The Art Market & Me

Back during my schooldays though I was generally adequate when it came to my academics, few of my classmates would have come to me seeking pointers on mathematical sums or even physics conundrums. Simply put science & math simply wasn't something I was all that interested in and any questions posed to me, apart from those in my homework, would have earned a disinterested shrug from me.

Imagine my animosity towards a particular math tutor who insisted on handing out apparently 'fun' quizzes during our breaks.

It was towards the generally 'arts' subjects, as we would term it here, such as history, literature and art itself that I loved. Brief spells in between classes would have found me either carelessly doodling on the exercise book or sometimes pulling out my latest paperback for a quick read. And like in most any boys' school, there was always the incessant hushed request for the resident artist to draw female nudes.

I'm done with you. Get up and get dressed. 

Didn't take very much for horny teenage boys to get going at that impressionable age so anything slightly more voluptuous than their own childlike stick figure drawings would do. Turned out it wasn't all that difficult for me to sketch sexy sirens in all sorts of slutty situations. After all it was always the naked male figures that made me a tad more uneasy. Kept tweaking the nose of the handsome fellow, kept widening the broad shoulders, darkening the brows... just could never get them right.

And yes, they did make my heart go pitter patter a little. Yes, it made perfect sense in retrospect of course.

But that was all during my high school years. Though I still pulled out a sketchbook every once in a while after, I never did all that much till recently.

With the art market we organized, it was amazing to see so many creative minds under one roof! Don't think any of us walked out of the hall without feeling utterly energized by the crackling ingenuity and inventiveness shown by the many talented vendors who came to show their unique wares. That wasn't even counting the number of brainstorming sessions we had during our painting and crafting workshops which gave me so many budding ideas for creative collaboration from dollies to washi tapes.

Certainly sparked something in me which has me going through several pages of my sketchbook in a day, which is why I've been neglecting this blog for a little while!

Gossip Girl

Let's face it, we all love gossip.

Short of being an utterly antisocial hermit huddled on a mountaintop alone, humans are basically social creatures who love each other's company - and once we gather, we tend to talk trash about each other as well. Probably ever since the first grunting cavemen returned to brag about the monstrous mastodon they all escaped from earlier.

Thankfully these days though, we tend to focus less on man-eating predators and more on what's happening in our lives; usually from the more mundane information such as progress at work and possible promotions thereafter to the more salacious details of someone's broken marriage and the reasons thereof.

Cue the trash talk from the ever-fertile rumour mill.

Though some of my more innocent friends usually cry foul to claim that it isn't always true.

Paul : So you know of her but you don't actually know her. 
Barbara : Yes, people have been talking about her. 
Paul : Ah, so what terrible news have you heard? 
Barbara : Nothing!
Paul : Stories about her reached you but there's nothing to tell. 
Barbara : Nothing bad at least. 
Paul : They spoke good things about her? 
Barbara : Yes. 
Paul : Do I look that gullible to you? 

Really? Schoolmates spread favourable news about someone around town.

Girl : Have I got some news for you!
Paul : Ooh pray tell. 

Let's not kid ourselves.

Perhaps if we all lived in a perfect utopia. Undoubtedly tales of selfless heroism and wonderful good deeds do make it onto the front page sometimes but believe the sad cynic here when I say, people rarely gather around the hearth to gossip about that. Virtuous saints do plenty of good that's hardly mentioned but it's their one little known inconsequential failing that gets everyone talking.

After all there's always that little touch of malice in the third retelling.

So despite what our sweetly optimistic Barbara wants to believe, gossip's rarely good.

Fear not though. Though rumours would persistently circulate so long as humans are around, we also have to remember to take what's whispered around about people objectively since generally there are parts that would be wildly fallacious. Like Chinese Whispers, any scandalously juicy bit gets a little added spice as the tale gets spread around so there's usually a veritable feast of scrumptious ignominy at the very end.

Maybe take it with a little pinch of salt.

Back In The Days

Meeting up with a schoolmate and friend in Tokyo certainly brought back many bittersweet memories, and it wasn't long before Skinny Stacey and I started dredging up funny anecdotes from way, way back then. Seemed so fresh in our minds that it made it hard to grasp the fact that it actually all happened twenty years ago! All those wacky pranksters, smooth talkers and emo youngsters were already relatively grown up parents of their very own children.

And in all likelihood - confirmed and reiterated by many, many of my classmates - I wasn't as much of a shy wallflower as I would like to think. Apparently I had quite a fearsome reputation in school, something that I hadn't been entirely aware of back then.

The looks on my friends' faces when I say I'm a blushing blossom in school. 
Occasionally there are smirks and snorts. 

So drooping daisy I definitely wasn't.

Sometimes I do wonder how Charming Calvin and I would have been like if we'd both been in high school at the same time and place. Though never did it occur to me that Charming Calvin would think I'm some monstrous Venus flytrap with dripping green fangs out to catch the next hapless victim.

Calvin : You know I don't think I would have dated Paul in high school.
Stacey : Why not!
Paul : What the- 
Calvin : You probably wouldn't have seen me also!
Paul : Excuse you! Frankly I'm vaguely insulted.
Calvin : Anyway I'd be a little afraid of you. I mean I'd have admired you from afar but would be too scared to come close.
Paul : Eh.

Wait is this one of those inexplicably paiseh things? Turns out Calvin might be one of those timid Clay Jensens who try their best to discreetly blend into the highschool background, perpetually afraid of making the slightest disturbance in the force? Though I might not crave the spotlight as most would think, I doubt I'd be the kind to shrink back from making my opinions heard.

Loudly. Passionately. From the rafters if need be.

Think I've made quite a ruckus or two in the school canteen that stunned everyone once or twice even.

So yeah, that would probably make me stand out from the crowd - as it probably did according to my classmates. Odd since I always thought I was kinda invisible in school. So believe it when I say how you think of yourself doesn't always match up with the truth.

Tsukematsukeru

Has it really been two decades since I left school?

Seems like it must have been since the last time I saw Skinny Stacey, we were taking our last steps out of high school after our exam results. Or wait, it could have been a week later when we were slightly tipsy after downing drinks at our last school party. Though we hardly spent any time apart during Form Six, we drifted apart after that as we went our separate ways. Cellphones were still bulky extravagances, social media was still in its relative infancy back then and ICQ was a pain to use.

It was only relatively recently that we pinged each other again on Facebook and started chatting briefly about what had been going on in our lives. Sheer coincidence indeed that we both happened to be in Tokyo at about the same time; seemed like fate was telling us to finally meet up.

Which we did.

Though for a while there it seemed like it might not happen since a sad lack of roaming data and miscommunication had us both waiting at opposite ends of the renowned Senso-Ji Temple in Asakusa. BTW when I say Kaminarimon, I obviously mean the Kaminarimon 雷門 otherwise known as the Thunder Gate. Fortuitously the gods of fortune seemed to smile upon us that day since after a frustrating hair-pulling hour of pacing around the temple gate searching for the hitherto familiar face of Skinny Stacey, I saw the even more recognizable mermaid insignia of Starbucks.

And reasonably stable wi-fi.

Amazing what they can do with woodblock prints these days! A memento of our trip there!

So it was that I spent an amazing day tour strolling around the ancient temple of Senso-Ji and the surrounding shopping streets of Asakusa - with Charming Calvin and Skinny Stacey. Can say without a doubt that she has changed but little since I could recognise her slender frame from a mile off. Did the conventional touristy prerequisite of cleansing rituals, soaking incense smoke and dedicating solemn prayers at the temple while leaving the bad luck tied up in knots behind.

Then it was time for a bit of reminiscing.

As much as I found the final years of high school utterly exhausting trying to catch up with endless revisions that never seemed to suffice, I still found it a time for slowly discovering the kind of person I would be; and yes, also tentatively exploring what it meant to be a sexually active gay man. Even then with all that near negligible homosexual angst, I found it an excellent experience to finally leave behind the macho all boys' experience and to finally have some feminine mystique around.

Hey I finally had girl friends. And I wasn't exactly unpopular.

Stacey : It wasn't that fun a time for us. 
Paul : Us? 
Stacey : I knew you were doing great in Form Six but not the rest of us. 
Paul : What? 

However it turns out Stacey - and quite a few of my classmates weren't having such a positive experience back then. An understatement if there ever was one. Unquestionably an epiphany for me since I unwisely figured that the rest couldn't possibly be undergoing as radical a change as I was. Happens that they just weren't dealing with it as smoothly as I was.

All behind us though so we can joke and laugh about it now. Still, has it really been two decades?

The Blowjob

One Blowjob doesn't necessarily turn you gay.

Let's face it, boys are boys and they do love their little scientific experiments especially when it involves the excitable lil fella down below. Even though it was kept clandestinely hush-hush in my all boys's school, most would have noticed the illicit hanky panky going on between some of the more adventurous schoolboys in the secluded corners.

Doubt any of them would even think to consider themselves gay, then and now. Just a bit of handsy sophomoric fun between the boys, especially when opportunities to get off successfully are hard enough to come by at that jailbait age.

Not that I ever did any of that, well apart from some hasty making out sessions in the darker corners of the school chapel. Hardly enough time to progress past a quick handjob, much less giving a proper oral. Just never know who's going to be bursting through the doors! Terrible enough to be breaking dozens of religious doctrines in a day; what more to present such a spectacle of prurience to a man of the cloth.

Maybe a second round? 

But when a friend keeps insisting that the cheap trick he has been seeing is impossibly straight, it does make me wonder.

Friend : Yeah, I actually gave him a blowjob. 
Paul : Well that doesn't necessarily make him gay. 
Friend : He asked me for another. And I did it again. 
Paul : Oh. Twice? 

Well, perhaps one blowjob doesn't turn you homosexual. Fun times for all and all that.

But two consensual blowjobs?

Makes one wonder. Maybe you could chalk up that first blowjob to simple curiosity and fervent desperation - but the second time around does make it a little more suspicious. Moving towards the second has turned it from an experimental try to becoming something almost habitual. A lil crooked perhaps; down the Kinsey spectrum from totally heterosexual?

Surely he didn't hate it all that much if he's begging to come for seconds?

Back to School

Thankfully not for me since the idea of prepping for examinations again gives me the hives.

A bit unsettled since the recent recession inconveniently rightsized a large number of the lucrative careers in oil and gas here, Charming Calvin has been filling his time with educating our mostly apathetic adolescents in mathematics and science. Surprisingly a childhood dream of his brought forward by a series of unfortunate events. Despite the tedious mental chore of refreshing one's memory with such complex calculus equations, Calvin seems quite up to the task of teaching a dozen or so disinterested teenagers in the classroom.

Me, I've always balked at the idea of teaching. Having both parents as teachers have taught me that despite what the erroneous detractors say, education isn't something as simple as scratching words on a blackboard for the students to magically grasp. Takes so much more than that which is why I always imagined my pitiful efforts at teaching would literally be the disoriented one-eyed man misleading the blind!

Not so for Calvin!

Hot for teacher indeed!

Going back to school however has turned out to be quite an inspiration. In fact teaching the young and far from willing minds on the manifold virtues of trigonometry has spurred his very own need for self improvement which is how he one day came up with the idea of continuing his academic scholarship.

Calvin : What do you think of further education? 
Paul : Do it. 
Calvin : Would it be good to continue..?
Paul : Do it. 
Calvin : Should I take up my masters? 
Paul : Do it. 
Calvin : That was a quick response!
Paul : Do it. You'll pass with flying colours for sure. 
Calvin : You're already giving me stress and I haven't even signed up for the course yet! 
Paul : Would you rather me say you'll flunk out? 

Seriously, he's a bright young fellow and I'm sure he could manage the relatively straightforward course hobbled on one leg with one hand tied to his back. Even then, I'm pretty sure he'll easily wipe the floor with the rest of his loser classmates with the exams and the coursework.

Yes, that's the kiasu lil me coming out again. Turns out that's not exactly the supportive encouragement he needs - says I'm giving him undue stress over performance anxiety - but I doubt I could provide any other. Maybe a bit of playacting as teacher and student?

Sting of Rejection

Boy : Would you like to dance? 
Girl : Nah to the Ah to the No No No. 

Believe me, if you're a hormonal teenage boy, you'll be dealing with exactly this kind of sorry rejections repeatedly in your life from sophomoric high school dances to the more adult rated Tindr dates. That's even if you're the smartest, best-looking boy in the class.

I should know, I spent my entire secondary life eagerly watching such melodramatic CW angst play out in the school hallways and house parties.

Starting out as a closeted gay man certainly helped a lot in dealing with the occasional rejection. Way back then, high school dance parties didn't come with much of a legitimate choice for budding gay boys which is how I'd usually end up begging the standoffish girls for a dance. Really there's always a sad limit to the time you can reasonably stand with your back to the wall by the ubiquitous spiked punch bowl.

Girl : Wait, didn't you ask me for a dance?
Paul : But that hot sweaty boy over there looks like he needs a drink. 

Since there wasn't all that much hormonal desperation on my side - after all if she declined, there's certainly no harm, no foul - I found it easy enough to ask. Simple, straightforward petitions with little of the flirty come-ons that I picked up later. Even if she mumbled a ready refusal with a sarcastic eyeroll, I was always ready to move on to the next. Pretty sure by then the savvier girls in the waiting line would already have latched on to the fact that I was a raging homo.

In hindsight, I probably could have braved the inevitable homophobic punch and propositioned the cute boys as well.

Since the older you get, the more you realize certain small decisions don't really matter. Maybe at that very moment, the terrible pain of rejection might sting. Perhaps till the next day. Maybe even till the next week. But months later, you won't even recall who you asked out to the dance.

Especially if they said no.

Toughened me up with shrewd maxims that I recalled even when I started dating boys for real. So what if they said no? Forget the rejections. Remember the ones who nodded an affirmative even with the poorly worded invitation.

And always try to say yes when politely asked. You never know who you'll meet.

Social Grace

As a child, the infrequent social gathering, so beloved by my surprisingly sociable parents, has always been a source of much anxiety for me. Incipient bashfulness aside, there are always the endless rules and regulations of proper manners set down by the overanxious parents, seemingly obsessed with constructing the impeccable facade of a perfect family for all to gape over.

Or at least that's what I begrudgingly noted as a child.

Appropriate clothes to wear, polite manners in the company of others etc. - basically Cliff's Notes for the aspiring debutante in a select finishing school. Pretentious little precepts of proper behaviour that my inner rebel found absolutely infuriating - though like the perfect little boy I was, I kept my mouth primly shut following the popular maxim of 'Children should be seen not heard.'

And tried my best to bend the rules whenever possible.

It's only with the benefit of age and hindsight that I find what I learned absolutely educational and extremely advantageous in certain social situations. Though it has also become quite clear that the influential Emily Post Rulebook so well loved by my rigorous parents didn't actually make the rounds amongst the other less conversant members during their PTA meetings.

Such as the indifferent preceptors of a certain Silent Sibyl.

Persuaded by another friend to join one of our usual jovial dinner gatherings, this stonefaced sphinx reluctantly mumbled her unintelligible greetings, nodded almost imperceptibly to no one in particular and then brazenly turned her back to the others for a private conversation with her friend. Henceforth not another word from Sibyl apart from bluntly monosyllabic replies when questioned by the others on the table.

Paul : Gracious, where do you find such lowly impudence!

Just. Plain. Rude.

So much for keeping the conversation light and gracious with your dinner partners on your left and right. Getting information from a hardened spy under torture would have been easier.

Perhaps if she were an ignorant child, I would have been far more forgiving. But the ill-bred wench didn't even have youthful naivete to lend her grace. Really there was little expectation on my part for a gregarious barrel of laughs drowning us all in uproarious hilarity but I would have expected at least a modicum of civil conversation to drip from her precious lips.

As the night wore on with her plainly ignoring everyone else on the table - she might as well have stood facing the wall in a timeout - I started to think Sibyl might well have been brought up by vulgar philistines in the lowliest of barns. The others could plainly see my growing consternation and were all ready to hold me back in case I rashly backhanded the crass lil creature off her dining chair. Even her friend who valiantly tried her best to direct her attention back to the rest of us was starting to feel acutely uneasy with the shocking conversational faux pas.

Friend : Maybe she's shy.
Paul : Maybe she's rude.
Friend : Be nice. 
Paul : Perhaps you should tell her that instead.  

Needless to say, I was less than charmed by her insolence.

Manners maketh man. Or woman as this case may be. Apparently Sibyl still has lots to make up for.

13 Reasons

Or maybe not all that many.

Although the oddly ironic paean to self immolation post relentless bullying that is 13 Reasons Why certainly brings back some bittersweet memories of high school. Not that I ever seriously contemplated suicide way back then but I could certainly empathize with the tremendous rush of emotions experienced by the overly hormonal teenagers in the series.

With that heady cocktail of adolescent hormones, is it any wonder that they behave fucking irrationally at times?

Me, I would probably stand out as the least emo kid in the series. Even with that bothersome gay cloud looming thunderously over me as a teenager, I still remained relatively upbeat about most things. Basically threw myself wholeheartedly into extracurricular activities and random tutorial sessions; even managed to meet a few girl friends that I, apparently still in denial, foolishly asked out later. Not that difficult to brave the infrequent rejections when there's not much riding on it. I was hardly the angsty, guilt-ridden gay kid stereotype portrayed by most CW teen dramas.

But then thankfully, I was rarely the target of ceaseless schoolyard bullying.

Bashful school wallflower I may have been but I wouldn't have taken a beating lying down. Literally or figuratively. Never could imagine the role of the cloyingly sweet K-drama heroine being repeatedly set upon by her malicious oppressors. Like why would I? Turns out it was the right move to make since in retrospect, playing the amenable victim ever ready to take a kicking only seems to rile the boneheaded bullies more.

Clearly that's like painting a Kick Me Sign permanently on your back.

Umm why are you taking this lying down? 

Even in 13 Reasons, the hopeful schoolkids seem to think that all that sophomoric name-calling and talking trash would have been left behind in high school but I can certainly assure them that it doesn't magically disappear. It just ups its game. Just picture this; a gang of tense, highstrung personalities tossed together into a stressful work environment - now that's a true breeding ground for the nastiest of monsters.

Though in the more sophisticated workplace, the bullying tends to be a tad more insidious.

Something Curvy Carenina apparently agrees with since she's been on the receiving end of some workplace malice, artfully couched in syrupy political correctness but no less venomous in its painful sting. What puzzles me is the unexpected lack of combative belligerence on her part. Burn me once and I might dismissively shrug it off, but try it again and there'll certainly be hell to pay.

Why play the nobly suffering victim? Doubt they would be handing out prizes for the most deserving underdog.

Trimming the Teenage Thicket

Times have certainly changed. Coming from an all boys school, I can tell you that the eagerly awaited coming of puberty with the initial first spring of facial hair is greeted with much more than aplomb. Honestly the high school equivalent of a raucous street parade is thrown, along with well-wishing admirers all ready to admire that teeny-tiny sprig of negligible chin fluff.

As all fastidious biology teachers are wont to explain not very long afterward, that brief onset of puberty is later follower by the lightning-quick advancement of hair growth in many other regions, from the armpits to the nether regions. Proud of their hormonal over achievements, more than a few brutish teenagers are all too willing to flash the teeming forest under their armpits with very little persuasion.

Well that was before.

Quite thoroughly unlike the current fashion of going napalm all over.  I've said it before and probably would say it again. Overly precious pruning and manscaping to resemble something close to a hairless prepubescent I find utterly emasculating.

Not what budding teenagers these days are thinking about though. In the quieter moments of his increasingly overcrowded tuition classes, Charming Calvin gets asked the most awkward questions sometimes, fielding the usual complex mathematical conundrums to the more... unusual philosophical examinations of young life.

Seriously when you look this hot, no one cares about the armpits.  

Like whether to shave. And we're not talking about the jawline.

Calvin : My student was wondering whether to shave off his armpit hair.
Paul : Unusual.
Calvin : Thought so too.
Paul : I mean, the child barely has any hair anywhere!
Calvin : True.
Paul : And he's already wanting to shave? What next? A boyzilian? 

Wow. So these are the things teenage boys these days are preoccupied with?

I gotta say I have to pity them. Not only do they have to contend with their studies, their hormones and the ever-present teenage angst, now they all have to appear on point as well! Guess it's harder to compete with the other gelled, glossed and groomed teen heartthrobs these days - and we're not even counting the amazingly picture-perfect Instagram boys yet. Body image issues much?

What's a boy gotta do!

The B Side

Coming from a smaller school like I did, the disparity between the classes didn't seem quite as apparent as it was in comparison to the immense institutions like Charming Calvin's where each form has dozens of classes. Last I heard they even had classes from A all the way to N- whish sounds astoundingly large when compared to my own schooling experience with only four classes per form. So even though we did have academic streaming once we reached secondary, it wasn't as if we didn't know about the boys in the other classes since there were only so many of us.

Despite our different classes, we generally mixed around on the playing field and during recess - certainly no spiteful Mean Girls social stratification going on there.

As the years passed though, I realized that very few boys from the B class ever made it to our class - almost as if an invisible hurdle had been drawn across the length of the hall that they simply couldn't leap over. Puzzled me always. It wasn't as if any of them were lacking in academic prowess since quite a few appeared to be extremely intelligent.

Honestly we weren't all that smart either.

No, you can't sit with us.

Just that as the years went by, the class hurdle seemed to get so high above their reach that most seemed to have given up on the jump. As vicious cycles go, their pessimistic lack of drive dampened their will to study which only widened the span needed to make that miraculous leap.

It's only now that Charming Calvin has taken up the job of teaching some of these boys that I finally hear their dismal cries of despondency.

Paul : There's nothing stopping you from doing better. You just need to put in that little bit of effort. 
Student : Not really. They are just better, those boys in the A class. 
Paul : Trust me, they aren't any different from you. 
Student : They are clever.
Paul : So are you. 
Student : But they are different. They just like to study. 
Paul : No one likes studying. 
Student : They seem to. 
Paul : That's because they have to. 

Obviously I wasn't going anywhere with him.

Without even making any plausible effort, he has already given up on doing any better. Basically he made it sound like the grandest impossible task, almost like the proverbial carp leaping over the dragon's gate. 鲤鱼跳龙门.

Fiddler on the Roof

These days we tend to assume that the readily available treasure trove of information, something we call the internet, right at our fingertips would only make younger people ever more knowledgeable about the world around them. Turns out that's not really true since rather than research whatever random esoteric subject that might interest them, most would rather fiddle their fingers on inconsequential tripe such as Pokemon Go.

Witness Diffident David.

He's readily admitted that half the subject matter we regularly discuss at dinner flies past his oblivious head - and yet I find he has zero interest in finding out more. Even though I routinely bombard him with detailed links and videos on the matter at hand not very long after. No doubt he clicks on the link only to be distracted by the next exhilarating level of Candy Crush.

So when the discussion drifted towards musicals, David found himself at quite a loss. Though for once it wasn't only him at point-non-plus since quite a number had barely heard of the musicals of yore. If the Academy Award winning Fiddler on the Roof doesn't ring much of a bell, I doubt they'd ever have heard of the dazzling Showboat or even the more obscure Brigadoon.

Sadly Tevye, not so much of a tradition these days!

Which is quite a pity if you ask me, since they are missing out on quite a lot. Surely you can't count yourself a true fan of music if you've never even seen Sister Maria come sailing up a mountain top singing to the trees? Or the ravishing Dolly Gallagher Levi charming the men of the band as she greets everyone miraculously by name?

Perhaps I do have a lot to be thankful for in my upbringing and schooling. Not only did my parents inculcate a serious love of old-time MGM movies - which I rabidly devoured every weekend night - but even in school, we received a surprisingly thorough musical education as well.

I must take you away from this place where they know not of Les Miserables!

Back in school, we had an unusual relic left behind from the glorious days when music was still a compulsory subject. Rather than retire as she could easily do - or drift on to other more pertinent subjects, this redoubtable musical madame refused to give in and continued to surreptitiously run music lessons guerrilla-style when no one was watching. Empty classroom periods at the end of the term were the special moments when she would sweep dramatically into the class and shanghai all the reluctant boys into the music room.

And yes, there was a special music room hidden in a corner of the school where there was a raised stage crowded with various musical instruments from the ubiquitous piano to the more unusual bagpipe. There, our formidable matron with her pure high-pitched soprano would try to corral a mismatched group of adolescent boys - with their tweenage voices treacherously breaking - into matching her style of operatic singing.

Not to mention the occasional lessons on deportment, with sitting up ramrod straight without slouching one of the first, since Madame would not brook such loutish behaviour in her music salon.

It was in that sun-dappled music room that we first saw the dashing cowboy Curly McLain greet a beautiful morning with a song. Apparently one of Madame's favourite songs since she made every form start out with that particular refrain.

Scandal of Ankles

I would readily admit that it has been a while since I was in school. So much so that when I drive past a secondary school and see the odd surprisingly virile, hot-looking kadult in their whites and greens, I have to forcibly remind myself that they are generally young enough to be my biological offspring. Relative infants really! That's really how long it has been.

Easy enough to separate the men from the boys back when I was in school. Ordinarily the lower secondary juveniles wore olive green shorts while the older boys had longer slacks. Almost a point of pride for us all when we mark the simple transition from boyhood to manhood with the simple sartorial switch.

At least in my all boys' school.

We're no longer kids, man!

Well, that's how I remember it to a certain extent. These days however, with the corrupting conservatism creeping across the country, even the younger kids are shamefully starting to cover up. Not only are the junior schoolboys starting to wear slacks in primary school, apparently their previously short shirt sleeves are growing progressively longer as well.

Talk about highly impractical in our sweltering tropical weather.

Vague signs of the incipient religious extremism in our country rankles of course so I initially ranted about it to my friend Shameless Shalom before she decided to point out something.

Shalom : I hear you. 
Paul : Yes? And you agree? 
Shalom : Yes, I do. There's a creeping conservatism for sure - but I've never seen you in shorts!
Paul : Of course I do! I wore them back in lower secondary. 
Shalom : I find this hard to believe. 
Paul : I do wear them!
Shalom : I don't even think you have ankles.
Paul : Like what?!
Shalom : Well I've never seen them!

Really. Apparently in my modest bid to raise the bar for sartorial flair here, that has led to my friends assuming I don't have knees and ankles under my perfectly creased slacks.

The Trials and Tribulations of Tuition

Really, what is the opposite of disillusionment?

Back in high school, crushed between the insurmountable expectations of our hopeful parents and the contemptible judgement of our sneering peers, we all tend to develop extremely skewed views of our teenage selves. Only with the benefit of some time and distance do we realize that most of our insecurities about ourselves were all for naught.

That - and coming face to face with the acne-ridden distraught teenagers of today.

I used to think that I needed to be more driven, more focused, more ambitious, more... well, everything especially when it came to my academic studies. Even in my already relatively packed co-curricular activities, I kept wondering if I was doing quite enough to buff up my curriculum vitae. Even though short of joining a club or society that miraculously convened on a Sunday evening, I doubt I could find the time!

Looking back, I needn't have worried too much.

How foolish I was. Judging by the sadly mediocre students coming to Charming Calvin for extra tuition, I might be quite as terrifyingly kiasu as Paris Geller.

The students at Gradgrind are quite an interesting lot. Not only are some of them unsure of what subjects they would be taking for the exams, they don't particularly see any need to prepare at all. So what if they are flunking half the subjects in school?

Or if they don't even know the first thing about algebra?

A handful in upper secondary can't even do a simple times table sum without the help of a calculator. For someone whose knowledge of mathematics is already less than stellar, that's really horrifying.

Of course their less than knowledgeable, terribly enabling parents aren't helping much.

Parent : Oh, he will go for tuition classes when he needs them.
Paul : Isn't he flunking most of his subjects? 
Parent : Well I think so. 
Paul : Think so? You don't know how he's doing in school?
Parent : Umm... not great I guess? 
Paul : Interesting.
Parent : He will ask for tuition if he feels like it. Anyway he's headed for college.
Paul : Doesn't mean he can afford to fail. He'll still need a bare minimum to enter.

Seriously I doubt he will ever ask for tuition. And better start scraping together cash for that college trust fund since he's gonna need it! That's even if he manages to get the bare minimal pass - which seems pretty unlikely with the feeble effort he has put in.

Of course if you looked as hot as Pietro Boselli, you would have other options for a career. But even this handsome fellow studied really, really hard!

Look, I know academics isn't for everyone. Burying your head in a tedious textbook for half the evening when you could be out partying drunk with your friends isn't all that easy. Especially when you feel the rewards reaped aren't all that much. But at least give it a college try rather than surrendering so easily to lethargic apathy.

The Gradgrind School

Ever since Charming Calvin made the decision to stumble down the arduous path of adolescent education, I have wisely kept my sentiments to myself. Though I'm endlessly supportive of his ambiguous post-dismissal plans, I know first-hand from both my teacher parents just how difficult it is keeping unruly teenagers reluctantly tethered to the millstone of a tedious biology textbook.

Sometimes it's a hellish job and don't let anyone - even our dogged Mark Thackeray - tell you any different.

However I'm glad to see Calvin take up this onerous challenge with a sweet smile. Took me several weeks of him giving weekly classes before I even attempted a peek at his teaching methods.

Granted he had quite a... problematic student to say the least. Occasionally there's a spark of brilliance noticeable in the eyes of those we talk to but tragically so far, I have yet to see anything in his student's painfully blank expression but dull apathy. Of course it doesn't help that Calvin has adopted the intriguingly old school pedagogy much favoured by Mr M'Choakumchild of Gradgrind fame.

Calvin : Potential energy is the stored energy of an object by virtue of its position relative to other objects. 
Student : Uh. 
Calvin : Potential energy is the stored energy of an object by virtue of its position relative to other objects. 
Student : Uh. 
Calvin : Do you understand? 
Student : Uh. 
Calvin : Alright, let's move on. 
Paul : What? It's clear he has no freaking idea what you said. 
Calvin : What is potential energy? 
Student : Uh?

It was sadly apparent from the vacant look in his eyes that very little of what had been said throughout the class had actually registered inside his brain. Honestly medically speaking, I doubt the spoken words had barely triggered his eardrums; certainly none of the vital information had even migrated via neurons to the cerebrum for processing.

Really. The student heard but didn't listen. Nothing short of a sledgehammer would be able to get him to focus.

An apple for teacher? 

And Calvin's didactic methods clearly needed a timely shift.

Far be it for me to exhort at length on the quality of teaching - not even sure if I could better his attempt - but Calvin certainly reminded me of my own pedantic school teachers. Till now I can still recall the Physics schoolmarm muttering repeatedly about potential energy with very little explanation - and there's me at the corner of the science lab doodling caricatures of her sputtering gobbledygook.

Genius In The Old Age

I've always thought of myself as average.

Specifically when it comes to academic matters. Not unlike many other Asian homes, praise was used sparingly in mine, usually coming off as frankly disquieting since it was that rare. Even my Tiger Mom - though shockingly liberal in many other ways - didn't see much reason to rain accolades and applause for every little bud of victory. Though I could certainly sketch better than just an amateurish stick figure, I knew that I would probably never paint the Sistine Chapel.

Which was fine by me since I only saw it as more reason to strive harder. Kiasu lil me. Definitely wouldn't want to be one of those spoiled brats who assume they're the best in everything.

So back in school there were always classmates way better in certain subjects, always the few who scored just the few marks ahead of me. Easy enough to think of myself as average back then no matter how hard I struggled in school.

How wrong I was though. As students in any institution with some modicum of school spirit, we're generally held to believe that our alma maters are the best but it never occurred to me back then that I was in the best class in one of the better schools in the district, perhaps even in the state. There was indeed a higher number of people behind academically than there were ahead of me.

Not so average after all!

It was only after graduation that I realized what a fallacy it was to think that I was anywhere close to average.

And no, I am not tooting my own horn.

Certainly brought home quite painfully to me when one of my colleagues failed repeatedly to spell the word 'ankle' properly. Really. A-N-K-L-E. Perhaps one of the more basic words we learnt way back in sing-along kindergarten along with hand and foot. Then someone who later insisted that the lunar eclipse was caused by the sun coming between the earth and the moon - which I then announced terrifyingly was clearly the coming of the apocalypse.

Not only those memorable lessons of course but dozens of other elementary examples in many other subjects that show just how terribly our education system has fared in our country. And how much we have all failed the students here.

And then just last week when one of Charming Calvin's high school students found himself apparently stumped by an awfully basic math question. 150 divided by 25. Not only did he not know what was meant by that relatively benign question, he had no idea how to even begin executing long division.

Really. And I used to think I'm lousy at mathematics.

Compared to them, I'm quite the freaking genius.

Oh My English

Ever since my primary schooldays, my grades have been mortifyingly average at best - approaching acceptable sometimes but certainly nothing to write home about. In fact my report cards barely earned a cursory glance from my teacher parents - no doubt just roughly scanning for those terrifyingly scarlet alarms of warning - before they attached their obligatory stamp to it. Fortunately since I did alright, there wasn't much reason for any signs of distress.

There is however one grade that I've always been inordinately proud of - and that came around only in my late secondary. The GCE O Level English Language 1119 paper marked by the University of Cambridge Local Examinations Syndicate. Back then, it wasn't a general paper done by everyone - since the exams came at a much earlier date and was held separate from the comprehensive final examinations done by the rest of the students.

And I guess there was a certain snotty exclusivity tagged to the paper as well since only a select few would even bother shelling out cash for it.

So in my school, getting the much coveted A1 for the paper granted a certain cachet to one's name since only a handful managed the impressive feat each year. Think we had less than ten in my state the year we took the exams.

Not to mention the English Language 1119 came with its very own awfully pretty certificate.

The things we obsess about way back in our callow schooldays. Always been a point of pride for me that I did wonderfully during the exam.

Wait, what did you say about English 1119? 

Much to my dismay though, I learned that standards have slipped.

Nay, stumbled. You know what - let's just say it has plummeted down a deep, deep ravine. Ever since the learned authorities decided to remove the separate paper for English Language 1119 only to make a vaguely educated guess on the grades from the far, far less challenging General English paper, there hasn't been much of a standard to speak of. Just listen to the plaintive wails of the Malaysians going 'Oh My English' on a daily basis.

You see, a few days back I found out Diffident David managed to deal quite successfully with the radically changed circumstances. Now that would be a severe understatement since he basically performed a freaking miracle.

David : Don't think it's all that difficult. I got an A1 for English 1119 as well.
Paul : OMG.
David : Really. 
Paul : You.
David : Really.
Paul : You. 
David : Yes. Me. 
Paul : Standards have truly fallen. 

I think I choked a little on hearing him say that.

Sure I think David has excellent prowess in the English Language - certainly enough to score on the General English paper but in the English 1119? Hell, even my brother who speaks only the Queen's English only got an A2 way back when. So yes, the bar has taken a major dip.

Yeah, way to make him believe that the English-speaking students are far more arrogant. When it comes to English 1119, I certainly am! Next thing, David might tell me that he scored an A1 for English Literature as well whereupon I shall have to set the blasted certificate on fire.

The Bane of Homework

As a school-going student, one of my endless horrors had to be the eternal bane of homework.

The occasional school project I was fine with - and in fact quite excelled in. Lots of extra time for preparation and planning, given deadline usually given some time away and a whole lot of creative input required; which is exactly what I was great at. Since these infrequent projects generally added to the final term results, kiasu me tried my best to outshine the rest of my rival classmates by coming up with terrifyingly extravagant showcases.

What the hell was I thinking back then!

But when it comes to dull dreary homework... they usually carries a shorter time lapse - frequently naggingly insistent on getting done by the end of the day at the very least. Though my parents never hovered over me to do so, I still felt this invisible urge to square it away before dinnertime. Many a time you would find me eschewing classroom antics - and the incidental prank - in between lessons just to furiously rush through several mind-numbingly tedious homework.

Well it's during these kinda times that I would be the one in the corner furiously doing my homework. 

Which honestly did nothing to improve my pitiable knowledge of said subject. More like filling up the given blanks mechanically as an unthinking machine would just to hand it up the next morning. Gasak saja as we would say in colloquial Malay. After all lousy lackadaisical homework never did crop up as a comment in our report cards!

Yes, I truly disliked homework; and never did see the sense in filling up my time performing these monotonous chores. Did anyone actually achieve a scholastic epiphany while listlessly getting through their assignments?

Thankfully those nightmarish school-going days are far behind me now.

Unfortunately that homework-hating trait seems to have spread to my niece and nephew. Though their methods of dealing with the piles of assignments aren't the same as mine at all. Whereas I would try my best to dash through the interminable sums, my niece and nephew tend to whine over their never-ending Kumon assignments.

Carmen : More homework!! Sob!
Raoul : I can't believe there's more!
Paul : Just do it fast and finish it!

Though I will admit the Kumon work does look seemingly endless. Tempted to tell them that there would be an end to all that monstrous homework one day but I guess when you're not even ten, that wouldn't be a comfort at all.

The Horror Feminae

Or at least the horror feminae of Diffident David. Otherwise now commonly known as gynophobia.

Since I've never had any sisters as a child, the world of females with their whims, wiles and fancies has always held just a little mystique for me. Though they held but little erotic interest for me, I found myself quite fascinated by the covert happenings behind the high convent walls since the only girls we knew back then were to be found there. In an all-boys mission school, a living girl would be akin to some mysterious alien coming from a distant foreign land. What wildly exotic creatures were this after all?

Didn't take very long for me to find out though since adolescence came along fast enough - and with it came, tuition classes and campfires which signalled a time for inter-gender mingling. While the straight fellows found themselves shamefully tongue-tied in the presence of the girls, obviously I didn't have that unfortunate social impediment and easily established fast friendships with more than a few.

Wow, is that a real woman? 

No matter how different we may be in personality or temperament at least we did share one similarity; staring at the cutest boys.

With the throng of females in medical school - and later in the workplace, the feminine mystique soon became something we had to hastily decipher for our survival. At least if we weren't to be regularly annihilated for committing some sort of social faux pas.

Or during that time *ahem* of the month.

So I've always wondered why Diffident David could have such an inexplicable horror of females. Even the faint scent of a woman has him reeling in abject terror. Though he denies it vehemently, we have seen him unconsciously recoil from the mere touch of a woman so we do know his inner fears to be legitimate.

Madison : Did you just flinch?
David : No.
Madison : Yes, you did! I was just reaching for my drink. 
David : I didn't flinch. 
Paul : You practically fell over the chair trying to get away from her. Flinching would be an understatement.
David : I didn't!
Madison : We don't have cooties! 

So we have confirmed that at least vagina dentata isn't one of his anxious concerns.

Unusual to think that he has two sisters to deal with - younger and elder. In fact David has been dealing with ladies all his life, even in his university days where the girls would twice outnumber the boys and at his workplace as well. Could it perhaps be some horrific repressed memory of their mental / physical abuse?

Changing Norms

Just try it. Stay a little while longer in the men's locker room at the gym and watch the daily happenings with a keen eye. You'll notice that the older men tend to just nonchalantly strip right down to - well if you're lucky, some sloppy no-longer-tighty-whities; if you're not so lucky, perhaps right down to their wrinkly saggy skin.

Surprisingly it's always the perfectly sculpted, muscular young dudes - who spend half their workout time earlier strip-posing for Instagram in front of the floor-length gym mirrors - who now hastily scurry into the farthest shower cubicles to change. Why the sudden change? Out of a misplaced sense of modesty - or some lingering sense of homophobia?

Wonder what happens if he drops his towel!

Never could quite figure it out but today as I changed out of my sweat-drenched shirt in front of the lockers, I started to realize something. Perhaps something resembling an epiphany even as two reasonably attractive college boys scampered into the cubicles to remove their casual attire!

Weird.

Yes, I'm gradually losing my inhibitions. Well the little that I had left.

But then again I come from an all-boys school so changing in front of other guys wasn't very much of a big deal. There's really nothing much to be shy about when everyone theoretically comes with pretty much the same equipment. In fact some of my less prudent classmates simply stripped right down to their skivvies in the classroom for Physical Education - and probably would have elected to remain en deshabille throughout the entire morning session with our terribly unforgiving tropical heat.

Which would have severely distracted me from my studies if that had actually come true since some of the more comelier boys were quite the scrumptious eye-candy back then. Fresh-faced schoolboys stripping out of their school uniforms, anyone?

Sadly, single-sex institutions aren't quite as common these days with most of the newer schools opting for co-education. Struck me though that perhaps it explains why the boys nowadays are so terribly modest when it comes to disrobing in front of their peers? With girls around, wouldn't be all that common for them to let it all hang loose in a co-ed environment, would it?

Or has the etiquette for the men's locker room changed drastically when I wasn't looking!