Driving. Part Two.
I STILL CAN’T CHANGE LANES
Driving.
Oh God, I don’t think I’m ready.
And why on earth are people so pissy at night? Got another instructor, and he just… grunts. Good lord.
Can’t even turn my headlights on, and I can only turn them on when he says so.
He’s like some ex-commander in the military or something.
Phew. Load off my chest.
GAHWTFIRRITAINGFUCKINGSONOFABITCH
—
Got lucky. Grabbed a practical test spot in June. Next available slot’s in August.
Unfortunately, the spot’s 1st June. So I’m just rushing through my road revisions. Got two prac lessons at night tomorrow, and three sessions on Wednesday. Just takes up the entire afternoon.
Just wanna get it over with quickly.
And it’s just so irritating. I took it nice and slow when I signed up. Once a week, one theory lesson. Dragged my BTT til end of April. Then Dad just Kept. On. Asking. When someone keeps pressing you for stuff, the obvious interpretation is that he wants you to hurry it up.
So I did. I finished my practical lessons within a month. Practical Test is on the first day of June. So I’m happy. I’ll finish it early.
And then he comes up and complains I’m going too fast.
You know what? What-fucking-ever.
Contradictions. First you tell me I’m not going fast enough, and now you’re telling me I should wait until August?
You keep fucking pressing me to apply to overseas universities. Are you going to stop me from mailing the fucking form because you suddenly think I’m too young to go?
Between NTU and NUS, I pick NUS. You say ok, only 10 minutes later you rant and rail about the evilness of the NUS bureaucratic system and you actually discourage me from going.
Everything I do, I do with your approval. I do it because you’re my dad, and I love you. And I owe you everything in the world. I really appreciate all the little things you’ve done, like today, fetching me from the driving school at 11 pm when you didn’t have to.
But stop giving me mixed signals. I don’t follow instructions well, and I really get an abnormal heart rate when something I’ve planned just goes haywire.
I don’t like change. I’m growing ooooold…
Newsflash
Repeat after me: Nobody gives a shit.
I think it’s the most stupid thing you could do. You make a choice, and then you fucking complain about that choice 2 months down the road? But - wait for it - you don’t actually complain about MAKING the choice, but rather, you blame the 19 people around you that just HAD to screw up your choice, didn’t you?
We have a word for this: hypocrite.
And a word that you should learn: responsibility.
—
Went out with the gang the other day. Jeanne’s dad is every bit as kooky as she makes him out to be. ^_____^
Gwen spends waaaay too much on clothes -_______-, and Pea was sick ;_____;
Oh, and Jeanne looked preeeetty. I like your hair!
Speaking of which, I saw KCT at Holland. GAHOMGWTF SHE BETTER NOT LIVE THERE.
Speaking of which, I saw Mao at… that place where we eat Lemongrass. The lift was tiny, and he and his wife was in the lift with my family. I had to look at him about 5 times before confirming that was actually him. Sis was saying how he was weird because he wore socks with his sandals.
—
Accepting NUS. SMU didn’t offer. GAH.
Anyways, it’s close to home. ^____^
And the rest of the world’s going there too! Including Gwen and Jeanne ^__________________^
Shut the fuck up.
I’ll go when I am fucking ready, alright? So here’s the fucking thing: I am not ready.
Stop pushing me to go live in your shoes, or follow in your footsteps or whatever shit you want me to do.
I can’t believe I’m so angry at you two. It’s this whole jumble of emotions. Betrayal, anger, disappointment, fucking pissed off.
Why the fuck do you want me to go so bad? I’m not ready to leave, alright? I AM NOT READY TO FUCKING LEAVE.
You push and push like it’s all ok, like it’s TEH PROMIZED LANDZ. It is not.
I hate how you keep associating me with your relatives. Let me rephrase that for you.
I DO NOT WANT TO LIVE WITH AN UNCLE I BARELY KNOW.
I DO NOT WANT TO LIVE WITH GRANDPARENTS I BARELY KNOW.
I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO A UNIVERSITY THAT MY UNCLE WENT.
I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO A UNIVERSITY THAT YOU WENT.
How dare you DEMAND me to go. How dare you.
Stop pestering me, you goddamn fucks.
I am not finished here. So shut the goddamn fuck up.
Driving. I suck at changing lanes.
Instructor: Ok, now do a right turn, and later change lane to the left. It’s on a 70 km/hr road, so a bit more challenging, k?
Me: =S
*Right turn. Was fine*
Instructor: Okay, now change lanes. Remember to look in your rearview mirror and check blind spot.
Me: *checks rearview mirror*
*stares a bit too long. I still can’t figure out which one’s the left lane*
Instructor: Steady your car!
Me: Crap. *steadies*
Instructor: Quick, no car! Change lane!
Me: *pauses* Huh?
*After a while, I finally manage to get to the middle lane.*
Me: *turns off signal*
Instructor: Why you turn off signal? You’re still going to change lane! To the leftmost lane!
Me: Oh, oh! *turns signal on*
*Changes lane sharply. Common mistake for me*
Instructor: Don’t turn so sharp!
Me: *off signal*
Instructor: NO don’t off signal! We’re still turning to the left!
Me: =S
Instructor: Very bad! Try again!
And that was on a 70 km/hr road. That was like the fastest road in my life.
So after a few tries, I get the hang of it. Although I still can’t figure out what my rearview mirror’s telling me.
*Cruising in the middle of that same road, middle lane. Getting ready to change lane to the left*
Instructor: Okay, now we’re going to do U-Turn on the right.
Me: HUH?! *car jiggles a little bit*
Instructor: Don’t HUH! Quick, change lane to the right!
—
You know how during those ‘introductory meetings’ or orientation shit, they’ll always ask you to say your name, or where you’re from? Most people in Singapore don’t really have a problem with where they’re from, since they’re still living in Singapore, but I always have a problem. I may be of American heritage, but I’ve lived in Singapore for most of my life, so I can’t really say I’m from America, but neither can I say I’m Singaporean either. In fact, the follow-up questions are so predictable it’s a little irritating.
Random person: So, where’re you from?
Me: I’m American.
RP: Wow… So… when did you come to Singapore?
Me: 4 years old.
RP: So… your parents… they are American? *conjures up an image of a white couple who adopted or something*
Me: No, my father was born in Malaysia and my mother in Taiwan.
RP: *pauses, a little surprised* Oh… so they uh, met in America?
Me: Yes.
RP: When? (And sometimes, people ask how. Don’t get me started on how. It’s apparantly some long melodramatic long distance relationship involving a McDonald’s at a train station.)
Me: University.
RP: And why did your parents migrate to Singapore?
Me: My father got a job here.
RP: Wow…
Me: Yes. So can we move along?
I found a new obsession
Prince of Persia. The game(s).
Love love love it!
