Pre-Exam Days

The phone blasts to the tone of TVXQ’s Break Up the Shell. She reaches out to the source of the sound, claps a hand over the offending thing to silence it. This exercise is repeated over the course of 5 times with another four different blaring tones. A sleepy eye opens blearily to the last round to catch a look of the time. A quick topple out of the comfortable nest of warmth in the blankets into the freezing cold jet of water from the shower jolts her into reality that so resembles her dreams.

Her bag is packed mechanically and methodically; in goes the stack of notes, the compilation of past year papers, out flies the lab coat and guide. Pencil case, water bottle, calculator. Shoves her feet into her sneakers before allowing her feet to carry her to school. A quick flash of student card at the gate and she’s in.

Today is the last day of school for the semester. Today will be the last day she has a Thinking Skills lesson. The last time before finals next week. What will be different today? Answer: nothing. No matter how last the class is, tradition dictates that it is as relaxed as ever. Some students chatter amongst themselves, some watch the teacher warily, some stuffed their ears with earphones and some don’t even come in. That ends our last class with her.

The next morning, it’s the weekend before finals. Same wakeup ritual, same set of tones set the night before. The process of preparing for school is replaced with a semblance of breakfast. The kitchen table is monopolized by her books and laptop from last night’s studying session. First subject of the day, Maths. Tick tock goes the clock.

One by one, the household wakes up in time for an early lunch. Next subject for the day, an attempt at Chemistry. Diagrams, structures, equations, definitions. The heat of the afternoon drifts on to evening. She gives up on Chemistry and starts on the Biology text. Members of the household gathers for another staring contest to decide where’s dinner for the day followed by an hour of television. Statistics paper is next. She stares in calm frustration at questions that she does not get. The night wears on accompanied by one cup of caffeine. The book joins the pile of fast gathering stack of material on the table next to her laptop. She drops into bed and waits for the next round of alarms signaling the start of another day like the one that just passed.

Throughout the day, one thing hammers into the back of her brain constantly: exam’s next week, exam’s next week, exam’s next week over and over again. Eating, sleeping, dreaming, walking from place to place, that is the one thing that is constant not only for one day but for the whole week.

That people, is how I find life one week before exams. We get only one shot in this and like jumping off a cliff, we either find that we can fly or we drop to the bottom. Good luck for the finals people and all the best!

By Zi Ying

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‘Gor, u knw one of ur primary skol teacher died..’

That was the message I got from my sister late one night, when Morpheus was ready to bestow me his blessing of a good night’s dream. I was curious to find out whom, of course, but my line was barred, and I really was too tired, so I decided to put the urge to find out who it was off until tomorrow.

The following day, whilst happily munching away with a bunch of friends in the middle of lunch break, the curiosity somehow, without my realizing, wormed its way out.

“Did you guys know some teacher from Chung Cheng died?!” I queried, sensing tittle-tattle around the corner. Their answer couldn’t have turned the gossiping mood off more.

“Yeah, Yi Lin’s mom.” Their solemn glances, together with the thought of my friend losing her mom, hit home. It made me wrinkle my brow and ponder, for the entire day, and it dawned upon me that lately, the many people whom have somehow in some ways made an impact in my life, insignificant or meaningful, are passing away as the decade comes to an end.

The Crocodile Hunter was one of my favourite documentaries. I remember vividly how Steve Irwin would wrestle crocodiles down under and mummy, May and I would sit glued with our butts to the sofa and eyes to the tv, Fifi the poodle on either one of our laps. And how my boyfriend Gerald cried over the phone when he found out that the crocodile hunter died. Steve Irwin was undoubtedly one of the most prominent animal rights activists.

Next came Heath Ledger, overnight turned superstar circa 2005 after his most controversial film Brokeback Mountain. After the airing of the film, gay rights gained substantial prominence and attention amongst other human rights in today’s society.

In the past two months, another four people who contributed a lot to the people passed: Michael Jackson, Yasmin Ahmad, my teacher Mrs. Tan and Frank McCourt. Sometimes, it makes me wonder whether the 2012 Armageddon prediction is really true, that God is taking away the people he holds dearest, or that this is just life.

By Douglas

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1000 cranes

The banner just appeared one day when I arrived in the morning, bearing the black and white image of a pair of hands cupping a single red paper crane with the tagline “a wish upon a crane”. Looking at it brought back so many memories.

The sight of the statue of a girl child holding one such life-sized version of the crane aloft over her head in the Hiroshima Peace Park, surrounded by booths holding uncountable origami cranes sent in from all over the world flooded my mind’s eye.

My one visit introduced me to Sasaki’s story that inspired the culture of folding cranes for a single wish, or as more believe, for health and a speedy recovery from illness. One can say that it was an almost painstaking task for her who was critically ill. Even though circumstances were not on her side, she continued to create the paper cranes, using pieces of plastic, any scraps of small paper she could find, more often than not, using a pin to craft the paper. It was right after the Second World War and paper was a scarce luxury to be found, hence the substitution of that with small pieces of plastic, aided by a pin as the material diminished in size. Right up till her death, Sasaki folded cranes with determination admirable zeal, seemingly adding a part of her wish into each crease she added to the material.

This one young girl could not have known then how her story would be retold in future, how it would give life to the idea of peace for the sake of the children of the world. Her courage and suffering in the face of the inevitable caused by war, one of the cornerstones to peace proposals, lighting the flame of hope that the future generation will never have to firsthand behold the pain caused by misuse of nuclear power.

Here’s to Sadako Sasaki, your one simple wish may not have come true, but we will carry the memory of you and your life in our hearts. I think I look forward to the production and may they have done justice to her story.

By Zi Ying

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LOVE

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A National Anthem

While I’d already been told that three ghosts would be visiting me on the September 16th, I hadn’t really expected them to actually turn up. I mean, come on! What was this, ‘A Christmas Carol’?

So I wasn’t very surprised when I found myself standing in the middle of Padang Merdeka in my pyjamas. Sheesh, couldn’t they even let put on a decent pair of clothes? Or shoes, for that matter?

And there was no one there besides me. Which was just peachy because here I was, in my pyjamas, barefoot in the middle of Padang Merdeka at midnight. Alone. And heaven knew what kind of unsavoury characters strolled about at this time of the night.

“Ah, there you are.”

It’s bad enough when ghosts appear out if thin air in front of you. It’s even worse when they appear behind you and then tap you on the shoulder. So it really wasn’t my fault that I screamed out loud. “Argggh!”

And then, “Holy Mackerel! You – you’re Hang Tuah!”

“The one and only.”

And it was him. He looked pretty much like how he was portrayed in the history books, though a little shorter. And more, um, rugged. Or something.

“Are you here to show me the sins of my past, or something like that?”

He waved his hand in answer and the ground beneath me suddenly bumped up to send me sprawling onto the hard tarmac of a… school? My primary school! What the heck?

It must have been a Monday because I’d landed in front of an assembly of kids which went on singing Negaraku despite the fact that a woman in pyjamas just fell out of thin air in front of them.

While Hang Tuah had been a fearsome warrior, he wasn’t quite a gentleman, leaving me to pick myself up from the hard ground without any help, not that I needed it anyway but the gesture would have been nice. “Okay, okay,” I said, brushing down my pants as he tapped his foot impatiently. “So what now?”

“There.” And then came the dramatically pointed finger, poking indignantly in the direction of – me.

“Oh.” It was me, fifteen years younger, short, pig-tail haired, perky nosed, the whole nine yards. It was me, whispering and giggling with a friend while the national anthem played.

“Um, ah… I was seven?”

Now it was my turn to be at the receiving end of Hang Tuah’s threateningly pointed finger and boy, he needed a serious manicure. “That is no excuse! It wouldn’t have killed you to stand still and sing for only three minutes. And may I remind you that this disrespect has continued up to now!”

“Um…”

“Think about it. My time is up and my colleague will be here soon.”

“Um, right. Bye?”

He faded away without so much as a goodbye or a wave or anything. Leaving me alone in my former primary school with my snot nosed younger self. Gosh, I spend ten years of my life trying to escape school and this is where my life brings me? Great. Absolutely great.

I took off walking, because there was no way I was going to spend another second here, and jumped back a foot, tripping over my own clumsy feet when I almost ran into a guy in a songkok.

“I’m sorry, Mr, I didn’t see – oh my gosh, you’re Najib!”

“Hmmm, yes, I know I am. And come on, I haven’t got much time. I have a meeting with the cabinet about three hours.”

Unlike Hang Tuah, Mr, um, Dato Seri Najib turned out to be a lot more gentlemanly and pulled me to my feet, though that could also have been because he really seemed to be eager to go off. As I dusted my off my butt he tapped his foot impatiently and finally we were off. A quick trip through time and space and we ended up in my living room.

“Why here, of all places? Uh, Mr – I mean, Dato Seri.”

“Because yesterday you were writing rather deprecating comments about your country to your foreign boyfriend.”

“Um…”

“Have you no shame?”

“Well, they were justified!”

His glare is glacial.

“Um, mostly. I might have exaggerated a little.”

Gosh, his look could stop the icecaps from melting.

“Okay, I exaggerated a lot. Sorry.”

“If this is the behaviour of most Malaysians, we are in deep – nevermind. Just keep this in mind. What has the country done for you? You’re still alive, aren’t? Haven’t been bombed, aren’t starving, aren’t being prosecuted for your race, et cetera. Be grateful. Goodbye now.”

“Uh, good–”

He vanished into thin air.

“–bye…”

And again I was left alone, though this time in much more comfortable and familiar surroundings. Thank heaven for that. Now I could finally–

“What the–!”

I had been just about to relax on my couch when the world had once again dissolved into a swirl of psychedelic colour and wham there I was, somewhere in the past… or was it the present or the future.

“Watch out!”

I had promised my parents to cut back on my swearing but I really could help but shout the ‘F’ word out loud as a brick narrowly missed my head. Actually, I think that I didn’t quite manage to avoid it but it seems that one of the perks that come with being thrown across time and space like some cosmic volleyball is intangibility.

“You all right?”

“T – Tim!”

“Hi,” my boyfriend said. “Enjoyed the trip?”

“You are a ghost?”

“Sorry sayang, I can’t answer that question. Let’s get out of here.”

Somewhat belatedly, I realised that we were in the middle of a riot. Though I knew I was intangible, I couldn’t help but wince as another brick flew right through my chest. “What’s going on?”

“Racial riots,” Tim explained matter-of-factly. “The whole country’s gone to the dogs. And look.”

He pointed a body. My body. It was quite clear that my future self was dead. And somehow it was just so… cheesy. Definitely a ‘A Christmas Carol’ rip-off.

“My fate it I don’t change my ‘evil’ ways?”

He looked surprised at my lack of shock. “Aren’t you scared? You’ll die.”

I was sick and tired of this. “Look here. So all this is happening because of me? Because I didn’t respect our national anthem? Because I criticised ISA? What the heck?”

“Well, it’s not exactly just you,” he explained with a sheepish look on his face. “It’s a lot of people.”

“So why bug me only?”

“You’re not the only one being taken around on this joyride, trust me sayang. We’re trying to avert a disaster here.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever. I’ve learned my lesson and now I’m dead tired because I’ve spent the whole night being tossed through time and space. Send me back! Please!”

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

“And why are you a part of this anyway? You’re not even a Malaysian!”

His only answer was “Farewell!” with an added echo of “Farewell, arewell, well, ell!” which was really lame.

Later, I would wake up and find that I had overslept. And waiting for Tim to pick me up for our date later that night, I would decide, very firmly, never to mention any of this to him. Ever.

But before that, I was going to delete that seditious blog entry before I got arrested under the ISA.


Based on ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens. All rights reserved.
Intended for humour only. No discourtesy was intended and the writer apologises sincerely for any offence caused.

By Simone Koo

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What Does A Cambridge Freshie Have To Say

As I pen this down, I’m currently whiling away a month’s worth of vacation before I leave dear Malaysia to read Law at the University of Cambridge. A Levels and Taylor’s feel like chapters from a lifetime ago, though it has only been a couple of months since I left behind the days of (freezing cold) classrooms, study sessions in the (freezing cold) library, and Facebook in The (freezing cold) Web. At the request of the editorial team, I’ll relive those days and the little bits that come after, in the next page or so!

Truth be told, I found that A Levels was a period marked with little external pressure to excel. Almost all of it came from within, from a personal want to succeed, rather than “reminders” (read: nagging!) from parents or lecturers. I’m ashamed to admit that I felt very little drive to work extra hard, prior to receiving conditional offers from universities. Once that ultimatum was laid out on the table, though, it was definitely time to kick into gear. However scary and daunting it seemed, my conditional offer from Cambridge was a good source of motivation. It set out a clear goal: secure that admission.

At the risk of sounding clichéd, there is no secret recipe! I’ll take some liberties here to say that I think we A Level students are quite fortunate, in that our 100% exam-based programme allows for some extra help from last-minute mugging. That said, I most definitely do not advocate neglecting day-to-day work! As best as you can, stick to the usual cocktail - attend classes, listen to the lessons, do the work, ask questions; understand before you memorise. Find what works best for you, and keep at it.

No doubt it was a gruelling period, the A2 exams. But before you know it, you’re saying your goodbyes to everyone and it’s all over. As for the freedom and euphoria that comes after, well, I won’t even attempt to put words to it!

Pre-result night was quite uneventful for me. I went about doing things as always, slept at a none-too-decent hour (as holiday culture dictates!), and woke up the next morning with my heart in my throat. Cue: huge sigh of relief. In all honesty, I never expected to score straight A’s. That element of worry was ever-present; the thought of scoring 4A’s was more of a hope and a goal, rather than an expectation. So needless to say, I was no less than relieved and thankful, upon checking my results. It was a nice ending to a short chapter.

As things have worked out well for me academically, I cannot say that I regret the college path I’ve chosen. From a non-academic point of view, I’ve met some of my closest friends today, while I was a Taylorian. It was certainly 18 months well spent.

That said, there were plenty of times I was told that I had “little chance of gaining admission into a place like Cambridge.” The elite universities in the UK are known to favour “traditional” A Level subjects, such as the natural sciences, Mathematics, English Literature and History. Of my four A Levels, I only had two “traditional” ones as versus the mass of applicants with three or even four of such. It’s difficult not to doubt your choices when faced with such a discouraging situation. But, as mentioned, things have thankfully worked out well. So, while I would not advocate taking up a large proportion of “non-traditional” subjects if you are looking to apply to such universities, I absolutely would not discourage it either. If it’s where your passions lie, if you feel it’s right for you, go for it. It is far from impossible.

Now, as for what comes after, I cannot say – I have yet to find out myself! Life after A Levels is an exciting time, albeit an anxious one. I have certainly heard enough stories from my seniors of the hard work that awaits in university, but I hope I haven’t been a killjoy to all you juniors reading this! You know the cliché: work hard, play hard. To that, I raise my glass!

Elyse Ong

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EXAM FEVER!

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