base layout: vehemency
picture: ~onespecialmoment
By the way, please leave your url so I can relink you because I stupidly trashed my old template.
We are family
Sorry Sofina, but it's not a list
Despite its brief, impractical existence, flowers are still passionately popular as a gift for fellow man. Yellow roses to express appreciation of friendship; Red for relationships more complex and treasured. White carnations to show sympathy and sorrow for a great loss. Lilies to celebrate the ascension from an institution of education. Holly to remind us that the annual, loved yuletide season draws close (if the annoying commercials haven't done that already). Despite its brief, impractical existence, the impact of a flower grows beyond its physical and temporal presence. After a good flower withers and exits our view, the effect of its reassuring message and alluring beauty remains within our consciousness.
My very first experience with a principal had been embarrassingly awkward. I stood in my primary school's general office, being there for the first time. Stretching myself to peer over the counter to convey my needs to the clerk was already a struggle, and I did not notice as the then-principal entered the office till she was two steps away. Suddenly aware of her regal, haughty (and thus somewhat creepy) appearance, I spun around to face her and gave an instinctive bow. The action I had already got down pat, but being a primary one student I could not stop myself before the wrong word had left my mouth.
"Hello," was what my voice had managed to choke out. A mistake. She gave a little sympathetic smile, and even as I straightened my back my head did not do the same. "In such an occasion, it would be more appropriate to give a 'Good afternoon, Miss [Censored for my own safety. Take that, online irresponsibility!]'". I stammered out another thank you, and breathed in relief as she ended the distressing encounter and walked away. I tried my very best to avoid her after that.
The lesson caught in my mind, and proper greetings were something that I made sure I did not screw up whenever I meet a teacher or a principal.
6 years later, I made it into Dunman High. The memory still haunted me, and I took extra care to note the appearance of our Principal, Mr Sng, when he went to the podium and spoke to the school. Several weeks later, it paid off, as I found myself walking towards the direction he was coming from. I carefully executed the proper formalities - stop, bow, and give a simple "Good afternoon." I gave myself a mental pat on the back, and was about to be on my way when my mind was blown away - Mr Sng gave a smile, waved and said "Hello, afternoon!" with the warmth of a mid-day sun.
I repeat for emphasis - My mind was blown away. He continued on his way, but I couldn't locate my head to sufficiently garner the same smoothness in pace. Since when did principals say hello?
That was when I started to learn what a principal Mr Sng is. His presence over the years has always been appreciated under all circumstances, all situations, all people. It is an understatement to say that he is well respected by students - an ironically rare characteristic that principals achieve. The short speeches he gives to us at the start of every term are a testament to his perception of himself to the school; There are no marks statistics, no "rules" that they have to enforce upon us, no singling out students who have not been satisfactory in conduct. He reminds us to care for others in not using the lift, he convinces us to work hard for our own sakes, and he lets us know that the school still cares for us as we continue to care for it. Mr Sng is more clear than any of us what Dunman High is - family.
This is the principal that students rave about to their friends in other schools. This is the principal that when you take a photo with him, you gloat about it on facebook (looking at you, JJ). This is the principal that has a fan group of over a thousand members. This is the principal that stops to say hi whenever you say hi to him. This is the principal that says hi even if you're not sure how to greet him. This is the principal that helps to carry chairs after a campfire ends at 9pm. This is the principal of Dunman High. Like I've said - What a principal.
So all that's left to say is to bid a farewell. The parting is every bit as important as the greeting. Close guy friends would just give each other a pat, nod and smirk, but it may be too informal for such an occasion. Close girl friends would exchange a note, a present, 593 messages, a blogpost in dedication and crying faces, but I doubt that's the best tone to end off with. Then there's "May the force be with you" or "Live long and prosper" for the sci-fi fans, but they aren't exactly appropriate. "Have a good one", "" and "IF YOU GO I SWEAR I'LL JUMP!!!" are great in their own right, but still too nonchalant, too cold, and way too creepily desperate.
Thus it is best that we all say our own personal goodbyes to him in our own personal ways, be it through a message, a letter or a wallpost. But perhaps the most important message of all is this - Dunman High is family. Dunman High is love.
Stray Cats
Animals without homes in my childhood were to be avoided like the plague. From rashes to stomachaches, mysterious discomforts to unexplainable insanity, the ailments carried by the diseased, unwanted critters that are often seen lingering at my flat's void deck were endlessly horrifying. I was warned about the consequences whenever a cat was in my path, and I carefully heeded parental advice due to the fear of the aftermath - partly from the suicidal decision to initiate contact, partly from my parents. To touch them was to touch death, to accept them was to accept suffering. They were to be avoided like the plague.
I was walking home today right after a hilarious dinner. It was a barrelful of laughs for the PEA comm, and a single, hour-long, continuous giggle for Zoe. The hangover of humour carried over with the bus ride with the 4D guys and Janson, before I finally had a short walk back to my house alone. Alone, the ecstasy couldn't be shaken off, and I had to hum any song popping to mind, making my way back along a familiar path.
Halfway through the chorus of I'm Yours, I suddenly noticed a wayward cat lying right next to my foot, and almost fell on my side with the slight shock. The cat gazed up lazily at me, eyes shining brightly in the hushed night, as if to say "What?". I gave a sigh, and was about to be on my way when an urge tugged back. I stopped midstep and stared at the cat, locking gazes, sharing bored, blank expressions.
Until now, I still cannot figure out for the life of me why what happened next actually happened. As the cat kept its two alluring eyes on my less impressive ones, I deliberated, considered and debated. And slowly, but without hestitation, I lowered myself to meet the cat closer to its eye level, never breaking eye contact. The cat then seemed to have its own moral dilemma, but was careful not to betray its carefully maintained calm. One reason why I now prefer cats to dogs.
Then - it happened.
The cat seemed to relent and give me its trust, getting up from its comfortable recline on the grass and making its relaxed way towards me. And instead of stopping in front of me, the cat started to circle where I had crouched down upon. I felt its firm upright tail trailing around my legs; Its friendly caress convinced me to stay near it a little while longer.
All this time alarm bells were being set off in my head, every bit of past wisdom screaming at me to hurry the hell home before I catch something that isn't as rewarding as fish. Common sense was sending endless reports about unidentified bacteria permeating my skin and devouring my body from the vessels outwards. Stray animals are to be avoided like the plague.
But the cat already captured my attention.
I ventured to start giving it a stroke, the cat giving the slightest smirk of appreciation. I caught the hint and rubbed it around its head and back, as it continued casting a spell upon me, walking around and through my legs and letting me know that its friendship has already been fully extended to a strange but comforting human.
Yet time caught up with my consciousness again and I knew that I had to bid farewell to my newfound friend. I stood up, and the cat seemed confused by my sudden departure. As I walked away, it started to follow me. Even as I sped up the cat followed my pace, and seemed annoyed to find that I had to leave it only after such a short while.
When I reached the lift, the cat seemed to understand, staring from a short distance away from the noisy, strangely cramped room that always closed its doors with unsuspecting humans within and spat out differently shaped ones at undefined intervals of the day. I whispered a slight goodbye, before finally disappearing into the lift.
Stray animals are to be avoided like the plague, but I think from now on I may just make an exception for stray cats.
I loved to swim when I was shorter than my bed. I really, really did. The multitude of reasons aren't hard to pull from the back of my now relieved mind - The feel of the cool upon sun scorched skin, the freedom that water coaxes earth's unforgiving gravity to grant, the illusionary perception that time is patiently waiting for you to reach a satisfaction that you secretly know you won't achieve. But best of all, is the feeling of shocking relief you get when you surface from the water after staying in its deep grasps.
Yes indeed, exams are over, and there's no way you can forget that. The signs are everywhere, from SMSes to phonecalls, from facebook statuses to MSN nicknames. The heralding of restful and carefree days are all over the grapevine, and it's almost impossible to ignore the glorious fact.
The pure joy of having a gauntlet of ordeals behind us is obvious, and here at stopping2think, we do not waste time, energy and internet bandwidth on the obvious. Countless other blogs can tell you why we're all so relieved that the exams are over, but let's just deviate off the typical track of thought. Just imagine a little bit more and think a little bit deeper - Who knows, the lull of the battle may not be so great after all.
Once again from stopping2think - Top 10 Worst Things About Post Exams. Enjoy.
Top 10 Worst Things About Post Exams
1. The Maths 2 question you didn't finish still haunts you.
2. The best thing on TV is "Bob the Builder".
3. You have no one to ask out for an outing.
4. You have no one to ask you out for an outing.
5. When someone asks you out for an outing and you go, it rains.
6. Facebook gets boring.
7. HCL lessons.
8. Your internet gets cut off.
9. Your parents want a headstart on next year's curriculum.
And possible one of the worst reasons about posts exams? Pardon the possible controversy, but...
10. You can't get Miss Fang's trigo rap video out of your head.
Have a good one.
David Letterman
I have got to say - He's almost as good at it as I am. Almost.
Rant.
*Ahem*
Mygodonemonthisallwehavewateverareweallgonnado.
Itslikeapocalypseminusallthezombiesandcoolshotgunsthatrandomlyappearinthestreetsforustopickupanddefendourselves.
Atleastwedontmeettanks.
ButIneverforgettotellmyselfthatIwontworrymylifawaybecauseitsnotagoodthingnotworthit.
Onemonth.
AndImstillthinkingsomuchsomuchwaytoofriggingmuchcantstopthinkingatall.
WhatIddoforreleaseforfreedomforabsoluteeternityclosetoreachbuttoofartotouch.
Gottashineinthisdarknessdarknessclosinginbutnotconsumingnotsurrounding.Unlessweallowit.
Stopthinkingstopthinking.Orcompromise.Stopthinkingsomuchstopthinkingsomuch.
MaybesoonitllbebacktothatbutwishIknewmyselfwhatthatwouldbe.
WouldIknowifthatcameorwoulditbeinvisiblecreepinguponmeandleavemewondering.
OhandImsleepingtodreamaboutyoubutimsodamntiredofhavingtolivewithoutyou,
butidontmindsleepingtodreamaboutyoubutimsotired.
Sotiredsotiredindeedlikeathousandouttherethatfightfortheirsleepfightfortheirrest.
Nevergiveupneverstopfightingforthatlittlebitthatmakesourlifeworthliving.
Fightforthismonthfightforthisyearfightforthislifeitsrighthererightnowwhencurtianscalljusttakeyourbow.
Thesementorsmasterstheyholdhopeinuswedontlethemdownwedoitforthemforourselvesforall.
Whattoptenaretheretofantasizetomaterializewhenjourneysarepersonaljourneysareuniquejourneysaresingularandseperate?
Thinknomoreaboutthatthinknomore.
Work.
Till a month.
Go.
Maybe a change in blogging style might help me blog more.
It's funny how epiphanies find people in the strangest of places. The movie with my class after National Day celebrations at school was an almost unanimous choice. "Up" was something I'd been looking forward to, and it never let me down.
Dug's appearance was one of typical nostalgic comedy that would expectedly follow from a talking animal, yet the simple line that he spoke that seemed so touching in a caramel and gummy bear kind of way - "I Have Just Met You, And I Love You!". It had me laughing for awhile, yet the line had lingered on in my mind beyond that movie, beyond that day.
Disney movies often have poetic messages behind their movies that I can't get enough of, and the line was something that hit me hard in the head. Love wouldn't be the first thing I'd express to a roly-poly "wilderness explorer!" and a man with a wrinkly cube for a head tied to a house floating with more balloons than a national day parade. A lot of confusion, maybe, but not love.
Perhaps that single catch-phrase is something we can adopt a little more often in our largely solitary lives. We were taught not to talk to strangers, don't accept gifts from people we don't know and to scream for help when an uncle asks whether "you want me show you something, girl?". True it may be, when we were defenseless toddlers that knew only to laugh when we're happy, and scream when we're not. But the same mindset may already be obsolete when our discretion is more reliable and we can learn to meet new people. Suspicion is the last thing that would help in meeting the next best friend in your life - love at first sight should be a common practice.
Why not give it a try? When you just meet someone, love them.
Moving House
Bear with the indulgent language used in this one. Epiphanies were aplenty through this post, and yet it feels so incomplete, as if I have more to say about our home in the west...
I've been affectionately recognising Dunman High as my second home for the past four years. I'd fully embraced its humble yet stirring ideologies that have been passed to us through various seemingly pointless assembly talks, and had turned down the opportunity to take the well beaten path to VJC's IP simply because "it felt right". It wouldn't be absurd to claim a moral attachment to my school.
As luck would have it, I was in the batch which had the privilege of being in all three campuses we've had since Year 1. Tanjong Rhu itself was a place where we started a educational journey that was more than educational. Its familiarity was something I couldn't help but notice in many seniors and teachers alike, where identifying locations of rooms come as second nature, almost a reflex. It turned out to be contagious.
So it was with reluctant, longing fingers that most of us had finally pried ourselves off the Tanjong Rhu campus as it underwent its makeover in fair '06. I believe I speak for many when I say that every moss covered rock, paint peeled wall, shoe marked tile and rusty door was pure, uncontaminated heritage. Yet improvement was necessary to make way for growth, and 800 more students was the number that the campus couldn't accommodate. We had to relocate to the faraway land of Buona Vista.
"Buona where?" was the first thing that came to mind. The second was whether the MRT was ever going to reach that stop. DHSSC Street Chase was at full steam ahead, and upon reaching the campus grounds, I was wondering if there was any chance the school management might change their mind about the whole upgrading thing.
Upon reaching, the school was a dreary sight - the ivy clung to the walls desperately, almost screaming at me to leave them alone. Windows lucky enough to remain in one piece held its dust like a curtain, hiding the rooms behind them. We searched for the rooms that we were told to look for, but only found nothing but rooms filed with debris, depression and dread.
The second time I reached that campus, it had gotten a slight facelift, and looked a tad more pleasant. Yet its corridors and rooms remained somewhat a labyrinth. Half an hour of catching with people who arrived for DHShine planning early (Of course we were early - who knew how long it'd take to get there from the East?) later, we still couldn't find our way around.
Why were there half-stories everywhere? Why are so many rooms underground? Why is my classroom so far from the canteen? Why is my classroom so far from anything? Why are some floors so uneven? Why are the staff rooms so far apart? Why is the canteen so small? Why is the hall even smaller? Why is the foyer so hot and stuffy? Why are the toilets so smelly?
Why on earth did we come to this campus?
Yet slowly, almost imperceptibly, a map of the school was forming in each of our heads. It wasn't long before we started to remember which science labs we had to go to. People had their own shortcuts, their own paths they always insist on taking when walking from the basketball court back to class. We had to pass by the path. We always walk past 2A-D when we go to the staff room. Slowly, it was Tanjong Rhu all over again, but somewhat more.
Loving the campus was something that grew on me. Event by event different run-down locations in the school like the Lecture Theatres 2 and 3 held fond and painful memories for me. Till now I feel I could sit in a room alone, and spend simple fleeting hours remembering what the campus had provided us with, despite its declining exterior. The warmth was never left behind in Tanjong Rhu - through teachers, through students, through (personally) councillors, Buona Vista became a home.
On the final days of my Year 3 years I felt a certain unexplainable longing to remain there. Lunch at Ghim Moh with classmates and other friends had become a ritual that I couldn't shake off. The homeliness of the campus now stuck to me stronger than moss on the walls. Something about the uneven tiles disturbed by thick roots had an old charm to it, as with the trees that shed their picture-perfect brown leaves around the basketball court. So many rooms that we inhabited, even the tiny SC room, was so precious. We couldn't leave this place - it was home.
Cruel fate uproots as and places us back into Tanjong Rhu's campus. Yet it mysteriously becomes a stranger to us, where upon entering we had to remember our manners. After 2 years of making ourselves at home in the laidback Buona Vista, decorum was asked from Tanjong Rhu - sit up straight, smile politely and use the right cutlery. Don't burp, laugh too loudly or you might get a stern look from the host. We had to behave prim and proper, yet it was the same campus, only bigger and newer.
Perhaps that warmth that we had hasn't fully permeated the whole campus itself yet. Perhaps a few more orientations, a few more camps, rule-breaking adventures, studying sessions and ball games might do the trick. Perhaps in another decade, we might find ourselves clawing to stay in this campus as it undergoes yet another transformation...