i am still sore about the whole fiasco of my composition. but i shall not mutter on and on about it, because i think They are quite sick of my repeated mentioning it. i will though print out a few copies and ask some other english teachers to review it on monday. its my prelims.

speaking of english teachers, guess who called my handphone yesterday while we were having a girly window-shopping trip yesterday after mamma mia?

'hello izyanti, this is ms lee speaking.'
'oh, um, hi. yes ms lee?'
'izyanti..yabber yabber yabber yabbe-'
'um, is this ms lee? ms suzanna lee?'

i was very much confoosed. grk, how did she get my number? freaky-dicky.

to sum it up, she had called me to ask me for one of my techinically correct argumentative essays for the school trilingual digest, which to be honest and frank, i sighed in relief. cuz she hadn't and wouldn't ask me, and i got quite quietly insulted about the non-invitation. lol, how very..conceited of me. but whatever. and then afterwrads, she proceeded to lecture me about my english results, which was what i though she had called for in the first place. *sighs*

mamma mia, like it has been mentioned in all the other blogs, was absolutely enlivening. i think the best bit was when at the end of the show, the audience got up to do some lovely cheesy grooving hurhur. a few of the scenes and dance sequences were particularly memorable, i especially liked the choreography and directing for the Money, Money, Money scene and the finale with the OMG giant 6m in diameter glowing moon. it reminded me of Bear In the Big Blue House, which on a random note, is a very good kid's show by the way. muchos better that Blue's Clues which gets dumb after you get over the cute novelty.

i was inspired [so cliched, that word] to write after the whole mamma mia today. in the rough, about an extra in the cast of a play..and basically her obsession about not being in the limelight. very typical i know, but i'll work on it - some day when im free. hopefully, it won't grow stale like all my other half-baked [pun intended] ideas.

so anyway, here's a little muselet i wrote during religious class [hoho]. excuse the rather awkward names, i hate naming my characters *shrugs*.this takes place during in a cast after-show party:

There it was, all by itself on the table. She couldn't believe how Olivia could bear to part with the beautiful bouquet. If it had been her, she was sure that it would be permanently attached to her arms for the whole night, the rapturous burst of colours accompanying her to sleep by her pillow. But of course, for Olivia, this was just another well-intentioned gift that she did not really care about. What was one bouquet -and not a very expensive one at that- compared to the dozens she recieved season after season?

With that reasoning, Jean tried to inconspicuously toe to the table where the flowers lay. She turned to look around, reassuringly, as always, nobody was watching her. Gingerly, she reached out a hand, rustling the translucent crepe paper. She sniffed the air and inhaled the fresh greeness of the flowers. She savoured it, it was the scent of approval and even more wonderfully, admiration.

Her fingers caressed the velvety blooms lightly and allowed the sprigs of babybreath to tickle her palm. Once again, she checked to see whether anybody was watching her, she paused as she looked around, almost daring them to make eye contact with her. Holding her breath, as if about to do a very dirty thing indeed, she grasped a thin green stalk and with a quick tug, uprooted it from the bouquet. Hurriedly, she stuffed it in a pocket inside her jacket, wincing at the thought of bruised petals.

Walking to the bus stop, she felt the leaves tickling her. Her flower was a burden that was both unsettling and delicious. It thrilled her to think of the stolen, no, taken flower in her posession. Like a child slowly unwrapping a gift, she reached for the bloom in her jacket. In the illuminated night, the petals were dark crimson, almost maroon. She knew though that it was in fact, an exquisite ruby red. It was a bit rumpled, she lovingly arranged the petals to the perfect condition it had been the bouquet. A petal threatened to fall off and she considered plucking it out but instead, caringly patted it back into place. This is my flower.

She sat down on the cold plastic bench of the bus stop. It was just her and the flower, and some old man sitting at the next bench. She knew it must have looked stupid, constantly fiddling with the flower but as she grazed it against her cheek, she did not care.

"That's a very nice flower. "

It took her a full second to realize that the old man was indeed talking to her. Snapping out of her reverie, she said, "Yes, it is isn't?"

"Don't mind me saying this, but you look very much in love miss."

"Oh. Well, erm."

"Did a certain young man give it to you?"

"It wasn't ah, exactly given to me."

They fell silent. The bloom lay silent in her hands.

A bus finally rumbled near, and she and the old man got up to anticipate its arrival. As she did do, she tripped on a tiled chip and dropped the flower. It landed in a little patch of mud and she let out an almost whimper. She picked it up quickly, and gave a small cry. An unseen thorn had pricked her, she held up her index finger to the light and saw a droplet of blood. Instinctively, she sucked the injured finger. The taste of blood and mud mingled in her mouth.

She had reached home. With a click and tinkle of keys, she unlocked the door and stepped in. She flicked on the lights and headed to her bedroom. She placed the taken flower carefully on her bed and reached in her drawer for a box. It was silver with carved details, her mother had given it to her when she was very young. Picking up the flower, she wistfully caressed it with her sore finger. She opened the box, and placed the red bloom along with the other wilting flowers .