Trina’s ponderings on life.

DISCLAIMER: If any adult is reading this, I have a disclaimer: I am not deranged, mentally incapable, stupid, or critical of your precious darling in any way or form. I am just freely discussing my thoughts in an online blog, which is currently incapable of thinking for itself so don’t sue it. My thoughts are just independent thinking, which may or may not be edited for your eyes. However, I don’t usually edit unless it’s swear words. And then I use words like ‘in an awkward position’ or ‘flying cupcake’. So if you wish to discuss editing of names and situations, feel free. If you wish me to remove this blog-… no. I would prefer to stay sane, thanks. This accounts for each letter[has in ‘e’ ‘u’ ‘p’] I have posted, before and after this post, until the end of this blog’s existence. I do not account for emotional turmoil, hysterical laughter and/or uncontrollable fury. These posts may all not be true in the sense that this is not what you have experienced/heard, but this is through my eyes and filtered by my mind, and I am human, therefore mistakes may occur in my tale of these events. I do not claim everything I type to be either true or untrue.
If you can find any loopholes, please tell me.
This disclaimer should have come into effect since my first post. However, I had not thought of it at that time. This disclaimer shall account for ALL, repeat, EVERY SINGLE POST I have posted or will post in the past or in the future.

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Note: Present time.
Tears get everyone somewhere.
Tears get what the weeper wants.
For her victim she does not care
She does not listen to her victim’s rants.
The innocent is guilty
And the guilty is fair
To oppose the leaders, oh who would dare?
Attacker, victim which is which?
We’re all such hyprocrites.
We say we know.
We don’t act so.
Tears are an act
And the world is it’s play.
The injustice continues until this day.
Accused of all, and nothing
will ever come to light
Life is never fair
Or would I be in this plight?
Yes, my thoughts are stupid
My actions in vain
Will I stay forever
In this neverending pain?
Present time:
I am bad at poetry; I’m not a poet and I know’t. That’s the best rhyme I can ever do… and it’s not even mine. T^T
But we all know, deep down in our dark, human hearts, that none of us can be bothered to scratch below the surface to find out what is an illusion and what’s the truth. It is in our nature to protect the weak, and the weak are those who shed tears. And the assailant is the one who have caused them. Really, just because we appear strong doesn’t mean we’re the reason that darkness exists on this freaking earth and the cause of global warming. I sense that if Helena starts crying again, we will be in trouble. And again, we will be the ones in the wrong because we have caused her tears. And will be punished for something we did not do. Because in the end, none of us did anything wrong.
There is such a thing as overly-sensitive.
Thankfully, I am not. You hate me? Yeah, sure, whatever. Like me? Good for you, just don’t expect me to worship at your feet for being an almighty god/goddess. Helena, well, she’s Helena. She likes to be noticed, likes to ramble on about fashion (to which I have very strong feelings about, but I just shut up ’cause that’s what everyone else wants me to do) and squeal over shoes and Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer). She holds grudges very well- just like I do. Have I told you about when I was 3 years old in Scotland? No? Well, here it is:
I was in a playgroup. Really, it was just any other playgroup in England. Maybe in China we’d be learning about the pythagoras theorem or contemplating the meaning of life, but in this particular playgroup, we played with/bit/digested chunks of plastic blocks and ran around screaming, generally just making the carer’s life living hell. I remember I had a haircut resembling a pudding-bowl cut. Not very flattering, but who was I at that time to give a flying cupcake about my hair? No, my life revolved around cookies, plastic bowls and jumping on battered mattresses. Oh, and a certain turquoise bolster that I tugged around, decorated tastefully with bunnies with a cross for a mouth. Very tasteful, yes? And cotton candy. Never forget the cotton candy.
As I was saying/typing, I was in the playgroup. Of course, every moment of my younger years was occupied with tugging on other people’s hair and yelling at people to get out of my house. I displayed considerable stubborness at a young age, which was undesirable in the brainwashing centre we call “school”. And of course, everyone knows that even when we say we aren’t racist, we really are. I am too, slightly racist towards the more stupid of the white community who pierce their eyelids and do drugs. How hallucinations and various other side-effects including death was pleasurable, I have no idea. Don’t really care to find out either. I do have a tendency to ramble, do I not? So as to cut your boredom down: a brown haired girl pushed me, I, obeying the laws of gravity, fell, and she cried. The caretakers came to her rescue, yelled at me for being a ‘naughty child’ and dumped me in another place and told me to stay there.
I think that was when I first felt anger.
It has now developed into an utter hatred of whoever who accuses me of something I have never attempted to do- symptoms including tapping my left index finger against a table or my knee, relaxed body language, and no signs that I am very close to classifying this in my brain and remembering what you did to me forever. I assure you- I suffer from no mental disorders. I can just hold a grudge for a very, very long time. Ten years, to be exact.
I give you a moment to be extremely scared.
Moment over. One day I will look back on this, smile at my so-called immature craziness, and then go back to whatever I was doing. Anyway, moving on to Helena.
Helena demands every inch of your undivided attention. I cannot even allow part of my mind to drift off, calmly mediating and pondering the real meaning of existence and when it shall end. I must devote every waking time to her, agree with everything she does and says, and act stupid to make her feel maker.
For your information, I do all that I have mentioned above. And the meaning of life is to destroy the earth with aerosols and laugh at the politicians who waste your money and time. Oh, and cheer Obama when he gets to the white house. And to play computer games. To have a free mind. To not let my life be controlled by adults, school and homework, so I can let it be controlled by the computer instead. To share my thoughts. To be different. To condemn those who cannot think for themselves. To cure people of pancreatic cancer. To cure people of whatever the heck they think they’re suffering from. To write. To feel for others.
To kick butt.
I now proclaim the meaning of life dissected by a 十三 year old.
I’m off topic again… >________>;; Oh yes, we were on the subject of experiment 6328X, Helena. [[… I need a new brain, and fast.]] Yeah whatever, we were typing about Helena. I think I like Helena. But I have yet not thought about why I think that I like Helena. And there is no reason to think about why I’m thinking about why I think I like Helena. If this does not make perfect sense to you… Why are you still reading this? ^__^
Yes, I think I like Helena [[in a friend way, people. Not that I have anything against homosexuals. Really, I don’t. However, I do dislike those churches who condemn them. I don’t believe in God, and I will laugh at the church in the afterlife, if there is one. If there is a God, however, I will be in a very awkward position if he decides he hates me, despite being all-loving. I know, I know. Religious Studies makes no sense. I have to do a GCSE in this; how do you think I feel?! ]] But she can be somewhat self-centered at times. Most of the times. I find myself wondering if she has a center-of-the-universe complex. Plausible, ponderable, but not confirmed. She mantains a child-like mind, despite the common belief that tall people are inpossibly mature. The belief that smaller people are immature is somewhat confirmed in my eyes- I am a classic example of this. Apparently, I am immature and behave in an infantile manner when I am trying not to be a social outcast. I try, people, I try.
I think she depends on her disability (Dyslexia. I have researched it and concluded it has nothing whatsoever to do with a person’s level of intelligence. It is simply a misfortune that meddles with writing skills in languages. I think Helena has Dysgraphia. Messes up writing and typing, occasionally hand-eye coordination.) to gain sympathy too much. If I had a disability, which I thank anyone up there that I do not, I would work harder than anyone else to overcome it, simply because I really, really do not like to lose. At all. I remember ranting because I was 2nd place at school before, and was 0.2 points behind the person in 1st place. I do not accept people who give up before they have tried. And that is why I think that I dislike Helena. Sue me.
One rather dull and simply typical english afternoon, we were sitting in the dining hall. We were eating, because that is what normal people do in dining halls. One does not use a dining hall as an athletic track of course. Halfway through our meal, Helena began to cry. I noticed, because she had began to act strangely when we were queuing for food. [[Have I told you about the abominable state of our cafeteria? I shall explain in another post later.]] I had decided to stop pestering her after pressing on the subject several times. I was eating, and contemplating the meaning of our existence and the possibility of mirror-universes, how they could be exterminated and the consequences if we managed to locate one and enter it, meeting our mirror selves. Or would we cross over into each other’s worlds, disrupting the balance between our so-called reality and the parallel universe? … AS I WAS MENTIONING, >___> Helena cried. Emily comforted her because she was whoever’s up there’s gift to this earth. She’s not Jesus, and does not show any sign of growing a beard. I only caught snatches of the conversation.
I have reason to say that Helena did not do as well as she expected in her biology test. Emily mentioned her uh. Disability. And how it was ridiculous that the school not think of her. I don’t think Dyslexia affects memorising abilities at all. Yeah, school = memorise + do homework + cram + exam. If you have photographic memory, I hate you.  I’m serious. And I have deducted that Dyslexia will suck if you want to be an author or journalist [[Like helena wants to be]], it will not affect stuff like science. Or maths, unless Helena has Dyscalculia, and I don’t think she understands complex mathematical equations. I therefore deduct that she did not cram for the test the night before. Schools- don’t kid yourself when your students get awesome results. That is not the result of your outstanding education. It is a result for cramming for 5 days straight- I should know. I spent the entire year playing computer games and still rose up a class, attaining the same standard of my cousin who ‘revised’ her notes before school even started. And I always forget everything after a couple of nights.
Basically, if you just gave me immaculate notes and a couple of homework-free nights, I’d ace a lot of tests. But no one gives me immaculate notes and homework-free nights are just a dream, so I do not ace a lot of tests. However, I make my less-than-immaculate notes, and have homework every night, so I get along o-k.
Helena is somewhat immature. I am not always correct- she may have a mature or intelligent side, but it has not revealed itself to my presence in the past two years or so. For now, I’m just going to say she’s immature. Lets say that friendship if like one of those wooden IQ cubes. Each friend is a block. Abby, Liana, Emily and Alex fit together perfectly. I however, am not a wooden block, but am made out of metal. I still fit with them okay, although I’m made out of metal. Helena, however, is all the wrong shapes and however we try to force her into our friendship cube, it’s just not going to happen.
Understand the symbolism? Abby, Liana, Emily and Alex are all the same. They were born and bred here, they think in the typical english way. I’m different, think differently, am half a social reject and basically married to a computer. So I am made of metal. Lead is okay to describe me. Helena does not like to fit comfortably into our little cube, no matter how much we force her. In the end, something’s gonna break. One block of wood against three blocks and a weird metal one. I think I know which one is going to break. Hint: It’s not gonna be us.  
Ok, so Helena snaps. She now fits perfectly with another IQ block- the nerd gang. [[It’s just a nickname, please do not take offence.]] Since we’re two seperate happy cubes, we’re okay.
But when Helena snapped, part of her got lost. That part of her still believes it can invade our happy little cube and fit in. And if she can’t fit perfectly with our happy little cube, then no one else should.
And that is when I believe A Big Accident will happen.
That is, if her broken half takes action and if her parents [a marriage cube] contact the brainwashing cube [school cube]. Haha, the world is made out of happy little cubes. 🙂

I am not very good at drawing random stuff on paint. :> I attempt to, but the fact remains that I can’t.
Ummmm. So, I seem to have lost my subway of thought because I AM SO TIRED. D:
I shall continue my ramblings tomorrow if my brain permits. Farewell for now, and I do observe the disclaimer.