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.
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. 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. 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, and more importantly, spiritual development is concerned. I daresay I’ve gained a newly-cultivated discernment in some areas. For instance 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 in more than just academic fields.
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.
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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.
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.
Another beginning January 5, 2009
Posted by Shiru in Personal, School, Thoughts.add a comment
1. I am delirious with contentment and relief at the line-up of teachers that will be taking me through the storm that is Year 6. The gratification was terribly delayed; I didn’t receive news about my teachers all at once, so it wasn’t a massive pleasant shock. The suspense of waiting to find out who my teachers would be was excruciating.
At 2234hrs on New Year’s Day I received an SMS from my History teacher telling me I would have lessons the following day – the first day of school. Many classmates whom I passed the message to appeared distressed that our first day of school wouldn’t be a day of rest at all, but I was too consumed with relief that my Year 5 History teacher would be teaching me in Year 6 as well. So far I’ve only had two History lessons and I’ve enjoyed both of them thoroughly. So thoroughly. (Of course I’m also thankful for the amazing company I’ve got in my current History class, which consists of fourteen out of the whopping twenty-eight of my original History class.)
I’d asked my Year 5 PCT (who was also my Year 5 Econs teacher) if he knew which teacher my Econs class would be assigned to this year. He’d told me it would be a new teacher, and this caused my mind a little bit of disquiet. Would he be reliable? Would he be permanent? Would he be familiar with the IB? Would he be able to help, and how much? On the first day of school my current PCT told my class that we would be taught by one of the most experienced teachers in the school, and I unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief. Not that I’m suffering from a strange case of cainophobia but I’m pleased to hear such a reputable teacher being assigned to my Econs class. Bless us.
Contrary to the good news I’d heard about my newly-assigned Econs teacher, what I heard during contact time with my PCT on the first day of school about my English class sounded ominously ill-fated: there were two pairs of teachers taking HL2 English classes, meaning my English class – the only HL2 English class – had been taken apart by the school administration and each half would face a different pair of teachers for this year. When I said different it was perhaps a little bit of an understatement; the two pairs are poles apart: one pair presaged excellent English lessons and … I wasn’t sure about the other pair.
I’d been uneasy about my teacher allocation for English the entire day on the first day of school. I had some confirmation from my English classmates that I belonged to the class with my desired pair of teachers, but no one was absolutely certain. Today I couldn’t help but stare at the long HL2 block on my timetable many, many times and wonder who would walk into class. At about 1300hrs this afternoon, I got my answer. I had an incredible hour and forty minute-long HL2 lesson and I must say it’s the best pair of English lessons I had in a long time. Too long.
2. I am nervous about tomorrow’s release of IB results in ACS. I’m about to receive a total of zero result slips tomorrow, but with the majority of my Year 6 schoolmates feeling jittery about their Chinese/Malay/Tamil B results and a whole lot of Year 7s presumably being sleepless tonight, I can’t help but feel I’m part of it all, and I can’t help but feel I ought to be anxious and jumpy as well.
Like most Year 6s and all Year 7s tomorrow, I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed.
Got Soul? December 27, 2008
Posted by Shiru in Culture, German, History, Sights and sounds, Thoughts, Travel, World.2 comments
I admittedly have an internal compass pointing towards the heart of Europe. Yes, I mean that country whose borders are shared with the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Switzerland, Austria, the Czech Republic, Poland and Denmark. Germany has, over the years, earned a whole lot of respect and fondness from me. I have even come to embrace its Nationalelf – its national football squad.
I applied for the exchange programme with Herderschule Gießen not because it would be an excellent excuse to go overseas to a lovely country like Germany, but because I knew an educational, cultural exchange of this sort would allow me to see Germany not through the eyes of a tourist, but through the eyes of a culture vulture. The trip inevitably became a sight-seeing tour (and to a certain extent an extended shopping trip), but I daresay I paid plenty of attention to cultural and historical elements of the places around me and this made the trip very enriching indeed.
Sir Simon Rattle once described Berlin as “a city that doesn’t quite know what it is”. Like the rest of Germany, Berlin is an eclectic mix of Germany’s rich history, New York-like modernity and cosmopolitan lifestyle, with bits of other cultural (e.g. Turkish) influences that fill in the spaces. Many cities in Germany are like Berlin – still finding their identity, still trying their best to make their names heard. I might say that every city in the world is similar – not completely certain of the direction their country is heading, yet ready to pounce on the ride into the future.
Germany is charming because of its novelty, its stark dissimilarity when compared to Singapore. Yet I find it so attractive because of the jumble of the old and new in the city that its inhabitants are obliviously comfortable with – something like the coexistence of the old and new in Singapore. As a result of severe bombings which almost completely obliterated some parts of the country during the Second World War, Germany’s mix of modernity and antiquity creates a prominent juxtaposition. Despite the consequent “disharmony” of architecture and street furniture, the ease with which this ever-growing country copes with its past, present and future manifests in its people’s grasp of Germany’s history, and their willingness to move forward.
Amidst the tarmac and asphalt of big streets and boulevards lined with swanky boutiques and upscale cafés, the cobblestoned alleys and setted cul-de-sacs provide a refreshing trip down memory lane. I’m vastly fascinated by how everything fits in so well, so harmoniously (as opposed to what I suggested earlier about Germany’s mix of modernity and antiquity), and there is nothing that finds itself being an anachronism in this century of iPods and A380’s. It’s beautiful, this concord, this unity that everything seems to exude.
Once again I return from Germany with only good things to say about Germans in general. It’s a stiff generalisation to say that Germans are inflexible, obdurate, square and stuffy. Germans are lovely people – good-natured, good-willed, good-humoured, good-tempered, and in some cases, good-looking. They themselves frequently make fun of the impression that the rest of the world has of Germans, and many Germans have a wealth of hilarious jokes and ironic remarks on the “humourless German” that people outside of Germany imagine all Germans to be like.
I find it unpleasant when people associate present-day Germans with the characteristics of that curiously-moustached bad egg that came to prominence in the 1930’s and the participants of the ensuing mass hysteria. Germans are astonishingly amicable, and even more astonishingly unguarded with regards to their nation’s notorious behaviour in international relations throughout the first half of the 20th century. They don’t just accept this tarnished segment of their otherwise richly glorious and culturally terrific past, they embrace it, and they welcome it so warmly because they know this Dritte Reich deeply contrasts with the affability and wholesomeness of the Germany that they – and we – know today, rather than a shameful blast from the past that they prefer not to be reminded of, or an embarrassing photograph that they choose to keep hidden, concealed, in the hope that everyone has forgotten about it, in the hope that no one will be able to unearth it from the mountain of relics from days bygone.
Von der Maas bis an die Memel, von der Etsch bis an den Belt, was how far the people who spoke the German tongue spread in the early 1800’s. Deutschland, Deutschland über alles, über alles in der Welt stood for the unity of these peoples, and the opening line of August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben’s Das Lied der Deutschen emanated such desperate desires for the unity of the German sovereigns, so much that the creation of a united Germany was über alles in der Welt – above everything in the world. Sadly misused by the totalitarian Nazi state to reflect the elitist ideals of the government’s manifesto, the first stanza of the anthem still receives sorry misinterpretations at present. So fraught with the people’s disappointment and despair at the reinstatement of monarchies by the Congress of Vienna in 1815 and the intense suppression from hardliners who decreed the Karlsbader Beschlüsse in 1819, Das Lied der Deutschen’s lyrics reflects the inhabitants’ of the then German Confederation (not a unified state) yearning for unity, justice and freedom – which is also articulated in the third stanza of Das Lied der Deutschen, the stanza now sung as the official anthem of Germany.
Yet as der Maas – the Meuse River – now flows through France, Belgium and the Netherlands, the control of die Memel – the Neman River – moved from the Teutonic Knights in the 1200’s to Belarus and Lithuania in the Baltic where it now rises and flows through, der Etsch – the Adige River – in the Alpine region of Trentino-Alto Adige/Südtirol is now officially Italian territory, and der Belt – the Little Belt – lies quietly near Northern Schleswig, between the island of Funen in Denmark and the Jutland Peninsula, nostalgia still sweeps through the Germany as they recall the few times that their unity wasn’t a guaranteed characteristic and their sovereignty was at stake.
From Schleswig-Holstein between the North Sea and the Baltic Sea, to Bayern – Bavaria – on the borders of Austria where the Zugspitze overlooks the rest of the Nördliche Kalkalpen; from Sachsen – Saxony – in Sudeten that shares the Erzgebirge with the Czech Republic, to Nordrhein-Westfalen – North Rhine-Westphalia – in the west beside Belgium and the Netherlands, modern-day Germany’s borders don’t demarcate the perimeters of largest area that Germans have ever occupied, but its unity, independence and autonomy is something the Germans wouldn’t like to compromise on.
The Treaty of Versailles, the Potsdam Agreement, the Stasi-run East Germany, the Iron Curtain and the Berlin Wall – these are the 20th century challenges that Germany endured to regain, in 1990, full sovereignty after official reunification on October 3rd. Unknowingly they – the Germans – had lived up to an understated, muted request from Hoffmann von Fallersleben’s Lied: wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze brüderlich zusammenhält – for Germans to hold on together in a brotherly manner if the nation requires their protection and defence.
Germany’s beauty lies in all of this: its eclecticism, its culture, its people, its language, its history, its geography, its nobility, its being German. The fact that someone from this far away can leave Germany saying Deutsche Wundern sollen uns zu edler Tat begeistern unser ganzes Leben lang – the wonders of Germany shall inspire us to righteous deeds throughout our lives, echoing Hoffmann von Fallersleben’s Lied’s second stanza, shows how one can be drenched in their positivity only if one sees and feels Germany personally.
Blüh’ im Glanze, dieses Glückes indeed. Blühe, blühe, blühe, Deutschland.
Do you know what that’s worth?/Heaven is a place on Earth December 25, 2008
Posted by Shiru in Culture, German, Literature, Personal, Sights and sounds, Thoughts, Travel.add a comment
Christmas in Singapore sadly lacks the wintry, Glühwein-scented atmosphere of Europe. My hangover (which hasn’t subsided, yes) has led me to recreate pieces of Germany whenever possible, explaining the perpetual presence of food like Quark, rote Bete, Lebkuchen, Spekulatius, mini-Brezeln or even Apfelschorle at home. The quince jam and cherry jam from Laura’s mum has helped bring more tastes of Germany to my dining table here at home, too. I’m just short of some homemade Spätzle. Even so, I’d say I’ve taken a huge slice of Hessen home.
I might say I have an odd connection with the German state of Hessen. The first time I was in Germany I stayed in an apartment on Hessischestraße in Berlin, the immersion programme I participated in two years ago was hosted by a school in Frankenberg, and my past two weeks in Germany were spent mostly in Hessen – based in Daubringen and Gießen. I did travel out to Köln in Nordrhein-Westfalen and Heidelberg in Baden-Württemberg, but other than that, my time was spent in Hessen.
Hessen is beautiful. I could spend ages talking about different places in Hessen. From the modern, fun and flashy Frankfurt to the relatively obscure, charming little town of Wetzlar, Hessen has so much to offer. I haven’t seen enough of the rest of Germany to sing such praises of their beauty, but for now I know one thing: I am quite in love with the state of Hessen.
Drawing its name from an old Germanic tribe, Hessen consists of 5 independent cities and 21 separate districts, whose abbreviated names are used on vehicle licence plates. Hessen borders on the states of Nordrhein-Westfalen, Niedersachsen, Thüringen, Bayern, Baden-Württemberg and Rheinland-Pfalz, and has just over 6 million inhabitants; with an area of 21115 square kilometres, Hessen doesn’t top the list of Bundesländer classified according to size.
Size doesn’t matter when it comes to the beauty of the landscape, the architecture, the history of the places in Hessen. I used to think I’m the type that needs the modernity of a big city to keep me going, but my two weeks in Germany uncovered my vulnerability towards towns and cities both big and small. As we travelled further away from large, skyscraper-laden cities like Frankfurt, where tall office buildings, huge banks and galleries and malls were absent, I found myself falling in love – with the Fachwerkhäuser, cobbled roads, Fußgängerzone, and the antiquity of it all.
We spent most of our time in Gießen, along the Lahn in the heart of Hessen. Gießen offers a mix of the old and the new, with ancient towers of stone and slate, quaint hotels and cafés with breweries in their basements, bus stops with incandescent glass roofs and a shopping mall carrying up-to-date labels and culturally diverse food. Gießen wasn’t stunningly beautiful, nor was it sickeningly boring, but managing to have just enough of everything made Gießen a lovely place to be in for a fortnight.
A fortnight? What am I talking about? Technically we never spent a whole fortnight in Gießen; we travelled out of the city almost every day, and it was in the late afternoons and evenings that we went gallivanting about the shopping districts. You could say Gießen was our daily post-excursion haunt.
Our excursions ranged from official courtesy calls to literature-related visits. Wiesbaden, Wetzlar, Marburg, Frankfurt, Lich, Rüsselsheim, Bad Vilbel – these were the towns and cities in Hessen whose streets we roved during the two-week programme.
I would pick Wetzlar as my favourite out of the few towns and cities mentioned above, and after Heidelberg, I would say Wetzlar was the next most beautiful place I’d visited in my two weeks in Germany. Its quaintness, its history, and the captivating stories associated with it completely mesmerised me. Slowly walking through the town and taking mental – and real – photographs of the old slate-roofed buildings and cobblestone, I found myself slowly but surely falling in love.
It was an odd feeling. I didn’t know what I was falling in love with, but I knew for sure that Wetzlar had a hold on my heart.
And Wetzlar certainly didn’t inspire me alone to fall in love: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s 1774 wonder of a Sturm und Drang novel, Die Leiden des jungen Werthers, centres around a painful story of unrequited love, inspired by real events in Goethe’s life – while he lived in Wetzlar as a trainee in the Reichskammergericht.
Die Leiden des jungen Werthers played a major role in my being held spellbound in Wetzlar, by Wetzlar; the events that inspired the story in the novel served as the basis for our excursion in Wetzlar. We took the route Goethe himself graced daily, we visited the house where Goethe’s object of affection once lived, we stood on the same stone step that Goethe stood on when he first caught sight – and then immediately fell in love with – the woman whose love he never earned.
I was intensely enthralled by the life Goethe led in Wetzlar, and how the events in Wetzlar led to the weaving together of the literary phenomenon of Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. I let my mind play its games, pulling the scenes before my eyes back into the 18th century. Wetzlar came alive – cars and other motorised vehicles magically evaporated, replaced by horse-drawn carriages and carts; people underwent a swift change of garments; modern buildings crumbled away and Fachwerkhäuser with their iconic timber frames sprung up in the vacated spaces; tarmac and asphalt dissolved to reveal cobblestoned roads and stone steps.
As I stood on the stone step that Goethe set his feet on over 200 years ago, I felt my eyelids growing slightly heavier, the sights before my eyes blurring and the voices around me becoming muffled. I felt myself being absorbed into this piece of literary history, and just as I was luxuriating in my moment of time-travel, the flash of a camera stirred me from my reverie.
Oh, Wetzlar entranced me so. Yet when Herr Voss asked if I preferred Köln or Wetzlar, words failed me. It wasn’t a difficult question to answer, and still I couldn’t find the words to reply him, nor could I find my voice. It wasn’t nervousness that had overcome me; it was the fact that each place we visited had its personal story, its personal history, its personal glory and its personal charm, and I didn’t want to subject any of these gorgeous places to any injustice.
Besides all these excursions, each of us had our share of adventures with our host families, travelling out to sight-see, sledge etc. On my first Sunday in Germany Laura’s family and I headed for Vogelsberg in the heart of Hessen for some snowy fun after making ourselves look elegantly plump in our many layers of winter clothing.
An extinct volcano, Vogelsberg is a favourite sledging location of many, many inhabitants of Hessen. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to describe Vogelsberg as a winter wonderland; despite the onslaught of snow, it still was a sight to behold. Unlike larger, more populated areas, Vogelsberg was void of vehicles (except for the designated parking areas), and besides the areas where people sledged and flung snowballs at each other, Vogelsberg was a lovely snow-covered wonder. Words and directions on signposts were hopelessly obscured by the snow, and the woods through which the walking path cut were heavily flecked with that white, icy stuff that makes winter what it is.
Like Wetzlar and many other places I’ve seen on this trip, Vogelsberg didn’t succumb to the grey and gloom that winter is notorious for bringing to even the loveliest locations. Though the Germans insist that their country looks awful in winter, I wasn’t disappointed with the snow-flecked, winter-shrouded marvel that Germany was.
Hessen truly hypnotised me plenty during the all-too-short two weeks I spent there. Its cities and towns and rivers and landscapes and its people and its history… Like a fairytale princess who met her Prince Charming, I fell victim to its abiding enchantment.
24th December December 24, 2008
Posted by Shiru in Uncategorized.add a comment
Merry Christmas (eve), friends.
I foresee myself having a hectic year ahead. More posts regarding my trip to Germany soon, before I slip into my year-end reflective mood.
