11 November [The First, The Next And The Always.]

I was born and raised in an extensively branched, but yet close knitted family system. My grandparents have eight children, my mother being the most senior of the lot. Even though she is the eldest of the eight, I somehow ended up being the youngest fledging, amongst my cousins, and in the whole family tree for over a decade. This privilege fed me obscene doses of pampering from adults in and out of the family.

Maybe this is why it is so difficult to put a finger on which is the first memory I have of my mother.  All the dominant memories of the past revolves around being more or less permanently stationed at my grandparents’ place, where I received a holistic education comprising of Academics- my fifth aunt and her comprehensive Chinese education; Discipline- my sixth aunt and her stringent discipline; and Sports- I was an active cheeky bugger.

When I wasn’t at my grandparents’ house, I would either be at my nanny’s place, or one of my mother’s siblings’ place. I stayed at so many places when I was young, I can hardly remember spending my childhood at home- Dad and Mom’s home.

Still, there are two distinct memories I have of my mother.

One of the memory is of the Dining Table Accident.

One night, my brother and I were chasing each other around the house, crawling under the couches and over the desks. I was leaping from one dining chair to another when I tripped over one of the armrests, bringing the chair and I straight down to the marble floor. I fell and hit myself squarely on the chin, which promptly bled like an open tap. I was freaked out and was brawling my eyes out. My mother was freaked out and was brawling her eyes out. I can’t remember how I got to the place, but I eventually had treatments, which culminated at the stitches. I think I was making a huge fuss because they don’t usually knock you out just for stitches. Anyway, the scar is still here under my chin.

Then, there was the Swim Meet Incident.

Like most parents, my mother signed me up for swimming lessons when I was young. Despite my protests and tantrums, she never relented and would always send me to the complex every Sunday faithfully. Once in a while, the complex would host mini competition between the kiddies and again, like most parents, she signed me up- against my wishes. So I took part and competed. My mother was very encouraging. She walked alongside as I swam my laps, giving me support. I was doing fine and was pretty confident that I could win.

Until she gave me a thumbs up.

The next moment, I found myself drowning. (I always chortle in mirth at this point)

For quite a while, I had tried to sort these two memories, and some others, in order of occurrence- but to no avail. I asked my mother about it once, but she was unable to sequentialize the anthologies as well. She was, however, able to tell me that:

It doesn’t matter which comes first, because we have had memories together and will always have more to come.

I love you mom,

Happy Birthday.

6 November [There we go again]

Thank god it’s Friday.

It was absolutely fun just now when some of my classmates and I headed over to Teoheng for singing. For the first hour before the girls arrived, it was probably really weird for those who happened to pass  by our room, since it’s barely conventional to see 3 XY chromosomes singing karaoke while standing and jumping on the couch. But really, who cares, it was insane and our voice cracked halfway through the first chorus.

And then we saw Utt. He looks much taller in person and has this presence which I revel in.

After dinner, I parted ways with the others, who have decided to cab over to some place in Cathy for Tau Huay. Studies have shown that it is most appropriate to take a little walk after dinner to get the food properly digested, so I alighted one stop later and trekked back home.

Alright, actually I alighted later because I have missed the right stop.

So anyway, I took the road along my Secondary School (Here I go again, always reminiscing) and had a great stroll while studying my Alma Mater in the night light. The buildings were still the same; the same incandescence still bathe the church area ; and the corridors of the upper Secondary block brought back memories. There was this warm tingly sensation of nostalgia.

And something else.

The way the old buildings (specifically the DNT block and indoor stadium) peer from behind the vegetation from the top of the hill never fails to elicit a subtle wave of paranoia and perhaps a little fear, which pushes my strides further, faster. It is kind of ironic since I was getting alternate surges of warm and paranoia from the same entity.

Woah, is that my classroom? The whole place looks so creepy. Hey! I used to climb that flight of stairs everyday. Oh god, was that a shadow I see up there? The PT ground; good times, good times. Overall, I think the good feelings rose above and gain triumph. So there!

From school, I retraced the path I used to take to and from school (My school is a 10-minute stroll away from home), listening to old songs, thinking about St John, Council and 4B, trying to revive some of the past times in me. All too soon, the school was no longer in sight and like ripples, the surges gradually subsides with a final sonorous sigh.

Like all other good things, Anglican is something I will never get sick of talking about. I’m sentimental that way.

2 November

I had the greatest shock of my young life just a while ago.

After my laptop has booted up, there was nothing on the desktop.  No icons; Zilch. It looked as if my whole laptop has been reformatted.

I swear I felt my stomach fall.

I was absolutely devastated since I hadn’t back up anything and my laptop is sorta like my mini treasury. It didn’t help that I just woke up from my nap and was feeling awfully grouchy or that I had been beating myself up introspectively for quite a number of things.

Then, I remembered the number 1 rule when dealing with a fresh computer issue- restart. It worked, at least for now. Things seem to be back to normal but I’m not so sure about the next boot up.

I hope everything will turn out well.

31 October

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN CAI ZHI YANG!

 

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN.

26 October [Underneath the night skies]

I used to imagine how great it would be if I could have the house all to myself for a few days. No parents or siblings- kind of like a small peek into the bachelor’s life. I don’t think I prefer it that much now, and I’ve only had the house to myself for a day. I mean, it is cool to be totally independent, but it can feel kind of empty.

And lonely.

I can’t believe I switched the television on just to fill the house with human voices. The silence can be terrifying when it starts to close in. Maybe I would be able to fully appreciate the freedom if it was a few years back when I was still back in my Secondary School, which is a 10minutes walk from my house. Then, I used to be physically and mentally active (Believe it). I stayed out 6 days a week late into the night and mom used to say “This house isn’t just a hotel for you to come back late at night to sleep“. I don’t know what changed. Maybe it’s because the school is a lot further away now, and most of my classmates all live on the other side of the country- It’s just not possible to keep up with all their activities without getting tired of commuting.

Or maybe I’m getting really really lazy.

I spilled soda on myself just this noon and thought it was utterly hilarious. I think I have reached a whole new level on finding humor in self-deprecating acts.  Thank goodness it dried really fast, or I’ll need a new totally new identity next to a change of clothes. The janitor was really understanding and she didn’t scream at me like Karina thought she would. And I didn’t know you’re entitled to a free drink if you have accidentally spilled the previous cup in KFC. It’s too bad I couldn’t get up because of my coke-pants. And it’s really a pity since it’s still a fresh cup.

Did you know that Fraser group is in the midst of developing a new mall in Bedok? IN BEDOK? Really, this is a first and it is so exciting. I hope they have a movie theatre, arcade, Subway and Borders/MPH/Times/Kinokuniya (No Popular please).

I’m positively psyched. I hope it gets completed before I enlist.

I came across this quote and felt a connection. Here’s it to share

The worst kinds of lies are the lies we tell ourselves just before we go to bed at night. The lies that say ‘I’m happy’, or ‘He’s happy’, or ‘This will all be over’, or ‘I can change’, or ‘He’ll change his mind’, or ‘I don’t need her’, or ‘I don’t need him, in desperate hope that it will somehow come true when we wake up the next day.

23 October

First week of school is strangely, yet expectedly, draining. If that even make any sense. I mean, I would want to crash back home straight after school and just nap until my great grandchildren get married. Sleeping is said to be effective in making everything better. Apparently, my body has conditioned itself to this concept.

Well, perhaps all of this is partly self induced- things can get so blown up and be overly analyzed that my brain would thinks that it’s the end of the world.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just insecure. It’s kinda like when I was 14, just that I’m slightly more experienced in handling it now. Past experience has taught that the actual root, to which the the introspective morass has spawned from, is probably as severe as an acne can get. A small acne on the forehead makes one feel as if their whole face is going down, when in actuality, it’s barely noticeable unless one brings attention to it (by making a fuss). And just like dealing with an acne, the best course of action is in fact, inaction.

The whole reasoning above is more for me to convince myself more than anything. Easier said than done.

Anyway, did I mention that I’ve been chosen by a girl in my class to be her project partner for a whole module? I mean, she was the first to choose and she had a huge pool to choose from- including her own clique of friends. But why me? Why freaking me? I’m flattered, yes. But more annoyed, really.

To say ‘Choose‘ is like calling a brutal rape a  ’mutual agreement to have sex’.

It wouldn’t hurt if she actually asked me if I want to pair with her first. Oh wait. If she had asked, I would probably have said no. It was totally incomprehensible that she would just declare (to the tutor) that I’m her partner based on only her own selfish whims and fancies. We were NEVER chummy. Hell, I haven’t even spoken to her more than twice this year. I swear I had so many interesting vocabularies to use on her then (and even now), most of which are synonymous to a nympho escort.

Go figure.

I’m actually a lot less agitated than I have sound(I speak for now). I’m more or less fine with it now. Or at least, have surrendered to things I can’t change (Serenity prayer should come in handy). I guess we just gotta make the best out of the situation.

Pardon me, I just snorted.

Har Har.

19 October [Make A Difference]

Note: If you are too lazy to read the whole story, pan down to the end of this post for a video version.

Jean Thompson stood in front of her fifth grade class on the very first day of school in the fall and told the children a lie.  Like most teachers, she looked at her pupils and said that she loved them all the same,  that she  would treat them all alike.  And that was impossible because there in front of her, slumped in his seat on the third row, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed he didn’t  play well with the other children, that his clothes were unkempt and that he constantly needed a bath.  And Teddy was unpleasant.  It got to the point during the first few months that she would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then marking the F at the top of the paper biggest of all.

Because Teddy was a sullen little boy, no one else seemed to enjoy him,  either.   At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to  review each child’s records and put Teddy’s off until last.  When she opened his file, she was in for a surprise.

His first grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright, inquisitive child with a ready laugh.  He does his work neatly and has good manners…he is a joy to be around.”

His second grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.”

His third grade teacher wrote, “Teddy continues to work hard but his mother’s death has been hard on him.  He tries to do his best but his father doesn’t  show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.”

Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school.  He doesn’t have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class.  He is tardy and could become a problem.”

By now Mrs. Thompson realized the problem but Christmas was coming fast.  It was all she could do, with the school play and all, until the day before the holidays began and she was suddenly forced to focus on Teddy Stoddard.

Her children brought her presents, all in beautiful ribbon and bright paper, except for Teddy’s, which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper of a scissored grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents.  Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet  with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter full of cologne.  She stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the  perfume behind the other wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed behind just long enough to say, “Mrs. Thompson,  today you smelled just like my mom used to.”  After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and speaking.  Instead, she began to teach children.

Jean Thompson paid particular attention to one they all called “Teddy.”  As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she  encouraged him, the faster he responded.  On days there would be an important test, Mrs. Thompson would remember that cologne.
By the end of the year he had become one of the smartest children in the class and…well, he had also become the “pet” of the teacher who had once vowed to love all of her children exactly the same.

A year later she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that of all the teachers he’d had in elementary school, she was his favorite.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy.  He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still his favorite teacher of all time.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would graduate from college with the highest of honors.  He assured Mrs. Thompson she was still his favorite teacher

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further.  The letter explained that she was still his favorite teacher but that now his name was a little longer.  The  letter was signed:

Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.

The story doesn’t end there.  You see, there was yet another letter that Spring.  Teddy said he’d met this girl and was to be married.  He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering…well,  if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the pew usually reserved for the mother of  the groom.  And guess what, she wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing.  And I bet on that special day, Jean Thompson smelled just like… well, just like the way Teddy remembered his mother smelling on their last Christmas together.