Somewhere I Belong

I originally wanted to divide this post into two halves, with the former being polite and reasonable, while the second half was rude, loud and very very unreasonable. Because, of course, we are unreasonable and superficial and unsympathetic beings.

But today I’m kinda busy and distracted, so I’ll post the first part (the polite and good part) first.
Also because I emo-tranced earlier, so I kinda relieved a lot of the pressure and stress and anger in my subconscious.

If it wasn’t for that, all that bottled-up stress would have certainly ensured a very angsty and vulgar blog post. Psychologists were very right about that stress thing.

But anyway.

So this post is titled ‘Somewhere I Belong’. I’m sure there’s a song out there somewhere with this title. Something tells me it’s a Linkin Park number, but I don’t listen to them too much unless I have to, so I’m using the song title just for emphasis and a point.

You know, I believe that every one of us has a destined purpose in life. We have a journey, we have a road to take, and I’m sure out there somewhere there’s a Book with all that information about all the five billion of us on this Earth.

For many of MY (read: 16) years, I’ve been trying to figure out just what this purpose is. CCAs, academics, extra-curricular activities have all boggled me for years. I’ve even tried my hand at singing, albeit recording covers to the best of my ability, using my knowledge of recording equipment, etc. I’ve taken part in years and years of Drama Feste, interacted with scores and scores of people, and actually, this blog can be a testament to it, because this good friend has been with me for a long long time.

But it’s not until I come to RJC that I find my ‘tru calling’. At the same time, I find I’m even more distanced and further away from my purpose. Is it contradictory? It sounds so.

Quick Side-track, but not really. If you’ve watched Heroes, you know one of the most repeated things Peter Petrelli says is ‘Do you ever get the feeling, you were meant to do something extraordinary?’

It may sound cliched, but it’s not. No, it’s not.

I mean, there are scripts out there with lines about life, and death, and finding purpose, and conflict, and soul-searching, blah blah, but that line alone just explains everything I feel, and that line carries more truth and answers than loads and loads of questions and rhetoric.

Everything that represents me right now, I have developed as I moved along the course of roughly 7-9 years. And I am proud of that, of who I am, but at the same time, it’s left me feeling a bit bewildered.

Let me explain, perhaps most suitably with my CCAs.

My CCAs now are presently: Raffles Canoeing, Astronomy Club and Writer’s Guild.

(Yeah, yeah, 3 CCAs can’t be allowed, whatever. I’ll figure something out, but we won’t go there.)

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Let’s start with canoeing.

It is perhaps the sport and activity I have felt most familiarity with, and the one that leaves me with the greatest freedom and has given me the greatest joy. I am not exaggerating one bit.

When I was in Secondary Two, I had my first ever taste of being on the water. Not IN the water, ON the water. And that’s something I have always marvelled at. And the thing about canoeing is that it’s all about YOURSELF.

No, no, I’m not dissing other water CCAs. The thing with sailing is that it uses wind, and of course lots of skill which is needed to maneuvre (sp.) the craft according to wind and sea conditions. And there is dragonboating, which is hard and tough and needs teamwork.

But I felt an affinity to canoeing, and because of how primitive it is.

I’ve told people before, I’ve felt most comfortable with water. In water, on water, with water. Not fire, DEFINITELY not air (if you know my fears) and Earth is okay with me. But water gives life, and is fluid, and is cold to the touch, but can also be warm to the touch.

In the past all I’ve done was expedition-type canoeing (something like Round-Ubin, only 10 times less xiong) and being out there with the seawater and the waves and the wind and the sun and the peaceful skies was something that I found solace in.

When I went for the canoeing clinic in December last year, lo and behold, there were trees too at MacRitchie (duh, right?) and not as strong waves. The whole nature of it, the basic primitive and humane and connective nature of it, the ability to be in a moving craft, powered only by your own arms, was alluring.

Immediately I knew I wanted to be going out onto that reservoir and breathe in all of that life and feel all that energy, and the only way to do that was to get into this CCA.

Does it sound a bit too much? Perhaps, to you. To those who don’t know what or how I feel. But I know many of you do.

Alaric, for example, to his tennis. When he swings that Prince Speedport Red, there is something there, an energy to what he does that can never be replicated by one who does not have the same sort of passion as he does for tennis. Chris Fang, for example, to rugby. When he plays rugby, you’d better not get in his way or good bye to you!

And that’s something like how I feel, though this emotion is specific to everyone, and what they do best. It of course involves a energetic activity, and for mine this is what I have a passion for.

Which makes me pissed when some people question my ability to perform in the CCA. Don’t try to pretend you don’t know what i’m talking about. You who know me, you who whisper behind my back, and you who make deragatory comments of ‘wonder’, you know who you are.

Which makes me pissed when some people judge me, and think they are levels above me. They heighten their own egos because they think that they are more superior than I, but I have to tell them, tell YOU, that this is sadly and sorely untrue and you are one misguided hell of a soul.

If I have the ability to make the choice and convince, then I have the ability to stay in it and perform.

But that’s for the next post.

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Astronomy Club, I fathom, dates back to Secondary One, when the Powers That Be placed me down in front of a campfire (for those from the batch of 2007 who still remembers that day) singing the batch song We Are The Young.

I remember looking up, for long moments before the fire was lit, or lit fully. Those stars in the sky amazed me.

For people like Si Kai, his exposure came something like mine, only younger, but my time of discovery came on that night. Away from street lights, away from the bustle of the city, and into a dark place, surrounded by trees and other young people like I.

The stars were so warm, warmer than the fire, so comforting, more comforting than the company. I remember it like it was yesterday. All those stars, so magnificent, and all conjoined together on one big canvas of black emptiness.

They stretched on and on and on, and then I wondered how did I never discover them before?

I sat there watching, even as the fire was lit. Even as we sang the songs, and cheered the cheers, my eyes watched the stars, and gazed at the sheer brilliance of them, as one whole, us, on Earth, just one other dot in the sky from an otherworldly viewpoint.

That was the extent of my life and existence in the modern city, changed all in that one short period of time.

I never discovered the sky until that night.

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Lastly, Writer’s Guild.

I guess this will be the shortest ‘introduction’, even though for me writing has always been a way to relieve the pressures and stress of life, and I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember.

Already, on this blog, I’m showing just how much I enjoy writing, just how much writing is a part of me, a substantial component of my life.

I cannot imagine not being able to write, not being able to imagine, to create scenes and life, not being able to tell stories and craft worlds. That is pure painful for me.

And writing has already transcended to many levels for me. Songwriting, storywriting, scriptwriting, poetry, commerical blogging… I have so much to say about writing and putting pen to paper that any short sentences here would not be sufficient, nor would it do justice.

What am I trying to say here, after enduring through so many lor-so words?

I’m saying that for me, the fact that I have been accepted into these CCAs, these CCAs that I’ve wanted for almost ALL of my teenage schooling life, is a dream come true for me.

Just one of those smaller dreams (because World Peace hasn’t been achieved yet!) but this is enough to tell me how much I have been developed, how much my past has shown me where to go for my future, a destiny of sorts, if you will.

I don’t know what will happen in the future, for starters, I have 3 CCAs, so maybe I’ll drop one of them (I kinda know which one I’m dropping already, basically the one I have access to every single day).

However, I have discovered that having these CCAs do not make me or define me.

Rather, what I do IN them, what I do WITH them, with my time, with the activities, will define me. I do feel bewildered about my place in the school, and the whole transition thing, but that one I’ll combine with the rather-vulgar post, because I believe those issues stem from one big problem.

And cliched though it may sound, I believe I am meant to do something big.

Don’t hold your breath though, for tomorrow you may find out I have murdered half of RJC with a gun or something.

But whatever it is I do, I believe it will be big, and it will be heard.

I know, this post is long and it’s very reflective (not emo, because this post is clearly NOT emo) but I hope by reading this, you have discovered something for yourself, and realized something too, just like how I discovered and realized the skies on the night of Sarimbun Orientation Campfire.

Don’t give up on your dreams, and your aspirations and what you saw yourself doing in your mind’s eye. I know I won’t.

26th January

***UPDATED!***

OK, firstly, I am very tempted to turn this post into a major ranting session.

It’s like out of all the Saturdays in 2008, like out of all the weekends in the year, out of all the times in the cosmic universe, 26th January 2008 is the day when the Powers That Be decided to congregate my 1st ever canoeing training, the SAT Reasoning Test (yes, full name of it) and Australian Open 2008 Women’s Finals into one meagre day.

Goodness, my Saturday (only tomorrow so far) is packed like hell!!!!!!!

Okay, I’ll promise I’ll blog again tomorrow or on Sunday if and when I catch my breath, cos this post is just for random’s sakes and for me to complain.

I got a good post coming up, really.

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UPDATE!!!

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Disclaimer: If you can’t stand F-words, stay far far away from this part of the post. You may find me childish, you may find my priorities wrong, but this is just how I feel at this moment in time. I don’t really care what you say cause I AM PISSED.

And damn, will I show it.

So some people say the SAT is good.

Some people say the SAT is a good guage of one’s brainpower, etcera etcera etcera. Of course many US colleges base admissions on the SAT and admission essay.

Personally, I felt as though I had purely wasted the good fucking part of a day, and in translation, lost four hours of my life.

FOUR FREAKING HOURS. That’s a lot of time, you know.

A lot, a lot, a lot of time.

And at the end of it, I have no idea what I had just gone through. All I know is that there were a lot of grammar errors to be found and corrected, and simple calculations to be made. I felt like I was at PSLE all over again. What happened to the logical thought process?

Maybe it was because I had better things to do on 26th January. Like I mentioned previously earlier, I had my first canoeing training (a rare, VERY TREASURED, and VERY VERY FUN water session), as well as the Australian Open women’s finals showing on later in the afternoon.

Sharapova, by the way, won. Congratulations.

But still…

I know, some of you say. Prioritize! Make executive decisions! Surely an exam is more important than canoeing (hmm…well…) or Australian Open (okay, that one Alaric taped already) but it’s not the EXAM per se, it’s the LENGTH of it.

It’s FOUR FUCKING HOURS!!!

Goodness, I have never felt so horrified in my entire life. Later all the Rafflesians who went concurred it was immensely boring. I’m not saying the standard of the test is very easy (It was far from difficult, though) but I’m saying it’s four hours worth of my time, executed not in one long go, but in intervals of 25 minutes and 5 minute breaks.

The prospect of a long morning was in sight, and all I kept thinking of was, “Why me?” Why fucking me?!?!?!

It was painful, to say the least, because of the sheer repetition of the questions, the fucking horrible invigilator, who mumbles so much he is practically speaking another language and the opportunity cost I was thinking of all the time, just contemplating what else I could have done with FOUR FUCKING HOURS!

Yes yes, it’s a chance and all, and it’s important for overseas college admission, and how people would pay for it, and blah blah.

But someone should really rethink the whole SAT structure. ALL the sections seem so similar! I have no idea which sections test what skill, because basically they are THE FUCKING SAME!

At least one section should have analogies, another should have grammatical corrections, but nooo… there were so many redundant parts and redundant comprehension passages I felt like banging my head against the table just so I wouldn’t have to read another boring monologue-ish piece of crap.

I just hope I’ll never have to go for another test like this one. It was agonizing.

Ah, so wasted, first water training somemore.

Paranoia: A Chant

Stephen King is a fucking genius.

To substantiate, read the following poem and tell me how you could possibly NOT be impressed after you read it.

Paranoia: A Chant

As extracted from Skeleton Crew (1985)

I can’t go out no more.
There’s a man by the door in a raincoat smoking a cigarette.

But

I’ve put him in my diary
and the mailers are all lined up
on the bed, bloody in the glow
of the bar sign next door.

He knows that if I die
(or even drop out of sight)
the diary goes and everyone knows the CIA’s in Virginia.

500 mailers bought from 500 drug counters each one different
and 500 notebooks
with 500 pages in every one.

I am prepared.

I can see him from up here.
His cigarette winks from just
above his trenchcoat collar
and somewhere there’s a man on a subway
sitting under a Black Velvet ad thinking my name.

Men have discussed me in back rooms.
If the phone rings there’s only dead breath.
In the bar across the street a snubnose
revolver has changed hands in the men’s room.
Each bullet has my name on it.
My name is written in back files
and looked up in newspaper morgues.

My mother’s been investigated;
thank God she’s dead.

They have writing samples
and examine the back loops of pees
and the crosses of tees.

My brother’s with them, did I tell you?
His wife is Russian and he
keeps asking me to fill out forms.
I have it in my diary.
Listen —
listen
do listen:
you must listen.

In the rain, at the bus stop,
black crows with black umbrellas
pretend to look at their watches, but
it’s not raining. Their eyes are silver dollars.
Some are scholars in the pay of the FBI
most are the foreigners who pour through
our streets. I fooled them
got off the bus at 25th and Lex
where a cabby watched me over his newspaper.

In the room above me an old woman
has put an electric suction cup on her floor.
It sends out rays through my light fixture
and now I write in the dark
by the bar signs glow.
I tell you I know.

They sent me a dog with brown spots
and a radio cobweb in its nose.
I drowned it in the sink and wrote it up
in folder GAMMA.

I don’t look in the mailbox anymore.
The greeting cards are letter-bombs.

(Step away! Goddam you!
Step away, I know tall people!
I tell you I know very tall people!)

The luncheonette is laid with talking floors
and the waitress says it was salt but I know arsenic
when it’s put before me. And the yellow taste of mustard
to mask the bitter odor of almonds.

I have seen strange lights in the sky.
Last night a dark man with no face crawled through nine miles
of sewer to surface in my toilet, listening
for phone calls through the cheap wood with chrome ears.
I tell you man, I hear.

I saw his muddy handprints
on the porcelain.

I don’t answer the phone now,
have I told you that?

They are planning to flood the earth with sludge.
They are planning break-ins.

They have got physicians advocating weird sex positions.
They are making addictive laxatives
and suppositories that burn.

They know how to put out the sun
with blowguns.

I pack myself in ice – have I told you that?
It obviates their infrascopes.
I know chants and I wear charms.
You may think you have me but I could destroy you
any second now.

Any second now.

Any second now.

Would you like some coffee, my love?

Did I tell you I can’t go out no more?
There’s a man by the door
in a raincoat.

At first glance, you might think it’s some form of literary enjambment present in the poem. But nope, some of the lines are one continuous line, just that I typed it out here in the same format it was in the book Skeleton Crew. Obviously a book is small, no space, hence the lines carry over into the next progression, but it isn’t really so. A progression can be seen when there’s a capital letter denoting the start of that line.

Stephen King is some genious shit. Read it carefully, again and again, and visualize the whole scenario unfolding in your mind. It’ll change so much about the way you see people around you.

If you can’t visualize…

This short film is quite brilliant. The actress, Tonya Ivey, though unknown, is good enough to portray the Paranoid.

My favorite line is that of stanzas six and seven, I love how the use of the seemingly-oxymoronic metaphor ‘dead breath’, as well as the pure irony of ‘Thank God she’s dead’ in reference to the mother.

This is such a brilliant piece of poetry. Not brilliant in the Renaissance way of John Donne, which requires one to ‘go deeper and think harder’, but brilliant in its simplicity and yet difficulty, and how well it reflects on human condition as a whole.

Have fun!

It Was A Great Day (A coupla reviews)

I just don’t understand what the relation is between monster movies and bombs being used to end the film. First Alien versus Predator, now…

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I just watched Cloverfield with Shah, Leonard Lee and Sudana, and it is fair to say the movie was disturbingly realistic.

It was also the first movie I went to that I actually took down notes in the dark theatre along the way, ala a pro movie critic. I just had to because there were so many opinions I had about the movie, and JJ Abrams’ pace is very fast, so fast that if you don’t take it down you forget all about the individual details.

Which is good. A monster movie is all about the entirety, the film as a whole, and the completion of the overall plot, if any. Fast pace is good for a gratifying completion.

However, I feel that the focus of a monster movie should not be on the monster, however odd that sounds. The focus should be on the people, who try to escape from the monster, and how they deal with it.

And JJ knows that. I’m a big fan of his work, Lost, Alias, MI:3 for examples. He manages to keep the focus on the people all the time, which is a clear trademark of Bad Robot productions and this focus is commendable. He makes sure the storyline with the humans (Robert, Jason, Lily and Marlena) isn’t forgotten. Even though in the end that storyline isn’t resolved all that well, at least there was that focus.

A lot of critics praise the real-time ‘footage-style’ of the film, but I don’t find that unique. The Blair Witch Project was arguably one of the foremost pioneers of this technique (I rated it No. 10 on the Best Horror Movies of All Time) and the effect worked.

For Cloverfield, the effect was only half-effective, painfully hard to follow at times, and confusing. The reason is due to the scale of the movie. For Blair Witch, it was a small film, focusing on three characters, and its antagonist was a demonic ghoul. Cloverfield is a big film (it features Manhattan being destroyed!) and it has many characters, such that the real-time effect actually becomes a pain in the neck.

What I felt lacked in this Abrams production was seamlessness. The movie fell apart as it went, with choppy scenes and choppier emotions/acting, lacking the seamless smooth flow found in Alias and MI:3. The chaos was directed very well (how in the world did this project remain a secret?!), but Matt Reeves (the director) failed to tie this chaos in to the rest of the movie .

The start of the movie was slow, but when the first crashing sound was heard, the action suddenly slams right down, and the jolt in scene change is a good technique. Sure, the movie lacks palpable tension, but in a film this size, tension only serves to destroy any development derived from monster action.

One wonders at the start of the movie if the monster won’t ever really be seen; in Lost, for example, the “monster” on the island is not revealed until mid Season-2. It is clear however, that the producers understood this is not a drama – the monster is revealed quickly enough, and not all of it either. A blurry image, an incomplete feature here and there, a foot, a clawed toe or two, or even half a tail, is good enough a payoff.

The allusion of Cloverfield to terrorism and the 9/11 attack is clear, so clear that I felt it cheapened the value of the movie. Questions about origin was also raised – “Where did the monster come from?” could be alluded to “Where did the virus come from? Where did the germs and the bird flu and SARS and HIV come from?”

I personally thought It (the monster) came from the ocean. Sudana mentioned that puffer fish bites cause the infected part to swell up and pop too (no spoilers here, don’t worry) and Hud (the ‘cameraman’ in the movie) referenced things hiding in ocean trenches. The monster could have come from some unknown water channel under the Statue of Liberty or something.

However, I disliked how the movie ended. For those of you who haven’t watched it yet, suffice it to say a bomb is employed.

NOTE TO BIG-SHOTS: There is no resolution and no reprieve for ANY of the characters if bombs are used, Hollywood people! I was expecting something along the lines of using chemical warfare or bio-agents to destroy the beast’s biological system, but I was sorely disappointed. The using of bombs was reminiscent of AvP, which was a horrible movie.

The setting also reminded me of I Am Legend, with reddened, poisonous skies and destruction everywhere. I was glad, however, that there was no plotline of ‘a human turning into a mini-monster of his own right after being attacked’ as found in I Am Legend. That would have been plain boring and overused.

In this period of time with “Apocalypse-type” movies (for example, I Am Legend, The Mist and AvP even, to some extent) Cloverfield is undoubtedly one of the most realistic. It is not one of the better ones though, unfortunately.

*** 3 Stars!

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Album: Kala
Artiste: M.I.A
Label: XL Records

I wish I had heard this album before 2007 ended, so I could have put it on my Best of 2007 Albums list. Well, I heard it around the turn of the year, so I guess that’s that (I ain’t gonna revisit 2007 no more).

Kala is one of those albums you must hear to believe. It’s no use for me to tell you how good it sounds; you have to take a listen for yourself. And I promise that you’ll be so inspired and amazed by the music you’ll re-listen to the album repeatedly over and over again.

Remember on the Best of 2007 Album list I mentioned ‘timelessness’? An album that is reflective of the culture, social issues and flavors of the time period that it was made in? Well, Kala achieves exactly that, with a modern, edgy sound that is a flavor of the present day AND the future.

M.I.A (real name Maya Arulpragasam) does not have stand out vocals; she is not a Mary J. Blige or Celine Dion, and her music is not the piano-based sound of Chantal Kreviazuk or the pure-pop serenity of Kelly Sweet.

And Maya knows that. She doesn’t try to belt out loud or powerhouse her vocals. Instead, she depends on her backing music and creations to speak for themselves. She did not make the mistake many artistes make on their albums, Carrie, for example, on Carnival Ride.

The musician must realize: The message comes secondary.

For music, the song itself needs to have a good tune and be able to stand on its own as an instrumental piece first, before the lyrics can come in. And Maya knows that as an art form, the piece of work needs to be centralized around themes.

Themes of immigration mark her work (much like Wyclef Jean’s album). World Town, Jimmy, Mango Pickle Down River are all evidence of that, and together as an album, the individual creations, though unique in each own right, come together as a whole.

Again, I emphasize, the music itself is priceless. It is infused with African beats, Indian Bollywood-ish intros, electronic/techno flow and hip-hop and pop styles, creating songs that are fun, infectious and very special.

Throw in personal lyrics, catchy repetitions and extra sound effects for impact, and you have yourself a piece of work that is magnificently multi-genre.

Boyz: “How many no-money boys are crazy, how many boys are raw? How many no-money boys are bloody, how many start a war?”

Jimmy: “Time and time, and time and time again, you keep pushing me… Jimmy, Aaja!”

Paper Planes: “Everyone’s a winner, we’re making our fame, bonafide hustler, making my name.”

Paper Planes: “All I wanna do is (gunshot sounds) and I’ll (gun catch being cocked back) and (cash registers being opened frantically) take your money!”

Bamboo Banga: “Road runner, road runner, running hundred miles an hour. With the radio on.”

Bamboo Banga: “M.I.A coming back with Powah Powah!”

**** 4 Stars!

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This post is titled “It Was A Great Day” because that same line (or thereabouts lah, I didn’t take it down) was the last line uttered on Cloverfield. Also because today was not a bad day.

I didn’t whack anyone on the head (sorry, Si Cong!),
I didn’t tussle or bitch-fight with anyone,
I did a pretty darn good GP diagnostic essay (I hope so at least, considering the topic was on Reality TV),
I ran each of my 400 m rounds Mr Koh made me run in under 1 min 45 secs: 1′29″, 1′33″, 1′38″ (it was interval training) which is a much greater improvement than before, and
lastly, I visited RIPC for the first time in 2008 (as a graduated senior, can you believe it?!).

Oh, and I watched Cloverfield too.

P.S. I apologize if this post is so painfully long. I just had so much to say about the movie.

Change (Part 2)

CHANGE! Part 2!

As you know, I’m a supporter of Clinton, and not Obama, because even though Obama brings Change, he is not experienced enough, and change as advocated by him will only serve to confuse and complicate politics, in my opinion.

Anyway, I’m facing another type of change in my life currently.

It’s Junior College time, of course! JC is upon us all (or at least the outgoing batch of 2007) and it’s the time everyone transitions from the slightly-mature, still-very-childish days of secondary school to the fully-mature, only-slightly-childish days of Pre-U.

It’s really taking some getting used to.

For example, there is now the presence of girls. For one who has spent four years in an all-boys’ school (and close to 10 for Bryan, etc) it takes some adjusting to the fairer sex. For one, the laughs are much much shriller now, the voices softer, and the situations get more complicated.

I’m not being sexist, but the presence of girls has indeed visibly reduced the burliness of the guys as was seen in secondary school. Perhaps that would be the reason for the sudden leap in maturity and drop in insults?

Well, after a while, seeing the girls really makes no difference. It just takes… getting used to.

Another thing would be the lack of Biology and Chemistry in my subject combinations. It takes some getting used to when your Glenn & Susan O’Toole textbook can be put aside to gather dust, or when you no more have to touch another reversible reaction arrow. God, I’d better write them all down while I still remember them.

It’s a bit like giving away the Geography and History. Now it extends further, and one cannot fathom how much I’m feeling regarding my subject combination. (I felt a lot like this in Sec 3 and 4)

Sure, it’s fine and all, but it’s at this point in time (maybe life) that I wonder if the choices I made are right?

Lectures, tutorials and all those notes and projects are just moderately different from RI teaching style, yet I feel it’s so different.

I feel I’m far apart from just four months ago.

No more flagraising at ONE BIG PARADE SQUARE. No more being taught in those bright, airy S.Raja block classrooms. No more sitting outside the staff room being educated by teachers who actually have some time for nonsensical yappering by nonsensical students.

People don’t treasure what they have, until it all changes.

Do bear in mind, this is not some sad, emo tribute thing, so don’t need to get teary over my leaving of secondary school (though, sure, you could cry, and that would make me feel oh-so-much more glorified) but I’m just saying… these are all changes that warp one’s behavior and character.

When all those lectures and tutorials come one after another, they really leave no time for one to breathe, to appreciate the better things in life, to talk cock and blog even, to make friends and connect.

Some say that’s better. No extra time means no time wasted on pointless activities which don’t include studying or CCA.

That’s all fine, but that leaves no space to make longer, lasting friendships and bonds, unlike in Raffles Institution.

Sure, it’s only 2 years. But these will be the 2 longest and 2 of the most important years of one’s life.

Compared to the times I had in RI, the times now are much different. More hectic, more rushed, more confusion, more worries, more prayers, more talking, more work and more requirements.

Less play, enjoyment and understanding of other people.

It’s to be expected, some say. “A LEVELS EH! Don’t play play can!”

Still…

I feel so distanced and far away.

I feel so empty and hollow inside.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the lack of work (if anything, the work’s even more now). It’s just the lack of the connections, the lack of the space a human teenager needs to evaluate and re-evaluate his life when things don’t seem right.

He just has to plow on anyway and hope things work out for the best.

Evaluation is important.

It helps to determine whether or not this change you’re experiencing is helping you or making your life worse. Sure, there is this ‘honeymoon’ period (or so they say) which we’re going through now, with everyone supposedly just relaxing and just focused on finding their way around the school and around the human social networks that exist.

In spite of all that finding, there is still no evaluation. No one is questioning, whether or not this change that they’re going through, this change in environment, in classrooms, in lifestyles, in time-tabling, is something that they can understand and cope with.

I think that’s really important.

If one cannot cope with his changes, one has to quickly find ways to make up for it. In Sec 3 and 4, I just couldn’t cope with that minimal change. Can you imagine what I could be feeling now?

Change could be for better or for worse.

Let’s all hope this change is for the better.

P.S. Yes, Sec Fours 2008, TREASURE YOUR LAST YEAR!

One

iOkay, the previous post was highly odd, and random, but let’s just say it has something to do with JC life and Change (Part 2’s coming up real soon).

I’m trying to get over what I missed, so hold on with me here.

Anyway, here’s a quick post (almost like a second random part) featuring the lyrics to one of my most favorite songs of all time:

One
Performed By: Mary J. Blige/U2
Composed: Adam Clayton, Larry Mullen Jr., The Edge, Bono (if you don’t know them individually slap yourself)

Is it getting better
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You got someone to blame
You say one love, one life (one life)
It’s one need in the night
One love (one love), get to share it
Leaves you darling, if you don’t care for it


Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without
Well it’s too late, tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We’re one, but we’re not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other


One…


Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus?
To the lepers in your head
Well, did I ask too much, more than a lot?
You gave me nothing, now it’s all I got
We’re one, but we’re not the same
Well we, hurt each other
Then we do it again


You say
Love is a temple
Love is a higher law
Love is a temple
Love is the higher law
You ask for me to enter
Well then you make me crawl
And I can’t be holding on
To what you got


‘Cause all you got is hurt
One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should
One life
With each other
Sisters and myBrothers
One life
But we’re not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other

One…
One love

You Talk About Life, and Death

Baby Baby
Let’s talk about life
About years and years
About days, weeks, minutes and months
A hundred lost hours, a hundred lost sons


Let’s talk about life
About the time you left me
About the time I gave up
That war was won, but my wrist was cut


Let’s talk about life
And death too, if you want
Let’s talk about all those times we lost
Those minutes, hours, weeks and months


Baby Baby
What do you want from me?
You talk about life,
You talk about death
Is this it for you, eventually?


Are you talking to me?
Are we speaking at all?
Why does it feel like a circus, then
I feel so reduced, but you seem so tall.


Baby Baby
Let’s talk about death
A baby borne from a dead mother’s shell
When I collapsed on that ground floor
For a brief moment, I saw hell


Let’s talk about death
What does it feel like?
Phoenix rising, from ash and flame
It feels no fear, he feels no pain


Let’s talk about death
The seconds it takes for one to bleed
The battleground where young men lie
Is the ground from which there grow seeds


Baby Baby
What do you want from me?
You talk about life,
You talk about death
Is this it for you, eventually?

Are you talking to me?
Are we speaking at all?
Why does it feel like a circus, then
I feel so reduced, but you seem so tall.


I ran and I ran,
Miles it seemed
I pushed hard, but you pushed harder
So I gave up, the end of that dream.


I want to win, this war of wills
But it’s not up to me
This is a war of life, and death
Baby Baby
Please, don’t talk to me.

P.S. No. I won’t give up.