April 2002

Ladies and gentlemen - 4/5/2002







Imagine you were up here, standing before the gazing eyes of the audience, under the strict scrutiny of these adjudicators, readying yourself for a battle of wit and wisdom against your opponents, and one of your few comforts is the tension filled face of your teacher "who is there only to carry the bags". How would you feel?

Ladies and gentlemen, the motion tonight reads "The RVHS Debaters have proven their worth".

Let me first define the key terms in tonight's debate. The RVHS debaters are Jac Cheok, Lin Lixin, Ritchell Choong, Magdeline Lee, Elgina Chua and fo course the man himself, Bernard Shum. Tonight we are not looking at "debaters" in terms of the general notion of the "RVHS debater". We are focussing our discussion on these specific individuals. We feel that this definition is justified as these are the people that represent the school against many odds, have trained and practised very hard and have grown to work as a team. Of course there have been other key players: the reserves, YanXi, XinYi, Joyce and Ming Chuan. And of course there has been the indomitable Jere, whose constant presence and guidance has never failed to both provoke and inspire. Their support and unflagging confidence in the team has always provided a firm basis for the team's performance.

"Have proven their worth" suggests that there were reservations about the ability of these debaters to achieve the results they have in the first place. Now these reservations would have seemed only natural. One: the majority of them had never debated in an Inter-Schools tournament. In fact compared to other school teams the RVHS team probably had the lowest number of seasoned debaters. Two: Given their hectic schedules, one would assume that they would not have any time to adequately prepare and practice. Three: They did not have a "professional" coach as many other schools did. Hence, even if they had natural intelligence and talent, one would assume that they would not be able to exploit these to the fullest because there wasn't someone experienced to guide them along.

And yet ladies and gentlemen, "have proven their worth" suggests also that we must consider whether or not the debaters have reached some level of achievement. One: have they advanced far enough in the tournament to merit a thumbs up? Two: Have they improved as individual thinkers and speakers such that their latent ability has been honed to a higher level? and Three: Have they learnt to become better people - more concerned about the process of argument and discussion, willing to engage in fruitful debate?

Let us consider the debaters against these yardsticks. I will show how the debaters have more than proven their worth, how their performances have resoundingly answered any questions that might have been raised by tonight's motion, how any reservations about the ability of these debaters to achieve the results they have in the first place must now be considered unfounded and preposterous.

Firstly, the results so far speak for themselves. Both teams have performed exceedingly well. The Junior Team, with 2 wins and 1 loss, was unlucky not to qualify for the knock out round. The senior team, with it's stunning recovery from a disappointing first round defeat, has moved on to greater and greater levels of proficency and effectiveness in dealing with their opponents. In short, even though the majority of the team did not have prior experience, they have come out of each debate on the winning side the majority of the time.

Secondly, watching them in action, you would not have any idea that they planned the debates almost exclusively on their own time. Sacrificing evenings and even weekends, they rose above hectic schedules to make sure that they were well-prepared. But it was not mere hardwork. The debaters have more than proven their worth precisely because of this time constraint. Their intelligence and oratorial skills were constantly stretched as they had to digest huge amounts of information and practise phrases and phrasing in a very limited amount of time. As such, they have distinguished themselves precisely because they rose above the difficulty of their circumstances, choosing not to allow these constraints to become distractors, but focussing and honing their talent instead.

Thirdly, precisely because the odds were stacked against them without a "professional" coach, the debaters have learnt to become better people - more concerned about the process of argument and discussion, willing to engage in fruitful debate. If indeed they had a "professional" coach, they might be overly concerned with the technicalities of "clashing" and "team sliding". But they weren't. Instead they engaged each motion as if it were their own, mulling over it, researching, weighing, balancing, constructing, tearing apart. And at the end of the day, they have emerged as individuals that are engaged, individuals that genuinely think.

In short, ladies and gentlemen, the RVHS debaters have more than proven their worth because they debate from their hearts first. They have learnt to trust each other's opinions and to respect each other's strengths. They have grown closer to each other and have sacrificed for each other. And in the scheme of things, these qualities are immeasureable.

And so ladies and gentlemen, how would you feel if you were standing up here? If I were an RVHS debater, I would be proud knowing how much I've achieved against great odds; I would be confident, knowing I've achieved it because of my hard work and my ability; and I would be pleased, knowing that the process has allowed me to forge close relationships, and that it has enriched my life.

Thank you.

btw: RVHS Team 2 has advanced to the Semi Finals of the Tournament.







Planet News - 4/11/2002







Am slacking in school work. Have been too caught up in debates and haven't marked for a really long time. Spending your time on the net down-loading many sheets of debate motions and outlines sure is time-consuming, but it's one of those things that is worth it.

One thing that hasn't been too worth it was the SGEM stuff. I don't quite think it's very effective in generating interest in speaking good english. But if the powers that be say that I have to do it, I have to do it. Ended up generating a silly story that was really very silly. Still managed to make insider jokes about abused cats and silly characters. But no one's going to laugh except me.

Tried to mark throughout the Sports Day. Wasn't very productive as I kept getting distracted by the finishers. Still, some scripts are better than no scripts.

Was surfing over the weekend and found the website of my sec school's OBA. Must say that it;'s quite impressive. And what d'ya know, they've got a whole gallery from scanned in pictures from the 1960s. Check out good looking guy in the pictures (ahem ahem) ...

this- (fifth pic in first row ... emceeing music night)

and

and this - (fifth pic in first row ... talking to the president himself ...)

Ah - nostalgia ...

















Repetition and Meaning - 4/12/2002







You'll find me receiving the waves. Before the morning breaks over the turbulent see, there you'll see the lone figure of a woman, prayer to the morning sun that has yet to arise. Her prayer is always answered for on the stroke of her Amen, the sun begins his gentle cry across the broken sky. The eye of kings said this, to run the circle and finish the circuit. With tides to contend with and ripped up clouds which submerged his glare, the eye of the king did this. With the stare of a cyclops unwilling to pluck himself out of the brand; a wooden stake driven deeper into his heart, see his hands and feet and fear and sorrow and what about love mingled down do flow? Tonight the eye of kings sleeps, unopressed but daring no longer to look into the sacred fire from whence it was born. Tonight the sky is ripped as from a mother's womb untimely ripped, unwilling to heal the tissue clotting around the scars. Tonight the morning prayers are far off. The long cry for redemption is a meek, thin and ghastly wail.

Of repetition: Played the following "Sting" song about a hundred times on my lap-top while I was doing work. I circled in and out of it moving away to towards the machine, pluggin on and then taking off the earphones. The song is essentially without memorable melody but it haunts with its ambient beauty- it's a ramble, a repetition



Fields of Gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold


So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold

I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in the fields of gold
We'll walk in the fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold











A Tale of Dragons and Dreamers - 4/20/2002







For as long as he could remember, the carvings on the old wardrobe had fascinated him. Grimy with the dirt that accumulated over time, the wardrobe stood menacingly in the middle of the passage way. Carved from a single teak trunk, the wardrobe was a family heirloom, passed down by his earliest Straits Born Chinese ancestors.

He remembered constantly fingering the rough hewn figures on the wardrobe's edge from when he was little. A prancing lion, the strangely disproportionate flower petals, the hedious bearded goats, and dancing tigers and right at the top, the dragon that was at the center of the design. He loved the dragon that stretched right across the top of the wardrobe. With its elegant undulating body and intricately taloned feet, it was the fitting center of attention.

If he concentrated very hard he could trace a path over their contorted bodies, a single unbroken path around the entire edge of the wardrobe. But as he was not yet tall enough, he couldn't actually trace the path with his fingers. So he remained content to follow it with his eyes.

"We've got to get rid of it. It takes up the whole corridor! No one appreciates that kind of junk anymore."

"But it belonged to mum's grandfather. Since she passed away there's nothing left to remind us of her."

"Not that there is anything pleasant to remember. Can't you recall what a terrible tyrant the old lady was?"

"Still, she was my mom. I don't think you should talk of your deceased mother-in-law like that."

"I'll talk of the dead in whatever way I want to. And I'll throw whatever I want away."

And so plans were made to get rid of the wardrobe with the dragon carvings. The men who specialised in throwing things away would come and dispose of the wardrobe.

"But mum, I don't want you to throw it away. I can't trace out the animals fully yet. I'm not tall enough. I still can't reach the dragon."

"What's that dear? Oh you want to watch TV? Ok. Just make sure you don't sit too near and strain your eyes."

And so the dreams began. In those dreams he would see himself riding the lions, cavorting with the tigers and drinking the nectar of those strangely petalled flowers. But each time, before he could come close to the dragon, the dream would fade and he would wake up desperately wanting to dream again. But each dream each night never brought him closer. Each dream merely sharpened the details of the other carvings in his mind and increased his desire to run his fingers over the dragon.

"Mrs Lim, we can't move the wardrobe out like this. It's too bulky. I can't imagine how you got it up here in the first place. We need to break it up. Is that alright?"

"Ah whatever. Just as long as you get it out of my house before my son comes home from school. He's acting very strange around the wardrobe these days. Must be too much TV."

When he came home from school, it was not the empty space that the wardrobe once occupied that caught his attention. It was the pile of sawn off wood that lay on the floor. In their haste, the removers must have forgotten some of the pieces that once made the wardrobe. He untied the pieces carefully.

The prancing lions. The strange flowers. He lovingly pieced them together. Then it dawned upon him, the removers had done this deliberately. They had taken care to remove the carvings on the edge, knowing that families often liked to keep these. And like a jigsaw, he lay the pieces out on the floor. Bearded goats, dancing tigers ....

"You know, that lady really couldn't be bothered about the carvings. I tried to persuade her that they had antique value. Anyway, I left a pile. I'm sure she won't miss this piece. It's a dragon! I haven't seen one of these in years."

The dreams became nightmares. Lions that ripped you apart, tigers that clawed you in an endless death sequence. Goats that grew evil grins. And dragons? Dragons that never appeared to end the suffering with a final swipe of their taloned feet.

-21 April 2002
Born out of the frustration of marking too many bad essays based on this title







Of Loss - 4/26/2002







We lost the finals of the B div debates yesterday. And being emotionally drained after the whole roller coaster that was the tournament I sneaked out quickly to be alone and to think about stuff.

I guess we never play to lose. To do so would be a breach of the spirit of competition. And yet when we do lose how we deal with that loss becomes infinitely more important than figuring out why we lost. Obviously, figuring out why satisfies that intellectual aspect and helps us deal with it. But emotionally, things become a little more tricky.

And yet when I think back about the journey, how the teams (yes both) have progressed and all the laughter, insulting, serious thinking, flashes of inspiration, assortments of sweets, infinite distractions, SMSing - yes debaters multi-task a lot - , incessant toilet breaks ... I suppose the whole experience is enriching. I guess while things may have been done more efficently, they would not have been done with as much passion and commitment.

I guess the sense of loss is sharpened by the fact that we won't be doing this again. There won't be the next debate to prepare for and there won't be that sense of working together as a team. It's sad I guess but inevitable.

So in moments like these, there is poetry:

I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious is never to forget
The delight of the blood drawn from ancient springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth;
Never to deny its pleasure in the simple morning light,
Nor its grave evening demand for love;
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog the flowering of the spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are fêted by the waving grass,
And by the streamers of white cloud,
And whispers of wind in the listening sky;
The names of those who in their lives fought for life,
Who wore at their hearts the fire's center.
Born of the sun, they travelled a short while
towards the sun,
And left the vivid air signed with their honor.

Stephen Spender

Another loss: one consolation for yesterday perhaps - for the first time in five years - I hit that KG mark in to squeeze into the acceptable weight-range. But it doesn't stop - pressing on ...







Conversations - 4/30/2002







"If I heard you correctly, you want a divorce.
Is there really no other sensible course
Of action that we could possibly take?
If not for ourselves, for the children's sake."

"No...." Then the silence multiplied
Filling the dim lit corners of the room
Silence heaved and shrugged a sigh
Apologetically adding to the gloom.

"If I heard you correctly, you don't want the kids
This weekend. Fine. I'm, in the midst
Of the most important project of my life
And you're too damn selfish to help your ex-wife."

"No ..." While the disembodied voice
Wailed across the telephone line
Silence retreated into a choice
Long debated - all would be fine.

"If I heard you correctly, you feel we ought not
To get the payments enforced by Court.
Well, I don't care, if you're declared bankrupt.
We have to eat and you're the one paying up!"

"No ...." But this time she no longer waited
For reason or excuse, this conversation was done.
Yet receiver in hand, she hesitated
Her ears catching the "bang" of a fired gun.

- 26 April 2002 the answer to the question, "What do Lit teachers do during 3 hour invigilations?"

In a world of slippery signs, marriage is a symbol of a union that is meant to transcend. What happens when the meanings invested in marriage are overwelmed by desires that break out of that accepted vow? Is silence in any way a decodable reply, when the vows of marriage are made less than clear by desire?