A Typical Essay

In primary school, my teachers used to accuse me of submitting work which I hadn't authored. Well, I admit that I had my mom copy french verbs for me once or twice, but I've always authored every essay I turned back.

An essay from a typical primary school student isn't exactly something original though: teachers make sure that each one of their pupils remembers a series of templates that he/she can then adapt by using bullshit expressions such as "as cold as ice", "as fast as the wind" etc etc.

Zero creativity. Pathetic. I could've made a program to generate such essays.
Kids, here's a great essay you can learn from:

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and I was outside, going nowhere in particular. After getting high on various inexpensive drugs, I decided to grab a bottle of whisky at the supermarket. Of course being an underage 11 year old living in a society where moral values pale in front of profit, getting a bottle of whisky was an easy task.

I was then headed towards some strange destination, my bottle of sky tucked under my arm. My legs were carrying me, and the mixture of foreign chemicals and alcohol in my bloodstream were taking decisions for me.

-"I don't give a fuck," I said aloud, thinking that it would be a neat thing to say, and adding a hint of conversation to this story.

The weather was simply delicious. I don't know why it was delicious, nor do I understand why I thought that it was, but the amazing scene around me was delicious. I could see several people gathered a hundred metres away. Due to the fact that I have to make something happen in this essay, I ran towards them and discovered a car which had obviously had an accident. Some people were trying to open the front driver door.

A few minutes later, the door swung open, and the driver happily walked out of the car. He was safe and sound, until a huge bus came from nowhere and crushed him to death. Realising that this could be a traumatising experience for me, I only gathered the beautiful ruby-red drops of blood that were flying about, splattering on people's clothes and on the car. Oh, there was also a yellow butterfly and it was very beautiful.

My story ends with this very colourful and beautiful scene. Even if there is no particular lesson to be learnt, I'll have to say something to appear wise - "People should be more careful."

Flic-En-Flac Useful Information

The Flic-En-Flac local supermarket - Pasadena Spar now closes at 17:00 on Sundays
Krish's Delights closes at 21:30 on weekdays, and 22:00 on Saturdays and Sundays
Shoppie closes at 19:00 on weekdays

You can get Emtel Phonecards at the Wolmar Store, Shoppie and Ah-Youn.
You can get cigarettes late at night at the casino (next to spar). The casino closes at around 03:00 am, but you might have to pay Rs 135-Rs 150 for a pack of 20.
The two places you can get internet in here is - [free] the Post Office (behind the police station) and at [paying] Spar.

And of course, if you need a place to stay, the police station's open 24/24.

My buddy, Arsha

Arsha (in white) and Aveisha (in red) I can't remember exactly how and when I got to meet Arsha. She's Vidisha's cousin, and also happens to be Ritesh's niece. She's Aveisha's sister, and also knows Arvind. I guess all the roads really were leading to Rome. I think Arsha is one of the few people who's pretty lonely, but doesn't keep complaining about it. Yes, well, she's going out with a cute guy now (too bad, boys, she's already taken, and it looks serious) but I still think most people fail to realise who she really is on the inside.

All of that to say she deserved an important place on my blog.

Original Love

I am young, yet I write with the dry passion of an old man with a wounded heart and a bruised soul. I have rarely seen things from the world, but I have never taken anything for granted - instead, I spent my time analyzing and figuring out the patterns of life.

Life is nothing but an equation of disasters and atrocities.

I remember when I was younger and naive: I seemed to have a never-ending supply of energy that I kept spending to correct what I saw as disturbances in the patterns of this world. During this time, I was also a true romantic. I could love with all my heart and soul, without any fears, without any doubt. But times change, and people change. I gradually stepped backwards into the shadows, with countless knives and daggers piercing my heart.

I do not claim to be wise. I do not claim to be right. However, at times, I wish I could get back my strength to defeat the present and conquer the future.

Almost Racist

Do you know how it feels like to be treated differently from everybody else?

I've been thinking about that lately. I've always been going out with women who never treated me like they used to treat their boyfriends. I know I've always been the sub-standard boyfriend, the backup-plan, the guy you can actually impose any kind of condition upon.

It got real bad today. I was drunk - really drunk - and I said something truly horrible to one of my ex girlfriends, because I had been thinking about what she did to me. The bad thing is that I know exactly - at a millionth of cm square precision - where and when to place that comment that really hurts.

However, I regret now. Why am I so weak?
I wonder.