Shoot and Miss

First person to guess the reference correctly wins… uh… I haven’t thought of it, but you’ll win something!

Much thanks to E for the idea.

Walking around the campus is like being in an Escher painting. I go from Point A to B to C to D to E, and realize that Point E is A. Everywhere, everything looks the same so I walk and walk and walk and waste so much time. Each point of the building is the same, and there are SIMPLY NOT ENOUGH SIGNS.

The buildings are fucking stupid, too. When you walk towards the lift, you think you are on the ground floor but you are in fucking B1 or B2. I don’t know why, but you are. It’s also so hard to get to the front of any building because all the fucking pathways lead to the sides or the backs of the fucking buildings, and there are so many doors you don’t know which one to choose.

It’s a fucking nightmare. A dingy, Alice in Wonderland with no psychedelic cheshire cat to accompany you kind of nightmare.

The lifts are also located somewhere inside, but it’s up to you to find out where they are. I wasted so much time walking in the same area over and over and over again and when I finally got to my destination, I am exhausted. It takes so much time for people to do things there, and it takes so much time to get somewhere or do something - ANYTHING - because it’s so fucking big.

HOW THE FUCK AM I GOING TO SURVIVE UNI IF I CAN’T EVEN NAVIGATE MY WAY THROUGH THE SCHOOL WITH A MAP?

AND WHAT THE FUCK WERE THEY THINKING WHEN THEY BUILT THE FUCKING CAMPUS???

OH, LET’S MAKE IT SO DIFFICULT FOR STUDENTS TO GET TO ANYWHERE! LET THEM SUFFER AND DIE IN A REMOTE CORRIDOR BECAUSE THEY COULDN’T FIND THEIR WAY OUT!

WHY MUST EVERY FUCKING LOCATION BE SO INACCESSIBLE AND SO HARD TO GET TO? I AM NOT IN THE MAYAN RUINS - I AM IN A SCHOOL, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, AND THE LEAST THEY COULD DO IS INSTALL A MAP EVERYWHERE, ESPECIALLY FOR DIRECTIONALLY CHALLENGED PEOPLE LIKE ME!

I CANNOT COPE!!!!!!

I THINK I WILL DIE IN SOME OBSCURE CORNER THAT HAS NO EXIT WITH THE BONES OF ALL THE OTHER STUDENTS/ARCHITECTS/CONSTRUCTION WORKERS ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL.

I REALLY CANNOT COPE.

As seen on my kid’s English assessment book: “Jane’s school life is a bed of cactus. Nothing bad ever happens to her.”

The other options were rose, lily, and tulips.

Sigh.

After teaching her, I feel like my life is a bed of cacti.

It is July and school is going to start. Everything is dying down to a lazy lull, and when I’m not out tutoring, I’m at home, watching the dust accumulate on the ornaments in my house. I simply cannot wait for school, for learning, for growing up because I’m not fully an adult yet, and my belief systems still need tinkering with.

I need fixing, because I am rusty.

My brain needs to work again.

I need to feel like I’m learning something, absorbing concepts, I need to feel boiling and bubbling ideas inside my head.

Myabe I just need a cup of coffee.

Or perhaps I must be a little more patient. Things will hopefully fall into place.

Last week, at the tuition centre…

Me: KW - what is 8 X 6?

KW: How I know?

The class giggles, and I nag at them, telling them that memorising their times tables is very important. I make them memorise their 3 times table, so this week, I decide to test them. Before class, I had a little chat with KW.

Me: You cannot say I don’t know when I quiz you on your times tables later.

KW: But I don’t know leh, teacher! My school give a lot of homework so I got no time to learn!

Later, we have the quiz. It’s a rapid fire round, which means they have to answer me at the snap of a finger when I say, “What’s 9 x5?” All of the students are racking up points like crazy, and as I attempt to write another point on the whiteboard my marker bails.

So I try again. And again and again till my student looks like he’s earned 5 points.

KW: Wah, see! I got so many points! You look!

The whole class laughs, and it is quite hilarious. I erase the multiple marks on the whiteboard and finally manage to pare down his points. Five minutes later, he cracks the same joke again, and his peers laugh. I allow myself to do so too, and finally, all of them have gained an equal number of points.

Me: Ok, this is the tie breaker.

KW: What’s tie breaker?

Me: All of you have the same number of points, so I’m going to ask you a question. If you answer it correctly you’ll get one more point and win. You’ll also get a prize next week. What’s “4X8?”

All of them struggle to answer it and finally, NJ says, “32!”

She’s ecstatic, and all throughout, they’ve been laughing and having fun while learning, a huge plus. Most of them don’t have enough time to play or relax, so for a few moments, they enjoy themselves.

Not that I minded. I enjoyed myself, too.

The three of us sit under fluorescent lights, faces reflected against the glass panes while being able to look outside. Twilight nestles us, and as we wait, we talk.

“Everytime I see you, you get smaller and smaller,” Bern says, and I laugh.

We have finished ordering, and snuggle into the golden gridded, velvet plush Chinese restaurant. The cups are refilled instantly, reminiscent of the Chinese myths you were told as a kid. The gold spreads to our faces, and we are united and ecstatic. Above us, an intricately carved dragon watches from the woodwork, and I grin.
Then it comes as anticipated. The soft steam comes, wafted like little cloud puffs, and the wooden “cage” sits there to simmer. We have to eat it immediately, Bern says, because it doesn’t taste as good when it’s cold, so I pop one in my mouth as soon as I can.

There is a silent blast in my tongue, and the flavour ricochets all around me. I feel like I’m looking at majestic lions jumping over a pagoda while the fireworks rapidly wheel in my own delight. Without keeping track, I slowly savour it and reach for another.

The second sears my tongue, a firefly glowing inside my throat. Tiny lantern bulbs dance behinds my eyelids, and laughter permeates through my lips. In this room, pure intoxication sounds like drum beats firing away, and while keeping up this rhythm, I reach for another.

I am reaching for a bright light at the bottom of the ocean. The warmth radiates my skin and as touch it, its light surrounds me and I am sitting on a cascading, iridescent back. We ride throughout the lukewarm waters, and to prolong it, I pop in one more.

We arrive at his palace, an aqua tinted, silver paradise. I’m ushered in by the horses, and they tell me of a festival, where I watch the koi transform to graceful dancers with billowing fans that flush radiantly. The bubbles buoy me up to the surface, and I finish the last one,

with two of my favourite people in the world.

We are riding on bubbles, and as we sail out, I see the dragon curl a little, to make himself more comfortable.

(Note: Ok, I may have gotten carried away and embellished a whole lot, but I don’t care. This is for my friends, Bern and Shaun. <3)

When she’s not working, that is.

This guy is right!

Writing is a form of personal freedom. It frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us. In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture but mainly to save themselves, to survive as individuals. - Don DeLillo

Agree?

I wait tables at a quaint, rustic restaurant in a busy CBD. Life is a rush for me, so sometimes I burst into the restaurant early even though my shift starts an hour later.

When no one’s around in the restaurant, it feels like Orpheus has bestowed it with a magical chord. The chefs play Hokkien songs, joke around, and say hi to me if I meet their eyes. Usually they leave me alone, and I get the best seat in the house.

They call it “Table 4,” but to me, it’s that little corner where I’m allowed to read, write, and do whatever I want. Outside, the metal brollys cling to the air and wait to come to life, the shophouses wait for their turn to sparkle, and the waters seem to hum along to that tune.

At precisely 4.38, the sun will hit the windows an sluice through the tables that is reminiscent of a Renaissance painting, and I know that I don’t need to be anywhere else. I snuggle at my special corner, I don’t have to order anything, and it feels like the whole place is mine for an hour.

Sometimes, it feels like I’ve dropped in for tea, and am waiting for scones and crumpets. I’m not in Europe or wherever but I enjoy the feeling of expectancy, the feeling of being in a kitchen full of smells that make me feel content. I stare out of the window and think that I am the luckiest person in the world - simply because I can barge into a restaurant even though it is “closed.”

Curling up in the sun and sleeping is a good choice, but if I can’t wake up, I’d be screwed.

After a while, I come back down to reality, and tell myself that I’m merely an employee being paid at minimum wage, so there’s no reason for me to presumptuously imagine that I own the restaurant.

When the bright lights bow down, and the bay opposite starts to shine, we say welcome to the first customers, and I relinquish the spot where no one can see me, because it is “Table 4.”

It is only a table, a place in the restaurant, just like all the other places, and it is no longer unique. It is set up like the others, and people come in to enjoy the view.

Their view is better, with rising and setting rainbows, stirring beats, the ECG of a city bouncing up, but no one else sees how it’s like when all its fixtures are in a coma.

In this way, both the city and I share a secret.