<body>
beauty .

Photobucket

Name: Jayne Lee Mei Ying
Age: 16 years old
Date of Birth: June 29th 1992
Location: Malaysia

Touch a feeling you've never had.
Hear a voice you didn't know.
See a person you hadn't thought of.

patience .

web site hit counter




bliss .

December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008

d'amis .

Winnie Loo
Winnie Tan
Lee Yee
Bao Chuan
Cynthia
Vivien
Wah Lim
Eliada
Caitlin
Donna
Kimberly
Lizzette
Belmain
Sylvia
Sydney
Janella
Mayyie
Maisa
Deborah
Stephanie
Huijun
Lizzie
Ashley
Agnes


gift .

Designer: Florescent Her blog
Image: Revenge of the 80s Child
Hosts: Imageshack Blogskins Blogger
Resources: Yasny-Chan Alixia88 Sanami276 Dafont

Friday, April 4, 2008
Plain Jayne
12:57 AM

It's the first week of April, and I am so dead. Mainly because, next month, on the 15th of May, my O-Level exams are starting! And I have not finished studying the syllabus of any one of the four subjects I'm taking, yet. So, I will do what I do best, cram cram cram.

To make matters even more worse, I just discovered that there's this freaky genius girl about a year older than me or so, who's also really pretty (making me dislike her even more), who's taken her SPM already, and gotten 12As, and... I kid you not, PUBLISHED TWO BOOKS!

Now, she's applying to Ivy League colleges in the USA, and her blog has her talking about how easy the SATs for her are going to be.

Can you tell that I'm insanely jealous? Because truthfully, I am. And incredibly resentful too. :(

I can't do anything special, like that. I'm not good enough. Sure, I can go to as many lessons and classes I want to, but I'll never win competitions, or get recognized or anything. I'm just average. Maybe if I worked harder instead of spending all my time on this computer of mine.

As usual, I always get insecure about this stuff. I thought I was over it already, but looks like it can still get to me. And that is very bad. But I don't know how to make myself not feel it.

It's taken me so long to learn to not care about how I look; I don't know how long it'll take me to learn how not to care about not being able to be the best at something, or anything, for that matter.

No wonder when I was little, I used to cry every time I lost a game of musical chairs. I gained a reputation for being the cry-baby girl who couldn't take losing. Seriously though, I had to train myself to hold the tears in later, because I didn't want them to give me funny looks and say stuff about me.

I'm also terrible at handling criticism. Well, not now, anymore. But, last time, yes. I'd break down and call whatever it was I'd done horrible, and then chuck it into a furnace (figuratively, but it would get scrapped literally) and call myself a complete failure.

I'd end up giving myself a lot of self-pity, then (I didn't know it was a bad thing until later).

I suppose this competitive, perfectionist, strive-to-be-the-best part of myself is what compelled me to take language classes, piano classes, art classes, dance classes, ice-skating classes... because I wanted to stand out of the crowd. I wanted to be different.

But you can't really stand out or be different if you suck at what you do. That's right. I cannot ice-skate, or dance, or play the piano nicely, or get the intonation of Chinese tones right, or remember the sentence structure of Japanese. It took me a year to realize that the second layer in watercolor art is the shadow of the object.

*sigh* That's why I stopped most of it. I'd only be wasting my parents' money. I wish I could pay them back for all the wasted money they've spent on my foolish ambitions.

But strangely, saying all that I've said, just made me feel a whole lot better on the inside. Like, I don't have to carry it with me anymore. Actually, I've never written it all down before.

Which proves that Meg Cabot's advice on why you should keep a journal is correct! Evidently, it helps you solve your problems if you see it all down on paper.

Oh, and the F.T. Island concert was refunded. *throws cream pies at their dumb management in anger*