Three days! Three days and its getting worst!Flashbacks:

Day 0:
Stepped on plastic bag. Slipped and fell. Accidently knocked my hip at the sharp edge of the computer table. Left hand trying to grab support, in vain. Fell with a sickening thud. Nearly caused the monitor to topple down. Was stunned.

Day 1:
I am ok, its alright, no big deal, just some visible blueblacks. I am invincible, remember?

Day 2:
Ouch, it hurts! It feels as if someone kneed me on my spleen! Ehh, how come my palm aches whenever I apply pressure on it? Eww, the blueblack and bruises are getting more distinct.

Day 3:
Help! Somebody help! My entire left side hurts like hell and the right side is numb because I slept on it the whole night. Don't even think about applying ointment pressure on the blueblack because I will be wincing and whining like a baby.

It is time to put my HLA into good use, it seems.

Oh, before I forget, please don't touch me on the wrong side or I will scream your head off. I am serious.

Am I a faint hearted person?I am. I swore that I could’ve screamed and screamed and wake the whole neighbourhood. But I didn’t. I have no idea what got hold of me last night…

Ever since moving into my new room, where two of the four walls were mounted with a 3 panel window, I’ve been getting a lot of air. And creeps.

Nevermind that looking through the window during thunderstorms and heavy rain are makes me feel puny and afraid. Never mind that sleets of downpour threatens to flood my room everytime it rains. Nevermind that the lush mini tropical forest down there always gives me a friendly wave every now and then.

But yesterday… was something new.

It has been raining and raining and raining and raining…

It was cold alright, but the windows ain’t closed.

It was around midnight. I heard a distinct chaos somewhere near the window facing south. The one directly above the mini forest. My heart skipped a beat. Heck! I think it was a few beats.

*More rustling of leaves, and the sound got louder and louder.

“What on earth was that?”, I thought. With every ounce of courage I could muster, I inched nearer and nearer to the window, straining my eyesight, trying to see what was/wasn’t making the noise.

Nothing. I couldn’t see a thing. But yet the intrusion of sound seemed to indicate otherwise. The “thing”, whatever it was, was very near. So near that in fact, that I felt goosebumps all over my skin.

All of a sudden, the “thing” appeared. It was looming three inches away from where I stood with a thin mosquito net separating us. From my limited vision and the darkness of the night, I could only make out the rear of a big grey cat.

It was a cat alright. And a big one. Climbing valiantly up my bedroom window which is on the second floor, in the middle of a rainy night. Of all nights, of all weather (it was wet, slippery and drizzling outside), of all windows (the window facing west is wayyyy easier to climb), of all rooms (it could’ve been the pantry or something, unless my room is reek of salted fish or cat food???), of all houses…

Why? Why my room? Why ME?

Guess what I did?

"My condolences…"

Two simple words, but yet it ia hard to say, hard to say to someone who's loved one had demised…

I've received the news sometime back. One of my ex-classmate's father passed away due to an accident. It shocked me, really, and my heart wrenched for her. But I held back my tongue, held back my phone, an act of cowardice, rather to offer her a condolence.

I understand that offering a condolence is the most basic thing one should do. But, doing it through modern communication gadget seems, well, insincere and awkward. One might refute this point, but it is merely my opionion, no harm intended. Given a choice, I would've chosen to be there, to be present, as a moral support, showing that we are friends in rainy days as well.
However, circumstances does not permit and, moreover, I've not seen this particular friend for almost four years.

If I were to call, I will be afraid of saying the wrong things at the wrong time. I am afraid that speech might not be able to explain what I want to say. Instead of offering a balm to a wounded heart, I might unwittingly pour salt on wound, knowing that my ability of appropriate speech is more or less equivalent to a ten year old kid.

It might be unfounded fears, really, but knowing the news and not calling to say something seems so wrong, so inhumane. I felt so sorry about it. It felt bad deep inside, to tell the truth.

Mayhap it is due to our age, where we seem to think that we are immortals, that explains ineptness in handling situation such as this when it is thrusted to us so abruptly. Whatever the reason is, I think I should not hide behind the excuses and do something at least.

The only thing I can do is to pray.

May God bless his soul.

Yes, yes, I know about the Quidditch, I know about Voldemort, I know that Harry is a poor little orphan who survived the blasted avadra kedavra curse.So what? The Potter fans are so darned excited that the bookstores came out a brilliant marketing idea to ensure their sales months before the book is officially launched. Never heard of it before? It is so called "prebooking + discount" to ensure that you guys get to waste your money in THEIR store on another installment of Harry Potter and the garbage truck, err I mean Half Blood Prince.

Now, don't get me wrong. I do not totally detest the books. In fact, I WAS a self confessed Harry Potter fan, and so were sis and dad. We've got all equally tattered first five installments (due to overreading) and we nearly drove our mum crazy with endless chatter of Quidditch matches and broomstick models.

The first three book was brilliant, to say the least. Short enough, interesting and no fuss. However, the fourth book is started to go downhill. Long winded, yes. Interesting but too long winded. By long winded I do not mean by I have short attention span, its just that sometimes the chapters are a bit mundane. Nevermind, we can still tolerate it. Each of us took a day to finish it with mum positively glaring at us for the "pay attention to the food you put in your mouth" look.

Then came the fifth book, and dad was in rush to grab the copy of adult hardcover, and well… started reading before passing it to my I-can't-wait-anymore sister. Dad read it first and told us that it was quite dissapointing.

Frankly, it was. Instead of becoming a mature, logical teenage, Harry had screwed it in anyway imaginable. And instead of being an honourable, cool and dependable headmaster, Dumbledore had somehow dwindled into an old, frail geezer who shed tears every now and then and blabbling senile speeches to the recalcitrant Harry which seems, if possible getting more defiant than we thought he is impossible of.

Yeah, yeah, its not their fault, its Rowling's fault anyway. She had earned enough to last her for a few lifetime and she is not bothered about what brought her fame in the first place, as I had read in an interview before. (Sorry, no idea which, forgot the link)

Guess I will just wait for someone else review before I decide wherether does it worth my money to purchase a cheap paperback of the sixth installment. Or better still, you fans out there can convince me to love Potter again by sending me the book.

Nah, just kidding. =)

If there is some thing that I hate the most, it is this: diarrhea.This is what Wikipedia says about it.

This is what I want to say.

Stay near your barf bags and toilet bowls.

Drink. Drink. Drink. Water, I mean.

Be prepared to cuss and diss when your stomach hurts real bad, especially when it feels as if it is spinning a full load of laundry in there.

Don't leave the house. You will regret this if you do.

Don't eat lard laden food. Eat KFC hot and spicy to induce output.

Don't tell your parents. They will keep calling you even if you assure them that you are okay.

I doubt if it works, but you can try smearing minyak angin on your stomach to ease the pain.

Always keep a spare supply of poh chai yuen. You might never know that the fried rice you are eating now will give you problems later.

Don't be tam chiak. Don't simply eat when you know that your diarrhea is not cured yet.

Just buy more toilet paper…