It is now 2.49 p.m on a Wednesday, and I am yet again sitting in the office. This time, I am not waiting for any experiments to be done, I suppose what I am doing now would be considered procrastination. I have work to do but the recent weather has been horrible, what with all the early morning rainstorms that made it really easy to be in a bad mood. At least today I am just annoyed, as opposed to feeling generally down like I was last week.
I actually had a pretty okay weekend last week—I went for an impromptu mani-pedi again on Friday (it’s been nearly a month since my first session!) and I like to think that I have had a pretty restful weekend. Of course, by restful I mean I got relatively more sleep. The mental load did not really decrease much, but that is to be expected, I suppose. I am not sure if it was the fact that I slept more and hence was in the mood to notice more positive things, or if it was a coincidence, but I did notice some things around me and had some pretty positive-neutral self-revelations.
Oh look, how time flies. It is now 5.21 p.m. on the following Monday. I am back in my maiden home today to visit the 4-legged kids. Spending time with them always cheers me up. I am opting to stay home instead of heading to office today; I am determined to take a break today. Technically, I have been away from Graduate Studies Related Crap since Thursday ended, but the weekend has been filled with so much obligations that I have not properly rested. Today it is, then. I must admit, I do feel guilt for not being in the lab today, but I am fortunate enough to have a swollen eyelid last night that persisted to lingering soreness in the morning—a perfect excuse for myself with regard to my decision to lounge about today. I made a promise to myself that I will be back at work tomorrow and work harder to make up for this. Let’s hope I have the tenacity to keep this promise.
It is World Cup season, and right now it is semifinals season. A couple weeks ago, the Cape Verde team made quite an impression on many of us (even me, I do not watch sports of any sort). They managed to end the game against Spain with a draw, and in their last match where they were defeated by Argentina, they definitely made the Argentina players sweat for the win. Yes, they did get eliminated in the end. Yes, they knew that they had virtually no chance at winning the trophy. But, still.
There is a kind of pride mingled with hope that settles in between your ribs when you read (read, not watch. Like I said, I do not watch sports) about the underdog pushing their way through obstacles that they themselves probably thought were insurmountable. Even as they lost to Argentina in the round that got them eliminated, I felt a fierce melancholic affection for them. The melancholy in the affection was because we all knew how it was going to end. Regardless, there is a quiet dignity in giving your all despite knowing that it would likely not have changed the outcome.
It may seem a little strange that I find myself caring so much about Cape Verde, and that I feel as though I could recognise something of myself in them. Sure, it is in our nature to favour the underdogs because most of us, in one way or another, see ourselves as underdogs. But it might appear to others that I have never been an underdog—sure, I was never a front-runner, but I am quite sure that most people would look at me and see someone who has generally stayed above average in whatever (non-physical) race that I found myself in. I am someone who has always managed to stay in the top half. It sure seemed that way, huh?
I think my discontentment with myself stems from knowing that my staying above average is dependent on me having to put my all and more into it. I often feel uneasy whenever I meet someone whom society has deemed “below average” by whatever metric of success that happened to be used at that time—mostly, there is the nagging feeling that if circumstances had allowed them to put in the amount of effort that I did, along with granting them the amount of luck that I have had, they would have been far, far ahead of me. At the same time, the front-runners in my life often seemed to achieve whatever they have achieved with hardly any effort. I have lost track of the amount of times I have had to confront the knowledge that I am not gifted, not talented, not naturally brilliant in any way. It is something that I have come to terms with, but it does not make it any less painful. Deep down, I am an underdog by virtue of the intelligence and talent that one is born with. (Of course, I’d like to think I am reasonably intelligent, at least.)
Just last week, I was on my way to the train station when I happened to look up and saw a plant growing on the rooftop of a nearby HDB flat.
It was a particularly windy afternoon, and the plant was swaying about. This got me contemplating its existence—given its position, it is likely that it would get uprooted or have its stem snapped into two by a particularly vicious rainstorm. Should it manage to survive all that, HDB administrators would likely have it cut down once it gets too big to ignore (this is Singapore, after all. Even plants have to grow within approved boundaries). The question of its survival has already been answered from day 1 of its germination by virtue of the position its seed was sown. It is doomed to die from the very start of its story—the question that remains is hence the length of its existence. How long would it be allowed, whether by nature or by administrators, to exist?
Well. It is now 3.15p.m. on Tuesday. I am now sitting in my office, and I am feeling tentatively accomplished seeing as I have finished the tasks I set for myself today. Unfortunately, the Graduate Brain Monster is going on and going in my ear about how I should give myself more tasks since it is only about 3p.m. and that if I managed to finish so early, I must not have given myself enough work. Yadda yadda. Meh.
Anyway, back to my musings about the plant. Thinking about it reminds me of the poem “The Two-Headed Calf” by Laura Gilpin. The calf in the poem was destined to die from the moment of its birth too—after all, two-headed calves are generally born with defective organs that could not sustain their bodies. But before he dies, he is simply alive. He got to spend the “perfect summer evening” with his mother, he got to see the moon rising over the orchard, he got to feel the wind in the grass. In his eyes, the stars in the sky were doubled. His fate did not—could not—erase the fact that he was, for a moment at least, alive.
I think what I have been trying to articulate through my lengthy and incoherent thoughts is that what Cape Verde, the plant on top of the HDB roof, and the Two-Headed Calf share in common is that they were all facing something much larger than themselves. Cape Verde were facing opposing teams widely acknowledged to be among the world’s best teams (in terms of nationality); the plant is growing in a place where it would eventually be destroyed by a storm or cut down by the authorities. The calf was born in a body that could not stay alive for long. From the very beginning, their fates were more or less carved into stone but they still went about their day and do whatever they needed/wanted to do anyway. Everything about them screams “despite”—even if they lost whatever fight they were in, they existed. That meant something, though I am not sure what it meant. Sure, the plant and the calf did not know they would die, but hey, that does not diminish the defiance of their existence at all.
Thinking about Cape Verde—and by extension, the plant and the calf—gives me a small sense of hope that effort still counts for something at the end of the day. The harsh reality of Graduate studies is such that effort only counts when results are procured at the end. I can spend 70 hours in the lab every week, but it would not matter unless I get results. Meh. Obviously I do wish I can get to a point where the results of my experiments stop determining my mood for the day, but for now, I am stuck in an unideal reality in which I can’t even pretend that pure effort alone counts. Oh well. At least nobody can stop me from having a little optimism as a treat.
Anyway. Back to my World Cup musings.
This year’s World Cup is also Ronaldo’s last time (according to him) participating in the World Cup. I am not sure about Messi, but it might possibly be his last too. After all, the former is 41 years old and the latter is 39 years old. I am no athlete, but I am possessed of enough sense to know that one is generally considered to be in their physical prime when they are between the age of early 20s and early 30s. Ronaldo and Messi are arguably past their physical prime, but evidently it did not stop them from continuing to compete in the World Cup this year just because they are past their physical prime. At this point, however, they are probably ready to retire (for Ronaldo, at least) from the World Cup.
I am past my prime as well, it seems.
I am probably being presumptuous and incredibly delusional to say this, but at this point in my graduate studies, I find myself relating to both Ronaldo and Messi. As a student in my undergraduate days, I have always given my all in my studies. I thrived on competing and pushing through and doing well in all the tests and examinations, but that was in the past. I am past the stage of being the sort of ambitious student who was always hungry to do more, study more, and sacrifice every pleasure in pursuit of academic achievement. Basically, I am past my prime as a student. I am not sure how this change came about, but I am quite sure it is because I am now older. What a typical tragedy, isn’t it? Of all things, age, for heaven’s sake. I am not even that old, I am in my twenties.
Regardless, I cannot deny that I am at a stage of my life where I have other things that I prioritise over my studies. Marriage, upcoming BTO, renovation for said BTO—you name it. Another sadder age related fact that is unfortunately relevant to me would be my chronic pain. Surprise surprise. Yes, I know it does not seem very common for individuals considered to be “officially healthy” to suffer from chronic pain, or at least, not in Singapore. Unfortunately, here I am. As the way things currently stand, I no longer possess the physical stamina to keep up with a punishing work ethic that I used to manage years ago. Oh well.
Anyway, back to the football players.
It certainly feels like just as Ronaldo and Messi are in their last (or maybe second last, for Messi?) World Cup season, given that they are past their prime years, I am past my prime years as a student as well. But just like how they were not past the World Cups until well after their prime years, I am not past the Graduate studies.
Oh, but am I so ready to be past it!
I have to admit, it is a slight comfort to know that just as the aforementioned football players continued to compete in the World Cup, I am still in the midst of Graduate studies even as I have passed my prime as a student. Similarly to how they have been persisting for the past 1-2 World Cup seasons despite being past their prime years, I am still continuing to push forward in the realm of Graduate studies. I am like a metaphorical football player who has passed her prime years, still pushing myself to sprint about in the field of Graduate Studies—I no longer have that explosive energy synonymous to that of a younger (seriously though, I am still considered to be at a reasonable age for graduate studies in Singapore, I promise), ambitious, hungry student. I am just trying to finish my Graduate studies season with dignity, the way so many athletes eventually does. In a manner of sorts, it is also a tribute to my academic journey—after all the sweat, blood, and tears, after all the sacrifices I have made for what I thought to be my passion (I suppose it still is, in a way), this chapter of my life deserves a soft ending.
Of course, I am not declaring that I will be leaving academia after graduate studies. What I meant is that once I am past my season of Graduate studies, I am ready to finally put this all down, to start seeing the work (even if I choose to stay in academia) as just a job. By then, perhaps the need to arrange my entire life around research could finally be snuffed out. Hopefully.
Bealie
Series of Ordinary Days 
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