Fate / Saturday, November 24, 2007
During my primary years I don't think I was very friendly to any one in particular, save a few while being outrightly modest and conservative/subservient to others. It was that sort of behaviour which festered at me, lending me to induce some sort of hollow sense of self inside during my latter high school years.
However, this post is not dedicated to my later social behaviours, but rather the strewn circumstances that are built upon by probabilities and possibilities. To be short, I'll skip straight to the last day of Year 6, where every single student would go to the large park outside Hurstville Public to play while waiting for parents.
On that day, the joy/sorrow of graduating primary school was similar to the mood/atmosphere generated upon graduating high school, and amidst the tears and silent acknowledgements lay the crux of park fun: water bomb fight. There were massive balloons flying everywhere from the people playing with their Magic cards, to the people playing handball, all the way to the young kids playing on the park equipment.
To me, that day will stand out because it was the only day I ever openly expressed my regret at not knowing my fellow classmates more. In the middle of the bomb fight, I glanced around for a new target and spotted two girls in my class walking home through the park together. Fortunately, my mind was not set on wetting others but rather engaging in candid conversation. Quickly hurrying over, I halted the two and stumbled seeing their quizzical faces.
Their expressions of wonder/surprise/confusion stumped me, and I was suddenly speechless, stuck in one of those endless loops of uncertainty where all I can think of was, "What was it I wanted to say? Think...think..." So there we were, the three of us, the two of them against the one of me, all silent, waiting for some sort of ice breaker which would allow us to connect.
Funnily enough, about 15 seconds of silence later, I stuck my hand out and offered them a handshake, perhaps a sign of conciliation, or maybe a sign of friendship and remembrance, I do not know. Following this, I quickly blurted out these exact words, "I'm really sorry about these two years. I know I've been an idiot sometimes in class and you probably didn't like me much either, but I just really want to let you guys know how awesome it was to be in the same class as you girls for these two years. Thank you so much. I really regret not getting to know you guys better."
There was open silence again following these words. They just looked at me and stared. Stared. Expressionless. Feeling extremely awkward, I quickly ran off and launched a water bomb which hit some guy on the head and exploded, leaving the two alone.
They never took that handshake.
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Two months later, I received an email from one of those classmates who thanked me sincerely for what I tried to do and remarked upon my bravery for being so straight forward. She told me about how stunned she was and was just too shocked/happy to reply, telling me how she would like to know me better as well.
I never replied back, and since then I've only spoken to her once.
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Another example of possibilities against probabilities would be another primary classmate of mine who used to live on my street. We never really talked, the awkward boy-girl silence always filling the void and eventually ended up as an ignorance of the other's existence. There would be the silent looks and the look-aways-once-i-think-he/she-saw-me, but nothing more than that. We were in the same class for 2 years, waited for and sat in the same bus for 4, and sometimes even had to sit next to each other, but I don't think I've spoken more than 3 minutes of dialogue with her in that timespan.
At the end of Year 10, I finally decided to talk to her. She too, was really surprised that we were having a conversation and on that 3 minute bus trip back we had the shortest catch-up of events I ever had. When I told her it'll be nice if we would talk to each other everyday on the bus to catch-up, her lit-up face instantly dimmed and vanished when she somberly told me that it was the last day she was to take the bus.
She was moving the next day to be closer to her high school.
In hindsight, I suppose it was a good thing I did have that final conversation with her. Another situation where I feel I've patched up a situation at the last minute, but scraped by. Like before, we promised to catch up.
We never did. That was still the last time I talked to her. I don't even have her msn, and I doubt she has mine.
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Regret? A bit.
Would I go back and do things differently? No. I don't think even if I go back, I'd want to change what I did. It was all a learning process, and it was one that taught me that sometimes taking the initiative to find out more can change another's complete outlook or grasp an understanding of what was really happening.
I mean, what would really happen if I never did talk to her on that last day? What if I never stuck my hand for a handshake?
Sure, there must have been situations where I did not take the initiative, and because of that, there is probably a lot that I do not know of that I would have.
That, my dear friends, is what I call fate.
Labels: blog, Friends, literature, memories, rant
/because of my high tolerance.
5:35:00 PM
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/ Saturday, November 17, 2007
An Anecdote I wrote for English Advanced at the start of Year 11. I found so many pieces of writing that I did that was just fantastic. One of the few times I think I was honest. Got me an A too. XD
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I remember in the deepest recesses of my brain, a tiny bit of my disturbing memories lurked. As a child in my primary school, nobody cared about my wellbeing except for my friends, and even then, barely. Studying at Hurstville Public for a few years, I would never forget the exhiliration I felt when my hands first touched that letter of acceptance into the 'OC' class. Standing for 'Opportunity Class', a select few students were offered a place into these classes. Like the name suggests, the classes aim to provide its students better chances into getting a place in one of NSW's more prestigious 'selective' high schools. At first, I didn't realise the letter was offering me a place, I just stared at the envelope thinking, "The letter's so small, it probably says I didn't make it." I was expecting a large yellow envelope or something similar. I just stared at the envelope until I decided to pass it on to Mother to open, as I couldn't bear to handle the disappointment. Imagine my surprise when Mother broke down and cried all over me, holding the letter in her hand. I blanked and thought, "Its not that bad, is it?!" After another half hour of confusion and chinglish, both sides were at an understanding. Mother laughing at my ignorance and me even more confused at how I made the class and why God liked messing with me.
So there I was, an 'OC boy' as they call it. One of the elite. The upperclass of school society. My fellow classmates all whispered to one another and pouted, "You know him? Yeah, the guy with that
weird name, he made OC. Be careful, he's not like us." I thought, "how different could I be? I'm still the same person. Nothing's changed." But it seemed my status said otherwise. Although I was respected for being an OC, I was neglected in terms of friendship. My mates all thought I was above them, and insisted on our separation, pointing out all our differences. I had never been more confused...
I never thought of myself as 'superior' or 'elite', but my peers all passed me off in that manner, so naturally, I thought I was what they thought I was. In the majority of my peers, I found a niche of other 'OC's' that shared and reflected my situation. I was lonely in terms of friendship, but friendly in terms of classmates. Naturally, we bonded. Since 'OC' classes didn't officially start until the next year, all we had was the label 'OC' without any difference to my classmates. Again, confusion and desolation didn't disappear until I was amongst the other 'OC's'
Over the holidays, I considered what being an OC would require. I was told that only one in every ten people were offered a place in an 'OC' class, which meant that put me in the top ten percent of the state. I was terrified what that meant. "Is there going to be lots of homework? Will i be liked by the teacher? Does that mean there will be more pressure on me?" It isn't until now I realised that those questions are shared between each individual who goes to a new school or applies for a new job.
Once term started, I found myself struggling in a lot of areas academically. What I found more disturbing was I was even more worried about how I was doing socially. Puberty had started...
I hung out with David Tran, a good friend of mine to today. Being a smart person with a very perceptive mind, I relaxed around him. I also hung out with Kevin and Michelle, both being really exceptional friends, with the latter becoming one of my besties today. Since our parents were colleague's at work, we often hung out together. They helped me out when needed and I returned the favour. The year settled into a pattern of ups and downs, much like my testosterone.
By the end of the first 'OC-ed' year, I had grown exponentially in height and I easily dwarfed the class. They were intimidated by my height and I used the advantage in open intimidation. I had also taken an interest in girls. I started taking notice of the girls in my class and no longer looked upon them as alien creatures, but captivating, attention grabbing things. mind you, I still regard their habits as alien, but at least I understand them better. It wasn't just me either. By the first term in year six, I noticed the other guys stealing some glances at particular girls. Being the only guy to consistently talk to girls, ie Michelle, I gained quick access to the gossip hotline the girls were engaged on. I often laughed at the rumours, and sometimes believed them, but looking back today I truly realise how laughable my immaturity was.
The pressure started to come in when the selective school exam date loomed closer and closer. All notions of primary romance were forgotten as heads were nosed into textbooks and pens flew across paper. The anticipation for the end of the exam signified the need to study more for it. Day in and day out were devoted to Maths, English and General Ability.
Pressure from parents also started pouring in. The Chinese Gossip Queen, ie, my Mother, the phone and her friends, provided a wealth of information on my expected marks and what I should I be striving to get. As a result, their conclusion was reflected amongst the Chinese community: tuition. So for four days a week I was sent to tutoring with Kevin and Michelle to learn the finer points of algebra and narratives.
Two months passed in this fashion and finally, the big day came. Nerves were raw, tension was high and a continuous build of nervousness were realised. I felt totally unprepared. My voice was broken, my kneecaps ached and I had a bad cold. "Why?!" I almost cried out, "Why did the almighty have to test me again? I hated what was happening to my body, and I hated the fact I was sick on the most important event in my life at that point. I just wanted things to be like what they used to be, before I made OC. I wanted to cry.
Now that wasn't the best way to feel when an important exam is in your face. I somehow survived it. Actually, I did quite well considering my tornado of emotions. I've managed to enter a selective high school, keep my friends and even gained control over my body again.
When I look back, I realise that alot of what has happened was forced upon me. Even now I find many of what I do still decided by higher powers. As I prepare for my HSC, I know that I will be expected to adopt more events that will aid me in the HSC. Like it was in primary, it is now in selective. I can only do what fate has alloted for me, and hope for the best.
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sigh...so true.
Labels: blog, emotions, exams, literature, memories, rant, stories, stress
/because of my high tolerance.
1:45:00 PM
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/ Friday, November 16, 2007
Life sucks.
I hate express post.
/because of my high tolerance.
10:54:00 PM
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uni coop / Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Oh, I don't think I got around to mentioning this in any of my posts, but yeah, my co-op interview for acturial studies is on the 27th.
[glances down at blog]
That, and that I almost forgot about submitting my UWS medicine acceptance for interview. Phew, just need to express post that damn letter and I'm good.
Lol, been listening to JLo- Let's Get Loud on repeat. XD That song, and Lloyd-Get it Shawty
Labels: holidays, uni
/because of my high tolerance.
8:33:00 AM
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Tina/Geoff's 18th / Sunday, November 11, 2007
This post would be to Tina and Geoff. I'm sorry I havn't blogged about your birthdays yet, so I'm going to make it up to you guys (via this very insignificant post)
Firstly, I'm going to reiterate myself and wish you two a Happy 18th. I had a great time at your place Geoff, and I'm terribly sorry about my unforgivable non-show to yours Tina (you as well, Amy). On my part, I can only say that working late nights really exerts alot of strain and stress on me.
The next time I see the both/three of you, I'm going to shout you two/three a beer. Maybe you guys don't drink, but I rkn we should make shouting beers a ritual. Like, a way to just destress and just relaaax..(gods knows I can do with one right now, even a midi would be a godsend)
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On Friday Morning, I dropped by Kmart just to pick up my shirt which I left the night before (fuck you, Late night fucking Thursday shopping. Sidetrack: you know I had to work until 10:15pm on Thursday night?! And Kmart friggin closed at 9:30?!). Ate lunch with Pris (gooooOoo sushi world) and trained it with Leslie to be picked up by Small Jeff (lol @ his Doraemon Car).
Mmm...what happened next...
Something along the lines of this:
Party Food was Eaten
Mini-games were played.
The throwing of food and cocktail mixing ensued.
Here's a photo of Milton pimping with Matthew and Tina. [However, Tina is closer]
There were actually quite alot of little kiddies there. I wouldn't say annoying, but they sure love their balloons.
Met some new people there too. Here's Kaye, Liezl's friend.
And of course, here's Geoffwie's v.large and v.delicious berfday cake.
Here of course, are our fine Sydney High specimens.
The highlight of the night, captured by me and possibly Gman's dad (LOL LOL XD)
Meanwhile, everybody watched with awe and possibly jealousy.
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Ah, feels so good to blog again.
Another siderant about how much I hate working. Fucking customers, stop fucking trying to pay me with gift cards! I mean, okay, one is okay, but for a $400 transaction, don't give me friggin 12 gift cards worth $50 and expect me to be able to process every single one and give you your receipt in 2 seconds!! And its not my fault the receipt goes to the floor! You're the douche who gave me 12 gift cards!
Oh, and to that girl who tried to steal store property through my counter, puck you. I stand for 4 hours at that counter to serve people, not to deal with people like you. So I caught you, just admit it. Don't start yelling at me at the top of your lungs like your innocent and then when my manager comes try to bolt. What are you, stupid? I may have only worked 3 shifts, but I'm not that stupid to not ask to check your bag. You can go stuff that lipstick up your *****.
Okay, I'm done. Glad to get that off my chest. Working timetable for this week:
Monday, Thursday and Friday. Tell me last minute, why don't you. I feel jipped and trapped, tired and irritable, and all because this sort've thing really messes up my holidays.
Labels: birthdays, celebrations, jobs, rant, stress
/because of my high tolerance.
7:49:00 PM
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HSC IS OVER / Thursday, November 8, 2007
A post before I leave
HSC IS OVER!
I'll elaborate later..
Labels: HSC
/because of my high tolerance.
11:46:00 AM
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/ Wednesday, November 7, 2007
ommfg...
I woke up like...half an hour ago, and its like 1pm XD
WTF!?
So now I miss out on going out with the others and I'm stuck here. Not that its bad or anything, ton of stuff to do at home. But still....GAY!!!
/because of my high tolerance.
12:50:00 PM
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English Extension One Piece: Revenge Tragedy / Friday, November 2, 2007
Creative Writing For Extension English
Cambridge Wong
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Use this stimulus to create a creative piece, using the key as a treasured article of your piece.
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London, October 10th, 2007
London Bridge is falling down...Humming the tune of a small well known nursery rhyme, Rachel Contrapasso lightly and delicately stepped out of the light plane, glancing at the forever raining city with a repressed sense of nostalgia. Home…it’s such a short-lived word, the pervading darkness an echo of the past and a glimpse of the future. Her eyes watered from the strong memories, but her hands clenched in anticipation.
There was no logical explanation for it. Just a 19 year old conviction of faith and hateful will for retribution that she’s fed and raised, and like all things wild, needed to be released one day to its source. The wind blew in her face, its cold bite a sharp reminder of her reality and another slapping reminder of what home truly felt like.
She glanced at her travel guide and quickly located the Thames, her other hand fiddling with a small, brown metal key in the depths of her purse, acknowledging the wet weather by pulling her overbearing waistcoat tightly around her waist. The pain women have to put up with for fashion... She smiled absently, looking at the mirror of her rented car and into the right blue empty eye for any warmth, and agreed with the outcome, whilst staring at the green left eye, and sinking into its depths…
A blur of a warm palette of colours and emotions, a dash of laughter and a sprinkle of trust, all mixed together in a tightly bound sushi people called ‘family’. Rachel Contrapasso remembered something similar too, somewhere embedded in her forlorn past. She was raised in what would have been a family unit, in what was every child’s right and the building foundation of their childhood.
She could still hear her own cries and the deep soothing voices that must have belonged to her father and ‘mother’. She could remember the joys of discovering unknown toys; the wonders of the different smells and the excitement at the interactions of society. Although all these were good and well, what she remembered most of all was what she had not remembered; the lapses of darkness between memories that filled up most of the time in transitions. The first game of hide and seek, followed by the first bicycle fall and followed by the same voices that drifted in and out of consciousness.
She loved her father, treasured every living moment they had together and it was him she resembled more than she did to her mother; they were both heterochromatic. It was their little bond, something that nobody else had and could share. But the thing she missed most of all were the rhymes that he told and the stories that he whispered.
Every night, without fail, she would have him sing the same nursery rhyme, regardless of whatever bedtime story preceded it. ‘
My Fair Lady’ he would also call her, and that meant the world to a six year old girl. Holding onto the key her father gave her, she would keep it around her neck, hoping she’d find her own treasure she could lock up one day.
But there was something unusual about one particular evening. When her father finally comprehended what it was, it was already too late. He would never see her again.
Falling down…falling down…‘Is this the place?’ Rachel stared at the house, squinting to recognize any features which might spark a memory jog. ‘Wait…this must be it. It looks the same as the photo’
Rachel muttered under her breath, walking up to the modest brick building and sighed.
‘I’ve waited 19 years already. What’s a couple more hours? This place does ring oddly familiar, even though I haven’t been here in such a long time. They’ve re-decorated, added a garage, but its still the same. My rightful home…’
Rachel returned to her car, waiting for her ‘mother’ to return, “Home”, she whispered.
‘And so it begins…’
She had cried afterwards. Pretending to be asleep when she saw the blood leak in front of her; his warmth and protection leaking into a crimson puddle on the carpet of her room, and she struggled not to make a sound.
He never saw it coming, and neither did Rachel. As if in slow motion, she could see and rewind that moment clearly, the muffler on the gun recoiling from that trembling hand, straight into her father’s back. And there was no fuss too. The blood was cleaned, the bullet removed and any forensic evidence removed. The body was dumped into the Thames from the bridge and nobody knew the wiser. As for Rachel, Theresa Contrapasso thought she was ignorant of the matter, and so was spared.
For Theresa, there was no reason to dispose of her daughter as well. She only needed to be rid of her husband in order to wed her boyfriend. There was the need. Filing for divorce wouldn’t give her the house; their relationship was never stable and the court would never award full custody over Rachel because of her alcoholism.
But when Rachel ran away, her mother didn’t feel any remorse either. True, she loved her. But her fear of someone ever knowing the truth was greater. Rachel had vowed to avenge her father, and when she was taken in as an orphan and raised in Sydney, she knew she would do as she said some day…
Rachel knew that one day she’d have her tit for a tat. If Theresa wasn’t punished by British law, then she must be punished another way. How dare she take what wasn’t hers away from her? And to add insult to injury, she got full possession of all her father’s property as a by-product of some loophole! She would make Theresa fall and suffer for every moment of anguish it caused Rachel.
London Bridge is falling down…Rachel watched the car pull onto the driveway and saw an older woman step out and slowly walk into the house. Anger flared in Rachel’s heart. It was her. Rachel quickly moved into action, but made sure to keep herself under control.
She went up and delicately knocked onto the door, waiting with the chloroform cloth behind her coat. Rachel smiled at the thought, ‘She probably can’t recognise me now that I’ve grown up. Good, it’ll only work in my favour”
Rachel forced a cheery smile when Theresa answered the door and started, “Hello-“
Her mother stared at her for a second, then snapped, “If you’re selling something, I don’t want any of it!” So saying, she turned to close the door.
Rachel’s eyes narrowed; her blue eye reflected her anger for a moment before she attacked, smothering her mother with the cloth, and quickly sensed her mother falling into unconsciousness as she breathed the fumes.
“Take a key and lock her up,Lock her up, Lock her up.Take a key and lock her up,My fair lady.”Carefully, Rachel lowered the soundly breathing figure of her mother into her trunk and straightened her coat, ruffled by the physical exchange…and waited again.
How will we build it up,Build it up, Build it up,How will we build it up,My fair lady?Her new husband was just as easy to capture. Not a minute longer than her mother. With both in her trunk, Rachel drove off, humming the next verse of the nursery rhyme, happily anticipating the next great act in completing her revenge.
She had pondered this next stage for a long time now; cannot deciding how to properly restore her father’s honour.
However, she had finally reached her verdict as to what to do:
She tied the two of them together; the sick murderers and tossed them in a concrete coffin she had prepared for this occasion, before driving off to do them off the same way she knew her father was rid off.
As she reached the great Thames river, she suddenly felt this huge surge of doubt stab her, ‘Was she any better than her mother? Her mother had done murder to suit her purposes. Didn’t she hate her for it? But isn’t she doing the same thing right now?’
She shook off those thoughts, “I have to do this! I must! This isn’t about me…its for father!”
Build it up with stone so strong,Stone so strong, Stone so strong.Build it up with stone so strong,My fair lady.She opened the coffin and smiled; her victims were now awake. Her mother kicked and squirmed but couldn’t make a discernible word through her gagged mouth.
Rachel looked down at her, “You don’t recognise me? Look closer”. So saying, she bent down and looked at her mother straight eye to eye, taking pleasure as her mother’s own eyes widened in horror at her eyes; ‘yes, the same eyes as your dead husband! The one you murdered! My father!’
Rachel kicked her and closed the lid, taking one last look at her mother and her lover before shutting it and pushing it into the river. The magic of her revenge lies in the key in her purse, the only thing that can open the coffin. The coffin wasn’t airtight, with water able to pour in through the very same keyhole so they would drown soon, and the coffin wouldn’t be found because of its weight, and would eventually be covered by dirt as the currents rolled in its southerly course.
“Say hi to Dad for me, would you Mum?”
Stone so strong will last so long,Last so long, Last so long.Stone so strong will last so long,My fair lady.Rachel enjoyed the sight from her car; the brilliance of the stormy night in the beautiful city of London, and closed her eyes as the lights of the city shone with an amber warmth she finally felt after years of isolation and cold calculation.
She drove off and over the river, tossing her treasured key into the river below and was finally free of her restraints and able to pursue her own goals; to start her new life in a city she could finally call ‘home’.
Rachel hummed the nursery rhyme for the last time of her life.
London Bridge is falling down,Falling down, Falling down.London Bridge is falling down,“My. Fair. Lady.”Labels: HSC, literature
/because of my high tolerance.
6:49:00 PM
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Extension English Stress / Thursday, November 1, 2007
I"m going to get jewed by Extension tomorrow just like the dude in this gif by the Wererabbits.
They look cute and easy to beat, but actually are a bunch of motherfuckers.
Labels: HSC, pictures
/because of my high tolerance.
10:48:00 PM
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