Thursday, 22 November 2012


Every single thing in this post related to me.
So I admit it. I am an introvert.

Many times in my classes, the teacher has put me on the spot and asked me a question on what we were discussing.
Yes, I knew the answer.
No, I wouldn't have raised my hand to answer that question without being asked to.

Lately, I have honestly been trying to participate more in the class discussions and if you're just like me and are trying to do the same, you would know it's not the easiest thing to do.
Going from a quiet person to someone who butts - not necessarily - into every discussion and conversation is not an easy change.

And when you finally do have the courage and raise your hand, the sudden pang of doubt is back.
What if what I say is wrong?
What if everyone makes fun of me?
What if the teacher thinks that-
What if, what if, what if.

A couple days ago in English, we were discussing about themes in a story called 'On Seeing The 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning' by Haruki Murakami. I had many ideas on what the theme might be but I didn't speak up. 
So as the same people kept on discussing over the themes and issues in this story, I continued mumbling my thoughts on it to myself.

Also, it's not just academics us Introverts have issues in speaking up in, it's sports too. 
And that does not help at all
Now in sports, you have to be very vocal. You have to call for the ball, the puck, anything.
Sometimes we do yell at our teammates for the ball and when we do, we cringe right after.
Was that too loud?
I think it was too loud.
What if I distracted them?
I bet they won't pass the ball to me anymore.

I guess what I'm basically trying to say in this post is that, yes, sometimes we might be wrong and we won't always be right but there's no reason that we should stop ourselves from sharing our thoughts with everyone. Some people may like them, some people may not. 
And even if what we say is incorrect, so what? The people surrounding us are there to help us learn, to help us grow.

There is no wrong answer.

Monday, 19 November 2012

Pile Of Books

Recently, I have just gotten some books that I have been wanting to read for a while now. I was so excited to receive these that I thought I would make a post about it. I apologize for these summaries being quite vague as I have not started reading these books yet.

"What if you only had one day to live?
What would you do? Who would you kiss?
And how far would you go to save your own life?"

The book Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver is about Samantha Kingston, a teenager who relives her last day on Earth for a whole week.
This book scrutinizes the capability we have that could potentially affect the people surrounding us. 

"He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air."

The Maze Runner by James Dashner is about a boy named Thomas who gets his memory erased and wakes up in an elevator.
When he wakes up he is welcomed to the Glade, a large expanse which is enclosed by stone walls. None of the Gladers know how they got to the Glade, all they know is that every morning, the stone doors open to a maze that surrounds them.

"A world where everyone's ugly. 
And then they're not."

Tally lives in a society where at the age of sixteen, you will have an operation that will turn you from a repellent "ugly" into a stunningly attractive "pretty".
Tally's friend Shay is not so sure that she wants to become a pretty, which leads to her running away. The authorities of the pretty world give her a choice: to find her friend and turn her in, or never have the ability to turn pretty at all.

Thursday, 15 November 2012

An Hour Reading

A whole hour of reading without any disturbances - despite the occasional loud conversations of the construction workers outside my window.
For this whole hour, I read the book Pandemonium by Lauren Oliver. It is the second book in the series of Delirium (which I have talked about before here and here).

I noticed many things about myself after reading this book today. I realized that I enjoy predicting on what might happen in the next chapter after the previous one ends. I think that this is because the author of this book always leaves a cliffhanger at the end of every chapter. This may be frustrating to some people but I find it quite interesting as we get a chance to hypothesize on what might happen next.

"I read once about a kind of fungus that grows in trees. The fungus begins to encroach on the systems that carry water and nutrients up from the roots to the branches. It disables them one by one - it crowds them out. Soon, the fungus - and only the fungus - is carrying the water, and the chemicals, and everything else the tree needs to survive. At the same time it is decaying the tree slowly from within, turning it minute by minute to rot.
    That is what hatred is. It will feed you and at the same time turn you to rot.
    It is hard and deep and angular, a system of blockades. It is everything and total.
    Hatred is a high tower. In the Wilds, I start to build, and to climb."

This is my favourite passage in the book so far. It was quite engrossing how the author had created such a lingering and descriptive extended metaphor about hatred.

Tuesday, 6 November 2012

P.O.V. FINAL: Basketball

The buzzer goes off and all the players run to the defenders’ side of the court in a frenzy, where all the substitutes had already started cheering for their teams. The opposition team send one of their towering players to the sideline to throw the ball back into the tournament.
This was just the third quarter, the second last, there was one more to go.
Player number thirty-two panics, her dark eyes furiously searching for a teammate. She hurls the ball at player number twenty-one, the one I am guarding. The ball is easily in reach, I doubt myself but then take the chance and sprint forward, jumping up and seizing the ball.
I dribble it across the court to the defenders side and run straight into the free throw lane, continuing to dribble the ball attentively. The sound of the ball slapping the floor echoes as my teammates follow, sprinting behind me. I look around and halt, ready to pass the ball - aware of my surroundings as my teammates try and get around their defenders. I realise that I cannot pass the ball to anyone, they are all being guarded by our opponents- they were not going easy on us.
I go straight for the hoop.
The ball hits the backboard and falls back down on the hoop, spinning around the ring - I anticipate for it to fall through the ring and bounce back on the ground, earning my team another two points.
Everything freezes, I feel my heart pulsating while I stop, trying to maintain my breath. I push my hand across my face, attempting to push back the loose strands of dark hair.  
I watch the ball as if it is a young child about to be pushed off the plank of a ship - but then the child escapes and runs back onto the ship.
The ball drops in through the hoop.
The crowd roars in delight.
The score was now 26-24, in favour of my team.
My teammates run up to me - ecstatic grins all over their faces - and start congratulating me on presenting my team with another step close to the win.
The adrenaline pumps through my body, the blood rushing up to my cheeks as I run back to the midcourt line, ready for the last quarter.

The buzzer goes off and all the players run to our side of the court in a frenzy- we were defending, all the substitutes had already started cheering for their teams. My team sent me to the sideline to throw the ball back into the game.
This was just the third quarter, the second last, there was one more to go.
I start panicking, the number thirty-two on my jersey a blur as I pivot around, my eyes furiously searching for one of my teammates. I could see no one. My hands start trembling and I hurl the ball at player number twenty-one, she was being guarded by a girl with hair as dark as charcoal. As soon as the ball leaves my hands I can feel that the ball is easily in reach for her, she hesitates for a bit and then sprints forward, jumping up and seizing the ball.
I scowl at my teammate in frustration.
The girl begins to dribble the ball across the court to our side, the sound of the bounces echoing throughout the whole gymnasium. We all run after her, forgetting who we had to guard ourselves. My body starts tensing up as she runs straight into the free throw lane, continuing to dribble the ball attentively, looking around at us and trying to make eye contact with one of her teammates. Her teammates follow behind us, sprinting. She halts and tightens her grip on the spheroid - she could not pass to anyone, our defending was solid.
I wince, noticing that none of our teammates are guarding her, she could easily shoot. My heart stops as she lets go of the ball and it hits the backboard, falling back down on the hoop, spinning around the ring. I run under the hoop, hoping that I am able to catch the rebound.
Everything stops, I continuously repeat the same words in my head, trembling, “Please don’t go in, please don’t go in.”  
It did not help. I watch the ball helplessly, seeing it drop in through the hoop and stand there in awe.
The crowd starts roaring in delight.
The score was now 26-24, in favour of their team.
Her teammates run up to her, their shoulders bumping into ours while we stand there in shock, our hands resting on our waist as we remorse over our obsession over the ball and not the player.
The blood rushes back to my body, as I drag myself back to the midcourt line, despondent for the last quarter.