Baby steps in tech-speak

Full circle

2009-10-04T05:50:00.005+01:00

It's 12.51 a.m., I'm now in Harvard, a second Cambridge. And I find myself drawn back to the world of blogging, a world I once dabbled in as a teenager.

2000: I start reading blogs, primarily ones describing the lives of others. A permitted voyeuristic glimpse into the lives of anonymous individuals around the globe.

2004: I experience heartbreak for the first time in my life, blogging becomes an outlet. Having kept a diary, an anonymous blog held much appeal, promising

"I hope I will be able to confide everything to you, as I have never been able to confide in anyone, and I hope you will be a great source of comfort and support." Anne Frank, June 12 1942

2006: Cambridge-bound, blogging was the easiest way to stay in touch.

2007: Flamed for the first and to my knowledge, only time on the internet. Interesting experience, emotional reaction very useful given current interest.

2009: Harvard-settled, blogging is an experiment to learn HTML. And to write to a non-existent audience.

The template of this blog has been tinkered with a wee bit, just to practice my hand at HTML which was scrappily taught over ICQ back in 2005, by a lovely neighbour who was in Australia and I was procrastinating in Malaysia. In a sense, I would like to think this epitomizes the Internet Dream - persons uninhibited by geographic barriers learning to use the Internet as a tool. Now using the tool as a means of dissemination of information.

Never have I ever made such a huge effort to learn anything. Possibly not something that will come up in any game of "Never Have I Ever".

Italy

2007-07-05T15:06:00.001+01:00

After reading about it in my DK books, fantasizing about romantic Italian gondoliers and Casanovas and finally reading more about it in Dan Brown, Italy has always held my interest as a state in its own right and a historical treasure island. Needless to say, it was my first stop with my newfound liberty, and it did not fail me at all. Except maybe a flight of steps outside the il Duomo in Milan which is a gorgeous Gothic structure, but has ridiculous rules and steps. Anyway, moving on.

Rome was the 40 degrees equivalent of London with its bustling wide streets and heavy traffic. Also, it was full of American tourists and seedy characters. But if you took a closer look, you'd realise that this definitely isn't London. For one, the roads are wide slabs of stone which look as though they've been around long enough for the Romans to have once upon a time boasted about them being the straighest and smoothest road-builders in the world. Well, 2000 not so smooth and straight years later, cars and buses drive over them on a daily basis. Standing in the shade of the coliseum's shadow reminds you why we respect the Romans just as much as we condemn them. It was one thing to have shows of exotic animals battling to the death (although I don't know if one animals' rightist friend of mind will agree with me on this), it was something else to have gladiator fights, mass rapes of women from the East and slaughtering of Christians. Human rights lawyers probably would have had a field day back in Ancient Rome. I digress.

If Rome was London, then Florence has to be Cambridge. Absolutely adore Florence, 'tis gorgeous. Nestled amongst hills and mountains, it was once the stronghold of the Medici family. Also, home to Michelangelo's famous David and the famous green and white il Duomo. Every Italian town seems to have one of those huge cathedrals in the center of town. I'm not complaining, more overdecorated ceilings, lavish frescoes and wonderfully sculpted figures to admire. Florence has character. Rome's just an old man. Florence is like a middle-aged person, preferably a professional in law and male. At least that's the impression it gives to me. With its lovely piazza dotted with intermittent sculptures, such as the Rape of the Sabine Woman and Perseus with the head of Medusa. Yes, so maybe the Romans were a bit dodge in terms of sexual acts, but we like the way the Renaissance artists exploited their romantic tales. Florence was by far, the most beautiful of all the Italian towns I visited.

Venice was lacking in colour. It was merely built on islands with lots of waterways. The trip on the gondola was less spectacular than punting. At least with punting, falling in was a slightly comical possibility. In a gondola on the other hand, you do NOT want to fall in. The water was 18 m deep, sea water and infested with the filth of several centuries. Not really that romantic if you ask me. Not especially when they charge a minimum of 70 Euros for 30 mins. Even the straw hats and stripey shirts don't help. Milan lasted 10 minutes before it became a blur of hospitals, x rays and ambulances. Then wheelchairs and airports. Still, it was a good trip.

Home sweeeeeeet home

2007-07-02T19:37:00.000+01:00

Whoever said there's no place like home definitely knew what they were talking about. Several plane trips, a broken ankle and a bomb scare later, I am back in good ol' Malaysia.

Inspired

2007-06-15T02:43:00.001+01:00

So it probably isn't inspiration, more of a lack of a place (came out as splace - spot + place = splace in my head) to sleep which is driving me to blog further. I just realised that I'm one of the few bloggers who blog when they're relaxed, in their nightie and relatively calm.

By calm, I mean I'm not screaming at anyone, chucking my shoe at them or balancing a tottering pile of notes on each knee. Nope, I am the picture of serenity, though maybe not decency at this hour.

Reflecting on my 1st year at university, I'm still finding it difficult to perceive myself as a University student, much less a Cambridge one. A lot has happened in the past year, I left home permanently. I stopped studying Science, kissed my beloved hepatocytes and histology slides goodbye forever. Picked up a completely random new subject and fell head-over-heels in love with it. Was rejected for several posts I truly wanted, but with the benefit of hindsight am better off without. Am still as nerdy and studious as I always have been, but a recent acquisition in my "list of people I parade" has made me "chill out" or rather "chat down". Am currently sketching plans for castles in the air and toying with lesson plans on the other hand.

I am a displaced person. I don't belong anywhere. On the list of people for immigration, there are the options of National, Non-national and Displaced. I am the last category of persons. I felt like a stranger when I first arrived here with my incredibly strong Malaysian accent (which by the way, is not strong at all by Malaysian standards). Now that has mellowed into a "posh, upper-class Asian accent", by way of my friend's description. Formal 3/5-course meals are daily occurrences, and ditto for getting tipsy on a bottle of wine. I do not know what to do without dresses and heels. I do not know what to do with limitations and barriers either. I will leave my room at 2 a.m. for a wander, or hop on my bike and cycle around for a bit. In my more-decent pyjamas of course. I run to the library at 1.30 a.m. when the roads are dead quiet for a book I forgot. Can't do that in Malaysia if I want to stay alive. Sigh. I am displaced.

An update! She lives...

2007-06-15T01:53:00.000+01:00

This is absolutely horrible. It is 1.15 a.m. and I am meant to be nicely snuggled in bed with one of my bed partners i.e. Patrick the red dog or his human counterpart. But I can’t sleep for the life of me and so here I am, clacking away at the keyboard, inspired by certain thoughts.

A few years ago, I wrote about love and what it meant to me. Whilst trying to find a comfortable spot on the hardboard floor of my university room as my beloved boyfriend snores gently on my bed, the L word came to mind again. To be honest, it has been lingering on the fringes of my consciousness recently, and I suppose now is the best time to manifest itself.

I remember distinctly describing love as a double-edged dagger. It is beautiful, ageless and intricately carved. Yet its silver is stained with the blood of the thousands who grasped it too hard and was cut yet they refuse to let go. Currently, my hand is reaching out to grasp my end of the dagger. I am blindfolded, I cannot tell if my partner has done the same. It is a leap of faith.

Being in love is truly about being two halves of a whole, however clichéd the saying is. It is like being party to an inside joke; a very long-running joke. If your eyes meet across a crowded room, there is the spark of “Joke sent” and “Joke received” instantly. It’s not about a message of “I love you” and “I love you too”. It’s more of a mutual understanding that he has not forgotten your presence. Of course he slips up every now and then. Then again, so do you. I know I do.

“Being in love means that you’re not afraid to say it aloud, to shout it to the whole world” – ditzy blonde in My Best Friend’s Wedding.

Alas, that is so far from the truth. We will be afraid to shout it to the whole world for a great many reasons, not least because it’s too early. Hormones working overtime could be another factor. I think the greatest one would be fear of rejection. I’m not shouting it to the world. Hell no.

All I’m saying is that I’ve reviewed my opinion on love slightly. It’s reached the point where I have agreed to go to church willingly (well, I was brought up as a good Christian. The recent crazy atheist was my doing), I don’t mind hopping on to the back of his bike and I trust him not to kill me. I care about him enough to grab his hand and pull him back although it stings my pride especially because we’re arguing. It kills me to see him disappointed in himself, more than how he disappoints me. I try very hard not to push him away and then realise I don’t have to try THAT hard after all. I am not going to start building castles in the air yet, but with fingers crossed, I will be able to.

Hmm, I should get a move on the planning permissions for castles in the air. Which local council would authorise them?

Hysteria

2007-04-09T01:51:00.000+01:00

I have always been slightly unhinged, insane, mad, crazy, mercurial, incompetent, strange, weird, odd, freakish etc. but I think I have scaled the heights of craziness. I am in Cambridge and I am having a panic attack about work. Get this, I called my PARENTS. I WANTED my mother. I need to calm down. I actually went for a run at 3 a.m. around Cripps Court. I'm suicidal too, clearly.

I am absolutely rubbish at...

2007-02-28T20:14:00.000+01:00

1. updating my blog
2. updating my parents
3. updating my friends
4. updating my playlists
5. updating myself in general

Falling in love all over again

2007-01-05T22:22:00.000+01:00

Nice snazzy post title. This is a clear breach of the principle of 'fair labelling' which demands that a crime be named appropriate to the seriousness of the act and corresponding criminal liability.

Walking back from a post office I never knew existed, located on a street I have never explored, after sending off a parcel for the first time ever, I decided to retrace my steps (or rather the taxi's route) from the bus station on my first day in Cambridge. Coming up to Selwyn College, I fell in love with the place all over again. I noted for the first time the similarity between our college front and Corpus Christi and mulled over the discrepancy between the motto over the main entrance in Greek and a corresponding Latin one beside it yet again. Most importantly of all, I walked in through the main door and the sight of Selwyn's chapel (which is a miniature of King's chapel) contrasted against an azure sky took my breath away. It always does. Whether in the morning, with the sun barely peeping out from behind grey clouds, or at high noon or at midnight, with the full moon blazing behind it. My eyes took the same route it always does, leaping from the chapel to the Master's lodge and finally to our Hall.

I'm beginning to think I love Selwyn a wee bit too much for my own good. It's not just the place itself, but without its students, I can still see why some people decide to dedicate all their lives to this college. It's no more infatuation with the luxury of simply being here. This is real love.

2007

2007-01-04T01:35:00.000+01:00

You know you need help when you're checking Goldman Sachs and Deloitte's websites at midnight in a relatively empty hostel with the option of snuggling into bed instead of cursing the server or grudgingly admiring the ability of the top equity firms to hide the most vital information for 1st-year overzealous undergraduates.

Oh, right. Another point, it's 2007.

The years began to cease meaning anything to me about.. 7 years ago. It hit me then in the middle of the hullabaloo caused by Y2K that a millenium means nothing because it is simply a relative measure of time created by man. All 2000 means is that 2000 years (length of which is determined by man) and 2000 years of recorded history has passed. And how does that affect me? It doesn't. It's simply an excuse to stock up on food and party the night to oblivion.

I think I'm meant to mention at this point that I have made some new year resolutions. They are not too different from the resolutions made a couple of years ago, nor will they differ from the ones I will be making in the years to come. They always boil down to the issue of juggling my priorities, learning to be a good and nice person, not screwing up my academics and finally, settling my relationship/commitment problems once and for all.

Here would also be a good time to bring up the subject of reviewing the past year. As far as I'm concerned, 2006 was a wild ride. The pinnacle of this rollercoaster ride would be gaining entry into Cambridge, and the lowest point would be the first two hours spent upon arrival in the famed university town. You spend so much of your life dreaming about a certain place, and it is hardly surprising that reality can never really match up to your expectations. Nevertheless, I have to concede at this point that after the initial fear and shock, everything became rosy and perfect once again. So there.

Friendship-wise, I've done pretty well. Checking the debit and credit sections of the account, I daresay I will close 2006's account with a black balance. *Grins* Just kidding, I have yet to ever encounter a friendship account which isn't in the black. I have my childhood friends, Seafieldians and Taylorians (PM8ers and a particular PL3 lass) in the balance from 2005 brought forward. Now Selwynites (not Sels, despite the pun cracked by many) and other Cantabs in the debit section, though I should credit the people whose names I still cannot remember till this day. Maybe one of my agendas as International rep for the JCR would be to do a Name Quiz in the Bar. I know I'll lose, but they don't ever test the moderators, do they? =) I'm beginning to rant.

Here's to a new beginning.

Planning holidays

2006-12-18T23:33:00.000+01:00

There are several reasons why people PLAN their holidays.

There are several reasons why I am not the average person.

Not because Taylors used me as an advert, but because I left my Xmas holidays open till.. Well, till the very end and inconvenienced a whole lot of people. It's amazing how people still put up with me. Hehehe. I'm absolutely useless at planning, so I'm going to delegate the planning of my summer in Italy and France or I'll end up doing a last-minute mad dash for accommodation, tickets etc.

I miss being able to relax.

I miss being with people who know my past, who can read me like a book, just people I really really enjoy being with-lah. Right, another thing I miss. Using-lah.

Oh well, I'm sure I'll forget all of that tomorrow when I'm watching Kill Bill Vol 1 and 2 or all of Monty Python's series.

Family

2006-12-18T03:54:00.000+01:00

"Falling leaves return to their roots"

Alright, not exactly the best saying I can come up with at... 3 a.m. and in a room where the temperature is.... 12 degrees because the BLOODY radiator refuses to work. Sorry, I have had a bit of a rough week. We'll begin with mono, and how nobody could recognise me during the 3 days it was at its worst (Keith, my lovely porter; me; my doctor; friends etc.). I often claim to have physical resemblance to the walking dead, that claim was probably verified during those few awful days. Could not walk, could barely get out of bed, headaches the equivalent of migraines, nausea etc.

That's probably when the truth hit me. Doctors are truly more important than lawyers. They put people out of misery. We put people into misery (except for divorce lawyers).

Well, the whole point about bringing up my miserable 3 days of staying in bed and not reading or working (that can be hell in Cambridge) is it reminded me of the fundamental things we value in life. Prior to this, I keep wondering why we bother with families. Why humans can't ever stay alone throughout history. Why even the best of us succumb to fear of loneliness and do awfully stupid things i.e. make a pact to marry your best friend if you both are still single by 40. Why most of us go through the same pattern - a boomerang's course, if you have to visualise it.

We start off young loving our parents, believing that our family is the best in the world. We're nursed in a coccoon of love and security. Well, at least that's what love is to an ignorant person. If you have no standards for comparison, what you have is the best you can possibly imagine. Then we grow up, we're exposed to the nasty outside world (full of germs and viruses - I'm still bitter about mono) and we start analysing things. Some of us become critical of our families, believing our families to be dysfunctional or just plain weird. Others don't. The critical ones remain critical until they hit the mid-30s or a crisis and then... it becomes clear. It is true. Every single old and dead saying about blood being thicker than water, a crude Malay one about pulling chicken feathers apart and them somehow getting back together (I never really understood carik-carik bulu ayam, lama-lama bercantum jua and this is coming from someone whose BM was thought to be... well, good enough for best subject prizes). True, the concept of family might have changed somewhat, depending on what context of society you live in or refer to.

As an Asian, family still matters a great deal. My parents were with me, cruel cruel irony, right before the disease struck. The day they left was the day the first real symptoms came out. Honestly, for the first time since I left home more 10 weeks ago, I cried for my mother. I wept because I felt so alone, I was terrified. What if I fainted? Who would know? Who would care? I've never been this seriously sick, never this close to being admitted into a hospital. And it HAD to happen right when my parents left. Not ideal, I grant you this.

This is why people stick together, why we strive in an alien environment to find other lonely souls who respond to our call. We need each other. We recreate a secondary family when the primary one is absent. Nobody likes being alone, I guess. Though, it is quite pleasant to be alone when you're sick. Visitors are lovely, but you're too exhausted to try and look decent. So, all things considered, I must have scared off all the wonderful medics who came to check up on me.

One thing good did come out of contracting mono. I felt homesick for the first time ever. So I DO have a heart and AM capable of missing people/things/places.

A level above the tin man from the Wizard of Oz.

Good, about 70 more levels to reach humanity.

Library is cold, lonely and well, cold.

2006-12-16T18:48:00.000+01:00

I don't really think anyone actually still reads, thanks to my inactivity. I am now in my beloved Selwyn library, in the Law section, at the common table because the side tables which are more private have all been taken up by post grads doing their thesis. #$@%^! But nevermind. I am the only fresher left in Selwyn as of tomorrow and will attempt not to think too much about how that reflects on me as a person.

More importantly, I made a FANTASTIC discovery! Not as a law student, but as a literature one. I found an illustrated manuscript of Chaucer's works. ALL of them. Gorgeously done with Middle English by the side of the translations. This book shall henceforth be missing from Selwyn's library for quite a while. Hehehe.

Glandular fever

2006-12-12T18:47:00.000+01:00

Infectious mononucleosis a.k.a. glandular fever. Having finally recovered enough strength to lift my incredibly 'heavy' papier mache laptop onto my lap, I discover some very disturbing news. I think I AM suffering from glandular fever.

Fever? Check
Extreme fatigue? Check
Sore throat? Check check check check

To recover, rest for days (aaaaaaaahhhh! Work???!) drink plenty of fluids (do you have ANY idea how sore my throat is?) and resume physical activities slowly (what? I have to cycle at least half a km to my GP).

Apparently, it takes SEVERAL months for a person to regain physical fitness. No. You're kidding. I am already physically wimpy; I can't get any worse than this.

Worst bit of all: It is sensible to avoid drinking alcohol for six weeks while recovering from glandular fever. - WHAT?

Essays

2006-10-24T22:59:00.000+01:00

Are the most stressful things in the world.

Someone told me tonight, "I've never seen you so relaxed and happy in Cambridge."

Well, cheers. Neither have I.

It's probably the result of a few events; a) not screwing up my 2nd Tort supervision and actually getting a 2.1 on my first Tort essay (yayyyyyy!). I'm such a child, I know. Proud of it.

b) Hm. If it makes any sense at all, my favourite bloom is the red rose. Shifted from white lilies. Quite permanently for the reasonably foreseeable future. (Law cases' fault. Screwed my head firmly in place. Can't even be ditzy.)

c) I chose Cambridge rightly.

Life

2006-10-16T19:34:00.000+01:00

Is good for now. It has not been the easiest 3 weeks of my life; it was horrible for a while. It was what I wanted, being alone, trying to muddle through this mess of living alone by myself etc.

In the end, it didn't quite turn out that way. I found a support group which I'm incredibly indebted to. I would not have managed through the first few days without their presence.

It's funny how things turn out.

I thought I was going to end up being the 0.3% of Cambridge students who either commit suicide, die, inflict GBH upon themselves i.e. self-mutilation and somehow fail to graduate.

Honestly, I was terrified. Selwyn was completely empty upon arrival; somehow that didn't really help. I spent a bulk of my time in Magdalene, Jesus and Trinity.

I'm alright now. I have a lot of people to thank for that.

Cambridge is everything you can imagine and much more. The life here is incomparable to life anywhere else (except maybe Oxford). I will NEVER trade it for London. Never being the keyword.

Had several supervisions; not all were perfect. I am probably one of the dumb ones here. But I love it (them).

Random acts of pure and unadulterated stupidity

2006-10-13T17:41:00.000+01:00

Ow.

I cut my hand while washing my mug.

Somehow, the cut is pretty bad.

Well, duh, if it doesn't stop bleeding after about 10 minutes, it's bad.

AND, I ran out of plasters. Blame it on the blisters from the first few days. Oh great, I'm officially incredibly stupid. Like I didn't already know that.

Owwwww.. I can't write. Bad bad bad.

In Cambridge

2006-10-10T22:26:00.000+01:00

Too many bops + pub crawls + freshers' events = no time to blog.

Cambridge is the most gorgeous place in the world.

I love it here. See for yourself.

King's College - Part of Cam's Triumvirate

View from punting boat

Matriculation day

Matriculation dinner

I should be upset

2006-09-24T17:35:00.000+01:00

I should be...

1. Saying goodbye to all my favourite haunts in Malaysia

2. Worrying about my patriotism

3. Worrying about catching up with Law

4. Fretting over the weight of my luggage

5. Packing. Or at least showing some semblance of it

6. Remotely upset

7. Printing photos to stick on my walls in Selwyn

8. Ringing my PM8ers up

9. Stuffing myself with Malaysian food

10. Crying

I have done none of the above. I'm so obviously in denial. Leaving in about 2 days and I haven't let go.

Rings

2006-09-22T19:45:00.000+01:00

"One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them,

One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness, bind them"

Focus on the last part of the quote. "Bind them". I knew I had commitment issues when I went shopping with a girlfriend who dragged me to look at engagement rings and I couldn't do the whole "Oooh, that's gorgeous" thing with her. Not that either of us was planning on getting hitched anytime soon. But if you were to pick between the two of us, then she definitely stands a higher chance at walking down the aisle.

I digress. Rings. She pointed out the ring that caught her attention most, and I had to agree that it is a very pretty ring (note the absence of 'nice' as an adjective). Part of the conversation was as follows.

Her : What do you think??
Me : The 3-stone rectangular cut one? Yep, that's really pretty.
Her : *Wistful sigh* I wish someone would get it for me.
Me : *Warning bells go off in my head* Uhhh, should I be calling him now?
Her : No la, just saying.. But wouldn't it be so sweet if your bf gets you a ring?
Me : Hehe, uh, hehe.. Uhm.. I guess so..
Her : What?? Why not?
Me : Well, uh, rings are a wee bit too symbolic to me. They're binding, a huge commitment and I don't think I'll handle that too well..
Her : You're crazy.

I know. So I've always had a bit of an issue with rings. Found them constraining. Saw them as shackles/manacles/handcuffs etc. I'm starting to rant, but that's how it was.

So imagine my reaction when my aunt got me a ring which will not fit any finger but my ring finger. On my left hand.

Karma's biting back, I swear. It's working though, I'm fine with rings now. I mean, she did get it to remind me of my family back here. And to remind me that I still am her little girl.

But couldn't she pick one I could wear on my right hand or something?

Why blog?

2006-09-19T15:56:00.000+01:00

No idea.

No actually, I do have a specific reason for blogging.

Correction, I DID have a specific reason for blogging about 2 years ago.

Now, I don't. No longer broken and scary.

So, because I am not in the dumps for now, the words just can't seem to flow.

It seems that I can only write well when I'm depressed or something.

That is depressing

Sealing a deal

2006-09-15T15:15:00.000+01:00

Dr Faustus did it. He made a pact with Lucifer, selling his soul in exchange for knowledge and power.

Alright, so I'm being melodramatic. Where is the lawyer in me who is supposed to practise precision of language? I'm having one of those days. Screw the lawyer.

It really does feel a little like the scenario I mentioned above. I mean, no matter what anyone says, it's not easy to pick up the pen and scrawl away 6 years of my life.

So the pen stays on the table, with the documents I need to read and analyse through before signing 6 years away. 6 is closer to 10. If it was 5, it'd seem less morbid. 5's closer to 1.

On the up side, it's what I've always wanted. To be independent-ish.

I'll sign it. As soon as I get the image of Dr. Faustus on his knees begging God to save him out of my head.

Daddy's Little Girl

2006-09-09T15:06:00.002+01:00

I had a teeny feeling I MIGHT be considered one. Call it intuition. Call it noticing the obvious.

It's becoming obvious that at least one bit of it is true, the 'little' part.

It began with an innocent remark. "What are you going to wear to sleep in Cambs?"
No idea. You need to actually PLAN what to wear to sleep??

"Yeah! It's cold there.. Did you actually think what you usually don works?"

Uhm. Yes?

Thus begun my father's assignment. Find and purchase appropriate pyjamas for his only daughter. I thought it was a pretty ridiculous idea, but my mother insisted that the place to buy them is China. It sounds even more absurd now. I mean, I know about the news of women walking about Beijing (or was it Shanghai?) clad in pyjamas. I thought that was ages ago! And it's a totally unrelated incident. Or so I think.

So he dutifully did as he was told. I love it when they do that.

As soon as I laid eyes on what he got me, it was difficult to suppress the giggles. He picked one green button-down and another orange slipover. With cute printed patterns. And they make me look like a 3 year old. Hehe. Just for the heck of it, I'm going to humour him. Besides, they're nice and warm.

On hindsight, it tells me just how old he still sees me as. A child of 3.

Could have sworn I was born 18 years ago though.

Something old, something new

2006-09-09T11:12:00.000+01:00

"Something old, something new,

Something borrowed, something blue."

Something I learnt long ago from a book; the superstitious quintessentials of a wedding in certain countries.

No, wedding bells are not on the horizon.

I just like the catchy words. I have something new; a new layout. Something old; my posts. Something borrowed; my words. Something blue; me.

It's blue today. Not black or white for once because I had a long discussion with my mother for the first time in months. Well, I've always been a bit of a gung-ho person, if I say I'll do something, I'll do it. Usually with very little references made to my parents unless it concerns something within their jurisdiction.

Hehe, I sound like Calvin in Calvin and Hobbes. "Your popularity polls are slipping, Dad."

Well, truth be told, someone once told me that I brush my parents off too often. As you can well guess, I did brush that comment off too. However, he had hit a nerve then. Because he was entirely right. He was one of the few people who could read me like a book.

That ends now, I've been a fool for far too long. Growing up is confusing enough, trying to be yourself just makes it worse. I don't regret what I did, I'm just going to do things differently this time around.

I like this resolution. It's a new principle, but it's still the same ol' me. Just like my blog.

I don't think I think

2006-09-08T04:39:00.000+01:00

It's quite comical. It repeats itself every other day. This little banter between my lil' brother @ the Monkey and myself

Me : You're promoting Tourism Malaysia. You should be their spokesperson la.
Monkey : Huh?
Me : Today it's Redang, yesterday Bukit Tinggi, the other day it was Malacca. No other clothes to wear??

If it's not the bone about tourist hotspots' tees, it's about colour.

Me : Eh, are you colour-blind?
Monkey : No, you are.
Me : All your shirts are white or dark blue. Tak tau ada warna lain ker? Ini panggil best student?

Then it goes on about intelligence.

Monkey : I'll be smarter than you, you see.
Me : But I AM smarter than you.
Monkey : No you're not.
Me : What's the capital of Finland? (think Koko Krunch's adv)
Monkey : Ah, uh, um. Ahhhh..
Me : TV advert pun tak ingat. Balik baca buku la, baru datang challenge.
Mum : Don't bully him, he's just a kid!
Me : Whaaaaaat? I'm saving him from being beaten up later on!

These are one of the few occasions where I can disregard grammar, spellings and pronunciations completely and just let loose. I never have to think before I say something, and it's not as though the Monkey cares.

I'm going to miss him. Sniff. No one to argue with anymore.

I finally said it

2006-09-07T13:07:00.000+01:00

"I'm happy."

I've never said it.

Not till today.

Why?

Heh. Ask me.

Baby photos

2006-09-06T11:51:00.000+01:00

In a vain attempt to clear my head, I decided to pick up the threads of a pet project of mine : reassembling 161 photos well known to all who frequent my house. The familiar board with the photo collage you see once you go up the stairs? With all my baby pictures on it? Yeaaaaah, that's the one. The one you prod, poke and stare at incredulously. You were THAT?

Yes, that hairless monkey in the photos are me. I must admit, I was not the most attractive baby around. Not that I now am.

But anyway, that's besides the point. Looking through all the negatives, I pieced together my growing years. Yes, I spent two back-breaking hours perched on a narrow precipice on my stairway squinting at NEGATIVES. They should have invented the digital camera much earlier.

I grew up in a myriad of different places. The pictures don't actually tell that as they all emit the same feelings of warmth, love and coziness. I wish I could be a baby and snuggle under my blankets, safe in the knowledge that my parents love me and the whole world is at rights. I wish I could be their darling baby girl who could do nothing wrong.

It's this terrible sense of longing. To be at a time when life was nice and simple. No questions like, am I doing the right thing? Who am I?

I'm bringing some of those photos with me over to the UK. I need something to remind me that life isn't all that complicated.

Finally

2006-09-05T19:00:00.000+01:00

I waited 55 minutes for Blogger to allow me to sign in only to forget what I wanted to blog about in the first place.

This has been a relatively awful day.

Not because of any particular person. I had fun during lunch and noon time, but the wait in VFS for my visa was excruciating. It was made bearable by my tendency to talk to complete strangers about everything under the sky and forget to ask for their names. Someone, please remind me next time! But hey, made a couple of new friends anyway.

I have had this obsession with horror classics of late. It was Frankenstein, then Dracula, then the Phantom, now Dracula and Frankie again.

Anyway, something said today set me thinking really hard about my ambitions and my goals. Prior to this, everyone mapped out a steep and rocky path to becoming a corporate figure for me. I even believed it. Added a few finishing touches of my own.

But now I'm not so sure. I've been spending a lot of time mulling over this. What do I want to do with my life? Join the countless number of others in the rat race for success? What is success? Is success measured by wealth? What is wealth? Health is wealth? Is the satisfaction of achieving a personal goal considered success? Nothing is ever simple. I thought I knew what I wanted; but I guess being flexible isn't too bad either.

It has been a while since I last did a community service project. I wondered back then if I did all those projects out of the sincerity of my heart (if I even have one) or for the personal rewards. There's such a fine line between the two that I still don't know.

What about my country? Do I want to come home to serve my bond? Am I being selfish in putting what I thought was my dream ahead? That vision of me is becoming fainter and fainter by the day.

To me, the golden question is this : Why don't you want to do medicine? Usually asked by people who have yet to really know me. Well, the answer generically given would be that I lack bedside manners. Which is technically true! The truthful answer is that, I love Biology, but I don't have the heart to be a doctor. I don't believe in going into something half-heartedly. It's either everything I've got, or nothing. I refuse to sully the sacred Hippocrates oath with my insincere words. Yep. That's it.

I much rather torture my principles and morales with Law.

That's it, no more reading Dracula before bedtime.

He's quite fanatically patriotic. He's rubbing off me.

Bermuda Triangles

2006-09-01T16:21:00.000+01:00

There are some places in this world that mimic a bermuda triangle excellently. One example would be the time my dearest Lalling trusted me to direct her to KL (Low Yat, to be specific) and find our way from there to MV. The most recent occurrence would be today, in Jalan Bukit Bintang area. Sungei Wang Plaza this time. Parking, long story. Again.

It's like karma or something. I started heading there for laptop scouting missions; inadvertently fell into PC shopping trips and then suddenly it's a vicious cycle. One day Bank Negara needs something. Next day I need something from them. The following week I have a BRATs workshop there. Then it was HSBC. Oh wait, I forgot my visa and my own shopping trip.

Now it's someone else's.

And out of that many many times, I got lost 3 times.

Bloody hell. It's a regular Bermuda Triangle there.

No wonder these places can survive for 40 odd years. They trap people in.

Did I mention I still have 6 or 7 more things to do down there? Like tomorrow for example.

Identity crisis

2006-09-01T03:21:00.000+01:00

I'm awake at 9 a.m. No thanks to the thumps of basketball right outside my window at an ungodly hour. Not that I'm ungrateful as the saying goes; it shows I have an elder brother who has friends with common interests. That's good, right?

What to blog about?

I'm leaving in 26 days time. That's about 4 weeks.

So it's still quite some time away.

But that's not it.

I guess I don't like being labelled as the girl who's going to Cambridge/UK to read Law. Especially by people who have just met me 5 minutes ago.

I wonder if it's alright integrating that into part of my identity. I feel it's not, I think I'm being absurd and I know it's inevitable.

It does make me sound like a real brat as Evan kindly points out. But the truth is, I am grateful for my position and it does not in any way allude to me being insensitive of others who are studying locally. No one ever said local education is inferior. It's just different.

I just wanna be myself.

I just wanna be known for who I am, not what I am.

Back after a looooooong lull

2006-08-31T17:59:00.000+01:00

This blog has been pretty much dead for the past.. say 2 to 3 weeks? I apologize, I've lost my passion for writing long essays about my sad and pointless life. I've moved on to trying to set up notebooks, mobile phones and iPods. There isn't much to say, really.

Aside from the recent Brats workshop I seniored, every other occasion has been rather bland and uninteresting.

My elder brother is back from Sarawak. Nothing much has changed apart from his weight. No, his waistline did not expand, on the contrary.

While I'm glad to have my new Vaio, it's proving to be a bit of a task, setting it up on my own and not crashing the system. The Dell was and is good, but I guess the shallow part of me when it comes to gadgets is rearing its hideous head.

That's it, I can't type anymore. I hate car rides. I dislike hospitals even more. Not because I'm callous, mean and cold-hearted. It's because I cannot bear the dreary hopelessness in the eyes of the patients.

Inactivity

2006-08-27T18:32:00.000+01:00

Awful, horrible, terrible, unforgivable and inexcusable inactivity for about a week or so. My apologies. Will blog about my recent stint as a brat when I find some time.

Taylor's Awards Ceremony

2006-08-17T18:45:00.000+01:00

So this has got to be the most impromptu and unprepared-for awards ceremony I've attended in years. That's saying something; I've sat through every single boring, sleep-inducing ceremony from Std. 1 up to Form 5. I must say that Taylor's definitely knows how to cram, begin on time (good enough for Malaysian standards) and keep it short, simple and succinct.

There wasn't a particularly memorable incident that came to mind as I flipped the tiny blue box open to take a look at the much-talked-about gold medal. All that I remembered was mountainloads of Lit notes, watching Shakespeare's dramas constantly in the library (the AV section still is mine), friends and lecturers. I guess that pretty much sums up my college life. And oh yeah, my memorable combination of subjects. Mrs. Hoe sure wasn't going to let that slip. Darn.

PM8-ers!

Ex-DUs and me-Humanities!

Lallingz!

Powersuits and mentor

Posing at Cabana

It's been a while

2006-08-12T09:34:00.000+01:00

For once, I can breathe a little more easily for a few weeks. The results are out; there will be no funeral. Yet.

I guess there is no reason for the hoo and cry about getting straight As. Once upon a time, I would actually be really enthusiastic about it, but now it's a relief. It's all about the expectations. All I feel is fatigue. I'm really tired. I don't mean to sound ungrateful for getting what I have worked so hard for; but it's just so tiring. I'm looking back down memory lane, and all I see is straight As and whatnot from PTS till A Levels. I'm a little stunned. I have made my fair share of mistakes.

On the other hand, I had a good week. Loads of quality time with old friends who have been neglected over the course of A Levels. Like, Zhao's really my assist. monitor in 3 Elok and Victor sat beside Raphil in Form 3, not 2. Stuff like that.

For once, I'm not bursting with words; on the contrary, I have very little to say. I made a few changes, decided to get a new look etc.

Oh wait, I finally visited Bukit Tinggi, with four others who made up two couples. Hey, I'm definitely fine now; no broody feelings, no hidden longings, nothing. I had a great time and the photos should be sufficient to back this up.

It's just one of those days

2006-08-05T18:42:00.001+01:00

If I talk, will you listen?

If I cry, will you hold me?

If I fall, will you help me up?

If I worry, will you reassure me?

If I fail, will you comfort me?

If I tell you it's not alright, will you believe me?

It's just one of those days; those rainy days.

Agony

2006-08-03T08:44:00.000+01:00

Ouch. Agonising pain. I'm a wimp, I know. And I'm not ashamed to admit it. For the next few weeks, vigorous sports are forbidden, seafood banned, hugs absolutely off-limit and long sleeves are not an option.

I know I'm a reckless fool; I've been told so often. Oh yes, raise your eyebrows in surprise and sneer. You? You calculate the odds of everything! But every so often, I do something absolutely mindless. Kind of like Hitler's campaign for the Battle of the Bulge. I've been watching Discovery Channel a wee bit too much. I love this new series 'Battleground-The Art of War'. Much better than Warcraft; plus if I'm lucky I get to watch an episode set in ancient history, like the Battle of Gaugamela between Alexander the Great and King Darius of Persia. I digress.

I reall should have thought hard and long about this injection. I knew it was going to hurt a lot, but it's not the pain that concerns me. It's my body's reaction. I have been sick for over a week now, and most of my friends blame me for it. I know, such loving and considerate friends. I'm blessed.

So next time you want to poke a needle to the middle of a keltoid scar which tingles everytime you touch it, please be a bit more reasonable and don't do it when you're sick. And try not to stare at the needle too much, the doctor tends to start getting a little nervous and pulls it out of you really slowly.

Honestly, this post was meant to be about genocide and how well 'Sometimes in April' portrayed it. So I'm going to try to type as best as a two-finger typist can with only one functional hand (finger). Genocide. We, the younger generation of Malaysians and Asians know the Holocaust as an incident that occured in distant Europe, a fading horror, a one-off madness. We know the Pol Pot killings as something closer to home, but detached because it happened when we were too young to comprehend things. We hear of unrest in the Middle East, suffering in Africa, refugees from everywhere. We read literature condemning war, watch movies meant to convey an anti-war message and study war in history. We should know better by now.

And yet, we still complain.

Grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, isn't it?

Crystal clear

2006-07-30T17:32:00.000+01:00

'Suddenly the curtain rolls back and you see it..
What?
Clear skies, grey seas, gulls and shores.. and beyond.'

Of all the LOTR quotes I somehow digested, this one sticks out the most in my memory at the present moment. I am indebted to microorgs. Not for cursing me to one week of runny noses and hacking coughs; but for reminding me of what truly matters to me.

I know what I want now. I spent a hazy week under the influence of medication, headaches and the voices of others. Now that the veil is lifted, I know myself.

I love life right now, at this very moment.

I'm not afraid of my heart anymore. On the contrary. Love is a rose. And it's not because of anyone.

Love : What it is to me

2006-07-28T17:05:00.000+01:00

After I finally found something worth thinking about, I HAD to delete it by accident. I’m an idiot and a klutz at times. Seriously.

I was asked once by someone (whose temper was obviously fraying at the ends thanks to yours truly) if I have a heart at all. Do I? I had, once. Think of Davy Jones as a metaphor in this instance. I admit it freely now, what I once denied and hid behind excuse after excuse; I had a painful brush with relationships once upon a time and as a result, I closed myself off. My heart shrivelled, shrank and retreated into its shell. I locked it up and tossed the key away.

Love. The Greeks and Romans got it right in their depictions of Aphrodite and Venus. Chaucer hit the nail right on its head in his description of them. It’s considered to be the most powerful force on earth, greater than pride, stronger than greed and purer than lust. It can inspire poets and artists to produce masterpieces that last centuries, and it can drive Menelaus to sack Troy for Helen. The goddess of love is portrayed to be neither a force of morality, mortality or justice. She is Circe, she is Medea. She is Hercules, she is Turnus. She is Idleness, keeper of the gate of the Garden of Love in Roman de la Rosa. She is Narcissus, the narcissist who fell in love with his own reflection and drowned. She whispers dark secrets to sorceresses to weave magic over men to ensnare them. She blows the fire of passion in men to wage wars over women. She does not have a moral compass, and she is a force of neither good nor evil. They say there’s a thin line between Love and Hate. I agree.

Amor. Cinta. Call it whatever you want to call it. They say that the universal language of the world is love. Funny, I used to think that it was 'mother'. Seriously. Mama is the informal term for mother in so many languages. Hmm. Anyway, everyone seems to have their personal interpretation of love, a specific metaphor, to be exact. One compared it to fire, another to water. To me, love is a double-edged dagger. Its blade and handle are exquisitely and intricately carved; its steel gleams beautifully. Its enthralling, even. Never forget, though, that it is lethal and a weapon. It cuts you, no matter how you choose to grasp it. And it cuts you both ways.

Why such a.. deadly, painful and lethal view of love? Someone asked me if it was a figment of my sadistic and cynical imagination. Perhaps. Then again, if you truly knew me, you would know that I am quite capable of shelving my emotions whenever the need arises, shoving it out of sight, out of mind whenever there is a pressing matter at hand. I neither condone nor condemn it. It’s not healthy, I concur, but it gets the job done.

That’s just it, isn’t it? It has always been about getting the job done, fulfilling my duty, shouldering my responsibilities. When has it ever been about me? When has it been about what I truly desire? When has anyone asked me, ‘Vvian, what do you want?’ When have I ever asked myself that question?

Never.

So, please, allow me to ask you just this. If I have always put everything ahead of love, how will I ever recognize it when it stares at me in my face?

Don’t even bother sidestepping the question. We’re not talking about the familiarity or security of the love of friends and family. That’s a whole different matter. I’m sure that at this point, we are talking about the same sort of love. The type between two strangers.

We all crave love. We all crave the security of being loved and loving in return. A friend once said that I’m blessed to be the reason someone gets up every morning. To be the reason for living life as it is. Well, I think that’s a wee bit hyperbolic. But his point is moot. I get it. But honestly, if we hadn’t been fed with fairytales, would we really crave love so badly? I think we would. None of us ever wants to be alone. Ever.

But do we even know what it is? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? What is love?

Is it that warm, fuzzy, cozy and secure feeling? Is it the rush of blood to your face when you see your beloved? Is it the insane urge to contact your beloved at crazy hours? Is it the inexplicable longing to see your beloved at every minute of the hour, every day of the calendar? Is it the less passionate, but equally strong desire to spend a lifetime with a person? Or, as it is for me, simply the fulfilling enjoyment one derives out of the company of a specific person? I have given up looking for the atypical giddy feeling prescribed in contemporary and medieval romances. Passion, lust and chemistry are all very fine and admirable things. But I want more.

So, there are no answers to any of my questions. But there is hope. Maybe, just maybe, one day my perception will shift. Maybe I’ll learn to forget the pain. Maybe the harsh and sharp edges of love will be dulled and blunted, whether by the slow decay of time or the warm embrace of another. I do not know, nor do I intend on being a clairvoyant.

There is one thing I know for sure, one sign I trust. The day I’m in love, the day I fulfill the childish dream of love with a knight in shining armour is the day I say love is like a red red rose. With thorns of course. It wouldn’t be me without the thorns, would it?

I will NEVER recover

2006-07-24T16:09:00.000+01:00

This has been an awful weekend. An awful day too. I can't think of anything that tops 'awful'. 'Bad', 'worse' and 'worst' aren't even good enough.

There are SOME dark clouds which do not have silver linings.

I'm exhausted, I have been sick and I'm deteriorating every moment. The antibiotics have run their course and I'm no better. I really believe I'm not going to recover by the time the week is out.

I just received some near devastating news. Okay, so maybe I'm being melodramatic. But they really stopped my heart for a millisecond. And then the anger, annoyance and irritation kicked in. I believe that incompetence is the bane of humanity everywhere.

The worst bit is this, it's not MY incompetence that's plaguing me and my future.

It's someone else's.

That ticks me off more than anything.

Horror movies and girls

2006-07-23T08:19:00.000+01:00

After watching my umpteenth horror flick, it suddenly occurred to me in a very vague and detached manner that most good ones involve a girl, in her bedroom, usually on her bed in her bedclothes with long, shiny hair that becomes matted and straggly as the show goes on. Of course there's the whole possession etc. thing too that has to attack the poor lass.

Like The Exorcist for example. THE best horror movie to date; still gives me the creeps whenever I see her. Almost all of its scenes are shot in her bedroom, with her IN bed, and the bed either bucking, tossing her up or she's straining against her bonds. Just the thought of it was unsettling enough that I still look at my bed warily each night.

Similarly in several Korean horror flicks, whose names I have forgotten already. The creepy scenes involved bedtime, girls with long hair and blankets behaving oddly.

This was repeated in An American Haunting. Except the girl was really pretty and there was a bit of a love story with some family issues in it. But yeah, it had all the necessary elements, haunting occurs at night in the girl's room, pulling off her blankets etc.

Aside from The Sixth Sense and The Omen, almost all other notable horror movies involve adolescent girls. Why? Are we that creepy?

Some IQ test I took on the recommendation of a friend. Looks like illness increases your IQ or something, because 'mby ndose iz killing mbe right now'.

Your IQ score is 135!

Like a meticulous collector, you've fed your brain a unique set of facts and figures over the years and this makes you a Facts Curator. Whether or not you intend to absorb every piece of information that comes your way, your mind is a sponge for knowledge. The words in your head could almost fill a dictionary, and you're equally adept at manipulating numbers and detecting important patterns in number sequences.

Try the test here.

Ah great, just as I'm trying to convince my brother that humans (meaning me and others) are not meant to be used so blatantly as dictionaries or encyclopedias for that matter. He needs to stop referring to me as a Ms. Know-It-All.

Sick and dying

2006-07-22T11:04:00.000+01:00

Alright, that's a bit of an exaggeration but it expresses how I feel exactly.

I have not been taken ill at ALL the whole of 2006 and the end of 2005. So this, I suppose, is retribution for my good health. Don't ask. It's my new theory that there is a minimum number of times a person must be sick in one's life. So since I've been sparkly and healthy for the past year, it's payback time.

I'm incredibly bitter about being bedridden. I'm not allowed to leave my room, not allowed to infect my younger brother (who is actually the source of this) and worst of all, chocolates are now forbidden. Gah. My sole consolation in times of misery has now been banned.

Actually, when you take my lifestyle into consideration, I have been unusually well. I rarely sleep, and when I do, I do not sleep well. I have tried successfully to forgo sleep for two days thrice this year. I suffer horrible, recurring nightmares. I'm a sloth; I exercise when I feel like it. That actually describes how I do most things; sleep, eat, exercise, oh and sleep again when I feel like it.

So if I'm grouchy and touchy, I apologize in advance. With a box of tissues, lozenges, my laptop and pills as my only amusements, I believe I'm entitled to being grumpy.

Happy Birthday LHK!

2006-07-19T19:29:00.000+01:00

I totally have this thing for abbreviating names. Like seriously. They're totally cool.

Alright, I'll drop the ditzy-lingo and try to sound somewhat intelligent (intelligible) and sober. My senses have decided to stir up a mutiny against my will, keeping sleep at bay as usual. Ah well. Yesterday was the birthday of a dear friend, Lee Heng Kai. Let's do the whole life/friendship flashes before your eyes thing which I seem to do quite often whenever a birthday pops up. We met in 2003, through tuition, specifically Tutorial Lee. Looks like I do owe Tutorial Lee gratitude for a tangible reason, after all. I mean, how much can I remember from Physics save Mr. Lee's penchant for sleeveless tees and our History teacher's constant references to Kav's dad? Nothing. Nada.

I digress. Yes, so we met in tuition, how exactly, I have yet to remember. It's a bit murky, anyone remembers specifically how? I think through mutual friends. Yeah, that's it. Nothing so romantic or soap opera-like as how I met my dear twin. We took each other’s bags in Form 1 by mistake. A few good laughs and introductions later, ta da! This is what you get. Mistakes are good, in some ways.

Let's fast-forward a couple of years to 2005 and 2006. We (as in Heng Kai and I, just in case you’re wondering who this post is really about) became much closer and the friendship grew into one based on something much more concrete than common tuition classes since we both were in Taylors and had the same Chemistry lecturer. Funny how misery loves company and it can bring people together.

I know perfectly well praising a person of the opposite sex so blatantly here, especially, is the equivalent of lighting a beacon to draw teasing and gossip to yourself. Heck, I suffered enough at the party itself under his very nose. I can survive a bit more. Heng Kai is one of those rare 'kindred spirits', as Anne of Green Gables put it, to me at least. He is the most humble, unassuming and down-to-earth person around; with both feet firmly planted on the ground and his head close to, but not exactly up in the clouds. Obedient, filial and every bit the model son, he displays flashes of moral conscience and his own backbone every now and then. All in all, he exudes nice-ness in such an obliging and considerate manner it's near impossible to not take an instant liking to him. Did I mention he’s exceedingly hard-working and intelligent too?

Consider this a friendster testimonial. I hate writing them; bloody word limit. Happy 18th birthday Heng Kai!

P.S. The highlight of the party was the birthday boy's unexpected dip in the pool. Hehehe. Oh, and a particular someone’s ‘blurness’. Don’t worry, I can’t post that pic up. Photo limit.

The 'dip' in the pool. Classic 'throw the b'day boy into the pool' moment.

My old bestie and me. I love the loveseat, totally Pride and Prejudice style.

We have one very contented Benjy here.

My twin/bestie/alter-ego/better half and I on the loveseat.

And... the birthday boy!

Bloggy blog

2006-07-16T14:31:00.000+01:00

Right, as you can clearly see, I have run out of ideas for a heading for this particular post. What can I say? When I knock on the brain department, I'm shown the 'Away on Vacation' sign. Granted, it's a wee bit dusty and yellowed around the edges, but I think it gets the message across tolerably well. Well, here's a mish-mash of my thoughts.

Number one. I believe that cinemas have a thing against me. Why? For starters, I keep finding myself dragged into watching movies twice. Like say Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and Superman Returns. Not that I have anything personally against them, it's just that they're really awful to rewatch. Like Pirates; it's nearly THREE hours long and Superman's also another 2 hours ++. So I know I'm the bummer now with no job nothing, but having to babysit and watch the movie?? Enough about the movies. Depp was fantastically comical in Pirates which was pretty much the only highlight of the show really. Routh was... better the 2nd time around when I had time to scrutinize his eyes for some show of emotion.

Next up. Inexplicable bouts of worrying. Every now and then, I will be struck with some kind of panic attack. Nothing too serious, I do not freeze up or suddenly black out. It's more like a foreboding emotion; one that seems to take a sadistic enjoyment in reminding me that the honeymoon is temporary, reality is going to hit. And it's going to hit hard on the 7th of August. Yippee. I just can't wait.

While some people find it hard to leave the comfort of my home, I just can't wait anymore. It's starting to grate on my nerves a little, all the questions! Like 'when are you getting a boyfriend' or 'when are you going to draw up your shopping list'. Even mundane ones like 'Where are you going' and 'What have you been spending on' are really starting to feel like nails scratched across a board. Sharp, pointy, steely, grossly long nails. Call me unreasonable, call me childish and call me spoilt, but I need a breath of fresh air. By the bye, the answer to the first is never, second; when I feel like it, third; it varies and fourth; nothing in particular.

Discord. Discontentment. Disenchantment. Disillusionment. Disdain. Enough 'dis-es'. I think Madam Bovary is rubbing off me. She's a fine example of what I may become if I do not quit living with my head half up in the clouds. Speaking of which, the novel is a superb work of literary art. Flaubert flaunts feminine weaknesses, human folly and strengths all at once in her character. It is impossible to hate, to pity, to sympathize or even to admire her completely. She's so flawed she's perfect.

I need to stop reading depressing books. I'm going to end up suicidal at this rate. All good reads end in deaths, darkness and lingering uneasiness. In fact, almost all main characters die. Take Madam Bovary for an instance, or Gatsby, Mugo, Romeo, Juliet, Paris, Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear, Antony and Cleopatra. Okay, fine. So it's all of Shakespeare's tragedies (which mean everyone dies at the end) and other tragedies. But my point is this. For a story or drama or even movie to be good, SOMEONE has to die. Properly. No reincarnations like Pirates. Brokeback Mountain's a good example. Harry Potter is an awful example. That is taking dying to an extreme.

Gah. Even listing them out is depressing.

Driving

2006-07-16T10:40:00.000+01:00

I have an announcement to make, no wait, I think 'proclamation' is a better word in this context. And 'a' limits it, I have several, rather. Alright, here it is. I finally drove an auto car for the first time today. Two days ago was a flop; I had no idea which was the accelerator, much less which was the brake. Oh, and my mother was terrified that I would not be able to start the car, so I'm guessing she saved me (and herself) that mortification by backing it out for me. Sweet.

My dad, on the other hand, was cool and calm about the whole affair. The knowledge that I still press down on an invisible clutch, forget occasionally which is the accelerator and which is the brake pedal, and neglect to check mirrors somehow did not daunt him. At least he did not show it. So men are not that bad teachers after all.

So, here's the stats.

Passenger (s) suffering from heart attacks/palpitations : 0
Car/Vehicle suffering from scratches/dents : 0
Driver with sore ear from nagging : 0
No. of casualties : 0

Ah. Now you can't say I can't drive. But you're so not allowed to start bugging me about 'When are you going to pick me up?' because that's level 2. Level 1 comprises mostly of not causing an accident by backing out of my driveway. Mission accomplished.

Smiles

2006-07-14T21:54:00.000+01:00

I have forgotten how to smile. Reviewing the pictures taken last night, (actually, tonight but scientifically it's last night. Don't ask, I can't sleep and I'm confused myself) it has come to my attention that I am grimacing in the photos. Bad. Very very bad. Comparing them with my Redang pictures, I think I have forgotten what it is like to laugh and be merry without a care in the world. Does this mean my old paranoia, fear, worry and stress is back? If so, over what? Uh-oh. Someone, anyone. Teach me how to smile again.

5 Budians, Class of 2004

2006-07-14T17:05:00.000+01:00

5 Budi. 4 Budi. I thought that I would remain in Amanah all my high school year considering how I began in 1 Amanah and proceded to 2 Amanah. I would never have known then how wrong I was, yet this is one mistake I willingly concede to. Meeting some of my oldest classmates again was truly wonderful; there is something about picking up old threads of friendship as though it was just yesterday when we were snoozing off in physics lab that touches me. We recounted the times we skipped class; even tried to beat each other. We, the former prefects and supposedly 'model students' of SMK Seafield sat around a table in TGIF boasting about our various escapades, from skivving off Moral, Math and Physics to where our hangouts were. Tsk tsk. Ah well, where else would you find your boss (KP @ Uno Numero) your partner-in-crime, where else can you call him a flirt, where else would you find people who know about your disastrous romances and with whom you would recount tales of your 'ponteng kelas'-es? Nowhere but in 5 Budi 2004.

All 6 of us at TGIF

The ex-KP of SMKSeafield@The Don of 5Budi

Nostalgia

2006-07-12T14:22:00.000+01:00

Some insane, inane and inexplicable urge to waste time usefully (it doesn't make much sense, does it?) decided that I should pay my former alma mater a visit one last time before I head off to the UK. The visit was.. slightly confusing. I know I should be grateful that I am remembered up till now by most of my former teachers, but it left me with a lingering, disturbing feeling.

It was the usual tirade of near-interrogating queries, 'Where are you now, what are you doing, when are you leaving etc.' What was slightly less pleasant would be remarks like, 'You two are still together?' and 'Balik bila dah nak kembang.' (I think she meant we are growing sideways or something.. I didn't get it) Alright, so it was a little-concealed fact that Kavitha and I were, are and possibly will always be like conjoined twins, but I don't think it warranted such questions.

Nevertheless, I know I should overlook such moments of awkwardness and focus instead on the heart-warming hugs and touching well-wishes. Which I shall. As soon as I recover from the horror and shock at finding the school repainted yellow.

Moments cont'd

2006-07-10T21:48:00.000+01:00

I have a sneaky suspicion there's a limit to the number of photos you're allowed to upload for one post, but I haven't bothered to really check it out. I met up with a few of my oldest and dearest girlfriends in Pyramid two days ago, and we had a group heart-to-heart. Mmmm. They warm the cockles of your heart better and faster than a mug of steaming cocoa on one of Malaysia's common wet and dismal days.

All 5 of us at Nando's.. Colgate smiles all around!

A unique paradox.. Heart-warming talk
over freezing ice-cream.
Yum.. Rum and raisin **wink**

These are moments which my camera is meant to capture and preserve. The human brain is a remarkable organ indeed, but time will gnaw away at the images and they will become yellowed and faded with time; both in my memory and physically. However, the emotions at that moment in time will be preserved forever in my heart.. And they end with its last beat.

Moments I live for

2006-07-10T20:03:00.000+01:00

Ever since I obtained my beloved camera, I noticed that the number of photographs I have has tripled. Or maybe even quadrupled. Then again, they're snapshots of some of the most important moments in my life. I'm not talking about my convocation, birth, marriage, death (do people snap pics of that?) or graduation after-party. I'm talking about small get-togethers, long heart-to-hearts over coffee or the phone and priceless moments. Taking my cue from credit card adverts, here's an example.

Price of Sony Cybershot : RM 1,400
Price of drinks : RM 22 (can't remember)
Price of moment when : Priceless
Zidane scores

Something along those lines. I am quite grateful that I decided to jumpstart my lazybones and bug my parents into granting me permission to watch the World Cup final match out with my friends.

No prizes for guessing where I watched the finals.

Or who I watched it with.

Guess who I support.. That's right, France!
Zizou deserves the Golden Ball.

Caps we won courtesy of my grandson's answers to the trivia..
It's amazing how guys and men can spout of answers
regarding footie.. Like what year did Pele play etc.
Yet they can't remember their wives'/girlfriends' birthdays..

Half-time piccie frenzy!

Questions

2006-07-08T12:10:00.000+01:00

"There are no stupid questions, only stupid people who dare not speak up."

Now, I can't remember who exactly said this, but this quote has long since burned into my memory. So I find myself with an awful lot of time during my Mandarin class (or is it Chinese, according to The Star?) as I have already learnt and understood whatever's being taught. It began with simple questions, really, like why am I here in this class? How come I was so foolish as to (for once) believe myself utterly incompetent and so convinced my mother to sign me up for the beginners' class. Like the one for toddlers? Baby steps? Yeah, you get the picture. So basically, I'm sure you comprehend now that I was bored out of my mind.

As usual, one thing leads to another and suddenly, I find myself questioning decisions I have never doubted. Seriously, having too much time can be a wee bit dangerous. Let's begin with my first most crucial decision, whether to take PTS or not alllllll the way back in 1997. That one decision made at the crossroads changed my life entirely. The people with whom I grew up molded me into the person I am. So if I'm dysfunctional, you know who you are. Kidding aside, the environment I studied in, played in and interacted with defined who I am, and this is me. What if I hadn't taken it? Who would Kav's bestie be? Who would have filled my shoes? Or, would they have been left vacant, since it never came to pass anyway?

Moving forward in time, another major decision came in 1999. Which secondary school to go to? I was originally dumped at SS17, which was then changed to SMKSJ and finally SMK Seafield. My first day at school sticks out clearly in my head; I was a nerdy kid with huge spectacles, wearing a pinafore too large for me clutching my father's hand. I felt lost, alone. I had to fight back the urge to weep with longing for my friends who had all gone to SMKSJ or SMKSU. Things got better as I befriended a girl who was destined to become my best friend, my support system and my role model. Then again, I look back and wonder what would have become of me if I had decided not to rough it out and stick to Seafield. What if I had gone back to SMKSJ? I would never have met the wonderful people I am privileged to call 'my friends'. Vice versa.

Now, on to a more recent event. In 2004, I completed the required amount of education by Malaysian law. I had reached yet another crossroad in this long and intricate journey of life. This time, as all other times, no one stood by me. My parents were beyond, beckoning me down a road I was reluctant to take. My friends were facing their own dilemmas. However, this decision was one that would be final, without any turning back or regrets. I was faced with two choices at the end of it; either walk the path well-trodden now and enter medic school or hack your own way through the wilderness of law. In the spirit of Robert Frost's poem, 'The Road Less Taken', I did the statistically stupid thing. I decided to rough it out. I took risks, gambled games and somehow blundered my way through. Looking back over my shoulder, the path I made is far from perfect; dodgy even. Pits there, sinkholes here, quagmires and bogs waiting to trap an unsuspecting traveller, but I made it nonetheless. As I'm doing a lot of questioning anyway, I wondered what life would have been like if I had chosen the easier road. I certainly wouldn't be blogging now as I would be in AusMed or STPM. God forbid.

Now here I am. Questioning one final decision I made. It was a choice many scoffed at, claiming that I would never succeed in keeping my word. I do not know if it was sheer determination to prove them wrong, a way of punishing myself for a wrong decision or simply withdrawal from the possibility of getting hurt; but in a few months time, I will have succeeded. Up till this very moment, I do not know why I did what I did. Why I said what I said. Why I feel the way I do. It's possibly a conglomerate of the above reasons all swirled together, one becoming the other until they're indistinguishable. I find that intentions are the hardest things to truly identify and separate. Most of all, I don't know if what I did was right and I'm still wondering. What if...

Rollercoasters

2006-07-05T21:16:00.000+01:00

Shots of the two main rollercoasters that really caught my attention in Island of Adventure. THESE are real thrillers.

Couldn't resist adding these; one of the only 2 Marvel comics characters I'm fond of (the other's Spidey but I can't post that picture for some obsolete reason) and what's a visit to Universal Studios without a stop by the Jaws section?

Universal Studios and Island of Adventure

2006-07-05T19:28:00.000+01:00

This is the part of my trip to Orlando that really got my adrenaline pumping. If you're a thrill-seeker who loves the feel of a 5 storey (or more) drop, the rush of the wind accelarating from 0 to 60 mph in 2 seconds, Islands of Adventure is the place for you. That's why I love it so much. Even took it more than once (Fire and Ice). I have to confess that I was too dizzy to consider taking The Hulk again.

Magic Kingdom

2006-07-05T18:07:00.000+01:00

It literally is what its name proclaims it to be; a kingdom of fantasy, of dreams, of innocence and of pure magic. Adults are whisked away to the land of child-like beauty and dreams whereas children see their dearest wishes brought to life. I love it.

I wish he took off his costume, then if he's that cute
I wouldn't mind.

My real first time behind the wheels. Unless you count my first ride.

Cont'd from pictures

2006-07-05T13:20:00.000+01:00

No idea what's wrong with the first post; couldn't continue uploading pictures. So read the previous post first, then continue viewing the pictures here.

I never thought I would find Literature here, of all places.
Lines Written Above Tintern Abbey was a great poem.

I flew 24 hours to reach a miniature HK.. What an ironic situation..

That's about it for Epcot though there are loads more.. Next up is Magic Kingdom, here we were joined by an old friend who made it even more memorable.

Pictures

2006-07-05T11:07:00.000+01:00

"A picture paints a thousand words."

The first time I stumbled across this nearly cliched saying was more than a decade ago, when I first set foot on the land of freedom, the land of dreams and the land of Walt Disney. It was in the oddest of manners; I met my first mime actor who was staging a show on a street in LA and he had a sign which read the above saying. After a decade, I returned to the same country but to the opposite shore and the experience this time was very different from the last. Well, for one, I no longer am the 7 year old who gaped at everything, from the huuuuge oranges to Mickey's house. Anyway, these is a photojournal of my holiday in Disney World which consists of Epcot, Magic Kingdom, MGM Studios and Animal Kingdom.

Can't seem to upload the rest just yet. More to come soon.

Dreams, nightmares, visions

2006-07-03T11:08:00.000+01:00

I just woke up sweating from another disturbing dream. I do not know if it qualifies as a nightmare, for there was no feelings of horror and dread. It was only so terrifying in it's reality and plausibility. This time, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer and given 3 months to live. I can even remember what the doctor looked like, and how he gave the diagnosis in a monotone, never skipping a beat.

What made this dream memorable would be the reaction to my news; mine and that of my loved ones. My parents could not let me go and just as my phone rang, I was meeting up with a group of my closest friends for the last time. It really touched me to see them, I can trace their faces with my hands even now; hear their voices crack as they said their final goodbyes to an invalid version of myself and the door close behind them with finality. I guess it was an excellent reminder of my mortality.

The few who know me well are aware of the fact that I have trouble sleeping. I cannot close my eyes without dreaming vividly. The Sandman obviously bears some grudge against me, he sends me horrible nightmares about exams, failing to make a grade, falling through space, being chased etc. So psycho-analyze me.. If you do that, you'll find that I'm a person with a lot of demons and I have not made peace with them yet.

It isn't so difficult, after all

2006-07-02T09:29:00.000+01:00

Despite the nostalgia and the painful prospect of having no one to accompany me at 2 or 3 a.m. in the house, letting go was surprisingly easy. Of course, one must bear in mind the fact that I have been awake since yesterday morning and have yet to get any sleep at all. I must blame the holidays for my lack of response to my brother's depature.

I have an alarmingly bad habit; I will weep, moan, complain and groan over a person's departure. But when it really does come to pass, I'm alright. It's the prospect of a person's leaving that scares me, not the real act of it.

Bro and really really old friend; Shi Wei

England and the World Cup

2006-07-01T18:58:00.000+01:00

There's just this thing about England and the World Cup. Many contemporary books I've read written by Brit writers (usually ones with a dash of humour) will have some small reference to footie. And they all agree on one thing; England winning the World Cup, or even just the idea of it, is enough to draw laughter. Guffaws. Snorts of derision. Ouch.

Until I began watching the World Cup seriously, with a dash of footie knowledge, understanding of this matter has always eluded me. Up till now. Having followed England's matches as closely as I can, I think I get it now. It was confusing to a complete stranger to football why the country which was the birthplace of footie, the home to the most famous FA league around and boasts of the best clubs cannot win the World Cup (since 1966).

And even at the start of the World Cup, all the glitz and glamour about Gerrard, Becks, Rooney (especially from my grandson) and Owen led me to believe they're more than just a decent team.

Well, this match against Portugal was almost as heart-stopping as Germany vs Argentina. Except it was clear England was going out though they did put up a good fight.

Oh my, when did I become an analyst of footie? When exactly did I learn to judge and evaluate matches? Better yet, why do I even know facts about football? I need a better hobby.

Cute, no? Possibly England's next captain.

There probably is a limit to the number of times I post pictures of football players up and rant about my newfound love for the game and there's a fair chance I've crossed that limit ages ago. Ah well. Joga bonita, no? Anyway, France vs Brazil in a while.

World Cup Fever

2006-07-01T14:01:00.000+01:00

Oh no. I have to concede, I have joined the ranks of sleep-deprived people who watch matches at ungodly hours and turn up at work or school half-awake. To think I used to call them crazy. It occurred to me that I MIGHT be suffering from this malady when I actually knew who was playing who, when the matches are, who the players are, what an 'off-side' means and why yellow cards are used. Start laughing now, but I have been asking a lot of near-stupid questions lately.

Now I know for sure my affliction is serious. I find myself constantly switching Astro to Channel 83 for replays of German matches even when I already have watched the live ones. Sleep, food and entertainment has become secondary to matches. Uh oh. Someone predicted I will switch to England or Brazil once Germany loses. Heh. He's so wrong. Besides, Germany has Klose and Ballack. England is... England.

On the bright side, I'll never be a footie widow.

Leaving, goodbyes and loneliness

2006-06-29T06:02:00.000+01:00

I confess. This title was meant for MY leaving, MY goodbyes and MY new beginnings. Well, someone stole that from me now. Leaning against the doorframe as I surveyed the battlefield encampment of clothes and bed sheets spread over almost all available surfaces of my elder brother's room, it occurred to me (again) that I will be in a similar position not too long from now. Why battlefield? Because it's my choice of ties and shirts vs. my parents'. Needless to say, I won hands down.

Let's do a recap of my relationship with my elder brother. Sooth to say, it has always been a little rocky. He was my first version of a knight in shining armour. Not in that way, you sick-minded people. He was the one who defended me from foes. 3-year-old foes. Like stick insects, dragonflies, ghosts, headless apparitions etc. From my imagination actually, and his role as a protector stretched far into my tweens.

He was the big brother, the one who got all the first accolades of success in academics and spurred me on to do the same. He was the one whose exam papers I would pore over diligently, trying to squeeze out the same amount of knowledge into me. He was the one whose textbooks I would inherit and complain over. Because he never bothered to learn how to wrap them properly and I am an extremely fussy person under most conditions.

He won every swimming race we had when we were much younger. He was the benchmark for swimming to me. Every lap he did was twice or thrice of mine. He could do no wrong in all his strokes whilst I fumbled through mine. And still do.

He learnt about pop, rock and hitz.fm before me. He started wearing adult clothes before me. Heck, when he got specs before me, I even got slightly jealous. Then we grew apart, for the years that followed were murky, disjointed and often full of strife. We were never again the best of friends, or even friends as that follows. Up till now, we are not close. Gone are the days where I idolized him, when he read to his baby sister, when he pulled me in a toy wagon and accidentally tipped me over, leaving me with a reminder of that incident in the form of a scar.

See where I'm going? He was ONCE upon a time everything. I still compare guys to him occasionally.

Whenever I got into real trouble, I'm afraid he was the only one who ever actually knew. It's rare, but it's not impossible. Now I'm losing him to Unimas.

And all I have left are unfinished memories.

Blood

2006-06-27T08:52:00.000+01:00

This is further proof of a common disease (name starts with b ends with m) amongst students on holiday who have absolutely no idea how they are going to spend their time. No actually, I do have a clear idea. It's just these little gaps in between that annoy me. A blip. It'll pass.

Anyway, back to the title and purpose of this post. Closing my gate two nights ago, my hand accidentally got caught in the lock. I know, pathetic isn't it? I can't even lock a gate without cutting my hand pretty badly. It didn't occur to me then that the cut was deep until I saw blood flecks on the wall I leaned against and on my arm. Ouch.

Looking at the scab on my palm now, it just occurred to me the symbolic (not scientific) significance of blood in society today and yesterday. Let's start with the most trivial one.

Fear - Some children and even adults have a phobia of blood. They start panicking whenever they see drops of it. Worse yet would be the huge puddles created by cutting a vein. (courtesy of klutzes like me in the lab who make practicals really memorable.. 3 inch scar serves as a reminder of the consequences of clumsiness) Some go into panic mode or some simply scream. Nevertheless, their reaction isn't altogether comical. Who wouldn't cringe at the sight of a terrible wound?

Pain - It's related to fear really. We wish to avoid seeing blood because blood only spills from a wound, whether self-inflicted or otherwise. The word 'wound' itself connotes pain, suffering and injury. A good example would be its use with respect to war. Most anti-war posters are drenched in blood; gory images of men dripped in vats full of blood, poems use blood to draw out the evils of war and battlefields are stained red reflecting the blood that has been spilt. Expressions, 'a bloody day', 'spilt blood', 'bloody sun' and 'bloody hell'; which are of course taken lightly now that WW1 and WW2 are behind us, originate from the idea of pain.

Horror - It's slightly different from pain in that vampires are often associated with blood. So are pontianaks and other supernatural creatures. Now, this is in no way stating my beliefs or non-beliefs. It's a purely academician view on superstition and beliefs. Vampires drink and drain people of blood. Blood lures spirits as we are told. We often hear about 'payments' made in the form of blood. Blood is the essential element in the horror movies and whatnot, nearly every successful horror flick has at least a few drops of blood in it. Interesting.

Virginity - In most yesteryear societies (and some today), a bride was (and is) expected to bleed on the first night of matrimony or she will bring shame to her family. Blood on bed sheets is a symbol of virginity and ownership of her husband over her. Or rather, it's a representation of the loss of virginity which was highly prized. And still is, in this patriarchal society. To dig deeper, it's also a passage from maidenhood to womanhood back in those days. However, to feminists, it could also echo the loss of identity, how a girl which belonged to her father has been transferred to a new owner; her husband.

Life and Death - The rush of blood, tearing of membrane and first squeal (or wail) are all the things which mark every successful birth. We live because of the blood that course through our veins, and it is undeniably common to all of us. I know I said I wouldn't bring in Science, but I can't help it. Blood transfusion if done accurately prolongs life. If not, it shortens life. It's what keeps us living and can be manipulated to cause our deaths through loss of blood, blood poisoning etc. I have seen pictures of Death portrayed as a Grim Reaper stalking with his bone-feet drenched in blood. Eww.

This post seems a little disturbing. But then again, my mind has never been called 'Purity', 'Sincerity', or 'Honesty', for that matter. So yeah. Don't read it if you can't stand blood.

Growing Up

2006-06-26T13:57:00.000+01:00

It's every parent's nightmare, I should imagine. Once upon a time, we were young and innocent cherubs. Frilly-frocked princesses and young knights-in-training. Then they turn around, and pooof! The fairytale characters are gone and in their place are downright disrespectful, irresponsible and rebellious teenagers. Noooooo, they cry. What happened to my baby? The answer is really quite simple, the baby grew up.

That, quintessentially, was one of the main thoughts or thematic concerns of RV. Heart-warming and laughter-guaranteed movie. Almost as good as The Fast and the Furious : Tokyo Drift (which I have yet to catch, again!). Nevertheless, it got me thinking. How do my parents feel? I doubt my mother takes my leaving to heart very much, since I was never truly hers to lose in the first place. But my father? I know he's awfully suspicious of all my guy friends. Every single one he meets is scrutinized and sudden random questions are shot my way about them. Paranoid. But cute.

My Lit lecturer used to remind us constantly of how necessary it is to 'prepare your parents to let go of you'. Empty nest syndrome. We hear about it constantly, oh yes we do. But we don't really understand it until it hits us. Like now. My mother's going to have a very empty nest. Two of her eldest fledglings are leaving together. Oh well, a retiree's considered a chick too right?

How 'bout growing up amongst friends? Our personalities change and evolve according to time, and sometimes, we tend to outgrow some company. Or they outgrow us, whichever works. I suppose the friendships that truly last are those that are able to grow together. Those which can remain compatible even after a sudden maturity spurt.

Now, here's the million dollar question. Have I grown up? I don't know. I really don't.

Shopping for men's clothes

2006-06-22T17:07:00.000+01:00

I am neither a cross-dresser (do they exist for women? I mean, we can wear half the things men wear and some people actually think it sexy) or thinking about a gender change. Out of sheer boredom and fear of rotting prematurely, I decided to accompany my elder brother and mother on their shopping excursion today and give them my two cents worth.

It turned out closer to RM 200's worth, than 2 cents. I have just discovered that it can be a lot of fun shopping for someone else and not yourself. Let's begin with men's shirts. Who actually knew that there were loads of different cuttings and patterns? Not to mention brands and material. Ooooh, there was this cute light pink one striated with white that I had to get him to try on. And buy. It's amazing how nice a simple white or striped shirt can be. The best bit is yet to come, I have a perfectly obliging model who respects my opinion and taste. Therefore, I claim partial ownership over his shopping today.

Now slacks. Prior to this, I whole-heartedly, sincerely, honestly, truly and really believed that men live on the same set of clothes all their lives. Or they bought the same pair of trousers in bulk. Say 50 pairs or something. I mean, how different can a darn pair of black pants get? Well, it turns out I was wrong. There's pleated and non-pleated. (By the bye, pleated ones really do make you look exceedingly fat around the hips) Black, charcoal gray, light gray, icky mud brown, coffee, coffee with milk and khaki. Alright, so I made some of the names up, but you get the picture. And let's not start on the different brands, cuttings and materials. Almost as good as shopping for myself.

So a shopping trip I thought would be unbearably boring turned out to be a fascinating lesson. Even more amusing would be the stares I got from the balding, old men patronising The Saville Row. I suppose it is quite odd to see someone my age pawing through racks of men's shirts and slacks. Hey, mum's nearing half a century, my brother does deserve some sort of recommendation from someone closer to his age.

Besides, odd as this may sound, I want my brother to look good in Unimas. Get a pretty girlfriend and provide me with all the nieces and nephews to replace kids I doubt I'll ever have. Excellent plan really, no pain of childbirth or messiness of marriage and I still get to watch them grow up and maybe even love me.

Holidays

2006-06-21T19:17:00.000+01:00

I just realized that I have blogged about nearly everything but the holidays. Having said that, this post is meant to remedy this oversight on my part. What is there really to say about the holidays?

To be absolutely honest, this is my first real break in years. Nearly a decade. Prior to this, every school holiday has been spent overseas mostly. Among the best and worst holidays would be 2005 and 2004's. Last year's break was spent in Florida (excellent holiday, loads of rollercoasters and heartattacks) but the journey there was a nightmare. 22 solid hours of flying. Form 5's break in 2004 should have been a real honeymoon, a taste of unemployment. But as usual, it wasn't. I still remember how I got back from Pangkor in the afternoon and was due to fly to Sarawak the following morning. And then there was the Genting trip.

So, for once, I have a 3 month hiatus from everything. From life itself, should I desire it. Allow me to record it here that I plan to learn (or rather refresh my knowledge of) Mandarin, tennis and dancing. I probably do have two left feet or an extremely stiff body which 40-year old aunties can put to shame, but it's something I should know. I'm particularly interested in ballroom dancing and that should come as no surprise, seeing how I'm obsessed with all things ancient and traditional. Except men. (Well, come to think of it, not really.. Shakespeare, Marlowe and Chaucer are considered old, aren't they? Notwithstanding the fact that they are dead and all..)

Alright, I'm digressing again. And no, I do not intend to work. I mean, with my brother going off in less than 2 weeks, who's going to mess the house up, annoy my parents and argue with my little brother? I'm afraid the burden has fallen unto my shoulders, therefore it makes perfect sense to spend my time as a useless delinquent at home. *cue snorts of derision and **cough**slacker**cough**

Talking to my mum today, it suddenly struck me how lonely I actually am. PM8 has disbanded, Chien in KB, Lalling back in Muar, Joanne in Kuching, Janet too. Poh Lynn's here, but too far. Yin Wei and Yang Ching are still around thankfully, and I'll probably see them now and then. They'll most likely be the only people I bid adieu to when I leave.

As for the old Seafield gang, Kavvie's still here, so is Zhao, Vic and Jon Au. Bern's on holiday, but only for a while. However, we're all going our separate ways. Ry, Jin, Kelvin, Ksuan and Kjin are all in Aussie; some returning, others not. Ratna and Dinesh are in Russia. Theni and Sindhu (though we lost touch) are public uni bound in about 2 weeks. Chiet is in Form 6. Hui May going off to Indon in about a month. Li still studying Japanese. Hidz still in A Levels. That's about it.

So it's pretty clear my holiday will be spent rotting at home and taking a real break.

Middle child syndrome

2006-06-19T18:13:00.000+01:00

So we're neurotic, abandoned, neglected, starved for love and attention, not to mention rebellious. Tag us, name us, classify us, judge us. We will never be the fantastic firstborn child, nor will we ever be the adorable lastborn.

Agatha Christie summarised it accurately, "With the first child, there was the rush, the fear and panic of the unknown. You (the mother) thought you were going to die, and you (the father) thought she was going to die. With the second child, usually a small gap of a year or two, the excitement has died down. Now the third child usually comes about 6 years after the first two, when the nursery looks empty and you think you want another child. It's like the first experience all over again."

So is it any wonder really, I turned out the way I am? I mean, seriously, I know I am slightly neglected. No wait, don't run for Child Abuse Hotline, not in that manner. I mean that whenever it is my turn to take some major examination, or to lose my first tooth, the fuss and hype my parents make (if they make any at all) is significantly less than the fuss they would have made over my elder brother. Don't get me wrong, I don't envy him.

I'm just pondering over this, because of the excitement and happiness my brother's acceptance into Unimas has created in the house. When I got my conditional offer from Cambridge, I think the general response was shock. Then probably slight admiration and joy. Very slight. Nothing much actually. This, on the other hand, was received with real enthusiasm. Sigh.

There is, however, one good thing that was born from this lack of attention. I became the most independent chick in the nest. Seeing how mother hen was henpecked with the first and last chicks, I received the least fussing and mothering. I was given a room of my own, a mind of my own, a personality of my own. To say the least, I became my own person.

I know some people wonder how I became so different, how I became independent. This is how. I had little choice, I did not want to end up like either brother, and I know I do not have the support these two had. So I chose to walk alone, to perform for a single audience. My audience, all my life, has always been the same person. She embraced me in my rare moments of weakness and anguish. Yet whenever I reach out to touch her, I hit a mirror. Yes, narcissic as this may seem, I have always performed for myself. On a track, I run my race for myself. On the stage, I sing my tune for myself.

Oh no, I do not blame my parents for this. They cannot help it. They're merely humans, prone to mistakes. I suppose I can be considered one such mistake. This has led to my selfish tendencies which I hope to suppress. I can never overcome them, they go hand in hand with pride, but I hope to control them.

For the record, they know this.

Reasons I will not get married in any century

2006-06-19T17:32:00.000+01:00

Pricking my finger for the upteempth time and cursing under my breath for the hundredth time, it struck me suddenly that I probably will not qualify for marriage in any century. Funny where your mind leads you when you're sewing on autopilot. Let's begin with the Stone Age, shall we?

Stone Age - Eligible women were required to : a) Start a fire with flint or sticks b) Roast/cook raw, bloody, skinned meat c) Skin carcasses d) Possess elementary sewing skills (they did wear skins) e) Take care of the kids f) Outrun predators
These are probably the minimal things they had to do. Lets see, a) is out, I can only light matches. I can't even use a cigarette lighter. b) and c) goes without saying. I can do d), but I need needles, and they probably MADE their needles. I cannot do either e) or f). So, the verdict is, I'll die an old maid in this age. No wait, that's if my mother doesn't clobber me to death first. Let's move on.

First civilisations (Mesopotamia, Indus, Ancient China) - I'll use China since I actually know that civilisation a little better than the others. I doubt any matchmaker will take me on. Criteria a) Small feet b) Fair skin c) Fat d) Ability to embroider insanely tiny birds and flowers e) Ability to sit motionless like a porcelain doll for hours f) Simper at men. Alright, I fare slightly better here, passing possibly b to c. Though I think even I fail their requirements of fat. The rest are absolute rubbish, I would probably empty a cup of tea over their heads than sit there in tiny shoes and a stifling costume. Oh, and my size 6 and a half feet are terrible disfigurements. There's a high chance I'd be stoned to death or ostracized. Oops, another failure.

Classical civilisations (Ancient Greece and Rome) - Ahh, at last. An era where women had a wee bit more influence and power. Requirements (for nobility) - a) Intelligence b) Wit and charisma c) Political influence d) Beauty (By their standards) e) Money. Let's see my score, I think I can pass a to c, I'll fail miserably in d and e. Social class mattered then too, so seeing how my name has peasant origins, I doubt I'll fare very well.

Medieval ages - This, I believe, is the worst age for me. Education for women was minimal, so I'll be casted as a freak for wanting more. Religion was no. 1, another no-no. Science was usually taboo, art was beginning to grow and the only consolation of this era would be Chaucer. On the other hand, chivalry was at its peak. Noble ladies were the patronesses of knights. **dreamy eyes** Then again, one had to be born noble and rich etc. Definitely not my era.

Renaissance - The age of enlightenment, of knowledge, of growth and of adventure. To be honest, I don't know much about the women of this society. From the bits and pieces stuck in the books I have read, I gather they were not of true significance. Besides being inspirational pieces for artists, think Mona Lisa, they wielded power only when rich or associated to rich men. Not a bad age to be born in, considering how hair art was the craze back then. Probably would not have been married off, considering how I lack aristocratic blood and beauty.

Elizabethan England - The age of Shakespeare. Women were considered assets, bartered to and fro between men. From childhood up, she belonged to her father. After her marriage, she belonged to her husband. The same basic necessities, sewing, beauty, manners, modesty, chastity, virginity, virtuous etc. All of which I lack. Darn, this is getting a tad depressing.

Fast forward to present time. Fail with a capital fail. I do not croon and drool over babies or baby clothes. I do not daydream of a white wedding. I do not believe that a knight in shining armor exists. Most importantly of all, I do not believe in everlasting love. So there. That really screams singlehood. I know, I'm young. I have not seen the world, this may change. Nevertheless, I can neither cook, sew, spin nor clean. Goodness, I am truly the worst candidate for a wife.

This is excellent really. After picking up embroidery and sewing again, I am reminded why I prefer to study and cram Literature than do this. I was not tailored to do this.

Redang

2006-06-17T17:06:00.000+01:00

Before I give the impression of being the atypical whiner who never is satisfied, let me get things straight. The trip was fantastic. The company excellent, I could not have had better. The PLACE was a letdown. Even the resort was decent. I have been bombarded with reports that Redang is fantastic, it's the place to be, you must go there, you've never been there?? etc. etc. But now that I have been there, I confess to be severely disappointed. Heck, Langkawi was better. At least you don't run the risk of cutting your legs on the corals there.

Nevertheless, I loved every moment of it. The long wait for the snorkeling, disgusting sights and sounds were all softened and made enjoyable by the people I went with. Without Yin Wei, Biew Chien, Janet and Joanne, I think I would have swum back to the resort just to get away. Seriously, the corals were dull-ish and broken, the water murky and too deep. Fish were not spectacular and they were scattered. My darn brother in Lang Tengah, just kilometres from me, saw hermit crabs, turtles, sharks, clown fishes (Nemo!!!!) and colourful corals. I hate him.

Still, I don't regret the trip one bit. Even the excruciating pain suffered at the end was worth seeing certain persons (it has been brought to my attention that specific names may be a tad revealing) seduce a cupboard door as forfeit. We did many a more disturbing thing the last night, ranging from Hula dances to girl on girl seduction. Who says we can't have fun?

For videos worthy of being used as blackmail material, I'm afraid you'll have to be one of the 8 of PM8 to get it from me. Oh and to give you an idea of what Kuala Terengganu is like, I had to wait till we were in Selangor to see my first McDs in three days. No kidding.

8 girls of PM 8
We look like we're posing for some beachwear adv

Officially our last dinner together.. Sniff

The following is a 3 step series of how to achieve a perfect lesbian-ish kiss. Nope, this blog still belongs to a straight person. Nothing against the different road, but in this instance, I prefer the road more taken.

A decent pose and shot of PM8's 3 stooges

Prepping for the not-so-decent shot - kids, don't try this at home

Wheeee! Successful shot. HP Pua, Eugene, I'm sorry.
I couldn't resist the temptation - we were 8 lonely girls, y'know.

Cannot muster strength to upload the rest. Will do it later.

Packing

2006-06-13T17:52:00.000+01:00

Silly of me to be nostalgic over a simple act like this. But I am, looking round my newly neat and tidy room due to the visit of a freakishly clean person, (it ain't a bad thing, Sarah, but it's scary to litterbugs) my gaze falls on the Samsonite suitcase my father ordered for me over a year ago. My heart catches at my throat a little, my eyes become suspiciously moist and my mind reels back to the day I got accepted into Cambridge. In three months, this will all be but a memory. I will be bidding my family and friends adieu, a country I have called home for almost all my life will be my home no more. At least for a few years. Home is where the heart is. Do I have a heart? Kidding.

The next time I pack, it would most likely be for a long time. My mother, much as she denies it, will be upset. She doesn't even deny it nowadays, looking at me and my younger brother with sorrowful eyes. I don't know if she's feeling the pain of losing the first bird from her nest, or she simply worries about how my eminent departure will affect the remaining chick.

I have always thought about leaving flippantly, taking it as something that I desired, something I craved and something I will welcome heartily. Yet now I hesitate, slightly. I will miss Malaysia for sure. I will miss my PM8-ers, but is it them I am missing? Or am I simply missing the security, the familiarity and the safety they symbolise?

Darn, Literature is over, and I'm still reading into things.

My Latest Toy

2006-06-12T17:53:00.000+01:00

Rats, I accidentally deleted the first post. Well, all the better, it did sound very ditzy and bimbo-ish. I daresay I've sobered down sufficiently to blog rationally. So, here we are. At the end of the road, peering down a hazy, murky and uncertain new path. Everytime I venture one hesitant toe out of my familiar road, I feel a tug of fear and insecurity which urges me to run and take cover in what I know, what is certain, into a way which assures security beyond doubt. Yet, I grit my teeth and take the step. Which actually begins here, truly acknowledging that this is the end and I will stop harping on it. The long-awaited lunch with Ms. Anne made it seem all the more final. And all the better for me, I need to move on with my life, ready myself for the real world which beckons.

I have been experiencing disastrous sleeping patterns, to say the least. I have not caught proper 40 winks since the exams let out. The very day they finished, I somehow ended up sleeping extraordinarily late, even for my standards. Was it 4 a.m.? It goes without saying Prom night was even worse. 'Let worse follow worse till the worst of all..' kill me? Great. Someone, do something.

On a much brighter note, I finally got myself a proper camera. One which is 100% mine. Yep, mine mine mine, and no one else's.

Except with Yang Ching in Redang. **Evil grin** I cannot wait to see my classmates one final time, to hug them and bid them adieu properly. Oh and I'm going to seize this opportunity to write all the Friendster testimonials I've owed them since.. last year?

Yin Wei and Yang Ching - You guys have been my best friends in college without doubt. I'm sorry, I have to embarrass all of us and leave it to my readers to wonder if it's 'lesbian-love-you sort of love' when I say this. Which it isn't just so you know. I love you guys. Plain and simple, I cannot account for how I know I do, I simply do. I truly truly appreciate and cherish all the moments we had together, from meals in Success to simple phone conversations that stretch for hours. No one will replace you two in my heart. In my heart of hearts, there is only one Yin Wei who believes fervently that I am capable of anything (Good and bad, btw). There is only one Yang Ching who trusts my judgement without doubt, there is only one YC who will allow me to tease her to the lengths I have. And also only one sufferer of alone-phobia. *winks* Yes, kidding aside, I will miss you two dreadfully.

Poh Lynn and Biew Chien - Lynn, you have been my companion in war. Literally, during the struggle for BNM scholarships, I would not have had half such an enjoyable time without you. The memory of you pushing your food around your plate will never be eroded by time. All the snide comments made on passing, all the freaking out before exams and the gorgeous pink princess of the prom. How can I forget such moments? Besides, you're still going to be in UK. Chien, you said that I was the first person to talk to you. Was I? It doesn't matter, first or last, I'm grateful for having gotten to know you. What a treasure Kelantan has, and both my visits there had not uncovered her. She had to come to me instead. =) It was an honour, learning from the SS Queen of KB herself not to forget her being my only friend who can stroll down a road in KB and yell at passing motorists, 'YES! This is my grandfather's road, so buzz off!'

Cindy, Janet and Joanne - Cindy, Cindy.. My dearest Lalling, and I think my only too at this rate. LOL. No, ain't lesbian-love either here. It's just a pure affection that this sweet girl evokes. She brings out the best in people, she touches the tender nerves running through all of us. With her carefree and generous spirit, how can we resist her magnetism? She is beautiful, in and out. True, she has had her serious and sad moments, but even angels do cry after all... Janet, I wish I had the chance to get to know you better, but towards the end of 3rd Sem, I sort of did. Whatever it is, you are another resilient spirit, someone whose courage and strength I admire. It takes pure guts to leave your country and come here, to a place with prejudice is rampant, where people are so judgemental. Jo, Mojojojojo.. My cutsie Mojojo. I love the talk we had in Starbucks together, slamming a certain person. My fellow PM8 clubber who is more experienced than me. Whose judgement and taste CANNOT err, whose openness is a prize to all who has taste. Thank you.

Darn, I have more. Will resume when I can open my eyes. Owww..

When Boy Meets Girl - Prom Night 2006

2006-06-09T22:18:00.000+01:00

Yes! I got it right for once. For the past six months, I have had a problem figuring out what year exactly I'm currently in. I have been writing 2005 very often, and amazingly, no one ever corrects me. There are times where I actually have to scrunch up my face and strain my brain just to work out if it's 2005 or 2006. Amazing.

The prom was... um, a prom. It was nice. Taboo word. But it was simply a prom with the usual photos, teachers, goodbyes, friends, dresses, hair, make up and the after party. It's going to be 5.30 a.m. and my hair still reeks of cigarette smoke from the club. My feet ache, my brain is dead and I simply am not able to reach for my cable and upload my photos. I'm afraid that's gonna have to wait till I'm more coherent. Oh, and by the bye, my twinnie was crowned 'Prom Queen'. She deserves it for her effort. *winks*

Okay, I have recovered sufficiently. Here are the photos of that near-fantastic night. If only they took off the darned Motorola Ads.

PM8 Class of 2005

Seafieldians reunite!

My two closest friends in PM8 - Yin Wei in black
and Yang Ching in white.

My lalling and I

Vik, Kav, myself and Heng Kai.
The only picture that's balanced out - not bad for a dateless night.

My last Math lecturer.. I will miss her

I love it when the tables are turned for once;
and instead of having only one guy as usual,
I'm the only girl.

This is the only guy of PM8..
And yea, he's like the last surviving member of an extinct species in my class.

More to come soon.

18

2006-06-09T04:19:00.000+01:00

What's with me and numbers you ask? Nothing. We have had a terrible relationship, I have always despised him (numbers appear masculine to me) and vice versa. Yet, at every turn and twist, he has always been there for me. So I was stuck in a love-hate relationship with him up till now. The end of college marked the termination of a relationship which has spanned over... a good decade or so. I'm ready to move on to a new love *Law*.

Anyway, I digress. I'm officially 18 today, and the day began with the usual cordial wishes of happy birthday etc. Nevertheless, for the first time, it didn't matter to me who remembered and didn't. Those who did, I thank you. Those who did not, it's no biggie. Exactly 18 years ago, the bane of your existence was born, so I do not see the reason for rejoicing. Kidding, I'm no Damian of The Omen (which by the way, was too close to the book and not creepy enough. I was bored out of my mind)

Looking back at the 18 years I have spent on the surface of this earth, I realize I have accomplished very little. I have little more to my name than a stack of certificates and photographs. If I'm gone, would anyone lament the loss? I doubt it. Life would go on as it had and always have. My achievements were succinctly summed up by my younger brother on his card cover. I wanted to be a BNM scholar, and now I am (or almost am). 12A1s etc are the only other things I know I am remembered for. Is this the sort of eulogy I will be receiving at my funeral? 'Wilt there be none to tell the world?' - Yes, there will be none.

I am no Hamlet, nor do I have a Horatio (Shakespeare, not CSI) to trumpet the truth to the world. What truth? Beyond the fact that being known for my academic record is somewhat appalling, disgusting and flattering to me... I don't know what 'truths' I desire to be made public. I'm not the nicest person around, I know that. Nor do I ever strive to be one. I only hope I have been a good friend to those whose friendship I value and cherish above all others. I have been jaded in relationships. My outlook on love is beyond bleak, it's non-existant. I took a vow of celibacy for two years, and I'm nearing the end of that period. Someone asked me, "Then what?" I don't know. Life is full of corners, bends and unexpected detours. I'm currently off the road, stopped at the side, putting life on hold for 3 months to find out what I truly cherish. Who I am.

So please. If I ask you something absurdly stupid or near insane, try not to snort or guffaw. I am in serious earnesty. If I ask you who I am, try to answer it as honestly as you can. No, I'm not having an identity crisis, I'm trying to avoid having one in the future. Now's as good a time as any to find that out. And no, I'm not going into a monastery (or rather nunnery for me) or some spiritual enlightenment course. All roads lead to Rome. A devout pagan is better than a sinful religious advocate.

The end

2006-06-08T12:56:00.000+01:00

As I penned the last sentence detailing how Antony and Cleopatra transcend all classifications of power in their deaths, I finished the final line of one chapter of my life. No more a college student. No more a Taylors student. No matter how ignoble I found that term, it's odd how once time strips me of it, I miss it. No matter, I look forward to a 3-month break.

Yes, hence the new name of my blog. No more on a race, no more on the track. Now it's merely a blog detailing the mercurial moods of an unemployed (academically and literally) teenager.

The REAL last lap

2006-06-02T14:41:00.000+01:00

It's here. The final lap of this examination.. The previous weeks have blurred into a hiatus of rushing from one paper to another. It has boiled down to this, this is the 'make-it-or-break-it-week' with no mercy. Three back-to-back days of nightmarish papers which stand head and shoulders above every other paper. My life is just wonderful at the moment. Real peachy keen.

My 18th birthday will either be a wonderful day for me, or it will be one filled with half-conscious images of screwed up papers. Great. I mean, really, there's only so many times I can feel suicidal. I think I'm reaching the limit. I read somewhere that a person can forgive another 700x700 times.. The 490,000th time is about to come for me, in my relationship with myself.

On a brighter note, if any such can exist, I spent my day in the college renewing my long-standing relationship with TCSJ's library and my favourite spot. I will actually miss sitting slumped and slouched over the Video Section staring miserably as Antony forgives Cleopatra for her betrayal. Again. I will definitely miss distracting Ms. Anne from marking her papers by popping by and clarifying a text. Even the librarians have finally gotten round to recognizing me and which video I will check out. It has become some sort of a ritual for me.. And as we all know, rituals are familiar events, things which give us a false sense of security simply by repeating themselves over and over again.

Call me paranoid. I'm not ready for this. I'm so not ready for this.

Someone tell me it's going to be alright

2006-05-28T11:09:00.000+01:00

I'm at one of those low points of life. Taking life metaphorically to be a geographical landscape of mountains, bogs, cliffs, beaches and rivers, I'm currently in a ravine. A deep, scary, dark and treacherous ravine. I've spent the day stuffing in Antony and Cleopatra, yet it feels like I have not done enough. My Lit paper is the following week and I am already panicking about it. What is wrong with me?

To a lot of people, I'm the type who usually tries to be level-headed, who keeps her jaw clenched and her smile tight even when near insanity. Well, there are a few who have been privy to my moments of absolute despair and they can tell you that when and if I do break down, it's a serious problem. One that requires global effort to resolve.

Now seems to be like one of those times when I really need someone to tell me sincerely that I'm going to be alright. I don't want those generic, mindless responses to someone moaning about the exams. I want someone who can truly believe in me and look me in the eye when he/she says "You're going to be alright." No batting an eyelid when I stare in disbelief, no missing a beat when I raise an eyebrow, no doubting me for a minute.

Hang on a minute, shouldn't I already have such people? Eg. my parents? I suppose I do. Kind of. Sort of. Only they don't know me. And I think it's for the best, this way. I'd rather be the neglected kid who seems normal enough; academic track record check, co-curricular vitae check, no social problems, check. I mean, no point adding to their worries by revealing my neurotic tendencies, my self-doubt and my fears, right? They have enough problems.. I have always and will always deal with mine my own way.

So how about it? I wonder if there is such a person. I'm talking about sincerity here at its deepest. The sort of faith you can almost equate to religious faith, only mortal and earthly. Goodness, studying too much about Rome and Egypt's most famous lovers can do strange things to you.

17

2006-05-26T10:24:00.000+01:00

No, not the magazine. I'm talking about the 17 of us who got into Cambridge from Taylor's. Finally met them, though I've heard about them from other sources and well... I don't think I made an excellent impression, my hyper-activeness decided to act up then. Haven't been consuming coffee or chocolate, my blood sugar levels are low and I am extremely stressed about my exams. By the by, anaemia runs in my maternal line. Any one up for donating A Rhesus postive blood? Good to have people on stand by besides my dad.

Somehow, the culmination of all these is a seriously deranged attack of bubbliness. No one who truly knows me will ever describe me as that.

Well, they're a nice bunch. All over-achievers, all definitely worth more than me. Really, quite intimidating, even. Very humble too. Met the renowned twins, they're so modest and unassuming it makes me feel awful. I probably expected too much, hoping for friendship and immediate kinship. Alright, so I do that pretty often, still, no excuse. This from a person who expects zilch from relationships and most other things, I cannot believe I deluded myself into believing that everything falls together perfectly all the time. Why do I keep doing this, this whole expectations exceeding realisms thing? I know I'm doing it, I know it's bad and yet it's all that gives me hope. Oh sure, I can be gloomy and doomy-ish about exams, I can mope, weep, cry and curse. But I don't. And I think that's the reason I'm sticking out like a sore-thumb. Or maybe I've been wandering so long I'm desperate to settle down, to fit in. Or maybe I'm simply craving to have another 'kindred soul' in Cambridge. Like Anne of Green Gables sort of 'race of Joseph' peers.

Instead, as always, I make a fool of myself and disappoint no one less than myself. For the first time, I was quite nearly the most cheerful person around. Or maybe I'm being condescending, over-judgemental. Definitely unreserved. Definitely still quite alone. I tease a certain friend constantly about her paranoia regarding being alone. I'm such a hypocrite.

Birthday post

2006-05-22T16:37:00.000+01:00

Blogging is an addiction, once the words start flowing and the sentences materialise, there's no stopping. Right now, what's spinning through my head is how much of Bio and Chem I'm supposed to stuff down my throat (literally and figuratively) and how disgusting it is to mentally vomit it all out. I know, what an awful choice of kinetic imagery, but it feels that way. These are the times when I feel people in relationships are extremely fortunate. You get to rant, rave, scream, blame, curse and blow off your steam by abusing your partner. At least my friends do that. I get to rant, rave, scream, blame and curse myself. When I was younger, I used to take it out on my Patrick or my diary. Now, it's gone to a whole new level - self-abuse. Sigh, no, my grip on sanity and patience is not slipping. Even though 'patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.'

Nevertheless, I will attempt to exercise some discipline and abstain from blogging for about a month. Until I lose my student ID or get thrown to D floor for quarantine again, that is. Anyway, this post is an exception to the rule.

Today is the birthday of a dear friend who is about.. say 4000 miles away? She was born 19 years ago on this very day and what needs words more? She belongs to the rare and soon-to-be-extinct race of people who always knows the right things the say, the right way to comfort and console a broken heart; most importantly of all, to offer a shoulder to cry on or just a listening ear. Shakespeare once compared love to a star to 'e'ry wandr'ing bark', I compare friendship to that. Sometimes, I just need an anchor, a safe haven where I know I can retire to and that it will always be open to me. Not exclusively, but it feels that way. Happy birthday, Suan Ee.

I got it!

2006-05-15T09:25:00.000+01:00

No, not my Cambridge acceptance letter. That came nearly half a year ago, and that's a wee bit long ago to get all hyped up over. Even for me. My application for a bursary from their trusts has been accepted! What's more, they are exceedingly generous, offering me about twice the amount I applied for. Excellent news! Now, if only I can keep this from my dad, so he won't cut my allowance...

The end of a chapter

2006-05-11T16:25:00.000+01:00

Well, Chaucer knew what he was talking about all those centuries ago when he wrote, 'Alle thing hath an ende'. I can identify with that only too well. Today, I reached the end of a long, long, looooong journey. It would be a lie to said it was fantastic, smooth-sailing and wonderful all the way. Heck, even my tarrot readings initially showed me to be depressed, quite nasty stuff as a matter of fact. Gray clouds, swords, weeping, more swords, and yeah, even a picture of death. Not that I hold to such means of predicting my future, but I'm sure the point is clear.

I vowed not to cry today, and I managed to hold back any sobs that threatened to rise. The subject that moved me most, taught me most, frustrated me most and satisfied me most brought the most tears to my eyes. Our dear lecturer ended the class in the most final yet touchingly sincere way; thanking us. It should be the other way around, we owe her so much...

I would have been a soul-less science student who relied too heavily on tuition if she hadn't reminded us of our maturity level again and again. The first Lit class I attended stands out freshly in my mind; the terror of it, the fear, the insecurity, the uncertainty and the loneliness. It still is a lonely walk for me, but not so much now, having found a support system. Nonetheless, I have always stood on the sidelines, rushing from class to class, paper to paper, lecturer to lecturer alone. But I wouldn't have done it any other way.

She pushed us to our limits and motivated us to find those limits.
We had unorthodox classes : Pack up your bags! Faster la, we're going down to the garden. Cue mouths agape. What? Which other class will you be able to go to the garden and act?
What ensued was a really entertaining session of drunken Triumvirs carousing each other.

She showed us that there was much more to life than just academics. Or ciggies. Or pool.

She gave us advice we would never have obtained anywhere else : When you go over to UK/etc. be prepared for the culture shock. Beer, sleeping around and drugs.
No other lecturer of mine would have been so precise, concise and straight forward.

Somehow, she made us feel more than part of a class. There was a personal touch in each of our respective student-teacher relationships which I cannot explain. After class, she would give us her trademark grin after a particular passionate discussion, "Well, Vee Vian, isn't Chaucer fun? Better than Antony and Cleopatra?"

The 'good's we get in our essays, would always be scrutinized. And frankly, I feel more exulted by one 'good' than by full marks on some other subjects' essays. The first time I got my poetry assignment back, her 'On the right track' was so encouraging. I am forever grateful to her for encouraging me so patiently when I felt it was an impossible task. She never lost faith in me even when I told her I thought I couldn't do it. "I was a Science student too, but it didn't stop me." These little remarks meant the world to me.

During our last Lit class, she surprised us all with a cake; citing our joke about a class party. All of us received a bookmark, sans symbolism of the illustration, personalised with a quote. What really did it was the hug. The whole finality was almost too much for us, a few of us left the class with glassy eyes.

I can quite safely say I will never forget this class, this subject and least of all, this lecturer. I don't think she taught us only Literature, it seemed to be a lecture on life.

Think Tuesdays with Morrie.

Our Lit lecturer. Couldn't have had a better one.

One of the blessings of Lit, besides our teacher, would be the friendship(s) I found. The aforementioned support system came mainly in the form of a dear friend whose camera marked our progression. But the rest of PL3 was a welcomed and definitely refreshing change from the other PM classes which are often stereotyped as.. nerdy-ish. By comparison. And I don't agree actually. Still, all the Antony and Cleopatra dramatisations we put on.. All the AVP (not Alien vs Predator, Arcite vs Palamon) feuds we had. I wouldn't exchange it for anything else.

PL3 and the two others who keep them company.

Situational irony - It's the other way around ma'am!
And she remembered the two add-ons from PM8..!

The 2nd last week of Lit.
Black and White, Nice and Mean. ( I mean, mean me)

Our last picture in Lit class.
Note the nice backdrop. Two of the only three thorns amongst the roses in our class.
See our bookmarks? I got rabbits!

The 1st pic we took together.
Of all the events!

I hope to never forget this journey; and my companions on this bumpy road which is reaching a end. Finally.

More nostalgia

2006-05-05T09:41:00.000+01:00

It came about in the most uncanny of ways; rushing a last-minute presentation for our prom night. I was flustered, quite annoyed with myself and at certain incidents, yet it hit me then. My class, PM8, has always accepted my eccentric ways, my odd outburst of anger, my dazed state of mind when stressed, even the worst of me eg. condescending-ness, an affinity for torturing and teasing, callousness which I assure you all here, is not intentionally meant.

I don't usually post pictures on my blog, but the picture story I pieced together today struck a very emotional chord in me. I'm replicating it here as best as I can.

This is dedicated to the class of 2005-06, PM8.

Reddies - The joys of an all-girl class is you
get to pose for as many pictures as you want and no one complains.

Cheese! The full class during a lab session.
Our numbers have decimated since.

Us at our favourite hang-out spot - Cabana

The pinkies! Jap Lynn, Chinese me and Topshop YC

Cindy and I - Don't we make a nice pair?

My two best friends in PM8.
More commonly known as the 3 stooges or Powerpuff girls.

More to come soon.

Sniff, it's here.

2006-04-29T13:28:00.000+01:00

Alright, so I am being overdramatic. The finals are here (technically 2 weeks away isn't that long, so they qualify as being here). Well, that also means the end of college life as I know it is here, the end of Taylors (good and bad alike) is here and the end of another chapter of my life. Change is inevitable, as our dear Bard reminds us time and time again. But no one said I had to like it.

This marks the beginning of a long pause in blogging or at least I'll attempt to make it a break as best as I can; there's no telling what stress will do to me. Finals are beginning in 2 weeks and I'm not as high strung and stressed as I ought to be.

On the bright side, I will have the opportunity to bid adieu to my classmates; mates in studies, in getting in trouble, partners-in-crime, best friends and owners of the shoulders I've leant on for a year and a half. We have finally successfully planned our class trip to Redang. Get this, all girls, no guys invited. Wheeeee! Let's hope there will be some (prays hard) hot guys on the beach for us to ogle. Don't know if any will make the move though, some are taken.. Some others will need alcohol to be so bold. That is completely besides the point, though. Pm8, that's who I want to be with this holidays.

Reasons why I am not a fan of chick lit

2006-04-22T17:16:00.000+01:00

I will not read another chick lit book as long as this post lasts (which will be for quite a while, seeing how I intend to keep this blog). I have just had a very disturbing read, Domestic Goddess by Sophie Kinsella. It's absurd to get worked up over a novel written with the purpose of ENTERTAINING and HUMOURING its readers, but it failed miserably in this instance. Probably because it hit too close to home. It's about a lawyer who screws up (or so it seems) and how she has a nervous breakdown as a result.

Ouch. I will not think about the suicide story my Lit lecturer told me. This girl who was studying Law- Stop it! Get out of my head. Alright, I'm focused.

I will resolve to read only sensible books which are meant to educate (or to some, depress) as these are extremely cheerful to me. To alleviate the panic attack caused by the aforementioned novel, I grabbed the nearest literature-worthy book, The Great Gatsby. Ironic, isn't it, how I find the shattering of the American Dream more comforting than a lawyer finding her calling in life? Hmm, maybe the right term here is 'paradoxical', not 'ironic'. Need to gear up for college.

Trials A2

2006-04-19T17:06:00.000+01:00

For once, I shall not whine. I shall not complain, I shall not blame every single thing; living and otherwise, for every mishap today. Yes, I have been most unfortunate. Rolling out of bed to grab my annoying phone which was ringing incessantly, I hit my head against my bedside. Owwww. A pounding head and strained neck to add to my sore feet. Wonderful. Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, no kidding. Was not coherent when I stumbled down the stairs, missing a step and stubbing my toe. I am the epitome of clumsiness and klutziness before my morning drink.

Anyway, I did not screw up my trials this time. It's a mixture of luck and blessings from God. I will not expect to be as lucky in my finals, it is not my intelligence which got me through, it is the paper and fate. For the first time in college, ever since meeting Literature, I got perfect straight As this time, albeit my most demanding subject being a borderline A. Alright, so I'm being bratty, I am extremely thankful I got an A. Being a perfectionist, it does grate a wee bit. But not as much as it would for other subjects.

Wheeee! My mother, for the first time, did not have a single snide comment about my Math, especially since I have always publicly acknowledge that Math has never been and will never be included in my string of loves. By loves, I mean subjects, don't you get any ideas. I suppose missing perfect by 2 for A2 is satisfactory. Sheesh, and some people wonder where I got my neurotic tendency to have everything immaculate and perfect (to me) from.

Pain is NOT good

2006-04-18T16:15:00.000+01:00

I am the proud owner of two very sore feet. Or at least I believe they are still mine. Haven't felt a thing for a few hours now, I should be getting worried pretty soon. The cause, reason and source of my current state of agony would be shopping trip to two of Malaysia's biggest malls in one day, which also involved me giving wrong directions to my dearest driver. Then again, everyone should know better than to trust me with a map or the navigator's seat. That's just asking for trouble. (sorry Lalling!)

Not all suffering goes unrewarded, I got my prom dress! To those who have been subjected to my constant whining and fretting, be at peace. It's over. (for now, for this one thing) It's white and it's a far cry from what I had envisioned originally, but I'm perfectly happy with it, and owe my current state of satisfaction to my shopping buddy who has excellent taste, a better sense of direction than me and better sense in most matters.

Evidence of this would be her choice of footwear, flats as opposed to my heels. I mean, well, seeing how we walked the length of both 1 U and MV more than 3 times each, stopping in almost every boutique, she definitely had the upperhand. Moreover, I do not possess a very discerning eye for excellent pieces, and was in great need of hers. I am not kidding when I said I am extremely lucky and blessed to have her as my shopping-for-prom-stuff partner. Seriously, who else would have borne my idiocy in getting us lost till Klang and Melayu Jawa in the short distance it takes to go from 1U to MV? Notwithstanding getting us lost, I cannot recall a more enjoyable shopping trip. (or more painful one, for that matter)

Northanger Abbey

2006-04-15T17:27:00.000+01:00

One of the many things I intended to accomplish during this short intermission would be to read at least 3 or 4 of the huuuuge stack of Lit classics purchased on by behalf, most kindly by Sarah Wong. So, aside from Frankenstein which I read mostly for sentimental reasons a certain BRAT would know, the stack of books remained untouched until very recently. Anyway, moving on, I gingerly pulled the most intriguing one out this morning, Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. Do allow me to straighten out some details, like what on earth possessed me to go for that book at 6 a.m.

Firstly, I promised (a very foolish move on my part) to watch my lil' brother's march past for his school's Sports Day. Hmm, it's quite an unusual decision on my part to those who know my sleeping habits well. But it's a small price to pay for the 3 years of his life I will miss out on. Yep, as far as my dreams and hopes go, I will be absent for a large portion of James's teenage life, and that is something I'm trying my best to come to terms with. I'm pretty sure my parents will grow old gracefully. (My mother wouldn't even hear of trying a different hair colour, despite all my best attempts at persuasion. Same excuse each time, "Dear, I'm too old.") But I want to be around when my brother has his first crush, his first secret date, his first I.U., his first real rebellion against my parents and his first brush with teenagehood. I had no idea how significant my presence in his life was until today.

Bearing the heat and mud of MPSJ, I stood (like a proud parent, the ones we usually mock when they get into this fit of excitement over their first kid) at the bend of the track waiting to snap the perfect photo of him rounding the corner with his flag. By the way, Eu Jin, I did get it. I'll post it up when I can. So stop smirking at me with the look which goes, 'Vee Vian-can't-take-a-decent-photo-without-messing-up-20". It was at that very moment, camera in hand, that a wave of nostalgia hit me. A cliched expression, but that was how it felt. I have always been there, from the first time he opened his huge eyes, his first words, first steps, first mature tooth and even first disappointment with girls. And to think I will play the annoying elder sister role no more. Ouch. I need to stop thinking about this.

Anyway, back to the title of my post, so yes. I was far from coherent or even conscious when I picked up the book. It was thinner than David Copperfield, and weight is a factor when you have to lug it around. It's clear that it is Austen's first novel, it being the only Cinderella story amongst her many titles. It's quite an intriguing read as the novel focuses on a more rustic social setting when compared with Pride and Prejudice. Even Emma was a small cut above Northanger Abbey. No matter, it sunk in better than Sense and Sensibility.

What I admire about the 'heroine' of the story, Catherine Morland, would be her absolute lack of talent. None of Eliza Bennet's sharpness or sense, none of Emma Woodhouse's beauty, fortune and intelligence and nothing to recommend her save 'almost prettiness'. Of course, its plot may be somewhat flat, almost predictable by today's standards. But what it does not lack would be Austen's usual punchlines and dry humour, particularly her ability to endear such a plain character to her readers. It takes a great deal of literary talent to paint such an intriguing portrait of a character already outlined to be somewhat plain with minimal education and no thought of anything save Ann Radcliffe's novels, drama and being a heroine. Really, it's almost as amazing as how much we love Adrian Mole despite his absolute lack of morality. Makes you wonder what hypocrites we readers can be at times.

I obviously have nothing better to do. Or I do, but..

2006-04-13T17:48:00.000+01:00

Something I lifted off another's blog. Interesting, do try it out. It takes about 5 secs.

http://kevan.org/johari?name=V'Vian+T

Real women have curves

2006-04-13T15:56:00.000+01:00

Alright, so I'm slow. What's new? The movie's pretty old, that I know, but I haven't had the chance to watch it till now. For once, the heroine of the movie is neither blonde nor thin(-ner than me) and the focus of the movie is on something I can relate to. I have always judged beauty along the proportions of Hollywood, something I should believe all of us do. Yet.. It is incredibly hypocritical of me to do so, after everything I have said against such judgements. Thankfully, I had a good jolt of reality. A scene which in most movies would be perverted (i.e. the stripping down of women usually have sexual connotations), in this instance, provoked no such implications. On the contrary, it raised issues about body size, the measure of beauty, the worth of a woman.

The movie revolves around Ana, a Mexican-American who is stuck between two worlds. Although brought up in what I would assume is a typical Mexican family, she has been educated in an American fashion, bearing the dreams and hopes of your average teenager. So yada yada yada, to cut the long story short, she wants more, family does not understand, she struggles with her mother's old-fashioned ideas (sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it?), falls in love with a boy of the other race etc. Here, the interplay of romance is very realistic, it doesn't work out. And, she never expected it to. So, fine, I was a wee bit disappointed, but I had known as much.

The point is, her conflict is one I can relate to very well. Not because my family consists of devout Christians, but because the gap between parent and child (specifically MOTHER and daughter) is extremely obvious, and better yet, for once, the movie does not claim that love conquers all. It ends with a separation, a conflict still existing, mother locks herself in room, refuses to give her blessing to her daughter, but Ana leaves anyway. Any other ending would have ruined the entire movie completely. What I love about the movie is clear; beauty is loving yourself just as you are, not all conflicts can ever be resolved and finally, love does NOT conquer all. Ahh, it feels good not to be alone.

Well, it's a definite sign of development, I've moved away from fairytale ending movies. Nowadays, I get quite annoyed when the movie ends with a marriage (think The Knight's Tale), or it ends with some happy-ever-after ending. That probably explains why Brokeback Mountain is a great movie. Fantastic scenery, hot actors who play homosexuals, even better acting with supporting actresses; and the best of all, a tragic end. I think Lit has poisoned my mind.

I know this is a bit much.. but...

2006-04-12T14:24:00.000+01:00

Two posts in one day is a tad bit much for a procrastinator. Three? Well, that's just wrong. Very very wrong. Especially since I discovered I have an audience of readers who actually do frequent this blog. So is this some kind of hint to be less explicit about my life? Not that I'm giving out any juicy details. *wink wink* I started this blog with the vague idea that I would use this place to unload, unwind and uncoil. I'll still be doing the same; except I may be more wary this time around. *Shrugs* We all still put masks up, I'm no exception.

Anyway, I have to confess that all this talk about accommodations, halls, rooms, rents, how-the-heck-am-I-gonna-eat?-I-don't-cook! has finally rattled me enough to start thinking about my own. So yes, if I am going to Cambridge, it means that I'll definitely live on campus. By the by, the whole TOWN is literally part of the University, so yea, we will be on campus anywhere in town. Anyway, that's not the point. Clicking around my prospective College (Selwyn, for those of you who have not been listening to my constant ranting), I found these really beautiful pictures of its gardens. Seen them before, but seeing them again, with the possibility of what could be, renders them even more picturesque than before. Enjoy.

Selwyn in spring.. It's gorgeous!

Blossoms around Selwyn..

Selwyn in summer, I think I'm in love!

In autumn, fantastic azure sky. My fav season.

Winter never looked more appealing..

Selwyn's chapel. I'm awed, we have few historical chapels here, and I don't frequent them.

I could get used to this.. THIS is dining with style.

So, if I've complained previously about lack of motivation in me, looks like I've found it!

Momentary happiness

2006-04-12T09:58:00.000+01:00

Happiness is momentary, it's like a piece of glass touched by light, given a momentary radiance, not actual not lasting. These are the words (except for the first three) of Tennessee Williams. By the by, I'm currently rejoicing in something most people will consider very very petty. Sod it, I have the right to be childish. I did spend many sleepless nights the past week just for its sake, so yeaaaaa.. I have every reason to be exuberant (even if it's a tad bit extreme) over this piece of news.

I did not screw my Bio paper up. No details, just a fact.

Sarah, you know how I did, shhh. It's our secret. *winks*

Oh no, but then again, maybe it's Fate's way of making up for my Lit marks. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Darn, I'm starting to be a wee bit paranoid, looks like I'm catching on a certain Ah Lian's syndrome. Hehe. Just kidding, don't take offense. I think it's a good syndrome, keeps you on your toes. And look what it got you! A fairytale princess's dress. No fair!

Random things

2006-04-11T17:46:00.000+01:00

Hmm, not too far off for once. Doesn't mention Law though.

You Are Likely a Second Born

At your darkest moments, you feel inadequate.
At work and school. you do best when you're evaluating.
When you love someone, you offer them constructive criticism.

In friendship, you tend to give a lot of feedback - positive and negative.
Your ideal careers are: accounting, banking, art, carpentry, decorating, teaching, and writing novels.
You will leave your mark on the world with art and creative projects.

The Birth Order Predictor

After all, tomorrow is another day

2006-04-11T16:12:00.000+01:00

Much as I would like to believe I am being self-conceited and self-absorbed as well as paranoid, I truly believe I have contracted a terrible, deadly and fatal mental disease. No, I do not have Parkinson's or Alzheimer’s , despite my Form 4 & 5 Math teacher's endeavours to convince me (and my whole class) otherwise. It's called the Scarlett O'Hara syndrome. Before you put on that smirk which goes 'you're neither green-eyed nor pretty', let me clarify that it's a MENTAL disposition. Gone With the Wind is not a work of literature yet I enjoy the book very much, thank you. (I do read other things besides Classics, for all you skeptics raising one eyebrow at the moment) The title of this post happens to be the next-most-famous line from the movie/book, besides "My dear, I just don't give a damn".

Back to my affliction, its symptoms include believing oneself capable of anything, putting things off till the morrow (procrastination, but in a positive way) and ruthless determination, putting everyone and everything secondary to one's goal. Tick, tick and double-tick. So here's the part where the doctor lowers his half-moon glasses down his nose, takes out a file and peers at you, with the words NO patient every wants to hear.. "I'm afraid, my dear, that I have some bad news for you.. " Except the doctor is my subconscious and the patient is the conscious me.

So here's the deal, it is not a good thing. On the contrary, it is the epitome of bad dispositions. It's the very reason why I am where I am at the moment; neurotic, paranoid and over-anxious. Yet, as a dear friend of mine kindly points out, 'You know what is wrong, you worry over it, but you don't do anything to alter it'. It's not a very fair picture, but in some aspects, it's spot on. Like now, for example.

See, the event that triggered this sudden revelation would be my mother's commenting over dinner, 'Oh well, you have a few more months. Don't think about it yet.' And I agreed (silently, of course), pushing the matter out of my mind. And then it struck me. I have ALWAYS been doing this, putting aside emotions, fears, decisions and troubles for a period of time before returning back to them, with a calmer mind, the same excuse Scarlett gives, "I shall go mad thinking about it now. Yes, I'll think about it to-morrow." So, if I, a judgemental reader, can accuse her character of delaying the inevitable, would not the same accusation fall on my very own self?

At this point, some would wonder, what on earth are you driving at? You put your problems aside, alright, so? Don't we all? That's the thing. Once upon a time, not too long ago, I DON'T block them out, I used to analyze them all in detail until I find a solution. But now... Yet, in some odd manner, with regards to emotions, it is much easier to deal with life when you ignore them. When you put your head above your heart. Somehow, I can't help but feel I will be missing out on some things by doing this build-a-staunch-wall-around-my-head, keep-out-emotions thing I have been subconsciously doing. As well as my delaying decisions.

For someone who apparently seems so in control, I'm having a lot of doubts about myself. Then again, shifting the blame onto my disposition to be stubborn, I ain't planning on changing anytime soon. Just a revelation about myself. =)

You know you...

2006-04-09T16:27:00.000+01:00

You know you..

1. Have too many books when your shelves somehow can't fit them all in.

2. Wrote too many pages of notes when you run out of files to file them up in.

3. Need to make tidying your room a habit when you discover a photo that has been missing for a year going on two.

4. Need to stop slobbing about when your parents actually notice you. (Usually they don't, I prefer to isolate myself in my nook)

5. Are sleeping too much when you wake up feeling lethargic.

6. Are frittering away your holidays when pin-pricks of terror jab you each time someone mentions the word *study*.

7. Need to get a life when looking at old school photos can bring tears to your eyes.

8. Are running out of time when the calendar was only yesterday at March, and today April.

9. Are becoming antisocial when shopping and partying does not hold much allure anymore.

10. Are becoming addicted to blogging when from 13 posts, you're nearing 23 now (in less than a week).

Ahh, yes, as my ramblings have clearly indicated, I have been clearing up the mess every exam creates. And I discovered a few very crucial facts about myself and my room. Firstly, most of my clothes do not have pockets which means I have no where to put my iPod. And it's a serious problem when you are forced to change into jeans to tidy your room just so you can tuck your MP3 player somewhere and not step on it by mistake. I know, how petty, but really! Especially when you're on the go, and you need something to accompany you in your ears. And it helps you bite back your tongue when a landslide of books (bookslide) occurs.

Secondly, I have too many books. I don't know how I accumulated so many! I thought after high school, I wouldn't end up with another 2m high stack of books, but now I'm not so sure. And why is it that the stack of hand-written notes for every subject, esp. Bio and Lit grows with every exam? I have no answer to any of my questions and usually I would not be bothered to even think about them, except now I've run out of shelves and files. So yes, I am starting to worry a wee bit about how I'm going to manage in Uni. At least here I can dump it somewhere else, but when I enter Uni, my room is going to be waaaaaay smaller than this.

Darn. I need to control my compulsive buying of books, academic and otherwise, as well as writing of notes.

A Good Laugh

2006-04-08T15:58:00.000+01:00

A really good laugh is not one of those false tinkling (and irritating) giggles in a falsetto so high and false, half the restaurant's patrons would be craning their necks to see which overpowdered lady is the source of such an annoying sound. Neither is it a bellow of laughter at a crass joke. Much less is it a snide laugh. No, I had the best medicine possible today, something I have been in great need of. True, genuine laughter with a couple of old friends over embarrassing episodes of our past. And to think, with more than 5 hours, we would have covered all bases! We managed only 3, till form 3.

One of them mentioned something which I have to agree fully with her. Friendship isn't measured by the amount of keeping in touch or number of hour(s)-long phone calls. A real friend is one with whom you can pick up right where you left off, no questions asked. No resentment. Of course, there's the question. Is there a genuine relationship if one waltzes in and out of the other's life? Well, it works for me. So, I'll continue my tempestous dance in and out of my friends' lives, never having a fixed anchor in a particular harbour until I find reason to do otherwise.

Rodent(s)

2006-04-07T22:21:00.000+01:00

It is my custom to lose sleep over homework, work, tests, exams and even guys. But the reason I've been awake the whole night RIGHT after my trials is neither of the above, not even for a guy. A bloody rodent. A RAT. For all of my mother's impeccable housekeeping, whilst Green Day was belting out Wake Me Up When September Ends over MTV at 3 a.m., a rat poked its head out and GRINNED at me! The cheek of the rat! No, sorry to disappoint you but I didn't scream and grab the nearest chair. I headed for my can of Ridsect and flashlight. Oh, and being territorial, I slammed my room's door too. Thankfully the rat was in my family room. Sneaky rodent went under the sofa and tables. Spent hours looking for it, and it comes up RIGHT when I've given up, poking its head out as though challenging me; Bring it on. It's 5.30 a.m. now, I've waited 2 hours for the rat to come out. It's not so much the creature that created my hysteria, it's more of the thought of a rat sharing a place I call home which is utterly revolting and it simply disgusts me. I swear, that rat came out on purpose, timing his entrance perfectly, trying to prey upon my helpless situation, all alone, awake and defenceless. Ha ha. I'll have the last laugh. When and if I do get to catch that rodent, I have a strong desire to introduce it to my dissecting set.

Momentary freedom

2006-04-07T12:58:00.000+01:00

Wheeeeeee! I'm done. Okay, I'm not technically done yet, seeing how the finals are just around the corner, but let's not be depressing. Trials are oooooover! So yes, there goes my excuse for lack of updates, keeping in touch with friends and being backdated on movies. I will make it up, somehow someway. Ahhh, finally. I can sit here with my laptop, drink and iPod and not feel crushing guilt. But I'm feeling a little lost, disoriented at the moment. It's as though I've been programmed to throw my whole being into my books, and now I've no idea what to commit myself to as studying can take a backseat for the moment. I had unconsciously ruined my pre-planned shopping trip and movie, well not entirely my fault but still.. Kudos to me for not hitting the nearest mall right after my papers, I shall pretend it shows a level of maturity, a break from shopaholicism and a deeper awareness of the importance of frugality. Yes, I shall convince myself there's no point agonising over the loss of a chance to pick up a new pair of shoes, a new black wardrobe and scouting for a dress.

A topic cropped up over lunch/breakfast/tea/my-first-real-meal-without-a-book, about relationships again. I know, how boring. It's my blog, I get to rant, you don't have to read if you don't want to. (Sticks tongue out) How mature of me. Lol. Anyway, we agreed on the fact that us not being in a relationship at present could be due to our own way of seeing ourselves, even exulting our position to one where we think we're beyond relationships of passion, youthful passion at that. Well, it's admittedly egoistic and to a certain extent, self-centred. But it's the truth. Part of the truth. I'm not one to deny the longing to be part of one, yet it comes in a package; the laughter, the joy, the sweet desire with the tears of anguish, heart-break and most probably in my case, a serious power-struggle.

So, bearing in mind no one drinks from the cup of life (corny example, I know. Not mine though) without tasting the bitterness of bile as well as the sweet headiness of its wine... Maybe denying oneself and being denied a relationship is in its own some form of precautionary prevention from winding up jaded, cynical and hurt. Which I did and still am. Some poets believe that time heals every wound, every sore, every cut. Some don't. As for myself, I'm convinced that it does not. Not yet. Hey, maybe I can't forgive and forget. But I can definitely do one, not the other. Every inch of pragmatism in me still, despite everything I've said, done, experienced and felt, will not keep me from making the same mistakes. I guess I'm doomed to repeating myself over and over again until Fate or Fortune takes pity on me and changes that.

On to less morbid thoughts, I have two weeks of NO college ahead of me! Whoppee! No waking up at 7, uttering an unrepeatable curse (occasionally in modern Anglo-Saxon, occasionally in Cantonese) and grabbing my towel before dashing into the bathroom, knocking down anyone in my way. Ah, the morning dashes, how unlike school days. My uniform was then a sickly broccoli green thing which made me abhor green for a year afterward. I can safely say I never wore any article of clothing which was green for one complete year after high school. Anyway, it had its perks though, I always knew what to wear, and surprise surprise, though I'm forever in a hurry, I have yet to forget my tie or blazer. Ah, nostalgia. Now, I can greet the mid-morning sun and actually see my younger brother a wee bit more. Sniff. I am going to miss him when I leave.

Exams

2006-04-04T18:22:00.000+01:00

Two posts in a row is a bit much, especially for someone who often neglects her blog but I need to rant. I'm going insane with the stress. I swear, if I make it to the end of this week without breaking at least once, it's a miracle in its own right. It's bad enough Taylors HAD to put my exams on the highest floor (long climb + bad place to run if I'm late), the railing on that particular floor is so low that it barely reaches my navel. And I'm not tall, mind you. The low railing coupled with 12 hours straight of non-stop cramming for Chem resulted in a very strong suicide tendency this morning. It really was so inviting at one point to just tip over, but my theory on dying a clean death if possible and the whole thing about successful attempts had to get in the way. Besides, I did spend 12 hours stuffing my brain with Chem superfluous facts like what happens if you heat copper with conc. HCl and copper turnings etc., the least I could do would be to make use of that effort. Seriously though, the admin should consider raising the railing. It's just too tempting for unstable folk like me. Hmm, maybe it's some twisted association with the higher you go, the closer you are to the heavens and so the less likely you are to have suicidal tendencies etc. I say sod it to that. To someone who has been living on 2hrs worth of sleep per day and a high caffiene diet, it does NOT matter how close you are to the skies or how wrong the act is.

On a brighter note though, I'm halfway through this nightmare. Refer to a graph posted on Sarah Wong's blog. It's a good representation of my feelings exactly, just substitute the subjects for the Sciences. I daresay by Friday, I wouldn't begrudge the low railing so much anymore. I will have moved on to blaming the darned labs for swallowing up my student ID. There is no other plausible explanation! Though that's technically moving backwards in my timeline, it's still something to lament about.

Oh, the Chinese should regret the day they invented the exam system. Of all the things to inherit from that civilisation (pottery, works of art, admiration of deformed feet, poetry, fat ladies), we had to make the worst of all a universal system. Ugh, I will be very depressed if I should find one of my forefathers being the one who came up with the idea.

Envy

2006-04-04T18:13:00.000+01:00

It is one of the seven deadly sins but I confess to harbour a great deal of it. Some in a good way, others not so. But let’s face it, we all suffer from this folly, varying only in degree and our ability to conceal it. For me, I envy the perfect façade some people are so capable of keeping up. Perhaps it’s been such a long time since I’ve savoured the taste of a genuine friendship, one so true and sincere where I can be myself, a stranger both familiar and unfamiliar. Believe me when I say I am lonely, because I am. Having lost so many friends to circumstances, I’ve come to terms with this fact, but it does not necessarily mean I enjoy being so. True, I have found new ones in their place, but without doubt, the cycle will repeat itself. It simply is neither convenient nor sensible to pine away and die from this. Nevertheless, I have to admit that flipping through old albums, gazing at group photos at a time of my life which was so much simpler.. and admittedly sweeter has awoken the longing in me to belong somewhere.

Yes, the whole peer pressure thing has always been scoffed at by yours truly, but we’re all lonely people in this world, seeking some means to lessen the solitude of our journey. I look longingly back at a time when I knew without a doubt that I had found some people who accepted me for the way I am, that I did not have to fear every school-goer’s fear of being a social outcast. Time has eroded that fear and loosened the bonds we had between and amongst us. Other people, other priorities and other dreams took precedence over the innocent friendship we shared as a group and we drifted apart. The rift is bridged occasionally by random acts of kindness and sweetness, but well, life goes on.

‘This worlde is but a thrughfare of wo and we be pilgrimes passing thro. Deeth nis but an ende of everye woorldly soore’ – Chaucer. From cradle to coffin, we are alone. We lessen the severity of that loneliness with social concepts of society, of family and of relationships. However, at the end of the day, notwithstanding God, we find ourselves with the sole companion who has accompanied us from our first cry and will to our last breath. I suppose the only thing to do about such a depressing and bleak prospect would be to learn to live with that person. But here’s the thing, donning masks for a world where honesty is a folly has made that person a stranger to me. I do not know where the acting ends and the true me begins anymore. Once upon a time (whilhom has olde stories tellen us), I thought I knew her that girl who smiles back at me with a lopsided moles crinkling up; but now I look in the mirror and I see a stranger, at once familiar and not so. I must be crazy to be ranting about lacking company when I find so many whose friendship I treasure from college, but like all things, they will come to an end inevitably. Living for the moment is the most pragmatic advice anyone could give someone so determined to throw cold water over every small joy to be found. Then again, it’s not as if I’ve ever been practical.

Neglecting everything

2006-03-24T18:03:00.000+01:00

This is the part of the novel where the protagonist (or antagonist) snaps out of it (FINALLY, to the relief of all reading/watching/listening) and surveys the damage wrought by her ignorance. So the self-obsessed, narcissic person here is me, and it's a reference to a paper I've been working on, (Antony and Cleopatra) and is a twisted way of saying I will not be blogging till the following week. Trials are beginning and I'm completely unprepared. I've been floating through college like a spectre, a ghost, a phantom. Here and not here simultaneously. Heaven alone knows where I've been in mind and spirit when my lecturers droned on about oxytocins, luteinising hormones, oestrogen and complex ions. Or ligands and spectrums for that matter. Not to mention complex numbers and vectors. Wow, I've been really ranting incoherently in this post; so I shall now attempt to be as sober, cool and calculating as Octavius Caesar.

The past few weeks have been a nightmare in the making; every turn I take, I see some gory reminder of what I should be doing; every class I enter I will leave with some ominous warning about my finals. It's shirking responsibility, but I can't help but feel that when I obsess about the exams, it's not always entirely my fault... Really, it's the environment! (Protests feebly) Whatever it is.. I'm taking a 2 week break from the Net and from everything remotely tangible. Let's hope I remember my name and ID no. in time for the exams. It would be a wee bit messy if I do forget. Or walk in with the wrong ID.

My Favourite Things

2006-03-01T10:25:00.000+01:00

Ugh, I scoff at writer's block, and here I am with a huge, suffocating and irritating one. Haven't had much time to muse lately.. What am I saying, I haven't had time to sleep, for that matter. Everything's rushing by me so fast, I feel as though I'm a character in one of those grainy black-and-white films who stands still in a subway while everything else is on fast-forward. I often look back in disbelief; could the high school student now be teetering on the brink of university? It seems incredible to me, incredulous even. I have always wondered what it'd be like as a grown-up, someone with responsibilities and freedom. Now that I have it, it has been disappointing; just as every other childhood fantasy has been. I pulled myself off the rat-race for love, planted myself firmly in books and I have yet to resemble one of those graceful, mature and flawless ladies I have been idolizing. (Too much of Enid Blyton, Chaucer and just about every other romance novel or fairy tale)

Taking a moment to pause, (although my Chem assignment is SCREAMING for attention beside me) I just need to get this off my chest; A Levels is ending much sooner than anticipated. The first day of college was a nightmare, for a myriad of reasons; some of which I do not intend on recalling. Now, after almost 14 months of it, the thought of bidding my classmates adieu for possibly ever no longer holds the same pleasure it once did. Yep, I finally bonded with them, albeit it taking a few months to occur, I can quite safely say we're a tight bunch (especially with an especial 'lalling' of mine.. which creeps everyone out).

My 8 favourite things. Courtesy of Mary Poppins. About PM 8.

1. The fact we're all girls. Except Akkie, but that's expendable.
2. Being part of the 'Powerpuff Girls' or 'The 3 Stooges'.
3. Having an Ah Lian in class (one and only).
4. Being able to debate over the cute-ness of guys who come in.
5. Learning from the SS Queen (Syok Sendiri) - self-crowned btw, of KB
6. Penguin walk! and others
7. Seal clap
8. A sordid love affair with the camera

Bleh, it's too early to get all upset about this, but being me, I like working myself up waaaaay ahead of schedule so I can maintain a calm facade when it finally does arrive. Once you brace yourself for the worst, when at last it does arrive, it often isn't as bad as you imagine it to be. Let's hope I'm right for once.

Sometimes, it's alright to be wrong

2006-02-17T17:45:00.000+01:00

I do not profess to be adept at admitting my mistakes; occasionally I can even harbour unreasonable resentment unfairly against the innocent party. But here is one instance where even I cannot deny my mistake. Hey, we all make mistakes, hence the lack of perfect or au parfair scores in exams! Nerdy analogy aside, I once obstinately rejected the idea of love and relationships half a decade ago. I was too secure in my knowledge of how badly it turns out, how it scalds both sides and have far-reaching effects, so basically, I believed without doubt that I was on the right path. Then along came Sally. No, along came reality in the form of a person, a friend. He taught me, very patiently; may I add; how wrong I was to perceive love from such a fixated position. I was stubborn, the lesson went awry many a-time. Yet.. after all these years, I can remember exactly what he said, how angry he was each time I refused to listen, and more importantly, how true some of his words turned out to be. Eve's apple, Pandora's box. Hmm, all these are women. I'll think of something masculine soon. Ah, Paris's Helen. Good enough for me. Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest, yet the wasps that guard it (or the snake in Eve's case) can really sting. You know who you are, and you are right. I have not forgotten the sting but I have forgiven the wasp. Oh, just in case this sounds extremely abstract, a modern yet well executed rendition of 'Great Expectations' set this off.

A long delayed tribute to an extremely old and fond friend. Euj, you are the first in the Seafield gang. Yet, you probably are the last to truly know me. Vice versa. Maybe with the exception of Ry. How odd things are; the persons you know last are the persons who have been there for you through thick and thin, no matter how annoying I can be, you have never pushed me off the precipice onto oncoming traffic, over the cliff to a painful death etc. yet, at least. Well, when I said you are like my father figure, I was not kidding. To me, you're the rock Zeus used to stuff the Titans with (think Hercules). Weathered and worn by Chronus, yet stoic, unchanging and ruthless. Shakespeare put it beautifully, 'the star to evry wand'ring bark'. Friends are a safe haven from the storm; true friends are the havens where you can never overstay your time.

God bless you, Euj. You don't need luck to succeed.

Goodbyes are the hardest things to say

2006-02-13T09:07:00.000+01:00

Just a few moments ago, I said my final (no, really final final) farewell to one of my closest guy friends. With Fortune's cruelty and mistiminge (yes, aventure and cas), it is highly likely that I will not see neither him nor another one who leaves tomorrow for Melbourne. An accursed place which has deprived me of quite a few friends now, but I have to admit honestly that I have never been so afflicted by au revoir till recently. Oddly enough, pieces of our friendship puzzle only came together lately, very lately. Enough emotional ranting, I'm becoming incoherent, will blog more on this later.

Alright, calmer now. I know I am permitting the imagination of some to run wild, with the way I'm going on and on about these two particular departures. But I simply cannot help it; what a paradox.. I try to rein my emotions in, and here I am, a blubbering mess. I suppose it's because for once, it hit me hard in the gut that there it is possible that there will be an interval of several solar years before we really do meet again. Perhaps it's because I've reached the age where you seek true friends, not just wine and meat (or wine and ciggies for smokers) friends anymore. I said something rather incoherent and derogatory to a friend, when he was over to say goodbye. It went along the lines of "friends are like shoes. Some have a huge collection, but when it comes down to the wearing, only a few will last and you will find comfort only in those. We keep old shoes because although they are faded and a little worn, you simply cannot replace the comforting feel of these shoes. Sometimes, just sometimes, you outgrow your favourite pair.. but God works in many wonderful ways.. The pair you thought you were not able to fit into now become perfect." Basically, it sums my whole situation up. Very nicely.

It popped up once, while chatting with a friend, about how old friends are like silver and we should keep them whilst new ones are like gold, and we should find them. I couldn't agree more with that saying, actually. But I'd rather liken old friends to something more precious.. Maybe a metal of higher value? Kidding aside, there are some highschool friends whom you just cannot let go off easily. I don't understand why, I don't want to pressure my itsy bitsy brain to even try. All I know is, I am finaaalllly learning to really appreciate friendships. Even oscilliating ones. He pointed out a funny fact, which I seem to share only with a few others. We'd be really inseparable for a few weeks, and then we'd pull a MIA on each other for a year or so.. and then get back together and the cycle begins anew. I suppose I've reached a full circle with this particular friend.. Whatever it is, I know he will do well in Adelaide.. So will the other in Monash. They have the insufferable spirit which cannot be quenched, which can annoy but you cannot live without.

Au revoir, Ryan.

P.S. Euj, your turn's tomorrow. =)

Beauty : Is it really only skin deep?

2006-02-06T16:22:00.000+01:00

Who defines it? What is beauty? Of all the topics to spring up, why this? Haven’t all the 17, Cleo, Women’s Health and Her World magazines dissected and regurgitated it to death? Well, it struck me in the oddest of all manners, in the most unexpected of all places to realize how plain I truly am. Yes, this from the person who advocates women’s rights, who shouts that beauty is only skin-deep, who believes that facial creams, make-up and lipstick are alright; but not essentials. How then, did I stumble into the common pitfall of all girls? A pitfall I hypocritically keep reminding others of… Besides this long-known-but-avoided-truth, I have come to conclude (rightly so) that society in general, can be, but not necessarily are, very shallow. Yet, it is only natural that we are..

Seeing how Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Rapunzel, Snow White and Belle (of Beauty and the Beast) are all of renowned beauty and grace. If the abbreviated version of the Grimms’ Tales is what we have been feeding our little princesses from the moment they were born to their first words, are we really to expect a 360 degrees turnabout to a sophisticated individual without shallowness and callousness with regard to beauty once they are able to think? We simply move on, from picturebooks to magazines with ads all advocating skinniness, skankiness, bulimia, aneroxia and depression. The largest irony of all would be this, right alongside these ads which remind the general girl of what she does NOT have and will NOT have even if she buys the same perfume or lipstick are articles on ‘How to Boost Your Confidence!’ or ‘Say No to Bulimia!’. Hmm… Maybe they need to rethink what they’re really selling. We all know that 5ft 6 or 8 is wonderful, 120 lbs at that is better, a Grecian nose, high cheekbones and deep-set eyes are stunners.. But how about those of 5ft 2 or less, 120 lbs , atypically blunt and flattish Chinese nose, no cheekbones to mention of and jack-o-lantern peepers? Is that person’s worth less than the other because of a physique she cannot help? Oh, sure, plastic surgery exists for such a crowd, but shouldn’t society be ashamed of pressuring girls into hiding their true beauty…?

Proportions of beauty are so fickle, that what was once considered exotic (eg. bound feet, plump curves, snow white skin etc.) are now abhorred. Probably except for the skin colour matter, for in almost all known civilisations, fairness has been prized. So there you go, if I was born in the earlier days, I would probably ‘catch a husband’ well enough. Then again, my ‘hew and complexioun’, as Chaucer puts it, reminds one eeriely enough of the living dead. I never thought much about beauty; for naïve me was once always so confident in people, in the human heart and brain. I sincerely believed that while beauty is an advantage, it is not a curse to be a wallflower. I actually thought I could carve a niche for myself in this world by my brains, effort and plain self. Ha ha ha. What an illusion. How beautifully broken my castle in the air is now. The agony of finding yet another broken, burning, desolate ruin of a childhood dream cannot be accurately expressed in words. All I can say is this: I was a fool.

Yet, a small part of me still desires, craves, hopes (all the words you can think of) desperately to believe that somewhere out there is Utopia. Somewhere in this wide world exists the world Thomas More was killed, a paradise which tolerates all religions, all practices, all beliefs and all people; ugly or beautiful, Someday, I’ll find a place where I will not be judged solely by my looks, that I shall not receive remarks or slightings based on my gain or loss of weight, my sallowness of complexion and my lack of defining features. Someday, I will walk confidently again, secure in my knowledge of love, life and of beauty. Perhaps, just perhaps, that someday will come.

Note : This is in no way a representation of my character. Upon rereading this entry, it has come to my attention that I am a horribly bitter and tragic person; hence the need for this postscript. Flu bug’s biting me hard.