If my life was a triple megabyte simulation, I suppose the programmer must be a sadistic douchebag. Just to keep my hopes up, he throws me into events like last Friday's "TJ Mardi Gras" (The French and Louisianans would not be happy). After which, he would throw a bucket of lava on the Prozac-lined facade that has built up around me. For the umpteenth time, the first two lines of the school anthem; "It matters not where we come from, to Temasek we now belong." Seem like lines that describe one's involuntary submission to TJC's administration.
At least my recent report slip does hold some good news. Apparently I am a capable student with good ideas (I hope my cynicism helped), but I am unable to organise them properly. Not too good, but not too bad either.
As I type this rant-like pile of intellectual garbage on my hipster shit iPhone, waiting for the bus to take me back to my imperfect fortress of domestication, I hope (in vain most probably) that things will turn around for the better.
Although the great programmer has yet to accomplish his quest of trolling me to the point of complete insanity.
