Tuesday, September 25, 2007
'I'm very disappointed with you guys. I asked you guys to be here by 1.10. At 1.15, there was absolutely no one here ready to play. What kind of attitude is this?"
Alphonsus was there
John was there
Vincent was there
I was there
Where were
you?
Hm?
[Edit]
Here's just to clarify something:I did not turn up at 115pm today because of 2 urgent administrative stuff that had to be settled before 2.1. Excuse for Phoon Yi from his Listening Compre SA2 via Ms Chew and Mr Wang Jun2. Hauling up Ernest Ong from his class as he almost wanted to backout last minute before rehearsal.
~Yang En's blog, 25th September, Tuesday.And yet if Alphonsus or any other ExCo member had been sent, not only would Ernest and Phoon Yi still have been released and brought out, Yang En would still be in the CO Room and the scolding would have been justifiable.
After all, it is only because Yang En
chose to go down himself that he was late. He made the reason valid. And thus... I question whether or not that validity is actually viable.
Perhaps, I should not have brought it up because no one else besides me would notice and think about it ( according to dear Yang En himself ). Yeah that's true. My entire aim in my job as a senior is to train my juniors to mindlessly obey and be subservient always.
Remember, juniors, that the ExCo is always right. Never ever question us, because what we do is always correct. Subsequently, everything you do as ExCo is definitely correct, just because you're the ExCo. There is no other method of doing anything. Just follow follow follow. Take out your brain, you don't need it...................................
In the underground train station, with its overhead lights and tiled floors, there is an everlasting stream of bustling people. Their faces are frozen and stone-like, unmoving scowls and frowns on their face as they stride their own path, each eager to reach his or her own destination. The click-clack of high-heels, the flip-flops striking the tiled floor, the laughter and shrieking of the little kids that never seem to run out of energy all seem to melt together in a never-ending cacophony. And yet for all their noise, they cannot drown out the beautiful musical strains of the Pipa.In this ever-busy underground, there's always a person. Weather and mood dictate not the presence of this person, always, this person is there to play the Pipa for the streams of people that hurry past. Sometimes, lively and cheerful. Sometimes, sad and mournful. Always, beautiful and sincere.The Pipa player is a young lady, her eyes closed, rejecting this world's sights. She does not need to see the colours of this world. Her face always retains its soft, enchanting smile, a smile that is mysterious and yet fills the hearts of those who glance upon it with a tranquility that is of such contrast to their frantic environment. Her movements and playing are all too familiar to her, a hand firmly and lovingly cradling her instrument, the other strumming with wonderful skill. Beside her is a bag, an old worn-out battered soft bag, brown and white. Inside this bag are a few coins, loose change and notes from passer-bys who donate and who 'donate'. A white card lies propped up against the cover of the bag, the writing on it shaky and unsure, yet carrying itself with an uncommon and unaffected dignity."Sorry, I cannot see you. But thank you for enjoying my music."
Lino squeezed Panda at 8:06 PM
