Hear Me Rant

"You are going to be representing our college in the creative writing event for UTSAV on the 23rd of April!"

Su-Lin, student council member,
and class representative of Batch 17

"No can do. I got flu scheduled for that day."

Me

"You must go-lah since you've won the inter-batch one."

Inn Shan, the recently reinstated representative
for my Batch (18) in the student council

"Make me."

Me

Oh, I like writing just fine (hence the existence of this really wordy, boring, shut-up-already! blog). But when you take this little pastime of mine and stick a 2 hours time-limit on it, coupled with a really lousy, mock-grandiose theme worthy of the minds of 70-year-old virgin, retired English schoolteachers (like last year's "The Changing Seasons and Changing Society" fiasco), you'll end up with a literary tournament that stifles the very purpose of holding it in the first place! I mean, how creative can a person be under 2 hours with a topic that's 5 words way too long? I suck under pressure; it brings out the worst in me - i mean, I'm someone who updates his blog twice daily during the university exam months just to distract myself from the stress generated from even thinking about textbooks. I like to actually write something meaningful and sincere, not piece together a Frankenstein of an essay about something I don't care a single walnut peanut mote of nut-dust about.

I actually won the batch-level one by the merest hair's breath - I spent the first half-an-hour of it drooling blankly on top of my manuscript, completely discombobulated, befuddled and stupefied by "The [bloody] Changing Seasons and [bloody] Changing Society" when some tramp of a Muse kicked me in the head with an inspiration that's just crazy enough to work. All I get for winning was a piece of lumber with my name inscribed on it and a certificate saying "I da man" of a wimpy writing contest. What am I suppose to do with them? How are they going to help me get anything I want? Oh, I can see it now;

D.S.S.C.S.S.H*: So you want a position here with us. Tell me, what are you good at?
Me : Er, I spin a good yarn.
D.S.S.C.S.S.H: Huh?
Me : I write really good essays. Here look! *wave piece of lumber with my name on it at the D.S.S.C.S.S.H*
D.S.S.C.S.S.H: Um, we'll contact you, Dr. Kok.

*D.S.S.C.S.S.H = Director of Some Seriously Cool Shit Specialist Hospital

Now, I'm pitted against the king nerds brightest prose-writing minds of the other MAHE colleges with the oh-so-comforting thought that they'll whip a presumptuous upstart like me from here to End Point and back again with their quills. Heck, the Indians are practically Englishmen (plus poverty, plus tan) after having been ruled by the Brits for like a gazillion years. I'm so screwed that I'm practically bending over for them with a red carpet leading all the way to my ass.

And the reason I don't usually seldom never join any of these sort of competitions is that I'm an immensely sore loser. There's nothing I hate more than being proven that I am rubbish at what I do. I'll mope for months afterwards. I'll overeat (even more). I'll finally cross that line from being overweight to downright whale obese, get a stroke from a cerebral artery clogged up with fat, and die gibbering like an aphasic twit reciting a tongue-twister. I'll die in this UTSAV competition, can't you all see? Have mercy, o' Beasts Mighty Lords of MMMC's Student Council!

Okay, enough of ranting for today. The steam, it hath runneth away.


Yesterday night, I started reading A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett at about midnight. I didn't plan on reading much - maybe just a chapter or two before lights out (it's a school night after all and I've just finished the massive tome of Dune by Frank Herbert over the weekend) - but I ended ultimately not sleeping even a single wink till the break of dawn. It's more than a year since I've last read an un-put-down-able book and frankly, this offering of Pratchett's surpassed all my expectations. The first book of the series, The Wee Free Men, was rather forgettable and I only bought its sequel because I'm kind of particular when it comes to completing a series.

A Hat Full of Sky is a child's book, though adults would no doubt appreciate it just as much. Pratchett's writing style (at least in this book) is comparable to my all time favourite authoress, Susanna Clarke, and it contains massively lively and funny characters reminiscent of Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus Trilogy (though in the measured aspects, the latter two is still definitely superior). The most impressive bits of this jolly-good-yarn has to be Pratchett's "insights" - I know no better word for it. You have to read it to know what I mean.

As soon as I can get a bit of breathing time from school, I'm marching straight down to Mangalore to get the third book, Wintersmith. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to catch up on all the sleep time that Tiffany Aching (the book's witch-in-training protagonist) and her Wee Free Men robbed from me the night before. If this keeps up, I'm going to revert back to my old habit of dozing off in every single lecture class.

Oh, wait - I already am.


Pished,
k0k s3n w4i