Of Dining and Homicide

In the weeks leading up to mid semester break, it wasn’t the impending exams or essays that I felt was of any significance in my life; it was an article from Craccum and assassins week.

Craccum, the weekly magazine from the students’ association had a piece by Janna Tay on assimilated food. If you have the time, go read the article, but if not, here’s the jist of it. Assimilation food is the food that we one point five generation immigrants were brought up on. It’s the sandwiches “filled with leftover curry chicken,” as well as the chicken “roasted with five-spice powder.” Now, this article connects to me not only because it’s the experience that I’ve had at home, but also unusually, at halls.

Halls dining, as one of my more senior friends puts it, is not amazing, but some people spend way to much time complaining about it. I’d say that’s a fairly accurate representation. You get fed three meals a day, what’s there to complain about? After a 6pm lecture you can come home to a hot meal and can coma-out with absolutely no responsibilities.

It’s the taste of the food that worries some, but it’s simply a consequence of the diversity of people living there. I’d bet everyone in halls has their own way of making a burger. Pickles on, pickles off, cheese on, hoisin sauce on. The whole mix. And when you average out all of these tastes, just like assimilation food, you can’t expect it to taste good to everyone. Great food is created by all of our families’ secret recipes and spices locked in vaults that’s unique to our tastes, and no-one else’s.

 

And then there is assassins week.

During assassins week, you get assigned a name of someone at your hall that you’re supposed to assassinate. You assassinate them by splashing them with water, or throwing a sock at them. The specifics depend on which hall you get assigned to. There are challenges that provide immunity for a day.

Now, I spent most of this week grinding out an essay that I’ve neglected for the past few weeks, so as far as my participation in assassin’s week went, it could have been better. The atmosphere of the hall changes nonetheless.

One day you would wake up and go to your lectures as normal. Except there’d be people sitting in your lecture halls with underwear over their clothes, with back to front clothes, or even ‘anything but’ clothes.

Coming home, you could hear a pin drop in the common room. That’s not to say all the commotion outside. It wouldn’t be a rare sight to find a gaggle of masked water bottle-wielding thugs outside, patrolling the streets.

Until next time.

Chenchen