f* this shit

I dont think I'm made to write essays. it takes ages for me to think of how to put my thoughts down into words.

"I am about it, but indeed my invention

Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze,

It plucks out brains and all. "

Iago, Othello

But unlike him, my Muse does not labor. gahh

the smartphone trap.

I'm a new blackberry user. Didn't intend to be one, I was more or less thrown into this world of smartphones when my old trusty Nokia fell into the sea and my sister happened to have a BB that she doesn't use anymore.

So forgive me if I act critically towards your dependence on smartphones as a replacement for real conversations with people who are actually physically present with you. Yes, silent pauses get awkward but resorting to your phones, whatsapping another person makes things worse. 

Forgive me if I can't tolerate your preference to send typed out farewell messages that don't seem as heartfelt as handwritten messages, which speak more than just your words but also your unique self in every flourish of your pen or in the awkward crook of your written alphabets. 

But I'm betraying a part of me that doesn't want to be excused for my intolerance. A part of me gets mad when people bury their noses in their phones. 

SO DON'T LET YOURSELF FALL INTO THAT TRAP. 

meh