yeah this post is... unlocked?!

[spiderpig]

Post to be edited later.

Now?

Night will be devoted to Japanese and SAT preparation.

I've got to get down to it someday.

I have three essays due and I haven't gotten down to doing any one of them. So much for being hardworking. I can give the excuse that inspiration hasn't struck me yet, but still that's an excuse.

EDIT:

I sat outside his class (his, or his?) this morning during sectionals while I was tutoring the new J1s about the saxophone fingerings. The class was locked, the window panes tilted open. Speaks much about human relationships, doesn't it? We're all 'so near yet so far' if I may use the cliche.

Everday I've been sitting. Sitting and waiting. Have I been too passive in everything that I do?

JTan, in a bid to reward the excellent debate and Party campaigns for the past few tutorials, brought a DVD full of Singapore short films for us to watch.

Maybe they had horrible cinematography, but the sentiments portrayed in the films were certainly endearing and felt. 'Locusts' was heartwarming. I loved the ending where it just echoed not just of the typical romantic love but love of all kinds. Paraphrased badly, out there somewhere know that I like you.

But what, embarrassingly made me cry, was "Mu (Mother)". Firstly, it was in Chinese. I have a soft spot for all things chinese, and it being my mother-tongue, anything remotely emotional or poetic will send me into throes of tears. It's uncanny how "Mu" struck a chord in me. Sweaters are lovely for times like this, when I can bury half my face in it, and pray that perhaps no one noticed me crying.

Why did I cry?

I was reminded, as a sob caught in my throat, of the horrible things I did to my mum. The absymal way I treated her - all when I was a child. I felt the injustice that mothers would feel, and how insensitive, how selfish I was. God, I had flashbacks of when I wanted my mother to die, and hovered over her bed in the middle of the night with a pair of scissors. Of course I never attempted to kill her, just placing the scissors on her dressing table. As a warning? As a sign that I was screwed up somewhere. I remembered the first time I did it, accompanied with a paper full of childish scribbles that proclaimed "I hate you, I want you to die!", you scolded me. I never noticed until now, when I look back, the sadness in your voice. It was not fear you had, it was disappointment. Where had you gone wrong, what had gone wrong - that made me like this.

Then, death threats got so frequent that you just silently, but reproachfully, returned the implements of impending doom back to their place and sorrowfully threw away my notes of hate.

I'm sorry mum. I never meant to hurt you that way. I never meant to wound your emotions.

And as I remembered that, I cried. The boy who sought out every way to spite his mother, his image rang firmly in my mind.

If I can get my hands on that DVD, I will. I need it for carthartic release. I need it to tell me that I am...

So, when the clip ended as the bell rang, I just pretended to look up at the ceiling and used my sweater to dab the salty water away.

Don't look at me.

Please forgive me. I know you have, but it means so much more when I say it out loud.

please, don't look at me that way. it was unbearable for me. i don't know what to do.