Well, I’ll be heading off tomorrow. No phones, no books allowed, even. Just sleepless hours staring up at the ceiling and tent… ceiling? Underside? For two whole nights. Or so I’ve heard from my seniors. Two nights of emptiness, two nights of living hell.

Well, wish me luck, you awesome people. I’ll be back to tell the tale, I hope.

No idea how to keep myself occupied on those nights, though.


I Believe In Fairies – Theatre Days

I can safely assure you I am not a West Ender, though I hope to be the 25th Anniversary Elphaba one day. But I am into theatre, musical theatre, specifically. I watch musicals on YouTube, listen to soundtracks, watch the movie counterparts, read the books, everything I can do to get myself as close as I can to that legendary stage in my small-town world, I do it. But my small-town world would remain the way it is – no spotlight, no stage. I would just be one more fangirl in the world, dreaming for forever.

Or so I thought.

I came across an advertisement for auditions for the musical Peter Pan: The Never-Ending Story in the local papers. You know, the local papers that we small-town girl leaf through because we have to do research for school reports.

Except that I felt that my small-town life was going to change.

I understand that one must be crazy to actually go audition like that too.

So I’m crazy. And I’m glad I am.

Because if I weren’t crazy, I wouldn’t step into that studio and belt out ‘On My Own’, wouldn’t have acted when told to, wouldn’t have freaked the judges out and wouldn’t have gotten into the musical.

True Story.

It seemed for that moment, my world wasn’t so small. It seemed like I could escape reality and step onto that stage.

And that moment lasted a week.

A whole week I was called to perform, alongside a wonderful cast of professionals and young hopefuls like me, both which were so, so nice. The professionals made us feel so welcomed, like we belonged on stage alongside with them, and Sandor Sturbl (Peter) and Lilly Jane Young (Wendy) even came in to wish us luck on the first day (thanks guys and last long!!).

And during our first curtain call? That was the best. The ensemble were so encouraging, telling us how awesome we were and when we were all nervous, they just pushed us further out front towards the audience and screamed, “GO ON! GO OUT THERE AND ROCK IT!”

Every day was equally amazing, even backstage.

When we finally weren’t allowed to say hi to them ((and on the last day too! :()), guess what they did?


They were just so, so sweet, and it was such an honour to perform with such a beautiful group of people. The day before the last, we (well, mostly my junior from primary school I as delighted to reunite with) gave Lilly and Sandor (ship name LiSandor) an instant camera because Lilly joked about wanting one and we decided to make it a reality.

It was great, basically, being with these musical theatre stars, and being on stage despite we kids getting only silent roles. I still felt like a diva as I stepped onto that stage in front of an audience, and acted as though my life depended on it each time for all eight shows in full costume (we got to pick our costumes and I chose something similar to Eponine Thenardier). I felt like I belonged there, that one day, that stage that I was on would be that of West End’s.

But then every night, when everything was over and the costumes are off, I have to take the subway back to my small-town world again, and, apart from a backstage pass hanging from my neck like some sort of medal, I am back to being a thing plain and common. And I look forward to going out of my small-town world again each day, to go back to that glory of curtains and limelights. To go out and see the world and the prevailing minds in it. To stand, jubilant, in that applause, though I knew they clapped for the leads and not for me and my fellow young hopefuls.

Or maybe, just maybe, the clapped for all of us.

And like any other actor or actress who has been part of this wonderful performance, professional enough to be on Les Miserables or just a hardcore Mizzie thrilled to make their mini debeut on stage, I can proudly declare that not only have I been changed for good, but I believe in fairies.

Why Not Raise The Bar?

So school’s starting soon enough… and in case you’ve been wondering, I’ve been having the same luck for the past four years – mean teachers throughout. Make it five, if you count the Chinese teacher who shouted into my same ear every time when I was nine. And my luck with classmates? Got the type of preppy, popular girls who laughed at my hair all frizz and curls and social status ((I’m not rich. Story ends there. I’m not exactly poor either, and we always manage well, thank you)) for two years in Primary or Grade School, then the ‘cool’, popular sorts who sniggered behind my back for reasons unknown, yell at me for every little reason or basically just act plain cold. Once they even played a prank on me, but I don’t want to talk about my life story today.

Nope. I want to let people know that there are girls who have been emotionally tormented like me for more than anyone else would have liked, who have come home from school crying into the night, every night, and that we would like this torture to end. We want to go out into the world wearing ourselves on our sleeves without being judged. We want to be given a chance. We want people to realize that different is okay, and we want people to accept that, if they can’t appreciate it. Teachers and students alike. Well, I’m sorry if I’m not good at your subject, and I’m sorry if I don’t hand my assignments up on time, but I try. Can’t you see me putting in effort? Everyone tries, trust me. And I’m sorry if I’m painfully honest and cynical, but like I’ve said. Everyone’s different. I’m sorry if I put on an ice-cold, caustic mask, because I am afraid of being hurt. I’m sorry. I’m also sorry I’m gawky and suck at sports, because that’s just me. I wasn’t born for the rose and the pearl, and given the choice, of course I want to be, but some people just aren’t, and I fall into that category, so don’t be mean about it. Thank you.

So this new school year ((because school starts in January at my place)), let’s all try to raise the bar – let’s push our limits to accept others no matter how weird they may seem, and to those like me, let’s all try to give everyone who has hurt us a second chance. Or at least don’t be downright dour to them if they hadn’t done anything hurtful yet. I’m going to try, and I think everyone should too – just to make the world a slightly better place.

To those like me:

“Don’t be who you think they want, just be who you are!” ~ Amanda Green’s Just Be Who You Are, or The Fran Drescher Song.

Ballet Rats (Halloween Special)

I have been wanting to post this for ages, but I’d thought I’d reserve it for Halloween.

We went on a school tour to the Science Centre quite some time ago, and we basically did nothing there – no proper tour, only a lesson that lasted around an hour or so, so most of the time we could do whatever we wanted.

Prussia decided that she had ‘seen a totally awesome exhibition the last time (she) came that was nearly as awesome as (her)’ and dragged Canada and I to check it out for America and Italy were out of sight. (No I don’t want anyone to ship PrusAus or PrusCan when you read all this but ship if you must, though I must warn you that these are my friends who act like the nations, so it’s not canon).

They left the map-reading to me, but some call me Austria, so you can guess how wonderful my sense of direction was. Prussia got mad at me because I couldn’t read it right, and because she was ‘too awesome for the map’ anyways, it wasn’t needed.

We took the lift up to the second storey of the science centre – the main atrium part, which, if any of my readers who have been there would know, was kind of dark, lit slightly, however, in a faint bluish glow.

The first thing we saw when the lift doors opened (oh, horror, horror,) was the great, limp puppet (mechanical, I suppose?) that was made to climb up and down a long piece of rope. There, in the gloom and silence, a life-sized marionette staring at us.

Being humans, our natural reaction was to scream like the schoolgirls we were.

Prussia grabbed Canada and I and the three of us ran like we never had before (not even during PE class). We had no idea where we were going; we just ran. Prussia made this turn and there was a fake ticket booth, behind the glass another two life-sized puppets. I screamed again and instantly tapped Prussia on the shoulder and pointed.

That got her going and she sparked Canada off.

Reader, remember that the place is more darkness than light.

We walked around a few more exhibits (no more puppets, thankfully) and honestly, I was getting quite calm when Prussia screamed again.

She had spotted a small robot, those with gears and cogs and all to show you how the mechanisms worked. Canada and I jumped back and that was the limit.

I suggested we go back down and they agreed. Prussia wanted to take the lift again but I disagreed due to one too many creepy YouTube videos about ghosts appearing in lifts.

So we had to settle for the slightly dimly lit stairwell, with all its many pictures on the walls meant to ‘challenge your mind’.

In other words, after getting three frights in a row, the pictures were very disturbing.

Canada ran through the door fist, then me, Prussia being the last and therefore having to close the door. She did so, and the ‘click’ that came with the closing of the door frightened her out of her wits. She screamed again and Canada and I followed suit.

Not that the science centre was a scary place, so tourism board, don’t sue me. It’s just that we were a group of crazy ballet rats.

… Or was there really more to it that gave us the bad vibes? Was there something that science couldn’t explain lurking in the ever-moving shadows of the exhibits in the science centre?


Happy Halloween 😀

Girls Who Scream In Silence

Picture thirty-seven adolescent girls, already drained of colour at fourteen years of age. Their eyes have lost its spark of youthfulness, and most of them have strands of silver hair. Looking at them, one really wonders if they are fourteen years old.

Whenever he, their superior enters the room, their dead eyes will widen in sheer terror, and whatever little hue left on their faces will vanish completely, apart from red around the tearing eyes and running noses. They fall silent apart from quiet, desolate sobs and whispered foul words every so often.

Some refuse to cry even when he pushes their limits. Their pallid faces are closed-up, and insanity flashes in their lifeless eyes whenever he tries as they fight an inner battle with their emotions.

Take Number 16 for example, Michaela to anyone who bothered.

He has targeted her many times, yet she has never wept once. She straightens herself to her full height of five feet, but bows her head and looks at the floor when he murders her with his words, muttering incoherent  words under her breath. When told to look him in the eye, she looks up to return his glare with soulless eyes burning like fire, as though something other than life and happiness is fuelling her.

Yet in those eyes, all the sadness of the world.

After he is gone, she shouts and rants into the night, crying at the hopelessness of the situation and fate of these thirty-seven girls. When he is there, however, her small hands clench anything around her in a death grip, as though restraining a chained monster within.

Number 16 has cracked.

Number 10, Meg to anyone who cared, had come in full of hopes, innocent.

Then it all went wrong.

Now Number 10 wonders what life is, or if she is just being used and then tossed away like a broken sandal. She knows the truth, yet she gropes in the bleakness, scrounging for a single ray of hope. She is quiet, quieter than ever now in Room M, sitting, huddled in a corner, paper-thin, speaking only when spoken to and answering only in the softest of voices, as though hoping that she could disappear from the despair just by making herself seem as invisible as possible.

Number 25, selected, by luck, as some may call it, though the situation was more grim than fortunate. to be the leader amongst these thirty-seven girls. She knows she can’t refuse, yet how she wished she could. There would be no other solution, as they all saw, was for her to bravely lead them forward in emotional battle, hoping, of course, with all their frightened little hearts that one day, some day, the flag of victory would be theirs.

Yet despite the hopes they place on her, and those she placed on herself like some kind of strange, demented emotional baggage, she knows she is only human. She tries not to crumble in times like these, yet even the mightiest warrior falls.

But she mustn’t fall. She has to stand strong, and keep going. They cannot see her silent tears. Nobody must ever know.

Not ever, no. The truth of Number 25 must remain a secret.

Number 30, also known as Catalina to some who listened, silent and resigned. She has not wept, not once, but if one looks carefully one may be able to see scars of blades on her hands. She has stopped now, but the pain he has drove into her – the hurt and hidden tears – will always be etched into her forever.

Number 32, called Emily by some, had come in boisterous and optimistic like so many her age.

But after one year under him in Room M, she has now given up whatsoever hope in life, her interests and passions now dead as her eyes. He has succeeded in making her cry for two hours before, something nobody would have expected such a cheerful soul to do.

Those who appear more well-off – the ‘lucky ones’, should we say, are the minority who grovel in submission to feed their own ambition, earning some kind of sick, twisted favour from him, and are definitely treated tons better.

Thirty-seven adolescent girls have been changed for good over the year. They will never be able to perceive the world in the same way again. They have become more cynical and lifeless like the group of girls in Room M before them, but they, like the generations of girls who have gone through the same before, have thrived through one year of this.

While most adolescent girls blossom and bloom into confidence at this age, the girls here have shrank and shrivelled instead, and grown in another way. They have learnt that life isn’t always a bed of roses.

Reader, I can safely assure you that this is not fiction, nor is it some sort of warped experiment to see how a group of young girls will change under such circumstances.

This is reality.

These thirty-seven girls are my class.

He is our teacher.

I am Michaela, and this is our story.

Exams Are Out

My Finals are coming back tomorrow, and I am about panicking right now. I feel so afraid. Honestly, I have never naturally been what you may call a ‘good’ student – but I’ve worked so hard for this, I know. I have burnt the midnight oil (fine, 2:30 a.m oil, in this case), revised, practiced sums, memorized statistics and dates, everything one could possibly think of. My brain was dying so hard in the process of studying, all that was in my head was fluffy crack fics with crack pairings (mostly FAndre’ or FirminXAndre’, the pairing involving the two managers from the Phantom of the Opera although the fics I wrote mainly consisted of genderbending Andre’ because I have seen that in one production and it actually works so much better somehow).

So anyways, it’s all I’ve worked and waited for. Let’s just say things haven’t been going too easy for me at home sometimes either, and I really, really need to pass my subjects. It’s all coming back tomorrow, or, rather, in a few hours time, paper by paper, like slow poison.

I don’t know if I will pass anything, especially Science. My science teacher is a jerk who hates me and if I fail his subject after all I’ve worked for, then I don’t think I can ever show my face ever again to see him gloat over it.

I’m ranting. But it’s my blog, so I can rant. It frightens me so much I feel like crumbling and crying, especially since my parents don’t think I’m studying. I need to do something right; I can’t just mess up my Sophomore year finals, can I?

Sweet mercy.

Deforestation Before My Eyes.

You know the times they blab on and on about how we must save the earth, which is going to die anyways, but you still try to because you can’t bear to see animal and plant lives being taken? And then – oh, the irony – they cut trees down before your very eyes?

That’s what happened to me the other day. On the second of September, CE 2014, I watched as they cut down the trees in the (park? forest? nature reserve?) by my school. No kidding. They actually got these really huge machines which had a claw…

Grabbed the trees the way you could grab a bunch of straws…


Seriously. The only thing that separated our campus from them was a thin wire fence, and all us students from Freshmen to Juniors and Sophomores to Seniors just watched, aghast. We had squirrels from those trees run into school sometimes, and kingfishers came flying in, too. Then there was the occasional eagle…

I don’t care if you need space to build more amenities and homes. Really. But building more amenities and homes on the animals’ homes? No. That isn’t fair. At all.

I really wish they could stop doing this bulls*** and actually help to save the environment, because no amount of paper you put into the recycling bin, no amount of lectures you’re going to give us students about how we must protect our dying earth is ever going to bring back those baby squirrels, birds, plants and trees. Ever.

Harry Potter Figurines


Yes, I make Harry Potter figurines. Yay. My sister made the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs, plus Gabrielle Delacour. I did the rest. Characters as follow, from left to right.

Back Row: Fleur Delacour (Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion), Gabrielle Delacour (Beauxbatons, Fleur’s younger sister), Ginny Weasley (Grryffindor), Neville Longbottom (Gryffindor), Lavender Brown (Gryffindor), Katie Bell (Gryffindor Chaser), Alicia Spinnet (Gryffindor Chaser), Oliver Wood (Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Keeper), Angelina Johnson (Gryffindor Chaser).

Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere: Ron Weasley (Gryffindor), Hermione Granger (Gryffindor)

Front Row: Cho Chang (Ravenclaw Seeker [seriously I don’t get why it’s Chang Cho for Merlin’s sake]), Luna Lovegood (Ravenclaw), DRACO FRIGGIN MALFOY (Slytherin Seeker~~~~~~~~), Pansy Parkinson (Slytherin XDD), Cedric Diggory (Hufflepuff, Hogwarts Triwizard Champion), Hannah Abbott (Hufflepuff).

#minipotterverse – don’t try to find me on Instagram. Or Twitter. Because I don’t have either of those.

Meine Güte.

I am trying not to scream, but I’ll get to that later.
First off – my exams are over for now, one last paper to go, but that’s next week. We had math today, and it was really bad. The teacher had promised a hard paper, and mind you, she doesn’t break her promises. Ever. I’m dead.

And second of all, I’m part of the school’s newspaper club. It’s kind of a literacy-and-press thing, and we’ve stopped doing school newspapers, I have no idea why, but we do organize events like blackout poetry, one-piece art (which is like one-word story but one-piece art). It’s kind of fun, if you like that sort of thing, and we just had a whole Word Blitz thing, which is basically getting the school to randomly stop by and take part in these events. It was fine, except for one part:
This girl who played me out and made use of our friendship (NOT in a relationship way I am straight) and her friend who just does whatever she says (so they both played me out in the end) was left in charge of this event because our President of the literacy-and-press is in Junior year, and that means she has a different lunch timing from us Freshmen and Sophomores (I’m a Sophomore), and someone has to take charge of the event during our lunch.
Well that jerk got chosen. Just so you know, I’ve really wanted to be part of the team-in-charge, which consists of only five people –
The President
The Vice Presidents
The Head of Editorial
The Secretary-Treasurer
Apparently, to put her and her friend in charge means that the teachers have them in mind for the team, and me, honestly, I’m the one who doesn’t talk down to the Freshmen, I don’t tell on people, and I give all I can give to my friends (which is how that jerk made use of me; I am such a fool.). Yet I am being talked to like someone who has more limitations mentally than others by my teachers (they talk to me VERY slowly as though I have trouble understanding them and pat my hair and repeat their points over and over in that voice and they don’t do that to anyone else except for this other girl who is like me, we call ourselves Elphaba and Glinda [she’s Glinda]) and otherwise ignored.
I don’t get it.
I want to be Vice President.
And all that runs through my head now is the song ‘I Dreamed a Dream’ from Les Miserables. Oh and I can finally drag the ‘as they turn your dreams to shame’ bit.

But note-dragging, that’s a different thing altogether. It was a good thing that I found this to cheer myself up:


Venn Diagrams

Are philosophical. The whole universal set thing… and how there will be some elements outside the union of sets… you know, those elements floating in the middle of nowhere… not part of the circles… I don’t care about proper mathematical names now, so long as you understand what I’m saying… those not part of anything, yet are still included in the universe, watching as the circles close themselves, some elements within, some on the outside, floating… and just in a corner of the universe, on the outskirts of society if the circles are symbolic of society… which they can be…

This is what happens when I am doing math homework after listening to depressing music from Wicked, the Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables.