HELLO CYBER WORLD!

As usual, I have no concept of time. Whoever invented clocks would be turning in his grave right now, looking at how I manage my time.

It's break week next week, but I've got an International Political Economy term paper due Monday, a Research Methods for the Social Sciences term paper due Wednesday, and the exciting Finishing Touch interview also on that dark day.

Let's run through a list of what I've completed.





...





Oh yeah, none.

Let's look at what I'm at least halfway through.





...





So halfway is a bit of a grand ambition. How about looking at what I've already started?





...





Heh? No such records.

Today is Friday, the last day of school, and as usual I'm acting as if my entire semester is over.

When will I start on my term papers?

Manana, manana.

Which means tomorrow, tomorrow in Spanish. But I'm missing that squiggly "n" letter thing which is used in the Spanish alphabet, so I'm effectively talking about manly bananas instead.

Because I feel it is important to reflect upon my life at some point, and to take pride (or a lack thereof) in what I have done, I shall look back at my semester and my life in general to see what I've been up to.

International Economics A:
How exciting, I've gotten back some of my grades for this.

It seems the professor only knows one letter, and that is C. But what am I complaining, considering I opened my textbook for the first time during the midterms and I spent the time during the test READING my textbook for the first time (a fact which surprisingly wasn't lost on the people sitting beside me...were people so confident in their midterms that they spent most of their time looking at me bonding with my textbook? Wah.), I guess I am pretty contented with my grades.

I think I have frightened some of the people in class with my low expectations in life. I think it's pretty clear that my priority in life isn't comprehending balance of payments theories or doing well for this module. In fact, I didn't even know we were allowed to bring our notes in for the midterms. I thought it was just the book?

Me: (Burst into class triumphantly, after having snuck in right on time before the midterms started) Hello! (Waves at friend, sits down beside friend)

Friend: WHERE ARE YOUR NOTES?!

Me: Notes?

Friend: Notes!

Me: (Flashback to previous classes...what notes...) Oh, I don't have any. (Not to mention the fact that I didn't even know we were allowed notes)

Friend: (Eyes wide, mouth wide, nose wide? Everything wide!) HUH?!

Me: (Looked around at classroom, notices stacks of notes on every person's desk) Oh all right all right, I think I'll use what I have. (Takes out my "notes" --> If you read the previous entries, the notes that I effectively have are those that I scanned...a mish-mesh of notes in fake Chinese?! Drawings of everything somewhat related but yet totally unrelated to Econs?! Go me!)

Friend: Huh...you're using THAT?

I think he was more concerned than I was. Ah, as much as I don't believe it myself, there is some Econs wisdom hidden beneath some of the junk and gunk in my notes, if you look carefully. Of course, it would have helped if I actually completed some of the sentences I wrote in my Econs notes, because some of the notes came out like this.

"Singapore is an open economy which does not fix its interest rates because it is DAVID SILVA SITTING ON GRASS." Followed by a drawing of David Silva sitting on grass. Singapore's open economy is not as important as David Silva sitting on grass.

Did I mention that I like drawing David Silva? His head is really simply-shaped, and round.

So that was how my midterms went. Got a C- for it, which honestly I can't complain. Frankly, I don't even care. I don't care for things that don't interest me, which I've been told off for, but I absolutely hate being forced to do things that I don't like to do. Econs is one. Remind me never to invest my money in anything in the future. My notes about hedge funds ended up as a beautiful drawing of the scary house in "The King of the Castle", hidden behind a plethora of hedges.

Research Methods for the Social Sciences:
Probably more useful if I was considering Psychology, which I am not, so adios.

Finishing Touch:
Hahahahaha. What can I say about this module?

To be honest, business has NEVER appealed to me. Working in a 9-to-5 is, to me, a pretty stifling option. This module is very useful...if you fit into that kind of mould. The mould that every parent would be proud of. The academic, the white-collared job, the money-making child.

Thank god my parents aren't like that.

I have always been really clear about what I didn't want. And it still hasn't changed. Possibly, people were hoping to change my mindset with this module, but nope, I don't let people change my mind. I went into class knowing I didn't want a 9-to-5, and I still don't. I find it admirable that people in the class have all sorts of grandiose dreams, and even a little sad that I lack such mighty plans of my own, but I think I'm happier than a lot of the people I talk to, not just in that class, but people in general.

It doesn't take much to please me, I'm not looking for a high-paying job with an inflated status. I don't see the importance in that. However, I had such a hard time writing my Career Essay (a detailed career goal and plans for the future) because I was so sure about what I didn't want, but not entirely sure about what it is that I wanted.

That said, I made myself think late one night. While looking out the window at a non-existent moon (I mean, they ALWAYS did that in the movies, but there was always a moon conveniently outside the window, which is really unfair), I decided to think back to my childhood days, when everything seemed possible and I was too young to know what I could and couldn't do. It was pretty easy to see where my interests laid as a child.

1) Archaeology -- Indiana Jones, Indiana Jones! Did I mention that I love the adventures so much that I spent THREE ENTIRE DAYS JUST SITTING DOWN PLAYING my dear sibling's PS3 game, the Indiana Jones one. I was so into it that I pulled my arm muscle trying to hoist Indiana over this ridiculous lava-filled hole, which if he had any sense in the first place, he would have avoided. And I completed the entire game in 3 days, which is no mean feat I tell ya. My other dear sibling helped me out at some point, but I was mostly left battling all those enemies on my own, which gave me such a headache that my dog started to look concerned with my well-being because I was groaning everytime Indiana did something wrong...why am I talking about this?

So, I wanted to be an archaeologist. A lot. As a kid, I used to borrow those archaeology/history encyclopedias and just peruse through them everyday. At my old house, there was this playground and a small hill and I used to pretend that I was climbing some sacred mountain and all the other kids were the tribal people and the swings were tree vines and the monkey bars were tree branches and the sand was really quicksand and the pebbles were the only places that you could walk on or you'd die a painful death...no wonder I didn't have many friends when I was younger, I clearly had issues.

So AHHH whatever. I wanted to do archaeology. I remember asking my parents once if I could be that and if I could live in a pyramid and they were appalled. Aish.

2) Actress -- CLEARLY a childhood dream. I really liked acting, I used to pull a lot of acting nonsense here and there to freak people out as a child. The fake crying and things like that, which being the youngest, usually worked.

3) Writer -- I liked writing, I still do. Which, I'm sure, isn't lost on you if you're reading this. Of course, I'm too long-winded for my own good, and I know no one would ever pay to read any of my stuff, but I just like doing it for myself, it's a nice way to document thoughts.

This is probably the most realistic dream I've got, the nearest profession I can think of is that of a journalist. A foreign correspondent of some sort, that would be really cool. Exploration is key, and I love writing about things that we don't know the answers to. Which is why I secretly dream of going to North Korea...I think I'm really strange. People are dreaming to get out and I'm dreaming to go in. I'd just like to explore that society for myself and see the 2 extremes of Korean culture. North and South Korea. One culture, two ways of life. Why? It'll be nice to see for myself how that came about. So culture is not that important to a society after all, but the political systems instead.

So my Career Essay was about this. And I don't think anyone would be really impressed with how small my dream is, but to me, it's big enough, it'll make my world if I could even be like that in the future.

It's easy to feel out of place in that class. It also sucks knowing that most of my ideas aren't realistic to begin with, at least not here. But well, I'm hoping by the time I graduate, there'd be something for me to do that I can seek solace in.

International Political Economy:
Oh, I like this module. I apologize for always looking so dazed in class, but it's just that FT before that would have totally killed my brain cells. I mean, we're forced to think about our careers in that class. And since I have NONE of such plans, the energy I put into creating an imaginary career just for class is enough to wipe me out for the rest of the day.

Development, Underdevelopment and Poverty:
I really like this module too. In fact, I really enjoyed the 2 Political Science modules I did this semester, it made me even more certain that Political Science is my calling. of course, I would have preferred doing History or Anthropology as a degree, because I would do such things for fun, but at some point I gotta not get so carried away by my interests...

Dare I say it? I'm sad that school is over because I really did not want my 2 Political Science modules to end. It sounds like I'm going insane yea? Well, at least I'm documenting all this down for future reference.

I dunno, it just seemed like I learnt a lot from these modules. Uni is seen as a drag mostly, when it comes to doing things I have to do, like Econs. But the good thing about doing a degree in something you're interested in is that you'd willingly read up on all the notes, and I like it so much that I don't even mind being examined for it. I'm a nutcase, I know.

Is it weird that I'm also looking forward to next semester? Mostly because I got my bid for Spanish, which is something that I've been meaning to do since I was, what, a zygote?

I'll be doing Gender & Family (Sociology), Social Psychology, Ethics and Social Responsibility (bore of a core module) and SPANISH. Fantastic.

Is it weird that I have not watched A SINGLE FOOTBALL MATCH ALL SEASON? And it's already almost mid-season. I like football and all, but it's dying down. I think everyone goes through that, my dear sibling stopped watching at some point too, which explains why I've got a mad number of football collectibles dumped in my room, because my dear sibling did not know what to do with all the things.

Looking at my room, I feel like doing something radical to it. Right now, there is my bed obviously, with a Torres scarf cohabiting with me. I'm really not into soft toys at all, never was, so I don't have any huggable items on my bed. I've only got some Brazilian bear and Scottish bear thing which were given to me, and that's all. Then there's my radio, which I doubt even receives anything remotely human-like anymore? It sounds like I'm communicating with UFOs when I turn it on, so I gave up a long time ago. I should dump it out at some point. I've got a stack of CDs as well, which I should clear at some point, because I don't even listen to half the things I used to listen to anymore. Right now, I'm going through a weird Korean phase, so I listen to that a lot. I still listen to my old Aussie favourites like Motor Ace and all, but not as much. So...will clear that area soon.

I've got a football poster up as well, that of the Spanish team, it was a gift because I spent so much time gawking at it that my friend got it for me. Which is really nice, so I put it up. I never noticed that Iker Casillas was looking so much like a warlord, he looked really peeved in the picture. He has his arms around Antonio Lopez and Ruben Baraja and with his massive gloves on, he looked like he was holding them hostage. They both looked really pale too. Also, Michel Salgado is squatting in a rather awkward manner, I don't even wish to comment further. And Carles Puyol, as usual, looking cool with Steven Tyler hair.

So the main problem is that my poster likes falling down sometimes. Like I'd get up and have Awkward Salgado staring straight at me, because the poster would fall on my head, and it's not a very enjoyable moment at 5 plus in the morning, waking up to see Awkward Salgado and his indecent pose.

At some point, I'd like to clear the newspaper cuttings and pictures I have on my wall at my desk. It's a bit odd whenever I'm feeling wise, reading about Escobar's idea of development in third world nations, and then I look up and I see Fernando Torres scratching his ear. It's a really nice picture, but his fingers are busy scratching away.

There's also a picture of Raul, from a long time ago, back when I used to like Raul. So there I am, reading about colonization in the African nations, and I look up and I see Raul and his slightly open mouth.

There's also a picture of my dog, looking really peaceful before she lunged at the camera after the picture was taken. A picture of Fernando Torres again, this time from a Spanish newspaper article about his contribution to a match against poverty. This is the one inspiring picture that I try to look at whenever I'm doing my readings for my poverty class, because Fernando Torres is looking pleased in the picture wearing a jersey that says "MATCH AGAINST POVERTY".

Then there's this nice Cesc Fabregas art thing that my dear sibling bought from Thailand, so that's sitting coolly beside Fernando Torres. And for some reason, I have a Chinese sticker stuck on my wall...I think it was from the TJ Chinese teacher that Sandy fancied. Then there's a nice drawing from my tutee, an old Juventus poster courtesy of the dear sibling, even though I don't even like Juve. Mini ballet shoes stuck on the wall too, from when I was 6 or 7, a gift from my ballet teacher. And also...a non-working clock. It says 5.26pm. I think it's said that since the year 2006. No wonder I have no concept of time.

Maybe I don't want to clear all this up after all, it's got such nice memories attached to it. There are a ton of other stuff but I'm writing too much. I started out writing this to kill time while waiting for my friend, but I got carried away.

So goodbye!

Abrupt ending as always.

Pearlynnnnnnnnn

Not Death, Just the End of Living.

Arundhati Roy knew it best.

Really, does it not describe most people in society today?

For students, all they seem to want in life is good grades. Respectable job with a good pay. If I had to do a tattoo everytime someone told me that is his or her ambition in life, I don't think I'd have any skin left?

For the working adults, all they seem to want is...surprise, surprise. A respectable job with a good pay.

Self-centred much.

Money was supposed to be a good thing, it was created for convenience purposes, even though I like the barter trade system much better. But I think we've created a Frankenstein here.

Because suddenly money talks, and money controls our actions and our goals. What a laugh, when having inanimate objects pleasure us in such ways...

And grades? Aish. You have got to be joking. Alphabet on paper, yet it has been a socially constructed virtue to put so much importance into that one slip of paper.

There's this whole idea that failing is a very bad thing. Do you know why failure is so bad?

Because it is not a norm. If you fail, you make up a minority. And generally society does not favour minorities very much, because minorities are usually strange. So if you fail, that means you must be very odd. And for most people, being classified outside the mainstream is a very bad thing.

But when you come down to it, is failure really so harmful? Why are people so afraid of failure? Could it be that people are just so prideful that they have to uphold a certain demeanour in society's eyes? Could it be that people are just genuinely concerned about making a living in the future?

And yet, whoever said that failing once will result in you being doomed to fail forever?

The thing about society is that, they let people and inanimate things decide for them if they have failed. If you failed a module, you're deemed a failure. People are so subservient to such external forces that they do not realize that ultimately, the only person you have to get over is yourself.

When you come down to it, you realize that grades are just alphabets streamlining you into different categories. An 'F' is just a socially-constructed letter thought up by MERE MORTALS to decide if you are a failure.

So do you bow down to such forces? Do you just sit there and accept this "failure" tag?

No.

So why are people so afraid of failure? Sure, it jeopardizes chances in the future, it will not be smooth-sailing, that I will say.

But to me, failure is an internal thing, and I will only admit failure when I myself have given up my own fight, when I myself have taken my last breath, when I myself have decided that enough was enough. THAT is failure.

An 'F'? That's not failure. That's just what other people think of you. So be it.

And yet people rush around all the time just worrying about their grades, about their futures.

If that's the way they choose to live their lives, then do it.

But me? If I were to disappear someday, I hope people will remember me for who I was, the differences I made, and not what I did in school.

And for the record, I am not suicidal, because I know people will be asking me that once I put up this blog post.

I am just, frankly, very intrigued by the strange way people seem to have their lives revolve around school and nothing else. And do not give me the crap that it's beyond your control, because nothing is ever beyond your control.

Unless you are talking about mother nature, that I succumb to.

But otherwise, there are always ways and means to cope with school. And don't feed me the line that I'm just lucky for having no schoolwork.

No schoolwork? In an alternate universe, I don't. But unfortunately, I have a ton of term papers due, as well as various reports and readings. Political Science is no walk in the park I tell ya.

But I am enjoying myself doing Political Science, so I don't complain. And I don't freak out with the amount of assignments I have, that part can be worked out.

That's why I say this.

Not death.

But just the end of living.

I am alive, because I am glad I know how not to let academics rule me.

I feel sorry for the majority of students who fast-forward through life without experiencing anything outside school and clubbing though.

I realize I sound like a 55-year-old man now, especially since the one person who has agreed with my words so far is MY DAD. But well, my dad and I are alike in many ways.

...

...

...

Samantha is talking to me on MSN now, so understandably I am distracted...Samantha liked Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, Dragon? MUAHAHAHAHAHA. And I thought I was the weird one between us.

And for the last time, you're spelling thee bee ass kay wrong! Hahahahaha.

And AHAHAHAHAHA. My dear sibling just fell down on the stairs, while carrying some fruit and water and...shoes? Aish.

Ok. Bye.

Signed,

Sincerely, me

Pearlyn

Speak Chinese Week.

In International Economics class today, I made a resolution.

Let's see how far I can get writing my notes in Chinese.

Now, I take every pride in my Chinese skills...or lack thereof. I'll have you know, when I was in Primary 3, I won the second prize in some school HanyuPinyin competition, and I still have the giganto gleaming silver trophy sitting pretty in my room. In fact, I take the pains to clean it once every few months, and I am proud to say that I can still see my reflection on the trophy.

Of course, the main reason why that peculiar trophy is still in my possession is because I do not exactly have any other trophies to put up. I've got only ONE other trophy, and it's considerably smaller in size...though still silver.

It was from coming in second in a three-legged race in Primary 3.

Out of all the other Primary 3 students, a big feat back in those days I tell ya!

I remember when I was younger, there was a shelf in my house where my parents lined up all the trophies or medals of us kids. My dear siblings had trophies from...tennis or essay competitions or whatnot.

In Primary 3, I decided to put up my three-legged race trophy next to all the rest.

The trophy was actually very pretty, with the KCP school crest and things like that...until you move closer and read the anticlimatic words "Silver -- Three-legged race novelty event".

I also won some Chinese handwriting competition in primary school...I'm not entirely sure why KCP was always having competitions like that, and why I ended up participating in them, but I did anyway, and I have some accolades under my belt that I suppose I should be very pleased about.

I think that's where my talent in the Chinese language stops, sad to say.

I don't think I was always horrible in Chinese. I used to like memorizing Tang Shis/Poems and pretending I was living in a cave in the Chinese mountains and I had no food and no water and all I could do was read out poems everyday to my multitude of goats and chickens and birds.

I was a strange child.

The parents did Malay in school, and they're considerably better with Malay than Chinese. The sad thing is, I can't speak Malay either! Except ungrammatical Malay taught by Minah Izzah. And I know how to say things like "tiga people!" when I go to a Malay food stall and they ask me how many people there are...yeah I have to refine my spoken Malay.

I will say that I never disliked Chinese, I just didn't have anyone to speak it to. If I spoke it to my dad, he'd try really hard but he always ends up talking about the same things because his Chinese is pretty limited. I remember asking him for the time in Chinese once and he said "Qi1 dian3 (seven o' clock)". I asked him again a while later and it was still "Qi1 dian3". If I asked him 45 minutes from then, it'll probably still be "Qi1 dian3".

My mom is considerably better, but she can't really read Chinese words. So sometimes we'd try watching Channel 8 and there'd be the emergency newsbar in Chinese on that channel and she'd always ask me to translate it...and I don't do a good job of it so I always end up telling her the wrong news and getting her all alarmed for no reason.

My dear siblings sound strange when they speak Chinese. It just sounds like they're trying to communicate with extraterrestial creatures. Half the time, we don't know what each of us are talking about, so we abandon speaking in Chinese. We'd probably be more successful with morse code.

And most of my dear good friends aren't even Chinese to begin with. In this case, English is always the best way to communicate in my life.

But you know what? I somehow ended up doing Higher Chinese in primary school, because I wanted to copy my dear sibling. It wasn't too bad because I was being tutored like three times a week in Chinese, but when I got into secondary school, it just...fell.

I never did pay attention in Chinese class. That is, to be honest, through no fault of others. Only maybe Gladys Chung. Hahahaha. We sat next to each other in class, and we did stupid things like change song lyrics into Chinese. At that time, Gladys really liked the song "Eternal Flame", so we decided to translate it into Chinese and sing it in class...

It got confiscated.

Now, I don't know what the teacher was so mad about. If she could just see my potential as a musician, or a professional translator...

And then I somehow managed an A2 for the O-levels, but was still made to do a year of Chinese in jc. Which is pretty senseless to be honest. I wouldn't have minded if there was an actual syllabus and if we did actual things in class, but the only things I seem to remember of me in Chinese class in jc is:

1) "Doing worksheets", but really playing the air guitar with Crazy Solly. Got caught by the teacher but he was too resigned to do anything about us.

2) "Doing worksheets", but really busy deciphering song lyrics with Fart.

3) "Doing worksheets", but really busy making crazy lists with Chelsea.

4) 'Doing worksheets", but really looking at the injured bird that Hsin Ching brought into class in a shoebox one day. Its beak kept poking out of the shoebox while the teacher was talking, and just to let you know it's not the easiest of things to prod a bird's beak back into a shoebox.

5) "Doing worksheets", but really busy looking at Hsin Ching, who this time, decided to bring mangoes to class. Mangoes that she had picked from the ground in our school yard. Some had worms.

6) "Doing worksheets", but really busy coming up with crazy games like the "Who will get married first in the class?" game or the "What is his/her future occupation?" game.

7) Not doing worksheets, because other than that I would have skipped the classes. Teacher actually came up to me one day and asked, "You've got lots of medical problems, eh?"

Sorry, teach.

That's why today, I decided to do something I've never done before. Write my notes in Chinese.

No easy feat, to be honest.

And to tell you the truth, I really don't understand what I've written at all.

I mean, economics is bad enough in English.

Bring on Chinese and my world gets even more complicated.

Now, based on the feedback I've gotten from some of my friends who have seen this...three-quarts of my notes make no sense :(.

And I have not cured the drawing incessantly problem I have when I am bored. That is a picture of how my eraser looks like, and the picture next to it is...I dunno, my professor was talking about some investment thing.

I also decided to write in detail what happened during our end-of-the-session discussion. The topic was "Why is forecasting exchange rates so difficult?"

I wasn't really bothering to follow in English.

Let alone Chinese.

But I got some of it down.

Joyce, who was sitting next to me, had her laptop on so we decided to check out the online translators. We decided to translate numerous quotes and important phrases into different languages, to prepare us for when we become global travellers in the future.

1) "Irrational" into Chinese and French

2) "Hi, my name is Pearlyn" into Spanish and Greek

3) "I am falling asleep in class" into Spanish, French, Korean, and Swedish

4) "Look, there's a bear!" into Korean, German, and French

As you can see, I'm already preparing for when I go on exchange sometime in the future.

Adrian Gonzalez is STILL not playing for Getafe. I've not checked to see if he's injured or what, but how can he be injured without even playing?

Then again, he's too tall for his own good, and he looks a bit clumsy sometimes. I wouldn't be surprised if he broke his toe after walking into a rocking chair.

Poor Adrian has been looking so sad lately, though he was born looking sad. But just look.

Even Esteban Granero isn't a regular starter, but he's been afflicted with injuries as far as I know. At least Jaime Gavilan is doing well in Getafe.

Speaking of Granero...

Human Granero and Dog Granero :).

Food! Bye.

Signed,

Sincerely, me

Pearlynnnnnnnnnnnnnn Granero

Shiny Soup Per June In Year.

I am amazed that no one has actually figured out what the lunatic phrase above means or entails. Fart and Maka thought it was an entirely cryptic and philosophical phrase dripping with wisdom and undertones of profound misery, but alas, i am not suicidal or remotely wise. My mind is simple and I think not of complexities. Fart and Maka, who have since discovered what it means, have since refused to acknowledge this phrase anymore. O, what bitter ladies, just because they took a thousand months to decipher it instead of a few seconds like a mere mortal would have.





Sometimes, the wisdom of life emerges right in front of you in the most simplest of ways. Think like a twisted-minded philosopher and you'll never get the phrase.





So. It's been a long time, as usual, since I have updated this thing. Have reluctantly dragged myself back to school, where I have a 4-day week and where I have no desire to spend more time in. I go to school, I physically appear in classes, I disappear. Try to do something more and I'll be shooting myself. No offense, I'm just not a school person. It's a place where like-minded people group themselves, a place where the ones in the peripheries are misjudged, and a place where I have no desire to feel a sense of belonging to. I do try to smile occasionally, there are other nice human beings around that make it pleasant at times. Mostly I enjoy sitting in a dark corner and doing something obscure, but I have realized that not many people in school are very receptive to such behaviour, judging by the looks of utter astonishment when people turn round the corner and see me doodling in some strange area. It might be odd if you don't know me, but I believe I am fairly harmless. I have benevolent thoughts almost 90% of the time anyway, so dare not be frightened when any of you chance upon me like that again.





Am doing 4.5 credits this semester, which is a bit of a drone. Well, I have decided on Political Science as my major, it's the closest thing that I'm interested in around here. Sure, if I had a choice I'd be doing European History or Cultural Studies or Archaelogy or Ancient Civilizations or Crumbling Monuments 101, but it's bad enough already having to explain to old narrow-minded relatives what Political Science means. If I even contemplated doing anything like Archaelogy which I've always been interested in as a child, I think I will be studying my own tombstone. If only I lived in a place where such things are encouraged. Well, I can still do that for fun I guess, like dig in the sand at Pasir Ris Park hoping to find some Orang Laut straw hat, but it'll be even more brilliant if I can do that as a living.





I have strange tendencies, I know. I used to think that Indiana Jones had such a cool life. Minus the whole bit about him being killed by rival archaeologists and tribal people, that I can live without. It's fascinating just sitting down wondering how humans came about and how and why different cultures evolve and how some monuments can be so timeless in nature and how some artefacts were used in olden days. It is true that people always pine for what they cannot have. And obviously I cannot travel back to the old days to see how the Stonehenge came about, so obviously I am curious about that. It's the whole mystical thing, just thinking about things you don't have the answers to is incredible. That's why I never felt anything special for anything scientific. Don't get me wrong, science is great. If it wasn't for science, i would be cowering in a cave with a campfire talking to bats.





In most cases, there are answers to science. It's either A or B. But I like the possibility of options, and grey areas. The idea that not everything is clear in black and white is something that appeals to me. A reason that I chose the subject combinations that I did in school. People say it's crazy to do the arts, it's not rewarding, it's too difficult. They're wrong. It's rewarding in its own way. There are no guaranteed and observable results, hell studying all this won't even guarantee you a proper future in this land, but there are so many things you can learn from the books we did in lit. Cultures, behaviour, empathy, history, compassion. History as a subject involves much reading, but it's worth it. If this society continues to progress in its methodological scientific narrow-minded way, we'll just end up like mindless robots who will never see things beyond the observable surface.





Before I start to creep myself out further with these thoughts, let's move on.





Adrian Gonzalez doesn't seem to be having a grand time in Getafe, why am I even surprised? This is the boy whose own father doesn't even want to look at him and treat him like a son, so I can't imagine him ever being well-treated in this lifetime. I seem to have forgotten how he looks like kicking a ball, it's been such a long time since I've seen him do that. The poor dear, he should not have quit school so hastily, what is to become of him now? All I've been seeing of him recently is fan pictures of him taken after training, him posing with various fans, lots and lots of pictures of all that in the past few weeks.





Well, if he doesn't even play, then obviously he has all the time in the world to entertain strange loitering fans outside Getafe's training grounds. I suppose that's the only reason why they even bought him in the first place. So that they can send him out to take pictures with randoms who'd leave the REAL players alone. I hope they feed him at least, Adrian is getting hungrier-looking everytime I see him, he's such a pitiful boy.





Oh right. I feel like I should talk about the classes that I'm doing this semester.





International Economics:


Econs as a whole is really something that I can do without. I mean, of course it'd be good if I can instantly understand all these things so I don't actually lose all my savings on roti prata when I grow up, but I dislike graphs more than anything and I despise all these various formulas weighing me down.





And I don't get how I should write essays for Econs. Half the time I'm drawing graphs that make no sense, and coming up with Pearlynistic theories rather than quoting Marxist theories.





The professor is really nice though, in the adorable old man way.





My notes from a typical day in Econs:

Not really sure if it can be seen, the scanned results came out pretty small (EDIT: Click on it to see the enlarged version). Ignore the "Temasek Junior College" notepad, all I have left lying around is a bunch of old school stuff left over from my time in school compounded with the dear siblings' old school things which have somehow came under my care. I'm left with the "Temasek Junior College" notepad and a tattered ACJC ZuoWen notepad, which will be very helpful when I decide to write a novel in Chinese.

And in my defense, I WAS paying attention mostly. But I tend to digress and I like to do a million things in one second. So I'm drawing and 1/4 listening...so there ARE some useful notes scribbled at the side. THERE, that's proof.

The first drawing is "Time : 1240", which is when I first thought I was going to fall off the chair in lethargy.

The second drawing is "Trading". That word was tossed around quite a bit in class. I don't know why i tend to draw men with puffed-out chests or stomachs, considering they are neither biologically able to grow out their chests or conceive a child. And I can never draw feet right, they're always pointed in strange directions, no normal person is able to stand that way without pulling a calf muscle.

The third drawing is "Country with budget surplus" and "Country with budget deficit". Well, economically I don't think I got it right, considering countries with budget surpluses aren't necessarily rich and countries with budget deficits aren't necessarily poor. But because I was bored, I decided that the man representing the country with a surplus should be a pompous businessman, while the man representing the country with a deficit should be a sad-looking little dude, who actually resembles Adrian there.

Don't know why I always draw hands sticking out like that, who stands like that?! And I don't get why I think that humans have webbed fingers.

And the sad-looking little dude...has no toes. Sigh.

The fourth drawing is "Neoliberal economist" and "Young Karl Marx". I'm not a fan of neoliberal economics, I find it too rigid and with a lack of regard for politics, so I'm trying to draw a stuffy old messy-looking scholarly man who thinks he's right all the time. I don't know why Karl Marx is drawn like that, and I'm not sure if he even looked like that, but I think most great thinkers of that century had no hair on top and hair growing out of their ears, with subsequent hair enveloping a sinister mouth lurking beneath.

This was after the break, and I told myself to listen instead of move away to Pearlyn Dimension again, but I disobeyed myself and started drawing again. I tend to tune out when I'm not interested in things, apologies to all.

The first drawing is "Country house with hedges". Well, my professor was talking about...hedge funds? Finance is really not my cup of tea, so when he said that I started thinking about a beautiful cottage surrounded by luscious hedges. However, I was not feeling very inspired then so I decided to draw not-so-luscious hedges and a decrepit-looking house with two random seagulls. Well all right, it's how I imagine the house in "The King of the Castle" to look like, though if I really wanted to I would have made it more foreboding.

The second drawing is "Market". My professor was having a field day, talking about...free markets? Well I was thinking of food because I didn't have any during the break, so I thought drawing some raw-looking vegetables and malicious-looking fishes would help me snap out of it, and before long I started to draw an entire market stall.

Don't know why the seller's arms turned out so hairy, I was going to draw just a few specks of arm hair, but suddenly it's all over his body.

And for the last time, he's not crying. It's SWEAT.

The third drawing is "Herd Mentality" and "Outcast". I think my professor was talking about the herd mentality in investments and things like that, and generally I hate anything to do with herds, so I made sure to draw a sad but brave outcast. Every society has an outcast and we must not leave them out.

Oh dear, the little girl at the far corner has no neck. I have to improve on the drawing of essential body parts.

I don't know why I coloured "MAS" there, which looks quite ominous to me. But I think it stands for the Monetary Authority of Singapore, which my professor kept referring to.

Research Methods for the Social Sciences:

I would like to reiterate that me not liking a course has nothing to do with the professor whatsoever. I have very clear interests and anything that I'm being forced to do will be done, but very reluctantly.

So I'm a reluctant member of RMSS class.

I can't ever imagine myself doing anything like that in the future. I'm curious about things, but I'm too lazy to specially create experiments to test out my thoughts. Besides, the time taken to verify these results would just kill my curiosity eventually.

International Political Economy:

Interesting class. A bit dry at times when it comes down to economic theories but at least it's nothing crazy like actual economics. Lots of international students in the class, they tend to travel in gaggles, but I like the class nonetheless, it's the least stressful one and the professor is a bit spacey and I like that sort.

Development, Underdevelopment and Poverty:

Heavy.

The group project confused me to the point that I DREAMT about it. Do not wish to relive that. Nevertheless, we got thru it with time, and it was amusing mostly because we (including the professor) were SO UNSURE about what we were doing so we were just confused together, right up to presentation day.

But heavy.

Enough about school. On another note, Maka went back to Liverpool, which makes things a bit quieter around here. No more satanic laughter, no more whining, no more BLING. Come back soon, please.

What is Fart sighing about now, have to go respond to her now. Goodbye earthlings!

Signed,

Sincerely, me

Pearlyn

PEARLYN IS BACK PART TWO

Day 5, Wednesday, 8am

Was awakened rudely, as usual, by Fart. Fart’s alarm was of a siren, and we had gotten a false alarm in the middle of the night because some sort of fire engine or ambulance was driving by and we thought it was Fart’s alarm. Or at least I did.

So we were getting ready to head to Melbourne. It was a one-hour flight, and we had to be at the airport by 11am or so. Human Clock Fart was, of course, counting down the minutes so we would not be late. So dramatic.

Have I mentioned that Maka the Incredible Sulk was contorting her face in unpleasant expressions because of…I don’t know why. But we’ve gotten used to it by then.

(That is me by her side. I was frantically penning down our thoughts in OUR travel journal, but Fart and Maka were notably unhelpful.)

So we took a plane down and was greeted by a jovial Christine, who was going to board HER plane to Singapore in about half an hour. The gods up there must have been laughing at us silly, it’s as if they planned for us to communicate with each other for such a short period of time.

So. Christine was extremely excited, was immediately scooped up by her in this big bear hug. If you have met Christine, you will understand what I mean. I detest hugging people and any other substance (mostly because I am so short that hugging a grown person would result in my head clashing into inappropriate body parts), but Christine is different. Hugging anyone else would have been like hugging a pillar.

So we didn’t have much time with Christine. But Christine was entirely professional and whisked us all to some food place (I can’t even remember where, she was so efficient in dragging us to someplace that I didn’t even look up to see where we were) and briskly instructed, “Pen. Paper.” With that, she grabbed the pen out of Fart’s hands and took our travel journal and proceeded to ramble on about which places we should go to if we wanted cheap food (CHEAP to Christine but insane to us). Also drew out some streets, it was as if Christine had been rehearsing in front of the mirror everyday, because she was just regurgitating everything she knew about Melbourne without even stopping for a breath or without looking at us to see if we could catch up with what she was saying. I noticed Fart’s and Maka’s eyes were all glazed over though, because Christine was speaking THAT quickly.

In all the excitement, Christine sort of forgot that we were all actually on budget, because she was so eager to tell us about this wonderful lemon cake thing.

Christine: OK, go to this place and get a slice of their lemon cake, very VERY nice…hey you know what? Forget it, get the WHOLE cake, only $38!

Fart/Maka/Pearlyn: Stunned

Getting a cake in Australia. I know all 3 of us eat a lot, but…

Alas, it was time for Christine to part. We were sad to see her go, and we were actually very depressed for the rest of the day…because we were dealt with a SECOND blow. Details later.

So anyway. We made a huge blunder with the airport transfer and somehow ended up spending $55 just to get to Bob and Christine’s place (this is a DIFFERENT Christine, mind you. Our real friend Christine is married to a man named Nuowen, not Bob).

So we ended up at Bob and Christine’s lodge, which we found a bit dubious at first. You see, it took a while for someone to come to us, and also because it was like a B&B, a big house. We booked for a 4-bed room, so we were flabbergasted to find out that, SHOCK, there was actually a 4th person already living in our room. Apparently at that moment, that was enough to make us think suicidal thoughts for the rest of the day. We were THAT down-hearted.

Maka was the moodiest. And I am not kidding. As we entered our room, we saw our new roommate and Maka’s face just SANK. But to be honest, our roommate was very very nice. Irish girl named Monica who was living there for a few months. You see, I was sort of talking to her alone while Fart and Maka were somehow around the lodge, and when she told me she was working in Melbourne, I knew that Maka would throw a tantrum because that would mean that she would be there throughout our stay. Then she said she worked night shifts and that seemed to appease Maka a little bit when I told her. Muahaha.

(But Irish, wow. Fart HAD to ask her about U2. Pssh. I wanted to ask her about BWitched but for some reason, that slipped my mind everyday I saw her.)

So Maka was unable to concentrate for the rest of the afternoon. I don’t even remember why we were so down, I guess because we wanted our privacy like how we did at Alfred Park. Muahahaha served us right for booking a 4-bed room.

BUT Monica was really the nicest roommate ever…RIGHT FART?

So for the rest of the day, we spent our time discussing and discussing and discussing if we should move to a 3-bed room. Our world must have been very small, because it was all we were concerned about. In retrospect, I really wonder what we were all so traumatized about. It’s not like Monica hung a sword on top of her bed or anything (we slept in double-deckers).

Went to Subway as usual, because it was the cheapest of all in Australia. At least, as far as we know. We later dubbed it Indian Subway, because the people working there were all Indians and they were blasting Indian music for Maka.

Moved on to Macs, where we stayed for the longest time. Spent the night playing the “1, 2, 3 Game”…it was a game we were very fascinated by but I am too ashamed to put it up on my blog.

Was on our way home, when we decided to walk all the way to Coles, a supermarket which was apparently “5 minutes away” from the lodge. According to Christine that is. Lodge Christine. Not Friend Christine.

So it took us about 25 minutes to walk back to our street. And so we thought that since Coles was just 5 minutes away, it wouldn’t be so bad yeah?

WRONG. I don’t know what sort of watch Christine uses or whether she was travelling by rocket or what. Because Coles was at least FIFTEEN minutes away.

By that time, we were in the mood to punch someone. It was exhausting mind you.

Coles was fascinating, and their house brand foodstuff were actually pretty good. The packaging they use, however, was a little OFF. For example, the Coles cereal box was white in colour, with just a logo on it.

Nothing else.

No picture of the supposed cereal. No name.

Nothing.

Scared us a bit, but we ended up buying some of their foodstuff. Like the garlic bread. Highly recommended, it pulled us thru our darkest days.

So we went back to the lodge, and LO AND BEHOLD, we returned to find a sleeping Monica. At 9.30pm.

Obviously we didn’t know what to do. We could have turned on the light, but we had just arrived that day and knowing King Kong Fart and Moody Maka and Clumsy Me, we’d make a whole lot of noise jingling and jangling because we had to unpack all our stuff.

So we just stood there. For the longest time. Fart was the strangest, she kept staring at Monica’s unconscious head. As if she was willing sleeping Monica to get up all of a sudden.

That didn’t happen though.

So we went to the lounge, where we panicked and paced about endlessly, wondering what our game plan was.

To be honest, I think we brought it upon ourselves. We’re dramatic people I guess, and Monica sleeping was apparently a huge complication. Though now I wonder why.

In our anxiety, I managed to snap a picture of the lounge we were in. Warm and fuzzy, no?

So we decided maybe we should try to get hold of Bob and Christine and ask them if we could move to a 3-bed room, since we hadn’t paid yet. And then came another complication. WHERE WAS BOB AND CHRISTINE?

After about 20 minutes of frustration (we were extremely astonished that Bob and Christine just TOOK OFF like that, leaving the lodge to no one’s care, what if there was an emergency?), we decided we should just CALL Bob and Christine on their emergency number.

And all this while, Bob and Christine were actually in the next room. The TV room.

Let me tell you that Fart had been into the TV room a while before to see if anyone was in there. But FOR SOME REASON, she had COMPLETELY forgotten how Christine looked like. I mean, I would not have been able to recognize Bob, but Christine brought us around the lodge and tended to us in the afternoon, and somehow her face was lost on Fart.

Also, Bob is a Western man while Christine is an Asian woman. I wonder why it never occurred to Fart that it was, in actual fact, Bob and Christine in the TV room when she checked a while before.

So we were panicking and trying to get hold of Bob and Christine at this point yeah? And all that time they were just fifteen steps away. I remember asking Fart this.

Pearlyn: Hey, who was it in the TV room?

Fart: I don’t know, it was really weird. It was a Western guy and an Asian woman, kinda suspicious.

(YES, Fart, you did use the word “suspicious”. I know I love embellishing things, but THAT part is true!)

Pearlyn/Maka: Thought nothing much of it

After a while, I decided that maybe we could ask “the people in the TV room” if they knew where Bob and Christine were. Maybe they could help us if they had been living there for a while.

So we entered the TV room. Fart was first in line so she called out, “Hi, excuse me. Do you know where…” And then I caught up behind her and saw that, good lord, IT WAS BOB AND CHRISTINE. For some reason, Fart STILL had no idea, she still thought they were a strange mixed-race couple, so I had to POKE HER VERY HARD and mumble, “Faaaaaaart? THAT IS CHRISTINE YOU IDIOT.”

Fart was stunned, but she recovered and tried to cover it up, but I think Christine heard us both. Oooooh deeeeeeear.

So we politely asked for a 3-bed room, but were unable to get one. AND FROM THEN ON, Bob was VERY VERY WORRIED about our well-being. I guess he thought we were suffering very much, but I think we were over-dramatizing it a lot. I sincerely apologize, it was just a very bad day for the 3 of us.

We went back up and turned on the light, and NOTHING HAPPENED. Monica didn’t spring up from her bed with a dagger. Nothing of that sort. She just…continued sleeping. I don’t know what we thought she would have done, but anyway we made as little noise as possible because we did not want to disturb her. I mean, she was working as a NURSE. What would we do if she lacked sleep and ended up extracting too much blood from a patient or something? Nooooo, we cannot be responsible for that.

We went back down after that because we felt so bad, worrying Bob and Christine like that. I think they were genuinely concerned. Mostly we were just afraid that Monica’s sleeping hours were early in the night and we did not want to have to disturb her every night, especially since I was always knocking into things when I’m trying to be quiet. So we assured Bob that “everything was absolutely fine” and we could not wish for a better room. Bob was still a little bit worried and kept telling us this.

Bob: Monica, you know, she’s hardly ever around. We don’t really ever see her, she’s gone mostly. In fact, I’m a bit surprised to know that she’s sleeping now…because that isn’t usually the case…(calls out) Christine? Christine? WHY IS MONICA SLEEPING SO MUCH?

Well we were trying hard not to laugh at this point, because we felt so bad for Monica. Like she had no right to be sleeping at all. Muahahaha.

Day 6, Thursday, 8am

Went to breakfast, where we were immediately pounced on by BOB. He kept asking us again and again if everything was OK, and obviously it was because we weren’t exactly strangled in our sleep or anything, but I think we really gave him a fright the night before.

Also, I kept bumping into this girl from Toronto in the morning, we had met her the night before in the lounge. To cut a long story short, she had invited us to go to the Queen Victoria Market with her today, but not only did we already have plans, but we were also unanimous on the fact that she probably would not have been able to take our budget travelling. I mean, I think she would have fainted at how little we spent on food. And how much we spent on transport. Which was NOTHING.

So I kept seeing her and she didn’t seem as friendly as the night before. Maybe she thought we found her disturbing or something, since we declined her invitation. Oooooh deeeeeear.

So. We made our way to the Fitzroy area. Maka was adamant that the parks there are like those in Singapore (for the last time, Maka, Fart and I are still perplexed by that misjudged opinion. Muahahaha) and we made our way to Cook’s cottage, this quaint little house that I really wanted to check out because I like crumbling old historical monuments.

We went to buy our tickets, where we were immediately ambushed by the counterboy and his partner. By partner I mean colleague. They were impressed by how different all 3 of us looked (honestly, it NEVER occurred to us three before how puzzling we look together as a combination, I mean we’ve ALWAYS hung out with each other, and in Singapore we’d be joined by Minah Izzah, who I suppose would have complicated things more because then the Australians would REALLY be wondering where all of us were from) and the counterboy asked Maka and I first what race we were. Indian. Chinese. And then he looked at Fart and exclaimed, “Then what are you?!”

Hahahaha. He meant it in a nice way, of course. Fart had a hard time explaining to him that she was the lovechild of Maka and I, because she was Chindian.

OK, minus the lovechild part.

So we went into the cottage…it disappointed me. It looked moderately huge on the outside and when we went in, it was nothing. It’s like all the wings and the bricks just disappeared or something, because it was just a few rooms. And ta-dah! The end.

Were a bit perplexed with some tourists from China. After seeing the 3 of us, they probably decided that none of us could understand Chinese because they proceeded to speak it in front of us.

They wanted us out of there so they could pose with the old metallic tools or the crumbling fireplace or something. So they were all just hanging around waiting for us to be gone so they could start snapping away. May I just add that I hate to have to rush thru things?

Went back downstairs where we hung around the garden. Met this solitary Polish boy who had the most complicated background as can be. Something about World War II and his grandmother and his sisters or her sisters or some people who were related to him who moved to Australia and left him in Poland and he decided to come down for a visit…

I tuned out after a while.

So the Polish boy was called…Majiek/Machek/Makchik. Well, those 3 names are what all of us heard anyway. He was loitering around with this humongously professional camera but he was alone so he was secretly frustrated because he could not get a picture of himself. So he made friends with us, because apparently we look like we are capable of taking good pictures.

Hmmm. So he kept thrusting his camera at us, getting us to take pictures of him posing next to a statue, next to a tree, next to a bush, in front of the cottage, behind the cottage...and he really liked posing the same way. Arms folded, one leg over the other, with a wide grin.

Maybe it’s a Polish thing?

Guess he was really itching for friends, because he made us take some pictures at this board thing where we put our heads at. Definitely unflattering, and they’re all in HIS professional-looking camera.

See, does it not look big? Of somewhat worthy size at least.

So we left the cottage and moved out to the park area, where there were some other things to see. Bumped into Majiek/Machek/Makchik again, hovering about with a pensive look on his face. He then asked to join us after robbing us of our treasured Melbourne map, because I guess he wanted more pictures of himself around the park area. Otherwise, nice lad. We were wondering how to lose him though, because we had plans to check out the stores around our lodge and obviously we can’t bring him along unless he wanted to get cheap earrings.

Walked around the park area for quite a bit, that Majiek/Machek/Makchik boy kept mumbling about wanting to see some fountains, which was stressing us out for a while because WE COULD NOT FIND THE FOUNTAINS HE WANTED. Also, I was more concerned with looking for some miniature Tudor Village things but he really was more inclined towards fountains.

After seeing his lovely fountains, we managed to find the Tudor Village things that I was so excited about but which really disappointed me because it was…like Polly Pocket stuff. Well, I didn’t know, okaaaaaaayyyyyy.

We look so miniature because Majiek/Machek/Makchik probably did not realize how unprofessional our cameras were compared to his. If we used his camera, we could probably see our pores.

We soon parted, much to our relief. Ended up at Bridge Road, which is the street next to our lodge and where Coles is. Good stores around there, you’d have to dig but you can find pretty good stuff. As much as I pride myself for hating shopping, I’ll have to say I like doing that outside of Singapore because…I don’t know, I just like how they have little brandless stores everywhere in Australia and Europe, where you can find nice-looking things for budget prices. And by budget, I really mean budget because everything I bought was under $15 (trust me, a bulk of the things I bought were under $10…). I made sure I never exceeded that anyway. Unless I’m getting things for people and the price doesn’t matter in that case. And I hate how people buy into brands and all that, I hate branded stuff more than anything because firstly, they don’t even look nice (you can find cheap things which look as good, save on quality but that’s just bull because it’s not like the things I bought from Australia are RAGS or anything) and secondly, because most people do it just to show off, and why do you want to go around looking like everybody else anyway? Getting stuff from brandless stores allow you to mix and match and formulate your own style and stand out on your own. Jeez.

Where was I?

Spent the entire day like that, and the salespeople were very nice too. Maybe because they saw how easily they can trick us into buying things.

Maka was down again, this time because of her plane tickets issue. She needed to get affordable tickets back to Liverpool but the universe was just out to get her. Oh and the fuel prices too.

Also, Maka knows about 10,000 Hakeems. All this while I thought it was one single Hakeem she was talking about, but it turns out there are a ton of them. And I thought Hakeem was just a very happening person, who was constantly around doing things. Turns out they’re all different people, sigh.

Went to Coles as usual, because we needed…I don’t know what we needed. Maybe water? It was there where I saw an Adrian lookalike, he was calmly stacking celery sticks or some vegetable, looking very miserable. Perhaps it really was Adrian, since the season is out anyway and since was unwanted by Real Madrid at that time.

(Found out after that that Adrian was actually at Canizares’ wedding the whole time, how do those two even know each other?! Adrian and his entire family were there, along with his dragon father, so I presume Canizares is his father’s friend, they’re about the same age anyway…why am I talking about this?)

So we were at Coles, and we were frightened by this counterwoman, who was even clumsier than I was (how is that even possible?!). She kept dropping things (OK, maybe only once) and then proceeded to do something which made the woman in front of us drop her credit card twice. We were so afraid that she would, you know, burst open our water bottles or something, so I was on guard, ready to pick up things if need be.

Went back to the lodge, where we had our daily intake of garlic bread, much to the horror of Bob. I suppose we looked a bit pitiful, since we were furtively nibbling on our garlic bread in the kitchen (because we did not want to socialize in the lounge), but Bob was just staring at us like we were lunatics. He exclaimed, “IS THAT ALL YOU’RE EATING?!” I suppose he thought that was our dinner…it wasn’t. We had already eaten 10,000 things before.

So he offered us everything he could find in sight. Which was this dubious-looking cake-like thing (OK, it WAS cake…but it looked like a sponge), and we declined politely because we were actually very very happy with our garlic bread, but he seemed to think we were torturing ourselves. I guess he was afraid that we were secretly miserable, what with the room arrangement and all that, now we were starving ourselves.

If you’re reading this, Bob, we were really very happy.

There was this unhelpful German dude who was also in the kitchen, cooking pasta all for himself and only himself. It was an enormous pot, I’d like to add, and all the while when Bob was chiding us for eating so little, there that German bloke was, calmly scooping his 8,000 spoons of pasta into this lunchbox, so he could eat elsewhere. I suppose only Bob was capable of empathy.

We were feeling ambitious, so we thought we would just WALK all the way to the Observation Deck place, which overlooks all of Melbourne. It’s in the city and the city is 25 minutes away, but we didn’t actually realize that the city itself was big.

We did ask Bob if we could walk though. He looked horrified again, I think he really thought we had no money. Especially since Fart’s credit card could not work on the first day. He must have thought we were living off dimes and pennies.

So Bob gave us our blessings, after staring at us with a concerned expression for the longest time. Hey Bob, we really like walking…

It actually took us about 45 minutes to get there. It was a bloody long walk. Walking to the city at night is bad enough, but it took another 15 minutes to get to the actual place. No wonder Bob was so astonished.

And then guess what. We decided not to go up after all. Because we had to pay about $8 per head. Guess I’ll go headless next time.

So we decided that we should just go back, since it was almost 10pm. Stopped by Macs, as usual, where I just had to get some apple pie. Maka was a bit grouchy, she had fallen into a trance midway thru, and we thought it was because she needed the toilet or something (it wasn’t because of that, she was just secretly tired of walking).

Fart and I were slightly concerned because these men kept chuckling away merrily, so we were wondering if maybe I had, like, a twig in my hair or something. Also, we met a cool counterboy, Kenan. He had the biggest head and the smallest cap (OK, maybe his head wasn’t that big…) and he had the loudest voice which could wake someone in a coma. It was frightful, how he boomed, “TWO APPLE PIES RIGHT AWAY!” And by the way, he totally forgot about my apple pie, and he was very very very apologetic. Good man, good man.

There was another counterboy who looked exactly like him. For a while, Fart thought Kenan kept changing clothes because they really looked similar.

And all of them thought we were checking them out. Sigh. All because I was staring at how similar he and his coworker looked. Pssh.

Walked back home, where Maka confessed that she almost died as a child.

And Fart has burnt cushions/pillows in her storeroom somewhere.

My friends horrify me sometimes.

Day 7, Friday, 10.30am

We were supposed to get up bright and early to go to Queen Victoria Market.

We were also supposed to meet Mysterious Friend BenShane so he could hand us some cryptic top-secret documents to Christine. Friend Christine, not Lodge Christine.

But then, he sent us a very mysterious message.

“Uh…there was a COMPLICATION getting the documents…”

Talk about shady. Are he and Christine holding some people hostage somewhere?

So we decided not to meet him after all and instead decided to spend a longer time at the Melbourne Visitor Centre (or whatever it is called) to talk to Gail, the volunteer who was helping us with our various predicaments.

Predicament 1: How do you get to Dandenong?

Gail: (Hands us a complicated-looking brochure) Here, these are the trains you can take…when you’re in Dandenong, you should look out for the Puffing Billy…

Us: The WHAT?

Gail: The Puffing Billy.

Us: Slightly confused

Gail: It’s a steam train that goes around Dandenong…(yammers on about the Puffing Billy and nothing else, then proceeds to photocopy everything she can about the Puffing Billy)

Don’t get me wrong. Gail was so cute. In the old lady kind of way.

But, uh, the Puffing Billy wasn’t really high on our priority list.

Predicament 2: In your opinion, should we go to Dandenong or Williamstown?

Gail: (Looks at coworker who was helping out someone else) Dandenong or Williamstown? (Coworker tried to help out but was soon cut off by Gail) They’re different kinds of places…but in Dandenong, you have the Puffing Billy…

Puffing Billy.

We looked at the brochure and the front of it showed a picture of the Puffing Billy with a gaggle of CHILDREN in it.

Oh Gail.

Eventually made our way to the Queen Victoria Market. It was great, and Chief Organizer Fart was, as usual, planning our route. We decided to go column by column again, just like Paddy’s Market in Sydney.

Before that, we got some CHURROS. Hola churros! My favourite snack. I wish I had worn my Spain jacket out, so maybe the guy could give me about 15 free churros, because I noticed he was slightly more generous with the old Spanish woman behind me, and the both of them started chattering vigorously in Spanish for the next 3 minutes.

His churros were so good.

I was at Queen Victoria Market last year as well, and I distinctly remember good jam donuts. It was, however, a sorely disappointing event this time round. Fart and I thought it would be so good, so we bought SIX in one go, especially since we met a man devouring it and he insisted that we get it.

We ended up eating two out of the six. Fart was so frustrated that she shoved the remaining four in her bag and groaned everytime she opened her bag and saw them.

There were lots of Spaniards selling stuff. And I was so tempted to get a fake David Villa jersey (believe me, if I had ANY choice at all, I wouldn’t be picking Villa because I like the man but I’d prefer wearing a jersey of a lesser-known player…I really like Senna for instance), but it was dirty. Don’t know what the seller had been doing to the Villa jersey while no one was looking, but it had mud streaks, sigh.

Maka kept whining about wanting some Billions jacket, but after about 50,000 years, she decided not to get it after all.

And there is never a day that goes by when Fart doesn’t panic. She panicked just as the place was closing up because she forgot to get sweet friendship stuff for Neha.

Me? Well, the afternoon ended more pleasantly for me compared to my 2 friends. But I was sad because the churros man was going home and I really wanted more churros and so did Fart and we asked him in our most non-scary voices but he said, “No more! Tomorrow!”

Tomorrow. Pssh. Easy for him to say.

I remember it was also the day that Spain beat Russia 3-0. And my favourite player David Silva scored. And I really wanted to high-five the churros man, you know? But he would have thought I was crazy probably.

Went to the Shrine of Remembrance after that. It was getting colder and colder and Maka kept on whining about something. She even scoffed at a tribute to the war horses.

Well. Uh I suppose it’s not a tribute we see very often. But it’s sweet.

Maka then aggressively requested that we move to a large bonfire, where we stood for the longest time. Eventually, we moved INTO the Shrine of Remembrance, which was really what we were there for in the first place.

It was a very peaceful place, and it was interesting. I’ve always liked museums and anything to do with history, so I was looking forward to that. It didn’t disappoint.

After that, we were hungry so we decided to go get some dinner. Fart somehow managed to devour an entire packet of chocolate balls, after which she started to complain about how she was still hungry.

She ignored the fact that she still had 4 jam donuts in her bag.

I don’t know what she was keeping the donuts in there for. Probably for when we were dying of hunger.

So Maka was forced to eat the donuts.

OK, Fart claims that Maka OFFERED to eat the donuts. But I vaguely remember force. And a frightened Maka.

Went to the Indian Subway. Maka was, as always, unhappy about something.

Day 8, Saturday, 10.30am

Fart fell off her bed at around 5am.

She was sleeping in the bed above mine, and I did see her limbs sticking out after being awakened by her tossing and turning.

I was a bit confused and disoriented, as I always am whenever I get up.

And then suddenly, her limbs started moving out even more. And more. And more.

And I know Fart gets up early to go jogging round the block sometimes, but 5am?

So I thought the best thing to do was to stick my hands out and prod her back up to her bed. Yeah, for some reason, I thought I was strong enough to poke her all the way back up.

THEN SHE STARTED FALLING.

And then I thought, “Hmmm. Maybe she needs the toilet…but why isn’t she taking the ladder? What an ungraceful way to come down.”

Then she lands neatly on her feet next to my bed all of a sudden.

If I wasn’t so puzzled, I would have been shocked.

Pearlyn: Fart, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Fart: Ohmygod I just had a dream and I fell off.

Pearlyn: WHAT?!

And all the while, Maka the so-called light sleeper was sound asleep. Monica, however, was secretly eavesdropping and was WELL AWARE of what happened, and confessed only in the morning.

So Fart was still rather dazed. And so was I, but I was sane enough to order Fart to sleep with her face SMACK against the wall.

And then she kept whining that she had to sleep facing a certain direction or she would not be able to sleep. Like she had to sleep on her right side.

Basically, it means that she would have to sleep facing Maka or she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.

So it turns out that Fart was actually dreaming about CURRY. And she was arguing with the curry-seller. And I suppose it must have resulted in a violent tussle for his curry because that made her fall off the bed.

That morning, Fart had an “incident” with Bob.

Apparently she got up to go jogging and let in two stranger girls just as she was about to go out.

And Bob snarled, “WHAT DOES THE SIGN SAY?!”

(The sign said that we should not let strangers in.)

Fart was depressed for the entire morning, because she believed that Bob hated her to the core for endangering everyone’s safety in the lodge.

So we were going to go to Williamstown that day, but the ferry man was SICK. And Fart was incredibly disgusted because that meant that we had to change our plans.

We had no backup plan, so we decided to check out some of the cheap stores that Friend Christine was telling us about.

Of course, since we’re the greediest people alive, we’d HAVE to stop by a quaint-looking bakery. It was run by an Asian mother-and-son pair, and everything looked so good and inviting. So what started out as a simple snack ended up as a feast. At first, I ordered a jam tart.

It was so good.

Then I went back, this time with the intention of getting something else.

Asian boy: (Upon seeing me) ANOTHER jam tart?!

He sounded condescending yet incredulous.

I must have looked very hungry.

Well, I decided to get a yo-yo, which is this cookie thing with lots of cream everywhere. And Fart had ordered a donut the first time I think, and then after that she could not control herself and got us a slice of cake to share.

It was MY cranky day, my one and only cranky day on the trip. But for me, I don’t get moody for long, and I tend to be very easily appeased.

What appeased me?

Sushi.

Of course.

Went to the Indian subway again. We had nothing else to do, so we just sat there playing Pictionary. I was really tired so I fell into grouchy mode again, and Fart and Maka were afraid coz I was always such a bright light. Muahahaha.

Maka was strangely crazily delighted that night.

So we played Pictionary, and Fart and Maka ended up in a heated debate about the best way to draw “me”. Maka took a long time perfecting a picture of Maggi Mee, none of which Fart understood. When Fart found out that Maka was just trying to illustrate the word “me”, Fart was flabbergasted and insisted that she would do it some other complicated way that only made sense to her.

It was tension-filled. Being the peace-maker I was, I decided to step in wisely, just as Maka did in Sydney.

“Relaxxxxxx guys…”

Hahahahaha.

So I tried to introduce another game so that everyone would be happy again. I mean, Pictionary was obviously a stressful game.

All right, I was simply bored by Pictionary but I was too shy to say. Instead, I decided to use Fart and Maka’s “fight” as the reason why we should not play Pictionary anymore. Sigh, they actually saw right thru my true intentions.

Also, a rat crawled on my foot. So I ended up kicking the table very violently because I was so horrified. Fart and Maka thought I had a nightmare because I had my eyes closed at that point. Hahahaha.

So for once in our entire trip, Fart was reluctant to go back to the lodge. Usually, she’d be chasing us out of there by 9pm. But this time, she did not want to go back because she was afraid to face Bob, after her boo-boo in the morning.

Maka and I tried telling her that it’s the LAST thing on his mind, but she insisted that he would have held a grudge against her because he was such a stickler for rules. Not only were we not allowed to let strangers in, we were also expected to make sure that the toilet doors were closed at all times (even when not in use), and clothes were not hung over the heater, and doors were not slammed…it was then that we decided that we were going to do EXACTLY all of these things before we left. Let all homeless people in. Open all toilet doors. Hang everybody’s clothes over the heaters. SLAM ALL DOORS.

Nah. We’re not that daring.

So on the way home, Fart practiced her apology to Bob about 60,000 times. I had to pretend to be Bob so that she could do actual role-play, but she was still nervous anyway when we really did see him that night.

Bah. He thought NOTHING of it.

See Fart? Always worrying.

Day 9, Sunday, 9am

Decided to go to Camberwell Market. A secondhand type of thing where people set up makeshift stalls at a carpark.

It started out a bit dull. Fart and I were a bit wary of the things they were selling, like fur carpets and whatnot. I would probably be arrested if I tried to bring that back to Singapore.

We were so disillusioned that we ended up stuffing our faces. Actually saw some SMU people, but I really wanted an SMU-free holiday/term break, so I tried to distract myself by looking at the pet dogs next to me.

And then, came Maka’s $1 jacket purchases.

Very worth it, and still in good condition too.

Then we decided, hell let’s just look around a bit more, maybe we’d find great things.

It started out calm, and ended frantic.

Because all of a sudden, there were all these good sales…sure they’re secondhand but they still look good. And it doesn’t go above $5. Well, the ones I look for anyway.

The place was starting to close up by about 12.25pm, because all of them had to clear out by 12.30pm. By that time, all 3 of us weren’t even really thinking anymore. We just bought stuff that we’d probably never ever need.

Maka was a bit slow though, she processes her thoughts too long.

Tip: Always go towards the end, because that’s when the sellers are at their most desperate. I remember last year when I was there, this dude was just giving out free CDs to passers-by.

Maka then went off to meet her friend after that, leaving Fart and I alone. So we went to the Indian Subway. Again.

And who knew, Maka was actually there with her friend. But Fart and I didn’t see her.

Maka, however, knew we were there and actually saw us walking up and down and ordering stuff and things like that.

But she thought it was “unnecessary” to say hello or give a friendly wave.

Chi chi chi. MAKA.

So Maka was supposed to meet us at 3pm outside Macs. Fart and I had some time after lunch so we walked around the city and was waiting outside Macs when Maka told us she’d be there at 3.30pm.

Chi chi chi. MAKA.

So it’s basically all her fault that we then proceeded to stuff our faces with a cake and fries at Macs, even though we were full from Subway.

When Maka FINALLY arrived, we decided to head on to St. Kilda’s. A beach area. Pretty.

We decided to take Bob’s advice and look out for penguins for free. If we went to Penguin Island, we’d have to pay a lot of money.

Phillip Island?

Yeah, Phillip Island, my bad.

So it was shivering COLD there, because it was the ocean. It was probably the coldest of the entire trip, but it was a lot of fun. Sat by some benches for the longest time just to wait for those stupid penguins to appear.

We waited till it was dark.

NONE.

Well, if you count those penguins huddling in between the rocks behind us, then we saw a grand total of THREE penguins that day.

Moral of the day: Never listen to Bob too seriously.

It was that night that we discovered that Bob was the Phantom of the Lodge. OK, Fart and I are nuts for the Phantom of the Opera. And if you have watched the musical, you’d know that Christine is the female protagonist.

Because we were all a little crazy from the cold, we concluded that Bob was the Phantom of the Lodge.

Also, Maka could not stop showing off her spiffy leather jacket. All for the great price of $12.
See.

She just didn’t wanna take it off.

Ohmygod, how many did she take of herself?

(By the way, Spain was playing the final that night, which explains the jacket.)

THE FINAL.

Sigh.

I was so wanting to catch it ANYWHERE.

HOW WAS I TO KNOW THEY WERE SHOWING IT RIGHT THERE AT THE LODGE, IN THE LOUNGE?

Just as well. There were a ton of Germans living there. I don’t think I’d have gotten out of the room alive. I remember the next day, I was wearing my Spain jacket again because I was so victorious, and this German dude shot me a rather disapproving look.

Sigh.

I’m glad I didn’t have to see this though.

Eventually, we ended up at Macs after zooming thru Luna Park. Because I was greedy, I ate an entire burger. Even though we were clearly having Subway after that.

So Fart was exceptionally jumpy that night. She wanted us to leave Macs ASAP so we could go to Subway to relax.

Pearlyn: Why can’t we relax here in Macs?

Fart: Because I KNOW we have to go to Subway later, so I can’t relax here.

Despite all this, Fart does make sense sometimes.

So we went to Subway.

And then, we were hustled away again by Fart. After our sandwiches, thankfully.

Fart: Can we go back to Macs?

Pearlyn: But you said you wanted to relax here.

Fart: I need the toilet.

Pearlyn: THEN can we relax in Macs?

Fart: OK.

Also, I think it was because she was a bit disconcerted by this punk who kept talking on his phone and standing so close to our table he was practically SITTING on it. Mind you, the place wasn’t even crowded, there wasn’t any other table occupied.

So we went back to Macs.

Then Fart decided that we should leave soon. Because we spent so much time travelling to and from Macs that it was late.

Also, Maka found the most disgusting chewed-up piece of gum in her bag.

Chi chi chi. MAKA.

Day 10, Monday, 10.30am

Because it was apparently the last day of most of the sales, we decided we should head around town to get stuff we needed to get for everybody in our lives.

Made our way to DFO where Maka suddenly fell into a stony trance. Fart and I were too afraid to talk to her, because every reply she gave was monosyllabic.

The day then got worse when Maka received a call from Mama Makalingam. Maka needed to find a scanner, to cut a long story short.

Fart sent out a panicked text message to Friend Christine, who was in Malaysia at the time (wonder how the phone bill would be like). For some reason, Christine thought we wanted to BUY a scanner. From what I understood that is.

So we were sent all over the city, and Christine, who finally understood us, told us to go check out Dinkums/Dumkins. On the way there, we had to meet an exhausted-looking Mysterious Friend BenShane, who had BLOODSHOT EYES.

Fart and Maka claimed there were no bloodshot eyes. But there clearly were. He had stayed up all night watching the final.

THE FINAL WHICH I SHOULD HAVE WATCHED. AND THEN WE COULD HAVE BLOODSHOT EYES TOGETHER.

So BenShane apparently got the documents all neatly put in a package. And he suspiciously whispered in a coded message, “Christine left her keys as well. Hand them to her.”

OK, minus the coded message bit.

He wasn’t very helpful when we asked him how to get to Dinkums/Dumkins by the way. He was like, “…you have to find some baths…and then go past that…and then you’ll see big mama’s kitchen (or something like that)…”

Very cryptic boy.

Well, we finally found the place after going past the dodgy bath place he was talking about.

However, it was only going to be more exhausting for the already lethargic and angsty Maka.

Since we were in the city, we thought maybe we should check out Myer, a department store that Christine recommended.

We were appalled by Christine’s disturbing fashion sense. The clothes were fit for anybody above 45 years old.

Because Fart is Fart, she started getting an anxiety attack because she realized that she needed to get things for like a billion people.

I was cool because I had already got most of it sorted out.

Maka was too grouchy to think if she had gotten her things sorted out.

So we decided to go back after having dinner. On the way back, I dropped back a souvenir store to get a postcard of “Sensual Australian Men” or something like that, especially for Samantha. The postcard had supposedly sexy pictures of surfer dudes and their artificially tanned abs, with muscles bulging in all places I never deemed possible. There was also a bare buttock of a beach boy.

Well, it’s not something that I would want the counterboy to see I’m buying. So I STRATEGICALLY FLIPPED IT DOWN. Plus, the price was written there too.

BUT THAT BUSYBODY DECIDED TO FLIP OVER THE CARD. Chortled to himself for a while, thinking I wouldn’t notice. Grrr.

Hey, Samantha loved it by the way. It would perfectly complement the sexy “Bronzed Australian Males” calendar I got her.

So we were waiting for the tram to bring us back. And we were TRAUMATIZED by this flirtatious lad who only had eyes for Fart. So he walked past, snapped his fingers at Fart, and grinned naughtily.

But because I was with 2 friends who were in another dimension, I was the only one who noticed that.

So I told Fart.

But she was not listening to me.

You know why?

Because she was busy staring at a dude who was sitting on the tram, looking out the door blowing kisses at her and waving frantically.

IT WAS THE SAME MAN!

Fart unwittingly let out an “EEEEEEEEEEE!” squeal, much to the amusement of the man and everyone else within a 50m-radius. The man seemed to find it exciting that he was grossing Fart out so much, so he proceeded to imitate her “EEEEEEEEEEEE!” squeal, while still blowing kisses and waving of course.

And the tram driver JUST WOULDN’T LEAVE.

Those were the longest 2 minutes ever.

The people at the tram stop were fairly amused though.

This reminds me of the time (I can’t remember which day) when we were in the city and this little boy (who looked like Crabbe or Goyle, one of them) suddenly came up to Fart and growled “HOO!”

And I swear he was serious about it.

Like REALLY serious.

When we turned around, he was still staring at her. Glaring at her more like it.

Some Aussie bloke saw that asked her what happened.

Bloke: What happened there?

Fart: Don’t know.

Bloke: But hey, you’re a beautiful girl.

Awwwww.

Fart was disgusted.

Day 11, Tuesday, 10.30am

Monica was strangely never home for the past few days, though we were always very suspicious of her, like maybe she was hiding under the bed or in her locker, just so she could hear us talking about her.

But we saw her this morning. She offered Fart and I hot chocolate while Maka was primping in the toilet.

Maka was deeply hurt that she was not included in the hot chocolate party.

Made our way to Williamstown, where we only had about 2 hours before we had to go. Didn’t really know what to do there, it was a very pretty town but we couldn’t do much within the time we had.

So we went into some quaint little stores which sold candy and all that kinda stuff.

However, a mishap occurred.

Fart stepped on some dog poo.

Maka was rather terrible, she could not stop cackling. Even though if it wasn’t for Fart stepping on it and warning Maka not to, Maka would have too.

Maka vehemently retorted that Fart did no such charitable act.

So for about 20 minutes, Fart acted strangely. She could not really walk properly after that, and she had her fingers twisted in the strangest way because she said that was her coping mechanism?

Never try to understand Fart.

So we entered a cute little bakery. I wanted a yo-yo. And I must have looked like the greediest person alive, because the woman ended up giving me 6 bloody yo-yos for free.

You know, we fully intended on giving that to Bob and Christine, so we didn’t really have to buy them anything before we left.

BUT FART BEING FART ended up CRUSHING all 6 yo-yos.

So no.

Not only was Fart acting strange, but so was Maka. She refused to keep this postcard about love that we were given for free and gripped onto it from the store where we got it to the supermarket where Fart met the dog poo to the bakery and to the toilet and to the train station and to the train.

Don’t know why she was holding onto the postcard for so long.

So we made our way to the Scienceworks Museum. You know, I think we were the oldest people there. Save for the parents of the children there, but we were definitely beyond the average age.

Muahahaha. Fine. It was MY idea to go there.

It was fun though. I mean, some of the stuff were pretty DUH. Like, Maka was rather unimpressed with some exhibits because it was just so brainless…for people our age that is. But we had fun in the sports section, where we cheated in some of the games. There was a goalkeeping game, in which only one person should be the goalkeeper at all times. But all three of us protected the goal.

Enough said.

The computer seemed to know we were cheating though, and warned us, “Hey you, only one at a time please!” But we somehow managed to work around it.

Then we cheated at this other game as well. Some reflex thing. Again, only one person was supposed to do it, but all three of us positioned ourselves so we could win.

Uh, but we lost anyway. Pathetic much. For people our age too.

We were then chased out because it was closing time. Maka was rather displeased because she was in the midst of measuring her height. She frowned at the Scienceworks man but he failed to see that.

Since it was our last night in Melbourne, we decided to have a feast, just like in Sydney. We thought maybe we could go to some of the places that Friend Christine recommended. So we did. We went to Papa Gino’s, an Italian place which was really good.

Maka was traumatized by her lasagna. I mean, I was wondering for the longest time why Maka was just sitting there with a dazed look on her face staring at her plate of lasagna like it held the secret to life on earth. And when Fart asked her how the lasagna was, Maka seemed to not have heard her.

Fart and I were worried of course.

Turned out that it was BEEF. Maka wasn’t supposed to be eating that. The waitress was really nice though, managed to get the chef to change his mind and send out another dish.

Fart and I were so sure that 2 of the waiters there were Singaporean. One of them looked like a beng while the other looked like he acted in Growing Up. I really wanted to test if it was true though, so I planned to shriek “ALAMAKKKKKKKKKKK!” when the Growing Up waiter walked by, and to see if he reacted violently or excitedly. But Fart and Maka stopped me. Sigh.

It was also there that I saw a lovely ginger-haired Casillas. Well, Fart and Maka weren’t very impressed, but I stand by my opinion that he was the spitting image of Casillas. With red hair that is.

Plus he had on stripes. A plus.

Of course, Fart had to comment SO LOUDLY about the stripes and about Casillas and the lookalike and blah blah, failing to notice that the dude in the table beside us ALSO HAD ON STRIPES. He heard bits of what Fart was saying, and obviously felt very good about himself. But nooooo it wasn’t him.

It was then we decided that we SHOULD leave.

Also, Prince Charles was sitting beside us with his family.

OK, “Prince Charles”.

So many lookalikes in that restaurant, it was so exciting.

Went to San Churros for dessert, because I demanded it. Me and my Spanish fetishes. But it was good, very good. Owner’s son really looked like this Spanish TV host called Juanma, and I really wanted to try saying the name “Juanma!” very loudly and see if the son turns or bristles.

It was a good last night. But Fart was as usual, squeamish about so many things. This time, it was a problem that she had that only the 3 of us should know.

Spent the night sadly packing. Bob actually came into our room to ask us about airport arrangements and all that.

He could not stop staring at how large my suitcase was. But he tried not to be obvious about it.

Day 12, Wednesday, 8am

Got up really early because we had to check out by 9.30am. It was sad to leave the place and it was a bit funny because Bob decided to hug us all very awkwardly.

Damn, I miss the place.

Went to the airport, where we had a flight delay.

I mean, I know all 3 of us were hoping that there’d be some delay and we’d have to stay another day. But we didn’t really MEAN it.

A few hours of doing nothing at the airport.

We were a bit down because we were heading home, and the feeling was exacerbated when I kept losing at Tetris on the plane.

Great great trip.

Thank you, my 2 friends, for being as crazy as I am. Good times, good times.

Things we learnt during the trip:

1) Fart is a HOT THANG. Muahahaha.

2) Fart panics VERY easily.

3) Maka has 2 talents. She can do that clicking sound with her tongue that nobody else can do and she can play peanut football.

4) Maka is ashamed to like hip-hop.

5) Bob is Swedish. We could NEVER place his accent.

6) Christine is from HongKong.

7) Germans don’t like going out. They were ALWAYS there. Also…

8) Germans don’t like sharing their food. Bad pasta man.

9) Monica actually seemed to like us. We like you too, Monica.

10) Bob was a sailor who liked trishaws.

11) Maka reads magazines VERY SLOWLY, like it’s a religious text or something.

12) We walked EVERYWHERE. Go us!



Signed,

Sincerely, Me

Pearlyn