Today I finally got a look at the new issue of !nk. It was during SL3 Biology, which I went to 15 minutes late because I got help up during contact time in 6.9. I rushed there, afraid of the shellacking I'd get from the Indian Lady - only to burst through the doors and find scattered classmates, all female, sitting about doing their own work. The Indian Lady, it turned out, was on her way to some exotic destination with her Year 5 form class.

I went to sit down at my usual place, Y----'s table, and coveniently spotted the current issue of !nk peeking out from underneath. I picked it up and started browsing though. The first thing I saw was that on the contributor's column, my name was absent. The second thing I noticed was that someone had also omitted Yihang's name under writers, shoving him into a lone section while spelling his name wrong. I then further scanned down the column, and found out to my dismay that Kaijun left the [insert name here] inside the correction I gave him, so instead of an apology it turned into a guessing game cum all round farce.

I browse through the rest of the pages, while getting random smatterings of commentary from my Bio classmates on the issue, spot more random barneys including a recycled shooped image, and finally spot my contribution near the middle of the page. Next to Yihang's agent fatass, it looks far shorter in comparison. As my eyes take in the entire article, I spot words which were never present in my vernacular sticking out of the prose I 'wrote'. I look further, and realise someone else has completely edited the article beyond recognition, it is no longer me speaking but a secondary source pretending to be a primary source. The missing credit then makes sense suddenly - except my name has been plastered all over the article I did not write: someone decidedly masculine has overwritten my feminine voice. I then spotted my face poking out from a bottom corner of the page and feel dizzily sick, so I flipped the page and continued scanning the rest of the issue. I feel even dizzy than before, the issue seems to go downhill from a downhill.

Closing the paper, I shove it back under Y----'s desk. I spend the rest of the period watching Jeanette and Rachel play some DDR-like computer game with anime songs. They play the mortal combat theme when Butler comes in.

The next lesson I spend reading Middlesex. It is TOK. Cielo speaks to me for a moment, then tells me to "go do my work". I suddenly feel myself floating above my body. In my disembodiment I stop feeling simultaneously while feeling everything at the same time. I feel the air conditioning blowing on the back of my neck. I feel my blouse touching my skin. I see the bleached white grey colours of the classroom washing everything around in its monochromatic hues - colour drained away. I hear the amplified voices coming from my left and behind me. One is a normal, averagely pitched murmur. The one behind is loud is booming.

Cielo speaks again, "Stop stoning, go do your work!". I somehow manage to open the pages of my book even though I am floating above. Physically I read and absorb, but I feel myself far away from my body. After class my body stands up and I trail behind it, flying in the gentle breeze blowing. My body tries to make casual conversation, "what is the next period?", even though I already know the answer. After I ask that question and receive a response, I feel myself completely separate from my body. I don't feel like speaking anymore. So I don't.

I still feel the wind blowing on my skin and my nerve tingle away, transmitting their electrical pulses to me. I feel the pull of every muscle in my leg as I walk up to class. I feel tired of being overstimulated and hypersensitive to my surroundings. My mind feels like it is caught betwixt some conundrum of feeling simultaneously nothing and everything at the same time.

On the way down to recess, Lex chatters away. I somehow find it in myself to respond, though I don't feel very much like speaking at all. I float about and eat my food. I feel myself slowly returning to my body. I still feel hyperaware about my surroundings, the red, yellow, blue SAC tables juxtaposed most glaringly with the bleached surroundings make me feel more tired. My eyes are getting strained trying to cope with the contrasting colours. I return to class, walking almost robotically. My calves feel every drop of lactic acid produced by underutilised muscles. Class is too noisy, so I pick up Middlesex and my sweater and head outside to read.

Outside the sensory overload doesn't seem to be abating, but at least I feel no wind on my skin. I read. I feel the feeling return to my shoulders again. A voice calls out to me. I feel irritated - I don't feel like speaking at all. I say 'hi' and quickly return to staring at my book. But she doesn't take the hint. She rightfully suspects something is wrong, so she lingers about trying to coax a conversation out of me. But I don't feel like speaking. After a while she gives up and I return to the world of Calliope. Calliope is a green coloured word.

During Econs I finally collapse from the oppressively excessive stimuli and close my eyes to rest. I feel weary, like I have not slept in days. Every cell in my body screams for rest. Oddly enough, the Indian Martini makes no comment. So I rest.

When English finally rolls around, I have stopped thinking. My mind feels hollow and empty, and I get a nasty feeling of being a sponge - undeservingly soaking up the thoughts of others. Her English Highness prods me for a comment, her eyes looking right inside mine. I feel my heart rate slow down till it almost stops beating. I give a sheepish smile even though I don't feel sheepish, but it's the only appropriate response. She starts groaning about us not being as vocal as before and for a second, I feel guilty. Then I feel nothing again. I try to pay attention to her discussions with the other students, but I find myself unable to follow their lines of thought. I feel cold. I look at her dress. I like it. I study the lines and the cut, and come to the conclusion it's inspired by 1940's fashion - the liberty print some throwback to the prairie inspired looks of the '80s.

I leave right after her class, sans green form because I don't feel bothered enough with paper work. In the car my dad starts talking to me, so I force myself to speak again. It is the most I have spoken in hours. I feel slightly less disembodied. Arriving at the outpatient clinics, I meet Joash and his father. For some reason he is wearing the cohort shirt. I walk on and take the short cut to Medical Social Services, only to find that I got the timing wrong. The session is for 3:00pm, not 2:00pm. I laugh. I sit at the reception area, waiting for my father to appear. I am still wearing the school sweater, with its amplified school crest - which is what everyone walking by stares at.

My dad calls, to tell me to meet him at Cheers. I have no idea where Cheers is. I get up and start walking, and wander from place to place. I feel people staring at the school crest. I get the distinct feeling of being lost, yet feel no urge to ask for directions. In fact, I vaguely enjoy the feeling of aimless wandering. Then I turn around the corner to discover the subconscious memory of my feet have led me to Cheers.

We drive across the road to a Malay coffeeshop. I want Thosai, but they're out of it. I self destructively order Cheese Prata (which is why I can't stop burping now). Half reading and peering around the small shop, I note that my father and I are the only Chinese around. Everyone else is either Malay or Indian. The Chinese people walking past the coffeeshop give surprised looks when they spot us eating there. Odder still, there is a random China Chinese coffeeshop helper working there, looking rather out of place. His skin, paler than mine, is contrasted sharply with the dark puckered and aged skin of his tiny bosses. For a second I think he is an albino, so I search out his eyes with mine. But no, his irises are as black as mine. A fly lands on me, and I feel it's legs tap away on my skin. I think it's because I'm Chinese.

My dad drops me off at the hospital again and I move to the waiting area outside the counseling rooms. I see a few people gathered around the chairs closest to Room 6, one is sitting in a wheelchair, so I move to the row of seats next to them. They soon disappear, filtering into one of the many rooms around. Most curiously, they have left the wheelchair behind. I feel the impulse to walk over and sit in it, to pretend I can't walk again. Then I realise that would make me appear more unstable than I already do, so all I do is gaze longingly at the wheelchair while trying to read. I feel my heart rate accelerate thinking about the upcoming counseling session, I feel scared and anxious all at once without really knowing why. Then, she pops her head out of Room 6 and calls me in.

During the session she calls me Melanie again. She also asks for my blog address. So Hello if you are reading this (though I seriously doubt anyone has bothered to read this far). While speaking I also notice that a man has walked through the doors and is sitting in the cubicle next to mine. His leather shoes and black socks peep out from behind filing cabinets, and a barely discernible masculine voice indicate his presence. Curious, I ask her if this is a pediatric counseling room. The Sesame street toy is still perched above the partition, diagonally across her cubicle I espy more children's drawings stuck to the window and an orange paper cut tiger grinning at me. To my left either Chip or Dale is sticking its head out of a clear vase. I thought it was a pediatric counseling room. But she says no, the toys are there because 1 colleague has kids, the other just like toys and she has her own possessions about. ERRRRRRRRRRR. I feel silly.

On the way back home my father stops to pick up some masking tape from a hardware store. He buys 5 pieces, ripping them out from their original packagings. As a result, two pieces of masking tape circle shaped plastic are still wedged between the tapes. I carry them to the car. Initially I like the feeling of carrying them, of holding something in my hands. Then I lift them up to my right eye and look through. I close my left eye. I remain this way, peering out of my right eye through the plastic lenses of the masking tapes till I realise I'm seeing mainly the interior of the car. I then shift the tapes to my left eye.

I look out, looking at people passing by. I see some people staring at me. I ignore them. As we drive on, I open the right eye. Blink. Left eye. Right eye. The colour changes. The red lettering on the inside of the masking tape rolls have made my left vision more saturated with red, the right appears more bleached. I alternate eyes again. The colours of the masking tape lens remind me of a holga. I return to looking out of my left eye. My eyes spot some grains of dirt on the plastic sheeting. I count 4 of them, within close proximity to each other. They frame up a palm smudge nicely. As I look at the dirt, the background has blurred. I switch from foreground to background and back. I alternate eyes. Foreground. Right eye. Background. Left eye. Blink.

When I finally remove the tapes from my eye to open the gate, there is a red indentation on my undefined cheekbone flesh. I immediately start missing my holga vision.