The String that Vibrates: Remembering Bro Charles

An accomplished pianist; a linguist speaking fluent Bahasa Malaysia, English, German, French and Mandarin; a teacher, mathematician, a friend and an administrator all rolled into one...

-Ng Soon Hong, Brother Charles Wolfe FSC - Remembering an old teacher

That describes Charles Levin @ Karl Wolff, or simply, Brother Charles to us Xaverians. Words will always remain words and the parturition of memory usually overwhelms the writer – in significance, pleasantness – more than the reader.

Those, like me, started studying in SXI in the late 90s would remember Bro. Charles as the "German brother who speaks fluent Malay". There was this one time when he came by the class to inform us of his new German lessons and that he's accepting students. Surely, most of us were more impressed by how excited he was about the lessons and the pluses of learning German than the prospect of having to be at school earlier in the morning. Had I taken up the offer...

Another encounter with the man was on a Friday right after the school assembly. He rounded a few of us and led us to the Palm Court and around the basketball court area – a saw in hand – to help carry [and discard] palm fronds! He'd stop and tell us stories about gardening, the traveller's palm, and how to maintain them. No hurry but eager to impart what he knows.

Somehow I felt I had to thank him for all that he had done over the years for the school, for his zealous commitment to the cause of education for all, for his selfless dedication. I shook his hand and he clasped mine and I said simply, “Thank you, Brother, for all that you have done for us.”

-Anil Netto, SXI: Brother Charle Levin's Legacy

Of course, I couldn't give a more glowing valediction like some of the students he formally taught. But the grief from man's passing is shared by members of the La Sallian/Xaverian family.

Whether we laugh or cry, occasions like this creates a buzz in us all. And it tells us that we're connected: this one school, many great teachers-and-friend, fondest of memories; all involved in shaping us.

You have taught us well.

Thank you, Brother.
   

Double Take (2): 2011 in 270 Words

More or less.

Not wanting to be finicky, 2011 has been a good year. Not great but it ain’t bad either. It’s taught me some valuable lessons and ways to handle... well, face setbacks and take it in my stride. Easier said than done, really.

This year saw the passing of some bad people, but I’m not holding my breath. The vacuum will always be filled and that’s how history always rivets me – there’s never a short supply of evil characters.

Tear-jerking YouTube videos are plenty this year and the most memorable one has got to be Stranger, again. To please some real-man-don’t-cry activists out there, maybe the theme of nice guys finishing last would besuitable.

Even the countdown to midnight puts into perspective the oft-heard expression “for every beginning, there is an end”. Hey wait! Every ending, it seems, is a new beginning. That said, the desire to go back to a certain date in 2011 and relive the moment is unmistakable.

All in all, the year’s been a love-hate ride (weren’t the past years similar?). Hate’s too strong a word. More along the lines of like-dislike.

The lineups for 2012 are: the general election and my school’s 160th anniversary homecoming dinner. Come to think of it, my life’s rather low-key, eh? Heheh!

Speaking of school, I think I should top the last post of 2011 off with a marriage proposal I saw a few days back. Dude’s from my school (no wonder he looks so familiar, must’ve seen him queuing up for the delectable food at the canteen) and I heard he’s made a name for himself right now. Way to go!

Happy New Year, people! Be blessed!
            

Hey, friend!

This a story about Abby. Yes, you can think of Abby as the Abby Sciuto from NCIS but she’s unlike Ms Sciuto in case the mention of her name conjures an image of a gothic girl totally addicted to Caf-Pow. Energetic yes, but relatively subdued.

It’s one of those high school boy-meets-girl-and-they-became-best-pals stories one hears ever so often.

The meeting in 2002 wasn’t your normal meet, greet, and shake the hand sort of encounter. Studying in a boy’s school (Go SXI!), the only girls we could meet are those in Form 6 (Pre-U) and I’m positive they don’t even have the time for immature nestlings like us. And we’re too preoccupied with street soccer to ogle at them; well, most of the time we’re busy if you know what I mean.

I got Abby’s number off a greeting card sent from her society (well, it’s those quasi-diplomatic well-wishing) but too bad she wasn’t in at that time. I left my number, who I am, the reason for the call, and a message before hanging up.

Before long, she returned the call and that marked the start of a lovely journey. The calls and texts went back forth more times than that between Kennedy and Khrushchev during the Cuban Missile Crisis. We talked about school, friends, studies, guys, girls, and empty chats in between.

Believe or not, we haven’t met even once. If there ever was a chance, and one that I didn’t grab, to meet her it would have to be the day she left for the UK for her A-Levels soon after our national examination, the MCE.

Left or right, here we are right now. (Photo credit: Thomas Pate)

Eight hours (7 in the summer) of time difference, there was only a small window for a chat and I wasn’t connected to the net all the time like I do now. A freshman in varsity, I once caught up with her on MSN Messenger at 10 A.M. local time and managed a 30-minute on-and-off chat. She’s a sophomore in University of Bristol now. Life as a student is great but hectic. Working at 2 A.M., I’m sure it is.

There was a long silence thereafter with an email or two in between. I received a call from her one night, a year later, when she was back here during her term break. Well, that’s how things were.

At a point in time, we’re on the same path and headed in the same direction. Then there comes the moment when a choice is required of us; ah, that fork that leads to many places of untold fortune. We make choices life and some of us simply actualize that choice which was made on our behalf long ago. Either way, we chart our own course and in the process grow apart from the people we’re once so close to. And I embrace that without a protest, just a tinge of sadness.

Was there something that I did wrong?

It’s been so long, eh? Here’s wishing you nothin bt blessings @another milestone in life. Happy birthday!...|

She turns 26 today.

O'Donnell Abu: The Prelude to Alma Mater's Call

So, I learned today – from the group discussion on Facebook – that my school rally (the same one shared by all La Sallian educational institutions albeit with some variation in wordings) takes the tune from O'Donnell Abu. More about the song here.

First published c. 1843 as "The Clanconnell War Song." "Red Hugh" O'Donnell's hatred of England was based on a personal experience; as a teenager, the English had gotten him drunk and taken him prisoner. He escaped a few years later (1591), but the unfair imprisonment affected his opinions for the rest of his life. The "O'Neill" of the song is Hugh, third Baron of Dungannon and second Earl of Tyrone, one of the greatest Anglo-Irish barons of the time (1551-1616).

He became O'Neill in 1593 when his brother Turlough resigned him the position. Prior to that, he had held the barony of Dungannon from 1569 and the Tyrone earldom from 1587. He cooperated with the English more than this song might imply, but the threat to his position (Tudor bureaucracy looked likely to overcome the ancient clan loyalties) eventually pushed him toward rebellion. If the rebellion could be said to have a commander (a debatable point), he was it.

Source: Folklorist

It sure is lively then, and it certainly is now. Ah, Irish roots and then some! Let's see what else pops up 7 years after I left school. Seven already? Never a week passes without, at worst, a fleeting thought about the place. It's different walking in now than when I was still in my school uniform. Suddenly, being under the rules are way nicer than feeling like a wandering spirit. I've said it once and probably a hundred times more before, whether I'm in it now or out of it, I owe this place everything.

 

This is Me: Take 2

That brings me to modesty, generosity, and aversion to rich people. Hold your horses. I didn’t say I dislike all the affluent people out there. If it were so, I’d be a sour grape. When I say modest, I’m not restricting myself to one meal a day. I’m modest, not a miser. I’m unwilling to spend a few hundred bucks to get a brace put on my tooth just so my incisor gets pushed a few millimeters inwards. If you don’t already know, I fell and chipped both my [central] maxillary incisors. Somehow, over the years one decided to grow outwards. I do go out for some nice food sometimes and some of the amount goes to some old man at the market.

I remember once when two kind souls offered to support me financially.

“How am I going to repay the both of you?”

“You don’t. When the time comes, do it for another person”, was the reply. I declined the offer. But I truly appreciate the thought.

It’s the same person who lent me a Biology reference book. Something that proved very useful given the fact that I don’t go for extra classes like my friends, or own a few reference books like some snob in school. I tell myself to show such level of compassion, and more, to others in need.

My aversion to rich people? How is it justified? It’s just my simple observation that those in the position to do/change things aren’t doing a dang thing. It’s always the middle-class people who gave the most (if you consider the percentage). And it’s always the same group of people you see in the papers. Well, you do see the rich people too; in a totally different settings. Handing out mock cheque dressed in their best; always inside some glitzy ballroom complete with cocktails, finger foods, and the press. I don’t care very much about all this I’m-richer-than-you affair but it pisses me to see these people flex their wealthy muscle and make the inferior ones do their bidding.

Once whilst on my way back from backpacking to Vietnam, I see this bunch of family kicking up a ruckus at the check-in counter. Well dressed, watches, branded luggage, and the unmistakable swagger. They were raising their voice at the Vietnamese officers in green for reasons only they knew. My guess? Seeing the amount of stuff they had then, I think they were unhappy at being stopped. The matriarch of the family was making her point, and she did it well, in a loud voice and flailing her arms about. And then turn to her husband uttering in Cantonese. Such insolence! I mean, it doesn’t kill you to be polite. And rules are rules, ma’am. The guys in green maintained their composure and tried explaining, only to get Dragon Lady into another tirade. During my time there, the people of Vietnam are to me a humble lot. Quiet. Hardworking. Polite. From the staffs in the bank to the mother and child in Ben Thanh Market. Need I say more?

There are always complaints from these people. Not that they should keep quiet all the time. I myself couldn’t stand bureaucracy too. But some things can’t be helped. Just live with it. And be understanding. You don’t start cussing if your chicken isn’t served in 3 minutes after you’ve placed your orders. When it’s served in the fourth minute, at your demand, you start cussing because it’s pink.

On my many blog hopping trips, I’ve come across both likeable and slap-able people; each on different ends of the divide. On one hand you have some thankful people and on the other you have some people who love partying and complain when things don’t go their way. All are fortunate enough to further their studies abroad.

I’d go on and on but I suppose you understand now, how touchy I can get with this group of people.

 

Benevolent Sexism

That, to some, also means chivalry.

God forbid that we should mistake acts of kindness and empathy for oppression.
When I’m out shopping with my partner, he always carries the heavy bags. He’s stronger than I am. He does it without thinking, and I always acknowledge his help. It’s what people do in relationships.

Mary Schneider's article Is Chivalry Sexist? reminds me of the time in high school, specifically during English lessons, where we'd start a discussion on various issues grouped under what I call the [all-too-common] battle of the sexes.

My little acts of chivalry wasn't directed at my other girl classmates. I mean, there's nothing that needs a second pair of manly hands... Ok, boyish hands. It was the teacher's laptop. Man, laptops produced post-Y2K (not that there weren't any laptops before 2000) were heavy. Anvil-heavy. Or books. Holding the door. You know, those things? I think I made a good impression on Mrs Gan and also the lovely Mrs Doreen.

Now, I'm not the teacher's pet and no, I don't think we have such a thing in school. The teachers and students here share a very special bond. We respect our teachers and they never condescend to us. We spoke at length, we joked and we laughed. And I've learned so much from Mr Ian Howell; from the Russian Tsar to Latin and French. That man is a walking encyclopaedia.

Speaking of school, I think all those titles and special status heaped upon many other schools in the country comes to nought seeing what goes on, on the inside, day in and day out. Alright, I'm being a little biased here but... it's true! LOL!

What about now? I think I'm more aware of who's around me, thanks to Form Six where we have girls joining us (we're from an all-boy school up until Form 5). There are times when the tongue needs a bridle. Or to keep a comfortable distance, physically. No more slaps on the back or a friendly jab at the ribs. Those little things that show respect and quell any uneasiness in the fairer sex.

Guess I'm saying that I'm not the little boisterous bast--- brat anymore. A fine, young man I reckon. *stroking my beardless chin* Aha! I'm such a swellhead!

 

Catnaps and Holidays

The traffic’s smoother and the roads appear wider. School holiday is surely here. Not only that, it’s the term break for universities here and summer break for those abroad. I’m certain that the days leading up to the exodus are filled with packaging, storage, paper works and a flurry of other activities.

Near or far, be it by land, air or sea (not sure if anyone still travel long distance in a boat), they return. I had my little homecoming the other day. Not really home but rather a place find some quiet. The university library. Apart from the adjoining new building, the old place has more seats and comfortable ones I must add.

There’s the second floor where I spent most of my free time researching life in Angkor and the audio room where I drifted off to a deep slumber only to be awoken by the staff on duty at that time.

Next, I went to the top floor where the four of us did our Biostatistics assignments and other brain-intensive activities. Like I’ve said here somewhere, the university is the microcosm of the critter-eat-critter world and is a foretaste of the ugly things to come. Perhaps, the one saving grace about all this is the library. The place I met and worked with people I know well. It is also a place of bittersweet memories, mind you.

All in all, nothing beats high school. And I’ll pay her a visit soon.

June already? Time flies.

Getting Old?

Is it true that when a person hits a certain number in life, they begin doing things they've never done before? Not necessarily something drastic like... I don't even know what they do.

What I'm trying to say is I look back more now than I did years back. I miss my schooldays so much. The before- and after-school street soccer. The loud talking in a noisy canteen. The banters. The punishment — oh yes, we're the vibrant ones. And then there was the crooning behind the lecture theatre; not Backstreet Boys nor 'N Sync, just the hits from the times when we're still suckling. Also, who can forget the little crushes that comes when a five years (11 if you include primary school) of all-boys environment ended in sixth form (pre-U if you'd like). The fleeting glances. The smiles. The blushes and flushes.

Those were the things that raced (some floated gently) through my mind. It all seemed too fast. Yesterday I was 16 and today I'm 26. Besides the past, I always anticipate, cautiously, what the future holds. A lack of faith in the Lord? Really? Well, as much as I'd like, I do get swept into that wave of apprehension at the thought of things to come.

I've intended for this piece to be short but I found this piece posted by my friend somewhere. It's about what I've just said up there; about our attempt to unseat the original singers of some well-known songs. *laughs*

Here goes (unabridged and in its entirety) . Links at the bottom:

Of singing at the back of lecture theatres

"Why do birds, suddenly appear? Everytime..You are near..
Just like me....They long to be...Close to you" -Close to you...by The Carpenters-

ahh...one of the classic songs that was sung at the back of lecture theatres throughout my 6th form years.
Actually...Why do we do it? Is it because we're seeking attention? Or is the 6th form syllabus taking a toll on us?Releasing study pressure perhaps? Whatever the reason, we always had fun when we're singing at the back of the class. Yes!! We do get stares from the other students(like they're gonna murder us or something).

And who are my partners in crime??
Drum roll please...jeng jeng jeng jeng...my brothers Chang Yan Wai, Julian Chin, Hor Zian Khang, Edwin Lee(chinese rapper), Jiwan, Woo Yuen Thern, Thopson Ooi
These guys deserve a special mention...I love all of them(not in a gayish way)..hahahahaha
Thanx brothers for all the good times....The below is a little something for u all....Cheers

"So I say....Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing
Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty....What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me"

-Thank You For The Music...by ABBA-

posted by slacker @ 7:40 PM
the slacker's hideout

Life in Motion: TV Series

There's something magical, sometimes, about the piano; it's enrapturing if not somnorific...

I tried my best to see, hear, and feel each episode of the series "My Life in Retrospect". Each episode varies in duration; the shortest being about 5 minutes and the longest, well, the longest yet took roughly 30 minutes. There was no commercial and like many downloaded media, I have the freedom to pause before continuing.

I couldn't, and would never, tell if others share the same positive evaluation of My Life in Retrospect since CSI, Bones and the like could easily win over a large number of audience, possibly leaving me and a few others as the only "fan" of Life. Since I began following it, Life has many heartwarming stories as well as its share of despondency. After all, Life is life confined to the limits of what's possible in this world; nothing spectacular like Legion or Universal Soldiers, just an ordinary slice of life tale scripted from the mind of the writer.

Each episode usually begins with a piano piece and ends with the same; difference being the gist of the episode which would then determine the mood of the song. Sometimes it'd be Sunday Afternoon Waltz (Yiruma) and at other times, melodies like Kiss the Rain (Yiruma). I'd suggest that they be looked up on the net. Great melodies.

Hitherto, two memorable episodes of Life would be Ephemeral Joys of Childhood on the tale of the protagonist's growing up years through high school and another would be Regrets: I've Had A Few; which I believe the title is self-explanatory. Everyone could relate to the story of the growing up years; the shrills of gaiety and the smiles carved on a carefree toddler. Then the all too familiar life in high school packed with stories of mischief, punishment, puppy love, and friendship – all serve to build character and to add to the fascination of posterity when it’s retold in time to come.

Like many, the story of Regret is one with an ending that’s painfully honest: you can’t turn back time. For some lucky ones, they’re given a second and maybe, a third time to get it right. For others, they have only one shot and they’d have to live with it the rest of their life. Regrets come in many ways, it could be things not done when it should’ve been done. Either that or things which were done, and done wrong on hindsight. Guilt can, and does, bring a man down to his bed; head buried in his pillow and soaked it with tears.

I’ve mentioned, as if to add to the moment, the piano melodies (and sometimes pop songs) accompany the stories. I have to note, though, that screening of each episode is irregular.

Like a dream, I tried recapturing every moment of every episode and then replay them every now and then. But then again, it’s less surreal than a dream. It’s free from artificiality. It’s real. It’s reality. And instead of dreaming about them, I lived them. I laughed and I cried. When the music plays, tears are still streaming down my cheeks and the careless countenance of the sepia years are now more rugged and lined with the burdens of adulthood.

I’ve been there and done that. Cheers to the best part of teenage life. And to regrets, I’ll always remember.

Author: For those who have reached the end and still wonder what kind of television show Life is about, there's no such series. Ever.

After All These Years

Looking back in retrospect, we see the things we'd love to relive, the wrongs we'd have corrected or not commit, the hurts we'd love to brush aside and pretend they never did occur. Also, reflecting on the things we've [or haven't] been doing everyday will either make us proud or be ashamed. After all these years, I'm glad I feel these vibes for I am what I am; weathered by circumstances.

This and many other songs have good compositions making my past time all the more enjoyable. People may think I'm a weirdo for doing all the behold-this-is-my-past thing but different people look for an escape differently, no? Speaking of composition, it's been some time since I last lay, sprawled on the floor and scribble away on the back of a used envelope or a flyer and once done, post it here with a yellow-orange font.

And now I ask myself, after all these years, (1) what is the one thing I'm proud of doing? (2) what is the single most regretful thing I've done / not done? (3) would I make any changes / a difference given the chance to go back?

Have fun with Journey's After All These Years.

Alma Mater's Call

Been thinking of the school rally from just now. And how I first learn it from the back of the exercise book with a brown cover; complete with musical notations too. And today, we sang it for the last time with the Brother Director, Rev Bro Paul Ho.

So Saints / Xaverians and La Sallians all over, sing it out loud and with pride.

All through our college a voice is resounding,
Promptly respond to your duty's sweet call,
Hearken you all for the trumpet is sounding,
Your mater's proclaiming her watchwords to all

(Chorus)
Forward her children dear,
Ever with hearts sincere,
Render with joy to your mater her due,
All that is vile reject,
Heaven will e'er protect,
Sons of St Xavier's valiant and true,

Labour will conquer your motto still bearing,
Forward with courage in ways that are just,
True to your standard, be doing and daring,
As faithful Xaverians in Heaven your trust

Goodbye, Brother

It was 7.40 am when I reached school. The atmosphere is gaiety, full of anticipation. I made my way past the statue of De La Salle into the green-tiled porch, pass the gallery and hall. Seems like the hall is all prepped for some reception. Then there he was, standing at the door of the school archive, Brother Paul Ho. I walked up to him and said to say hello. He was there smiling, shook my hand and spoke for a while.

Continued to the basketball court where the assembly is held every Friday. Ah, friends and old Xaverians. It was a happy affair. Handshakes and hellos. And I don't even know everyone there. See? Told you we're somewhat bonded. I'm not going to describe everything in detail but there were speeches, old faces (shoutout to Mr Loh Chee Heng and Mr John Tan, not forgetting Bro. Charles). Mr Anthony was up and about. Mr Loo, my History teacher. The ever beautiful Pn Narinder (Chemistry), the lovely Pn Doreen (Biology), Pn Gan (MUET; who came and promote a commemorative notebook), Mr Ian Howell (looking great, eating well I suppose), Mr Samynathan (the guy who asked that I start Perlumbaan Ketiga many years ago), Mr Ong, Mr Dr Sim. There were plenty of new faces too... (no comments, yet).

Doesn't look 55 at all, does he?

Parting speeches are about niceties and praises, cliches and stuff but in today's speech, I agreed with one thing: That is in other schools, we greet our principals by Sir or Mr So and So but we call our's Bro. It may be just another title but I agree that it portrays a relationship above that of a student-teacher. And yeah, one guy called us "visitors". Gosh! We're Xaverians and not even ex Xaverians.

With him like the other teachers, we could easily relate to them, open up. I remember how Bro Paul would enter the class every year to hand out the report books and how he'd look through the marks and grades for each student. There, he'd offer his two cents. We all love his stories. His days in Manchester. I also remember how we're feted to movies when we stayed in the school hall (30 August 1998) for some National Day performance the next day. Then there were disciplinary board meetings and sometimes he'd drop by and the rest is history.

Gosh, he looked far better than I do

"So?", some would ask. It's just that I'm glad and happy to be led by an able man and he did a great job running the school. I'd not forget our charity drive and how he'd encourage us to give and give and give. *Laughs* And then there was Sukan Tara. How, for bearing his namesake, the team would try to come out on top only to disappoint him. He'd be there cheering us on. One more thing, he's someone really expressive and he's straight to the point to. Talk to him about a certain issues and he'd give you the most honest of answers.

The school is definitely going to be really different without the man in white. True, the La Sallian spirit lives on but more than 150 years with these great educators, it needs some getting used to. Already, my friend beside me said that students at the assembly today don't know Mr John Tan. Give it many more years, Xaverians/Saints will only learn of the La Sallian spirit from books and their teachers. Provided the latter grew out from the big La Salle family. As I leave the compound, I leave with yet another noteworthy chapter of life. Nevertheless, like I've said, thing are going to be different. That said, the school will always be around and it would serve as a reminder, no, reminder sounds too stoic. Impassive. Rather, a place we relive our memories. A place we learn to touch hearts.

I just love the sight of this, June 19 2009, 8:40 am

Thank you, Brother, for the thing you've done and for the memorable time. Have a great time and God bless. Labor Omnia Vincit.

Update: Obnoxious 5xmom has great pictures here. Woot!

The La Sallian Heritage

No, I'm not spinning a yarn and speak at length on the school's heritage. Rather, it's interesting to read an article in The Star Online by one Dr. Goh on the handing back of 'Saint' Schools to the La Salle Brothers.

Like many, I'm sure there's at least once the thought of what would happen when the last Brother Director leave. Speaking with fellow Saints, some voiced concern over how the school will be run. Will there be Charity Week? Would another day be set aside for Founder's Day?

Yes, being a sekolah bantuan modal means that we have to be able to depend solely on ourselves and boy, it'd be easy for all if it's sekolah bantuan penuh, innit? The article revolves around handing back the school to the Brothers to administer and how one could do that by going through some guys who can shake the Earth when they speak. Whilst engagement / dialog / discussion or whatever they're called is a good thing, and that one should not stop hoping, I don't think it's too much to say that that matter would be - at best - be tossed around before everyone quieten down.

After all, isn't it the government's aim to standardize and uniformize schools in the country, apart from national and vernacular schools? The most a minister can do, if it does eventually gets there, is to pay lip service to the matter and it'll be a matter of time before everyone forgets about it.

That said, and although somewhat cynical, I'm all for the lobbying and stuff and we'll see outcome. To sign off, the two paragraphs below from Dr Goh's article summarized the aim in mind, 300 hundred years ago, when the teaching order was founded by De La Salle.

I believe making St John’s and St Xavier’s fully-aided schools and mandating the La Salle Brothers and the respective boards of governors to administer them is the answer. Taking both schools private sounds great in theory but in practice, funds would have to be raised all the time. Fees have to be charged and revised upward regularly.

Those students who cannot pay would have to be barred from attending classes. The La Salle Brothers would not be comfortable with a fee-based regime. Their philosophy is to provide education to those who need it, not only to those who can pay for it.

I'm missing school, who wouldn't?

St. Xavier's Institution: That Which Build and Edifies

School days occupy my thoughts more and more lately. More so when June 20 is looming. Tend to be in a pensive, reflective mood lately. It's not that everything is over when Paul retires but then 150 years is a long time and with the daily running of the school revolving around that foundation, it isn't easy to come to terms with the fact that everything is going to be new again. People would argue that, you know, the tradition and stuff are still there but then it's just different without seeing the man in cassock. Not that the students need a daily fix of seeing their principal but ask the older boys, they grew up and left school with the likes of Bro Michael (a.k.a Lau Hor), Brendan, Casimir dot dot dot; all educators in their own right. [Often] when featured in the papers, we'd read of how Xaverians spoke at length concerning life in school and how it's an unforgettable chapter in their life. All with admiration and sentimentality.

Was trying to include the five La Sallian characteristics in my last post but it just got too long. And this, coming from memory and a little help, I hope is the correct one (I stand corrected):

1. Faith (in God)

2. Zeal

3. Fraternity

4. Solidarity with the Poor

5. Together and by association

Picking up from where I left the last time, the lesson seems to get better as we advance from Form 1 through 6. It's where I meet a beautiful soul. One who cares and always moved by love. Always with smiles and hugs to spare, isn't it warm? Huh? I guess that's what touching hearts meant.

Am not doing so much of praising human being but rather the school, the institution, the foundation and values on which it's build. Before I sign off, anyone reading this, head on over to Obnoxious 5xmom for an interview with Bro Paul, his take on school, the teaching profession, and everything education.

St. Xavier's Institution: Camaraderie and Mirthful Years

It was around 6.35 a.m. when I walked through the silver gates; the schoolbus was pulling away with an unceremonious blast from the exhaust. It was chilly and the building's facade - which I will come to love - seemed ominous. "They'd do with some lighting," I thought to myself.

School's facade: The flag and lighting during National Day and the 150th Anniversary is magnificent

Made my way from the green-tiled porch, through one of the three entrances, into an area with art exhibits. Also visible was the huge Chinese lantern, the one you'd see only during procession and not your ordinary flammable plastic fish and dragon. I'd see a big entrance with the words "Heah Joo Seang Hall" above it. I continued on past the stuffy area and made my way along the corridor. The ping pong area was on my right and on the walls I could see, not decorated table tennis champs but rather, framed pictures of the past La Sallian brothers in their black (some white) cassocks. Did a tour of my own for a good hour in the place I'd call home, the one place where I'll be emotionally attached. I walked back to the green-tiled area and the place is alive with parents and my soon-to-be friends. Crisp and really white school uniforms with matching olive green trousers. I'd literally smell the scent of new fabric on some guys. The place got stuffier by the minute. We then congregate inside the school hall, sat for an hour or so listening to this guy in white cassock.

De La Salle, when I first walked on this green-tiled porch

"Say, good morning Brother when you bump into me," he began. "Greet your teachers".

The rest is history what transpired that morning came to be a part of us, Xaverians, or La Sallians if you like. The date was 5 January 1998.

Thus began my journey in secondary school, one filled with too much memories and each a very good lesson. Being a missionary school, the funds depended very much on our own. Over the years (six for me), we've had numerous fund-raising events: Charity Week and Canteen Day. Huge sums were raised and given away to various charities and the leftovers for the school. Now, the word missionary may sound "dangerous" to some but all my life there (six to be exact), the only thing the La Salle brothers try to do was to produce quality individuals.

The Palm Court (Source: Obnoxious 5xmom)

My first three years, like the next three years, were precious. The bond among us Xaverians (or Saints) is there. The teachers are like friends, you know, the kind where you'd speak to freely about anything. And I mean everything. The barrier wasn't there and far from it, the patronizing attitude you'd see elsewhere. The lessons were great. After all, most guys were old boys and one'd rest knowing that their teacher is nothing but dedicated. The one thing I'd treasure from my days in school will be the camaraderie between myself and my fellow Saints and myself with the trachers. Nothing beats that. And I hold my neck out, daring anyone to show me another place where I'd experience that mirthful days. Trust me, no other place on Earth and varsity is a far cry from it.

I may be like Peter Pan but if varsity is a microcosm of the world, then the school is the microcosm of a warm and loving home, something almost ethereal. Have a Heart, Knowing Your Heritage, A Safe School, 150 years of Touching Hearts, etc. These are the different themes we'd hear each year and while they may be just another phrase to some, there's definitely something to bring home at the end of it.

Friday assembly is my favourite apart from the almost daily fix of street soccer. Although the wait may be painful, I just love hanging around chit-chatting and appreciating God's creation of man's companion - women. *winks* Ocassionally, while congregating at the basketball court, we'd be able to see - live - exhibitionism from one of the rooms in City Bayview hotel just across the road from where we were. The school band, previously known as the Corps of Pipes and Drums, played some of the best tunes, a real treat for many of us. Need I mention that these guys are champions in many competitions in conjunction with National Day? OVer 40 weeks of schooldays a year and one would be forgiven to think that boredom do creep, after all things repeat themselves. Not for me though. It seems that if fun doesn't come, we'd go searching for it, and in the process got ourselves into trouble. Boys will be boys, eh?

The 19th will come upon us in a few more days and it'll mark the end of the La Sallian tradition - one which governs our day to day function in school and without. Bro Paul Ho, the last of the La Salle teaching brothers will call it a day and will have extra hours on Play Station now. I have, with a few friends, visited the school since leaving in 2004 and I must say that each time we went back, there are changes. The pleasant ones would be some upgrades and refurbishments to certain areas of the school. The quadrangle area where we played street soccer (we play it anywhere with space to spare) now has fences. Ah, something akin to the "cage match" in wrestling. Bring it on, grrr...

Quadrangle, this and a few others are places we let it all out. Really, whenever there's a space to spare; two goalpost markers and we're off (Source: Obnoxious 5xmom)

We're not going to deceive ourselves that things will remain the same forever, though. We have more teachers now. By more, I mean those that are out of sync with the La Salle tradition. I've heard comments on their working attitudes and just how far they're willing to go for the school and the students. Certainly, the breed of Xaverians/La Sallians are dying off. Balding old boys retired and dedicated "college" teachers are calling it a day. Math, Chemistry, Biology; it's time for them to see the world. I was wrong when I thought the new wave would take over and carry on the tradition. I'd just see it in their eyes - the motivation and the reason behind their being a teacher.

I'm sure that others like myself wouldn't just stand by and criticize the post-La Sallian brother administration but fervently wish that the Ministry doesn't send more out of sync fellas.

There goes part of my life in my beloved alma mater, a place I call home and a place I still have yearnings for.

Of the Palm Court and the Bell Tower

September 24, 2008
...hey bro... u must come down to kl for my wedding yeah

April 20, 2009

Hellos!

How are you doing!

You are invited to join our wedding countdown and celebrate this awesome moment with us as we get closer to our wedding day! Things are getting more and more exciting as we are getting closer and closer to start a new season of life together!

Now, I'm not sure about others but it's always nice to reminisce. There bound to be something to trigger that; to be sucked back to the sepia-hued days complete with an echo to every conversations and laughter.

Kevin came by the other day to USM for a meal and some catching up with Chris and myself. We're talking about the now and the then and how time really, oh well, flies. I guess we're a bunch of losers to relive our days in school over and over again but guess again, perhaps it's the one thing that'd never bore.

Back to the wedding, it's between Yee Lin (I'm used to this than the ang-moh name) and Jon (her fiance, and I addressed him like I've known him for a long time). I have photographs of my schooldays and flipping over, everyone was so young. Some with mischevious grins. Some with glistening eyes, knowing where they're headed next. Some are, well, clueless and blur. The corridor at the Palm Court along which we sit. Then we're in and out of varsity. Then we hear from the grapevine of so-and-so, of this and of that. Myself being treated to a pleasant surprise: the first message in the opening line of this post.

Their blog sure is a unique thing; to invite people to be part of their journey to the grand day. If the Catholics have the 12 Stations of the Cross, I have my stations of sort; one where I relive each point in life and how "old" everyone has become.

So, to the betrothed, I wish you a most enjoyable journey as you guys put the pieces together and lay that foundation towards a very sweet and blessed life together. I'm sure everyone like me are excited about the when the clapper strikes the resonating surface of the bell.

St. Xavier's Institution: A Sentimental Recollection

Ah, yet again memories of my school (no, not the one in university) played in my mind as I read an article in the Sunday Star.

I don't know if I should be happy or sad and most probably, I'm experiencing the mixture of both right now. Happy that it has come a long way, sustained. Being semi-funded, the school has done a great job by keeping the building from crumbling thanks to many benevolent people, many of whom are ex-Xaverians/La Sallian/Saint - whichever you'd like to address them as. On top of that, we've had successful fund-raising for charity - not bad for a Sekolah Menengah (period) eh?

How many people you meet today who'd describe schooling days with much affection and admiration - both the sign of success of a school in touching the hearts of it's students? Not many. Some would rather not bring up that subject at all. The least I heard was, "Like that only-lor".

Letting my mind jog, it was a warm and breezy afternoon. The school's almost deserted except for a few boys playing street soccer in the quadrangle. My first stop is at the Palm Court. A big Traveller's Palm greeted me and I'd see a few a distance away. A lot of effort has been put into this place by Bro. Charles. The adjoining basketball court is also the place we have our assembly every Friday and also the place for street soccer action; well, it's street soccer when there's space to spare.

Then, I reached the staffroom. It's deserted as well but I'd see myself in that place a few years ago - from handing in exercises to shooting the breeze with these wonderful and friendly souls. Mind you, they're people you'd talk to without fear. We share a special bond with them unlike in some schools where teachers are of the other dimension with a constant barriers around them.

I took a long stroll along the classrooms. Here's where I start my Form One. This is the classroom with the most memories, albeit a painful one. This is where I started dabbling in Biology, Chemistry and Physics, a place where I meet a very special person too. Ah, this Old Science Lecture Theater is where we, the crooners, belt out some sweet oldies: Shout out to Jiwan, Hock Hin, Yan Wai et al.Above the OSLT is the Arts Lecture Theater where we learnt Pendidikan Moral through one creative way - watching movies. See? You'd only get rote learning in other places.

My penultimate destination of my tour is the school canteen. Here, former students like me come back, almost like a pilgrimage, for Curry Mee, Jawa Mee, Char Koay Teow. The place look so new now compared to when I first came here.

St. Xavier's Institution (pic from the Facebook group SXI Alumni)

The toilet is my last stop. I'd take a piss before leaving the place. Over the years, we've had many stories regarding this seemingly ordinary place. From funny to serious to gross, we've heard them all. As I walk along the corridor toward the foyer, I bump into the counselor. A white-haired lady much like Pierluigi Collina. Many requested to get caned and be spared the mental torture by her. A very nice person I'd say of her.

The office is already closed. Soon, Bro. Paul (the Principal) will retire and thus end the era of Christian brothers administering the school. Clouds are already forming and the soft breeze has begun picking up strength. Beautiful facade, both day and night. Let's hope everything I see today are maintained and nothing unnecessary is added. I still remember the time when dim-witted bigots called for the removal of the cross.

It's these Brothers that made the school what it is today. The essence. Far from evangelizing students, it instill noble values as well as discipline into each and every students. Without it, it's no better than any government schools.
With all certainty, I've gained much from the school. A place of education and character-building. A place we learn to touch hearts, a place of giving. Three things I'd always cherish and hold dear in my heart: The memories, the school rally (Alma Mater's Call), and the motto Labor Omnia Vincit.

As much as reliving my schooldays will bring a smile to me, I couldn't help the poignancy that comes with it, especially when the phrase goes like: End of the La Salle Brothers' Era.

The Place I Call My Home

Thought of my school and how I miss it so much. Ah, a place I grew up to be what I am today. A fine institution instilling in her students a sense of responsibility, humility, respect and yes, touching hearts. One of my favourite things to do. To touch hearts - literally. I could go on and on about it but I'd rather bring people on a grand tour, so give me a tinkle.
For the record, varsity is nowhere near the school. A microcosm of the real world, yes, but I stubbornly refuse to accept the pride and the selfishness thereof.
Went through some files and came upon something I penned back in 2002; the year of our sesquicentennial celebration. So here goes...

Five years nearly come to pass,
Everyone's parting at last,
Fond memories of the school will last,
Forever in our hearts.

Years of striving in the school,
Obeying and breaking the rules,
Much knowledge have we salvaged,
So much so we almost become a sage.

To all staffs, we thank,
While they teach we ne'er go blank,
Ever-Joker we are it seems,
And that always leaves them in steams.

Well done to the cooks,
The foods were so good,
And despite the mood,
Nasi Kandar is finger lickin' good.

Leaving all those things behind,
But never out of our mind,
No other schools are better,

Than our beloved Alma Mater.

St. Xavier's Institution