Swing in the rain!

Never mind the title. It's just something my cousin sang, and now it's stuck to my head.
Oh, it isn't Gene Kelly. It's Vadivel's version. She's an ardent fan of his, and can rattle off the daily programme schedule on KTV, even in deep REM sleep.
So, to my brether Mark, and nanba, happy V-day (will not mention the V word. The day where the Saffron men torture 'dating couples'. Ew. Those words stimulate the vomiting centre in my medulla.) At least this promotes unity between communities. They've copped this idea off the Arabs. The Muttawa are the feared religious police in Saudi Arabia; they whip you if you've been naughty. Exposing a strand of hair, talking with a non-incestuous guy in public (private spells D-E-A-T-H), the like. I'm just saying. Not judging.

So. What is the point really? Not of living. I've realized long since that living is not something you can get out of. Not legally or easily anyway.
I mean, what is the point of everything that happens around us?

I'm not channeling Carrie Bradshaw. Just for self-satisfaction, and general knowledge, I want to know. I HAVE to know.

Why immolate oneself in the name of the Lankan crisis? Why? I will not rest in peace until I know the answer to this one.
Is it to get cash from the government? Or getting out of the suicide stigma? Because you hate the world and want to punish us all, by getting colleges closed?
And why close colleges? With the economic recession et al, nobody wants to smash buses or stage protests. They just want to vomit the little that they've amassed into their exam papers, pass and leave to some place where no one knows who they are.

Exams in 6 days and counting. Stomach feels like a washing machine. Reduced to watching horrible movies like Norbit to escape from the voices (my weak conscience, not from my head). Voices in one's head.. . Schizophrenia. I do not know what I'd write if it's a short note in Medicine Paper II.

This is beyond bad.