While interviewing J1 Council hopefuls today, I observed their passion for service and desire to make a change, and I realised that was the excited me almost a year ago. All the crazy ideas I came up with after being elected into the Exco. And I couldn't help but ask myself - what's happened to that girl? The girl who once enthusiastically brought up crazy ideas like Tuck-In-Your-T-Shirt-Like-A-Nerd Day and screening The Passion Of Christ for our Movie Under the Stars in collaboration with Religious Emphasis Week.
At least I'll still make sure Inception will be screened for our next MUTS - that's the one idea I won't give up on.
I still can't rest with the rejection of Weiliang's megasuperawesome proposal though. It's an amazing idea, got us all crazy excited when he told us about it. The reason for the rejection is something I can't be at ease with, especially when the idea's so fantastic. I guess I'm still the only naive one trying to push for it - I'd totally rewrite the proposal on his behalf if the teachers think it might make a difference - but after seeing the potential 36ths so eager to make a change and how strongly they feel about their ideas and their willingness to push for them, I realised we mustn't let wonderful ideas slip away so easily, especially when it's as awesome as this.
It's too awesome an idea; I can't rest with a reason like that for its rejection.
-
(P.S. I don't drink. At all. Neither do I know a single AC hockey boy personally.)
That’s the hockey boy.
The air is smoky, the disco lights are dim, but I’d recognise your almond eyes anywhere. Your gaze – penetrating, mysterious, like that of a fox. Jared. Jared the fox. You’re walking towards me. I never thought you’d look at me in the eye like that, like how your gaze is holding on to mine now.
You’re a tad tipsy. So am I. Hello, Jared.
“Rachel.”
You know my name. You’d know me; I’m Sarah’s friend. Sarah, the girl whose heart you broke three weeks ago. I’m the one you see drying her tears at the bleachers in the afternoons, trying to mend her soul. You horrible boy. I know what you –
your gaze cuts me off in my head. Those eyes of yours – there’s no need for words.
Boy, you’re close.
Your breath smells of alcohol. So does mine.
Your lips and mine – meant to be, meant to be. Boy, where have you been my whole life? Your hands, your lips – you’re fire, raging fire, and my heart screams a beautiful inferno. I’m drowning, drowning, but you’re all that matters.
*
The next night, we hang out at the park, a mild bottle in your hand and one in mine – for atmosphere – and we talk and laugh and laugh till dawn. You’re beautiful. And we talk for many nights afterward. And then one day you kiss me again.
*
“Yeah, she’s my girl”
We’re inseparable. I hang out with you and the other hockey boys, we laugh and kid around. “She’s hilarious, where’d you get her?” You laugh and put your arm around me. I’m flattered. I’m popular.
Not hurt yet. So blind, so blind.
*
Four weeks on and you’ve used the word “boring” on me once. Just once – just a couple of drinks and a lonely park and things are better again. Just a stroke on my cheek and my heart melts.
Blind.
*
Three and a half weeks on. We’ve been at the bar for a couple of hours and I notice you’ve been looking at the girl in the white tank top and Aldo heels the whole time.
Two days later, you say maybe we should take a break. I say nothing. I know you won’t return.
You leave me to curl up in the cold of the dark, dark night, to wonder how things even began.
Three weeks later, I’m at the bleachers with Sarah and there you are at the hockey pitch. You don’t notice me, but I hear every word.
“New girl… Maddie… nailed her last night” “One more prize to the collection, Jared?”
Now my blinds have been removed.
Rage builds up inside me. You disgusting, foul monster behind that mask of charm. You walk right through the glass doors to my heart, fill it with electricity. And then you crush it, trample on it without even realising, because you’re tripping over yourself, setting your sights on the next pretty girl.
Prizes. You and the boys speak of girls like trophies. Little medals for display, numbered off. You think boys have this supreme hypnotic power over these prizes. Just a gaze, just a kiss, and she’s yours up for show. You parade around with her, making her feel special when really, you’re just announcing your latest catch. Blind, blind girls like me, blind to your obnoxious personality deep inside. You assume you boys have all the power, the authority, to walk right in and out and leave a trail of broken hearts yearning for you.
No more. If there’s one thing to learn, it’s never to underestimate the power of girls. We’re emotional and vulnerable – but we’re also vicious.
You’ve crossed the line.
That’s the hockey boy.
The air is smoky, the disco lights are dim, but I’d recognise your almond eyes anywhere. Your gaze – penetrating, mysterious, like that of a fox. Jared. Jared the fox. You’re walking towards me. I never thought you’d look at me in the eye like that, like how your gaze is holding on to mine now.
You’re a tad tipsy. So am I. Hello, Jared.
“Rachel.”
You know my name. You’d know me; I’m Sarah’s friend. Sarah, the girl whose heart you broke three weeks ago. I’m the one you see drying her tears at the bleachers in the afternoons, trying to mend her soul. You horrible boy. I know what you –
your gaze cuts me off in my head. Those eyes of yours – there’s no need for words.
Boy, you’re close.
Your breath smells of alcohol. So does mine.
Your lips and mine – meant to be, meant to be. Boy, where have you been my whole life? Your hands, your lips – you’re fire, raging fire, and my heart screams a beautiful inferno. I’m drowning, drowning, but you’re all that matters.
*
The next night, we hang out at the park, a mild bottle in your hand and one in mine – for atmosphere – and we talk and laugh and laugh till dawn. You’re beautiful. And we talk for many nights afterward. And then one day you kiss me again.
*
“Yeah, she’s my girl”
We’re inseparable. I hang out with you and the other hockey boys, we laugh and kid around. “She’s hilarious, where’d you get her?” You laugh and put your arm around me. I’m flattered. I’m popular.
Not hurt yet. So blind, so blind.
*
Four weeks on and you’ve used the word “boring” on me once. Just once – just a couple of drinks and a lonely park and things are better again. Just a stroke on my cheek and my heart melts.
Blind.
*
Three and a half weeks on. We’ve been at the bar for a couple of hours and I notice you’ve been looking at the girl in the white tank top and Aldo heels the whole time.
Two days later, you say maybe we should take a break. I say nothing. I know you won’t return.
You leave me to curl up in the cold of the dark, dark night, to wonder how things even began.
Three weeks later, I’m at the bleachers with Sarah and there you are at the hockey pitch. You don’t notice me, but I hear every word.
“New girl… Maddie… nailed her last night” “One more prize to the collection, Jared?”
Now my blinds have been removed.
Rage builds up inside me. You disgusting, foul monster behind that mask of charm. You walk right through the glass doors to my heart, fill it with electricity. And then you crush it, trample on it without even realising, because you’re tripping over yourself, setting your sights on the next pretty girl.
Prizes. You and the boys speak of girls like trophies. Little medals for display, numbered off. You think boys have this supreme hypnotic power over these prizes. Just a gaze, just a kiss, and she’s yours up for show. You parade around with her, making her feel special when really, you’re just announcing your latest catch. Blind, blind girls like me, blind to your obnoxious personality deep inside. You assume you boys have all the power, the authority, to walk right in and out and leave a trail of broken hearts yearning for you.
No more. If there’s one thing to learn, it’s never to underestimate the power of girls. We’re emotional and vulnerable – but we’re also vicious.
You’ve crossed the line.
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