Pass It On
It was one of the many semesters,
but this time, she felt, it was different.
Maybe it was because she was back from United Kingdom, for a couple of months already now.
Maybe not that, she thought.
It must be the fact that she was a fourth-year student sitting in this new yet strangely familiar place, on the benches and just enjoying the excitement that was growing inside her.
Fourth-year student.
Honours student, she smiled.
How she liked the sound of those two words.
It made her feel old - yet young since she was beginning a brand new start.
Apprehensive, certainly.
She had taken up the honours year, because she didn't know what she wanted to do.
But she reminded herself that she had to work really hard this year, because she had to - certainly had to - attain that second upper honours degree.
This was the thing about her - she was simply stubborn.
Some call it steadfast, determined, goal-oriented;
she knew she was stubborn.
When she wanted to get something, she'd never lose sight of it.
She glanced around the smokey dungeon - a place that would eventually become her home for the next year and a half, she just didn't know - and she saw that her boyfriend was speaking to a man who looked rather out-of-place and lost.
She overheard their conversation about Sociology - her field of major - and her interest was roused immediately.
She reminded herself that when she was on exchange, she'd hoped that people would be warmer to her.
So she nudged her boyfriend and asked him to make a brief intro so as to make the man a bit more at home.
And then she realized that he was a post-doc fellow in the department and she sheepishly smiled at her boyfriend.
The man sure didn't need any orientation to her university - he'd studied here years ago.
Learning the man's abbreviated name, she laughed at herself for being so silly.
And then her days came and passed, while she struggled with a few theories here and there.
A few encounters with the man, affectionately known as KJ to them in the end, prompted her to ask questions about the Masters programme.
The question now was: was she even qualified intellectually to apply for Masters?
She spent the days in French classes, allowing her imagination to run wild about being an academia.
Dreams were pretty much free, and she could just see herself, perhaps writing a book about a theory of -
KJ's msn message came.
Out of the blue, he had explained that the calibre of Honours student was rather high and that with her present standard, she'd have to work doubly hard to apply for the programme.
She was almost in tears.
She felt judged, that her dreams had been brought crashing to the ground - even though it was perhaps a flitting thought of doing Masters that flirted with her imagination.
Of course, she didn't forget to blog about how she could say goodbye to Masters.
Her blog was her playground for venting her confused thoughts, her innermost emotions and
her past.
Days came and passed, until one day she was waylaid by KJ.
He had read her blog and reassured her that he was not implying that she was not adequate enough.
He had just wanted to consider the competition and prepare herself for the challenges ahead.
Fair enough, she thought.
He offered his guidance through theories that she struggled in and spoke to her more about the programme.
Mornings came and passed when the friendship between them got stronger and stronger.
A little sharing information about current affairs,
a nugget of Weber and Marx,
a chest full of life experiences,
amidst lit rolls of papers in the smokey dungeon.
He began to mentor her more and more intensively,
never plain feeding her with information but providing sign posts.
She was always a little slow, but she appreciated this effort to know her, her learning style and her aspirations.
It made her feel that people did indeed care, despite her mediocre grades and background.
The first semester of her Honours ended and she had scored a cap of 4.8 out of 5.0 for the semester.
The first person she exclaimed this was to KJ and she knew he was proud of her, with eyes gleaming with pride.
Her 4 Sociology modules had gotten A+,A,A- and B+.
It was a feat to her and the best semester ever.
She knew the credits was to him as he had made the effort to drop by the dungeon, where she had piles of notes and books, in the mornings, in between tea breaks and before he left for home.
A conscientious academic, she knew that he had better things to do than listen to her blabble gibberish and having panic attacks during critical phases, such as her exams.
One particular incident would always be remembered because he actually came back to the dungeon after 7pm to revise her theories with her. Without her asking to.
But always the person to put her feet on the ground and let her stay focused and grounded, he reminded her:
"While I'm proud of you, you must continue to stay focused. You must drop French."
She was crushed. She loved French and she knew that it was additional burden.
But surely, she could do something that she excelled in.
She was also devastated that she was unable to do her Honours thesis. She had wanted to own a mini book of her work but her other professor had warned that she would compromise 3 grades if she started on her thesis in the 2nd semester. Sure, she had qualified but she was way behind time.
That cut deeper. It was because she had qualified and yet was discouraged.
Being the rational mentor, he tried to bring reason to her that she should focus on doing an ISM (independent study module, a mini-er version of a thesis).
She was quickly (but not easily) pacified with his rationale.
And so the 2nd semester (also the last one) began.
It was a hell-ride.
With so much margin for failure (her cap was slightly 0.01 above the requirements for 2nd upper honours), she stressed herself out entirely.
And that meant being grouchy, grumpy, edgy, touchy, irritable.
So she was back in the dungeon again, spending sleepy and sleepless nights on the benches with her boyfriend, rushing papers, doing readers, contemplating about life and -
of course playing Facebook's applications (namely, Pirates).
About 2 weeks before her ISM was due, KJ took a walk down the steps to the carpark with her (to avoid the nasty security guards) as she ranted about her theories and how she was supposed to make them flow with the case studies. And then he asked -
"Speaking of case studies, how many do you have?"
She grinned proudly, "Two!"
And she saw his knees almost collapsing and him almost falling off the steps.
"Two?!?!"
And he shook his head and grumbled about it the whole afternoon. And of course, the days to come, whereby this became the butt of her joke.
On the day of her boyfriend's birthday, she planned a mini surprise party for him and invited KJ along.
However, she sensed something amiss.
KJ's face looked stricken with pain.
His mentor, who had taught him the concept of "Pass It On", had passed away, having been a fighter and source of inspiration for him.
She sat there quietly, the talkative her not quite knowing what to say.
She listened intently again about his mentor's strength and his feelings(or how little he showed it).
Pass It On was simple.
She had asked him how she could ever repay his mentoring, time and effort.
He said "Pass It On", to pass on whatever knowledge she could to the next batch of people who would benefit.
And that was the way she would repay him.
This philosophy, simple yet poignant, remained in her heart, until today and will certainly follow to her grave.
Labour day came and she had another examination due the next day.
Despite his exclaimed grumpiness about working on a public holiday, he appeared in the dungeon (where she always was) and explained the concepts to her meticulously.
Throughout this time, she always felt stupid - that she always took longer than others to understand theories, that she could never focus and read her readings as her thoughts would be drawn away and even when she was focusing, she would never really understand. Was her mind just barren or was she not cut out for this academia thing?
Exams ceased and she was terrifically enthusiastic as she was about to embark on a graduation trip with her boyfriend.
Her "other half", as KJ would tease and she would indignantly retort back that she had her own identity, whenever KJ asked where her other half was.
And so Milan, Florence, Pisa, Naples, Rome, Berlin, Barcelona, London, Marseilles, Nice and finally Paris.
It was at Nice that her results were released and she'd gotten 3.99 out of 5.00, falling short of 0.01 from her second uppers.
Once again, fallen from heavens.
She dropped an email to KJ, to inform him as he was on a conference overseas.
She was resigned to fate.
It was a year long of mind games with Fate.
Reaching Singapore on 3 June 2008, she realized that after marking a module as a satisfactory pass, she had attained 4.01.
Her heart pumped as she called KJ and told him about the good news.
And once again, he was proud that she had triumphed against all odds and made what appeared impossible possible.
She and her other half then decided to visit the school on a good Monday morning, 6 days after their arrival in Singapore, on his motorcycle at approximately 7.15 am.
A technical defect occured and they both lay bloodied on the tarmac road of PIE.
The tyre had deflated, and they were swerved from the 1st lane to the 4th.
And there they lay. At the road shoulder where other cars drove and buzzed by.
Her fingers trembled as she called KJ and told him about the accident.
Before long, her boyfriend and she were nursed at the other half's place, where the both of them spent the days hobbling - or more appropriately hopping awkwardly - around as they were heavily bandaged.
KJ called and visited one day, with two bag fulls of nutritional supplements and her very important reinforcements of vices - he knew she'd absolutely be in misery should she be deprived of even the smallest things that made her contented, after the horrid accident.
Two weeks later, they were able to walk abit better and made it down to school in one piece to visit KJ.
Unbeknownst to KJ, the couple had been having a bad cold war.
Walking together to the bus interchange, the 3 exchanged goodbyes, what would be the last united farewell KJ would see the couple give.
The next morning, KJ received a call from a trembling voice and heard a small squeaky voice.
Everything had ended.
She came down, dazed and loss of appetite and sleep.
Sitting at the dungeon, she stared into mid-air - unable to accept reality and unable to leave this place that she had shared.
She stopped eating and KJ stared at her resignedly, when she pointed at a hardly-touched plate of rice and explained that she was very full already.
KJ spent his mornings and afternoons with her, putting her head right onto her shoulder and reminding her the importance of being calm.
He had shown her the positive side- that she was due to start work in a prestigious company the next week and he would be very proud of her.
Her intimidating week started, in an airline industry this time.
She was crushed - every working moment reminded her of him as they had spent endless times travelling.
Her lunch break was spent speaking to KJ, trying to calm herself down amidst a very big company and a culture shock.
Saturdays were spent in the dungeon, deliberating and contemplating about life.
Despite KJ's coaxing, she always counted down to the number of saturdays that they had been separated...
... And then, one day, she stopped counting.
She stopped sitting in the dungeon crying.
She knew that would break everyone's heart, including that of KJ, as people loved her and hated to see the sparkle lost in her eyes.
Her life was very hectic and she was forced to move on, unknowingly to her.. but not for long.
Another crisis had hit and she knew it was time for a change.
Another upheaval, another uncertainty.
She always sought KJ's opinion on life, career, relationships.
Maybe it was half-fear, half-respect for a man, who had inspired her so much.
Whenever she fell, he would inspire her and say,
"At least you fell and landed on your feet, instead of your knees. It's a very encouraging start!"
and of course,
"Belle... when you have downs, you have your ups... you can't stay unlucky for so long..."
And today, she had to tell him the fresh piece of news and this was what she received:
"
You are a big girl or young lady. Take good care of yourself. Remember that I only want you to be happy for the rest of your life."
x x x x x x x x x
Man of few words, so little said but so much felt.
It means the world to me.
Thank you for being a father/brother figure to me.
I'll remember how traumatized you were, when the people at the fair thought I was your daughter and tried to sell you convocation photo packages and you had retorted,
"If she were my daughter, I'd strangle her already!"
I know I never told you,
but I would be honoured to be your daughter.
Thank you KJ.
I'll remember to pass it on. =)
iLost my iPhone - An Eulogy
This is probably what one will see in the vineyards of Bordeaux - such a pretty sight.
Rue Sainte-Catherine, located in the heart of Bordeaux, has 1.2 km of a shopping street, making it the longest shopping street in Europe.
The Pont de Pierre is just as pretty as St Charles bridge in Prague.
This mountainous beauty is the highest mountain in the Alps and often known as "La Dame Blanche" (the white lady).
Such a beauty, and I'm certain it will be a memorable trip visiting Mont Blanc in the winter.
A rural area in northwest England, this place is often associated with the early 19th century poetry and writings of famous literary figures, like William Wordsworth.
