Her Effervescence

Into the Lion's Den #2 - The art of doing nothing

2012-02-05T11:25:00.000+08:00

(My column this week, first published here.)

In her new column, this Starstruck! 2011 writer journeys into a new land, occasionally wandering into trouble, and scratches her head over life’s beautiful chaos.

Sure, we all know how to do nothing. Laze around staring into space. Wander around on Facebook. Go on 12-hour Glee marathons. Waste time.

Or at least, we think we do. But think again: when was the last time you really allowed yourself to relax, silence your mind and simply be still?

Like the large majority of the teenage population, I have always been a busy person. There was always an assignment to finish, another class to attend, one more meeting to plan…

“I don’t have enough time!” was the line that I constantly wielded, my glittery heroine’s shield, in my frenzy to get to the next item on my agenda.

But here in Singapore, as school has yet to start, the pace remains pretty slow to say the least, with only the occasional medical checkup or orientation programme.

Just last night, a fellow idle comrade spluttered, “I’m so bored of being bored!”

And with a strict curfew, there’s only so much time you can spend going to malls and museums.

Which leaves me with a lot of free time on my hands, so much so that I actually have to sit down every night and think, “Hmm… what do I want to do tomorrow?”

For some strange reason, I have taken to crawling out of bed early in the morning, climbing on top of my shoe rack, sitting there and watching the sun rise over the school compound.

Through this bizarre interesting practice, I find that I can access an inner voice and inner peace that I never knew existed within myself. Contemplate thoughts about life. Friends. And how I miss Malaysian food.

For someone who is far from calm and spiritual, it’s pretty good progress, wouldn’t you say?

The rays of sunlight pierce through the air and light up the pastel clock tower, although the stillness is sometimes punctuated by the sound of bagpipes (yes, bagpipes) from a certain hardworking boarder.

You should try it. Getting up early to watch the sunrise, that is. Not honing your Scottish musical skills at 6am and waking up the entire campus.

What I’m trying to say is, no matter how busy you are, set aside some alone time for yourself every day to be still. Watch the clouds go by. Stare at trees. Meditate. Whatever suits your fancy.

And don’t you dare tell me that you “don’t have enough time”, not even that five minutes.

Because I’ve been there, done that. Being constantly on-the-go from one appointment to the next (and calling watching videos of flying, nya-ing cats relaxation) is no way to live.

Even the best Energizer bunnies have to be recharged from time to time (although my scary peers in this new land seem to run on some futuristic, inexhaustible fuel 24/7).

Doing nothing is not a waste of time, but rather, an art form that everyone should be able to enjoy. Rest is a gift that does not need to be earned; it is actually needed by all of us.

So, as the school year kicks off for real, here’s my challenge to you, a simple one at that: Receive that rest you deserve, and embrace it.

To echo the words of Lao Tzu, at the very least, doing nothing has got to be better than being busy doing nothing.

And maybe then, you’ll find that it’s not so pointless after all.

Still wondering how she became a “scholar”, Amanda NYC, 18, finds physics and fashion equally as fabulous. She lives with her head in the clouds, and believes she can see a better tomorrow from up here.

Welcome to ACJC!

2012-02-04T23:59:00.000+08:00

Boom…boom. Boom, boom. Boom…. boom. Boom, boom…

The signature beat of the drum pounded in our ears. 900-strong, the crowd went wild and everyone cheered on the top of their lungs, “Ohhh…oh oh oh, AC boleh, AC boleh…”

It’s been a whirlwind of a week. My firsttaste of a Singaporean school was absolutelynuts – in a great way.

To describe Anglo Chinese Junior College(or more affectionately, ACJC), people here take the line, “work hard, playhard” to heart.

Students are smart, diligent and all that(I was so shocked when I discovered the admission cut-off point; how in theworld did I get in?), but these are the very same ones who put on stellar dramas,drench each other in water and randomly break out into school cheers at everygiven moment.

Naturally, orientation has been really,really enjoyable. The cheer “ACJ is fullof fun, full of fun, fun and more fun” is not an effective marketing ploy;the entire line up of events has truly kept our spirits high from the start tothe end.

What comes to mind right now is a senioreditor’s “sandwich theory” – at the first layer of bread, you’re still nervouswhen you venture into something new; but once you reach the filling, you learnto enjoy it and have a good time; yet all too soon, you’re at the bottom of thesandwich, as things come to an end far too quickly.

On Day 1, I walked into the school compoundnot knowing what to expect, and having little expectations myself. I didn’twant to be disappointed.

But I was truly blown away by how capablethese people are, staging a huge-ass event after months of planning. Theymanaged to get 900 students thoroughly enjoy four days of dancing, cheering andgames – even with the mandatory dry stuff like introductory lectures andbriefings. We boogied in the rain, soaked our asses with soapy water, gotstinky goo in our hair, played ridiculous circle games, glow-stick partied inthe dark during the campfire…

As our orientation group (OG) sat in acircle for the last time after the finale campfire - grubby, sticky and sweatyfrom a long day - the shadow of the week’s adrenaline hovered in the air,flickering like a hologram, a warning that the fun was about to end. Togetherwith our amazing senior orientation group leaders (OGLs), we’ve gone through anincredible journey within just four days. Thanks to them, the experience hasbeen truly a blast to Pluto and back.

You need that one thing - ARTHUR's that one thing!

But come this Monday, the fun will be overas lectures start and our OGLs leave us to go back to their normal schoollives. It’s scary. It scares me that junior college will begin for real. Expectations are high, and thefact that I remain confused about which subjects to take and which clubs tojoin does not help one bit.

No, it’s not always good. There are moments of insecurity I experience, when I’mrudely jolted out of my reverie and it hits me that I’m missing out on quite abit. The thought that I’ve turned my back on an easier and much more familiarroute – continuing my pre-university studies back home – is intimidating. Idon’t know if it’s the right choice.

And yet, there's one thing I know for sure: I might just be in the best position possible as a foreign student. Having ascholarship, good boarding, a fun-filled, balanced school that’s not just aboutstudying… Maybe being such an apparent bimbo in the interview wasn’t a badthing; it’s led me to ACJC, what I think is the best institution I’d want tostudy at here in Singapore. I’m not looking for academic excellence (although tome, ACJC doesn’t lack much in that aspect); it’s more about the culture andenvironment that I will be in for the next two years.

I’m happy that it’s a very different place,compared to my old school. Here, we danced the evening away in the hall, theentire cohort of 900 jumping up and down and banging our heads to the music;back in the said former school, everyone would have just stood around clueless, like frozen robots when the music started playing. That's the starkcontrast between then and now.

As a friend said, what doesn't kill me will only make me stronger.

So… I’d like to believe that I can do this.I can take on my studies, even with my weird subject combination (Physics,Math, Literature and Geography). I can find a co-curricular activity that holdsmeaning to me, and enjoy, learn and grow through it. I will make the most of my time at ACJC, make a difference and findhappiness in the things I experience here.

The road ahead will be far from easy. Frommy current vantage point, it’s looking pretty rocky already. And I am afraid,as the stakes are high. But to channel the AC spirit, “The past we inherit, the present we create, but for those who hope,work and play, the best is yet to be.”

Time Unshackled

2012-01-28T10:52:00.000+08:00

Chinatown, Singapore!

The end of the week has rolled around, and for the first time in a long while, the need to say "thank God it's Friday!" does not arise.

I am in Singapore. Standing on the brink of my next adventure, peering into the distance with aprehension, but largely, wondering what to do with all the lovely time I have in my hands right now.

That's right - I'm free. Totally, utterly free. Think, so free that I have to sit down every night and plan what I want to do the next day. There's a whole country out there that is within my reach, laid out for me to explore with my fellow comrades who are equally as disengaged from work-ly matters.

I am certainly not the best person at doing absolutely nothing, but this feels wonderful.

It's the holiday I never had, since my post-exam December was spent toiling away at the internship (ahem, I mean, being productive at work). Still, I am relishing the feeling of having no responsibilities and appointments whatsoever.

It is highly appropriate, and perhaps coincidental, that on top of my reading list right now is "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert (yes, I'm reading it for the first time, do not laugh at me). In the novel, she spends four months each at three places - Italy, where she learns to enjoy food and life; India, where she learns how to meditate and get in touch with the spiritual side; and Indonesia (haven't gotten there yet, still at India) where she learns to balance the two.

In a way, within these short two weeks, I have been learning how to eat, pray and love as well. How to enjoy material things in life, like the abundance of good food and fabulous shopping sites all over the country. How to enjoy the little things in life, like riding at the very front of the MRT and peering into the darkness ahead, imagining that I'm on some Disneyland track to magic. Or even how to find comfort in the mere presence of good novels in my room, against the thought of the dreary textbooks that are going to share the space soon.

And somehow, I believe that through this experience, I am getting to know more about myself. Or at least, more about the Amanda who doesn't have a thousand assignments to complete and is pulling her hair out by chunks (in fact, her hair is "long" and lovely now, thanks to her successful escape from the shackles of old school rules). I kind of like this Amanda. It's the first time I'm meeting her, but we've become fast friends, and hopefully, she'll be sticking around for a long time to come.

So... yeah, I am enjoying it in Singapore right now. The proximity of everything, the safety and the variety of things offered are among the reasons why this long-awaited "vacation" has been pretty good.

Yet, there are moments when I no longer forget myself and am reminded that come this Tuesday, everything will take off in a whirlwind as school begins once again. A whole new place, new people, new things to do... I cannot wait to start this thing, but another part of me knows loud and clear that I will never have the luxury of time as such again. It will be lecture after lecture, exam after exam for two whole years until I survive this challenge (or die trying, as they say).

I don't know what to make of what lies ahead. All I can do is enjoy idling away what little free time I have left, and brace myself.

Life is a big canvas. Throw all the paint you can on it.

Into the Lion's Den #1 - What We Leave Behind

2012-01-20T21:43:00.001+08:00

(My new column! First published here.)

I hopped onto the escalator and – whoosh, thwang, craaash – immediately lost my balance, as the steps seemed to race upwards at the speed of light!

Welcome to Singapore.

Among this batch of scholars, there's a tech junkie, a Scrabble champ,
a sportsman, a musician... while the writer (third from left, with Wushu kick)
seems to be the semi-blonde who is constantly in a blur.

I have been in three cities in one week. After completing a month-long internship at Menara Star in Petaling Jaya, I spent a couple of days back home in Penang unpacking, then re-packing.

But all too soon, before I could say, “More char koay teow, please”, it was off to the other land down under to pry open a new chapter in my life.

Previously, I was just another school-going teenager who lived with her family and dreaded washing her never-white school shoes.

But last December, I had to part with all my home comforts in exchange for a bigger adventure – living 400km away from home in the big ole city as a wannabe journalist.

And now, twice as far away, the next big thing on my agenda is to continue my studies under a scholarship in this country free of bubble gum.

I am thankful that the transition from small town to big city to crazy intense metropolis has been somewhat smooth.

But through this process, I have come to a few realisations: Unwashed laundry does not self-destruct. Cheap GPSes will fail you at the worst times. Toilet paper doesn’t magically appear in the bathroom, but has to be purchased and lugged back by someone.

And when you have to go back to a silent, empty room at the end of each day, there is really nothing like home.

I don’t know if this counts as being homesick, but knowing that absolutely everything here – from the people to the geography to the furniture – is strange, foreign and unfamiliar… it’s pretty horrible.

A mere three months ago, the Amanda who was facing what was then her “biggest battle yet” – the SPM – had no idea that the Amanda now would be writing this kind of sappy stuff.

She thought she was doing okay. She was focused on doing okay, and it never crossed her mind that all she had at that moment would someday not be there anymore.

Well, that someday is here. And I have learnt the hard way that you never know what you have until it’s gone. I took my family, my warm bedroom, my dog, home-cooked food, nosy relatives, knowing the little island like the back of my hand … all for granted.

I thought they’d always be there, you know? I mean, it’s not like you’d expect an SPM-er to ponder philosophical questions about how not everything lasts for an eternity.

But deep down, I think all of us know that there will come a point, sooner or later, when we have to leave the nest and its comforts, and learn to fend for ourselves out in the real world (which includes buying your own toilet paper).

Philosophy or no philosophy, that point has arrived – sooner than expected – and I will never get those things back. As the scary signboard outside a nearby school reads, “The only way to go is forward.”

This is a whole new territory I’m tiptoeing into, one step at a time. I know the road ahead will not be easy, but there is reassurance in the thought that I will emerge stronger, and hopefully, better a person.

And hey, I’m pretty sure that Penang char koay teow will have never tasted sooo good.

Still wondering how she became a “scholar”, Starstruck! 2011 writer Amanda NYC, 18, finds physics and fashion equally as fabulous. She lives with her head in the clouds, and believes she can see a better tomorrow from up here.

An Intern No More

2012-01-12T01:04:00.000+08:00

Temporary. And now, gone.

All good things must come to an end.

And I really, really hate that.

Today, I sent my final story down the irretrievable chute of the system. Logged off as "attach23" for the last time. Said my thank-yous and goodbyes to the wonderful editors and journalists. Smiled as they asked (jokingly, I think?) me to stay on, or to come back. Tagged myself out of the office knowing I wouldn't come back the next day. Twisted around in my seat for one last look, but the granite grey tower was already... gone.

The internship is over. My time at The Star, my first experience working in the "real world", has officially ended. I could say all the cliched things people do at the end of great journeys - that this was once-in-a-lifetime, I have learnt ever so much, the memories will remain in my heart forever, yada yada... but there's so much more than that. I don't even know how to begin, nor find the right words to do this experience the justice it deserves.

At this ghost-town of an office,
a sense of belonging had finally started to sink in -
the smell of ink, stress, paper, carpet and not enough showers
- but I don't even know when I'll see this place again.

Well, I could start by saying, this internship is the best thing I've ever experienced. Hands down. Peers passed me snide comments about how I had to toil the holidays away while they could rot away at home after the SPM, but really, I would not trade anything in the world for this. Nothing at all. And coming from me, all these highly cheesy things must mean something, right?

Previously, school - and a smattering of other stuff - was all I ever had. My life revolved around studies and extra-curricular activities. Period. Life was slow, dull and to me, meaningless, for I could not see the point of pushing books so hard. Dispirited, lost and angry, I was far from happy about the way I lived.

One month after successfully escaping from the pressure cooker of school, I am still lost about what I want to do, and yeah, I was very much angry this morning when I got screwed by someone who barely knows me... But so, so much has changed.

In the (far too short, if you ask me) period of one month, I have tried out new things that have opened my eyes to a much bigger part of the world. Never did I imagine that I would have the chance to attend press conferences by politicians, witness breaking news in action, be assigned to cover events independently, write about high-end fashion, contact and interview notables in various fields, or even, work for the biggest English daily in the country.

Heck, actually, I never expected to get to work at all, beyond waitressing and teaching math.

Before coming here, I thought this internship would be terrifying. I thought I would have to walk around holding a dictionary in order to understand what the people here were saying at all, with their sky-high standards of English. And I definitely expected to have my head bitten off by editors with every alternate article I submitted due to abysmal performance or major screw-ups.

But the reality was far from like that. Truth be told, I did not find the work I was assigned with too challenging (not saying it was easy, but the need to go into panic mode never arose). I came in with zero expectations about whether I would enjoy this and how much I would take away from the experience. Needless to say, the internship has exceeded my expectations by light years.

I really, really loved my job. I relished the feeling of being given an assignment to complete, from the initial research to the final edits before submitting the story. There was excitement with each day that arrived, for no two days as a wannabe journalist were ever the same. I went to places that I'd never have visited otherwise - from Istana Budaya to political party headquarters, and many places in between.

However, as always, it was the people that made the whole experience so wonderful. The editors were often very kind to us, and at least trusted us with some things - perhaps the fact that we would go "Do you have anything for me to do?" instead of "Sorry, I really can't do this, I've got far too much on my plate now" helped a lot. Even with the weight of having to fill the newspaper pages on their shoulders, many were very patient, and were so gracious to share insights with lowly interns who lie at the very bottom of the pecking order. And as for the one or two who scared the living daylights out of us... I realise that I did learn a few things from them as well.

Despite their annoyance at us, many of the journalists were willing to help us and teach us a thing or two. I'll say that some of them are the weirdest people I have ever met - in a good way. Often, they say the darnest things that never fail to crack me up, while the more serious ones have also made me come to a few realisations.

And then, there are my fellow jakun idiots - oops, I mean, interns - who have made the experience the awesomeness that it is. This bunch of rambunctious teenagers (catchphrase!) has made me feel like tearing my hair out at times, but I'm telling you, I will definitely miss you guys. Together, we toiled away writing stories, got lost in new places, prayed that the taxi drivers weren't going to kidnap us, made the silliest mistakes, raced to meet deadlines, approached stern editors with trembling knees, played so many sessions of "truth or truth" and in general, had a jumbo-sized, scary but fun whale of a time.

Volunteering to be salespeople at the Star Edu Fair:
I am. So. Going. To. Miss. You. People!

I guess I would say that I have changed, tremendously, through this internship. Not just in terms of how to talk to people and get things done, but I think I have become less panickey - definitely a good thing. After a month in the real world (which actually felt more like a dream than reality), I have learnt to hold myself better, to go out there with more guts ("in journalism, you don't ask for permission; you just do it until someone stops you"), to look at one story from different angles, to hand in good work no matter how crappy the assignment is (plus point is that it certainly pushed my creativity and writing skills), to complain less and appreciate more...

I have matured. And for me, the biggest thing is, I have learnt to let go. Just a little bit. I'm trying hard to be less uptight, to be more okay with how things change, to go with the flow, as they say. I know that I cannot control everything, and I'm learning to be all right with that. I've gained some perspective about the journey of life - school isn't going to teach you much, so get your ass out there and absorb as much real world as you can, the place that's full of new sights and smells and sounds. Grades really, really aren't everything, in the grand scheme of things. Time should be spent on things that are meaningful, not just on science textbooks in order to get you one more A+.

I realise, maybe I do have some skills, and that I should put them to good use. There are ways for me to make a difference. I may not be as idealistic and hopeful as I was a couple of years ago, but there are still channels, things that I can do. And this taste of journalism has somewhat pointed me in a direction. I can really picture myself doing this as a job, as a way of life.

Today, my last day, flew by in such a blur. I was actually on the verge of tears twice - for very different reasons - but it was late at night, when it finally hit me that this whole adventure is over and I will never get it back, that I finally broke down. For once, I wasn't crying because of frustration, anger or disappointment. It was just hard, to turn my back on something that has been so incredible. Chances are, work will never be so enjoyable.

But I know that I had a crazy good time - even with the crappier jobs, such as writing advertisement-ish articles, being a "salesgirl" and dissembling a Christmas tree. I have tried my best, and made the most of this period of one month. Looking back at the very end of the experience, I can say that I would not have changed a thing.

Nine hours from now, I will be on the bus, heading back home. The Amanda who arrives in Penang will be different from the one who left the place but a month ago. She has changed, and believes it's for the better. And she will be bringing back a few extra things from KL - too many press kits, most probably a couple of kgs that weren't there when she left, a few unfinished assignments, endless nostalgia, a little bit more wisdom and a whole lot of lessons that have hopefully shaped her into a better person.

Sometime ago, Amanda told herself, "I don't want to be the girl who goes through life thinking about all the what-ifs, and envisioning all the worst-case-scenarios." And sometime later, she now believes that she's a little closer to achieving that. It's not about optimism; it's about having zest for life, and believing in life itself.

So, dear life, power up there, fate or whoever, thank you so much for this experience. And to all the people who made this happen, who were kind enough to let me crash and to ferry me around, who were there for me whenever I needed you guys, who have shown me that really, really nice people do exist... I really do not know how to express how grateful I am. Thank you thank you thank you a million times over!

Awesome people on the cover of the first issue. Homage, in a sense.
The year ahead - may there be more adventures to come!

I Made the News

2012-01-10T22:04:00.000+08:00

Rapunzel in the making
By AMANDA NG YANN CHWEN
newsdesk@themoon.com.my

Petaling Jaya: A former Chinese school slave has discovered that her hair, previously always less than 5cm from her ears, is now at 16cm.

Overjoyed, Amanda Ng, 17, claimed that the prefects at the institution enforced a stone-age communist rule that rendered all its prisoners ugly.

"It was horrible, I will never fathom why they did that," said the triumphant escapee, adding that she is never ever going to torture her hair like that again.

When asked whether she is going to continue measuring the length of her beautiful hair, she said, "Definitely. There's nothing sweeter than the taste of long hair you can flip - kind of."

Authorities are not and will never be investigating the cause of this ridiculous phenomenon that has shackled several schools in the region for eons.

Give and Take, You'll Still Gain Something

2012-01-09T21:13:00.001+08:00

"You have to do what you don't like, in order to do what you like."

The words of my fuming former math teacher constantly emerge in my mind, bobbing on the surface of the sea of thoughts that flows through my head with what I have to do right now.

One more corrupted CD to work with. Another dull press release to magically turn into a mighty interesting story. The thousandth no-one-will-read-this-but-your-job-is-to-write-it article that I'm blessed with.

In short, here at features, I'm being given pretty boring stuff to do.

Some of the more interesting stuff I did:
Interviewed local singer-songwriter Amirah Ali,
who was really nice and passionate. Hmm, it's ironic that
famous-famous people have but droppings to say,
but the less-known ones talk about more substantial things.

Let me backtrack. Prior to this internship, a sense of foreboding nagged at me - I will do abysmally at features. I don't do entertainment. I don't watch TV shows on the TV. And I hate ads.

Surprise, surprise, my predictions came true. I have no idea how to do this features work. My job here includes writing ad-like articles about sunscreen and water masks, reviewing seriously weird movies and other kinds of small stuff in general. It's not horrendous, but it takes some serious grit and determination to write about things that I'm not terribly interested in.

(Let me be quick to point out that all the fashion work I've been doing does not count; it's been really wonderful, getting a real-life glimpse of all the sophisticated/elegant/beautiful/gorgeous/fashion-forward/vintage/classic/clean-cut/minimalist/stylish dresses and shoes and bags that I will probably never be able to afford but still love to droooool over. Working under a really nice editor is definitely a plus point as well.)

But wait. I started writing this post, not just to ramble on and on about my current predicament, but for another reason - these two weeks of doing what I don't like have probably taught me more than what my thoroughly enjoyable time at another desk has.

I have learnt what sucking it up and delivering a good end product means. No matter how crappy the assignment is, I'm still responsible for giving it its worth by giving it my all. In fact, I like the fact that it pushes me to find more creative ways to write the story, thus (maybe) improving my writing skills. This is where I can really explore new and different ways of talking about the same thing, with accuracy and still in the appropriate style.

This is totally foreign, unmarked territory. Unchartered waters. And to manoeuvre this place, I have to ask for help. And the people here are scary. I sound like such a kid, but some of them give you The Glare when you even make as much as a squeak. But when there's no one else around, you really have no choice but to approach the journalist who pretty much hates interns with a capital "H". Or at least, is rumoured to. (Oh, but it was such a pleasant surprise when the said journalist actually answered my questions nicely! You can't judge people just like that lah.)

Okay, what I'm trying to say is... being put in an environment I don't like, in which I have to take on (to me) mammoth-sized challenges, with the constant fear of screwing everything up, is not a bad thing at all. The experience is somewhat unpleasant at times, but at the end of the day, getting a thumbs-up from the editor for handing in good work still gives me that warm, happy feeling.

I guess, it's true that there are days when work is just gonna be work. But these are the days when you have all the more reason to say, "thank you". For there's nothing more awesome than the feeling of triumph when you've packaged something so well that it takes on an unrecognisable form that will actually be interesting (okay, I'm getting delusional here, but get the drift).

Only two more days of the internship to go - it means two more days of likely boring work, but no, I don't want to leave, not at all!

Also attended the RAOUL (omigosh so hard to pronounce)
press open house at Carcosa Seri Negara.
Somewhat a let-down, but I'm not complaining!

Adieu, 2011!

2011-12-31T01:08:00.000+08:00

Crrr-iinnggg, went the memo on my phone.

"Where are you now? Where will you be going? Stay strong, stay positive. It's opener out there in the wide open air!"

I read the self-reminder keyed in months ago and couldn't help but smile. As I wave goodbye to the 17th (or technically, 18th) December of my life, I realise that this year has been quite a journey - such cliched terms, but it's true. So, here's the mandatory review of another year that was, one that I will look back at this time next year and laugh - hopefully.

I made a deliberate effort to make this year "different" from the previous one. "Enough with dusty, heffalump-sized textbooks!" was the thought I had in mind, as I turned away from all the smart-alecky sciencey stuff I'd been busying myself with and chose to dabble in more "real world" things instead.

Public speaking. Magazine-making. Starstruck! All these experiences have pried my eyes open to what's out there, beyond the encyclopaedias and science journals. As much as I love my theoretical physics, my reasoning now is that learning about worldly (and not sciencey) matters is so much more fulfilling.

I have always had a penchant for words and writing, but the things I tried out this year required more than that. I got the chance to step into the foreign feeling of having to stick my head out and ask questions; to speak out, loud and clear; to work with others in a race against time to produce an awesome final product; to liaise with people to get things done; to ponder given topics and produce well-thought articles... In short, I got to tackle "real" stuff, and saw the world out there for the first time, having been hiding behind hardcovers for the previous 16 years.

But beyond that, I learnt more about people through interacting with others. I learnt to listen, besides try to talk. I learnt to search for that hidden meaning sandwiched between the sad smile and the soft words. I learnt that some people can be nasty, but the best thing you can do is really, to let go and move on. I learnt that people are willing to help; you've just gotta have enough courage to reach out for that help. And I learnt that the tiniest actions, stemming from good intentions, can brighten up someone's day and turn it around 180 degrees, for a little appreciation truly goes a long way.

This year, I have done things I'm proud of. I have made mistakes that made me throw my head against brick walls over and over again, yet allowed me to bounce back up with a bandage around my head and carry on. I have ventured off the beaten path once in a while, and tried to change a few things for the better. I have done things for others, trying not to think about the implications that I might draw. I have tried to be a good friend. I have discovered wonderful people who made the darkest days beautiful. I have realised that there's nothing wrong with having emotions, but knowing how to manage - instead of ignore - them is essential. I have bid farewell to the pale yellow walls of high school, teary-eyed yet determined to make the most of what I had left. I have gone from being an "aspiring physicist/mathematician" to a "I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-gonna-do-and-I'm-proud-of-it" - although the wrong label on my name card is such a pain.

I guess you could say that I have matured a lot throughout this turbulent roller coaster ride of a year. I'm still trying to figure out how to live, love, laugh, as they say - it's an ongoing journey. But yes, despite the many failures and mishaps, I daresay I'm happy with the progress I've made during the last twelve months. As a person, I have grown.

The Amanda typing this in her temporary room 400km away from home right now is not the same as the one who was dazzled by the scientific Hollywood in Sweden last year. She now knows more about the world, having learnt so much from happenings and people in her own country. She now comprehends the value of friends and family better, as moving on was not a choice for her. And yes, she is proud to declare that she has survived the torture of the SPM, and even prouder because she has realised that really, academic results are so not everything.

So, to answer the questions I posed to myself sometime ago... Where am I now? In the real world, which feels more like a cotton candy dream than anything. Where will I be going? To a land that will hopefully grant me bigger adventures and allow me to challenge myself, to become a better person. Yes, I will try to hold myself in one solid piece, and refrain from accepting too many electrons.

Slowly, I am coming to terms with the reality of the challenges that lie ahead.

I am learning to be at peace with the direction I'm taking, despite the butterflies in my stomach over what will happen in two weeks from now.

I am hungry to soak up more experiences and adventures that excite my senses and leave me energised, wanting for more.

Because indeed, this real world - full of new smells, sights and people - is the best place to be, and I'd say, being here is a pretty good way to end 2011!

From the Newsdesk

2011-12-29T19:17:00.002+08:00

Over the past two weeks, I have - listened to boring speeches, snickered at ridiculous replies at press conferences (and gotten The Stare from everyone in vicinity), jaywalked across too many roads, ran helter skelter when I was late, trembled under the glare of the editor, met other similarly weird members of the press, gotten reprimanded for making silly mistakes, witnessed the ugliest (and the most amazing) of human nature, laughed at the funniest things journalists say...

Yup, welcome to the newsdesk.

Before I came here, I was terrified of this particular section of the editorial unit - the heart of the newspaper, as they say. I expected boringly dressed people sprinting in and out of the office, racing against time to complete assignments. I thought work would be tough and hard. I anticipated know-it-all journalists who had their noses glued to the ceiling, and editors who snapped at you at even a squeak.

But looking back now, those assumptions weren't very accurate, were they? If anything, most of the people here have been warmer, friendlier and more helpful than what an intern could ask for. They have a wicked sense of humour, and are always willing to throw you a mini lifebelt if you end up bobbing up and down in the sea of assignments desperately flailing your arms...

And yes, work has been enjoyable. Not so much the colour stories that leave me banging my head against the computer, but the stuff related to what I like - and a lot of what I like is related to that stuff. Things like politics, government policies and formal events. (Okay, yes, I am such a boring person, I know.) I love the fact that the air around my seat in the office is saturated with new information that is constantly surging in to be packaged and transported to the rest of the nation. It feels so... alive!

Here, I have been taught to be concise and objective - news writing. Although I admit that on this blog, I am hardly short-winded, and never unbiased, let me just end with this: My time at the newsdesk has been the best two weeks I have experienced in this year. I have seen so much new stuff, and learnt so much about writing, working with people and presenting the news. Every day is indeed a new adventure. Yes, I am saddened by the fact that tomorrow will be my last day here, before I go back down to level 3A to start my stint at features.

So, to the newsdesk, thanks for the experience. I will miss you dearly!

Confessions of A Frustrated Intern

2011-12-27T17:46:00.001+08:00

Placing this photo here is largely irrelevant - I know.

Often, I wonder, is there a point to this? To every day I start feeling like I can take on the entire world, only to be hammered into a pancake - again and again - and to end it on a truly crappy note.

I don't like this. I'm at one of the most amazing workplaces in the country, where the news reaches us firsthand, yet I am doing absolutely nothing. No, I am not stepping out of my comfort zone. No, I am not trying anything new. And no, I am not satisfied with the stories I've been writing.

This feeling is getting increasingly familiar: The editor doles out some ridiculous "colour story" to you (think Christmas shopping or New Year resolutions), you rack your brains to find suitable interviewees, conduct highly nonsensical interviews, try to pull usable quotes, attempt to string everything together even though the blinking cursor on the blank screen is driving you crazy, delete everything and re-write... with the editor screaming that he/she wants your story pronto.

You submit the story (totally unsure of whether it was even written in English, or some completely foreign alien language from somewhere light years away), shut down the computer, bid farewell to the journalist beside you who's going "oh shit" because of a piece he just screwed up, and take the long, slow walk down and go home.

Then, you start thinking, reflecting. The thought tugging at you goes something like this - perhaps these long days spent doing "useless" things that make you wanna tear our your hair in chunks aren't that useless after all. Maybe I did learn a thing or two from doing these assignments - about writing, about human nature, about the value of perseverance. The fact that the newspaper does need this kind of articles is one of the few comforting thoughts I cling onto. And heck, opening the newspaper in the morning, scanning the articles, reading a very familiar lead, followed by an even more familiar story (albeit sans the byline) does make me whoop with joy. Not like punch-fist-in-the-air-and-hit-the-ceiling-on-helium, but a tiny hint of a smile. That ought to be enough, no?

Indeed, there are days where work is just going to be work. It all boils down to how you take it. So, I'm learning to be patient. I'm learning how to just suck it up, how to stop grumbling, how to focus on the great things, for there is a silver lining as much as there is a dark cloud. Like what? Like editors who are actually willing to ask interns to join them for a drink, mentors who don't hesitate to share their experiences with you, colleagues who say the darnest things early in the morning, interviewees who are so nice that they truly light up your day, and the free food - oh my god, the food...

Anyways, coming back to Planet Earth - I need to lower my expectations, while putting in a little more effort to wriggle my way into getting better work. I need to stop (or rather, lessen, to be realistic) complaining, and start diving into each assignment with gusto and enthusiasm, no matter how ridiculous the story may seem to me. I need to listen to others, and not just myself. I need to appreciate. I need to enjoy this.

And I will. I know I will.

"I had a terrible day. We say it all the time; a fight with a boss, a stomach flu, traffic.
That's what we describe as terrible when nothing terrible is happening."

Meredith Grey, Grey's Anatomy

I'm seeing stars

2011-12-20T18:45:00.000+08:00

Muddy feet. Ruined shorts. Strained eyes. Sore shoulders. Blocked nose.

I am just so, soooo tired.

This internship thingy is quite energy-consuming, you know? Literally working from 9 to 5 - researching, interviewing, meeting new people, catching cabs, calling strangers, writing stories... I've pretty much been writing in the office every day, to the extent that I am left with a remaining word count of 0 at the end of each day. Hence, the lack of blog posts.

But the funny, warm thing is that I'm happy. I'm happy about this internship. I'm dead beat, and it feels great. Perhaps it's the workaholic side of me that's taking over, but there's that sense of accomplishment with each article that I finish writing - even though I have yet to see my byline appear in the paper. Yet.

I know this month will be one of the most trying months of my life, but also, at the same time, the biggest, greatest, most meaningful one. Finally, I'm out there. In the real world. Doing real things. It feels truly awesome to know that for once, the things I do are no longer theoretical training in preparation for exams - full stop.

Needless to say, I'm learning loads. Not just about journalism - which is a very murky sea of water to begin with - but about people, about things, about life. It's only been a week, but I feel like I've been exposed to a lot. Never mind that the office is actually filled with people who have baggy eyelids and low noise tolerance (ahem ahem); it's an amazing environment that I'm in right now. So much knowledge to absorb, so many experiences to discover. Even if it means sitting around and just waiting half the time - one of the many "job hazards", they call it.

A recent experience is a videojournalism workshop in Bentong, Pahang that I just came back from. One day of introductory training at Menara Star; three days of hands-on video-making in the middle of no where - complete with a waterfall, mud, tents, mud, bugs, and did I mention, mud?

The gorgeous 8 Acres (and a little bit more) in Bentong, Pahang.

Held at a not-yet-completed resort slash training facility called 8 Acres, we were facilitated by The Star's new media team. Under their sharp-eyed, deft-fingered guidance, we completed assignments in teams of 7-8 people.

My team's topic was about the durian trade in Bentong, Pahang. Oh, the irony of being the sole fluent Chinese speaker who was willing to interview random people, yet also being the only one who nearly faints at the stench of durians, and had to hold her breath in the shops. I was the producer, editor, worrier, swearer and general job-doer. You could say that we were the most unlucky team - getting the hardest assignment, the worst camera, the one laptop without a battery (whenever the generator died - about 6 times an hour - the computer would die too, and whatever we didn't save in time would just vanish)...

Being the one most familiar with the computer programme and being able to understand Chinese better than most of the rest, the weight of the responsibility to pull through fell on my shoulders. Our subjects were crappy, we were informed about a sudden change of plans two minutes before leaving, the setting was horrid, and the topic itself not so interesting... God knows how many swear words it took for me to finish the whole thing from start to end (in front of facilitators too, my apologies now that I'm back in Sane Land).

But we had a very patient mentor who's an amazing videographer, and our stand-upper was very, very good. Even though patience among everyone was running low most of the time, and we got unjustly told off or criticised by some people, we managed to pull it off. "Just suck it up and shut up," as my awesome hugger cum marshmallow provider would say.

And somehow, despite so many problems we encountered... we won. I couldn't believe my ears, I really couldn't. I guess you could attribute it mostly to how good our stand-upper was - absolutely adorable - but do allow me a moment of narcissism and to say that idea generation and editing played huge roles as well.

Plastic bags, I mean, ponchos! The fashion statement we had no choice but to make.

Looking back though, it was fun. Being with the Starstruck! family - all of us, for the first time - was amazing. With many of these people, I feel so at ease; I can simply be myself. It's almost certain that we will never be together as a group like that again, but those three days with you guys were the epitome of this year-long starry journey we've all undergone together.

Through the three days, I've realised quite a few things. Like how real human nature takes time to reveal itself. That I can do this video-making thing, even if I'm far from a visual person. And maybe, just maybe, journalism, or at least media, is the road that I will take. The new media team was quite inspiring - they know the ropes, have amazing skills, and always give their all to produce their videos, from the Bersih rally to documentaries about frogs.

As our main facilitator said, journalism is not for people who want to sit back and relax, but for those who like challenges - that's me! To be on the go, presenting news to the nation, to the world, is a pretty awesome thought. Whatever medium it is that I will use, I know I definitely want to tell real stories of real people. This is the one thing in which I can imagine work and play actually becoming one, seeing my job as a lifestyle that I enjoy.

I know I still have a long way to go til I figure out, or have to figure out, what I want to do. But at age 17, I am darn lucky to be on this journey. Really, I cannot wait to experience the next three to four weeks!

If only this internship would go on and on... In the meantime, I'm leaning into the discomfort, embracing the foreign feeling of trying new things and cherishing every moment here I have left.

Forever's A Long Time, You Know?

2011-12-09T13:33:00.001+08:00

In one word, I can sum up the current state I'm in - zombified.

My sore legs and sorer back find refuge in the comfy swivel chair, after a day (was it only a day?) spent on a "bungalow stay" at the peak of Penang Hill. It is certainly hard to believe that the SPM only ended 48 hours ago, when we finally put down our pens after frantically scribbling out our last Chinese essays, and students and invigilators alike punched our fists in the air in triumph, going "yes!" over the end of exams. And the official end of high school, for most of us.

Heading out after the final paper,
wearing the blue pinafore for the last time.

A string of celebratory doing-absolutely-nothing-productive activities followed, while the next morning was spent paying the school the last formal visit, to return the textbooks and to get a few documents and certificates back. Then, the next 20 hours or so seemed to stretch into an eternity of warmth (wait, that's ironic; it was freezing at night) and bliss as we had the whole rented bungalow to ourselves, with its cool breeze, ample space and breathtaking scenery outside.

Many games were played - from the PE class favourite, handball, to primary-school-day Iceman and "A, E, I, O, U" (17-year-olds really think a lot more than 7-year-olds). We sang songs, held chor dai di (a poker card game) "tournaments", played the obligatory truth or dare, and stuffed our faces with junk food hauled all the way from Tesco.

Chatting late into the night - until 5 o' clock in the morning and waking up a mere two hours later - was definitely the best part of the trip. With a group of people I am sure I will still be in contact with 20 years from now, we talked about topics ranging from food, politics, religion, education, relationships, family, friends and life in general. These girls are people I would actually open up to when it comes to certain things; they know me well enough not to judge me based on what people see on the surface. And they give very valid advice for 17-year-olds. I'll leave it at that, as what happens at Richmond bungalow, stays in Richmond bungalow. I hope.

Never mind that the place was scarcely furnished, or that we had to risk breaking our backbones and catching pneumonia by sleeping on the stone-hard floor while the icy breeze from outside froze our feet; I got to hang with the girls for almost 24 hours - that's what mattered the most. Because we can celebrate the end of Malaysian exam torture, but the unavoidable truth hanging like a heavy mist engulfing us, is that this is it. It all ends here. Hopefully, this event has put a complete full stop to the end of our five-year sentence (in both definitions).

This journey is over, but another one begins. And I am so going to miss these people. The familiar sound of chatter mainly in Chinese by a bunch of giggly 17-year-olds who have gone through so much together still echo in my ears; if only I could pull these memories out and store them somewhere safe for keeping. But the memories will fade, as the photographs yellow and curl. Things will never be the same, because even though we say that we'll keep in touch forever, forever ... is a long, long time, and time has a way of changing things.

This is it. In the distance, my next journey awaits me. In the distance. The bone-crushing embraces as we wished each other good luck before parting ways for good just now told me, it's time to move on. To step up to the challenge. To shoulder those real responsibilities of growing up. To go to new places, and to make new friends. To find our callings in life. To let go.

I have no idea when I'll see most of you girls again, but thanks for all the good and bad times we've had together. The people are what made the experience of high school all the more meaningful. As I pack up and move out, move forward, I pray, with all my heart, that twenty years down the road, talking to you will remain as easy as it is now, and that I will have a place in your heart, as you do in mine.

We say things like "I'll miss you", "keep in touch", "all the best" and "good luck", often not knowing what they truly mean. But some comprehension is dawning on me now. Facebook can only do so much in keeping people connected; the rest is up to us. 随缘，而有缘吧！

Kafka on the Shore

2011-12-04T21:19:00.001+08:00

Once more, I am devouring the written word.

It has been a long, long time since I last sat down to read a good book. This year, I've constantly found myself with too much to do and too little time. But somehow, even as exams are going on, I have rediscovered the wonderful habit of binge reading.

And after a long weekend filled with many sessions just sitting still and relishing in the fiction, I have just finished "Kafka on the Shore" by Japanese author Haruki Murakami. The story tells the tales of two characters - one 15-year-old Kafka Tamura who runs away from home, away from his father's dark secrets; the other a simple-minded old man called Nakata. The two plots move alongside each other until they converge, as Kafka and Nakata's lives are turned upside down by enthralling dramas.

Many parts of the book are bizarre, to say the least - Nakata can talk to cats, Kafka manages to (apparently) find his long-lost mother and sister in the same city miles and miles away from his hometown of Tokyo, an evil man slits cats open, chews and swallows their hearts and stores their heads in the refrigerator, escaped soldiers from WWII live deep in the jungle and remain un-aged since their war days, a separate world is opened and closed by an "entrance stone"...

However, this wasn't the usual crappy fantasy story that I can never stomach. Even the overload of sex references - Kafka gets a handjob from his (maybe) sister, does it with his (maybe) mother, and fondles himself so many times that one would lose count - didn't put me off in the least. The novel was poignant, elusive, bewildering, bold, outlandish and confusing... all in a good way. No doubt the immaculate translation helped, but it feels wonderful, how reading this book made (and still makes) me think.

Yes, it rained fish too. Twice.

The character that held my attention from the start to the end is, no doubt, Miss Saeki, the disappearing woman of the story, and the head librarian at the small private library Kafka finds work in. The middle-aged woman is described as "slim and beautiful", and stands with her back ramrod straight at all times (yes, she reminds me of someone I know in real life). Miss Saeki goes about with her day-to-day duties in a professional and efficient manner, but one would notice that she isn't really there - the will to live on has been lost in her soul, since she lost her lover when she was 20.

Yet, I find her elegant, mysterious, and achingly eloquent when it comes to love and life. Is it really possible to be hurt so much that one becomes scarred forever, living with only half a shadow? She spent all her time writing her autobiography, detailing her life, especially what she did over the 25-year period when she mysteriously disappeared, but ended up having the papers burnt before she died. She knew her death was imminent, not due to sickness, but because she simply could not go on any longer. I cannot begin to comprehend what it feels like to be so utterly devoid of hope, to be tormented by memories - "Memories are what warm you from the inside. But they also tear you apart." She said she survived each day, and saw each day off - still empty. What does it feel like to live on nothing?

The novel is certainly "charming", as many reviewers put it. One cannot help but be mesmerised by the way the two plots are delicately woven. Most parts of the story are ambiguous, and remain so even at the end of the novel - that is exactly why the novel appealed to me so much. It wasn't really about what happened to the characters that mattered, but their thoughts, emotions and the journeys they each took. Not everything is explained fully, and I still have a lot to chew on.

The familiar sensation I get after reading a good book is back, and it feels wonderful.

"Every one of us is losing something.

Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again.

That's part of what it means to be alive."

- Oshima, Kafka on the Shore

Dusty Endings

2011-12-01T12:09:00.000+08:00

It is - the sandy shore of the last month, December. The waves of examinations, previously moving in...out...in...out, are now receding into the golden horizon, going, going, almost gone... As I begin the gargantuan task of cleaning out my room and packing my things for the next phase of life, one cannot help but be slightly on the sentimental, nostalgic side.

This 10-by-10-foot hole is where this hermit has spent the most part of her life. Now, the reference books, novels, folders of notes, sheafs of exercise papers previously strewn all over the table, bed and floor have been neatly stacked in two piles - one to be recycled, the other to be given away.

But that four-foot stack of books, and the three-foot pile of papers bite at me. They remind me of how hard I've worked for this SPM thing, how hard we all have worked for this. Teachers pushed, parents hollered, we self-tortured... the hours of studying, stressful lessons, tuition classes, book-pushing in general were all in preparation for but four weeks of examinations.

There is indeed irony when you take a step back to examine the situation - undeniably, I find it slightly ridiculous, the lengths we went to just for a piece of paper. But nothing is funny about how I could have, and probably had, in the period of a few days, blown this whole thing. Screwed up. Somehow, despite the months, or years, of preparation, I wasn't quite ready for this exam. The last few days of studying were somewhat half-hearted, and answers were scribbled down while my mind wasn't really present in the exam room. Heck, I felt like I was writing effing fiction in my Biology and Chemistry essays - poor literature penned by a distraught and desperate bard who isn't gifted in the slightest.

And even as I squirm over the thought of my likely under-par performance, there's also that familiar feeling that's been hanging around me for months now - the nagging thought of having to move on, but being unable to do so. I don't want to leave. I'm not ready to leave; but I never will be. It's not because the notion of the monsters that lie on the road ahead scares me, but rather, because I know I will really, really miss this life I've had.

A friend told me that I seem to be preparing for my "funeral" - which is less than a fortnight away now; where's my coffin, eh? - and perhaps he's right. I see this as the end of the life I've had for the past 17 years. Come next Sunday, the old Amanda will be gone as the bus pulls out of the station, disappears from view in the distance and heads down south. Over the period of a month, a new Amanda will be born, or reborn, out of the ashes of all the things she will have left behind, things that currently weigh her down.

While I cannot wait to begin my journey in the big city - followed by an even bigger one after that - a big part of me wants to hold on - it clings onto the warm, comfortable classrooms of school, the pointless loitering in the mall with friends, the auntie who sells blue and white kaya kuih nearby, the char koay teow on Sunday mornings, the familiar sound of Penang Hokkien being tossed around like a ball, the serene call of the Azaan from the state mosque at the break of dawn...

How does one even begin to let go, when these things have been part of me all my life? I really don't know, but I think, emptying my room, tying up the loose ends and bidding farewell to great friends ... is surely a start.

Reckless with Relish

2011-11-25T13:26:00.001+08:00

People who know me well would call me an "idealist", with dreams far too big to be considered healthy. Many scoff at the crazy big ideas I have, and tell me that I should keep my feet rooted firmly to the ground, focus on what is directly ahead and stop thinking so much about all that could happen in the future.

But I cannot. The future is a wonderfully elusive notion to think about; contemplating about ever so much that could potentially take place is my oxygen.

A little voice in my head tells me, though, that perhaps it isn't a bad thing to be so reckless in my daydreams. It takes a certain amount of craziness for one to want to witness the Nobel Prize award ceremony at age 16, to slave through sleepless nights to try to beat thousands of other entries, to wrangle with teaching calculus to teens who don't even understand basic arithmetic... and to survive - well!

I genuinely believe that this recklessness is what gets one to places. If you don't even dare to think about doing great things, achieving them will surely be crossed out as a possibility.

I admit though, I can say all the above things with gusto and confidence, but the hypocrite in me still cowers in a corner with her knees trembling at the notion of certain things. Take my "next big step" for example: I recently realised that I'm worrying so much, and imagining all the horror stories that could befall, because I've never done anything like that before. In the past, there had never been the need for me to really step up to the challenge of making a big, life-changing decision. I just took all the steps that had already been written out for me, the sure path that most had travelled by.

But woes and complaints aside (they're endless, trust me), I will do this. I shall step into the discomfort, and try to embrace that discomfort, wrestling it into something that resembles some sort of okay-ness. I will lean into the foreignness of it all, that acute sense of being so out of place, and I will thrive.

My definition of "thriving" in next year's bigger pond? It includes, amongst many others, retaining my insanity, my penchant for drawing up dreams a couple of sizes too big - so that I can grow into them (but please please please no more horizontal growth, I'm begging you...). At the end of the two years, I want to still be able to be gushing absurd ideas at every moment, to attempt to plan out-of-this-worldly things, to want to try to do the very cheesy thing of "changing the world"...

And so, drowning out the feeble protests of Miss Realistic in my head, the terribly loud and annoying voice of Miss Crazy asks, "Why not?"

Why not, eh, why not...

"Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers.

The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently.

They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo.

You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them...

While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius.

Because the people who are crazy enough

to think they can change the world,

are the ones who do."

- Steve Jobs

Shutter-bug

2011-11-21T20:19:00.001+08:00

The lanky 18-year-old's eye is caught.

He sees it, the warm sunset glow of that one second that seems to make the world spin a little slower. His job is to preserve that magic. Holding up his device, placing his eye to the viewfinder, focusing, he presses down on the button to release the shutter, capturing the moment forever.

Photography. An art passionately learnt by some, a skill unacquired yet put to use by most, a hassle brushed aside by the remaining few. As the winds of technological change pick up speed with time, the camera has settled down comfortably as an object that most possess and take for granted. Compact, DSLR, phone, pocket, toy, waterproof, movie, analogue... the list is endless.

Human beings have this need to make things last longer, to document happenings so that the curled photographs can come to the rescue someday when the memory starts to fail. Photography is indeed a wonderful way to preserve the pixie dust, holding onto the very last imprint of the magic, but there is one problem with the way we're doing things: Photographs end up nowhere.

I mean, sure, you've bought your ten thousand dollar device after meticulous research, mastered terms like "aperture" and "rule of thirds", edited them using the latest version of Photoshop, but after that long, tiring process, the pictures will probably get published on Facebook for a few keh poh people to browse through when they're bored with nothing else to do. And then, they slowly sink into their dusty death of neglect.

My mum was one of the first people to jump onto the digital camera bandwagon when the technology first hit the shelves about ten years ago. Instead of having spend lots of money to print out the photos, we could now take as many photographs as we want, plug the SD card into the computer and do whatever we wanted to them - fantastic, eh? Whatever we wanted to. Like put them into the "My Pictures" folder and occasionally show them to relatives when they visit. Then stuff them into some unknown corner of Drive C when the computer crashed and got rebooted. Drive D was their last reported sighting, until we moved from 2000 into XP, and they were heard of no more.

What I'm trying to say is, I find it really funny, how we're spending ever so much on all the equipment, and yet most of us hardly know what to do with the end products once all the photos from the party have been uploaded onto the net for your editor to freak at your drunkard adventures.

I guess it's no surprise that I've been collecting my favourite photographs from my high school years in an album (a digital one, for the moment), and plan to send them to the photo shop (not the digital one, mind you) for printing. I like the feeling of being able to physically hold and touch the image, to zoom in and out using my hands, to flip through the plastic pages of the photo album on a lazy Sunday afternoon without having to power up the laptop and use the two-finger swipe function...

A photograph is that instant captured by man, the one that will never cease looking back at you. The world will not fit into the shaky lens of my 12.0 MP Fujifilm, but I can sure try.

And I promise, those 2D memories will see print too!

Itch

2011-11-18T22:01:00.001+08:00

I cannot stay away from this blog.

It's been a couple of weeks since my last "real" post - that means it's been two weeks since I really wrote something substantial (at least, good enough to be worthy of publication here). That 30 Days thing isn't enough to sate my hunger, my need, my urge to write. I'm being deprived of my own oxygen.

I'm dying.

All I want to do is to write, write, write - so be it if exams are still going on; typing out my thoughts is my way of unwinding, and things like the SPM should not stop me from doing what I love for an entire month. No way.

So, yup, I'm back. Magic-making resumes ... now.

Rawr - I'm back!

Intermission

2011-11-07T21:50:00.002+08:00

Ich mache eine Pause!

Dear Reader,

I am deeply saddened to inform you that since the SPM (the Big Exam that's supposed to matter even more than our health and sanity, apparently) is right around the corner - six days away, in fact! - I'll try to blog less, as harsh reality does have its expectations.

But til that glorious, glorious Wednesday five weeks from now, you can find me here, at a mini blog I set up called Attempting Effervescence, where I will be completing a 30-day meme. You know, one of those things that have been going on strong on Tumblr for quite a while now.

I want to write less, but still be able to write something everyday, so this is my present solution. And perhaps I'll figure out a bit more about myself along the way too.

See you there!

Regards,
The girl whose eyes refuse to read another word remotely related to exams at the moment

Of the Written Word

2011-11-02T20:53:00.001+08:00

I have a confession to make: I took up Literature in English because U.S. schools wanted me to.

Yes, ever since I picked up my first Sesame Street book, I have always loved reading. Yet, the decision to pursue the study of the written word actually stemmed from the fact that American colleges prefer applicants to have gained exposure to the subject - and no, the so-called "literature component" in English classes doesn't count.

Thankfully, it wasn't too hard for me to find a teacher of the SPM extra subject (obviously, my school doesn't offer it). I went to the first lesson at the start of Form Four - an introduction to literary devices such as the still unpronounceable "onomatopoeia" - a little bit apprehensive, not knowing what to expect.

Over the weeks though, the apprehension soon turned into curiosity, then into enjoyment as I realised what a wonderful subject this is. The weekly lessons with Madam G were always enjoyable, as each poem, short story, drama and novel opened my mind to the issues that exist within humanity yet are often overlooked, that were captured perfectly by each author.

Surprisingly, the syllabus of the SPM subject is actually pretty good - we studied poems by Pablo Neruda, John Clare, Roger McGough, William Butler Yeats, and even our own Muhammad Haji Salleh. Short stories such as "Naukar" and "The Landlady" remained in my mind long after I closed the textbook, as they really made me think about certain issues in life, such as prejudice and presumptions. I got an insight into 20th century British upperclass snobbishness through a play by J.B. Priestly, while reading and analysing a children's book, "Holes" - yes, the first one I've read since I was about eight - actually made me realise that literature can be wonderful with its quaint stories and irony, crafted to suit every audience.

Of course, my teacher, Madam G, played the biggest role in making me love studying the subject; her lessons were always eye-opening, filled with much dry sarcasm, not to mention the whacks she would deliver to the poor boy who unfortunately sat beside her when he couldn't give a satisfying answer. A mere "hmm" from her always spoke a thousand words, and over time, we learnt to decipher whether it signified an encouraging "go on", irritation as we tested her patience with feeble answers, or plain enjoyment in seeing the student go further and further down the wrong road with his or her warped explanation of things - scenes which would usually end with "okay, oh my god I'm dying, someone save me, please!"

I daresay Lit is the only subject from which I have learnt anything substantial, and I am proud to say I have enjoyed it every step of the way. It's not because I managed to garner good grades in every test, no. I believe it has more to do with the fact that Literature in English somewhat brought a certain amount of depth to the table, allowing us to explore and discover things around us that we normally don't notice enough to care about. And hey, being the only lesson in which the word "sex" isn't censored and replaced by "perlakuan maksiat" (an act of sin) and one is allowed to describe a government as "totalitarian", in contrast to the usual "we must be loyal to our country and show our unwavering love for the government", how could one not savour each two-hour session?

Fast forward two years since that fateful first lesson in the sweltering heat, I am now deeply, madly in love with the study of the written word. It's one thing to read a piece of work, think about it for five minutes, then put it aside to invite dust bunnies; it's an entirely different one to examine literature, analyse and discuss it with a group of bright students, occasionally prodded by the teacher with her red-hot pitchfork. (I jest.) Even if we were still subjected to the usual drilling for exams once we finished covering all the texts, Lit truly did make me appreciate the work of writers more; so much thought and effort go into each poem, each story, each novel, in order to raise awareness, better humanity and leave legacies.

So, thank you, Madam G, for allowing me to grow so much as a person (in the classroom, even, how shocking!), for imparting such wise advice, for listening to our rants, and for even sharing with us the most hilarious anecdotes (school stands for "six crappy hours of our lives" - this coming from a vice principal!). I will forever remember and cherish my first baby steps into the realm of literature, and rest assured, I'll be traversing this elusive world for a long, long time to come - and definitely not just because it's what the college admissions officer would like to see in my application.

"Literature creates a fraternity within human diversity

and eclipses the frontiers erected among men and women

by ignorance, ideologies, religions, languages, and stupidity."

Mario Vargas Llosa

Picking Up the Pieces

2011-10-31T14:46:00.000+08:00

One thing I've learnt this year, is letting go. For every time I succeed in doing something, there are a couple of things I fail at - for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Sometimes, it's just so frustrating, when you've worked your ass off to orchestrate something, only to be greeted with a very pathetic reply from your peers. Cricket sounds fill the air as I try not to let my anger boil over. You know, it's oh-so encouraging, to see you guys give me such a warm response and so much thoroughly constructive feedback.

But then again, most people do not comprehend the energy that goes into producing a great final product. Things like writing newspaper articles, emcee-ing and pulling off the Grad Night, producing videos, public speaking etc took up so much effort, but at most they garnered a half-hearted skim by the reader, a few slight laughs from the audience, a bleary-eyed viewing, a bit of applause...

There are days when I feel like there is no point at all in doing these. No point in going to such lengths to plan and organise and bring things together.

But those are also the days when I realise that perhaps that encouraging smile, that satisfied nod, that pat on the back ... make everything worth it after all. In my idealistic pursuit of perfectionism, contentment is a moving target. But I need to learn how to view things differently.

It's inevitable that not many will understand the way I do things, nor be able to follow my train of thought. They just see a crazy girl who's wasting her time running around doing useless things. But they never realise that without that stupid girl's work, there would be no useless things to enjoy. Events don't just come together on their own. Meetings aren't conjured from the tip of one's wand. Tokens of appreciation don't just buy, decorate and deliver themselves. The world would not function without idiots like us.

I really, really want to believe that it's the genuine thought of mine that counts; not the indifferent glances of my so-called friends. It's just that in this wild, wide world, sometimes, being under-appreciated just feels a bit ... lonely.

Oh life, why are you so fond of confusing me as such?

I just need to take a break from all these, and give it a rest. Breathe, Amanda. Breathe.

Cars

2011-10-28T16:45:00.001+08:00

As a kid, I absolutely loved rides in the car.

From school back home, after English classes, to swimming lessons, to lunch, heading towards friends' houses... car rides were always full of excitement, anticipating the next destination while still basking in the warm happiness of the previous adventure.

My place was always in the passenger's seat in the front row; mum taught me to always sit next to the driver as a sign of respect, instead of in the back row as though there was some employer-employee business going on. And if I didn't get to sit next to mum because some adult friend had annoyingly taken My Seat, then you'd find me in the middle seat of the back row - munching on a tuna sandwich and having the best time of my life with the turbo blast of the air-cond in my face.

I especially enjoyed it on dark, rainy days, when the things outside would turn into pretty blurs. I would lie across all three backseats, knowing that I was dry and warm inside the car, protected by the thunder and shower by the sturdy layer of metal. Droplets of rain on the window raced down the glass diagonally, tiny particles of water that would break up then join together, forming many Mickey Mouse heads that never failed to fascinate me.

But now, things seem to have changed. I was out jogging the other day. A car with a kid sitting in the back row drove by, and slow realisation crept in: The car has now been reduced to an object of misery. Many children, I would say, now relate the vehicle to tuition classes, forced piano lessons and the overpriced kindergartens they attend. Time in the car isn't spent talking to their parents, but being lectured at: Why didn't you finish your homework at home just now? How come you didn't tell me you have tuition today? Where is the water tumbler I asked you to bring? How could you forget to study for dictation?

Why? Why do the lives of kids these days seem so full of pressure, resembling nothing like the childhood I had? In our race against time, in our pursuit of excellence, we've forgotten to let our children live, to let them be kids.

I spent my commuting time listening to oldies on Light & Easy, me and mum singing along; my cousins now have to memorise the Chinese san zi jing played from the CD in the car. I drooled over the heavenly meal I was getting closer and closer to with each revolution of the wheel; children these days gobble down their packed lunches while trying to cram in some last minute studying for their tuition class test.

I guess it really is better being one of the slightly older generation. I know I definitely had much more of a childhood than those of the kids I see these days.

And the best thing is, one Proton Wira, another Proton Waja and a Renault Kangoo (a.k.a. roti car) later, I still love car rides - how could one not enjoy the liberty of babbling nonsense non-stop to one's mum while heading to the next great destination?

Amanda

2011-10-27T14:32:00.000+08:00

I never really used to like my name.

"Amanda" was too common. Boring. Kids used to tease me about how it rhymed with the name of a certain furry black and white animal, chanting "Amanda Panda Amanda Panda Amanda Panda..." til I would run back home in tears.

But years have passed since the time of the sobbing little girl determined to change her name. I've grown up. I've seen a little bit more of this funny world. And despite there being about twelve other Amandas in my school of under 3000 students, I've grown to embrace the name.

My mum called me Amanda because she thought it sounded "friendly". The word of Latin origin translates into "having to be loved" or simply, "worthy of love". This love thing has always been something foreign to me; it seems as though I have to go through life with my fists clenched tight and held up - to protect myself from all the misery that might be thrown at me, to strike back when people aim a punch at me.

Just like the rest of us, I try to remain unfazed. I'm not vulnerable; I'm strong and smart and made of things tougher than reinforced concrete. But the years have taught me that I, Amanda, am brittle - hard on the outside, but prone to crumbling ever so easily on the inside.

It's not easy to hold everything in like that, to put on a strong front. Somedays, I wake up feeling like I want to sweep all the responsibilities and obligations off my desk into the bin, tie up the plastic bag of nonsense called my life and chuck it out of the window. But the dusty towers of duties still sit there, waiting for me to tend to them.

Yet, there is no need to pretend, is there? Why do I go about in life as though everything is just fine, when it's not? I am no robot; I do have emotions. I don't have to care about what others think, right? So be it if their jaws drop the ground every time they see a different, real side of me.

Some pieces in my life will never be put back where they truly belong; I acknowledge that. And there will always be gaps in my life that have to be filled. But it doesn't mean that I cannot be myself, does it? I won't live the life of someone else.

I am Amanda. To love. And to be loved.

Holding On -- 我们的青春。逗

2011-10-23T23:37:00.000+08:00

The lights were dimmed. I could hear the buzz of the restless audience on the other side of the curtain.

"Three more minutes," called the PA head.

The organising committee members were ready to start their opening dance. The energy was incredible. We had put so much effort throughout the past few months. This was it. We were all emotional wrecks trying to hold it in, a concoction of feelings including nervousness over what could go wrong.

One of the committee members walked over. Giving us a deep bow, she thanked us emcees for everything with all the sincerity in the world. The drama head hugged the juniors she had trained tight. The PA senior committee member was trying to hold back her tears.

The chairperson's words rang in my ears. "Everyone has worked so hard for tonight. It's all down to you guys now. Jia you!"

I held the microphone closer, and took a deep breath:-

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Penang Chinese Girls' High School's Graduation Night 2011!"

The emcees for the night.

It was a night like no other. Actually, it was a day like no other. In the morning, our graduation ceremony took place in the hall. Despite it being quite dull, we were duly entertained by camwhoring with each other and also taking photos with teachers - in the school that we'll leave forever in less than two months from now.

There were so many "moments" throughout the day. We gave out little tokens of appreciation (jars/bottles/containers filled with rolled up messages from all of us) to the teachers. It was really awesome to see how pleased they were; preparing these gifts (14 of them altogether) had not been easy. Teachers wished me the best of luck as I snapped photos with them, to make the memories last longer.

A prayer session was held in preparation for Grad Night. With each student holding joss sticks (one each for most, but three for the emcees), we walked around the school compound, led by our chairperson. I don't know if I believe in these Taoist deities, or in our school being haunted, but the ritual struck a chord somewhere inside me. The event was solemn as the 30 of us focused all our energy and thoughts on a single thing - doing our very best that night to give the form a good send-off. May everything go well. Together, we hoped; together, we prayed from the heart.

Our prayers were answered. The night started, went on and ended without any major glitches. As the emcees, we had to keep the show running smoothly. We introduced performance after performance, as the crowd clapped and cheered along. Basically, we just had to walk out, wait for the spotlight to flash and turn on, smile, talk, smile, wait for the spotlight to go off, and then walk off the stage.

I also got to perform with around 15 other friends during the interclass drama competition. We did a musical based on the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which had had us practising and planning for months. Of course it was fun dancing onstage with them - for the last time! I'm so proud of you ghostly freaks for putting together a piece with simple but great choreography, and for successfully pulling it off. Proud of us!

"Time Warp" by S5A and S5B, taken from the Rocky Horror Picture Show!

The rest of the night passed by fairly quickly. We continued introducing performances as the audience watched while having their course dinner. Then came the prize presentation round, during which we made a mistake (resulting in a very boring way of doing things) but oh well, no one knew what we had planned anyways. After that, we handed over the stage to the organising committee with their closing performance.

Finally, I let the audience give the organising committee another round of applause for their hard work (they've worked through sleepless nights to meet the deadline) before introducing the final item of the night - singing this year's theme song,《青春。逗》. Rushing backstage, I then kicked off my heels, put on my flip flops, grabbed my camera in one hand, heels in another, flew down the stairs and pushed through the crowd to find my besties. This was the moment we had all been anticipating.

The familiar piano intro started, and everyone linked arms in rows, swaying to the music. The energy was incredible as everyone sang along, waving our hands, moving as a united sea of students. Graduates who have spent six hours every weekday in school together for five years. Classmates who have been through thick and thin together. Friends who will never get to be together like this ever again.

As anticipated, many of us cried during the song. Some of us were actually bawling our eyes out - I heard a friend going, "Why am I even crying? It's not like someone's died or anything" while wiping off the shower of tears streaming down her face. I did tear up as well, because really, it hit me then that this is it. There's no turning back. The only way to go is forward, and the times we've had together will be reduced to photographs that'll fade and memories that'll blur.

An encore was demanded, and about a hundred people had rushed onstage to join the committee. We hugged, we laughed, we cried, holding onto the very last moments we had together. I felt truly proud to see how all our hard work had paid off. All of us - from the awesome central committee, to the drama team, to the PA system peeps, to each class that performed, and of course, to us emcees - had given the Fifth Formers a wonderful night to mark the end of our stint in PCGHS. I think we'd all agree that the event was a success!

But all too soon, it was over. We'd graduated, for real now. The second round of the song came to an end. We continued hugging; I realised that those bone-breakingly tight embraces encompassed the months or years of solid friendships we've formed.

I learnt so much from that night. Initially, I'd gotten through the audition to be the emcee, but wanted to pull out as I was juggling other stuff as well. But looking back now, I'm glad I didn't quit, because boy have a learnt a lot from this experience. I got to witness a huge event as such come together; the initial fragments of disjointed pieces were shaped and trimmed and polished to fit perfectly. The OC was very supportive, led by a charismatic chairperson whom I'm lucky to have gotten to know. And yes, it was fun. Even though I didn't do as well as I'd have liked to, this was definitely an experience I wouldn't trade for anything else. Before going home, we took photos with our teachers for one last time. My teacher reached over and hugged me, then proceeded to wipe the sweat from my sticky back onto my shoulder. Even in moments like these. I hugged her back lah.

So, the certificates have been received. The party is now over. The photos have been taken. The tears have been shed. The wishes of all the best have been exchanged. And we've had the arduously planned "Last Supper" at Mc Donald's. And talked about our five years of high school until 4am when we couldn't resist the fatigue anymore.

The sands of time trickle through our fingers, as each year seems to race by even faster than before. To quote a friend, perhaps time is passing by faster because our lives are getting more and more exciting too. Undeniably though, sadness and nostalgia fill me to the brim, as I start to comprehend the true meaning of the saying that goes, "I always knew I'd look back at the times I'd cried and laugh, but I never knew that I'd look back at the times I'd laughed and cry." I will really, really miss this.

Because five years aren't nothing. Me and great friends - you know who you are - have been through so much together. I came in hating the school - with its ridiculous rules, kiasu competition, too much emphasis on grades, a few annoying disciplinary teachers... But from this moment, there will be no more mindlessly copying homework; no more Civics classes that made us fidget in our seats in the stifling heat; no more being whacked by the Sejarah teacher with her textbook when I talk; no more staying back for those "fei fei" co-curricular stuff that we hated but made us bond so much; no more passing books in class; no more aerobics during PJK lessons; no more listening to Pn AnnyT's sing-song voice during Komsas; no more awesome Biology lessons; no more cold, cold jokes from Pn SeowBL; no more funny ancient Chinese texts; no more "extra answers" for Moral; no more Canteen Warden duties that made me suffocate in front of the lor mee stall; no more sitting on the stinky cement floor working on projects; no more video edits in the E-lab with those uber slow computers; and most of all, no more hanging out with the friends I've made for at least six hours per day, guaranteed.

So, I guess now is truly the time to say, thank you to you guys. For putting up with my eccentricities, for lending me several helping hands whenever I started to panic, for offering me advice, or for just giving me your ears for five minutes.

WChern, you taught me to take a step back whenever things get too overwhelming, and just embrace the thought that whatever happens is just what's meant to be in my life for now. You understand much more about me than you think you do. Four years of bickering everyday, alright?

Michelle, you were always the one who listened to my incessant spew of profanities and offered to take away my electrons in exchange for great advice.

YXing, you're the most level-headed person I know, and always enjoyable to talk to, whether the topic be "fei fei" ones or serious stuff like the future.

Simmy, you are truly one-of-a-kind, who made me learn the art of patience, yet never failed to crack me up with your jokes seen from your weirdly wonderful perspective, and shared with me many insights that made me look at the world differently.

QYuan, my dear Bunny 1.0! You're the most genuine, kind and concerned friend I have. Oh, the Sundays spent in the E-lab, the times we laughed for hours over the most retarded stuff, the many Facebook chat sessions, the toilet bowl we gave that certain teacher (I still cannot believe we were crazy enough to do that!) will be stuck in my head forever.

Jiale, thanks for your logical, superb advice in my moments of panic, and for spending hours discussing everything under the sky with me (that was the most enjoyable plane ride I've ever had, even in a state of half-consciousness).

Cheer, as you've mentioned numerous times, we didn't always get along, but really, we've been through so much together (rain and shine, bus rides and plane flights, frustrations and satisfactions - hah) that I couldn't not love you even if I tried (I know what you're thinking, Miss Yellow). Know that I'm really lucky to know an incredible person like you, my fellow perfectionist!

WFen, the pile of confidence you stacked up can be knocked over so easily, but know that you're one of the most humorous and generous people I know, and that the goodness and humility in you is what will make you go far. Don't worry.

WLynn, we clicked like magic only at the beginning of the year - perhaps because of our common trait of being the odd ones out. But I'm darn glad I met you, for all those crazy conversations we've had together mean so much to me. May there be many more to come!

Guys (even if you're not mentioned above; the list is non-exhaustive), thank you, from the bottom of my heart. We haven't gotten along superbly well like fluffy pink cotton candy, but all those hours spent talking and walking and laughing and screaming and doing nothing constructive in general surely count for something, right?

We've reached the end of the road. Look up. The sign right there says "Greatness this way". So, here's to the big adventures that await us on the next road ahead, as we continue our journey in life. We may be graduating, but just because we won't get to copy each others' Moral homework anymore, it doesn't mean that we can't be close buddies like what we've been for the past few years.

All the best, PCGHS S5A of 2011, and I look forward to laughing at the times we've had together at our 40-year reunion!

这些年里谢谢一路有着你，你的everything, I'll be keeping
就这样去飞吧，通往着梦想；就这样离开吧，不要在牵挂
你微笑，转身却泪流，这不是结局，我们会相聚的，哦朋友⋯⋯

－《青春。逗》槟华女中第59届谢师宴主题曲。
就让青春。逗永远持续沸腾着！

PCGHS: The End

2011-10-21T16:39:00.001+08:00

Chairs scraped against the cement floor noisily as everyone got on our feet, took a collective deep breath and bellowed - "Terima kasih, cikgu!"

Just another day at school. The difference was: We were doing this for what was probably the very last time.

All too quickly, my last year of high school, I mean, my five years in high school, have passed. My stint here is about to come to an end. It felt so surreal, the thought that we had just finished our final BM lesson; that we'll never get to be in this warm, rowdy, familiar classroom environment anymore; that "school" will soon be something of the past.

Oh, dear Bing Hua, I first came to you in a state of utter bewilderment. The first time I stepped in, I actually gawked at the sheer size of the place, was amazed by how the students looked so much more like "adults", and got lost trying to find the school hall. It was a big step from my tiny primary school - and hey, this was the "premiere" school that I'd heard so much about. The transition from navy blue to light blue, from pencil to pen, from a school of 500 to one of 3000, from being guided to leading ...

I'll admit, I came in with many preconceptions. Like how I heard the students here study day and night, and have scarily stellar academic results. And so, the blurry 13-year-old Amanda followed suit, introducing herself to the entirely foreign world of "hitting the books". I think this focus on academics that has played a pretty big part (okay, I understate - a grotesquely ginormous part) in my life is one of the main things about me that has changed - for the better, or for the worse, you decide.

Contrary to what you may assume though, my life in PCGHS was not merely about exams and grades - of course not! Through the school, I've had so many experiences that will stick with me forever - speaking in front of hundreds of people, picking up video-making skills, exploring caves, advocating issues I care about, watching friends perform onstage, helping to direct a drama, sitting on the floor backstage inhaling the dust from the curtains, discovering Cambodia, traversing through Stockholm (and freezing my butt off), meeting Nobel laureates ... I wouldn't have been able to do all of these, and more, had it not been for the opportunities I was able to grab in PCGHS.

But I've been saving the best part for last. What I will cherish and miss the most about my high school experience is definitely the people I've had the privilege of meeting, befriended, and gotten to know well. From close classmates, to friends from co-curricular activities, to everyone else in between.

You guys were the ones who kept me awake by listening to my hushed chatter during boring lessons; who made those dreadful Wushu sessions bearable; who always lent a helping hand whenever I went "oh shit!"; who knew when to ask "what's wrong?" and when to back off; who shared jokes and stories; who would let me wake you up early in the morning if I had a crisis; who I could call late at night, knowing you would still pick up and listen; who refused to wish me "good luck" for fear of cursing me instead; who cheered me on from the sidelines; who gossiped and ranted about everything together with me ...

There were also the many teachers who have guided us through our five-year journey. Hats off to you for your wise insights, humour, stories, advice, patience, and the things they taught us (not just academic stuff, mind you, but lessons that I'll be keeping with me for life). In the typical Binghuarian manner of writing a blog post thanking a list of teachers in conjunction with graduation, here are the educators that have had an impact on me over the years that I will forever be grateful towards (in alphabetical order, hah!):

Pn. AnnyT
You're one of the most incredible teachers I've ever met. Actually, I don't think I'll ever meet someone like you again. Patient, dedicated, diligent, very detailed, pretty, graceful, caring ... okay those adjectives make you sound too perfect to be true. I never thought BM lessons could actually be bearable, and even, interesting. Also, you're one who actually cares about students, genuinely, and not just because it's your "obligation" as a teacher. And you are the only teacher we've seen, in our five years here, who actually gives tokens of appreciation to the class committee for their hard work. We really couldn't ask for more. Except for this, that is: After we graduate, or at least, after the SPM, please, please, please, no more linguistic gymnastics as we struggle to find the right words in Malay, okay?

Pn. AungSP
You actually made Chemistry comprehensible to me! After a year of utter nonsense, I expected Form Five Chemistry to be just as difficult, if not more, but surprisingly, it wasn't. Thanks to your wonderful way of teaching that makes everything "simple" and "easy", I now fear the subject a little less. Just a little bit. Too bad you had to leave us before the end of the year (lessons then became <fill in negative adjective>), but I guess we should count ourselves lucky to have been taught by such a great teacher in the first place!

Ms. ChanPY
Oho ho. You are one of the scariest younger teachers. To many, at least. But I actually really enjoyed your lessons; you never allowed us to be shackled by the stupid syllabus, and each hour-long session allowed me to challenge the gears in my head to thoroughly understand theories, apply formulas and learn about the laws of the universe. Having a whizzically amazing brain like yours, no doubt you'll be achieving great things in the future - first Malaysian to win a Nobel Prize in Physics, perhaps? But what's equally amazing is your love for stories and things so unexpectedly not "Physicky". You taught me to be happy in whatever context we are in, because whether you're content with what you have is up to you to decide.

Ms. ChuahHL
The first word that comes to my mind is, "responsible". The second one: "Detailed". I remember how you marked our exercises with such sharp eyes - every mistake of ours had no chance of escape! Thank you for your crystal clear explanations as you made sure all of us understood what you were teaching. But there's more than that: From you, I learnt to be more open handed in treating others, which is something that I'll definitely carry through life.

Pn. ChinMY
You introduced me to the sharply scrupulous ways of the scientific method; I've conducted the simple pendulum experiment so many times that I'd barf on the spot if you tell me to repeat it again. With your passion for Physics, you exposed me to what science truly means. Thank you for your patience in guiding me, and for believing that I could when every grain of confidence had fled me. And I'm sorry I disappointed you; the decision to reject that offer is definitely one I regret. You offered many bits of wisdom and encouragement as I scaled the very steep mountain last year, and eventually reached the summit. You also taught me a few things when we the ugliness of human nature reared its head. Thank you for your time, and I'll forever remember the experiences we had together!

Pn. ChongWP
Thanks for being the most supportive (and funniest) teacher advisor I could have asked for. You cared enough to try to pitch in whenever you could, as you knew that we are all students enslaved by academics with little time to spare. And hey, you're the only teacher I've received an Angry Birds pen from!

Mr King/Ah Buang
Where do I start? You're funny, strange, funny, bizarre, funny, weird, funny and did I mention, funny? Not only is this teacher a true pro at making Add Math as easy as 1-2-3, but he is also one who never fails to lighten up the environment in the classroom. His favourite phrases include: "Buang!" (throwing bits of chalk out of the window), "This is nonsense!", "I tipu you one mah", "I want to see whether you got pay attention or not" ... Even the sound of your voice when teaching in the next class would have us in peals of laughter as we heard another "buang!". And you still have enough passion to solve all the questions in our exercises, instead of blinding copying out the solution on the board. You memang like that one mah ...

Mdm. LeeWY
This awesome teacher here is definitely the very best science educator I've ever met. With your genuine interest and unwavering passion for Biology, you make lessons very much enjoyable as we get to learn about the way life functions. In other words, we got to "really" learn, as opposed to listen to the teacher reading off the slides on the projector screen. From you, I also realised the value of appreciation; it's common fact that teachers here are severely underappreciated, but I never thought that a little expression of gratitude could go such a long way. Oh, and you've indoctrinated into us: We love plants. Plants are awesome. Plants don't have to sweat; they undergo guttation. Plants grow faster than us. Plants have cell walls. Plants are highly interesting. Without plants, there would be no us ... How I'll miss your Biology lessons, but thanks to you, I'm ending my short relationship with the subject on a high!

Ms. OngLP
There are so many things I learnt from you. Not just how to install software, fix computers and make awesome videos, but things like how to be a good person. Now that you're "up there", people may not see it, but I know that you're a teacher who genuinely cares about students, and is always willing to offer advice and to lend a helping hand. Thank you for your patience, stories and wisdom. To think that I actually spent my Sundays at the E-Lab editing video clips ... the experience was grueling, but now, I can look back and laugh, knowing that I've gained ever so much through the process.

Pn. PhungKM
There goes the saying, "The dream begins with a teacher who believes in you, who tugs and pushes and leads you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called 'truth'." You're definitely that kind of teacher. Your public speaking training sessions you had with me were certainly grueling - to me, at least, the introvert who fakes extraversion but crumbles at the slightest touch. I'm eternally grateful to have met a teacher as such, who can be found running around the school juggling a million things, yet is always willing to help a student if you just ask. You have so many stories, insights and wisdom - it's amazing. Lastly, there's something you once told me that'll stick with me forever: "Do not sacrifice what is needed for a yearning." I'm not implying that I'll kowtow to harsh reality, but when decision-making gets too overwhelming, this would definitely be the way to go.

*sorry about writing the next two in English, but I can definitely express myself better in this way*

Pn. SeowBL
Funny, patient, pretty, generous, and definitely one who understands students well. Your jokes were often so cold that we had to don our winter jackets, but thank you so much for making the classroom environment highly positive when we were battling a subject that was "out to kill us all". I'm constantly amazed by how you handle students with such deftness and lightning quick responses. There was once, you asked us about the meaning of “萧条”，“萧明丽很苗条”! This "cold, cold fridge" is definitely a teacher I'll remember for a long time.

Mr. YipCK
Aha. You are certainly one-of-a-kind! (You'd probably want to rip me into pieces for being so "ang moh sai", as you call it, but you won't be reading this anyways.) With your wit, sarcasm and seeming loyalty to all things old and Chinese, last year's Chinese lessons were a blast. I thoroughly enjoyed it every time you taught those old Chinese texts; stories came to life as you introduced us to so many old fables and funny characters. I finally realised the beauty of the language and culture running through my veins that I'd been neglecting for the previous 15 years. I'm definitely glad that I was taught by you, for it made me reconnect with the very thing that has made me who I am today.

* * *

There, I've written it - the long-ass blog post dedicated to my five-year high school adventure. As the end looms closer and closer, waves of sadness and nostalgia sweep over me, mixing with the thrill and excitement for what lies ahead, resulting in (for the very first time) an emotional wreck of Amanda NYC. These five years have seen me undergo so many changes, shaping me into the person I am today.

Compared to the last time I graduated, I feel so much more now. Instead of the indifference, and even glee, over leaving primary school I projected last time, you'll definitely see me shedding a tear or two (or by the bucket) as we celebrate the end of our stint in PCGHS. I'm not prepared to leave the school tomorrow; I'll never be ready. Because despite the most ridiculous rules, the preposterous load of homework, the crazy academics, the overload of competition I've been subjected to here ... I'll still miss you, Bing Hua.

To quote a friend, "The days have gone, the day has come". So, here's to "crying in front of awesome people" during graduation tomorrow!

Spark of Comprehension

2011-10-15T19:48:00.001+08:00

I stare, baffled, at the little yellow slip of paper in front of me. Once again, I have failed. I try to shift my focus onto the homework on the other piece of paper - "What is the chemical formulae of compound J?" - but the words blur as anger creeps through my veins. Denial doesn't even stand a chance.

Laugh, Amanda. I grimace at the letter a friend shows me, giving her what's supposed to be an appreciative smile. Unable to hold it in any longer, I allow myself to go limp, succumbing to the call of hopelessness, of tearing myself into a million little pieces. Stupid. Good for nothing. Useless.

And then, I take a step back and look at the girl staring blankly at her Chemistry homework. With dark panda rings around her eyes, she's slumped over the green table, too exhausted to even cry tears that have all dried up anyways.

Slow realisation sets in: I'm not perfect. I cannot have everything, no matter how hard I try, and how much I'd like to. Even if I used to believe grades were the one thing I could handle, there's no need to view this as a failure. Because sometime from now, do you think I'll look back at my teenage years and think, "Hey, I got a thousand A+'s in my trial exam," or that my only regret will be, "Why didn't I get that book prize during graduation?"?

No.

When I'm older and wiser and the remaining years in my life are less, I'll look back at the memories I've made, laughing at them, remembering those days. My first trip to the cinema. Dancing onstage like nobody's business. Hanging out with friends over the weekends. Squabbling just for the fun of it. Falling in love.

And I'll regret all the things I've failed to do. Studying late into the night, neglecting the well-being of the only body I have. Not doing random things for fear of embarrassment. Not taking risks. Not seeing the plentiful of glittery things in the big picture.

So, I don't need the mirror, the weighing scale, the results slips, the report card, the unreceived certificate. I am Amanda, the insecure, the great; and loving it.

I may not be the best in regurgitating facts, writing masterpieces, leading others, or even talking nonsense. Over the years, I've dabbled in many things, sticking my stubby fingers into a spectrum of paints, resulting in a pretty rainbow collection of experiences that I will treasure forever. This makes me who I am; this makes me distinguished.

The possibilities in this life are limitless. I am limitless.

It's my turn now. I'll go, I'll go out there and live.

Staying Hungry, Staying Foolish - Differently

2011-10-09T20:34:00.000+08:00

Sore legs, chapped lips and the feeling like I'm going to throw up if you put more restaurant food in front of me ... those are the telltale signs of one and only one thing - I'm back from KL.

I travel down to the capital city too often to be considered healthy. Every trip has its own "excuse" as to why I'm spending hundreds of ringgit over a few days - the last one being to execute a certain scholarship agreement - but with each stay there come some new stuff tried out, different ideas introduced and exposure gained.

Which brings me to my point: I've been thinking, recently, about who I am. I mean, what everyone sees about me is just stuff that's on the surface, labels stuck to my forehead that I can't get rid of - science freak, crazy writer, nerdy shopaholic, semi-banana, academic idiot yada yada. But strip away all my achievements - ooh, she witnessed the Nobel Prize award ceremony at 16, writes for the biggest English newspaper in the country, and soon, is an ASEAN scholar - what's left?

As someone told me, in this society, we seem to be defined by what we do, and not who we are.

Who am I? The first answer that comes to mind is: I have no freaking idea. I'm identity-less. Yay. Because at this tumbly age of 17, I really don't know how to answer questions like "How do you see yourself ten years from now?" and "What is your goal in life?" I mean, sure I can give lengthy answers with eloquence and confidence during public speaking, but heck, I'm just talking to please the audience and to wow the judges. It's all fake. Because I really don't know what I'll be doing, despite the assured nature I seem to project.

I've realised that I'm continuing with my formal education - with the scholarship and all - just because it is the path that society has shaped and deemed must be taken by everyone. How I'd like to take a gap year off to "find myself", but alas, circumstances don't permit me this luxury. But what do I want to achieve through my next few years of formal education? Surely, it cannot merely be about running around on greener pastures, networking with scarily talented people with blindingly bright futures, and obtaining a piece of paper that'll grant me access to better paychecks.

There's got to be something deeper than that. But right now, all I can do is to go with the flow and go along with what society expects of me - you could say I'm conforming to the stereotypes, but I don't mind. Because I'm not complaining: this whole junior college and university thingy isn't actually that bad a notion to me; in fact, I would even say that I'll probably have the time of my life (with intermittent twists and falls along the way) over the next few years. I just need to know though, why I will be doing whatever I'll be doing.

Another recent development on my very confusing journey to the future is that I've come to realise that not choosing a career based solely on what you have a deep, unprecedented, irrevocable passion for isn't entirely a bad thing. Sometimes, reality bites, but taking the path slightly less less travelled will allow me to establish myself first and be more than another face in the crowd; then I can start "saving the world"!

I acknowledge that I'm very much an idealistic person with a penchant for pessimism, but perhaps this change in my thinking is another sign of the old age I'm transitioning into. Talking to various people with more experience under their belt has opened my mind quite a bit. I may be the crankiest, "naggiest" and strangest 17-year-old you've ever met, but a low number in age still equates having less experience in life.

I don't know what I want. But right now, that's okay. I have some time left to figure out myself, and even more to figure out the wild, wide world. In the meantime, I'm savouring every last moment left as the end of my five-year phase in life is less than two months away. Life can be so complicated sometimes, but I'm trying to see the best of it.

"You can't connect the dots looking forward;

you can only connect them looking backwards.

So you have to trust that the dots

will somehow connect in your future.

You have to trust in something -

your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever."

- the late Steve Jobs.

What It Should Be

2011-10-07T09:07:00.000+08:00

Recently, I've been caught up in a lot of work; everyone seems to think that the world will just end, be annihilated just like that, at the end of the year, which is apparently, very, very close from now. "Busy" would be an understatement to describe the state of utter havoc my schedule is in.

I've been doing and doing and doing so much that I haven't really had the time to catch my breath, and things have been getting out of balance. I've been thinking a lot about all the stuff I have to juggle and plan, from now til the end of I-don't-know-what, and within all this, it has all but slipped my mind that I should appreciate everything I have now.

I hit me, hard, like a stack of bricks flung against one's already cracked skull, that I've actually forgotten to be thankful for all that I'm blessed with. It took some hard thinking to realise a few things: The last time I stepped off the plane from another country (Cambodia), I wondered where I'd be headed to, the next time I board a plane on an international flight; now, I know that I'll be going to the Land Down Under - the other Down Under - come January. I used to wish that I could study somewhere "fabulous" overseas, like what a few of my well-to-do classmates will be doing after Form Five; now, that little want of mine has come true as well. I wanted to do an internship somewhere before I entered uni; guess who'll be interning at a certain English daily at the end of the year?

I kept on seeing the downside of every single thing; a relative waved his tall glass of cappuccino at me, asking whether it was "half full" or "half empty", but for once, I really didn't know how to reply. The phrase that flits through my mind is "ungrateful bitch". I truly have been inconsiderate and unappreciative, never seeing the good side of all the wonderful things I've been blessed with - a good school, decent results, the internship, the scholarship etc.

It's been a crazy month or so that has gone by. But then again, I believe I should be thankful for the things I'm able to do right now, even the mindless swallowing and regurgitating of facts, because high school will come to an end really quickly. In fact, if I could freeze this moment, when we're all on the brink of our next chapters in life, when we're still able to laugh together having formed bonds as strong as steel, when things remain simple. The privilege of time is that you get to do the things you love. Thinking, digging, writing, hanging out with friends, being alone ...

The ability to live, cherishing every single second I have left, knowing the end is near. This is what matters.

I'll just strip away the nebulous metaphors and lengthy adjectives, and say:
You guys are amazing.
Thanks for making high school the great experience it has been,
and I look forward to laughing over our 17-year-old adventures at our 30-year reunion!

Nature

2011-10-03T17:07:00.000+08:00

A young boy stands atop the high, jagged cliffs that tower over the sea, gazing out across the vast tranquil waters that stretch out before him. Above, the sky is close and wraps him, and the earth, in a blanket of violet clouds, all racing towards the distant horizon, where the brilliant orange ball of fire moves down, down, down ... The boy tries to take in his surroundings. He sees everything. He sees me.

Who am I? Well, I am not the easiest person to define, but to simplify things, people call me "nature". I was born billions and billions of years ago, amidst unassuming balls of dust, blinding flashes of bright light, collisions of nebulous proportions and other things that added to the chaos. But there was structure within that chaos. Within all the confusion, I was created. I daresay that was the most important moment in my existence, for without my beginning, how would I have my story to tell?

Things moved at a fairly quick pace after that. Balls of dust and gas morphed into things more definite and concrete, things like water, soil, air and fire. My body grew and grew so quickly that I could not catch up. I have to admit though, I was rather restless and prone to throwing tantrums in my childhood. I instructed the many parts of me to move around constantly, breaking off from original parts, drifting around and finally joining up with other bits, creating the patterns of the land that now covers a third of my body.

Somewhere along the way, curious creatures began to appear. It started with minuscule beings not visible to the naked eye, but I could feel them crawling all over me, not unlike how an army of ants crawls up a little girl's arm, causing her to squirm in discomfort. The creatures grew bigger and bigger in the water I placed them in, moving around at a faster pace. To my annoyance, these sneaky little things soon decided that the cool blue oceans they had all to themselves were not enough, and started to mark their territory on dry land too. Being the kind and courteous person I was taught to be, I tolerated their actions, allowed them to carry on as they saw fit, and even grew to embrace these land-roaming creatures.

Everything was nice and lovely, until one day, I discovered a throbbing pain in my atmosphere. I thought I was suffering from the side effects of puberty, or a bad case of what they call "growing pains", so I ignored the problem. However, soon, I could not bear the pain much longer, and decided to investigate. Upon closer examination, I realised that I was forced to withstand this kind of torture due to the actions of a certain breed of those land-roaming creatures called "human beings". The worse part was, I would have to suffer even more, if they did not stop trying to change my body soon.

I panicked! I knew I had to warn them about the potential consequences of their actions before it was too late. I summoned my oceans to rise up against these humans and to destroy a small portion of their property, as a wake-up call. They continued their slumber. Frustrated, I attempted another plan of attack, showering them with pelts of rain that melted their paint and scalded their skin. They still remained in their reverie. That made me angry. I trembled in fury, tearing pieces of land apart in my rage, trying to make them hear my screams of desperation carried by the howling winds. Yet, they remained ignorant, oblivious to my pleas.

Then, I realised that there was no need for me to be upset as such. As their great two-legged philosopher Lao Tzu said, constant change is required and inevitable, and this unceasing flow of change manifests itself as a natural order. I shall not allow my mind to be flooded with negative thoughts, nor will I fill my heart with anger. Now, I have learnt to accept the incomprehensible things that happen, and to go with the flow. I cannot force these humans to change. They will either awaken and undergo change for the better on their own, or suffer from the consequences of their actions - all in due course. After all, the element of choice - for the better, or for the worse - is present, in their own hands. More importantly, I will always be here, perhaps for eternity, even after they are long gone. So, in the grand scheme of things, I will be largely unaffected by these petty matters.

Indeed, I will always be here. As long as there is existence, there will be me, Nature. Yet, know that my greatest delight is the occult relationship between Man and I. I am not alone nor unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them. In fact, the power to produce this delight resides in the harmony between us, for the sky is less grand if it blankets of population of less worth.

* * * * * * * *

Note: This was an SPM English essay I wrote, partly for practice, but mostly for my enjoyment.

Monstrosity

2011-09-30T19:07:00.001+08:00

On the right side of my blog reads "over-thinker extraordinaire". I may be one to hyperbolise many things, but this time I do not; I truly am a total professional at cooking up all the potential "might be"-s for each card I'm dealt with in this twisty turny game called life.

The decision to accept the ASEAN Scholarship has not been an easy one. Heck, I even realised that I'd chosen to sign the forms, start planning and whatnot, just because before that fateful day, I'd promised myself, if I got the offer, I'd accept it no matter what. I was aware that I have such a penchant for over-thinking, so I thought it'd be best that I think it through and make up my mind first ... before having the pressure of a whole stack of multi-coloured forms sitting on my desk, staring me in the face like a big eye that doesn't blink. Go away, Monster Eye.

I just don't know. And I hate not knowing. Coupled with a fear of the big black unknown, I melt into a volatile puddle of Amanda every time I'm faced with a Big Life-Changing Decision, ready to turn into jelly or invisible gas at the smallest provocation.

I'm not even sure what it is that I'm so worried about. The tough academics, the expectations, the lifeless state I might be rendered, the snarky comments, the whole what-if-it's-the-exact-wrong-decision-for-me-right-now-and-I-die-when-I-screw-up-causing-more-damage ... Yes, I am aware that on the most part, they sound utterly ridiculous (to me as well). But I just have this great, paranoid, irrational fear of all these might-be's which have an extremely tiny probability of happening. It constantly overwhelms at all the wrong moments. Sigh. I'll have to figure out how to deal with this phobia somehow, or else it'll be haunting me all my life. The horror!

Is this an issue of being afraid to get out of my comfort zone? I think not. What's it about, then? Expectations of others? Pfft. Fear of screwing up real bad? Mm hmm. Maybe, maybe.

Whatever it is, I've thought it through now (very, very thoroughly) - I'm still going take up the offer, despite all my paranoid fears of disasters of all sorts. Because almost every decision I've made thus far has been like that - ruled by over-thinking, hallucinating and confusing everyone around me in general with my numerous thoughts bouncing around at the same time. But I'd like to think that I'll be fine. I'll survive. I will live!

If you're reading this, I also want to say a big thank-you to all the people who've tried to help, in one way or another, over the past few days. I really appreciate you guys for giving me your honest opinions, genuine advice and wanting the best for me. The patience you have yet again shown means the world to me, as you helped me navigate my way through my complex maze of thoughts. And I'll respect you for respecting whatever decision I'll make. Thanks for all the well wishes, for sorting through the pros and cons with me to demuddy my pond a little, for wringing me back to paranoia-free (or less) reality, and trusting me to make the right decision.

And anyhow, as a good friend said, I'm Amanda NYC; I'll be having great adventures no matter where I am!

Going the distance. I believe in flying bicycles. (Photograph by Amanda NYC)

Into the Lion's Den

2011-09-28T18:21:00.000+08:00

A few months ago, I walked out of an interview session feeling fine, only to find myself hyperventilating a few hours later, as the sirens went off in my head - BAD. BAD. BAD. - and the red lights started flashing. I'd done less than satisfactory in that freezing room, giving them nonsensical answers half the time. Heck, I'd probably come across as some idealistic bimbo with a head full of fluff who somehow manages to scrape decent grades.

So, you can imagine how flabbergasted I was when I read the email yesterday afternoon, informing me that I've been offered the Year 2012 ASEAN Scholarship for Pre-U. I turned from a state of shock to delirium to indecision to horror as the usual over-thinking ensued - to go, or not to go? That was the question playing a gazillion times per second in my head.

Yet, I distinctly remember what I'd promised myself: If I get this offer, I'll take it up, no matter what; because sometimes, reality triumphs over idealistic wants, and besides, this is too good an opportunity to pass on just like that (oho ho, this line sounds terribly familiar).

Yes, I've weighed out the pros and cons very carefully (albeit over a span of a mere 24 hours) - when I'm putting amazing opportunities, excellent networking, better classroom experiences and it being absolutely free of charge against crazy-hard academics, the whole aura there that I'm not too crazy about, the timing, the homogenous environment, how shackled I'll be etc ... the former still prevails.

I'll take it. As challenging as it'll be, I'll take it. As someone told me, this is probably one of those "what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger" things. And I should go in thinking, "I won't let this kill me." After all, a whole sea of predecessor scholars have gone through the mill and survived, many emerging with a pocketful of memories of a lifetime. This is what's going to get me places, if I manage to stick it out and prevent from bailing halfway through.

As a friend put it, the interviewers weren't lions trying to eat me up; they were lions looking for more young lions to recruit. Apparently, I've been chosen as one of them. Come next January, right after I complete the internship, it's off to Singapore, into the lion's den I go, armed with a surplus of preconceptions, some apprehension and a suitcase full of gusto.

To quote Dr Seuss, "It's opener out there in the wide open air!"

Ah, my plans for the future have changed ever so drastically over the past two years. From the STPM, to T College, to quitting school and becoming a fisherlady (yes, I was that sick of rote-learning, and still am), to a nearby college, back to T College ... and now this. I hoped and hoped and hoped for this offer, flinging myself at the metal letterbox downstairs several times a day (starting from the same day I came back in a wreck from the interview. I'm sure it was purely for the comedic effect.) but now that the envelope full of lengthy documents is sitting on my table, I don't know what to think; I don't know what to feel.

It's not like my alternative plan is much better. Both have their own drawbacks, but this time, the land of lions is beckoning, with several awfully tantalising factors in its hand. After half a year's worth of work - from the initial application, to the aimed-at-making-you-feel-stupid selection test, to the final interview ... all the nail-biting has got to result in something, right?

Or perhaps, for poetic effect, I should say: I shall go wherever the wind takes me. Now, where are my turbo-charged fans?

Off I go! Packing once again, it seems. We're not allowed to bring jewellery - can you believe that?!!

Thus Far

2011-09-26T16:14:00.001+08:00

Not too long ago, I told a friend, "wake me up when September ends."

I believe I was referring to the period of time that would indicate the end of trials, but here we are, and things look no better. In fact, everything that has happened recently only seems to dampen whatever spirit I had to begin with.

No doubt I've been allowing my pessimism to have its way a little too much recently, but I cannot pinpoint the exact source of my disgruntlement. And I'm in a place where "I don't know" doesn't seem to be an acceptable answer.

But I'll say it: I don't know. I don't know. I DON'T KNOW!!!

Why can't not knowing be okay? Why is it that I have to be aware of all the things that are wrong with me that I'm supposed to right? Why do I have to have all the answers? I have no answers. I don't know why I've been "failing abysmally" in exams (by the standards of people around me, at least) when academics used to be the one thing I believed I could do well; I don't know why efforts are never proportional to results; I don't know why I'm shackled by such high expectations; I don't know whether it's science or arts for me, or why I'm straddling the gap separating the two extremes in first place.

I do not desire to care so much about these pointless matters. I don't want to care. Not caring was a better state to be in. The more I care, the more horribly I do. But the more horribly I do, the more I care. It is of no use if you tell me that my "dreadful" is "great" to many others. This is for myself, and no one else.

I want to be of use to this world. I believe I'm here for a reason - exactly what, that's for me to figure out as I go along. But I want to be doing something that's actually useful. That helps people. That makes the world a little better with each revolution.

And with so much stuff waiting for Capable Amanda to do, why is it that I feel so empty? Like nothing's happening. Heck, nothing is happening. It's just day after monotonous day that's going by. I want out. I can't stifle the rancid, sour taste on my tongue anymore. I cannot be like the rest of you, so diligent and responsible and determined and enthusiastic about studies and academically-inclined. I'm none of that! I am no robot; I am a human being. And what ought a human being to be is ... to be!

To free oneself of all the nonsensical things that are tying us down, shackling us and causing our dusty wings to shrivel up more and more as they are left chained, unused. The colours of life should be noticed and embraced, as the wheel spins round and round, not too fast to turn everything into a grey blur, but just fast enough so that we can feel the wind caressing our faces and inhale the air full of hope and joy.

I want to leap into the air and dangle myself from the clouds in the sky. I want to glue my nose onto the sepia pages of a good novel, allowing the words to transport me to otherworldly lands and times. I want to play a masterpiece at the piano and feel the silent applause from the world that hears the invisible pianist. I want ...

But I cannot want. Wanting is not good for people like me, who are supposed to be focused. Even the occasional frivolity I indulge in has ceased to be enjoyable. Just like everything else. Ceased to be.

This is about everything, and not just some stupid exam. This is about everything I cannot change, everything that was once good that's slipping away, everything I'm forced to wave my sick goodbye to.

Take me away from this meaningless place. Please, I'm begging you.

My Octopus

2011-09-18T20:17:00.000+08:00

When I was young, it was a ritual for me to visit my grandaunts every Friday night. Having remained unmarried, the two of them stayed in an old terrace house about five minutes away. Mum would drop me off, and the night would be spent doing the same things: Playing with the little toys they kept for me, telling them about how things at home were, watching Cantonese shows that I barely understood… They were always happy to see me, and the few hours would go by ever so quickly. I loved being able to play with the miniscule pestle and mortar, pounding away at the mixture of a few rice grains and water, making my own “powder” that I’d smear all over my face.

Once, the six-year-old me told them that Mum had installed a fantastic something called Astro, which allowed you to watch everything under the sky on TV, but she didn’t want me to know. She didn’t tell me, and thought I didn’t understand what was going on, but boy was she underestimating me! And just like with all the other “secrets” I shared with them, they laughed and laughed. I never understood what was so funny; my san gu po (third grandaunt) would always shake her head in mirth, saying, “Amanda, oh Amanda…”

It didn’t matter that I’d probably outgrown most of the plastic toys. I enjoyed spending my Friday nights with them, I really did. There was nothing else I’d rather do at the end of each week. Then, all too soon, I would hear the car pull up the driveway, and the adults would laugh over some things I said (I never understood why) before I left. But leaving was okay, because I knew I’d be seeing them the following Friday night, as usual.

Years have passed since then. Somewhere along the way, they sold off the house and moved away; I stopped spending Friday nights at Taman David Chan, and only met my two grandaunts during family gatherings. Then, I began to show up at those events less and less too, as there was always a tuition class to attend, an exam to study for, a piece of homework to finish…

I don’t even remember when the last time I sat down for dinner with my late grandfather’s side of the extended family was.

Now, my da gu po (eldest grandaunt) hardly understands what I say anymore, even if I speak really slowly. All I can do is to nod and smile as she reminds me to be guai (obedient) and to study hard. It’s better with my English educated san gu po, but still, things aren’t the same. The silences have turned awkward; I can’t help but wonder how things could change so drastically.

This afternoon, my family went over to the mainland, where they live now, to visit my grandaunts. (As expected, I was at home, stuck with Sejarah and a math class to teach.) Mum came back with a plastic bag full of photographs of the family from decades ago – wedding pictures, family reunion photos, and even one of my aunt dressed in some horrible Chinese opera costume!

I was browsing through the photos, when I found out that my san gu po had passed them to my mum because she was clearing out her stuff, in preparation for her move to an old folks’ home.

I had no idea about this decision that had been made a while back. Mum said they’d applied a few months ago, but are still on the waiting list. With no family to take care of them, the pair of sisters had been living in their own little flat for years now. I suppose health and safety issues take the front seat, but still, it’s saddening to see how they’re resigning to this sort of fate, one of rooms that smell like antiseptic and hopelessness, and people shuffling around with glassy eyes.

Family’s a strange thing. They never seem to get along, to the extent that often, I just feel like yelling “SHUT UP” at them, to make them stop bickering for two seconds.

Yet, these are the people who are always there. You can count on them to help finish the overload of Chinese New Year cookies, to exchange stories at reunion dinners, to grieve the passing of another family member together…

You only realise how precious these moments are when they are no longer within reach.

I’ve long taken my family for granted. Honestly, I found it pretty annoying and tiresome, that I had to sit through lengthy dinners, trying to listen to stuff I cared little for, things like whether the soon-to-be daughter-in-law was Teo Chew, or how the baby girl refused to eat when fed.

But words can't describe the odd pang of loss I felt when I heard the news just now. As if the large, warm something that filled the space was snatched away when I blinked for half a second, and all that’s left is an empty void that isn’t supposed to be there. It just feels… wrong.

"The family - that dear octopus from whose tentacles we

never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to."

- Dodie Smith.

Happy Malaysia Day Indeed

2011-09-16T15:48:00.003+08:00

Foreword: I was unable to write a post to commemorate Hari Merdeka about half a month ago, so today, on the 16th of September, here are my musings about my country (written in three languages - four if you count Manglish!)

* * * * * * *

Dear Malaysia,

I have long been pretty confused about the relationship between you and me.

You see, as your rakyat, I gather that it is my obligation to love you, to be loyal to you, and even, to serve you. And all these were fine with me, thank you very much, until lately.

Perhaps it's because I'm growing up. Over the last few years of my existence, I have began to see the gaping holes within the foundation and pillars of our nation, to realise that the lies flying over our heads every day - as glaring as purple dinosaurs in the sky - have become the norm as we settle down snugly in our state of dusty complacence.

They say ignorance is the curse of God. That blissful state of not knowing was where I was a few years back, comfortable in the warmth of innocence, and concerned only with whatever woes a typical kid could have. But I've changed.

Don't get me wrong: As a Malaysian, there are many things I'm thankful for - being granted a decent education, growing up in a relatively secure environment, having Internet access that opens my mind to the world, meeting highly interesting people from all walks of life... the list is long, not very original, but still, rings true. I do not take these for granted.

Yet, how could I fail to notice what's going on right now? In my beloved country, we are still debating whether Science and Math should be taught in English. The rewriting of the history textbooks has become a debacle, yet it is likely that at the end of the day, the thick volumes will still be filled with lopsided, propagandist stories, more fiction than fact. The government attacks peaceful ralliers with water cannons and tear gas, then announces that the people should learn from the incident the consequences of "violent" rallies. We fail to include half of the country in most decisions, forgetting that Sabah and Sarawak did not join Malaysia, but helped to form it.

And this, Malaysia, is your Prime Minister:

This is the very same man who announced, just last night, that he would repeal the Internal Security Act (ISA), amend the Printing Presses and Publications Act, so on and so forth. The first few pages of today's newspaper were filled with optimism, verging on ecstasy. But even mum had to ask me what was wrong, as she saw the look of disgust on my face as I entered the house this morning, having read the first page.

Call me a cynic, but these lovely announcements are just, well, announcements. We have seen promise after promise being made (especially right before big elections), only to be broken and forgotten as another Prime Minister goes into exile. Mr 1Malaysia's speech does not mean that the ISA has already been abolished: Try donning a yellow T-shirt in public in KL, distributing fliers that support the opposition, and I'm sure you're still liable to being arrested under the very same 50-year-old act that was described as "draconian".

Teoh Beng Hock still "fell" to his death. We the rakyat are still not on par by law. Hundreds of thousands still fall below the poverty line. Women are still discriminated against, and disadvantaged in terms of legislation. Mindless robots of students are still being churned out by the great rote learning factories called schools. Most of us still see and judge each other by skin colour. And we are still divided; perhaps even more so than before.

It also seems to me that as hard as we try, things will never be right. I'm not asking for a perfect Utopia of a country, but we have been fighting for many fundamental rights for such a long time, yet not much progress is visible, from where I stand. They say it's a new era, a dawn of hope for Malaysia, but I'm not that hopeful. We'll keep on trying, but I'll still be playing the role of the skeptic. And I sincerely hope that I will be surprised; that someday, I will be proven wrong.

Mungkin sesuatu yang dikatakan oleh guru saya di sekolah, "Generasi muda kini tak tahu menghayati apa-apa yang kita ada, tak tahu berterima kasih atas kesemuanya di negara ini," adalah benar. Kami memang hanya ingin ghairah mengejar sesuatu yang lebih baik daripada yang ada. Walau bagaimanapun, tanpa usaha orang yang berani bercakap benar, tentulah negara kita akan jauh ketinggalan dan berada dalam situasi yang lebih teruk daripada apa-apa yang dialami sekarang.

Tidak dapat dinafikan bahawa negara kita sudah mengalami transformasi yang mengagumkan sejak kita mendapatkan kemerdekaan. Tetapi, apakah gunanya bangunan pencakar langit, koridor MSC, terowong serbaguna yang canggih, varsiti yang dikatakan "bertaraf antarabangsa" dan sebagainya, sekiranya hati rakyat begitu kosong, dan tiada setitik patriotisme dalam diri bangsa kita? Adakah kita hendak menangis dengan air mata yang sudah kering?

一些法律的改革并非代表说我国已经走着在正确的道路上了。难道经过昨晚现场直播几分钟内的几句话，马来西亚再也不会发生令人咋舌的事吗？看起来，许多人民已经放弃了。他们对我国的未来没什么希望，因为这几年来，他们看到的只有吵、闹、乱、疯⋯⋯有人曾说，我国少过四十岁的国民，不曾活在真正民主的国土上。我们想要爱国也很难啊！

But you know what ah? It's okay one! You see har, we Malaysians very good already. We invented Manglish, we got damn good food, we have wonderful 1Malaysia slogan, we are multi-racial, handsome angkasawan also got! Never mind la, if the country is going down the drain. Don't care whether the government good or not, because opposition is very bad one. Got people want to make the country Christian ah - how can! Cannot wait to migrate overseas, right? Take the JPA scholarship and don't come back lo! But I wrong colour wor, how ah?

Aiya, never mind lah. The important thing is that you love your country. And while you're at it, why don't you go cycle with your dear Prime Minister, fly Air Asia, add a stupid "1" in front of every noun you can find, celebrate UM's rankings, take a drive through the Smart tunnel, join the parade at Dataran Merdeka, cheer on the Malaysian football team at the mamak stall, and eat a packet of nasi lemak, because apparently, those right all the wrongs in the country.

Despite all that, I'm trying to love you. Even if I cannot bring myself to sing along to the patriotic songs during the Merdeka Day school assembly. Even if the stuff in the newspapers make me feel like vomiting, more often than not. Even if my fellow rakyat counterparts view me with disgust many a time. I'm trying my darnest. I really am.

Happy Malaysia Day.

Star in the Distance

2011-09-09T21:10:00.003+08:00

Announcement: I have been selected to do a month-long internship at The Star!
Continue reading to find out more.

(And if terms like "Stuff@School" and "Starstruck!" don't ring a bell in your head, read the background story here.)

* * * * * * *

It started with a 500-word essay, stemming from a love for words, attributed to inhaling too many books for my own good and the fact that I have to type out my opinions for mumbling doesn't quite do the trick...

Little did I know that I was signing up for half a year of madness: A certain young journalist programme by The Star, aptly named "Starstruck!" was going to make me go on the roller coaster ride of the year, buried underneath article after article, trying to keep my head above water... "Fortnightly assignments" doesn't sound too bad, but you have no idea how much work actually goes on behind the unassuming eight-page pullout dedicated to teenagers.

And all too quickly, the past six months or so are now over. As I read through the very "large package" of an email sitting quietly in my inbox when I arrived home, it hit me that this was it. That the journey has come to an end. When I look back at the time that has passed, it never ceases to strike me that I'm darn lucky (as I said, it fell from the sky) to have been able to go through this programme at all.

We signed up for this. As awesome-muahsome young writers with too much narcissism and confidence to be considered healthy, we thought it'd be easy. I mean, how hard could penning a few hundred words be, right?

Wrong. There was stress. Lots of it. And frustration, when a piece just would not turn out like how you wanted it to be. My heart thumped like a techno drumbeat gone wrong many Monday mornings, as I would feverishly flip to the centre of the newspaper, hoping to see my byline, which would indicate another green box on the much stalked Masterlist... The madness was tolerable, but it certainly wasn't easy to juggle writing assignments, grades, extra-curricular stuff and everything else I was bogged down with this year.

Some of us faltered. Some of us gave up and walked out halfway. Some had no choice but to go. But most of us, we stayed on. We reminded ourselves to breathe as assignment after tsunami assignment rushed at us, threatening to knock us off our feet, down, down, down into an abyss of despair...

Okay, over-the-top drama is what we fellow lovers of the written word do best.

Today, giddy with a headache, exam fatigue and in the not-so-pink of health, I realised how surreal all this was. And that I will never, ever get to experience something like this again. There's something truly special about how 40 teenagers from all over the country - half of whom have never met each other - can bond over Facebook, united by a common love for writing. Technically, all you hear is the tappity-tap-tap of the keyboard, and the occasional chuckle as you spot another "Fridaaaay!!! Fun, fun, fun... " but somehow, this kind of silence is far from quiet. It's filled with so many hilarious moments, and also exchanges of rants, stories and not so constructive ideas in general.

Of course, I've learnt quite a lot over this short period of time as well. Like how my shorthand isn't short enough. And that journalism isn't exactly what I imagined it to be like - merely about stringing a couple of quotes together in the most reader-friendly manner. Jargon like the "inverted pyramid", "leads", "standfirsts" and the like were added to my vocabulary, and I am only starting to comprehend the meaning, madness, seriousness and beauty of journalism - and it's not just about reporting for others. There's much more than what meets they eye, certainly.

I admit, there were times when I cursed being involved in this programme which denied me of sleep and free time, and gave me loads of pressure and frustration in exchange. But looking back, I am grateful for the opportunities that I've had. Starstruck! really has been the highlight of my 2011.

And you know what? It may be the end of the road, or at least, close to that, but there's more in store for us!

Menara Star: Where torture, I mean, magic, happens.

Come this December, 16 of us Upper Secondary writers have been selected to do a month-long internship at The Star. We are in this programme to learn, yes, but there's no denying that the chance to intern at the nation's main English daily was a very, very tasty carrot on a stick. It was what kept us going through the late nights, interviews, rewrites and re-rewrites...

The email announcing the 16 selected writers did make my day, after such a long week of torturous exams. I'm definitely excited to know that I'll be off for sure this December, moving down to the Malaysian equivalent of New York City, the concrete jungle where dreams are made... It's long been something I've looked forward to and fantised about.

However, lately, I've also been thinking about something which makes all this happy and sad at the same time. The big move to KL means that I'll be leaving George Town - picturesque, with all its little imperfections - and embarking on my next phase in life. And it's also probable that I'll never be a permanent resident of this quaint little city ever again.

I'm not afraid of having to live alone, to survive in a new city on my own. But I do realise that there are many things that I'll miss. Luxuries like having someone to get warm water for you when you're down with a fever and stuck in bed. Like knowing that your dinner will be there every night, without having to worry about what to put into the microwave or running out of coffee. Like hearing my family hollering in Teo Chew after dinnertime. Or simply, getting to rant and rage to my oh-my-mother mum at the end of a crappity-crap-crap day. It's these little things that I've taken for granted that are truly starting to nag at me. Oh life, why do you always make me realise that what I've had is precious at the last moments, at the very last fraction of the minute?

Anyhow, this December will definitely be an interesting one, to say the least. I'll be starting life in a new city, immersing myself in a thoroughly English environment (after my several attempts of escapism, looks like I've finally succeeded), gearing up for my next step in terms of formal education... Woes and worries aside, I'm looking forward to the end of the year!

Finally, a big thank-you to the powers-that-be behind Stuff@School (A, J, C et al). You guys have done an amazing job, exemplifying what dedication, patience and hard work truly mean. And to all the Starstruck! writers, it's been quite a thrilling experience working with you guys. See you in December!

"There's a time for departure, even when there's no certain place to go."
- Tennessee Williams.

Oi, Crazy Girl!

2011-09-02T19:57:00.001+08:00

To CJY,

Apparently, we've known each other for 12 years. 12 years! Even now, the number is a little startling.

And now, you're gone, off to begin your next phase in life. Before you left, you recounted so many moments we had together - being the only people to give a teacher cards, agreeing to cheat on exams at age eight (and getting caught for it - but it was your fancy idea; typical slow me just went along with it because it made sense, "as long as we didn't change our answers")...

It's certainly been quite a journey, hasn't it? Not everyone can keep in touch after five years since graduating from the same school. It takes something special to keep things going.

I have to admit though, seeing you fly off to somewhere "fabulous overseas" with greener pastures, it hurts a little. There's a small pang of jealousy as I open my eyes each day, wake up from my cotton candy dreams and realise that I'm still here - going to a Chinese school, submitting myself to the pointless rote-learning...

But then again, the same thing happens with all my acquaintances who have the privilege of studying somewhere else while I'm still stuck... here.

And then, my mind gently reminds myself that I should count myself lucky to have a friend as special as you at all. Know that in the sea of people going "ooh" and "ah" when they hear me tell my story, you're the only one who knows loud and clear that my hopes and dreams and aspirations are like sugar -- filled with sweet idealism, but they can crumble ever so easily, anytime.

And know too, that you're the only person who I can believe when you tell me, "you can do it". It's not like the others who utter those words don't mean well; they do. It's just that I'm never convinced. But you're different, I think. You actually know that between right here and there, there's a long, long way to go. You see my strengths, and also my imperfections. You're real. And that, my friend, makes you distinguished.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again: Count yourself incredibly lucky to be where you are right now. Remember that crazy dream we had as 14-year-olds, the one about flying off to London to watch the 2012 Olympics? Well, you're so much closer to making that dream come true. (I know tickets are expensive, but if you can, GO! Realising half the dream is better than nothing.)

You're in a very special position right now. In your hands lies the power to truly make a difference in society. With the people surrounding you and opportunities abound, do try to do something good - something great! - in your own unique way. You're definitely capable, and your heart's in the right place - I'm sure of it. The choice is yours to make.

Recently, it struck me that we may never meet each other of "permanent residents" of this country ever again. You have your dreams to chase, and I have mine. We'll run after them with vigour and confidence, stretching ourselves dry to reach greater heights - promise?

But of course, there's still the old deal: You. Me. KL. Or Penang. December.

Or else.

On me, for sure
That's what friends are for

Keep smiling, keep shining...

All the best, my favourite whirlwind of a friend!

Tearing out hair in chunks must feel good

2011-08-29T19:49:00.002+08:00

I am probably the most insecure person on the planet. Or rather, the most secretly insecure person on the planet.

You see, to most, I seem to exude an aura of unbreakable confidence, speaking about my life and dreams with such eloquence. I do know how to string words together in sentences that will convince audiences, wow judges, win competitions, score As and knock the socks off everyone in vicinity.

But I lied.

I have absolutely no faith in that I can succeed in the things I do. Even for the easiest matters, stuff simple, logical reasoning will tell you that I have in the bag, I bury myself in my woes, worries and hallucinations.

I can enjoy an interview session, then walk out only to start discovering a million places that could have been better. Then the complicated concoction of emotions within me turn from optimistic happiness to doubt to fear to panic then to anger, entering my self-dilapidating mode. The sirens go off and the red lights start flashing - BAD. BAD. BAD. - as the world seems to spin round and round, sweeping me off my feet to Insanity Ville on some dusty carpet possessed by spirits...

I can't do this. There's no way that was good. What the hell was I thinking? How could I have said such stupid things? Lookie here, Amanda, you've messed up. Again. Yay! Why do you keep fumbling and stumbling and mumbling, when the road is straight and level and kind on the shoes on your feet?

There's more. There's much, much more that goes on in my head during moments as such, moments filled with silent screams and profanities not fit for my reputation. If there were a prize for the Best Over-thinker, look no further for the most deserving recipient of the award. Amanda NYC - worrier extraordinaire.

It's not like I perform horribly. Most of the time, I do well, I'd say. Or they'd say. I'm not sure myself. How could you be sure when all your eyes see are the flashing red lights that still won't go off, and all you here is "FAIL. FAIL. FAIL... "?

Call me a pessimist - maybe I am. Not when I'm doing little things with short-term goals, nor in the grand scheme of life, but when I stumble upon hurdles revolving around major opportunities, my brain just shuts down, and the spirit of Just Another Common Potential-less Teenager takes the wheel instead.

Huh? What did you say? Who's that girl babbling away about nonsense in the interview room? Hmm. Sorry, I have no idea either.

How ah?

Enormity

2011-08-24T20:13:00.003+08:00

We never meant for this to happen. No one did. But things just unfolded and unfolded so quickly that before we knew it, everything had come unravelled and all that was left in our hands was a tangled mess of heartstrings.

I know I wasn't directly involved. You could say that I had pretty much nothing to do with this. But somehow, I just felt that the fact that I knew meant that I had to do something to put things right. Or at the very least, try to put things right.

You weren't the person at fault either. But you knew that in the domino-effect-like turn of events, you spurred the beginning of everything. Even if you had absolutely no intention to hurt. It was because of your one action, that everything just started to overflow before our very eyes, dirty, scalding, and ever revealing.

I was surprised though, to see how genuine you felt about this. That being upset wasn't just a show you put on to clear your name. That it troubled you, that your actions had bruised someone else, unintentionally. It felt like we were human again, real people with real emotions - conscience, morality, humanity and all that stuff we seem to have lost over the years, in the madness of our wild chase for the moving target of so-called perfection. I'm not trying to judge you or anyone else here, but it was just a little unexpected - in a good way.

That aside, within the humdrum of mundanity, of loading up on stress and gearing up for exams, I saw things I wished I hadn't. Reality came crashing down once more, as I learnt that our every move echoes out like the ocean around your ankles, causing tsunamis miles away - it's just that most of the time, you don't see the waves, nor the aftermaths of the disaster. And definitely not the scars they leave on others; you just go about in life in that state of blissful ignorance. I was reminded too that karma is just as tangible as the taste of guilt on your tongue, and often comes back to bite you in the ass when you least expect it.

Every action. Every word.

Perhaps we were lucky that this didn't snowball into disastrous catastrophe. Or perhaps we're blowing things out of proportion. On Your side, You think we're bothered because we're afraid of getting into trouble, or something along those lines; but really, from where we stand, it's merely a case of having wounded others because of our swagger, our indifference.

Nevertheless, how things played out, stemming from just a few words, was unnerving. Merely saying, "Be careful what you say, what you do" won't make us change. Most of us will never ever truly comprehend the severity of things like that, brushing it off with words like "This girl's being overly sensitive" or "We weren't even talking about that person! Why does she care?" It's just another fact about the school of fish I'm swimming with for now that I'll have to swallow.

On a related note, I feel like I'm overexposing myself by writing here. Putting my work and myself out in the open for the eyes of all, when 99 per cent of the human population is prone to judging, tutting and criticising. Offending people left, right and centre, unbeknownst to me.

Please. De-muddy. This pond.

Ten Moments

2011-08-17T22:12:00.005+08:00

Prompt: Describe ten specific moments in your history that have brought you to today as a person.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One: The End

Like all journeys, the beginning of mine was also an end. A halt. A stop. A break. A pen lifted rapidly off the page, jerked upwards in a quick, vulgar motion.

She thought he was everything. She put her faith, her trust, her love in him. She learnt his past, she imagined their future. She promised to be at his side until "death do us part".

She chased him out of her life.

He walked out the door, and never looked back.

He walked out of my life, before I even got to know him, not because he didn't love me enough; it was because he didn't know how to love at all.

He still doesn't.

But she picked herself up. Mum held my hand all the way up the steep incline. When we reached the very top, she whispered into my ear, "be free", and pushed me off the cliff.

I flew.

Together, we flipped to the next page - a clean, empty sheet of paper - and started writing again.

* * * * * * *

Two: The Stranger

Mum led him into the house, as stealthily as possible, hoping I wouldn't notice the presence of an unfamiliar man. I watched his every step.

No one explained anything to the girl with her wide-eyed wonder. I shrunk into the shadows, deciding that I would wait and observe first.

The man was strange, like nothing I'd ever seen, in all my five years of life. He told fantastic stories - of a fair maiden from China in the olden days called Leng Siew Zeh, of wild-eyed beasts of faraway lands, of technologically advanced gadgets he'd fiddled with before ...

For a long time, I played the role of a passive observer, watching all his moves from my hiding spot, safe under the protection of the darkness.

That is, until one day, I gathered up enough courage, tiptoed in his direction and tapped him on the shoulder. Upon his consent, I held up the big black remote control with its many buttons, arranged in neat rows and columns, pointed it towards him, and pressed down on the big red circle on the top left corner.

We became fast friends after that. I learnt to resist my afternoon naps in order to watch shows on Nickelodeon that I hardly understood, to wake up early on Saturday mornings to catch Studio Disney while munching on soggy cereal.

Now though, I don't get to catch up with him often anymore. I do miss Uncle Astro.

* * * * * * *

Three: 'It's not my fault!'

It was somewhere between the first day of kindergarten and the last. Somewhere between the clang of the final school bell and lunch. Somewhere between the chalkboard and the door through which most of my classmates had just run through, eager to go home.

My things were spread out around me, like waves rippling out from a disturbance in the sea, littering part of the dull, hard, cement floor, the same floor on which an dark red, opaque, evil, blood-sucking creature of death - a leech - had been found not long ago.

His pudgy, sweaty, grubby hand crept into the corner of my eye as I calmly put everything back into my backpack where they belonged. He reached towards my orange plastic ruler, and took it off the ground.

I reached towards his sticky arm - germs and all - and bit into the flesh, hard.

He was a bully, a big fat bully, on my land, in my territory. He had trespassed the boundaries when the aura - of all the coldness a six-year-old could muster - I was radiating told him straight up that he was not welcome.

I was punished. The principal told me about how we have to "be nice to others", how he was "just trying to help", how I should "apologise" to him. Lies, all of them. I didn't believe a word she said. And how dare she ask me to apologise? "Never!", I cried out, silently, in defiance.

I was a warrior, and I was protecting my property as the rightful temporary owner of that area of the classroom floor. He had no right to attempt to commit the sin of theft, to try to fool me right under my nose. Oh, he would burn in hell for sure. He underestimated me; I was better than that!

Armed with my plastic tumbler,
I was defiant!

And then, somewhere between then and now, irony slipped its way into my vocabulary. Somewhere
between then and now, I learnt that an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth really comes back to bite you in the ass. I realised that karma is as tangible as the taste of salty, sweaty skin on your tongue.

I now know that really, I am not to judge, not to "punish" whoever, whenever and however I see fit. I've learnt that "logic" isn't always applicable in every context, that life is as incomprehensible as the minuscule criss-crosses on my palms which I still don't remember, even after staring at them for so many years, wondering how we could all be made so differently yet function the same as one body of humanity.

Somewhere out there, someone might really be watching your every move, keeping a score card which evaluates your every action.

Someplace in this wild, wide world, a girl learnt to treat others with honour and respect, no matter how much of a "stinky boy with cooties" you can be.

* * * * * * *

Four: Math Error

"No, teacher, can't you see? It's wrong!"

The 10-year-old wore an expression of the seriousness of a professor, determined to make her math teacher comprehend the complexity of the situation at hand, which was being "messed up" by her overlooking the essential details.

"Let me explain: The vertex of the pyramid, the pointy tip right there, it can't be like how you described it to be. I mean, let's say, hypothetically, I place my finger there. Wouldn't it be very, very sharp? Yeah, so how could you just neglect that part in your calculations? And the bowl is also a problem. The very edge can't have zero value... "

The teacher looked at the aggravated little girl and sighed. "You're thinking too much again, Amanda."

But I was adamant that I was right. I was always right; people just never understood me, because they never thought about what the truth was.

These thoughts ran through the mind of the girl in the navy blue pinafore in the dingy classroom on the third floor. Her mind wandered off to faraway lands, which were far more interesting than the highly inaccurate mathematics her teacher was trying to brainwash the class with.

It was only years later that she realised, maybe simplicity is what makes the world beautiful after all.

* * * * * * *

Five: I Can't

It was 9pm. And dark outside. And I really needed a shower.

But no, I couldn't get my life back, because we were training, preparing for the Big Competition. Scrambling to pull everything together in the eleventh hour, when this hadn't been in our plans at all.

We were leaving in two days and I didn't even have a routine.

Gymnastics was something I'd enjoyed, initially - the exhilaration of learning a new move, of challenging myself to jump higher or to push harder, of reaching my breaking point and even beyond that - but now, all there was left was a whole lot of bruises and drama.

I sat on the cheap plastic cushion, watching my gym mate familiarise herself with her dance on the floor. I muscles ached so badly from straining them too much, my face hurt from contorting them, trying to hold back the tears.

I told myself, I was strong. I was going to push through this.

But they came anyways.

That was the first (and the last time) I broke down in front of so many people. Not because I didn't have my routine planned out yet, but because this meant that I'd have to face my biggest fear head on - atichyphobia, fear of failure.

When I do something, I have to be able to do it well, or above average, at the very least. This, this was utter rubbish. I couldn't perform well enough, not even close! But I had no choice.

It's not like some random gymnast could somersault on over and replace the bespectacled 14-year-old trying to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks. And national-level opportunities didn't come by every day.

The following week flew by just like that. And on the bus ride home, a 14-year-old girl with nerdy glasses dozed off smiling, carrying a pocketful of memories - of falling yet bouncing back up and giving the judges a bow with her head held high, of realising that one really can say "good luck" to an opponent and mean it - memories that completed her journey in the rough-and-tumble world of gymnastics.

* * * * * * *

Six: Too Bright

I was late. Scrambling up the stairs, I arrived at the door breathless, rapped on the door twice and entered.

Scanning the room, the only empty space left was the one next to NH. I plopped into the seat, and looked around me. There were only six other familiar faces in the room. Everyone was looking a little bored and a bit nervous. The low hum of our chatter did not blend in with the stifling afternoon heat.

That was my first day being in the "A" class - the 40 people with the best grades in the entire form, all grouped together in a place that seemed to be the Golden One, yet had a reputation of being full of nerds and kiasu people. And today, I was one of them.

I didn't know what to feel. At age 13, I had sensed that in this "premiere" high school, studying was something we were supposed to do; and so, I did. Little did I know that it'd make me end up in the first class for the rest of my high school life. I didn't expect to have harsh reality shoved into my face, to witness the ugliest human nature rear its head, to be sneered at by the rest of the student body, to be overestimated by and given the you-think-you-can-do-anything-just-because-you're-smart look by teachers, again and again...

I was startled from my reverie, jolted back to reality when our form teacher walked into the class. Then she proceeded to change our seating arrangement, for which many had previously sprinted into the classroom to get the best seats first.

I was moved from the corner of the room to the middle, a seat in the second row. I collected my bag and books, dumped them onto my table, and sank into the rusty metal chair. I turned to the person sitting next to me - WC, a girl who came from the same class but whom I'd never really talked to before.

"Hey."

And the rest is history.

Til today, you - and the other amazing people I've had the privilege of befriending - are why I'm still alive and breathing in this girl-eat-girl environment. And perhaps I can say, yes, I'm rather happy here.

S5A, with all our cuckoo-ness.

* * * * * * *

Seven: All the Wrong Things

We'd won.

After months of slaving away, of spending all my time and energy on one particular thing, my efforts had paid off. No, our efforts had paid off. I think.

Since a year ago, I'd wanted this so badly. To clinch the winning title would mean so much - the joy, the exhilaration, the so-called "bragging rights", and even the experience itself were all worth-it - so I'd poured in all my heart and brain cells and soul into it.

Now, I had it, in my hands. Literally. The trophy weighed a ton as I hugged it tight against my chest, waiting in line to board the plane home.

Victory didn't taste as sweet as I'd imagined. In fact, all there was was a sickening, bitter taste, like how you tongue feels when you've taken too many pills and not enough real food. And a nagging weight in my arms, reminding me of how this should not have been in my hands right now. Because other people - people who'd worked harder and better as a team - deserved it better. We were the very dysfunctional group, with members still in blissful ignorance.

I couldn't believe how they were still talking as though nothing had happened. Just two days before, I'd spent an hour bawling my eyes out, wanting to just pull out at the last minute, for it seemed like there was nothing on the road ahead but stinking disappointment and failure.

E told me to enjoy the moment, despite all my misgivings and doubts. Negativity had possessed me for far too long. I thought, maybe he's right. Maybe another person was darn right in saying again and again that "life is non-linear".

I heaved a heavy sigh for the hundredth time. When life ceases to make any sense whatsoever, what to do but to dust yourself down, get back up and move on?

* * * * * * *

Eight: Handling Rejection

"We are sorry to inform you that you have not been selected, as our panel of interviewers did not find you fit to participate in this programme, being too imperfect in all the wrong ways. In other words, you have failed."

Those were the words I imagined being spoken by a cool, female voice that were playing in my head. Of course they did not say that, but still, the message came out loud and clear. I wasn't what they were looking for.

Despite the odds. Despite the expectations. Despite all the "Aiya, you'll get it for sure, you really deserve it."

Messages of concern poured in, asking whether I was "okay", that they "don't understand why you weren't chosen", that I should "chin up" and keep on going because I'll be "doing great things in the future"... For the first time, I ran out of words, of different ways to thank them for their kindness and to assure them that "really, I'm alright. I'm good."

It was one of those times when you feel incredibly lucky to have people in your life who truly care. They all tried to cheer me up, but the thing is, I didn't need that cheering up. I wasn't disappointed; a little thing like this wasn't going to stop me from going on strong, from planning ahead to reach my goals, from dreaming the impossible and realising the impossible.

I knew better than to wallow in self-pity and disgruntlement over the closing off of one junction in the distance, because there are still so many paths I can take from here. I knew too that this was a sign of growing up, that I'd finally learnt to let go when necessary.

And I actually thought that getting a "no" for once was a good thing; it kept me from inflating like a balloon getting high on helium, growing bigger and bigger until one day - "pop" - I'd burst into a million little pieces and wonder how I got to that kind of dire state with my arrogance and over-confidence

One possibility crossed out, only infinity minus one more options to go.

* * * * * * *

Nine: Not Anymore

It all started with a letter, a letter initially written to no one in particular. 700 hastily dashed down words, looking for that flicker of light, in that overwhelming darkness. A slightly crumpled piece of paper left on your desk before your day began.

And then, came a reply, encouraging me to approach you, if I wanted to. Encouraging, yet no where pushy. A glimmer of hope?

Of course I went to you - a sinking surrealist would still try to cling onto a concrete lifebelt.

I was right: You do have enough heart to at least try to understand. I'd been spiraling into a void of nothingness, falling into the clutches of depression. I was on the verge of insanity, it seemed like no one could hear my screams, when all they saw was the all-achiever, the smiles, the energy, the oh-so responsible me, but I was dying inside.

For that hour spent in that dingy room, you listened to me babble away, offering gentle pieces of advice and many wise insights. you made me realise what has actually been haunting me for so long; made me believe that maybe, just maybe, I can get out of this cycle of going UP, down, UP, down, oscillating between moments of elated confidence and hopeless despair, trying not to claw my insides out whenever things slowed down and the silence allowed me to start hallucinating again.

I turned to you, because I did not see anyone else who could understand, how I was so free, yet imprisoned within the walls of my own mind. You didn't know me well, but I knew you're caring, willing to lend a helping hand, or even a non-concrete life belt.

I never imagined that just talking to someone could do so much to ease the pain. My blog had a new tag that day: hope.

* * * * * * *

Ten: All Grown Up

I handed her the letter I'd dictated to mum the previous night.

"So, were you absent because you already have a plan for what to do?"

I had decided to skip a day of school to stay at home and try to make my towering pile of work a little less tall. Anyway, there was an education fair scheduled that day - we Fifth Formers were supposed to spend the entire day at the fair, in addition to listening to various talks about career pathways.

"Actually, teacher, you know what? I used to be very, very sure about what I want to pursue in the future, but now, I don't know. I have absolutely no idea."

"Then why didn't you attend the fair?" she asked puzzled, with a hint of concern in her tone.

"Well, the fields of study that you find there aren't relevant to me. And besides, after reading that book, now I don't even know what I want to do. I used to have a plan, but I've scrapped that now," I said.

Always the optimist, she pointed out that I probably still had a plan and several back-up plans in mind; the difference was, now I know about even more paths I can take, about the myriad of opportunities that are out there.

"Maybe," I said. "I don't know much about that. But what I do know, is that not knowing is okay. Because plans change. And over time, I'll change too. There's no need to be so panicky, I've learnt that. I'll figure it out. Someday, somehow."

I could see that she was slightly amused. She let out her characteristic nervous laugh. Here was the student who, just a few months ago, had been worried sick about the question of the future. Look who was Miss Whatever now.

Looking into her eyes, I added, "And really, the important thing is just to be happy."

Little Children

2011-08-11T20:48:00.001+08:00

Consider this: A school reminds its students to wash their hands with soap, wait for parents inside the school compound, report any broken facilities to the authorities, and last but not least, study hard for exams.

This is no kindergarten; it's my school - premiere all-girls secondary school - that I'm talking about. While we may be great at academics, scoring the best results in the state in a recent public examination, and excel in co-curricular activities as well, simple "common sense" seems to have wandered its way out of our vocabulary long ago. Or perhaps it was never there to begin with.

You see, the behaviour of my fellow school mates simply baffle me, more often than not. In the above case, for example, my classmates groaned and scoffed and criticised the school authorities when our monitor read out the message, which seemed more suited towards primary schoolchildren; certainly not us 17-year-olds who are perfectly capable of standing on our own feet, thank you very much.

And yet, what doesn't cross their minds is the fact that if our dear students had enough sense to do all of the above well on their own in the first place, the need for this kind of silly announcements wouldn't even arise. It's our fault that they still have to treat us as though our parents have sent us to this day-care centre for us to spend our mornings.

When the rest of the world insists that it's right, what can I do? Maybe it's my INTJ-ness that's kicking in - we don't think we're always right; we know we're always right.

But heck, there is no "right" or "wrong" in this world. It's just a place full of very befuzzling things that I will never be able to wrap my head around. People, in particular, never cease to confuse me. Yet I wouldn't have it any other way, in this weirdly wonderful world I live in, for indeed, the wonky things do add some colour and spice to our existence.

Oh, the ironies of life!

Magic from Above

2011-08-08T17:38:00.001+08:00

I am not an art person – my aesthetic taste is limited, my artistic creativity is non-existent, and I still don’t know how to draw a simple flower well. I never understand why famous pieces of art are famous; as hard as I stare at them, they only leave me unmoved, unimpressed and pretty much indifferent.

But there is one exception.

The canvas is vast and endless; the shapes of the objects on it are constantly in motion, moving from corner to corner, joining to create new forms, spreading out to fill empty spaces. Sometimes, they disappear completely; although the picture is almost empty, not a bit of its beauty is lost.

The colours change over time, blending to create various hues and gradients – fiery and intesense; calm and mellow; mournful and subdued… The spectrum of colours unfold on the surface like the changing expressions on a human face.

The most important element of this masterpiece is the lighting; without it, the whole picture loses its effect. The light determines the depth of the image, the range of colours, and binds everything together to create true art. This element constantly changes too – from dim to bright; from fiery red, to golden yellow, to the bluest of blues and sometimes to a white so bright that it’s blinding yet mesmerising.

You don’t have to search far and wide to marvel at this magnificient piece of art, for it cannot be found in art galleries or museums; it’s not even located in a specific country. You could try to walk or drive or fly to it, but really, it’s unattainable by any means of transport – no matter how far you travel, you’re never quite there. You don’t have to pay a single cent to see it, as it’s a universal feast for the eyes of all, although sadly, precious few bother. All you have to do is go outside, open your eyes, and tilt your head backwards – look up, just look up.

The sky. It envelopes our planet in a lovely layer of air, can be seen from everywhere and is held up by no pillars. It’s a portal through which we see the sun and feel its warmth, look at the moon to light up the darkest of nights, and marvel at the stars to guide our way through the journey of life. Its surface is scattered with tufts of cotton candy clouds, floating lazily yet holding the very thing essential for our survival – water. It has mastered the art of multi-tasking, doing all of these with utmost beauty.

The sky is a miracle, a divine creation, an inspiration. The sky is magic.

You and Your Grand Ideas

2011-08-04T21:16:00.002+08:00

Opportunity came knocking today. I took a good look at him - from head to toe, and toe back to head - and shut the door in his face.

This wasn't just any opportunity, mind you; this was one of the opportunities, the ones that propel you to greatness and allow you to soar to greater heights as you discover more about yourself and others. It involved doing something incredible, mixing with the crème de la crème of the country for a short period of time, learning and growing together.

The school nominated three candidates based on several factors, but only two names could be submitted. To my surprise, I was one of them. The decision was left to us.

Clutching the application form, we tried to reason it out among ourselves - who should go, who shouldn't, as we tried to squint into the future and figure out what we'll probably be doing then. I gave it some thought, and decided that it was better to give the chance to a friend, rather than to take it for myself. I pretended not to care much about it.

There are other things in store for me, I told myself. I'll find something great to do.

The voice in my head spoke with confidence and eloquence, sure that it's the right choice, but I was far from convinced. But what is done is done. It is better to let that friend have the opportunity; I'm the kind who'll find something great to occupy myself with, no matter what. Or at least, I'd like to think that way.

Letting go is something I'm starting to learn. It's part and parcel of growing up, of growing old. I can't have everything, and sometimes, I find that when you let go of something, you end up holding on to something else. And often, that's not a bad place to be, not bad at all.

There isn't much time left til the end of this leg in life. I need to decide on what I want to do. Nothing is set in stone yet; heck, I don't even have a blueprint in pencil. All I know is that I'm terribly sick of this student life which revolves around grades, grades, and grades; I need a change of environment - a drastic one, at that. I need something fresh, something different. I need to make a difference, to give back in whatever way I can. It's high time I stopped helping myself and started helping others. I have the choice of taking two or three months off before continuing with my formal education; I'll make that time count, I promise.

I just need to figure out how. Right now, I'm not sure what the answer is, but I do know that in life, there are no right or wrong decisions, just choices. Choices that are in my hands. Choices that I will make to help others in my own way. Choices that will see me taking the road less travelled, to make all the difference.

I'm here; what's holding you up?

I shall go wherever the wind takes me. Que sera sera.

I'm Not

2011-08-03T20:49:00.001+08:00

Once again, I'm feeling a little insecure. Because of school. Because of so-called work. Because of deadlines. Because of exams. Because of people. Because of expectations. Because of everything.

Most people would be surprised at the statement above. Amanda's insecure? What? No way! I seem to project this aura of unbreakable confidence, of rock-hard determination, of relentless drive, of a whole bunch of things I didn't intend to project. I don't know why it's like that, I really don't. I didn't mean to, and if you got a different impression, am I supposed to apologise for "fooling" you?

And everything I do seems to be wrong. I look wrong, think strangely, write poorly, speak unclearly, remember inaccurately, work untidily... I could say that I don't care about all that, but I would be lying.

I've been surviving on sleep deprivation and sheer determination for a long time now. I need a break. A vacation. Ah yes, a holiday, somewhere away from work and technology and people. I seem to be spending all my time doing nothing productive at all, yet I'm so tired. And the fact that my so-called "SPM prep" isn't going that well. (Actually, I have no idea how it's going. All I know is that I keep on falling asleep because I spend late nights doing non-school-related work.)

I need to prioritise. What's important to me on this final leg? I don't know. The finishing line is so near, it's just right there. Oh, high school is lovely and all, but how I'd like to ride on a magic carpet and just fly at the speed of light towards the bright red tape and past it, into the future. Or perhaps, into another realm in the universe, where exams, assignments and human nature don't exist.

Life has its fair share of emotional roller coaster rides, even for this very "logical" person here. Rejection hurts. Failure hurts even more. I'd like to bang my head against the wall to see if it breaks. Maybe then, I could empty my head of all these negative thoughts and start fresh.

Or maybe, I could stop complaining, open my panda eyes and realise that the silver lining is still there, that my happiness is still in my hands.

Lucky

2011-07-31T17:33:00.018+08:00

Here's a short story I wrote, based on the prompt of a Chinese essay: 此刻，我很富有 (translated into the last line: "At that moment, I knew I was the luckiest girl in the world.")

This is actually my first attempt at writing fiction ever since I entered high school. It's been a long time, and this isn't very good, but I'm going to keep trying.

Thoughts, dear readers?

* * * * * * *

Lucky

People always asked me why I didn't have a boyfriend. I never gave them more than a smile.

Actually, I didn’t know why either. I was better than that, I told myself. I knew what my priorities were, what I wanted in life. I didn't need an other half. I was happy on my own. I was strong. I was busy. I hadn't enough time for myself, let alone for someone else.

Plus, I'd never fall head over heels for a guy. That was just stupid.

And then, I met Him.

It started out innocently enough. Being writers for this youth pullout, we brushed shoulders online, as He and I discussed assignments, shared ideas and debated silly topics.

He was witty, obviously smart and a rebel at heart. He had good looks, although He didn’t see them. He cared about what happened in my life, and always spoke His mind and gave His honest opinion. I loved Him for that.

He wasn't even the kind of guy too "macho" to have a nickname like Bunny. I loved Him even more.

We started to hang out frequently, watching the occasional movie, talking over lunch together… It felt kinda nice, having someone to turn to at the end of each long day. My heart always skipped a beat when I saw His little green “online” dot on Facebook.

I didn’t see us as a couple, no. There was no need to label ourselves as such. Since He didn’t introduce me as His girlfriend, I decided that I wouldn’t either. But I wished He would. At least I wouldn’t have to squirm as much whenever I saw Him fooling around with such ease with His many other girl-friends. Female friends.

He was very nice to me, but whether His heart did a backflip whenever we brushed against each other, or if He felt electricity racing through His veins whenever our eyes met - like I did - I didn’t know. I wanted to believe that He did, but I didn’t know.

Not knowing was better, I decided. It left more room for me to imagine.

He liked touching me. Not just taps on the shoulder or high-fives, but real touching. He’d always insist on holding my hand whenever we went out together. And He liked PDAs. A lot.

Previously, I thought those were weird, but whenever He held me in His lovely warm arms and bit the back of my neck and shoulders, the world seemeed to melt away, leaving the two of us in those few seconds of momentary bliss. I didn’t notice the people throwing us dirty looks. I didn’t notice my friends whispering to each other. I didn’t notice the tutting.

And if I did, I decided that they could suit themselves. This was my life.

Then, they told me they saw Him with another girl in the mall the other day. Holding her hand. They were mistaken, I was sure. It wasn’t Him. He’d never cheat on me. He wasn’t that kind of person.

I still had to be cautious. One afternoon in His room, I told Him to set some limits for how He interacted with His girl-friends. He laughed, incredulous, and said I should “take it easy”.

His tone scared me. It was the one He used when He was on the verge of losing it. He came closer, and I flinched, waiting for another strike across my back, another shove across the room. He was so unpredictable; anything I said could set Him off these days. And He liked to touch me.

His hand rested on my shoulder. I must have jumped a mile. “Of course you’re the one,” He said. “Look at me.”

I looked up into His eyes for the first time in days.

“Really?”

He laughed again – a dry, soulless laugh – and told me to stop worrying. “Really. Don’t you believe me?”

Of course I did. Now I felt bad for questioning Him. Sighing, I leaned into His familiar arms, tilted my head back and closed my eyes. His strong arms pulled me closer into Him. The bruises on my shoulders hurt, so I shifted myself a little, placing my ear against His chest. Our hearts beat in perfect synchrony with each other – thump, thump, thump…

And at that moment, I knew for sure that He loved me. At that moment, I knew I was the luckiest girl in the world.

Write On

2011-07-29T16:44:00.001+08:00

The list of successful applicants was out. And my name wasn't on the list. Nor on the "reserved" one.

I'm sure of it; I checked. Twice.

This was the moment I'd been waiting for, after all the preparation, the roller coaster ride lasting a month or two. And it all came crashing down. I'd failed.

Or rather, nothing came crashing down.

Strangely, I wasn't disappointed. A little bit annoyed because I felt I performed better than some of the names there, but still, no head-banging, reckless fuming, uncontrollable screaming or suicide occured. I'm okay. Really.

This is one of those moments when I just stop and marvel at how much I've changed lately. I've grown up, I'm old now. I've learnt that sometimes, when it's not meant to be, it's just not meant to be. Life has other Big Things in store for me, I'm sure of that.

I'm not trying to be a pruned up, sour grape here. Not being offered this really does make my planning simpler - all the pages ahead are still blank and lovely; the rest remains unwritten.

The best part is, the pen is still in my hands. And I've got tons of ideas for my next few stories.

Almost

2011-07-21T14:28:00.002+08:00

the journey -

adrenaline, anticipation, aggravation -

ends here

it's over

gone

the light -

bright, blinding, breathtaking -

is near

getting closer

warmth

YES lah!

2011-07-19T23:09:00.003+08:00

Two days in a never-heard-of-it-before hotel in KL. 34 hours with 117 other teenagers, the so-called "cream of the crop" selected from our respective state interviews. A bunch of talented kids, all vying for the very limited 40 spots to go on an exchange programme of a lifetime to the USA.

In short, madness.

For me, the hardest part was actually what happened before I went there - the first interview (during which I believed that I got torn into pieces by the interviewers who used my words against me. Just me and my warped point of view.), the state briefing (in the typical kiasu spirit we Penangites are proud of) and scrambling to put together a portfolio that would meet my own requirements.

Typical, stressed out me.

I'm here. I've made it.

Eight out of perhaps almost one hundred applicants - that's the number of students getting through the state interview, also around the percentage of successful applicants to Harvard.

And this is just Step 3 out of 1000 steps. I can barely see anything in this whiteout; my brain was set afire once, but now, it's dead.

Just like the rest of me.

But then again, opportunities like this one aren't easy to come by. Dear fears, qualms, worries, what-ifs, crazy high expectations ... be gone!

I will cherish this experience. I will survive.

That's what I wrote in the only entry in the journal I told myself that I would keep throughout the two days - turns out that I had no time.

The two days were spent playing game after silly game, doing tons of group activities, while we were called out for our personal interviews in groups of threes.

Despite all the little imperfections of the camp - to me, some of the games were just so-so, certain people I met there were *hacking cough drowning away my words* - and the fact that I wasn't very happy with my performance, I have absolutely no regrets in attending.

It wasn't just about socialising with people the same age from all over the nation (although I did get to learn the traditional Kadazan and Pocho-pocho dances), nor honing my communication, leadership and teamwork abilities.

For me, it was simply an incredible learning experience. Like someone said, we were finally with people of "our own kind" - when the volunteers/facilitators asked "Any questions?", several hands would shoot up into the air, as opposed to the usual cold silence we witness with other groups of people (in the classroom, workshops etc.).

This made me realise how I've changed over these few months - for the better. There were rifts between certain members of my team, and I was the leader, but somehow, I managed to try to make them get along, to listen to both sides of the story, and most importantly, to learn how to enjoy the process knowing that we would probably lose at every game. Previously, I could never have done that.

Interacting with hearing-impaired students (for the first time) was also very much an eye-opener - B, one of the returnee volunteers, performed a short one-man skit, completely in sign language, but had us in peals of laughter. I was exposed to a very different world, a world of silence yet filled with so much strength and hope. They're no different from us, it's just that their abilities lie in other fields. And yes, we could still joke around and tease each other while signing.

I did "mess up" in several parts - I talked waaaaay too fast in the interview, I wasn't as outgoing as usual, and I was definitely stressed out even though I tried to hide it (and probably succeeded). But that's okay. The important thing is to have experienced all of these at all, and picked up a few great lessons I'll carry with me forever.

In the diversity of rainbow colours, we still managed to find common ground as teens hopefully here to mould a better future.

Based on my performance, I doubt that I'll get selected for the programme. But whatever the outcome is, I know that I'm darn lucky to have been chosen as one of the 118 applicants in this camp. I needed it, not just as a break from studying and all, but more importantly, as a reality check for me, to get out of my comfort zone, to experience the perils of ugly human nature, and to connect with other people my age.

Thank you for the opportunity, it was wonderful and I will cherish it forever, regardless of the end result.

But um, if you're reading this and just so happen to be one of the powers-that-be, please, please, please, "say YES lah!"

"No right or wrong one, just different lah."

Shine On, Yellow Light

2011-07-09T20:26:00.010+08:00

9/7/2011

The much anticipated day had arrived. This was it.

The first thing I did in the morning was to go online. All was still relatively calm. This was what I wrote:

Yes. Today, something huge - something that had attracted a lot attention from the media and spurred brouhaha for weeks - was going to happen. It was the day of BERSIH 2.0 - a rally that would unite all Malaysians, transcending race, religion and culture, in a fight for a cleaner electoral process in the country.

In its planning, the government had steadfastly opposed the rally which was to gather tens of thousands of people in a march through Kuala Lumpur. Initially, I laughed, because seeing them get so panicky of something so simple was just absurd to me (although yes, this was an opposition-backed movement). The eight points of Bersih were simply as such:

Cleaning the electoral roll.
Reforming the postal ballot.
Use of indelible ink.
A minimum 21-day campaign period.
Free and fair access to the media.
Strengthening public institutions.
Stopping corruption.
Stopping dirty politics.

It was funny, until I realised that this was only to be expected, that it was a norm in this country that calls itself a "democratic" nation. The lengths the powers-that-be were going to just to cling onto the positions they've held for 54 years were just sickening. I was outraged to see how the government was turning against its people, when all we asked for was a cleaner governance for our beloved country. Many a time, seeing the injustices happening right in front of my eyes, I cried out: "What kind of law allows you to do that? You make your own one ah?"

Indeed, a friend nearly didn't believe me when I explained what the people wanted to achieve through the rally. Her reaction was probably due to the fact that the government has been viewing and portraying this issue as though the gathering would comprise of suicide bombers annihilating buildings left, right and centre, protestors robbing businesses in broad daylight, angry mobs breaking into government offices and attacking public servants, hoards of people trampling over others to death in stampedes, riots breaking out in the streets as civilians assault the police ...

None of those things happened.

You can wield your M16 guns, or brandish your water cannons, but sticks and stones will never break our bones.(Photo courtesy of AFP)

What we saw was Malaysians - of all ages, colours and backgrounds - putting up a truly united front, marching along the streets of KL with one mission in mind. Never mind that the government sealed off all but one entrance into the city, or that police officers, FRU trucks and such were stationed all over the place, keeping a watchful eye on the protestors. The people marched on, despite the forceful resistance of the police, under the instructions of the government, who dealt with the peaceful protestors using water cannons, tear gas, arrests and even baton beatings.

For me, I was 400 kilometers away from the right location, and a couple of years below the age requirement, but I did what I could, monitoring the progress and developments every step of the way, thanks to the power of Facebook, Twitter and online news portals. This was the first time I'd ever seen so many of my teenage friends pay attention to something politically related, even though I know most of them only put the yellow Bersih badge on their profile pictures because it was the trend. I don't know how many of them understood what they were saying, what Bersih was fighting for, but together, we cheered the marchers on.

Of course, some of us teens did know what was going on, and took to commenting on each others status updates, voicing our views on something that would be documented in the history books of the future. Opinions were exchanged, ideas shared and minds stimulated as we watched the rally unfold from the safety of our rooms.

Look what I saw!

If I could, I would have gone out there and marched together with the rakyat, but alas, the said reasons barred me from going. Nevertheless, as my own way of showing support, my selection of attire for the day was done very carefully, with much attention paid to the choice of colour.

It was riveting, to be able to sit there and witness one of the most historical moments of my time happening right there on the computer screen. Tweets, comments, photographs and videos poured in from all over the place, reporting the latest news from the battleground, documenting what was happening in other countries as Malaysians living abroad demonstrated too, and showcasing Malaysians at our very best - walking arm in arm for the same dream.

Now that was 1Malaysia, Malaysia Boleh, muhibah and everything else. We showed them what we are made of, that we want change for the country, that we do not fear you. When armed forces go against the peaceful with weapons and violence, who are the true heroes of the story?

It was inspiring to see Malaysians of all walks of life join forces to overcome the police that tried to clamp down on us. We smiled in the face of adversity; we gained courage when we linked hands; we found strength in numbers and overcame all the obstacles thrown at us. Complete strangers lended helping hands to others, reaching out by offering packets of salt, food, water and such. The people stood together as one and sang Negaraku before being attacked with tear gas. (#bersihstories)

For the very first time in my life, I felt truly proud to be a Malaysian.

It is not to say that there have been no losses today. The brave men and women who were there at the front lines suffered as well - nearly 1000 arrests were made (what justifies them, I have no idea) and many among the 30,000-strong crowd were injured as they marched on in defiance, in spite of the water cannons, tear gas and beatings of the police.

I am very, very proud of my country, of the rakyat. We kept our word and held a "peaceful" rally, despite the overwhelmingly large crowd that showed up. In fact, it was the police who disrupted the calm, attacking the civilians in numerous ways. Completely unwarranted violence and unjustified punishments were unleashed on the members of the public. One of the most outrages cases was the one in which the police fired tear gas, which causes much physical distress, into a hospital in which the marches were seeking refuge, jeapordising the health of the patients in there as well.

When it was all over, the marchers actually shook hands
before dispersing. This is what you call "peaceful" and
"civilised".

Sacrifices have to be made, for most of the rakyat have never lived in a free, democratic country before.

I don't know how impactful this day will be on Malaysia's history. Perhaps it won't make much of a difference. Or maybe the battle had already been won when the rakyat went through a new awakening. If you have been sitting on the fence all this while, or simply "not interested in politics", after the events of today, are you really going to vote for the people who used violence against peaceful marchers, invoked fear among the public through the shackled media, told us lie after blithering lie in an attempt to cover everything up, and tried to create a Tiananmen square in Malaysia, pulling out so many unjustified tricks out of their dirty hat? Is this really the future you want to see?

This may be the end of Bersih 2.0, but hopefully, it is just the beginning of a new chapter in the story of our country.

Today, I am Malaysian. And after seeing all that, I truly believe that we have the power to change things for the better. We shall stride into the future, hand in hand, staying strong, standing tall. One day, our country will be made of the same stuff that formed today's spirit - courage, honour and integrity.

The Best Ten Minutes

2011-07-04T17:53:00.010+08:00

It all started with a random chat with a friend on Facebook. We were doing the usual things - complaining, ranting, confusing each other - when it hit me. Inspirational lightning struck, and things were never the same again.

An idea - a brilliant one, I might add - was implanted into my head, and hence, the wheels were set in motion.

While copying down trigonometry notes from the blackboard just now, I was fidgeting, impatient for the twenty minutes to pass, so that the show I had gone to much lengths to choreograph to perfection would start.

I waited with bated breath.

I peered out of the window and caught her walking towards us. That was our cue. Dashing back into the classroom, I signaled frantically for the first actress to get into place.

We turned up the volume of our chatter.

She waltzed into the classroom, just like any other period. Actress 1 (a.k.a. innocent monitor, M) asked for permission to make an announcement.

"Since tomorrow is the Teacher's Day celebration, we have to be in the hall by 7:20 am. The assembly will begin at 9 am ... "

I thought their overly enthusiastic response, asking M to repeat it again and again because they "couldn't quite hear her", was a dead giveaway, but the sole spectator of the play noticed nothing.

"And you know that we'll be getting our report books back this week, right? Yeah, so because of that, we have to do a project."

The class groaned in unison, right on cue. She still didn't realise that something was fishy. We pretended to complain about "yet another project after the cake business and the Moral tugasan", a little louder than usual.

YC took over to "explain the details of the project". With all the seriousness she could muster, she looked up at our teacher, and said, "Cikgu, we have something to tell you. Something really, really serious. I think you had better sit down before we begin."

"You see, we have been observing you very, very carefully over the past six months. Using some very sophisticated and advanced computers and programmes, we have been able to evaluate and grade your performance."

"But I didn't use any technology in the classroom."

"No, I mean we used all that technology to assess you. And so, here are the results of our study, all printed out in your academic performance record book. You did quite well in several subjects, but it is with much sorrow that we have to inform you that you failed two of your subjects."

The teacher was handed her "results slip", an exact replica of what you'd normally find in one of our report books. Before she could even begin to digest everything though:-

"Oh, and yes, we have also received a letter from the Ministry, a letter addressed to you. Here it is."

We - the teacher, fellow classmates and I - were all pretty much in tears, laughing so hard it hurt. She buried her face behind the pieces of paper. I focused on trying not to punch my fist into the air in glee. She read out the letter to the whole class, with us falling all over in laughter.

Oh, I still haven't told you what was printed on the pieces of paper, have I? Well, the first one was a fake results slip which looked very real, complete with the same colours and margins - the subjects on it included Vocal and Acting Skills, Meticulousness and Tidiness, Spelling and Punctuation Studies, Patience and such. The next two pieces of paper comprised of a formal letter from the "Ministry" (of Insanity Malaysia), which informed her of being successfully nominated as a Guru Cemerlang Sebenar (Real High-Performing Teacher), and also a certificate which bore testament to her efforts.

All conjured from the wand of Yours Truly using the very "canggih" and "sofistikated" technology of Photoshop.

Before that, I had plenty of qualms as to how she would react, whether she would take it badly, and even if I would get into deep trouble. But I decided that today was the right time to execute the plan, after almost two weeks of tweaking, and I was right.

Her reaction was more than good; it was priceless! Somehow, she still maintained her composure, but I could tell that she was really touched by this bizarre show of appreciation. Still very much amused, she said she'd never seen anything like that in all her 23 years of teaching, and oh, the horror of having failed in an exam for the first time in her life (She failed two subjects: Student-Boring Studies and Temper-Loss Education), complete with red ink on her first results slip in ages!

Why did I take the time and effort to do all that? Well, this teacher really is the most dedicated one I've ever seen in my 11 years of school. She does everything to near perfection, from the way she teaches with such clear explanations in the classroom, to her razor-sharp eyes when marking our work, but most of all, for the kindness she's demonstrated, going beyond her call of duty to lend a helping hand. We still wonder whether she's human (it's stated that she is "bukan manusia" in the comments section of her results slip), for we have never seen any other teacher show such dedication and diligence, every single day without fail.

To put it simply: She deserves it. That was just a very different way of saying "thank you!".

Happy belated Teacher's Day, Puan A.

(Yes, I'm still grinning from ear to ear as I reminisce about the best ten minutes I've ever had in the classroom. Thanks to YC, M, WC, S and everyone else who helped out and played along!)

Bucket Loads of Salt

2011-07-01T22:47:00.001+08:00

The class was in an uproar as we raced to finish copying homework, while hollering to each other at the top of our voices. The teacher - who was filling in for another one who wasn't in school - was promptly ignoring us, calmly doing her own thang in front of the classroom.

Just another normal last period for S5A.

A friend and I were just talking, conveniently seated right in front of the teacher, with our topics ranging from the mundane to the bizarre. Somehow, we ended up discussing the same old issue of the Great Future/Big Next Step with our teacher and another two of us.

For some reason, the same old, severely overused questions, woes and musings were brought up by the very frustrated students to a teacher's amusement.

It felt like I was in confession: "Forgive me, Madam L, for I have sinned. It has been zero seconds since I last thought about my higher education. I have been known to be idealistic and harbour big dreams for the future, disregarding all the grown-up realism that is expected of me."

That was just the tip of the iceberg - all day long, numerous people threw me their two cents about my choice of the path leading to "Success", in their eyes. It was probably coincidental that all these happened on the same day, a very long one at that which ended with sitting through a long dinner with Very Important Businessmen. (That was quite an eye-opening experience, that's all I'll say).

And through it all, I discovered something groundbreaking: I've changed. For the better.

Previously, I was so obsessed with the notion of college, of getting into a good school, of picking the right major, of networking well, of this, of that ... so caught up and panicky that I started to loose touch with real life, with the things that a 17-year-old should be enjoying. It probably pushed me down into a state of depression, and it took me much strength and sheer willpower to climb back up.

And climb back up I did.

I think wisdom is knowing when to let go, and also being able to laugh at your mistakes, pick yourself up and learn from there. I still have a long way to go til I achieve moksha, but I know I've taken baby steps over the past few months in the direction of being more balanced in my head. Change is progress, and progress is good.

As Madam L said, "Ultimately, it's not about how "successful" you are, but how happy you are." How could I, along with everyone else around me, have forgotten this simple thought? In my excellence-crazed chase for "getting there" and "making it", I really forgot to take a breather, to slow down and look at all the beautiful things around me.

I wandered over to Insanity Land, and lost my way in the thick brambles of confusion, but no worries, I'm back.

So thanks for all the opportunities that have come my way. I greatly appreciate being able to have taken the steps that now lie behind me, in order to get to where I am today, and the ones that I will take in order to get to wherever it is, years down the road. Whatever I do though, in the end, it's still about being happy, no?

All of you can give me so much advice, trying to convince me that Plan A, or B, or C, or D (according to Person A, B, C or D respectively) is the absolute right choice. Well, thanks for all that, but I've learnt to take everything with bucket loads of salt.

At the end of the day, the decision rests in my hands, so I might as well appreciate this power I have more.

I want to believe that there is no "wrong" choice, because every step that I take is a great learning experience on its own. I want to believe that when the time comes, I will know which road to take, all in due course. I want to believe that I will contribute to the world in my own way, a way that makes sense to me, and be happy about it.

You could tell me how much "potential" you see in me, how "impressive" my resume is, yada yada ... but right now, power, money and fame are not my priorities in life; heck, they're not even on the list. So take it or leave it.

I just want to do good, to live my life to the max while enjoying it every step of the way. So what if I haven't really figured out what I want to do, despite the confidence with which I always answer "physics"?

Really, I'd like to think that it doesn't matter, because if I were to spend so much time and energy trying to wrap my head around this something that I'll never understand, that'd just be a waste of my youth.

Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be. I just know that right now, I'm pretty happy.

A Way of Life

2011-06-23T14:56:00.002+08:00

"The interstitial cells between the seminiferous tubles contain Leydig cells which are stimulated to produce testosterone under the influence of LH from the pituitary gland ... Spermatogenesis starts at puberty when FSH stimulates a series of cell divisions of the germinal epithelium of the seminiferous tubules."

It was Biology. The teacher was throwing around words which defied all pronunciation, scientific jargon that made absolutely no sense to us. Reproduction had stars spinning around our heads as we tried to listen, understand, digest, remember and copy at the same time.

It was barely comprehensible, and I was loving every moment of it.

There and then, as I was wrestling with differentiation, meiosis and secondary oocytes, I realised that it had been far too long - almost two months - since I last learnt something refreshingly new inside the classroom.

Previously, it had been monotonous drilling for exams, then exams themselves, followed by a very much anticipated and needed break, and finally grappling with our grades. My brain had been on "pause" mode for such a long time that the screws were starting to come out loose.

I got to hit the "resume" button.

Perhaps I do have too many things piled on my plate. Maybe the brainy food we're spoon-fed with is more often than not nonsensical. I guess exams don't do one much good in the long run. And I'm very, very sure that I do not like the rote-learning system I'm stuck in, because often, strip away the strings of As, and you'll find that there's really nothing there.

But I also know, I'm incredibly lucky to be surrounded by teachers who go all out to make sure that we not only stay awake, but also go on a journey of discovery during every 35-minute session. They never fail to make me wonder how they manage to persevere and impart their severely-overused knowledge with such dedication.

They don't have to take seven-hour boat rides and trek through the jungles to be considered as outstanding teachers. Many of them are amazing in their own ways, silently toiling their way through each 11-period day.

Today, I was reminded about the true reason why I'm locked up in the place called "school" for half a day, five times a week - I'm not here just to meet new people, or to count the seconds til the clanging of the final Bell of Liberation; rather, I'm here to learn, as I get treated to about seven shows of different genres each day, all placing issues of the world within the reach of a student.

I simply have to remember that learning, even the one that goes on in school, is meant to be enjoyed. If I just forget about how much unfinished homework I have, the fact that my study list grows longer with each page the teachers cover, and that I'll have to swallow all these to regurgitate them come the next examination ... I'll be fine.

I'll be more than fine; the ultra-nerd in me will be savouring the last few moments of high school Biology, Add Math, language classes and such I have left, while the others keep on whining and grumbling.

To turn "mirrors into windows" as I examine this funny little place called life - that's why I'm here. What about you?

Rants of A Workaholic

2011-06-22T14:35:00.002+08:00

I look away and keep my eyes shut tight, but my senses don't lie - the pile of things on my plate is growing at an astounding rate, forming a large heap while a few slide down the slope and litter the ground below.

In simple language: I'm swamped.

These two years, I've been signing up for every opportunity that comes my way; saying "no" to any one of them that knocks on my door is never easy. But saying "no" to them after I've stuck my way halfway into it and have to withdraw hurts even more.

I'm always caught between whether to go for this audition, that workshop, stay at home and study, race through the unfinished homework ... There are so many bigger and better things out there that I should be doing, instead of siting here at my desk trying to cough out yet another essay.

Now is the time to explore the world, no? To see what's out there around me, for so many things fascinate me even in the tiny place I'm stuck in for now.

A teacher commented that I look like I'm "shouldering the weight of 100 kg".

I replied, "More than that."

Yes, I'm probably exaggerating, viewing the tiniest issues through my comically thick magnifying glass. You see, doing all these is enjoyable and I learn so much through these experiences, but the stress - oh, the stress - is just to much for me to deal with, more often than not.

I don't like having to give up, to let go of some wonderful chances because of my lovely "priorities". To try to hold onto everything would only leave me with my battery flat. (Heck, I have my head rested on my shoulder as I type this out; fatigue is such a familiar feeling these days.)

I don't know what I'm saying. All I do know is that as always, there's "too much to do, too little time". And I don't know which thing to pick over the other, whether to stay grounded and focus or to allow myself to go off tangent at times.

I have no Angel nor Devil perched on my shoulders. There's never a right or wrong answer. Regret doesn't even come, since I don't know the consequences of all the other choices I could have made, because I didn't.

With far too much going on, I don't know what to think. I don't know what to feel; I don't know how to feel.

All I know is that I'm leaving behind a trail of very disgruntled people in my wake as I break promises and fail to fulfill my obligations. I don't even know what's on my to-do list anymore.

Tell me that I'll stay sane til the end of the year, because I just feel like throwing up on this roller-coaster ride.

Sinking So Low

2011-06-15T23:45:00.001+08:00

It was simple enough - tell us, in less than 50 words, why your dad is "awesome".

Then, greedy participants took to vote-rigging, nasty comments, hate mail and even (gasp!) plagiarism, just in order to win RM 200 vouchers to a certain fast food chain.

Perhaps it was just plain fanaticism (and hunger), or a tantalising 15 minutes of fame, but I'm inclined to believe that the contest was cursed.

What really made me want to go "#%$@*^!!!" would be the final bomb our dear readers dropped: The race issue.

"Most of the winners are Chinese. Why?"

"Of course the Chinese will win; most of the moderators are Chinese, didn't you notice?"

"The more contests Chinese people organise, the more Chinese people will win."

The appalling thing was that these comments coming from users of a certain race were actually getting likes from other users, a sign of support for this so-called-non-racism they were using as their last attempt to defend themselves, for some strange reason.

Many of the Sour Grapes had plagiarised their way through the contest, lifting whole sentences, word by word, from other sources on the net. Either that, or they had submitted entries of, um, unsatisfactory quality, to say the least. The fruit proceeded to lash out at the organisers, throwing around hurtful comments of no basis whatsoever, without considering how the targeted people would feel.

It was disheartening, to see how even youths were resorting to such dirty tactics. Previously, I thought the problem of race was only with the older generation and the government policies - I would readily explain to my foreign friends that racism doesn't exist at Ground Zero with the urban younger generation, that all of us with our different cultures and backgrounds can get along just fine.

How very wrong I was.

I never expected that of all people, teenagers would be the ones not just pointing fingers at each other, but raising their fists to fight other people, due solely to the different amounts of melanin in our skin.

We're supposed to be the generation of hope, the generation of change. The task of moulding a better future (i.e. cleaning up the messes the adults are creating right now) is in our hands. There goes the severely overused term: "Youths of today, leaders of tomorrow". I genuinely thought that we were capable of making a paradigm shift for the better, not for the worse. I believed that in certain ways, we were better than the wizened cuckoos way up there, that we'd lead society back onto the right track when the time comes.

Oh ho ho. I'm not so sure now.

I don't want to lose hope. Faith is something all of us need, to smile in the face of adversity, to take on the challenges of the future head-on.

I guess that's just how the cookie crumbles. The only way left to go from here though, is forward.

Against the Grey Sky

2011-06-15T14:45:00.003+08:00

The rain was pitter-pattering down on the roof.

I hugged my books closer to my chest and made my way through the primary school compound as quickly as possible. The place was off-limits for us from the high school, but the only thoughts playing in my mind were ones of unfinished homework, shaky preparation for competitions, tests to study for, events to plan ...

I strode along the never-ending corridor, barely noticing the chatter of schoolchildren and the droning voices of their teachers. I had my perfect, completely believable story cooked up should someone have stopped me, but I hoped that no one would.

The rain pelted on.

The end was near. The yellow school bus was a mere 20 metres away from the entrance I was standing at. I fished out my most dog-eared plastic file with the least important papers stuffed into them, figuring that it would double as my impromptu umbrella just fine.

"Adik, you mahu pergi mana?" (Where do you want to go, young lady?)

I stopped dead in my tracks as a stern security guard bore her gaze into my eyes. Scrambling for the right words, I explained to her that I didn't have an umbrella and prayed that she wouldn't drag me to a cranky nitpicker of a disciplinary teacher.

I pointed to my bus which was right there, and told her I'd run to it.

She grabbed my arm, and to my surprise, started walking me towards the bus, shielding me with her large grey umbrella.

Talk about being thrown off guard by random acts of kindness.

I never expected that, and was still trying to recover from the shock as we made our way up the road, treading carefully on the slippery ground.

"Thank you" was all I could say. I hope that was enough.

Starry-Eyed

2011-06-10T16:18:00.023+08:00

It was somewhere between the looming skyscrapers and the shrinking jungles, somewhere between the last flicker of sleep and the first yet again, somewhere between fantasy and reality, as I savoured the very last bit of the school holidays by having my eyes pried wide open.

Upon leaving the hotel early for the other side of the city, I met, for the first time, around 20 of the faces behind “Starstruck!”, a young journalism project I’m involved in this year. Since February, the only form of communication we’d had is online – the numerous chat sessions, endless pokes, frequent wall posts and surplus of sarcastic comments here and there.

The 18 odd-ones-out in our respective homes, schools and societies had “so much fun”, as the long-anticipated and arduously-planned day was spent visiting the printing plant, taking a peek at Menara Star, falling back into the teenage habit of wasting time at the mall and finally, hanging out at the place of one of us who’d generously offered to throw a party,

Through it all, we definitely bonded and got to know each other better, for there’s only so much that Facebook can do. Misconceptions of physical proportions and personalities got removed, and I conclude that we starry folk are a rather odd group of people. That can probably be attributed to reading too much and having a penchant for all things weird, which was why we got selected in the first place!

One thing was brought up several times was how when we were with each other, there was no need to “pretend” by lowering the levels of English when we spoke, for everyone’s above average proficiency levels in the language went unquestioned. This was in stark contrast to how we usually have to add the “one”s and the “-lah”s, and constantly remind ourselves to use simple diction, to refrain from using “bombastic” words that don’t actually seem bombastic to us.

My favourite part of the visit was definitely crashing the “headquarters” of the whole paper, where everything (apart from the printing) took place to bring the news to the masses.

The news desk with its sombre silence.

We were shown around parts of the building. The news department was almost completely silent, as most journalists were out on assignments, having lunch or concentrating on their work. The office was merely a huge space with neatly arranged desks according to the section of the paper. Banners were strung across the ceiling to showcase their support for various football teams. (Probably the work of those at the sports desk?)

The features department was a whole different story. It felt so much warmer, as people there were actually talking to each
other. Most of the desks there were definitely messier, full of haphazardly piled files, photographs and posters stuck onto the separating panels, and even a cutout informing us
that Banana Republic was having a sale.

Admiring a very witty comic strip
depicting a "typical" day at The Star.

We were introduced to some of the people working there in the office, such as an editor at the news desk, the lady behind “Chapati and Chopsticks” (a lit-based comic in S@S), the man wielding his mighty pen to entertain the masses through his comic, “It’s A Durian Life” … We also dropped by the youth desk where the people behind R.AGE were; Miss Doldol with her shocking pink tote was recognized instantly.

Over lunch, we got to sit together with and talk to various journalists and editors from different sections of the paper. Joining us at our table was a travel and adventure writer, the former editor of Star Mag, and the war correspondent and the photographer who covered the upheaval in Tunisia together. It was very interesting to hear them share their stories, from having an M16 thrust into the chest, calmly counting 21 dead bodies in a mosque, to trying to obtain good photos at Olympic events.

They all hailed from different sections of the paper, but one thing they agreed on was that one goes into journalism because of a genuine passion. “You don’t do it for the money”, “sometimes there’s no social life”, “what 9 to 5?” … I could see that after all these years, many of them still love working there, because they don’t see it as a job, as much as a way of life. “They’re paying me to do what I love, so no complaints there!”

We also met the deputy group chief editor, whom we bombarded with numerous questions, from the paper’s new facelift to how the company keeps the business going strong. We were running late, but he was very gracious, answering each question clearly and thoroughly, even though many of us were fidgeting around. (To each his own, I guess, when it comes to serious matters as such.)

Notice the two identical headlines with ten years
between them, side by side. This is Malaysia.

I had a great time with the starry folk, especially since I got to see parts of the works behind “the people’s paper”. One thing I noticed was how the various things pinned or hung on the wall – gay acceptance quotes, anti-ISA posters, a “board of shame” showcasing the horrifying mistakes that saw print, two cover pages dating 10 years apart with the same headline, “Anwar Held” framed side by side … They’re all there to remind the journalists of the true reason they’re there every day – to convey the message to the people in the most accurate manner, in order to bring about awareness and change for the better.

Witnessing how the pullout is actually put together
on the editor's computer.

Meeting the powers-that-be directly above us, i.e. the patient ones in charge of the pullout was good too, for now, I can finally match real faces to the person on Facebook called “Stuff AtSchool” (The editor said she’s so sick of Facebook that she’s stopped using her own personal account). We did share our opinions on what everyone should do to improve the pullout (yes, there’s definitely room for improvement, especially since this is a highly experimental, first-time venture), although everyone wasn’t as responsive as I’d have hoped.

Right now, there’s still an hour or so to go until I reach home. Reality starts to sink in, as I remember the untouched homework, the exam to study for, the room to clean up … There is an odd pang of loss, as I realise that yesterday’s adventure was probably the last time the Starstruck! ones get to meet each other and discover so much together.

The past two weeks have literally whizzed by in such a blur – it was fulfilling to have seen, discovered and learnt so much while enjoying myself immensely. But now, the way to move is forward, to stride into the classroom with confidence on Monday, to face the battle against my long-forgotten exam results.

"So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I'm both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." - The Perks of Being A Wallflower.

No Turning Back

2011-06-07T18:02:00.000+08:00

I was always a "good" student.

When I first entered high school, I deduced that studying would be something I had to pick up, fast, to keep up with the pace of the student body. And so, I jumped onto the bandwagon, starting to do serious revision on a regular basis.

Soon, I became an exam-crazed student; I became one of them. It was so easy to blend in with the crowd.

However, four years later, the girl I see in the mirror today - with the string of extra-curricular activities, a fiery passion for reading things online and an unwavering love for Facebook - is different, very different.

I don't know what changed me, but ever since last year, I have been quite active in activities beyond the four concrete walls of the classroom. I live by the motto: "The world is my classroom", constantly searching high and low for yet another competition to participate in, another workshop to sign up for ...

Many people think it's great that I'm doing all this. Heck, the curriculum vitae I've written out surprises myself too.

Perhaps the reason why I'm working myself so hard when it comes to matters beyond the textbooks is just for the feel-good factor. I mean, there's always that warm, fuzzy feeling flowing through your veins when you know you've accomplished something big, or helped someone in need, while pushing the envelope to soar to greater heights.

All that sounds so cliched, but they're true. I do enjoy doing all this.

And yet, sometimes, I feel so out of place in the A class, the one which is supposed to place the most emphasis on things like grades and rankings. This year, I seem to have stopped caring.

It doesn't mean that I'm not putting in the required effort to score good grades in exams, no. I'm still opening my mouth wide to be spoon fed, still squeezing the juice out of my brain to rote learn the facts, still flying through stack after stack of revision books ... but my heart isn't here, as opposed to the way I felt about studying not too long ago.

This is exactly the wrong year to be pushing academic results to the back of my mind, just so I can enjoy the view around my 17-year-old self, while it lasts.

But when you come to think about it, realism and "because that's what you're supposed to do" aside, why are we pressured to score strings of As, again and again, as such?

Sticking a piece of paper that reads "I'm a straight-A student!" on your forehead doesn't make you any better as a person. I've seen so many stellar students when it comes to academic matters who go about in life with no heart and soul at all, for they are so obsessed with a few numbers on a piece of paper that everything else ceases to matter to them.

I was watching a video of a speech Niki Cheong gave earlier this year, entitled "Confessions of a 1 A Student". In it, he talked about how our perception of education and the kind of students it ought to produce has veered off the right track, becoming more and more warped over time as the number of As scored increases.

One line that stuck with me was: "How did we get to the state where we would cry over one B and not celebrate the six As that we got alongside?"

Previously, I was submissive, kowtowing to the paragon of virtue set by society, thinking that studying my head off for exams was the way to go. Now, society's perceptions of a good student and expectations for me remain the same, but I know I'm no longer that result-oriented, exam-crazed person I used to be.

I've changed, and there's no turning back.

Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe this - the girl-eat-girl environment in which I've been put in for almost five years now - really isn't the place where I belong.

I'd like to think that I know what's more important in life than studying 24/7.

I will work hard for exams; I will make sure I do well in the upcoming torture session called the "SPM".

But in the meantime, I'm learning ever so much this holidays - from the conference, BRATs, an interview, and now, a trip to KL - without touching a single textbook.

A BRATty Experience Like No Other

2011-06-04T21:44:00.011+08:00

Lugging my heavy suitcase, armed with a shiny new Macbook Pro and with an open mind in tow, I arrived breathless at Holiday Villa, Alor Star to experience the truly once-in-a-lifetime journey of being a BRAT.

BRATs is a young journalist programme conducted by The Star, specifically by the gurus at R.AGE. Three times every year, rambunctious teenagers under the impression that they'd like to dabble in journalism spend time at three different towns across the nation to try their hand at the trade.

All we had to do to be subjected to the "torture" was to send in our application form and an essay before the deadline back in March, and cross our fingers in hope of being selected for the programme.

The 40 lucky chosen ones made our way to Kedah to embark on a journey of stress, surprises and a surplus hilarious moments.

It all started with a series of workshops on journalism - the role of social media in this age, an introduction to photography for journalism and also a brief how-to when it comes to making videos.

For me, it was pretty strange to see the faces behind the bylines come to life.

Niki briefing us before all the madness began.

Editor Niki Cheong radiated an aura of strict authority, while throwing around lots of sarcasm. This multi-talented guy is also an actor, which explains how he managed to fool all of us with his many jokes that we completely bought (one-legged satay man, anyone?). His presentation was on how social media is developing alongside mainstream media, and how the two can work together when it comes to getting information across to the masses.

I daresay we were pretty much in awe, watching him talk about all that with such confidence. It really made me redefine Facebook, Twitter and such. Previously, I'd never thought about how huge the impact of messages flying around in the virtual world can be; now, I have a feeling I'll be roaming around the Twitterverse much more frequently, and paying more attention to what goes on there.

The role of "good cop" was played by Ian Yee, known to most of us as the guy behind R.AGE's football column - the one part of the pullout which I always skip. He's a very easygoing person, with an affinity for munching on those junk food dried fish sticks without using his hands, and can often be found apparently zoning out on his cell phone.

The photograph I took under the theme, "Green"
during Photography 101.

Yet, Ian really amazed me with the way he read through our articles - every word was scrutinised, dissected into a million little pieces to ensure that the message would be conveyed in the most accurate and non-ambiguous manner possible. Words like "nuances" and "convoluted" are just so ugly, but to hone my journalistic writing skills was exactly why I was there, so I really can't complain!

The other powers-that-be there were entertainment (fashion) writer Melody L. Goh and famous blogger cum photographer Jason Lioh. Together with the senior BRATs, they kept things running smoothly enough and ensured that we didn't blow anything up with our penchant for M.R.T. (Malaysian Rubber Time), cringe-worthy videos and levels of language proficiency (or lack of it).

Over the next two days, we were split into three groups of 13 or 14 to work on two assignments, one on each day. The first assignment we, Team X, got was a visit to a small-scale dodol factory in Kampung Berjaya, on the outskirts of Alor Star. There, we interviewed the man behind the dying trade of the sticky confection, in order to come up with at least two articles and one video. Back at the hotel at night, we were still gawking at the fact that we'd written 700 words on a type of kuih. Amazing (but I'm not sure if it's in a good way).

Kampung Cina, full of rustic charm.

In my opinion, the second assignment - a trip to Kampung Cina, a fishing village in Kuala Kedah - was much more interesting. We held our breath
(due to the stink) and trod carefully on the slippery floor, scouring the sleepy street for interesting stories to tell. The hard part was that we couldn't really prepare our questions beforehand, as we had no idea what to expect.

Nevertheless, with a bit of luck and some help from the facilitators, we managed to obtain enough information to churn out two articles - one on the gap between the older and younger generation in the fishing village, the other on the effect of price hikes on those in the industry. (Published article here.)

Doing our thing, interviewing
the owner of a fishery.

Most of our time was spent on an Amazing Race against time, as we scrambled to finish our assignments, producing articles, videos and sound slides. On the first day, we thought it was absolute insanity, having to do so much work within such a short time frame. But when the second day rolled around, many of us were done by dinnertime and strolling around, wondering what to do.

Thankfully, our group wasn't plagued with technical difficulties, huge clashes and whatnot. It wasn't smooth-sailing, but we got along with each other just fine and managed to finish all the assignments on time, while retaining our sanity. (Videos on dodol and the fishing village.)

Even though a lot of people complained to no end about the stress, I actually didn't find it that bad, because the time allocated was enough, it's just that I wish we'd done a little bit better on both assignments. The final products were at least above average, I would say, but still, I always set the bar beyond my comfort zone.

I actually broke my vegetarianism for "Laksa Kedah",
and by no means was it worth while!
Penang Laksa is still the best, and I'm not being biased.

The journalists there taught me to take this kind of work very seriously, but actually, BRATs wasn't a solemn affair at all. This cuckoo here was the star of the joke of the century, as she uttered "doLdol" instead of "doldol" when referring to the topic of Assignment One numerous times, until someone had the sense to correct her. To think she was the anchorperson.

The hilarious joke stemming from an honest mistake snowballed so much that in the end, our team was dubbed as the "doldol team".

At 2am in the morning before we left, we were still up and talking nonsense in the conference room. Suddenly, I received a call from a Thomas Hardy from the UK, looking for Larrie from the Doldol Association. The phone was passed around several times, from Larrie the caretaker of the conservation park of dodo birds which produce the "doldol", to Maria

Gonzales, a senorita from Spain who was "turned on" by the "sexy senor" on the line, to a Chinese man who "no speak English" and even to a Muthu all the way from India. Needless to say, the pranksters gave up and joined us downstairs until we called it a night.

Several BRATs even went home with new ringtones on their cell phones: "You have a doldol ... you have a doldol ... " Yes, with me attempting to produce that cool female voice.

All too soon, Niki abruptly said to us, "Bye!",
with a trace of gleefulness,
only to proceed to giving us a proper send-off.

They get 120 new members joining the BRATs family each year, so it's understandable that they won't remember most of us, but I have a feeling "doldol girl" (instead of the tradition of making the kuih) will be sticking around in their heads for a long time to come.

I arrived on the first day not knowing what to expect; on the last day, I still didn't know what to anticipate, as it had been a wonderful journey of surprises (definitely in a good way). I don't have the right words to do the amazing experience the justice it deserves, but here's what I do know: The four days weren't really about the journalistic adventures we had, but rather about the incredible people we were surrounded by.

With two of the awesome facilitators,
Ian (left) and Niki (right).

Scary Niki was actually very open to new ideas and willing to impart fascinating new knowledge, Crazy Ian taught me to get out of the box I've caged myself in and look at things differently, Mysterious Melody gave me a small glimpse of what truly goes on in the works of this field I might just venture into in the near future, and naturally, it wouldn't have happened without the presence of everyone else!

To sum it up, I certainly have no regrets at all, for it was a wonderful journey, and I believe many of us would say "yes" to re-experiencing the madness in a heartbeat. Sadly, all I can do is to pen down my thoughts while they haven't fled my memory yet, to keep the experience well-preserved even as the colours start to fade.

40 somehow obedient BRATs risking suffering from sunstroke in the name of a nice group photo.
Oh, the things you made us do, but we love you anyway,
for the entire journey was such a blast!

To pry our eyes wide open and discover the stories within the humdrum of daily life - that's what it's all about. There are so many fascinating tales the people have to tell, you just have to listen to them.

20 beautiful derrières on the cover of R.AGE
two weeks after the owners were introduced to
planking under the scorching sun.
Definitely an added bonus!

Come Back

2011-05-25T19:40:00.001+08:00

As of current, my life has been reduced to this:

Today, all that study burn-out caused my temperature to burn-up, setting my breath, eyes and brain on fire. My positive feedback mechanism is at full reign, and I just bade farewell to a chance at doing well in Biology Paper 1 tomorrow, as today's progress has been near zero, mainly due to the fact that most of my time was spent curled up on the bed, willing the heat to go away, and visiting the doctor who was so nonchalant (I have a feeling he could be an ISTJ; he practically recited the definition of a "virus" and "infection" from his medical school textbooks verbatim).

You know, I didn't use to be like this. A few years back, exams were merely there to gauge my performance, not something I clung onto for dear life. I could not believe it when the thought "now would be a really good time to cry" wandered into my head. When did I become so obsessed with a few marks? Where has my "learning for the sake of learning" mantra gone? How is it that I keep ranting to myself that it's "unfair", how putting in ever so much effort doesn't always translate to satisfactory results, when some of the people around me have it so easy?

Why is it that I no longer recognise the girl I see in the mirror?

I used to believe that I was fine, that coping with schoolwork and examinations was easy to me, but after so long, I have to admit, my thinking has been swayed by the girl-eat-girl environment I've been put in for the past four years. The mentality here is terrible, and it's horrifying to think that I have become one of them.

I've lost myself. Usually, I simply allow myself to dwell on matters of the Great Future, to subsist on dreams, to let imagination fuel my mind, but now, all that good stuff isn't there anymore. They've fled me, one after another, and I don't know where they are. Do you?

I'm clinging onto the last strings of positivity left here. I will not survive on negativity, I will not. Life is pretty good, yes, if only I could rid of these stereotypical thoughts centering on realism and competition. Those are such ugly words.

A wise someone once told me, "Breathe, Miss Amanda, and enjoy the journey."

I'm trying my darndest.

Dealing with Goodness

2011-05-22T10:14:00.001+08:00

I tell people, "The tiniest thing you do can often do wonders in brightening up someone's day." I tell them that with laid-back confidence, cheeriness and a bright smile. I tell them that when I don't believe what I'm saying myself.

It's not that I don't try to make people's days a little bit better. I do, most of the times. I'm generous in dishing out positive comments online, handwritten thank-you notes, pats on the back ... no, not compliments, I'm not good with those, for my own standards are not for the average person to meet every day. But everything else, yes. I like boosting someone's morale once in a while, when I believe the person deserves it.

Yet, most of the time, I question myself, whether I should even be doing these at all. Most of it is done in secret, as I leave a subtle trail of goodwill on the path I have taken. Sometimes though, I wonder whether those thank-you notes are simply outlets for me to release stoppered verbiage, whether the positive comments online are just to make me come across as a little bit more congenial, whether those pats on the back are there just to make me feel better too. I've always been an honest person, but I'm doubting my intentions. Heck, when the rest of the world is just so negative, full of snarky comments, scorn and threats, I really feel out of place.

I'm not being naive, no. When I say good things about what you've done, I mean it. I do not see the world as bright and lovely, full of boundless opportunities out there for me to explore. On the other end of the spectrum, some people would actually call me "heartless", with this sharp tongue and cornucopia of sarcasm of mine. They just haven't had the chance to see all sides of me, that's all.

The people around me, they seem to have lost all the kindness, humanity, heart and soul. They have ceased to care about how others feel, no longer possessing feelings for anyone but themselves. In this wild, wide world, I believe I'm different. Right here, I'm trying to do good. Right here, I'm trying to make the world a little bit better. Right here, I'm trying to be myself, to be free, to brush aside the stares and furrowed brows of others.

Right now, I don't know how to do all that.

Lighten Up, Dear

2011-05-18T14:34:00.005+08:00

Dear XXX,

You waltzed into our lives and took us all by surprise. The first day we met, I thought: Here's an experienced teacher, strict but fair and very much annoyed by our Decibels. I'm lookking forward to saying "good riddance!" to your subject at the end of the year.

Little did I know that this teacher would go on to demonstrate indeed what an "ideal" teacher should be like. You force us to struggle to find the right words when talking to you (Why? Because we should be able to speak the language, after 11 years of learning it?), wow us with your characteristic grace and eloquence, and make us redefine "dedication", for we have not seen another teacher throw herself so completely into her job, turning every responsibility into a delicately crafted masterpiece.

I know dealing with this A-class lot cannot be enjoyable. We're supposed to be the "creme de la creme" of the student body, but all I see is a bunch of exam-crazed students who want as little work as possible, yet demand as many marks as they can beg for. We're so self-centred and inconsiderate, to the extent that we allow ourselves to be so calculative, as though it's within our power to deem whether a teacher's lesson is worth our time before exam week. The mentality here is terrible, and I am sorry.

You have to know though, despite all that, we really appreciate what you do for us - from dragging us through those horrible literary texts with much perseverance, to your superhuman patience when answering our questions, and even your generosity with the "good"s for our homework.

Okay, so maybe I won't be saying "good riddance!" to this subject's lessons after all. They're the only ones this year during which the teacher doesn't pile on more and more stress, knocking over the stack of confidence we arranged ever so carefully. Somehow, you make listening to your explanations so easy, and even enjoyable. We're not sure why though. You must be hiding your magic wand and pixie dust somewhere.

Do you remember that morning a while back? I'm glad I approached you for help, and even more glad that you did not choose to ignore me, but lent me a helping hand (or rather, a wise pair of ears). "Logical reasoning" had wandered its way out of my vocabulary, leaving me alone with my woes and hallucinations; you made me get back on track - Sanity Street. I really needed that; how could I ever thank you enough?

So, to this incredible teacher, with the great figure, kind eyes and few but wise words,

Thank you

Happy Belated Teacher's Day

Lighten up! Smile more, worry less - you're doing great.

Regards,
Amanda