Books and Heaven

Went for a massage today at one of those TCM-like places. It was painful, yet soothing. I couldn't help but thing, in my strange lull zone then, that a good massage was probably the closest thing one could experience to heaven on earth. I had a whole wonderful thesis all set out in my head that I was going to record down, but as with most things, I forgot about them after a while. In essence it was something along the lines that when you get a good massage, all your physical pains are taken away, and you're lulled into a comforting floating place. Heaven on earth indeed. For the few rare times today too, I tipped. The masseuse looked pleasantly surprised.

Finished reading David Lodge's Changing Places last night. It was an enjoyable a read, and infinitely a much better one that Michael Frayn's Skios. It was much more witty, observational, and relied more on our inherent neuroses to propel the storyline forward than the idea that everyone is inanely stupid. I refer of couse, to the lack of IQ or a brain displayed by any of Michael Frayn's characters. It's almost as if he tried to be PG Wodehouse, but aimed far, far lower. Pfft.

On Saturday I taught one of my classes Blake's A Poison Tree. While teaching it I felt myself grow really impassioned, because it is such a wonderfully constructed and accessible poem. However as always, my students were rather expressionless, which slightly killed it for me. I only hope that some of my enthusiasm rubbed off on them. Then after that I rushed for lunch with a colleague, R, that I often go for lunch of Saturdays with. Coming back about 1 minute late, I dashed into the class that I was assisting with, and tried to suavely wave at the little students. Ended up fooling around slightly with them, nagging them to copy things off the board, and sharpening multiple pencils. By the time my regular class rolled around at 4pm, I felt quite exhausted. Still of course, I survived till 6pm and gladly packed up my things to go home.

Tomorrow I plan to stay at work till late, since Wednesday is a public holiday. I am infinitely more productive when I am in the office. Perhaps it's the stuffy atmosphere, the desk that is the right height and being surrounded by stacks of marking all over (some mine, others my colleagues'), but whatever it is it works. Fingers crossed that it's throughly productive, cause Lord knows I need to clear a lot of things.

On Wednesday I plan to bring my Mum to a nice lunch at a French place for a Mother's Day treat. Looking forward to it, for tasty food if nothing else :) 

Memories and Illness

One of the things about teaching young teens is that when I look at them, I cannot help but recall what I was like at their age. Being giggly around boys. Not giving a toss about my studies. Racing home just so I could play computer games. All those not-very-nice memories about how I spent my awkward days. For some students I cannot help but shake my head, and call them my neanderthals, my animals, but there are also others I cannot help but respect because they just seem so calm and collected, far more than I could seemingly hope to be even though I am twice their age. It is a strange mix, that makes me reflect upon my not-too-distant terrible teenage years.

Yesterday I felt quite ill during my last class. Right before stepping in, I started to get a headache. Midway, almost 1 hour into the lesson I realised I was started to get breathing problems. As a result, I kept coughing whooping coughs and my airways struggled to clear. I wanted badly to sit down, and just rest my body. Except I was teaching, and I needed to teach lest my kids get the whole damn comprehension wrong. So I stood, propped against the cupboards and trying to gather my energies. When I had given them enough help, I finally left to puff on my inhaler and sat down, more than 30 minutes after I had first felt sick. I wondered what my students would do if I collapsed at that point in time (indeed I felt I was only at 30% function). That thought brought me back to an old memory, of when I was 15 years old.

That year I was Secondary 3, and suffering greatly in Chemistry class. We had a teacher that was very old school, and terrifying in an old school way, especially since we had only experienced more enlightened ways of teaching. What I mean simply was that she acted like a mean old bitch, and wouldn't hesitate to tear you one if you made her mad. Except lots of things made her mad. Not knowing the answers to questions, titrating experiments wrongly, even saying 'sorry' too many times made her angry. Boy were we all scared shitless by her and her ability to shred your confidence to bits. There was not a single girl she didn't pick on, and she did it almost methodically. Later we rationalised it was probably to make us realise we weren't as great as we thought we were - because underneath all those hurtful comments we knew somehow that she meant well. Anyway for those of you in the know, it was Ms. G K Goh.

One lesson late in 2005, she started to feel very ill. We knew she had been poorly for a while, and her condition only seemed to be getting worse. She was teaching us halfway when she suddenly stopped at sat down at the desk. She looked pale and said she felt like vomiting. I can't remember if that was the day she also took off her wig, but I do remember her saying she felt weak and needed to rest. Then she lay her head down on the table, and us students just looked at each other, stunned and scared. Although we cared for her in a human way, somehow we never thought of her as being human. That she too felt weak, could get sick and suffer physically. That she would feel so bad that she actually needed to stop the lesson and show her frailty in front of us. She died the following year after fighting for cancer for many years. Right after National Day celebrations in school, we went as a class to her wake. After she died there was much random tears and morose thoughts among all, plus the occasional odd morbid poetry popping from some classmates. I don't remember her death helping much with my already present depression then either.

Strange what I think about now, when I look at my students. 

Worn

I feel very worn down from the seemingly endless and always expanding piles of marking. I feel overwhelmed, and sightly hopeless. Just got to keep plodding on I suppose, but damn 'cause I haven't felt this way in months. This has been the 30th week since I've started working, and I'm 7 months into this job.

16 April 2013

Had a hectic day today, starting out by a gym session that wore me out. Before leaving the house however, I checked the news and first read about the Boston bombings. I spoke briefly about it with my trainer, and he referred to the bombers as 'idiots'. Ahaha. The TVs in the gym featured the News showing the bombings too, but by the time I was done exercising, I had forgotten all about the bombings. Then I rushed to have lunch, get my daily Teh Ping, and to mark Mock Exam papers for my P5 classes tomorrow.

I ran down to the cab stand around 4:25pm, to realise that there was a mega long queue for the taxi and frantically booked a cab. When when the cab came about 5 minutes later, we headed off for Rochester Mall. Upon arrival around 4:50pm, I practically ran up the stairs and burst into class, barking at the little kiddies to make them afraid of me. Needless to say, it did not work. Class went on as (presumably normal), and midway I got really bloated and had a bad headache.

Finally at 7:05pm, I let them run off. Then I quickly packed my things and my parents picked me up around 7:10pm. Got home, and had dinner till about 7:25pm. Finally from then till 8pm, I managed to vegetate like an idiot (with a headache), watching Hotel Impossible with my Dad. He seemed very enthusiastic about telling me that Daytona Beach in Miami was on a Barrier Island. During commercial break he channel surfed, and we ended watching a bit of Fox Sports covering the Boston Marathon bombings. They were interviewing the runner who was closest to the first bomb, and showed how the bomb blew him off his feet. Hmm.

At 8pm, I went upstairs and spoke briefly to Joaquin while trying to finish my marking and grade recording for my P5s. I realised (sort-of) in horror that I might have helped my students too much with their comprehensions, because they were scoring abnormally high, which inflated all their grades. When I was finally done, I ended up playing Tropico for two and a half hours, and then went to shower. I felt pretty exhilarated  and ready to face The Shit of Wednesday. Freshly showered, I went to read the news again (as is my habit) and got reminded of the Boston bombings. Now, I feel kind of sober again.

This sort of reminds me a bit of the 2008 Mumbai Bombings for some reason. I remember feeling quite melancholy the night of prom when I first heard about the bombings and hostage situation. Strange how such world events can influence one's mood even though you might not be directly involved or know anyone who is. I wonder, is that normal? 

Greene

Reading Graham Greene's The End of the Affair now and it's proving a captivating read. Stumbled upon a line however, that I love, and for posterity's sake must make a note of it lest I forget: "the telephone presented nothing but the silent open mouth of somebody found dead."

Book Two, Chapter Five, is just so exquisitely written.

Free Mondays

This was the first Monday I spent alone in a while. Usually I spent at least a portion of it with my Dad, but today I had it in my mind to go shopping, and I certainly couldn't go with my Dad to do that. Still, for some reason, the idea of going alone and making decisions about what to do made me feel anxious -  and I hadn't the foggiest idea why.

My first stop was Namnam, where I finally tried their Pho. I had previously tried the Banh Mi from there when I went with Ianthe to attend the Esperenza Spalding concert, and thought it was a poor cousin to it's London-based counterparts. The Pho there was tasty, and the spring rolls were great too. I was happy at having chosen to eat there, plus their set lunch menu prices were quite reasonable.

After that I ended up going in and out of stories looking at superficial things. Then I headed to Kinokuniya to get some books. I bought 4 books in total, 2 of them graphic novels. One of the graphic novels was written by a Singaporean, called The Girl Under The Bed. The other was Yoshihiro Tatsumi's Abandon the Old in Tokyo. I had previously read The Midnight Fisherman and thought it was great (Joaquin has it now), so I decided to try another one of his books. Books wise, I bought Michael Frayn's Skies and Ruth Ozeki's A Tale for the Time Being.

Paying for the books at the cashier's in the Fiction section, I chanced upon a most surprising poster. It listed the Booker Prize Shortlist nominees for this year, but under Tan Twan Eng's book was a little stuck on sign that said 'Winner'. I was distressed at this for two reasons. One is that I couldn't believe I had missed such literary news, and the other than was I wasn't quite a fan of his. But then again I wasn't quite a fan of anyone else on the list (Narcopolis by Jeet Thayil which I read about a week ago, I didn't quite enjoy), so I'm not sure why I cared.

Ruminating on the poster later on, in Toast Box, I decided to stop my marking and google the 2013 Booker Prize Winner. Predictably (to you other book lovers out there), the Booker Prize for this year had not been released. It was far too early. I started to get rather annoyed. Then, I did something I never did before: I called the Kinokuniya hotline and complained. My heart thudded in my chest as I went on a short inane rant about how they should not have misrepresented Tan Twan Eng's book. I think I even said Tash Aw a few times instead by accident. I became That Weirdo Who Obsesses About Inconsequential Things. After the call, I felt strangely exhilarated. Then I went back to marking and wondering how I could ever drill proper grammar into my students' heads. 

Demon Eye Wednesdays

My left eye is demonic red.

Wednesdays leave me utterly stricken, despairing, and shattered.

I feel like projectile vomiting at the HR department that has made my schedule (and life!) such a living hell.

In my 9 non-stop hours of work today, I could only visit the bathroom once, because that's how miserable my Wednesdays are.

I will get kidney stones.

I loathe Wednesdays.

23

When I was about 18, one of my favourite music albums of all time was Blonde Redhead's 23. Looking back, I still can't explain why I loved that album so much. The subsequent album, Penny Sparkle, I listened to once and then forgot about - so it wasn't quite the band that I loved, but just that one album. Listening to that album, I'd inevitably think about being 23, and sort of softly chuckle to myself because I couldn't IMAGINE being 23. Years ago when I was about 14, and still madly in love with my first love (who is ironically getting married this year!), I thought 23 was a great age to get married - something that added to my chucking too years later at 18. So anyway here I find myself, 23.

The day before I turned 23, I watched Side Effects with my Dad. We had Pepper Lunch for lunch.

On 26 March itself, I went to the gym as per normal. I met Jean for lunch at Professor Brawn Cafe, where the Poached Salmon dish was excellent. After getting to the office, Jean snuck off and suddenly reappeared next to me with a slice of cake from Bakerzin, and a few colleagues came over and sang a wee birthday song. I was touched :) Then I spent the rest of the day marking, went to teach a class, and hung around the office till about 8pm cause I had papers to clear. One colleague gave me a small kinder bueno egg, which was cute, when she found out it was birthday.

Before leaving for home, I bought 5 slices of cake. Then I went back, had dinner, had cake, and watched a few episodes of Law and Order SVU.

Wednesday was shit teaching day again. What made the day great however, was that right after I finished teaching at 9:30pm, I checked my phone and saw a text from my Dad. The text simply said that one of my friends from the UK had sent a cake over for my birthday. Incredulous, I called home immediately, and spoke to my mum who confirmed my Dad's text. I went home, practically floating on a cloud. When I saw the cake, I burst out laughing. It was a fine, well made thing, but the inscription was "one pound fish, very nice, very nice". Still I felt so touched I almost teared up.

Saturday after work I met up with Shu and Tiff for dinner at Itacho. I was mad hungry so I ordered a lot , and realised they were treating my only when it came for the time to pay :/ I felt kinda bad, so we walked over to Holland Village and I treated them to dessert from The Daily Scoop.

Was a nice birthday, all in all.