More thoughts. More ramblings.
A lot of writing to be done. Should be done.
But there’s no end… only the beginning.
So I’d rather keep it deep inside.

I just swallowed a whole glass of lemonade kosong I’m feeling woohoo hyper now. It’s supposed to help me doze off you see.
I hereby have a confession to make.
I’m phonephobic.
Sigh… I wish there was a cooler and more mysterious term for this kind of phobia but no, the term alone reveals everything. Hmmm.
Anyway, most people are nomophobic [...]

I called my mom and cried. I stopped crying. 10 seconds later my dad called and I cried again.

Oh no… my skin isn’t recovering. ;[
Asked a Kamparian friend if I can find a reliable clinic here and he said it’s kind of impossible.
What?!
You mean all this while people who are living in Kampar don’t get seriously sick?
I want to go back to KL. I want my mummy. ;(((((

Why do we always need to tolerate people who falanja just to get away with things?
What about the others who got hurt along the way?
Who will care about or sympathise them?
And what about times when I don’t get my way with things?
Should I do the same too?