Tuesday, July 04, 2006
I am beginning to wonder if there is actually a style of writing that is uniquely Serene. I'm entirely vexed at myself.
Or perhaps my uniqueness lies in my lack of uniqueness. The ability to (or incapability to do anything but) express myself in the manner which most influences me at a particular point of time. I watch 'White Chicks' and I start talking like an African American. I read Mansfield Park and I start using incredibly snobbish words like 'vexed'. I suppose this is for the better. I should like to charm you with false pretences of wit and intelligence.
I miss Hong Kong did I tell you that? I miss the times when we'd play jump rope in the morning, and try each other's food during lunch. I miss learning about Victorians and Vikings, about Charles Dickens and hour glasses. I miss having a junior to read to, and a library to visit, every single day...with the big comfy cushions and the kind librarians. I could go whenever I wanted and read whatever I wished. Mozart, Egyptians and my favourite, Louisa May Alcott.
I thought I could reconstruct my experiences upon returning to Singapore, but I was simply lying to myself. No, my friends, the failure of this system was apparent to me even at a young age. Imagine being BARRED from the library during recess, simply because each class was designated a TIME to read. I was shocked out of my wits. Would they rather have me prancing around in the canteen, having people tell me who I should friend or shouldn't friend over a plate of fried mee? It was the RULES, the excessive regulation that was to blame for the poor standard of English among my primary school friends.
I switched from Little Women to Sweet Valley High. After finishing Wuthering Heights at the end of primary four, my teacher recommended Roald Dahl to the class. Years later, I was determined that my youngest sister would not go through the same fate. She's quite the little bookworm now.
I borrowed Wuthering Heights again last week. I think I shall understand it so much better now, and I shall try not to flip to the ending right away. I have rediscovered the novelty of reading classics, just as I rediscovered the joy of reading last year (Elizabeth A. Lynn if you're interested – Dragon's Winter. I'm a fantasy sucker, and of this Michi would be proud).
I shan't give up hope on myself so soon. I don't suppose my heart and mind is that hardened. I have this magnificent vocabulary exercise book, and as such I am convinced that all hope is not lost.
And I dare say I can still skip in like I used to. Just give me a jump rope and I'll prove it to you.
Complete with recitations of the teddy bear climbing up the stairs, switching off the lights, and going to bed.
1:39 AM
