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ubërchîc

/u:bæ∫Ik/[n] The greatest, most superlative of its kind;[n] Elegant and stylist;[n] amalgation of German-Franco lexicon, describing hypercool translinguistic supracultural phenomenon.

Monday, November 22, 2004
Ahh. Back from the block leave and back to the (deep breath) purposelessness that is 42SAR.

Oh well. That's why, I suppose, I've been slowly hiking up my participation with the youth in church again. I can't remember how, but I'm going to be the moderator(-turned-talkshow-host) for the Workshop-formerly-known-as-"The BGR Workshop" next Monday.

I think I may be in a little over my head. I have NO IDEA where to take this to. I realise I have no real definite concept of what a relationship should achieve. But maybe that's good. 'Cos I don't think everyone'll agree. And I haven't called up our 3 guest couples.

But I seem to have very definite ideas as to how it should be done up as a talkshow. Cue applause! Play the theme music! Flash that megawatt smile!

Me and my eccentric ideas.

Eccentric. I have had 2 good friends (of both genders) tell me, "If you go overseas for your studies, I'll miss an eccentric friend like you!" Sweetly sarcastic. Or sarcastically sweet. Lifesaving diabetes.

I only hope it'll ring true. Brown seems to have lost Ms. Wong's forms. I keep thinking it's some sick joke they're playing on me. Let's see if this guy reeeeaaaaly wants to come here. And I have to be the one who tastes the brunt of an administrative lapse. It happens every year, sir.

I fell really bad bugging Ms. Wong with my forms. But this is how bad I want it.

"By faith...."

Phew. OK, I've got 3 calls to make now.

Sunday, November 07, 2004
I was at the airport last Wednesday night to send my Aunt Polly (yes, her real Anglo name which I just discovered this week) off to Ireland (O laidee-daidee-daidee-dai Laidee-daidee dai! Swing that mug o' beer to MA-ye! We'll sing till ye leprechauns come home, I swear!) for a year. She's going there, apparently, for missions work.

Watching the sizeable crowd send her off, my father remarked, "You think there'll be so many people when you go next year?"

And when I really think about it, my head starts to play Phantom Planet's now-cheapified O.C. theme song, and I get this gut feeling that I'll end up crying just before I step through the departure gates. Of late it has hit me that going overseas for at least 3 years is going to be a bed of thorny, weedy roses. People, in deference to that proverbial chiropractically-unfriendly saying, patronisingly say, "Oh, lucky you, you've got off this little rock and managed to run away to the land of Terminator-wrestler governors and trigger-happy Alfred E. Neumann lookalikes! Practically everyone you know will carry on enjoying the tropical sun, while you lucky bugger'll languish in the frozen half-sunshine of the American suburb."

More importantly, I haven't even gotten a proper place in any school there yet. Which worries me to the core, although friends and ex-teachers tell me, "Look here, you've already got this organisation behind you, so why worry at all? You'll get admitted sooner or later."

But I guess the biggest comfort for me is this. If God hadn't wanted me to study in US, why would He give me the opportunity to do so in the first place? I'm just riding on the prayer that He will carry through this.

Aunt Polly must be settling in nicely by now. I must get me some Irish Cream, now.