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written: 9:34 p.m. on Friday, Oct. 14, 2005

Apart from those brief three hours spent with Angela at JJC, today was largely a horrible day, and I'm feeling demoralised and tired and weary and worn out and on the verge of suicide and counting the numerous ways in which I single-handedly screwed up my life.

And the whole point to not talking to parents when you're in such a mood is exactly that: you don't wanna talk. But because they're parents and because they don't really know you know you, they insist on asking a myriad of questions anyway, most of them fucking preposterous, and they make comments that make you feel even worse, and sometimes you wonder if you were adopted, but other times you know it's really the language barrier and nothing more. I can't speak Mandarin to save my ass, I can't communicate effectively in broken English, I sure as hell CANNOT even attempt to articulate my feelings in anything less than proper English, and when I try to speak proper English to my mom she doesn't understand me.

So, my conundrum is pretty obvious. I need to talk. I really, really, need to talk. I need a way out of my own mess, this long and drawn-out academic suicide, the digging of my own (premature) grave. And I need to talk but oh, wait, I forgot, there is no one around whom I feel comfortable enough around that I can talk to.

I'm one of those insecure people that hates imposing on others, and to me, whining about how much I hate my life to another person and thus putting that person in a difficult spot is imposing on him/her. He (let's stick to the default pronoun) wouldn't know what to say, I'd make him feel uncomfortable because he'd be forced to think of something to say, eventually I'd end up saying something to divert attention away from myself and steer the conversation in the direction of the other party. How are you doing, how is school, everything nice and dandy? Let's not talk about me for I am too insignificant and I really don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, as though you have to comment or say appropriate things to make me feel better. The purpose of talking, then, is ultimately defeated.

Well, then again, I do know who I'm so itching to talk to, just like old times back in Jurong Junior when I couldn't handle the pressure of my own expectations and needed multiple reassurances and reaffirmations of my supposed intelligence (whatever). But I feel weird about asking him anyway. Last night I was all, "Okay, if I see him in school I'd ask if he's free to let me unload." And today in LT5 the Freaking Freezer I saw him and I was like, "Um, then again, I don't think I should."

Oh, I whined to him all right, after Drama Fest (which sucked) ended and I went to talk to him for a bit. He was surprised that I bothered going back for Drama Fest as my anti-Jurong Junior sentiments were pretty infamous, and I was all, "The only reason I'm here is because I'm sick of Law school and I miss this place."

And then some, but 'and then some' stayed obdurately in my head, I refuse to send an SMS request, I just feel so weird about it now that I'm no longer a student there and whatever. I've been wanting to talk to him for weeks but week after week I don't do anything about it, and week after week I continue to mess up everything, week after week I sink deeper and deeper into the unruly mosh pit that has since became my life. And it's a mosh pit in which nobody moshes, which is infested with teenyboppers all waving freaking light sticks at a gig, and choked to the brim full of boring, anal retentive, pedantic Singaporeans who sit throughout a Jay Chou concert and frown at people who stand and they're stupid and major pains because you don't sit during a non-classical concert, period.

Also, I wanted to ask a few teachers about what I should say during the Cambridge interview which I really dread and don't want to attend, but I didn't get a chance to because I didn't even want to think about the impending interview, and worse, the even scarier written test. I didn't even expect to be called to attend an interview; I thought they'd take one look at my O Level grades and my lousy and over-the-top and last-minute personal statement and chuck my application aside. I was hoping that my Cambridge English hopes could be squashed, fuss-free, with a simple rejection letter; but no. I'm made to go through the tedious interview/written test process, the whole stressing over it AS THOUGH I DON'T ALREADY HAVE ENOUGH SHIT FROM LAW TO STRESS OVER, and when the rejection finally comes it'd fuck me up all over again and murder my self-esteem even further. I wish I could suffer a nervous break down now so that I don't have to deal with anything at all.

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I love writing in Chinese even though I can't do it, for feelings feel more honest and raw and real when expressed in my native language. Its beauty truly astounds me.

**

The immediate reason for the exponetial increase in magnitude of my angst: I got a pathetic C for my Torts test while 90% of Rui's tutorial group seemed to obtain B-'s and above. TK's comment on my fucked up answer was that it was "confused".

What an apt description of my perpetual state of mind, confused ennui, stubborn insistence on going on like this.

I guess the double whammy came in the form of the fact that it was Torts and okay so I deserved it for not studying until 24 hours before the test (and I'm giving myself a huge allowance here) but that JC-ish excuse is not an appropriate defence for my clear negligence in terms of not studying, not putting in effort, yadayada, but then again, Torts is the only Law module - apart from Impractical SLS that's essentially (sometimes intriguing, sometimes confusing) philosophical meanderings - that I make a point to read every week.

I don't know. I really wanted to cry. In JJC in front of former teachers I really wanted to cry whenever they asked about school. I feel like I've let everyone down, somehow, as self-important and pretentious as this sounds, that JJC never happened precisely because I've reverted to the person I was before. The mouse, the personification of mediocrity, everything I hated about myself which Jurong Junior changed.

"Nobody failed," said TK; but he missed a crucial point. To some of us, mediocrity is failure.

And so I've failed again. And I can't do anything about it but shed useless tears, as if that would make everything go away, and there goes my wishful thinking again.

I officially do not hate Jurong Junior anymore. I may laugh at it and criticise the hell out of today's Drama Fest for not living up to the standard of last year's (which my class ruled, by the way, because Mel is a theatre genius and no one can replace her and the girl who won Best Actress today? Doesn't come even remotely close to the brilliance that Mel is) and continue to deplore the sorry state of English, written and spoken, in that school; but it's true what they say about not appreciating what you had until they're all gone.

Angela and I walked down the corridor leading to LT5 the Freezer and she proclaimed, "I miss this place!" and I laughed and I could so relate. To my absolute chagrin the study benches where Mel, Pei and I slacked at during breaks have been taken away, and to me that's akin to destroying dinosaur fossils or defacing historical relics, not because we're old, but because those were our benches, simple as that.

I saw Mr. Tim Dore behind the stage curtains in-between plays and I cracked up. After the event we ran into him and he complimented Angela's navel in his usual dryly humourous way. I wanted to tell him that I still remember the things he said in class, about how "out of point" is wrong and it's actually "off the point", the correct pronounciation of "sarcastic" and "purchase" (basically Singaporeans do it wrong), what an absolute cliche the word "share" has become (such that I hesitate nowadays when I use it in contexts that he would've deemed preposterous), and that very nice thing he said about me once in Paper 1 Lit class: she may even be better than me in the future.

Of course, it could've been TJD's tongue-in-cheek sarcasm but I'm entitled to my right to self denial and so I choose to believe otherwise.

Angela and I had a nice chat with our Chinese teacher at the rooftop cafe and he bought us drinks. And um, apparently the College Day thing is pretty huge; for sure the Suntec City ballroom/whatever is much bigger than LT5, and I'm thinking of the number of people and then I'm thinking, I DON'T WANT TO GIVE A SPEECH.

In fact, I'm not nearly qualified enough to give a speech at College Day. It's wrong, it's ridiculous, it's totally inappropriate. They should get some 4A's Science guy who's probably in Medicine or something (though don't quote me on that) to have the honour of delivering the speech. I don't wanna do it, the mere thought freaks me out, and my constant struggle through law school, especially the C, is a sure sign that I'm not the right person for it.

I'm going to die bitter and unhappy, aren't I?

I was surprised to see that my LAWR tutor gave me a B+ for my closed memo re-write. Here I go again: I did it half-heartedly the night before and completed my final draft in less than two hours. I attempted to edit it on the day that I was supposed to submit it but was too lazy for that and so I eventually handed in my first and final draft.

I think she was lenient though.

But I came home and read her notes on the re-write where she extracted passages from her students' memos as learning points and none of my shit was there.

Seeing Mrs. Chua in Jurong Junior was super weird and I think she felt the awkwardness as well.

During Drama Fest the emcees asked the audience to use one word to describe the event. Angela went, "Jurong!"

That was so freaking hilarious, and so freaking apt.

The play that won had me cringing throughout the entire thing, and I wasn't the only one that thought it sucked. It was this attempt at unravelling one's purpose in life and the meaning of life, and the ultimate answer is such a Cliche with a capital C that all I could do was to groan in agony. Love being the meaning of life? Get the fuck out of here and never come back. The musical elements (i.e. singing) were hilarious and badly-executed as well. One of the songs contained a side-splittingly funny line: "like prisoners need a key." The whole song was choked with analogies along the lines of people's needs, for example...I don't know, a child needing the love of a parent? So they had all these pretty conventional, normal analogies, and then out of nowhere the cute Malay boy sang, "Like prisoners need a key" and there was nothing I could do but laugh okay?

And the lesbian play? So damn overt, and not nearly half as controversial as my class's play Instruments which was partially based on The Vagina Monologues. It was awesome wasn't it, Mel?

Fuck, I miss those days.

Angela and I were irked by the 05A05/05A06/05A07 thingy as well that the emcees insisted upon. We were like, WHAT THE FUCK? (Okay she didn't say fuck but the gist is there and that's the thing that matters.) We said '03A01' out loud and went, "Ew!"

Wanna know what's funny? Writing about the three hours in Jurong Junior and the random things that transpired over the last two years there put me in a slightly better mood.

It's funny, absolutely hilarious, the way things turn out sometimes.

this entry requires a lot of chinese simplified encoding

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