As I'm typing this, my legs are still aching from standing and jumping for two hours non-stop, and my eyes can barely keep themselves open, but it doesn't matter because I JUST CAME BACK FROM THE A7X CONCERT. This has been a long time coming for Bryan, Joshua, You'en and I, and now that it's over I think I can safely say on their behalf that it exceeded all our expectations.
Since this was my first rock concert, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. The venue, The Hard Rock Coliseum at RWS, was much smaller than I had imagined, but I soon realised that that didn't really matter once the lights went down and everyone started jumping all over the place. Everyone was already super-hyped even before A7X showed up, singing along to the Metallica songs being played over the speakers and chanting "SEVENFOLD" in between the songs. Then the band finally appeared and everyone went wild. The flow of the concert was pretty fluid as well, with M. Shadows pausing at opportune moments to make small talk with the audience before proceeding with the next song. Execution of the songs was, needless to say, nearly flawless, as is standard procedure with Avenged Sevenfold, and The Rev's temporary replacement in this performance, Arin Ilejay, is pretty good drummer in his own right, so kudos to him for that.
And now, without further ado, the concert proceedings:
It all started with the lights turning off, followed by the familiar bells signaling the start of Nightmare, and at the end of that song while everyone was cheering, it took a while for us to pick up on the pipe organ at the start of Critical Acclaim. After that headbang-intensive song, they took some time to introduce us to the new drummer, leading pretty appropriately into Welcome to the Family. Then there was silence, until M. Shadows started chanting "I'm not insane," getting the crowd to join in, and finally going into Almost Easy, followed by Buried Alive. They then dedicated So Far Away to The Rev, followed by Afterlife, and then kicked it old-school with Beast and the Harlot. After that, Matt said that we looked too tired to continue and side-tracked into a love story. The crowd was confused at first, but the moment we heard that he "must have stabbed her fifty f***ing times," we knew that A Little Piece of Heaven was next. Then Matt asked how many of us had gone to America before, then how many have been to Las Vegas, and how many have been to this place right next to Sin City, a little place called Bat Country. That was supposedly the last song, and the band walked off the stage. Left to their own devices, the audience started chanting "we want more," then "5 more songs," and even "what the f***," until the band finally came back up on stage to perform Fiction. After that, Matt told us an anecdote about how he met a few fans in the elevator and they gave a song request, and they decided to fulfill it. That song, much to my surprise and delight, was Second Heartbeat, and it was even better than the LBC version because this time it was the full version, complete with the breakdown and drummer-boy guitar solo parts, which the song really isn't complete without. At that point I was already completely satisfied with my life, but they decided to squeeze in one more encore, Unholy Confessions. Right before the end of the song, they told us to form a venue-wide mosh pit so they could get footage for their upcoming DVD, which we promptly did, as they teased us with the intro riff from Crossroads, before finally concluding the concert.
All in all, a great performance by an amazing band, spent in the company of good friends and fellow fans. Totally worth the $110, and I would probably have paid double if I knew how good it would turn out to be :D
PS:
That's right; like this, but better.
EDIT
PPS:
Found a recording of the Singaporean version :D
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Funtasia
Went back to NJ yesterday to attend their Funtasia fund-raiser, and chatted a bit with some of my ex-teachers and fellow ex-NJCians in the process. I have to say that the school has changed quite a bit from when I was there, even though it's only been two years. For some reason, I just get the impression that it feels more... vibrant? Quite a few things that I don't think the management would have green-lighted before were present during the carnival, including a bouncy gladiator arena which we promptly booked all to ourselves for the purpose of a five-way deathmatch. You read that right: five 20-year-old NSFs paid $15 to get into an inflatable ring and beat each other silly with inflatable axes and foam punching gloves. I have crazy friends, yes.
Missing the days of whispering jokes to each other and/or sleeping during lessons and lectures, eating together during breaks and making the slowest guy return all the plates, trying to do homework together after school but ending up playing Monopoly Deal/basketball/frisbee instead... The list goes on. Oh well, you'll never enjoy the preset if your mind is caught in the past.
Missing the days of whispering jokes to each other and/or sleeping during lessons and lectures, eating together during breaks and making the slowest guy return all the plates, trying to do homework together after school but ending up playing Monopoly Deal/basketball/frisbee instead... The list goes on. Oh well, you'll never enjoy the preset if your mind is caught in the past.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
"Zombie"
Yes, I know this is way overdue, but here it is anyway: the composition that I wrote in camp based on the one-word prompt "zombie". You know, because why not.
"And remember that part when she bit him? How he tried to resist the virus but still became infected in the end? That was so cool!"
Four teenagers walked out of the cinema hall, but one voice rang louder than the rest. While the other three enjoyed the occasional zombie flick, John loved zombie movies with a passion. The horror of seeing men walk with the spark of life missing from their eyes, the despair that the lonely survivors feel, the existential torment that zombies must feel in limbo between life and death; these were all emotions that John loved to watch, and he hoped that one day he would be able to show his version of the zombie apocalypse to the world. John's dream was to become a movie director, to be able to feel all the powerful, beautiful emotions of fantasy and reality and portray them on the big screen for the world to see.
As absurd and far-fetched as that goal may seem to an outsider, it was a goal that fit right into John's clique, which also consisted aspiring footballer Zach, avid painter Marcus and self-proclaimed future dance queen Zoe. "The Dreamers", as they liked to call themselves, became close friends through their shared tendency to dream big and their determination to achieve their goals. At that point, the group decided to split up as Zach needed to go for soccer practice, so John made his way back home.
Even before entering the front door of his house, John knew from the sound of the six o'clock news from the television that his dad was home early from work, and anxiously waited outside, debating with himself over whether he should stay outside another hour until his dad went back to his room to read the newspapers. "Don't be silly," John told himself. "You'll have to breach the subject sooner or later, so might as well make it today." With a final deep breath, John slowly creaked the door open.
"Dad," John said, trying to sound casually confident. He evidently did not try hard enough, as his dad looked up with a slightly puzzled and wary look. John pressed on. "Did Mom pass you my report card?"
"Yes," his dad said, letting his guard down slightly and allowing a faint smile to form on his lips. "Great job, son. I had confidence in you, but straight A's is still a very pleasant surprise."
Boldened by the positive response, John continued. "Well, do you think this proves that I will be able to adapt to the School of the-"
His dad's face turned black nearly instantly. "Not this again," he said, restrained exasperation clear in his voice. "I've told you before that it's much safer to go to a normal school and get a normal, stable job. I'm not letting my son go to some so-called 'School of the Arts'." John opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by his father. "Think about your grades, son," he said. "They're brilliant! You should be going to a proper university to study a high-flier course like medicine or law, instead of going to some film school. This conversation-"
"This conversation is over, right? Yes, I know the drill." With that, John walked slowly to his room, head hung low in defeat. He laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, stopping only to pretend to be asleep when his mother called him for dinner. He wasn't exactly sad or angry, because he's had this conversation quite a few times already. He definitely wasn't happy either. All he felt was emptiness, as it slowly dawned upon him that his dream, which had for so long been his primary driving force, was more or less unreachable. That night, a little part of him died, and he finally fell asleep.
Ten years later, John's alarm clock blared loudly in his ear, as he struggled to keep his eyes open long enough to find the snooze button. Half-dazed, he slowly washed up and got changed for work. "Another day..."he mumbled to himself, as he shambled out of the house.
Still half-asleep when he reached his workplace, John willed himself out of the elevator, lurching slightly forward due to his drowsy stupor. Finally, with a loud and clumsy thud, he landed heavily in his chair in his cubicle and started the computer. His eyes stared at the screen and his hand moved the mouse, but his mind refused to be part of the whole affair and decided to go into hiding. John just hated his job; something inside him just wretched at the thought of sitting in front of a screen and crunching numbers the whole day. Still, he put up with it, if not for the fact that it paid the bills every month. The overall experience was tolerable; he just tried not to think too much while working.
As the office clock chimed the end of the work day, John awoke from his daze and made his way out, and hopped onto a bus towards that cosy little pub that Zoe told him about. The Dreamers were finally meeting up again after close to ten years. So they chatted, and one by one they filled each other in on the past decade. Zach didn't do well enough to make it to sports school, and he's now working as a waiter in a restaurant; Marcus tried to work as a freelance artist, but gave it up and got a desk job. Their voices were tinged with disappointment as they recounted their lost dreams. Zoe, on the other hand, only listened intently.
When it was her turn to talk, she explained how she's now a part-time cashier at a fast food chain while enrolling in a dance choreography course. "The going's tough, but I know I can do it," she said, eyes burning with desire. However, those fires were soon struggling to survive as Zach and Marcus started throwing cold water on her plan. It's too risky, they said; it's not worth it, they said; it's too difficult, they said. Slowly, Zoe's confidence drained away, replaced by fear and uncertainty for the future. Watching the scene in front of him, John remembered some thoughts he once had as a teenager.
"The horrow of seeing men walk with the spark of life missing from their eyes." John looked first at Zach, then at Marcus, and he realised the drive to achieve their dreams at all cost, the spark which made them make the most of their lives, was gone. He reflected upon his own life too, and how he gave up his dream of being a director in favour of a less risky office job. He was as dead as Zach and Marcus.
"The despair that the lonely survivors feel." John now focused his attention on Zoe, and how she was starting to panic as her fellow dream chasers from her childhood now seemed to be completely different people, urging her to give up what used to keep them all alive. John tried to muster the will to encourage Zoe, to convince her to continue on her risky path, but he found that he could not look her in the eye and tell her so. He was too restrained by his own cowardice.
"The existential torment that zombies must feel in limbo between life and death." John thought about his daily routine, of the constant conflict within him between quitting a job he hated and maintaining a job at all. He thought about his failure to stand up for Zoe just now, quelling the remnants of his past self that protested Zach's and Marcus' pessimism. Living enough to recognise that he is dying, and dying enough to not be able to truly live again.
A bitter grimace formed on John's face as he downed the full mug of beer in front of him. "Another beer, please," he signaled to a nearby waitress, as he looked forward to blacking out his brain with alcohol that night. If he was going to be a brainless zombie, he might as well start acting the part.
I need to start writing more descriptively. I always get so caught up with the main story that's swirling in my head that I don't bother to take the time to give the reader a better idea of what exactly they're looking at in any given scene. Heck, I don't even give my characters names most of the time, but I had to make an exception this time because there were four characters in focus instead of just one. Oh well, all that will be for another time.
"And remember that part when she bit him? How he tried to resist the virus but still became infected in the end? That was so cool!"
Four teenagers walked out of the cinema hall, but one voice rang louder than the rest. While the other three enjoyed the occasional zombie flick, John loved zombie movies with a passion. The horror of seeing men walk with the spark of life missing from their eyes, the despair that the lonely survivors feel, the existential torment that zombies must feel in limbo between life and death; these were all emotions that John loved to watch, and he hoped that one day he would be able to show his version of the zombie apocalypse to the world. John's dream was to become a movie director, to be able to feel all the powerful, beautiful emotions of fantasy and reality and portray them on the big screen for the world to see.
As absurd and far-fetched as that goal may seem to an outsider, it was a goal that fit right into John's clique, which also consisted aspiring footballer Zach, avid painter Marcus and self-proclaimed future dance queen Zoe. "The Dreamers", as they liked to call themselves, became close friends through their shared tendency to dream big and their determination to achieve their goals. At that point, the group decided to split up as Zach needed to go for soccer practice, so John made his way back home.
Even before entering the front door of his house, John knew from the sound of the six o'clock news from the television that his dad was home early from work, and anxiously waited outside, debating with himself over whether he should stay outside another hour until his dad went back to his room to read the newspapers. "Don't be silly," John told himself. "You'll have to breach the subject sooner or later, so might as well make it today." With a final deep breath, John slowly creaked the door open.
"Dad," John said, trying to sound casually confident. He evidently did not try hard enough, as his dad looked up with a slightly puzzled and wary look. John pressed on. "Did Mom pass you my report card?"
"Yes," his dad said, letting his guard down slightly and allowing a faint smile to form on his lips. "Great job, son. I had confidence in you, but straight A's is still a very pleasant surprise."
Boldened by the positive response, John continued. "Well, do you think this proves that I will be able to adapt to the School of the-"
His dad's face turned black nearly instantly. "Not this again," he said, restrained exasperation clear in his voice. "I've told you before that it's much safer to go to a normal school and get a normal, stable job. I'm not letting my son go to some so-called 'School of the Arts'." John opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by his father. "Think about your grades, son," he said. "They're brilliant! You should be going to a proper university to study a high-flier course like medicine or law, instead of going to some film school. This conversation-"
"This conversation is over, right? Yes, I know the drill." With that, John walked slowly to his room, head hung low in defeat. He laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, stopping only to pretend to be asleep when his mother called him for dinner. He wasn't exactly sad or angry, because he's had this conversation quite a few times already. He definitely wasn't happy either. All he felt was emptiness, as it slowly dawned upon him that his dream, which had for so long been his primary driving force, was more or less unreachable. That night, a little part of him died, and he finally fell asleep.
Ten years later, John's alarm clock blared loudly in his ear, as he struggled to keep his eyes open long enough to find the snooze button. Half-dazed, he slowly washed up and got changed for work. "Another day..."he mumbled to himself, as he shambled out of the house.
Still half-asleep when he reached his workplace, John willed himself out of the elevator, lurching slightly forward due to his drowsy stupor. Finally, with a loud and clumsy thud, he landed heavily in his chair in his cubicle and started the computer. His eyes stared at the screen and his hand moved the mouse, but his mind refused to be part of the whole affair and decided to go into hiding. John just hated his job; something inside him just wretched at the thought of sitting in front of a screen and crunching numbers the whole day. Still, he put up with it, if not for the fact that it paid the bills every month. The overall experience was tolerable; he just tried not to think too much while working.
As the office clock chimed the end of the work day, John awoke from his daze and made his way out, and hopped onto a bus towards that cosy little pub that Zoe told him about. The Dreamers were finally meeting up again after close to ten years. So they chatted, and one by one they filled each other in on the past decade. Zach didn't do well enough to make it to sports school, and he's now working as a waiter in a restaurant; Marcus tried to work as a freelance artist, but gave it up and got a desk job. Their voices were tinged with disappointment as they recounted their lost dreams. Zoe, on the other hand, only listened intently.
When it was her turn to talk, she explained how she's now a part-time cashier at a fast food chain while enrolling in a dance choreography course. "The going's tough, but I know I can do it," she said, eyes burning with desire. However, those fires were soon struggling to survive as Zach and Marcus started throwing cold water on her plan. It's too risky, they said; it's not worth it, they said; it's too difficult, they said. Slowly, Zoe's confidence drained away, replaced by fear and uncertainty for the future. Watching the scene in front of him, John remembered some thoughts he once had as a teenager.
"The horrow of seeing men walk with the spark of life missing from their eyes." John looked first at Zach, then at Marcus, and he realised the drive to achieve their dreams at all cost, the spark which made them make the most of their lives, was gone. He reflected upon his own life too, and how he gave up his dream of being a director in favour of a less risky office job. He was as dead as Zach and Marcus.
"The despair that the lonely survivors feel." John now focused his attention on Zoe, and how she was starting to panic as her fellow dream chasers from her childhood now seemed to be completely different people, urging her to give up what used to keep them all alive. John tried to muster the will to encourage Zoe, to convince her to continue on her risky path, but he found that he could not look her in the eye and tell her so. He was too restrained by his own cowardice.
"The existential torment that zombies must feel in limbo between life and death." John thought about his daily routine, of the constant conflict within him between quitting a job he hated and maintaining a job at all. He thought about his failure to stand up for Zoe just now, quelling the remnants of his past self that protested Zach's and Marcus' pessimism. Living enough to recognise that he is dying, and dying enough to not be able to truly live again.
A bitter grimace formed on John's face as he downed the full mug of beer in front of him. "Another beer, please," he signaled to a nearby waitress, as he looked forward to blacking out his brain with alcohol that night. If he was going to be a brainless zombie, he might as well start acting the part.
I need to start writing more descriptively. I always get so caught up with the main story that's swirling in my head that I don't bother to take the time to give the reader a better idea of what exactly they're looking at in any given scene. Heck, I don't even give my characters names most of the time, but I had to make an exception this time because there were four characters in focus instead of just one. Oh well, all that will be for another time.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Writing and running
Counting down less than a month to SAT I. After about half a year (probably more) of procrastinating, I've finally registered for real and am now headed down the final run-up to the test itself. You'd think that having been in possession of the SAT prep book for half a year, I should be an absolute beast at this test by now. As much as I'd like for that to be true, or even to be able to fool myself into thinking it is, I am pretty well aware of how unprepared I am. Of course, saying things like this before a major test is pretty redundant. Is it possible to ever feel prepared enough for anything? The very thought of such a concept seems paradoxical, especially to a sleep-deprived mind like mine right now. All my life, whenever I had a test coming up soon and I wasn't studying for it, I was either thinking "aww man, I wish I had more free time to study" (rare response) or "screw this shit, these notes don't even have pictures" (common response). I have never thought of anything along the lines of "I have prepared myself to the fullest extent possible. Any further effort spent on preparation will only be wasteful and inefficient. I shall now do something else until the test day."
So long story short, the SAT is closing in on me and threatening to bite my very vulnerable rear end, and I'll need to start squeezing in as much last minute practice as I can to not fail myself and waste another month waiting for the next exam date.
A weird thing happened to me in camp on Tuesday. Out of the blue, I suddenly had a shock of inspiration course through my veins, and the only way I could release it was through creative writing. So, for the first time in 3-4 years, I wrote a one-word composition topic. It felt really cheap and pointless to come up with a word myself and then write about it, so I asked my bunkmate Zhaofeng to say the first word that came to his head, without telling him what it was for; he said "table". While in hindsight I probably could have written on the revolution of a group of sentient tables against their oppressive, put-heavy-stuff-on-their-heads human masters, at the moment I decided to ask him to pick another word; he said "zombie". It was yet another very unconventional word by 'O' level standards, but I already felt kind of guilty about rejecting the first word, so I decided to go with it. It definitely took a while to get the engine running after 4 years, but I had the luxury of writing in a non-timed setting, so by the end of the day I had a six-page essay on the word "zombie" which in my opinion (which I'm trying to keep as unbiased as possible) wouldn't look too out of place in the 'O' levels in terms of tone; fiction and drama, but nothing over-the-top which tries to disguise outrageous scenarios as good writing. I may or may not decide to retype it here for archiving's sake depending on my mood later on (I'm really too sleepy to type 6 pages right now). Maybe these creative writing exercises will become a once-a-month thing, because seriously why not: I enjoy writing stories in my own pace if inspiration wills me to do so.
Speaking of exercise, next Thursday is my IPPT for the year (cue nervous laughter). I really hope that I can maintain my silver this year, but with my PT schedule having been what it was for the past few months (empty), I really don't have that much confidence in myself right now. Oh well, there's always next time.
So long story short, the SAT is closing in on me and threatening to bite my very vulnerable rear end, and I'll need to start squeezing in as much last minute practice as I can to not fail myself and waste another month waiting for the next exam date.
A weird thing happened to me in camp on Tuesday. Out of the blue, I suddenly had a shock of inspiration course through my veins, and the only way I could release it was through creative writing. So, for the first time in 3-4 years, I wrote a one-word composition topic. It felt really cheap and pointless to come up with a word myself and then write about it, so I asked my bunkmate Zhaofeng to say the first word that came to his head, without telling him what it was for; he said "table". While in hindsight I probably could have written on the revolution of a group of sentient tables against their oppressive, put-heavy-stuff-on-their-heads human masters, at the moment I decided to ask him to pick another word; he said "zombie". It was yet another very unconventional word by 'O' level standards, but I already felt kind of guilty about rejecting the first word, so I decided to go with it. It definitely took a while to get the engine running after 4 years, but I had the luxury of writing in a non-timed setting, so by the end of the day I had a six-page essay on the word "zombie" which in my opinion (which I'm trying to keep as unbiased as possible) wouldn't look too out of place in the 'O' levels in terms of tone; fiction and drama, but nothing over-the-top which tries to disguise outrageous scenarios as good writing. I may or may not decide to retype it here for archiving's sake depending on my mood later on (I'm really too sleepy to type 6 pages right now). Maybe these creative writing exercises will become a once-a-month thing, because seriously why not: I enjoy writing stories in my own pace if inspiration wills me to do so.
Speaking of exercise, next Thursday is my IPPT for the year (cue nervous laughter). I really hope that I can maintain my silver this year, but with my PT schedule having been what it was for the past few months (empty), I really don't have that much confidence in myself right now. Oh well, there's always next time.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Murphy's executioner
Last Friday was, without a doubt, the absolute worst day I've ever had as an NSF and a strong contender for worst day of my life. I am not exaggerating when I say that every little thing that could have gone wrong did, stretching out what was supposed to be a half-day errand into a two-day marathon of malfunctions and breakdowns. To recap exactly what happened would be a long and tiring process, so let's just drop the subject and hopefully one day I will live to forget this ever happened.
Met up with some 09SH27 guys yesterday at Island Creamery to have a chilling and talking session. It was great to see people whom I haven't seen for a long time, like Victor, Kexuan and Rayson. Yicen came too, but she was the only representative from the girls' side, so you can see how well this supposed class outing turned out. Business as usual, as far as attendance is concerned. Still, we had a pretty good time, and I simultaneously discovered my new favourite ice cream flavour and the fact that nobody else shares my taste in ice cream (it's alright if no one else likes you, Burnt Caramel, you'll always have me!). After Island Creamery, we went to Adam Road hawker center to wait for Zikai, Guanhao and Darrell, only to find out that they were at Island Creamery the whole time -.- So we backtracked and chatted for another half hour or so. It never ceases to amaze me how you can have entire conversations develop out of nowhere as long as you have the right company.
Sometimes, unintentional callousness can be just as bad as intentional manipulation.
Met up with some 09SH27 guys yesterday at Island Creamery to have a chilling and talking session. It was great to see people whom I haven't seen for a long time, like Victor, Kexuan and Rayson. Yicen came too, but she was the only representative from the girls' side, so you can see how well this supposed class outing turned out. Business as usual, as far as attendance is concerned. Still, we had a pretty good time, and I simultaneously discovered my new favourite ice cream flavour and the fact that nobody else shares my taste in ice cream (it's alright if no one else likes you, Burnt Caramel, you'll always have me!). After Island Creamery, we went to Adam Road hawker center to wait for Zikai, Guanhao and Darrell, only to find out that they were at Island Creamery the whole time -.- So we backtracked and chatted for another half hour or so. It never ceases to amaze me how you can have entire conversations develop out of nowhere as long as you have the right company.
Sometimes, unintentional callousness can be just as bad as intentional manipulation.
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