#i had cambridge-level grades

[immortalsins]

was thinking of using this account for study-related stuff bc what else do i have to talk about (lie; i have interests and hobbies. being an idiot i have chosen to get an MEng in pain & suffering) but my uni is as ugly as the rest of this city so i have no chance of fitting in with the aesthetically pleasing degree crowd here

[anthonys237thfreckle]

i need need need headcanons for anthony with a gf who’s like got a career in STEM and she’s super smart and as an actor he’s amazed by her lmao.

this is so cute! thanks anon

I’m looking for a woman in STEM - Anthony Ramos x F! Reader

prompt: headcanons for Anthony who’s girlfriend is in STEM - i’ve picked biomed for a degree since my mom wanted me to do biomed in high school

TW: mentions of academic stress and panic attacks, mention of drugs used in medicine, mention of mental illness

🔬 when you both first met, and he first asked for where you graduated from, let me tell you - mans did NOT expect you to say ‘Cambridge’

🔬 ‘Oh, so like Cambridge College in Massachusetts?’

🔬 This man omg

🔬 When you said ‘No, England’ he felt goosebumps cause like ‘geez louise CAMBRIDGE?’ and when you casually said you did biomed he was like ‘wait what-’

🔬 ‘Me? Oh, I did Musical Theatre’ he says matter of factly, and you’d add ‘Oh, I played piano when I was in elementary-’

🔬 You’d be the definition of a perfect golden child. He knows that couldn’t have been easy

🔬 When you two do start dating, he’s always bragging ‘Oh my girlfriend does lab research for this new supplement for this drug for schizophrenia in children-’ HE’S A PRO YAPPER. Especially in interviews.

🔬 He’s so proud of everything you’ve done - doing medicinal research at NYMC (New York Medical College)

🔬 Maybe in the winter as you two are baking (you always make sure the measurements are perfect, never letting him measure anything out lol) he always says baking is an ‘art’

🔬 ‘Actually babe, it’s chemistry’ you’d chuckle, taking a bite out of some gingerbread cookies, and ever since, he’s jokingly kept a lab coat and goggles and chides you for ‘not tying your hair in the lab’.

🔬 You’d tell him about how hard high school and college was for you, having to get a scholarship, going to British private schools because the medicine industry is mad competitive and honestly, you need to show something off in your application.

🔬 You’d tell him how even though you did Cambridge IGCSE and A level courses all throughout high school, it was no match for what England had in store for you - panic attacks became a weekly thing.

🔬 I mean, you did Pure Math, Biology, Chemistry and Psychology A and AS levels for gods sake - its an absolute mindfuck.

🔬 He’s always there to reassure her how smart she is and that she’s human no matter what - that college is over, and the drug trials will end up great, and a bunch of kids will get some damn good medication.

🔬 He LOVES it when you come watch his shows and movies. It means the absolute world to him.

🔬 Soon, he kind of drifted away from theatre after Hamilton, and started in film, and would always get super excited whenever he’d get some remotely science-y role.

🔬 Like in In Treatment, he’d come to you for help for some advice on his role, on some deeper level analysis (not as deep as an actual therapist guys, just a psych student level) and you’d be squealing with pride when you see him on TV.

🔬 And when he got into the more Sci-Fi movies like Transformers, he’d tell you ‘it’s not that deep, baby.’ whenever he’d catch your brows furrow in confusion at the misuse of a niche scientific term

🔬 He’d be so happy when he landed Twisters, even though you weren’t a meteorology student, your use of organic chemistry would def have some revelations when watching Kate use some form of polycarbonate.

🔬 ‘they’re right! they use silver iodide for cloud seeding!” you’d giggle.

🔬 affectionately calls you ‘nerd’ all the time.

— for anyone not british, igcse is from grades 9-10 and a levels are a bit like AP! but like they have a lot of depth. you’re not expected to do more than three.

[nolshru]

so, I failed to meet the requirements of my offer to get into Cambridge univeristy, which like, sucks, I legitimately had everything done except for the getting the required grades

there's an issue with the grades that I was asked to get though, they were like... fucking insane

in order to have gotten in, I would've needed A1, A2, A2 in my advanced highers, those being a scottish qualification where... basically nobody gets scores like that

they had equated A levels and advanced highers, either because they didn't care to actually look into the difference, or because they wanted to have fewer scottish students there, either way it's a pretty bad look imo

I still messed up though, like, A2, A2, C5 is not great (the C5 is English, which like, was horribly taught, but still, the other 2 which I was confident in being A2 sucks)

[sayitaliano]

I was thinking at how someone reminding us of our worth can be fundamental at times (or us doing it) and I suddenly remembered my high school English teacher: she's been with us for 4 years, guiding us through from middle school to high school. I'm still pretty sorry she had to change school on our last year, I would have really loved to thank her properly for all she did (for me specifically ofc) and salute her… but that's how things go sometimes.

Anyway, during that 4th year our school gave us students the chance to take the exam for the FIRST Certificate in English by collaborating with the Cambridge University. They held afterschool courses as well to prepare us properly, but in all honesty… it all was pretty expensive. I thought: "I want to give it a try. If I pass well that's great, and if I don't… whatever, I tried. But it would bug me a lot to spend all those money in case it won't go well". So I decided to sign in for the exam but avoid the courses. My parents basically agreed 100% with my thought (they didn't show too much enthusiasm about the exam either: I think they didn't even know what it was about), while my teacher immediately told me: "If someone can make it this way, it's you" and she told me this in such a confident way that I had to believe her. She also helped me a lot, giving me further homework and making me work a lot more in class as well (I was the one in charge of reading, chatting and solving most of the exercises during lessons).

What you may not know is that during middle school (3 years) I had only studied French, and the few months of English I had done during the last 2 years of primary school, had basically entirely vanished from my mind (except for a lullaby I still remember? lol). I basically had to start all over. And by this I mean that even pronouncing "business" has been a big deal during my first year (especially the first 6 months: I kept using french words/accent here and there). But she had been so patient and helpful, suggesting me to listen to music (with lyrics/translating them and singing), and making it all easier and better, putting me at work without having me notice it or feeling the weight of it all/feeling targeted. And encouraging me a lot also with grades. And you know, in my 4th year I made it. I took the FIRST exam and passed it with C1.

Funnily enough my friends, who had joined the courses too, passed with A2 and B1: this for a while confused me and made me think I made it with the bare minimum (I wrongly considered A the top level LOL)… it was only after few years that I realized the truth. And yet I couldn't say thank you to my teacher for believing in me and in my potential so badly. But at times we realize what happened and what we did only after years and that's okay. I hope y'all had/have/will have someone like her in your life too.

And just in case... I'm here with this story to tell you that you can make it too: don't give up. Keep working and experimenting with the best way for you to study/learning, keep practicing and you will make it (ofc this works also for other aspects of life, not just languages ;) ). I really really believe in you.

[yourstrulyarrow]

i'm gonna get no responses to this but if anyone reads this and likes giving advice PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

so i just finished my GCSEs, and i can't decide which school i want to do A-levels at (for non-brits: did qualifications after turning 16, U minimum grade, 4 pass grade, 9 max grade. i can't decide what school to go to for my pre-uni qualifications). doing psychology, biology, maths, and further maths.

OPTION A: my current school. i'm pretty out about being trans, and although i went around asking teachers to use different pronouns for me 2-3 years ago, most don't because they keep forgetting (i don't pass, and the picture of me on the school register they see every day is when i was 11 and very fem-presenting). i have 1 teacher that uses they/them for me (i only use he/him pronouns, they/them is ok because it's not she/her, but i don't like it much). they were okay with my name change, but my school email has my deadname's initial since you can't change an email. i haven't gotten a response yet about whether i can have a new email for sixth form (i'll update when i do). they have zero clue what a trans person even is, they "officially" think i'm non-binary (i'm not, i'm a binary trans guy) but zero teachers were informed of this hence the issue with pronouns. my head of year didn't know i'm trans, and he was awkwardly trying to not offend me by "not assuming" i'm trans. i've been there 5 years and i generally have not had a very nice time, BUT they did let me use the disabled changing room rather than forcing me to go with the girls or the guys back when PE was mandatory (in year 11 they let everyone change in the toilets/whenever during lunch, so no issues there). they're understanding and sympathetic i think, just a bit ignorant. they refused to let teachers sign my deed poll to avoid "getting between [me] and [my mum]", despite using my preferred name in all correspondence anyways (so if there was a problem they would know... ironically all correspondence misgenders me). they give year 12s/13s detentions (which i disagree with... if a sixth former is late or doesn't do their homework that is THEIR PROBLEM and they should be left to deal with the consequences. if they're not responsible enough...), don't let sixth formers attend only for lessons (i.e. 8:30am start even if you don't have lessons until 9:50am or 11:30am, can't leave if you don't have a lesson. can leave for lunch but not break, and only once you gain permission). their school counsellor found about about my mother's abuse of me, and decided to get a social worker called to my house, creating huge problems for me, and when the social worker decided the situation was "resolved", she decided to send the document with EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT MY ABUSIVE MOTHER... *TO MY MOTHER*. it was hideous. i really really like the maths teacher here, the way he explains things is top-tier, but i'm not guaranteed to get him. i'm attached to the psychology teacher (and she's very lovely, i've had issues with splitting where i swap between "she's my mother" (positive, as in "i wish i was her kid") and "she's the worst teacher and a backstabber i hate her". but after some careful analysis i was greatly overreacting, she's amazing). i like my biology teacher (also not guaranteed to get him, he's very nice though and he likes me and is supportive of me being trans!!). they also have 1 trans teacher (i think he does maths) who could be helpful to me when i do my EPQ, as i'm definitely going to do it on some kind of transgender topic. i'd also have already-established friends, i'm okay with most of the girls with my year but a lot of the guys don't like me much (trans and i was very annoying when i was 11 and they never forgave me). the guys who are chill with me are mostly going to option c school :(

OPTION B: school near-ish me with same sort of grades as current school. they're about the same grades-wise and in terms of oxbridge offers (i want to go to cambridge). their psychology spec is the same as my gcse psychology spec, which you'd think is a net positive but oh dear lord it is so boring. i don't want to re-learn some gcse content. we had our induction day and i don't like the psychology teacher :(. also i got called out for being autistic as fuck (not diagnosed, but peer-reviewed) in our induction day session because she made us do a thing about recognising facial expressions and i got it completely wrong. it made me feel really shit and stupid because i'm not diagnosed or anything ://. i also don't really vibe with the biology teacher, the maths teacher seems chill though. this school is a LOT bigger than my current, and they have a whole separate building/cafeteria/etc. for sixth formers. good because it means i dont have to see the little kids but also there's wayyy more people, kinda scary :/. also i have 1 friend who says she'll go to either option a or b depending on where i go so we can be together (if i choose option c, she'll go to a as one of our other friends is going to a). they have really good lab facilities for the sciences though so i'm not sure?? also public transport is better to there, but distance is similar to option a. big thing for me driving me to consider this school is they have a "transition policy" for trans kids, they know what transgender means, they have a whole system, they understand having the wrong name on exams and stuff can be distressing, etc etc.

option c: amazing school, slightly far. ok so omg i REALLYREALLY want to go to c but the problem is my first mock grades weren't good enough :(( 999988876 + L2D (btec is in business). in last mock, i got 999999996 + L2D. also a distinction in english speaking. so clearly i'm academically capable enough to go there, right?? the 6 is in art, i recently got my raw mark back and it's an 8 (1 mark off a 9). my coursework for business i got 107/120, that's not amazing but i think i can maybe maybe get a L2D* in it anyways? they don't have a very casual atmosphere, it's very much study study study, but i don't mind because the school gets such amazing grades. really good maths department, but they make kids learn all of maths a-level in year12 and then all of fm a-level in y13 (if doing both), treating it as 1 combined a-level. routinely 20+ oxbridge offers every year. a few of my friends are going to option c as well, including a guy who got about the same grades as me in the first mock but lives closer so he got n offer :(. no policies on trans kids so i don't know how they are in this regard. i don't have an offer for this school, i'm on the waitlist, but ppl who got rejected were told if they email on results day with much higher outcome grades than their application, they can get in (subject to spaces left). so there's a small chance if i get all 9s and an 8 or something maybe i can go there??? i'd have to basically get on my knees and beg though.

so anyways, option a, b, or c, and why??

[iampresent]

Hey. Hey you. C’mere! I have something wonderful to tell you about the  language of Latin, and specifically how it was taught in the Cambridge Elevate Latin textbook.  

Ready?

Ok so in Latin, the diminutive of any word ends in -ulus.  Basically it just adds the word “little” behind the noun.  Best example of this? “homo” means “man/person” (the species, not the gender, that’s “vir”) in Latin. “homunculus” means “little man” in Latin. Which is just a wonderful fact in and of itself. Like c’mon that’s so fun to say. You’re a homunculus. no YOU’RE a homunculus. everyone here is a homunculus. homunculus homunculus homunculus.

But that’s not the best part. Not by a long shot.

So, it’s kinda hard to teach a dead language. You can’t do a lot of conversational skills and learning, because there aren’t a ton of sources to explain how the language was spoken casually. Now, you could just make them read all the super famous Latin texts we have, but those do have a pretty high level of advancement and also happen to be about as exciting to your average high schooler as “explain your answer” math problems.

So, what is a classics course that wants to make absolutely stupendous amounts of money to do??

Well, if you’re the Cambridge Elevate Latin Course, you create one long storyline over the course of four books which goes from “astonishingly heart wrenching familial tragedy” to “surprisingly xenophobic narrative of life on the streets of Alexandria” to “extremely out-of-pocket political intrigue” to “telenovela” faster than you can say “Sed Caecilius non respondit”. None of these stories are particularly well written, but they are much more intense than you would expect of a language textbook for middle and high schoolers.

anyway, cut to my 10th grade Latin class, right as we were beginning the “political intrigue but everyone is a complete dumbass” section of the course. And one of the grammar concepts for that stage was diminutives.  As I hope I’ve already established, the storyline was completely fucking batshit insane. We were used to it. We could handle absurdity, my class could. We reveled in it. So there we were, reading about the British chieftain A who crashed the king’s dinner party with a *partially* tamed bear, in order to kill/maim/severely embarrass British chieftain B, because B had had the audacity to beat A in a boat race. In my opinion, we were taking it with relatively straight faces, all things considered.

But when British Chieftain B called A “homunculus”? 

We lost it. We completely, absolutely LOST. IT. It was one of the best moments of my life.

Anyway, my teacher is switching her freshmen onto a different textbook next year, for SOME REASON, which I frankly think is pretty swagless of her.

[houseofbrat]

1 of 2: I wonder what will happen with the Charles/Camilla hating contingent when Charles shows his balls at his coronation and doesn't hand over the keys to the Commonwealth or anything else of value to his son and his wife. That not everything is a PR move. That Camilla is his freaking queen and will people respect that, please? That Bermuda's government diss and showing a bunch of well-wishers behind a chainlink fence is NOT due to Charles or Camilla, but to a failure of W&K's advance team.

2/2 Remember the begrudging acknowledgment that Charles didn't screw up the Queen's funeral. That the Jubilee went off without a hitch. Do people think a woman suffering from bone cancer was behind all that planning? That Charles is stupid (I've just read this). The cash grab for charities is, of course, an issue, but what I've read over the last week has me thinking that there should now be a name for the Charles haters because this level of delusional vitriol is now similar to Markle's sugars.

Yup!

What gets me about the Cambridges'/Waleses' Caribbean tour last year is that it wasn't really that bad. Yet certain hardcore fans/stans acted as if the UK press reaction was reality, which therefore could only have been the fault of Charles & everyone working at Clarence House.

I'd give that tour grades like this: Belize A-, Bermuda Jamaica B, Bahamas A. Overall tour B+.

My only gripe with Belize was that the first planned stop was cancelled due to a small protest. I don't think it was ever confirmed who made the cancellation decision. If it was the government of Belize, then I'd raise them up to an A.

But that Bermuda photo with the chain link fence? OMG. That photo is such a huge pr fail. It can be brought out to haunt them for the rest of their lives. It doesn't matter that the people on both sides of the fence are happy with smiling faces. It's not a good look. And no one working for KP took the time to move Will & Kate away from the fence! The 2019 Pakistan tour was a smashing success! Did everyone from that tour quit before spring 2022? The contrast is just gobsmacking.

But back to the crazy stans. I don't know what to call them. It seems clear to me that they cannot handle anyone else being treated favorably other than their faves. As if it should only be legal to fawn over Will & Kate, never the current King & Queen of the UK.

It's why I posted that reddit comment about Kate & Pippa being friends with Camilla's daughter, Laura. I read that comment when it was posted a couple of months ago. (Didn't bookmark it but I had to search forever to find it yesterday.) That comment explains so much. Laura is close in age to Kate, and both ran in the same friend circles. It's not surprising that they would be friends. It easily explains why Kate and Camilla get along so well. Kate was friends with Laura. Laura is only four years older than Kate, so not a huge age difference there. But Laura has worked as an art curator. Kate has her degree in art history. They have common interests!

Kate and Laura are adults and act like it. Some of Kate's crazy stans...not so much.

[totheseok]

to all the kids who have gcse, igcse or A level results tomorrow

GOOD LUCK

i know how stressful it can be, ive had to deal with the night before result cambridge result day, but trust me itll all work out

AND

no matter how they go remember YOU are worth MORE than your grades and as long as you did your best thats all that matters

along with that there is ALWAYS room for growth and improvement you just need to believe in yourself!!!

[mattnben-bennmatt]

Casey Affleck in New York in May. Photo: Alexia Barroso.

Casey Affleck interview w/ The Wall Street Journal (30 July 2024)

Casey Affleck on Living With Matt Damon and Ben Affleck—and Feeling Like an Outsider

Co-star of ‘The Instigators’ talks about his alcoholic father, what kids’ AA meetings taught him about role-playing and his ‘Price Is Right’ hot tub.

By Marc Myers

-

Casey Affleck, 48, is an Oscar-winning actor best known for his roles in “Manchester by the Sea,” “Gone Baby Gone” and “Oppenheimer.” He co-wrote and co-stars in the heist film “The Instigators,” which will stream on Apple TV+ starting Aug. 9. He spoke with Marc Myers.

Early home life was a wild and unmonitored experience. I grew up in the late ’70s and ’80s on a slightly rundown street in a sweet neighborhood in Cambridge, Mass. Our area off Central Square was ethnically diverse and blue collar.

My father was many wonderful things, but his alcoholism took him from us for many years. As a result, my mother was a single mom for much of my childhood.

Affleck with his mother, Chris, in Westwood, Calif., in 2000. Photo: Ron Galella Collection/Getty Images

My family lived in a two-story clapboard house. My mother rented out the space above us. Many houses had three generations living at home, and families survived from paycheck to paycheck. Everyone was in the same situation.

My mom was an elementary school teacher. She worked long hours, so my older brother, Ben, and I saw her mostly before and after dinner, when she’d grade papers and we’d do homework. My dad was a janitor, a mechanic and a bartender. Before I was born, he was a stage manager at the Theater Company of Boston. 

In my early years, I attended AA meetings for kids who had a parent who was an addict. The goal was to help me understand what was happening and to cope. We’d re-enact at-home scenarios—behaving like your addicted parent to better grasp the problem and express your feelings. This role-playing was my first unintended exposure to acting.

Eventually, my dad’s drinking and erratic behavior led to my parents’ divorce when I was 9. Mom, Ben and I remained in our house while my dad moved to various places.

My mother placed an emphasis on education, so Ben and I had to maintain some level of academic standards. As a kid, I was a class-clown extrovert and got into lots of trouble because of it. 

When I was 10, my mom was a tutor for child actors on PBS educational programs. We went to Mexico for nearly a year and traveled throughout the country and the Yucatán Peninsula with a PBS TV series. My horizons broadened.

After we returned to Cambridge, my mom’s best friend, Patty Collinge, took an interest in me. She was a casting director with two daughters my age who became two of my best friends. Patty would take us to film sets to be extras so she could keep an eye on us. 

Affleck, left, at age 11, and at age 4. Casey Affleck (Family Photo)

I never had plans to become an actor, but in high school, I had a great drama teacher, Gerry Speca. He gave me most of the tools I use now.

He’d arrive at 7:30 a.m. and stayed most nights until 8 or 9. He was brilliant, selfless and could be hard on us. I think he initially saw me as a mediocre performer who was a bit of a wiseass. I didn’t get good parts until I was a senior. 

Gerry also encouraged us to write our own plays. We did months of skits and improv scenes. Then he put all that stuff together, and we competed in the New England Drama Festival. Everything I’ve been able to do I can attribute to the process that Gerry taught me.

Acting just happened. As soon as I graduated from high school, my best friend and I drove to California and saw everything in between. In L.A., we lived with a bunch of people from Cambridge, including Ben and Matt Damon, but I still felt like an outsider.

From left, Ben Affleck, Matt Damon and Casey Affleck at Damon’s birthday party in the late 1980s. Photo: Casey Affleck (Family Photo)

I spent 1994 in L.A. auditioning for roles that I didn’t get and working as a busboy in a brewery. I decided to go to college. I did two years, total, at Columbia University. I also auditioned for acting jobs to earn enough to pay the next semester’s tuition. But as acting work picked up, I faded on college. Now I wish I hadn’t. 

The turning point in my acting career was the 2007 film “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford,” in which I played Ford. I began that role by trying to understand the person who had killed James. To do so, I had to understand the darkness in myself.

Clockwise from top left: Casey Affleck in ‘The Assassination of Jesse James’ (2007); in ‘Gone Baby Gone’ (2007); in ‘The Instigators’ (2024), right, with Matt Damon; and in his Oscar-winning role in ‘Manchester by the Sea’ (2016), leaning on Kyle Chandler’s shoulder. Everett Collection (3); Apple

Today, I live in the same four-bedroom French Norman house in East L.A. that I bought in 2005.

My dad eventually went into rehab and became sober. Over the years I’ve come to appreciate and love him more and more. He is incredibly strong, of great character, extremely funny and very smart. I owe him and my mom a lot.

Their chief concern is whether I’m happy. On the acting side, the answer is never easy for me. As for my family, I love being a parent more than anything. 

Casey’s Hot Tub

“The Instigators”? I play Cobby, who, with a group of Boston thieves, attempts to pull off an election-night heist as a therapist tags along.

Downtime? I love being on my two kids’ schedules when they stay over.

Meaning? I make them lunch, take them to school, pick them up, do stuff after school, make dinner and hear about their day.

Pastime? I play on a baseball team and write a lot.  

Splurge? I bought a hot tub from a “Price Is Right” contestant who didn’t want it. It’s big and ugly, but I am kind of star struck by it. I even added a cold plunge.

Appeared in the August 2, 2024, print edition as 'From a Boston Pack To an L.A. Outsider'.

[starlingsrps]

dorothea "dorey" mason, twenty five, code-breaker // au: at the end of the world

dorey is not nearly as much of a stick in the mud as she might appear but she does have resting bitchface and a very serious job so sometimes. but there is a war on.

dorey is a dorothea and she was raised comfortably middle class in clapham by people who were on the fringes of bohemia but went straight after having their first child, jessamine. bloomsbury turned into clapham, writing jobs turned into teaching and keeping house and as the children kept coming, the names became less bohemian. jessamine (34) was followed by caspian (33), then dorothea and then finally, exhausted, jane (23).

dorey is very glad she's not jessa or cas. dorey is enough.

dorey came along once her father had become principal of a boy's school in clapham and the only remnants of their bohemian past were a certain liberality in the education of their children and encouraging them to do whatever made them happy. jessa was and is a talented artist, cas breeds horses in ireland, jane is studying to become a doctor, and dorey does math for both fun and a living.

she was always the studious one in her family and if her parents stopped being able to make heads or tails of her math homework before she hit puberty, they were still supportive. she won a scholarship to newnham college at cambridge and holds a double first in mathematics (but no degree because fun fact cambridge didn't give those to women until 1948. no she's not holding a grudge!).

by the time she finished, the war had started and as absolutely no war jobs held much appeal to her (weak ankles, too many years in a library), she was recruited to the government code and cypher school and eventually moving to bletchley park. there were a few frustrating weeks where she was primarily doing clerical work before being assigned to hut six as a codebreaker on army and air force engima deciphering.

(and if i have to dip any deeper, i am above both my pay grade and intelligence level)

dorey is very good at her work and take a lot of pride in it. she's always enjoyed puzzles and there's nothing like the rush of breaking a code. she's been called to the war office a few times and while she knows she's not going to get any kind of major recognition for her work, the pride is what keeps her working.

make no mistake, that does not mean she's accepted it. like the denial of a full degree, the lack of recognition chafes at her. as a result, she sometimes take herself too seriously. she presents herself well, never a hair out of place and always keeps her composure. it takes a lot to ruffle her. she's determined and stubborn and does not do a task unless she can do it with her full attention.

despite all of this, she is tender deep down. she's very close to her family and stays with jessa when she's in london (clapham's too far from the war office). she keeps a steady correspondence with cas in ireland and jane in america and while she worries that she's doomed to be the maiden aunt, she knows that they'll always love her. she can be sweet and thoughtful when she isn't in her head but until the war is over: she's got work to do and that comes first always.

[aindreisblythe]

✨ Aindreis Blythe 🪐

"Does the sun ask itself ‘Am I good? Am I worthwhile? Is there enough of me?’ No, it burns and shines."

Name: Aindreis Kenneth Oliver Blythe

Nicknames: Andy, Dreis.

Date and place of birth: 10th December, 1989 in Summerside, Prince Edward Island (Canada).

Gender identity: cisgender male, he/him.

Residential area: Downtown, East Haven.

Occupation: Project manager/event planner at Gemini.

In East Haven since: beginning of March 2023

Faceclaim: Logan Lerman.

Wanted Connections - Living Space

Biography

Trigger warnings: alcoholism.

Aindreis Kenneth Oliver Blythe sees light for the very first time on December 10th 1989 in Summerside’s General Hospital, the second biggest on Canada’s smallest province, Prince Edward Island. He’s the second of what would become 5 brothers. Daniél, Aindreis, Tomàs, Ethan and Ianathan. Only three of them would be born on PEI. Indeed, as Tomàs, 7 years younger than Aindreis, was approaching his first birthday, their father, Neil, got the opportunity to go back to Inverness and take over his retiring father’s fishing company. So they did, they left Canada behind for Bonny Scotland. Aindreis was almost 8 when he put down his little suitcase in his brand new room, in an almost new country where the accent was funny to his young ear. He had never been a tall child, and he was lean, and having skipped a grade, he always found himself among bigger kids. It wasn’t easy, and now he was going to be the new kid. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

Turns out that he didn’t have to. Turns out that Inverness wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. His cousins were around, and he met a best friend, Ali, the only kid who decided he was interesting enough to sit next to at the camp fire. Inverness slowly turned into a home, and Andy couldn’t ask for more. His family was complicated and getting crowded, but he wouldn’t change them for anything in the world. Scotland was more welcoming than he thought, and it sometime reminded him of PEI. Came even a surprising moment when his lips unexpectedly met Ali’s. He’d never thought too much about dating before that, but the unasked question had found an answer. An answer that stayed secret, hidden, to Aindreis’s sadness, but it didn’t matter. He was able to hold his hand at lunch behind the bleachers and maybe that could be enough.

But Richard Siken was right when he wrote “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Ali left first. Andy didn’t understand. Well, he was never given a head’s up or an answer afterwards. His best friend, his boyfriend, just didn’t dare even meet his eyes in school hallways, and Andy was lost. The rest of high school went by with dimmed colours, but the graduated from his A-levels first of his class. Now, he could leave Inverness and all the memories, good and bad.

Stars. Andy’s passions had always been the stars, the universe, space, you name it. So he was trying to get closer to them. Astronaut was never his calling. Nasa, maybe one day. Right now, he was heading to Cambridge University on a fellowship for a degree in physics, with a minor in astronomy. It was his dream… And he threw it away. Looking back, it was a combination of so many things. Freshers week and student parties, a bit of lying to oneself that was we’re doing is definitely not a problem, Cambridge University’s tendency to ask troubled students to isolate as to not disturb the studies of others, a “predisposition for substance abuse” as the doctor said after diagnosing him with ADHD during the three long months he spend in rehab after being kicked out of university for being drunk in class.

Sobriety didn’t last long once he left. And he did leave. Roaming around Europe then Canada, spending less than a year in each place, taking on every small job he could. He stopped fleeing at the sight of every serious thing, every problem, everyone in Toronto. Toronto where he stayed longer than anywhere else. 2 years. One of which he spend with his new boyfriend. Relationship he threw away as he threw away 10 month of sobriety, imposed by a dilemma. Me or the alcohol. The alcohol, Caleb, you lose. Andy did lose too. Back to square one, he thought as he stepped back into a rehabilitation centre.

You may wonder where he went next. He went back to the green field and colourful boats of Inverness. It felt like a failure at the time, but it was the best decision he’s ever made. A decision that lead him to here, to coming to East Haven This time, moving wasn’t running from something or someone, he was coming towards a new job, and a new life with found-again love far from old memories. A new adventure.

[oldbutnotyetwise]

The View From Where I Sit

     My perspective has changed over the last year, both literally and figuratively.  A year ago I was walking around, albeit with a slight limp, with no idea what was waiting up ahead for me.  Now, less than a year later, I am confined to a wheelchair.  I assure you, it is a pretty drastic perspective shift.

     One of the definitions of perspective is “a point of view”.  My point of view has changed from someone who stood around 6’2” to someone who now is always seated and views life from somewhere around 4’.  I’m not sure, looking at life from 4’, was that where I was in Grade 4 or 5?  One of my few attractive traits to the opposite sex over the years was my height, it allowed my date to wear high heels if she chose to, and I would still be taller than her.  Just another box that I no longer would receive a check mark in.

     Previously when we went out shopping together and would part ways, my wife just had to stand still and look around and she would see my head wandering in one of the aisles.  Now when she loses sight of me she has to walk along the ends of aisles to see where I have rolled myself to.  This is further aggravated by the fact my dear sweet wife is a worrier if she hasn’t seen me for a few minutes there is a panic that arises in her similar to a mother who has lost a four year old toddler in a Super Store.  This also applies to loud noises around the condo, any bang, bump or crash brings her running from the other room, as she enters her eyes sweep the floor expecting to see me sprawled out and helpless.  What she normally sees is me looking down at whatever I have dropped, perhaps using some inappropriate language while I ponder if I really needed whatever it is that is now laying on the floor out of my reach. 

     My need to be in a wheelchair also brings with it a constant condition of dehydration.  You see if I need to pee it is a big deal, I can’t just pop into a nearby restaurant or even just go and pee behind a tree.  More often than not the restaurant will not be accessible, or if it is, the washroom won’t be.  Do you know how many restaurants I look at enviably wishing I could try them out, but the step, or steps at the front door may as well be the Berlin Wall.  So the point being, I limit my liquid intake so when I go out I won’t be in a urinary crisis.  We walk our dogs three or four times a day, I can almost hear them snickering at me as they casually squat and pee wherever and whenever they want to go.  I’ve even had to forgo my treasured after lunch tea for fear it will interfere with the afternoon dog walk. 

     When we lived up north we had our go to restaurant, Match, at the North Bay Casino.  It had good food, good service, decent prices and was totally accessible with an accessible washroom.  We haven’t found a comparable place in the Cambridge area yet.  We recently took my wife’s daughter out for her birthday dinner.  The call was made ahead of time to the restaurant and they said yes they were “Accessible”.  We arrive and roll up to the front door, no automatic door opener.  The door gets held open but there is a ridge at the front door that the wheelchair can’t get over.  A fellow customer is kind enough to help get me and the chair through the door with me feeling like the spectacle I very much have become.  We have our dinner, and everything goes smoothly but then I need the washroom before we go.  I go to the accessible washroom but it is locked, I wait and wait and things are approaching Crisis Level and I am desperate enough to try to get myself into the regular washroom when the Accessible washroom door opens and out walks our able-bodied waiter who has just had the dump of the century.  He can’t even look at me, and I am seriously angry because I had already paid the bill and given him a good tip which I wish I could now take back.   

My wife’s favourite restaurant is Swiss Chalet, as you approach you will see the friendly wheelchair sticker in the window, they even have the buttons to open the front door, so can someone explain to me why there is no automatic door opener on the washroom? Just picture for a second me in my manual wheelchair, I need both hands on the wheels, having only one hand on the wheel you will just be going around in circles, so if both hands are on the wheels how am I going to open the heavy bathroom door, especially on the way back out when the door opens in?

     You see places call themselves accessible, stick the handicapped sticker up at the front of their establishment, but they really aren’t and to the best of my knowledge there are no set standards that are enforced as to what “accessible” really is.  So I will be that dehydrated guy sitting in the corner the restaurant that has no stairs, but I will be sulking because I can’t have a beer because ….. well we all know that as quickly beer goes in, it comes out.

     When we had to leave our northern home I wanted to go somewhere else where no one knew me.  I didn’t want my old friends and coworkers seeing this retired detective, runner, hiker, dog walker rolling around in a wheelchair.  I am in a new city, I’m just that guy in a wheelchair that is often seen out walking, I use this term very loosely, with his dogs, wife and/or daughter.  No one knows me and I kind of like that anonymity as more and more of my body stops working.  

     A very dear friend has loaned me her old electric wheelchair as she has a new one.  First thing you need to know is that these things are the cost of a small car, they tend to run from $25,000 - $45,000.  They are 400 pound monsters capable of doing much damage if you are not careful.  Within about thirty seconds of trying it out for the first time I ripped the end piece off the kitchen island in our new condo because I hadn’t noticed one of the foot rests had turned out.  So far I have managed not to drive it through any of the glass doors in our Condo building.   Now all those nice sloped sidewalks that look like they are designed for wheelchairs, not all of them are.  I am constantly scraping the bottom of the wheelchair or getting myself stuck when trying to cross streets.  These are things I never would have noticed until I was actually using a wheelchair.  The manual wheelchair which we often use when going out is even worse, the front wheels hit a ridge on the sidewalk or doorway and it is almost like an eject button has been hit as the wheelchair suddenly stops but I’m still going forward.  More often than not I have to go through the doors backwards.  

     I’ve always been quite happy in my role as a wallflower, the guy who isn’t really noticed and who just sits back and watches everything that is going on.  Well those days are gone, there is nothing at all discreet about a 6’2” guy sitting on a 400 pound power wheelchair.  There is no getting around it, I am now a spectacle.  One day as my wife was helping me into my wheelchair she spotted someone on the restaurant patio who appeared to be taking our picture.  I was tempted to go up and offer to pose for him if he was so interested in taking my picture but chose instead to just ignore it.  I tend to be a pretty observant person so I see the looks when people think I don’t notice.  Now I admit I have no idea what they are thinking when they look at me, is it pity, curiosity, compassion or perhaps discomfort at being so close to the disabled person.  The point is, I miss the anonymity of blending in and not being noticed.

     I will tell you about a recent visit to an Ikea store, a place that I mistakenly presumed would be “accessible” because they are such a forward thinking store.  I attempted to use two of their Accessible washrooms, neither was big enough for me to get off my wheelchair and use the toilet.  One of them had such a sharp turn going into the washroom I managed to get myself lodged in the doorway because besides the sharp turn, I was also trying to hold the door open as there were no automatic door opener.  Yes I was making a scene, jammed in the bathroom door, trying to dislodge myself while people were standing there waiting to get in.  The other thing I was constantly was turning down aisles only to find them blocked by merchandise on skids causing me to have to back out because there isn’t room for me to turn around.  I don’t know that I will return to an Ikea store anytime soon.  I emailed Ikea to tell them of my experience when I visited their store, but never received a reply.

     Our new Condo is right beside a rather large theatre that would appear to have some good shows coming up.  My dear wife is working so hard I thought it would be nice to take her to the upcoming show but there aren’t many seats left, and there certainly aren’t any “accessible” seats left.  In the old days I would have just bought those tickets even if the seats were in the middle of the row, that’s not possible anymore.  Lyle Lovett is coming to the next town over soon, I’ve always wanted to see him perform in person, but to be honest, the thought of being in a wheelchair, surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of people makes me pretty uncomfortable.  So once again I will be staying home.

     Now those are some of the negative things I have encountered so far, but I have also experienced much kindness from friends but also from strangers. The truck driver that sees me waiting to cross a busy street and pulls his truck across two lanes to block traffic so I can get across.  The cars in the long stream of traffic that stop, again blocking traffic so I can cross.  These aren’t one time things, these are things that happen frequently.  The people who hold the doors open for me, or hold the elevator, yes maybe they would do that even if I wasn’t in a wheelchair but I think I am shown more kindness because of the wheelchair.  All the incredible kind, caring people involved with the  Sunnybook Hospital, ALS Society, all the care people that have looked after me so well up until this point.  So many amazing people I would have never met if not on this challenging journey.

     Some former work colleagues and friends came and we all went out for lunch wandering downtown (they wandered, I rolled).  We were enjoying our visit and not paying attention as the sky turned dark and a torrential downpour started.  Now normally you would call an Uber or Cab, and they could have, I even encouraged them to, but they refused because they didn’t want to leave me racing through the rain in the wheelchair on my own.  One friend got a large garbage bag to help keep my seat dry and then we rushed back to the Condo and upon arrival we were all drenched…but we were also laughing and I was grateful, these three friends know how important it is to stand by your friend, through thick and thin, wet and dry.

     A rather sad note, travelling in the power wheelchair does not fool my iPhone into thinking that I am walking.  For the guy who once would average around 10,000 steps in a day, my average over this last week is 54 steps a day, and I assure you each one of those steps was exhausting.

     So I am adapting to life at this new lower perspective, and although there are many, many challenges that come with living your life while seated, there are also many good things if you take the time to look for them.  Life is just as beautiful from 4’ as it is at 6’.  Perspective is your point of view, both where you see the world from, as well as how you chose to see the world.

     What goes through your head when you drive or walk by someone in a wheelchair?  Do you ever stop to ponder what your life would be like if you were the one in the wheelchair? 

[elapsed-spiral]

Hello I'm bored so have a very rough and ready Ed/Stede modern AU idea I had but don't currently have time to try and write (not saying I ever will because it’s just indulgent nonsense):

Stede and Ed live in Cambridge (UK edition).

Stede, being a madman, decides he needs a hobby and signs up for an online boxing masterclass (no really those exist).

He decides it's time to make his debut so he heads along to his local boxing club, which specialises in Town v Gown bouts, i.e. matches and training sessions between people who live in Cambridge and people who attend or teach at the University of Cambridge.

Stede thinks it's only fair to describe his skill level as intermediate, what with the certificate he received at the end of the online boxing masterclass.

He is not an intermediate boxer. He gets very punched in the face by Ed, who helps to patch him up afterwards and ribs him about it, saying he just wandered into the club because he craved some class based violence. Stede tells him he can only get away with saying such ridiculous, provocative things because he's attractive (he's only being that candid because of the not-thankfully-a-concussion). Ed says he can get away with such ridiculous, provocative things because he’s attractive and humble. 

Stede goes back the following week. The two dance (and, er, box) around each other for weeks, never quite sharing the details of their lives but connecting nonetheless thanks to their chemistry and how they riff off one another.

Eventually, Ed suggests meeting up for lunch/coffee/etc and Stede suggests a little cafe in town. Ed's never been there before but it’s charming. Stede is flattered, because it's his cafe, actually. Wait, what: Stede’s not a professor? No, no no, he had a midlife crisis, divorced then gave up his estate and now has zero pounds and zero pence but he does sell very tasty Chelsea buns. See? He’s a man of the people!

Well, shit. That’s a bit awkward because Ed kind of isn’t nowadays. He’s a notoriously ruthless barrister who sidelines as a Professor of Contract Law who rarely gives his students anything above a passing grade in examinations.

And that’s the idea. Is this still the pirate show? Barely. Do I enjoy turning it over and over in my head like a cool pebble I found on the beach? Undeniably.

[doublelistofficial]

My introduction in life to the art of seducing

When I was a kid, my mother taught me how to soften my gaze when watching birds so they wouldn’t feel the weight of my attention. This kind of look is just the opposite — a concentrated gaze that lands like a finger, tapping, casting the line of desire until it catches and tugs.

I looked at her, and something activated in me, responding to a set of clues telling me how she wants to be seen. “Look intently,” I told her, “but not for too long, just graze them with it.”

“Whoa,” she said, “careful where you point that!” She looked at me in wonder, and I felt both proud and embarrassed. “Where did you learn to do that?”

I think of myself as someone who has always known how to do this — an intuitive seducer — but my friend’s question invited me to reconsider the origins of the impulse.

Where did I learn it?

There is, of course, the mere fact of my being a woman, which means I have been consuming lessons in seduction my whole life from movies and TV. But my friend is also a woman, and she can’t emit the smoldering atmosphere to reel someone in. Whereas I can do it on command, as if it were my job. As we watch our meals arrive I ponder this, and something clicks. For many years — sometimes implicitly and sometimes explicitly — seducing people was my job.

Both my parents grew up working-class, sometimes working-poor, and I was raised with an ethos of scarcity — we wasted nothing, ate down to the rind of everything and tried not to buy anything on credit. Though my family was solidly middle-class, my classmates often assumed I was poor because I wore discount shoes and generic brand clothes all through grade school, until I switched to thrift stores as a teen.

My parents weren’t cheap, exactly, but they didn’t locate status in commodities — my mother once told me that driving a luxury car was like giving the finger to all the poor people in the world — and they believed in work. The week I turned 14, the legal employment age in Massachusetts, my dad took me to city hall to get a work permit.

That year, I started working as a dishwasher at a seafood restaurant. Dressed most days in a pair of faded overalls and Doc Martens, I would peer out at the front of the house and watch the wait staff — mostly 20-somethings who held the glamour of low-level celebrities to me. Sign up for the Opinion Today newsletter Get expert analysis of the news and a guide to the big ideas shaping the world every weekday morning. Get it sent to your inbox.

Tidy in their identical aprons and T-shirts bearing the restaurant logo, they all seemed kind of hot to me in an ineffable way that had little to do with their looks. The source of this attractiveness, I eventually realized, was the skill with which they deployed charisma.

They were practiced seducers, flitting around the dining room, calibrating their affect to suit each diner. The ones with the tallest stacks of bills at the end of a shift cultivated a flirtation with their tables that hit exactly the right note to release money. As if every diner were a slot machine played less by chance than by skill.

At 14, I already had a keen sense that I ought to appeal to people, men especially, but “succeeding” at this had mixed results. Early sexual development had left me vulnerable to early sexual experience — I didn’t really learn how to say no until adulthood — and mostly it had left me feeling powerless and numb. Using my drive to be liked in a context whose endpoint wasn’t sex, and which promised material reward for success, seemed a much safer forum. The idea felt empowering, even, as it gave me control over the encounter.

My first job waiting tables was at Café Algiers, a landmark Middle Eastern restaurant in Harvard Square in Cambridge that catered to professors and graduate students. I was 17 and happily living in a squalid apartment with four friends in Somerville. Amid the wobbly octagonal tables, I balanced silver pots of mint tea and plates of hummus and practiced my approach.

I learned that if my gaze was too intense, the men (and occasionally women) asked sotto voce what time my shift ended; if it was too subtle, they ignored me and left disappointing tips.

The trick was to kindle the right feeling in myself — I have something they want and I want to give it to them, but not yet — to render the plates of food a symbol for something else, to exude an air of slight withholding. I learned what all good salespeople understand: If you suggest that a person wants something with enough confidence, there’s a good chance they’ll believe you.

Every shift was an exercise in the art of seduction, and each one ended with a tally of tips that amounted to a kind of grade — numeric feedback on the degree of my success.

I honed my skills quickly. After just a few weeks, I could balance five entrees on one tray, instantly calculate a bill in my head, and just as instantly read the customers. I could tell if a diner wanted me to tease them, treat them with mild disgust (rare, but they did exist) or welcome them like a long-lost family member. My scatterbrained nature, which made me clumsy in my everyday life, was focused by the stream of social cues. I intuitively understood the rhythm of it, like a dancer catching a beat. When I was working, I didn’t think and I didn’t make errors — which was good, because my livelihood depended on it: In 1996, the minimum wage for tipped employees was $2.13 per hour.

My second job as a server was at the Greenhouse, another storied Cambridge institution. The overpriced diner had an iconic green sign and a dining room that was perpetually fogged with cigarette smoke. The female professors generally tipped big and wanted a dry little flirt, sprinkled with irony, as if we were in on the same joke. The blue-collar guys who ate at the counter liked to trade endearments, to be teased a little. A natural mimic, I sometimes dropped my Rs when talking with them. You want that on mahble rye?

After the Greenhouse, there were eight or 10 more restaurant jobs — the Jewish deli where families came for brunch, the bakery frequented by moneyed lesbians, the Mexican restaurant that hosted a lot of tourists and bachelorette parties. Whatever their differences, every restaurant was a microcosm of larger social hierarchies. I once worked a brunch shift in Belmont with a guy I was dating. He often got high before work and was terrible at his job. He never thought about what the customer wanted, never read their faces for subtle cues, never seduced anyone. He didn’t have to. He could get orders wrong, mix up tables, spill water on a customer, and still end the shift with a tall stack of tips. Meanwhile, my earnings dropped if I smiled too little or too much.

I came to learn that this was a rule in restaurants: No matter the quality of their service, male waiters got bigger tips. They also rarely had to put up with the kind of abuse that we did. Image Credit…Antoine Cossé

I remember one table I had during my stint at the Mexican restaurant. It was a big family, replete with a preening patriarch who emanated insecurity that he expressed by treating every woman in sight like garbage. I smiled through it, even when he patted my ass in full view of his wife, who then glared at me.

A knot of shame and fury tightened in me. I ignored it and imagined the tip this kind of treatment inevitably led to — a ten, maybe a twenty, even. I smiled at that vision and then directed it at the table. But in this instance, after they’d left as I cleared their oily dishes, I realized the man had stiffed me. I seethed for days. It stoked a fire in me that felt elemental. More than 20 years later, I can feel its heat. It wasn’t so much the money as the humiliation.

Over time, exposure inured me to the humiliations of the job. A person can get used to almost anything given enough time — personality will grow around adversity the way tree roots will grow around a rock, shaping itself in response to the immovable.

Plus, I needed the money. I was a teenager for most of the years I worked in restaurants. I didn’t have a degree, or even a high school diploma (unless you count the G.E.D.). Even though I was occasionally stiffed, it was the highest-paying job I was qualified for, by a long shot.

The humiliations inherent in waiting tables were also made tolerable by the satisfaction of being good at my job. While I held less power than the diners in many ways — I was there to literally serve them — I also had a subtle control over them, one they couldn’t see and which grew stronger the longer I exercised it. I worked them, like a salesperson or a petty con artist, and they were my chumps, my suckers, my johns.

A skilled seducer can invert a power dynamic to their advantage. The knowledge of how to do this was, I realized, a valuable skill and one I later employed to much more lucrative ends.

[lydiawyattwriter]

The life of strangers you meet on the bus

After displaying my e-ticket and making way to the seats. I look around for good spot to sit. For some reason strangers refused to sit next to each other unless they had little choice, so it meant that I had to park myself on the wheel chair area. There was no way I was going to haul 3 bags right to the back and accidently knock someone out with my baggage.

A man in a black and blue hat was sat directly behind me. His beard was white and bristled had spread right down to his throat. He wore a black rain-coat and a University sweater underneath. He held my fencing bag until was ready to rest it between my legs.

'you all right there.' he said. Noticing that I seemed beat. His celtic accent was strong with a hint of english.

'yeah...thanks.' I smiled back.

He made a comment about the bus services and how awkward he found it to get home from the MOT garage in Carmarthen. 'It costs me twenny-pound a day, to get back... The bus can only stop five miles from my home, so I gotta get the taxi the rest of the way.'

I was about to agree with him, but he kept on talking about where he lives.(A small farm house that he inherited). He then moved to his academic life and how he was very good at math, physics and the violin. He wanted to go to Cambridge University after his O-levels, but had to take the entry exam. His father had criticised the fact that he 'didn't have strong enough grades to make it.' He just about passed it in the end, although;

'my physics exam was much better than my maths one.'

Later he told me about how his violin skills had caught notice of a prostigious orchestra company. How he once played in the 'Royal Alber Hall' and how he had to play particular solo part infront of David Wilcox.

' I was so nervous and terrified that I would make a mistake.'

Later he talked about his wife and how he met her at an orchastera gathering. 'She played the harp-she-id.'

He must of spoken for at least fourty-five minutes and my neck was aching from having my head cocked sideways to keep eye contact with him.

He got off at Llambradoch and wished me.

'Good luck with your life.'

I felt quite daunted when he got off the bus, and speculated whether eveything he told me was made up. But why would he lie about his life to a complete stranger?

[wadinginthewings]

"Education has always been political"

I paused, looking into my screen at my teacher as he said that. We were discussing about possible points to put in our UCAS essay, and the topic of exams and grade thresholds came up. It is currently Saturday, 30th March 2024 in Malaysia, where we are. In the US, it is now Friday, 29th March 2024. Ivy day.

Ivy day is the day when the application results from Regular Decision of Ivy League universities are released. So far, I heard that a senior got waitlisted for UC Berkeley, while another overachieving senior got accepted for both Princeton and Stanford. Their achievements feel so big and so far, but they're just one year older than me.

My teacher told us that last year AS results were quite disappointing, as the UK tried to increase the grade threshold back to pre-pandemic standards. My friend piped in, saying that the results for AS History was so bad that they had to reduce the grade threshold using the mean, and that 22/40 for one of the papers was already considered an A. That's like, 50%!

My teacher also said that apparently the grade raise was so fought against that both Wales and Scotland refused to adhere to the new grades and just followed their own threshold. He sighed, and then said, "Education has always been political".

And now, thinking back, I do agree. Education has always been political, for as long as I have been in the education system. I'm 19, and I have been through 2 major exams that are nationally regulated (UPSR and SPM) and I am currently taking A-Levels, and will face 2 more major exams (AS and A2) that are still regulated, just by a different organisation.

I spent a lot of time before these exams praying that the threshold will be lowered, the marking scheme will not be strict, that the government will take pity on our batch and allow lower grades to still be eligible for good pre-university programs. And I will continue to spend my time doing the same thing for my upcoming exams, but now, instead of my country's government regulating the exams, it is Cambridge who I hope will take pity on us.

Coming from an Asian country, a good education has always been seen as an essential to live a fulfilling and successful life. Getting straight As is everybody's dream, and everybody's parent's dream as well. It makes all these exam based programs seem more credible and harder, thus better in the eyes of society.

Other than that, the government would want to raise the grade threshold in order to maintain the quality of the students being accepted into good and credible programs. Harder exams also produce smarter kids, right? This is why the grade threshold always fluctuates.

I guess I just never fully let that sink in, that education is political as well.