Some Things Don't Change

Other things are ephemeral. It's disappeared suddenly, that spark in your eyes. And I wouldn't have noticed it if someone else hadn't pointed it out to me. Suddenly all your actions of the previous weeks, at the time bewildering and annoying, take on the tinge of desperation for someone to notice. I'm sure someone noticed. But for some reason I'm sorry that I did not.

To be sure you did not actually need me, and you are in safe hands even now. And you know better than I do what happens now. Some of what happened must be familiar to you. But you hid and you drew, while you told me that you don't write anymore because you don't know where it all starts. And in hindsight I would have like to help, but I did not notice. I pretended that it didn't happen, because it was the simple thing to do. And now we have all tacitly agreed to pretend that it never happened, because it is the least painful thing to do.

You people know better than I do. All I feel is regret that what my doubtful self had cautioned me against had actually happened to you. It's just spooky, I guess, that I was right about a hypothetical me that I saw in you. But you know better than I do, and I didn't notice. I'm sorry that my not knowing extended beyond a pretense.

(Oh, and you probably don't know who I'm talking about, so don't jump to any conclusions, just in case...)

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Hehheh, our performance on Friday night was real fun =P We didn't watch Dramafeste in the end because we were busy praccing. Half the rehearsal was held in 13A's classroom. The other half was held in the lift, due to someone's idiosyncratic impulse =) So there we were, three singers, two guitarists, a flotist and a violinist in the swelteringly stuffy metal box (which turns out to have excellent acoustics), when suddenly the doors hummed open and who should step into the lift than poor Mr. Booth. Hehheh, that was like the high point of the night =D If for some unlikely reason I forget Dramafeste, I will certainly remember the lift.

You spend five minutes in that lift, and you'll understand why the atmosphere thickens to madness =P

Anyhoos, I'm beginning to learn that the real point of the whole Cult thing is the rehearsals. Conan and Joel having so much fun whacking at the guitars that it should be illegal, JY and Conan sparring with their distinctive flavour of wit, Huixian probably wondering if we are really for real, and me providing the backup guitar part, trying to be unobtrusive lest I disturb the shimmering surface of this reveling. Of course, performing was fun too, but the best part is the camaraderie of the Cult. Mmm...united around vegetables. That's the way to go. And having everyone in 13A's room was kind of fitting. 13A probably matches the personality of the Cult better than any other class. But still, with everyone chorusing, the guitars twanging, the violin crying and the flute whistling, it is clear to see that the Cult would have been out of place in RJ. Things like these just don't occur spontaneously within our white walls.

Well, I guess the audience liked our performance. Hehheh, the rotten banana was a good idea as a visual aid for the first song, and Choon's lobbing oranges in graceful arcs over us as we played the last song was a stroke of theatrical genius =D Afterwards one of the teachers was asking us if we were actually a real band; I guess it's quite unbelievable that so much musical talent (this writer notwithstanding) would actually play such slapstick songs. But therein lies our appeal - the high quality music of credible standing, up to the point when the wrong word is delivered at the right time =P

Oh well, it was cool to add our little bit to the Dramafeste, which I didn't watch, so I don't know how justified awarding the trophy to Engine was. But at the end of the day, what the performer is after is not some silly little prize but the approval of the audience. I guess we did get approval...they asked for an encore, and we impromptu-ed our way through the Tofu song! Mmm...that should be like the teaser song for advertisements of our gigs =P And that's enough, to hear the incredulous laughs of the audience, to remind them what we must look like to the outside world, this little upstart toddler of an island...

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More and more writing...being in the presence of the literary greats during our Coffee-Club sessions does things to my creative juices, I guess. If Purvis gives me the passion to read, these people reinforce my passion to write. Let's face it; the bravado to write can only come if you face the greats of English Lit with a certain measure of skepticism, or even disdain. Otherwise you'll be paralysed with awe.

Just finished the Ihist essay on the international economy, which is like the most boring topic we've covered yet. There's so little information around that the library books I borrowed only offer paragraphs of information, rather than chapters worth of quotable stuff. And finished another piece on writing, about my growth as a writer. I'm trying to decide whether it'll be too self-depreciating or ironically too egotistic to post this up. I can't master the angsty teenage tone, really. But the first-person tone I usually fall into is more or less self-righteous. Must be the bad influence of writing in this blog.

At any rate, I shall spend this week reading Enduring Love by McEwan. It doesn't start as promisingly as Atonement, but given his evident genius, I'll wait till I've read more before saying anything more.

pondered by phoenican @ 27.2.05