Upon waking at dawn.

For the first time in months, I woke to an unearthly quiet. The sunlight pouring in through the windows and washing itself onto the opposite wall, which ever so often vexes me no end as I try to go back to sleep, for once, most invitingly entices me to get off my bed, wake my roommate just to say “GOOD MORNING DERRICK!” (to which I got no reply save “-moan- can you GE T OFF?”), brush|mouthwash|floss, make a cup of coffee and sit at my computer to write this.

Years ago while still living at home (well, it’s been three years now), my parents, in a seemingly passive and unobtrusive manner, would wake me up by turning off the air conditioning, and throwing open the doors and windows. You would have to think that there were more than 10 windows to that room, going by how fast cool and comfortable room became hot and stuffy room. This manner, and it’s effect (that I invariably jumped out of bed at the unholy hour of 5:45 a.m (well that’s not really an hour, but whatever) I loathed to the extreme, and I remember trudging to the kitchen demanding for my cup of hot chocolate while sulkily negotiating the terms of my wake-up call.

Upon first leaving home for the world beyond, for Singapore, freed from the torment of having decisions made for me, I’d wake up at 8 or 9 or whatever time I chose, oftentimes just for the childish thrill to be gained from the knowledge that I could do as I pleased. But almost three years down the road, today, I look out of my window, and just marvel at the sight: the reddish-brown track wet from the dew; the grass on the rugby field, even through the slight storybook-like mist, shining with a splendid sheen under the nascent daylight, that I can only fathom to have been a product of its extended beauty sleep.

Waking early has its own comforts. The comfort of being able to look ahead at a long day, and hope for some great achievement, hope that your day will be productive, hope that you can complete a whole SAT practice test, hope that you can progress significantly with your Extended Essay and Theory of Knowledge Essay. The comfort of being able to sit, in that otherworldly silence of the morn, and wilfully succumb to your overpowering thoughts.

Like the trite but true expression goes, “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.”

It’s never felt truer.

A whole year of IB

WELL! A whole year of IB has passed, and attempting to look back at it and reflect is akin to wilful suicide. Thinking of the million things that could potentially summarise my one year in IB makes my head spin uncontrollably; the sheer number and intensity makes me dizzy.

This one year of my life in ACS, my life in Singapore, outshone the previous two years in great style; the two years combined. I’ve made friends this year that make me wonder how the HELL I managed without them before. Indeed, I’ve made one friend who now makes me wonder, how the HELL I LIVED before. For that, undoubtedly, I’m grateful.

I’ve enjoyed being busy, doing the things I love: competing at Rubik’s Cube contests, serving my school as a student councillor, doing charity projects with various organisations and more. I’ve learnt a lot from it too.

But just as all good things come to an end, all good things come at the cost of other things (which by the way, is the reason they come to an end). Seemingly as a result of these ‘good things’ – though not necessarily- I’ve gone through a year riddled with tardiness in assignment submissions, and a year that ended with a bang; as my dad very aptly put, I “got [my] wake up call, in great style.”

I can almost hear the large majority of my blog’s patrons screaming exasperatedly, “CAN YOU JUST GET OVER IT?” including Sidharth. But no, I don’t believe in ‘getting over’ these things. Ridiculous as it may sound to some people, I believe that ‘getting over’ isn’t all that different from giving up. ‘Getting over’ is so much like forgetting about it. ‘Getting over’ things makes one forget its import; it tends to make people underestimate them.

Ahh. Time to start working hard. Time to put my nose to the grindstone. Time to put my shoulder to the wheel.

A few days ago, Sarah said to me something along the lines of “Why do you leave things to the end?! You’re going to be so stressed out! What’s the point. That way, you worry about it ALL the days leading to the deadline, AND you worry about it on that last day! BE LIKE ME! Do it way in advance!”

That’s going to be the basis for my resolution for 2010. One which I intend to keep (I know we all say this every year, but THIS ONE’S FOR REAL)

Till later.

Of quarrels and separation

Every now and then, you wonder why some things pain your mind and heart to an inordinate extent and why those things never seemed so important till then. Things like jealousy, love, social acceptance and the likes.
What is a feeling that's not a result of the stimulus-reaction faculty of the human senses? A feeling of sorrow, guilt, heartache, pity. A feeling in your heart.

Every now and then, you are brought to a revelation: one of the depth of your feelings towards a friend. Do you not think, as I have come to realise recently, that quarrels can tell you EVERYTHING about how much you care for someone? Do you not think that being apart from someone can tell you the extent of your attachment to him?

Going by any standard of measure, even the most otherworldly, nonnatural standards of measure, this day, this week, this past month; all, in their own ways have not been good.

Today:
Quarrels make most people feel dejected, depressed, dispirited, downhearted. Me? More so than most. The toughest part; having to decide whether to call, whether to text, whether to be the first person to break the silence. What's worse; when a million things tell you not to be that one - the one who gives in- say, characteristic male egotism. WHY WHY WHY should I give in? Was it not her fault?

But convinced though you may be, not discounting the possibility that you may be entirely right, that it was her fault... what result have you? An entire day of depression. dispiritedness. dejectedness. downheartedness.

This week:
Separation from a friend. Having a friend around -to hang out with, to study with, to talk to, to reach out to, even to give you the occasional massages (a tad too friendly, you may think)-, it's easy, SO easy, to overlook his importance. But separation lays it unembellished, unornamented for one to feel. That day, that day of the first separation. That's when you feel the weight of it. You sit around, wondering what to do, where to go, constantly reminded of your assignment arrears and the weight of them, but you just can't do it. You sit around, trying to read a book, but you can't pay attention. You sit around, basically, languishing (in all senses of the word). Then you call him, all the while making it seem like you've been going on with life as usual; but he knows, he knows surely, that you sit there with a drab melancholic air about you, wondering what to do. And then, you give up. Enough of being pretentiously unaffected. Enough of trying to be dignified and emotionless and "manly". Then you go to his place, and stay over.

This month: Protracted disappointment. dejectedness. dispiritedness. downheartedness. Prolonged. depression. Academics, exams, results.

Well, to end an otherwise sorry entry, a last word. Writing so depressingly, though hardly consolatory to my emotions, has helped me decide.

I will call them all. disputant. abandon-er. I will work on bettering my results.
ANYTHING to obviate another such day, another such week, another such month.


Probably, I shouldn't post this; it's served its purpose anyway. But then again, it wouldn't do justice to the real me.
I'm one confused little child. Don't judge me.


--Anirudh

A day like no other

An Anthology of Poetry from Anirudh Krishnan; Volume 3; Poem 15

A day like no other

It’s a day like no other.

I wake to the music of the earth, the music of nature.

As I gather my bearings, I prop myself on an arm. . .

“OH! Strange feeling! STRANGE FEELING!”

My nose begins to twitch; a twitch like no other

It grows in excitement: a mouse in a room of invisible cheese

“What is it! Where is it?” I smell it but I know not what!

A burst of freshness glided through the room,

A sliced lemon? A glade of grass?

I smell it, but I know not what! A smell like no other

The music of nature, of rivers and mountains,

The music of nature, the music of the sphere,

An opera of Mozart, a verse of Shakespeare.

The music, AH! Music like no other.

As I finally walked to the window, I recognised

Recognised the music, the smell.

Beautiful rain, tears of nature;

Was nature not the finest?

Pitter-patter the raindrops fell

Oh what melody, a maestro at work.

A melody don’t you think! A melody like no other.

But no, it changes!

PITTER-PATTER the raindrops clanged,

Upon the goshdarned awning,

Aluminium, I say, ALUMINIUM,

OH the cacophonous din!

Where was that smell? like a punctured lemon?

That burst of morning dew?

I smell it still, but the scent is a-waning.

The sky grew clear, and that wonder rain;

And the hum of the city took over.

His belly rumbled, his organs churned

He must produce, produce he must |

And what of that spritz of morning dew?

An acrid smell! a repugnant whiff!

He spews out his guck! It’s the smog again!

A city like every other.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Good morning Dr. Ong, Senior Admin, teachers and students.

Indeed, regardless of my duty to acknowledge the inspiration for this poem, I shall do so faithfully.

All inspiration for the actual content of the poem came from my friend Victor who thought the rain smelled citrous and the rain on a fine 12th of October in 2009. Wait, there's only one 12th of October in 2009. Apologies.

All inspiration for writing the poem itself, I owe to my dear friend Sarah Tan, without whom none of this would have been possible.

I also owe my brother, aforementioned Sarah and the Oxford Standard Thesaurus for (almost simultaneously) putting thoughts into words in the occasion of the word "awning".

Last but far from least, I ascribe all praise to the Lord (as is custom in our venerated institution). To Him be the Glory.

The Best Is Yet To Be

Sidharth: On the nuances of English in Singapore.

Hi.
I'm posting on Anirudh's blog because I am bored.
I am also cool. And fun to hang out with. but that's not really why i'm posting here.

For those who read the newspapers, at least the headlines, you know me. I am Sidharth. My brother's brother. I'm a really important person around here.
I am wondering what to write, actually....
AHA.
got it.
I wonder if any of you reading this blog here have seen the Ministry of Education's building?
It's rather unfortunate, but the catch-phrase, the tagline, whatever, for MOE is "Moulding the Future of Our Nation".
Does anyone really get the joke?
I honestly didn't think it was a joke when i first saw it. I remember staring at it for at least 10 seconds with no thought running through my head. It's absurd! Moulding? what? as in, rotting it until mildew forms?

Smart as I am, I recovered myself. I realised it meant that they're moulding our future for us. No. that still doesn't make sense. Well, anyway, if you're starting to get concerned about the true motives of the MOE, don't worry. Moulding doesn't actually mean what I thought it meant. It really does mean what they meant.

It's the whole Singlish thing that's got me these days. I thought initially that it was just this way of trying to remove as many unimportant words as possible. Singaporeans, are r all known for their brevity (a brilliant example being this year's National day presidential speech). "Is that fine or not" is loquaciously translated as "Can o' not?". Apparently, it doesn't stop there.... I mean. what does it profit a Singaporean to say "Faster finish lah!" instead of "Finish faster!". As far as word economy is concerned, there is a 33 percent loss. So what is it? Well you got me. I don't know. and the funniest part is that my accent and occasionally faltering grammar seem to make many people laugh. That's why I've organized an overseas CIP to India after the A levels. Hehe.

Ohkay. that's about all I have interest for.
I'll see you peoples later, can o' not?
(oh whatever. At least it's useful sometimes)

Sidharth Krishnan

The Anirudh Times

(Yet?) Another issue of The Anirudh Times.. Dated 11 May 2008

Dear All,
Anirudh's life sucks. Life sucks. Sucks.. Yucks.
As I write this latest post, I wonder why I'm even alive. What is my purpose in life? What was I born to do? What am I to achieve in my lifetime? What is the meaning of life? What is expected of me?
To some of you out there, these questions are one and the same. SHUT UP, I didn't open the stage for opinions.
Why is my life so sad? -- Where are the chicks? Where is the booze? Where is the next party?
I haven't the faintest clue! All likeness of the life that I had begun to live has been wiped clean thanks to the immense work-load that is a result of having embarked on the trying journey of the International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme.
I HATE life!!!

"squeak..?"
"SHUT UP, you mangy cur!"



Forgive me. Just another attack of my chronic mood-swings. What you just read was a sleeveless attempt at squalid humour.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand he's back!

Life's a joke, life's funny, life's fun, life's exciting. I'm jumping up and down, dancing round and about, and skipping down the bright brick lane singing joyous, animated and sprightly songs (A loose adaptation of a long-forgotten poem by Margaret Atwood).

Well, to give you the usual take, life's going on just fine.
It's not too far from what I had expected. I knew life would be difficult and stressful with the IB syllabus to go with, Student Council, basketball trainings AND Editorials to attend to.
I've just been having exams in every subject, and though I aced my Spanish, English, Chemistry and Economics, I TOTALLY screwed up Physics and Math. Kinda levels me out to the average imbecile. Apart from that, I'm having an Oral Presentation on the theme of racism portrayed in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. I've also got project work in Math, Econs and Spanish..

But, I have been doing a whole lot of fun stuff too, mind you! Our school's gonna break the Guinness World Record for the most number of people in a Bollywood Dance. Though we've finished the event, the results aren't out, and we won't know if we've broken any records till the end of June. The previous record apparently was held by "Jai Ho" in that grossly pathetic movie about an impoverished dog who fights his way to the top of the dog community by becoming the pet of some millionaire (or something to that effect; forgive me if it seems entirely random, but beyond all the disgust I have at the empowering fame and acclaim that the movie has received despite its being a largely mediocre movie, I am revolted by the indiscretion of naming it slumDOG). And THAT hardly-worth-the-rank-of-a-movie had 320 people in that dance. Guess wat, we eclipsed them! 1042 people turned up to dance that day!
haha!

Apart from that, my class is going to Fugong, Yunnan, China on a charity trip and will be visiting orphanages and primary schools in the area. Besides, it feels good to be at the top of the student leadership chain, being in the student council. You get to miss morning assembly under the guise of 'booking' (a system of taking down the names of all the late-comers and handing them demerit points) people and get to skip lessons because of Council duties. Plus, we get a superb sexy suit with the Anglo-Chinese School crest on it, adorned with powerful badges that distinguish us in a large crowd of otherwise idling loafers.

That's about it. My brother, by the way, is doing great too. He most laudably was ranked the best entry in the world in the 2009 NASA High School Essay Competition on future space flight. While he basks in the glory, for the first time in my entire life, I feel immensely proud of him. Holidays start in about 3 weeks and Sidharth will be returning to Chennai for a whole month; meanwhile I will be going to China for a week, and will do nothing but study the remainder of the holidays preparing for the SATs I will be taking at the end of the year.

Having spoken for so long, my throat is dry and I need a drink of water.

So, I bid you goodbye friends. Stay tuned for (YET?) Another issue of The Anirudh Times.

Warmest regards,
Anirudh Krishnan

PS: You may be wondering whether I made a mistake a few lines previously. No I didn't. My throat IS dry. I have a scribe..

PPS: Don't call my parents! I am NOT loony. I DO NOT need a psychiatrist. I DO NOT need drug rehab. Thanks for the concern. Piss off.

One Last Breath

I’ve always been a perfectionist. There NEVER existed a project, assignment, whatever, that I completed without it totally satisfying my insatiable quest for ne plus ultra; though to not even begin, let alone complete a task, was far from unheard of. Undoubtedly, this is the sole reason for my blog’s barrenness. I have always attempted to make my blog posts as humorous as possible and appropriate, and I am undisputedly a stickler for perfectly portraying emotions. However, I have decided that this just will not do. So, henceforth, my posts will be more frequent and will rivet upon pregnant thoughts and events in my sufficiently boring life.

So it began. There was a great hullabaloo and about 70-odd people were precipitating along the corridors, and believe me, there was no word to describe the strange sight you would have been witness to. There were coteries of harried-looking people with glossy jars of cookies, stacks of postcard-sized cards—which later turned out to be pocket timetables—, calendars, and even citizenry dressed laughably as historical figures (Mahatma Gandhi), popular characters from new-age flicks (Zorro), Mummies, and later during the course of the 4^th Student Council campaign, impeccably dressed politicians (President Obama).

Now this was no Halloween celebration. It was what one exceedingly witty teacher described as ‘shameless self-advertising’ and I kid you not, it was a tightwad’s field day. These people spent hours on end trying to impress upon students and teachers alike their willingness to serve the people of the school by making artistic hand-made calendars for every Year 6 class or by profitably claiming that a jar of cookies showed the multitude that they cared immensely for their welfare. As I later gathered, it was the most fun period of the Year 6s’ trying lives. Little is the concern and comfort they generally get from juniors who are too caught up in their carefree, slaphappy lives and besides, little, if any, is gratuitous in our lovely institution.

Now why is any of this significant, you may ask: because it was absolutely nerve-wracking! No, not campaigning; campaigning was immense fun. Those days were the ONLY days you could actually walk around wearing the most absurd and ludicrous of costumes, and not get into trouble for it. No, what was trying was that we had to (or at least the ones of us that actually cared about whether we got in or not; because there was a bunch of loafers who only campaigned for the zest of it) constantly monitor ourselves and make sure that at any point of time, we were more than just presentable. It was a period when I looked in the mirror more than I ever had in my whole life, and the girls, oh, let’s not even go there!

My campaign team and I had a very different scheme of work. We decided that instead of directing our campaign at the Year 5s, we would do far better to target the Year 6s, who would have trouble filling in their 25 votes in any case. Well, our campaign went pretty well, if you ask me, though, strictly speaking, we didn’t do much. Thanks to my vast popularity (which I owe to something I’m far from proud of, and have no influence over), all I had to do was dress up impeccably (as mentioned previously) in a stunning blazer and a brilliant red tie and walk around the Student Activity Centre to get visible. Oh well, probably I should tour the world and raise funds for charity, like the Indonesian Obama.

Anyway, the voting’s scheduled for tomorrow (26^th March) and I am totally freaking out! Well, may the best leaders win! Taking ONE LAST BREATH, I resign to fate.