I’m the blogger who isn’t into memes. But who joins in anyway sometimes. And regrets almost immediately because there’s nothing much to write if nothing much is to be revealed. But decides it’s worth trying anyway.

I’m the blogger who blogs at too many blogs, like some people have too many cars, except that I have none.

I’m the kid who likes to draw cars. And doesn’t talk very much.

I’m the child who is too bitter. And doesn’t want to talk about it.

I’m the student who doesn’t pay attention in class, because you’re less interesting than the Little Drummer Girl under my table, that is, until you make a mistake in your lesson, on which I will immediately and ravenously pounce upon and rip apart until you have no choice but to admit it.

I’m the student who doesn’t do homework, whom you make to stand outside the class (or sometimes in class, on the table), who flunks too many tests, but who, after you give up on me, still finishes fine for the finals.

I’m the recruit who has a serious attitude problem, who has to do more push-ups than everyone else, who gets confined more than anyone else in the company, who doesn’t seem to recognise the insignia on your uniform, and dares to question you and make you look like the fool you really are.

I’m the unwilling soldier who has to be promoted because the system gives no choice, whom you wonder why I’m not an officer (are you nuts?), who refuses to believe in the “platoon integrity” baloney, and never really fit in with the rest of the platoon, but will help you anyway.

I’m the classmate who doesn’t like to study, and if I do, I study the ‘wrong’ things. I’m the classmate whom you want in your group, yet you regret when it happens, because I always have the whackiest ideas. But then you still want me in anyway because you know I’m ready to mow down the other groups during presentation the way I mowed down Dr Wong during lecture. I’m the classmate who is always happy to let you look at (and copy, if you want) my assignment, but you eventually stop asking because mine’s just too different.

I’m the classmate who eventually disappears, and you still don’t understand why, even though I have told you many times already, because you know what a geek I really am.

I’m the geek who always has a book nearby. I’m the geek who reads code at bedtime, who goes into ecstacy when the code bug is quashed, with 0 errors returned.

I’m the hacker who loves computers and the internet. Who finds out your Hotmail password, but comes away disappointed, because it’s a lovey-dovey phrase with your boyfriend’s name in there.

I’m the hacker who doesn’t hack technology anymore. Who prefers to hack minds. Especially my own.

I’m the jock who plays a lazy game, because I know I don’t need to play any harder.

I’m the jock who plays a crazy game. Even though my face is bleeding because you scratched me, and I’m limping because I’ve just sprained my right ankle, but it still doesn’t mean you get to shoot the ball.

I’m the geek who reads too much (every day?), maybe because I started too late; and reads too widely (from sports to philosophy), because I want to know too much; and reads too much weird stuff (ancient texts?), because… I’m just weird?

I’m the man who falls for you, because, I’m the man you want to love, because, really,

I’m the boy who falls for you, because, I’m the boy you want to love, because, really,

I’m the girl who listens and tries to understand you, and connects with you, and doesn’t mind your girly talk with your other girlfriends, or your whining and bitching over the phone, or even going shopping with you, because, I actually find it interesting.

I’m the one who knows myself more than you know yourself. I’m the one who knows you more than you know yourself. I’m the one who knows myself, and knows what I don’t know about myself, and… I don’t know myself.

I’m the one who thinks that you think you know me.

I’m the one.

But not the one you know.