culmination: Pt. II

(this post, Pt. II; aims to expound the provocateur, motive and timing of culmination: Pt. I)

Now this comes just a couple of hours (at the time I begin writing this) following my Additional Mathematics (That’s the more challenging variant offered by my school, alongside Extended Mathematics) Semester-Assessment. Generally, when it’s an elegy/lament about anything education-related, it has something to do with maths xD

Well uh, to commence bluntly: That’s the worst test I’ve ever sat through.

I’ve gone through tests in which I had no clue what was going on, no answers on my paper, ran out of time on an answer I knew exactly how to go about and scored awfully low marks on a test I’d walked out of confidently. (I guess we all have, mm?)

And material-wise, this paper frankly didn’t droop to those levels; I’m still getting less than fifty-percent but the marks I’m going to be awarded are the least of my worries here.

In that case, why would I call this the worst? It’s not like I sat through it entirely in the dark or anything, right?

This semester, for the first time since I began IGCSE, I wasn’t completely lost and clueless in Additional Maths Class. And for an entire twelve months preceding that, it was exactly how I felt. Never scored above fifty-percent on my tests but that wasn’t the worst of it; I dreaded (Do note: I’m not using “dreaded” in some casual, conversational sense) that one hour of school each day; it further occupied my thoughts and worries during my already haunting nights (more on that soon enough) and every class, I knew nothing at all. I used to sit there, endeavour to keep my thoughts from straying in an attempt to salvage something from my decision to sit in that classroom because I had nothing else to do there. A classroom of the elite, that I’d managed to get myself into. 

And this was a position I’d never been in before. I wouldn’t say I’m one of the smartest or elite of the class: It’s been a decade since then (Yes, I was quite the “nerd”, bottoms pulled up as far as they’d go, awry teeth, overwrought eyes, the lot xD). However, this one class killed it all for me last year. Let’s just say I wasn’t going through the best of times and I can take nothing that may have been of any help away from it.

Was I depressed because of this class or did I not see any light in this class because I was depressed?

(And do keep in mind, as I must’ve mentioned before; I don’t use words casually. Especially not words like depressed)

And we’ve heard people say they were clueless but I quite literally knew nothing. Every new day, bringing a swipe and replenish of the whiteboard felt like another crushing blow on the conveyor belt; I couldn’t even figure out what topics they were doing in class or worse; what was even in my syllabus.

My incapability, incompetence and shame was tested with each question until I was brought to a stage where I was no longer acknowledged in the classroom. Mixed feelings, really. I must’ve felt super relieved but in hindsight, that wasn’t helping me. I’ve never aimed to survive anything; always to succeed (what is success?I’ll explore this in a future post as well) or stand out in it. So the first time something made me feel this way, I felt defeated, or maybe even a failure.

(Again, very strong words I’ll delineate in another post)

Now back to this semester, following a couple of months of quite the constructive and countless hours at tuition, most of which counted up to twenty-eight hours a week, I was feeling really good about maths after quite some time. This coincided with the betterment of my emotional/mental state (interestingly). I’d reached the stage where I was a part of the class. I knew what was going on. I wasn’t completely clueless. I didn’t shy away or get awfully embarrassed at the mention of maths anymore.

Of course, it wasn’t like suddenly become some Math Whiz. Indubitably, I hadn’t become that good at Maths or anything. Sure, I’d gotten myself out of the fringes of the class but my confidence hadn’t shot up to a level where I was far less uncomfortable answering questions in class. However, I didn’t have to keep watching my mind from deviating anymore because I finally felt like a part of the class: A significant part. And none of this came easy; my unimpeachable work, all the time, at every hour of the day you can call out, I’ve most probably been deep working on maths tho get myself up to an acceptable mark; someone worthy of an A* (The highest that one can be graded in IGCSE).

All these nights, free hours and parties sacrificed. All these houtumblr_ms448nr0ik1sfl9ono1_500r-long trips going to tuition and hour-long trips back.

Now, in addition, I’d spent the entire day before my Maths exam (well, from the morning till the evening) at the tuition centre, working my bloody arse off again. I saw this test as my first reasonable shot at an A*. Sure, these aren’t my final boards or even preliminary mocks but they mattered nonetheless. Not from a practical point of view, not for those who were sure they’ve done well. But for me because of all the weight I’d staked on this one test.

This was a matter of faith. A matter of belief, of toil and dividend. Of knowing where I stand.A matter of springboarding, of building upon this newfound drive to work.

And it all came crashing down.

Defeat, or perhaps even Failure.

I opened the question paper and half-an-hour later I’d already reached the end, having tried, attempted and failed to answer every question.

And yet, I didn’t give in just yet, racking my head for everything, anything, that might get me through another step of working or atleast give me some sort of clue.

I couldn’t fill up much more in the following hour-and-a-half.

The culmination: The final five minutes of the examination. For the first time, I willingly gave up. I just sat there, my hands refusing to write any further and my mind choosing to abandon it there, instead thinking about all the loss that had taken place here and all the repercussions to come.

To be blunt, by the time I realised I wasn’t going to ace this, I’d also figured out just how this culmination was going to roll out, and I should’ve seen it coming, over the last couple of days. (but that’s perhaps for another post)

I don’t know how it’s gonna go on from here. For all I know, it’s already affected the course of the remainder of my tests over the course of the next week or so. Maybe I should be studying rather than blogging here. I should be, shouldn’t I?

(For someone who isn’t exactly the biggest fan of sharing his worries or laments publicly, this is quite the event. I think the only thing I can take away from this is the fact that at the very least, I have a new post up. And guilt, and procrastination. Mostly guilt from all this procrastination)

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culmination: Pt. I

(I don’t think poetry or songwriting are really turning out to be my thing hmm. That’s alright, I’ll persist with it xD)

disappointment,
disgrace, poignant,
flamboyant build-up,
pointless.

relentless augmentation,
as always, brazen,
now look at these,
amongst others, abrasion.

persuasion,
try me,
hung head ain’t raising,
I’m heading for the potation,
more to scathe me.

the endless search for Zion,
I ain’t buyin’
it no more,
can’t feel pious or pliant,
my idiosyncratic war.

I spoke hues,
for days,
weeks, won’t stop for decades
still a caught-out renegade.

the power of separate thought,
and the thought of separate power,
is this where I’ve been brought?
expected a brighter culmination.

in the face of
The Unwanted Visitor,
perhaps in your face
but on your side?
not even at first base,
I just need my space.

IB is the suppressor.

(in the true spirit of The MonarchofMidnight, this post will keep expanding, so do feel free to come back and check up on any updates as frequently as you wish :D)
(With around ten months left till I myself am an IB-Student embroiled in it all, perhaps this wasn’t the right time to bring this whole thing up but ehh; anything to fill up my posts xD)

Now to briefly explain what IB is; short for International Baccalaurate Diploma Programme. The final two years of high school; equivalent of the A Levels, baccalauréat in France, etc.

iblearnerprofileI’ll begin by stating that my critical opinions about the IB-Diploma Program begin a whole two years ago; a foot out of what I’d enclosed myself in: an impressionable Eighth Grader open to all paths with an almost backfiringly open-mind. I’d always had a fancy for thought and divergence (but that’s something for another post xD – all in good time, of course) and by then, I’d began thinking a little broader, past my teenage life, which I then decided, would be anything but indifferent or previously seen in someone else.
The night that I first stumbled upon the IB Learner Profile (See: Obvious Image) grâce à posters all across classrooms and corridors in school, my boundless thoughts drove me to pose my arguments to  my mother, with a very minuscule sense of bravado, considering that my father himself is an IB Teacher. I’d went to her, stating that these qualities, although seemingly positively inclined and harmless, came with taglines stating that these were “required” qualities for an IB student, which was made up to be the high school termination of the highest esteem, acknowledgement and prestige.

Of course, everyone is entitled to their own, completely u
nique interpretations to ezgif-com-video-to-gifabsolutely anything and I saw this “requirement” as a systematic protocol, the image I’d formed was like standing before a gateway of the last room(the end/exit of high school) before I could jump out the window into the wider, open world (if I survived the fall, of course xD) and being pulled apart, cut up, severed, pressed hydraulically and put back together in a mixture that did not differ from the way others before me had walked and those after me would walk through that door.

like a system ^

And it’s no secret that system and indifference and routine are things that inhabit the finite space on the list of things I hate. Well, to put it lightly, my mother was quite intimidatingly unamused: “Thank God your father wasn’t here to hear that”.

Now back ttumblr_ocs1v0nsmv1v6dm28o1_400o the image of the suppressor; in fact the visualization

I’m going for here is of a complete firearm, in all its threat, poetic beauty and of course powers of disillusionment.

Picture the developmental/preparation stages of an individual’s life; schooling, education, learning from parents/peers/elders/*insert absolutely anything you like because it’s a perpetually-growing list*: When one is (consciously or against their knowledge) in a fascinatingly impressionable state. That’s the gun as well as the wielder, who directs the point of its cross-hairs’ focus.

stock-vector-cross-hair-target-sketch-icon-for-web-and-mobile-hand-drawn-vector-dark-gray-icon-on-light-gray-302311355

Please forgive and ignore the fact that it’s very evidently Shutterstock :/

It’s what fires one through the zephyrous troposphere of their often vacuous lifetimes, towards a target; pseudonymmed an ambition, a purpose.

You getting an idea of what I’m going at here?

So that’s your rudimentary base, that has aimed and fired you at an epitomisingly (in)humane and materialistic goal; a Point of Promised Satisfaction, Success and Repose. Heck, it still sounds a tad appealing. *disgusted*

Where does the title fit in here? Note: A suppressor or silencer is an attachment to the nose of a gun, muffling its flash, noise and sometimes range. Now that’s the latter stages of school education and this is where the whole part about IB’s “requirements” shaping endowments shine through. It’s a Suppressor, a Silencer. And a masqued, alluding one at that too.

Right nowtumblr_od3lmflpnx1sjih2oo1_500, some of you (if anyone is at all reading) may be wondering, “What is his point? That no one has a choice and we’re all heading towards predetermined cusps?”tumblr_oc4rpy9xl01vayf5lo1_500

Well broaden your perspective, take a (actually, the more; the better) step back.


Sometimes the nose is aimed into the free skies.
Emphasis on ‘free’.

Sometimes, a gun is fired not not in accordance with its conventional purpose (jejune, trite), but with the aim of creating something exotic, obscure and unfamiliar: Anarchy.

Fired to make some noise.
To shift attention.
To shift Paradigms.
To instill domination and discomposure.
To make a statement.
To act as a symbol.
A symbol, an idea that, when carried; becomes a shield, even a battering ram.

Take a moment to look away from the screen or read all that again. Let it all sink in.

Why were you fired?

sucker.

(in the true spirit of The MonarchofMidnight, this post will keep expanding, so do feel free to come back and check up on any updates as frequently as you wish :D)
(this happens to be my first poem/song xD I amn’t taking into consideration that one vain, clueless four-line, twenty-word attempt in fifth grade xD)
(I believe an apology is in order for about four months sans blog activity :/ )
sucker for art
sucker for thought
want a restart
I’m a sucker always fraught
sucker for perfection

sucker for irony
test my comprehension
I’m a sucker for my rivalries

so much obscurity

I don’t do sororities
try to tame my polarity
pseudonym-ed temerity
sucker for my backseats
Ashley
Nicolette
Frangipane
she a genius
just like we
sleepless
striking uniqueness
king and queen
ayy you’re sixteen
‘pparently I’ve a smokescreen
the greatest of us contravene
off the beaten track
don’t fear attack
daily throwbacks
walk with this colourful megalomaniac
phase out
faze out
this hedonist
knows his ways out
sybaritic, that’s what this man is
no emotion, that’s what business is
approach me at your own risk, mortal
I could quiz your biz
can’t run away from schisms
creating rifts everywhere I go
shifts in paradigms and lore
man’s such a whizz, such a prism
all you bourbonists
rests for your wrists
while you tresspass her frists
why make me clench my fists
sucker you’ve scheduled our next trist
beat yo’ ass greased
I still ain’t appeased
maybe should’ve remained a priest
what a beast
pissed and unpeaced
peeeved and pieced
my fea(s)ts are cannibalistic

how much and in what way something affects you is how you let it affect you.

(I believe an apology is in order for all this inactivity over the last four months :/ )

(in the true spirit of The MonarchofMidnight, this post will keep expanding, so do feel free to come back and check up on any updates as frequently as you wish :D)

“How much and in what way something affects you is how you let it affect you.”                                                                                                                          -Krithik Medwin Rock, 2014

You are what you make of yourself.
Once you truly understand and believe that you are above your troubles and they are mortal worries (unconsciously to you, pretentious, if you like) that are beneath you, having its conception on a subconscious level, you will begin to learn, recognise, understand and indubitably wield your newfound prowess.
Point is; once you’re one with these words which are quite literally to live by, you needn’t ever see limitations in or for yourself ever again.