Let me tell you the story 'bout the call that changed my destiny

I really don’t like it when I’ve to answer the phone right after I’ve just woken up.

“Hello? Is this Tham Ying Hui?” The voice was soft and distant. And its formal, impersonal tone was freaking me out a little.

“Yes…”

“Hi. I’m calling from Star Publications. Is there a Tham Ying Ying?” Wha? What’s up with my sis? Don’t tell me it’s about that article of hers that got published 2 weeks ago.

“Uhm yes. She’s my sister.”

“Oh okay. ‘Coz you and Tham Ying Ying are both selected for BRATs camp this coming June 5th to 8th in Kuching.” It took me a couple of seconds to process that. The funny thing is, the first thought that came to mind was, since when did my sis sign up for that? Or more like, she had the guts to apply for it? My mum would kill her. I mean, she just returned from Japan on some student exchange program and she might be flying to China for a choir competition around mid-June. And considering that she’s sitting for her SPM at the end of this year, yerp, my mum WOULD kill her.

“Okay…”

“So, are you both confirmed joining the camp?”

“Yes…” My mind was still reeling from the fact that my sis secretly sent the essay without telling anyone. “So you’re saying my sister is also selected for the camp?”

“Yes. So, can I confirm with you that both of you are joining the camp?” She must have read the hesitation in my voice and I could also read the slight irritation in hers.

“Yes, yes. We’re both going.” Well, what was I supposed to say? Oh no, you would have to wait till my mum no longer felt like killing my sis for being involved, then only could I give you an answer.

“Okay. Then we’ll send you the letter concerning the details right away.”

“Okay.”

“That’s all for now. Bye bye.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

I sounded less enthusiastic than one would expect of a person being told she was chosen for a somewhat National level journalism camp. But you know what? Screw expectations and stereotypical reactions. In reality, your mind probably sifted through a million other things before giving a suitable reaction. Then again, it might have been just me.

Like the fact that I’ll have to ditch 2 days of classes (with the possibility of missing Juan’s ET class? Uh-huh). Or that my sis’ friend just let her in on all the madness she went through during her BRATs camp in Penang in March, of which we are bound to face. Or that among the whole bunch of people participating, some would no doubt have wicked writing skills (though that means all the more people for me to learn from, no?). Or that the camp MIGHT change my perspective on journalism and possibly my choice of degree course (Nah. Impossible. Wait. No. I don’t know. Ugh. This is what scares me the most).

Having all this added up, what WAS I supposed to feel?  

No. You don’t have to answer that. 

Free Fallin'

Be careful of what you wish for. Because life can be an insipid fairy godmother who will gladly grant it by waving a wand tweaked into a distorted angle and what you would be left with, is a pitifully misinterpreted and off-target wish. Well, I am now that unfortunate Cinderella.

Granted, I did not bother to state the specifics when filling in the wish form back in February. It was mid-semester then, during the weeks when endless ungodly assignments and band practices wound us up mercilessly into a compressed bound that threatened to explode if evoked. In the midst of the spinning torpedo of college chores and responsibilities, I remember fervently wishing for the semester break and a little breather and like a broken record, I kept chanting, “When is all this going to end? How long till freedom returns?”  It felt as if I were a race horse and time was riding me, cracking the whip and digging its heels into my flank, urging me to gallop ever faster. All I wished for, was my turn to be the rider and be given the reins.

I got what I wanted, except it was boredom and not freedom. I blame myself for not being methodical or organized. Buried under the madness, I only looked for the light in the tunnel, never thinking about what I would do when I got out into the open. Halfway into my holidays, I still have not had anything planned besides the one trip to the northern state of Penang. After an ideal weekend of reading (I even went to the lengths of securing the leather couch that my mum always dominates and making myself a mug of chocolate to complete the picture) and goofing around with my siblings, reality set in and as I watched my college mates busying themselves with playing in gigs and contacting old friends, I begun to question my idea of a perfect semester break.

You see, I tend to think a lot when I am bored. About my past semester, about lessons learnt, about what I have accomplished, about what I want to achieve, about, well, seemingly everything. Yet, I had never spared a strain of thought for how I would want to fill the gap between one semester and the next. To me, it was the precious transition period during which I could let go, free fall and just be myself. Because sometimes, if finals were cruel, our freedom only spanned slightly over a week, not the 16 days as promised on the schedule.  

"Weekends don't count unless you spend them doing something completely pointless." - Bill Watterson

I am positive the theory applies to semester breaks as well.

Is it so wrong to just sit and rot at home? I mean, it is not like I had been slacking on practicing my piano and viola. Heck, I played more for the last 4 days than the whole semester of weekends I spent at home added up. And I did the research on my new-handphone-to-be, taught my brother music theory and helped out with some house chores, albeit grudgingly. But that is not my point. My point is, must every semester break be productive? I do understand it is important for self-improvement and mind-strengthening and all that posh-sounding terms, but (and yes, I do have an excuse for this) 14 days are all I have, two short weeks for me to take a deep breath before diving in again. So, give me a break.

Still, the thought of me lazing about with nothing on the agenda bugs my parents more than it does me. Being productive during the holidays is somewhat a vice for them.  I had heard enough stories of their glorious university days to know better than to contravene it.  Maybe that is the difference, while a university would normally be blooming with activities nearing the end of a semester, encouraging students from various courses to come together and link daisy-chains of themselves; a private college would be like a bowl of soup punctured by a tiny hole at the start of the semester, its content trickling out as the weeks flew by and pretty much drained as soon as finals were declared over. At least in most cases.

I am not saying I am entirely guilt-free about my lack of hustling about, or, as they put it, my apathy (I feel slightly remorseful and my reasonably lengthy practicing proves it). I just do not have the mood to venture out of the house. Truth be told, I love being at home, something I have come to appreciate and treasure ever since I started living at the dormitory on weekdays. And holidays allow me to do just that, to simply relax and let my guard down in the only comfort zone I have ever known. 

So, just let me be. Please. Besides…

"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted." - John Lennon

Dad, your idol has just become my idol. 

Paint the town, take a bow, thank everybody

Friday (16/04)

Recipe for an awesome dinner

1 teaspoon Ashley Choong

1 teaspoon Derene Lee

1 teaspoon Stephen Chang

1 teaspoon Ying Hui

1 teaspoon Chia Carmen

1 teaspoon Wei Xian

1 teaspoon Eugene Koh

1 teaspoon Wai Kit

1 teaspoon Kam Hin

3 cubes effort

3 tablespoons sweat

4 packets love

1 heater (warm up the room after the cold jokes)

9 cups laughter

Our grocery shopping was domestically questionable. God knows how many times I called home for help.

“Mi, how do we choose a good watermelon?”

“Mi, do we still have flour left at home?”

“Mi, what are green onions?”

“Mi, where do we get chicken stock?”

Yes. You can stop laughing now.

Derene was worried my mum would think we weren’t girls. AHA. Though I sometimes pose that upon myself too

Anyway, for 90 minutes, round and round we went in Jusco, and eventually Cold Storage, though I think I burnt more brain cells than calories. Cooking and all that hubbub boiling in the kitchen are just not my forte. But we managed to grab everything on the list, from 4 packets of shiitake mushrooms, cream, ginger, non-ground black pepper and cubes of chicken stock for our homemade mushroom soup as appetizer down to watermelon, grapes and guavas to serve as dessert.

And the 3 of us successfully hauled the load into Ashley’s car without breaking our fingers! Amazing feat, I tell you.

**********************************************************

Meet Auntie Dada (left, obviously), my family’s stay-in maid, aka our Intensive Cooking Course for the Ignorant Trainer for the day. She was extremely amused by our inarticulateness in the language of raw food. Or at least me and Ashley. Derene seemd pretty comfortable in the kitchen, besides not knowing where everything was. A Jack of all trades.

But we found a spot each. Derene marinated the chicken drumsticks, breast meat and wings with her kunyit powder. Ashley settled for dicing the onions. I soaked, scrubbed the tops and rinsed away the dirt off the shiitake mushrooms. It was like giving them a bath in a plastic tub, minus the rubber duck.

Right.

Ashley and her onions

Me and my shiitake mushrooms

Derene (: Actually, she's frying the bacon for the Bacon Potato Salad.

Anyway, our first guest arrived around 6.15pm, hitching a ride from our last band member, whose manpower, literally, we could have used in carrying the groceries. And both of them started to poke and pry into our workings. The most embarrassing thing was…

“Eh Ying Hui, you smash the ginger and put it into the soup.” Auntie Dada tossed me the dark-yellow thing. I placed it on the chopping board, charily amputated its roots and stared at it. I had no idea what to do next.

“你会弄的没有？没有切过，是?” Stephen was eyeing the knife in my hand and the ginger awaiting its death.

“Erm…不是很会…”

“哎呀, 我做啦!” And I was brutally shoved stepped aside. Depressing!

Stephen and the ginger

At least he had something to do other than rotting with boredom and commenting on our menu and preparation and my non-existing cooking skills.

Done with the ginger, we made him and Wei Xian helped peel the skin off the fresh-from-the-water-bath-on-the-stove potatoes and shred the slices of bacon. Then, they went and stoned in front of the TV while the 3 of us blended the mushrooms, fried the pieces of chicken and washed some of the things. 

**********************************************************

The fried chicken wasn't ready yet

Our first guest: Wei Xian!

Our second guest: Carmen!

By 8pm, everyone had finally arrived, after the many detours and confused ventures into BU3 or the Curve by some of them. We were all a little squashed up at the round dining table but I guess it made the ambience warmer. It’s the Circle of Band 11 and Guests (:  

Everyone loved our mushroom soup! Wheeeeee! Ha. I wonder WHO made the disgusted face at the pot when it was boiling, HmMmmMmMM??

And we even had an extra dish: lame jokes. Serious. Wai Kit kept asking me where the air-conditional was, ‘coz it got so cold all of a sudden =.=”

Almost everyone was lame. Eugene with his suggestion of introducing Kok Kian to Carmen, backed by Wai Kit and Stephen, who encouraged the idea with fantasies of owning L.V.-imprinted trumpets. Wei Xian with his 一股冷风吹过 statement every time there was a pause in our gabbling. Me and Derene with our reminiscent of funny times during band practices. Carmen with her lizards on the wall. Stephen with his reasoning of my having a fire extinguisher next to the piano was that I played it so powerfully that it would catch fire. Wai Kit and his thinking that the fat urchin in the photo behind him was me, not my sis.

Suddenly, the mosque blared out prayers. I doubt anyone heard it that up close and loud before. I thought they would be shocked, but I thought wrong.

“Eh, anyone can tell what key is it in?”

They were actually silent for a moment in contemplation.

“Nope. Must be microtones.”

“Maybe he modulates after every line.”

We weren’t disrespecting it or anything, we WERE viewing it from a musical angle.

Anyway, we were laughing hard throughout the whole dinner, though sounded like white noise to my sis upstairs, or so she said. It was one of the best dinners I had ever had (:

Band 11 <3

Wai Kit, Stephen, Eugene, Wei Xian, Kam Hin

Ashley, Derene, me

Kam Hin: Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!

**********************************************************

Round 2: Kayu mamak, within the territory of the Curve, IKEA, Ikano and Tesco.

Joined by Hui Chian and Irene. FINALLY. 

The suspects: 

Irene Sow

Wai Kit

Hui Chian

Derene

Stephen

Wei Xian

Yours truly

And guess what we had for supper?

The loooooong Roti Tisu

<3

I love you people (:

Ain't no sunshine

I reached the end of the rainbow

But I couldn't find my pot of gold

Someone must have got there first :(

I never knew how high my hopes were...

...till I was let down...

Stop this speeding train that is my heart

For a dizzying moment, my heart was in sync with the drumming in heavy metal songs, my hearing half drown by the gushing of blood. I swear, if I hadn't known better, I would have diagnosed myself with heart palpitation.

Worst was, my mind was a broken record playing the ungodly song that was the mistakes I made during my past semester's jury. Was that the reason I felt so mentally exhausted these days? Simply because I was suppressing what my acute memory was attempting to haunt me with?

Sigh. I don't know. I feel prepared, as far as the pieces and solos and all that technicality are concerned. But emotionally? I doubt that. It's like trying to tie the package that is my security but the ribbon just keeps unraveling, again and again.

'You're tied together with a smile, but you're coming undone.' Could Taylor Swift be right?

Speaking of whom, I've found this wickedly awesome medley of her songs mashed up by KurtHugoSchneider (the one who brought you the a capella Michael Jackson Medley) and sung by Tiffany Alvord (she really pretty, Jing)



P.S. Precisely 12 freaking hours before Judgement Day my turn for Jury. All over again.

I shy away from your gaze

I wonder, is the jam room THAT big a difference from the practice room? Besides the cushioned walls, coils of cables and adapter wires, electronic keys instead of an acoustic one and the stash of percussion instruments, that is.

Then, tell me, why do I SUCK atrociously when I practice in there? Maybe it’s the dizzy, claustrophobic sensation due of the lack of air and the odd odor from the little ventilation. Either that or it’s the extra pairs of eyes training my fingers and awaiting my cue for hits, stop time and section changing. Yeah. Most probably the latter. No, DEFINITELY the latter.

I just can’t. I just can’t play in front of people, even if they are my own friends. As Ladbrooke from Torey Hayden’s Just Another Kid put it, “It scares me shitless.” It incapacitates me. Google said I have anthropophobia, fear of people. Ugh. I’m not narcissistic enough to claim that I play flawlessly if left alone, but having another presence, an audience or the simple fact of being watched and, perhaps, judged, freaks me out. Immensely.  

I love playing in a band, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t particularly enjoy playing in a band under MY command. To be frank, I’m goddamn petrified by leading a band. Which more or less explains why my tongue’s tied if I were to instruct people, whether it’s just to increase the dynamics or to alter the arrangement of the song. I actually CHOKED when my band looked at me for comments or criticism. You know, the way you gasp soundlessly when you accidentally swallowed water mid sentence.

I don’t know why.

But what I do know is, I’m not a performer in nature. I’m not that naïve to say that a little more effort would unequivocally transform me into a Hiromi-standard professional performer by the time I graduated, I’m just not that sort of person. Neither am I that pessimistic to raise the white flag now and declare my performance skills hopeless. I want to improve. And I goddamn will. Yes, I know it means working my ass off and switching lecturer .

All I ask for, is time. And guidance. And, more than anything, patience, something that I myself can’t seem to nurture.   

P.S. Am I on the right path?

P.P.S. How the hell do I build up my bloody solo?!

I'm lucky just to linger in your light

For some reason, Band 11 makes me think of Uncle Kracker's Smile.

You make me smile like the sun, fall out of bed

Sing like a bird, dizzy in my head

Spin like a record, crazy on a Sunday night

Truth be told, this was the first ever semester during which I actually bubbled with excitement over band practices. Other than songs like *coughs* Beyond the Sea *coughs* Ponteio *coughs*, playing with you guys had been, as Derene put it, de-stress sessions. And yes, I WAS cruh-ay-zee on some Sunday nights, especially those preceding practices for Circle of Life and Man in the Mirror. You made me sing like a bird. Not a nightingale though, a crow, maybe.

You make me dance like a fool, forget how to breathe

Shine like gold, buzz like a bee

Just the thought of you can drive me wild

Oh, you make me smile

You made me want to shine like gold (: Not that I didn’t want to, for the past semesters, but there was something being with the four of you spurred me to try that extra harder, to go that extra mile. Then again, maybe it was the songs we chose. Hey, playing a song that you love, or eventually come to love, makes a HELL LOT of a difference, okay? Plus, our surprises for our audience during our 3 assessments (performing the first symphonic metal song of the semester - Discord, throwing out Gatsby hair products for I Can’t Give You Anything But My Love, marching for the introduction of All You Need Is Love) made EVERYONE buzzed like a bee.  

Why we might be labeled MAD or KOOKY:

1.       Band practices at 8am in the morning, almost daily for these 2 weeks. Yes, Clarence, we hear you. We owe you, and all of our awesome guests, a meal though how huge would depend on our pocket size

2.       Half of our songs were presented in a big band, no pun intended. We imported more than 6 guests at a time. E.g. 10 guests for Circle of Life and 9 for All You Need Is Love. Imagine all the schedules we had to sift through to arrange practices.

3.       Our odd song choices. We crooned a a capella piece, did a Disney-themed song, chanted our World Music-genre hymn in choir style, attempted a Pop song by playing our respective minor instruments and revived an ancient commercial jingle but in full version. No wonder Emma ran away when I wanted to ask him to play for our band.

But screw all that. I love you guys (:

I know my piano skills are FAR from perfect and my mistakes during the finals would not be the first time I let you people down but you made me improve a lot. And you guys showed me what makes a band, a band. You guys showed me we don’t have to play mind-boggling pieces with erratic rhythm and groove to capture the audience, but take things a step at a time as we move along the semester and enjoy ourselves on stage after we worked our asses off during practices. You guys showed me that I don’t have to frown throughout band practices and performances but smile.

And I thank you for that (:

And this is all of us trying to squeeze into a teeny weeny room in 6 Strings for our practice for the song All You Need Is Love. Should have taken a photo from the door to show the size and the sheer number of people suffocating inside. But it was good fun, especially our last practice before assessment the next day.