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?

Where I Belong

Where I Belong

Out of the periphery of my room I hear familiar tunes sung in chorus, blasting from a television. My mind registers and recognizes each song that the crowd at the Padang is happily humming, screaming or more likely whispering along to. Occasionally the obligatory variation and mash-up invades on my half-complete memory of these songs, interrupting the record that I dust off every year in my head to remind myself of where I'm from. No, not my mother's womb, but the little red dot, the rojak of Southeast Asia, the socialist nation in disguise; Blink, and Singapore is already 45.

My nationalistic spirit lays dormant, deep down in my mind most of the year. Sure, the times when our table-tennis teams usurp China's comfortable recline on the worldwide throne or we are once again hailed as the most effecient economy of the world, that spirit gives a slight murmur, maybe a half-conscious smile, before rolling over and returning to its slumber.

While the TV continues a rhapsody of dramatic music to cue the entrance of our nation's finest in security and defence I am doing my patriotic part, making my way to the National Service portal which require the awkward utilisation of Internet Explorer. I deal with my inner geek and delve into the uncomfortably slow mode of exploring long enough to find my NSPortal password. It takes even longer following the outdated instructions to finally register my deferment for another year. All this while, my mind is focused on the arguable bleak future laid out for me in my blood - the male Singaporean I am is only a year away from the one of the world's few mandatory conscription programs. Despite the festive pride that should be raising our PSI to dangerously high levels rivlling what Indonesia can manage, my feelings are anything but. I restrain a sigh, reminding myself that a year and a half is peanuts to pay for the peace that our forefathers had cultivated for us. Peanuts, and not the Goh Chok Tong kind.

In my defence, I do feel certain feelings for dear Singapore. The Green City has been my safe abode for 17 years and counting. I have no complaints for the fact that our government has been dominated by the same party since its inception, neither do I mind the fact that chewing gum is frowned upon by the appropriate authorities. I find it hard to understand how people give in to the unnecessary urge to whine and exaggerate the teeniest bit of discontentment about how we now run the risk of being fined for $300 everytime rubbish ends up in the wrong place.

My version of common sense often steps in and reminds me what makes this nation great - I have been in the same room as a fellow Singaporean of another race, poking, stabbing and impaling fun at each others ethnicities with reckless abandon, each of us laughing at our own rumoured inadequacies. I am able to go to school each day without the fear that the next car passing the road might contain a hitman with a horrendous aim. It beauty of increasing ERP and COE prices never seem to occure to most, but I marvel at how our government is bringing us towards a greener community where we don't indulge selfishly in what limited amounts of energy our planet can provide in the short term.

So yes, I do, in my own warped and twisted way, have my own form of Singaporean pride somewhere. It lays dormant, deep down in my mind most of the year. But it makes its appearances when necessary, kindly acting as the aperture for my perception that points me to what matters. It reminds me that Singapore is where I belong.

After signing my allegiance to my country once again, I log off and move on to yet another Singaporean expectation. Focus, I told myself - You still have General Paper 2 to complete.

The Rain

The Rain

I had to keep with my patience. The process was menial - I poured, patted and shaped as according to instruction. I competed with the sun throughout the day, resisting each ray's urgings for me to take a break from toil, and also each one's tendency to remove the precious moisture from the sand. After all, that was all sandcastles were about - the right proportion of sand, water and pressure. Too much of any, and the painstakingly composed structure will crumble at your fingers. I had to work fast, though, as the clouds perched above, gazing down in dark fury, waiting to descend.

Penang became my home for a week, and its people my family. The initial barriers were there of course, but my patience paid off in waiting for them to fall bit by bit. The program was relentless in its activities. They were understandably a manifestation of the committee's intentions to fill our experience with equal parts wisdom and fellowship. However, being the social oddball I am, I have never understood the need for tasks and games twisted painfully out of shape simply for people to say hello. Time often makes for my favourite icebreaker.

The warmth of my newfound friends up North were every bit as intense as the unfortunately scorching weather we had most of the trip. Their eagerness was what made me tear down my reservations, making way for the much more appreciated friendships and relations. Daily surprises and revelations kept me engrossed in observation and watch; I learnt so much more about my group in my silence at first, and then through the countless directionless yet comforting conversations with them. Till the last day, I wished I had more time to continue enjoying and appreciating their presence in my life.

My group wasn't exactly outstanding in any aspect. A mish-mash of personalities, a rojak of psyches, a blend of attitudes - It was so amazing to see how all of us banded and complemented one another, differences synthesizing into a common gel. I have them to thank for making my trip one of the most refreshing and insightful, but most of all one that I don't regret coming for.

To my group leaders, I would like to give you my greatest gratitude for the worry, panic, anxiety, stress and exasperation that you have went through. Thank you for what we have seen you do, and thank you for what we didn't see you do as well.

I was disappointed with our campfire initially. The slumber we had burned through, the ideas we had to painfully shoot down and rebuild over and over all seemed to culminate to a huge, amazing cloud of... nothing. It was agonizing to see it all fall apart. Though I know that no one was at fault, I foolishly let negativity take its gleeful reign, dominating my thoughts and wishing for things that can only remain impossible dreams.

However, the gloom was chased away by the announcement of the sandcastle winner. It'd been quite a while since I felt a high, and those few cherished moments are something that will be on heavy rotation in my memory. Leaping there with these rag-tag group of now close friends, the depth of our friendships caught me off guard, and for a moment there I almost let a tear build. Almost.

I will definitely miss Penang - its food, people and most of all the memories it has so kindfully given me as keepsakes.

My mind often drifts back to those short, sharp images - Toiling away under the near-engulfed sun, working fast to bring the structure from our imagination into our hands. I hauled water, and carefully distributed it on each mound of sand, pressing, shaping, molding. After all, that was all sandcastles were about - the right proportion of sand, water and pressure. Too much of any, and the painstakingly composed structure will crumble at your fingers.

And when we finally finished, we were ecstatic. I restrained the urge to prance around in celebration, and we gathered round quickly to capture what few images we could before the threatening rain finally broke. As we hurried away into the safety of shelter, my mind stayed behind with the pyramid and castle we had created together.

All I could think of was each rain drop that splashed onto the magnificent but brittle creations. Each rain drop, disrupting the fine balance that took whole hours and continuous care to form. Each rain drop, battering away at the smoothed, refined edges we had created, creating their marks on them. The shape slowly gives way to the relentless assaults, collapsing and fading away till there was none, and the waves claimed the shore as its own.

Somebody to Lean On

Somebody to Lean On

Lately, I've found a constant need to remind myself to pick my shoulders up. I can't shrug off the feel of an invisible, yet very real weight that's gradually growing on them, and have been having no luck in lightening the load. The mirror never fails to show me the slightly dejected, outward angle they are now prone to slope at these days. After days of careful thought and inspection, I gathered that the cause was not physical.

Weight has been piling on. I've been presented with a mentally, spiritually and physically draining task. I did my best in covering more ground at the start, knowing all to well that the mental stamina of my peers and myself could unlikely summon up enough momentum a late sprint. I was right about both, but unfortunately so - my feared last-stretch dash is here, and I'm having trouble keeping up.

Turning back during this drawn-out marathon, I can already see the attrition I've been subject to for the past few weeks eagerly waiting to catch up on me. The extra load on my shoulders are no more merciful - still it builds, enlarges, and threatens to break my stride. Fall? I can't afford to.

Having that image play out in my mind night after night does not help either. Slumber has become a distant friend - uncontactable at best. Night after night is spent squirming around, in vain hope that I can finally rest my brain, and find that short escape from the pressures I feel. I even spent some of those lost hours wondering whether I'd already embraced insanity, but just haven't gotten round to realising it yet.

The questions that came after were what haunted me most - Why I was doing what I was doing. For whom. Most importantly - what was I doing in the first place?

The weight on my shoulder's driving me crazy.

Yet my closest friend high up there has been the one to reassure and redirect me to the right path for this undoubtedly fated trial. Having presented me with a Macbook that was kindly lent to me by my sister, He somehow led me (through a certain sister-in-Christ) to the antidote I desperately craved.

I spent some time listening to this a few more times at home, loving the vibe of every tune and the strength of backup vocals I am often partial to. But after reading through the lyrics, I saw the message that had been waiting for me to open up to it.

All of a sudden, the endless race that I'd been going through seemed to just be forgotten. There was no competition, only other brothers and sisters on the same scenic but albeit rough strolling path I was on. The weight that had been causing me so much worry? They were nothing more than others who needed my shoulder as a resting place for awhile, before carrying on refreshed and stronger.

My struggle so far was for them. And if I needed somebody to lean on, all I had to do was to ask the friends around me, and they'd show no hestitation in offering the courtesy.

And all of a sudden, all the questions disappeared.

High Enough

High Enough

As I woke up today, I didn't feel the familiar longing for a few more precious minutes for my comfy cot, but rather snapped into a surprisingly keen mood. Despite fighting insomnia the night before as a result of undue worries that I had no explanation for, the daily fatigue that I had prepared to parley with never made it for its regularly scheduled appointment. A good thing too - I never had the time for it today.

The whole morning was a painful drag for me. My nails hammered repeatedly onto any convenient surface, with my mind wishing that the clock would feel the pressure to keep up with my incessant drumming. I spent my time gazing skyward as well imagining a paintbrush in my hand that could sweep away the moodier grays that seemed to encroach upon our skies with a cheerful blue. The weather toyed with my hopes the whole day, but at last gave way to a miraculously perfect setting for my reason for coming to school today.

Being in an agreeable mood, the fluffy white pillows in the sky did their job in shielding us from the burn of the sun, but never once succumbed to the temptation in traveling earthward. My creator had heard my prayer; My provider painted my sky with all the right shades. The perfect setting was miraculous.

Below these tranquil arrangements, I could taste the spirit that saturated the air. Tight competition was held everywhere, and while watching and supporting my fellow Homaknights, I couldn't help but admire and appreciate the other houses' tenacity and encouragement. The players themselves showed their grit through their play, reserving no efforts in their goal of reaching for victory shared with their fellow house members as well.

Blue, Red, Green and Orange were dancing about before me, and I felt so proud to be part of this vibrant kaleidoscope. It had been a long time since I felt that sensation where my blood flooded with enough adrenaline, giving me the irrationally unrestrained desire to express my excitement. It had been a long time since I felt such a great high, to truly revel in the energy that everyone emitted. And after awhile, after watching the heart we pour into every shot and every play, neither house nor colour had mattered to be. Dunman High was my high.

The Male Finals Basketball match drilled a clear message into my mind. The heartstopping game had been drawn out several times as neither team felt satisfied for a conclusion written by their opponent. The sheer length of the match was mind-boggling, and I saw how so many players endured cramps and pains that made even Chun Seng scream like a prepubescent schoolgirl for their house. And despite being floored by their physical limits, they continue to scream encouragements at their team mates who carry on the stalemate.

I would be lying if I said I had enjoyed myself - it would be an understatement. The experience was almost religious, changing my perceptions of Senior High as a whole. I wasn't simply awed by my own house, but every single one coming together today to show what Dunmanians can truly be made of. After today, these would be the proud images that form in my mind whenever I declare myself a Dunman High Senior High student.

As I rode home in a comfortable van, courtesy of Kuan Liang's kindness, I heard the splatters of raindrops slowly starting to fall from the sky.

Sweat and Tears

Sweat and Tears

After the painful haste in Always With Me and Ponyo, my confidence took a stab. I'd hoped for so much more from each of us - Practices and combines have always showed that the sound we were capable of creating was so much more captivating and colorful. But there was no time to consider beyond that. Stage movements kept me busy for most of the night.

After Odoru and Red Sweet Pea, I was convinced the night was over. For a first concert, I felt mildly satisfied with this first foray into a strange new experience. I've grown to be understanding to how limits can often override expectations, and accepted the past few hours' adherence to that annoying fact. It wasn't the Dream I'd quite hoped for, but for a first concert, I could live with it.

I made my way in the dim lightings of the tiny backstage, carefully keeping my guitar (Which I might name "Newbie" - I'll explain next time.) close to my side. I was exhausted. Every bump and knock that happened between the transitions reverberated violently in my head. The tiniest of mistakes were only amplified and intensified by the tense silence that I tried so hard to maintain. By the time I got into my seat for the finale, I was almost ready for a simple end to the long, tiring day.

Fate has a unique taste and liking for irony. The first part of the Dream Medley had always been my favourite, in particular for the fact that our guitars were sure to have their fair share of stage presence for that one section. Beyond that, however, the balance of sound was left to the questionable acoustics of the PAC. Nevertheless, I started the song with enthusiasm, playing further from the soundhole just to squeeze out every nuance of sound I could from my guitar.

Then, everything went black. I wasn't looking at the scores, but for a moment every note I held in my head disappeared along with my vision. Muscle memory was the only thing driving me from chord to chord, and I picked up where I left off in a hurry, but another part of me remained in shock. I almost wanted to stop, but I saw what the darkness illuminated.

I saw the Year 6 players in front continuing to pluck and strum away. They were every bit as surprised as I was, but never missed a beat. I saw how our singers continued, confidently ignoring the absence of a microphone, their upbeat mood reaching far more hearts than their voices a few ears. I saw the audience holding up phones and lights, the light that may not have revealed my scores, but revealed what was important.

The dark allowed what was important to shine. And when we gathered outside the guitar room, listening to Dawn, Kevin, Miss Ho and Sin Hui's debriefs, I was already perspiring all over. My face in particular was covered with an unsightly sheen. And secretly, I knew my eyes were relenting to the emotions built up over the day.

My face was covered with a mixture of sweat and tears. And after awhile, I couldn't feel a difference between the two.