What that kills us, though, leaves us pretty much dead.
Something must have killed my blog, but my /\/\4) 5{!115 have brought it back to life.
For now.
Anyway.
I cannot believe that we got a gold. Shock-horror-disbelief-and-overall-FRIKKIN-HAPPY.
Happy in the way when you wake up in the morning to realise it's 4am and you can go back to sleep. Happy in the way that despite flunking the Chinese test by amazing levels you're still not the worst. Happy in the way that is your first and last SYF getting a gold.
Not a 'with honours', but I'll be damned if I've the nerve to complain after all that.
But I'm reallyreallyreallyreallyhighatthemomentIthinkit'sacombinationoftheteaandthecoffeeand thesugarandthetrees-and-rocks-and-rocks-and-trees-and-rocks-and-trees-and-trees-and-rocks-and-rocks-and-trees-and-trees-and-rocks-and-trees-and-rocks-and-rocks-and-trees-and-WATER.
Unable to think coherently. With the History test in sight. Panic!
I shall go drop myself from this mortal coil.
But hey! Then you realise that life is worth living in spite of the utter madness so please put down the knife and back away real slow because Santa is behind you with a handheld 150mm Howitzer and you're standing on a cheesecake and I really like the sound of heavy bells at night or something like that because they taste of orange just like the good old pavlovas great-granddad used to make in the oven that talked me at night it was such a good friend too until they melted it down to make cookies.
Dispel and begone, O spirits that plague me and tempt the mind to go sleep and worry naught about the pressures that bear down with such fierce asdkjakjdiqjf!
I suspect I am nacroleptic. When you can fall asleep so well in the day but just can't sleep in the night.
The damn night. They say that midnight is the hour of the dead, when it all comes to a freeze frame in one long ringing note of pathetic silence. Sunny island Singapore, wrapped up in quiet and still.
I once spied a man from my bedroom window.
He was walking alone in the street underneath the moon at about 1.30am. And I thought - if you had snow, a trenchcoat, a fedora, you've some quaint little pictureseque town where all are happy or at least philosophically at ease - those books where crumpets are more meal than concept, or where tea is brewed in porcelein pots that actually shatter.
But here is hub of change and biotech and whatnot, so we can't complain about the heat of night that just seems to want to kill us in tropical glory. We've our dialects and swearwords and durian or perhaps even the encyclopedias that tell foreigners what a kopi-O is and how ripped off they are.
Though sometimes you just have to sit up at night and look out to window and watch the whole damn world come to a lulling stop. A silly silly stop in the midst of all that haste and rush and run. A hiatus at the most important moment. Sometimes you just have to stare and the huge round big-eyed lamp that hangs up there unreacheable and wonder to yourself why we still do all this stuff when there's so much out there we claim but don't really know. Like the clouds and the sky and all that black-ish matter floating around that we catalogue in all our pretty numbers and whatnot like some equation that can be kept in a jar in the pantry.
Sometimes we need to just stop living like an idiot machine and ask ourselves:
"Why the fish am I sitting up in the middle of the night contemplating existentialism when there is a test tomorrow for which I am ill-prepared?"
And then we wonder.
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