Feuer Frei!

Partly to do with the current situation in Gaza, the abovementioned title is born. Ironic how I got hooked to the song by Rammstein (more than a few years late, btw) around late December when the situation became much more critical. Accursed, powerful world figures who have nothing better to do with their time treat humans worse than stray dogs, and those who could actually help are turning their cheeks away because they do not want to feel the heat of the now-out-of-control furnace that they ignited to warm themselves.

Fact is, the world is full of irony. Sooner or later we would come to terms with that fact and either come to accept it as Fate, or adopt a 'Life's a [INSERT EXPLETIVE NOUN HERE]' attitude towards... Well, Life. Of course, quite a few waver between these two phases, myself included. I must say I'm not pleased with myself but I'm not here to judge anyone, since anyone who's reading this and understanding all of its contents would, naturally, possess enough common sense to know what's logical and what's not. Opinionated, but that can't be helped, and so can't a certain world leader who looks and acts like a baboon. Watched Mercury by Bloc Party and I was all 'Daaamn they got that one right, how baboons MUST be behind it all. Makes sense too, seeing how they look SO related.'

...

Ah, Prom. The pinnacle of high school, where it all ends and starts. Where expectations soar, to either rise to a steady height before a graceful landing or- in most cases- plummet sharply to the ground barely a few minutes after take-off. And why is this suddenly popping up in this post? Heaven help me, I have NO idea. Forcibly reminded of my prom after all this talk of irony, I had to let it out. Girlish giggles, fantastic food, dazzling dresses and a lonesome lady amidst a throng of gutted guys. Uh-huh, sounds like my prom indeed. My shoes lasted on my feet for about ten minutes after my entrance into the ballroom before they were chucked off underneath the table (and I regret telling my Mom that), in favor of my more comfortable barefoot state, running back and forth between the buffet table and the round table where my friends and I were located. It's no wonder how people come to assume how fat I am, with the amount of foodtalk I spout... And then some dancing with a few hyped-up friends. The memory of a very, VERY drunk close friend who shouted out how my ex didn't deserve me to the rest of the people attending (thanks a lot for that) after vehemently saying 'I'm not druuuuuunkk~!' and stumbling over her heels trying to hug me. The smell of alcohol on her breath and on the floor ten minutes later where she threw up and passed out... Ahh, good times. Good times indeed.

To be honest, prom was no more fun than a farewell party we (okay, a good friend of mine) organized for a terrific English and form teacher about a year beforehand. It was THE Farewell Party of all farewell parties ever to be organized by any high school class in the region. The roar of emotion after a thirty minute wait, when she opened the glass doors leading into a fancy restaurant on the top floor of a hotel and we all yelled 'SURPRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISE!' was something I never managed to experience afterwards. The deafening roar of the very, VERY long surprise- the single word itself lasting about half a minute- resonating, pounding in my ear until five minutes later when we were hugging her; the tears that welled in everyone's eyes as hers flowed freely down her cheeks out of elation and gratitude as we rushed over, clambering to be the first to receive a warm embrace from the greatest mentor and friend, possibly for the last time. The friendly, enthusiastic chatter and ominous clicks and flashes of camera that made her, and every one of us, feel like a star... And the food, the delicious, scrumptious food that got me bloated and wishing I could pump it all out of my stomach only to indulge in more... All leading to the farewell-present-giving, nearly the end of the night, which she handled all too well and made me, for the first time, pine to be a teacher. Just to feel her joy on that day; the gratitude she received from her students, which she understood and conveyed back to us, like an effective recycling system of human emotions in one room filled with fabulous food, teary girls, and a few males in the form of husbands, chefs and waiters. The aforementioned drunk girl at my prom, which takes place around a year later as I had stated in the opening paragraph sentence, did have beer beforehand and asked me for a few bucks for another. I refused, politely saying I had no money on me. I'm glad I did, since her breath reeked of beer at the time and another wee sip would probably lead to the ugly incident at prom, which no one wanted to remember- particularly her.