Results

As I’m writing this, I am still in shock.

I used every ounce of my imagination and effort and energy to prepare myself for the very worst but as fate had it, my results turned out a far cry from what I anticipated. A really far cry. I KNOW I screwed up certain subjects really badly so it honestly baffles me as to why I even obtained the results I did.

They always say prelims are a prelude to the actual exams, and that it’s more or less a gauge. I got ABDDE for prelims, laughable don’t you think? The extend to which it’s so pathetic. To be truthful, when I got back my prelims results slip, I remember sitting on the cold hard floor in my brother’s room, with my mum lying on the bed, and I was just crying and crying and crying so hard because I felt so lousy. It’s one thing when you don’t study and you don’t do well, and something else when you study so damn hard and yet you still don’t perform. My situation was the latter. The heartbreak and anguish at reflecting on your poor performance even after mugging your guts out is so painful. I must have cried for at least an hour then because when I stood up, my shirt was soiled through, my nose hurt from all that rubbing, my eyes stung from all the tearing and I was just plain exhausted. My legs were feeling wobbly and I could barely walk straight, I felt as if I was drunk in sorrow. My mum was having a hard time thinking of the right words to say because I was so fragile then, anything she said could set me off and my dam would break and the fresh tears would come rolling down once more. In retrospect, that must have been one of the rarest times I actually broke down. I usually am able to find an outlet to relieve my stress but then, it was a really trying time because A-levels were so near. Perhaps, I’m thinking, that it was actually a good thing I let my emotions run loose and damage whatever they liked at that point in time. Because after that emotional session, I felt like I could pull myself together once again. And I started to get back on track.

True, I studied hard. Real hard. But even so, I could never expect what reality had in store for me. Maybe my results are a fluke, maybe there’s some typo error somewhere but the pink result slip in my hand is really all that matters I guess. Still, I somehow think that it would have been a much happier day if that joy could be shared among all who deserved it - every single person who sacrificed so much for these exams and slogged their guts out. I can really identify with those who worked so damn friggin’ hard yet their results are not commensurate to the hard work they invest in their studies. Life’s such, anyhow. Whether we like it or not, so I guess it’s a matter of perspective – looking beyond academia and all that. It’s hard but it’s the way the cookie crumbles.

I really attribute what I’ve achieved to all those special friends who stuck by me all through A-levels and who gave me the encouragement I needed to keep going. My teachers too, no doubt, for without which, nothing is even quite possible. And my parents and brothers, for never ever putting the pressure on me to do well. It’s all amazing, really. My results, is YOUR hard work too! I love you guys! =)

I just felt like I needed to mention him, my Discipline Master Mr. F. Tong. He congratulated me today on a job well done and he still remembers my name. My civics tutor, who was standing next to me, was surprised he recognized me by name so he explained that he knew my name because he caught me on the VERY FIRST DAY of school in 2007 due to my coloured hair and also because I participated in that really screwed up pageant. But all in all, I guess I gotta thank him for everything too. AND I SIMPLY ADORE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY SUBJECT TEACHERS!

Anyway, to keep my mind off my results earlier this afternoon, I was reading this library book entitled ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. It’s a really sad story of a young girl growing up with a mother who loved her too little and a father who loved her too much. The former, as it insinuates, would be about a mother who has a really warped mind with a serious case of OCD and so she deprives her children of their freedom of movement and practically suffocates them in a home where only what the mother says, goes. She actually dictates where they are allowed to sit in the house and what time they have their baths, stuff like that. It’s so crazy it’s barely conceivable. And the latter is about a father who sexually abuses his daughter. It’s just plain SICK SICK SICK when a father can even bring himself to touch his daughter in the most private of places. So this poor little girl was to be tormented by his actions from a tender age of 8. Remember, at eight, we were all still weeny little kids playing catching and worrying about whether this kid was still going to be our Best Friend the very next minute. It’s sad; the stuff children who grow up in dysfunctional families have to endure.

If only there was more love in the world, maybe every single result would be very much different.