we cannot change the cards we are dealt,
just how we play the hand.
Thursday, January 30, 2003
8:12 AM
Auditions
The first 8 seconds drew by like streaks of lightning, each vague yet rapid. My mind was bombarded with the next sequence, followed by the next, and the endless possibilities of screwups we could entangle ourselves in.
The 42th second. My basketball rolled in from the backstage crew, like a tumbling dynamite, each inch nearer took the thumpings of my heart to my throat. And finally i caught it. It was right on cue.
I still remembered the 52th second. It was a great unison of bounce, and i could feel the reverberation throughout the LT. Each sequence followed another smoothly, just like the setting of the moon followed by a dawning of the sun. It ended before i could savour the fullness of the dance, and such was our exultance that we bellowed shrilly upon the end of the songs to great applause. i distinctly smelt a fart upon the stage, but no farts nor burps did we give about it. We were exhilarated, exuberant, and vivacious beyond words. Darwin's theory unevolving itself, we morphed into screeching monkeys jumping from left to right.
Just two posts ago, i remember myself saying i couldn't figure what beneath the blue baboonic moon macerated my creative juices to choreograph this dreaded dance. It finally dawned upon me that some things lie unlooked beyond the horizon, and some characters lie murky beneath a mask of naivete.
the voices in my head-
Sunday, January 26, 2003
7:01 AM
Weekends at the Hollywood
The weekends has drawn to an end. I have not touched any tutorials. I have not completed any assignments. Nor have i finished my choreograph of the basketball dance, but as the seconds ticked away to a new week, i realised that the weekend has unveiled many lessons which would be imbued in my heart as time passes, just like the scar which Justin had etched on my right elbow.
Friday night it was, and it was during the climax of training with the running of the PE route twice did Huanghui, Raymond and i pondered over what to do next. So exhausted we were, that we couldn't even bring ourselves to bathe, much less travel from west to east to attend Chang-U's party. He had supposedly invited the basketballers, squashers, softaballers and most of our class guys, and we were inevitably enveloped with continual calls and reminders throughout the week. Nevertheless, we had to head for my home anyway for we were supposed to stay over at Chang-U's after the party and i had no change of clothes with me. I still remembered myself acting the succubae, "Hey, why squander $20 over a cab , spend yet even more paying the party entrance, when we're so freaking tired?" Amidst the frolicking with Huanghui in my bed, Raymond summed up everything in a nutshell, "Because we'd promised Chang-U we'd be going." So much for the consensus reached, and much as we were stripped off $20, it was well justified for even though it might not have earned the trust of Chang-U, it had avoided the loss of it.
Trust is like the waters of one's life, sometimes calm and tranquil, yet at times murky and choppy. We cannot grasp it, and certainly cannot confirm the existence of it. It's even more evasive than love, for we would know if we are in love or not, and we would know what to pursue. But trust, it cannot be bought or easily meted out, it is the slightest situations as such which gradually enables us to earn it from another.
And just as i thought it only happens in cartoon network, when the falling of a coconut on one's head is followed instantly by a durian, Saturday proved to be the test of Friday. Perhaps its just about getting used to it, but the class guys have an uncanny habit in meeting appointments. I appeal to all, not to lead me round and round the blueberry bush, before sluggishly agreeing just to hang me up, and then not turn up eventually. It pisses me off greatly at that point in time, and bit by bit, fragments of my trust gets chipped off into nothingness. Indeed, my trust may prove to be little of worth, and close my foot would be how i am to you, but for what reason beneath the blue baboonic moon would drive you to do such dastardly acts? Next time you plainly want to decline an outing, just hang up on me after my first hello and not play with my tender emotions.
Hmm. Maybe that was too harsh, but its hard for me and perhaps the more enthusiastic and faithful people, to have their trust misplaced and get betrayed time after time. This unbased accusation was not directed at anyone, but perhaps just to serve as an outlet of my exasperation with the sharp contrasts of class spirits i experience at different eons.
Nevertheless, one man upturned my perception for the day. He, like i, is involved in the class talentime, but so relentless he was, and persistent in going directly to the faculty party that his face flushed red, contrasting greatly with his banana skined shirt, resembling a salad dish from the Compass Ross. He and i spent many a minute trying to convince one another, and there seemed no chance in getting him to accompany me to meet the girls at Dhoby Ghaut to draft out the performance. Indeed, i pointed to him that even though he hadn't voluntarily placed himself under this commitment, he was in it, and there was an undoubted obligation to meet the girls anyway to carry out the pointless discussion. He retorted, with flying fucks and gestures aplenty, and it seemed to me finally that there was no glimmer of hope, when i quoted Raymond, saying that there are many things which we don't want to do, there are many things which we don't like to do. But there are many things which we just have to do, because it involves the trust of others. Thank you, F, for taking my word, and despite (as you predicted) no inspirational breakthroughs nor magnificent pieces were churned out, the act in itself has struck a chord in my heart.
Just as i thought the most thought provoking scene had emerged, the faculty party shattered my young night. I had heard of the faculty party last year, when more than 80% of the participants donned the faculty colour, with such a monstrous turnout that people had to encircle the boundaries of the stage. Such was the contrast yesterday, with a pathetic turnout that even my solo concert could beat, and an audience so dead it could swipe even a hippopotamus off the stage. My heart went all out to the MC, as she tried to juggle her much planned script and a difficult crowd, and i tried as much to garner the enthusiasm as i engaged myself in silly dances, but it just didn't turn out. Everything went like clockwork, xiaoyuan was in her element, whilst matthew and whatz-his-name took on an energetic dance, items like faculty princesses and princes were well taken, but the audience still remained 6 feet below. I have no idea what went wrong, for there wouldn't have been anything i would have done better, and i'd like to take this opporunity to thank the s6 fac com in providing me with a glimpse of what a faculty party is all about, for it would be my first and the sadly the last.
But that wasn't what shattered my night. For it was during the faculty party that Mr Happy in me was put to test. Place me in any situation, from the rostrum beneath the prying eyes of a thousand, to a stage where hundreds await a hilarious script. Or even the chair opposite Jennifer Tan, i would have had something to crap to lighten up the mood. But put me beside a grieved friend, my every language is silent and my heart held all back in impotence. The spirit of aWak3n|nG and my jovial self faded quickly as his sadness overwhelmed me, and i could find no words of comfort nor shelter. Anything i would say would be superficial, for i had known no such emotion, for i had known no such experience, and at this helplessness and hopelessness, i faltered.
All clubbish mood had left me, and darkness burnt in my eyes as i trudged my way to Mohammad Sultan to meet cherie and yehui at midnight. Smoke engulfed me, and the overbearing stench of liquor wafted from the door, and i saw no point in entering the doors of lush. There was a time when i thought that parties were organised for the welfare of JC students, just as Singapore Pools was in existence for the welfare of the community. Instead, i now see everything in a different light. Organisers are hitting and running, like BMWs zonking on the PIE, like dicks in and out in a flash. There seemed to be no warmth in invitations anymore, just an amassing of as many people as possible, to make as great a buck as quickly, before disappearing before the stroke of midnight, not giving an inkling on the eventual state of it all. The whited sepulchers, who blackened further the drab night, i'd not forget.
And i'd not forget too, the falter of my happy self beneath a crying soul. Nor would i forget the importance of trust amidst the busy schedules. I would not forget this weekend.
the voices in my head-
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
7:02 AM
The Three Balls Dance
I've no idea what drove me to garner six of the slackest individuals ever walked upon the surface of the earth, to do a frenzy basketball dance for talentime. i've overlooked the piling physics tutorials, and conveniently forgotten about the mountain load of unreplied chinese letters. 7 hours and still counting, have fulun and i spent on choreographing the monstrous dance in the beat of ban shou ren, yet it seems like the sunrise of Mordor, that the end of the song would never come. Like Frodo and Sam inching their route towards Mount Doom, we inch note by note, beat by beat, across the raps and tunes of Jay. Unlike Frodo and Sam though, we're hell enjoying the taste of one another's creative juices, relishing each and every moment of it. Illegitimis non carborundum, only with persistance comes success!
the voices in my head-
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
6:52 AM
aWak3n|nG's Believe It Or Not
Trouble has undoubtedly found me again. There seemed no end to the possibilities which can land me in CS, nor the regular pleasantries Jennifer Tan and i exchanged over morning assemblies. Oxymorons aplenty, beneath that stern mask lies a cynical warmth, and harsh words were often complemented with sacarstic complements. Girls are already hard to understand, and i would have to wreck my brain cells to decipher the acts of a grown woman. But an embodiment of alienic, eccentric, whimsical and fraternal characteristics which make up hwachong's dearest discipline mistress, i have utterly ga-zerOth idea on fanthoming her thoughts.
the voices in my head-
Friday, January 17, 2003
7:54 AM
On Angels and Mortals
You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.
Most essentially, you can't lie to a lai.
Cheers!
the voices in my head-
Thursday, January 16, 2003
8:05 AM
Sprained Rounds With Rounded Sprains
Its a weird thing, the human mind.
I awoke at 8 in the morning coz i had my first two periods free, and jumped out of bed in excitement at my own daring. The most effective morning call it proved, as a familiar click around my ankle exclaimed, just as if it were crying out a good morning. Good morning it utterly proved otherwise, and i limped around my room like a one legged zombie half mummified. Going into my toilet, i brushed my teeth, all the while stamping my injured ankle with the beat of BanShouRen, then i took a shower, gushing icy cold water at the monstrous lump, whilst massaging it with a force of approximately a winkyboogy newton.
By the time i'd reached school, i had psychoed myself that i wasn't injured at all, and the slight pain within the ankle bone and sole is but a dandruff upon the armpit hair. I walked with a spring, and was determined to pull myself through the 3 rounds of PE route below 12 minutes. The first round was way cool, i nearly cried out in jubilation as i took on the steep route with no inkling of pain, but after overtaking frederik, the pain returned in full scale. Such mental strength i had never mustered, nor did i ever know it existed in me. But i continued to brainwash myself, all the while telling myself that i had the legs of pam and strides of jingfeng. Like the seconds in the HOD filling room, i could easily recall every step i took. i remembered the faltering moments, and the inspirational flashes across my mind. i sung boldly R Kelly's The World's Greatest , i thought of the days of eegofreakz, the days of eshcroft, the days of rJ, and i even remembered recalling ang's hilarious method of reprimanding. Many a times did i have to suppress a giggle during my jog, but it worked. My preoccupied mind had indeed overwhelmed the pain in the ankle.
Never mind the impending rheumatism, never mind the returning pain on a ritcher scale of gazillion after the run. As long as i know i can suppress the pain whenever i want to, new hope seeps into my soul. My mind had sought victory this morning. And it will for the days to come. An aWak3n|nG has emerged amidst the dark days, a new hope has arisen amongst fading dreams.
the voices in my head-
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
6:13 AM
On fucked up days.
It was a fucked up day, no less.
CS, however routine it might seem, cannot be held responsible for the raging inferno in me. It was basketball undoubtedly.
I give no burps or farts if i, hmm. put it simply. i don't give a fuck whether i finally get to play or not in the team, or even if i do give a wee fart bout it, it's secondary to the main reason why i still play basketball these days.
BUT! its pretty fucked up getting sprained ankles on alternate days, 1st from solomon, then jianming, then weichen. But like cookies and cream, hugs and kisses, dicks and mouths, sprained ankles are to basketball. I don't blame anyone for the consecutive sprained ankles i've been cursed with, and it ain't the reason why i'm feeling pretty much fucked now.
Okay, i should quit going in circles and get to the point. I've been placed into screwed teams these few days, with individuals who can't run the set plays for nuts, and its exasperating getting trashed time after time, when you know its not your due fault. Ok. peace out. I ain't that good either, and i suppose we just have to bear weaknesses and strengths of others from time to time.
So, training is followed by a cool down exercise of court runs when we had to run back and forth 7 times. This humongous giant slammed through me as i turned for my fifth run, and off i flew, hanging in mid air for a couple of seconds, before a sickening crunch was felt. I know when i truly sprain my leg, and this is it. My leg is horrendously bloated i can't walk without grimmacing, and to the naked eye, it might seem i've 2 ankles.
So ends all hopes and fantasies for the one and only basketball season of my life. The huge opportunity cost of the seemingly endless trainings, the 24hr per week ball games, the sun and the wear and the tear, it all just boils down to this cursed injury. Only 5 J1s and J2s 're gonna play for SAS and i ain't selected, and my last hope of showcasing whatever talent there is left would be in the UWC match or ITE match nxt week.
Nevertheless, my bkt timah CC coach once told me though that sprained ankles never existed, and as long as the mental strength were enough to overcome the slight pain between those ligaments and joints, it's just but a mere cut on the butt. i shall take his word for it, for he once went on court against Boon Lay CC during a constituency finals with two broken toes. Well, thats the most optimism i can feed into this entry, for bouts of depression and fading hope is whirling about in me now. i shall bundle that ankle, and i shall run the two rounds of PE tomorrow, i shall prepare for training on sunday, and i shall play my best for tuesday.
Fool me not though, for i know how long it takes for ankles to get unsprained, and i know my chances. its all but a dream, yet another dream fleeting away, like water in cupped hands.
Its just one of those days, one of those fucked up days.
the voices in my head-
Sunday, January 12, 2003
7:24 AM
On Campfire
The day ended magnificently with my first ponning of basketball training in my life, while zhizhong, frederik without the c, kelvin, vernon and i sped off towards my house, squashed up in my mum's car. We swapped uniforms and fortunately, i needn't don the fabulously sexy outfit of either rvhs or tchs, nevertheless, zhizhong's undersized acs uniform made me look like an ITE punk.
Anyway, the campfire was much less of a show than i'd expected of an orientation finale, but the climax of it all was the height of everyone's emotions when the song and dance item emerged. Shoulders interlocked shoulders while we swayed and sung from the bottom of our hearts, i'd never expected myself to immerse myself among the 69ers, when it was only a few weeks back when kelvin and i nearly deserted all hopes on the class. What more, it was chinese songs after chinese songs that flashed across the screens, and much as it seemed alien to me, the warmth of my classmates awoken a passion which i had not expected that night. Chengping went berserk, mothballed creatures like duckie and frederik without the c sang into the night, while Mrs Tam also displayed a vintage sort of cuteness despite being a half-a-century old specimen of womanhood. I had miraculously spotted yinbing in the night, and she proved to be a splendid dance partner despite height-deficiency and her tendency to blend into the night once in awhile, thanks for steering me through Wild Wild West!
Next followed the bonding with 03S69, and we cuddled overnight in the tchs band room for what seemed to be the most bewitching night i've been through. After a series of asshole daidee and bridge merrymaking, the routine game turned to truth and dare. We were supposed to pick out cards, while the smallest would be made to do the forfeit while the largest deal it out mercilessly. 3s followed 4s, while 4s followed 3s, and i was made to kiss the wall, kiss duckie, amidst the unveiling of a chain of dark secrets. It was great fun, (no, no, not that, but the entire idea of it all) and undoubtedly 03S69 fares no worse than the present 69. The night was young, the year is young, i yearn eagerly for the spirit of 69 to live on even beyond the 1st 3 months.
the voices in my head-
Thursday, January 09, 2003
7:38 AM
I Love 69, still.
69 has shown that buried sparks could still be ignited, and hope will last while we still stand. If I had to choose between denying hope for my class or my studies, I hope I should have the guts to bail out academically.
the voices in my head-
Monday, January 06, 2003
3:00 AM
A Walk To Remember
For those lucky souls who had the chance to trudge up the slope that leads to my house, you would know how long and boring that walk may be. Nevertheless, I embarked on that walk once more this afternoon, and i noticed a muddy van attempting a three point turn. The driver was cool beyond words, with oakley sunglasses and sporting several rings. Lyrics of eminem blared out from the slovenly vehicle, and disgusting smoke was puffed out of the driver occasionally.
He approached me slowly, and the words on the door of the van materialized slowly before my eyes.. spastic children's association . I was so absorbed in the perplexity of such a weird combination of drivers and vehicles when i noted several children in the van. Some were fat, some were thin, some were short, some were tall, but the one thing that bridges them together would be hard luck. Why, of all the 7 billion people in the world, would God choose these particular kids to suffer?
A sharp voice snapped me out of my train of thought. "Hey, would you know where Toh Tuck Terrece is?" he spat, before exhaling a trail of smoke into my face. I quickly directed him, before curiosity turned my eyes back to the kids. Almost everyone of them had a deformity, a crippled leg, a ruptured eye, a mangled limb or even a mouth half the size of its face, but as my eyes fell upon them, they returned my glare with a warm smile from the depths of their heart.
I heard them try to converse with one another, alas, what recognisable speech there was would be puerile and incoherent. Yet, as the van turned the bend, i saw the kids stare earnestly at me, with smiles too big for their beaming faces. One even tried to lift her maimed hand to wave, but the van disappeared much too fast for me to return the gesticulate.
They would be bound to their wheel chairs and sickly homes for the rest of their lives, but somehow, i felt that their angelic happiness surpassed all of us.
the voices in my head-
Sunday, January 05, 2003
7:44 AM
I would have to thank...
kelvin for the idea, while brownie points to jac who nearly crashed this site, and equal recognition to stefanie who cheered her on, commendation to xiaoling who revived it, and lastly credit to my persistance, which had managed to plant my butt before the comp for two hours to get the grotesque hit counter at the bottom of my page.
Whee, hit me hit me!
the voices in my head-
Friday, January 03, 2003
8:35 AM
Déjà Vu Scads
Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough.
Why the rush? Why the frantic scramble to get acquainted with the hottest babes and coolest dudes?
I gawk condescendingly at the impending juniors, before succumbing to a fit of giggles and shivers.
the voices in my head-
i love my girl. a love so beautiful, symmetrical, tangible
God loves me. a love so great, unconditional, real.
my life in a nutshell. working towards loves of sorts. beautiful, symmetrical, tangible, great, unconditional and real.
a page, deliberately left blank.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
I Corinthians 13:4-8
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