Chronicles of the Past & Present A52ers

Friday, October 29, 2004

having to say goodbye

Ahhh yes. Our final workshop cleanup.


Shaun and Jon fascinated with the clunky retro-ish skateboard, experimenting with stunts (if you could call them stunts), reliving childhood.
Brandon's poorpoor carpet, brimming with germs and infusing our region with a dash of pretty pungent perfume.
Rau sitting on the floor of the costume room plonking shapeless filthy materials into piles of 'recycle' 'throw' 'keep' and 'unknown'.
Angela leaving a half-eaten apple in the well-trodden light-less studio.
Erica with the NTUC trolley probably stolen many years ago, ferrying boxes from the office to E13.
Khairul and the lizard behind the blackboxes. 'nuff said.
XiJie getting Esmonde to wind red yarn around her and the pillar, clutching those two huge squashy yarn balls.
Ling blasting RedHotChilliPeppers on the stereo.
Eating the cake Vanessa slogged away to make for Liting's birthday, dropping crumby chocolate everywhere.
Rashez trying to carry one of the two huge blackboxes from the studio to E13; she nearly made it. :)
Carol and Mich popping in and out and helping in Big spurts.
The look of incredulity on Dawn, Audrey and Zhanhui's faces when realizing we'd compacted three huge rooms of mouldy sprawling treasured junk into one tiny room, with space left over.
The fridge looking mysteriously clean.
The 'dungeon auntie' sieving through our 'throwaways' looking for things to recycle, and the uncle helping us carry that smudged fishtank.
All of us coughing and sneezing at dust, and wanting to keep the cross because of its intense sentimental value.
YuHui mentioning that we ought to burn the place.
Esmonde dragging the lifeguard rocking chair by himself.
Lofty shouting enthusiastically: "Throw it out! Throw everything out!"
Everything empty, littered with shreds of memories (Lasalle-SIA prospectuses, clothes hangers, cracked CD covers, russsty spoons, hairballs, our rotting vacuum cleaner, Guinness beer cans, naked dictionaries without covers...), looking lonely and uninhabited and wistful, waiting for the new to come.

Perhaps we did call it our shithole, attempt to reconcile ourselves to the untidyable mess, but it was home, our little refuge where teachers wouldn't intrude to weed us out if we were late for school, or if we pretended we weren't in school but dodged into the workshop, sewing endless costumes, sleeping on the fungal sofas with ripped covers, blasting music from all three stereos, all different channels, some hodgepodge of music which somehow represented us all, all different, vibrant, unique. The swing over the door, the skull on the lifeguard seat, the cloth that fell out once we opened the clothcupboard with the strange musty smell, pimpleinducing makeup, playing mahjong again and again. No time to feel nostalgic even, now that we're going to have the new, the old does sear itself into our memory.

So here's to the TSD room and its extreme makeover.



  • I want to cry!!!!!

    By Blogger Raswinder, at 9:26 PM  

  • very nice post corrie.. i was moved...

    By Blogger amal, at 11:33 AM  

  • the workshop is so empty now. i miss it already. sighs. went back to school today and it all felt so different walking past. sighs.

    By Blogger ephemeral_ting, at 11:10 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home