Children's Camp/ Graduation Night 2006

Apparently, the 'O' levels are over. I am still waiting for reality to sink in, but then again, it takes time and I am still living with the guilt of not studying everyday.

It ended 7 days ago.

Meanwhile I shall ramble about the children's camp; another ephemeral experience which has left me pretty much attached. Not the first time something like this ever happened. Well, in short, it was pretty awesome.


The inclusion of little me as a guitarist for the children's camp- which I am utterly convinced that it was an entirely thoughtless act- had resulted in some really cool outcomes. Me and Rebecca Gan (both first-time performers in their debuts) had to play for the worship sessions when Tian Yao was not around. Surprisingly we did quite well. Very oh-so-absolutely well I must say, except for a few very minor glitches. My suggestion of placing "I Love You Jesus" has also been ULTRA successful. Now I myself am addicted to the song.

The children's camp was an amazing experience, quite unlike previous years where I acted as a dumb social outcast who barely breathed even a word for most of the time. This year, it was entirely different.

I was more of a cheerful person than anything else except for Monday night when I got all emo because the stupid operation took longer than usual. 14 hours! Crikey. Thanks to the guys who bothered to try to console me or anything. Appreciated deeply.

The games were very good, I must say. Water bombs especially. My group tried to ration, but our bombs were being annihilated by the opponents. Ended up whacking everything randomly. Bible quiz was pretty much enriching and fresh, Crazy Taxi was indeed crazy, and the movies were awesome (both lakehouse and eight below).

Apparently I clocked in only a miserable total of 4-5 hours of sleep in three nights. A record for me? Year by year, the children's camp is the milestone by which I gauge myself in comparison to the previous year, to see how much I have grown and matured. I have accomplished much this year, and I thank God for His providence.

The kids were awesome, even though I was treated in every aspect as a punching bag at one point of time. I had to admit that I was pretty much pissed off then, but I learnt to live with it and move on the better things. Kids will be kids! Someone gave me a tight slap on the face though. Hurts like mad.

Everything was good though, and I would like to thank everyone for this wonderful experience. The teachers, the kids and especially the "xiao lao shi"s. It was fun.

Somehow I was reassured of my stand of wanting to be a teacher. I am pretty sure that it is not an easy job, but the satisfaction felt when the job is done would definitely be tremendous. This, however, is a by-product. For I do not want to teach for my own satisfaction. I want to change lives.

Which leads me to the topic of Graduation Night @ Sentosa.

It had to rain.

The rain had changed the course of our graduation night, and the venue was switched to the ballroom. I was quite disappointed at first, so I went to play tabletennis, and all disappointment was dissolved. Mr Leong, I am so going to beat you one day.

The food was nothing much, actually. Excess pasta was emptied onto undeserving plates (certainly not mine) and there went my dinner. NO PASTA D: The only good thing about the dinner were the cakes. OMG THE APPLE PIE. That thing seriously has to go out into the open market. Awesome stuff.

Won a Billabong wallet from the lucky draw, the first time in my life I have won anything in a lucky draw. It's quite nice, actually. Poor Cheng Yew won some Mongolian BBQ voucher lol. He gave it away.

It was quite an experience, and my last one as a Catholic High student. There ends the days filled with billingsgates and so-called unwholesome acts. I embrace the new life that is greeting me, beckoning for me to courageously leave my old life; cross the hurdle and continue the race. I will do so, and may God grant me strength to forge on.

Somewhere in outer space,
God has prepared a place,
For those who trust him and obey.
Jesus will come again,
And though we don't know when,
The countdown's getting lower everyday.

Ten and nine,
Eight and seven,
Six and five and four,
Call upon the Saviour while you may.
Three and two,
Coming through,
The clouds in bright array,
The countdown's getting lower everyday.

Growing Old.

The old man trudged with much difficulty down the ashen path. He winced with every step he took, grimacing as jolts of pain shot through his body. Halting momentarily to catch his breath, he silently stared at the winding road ahead. When I get to the end of this road, he thought, I am going to get my due reward. He patted his own shoulder and slowly shuffled on with a brilliant smile on his face; down the winding path and to where, only God knows.

Meanwhile, somewhere in a village not too far away, a woman was near hysterics; her father had disappeared from right under her nose, and now he was nowhere to be found.

"Crikey, it's almost as if he vanished into thin air!" The village chief exclaimed. The entire village was clueless on the whereabouts of the old man. Where could he have gone to?

"Village! Listen up! We'll split up and search, report back here before the sun sets!" The chief ordered. Immediately the villagers set out into the wilderness to search for the old man.

The old man halted once again, this time at the end of the path, holding on to his walking stick for support. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he glanced at the scene that lay before him. Gasps of awe escaped him as he surveyed the impending sunset; it was as if it was his first time viewing that amber sphere descending from all its majesty. It would have been a lot more enjoyable if not for the rheumatism, he thought, as he seated himself on the lush green grass.

The woman got more and more flustered by the second. The sun was already setting, but she still saw no sign of her father. She tried to convince herself that nothing unfortunate had befallen him, but her imagination ran wild. No, the other villagers must have found him, she thought to herself. Holding on to the last remaining strands of hope, she hastily made her way back to the village.

No one had found her father.

That night, the woman carried an oil lamp and went out into the wilderness, searching for her father. She ravaged through the forests and looked behind every rock, but to no avail. Her father had vanished. The woman knelt down and wailed in anguish.

Just then, she heard a familiar sound in the distance.

"Clunk."

It was the sound of...

"Clunk."

She could not remember what that sound belonged to. The sound grew louder and louder...

"Clunk!"

It was the sound of...

"Clunk!"

Wood on rock! She remembered now. It was the sound of her father's walking stick!

Soon she saw the figure of an old man shuffling towards her. She rushed up and hugged the old man.

"Father! Where did you go? I was so worried about you. How could you disappear like that?"

"Where did I go? Ha! Why should I tell you? Its my little secret!"

The way her father talked reminded her of a small child. As they trudged back to the village, hand in hand, she felt as if she was guiding a child who had just learnt to walk. Her body was young, but her soul was old.

How she wanted to be like her father.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.