Real results.

Ta ma de. All dying to know my results, right? There's an incredible surge in readers. Usually hovers around 250, Saturday it was 426.



This was the pint of Strawberry Cheesecake I wiped out after getting my results. Guess it didn't cheer me up much, seeing how there's zero chocolate content. I should've licked it clean for added enjoyment.



See? It's true! I am the best in Art & Design! In the entire level! The entire level of five pathetic students who took Art! KNN. I'd rather exchange this stupid patronising award for a frikkin' A1. It's such a painful reminder of my underachievement.

Wah, Valerie said that my calves appeared bigger leh! Shit, if I cannot fit into my skinny pants anymore I will be extremely devastated. Then I will quit soccer and join something tame like Greenlink. Save the environment!

Oui, teaser, teaser.



My results slip only looks nice if you cover up all the numbers. But I must admit that the B really ruins the effect. Anyway, A2s must be the worst invention evar, because you're THAT close to an A1 (holds up index finger and thumb almost touching), but it makes such a huge difference to your L1R5 score.

One of those miserably unfortunate people who got all distinctions, but all A2s; I could be one of them. Hurhurhurhur. Fine fine fine, I concede.

English - A1
Chinese - A2
E Math - A2
A Math - A1
Chemistry - A1
Biology - A2
Social Studies + Geography - A2
Literature - A1
Art - B3

My E Math and Art results are SHITTY. A1 for A Math, A2 for E Math. Can you fucking believe it? My prelims I got B4 for A Math and A1 for E Math lah! Now I'm officially one of those weird screwed up people who actually do better for A Math. And I put in a lot of effort for my Art. All those afternoons spent staring at a computer screen trying to tweak a stupid photo to perfection. I'd be almost zombie-like by evening.

Otherwise I pretty much expected the rest of my grades. Chemistry was a pleasant surprise. Biology; I wish I didn't have to put the blame on my teacher because it's such a wimpy thing to do, but it's true that she had a part to play in my disinterest in the subject. My Combined Humanities was totally expected. I studied Tourism for Geog, but I only studied Singapore's tourism. I gave Malaysia's tourism the briefest of glances. When I saw that the questions were all on Malaysia's tourism, I was like, "Holy shit." My answers I all anyhow whack one. English and English Literature; I can quite safely say I expected no less of myself.

I was somewhat disappointed by my results, and I blubbed quite a bit. (In complete solitude, of course. Can you imagine how it'd seem like to the average student that a bloody 8-pointer is crying? Bloody hell.) I don't know, 8 points seem quite... mediocre. I was expecting 7. I thought I'd get A1 for English, Literature, E Math, A Math, Art, and perhaps an A2 for a science. =/

I was kinda depressed, and all those envelopes from assorted polytechnics and other institutions didn't help either. I've always been insistent about throwing those information booklets away before opening them up, because I had this weird mentality that opening the letters would somehow be a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I'll have to go to a polytechnic. However, on Friday, I opened those letters and browsed through.

Thoughts that ran through my head:

"Hmm, I could study in La Salle, huh."
"KNS. B3 for art, study what sai. Embarrass myself only."
"A polytechnic would welcome me with open arms, huh."
"Maybe I should retake my 'O's."

I guess what's mediocre is pretty subjective, huh? I think an average student would go, "What the fuck are you complaining about? Eight distinctions leh! I don't even take eight subjects, let alone nine." Sigh. It all boils down to your environment. When you're surrounded by six-pointers, eight points feels really, really, REALLY mediocre. Man, I should shut up already. I think you're all gonna smite me with your 0.38 Uniball blue-black pen, which seems to be all the rage now.

Currently reading this funny book by Guy Browning, titled "Never Push When It Says Pull". I read crappy books. No wonder my thought processes seem to have halted. I don't think about great philosophical questions anymore. I think I've long since passed the point when I decided that thinking about my existence is pointless, and I should just mire myself in the little things in life, for it is those very things that I live for.

Quote: "In every house there is a sock orphanage where sad little unloved socks live until their partner can be found. Often, their partner is never found. That's because the washing machine demands a ritual sacrifice of one sock per wash to placate its inner workings."

The entire book's pretty much written like that. Bloody hilarious.

Girls who ask their boyfriends if they're fat are just trying to provoke an argument that they will definitely emerge triumphant.

Hate whiny people. (This statement officially means I'll hate myself sometime or another, but I've decided that I can't stop myself from making the occasional contradictory statement.)