, colours and dreams take off… Mild but intensively alluring.

From an overload of meetings, event planning, debate rehearsals, hockey research, and if we are lucky, from an overdose of good trance fun. (And tomorrow we die from skipping too many lectures.)

I am having an extremely busy week, and I need to slip this is before I let anything slip again.

So, this week, to settle/mind/run around and get done:

1. Student VISA extension.

2. Dogathon Co-sponsor meetings- half done, another one on Friday at noon!

3. Inter-college Debate (ICED) meetings, 8-10pm daily till next week.

4. 4 topics for ICED debate research by tonight- half done!

5. Nutrition lab result recording.

6. A 25 page report on Pedra Blanca, and another on the political history of Malacca. CIBAIII.

7. Go through the new (Vet Anatomy) book Bibik just sent me from the States YAY!

8. Find a decent top to pair with the new jacket and leopard print tights I just bought last night.

9. Complete KOKO log book URGH.

10. Epilept my legs. I only did my calves up to my knees CAUSE I DO NOT HAVE TIME but whatever, I’m not putting myself through that pain AGAIN till at least 2 weeks from now!

11. Find a list of  sponsors in the tourism industry in both Malaysia and Singapore to help fund Dogathon 2009 this August… And convince them to buy at least the RM3000 packages. Boo!

is not about Valentine’s Day.

Before anything, in response to my boyfriend’s profound lack of trust in my blogging techniques (what has the world comed to? He is supposed to be my boyfriend!), I realise that many more like him may just take my entries too seriously.

Please don’t take my words to heart. I do not mean everything I say here, in bright contrast to the things I do say, and most of which I do, I do not feel too strongly about, even when my choice of vocab makes it seem otherwise.

So relax, even if you were that slut I was making a model to base my entries on. You were just a case study, an example, a model, a benchmark I used as example to fit into the category of asshole I discuss.

I do not mention names not because I do not want to make enemies. On the contrary, I believe that some sacrifices are essential in the name of dry humour and personal entertainment. And especially since after weighing things out, some sacrifices seem really that small to make. Like some of your love. I am sure I can live without certain things.

On another note, Nat I need you expertise. What do you call the underwear that is shaped as such:

I know the front looks like there is a dick filling it up, BUT I REALLY DO NOT HAVE ALL DAY TO DRAW ON PAINT OK. The pink portion is that back part, the bit that covers the ass, normal V-backed. The red is the front. And the sides are g-string-ish, they’re connected with a string rather than a large chunk of cloth like normal underwear.

Who’s to say what goes on inside a girl’s head?

A guy can dream. Well, the girl did.

On the bright side, in 6 hours a new day will dawn, and till then one can pray for a little more air than the wind has allowed her tonight.

And for one who is tired from age, numbers that piled on too soon in life, for the one who feels ragged from induced maturity, I hear the bluebirds due in 6 hours are bringing with them that sledge to Pan’s land.

Probably a little fairy dust, to lighten the load that the evil gnome left from last summer?

Lose faith, find hope.

I am on a massive but patient hunt for a great new scent, parfum please no less, and a beautiful new phone. Suggestions, anyone?

They may or may not be spectacular and exorbitantly expensive, though I’d really prefer that they are not .

What about the iPhone? Do you have any complaints? And has anyone tried the new Sony E. X1/Xperia?

1. Rib eye steak from Breeks.

2. Caramel pudding from Delifrance.

3. Beef satay

4. and fresh kerang both from Changi Village.

5. And that kupang in butter thing from Fish & Co.

I figured I’d continue with my Anatomy while I wait for the snoring (of which I miss terribly) to start.

I just got back home, if you were wondering the need for Skype all of a sudden.

11.44pm:

I finally got around to recording a typical phone conversation between the boyfriend and myself, for safe keeping… It isn’t the most common of things these days. It feels like a luxury to be able to have that more than once a week now. He didn’t realise until much later.

I want to keep handy a reminder of what we have been, and should always be.

Or at least I am getting there.

This is to remind myself that there is absolutely nothing more important in my life right now than my name on the Dean’s list. Any and every single thing that comes in the way, or even threatens that, will be (un)ceremoniously handled the same way as I handle anything else- Fast, hassle free, ruthless,highly practical and when the occasion calls for it, dramatic, memorable and highly tramautising for the opposition party.

Ok fine, so maybe I am not superwoman like Mummy says I am. Maybe I can’t multi-task so well afterall.

We’ll see how it goes. It has comed to the point when it rocks on the edge almost on a daily basis. One thing’s for sure though; There will be nothing more than eassy effort for the next 3 weeks.

One of these days I will walk right up the flight of stairs to the house of Medical students right above mine.. AND TEACH THEM HOW TO FUCKING SQUEEZE THE WATER OUT OF THE FUCKING LAUNDRY BEFORE HANGING IT OUT TO DRY. Cibai go drip dry your cheap baju kurungs from the fucking living room ceiling fan I don’t care- As long as you don’t keep wetting my newly washed, fresh smelling (until your STINKY AS FUCK detergent loaded laundry water fucking pungenised) laundry every fucking afternoon.

Bitch I don’t hang my laundry to dry in the fish market for good reasons- SO I DON”T GO TO CLASS SMELLING LIKE THE MEDIC KIDS FROM UPSTAIRS.

There will come a point in time when I will finally start blogging again, and I will let out everything that I have been keeping in for fear of well, being thrown out of this damn institution.

But till the day comes when I feel I have secured my straight As with an iron fist screwed dead with a bolt, I will refrain from discussing the matters that have bugged me since June last year. If it means blogging less, and venting my frustration out on my mother and my boyfriend, since they are the ones who understand and love me best, and they also forgive the most easily, then so be it.

When the time comes, oh boy when the time does come, I shall rant, like a lunatic set loose on fucking candy and SPEAK about,

One. How fucking filthy and lazy my housemates are. How incredibly stubborn and downright idiotic when it comes to LEARNING how to scrub MY pots after use, clean used cups AT LEAST once every 3 days, how to use the fucking rubbish bin, what to throw and what NOT to throw into the fucking sink, that laundry doesn’t take 4 fucking days on the line to fucking dry, etc.

It’s no wonder the public toilets in this country are as clean as… NOTHING! The toilets here are THE standard the rest of the globe uses when they need an extreme example for filthy conditions!

Two. How some people in my course should love their noses more and work their tongues less.. For their own good, of course. And those eyes and that play of expressions, what, you think you’re the only ones who know how to make people feel uncomfortable? Bitch you ain’t seen nothing yet.

Three. I am OBVIOUSLY the only one in the whole retarded building who flaunts (to the extent that you feel I am shoving it in your face but I don’t blame you) my boobs and ass, in rm600 jeans that are way too tight and rm250 shirts that are tailored with way too little cloth, and as such, stop picking on my friends on what they wear. Instead, come to me first. Didn’t Momma ever taught you to go straight to the root of the problem?

Four. WAS ‘SUCKING UP’ SOME KIND OF GENETIC/ CHROMOSOMAL MAKE UP WHEN YOUR PARENTS DECIDED TO CONCEIVE IN MALAYSIA?

Five. Yes I am fucking rich and I am fucking beautiful and I speak fucking better than all of you put together and yes people notice me 10 times faster than they notice you, if they even notice you at all that is, and it’s really quite nice that you’re trying to start a conversation with me here (when we all know how you bitch about my this and my that in the cafe and along the hallways and in your dingy little rooms), but how about you be equally ’nice’ to my friends as well so your act looks a little more convincing?

Your little entourage is made up of some fag with a bald spot and a dude(tte) who’s gentler than hankerchief soaked in Softlan, so please be more aware of your military strength.

Six. Bitch that tudung is so not your colour.

Seven. Yes my boyfriend is richer, hotter, more popular and needless to say more connected than yours. You can stop pretending like you don’t know that already cause we all know you gossip faster than cackles. No no, I really don’t mind fan clubs and groupies. The queu starts from the South wing thanks.

Eight. And we all know how you wish you were me in more ways than one. Yes bitch I see right through your cheap foundation.

Ah, blogging, such sweet indulgence.

Amidst all this you didn’t think of flying me up there, or you flying down here to be with me. You chose a new handphone, a luxurious buffet dinner for your friend, and a Tag over me. You didn’t let down even one, for me. I would have flown halfway across the globe for you in a heartbeat. And you wouldn’t even have to ball your eyes out and gag yourself in tears like I did before I’d check that ticket price.

Are you really that eager to start playing the Indon fields? Such that it’s never occured to you how much I’d want to see you before we take a semester long break from each other?

Yeah I am SO calculative it kills sometimes yeah? So shoot me now, and get it over and done with already.

Do you know my boyfriend?

He is loving, true, honest and utterly, utterly patient, with me.