Friday, March 05, 2004
“This is the hour
It’s time again
We feel the tremors
In our shaking hands”
---Adapted from “Miss Saigon – This Is the Hour”---
So the day has finally arrived. Win or lose, live or die.
I am scared shit. Everyone is scared shit. We Pipilanders fear for, at least, the local universities to accept us. The muggers pray hard that they can get their scholarships and scoot off to some Ivy League university that is untouched by us commoners.
It’s a matter of how your dreams will end up.
“One cert to decide them all!” --- quote The Lord of the Rings.
Could the paper even be as powerful as the ring? Yes, it could be, in reality. Never mind that you may use its surface to wipe shit from your buttocks. The more you have them, the more people look up to you as some intellect and future leader.
Strange I choose this day to cut my hair and even stranger I still arrange a rehearsal for the musical in the evening. I just feel these two events give me a sense of comfort and meaning. The haircut: a new start. When I receive my results it would be the start of a new chapter. Of course the new chapter would be interceded by another subplot within a month – National Service. And by going ahead with the rehearsal, I tell myself: Life still goes on, no matter what deep shit I fall into. There’s nothing else I can do. Let’s just face it, the results are printed there in black and white, period. I can only go forward and take things from where they are.
“Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera”
I meet the guys at Bedok Interchange before we trudge the familiar route back to college. Never would I imagine I would be taking this path again, now as an old boy going back. Of course I’ve been on this path the entire three months (December to February) because of my involvement in the musical and Mardi Gras, but today is special. First I’m walking back with the guys. Second it’s a journey marking the end of college life.
We decide not to talk anything about results. Nevertheless the mention of Andy Huang as Top Arts Student crops up. The King remarks in the tone of disgust and cynicism. It is a well-known fact that he doesn’t like Andy – and Andy doesn’t even try to cross his path.
The Chancellor’s phone rings. “Jin Hua is the Top Arts Student,” he reports.
“Well, congratulations.” Our mutterings lack sincerity, but perhaps the slight satisfaction that well, she mugged and she got what she wanted. Oh, well.
The first thing in the hall that Bee told me was that Music received 5 A’s and 2 B’s. Immediately I was relieved. I would have a decent score. I didn’t feel I did very well for my other two subjects: English Literature and History. I think I screwed up my History Three and the Gothic paper. I can feel it in my bones during and after the examinations. If I find myself writing rapidly and furiously and continuously, I know that I am fine with the paper. If I feel very tired, haggard; I write slowly and clumsily – my lines are filled with numerous cancellations – I know I am finished. Given the anxiety it’s as good as saying: you screwed up the entire exam.
We just bear with the Principal while she goes on about how many A’s this particular student scored. Surprisingly the Arts faculty did not have many straight-A’s scorers. It turned out that later we discovered that the faculty did not do very well as expected.
At last, time to receive our results from our civics tutors. I suddenly feel very sick… very sick in the stomach. Thank goodness I never ate a full lunch or I’d probably have belched everything out. I do not join the queue, but mill around the waiting area, talking to some old friends I haven’t seen for a long time. To Wilfred, I open my portfolio and show him the scores to the musical. I am taking a lot of effort to divert my mind on the results. Wilfred is very happy to see his name on the score. “Hey, I go and collect my results…” and that’s the end. Attention back to the results.
Mr Bala is standing near us. He comes up to me. “So how?”
“I don’t know… very scared…”
“Don’t worry, you’re fine.”
“Really?”
“Your subjects are okay. You just missed the A by a little bit…”
Part of the weight seemed to have drop off somewhere beyond my reach.
“Don’t worry.”
I shake his hand.
“Thank you Mr Bala.”
As I stand near the end of the queue formed by my class, the churning of the stomach doesn’t die yet. It gradually strengthens. I should be feeling better now that Mr Bala has given me a hint of how I performed, but still I feel worse as each person turns away.
Just let me die here. A heart attack was about to happen.
Left and right: people crying, hugging their friends, being comforted.
I don’t know what to say. I’m scared shit myself.
The Chancellor takes his results and goes off. It’s the King’s turn. I’m behind turn. I’m so sick now. I just want to die.
Facing Mrs Yong: “Not bad, August!” and she hands me the small slip of paper with a green design on it.
I take one glance. Okay, I’m relieved.
* * *
The next thing to worry about is admission to University, and admission to the courses that we desire. The King and the Chancellor want to do law, but they are not confident of getting in, because there would be a lot of competition from the straight-A’s students. We head to the McDonald’s and just sit there talking, and reading our scholarship guides. Anyway, we tell ourselves, we must give it a try, no matter what.
The King leaves early. To the Chancellor: “See you in law two years later.” To me: “See you in the conservatory two years later.” ¶ 3/05/2004 10:30:00 pm
It’s time again
We feel the tremors
In our shaking hands”
---Adapted from “Miss Saigon – This Is the Hour”---
So the day has finally arrived. Win or lose, live or die.
I am scared shit. Everyone is scared shit. We Pipilanders fear for, at least, the local universities to accept us. The muggers pray hard that they can get their scholarships and scoot off to some Ivy League university that is untouched by us commoners.
It’s a matter of how your dreams will end up.
“One cert to decide them all!” --- quote The Lord of the Rings.
Could the paper even be as powerful as the ring? Yes, it could be, in reality. Never mind that you may use its surface to wipe shit from your buttocks. The more you have them, the more people look up to you as some intellect and future leader.
Strange I choose this day to cut my hair and even stranger I still arrange a rehearsal for the musical in the evening. I just feel these two events give me a sense of comfort and meaning. The haircut: a new start. When I receive my results it would be the start of a new chapter. Of course the new chapter would be interceded by another subplot within a month – National Service. And by going ahead with the rehearsal, I tell myself: Life still goes on, no matter what deep shit I fall into. There’s nothing else I can do. Let’s just face it, the results are printed there in black and white, period. I can only go forward and take things from where they are.
“Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera”
I meet the guys at Bedok Interchange before we trudge the familiar route back to college. Never would I imagine I would be taking this path again, now as an old boy going back. Of course I’ve been on this path the entire three months (December to February) because of my involvement in the musical and Mardi Gras, but today is special. First I’m walking back with the guys. Second it’s a journey marking the end of college life.
We decide not to talk anything about results. Nevertheless the mention of Andy Huang as Top Arts Student crops up. The King remarks in the tone of disgust and cynicism. It is a well-known fact that he doesn’t like Andy – and Andy doesn’t even try to cross his path.
The Chancellor’s phone rings. “Jin Hua is the Top Arts Student,” he reports.
“Well, congratulations.” Our mutterings lack sincerity, but perhaps the slight satisfaction that well, she mugged and she got what she wanted. Oh, well.
The first thing in the hall that Bee told me was that Music received 5 A’s and 2 B’s. Immediately I was relieved. I would have a decent score. I didn’t feel I did very well for my other two subjects: English Literature and History. I think I screwed up my History Three and the Gothic paper. I can feel it in my bones during and after the examinations. If I find myself writing rapidly and furiously and continuously, I know that I am fine with the paper. If I feel very tired, haggard; I write slowly and clumsily – my lines are filled with numerous cancellations – I know I am finished. Given the anxiety it’s as good as saying: you screwed up the entire exam.
We just bear with the Principal while she goes on about how many A’s this particular student scored. Surprisingly the Arts faculty did not have many straight-A’s scorers. It turned out that later we discovered that the faculty did not do very well as expected.
At last, time to receive our results from our civics tutors. I suddenly feel very sick… very sick in the stomach. Thank goodness I never ate a full lunch or I’d probably have belched everything out. I do not join the queue, but mill around the waiting area, talking to some old friends I haven’t seen for a long time. To Wilfred, I open my portfolio and show him the scores to the musical. I am taking a lot of effort to divert my mind on the results. Wilfred is very happy to see his name on the score. “Hey, I go and collect my results…” and that’s the end. Attention back to the results.
Mr Bala is standing near us. He comes up to me. “So how?”
“I don’t know… very scared…”
“Don’t worry, you’re fine.”
“Really?”
“Your subjects are okay. You just missed the A by a little bit…”
Part of the weight seemed to have drop off somewhere beyond my reach.
“Don’t worry.”
I shake his hand.
“Thank you Mr Bala.”
As I stand near the end of the queue formed by my class, the churning of the stomach doesn’t die yet. It gradually strengthens. I should be feeling better now that Mr Bala has given me a hint of how I performed, but still I feel worse as each person turns away.
Just let me die here. A heart attack was about to happen.
Left and right: people crying, hugging their friends, being comforted.
I don’t know what to say. I’m scared shit myself.
The Chancellor takes his results and goes off. It’s the King’s turn. I’m behind turn. I’m so sick now. I just want to die.
Facing Mrs Yong: “Not bad, August!” and she hands me the small slip of paper with a green design on it.
I take one glance. Okay, I’m relieved.
* * *
The next thing to worry about is admission to University, and admission to the courses that we desire. The King and the Chancellor want to do law, but they are not confident of getting in, because there would be a lot of competition from the straight-A’s students. We head to the McDonald’s and just sit there talking, and reading our scholarship guides. Anyway, we tell ourselves, we must give it a try, no matter what.
The King leaves early. To the Chancellor: “See you in law two years later.” To me: “See you in the conservatory two years later.” ¶ 3/05/2004 10:30:00 pm
