Just some Last Words

Before the Dreaded Trial.

EMT week.

EOYs.

Assesment Week.

Judgement Week.

Whatever you call it.
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A million years ago, in Primary Three, I constantly fared quite well in Chinese. Then I started reading English Classics at that age. The next year, my English improved and I started writing poems.

In Primary Six, I had collated my own portfolio of sorts (of English poetry and prose). As for my Chinese, I guess it was still of a reasonable standard. I memorised quite a number of yanyu and xiehouyu, and managed to get a merit in the Higher Chinese PSLE.

Then in Secondary school, my Chinese suddenly went down the gutter. I was reduced to semi-direct-english-translations in my chinese essays. I still spoke comprehensible mandrin (which I conversed in with my grandmother and cousins), but when it came to putting it down onto paper, my chinese seriously was horrible. I did try to improve; I even read three chinese novels of my own accord in Secondary Two, but somehow, when this year started, my failing grade indicated a lack of improvement.

Tuition didn't help. It only added to my homework load. So I wanted out; on the condition that I pulled my chinese grade up.

And I did. From a D to a C.

Then mid-year interims came. And my favourite enemy came along and bashed me in the face.

Speed.

And I Failed chinese. And a whole long list of other subjects.

I wanted to give up.

But when zenglaoshi came, she made special efforts to help the people who were weak in chinese. Cliched as it may sound, her encouragement and care inspired me to do better.

When she first arrived, one of the first assignments she gave us was to write an essay about a teacher we were thankful for.

恩师.

Zenglaoshi, if you're reading this;
你是我的恩师. Thank you.

Three days till the exams. (I haven't studied anything. Grrrrr. Stupid Rach! Die, you lazy, asanine, buffoon!)

I want to do well.
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