I'm not the least bit hungry. I'm full, and I ate too much calamari. I feel pretentious and stupid. The wrong words always, always roll off my tongue when I want it least to happen. ("It's a silly word, girl." - Translations) But what a day...
At 8.30am I was already sitting at the tables outside LT2, doing my history tutorial. I'm having a fiendishly bad time catching up on my work ever since SDG XIV, can't seem to stop falling asleep every time a lecturer opens his/her mouth. I thought I looked at least semi-awake during the Senior Civil Servant Speaks (or what I call it, anyway) dialogue session, but according to Chun Wee, Zihao and I were comatose in relatively obvious states, so to speak. Darn. No wonder the council president, seated next to the guy and giving the interested nods, was giving me these (envious?) looks every time my eyes were open.
Anyway, so the rest of the committee filters in and a long time later P decides to grace us with her presence after glaring down the corridor from the teacher's room several times at our lack of punctuality. It was a a long meeting; again I felt like I was staring at a feedback form, unable to fill in under the heading "Topic". After a lot of talk from concentrating-on-the-music to Nibori to we-are-good-friends to beige-shirts to pontianaks (huh?), we were released at 12. I could just feel the sun rising each hour behind my back. The guys cannot stop plotting and planning against everybody (even Johnson's Duck Rice), although I doubt they have clear campaign plans. We are not supposed to soften our stance. (Am I revealing too much, General?)
It's so quiet now...
Now again I shall make fun of Zhixuan. "What CWC event is it?" he asks at lunch. "Artist's Jam, where we read out stuff," I reply. "Read out what? Lit texts?" he says blankly. I choke back a giggle and explain we read poetry. "Stuff you write yourself?" he shouts incredulously. "Recite it to us now!" (he demands.) It's wild the way he tries to create a muggerish element out of anything at all.
So I ran back to school for the Lit-text-reading event. It was actually pretty fun (as it usually is), introducing ourselves and strange, assorted alumni, and simply enjoying original poetry and prose, setting up the reception tables (where I consumed so much seafood), talking to people. (Apparently the J1s had a good time at the guitar camp. Yay! Or for her word, Victory!) While waiting for the judges to make their decisions, we hung around and I later learnt the tabs for Angel (Sarah's, not Shaggy's) on Daniel's ancient guitar. (I love the diversity AND similarity of my CCAs, I do.) Yi San bagged the top prize for poetry and was shocked. It was very funny seeing her shocked. I'm happy.
I'm sorry I hit a nerve. I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing back there...

Because he will have a new weapon, gravity,
And everything he releases becomes a missile,
Even glass marbles, books, the fatal music box.
Because he is lonely enough without being able to
Frame the house he lives in between his forefinger and thumb.
...
And because he might get the wrong notion that he is closer
To heaven, when he has not even come a mile
Within the presence of angels, despite the resemblance.
Alfian Sa'at, Why A Man Cannot Have Wings