And Then There Were Two

The full list of the colleges I applied to will probably never see the light of day, so I can pretend that I merely applied for those schools that offered me a place. It's a very communist oriented mechanism going on in my brain, I know. Report the successes with much gusto, and shoot anyone who gets wind of the failures with equal enthusiasm. The ones that didn't make it must be covered up in a web of lies and deceit so thick that anyone trying to find out the truth would be lost forever in my maze of deception.

Which is why, right now, I am happy to report that I have also applied for the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, and they have.. (as Barney Stinson would say) wait for it.. accepted me.

The weird thing is, I didn't even finish sending them the stuff they keep hounding me for. They were hounding me for my A-level grades, but by then I had already accepted my offer to Purdue, so I just ignored their emails (which were, funnily enough, sorted into my 'junk' folder). I guess they just decided that the As didn't matter all that much (which it totally doesn't. Come on, Amherst, take a leaf outta Purdue's book will ya), and sent me an invite. They even threw in a 6k per year scholarship out of benevolence (0r desperation).

This university is apparently situated in a rural setting. I don't know what made me think I wanted to study there. When I think rural, I think shady old taverns with smelly innkeepers and drunkards of dubious origins. Everyone'll be dressed in medieval peasant clothing, tearing chunks of chicken off with their teeth. Now I'm pretty sure I don't want to, although the bar fights and booze seem lovely.

I guess they won't be seeing this shady drunkard there come Fall.

Kelly Clarkson - April 27

It's finally happening. It's as if the Concert-Gods above are answering my prayers, because on the 27th of April, 2010, I would be coming face to face with Kelly Clarkson.

Face to face might be exaggerating a little bit, but 8th row comes pretty close. How awesome it would be if I stood out from the crowd because everyone from rows 1 to 7 are too short to matter. So, Concert-Gods, this is my second prayer to you. Make those bastards pay for buying the seats closer to Kelly, for come April 27th, they shall be known as the ones-who-did-not-matter-for-there-is-someone-freakishly-tall-in-row-8.

I can totally picture it. Kelly would be up on stage, singing 'My Life Would Suck Without You', and see me there, standing in a sea of people who did not matter, and our eyes would meet as she points to me while she sings the word 'you'. The stadium would quieten down around us, and all the 'ones who do not matter' would fade away. Mind you, Kelly, there's no need for any pointing during 'Never Again', 'Walk Away' and 'Since U Been Gone'. That's just being mean.

I just love how interactive she is with the audience. Hopefully, she wouldn't encounter that many singlish-ers on her way to the stadium, or she'll be under the impression that the locals speak an alien language unbeknown to the rest of the world, hence cutting down the 'audience-interaction'. After all, that was what happened to Beyonce.

On a totally random note, an English teacher at JJ once tried to be 'in' and pronounced her name as 'Bee-yons'. She even had the nerve to do the, 'Oh, you guys are 18 and you don't know her?', complete with the 'Damn I'm Cool' hair-flip routine. Her expression when I corrected her was just priceless. Sigh, I miss loser teachers.

There's something intriguingly hypnotic about how the most mundane things, when said by an idol, suddenly becomes the most hilarious and interesting topic in the world. I don't want to hear a starbucks waitress talk about how she finds the smell of coffee really aromatic, but lord help the coffee beans if Kelly said that in her concert, for I'll track every last bean down and sniff the crap outta it. Bad puns and lame jokes can somehow crack a whole stadium up when the right person says it, but when the ostracized, ugly kid says the exact same thing in class, all you wanna do is watch as the vultures tear his dead body apart. Dead because you also watched as the big kids squeezed the life right outta him.

In this day and age, it's actually ironically refreshing to watch a singer do what a singer is supposed to do - sing. Here's a real singer who doesn't have to put on disturbing costumes, breathe fire, shake her junk across the stage or cartwheel onto the stage to sell tickets (yes, Gaga, I'm talking about you). In a world where the extravagant spectacle has become more of a draw than the 'singer' herself, it's nice to see someone who can deliver the goods with what she's born with - her voice.

GarageBand - God's Gift to Mac Users

As per tradition, my Dad would give a 'Going to College Present' to the child going to college. In my sister's time, eight whole years ago, she got a Toshiba laptop (one that I subsequently destroyed with misuse. I blame Toshiba for not making them more shock resistant.) I requested a MacBook, and after an IT-Fair, 1588 dollars and much drama at the stall with installing the casing, the MacBook was mine.

I am now the proud owner of the most wondrous laptop in the world. And the basis for that claim lies in GarageBand.

GarageBand is a program that allows the user to record instruments and voices, much like how a recording studio does it. You can edit and layer the vocals, upload mp3 instrumentals, give effects to the voices.. Best of all, the quality is so pristine and unspoiled. You can do the song in parts, and make changes to the places where you don't like. It gives you the freedom to be as perfectionist-ic as you want.

And so, hunched over my laptop and belting out tunes was what I spent the majority of my days doing. It was liberating to be able to experiment as much as possible - I could just delete that phrase if it was not done 'just right'. I can feel the Barbra in me emerging. Pity there isn't a sound engineer I could yell at.

Speaking of sound engineers. I'm so glad I wouldn't have to go back to that dim witted idiot we went to the other time. Instead of making our lives easier, he was forcing us to be the real producers, making us direct him through every last detail. I rarely make outlandish claims, being the humble, down to earth kinda guy that I am, but I very firmly believe that I'm doing a much better job than he ever did. Damian and I did a complex Mariah within 45 minutes, while a song with the 'real' engineer took an hour and a half.

The problem now with Mac is that it doesn't support a proper messenger. I'm being forced to install Windows XP alongside with my OS just so I can use a real MSN. For all their technical wizardry, you'd think the Apple folks would have figured out how to support web-cam in their Messengers.

I realized that I am sinking deeper and deeper into Apple-reliance. Makes it so much harder to curse their products if you're using it.

The Purdue Essay

This was the essay I wrote for my Purdue application, and I thought it would be another great opportunity for me to rub it in everyone's faces. The topic I chose was: If you had a second chance -- the opportunity to do something over and do it differently -- what would you choose to do over and what changes would you make? Of course, I made most up most of what I wrote. I did go teach English over in China, but I hardly had any of those 'epiphanies' or 'experiences'. We sang songs and had a good time, basically. Damian, evil as he is, suggested I write it at this angle, and write it I did.

I walked through the gates of Nanping High School with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. I was beginning my one month stint at Nanping High, a high school in China I volunteered to teach English at. I was thrilled about fulfilling a fantasy I always had; to be a teacher. At the same time, I was worried if I would be well received by the students. I knew that this was probably one of the only instances in my life where I would be given such a prime opportunity, and I did not want to waste it. I was determined to teach them the best I could.

I guessed I knew there was going to be a problem within minutes of entering the class. I had initially expected the students to have a sufficient standard in English, but what I had encountered instead was a classic example of a classroom-trained second language. Sure, the students were able to read and write, but it was all very inflexible, and their oral and listening skills were not as refined as it could have been, if they had learnt the language in an English speaking environment instead. Ignoring the warning signs, I forged on with the material I had prepared. I had worked too hard on this, and was too caught up in my fantasy, to give up now.

At that moment, I sincerely believed that I was doing a good job. I pronounced the verbs clearly and expressively, covered the bulk of my planned work, my classes were attentive, I got along admirably with the teachers and the students even asked me along for their outings. Fueled by this delusion of success, I quickened the pace of my classes and lectured with even more vigor.

I only realized my mistake a week before I was scheduled to return to Singapore. A student asked me a question regarding the use of a word I was sure I had covered. I decided to quiz the students on some of the other lessons I went through, and the response was both disheartening and alarming. It suddenly hit me that I wasn’t teaching them anything with my full-fledged battle-mode style of educating. By overloading the students with too much, they had ended up with next to nothing.

On retrospect, I should have encouraged them to ask more during class, and to actively participate in lessons. My classes involved only me and my voice, reading the notes to, as I now know, myself. It was only after I began interacting more with the students, engaging them, encouraging them to participate more in the class, did I see an improvement. I have now come to learn that students can only learn well if they have experienced the joy of ‘connecting-the-dots’ themselves, and it is fruitless to have someone else do it for them.

The 'Friend'

Honestly, is there anyone who would rather be 'just a friend'? We would assume, of course, that the ones I'm referring to are those you actually are attracted to. Physical attraction does play a big part in a relationship, and it is time people start admitting how superficial we all are. You think ole Madge got together with Jesus Luz 'cause of his brains and his sophisticated sense of humor? It is laughable how some think they are of a more superior standing, just because they can 'see past the physical' and 'focus on the true, inner beauty'. We all know these very same people would dump you in a heartbeat for someone better looking.

But I digress. The topic of discussion today is the 'friend' issue. Isn't it a real kick in the balls when someone you want convinces you to be 'just friends'? And isn't it bordering on lunatic how they try to twist it in a way that makes it sound like it's a *better deal*, because friends are more valuable than lovers? Cut the crap, floozy. You'll jump in bed with the next model-wannabe that walks by, and you know it.

You wanna know the best part? When the person you're sure you're in love with, we'll call this person Taylor (the ambiguity of the gender makes this story relate-able for people of any gender and any sexual-orientation. I am *such* a dedicated writer.), starts talking to you about Taylor's relationship woes. Taylor has now moved into the stage we call 'delusional sister-hood', where said person is convinced the both of you are now best buddies, and so has no qualms about sharing every last excruciating detail.

On one hand, you really wanna be a good friend to Taylor. After all, you *did* say "Of course we'll be good friends, silly!". Who's the silly one now, I wonder. It would be cruel to leave Taylor out there for the wolves-of-dating-nightmares, where he/she would be mauled alive by his/her own imagination. However, you start thinking and double-thinking every thing you say. You don't want to say something that completely crushes Taylor, neither are you willing to offer the solution to solve the problem. Trust me, I've tried throwing a lifebuoy to a sinking couple, and boy is it hard. Not as hard as reeling the lifeline back in before they could grab it. I watched them struggle with a twinkle in my eye and a song in my heart.

Even better than listening to the various dates, is picturing what they did. Oh wow, are those fantastic to imagine or what. And you know tearing your own eyes our wouldn't help, cause it's all swirling about in your head. If you're feeling extra masochistic, you can even ask for the little tidbits of details, which Taylor would gladly serve up. Y'all are buddies, after all, where's the harm in a tiny bit of over-sharing. Right?

Sooner or later, the hateful, troublesome thing known as morality kicks in. The heroic thing to do would be to 'give them your blessings', because you want Taylor to experience the best he/she can. If you can't give Taylor what he/she wants, then the natural thing to do would be to let someone else have the chance to make him/her happy, while you sit at home and feel like a mosh-pit of crap. Aww, I'm so glad he/she is happy now, because of my selfless love for Taylor. What. A. Load. Of. Bullshit.

I say we screw that loser attitude.

Humans are selfish because we are smart. Being selfless gets us nowhere. You heard me. Tell that little bitch to at least have some sense to not plunge the knife where it hurts (though truthfully speaking, stabbing anywhere hurts.). The time for sitting idly at the side is over. Obama didn't say "Oh, dear friend McCain.. You know what? The presidency would really mean a whole lot to you, and I want you to be happy. So, you should go ahead and take it." He was a go-getter, a 100 percent-er. And undoubtedly he can reach the top. Yes, I know, I'm an extraordinary poet. (Mariah, please don't sue for plagiarism, okay?)

It's a jilted-lover eat new-romance world, honey, so if you want your new little something-something to work out, it's not a good idea to look for your 'new best friend' to talk about it. Among the ashes of those burned budding-romances, the 'friends' will rise again. And the world will fear us. Bow down and kiss my hand!

I am waayyy drunk.

"We can still be friends, right?" If by 'friends', you mean someone who is dedicated to bringing your romantic world to an apocalyptic, explosive ending, then sure, we'll be best friends.

'Friends'. Ha! That's a good one.

Henderson Waves

It was a spontaneous decision on my parents' part. I do miss those spur-of-the-moment stuff we used to do as a family. I wonder when exactly did we stop going out. When my sister and I were younger, we would have these exploratory car rides around Singapore, where my dad would drive randomly into the most ulu corners of the island. These all happens at night, of course, where the thrill factor is amplified by many times. I remember once, when I was around 6 or 7, we were going through this dark forest-y place and my sister shouted, "有坟墓!", which means, there's a cemetery. I screamed and promptly burst into tears. Such joyous memories.

I was reminiscing about all that, as Dad drove us (Mom and I) to Henderson Waves, a 274 meter-long pedestrian bridge that spans Henderson Road to connect Mount Faber Park to Telok Blangah Hill Park. All that was from the National Park Board website, of course. Apparently (brace yourselves for another bombardment of stolen information), "at 36m above Henderson Road, Henderson Waves is the highest pedestrian bridge in Singapore." The car was parked in this little car-park beneath the bridge, and we trekked up the winding path up to the actual bridge.

According to the website, the bridge is described as having "distinctive wave-like structure consisting of a series of undulating curved "ribs". These “ribs” also double up as alcoves providing shelter to the public." They seem to have forgotten the little fact that the "ribs", as they lovingly call it, have empty spaces as wide as a person's head (trust me, I've tested it out) in-between them, so it isn't much of an effective shelter. Both sunshine and water is able to easy pass through. Thankfully, we had the good sense to go there after nightfall, so at least we didn't have to brave the sweltering heat.

I've had to actually see the bridge before I got the name. I had been thinking it was extremely weird to call a bridge a 'wave'. Doesn't exactly give you much confidence in the bridge's stability, does it. What they were trying to do was to create this wave-like pattern at the side of the bridge. The full wave is only visible from the back of the bridge, while only the top parts of the wave is visible when you're on the bridge itself. The whole structure is wooden and does look quite fluid, which is a plus point. The curved sides of the bridge gives me a curious desire to lie against it and roll about, while shouting 'I'm surfing on the waves!". If only there weren't so many people around.

People. I know Barbra said that people who need people are the luckiest people in the world, but do we really need people needing people in the most obscene ways possible, while on display right at the top of the 'tallest pedestrian bridge in Singapore" ? It churns my stomach to see couples (barely outta their adolescence) cuddling underneath the 'wave-shelter-that-has-too-many-holes-to-count-as-a-shelter' shelter. I'm pretty sure there are laws against such graphic fondling, and to witness them with both your parents at your side is just plain mortifying. It took so much effort to pretend as if I didn't want to join in.

The place does look quite pretty at night, with soft glowing lamps lighting up the bridge, and it would be a lovely place to go with a significant other. Aiming spit bombs down at the Henderson Road motorists is just too romantic to pass on.

Ranking Obsessed

Back in the day, when I was convinced I wouldn't make it to a ranking-worthy school, the motto would be 'rankings are for suckers". I would launch into a spiel about how rankings does not affect the quality of the education, as some of the good professors that contribute to the high rankings can't teach well anyways.

All that has changed. Ranking. Is. God.

Granted, I still think rankings does not have a direct relationship with the education received, but the prestige that comes along with a highly ranked school can't be denied, either. When you go out working, people immediately recognize the more talked about schools, whereas a degree from some ulu college wouldn't be valued as much. Plus, there's always that thrill you can get when ranting off numbers, which is what I'm about to launch into.

So, according to the QS World Universities Rankings 2009, Purdue (the school I'm in. Ha!) is the top 87 school in the world. Fine, so NTU has a slightly higher ranking of 73, and NUS has an obscenely higher ranking of 30. That's alright and all, but in America, people think Singapore is a province of China, which defeats a lot of the purpose of having a well-ranked local U. It's amazing how these people can produce the top few colleges in the world.

Today is A-Levels results day, and I can barely wait to go to school and be a complete snarky bitch to my teachers. I didn't need their little predicted grades to make it after all. Stingy bastards.

Can you tell? I'm practically bursting with sunshine and positivity.

For Once In My Life...

.. I'm can be completely at ease with collecting my examination results. Nothing makes you more detestable than being liberated from the burden everyone else still carries, but I'm gonna go ahead and put it out there anyways - I can laugh in the face of Cambridge now, because I don't need the grades for university anymore.

So next week, when everyone's on the verge of nervous breakdowns, I can sing a merry tune and skip my way to school. I'll even be flashing my brightest and cheeriest smile, but only at those least likely to turn violent, of course. Boy oh boy, I can hardly wait. The ole 'holding your baby for the first time' nonsense will have to step aside, for 'reveling in the pain of others while you're free as a bird' will soon become known as the greatest joy a human being can ever experience.

Unlike Sue Sylvester, I don't believe emotional outbursts should only be reserved for pain caused by physical exhaustion. Seeing an almost 20 year old boy cry, now *that* redefines sadistic pleasure.

"Aww, don't cry! I actually got even lower than you did. I should be the one crying." I'd say, as I lightly pat his shoulder.

"Really?" Sniff goes the pathetic creature. "How much did you get?"

"Oh, I failed the major stuff. Arn't I a poor dear?" Cue the doe eyed look.

"Oh wow, yours really is bad.."

"Yup, but you wanna know something really funny? I already got into an American college! I'm sure you'll make it *somewhere*. Okay, toodles!"

Those who have pissed me off in the past better watch out. I *will* hunt you down. In your moment of despair and hopelessness, I will swoop in to comfort you and make you open up to me, after which I would tear you apart when you're most vulnerable. Let's see how smart a mouth you have, when your innards are lying strewn across the hall, with vultures and rats already feeding on your soon-to-be-dead body.

Wow. The 'too early to be drinking' warning actually does make sense.

I'm being such a complete saint about this largely due to my track record of having a constant stream of disappointing grades. My parents arn't the 'oh, you tried your best, it's alright' types. It's more common to hear "what do you mean 'not very good?'. This is a TOTAL DISASTER!", with the dragging of the 'total', till it sounds like two separate words. Granted, they're not exaggerating, but hearing such devastating words used to describe your academic career can have detrimental effects to your general psych. Didn't you always hate the kid who never frowned over his grades? Yup, that was never me. Naturally I'm not going to let go of this prime opportunity to finally be the one that didn't have to care.

Nah, it's just cause I like being a bitch.

You're A Boilermaker!

Those words screamed at me in bold, from that little blue MSN notification box that pops up with a 'du-dup' every time you receive an email. You're A Boilermaker! - from Purdue University.

It was as though someone had reached into my chest with an ice-cold hand, and sqeezed the life out of my poor heart, as my eyes scanned through the email.

'With best-value rankings in Kiplinger's Personal Finance, SmartMoney Magazine and the Princeton Review, Purdue is among the nation's best investments in higher education. And now that you're admitted, it's time to learn more about everything Purdue has to offer you."

I read and reread the email. 'They must be going nuts,' I thought. First of all, they're calling me names. I'm pretty sure a boilermaker isn't something along the lines of a compliment. Second of all, it is way too early to be receiving acceptance letters. I mean, the application deadline is in March, and it's only February 13. I was convinced that this was a mass email sent to everyone, and that by 'now that you're admitted', they mean 'when you're admitted'. Silly college, I thought. They even linked a video to me, where a girl was giving a welcome message.

"Hi!" The scarily cheerful girl said to the camera. "Congradulations! I heard about your admission to Purdue!" This was just going great. I hadn't even heard about it, and she has?!

I was in a complete lunatic frenzy. While this could be a total misunderstanding, I keep thinking how they couldn't have used such definite words when telling someone that they're accepted, when in reality they're not. I then, with an audible gasp, noticed another earlier email from the 'Liberal Arts Honors Program at Purdue University'.

'Congratulations on your outstanding high school performance and your admission to Purdue University! We look forward to welcoming you to the campus. As an outstanding beginning student in the College of Liberal Arts, you are eligible to register for Honors courses...'

IT'S TRUE!

If my dad and sister weren't there in the room as well, I would have started rolling on the ground in joy. (I don't know why though.. it's like being caught on fire. The whole 'Drop and Roll' thing firemen like to teach.) A huge unbelievable burden has finally been lifted. The months of writing essays, researching schools, compiling material to send, chasing teachers for CCA records and testimonials, the SATs, the one month teaching in China, the filling up of all those application forms., not to mention the sleepless nights wondering about how I could kill myself if no school took me... All led up to this.

Most importantly, I now have not a care in the world what my A'Levels results are. It was my moment of triumph, my glory and vindication. It was as though every last piece has finally fallen into place. I could just burst into joy, into a million golden sparkling bubbles.

'Congrats!' My dad says. 'You must be thrilled!'

'Meh. It's alright.'

The plan now is to leave in July, to make it in time for their one day Summer Transition, Advising, and Registration (STAR) program. After which, I would have more than a month there while I wait for school to begin on the 25th of August. Im thinking of finally fulfilling my dream of looking for a real life Taylor the Latte Boy, so all the Starbucks in Indiana better watch out.

I'm under the Department of Sociology, and it offers 'Sociology' and 'Law & Society' as majors. The obvious choice would be the latter, so when people ask me what I study, I can say 'Oh, not much~~ *Law*' while giving that condescending 'half-smile and a nod'. Yup, this is why I'm going college.

Miss me very much, darhlings.

Night Safari

There's something to be said about four 18 to 21 year-olds going to a zoo to celebrate a birthday. Some call it childish foolery, but I prefer to think we're recapturing the innocence of youth.

Hailed as the world's first night safari (I wouldn't expect anything less, given Singapore's obsession to be the best, the first, the fastest, the least corrupt.. the list goes on. They say feisty little super-power, I say Napoleon Complex.) , it boasts a variety of nocturnal creatures from all over the world. We took a tram ride (because our frail 20 year old bodies can't take the strain) around the place, where a guide points out the animals around us. The best part is, there's nothing separating those beasts from us, apart from a few low bushes. It gives me a thrill knowing the rhinoceruses, elephants and hippopotamuses can just come crashing into the tram and kill us. It makes me very happy to stare death in the face like that.

If they do come running at us, I sincerely hope that the guide with her so-artificial-you're-sure-she-can't-decompose way of speaking gets trampled first, just so that "Well, what do we have here. You guys are soooo lucky! Rhinocerusus ramming into the second compartment.. This almost never happens!" wouldn't be the last thing I hear before I die.

The animals are segmented according to their original habitats, and the tram took us to places like 'South America', 'India', 'Africa' and so on. As opposed to zoos where the animals are kept behind prison-like bars, these were free to roam around enclosures built to resemble the wild environment. As much as I'd like to pretend that I'm really seeing these animals where they ought to be, a sense of sadness still creeps in, triggered by the deep stare of an elephant. The unmoving giant stood facing the track, and stares as the tram edges by its enclosure. I turn to look at it, and found myself face to face with animal. The elephant is obviously very much aware that all these tram-loads of people are not supposed to be intruding into his mealtime, nor is the annoying voice asking people to look left at the 'majestic beast of the Indian jungles'. No matter how comfortable or easy their lives are at the zoo, the fact remains that they're prisoners, put on display primarily for the purpose of collecting revenue.

Sure, there were no lack of conservation messages rammed down the visitors' throats, and their efforts for the environment can be seen, but it just felt to me as if they were trying to put out a bush fire with a glass of water. The illusion of a jungle was completely shattered when the tram rounded a bend, where the bright lights of the city can be seen clearly in the distance, behind the giraffe enclosure.

By the end of the tram ride, I was sufficiently dizzy from all the 'Look to the left! Look to the right! Left again! Oo bird on the tree, 5-o'clock! Rat to the right!', and was quite ready to leave the artificial tribal village behind.

63 million was spent on building the night safari, but I don't think you can put a price tag on the experience of seeing an endangered animal, perhaps for the last time. Actually, you can. That's $32 I'm never getting back.