Drama of the Malay Drama

Dear Reader,

A certain someone had pointed out to me that I might be speaking too much about my thoughts only and nothing else. Obviously enough, it was true. I think too much and never share experiences. I'll remedy that.

Well, it all started a few weeks ago, when we were in class. BM teacher walked in, and the class stood up to show respect and to greet him. As we sat down, we continued the loud zoo parade. Somehow, I can't remember clearly, but he had mentioned that it would be compulsory for us to perform a BM drama in groups, and that it would be included in the 'lisan' points. Some were of course, more enthusiastic than others. We broke up into 5 groups of roughly ten and started discussing.

There I was, brainstorming like a TV show writer coming up with an explanation to when the main character dies. I was trying too hard I suppose, for I had stayed quiet for awhile. And then, it struck! The basic plot was formed and explained. The script-writing work was divided among three people, I think.

A few days later, they were finished. They just needed someone to photocopy the document. Foolishly, I offered myself for the duty, mentioning that my mother had a photocopy machine. Then, I read it.

Oh... boy.

I guess I wasn't to clear on the story. Not only was the basic plot majorly changed, but it would seem that the three people who were assigned the duty of making the script were telling stories of their own. You see, the story is a mystery story with a detective and stuff, full of unexpected occurrences, but when I read their work, it was like they were so desperate on trying to tell the audience who it was. And not only that, one wrote the body was found in the toilet, another in the kitchen! It would need some extreme fixing for a good mystery and also for all the pieces to fall together. Yet again, I offered myself to type out everything and editing it on the computer.

One of the nights after that day, I stayed up until about 2:30 am doing that thing, going over it again and again. I had to make sure that it made sense, was a surprise at the ending and was according to their version. Finally, I was done. A click here and there and I printed one copy.

They didn't like it.
Dammit! Who cares?! I didn't like the changed story! If you want another changed script then do it yourself! Which was what I told them, but not in that way of course. Unfortunately, I caused my own downfall by being too kind. It was like a boy helping his father dig a grave out of kindness, too blind to see that it would later be used against him. You see, I typed the script on my computer, and it would be much easier and faster for me to make the slight changes.

"Alright, ok, fine. I'll give it to you after the mid-term holidays."
Ah those two weeks were sweet. I, as most people would do, procrastinated until the last minute to finish the job. I typed, sorry, RE-typed the "mistakes" I made. A click here and there and... what?! No! No!! NO!!! NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME WE'RE OUT OF INK?! Aw... man...

After a lot of pestering, my sister finally brought me to One Utama where I bought the ink. Then I fitted it into the printer, and printed 9 copies. Phew! I'm not gonna do that again.

We practiced a lot. Quite a lot. I remembered my lines, and so did they. We tried acting more emotional. We tried speaking text differently. Basically, we worked hard.

Then, it finally came. The day that separates men from the boys. D-Day aka Drama-Day. We were first. I thought we already had it down by then. Emphasis on the "thought". It started with an okay introduction, but got worse along the way. What was happening? These people are speaking like they're reading from a book! They're acting was so stiff! And they were so quiet. Even the front row couldn't hear what was being said. And their expressions! What happened to all that time we took to practice?! Gone in vain?! Not to be bragging but I really think I was the best one out there, cause my voice was loud and expressive. Seriously. C'mon, man. What happened? The audience lost interest and started discussing their own dramas not even halfway through.

I was crushed. So disappointed. SO disappointed.

You know what the real kicker was? Knowing that your best friend right after you, the main character, had taken the day with his group's performance, but mostly because of him. It was funny. So funny, I admit. They even got a loud applause afterwards. But I couldn't enjoy it. And you know what was the real extreme kicker was? Knowing that your friend and friend's group, who stole the day, did not follow their script! It was mostly spontaneous! ARGH!!! IT'S NOT FAIR!!!

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate him. In fact, I'm happy for him, but I still have a right to be upset. Mostly, with the people who were my members. Yes, for those of you who were in my group for that drama (you know who you are), I'm saying right now, I'm very disappointed with you.

I worked hard on that script! We worked hard on our acting! And you just, just threw it away...

*long sigh*

What's done is done, I suppose.

That's all for now. Salams.

She Caught The Tantrums I Threw and Returned Them To Me As Mango Pudding

Dear Reader,

Hi. Me, yet again. Yes. Me. Yet again.

I don't know what's wrong.
It would seem that I am more of an avid blogger than I expected. I usually check every other day and hope to god for comments. I guess I don't give the public enough time to do so.

How long has it been since my last entry? Sheesh! Get a life! I guess I'm still new at this. Still fresh. Still, all, *^excited^*.

Hm? Oh. You're asking me about the weird title? Nothing much really. Just some awkward randomness that I understand is quite 'in' nowadays. With the whole,
"you shot me through my kidney, I called out for horses, they were busy reading books that slit the throat of a thousand stars, and the belly flooped the fate of the dying world, melting,
melting till the ashes of the night come staggering into my other kidney."

And just like formaldehyde too. I don't know what it is about this chemical that is so attractive to artists that they have to include it in their songs. It's just a disinfectant\preserving chemical. I guess people want a different 'flavour' rather than your average John and Jane Doe singing the three words over and over again.

Oh yeah, speaking about different flavours, sometimes I think that we all have the same tastes. All of us. We all like the same food, colour, clothes, sports, etc. The thing that I would say makes us all different in our interests is probably how we experience things. Your blue, might be my green. Your classical might be my jazz. Your very hard might be my pushover. Heck, your taste of lasagna might be my taste of mango pudding. (yes, I like mango pudding, very much as a matter of fact.)

So if you like the colour of your green, and I like the colour of my blue, these two colours might actually be the same. Basically, we all like, love and hate all the same things, but experience them differently. Well, it's just a theory, and it can't be tested empirically. Heck, it can't even be tested at all!

Anyway, thanks for reading and please comment. I'm not desperate, but would just like to know that there are people out there who are listening.

Oh yeah. One more thing. Go Spain for EURO!

That's all for now. Salams.

Criticism

Dear reader,

Welcome again to the presentation of my radical, weird, crazy, disgusting, awesome, freaky, and just plain random thoughts, racing through the bus stop my mind, TO THE WORLD!

Ok, seriously. (see what I mean?)

Lately, I guess I haven't been able to express myself to the fullest extent, considering the fact that I don't like criticism. Mainly I prefer not to say what I want to say fearing the thoughts of readers who live under the same roof as myself. Get what I mean?

Then what's the point of having a blog, right? WRONG! Some people, like myself, have tried to have a diary but it never really accomplished it's mission.
The aim of having an 'online diary' is so you can share your secrets (which aren't really secrets anymore), vent out your feelings and pointing out your views, without being criticized. Or maybe, that's just how I see it.

I mean constructive criticism is cool, but sometimes, and beleive me, sometimes, people really don't know how to say it. And of course, I've had experience, in both of the party's shoes; the critic and the victim, and I know I don't do well in either of them.

I still keep it though, my diary, I mean. I guess it has some sense of sentimentality on me, and gives me a chance to, reminisce. (I don't know if I spelt that right) Now that's another reason for having an online diary. Being able to know your views on your past experiences, good and bad. Trying to remember what it was like, when you (metaphorically speaking) fell down, and only one friend was there to pick you up. When you saw that person you liked and never had the guts to do anything. When your buddy cheered you up when you felt depressed. I guess it teaches you essential life lessons.

I guess it's time to put an end to that fear, since criticism is inevitable. Starting...

NOW!

... it doesn't matter anymore. Well I guess, not completely. A part of me needs to care. It's part of life, and it helps people improve themselves, if put in the right way.

You know, to tell you the truth, this is the first time I've ever expressed myself to the world to the point of content. Well I guess that's not too hard right? I've only had 2 posts, add this, 3.

*sigh* oh well.

That's all for now. Salams.

P/S : For those of you who do live under the same roof as myself, no offense, aight? Oh, and I'll never tell you where it is.