I have figured it out. I really have. The confusion, the constant nagging feeling that bothered me throughout undergrad and the past year. It all makes sense now.

I know what they really wanted!

People don't believe me when I tell them I can cook. And it really pisses me off. It undermines the tortuous pain of having to cook your own meals, simply because you can't afford to eat out every night. And I have decided to set the record straight. This is my own recipe. It is, and its meat. And it's spicy and it sure as hell as yummy.

I call it The Pork from Hell. :D Catchy, isn't it. I say, that I call it that, but to be frank I just came up with that.

What you need.
Pork (I buy the boneless ones, it work's better with it. And I am sure this recipe could work with lamb/chicken/beef as well but I like pork. So there)
Lots of red chilly
Spinach, Beans and Peas (It works just as well with just spinach, but I like beans and I really like peas!)
Cheese, lots of it. Preferably grated cheddar but it works just as well with any processed cheese thingybob.

How to do it

Wash the pork, and put it in the pan which has oil in it. Turn up the heat and stir it like your life depends on it. After you unfit idiots have managed to work up a sweat, which should be in 20seconds. Add in the spinach, the beans and the peas go once the spinach shrivels up like a penis out in the cold.

Oh, I forgot, soak the chilly in boiling water and put it in the fridge. Okay, so now you put this chilly and water into the pan. Add in the cheese and everything else. This is the point where you add anything else you want:say mushrooms or just random stuff you have in your fridge.

Once all of this is done. Cover the pan and cook for 40 minutes.

And you are done.

Epilogue
I can also make a mean Gado-Gado now!

Blogs and other websites always have a link called home. Earlier I would just ignore it knowing it would take me to where I began. But in these days of not knowing where things began and where they will end, this link has taken a particular significance for me.

There is no home anymore. Things have changed, what I thought was home is just a strange shell. All the curves and scratches remain intact. It's still smooth and shiny as ever. It even glistens in the sun like before.

It's just that you can't hear the sea anymore. The roaring, raging sea. It's gone now. Poof!

Just like that.

I end up watching films the most when I shouldn't be. For instance, I have seen Terminator: Rise of the Machines, Terminator Salvation, Ninja Assasin, Wolfman, From Paris with Love, Quantam of Solace, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and Leon in the last three days. That's almost three movies a day, and in two weeks I am supposed to be handing in two essays 5000 words each. And how many words have I written: 300. So I still have 9700. 97% of my work left. Fun life isn't it.

You realize one day, that you can't write anymore. Of course, you can write. Your fingers will still pitter patter over the obedient keyboard. Letters in a pre selected font will still form themselves on the cold screen in front of you. But you can't write.

Words no longer bubble up from the depths of your mind. Thoughts no longer form sentences. Everything that you write is weirdly symmetrical and somehow dead.

You realize that you have lost your muse. You have lost the ability to write, because when you wrote you performed for an audience. A very specific audience, and now that those canine fangs no longer flash. You can't write because you don't want to.

The words are dead. As is the heart. Symmetry and Order tries to take over your beautiful world of spontaneous combustion.

Teeter Totter. Wag-an-Otter.

When you know what you want is just there? Right there. Over there, behind that door. Like the last level of a particularly complicated PC Game. When you know the sword of light that will kill the orcs and free the elves is right there to be swished around, that is when the pause button seems the nicest and the shiniest. But life doesn't work that way. It just doesn't. I am waiting, waiting for someone to find the pause button. Till then I can either stay in one place, go back or maybe open the door.
Ugh! This sucks...

What are words when the moonlight sonata fills your mind with sheer bliss. What are thoughts when they seem to crumble away to make room for this immense force. As each notes rips through my body, fire grips my veins and love blinds me.

The Moonlight Sonata flows through me, and I give myself to it. If there is a god, this is it.

Curl it around your tiny finger. Like a finger shoved impertinently through a smoke ring. Type slowly chewing each syllable, playing around with it in your mouth. One goes pop, the other a blatant blip. Slow motion dreams, huge chunks of them. We will swim through them and bleed a drop or two as our own personal version of a cheap romance.

But what did the joker say to thief?

Why is it even important? Maybe he talked about his own life, as he saw it. Painted in the colorless hues of incandescent confusion. His bloodshot eyes in perfect harmony with the laughter inducing musical nose. His plastic smile, the only fixed centre in a life that crumbled away life monumental ant hills in the rain.

Maybe he talked about his Bess? Bess, the landlords black-eyed, black-haired daughter. Blip Drip. Blood Dlood. Dead on the Bed. Boom Boom. Bang Bang. Now gone. Shattered like a monumental anthill in the rain.

No reason to get excited.
Life is but a joke.
Curl it around your tiny finger.

The speedometer complains furiously. Trees whiz past quite alarmingly. The world goes by. And you pull the handbrake. The car spins happily. The Epitaph of your dream with a crazy smile in your eyes. Bye Bye. You said.

I found this online. Shakespeare quotes: Reinterpreted. Rolling like a drill now are we shakho-kabi?

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.
Translation: We should masturbate more.

The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.
Translation: Only fight sissies.

Great floods have flown from simple sources.
Translation: Never have sex with your girlfriend during her period.

The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
Translation: Let's kill all the lawyers. Really.

Be to yourself as you would to your friend.
Translation: It's OK to sleep with your sister because your friend sure would.

Is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?
Translation: Good-looking strippers get bigger tips.

Have patience, and endure.
Translation: Use one of those numbing creams if you have to. Or try wearing five condoms at once.

I can express no kinder sign of love than this kind kiss.
Translation: First base is better than striking out altogether.

Men at some time are masters of their fate.
Translation: Get married and you're screwed.

They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
Translation: If your drinking buddies say she's really a man, listen to them.

That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Translation: If you're desperate to impress her, you can always resort to oral sex.

Heaven hath a hand in these events.
Translation: How else would you explain that Pamela Anderson video?

O, flatter me, for love delights in praises.
Translation: Honesty isn't necessarily the best policy when it comes to penis size.

The course of true love never did run smooth.
Translation: When dumping someone, always wear a protective cup.

I'll note you in my book of memory.
Translation: Don't expect me to call the day after.

Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost.
Translation: Lap dances have actually been outlawed in some parts of the country.

Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
Translation: With a little help from our friends at Massengill, that is.

Praising what is lost, makes the remembrance dear.
Translation: When you're telling your buddies about your conquests, exaggerate. A lot.

'Tis better to be brief than tedious.
Translation: Nooners rock.