If there is just one thing that I could present across to you, that would be the statement that "conformity does not equate to
Intelligence".

When I was young, I recall an episode where the teacher asked us all to raise our hands, to gather who would pick "love" or "bread". Surprisingly, everyone chose "bread", when te answer could have been none at all or even both. There is also one thing that I have learnt, that is if one is presented with only two choices, it does not mean that you have to conform. I choose none. Instead, I have chosen freedom of choice, but ironically it traps me at times. Rebelling is one characteristic that I realize predominates me, but that also kills
Many of us. Do unconventional acts make you happy sometimes? Perhaps. Many times, it is short-lived and there is no sense. At certain occasions, I just forget.

I wanna go up to the hills And be happy forever (: I love nature.

How do you intensify an emotion? The simple thing to do is to paint it deeper with a brush. When you wish to make it real amplified, you take that colour and multiply it a thousand times by strength and With precision. The thing is, over time, these paints Do fade due to the wearing out caused by time. 

But that's not what I wanna talk about now. This was something that I have written this afternoon during contemplation.

It is not good to be a wall.

Lena sat in the middle of concrete and plastered earth orange brick walls. Four walls. She was a little girl
With impeccable dress sense as her mother had taught her how to dress like a king when she was young. Hence, she could adopt the role of any immortal-like being, for a king was everything. Lena was so tired. She wanted to sleep. She just said whatever she wanted to and there was no link, just like this story she left behind, same like Jane. They were all very sad creatures who had no happiness at all. They sometimes had emotions like cheeriness, just like me, but these emotions were short-lived and they couldn't last very long as Lena lived inside a DAMN brick wall. Lena was very sad and she wanted to sleep forever like the silly Sleeping Beauty in those stories she hated, but it didn't make sense because she was taught to dress like a king. Due to her upbringing, she must be expected to not ridicule those ludicrous tales. Lena is so tired now. She was taught not to use the hammer to knock down those walls as her mum reminded her of how she was cruelly attacked when she was young and climbed out of the walls. Four walls surround her now, and I saw the happiness cloud floating by, for I am Lena. It rained and I was happy, because I felt the emotions from these clouds. Yet, soon they left me as water evaporates and so does gladness and joy. Lena was devastated, and so was I, for we were one. "Lena, Lena, where are you?" the cloud screamed in vain but it is a known fact that clouds have no voice, and hence cannot speak. I want my happiness cloud, please don't go away. But that's only now, tomorrow I won't want it anymore as the four walls protect us and clouds can drift away. Better to be happy, and you will be yeah. It's a natter of choice. (:

Imagine if Lexy was a patchwork of strikingly colourful cloth with the brightest arrays of colours in the universe, everyone would turn to him whenever they needed any help and cut a little bit of cloth, and Lexy would become bit by bit, just a scrap of indistinguishable cloth. Lexy was very artistic and Lexy is not me, but a fairy that I have known. Lexy appeared to be bipolar, but I know that he was just a result of all that he had gone through. Everyone turned to Lexy for help

Because he was the patchwork of the universe, and he was an accumulation of past experiences. Lexy loaned me a bit of his cloth to wipe my tears when I was sad, but Lexy never gave me an any bit of cloth for the longest time. He would teach me and loan me different Colours of his patchwork, which symbolized the different parts of his experience. Each colour encapsulated the meanings of life and how to deal with people, but he never gave it to me because I never understood him and he never really understood me. Being the head of the patchwork world, he had to sew up new pieces of cloth to his bedsheet body, and he grew so big that he thought he could do anything. Yet, these pieces of cloth fell off so easily because Lexy used bad strings. He would employ the secondhand strings of dead silkworms and they could be so deceivingly beautiful, for silkworms were known for the stunning cloth they could create, only when used correctly. Lexy, Mr Patchwork, was the epitome of perfection. Lexy was Mr and Ms Patchwork, for he could be anything and he was anything he wanted to be. He could even be an it. Lexy, with his perfect patchwork and of incredulity, always took his pieces of cloth for granted. Sometimes when people who needed help tried to cut his cloth away, he forgot to use better quality string. There was this type of string named steeling, and it was so strong that no one could spoil any form of patchwork if that string was used. Lexy always forgot to purchase this string because he already had the secondhand silkworms, but the silkworms were so overused. The new little bits of patchworks often fell away because the Ghosts of the silkworms would bite and gnaw on the sewings. The old patchworks were most demanded for, and many people tried to pull them away, but they didn't budge much when aliens attacked because they loved Lexy and the patchwork world when they had first joined his community of cloth to avoid the aliens. You see, cloth can create warmth, and little bits of cloth alone can do nothing, but when sewn together and constructed into a community, these little cloth could do wonders. Sometimes, these cloth that made up Lexy were a good blanket that engulfed me. They covered us up and kept me so warm, but then I ran out of the cloth for no one knows nor dares explore what will happen after I totally get surrounded by the cloth. Lexy used the cloth to cover his deeds, and used the cloth for warmth. Angel then took a pair of scissors and cut bits of the beautiful patchwork and some old pieces and many new pieces fell away. Angel was neutral, and Angel was no angel at all. She just happened to have a positive name.

Patchworks can create warmth, yet patchworks highlight mere imperfection of little bits and cover ups. One day, there was a thunderstorm and it struck a humongous hole in Lexy's body. The ghosts of silkworms further gnawed on him and Lexy's remaining patchworks were half hanging. They wanted to hang on but they were falling, further and further. "Steelings! We need Steelings!" they chanted, but this was just a lie because patchwork cannot speak. How then can patchworks be happy? When Steelings are used, but how does Lexy know?

I wanna create my own book. (:

This is something Lexy has to learn.

I noticed something as I looked at the "x minutes ago" sign on Facebook when I refreshed the page- that actually, time flies away so fast. I then also remembered how I was always so uptight about time in the past. I used to treasure every single standing moment, and even studied while queuing up for food. I would never, honestly, queue for more than five seconds. I would get annoyed because they were wasting my time and If there was a queue, I would disappear first. Then, why are standards different now? Time is really so precious and eight months have slipped past just like that. I let unimportant things take up my time even when I did not enjoy it. Perhaps the first few months had more of a conscious alert mind where I took notice of how my time was spent, but then I grew complacent. The root of the problem is a lack of discipline and the solution itself is discipline. I remember how I used to run every night because of discipline and how I never ate fried food because of discipline. Then, when I started to allow myself to miss a running session and allow some unclean food to touch my lips, the art of discipline broke away from me. We cannot allow standards to fall below what they are. We must always remember where our success stemmed from. That is the reason why I have not utilized my time to the fullest.

On another note, I love stories and I simply adore writing. I have reiterated it a million times. I can never describe how much I love writing. I would love to talk to no one at all and just sit somewhere all day, because I dislike negative noise. I love to compose lyrical pieces of dancing words that fly around and are swift to complement fanciful ideas. I love to be so flightful (haha my own word) sometimes, but at times I am extreme and I become so serious. I like to think that writers are queer and oddballs sometimes, and the word "oddball" makes me laugh. It paints a picture of peculiarity and fullness of it, just like an oversized globe that utterly expands and invades every personal space of yours. In short, oddness can kill you but yet, it can satisfy your hunger. Human beings are so strange sometimes. They can die of oddness, and yet they can bloom when they are different. They can employ and ride on the wave of creativity when they are "Oddballs", yet on the other hand, sometimes, they end up drowning and losing their lives because they forgot how to swim. They forgot that just like everyone else, they could learn to swim and conquer the huge waves of excitement and anger, and that they are just like anybody else. How strange.

There once was a girl named Jane, and she was a very common girl. Her name was Jane and it was a common name, and because of her commonness, she grew very sad. Jane was never happy because Jane was just a girl, and as a girl, all she did was to sew little names on the hankerchiefs of the well-groomed males in her era. All she did everyday was to entertain pleadings of hunger and chants for the need of attendance to these deprived fellows. Jane was never happy, because she was made to conform to societal norms.

However, one day, Jane decided that she was no longer to be bound by these norms. She did so many things and she was so tired that she told me not to say it, but I want to tell you that Jane did the most radical things. She went crazy and she did all the things you would not have imagined, but still, she wasn't happy. She then realized that everything was just vanity. It is best to just be happy.

I am tired of writing. I especially love the annoying repetition of the name "Jane". The intention is to make it childlike, and to be honest with you, merely to simplify whatever we all go through. Honestly, everything in life is so simple to understand. Can everyone just chill and be happy?I have heard of so many less than cheery events. Let us all just change our perspective to a happy one yeah. Learn to distance yourself sometimes, in difficult situations, and it really helps. (:

Imagine if every person who entered into your life and left took a scrap of your meat away, you'd be just a pile of bones. Yet imagine if every person who entered your life and left Added flesh to your meat, you'd be full and fleshy. The truth is, the way I perceive things can change in a split second and reverse itself again. Too much is at stake, yet at stake is nothing if you are in control. What then can be done? I wanna give it a shot maybe, but I know what I else I have wanted all
Along. Also, I know what is at stake. Pain is scary! We all know many things in our lives, and have known Many things as well. What I wanna do
Just right now is to sleep and rest. (: one thing I love very much about my
Bed is that it gives me a sense of security and familiarity, and my charcoal pillow givesr
Warmth. What we need are familiar things, but what if we are faced with intrusion? How do
We react? I wanna be happy in different ways, but sometimes happy is just being
Content. Sometimes we block
Things off, but all we gotta do is let it down. (; it really depends on the circumstance. Remember that after all, a partially permeable wall is the best. (: I love writing so much. I miss my literature writings.

I basically love the art of composition. It keeps me sane and makes me feel alive whenever my spirits are down. Many times, we tend to forget that we were once good. We tend to not remember the fact that we were once that amazing and indescribable. Yet, strangely, it can be another way, where we tend to remember too much about past glories. It is all about the Perspective you choose to take. Your words can become meaningless words once you lose your value, and yet they could mean so much to you. Status means a lot to me, and that is by motivation. I found out through simple tests. Really true. Fight for your motivation, and feed yourself with only good fuel. I know it's tough and certain journeys may seem impossibly rocky, but do you know that rocks are actually great foundations? Perspective. (: good night.

The types of words you employ reveal a lot about your true personality. Is it not much better to be happier? There are so many things we all want, and so many things we desire for. What I really yearn for most is peace of mind.

Little things reveal A LOT about a person's true character. I have seen many little things, speculated but not judged, and it came through. It is true. Time does unravel many mysteries. People grow old, Time passes, and Memories fade away. Time heals Wounds, and wounds heal to form scars. Some lightening creams work better than others, and certain surgeries disfigure these wounds and completely reverse the damage. Time heals wounds, and time blurs hatred. What elements go through?

On another note, this not recent incident will always make me happy. There is a good reason for holding back, and rationality is most important. Protect. Imagined stories would make you happy, but when it happens will this happiness last?

I have been so afraid of happiness, because it slips away so easily. Haha, I love this phrase I saw in that book. Yet, it is because of this that I yearn for it so much. Indifference huh, haha.

The thing is, if you do not desire for anything material in life, what can really drive You?
Too many beings are being consumed by Worldly Lusts, Yet too many beings are being drenched in plain disgust for such vain things. Who then can truly be the one who succeeds. I have yearned for so many things yet nothing at all. There is nothing that can demand that great a desire. Yet, when that desire does surface, I suppress it with all might. I do not let anything overcome me, and I do not let this desire appear. For the fact is, when it is in fact allowed, you are so damn vulnerable. You become as weak as a barrel filled with a thousand holes and a barrel so hit by last night's storm. The storm of yesterdays. People come and go, like the leaves of yesterday. I remember this book I once read, all about sadness and its plain melancholy makes you so comfortable. Yet, what is true comfort? Can one relish in this joy forever? I love writing so much and being in my own world of pure composition, but then, what is composition after all? It is a mere creation. It is in fact created. It is not real. What then can be real?

It is all in your mind. It is created and COMPOSED IN YOUR MIND. You control it.
I once created a story of great sadness, and I once composed a story of great happiness. Who can be happy and sad forever? Yet, can one be sad and happy at the same time?
Life is a stage, and this damn stage is what YOU make of it. I can do many things, and yet I can do nothing at all. Why is it that at times, I would love for this stage to be amazing? I just wish to be happy like most people. I truly love just sitting there and running too fast until I cannot breathe and run across the vast fields. I LOVE NATURE, and yet ironically I love the most beautiful buildings. But yet sometimes I hate them so much. I abhor these buildings so much because it takes the life away from me. I would feel so unclean. I cannot take that. I feel so polluted and blemished when we are in fact supposed to be pure. What is pure? The question is, we can never really know anyone at all. We are all such scary creatures, but queer humans always interest us. They make us so damn curious that we all go insane in search for the true answer. The true answer will never be known, honestly. Go on, this is the question.

I can feel so much, really, and yet the next moment I can feel nothing at all. You know, I used to love reading my posts to myself, but now I don't dare to because I know the pain that I will feel. Haha. It is so scary. I know the messages embedded in each of the posts in the stories I compose. Let us all be safe yeah. No one can harm us.

I was looking through my old modeling pictures and I realized that I do still love it a lot. The thing is, sometimes, by glancing through things you once loved, you would develop a sense of familiarity and comfort from it. The truth is, do you really want it? Actually I do. I recall when I first started in my current job, I knew the opportunity cost I had, and hence I went all out for my job and made sure I highrolled Every Single Day. It is so true. And now, I have chosen to put aside studying, and I must make this work. Come on, YiLing! (:

It is so strange, because I am so different now. I still enjoying writing, and I LOVE composing articles as well as creating stories. However, the things that I enjoy may very well be different. The things that I used to be afraid of have no effect on me anymore, but yet the things that I used to love, I am afraid of it. Happiness is like the wind, so easily blown away. Yet, the wind is again controlled by other elements and the wall blocks the wind. When the wind comes, we shall all be washed away. What if the wind blows us in another direction? That signals new hope.

It has been long since Jaime walked past those forlorn trees that swayed crookedly in the light breeze. Strange, how she was so afraid. Before that incident happened to her, she was never this sad. I must do this, I can overcome. She thought to herself. Each brave step she took seemed like a deep pound on her weak heart. Its rapid palpitations made her feel like she was going to die. The light rustling of the leaves. She remembered that night. That wicked face which tore her of all her protection and stripped her of all dignity. Shreds of light, chiffon whiteness that got stained with evil intentions. She remembered herself screaming, but no voice came out. Why, why me. Why am I subject to such pain. It was her favourite dress, and that wicked stranger tore it off so violently that she had no say. With each step she took, Jaime sobbed, and then it got worse and she screamed violently. Each rustle on each leaf were deep, CRUEL stabs on her tainted flesh. Will I ever be happy again. How can I be genuinely happy anymore.

Jaime finished the trail. It is now over, I will be safe. I will always be safe. I will always protect myself.