Author: Fangjie

Life is all about taking risks, I realized that a long time ago. There’s always two sides to a story, and ultimately it is your decision which side of the story to believe.

Choices have consequences, and the outcome of the consequence weighing against the decision to perform the task leading to the consequence – which is more worth it? Is it worth risking something you hold dear for an intense moment of greed?

Rejection. How many times were you initially told yes, then later brutally rejected because of various reasons – you’re not good enough, you’re not old enough, you’re not experienced enough.

Hope. Something that’s so powerful, yet so difficult to perform under times of hardship.

Right now, I don’t even know what I want, and I don’t know what to choose, because I honestly don’t know what’s in store for me. I don’t know how to react to failures, and I don’t know how to react to successes either. I don’t know which side of life to look at, unsure of the rapid, fast-moving world. I don’t know how to react to consequences, good or bad, and I always let the matter pass too easily. What is it that sometimes, maybe just the slightest bit of hope can light me up, whereas at other times even a huge blessing can pass and I still stubbornly wouldn’t realize it.

I don’t know which side of the story to look at, and to every risk taken, I don’t know if it’ll be worth it even after it’s done. I don’t know what life has in store for us, and I don’t know how to react to that. I hate the mystery life has for us, unfolding little by little every minute but when it’s finally revealed, you’re already near dead, if not already dead. Seize the day, they said. But it really isn’t that easy when life’s paths are all filled with little rocks and pebbles, and occasionally a huge boulder you can’t move on your own.

Why am I doing this? What is my duty to live on Earth for? Am I destined to do something great? What can I contribute to humankind, even in the slightest bit?

I don’t know.

I hate this huge mystery life has thrown to us, born without a reason – your destiny to find out the purpose of your living.

I just don’t know.

A father is a child’s first hero, before he had the ability to gain any common sense of his own. Most grow up to follow in the footsteps of their fathers, set aside an example for all their kids to follow. Lay down a path for the children, so it won’t be as difficult. 

Sacrifices.

That’s what a father knew all his life to do. Arguing over what to eat for dinner, the child then realizes every single time, he wins.

Gentle.

Tall and big, a hero with a soft spot for his children. 

Gentleman.

Knelt down to a woman of his life years ago, to still treat her the same way. Tenderly.

Wise.

It’s always safe to put your trust in your dad.

Shelter.

Somehow it feels a lot safer to have him around.

All in all, Hero.

A father has always been the first hero of his children, and should always be their last hero.

Philosophy claims, everyone was sent down to earth for a reason, and even before they were born their entire life is mapped up for theme somewhere up there, all the way until they die. Our world is pretty much like a big machinery factory, every one was born to play a part, and every one has a specific role in life. No matter how much one wishes to be different, they were born the way they were made to and like a giant puzzle, every one is a piece and together all of us make a complex puzzle. There are plain pieces, and colourful ones. It’s unfair how some people are seemingly better than others in every single aspect, but then again the prettiest things don’t stand out unless they have a plain background to support it. Every one is sent here for a purpose, and the older you grow, connect the dots by looking backwards, and know what you are fated to do. Connect the dots, make sense of your life. Look back at however many things you have done and appreciate every thing that has happened to you, good or bad.

Why?

That’s a deep question. No one has the powers to know. Only God.

Time is ticking, don’t waste it.

Hold on, we’re going home.

Oh yeah the reason why I’m posting this is because I’m trying to un-numb my fingers from holding ice cream for too long.

10 years is actually really short. I was K1 10 years ago(?) and I still vividly remember myself sucking off a plastic spoon in class and got scolded for being ‘unhygienic’ Yeah well I thought spoons are for sucking? And I remember my friend Stephanie and I pretended to be cooks and used the play stove to fry imaginary eggs and serve our classmates. And how about, building Legos and getting awe-struck by Simon’s Lego creations because he was the most artistic amongst us all? And Keefe, the guy who always wanted ice cold showers. Things really do pass by very quickly. It’s kinda sad they demolished my kindergarten, but since it’s a private kindergarten and not under MOE, I guess it really isn’t MOE’s fault my kindergarten is nonexistent now.

And then we discussed, one year later, which primary school we were going to enroll in. Henry Park, Bukit Panjang, Peihwa. I actually forgot how the last day of kindergarten went but I probably didn’t feel too bitter about it.

It scares me how 10 years just flies like that, if an average person lives to 75 years, then 20% of my life is already over. I haven’t really done anything remarkable, nothing superior. I’ve been very ordinary, blessed with an extraordinary environment of people.

Why live, if you’re not going to do something remarkable?

I believe in this, I really want to do something remarkable and be proud of it at my deathbed.

Life is no game, I realized there isn’t a rewind button. Which also means I’ll never be 5 years old again, which means I’ll never study in a primary school again, only to go back as an alumni if I wished to.

To all those born in 1998 and taking O levels Chinese soon, all the best. We’ve been through so far, primary school honestly wasn’t too far ago.

I’m scared to grow up, really. I want to be a senior, but the responsibility is so scary. I want to go back being a junior, carefree and playful.

Responsibilities. The way you carry it defines who you are.

More and more responsibilities.

We literally live to die, but whether to leave a legacy behind is a choice.

Especially when time flies by so quickly nowadays, I’m even more scared to embrace the future. I want to stop growing up, but what can I do.

I look up to those older than me, and I love the ones younger than me.

It surprises me how sometimes it’s the younger ones who make more sense. I realize, maturing takes away some of the most precious memories of childhood. Immaturity is a blessing, something given for only a limited amount of time before societal norms take over.

I’m afraid. I know I’ve said this for the umpteenth time already, but I just really feel insecure. I know I’m only fifteen, but time should never be underestimated.

What does life have in place for us?

In fact, what is the purpose of living after all? Spending 20% of our lives studying, 60% of our lives working and the last 20% enjoying your last few years in life?

Some things will never have an answer.

Good things end. ( Bad things do, too )

If I could, I would. But I can’t.

I really hope I can find the happiness in life soon enough.

I want to find a purpose to go on, a key to happiness even when engulfed with workload.

A definition in life, that’s something I have to figure out myself.

Dear you,

In case you haven’t realized, I’m always watching you. I love the way you smile, I love the way you go crazy and wild. I love how effortlessly you make my heart pound. I love how you make a miracle to my soul.

Dear you,

In case I haven’t made it obvious enough, you charm. I see the blue skies smiling down at you. I see the roses blossom in your presence. I see beautiful things happen around you.

Dear you,

They say, love is complicated.

Dear you,

I say, this is not an infatuation. Or is it?

Dear you,

You know me and I know you.

If you give me your hand, I’ll promise to never let go. It’s just that not now, because I’m scared that they won’t understand.

Dear you,

Time. Time is all I need from you.

P.S this is directed to no one in particular.

Sometimes, I honestly think I need anger management. 

Or is it because I get jealous too easily? Maybe something that I see triggers unfavourable, bitter memories. Bittersweet.

Anyway seriously how the heck do you not expect me to go crazy after writing 3 freaking argumentative essays in a row. I hate remedial homework but it’s probably my fault I failed the compre term 3 test hahahahaha.

I don’t know if it’s just me but seeing certain texts/images will trigger my sorrows? Maybe that’s why you should get to know a little about everyone before you start insulting them for fun online because maybe, you hit the sore spot when you didn’t mean to.

I admit, sometimes I go completely nuts angry over a small issue, but when asked why I tend to give a fake reason or something else that doesn’t really bother me but just as a coverup reason because I thought the real reason why I was so angry was actually a very trivial issue/ selfish thing to get angry about. 

Anger, or jealousy? I can never tell the difference. They feel so different, yet somewhat the same.

I think I need a psychiatrist. But the irony is, a psychiatrist is my dream job.

While I live, I hope.

I think it’s weird how awkward it is to say the first hello, yet so heart shattering to say the last goodbye. Maybe it’s because of the memories we’ve made that made things between us so comfortable, you’d get used to it and take it for granted. But it’s just not sensible to be sad about the day where we will leave every single day. Maybe it’s the sense of attachment you’ve grown, maybe it’s the sense of belonging that you feel. The sense of home, the sense of security and serenity you find within the circles of the class. Your second home, your shelter. That place you can be really comfortable with.

I don’t really have much to say (refer to last blog post) so I shall dedicate a song to all my classmates.

Still

Actually it’s a Christian song so please take away all the ” Father ” ” God ” and yeah basically everything that’s immortal and the rest are for you.

When the oceans rise and thunders roar, I will soar with you above the storm.

I used to think 3 years is a really long time. I mean, it still sounds like a freaking long time now, doesn’t it.

Since the first day of secondary school, I have wanted to be in senior high, donning the so-much-prettier white blouse and blue skirt uniform. And hopefully with a tie to accompany. I always felt you had so much more to achieve once in senior high, and junior high didn’t really mean too much to me at first.

I would never have given a second thought about the last day of school of Secondary 3 in Secondary 1, I would never have cared what it felt like to leave my classmates behind, because the time frame made it seem so unrealistic.

I really wished I was right, when I said junior high would never end. I really wish junior high never ended.

Two days. How should I possibly use 2 short days to seize back all the memories since 2011?
Two days. A journey of 3 years packed into 14 school hours and less.
Two days. That’s all I got to seize the day.
Two days. That’s the last time, we will ever be together, as a class, again.

Deja vu cannot save me now.

To everyone who has walked by me for the past 3 years, or for some lesser, this is all I have to say:

I know I haven’t been the best classmate there ever was, I know I haven’t been the best that I can be. I’m flawed, occasionally hurting some of you. Imperfection is the word to describe me in all these three years we had together, but yet I had so much fun and joy together, as one class. I am little, I cannot do much. But with sincerity and all my heart, thank you for being my classmates. Thank you for being 1A’11, 2A’12 and 3A’13. Thank you, because without you I wouldn’t have came this far. How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

Man’s feelings are always the purest and most glowing in the hours of meeting, and farewell.

Don’t be dismayed by goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before we can meet again. We only part, to meet again.

Sincerely dedicating this post with all my heart,
Once a class, forever a class.

1A’11, 2A’12, 3A’13.

Thank you, for making 3 perfect years out of an imperfect human like me.

I clearly remember somewhat 3 years ago when I walked into RVHS the day after I got posted to my new secondary school, trying on my new uniform.

” Better buy a bigger sized one, ya, you’re gonna wear it for 3 years leh. “
The student helping me with the uniforms said to me, as I frantically tried to find the uniform sleeves which I subsequently failed, and hence struggled to put on my uniform but failing to do so resulted in a particularly funny sight of a person wrestling with their uniform in mid-air, like an emperor penguin about to topple over.

And in 2 more days, I’ll never have to wear that uniform again. No shut up I’m not going to get retained my results are already out and they’re good enough to promote me.

There were 4 stages of my pinafore journey in RV.
1) Can’t find the sleeves and subsequently cannot wear uniform.
2) Stomach area too small and subsequently my tummy feels very squeezed when I sit down. And shut up I am not obese. Yet.
3) I swear to devil, that thing doesn’t absorb water for shit.
4) Have I mentioned! the buttons are so poorly sewn on, I drop at least one button every 2 weeks.

Countless times have I complained about the heat in the pinafore, countless times have my stupid metallic buttons dropped and leaving me in a rather embarrassing state. Countless times have I sworn that I couldn’t wait for senior high because of the change of uniforms. I was more than ready to get rid of the pinafore, and wear a white blouse and navy blue skirt to school every day instead.

But maybe, not so fast now. Maybe, miraculously this remaining 2 days will last 100 hours. Maybe just maybe, without having the need to retain, I could wear this pinafore for a little longer, just to commemorate all the 3 years in it, just to relieve all the memories in it. All the stupid things I’ve done in it, the first tears that fell on it when I did particularly badly in a test in year 1, that time when I fell into a rain puddle in pinafore, leaving me very drenched and very pissed.

I’m sorry, maybe I’m not yet ready to change uniforms yet.

2 more days, please let me have a more enjoyable time as my last two days donning it.

I want to cherish every memory of that plain white nurse uniform, that uniform that’s been with me throughout probably the best 3 years of my life thus far.

Time, will you take pity on me?

Slowly, surely, time robs us of fond moments. But I will be, and always will be, that girl whose pinafore changed her life.

That girl in pinafore.

Goodbye junior high, hello senior high.

There’s one thing I hate about exams. I mean literally there’s only one thing I hate about it all.
Results.

If getting back results isn’t equivalent to entering a cave full of live killer sharks, I don’t know what else makes you feel that way anymore. It literally wrenches your your heart open, toying with all your emotions and when it comes down, tears you completely into half.

It’s especially bad if you’re the last few registers and everyone in front of you has already somehow survived the ordeal of seeing their results.

And especially if the teacher walks into class with a sullen mood, you know you’re most likely done for.

Somehow, on results day you’ll start thinking of every single misbehavior you’ve ever committed and how much the teacher probably hates you. You’ll start thinking of all the sorry things you’ve ever committed and if the teacher hates you so much he’ll probably deduct away all your marks. If there was ever such thing called exam-biasness, I think most of us would probably die. So thank God for fair and just marking schemes. But we still do terribly, right?

Do you ever find the inability to look at the teacher in the eye, when they give down results? Do you ever keep thinking you’re the lowest scorer in class when you’re not?

Things will always change, if it isn’t changing, it’s because it hasn’t happened.

There will always be a last position, but there will never be a last person. Never.

If you’re not doing too well in school, cheer up! Because this is not the end, you can always decide your fate.

Work hard, if things aren’t already working out. Trust me, the sense of getting rewarded is worth all the pain you’ve put yourself through.

Go for it, because if you don’t, someone else will.

Change it if you don’t like it, because if you don’t, who will?

Risk it, because at the end of it all, it will be worth it.

Fight for it, because glory is forever.

Good luck for getting back your papers, I wish you all the best.

Including myself. Damn it.

This post is highly not advisable to be read by top scholars because it will be of 100% irrelevance in the first place.
But since I only typed this at the end of my post, I suppose if you’ve came this far, you would’ve blown the instruction anyway.

Toodles!