Remember that social experiment with the crying kid?

I was at Lot 1 late at night, going to the bus stop to wait for my father to fetch me. There is this walkway on the side of the mall that I always see various Malays hanging out at. As the taxi stand came into view there was this little Malay boy, couldn't have been more than lower primary school age, couldn't have been more than 8 or 9, sobbing and yelling for his mama.

I got no further than 10 metres away from him before I stopped and looked back. 2 minutes I stood there at the taxi stand, maybe a cab driver or two peering curiously at me, while I thought about what we had talked about during our last meet at Rail Mall. Most people would walk on without a second thought.

Kept going to the bus stop, putting a driveway and a line of decorative shrubs between me and the boy. My father would be picking me up here. I still had plenty of time, though. I could go see what's wrong. Or maybe the child's parents were around, they were just punishing him or something. Peeked through a low point in the shrubbery and saw that none of the Malays were paying the boy any attention. Not the couple by the motorbike. Not the bunch of guys. Not the Chinese woman. A bunch of teenagers my age walked by me, dressed in teenager's clothes. The girl's height and pants were alarmingly short but her hair was long around her bare shoulders. Petite; long hair; pretty. I don't know why I cared.

What looked like a young Malay woman - long, loose hair - was now with the boy. There was also a little Malay girl even younger than he. Oh goody, I thought. The woman reached out to the boy. I saw his mouth contort and he slapped something from her hand. The woman picked up the little girl and left.

Time passed. I could ask my father what to do. Or maybe I would get in the car, close the door, and he would accelerate away even as I mumbled out the words. Maybe the little boy was the brother of one of the big Malay guys. Maybe they would challenge me if I walked up to them. Maybe this would make a good short film. I was just trying to bat away the question of what I should do, and I knew it. My backpack made my shoulders ache.

I could hear the boy screaming again. Screaming for his mother. Mall was closed. Should I bring him to the MRT station? Do they have staff there this late at night? Who the fuck leaves their kid alone in a Malay-infested walkway at 11pm anyway? And how would this make a good short film? Without warning, the lights along the walkway shut off. I could still see the crying boy, on the steps of Lot 1.

My father's Nissan pulled up. I got in but left the door open. What if a bus came up behind us? It took a minute, but my father finally understood my babbling and told me to find out if the boy knew where his house was. I put down my bag in the front seat, jogged around the shrubs -

The young Malay woman with the little girl was back again. I halted in the middle of the taxi driveway and watched her carry him up and walk away in the other direction. She glanced back briefly.

After a few moments thinking, I returned to my father's car and drove home.

Security guard laments to me about life

The security guard was at the table just outside the lifts. I walked up and sat on the opposite end. She was Malay and obese.

"How do you buy that?" she asked suddenly, pointing a finger at the ice blended coffee I had set down. Apparently she wasn't so sure what the black pearls in it were called. The conversation turned into a rant about her job pretty quickly though, so I'm fairly sure she had wanted to talk about that all along.

She works pretty much fulltime. In a single day she has to stand around at different places, usually traffic control. She opened her notebook and indicated a bunch of organized scribbling. It all adds up a nine hours a day of standing. Not all at once, but I think it was mentioned that the breaks were short. It's hard on the legs. Right now she was taking an unsanctioned rest; the pain became a bit too much for her this time. She has to ration a medicine to keep on her feet.

I wasn't participating much in the conversation at this point. The woman obviously had a lot she wanted to get out. She was an immigrant, and she couldn't use her Johor work experience here (I think it had something to do with production lines). The paycheck is eaten up quickly - with products like clothes and shampoo priced for the middle-class, saving money is a challenge.

I honestly can't remember very much. I'm a pretty bad listener, but I didn't want to break her flow. It's a bit like a dream - I had long grown used to the convention that adults would only ever bother to talk to teenagers for work, or for dispensing advice. As a listening ear, even, but never the other way around. Most of what I know about my own parents' lifestyle at work is stuff I overhear.

As I said goodbye to the security guard, feeling some pity for her pretty shitty existence, I wondered why she had bothered to talk to me. I definitely don't have that kind, approachable face. Would she have said anything if it was in my twenties, thirties, or preteen years? Teenagerhood is a magic period of time where most people hover between childishness and adulthood. Perhaps it's a mix of the youth responsibility to listen to elders and the ability to understand things on an adult level. This could be a quality that teenagers could utilize for the betterment of society and all that, but sadly, due to widespread apathy and image of teenagers as immature suicidal nymphomaniacs, the generation gap stays, and woe betide anyone who tries to take that away form Singapore.

Letter from the Past

Last emo post on Pfort. After this everything I post on the fort will be something I will try to be proud of.

For storytelling class once I had to write a "Letter to the Past". Something that we had wanted to tell someone really badly at some point of our lives. Probably supposed to smooth the connection between a writer's emotions and his words.

I wrote a letter to Geia, as completely honest as I could possibly make it. I left it on my module's wordpress account, not caring how many marks I got for that assignment. I actually felt better after getting it out. Then today, I found out that Geia discovered the letter and that she has written a letter back.

I didn't read the rest of her letter. Not that I couldn't. I could have.

You know what I do most weekend sun-ups? I sleep in as much as I can. It's not just because of the lost sleep during morning school. Know why I'm so blur even when I'm awake? I'm taking every single opportunity I have to zone out from reality.

But when I was trying to play TF2 today, I couldn't get away from that sick, SICK feeling in my stomach. I even had some really nice kills but I was all burned up inside, full of dead worms. I really wish I was religious right now. I would repent and believe that I've been forgiven and maybe half of this will go away but I know now that I'm going to have to live with this all my life and that one day I will have to look at what Geia wrote me.

So I took a quiz on facebook that says I'm a perfectionist kind of person. Quite true... And with taking all those moral ed lessons in school telling me I'm a very dominant and arrogant character, the same message is beginning to hit home.

Sure, I'm an arrogant guy and I'm a perfectionist when it comes to doing what I think I should be doing. Normally I would brush this off and in fact smile quietly under the facade that somehow, some people in this world understands. Yes, being a perfectionist also makes me rather elite in a sense.

Most of my life's ethos quotes are all to deal with Perfection.

I've been really inspired by Modern School's motto "Perfection cannot be acheived by the weak." and John Wooden's strive for perfection quotes. In fact, I live fueled by the drive to be perfect. None of us are perfect, but its the desire to outdo and the endeavour for perfection that creates new beings and pushes new boundries in us.

It all made perfect sense...

Until I got into a brush with a friend over being too perfectionist. This has nothing to do with the previous pfort discussion on elitism (not the dangerously elitism discussion). It was a quite scuffle with one of my close personal friends who disagreed about what I was striving for in life. Pushing myself to excel in everything wordly. Giant once said, I'm a go-getter. I totally agree. But to what extent am I going to push so hard for excellence and forget about what I stepped on for my great endeavour. 

Even in school, I'm beginning to make a name among the people around me for being arrogant, elite, a perfectionist and someone who wouldn't tolerate nonesense from others. I was never this serious about this in secondary school and I guess being in junior college has changed this in me. 

Its time to stop moving so fast and slow down to rethink. Nothing is wrong with being a perfectionist, but if it strains so much then it obviously means something is wrong.

Rethinking and retracing. But this obviously does not mean I'm not a perfectionist now. And I still despise stupid people and nonesense...

Wind in my face, Sun on my back

Wind in my face, Sun on my back. Never have I truly appreciated the beauty of this phrase. After spending almost an hour on a bus, I stepped out onto a broad walkway in Singapore's typical weather, hot and humid. But this time round, it felt wonderful.
Its been such a long time since I totally threw myself to a place where I had never been to before, or done research to memorize the locality. Stepping of the bus, I glanced up to look for any directions. But heck, I decided to simply walk. And walk I did. Under the hot afternoon sun, the wind was a nice comfort, cooling my face, while my back still felt the sun's strong presence.
Now I truly understand what Tofu advocates, Freestyle Living. Perhaps it is also time for me to try it. For too long, I have been overly cautious, planing my every move, my every outing with care and detail. What a fool I was.

Npone

Last Sunday morning Miss Z messaged me and I think she apologized. She invited me back. I was really tempted to go back for Speech Day today, but it felt wrong. I'm afraid that the past will slow me down. Ms Z also mentioned that the Drama Club got a Gold for SYF, which pretty much demolishes my statement that the Club's "glory days are over".

Or does it? Does it make any difference? What about how the Club is carried 90% by hired instructors and staff? It's a totalitarian administration. They make you try out all sorts of things, force you to participate in all their activities. But surely I'm past that. I hate that method of doing things now. I feel like I'm being ushered around like a kid when I want my choices and my opinions to be treated with respect given to that of any other person of any age.

There's also a drama club in my school. They spoke of the varied, compulsory workshops they offered as if they were selling points. No thanks. 

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The truth is, I like attention. I like having strangers know about my life and comment. It's a product of my social failures, but it's the truth nonetheless. I began thinking seriously about setting up a second blog. I like the internet as an outlet, because you can get insights that aren't limited by your social circle - that's one cool thing about the internet, you can have really intimate conversations with strangers about the largest and littlelest things.

Also, you can pass judgement on people you know with less backlash from the subjects toward yourself personally; if I offend someone my online pseudonym takes the responsibility, to put it crudely. I have a bit more freedom of speech; though there is still that danger, and that is why I can't do this on Pebblefort; I want to make known my place of study and what I think of what goes on in my polytechnic. I won't do that here.

So far the plan is to write sincerely and to a luxurious length. No more worrying about overshadowing the rest of you. I dunno what I should do for advertising so far. Perhaps it's time to involve myself in the local internet communities (Polytalks and STOMP come to mind) to get readers. I dunno. I haven't really started it yet.

But yeah. New blog. Basing it around honesty and my life's events.

If I go back to my secondary school now, it'll feel wrong. Nobody will be there.

I am a Lian'beng

This is like the third time I'm telling you. The macbook isn't yours. It used to be. That's what I wanted to know, what you didn't feel like telling me, and what I know anyway. Would you like me to put that in simple English for you?
Tell you my real name? Sorry. I have standards.

don't try to intimidate me with your english and act like a european or american cuz that just makes you seem boastful,proud,arrogent, full of yourself and yea oh, a person in total self denial. since you were asking whether the macbook was mine in the first place, why didnt you just ask that clearly in the first msg? GOD i seriously wasted my energy. how can someone like you possible exist on earth. IT'S A TOTAL MISTAKE

All further contact from you will be deleted upon receipt.

OMG. I'M NOT GONNA WASTE MY TIME STOOPING TO SOME LIAN'BENG'S LEVEL AND YOUR FAILED ATTEMPT TO SOUND PROFOUND AND DEEP. NIGHT BASTARD.


Ugh. Scum.


Gotten into net-fights like these loads of times (comes with forum moderating), and most times my heart rate goes up. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's an exhilarating exercise, trying to balance emotion with intention. Sometimes the two are one and the same.

It's something I noticed. I need to lash out. Even if there's nothing really major (stay-up-at-night major) bothering me right now, fighting in some way or form for me is like an alcohol problem. I let myself go a bit crazy, and the next day I have a hangover - I feel sick to the stomach at everything I did the day before. I lose my appetite. But weeks, months, days later I'll be burning to do it all again.

Kind of like Vonterul, full of that bottled up bitterness at the earth and the sky. I should stop staying up nights to argue and do something else.



This just in:

yea sure whatever. better not let me see ya around in school. cuz im gonna find out who you are. wanna play games?im so there. better watch out man

She actually issued a threat to "Nose Dig Digger" with her real name. Smart, but I'm not interested anymore.

"Happy" Birthday?

Yesterday was my 17th birthday, so all day long, people were wishing me "Happy Birthday". After the first half dozen of such wishes, it really got me thinking. Do these people have any idea as to what they are saying? In this post, I'm not even going to touch about how sincere they are in their words, also because i think Nosey has already posted about that.
How happy was I on my birthday, I wonder to myself. Frankly speaking, not a lot. To me it was just another day. I woke up with some difficulty and rather late due to leftover camp-fatigue, touched the com for an hour, and went to work. So yea, unless I have been through substantial hell in the days before 30 March, I don't see how happy I can be.
Perhaps its due to the fact that I didn't call for any celebration, or simply because I chose to uphold tradition and abstain from celebrations for a year, or I simply kept refusing my parent's queries as to what I want for my birthday (its a bad economy nowadays, business isn't exactly booming).
So in short, despite all of your wishes, I'm afraid I simply didn't have a "Happy" Birthday. Also, I have yet to touch any of my presents. No offense to my present-givers.
So now, I'll end off with this quote:
"I find it pointless to celebrate my Birthday. I'd really rather celebrate my Fertilization Day, after all, that is the day I won the first race of my life."

You and I

I've hit another crossroad of my life. Where I ask myself what have I been doing and what am I doing with my life. Where will each different path take me.

I'm struggling, with almost everything. Grades, my religious walk, friends, my social scene, sleep, girl.

You name it, I have it.

Indeed, times like this makes me suicidal. For the first time in decades, I consider alternatives that I would normally never consider once I put my foot down.

It all seems like a really sad maximum point on a parabola. 

The places where I used to draw refuge and encouragement from, now just serve like an empty abandoned house. 

You know what, I've decided. For one night, let me try to drink myself to sleep.

My own

Some old woman actually walked up to me today when I was walking from school to the bus stop to ask me for money to take a taxi to new bridge road. She was really old and looked as if she carried her home in a trolley she rolled around. At first I thought she really needed a little amount to take to the city. But as she tried to convince me that she was really frail and injured and couldn't take a bus to the city, the more I began to think it was just a hoax. A shameful, unpleasant hoax to get money out of JC kids. To top it off, it was raining a typhoon and she claimed her rheumatism was acting up and etc. I told her she could take a bus to tanglin CC and transfer bus to new bridge road without getting drenched in the rain. But she kept pushing on about how she can't take the bus because she got injured twice in the past by taking the bus.

What a shameful and sad sight. She kept saying, as well, about how she always had to eat bread for dinner cause she's injured and can't work and didn't have money. The more she tried, the more I was sure this was just some stupid ploy to get $2 notes from every single person she approached.

This is disgusting. I am lost for words over how some of the older generation people behave like that. TO LIE to try to get money from kids. LYING about all the injuries, LYING about going to new bridge road to see the doctor and LYING to gain our sympathies (money).

Maybe if you approaced me for money to eat it wouldn't be so bad. Because I'm a compassionate guy. But telling me a cock and bull story about the past just makes me feel even more disgusted.

Society needs help.

Iliterati el china

So today, Ms Gillian actually showed us a documentary called "Mad About English", during GP mass lecture, which talks about the chinese obsession to pick up the English language. From the common old man who wants to show off chinese culture to the rest of the world as volunteer guides, to the cabbies who want to give a good impression of the chinese people to the world, to the policeman who wants to be able to communicate and do his part for his nation.

As the video rolled and showed how these people practice and try to pick up English in the most hilarious ways, laughter drew from among the 800 or so gathered in the CC. It then suddenly dawned on me how even the old man made an effort to pick up chinese since 2001 when China won the bid, to when the movie was filmed in 2007. There are just so many more things we can learn from here other than granddy's determination here. Two things, how on my part as a chinese failed miserable to even speak my langauge, and the other, is how chinese nationalism can drawn patriotism on the part of the individual to strive for the greater good of his country without any string attached.

How many of us Singaporeans actually understand and fully appreciate our culture (if at all any) and also embrace our traditions and stand by our nation? The fact tht our culture and 'selling point' is diversity between races, and harmony between races and religons shows thaat we were prepared and still are to sacrifice culture and traditions for the sake of keeping the peace. No complains to that, but in exchange, we gave up our rights to a club, an exclusive club which counts and manages our culture points. I remember feeling extremely ashamed when my secondary school failed at showcasing a uniquely singapore arts presentation/performance. While our indian counterparts strutted their stuff and showed us what real culture really is about.

I still don't know where to draw the balance between this. Between culture, belonging and traditions and with harmony between different ethnic groups. We gave up a lot of civil peace, it all better be worth it. Because it sucks being part of nothing.

On a side note, school's been really awesome over the past week. The girls are simply phenomenal here. Everyday, its a new pretty girl I see in school. Though they haven't really aroused my intrest far enough for me to want to strike up a conversation. I'm still madly infatuated by so many of them... mmmhmmm 

2 days before Valentine's

TF2 Machinima in the making. Sadly, nothing really original. By anybody.

The modules I'm doing in school currently:

Psychology
Normal undergrads have much more time to finish this but the DPA studs are coping fine.

A creativity module
This one is a big joke. It's pop psychology and secondary/primary school level motivational stuff. Even the lecturer seems less mature than us.

Neuro-Linguistic Programming (NLP)
NLP is pop psychology, pseudoscience that holds no water outside of the common rabble that also suscribe to the likes of Adam Khoo and thousands of other motivational schools of thought. it's all about how certain people are programmed to be more responsive to sound and move their eyes upwards when they're visualising, and other crap like that.

Yoga
Guess what? More pop psychology. To the Indian instructor's credit, he's witty and soothing enough to sell it.


My social investments aren't doing so well. I've been cutting back on the initiative to speak up, since I really don't usually have much I can discuss with other people. Or I'm too slow. Or I can't find anything to say and say dumb things instead (I've realised that I'm confined to sex jokes). Better to have a reputation for being quiet than for being stupid.

On the academic front, things are fine. My 899-word psychology essay came back today. The class did very badly; my lecturer assured them that the first few assignments always screw up. I got a 93% score.

Confirmed with my NLP lecturer that pretty much every module counts toward this year's GPA score, which will in turn make up my final result at the end of polytechnic. I don't remember bothering to think, much less plan for O Levels when I began Secondary School. I should be able to stay top of my course, provided I can find a strategy for group projects.

Presentations occur almost daily. It's a struggle.
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So I was talking to Vonterul yesterday. The conversation meandered from subject to subject - it happens when conversing with anyone I have a steady friendship with. The dialogue simply shifts without anyone noticing too much. (Now I'm thinking that this shouldn't be limited to just close friends; but my social skillz...)

How many times have I, through a project or event or a group, met someone and established rapport with, only for us to forget each other when the project or event or group is over and done with? Some stick around. Some people are more than just fellow students you can joke with.

For a day or so, I was seriously considering asking JJ out. Overload of initiative, again. I've been talking too much, wanting too much.

But JJ and Vont are keepers.

The Best Is Yet To Be

Alright, yes I'll admit, I'm still damn sore I didn't manage to do well enough to enter ACJC. And now that my posting is out, the verdict is also here and I'll be part of SAJC for the next two years. Effectively, I have no more chance of becoming an ACSian anymore and instead, I'm being forced to settle for their rivals.

Who knows whats going to happen while I'm there? Maybe I'll even enjoy myself thoroughly during my tenure in SAJC. Honestly, what is this? Dammit. No more ACS, no more ACJC, no dover road. And now, its at bloody hell Potong Pasir. 

Though I'm honestly happy I didn't get my other options because AC and SA were the only two I was serious about in my options... I'm still mourning over ACJC. After so long, of targeting, aiming and finally doing the exams... My results were not good enough. Or shouldI say because I was not affiliated with the school. My score is definitely good enough for AC. Its just the number of bonuses I can deduct off. Damn.

Unhappiness, unhappiness.

School starts this monday. And orientation week is the whole of the coming week. I read the calander and it also shows SAJC annual cross country coming up soon in March. Its going to be a while before I fully embrace Saints culture and be a part of it. I hope its soon, because I know too, that all this moaning isn't good for me either.

I'll gladly trade my place in SA for a slot in AC's SB class.

Frustration. Frustration...

23 January (fuckfuckfuck)

An activity in psychology class called for us to write down three defining characteristics about ourselves on a slip of paper - two of them real, and one of them fake. These unsigned pieces of paper would then be passed around the psychology students, and guesses would be made.

This was my slip of paper:

1. I have been a perpetrator of sexual abuse on more than one occasion.
2. I have seriously considered a romantic relationship with a person of the same sex.
3. I have no real female friends.

Then when it was time to clarify identities, I was told that I had to read it aloud. To everyone present. And confirm that the third characteristic was the false one.

The girl I lunched with on Wednesday (thus far, best friend in poly) says she doesn't give a damn, but damn... was that a cockup.

Once again, I was too honest without thinking. Like in India, where I refused to apologize because of my staunch belief that apologies are hollow. Back there, I could explain away my iron grip on my idealistic drive as a response to having all things familiar and comfortable being thrown out of the window, but here... it was just careless. Real fucking careless. Now to the rest of the group, I'm either a former sex offender or an attention-seeking liar. Good job Nose, all the DPA Film students were in there.

During the module after lunch, I fell prey to my Neville Chamberlain side again, as in stubbornly idealistic. For group work in secondary school, when I want to do well, I usually attempt to solo the entire thing and leave most group members out of the loop (usually, most of them are content to let you handle it all for them). Although it means more work for me, it raises the quality of end result, as most former schoolmates were dumbasses.

Polytechnic DPA students are NOT secondary school turds. When we went up for presentation, I had already prepared a separate speech for myself to run outside of the others'; I certainly thought it would help overshadow the flaws I saw in their interpretation of the discussion topic. I cut into my own group's presentation and set off into a long winded, unfinished stutter that cost us dearly. The stuff I said WAS relevant (though since it was unfinished, it made me look fucking stupid and egotistic), but unneccessary and self-serving.

Two problems: Too focused on personal agenda (that is, to pour my heart and views out to people at every opportunity), and didn't trust my group enough to work with them. My group scored lowest for that presentation, and you can bet I didn't dare to look one of my group members in the eye when he reminded me to work more cohesively in future. The DPA film students now ALL have a distressingly accurate impression of me. Also, I STILL can't find much to say to team five except terribad sex-related jokes and repeated phrases. Bad day all around.

Today there was no school, so I invited Lime and Zeda over. Lime couldn't make it, turning the afternoon into a boring one. To make matters worse, team five went off on an excursion on their own with Glenn and I wasn't contacted. No matter if it's because I didn't give out my handphone number to more than two people, or because I've already been established as a sexually dangerous fucking weirdo who fucks up his own group mates so he can get more attention (LOOK AT ME I'M GAY AND I MOLESTED SOMEONE SEVERAL TIMES, SO SPECIAL RIGHT), I still had to lie to Glenn that my parents forced me to stay at home.

I have a feeling he would otherwise have taken steps to include me out of obligation and pity, or worse - he won't. I wasn't there to support him for his big performance while everyone else was, after all. I think this may be the point where I've forfeited more or less all possibility of getting any more friends in DPA.


fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccck

The Real Preliminaries

Think about it! She had all those cool steel pins put in. Now she can set off metal detectors totally naked!

- Carl Foutley
As Told by Ginger (yes, this was a show aimed at young teens)

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TOFU said that he waves at random people when loaded up with luggage for a departure. It makes them jealous. What a faggot.

Met up with all the Pebble Faggots over the weekend. We did lots of faggot things together. TOFU came back gushing about an American woman he got chummy with around Bangcawk. She's been backpacking all over the world for one and a half years all by herself, and still going. Naturally he was inspired enough to coerce Panzer into a Kuala Lumpur trip not long after his return to local soil. The dinner was good, guys. Lets do this again sometime. And goddamn, why do you nabs keep the interesting stuff on your own blogs?

Real studying began at the polytechnic this week. On the first day, I overslept, rushed to the bus stop without breakfast and overshot the poly by two bus stops. Thankfully, the elderly lecturer was later than I was. Less thankfully, he lectured us like a bunch of lower secondaries and below. That said, he wasn't particularly annoying, he was just subpar. Maybe it had something to do with the module, which was about creativity and used optical illusions and primary school maths toys to 'broaden our horizons'. Most of us used it to chat, but most people I knew were girls (gender barrier for the lose), and it is difficult to interrupt a clique's flow without looking like an ass (give me your gift of the gab, TOFU).

At lunch, team five stuck together (mostly) and dined at the new canteen. The place is air-conditioned and offers a lot in terms of food choice. I tried to sit down with different people this time. Made some dumb conversation. Only bit I could remember here was the part when the I told the team hottie I didn't bathe at all as a joke. Forgot that my sick ones are not for people I don't know well.

The Indian Yoga instructor after that was pretty soothing, and basically what we do is stretch our tendons and muscles, breathe the yogi way, and lie on the ground, close our eyes, and practice abdominal breathing for a couple of minutes with the lights off. Yoga is like a slackfest.

After that I went to a nearby shopping centre (the one where team five went to buy BBQ ingredients) with two other former schoolmates (that I hadn't talked to till now), but mostly it's just a shitload of maid agencies.

The next day I had Psychology, specially for media students. We had a four hours long lecture. Despite everyone's efforts (including the valiant lecturer's), it turned out to be face-rubbing boring. I have to read 25 pages of their textbook - the powerpoint slides were already full of jargon and terminology. Gheyballs.

Lunch again. This time team five ate at a canteen that was closing down in February. The DPA people will be the only freshmen this year to eat there. Glenn joined us with a bunch of papers he was studying. Had some test at 5pm but chatted with us anyway. And by us, this time I mean just the guys. The guys and the girls sat at different tables. Maybe Glenn chose the men's table because of the gender barrier as well, or because it was just another one of his attempts to get people to talk. Most of the guys didn't talk much, and I tried to make up for it.

Glenn took us to a place where we could play board games on campus. We played Taboo there; Glenn walked in behind a staff member who was shooing us out of a restricted room and asked who had played the game before (you had to be there).

Another pop psychology course was next, except this one was slightly less retarded than the one on Monday. We watched a few pointless scenes of the Matrix and played a name game, which while lame, ensured that I knew almost everyone's names there, everyone knew me as "cockster", and someone threw a football at my cawk. Ow.

We played the prisoner's dilemma. The outcome was pretty unfavourable, because nobody had a real desire to work with the other teams and the ones who did, didn't make enough of a difference (I tried, too). Despite the numerous social messups so far, when the time came to choose team members for a real, graded group project, I opted to join one where everyone in it was a stranger. In retrospect, maybe I should have attempted to expand my comfort zone without putting my grades on the line. Internet sources say my course is pretty damn competitive, with backstabbings and social politics galore. I'll need all the marks I can get.

Back to worrying about grades again. And becoming a more socially comfortable person. Right now all the guys are doing is following the girls around because they're too socially weak to go with anyone else. When the JAE students come in, team five's guys will scatter like pinballs to their old classmates. The relationship I have with the female clique here is a far cry from the sec 4 girls clique.

I had a massive group convo yesterday. JJ was feeling nostalgic (I can never work up the balls to make my friendship with her any more real and steady) and we played truth or dare, one-on-one at first, then we got Giant and Lime and a bunch of former schoolmates in and went crazy. Fun bun until 2AM, where everyone finally got tired of me bragging about DPA and repeating the ghost stories Glenn told team five.

Jiasai and Giant and my former classmates are going to be like my social safety net in poly - even when everyone I know from DPA have gone to hell, I can still hang out with them (you will let me, right? RIGHT?). I could hang out with them all the time. But I don't want to need to do that. By the time the JAE mainstream comes, I want to have other crowds or people I can run around campus with.

Today morning, the first such person coincidentally crossed my path. Spent most of the day with her, talking about our adventures in our secondary schools. Didn't see much of team five. Apparently, without Glenn to bring them anywhere, they just stayed at the canteen for the entirety of the two hours that is lunch. Too bad she's not in my course. Here's hoping that she's not going to become just a safety net.

Tomorrow I'd better start acquianting myself with the group members I gambled on. Am I serious about this? The girl I hung out with today (and she is certainly pleasant enough to stick around and work with) is in the group that I left to join this bunch of complete strangers... so yeah. After doing some blog research, it seems that Glenn was right about this year's DPA being less enthu than DPA '08. At the very very least, I'll try hard.

I have the time and resources to accomplish here what I couldn't in Delhi.



Cookies to the first person who can count the number of times I've said "team" or "group". A pancake to the one who can identify all the places where I accidentally implied romantic tension.

PPP 3D2N (BAAAAAAAAAW)

If there was no God, he would have to be invented.
- Voltaire

At the end of the camp they played a little slideshow with parts of "When Six Songs Collide". Now I really like Superman by Five for Fighting.
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Skip this post unless you're really interested in what happened, no new exciting philosophical insights here.


Day one

The rooms are badass. The guy in charge of my room from team six asked me if I wanted to sleep on the comfy sofa with extra pillows and a fan, but there's also a bunk bed here, and I don't think I've ever tried the top bunk.

2 bathrooms, 3 bedrooms, a spacious living room and a kitchen. It's supposed to be structured very much like a HDB, but the wooden doors are so sexy with their fresh white paint and balconies and numpad locks. The numpads are the reason why I'm writing this on the bed instead of downstairs. I came up to get my stuff, and to my surprise, the door wouldn't accept my code. I tried about five times and rang the doorbell twice before I noticed I had been harassing strangers for the past five minutes. Gosh fuck, I sure hope that nobody I knew was in there.

Bad stuff first. One, aforementioned blurfuck incident. Two, travelling all over campus with team five made my feet all owchy inside. Now I can't jump from the top bunk.

Lost my wallet with IC inside. Games played can be pretty retarded, and they keep trying to advance their pop psychology into things. There was one guy from Mikana's former class and a girl from Giant & Panzer's former class. There were both generally quiet like me.

On the other hand, my wallet was found and tomorrow I can collect it. The campus is huge. The food has vegetables. Thanks to my absence of mind, I wandered into team five by accident when I should have been in team six, and so I've had the privilege of making the acquiantance of a girl who looks quite a lot like Quirr (that's quite hot). =3 We got to give each other back massages too, woohoo. Now so long aas she wasn't in that room I tried to barge into - NO! Bad Nosey! bad Nosey! Thank happy stuff.

Nobody gave two hoots about the fact that I'm with team five. It's polytechnic freedom. No wonder they feel the need to preach so much about personal responsibility. Altogether there are about 80 plus people in DPA for my polytechnic. Team five has 17 people, and one second-year facilitator - that's right, Glenn is only one year older than us. Makes for easy communication.


Day two

Got out from the top bunk at seven. It was a cold night, but I managed to sleep reasonably okay without sedatives.

In my first primary school, I played "Freeze and Melt" with my friends, a slightly modified form of catching which encourages "saving" others from the catcher. All the freshies plus the student facililators played it today.

It was epic for a while, but the aches from the day before, not to mention my poor stamina, caught up with me soon enough and I could soon no longer handle short sprints. Still, nothing like rushing into a bunch of randoms and saving them all. Good feeling.

Then it was replaced by nausea. I remember early last year, I vomited during morning PE. So I downed three cups of soya bean for breakfast and skipped the bee hoon.

Because I was too much of a chicken to even venture near my team's table, I had to be invited over. Godammit. Then this big Malay guy joins the team - he wasn't here yesterday. He really didn't fit the usual stereotype of "nigr who keeps to his own racial group".

First activity: Form two rows of people; a person in one row holds the end of a thick wooden stick while his buddy in the row across from him holds the other, forming what I'd describe as a human ladder with wooden rungs stretching from one end of the room to another. Volunteers were to climb across, climb across with a blindfold, or not cross at all - the rest of the groups were to support the person's decision no matter what it was, via cheering, clapping, etc. The guy who just joined our group took initiative to help out other rungs. I tried to do the same and I think I forgot about my own rung and dropped it, which may or may not have caused the climber to fall. I must have looked pretty stressed after that, because someone asked me if I was okay. D:

Returning to the same room after a tea break, Glenn, our team facilitator, told me he could take me to find my wallet. It was only a little way away. Got my wallet back after a little bit of embarassing fussing about. Nothing was lost. There wasn't much chat - I had no idea what to say, as per normal with me. He did mention out of the blue that the DPA students this year weren't as enthu as the 2008 batch. I didn't have much of a response to that, and I agonized later over whether he had been trying to tell me to open up, or if he was really disappointed. Probably both.

The next activity took place in a grid made out of rafia string strung between desks. The 4x6 grid consisted of squares that could admit one person and the while thing came up to waist height. The objective was to get everyone on the team to the other side. After failing badly for a while, our team watched another more successful team and we basically emulated their strategy of working with the team from across the web. There was some discussion, and eventually things began to work right. On one of my expeditions into the grid I came down too fast and face-smacked one of my roommates in the back, not to mention sending the whole of team five back to the starting line. As usual, I obssessed about that mess-up even after the day ended. By this time, the new Malay guy was more "in the team" than me and half of the rest of team five were.

Lunch passed and we went out to buy ingredients for the BBQ. When we entered the supermarket, we watched speechless as a fellow team outside rushed by the window, pushing a van up a slope. It was truly a WTF moment.

Team five was pretty cool. A lot of us just blindly followed the leader, but plenty also took the initiative to peel off and return with useful things and suggestions. I couldn't navigate the place well enough to be anything more than a hindrance, so I stayed with the cart and didn't help out much. I was really lost.

Coming back to campus, we passed time with riddles and puzzles that ran the gamut from lame to fucking lame, but hey, puzzling people out with Fuzzy Wuzzy is always amusing, if only vaguely. Then the room was quickly turned into a danceroom. The second-years led first, and more and more began to join in gamely. This was in the middle of the day. They switched off the lights, the photographer went around spamming flashes with his camera and three-quarters of everyone were going at it like madmen in no time. It was epic. Again, I couldn't add to the experience, so I sat aside with the rest of the quiet social (or dancing) failures and waited for it to be BBQ time.

Got a plate from my bag and contributed it. Glad I could do that at least. Helped do garlic bread and Glenn's super special awesome cheese taupok. Around us, the sun set and other groups did their own thing. A bunch of second-year DPA students came in and said hello, and we ended it off with some bottle-spinning (I used the virgin joke question like thrice at least). Once again, someone took the initiative to get everyone else to clean up, then organize a meeting at night.

I showered, played a bit of cards with my team and we all trooped out to a little hut at the edge of a field. Full turnout. We sat there, filling the night air with some jokes and chat. Regrettably, I was still tongue-tied to join in much beyond smiling and nodding. I am such a loser. Glenn arrived, and we ordered Macdonalds. Like me, he was really surprised that some of us were already progressing to organizing a chalet or outing for team five.

While we waited for delivery, Glenn told some ghost stories about certain parts of campus, which pretty much ensured that I was never going to go near the Engineering block at night. It was pretty creepy. The conversation meandered off into aspects of poly life and laptops. All of us, including Glenn, stuck around until it was two in the morning, despite that he hadn't had proper sleep for two nights already and still had stuff to do.


Day 3

I woke up a bit late, and allowed my team six roomies to leave first. After I got my stuff together, I went downstairs, where the realization slowly dawned on me that it was a bit late for me to redeem myself much. I did manage to try my virgin joke again, shake his hand and pat him on the back, but I had the feeling I had let him down. God damn, this was India all over again. I didn't manage to overcome the shortcomings I had discovered back then. Meanwhile, team five was broken up and and we were sorted according to our schools of study.

Everyone studying film and media went to a conference room. Task: complete a lipsync music video. In ninety minutes. My new group here consisted of two girls from team five, and three strangers, including one American. They were fast. Don't ask me how they did it, but they quickly formed into another cohesive think tank, spamming ideas like crazy. Again, I didn't participate much. They knew the song and they knew what they were doing. We hit ground floor, I did what I was asked of me, filmed the damn thing at the last minute and came back up for pizza. Then everyone watched the gay music videos they had created; strangely, all were entertaining. My group was crowned the best. On the way back, someone took the initiative to start a conversation with me (did I mention that I'm a fucking loser).

Back at the activity room, there was a briefing, and we were asked to pick Sports & Wellness modules for the next few months. I had Lifesaving/Swimming, Orienteering and Yoga all down as possibilities, ignoring rock-climbing and dancesports. The yogi teacher said he could help with the Sit and Reach for my NAPFA, he could help with breathing, and basically it was a good deal. Orienteering was useful too, but only a few places were open. As for Lifesaving, the hot girl from team five was joining that, but lifesaving is really too situational and I'm not sure of my swimming abilities after a year of stagnation.

Believe it or not, we had to race to the other end of the room to chope the limited places for the Sports & Wellness module we wanted. It starts next week. Things are moving fast. I need to keep up.

I skedaddled out pretty quick after we were dismissed - wanted to avoid more fail on my part. You may have noticed at some point I'm pessimistic. Back at home, I had an anxiety attack and checked all my current contacts to see if anyone else was going to be at my school. I ate chocolate and had emo time hoping that Glenn and everyone else didn't think too badly of me.


/wrist

OH NO THEY ADDED ME ON MSN

This entry was completed January 18, 4AM (explains the terribad writing). Had a cappuchino while I was out with the rest of the Pforters. It came in handy.

Chastity Cup

I just had my first pubbing experience at an open air pub round the corner to my hotel in Bangkok. How many of us had actually gone to pub and took some fun bun stuff.

I had dinner at the same pub as well. I ate and then I took a look at the cocktail menu. I saw something that greatly aroused my interest. "Tequila Sunrise" is the name of a famous cocktail and I ordered it. It costed merely 160Baht, or a mere S$6. Finally I lost my chastity for these kinda things. My first pubbing experience was in Bangkok, Thailand. Its going to be remembered.

Culture (and the lack of it)

School's been out for a pretty long time. It is starting to get a little odd. A moment we're all studying like crazy and mugging 24/7 for months. Then suddenly everything stops and a sudden void comes in. I quiver knowing that come Feburary, I'm going to get started with school again. Think of how difficult it is going to be to adapt. And imagine my time in Junior College starts, its going to be a hectic rush to finish the whole 2 years alive and make it into a university. That two years is going to be shot. A lot have been said about JC being the most fun time of your life, and the A levels, ironically often touted as the worst exams of your live.

I've been often trying to seek out what made my 4 years in secondary school so sour. For some reason or another, I don't like my secondary school. When I hear people talk about their secondary school with such pride, I get a bit jealous and wonder why I can't have that. Ego issues perhaps. I finally narrowed down the reason. I think its because of my school's lack of culture. There is no strong belonging and identity. In the name, the students, the school itself. I'd admit, I'm not one to embrace these things readily and I'm one of the anti peeps in school. But whathehell. Lets just say I want to move on... I honestly think this matter with school pride is a matter of honour and ego for me as well. EGO EGO

I've been doing more thinking about my JC routes for the past week or so. I realised I really don't want to enter PJC because I fear its going to be deja vu all over again. The same kind of culture (or lack of it) but in a different building. I don't want to hang out with the same bunch of folks again. Which would likely be the case... Welcome to sterotypical night.

Socks for all.

I really hope my results will justify my efforts I put into the examinations. And most of all, I hope my new school won't be a pain in my ass. I'm arrogant, but you'd prefer me to ignorance.

I hate ignorant people



- Tofu, peace out

Douchefaggery

If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual [Gay] sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest, you have the right to adultery. You have the right to anything!
Rick Santorum (Sen. R-PA)

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I've a feeling I'm going to take a long time to type this blog post again. Last nights' was two hours, pacing around, putting my back into it. Didn't sleep till 3. I'm still staying up late. Nighttime used to be really scary for me. It still is, but only when I go to sleep. Why is that? Most of my waking hours are spent on the computer, which is perpetually connected to the internet. See where I'm going? That may be one of the reasons I can't sleep in my bed. When I'm that physically comfortable, I wander casually into fantasizing about the good stuff. Then, automatically, I kind of start examining on a realer level. That's pretty scary, actually, when you don't have an omnipresent, omniloving diety to give you hugs. I wonder if it'd be worth it to go into a religious place of worship again, not to gather info, but to experience the belief, if only for a fleeting moment, that someone always has your back, no matter what.

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I was also scared into delaying the development of Bridge. I'm only up to second draft now - snail speed, considering my resources (two weeeks, now extended to January). I'd always thought it'd be nice to write full-time. Think about it: holing yourself up in your house for weeks on end. That has to have some cost.

Anyway, I garnered three valuable responses from people who could give me detailed feedback on second draft. I figure they can best describe the major flaws of Bridge, and the sooner I find those flaws the sooner I burn them. It's just that it's difficult to hole myself up and still be happy enough to even attempt writing. So sometime next week I'll release drafts to randoms on my MSN contact list (who have shitty literary experience, pfeh).

Speaking of that, don't bother with Star Wars: The Clone Wars, the movie, OR the tv series. I watched the premiere of one episode today and I couldn't finish. No skill, no charm, no humour, no polish, no ingenuity, no intelligence, let's not even start on awesome and heartwarming; it's at the other end of the spectrum. In fact I actually got offended by its piss poor portrayal of war, politics and especially soldiers. Karen Traviss either sold her soul to the devil or managed a Jesus-level miracle when she offered to write books based on the series. And it claims to be PG13. Whoever said that should be shot. In the head. With a rifle.

"Nice cock, sir."

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After this point I risk losing my readers if I go on (nothing really that engaging to talk about), but at night I think about my past and sometimes I remember them, and every second I don't record an event, or idea, or decision, I risk losing it forever (I'm THAT forgetful).

Polytechnic. Ngee Ann Polytechnic finally sent a letter that confirmed my successful DPA application a second time, and an indemnity form for a preparatory programme. I'll be able to do some modules ahead of schedule, some interdisciplinary ones. It's from 14 Jan to 13 March (though it doubt it's very intensive). Field trips, industry visits (if I get to the guy who manages Okto/Kids Central I will bring extra ammo), orientation programma, CCA visits (None of them look very inviting tbh), and an overseas leadership camp. Very cute.

I've been wondering about poly life and what to expect. Don't really know actually. I don't want to dig through retarded, jaundiced, superficial blogposts to find out, so I set goals instead. I want friends. This time, I want the type that sticks. Because if I don't get friends and set up a network of local contacts now... I suspect I never will.

You know, before I even clarified my stand on sexual rights to myself, I've been... joking about sexual deviancy since primary school. Not serious. Just a game. No consequences. Still, sometimes, when someone I've implied something particularly deviant to grimaces in response, I mull over how serious they are.

If anyone asks at the polytechnic, I'm bi-romantic. People will read it as homo, gay, bisexual, anal sex - exactly. It's a filter. A people filter. I thought about coming out as bisexual instead, but that'd be a lie. This isn't. And I'll make sure that no one is going to mistake it for a joke.


Oh, and I'm interested in taking up parkour as a hobby someday.

Two interesting dreams

One wedding cake designer I called said, 'We specialize in elaborate beautiful white flowers all over the cake.' I warned her, 'I should tell you, this is for two men.'
There was a slight pause and she said, 'I can put little baseball players all over it?'
Mark Harris

Love knows no gender.
Hugh Goldring


(Non-LGBT post ahead, for people who are squeamish or just adverse to gay jokes.)
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First one: Okay, the story is a little hazy, but basically my protagonists are two shaolin monks gone rogue for a certain quest. I'm watching the whole thing in cinematic format. The two monks approach a curtain, and as they do, a load of monks appear out of thin air around them, levitating. Our protagonists let out exclamations of "This is impossible!" And double-time it backwards to a safe spot.

So once they think they're safe, they begin discussing their next move. One of the rogue monks says, "I know what we must do. We must hunt down every individual shaolin monk before we can continue!"

In a determined voice, his partner in rogue-monk-stuff agrees. "We must find and kill EVERY SINGLE SHAOLIN MONK IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!"

Then, a whole ****load of shaolin monks step out of the shadows in front of them, exactly the amount they asked for, and one of them says, "You rang?"

One of the rogue monks then rather weirdly requests that the top monk, Shen Li or something like that, come forward to fight them. He does, brandishing a huge-ass sword. Then the rogue monks assault him both at once. They win. Then the rest of the world's monks descend upon them in a big orgasmic orgy.

Fapfapfap.

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The other dream was totally different. Me and my sister are sitting on opposite side of a large wooden box. Behind us are my parents, who are arguing, or doing something and failing at it - I can't remember much except that the end is coming very very soon.

So I have my handphone, and rather casually for someone who's about to die, play Mandy Moore's Top Of The World. My sister asks if that's the last song I'm ever playing. I answer no. We sit there together, handphone on the box, us beside it, listening quietly.

The song finishes, and I play Epik High's Umbrella. I state that this is the last song. Umbrella is a truly amazing in that though it's 90% Korean lyrics, the sad lament of the song filters through just fine. And it's amazing. And sad, not just on that level, but on a more personally relevant one.

I think the dream comes apart after that.


PS: Got the translation of Umbrella at last. It's about a buttload of loneliness, and two people who used to be like umbrellas over each other's heads, as shields from "the cold world". Depending on how you see it, the song can also be about relationships as an enjoyable distraction from reality, an "umbrella" if you will. But the umbrella becomes "big and awkward", so yeah, I guess it's very appropriate for my upcoming SYF play as well.
Music Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_E7UGPQswL8