I'm so happy with this piece that I'm willing to show it off. 

Yes, yes, it's all thanks to F's fabulous digital painting. 

And many actually assume that I'm a sleeping partner, and I do feel guilty about that but hey, we came up with the concept together, and I did do research for the visuals. 

Some people have actually commented that they would want to work with F for the next group work... 

... and I don't really want to lose the best partner I've had so far in my lifetime in this school. 

Seriously we've done 4 projects together, with good end products, without any arguments, or major disagreements. What more could one ask for right? 

I am not intentionally making Belle jealous, by the way. 

One boy called F a B just now, though I doubt anyone other than D and me heard. 

We actually looked at each other and D gave me this look with an eye roll and a slight shrug.   Translation: Whatever, he's just crazy. 

I'll keep this in the records, because I already don't like him and it's only the 4th week of school. 

May the world be rid of people who think they're top. 

Whatever, I feel like flushing him down a toilet and I've heard whispers that I haven't been the only one entertaining dark thoughts about him. 

Sometimes a breeze will waft in, smelling of fresh greenery, and you just know it is what it is. 

I can't wait for it to come, and honestly hope I don't waste it like I did last year. 

But you know what they say about promises.. that they're meant to be broken. 

I often wonder what people see when they look at me. 

What makes them initiate that first smile, or hell, that first look. 

That leads to the first word, the first sentence.. well, you know. 

What makes them treat me nicely when they don't know shit about me? 

I almost feel bad that I sometimes have to show them that their first impression of me is not who I am. 

I know I'm a selfish, self-centered, arrogant shit most of the time... and so, it doesn't explain all this niceties. 

Nowadays, it's not so bad since I go through everyday life with my eyebrows knitted in a frown, but I have gotten more than a fair share of random strangers coming up to talk to me for some reason or another. 

O man o man o man. 

I wished I knew. 

My eyes felt sore and puffy. Patches of my scarf were wet with snot and tears, immediately making me regret not packing a tissue paper. I was so sure of my self-control; that the floodgates would hold, but surprise surprise, my waterworks started first. I promised myself I had to remain strong, that it was all for the best, and it was really what I would have wanted.

But really, no matter how many times I've wished for it, it does not make me any less unprepared. I told myself over and over that it was all right, and that I should not have shed a tear but all logical thoughts eloped with humiliation when the door opened. 

My sister said to me, an hour before all hell broke loose, a moment when the house was still filled with smiles and words of merriment, "I don't like this calm before the storm, it makes me anxious with anticipation."

I agreed whole-heartedly, nodding thoughtfully and said, "I almost can't wait for the theatrics to start."

And boy, did it start. 

They called all family members into the room. Although, I didn't know much of what was going on, I just tailed my mum's shadow. Inside the crammed room, where the aunties used to exchange gossip, it was quiet. Unnaturally so since the room was chockfull of people standing huddled against each other. 

I didn't really know what was going on since the tall uncles were all standing in front, blocking my view. I heard a loud sniff breaking the silence and shot a glance at my cousin who stood huddled next to the refrigerator. She didn't even seem to notice me there while she was sniffling, her eyes red with tears. 

Most of the time, crying people make no impact on me. They don't say I'm emotionless for nothing. But this time was different. I could feel my tear ducts swelling up. Now, I don't know exactly how tear ducts work, but it felt that way. The nose bridge between my eyes gradually started to throb. 

And I knew, just then, that the countdown has begun. 

10 ... 

9 .... 

Steadily, I looked around the room, with dry eyes, then I left with my mum to stand outside. 

I was quite proud of my control.  I tried to stare nonchalantly at a few random strangers who glared at me. 

8 ... 

What the hell was their problem?! 

7 ... 

What, are they expecting me to burst into hysterics just because I was in the room? 

6 .... 

5 ...  

I turned back to glare at them. If they're what they say they are, why do they not seem to care?  

4... 

I heard shuffling of feet. The door to the room I was just in opened. 

3.... 

2....

1....

They stepped out; my uncles and cousins and right then, all thoughts of self-control went out the window. For the first time in a long time, tears flooded my face, drenching parts of my scarf. My fingers, in a desperate attempt to stop the flow just got wet and sticky in the process. I clamped my left fist onto my lips, locking them, preventing any sound from escaping. But it was too late, my sharp intake of breath and the sniffling had already given me away.   

My sister turned to face me then, with an expression of shock mixed with confusion drawn clearly on her face. In 2 seconds, I saw her face crumble and waterfalls started down her face.  She pulled me towards her and put her arms around me in a protective embrace. Me, a dimwit who is so averse to physical contact, stood frozen in my sister's arms. Shaking with tears that are threatening to wash my face away. 

It was all confusing. My thoughts were incoherent at that point. I kept asking myself, "Why are you crying?" But I don't know the reason why. I doubt anyone would. My only reaction was to churn out hot colourless liquid from my eyes and nose. When I dared to raise my face to the world, I realised that almost everyone was doing the same. 

My sister let go of me then, and we both elbowed our way to the front of the crowd. 

I knew it would be a mistake. I felt a strange compulsion to run out of the house, away from the crowd of strangers. But something held me firmly grounded. If I hadn't known better, I would've said it was my common sense finally managing to stay afloat in all those tears. Whatever it was, it made me stay, and push myself forward. And after a few cousins stepped out of the way, I could see. 

And then I realised what a mistake it was because fresh new tears started to run down my face. By now, I was already convinced that half my nose would've been washed off by those first tears and now, my nose was seriously in danger. Not to mention, my fear that I would end up like Kassim Selamat who had cried himself blind. But then, that was television and this is reality. 

Reality seldom happened as how we expect it to, yet, this... this was strangely expected. 

Expected yet unprepared for. 

When it ended, I found myself staring out the window. 

As I stared out at the streets, at least a hundred pairs of eyes were staring back in my direction. Towards the house. And for once, in this whole entire fiasco, I felt strangely comforted by the presence of so many strangers who came out to pay their final respects. 

He was a great man who had been loved by many.

I guess I should be happy, that in the end, that's all that mattered. 

No matter what they say about it being a part of life, just as natural as births are. 

Whatever. 

The people who said that obviously haven't had much experience in deaths. 

Death swoops in, knocks you breathless off your feet, destroys perfect little imaginations of eternity. 

Humans generally do not like to think of the end of life. 

It's the end of things as you know it. No matter how inconsequential you think it is. 

As inhumane as you might be, there will be at least one death you shed a tear to. 

If you're sentimental, maybe five or six deaths would affect you so strongly. 

But deaths, after the glowing effects of tears, sucks you dry of sorrow, and leaves you numb. 

What do you say when someone dies? Words just escape you. 

You sit, numbed with emotions, unable to cry anymore, unable to even feel. 

Every breath you take feels like a blasphemous word against the lost soul. 

Your stomach folds in on itself. You feel that it's making a travesty of the dead one, like it's wrong, to partake of food and drink as life sustenance, when a . certain . someone, has given up on life's sustenance. Every single thing that should come as natural, suddenly feels redundant, suddenly feels wrong. 

Regrets are the reason why you cry. 

Regrets and lost memories. 

The life of the dead one keeps flashing over and over in your mind's eye, like a broken mrt ad. You keep seeing it over and over again. 

How the person laughed, how he had smiled, how you used to make fun of him, and then you feel a sharp pang of regret. Maybe I shouldn't have been so awfult to him, maybe I should've talked to him more, maybe I should've tried harder to make him laugh. 

And then you think..... never again will his eyes twinkle the way they do when you tell him a secret. Never again will the eyes moisten in reminiscence of old times.. 

Never again will he breathe, nor move, nor talk, nor laugh. 

It's painful, in a way. I'm not always equipped to deal with death. When it has swept by you, leaving you numb and cold in its wake, you search for a certain thing to get by. To give you the best explanation possible to dealing with death. To help you heal better, and to deal with the fear that death has cemented in your heart. 

I, for one, find it relaxing to hear recitations of the Quran whenever death is near. 

It strengthens my faith, takes away my fear.. and replaces tawakkal in my heart. 

innalillah wa inna ilaihi turja'uun

And I guess it's the end of the Green House legacy.