about a bastard

as the title probably suggests, i am not happy, and this entry will by no means be a nice pleasant one. but i will try my best to keep it vulgarity-free.

one must always strive to help others in need right? yes, so bearing this axiom in mind, when a guy approached me at a train station to get me call to his friend to tell him that he'd arrived, saying that his handphone battery was flat, i thought nothing much about it. he was relatively polite, didn't take my handphone from me, and even asked where a coin-operated phone was. so i dialed. no one picked up, he smiled, said it was all right, and i left to take the train.

big mistake.

it turns out that the number i dialled was his handphone number. very sneaky and cowardly way of getting a girl's number right? he called me a couple of minutes after i left. i thought he was his friend (see he now has split personalities) but it turned out to be him. fine, i told him i wasn't fine with being friends, rofl, seeing that he featured less than an ant in my life, at least i bother to look out for an ant. come to think of it, i didn't look at him when he asked me the question either, i have no idea how he looks like, save for a red shirt or something. he was nice about it, so i thought, case closed right?

big mistake 2.

this evil conniving etc etc bastard called me again a week after, while i was watching a movie. he called multiple times. me being me, i didn't pick up until like end of the show, when i realised i had 3 unknown numbers who tried to call me for a total of about 7 times.

by now you guys will probably realise this guy operates with not one number, but at least two. the third unknown number was withheld. i decided to ignore it, though as things were i was getting annoyed.

he calls again, twice at midnight one day, and on the very same day itself at 5am. i ignore it. the next day he calls at 6am, and being extremely sleepy due to the lack of sleep (i wonder why) i pick up the phone, he asked who's this, i gave him a fake identity and since he sounded really sorry about waking me up, i thought, yes case closed he's never going to call again.

he calls today at 4am. he remembers my fake identity name. i immediately ignore his call, switch my phone to silent and everything, he doesn't call back. i tried to call him a while ago to ask him kindly to please stop calling me, let's see how this works out since he's not answering.

i am so angry by now by the severe lack of sleep and the calls waking my family up that i call singtel customer service to try and get them to block the number for me (belated move, i know). they say they don't have such a service, but they can do a call tracing for me and send him a warning letter. it'd cost, but i didn't mind paying because i want this guy to have punished in some sort of way, to not do it again to any other girl, not just me. they say that to do a nuisance call tracing, however, they need 5 calls a day. well that's nice and dandy isn't it, since he's so shrewd that when he needs to call more than 5 times a day he uses his 3 different numbers. the lady on the other line is really apologetic, she surmises he probably knows about the policy, i ask her about filing a police report, she tells me it's up to the police to decide what to do about it. the lady suggests i change my number, no way.

bah.

so now i'm left bleary eyed typing a blog entry not being able to do much more, really except to hope he's reasonable and will stop calling and delete my number from his phone when i ask him to.

gosh what a bastard.

moral of the story, guys? when you help someone, make sure your phone number is withheld first (you can do this with any phone.) otherwise you might have to pay for it like me.

about results

see, i've never been someone to beat myself up over my results. it's partly because i've seldom done badly enough to warrant being upset over how i've scored, but mostly because i've always found a good reason to explain why i did so poorly. like when i got an f, and the subsequent fail marks for maths were all brushed aside, i didn't care, to be honest, cuz i felt at least there was progress.

now i realise it's not improvement that i seek. some part in me had always been confident that eventually, i will nail it, it just takes time. some cocky part of me has always imagined that i'd figure it out somehow, with little effort on my part. abiel thought my poor showing this time round was due to cockiness, no, abiel, and that is the scary part for me. i wasn't cocky. i studied hard, as best i could, wrote what i thought were brilliant, yes brilliant answers to the questions, and what did i get in the end? i barely scraped a 2.1. my essays throughout term were fine, good even, my politics tutor told me he was actually disappointed with my collections results (when i did better than my current paper) because he expected so much more from me.

it's not exam technique. i did time myself stringently, unlike during collections. was it that i chose questions i could not do? maybe, but i doubt that'd have played such an important role anyway. is it that i didn't do enough work? perhaps, but i did what i could with what little time i had, and throughout the term i did consciously work hard. and anyway at this point it's hard to reconcile with the fact or appearance that some people are able to do so little work during term time and still get their firsts.

so what is it?

if it's not exam technique, not amount of work put in, and seeing that it is the same paper that everyone sat for - well then, by elimination, it must be me, isn't it? the one thing i've been most proud of myself wasn't really my running or anything, it's been my brain all this while. i pride myself on being able to think on my feet, being quick on the uptake, and oxford's honed that and i'd like to think that my tutors have taught me more. (at this point, i'm reminded of sheryl's comment that i have, in her opinion, the 2 best politics and philosophy tutors in the university.) i'm starting to think, to seriously doubt, am i not good enough for oxford? sure i passed, but that has never been and will never be my aim.

they say that confidence is half the battle won. let's see how much worse i can do, now that i've lost half the battle.

home, results etc.

24 hours - 3 countries, 3 airports, after a 8 hour long train ride. i got slightly sick at every lurch the plane took towards the end of my marathon travel back home, but at least i survived. it's the anticipation. i remember, on the long train ride from varna to sofia, seeing mountains framed by the rising sun, remember the lerthagy i felt when i reached sofia, after having slept fitfully and badly needing the loo. i remember feeling excited, happy that soon i will be home.

plane ride to heathrow from sofia. started to feel nonchalent about this home thing. plane ride from heathrow to bangkok. sat next to 2 thai teenagers who were visibly elated when the plane finally touched down. all at once i wish i were them, even though it'd be my turn in a couple of hours. plane ride from bangkok to singapore, my home. time seemed to stand still at 15minutes to landing. i was anxious, so anxious. my parents were waiting, abiel was waiting, i didn't want to be late. zipped through security, half jogged my way to customs and out, and suddenly this anxiousness stopped. replaced by this nonchalence about being home, my home, the familiarity of the place, seeing my mum wave frantically as i wave back but almost instantly turn to look for my luggage. i missed singapore, i missed the people in singapore dreadfully, but i couldn't master a hug when i saw the people i missed so much. it's not that they don't mean anything anymore, all of them are so integral to my life, it's just so hard to let them know how happy i am to be home. my parents, my dear darling parents, i am ever so glad to see them. and abiel darling, i'm sorry if i seemed cold, my heart leapt when i saw you (the blindingly bright orange shirt might have something to do with it =P) but honestly, i felt complete.

my happiness at being home increased when i saw my brother, who kindly opened the door for me with a smile (rare one these days) and my grandmother, probably as pleased as i am that i am back. tempered, though, by my grades, which are by no means average, much less good. tempered by the 2 million things that are missing from my bag, they've just disappeared. the grades are probably the main factor though. and now it's 230am and there's nothing much i can do online, nothing much i can do to will myself back to bed but just blog surf. there's still anticipation, this time of abiel's sister's wedding, seeing him again, seeing his parents again, seeing her in all her joy and happiness, in the knowledge that she need never be alone again.

and this is when i tell myself, at the end of it all, grades don't matter. material possessions don't matter. they are means to an end, and as long as i can achieve the end i want, then obstacles are just temporary roadblocks, but i will get there.

i'm sorry if i can't spend another year with you in london, abiel, if i don't get my masters. i will see what i can do about it.