Well! I have a new template. It's um, very boring, yes, but I can't be bothered to find anything else. I'll just stick to what Blogger has. I changed because I;ve just switched to this new Beta Blogger thingy. Now it has improved layouts and management desktops, yada yada. I've been meaning to do it for a while now, never had the time. Well, this weekend just presented an opportunity, so here it is!

The End (almost)

I must say that I didn't feel particularly exhilarated after today's paper, partly because there were so many things to do immediately after it, like sign Mr Smith's card and rush off for lunch, and partly because, as always, the thought of the S Paper still to come was foremost in my mind. You'd expect that with every passing hour as the end draws nearer I'd get more excited, but the truth is actually counter-intuitive. I find that when the A Levels started, last Monday for instance, I was more hyped up as each paper passed, because I had the feeling that the end was drawing closer, that I was completing more papers each day, that I was actually doing productive work. Then, this week, today especially for instance, just when the A's are ending, I feel more and more impatient and lethargic actually, instead of happy, because to me it seems that despite all that's been done the end is still not here. This feeling happens all the time to me actually, on journeys especially. Like when I'm coming home from school sometimes, I feel ok at the start of the journey, but as I draw closer to home I get impatient cos each step is taking so long to bring me home. Actually come to think of it, I think it's a normal feeling. Beginnings are always fresh, but ends are often stale.

Anyway, I had lunch with Mr Smith today! He kept up a running commentary during lunch as you may imagine. Most of it was about dogs. He keeps a dog, a large crossbreed between Alsatian and something else which he's not sure of. He got it from the SPCA in 2000 anyway. Oh yeah, he's going to Cairns, and his dog has to leave one month in advance cos Australia has a one month quarantine rule for all animals entering the country. To prevent rabies epidemics and all...

But the most interesting thing was this. Owen asked him what Irish sounds like. Now a lot of us think the Irish speak English, or at least a variant of it, but in reality Irish is not English at all. It's Gaellic, with it's own alphabet and writing style. In pronunciation I suppose it sounds close to Tolkien's Elvish. Anyway, his name in Irish is actually Shawn MacGowan! That's not the proper spelling, I can't remember how he spelt it. I'm just typing it out the way it sounds. The "Mac" is pronounced as "muck", not "mack" like Macdonalds. "Mack" is the English pronunciation of it. In Irish it's "muck". And, "Mac" means "son of", like "Bin" in Malay. So he's basically Shawn son of Gowan. Ah, so now we know that Ewan MacGregor is the son of Gregor. (Ok, irrelevant digression)

Ah, dear old Mr Smith. I shall miss him when he leaves.

It started last Friday. First my grandmother came down with stomach flu, vomitting and all. Then late Saturday my maid had stomachaches till Sunday morning. During that night my mother got stomach flu too. And on Sunday morning my brother woke up not feeling well. It later developed into diarrhoea and vomitting.

Just as it seemed to subside (my brother's problem cleared up quickly on Monday and my maid was fine by Monday too. My mom was feeling better by yesterday night), my father caught it. He blames it on the char kway teow he ate yesterday for lunch. So now he's stuck at home with stomach flu too.

I have no idea why, but one by one all the members of my family are coming down with stomach flu-related problems. The symptoms seem to be primarily occupied with what comes out of either end of the body. Now, I am the last man standing, ha!

Turning Point

On this most auspicious of occasions (it is the weekend), I would like to take the opportunity to congratulate all of us taking this combi for making it thus far. I believe congrats are in order, not because the A's are over already, but for the sheer fact that we've made it through the most stressful week of our lives thus far, intact. Take time to consider this most wondrous fact, that as of today, each of you has completed 14 hours of A Level papers, 11 of which were done consecutively in one week, and all of which you never have to do again. Whether we have done well for each of those papers is another matter, and frankly, it is one that we cannot do anything about now and thus should not trouble our already troubled minds too much about. Rather, let us rejoice in the meer fact that we've actually sat for the papers, and completed them.

As for the rest, they should be relatively ok, even though I know I'm making an outrageous prediction here because after this week I think everyone knows the guys in Cambridge must have gone slightly off their rockers when setting our papers, but hey, I choose to be optimistic. Time will prove me wrong. Nevertheless, I marvel at the fact that it is actually Saturday, because I vividly remember last Saturday, when I was going around with thoughts of Monday plaguing me, thinking about how miserable the week was going to be. But tada! the week is over! We have only 2 more papers, 6 hours more. For us poor Lit S paper people we have 9 hours more, yes, and we have the unfortunate honour of being the last in Singapore to finish the A Levels, but still, The End is near!!! The bloody end is near!!! It's just nine freaking hours away!!!! Nine rather drawn out hours yes, but the end is still near!!! Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!!!

That brings me to my next point, which is yesterday's PC paper. I tell you, ever since Mrs Tan messaged me to ask what questions I did I've being going around muttering "sonnets" under my breath. The two bloody comparative poems were sonnets. Of course, it's not absolutely crucial to note that, but it would have been a bonus. I smack my head for not noticing that fact, because now the irony of the poems is further reinforced in hindsight by the usage of the sonnet form. Bloody sonnets. I can't seem to get that word out of my head. Sonnets. Of all the silly poems in the world, sonnets.

Ok ok, I'm going to stop thinking about it. I shall take my own advice and wash my hands clean of them. But I did truly like those poems. I love the word Ozymandias. So rich, so ancient, so exotic. "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" It echoes perfectly all those magnificent, dramatic and ancient statements that I'm so fond of. Hmm, I suppose that reveals something of my character haha. Power complex maybe.

On a sidenote, thank you to everyone who's commented positively on my last post, although I'm not quite sure why it's so critically acclaimed. I mean, I guess it's funny yes, but they're my genuine feelings. Ok, I'll concede that the crumbling walls thing was deliberately enhanced. I had merely a vague sense of bathos in the hall that day haha.

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.

Travel far

I was just reading Neil Humphrey's book on Singapore, and it made me feel incredibly sad. I was reading a chapter where he talks about his experience of going on a trip to America with a Singaporean tour group. The chapter was mainly about him griping about the usual ugly displays of kiasuism, but what struck me more was the fact that the itinerary he described seemed quite similar to the one I had when I visited the Land of the Free four years ago. And for that reason, it made me incredibly sad.

Call it nostalgia, but for me it was also a realization of the future. I suddenly remembered what it was like to stand on the hillside overlooking Toledo, Spain, a lovely medieval town. I suddenly remembered watching the waves of the Pacific crash onto the American coast. I suddenly remembered my family together on tour. And I also suddenly realised that such an experience might quite possibly never happen again.

You see, the last time I went on tour with my family was two years ago, after the O Levels. It was always my dream to go flying again after the A's, before I entered the army. That dream is now gone. And by the time I leave the army, I don't know if the circumstances will allow another trip. It is quite possible that my tour to Spain was my last family tour. And that struck me to the heart.

I walked out of my bedroom and I was suddenly struck by the sight of all those photos. My family displays photoframes of the places we've been in the living room. So everywhere I turned I saw pictures of us smiling, in San Francisco, Paris, Korea, Lisbon, Australia and so on. It sounds melodramatic but I really felt sad at that point. The only possible planes I'll be on in the next two years will be ugly green transports ferrying me to my next destination where I shall further my training in shooting, trekking in jungles, and generally trying to defend this island. Even when I do tour again it probably won't be the same again without my family. God, I hate the army for what they've done.

To the guys who only enlist in January or April, to the girls who don't have to enlist at all, please, buy a plane ticket, and go somewhere with your loved ones before it's too late. If all travel does is to broaden our horizons, it will have been enough. There is more to this world than this concrete jungle ensconced by water.

As for me, there remains a box of chocolates.

Yesterday part of the cell went to Woodlands to celebrate Tedric's birthday. Yes, Woodlands, of all places. At first I was shocked, cos the message read that he had a night out so I assumed that he had the whole night out in which case why go to Woodlands if his camp is nearby? It turned out that army guys get Wednesday night off each week, but they have to return to camp by the end of the night.

However instead of the birthday boy being the center of attention, it was Shannon. Shannon is this most adorable four month old baby with absolutely marvellous large round eyes. I'm a sucker for large round eyes in babies. She has cute little bulldog cheeks (it doesn't sound nice here, but you have to imagine her cheeks bulging out, a bit like a bulldog's), and she hardly ever cries. It is technically possible to just sit and watch her for hours without growing bored. She has the entire cell enraptured everywhere she goes, and it's impossible to describe her cuteness wihout using superlatives all day long. She's just soooo cuuuttteee!!

However, Shannon is also a sign of our age. By the time she's 18, I'll be 36. When she's 21, I'll be 39. When your cell leader becomes a father, you know you're growing old. I really can't imagine the cell walking around, middle aged, while Shannon and co. run past, echoes of our long lost youth. It will be, "Hi, Uncle Joel! Hi, Uncle Landy! Hi Aunty Anna, etc..", while I, in polo tee and shorts (the classic uncle look as Quek calls it) watch on benevolently. Benevolence. The very word implies age.

Ah well, there is a certain dignity in a paunch and shiny top. I can very well imagine myself sipping kopi in the verandah of the club house after a game of golf somewhere in Malaysia.

In other news, I have somewhat to say about the haze. I can't stand this irritating white smog everywhere I go. Even now as I write I'm breathing in ash. Every morning upon awakening I see my surrounding neighbourhood blanketed in white clouds. As you may know, I live on the 19th floor, so I command a view of the entire south of the island. On a normal day I can see the whole city, plus Orchard Road (I can even see Tangs and Ngee Ann City). Now, all I see day after day is a blank wall in every direction. It wouldn't even be so bad if it didn't smell so much like smoke. The only redeeming quality about the haze I can think of is the European fog-like ambience it gives Singapore, albeit a choking, smelly fog-like quality...

In the light of the North Korean nuclear crisis and the worsening international relations with the Dear Leader, I have seen fit to create a new email account for business only. If you look at my current email address you will understand why I have undertaken this move. I don't think universities or scholarship committees would be very impressed with the sentiments my address seems to imply I have. I will still be using the current account though, since all my messanger contacts are there. If anyone wants my new account just msg me and I'll send it over. But no spamming please...

These are the last days

These are the last days of the sun at dawn,
The morning draws to a close.
Weep farewell to the mists of youth
That softened the glare of life.
What though the mid-day be glorious
And the sun's light strongest?
Strong light burns harshest.
And have not men turned fey
In a quest for second birth?
Yet, to Cuivienen there is no returning,
And the sun, being risen, must fade into evening.
Let us therefore make our farewells sweet,
And gird up our loins as we speak,
For these are indeed the last days of the sun at dawn.


When I got home today I was seized by a strong realization that tomorrow, my twelve years of education in St. Andrew's formally draws to a close. Of course, I've known this fact all along. But knowing something and knowing it are two different things. That realization brought a tinge of sadness along with it. It's like an entire chapter of my life is now closing. No more classes, no more morning assemblies, no more morning devotions, no school song, no national anthem, none of the regularity of the school year, no more teachers. My childhood ends tomorrow. From then on we are on our own, borne along only by the support of friends and family. But in the rest of our lives, especially the educational sphere, we will be for the first time truly on our own. There will be no teachers in the conventional sense to guide, just distant professors. The spoon feeding comes to an end. And in the looming background, now drawing all too close with every passing day, is that terrible debt of service to the nation, my pound of flesh.

I think a lot of people feel it differently from me. In class I think only Hanis would understand what I mean when I say a chapter in my life is closing. For others I think it is also the end of a part of their lives, but they might have already gone through institutional changes in the past, so tomorrow, the end for them means the end of formal pre-university education. For me it's that plus more, the end of the St. Andrew's era in my life. The end of that unique brand of education through all my formative years, warts and all. It will not be long before I stop wearing the blue and the white forever. I think I'll go and preserve my uniforms.

Yesterday in school while I was buying food Mr Lian walked up to me and patted me on the baxk, asking how I was, how I did for the prelims. I was quite surprised actually, since I only know him because of College Day. It's nice having a fellow kinsman in school, hahaha.

Later that day I went out for dinner with John, Kevin and Vincent, the Presidents' Association of Elohim (PAE), hahah. I love seeing these guys around in school. They never fail to brighten my day. I think I'm very blessed in a way to have my cell members in school. It's a pity I'm only fully appreciating this fact at the end of my tenure in JC. People like them really remind me of God's love; that warm, understanding environment where Christ is the head of the family. I wish at times I could just spend the rest of my days in church, but then again church is where we are empowered to go out into the world, and we can't all be hermits.

Introspection and humility

Introspection is a thing sorely lacking in our world. There are too many people busy peering into other people's lives, giving their own opinions and comments about them, without once considering their own lives. I have no doubt that this world would be a better place if everyone thought before they spoke, and by think here I mean not merely to check if what you want to say is sensible, but also if it is necessary, and helpful to the situation. The greatest problem with advancing such a stance, however, is that in order to promote introspection, a judgement first has to be made on the current practices of others, which is in itself a contradiction of the principle of introspection,that is, to judge not. You see, one can never tell people, "do not judge", or "think before you speak", or "consider the feelings of others if you were in their shoes", without arousing the self-defensive instincts of others. The reaction is almost invariably to hit back. "How dare you judge me yourself! Practice what you preach," or "It's very well for you to say so, but I don't see you doing what you just said". These are possible responses. And since the person who raises the objection to judging in the first place usually cannot respond credibly to such accusations, the cycle of accusation and recrimination goes on (sounds like Long Day's, I know, but it's the only way I could think of to express my point haha). Introspection can never be effectively preached; it must first be practiced.

It is a sad state of affairs, because it is a point desperately in need of acceptance, and yet one that few can propagate effectively. To be introspective, or to be circumspect, is a message superficially well-received from pulpits. I say superficially, because when preached from pulpits everyone of course agrees with it. After all, they think, X really ought to mind his business, or, how I wish Y could hear this message, what a slap to the face that would be. And therein lies the irony. That while listening to a message of introspection people would be busily thinking about all the people who should practice more introspection, without considering how the message applies to themselves. What is even more distressing is that apart from the pulpit the only really effective way to bring home such a point would be to raise it in those particular situations where introspection and consideration of others' feelings most need to be practiced, since those moments are the ones where people can really be made to see how introspection actually applies to their own, internal lives. And yet, those moments are also the ones where people get most defensive, since the credibility of whoever is raising the point can never be entirely secure, unless of course it was a pastor, in which case the defensiveness might be transformed into private mutterings of "It's easy for him to say..."

And so the problem perpetuates itself. If anything I think this is something that's been brought to my mind repeatedly recently, so maybe God's trying to tell me something. You know what's the biggest obstacle to introspection? Pride. Admitting that you have a plank in your own eye. The fear of others saying, Ha, he's finally learnt his lesson. Sometimes, isn't it easier to continue in a sin simply to avoid the admittance of guilt? Because to change one's ways would be to admit one was wrong in the first place.

Introspection must go hand in hand with humility.

I came home, and felt completely exhausted after a bath. It's been happening more often these days. It's as if the experience of going through a school day is just so physically draining now. Maybe it's just the tension of waiting to get back all the results. Do you realise today is only Thursday? One week ago we were still revelling in our post prelim freedom. In fact, it's only been less than two weeks since the end of the prelims. And yet, it seems so long ago when I wrote the last sentence of the last essay of the last paper. Paradoxically, the five weeks left before the first A Level paper seem too short for me. Hai, I just want to get back all my results quickly so I can stop mental marking and anticipating and actually focus on pure mugging.

Today we got back our Lit pc paper. I shall not talk much about that here. What's done is done, really, and I shall just pray that in the A's I'll interpret the passages correctly.

What was more interesting was our GP lesson. An essay question on God and Science turned into a really philosophical discussion, the kind I like. Morality is such a fascinating field of study. Someone once said that it takes more faith to be an atheist than to believe in God. I really think that's true. Science is actually a poor place to begin if you want to disprove the existence of God. So many physicists have turned believers in recent years because their study of the universe throws up more and more evidence of the unmistakable print of Intelligent Design. The chances of life randomly forming out of inanimate matter, back at the beginning of the universe, were as low as if a tornado were to blow into a warehouse and accidentally form a working Boeing 747 plane, as a researcher once put it. Ignoring all other evidence, I think even this point alone must give atheists pause. They say we believe blindly, ignoring all the evidence against God. On the contrary, I say we have made a thorough study of the universe, and having found it incredible that such a world as this could exist by chance, have reached the logical conclusion that at least a creative higher power exists. Which is more unbelievable? That the Red Sea could part due to divinely directed wind, or that by random chance the human brain, in all its marvellous complexity so much so that if even one small part were out of place it would cease to function, could evolve from inanimate matter? It's like believing the pieces of a watch could assemble themselves to form a fully working device by the chance of a hundred million years. Nay, for all of creation redounds to the glory of God, so that men are left without excuse.

Deep thinking on a Thursday afternoon, and we're only scratching the surface. I'm going to bed...

Reading through various blogs I began to hope that as we age, or should I say mature, our angst will decrease. I won't say a majority, but a great many of the blogs I've seen are filled with posts that reek of teenage angst. I sometimes wonder why so many people around this age seem to go through such miserable, dysfunctional private lives. Perhaps that's over-stating the problem a bit. Everyone has their own internal problems after all, and God knows I flare up in angst from time to time. And angst itself (such a..."teenage" word), is not strictly confined to adolescence. It is used to describe a strong feelings of unhappiness and anxiety about a situation in life. I think the reason why it's been applied to teenagers so often is because this is the age group that handles problems worst. We are not more prone to troubles than others. We just handle them badly, and out of the mire of our messes there arises a need for catharsis or expression, amply found in blogging. And because if this, we see plenty of blog posts filled with rants and angst, spewing forth frustration at the world/school/whatever's-bothering-you-now. This therefore exaggerates the actual amount of angst in the lives of teenagers, making them all easily stereotyped as emo/angsty/conflicted types.

Then there's another, simpler explanation of course, that we all really lead such miserable lives, and that the angst in blogs is not exaggerated at all, but rather an honest expression of misery and frustration. Indeed, who can say how miserable one should feel before becoming angsty? One person's molehill is another's mountain.

If you ask me though, I subscribe more to the first explanation, but like every good arts student I realise there are many factors in this issue, therefore no one explanation is sufficient haha. And I would add that teenage angst is often exaggerated because of language. I am quite sure that people of all ages and of all time periods in history suffer from angst, but one reason why this particular generation seems so angsty is because of its language. Vulgarities and curses adorn the pages of many a blog, because in this day and age, the f-word is apparently the best way of expressing one's frustration. And since the f-word was orginally created as an extremely vulgar word, its assimilation into the everyday language of youths, indeed of society in general, must appear as a reflection of the moral degradation of our time, that we have allowed our standards to slip. And what is more, the development of blogging has allowed people to post such language online for the world to see, where once it was confined only to conversations. This therefore amplifies the sense of angst among the youth of today. No doubt the people of the past had their own unique curses, but I do believe rectititude, self-control, and social grace was higher then, thereby limiting the coarseness of everyday language.

In conclusion therefore, I have no idea why I posted that whole load of pseudo-pyschoanalysis and why the whole thing began to sound like a gp essay. It's the first time in a long time I've posted on a random issue out of the blue, I think. Haha, ah well, I think I'm too bored...

After such a long and tiring day in school yesterday, I went to Glutton's Bay with the cell for dinner. Had a really fun time with them, taking all sorts of ridiculous pictures and such. Photo whoring has never been my thing. I really can't stand taking picture after picture. I don't know why some people like doing so. I mean, yeah, a picture or two is nice, for posterity's sake and remembrance. But really, sometimes people just take pic after pic like they're never going to see each other again, and for goodness' sake, we're in Singapore lah. Pictures by the merlion, gosh... But I'll have to concede that it was all in good fun haha, and I was in high spirits anyway.

Which, I might add, I was not in for a considerable portion of the day. I'm rather upset over my econs essay grades, because they're all so mediocre when I could really have scored at them. But my mcq marks made up for them, and if all goes well with case study and drq I should be able to secure a B, which I'll be happy with. In the meantime, the overall effect of the results has been to motivate me once more to start revising again. I shall start planning my study timetable, although I should probably add here that I've never been good at setting, much less following study timetables. Still, they provide a certain amount of inspiration, like setting goals.

Sushi. I had sushi with Quek yesterday at a restaurant that shall not be named for diplomatic purposes. Anyway we got ourselves all bloated up, and also received a lasting stench of fish for the rest of the day. I tell you, that place absolutely reeks of fish. If not for the fact that you can eat as much as you want I think I would seriously consider not patronising it for both lack of comfort (the smell) and questionable freshness of food (the smell again).

After that we watched The Banquet. Now, it is supposed to be a Chinese adaptation of Hamlet, and while the plot is roughly the same (I say roughly), it simply lacks the flow, or same emotional power as the original. After so many martial arts films coming out of China I think everyone in the West thinks Chinese people must have been brilliant in ancient times at sword fighting and such, and that we all fly here and there when we fight. Transposing that style of martial arts onto Hamlet produces rather ridiculous results. For example, the "Laertes" figure rescues the "Hamlet" figure from assassination by popping out of the ground with his men, and simultaneously killing all the would-be assassins via cross-bows fired in mid air. In another scene, two soldiers fly out of water onto a bridge to halt an oncoming charge of the enemy. Those moments produced more laughs than melodrama.

Then there's the role of the characters. Of course, since Zhang Ziyi's the big star in the movie she gets the most limelight, effectively reducing the screen time of the "Hamlet" figure. This means that the one doing most of the angsty thinking is no longer Hamlet, but rather Ziyi, who plays the Empress, or the "Gertrude" figure. Gertrude is transformed from the mother of Hamlet, into his childhood sweetheart, a change I cannot understand. And, she becomes a scheming venomous female dictator reflctive of the real life Empress Dowager Cixi. Because the focus is no longer Hamlet but rather the whole tangled mass of schemes, the plot loses its intellectual and emotional driving force, since we feel no sympathy for Zhang when she dies or Hamlet when he dies. In short, the movie doesn't work.

What it did for me however, was to spur me to read Hamlet again, which I'm doing for s paper anyway and which I've never thoroughly covered. So i guess at least one good thing came out of it haha.

So, that was yesterday. Today I woke up feeling terribly sleepy since by body clock hasn't readjusted tself, and that feeling carried through for the rest of the day. Got back GP and SEA history papers today. I truly truly thank God for my grades thus far because they're better than I expected. I can say my efforts at SEA history after the debacle of BT2 really paid off. Now, we wait for the rest of the papers...

Updates, updates, updates. I watched Singapore Dreaming today with Beni and Dai Wei. Very good show, easily beats Jack Neo's increasingly commercialised and melodramatic social commentaries. In a sense, it felt like a Singaporean Long Day's Journey Into Night. You aren't moved to tears; you're moved to pity, and to try to understand the conflicting threads in that very Singaporean family. I liked the scene of one of those paper houses at Chinese funerals going up in flames. A very visual reminder of how every material thing in life ultimately ends in death.

Oh yes, I got the V for Vendetta DVD on Saturday! Now I shall be able to re-watch the V speech again, haha.

Nothing much left to say, except perhaps my growing anxiety about the exam results. Hai, truth be told I don't know what to expect from Lit. I certainly hope I won't face the same fiasco at BT2, but then again one never knows. Failure is out of the question, but you also never know if you can score. I know, I know, I shouldn't worry, but I simply can't help it. I've always been a worry wart. I have to learn to leave it all in God's hands.

Post-Prelims

Finally, it's over, for now. How can I adequately describe the feeling of writing the last sentence of the last paragraph of the last essay, knowing that in less than a minute the announcement to stop writing will come? I think it can be described as sheer relief. Like a load off your back.

At last the prelims are over. I guess it's fitting that the last paper should be the hardest. Go out guns ablazing eh? But in any case, I truly thank God for seeing me through this stressful and tiring period. The grades, come as they may, are now entirely in His hands. Whatever doubts I have about the papers are, well, unimportant right now. Not like they can do anything. Now, for the next week or so I shall rest and relax. Ahh... It's nice to spend a weekend knowing you have nothing to do after it.

So after the paper yesterday I went off to church for the concert thanksgiving dinner. Not without a final crisis unfolding first of course, which thankfully had a happy ending. After that I went back to chat and eat with the cell. It's always nice to be back in the company of people with a common love. I liked the videos the media team created for each of the dances. Too bad there was nothing about the poets, but then again, filming someone speaking isn't exactly prime-time material. Then we went off to Macs for some supper and more senseless banter, and finally back home. For once, a peaceful sleep undisturbed by thoughts of the morrow. Ignorance, thy name is bliss.

I feel the urge to debate. Maybe now is the time to consider more unpleasant matters eh, owen? Hmm, but that would be ironic in the light of my last paragraph, haha.

Prelims Part 2, Day 4

Mrs Elizabeth Choy, former teacher in St. Andrew's School, has died. With her passing, the nation, and school, loses another of its war heroes. For it was through her experiences, and her story, that succeeding generations of Singaporeans gained a first hand account of the horrors of occupation and of the Kempeitai, and it was through her that we gain that enduring image of the simple wartime meal of porridge and tapioca. For my part I'll always remember the story of her scrubbing the prison toilet with a stone till it became smooth, and her appearances at Founder's Day each year.

On another note, today I completed the penultimate paper of the prelims. My mood gets better as Friday draws nearer. Tomorrow we shall go at it one last time for this season, another swing at the Cold War. I'm going to give it my best shot, if I can. Pre-exam visualisations are always good, although they must be tempered with qualifications. Here's praying for the best!

Prelims, Part 2, Day 1

Our games being done, we plunge back into the whirlpool to witness the tragic loading of a Moorish bed, and such like. I trust that my bewilderment was not as bad as the weaver's and that I was actually writing sense. It felt like the day on which we did GP, where I got to school feeling all bleary-eyed from a lack of sleep. Well, it will pass, although right now, I'd rather have an amorous liaison in a garden than study. But sacrifices have to be made.

So, we are back into the fray. Two thirds of lit is done, and the rest of the week looks set to be one of non-stop rushing and mugging. I'm looking forward to the dinner on Friday, where I can unwind again. There are benefits to starting the prelims earlier. You don't spend so much time in anxiety before it, and you finish earlier. Ah well, here's to the end then.

We had a buddy group outing yesterday! To Turf City, of all places. To eat steamboat, like the ones at Marina South. The place was so ulu, like some lost part of Singapore still stuck in the 1980s.

I've never particularly liked steamboat, the fried kind. I prefer traditional steamboats where you actually steam the food, not fry it ala Seoul Garden style. Everytime I eat that kind of steamboat I feel the need to go home, bathe, and detoxify. It's like the oil gets everywhere. Oh well, but it makes for great fellowship time I suppose.

The problem with having the holidays in between the prelims is that, while it provides a breather and much needed revision time, it also creates the extremely strong illusion of a holiday. An illusion that I unfortunately allow myself to fall for time and time again. Oh well, I guess I need to continually kick myself in the behind to get back to work.