Honjo Ren

I haven't seen a manga that better captures the complete deterioration of a character than Nana.

Ren has been one of my favourite characters from the start (it helps that he's easy on the eyes) and his story is just too sad. He loves Oosaki Nana so much. I cried so hard when I got to the chapter above; he's just gone from being this confident, kind person to someone so broken and lonely. There's another image I have of him sitting slumped against the locked bathroom door as Reira tries to coax him out, and that made me cry too.

Unfortunately, Nana's on hiatus because Yazawa Ai is sick and can't write until sometime next year. I'm sure there are thousands of people worldwide praying for her recovery; I'm one of them. :)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

I love Taylor Swift to death. I love her even more now. =)

Kadoorie? KADOORIE FARM!

I spent my previous week nurturing the next generation at Kadoorie Farm and hot damn, do I feel old.

Which brings me to my next point.

Who the hell is teaching these kids about sex?

They're just ten years old and I was asked more then four times by the boys if I would give them a blowjob for twenty dollars. (I was quite offended, I'm sure I'm worth much more than that.) And, when rejected, they ran over to each other and started dry humping each other. ~I said what what, in the butt-

I did get attached to them though, as much as you can get attached over a period of five days anyway. There were a couple of uncomfortable incidents though:

1) We all split into subgroups of about 10 kids and I was assigned with the noisiest and naughtiest one. The headmaster also decided to tag along with us- he left when the boy started shrieking about the reptile house.

2) JT called my roommate Di-an-a a lesbian and some of the kids believed him, which led to lots of awkward questions about what we do at night.

One of the sweetest moments I had with a boy called Matthew went along the lines of:

Matthew: I want Frosties. Can I have some Frosties?
Me: No, you can't have them. They're for breakfast.
Matthew: Come on, please! I'll let you give me a blowjob!
Me: ...no, Matthew.
Matthew: I'll sleep with you!
Me: Matthew, I said no.
[Matthew throws himself at me and hugs me]
Matthew: Please, please, please, please, please-
Raphael: Just give him some Frosties, you stupid prefect!
Matthew: HEY! MEGAN'S AWESOME, FUCK OFF RAPHAEL.

=)

I did end up giving him the Frosties. How could you not? He was so cute!

Ethically wrong.

I'm a volunteer helper at Sunday school and I look after a bunch of eight year old kids, who are bored to death by the classes. They know I understand their plight (having been a student myself for eight years) and so we've got a mutual respect for each other going on.

During mass, I secretly perv on one of the other hot teachers, who, according to Bakhita (one of my students and trusted confidante):

- is divorced
- has two kids
- has angel's wings tattooed on his back

Bakhita knows I think he's smoking hot and when he sat down in the pew in front of us this morning, the both of us started giggling. I had a minor heart attack when he turned around to shake my hand, and then proceeded to smile stunningly at me with those pearly whites and hazel brown eyes.

I really shouldn't be allowed to teach Sunday School.

another text from last night.

(402): what if cement was really a rainbow color they just secretly paint it grey so as not to distract drivers
(1-402): are you high?

a text to honour.

(734): i just walked with a girl who was carrying a chair down the street. apparently she got mad at the bartender and took the bar stool when she left.

Could totally see myself doing that if I was wasted enough.

financial insecurities? yeah, they affect us too.

Instead of writing scene summaries for Twelfth Night by Shakespeare or studying for my C1/C2 maths test next week, I watched all of Glee yesterday- which, in my defense, is only 6 episodes long right now. Then again, that doesn't completely justify the hourlong session I had reacquainting myself with my DS Lite and Suikoden Tierkreis.

So, I vowed yesterday night I would do work today.

Which isn't really how things turned out.

I got bored of Suikoden Tierkreis a couple of hours ago, after I realised the secret character I've been trying to unlock looks like my dog's butthole. So I began researching future careers and universities with the aid of the most useful invention other than Muji's portable hole puncher: Google.

I'm really interested in the performing arts and writing, so I went on to research salaries and degrees in english literature. And I was horrified to find that-

Most graduates earn 22,000 - 27,000 pounds a year.

Nearly half of all performers get paid less than 6,000 pounds a year.

Most fiction writers get paid less than that.

Which is grossly depressing.

To be honest, I'm quite terrified. I think, especially growing up in a money-oriented place like Hong Kong, a good salary matters a lot more than it should. And having an Asian mother doesn't exactly help either. Take for instance a conversation/argument I had with her a couple of weeks ago:

Mum: If you go into finance, you'll make good money.
Me: You know, I don't have to make money to be happy.

And she subsequently laughed harshly at my reply, which was demoralising. She then went on to tell her sister on the phone, while laughing again, "My daughter thinks she'll be happy if she doesn't make money. How stupid of her."

So now I'm not exactly sure where I'm going. I don't think anybody in my year is sure, I think we all have this overwhelming fear of financial insecurity that's been drilled into us by our parents and Hong Kong society. The only people unaffected are a couple of kids whose lives revolve around getting into med-school and my best friend Kaffreen who wants to do fashion/acting, sod the bad salary.

But I swear, I'll figure this all out by the end of next year.

Maybe.

- meg

ATM cards will become demagnatised if you put them with your Octopus.

I posted this up on 7AP already, but I've decided to repost it here since this is my actual blog. I'm plagiarising myself, essentially.

A couple of days ago, I spent the last of my pocket money on Mogu Mogu Lychee Drink w/ Nata De Coco. I have provided a picture so I don't have to describe it in exact detail- the fluorescent pink speaks for itself after all. I know you're thinking it looks very processed and artificial. But don't make any judgments before you try it, it is brilliant.

After school, I played rough rugby (that's alliteration, my English teachers would be proud) with a few girls of different ages. It was, surprisingly, very entertaining and I think I might actually go every week for the rest of the year. This is a revolutionary thought for me, as I have major commitment issues and would much rather go home and sleep given the chance.

I thought I had enough money on my Octopus to get me through the week, so I didn't bother withdrawing any actual cash from my ATM. After leaving rugby, I had to go to a music lesson. So I hopped onto a bus with Charmaine and Sachin and slammed my DOMO wallet against the Octopus machine, only to come to a terrifying conclusion:

There was no money in my Octopus.

But luckily, I had some coins in my wallet. I shoved all of them into the fare box; I'm sure the driver noticed I didn't meet the required fare but couldn't be assed to count all the 10 cent coins I gave him. This, however, meant I had no money to get home.

I thought I had managed to work my way around this new problem. I decided that after my harp lesson, I would walk to the Admiralty MTR station and withdraw money from one of the ATM machines there, and then I'd go fill up my Octopus so I'd be able to catch the bus home. So then I went and walked to Admiralty, lined up behind five people to use the ATM and waited for my turn to come.

When I tried to withdraw money, the screen read-

YOUR TRANSACTION CANNOT BE PROCESSED AT THIS TIME.

I began to panic a little bit. Understandably. I ran to another ATM on the other side of the MTR station and lined up behind a very shifty looking couple, who spent a ridiculous amount of time withdrawing lots and lots of money and slipping $100 bills into their pockets in a I'm-trying-to-be-inconspicuous-but-failing way. They were relatively harmless so I ignored them for the most part, still freaking out about what I was going to do if my ATM card didn't work.

Finally, the thieves young couple left and I slid my ATM card into the machine. Surprisingly, everything went really well until I got to the screen that asked how much I would like to withdraw. I keyed in how much I wanted (an amount that will remain secret) and waited for the machine to spit out cold hard cash.

Then: YOUR TRANSACTION CANNOT BE PROCESSED AT THIS TIME.

My card was useless and I was stranded in Admiralty without any money to get home. I would have to sleep in Pacific Place and steal overpriced organic food from great for the rest of my life. I wouldn't be able to take my AS level exams since I'd have no way of getting to school and my life would spiral downwards, like the Emo Kid's.

But then, I remembered I had brought my mobile phone with me for once in my life. I began to call my parents so that I'd be able to ask for them to pick me up.

My mum didn't pick up.

My dad didn't pick up.

Nobody at home was picking up.

I can see you all gasping in horror at this sudden and twisted turn of events, and I appreciate your empathy. It was a horrible experience. I thought I was going to die, so I went and did what any 16 year old girl would when faced with a horrible situation. I went and began trying clothes on in Mango. Upon finding a dark green dress with lots of strategically placed holes, I decided to go nuts and try it on.

I actually began to get really hyped up about trying it on, since I could pretend for a few moments that I could actually afford anything in Mango. I was allocated a fitting room and hung up my bag, placing the green dress and hanger on a metal peg.

And then Godzilla broke into Pacific Place, wrenched the top two floors of the building off and peered into the dressing room I was in with hungry, lustful eyes.

...which is not how this pointless story actually ended. But I'm tired and the true ending of this story is omega lame, which is why I wanted to impress you with something else.

What actually happened was that my ring tone (Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley) went off and my dad told me to take a taxi home, and that he'd pay for it. So I jumped into a cab and was driven home by a relatively scary looking Chinese man.

...but you can pretend it ended with Godzilla kidnapping me and climbing to the top of IFC as I screamed and tried in vain to free myself. And then Jack Sparrow came swinging out of nowhere from a ridiculously tall ship mast to rescue me, his onyx dreadlocks plastered to his face with rain from a well-timed black rainstorm and the heroic theme from Indiana Jones playing in the background. After he vanquished the monster, he saved me and we had a lot of kinky pirate fun together. Unforunately, we didn't get married or become seriously involved, since that is just not Jack's style.

...

...

Obviously I am tired and incoherent. If you spent your time reading this when you could have been doing an english literature analysis on The Cockroach, I apologise.