"He would take a photograph of Sam, and the photograph would be beautiful. And he would think that the reason the photograph was beautiful was because of how he took it. If I took it, I would know that the only reason it's beautiful is because of Sam.

I just think it's bad when a boy looks at a girl and thinks that the way he sees the girl is better than the girl actually is. And I think it's bad when the most honest way a boy can look at a girl is through a camera. It's very hard for me to see Sam feel better about herself just because an older boy sees her that way." - The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

Two days after almost drowning in the pool because Wilbert coerced me into swimming with him (as a self-esteem booster for his training), I'm still getting aches and cramps in muscles I never had. It's an obvious sign that I need to exercise, which obviously is never going to happen.

I know everyone's supposed to like swimming, and to a certain extent I do, but I've had plenty of bad experiences in the water.

It began way back when I was six years old, and had a swimming instructor called Mr Tan. He was hairy, fat, and always wore a baseball cap wherever he went. I liked him a lot because he had a pretty gold chain around his neck with a pendant reading "Chee Hui" and he could make great swooshing sounds by clapping his hands underwater. What I didn't like about him was that he used to push our heads underwater to help us "acclimatise", and he'd do it while talking to the mothers about scheduling swimming lessons. Mothers being mothers, their conversations never seemed to end, meaning we spent a lot of time underwater filling our lungs with H2O. Another thing I didn't like about Mr Tan: chest hair and middle-aged balding did not go well together. You only had to glance at the pool to see little clumps of chest hair floating about. (At least, I think they were chest hair. Let's not go there shall we.)

It wasn't long before my fertile imagination started incorporating sections of the waterboarding into my dreamland playlist, throwing in giant squids and garden gnomes and sunflowerfish (don't ask) until I woke up in bed drenched in cold sweat and pee.

So because Mum got tired of changing the sheets every week, she changed swimming instructors. This time, a female instructor named Yvonne.

What I liked about Yvonne: she looked a lot like my aunt. What I didn't like about Yvonne: she had a mean competitive streak. She enjoyed challenging her students to very lopsided competitions, which was amusing at first, then annoying. Here was a 20, 30 something year old person, demanding a race with a group of seven year old kids. Not surprisingly, she always won, which I suppose made her feel a little better about herself.

What was worse was that she also liked to pit her students against each other. She'd pair us up and get us to race, and I always got stuck with a guy called Banjit. Although Banjit was two years younger than me, he was a genius at swimming. (Actually, he was a genius at almost everything, plus he was a good bit taller than me, which led my mother to call his mother up and ask for some parenting advice, but that's another story altogether.) This meant he beat me hands down in every race while I haphazardly splashed through every lap like a deoxygenated goldfish. It wouldn't have mattered so much if he wasn't in the same school as me, and therefore got to gloat about it in the corridors, at assembly, and on the bus home.

And that's why I don't like swimming all that much.

On a high note (pun!), the 10th episode of Glee just aired today, and it is made of pure awesome, as usual. Plus the songs just keep getting better and better, making me fall in love in a whole new level of Gleekdom.


Kurt Hummel! =D

Once in a while a great news story pops up about some gullible idiot getting scammed by Nigerian crooks, and we all get a good laugh out of it. The not so fun part is when

a) you're the idiot
b) you didn't even make it into the news
c) the crooks aren't Nigerian; they're crummy geeks who sit around in Star Trek inspired huts cooking up nonsense and making out on nice Star Wars sheets.

What was I thinking?!?!? Of course the stars were a lie. Astronomers, weathermen, news forecasters - the one thing they've all got in common: they are much more prolific liars than Harry and Ron with Divination homework.

Timeline:

10.00pm - I decide to go down and watch a two-hour Hong Kong drama.
12.00am - Hannah Montona starts. I persevere.
12.30am - My entire family troops off to bed, leaving me on watch for the rest of the night.
12.35am - I switch the TV off, and go outside with the entire month's newspapers.
1.00am - Bored. I start drawing mustaches and and explicit appendages on the Apec leaders.
1.30am - I get the biscuit tin and start munching on biscuits.
2.00am - No more chocolate wafers. I begin on the Oreos.
3.00am - Nutella sandwich fest.
4.00am - Reading Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything Is Illuminated.
4.30am - A single meteor streaks across the sky, leaving a light blue trail behind. I wet my pants, then holler to get my parents out of bed.
4.31am - "Look!" I say. They look.
4.32am - Waiting.
4.33am - Still waiting.
4.44am - Parents grumble, then go back to sleep.
4.45am - I'm still waiting.
5.00am - I give up and yell at the sky, "I've seen more impressive presentations than this! In Chinese!"

Last night I was ready to be convinced of God's existence by a display of his celestial might. Right now, I'm about as impressed as an annoyed Simon Cowell.

A news article online says that the meteor showers will continue over the next few days until November 21, but I'd much rather believe a Hippogriff is going to trample me to death on Christmas morning than lose sleep over a couple of nonexistent stars.

So because the school wants Sophie back and I still have cello exams ahead in March, Dad decided to splurge a little and we went down to Eunos to pick out a cello. After hours of cringing at price tags, nodding knowingly at the salesman's spiel without actually understanding anything he was saying, and having to play C major over and over again on every cello I tried while the anal salesman with perfect pitch screamed in diva-ish pain (I didn't really know what else to play without further embarrassing myself), we finally picked out The One:


Mum doesn't like the colour of the wood, but I think it's gorgeous. And while the tone is nothing like Sophie's (who has a solid and warm voice), it's awfully sweet and rich, which might be overbearing for some, but perfect for me.

I don't really know what to name her though. She's definitely feminine, that's for sure (don't ask me how I know, it's all in the feel =X ), but no name pops out as of yet. Suggestions!

Of course, parents being parents, conditions applied. Many conditions.

1. I will not have any more pocket money for the rest of the holidays.
2. I must score a Distinction for my cello exams.
3. No more playing computer games.
4. I must stop folding stars and leaving star paper all over the house.
5. I must do well in my 'A's.
6. This counts as a birthday and Christmas present for pretty much every year of the rest of my life.

Not too bad, considering presents have been virtually non-existent for me ever since I turned 12 and stopped being cute, not that I was ever cute before that. 2 and 5 are unlikely to happen, and I'll fold stars on the sly anyway.

Speaking of stars, I hope it won't rain on Tuesday night.

It was Nick Pitera's cover of Don't Stop Believin' that led me to Glee, and - what can I say? I'm hooked. =)



Kurt Hummel!

Sidetracking: Here's an interesting fact: men share a common faith in this theory: when things break down, as long as it isn't a woman, whack it a few times and it'll work perfectly fine. 99% of the time it only makes the problem worse, but men don't usually give a hoot about probability (just look at 4C). Vending machine not working? Give it a kick. Blue Screen of Death? Bash the CPU in. Camera not working on Grad Night? Drop it a few more times.

It is thus very heartening to know that 70% of the world's doctors are males.

(Interestingly, only men seem to follow this chain of logic; women never face problems with technology, because no microwave oven is stupid enough to mess around with a woman's cooking. A man's cooking, on the other hand, is rarely passable anyway, so a little meltdown here and there wouldn't hurt.)

Tuesday will be the first and last time I spend an entire night gaming away.  Admittedly it was loads of fun, especially after a rather lacklustre Graduation Night, though agreeing to follow Wilbert (of all people) for a run after 7 hours of straight button mashing was definitely one of the stupider decisions I made in that delirious state of mind.

(Someone please do me a favour and hack my account; I really don't want to be another of those "沉迷于网络和电脑游戏" teens.)

Today was supposed to be a Super Good Day, five red cars and whatnot, and I guess it was, sort of.  ;)  And I shan't let school bureaucracy and lousy school policies spoil it for me, mhmm.

Nick PItera being awesome, as usual:

In a country where lots of things aren't always free (like education and speech and viking ship rides), it feels darn good to be, well, free.

Try not to think about how badly you screwed up the paper, because I did too.  And if you did superbly, then good for you! =D

Freelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalaspatulalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalalafreelalala - 

Post-exam stress is getting to me.

BUT OH WELL.  For the next three months, I don't have to have a single inkling in my head!  =D  I am free like the birds in the sky, and just like them, I only need to know how to:

a) Eat accurately.
b) Shit accurately.
c) Fly accurately.

Chentian can go mug ahead of time and be Jonathan Livingston Seagull for all I care.  For now, I am content with being a moron.

So because I have a bad head for remembering dates (this is why I didn't take History), it turns out tomorrow is not the twelfth and I can spend the rest of the day wreaking havoc in Daryl's house until graduation dinner.

I need to start keeping track of my life Gregorianically and stop trusting the Mayan calendar! D:

Other than a short drizzle in the afternoon, today's weather has been An Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind. =)

It's the sort of weather that's fantastic for spending the entire day outdoors, dancing and prancing and balancing.  Only, before you can sneak out through your bedroom window with a rope made of blanket strips, The One Whose Uterus You Came Out From bashes the door down and demands that you finish your 2397468923475th Chinese essay on the politics of Siberia.

"Mum, they're not going to test us on the politics of Siberia."

"You never know!  Your Chinese teacher said they'll test you on news that came out in June."

Yeah right, where did the politics of Siberia appear in, the 13th June edition of The Siberian Herald? ._.  Seriously.

Anyway, I did manage to negotiate a little bit of peace time by volunteering to take my sister to the swings (oh yeah, the pit I mentioned ages ago?  They filled it up and installed swings.  Oddly, I seem to remember the government banning swings many years ago, but oh well, who's complaining? =D ).  In the course of those sweet twenty minutes of freedom, I discovered three things:

a) There are only four flowers in the entire field next to the playground.  We know, because we picked them and they're getting pollen all over my bedsheets now.
b) Mimosas are awesome things to make children believe in magic.  Just ask any kid to step on those amusing little plants, watch them scream in delight as the leaves fold up, and when they ask you why that's happening, tell them with a suave mysterious grin, "It's magic."
c) Never smile at little girls.  I smiled at three of them (I always smile and make faces at little kids, I can't help it, they are that adorable), and they stared back at me with frighteningly big eyes and vacant smirks for the rest of the twenty minutes.  HOW COME THIS NEVER HAPPENS WHEN I DO IT TO THE OLDER VERSIONS.

It was lots of fun though, dancing Para Para atop mimosa beds, playing I Spy, and almost getting mauled by a watching miniature schnauzer (no okay that wasn't very fun, I'm starting to hate dogs now, they need to stop trying to kill me every time they see me).

*sigh* Back to Chinese.

Haha thanks guys, appreciate it lots. =)

We made it!  So because it isn't graduation per se (lousy school system, hrmph), they decided to call it the Secondary Four Final Assembly, which makes it sound a lot like the Last Supper, but ah well.  It doesn't feel like we're leaving each other, though, just moving on to yet another year in RI, which is exactly what it is supposed to be, albeit with a whole lot more drama and awkwardness and, hopefully, a lot more fun.

But I'm not taking any chances, and since we'll be forced to lose all ungentlemanly habits in three months' time (and feminine mannerisms too), I have to get myself dunked and/or taopoked some time before January next year.  For the past four years I have studiously avoided such vulgar activities, but if not now, then when?

(Oh yes, NS will have blanket parties, but that'll probably cost more in medical bills, and I like my appendix the way it is: red and comfortably squishy.)

In a magnanimous gesture to better communication with my parents, I decided to give them a weather forecast of my results slip. Naturally it only led to a temporary shut down in communication, what with the horrible grades for Chemistry and Biology, but I do wish they'd listen and stop insisting that I take Chem and Bio in JC.  I know I dreamed of being a doctor when I was little because Dad looked super cool when he was handling pills and shoving thermometers up every vacant crack, but it's painfully obvious that even if I do force myself to take Chem and Bio, I'll only ever get mediocre grades, be a mediocre doctor, and live a mediocre life.

On the other hand, they argue, if I do go all out Humanities, I'll only ever get mediocre grades, be a mediocre god-knows-what, and live a mediocre unfulfilling life.  Makes my future seem pretty unappetizing, doncha think.

On happier notes, we've decided to spend Christmas high up in the Cameron Highlands.  The itinerary seems to be mostly made up of "Free & Easy", but I suppose that's the whole point: for us to get up and away from everything, write beautiful poetry, and camwhore.

Boy, Rafflesian Spotlight was good stuff.  I can't believe I missed it three times before!  Chia, if you read this, you were awesome (seriously, you were godly on the piano) and Gregory, I know you don't read this, but your singing was brilliant, and you really ought to have won. =)


Will you miss you guys lots, especially after tomorrow.

Sorry for ignoring you entirely today, I had no excuse to do so, and I feel like a downright bastard. =( Promise it'll be made up in 20 days though!  

Honest.

-----

I came home to try and get some sleep before Rafflesian Spotlight, but obviously that's not going to work since Mum's left the stereo blasting old Cantonese favourites at maximum volume. I seriously regret telling her about the Sembawang Music Centre sale; now all we ever hear in this house is Alan Tam's auntie-killer croonings.

Rafflesian Spotlight had better be good stuff.

------

Chia was awesome today. Looking forward to his and Greg's performance at Rafflesian Spotlight. =)

As the school year draws to an end, I find myself having more and more things to say to people, yet less and less courage to voice them. This is going to be the first proper closure I've had in a while, and even though we're just moving on from RI to RI (not even RI(JC) anymore, just plain old RI thanks to yet another awesome new name swap), it still feels like a conclusion of an adventure of sorts, yeah.

Truthfully, I'm going to miss the all-boys education system, not because it was conducive (in fact it wasn't), but because there won't be the same chumminess and closeness of friends that we're used to having. I don't exactly know what to expect (well I do have an inkling or two, but it'd be a little odd penning it down), but things... will be hellishly different, and it'll be hard getting used to it. But even though both factions probably feel the same way (or am I the only one?), it's like what Mrs. Seow said, that this is what life is like, and we just have to keep moving forward.

Rong Jun: "Secondly, IgG also makes the Mycobacterium tuberculosis go boomz, also effectively removing it from the body."
Marker's response: "Only if the pathogen happens to be Ris Low & IgG is rad."

 From evory  .  Seriously, epic win. =)

Topping the level for the English EOY was a pleasant surprise, though once my CA was factored in it was a mangled tragedy of sorts, and the day could only get worse with close-to-failure grades for Chemistry and Biology.

(What the hell was I expecting anyway, I've never done well in the Sciences.  We are just about as compatible as an electric eel is to a rubber ball.)

Calculated GPA sucks to the core, but as long as it's between pi and 2^2, I'm contented.  Though of course things take a less exciting turn when GPA gods come up and ask me about my results.  

*imagined flashback*

Chentian: How much did you get, Weng Hong?

WH: Oh um, nothing much.  You?

Chentian: Haiyah, don't need be so modest one lah.  Tell me your GPA and I'll tell you mine.

WH: Uh, let's see... (randomly picks a number between -97.3 to 1.9328).  You?

Chentian: Uh oh.  Um, don't beat me up please.

WH: Okay.

Chentian: Promise you won't beat me up.

WH: Yes I won't beat you up, darling.

Chentian: It's (picks a number between 4 to 4).

- godly silence - 

Chentian: I did lose half a mark in the Bio test for a spelling error.  Really!  The paper was easy what.  Why are you taking a chainsaw out of your bag, wait - no - wait, I need to pee, lemme go toilet firs - argh, no, hahaha, that tickles - 

----

Remind me to conscientiously avoid Chentian for the next few days.

On the bright side, I'm awfully proud of my class for our Math results.  It wasn't fantastic per se, but the fact that we've gone from 2nd last class in the whole cohort in terms of ranking to 7th this year with everything above average and no failures (haven't done that since the probability test in January) proves that WE ARE AWESOME.  =D  Love you guys, hope to at least see all of you in Math lectures or something.   And if any of you are reading this, sorry about the lateness of the hoodies (yeah you probably forgot too), Daryl and I are working on it, which basically means Daryl's doing the designing and I'm doing the ordering because a) I'm authoritative and b) I can't design for nuts. 

(I can, however, design nuts!  ...I think.)

I now know why speedwalkers swivel their hips and waddle so much, and why my ultra-fit African neighbour five doors down the road always glares at me when I mention ducks.

If you're bored and masochistic and you tend to wake up at five in the morning with nothing to do except drink coffee and watch The Powerpuff Girls reruns, then

Step 1: Venture into the Great Unlit Outdoors.  This is potentially fun for the first few times until you encounter flying cockroaches and bats that are determined to mate with your spectacles.

Step 2: Walk as fast as you can.  This is a no-brainer.  Well, except the part where you have to suppress your instincts to break into a full run because the stupid bat isn't done with the mating rituals.

Results:
1-10m without legs burning - Congratulations! You are obviously fireproof!
11-100m without painful muscle seizures - You have thunder thighs lightning feet!
101m and beyond with legs still attached - You should sign up for the RJC speedwalking PE module!

Of course, it doesn't as of yet exist per se, but with your enthusiastic and ardent support, I have faith that the Protest Against Projectiles In Sports for Edible Vegetables In Loosepants* (P-A-P-I-S-E-V-I-L) will succeed, with varying success.

On an essentially unrelated topic, must every PE module I ever have the misfortune to come across involve projectiles?  Because when handed spherical objects, I tend to be a very messy murderer.  Think Jack the Ripper, with a little more creativity and lime juice.

Though of course I needn't think so far ahead since I won't have a head to think with after tomorrow; the Principal will see to that.

Wilbert, please prepare your ten bucks in advance thanks.

*Every good Biology student knows watermelons aren't vegetables, but I'm not a good Biology student.

"Is my face too shiny?" - Mrs. Ong

"Don't come up to me and say, m'am, I missed my 4.0 by one mark.  If you think missing it by one mark is painful, then I can take away one more mark to make it less painful." - Mrs. Neoh, quoted from evory

----

I'm not even going to discuss EOY results here because depressing is the only word for it.  But there is a certain comfort in things turning out in ways you didn't anticipate, and now that I'm Secondary Four, I've had four years to learn that my PSLE results were a fluke and acceptance of imperfection just comes naturally.

What's harder to accept is how fast time has flown by.

Our seniors were right - the four years in RI would be over before we knew it.  In Secondary One, it seemed as though we had forever to study in RI, and our seniors would always be there for us.  Once we stopped keeping track of time, the days just bled together and suddenly, boom, long pants, boom, NC16 movies, boom, graduation.

(For some of us, graduation will come before the NC16 movies, but anyhow.)

It still doesn't feel as though I've left RI; RISE is still very much a part of my life, I'll keep in touch with the juniors, and most probably I'll keep coming back for the cheaper food at the RI canteen (albeit having to bear the scandalized stares of former teachers).  But the sad sad truth is that everything I do at the secondary campus will be as an outsider, from hereon.  

What happened?  Six years ago I was still a pre-pubescent boy pretending to be a HP technology salesman (no kidding, I was a lame git and probably still am).  Two years from now, I can be prosecuted for treason because I talked to my Malaysian uncle about Singapore politics in a Swiss chicken farm. 

Time flies all too fast.

I know I said earlier that I wouldn't talk about it, but GPA outlook is dismal dismal dismal.  Think rainy day, overcast sky, best Sunday clothes, no umbrella, pavement riddled with puddles, late for date with boyfriend, forgot lipstick, expensive perfume washed off and makeup smudged, only shelter available is the bus stop 2.16 miles away, best Sunday clothes actually mother's most costly satin evening gown with mink fur trimmings, plus it's way past curfew.  

Failure for the Science papers is imminent, except maybe Maths Paper 1, but it's time to look past that and understand that getting into RP was the best thing that could happen to me, else I'd be languishing in juvenile jail smoking crack.  My younger sister isn't in that drastic a situation, but apparently she didn't do well this year and right this moment she's under a huge amount of pressure from The Parents since she can't offer Triple Science (reserved only for the likes of Chentian) and has to take *gulp* Literature or *shudder* Geography.

My parents are still under the delusion that all their kids will one day grow up to be supernaturally good doctors, but three of us just aren't interested in medicine, while the last one hasn't started planning beyond her next Kumon test grade.  Mum thinks my noobness in Science can be cured with tuition, and maybe it's true, but Science will never be my forte.

I haven't even told them I'm going to try out for the Humanities Programme - they'll probably own or disown me or something - but mostly because I don't think I'll get in, with the kind of results I will get on Monday.  But I'll try anyway, and hopefully with the help of

some Befuddlement Charms

a bubbly personality and spunky attitude

good hygiene and a megawatt-braced smile

rum and Cheezels

sweaty armpits and a nervous smile

I'll get them thinking the right way.

And that, essentially sums up my day for yesterday.


Sis got an instant camera! D:  And she's only five.  The most technologically advanced present I ever got was a electronic talking Lala.

Oh well. =/

*revels in the blessedness of being part of a family that loves kids and has the numbers to prove it*

( I had a weird dream last night. )
GeoCities is shutting down for good today. =/ I spent the morning downloading all the A Bit of Fry and Laurie scripts, which although admittedly is very no-life, but has turned me into a Ctrl-C Ctrl-V expert.

I also spent the rest of the day skimming through facts and figures on Youtube.  Good Magazine and the Did You Know? series are awesome places to get random facts and figures for projects. =)


Why didn't I see this video before Chemistry EOY? D:


If I do join the One Earth club in JC, this might actually be worth thinking about. =)

Okay wait I need to stop becoming a Youtube addict.

*goes off to play Wii*

Finally finished Departures; I was hoping for more cello features, but still.  It's nice how it started off with all the little comedic touches, then gradually blossomed into something deeper and more, well, emotional.

Parents are positively hyperventilating - the last time they held a party was when we were still toddlers and my cousins were still teenagers, meaning there was a hell lot more space for people to manoeuvre about.  Now that we're teenagers and the cousins are adults with toddlers of their own, breathing might become more difficult than when Eva Braun kissed Adolf Hitler's prickly moustache.  

"Mmm... you are such a good kisser, Addykins-"

"Anything for you, my lovey-dovey-wuvvy -nggh- ack - what are you doing -"

"My braces, they're - nggh- stuck in your - pleargh - moustache!"

"Wait, no - AARGHH!  Don't pull on my - nggrff!"

"It's not my fault you don't - hrrmph - shave!"

"Don't tug, woman!  If you hadn't insisted on wearing braces, this would never have - oomph - happened!"

"You said I looked - ickkgnnj - prettier like this!"


"Look, I know how to get us out of this - fffsssshh - mess.  We'll just - bttthhff - bite on a cyanide bullet each, then shoot ourselves in the head, okay?"

"Will that - pfft - work?"

"Yes it will, I saw it on The Simpsons on American television - grawhphh - and American television's never - pleggh - wrong-"

"Okay, Addykins - hyurrk - here goes nothing - "

Boomz.  Or as Ms. Ris Low would have it, Shingz.

Everything's up and ready: balloons, banners, unlimited supply of Yupi gummy bears, chocolate eclairs, gas masks, diapers, formula milk - and just in case, 


pliers to separate my braces from aunts' prickly moustaches.


Gotta go, a huge wave of zombies is approaching.

How do women do it?

I mean, every time they visit the hairdresser's, they always come out looking exactly the same as they did before.

Or at least, only women seem to be able to see the difference.  Their husbands just nod sagely and say, "Gosh, you're so pretty, honey." (Smart because it saves your life, dumb because she'll assume it's her new hairstyle.  And honestly?  It's got nothing to do with that.)

Men, on the other hand, always come out of the barbershop looking much worse than they did before.  Unless your name's Zac Efron or Robert Pattinson, you're almost certainly doomed to look really bad after every haircut.  

Or maybe it's just me.


"At the Copa, Co! Copacaban- Oh my god! You're Hannah Montana!"

"No, Mum, I'm not Han-"

"Hey everybody, Hannah Montana's in my kitchen!"

"Mum, look, it's me, Weng Hong -"

"Oh my god, I'm a huge fan of yours!  I love your singing to bits!"

"Mum, you're always complaining about my singing in the shower -"

"And your dress sense!  So stunning!"

"Mum, I'm wearing my uniform - "

"I had no idea you were into cosplay too!  You should come join me at the conventions, I always go as Inuyasha..."

"What?!?"

"You'd make a great Astro Boy; it's your hair - "

Buh.  

Though on second thought, it'd be pretty cool to have a mum who listened to Hannah Montana and went to cosplay conventions as Inuyasha.

In the meantime, I'll just have to put up with looking progressively more dorkish after every haircut.  (Then I'll dress up as Kevin Jonas for Halloween.  Or maybe [just maybe] Megan Fox.)