Saturday, September 03, 2005
Can I be 12 again? I miss primary school. Life was so full of fun, joy and laughter back then. Now we are all ridden with standards to keep, rules to abide by and reputations to preserve.
I fully accept that, however, as part of the maturing process. I understand that it is not right for a 15-year-old to find Pepsi Cola 1 2 3 fun anymore. Grudgingly I pay for thrice the amount I would have paid for a decent meal in primary school, for an oily plate of shit.
High ponytails and fresh, non-oily skin every morning, without worrying about how clear my complexion will be when I wake up, how many flyaway hairs I will have, and how dark my eye bags will be.
In the earlier years I carried a Sailormoon backpack, complete with a pull out handle and wheels so I could drag it around when it’s too heavy. Later I got myself my first slingbag, and I haven’t turned back since. Throw in a couple of unfortunately minah-ish totes, and there you have my daily luggage.
Fuck minahs.
I would recoil in horror if I heard someone uttering a swear word, like shit or something. Now here I am cursing and swearing myself with uncouth glee. Yes, my mouth is about as virtuous as a one-night stand but hey, who the fuck cares? Show me someone who doesn’t curse and I will eat shit. And your twelve month old nephew/niece/cousin/hamster doesn’t count. Neither do any holy people.
The canteen was wonderfully rustic, with oldschool wooden benches and coin payphones in the corner. The fans spun lazily, creating a laidback atmosphere. I could sit there forever.
BUT the school had to change its vicinity, half the teachers that I knew and loved retired, and the security guard had to be so anal.
I didn’t realize how much I missed the old gang, until we met at the front gate. It wasn’t the whole bunch of us, but it felt like it all the same. Me, Sher, Basyir and Shakir were still tight, but the rest of them had a tinge of awkwardness about them.
Flashback to afternoons spent eating 10 cent popsicles under the void decks, watching the guys play soccer and screaming our asses off playing block-catching.
We’ve all grown and changed, but the memories still stay fresh.
The guys have grown so bloody tall lah. Except for Shazni. He was this irritating arse who simply irritated the fuck out of me when we were in p6, but now, he is rather cute, I must say. He is still ever so short, but he now looks like one of those quiet intellectuals with Rooster-esque hair, super thick specs, a penchant for heavy metal and can play the guitar like whaaa.
And damn, does he look good with braces.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no romantic feelings towards him because he is a good primary school friend.
I don’t think I can ever have a romantic connection with anyone from my primary school because it would be too funny. I mean, I’ve seen them before puberty struck, and the hilarious memories would still be stuck in my head. Seen them before they grew to be these gorgeous people, and I will always remember them THAT way, not the gorgeous way.
How could a guy smell that good?
This guy from ACJC. Came over and sat at the canteen table next to mine. I caught a whiff of him and oh my I almost swooned on the spot. It should be illegal to smell so good. Imagine Pharell, with Snoop Dogg’s voice, and that smell.
Whoa. Pure, unadulterated sex appeal.
Gawd, I’m starting to sound scarily unsound.
Much like someone I know, in fact, we all know.
I didn’t know Woodlands Primary School produced so many hot guys. Seriously. Super hot. But all from neighbourhood schools, save for that ACJC one.
That day was also Be Yourself Day in Anderson Secondary School.
Or what the school assumed to be BYD anyway. First and foremost, we had a theme. Honestly, why bother? Vibrant school colours. Vibrant my ass! The colour of my shit is way more vibrant.
And there was this whole long list of donts. Just like for the class tee. A whole damned list.
Why, during the one day where we all look forward to let our hair down in school for a couple of hours, are there rules? Does any instance of freedom in Anderson have to be marred with dos and donts? Can we not be ourselves without being regulated by regulations we do not even deserve to be subjected to? And school colours. What is this obssession with school colours?
Are they not satisfied enough with looking at us suffocating in the school uniform every other full school day?
Three words. What the fuck.
If I were God, I would kill every single person on the management committee.
So much for student welfare. Shitty classrooms, shitty food, shitty celebrations. What more do they want? What sins have we committed?
How could the councillors have agreed? To the theme? To everything???
What happened to building the bridge between teachers and students? What happened to being the voice of the students? Whatever happened?
If I wasn't such a good persevering student, I would have quit school a long time ago and gotten myself married to a rich man. And have him many children. Whom I will never, ever send to Anderson Secondary School. I will send them to art school and mould them to be artistic intellectuals who defy the standards of Singaporean life.
Then I will visit Anderson smacking of money and culture, and have them all shitting in wonder and amazement that I actually survived without the tyrannical moron of a school which is ASS.
Scary incident in the train just now.
Got harassed by this whole group of, to be kind, rebellious guys. I'm talking about hardcore rebellious here. Tattoos swirling around arms and legs and necks and god knows where else, piercings here there everywhere and vividly dyed hair.
They got in at Woodlands, where everyone else in the carriage HAD to get off at, leaving me all alone. So they came in all noisy and gregarious and sat down. Then the guy right next to me started staring at me. Oh my so much for subtlety. I was feeling rather anxious so I turned away from him. He was still looking that stupid moron.
Then he wanted to tap me on the shoulder, but his friend was like," She's scared you stupid ass" and they all burst out laughing. Whaaa. I put on my most nonchalant face, despite being scared stiff by all those jantan sundal, and I got up and waited for the train to reach Marsiling. Which thakfully did so soon.
I'm very tired, too tired in fact, to feel the tiredness. It's more like a numbness. Lack of sleep perhaps.
And there is a competition tomorrow. Pray hard for ASG please.
Posted by funkadelic @
6:11 AM -
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