Remember all you maidens
From the Isle of Dogs
Before you find a prince
You must kiss a lot of frogs
Copyright © Paul Curtis. All rights reserved
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Today's the day when you all can find it socially acceptable to call me on my new number, and I will most probably reply, even though I simply have no idea how it works. As in, because I changed my line, but I apparently did not terminate my line, nor did I conscientiously type in every single idiot's number into my new phone, and I have no idea whether I can use my SIM card now, because apparently I have two lines now, and it absolutely confuses me.
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English.
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Functional writing.

I knew it. I just knew it. I just knew that the stupid functional writing would be a bloody report on things. So I studied that. The thing that totally blew me off is that it incorporated Formal Letter into Report Writing.

So, formal letter. To the Ministry. As a parent. To thank them for their kind generosity in narrowing my choices from so many schools to appeal to. For my totally non-existent son. And to discuss why I chose that particular school.

Stamford High School versus St Peters Institution. What uninteresting names. If I had been the setter, I would put utterly long or fascinating names so that my students will get pissed at, because its too long to copy down, or fascinating, so that it'll be a form of cheap humor for them to laugh hollowly at. Or even both long and fascinating. Yes. If I had been the setter, I would have written names like

"Sang Nila Utama Secondary School".

So it was a bloody Formal Report. Quite interesting, really. I like the idea. But I didn't like the situation, because it was written for a final year exam, which could most probably determine whether I could get retained or not.

I wrote 3 1/2 pages for the letter. I do hope its not too long. I mean, seriously. Jiali wrote 3 pages. So 3 1/2 is socially acceptable. Afterall, the format of formal letter itself is 1/2 a page. So, strictly speaking, I merely wrote 3 pages for my letter. Which is okay.
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Composition.

Composition was pathetic. The topics:

1. Rivalry.
2. Describe a time when you were unexpectedly thrown into the limelight.
3. - Forgot, but Argumentative -
4. - Forgot, but Argumentative -
5. - Totally forgotten -

So I chose Question 2. And I wrote an absolutely digusting plot that I never would have deemed possible for me to painstakingly craft out every single bit of the story.

Surprisingly, there were people who wrote Argumentative. I didn't, because I was sure I wouldn't have completed it in time. Argumentative is just so fantastic, there is so much to talk about! So I chose the Narrative one instead, where I could go on describing people and things on and on and on. In the end, I basically crapped out 7 1/2 pages of my wholly stupid essay. But I left lines, as compared to my Formal Letter, so its okay. Its socially acceptable to write 7 1/2 pages if you leave lines. It is. Definitely.

Hey, but I realise that I'm happy to be able to write 7 1/2 pages. As compared to me when I was in Primary school, I could only max it up to 6 pages in one stupid hour. And in Secondary school, I can actually write out 7 1/2 pages in 55 minutes! Compare and note the stark difference.
So I am happy; I am so happy; Happy I so am; Am I so happy?

My conclusion was abrupt and crappy. That's because I only had 3 minutes to round it up! So I got irritated and rushed out the stupidest conclusion ever. Thank god I had a good brand new pen that was able to write well, write smoothly, write quickly.
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Model essays.

I hate these crappy model essays. I was reading one very ridiculous one, and there was a line that went:
" 'I lost my dog!!! I lost my dog!!!' I exclaimed."
Like HELLO!? Its Secondary School, its Secondary Three. There be such a great need for three exclamation marks?!

But some are good. Very very very very good. Like this:

I was hurled headfirst down a dark and endless tunnel full of lies and rebellion. Thousands laugh and jeer at me, as I hurtle uncontrollably among them. This dark world was their domain or at least, they believed it to be.

Among the weaving of that living mass, tiny slivers flash in a myriad of colour, their numbers miniscule in comparison to that dark sea. I reached desperately, grasping at one of these slivers in order to preserve its light but before I could reach it, a large wave swept it beyond my reach. I wept as it was carried away, the brightness dimming before my eyes, then flickering into nothingness. Given in to temptation and pressure, the sliver like many others before it corroded into darkness, like shadow made flesh.

Gasping desperately as the darkness finally engulfed me, seeking to drown me too, my sight suddenly became pierced with a flash of intense light. In shock, I reacted by instinct and flailed out wildly.

I was wrenched from the embrace of that foul dream back into this reality by the sound of shattering porcelain and the indifferent glare of fluorescent lights. An echo of a final sinister giggle faded away as a gentle hand placed itself on my shoulder. A comforting voice followed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes I'm fine, thank you."

As I cleaned up the remains of my mug, I reflected that my dream wasn't very different from the life that I led. In the large, brightly lit staff room where the aroma of coffee perpetually lingered, I worked tirelessly with no thought of reward or even gratitude. Then, a thought came to me: Hadn't I just woken from one nightmare to another? More or less, I had little effect on others' lives.

We can always give them direction and even lend strength, but ultimately, the path they choose is up to them.

Isn't it fantastic? I loved it. Although I didn't like the last paragraph. But its still good. And I always have this deep conviction that teachers don't actually read my essays because they are intrigued by it, or that they continue to read on to read on furthur, to know furthur. They're merely reading because its their task to give you a grade at the end of everything.
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Recess was embarrasing. I almost dropped my plate, but I somehow caught it..? I dunno how.

And Aricia darling gave me a Happy Belated Birthday present!!
Thank you darling! I love you!
=D I'm estatic! YAY! Hahah. And don't worry if I insult you too often dear, because I never ever ever mean it properly. And yes, your jelly was yummy. Just that I can't compliment people, for some particular reason or another. I can only tell the truth. So if I say that your jelly was yummy, it was. And if I say that the present was sweet and that I love it, it was. =D

Thank you dear!!

Kailin knows that my chinese sirname is apparently the traditional character. :D

I love you darling, I'm so proud of you. :D

Yes, I equally love and am proud of anyone who knows that my chinese sirname is now officially, IC-certified the traditional character.

Relish in the hotness.

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Comprehension and Summary.

These two were really tough.

I actually don't think I'll blog about them. Afterall..
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I can proudly say that I have spent 11 years in a girls' school. 6 in Primary school, 5 in Secondary school. Yes, 2008 Sec 3 teachers. I am very sorry to say that you'll be teaching me again next year. So despair.
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A-Maths consultation at 1230.
Choo, Shihan, Nad, Guin and I were sitting around in the library waiting for Mr Choy.

1230 came.
"Mr Choy's late."

1240.
"I think Mr Choy forgot."
"He was confirming the consultation with us yesterday."
"Okay, then he's super late."

So we sat around and talked.

1250.
"Yes, I think he forgot."
"Send someone to call him up to the library."

So we sent Nad around to intercom Mr Choy.
"Mr Choy say he's very lazy, so he's not coming to the library."

First WHAT!?.

So we waited.

And as time prolonged, we got irritated. Nad was refusing to go unless someone went with her, so we got Shihan, Guin and Nad to go call upon Mr Choy again.
"He's not coming up luh, Shihan or Guin or him or dunno who hung up."

Second WHAT!?.

"Lets go down, and we'll go intercom him to get out of the staffroom and give us A-Math consultation.
"YES lets go. Mr Choy is super lazy."

Down to the mini-forum from the library, down to the intercom machine.

Shihan dialed the first time, and there was no response.

"Are you sure its the right number?"
"Yes.."

"Well then, maybe he went to get coffee."

I dialed the second time, and there was no response.

"He should have been back from his coffee break right?"
"Apparently."
"So he's avoiding our calls because he knows its gonna be us?"
"Apparently."

Ms Lin walked by, thankfully.
"Ms Lin, could you go in and drag Mr Choy out?"
"Uhm...."

Guin dialed the third time.

And threw the phone to me when it was answered.
"Hello?"
"Hello Mr Choy?"
"I told you all, either you come down, or I'm going home."
"We have come all the way down here from the library and we are down here waiting for you in the mini-forum, right now, and there's no space anyway down here and, ...."
"Okay, okay I'm coming out."

And so initially, Mr Choy suggested sitting out there in the hot hot sun in the Eco-garden. To which, Choo protested:
"Mr Choy! How can we sit down here, its so hot! How to study in the heat! How can we concentrate! How! Your tablet will get hot!"

Which amused me as to why Choo was so concerened about Mr Choy's tablet.
"Why don't we sit upstairs?"
"Yes, okay, let's go."

A-Maths consultation at 130.
"What do you all want to do?"
"Uhm. Logarithms."
"Which part of logarithms?"
"Change of bases."
"What's that?"

"Choo, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Yeah. The downstairs pianist really sucks right."
"Precisely."
"She's so freaking noisy."
"She should stop her music, or whatever you call it."
"Do your work and stop laughing."

"Choo, are you copying my work?"
"No, of course not."
"I thought you were."
"Amanda, don't copy other people's work."

"What do you want to do now?"
"Trigo graphs."
"Yeah, trigo graphs."
"Oh yeah, trigo graphs."
"Trigo graphs?"
"Uhm.. Yeah."

"Your sine graph sucks."
"This is a perfect sine graph."
"Perfect ah? WHOO!"
"Mine is the best."
"You don't want to see mine."
"Yeah, yours suck."

"Shihan, are you going with them to Orchard later?"
"Still go Orchard? Go home and study!"

The supposedly funny parts of the consultation. I suppose the session helped us. Except for Shihan, because the idiot was halfway between reading her stupid ELLE fashion magazine and stopping in-between to do math. HAHAH.
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Tuesday, 5th October, 2004, 3pm. My English Primary School Leaving Examinations (PSLE) had just ended. But that didn’t mean the end of my PSLE, it meant the start of subsequent papers and four more subjects to study for, namely Math, Chinese, Science, and Higher Chinese.

I took the 10-minute walk that separated my home from my Primary school, to reach an empty home. Strangely enough, it seemed to me that my parents had, rushed out of the house, as I walked into my parents’ bedroom, hoping for some comfort they could provide to assuage my terrified heart after I handed in my paper, all I found was clothes, bed sheets, and everything strewn over the floor. As I looked around my parents’ bedroom, searching for a sign of where they had gone and why, I saw it. The most peculiar thing.

My parents’ bedroom telephone was a cord-phone, meaning that the receiver has a cord attached to the telephone itself. But instead of seating snugly, or as I often thought, smugly, in its red plastic sofa, flanked by the security of two side-bars to secure the receiver tightly, the receiver was hanging down from the sacred table in which it proudly stood out from. I sensed that something was amiss, yet I could not discern what was wrong. I had the faintest suspicion that my parents had received a call, probably from one of their business partners, that a certain share-holder or a project was not cooperating or not going well. As I pondered over the question for a while, I decided to proceed to the kitchen to grab a snack before I started work.

The second clue was located in the kitchen. A Post-it note, saying
"Out. Call. Study.
Love, Mum and Dad."
was pinned to the door of the refridgerator. Something was definitely fishy. My parents were just about every bit as talkative as I was, why didn’t they elaborate?

I walked to the living room and picked up the phone and dialed my father’s mobile number. It rang once, twice, thrice, four times, five times, six times, seven times, eight, nine. As I waited and lost count of the number of times the dial tone sounded in my ear, I became increasingly frustrated. Why was my own father avoiding my call? Annoyed, I put the phone down, and punched my mother’s mobile number. If my own mother were to refuse my calls, it would be the absolute last straw. I would call up my relatives, my neighbours, my parents’ friends whom I shared friendly rapport with, and I would find out where they were. No matter what.

The phone was answered by a cool female voice, sweet sounding, and a little absurd. But it was not the voice I wanted to hear.

"Sorry. The number that you have dialed is not available. Please, try again later," the voice repeated itself twice in that equally nonchalant and irritable voice. I hung up, deciding that it was no use trying to contact my parents anymore.

I walked silently to my bedroom, my source of comfort, curled up into a tight ball, and started to cry.

* * * * *

I did not see my parents for the subsequent three days. They came back to the house when I was sleeping, and left while I was sleeping. The only means of communication I had with them was through the magical Post-it note that reappeared on the fridge door everyday, displaying a different message with every growing day. I wrote back, with lines of information, but the reply was often the same.

"We’re fine. You can do it. Study. Don’t call.
Love, Mum and Dad."

* * * * *
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Compelled? I don't reckon so.