Friday, August 10, 2007
1) buy him/her a pooh suit like this 3) teach him/her to drink from a pooh cup like this 11) and if its a her, i'm going to buy her a pooh barbiedoll like this!
was just daydreaming earlier on, and i had new inspirations!
6) buy him/her pooh clothing hooks like these!
3:31 AM
Monday, August 06, 2007
A Tribute to MGS, a school that will always remain close to my heart
I attended my secondary school's graduation ceremony last Wednesday, 25th of July. Upon stepping into the library (our reporting venue) in the morning, I was unanimously greeted by a rave of fanfare hullabaloos and delirious chatters; not directed at me though, but rather an attempt to relive the joys of engulfing one in the mgs school spirit, or perhaps, simply seizing the once in a lifetime opportunity of being able to make as much noise as they wanted in the library without mrs tan(aka sourfishface) coming after them with a feather duster. Though that setting was a familiar cry that seemed to echo from a much bitterly distanced locale, it didn’t cause me to winch. Maybe, I thought, sometimes, old things just don’t go away, and the conditionings that couples as well.
As I stepped into the ME LAU hall, I inexorably recollected, how I was once up there on stage, viewing the streams of multi coloured entities of all shapes and sizes, strutting elegantly with hints of nostalgic amusement pinpointing the young ones seated round; ha! I used to be one of them!. It wasn’t hard imagining myself amidst those entities one day, but somehow that is the way situations work; you can imagine all you like of yourself in your desired situation, however when time finally rivets you onto it, it just doesn’t seem as real as it is.
The founder day’s hymns never change; the speaker was yet another ACS alumnus. As I walked into the bamboo courtyard for the reception, it suddenly dawned on me that it would be the last time I’d ever walk into it as an mgs girl. What futuristic role, if existent, might I be playing the next time I walked into there? A stranger? An mgs teacher? A mother with a daughter in mgs? A cleaner? A speaker of one of those Sophia Blackmore lectures? I didn’t know, and probably wouldn’t in the conceivably blissful forthcoming days, as yet.
Sitting on the steps leading to the field, I was somehow transported to 4 years ago. I remembered Orientation; how we had to dip our faces into corn flour and play pass-the-polo-ring, how all of us kept covering our palms with flour and chasing after each other, squealing at our self-thought commendable achievement of being able to temporary imprint the flour onto our friend’s faces. 3 good years after that, 5cm taller, a half tone darker and perhaps a little less unruly, I was playing the same game at the very exact location as well. But this time, it was on ‘longest day’, the last official day of my stay in MGS before the O level examinations.
I was 12 going on 13, I recall, Terrible thirteen, as some may remember. No point combing the depths of a desolate memory that galvanizes none but inklings of remorse and forlorn. But they remember, as much as you hope to forget; they condemn, as much as you yearn for salvation. 2003 indeed; they all thought they sent me to the wrong school, and they blamed themselves for it.
The entailing 3 years however, spoke of stories of sanguine. As precipitous as circumstances then were, setbacks weren’t nearly as dejecting. All thanks to a wonderful and gracious Guide.
I remember MEP room 2, the rabbit-hole music students always found themselves comfortably ensconced in. The teachings of the once jet-black haired, outlandish hairstyled lady lives on in there, even till today. The red carpet fades day by day, the lemon air freshener smell pervades in the atmosphere, and the air con’s hushing sounds never decrescendos. The home of mgse, the holding room for every major performance I participated in. The room of one of the most memorable times in the course of my stay in mgs.
And yes, the auditorium, the inevitable thereafter location after MEP room 2.
I remember the having to perform the song writing competition for racial harmony up there in sec 1, singing, mind you, dressed a terribly oversized malay costume. The Chinese music band competition in sec 2, the witty national day rap, the numerous civics and moral education sessions, the weekly chapel sessions and how I slept through almost every sermon, the movie screenings and not forgetting every of my music performances up there. I remember the mechanics in which the control room worked on, the comfy cushion seats we all liked to sleep on, the pitch darkness of the audi when all lights were off, the fun we had draping ourselves with those huge, red curtains, the narrow walkway in the backstage, the staircase behind the backstage. I also remembered, how he was there, showing his silent support amidst the raving audience.
The list goes on, and on.
If I were to continue rambling about every inch of experience of every nook and corner in school, the list here might be just short of the combined surface area of alveoli in the lungs spread out. I believe memories truly lies in the sensitivities that marks them as anatomies of remembrances, not solely pallid blackwhite inky minuscules, so perhaps it is time to stop, to enable those epiphanies to linger on in its ironic twirl of bitterness and nostalgia.
Most of the crowd had dispersed by then, heaving bagfuls of camwhoring excitements and gelatinous residues cleaving their way through their intestines, leaving none but a crisp like atmosphere, enough to stir an indescribable peace in one. Walking through the pebbled walkway into the quadrangle of command, the sunrays seemed to be a spotlight, shining on me and tracing my path onto the emerging ascender. The wind blew, and I looked up; the school flag was as always in its exalted position, as if trying to boast of its self-contended significance, allowing it’s undulating motion to punctuate that notion.
As I plodded along the sheltered walkway with curious yet mild pangs of solitude starting to shroud me, an enormous sluice of enlightenment that flooded my entire train of thoughts momentarily overcame me. I then dismissively chuckled the short lived historic disillusion into an invisible bin; how could I have thought that way? It was then a relieving smile found its way across my exterior.
Once an MGS girl, always an MGS girl.
That quote rang like wedding bells in my head, prevailing with an echo whose amplitude never seemed to falter but struck a chord that reverberated for eternity. After 4 good years, I fully understood it, sincerely, deeply, and from my heart.
perhaps you aren't the best school around, nor the biggest or the richest, but you are and will be the only place that holds the memories and experiences of all aspects of myself one can ever find, a home of the real me, one which none other can replace. i thank you today, for being my roof of solace, fear, hopes, dreams, bliss and exuberance. may God bless and watch over you always, as you house the new generation of blessed progenies that will hopefully find for themselves a wonderful memory as i have.
1:47 AM
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