Panthera Sapiens Ellipsis: The Blog

Meow recently got a thousand bucks for getting 6 A’s in the Stinking Purple Muck. I suppose that she now sees it as So Profitable, Meow. As for me, I’m pretty much boiling in jealousy. I suppose I have this thing about money. Yeah, yeah, the love of money is the root of all evil, blah blah blah and so forth, but I think it would be nice for once to have money come so easily. After all, I just checked my bank account and it has a little over one thousand in it—for the first time since I opened it eleven years ago—and only because I spent 42 days in the mart, sweating and laboring under the delusion that I was profiting. And here’s Meow, being patted on the back for getting one A less than I did, and having money showered on her like rain, while I’m sitting at home, listening to my mom scream day after day about how I’ve disgraced the family name for the next three eons by getting three A’s less than Lieu (his mom was my mom’s classmate), and I’m still pretty much penniless...

It’s more than three days now since I got back from The Mountain, and my legs are (I think) improving rapidly; I think that in just another week or so I might be able to get up and down stairs without having to wince at every other step. It’s quite annoying being something of an invalid; I, who used to be somewhat quick at getting around the place, have been reduced to penguin-walking my way through the house. I call it penguin-walking because my feet have not regained the ability to keep my balance, forcing me to hold both arms out at odd angles when walking to avoid falling forward or backward. I do, unfortunately, usually fall behind when walking with anybody. Also, my gait has become decidedly ungainly, mainly because I cannot bend my knees much and therefore walk with both legs straight at all times. To put it in simpler terms, I waddle everywhere I go. If you’re reading this, you probably have noticed that I just posted the first poem ever to hit this blog. I sup...

A mountain went I to ascend Just the other day. I don't know what made me agree To do it the hardest way. In no way was I fit to climb Upwards nine thousand feet But try I did, and so I went Though I knew I'd be beat. It began quite nicely, all because I saw a starry, starry night And so I thought to myself That I would be all right. I soon found out that I was wrong When starting the ascent; I found myself wheezing for breath And standing doubly bent. My watch assured me that I'd only gone five hours When half-way there; but I felt Like fertilising flowers. The guide was kind and took us on A shortcut (so he said)-- So steep was it, that when I arrived I walked like the undead. The next morn, we woke early To try and reach the peak But I thought it unlikely That I would succeed. Against all predictions, bets and odds I actually arrived. And then I came down again Incredibly, I survived. However, the mountain t...

I returned to my home today circa 5 pm after an absence of about 72 hours, in a rented car driven by a young Australian whose existence I had no knowledge of until two days ago. It was, I believe, a direct result of severe mental aberrations, brought on by the onset of numerous application forms for various scholarships. In fact, as far as I know, very little could ever induce me to go voluntarily for physical exertion, far away from the comforts of home. But all it actually took was a couple of phone calls from Wolf and I had rashly agreed to go to climb Mt. K. What is more, only the two of us were climbing, not counting the guide. I’m still wondering how I managed to convince myself to go. Anyway, I’ll arrange my thoughts in chronological order, so as to avoid confusing myself when I read this in future. Tuesday morning, about 11 am: I arrived at Wolf’s house, bearing a haversack stuffed with various articles of warm clothing and other mountain-climbing ge...

The SPM results came out this morning, and I have spent several hours there moaning over my own results, gloating over those people who got worse results, and generally gossipping about everything everybody has been doing for the last few months. I can't pretend that I'm pleased with my own results, although my father has said that I exceeded his expectations; a mere 7 A's isn't going to help a great deal in the pursuit of further education. In fact, I think I managed to hide a great deal of my feelings pretty well considering that I didn't start pouring cold water over the charitable classmate, Herr Robson, and Wolf's collective parade. The three of them got A1's for everything they took, and to their merit, they didn't gloat over me. At least other people are still decent, as opposed to myself. We got a complimentary copy of this year's school newsletter with the results, and I must say I'm bemused and amused at the contents. For the first time...

The SPM results are coming out next week. Considering the minuscule amount of work I put into it, I have hardly any reason to expect the straight A's that I was given for my forecast by my teachers--just look at the amount of posts that I put up during the exam! However, even if I had spent most of my time then studying, I would still be worried about the results, mostly because of the question of my further studies, which I shall have to face very, very soon; my mother has already looked up every possible scholarship she can think of and made me apply for it, as well as telling (read: commanding) me to apply for as many local colleges as possible. Well, it's much cheaper to study here than overseas, anyway. But the main reason I'm posting here is to banish my present mood to oblivion. I just had an argument with my brother (the one in Form 3) over the sofa. It's amazing how the most unimportant things take on incredible proportions in the heat of anger. Like the ...