pretty pitter-patter

I fall asleep at my desk, only to be waken up a minute later by the thunder. The crashes, the flashes, and the pitter-patter of the rain.

The rain. And about time too. It’s been an awfully hot summer. Speaking of hot summers – Humans are stubborn. That’s why we have to learn life’s lessons by first-hand experience when we’re 10-up when we could’ve learnt them when we were three. (Don’t ask me how I related that to hot summers. It just popped up somehow.)

Exams – a conventional student’s nightmare and glory. A student’s day-and-night destinies depend on those scores. Not up to scratch, and it’s living h*ll till the next A*. Through failing to meet expectations, most develop hatred towards exams when scores get low. We yell. We scream. We tear paper. We cry. We fall down.

Yet we never realize the real purpose of an examination: to test our strengths and weaknesses. ‘Marks are but numbers,’ our teachers say, but are they only immaterial arrangements of atoms layered on paper? World trends lead us to the obvious conclusion that marks are our life and if you don’t get your grades straight, you ought to die.

But life’s not like that. Adopting this type of attitude will ultimately result in failure. What we should do is check what mistakes we made, and mark them down. Go over the questions again later, and see if we make the same mistake. Find out why the mistake was made. Learn. Discover.

By this, I don’t mean that we shouldn’t work hard for our grades. Yes, we should work hard for them. But if you land yourself a few Ds, is it really the end? With modernization, the world’s becoming a haven of statistics, and numbers are everywhere. Remember, though, that conventionalism isn’t always right. Think for yourself.

The cliche goes ‘Rain before rainbows.’ I think rain is beautiful. 🙂

Photo credits:



Just then a lorry emerged from behind us, in it sitting the ugliest man I’d come to see: patches of moss dressed his bare limbs, ants crawled through his unravelling shirt, and fleas dozed in his mess of hair. He smiled – his teeth were a lumpy brown.

‘Travellers, ye?’ Douglas nodded. ‘So where ye be going?’ Douglas pointed west. Obviously he’d no idea where we were headed.

‘Mocha City,’ he remarked. ‘Some few miles across.’ The driver raised his eyebrows.

‘I’ve never heard o’ no Mocha City,’ he grumbled, fumbling with his tar-stained fingers. ‘Guess ye better turn back ‘ome ‘an get a nice supper.’ I shrank back in my seat as the eyes penetrated through me. A moment later, he was off. I sighed in relief.

‘You think that chap was telling the truth?’

‘Well of course he was! You’ve no idea where you’re going! Admit it!’ I couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘Douglas, it’s time to wake up. We’re not getting anywhere, and even that lorry driver knows better.’ But before I could finish my sentence, a deafening roar sounded behind us. I turned and, to my horror, saw a stampede of bulls snorting across the wasteland, headed right for us. I screamed.

Sincere or not?

Perhaps you, too, have wondered: was what she said from her heart? Or was it a show of manners?

Often when friends ask us for our opinion, we tend to smile compliment on it without thinking over the phrases streaming through our lips. The result is an endless loop of overused words that sound bored. Words of praise that make you sound like you don’t care.

I’m surrounded by people much abler than myself, and am constantly amazed by happenings around me. But when I acknowledge their successes, I always use the ‘ultimate degree’ of adoration: ‘Genius!’ ‘You’re amazing.’ ‘Brilliant’. So when someone does something even better than what I’d seen the other day, I still use the same words. And they get old and worn over a few months, and start getting sick of hearing myself utter these same words day after day after day.

‘A good intention clothes itself with power.’ For our praise to sound and be more sincere, though, we have to have not only pure intentions, but also choicer (the good sort!) words to our phrases. Why not try and browse for some handy phrases before you go to bed? Reminds me of a poem linking those born in June to happy friendships:

‘By her who is this month was born
No gem save Pearls shall be worn
They will ensure her constancy
True friendship and fidelity.’

Actually, the old poem is the same for every month, except the gem is altered to be each month’s birthstone. Nice.


‘Some fresh air, Douglas!’ I spluttered as clouds of black dust swarmed towards me. ‘What’s wrong with your exhaust fan?’
The rusty vehicle bumped down the slope, tires screeching. I wish I’d stayed at home.
‘Kate, be patient. We’re almost there.’ Almost there? All I could see was an expanse of barren wasteland. Our destination, Mocha City, was nowhere to be seen. The car burped.
‘It’s not funny, Douglas. Where are we going?’ Honestly, if I wasn’t such a kind soul, I’d have bonked him unconscious and started driving myself. We’d been driving for five hours, at the very least. And if Douglas keeps to his usual sitting-boulder attitude, I’m thinking it’s going to take him another five to realize just where he’s headed.

Time to jump out of that boat?

Maybe it’s called ambition
You’ve been talking in your sleep about a dream
We’re awakening!

Everyone’s been telling me how I should be myself, how we shouldn’t go with the flow, la dee dah. (My response? By doing that, most of them ARE going with the flow, especially as most live pretty normal lives.) But, come to think about it, why not have a go? When you’re surrounded by scarp slopes, your INNER PASSION becomes restless. Yeah right. Point is, I’m your typical restless kid. Only worse.)

So (hum) I’m going to stop just reporting interesting stuff and posting writing now!

You’re supposed to clap, at the very least. It’s a ‘mighty statement’ I’m making here. No, I’m serious.