Obsess much?

Dear Teacher,

Sometimes I wish I obsessed more. I'm usually not the obsessive kind. So I think. Okay maybe I am slightly obsessive but for non-lucrative activities like flossing. Oh, and arranging shoes. Can't sleep without flossing. Can't sleep knowing my left thong is paired with my right nike.

I used to think that being obsessive was a bad thing. Till I realised that it was pretty much the effect of passion.

Even you can't deny you were a passionate person. You were highly obsessive. Yes, you were. With your books. You could starve from food but oh no, never, from books. Even when I bumped into you the other day. You were all gaunt and I was slightly worried. I asked you what you've been doing and if you've been eating. 'Reading' you replied. I had forgotten how you lived on books, devoured their pages, tore them apart and were always, always, ready for more.



Well, attached with this letter, is a book. Your book. One of the many you loaned to the class. I borrowed it. Technically I am still borrowing it although it's been years. I have been meaning to return it but somehow, something held me back. The book has become more than a love story between Ms Bennet and Mr Darcy. It is representation of passion and obsession. Of wanting things and doing things. It reminded me of you, you see.

That said, I always knew I would return it to you. I was just waiting for the right time. It's still in the best condition-no coffee stains, no bunny ears. With your signature and date of purchase on the second page. Not to forget the white label on its spine with its Dewey Decimal System number on it. I can hardly understand that system.

So here you go, Austen's Pride and Prejudice. I hear you're releasing your first book soon. That's why I'm returning it. As much as I know I will miss it, here I am, hoping it brings you as much good as it has me.

is looking for a replacement book,
Twisty

Forgive much?

Dear Teacher,

You never think the world would hurt you. At least I never did. I'm a happy person. I admit that as much as I know how uncool it is to be a happy person in this age, it is the naked truth.

But this can be a hard thing sometimes. Being a happy person makes it hard for me to ever think that someone else will try to snuff out my happiness. Whenever something bad happens, it's not uncommon that I blame myself. It's easier that way, I think. Cause then, I could just get over it and I wouldn't have to forgive.

You probably don't remember this but there was a time in class when you were explaining an idea to us. I asked you a question, a serious question. You said 'love is about chance'. And I disagreed. So I phrased it in a sincere question. 'Isn't it about choice?' I just wanted your opinion.

You got all defensive and dismissed my question saying it was 'irrelevant'. But I really wanted to know, to learn so I asked you again. This time you called me rude and disrespectful and to stop interrupting the class. You said I was 'incorrigible' and asked me to be quiet.

I did as you said. I kept quiet. I was seething. Furious. But quiet. I know you were wrong but I told myself it was I who was wrong. There was nothing, no one to forgive.



This time around the hurt was far greater. I couldn't even blame myself. I couldn't shove it under somewhere, anywhere. It sprang up in my face to slap me over and over again. It was like someone took a dessert fork and stabbed my chest. That was when it first happened. Then I bandaged it. I told myself, "Forgive."

But it comes up again when something triggers my memory of it. And this time, it's like I know what's going to happen, I see the fork come closer but I really can't do anything about it. I watch. And then it's over. And I tell myself again, "Forgive."

And it happens again. I remember. I hurt. And then I forgive.

But today after the ordeal, I thought to myself- Maybe forgiveness is not an end. Maybe it's a process and I'm in the middle of it.

Is processing,
Twisty

As me.

This time I'm posting as me.

Ahhh I miss this. Not having to think of what to post on my blog as Twisty.

Anyway, let me summarise my past months in 10 points:


1. I like it when it rains which is not very often here in Melbourne.

2. Living with a best friend who's a slob makes me realise what a control freak I am.

3. I'm flirting with my sociology major. Maybe falling for it even.

4. I still want to be a teacher/columnist/social reformist.

5. I prefer to sleep on the mattress on the floor than in my own bed.

6. I worked for money. Something I told myself I will never do. I was a research assistant and had the delightful task of calling up random people asking them for interviews.

7. It's been a wilderness year. Wilderness and a 'practice room' year. A preservation year.

8. I read books like-Memoirs of a Geisha, Dear Enemy, Ariel, Birthday Letters, The Barbarian Way, Soul Cravings, Dracula, and What's So Amazing About Grace.

9. I watched movies like- Die Hard 4, Memoirs of a Geisha, Tropic Thunder, Dan in Real Life, When Harry Met Sally, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Zoolander for the first time. And of course the ones I watched more than once-Juno, Pride and Prejudice, The Jane Austen Book Club, Chocolat, Blades of Glory and Ratatouille.

10. I eat things like-Yee Mee with Mushrooms and broccoli in miso soup, cereal and quaker oats for dinner, Subway's six inch roast beef sub on italian herbs and cheese bread, Monte Carlos with Milo (which I learnt from Jean) and if I'm rushing, it's a packet of 'up and go'.

Woah, I exhausted all ten pretty quickly.

Btw I'm done with uni for the year and it feels great. I can't wait to get back home-home. Where the land is flowing with teh tarik and rain is abundant.

Competitive much?

Dear Teacher,

It's annoying how the words of a teacher mean so much to me. I used to anticipate the comments you would leave me, always highlighting the good bits and skimming over the less good bits. But you were an honest teacher, an objective one too. You told me what I needed not just what I wanted to hear.

Well, you'd think I would have grown out of it. You know, caring about my grades and what my teachers think of me. I thought I did too. I haven't and it gets to me. I envy some of my course mates who don't give a hawaiian pizza's pineapple about what they get. They just want to pass.

I'm not like that. I admit, I'm one of those kind of people. The kind that annoyingly wants to do well. The kind that makes a list of personal goals to meet. The kind that gives heart and soul just to print that little check mark in the boxes next to each fulfilled goal.

I am, in short, driven. And quite highly competitive. Sometimes more than necessary.

Don't believe me. Well let me tell you a story:
I was walking out to the shops two nights ago. I was going to get some eggs cause we were out. On my way back, I noticed that there was this lady walking in front of me. Suddenly my pace quickened. 'Overtake,' the goal was branded in my brain. She was a good distance in front of me and I was almost jogging (with the eggs, along a highway mind you) when we came to the intersection.



'Yes, a chance to catch up.' The lights were red and she had to wait for the green walking man to come on. It was then I realised how silly this was. I was competing with someone who didn't even know she was competing. I was half scolding myself when I realised the lights had turned green. I overtook her.

And I won.

I silently congratulated myself and heard the imaginary crowd cheer. Oh sweet victory!


Wait, did I mention that the lady I beat was about 40, okay fine, 78 years old? Oh and that she was pushing a load of groceries to feed her entire family for a week?

This is how bad I'm becoming.

needs to get away from capitalistic societies,
Twisty

Count much?

Dear Teacher,

For the life of me I can't count. I meant 7. Those 7 letters mean the world to me. F-R-I-E-N-D-S. Yes it's 7, not 6.

And you are an amazing teacher. I'm just still careless as ever.

one two three four five six seven,
Twisty

Value much?

Dear Teacher,

In case you were worried, I'm feeling alot better. My sneeze count has dropped 3 notches and the colour of my phlegm has improved-from a jungle green to a post-it yellow.

If you ever fall sick, I recommend the extra fluids and rest. There's nothing else much you can do. Well, there is this one thing. But it's not really something you must do. It's more something you must have.

Friends.

Those 6 letters mean the world to me. They are the people who make links to your blog even when they have amazing blogs of their own. Check this one out. They are the ones who gave you the last bit of mash potatoes that they were saving for themselves and who laughed at you when you jumped and your handphone fell into the sea. The same ones who would then lie to the mobile company to get you a new one back. Friends uncurl you and force you to live when all you want to do is curl up and die.

All in the name of friendship. They love you enough to let you be your own person. Even if that means you still eat chocolate when you've got a sore throat, you always forget birthdays and you tweeze your overgrown underarms while eating garlic cheese bread right infront of them. They are the very family you choose.

Of all the things I've learnt to value in school, this one tops the list.

will not touch the chocolate today,
Twisty

P.S. Maybe tomorrow. After my paper.

Sick much?

Dear Teacher,

Har Chew. I know that's not a right way to start a letter and it will usually cost me half a mark. But then again, you were always a compassionate person and being sick usually meant extra points anyway.

How sick am I? Well, not sick enough to avoid pizza for dinner last night. I drank honey-lemon with it though. So that evens it out right? Oh, and it's my throat that's the problem. It always is. It's either sore, itchy or phlegmy. This time it's the itch and the sore part. We all know how frustrating that can be. Especially when you're about to sleep and the air you breathe in, gently, but oh so maliciously, tickles your throat.



It's good there is no sandpaper around the house. Often to ease myself, I imagine srubbing the inside of my esofogus to terminate the imaginary dancing ants. Yes the two ways I will describe the feeling:

1. Ants running their pointy little feet all over the surface of your throat. This is for the itching.
2. A thousand knives with blades that clash everytime you swallow. This is for the soreness.

And the throat somehow always leads to the nose. So I rub, rub, rub and hope that I leave no snotty residue on my flawless face. That has happened to me more than I would like it to.

wants some pei pa koa aka 'cap ibu dan anak' nin jiom brand,
Twisty

Motivated much?

Dear Teacher,

I am a motivated person. At least I used to be. I had this thing I used to do to get me going. I called it the 'superboost'. I did it in intervals. Between revision, before a competition. I would punch my fists in the air, lunge forwards (right leg always in front of the left) and shout 'superboost'. It was silly but it was how I psyched myself out. How I got through.

Until it got a little old. And I was getting a little old. I needed something more.

I remember asking you how you did it. You know, find the motivation to get up early every day to face hours of rebellious students, stacks of papers to mark and of course the never-changing odour of high-school. I still find it fascinating that all high-schools have the exact same high-school smell. Just in slightly different intensities.



You said that in all honesty, you were never a morning person. And you always wondered how you were going to teach high-school. Your only other option was to be a bouncer at a local club. You were only fully awake just before midnight you explained. But thank God for Marie because she changed all that. You had a reason to be up in the morning. Her smile did wonders the sunlight never learnt how to do. She was your motivation. She believed in you when you did not believe in yourself. She inspired you. She activated you.

Not long after that, I didn't realize it but you became my Marie. You were the reason I got up in the morning and faced the hours of naggy teachers, finished the endless homework, and endured the stench of teenagers. Your words stirred me. You were my inspiration. You made me want to do things. Real things. Things that mattered. And I did.

I don't know if I ever told you. You were a good teacher.

But now high school is over. And I need new motivation. I've been sleeping in the past few days. And when I wake up I just want to lie in bed till it's dark. I want to do things but not enough to get me doing them. It is driving me insane. Please, just tell me,... where can I find another you? 

isn't a fan of emotional gunk,
Twisty 

Click much?

Dear Teacher,

I remember watching you. You had this way, this method that was really more a ritual and I always found it amusing. You would come into class and standing in front of all of us, you would take in a deep breath as if preparing for your next session of torture. Then rubbing your palms together, you would look at us and I could see you were ready. That was our queue to be ready too. "Hokay," you would say, the 'h' always lingering at the beginning. Now you had your book in one hand and you fired questions like they were ammo and you were a fearless soldier.

You would point and snap with your free hand indicating your victim. You always started from the left of the class to the right. It's good I sat on the right. I was usually too busy watching you and it took me some time to realise what was going on.

Today, I realised that I too have my rules and rituals. After all no warrior ever defeated her enemy without first doing her tribal jig. For some it's simply reciting some mantra- 20 Hail Marys. For others it might be listening to 'We are the champions' on a loop all through the night before. And I read somewhere that some athletes find that nothing boosts their performance on the field like a good performance in bed as a warm-up.

To each their own. As for me, mine's pretty simple. A good movie the night before the exam. And a good joke 10 minutes before I walk into the hall. Then it's a short prayer and the clicking of my pen till I start. I count the clicks and I must end on an even number. Today I reached 678 clicks.

The paper was good except for one careless mistake. Perhaps the joke I thought about was not funny enough.

is looking for a good movie for her next paper,
Twisty