Monday, May 15, 2006

Pre-holiday Post-exam

[Quote of the post] I thought you needed someone qualified to sign a death warrant. Now they just get teachers to do it.
[Song of the post] True Colours - Cyndi Lauper

You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then,
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow


Yay, exams are over. Boo, results are coming back. Dontcha just love these mixed-feeling situations?

Oh well. I won't go into a detailed study of my examination processes... like Ron Weasly wisely says, "...we're not going through them afterwards, it's bad enough doing them once." Needless to say I performed horrifically badly. I think. Core Math was okay (I don't want sir to leave. Ever.) and... er... that's about it. Everything else was, is, and is going to be, a tragic failure. Waah. Results will be back by Friday. I'm worried, even though I know you can only die once.

I haven't blogged for such a long time, yet I seem at a loss of what to say. I just love True Colours... How can you say something when there are no words to express it? I just read this weird Chinese passage, saying something about having secrets is good, that it helps build character (that's what I could make out of it, and I'm telling you my Chinese isn't that good). How can you keep a secret when it keeps burning inside you and corroding your heart and eating away at your very existence?

Why do people make notes in bulleted, point form? Monochrome, pictureless, boring. Make notes which are memorable, and have fun making them! What's the use of spending 3 hours painstakingly typing out notes in nice, neat, monochromatic typeface when you can spend twice the time colouring, drawing and overall-making your notes something which you can remember and visualize in the exam and have four times the fun in the process. I just don't get it.

Today during IHS was this lesson on British Culture. That teacher, Mr Peter Davies if I'm not wrong, is an excellent lecturer, except for the fact that he's British, so a) his accent is too strong and people can't understand his jokes; b) his jokes are all quite 'British' in a sense and nobody quite understands them even if they heard them anyway. But he's good. Very good. And the clips of the British comedy; those were hilarious too. But then we hit this little snag.

I was laughing. A lot. I found British humour to be hilarious. Apparently I was laughing too much, for people kept shooting glances at me with confused, bewildered looks. Not many of them were laughing the way I was. Not many of them understood many of the jokes; not many of them could hear through the strong British accents. It's not a nice feeling to be alone; worse so when you're alone in a crowd of people whom you know. Yet you're experiencing something different; they must be missing out on something; or maybe it's you who's the one missing something. I don't feel special that I could catch most of the jokes; I don't feel special explainging jokes to my friends; the laughter is there for a moment, then it is gone. Jokes weren't meant to last. They're like drugs. They get you high for fifteen minutes then you realize, hey, I'm not happy. I'm laughing. It's different.

I don't know what to do about being different. I mean, all the books tell you to be different, enjoy being special, unique, same is boring, etc. etc. But they never say anything about being different means being alone, being special means being apart, being unique means being displaced. People don't know how to react to you when you're different; when you don't experience the same things you feel left out, and you feel like you're mashing a round peg into a square hole: sure it'll fit but it won't go in smoothly.

I don't know whether it's good to be a Literature student. I'm rereading Order of the Phoenix and I keep seeing parallels with Harry's and my life. (Not to mention that he's also fifteen in this book.) I don't know whether it's my paranoid literature ability or just Rowling's superb writing skill. And just so you know, she is a excellent writer, from a Lit student POV? You can use her work for Literary text if it weren't for the magic thing. And in Mission Impossible III? There's this part on the helicopter where the agent has a neuro-detonator thingy implanted into her skull? Ethan Hunt wanted to use a defilbirator to short-circuit the charge. But it was charging up and counting down. So at every second it would beep. The charge got detonated with 2 seconds to go. I don't know if it was intentional, but the beepings sounded like those life-support machines. When it was ready (and she was dead), it emitted those long beeeeeeeps, exactly like that of a dead person attached to a life-support machine reader. It's scary. I don't think many people noticed this.

Oh my. This actually turned out the be a long, angsty post. Oh well. There's something about Riddle's diary and a feeling of being unclean, but we'll leave it as that for today.

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