She was elusive.
She was today. She was tomorrow.
She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower,
the flitting shadow of an elf owl.

We did not know what to make of her.
In our minds we tried to pin her to corkboard like a butterfly,
but the pin merely went through
and away she flew.
- Jerry Spinelli

Please view me in Firefox.

I dread moments like this. My dear peers are about to do their A's, the DVC students are applying for the transfer process and my precious 16 years old choir juniors are ready to take their O's and graduate from TK, complete with grad night pictures and their "goodbye TK" friendster profiles.

There's that certain 'I've been there once before and I feel that I was old enough back then' attached to those moments... subtly intertwined with the 'seriously though, those ickle wittle juniors whose purpose of being is to have their hair ruffled and their cheeks pinched ARE old enough to go through it NOW?' undertone. Man, I feel old.

In addition to that I'm about to waste the last moments of being sweet, sweet 17 on frickin' studying for 2 midterms. Or at least try to, as always.

And yeah, I feel old.
Here's the plan. I'll be going (in rags and tatters as compared to my ultra glamorous peers) to LA tomorrow, spending the evening in Knott Scarry Farms and the rest of the weekend in the bling of metropolitan life. I feel real weary of it somewhat... and just don't feel like going. Call me paranoid but I have a feeling that something might *Godforbid!* just gone wrong. Plus I'll have to try my best to dress up and mingle with new people and all. Don't get me mistaken, I love being in the presence of people as most of you can tell but there's just this other side of me that heaves a sigh and mentally buckles up with a "here we go again" when I'm on my own visualizing what's to happen.

Plus, I've gotta study! I'm so turning into a (proud) nerd.
Warning: I'm about to RANT big time. Yet another occasion in which I feel like hollering down that someone's face but for humanitarian purposes (read: cowardice) am restricted from doing. I'm too nice to do it, you see? Call me obnoxious and whatnots but I don't believe that I'm backmouthing that person rather than channeling away my frustrations anonymously - a much better option than spreading the animosity and turning the world against that person and myself in the process. After all, am I not the master of ambiguity? Nothing that I'm proud of but... here goes.


So you think that you're the ultimate. Leering down on everyone from those kohl ladden lids, mocking all in existance with such lack of subtlety. It hurts, don't you see? Should you know a tad better, you might have realized how terribly lacking you are - we all are. Think you that one's class is defined by wealth? Nay, I say. It's by upbringing and manners which makes a goddess shine even in rags and tatters. Why does everything smell green to you? One who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth wouldn't give twice a care. Not for you though, dear friend. Yes, praises sometimes do linger on your lips, sugar-coating those of that very quality you can only long for. You amuse yourself by parting others from their cornucopia while being misser over your own nefarious lucre.

Yes, there are moments when your eyes do glimmer as you fabricate the fantasy of mingling in Luxury, with all your little fairy friends dancing around your throne of envy, them serving you in a world never to come true. This universe does not work that way, really. The stench underneath, one from your soul reeks out far too strongly for any ointment to cover, the few drops of which your self-acclaimed plentitude bargained for. I could not help it, dear friend, my initial admonition has not failed me even for a second: that t'is all a matter of pretense over the horizon where you alone are glorious, you alone are perfect.


Ah dear friend, I bid you well. May you prosper in life one day. And may you finally suffice yourself some day.




ok... so that rant came out... different... o_o
Grief is more than just a constellation of feelings in response to a loss.

Grief sits on your chest, punches you in the gut,
squeezes your throat, winds everything up
breaking-point tight, and sucks the energy out of you.

Grief is feeling guilty because we did not stop death,
could not revert death, and cannot change death.

Grief is throwing your hands up into the air and
collapsing onto the floor into despair.

Grief is unabashedly wailing and drowning in your own
snot and tears.

Grief is a moment frozen in time-a dead child's
bedroom that will never be cleaned, a shirt that will
never be washed, or a message on the answering machine
that will never be erased.

Grief is sitting in bed crying in the middle of the
night saying God I miss you. Please, if you are there,
give me a sign and hearing a bird sing a happy tune in
the darkness and knowing that song was your answer.

Grief is a tribute to the depth of your love.

Do visit http://journals.fotki.com/Darcicles/Grief/ for credits and the full length of the poem.
I'm feeling a little under the weather. Queer enough, there's this strange feeling that reminds me of being filled with settled cement from my abdomen up to my throat. It's something like the feeling you get after you eat a bowl of plain old poridge without the fanciful toppings (think caviar~) to ease the taste and promptly lie down afterwards. Blech. I hate being sick.

And I've still got my Muir College Writing Program aka That Blasted English Class' paper to do.
To whom the title is addressed,
You'll find that which you're looking for once you stop searching.
Tajima Honami (田島穂奈美 born 8 November 1988 in Tokyo, Japan) is a Japanese actress.
Lookie! I got myself two politically pregnant webbands (the top one is F5 friendly, it changes everytime you refresh - while the lower one is featured in McFly's website). Yay me!

And I'm still not doing my essay.
So. I spent the entire night dwelling on Rurouni Kenshin yet again. Sad to say, I have a grim news: the Aoshi-dedicated shrine at www.aoshi.org is there no more *frownspoutswhines*. On the brighter side of the newscast however, arising from within the huddling mass of websites which have long been abandoned is a single http://the-oro.com, complete with an up and running forum et all. Arise all yee Kenshin fans! Oh and let's not forget Let It Burn at http://www.sitepros.net/kenshin/, my first favorite RK site which has survived through the years, evolving through a dozen or so artstyles along the process. The good old days... there was once Laine's fanarts and parodies at http://laine.anime.net, a site thoroughly missed along with its rise and falls, through LotR and even Naruto.

And one wonders how my evenings disappear.
now how am i supposed to do my paper with that video, showing a snippet of DANNY JONES flexing his SIX PACKS?

oh and danny now sports curly hair. still cute anyways.

btw, you should to sing along to the tune of Five Colors in Her Hair as you read the title.
An ode to the messrs behind Baileys, the original Irish Cream.

I actually look forward to my Tuesday and Thursday mornings cause I have to drink coffee on those days and what makes the ritual enjoyable is none other than the world's favorite liqueur, chilled and poured into the freshly brewed (read: hot water fresh out of the microwave poured over a teaspoonfull of Nescafe) coffee, just enough to get the desirable intensity of your preference. I personally opt for an additional two teaspoons of sugar as well as a hearty scoop of Breyer's vanilla ice cream to top things with. It sure does make waking up 15 minutes earlier for breakfast (fancy bananas?) well worth the effort. Lastly but most importantly, savor each mouthful, for it might be the only time for you to catch a breather during the long day ahead.

Ps. for vanity purposes, you can sprinkle yet more coffee or even cocoa powder over the ice cream... even if you do realize that such never quite affects the flavor anyway.

Viva la Baileys!

i.hate.this.laptop's.speaker.
methinks the manufacturer entirely accidentally-on-purpose forgot the whole concept of having BASS as the life-giving support of what makes music /MUSIC/.

oh and quoting imood.com:
Right now the Internet is feeling tired.
(referring to the most-used mood at this moment)

can't put it any better than that.
believe it or not: pauline is studying. yeap, the two variables have never before been seen in the same sentence without a single 'not' right after that 'is'. such wonders that only university can do. oh and i'm enjoying it... the full 4 hours sitting in the library, taking my time to read the objects of my interest. haha. hope that i wont fail anyone tomorrow... the library is my ultimate place to study... that 'super quiet floor' in Geissel Library (UCSD's library, funded by the writer of Dr. Seuss cos his wife died in the area... and named after her in commemoration); well, it's the only place in which i can study actually, facing that very same cubicle with a spot of blood on the left hand side... don't know why but i always end up in that exact cubicle every time.

AHHHH, STILL HAVE MY MUIR WRITING ESSAY TO DO!!!!!!!!
and what i'm doing is... stoning to blink's 'i miss you' and typing away some crap. i'm so screwed. and ive all too often employed such negativity.

dear God, do grant me an A for tomorrow's paper, amen.
i used to complain about those kinda ppl btw... those people who put things up as if God does read msn nicks & blogs. blech, methinks im walking way too far in their shoes x.x

ps. Chii! did you update chiisy in any way recently?
been endlessly reading about dogs... methinks the breeder that im contacting is one big hoax... guys, do refrain from giving me false hopes ok? im getting so tired of those. then again it might be with how it's almost 4 in the morning and ive gotta wake up early tomorrow.
"I'm going to smile and make you think I'm happy, I'm going to laugh, so you don't see me cry, I'm going to let you go in style, and even if it kills me - I'm going to smile"
- Anonymous


I'm anticipating for a Yorkie pup btw...
And you're thinking "how bad can it get when Pauline says that she's studying with a cup of Milo at hand"...

Ok so everyone knows that Horlicks is made of malt... but whatdya know, Milo and Ovaltine, too, are malted milk.

Did you know that Milo originated from Australia? And that you can place an order of Milo in Singapore and Malaysia by saying "kick ball" in Hokkien cause Milo is so synonimous with the soccer events it commonly support? Some Milo recommendations include drinking it with a sprinkle of its undisolved, powder-form on top (Milo Dinosaur) or with whipped cream / ice cream (Milo Godzilla) or combined with Nescafe powdered coffee (Neslo).

Horlicks, on the other hand which many claim to really like or strongly dislike is claimed to be have a sleep-inducing effect.

Lastly there's Ovaltine, a Switzerland-based drinks whose name is a mispelling during the registration process of its original version: Ovamaltine (ovum for egg + malt).

T'is what I do when I'm (supposedly) studying.
Methinks the word studying must always be accompanied by the (studying) prefix when Pauline comes into context.

Quote time! In Alfred Edward Housman's aphorism "malt does more than Milton can, to justify God's ways to Man." (think: John Milton's 'Paradise Lost' among his other exemplary, literary masterpieces)
http://www.phobe.com/s_cat/s_cat.html

Meanwhile, I still don't quite get the whole Schrodinger Theory... and am currently interested in Savants-related topics.


oh and... i miss the rain so bad. and yeah, im random.
methinks im having a writer's block... not that i'm a writer in any form. i just dont feel that overwhelming urge to go out of my way and blog these past few days. do pardon the absence. and thanks to those who notice =).

oh and as of late, im beginning to think that my writing is nowhere near decent enough by any standard. seriously. spending the better half of a half an hour trying to scribble some decent something before erasing every typed letter all over again? oh, i'm no real perfectionist but i've only done that... a coupl'a hundred times or something.

what makes things worse is that i'm taking what's supposedly the hardest writing class in the whole school. even my towering, burly instructor, whose hair is always neatly braided, whose shirts always have a thing to do with what he's about to teach that day, and whose whole neckless image would so remind you of a Harley Davidson gangster, recognizes it and points out which exact components we have to incorporate in our writing make up those horror stories whizzing all across the campus. and yeah, an F for level of coherence for that previous sentence. i.am.so.doomed.

Phoebe Pauline Valentine Kribben Sugiharto 朱宝玲, B.S.
110888
Eldest of 3
UCSD Psychology, class of 2008
University of Cambridge, King's College, summer of 2007
TKSS, class of 2004
ICHS, class of 2006, left on 2001
San Diego, California

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