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When you kill time, the blood is on your hands.
Yes, the title is a clumsy mashup of 2 idioms. No matter, because it’s true. When you waste time, you have no one to blame but yourself. I should know, I’m a mass murderer of temporality.
Sitting in my room while the rain pours down outside, I ponder what I’ve done with my time since I effectively withdrew from active hall life. A sophomore asked me why I quit the band, and the simple reason is I just didn’t feel like it. I don’t actually spend any more time studying than I used to do, but I sure spend a lot of time doing what I want to do, instead of what my commitments dictate.
By doing a year-on-year comparison, I estimate I’ve reclaimed about 9 hours a week by cutting out hall activities. That’s not really a lot, but that’s a very conservative estimate based on: 3 hours of volunteer work, 1 hour of DnD work, 2 hours of choir practice and 3 hours of band practice.
The thing about cutting out all my commitments is that I am solely responsible for how I spend my time. If I don’t do my readings before class, I have only myself to blame, and I can’t justify it by saying I spent all evening at band or choir and thus had no time to study. Freedom is a double-edged sword, and the other side sometimes cuts deeper - because when you’re your own worst critic, disappointing yourself can be harder to swallow than letting others down.
A drawback of cutting out hall activities is that I also reduce opportunities for social contact. Days have gone by when I don’t speak to another human being beyond cursory greetings. Heck, I think my Harvest Moon farmer speaks to more people per game-day than I do in 24 real-time hours. Considering that he lives in a village of less than 30 people and I live in a hall with 500 residents, that’s a bit pathetic. I am a living geek stereotype: holed up in my room all day long with my electronic gadgets and not getting much sun.
One-person CCAs
For the academic year of 2007/08, I will be starting the following clubs:
- LOLCats Appreciation Society
- Online Shoppers’ Club
- Internet Studies Committee
- Dual-Screen Games
All these have a current membership of one: me.
After being turned down by Dance Production and Dinner & Dance, and not auditioning for Band and Choir since it would be a wasted effort considering my pathetic standard, I am now left with no hall CCAs at all. I can’t say I really care, since I don’t need the points to stay next year. Plus I have a Cartmanesque approach to this:
“Screw you guys, I’m going home!”
I’m seriously checking out the room rental pages in anticipation of my emancipation from forced participation.
Creating a backstory
This is only superficially related to hall life, actually. It relates what I discovered about delving into your character, while I was acting in one part of the EHOC programme.
Basically, one part of the 5-day programme was a whodunit, involving the kidnapping of the famous star, Girlyman. (Pronounced girly-mahn). He was due to perform at The Big Show on Friday, but had been tragically kidnapped on Tuesday morning. The freshies were given a list of suspects to interview, and I was one of them. I suppose it says a lot that they wrote in a part for a crazed stalkerish fan, and the first person they thought of to play that part was me. *sweatdrop*
I wasn’t given all that much info or backstory about my character, I made up a lot of the little details myself. Add to that the fact that I had to tell the same story 6 times, so coherence was important, otherwise I’d be unintentionally misleading the freshies or giving the game away.
All I was told was that my character was a crazed fan of Girlyman who attended every performance and had been accused of kidnapping my idol, in order to have the ultimate collector’s item. As for plotline, I had been stalking following my idol to the band room where he was having a rehearsal with Screaming Girl. Unfortunately I had to run to the bathroom, and when I came out, he was gone. My accuser was Girlyman’s brother, also under suspicion. Basically all the suspects were pointing fingers at each other. The brother didn’t like me because I set his shoes on fire, but I wasn’t told why, so I came up with a very elaborate backstory tying together lots of disparate threads. I’m still very proud of that.
I started out with a pair of scissors, since I was told to be cutting up Girlyman pictures for my shrine to him. When we did the run-through during Counsellors’ Camp, I discovered that threatening to cut people’s hair pretty much freaked them out, so I added in a hair fixation. Just for fun, I saved one of my own hairs (it was especially curly) and preserved it with cellotape, so it would be the highlight of the crazed fan’s collection.
As for setting the shoes on fire, this would be the crux of my entire backstory. I decided that I would frantically defend it as an accident, and spill the story if the freshies asked. This is pretty much what I told them, group after group:
I didn’t mean to set his shoes on fire! It was an accident! It was the 12th death anniversary of Girlyman’s hamster, and I was lighting a candle for the poor thing… but the wind blew, and my hair caught fire… I used to have hair like yours. (At this point, I would pick out a long-haired girl.) But I lost it in the fire. (Cue maniacal looking and caressing of girl’s hair.) So I didn’t really set his shoes on fire, I don’t know why he keeps accusing me…
The next thing they usually tried to do was to convince me to give up my scissors, which I was wielding quite dangerously. (Indeed, I injured myself, but no one else.) Then they would ask why I was cutting up all that waste paper. At this point, I would reply, “If I didn’t cut the paper, I’d be cutting hair.” *cue more maniacal gazing at hair*
I decided to wear a red hoodie, simply because Girlyman is wearing a red jacket in the video. If anyone asked, the hood was up to cover the bald patches on my scalp, from the fire. One particularly naughty orientation group tried to pull my hood down, so I decided to freak out and chase them out, then sniffle about this to the next group.
As with most orientation programmes, the freshies had to do something for me before I would give them any information. Their task was to follow Girlyman’s dance steps, presumably to cheer me up since I’d lost my idol. I just refused to answer their questions if they wouldn’t comply, by curling up into a ball, rocking myself and muttering “I’m so depressed…” One smart-alecky group eagerly agreed to dance for me, and then performed the Macarena. I turned my back on their “performance” and proclaimed that I was even more upset, because I hated the Macarena. Wahaha! At the end of the questioning, one group (I forget which) slipped up and asked “So who do you think killed Girlyman?” Upon hearing this, I started wailing “He’s dead???” and huddled in a corner sobbing, so they had no choice but to leave. Their time limit was up anyway. That was a pretty good performance, if I do say so myself.
I actually didn’t know that one of the other suspects was lying, and that my testimony (if true) was the one that proved her guilt. As it was, I was busy trying to defend myself, and I guess I do a very good innocent act, because the freshies decided I wasn’t the kidnapper after all. And although my character is slightly obsessed, not mentally challenged, some people insisted on speaking to me as though I had the mentality of a 5-year-old. That’s not to say I didn’t take advantage of this confound to play dumb when I was asked something I didn’t know how to answer. The concrete evidence linking the perpetrator to the crime was sequins, presumably from Girlyman’s costume. One group asked if I remembered what Girlyman was wearing when he disappeared, and of course I didn’t know what the other suspects had answered. Plus our Girlyman wouldn’t be dressed the same as the dude in the video. So I gave a gormless smile and said “Shiny suit!” since as his biggest fan, I couldn’t convincingly say I didn’t know. Luckily, they chose to interpret my mutterings as confirming the sequins as evidence.
All in all, I had a lot of fun acting, although there were times when I slipped out of character, or rather, into a character different from the one I originally envisioned. I took Bellatrix Lestrange as portrayed by Helena Bonham Carter to be my role model. I kept my room dark, so I could peer at them from the door and ask huskily, “Are you here to dance for me?” Unfortunately, by the 3rd or 4th group, I’d lapsed into Singlish and wasn’t quite as darkly menacing anymore. Bah. I have a newfound respect for theatre actors now. It can’t be easy giving a consistent performance night after night.
Orientation Damage
I’ve been gone a long time.
Orientation really takes it out of you, and trust me, it’s even worse if you’re the responsible, organising seniors rather than the turn-up-as-they-like freshmen. I’ve been on both sides of the fence and I certainly didn’t feel horrible frustration and pissed-offness on this level when I was a freshman.
But it’s all over now, and none of that means anything anyway. Nope, let’s just talk about the physical toll that Orientation takes out of you, because at least I have pictures for that.
First up: the bruise that was so huge and such an angry purple that people’s eyes boggled when they saw it. It didn’t hurt that much, so I usually forgot about it, but their reactions were quite amusing. It was inflicted on me while we were trying out an orientation game that involved slapping and pinching. I suppose the bruise started from a minor bruise I had prior to the incident, and the force of the slapping just broke up the clotted blood and it spread out over a larger area. Also, the person responsible for it was my co-leader, and I didn’t want people thinking he was some sort of violent psycho, so I was quite dismissive about it. But peruse the picture below, and you’ll see why I received so many concerned comments.
The only manipulation done to the picture was adjusting light levels. There wasn’t any need to touch up the bruise, the real thing was already impressive. It took 3 weeks to fully clear up, by the way.
Also, during the actual Orientation last week, many of us got severely sunburned during war games on the basketball courts. I, too, had unwisely neglected my sunblock, and suffered a burnt neck and arms. However, my cap and sunglasses meant I got off lightly compared to others who suffered burnt faces. And to top it all off, later that night was our beach bash at Cafe Del Mar, so some of us might have looked a little odder than usual, since our makeup no longer matched our skin tone. For some days after that, you could hear people going “ouch” after absent-mindedly scratching an itch on a badly burned body part. Still, at least we didn’t peel as badly as one of my freshmen - he was shedding skin flakes all over the floor, and we were eagerly speeding up the process for him, if you get what I mean.
Finally, still under the realm of “damage” although not quite as personal, my old Reebok running shoes had their final burst of glory at the end of our proud tradition, codename “Trail of Fire”. The rubber sole had already been coming off for quite some time, and my efforts at supergluing it back on met with marginal success at best. During the final sprint, the entire sole came off, and I had to go back later to pick it up. (I wasn’t going to stop dead in the middle of the best part.) Still, for something that saw me through junior college and most of my uni life, that’s pretty impressive.
So, yes. Cost of new shoes: $110. Cost of sunburn cream: $3.00. Surviving yet another orientation without going insane: Priceless.
Almost extinct: Clean Dorm Rooms
The population of clean rooms in hall decreases throughout the academic year. Their population curve over time resembles a sawtooth wave, with a drastic spike in July, and a gradual fall until the next July.
Usually, parents and domestic helpers are responsible for the population boost every year, but this time around a new party entered the conservation arena. The Eusoff Flag team decided to offer room-cleaning services as a fundraiser, and the service was met with overwhelming demand to the point where there was a waiting list of rooms to be cleaned. I asked them to clean mine on Friday, after I’d had a look at my room and come back with blackened soles, and they cleaned it today - they were really busy.
They did a fantastic job too. I’d already wiped my shelves, because I’m slightly anal about all the neglected corners, and cleaned my blinds the best I could since they don’t do blinds - it’s too time-consuming. And I thought it was only fair that I have a go at cleaning my own room so that I know how clean it can get, rather than insisting they get everything sparkling clean to meet my crazy high standards. I can’t help my high standards. My grandmother was a housekeeper, so she had lofty standards, which she passed on to her daughters, one of whom is my mother. Mum, in turn, had daughters, hence prolonging the family proclivity to extreme cleanliness.
I even soaped down my closet and swept the top of the shelves, where no one ever bothers to clean. If cleanliness is next to godliness, I’m on my way to sainthood. Still can’t beat my mother, though, she is the Kami-sama Of Clean. Although I think the flag team might make good disciples for her.
They got my windows so clean, it’s like there’s nothing between me and the outside world! I don’t think they’ve ever been so clean since the day they were installed. The ceiling fan, bugbear of neat freaks everywhere for its tendency to collect dust bunnies, is now bunny-free. Everything is so clean my vacation room looks like a dump by comparison, and I have to wipe down my possessions so they won’t contaminate my pristine new room. Ahhh. Money well spent.
Top left: An expanse of empty desk, before the rot of papers and assignments sets in.
Top right: Fan, no longer shedding dust everywhere.
Bottom left: The view out my window, taken through the glass - that’s how clean it is.
Bottom right: The new addition to my wall, a replica of the famed Liverpool sign.
We are the prata hall!
Never underestimate the power of opening a business in the vicinity of student residences. After 3 years in Eusoff, I can tell you that when hall residents either praise or slag a shop, lemming-like behaviour will be observed. Of course, this isn’t to say that we brainlessly go where others have gone, but expect to see swarms of students at places that have had their praises sung.
One such place is Sheng Siong, beloved by undergrads for the cheap groceries, foreign beer, and significantly discounted liquor. The vodka isn’t as cheap as it is in duty-free (I would know, I just bought a 75cl bottle) but it’s still cheaper than buying retail. It’s very funny indeed that the same students who go hunting for cheap fruits and vegetables think nothing of dropping 60 dollars on a bottle of JD. That’s what I call odd priorities, and I’m not excusing myself either.
It’s dangerously addictive to wander the snackfood aisles upstairs, because Sheng Siong parallel-imports stuff you’d have difficulty finding elsewhere. Family-size Nestle Crunch bars - because I like Crunch and I want lots of it - has only ever been found here, in my entire uni career. I don’t know why other places stopped carrying it. TKN crispy seaweed is lots cheaper here than it is at Watsons’, because someone carries the Thai stock, ahem ahem. Candy Empire isn’t the only place that has the new-design Aussie Mars bars, Sheng Siong has them in 3 different sizes - mini, 50g and 60g.
Sometimes it’s not the imported stuff that makes me squeal with happiness. I am, after all, a typical Malaysian, with typically Malaysian tastes in munchies. So while I have dried figs and gummy candies in the basket, I also can’t resist jeruk (pickled fruit) and keropok. Despite knowing that I can’t finish a whole bag of keropok in one day, which means the opened packet will get lemau (un-crispy), I chucked it in. So imagine my pleasant surprise when I opened the keropok bag to realise that it had a resealable zipper. No more lemau-ness!
Places like Cheese Prata, Fong Seng and Sheng Siong are why the Freshman 15 is a joke in Eusoff. Try the Freshman 20, or 30, instead. I’d consider it getting off lightly if I graduated from uni having gained only 15 pounds. In between the McDonald’s, nasi lemak, keropok and Double Choco Hello Panda, washed down with copious amounts of booze and Milo peng, I’ve probably accumulated so much arterial plaque that the defrib machine isn’t just a manifestation of cover-our-asses paranoia.
And finally, just to explain the title: Although we are obviously the prata hall since we live nearest to Cheese Prata, the provenance of the phrase is more complicated and current. The stale “This is Sparta!” joke was reinterpreted to be “This is Prata!”, and because our new orientation banner has a decidedly Spartan-300 feel to it, “This is Eusoff” thus implies that Eusoff is the prata hall. Yes. Okay, so I don’t come up with good jokes, but I’m not headlining a comedy show, am I? Oh that reminds me - I should co-opt the Spartans’ whoop-whoop cheer for my orientation group. Can you tell that I’m so overtly heterosexual?
Oh yes, I do love my brawny men in skimpy leather armour. And I’m not ashamed to say it!
Scruffy is a hero
Some background information: Scruffy is one of the hall kitties. She is the grande dame of the felines of Eusoff, having been here since my seniors (who have since graduated) were freshmen. That’s a long time, and she’s even earned a mention in our Dance Production along with Bendy (RIP), so named for her kinked tail, and Bendy’s daughter Wang Hai (missing, presumed dead). Scruffy responds to her name and will follow you if she wants, although she doesn’t belong to anyone - she’s above petty ownership.
So today I was getting back to my room, and uncharacteristically took the B1 route instead of my usual B2 route, since there was a bit of congestion at B2. At the bottom of the stairs, I met Scruffy. As I bent to say hello to her, I noticed a fresh red wound above her right eye, and the gory remains of a lizard strewn across the tiles.
Not just any old lizard, either. This wasn’t one of those translucent-bellied little geckos - it was twice as large, and scaly. In fact it looked quite like the chameleon lizards that like to sunbathe on the staircase leading up to the carpark. Oh dear. Perhaps she was hungry and hunted one down, because I don’t see any other reason for a lizard to take on a cat that’s twenty times bigger.
And now for the gory details. The triangular head, with beady eyes staring, was what I had initially taken to be a withered white strawberry. (My vision was particularly impaired today.) The lower body, with hind legs and tail, was several inches away. Between these two lay a severed foot. No doubt the lizard had put up quite a fight, only for Scruffy to dispatch it gruesomely. Bleah, I can’t believe she was eating that. I didn’t actually see her eat it, but like I said, I don’t think she was hunting for fun.
Well, it was too late for the lizard, and my immediate concern was for Scruffy’s battle wound. I enticed her to the empty space in B1 where there was more sunlight, and ran back to my room for cotton, antiseptic cream and a can of tuna. While she nibbled daintily at the food, I tried to clean her wound. She flinched every time, so the cream ended up leaving white specks all over her face. Since she didn’t seem to be troubled by it, I gave up on my veterinary ambitions and moved the tuna (and by extension, Scruffy) to the end of my corridor where I could keep a closer eye on her.
Pictures after the jump as they’re really very gory. She finished the can of tuna and went off somewhere - she’s a Eusoff nomad, we’ll see her when we see her. I’m sure she’ll recover fine, especially since she seems to be getting enough food - she’s tubby.
A Beautiful End To A Horrible Year
After months of preparations, a gazillion meeting-hours, and a dozen headaches, our Annual Dinner and Dance occurred last Friday. And although I wasn’t pleased with the event, being the nitpicky organiser-person that I am, the guests seemed to enjoy themselves.
I suppose it wasn’t as fun as last year, but we had our own people emceeing instead of a professional, so that might have been it. We lost a lot of momentum when someone somewhere dropped the ball, and things got a bit messy for a while, and people walked out to take pictures instead of staying throughout for the event.
But as always, Eusoffians can be relied on to be their insane selves. The D4 guys, most of whom are graduating this year, came as an assortment of wrestlers, among them Mankind, The Undertaker, and Hulk Hogan. Obviously, they stole the show, although they had some competition from the likes of the C4 Chinese Mafia who, upon entering, started beating up a rival boss with rolled-up newspapers. Eh, okay.
The girls, not to be outdone, came as ragdolls, retards and refreshed towel babes. Those were among the more inspired interpretations of the acronym W.A.R. I would have come dressed to the theme as well, except that I couldn’t get (into) a costume in time, and besides I had to sit at the main comm table so we were all dressed relatively formally.
Well, now that it’s all over, I have one less thing to worry about. I can’t honestly say it’s been fun swanning around as vice-head, because most of the time people assumed I was a programmer, seeing how I have been one for the past 2 years. While we were packing up, I looked at my fellow hall residents, busily wandering around the hall taking pictures for keepsakes. You could barely move for fear of wandering unannounced into yet another person’s photograph. And for the third year running, there was no dance to follow my dinner. I got a lift home from my block’s Resident Fellow, along with a few blockmates. But at least this year, I got to lounge around in the hotel room, sitting on the plush bed and watching MTV while pretending to oversee operations. Hehe. Hey, I’ve worked long and hard for the privilege of a few hours in comfort!
DnD is traditionally the crowning achievement for the Eusoffian calendar year, since it’s the last major event after IHG and Dance Production. This year, DnD is a bit bittersweet for me since it’s the last one I’ll be actively a part of - as a 4th year next year, it’s a bit extra and unnecessary for me to join any committees, plus I should really make way for the younger kids. It marks the end (well, almost) of what have been a most trying 2 semesters.
I’ve never been busier, or more overworked, and I’ve certainly not done so badly in exams since my very first semester. In between all the shit that I’ve had to deal with, it’s a wonder I came through with heart and wrists intact (nod to Fall Out Boy). It’s really been an annus horribilis for me, and I know I’m not the only one who’s glad to see the end of 2006/2007.
So that’s what DnD means to me, personally. The final headache to cap all the major and minor headaches I’ve faced along the way. But I’ve learned a lot, both about myself and about others. As usual, experience is a tough teacher.
*Edited 31st March* Photos available here.
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The Dark Side Of Hall Life
It’s that time of year when hall people start turning into blubbering, time-starved mounds of flesh. After the little hiatus post-Dance Production, the madness has started up again with Open House last weekend, Amplitude this weekend, DnD next week and finally DramaFeste the week after that. That’s just for me, and I still have 2 term papers to hand up that aren’t even so much as a blank Word document yet.
I suppose with Open House just concluded, I’m thinking about all the innocent little chiddlers, fresh from A-Levels and NS, eagerly exploring the campus and looking forward to the fun, happening and very sexy hall life they’ve been hearing so much about. Yeah well, trust the Open House exhibition to not tell you the dark side, eh?
Besides the madness of hall activities, which I have already documented many times, there are the little niggly hassles of actually living with 500 of your peers. 500 crazy young people in one place are enough havoc on their own, but it seems outsiders want in on the fun as well. Recently we’ve had a spate of intruders, much more than I ever remember having in the 2 years past. I blame it on the pretty girls living in short wing, all the perverts are probably drawn here because of them. They should do us all a favour and move out, and stop endangering the likes of me who only wants to live peacefully.
People can be inconsiderate too. There’s only one fridge, one microwave oven, one sink. And yet some people think it’s solely for their use. Today, while I was nuking my noodles, the office support staff (basically the auntie) came in and left her food there while she waited for her turn. Unfortunately for her, the moment I took my food out, another girl just went ahead and plunked her stuff inside without even looking around.
Okay, to be fair, the auntie had walked off, so how would we know? But there was just something in the way the girl barged in, that predisposed me towards a great dislike of her. I can’t stand the likes of her, but unfortunately my corridor is populated with them. At least I can deal with the noise now that I have my own aural-assault weapons to drown out their shrill voices and bad taste in music.
And of course, these are probably the same people who leave food debris in the sink, with the whole “someone will clean up after me” attitude. I don’t know what they learnt growing up, but maybe they need more than a language immersion programme when they first arrive here. Things that would get me whacked at home, such as not cleaning up after myself and leaving my rubbish everywhere, seems to be de rigeur with them.
Some days I really dislike living in hall, or rather living in hall with these people. Incoming freshmen would really do well to heed my warning and consider carefully their decision to move in. International cooperation and culture-mixing, my foot.
So You Think You Can Handle Hall Life
Hall stay applications for next semester have opened, and it’s time to dig up my dusty old post on hall life.
I can’t be bothered to review them all once again, due ironically to hall commitments. In between performance practices, DnD meetings and school, I have barely any time left for myself. Instead, I have some hardened, cynical advice for the bright-eyed undergraduates-to-be who will soon enter hall life, not knowing what they’re getting themselves into.
Firstly, there is no best hall or worst hall. They all suck. Yes, all of them. Whether they’re riddled with staircases, have lousy food, or really insidious hall culture, each of them has at least one major flaw. Find the one with the flaw you can tolerate.
Secondly, do your research. One hall may be making the news for winning all the competitions, but if you like a quieter hall life, it might not be for you. The hall that gets its ass kicked at sports may put the others to shame when it comes to performance arts.
Thirdly, to be in hall is to conform. I know there will be many hall residents who will present themselves as the epitome of nonconformist cool. Well, maybe in some aspects. Like in that episode of South Park where the goth/emo kids conform through their non-conformity, being a rebel makes you part of the crowd. You smoke? Yeah, you and the rest of your corridor. You love to party all night and make out with random guys? Good, you’ll find other girls with similar interests. On a more serious note though, you can’t live in hall and not take part in hall life. They’ll force you to, and make you feel bad when you don’t. I should know, I send people on guilt trips all the time. I don’t care for supporting the sports teams, but I’ll pout and plead to get people to show up for our band gigs.
Finally, hall life does come at the expense of your own. Well, I had none to begin with, so that’s fine, but out-and-out hall life, the kind that makes you a 4-year resident and not a 1-year dabbler, will suck up your time with outside interests. It won’t eradicate it totally - after all, you should have some time management skills, right? - but there will be an impact. Many relationships start in hall, but many end because of it, too. Don’t say you weren’t warned.
Hall life is an experience which I think everyone should have, at least for one semester. Of course, with NUS accommodation being limited, not everyone has a chance, but if you do, grab it. Not just for the kiasu factor, but just for the experience of it all. Living in hall sometimes feels like an extended school trip of the sort I went on back in secondary school. Late nights with friends, without parents to supervise. Left to handle your own time, with no one nagging you about your dirty room. The privilege of being able to just call friends for an outing on the spur of the moment. Shiokology.
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