World Lit is quite possibly the worst aspect of my IB life thus far. I am quite certain that if you are an IB student and reading this right now, your head is nodding in agreement. For some reason, the drama year 5s all disagree, saying: “What? It doesn’t sound that baaad…” We’ll see if they say that next year.
The fact that World Lit frenzy coincides with Drama week makes it all the more worse. Coffee is nectar from the Gods. By the time I am through with world lit 2, I might be just about ready to leave the IB life behind and set out on my own quest for enlightenment – a rather glorified excuse to dispense with the need for homework. I mean the insane, procrastination aggravated workload is definitely taking its toll – having to write about The Siddhartha and The Govinda (you know who you are) while in a state of near total delirium has to have some negative rammifications in later life. I predict that when I’m 50, my therapist would need at least 5 to 6 sessions to sort out this phase in my life, and that’s not only because I would refuse to pay more than $20 for a consultation with a devil woman (here I’m assuming my therapist will be female).
And the dumbest part of it all? The IB exams could be next week, and I wouldn’t give up extra-curricular achievements for the world. I mean hell – life is a journey, not a destination. When I’m 50 and I look back on this period and realise that it was spent behind a desk in a room poring over chemistry which I realized I never used after I finished my course, I’ll reach down to the bottom right drawer, take out my pistol (here I’m assuming that in 30 years gun laws in Singapore would have been slightly relaxed) and shoot myself.
I am going to have such a mid-life crisis.
