halcyon heights

a drawn-out, indulgent post, so be warned.

taufik batisah

hoo. singapore idol. tau-rri-fik!

jalan ray[a]
time for the annual trip home, except this time im not so sure whether i want to go back because there's simply too much undone business left here. while going back used to be a break from routine, going back now will only be a break from, um, a break.

yesterday
party in school, ala jc1 days. with familiar people and not-so-familiar people, mad singing with pam and ren yu on guitar, walking touch that actually made me sweat [perspire, in dawn's words] and just general Goofing Around. until the police came, of course, and then the party made a wicked twist that saw me taking a train home from tampines. ah the sweet stuff of First Three Months childishness.

sick
it all started with a sore throat on the day before econs s, and then became a cold that made me sniffle my way through the paper, which became a total respiratory malaise in the night during the party [maybe because i was running in the rain] and then now fever and a body of aches. ah hello old-age

a levels
so yea, the first two instalments of the a level trilogy have been completed, which leaves the final chapter to be written next march, hopefully on a euphoric note. somehow the post-a's sense of well-being hasnt found me as well as it has found others and im not sure why. i definitely didnt like the experience, but it wasnt that bad either

gp
an A definitely. just between 1 and 2. the comprehension passage was strangely gratifying. a welcome to the unexpected world of poor exam conditions in rj with tables that rusted on me as i wrote

math
cambridge [or as we have fondly come to know them, ucles] can do nothing but give me an A for this. i have done too much maths and went too far to get yet another B

donne, m4m, hardtimes [in that order]
ah after satyres and hymnes and valedictions they decided to give song: goe, and catche a falling starre. hah! cambridge! i spit on you! hardtimes was, as usual, not pleasant business. if there was any text-based essay that i'd be glad to get a B for, it'd be hardtimes

econs essays
i evaluated and evaluated and evaluated and there is nothing more i could have done to give myself an A. screw-up factor - 2/5. bad exam condition: crazy tudung invigilator.

intlhist
edmund kwok would be disappointed as hell if i gave him a big fat B. and i sure as hell wanna get a big fat A for this. and after all the source-based practices that i put myself through they decided to come up with veto in security council in cold war. not funny if you sk me

pc
poetry - marvell - was good shit but drama ah ah ah was waay baad. uh uh uh sure as hell need the other two papers to pull this shitcase up

econs assorted papers
as usual, a chore because of the blah-ness. i'd already be so terribly glad if i dont fail case study spectacularly again. terrific because twas the end of the one year plus ordeal that was econs. on a sidenote, mona chew got poached, quote-unquote, by hwa chong. this is good because [a] she doesnt have to go through the experience of being fired next year [b] hwa chong econs will DIE! and really, it will. though i'd sooner have her die

seahist
a very unmemorable paper. bad exam condition: aircon that was whispering frozen words to my head. and im not sure if i'm proud or not about this but got mistaken for a rugger for like the, oh, 10 000th time

womanwarrior, translations, caretaker [in that order also]
a wonderfully chosen extract for the womanwarrior question that made me burst out laughing half way through the essay. am definitely going to read this book again knowing that im not STUDYING it. [ridiculously] bad exam condition: recalcitrant clocks and two invigilators who came from mona chew-hell. i mean the later two hours were just crazy because of all the big hoo-ha that they made. pfft. a false ending, because amidst the chatter sheila and i knew that we had one last obstacle to tackle

econs s
a subject that i took too late. they should give econs s at june of j1 because it's simply a subject that draws you into excitingly passionate arguments. ah bye bye funny krugman quotes, i shall miss thee fondly. i will be very glad if i could simply muster a merit for this. then again, maybe a distinction is possible. hah i wish

graduating
dont want to, for too many reasons. rj has been a watershed experience in ways that even i do not yet fully comprehend. one conversation that i've had too many times goes like this -
ri/rgs rafflesian: rj sucks
me: rj rocks
and thats because dunman high was total hell for me. without going into "auspicium melioris aevi" or "the rafflesian spirit", i'll just say that rj has offered so much more and i in return have also offered so much of myself over the past year to the school. twas in rj that i met a school of people who were in pursuit of excellence beyond themselves; that kind of self-transcendental achievement that so many rafflesians push themselves towards. twas also in rj that i'd began to see things for what they were. it doesnt matter if it can be considered enlightenment or the imposition of cynicism much too early, all that matters is that, like i said, rj has been a life-changing experience for, i think, the better

moving [on]
one thing that makes leaving rj all the more difficult is that even rj will be leaving rj. now when we "go back to school", we see nothing that we can find familiar - the walls and floors that have bore witness to our two years will have been replaced by sanitised, virgin concrete. as for "mt sinai", going back will also never be the same. gone will be the nights when i stayed back late in school even though i badly wanted to go home, gone will be the times when i have the feeling that just around that familiar corner a familiar face will emerge, gone will be the daily gate-climbs. so many generations of rafflesians have left a part of them in the physical rj - stories written on tables and walls and sweat dripped on floors - and all this will be gone, a continuation disrupted.

dalglish once said something about how rj is more genuine after seven than it could ever be before that. and he was right, i think, because so much of my memories have been forged in the dilapidated dim of rj after seven. ninja training sessions at the courts, cheerleading at 2.5, dancing at concourse, playing on netball court, hanging out at council verandah with everything in sight, maths-ing opposite fah yik and other chiongers in the canteen, nights at third floor with rhs, nights alone in art room, recce-ing with dharma for tunnel entrances, and basically just every single night going to the dark corridor without needing to turn on the lights to open my locker. in how many places can we truly feel comfortable enough to just lie down on the floor? home, and this school.

even everything around the school played such a big part. ghim moh that sells everything i'd ever want, holland v that was the site of many an escape from school, sixth ave for the inordinate amount of memories i have there, jelita for middle-class entertainment, secret recipe for when the class wanted to get away, queensway for boys' days out, queenstown mosque for friday boys' outing, surau for a secret hiding place, buona vista swimming pool for those post-run swims, canal route for those runs to nowhere with honest conversations and even the taxi route to town that is etched onto my mind.

now with the physical reminders gone, i am so afraid that the memories will also follow suit. if only everything'd remain where it was, then i'd have the slightest chance of holding on

tomorrow
many things to look forward to, too many in fact. moving out, ns, university, starting my own family, a career, dying. and still i want to ensconce myself in the comfort of the past

a little soundtrack
across the universe :: beatles

images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
that call me on and on across the universe.
thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box,
they tumble blindly as they make their way
across the universe.