From the very start, this was a daunting post to write. How exactly do you sum up four years worth of memories, feelings, hardships, trials, reflections and discoveries? Would it really be possible for me to do justice to this one period of time and this one fascinating - and occassionally rather strange - place that has altered my life so drastically?
Some say that Singapore is one of the most mundane places in the world. And you’ll find that I won’t entirely disagree with that; it’s not exactly a very exciting city most of the time. However, I suppose that makes it even stranger that this supposedly boring country has had such a profound impact on not just my life, but (I believe) also the lives of many others.
I don’t know if this series of articles will do justice to the experiences that I’ve been blessed to have, and the people who have shared or created them with me. But I’m going to give it my very damned best. Transcendence is my attempt to catalogue the most important experiences and lessons of the past four years with a focus on the latter two, since Gliding Over All already covered the first half.
And, as with many good reads, this one starts with a story.
Not Alone
One afternoon, sometime in the middle of my Junior College orientation — incidentally, the only proper or fun orientation I’d ever experienced — I was walking out of an interview for the Humanities Scholarship Programme when I saw someone that I had somewhat dreaded all week. At the risk of sounding like a complete racist, sitted at one of our college’s randomly scattered table-benches was a tall dark individual of Indian ethnicity. He stood at approximately six feet tall or more, adding intimidation to an aura of confidence he already appeared to project. This was probably what had created some unease within me whenever I saw him throughout the games and acitivities during the orientation period: he seemed just a little too sure of himself, even somewhat cocky, and my Chung Cheng experience had made me firmly believe that people who acted this ways were probably bullies. So my natural instinct was to stay away; and no, I promise you it had nothing to do with the dark skin.
However, I reminded myself that there was still no actual, rational reason to avoid or even dislike this guy. It didn’t gel well with my own belief of fairness and opposition towards prejudice. So I walked myself over, said hi, and talked to him. While I did not know this at the time, but it marked another check in a string of good decisions made that week.
His name is Madhusudan Murali, and in the weeks to come he would prove to be the most entertaining classmate I’ve ever had, and the closest guy friend I have in Singapore.
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From left to right: fun, friends, feels. The purest form of a bro: there when you're having a great time, still there when you're not. |
It’s very clear by now, to me, that JC was a period of resurgence. Madhu was the first of a significant number of great people I would meet and acquaint myself or make friends with, some of whom would become trusted confidants and remain very important to me until this day.
St. Andrew’s Junior College, in particular, is the finest institution that I have attended throughout my 16 years of formal education; it is, as I sincerely told my class during our final official gathering on graduation day, the only school I have actually been proud to have been part of. I am certain that it will hold a very dear place in my heart for the rest of my life, and it is thanks to the many people that have the short experience so special — and I will be thanking them in this series. It is very ironic for me to recall the fateful day when I received the text message telling me that my first-choice-JC was not to be, and thus having to tell myself to be positive and try not to be upset about it. It was good self-advice, but if I’m honest, also largely unnecessary.
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From left to right: Eve, Huiyi, myself. The former one of the nicest and (potentially) shamelessly weirdest classmates you could hope to have, and the latter probably the kindest person I have ever met |
This fact, combined with the story of meeting Madhu, is a clear lesson and reminder that attitude changes everything. It holds an almost absolute influence on how awesome or terrible your life appears to be. I forced myself to have a positive attitude entering JC1, and it completely paid off. I was as high as possible in orientation, which helped myself make what was already a very enjoyable orientation even more so. I forced myself to break out of my usual cautious approach into one that was — I hoped — wildly outgoing, which did wonders for quickly expanding my social circle. I embraced my subject combination, half of it completely new to me (I had never taken literature nor economics, and now I took both as H2s), with excitement as opposed to fear, and it truly kept me dedicated and passionate towards these subjects throughout the many difficult obstacles that they would throw in my path.
I mentioned that JC was a “resurgence”, implying a return from a fall. And fall I did during my Chung Cheng years. I feel quite sorry that I often speak of it in a negative tone — the administration there did care for its greenhorn, newly-arrived scholars, which was a lot better than what my friends in other schools could say for theirs. And I had a few really great teachers there, too. Nevertheless, partly due to my own flaws, and otherwise due to the circumstances, it was still a relatively dark period for me.
I actually came to Chung Cheng, and Singapore in general, with a similar attitude to the one I adopted entering SA. But there was a key difference: four years ago, I tried to be high and friendly and outgoing with the very purposeful motives of becoming popular, expanding my social circle, and so on. In SA, these things were merely bonus side effects that I did not aim for; I only wanted to have fun and lead as good a life as I could. Because of the these inner motives, I suppose, the sincerity of my actions was inevitably hurt somewhat. So I failed. I didn’t gain many friends, I was hardly popular, and my attempts to join as many activities as possible only backfired, hard.
It didn’t end there. I wanted to be the best, too. Oh lord, I was desperate to be good at everything. You see, Singapore presented an opportunity to me; back home, I was good at certain things — academics, writing, debating — but moving somewhere else gave me a fresh start. It gave me the chance to be even more. I could establish myself in other areas that I’d never been good at, or never tried, such as drama and Mandarin (which was relatively easier compared to the obscene difficulty of Malaysia’s equivalent). Yeah, I was greedy. But I suspect that these motivations weren’t too dissimilar from the aspirations that many other scholars have coming to Singapore, too; a substantial number have confessed feeling the rude shock of realising the divergence between their original confidence in themselves, versus their true position in this rat race. Nevertheless, I reaped what I sowed. I tried too hard, and I fell even harder.
Still, even if I hadn’t been such a douche, I doubt that the experience of the first two years would’ve been much better. You can read the whole journey here (and you should), but to summarise: both my initial Malaysian counterparts could not continue attending Chung Cheng for various reasons (even more regretful because Shanice was a good friend, and Mabel would eventually be a great friend, so it would’ve been nice to have them around). My roommate, the only batchmate close to me intially, caved into pressure and became mentally unsound. My acting role in drama was constantly demoted despite recogition of my talent due to the necessary commitment to debate — to add insult to injury, despite being objectively the most committed debater, pretty much everyone else was recognised but me, and they leeched off my prep work. My class was toxic, to say the least: I’ve lost track of the amount of backstabbing and bullying I received, and I vividly remember dreading coming to school every morning in the latter half of Secondary Four, having enough energy just to get me through the day and out of school as quick as my legs could take me. It was a nightmare.
Of course, there were still people who were friendly, sincere, and stuck to my side during those two years — yes, even in Chung Cheng — and I thanked them all here at the end of 2013. I’m not going to pretend that it was all bad and no good during those years, because it would be an injustice to the kind souls who were candles in the darkness. But the point is that it had a massive impact on me: I spent my three years of secondary school in Malaysia breaking out of my shell, gaining confidence, and enjoying my life, but I lost all these in Singapore, at least initially. And thus my newly-established personality and its positive traits left, too. I think that this was a greater hurt to me than all the other forms of pain I endured, because I could actively see myself becoming a worse person over time — more withdrawn, more jaded, more angry — and I hated myself for it.
Alive Again
And that’s why it’s not hyperbolic to say that SAJC rescued me. It offered me a lot of positivity that I so badly needed to not only restore myself back to a better version of me, but take it beyond that and improve myself. Simply put, it really really made me feel so alive again.
It’s really hard to put into words how grateful I am for my time there; the experiences that House Council has given me; the opportunity to travel to Japan; my PW team, which is probably one of the most united and generally awesome teams of all time; the fantastic friends that have consistently been there for me; and, of course, the love of my life. Yes, its hostel food and WiFi sucked really badly. Yes, the A-levels were a living hell (more on this to come). But I will not let those things tarnish my appreciation for the blessings I have been so fortunate to receive during these couple of years.
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From left to right: Ngân and myself. Thank you for being more than anything I could've hoped for. |
If you ever come to SAJC, the first thing you will probably notice is a little water-wall in front of the Cultural Centre. Proudly inscribed on it are cursive words in blue, “No one is here by chance”. They were the first words that greeted me after my initial cab ride there, and I wanted to believe that they would turn out to be true.
They did.
TO BE CONTINUED
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