the earth laughs in flowers

Last lap, last race (almost)

So it comes, next week, where we step up into the darkness within, or else the light-- THE FINAL LAP, for six out of eight subjects. Seven actually, if you're only counting your report book.

I've even started accidentally writing my dates as __/09/07 accidentally, whoops. Talk about uh VERY ENTHUSIASTIC LONGING for future. Not August, but rising September!

As you can tell I'm STILL neglecting my poor blog, and most likely not because I'm frantically mugging away (as one can obviously tell). I don't know, blogging just doesn't hold its appeal as it did in the last two years? Not that I'll ever stop blogging completely, just that there's no longer that impetus to blog frequently.

Lately we witness a spate of people falling sick! I suspect, highly suspect it could be the coming exams, since HAVE WE EVER KNOWN SOMETHING AS KILLER AS THEM? And therefore, based on that, we conclude that exams are unhealthy, should be placed on top of the food pyramid and henceforth banned off the grounds of not only the canteen but the entire school ground. Make sense?

I highly doubt I'll be blogging much these two weeks either, most probably it's going to lie dejected and basking in lots of darkness at the bottom of the ditch, good that it can get its whitening treatment seeing its current black background. Hey, it doesn't even need to resort to what my cousin resorts to just so she won't get tanned, wearing her jacket everywhere she goes especially under the hot sun! (and playing basketball at night! told you night was good.)

Here's the poem ms huang read to us in class, arias posted it on class blog and I still love it as much as ever, even though the word love is too short for us. I miss Ms huang because she made lessons interesting and fun, made lit lessons light up with insights that she made us see, and was pragmatic enough to know that we had to study for lit exams properly therefore making us annotate our books with such a vigour and even though we groaned and moaned we knew that it was, whatdoyoucallthat, for our own good.

Variations On the Word Love; Margaret Atwood

This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in thembut the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.

Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.

---

Last day of lessons was over, I'm whooping in joy for the end of most lessons but there're some I'll miss, like Mrs Toh's wry sense of humour in chemistry. We'll still be getting maths, chinese, pe and philo (unfortunately) and I'm not really looking forward to my science option of PLANT PROPAGATION under our dear bio teacher (chosen only because I didn't have any points to spare for it and I didn't want to do CLIMATE CHANGE though looking at the teachers I might as well have chosen it).

It still doesn't seem real that most's going to be over in two weeks, I still feel horribly unprepared but there's nothing I can do about it-- at least we get a holiday on monday, time to mug more. It's hard to mug when you flip through your files and see a barrage of red crosses with just-pass marks, and close the file cause you'll rather not think about how horribly you've done thus letting it spin into one huge ass of a vicious cycle. After this they'll (almost) all be over and I can finally spend time slowly enjoying, that's what we keep telling ourselves, but on the other hand it'll mean that the end of 409 is drawing closer and I don't want to go to another class next year for the fear that it'll most definitely not meet the standard that 409 has set.

I don't want to go JC and I'm just whining because this doesn't mean i want to go anywhere else. It's just like saying that I don't want time to go on, but things change and we can only take things as they come along. For now I'm not thinking too much, because exams force you to think only within what they're setting, but life isn't about that and I'm glad I'm not one of those scholars with that kind of a life with a singular purpose, studying studying and more studying.

I reread another chinese version of little prince (the author drew his own anime for it -.- don't ask me, my mum borrowed it for my sis/bro!) and it still makes me tear; even though I don't exactly like chinese the way it is taught I'd admit that there's something touching about the language sometimes, there's so much potential with what it can do but comprehensions totally spoil it with their lengthy moral essays. Like Lydia's analogy-- "english is like coffee, chinese is like tea!" There's a certain subtlety about the language that makes is so apt for narrating innocence like that in Little Prince, and of course my favourite part is the rose, and the fox.

Leaving you with another poem:

The Surface of the Water; Jason Schneiderman

has properties, tension, behaves differently
from the rest of the water. If you fell

onto it from a height, you would bounce.
The surface would reject you, say

I'm a solid too -- we can't both be here,
but then the rest of the water would accept you,

take you into itself, pull you down
away from the surface, saying I'm sorry,

I want you, come in.

0 flowers

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far and wee

you and i together mysteriously and always floating
Friday, August 17 1:04 AM