Reflections II

Decided to split the previous entry to a part two, so that it wouldn't feel like I'm cramming too many thoughts into a single space. Makes it a lil more digestable, methinks :)

I guess the talk struck a chord because of the sheer familiarity of it. A lot of what Prof G spoke about reminded me of my grandpa. If my dad were a lecturer I could almost imagine him saying almost the same things. Narrated to my mum the contents of the talk and got, as I'd expected, the are-these-not-exactly-what-I've-been-telling-you-all-these-while? look. And she's right :) Which is what makes me so infinitely grateful for my parents, for every moment that we sit down and talk, for all the real-life stories and experiences repeated time and again to stress the importance of a person's relationship with her parents, her siblings, and later on her spouse and her kids.

It would not be the first time I was shown the painful results of incompatibility. Nor the immense impact the relationship of parents have upon their children. Nor the hollowness of a grown-up child who could not tell right from wrong, could not... love a sibling the way we could, nor the ease at which discord may be sown, and acts of destruction that continue between family members...

And all through that my parents have been fiercely protective, standing by each other, deeply determined to raise a family that is complete and untainted by insidious negativity, to teach their kids to understand how important each member of the family means to another... With real-life examples acting themselves out before your eyes and dramatic family stories you wouldn't fail to see the reason why.

How important it is to marry only the person you love-- the kind of love that will bring you both a long, long way, for the rest of your lives. It's a step that is to determine both your lives and the lives of your children. The sheer enormity of it... and it cannot be anything less, either.

Which is why valentine's day came and went without the semi-wistful longing this time around, I think, when the enormity of the big picture sets in... the thought of getting attached to dispel loneliness is more than just a silly thought now... it's... woah, the horror... a decision that may only but have dire consequences.

Something to think about eh... may return to refine the entry a little, but as it is I really must go conk out already. Till the next entry~

PS. Happy Total Defence Day!

Reflections

Today started out decidedly bad. Woke up with a migraine and was feeling super tired and nauseous for the entire morning, for goodness knows what reason. Which meant that the three hour nineteenth-century seminar was, for the first (and I certainly hope the last!) time, a pain to get through... I didn't want to keep raising my head up to read off the slides or stare up at Prof G because I didn't want to excerbate either the headache or the nausea, but keeping my eyes lowered and head still for extended periods of time makes me drowsy. And for some odd reason I was disgustingly tired, so that my note-taking fury deteriorated into.. well, valiant attempts. Let's not get into that.

But that's not the point. Seminar, laden with rich information as always, was different today because of the digression that came right after. Prof G had already ended class for the day, and told us we were free to go as we wish, but that he had something to share with us. And share he did, for that brief ten minutes... His dad had just passed away last week, and there were lots of thoughts that occupied his mind over the past days-- thoughts that got him to decide to bring forward his usual end-of-term talk.

So he begun by asking us to figure out what kind of a life we really want to live--not career, he said, but the spiritual and emotional aspect of our lives. His dad was an immensely active person, he told us, but had a stroke that cost him his control over his own movements... which also took away a large part of his life, and essentailly his will to live. Which sparked the question of what is it exactly that we would want to live for, ultimately...

It's a very crude presentation, this sketchy summary, but I'm trying to sort out and recall, still. He did share a lot more, about his parents, whom he felt were never really compatible, or understood each other enough, right from the start... And he spoke of the impact an incompatible marriage would have upon the lives of two people, and subsequently their child(ren)... (so if we want counselling with regards to looking for a life partner we could go and see him as well, he added, and a ripple of light laughter coursed through the silent class.)

In all seriousness, though, it made a lot of sense. That these are things we need to think about, more so than just the pursuit for wealth. (If he were just concerned with that he'd have gone study law and live off big bucks he'd have sapped from lots of people--but what was the purpose in such an existence?) Which was why he taught, and why this particular course, he said, teaching about the levelling of society with the increasing fluidity of capital, of spirituality and morality of a developing (degenerating?) nineteenth-century Victorian society in which we are heirs to, of the exploding of the delusions of an increasingly unstable middle class and of machines and humanity and of... oh, a lot of things.

It matters, I think, that we know, that we understand, certain ways in which society works, that we draw from these and comprehend certain sets of values...

It's difficult trying to paraphrase or to explain what he says, but as a lit student you do understand, I think. What your teachers have imparted to you through literary works is much much more than literary analysis. It's an understanding... of people, of relationships, of values. And then from there you learn to weave your own story, suturing little things you've learnt here and there into your quiltwork of understanding.

But I digress. He was saying he would usually talk about these at the end of a semester, but the funeral over the weekend had got him to think about so many many things, that he thought he would bring this sharing session to us a lot earlier in the term.

And it mattered, I think, out of the blue as it was. It touched me to know that he was genuinely concerned for us and our future-- not just the future of brilliant NUS students with potential high-flying careers, but as individuals who need to find a proper anchor within their selves. And it moved me that he shared his personal stories to remind us not to be so caught up with pursuing all these material stuff in life that we lose track of ourselves.

It mattered, because I guess we all need a reminder, sometimes.

Appeal

I got the email from Sharon, who knows the person who forwarded the mail, so I know it's reliable :) Do please please click here and see if you could do a little something to raise funds for a girl's chemo treatment, k?

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Coming home

Sometimes it was the glass of herbal tea on the table. Sometimes a bowl of soup, still kept warm in the rice cooker. Keys on the table. Note on the board. Little things like that.

Today it was the lights. She slipped in at 1 a.m. tonight (the gate didn't shut behind her-- that'll mean her dad's asleep already). Upstairs, though, the bedroom lights were on. She popped her head over next door, mildly surprised at the orange glow.

Her parents have fallen asleep with the lights on. Waiting up for her, perhaps.

Silently she tiptoes across the room and flicks the light switches off, hearing her parents stir briefly as an acknowledgement of her return.

And silence again, awash with serenity for the night. Serenity, and warmth, as always.

Little things like that.

Even as the rest of the home slumbers, she knows that her coming home completes it. The same way it completes her every time.

I wanted to be a vet when I was little, then a storybook author, then a journalist, then a singer, then a writer again (this little ambition has never quite faded), then an animated film voiceover, and then a speech therapist-- a thought that lingered for quite a while, because how lovely it would be, I thought, to work with kids and with people whose lives you could make better, little by little, every day... (until reality sets in and I realise that I don't have the qualifications because I am not medically trained to practice speech therapy.) And there you are, this arts student wandering in an engineering-oriented career fair, wondering where indeed she would eventually end up, peering at offers of "any discipline" that ever so often demand "driven individuals" with "strong leadership qualities". ("I don't mind being driven, really," I was telling my friend. "I'm perfectly fine with people fetching me around-- beats having to drive by yourself.")

And I have concluded, after the walkthrough, that publishing sounds like a good idea. Editing, writing, reading, gathering material... has a kind of appeal to it that "HR" and "Admin" doesn't quite offer, despite big titles like "senior", "manager" and "executive"- somethings. Or creating and implementing policies. "Policies" sound vague and bureaucratic and... I don't know, wordy--in a pompously official, impersonal way.

And then there's teaching, of course, which is becoming strangely enough almost an alluring option... for where else would words and language come alive for you, still, rather than stay as a mere tool of function? Journalism, perhaps, or public relations, communications management... Except that every one of them screams "be dynamic! be outgoing! be articulate! talk to all sorts of people!"

Have I mentioned I am scared of confronting people, that even brainstorming for a one-to-one interview for my profile assignment now gives me the jitters?

Ah well. Gotta learn.

(Oh-- then again. You think maybe mediacorp might wanna hire a scriptwriter for their drama serials? *grins*)

Well. One more year to go as I ponder... Gotta hit the books and stabilise that CAP meanwhile, and relish every remaining moment that school life offers still :)

I haven't been blogging!

There was a half done entry written a couple of days ago that still requires vetting, I think. I can't imagine whether it's a good or bad habit, censoring the stuff that I blog, because what makes it through are usually nonsense chatter and random contemplation, while more salient things are left out just so that I might not stir up waters to drown myself in, so to speak.

Anyhow, curfews or no, I have concluded to some degree that I like going for Tuesday pracs. It's exhausting to make long righteous statements about why I am turning up, but on the purely personal side I like the feeling of being there, period. (plus I have a very nice going-home companion, too =D)

Am assistant copy-editor for the class =) And one of my chief copy editors turned out to be a super long-lost SN ICQ friend (can you imagine how long ago was that?) It didn't occur to me who she was when I spoke to her, until she went "Oh you're that Charmaine! I was wondering whether you're the correct person or not, then when you said you're Charmaine then I knew you were the correct one!" -or something along those lines. Mystifying statement, no doubt, but the moment she said that everything just clicked somehow. Uncanny coincidence, meeting in person after some 6 years of losing touch. Still remember vaguely the conversations we had last time-- the absolute crappiest ones ever, haha...

Doesn't it make you wonder sometimes, all these little broken links in your past, friends you've known through absolutely random circumstances, who eventually pass you by when "circumstances" no longer exist? Those random people you spoke to on IRC, those contacts you kept in ICQ, that girl you met in some workshop, the person you made friends with in combined choir, the random person who visits your diary and becomes a regular note leaver until your account got archived... Do you ever wonder what happens to them? Of course, what-would-have-been would be too tiresome a question to tackle, yet... it's always a pleasant surprise to stumble upon the same person again ages later, retrieving that bit of your past, a distant memory that comes alive again and weaves a little pattern of nostalgia...

(Oh, and here we go again...) I miss St Nicks. And the impossibly long nights I spent chatting away to lots of nice people (bad internet stalker/cheater/liar stories aside, you really do find normal decent people who can sustain super long entertaining and meaningful conversations, you know). It's a different way to get to know people, I guess, and it's amazing how much you learn from each person you get to know.

1 a.m. now. *groans* I hate it when time skips on like that, especially when I'm writing... Thursday and Friday seem abysmally cramped with stuff, and I've got readings to cover, a test to study for, IVLE postings, and another interview profile to plan (have I mentioned how I do not like making small talk with people I don't know well?) ... HowOwOw.

All righto. Gonna scram. Till the next time, peeps, and for goodness sake update your blogs, I'm running out of inspiration on stuff to blog about because there isn't stuff to trigger a response, and then you'll have to put up with my whining over schoolwork. It's a vicious cycle, and is psychologically unhealthy, lor, so... *nudge nudge* write!

And the glowing sense of achievement sets in (some 11 hours later) with the essay re-read multiple times and edited with lots of scribbly marks on the train and the dubious last stanza analysis polished to something a more believable (one hopes!) and uploaded slightly less than an hour before the deadline. Completion of a precious 25%.

Now I am happy =) How the weekend beckons!

PS. Wikipedia is an amazing place. (Whoever would have thought that typing "washing on" gives you a 100% relevance for a popular song sung by the British troops at the Westfront during World War II? Woah, life-saving references for obscure, historically-laden poetry...)

Yah, and so it is with Charm-ish tradition, one blog post to mark the completion (I think) of the first essay of the semester, so that I can record how incorrigibly late I stayed up till.

-_-

I have no glowing beams of self-achievement as of now. Sigheth. Probably because, even after I've printed my script out, I'm still totally stumped by the last stanza in my poem, and am thus still feeling bu shuang about it.

And it is very lonely at 5am in the morning, with no one to talk to, and all my lit-mates offline already...

*knits brows* although, come to think of it, my brother and my mum will be up in half an hour, so it might be wise to retire to bed.

*mopes* I need to acquire my sense of achievement lar. Something about this feels incomplete. And a 25% graded thingie should never feel incomplete to the writer. Oh woe.