http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2007/04/25/nmaths25.xml
Now would you just fancy that. I'm quite sure some of us could've answered the British question 3 years ago, and a good number of us can answer the Chinese question in one year (Barring any seniors reading this). I don't really know 3D Trigo myself, so.
Some complain that certain education systems are far too stressful. They rob the life out of students and leave them as a mindless soul only capable of reciting answers to the relevant Ten-Year Series. They make school life very much like work life in terms of hours spent, and so on.
Perhaps it is a necessity to do as such when one realizes that they don't actually have a comparison point - who actually complains about Singapore's education system in comparison to something else? They usually just complain about the education system. Admittedly this is legitimate and perfectly valid, given videos about Singaporean mindsets, but there are many countries out there just as rigorous, and just as many out there far less so.
And perhaps it really shows. There's a quote I somewhat recall, but I can't put my finger on it, once again. Think of your average man with average intelligence. Half of the world is dumber than that.
Of course, there are also those who instead of arguing that Singapore's education system is too painful, instead lament at the progress of the world, saying that the pace of everchanging life is far too fast for those in the education system to catch up. Or perhaps we really just can't compare to the folk of the past.
I've a friend from Thailand currently studying in China as part of an exchange programme (A nine-month one at that), and he's talked to me about how lucky I am to live in a country whose main languages are English and Chinese. Not to live in a country whose main language isn't very well established in the global society. He speaks 3 languages, just like me, except instead of Eng, Chi and Jap in order of profeciency, it's Thai, Eng and Chi. He works hard to learn the two languages. And I consider him rather well off to be able to be exposed to such programmes, being able to go to China to study and being able to go to Japan on an international meet with lucky folk such as I.
There are those of us who are rather lucky in this global world. There are those who aren't as lucky in this global world. And there are those of us who work really hard to compare with those who just got lucky in this global world.
I know a friend is trying not to migrate to Australia because the education system there is too easy to him compared to the Singaporean education system. Given him, I'd say that was the expected choice. Perhaps in the long run, it might be the better choice.
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Saturday, April 28, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
4.9 2007: The ACSian School Life
It took me one and a half years to finally understand what was wrong with my class.
Up till now I've always complained that 4.9 2007 was too boring. Too bland. Too uninteresting. I've been such a fool.
I read an acquaintance's (cordially, lest I undermine the term 'friend') blog, revived after who knows how long. I don't know him very well, I admit, and I similarly admit that I have misunderstood him at certain points of time. And perhaps I may never know him very well, but I know that one single sentence in his long blog post hit the nail on something that I had completely missed out on.
It wasn't even a statement as much as it was an afterthought. But that was the strongest reminder to me. It was just a simple afterthought in a bracket. Such a seemingly meaningless statement that intends to spite more than getting any meaning across, but treating it that way is mocking the person who wrote this and saying that he didn't write this with any purpose in mind (yet the possible irony involved in the situation where he does actually subscribe to writing it on a whim is hopefully not one I have to deal with.)
The ACSian Life, if you will, is a rather interesting one. You have classes of crazy people straight from 1.1 to 4.17 (and perhaps even 6.17, or whatever the last class may be), some less crazy than others, some crazier than others, and then there's the OM boys. You have your interesting teachers of ACS, from the wise cracks from Mr. Quek to the wise insights from Mr. Chew. And then you, as part of the student populi, have a neverendingly amusing student-headmaster relationship with the great Doctor Ong.
It is because of this experience - a truly unique ACSian one - that one can easily find himself identifying people of the same alma mater. A random kid from 1.3 can talk just as easily to his fellow classmate as he could to his senior in 5.9 if the topic was about school socks. To extend it further, I find myself able to talk with a Sunday School acquaintance (more out of truth than out of respect) about a particular teacher because simply put, he came from Yu Hua Secondary School.
It is perfectly normal for humans to be able to link and communicate to each other through certain common ground. Irregardless of race, language or religion, you can easily chat up a conversation with someone given sufficient common ground, be it similar experiences, similar ideals, similar hobbies and interests, or perhaps similar relations to a particular person. This common ground is also what gives you varying levels of closeness - one in the same class would go better with one in the same university, assuming no other common factors outside of school/university exist.
So what are we, as ACSians? A group of people fighting against change and status quo destruction? Victims of a system that focuses too much on the stuff that glitters? A group of congregation members joining up to sing To God Be The Glory in the grandest way possible while singing Be Thou My Vision in the highest falsetto possible? A group of diehard lovers of the rugby sport, cheering their hearts out twice every year to beat the Saints? Perhaps we are more than all of that combined. And what's wrong? Truly, the ACS Experience is a very wonderful, enriching and unique one.
But that is the exact problem that my class faces.
When you have two people, one from Secondary 4 and one from Year 6, having a good conversation on the general feeling of being an ACSian, you can hardly blame them if they're not learning the same subjects, in the same CCAs, or from remotely similar walks of life. After all, if this ACSian experience can tie them together, who's to complain?
Yet the situation is so drastically different when in regards to a class of like-minded individuals. Why is it that common ground goes as far as this 'mere' ACSian experience? Why is it that we, students that have been undergoing the ACSian education for 4 years, have nothing better in common apart from being ACSians? This is the problem.
When I was with my Sunday School study group, I heard my friend (acquaintance just sounds too queer here) from Yu Hua talk about her school, the fights and bloodshed that goes on there every other day, the severe lack in budget the school faces, the closing down of an incompetent SJAB group which fainted at the sight of blood, and lastly, about their beloved teacher Mr. Koh Tee Hock (Though I rather not repeat stories). I heard my friend from Ang Mo Kio Secondary talk about how proud they were when they got Gold with Honours, about how her teachers said that they were not up to the ACSian or RIan standards. Then I heard them talk about their classes, what their class life was like, and so on.
And I realized I was completely silent. Not because I didn't have anything to say about ACS, but rather because I felt I had nothing meaningful to say.
I remembered my AMKS friend saying something. In one of her many conversations with her friends over recess, one of them noted "I'm going to miss this school". So am I. So what's the issue?
I will miss this school, but will I miss my class?
Through my ASM's MSN Space I took a look at the pictures of his class's celebration of a teacher's birthday. And you could just see. That was a class. If given a picture of his class and a picture of mine, then asked which one was a class, it would be easy to answer 'both'. If asked which class was a closer one, it would be just as easy to answer.
The simple term 'Class' bears multiple definitions. As follows, quoted off princeton,
"people having the same social or economic status; "the working class"; "an emerging professional class"
a body of students who are taught together; "early morning classes are always sleepy"
a collection of things sharing a common attribute; "there are two classes of detergents"
a body of students who graduate together; "the class of '97"; "she was in my year at Hoehandle High"
wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn"
Note the second and fourth definition. A body of students. Why 'body' over 'group'? There is the implied sense of closeness. 4.11 falls under the second and 4th definitions. We fall under the first and third. That is what's wrong with our class.
I have wondered who is to blame for this. Honestly speaking, I have always put the blame onto myself, the chairman of 3.9 2006. A teenager who is supposed to lead like-minded men - fools and geniuses alike - into the life of Secondary 3. And honestly, I failed miserably. Perhaps it has all been inevitable. Perhaps not. But irregardless, the blame that I cannot put on fate I can only put on myself.
I can write a story about a small group of close friends who went to the arcade every other chance they got, a group of friends who shared a love for games, be it fighting games, shoot-em-ups, card games or DotA (though I admit I keep myself out of the last one).
I can write a story about a computer genius who tried to take a triple science, triple math subject combination in a linguistically biased curricula, a story about a genius who could play Fantasie Impromptu, do computer programming, play well at badminton and know math and physics two years beyond his level (Certainly a story that would be interesting to write).
I can write a story about a talented yet unappreciated child who thought in a different way from the rest of the class, yet was always ignored.
I can write a story about a silent child who sat at the left end corner of the class, talking to no one and whispering only to some.
I can write a story about a child who loved writing stories, one who loved reading, one who kept crying while reading and watching emotional stories, and one who had 28 hours per day instead of 24.
I can write on, and on, and on. I could.
But I will never ever be able to write about the synergy between these children in a class called the class of 4.9 Elijah 2007. Because it wasn't there.
Up till now I've always complained that 4.9 2007 was too boring. Too bland. Too uninteresting. I've been such a fool.
I read an acquaintance's (cordially, lest I undermine the term 'friend') blog, revived after who knows how long. I don't know him very well, I admit, and I similarly admit that I have misunderstood him at certain points of time. And perhaps I may never know him very well, but I know that one single sentence in his long blog post hit the nail on something that I had completely missed out on.
It wasn't even a statement as much as it was an afterthought. But that was the strongest reminder to me. It was just a simple afterthought in a bracket. Such a seemingly meaningless statement that intends to spite more than getting any meaning across, but treating it that way is mocking the person who wrote this and saying that he didn't write this with any purpose in mind (yet the possible irony involved in the situation where he does actually subscribe to writing it on a whim is hopefully not one I have to deal with.)
The ACSian Life, if you will, is a rather interesting one. You have classes of crazy people straight from 1.1 to 4.17 (and perhaps even 6.17, or whatever the last class may be), some less crazy than others, some crazier than others, and then there's the OM boys. You have your interesting teachers of ACS, from the wise cracks from Mr. Quek to the wise insights from Mr. Chew. And then you, as part of the student populi, have a neverendingly amusing student-headmaster relationship with the great Doctor Ong.
It is because of this experience - a truly unique ACSian one - that one can easily find himself identifying people of the same alma mater. A random kid from 1.3 can talk just as easily to his fellow classmate as he could to his senior in 5.9 if the topic was about school socks. To extend it further, I find myself able to talk with a Sunday School acquaintance (more out of truth than out of respect) about a particular teacher because simply put, he came from Yu Hua Secondary School.
It is perfectly normal for humans to be able to link and communicate to each other through certain common ground. Irregardless of race, language or religion, you can easily chat up a conversation with someone given sufficient common ground, be it similar experiences, similar ideals, similar hobbies and interests, or perhaps similar relations to a particular person. This common ground is also what gives you varying levels of closeness - one in the same class would go better with one in the same university, assuming no other common factors outside of school/university exist.
So what are we, as ACSians? A group of people fighting against change and status quo destruction? Victims of a system that focuses too much on the stuff that glitters? A group of congregation members joining up to sing To God Be The Glory in the grandest way possible while singing Be Thou My Vision in the highest falsetto possible? A group of diehard lovers of the rugby sport, cheering their hearts out twice every year to beat the Saints? Perhaps we are more than all of that combined. And what's wrong? Truly, the ACS Experience is a very wonderful, enriching and unique one.
But that is the exact problem that my class faces.
When you have two people, one from Secondary 4 and one from Year 6, having a good conversation on the general feeling of being an ACSian, you can hardly blame them if they're not learning the same subjects, in the same CCAs, or from remotely similar walks of life. After all, if this ACSian experience can tie them together, who's to complain?
Yet the situation is so drastically different when in regards to a class of like-minded individuals. Why is it that common ground goes as far as this 'mere' ACSian experience? Why is it that we, students that have been undergoing the ACSian education for 4 years, have nothing better in common apart from being ACSians? This is the problem.
When I was with my Sunday School study group, I heard my friend (acquaintance just sounds too queer here) from Yu Hua talk about her school, the fights and bloodshed that goes on there every other day, the severe lack in budget the school faces, the closing down of an incompetent SJAB group which fainted at the sight of blood, and lastly, about their beloved teacher Mr. Koh Tee Hock (Though I rather not repeat stories). I heard my friend from Ang Mo Kio Secondary talk about how proud they were when they got Gold with Honours, about how her teachers said that they were not up to the ACSian or RIan standards. Then I heard them talk about their classes, what their class life was like, and so on.
And I realized I was completely silent. Not because I didn't have anything to say about ACS, but rather because I felt I had nothing meaningful to say.
I remembered my AMKS friend saying something. In one of her many conversations with her friends over recess, one of them noted "I'm going to miss this school". So am I. So what's the issue?
I will miss this school, but will I miss my class?
Through my ASM's MSN Space I took a look at the pictures of his class's celebration of a teacher's birthday. And you could just see. That was a class. If given a picture of his class and a picture of mine, then asked which one was a class, it would be easy to answer 'both'. If asked which class was a closer one, it would be just as easy to answer.
The simple term 'Class' bears multiple definitions. As follows, quoted off princeton,
"people having the same social or economic status; "the working class"; "an emerging professional class"
a body of students who are taught together; "early morning classes are always sleepy"
a collection of things sharing a common attribute; "there are two classes of detergents"
a body of students who graduate together; "the class of '97"; "she was in my year at Hoehandle High"
wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn"
Note the second and fourth definition. A body of students. Why 'body' over 'group'? There is the implied sense of closeness. 4.11 falls under the second and 4th definitions. We fall under the first and third. That is what's wrong with our class.
I have wondered who is to blame for this. Honestly speaking, I have always put the blame onto myself, the chairman of 3.9 2006. A teenager who is supposed to lead like-minded men - fools and geniuses alike - into the life of Secondary 3. And honestly, I failed miserably. Perhaps it has all been inevitable. Perhaps not. But irregardless, the blame that I cannot put on fate I can only put on myself.
I can write a story about a small group of close friends who went to the arcade every other chance they got, a group of friends who shared a love for games, be it fighting games, shoot-em-ups, card games or DotA (though I admit I keep myself out of the last one).
I can write a story about a computer genius who tried to take a triple science, triple math subject combination in a linguistically biased curricula, a story about a genius who could play Fantasie Impromptu, do computer programming, play well at badminton and know math and physics two years beyond his level (Certainly a story that would be interesting to write).
I can write a story about a talented yet unappreciated child who thought in a different way from the rest of the class, yet was always ignored.
I can write a story about a silent child who sat at the left end corner of the class, talking to no one and whispering only to some.
I can write a story about a child who loved writing stories, one who loved reading, one who kept crying while reading and watching emotional stories, and one who had 28 hours per day instead of 24.
I can write on, and on, and on. I could.
But I will never ever be able to write about the synergy between these children in a class called the class of 4.9 Elijah 2007. Because it wasn't there.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Momo and Innocia
Momo: Innocia, let me show you something.
Innocia: What is it?
Momo: This room. Look at how their dinnertime is like.
Innocia: They're all on beds. They're all in white. But only half of them are eating. What's this place?
Momo: A place of trial. One that either makes or breaks a person.
Innocia: How disturbing. But is this not the same as the world outside? Is life not in itself a crash course in pain that we all have to go through?
Momo: The line between pain and pleasure is blur, Innocia. Some may very well cling onto that pain if it could bring them something.
Innocia: You still didn't answer me. What's so special about this room?
Momo: Simple. This is the painless world. And everyone in this room has the choice of bringing pain back into their lives or keeping pain out of their lives.
Innocia: ...that's not much of a choice. Why would anyone pick the former?
Momo: Would you?
Innocia: I don't see why not.
Momo: Over there is a drink, Innocia. You can drink it and eternally sleep. Would you want to?
Innocia: ...I see.
Momo: This room is a mere reminder to these tenants that thy time and thy will are in eternal jeopardy.
Innocia: No mere reminder can send people to seek for the reaper.
Momo: Yet I, such the reaper dressed in white, am here. How then do people go about everyday life so ignorant that they need this reminder? Simple - They are always aware of this fact. They just reject the path given to them. They choose not to follow the rose-ridden road to the rapture of the reaper, the receding requiem. Instead they live, with their ups and downs.
Innocia: Then why would they seek you?
Momo: Why? It is simply because I am there to remind them of the rose-ridden road when they hit the end. To remind them that there is a single clear path, and everywhere else is but thorned temptations.
Innocia: I sincerely pray that those who follow you are few in number.
Momo: As do I. But there shall be those who accept absurdity, and I have my job to do.
Innocia: What is it?
Momo: This room. Look at how their dinnertime is like.
Innocia: They're all on beds. They're all in white. But only half of them are eating. What's this place?
Momo: A place of trial. One that either makes or breaks a person.
Innocia: How disturbing. But is this not the same as the world outside? Is life not in itself a crash course in pain that we all have to go through?
Momo: The line between pain and pleasure is blur, Innocia. Some may very well cling onto that pain if it could bring them something.
Innocia: You still didn't answer me. What's so special about this room?
Momo: Simple. This is the painless world. And everyone in this room has the choice of bringing pain back into their lives or keeping pain out of their lives.
Innocia: ...that's not much of a choice. Why would anyone pick the former?
Momo: Would you?
Innocia: I don't see why not.
Momo: Over there is a drink, Innocia. You can drink it and eternally sleep. Would you want to?
Innocia: ...I see.
Momo: This room is a mere reminder to these tenants that thy time and thy will are in eternal jeopardy.
Innocia: No mere reminder can send people to seek for the reaper.
Momo: Yet I, such the reaper dressed in white, am here. How then do people go about everyday life so ignorant that they need this reminder? Simple - They are always aware of this fact. They just reject the path given to them. They choose not to follow the rose-ridden road to the rapture of the reaper, the receding requiem. Instead they live, with their ups and downs.
Innocia: Then why would they seek you?
Momo: Why? It is simply because I am there to remind them of the rose-ridden road when they hit the end. To remind them that there is a single clear path, and everywhere else is but thorned temptations.
Innocia: I sincerely pray that those who follow you are few in number.
Momo: As do I. But there shall be those who accept absurdity, and I have my job to do.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Feceof and Idlea
Feceof: Idlea! What's someone like you doing here? No one's in the cafe, dear. Why is an activist such as you here of all places, drinking coffee and biding your time? Do you not have people to follow you? Hundreds of trails of footsteps to go behind your path? What travesty has happened? How is it that the leader is here but the supporters are gone?
Idlea: Honestly, Feceof, I do not know. I sincerely wish as much as you that they either be in this cafe or with me. But they are neither.
Feceof: Indeed. Why are they not with you, but not with me either? It intrigues the mind.
Idlea: Simple. Times have changed, Feceof. The windowpanes of the city buildings have not met starlight in recent years. People are governed neither by themselves nor by the governance. They are governed by desire, senseless desire; desire that wishes to overrule the self, desire that wishes to overwhelm the idealistic, desire that wishes to seep one's life eternally into mindlessness. They are people, Feceof, they are. But they are mere human puppets, slave to obedience rather than to passion and compassion. Just as they have no will to follow me, they have no reason to be here.
Feceof: Alas, what is it that has caused such a gigantic change?
Idlea: It is their society. Look at their adults. They live in a world of mere needs and wants, nothing more. What they need they take, and what they want they earn. There is zero tolerance for the unexpected, be it good or bad - they do not want to be hindered nor overly reliant. Their next 5 minutes are planned out to the minutest detail, and any speck of dust that dare get in their way get nothing less than the coldest shoulder. They have no need for this cafe anymore, Feceof - this cafe is for people to chance upon, for people to relax, for people to appreciate the trivialities of life. Just as they are too preoccupied with the next detail to come here, they are too centered in themselves to listen to the speeches of anyone else, not even me.
Feceof: Is that not just the adults? I do not see how those whose lives are not centered around cash can live so similarly.
Idlea: Just look at them, Feceof! They aren't even grown up to be individuals! Look at that, every single bit of that child belongs to the institution! Clothes! Badges! Accessories! Socks! Stationery! Even 'fashionable things' like wristbands come from the institution! Look at that group of people walking outside. What are they doing? They're not talking to each other. No, Feceof, those aren't leisure books. That's not intellectual pursuit. That's the exact same book every other person has. And that's no bible either - it gives twenty questions for each answer they have. Look at that. Would a child who is ripped of individuality grow up to be an individual in the future? No. He will grow up to be a group. One in the generation of youth that will grow up the same way as the present has. One that doesn't need me, nor you.
Feceof: Isn't that too extreme a view, Idlea?
Idlea: Am I?
Feceof: Certainly. Perhaps I am past my time, but you can still be followed by the youth. There will eternally be those who seek you, Idlea, just as there will eternally be regulars in this place. It is tough, but you have to persevere. There are those who still laugh, those who still feel annoyance, those who still want to go against the flow. They need you - no, you need them, Idlea. And when you do so, they will have hope. They will fight hard to survive as themselves. They will have others following in their footsteps. And when they tire out, I will be here to serve them the best drink they'll ever have. I need you, Idlea. And more importantly, you need them. Now go.
Idlea: Honestly, Feceof, I do not know. I sincerely wish as much as you that they either be in this cafe or with me. But they are neither.
Feceof: Indeed. Why are they not with you, but not with me either? It intrigues the mind.
Idlea: Simple. Times have changed, Feceof. The windowpanes of the city buildings have not met starlight in recent years. People are governed neither by themselves nor by the governance. They are governed by desire, senseless desire; desire that wishes to overrule the self, desire that wishes to overwhelm the idealistic, desire that wishes to seep one's life eternally into mindlessness. They are people, Feceof, they are. But they are mere human puppets, slave to obedience rather than to passion and compassion. Just as they have no will to follow me, they have no reason to be here.
Feceof: Alas, what is it that has caused such a gigantic change?
Idlea: It is their society. Look at their adults. They live in a world of mere needs and wants, nothing more. What they need they take, and what they want they earn. There is zero tolerance for the unexpected, be it good or bad - they do not want to be hindered nor overly reliant. Their next 5 minutes are planned out to the minutest detail, and any speck of dust that dare get in their way get nothing less than the coldest shoulder. They have no need for this cafe anymore, Feceof - this cafe is for people to chance upon, for people to relax, for people to appreciate the trivialities of life. Just as they are too preoccupied with the next detail to come here, they are too centered in themselves to listen to the speeches of anyone else, not even me.
Feceof: Is that not just the adults? I do not see how those whose lives are not centered around cash can live so similarly.
Idlea: Just look at them, Feceof! They aren't even grown up to be individuals! Look at that, every single bit of that child belongs to the institution! Clothes! Badges! Accessories! Socks! Stationery! Even 'fashionable things' like wristbands come from the institution! Look at that group of people walking outside. What are they doing? They're not talking to each other. No, Feceof, those aren't leisure books. That's not intellectual pursuit. That's the exact same book every other person has. And that's no bible either - it gives twenty questions for each answer they have. Look at that. Would a child who is ripped of individuality grow up to be an individual in the future? No. He will grow up to be a group. One in the generation of youth that will grow up the same way as the present has. One that doesn't need me, nor you.
Feceof: Isn't that too extreme a view, Idlea?
Idlea: Am I?
Feceof: Certainly. Perhaps I am past my time, but you can still be followed by the youth. There will eternally be those who seek you, Idlea, just as there will eternally be regulars in this place. It is tough, but you have to persevere. There are those who still laugh, those who still feel annoyance, those who still want to go against the flow. They need you - no, you need them, Idlea. And when you do so, they will have hope. They will fight hard to survive as themselves. They will have others following in their footsteps. And when they tire out, I will be here to serve them the best drink they'll ever have. I need you, Idlea. And more importantly, you need them. Now go.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Koyaanisqatsi
A lone man plays along along the Metro at the L'Enfant Plaza Station. His image was perfectly normal: jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, and a baseball cap. For the next 43 minutes, he would play 6 classical music pieces and earn a total of $32.17, ignoring a woman who walked up to him and gave him $20. He played classical music with a violin to 1097 people coming and going from L'Enfant Plaza.
What people didn't know was that this lone man was one of the greatest violinists of our current time, and that small violin of his was Antonio Stradivari's Gibson ex Huberman, and cost him 3.5 million US dollars. For the span of 43 minutes, Joshua Bell was not someone who earned thousands by the minutes but rather $40 by the hour.
If a great musician played music but no one listened to him, was the musician really any good?
Perhaps the context of the situation was too difficult for people to appreciate beauty at work: Morning rush, people getting to work; one man playing amongst them all hardly attracts attention. But here's the thing: How much more different would it have been in another situation?
"What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare."
-- from "Leisure," by W.H. Davies
Our life has way too many priorities here and there. One interesting thing to note from the Washington Post article was this:
"...the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away."
Our life has certainly evolved from childhood. A child laughs around 400 times a day. An adult laughs around 15. Where have the other 385 laughs gone? Somewhere where appreciation of beauty has gone, perhaps.
If you met geniusity, would you recognize it? If you met beauty, would you appreciate it?
What people didn't know was that this lone man was one of the greatest violinists of our current time, and that small violin of his was Antonio Stradivari's Gibson ex Huberman, and cost him 3.5 million US dollars. For the span of 43 minutes, Joshua Bell was not someone who earned thousands by the minutes but rather $40 by the hour.
If a great musician played music but no one listened to him, was the musician really any good?
Perhaps the context of the situation was too difficult for people to appreciate beauty at work: Morning rush, people getting to work; one man playing amongst them all hardly attracts attention. But here's the thing: How much more different would it have been in another situation?
"What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare."
-- from "Leisure," by W.H. Davies
Our life has way too many priorities here and there. One interesting thing to note from the Washington Post article was this:
"...the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away."
Our life has certainly evolved from childhood. A child laughs around 400 times a day. An adult laughs around 15. Where have the other 385 laughs gone? Somewhere where appreciation of beauty has gone, perhaps.
If you met geniusity, would you recognize it? If you met beauty, would you appreciate it?
Monday, April 02, 2007
Static
*usual gossip group*
Jerrold: Aiyah, knock it off lah. All you talk about is HW. Don't you ever have anything better to talk about?
Moi: Jerrold, I don't think there's anything else more interesting in class to talk about, actually.
Which got me thinking, really. And not just myself either. Though for different reasons and by different processes, we kind of have a similar issue: The future.
Some time ago Mong had the nick "What if Isaac became a teacher, Kwong became an executioner, etc..." Well, honestly, that's not going to happen. Life has a tendency to be static, from now until beyond. Gossip and amusing conversation seem to be the most interesting things to have around. Not to say that school should be anything to the standard of Cromartie High School, but it's always a nice feeling to have more interesting things happen.
Irregardless, that simple trivial conversation can keep up sanity for so long is somewhat of an astonishment in itself, be it whether Bryan betting me $5 bucks that Ayu says Uguu~ even in the H-Scenes of Kanon, Joel and Darrell agreeing on buying brightly-pink coloured manga for a birthday present, Kuang, Darrel and I agreeing on buying another different brightly-pink coloured manga for another birthday present, looking at Mr. Alvin Tan act calm and normal while facing among the most inefficient management in any uniform youth organization, or just having random talk here and there.
Jerrold: Quite sad eh, next year we all split up. Cannot soccer like this anymore.
I'm not as concerned about such matters, one really does wonder how life will be like at 17. And one wonders why nothing is done about this question and life goes on so meaninglessly as normal, almost as if people are lost in the battle against an eternal status quo.
Personally I don't know why I wrote this given how I have better stuff to write about, but meh. Life's like that.
Jerrold: Aiyah, knock it off lah. All you talk about is HW. Don't you ever have anything better to talk about?
Moi: Jerrold, I don't think there's anything else more interesting in class to talk about, actually.
Which got me thinking, really. And not just myself either. Though for different reasons and by different processes, we kind of have a similar issue: The future.
Some time ago Mong had the nick "What if Isaac became a teacher, Kwong became an executioner, etc..." Well, honestly, that's not going to happen. Life has a tendency to be static, from now until beyond. Gossip and amusing conversation seem to be the most interesting things to have around. Not to say that school should be anything to the standard of Cromartie High School, but it's always a nice feeling to have more interesting things happen.
Irregardless, that simple trivial conversation can keep up sanity for so long is somewhat of an astonishment in itself, be it whether Bryan betting me $5 bucks that Ayu says Uguu~ even in the H-Scenes of Kanon, Joel and Darrell agreeing on buying brightly-pink coloured manga for a birthday present, Kuang, Darrel and I agreeing on buying another different brightly-pink coloured manga for another birthday present, looking at Mr. Alvin Tan act calm and normal while facing among the most inefficient management in any uniform youth organization, or just having random talk here and there.
Jerrold: Quite sad eh, next year we all split up. Cannot soccer like this anymore.
I'm not as concerned about such matters, one really does wonder how life will be like at 17. And one wonders why nothing is done about this question and life goes on so meaninglessly as normal, almost as if people are lost in the battle against an eternal status quo.
Personally I don't know why I wrote this given how I have better stuff to write about, but meh. Life's like that.
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