1. Quit law school

Then I need to gather some cash in order to continue with my resolutions, simply by employing a few of the following means:

1. Use Daddy’s credit card
2. Gamble/ invest i.e. same thing really
3. Marry rich man; divorce rich man
4. Marry rich old man; wait
5. Marry rich young man; use rich young man’s credit card
6. Marry rich young man; use rich young man’s daddy’s credit card

And this is what I’m going to do with all my monies:

1. JUST, YOU KNOW, BUY STUFF
2. Trip to Paris etc.
3. Rent out a suite at every luxury hotel
4. Refuse to wear anything other than haute couture
5. Sue someone/ be sued although this may be too late now, seeing by the time the case goes to court the world would have ended, dammit
6. Start own one member religion which worships soft, smooth, warm, clean towels
7. Start own one member political party which promises to be corrupt. It’s all about honesty and realistic goals
8. Start own one writer one reader newspaper which delivers news from my own brain oh wait that would be this blog and my Twitter feed yay! One item checked off the list
9. Write single character single/self reader novel oh wait that would be my diary yay! Another item checked off the list
10. Have lavish wedding with aforementioned rich/ rich and old/ rich and young man

So looking forward to doing all of that! I love it when the world ends. Oh and, who knew the pressing reality of death and finality would inspire such an overwhelming level of selflessness and charity in me? What they say is true, I really do treasure my life more now that I know I’m going to die, although of course I already knew that.

Kim Jong-il, dead 17 December 2011
The North Korean leader came to power when he was 53 and was the “supreme leader” of the DPRK for 17 years until his death earlier this year at the undeserving age of 70. His official biography stated that he composed six operas, the Pyongyang media once claimed that he shot 11 holes-in-ones on his first try at golf, a fact readily verifiable by his 17 bodyguards, plus apparently he didn’t poop, although the report didn’t say whether he did not need to poop, or that he could not poop in a severe case of constipation, or that he had refused to poop. Nevertheless, Kim Jong-il was obviously not amazing enough to firstly, not have a female name, and secondly, not die.

Let’s hope his son Kim Jong-un lives up to the “un” part of his name.

Osama Bin Laden, dead 2 May 2011
Osama Bin Laden was at best a complete asshole and at worst a complete Osama Bin Laden. Apart from leading Al-Quaeda in orchestrating the terrorist attacks on 11 September 2001 etc. and being a complete asshole in general, he was also reported to have had six wives, and an aggregate of 20 to 26 children between those wives. Yes. 20 to 26, as in he cared so little about his offsprings he didn’t even bother to count them. In his will (yes he wrote a will shortly after 11 September since he knew was going to die, although of course death would happen to him with or without 11 September, a realisation probably unachieved by a man so consumed by evil and/or himself) (and if my insults to him sound mild it’s because he’s Osama Bin Friggin Laden), he instructed his children not to continue the Jihad, probably not to protect his children whom as we have established he could not give a flying toss about, but probably only to protect his own legacy and prevent his children from upstaging him in the future. No wonder he was shot. In the face.

I really enjoyed writing that paragraph in past tense.

Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar Gaddafi, dead 20 October 2011
Where do I even begin with this absolute tool. Perhaps it begins with the stone hard fact that he looked like he had two sex changes, one from male to female and another from female back to male, and both of them failures. Perhaps it begins with the fact that he was a pervert, that he frequently made sexual advances to female journalists, the fact that he was obsessed with Condoleezza Rice and kept a photo album full of her pictures at his compound, believed to be used in a popular kind of worship, and by worship I mean sordid sexual self-satisfaction (buy my new book titled “How To Alliterate Masturbation”). Perhaps it begins with the fact that he went on for 90 minutes in his 2009 UN General Assembly speech, a speech which he was allocated 15 minutes to make and which was so long and so full of indescribable bullcrap, one of his translators actually collapsed mid-speech. But regardless of where I begin, Gaddafi ended in death. And you better stay that way, you turbo asshole.

But then as we shall remember, Steve Jobs also passed away this year 5 October, and his life was celebrated elaborately all over the world. Dennis MacAlistair Ritchie was found dead 12 October 2011, and his life was not celebrated elaborately all over the world, despite the fact that he invented the C Programming Language, which of course means that he made Steve Jobs. Dame Elizabeth Taylor, famous mainly for being married for 7 times to 6 men (look it up) and being gorgeous, passed away 23 March 2011, was also actively mourned. And just to add to the list, Mrs. Betty Ford, Ms. Wangari Maathai, Dr. Ralph M. Steinman and many others who perhaps were not famous but were close to and loved by us, perhaps a dear grandfather or a dear friend, who were all relatively excellent people who passed away in the same year of the deaths of the enormous pieces of shite mentioned above. So you know. Bad people die, but good people, incidentally, also die. And there is absolutely no difference in the two, save from the fact that if you were bad, you risk being shot in the face, and even that will only come 10 years after you have been very naughty indeed.

And on that delightful note, happy new year everyone!

P.S. How scared do you think Robert Mugabe, Hugo Chavez and Bashar al-Assad are right now.

My mother just told me about her friend’s daughter. Her friend only allows her daughter to go on the internet for 8 minutes a day, and the daughter is completely okay with that, and has never complained against whatever unreasonable restrictions my mother’s friend subjects her to. My mother’s friend’s daughter, unlike my mother’s daughter, is not rebellious at all. My mother’s friend’s daughter, unlike my mother’s daughter, is completely subservient and obedient to her mother. My mother’s friend’s daughter, unlike my mother’s daughter, never complains. My mother’s friend’s daughter, unlike my mother’s daughter, is doing very well at school. My mother’s friend’s daughter, unlike my mother’s daughter, always listens to what her parents say.

And my mother resoundingly told her own daughter at the dinner table that she was very jealous of her friend for having such a wonderful daughter.

My mother’s daughter certainly isn’t wonderful. And my mother thinks exactly that.

The postman did indeed drop by today to hand me a parcel, but the size of it was much smaller than I expected, and the envelope had the TIME Magazine logo on it, which was not the person/ company/ misleading news source I was hoping to receive a parcel from.

I knew it was one of those gratuitous gifts TIME sends out to “reward” their subscribers for subscribing. I think the message they wanted to send was to gift and congratulate their subscribers for having excellent taste in pro-American literature, but the message they were actually sending was “I’m so sorry you had to put up with such an outrageous publication, please forgive us, here’s a coarse and useless towel with our logo embroidered in red, and here’s an enormous travel bag so ugly you would be ashamed to donate.”

Little did I know they went much further than a towel and a body bag. The little brown envelope was hastily taped up, and inside was a small squashed up cardboard box, with no note and no indication of whether it was a terrorist attempt. Opening the box carefully, I found a suspicious black leather case. I unzipped it, and revealed: A PAIR OF EXTREMELY SHARP SCISSORS. And a nail clipper. And a nail file. And a metal stick with a weird end, purpose and usage unclear.

What the hell TIME?

What this means for our electoral system is that we have moved from an undemocratic colonial system to an undemocratic post-colonial system. We cannot vote for the guy who’s in charge, called the Chief Executive (which is obviously a misleading term; “Chief Executive” sounds like a village leader with a feathered hat exposing his man-boobs through the two cut-outs on his traditional tribal vest, while shouting in a phone at a business meeting, putting his feet and his black patent leather shoes on the table, exposing something even less pleasant by virtue of his colourful straw skirt). We can however vote for our Members of the Legislative Council (MLs, a shortened term which I have just coined), the Legislative Council being our smaller, less scandalous, less powerful and less eloquent version of Parliament, as well as our Members of the District Council (MDs, a shortened term which I have just coined) (I am indeed a genius), District Council being our smaller, less scandalous, less powerful and less eloquent version of local government. No, we didn’t fail at copying the British. The British generously presented us with a half-arsed version of their electoral system when they colonised us, much like a gratuitous and gradual broken leg. We didn’t feel any pain, but when we were de-colonised we realised we were one limb short, so we went to China for some magic pills to grow that leg back but they gave us some tic-tacs instead, which admittedly made us feel better about ourselves, but when we look in the mirror we still see a shocking lack of a leg and only one arse cheek.

Yes, that is my concept of government in Hong Kong.

I was enfranchised at 18 and I believe I had one previous opportunity to vote, which I am quite ashamed to say I had surrendered. That occasion was a by-election architechted (is this even a word?) and orchestrated by a few MLs who decided to resign and stand for by-election to be re-elected to the very seats they have previously resigned from. They won the by-election, but at that time I thought, although it was legally and procedurally accurate for a by-election to be held, although voters did eventually vote them back into the Council, although it was fair that in the event of empty ML seats, by-elections should be held to fill those seats, and although this mechanism was the product of a lot of wisdom, I did not believe it was a mechanism to be abused and misused. And so in protest I surrendered my right to vote, thinking that was a smart move to lower the turnout rate so that even if they were re-elected they would not be very representative, and I proceeded to congratulate myself on being so politically sensible.

What I did not realise was that low turnout rates did exactly what I intended it to do: it made the guy who was supposed to represent me less representative. That only means that my lack of political stance, my general inertia towards politics and my firm believe in not-doing-anything-and-just-letting-problems-solve-themselves attitude would not be properly represented in the legislature. Also, I realised last night that if I was ever going to abuse a power, it would be my power to vote. Mainly because I didn’t earn that power at all: I came across it merely by trying and succeeding in not dying before the age of 18. Plus, I am Chinese, I am literate and in fact bi-lingual (tri-lingual if you count French, quad-lingual if you count German, and by “lingual” I mean I can say “hello” and pretty much only “hello” in those two languages, so fine I guess you wouldn’t count them, how Mathematically selfish of you), I am University educated (by educated I mean struggling to pass but still educated nonetheless, if by educated you mean I occasionally show up to class and occasionally listen to the dude uh what do you call them again? Professors? Unclear) and I am female. If you look at the world, what are the chances that a Chinese person would get to vote in a fair and uncorrupted election! What are the chances that a woman would get to vote! What are the chances that a Chinese woman is literate, bi-lingual and University educated, is enfranchised and understand (largely and in crude detail) what she is voting for! This free power to vote is gold and I plan to abuse it as much as I can in the future, thank you.

So anyone from Hong Kong reading this: go vote! I know the guy in your constituency probably sounds like a complete retard (one of the candidates in my constituency put flyers into our post boxes outlining his previous political achievements, focusing on two main items. 1. He ran in the city marathon last year, and 2. He once wrote to the Food and Environmental Hygiene Department complaining of canine excrement on the pedestrian bridge in our district. He reproduced the entirety of that complaint letter, which, I am not kidding, involved the term “dog shit”. Several times), but choose the better of two retards because one of them is going to represent you anyway. By voting for them you make them accountable to you, technically and in theory at least, in practise it’s probably completely different but you get to put a tick in a box! It’s always amazing to put a tick in a box.