Kick.

8 months on. Dying but not yet dead.

This is a good time to revive all my long-lost, nostalgic deeds.

This morning was the first time I carried my Delica4 to school in a full year.

It's quite sobering to realise that this started all one and a half years ago, when I saw an ugly knife in a rarely-opened shop in a rarely-visited corner of the army market and made it mine with several weeks of savings.

I'd go on another knife-related rant, but something makes me want to step back and treasure the memories. It's been said, in one form or another, that you'd never trade your knife (or Leatherman, or light, or backpack, or other bit of gear that you carry as faithfully as a friend) for a brand new one that was the exact same, and I never understood that until now.

One and a half years, from which I've grown, from the violent cartographer to the nerdmonk, as hao calls me. And for half of that time the Delica has been sitting in a drawer, ignored in favour of the Mili or Opinel or whatever is new or shiny.

Yet there are memories with it too. This morning I took it from my pocket in the Raffles Square and flicked it open, enjoying the silky smooth action which I'd broken in over a long period of carry. Shawn was beside me, and unbeknownst to me Mrs Suhaimy, and when we saw her we burst out laughing. Old memories, of two crazy Sec 2 scouts, their frazzled form teacher and all that goes along with that.

This blog was started no-idea-how long ago, when one of my friends (don't remember who) suggested I blog. Daily posts turned into weeks, occasionals, until I closed it down and went private. And I don't know who reads even that anymore besides Bryan (thanks bryan!)

This morning was also the day of more somber memories as well.

I had thought that I'd finally pulled free of the maths failure cycle, where I'd fail or nearly-fail out all my quizzes, assignments, CCTs, then ace the EOY and salvage a modest grade.

This year, I told myself it's going to be different.

Consistency. Study every topic, perfect every topic, leave behind a trail of stellar grades.

Then there was this morning's TA, and the old emotions came back, since the beginning of Sec 2, where they first started.

That old, long-gone sense of desperation as I realise I've gotten something wrong, but I don't know what. The doubt about an answer I think, know, hope is correct but suspect isn't but can't prove otherwise. The resignation as I turn the paper in and hope to pass, just wanting to avoid the flurry of questions and "how was it?"s.

Yeah, maybe I'm over-dramatizing a T.A. But it's the start of that old desperate cycle again, and I don't want that to happen.

But men (and women) take matters into their hands, don't they? Alif and Andre, stung into action by the words on their PRs, asked me to go study with them. And Siddeeq warned me that they'd freeload off me, but I had too much pride to say that I needed them too, maybe more than they need me.

So today, we ended up at the top floor of the Jurong East library, studying pages and pages of chemistry-qualitative analysis and reactivity. I'm thankful for them.

Okay, now to suddenly switch topics.

Maths yesterday; homework, homework, assignment. All due today. The day of the TA.

I was studying with Bryan for the TA last night. First time using MSN chat, and it worked out well. At about midnight I felt my brain not absorbing any more, not knowing how to solve trig equations, trying to apply formulas that didn't exist. And I rue my brain that's wired to perform during the day, because the day is exactly when I cannot study.

So I chucked the supplementary exercise, and hit the sack. I was thinking to myself "at least I'll be awake during class"

Bad choice.

That said, thanks, bryan, for helping me. You said "it's what friends do, you dummy". Thanks anyway :)

Well. 8-month-anniversary (almost) post. Don't expect to see another one for forever.