Temasek Writes

Hi! We are a group of dedicated writers from Temasek Junior College's Creative Writing and Journalism Club.
She proved to us that leadership is about having the courage to take risks and to be grounded in your passion to serve. Hats off to our new Principal, Ms Susan Leong, for her sheer courage and inspirational enthusiasm! We couldn’t have started Leadership Week in a better way.

She proved to us that leadership is about having the courage to take risks and to be grounded in your passion to serve. Hats off to our new Principal, Ms Susan Leong, for her sheer courage and inspirational enthusiasm! We couldn’t have started Leadership Week in a better way.

Weekends are a bit like rainbows; they look good from a distance but disappear when you get up close to them.

John Shirley

Are you going to make full use of your time this weekend?

“I always keep a picture of Jane Austen’s tiny writing table pinned over my desk; if six of the world’s greatest novels can be written on a tea table, anything can happen.” —LuAnn Walther, Senior Vice President, Editorial Director, Vintage Books & Anchor Books 
“I always keep a picture of Jane Austen’s tiny writing table pinned over my desk; if six of the world’s greatest novels can be written on a tea table, anything can happen.” —LuAnn Walther, Senior Vice President, Editorial Director, Vintage Books & Anchor Books 

Books are the ultimate Dumpees: put them down and they’ll wait for you forever; pay attention to them and they always love you back.

—John Green

When I leave the house, I just want to return

When I leave the house. I just want to return. Mundane chores. Everyday bores. For a holiday I yearn. 

Benjamin Phillips

When I leave the house, I just want to return

When I leave the house. I just want to return. Mundane chores. Everyday bores. For a holiday I yearn.

Benjamin Phillips

And this time I promise we won’t get stranded

The meaning of travel might vaguely be
this:

The sound of a train running along swiftly, like a floating dandelion, clang-tap, clang-tap, tip-tap, tang-tap, tip-tap, tang-tap sounds on the iron metal tracks.

It is a beat that is technically unstoppable.

A rhythm that I reckon even McCandless would be mightily proud of.

We dream of better traveling days, always without fail.

Like giants walking in our midst, we must stand on their shoulders, and take the first walk, and first learn how to navigate around our heart machine.

Living like swans on a Cluny Park Lake, paddling around a wild lake, like a private journey on a sunny day meant for taking photographs, synchronized for you and me.

Maps, maps, maps, coming as essential as they are to an objectified traveler, they are still folded paper. And folded papers were really paper planes when we were four years old.

And when at seven years old, you fuck around it with a rubber band, you will inflict bravado pain on the girl seated three seats ahead of you. That is love at primary mischief.

The altimeter becomes fickle, white the speedometer is on a maniac street revolution.

Preacher, preacher, don’t be hasty! Mama told me not to come but who could resist the jingling and jangling of walking aimlessly around with you.

We dot necessarily need to commandeer a van or plane. But we will need a good pair of shoes.

And taking pictures out from a plane’s window is just cliche, it will be like askin your pastor, “have you ever seen the rain? Amen.”

Let us just sing of transport, motorways and tram lines with a smile drawn on our face, covering it with a handmade
notebook, and we will smile with only our eyes.

Look at the grass that says when the wind picks it up, a flirt ever so slightly, until the fiddler grasshopper, always on a journey, springs in and gate crashes the moonlit party.

We will travel like Perec did.

We will travel like Proust did, with his mind in the crux of a Madeleine..

We will travel like Marco Polo, and the first time we ever heard his last name, was when Mother bought us a roll of mints to quell our childish desires at the mamastore. Till this day, that desire rears its super-size head at French fries.

If we can play it dangerously, the year of living it all dangerously, we will not purchase that air-ticke to Reykavijk. It is all 101 methods from start to stop, taking off and landings, the best we can do is to ignore the pull of Iceland, and quick-say our Hallelujahs in my powdered-floor room. We should throw in a victory dance too.

But you know I will travel with you one of these days.

And this time I promise we won’t get stranded.

Because I am planning to grow wigs just for our trip(s).

By Kenny Leck

A poem dedicated to Chinese New Year

Dong Dong Dong Chiang

Dong Dong Dong Chiang

Dong Dong Dong Chiang

Dong Chiang Dong Chiang

Once again is that familiar tune,

resounding in my head endlessly.

Yes, its the arrival of Chinese New Year,

Yet, there is not one bit of excitement.

The usual ritual of collecting Ang Baos

And exchanging of oranges.

Yes, these are the Chinese traditions that i am accustomed to,

Especially being brought up in a Chinese family.

Dong Dong Dong Chiang

Dong Dong Dong Chiang

Dong Dong Dong Chiang

Dong Chiang Dong Chiang

Its the prancing lion and flying dragon,

How i wished i am not disturb from my beauty sleep.

Rant by Chua Tian Li (03/11)

Sarah Kay: If I should have a daughter … (by TEDtalksDirector) Interesting poem. Enjoy! :)