Very long day which started with a jog. Broke a glass before leaving to meet a cell member, and ended up being really late as I had to clean up the mess. Spent almost the entire afternoon preparing for cell on Sunday and just talking about life and stuff, then took a walk around good ol' MGS, except that it is no longer old and has turned into a formidable grey-and-white affair, like a weathered old maid in a stiff apron. The stringy bamboo and dumpy fir trees mitigate the austerity of the grey paint and long block names somewhat--but I do miss the layer-cake appearance of a bygone age, when the school was innocent, free, and madcap in its coat pink, blue and cream (was there even green?).

Made it just in time for my first round of volunteering as front-of-house staff for W!ild Rice's Snow White. FOH staff a motley crew--among them teachers fulfilling CIP requirements, theatre enthusiasts, Sebastian-stalkers (the actor for the wicked stepmother, Sebastian Tan) and desperate no-namers trying to break into the theatre circle any way they can. I find myself somewhere between theatre enthusiast and desperate no-namer. Saw Prof Seet among the crowd: no surprise there. He boasts of being able to get complimentary tickets to any production he wants, he just has to ask.

As it was gala night, we were allowed to stay for the reception. FOH staff camped at the tables outside the kitchen and waylaid several plates of the food, rerouting them to our table. Waited ages until the Sebastian-stalkers got to take a photo with him, and then a little while more before we finally ended and returned. Tiring, but fun.

Day Out

Yes, my days out have become so infrequent that I felt the need to blog about this one. It started with roti canai and roti telur, followed by a haircut, followed by three hours staring at my laptop screen attempting to edit my play and not knowing where to start. At the hairdresser's--my first visit to this particular one--I was arbitrarily appointed a hairstylist named Ajes. A name of enigmatic origins. Turns out he's my age. Which was interesting and at the same time mildly unnerving, though I don't know why. Perhaps because I'm particular about who touches my hair, and I'm used to having aunty-ish hairdressers messing with my hair.

A blissful three-quarters of an hour spent downing quantities of green tea while staring at the dishes of wondrous things floating past me on the Sushi King conveyor belt. The staff were in high spirits today, spontaneously breaking out into a chorus of "maso maso" whenever one person said it first. Strange ritual. Good to see that they were happy, as my cousin's working experience at a sushi outlet was dismal. He and a colleague got their ears pulled for using the restaurant's seaweed to cook their maggi mee lunch (yes, they were not provided lunch in the restaurant they worked in). Did I tell you I'm a heavy drinker? I like nothing better than to sit down for a chat and drink five cups of green tea (or Chinese tea) all the while. I drink till I feel heavy.

I am also easily amused. Such mysterious items of food, artfully arranged on their dishes, each dish rimmed with a colour to denote their price. Food with names like mamakari and kurage--cold with various degrees of slimy and yet enticing. White rice, green seaweed, orange salmon, black roe. Here passes three delicate orange spheres with white pinstripes--rice balls in translucent coats of salmon. Yes, I like sushi very, very much. Though Sushi King is only average at best, and its selection lacks the variety and vibrancy of Sushi Tei (incidentally the only other sushi outlet I have ever been to). There' s the difference in the price as well, of course.

Following that a meeting at Mac's with my employer (I am employed!). I am editing a children's book series. Nothing big. It's for one of those direct-selling companies and the writer himself is a free-lancer whose day job is actually investment consulting. crap my keyboard has converted to international configuration and now q is a qnd z is w and i can!t find the apostrophe and the full stop is off too: will try to sort this out: see yq: crqp:

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Overall, A Great Day.

I rolled the ball into its spot with my foot. Thanks to coach constantly yelling at us to "LOOK UP!" I did (for once), checking the team's placement. The opponent's wall was a little misaligned, not fully covering my line of shot. I decided I would make the ball fly over the girl's shoulder and curl into the top right corner of the goal. I took my shot, not caring that my shots are usually terribly off-target. I just forgot it all and decided this would be my shot. I watched the ball as it flew in the air, curving over the wall and causing them to turn as they followed its trajectory. At the last moment it curled left just enough to roll into the top right corner of the net, and fall to the ground behind the goal line. I think I couldn't believe it for a while. I stood and stared while my teammates at the boards cheered. I hope I never forget how much I want a goal, and what it feels like, watching the ball hit the net. Very satisfying. I got scolded later for bad defending, and that sucked but I will improve so that I, and the rest of the team, can take more shots in a real competition, when the stakes are higher.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that confidence pays off. Many times I don't get a shot in or I lose the ball because I hesitate, falter, feel unready and therefore am unready to do what I've trained so hard for. On one hand, a literary mindset means I deal in ambiguities all the time. On the other hand, floorball training tells me that uncertainty kills. Teammates yell that at me all the time. Make up your mind! Hmm...yes...perhaps it is better to stop dreaming and get in step with reality. Would certainly help in getting essays done more effectively. Mental forays into matter miles off the topic hardly help with deadlines. Random recollection: some first-year who knows a little of graphology (study of handwriting) says my handwriting indicates that I daydream a lot. It was actually quite accurate. More randomity: actually over the years several people have expressed interest in my handwriting. My JC Lit teacher said it was schizoid, as I had about five different handwritings in one exam paper. Another would-be graphologist said my writing was terribly fascinating, but left it at that. What does your handwriting reveal about you? I wouldn't say graphology is completely accurate, but it is possible that certain qualities of writing are frequent indicators of a particular trait. How far one can take it as a pseudo-science, though, is questionable.

Also today, I received an email from NUS saying ASEAN scholars are getting an additional $1500 a year (35% increase!!!). Yes, it deserves three exclamation marks. I've been really stressed about running out of money. Somehow MOE was moved into parting with $1500 pax--that translates into a lot of money annually, even in the face of the gravest financial crisis of our time. I don't care if people say it's just coincidence, or an unconnected decision made by some sympathetic MOE bureaucrats, but I just want to thank God for providing! Money doesn't need to fall from heaven for us to recognize that God is at work to provide for people (though that would surely be useful, but then if I didn't believe I'd just say someone threw it out of a plane). Faith recognizes God at work, behind the scenes or upfront. If I refuse to believe then nothing short of him killing me and giving me the eternal perspective (where it would be too late to change my views anyway) would make me change my mind, I guess.

So overall, it's been a great day. =D

Mad World

- Gary Jules Lyrics

Out Of Anxiety...

I write a post.

Sometimes I wish I didn't obsess over my essays. This obsessive desire to understand everything. Not everything in the sense of the world entire. I just feel the need to tackle every nuance of an argument. It kills, it really does. If Bakhtin were alive, I would feel like hurling him against a wall, grabbing him by the collar and asking him, "what are you talking about?" And then I'd want to tell him what I thought. But then of course this is all hypothetical. I would never do such a thing in real life. The most you'd ever get, say, if I thought you were talking nonsense is a downward look, an enigmatic smile followed by lots of fidgeting, if you're long-winded. If I thought the argument was worth following I would be animated, but make counter-arguments in a fairly oblique manner. If I didn't care for you at all, I would fall asleep or read a book. I would like to say I'm too well-brought up for that, but no...I would read a book, as I do sometimes during Film Criticism presentations (why do people think characterisation is an important category? We are not taking O-levels anymore. Ish)

Tracking self-development: I guess this oblique and non-commital manner of arguing comes from the terrible quarrels I got into with my friends when debating critical issues, philosophical or religious. People take things so very personally. Especially in girls' school. In some ways I hated my final two years in a girls' school. In other ways it did me good. At least I hope I came out learning to be a little more sensitive. Now I'm finding that balance, learning again how to hold my own in an argument and not fearing poking holes in other people's arguments.
I love university because now I don't always have to invent another person and hold internal conversations on issues (it's as bad as playing chess against yourself; even moving the pieces unconsciously I ended up with mirrored positions. Believe me, I've tried). Just that the people worth holding conversations with are still few and far between. That's the only thing I miss about not going to a top-notch school in humanities. It's not the teaching, but the concentration of minds...all the same, yet again it's probably better in that I can involve myself in a whole lot of other things and leave mental meanderings aside. It's probably healthier.

My Other Blog

Hi, some of you might not realise that I also have another blog, Bright Streaks, at http://sometimeslifehappens.blogspot.com/

It's for my creative writing pieces. Since I can normally handle one blog at a time (though I seem to have about four), that is where you will find me most active for now.

Cheerios,
Alissa.

I Am Staying Put

Yes, I have finally released Cambridge back into the realm of dreams and wild possibilities. The entire saga, from the beginning of application to the final withdrawal of offer took two years. Two years of uncertainty, of not truly knowing where to stand, has finally drawn to a satisfactory end. Am I disappointed? Strangely, not one bit. Here I get to learn Chinese, play floorball, continue in church ministry and remain in touch with home a great deal more. Not to mention that I burden my parents far less with the full scholarship option. Will also begin to teach tuition on the side and to that end I have begun to peel away from hall life. I am rather sad at seeing my friends less and less as the semester progresses; I think I see more of my cell groups and my floorball team than I do of hall-dwellers. I reckon I am PGPR-bound next year. Will be attempting a semester of exchange in Year Three followed by application into PGPR or RVR in order to focus on studies.