[
mood 
loved]
[
music Valkyrie Missile – Angels & Airwaves]
I cannot make speeches to save my life.
So I won’t. I’ll tell you a story instead.
Once upon a time, there was a young girl, who had always wanted to write down the stories and the words that ran through her head. When everyone wrote sensible things like ‘doctor’, ‘engineer’ or ‘businessman’ in the ambition column in school forms she would scribble ‘author’, ‘writer’ or ‘journalist’. At 15 she told all her friends who would listen that she was going to take a communications course in university, and become a journalist one day.
“One day,” she told them whilst waving her arms around expansively. “I’ll go to places we’ve only dreamt of going and I’m going to tell the stories of people who live there, and I’m going to write a book all about it.”
Most people would just humor her by agreeing. But there was never any doubt about what she would be one day.
She was so utterly sure at 15 this was the way her story would end. The writer girl back in high school would go to university in Australia to get her degree, come back home to work as a journalist whilst writing her book. She would perhaps be a mediocre writer, in a country which read less than 2 books a year, but nevertheless, she would be writing still, and that was all that mattered. It was the perfect story, with no loose threads in sight, perfectly spun and neat.
However, this young writer girl never kept the plot twists in mind. As all storytellers know, the story often writes itself.
She never thought that there was a whole world out there with so much more to learn and read and write about. She never thought that she would enjoy learning about demands and supplies and statistics and about human rights and the supremacy of the constitution. She’d never expected them to fascinate her enough to want to lean more about philosophies of law and how these written frameworks reach and govern the masses of society.
She had also not expected to suddenly receive a letter to study in England instead of Australia. But she said yes.
The plot twisted. The learning never stopped, instead it intensified, with new words, like equitability and fiduciaries and incorporations and treaties alongside with the precise definition of reasonableness and amongst other new and alien concepts alongside with hours and cramming, essays and tutorials. She lost track of the cups of coffee, the tears, the sleepless nights where laws and different types of words ran through her head and the many, many times she just wanted to walk away because it was just too difficult, and she felt that didn’t have what it takes to make it.
However, she somehow stuck to it, because her family and friends told her that she did have what it took and that she could do it. What she learnt crept insidiously into her, she started to look at things differently, realizing that there was a whole lot hurt in the world which needed helping and that the law is be a two edged sword, and it can be a total
bitch sometimes, but the learning process never stopped and the girl found that she loved it because of that. And she didn’t want the learning to stop. For now.
And that day, as she stood in the courtroom and as she looked at the faces of her family and friends who were sitting in the public gallery, she realized that she had never been more thankful for anything in her life. Because the story would not have happened without the people in her life, who has seen her through the best and worst times. Or it would not have been as exciting without them. Most of all, the writer girl is grateful to the Divine Storyteller who is still keeping her hanging on every word, and revealing the plot it to her bit by bit each day.
Of course, the story doesn’t end there. The writer girl has grown older now, and though she kept those dreams of being a writer in a secret chest and hid it in a secret part of herself, she knows that there may be a time where she can bring that chest out again. But for now, she wants to know: does she live happily ever after?
To that, I cast her a grin and tell her: “
To be continued.”
______________________________________________________________
This is where the academy award part of the speech is. Almost.
To God for being the Divine Storyteller, and revealing a piece of his plan for my life bit by bit.
I wouldn’t be here without my family, so I want to thank my Father, for supporting me financially throughout my studies, my mother who made all those sacrifices, supported all the tough decisions I had to make and kept encouraging me continually at my worst times. And my sister for just being there and being her lovely annoying self to keep me sane and not so serious.
To my grandparents, who have so much belief in me no matter what I did. That belief is enough to sustain me though sometimes.
To my church members, especially those in the AHF, for their continual support, prayers and concern for my studies and my work. They have always been supportive of me and would always remember to pray for me, during my exams. I wanted to thank Uncle Hock Swee personally, for attending my long call, and be prepared to move my call or robe me, should my mover or master not arrived.
To all my friends who sent me the congratulatory texts, facebook messages and phonecalls, you guys are lovely, thank you for all your well wishes.
Finally to the friends who made it on that jammed Friday afternoon! Xian Ai, Cindy, Thomas, Mark and Lordson! You guys are amazing. So, so, so amazing. Thank you for taking time out to come, although all of you were so busy, and for surprisingly showing up with lovely flowers. Thank you for being my friends!
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full]
wistful]
hopeful]
nostalgic]
rushed]
apathetic]
mischievous]
touched]
cynical]
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