no nondeterminism

Somewhere in the past I said  “there’s this guy who keeps on asking the prof and he’s really really annoying. it’s like, hello dude, that’s what he just said and you’re asking about it. ” …and he turns out to be one of my few friends in college. HAHAHA.

After a long night of forcing myself to finish a lab that was due five days ago, I finally woke up this morning to find that the compiler is making fun of me. “You are one stupid person. You don’t deserve to get the right results so I will give you bogus ones!” 

Given the set {5, 10} it said that the minimum was 5 and the maximum was 6. Way to go.

It gives me right answers with the other file that contained the same stuff. Messed up, *, *,*,*.

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I hab e kwestiyon.

If people grow up and mature as much as they want to, will there ever be a limit to it?

00003

There’s a certain neighborhood in Tandang Sora, Quezon City where we used to live. I spent half of my grade school days living in that area.
My sister and I were once playing hide and seek, or some other game. We liked to play with the dirty laundry, because my Mom would leave it somewhere and we can easily get them all out and throw them around. At one point, I decided to play with the pillowcases and bed covers. My sister and I would have our own pillowcase and we would wear them on our legs, just like they use sacks on relays. We played a shipwreck game where there was a storm and I had to rescue her because she was stuck on top of the island (of dirty clothes), if that’s what really happened (according to my memory). I went downstairs and hid somewhere knowing she’ll look for me.
My Dad came home and asked where my sister is. I led him upstairs and found that my sister has fallen asleep on top of the island.

We don’t play games anymore. There’s no longer piles of dirty laundry in the middle of the room. It just makes me wonder if I’ll do the same thing of leaving and hiding, and later on finding out there’s much more to that dirty pile of clothes – there’s a little kid dreaming on top of it.

00002

Missing a gazillion classes in college don’t seem too tough, but missing just a single day in first grade made such a huge impact. The first, and finally last, failing grade that an educational institution spat at me was a 79. It was in Art class when I was in first grade. The teacher assigned a plate for us to finish on the same day or something but I wasn’t able to pass it, nor did I pass a number of art plates due after that.
I remember my Mom crying to the principal because it’s such a pointless class with one unfair teacher.
Maybe she got what she deserved, and I probably did, too.
** no idea why I remember the “fail” moments and not the good ones. maybe later.

Nonsensical issues.

There’s too much oversight of the small things and that delays us.
But that’s okay. Time isn’t too precious cause we’ve discovered all 11 dimensions, no?