Ab Turnitinum Eo Plagiarismus Discoveritas May 28, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Humour, School, Sights and sounds.1 comment so far
(The following is the second of the two articles written by yours truly for the latest issue of !nk. I must give loads of credit to Kevin Low who did a fantastic mock-up of Turnitin for the layout of the page. I will try stealing a pdf copy of !nk so I can re-post this article + layout here.)
A note on academic dishonesty – caveat lector
Term 2 often heralds weeks of mind-boggling academia and imminent doom. Year 6s scramble to complete their drafts of essays comparing wildly adulterous, bizarrely suicidal, insufferably self-assured Scandinavian women victimised by the social ascendancy of the proletariat in the late 19th century, sweat out over yet-unfulfilled CAS hours, and itch to discard the final drafts of their extensively edited 4000 word-long works of art into the abyss of Final Grading, while Year 5s unburdened crawl swim bound excitedly towards the June “holidays”.
Time glides invisibly by like a halibut through the salty waters of the North Atlantic. You soon struggle to find time to take your Norwegian blue parrot out for its daily flutter or attend your weekly manicure sessions. Your last game of Left For Dead was a whole miserable fortnight ago. Your last movie at the cinema was about a stubborn infantile clownfish beating his father in a game of catch-me-if-you-can-in-this-big-blue-ocean. You, as your superlatively hip, cool, groovy, awesome non-ACSian friends (who have no idea how busy this Baccalaureate-thing gets you) would snarkily remark, have no life.
But you feel you have enough reason not to have a “life”, as astringently observed by your hip, cool, etc. friends: your to-do list stretches as far as 6.8914π times the perimeter of the Astroturf, and you look nowhere near to completing any of the items on the list. “How, how, HOW?!” you cry as you let loose a string of minced oaths.
The Blue Ocean strategy beckons. Behold assignment completion-acceleration like the world has never seen before: You might be inclined to sneak a paragraph or two of Niall Ferguson’s latest dissertation on the ascent of money into your almost-overdue history IA to meet the deadline and the word count. Or you might consider poaching an entire spreadsheet of data with accompanying photographs of the dying money plant and calculations for standard deviation from your unsuspecting classmate. Or better still, you might contemplate paraphrasing Hegel, Hume and Hobbes for your TOK essay.
Who reads Niall Ferguson anyway? Who monitors the eerie consistency of bio IAs? And really, who reads, will read and has read Hegel, Hume and Hobbes?
Well if the three questions in the above paragraph have ever emerged in the cloudy deluded mirage of activity that is your mind this writer aims now to poke logic-shaped holes in your arguments. (Quite a Blue Ocean thing for !nk to do, eh? Since when have we so blatantly associated ourselves with logic?)
Slipping a snippet of work that isn’t yours into your work is, in fact, illegal enough to have you stocked, incarcerated, hanged, or worse, expelled. If you think burgling your friends’ USB flash drives of IAs is harmless, this writer is terribly sorry to be the bearer of disappointing news; copying equals plagiarising equals wrong equals dire, dire consequences. Sure, “paraphrase” is not an anagram, euphemism, palindrome of/for “plagiarise”, but this writer is sure that you really wouldn’t want a half-body apparition of Thomas Hobbes rousing you from your slumber one night as you doze off whilst searching for synonyms of every other word in the Leviathan.
Adhering to our propensity to remain innovative, the Ingenious Blue Deep-sea Policies that we have embarked on include passing each piece of official submitted work through a respectable software called Turn It In. Pass your work through the eagle-eyed originality checker and it soon will be as thoroughly squeezed of plagiarised material and shoddy citation as an orange of its vitamin C-rich fluids as it endures the pressure of an industrial mechanised juicer.
As final deadlines for Year 6s loom, surreptitiously stitching in a piece of intellectual fabric of similar thread count and colour into one’s almost-finished academic quilt appears to be a tempting prospect. However tempting it may seem, this writer beseeches you to think and act otherwise. It’s as conniving as deceiving one’s party guests that one has cooked a homemade, authentic Italian dinner when what happened in the kitchen a few moments ago was merely an assembling of dishes made from readymade ravioli, frozen grissini and pre-cooked primavera sauce.
Nota bene: In the spirit of the blue ocean strategy that we have been briefed on ad nauseam, innovation, creation and conception of original work is more likely to bring returns and rewards to the IB student. Besides, what a show of hypocrisy it would be for any of us to sing of beacons of truth and light and not uphold our morality!
Brave warriors of the Internationalum Baccalauream Diplomus Programmus: suffocate your urge to refer heavily to the many loci classici that might lend you temporary reprieve. Brave plagiarisers who have yet to be turned in: mend your ways a little, lest you may mar your fortunes.
For International Circulation Only May 26, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Humour, School, Sights and sounds.add a comment
2009’s second issue of !nk went on sale today. David called the !nk sales “the most important event of the day”, besides the 4th Student Council Investiture. Yes, “the most” – according to The Craw. Despite being robbed of a huge proportion of our potential buyers – the naive Year 2s and 3s, we managed to sell close to 500 copies of !nk – not bad, in my opinion.
For the benefit of those who haven’t got a copy of !nk, either because 1) you couldn’t afford to pay $0.50 for the 16-page “guide to being a big fish in a blue ocean”, 2) you believe looking over your friends’ shoulder reading !nk is a better option than owning a copy, 3) tu dépenses ton argent avec parcimonie, here’s one of the two articles I wrote for this issue.
(This appeared as Part II of a collaborative article about that award-thing. Part I described the anarchical calamity the school was in prior to embarking on that award-thing; Part II describes the schools, er, splendid outcome after undergoing some major revamp because of that award-thing. I mean every word I say.)
To buy, or not to buy, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The stings and sorrows of outrageous remorse
Or to take arms against an ocean of customers
And by disbursing first oust them.
O, reason not the need! Our newspapers are never superfluous. Sixteen pages of words and photographs that radiate ACSian incredibility and incredulity – of which 12.5% is staring at you right now, that are the product of 409385084 hours of labour of our dedicated members under the aquiline nose of The Chief Editor.
Paired with an arresting variation of orange – #FFA000, to be specific, black ink on newsprint has never looked, felt and smelt so sexy. Monochrome printing on kitchen towels might just be the solution to the ridiculous debts we incur but the drive to achieve customer satisfaction constantly drives us up the ladder of excellence. Losing sight of the cushy familiarity of the shore and venturing into faraway waters is our forte – and our secret.
Such forays into the unknown define our route towards that timeless brand of quality that is synonymous with our newspaper. Draining it may be on our resolve and energy supplies, probing into the unfamiliar always proves to be a worthwhile endeavour. Rivals? What rivals? As we walk in a lightly scented cloud of gorgeousness on the roads less never taken, around us we smell no competition – and we are overcome with a terrific feeling of exclusivity.
O, that way conceit and condescension lies, let us shun that; no more of that.
But wait – surely it cannot be entirely a lie? After all, wherefore arises smoke without fire?
Let us discuss the truths of our merit. ACSians, as you must have read from our W!nkipedia article last issue, are unfortunate victims of uninformed stereotyping: pompousness, excessive riches, vanity and unbridled social activity are too frequently associated with this organisation. Wildly inaccurate judgments such as these, thankfully, don’t stop us from pushing towards being Intellectually Blessed yet Diplomatically Polished.
Balancing our expenditures in the intellectual department is an intricate matter. ACSians are uniquely multi-faceted, multi-talented, multi-lingual, and not to mention multi-coloured multi-taskers. The fact that we have six gruelling subjects to handle – plus that thing (EE) and that thing (TOK) and that other thing (CAS) – already sets us apart from the ill-fated others pursuing their pre-university education at Most Other Establishments. Yes, the Baccalaureate certainly throws us into the blue ocean.
This writer is pleased to note that being thrown into a vast, borderless body of water does not alarm ACSians. While treading water might be a commonly cited hassle for other hydrophobic inhabitants of this planet, ACSians – true to our All Can Swim reputation, are at home with the molecules of hydrogen, oxygen, sodium chloride, and even the occasional triuranium octaoxide bobbing about. In the academic arena, World Scholars’ Cup, Odyssey of the Mind and other undertakings plaster our calendars. In recent campaigns, ACSians went, saw, and conquered the very last of their foreign opponents. Indeed, we are not mere Academicians or Geeks, but also citizens of the world. Going global is an unshakeable habit of ours.
“WOW!”, many cry, impressed. But wait – what light through yonder Window(s on the World) breaks? Why, it is the Select Quorum of Achievers of the Baccalaureate that never fails to meet every criterion on the list of hundreds, the fulfilment of which qualifies one as A Charitable Scholar. Spreading our infectious goodwill, we annually venture across the blue oceans/seas/ponds of the region, in a hope that we may shake the superflux to those who hold onto our helping hands with a desperate grip. Such are the stellar results of benefiting from the holistic schooling of ACS.
ACS has fortified our varied upbringings by instilling in us a compassion and respect for all who populate the Earth (and perhaps even beyond), from the wealthiest of kings, knights and noble masters, to the basest beggars and poor, naked wretches. Going beyond preaching for an hour each week during pastoral care sessions, ACS stresses the importance of innovative instruction. Sivilisation, eh? We take that seriously, more than word can wield the m–
So what does our fair and fine readership reckon – do we deserve our reputation or do we not? This writer dares avouch that (more) certifications of our irrefutable quality are in order.
We are admittedly Still Quite Authentic in our reflections – what should we need of extravagant hyperboles to justify our praiseworthiness? We really try our best to remain our usual humble selves but our exceedingly, preposterously, astronomically high levels of success warrant some flagrant honesty. The pursuit of true excellence never did run smooth, and though the temptation to boast may strike us every so often, we remain, aye, every inch a modest company engaging in modest business.
Of Music, Magic and Miracles May 25, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Music, Sights and sounds, Thoughts.add a comment
There is someone, someone out there who is redefining music. Not that he is making some sweeping changes to the study of music, nor has he founded a new concept in musicology; all he has done was to take the breath of so many people away.
His performance of Tears For Fears’ Mad World brought even the notorious mud-slinging Simon Cowell to his feet. He melted so many hearts on Motown night with Smokey Robinson’s The Tracks of My Tears. He mesmerised his by then worldwide audience with his renditions of Yvonne Elliman’s If I Can’t Have You, Aerosmith’s Cryin’ and Sammy Davis Jr.’s Feeling Good. He proved that his energy and vocal prowess is unrivalled in his performances of Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love and Steppenwolf’s Born To Be Wild . When he sang Michael Jackson’s Black Or White, The Rolling Stones’ I Can’t Get No (Satisfaction) and Wild Cherry’s Play That Funky Music, he showed he is clearly made for the stage.
Eschewing the pastel-coloured outfit he had selected the previous time for a mackintosh-length coat for a macabre stage act, his radical modification of his previous performance of Mad World garnered high praises from all but one of the judges, who labelled him “over-theatrical”. However, in his performance of Sam Cooke’s A Change Is Gonna Come, he completely blew them away. His magnesium-coloured suit was made to measure and oh, did he look impeccable. Boy did he sound impeccable, too. The coronation single was a miserable concoction of trite lyrics and odd melodies, but he still owned the stage, convincing the judges that they had found a true star on the show. Although the number of votes accorded to him did not grant him the winner’s spotlight – he was ousted to the title by the dark horse of the competition, his magnanimity remained.
He proved that he can sing anything, everything, and in a performance featuring the legendary Brian May, proved he could perhaps be a successor to Mercury. His performances are multitudinous, his outfits even more so. His eye-lining maculae offset the machismo he appears to exude. Yet he is unlike the (far-too-)many meretricious rockers of our time.
By now you all must know that I am referring to the one and only
ADAM LAMBERT
ADAM LAMBERT
Adam Lambert – the gem of American Idol Season 8, the next – or first? – rock star of the millennia, the magic of the music scene. Finally, finally, finally: American Idol has produced a performer of startling, astounding talent.
I confess: I do have abiding love for Adam’s music, and yes, I admittedly am quite a fan. Some people are surprised at my fondness for Adam and his singing and his performances and his (… and many other things), and actually ask me, “Why do you like Adam Lambert?” My standard answer is this: “I love music, and I love people who make good music. And Adam – he makes bloody good music.” In short, Adam satisfies my appetite for good music. (Oh thank you, Adam!)
For me it wasn’t a matter of acquired taste. Appraisal after appraisal is what Adam got from me, right from the start. Though I usually avoid artistes adorned with heavy eyeliner and various accessories, it’s been different as far as Adam Lambert is concerned. I assure you, though, that all this adulation is not unfounded.
Adam was clearly the most memorable and most gifted contestant on American Idol Season 8. He completely adumbrated his fellow contestants in his performances of Mad World, Whole Lotta Love, A Change Is Gonna Come, Cryin’ etc., making also-rans out of many of them.
Adam’s performances were so action-packed. The adrenalin they activated was astonishing. His performance of Steppenwolf’s Born To Be Wild was unbelievably energetic; it awakened every fibre within me – as did most of his other performances.
Adam was magnetic. (Correction: He is magnetic. I should be using the present tense.) I often tell those who discuss Adam’s merits with me that Adam is a singer that you want to watch and not just listen to, which separates him from his maladroit contemporaries. In this respect I am particularly charmed by his performances of A Change Is Gonna Come and Black Or White; where, besides attaining faultlessness with his singing, he pulled off extreeeeeeemely captivating performances.
Despite Adam’s affable acquiescence towards the results, the results left me all abject and forlorn for a couple of hours. I admittedly suffered from temporary aphasia. I’ve since recovered from the unpleasant experience of watching Adam slink into the crowd of Idol finalists, and my applauding of his ability has not ceased. In fact, I think it has resumed apace.
Oh, he is just outrageously, absurdly talented. From adagios to andantes to allegrettos to the most animated allegro assais, (almost) every performance receives a 1000000000 out of 10 rating from me. He pulls of ad libitums like I have never seen – or heard – before. Adam really does transform every song into an alluring piece of art. I might be inclined to call this musical alchemy; he turns everything, everything to gold.
His voice is extraordinary: it is anodyne, smooth, intense, powerful, moving, and yes, sexy. It leaves me spellbound, hypnotised – every single time. It is astonishing how he manages to vary his vocals so vastly. From the poignancy of Mad World, to the edginess of Whole Lotta Love, to the anguish of Cryin’, to the sultriness of Feeling Good, to the intensity of A Change Is Gonna Come, to the explosiveness of Born To Be Wild, to the tenderness of The Tracks Of My Tears, to the clarity of Beth – Adam can do it all, and I’m sure what we’ve heard on American Idol is but a fraction of his staggering repertoire.
The word has crossed my mind, but since it doesn’t really evoke that effect in me, I shall not describe Adam’s voice as aphr*disiacal – yet. But I must add that I love it when he takes his voice to those astronomical heights; they are utterly, utterly addictive. Those apogees send me into bouts of speechlessness.
What a voice, what a presence, and oh, what an Adonis! Adam can be so adorable. He works his gaze so ridiculously well, and as he alternately assumes the personas of the amicable or angry rock star, I am even more amazed by how natural he is on stage. Adam’s complete lack of affectation really impresses me.
In addition to all these distinctions, Adam also comes across as such a pleasantly, charmingly amiable character. His polite responses and graciousness endears me – and others, too, I’m certain – to him even more.
Amidst all my unrestrained, unabashed gushing and raving, I must say Adam Lambert has truly earned my utmost respect and admiration. Yet it is this flawlessness of Adam’s that compels me to fangirl with wild abandon.
Aye, there is indeed much ado about Adam Lambert. Oh, Adam, I adore thee. ♥ ♥ ♥
Knowledge Issues May 24, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Economics, English, French, History, Language, Literature, Personal, School, Thoughts.3 comments
Many of my friends have conveniently, falsely, unthinkingly classified me as a workaholic. I come here not with the aim of refuting this claim, but to clarify this image that so many people have – sadly – mistakenly formed. What they have observed in me is merely a marginally higher level of academic enthusiasm. Yes my friends, I’ve just diagnosed my own ailment, and I’m not a workaholic.
I see academia as a pleasant experience – almost a hobby. I have very strong views on education, and if you have an hour or so to burn, come let’s discuss this – it shall be terrific fun. But no – I shan’t go into an online debate with myself now.
Back to learning attitudes. Yes, I admit that learning is a thoroughly enjoyable experience for me. I love sitting in a classroom where ideas that float around almost displace the air molecules. I love academic discussions. I love having my mind blown/blasted by ideas. I love making discoveries between the cracks of common ideas. I love being my own devil’s advocate.
That said, I detest sitting in a classroom where ideas are stifled. I detest having to compromise because of top-down enforcement of ideas. I detest the feeling of finding my ideas – and my classmates’ ideas – trapped in my mind/their minds or confined to my/their notebooks.
I never thought I’d have to utter this, but yes, TOK exasperates me – completely. I dislike the subject intensely. Or rather, I dislike how it is taught intensely. (Here’s a disclaimer before I launch into my diatribe of the subject: I speak for myself, not for my class, and certainly not for all TOK students.)
This contempt I now bear for TOK shows how drastically things can change over the course of a single year. I recall being all keyed up about TOK at the beginning of Year 5. I wrote in my very first TOK reflection about the profundity of epistemology, about how I was extremely fascinated with knowledge issues (not the Knowledge Issues that the numerous TOK rubrics nag us about – “How does one know this? How does one know that?”, but real issues with knowledge) in various areas of study (not to be confused with the now- unbelievably overused phrase “Areas of Knowledge”), about how I was looking forward to questioning my own learning and learning processes, about how I found joy in exploring the limitations and ambiguities of knowing, learning, knowledge and truth. That sheet of thin, ruled paper sitting insignificantly in the second pocket of my TOK folder on my shelf at home was once brimming with enthusiasm and inquisitiveness. I really hate to admit this, but I sincerely believe all that enthusiasm and inquisitiveness has evaporated.
No, I myself am admittedly still brimming with enthusiasm and inquisitiveness – but unfortunately my mind can no longer assume this attitude when it comes to TOK. I feel unnervingly suffocated by TOK; there was never much room for exploration. I spoke to a teacher (who has since left ACS) about this suffocation and he does agree with me that it can be a cruel blow to one’s academic growth.
It pains me to look at the reflections I wrote in the first two terms last year. I enjoyed the subject! I clearly did. It is excruciatingly evident. The subject has left me like a severely dehydrated traveller in the middle of the Sahara, completely disillusioned by the countless mirages that appear ahead of me. I’m sick of the mirages, so sick of them that if I really stumble upon an oasis in the middle of that forsaken territory I probably won’t notice it – or disregard it, thinking it’s another mirage.
I cannot bring myself to reflect any further.
I dislike finding myself in such a state of ennui and cynicism. Fortunately not all my subjects have rendered me so. The hours spent on my HL subjects have been oh-so-wonderful this year, Math isn’t that much of a pain anymore, my interest for Physics is steadily mounting, and my French lessons have been, as always, incredibly fulfilling.
French ab initio has always been my most enjoyable SL subject. Not (only) because I’m good at it, mind you, but (also) because the experience of language learning is so captivating, so enthralling, so intriguing. Taking French ab initio means sacrificing extra afternoons after school (while all my friends who’ve sevens for Chinese/Malay/Tamil B in their pockets dance their way home), but it also means building up my language bank – and those who know me will tell you how keen I am on that. (French is the fourth language to be added to this language bank, and I assure you it won’t be my last. Being a quadrilinguist doesn’t make me a polyglot – yet!)
I love French lessons. French lessons allow me to engage in private, personal, almost secretive comparative linguistics lessons, as I tear the syntax of English, French and German apart, figure out etymologies of English words from some French words, and struggle to figure out etymologies of French words from the miserable amount of Latin I know. It’s incredible fun.
French lessons have also endeared me to France, a country whose political and military reputation of recent years and decades does not do any justice to its cultural heritage. My French teacher’s wealth of knowledge about French culture – whether regarding fashion, philosophy, gastronomy, or just idiosyncrasies of French people – adds the element of a cultural study to my French lessons. My French lessons are a lovely mix of these things.
Language lessons offer an unbelievable wealth of learning opportunities and are an amazing source of mentally-stimulating things. One of my English teachers once highlighted to my class the differences between language mastery and language proficiency – something I had never taken the time to think about. Language mastery – and not to forget a love for the language – is the central stimulus for the study of literature, and this is what turns novels into splendid pieces of art. (I could spend 4000 words discussing language and literature, but I’ll save that for after 20th November 2009.)
Shakespeare finally makes plenty of sense (unlike what Sir Ken Robinson joked about Shakespeare: “Stop speaking like that! It’s confusing everybody!”), and King Lear – O, Lear, Lear, Lear, Lear! – is a wonderful play. I jest not. Hats off to The Bard.
World Lit 1 and 2 might be thorns in my flesh as far as contributing to my already-mountainous workload is concerned, but I must concede that my comparative studies of Hedda Gabler and Medea for World Lit 1 and – get this – Miss Julie and The Colour Purple for World Lit 2 have been very enriching.
And oh am I so thankful for being assigned such a damn good pair of English teachers this year! I really am. Yes, I had to use the phrase “damn good”. I’ve never enjoyed English lessons more. These have been my best English/Literature lessons in 18 years – and I’m 18. And the best part: my love for literature (that nearly died in Sec 3-4, that froze in Year 5) is returning. It’s a great feeling. I credit my teachers for rekindling that love. Thank you very, very, very, very, very much, Mrs Goh and Mr Quek.
My two other HLs – History and Economics – have been enjoyable as well. None of these subjects suffocates me like TOK does, and in fact, I think my Econs teacher creates quite the opposite of a suffocating atmosphere; the number of questions he asks and oh, the nature of those questions! He makes studying Economics both a joy and a challenge – an environment I love.
In a recent lesson he bombarded us with questions that shook the foundations of our basic Economics concepts, and I left the classroom with a strange mixture of emotions. Though I was pleased to have had such an enriching lesson, my teacher’s questions also left me stunned; had my knowledge of Economics unravelled like a ball of yarn falling from a skyscraper?
But I strongly feel this is what education should be. Transforming a seemingly dry subject involving theories, plenty of assumptions, hypotheses, numbers and diagrams into a thought-provoking, enlightening, amazing subject is truly demanding on the teacher’s part, and thanks to my Economics teacher, I’ve the benefit of seeing Economics from a new light, a new angle, almost with a new pair of eyes.
I’ve deliberately left HL History till the last. History is my favourite subject and History lessons, needless to say (what a stupid phrase, honestly; I shan’t use it again), are my favourite lessons. I believe I won’t do the lessons or the subject justice by squeezing in a few paragraphs here; I shall devote an entire post to the subject and another post to the lessons. Yes, that’s how much they deserve!
At this point I think it would be appropriate to re-watch and be inspired by Sir Ken Robinson’s video on TED.com about how education should encourage creativity and not kill it. Sir Ken Robinson will tell you that education should encourage us to grow into creativity and not out of it, and his argument is one that I often borrow or build upon when talking about education and its merits. Teachers do make a huge difference; in an education system where nurturing creativity is not exactly the priority, the spirit the teachers bring into classes is very, very significant. It is this spirit that promotes a positive learning attitude – and not platitude – in students, and (perhaps I should say) learners.
To conclude I will just say this: I thirst – and shall continue to do so, until it is finished.
Hola! I am bent; not broken: General Updates May 16, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Arts, Humour, Music, Personal, Sights and sounds.add a comment
Any literate person/robot would have noticed that this site has been void of updates since I’ve turned eighteen. Yet interestingly enough, the Blog Stats function that WordPress has so kindly devised has continued to reflect significant numbers of visits on the clever views per day chart found on the dashboard of the site, and it is these numbers that have compelled me to make this return to cyberspace.
Salutations, readers.
Plenty has been going on since the first of February. As someone enslaved to The Baccalaureate since 2008, life has centred around – and still centres around – work and academic activities; no surprises there. But fortunately there have been distractions that have kept my humanity in check: CATS – the musical, Shakespeare, Monty Python’s Flying Circus, the occasional QI episode and my entertaining bunch of friends.
The newest addition to the list of musicals I’ve seen live (behind Les Miserables, Oliver, Chicago, The Phantom of the Opera and We Will Rock You), CATS was, in general, a lovely experience. More than any of the musicals I have named in the parentheses above, CATS is a musical that first and foremost calls for versatility in its performers. I must admit the singing was rather disappointing; Grizabella, of all characters, didn’t make an impact. Rum Tum Tugger was, for a CATS aficionado like me, far from perfection (though nonetheless very, very amusing), but the Esplanade Theatre audience clearly disagreed.
The choreography for this round of performances of the musical remained loyal to Gillian Lynne’s original choreography – which, despite the below-par singing, ensured the performance as a whole would satiate any true CATS-lover. Mister Mistofelees was particularly impressive, stunning everyone with his 2049583096 (excuse my inordinate exaggeration – but you do get the picture don’t you?) pirouettes, among other things. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’s acrobatic sequence was flawless, and so was the Jellicle Ball sequence just before the intermission. Wonderful, wonderful stuff.
Another remarkable thing about CATS was how they worked the entire theatre into the performance, incorporating balustrades, aisles and audience members into the magic of the entire musical. “The mystical divinity of unashamed felinity” – in T. S. Eliot’s words – definitely filled the entire hall, and one will walk out believing that all cats you meet are indeed “feline, fearless, faithful and true” Jellicle cats. It is the spirit of the musical that makes it such a tremendously enjoyable experience, that endears it to many – cat-lovers, music-lovers, dance-lovers alike.
I just realised that among the list of distractions I have provided three paragraphs above, CATS is the only distraction that takes me far, far away from school work; I don’t have to travel anywhere to watch Monty Python and QI, marvel at their antics and laugh at their ridiculousness.
Like QI, Monty Python is terribly, terribly addictive. My close friends must have noticed a marked increase in the appearance of Monty Python quotes in my daily speech. Some friends have even benefited from my (I daresay) very entertaining impersonations of John Cleese and company. Thankfully my good sense (I do have this, mind you) ensures that my willingness to re-enact entire sketches stops short of driving me to the Ministry of Silly Walks. I have vowed not to go to such lengths to entertain unless I do join a comedy sketch group of some kind.
Somewhere Only We Know February 1, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Life, Personal, Thoughts.2 comments
I turn 18 today. It’s a milestone that the littler ones in the world look forward to with much zest. I don’t remember ever harbouring such eagerness towards reaching this number of years of existence, unlike many people I know who find it thrilling to be able to legally, guiltlessly purchase alcohol. 18 sounds like a significant year in many contexts: it seems to be the gateway into the uncensored world, marked by reluctant nods by the regulator at life’s tollbooth as he waves you on into the alien and treacherous world of purported freedom, hypocrisy, affectation and self-styled maturity.
Reaching the age of legality has a seductive appeal about it. It grants you unrestricted access to places you might have had to sneak noiselessly into, all the while hoping you would be able to abscond quickly into someplace else, where spotting you would be impossible, much less accusing you (accurately) of your wrongdoing. Criminal punishment regulations don’t treat you like a minor. Tobacco and alcohol may be part of your shopping list. A driving licence can finally come your way.
I applaud 18 year-olds’ appetite for adventure. I do not feel any particular urge to celebrate my newly-granted legal maturity. Instead, I hope for wisdom, prudence, judiciousness, patience and a good measure of scepticism that will prevent me from blundering and tripping through life’s obstacle course as though blindfolded and asphyxiated.
I share this date of birth with Clark Gable, Muriel Spark, Boris Yeltsin, Gabriel Batistuta, and in my ACSian circle of friends, Joshua René. The first day of February saw the crowning of the young Edward III as King of England in 1327, the French declaration of war on the United Kingdom in 1793, the publication of the first edition of the Oxford English Dictionary in 1884, the premiere of Puccini’s La Bohème in 1896, the post-exile return of Ayatollah Khomeini to Tehran in 1979 and the disintegration of Columbia upon re-entry into the Earth’s atmosphere in 2003, among many other events. National Freedom Day in the USA falls on the first day of February. The seventh day of the Chinese New Year, renri, 人日, the common man’s birthday, happens to coincide with the first day of February this year.
I thank all who have wished me well today. Defying the common, romantic notion that one’s birthday should be a day of rest, I occupied myself continually with academic chores undertakings. As the minutes tick by I only feel more enervated, more drained, weary and somnolent. My relief at completing one task is almost instantly, rudely washed away by the urgency of yet another item on the ever-lengthening to-do list. But no, I’m not complaining. Honest remarks and candid reflections are what these sentences contain.
It’s been a ridiculously hectic first month in Year 6. So far, being on task has been fairly tiring; perseverance has threatened to forsake me in this desert of academic aridity. Assignment deadlines are marked nightmarishly close to each other on my calendar, and the upcoming class tests signal impending academic doom. I hope I survive the storm.
Amidst the blizzard of IB-related tasks, I’m glad I’ve managed to set aside time to reflect and turn thoughts over in my head, as if masticating a mouthful of very fibrous grass. I have found myself to be particularly pensive over the past two weeks.
I’ve recently gotten reconnected via Facebook with an old friend from Bishop Cotton Girls’ School in Bangalore, India. Talking to her made hundreds, thousands of memories come pouring back into the now- almost-empty cup of Bangalore memories. I realised my cup of memories is leaking most deplorably; time has blunted the once-sharp edges of many memories that I once vowed would remain forever clear. Even my recollection of the uproarious response to Mr Chia’s attempt at an Indian dance has faded somewhat.
Freshness and clarity of memories are, alas, often parched by time’s propensity to erode and erase even the most focal moments and episodes we step in and out of. It is indeed a pity, but it is also a truth.
The recent months have proven to be pivotal as far as my cerebral development is concerned. I daresay I’ve gained a newly-cultivated discernment in some areas. My impressions of people and places have been reshaped by days of interaction, observation, contemplation and deliberation. Some have, over time, proven to be unfortunate let-downs; others have risen from the depths of my own miscalculated judgments to fully earn my veneration.
Contrary to the pessimism my words might be redolent of, I find the mystery shrouding the years of my peripatetic youth rather healthy, and generally quite nourishing. I don’t think that I have squandered my years by being unmindful and overly indiscriminate; an accumulation of unanswered queries provides the basis for my ongoing learning and hopefully, mounting erudition.
It is a humbling experience to watch what you took pride in as your cache of general knowledge thaw and melt into a subterranean loch of general ignorance. It is even more humbling to catch yourself being regrettably selfish and so unbearably self-interested.
The world is an insufferably colourful tapestry of paradoxes. 18 years is a considerably extensive road to have travelled, and while I vow to stay on these roads, I know I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
For the moment February 1, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Music, Personal.1 comment so far
I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For by U2
Bleecker Street by Simon & Garfunkel
The Difference by Matchbox Twenty
Term 1 Dates January 30, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Media, Personal, School.add a comment
Hello, world. No, I’m not all that stressed as my previous post might have incorrectly suggested. I am not dead. Yet. I’m just under some stress; perfectly normal.
To those who like !nk and its irreverence, here’s a sneak preview of our next issue, the first issue of 2009; this is my contribution to the paper for this quarter. Oh by the way, !nk will be on sale NEXT MONDAY, 2ND FEBRUARY 2009. Keep your change ready. 50 cents, as always.
——————–
Welcome back, fellow ACSians. As members of this charming paper send all of its readers their warmest salutations (this privilege isn’t bestowed upon non-readers), it’s important that we also remind you of the dates that you might want to mark in an eye-catching manner on your mental/desktop/virtual calendars.
Besides the all-important Founder’s Day, on which ACSians far and wide commemorate the naissance of our school and the Origin of the ACSian Species, Yuánxiāo jié, the Fifteenth Day of the Chinese new year, the locally-commemorated Total Defence Day, as well as the 42 Unbirthdays from today till we bid Term 1 a happy farewell, those given honourable mentions (in chronological order) below are seven dates and observances that deserve some remembering. Informative, nifty, and perhaps a little inane, the following guide will lend your events planning for Term 1 plenty of expediency.
Eve of Saint Valentin
Date: 13th February 2009 (Week 6, Friday)
Oh là là, what luck! Ze eve of ze romantic occasion of Saint Valentin is incidentally, also Friday the 13th. What a tragic coincidence, you must be thinking. But fear not, dear ACSians! Banish your paraskavedekatriaphobia once and for all, and dauntlessly plant your beacons of truth and light and love before your object(s) of adoration for Valentine’s Day this year.
Valentine’s Day in ACS involves the giving (and receiving) of fresh flowers, chocolates and of course, those singing telegrams. Here’s how they work: you place an order for a song dedication, which will be delivered to the target of your affection in the form of walking songbirds (i.e. ACS choristers). These extraordinary telegrams come highly recommended for people too embarrassed or too tone-deaf to present their renditions of Careless Whisper, Fever, Kissing a Fool and other clichéd favourites personally.
UEFA Champions League First Knockout Round
Date: 24th, 25th February 2009 (Week 8, Tuesday, Wednesday)
Fans of Π.Α.Ε. Παναθηναϊκός, be sure to check that your alarm clock is set for 2045hrs (CET) on the 25th of February, as the 19-time champions of the Σούπερ Λίγκα Ελλάδα take on Villarreal in the 25000-seater Estadio el Madrigal! After eleven weeks of no Champions League football, the live telecasts of the first leg of the knockout round promise to bring the beautiful game to electrifying new heights. These knockout phases are notoriously capable of reducing strapping young men to rule-breaking, red card-warranting, referee-defying, expletive-hurling, tantrum-throwing creatures, as teams desperately compete to remain in contention for that glorious title of Champions of Europe, yet girls and guys alike crawl out of bed, fumble in the dark for the remote controls and glue their eyes to the television screens till post-match commentary is over.
Teachers, if you spot any ACSians sporting triple eyelids, extra-tousled hair with their spectacles and IB ties askew on the days following the live telecasts, you can guess what they’ve been up to. And nope, it’s not that IA or that overdue written commentary.
Square Root Day
Date: 3rd March 2009 (Week 9, Tuesday)
You don’t need a GDC to know that the square root of 9 is 3. Throw a party and invite all your friends who take at least one Group 5 subject; the 3rd of March 2009 is the third out of nine Square Root Days this century. The SAC stall holders might entertain your requests for square pratas, square wantons, and square donburi bowls.
International Women’s Day
Date: 8th March 2009 (Week 9, Sunday)
Females nearing the end of their teens are often frustrated with being in an uncomfortable stage of physical, emotional and psychological development. Not girls, not yet women, this age promotes constant searches for an identity, an orientation, and for the Self.
Amongst the disorientation and vagueness of growing up, however, the felling of previously planted ideas encourages holier-than-thou attitudes, including the reversal of age-old platitudes. The commemoration of International Women’s Day is a fitting affair for the female ACSian.
Celebrate the privilege of being the smaller number in the ACS gender ratio. Celebrate the privilege of being the beneficiaries of the silky length of canary yellow fabric that is tucked snugly beneath our collars. Male ACSians, take this day as an excuse to venerate the ladies in your lives, and be living proofs that the resurrection of chivalry will occur in Anglo-Chinese School (Independent), thanks to the scholars, officers and gentlemen that you all actually are.
Last Day of Term 1
Date: 13th March 2009 (Week 10, Friday)
Everyone deserves a thump on the back on this day: you know you have survived a full school term in 2009. A whole week known as the March “holidays” follows the end of Week 10, and ACSians can finally hit the sack books. This festive occasion ominously falls on the second Friday the 13th this year; what can this possibly signify? Nevertheless, don’t let your unsupported superstitious beliefs smother your enthusiasm for thumping your friends and other random schoolmates lovingly with wild abandon.
This writer doubts that any of us read the fine print carefully enough before our signatures were casually inked on the dotted line when we made that life-altering Faustian bargain; we sold our souls, leisure time and holidays to The Baccalaureate. But while we all scramble to complete our homework, struggle to finish reading our Language A1 texts, amongst the other overdue EETOKIACAS-related tasks that have been the stuff of our nightmares this March “holidays”, other dates in that alleged “week of rest” deserve some taking note of.
St. Patrick’s Day
Date: 17th March 2009 (March “Holidays”, Tuesday)
While Ireland is overwhelmed with the confetti of Shamrocks on this day, it is the name of this traditionally green-coloured holiday that will bring a sigh to the lips of a Year 6 ACSian. Tenderly nicknamed as Paddy, the protagonist of Roddy Doyle’s Booker Prize-winning bildungsroman shares the same first name as the saint that the 17th of March is commemorated for. For those who are still stuck at page twenty-something of the novel, Ha Ha Ha certainly will not be a commonly-heard triplet of words on this day.
World Poetry Day
Date: 21st March 2009 (March “Holidays”, Saturday)
This is no joke; 21st of March 2009 would be the 10th anniversary of the official UNESCO declaration of this massive celebratory event. World Poetry Day isn’t merely a celebration of literacy and linguistic beauty; the observation of this occasion is meant to unlock the poet within you.
Saturday of the March “holidays” appears to be a splendid time to work on that 4000-word essay that everyone seems to be talking about, yet when the document is staring at you from your laptop screen, you are unable to concentrate; you hear no voices of academia in your head, save the shrill, demented calling out from your inner poet.
You attempt to stifle the pitiful wailing, but the noise, rearing on the thunderclap about your ears, makes you bend double. In an ecstasy of fumbling, you reach out for a sheet of ruled paper. Words tumble out of the tip of your pen and flood the paper, like a barrel of apples you didn’t fill.
Your hands are clean. The rains have fallen twice and earth is deep. Poetry – something you would speak of with such high zest somewhere ages and ages hence.
Note: these dates are but a mere scattering of the complete range of events, occasions and observations that make Term 1 as hectic and dynamic as an ACSian’s life can get.
Out of my mind: be back after 20th November January 16, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Personal, Thoughts.add a comment
Two words: I’m stressed. Those close to me will know why.
Hear Ye, Hear Ye January 10, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Friends, School, Sights and sounds.add a comment
As I sit here typing this post, I realise this is the second day of respite I’m enjoying this weekend; we were let off school on Friday. I have about 407 people to thank for granting me this three-day weekend that only ACSians would experience: it is thanks to the incredible results of the ACS(I) IB graduating class of 2008 that I’ve a priceless 24 more hours to study Jack Gray’s book on modern Chinese history, re-read Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, finish the first draft of my TOK essay and work on the seemingly unending list of IB-related tasks.
The Year 7s must have stunned IBO; with 62% of the cohort scoring 40 and above, 26 44-pointers and once again, 9 hitting the divine 45, the Year 7s’ results were truly stellar. “They really owned our a**es,” one Year 8 friend of mine pointed out to me. I don’t disagree; the overall results were good enough to frighten the Year 6 cohort that I belong to.
I remember looking very much forward to Tuesday, the 6th of January. It wasn’t because I’d pre-empted the release amazing IB results; I don’t quite know what the reason behind my excitement was.
I met a couple of my Year 7 friends in the SAC prior to the results release. Some of them were very, very anxious (e.g. Bhupinder [44 points!]), and some were absurdly unruffled, unflustered, composed and cool (e.g. Gen [42 points!]). Inevitably I pictured myself returning to school, twelve months on, reuniting with old classmates, commenting on their hideous new dyed hair, bringing up old jokes that never seem to die out, re-enacting classic, immortally memorable moments and rushing around the school looking for teachers.
Sitting with my classmates, we naturally began discussing the outcome of their own Language B exams taken in November last year. Would the entire cohort secure the first 7 points of their IB Diploma, or would this “free 7″ elude them? I was confident that a 7 would be what my classmates would see on their result slips, but some of them insisted that “anything can happen” and predicted a 6 for themselves. (I was right and they were wrong. Congrats, everyone of you!)
As we took our seats in the auditorium I really was a bundle of nerves. Results! Finally! I couldn’t believe my seniors were collecting the results of their IB exams; everything just happened far too quickly.
My classmates chided me numerous times for being nervous. “You aren’t even getting back any Chinese B results!” they cried. But I think my impatience to find out how the Year 7s did translated into fear because I couldn’t help but think about my own future, my own IB exams, my own IB results.
I was nervous beyond words. Yet all jitters quickly vanished and were replaced by mirth, relief, happiness and yes, ecstasy.
I gasped when I saw the figures projected on the screen. Some figures showed how rigorous the IB programme can get (4 out of 92 7s for English HL! AH!) and some other statistics showed how possible it is to emerge from IB knowing everything in the syllabus like the back of your hand (MSG of 6.8 for SL Math and SL Physics). But on the whole, the results stunned me in a most pleasant manner.
Though the number of 45-pointers hadn’t increased from the first batch of IB graduates from ACS(I), I had extra reason to celebrate the academic excellence of the Year 7s because I had friends amongst the Year 7s. I only got to know my Year 8 friends after the results release, so the announcement of the results didn’t have as great an emotional impact as Tuesday’s announcement.
Time for an anecdote:
My French teacher was sitting near the exits to the back of the auditorium when a parent quietly made his way in, finding himself a seat close to my French teacher. Sensing the tension in the air and hearing the excited cheers and applause, he asked my teacher, “Who are all these people on stage?” “Top students,” she replied. “WHAT?! SO MANY?”
Indeed. So many of them. It was unbelievable; our principal said only the names of those who achieved 41 points and above would be announced because “there would just be too many of you [Year 7s] if we [school administration - represented by the Year 6 year director] read out all the names from 40 and above.”
Non-ACS people who haven’t witnessed the spectacle would not entirely understand what it feels like to see a few seniors on stage, being joined by another, and another and another, until finally the number of people soar above a hundred, until the sheer number of them warrants the use of the word “crowd”.
Post results announcement, I took advantage of the fact that I didn’t need to return to class to collect any result slips to circulate myself among the Year 7s. It was lovely seeing everyone again, and it truly was an enjoyable reunion; congratulating my friends was a wonderful way to spend that rare, mass get-together.
Of course, at the end of any endeavour – grand or not, surprises are inevitable, and there were, amidst the prevailing glee, some upset souls. I hated the atmosphere to be marred by these disappointments; I found it difficult to alternate between congratulating and comforting. But I hope being “below average” in ACS doesn’t deter anyone from pushing for the best tertiary education deals possible, and although I can’t say I myself will be able to cope with disappointment very well, I hope those who are disappointed manage to find some element of cheer in their achievements.
I don’t know what next year’s IB results release in ACS(I) will be like; no one knows. I definitely look forward to ending my IB life on a high. The trepidation and stress that comes with that high is unavoidable, and I know some trade-offs have to be made this year. To all Year 7s, I offer you my sincerest congratulations. To all Year 6s taking the IB exams this November alongside me, I wish you all the best for this academic year, and may we emulate the success of our seniors before us.
