Older. Not Necessarily Wiser.
I have, as of now, lived on this earth for nearly two decades. It's not much to celebrate, but if everybody will insist on singing Happy Birthday, I can't stop them, now can I? I mean, everybody turns nineteen sooner or later, and at least 300 other people on this earth turned nineteen at the same moment as I did--in the course of this day, about 500 thousand people will celebrate their nineteenth birthday--so, like, what's the big deal?
But I do admit to a rather overpowering sense of pleasure in having people that you barely know wish you a Happy Birthday. It's probably just a reaction from the crazy rage from Friday. And, of course, the gifts don't hurt either. I actually derive a sort of pleasure from analysing the gifts: what a person gets for you is a good way to find out their opinion of you and to find out their personalities.
Of course, I'm only going to tell you who gave what, a little background information, and you can draw your own conclusions: I've drawn mine, and I'm not telling you them except if I want to.
Cheeky, Thunder, Serene, and a bunch of others pooled their resources (something like what we did last year for Cheeky) and got me a pack of (drum roll) BUM underwear, size S. I'm flattered, really, that I still look skinny to some people, since every scale I've got onto this year says I've got heavier, and I certainly haven't developed any muscle tissue, so... you can guess my shape. Thunder insists that the underwear wasn't her idea, although I certainly do have ideas now as to her future gift.
My church friends (and I might as well give them names for future ease of reference) got me a book entitled How to Delight the Heart of God. (Lovely alternation of capitals and undercases.) I asked Jogger whose idea the book was, but he said it was a group vote. Later I asked if it was a subtle hint, and Clause said yes. I haven't had a chance to read it yet, though the back cover of the book is very optimistic.
My room-mate was only told (by me--I have a mania for gifts) about my birthday last night, and the moment I turned my back, decorated an envelope quite nicely with colored pens and markers and stuffed a couple sheets of tissue in it, and gave it to me. It's very nice, and it's certainly a charming tissue holder. Now if only its capacity was for more than a couple sheets of tissue...
And then, of course, I've heard the song Happy Birthday 3 times already so far. Once in church yesterday (yes, we do celebrate such things. What, you thought we just sat around meditating all day?), once this morning at a mamak stall (early morning, as in 12.14 am--I know because the moment I said midnight my sister began singing), and once just now in class (don't ask me how Psycho and his cronies found out). It was very embarassing--I'm not much of a public-display type. That's Gene's niche, not mine.
In any case, I'm older now by one year. It doesn't feel particularly earth-shattering. In fact it doesn't feel anything at all, but I'm not about to turn down any gifts. Free stuff is the best kind of stuff, I always think. Of course, quality is good too. Naturally, with all the above it's the thought that counts, and I'm trying to figure out the process of choosing each one above, not that it'll prevent me from making the most of everything I get.
I suppose I really should thank God here for letting me survive so long. Really, it's a miracle I'm still around considering all the crazy stuff I think I've gone through: there was a phase in my early teens when I was seriously making a list of potentially poisonous substances in the house that I could "accidentally" take and taking stock of the sharpness of the knives, or maybe the bit where Ye Bad was lobbing bricks at me (seriously dangerous, and I'm surprised I didn't get to safety when it started), or the car accident in Patience when I got a nasty cut on my forehead, or a whole lot of other times when something bad could've happened but didn't.
Anyway, I guess I'm rambling too much here. But then again it's my birthday, and I kind of regret not making a wishlist so people would know what I think I'd like. But this way it's much more interesting, not knowing what people would get me. I wouldn't want them to come walking up and say, "Here, this is item five on your blog wishlist, happy birthday!" ...Kinda takes out all the meaning of the birthday greeting.
On a different note, two papers came back today. One was Physics, on which I lost to Gambler again and got rather riled up--but since Physics isn't my best subject anyway, I pretty much let it go. The second was English, on which I got just two marks shy of the A. I'm not too happy about that, as you can guess, but since it's still the best in the class I'll let it be for the time being. I'm not about to let it happen again, though.
By the way, my English teacher wants my essays for other classes' future reference, which means at least one of my goals is finally accomplished. She did, however, mention that my essays tend to be too bombastic and sophisticated for the local MUET, which I'm about to take in May. In fact her advice ran something along, Tone down my level for the examiner because if I force him to check the dictionary too many times, he's likely to give me a lower grade than I deserve. Also, she said, my arguments tend to get too philosophical (I like philosophical essays because no proof is needed--just lots of logic and mind twisting) and again, too much dictionary-checking is bad for my grade.
Doesn't that just say volumes about the merits of our beloved country's education system? Toning down my standard, indeed, to get a better grade! Preposterous. I'll tone down my standard, certainly: my English is good enough, if I may say so, that I can write in simple language without sounding as if I find the examiner retarded. But I categorically refuse to acknowledge that the MUET is anything like a proper test of skill, since it's now all about hiding my superiority in the language it claims to test.
And they complain that Malaysian English is idiotic. Here's one birthday present I'd like: a whole country full of perfect grammar!
But I do admit to a rather overpowering sense of pleasure in having people that you barely know wish you a Happy Birthday. It's probably just a reaction from the crazy rage from Friday. And, of course, the gifts don't hurt either. I actually derive a sort of pleasure from analysing the gifts: what a person gets for you is a good way to find out their opinion of you and to find out their personalities.
Of course, I'm only going to tell you who gave what, a little background information, and you can draw your own conclusions: I've drawn mine, and I'm not telling you them except if I want to.
Cheeky, Thunder, Serene, and a bunch of others pooled their resources (something like what we did last year for Cheeky) and got me a pack of (drum roll) BUM underwear, size S. I'm flattered, really, that I still look skinny to some people, since every scale I've got onto this year says I've got heavier, and I certainly haven't developed any muscle tissue, so... you can guess my shape. Thunder insists that the underwear wasn't her idea, although I certainly do have ideas now as to her future gift.
My church friends (and I might as well give them names for future ease of reference) got me a book entitled How to Delight the Heart of God. (Lovely alternation of capitals and undercases.) I asked Jogger whose idea the book was, but he said it was a group vote. Later I asked if it was a subtle hint, and Clause said yes. I haven't had a chance to read it yet, though the back cover of the book is very optimistic.
My room-mate was only told (by me--I have a mania for gifts) about my birthday last night, and the moment I turned my back, decorated an envelope quite nicely with colored pens and markers and stuffed a couple sheets of tissue in it, and gave it to me. It's very nice, and it's certainly a charming tissue holder. Now if only its capacity was for more than a couple sheets of tissue...
And then, of course, I've heard the song Happy Birthday 3 times already so far. Once in church yesterday (yes, we do celebrate such things. What, you thought we just sat around meditating all day?), once this morning at a mamak stall (early morning, as in 12.14 am--I know because the moment I said midnight my sister began singing), and once just now in class (don't ask me how Psycho and his cronies found out). It was very embarassing--I'm not much of a public-display type. That's Gene's niche, not mine.
In any case, I'm older now by one year. It doesn't feel particularly earth-shattering. In fact it doesn't feel anything at all, but I'm not about to turn down any gifts. Free stuff is the best kind of stuff, I always think. Of course, quality is good too. Naturally, with all the above it's the thought that counts, and I'm trying to figure out the process of choosing each one above, not that it'll prevent me from making the most of everything I get.
I suppose I really should thank God here for letting me survive so long. Really, it's a miracle I'm still around considering all the crazy stuff I think I've gone through: there was a phase in my early teens when I was seriously making a list of potentially poisonous substances in the house that I could "accidentally" take and taking stock of the sharpness of the knives, or maybe the bit where Ye Bad was lobbing bricks at me (seriously dangerous, and I'm surprised I didn't get to safety when it started), or the car accident in Patience when I got a nasty cut on my forehead, or a whole lot of other times when something bad could've happened but didn't.
Anyway, I guess I'm rambling too much here. But then again it's my birthday, and I kind of regret not making a wishlist so people would know what I think I'd like. But this way it's much more interesting, not knowing what people would get me. I wouldn't want them to come walking up and say, "Here, this is item five on your blog wishlist, happy birthday!" ...Kinda takes out all the meaning of the birthday greeting.
On a different note, two papers came back today. One was Physics, on which I lost to Gambler again and got rather riled up--but since Physics isn't my best subject anyway, I pretty much let it go. The second was English, on which I got just two marks shy of the A. I'm not too happy about that, as you can guess, but since it's still the best in the class I'll let it be for the time being. I'm not about to let it happen again, though.
By the way, my English teacher wants my essays for other classes' future reference, which means at least one of my goals is finally accomplished. She did, however, mention that my essays tend to be too bombastic and sophisticated for the local MUET, which I'm about to take in May. In fact her advice ran something along, Tone down my level for the examiner because if I force him to check the dictionary too many times, he's likely to give me a lower grade than I deserve. Also, she said, my arguments tend to get too philosophical (I like philosophical essays because no proof is needed--just lots of logic and mind twisting) and again, too much dictionary-checking is bad for my grade.
Doesn't that just say volumes about the merits of our beloved country's education system? Toning down my standard, indeed, to get a better grade! Preposterous. I'll tone down my standard, certainly: my English is good enough, if I may say so, that I can write in simple language without sounding as if I find the examiner retarded. But I categorically refuse to acknowledge that the MUET is anything like a proper test of skill, since it's now all about hiding my superiority in the language it claims to test.
And they complain that Malaysian English is idiotic. Here's one birthday present I'd like: a whole country full of perfect grammar!
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