Sarcasm

Sarcasm... Sarcasm... Where are thou Sarcasm?

 

Once Upon

a winter's night

a had a very .......... fright

might

kite

fight

-----

All these college essays have made me loose insparation

they make writing feel like a chore

-----

 

Tufts Optional Essay

The first time I baked a cake from scratch, it turned out amazing: super moist, super yummy, and just, well, super. (And yes, my mother did do most of the backing, but hey! I helped.)

That is when I decided that I would never again bake a cake from a box, or a package, or anything similar. Instead I would only make cakes from scratch. And thus, I began my journey into the lovely world   of being covered in flour.

The second time I tried to make a cake from scratch (this time without my mother) well...

I decided to use a recipe I found online, it seemed pretty easy, I mean how hard can carrot cake be?

Five minutes into the baking process: "Hey mom, sorry for bothering you at work, but what the heck are purred carrots? And what do walnuts look like?"

My first few attempts baking on my own ended with burt carrots, burnt fingers, and a cake that mysteriously turned green. But I never let that get me down; I kept baking more and more. And soon enough I had the ability to make a killer red velvet cake, an amazing german chocolate cake, and a perfect carrot cake.

I, then, started trying to bake things that were not cake: I made pies, mountains of cookies, brownies, breads, muffins...etc. And slowly but surely, I started getting better at baking in general. I started playing around with the recipes I once followed religiously: adding ingredients, taking others away, changing them to suite my needs.

And now I can confidently say that if try anything I make, you won't food poisoning, but your waistline might increase.

 

Why I want To go To Stanford

You have to make a choice. You can’t do both. They are too different. Choose A or B, never both. This seems to be the general feeling, at least where I live, about the two passions I have: Science and Politics.

Writing a program that successfully gets the attacker scoring goals on the opposing team, as opposed to our own, gets me just as excited as standing up and giving a speech on the responsibilities of States internationally wrongful acts.

To have the ability to go after all my passions is why I want to go to Stanford. I want to learn and live in an environment that promotes passions and gives students the opportunity to not only follow all their passions but also find links between them.

I want to go to Stanford because I will not have to label myself as either the “Science Girl” or the “Humanities Girl”. I want to go to Stanford because there I will be the “Girl Who is Doing What She Loves”.

 

 

 

I truthfully have very little clue about what I want to do in my future. Do I want to work for some company as an engineer? Do I want to be the one running that company? Do I want to go into politics? Do I want to work for the UNICEF and promote children’s rights? Do I want to go to Pakistan or Haiti or Africa and build schools? Do I want to become a political activist? Do I want to promote secularism? Do I want to promote peace?

I really have no clue.

I want to continue my education in a place that is flexible, that will give me opportunities to explore options I both dreamed of trying and options I never knew existed.

That is why I want to go to Stanford. The amount of different programs available is amazing: from leadership programs directed towards minority students to programs on innovative design to an atmosphere that promotes entrepreneurship.

I want to go to Stanford because there I will find the answer to “what do you want to do?”



 

 

why is it everything i write sounds shallow?

My changing writing style

Just looking at what and how I used to write and what I write now, I see a huge difference. There are still some similarities such as my love for short sentences and paragraphs (I love short paragraphs <3) but there have been many changes. I have become a bit more dark and a bit more pessimistic in my writing, and maybe just a little bit more poetic.

I blame Shakespeare.

I have amazingly kept my naïve sense of

fill in the blank  to finish your essay

Future Roomy 2.0 stany supp

 

Hey Roomy,

 

I scored a few tickets to that musical that just came out, the one about the cat who falls in love with a banana. I was wondering if you wanted to come?

 

FINISH YOUR  IHUM PAPER!!

 

To Sleepy Head

 

Wasn’t the musical amazing? The girl who played the orange was the best; I wish I could sing like that…

Anyways, I am going to pick up some detergent at Walmart, do you need anything from there? Also, there is an open discussion on the situation between North and South Korea from 5 to 7. Everyone is going, so why don’t you meet us there AFTER you finish your  IHUM paper.

 

p.s. The orange juice is going to expire soon, so drink it.

 

Mrs. Future President,

Don't feel so bad about what red shirt guy said, he had no clue what he was talking about. I mean really, how can anyone believe that the only solution is a nuclear war! I made red velvet cupcakes with the piggy sprinkles you like, so eat them while finishing your IHUM paper. Don't forget that our neighbors are throwing a House party! Three hours of watching the sarcastic doctor, HEVEN!

 

Your most awesome loving totally amazing Roommate ever,

Shadia <3

 

To My Future Roomy AKA My Stanford Sup....

I made a decision when I was thirteen. I would never again bake a cake from a box, or a package, or anything similar. Instead I would only make cakes from scratch. And thus, I began my journey into the lovely world   of being covered in flour.

The first time I baked a cake from scratch, it turned out amazing: super moist, super yummy, and just, well, super. (And yes, my mother did do most of the backing, but hey! I helped.) The second time... well...

I decided to use a recipe I found online, it seemed pretty easy, I mean how hard can carrot cake be?

Five minutes into the baking process: "Hey mom, sorry for bothering you at work, but what the heck are purred carrots? And what do walnuts look like?"

My first few attempts baking on my own ended with burt carrots, burnt fingers, and a cake that mysteriously turned green.

But no need to worry about food poising, future roomy, I have become a pro. So the only thing you should worry about is your waistline that is guaranteed to expand.

 

stany supplement ....

I have really bad writer's block

Like most wannabe writers and writers, I get writer's block, and I get it frequently. But recently the writer's block seems worse then usual. I can't seem to write anything besides short pointless sentences. Not the greatest thing when college deadlines are 5 days away.

Shit maaaaaan

Purple Peas

It was a fancy coat, a deep royal purple with six buttons on each side.

Romeo and Juliet

 

Would a rose by any other name smell just as sweet …

I tried to smell a rose

It smelt of dirt

Not of love or happiness

But dirt

Then I realized that is what love smells like

I get scared

very easily

To Be a Poet

Is to be insane, or to lack sanity. But not both. Once you have both you do not have  the ability to be a poet. I am sorry. But fear not, there is a way to become insane or to lose your sanity while not losing your sanity or becoming insane. BUT, I can't tell you how that happens. That is for you to find out, it is the fun part. To run, to look, to hide for the truth, for the answer... That is where poems are created and how they are written.. Inspiration hits you like a kitten, nudging you gently; if you are not carful you will not hear it when it comes around...

Last Tuesday, I died...

... it was odd. Seeing my body lying there. As I floated above it. I thought: At least I left looking pretty. The red striking against the now paleness of what was once my skin. The knife was still stuck in-between two ribs. Looking like it belonged there all along.

The police were called. and they brought an ambulance with them. I laughed. They were three hours to late. both souls had fled: my own soul from the body that was once mine and the one who killed me.

I followed my body to the morgue. It was beautiful.   The way they opened me up. took me apart. Looking for my secrets. Looking for who killed me.

They ran in circles. From him to her, accusing all who once loved me. They told them the truth about me, hoping it would cause them to tell truths. I watched as faces turned to shock, sadness and rage. For them all to find out that they were not alone in my love.

Month later, I was buried. Finally. The police never did find who killed me. Funny. The person was always under their nose.

 

 

6 Word Challenge

Write a story in 6 words...

 

*She then died, when I cried.

*Freedom from the cage, I want.

*Birdy sang a song of love.

*The tiger died protecting the child.

*The child killed them only once.

*It kills me to see you.

*Last Tuesday, I died sleeping peacefully.

 

 

Killed it with Kisses

She killed it with Kisses

She killed it with her love

when the neck she hugged broke to pieces

She cried that she wanted another

 

 

To love is to feel the pain of the world

is to feel deep regret

and not to care

When I cry I hope that ...

When .. you cry I will always be there

I will be there by your side

not always but as quickly as possible

The ocean is big but I am bigger

i will reach over and Grab you

so when you cry

look for my hands

coming to bring you to me

because I will keep you safe

so when I cry I hope you will do the same

But I know you wont

 

 

 

 

When summer comes

I will leave

that scares me

but It will be a new chapter

I have been on the same chapter for the past 17 years

so a new chapter is scary

 

 

 

 

I will Miss MUN

 

 

 

may i

Hicups

Singapore was different

the conference was like living in a dream, where I was the queen

while the trip left me as the mouse hiding in the corner

 

Really Short, all spun together, Like Sun Light, or hay

Ana's Knife

Ana looked down at her hands, the red was so pretty. Dripping in drops off her fingertips and onto her mothers white floor. What would her mother think if she could see her beloved floors now? Oh, but it did not matter what Ana's mother thought any more; she was causing most of the floor to turn into the pretty, pretty red.

Mayada's Spoon

There was something disgusting about doing this, Mayada thought brightly, sticking her spoon in yet again. She turned it carefully, slowly gathering the liquid; that was the part she liked. Her brother eat anything, so he would not mind having no liquid. When she filled her spoon just the right amount, Mayada slowly took it out, as not to drop a single drop. Holding the spoon in one hand and holding a lighter in another, she slowly stated heating up the liquid. Cold blood is not at all appealing.

Samar's Story

The story that would change the world, is what she was writing. Typing as fast as possible in order to keep up with her thoughts, Samar's fingers played song on the keyboard. The banging on the door also encouraged her to go faster and faster. It would be soon that they would be able to get into the locked room. She needed to tell people about her death before it was to late.

What does "Good Governance" truly mean...

What does "Good Governance" truly mean?

Yes it has to do with transparency, rule of law, and all that bla bla

but what the delegate is asking is:

What does it mean for us? The people

What does it mean for a persom to live in a country that has "good governance"?

The average birthrate of citizens in a country with "good governance" is about _____ lower then that of a country with "not so great governance"

The average live birthrate on the other hand is _______ in countries with "good governance" as opposed to ______

You are less likely to be discriminated against in a country with good governance because of your color, your background or religion

A government with good governance treats all its citizens equally, fairly, and justly

If you have a problem and you are a country with good governance, chances are your problem will be solved effectively and efficiently, unless its with your spouse cause that is a whole other story

In a country with good governance you are heard, your voice is heard, not matter how low and small you feel your voice is... it will be heard

that is why we, Sweden, strive for that

not for ourselves but for our people

Thank you...

And Another, then another, followed by a few more before the end

Its seems today, on this day, not yesterday, and not yet tomorrow

I have found a simple muse

with an odd style, that might not amuse

but It pleases me

to see

to post

to write

to dream

when the last time I did all those

was a long long time, long long ago

and now out of the blue

I feel like writing

A storm it is

Words that have no meaning flow through me to my hands

onto keys

it is fun to type when words fly around you

choosing this or that

it is like dancing in the wind after the rain is gone

it feels like the chill in your bones

that you yearn  for

during summer desert months

and what is most fun about these posts

no one knows about them

over a year has past

and now I will not tell a soul

this will be like a diary

I never had one you know

a diary

all I could write in those early years were lists

at least in all the diaries I tried to keep

but now i write words without meaning

to everybody but me

for I know a story that goes with these

It is a story of love of shame of hope of dreams

It is a story of romance of hurt of death

it is not a story of me

it is a story I see when I look to a tree

you used to always look at that tree

I don't know why

but you liked that tree

know you look at it no more

I called you

many many times

but you never came

I'm sorry that I did not look earlier

If I had known...

oh but I DID know

I felt it in my bones

when I said hello

but you were no there for goodbye

I should have screamed and yelled and looked for you

but my mind was occupied by fights and fear

and I forgot about you

I am sorry

I really did love you

I should have tried to find you for a goodbye

if I did..

would it have been different?

What is sad

probably not

i wish I could run all over

looking for you

crying your name

but I am leaving again

to a place I am not for the first time dreading

I have not finished but that was because

I was lazy

I was stupid

I should have known better

but I do know better and that is why I was lazy

why work when no fruits will be born from the labor?

maybe I could hide for a while

then

I do not know

They require me there

prepared

but I am not

and I am scared

but what I must prepare confuses me

they prepared badly now I must deal with their mistakes

Why me! why why why?

why must I be so pathetic

why must i  be so

oh, I don't know

I wish I was brilliant

have the ability to think

I wish i were a star in the sky

or the moon

so I may smile at everyone

but I am trapped and confused

in a tiny body

whose ripping at the seams

from a soul that is to big for it

I wish I was invisible...

Incomplete

270 Degrees South of North

 

The title has nothing to do with what I am gonna write. I just thought it sounded cool.

so yuppers, I have always tried to write fiction that was "normal" I guess, but , but , but... I have realized I am anything but normal, soooo I decided to write something a bit different

.............

I'm probably gonna throw up tomorrow, cleaning up this mess, but right now I can't care less. Adrenaline has pretty much taken over my brain, leaving any sane thoughts and ideas to be covered my a nice misty cloud, far far away, where it can't bother me.

I can't hear anything, blood rushing to my ears cover all sounds, like waves and the ocean or something.

 

The dream

 

 

I don't dream often, but when I do the dream is more or less a movie. NO, not an actual movie that you can go to a theater and see. When I dream it feels like I am in a movie, not watching, but actually in one. I usually am myself in my dreams, but sometimes I play the role of someone completely different.

 

Last night's, really this morning's, dream was cool-ish, so I have decided to write about it before I forget it.

 

......

 

I was sitting at one of the tables that overlooked the dancing, quietly sipping my tea, watching as the usually reserved get mad from alcohol. In the middle of the crowd was Pantora, not to be confused with the website,

Trying again in secret

Death of a Child

Once upon a time in a land far far away, a little birdy flew to my finger and there she did stay.

This little birdy with her tail so white and beak of blue, had a chest of red that felt like dew.

As I touched the little chest with my littlest finger, I to started to become red.

Little birdy did fall off my finger to lie on the ground.

The cat soon came for little birdy...

The lier

Everybody lies,

yet i feel for me it is

pathological

or maybe i am but insane

or more maybe a coward

it is so much easier to lie then it is

to tell

the

truth

Why is that?

and why do the skys fly high above while the oceans are in space?

What if there are no lies

then only truths exist

then if what i believe is true

is contradictory to you

then we both never believe

then the problem will be a lie

and there lies the problem of the lie in truth

I believe that I am but insane

yet maybe it is the world who is and not i

then what?

am i sane ?

but if a lier calls the insane are the insane

sane?

or is the lier the teller of truths in a world where everybody else lies?

the world is a confusing place

for all I know.. up is down and down

is

left

 

 

Visiting graves

 

the girl in red

she danced along

a farmers path

to a sad song

 

she threw down a match

and another and another

 

the trees were black

and leaves were no more

and the song once sad

became happy once more