how can something take up so much of my time

and yet be progressing so slowly, it's excruciating? this monster called fyp has been the bane of my existence for the past weeks, months; i've been so consumed by it that i haven't even had time nor the inclination to blog about it save once.

it's getting too much.. i can't take this much longer. today we did the voiceover, the talent ("talent") that we'd picked during auditions demanded $125 dollars for that hour or so of work AND IT SUCKED. well it didnt suck but there wqas just something wrong with her tone, it didn't have much variation and pretty much stayed unchanging throughout. it was soothing, yes. u'd fall asleep to it. and that's NOT what i want. so, either we call her back to do it again, this time while looking at the visuals, or we find someone else, or.. we use my voice. which is what my producer suggested. NO!!

i haven't forgotten the tragic and totally disgusting experience that i had last time when i attempted to voice our final docu for TV2. i was raw and inexperienced and it showed and i sucked. when i first saw the docu with my voiceover, i cried. because it so didn't work. seriously. i vowed that i will NEVER try anything like that again. of course i went on to try for presenter in Spectrum this sem, and i got the interviewer role. it's soemthing different though; i just don't like how i sound on tape.

BUT i did the VO for my fyp, first to edit the visuals to it. and when i tried to put in my talent's VO and contrast it with mine, well she was just flat. i totally didn't get a sense that she even half cared for the docu. my vo was not fantastic but even it had a lot more variation.

i dunno, i just dunno.. i don't want to put my voice to the video but if nothing else works out what choice do i have?? it's 7 bloody days to the due date for god's sake.. but i don't want to WATCH MY FYP AND CRY..!

help.

sobs.

breaking

when i stepped off the lift, the first thing i saw was a trolley rushed out by four attendants, heading for the wards. i froze in my tracks and strained to see the figure in the gurney. thank god, it wasn't my mom, but a middle aged chinese lady, slack faced, one eyelid wet underneath, where moisture had seeped through the crack of her half open eye. she rolled away and i stood there, heart tripping, and i thought that if that was how my mum was going to look like, i wouldn't, couldn't be able to bear it.

i sat down. the rest of my family were nowhere to be seen. minutes passed and i grew more and more uneasy. where was she? the operation was four hours ago. surely she'd be out by now. i dialled my sis again and again but she just didnt answer.

another trolley pinged out of the lift and swiftly moved past me into the corridor to the wards. i stood up and stared. it was her. she was motionless. numbly, i followed. i've never seen her so still and pale in my life. not when she was sick and sleeping it off; not when she was so furious she could only stare at me, speechless. i padded after the group as they bustled into a room; i stood apart and looked as they drew the curtains around the bed, said something to her and swung her over from the trolley to the bed. the curtains drew back; the nurses left. i couldn't move from my seat across the room. i sat and sat and stared and stared, willing her to move, sit up, do something, say something. she didn't. i had a feeling that i was going to cry if i went and looked closer so i still sat there, as if she was someone else, as if i was waiting for another patient that would arrive for the empty bed i was sitting next to.

the doors swung open; my family came. my sis gave me a look. my brothers went aimlessly around the room; my father stood next to her and took her hand. nobody spoke. after a while he asked me when i came. i just shook my head.

it was half an hour before i got the courage to stand and walk over. she was still deeply unconscious; the anasthetic would not wear off for a few hours yet. i took the seat next to her that my bro had just vacated. for the next few minutes, i gradually grew calmer and talked normally to the rest as they sat around, fiddled with the set, newspaper, or, with my dad, asking my mom's prone figure if she wanted milo, insisting that he had heard her say something though i irritably told him to let her sleep. somehow i felt it was wrong to be normal, to do things as normal when she was just lying there looking so, well, not normal. from time to time, coming out of the drug-induced sleep, she would moan softly. startled the hell out of me the first time, but it got regular and i got used to it, waiting for the next one to come so that i could reassure myself that she was capable of making some sort of sound at least. for all the times i've fervently wished for her to shut up, now all i wanted was to hear her voice.

an hour passed and the kids grew restless. they decided to go home. everyone got up and went out; i waited for my chance to be alone with my mum. i went over the other side of the bed and for the first time, leaned over and looked closely into her silent face. now, she looked serene, not deathly still as i first saw it. i looked quickly over my shoulder to see if anyone had come back; i wasn't comfortable with public display, even with my own mum.

the doors stayed shut and i looked back at her. quietly, i bent and pressed my lips to her forehead. it felt cool and smooth. and still. i looked one last time, placed a hand on her cheek and silently prayed her to get well. then my dad came in and i told him i was leaving.

i left without looking back.

on the walk back to to the train station, something snapped.

my trustee slipper that i'd worn for three years, finally broke a strap under the strain.

a hot day

im rushing my spanish homework. lunch sits heavily in the stomach. i've quite settled into living in hall since i moved out three years ago. ironically, i'm only staying about 3 weeks, which gives me another two weeks to go. i like my room. i'd like to stay longer but i won't have anything to do after FYP ends, which will be on the day im moving out, end of this month.

FYP is dragging along. editing is going ok but we have only two weeks left. lots to do, no time to do it. but i've a feeling that five minutes after handing it in i'll be quite lost.. for five minutes. no more boulder hanging over my head threatening to drop. i can't wait.

the end of my student life is coming soon.. and i duno if im looking forward to the next phase. the money, yes. but not the lost of my time and freedom..

sigh.

it's a hot day today.