30 September, 2010


It’s the 30th of September! This month is now ending… and now, what you need to do is look back and ask yourself, “What totally awesome thing did I do this month?” It will make you think, “When was the last time I did something for the first time?”

I really like doing new things. I just feel very accomplished whenever I do something for the first time. This month, or maybe a few months ago, I was able to get that “accomplished” feeling by doing lots of things that I really had never thought I would do, or even think about doing, and even actually doing what I thought of doing. Somehow, I realized that if I never would’ve done those things, I would have nothing to think about in the past that are moments of sheer excitements, some horrifying exhilaration and moments of total madness: every one of them brought by pure joy nonetheless.

24 September, 2010

Science Spirit

The science spirit lives on.


My life in the university is becoming more and more terrifying. Not only do I face more challenges and more responsibilities now that the term is about to end and that I have to seriously prepare for the finals, a task I totally despise, but also now I get to hear more terrifying stories about... spirits... in our institute. Halloween is next month, I know. I'm not excited for Halloween. I just want to talk about the spirits of students who, I think, weren't awesome enough to survive chemistry. (LOL I always talk about being a chemist being a suicide and now I'm gonna talk about ghosts.)

21 September, 2010


I know there's light at the end of the tunnel. I just don't see it right now.

I'm tired of this. I'm so over this, over them. I don't want to see them anymore, I can't live with them anymore. I need to go away, go find a way to get away and survive. I need to be brave and face this: I can make this happen.

I don't need them.

I don't need them to realize some more how horrible a person I really am. I've got enough of that kind of realization growing up.

I don't need them to tell me I'm always doing the wrong thing: they realize I'm a bad person every time I make a mistake but they never realize I'm a good person whenever I do something right.

They have successfully and regrettably made me the person I currently am and I don't need them to fix me up some more since I've grown enough and I've had enough.


I know you might see this as something most adults hate about teenagers: that teens like going against what is laid down in front of them. I don't want to go that way. I want to go my way. I'm telling you that I really never liked to be like this. If I had a choice, it wouldn't be like this.

I wish I had a choice. I wouldn't have chosen things to be like this.

I'm an individual.

I'm not just somebody.

And I make mistakes and is it that hard to understand?

And I talk back. They can't expect me to just sit down and listen to them without defending myself.

The saddest part is, I don't even do something terrible. I make small mistakes and I get awfully reprimanded. Small mistakes but because it is I who did it, then it is a huge mistake. Because I'm wrong. I will always be wrong. And they are right. They can't ever fix me.

Most of the time, though, much more sadly, I get blamed for stuff I don't even do. Things that just happen and I have no control over. I get the blame... most of the time, and I get punished, verbally punished, and suffer from severe emotional stress.

Ah, feels like home. Thanks for the sense and feel of home, really.

And they expect me not to talk back and defend myself? Make an explanation? If only to make them understand?


What are their ears for? What are their experienced minds for?

If they close them before I even get to say something, explain myself, and tell them the truth that's always deemed as false. Cruel bigotry.

Be a man of a few words my ass.

I am not a man of a few words. I am a man who stands for what I do, for what is right, what I believe in and what is true. I express my thoughts and my opinions. I exercise my right to speak.

My right to become an individual.

My right to be myself.

My right as a person.

First, I need to get a job, which is hard to do but I can find a way... I'll do my best.

Second, I need to find a place to stay, which isn't hard to do once I get a job.

Third, I need to break the wall in this stupid society I'm forced to live in and with. This stupid culture that confines me. This stupid notion of family that stifles my entire being. This stupid culture that tells children they have to blindly respect and follow adults' opinions and they have the responsibility to obey them and do what they want for your life and be who they want you to be.

I need to break free from this culture, from this society, the Asian traditions, and all.

That is the hardest thing to do, considering the grand scheme of life there is.

So right now, I'm stuck.

I'm stuck in here.

Until I don't know when.

I'm stuck in here.

With nothing...

But my failing ego.

And my ailing soul, suffocating.

kudos to my soul.

17 September, 2010

Succinic Suicide

Every Wednesdays and Fridays I spend four hours and thirty minutes in the laboratory to finish an experiment. Sometimes, my classmates and I extend our lab hours to five hours, sometimes five hours and a half, just to finish the thing we are working on. Sometimes we even have to work on two experiments in one period. It just drives all of us crazy. Long four hours and thirty minutes of headache is terrible enough but we keep getting more. I’m in my second year in college so I have to prepare myself for worse.

It’s quite stressful, especially for me who really doesn’t like doing a lot of things at a short period of time. Another stressful thing about the lab is the way one has to handle the reagents. I blogged about phenol a while back. Well, I just got burned by it last Wednesday. I blogged about phenol being a good super villain because of its superpowers: it is fatal when absorbed through skin, it quickly seeps through skin, it causes severe burns to every area of contact, it is corrosive, carcinogenic, and its vapor is poisonous. I knew all of those things but because I was foolish, I wasn’t wearing gloves and mask when I was getting some from the reagent bottle. It is a solid, by the way, and becomes watery when exposed to air. I inhaled its vapor, it smelled terrible, and some of its liquid poured on me, thus burning me like hell.

Being a chemist is suicide. Why did I even choose chemistry as my major? Didn't I just want to make cool-looking colorful smokescreen?

13 September, 2010


Ah, spiders! They have eight hairy legs, a mouth that bites and stings. They can crawl over places and live in your apartment without you knowing until you finally, thank God, decide to clean your bed, change your sheets, tidy up your desk, and sweep dust off from underneath your closet. By then, you will be able to greet the Spidey family consisting of about thirteen little spider-lings that will quickly run towards you, crawl over you feet with their tiny legs, and climb up to your pants and down your shirt. Aren’t they so cute?

No, they’re not.

But I still don’t understand how people can be so scared of spiders. Girls, boys – they just hate em! Spiders can’t hurt you, can they? I mean, yeah, they may have some kind of poison needles as teeth, but they… are so tiny! Before they can even get to bite a part of your body, your foot has already turned into a weapon that can kill hundreds of their species. I don’t like spiders but that doesn’t mean I’m scared of them. I just don’t like them. Well, that means I’m perfectly normal. When I see a spider on my desk, I just let it run away. I don’t want to kill a spider because I… might disrupt the ecosystem, you know, the way of nature. I don’t want to kill a spider not because I’m scared of them. I am Mother Nature’s most faithful servant and I treat every creature as one of her children. No, really.

Killing spiders is an awfully disgusting task. Imagine crushing it on top of your desk and you’ll get a corpse still wet with spider juice glued on it. So what do I do? I just ignore the spider, continue pretending I’m reading my text book, and after ten seconds it’s just gone! Or if I am really bored, I will get a sandwich bag and catch that spider. I will throw it out the window so that the dogs can have something to play with. Cruel fate.

Yes, I don’t like spiders, but I don’t hate them either. I’m making two conflicting statements once again like in my previous post, but I’m sure you’re cool enough to understand what I mean. When I see a spider, I don’t scream. I don’t become a gladiator geared up to kill an ugly arachnid. When I see a spider, I see a spider. I stare at it for a few minutes, and with an ultimate bored look I say, “I don't like you. Go away.”

Wait, who likes spiders, anyway?

Here’s why I don’t like watching news: I get terribly disturbed with what I am told of by the newscasters.

Just recently, there’s this thing that happened somewhere. Like I said, I got this story from the news on TV. Three men were shot, killed, by the guards of a private cattle pasture. So these guards were arrested, because one man reported the incident. That man was with those three men who were killed and he survived to tell the story by doing a dog trick: play dead. The story is the guys were caught by the guards, and then they were taken somewhere, and boom they were shot one by one. I don’t know how the guy was able to convince those guards he was already dead before anybody shot him. Maybe he pretended he had a heart attack upon seeing the gun pointed at him. Maybe when his friend was shot he pretended he was also shot by the same bullet and the guard who shot him was just too happy to brag that he killed two people in one shot. Maybe maybe, I don’t know.

So yeah, the guards told the police that those people were trespassers who were going to steal cows, so they shot them. The survivor told the police that they weren’t thieves; that they were just out there catching spiders. 

Haha, like, so cute.

Seriously, what are they, five-year olds? They’re adults! What, they could’ve given the excuse that they were out in the meadow catching butterflies, but because they’re adults, they said they were out catching spiders… and not butterflies? What the hell would they do with those spiders they would catch, anyway? They were thieves! They sneaked in the middle of the night into a private land to steal some cows! Like, who would believe them? Catching spiders is just a ridiculous excuse. The police, of course would believe them. We have terrible, terrible police here.

The guards were arrested because they killed people – and that’s right. They are security guards and their job isn’t to kill people. They are just there to protect the land and make sure they have the same number of cows when the sun sets and when the sun rises. Their job is to protect Mother Nature’s children, not to kill somebody’s children. Even if they were thieves, they shouldn’t have killed them. Nobody here has the right to kill thieves. More importantly, nobody here has the right to kill people who are just so, as they said, fond of spiders.

So if you want to do some spider-catching, just start cleaning your room.

Your mom will be pleased.

kudos to spider lovers.

10 September, 2010


Okay, here I go again, peeps. I am gonna start off with an apology. I had a one-week blogging break! I don't know what happened to me. I guess I was just stressed yet again. So... yeah, sorry. And WTH, did I just say "peeps?" Yes, I did. Sorry for that.

I'm saying too many sorries, it's already annoying.

To tell you the truth, I wasn't at all stressed the past week. I was just too lazy to write. That's just unforgivable. It's a sin. When a person like me who everyone knows as someone who loves to write says "I'm too lazy to write," then you must know I'm very honest here in my blog. I know in one of my posts I even admitted I read the Twilight saga. Reading that Stephenie Meyer thing is another major sin... for a teenage guy. So, sorry. Wait, "sorry" again? Good grief, Oliver! Stop saying sorry!

To tell you another truth, which will make it appear like I was lying in the previous paragraph, I was stressed last week. I know I just made a statement that is the complete opposite of what I said earlier. This means I'm either a liar or a bipolar. I'm not a liar. My mind is just totally messed up right now. Inside my head is something... mushy and squishy and watery. It's a soup. A brain soup, that's it. My brain has turned into a soup. You know why? Because I had a math exam and an impromptu speech this week. My math exam was a joke, not because it's easy, but because I took it as a joke. I mean I didn't take it seriously. I just wrote answers to questions I could solve and left the others look as if a third-grade answered them. I did really awesome in my impromptu speech that I got the highest grade in the class. Doing better in a Speech class is a sin for a science major. I should be punished. Flogged. Hanged.

Because of the stress I've got this week, yesterday, I decided to do something. If you read my previous post, you must already know I do some awesome stuff when I get stress pile up on me. On that post, I said I just had a really short haircut. Yesterday, I decided to have my ear pierced. Yes. My right ear. It now has a gold stud earring. I don't know if it's a sin for a guy to actually have an earring. I don't know if the people I live with think an earring on a guy looks cool. It would look cool, if not cooler, if it were silver. The gold stud on my earlobe makes me look like... a money lender? A broker? Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves or something? An earring on a guy doesn't look weird to me. You know what's really weird to me? Seeing guys with shaved legs. Well I'm not all of the time sure if a guy shaves his legs or his legs just haven't grown hair ever since. Now, why do I even look at guys' legs? Well, guys look at other guys to sort of compare anatomical features. Does that mean it's perfectly normal for a guy to look at another guy's, uhm, pants... over that area?

It's getting awkward.

Someone's getting punched in the face. All teen guys are homophobes. You guys must understand.

Let's go to my life at home. I had another kitchen failure tonight. It's another sin for a guy like me whose job in the house is often to cook for people. I overcooked the spaghetti - the pasta. It just. . . turned sloppy. I kept checking every two minutes that's why my mouth had somehow failed to notice the difference between al dente and soft. So when you eat the spaghetti it's like eating... a brain. It's red. It makes some really weird watery spawn-is-hatching kind of sound. It's almost like a soup.

A brain soup, like the one inside my skull. Sorry for saying too many sorries in this post. Can I just say "I apologize" instead? It sounds cooler. So yeah, I can. I apologize for even asking.

kudos to the guy who's just had his ear pierced.
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