New Bullet Journal

This wasn’t my first one, and it wouldn’t be my last one either.

My first “bullet journal” was merely just a small pocket notebook where I kept everything about me in it. It kept me organized in my chaotic life: it was the peace in the pandemonium.

I didn’t know about bullet journals after I finished my first pocket notebook. And after some research and goofing around, I decided to start an actual bullet journal.

I feel very guilty because maybe I should be spending more time practising and studying instead of doodling inside a fancy notebook?

Also have a merry merry Christmas!

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An Attempt to Write like Stephen Fry

 

I have stumbled over the fact, some days ago, that attention was urgently needed to my concept of time. It crept into my life with an eerie but imperceptive presence and, with the growth of time, it embodied itself in my subconscious and merged with my very habits of staring at a digital screen with utmost concentration.

It is, by far, the most catastrophic flaw that required the most labour. It served as an origin to other nameless blemishes that resulted in great sacrifices. See, when I speak of time, I mean the consciousness of its flow, its own extraordinary ability to lengthen, to stretch, to zoom in on a precise point. This mere quality has an enchanting outcome; with every focused task, time itself will elongate to baffling amounts. However, the root of the problem is that this juicy quality can reverse itself with mindless tasks. It dries up, the hydration evaporates, the thick, meaty layer shrinks itself to a set of rotting bones.

Precisely, the function of an inorganic phone is to engulf, to absorb all of the succulent content of time. It feeds on the very life of the infinite ticking of the clock, of the immeasurable eternity. It is the supreme ancestor of all malicious allure.

 

Thank you! Thank you.

 

 

 

To The Best Teachers In The World

It’s 4:12 pm. I am sitting on the sofa doing absolutely nothing. Every day, I get home at 3:40 pm and I feed my dog, I do homework, I play piano, I go to extra-curricular classes.

Not really feeling the grove to finish all of those worksheets right now.

You know, sometimes there are really bad and really good days for no reasons, and sometimes there are really bad and really good days that are because of something. And today belongs to the latter.

It was because my chemistry teacher is leaving.

I mean, it seems like it’s no big deal to cry and be sad about right?

But what if he was one of the best teachers you had? The funniest guy you have met? THE ONLY teacher that makes everything seems so clear and easy to understand?

He puts his whole efforts into writing those lesson plans, find ways to present the lesson so everyone in his class can understand. He is one of those teachers who put passion into his own work.

People always tell me, “go into the profession that you enjoy.” I can see it on that guy.

Today, he gave us a formative quiz on himself, (yes, I know. He also has really bad puns. The puns that make you laugh and cringe at the same time.) and informed us that we will be “in good hands” for the rest of the semester through a 20 mins presentation. We all got a lollipop from a glass bottle with a “so long suckers” sign on it. He also sang a “goodbye” song that made me cry for the rest of the period.

But I couldn’t see the rest of the semester without this guy. A substitute teacher? Nah, no one can substitute for him. A new teacher coming in? Nah, then I’ll just skip that class. ( I actually won’t, but I won’t try as hard.)

I just can’t seem to adjust to this sudden change in the middle of a semester; it will feel like he was only absent tomorrow. Like he is gone just because he had the flu.

It’s not the end, is it?

I came home and sat on my sofa and cuddled up with my dog and cried for a few minutes. There goes another great teacher!

A few days before he organized this “amazing race” where we had to find different chemical formulas all over the school, and come up with the names of them before the end of the class. The clues for them were riddles that we were given on a separate piece of paper.

What kind of teacher would do that if he didn’t love his job?

So to all of the teachers in the world that makes puns, and give lollipops to their students before summer break, thank you so much for your patience, your efforts to help us in what we are about to do, about to become. You inspire us to thrive in those fields, to sprout the passion that we are going to carry for the rest of our lives, and lead us into the human beings that we want to become.

To the best teachers in the world, you are the dream guiders that makes all dream come true.

Distractions- A poem

He felt as if his eyes were stabbed  with a razor-sharp knife

Every time he blinked, he noticed the throbbing pain

He felt as if his arms lifted ten-thousand weights for ten-thousand days

Every time he moved his fingers, he could feel the soreness in

Every. Single. Cell

But still he kept on moving his fingers

From morning

To night

From beginning

To end

Even though

The intense summer heat was invading his consciousness

Even though

His mom was arguing with someone on the phone next door

Even though

He was irked by the endless repetition of finger exercises

He was still practicing

He practiced until days were the same as night

He ignored the sweet invitation of blithe dreams

But

That feeling of powerlessness and indifference

That panicky feeling of agitation

Slowly took him over

‘I am not improving,’ he thought

His messy hair screamed frustration

‘Buzz—‘ ‘Buzz—‘

He stopped abruptly

And picked up the phone

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