October 9th, 2011

Charah coffee

I'm cranky. Everything sucks. Everything is pissing me off.

This TOEFL thing - I think American universities should grant an automatic waiver to students who are from, I don't know, Singapore or something. Obviously I'm not going to take the test, but even having to submit a waiver form and give reasons why I'm entitled to a waiver, as if it's not bloody self-evident, is a major hassle. Not to mention - it's kind of insulting. Would they like to see my SAT reading and writing scores? And my percentile? As in relative to American high school students? Would they also like an account of how hard I laughed when I saw how easy America's college admission test is?

Of course, I'm just complaining, as usual. This TOEFL thing is still annoying - my petulance doens't change that fact.

I hate filling up application forms. I thought I liked my personal statement but now I think it's crap. It's well-written, I suppose, but I don't know how it holds up substantively, if it holds up at all. I just don't think I can coast through by the strength of my writing skills anymore. Very sad. This is making me feel like a vapid airhead.


Since I was complaining anyway, I would like to also take this opportunity to complain about this Law School Admission Council thing that some schools make mandatory for applicants to use. It's a one-stop application centre for, obviously, law schools. What I would like to complain about is that I just spent a ridiculous USD216 on some document assembly service, certification or whatever service, and some law school report thing which I don't even know what it is. Do they really need USD125 from each student to authenticate the student's transcripts? That's a lot of money.

This is gonna cost me a bomb. Application fees are at least USD80 each. Fuck. And the more I delay this application process, the more likely it is that I'd end up courier-ing my documents to the US via something ridiculous, like FedEx, which charges ridiculous rates.

But what can I do? I feel like I need to do this. I feel like I don't know where my life is going, what options this country has to offer me; I feel like this country is too small. It can't contain my ambition.

At the same time, I'm still trying to figure that part out too. But I can't spend the rest of my life fumbling around in the dark, "figuring things out". At some point, I'd have to know. But what if I never do? One day, it won't be enough merely knowing what sucks the breath out of me and makes me wish I were dead.


I want to get something - a short story of sorts - published in print. I'm old school this way - getting published on the Internet is as good as nothing happening. It's as good as me posting something on this blog. Quel est le bloody point?

I think I'm PMSing. My period's probably coming next week. Bleah. Being female sucks, especially the stupid PMS symptoms, like sore bloody boobs that make it difficult to get into a comfortable sleeping position, or wear a high impact sports bra, or just jump around or do anything that causes pressure to be applied to said boobs. I don't even care right now if this is too much information. In any case, some guys out there really need to know what their girlfriends or potential girlfriends experience when it's that bloody time of the month, pun fully intended.


I love tennis, I really do, I want to experience competitive matchplay at some point, and recently I thought maybe I was ready for that, since my serve appeared to be improving.

This morning proved me utterly wrong.

NUS Wall Guy made me play a set; he said that it was time I got over my mental barrier when it comes to matchplay. What he meant was this: When I'm playing a set, I can't get a serve in. I can't get the ball over the net. I mishit shots that I make regularly when I'm just hitting the ball for fun. I'm so anxious to end the point and win it that I start hitting stupid shots, mostly shots that land way out.

This morning, my serve sucked so bad that the times I got the serve in, they were lucky shots that landed in. Meaning - the racquet tapped the ball and the ball happened to land within the service box. I got broken to love on my opening service game during which I served at least 3 double faults.

Mental barrier. Obviously, the absence of any sort of experience along these lines is a huge contributing factor as well. While the point really wasn't to win, I was quite irritated and demoralised, a little, at my shit-infused serving performance. It made me feel like I just took two steps back when I thought I took a step forward throughout the past two weeks, when I made it a point to practise the stupid serve when I play random rallies.

Even my groundstrokes ran away in terror during that set. I actually completely mishit a shot. It was shocking to me; I honestly can't remember the last time I so badly mishit a shot with this new racquet. And there were my usual backhand-into-the-nets, forehand-hit-way-wides, blah blah blah. I went for a down the line forehand pass - missed by a few centimetres. That really sucked. But I can't hit down the line convincingly anyway.

After that set which I lost 6-1, I seemed to have lost the arm extension on the serve, which appeared to have gone back to where I thought I'd moved away from. Like - I don't know, this thing I do when I just push the ball over with my serving arm bent at the elbow, not fully extended, therefore not getting any sort of power on the serve at all. I can actually serve decently on a good day; I can get the ball in and sometimes, I can hit it with some pace. But today, though, it was so bad.

Anyway, I'm just too impatient. I have this genuinely-held belief that I should be playing better than my current level because I've been playing for 3 years, a mighty long time in my opinion for someone to play a sport at a decent level. My level is decent but not decent enough for the high standards that I set for myself when it comes to things that I love. Like writing, you know? Why write at all if I write shit?

But tennis is a bit different. I don't actually have to use my brains as much, and I don't have a natural gift for it. I don't love it as much as writing. It's something that I feel like I can work at and get proficient in; writing, on the other hand, gives me so much more pressure. I expect myself to be able to just write, without any training, any practise whatsoever, any guidance; I'm genuinely convinced that it's something which I can just do with some natural flair. It just comes out. And thus, when the substance that comes out is foul-smelling and unpleasant and comes nowhere close to the standards that I set for myself, a part of me dies inside.

I definitely don't feel the same way about tennis. I still set a high standard for myself, but it's not so high that it cripples me. I still keep going back because I have fun doing it; I derive pleasure from it; it makes me feel good about myself. Well, most of the time, that is; I didn't feel good losing 6-1 and I really wanted to just double fault it away at 1-5, 15-40, just so my misery could end (and it ended exactly like that).

I think all this pressure that I put on myself to write something good, something worthy of the kind of literature that I read, something that matches my arrogance, has sucked a lot of the joy out of writing. The mental barrier is probably even worse than the one that I suffer in relation to tennis. I just - I just bloody fucking can't. I don't know why. I just can't.


I can, however, hit winners on occasion. Two pretty decent cross-court forehand winners off short balls - pretty cool. I definitely prefer returning to serving for sure, but that's a no brainer since I can't serve. I won a couple of points on aggressive returns off NUS Wall Guy's deliberate topspin serves (so that he doesn't end up acing me off the court, obviously. His level is so much higher). I felt really good about one - I decided early that I wanted to take it on, and it came to my backhand, right in my strike zone, so I whacked it down the line and forced a reply from NUS Wall Guy into the net. Heh heh heh.


Anyway, pointless entry. I haven't seen my boyfriend since last Friday. Sigh.