defeated.
written: 6:33 p.m. on Monday, Oct. 11, 2004

I mean, when Khai said that every day is shitty I agreed; it's just that the events that transpired today makes it even more shitty than the normal standards of shittiness that currently plagues every single day of the week for me.

And Lifestyle was imprudent enough to announce to the whole of Singapore that Bill was the winner of The Apprentice, nevermind that the final episode is only showing this Thursday. So I'm like, Yeah, thanks a lot, now I totally don't have to watch the fucking season finale with any ounce of anticipation anymore, hence defeating the whole purpose of a two-parter season finale in the first place.

To err is to be human, but that err-ing is just too much, if you ask me. Have some bloody common sense. Some of us like our TV shows with a nice dosage of suspense, especially when our daily lives totally lack it.

But my point is, today's shitty because I found out that I failed Paper 8.

Okay, I didn't fail as in get below 50% but a 55% does not exactly augur well with me either, and it certainly does not feel like a 'pass' to me. And since I don't really place that much importance on whether I pass or fail Lit, since it's pretty much a given that I'd pass, no matter what (unless I grossly mis-read the stupid poem, which has happened before, but more about that, if I feel like it), so anything that is not a quality grade feels like a failure to me.

The comparison test that I took in September? Well, failed both essays. The funniest thing is that the six-page one yielded exactly the same numerical result as the one-page one. Apparently I completely misread the other poem, "Drinking" or whatever by some old fossil who died like three hundred years ago. The poet was trying to justify his alcoholism, while I went off about how the poet is a didactic moralistic ass who condemns alcoholism. Oops.

And I think that, essentially, is my problem. Somehow I let my own opinions colour my reading of certain poems and prose passages. And other times, I simply do not fucking get it.

I mean, I liked Tony Harrison's "Timer" but I only got a 26/50 for it. The other essay that I did, a comparison between Sassoon's "Does It Matter" and another WWI poem, "The Dancers" by Edith Something, was not remotely finished, but I got a bloody 29/50 for it.

Seriously, it makes no sense. I thought I understood "Timer" but apparently I only got half of it. But then again, I ask this fundamental question: Since when was there a "correct" interpretation of a poem? How are you so sure that your interpretation is exactly what the poet wanted to convey? Are you friends with the poet? Have you read his autobiography or biography or whatever?

Honestly, I thought the term 'deconstructionism' existed for a reason but apparently, it does not remotely apply for A Level practical criticism. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm romanticising Lit a bit too much and it's actually a Science that comes with right answers, absolute answers, with no grey areas in between.

I still think that my interpretation of "Drinking" can stand if one bothers to look at it from my point of view. I mean, I kind of understand where I went wrong with it but I still think that my take on it makes sense. Why can't I read it as sarcasm? To descend into the dark abyss of Singlish-ism: It makes sense what. Hello?

I kind of hate prac crit right now. It really looks like this irritating pedantic thing that is no better than Maths or Econs MCQ. Needless to say, I felt like absolute shit after the Paper 8 double-period but somehow, I've got over it between like, 2 p.m. and now. Don't ask me what I did, because apart from frantically trying to finish every single multiple choice question in my Econs ten year series, I didn't do anything spectacular. No pep talks to self, no verbal vomit, nothing. Believe me, if I could explain it, I would, but it just so happens that I don't understand myself any more than a stranger does so yeah.

So overall grade for Lit is a C. Just as I predicted. Haha. Paper 8 is so powerful sia. Drag my A all the way down to a C.

And yes, the last two sentences of the above paragraph are not supposed to be grammatically-coherent.

So there're basically two things I have to do for Lit right now:
1. Make sure that I get 75% and over for papers 1 and 4; and/or
2. Make sure that I get at least a 70% for paper 8.

Since the likelihood of '2' ever happening appears to be extremely slim at this point in time, I'd rather invest my time and brains in making '1' come true.

Okay, I don't really know what I'm saying. Suffice to say, though, that I'm very convinced right now that the 4A's have just been flushed down the toilet.

Forget it lah Yelen. It's not going to happen. Whatever conned you into thinking that the most remote possibility even existed... well, you're stupid for falling for the trick. Conjurers would have it that I trip over holes that do not remotely exist. To quote James Dean, "Genius would have it that we swim in sand. We are fish and we drown."

How does one even begin to come to terms with one's obvious incompetence and lack of true ability, especially when one has practically fed off it for one's survival? That fierce, defiant, obdurate conviction that one is truly good at something was like oxygen and now it's been replaced by carbon dioxide.

I feel very much like James Dean's fish right now.

Screw the A Levels. Why do I even bother? It's not gonna happen.

It's not ever gonna happen.

Give it up.

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