We should all praise the Lord, Aslan, Brahma, Shiva and the Krivian Deity.

Praise the heavens, my friends, fellows and followers, for a storm hasn't occurred. The Hurricane Veronique (aka my mom) was not unleashed your humble servant because of her bad grades.

Indeed, I even judged myself more harshly than she did. Can you believe it? I don't get it. I have major fails in my major courses, and instead of being yelled, I'm told to 'watch out'. Not that I'm complaining -- I wouldn't dare -- but my whole world has just been turned upside down.

When I hand in bad grades, mom is angry. That's a given, something to scale the universe to. My little child self has this message engraved in her bones: bad grades = angry mom = no treats.

I've always known my father to be tolerant and understanding, but mom? That's new. He was even a little more lucid than she was: "Aren't you spending to much time on that netbook of yours?" Come on, dad. Really? Ya think?

I'll do better next time. Why? Because it's for me, not for them. I'm gonna show all those teachers who say I have to study more 'in detail' what I'm really worth. Because apart from gym, I'm not even running on half capacity yet.