As we pass these boring days by, and as Allis is going into NDU, I feel a certain issue bugging me, something that has never occurred regularly, it's called printing notes.
In poly, of which many of my readers are very jaded of, is the challenging task of printing notes. There are boondocks of notes that accumulate over the weekend for your weekly classes and printing them is plainly a whore, I mean... chore.
Which brings me to the topic of Global Warming. How are we going to comply to Al Gore's call of nature preservation if we are constantly printing notes in such large quantities as if exhilarated by the chugging sounds of the printer, which you can easily hear when you switch on Grandma's Nag Channel near the TV set at home. Don't the trees have a say in this?
But without wasting my finger power any further on Global Warming, we should get back to the rant on lectures taught in a distasteful fashion and tutorials that are designed to kill time, and minds. Some of you may hardly agree, but it is true to an astonishing point how I can sleep through lectures even with my awesome attitude toward my academic excellence, proving how lectures this semester have been fantastically effective at being boring. Tutorials have also breached past limits and set new records where there were classwork given to 'spice' things up, and just as how subtle insecticides are at achieving their purpose, tutorials introduce me to new material in an exciting learning environment.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
This story is inspired by my dearest brother from another mother, Allis, in the sense of writing down notes for curious readers. Do note that this is a descriptive and not meant to be intellectually rivaling anyone's works nor criticizing any other individuals who feel targetted by what goes down in the note.
As some of you who have engaged in current intellectual exchanges with yours truly, may have already realized that I'm in Temasek Polytechnic and am in a particular course that deals with the Hospitality and Tourism. In my current semester, I am made to take on a subject dredged by many known as Service Skills Management.
Through this note, I would be scrutinizing the effects on a sane human being that this subject has. To start the day, even before a preview of the sun signals the start of the day, I am already up, anticipating the first encounter and foreseeing the possible outcomes. Reaching at 7.45a.m. was a rule they have selfishly implemented, and from there sparks the beginning of the grueling 8hours of misery and agony. Truly, a pale comparison to average day of any other student who would still be sluggishly crawling around their personal space or still be playing dead on their bed.
The first ordeal: No further can fellow students of the same subject get from 'waltzing in quietly into the meeting room'. Déjà vu of a high class fish market is seen as three men in suits scrutinize you, seemingly staring straight through what one is desperately trying to hide. Negative thoughts are then verbalized and your grooming would be pointed out to be, a mess. A mundane two hours would be wasted in a disgusting fashion of screaming and growling by an animalistic teacher who is in need of no less than fifty sessions with my friend Allis and a strict diet to put him anywhere near the recognizable shape of a human.
The second ordeal: Moving into the 'Brunch' break, instead of having a meal, ignorant offenders were told to get a haircut. I was in the list. I had already had a haircut which I sincerely approve to be, Short and Sweet. The animal growled," You call this a haircut?", called out a monk, who had decided to get education, from the midst of those gleefully heading for brunch, and proclaimed, " THIS is a haircut."
Generations have passed since the days where haircuts were all about shaving one's head, but this animal has been blessed with longevity, and I shall give it to him that he is the experiencing divine intervention in the extension of his life span. Deprived of a meal, life must go on in the boot camp.
The third ordeal: Faced with an array of utensils and contraptions used in the queer art of Fine Dining, students are now tasked to remember the labels of these extravagant items. With about seventy mind-boggling contraptions to remember by name and shape, the hunger for knowledge is subtly silenced and the sinking feeling of information overload promptly informs our cognition that we are going to need a break again. But alas, this is the precise preparation to set the stage for the final item on the list of punishments in store for us.
The Last Boss: It is now made clear, that even if you're going to live five years shorter, being a left-handed person has its' perks. The technique of holding a gun known as a tray, and ammo known as bricks is definitely profound way beyond me. Taught in two methods, tray-carrying is identified as a physically demanding activity, especially if the teachers mistake bricks for cups of juices/glasses of wine.
However, as the minutes tick by, the highly anticipated moment when we were released has to arrive eventually. The phenomenon known as 'Euphoria' can be studied on the faces of the students, as the cool touch of your home clothes covers the fatigue accumulated when in the service uniform. The surge of unexplainable joy is the only reason one can smile after going through turmoil, only to face the creature again next week.
As some of you who have engaged in current intellectual exchanges with yours truly, may have already realized that I'm in Temasek Polytechnic and am in a particular course that deals with the Hospitality and Tourism. In my current semester, I am made to take on a subject dredged by many known as Service Skills Management.
Through this note, I would be scrutinizing the effects on a sane human being that this subject has. To start the day, even before a preview of the sun signals the start of the day, I am already up, anticipating the first encounter and foreseeing the possible outcomes. Reaching at 7.45a.m. was a rule they have selfishly implemented, and from there sparks the beginning of the grueling 8hours of misery and agony. Truly, a pale comparison to average day of any other student who would still be sluggishly crawling around their personal space or still be playing dead on their bed.
The first ordeal: No further can fellow students of the same subject get from 'waltzing in quietly into the meeting room'. Déjà vu of a high class fish market is seen as three men in suits scrutinize you, seemingly staring straight through what one is desperately trying to hide. Negative thoughts are then verbalized and your grooming would be pointed out to be, a mess. A mundane two hours would be wasted in a disgusting fashion of screaming and growling by an animalistic teacher who is in need of no less than fifty sessions with my friend Allis and a strict diet to put him anywhere near the recognizable shape of a human.
The second ordeal: Moving into the 'Brunch' break, instead of having a meal, ignorant offenders were told to get a haircut. I was in the list. I had already had a haircut which I sincerely approve to be, Short and Sweet. The animal growled," You call this a haircut?", called out a monk, who had decided to get education, from the midst of those gleefully heading for brunch, and proclaimed, " THIS is a haircut."
Generations have passed since the days where haircuts were all about shaving one's head, but this animal has been blessed with longevity, and I shall give it to him that he is the experiencing divine intervention in the extension of his life span. Deprived of a meal, life must go on in the boot camp.
The third ordeal: Faced with an array of utensils and contraptions used in the queer art of Fine Dining, students are now tasked to remember the labels of these extravagant items. With about seventy mind-boggling contraptions to remember by name and shape, the hunger for knowledge is subtly silenced and the sinking feeling of information overload promptly informs our cognition that we are going to need a break again. But alas, this is the precise preparation to set the stage for the final item on the list of punishments in store for us.
The Last Boss: It is now made clear, that even if you're going to live five years shorter, being a left-handed person has its' perks. The technique of holding a gun known as a tray, and ammo known as bricks is definitely profound way beyond me. Taught in two methods, tray-carrying is identified as a physically demanding activity, especially if the teachers mistake bricks for cups of juices/glasses of wine.
However, as the minutes tick by, the highly anticipated moment when we were released has to arrive eventually. The phenomenon known as 'Euphoria' can be studied on the faces of the students, as the cool touch of your home clothes covers the fatigue accumulated when in the service uniform. The surge of unexplainable joy is the only reason one can smile after going through turmoil, only to face the creature again next week.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Nope. No "YAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!" this time.
Examination week, plus my quats and back still hurt from gym session.
Anyway, since this blog's is called "Let Me Dream", I figured I should write something about my dreams.
Apparently, my morbid little dream is getting more vivid, and I'm progressing further, like some sort of story. Initially it was just me finding myself in a really run-down city, where ALL things only had the same color: grey The sky was crimson though. Typical setting.
Then slowly, walks out zombies from all directions *shrugs at the idea of resident evil*
THEN, I start lashing out a blade that seems like it was synthesized onto my forearm (alike to that in Full Metal Alchemist)
On goes the killing for awhile... then I wake up. Good thing I didn't die in there. haha.
Examination week, plus my quats and back still hurt from gym session.
Anyway, since this blog's is called "Let Me Dream", I figured I should write something about my dreams.
Apparently, my morbid little dream is getting more vivid, and I'm progressing further, like some sort of story. Initially it was just me finding myself in a really run-down city, where ALL things only had the same color: grey The sky was crimson though. Typical setting.
Then slowly, walks out zombies from all directions *shrugs at the idea of resident evil*
THEN, I start lashing out a blade that seems like it was synthesized onto my forearm (alike to that in Full Metal Alchemist)
On goes the killing for awhile... then I wake up. Good thing I didn't die in there. haha.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
YA-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Ya! It's week13 of AirAlert. My one and only happy week. FULL REST.
The sad thing is that my hardest week, the last week, happens to be the week my school starts.
Bummer... Going to my first days of school like a zombie isn't funny. Not one bit.
Oh well... That's just the way it is. Gotta get it done and over with. I hope my lifelessness doesn't create a bad image of me (Whilst my classmates should get to understand me better over time, first impressions always count. right?)
Ya! It's week13 of AirAlert. My one and only happy week. FULL REST.
The sad thing is that my hardest week, the last week, happens to be the week my school starts.
Bummer... Going to my first days of school like a zombie isn't funny. Not one bit.
Oh well... That's just the way it is. Gotta get it done and over with. I hope my lifelessness doesn't create a bad image of me (Whilst my classmates should get to understand me better over time, first impressions always count. right?)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
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