“It's all about you.”

November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 May 2010 June 2010 July 2010 August 2010 September 2010 October 2010 December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 March 2011 April 2011 May 2011 June 2011 July 2011 August 2011 October 2011 November 2011 January 2012 April 2012 May 2012

My life is torn.

Yes, torn. Things that made my life are now disintegrating to thin air, leaving me all alone, all alone....

Yes, and you wouldn't want to be alone.

Perhaps I have lost contact with my former secondary school friends.

Perhaps I have lost touch with those I have loved so very much.

Perhaps I was not cut out to be a good friend, brother and person.

Perhaps it was all written in the heavens that I ought to be alone.

Perhaps it was fated that I would feel really cold now, to be all alone.

Really cold....

I suppose I fought hard enough, didn't I....



















Just wishing I had these to load to a Beretta.

Shouldn't Air Rifle Club stock these kind of weapons?

Great. Me parents locked their room in.

Spent my last half an hour trying to pick that stupid lock with that paper clip.

Geez.

I hate my life.

Misery. A word that can cause so much pain.

Couple of times, I find myself taking out my own pistol from the air rifle range armory, opening the box, and staring at my own gun......

Face blank, wide-eyed......

Couple of times, I find myself loading the pellet into the pistol, ready to fire......

Face set, one-eyed......

Couple of times, I find myself raising the pistol......

Face determined, closed-eyed......

Couple of times, I find myself preparing to press the trigger......

At my own head......

Couple of times, I find myself wondering, "So what if I press the trigger?"

Tell me, does my death really mean anything to the world?

Couple of times, I find myself doubting whether I am supposed to exist.

Couple of times, I find myself lying on my own bed, thinking of what terror lurks tomorrow.

Couple of times, I find myself wondering how the world would be when terror strikes me.

Couple of times, I find myself thinking how you would react when I am gone.

Yes, how would you react when I am gone on the nation's birthday.

The world hates me, doesn't she?

Playing games with me all the time.....

I am no puppet, get it??


Just how cool would it be to just sit around and blast the asses off bad guys with a handgun?

Wish I could be like them......