I am Jane, and I'm definitely human

They say to err is human, to forgive is divine.
If that's the case, then I'm definitely human, and I intend to stay human.

Call me sour, bitter young-but-seems-older-than-her-age lady.

But some of the things that people have done to me are so evil that I can't possibly imagine someone trying to tell me to forgive.

I have always been wronged.

To pay for someone else's mistakes

To swallow someone else's fault

All at the expense of my bigger-than-ever pride and ego.

And if it's bigger than what even I can take, I'd most likely have kept it to myself.

I've been reading Sixthseal.com and I've fallen absolutely in love with it.

He's made it big, but he hasn't changed his writing style unlike the other big bloggers.

I'd like to meet this guy, in person.

Not like how I met Kenny Sia (which I doubt he'd even remember 5 minutes later)

I want to intern with Nuffnang, to have a fun job before I turn boring.

I want to do something I really love.

Just read one of his posts where he confessed that he is Veritas, (another reason I want to meet him, because unlike so many other people, he doesn't care about how the substance he consumes will affect his body. Seriously, with all the radiowaves and the second hand smoke and thinning of the ozone layer? We're all doomed anyway) the drug (ab)user. Come on, we've all done something to ease our pain one way or the other. Who's to decide which is right and which is wrong? But there was one sentence that captured my thoughts right there and then. "The writing itself should have tipped you off. The writing style, formation of sentences, terminology, language quirks and favorite words should be a dead giveaway. :) It's hard to change one's writing, it's like a fingerprint." (Sixthseal.com)

I suddenly had a flashback, and I'm pretty sure most people have forgotten about it. But I haven't being the vengeful person with good memory I am.

In the year 2002, when we were all in Form 2, this friend who has been on-and-off close to me, and now seems to be permanently broken off received a 'poisonous' letter (what we called surat racun) from an anonymous writer stating her utmost hate towards the former. The former reported the case to the class teacher who then reported it to the discipline teacher who then reported it to the Afternoon Supervisor who then reported it to the HEM (Hal Ehwal Murid) teacher until it finally reached the Headmistress who somehow took the thing so seriously (of which till today I can't understand why) that she called for a full inspection of the letter, together with interrogation and witnesses.

I came into the picture because of the bombastic fantastic plastic English in which the letter was written in (or rather, type-written in to add suspense and anonymity to it), which ironically made me a prime suspect. I'm sorry but to whoever who wrote the letter, I think you were just wasting your talent away. Because I, for one wouldn't have wasted my time on such petty people (no offence to the former despite our conflicts). I don't even confront people who are close to me. But step on my tail if you're some random stranger and prepare to be beheaded.

But of course, I'm sure the suspect would have given names and it is to the Headmistress' discretion to keep it a secret, but I was called up for questioning. I didn't do it, I had nothing to fear. Me being me, living in my own world, I didn't even know such a letter existed and obviously denied everything. I didn't even have anything to do with it, let alone PEN IT DOWN.

At the end of the day, the anonymous writer was never caught, and we lived happily ever after till the end of 2005, NOT. Who are you kidding? It's a Convent school for crying out loud! We have a reputation to maintain; the backstabbing, the bitching, the gossiping, the giggling, the making-fun-of, the raping, the teasing. Can't deny that I was purely innocent and never did anything, but I would never harmed anyone till that extent. Not even till the extent of what I went through. I don't know. I don't know how others can do it, but I never did. I'd play a prank, device a plan, but never hurt someone badly (Maybe Jo Ann can prove me wrong, I don't know). Well if I did unintentionally scar you emotionally, I'm sorry.

The thing is, it was my way of writing that made me less suspicious. Because no teacher in school taught me how to write. My grammar came from my mother's meticulous character (of which I'm slowly degenerating due to the fact that I am surrounded by people who can't speak proper English and therefore can't understand proper English and so English has to be spoken in a broken way in order for them to decipher). Good English grammar is so hard to maintain, but broken English is CONTAGIOUS!! I'm not saying that I'm William Shakespeare or anything, I'm just stating a fact. My way of writing is unique to me. And every teacher knew that. Some may have done it to suck up to my mum, but it took one who genuinely knew my writing style to stand up for me, and the rest just followed on with the same argument. Fortunately, at the end of the day, the Headmistress did take things into her own hands and inspected my essay book, and found it true enough. And my name was cleared, at least for that crime.

A lot of things happened through out the years. Some that I remember clearly, some that I remember only when triggered by similar recurring events. And some, when I read that someone else has gone through the same thing. But I do know that I remember them all clearly. It just takes a matter of time to put the pieces back together. And of course, a catalyst to get things started.

You can call me a vengeful person. But I do not seek vengeance upon them, I just merely remember what they have done to me. Is that wrong? And why, do you ask, that I bring this matters up, even after so many years? Because I simply can. Because sometimes, after years, I finally understand and make meaning of its occurrence. And if you must, because I want to read this back when I'm old and laugh at how over-sensitive I was. I'm not blogging this down for you, I'm blogging this for my own self. I'm not asking for attention. If I were, I would have publicized my domain everywhere, on MSN, on facebook, Twitter, everwhere, which you don't see me doing. This is here for those who care to see. Because if you don't, you obviously wouldn't read it. Heck, even most of my closest friends don't know I own a blog. I'm sentimental like that. I like my stuff and my memories, and I intend to keep them for myself.

So yes, please contribute to my bank of emotionally painful events. I say that with sincerely the utmost sarcasm you can ever imagine.