Author: shao

Watched Haresh Sharma’s Those Who Can’t, Teach yesterday, held by the talents that were final year Lasalle students.

The technicals were more than just a marvel; seven weeks to produce a 2 hour long play, flanked on 3 sides by the audience (vocal and visual issues ahoy),  with 4 actors and actresses playing double, multilingual and multiracial roles, with a set that came together like interlocking fingers. They had windows that served as those for the classroom, nursing home and staffroom, and even a tortoise tank that had a light switch on and off along with the stage lights.

Yes, 7 weeks was definitely detrimental to their lines (stammers aplenty, unfortunately) and I felt that their transitions were a little too abrupt.

I was still blown away by the feat they’d accomplished and heartened that, in retrospect, NUS Stage seemed just as competent as well.

There was a scene that wringed my soul dry; when the Malay kid returns 15 years later to meet his teacher (coincidentally on her last day) once more. He asks her if she remembers telling him to try and try again; he thanks her for the hope; he had tried and tried again but failed every single time until he realised that some people were born to fail, and that being called special never really meant anything. Bad timing what with Finals in a week, but I felt terrible after that.

I’ve a new lens to peer through to the world with.

May you, your loved ones or even anyone you dislike be healthy and well, and free from all misery. May we be glad.

I spent the walk back from Kent Ridge Station singing along to Vertigo.

There was a point when I was so bored with staying up late that I used to exercise in the morning.

Used to! Now I’m just sighing and waiting for it to come back.

Of much.

Avoiding social contact through detours.
Staying in PL6 till the 2s and 3s.
Having too much supper and realising your thighs chafe a little more this year.
Coming back to a wartorn room.
Leaving it wartorn the next day.
Not wanting to go back home after all the stress home gives.
Waving bye to your brother, who pretends to not miss you, every time you visit his dorm.
Piling work upon work because you can’t say no and perversely lust after how it chokes your schedule.
Calmly greeting the midterms like one would the Reaper.
Judging everyone you meet and yet feeling instinctively terrible every time you do.
Having not no-one to share your life with.
Writing blog posts as such despite having 5 4 hours left to sleep.
Making excuses to not run or gym.
Smiling profusely.
Hiding it.
Forgetting to take medicine and wondering if you’re OK despite so.
Missing out on everything.

Climbing up stairs and ladders to reach the points above all others, as an excuse; an excuse to not exercise, an excuse to not sleep, an excuse to claim wanderlust, and an excuse to not face anything at all.

Fingers crossed, I’ll get this done by 3 so that I’ll actually get enough sleep.

(more…)

Half-thoughts form in my mind all the time; ideas for posts, the girl I met during that tutorial, how it’s been nearly a year since I left Jurong Camp for good, etc.

I’ve been busy recently with Sem 2 stuff, and I’ve been frowning at my belly as I skip gym visits in the day and runs at night. This CNY was the most disinterested I’ve been for any CNY.

Doctor visits have been cut down from fortnightly ones to monthly ones.

Sometimes when I wear my shirt in my stuffy, short, little room, I wonder how close I am to taking my fingers off in the fan above. I lay at night, listening to the occasional hum of the mini fridge and wondering if this fan would fall.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s normal to think this much about everything, and still come out unclear about what’s going on.

I’m drowning, white-knuckled and dizzy with all the things I haven’t done yelling at me and the resultant noise echoing around the room.

Everyone’s telling me that I can do it for Stage and yet I’m sweaty-palmed and slipping up on too many duties, duties that I’ve not passed to others because I’m scared that any miscommunication may be traced back to me.

I’m meeting many people: ARY quips that I should have a good chance seeing how I always hang with an adorable bunch of J3s, which begins another night of wondering if my standards are too high.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s perfectly normal to be all of that. Sometimes I wonder if I’m perhaps abnormal in so many ways.

I think about the stranger a lot and I wonder if I even have the right to be upset for so long.

I see Marie around at times, and I marvel at how far she’s gotten these 3 years since J2, becoming fit as all hell and hanging with the “gym bros” (people whom I look on with disdain borne out of fear) 
I see Keng Heng, continuing his daring sense of fashion and launching his hand drawn sticker collection (I bought 4 but never stuck them on anything)
I see Mike recovering from his breakup and “finally being in a good enough mood to leave his house” (refused to tell me at first, fearing it would make me “sad” … hah. classic Mike.)
I see various friends getting attached all this while, some of which I make snide, mental remarks on and immediately chide myself for thinking that. Who am I to judge?

I compare myself to these
people I love and I see their self-respect and confidence
and I don’t see
myself
getting better
at all.

Perhaps you can stop reading, I don’t think anything I’m going to write about will change for a long time.

Hell, it’s been 4 years this far and I feel like I’ve been on an eternal treadmill.

But thanks for reading this blog so far.