Birthday Prank

KMB harbours a friendly, intelligent population of students – the “best of the best” of the country, or so I’ve been told.

Still, reflecting KMB’s isolated location in the middle of nowhere, these students – like the lost tribes of Congo – exhibit some peculiar customs. One of these is the ‘Birthday Prank’, a savage tradition which involves in most cases flour and eggs being dumped with force on the unlucky birthday boy/girl.

For decades this behaviour has been one of the greatest mysteries of anthropology. What, after all, can compel such pleasant students, the crème de la crème, to carry out such ferocious attacks on each other?

No one really knows.

But there no shortage of theories: behavioural scientists point out that the constant stress on IB students could be a chief factor – eventually the said students have to find an outlet for such pressure, and birthday boys/girls become easy targets.

Psychoanalysts propose that perhaps bright students are not as innocent as they seem:  that the outwardly nerdy façade hides the ferocious conduct of gangsters.

Economists, meanwhile, highlight the surplus (and thus, low prices) of flour and eggs in the local kooperasi as the main reason for the birthday attacks.

However, this post will not be a macro analysis (che-wahh..!) of this social phenomenon. Instead, I will tell you the story from the point of view of a victim of such a horrendous assault...me.

*dramatic music*

*                                             *                                             *

23^rd of June 2011. 11.30pm.

It was my second year in KMB, the dreaded third semester. By now I have intimate knowledge of the ferocity of birthday pranks. My roommate has been soaked with soapy water during his birthday. A senior of mine was tied to a chair and tortured on his birthday, and pictures of the event posted on the bulletin board the day after. Even the usually mild-mannered girls of KMB happily fling flour (with deadly force) at birthday girls.

Half an hour to my birthday. I was not looking forward.

Yet I knew I could not escape. By now my friends know my mannerisms well enough to know where I would be at this time. My room, or (more commonly) the TV room. Thus, unless I was willing to hide among the oil palm trees, there isn’t much room to hide in KMB. Resigned, I sat alone in my room, turned my laptop on, and tried to get some work done before the terror begins. I sat facing the door – if I was to be dragged out I would at least like to see it coming.

11.45pm. A flicker of movement by the window beside my door catches my eye, but by the time I look up it was gone. Still, I knew who it was: my neighbour Salman. I knew what he was: the one-man recon party. I could imagine him reporting my position to the others… it won’t be too long before things start now…

24^th June 2011. 12.15a.m.

Nothing has happened yet. Hesitantly, I went to bed with the realisation that I could very well be dragged out of it, screaming and kicking, in the middle of the night. I closed my weary eyes…23 hours and 45 minutes to survive.

A few hours later I woke up. The night had passed without incident…it seemed to be a miracle! But a frantic search around my bed revealed that something was wrong – my phone was missing. My heart fell as it dawned on me that the mind games have begun. And there was still most of the day to go through.

Walking to class, I remembered the times when I myself have taken a sadistic joy in pranking others. Take Jet (bukan nama sebenar) for example. During his birthday back in Sem 1, I collaborated with a bunch of friends to prank him during JPAM practice. It was a totally public prank, witnessed by half the batch. Good times :’)

That prank made Jet and I friends – “brothers” even, in his words – but whenever that particular incident is brought up, I always notice a vengeful glint in his eye. “Nanti ko, Mike”, Jet would say with a crafty smile…he would make sure I will be pranked publicly too one day.

I shuddered, remembering that today is that day.

None of my classmates mentioned my birthday that morning. I was fine with that. Eyeing the horizon worriedly for a Jet-initiated birthday prank aimed specifically at me, I didn’t want to worry about one from my classmates too.

Soon it was 12am. Class was almost over! With any luck, I could run off to my room after classes and lock myself in…maybe I would even give the hide-among-the-oil-palm-trees plan a try. Who knows – I could survive my birthday unpranked!

Then WHAM! This happened:

It was well played by my classmates. They recruited the help of my roommate to lure me into a garden where flour spilled would not be noticed. Truthfully, guys, I noticed that something fishy was going on as my roommate persuaded me quite energetically to go to the garden (he doesn’t invite me to gardens energetically often). But equally truthfully, I didn’t expect the flouring which I received – and who planned the whole thing if not Kirin, the unassuming ‘good girl’ of the class. (She is evil, I tell you!) :p

And so, covered in flour (which mixed with my sweat was becoming a crust on my skin) I headed off for lunch in the canteen. I should mention that Jet looked quite happy, with me looking like a yet-to-be-fried KFC drumstick. But the glint in his eyes was still there – and I knew my ordeal was not over…

The day went on normally…many wished me happy birthday; without, thankfully, flour. Eventually it was 11pm, and I thought that was that. The flouring at the hands of my class was all that I would go through – considering all the things I’ve done to others on my friends’ birthdays, I thought I survived quite well thank you very much. So I went to sleep in the TV room.

And a few minutes after midnight, it happened.

I was awoken from my sleep by rough shaking. After that, I walked out groggily into the block courtyard. Then I was led to a chair. Or maybe I was dragged. I don’t remember, to be honest. My memory at this point is a bit fuzzy – as expected from someone who has been through a traumatic experience.

Eventually I found myself crudely tied to a plastic chair by raffia strings. I don’t have any pictures of it but if you really want to see it imagine me strapped in one of these:

Haha…ok, fine, it wasn’t as bad as an electric chair. But tied down I felt doomed anyhow. And by the way, I was blindfolded as well.

A voice addressed me, saying something along the lines of:

“Buahahaha…now it’s your turn, Mike!”

Hmm…on second thought maybe the evil laugh wasn’t there…but whatever, it wouldn’t have been out of place anyway. There was, after all, no mistaking the morbid triumph dripping in that voice. And there was no doubt of his identity – Jet.

I remind you that it was the day after my birthday, and still I was being pranked! It was totally unfair! But try telling that to Jet.

Gleefully, he told me to finish a drink that he had concocted. If I did not finish it within a minute, I would be soaked with a bucketful of soapy water mixed with only-God-knows-what. Not exactly being in a position to negotiate, I did as I was told. And I have to say, the drink wasn’t quite that bad. Later I would learn that it was a mixture of drinks bought at the koop (we KMB-ians really like mixing things, if you haven’t noticed by now) :D

I nearly finished the drink, but unfortunately not under 60 seconds. So, as promised, the bucket of soapy solution was tipped over me. What joy =.=

The block courtyard being something of a public square (there is even a ping pong viewing area nearby), the whole thing was quite a public event. Jet had definitely wanted it to be so…biding his time for this opportunity to avenge his own public humiliation in Sem 1. I have to say…well done, Jet. *grudging handshake*

The night ended with me hugging Jet – while I was still soaking wet. At the very least I could console myself with the fact that Jet, too, had to take another shower that night. Buahaha!

And oh yea, I got my phone back from Salman too.

Happy ending for everyone. ^.^v

*                                             *                                             *

That all happened exactly one year, one week and three days ago – but, clichéd as it sounds, I still remember it like it was yesterday.

In the end the Birthday Prank, savage as it seems, is the way we show the love which had developed through the time in KMB. In that sense I am honoured to have been at the receiving end of two Birthday Pranks. 

Thank you guys for taking the trouble.

And I love you too :’)

A Test

Beware the Pre-Exam Syndrome. A debilitating disease common among individuals of educational institutions. Pandemic during the time period of 2-3 months before a major exam.

Symptoms include:

Low-quality or (in extreme cases) non-existent social interactions.

Sleep deprivation stemming from late bedtimes compounded by early waking hours.

A lack of interest in sporting activities.

A lack of appetite.

A drop in personal hygiene (due to irregular/no showers).

Violent, unpredictable mood swings.

Basically, a loss of personality (Pre-Exam Syndrome is believed to be a precursor of Zombie-ism).

An eerie quiet engulfs the aforementioned institution of education stricken by this contagion. Every word uttered or heard is seen as a distraction –except if it is to do with the formula for an acidic buffer, diagram for cost-push inflation or naming of plant groups.

Of course, maybe I am exaggerating things just a bit (I should mention that a tendency to exaggerate is a symptom of Pre-Exam Syndrome).

After all, things aren’t that bad here in Kolej Mara Banting. People still eat food, play futsal and take their showers (mostly, at least).

But there are subtle signs of the disease as the IB exam nears.

All of a sudden, the surau suddenly becomes a favourite hangout. The Quran a favourite read. The jemaah for the 5 daily prayers spills out of the surau due to the abrupt exponential increase in number.

Reminders abound – by word of mouth and notes posted on bulletin boards – to “get closer to Allah in this trying of times”.

Alhamdulillah…it is a refreshing change.

But my question is: why wait for an exam for all this to happen?

Perhaps it is human nature that we only remember Him when times get hard. For it is human nature, after all, to forget.

That every breath is a blessing.

That Death is a constant and fickle companion.

That life can be hard

but His reminders are everywhere you look closely enough to find them.

That every blessing is an opportunity to be grateful.

And every tribulation is an opportunity to be patient.

That the true test of life lies not in the decisions made in the duration of an IB exam;

It is the decisions made in every second of the day.

This is all, of course, a reminder to myself as much as it is a reminder to anyone else.

I will be the first to admit that the closer I get to the exam, the closer to the surau I have been. That should not be the case: faith should not wait for the finals.

I must remember that even in the middle of a test, I must not forget to live.

Because the real test of life…is life itself.

A victim of Pre-Exam Syndrome 

(note the un-showered hair)

[29:2]...look it up

A Placement to Happiness

“OFFER LETTERS Threaten to Tear the Very Fabric of KMB Society”

BANTING: Emotions run high and friendships strained as a portion of the KMB student population receives offer letters from foreign universities. An emerging divide between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ threatens to tear D’Batch into two warring factions.

The recent IUMC placement announcement, in particular, has led to the emergence of a large chunk of discontented students ready to strike out with violent acts. Those who have received such offers, on the other hand, live in fear of those who did not. Meanwhile, a third group of those ‘in the balance’ (awaiting an offer letter) are caught in between.

As tension continues to mount, students have resorted to panic buying everywhere from the dormitories to the college Kooperasi. A faulty ATM has not helped in calming frayed nerves. All this has occurred in anticipation of a college-wide outbreak of chaos.

“Yes, the koop has seen sales go up in the last few days,” commented Kuchai (name changed to protect identity), former ALK member-turned-economic analyst. “But hey, its nothing personal, just business” he added with a grin.

The current MPP, expecting a Second Year revolt, has bolstered security. Checks on the MPP financial record reveal the purchase of bullet-proof windows for the MPP office, highlighting the potential magnitude of the imminent mayhem. The head of the Public Relations Bureau, though, refused to remark on this worrying development when questioned during a recent press conference, preferring instead to announce the details of upcoming college activities (go figure) =.=”

Authorities have called for calm in the coming months – D’Batch president calling for “a batch spirit which transcends the award of offer letters” in an interview at the local Surau.

Regardless, there is no denying that the placements are a very real threat to KMB security. Everyone live in a climate of terror, seemingly surrounded by enemies who were once friends.

It seems only to be a matter of time before the Banting Spring explodes into life – AP

Disclaimer: Comments from the ‘sources’ quoted above (Kuchai, MPP financial records, Head of Public Relations Bureau, President of D’Batch) are totally made up and should not be taken seriously. Everything in the above ‘article’ is a work of fiction and is a product of my overactive imagination only…

Or is it?

Okay, okay, fineeee...the situation isn’t THAT dramatic, but isn’t it true that the offer letters have divided KMB-ians? And isn’t it true that little joy can be found on either side of the divide? Those without offer letters (obviously) are saddened; but those with offer letters too feel only temporary delight before a creeping sense of guilt overtakes them. Guilt stemming from the feeling that they are somehow leaving their friends behind.

“Somehow I don’t want this offer, placement anymore if it only destroys happiness”, an IUMC-bound friend of mine told me in a bout of such sadness. She wanted to comfort friends who didn’t get offers, but was countered with comments like “those who got the offers will never understand our situation”.

Such a situation is not unique to her. KMB-wide there exists, not anger, but a feeling of despair+guilt+helplessness that definitely isn’t fun. But take a pause and think about it: should we really be feeling this way?

I it as a blessing that we have secured a place in KMB anyway: that we have had the opportunity here to meet roommates, classmates, maybe even a soul mate, whom have found a place in our hearts. And it is not a blessing that we have that heart in the first place?

This offer letter fuss has made us yearn for what we do not have, instead of treasuring what we do. By painting a mirage of what could happen, it has made us forget of what already has.

Yes, some would argue that I am in no position to tell people to ‘cheer up’. I am, after all, one of those who have received an offer letter. Which means that if a Banting Spring really does begin I will probably be on the receiving end of a beating (I can’t run very fast).

But my gratitude today does not stem from that offer letter alone – although I really, really am grateful for it. No, I am thankful for ALL that I have. A non-comprehensive list of things I am blessed with in the past 19 ½ years on this Earth, off the top of my head right now, would look something like this:

1. an awesome family,
2. a complete set of body parts in the correct proportions (lazy eye notwithstanding),
3. great friends everywhere I had the privilege to spend time in which includes:
4. an awesome neighbourhood called Puteri 8,
5. an awesome school called SKPJP,
6. another awesome school called SMKPBP(1),
7. an awesome PLKN camp called Kem Temasya Rimba Templer,
8. an awesome college called KMB,
9. committed teachers at 5, 6 and 8,
10. a neighbourhood futsal court,
11. a neighbourhood playground,
12.  neighbours to play futsal and ‘Dinosaur’ with at 10 and 11,
13.  a wonderful childhood,
14.   enough food and oxygen for the last 19 ½ years,
15.  the mere but profound fact that I’m alive –

And I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Look closely enough and we are all blessed.

So, as long as I can say it, I’ll say it: friends…please cheer up. As we are all blessed, the next step is to be happy. Because:

“…And We will reward the grateful” [3:145]

An EE of An EE

4.0 Results and Findings:

  

It is uncanny how similar the growth curve of my Extended Essay is to the growth curve of an average human being.

But then again, why should I be surprised? To me, my Extended Essay has taken an almost human quality. Even though this sweet child of mine has given me sleepless nights, played with my mental state and won my hate and love in equal measure…I cannot deny that she has found a place in my heart.

5.0 Evaluation:

5.1 Birth

It all began months ago, when she first popped into my head – and into my life – as an adorable little Research Question. She was barely a thesis statement and a hastily-put-together list of research objectives then, but to me she was my world. Proudly I showed her to Miss Melor, who agreed to be my EE advisor (for the rest of this blog post, Miss Melor will be referred to as “the Godmother” for dramatic purposes). 

But like any new father, I was nervous. Horror stories abound from seniors and teachers about EE’s which have gone bad; RQ’s which had to be changed halfway, EE’s which have gone down the dark path of plagiarism. But I was determined that she was not going to be one of those EE’s.

5.2 First procrastination phase

That determination though, did not last long. It is this point of the story of which I am most embarrassed: I became a negligent parent.

I don’t know whether it was my other assignments or my responsibilities as a student rep, but I ignored her. I left her in my laptop, alone and overlooked. Referring to Diagram 1, this part of the story is the nearly horizontal part of the graph slightly above the number ‘0’ number of words.

The deadline for your first check-up came and went, but still I did not send her to the Godmother to be inspected. I was a man on the run, ready to bolt at the sight of the Godmother. At one point I got pretty good at escaping her. The key to escape, I learned, was not to run, but to hide. I never did get caught – or so I thought.

5.3 First growth spurt

But one day I got a letter from the Godmother, my full name and class neatly typed out on the front. In it was a memo:

“…due to your poor and bad commitment, you will now handle your IB exam registration directly with the Head of Academic Affairs…”

To the Godmother I sent a text:

“Teacher, I am sorry…can you extend the deadline to next week please?”

To which the reply (in true Godmother fashion):

“I don’t want excuses. I want a first draft.”

This leads me to believe that EE advisors must have been trained in the art of psycho-ing their advisees…

The weekend after that marked the first growth spurt in Diagram 1, as I did not leave my laptop for two days to shower my EE with the attention she so lacked. With the words I fed her, she grew from slightly above 0 words to 3000 words in a matter of 48 hours.

5.4 Second procrastination phase

Unfortunately, this was not to be the feel-good part of the story yet. The Sem 3 examinations rolled along, and once again my EE went unheeded. I promised myself that I would once again shower her with attention once the holidays began. But procrastination, my arch-nemesis, reared its ugly head as per usual. I did look at her, and fed her the words she was so hungry for – but they were far from enough.

As it was then, she had no citations whatsoever yet. This sweet child of mine was heading down the dark road to plagiarism – it was going to be a potentially hazardous puberty indeed.

5.5 Second growth spurt

The second growth spurt was brought about by mother (a.k.a. my second EE advisor) who persuaded (read: forced) me to work on my EE towards the end of the Sem 3 holidays. So when Sem 4 began my EE had exceeded 4000 words. In other words, she was overweight. Still I fed her more words as the deadline approached. Eventually she would approach 6000 words. It was at this point that I had to submit to the painful truth – she was obese.

5.6 A painful weight-loss programme

When I submitted her to turnitin.com (which checks for plagiarism) it felt like watching my baby been checked for drugs. But my faith in her was justified – my baby was clean. Only 10% of her content was ‘un-original’ – something which could easily be solved via citations.

Her weight problem, though, was still a big issue. She could not be submitted while exceeding 4000 words… I had to do it – I had to put her through a weight-reduction program. I knew it was going to hurt me as much as it hurt her.

Deleting months of hard work at the click of the backspace button was not easy, but I knew I had to do it. It was her health, after all, which was at stake.  Eventually she was down to the ideal size. And after her citations were included (after a sleepless night), this sweet child of mine was absolutely stunning.

5.7 Submission

The day she came out into the world (from the printer) was a day I will remember for quite a while. The feeling when I sent her in to the Godmother was like that of flying. My baby has left me, and regardless of how many points she wins, to me at least she will always be beautiful.

6.0 Conclusion

ARGHH!!! Who am I kidding?? The only reason that I am writing this 999 word post (graph included) is because I have nothing else to do! I miss that sweet child of mine :’(((((((((((((

Listening for Faith in A202

“Salman’s Room”

For us A202 will always be that, although you no longer stay there. Somehow part of your immense personality still lingers in a room now half-empty.

The night after I learnt of your departure, I sat on your empty bed. I don’t know what I was trying to achieve. An answer to why you left, perhaps? Perspective? Maybe a way to get over my guilt?

Because I am guilty. We were best friends in Sem 2, but drifted apart in Sem 3. We climbed roofs together, sat together in a corridor eating ice cream (and subsequently got told off together by the counselor who was passing by), got into all kinds of s***. Good times :D

So I should have known better. I recognized the signs, but I didn’t put them together. I knew things were going wrong, but I should also have known that they were falling apart.

On that night I sat on your folded mattress, on an empty bed, in a room right next to mine. I stare at the wall beside your corral, once covered with memos you wrote to yourself. Stuff like “There is no right or wrong, just right now”. But right now that wall is bare.  

I should have done something – anything – to ease your burden. Because behind that now-bare wall of A202 is my room. Where I stood by doing nothing, while you were silently (and not silently) crying for help. Behind that wall I stood by idly as you sank deeper into a personal hell. Of that I am guilty.

Sitting on what was once your bed I see the things you must have seen in your darkest hours. The ancient ceiling fan, the modest locker, the ordinary yellow door. Things you must have seen differently then than I do now. And again I question: where was I?

I couldn’t have advised you – mainly because I didn’t know what to say, or how to. I still don’t. But looking back I realize I could have provided something more precious than any piece of advice: a listening ear, and a shoulder to cry on. But where was I?

Now I sit in a room half-empty, trying to listen to someone no longer present. I am too late. I am sorry; I did not help you reach for the faith you needed so much.

After that night, we finally met you in the corridors of our college. Your decision was final, we did not attempt to shake it. We know how stubborn (read: principled) you are. We are just glad you have not given up. By yourself you seem to have rediscovered faith in yourself. And although you are now “living outside the lines, [where] its nerve-wracking and disturbing, no road in front of you”, somehow you inspire in us a belief that you will make it somehow. I don’t know how; but God willing, you just will.

On that night I did not yet know all of this. And on an empty bed, and just a little too late, I sat a while longer; listening for faith in room A202...

Megatron: Maaf Zahir dan Batin

From the Decepticon ship, Astrotrain, somewhere in the dark reaches of space; a special broadcast from the Leader of the Decepticons:

-Start of Transmission-

Greetings.

My name is Megatron.

I am a strong character. I don't care if I have to step on some toes (robot or human) to get what I want. If that makes me a villain, then so be it.

You say I am evil. And you may be right. Thus it may surprise you that I am saying this:

Now that Ramadhan is over and Raya comes along, I would like to apologise to all the Transformers I have offended in my life. Yes, this is as a sudden transformation, but I guess I'm just doing what I do best.

First off, I would like to apologise to the Decepticons. With you, I have been pushy, and I have been intimidating. I have led you into battle after vicious battle, with little to show for it. My Leadership is Tyranny, plain and simple. There is no place for compassion under my watch.

I just hope you understand that I have to be that way. You Decepticons are, to put it mildly, a bunch of strong-minded individuals with high ambitions and over-zealous personalities to go with it. How do you expect me to lead you effectively without the iron grip which I have maintained for all these years?

Yes, I have not been the best of leaders; but let me get this clear, Decepticons: among you, I am the best leader you can have.

But there is one Decepticon I have to single out here - my less-than-loyal sidekick, Starscream. We have had issues in the past. I have screamed at you, threatened you with destruction and you've even had the guts to take over my leadership!

Starscream, let me be clear: you are not the best sidekick. Often times, I've been driven to violent irritation by your idiocy, treachery, and plain incompetency!

But as Ramadhan comes to a close, let us clear the bad blood between us. If not for anything, let it be for the good of the Decepticons. And that is an order!

Moving on, this apology would be insipid without an acknowledgement of the Autobots. I have made your lives hell through my life – and you have happily returned the favour. I have treated your lives with little worth, but let me remind you that you show little concern for the well-being of my Decepticons either.

Nevertheless this is not the place to mull over that. Here I honorably ask for your forgiveness. And if you choose to not give it, you will live to regret it.

If there is one Transformer who deserves my apology the most, it is the leader of the Autobots himself. Optimus Prime, I have called you weak in the past. But secretly I admire your strength. How you naively choose not to kill, to side with human beings who barely deserve your acknowledgement.

In my private thoughts, I have often wondered: why do we even fight in the first place? We both want the best for our home, Cybertron. But you operate on a different set of principles than I do. That is regrettable, but it is so. My actions speak otherwise, but let me say this: I do not hate you. And I am sorry.

If you see this as a sign of weakness on my part, whether you are a Decepticon or an Autobot, you have committed a grave error. The feud between us will not end until the final victory is in my deserving hands. I call for a brief peace in commemoration of this holy period of Aidilfitri. But be warned: this peace is as temporary as your pathetic existence.

This Raya, let my arm-mounted fusion cannon be used to prepare lemang instead of blowing your brains out. Let the Ketupat be our shared passion, instead of the Allspark.

I wish you "Selamat Hari Raya" and "maaf zahir dan batin".

If you know what is good for you, you will do the same.

-End of Transmission-

Devil in Disguise

It is said that during the holy month of Ramadhan, all setans and iblises (devils) are tied to trees, allowing humans to live the month in total abdication to God. Unfortunately, one setan escaped it's bounds:


Yes, the ping pong table has caused much distraction to me in the last two weeks. Late nights have been spent in humble addiction to its unholy pull; its bewitching tempo…

There's nothing exceptional about the ping pong table at my dorm. If anything, it is an ugly wreck - its surface warped and twisted by rain and shine. Water damage has made the surface as pockmarked as my face after running out of face wash (yes, that bad)



Playing on the table once referred to as "the surface of the moon" by a friend of mine requires a whole lot of patience - and a whole lot of stamina too as the ball can easily fall into the drains located haphazardly beside the ping pong table.

But still I am smitten. And after playing 16 straight sets of ping pong with my roommate, Boboi (not his real name) - with Boboi winning 10 of those sets - it is absolutely necessary to question:

What do I love so much about ping pong?

I can't say for sure.

Is it the friends?

Or the mind-numbing pleasure of hitting an orange ball back and forth across a (non) flat surface?

The fact that your day's stress just drips away at the sound of the ball hitting the bat?

Or is it the trance-like feeling when the ball is heading towards you? When it seems like the whole world has stopped – and its just you, the bat and the ball?

Or is it the fact that I am FREAKING AWESOME at ping pong? ;D

I just don't know...

But whatever it is, if I don't do anything, I will be addicted to this sport until I resemble this:


eww
 

So, I shall now bring a stopwatch before I even step near the cursed table. And I shall be strong. Against the devil in disguise.

The Declaration of the Rights of the Announcer

Foreword:

This declaration is made in the wake of several complaints/requests to the Public Relations Bureau of the Students' Representative Council (SRC), along the lines of:

1. "There are too many announcements…its becoming boring"
   
2. "Can't the clubs use the notice board to announce stuff?"
   
3. "Perlu ke announce dalam BM?"
   
4. "Mike, are you OK?"
   

   
    

From these comments, several underlying tenets can be obtained. This declaration is based on those fundamental principles, which we take to be self-evident.

1. The right of all KMB-ians to information, from whatever medium.
   
2. The right of all KMB-ians to carry out activities, scheduled or unscheduled, without interruption.
   
3. The right of the announcer as a KMB student.
   

 

With respect to the above principles, several flaws to the current use of the PA system can be condensed into three chief points:

• Too many announcements
  
  • The announcement of every trivial detail through the PA system makes the PA system irrelevant and the notice board redundant.
     

• Interruption of vital college activities (i.e. classes, kulsem) by announcements
  
  • This obstructs the right of teachers to teach.
     

• Stress to the announcer
  
  • An effectively 16-hour "on-call" period daily for every little announcement causes the announcer unnecessary physical, mental and emotional stress.
    

 

The Declaration of the Rights of the Announcer:

As such, the Rights of the Announcer are thus Declared:

1. The right of the announcer to announce only college activities, not club activities.
   
2. The right of the announcer to refuse to announce trivial announcements.
   
3. The right of the announcer to refuse to make announcements during class; but circumstances of the announcements will be taken into consideration.
   
4. The right of the announcer to make special announcements, i.e. at the request of the college administration, teachers, or the Students' Representative Council (SRC)
   
5. The right of the announcer to make announcements in Malay, English or both; but preference will be given to English due to the results of a Facebook survey.
   

 

A description of the implementation of this declaration, effective the 2^nd of August 2011:

1. Clubs will have to rely on the notice board to disseminate information.
   
2. The PA system will only be used for official college activities, stated in the annual schedule (takwim). However, clubs carrying out activities for those college activities (i.e. the Interactive Peers during the college-sanctioned Banting Extended Experience program) may utilize the PA system, but only during the course of the college activity.
   

    

Afterword:

The principles of this declaration will be exercised by the Public Relations Bureau for as long as such a post exists in the SRC. It may seem to be a shirking of responsibility by the Bureau, but, as justified below, it is not.

KMB clubs will be the party feeling most hard done by this declaration, but in the long run it benefits the students, teachers, the announcer and even the clubs themselves by reducing the dependence on the PA system. KMB-ians can also benefit from a quieter KMB, with a drastically less active PA system.

Make use of the notice board, as KMB-ians of generations past have. In the words of a KMB-ian:

"If our seniors survived without the PA system, why can't we?"

In the spirit of independence and survivalism inherent in us KMB-ians, may the spectre of the PA system be put to rest. And may we always

 

 

"Strive for Global Excellence"

Keeping Up with the KMB-ians (Part 1)

Two days ago, I was honored (read: bored to death) with the opportunity to watch "Keeping up with the Kardashians" with my sister. I was "entertained" by the antics of Kim, Kourtney and Khloe and their Mom (who I only knew as "the Mom") and some other people whose names start with "K" - and after 30 minutes my mind was numb with both sleepiness and disgust…it was all so superficial - and so trivial! I mean, who cares if Kim had changed the curtains of her toilet to aquamarine from ultraviolet (yes, I know ultraviolet not a colour), or if Khloe was taking a 17-minute and 52-second nap, or if "the Mom" had decided to not cut her toenails for the week (like, oh my gaaawwwd…!).

I have no idea why Kim (or Kourtney or Khloe or "the Mom") had to talk to the camera (in full make-up) in an interview-like manner every time some little thing happens. E.g. "Kourtney: Like, why can't Khloe flush the toilet after she uses it, ya know? Like oh my gawwd…etc, etc.". WHO THE NERAKA CARES???

So, I have decided to come up with an alternative version of "Keeping up with the Kardashians", centered instead on the lives of KMB students. Nothing superficial, and with the International Baccalaureate in the equation, definitely not trivial! So, let the (imaginary) cameras roll, sit back, and enjoy: "Keeping up with the KMB-ians".

(Italic letters represent words said in front of the camera interview-style).

 

* * *

At 7.50 in the morning, the camera finds Mike in the TV room, putting the final touches on his Mathematics folio – due at 8 a.m. His hands were trembling slightly as he typed the values of OP and OP', names for the radii of intersecting circles. In 10 minutes, the folio was finally done: printed, stapled and glued. But the deed was not yet done; with hair yet to be combed, Mike rushes to put the cursed folio on his teacher's desk. The camera followed unsteadily as Mike rushes across the road and past the ko-op, up the stairs and into the staff room. The teacher not at her desk, Mike leaves it there. His face visibly relieved, he now rushes to class. The clock showed 8.05.

Mike: Like, oh my gawd…I've slept for only two hours last night, and I was still late. I mean, it was, like, hell, man… I was sleepy, and, like really really hungry, and totally pumped up with the deadline and all that, and I was totally trembling by the time I went to class, ya know…?

The camera in class records Mike entering the classroom cautiously. Realising that teacher is still not in, he sits with a satisfied sigh. He has done it! But sitting just next to him, K-own is still not out of the woods. He is still busy typing away on his tiny laptop. His folio was still uncompleted. Intersecting circles fill his screen, uninterpreted. And worse, the Mathematics teacher (an intimidating lady indeed) will enter the class soon. Will K-own survive??

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Meanwhile, a storm is brewing in the back of the same classroom. The camera will testify that Azizi had a face which betrayed no emotion, but his heart was a storm of uncertainty. He was the Project Manager for the Year 1 inter-class Debate Tournament which will take part later in the day…

Azizi: I was not too nervous…but yeah, I was…kinda. It was quite a big thing, you know, this tournament – I had to handle the judges, and the contestants, about…<makes mental calculations>…96 contestants…so yeah, quite a bit to think about…

All that is put on hold, though, as the Math teacher enters class. The camera captures K-own tensing up visibly. The thoughts in his mind must be intersecting almost as intricately as the circles on his laptop screen. Will he pay attention in class, or take the risk of finishing up his folio (due an hour ago) in front of the Math teacher – a lady as observant as she is intimidating?

K-own: Math class was totally scary…it was, like, totally hard to focus on those circles while, like, trying to avoid been caught, you know? Totally…

The class endures a 50-minute mental-bashing in the hands of the Math teacher. The teacher asked questions, many of them; and answers (complete ones) were demanded. After a night of little or no sleep, such mental-bashing was the last thing the students needed. The camera captures the mixture of drowsiness and fear on their faces…

And K-own continues on his covert mission

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It was now close to 2.20 in the afternoon, and class was about to end. In an occurrence nothing short of miraculous, K-own's secret attempts to finish his folio in class have escaped detection by any teacher. His predicament may be over, but Azizi's had just begun. During recess, Azizi disappeared without a trace, leaving even the efficient cameramen behind. Zul, a close friend of Azizi, speaks:

Zul: Azizi totally disappeared again during recess today…I mean, I have known him for, like, a year now, but I still don't know how he does it, ya know? He doesn't walk fast or anything…but he could be beside you one second and gone the next…ya know? And as far as the eye can see, he won't be there. He could be a machine. Like, oh my gawd, man…

It was later revealed that Azizi had met the Debate Club advisor during recess. Azizi still kept a cool façade in front of the camera, perfectly hiding the maelstrom of insecurity in his heart. But the question nonetheless remains: will the weeks of planning he has put into the tournament be worth it? Only time will tell…

Meanwhile, another camera records Mike and Zul in the Warden's Office, about to make yet another announcement. Today was a particularly announcement-packed day, with 6 announcements booked through SMS. Those announcements have taken a toll on Mike – the camera captures the look of tension on his face as he leaves the room. Two announcements down, four more to be done in specific times later in the day. The problem was that Mike is a judge in Azizi's Debate Tournament, and he has no idea how to juggle the two duties for today.

Zul: I've known Mike for a year now, and I am, like, totally good at reading people, ya know? Oh yes, I know how Mike is…things around him "psycho" [emotionally affect] him too easily, ya know?

Mike: Argh…! I'm, like, totally freaking out now!

Folio done, K-own has decided to go Facebooking. But the camera notices an unusual expression on K-own's face. Something is wrong. K-own is the president of the Bio-D club, a club tasked with the planting of pineapples in the college. But Bio-D members are now staging an online demonstration against K-own's presidency – a challenge stemming from a mix-up of fertilizers which occurred a week ago. They were supposed to use chicken crap, but used a different (excessively powerful) fertilizer instead. The pineapples were now dying in the fields. It was (quite literally), a crappy situation.

K-own: Crap…

Meanwhile, Azizi's drama also unfolds. The camera records Azizi's calm front gradually disintegrate as the latest problem crops up: the Lecture Theatre 1, which was meant to be used by the tournament organisers to brief the contestants, had been double-booked. The other party which had booked the LT1 being teachers, Azizi had no choice but to back down. The tournament was to start at 3; in only 20 minutes, and Azizi had just lost his base. Time was ticking.

Azizi: Crap…

Will Mike find a way to resolve conflicting responsibilities? Will K-own survive the crappy challenge to his leadership? Will Azizi find a place to brief the contestants, in an even briefer time? Find out next week, on the season finale of "Keeping up with the KMB-ians".

 

* * *

In the next episode:

• The camera pans out to take in the mob of year 1 students outside the LT1 like flies around chicken crap. Azizi is nailed to the spot, but he knows exactly what to do.
  
• The camera captures Mike nearly in tears as he says on the phone: "Thanks, bro…"
  
• The camera witnesses Jet yelling at K-own: "Its your responsibility, you are not ready for this!!"
  

 

Stay tuned :D

What the Fog???

This was written on the evening of the 30^th of July 2011. When I went to sleep that evening (something I rarely get to do nowadays) I had little idea that I would wake up from my dreams and into a nightmare…
 

30 minutes ago…

I was awoken by an otherworldly blaring sound and the smell of smoke in my nostrils.

My ears were then bombarded by Boiler's (my roommate; not his real name) complaints that "you can't see a damn thing!" and "Shit man, it's like a war zone out there!" [All Boiler quotations in the previous sentence were translated from Malay]. I opened my eyes to see a thin film of white smoke throughout the room. "Fogging", said Idris coolly, while sitting on Boiler's bed (why the hell was Idris in my room anyway??).

It seemed that someone had suddenly decided to fog the area for Aedes mosquitos without first notifying the non-mosquito residents (namely, me). The curtains were not closed, because it was our only source of fresh air – the door was shut, with smoke creeping in through the cracks around it. Boiler was right: you could barely see anything out there. But suddenly, he tied a hand towel around his nose and mouth and moved towards the door. In a thin white shirt and an improvised face-mask, he looked like a post-apocalypse freedom fighter wannabe. Before he left, Boiler uttered a line which will forever echo in the voluminous chambers of human history:

"I have to go to the toilet"

 

25 minutes ago…

That left me and Idris in the room. The golden question once again arose: why the hell was Idris in my room anyways?? But the question was fleeting, as I have come to realize that people popping up randomly in each other's' rooms are a typical dormitory phenomenon. Anyways, I have decided to go back to sleep…my brain drenched with sleep-inducing melatonin. The blaring noise of the fogging machine fluctuated – I could imagine the masked man operating the machine moving ominously towards my room, but still I was too exhausted to escape; or even move from my pillow. But abruptly, the noise filled my ears. The machine was right outside my window. Opening my eyes, I saw the fog just flowing into my room through the unclosed window. Idris, on Boiler's bed, was holding his shirt to his nose. "Draw the curtains together!" I said in an attempt to sound heroic; but laden with sleep, I probably sounded more drunk than valiant.

Regardless, Idris rushed to close the curtains. Perhaps a bit too late - the conditions in the room was almost as bad as the atmosphere outside. The door was still shut and the room was sullen with the curtains drawn. All we could do was sit down. And wait.

"Damn", I said groggily

 

20 minutes ago…

Boiler was still not back. It was close to 7, and I haven't done my Asar prayers. I had to take my wudhuk, although
the smoke still thick outside. But I decided to take the risk – if I'm going to die, I would want to do it with the blessings of God. I opened the door and closed it quickly behind me.

I was on the other side…

Putting on my slippers, I could barely see the trees near my dorm through the thick white anti-mosquito film. I headed towards the toilet, and saw the slow amble of a familiar figure moving towards me. It was Boiler, finally back. Moving past me, he told me that everybody in the block had left us. He was right.



The doors I passed were all open, lockers ajar and clothing strewn across the floor. People definitely left in a hurry. Suddenly, though, I spotted some people on the walkway in front of me. Through the smog, I struggled to recognize them. It was Shamer (or was it Ismael? I still can't tell them apart) and Arif (the M10E one), looking into the distance like war-weary veterans.

I saw what they were looking at, and it was beautiful almost as it was scary…

 

 

I hastily took my wudhuk and left for my room. After performing Asar prayers, I turned my laptop on to record the events of the past half-hour on my blog.

 

That was 15 minutes ago. I had planned to write a doom-and-gloom story of despair and betrayal (you guys left me behind!!!), but I have changed my mind. Over the last 15 minutes, the people of Block A have been returning from god-knows-where they've been hiding. The sounds of the dorm are back. Boiler and Idris are watching Anime on Boiler's laptop (so that's why Idris was in my room…). And even the ping pong table is back in business. I guess we need the abrupt occasional trauma to appreciate the wonder of normalcy. But please guys, wake me up next time T.T

The Horizontal Meditator

Typing the first words of this blog after a half-year of deathly silence, I am quite sure this post will be the most morbid one yet. But then again, that may be a good thing. One of modern society's greatest problems, it was once said, is that we live away from death too much. And it makes perfect sense, if you think about it. If someone close to you personally dies – let's say a friend or a relative – of course you would feel the emotional impact of his/her demise. But would your neighbors or friends be impacted the same way you are? Not anymore, sadly.

Gone are the days when the village would kick into action when a person dies – to arrange the funeral, to bury the remains…and to comfort the bereaved family. Today, the process of Death is becoming more like an industry, where faceless undertakers and coffin-makers look at bodies as sources of dollars instead of former vessels of souls. The living, meanwhile, operate in a parallel world, separate from all this – working hard and partying hard. The only contact a "modern, civilized person" would have with Death is during the occasional funeral service, visit to the grave, and the time when he himself is six feet under.

Sigh. Told you this will be morbid…

Anyway, the reason for all this morbidity is that I have had quite a few brushes with death this week. No, not the "life-threatening-injury-caused by-horrific-accident" type of brush with death. Rather, one of those brushes with death was when I sat around a graveyard on Tuesday night with a group of friends. While sitting around the grave, the tombstone not more than a feet away from our faces and a dead body 6 feet (more or less) below us, we discussed about life in the grave...

At this point, I must make this clear: this was not a Satan worshipping ceremony or anything like that. It was actually a college activity, in which my college-mates and I visited a nearby graveyard. The visit was meant to raise our awareness of Death…but frankly, I had little need for such a reminder. Death was already on my mind all day.

This was because of my first brush with Death, which occurred the morning of that visit. I received news that a teacher of mine, a man whom I was quite well-acquainted to, has passed away. His name was Mr. G. Gunaseelan, but he was often referred to simply as Mr. G. He was an unusual character, in comparison with the other teachers of my college. For one thing, he was quite old…he would have retired this year. In all honesty, he was even quite frail due to a few accidents in the past.

Yet, his death, to me, came as a total shock. Yes, he was frail. But to have left us so suddenly…? It's still sinking in now.

Sadly, I wasn't very close to Mr. G. He was the "mentor" of half my class - in charge of us students' performance, academically and psychologically – in short, well, to mentor us. I still remember my group's first "mentor-mentee" session with Mr. G. It was quite memorable, as Mr. G struck us as an eccentric man. Lively despite his obvious frailty, he shared with us the rigors of life as a college student. In all honesty, we really wanted to end the session ASAP because, well, we were hungry (the meeting was before lunch). But if we had known he would pass away less than a year later, we would have paid more attention.

We rarely met him, although we were supposed to have a mentor-mentee session every week. Mr. G always seemed to be absent, sometimes off to a hospital. Other times, he would simply say that we should not meet because he "did not want to tell us things we already know" or something along those lines. Still, he always had a smile on him whenever I met him on the corridor, and would confide in me about a certain ache around his body or a recent accident he had faced.

Like I said, we didn't get to know him well enough.

The last time we met him was earlier this year, during the Teacher's Day celebrations of my college. He had just had his hand bitten by his pet dog, and it was bandaged. Knowing he would retire in a few months' time, we had prepared a yellow balloon for him to pop. The balloon represented his eventful career, and popping it was meant to show that he would go out with a bang. He was visibly touched, and generously shared with us tales of his teaching career. After the meal, I managed to give him a hug and a handshake.

We hadn't known him well enough…neither did we know that it would be the last time we would see him.

Mr. G, it saddens me that you did not get to enjoy your retirement before you left this world. But listening to your colorful stories, I find it fitting that you have died as a teacher (and a good one, too), as you had lived as one. We had known you all too briefly, but your passing has taught me to appreciate those still alive around me even more. Although you are now "horizontally meditating" in the hereafter, you will live on in our memory. Rest In Peace, sir.





P.s. Here is a blog post by someone who had known Mr. G better than I did: http://angchoonseong.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-have-many-good-teachers-in-my-life.html