prolong my suffering, why don't you.
written: 6:19 p.m. on Thursday, Sept. 16, 2004
Last night was awful. Tremendously shitty. I haven't other suitable vocab to describe it (okay, too lazy to think) so we'll just leave it at that.
First time in quite a while that I was completely defeated by something academic-related, or just by anything, for that matter. After not bloody knowing what the hell a 'principal value' is and how they got that 'principal value' for argument (z) when I kept getting 2/3 pi, I decided to salvage my situation by sitting slouched in my chair, legs up on the table, staring at the ceiling and laughing bitterly to myself.
Yep, Yelen is going insane. Halfway through my GP Paper 2 I laughed to myself, after paraphrasing 'suicide bombing' as 'the act of blowing oneself up with the intention of killing others'.
I told you GP was braindead.
Today's Maths paper was never retrieved from hell. I have lost 40 marks based on the shit that I didn't do alone, and the remaining 60 marks? I'm positive that half of it is wrong so ultimately, I'm getting a 30/100 for my Maths. An F. Just like me, a fucking failure, and it even alliterates. Hahahahahahahaha.
A relatively bright spot did manage to surface after the gruelling 3-hour mathematical marathon. So I was on my way down the spiral staircase from the staffroom, and I was stopped by this teacher who used to teach me (fuck, I almost typed 'used to taught me'. Oh my god. Blasphemy indeed) Paper 1 Lit last year.
He came up to me, smiling his kind, benevolent smile, and basically told me, rather dramatically, that he enjoyed my GP essay.
I was like, Huh? What GP essay? I thought he was talking about the one I did on film, for which I got a 48/50, but it turned out that he was talking about the prelim essay.
As in, the essay that I screwed up through and through, that was shittily-written and undeserving of my name. You know, the one that I was complaining like a querulous fuckhole about two days back. Yeah, that one.
All I could do was to stand there in amazement while he went off about how 'remarkable' it is, etc, I can't really remember but it was all good stuff, and when I remembered how to talk, I was like, "But I screwed it up!"
Then he made this face, the typical scrunching of the eyebrows, and was like, "No no, you didn't."
Uh, okay.
Still, I'm convinced that the most I can get after one takes into consideration what transpired outside the staffroom at approximately 11.30 a.m. today is still a mere 35/50. Which is a low A2. Yeah.
I'm still convinced that it was shit. I'm still utterly disappointed in my lousy performace. So, yeah. I suck.
For a while though, after that brief conversation, I somehow managed to let in that tiny voice into my consciousness, one that goes something like, "Hey, perhaps you'll do fine after all."
BUT NO. DO NOT EVER THINK THAT. I'm the eternal pessimist, and because I am Yelen, whatever I hope for will definitely turn to shit after exploding with excruciating beauty and sarcasm in my face.
It's a trend that persists, that will never end: When I get my hopes up for something wonderful to happen, chances are, the end result will disappoint me, completely devastate me, leaving me crushed and defeated.
It happened for O Level Chinese. I still remember the crushing devastation that I felt after knowing that I got a mere A2 when I worked like hell for an A1 (till today, I still believe that I was robbed), and even if I wanted to forget, I can't, because they are chronicled and detailed vigilantly in my diary.
My point is, I don't even dare to hope for good grades anymore, because the minute I do that is the precise minute I open my front door for Crushing And Unbearable Disappointment to step in and wipe its sullied feet all over my goddamn doormat.
Hence, allow me to indulge myself in dark thoughts of utter failure for this round of useless exams, because I don't ever want to deal with that kind of defeatism and hopelessness ever again; it's too much, way too much, to bear.
The theory is, if I don't hope, if I expect the worst, when the worst arrives, it won't be as bad as if I were to expect myself to soar.
So yeah. I'm gonna fail like shit and get the worst grades in the whole school. I have accepted my fate as a JJC student. I suck. That's all there is to it.
Anyway, I just want to mention this: At 8.19 a.m., 9 minutes into the start of my Maths paper, when I was staring at the impossible inequalities question, the national anthem was playing in my head.
Yep.
Well, actually, it's five minutes into the paper 'cause it began at 8.14 a.m. on my watch and so yeah you know whatever yeah.
I'm hungry. I found a good quote for Paper 4 Lit. The only problem is the process I would have to go through in order to memorise it.
Blahdy shit.
I think it would be quite interesting to link perfect competition and the Terror period of the French Revolution with Utopian Lit but aiyah, too lazy to think leh. How?
On the bright side, I don't have to go to school until next Tuesday.
On the dark side, next Tuesday is Maths Paper 2, the day on which I will face another ten rounds of the firing squad, twenty more trips to the gas chamber and a hundred days in Iraq.
I hate statistics. Save for Hypothesis Testing, everything else requires thought. Ugh. I hate thinking about Maths. It's the worst thing ever. Don't ever take Maths. It makes you stupid. Trust me, I know. Been there, done that, still doing it for that matter, and I'm already a bloody pro at how Maths will kill you THROUGH AND THROUGH, dialysis your insides, clean out your guts until you're fit to be displayed at a butcher shop. That's Mathematics for you.
Wow, amazing. I don't even know what the hell I'm typing. Forget it. This ends here.
before sunrise // before sunset
Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010