Fortissimo

Tennis with Ben, KJ and LKY. It was much easier to pick up than badminton, because the speed of the game was relatively slower and allowed for more reaction time. Also I used a smaller lighter racquet that allowed a harder swing. Of course I often use too much power and the ball just flies and slams into the opposite wall. But practice makes perfect I suppose. As usual Kaiyan comes up with a totally fucked up idea of miss the shot = 1 push up. I earned 13. Next time round I may have no choice but to be a bitch and refuse to play. Before and after tennis we briefly played Burnout Takedown 3 on the xBox. It was really good. No wonder Ryan refused to go home that night of the BBQ.

As a result of tennis I missed the UGC video on the Life of Egyptians. I think I will borrow the disc from the lecturer... if she allows. Kaiyan asked me to accompany him to the new library to check out the science of Fibonacci Numbers for his profile essay. Yeah, it's weird isn't it? Thought so. But I insisted on dropping by SIM to deliver something for my father to his colleague in the Business and Financial Trading (BFS) course, so Kaiyan agreed to drop by there, for fear of being majorly pang seh-ed. At the UB booth we saw that many people had signed up for student council: Derek, Daphne, Weiyang, Amanda, José, Zhi, Bernard... Lol Stone and Stoner. And together they'll drool the world.

I'M SORRY... I COULDN'T HELP IT! (^.^)v

So after that we flagged another cab to the library. Kaiyan was rather impressed by the sheer height of the building and architecture, that he pretty much didn't hear me relay what I had heard from my father. One floor for lending, a three-storey drama centre, and 8 floors of reference. Every bookworm's dream isn't it? Kaiyan finally cleared his fine (well actually his maid's fine) of more than three years of $45.40. Sigh the sheer ease. I don't care whether that was my money or my father's. If I had been the one paying I would have been sobbing as noisily as I could with my finger trembling hesitantly over the Enter button for my PIN code. I wanted to explore the Rare Materials Collection, but it stated Authorised Personnel Only, and we weren't quite sure what defined authorised personnel, so we went back down to the Arts and Sciences Reference on the 8th floor. Kaiyan selected a book on photography while I piled up on Ancient Egyptian art, and there we spent the rest of our time.

Back at Bras Basah Complex, Art-Friend does have round-tipped pliers essential for the wire-art I have taken an interest in. However they only had wires of one thin size (0.5mm) where as I wanted thicker, more voluminously significant wires of 2mm thickness. I shall visit IMM one of these days, when I get enough money (soon, I hope) to go to that shop where Kaiyan got his wires from. Also judging from Art-Friend the round-tip pliers don't come too cheap at a price of $12.80. We shall see. After that for the first time I entered Swee Lee's to take a look at the bass guitars. One of the first I saw had seemingly thinner strings, and this was confirmed when I saw the ridiculously thick last string that was more common in bass guitars. If ever I had to make a decision without Hans's advice, I would have taken the thinner-stringed guitar. The thick string seriously looked like it could transcend the bottom of the human hearing range.

Finding nothing of my interest, quite obviously, I went up to GuitarWorks and asked about my problem. I was overjoyed when I was supplied with the part in question, and paid ten bucks for a piece of ivory, or something much cheaper of that texture and look. After consulting an Internet page I started restringing.

I'll spare you the details.

It didn't quite work out.

Time and again I am brought back to Earth, back to square one, that my guitar was beyond repair. The (replaceable) saddle had fallen off. The pegs were old and heavily spotted, two of which had broken off. The neck string bridge was chipped, and I had cut a crude groove to accomodate the 6th string (bass). A part of the neck was actually cracked. Time and again I was reminded that some part of me could well be destroyed if ever any part of the guitar gave way and snapped. Once again I found myself asking Sandra-jie for advice, and invariably concluding with her promise to talk to my father again. I've gotten last term's results. What more does he want? My life? My soul? And as if I don't have enough to think and mull about, there is now the guilt that I had put Sandra-jie in a teetering position, and she has even then so willingly promised to try to cajole my father.

I am falling, once again, into an infinite darkness, and there is nothing, nothing to stop me.

Why?