  This blog is dedicated in loving memory to Salma's brain which has just recently been lost. Please, it is urgent, if somebody finds it contact us. There's a hefty reward!! seriously: thanks salma for actually inspiring us to inspire the world. Hello0o0o0 world. It’s us.
We really do exist. The crazy_twinz. How does one go about and start their first blog? Hmm…I think that we should introduce ourselves. We’re the Banawan twins and well, we’re often mistakenly called crazy. The truth is, we’re not crazy, but rather, gifted.
And so we have decided to share with the world all of our “gifted” thoughts. It’s actually kinda funny. Almost everyone at one point or another ends up calling us crazy, and a lot of people ask, “how can you talk to each other all day?” because, well we do talk to each other the whole day…and we do that because, we have weird thoughts the entire day that need to be discussed, analyzed, and made fun of . So, here you go: we’re opening a window into our lives; letting you take a glimpse of all that we do. “we have a world of our own. We’ll tell you things that no one else knows.” we’ll make you go crazy, but at the end of this, you’ll love us :D :D :D so you get to read former chats we had with some people, notes we pass to each other during class, and things we think up of.
Disclaimer: anything that you read, you read at your own jeopardy. Warning: if after reading the blogs you find yourself have insane or strange thoughts, and seeking the assistance of a physciatrist, we shall not take any blame. Thought number one: What is with the name Atomic kitten? Why is it necessary to add such an explosive word such as atomic to a friendly word such as kitten? I mean you might as well call yourself “Raging Butterfly; Bitter Daisy, Furious Bride.” It’s like these days it’s not acceptable to be nice and sweet: you have to have anger with the world to make it. You gotta be a “ Fiendish Angel.” But I don’t want you guys to think that a kitten is actually cute.
No, just because I called the word kitten in the beginning friendly doesn’t mean that they really are. The word kitten connate images of friendly little fluffy creatures; but in reality a kitten is a dangerous miniature tiger. It is a deadly creature with fangs, claws and what one could call a progressing roar. Kittens are not innocent creatures: they act all cuddly but right when you pick them up, they scratch you. You try to get them off, but you can’t. You run around the room screaming for someone to help you but instead, you find everyone else running away, shrieking and you think, “helloo0o I’m the one with the insane kitten clinging to me.” And you try to throw it off and hurt it, but then you realize that kittens always land on four feet and so there is no point in even trying to help it commit suicide by putting it on the balcony.
And so you give up to the fact that you do indeed have what one could call “an atomic kitten.” Thus, I have arrived at the conclusion that the reason one tends to call oneself such outrageous names is because one realizes that nothing in one hundred percent angelic, nor sweet. There has to be a hidden tiger somewhere or other inside of them. But you, know, I ‘m getting ahead of myself. I should start at the beginning. You know, I’ll start by giving you an autobiography. There are two of us- obviously since we’re twinz.
Actually, up until this year we were the only twins in my family. We were special in that way. But then, my uncle got married and had twins. Almost exactly 16 years later. It’s funny…my cousins have not only taken what was special about me, but managed to do it right almost my birthday so that there is nothing really special. Why did you say: It’s funny.
I don’t see what’s so funny about it! Speaking of having young cousins: I hate it. It’s just like what one of my best friends said: when you go and visit your relatives, they dump you with a two year old and say “go play.” What the heck go and play? I’m 16 years old not a toddler. What they really mean is go babysit the kids, make sure they don’t cry, clean their crap after them, and have fun in the process of doing what I don’t want to do: have fun taking care of the kids that I don’t want to take care of… the ones I dumped you with and make sure to burp them, and …..the list doesn’t finish. I have just changed my mind.
It would be utterly impossible for me to write an autobiography now. Too many stories, or anecdotes. Too many characters and no plot. You know, its summer here. The first real day of summer, but it feels like the weekend. Those two days that one always waits for in the beginning of the week, which in our case is Saturday.
(That means our weekend is Thursday and Friday) From about two weeks, the yearbooks have been making their rounds. Time to write messages. It suprises me how vain people are, myself included. Everybody wants their yearbook to be filled with messages on how great of a friend and person they are. Somebody you just said hi to once, becomes another person who just must write in your book. Your yearbook wouldn’t be complete without their inspirational writing.
So your book gets filled with bull and you can go home and read all those messages and marvel how you’ve affected so many people. There will be a couple messages with your name spelled wrong, but you won’t let that bother you. Things that you have no recollection of doing at all or saying, but because their message will include something about your “sweet, beautiful nature”, you’ll accept it readily enough. Almost all my messages had the same meaning: You’ve been such a great friend. You’re so sweet and I can always rely on you. Good luck on your exams.
Have a great summer. And I’ll miss you. How pathetic!! But then there are the true friends: and one doesn’t know or just can’t put to words how one feels. Because our heart has not a mouth for itself, and so our feelings can not be translated into words and put on paper. Enough of the philosophy you’re killing me!!
By da way, some of you guyz didn’t sign my year book yet. It’s kinda empty. I wrote in yours! I hope you are all reading this in a British accent: not that I have one. Hahaha. I just want you guys to sound like dorks.
Not that the British accents are dorky: it’s just that people always sound like dorks when they try to make an accent. Haha!! You know when we were trying to make up a name for our blog, our sis, offered “fairy dust”. Such a cute name. And there’s star dust too. There’s all these sweet, girlish dust names.
But I’ve never seen dust like that; all I’ve seen is JUST DUST! Little unwanted, black particles filling up the air causing diseases... I ,now, know the true mark of a pessimist. Here’s the true test: Tell the person in question “You’re a pessimist.” In almost every case, the pessimist will say, “I’m not a pessimist. I’m a realist.” And that’s how you know. As for us, we’re not pessimists…we’re just realists.
I’ve always thought it is stupid to be an optimist. I don’t see the point. Once, you have all these expectations and hopes you can only go down. Whereas, if you expect the worst thing in the world and imagine it 10x worse, then you can only go up. And feel better. It might be cowardly, but hey…its going to save me a lot of money at the shrinks.
So what was I saying again? Oh yeah, we’re Mariamina. Not Mama Mia, Mariamina. See, my name is Mariam. And my name is Amina. But if you write Mariam and then add ina, you have both our names.
Mariamina. That’s us!! Or you could just write half of mariam’s name: which would be mari, and then add all of amina’s name: so you would get Mariamina. My parents are clever wits aren’t they. Not! They didn’t figure it out.
We found it out by an accident: like all true discoveries that help humankind, we discovered an interesting way to combine those two precious names “amina and mariam”. Goodbye peoples. Take care, and remember to reach for the moon because even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars. Remember, always dream and hope … 
