[[*A loveless world is a dead world, and always there comes an hour when one is weary of prisons, of one's work, and of devotion to duty, and all one craves for is a loved face; the warmth and wonder of a loving heart*]]
- "The Plague" by Albert Camus
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Sometimes your best is not enough in the face of true brilliance.
I have worked myself to the bone this semester: long sleepless night, feverish hours spent reading textbooks, lecture slides and extra readings. Even if I wanted to sleep, it has become psychologically impossible. This close to the end, I am unable and unwilling to give up despite the exhaustion – both mental and physical.
All my academic life, I have lived in the shadows of my father and brother: the former a man so brilliant, charismatic and hard-working that his occasional bragging is justified; the latter someone who is focused and has the rigid discipline to be consistent in his studies and hence, produce excellent academic results. I, on the other hand, have been chided by parents, relatives and others for being ‘smart but lazy’. Over my schooling years, I have seen the growing look of disappointment on the face of my parents, in lieu of my mediocre academic performance; reaching a point where they have lowered their expectations of high distinctions and straight ‘A’s to an earnest plea that I ‘not fail anything’. During my undergraduate years, a constant refrain from my parents was, “All we ask is that you study half as hard as your brother, that is all.”
When I enrolled into the postgraduate program, my father was not entirely convinced. He was supportive in that he paid the fees but he still felt resigned to the idea that I would coast through my studies as always, especially since my brother would not be here to keep a watchful eye over me. Conversely, I learnt to be independent and more mature in my thought process. In my anxiety over the higher quality of work expected at the postgraduate level and the intense competition I faced with so many brilliant colleagues, I started studying very hard, morphing into the ‘competitive asian’ I should have been ages ago. I am determined to show my father that the $23,500 he pays for my tuition is not another 'wasted investment'.
My hard work paid off and I did well in the internal component of my assessments but the true test now lies in the last stretch – external examinations. I have put in the hours, I have slogged over my books but the worry still niggles in my heart: one that grows as “D Day” approaches – what if my best is not enough? For once, passing is not a worry for me; I have higher mountains to scale now. I’ve only ever obtained one “H1” in the undergraduate, and I’m worried that I won’t be able to get one in the postgraduate.
It’s hardly reassuring that my father’s standards are still as high as ever. A conversation earlier today really left its mark on me, specifically, his ‘gracious’ statement that he did not “expect me to be the top but the top 10% would suffice”. In light of such ‘concession’, can one blame me for being over-wound and bordering on a psychological breakdown?
The French have an expression to describe the pleasure of the aftermath of an intimate encounter –la petit mort (little death). In my case, I experience la petit mort for an entirely different reason; during exams, I stress myself out: each time dying a little.
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