You know it's that never ending sense of doom especially when your phone shows a countdown to the number of days to your next test.
Day after day, after day.
Then again, after everything, what are we looking for in ourselves?
Visual confirmation that we have not prepared well enough for the mid-years, and the school teachers are in wide-alert because you are oh-so-screwed?
Or the severe mental beating that we love so much at the end of the bloody, brutal paper that leaves your brain adled and your heart bleeding out from the end of a barbed stick?
What do we really want from all this? The good memories?
Ten years down the road, we see our long lost classmates, some balding, some in their prime, some absent-mindedly scratching their bellies with a cup of coffee that lasts them for a decade, do we recall, Hey, your grades at that time sucked.
Do we even remember what we learnt by then?
I know I'm raking up this emo crap here because I forsee that no miracles can take place by Mid years.
I'm just facing the facts bitterly as opposed to giving myself false hope. Pain can be a good stimuli for the even greater battle ahead.
I had lectures over the holidays in Somerset, until I swear I'm sick of the place already. The flea-bitten, fish smelling and sex-shop riddled location seriously makes me sick.
And to make things better, I now have permanent Sunday evening lessons there.
What are the reasons to continue fighting against an enemy even larger than the last?
When you were a kid, PSLE seemed like hell.
As you jumped over the small hurdle, you cheered, and you told yourself that was the most fucking difficult paper you ever sat for.
Now comes O'levels. Now comes the high jump pole.
I jumped over it ,barely.
Now it's A levels,
I'm on the plane. The flight crew activates the door.
I jump. The first parachute fails.
I wonder about the second back-up chute.