Revelations.

This is the week of revelation. This is the week when reality brings you down to earth. This is the week when I realize that the fate of Icarus is undesirable. No matter how high you try to fly, gravity will bring you down to earth. But if you try to resist and flap harder to overcome the pull, the sun's intense rays will melt your fragile will and you come crashing down to reality that is earth - the realm of mortals.

Performance evaluation - we get graded for our quality in the long manufacturing process line within the education factory.

“I can't grade you too high… since you're still new…”

“What would it mean if you are graded well and others who have been here far longer gets graded lower than you…?”

I am new and therefore it is impossible that I am more competent than those who have been around, presumably more experienced with their tried and tested, non-boat rocking methods. Perhaps when I have conformed into their standards of the safe and tried and tested, I will be deemed more capable and competent.

Like the irony of Icarus, neither can nor should I aim too low. For one who is deemed merely skimming upon the surface of the waters would soon succumb to the humidity and be engulfed to a watery grave. Such is the tedium of maintaining zero gravity - the motions of flotation that melds into a daily affair of everyday busy nothings.

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If I am new, I am still equally condemned should I make an error on this default. Since it is something that has been done in perpetuity, my being new notwithstanding, when an error is made, it shall be hung out to dry in shame. No chance in grace given. A mistake as a result of a careless, ignorant oversight must be harped upon.

And for the one without a word of consolation but poured vinegar upon the gaping, bleeding wound, wonder no more upon your lack of a beau and extended singular status - your lack of social graces denies you of any companion.

For the one whose mouth spits venom upon the hurting, you must learn to try and revel in your single hood. You shall be thus for a long time to come.

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Perhaps there is a saving grace to all these un-events - for where I am suppose to function, I have been deemed competent. This, amidst all the cruelty of the week, is a little ray of hope and happiness with in this tunnel of perpetual darkness and gloom. I look to it to surface, to joy.

The Bitch is Back!

The walking thermostat actually brought the convocation matter up. It was a good thing I had anticipated all of this and had prepared my rebuttal – my Jewish godparents had taught me well.

It’s too bad her foot stool, flavour-of-the-month had gone to NIE for his training stint. She must be feeling the lost between her peds and this behaviour is the emotion manifested.

Poor sod, by bringing the matter up, she raised the questions why the office is deprived of people before 5 in the evening; why is a relief-teacher ‘untouchable’ and why is a teacher expected to be back in school even after applying for UPA.

Some people are too smart for themselves and become poor fools for others.

Sigh... it’s just that as a result of fighting this battle, I was fatigued and depressed over the holiday. I had to down servings of sweet stuff (double scoop gelato, honeyed sea coconut with white jelly, multiple meals) just to get myself happy again.

Watch out cats... cos’ the bitch is back! In fact, he was never gone.

Not completely anyway.

Fssssk...!

Innovationation '06

In the end, so what technology...?

Making a Pit Stop.

Cos' at the end of the day, it's the company that counts...

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Ok, so everyone has written about the outing last Saturday. I am therefore obligated so publish one as well.

I had been shopping around for places to have dinner with friends. It's to celebrate Jan and my birthdays. Both on different dates, so we found an average. The sadness of working life meant that a couple of the invited friends weren't free on Jan's actual and we had to settle for a double happiness-type do. It also meant that we are all busy as teachers and have settled into the scheme of things already.

More or less anyway.

My intention was to have it at BigO. They have flyers touting their party for six with a complimentary cake thrown in. However, that didn't come to pass since parties as such must be done on weekdays.

After a little search, a-googling on the Internet, I found the spot - Pit Stop Café at Circular Road. It is quite a misnomer actually to say that we 'found' the place. The café is tucked away in some minor road and located on the second floor of some tiny, inconspicuous shophouse. I actually broke into a sweat while looking for the place. The haze currently covering the island didn't really help with the situation either.

Worth it...?

When I did finally find the place, I was thirsting for some iced water and it was served in a cutesy water dispenser - you know the cartoonus penguin modeled personal dispenser that is all the rage now. Just to digress, I think it is ridiculous to pay SGD25 for a glorified water bottle like this. It's basically an over-priced and over-designed piece of plastic, whose job can be carried out in top-notch quality by a run of the mill 1.5 litre (the penguin's capacity) mineral water bottle.

Anyway, while waiting for the other guest of honour to arrive (i.e. Jan) the few of us who managed to locate the place (just short of using GPS and calling the National Guards) settled for some easy chats and ordered a smattering of mathematically calculated servings of finger-foods (e.g. 11 pieces of spring rolls, 11 pieces of squid, although they claim it is calamari, etc).

Finally, our gastro-call far out cried our courtesies and we decided to order our dinners before Jan's arrival. The set dinners come with time allocation for games - every table order comes with a 2-hour allotments.

Did I forget to mention that Pit Stop is one of those new-fangled, enterprising-Singaporean getups that combine café, restaurant and a board gaming center in-one? They have a whole variety of group games available for your after-dinner pleasures.

So the food was edible. It's really nothing to rave about. The interior is ultra-bright and screams tres tres cheap. IKEA, IKEA everywhere. The saving grace of the establishment is the people - referring to the customers. Customers learn about this place mostly by word of mouth or a chance passing by of their weblog site.

When one learns of the place as 'full of fun', 'good company' - provided by the attending customers themselves, no less - they enter with a positive and expectant attitude. So once the sujet a manger is settled, the customers converge into their encapsulated world of their own 'good company' for a two-hour worth of fun. It really is a smart concept. It's basically getting people to congregate and pay to entertain themselves. How very clever.

All said and done, with the excellent company I had with myself that evening, it was a fabulous evening filled with cool fun and hot gossips, catching up with one another's life.

“Marking till dawn…”

“No social life…”

“Never seen the sun for (fill in appropriate period of time)…”

It's not that different from the time when I worked as an interior architect.

But as least with teaching, I actually enjoy it - the joy I see on the children's faces is reflected and kept in my heart.

The Years - Vincent Immanuel Pang And then there was a knock on the door Down a long forgotten corridor The heart aches The mind rakes Memories long forgotten ingratiates Should I return the distant call Upon the shores of perhaps Bangalore The mind churns The heart yearns With lessons it never seems to learn It had said on occasions “never more!” That was promised the times before Then the heart speaks The door creaks And the hands returned the call with speed Comes again the ship to navigate As it opens - the floodgates One proposes The other disposes Away again the endless cycle supposes ©2006

 

On your MARK...

Monday, 16th October

10:10 a.m.

It's the first day of PSLE marking and I am sitting at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaves after collecting an article from the post office.

I'll be heading to this school somewhere in the north district to assume my duty as a recorder for the PSLE results. The article I've just collected is from dear Terry - “For 18th October….”. It's my birthday gift from him.

Thanks! I love you too!

The End of Faith -
Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason
by Sam Harris

Dear Terry sent me a book. Curiosity got the better of me. Full of anticipation while maintaining decorum, I carefully unwrapped the parcel and there it was, the beautiful hardcover looking back at me.

Paraphrasing the book:

There is a young man, bombs, nails, ball bearing and rat poison strapped onto him. While being an eminent harbinger of death, he boards a bus and sits next to a couple who had just decided on a model of refrigerator.

When the bus was full - filled with everyday people, people who are not very different from the one you met at the supermarket today, he ignited the bomb that destroys him along with the busload of everyday people.

His parents got the news of their son's death.

They wept.

Hearts brimming with pride.

10:30 a.m.

Gotta get to marking centre! I am suppose to arrive at 11:30 a.m., that means I should have plenty of time.

10:55 a.m.

Drats… what's taking bus #13 so long…?

11:00 a.m.

Can't be late on the first day. Where's a taxi when you need one… there's one!

In the cab…

Me: Please take me XYZ Primary School. It's located in XYZ.

Cabbie: Which part of XYZ…?

M: Oh, I have the map… hold on, let me take it out…

Taxi suddenly jerks ahead, my coffee filled tumbler tumbles and dribbles onto my seat. Drops of coffee landed on my shirts and pants.

M (angry at cabbie's stupid decision to jerk ahead despite my request for him to hold on): It's at XYZ, Street 123.

I then embark on a frantic attempt to wipe off the coffee stains on my shirt and pants while silently cursing at the cabbie who evidently cannot follow simple instructions, like “hold on”.

11:15 a.m.

Finally arrive at the marking center. Ms T and Z are there. We chat and joked and waited for 11:30 to arrive.

11:30 a.m.

The person briefing us on the procedure is a nag and condescending.

The Briefer: Please be very careful and professional (yada, yada, yada, yada, yada) I am sure you would not want to give yourself any chance of committing those errors…

Me (in my thoughts): Excuse me, but I am thirty, NOT thirteen…

2:25 p.m.

I've been reading the book I've just bought - Mitch Albom's latest, “For One More Day” since the briefing earlier.

2:30 p.m.

We've been waiting in the hot and haze-filled room for the first set of marked papers to arrive so that we can tabulate and record the scores. It didn't happen till now. But since it's time for our break…

3:00 p.m.

End of the break… oh, the first set of papers that arrived half an hour ago had been settled by the other team.

Hmm… will rest and continue with my book…

3:30 p.m.

Another set arrives…

4:00 p.m.

Done. Now where's my book…?

4:30 p.m.

Ooh, time to pack up… let me place a tab on my book.

I have completed three quarters of the book.

I think I should be able to complete the book by tomorrow.

Yay… I think.

5:15 p.m.

Finally! They've cleared the papers for the day and we can leave - forty-five minutes after they announced that we are done for the day…

We'll see what further adventures will happen tomorrow (though I am not looking forward to it…).