2007-04-22
closing the debate chapter: milestones
The last week has been just about the most eventful I've had in a while, so eventful that I'm not really sure how to coax it into the structure of writing.
To assume chronological order, we would have to begin with my resignation from debate. A very quiet one (professionally speaking), if I might say so, just as I wanted it to be. If I should have to write a one-sentence summary of this whole affair, the way pompous voters press presidency candidates to prove themselves, I'm not really sure which to choose: "A new lease of life!" or "My heart is breaking." Nothing to do with the people of Debate Club, but the sheer weight of four years of memories bearing down. I can't decide if this load has gotten lighter, or heavier.
The memories are not distinct clear frames, but one thick, incomprehensible haze absorbing time and space. I remember when I walked into the debate audition room back in secondary school, with killing the afternoon the only objective in mind. The teachers were glad. They said they needed someone who could talk and think like me. I was glad. I liked being appreciated. Nobody ever raised eyebrows about me being in Debate, they expected it, it seemed.
Getting into the first school team marked the beginning of my sleeping in class. The teachers handed me perfunctory warnings, but smiled anyway.
NYGH 1 was my first ever team. We had loads of fun, we had our fights. And that made us best friends. We spent loads of time together. We teared a little when the time to leave came - we were not the crying sort, Hiutung and me, I remember.
Because of Debate, VJC and HCI took notice of me. I got phonecalls and invitations, and it made me feel proud. They wanted me, that Nanyang girl who 'had potential'. My friends cheered. Hwachong took the next two years.
I remember being so afraid and lost without Hiutung - the only person I had ever debated with. She once told me that having me on her side assured her that we would take the debate. The truth was I needed her just as much, if not more. But the Hwach seniors took me out of it - for the first time, I had real seniors who took interest in me, who helped me, who groomed me. We hardly ever saw our seniors in Nanyang.
In debate, I found two men for whom I have nothing but great respect for. Ram was my first coach. He was the first person I knew who could be a mentor, a disciplinarian, and a friend all at the same time. I like to think he liked and believed in me. The debate club used to win competitions just for him. The second is Mr Tan WJ, my second and last coach - who was everything Ram was and ten years wiser, ten years different. When I became the crying sort of person, he would comfort me first, then remind me how silly I was, and how everyone was silly someway or another. He took care to mentor my debating abilities, my character, my life, my career dreams.
That feeling of wearing the school blazer, that feeling of being known as Hwachong (and Nanyang, two years ago), the feeling of knowing that your name is formidable only when written between two others - these are feelings that have curled up tightly in the space inside my chest.
The bridge of morning announcements and the cheering school have always belonged to the sports teams, and sometimes I think that the school's trophy cabinet wouldn't miss my feather-light contribution. In all, the four years have given me 9 trophies, the last two years: three championship titles, breaking the achievement record in Hwachong. These things the school reminds me are so tiny I know the only place they can fill up entirely is that little cabinet in my own memory. But I am thankful for that, because it reminds me that I am for Hwachong. Outside of competitive debate, it becomes too easy for Hwachong to become second to my life.
Now that my debate years are through, I think it will be a struggle to remember what institutional honour is like. I think it will be a struggle to remember what teamhood is like. I think it will be a struggle to remember what being a captain is like. I think I will miss all this, and I feel a little disappointed with myself for not walking out the entire route of college debating, of throwing out my responsibilities as a senior, of going back on the promise I gave my coach to never to give up.
As much as I know that debate clubs have disagreed with me, I know that I have truly loved this sport. I wish there was a debater, any debater, who could reach out and give me a bearish hug right now. For empathy, for comeraderie, for me - one of them who has come to the point where we now diverge.But neverending stories are boring, and its sheer indulgence kills the reader. So it must end.
nothing ever happens at 4:13 p.m.