Sheep happens.

Friday, October 27, 2006

The Delivery.

A man appeared on Kingston Street one winter's night. He was a fairly lanky man of about six feet tall, apparelled in a dreary ashen suit, matched with an equally cinereous pair of long pants. He wore a carroty, tattered shawl about his neck, along with a tawny hat (apparently made from some sort of animal) which entirely failed to conceal his inky hair. On his heavily scarred face was a set of eyes which glared menacingly onto the well-lit pavement, accompanied with a crooked smile which revealed a set of yellowish teeth. I could almost see holes materializing on the spot of pavement at which he was staring so viciously at. What was most unsettling was that he was holding something in his arms, and it was covered with a huge piece of jet-black cloth.

I had been living there at Kingston Street ever since I could remember. Nothing bizarre had ever occured there, if my memories serve me well. The apartment had been mine since Dad and Mom got caught in a freak accident, in which they were trampled to death by the elephant in the local zoo. Curse that humongous snouted creature- my parents had to be literally scraped off the floor after the elephant was done with them. I was only ten at that time. Goodness knows what they were doing up there, sitting on top of the elephant cage. Ever since then, I led a solitary life in the enclosure of my childhood home, rarely speaking to anyone or making any acquaintances. The wounds which scarred me were too deep, leaving me a pretty much highly paranoid individual.

My mind tried to come out with some logical reasoning to explain why that man was approaching my abode, but nothing came.

The eerie sound of his footsteps over the snow reverberated through the alleyway. His shadow extended itself ominously across the length of the pavement as he trod unhurriedly down the alley. It was as if he was here to carry out some evil plan, I thought as I observed him timidly through a gap in my cerulean curtains. Was it me, or did that crooked smile on his face just grow wider? The whole scene was beginning to unsettle me. In the subtle warmth of my room, a trickle of cold sweat appeared on my brow. I instantaneously wiped it away. What was this feeling? Fear? I have never feared anything in my life. Why would I be afraid of some man walking down my alley?

The questions were left unanswered as they buzzed around in my head.

My mind was swirling, trying to find a reason for the appearance of that man. Nothing came. I had no enemies, nor had I offended anyone in recent times, and there was certainly no reason for anyone to want to hurt me.

Why? Why?

He came nearer and nearer with every passing moment, his features slowly becoming more distinct. My mind told me to run, to hide in a place where that man would not be able to find me, but my body would not budge. I was helplessly rooted to the sofa, my unwilling eyes transfixed on the man.

Before I knew it, he was knocking at my door.

I jolted up from my sofa. Should I run, or should I open the door? I could not think straight at that moment, for I felt as if I was being gripped by a metal vice.

The knocking grew more impatient with every passing second, increasing in amplitude and adding to my discomfort. I started shivering.

Get it over and done with, you useless sack of potato! My mind screamed at my stiff body.

I ran over and pulled the door wide open. A gust of chilly wind swept in through the doorway. Those horrendous-looking eyes were boring holes into me, I was about to take flight before he articulated in a peculiar, croaky voice.

"Good evening sir! Fedex delivery!" The man exclaimed as a glint of purple shone through his black suit.

Phew.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Curve or Straight Line? Your Choice.

So today was the physics practicals. No more pre-war battle simulations. That was war, albeit one which involved a nice-looking pink marble and a pretty convex lens. Oh, and lots of blu-tack as well.

I can just imagine a war in which students of every school throw balls of blu-tack at a bunch of Cambridge Markers, all for the sake of getting that extra mark for their practicals. To think I paid them to seal my fate. This is beginning to feel very wrong. Me, working endlessly day and night, just because I paid a bunch of old men (pardon the generalization) to seal my fate.

Actually, everyone had the choice. Anyone could be getting their distinctions, but why are they not getting them? Why are there still F9s out there? It all starts from one basic phrase quoted from the oh-so-great Shakespeare.

"To be or not to be?"

The student version goes, "To study or not to study?", "To listen or not to listen?", etc. It is all a matter of choice. Which leads me to the topic of "Choices".

Choices are all around us. From waking up to sleeping, the choice is always ours to make. In fact, choosing is of essence to the human. To choose is to have freedom; to choose is to have power; to choose is to live.

Well, as a human, you could choose to eat or to skip a meal. You could choose to miss that examination, or to study for it and ace it. You could choose to play, or to make good use of your time. You could choose anything and everything. In fact, choosing not to choose anything is still a choice, which explains YH's calculator theorem.

You take your oh-so-reliable calculator and enter any integer, followed by the 'Choose' button and a zero. Hey. You get a one. I would like to elaborate more on the calculator thing though. Sometimes, you make a choice in life, and it opens up many other choices for you. Its a chain reaction. Which makes me wonder what choices led to Osama wanting to bomb the WTC.

You could have chosen to draw that straight line, or maybe that curve. Whichever it was, you cannot change it. Its all up to the Cambridge Markers to choose.

Now go back to your desk and do your work. Its not as if the war is over.

This is not the time for cowardice,
For if a single man retreats;
If your mind is weak, if your fire dies;
You'll suffer the first of a thousand defeats.
Let there be blood in the streets;
The war has begun.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Bye Macs.

It was a place which had been there since anyone could remember (9 years to be precise), it was the place where I spent a bit of my childhood on (my mum used to take me there every week), and it was the place where I did my 'O' level mugging. You should have guessed it by now. Yes, McDonalds Bishan Interchange has closed down, taking one space in my heart down with it.

It felt surreal just looking at that "We're Closed" sign. I was there studying for the whole day on the 24th of October. Halfway while studying, Nat struck up a conversation, and we began chatting about the good old times. McDonalds Bishan Interchange was where some of our childhood memories resided. Another landmark to remind ourselves of our past innocence was now gone.

It was pretty much emotional, really. I ate my last McDonalds meal there with Nat. Too bad they ran out of mayo- much to You Jin's dismay (and mine too)- and I had to eat with a minor dose of disgruntlement. I enjoyed it nevertheless. It would have been fine eating anything there, in the shelter of that oh-so-familiar place.

The memories, the people, the happenings, the sights, the sounds, even the guitar-playing sing-song sessions. These things have earned themselves a place in my heart. Of course, one thing I would not miss is the trans-fat, which makes me ultra guilty after every bite.

Natural fats are easier to burn.

It was there that I was myself. More or less. The people who were there at the closing saw it. It was me, yes, me. It was the real me which pulled down the 'Grilled Chicken Foldover' placards from the ceiling. The real me. How I wish he could come by more often. Too bad the manager had to take the placards away. It would have been a pretty nice piece of decoration for my wall.

Goodbye Bishan Interchange Macs. Everyone will miss you. Especially me.

To think that I have to face physics practicals tomorrow. Gosh.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Ramblings.

P4 Streaming, PSLE, Sec 2 Streaming, 'O' levels, 'A' levels.

This system has certainly (somehow) kept me on my toes. There I was, an innocent primary four kid of only 10, and a knife buried itself in my back. Well, actually not a knife- I was EM1- but imagine if I was still far away in Lalaland and I was entirely clueless on what school was about. Imagine if I had ended up in EM3. How could one's fate be sealed at such an early age?

I am not saying that the streaming system is ineffective, for it would be totally against what I had learnt in Social Studies lesson. I am just saying that primary 4 is too early to begin with it.

The system is designed in such a way that the student has to face a major examination every two years. Terror of terrors, horror of horrors. Consistency seems to be the only way out. With that, it leaves no room for slacking (but people still slack anyway) and only space for working. Every student would agree that the holidays are pretty much short-lived, with only a few public holidays dotting the calendar. The life of the student is getting tougher.

Imagine a young boy of merely 10 years old, going to the school in the neighbourhood. This is his streaming year, and he does not even know the impact his results would bring on his future. He takes the exam, and he failed miserably. He gets sent to EM3.

Does that make him a loser in life?

Thanks be to the ministry for taking action to abolish the EM3 stream.

I, on the other hand, am facing an entirely different crisis. If this was a game, I would be at the stage where you fight a smaller boss before the big one comes out. The problem is that I am uncertain even about the smaller boss.

That big fat doughnut. 'O' levels. I wonder what flavour it is. Sweet? Sour? Salty? Bitter? For all you know I might just get a mix of flavours. Sweet and sour, sour and bitter (no, please), etc. I wish I'd get that sweet raspberry doughnut to go along with my coffee, before choosing the toppings for my 'A'pple strudel. I wonder what choices they give you in Hwa Chong? Peking duck on my 'A'pple strudel?

Life has been pretty exhausting nowadays. I am being very unproductive, honestly. My rate of two papers a day is hardly sufficient. I have to pull my socks up.

I wonder what would happen if I happen to be wearing ankle socks though.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Ifs and What Ifs

This morning something decidedly peculiar happened. A phenomena which gives a moderately similar effect when compared to deja vu- realization. Somehow (perhaps through sleep spindles?) it dawned upon me that war was only three weeks away. To be frank, I myself have no words to describe that feeling. Fear? Anxiety? These words cannot cover entirely how I felt (or am feeling now), and I shall only give a pathetic attempt at expressing my feelings.

"Felt like I was going to regurgitate the previous night's dinner."

Personally, everything has passed by so quickly. Four years ago (or was it yesterday?), I was just stepping into school fresh from my "success" in the PSLE. Now, I am three weeks away from the big 'O'. I believe that I have commited myself entirely to this goal, my heart and nerve and sinew. What if I do not achieve what goals I have set for myself? I would be severely upset. Every single day, I have busied myself with numerous practice papers (of varying subjects and school of origin) and worked "tirelessly" through each day. I certainly hope that I would be able to repeat my success in the PSLE. After all, I am going to HCI, and that is a place where I would have to put even more effort to keep up with the rest. A good L1R5 would certainly assist me in doing so.

What if, what if, what if. These words are ceaselessly reverberating in my head at present. I have become more or less paranoid nowadays (which leaves me wondering why I am typing this post when I could be doing something more productive).

Everytime when I study I would place Rudyard Kipling's "If" (thanks Mr Heng) beside me, for easy reference whenever I felt like I was losing pace. Then one day (to be honest, during the church service) it occured to me that I could write another version of "If", and I did. The last stanza was not edited at all, for the true message behind "If" is connotated along its lines. It goes as follows:

If

If you can live- and live life to the fullest;
If you can breathe- and treasure every breath;
If you see life as a journey of faith,
And put in your heart and nerve and sinew;
If you can run the grueling race,
And not slow down nor give up,
Keeping the pace right to the end;

If you can change the world,
And not let the world change you;
If you can live with joy,
And not let sorrow take over;
If you can love and forgive,
selflessly without restraint,
And not giving way to hate;

If you can swallow your pride,
And stoop down low before other men,
Slowly recouping your losses;
If you can defeat yourself,
Again and again all through your life,
Right to the very last second;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue;
Or walk with kings- nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you,
But none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run-
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And which is more- you'll be a Man my son!


God bless you, my friend.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Saying Goodbye.

To be frank, I have never imagined that this milestone in my life would come so hastily. I thought that my life in Catholic High would feel like aeons, but no. In fact, it was pretty much ephemeral. Tomorrow is graduation day. I still cannot face the fact that I am to leave this second family of mine- my brothers and my mentors. In Catholic High I had found something entirely unique; a delightful concoction of friendship and brotherhood. Something which I fear I would not have the chance to experience after I leave this special place. For four years I have been a part of this family- even though sometimes it did not feel like it- and it was indeed an experience worthy of reminiscence.

When I first did the buttons for my uniform (almost breaking my nails in the process), I was decidedly filled with despair. Was I going to do that everyday for four years running? It seemed a dreadful prospect then, but now, I have this nagging feeling that I would miss my uniform very much when I leave. I have come to love that "nerdy-looking" uniform and those "weird green" shorts, for in them I have experienced what probably is the time of my life.

They say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step in the right direction, and I am indeed extremely fortunate to have taken this first step. Four years in Catholic High has seen me grow significantly, whether physically, mentally or spiritually. The school has developed the essential tripod of every student's personal growth, and I am certain that not many schools out there would be able to provide their students with this holistic education. For that, I have the teachers and my friends to thank. Teachers, I am eternally beholden to every single one of you. You have put in your time, your efforts and sometimes even your money (printing costs etc.) to make sure that we reach our maximum potential. You have put up (sometimes not entirely) with all the nonsense that we literally threw at you. You have made a substantial impact in my life. For all the times we had, whether good or bad, I give thanks.

As for my friends, you have also taught me many things, even though some of those things are decidedly very "unwholesome" (quote Mr Leong). Do not forget that values are not meant to be compromised. Never mind the unwholesome part though, you have taught me something more important; brothers look out for each other. My brothers, I hope our friendship and brotherhood will last. This, definitely, is not any superficial level of acquaintance. You know I love you guys (please, i'm straight though).

Four years ago, I had entered Catholic High in a state of delusion. Having scored a decent score- 253 plus 2- for the PSLE, sad to say, the young and immature me had let my guard down. I was supine. Honestly, in secondary One and Two, I had totally no idea what was going on. I did not even remember myself studying for anything. It was surprising that I somehow managed to get myself promoted, albeit to a not-very-exceptional class (fortunately, for I cannot imagine myself residing in classes like 4-1, 4-3 or 4-5, where I would be flattened).

Actually, when I found out that I was going to be in one of the bottom few classes, I was pretty much in a state of shock. As a result, I was slightly sober in 3-8, putting in a bit of conscious effort to improve my studies. The results did not show it though, as my foundations were appallingly unsubstantial. One fine example was mathematics. I had to start afresh from the basics, and I have Mr Leong to thank for what I am now- mathematically proficient; my standard of English was reclining at a very low level, and I have Mr Heng to thank for slapping me awake. Other subjects have also seen me relearn everything from the basic fundamentals, all at varying periods of Upper Secondary (mainly Secondary Four), and now I have the confidence that all things can be done as long as I have the belief and the perseverance.

The school has seen many ups and downs in the duration of a mere two years, from the record-breaking batch of 2004 to the not-so-satisfactory batch of 2005. Many problems had tarnished the image of the school, from the canteen fights to the scandalous anti-CH blogs. Catholic High saw chaos in 2006, but from the ashes, hope shines dazzling in its own majesty. We will just have to wait and see.

Another essential aspect of my life in Catholic High was the Co-Curricular Activity. Somehow I had passed the selection for softball (by defiantly throwing a ball right into the box after being told to sit down). Frankly, I had no inkling what I was getting myself into when I wrote the word 'Softball' on my CCA application form. I was just trying out something new, not knowing that four years of gruelling physical training, intense mental pressure and overwhelming satisfaction would follow. Even so, the CCA did not only emphasize the importance of physique but also the importance of the mind and character. The softball "regime" was definitely the most disciplined of all the sports groups and I am proud to be a CH softballer. We had started out with nothing, and we are now leaving the school, numerous championships under our belts. What mattered most is that the championships did not come easily. We fought for them as a team. Now, at the end of four years, I can only say that we have fought a good fight. Now it is up to out predecessors to continue the legacy. Keep going.

What probably is dearest to me in Catholic High, is the relationship I have with my brothers, especially the ones from 4-8. I would no doubt love to walk around in Bishan one day before elections and see Marcus' face smiling back at me from a campaign poster, go to an awesome fast-food chain to find out that it was owned by Gilbert, etc. At present, the thought might seem somehow hilarious, but it might just be what is going to happen. Who knows? I am going to miss the times we had; the Chuck Norris jokes (Chuck is the BOMB), Marcus' hilarious randomness (Every Villain Is Lemon), Gilbert's crazy lame jokes (what happens when you put an orange in front of a synagogue?), Gaw's "perverse" actions (sorry for mentioning this but I had to), etc. It was fun.

There just might be one day we have a class reunion when we are all grown up, when we look back at the year 2006. Smiles would come to our faces, and someone says to me, "Hey, you know what? That was one of the best years of my life", and I would heartily agree.

Here ends one chapter of my life, together with the plethora of CH ephemera. Sometimes the hardest thing is saying goodbye.