Drive

Drive

I couldn't take it for awhile. The last few weeks of school in term 3 have been harrowing at best. For the past few days, I nursed the wounds on my confidence for awhile, patiently taking in all its whinings and recounting the stories of each scratch and bruise that has made its unfortunate mark only recently. For the week, there was no escaping the obligatory mulling over my missing the mark on a disappointing number of school-based tests. For the past week, I plowed through hour by pointless hour of self-indulgent nothing. For the past week, I just... collapsed.

It is a heartbreak that I often try to hide when I don't keep to my own expectations. The collective hours that I've put into my subject combination find translating themselves into results a tall order. Questing and experimentation for the right writing conventions only leads me nowhere fast, and more often I find myself tracing annoyingly familiar circles. I have had no breakthrough, and have nary a clue to guide me along. Misery invited yet more horrifying guests to the glum party, each test result a mocking reminder that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

So for the past week, I just collapsed. Never staying asleep across midnights, I wake up to lunch - which comprises of a questionably fresh leftover breakfast - and sleep way past what the internet preaches to be my liver's most productive hours. The hours in between produce nothing that I'd boast of, and my BMI vehemently protests at an evil diet and lifestyle. To no avail. It's hard to get out of a self-pitying cycle.

School's return strangely acted as the perfect panacea for the misery and negativity. I woke up fresher this morning than on any afternoon the week before, and felt oddly energised with each tutorial throughout the day. The sorry plight of United Nations' Security Council never sounded more confoundingly exciting, the endless troubles it runs into gaining my total interest for an hour. Economics arrived as the usual engaging self that I'd been missing for so long. But the magic ingredient I missed most in this refreshing shot in the arm? Friends.

Friends are my fuel for motivation when it comes to schoolwork - no daunting question is made easier through picking the brains of friends regardless of whether they gave a grasp of the elusive answer or not. The latter almost always results in massive brainstorming that though leads to nowhere academically, lightens my burdens and reminds me that I am not alone in my struggles. The waves and smiles picked up along the way when I commute between classrooms do their part in lifting my moods, as wrinkles of frowns realign themselves into more productive smiles.

So if you are a friend that is reading this, then I thank you for being a friend. Thank you for being my 垃圾车. Thank you for being a ray of sunshine. Thank you for lending me stand under your umbrella. Thank you for being the best definition of good intention. Thank you for being my drive.

Who do you have to thank for being your drive?

Falling

Falling

My heart has been a helpless victim of wanderlust, leaving my focus in want at the slightest of distractions. Lessons bore me even more than they normally do, and I cannot find an anchor for my concentration however hard I try. Voices drone on in my background, and I vaguely feel my pupil dilating, conscious sight receding, as I'm oddly absorbed by six strange friends that my imagination recently animated. A, G, D, B and the E twins had my attention in rapture, as they dance in chord after familiar chord in an endless, calming loop.

I guess writing is good for the soul after all.

I sat down eagerly, raising my footstool, tilting my chair slightly to the right the way I prefer. My eyes couldn't make out much of the dimly lit crowd, but what I could see was a rather packed house. The shuffling of feet soon faded, and all that's left was the pure, comfortable silence that emitted all around. Kevin stepped out, and - with the particularly confident smile he often saves for true performances - greeted us as we stood. The crowd showed its anticipation, and I could hear a few specific cries for some familiar voices in the audience.

We took our seat, and drew in the silence once again. And as the familiar, comforting pair of hands were raised, so were ours. We took a breath, as our fingers took their place on each accustomed string. All I saw then were those hands that hung in the air, and as they fell I fell into my section, and fell into my ensemble.

The six-stringed stories we had practiced so hard for started to take form, gaining colour, shape and almost space in the otherwise silent hall. I couldn't help but smile, and for the first time enjoyed the collective trance we fell into - It was the first time we put our trust into each other, leading and following when the notes allowed for it. The guitar felt no more distant than my fingers, no heavier than another limb. I loved every single moment.

It culminated into an eerie, yet comforting silence that we consciously maintained. Our held breaths waited for the very last echo to make its round within our guitars, leaving through the sound-hole and finally evaporating into the thin quiet. Kevin winked, and I knew we finally made it.

Who knew that it only takes less than a year to fall for a piece of wood?