Nothing bonds a group of people like a shared distaste for something, or someone.

I had the best birthday celebration ever.

Here’s a secret: I always wanted my friends to come together and surprise me for my birthday. I know Chelsea tried to plan that once but the innumerable incompetent people I allowed in my life back then ruined her plans. Chelsea, I sincerely apologise for making you suffer through my bad decisions. 

My dreams came true this year though; I guess I accumulated enough good karma this year with my endless drama in 2017.


Chelsea, who specialised in acting in year 3, ironically sucked at lying. Not that I’m complaining. She unceremoniously brushed me off when I pointed out that we were heading towards the wrong direction, but I was so distracted by some drama she was supposed to update me on and I figured taking the longer route would give us more time to talk (consistency is key: NEW YEAR, SAME DRAMA-LOVING ME).


My sneaky friends formed an allegiance in secrecy weeks before my birthday! All while I was confidently telling Charlene, “Don’t worry, I will pretend to be surprised by whatever tricks (you, Reuben and Pim) pull.” Well, I certainly didn’t expect the people I love most to come together. Who would’ve guessed that my friends can be bigger stalkers than me?

In a perfect world, I would shed tears of joys when my closest friends jumped out to surprise me. Alas, my talent is in salt marination and savage comebacks, not crying on demand or I would’ve interned at Mediacorp. Besides, I’m accustomed to showing hostility, disgust and anger, not delight or love or any of those disgusting positive feelings.


I merely screamed my lungs out in shock in the basement of 313 while Cheryl commented, “Don’t know we scream louder or you scream louder.”

Adrenaline filled my veins and I was in such a state of stupor that I couldn’t make a proper birthday wish. Instead, I muttered something along the wholesome lines of I hope to be happy forever. What an utter waste of my birthday wish. I later retracted that statement and jokingly wished for everyone who pissed me off to suffer.

Imagine my surprise I saw that someone did fall sick a few days after my birthday. Fml. And that person wasn’t even the target of my recent wrath. Fhl HAHAHAHA. Just for the record, I did not sell my soul to the devil for that to happen.

That’s just one part of a series of mere misadventures that my friends have came to associate with my life the past 22 years. I’ve grown used to hearing my friends sigh in exasperation before delivering the standard line: “This kind of thing can only happen to you.” If having that as my motto isn’t enough, I should seriously considering having it tattooed across my forehead already.

I highly suspect all my friends were just looking for an excuse to congregate and scrutinise my sensational life. I mean, what are the chances that your vile birthday wish, albeit an afterthought, comes true? Although I’m positive no one doubted me, it was glorious declaring I-told-you-that-happened when I had friends backing up my drama as I related it.

Thank god I’m not a compulsive liar or I would’ve been scrambling to come up with pseudo explanations or risked getting exposed. Now that I’m 22, I need to ~grow up~ and stop with my snarky double connotations, but it’s fun to watch guilty parties scrambling to see if the shoe fits!

In primary school, teachers loved asking ludicrous questions like, “If you were an animal, what would you be?” The question always stirred anxiety within the shy child I used to be — I hated being chided for being uncreative (dogs are a popular choice, although being called one ends up being an insult as you grow older) but I never wanted to stand out with something creative.

Sardonic 22-year-old me would retort, “Anything dead.” But I know what I am now. A fly that knowingly lands on a Venus Flytrap. It took an assembly of three different groups of friends from the last five years of my life for me to realise what an attention-seeking drama mama I am. I tend to subconsciously provoke people’s anger for the sole purpose of watching their reactions, then whine about drama coming out of their way to seek me.


What a 10/10 solid a$$hole I’ve been my entire life. As it turns out, I do love drama as much as it loves me! I can’t help it yo, I gotta bring ~quality content~ to my loyal readers.

I’m kidding, in case you’re dumb enough to not tell. I had someone going on a rampant Instagram rant because I called a close friend “pekyj’s crisis management team”. S/he thought I made my friends work for my blog. Regrettably, I’m already not paying my friends enough to deal with my constant drama. My friendship isn’t worth enough to make my friends work for free.

I was, in reality, referring to how my friends edit my argumentative essays to tone down the b1tchiness and remove my snide remarks, averting further conflicts. My personal favourite responses include:

“I think we need to write a 1200 word essay on why we think YT should say what we suggested.”
“I’m sorry for not replying quickly, don’t dock my non-existent pay.”
“Cannot la!!! Please don’t tell me you already sent that. Oh. Too late.”
“Stop being impulsive or you’ll face a fate worse than death.”
“Open his/her message to assess damage now.”
“It’s a slow night, there’s not much good content to work with from your drama today.”

I think my friends secretly bask in my chagrin and mocked aggravation. After all, birds of a feather flock together.


I supposed now that I’m a full grown adult, I’ll be expected to act like one — whatever that means. Who are we even kidding? In all honesty, adults have the least shit held together. But maybe this year I’ll finally learn to be kind.

Probably not.

And they dare say change is the only constant in life. The only constant is my intolerance for bullshit and stupidity, puh-lease!