An update.

Fear of something makes it larger than it really is. A simple, common truth that I forget again and again. It's actually mildly amusing when it happens. For example, last Thursday when we sat for GP, I went in and sat there thinking like, oh gosh, ok this is it, it's the A Levels!!! Every word I write is going to determine my future!! I must be extra careful!!!

And for around 5 minutes I could not actually calmly go through the list of questions, what with all that agitation inside me. And yet, after the paper, I realised that, hey, it was just another paper. It felt, afterwards, just like any other paper I've ever sat for in JC. Perhaps, one could almost call it anticlimatic. The atmosphere was just like after the prelims, or after BT2, or after BT1. It was like, oh well, here we are again in the hall, same old, same old, ladeedah, write the essay, pass it up, feels like any other class essay. You walk out of the hall and realise yes, it's still the same campus, stairs on your left, benches to your right, toilets ahead.

Somehow, I was subconsciously expecting more, like I thought the atmosphere would be more rarified, somehow exalted, the very air you breathe smelling more academic than usual. The Chief Presiding Examiner (for such a grand title I wished he looked more presidential) would announce dramatically, "Lo! It is the A Levels! At the opportune moment when the clock striketh Twelve, thou mayst begin thy furious writing! Godspeed and avaunt!" And then suddenly a clock will chime solemnly and the whole hall will look like some magnificent ancient Hall in Oxford or Cambridge with crumbling stone and ivy growing round the pillars, while beneath the vaulted roof march row upon row of wooden desks and seats, as far as the eye can see. And then one and a half hours later the clock will chime solemnly and the CPE will once again proclaim, "Behold! The hour is past and thy doom draweth nigh! Hold up thy pens and cease thy writing. Invigilators! (and here there would be a dreadful pause... before a sinister whisper) Collect their scripts..."

Oh well, compared to all that, I guess Potong Pasir just doesn't cut a very dashing figure. And it is for the best that the real thing isn't half as dramatic as my imagination. Familiarity still allows for the most ease in writing haha.