There are hundreds of girls in our school. So which girl exactly are you and how did you get my blog address?
I am " " that close to writing a tirade about annonymous commentors. Just tell me before I barge into every classroom demanding who commented.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Project Private Walks Begins
I can't take it anymore. This world around me is crazy. My mom sort of rebuked me for making a comment about a girl something like this: " Oh I was just waiting while my mom finished helping her" in hearing distance of the pupil who was being helped. Someone had asked me why I hadn't gone home from visiting my primary school, where my mother works in.
Don't worry unknown girl, just declare your name and I will not go on a tirade about lurkers and annonymous comments. No offecnce seriously. My mother just can't take my message since she doesn't know how at ease I am with my primary school and my aim at being slightly flippant about the matter instead of lying (I had finished most of my visiting before she started the tutoring, which was unplanned, of course) that I was just hanging around for hanging around's sake.
I don't think anyone my age could thoroughly blame me, I was just so irritated by the whole day. Let me recount.
My seniors asked me to stay back for a meeting for the next Model United Nations Conference in the year, only four of us showed up and one wasn't directly involved as a delegate. In the end all we managed to do was get me trying as much as possible through subtle hints to discuss the skit we had to do on Saturday. We went for lunch and right after they wanted to watch a movie, I declined, having no interest in the movies being screened and went to my primary school. I had fun there mostly, until I was quite overcome by boredom since no one was really around to talk to me, the teachers are really busy, it being the exam period and all. (I finished my last paper today, happy but nervous over the results, bad premonitions, but i did my best)
I know I can't blame anyone for that small rebuke but I think I am more affected than the student herself. I have a really weak emotional barrier built up around me. Kept low so that I won't be too blind. As long as I felt no malice before, during and after I said it I'm sure it is alright. I meant it as an explanation and perhaps just wanting my mother to tell me how long she expected to be there. About half an hour ago in the staffroom it was just a few more spelling books and suddenly I had a glutinous expanse of time.
I'm listening to The Pianist now, or half listening, since I'm blogging and watching it at the same time. Grounds me, these movies, leaves me aware of the worse forms of segregations, masacres, hardships that I'll ever know till the Last Day. I don't like stories sometimes because they do not really say it as it is. But some novelists really achieve the realism, even in a fantasy world, that's why like them. C.S. Lewis and J.R Tolkien can do that purely because of the angles they have in the story and because THEY SAY that its a story, not attempting to potray the story as something real.
Okay, the Pianist is about the German Holocaust, featuring Jewish Wladyslaw Szpilman. I hate these sort of horrific movies but sometimes, real life situations tell you the most. Pictures bypass the mind's interpretation of words. That's how comics come alive and movies become reality. Which is why I seek quite a bit of solace in books, more if I can afford the time, where I can choose how much to bypass my reasoning.
Oh and contrary to what the unknown girl thinks, I don't exactly like the idea of migration. I just need to find a friend, a serious male friend to listen to me and dispell my worries that I'm not attractive enough to a guy's eye or that I'm too boring for most people (which is the idea drilled into me by a majority of my friends).
Okay, Project Private Walks Begins. Don't expect me to blog much. I'll be writing.
Don't worry unknown girl, just declare your name and I will not go on a tirade about lurkers and annonymous comments. No offecnce seriously. My mother just can't take my message since she doesn't know how at ease I am with my primary school and my aim at being slightly flippant about the matter instead of lying (I had finished most of my visiting before she started the tutoring, which was unplanned, of course) that I was just hanging around for hanging around's sake.
I don't think anyone my age could thoroughly blame me, I was just so irritated by the whole day. Let me recount.
My seniors asked me to stay back for a meeting for the next Model United Nations Conference in the year, only four of us showed up and one wasn't directly involved as a delegate. In the end all we managed to do was get me trying as much as possible through subtle hints to discuss the skit we had to do on Saturday. We went for lunch and right after they wanted to watch a movie, I declined, having no interest in the movies being screened and went to my primary school. I had fun there mostly, until I was quite overcome by boredom since no one was really around to talk to me, the teachers are really busy, it being the exam period and all. (I finished my last paper today, happy but nervous over the results, bad premonitions, but i did my best)
I know I can't blame anyone for that small rebuke but I think I am more affected than the student herself. I have a really weak emotional barrier built up around me. Kept low so that I won't be too blind. As long as I felt no malice before, during and after I said it I'm sure it is alright. I meant it as an explanation and perhaps just wanting my mother to tell me how long she expected to be there. About half an hour ago in the staffroom it was just a few more spelling books and suddenly I had a glutinous expanse of time.
I'm listening to The Pianist now, or half listening, since I'm blogging and watching it at the same time. Grounds me, these movies, leaves me aware of the worse forms of segregations, masacres, hardships that I'll ever know till the Last Day. I don't like stories sometimes because they do not really say it as it is. But some novelists really achieve the realism, even in a fantasy world, that's why like them. C.S. Lewis and J.R Tolkien can do that purely because of the angles they have in the story and because THEY SAY that its a story, not attempting to potray the story as something real.
Okay, the Pianist is about the German Holocaust, featuring Jewish Wladyslaw Szpilman. I hate these sort of horrific movies but sometimes, real life situations tell you the most. Pictures bypass the mind's interpretation of words. That's how comics come alive and movies become reality. Which is why I seek quite a bit of solace in books, more if I can afford the time, where I can choose how much to bypass my reasoning.
Oh and contrary to what the unknown girl thinks, I don't exactly like the idea of migration. I just need to find a friend, a serious male friend to listen to me and dispell my worries that I'm not attractive enough to a guy's eye or that I'm too boring for most people (which is the idea drilled into me by a majority of my friends).
Okay, Project Private Walks Begins. Don't expect me to blog much. I'll be writing.
Friday, May 8, 2009
The Girl Next Door has Lost Her Hope
What can I say? If you want a hope, cling onto it fast. Unlike Taylor Swift and all the other helplessly romantic girls who actually have the looks enough to be noticed, us girls next door are never given more than a glance. Aliment for thought, guys who are four years older than you find themselves too far on to notice you. I doubt he never saw me more than in a glance when he put on his shoes.
Apparently he's gotten quite close to a girl I know distantly. Of course she's his age and all, classmates. But up till now there hasn't been anything about the two of them. Seems like he's been helping her a lot though. Ah well, I never had a picture of him, but he's possibly the only guy in our estate that I find alright, of all the eligible youths I've seen. He likes art, has a night-life (that I can't keep up with), socialises I'm sure. What's to do when you're two major exams behind a boy you want to just be friends with?
Well I'm sure I'll find my prince charming one day, I've told myself many times that I just need to find a good male friend whom I can talk with. Like about literature and art and history and ourselves. A Boy-Girl relationship adds too much triviality. You just want to advance to the next stage and all that, not really bothering to talk about controversial issues.
Enough romance (I'm now quite certian that I'm a romantic), thanks miss teo for following my blog. See you next term! Mother's Day is coming along. We watched a really touching Indian movie, Every Child is Special, (with English subtitles of ocurse!) that Dr. Maha showed us. I owe her a journal entry for that. There's going to be a book fair (rather book vendor) coming to school on the 23rd under her request.
What is life really about though? Is it an endless pursuit for something? And must that something always be intuned to your religion? I'm going to launch a self-initiated project to answer those questions with things I notice in June. I'm going to title it Private Walks or A Month. But I may not stick to a month.
Okay Geoography and Math next Tuesday and Wednesday respectively. Exams... Let it go, let it all go.
Apparently he's gotten quite close to a girl I know distantly. Of course she's his age and all, classmates. But up till now there hasn't been anything about the two of them. Seems like he's been helping her a lot though. Ah well, I never had a picture of him, but he's possibly the only guy in our estate that I find alright, of all the eligible youths I've seen. He likes art, has a night-life (that I can't keep up with), socialises I'm sure. What's to do when you're two major exams behind a boy you want to just be friends with?
Well I'm sure I'll find my prince charming one day, I've told myself many times that I just need to find a good male friend whom I can talk with. Like about literature and art and history and ourselves. A Boy-Girl relationship adds too much triviality. You just want to advance to the next stage and all that, not really bothering to talk about controversial issues.
Enough romance (I'm now quite certian that I'm a romantic), thanks miss teo for following my blog. See you next term! Mother's Day is coming along. We watched a really touching Indian movie, Every Child is Special, (with English subtitles of ocurse!) that Dr. Maha showed us. I owe her a journal entry for that. There's going to be a book fair (rather book vendor) coming to school on the 23rd under her request.
What is life really about though? Is it an endless pursuit for something? And must that something always be intuned to your religion? I'm going to launch a self-initiated project to answer those questions with things I notice in June. I'm going to title it Private Walks or A Month. But I may not stick to a month.
Okay Geoography and Math next Tuesday and Wednesday respectively. Exams... Let it go, let it all go.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Poetry Night
It was more of a talk by Professor Kirpal Singh, my literature teacher's (Dr. Maha), Professor. He is quite a well known guy or rather, mellow fellow, in literary circles and universities. It was a class about poetry and the more obvious traits of a good poem and the connoted meanings. Talking about mellow, today's dictionary.com word of the day is mellifluous - flowing sweetly or smoothly.
We were asked to write two poems in this 3 hour crash course (ten to fifteen minutes each, the rest of the course was spent talking about poems, exceedingly engaging and left me wondering if he, like other poets, wanted to trap us with his ideas) smack in the middle of the exam weeks. (thankfully its the last day of April, meaning tomorrow is Labour day and it'll be a nice, long, revision-filled weekend) One was based on the art installation the Professor had to notice while entering the school building. The art students' City of the Future Project. Miss Teo, if you are reading this, good job!
Of course, as seen by the previous posts, I was involved and I think my poem conveys what I feel about the whole project and my own interpretation, which was better left unmentioned in my preparatory sketches. It touches slightly on what I feel about some folks in the art class who, perhaps, don't understand me too well or just have a... to use the term, prejudiced view.
Untitled
I see a silver of the place,
Just the waves, you see, lapping and yapping at the shoreline.
the pristine, clear cut structure and mass
just plonked in the middle of a levitating island over a
crumpled. black, hole
over which mobiles with sharp edges cut the babe's hands
as she reaches out to touch it
stay way, the beckoning beacon says,
but she is only a child,
untried by life's trials.
she touches it, then prods it, a metallic glob forms,
and trickles and mingles through her netted wires
the whole city is being enveloped into tar
while i sit here with pen and parchment
when in the present my hands are marred and scarred
the hollering infidels just want to touch sharp razors.
And the second poem, an interpretation or a poem about a postcard which we picked at random.
I got the postcard of the typewriter, with the caption "We do the Write thing for you!", promoting paper and English related checking services. and I immediately thought of Roald Dahl's short story. It was meant to be a six liner but I didn't hear that part. But here's what I cropped of my original poem:
It's amazing, they do it all for you
send a mash of literary mush,
all american blabberish or ingrammatical kableesh
and you become a bestseller
not just any meyer who wins over the sellers
you get sick when they pull out their trick
This, I shared with Gina, who was a year older and me and chose me to discuss her poem with. She's a nice senior, also thought by Dr. Maha. The class was about 25 girls from two classes, only parts of our class showed up.
And the rest of what I wrote:
It's amazing, they do it all for you
send a mash of literary mush,
all american blabberish or ingrammatical kableesh
and you become a bestseller
not just any meyer who wins over the sellers
you get sick when they pull out their trick
just your name and face and novel idea
which no one ever liked
but, ah, yes, potential, we'll keep this and
publish it after a few tweaks, yes?
a few more similar calls with all your other entries
and you realise its a recorded voice
but, busy people have tight schedules, no?
it comes out a week later, fresh as a spring,
and every bit as jumpy
or perhaps a tot lumpy, like fermented milk in the fridge
they've got my catchphrase there...
yes... and the character does this... oh yes! the oscillations!
why though does it seem different? subtly different.
But who cares about changes, what's important
is the changing dough, if you get my drift.
My excuse for typing all that out? The Doctor wants it. Chinese exam was a flop. But I've still got humanities, Science and Math. So chin up dear girl!
We were asked to write two poems in this 3 hour crash course (ten to fifteen minutes each, the rest of the course was spent talking about poems, exceedingly engaging and left me wondering if he, like other poets, wanted to trap us with his ideas) smack in the middle of the exam weeks. (thankfully its the last day of April, meaning tomorrow is Labour day and it'll be a nice, long, revision-filled weekend) One was based on the art installation the Professor had to notice while entering the school building. The art students' City of the Future Project. Miss Teo, if you are reading this, good job!
Of course, as seen by the previous posts, I was involved and I think my poem conveys what I feel about the whole project and my own interpretation, which was better left unmentioned in my preparatory sketches. It touches slightly on what I feel about some folks in the art class who, perhaps, don't understand me too well or just have a... to use the term, prejudiced view.
Untitled
I see a silver of the place,
Just the waves, you see, lapping and yapping at the shoreline.
the pristine, clear cut structure and mass
just plonked in the middle of a levitating island over a
crumpled. black, hole
over which mobiles with sharp edges cut the babe's hands
as she reaches out to touch it
stay way, the beckoning beacon says,
but she is only a child,
untried by life's trials.
she touches it, then prods it, a metallic glob forms,
and trickles and mingles through her netted wires
the whole city is being enveloped into tar
while i sit here with pen and parchment
when in the present my hands are marred and scarred
the hollering infidels just want to touch sharp razors.
And the second poem, an interpretation or a poem about a postcard which we picked at random.
I got the postcard of the typewriter, with the caption "We do the Write thing for you!", promoting paper and English related checking services. and I immediately thought of Roald Dahl's short story. It was meant to be a six liner but I didn't hear that part. But here's what I cropped of my original poem:
It's amazing, they do it all for you
send a mash of literary mush,
all american blabberish or ingrammatical kableesh
and you become a bestseller
not just any meyer who wins over the sellers
you get sick when they pull out their trick
This, I shared with Gina, who was a year older and me and chose me to discuss her poem with. She's a nice senior, also thought by Dr. Maha. The class was about 25 girls from two classes, only parts of our class showed up.
And the rest of what I wrote:
It's amazing, they do it all for you
send a mash of literary mush,
all american blabberish or ingrammatical kableesh
and you become a bestseller
not just any meyer who wins over the sellers
you get sick when they pull out their trick
just your name and face and novel idea
which no one ever liked
but, ah, yes, potential, we'll keep this and
publish it after a few tweaks, yes?
a few more similar calls with all your other entries
and you realise its a recorded voice
but, busy people have tight schedules, no?
it comes out a week later, fresh as a spring,
and every bit as jumpy
or perhaps a tot lumpy, like fermented milk in the fridge
they've got my catchphrase there...
yes... and the character does this... oh yes! the oscillations!
why though does it seem different? subtly different.
But who cares about changes, what's important
is the changing dough, if you get my drift.
My excuse for typing all that out? The Doctor wants it. Chinese exam was a flop. But I've still got humanities, Science and Math. So chin up dear girl!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Yes!
This is quite a surprise. M just called me up to say that she read the previous post. At least we got things straightened out. Actually when I post I guess I'm in a way hoping that the people I talk about read my post and understand my feelings. How else can I tell them to the face "Hey this thing your doing to me bugs me like anything."
Once I get it off my chest in my blog it feels great.
But when I know someone who I mentioned read it, well that beats everything else. The point got in without me opening my mouth. Its like a cream puff pastry with sprinkles on top which you eat in the dark. You don't knwo what you're eating but when you taste it its marvellous.
But one thing egging me is that my PARENTS are reading my blog. I know their style of language and I can almost certainly vouch for that.
Ha! My viewers for this blog has upped to two more!
Exams are coming so with all the stress this blog turns into a rant but I'm at the emotional crisis age. It needs something to go right before everything else falls in place.
Once I get it off my chest in my blog it feels great.
But when I know someone who I mentioned read it, well that beats everything else. The point got in without me opening my mouth. Its like a cream puff pastry with sprinkles on top which you eat in the dark. You don't knwo what you're eating but when you taste it its marvellous.
But one thing egging me is that my PARENTS are reading my blog. I know their style of language and I can almost certainly vouch for that.
Ha! My viewers for this blog has upped to two more!
Exams are coming so with all the stress this blog turns into a rant but I'm at the emotional crisis age. It needs something to go right before everything else falls in place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)