Sunday, October 23, 2005
am i online?
i didn't mean to be. really.
but since i am, might as well attempt an reconciliation.
cambridge examiners, despite your evil inhumane doings, i have forgiven you with all my heart.
i will not be dreaming of your gory mutilation anymore, for being a literature student, my notes have convinced me to see your part of the story.
also i was thinking. harbouring unhealthy murderous thoughts could possibly implicate seriously ill psychological effects. and my psychiatrist has encouraged me to avoid magnifying the magnitude of my mental incapacity and aggravating the haywired neuroconnections in my brain, giving rise to more short circuits and even more outbursts of mental instability because the cause of my disease just might undergo a genetic mutation in sync with the adaptation to survive through the unfavourable electrifying conditions i have unconsciously created, thus a contagious strain of the virus might emerge. then u'll all be crazy too.
.
let us proceed with the main topic.
poor longsuffering cambridge markers.
they risk their lives and brave the snow storms to get to the marking centres. they toil supremely hard, burning the midnight oil, sunlight oil and moonlight oil just to plough through and to grade the overflowing piles of scripts that in turn have braved the dangerous winds and the kamikaze seagulls to fly all the way to cambridge. indeed, they are deserving of my honourific gratitude.
some even give up their basic needs just to meet the deadline in march. some forget the presence of daylight for 3 whole intense months, giving up even the joy of experiencing vitamin d production. or vasodilation. upon my word, i have been told that some even forgo the toilet forthe entire duration of the three holocaustic months.
these markers are challenged with rickets, retinoblastoma, constipation, malnutrition, starvation. believe me, comrades, it will be like a battleground there in time to come.
poor frail eldery markers, hunching over our yellowed scripts and squinting to decipher our illegible handwriting. poor them, exhausting the lens power of the spectacles which have never ceased to serve them faithfully, until faced with the immaculate war of light rays from our script. poor poor markers. struggling to keep warm in the harsh and bitter cold of winter that we are so fortunate to see only artificially at tanglin mall. struggling to keep awake amidst the flickers of the lullaby-like fire that always fail to give them sufficient warmth.-solemn look.
for goodness's sake. let us save the lives of these poor self-sacrificial markers.
let us bring colour to their sorrowful months.
let us use.
MAGIC PENS.
you really won't ever see me again until after o's.
if you do.
my bucket's probably kicked.. ):
stop looking happy. )):
till we meet again, happy studying.
11:48 PM
reach for
the stars(:
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