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rowlandanthonyimperial

Life's increments & excrements.

rowlandanthonyimperial




17
29/09/90
roman catholic
filipino overseas student

sjii 08-present
sji 06-07
gsc sped 03-05
nddc-ibed 97-03
cic mandaue 95-97

rowlandanthonyimperial

I have always been fascinated and irritated about the way of life here in the Philippines:

people like to make a fuss out of everything, and they like to make sequels out of anything, and they choose to be copycats rather than to be innovators.

***
There goes the Part II of the mutiny, which is now being celebrated in Makati. Take care, Zippy.
It is no surprise that they did it once again in a hotel. They love hotels, don't they? Surely they must have never been to one when they were young. They must have been fed up of the basakan and the palayan during their younger days. Pity them.

Furthermore, it is no surprise that the same people are doing it again.

Filipino voters, thank you so much.

See? Look at some mutineer-cum-useless politician. You let him win the elections. Yet what is he doing right now? For the benefit of the Filipino nation daw? For a new Philippines? When? How?!
He's merrily and crazily expressing his anguish and desire for power that emanate from nowhere but from his superfluous ego.

Sila-sila nga talaga. Them, the power-hungry, intelligent-but-baluktot-ang-pag-iisip military personnel, and politicians who should actually be superannuated and sent immediately to hell. Might as well close down the Philippine Military Academy to completely stop breeding potential evildoers.

America, please colonize this country once more. Spain? Why not not add another 333 years of your presence here?

When will they stop?

Can't they just cooperate and help each other bring back this f****** country back on the right track?

Truly, pursuit of self-interest knows no bounds.
Pare-pareho lang silang lahat.
Manipulate. Manoeuvre. Under-the-table transactions. Intimidate. Murder.
It's the same old routine.

And it's sickening.

***

I am very fascinated of the ratings war going on between ABS-CBN and GMA 7.

It's such a profitable business, I just realized.
Try to build a shop, a shop where people can fight over which station is number one, or which station's programmes are being watched by more people..
It's going to be a lucrative and wonderful business venture.

Sixteen years after ABS-CBN dominated the country, GMA 7 suddenly comes knocking the former out of the Pinoys' TV screens. It is undeniable that the latter is enjoying its marginal lead, and of course, as a corporation, reaping huge revenues brought about by the hugely successful ratings of its shows.

And in the few years ahead, of course, will see the greatest ratings battle that will have ever occurred in Philippine TV. More and more people will be drawn to this circus, more and more people will be interested to follow the events of this war, and more and more people will be divided between the Kapamilya and the Kapuso.

And these tv stations will be penchants for copycats and yung mga walang originality.

Umm.. Marimar? hahaa
so ano na naman sa sunod, Chabelita? Rosalinda? or Prisonbreak? ano, Muntinlupa-break?
And please, when you make game shows, make sure that they are WORTH watching, and give money WORTH winning.
And please, get newscasters who can tell news without having to sing in irritating and fluctuating tunes.
And please, stop exaggerating your wins. It makes you sound more unreliable.

At 'yung mga dumedepende na lang sa sequels... Part 2? 1.5? Baka sa sunod may part 3.1416 na kayo ha.

Did I sound like I was siding one station? Hmm... not really. :)

I must admit, their shows should now be put under 'quality control'.
The shows are getting worse, and meaningless!
Lastikman, Whammy, and Zaido especially... baduy!

Can't they produce good shows? Sayang ang kuryente eh!



Good thing I have cable TV.

It's scary. I need a break. I need to move about.. walk, jog, talk (oral conversation), run, hop, dance, swim, anything bodily-kinesthetic!!!

My neck, butt and back are hurting from all these prolonged unproper sitting postures and my eyes are searing due to continuous exposure to radiation emitted by this fourteen-inch computer monitor staring in front of me. So much for my computer glasses...

i just want to get to some secluded place, a clandestine beach, or an empty air-conditi oned mall if any, perhaps? Watch beowulf for the second time? Nah... the digital movie in Cathay Cineleisure was more than enough.

I liked the Angelina Jolie scenes. Wish they had less budget for CG so they would not have been able to smear her with CG gold.

Enchanted? No one to go with. Anybody
there? (nagpaparamdam oh, hahaa)

What a 'petrificus totalus' week.

Okay. I promised myself that I am not going to cut my hair for the rest of the holidays. That I am going to let it grow as long as it can grow, until I start pre-U next year. It was a daunting task really, considering that my hair is as stiff as a sea urchin, and as thick as Rubeus Hagrid's. The growing process was painstaking. I looked terrible when it was halfway between what we consider short and a bit short. But when it was a bit less than a bit short, it seemed to be okay...

Of course when I came back here in the Philippines, my mother was horrified.
Can you please cut your hair?! she pleaded.
No, I said.
Oh, dear. Look at you! You look so malnourished with that haircut!
Hahaha, I'm going to let it grow for the rest of the holidays.
You look horrible.
Hmmm...
Yes!
Hmmm...
(sighs)
It was difficult to let it grow! I started growing it since the start of O levels.
(sighs)

Well, I had managed to keep myself away from a pair of scissors and electric razors for eight days...
Until today...
I'm so sad, after all my hardwork...

Epistaxis. I'm going to have one soon.
Do you know how difficult it is to live a life, when all you do is sit in front of the computer doing friendster/facebook/hotmail/ym/multiply and play Naruto Shippuden in PS2 the whole day?
Hmmm.
Maybe it's going to be worse than epistaxis.
Now that I am not a TV addict anymore (thank you very much, any form of addiction is never good), I don't know anything else to do!

***

There's a scrabble board collecting dust and dust mites somewhere, but I'm too uninterested to stretch some brain cells.

There's my mother's make up kit on her dresser, but I'm a boy so I would not want to do make up and I don't even want to try touching it.

There's my dad's golf bag, but I don't know how to swing golf clubs, and to accidentally shoot some golf balls into a pond would equate to accidentally throwing your one-hundred peso bill into the toilet bowl.
There's a mountain pile of movie cds here but to repeat watching them would be like throwing up breakfast and keeping it for dinnertime for round two.

***

It's downright hilarious when you see in facebook some status messages that say, blah blah is running around in circles, or blah blah is stoning, or blah blah is staring out the window, or blah blah is bored...
How spiritless humanity is.
Then, some people come complaining to me that they are sick of sitting up to six hours doing non-stop health care lessons in school. "It's 'hell' care, d'oh", some of them proudly ameliorate me. But hey, some people are even more sick of having nothing to do. I'd rather have 'hell' care lessons dude. At least I'm learning something.

Hell-i-care.

An inconsequential matter this is. Inconsequential.

I want to get a little bit of muscle.
Ummm...
Okay, scientifically, this is wrong.
You don't manufacture muscles like chinamade and chinafied toys, you develop them.
I have more than 600 muscles in my body, all of them underdeveloped, feeble, debilitated, and unpalatable. I, the wonderful work of art; the obra maestro of a month-long O-Level canticle. See? It is the best slimming technique unsold in any market. See it for yourself.

Curses to you, the advertising universe.
You, gyms and beaches.
You, swimwear companies.
You, CKs and Hanes and Jockeys.
You, porn sites.
You, budding actors and actresses, sports enthusiasts.

You make those who belong to the emaciated taxonomic group, the epithelial lot, the malnourished twigs, inferior and imperceptible among the eyes of many people. You make us seem weak, deluded, innocuous. We live the world to suffer social disgrace.

Thanks a lot.

How I wish anaerobic respiration could my my muscles bigger and leaner.

If then, I would pinch my nose, close my mouth, and stop breathing straight away and drown myself inside my thoughts, until I become a bruiser.

I was feverishly waiting for it.

Five months.

Five, long months.

There was an accumulating sense of frustration amidst the excitement brought about by the wonderful ability of the human brain to determine the remaining number of hours left before the study-freak's inevitable (inevitable?) transformation into a couch potato.
Well, something has been substantiated recently.
I couldn't transform into a couch potato. I think even Ms. (or Mrs?, we never know, ask JK, maybe?) Minerva McGonagall's Transfiguration skills would not be able to suffice the need for such an alteration to happen. Dammit.

So, yeah, TV?
I guess I have to bid goodbye to you.
Au Revoir.

I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers. ~Gandhi

Yes, quite true, is he not?

I am now devouring mangoes fresh from my father's mango farm. It seems that these conspicuously bright-yellow, succulent, edible, and tremendously tasty (i'm advertising the mangoes now, please do buy them) mangoes have enlightened me about the atrocity brought about by the invention of what we call 'human rights'.
Ironically, because of this so-called human rights, we are even more segregated, oppressed, harmed, incarcerated, and degraded. Don't you think so?

By right, these human rights policies are carefully crafted, meticulously manipulated, and surreptitiously sculpted in a morally-sound fashion, with the ideals of diplomacy and democracy as the chisel and the hammer and corrupt men as the, who else, but sculptors.

By left, these human rights policies are deceptive ordinances and resolutions that bring about an unbalanced see-saw system unrelenting to stop swinging and swivelling in favour of a majority of supporters of a certain cause, irregardless of its goodness or badness.

Well, I have no tangible evidence to prove this. Who needs one anyway?

Tingnan mo naman oo.

I was so ecstatic, so excited, so invigorated to post my first blog entry here in the Philippines with lots and lots of photos from my phone.

I left the phone's USB cable in my grandma's house in Manila.

Yes, it is so frustrating I want to wail and scream as loud as the tintinnabulation of huge church wedding bells.

DING!!! DONG!!!!
DIIIIINGGGG!!!! DOOOONNNNNGGG!!!!!

argh.

Something's up.

It's midnight. The 20th of November, Two thousand and seven. I'm writing my last entry in Catholic Junior College Hostel. I'm going back today. Yippee.

Did that sound too unenthusiastic?

I'M GOING BACK TODAY!!! WOOHOO!!!

The clock (okay, watch) has struck twelve, or for you army people, zero zero hours. Our dearly beloved hostel not-for-long-assistant-director likes to perform what she calls a 'final room inspection', so I and a few others are fleeing this incarceration in this stifling building at 4:30 am. Yup. That early. No one awake except security and us. It's not like some of us have a choice in the matter. Calvin and Jix have four precious hours to do the room-cleaning (more like purifying) that they left until too late. Matthew is hypercharged with the thought of playing his little brother's PS2 and can't sleep, choosing rather to stay awake to laugh at Calvin and Jix while playing his Nintendo DS. Game addiction at its best. We're all leaving at the afore-mentioned pre-dawn hour. Others, on the other hand, like Djohan, are staying awake to relive the nostalgia for these last four hours together.

In a way, there's a downside to going back. My returning to the Philippines in a few hours marks the end of a highly memorable period in my life. Returning would give the sense that it's all over.

That I'll never see the rest as much as I would like to.

That Truc and I would never sing "Umbrella" together again.

That the Viets would never scream at us to "$*%#ing shut up!!!"

That the Indos would never again enthusiastically greet "HI ROWLAND!!"

That the Malaysians would never again ignore me as per usual...

That I would never again have the trouble of writing in this blog taken up by Matthew...

Realised yet?

My name is Matthew, but my name, thoughts, feelings and words, for this few minutes of typing, are Rowland's.

Did I fool you? Hahaha...

Dreaming is an act of pure imagination, attesting in all men a creative power, which if it were available in waking, would make every man a Dante or Shakespeare. ~H.F. Hedge

I have been wondering.
For the past few days, after the culmination of the month-long litany of O Level papers, a stream of new, virgin, au courant, neophytic dreams have obliterated my regular dream sessions of britney spears dancing and shaking to the beat of 'break the ice'. my REMs have been unpleasantly getting even more rapid. My dreams are becoming unorthodox, unusual, even paradoxical. Oxymoronic information are piling up between the grooves of my exasperated brain, creeping like viruses, attacking my immune system, injecting their RNA code, into my somatic cells, a bothersome process of duplicating of their wrath and hideousness.

Dreams.
Aren't dreams supposed to make you happy?
After one long day, after all the stresses and the hustling and bustling of this barren world, after the long traffic jam, the honks, the beeps, the shouts, the smoke, the smog, the belch, the fart, after the insidious remarks by your boss/teacher/whatever-you-call-them, after the break-up you had today, after your wallet was stolen, after you stepped on cow poo, after you have received your house bills, after the long ordeal in the toilet, after everything unpleasant in life?

Dreams.
Why are some dreams like that?
Why do they make us worry so much, why do they prevent us from having a well-deserved rest?

Dreams.

Actually, if I can just remember my dreams, if they were just as vivid as britney spears' see-through garments, if my mind could just work like a biological Mass Storage Device, with Bluetooth functionality, hey, I can make a fortune out of my dreams.

Imagine.
Best-selling author, Yours Truly.
Over sixty-nine billion books sold.
Translated into 146,000 languages and dialects.
Winner of the Pulitzer Prize Award.
Of the Nobel Prize in Literature.

..Next on discovery channel...
Narrator: How does this widely-acclaimed author manage to write such beautiful and exotic stories? Let us take a peek into the world of the maestro, the magnifico, Yours Truly. Watch this astounding documentary of Yours Truly, Dec. 25, 8pm on discovery channel..

duh.

The blameworthiness on me.
Me,
the inconsiderate,
the ungrateful,
the cold-hearted,
selfish human being.
Forever will I live on infamy.

I struck the glass heart
Into million little pieces it fell apart

How can someone be so unrelenting to give up
Why should we hang on to the things that are not meant for us?

Painful tears fell from her eyes

We can't force ourselves to feel the same way.
We can't just let ourselves give in, because we want to make someone else happy.
Is this selfishness working its own evil?
Or is this love working it's way to find its new byways?

Gripping the chains of my heart
Unrelenting to release me from my pains.

Parting ways.
I just realized that we are going to leave soon.

Goodbye Truc,
Goodbye Jix and Calvin,
Goodbye Indonesians,
Goodbye Vietnamese,
Goodbye Malaysians,
Goodbye classmates,
Goodbye Auntie April.

It has come down to two years.
Two years, it is.

I'm halfway the contract.
Actually, I am on a new contract.

Do you know how it feels when you win in a game show, let's say, Game KNB?
You get that final answer right, and you win the humongous prize.
But don't you forget my dear, there's this thing called TAX.
So let's say, you bring home the bacon half-eaten?
Nevertheless, you still have the other half for you to munch.

***

They were like horses clopping around during the test. It's not an insult. I actually liked it. A rhythm of high-heeled shoes and leather slip-ons reverberating throughout the hall. Serenity. Music. Invigilators, as they are more commonly known, are like robotic creatures who collect examination papers and scold sleeping candidates who do not bother to check their answers. They are the heroes of the exam hall, good interceptors of careless mistakes, saviors of the potential failures. Thank you, you have saved my life.

***

Talking about bacons, I am most privileged to accept the SJI International Scholarship for the International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme. Little did I know how much the scholarship cost before. Now that they have sent me the Terms and Conditions of the scholarship via e-mail, my flatulent alimentary canal finally gave up.

Oh
my
gosh.

It's like winning in GAME KNB three times.

This is so amazing.

I wasn't cadging. I was merely asking for the opportunity to do what I deemed was best for me. They gave me the thing. I couldn't believe it. Merlin's beard, Dumbledore would've exclaimed. Oh, that gay Dumbledore. Moaning Myrtle would have been moaning in tremendous elation and euphoria for me.

I was like a convalescent child. The happiness is still overwhelming.

***

I still could not believe that God has been granting me with all these rare opportunities in life. I couldn't fathom how I get so many blessings, some of which I am aware of taking them for granted. I see my country, so poor and destitute, encapsulated with problems and conundrums, incarcerated behind the bars of political strife and economic recession. Yet I am here, taking my own sweet time, slacking, doing nothing, yet God is still granting me the desires of my heart. Nevertheless, thank you Lord, for everything.

I'll do my best, and live up to their expectations. I will not let them down.

It's over.

We never know, believe me, when we have succeeded best. ~Miguel de Unamuno, Essays and Soliloquies, 1925

Well, doing a multiple-choice question paper is similar to ravishing a helpless woman in some ways:
You see it, you get tense and excited; you do it so fast, you don't know how you did it so fast, and you regret doing it so fast when you finish it.

You are given one hour to finish the whole paper.
One long hour, it is. You don't need one hour, you say.
Suddenly, you arrive at question number 40, and you realize that you know the answer.
The brain responds at lightning speed. You brain cells generate nerve impulses. Impulses are sent through numerous dendrites and axons. Answers taking the form of chemical substances at the synapses.. answers reaching the effector neurones... prompting the effector muscles to translate everything into a tangible, legible, visible answer. The pencil moves with the gentle contortions of the fingers. The graphite is exonerated, adheres to the paper.
You shade the right answer.
You stretch your body, release the pen from your hand.
You glance to your left, to your right, to see whether anyone has finished the paper as well.
Thirty more minutes.
You review all your answers once.
Twenty more minutes.
Twice.
ten more minutes.
You get bored.

Boredom flourishes too, when you feel safe. It's a symptom of security. ~Eugene Ionesco

You feel that you need to check everything again, but.
"Time's up, put your pens down."
You submit your paper.
You reminisce your answers.
You begin to realize the careless mistakes.
You curse. F***, S***, oh f***, of s***, oh F***s***! (bad words censored to avoid going to court for blatant display of affliction).

It's over.

Say hello to Cambridge markers. And to Mr. OTAS reader.
You won't know your score anyway, why bother. As if they're gonna indicate in your certificate the incorrect responses:

University of Cambridge International Examinations Syndicate
in partnership with the ever-so-loving UCLES,
presents to you
your Incorrect Responses for the 2007 GCE O Levels Chemistry 62226111/01 Paper.

1. A -----> B
2. B ----->A
3. C -----> D
4. D -----> C

Comment: You must be very unlucky. Try answering your paper upside down.


That would be a good idea.

Two days left.

Anybody feeling the euphoria? I am. I really am. Truly, this waiting gives me shivers. Why can't they just pluck everything inside one day? It seems like two millenniums have already bowed down to history; still, I am stuck here, excited, elated, frustrated, furiously waiting for the most eagerly-awaited day to come: Tuesday. The multitude of MCQs inside my head are now transforming into a bilious, bothersome mix of anxiety and tension, depriving me of a good night's sleep and sweet dreams.

MCQ... MCQ... oh.. full marks, yeah yeah, full marks... oh, the MCQs..
Now I sound like a jerk getting multiple orgasms because of multiple choice questions.

A, B, C, D.
Why won't they bring back the E?
Add an F and a G, make it seven, seven's a lucky number.
Please, let me breathe.

A quondam study-freak i was a few days back.

Aow, surreptitiously, these past few days, i have been pretending that i have been studying religiously in front of my peers.
"Wow, Rowland, so hardworking."
"Thanks," I beam a wide smile. I act really good, dude, my mind says.

***

I look at the beautiful firmament above me, a majestic concoction of cirrus, cumulus, nimbus, stratus clouds; spanning the fields of the sky, a sea above the ground, a vast expanse of freedom and calmness. How I wish I could finish this immediately and fly to the sky.

November 8, 2007

The sound of my alarm clock seemed like a wailing glockenspiel, ballyhooing beside my ears, my cranial nerves beginning to jolt impulses that felt like lightning bolts, my hand and feet rising up the air like a hot gas, in a rigmarole, looking for that bastard noisemaker. I woke up.

Then I forgot. S***! I was supposed to swimming with my friends today.

Off I went like a mad bull rushing through the gates, bringing me along my ever-so-tight swimming trunks, and a towel of course to hide my family jewels when I go for a hasty change in the locker room. Well, it comes down to one conclusion. I am a Filipino. Being a Filipino is synonymous to being conservative.

Since we could not use the Hwa Chong pool (outsiders like me are not allowed to contaminate the ocean of chlorinated dihydrogen oxide), we decided to go to Toa Payoh Swimming Complex instead. We took bus 157.


Surprisingly, we were among the first ones there. The finical, automated, card-vomiting machine was a pain. Why couldn't they just use people? They would've given one person the hell of the job giving us our access pass. Enter the access pass. The word "child" lit up. Cool. I'm still a child after all. Trying to get into the entrance. Weird. It was almost impassable. I wonder if Dabiana would have been able to fit in. We placed our bags in one corner, went to the locker room to undress, and poof.

There they go, Singaporeans, baring it all in front of me, their bulbous, sun-blanched flowers and frolics. Whew. What a sight. Unbearably disgusting and hilarious at the same time. Kenneth had raised eyebrows, Danson laughing as if he was enjoying the naked aura of the place. We set forth to the pool.

Ahh, what a wonderful feeling. The redolence of chlorine. The numbness brought about by the tingling sensation of cold water. The smooth immaculate tiles beneath. The gentle breeze of morning air. I realized then that i have not swam for ages. Who would have thought that after all these years I would be wearing nothing but swimming trunks? I have never worn once in my life, that I can assure you. I was always in shorts, even in pants I dared to do once many years ago. I think even ragamuffins who have never ever dared to go swimming (for the fear of it) would have been able to, at least, have a showing off of a bit of their skin in public. But I have always been in the chiaroscuro; a person who never took much of the opportunity to break away from the monochromatic life of decency and privacy and indulge in bare-it-all occasions. Not that I have avoirdupois weight, but because I was just too shy to do so.

It was fun, the swimming.

i hate it.

they're always teasing me.

hey, rowland, you're so thin.

do you even eat?

can you do pull ups?

oh, i'll just ask him instead because I don't think you can carry this.

hey, hold on to something, there's a strong wind coming!

eat some more, here, you want?

what, you're fifty-six kg only?!

hey, pump up will you?

rowland, why are you so thin?


argh.

why am i so skinny?!

many people are so sad of their lives because they look like bouncing fat globules.
hey, have you forgotten about skinny people's feelings?!

fine!

wait till i come back to singapore next year.

just wait.

Played pool today...
Watched stardust today...
No exam today...
So fun!!!
=p

anyway, congratulations to the literature students. Your worries are now over too! come join us in our celebrations! :)

It has been a tough battle, and we managed to overcome the enemies (test papers, invigilators) with our swords (pen, pencil). Somehow, the feeling of regret of not putting as much effort as I did during the Preliminary Exams still emanates from within.
Well, with the exception of myself, it's quite hard to blame anybody else if ever I don't get the results that I want next year when I go back to SJI.
Still, it's so good to know that all of the written papers are over.

Anyway, these were some of the photos that Matthew, Bo Er, Khanh and I collectively took during the so-called Pre-SS y Pre-Biology stress.

at last, the final written exams are tomorrow.

Two years of pain, suffering and hard work will be summed up inside a few pages of mind-boggling and topsy-turvy, crappy examination question papers.

Two papers tomorrow: Biology and Social Studies.

There is an undeniable gushing of tremendous euphoria right now within me, giving me a come-on-baby-give-it-to-me-now sensation. I just can't stand it; I want to do it straight away, and finish it as if nothing happened.

though.. I am quite appalled by my own slackness today. I have two important papers for tomorrow. And I haven't even finished studying what I need to study. I promised myself this morning that I am not going to let temptation screw my grades up, but here it is, encapsulating me in the abyss of cyberspace.

As a matter of fact, I have finished revising my biology textbook halfway, and by rough estimation I need ten more hours to finish the rest, provided that the necessary conditions for optimum mugging are present (which, unfortunately, are not present as of the moment). Considering this horrendous case, my Social Studies textbooks will be left to rot; although I have a few hours tomorrow to cram everything inside my saturated brain before the do-or-die paper.

Hope I can surpass this sickening ordeal tomorrow.

Wish me the best of luck.

Rheyza and I had a very interesting conversation today. Although I am totally banned from spilling out the good stuff (really good stuff, but quite saddening actually), I would like to thank her for trusting me regarding the issue. Promise, I won't tell it to anyone.

Anyway, I have always been studying together with Bo Er inside the computer room, and only now have I realized the plethora of interesting conversations we have been having since the day we started feeling the exuberance and pleasure of talking cock and crapping about shitty things whenever we are busy studying for exams.

Bo er and I had a very interesting conversation two days ago, all saints' day.

Bo er: Rowland...

Rowland: Yes?

Bo Er: Why is there All Saints' Day?

Rowland: (thinking) um... to commemorate all the saints?

Bo Er: Huh?

Rowland: Um, it's a Catholic thing.

Bo Er: Oh, okay. Oh, so St. John Baptiste de La Salle is a saint?!

Rowland: Yeah (duh).

Bo Er: Cooool. Hmm.. so how do you become a saint?

Rowland: Hm.. complicated. It's a very long process.

Bo Er: Really?

Rowland: Yeah.

Bo Er: Ah... so do you know any living saint?

Rowland: No, all saints are dead. And no one can be a saint when he or she is still alive.

Bo Er: Ha?! how come??

Rowland: Um, cause, it takes a long time to be a saint?

Bo Er: So you mean you can only be a saint when you're dead?

Rowland: Yeah, duh.

Bo Er: How long does it take for a person to be a saint?

Rowland: Quite long eh. A few hundred years, maybe?

Bo Er: Whoa!

Rowland: Even Mother Teresa's still not a saint, although before many people called her 'the living saint'.

Bo Er: ...

Rowland: There is a canonization thing they call, which makes you saint...

Bo Er: 0.0

Rowland: But before that you must be beatified first.

Bo Er: O.O

Rowland: Do you know Joan of Arc?

Bo Er: (head shaking)

Rowland: Okay... well she got canonized like 300++ years after she died.. that's what I think.

Bo Er: (confusion turns to amazement) Wow... that's a long time.

Rowland: Anyway, let's continue studying.

...a few minutes later...

Rowland: Hey Bo Er.

Bo Er: Yeaa?

Rowland: I just heard from the radio, some American guy managed to eat 103 burgers in three minutes.

Bo Er: Crazy retard.

Rowland: Like you lor.

Bo Er: No, like you!

Rowland: -_-

Bo Er: hahaha...

...and the studying continued until 10pm.

rowlandanthonyimperial

rowlandanthonyimperial




sji international
carmen charissa danusha eskor
ian jessica joey jose
mary matthew nicolette sarah
weijie yinto zhenhe
rowland
sji 07
aloysius arthur boer calvin fong
iqbal matthew tianye hazm
others
alyssa christabel ferina pynx

philippines
benazhir candice crisselle eunice
joahanna kenneth lex muriel neil brian
rheyza

rowlandanthonyimperial

October 2007

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