Friday, May 27, 2005
Reverie
Some form of wakening; revelation.
But I'm getting ahead of myself - let's start off a little less serious.
This week has been majorly, insanely taxing for me. Every single day, and I mean everyday, I only get home past 11pm, sometimes not even having had dinner. It's the crazy overdrive period. SAF around the corner with it's killer, exhausting rehearsals, and my own crazy determination to complete my driving lessons in the shortest time possible. I'm actually amazed with my progress. A month ago, exactly to the day, I was busy trying to figure out how the damn half-clutch worked and where the biting point was exactly, with my car jumping and vibrating like Mario on crack. And now I'm practising my parallel parking, getting ready for final theory and about to do the damn simulator. Almost at stage four within a single month - sometimes I scare myself. It was exhausting as hell and these days I have zero social time - but I know it's going to pay off in the future.
But good things first - I had the honour and privilege of meeting one of the most reknown composers/conductors to have ever lived. I refer to none other than James Barnes. Yes, the composer of Invocation and Toccata; Appalachian Overture; Alvamar Overture; Fantasy Variations, just to name some of the more popular. I actually spent two hours listening to him conducting, instructing and guiding the central band. And I was no more than two metres away from him. A living legend. I'm a huge Barnes fan. I always imagined him to be some snobbish englishman with the power suit and controlled executive-styled hair, with a snooty snarl on his lips at all times. I don't know why. I guess it's the impression I derive from the music he writes. Very bombastic, dynamic, insanely complex, and creative to the point of deliberate antagonism at times. How wrong I was. Walking into the studio, one of the two people dying to see Barnes, I was met with a man of smallish stature, a greying, balding hairline, thin-rimmed, round-elderly-person spectacles, in a very normal looking shirt, topped off with old looking pants and dusty shoes. Not particularly of impressive stature, but he had a certain aura of warmth radiating from within. He felt approachable. He was entertaining and genuinely funny; I could feel his earnesty and passion in his words. He had presence. His simple words were backed with unrivalled experience, wisdom and intelligence.
I took a picture with him. I was so happy I could die right there.
Listening to him conduct Fantasy Variations made me quiver in my shoes. The man conducting this piece is actually the man who wrote it. That scared the heck out of me. I never thought I would once meet the person who wrote that fantastically difficult but rewarding competition piece which consumed so many days of my life several years ago. More than once, too. But I loved every moment of that.
So I attended the concert today, conducted by Barnes himself. I didn't have tickets. I didn't care. I pulled strings, fought and assassinated my way in by any means necessary, and got a good seat. It was an experience. How was it? I am no critic. Critics say it was messy at points - but I am a plebeian. I listen as a commoner. And I was enthralled; amazed; impressed. I am easily impressed. But Fifth Symphony and Festival Music for Singapore really did me in with it's granduer and plain ambition. There was so much to respect about how the music was written - the richness and contrast of the texture, the phrasing, the genuine creativity. I have not been in a concert where six trumpets, in addition to all those on stage, were positioned at the rear of the concert hall to blast the living daylights out of us from all directions with some of the craziest arrangments I've ever seen. Barnes seems to like the Senza Misura. I can't deny that I find it highly entertaining and dynamic. It was a mystical evening. I don't care that I came home at 1 am and am exhausted beyond comprehension from my past 12 hours of corp of drums. I experienced Barnes in person. That is enough. This is one of the best weeks ever, in my cultural pursuit, plain and simple.
Like the third movement of Fifth Symphony, I've experienced change as well. I'm not ashamed to say that I've recently been denied a place in the NUS law faculty again. I've prepared myself emotionally for rejection - but of course when the reality really hits with it's dull, unyielding certainty, there is always some amount of hurt you can never be prepared for. I don't feel bad for myself. I always tell myself that I've been through some of the most gruelling academic trials ever and have done better than I ever imagined. I'm lucky and thankful for that. Four UK universities have vied for my favour, and Oxford granted me, together with some thirty other people, a chance to sit in at an interview with some of the biggest names in their faculty. I have been granted honours I never dreamt of. I am not a genius like my brother, but I am definitely not ashamed of myself. I don't blame the system either. I only think that I've disappointed my family and friends. They've always supported and believed in me. I have no reason to doubt that they will continue to do so - but I can't help but feel guilty that I've let them down. They, who have put so must trust in me.
I spoke with my dad about a startling discovery - that I've been rejected by all the universities who have actually met me. I know it's probably unfair to consider Oxford as one of them, but I believe that I have as good a chance as any other. The point is, the universities that have accepted me have only seen my writing and my grades. The universities that have interviewed me, on the other hand, have all rejected me. So I'm now faced with my mortal fear. I will explain. Some of my closest friends among you will know what I mean. I mean, my inaptitude to speaking. I have always feared speaking. I freely admit that. I don't like talking. Why? Because I'm not good at talking; I have an odd voice, and an even odder style of pronunciation. I always mention this, people always make fun of this - it's attributed to my unnatural jawline. I am not ashamed - I'm only upset that I have to put up with this flaw. This flaw which no one seems to be able to accept me for. And naturally I grow wary and self-conscious. I learn not to speak, to look elsewhere, to speak softly, to minimise my jaw movement whenever possible. I do this because I have this defect. And now it is costing me. Costing me my future. I couldn't give a damn if people laugh at me for it. I'm used to it, I've had to withstand that my entire life. None of you, NONE of you, will ever get close to understanding the amount of pain I've had to put up with. You can laugh at me, you can point out my flaw, but you will never be able to say you've had the same sort of courage. Because you've never needed it.
I'm sore, of course. Sore not because I think I'm incapable, but because I'm disadvantaged in a system that is intolerable of disadvantage. And I am now at a very difficult point in my life. To consider, with finality, what path I will tread in the future. I always thought I would do law. I still can. I have my place in UK. A university more prestigious than NUS will ever be. That is not a problem. The question is, do I want to do it, and am I cut out for it, or am I just trying to force it, because that is what people expect of me, and what I expect of myself? Now that it has been proven that my rejections are not based on luck or coincidence, I'm faced with the dire reality that I am not actually physically, emotionally or mentally equipped to tackle a profession as demanding as law. People tell me: you're so well-read, you can write so well, you can speak better than some people in the faculty of NUS, so why are you so unconfident of yourself? The answer is that my confidence is being rapidly grounded into ashes by my surroundings - the way how all signs point to 'no'. I am experiencing doubt I've never experienced before. It is troubling. And worse still - it is very, very real. I am surrounded by people who worry all day about their girlfriends, boyfriends, hair, looks, of what club is open tonight, of whether their friend is coming to their birthday bash at some hip joint next week, whether or not they've got enough protein in their diet, whether or not there will be time to sleep during the day. And me?
Me. Hm. I wake up in the morning, look at myself in the mirror, and ask, 'why? why me?' Why couldn't I just be normal? There has to be a reason. I believe in cause and effect; action and reaction. Fate must have different plans for me. But why did it have to be me? And what plans, to what purpose, exactly?
Perhaps I will go to UK. I will be spurred by this denial from my own local university, and I will tell them that I don't give a damn whether or not they let me in because either way, I'm going to become a lawyer. And the only thing that matters is whether or not they want to have a hand in this, or whether I have to turn to foreigners to grant me the education I think I deserve. Can I will myself to greatness out of spite? I am rapidly losing my faith. My trust in this place I call home is draining away like a gaping sinkhole. Why won't they give me a chance? Am I truly so incapable, despicable, intellectually disadvantaged? Or is it because I'm ugly? Or because I didn't get perfect grades like all the other applicants (and we all know how important grades are in indicating a person's capabilities)? Combination of all? Or because I'm simply inapt, and talentless with words in speech or prose?
Perhaps I will not go to UK. Perhaps I will end up doing oddjobs for the rest of my life, trying in vain to find my calling, but in the end only, like Willy Loman, to find nothing here? Only emptiness? And I will pursue that emptiness to whatever end, at whatever cost?
'He had the wrong dreams. All, all, wrong.'
But I'm getting ahead of myself - let's start off a little less serious.
This week has been majorly, insanely taxing for me. Every single day, and I mean everyday, I only get home past 11pm, sometimes not even having had dinner. It's the crazy overdrive period. SAF around the corner with it's killer, exhausting rehearsals, and my own crazy determination to complete my driving lessons in the shortest time possible. I'm actually amazed with my progress. A month ago, exactly to the day, I was busy trying to figure out how the damn half-clutch worked and where the biting point was exactly, with my car jumping and vibrating like Mario on crack. And now I'm practising my parallel parking, getting ready for final theory and about to do the damn simulator. Almost at stage four within a single month - sometimes I scare myself. It was exhausting as hell and these days I have zero social time - but I know it's going to pay off in the future.
But good things first - I had the honour and privilege of meeting one of the most reknown composers/conductors to have ever lived. I refer to none other than James Barnes. Yes, the composer of Invocation and Toccata; Appalachian Overture; Alvamar Overture; Fantasy Variations, just to name some of the more popular. I actually spent two hours listening to him conducting, instructing and guiding the central band. And I was no more than two metres away from him. A living legend. I'm a huge Barnes fan. I always imagined him to be some snobbish englishman with the power suit and controlled executive-styled hair, with a snooty snarl on his lips at all times. I don't know why. I guess it's the impression I derive from the music he writes. Very bombastic, dynamic, insanely complex, and creative to the point of deliberate antagonism at times. How wrong I was. Walking into the studio, one of the two people dying to see Barnes, I was met with a man of smallish stature, a greying, balding hairline, thin-rimmed, round-elderly-person spectacles, in a very normal looking shirt, topped off with old looking pants and dusty shoes. Not particularly of impressive stature, but he had a certain aura of warmth radiating from within. He felt approachable. He was entertaining and genuinely funny; I could feel his earnesty and passion in his words. He had presence. His simple words were backed with unrivalled experience, wisdom and intelligence.
I took a picture with him. I was so happy I could die right there.
Listening to him conduct Fantasy Variations made me quiver in my shoes. The man conducting this piece is actually the man who wrote it. That scared the heck out of me. I never thought I would once meet the person who wrote that fantastically difficult but rewarding competition piece which consumed so many days of my life several years ago. More than once, too. But I loved every moment of that.
So I attended the concert today, conducted by Barnes himself. I didn't have tickets. I didn't care. I pulled strings, fought and assassinated my way in by any means necessary, and got a good seat. It was an experience. How was it? I am no critic. Critics say it was messy at points - but I am a plebeian. I listen as a commoner. And I was enthralled; amazed; impressed. I am easily impressed. But Fifth Symphony and Festival Music for Singapore really did me in with it's granduer and plain ambition. There was so much to respect about how the music was written - the richness and contrast of the texture, the phrasing, the genuine creativity. I have not been in a concert where six trumpets, in addition to all those on stage, were positioned at the rear of the concert hall to blast the living daylights out of us from all directions with some of the craziest arrangments I've ever seen. Barnes seems to like the Senza Misura. I can't deny that I find it highly entertaining and dynamic. It was a mystical evening. I don't care that I came home at 1 am and am exhausted beyond comprehension from my past 12 hours of corp of drums. I experienced Barnes in person. That is enough. This is one of the best weeks ever, in my cultural pursuit, plain and simple.
Like the third movement of Fifth Symphony, I've experienced change as well. I'm not ashamed to say that I've recently been denied a place in the NUS law faculty again. I've prepared myself emotionally for rejection - but of course when the reality really hits with it's dull, unyielding certainty, there is always some amount of hurt you can never be prepared for. I don't feel bad for myself. I always tell myself that I've been through some of the most gruelling academic trials ever and have done better than I ever imagined. I'm lucky and thankful for that. Four UK universities have vied for my favour, and Oxford granted me, together with some thirty other people, a chance to sit in at an interview with some of the biggest names in their faculty. I have been granted honours I never dreamt of. I am not a genius like my brother, but I am definitely not ashamed of myself. I don't blame the system either. I only think that I've disappointed my family and friends. They've always supported and believed in me. I have no reason to doubt that they will continue to do so - but I can't help but feel guilty that I've let them down. They, who have put so must trust in me.
I spoke with my dad about a startling discovery - that I've been rejected by all the universities who have actually met me. I know it's probably unfair to consider Oxford as one of them, but I believe that I have as good a chance as any other. The point is, the universities that have accepted me have only seen my writing and my grades. The universities that have interviewed me, on the other hand, have all rejected me. So I'm now faced with my mortal fear. I will explain. Some of my closest friends among you will know what I mean. I mean, my inaptitude to speaking. I have always feared speaking. I freely admit that. I don't like talking. Why? Because I'm not good at talking; I have an odd voice, and an even odder style of pronunciation. I always mention this, people always make fun of this - it's attributed to my unnatural jawline. I am not ashamed - I'm only upset that I have to put up with this flaw. This flaw which no one seems to be able to accept me for. And naturally I grow wary and self-conscious. I learn not to speak, to look elsewhere, to speak softly, to minimise my jaw movement whenever possible. I do this because I have this defect. And now it is costing me. Costing me my future. I couldn't give a damn if people laugh at me for it. I'm used to it, I've had to withstand that my entire life. None of you, NONE of you, will ever get close to understanding the amount of pain I've had to put up with. You can laugh at me, you can point out my flaw, but you will never be able to say you've had the same sort of courage. Because you've never needed it.
I'm sore, of course. Sore not because I think I'm incapable, but because I'm disadvantaged in a system that is intolerable of disadvantage. And I am now at a very difficult point in my life. To consider, with finality, what path I will tread in the future. I always thought I would do law. I still can. I have my place in UK. A university more prestigious than NUS will ever be. That is not a problem. The question is, do I want to do it, and am I cut out for it, or am I just trying to force it, because that is what people expect of me, and what I expect of myself? Now that it has been proven that my rejections are not based on luck or coincidence, I'm faced with the dire reality that I am not actually physically, emotionally or mentally equipped to tackle a profession as demanding as law. People tell me: you're so well-read, you can write so well, you can speak better than some people in the faculty of NUS, so why are you so unconfident of yourself? The answer is that my confidence is being rapidly grounded into ashes by my surroundings - the way how all signs point to 'no'. I am experiencing doubt I've never experienced before. It is troubling. And worse still - it is very, very real. I am surrounded by people who worry all day about their girlfriends, boyfriends, hair, looks, of what club is open tonight, of whether their friend is coming to their birthday bash at some hip joint next week, whether or not they've got enough protein in their diet, whether or not there will be time to sleep during the day. And me?
Me. Hm. I wake up in the morning, look at myself in the mirror, and ask, 'why? why me?' Why couldn't I just be normal? There has to be a reason. I believe in cause and effect; action and reaction. Fate must have different plans for me. But why did it have to be me? And what plans, to what purpose, exactly?
Perhaps I will go to UK. I will be spurred by this denial from my own local university, and I will tell them that I don't give a damn whether or not they let me in because either way, I'm going to become a lawyer. And the only thing that matters is whether or not they want to have a hand in this, or whether I have to turn to foreigners to grant me the education I think I deserve. Can I will myself to greatness out of spite? I am rapidly losing my faith. My trust in this place I call home is draining away like a gaping sinkhole. Why won't they give me a chance? Am I truly so incapable, despicable, intellectually disadvantaged? Or is it because I'm ugly? Or because I didn't get perfect grades like all the other applicants (and we all know how important grades are in indicating a person's capabilities)? Combination of all? Or because I'm simply inapt, and talentless with words in speech or prose?
Perhaps I will not go to UK. Perhaps I will end up doing oddjobs for the rest of my life, trying in vain to find my calling, but in the end only, like Willy Loman, to find nothing here? Only emptiness? And I will pursue that emptiness to whatever end, at whatever cost?
'He had the wrong dreams. All, all, wrong.'
# posted by Paranoia Incarnate @ 9:43 AM 
