High on Life

A Sightless POV.

2010-08-13T08:57:00.008+01:00

What was that? Nothing – exactly. It wasn’t all empty promises, I assure you – certainly not all, anyway. I didn’t think it wise to write a piece just as soon as I’ve come back and it wouldn’t do it justice if I hadn’t (re-)settled in for at least a while first. Not to mention getting over an awful episode of jet lag that lasted an entire week and more. I, for one, was definitely not impressed.

To say I didn’t mind the tropical heat too much would be a lie – a very unconvincing one, at that, since I spend half the time convincing people it’s a sweaty pain living near the equator. What I wouldn’t give in exchange of the erratic English weather now, I half-considered. And it doesn’t help that being in an air-conditioned environment, or for that matter, a fan-ventilated one turns my nostrils into two running pipes – it reminds me of a photo I inadvertently unearthed: a snot-ridden little bugger standing a tad too close to his mother with two of his brothers towering over him. I might have outgrown the ‘little’ department but boy am I still that snot-filled bugger. Except now I’d find myself foul-mouthed to the point of blasphemous whenever an exceptionally large sneeze comes my way. “Oh my dear lord above!” I’d cry in quick and swift succession, scorning, after blowing a never-ending load of the unnameable – pardon the naughty pun. Usually the more conventional curses, but I find myself more imaginative lately (with ample of practice, who’s to blame?), stringing together the most vulgar of my vocabulary. Was I attempting to out-gross my nose with my mouth? God alone knows – though I’m afraid He’s keener to smite me than to provide an answer.

But enough about that. I’ve been made aware that people who are not from my generation (dinosaurs born before the nineties) watch this space. Presumably the more ‘conservative’ – and I use the term in its most intrinsic form, devoid of any political corruption – I was a bit iffy about writing without reserve. I gave it some thought. And no. I don’t want to censor a huge part of me that makes me who I am - albeit with dry and unfunny wit.

A little more than a year and a half ago I was given a lifetime opportunity to go abroad. I hadn’t planned to return so early and I was actually apprehensive about the notion of coming home. A year and a half is not long, granted. But one has to understand that once you’re given the chance to be released into the wild where the sky’s the limit, it is hard to settle back into a place where the limit has shrunk into the roof of your house, only several metres atop your head. I was given enough time outside to figure out what matters to me, and what I want in life (at least at this point in life) through the process of elimination – that is, knowing what I don’t want. A huge part of that was freedom.

I knew it was going to be difficult somehow - not only for me but also for my parents. So I’ve made it a mission to try and avoid behaving like a caged bird. At the eve of my seventeen-hour-flight, I had a minor row with my mother over Skype; she accused me of being too ‘liberal-minded’. Is there even such a thing? I was bitter at first but I soon understood that it was perhaps a strange and cruel thing to expect someone to understand something they are incapable of – whether culturally, intellectually, or emotionally. It was then I made an exception – a compromise. Censorship is necessary, but I still need to stay true to myself. I’ve gone through enough life lessons to make an essential discovery: I can’t find self among others. It's just not there for me. Nevertheless, I still try – in fact, I cannot imagine myself ever stopping – but there is little pain now when the results turn out negative.

I’ve always insisted: I am a son, a brother, a friend and all the other things, but I am first a person, an individual. I cannot avoid my duties and obligations (two words I’m wary of using since I am very against treating people as responsibilities instead of just people) as whatever I am to them but I am also unable to deny my own individuality to validate the others.

Mom has been fishing for answers more frequently that I feared, commenting on my possible migration with a renewed ferocity. She is quite sure of the matter but seeks confirmation anyway – one that I refuse to give. She was never satisfied with my ambiguous dismissal but each time she would stop probing, look away with a disguised hurt in her eyes that only a child can tell and a face without expression.

And I knew I was going to break some hearts.

I feel bad for it. I genuinely do. But just as she is incapable of understanding my head with its too-liberal shenanigans, I was unable to outweigh my ambitions with family values.

But I am also very happy right now, living outside of my inherited box and seeing the world through no filtered lenses. I now know what is important to me – it may change but come what may. If it all boils down to a point of view, I hope you could at least take a glimpse at mine. You don’t have to agree, but maybe – just maybe – you’ll understand. I’ve left out the details and in a thousand words, this is all I can mutter. I shouldn’t need to say more.

And such, is the joy and ache of a snot dispenser of a child who has grown more than he could ever imagine but still remains the little tot who was damn good at being a kid in the eyes of his mother.

Et Cetera, Love.

2010-07-15T17:39:00.009+01:00

Photo credit

Turning 19. Each time I talk about it I roll back my eyes and whine. “I didn’t take you to be the age-sensitive type,” I remember someone said. I’m not sure I am, exactly; nor am I completely willing to admit that I am. I normally get the cold glance in return that either translate into indifference with disdain for icing, or a genuine frustration, convinced that my whining has no valid grounds.

I deal well with any elements of inevitability in general - or at least, I think so. Permanence is something to scoff at. And yet, just a few days away from turning twenty-eve, my restlessness brews and boils ever so fervently.

Whenever asked why, I say it’s because I’m the career driven sort - that I feel the need to achieve something before turning twenty - an age seemingly embedded in my head to represent the end of the world; that, knowing I have lived for 20 years and yet to have achieved something worthwhile is shameful.

But that’s just silly.

I have achieved much. Compared to some of my peers, I have perhaps lived more or less twice in my lifetime. To have left home at such a young age, gotten into a good university in 8 months’ time, and to have learned to be so independent, it really has been quite a feat. Truth is, I have grown - I just hadn’t noticed it. Turning 19 and putting into a numerical sense gave it the validation it needed.

Yet, it is still so unbearably dreadful.

A little more than a week ago, I met up with a very good friend of mine for lunch in Newcastle. Her boyfriend had just left recently and she was left alone to work as an intern. I’ve always seen her as one who relies a tad too much on being with someone - and she is precisely the type. So I was surprised to learn that she did not, in fact, think there was a future for where this relationship is heading. She even said so in such a matter-of-fact tone, I believed her. Albeit with that distinctive lazy drawl of hers that had no doubt captivated many men - she enjoys flirting and playing coy even if she didn’t mean it - and half the time she didn’t mean it; the other half she didn’t know she did.

Whilst we psycho-analysed her relationship over her salad and my bowl of spaghetti, she suddenly took an acute interest in my non-existent love life. I told her I am just not interested in seeing anyone at this point and besides, I don’t do initiative - an excuse I employ a little too frequently. It usually works but this time, however, it failed to satisfy her inquiries - and that was also when I realised the core purpose of such a well rehearsed and sufficiently elaborated excuse: to satisfy inquires; to stop anyone from asking what I don’t wish to reveal.

So I played dumb. Blame these circumstantial difficulties: no time, study, priorities, anti-social behaviour and the lot. Play the sympathy card.

To my relief, she took the bait and steered the conversation slightly in my favour. Instead, she somewhat complimented on my independence. With some effort, and in her own words, she said I was a “whole person”. “Most people are just one-half,” out of no where she went Aristotelian on me. “But you’re different.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked. Though she didn’t exactly said it was a good thing either, she insisted it was at least “interesting”.

“When you meet the girl, you’ll be like one and a half,” she added, jokingly... or otherwise. And I grinned at the word ‘girl’ - not five minutes ago, she questioned my sexuality (again). She does this periodically, and at the end of every such conversation, she nods as if to say ‘Just checking’. Then she would assure me that her unconditional love is quite indeed ‘unconditional’. All in all, a sign that her biological clock is about to explode.

Nevertheless, it got me thinking. It is ‘interesting’.

In some ways I was mildly irked that my independence was seen as anything extraordinary, in similar ways that childlessness is sometimes seen as a disability. She expressed her admiration, no less, but was it merely a disguise for a pinch of pity?

So maybe that’s it. It isn’t turning 19 that is the problem. It’s that I could very well imagine this feeling recurring in every other birthday for the next 50 years or so. I am not worried about getting older - I am apprehended by the idea that I might increasingly find my independence a handicap.

I am fine with my loneliness now as it is; proud of my independence, even. But it’s the tiny, inextinguishable feeling inside that perhaps someday, at some point in my life, it will start to matter.

Permanence doesn’t sound so bad after all. At least when it’s permanent, it’s something you can control.

I don’t do initiatives. And saying that I am afraid to care is the only way I care to say.

Some risks my heart just won’t take.

Guess Who's Back?

2010-06-08T02:13:00.001+01:00

One soon.

I'm putting my life on it.

Day 1 in London

2010-03-30T21:32:00.002+01:00

Day Number 365 in the UK.

2010-01-03T20:38:00.003Z

I don’t mean to salt your wound for you folks back there under the scorching hot sun but if you have seen snowfall you’ll know what I’m talking about: they look like fungus growing on bread when they first hit the surface- no joke. My apologies, I just can’t help amusing myself.

Today marks the first full year of my stay in the UK, my first 365 days of not leaving the country. And I have mentioned in my previous update that it does feel like I have lived two years in one (how economical). Yet, some parts of me still feel like it was just yesterday that I boarded this crazy roller-coaster. So, it’s only fair that I do a short ’09 highlight of my looney experience even though I’m a few days late on it.

On the 1st of January last year I was preparing to leave and I made a New Year resolution to ‘improve’. Which, justifiably, I had. I admit I do get kind of wild sometimes, that I’m beginning to learn how to get out of my shell, remove the front and have fun but hey, wouldn’t you? Dear reader, I will now- dangerously and shamelessly- attempt to shed some light on the crazy stuff that most of you do not know. But do let me clarify that I’m not involved in any overly illegal stuff, or drugs... just mainly stuff that underage teenagers are prohibited to do from harming themselves... Most importantly however, I do take into consideration that these crazy things may not even measure up to all the real crazy people out there I have had the pleasure of witnessing but I guarantee you ladies and gentlemen, I am not seeking for a competition; what I have done, is merely out of my character.

First of all, getting pissed drunk is fun-- I mean, ehem, kids, remember that hangovers can be a prick in the butt. I can’t say I have drunk until I pass out but I have spent enough time in the toilet- to have developed an intimate relationship with- throwing up (of which the experience I dread to recount). I awoke the next day feeling brand new. So guess what? I’m immune to hangovers-- but uhh, you kids, you’re not so lucky so... I mean, did you know only 25-30% of people are resistant to hangover (Wikipedia)? So you are probably one of the other 7 people who are not so... uh... don’t try it.

And dancing. I remember a friend putting it in graphic terms by shouting beside my ear in the club, “You, have, lost, your, virginity, to, clubbing.” And yes, this was 3... or 6 months before my 18th birthday, too. They were still playing Single Ladies- if you can figure out when it came out and got hot in the UK, you’ll probably date it more accurately than I do. On our way home, they remarked that I was like an ‘Energiser Bunny’ because I literally did not stop my horrible, body-coordination-challenged dancing my entire time in there.

But I do engage in some more mild and cultured socialising activities such as going to the theatre, having a simple meal, pizza-making competition and barbecues et cetera. I'm not the one blatantly snogging and sticking my tongue down some stranger's throat in the club either. It’s just that... they aren’t as fun to talk about! I’m sure my sad friends are more interested in reading my wildest, embarrassing encounters than... watching West Side Story and how we failed to start a proper fire for that barbecue get-together... or even how I knocked myself into a wall-- wait, I didn’t say that.

I did complete my foundation course as one of the top of the entire course but I am not going to tire you by recounting the hardship of the countless journeys I made to get to the library (and mind you, more trips have I made to the library than to clubs). I do study when it’s required of me.

Durham, is a new experience and I have yet explored in enough depth to talk about anything beyond my private little chamber. I have met some friends that I know I will keep for life but there are also those who expect rewards in exchange for their givings. They are taking this ‘mutualism’ thing way too seriously. Maybe I’ll talk about this when I have nothing else to talk about next time. But overall, my experience there has been extremely pleasant.

Though in hindsight, I probably would not have procrastinated so much doing my assignments. Don’t even get me started on the sleepless nights...

I may edit this post when something hilarious that had happened last year springs into mind but for now, I bid you farewell.

The Snow Globe.

2009-12-31T21:57:00.003Z

A sheet of ice from melted snow, like water abruptly congealed, covered most untouched surfaces outside. Some, were shovelled to clear the paths, leaving shards of what looked like broken glasses on the side. Footprints were visible in the refrozen slush- those edged, pointed, deepened shades of terrain made it a tad bit easier to walk on. And the weather was dreary; hung with dark clouds herded by the chasing wintry moon; breezes of cold wind permeating cottons layers thick, and sharp on the lungs, too. But the remnants of last week’s snowfall linger, still, along the way: the sprinkle of sugary icing on the roofs of everything, the innocence of the pearly white left intact in that graveyard I walked past, and even the ceaseless flickering of lights in the distance lit for the special occasion shone on after the special occasion.

What joy it brought when it did snow, indeed. Like within a snow globe the white flakes descend, showering the little smiling statuettes. And in a timeless air, the sky above fractured and disintegrated into a zillion tiny specks of falling frosted glee. Yet, what joy it was even if it didn’t snow.

No clock ticked in the freezing current. And for a long time in a long while, my life was not governed by daylight, or nightfall. I became ever so small, ever so inconsequential as the vast bleach engulfed my warmth and masked the earth’s face- and in unity, we were discoloured; I, became a spectator.

Though this was overdue. Somehow, if it were a marker for the end of a cycle, it should have arrived months before- for I was through with the year before it ended; for I had started a new one before its time.

People, like seasons, could not stay. As we went our separate ways- some leaving triumphant and some leaving fallen- we vowed to never forget. But to forget now is easy- in this silence, it awakens and roars with a matchless intensity within me to outrun the stalking clock; it builds glass walls and entraps the memories of smiling faces, drowning the sounds of the past and globes themselves up on the top of the shelves as decorations serving no purpose; and it threatens to retract myself into a world of privacy, to blind me from everything but my all-important ambitions.

And now, a spectator, I watched from within my own globe as I realised I too had not survived somebody’s failing memory, gone to a foreign land now forgotten as they continue to miss the past and see not what I am in the present.

I will be forever grateful to have known these marvelous albeit seasonal people throughout the year. This is perhaps the silver-lining we can all cling onto. It is my earnest, only reminder in my long absence. But the hint of danger haunts the future of my spectators: I embrace the uncertainty of what I will become.

As a spectator myself of the world- my world- I shall watch on like an unsettled flake of snow in midair.

Just Wanna Say...

2009-09-20T14:57:00.004+01:00

Some people really are just stupid.

And then some people are just really stupid.

"Marry Me." (Part II)

2009-09-18T11:56:00.012+01:00

Okay okay... I know I haven't been updating much. So here's one for now!

P/S: I'm not really that desperate...

Welcome Back.

2009-09-14T19:42:00.010+01:00

It is a daily routine, disassembling the garlic bulb into cloves, peeling them off, cutting the tail end, dicing them- it’s almost as if the dish would lose its glory without them; and I use them most unsparingly. But I was interrupted yesterday whilst I was preparing dinner for myself. My phone was ringing and I scrambled to wash my hands and run to pick it up.

The call ended before I could answer but there was a smile on my face. Of course I knew who it was. And as soon as I put the phone back down, I heard the doorbell- I hadn’t thought she’d arrive so early!

And there she was standing outside, looking rather tired than usual, perhaps exhausted from the long flight. She gave me a hug and I told them to come on in inside.

“Tea for you? Right?” I asked, still remembering the times when she’d drag me to a nearby cafeteria to fix herself a dose of dry leaves. And I always opted for coffee, or nothing. “Anything for you?” I added, asking the man. He shook his head and said thanks.

I went back into the kitchen to boil some water, ignoring the scattered garlic cloves on the cutting board- dinner could wait. As if by instinct they followed me to the kitchen, though they lingered in the dinning room that connects the extending corridor to the kitchen, without actually stepping foot into the kitchen.

“Nice house,” she said.

“Quite lovely,” I smiled. In fact, the house is far too big for a single person. There are three rooms upstairs, one lavatory and a small room with a spare flush toilet- for case of emergency, I would assume. I sleep downstairs in another room though I spend most of my time in the living room.

As soon as I was done mounting the kettle on the boiler I ushered them to the living room. She sat at one end of the three-seater couch and he on the other end. I thought it funny but too awkward to point out. I picked the seat across, struggling to pick a question--

“How was your flight?” Suddenly I feel like a fool from those TV shows: they do always seem to be asking the same question. Of course it was fine, she’s sitting right there. What’d you expect, really?

As soon as we got rid of the formalities we started to speak like we used to again. Occasionally I made the effort to broaden the scope of our conversation to include her male companion but I never got more than monosyllabic responses. Either that, or she’d reply on his behalf. I soon gave up and focused entirely on her. I had to almost pinch myself to stop bursting out from the hilarity of the scene- typical you, I thought. I wonder how long he’s going to last.

I had forgotten how I miss those days just talking our lives away. Those long and rear-numbing bus rides on the weekdays. Sometimes we talk, but mostly we just stuff the earphones into our ears and shut off the rest of the world until we got off. Once when she yanked off one of my earphones because I couldn’t hear her talking to me and I near-screamed ‘It’s Kelly Clarkson!’ at her. How had those days gone by so quickly?

I put her cup of tea on the table and told her it was hers. And that the plain water was for him.

“Is it black tea?” she asked.

“No it’s green tea,” I corrected her, not knowing what black tea is, “What the hell’s a black tea?”

“You had never had black tea?” she gasped, feigning shock.

“The tea that’s red is called red tea, the green one’s green tea and the ordinary one is just tea,” I said, “I hadn’t heard of a black tea.”

She insisted the ‘ordinary’ one is called ‘Black Tea’. It must have been my fault because by this time the man was nodding his head approvingly at her. Or is it?

I had also forgotten how I like to argue just to get on other people’s nerves. Would things change in two weeks’ time when I enter the university?

It was even weird speaking in English. I hadn’t really spoken in English for nearly two weeks. And I cringed at the slip of a tongue, the rare grammar mistake, the mixing up of ‘much’ and ‘many’; if you’re going to do English Literature in two weeks’ time, these are cock-ups you cannot afford. Shame on you Ryan, shame on you.

Finally they had to excuse themselves. They stood up but knowing ourselves, exiting the premise mustn’t be immediate. We talked for a while more whilst striking ridiculously mundane poses upright.

“Oh, do you have a match?” she asked, out of the blue.

“No I don’t, what for?” Though I was pretty sure one of the girls kept a lighter upstairs.

“He wants to smoke.”

“There’s a stove in the kitchen you can use if you want,” I saw him nod and said okay so I walked ahead of him to the kitchen whilst mumbling slightly above audible frequencies, “Be careful of the smoke detectors though... I triggered them off once...” I was not sure if he heard me at all and God knows why I told him I was dumb enough to trigger the alarms.

He went outside to smoke and I went back to her again. She passed me her phone and told me to help her call the taxi as she was getting ready to leave.

“Hiya can I have a taxi from Norwood Avenue please,” even I was surprised by how thick my accent became- when did that happen?

We waited outside for the taxi to come.

“He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“No he doesn’t. Is he shy?” I answered jokingly.

“Hungry,” he said. That was funny, I laughed.

We said goodbyes when the taxi finally came, convinced that we’ll see each other again soon. I went back in and locked the door.

Dinner was still waiting.

Sentimentalism.

2009-09-05T13:22:00.004+01:00

Last night I watched The Notebook- finally, after months of sitting on my desktop untouched- alone and I cried watching it. The plot twist- if you could call it that- was good but I can’t say I didn’t see it coming halfway through the movie.

This is the second movie I have cried watching (The first was Marley and Me) this year- indeed also the many past years that I haven’t indulged myself in the liberation of tearing up. I’ve been known to be a sentimentalist, no doubt. But rarely have I express my emotions externally. Maybe something happened. Or maybe it’s just me growing more and more aware of my own emotions.

And I can- quite proudly- pinpoint why exactly the movie made me cry.

It’s the sense of loss. But not merely any sense of loss. It’s the sense of losing something I had never gained. The movie was, in some ways, a portrayal of hope that is diminishing ever so slowly in my life. I am beginning to give up on love even before I have the chance to experience it. Whatever experience I have owes itself from the lively imagination I produce inside my head, or the times when I was just about to fall asleep, the foolish feeling of the presence of someone non-existent cuddling up against me. It was also the sense of security that is far from desperation.

Falling in love is short-lived. Being in love is hard. Falling out of love begins with a snap.

Precisely when Allie awoke and asked Noah, “Do you think our love can create miracles?” a stream of tears rolled down my cheeks. Yes, it is the sense of losing something I had never gained and probably will not, ever- the unchallengeable, undying love that cross-cuts Age; someone whom you can grow old and die with in this ‘lousy modern world’.

Chances of that happening in today’s ever rising divorce rates and the prevalence of problematic family patterns? I think we all know the answer.

Quite frankly I am not ashamed to have said what I said. We should all learn how to express our emotions... sometimes.

Confessions of a Child.

2009-09-04T11:49:00.006+01:00

This is the child in me not understanding the world, who would cry at something he cannot make sense of. It is the child in me who would, in the middle of a television show, run to my mother who is cooking in the kitchen, and meekly pull the side of her shirt. Looking up innocently, I would ask, “Mom, why are there bad people?”

And she wouldn’t know how to answer. She would struggle and come up with an answer to please me in order to send me away, but the question would not be answered. Nor will it be answered when the child grows to be a man; when the man grows to be an elder; and when the elder grows stricken by Time, seared with wrinkle and seized by diseases and sicknesses. Perhaps Death would reveal all- the secrets of the human world- or perhaps Death would be the ultimate instrument of Life to conceal its best secrets.

But for the mean time, the child in me would have to deal with the world’s problems. He would have to muster all the courage he possesses to pick up a daily newspaper vividly depicted with Man’s most grotesque personality through unimaginable acts of violence and unsympathetic conduct, whose complete absence of any sort of morality morphs into a ghastly figure that haunts him at night, often jerking him awake halfway, sleepless afterwards.

By chance, when he grows up, he would understand a mere fraction of its entirety. He would get discrimination. He would get violence. He would get rage. But this child in me, will never get pleasure from all those corruption. This child in me, will never get why people would forsake sanity- for indeed immorality is insanity- in exchange with pain inflicted on another person. This child in me will never be capable of performing such evil deeds even though he holds the capacity of both extreme ends, for he has to bear, and has borne the guilt of so many Men.

Will there only be Love and Compassion as long as Men are selfish? That the improbability of peace is really in reality not attainable?

But this is the power of childhood: the discrimination this child in me will feel will be directed to those who discriminate senselessly; the violence would be in the form of words that pierces the toughest of skin and the darkest of hearts; the infuriating rage will lend itself from the rage that destroys peace and turn it into a burning passion to restore Humanity. The question need not be answered; it should not have been required to be asked in the first place.

It is indeed so laughably childish. So, do you think you know the world better than this child in me?

Happy Birthday, Father.

2009-09-02T13:28:00.006+01:00

Today is a great day for today is my father’s 53rd birthday. Well, according to the ‘guai lou’ calender, anyway. I haven’t got a lunar one with me so I never keep track of that- though it’s my family’s preference to celebrate according to the lunar calender.

Because I have an extraordinarily bad memory with names, places and dates, I relied on modern day technology to keep me notified- yes, phone, Facebook, whatever.

I haven’t always been a great son and shamefully I admit sometimes I was far from being a great son. But he had always been the most responsible dad and indeed a most responsible man in general. Just imagining being in his shoes scares me- dealing with a wife (Hi, mom) and four out-of-hand kids and a career. What a handful it must have been; or still probably is. And he deals with it so well, so adequately.

So, to the hero, the greatest man, the ATM of us useless money-pests, the husband and the father...

Happy Birthday!

#Edit: Dad, if you're reading this don't forget to read the comments! :)

"Marry Me."

2009-08-31T10:56:00.016+01:00

Sorry, I just had to title this post with the above.

Want to know what I've been up to lately other than staring at my computer screen, or burning through pages and pages of books?

Bye y'all. :)

If Only.

2009-08-30T13:18:00.005+01:00

We hear it all the time- ‘if only’-, so much so that it seems inconsequential in uttering the phrase. A paradigm of the regrets we feel daily, the times we look back dreading the action we have taken or did not take; is that all that it is? Recently I’ve interested myself in following some people closely on different social networks. It is the least I can do. If I am not able to talk to them in person, it is the least I can do.

And I can’t help but to wonder what do all these people have to regret about- the exam results that weren’t satisfactory (or close to it), the love that was lost, the habit one can’t shake, or the things you wish you could do under some circumstances and more.

Certainly I was in their position once, or still possibly am. You’re blind to your own flaws until you see a mirrored image of them in someone else. And in this case, it is quite true. And you can’t help but to sympathise with the person in trifling regret because you can’t bring yourself to criticise that of which the seed of self-pity in you manifests in another person’s body. Rather selfish, might I add, to sympathise yourself in a way. I am then torn between being apologetic for being apologetic and being apologetic, all the same.

What one cannot sympathise with, we criticise greatly- it is a product, an outcome of stupidity, absent-mindedness or lack of determination, confidence, or all of the above mentioned. These, we don’t feel sorry for. These were within your control and you managed to cock it up gracefully. It’s your fault, we say, none of ours: we don’t share the same level of intelligence, yours is apparently lower. At most we spare a pang of pity- mostly disdain, really- for being higher above and we offer to help. That’s not sympathy. It’s an act of kindness disguised with pity.

When we’re in the shoes, we squint our teary eyes and humble ourselves in defeat, in plea for some sympathy, oh higher ones. Forgive me for my denseness.

The world is coming to an end. Your exam results that are poorly will result in a cataclysmic event unprecedented throughout the record of human civilisation; the love that you’ve lost, the heart now broken, shall forever be etched in print like the Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet; the habit, smoking, drinking, whatever, will bring forth God’s wrath upon yourself. Your life will end. Is ending. Has ended.

If only you knew, eh?

Autumn's End.

2009-08-29T10:40:00.004+01:00

I awoke in bed, still covered from the neck down in that thick blanket of mine. But it was cold. After sleeping on it for several hours, the surface of the bed-sheet was barely warm- it was dead cold. And you could feel it coming already- not Autumn-, Winter is already on its way. Or perhaps it’s just me; a psychological effect that renders your body temperature low and gives you that gut-retching feeling whenever you place a thought at it.

Except you can’t stop placing a thought at it. The reminders are scattered all over this house that isn’t mine- the occasional e-mail in my inbox I check too frequently, the important documents I place within an arm’s reach, and even this very house itself that I call ‘temporary residence’. The reminders that, by the end of next month, I am attending university.

Nobody warns you about it either. Nor do you see it coming. We all knew it was going to happen, but we seem to take things for granted, as if it were all natural and things would fall into place by themselves, that everything would be taken care of for you. Reality is far from that. Reality is, there’s no backing out. Nor will there be any back-up within a safe distance- they are all faraway, the people that you grew up with, whose faces you hold dearly in mind, afraid to let it slip and guarding it from time. Nobody warns you about going to university.

It just seems unreal- going to university. I spend most my childhood reminiscing about my childhood. Today was yesterday, this year was yesteryear. And I was taught to dream. Dream as big as you can- doesn’t matter if it doesn’t come true, as long as you dream, that would be all right. Then it happens- what always happens-, life, moving on, growing up. Growing up particularly. I thought leaving the country would certainly mean a new phase in life. It was. But even that doesn’t prepare you for what’s next.

And you have it all in your head. The grand picturesque of yourself standing in a crowd of random faces, belittled by your comparably smaller physical self in a place mentally constructed from something you’ve seen before- a picture, your own eyes, or just plain imagination. Except the person you see that resembles you so strikingly isn’t yourself. Who am I kidding, me, there? Not going to happen. Yet it will. It most certainly will.

It’s beyond the question of fitting in, or feeling belonged. It’s about who you’re becoming. It’s the fear that is exclusive to that of finally reaching your eighteenth birthday. It’s the fear of finally growing up. The times that you are aware you feel a tad bit more guilty after every time you use the money that doesn’t belong to you; the times when you know you no longer have the indulgence to f**k things up; the times when you are fully aware of your responsibilities and obligations.

It’s time. Time to grow old and feel cold.

Gay Exorcism: Begone, thy Homo-Demon!

2009-08-22T11:41:00.006+01:00

This is the sociology essay that earned me my 98%. Just thought I'd share it here for those who are interested. Be forewarned, however, that the content of the essay may cause some discomfort in some people (may also distress one as the essay addresses controversial issues). Please bear in mind that this is an 'amateur' work. Reader's discretion is advised.

//Edit: Topic of essay discusses whether Mental Illness is Real or Imagined.

Comments are, as usual, welcomed.

*****

Following the intellectual movement commonly dubbed ‘The Enlightenment’ in the 18th century- or perhaps earlier-, the gradual recognition and the prevailing acceptance of scientific knowledge progressively obviated religious ideology; or in the subject of this essay, medicine replaced theology (Szasz 1971). Since culture and religion are intricately entwined in most existing societies, and that the criteria set upon the taxonomy of mental illnesses are dependent on the former, religion, thus, propounds significant influences- the premise of the proposed arguments centres around the presupposition that whether or not religion itself is socially constructed is irrelevant. This essay will attempt to dissect the obscure area between Searle’s (1995) ‘institutional’ and ‘brute’ facts concerning mental illness in the religious context of historical and cultural relativity.

In Searle’s The Construction of Social Reality (1995: 2-5), he distinguished facts that are “dependent on human agreement” as “institutional facts;” and those that are entirely instinctive to human reasoning as “brute facts”. However, the phenomenon of mental illness does not always comply with the clearly defined boundaries as put forth by Searle; the rationale behind “institutional facts,” as acknowledged by Searle himself, is fundamentally flawed. For instance, different cultures may not share the same beliefs and therefore may ‘agree’ to different sets of norms and values. Nevertheless, provided if a ‘human agreement’ can be reached without any dispute, and that the universality of ‘institutional facts” is applicable to most if not all cultures- such as the credence given to ‘monetary values’- the possibility of social realism then comes into existence.

Figure 1.1 (Source: http://meducator.org/archive/20050214/04_scan.jpg)

Social realism is defined as the “acknowledgement of the existence and definition of ‘mental health’ but [it] also considers the constant changes impinged by cultural differences and historical relativity (Lecture Notes Sem 2 Week 3).” Epilepsy, supported by a substantial amount of medical evidence today (See Figure 1.1 above), was thought to be the works of demonic possession in the Middle Ages (Mentalwellness.com, Date Unknown). However, such religious beliefs subsist even in modern times. One highly publicised example, renowned by Hollywood’s re-enactment of Anneliese Michel’s true story in 2005 entitled “The Exorcism of Emily Rose,” provided an insight to these “obscure areas” of ‘facts’.

Born in Germany 1952, Anneliese reportedly began suffering from convulsions and experienced her first epileptic attack in 1969. Even though she was diagnosed with epilepsy, she was convinced that she was possessed. With her parents’ consent, they ultimately abandoned medical treatment and relied solely on exorcisms. After 67 rites of exorcism over the span of 10 months, her body endured a considerable amount of damage that includes the rupture of the ligaments in her knees subsequent to performing an estimated 600 genuflections- “an act of reverence consisting of falling onto one or both knees.” During which Anneliese was too weak to perform herself, her parents physically assisted. She eventually died from “severe dehydration and malnourishment” (See Figure 1.2 and 1.3 below) after she decided to fast in order to “rid her of the Satan’s influence (All information on Anneliese: Chasingthefrog.com, Date Unknown).”

Figure 1.2 (Source: http://www.cot.org.br/blog/wp-content/uploads/2007/06/emilyrose1.jpg; http://images31.fotosik.pl/187/c6213b8ccfc4e1d8.jpg)

Figure 1.3 (Source: http://tejiendoelmundo.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/annelies.jpg)

Factors such as the cultural environment she was subjected to should not be dismissed as potential causation. Anneliese grew up in a strict Catholic family, which to a great extent reinforces her confidence in the phenomenon of demonic possession. Although there has been a great amount of speculation by the public- certainly more after the movie was released-, whether or not she was genuinely suffering from epilepsy, the implausible possibility of demonic possession or merely a case of social construction by the individual and the persons involved remain unanswered with her inopportune death.

One of the forerunners on the theory of ‘social constructivism’ is Thomas Szasz (1971: 1-27; Lecture Notes Sem 2 Week 3), whose opinion on mental illness is such that it is biologically nonexistent; the ascription of the ‘mentally-ill-role’ to an individual refers directly to the establishment of the society’s reaction against nonconformity. The concept of deviance (Becker, cited by Scheff 1966: 32-3) is not only created by society whose religious teachings are often incorporated into norms and values, the stigmatisation implicated within the codes of law further emphasises the labelling of deviant behaviour- in that, the quality of the deviant act itself is relegated by the consequence of the application by others using legal sanctions. In other words, deviance can be considered the result of others’ response to a person’s violation of norms, if so successfully labelled- for example, mentally ill- and not the actual act itself (the illness, if any).

In theological societies, primarily in Christian societies, homosexuality was regarded as a sin or as the Bible calls it, “an abomination.” By legal definition up until the 1967 (Terry 25th July 2008) in Britain, all homosexual acts were ‘sex crime’. Whilst on the other hand, medical professions saw homosexual acts as symptoms of a ‘mental disease’. In short, homosexuality was or is still seen as “both a crime and a disease (Szasz 1971: 242).” The prevalence of medical advances towards the end of the 19th century meant that homosexuality ramified from previously a ‘sinful act and crime’ or as Gilman (1985) puts it, “a sexual deviancy” to “include that of pathology (Herek, 26th March 2009).” As a result, there was an emergence of theories from a psychiatrist’s perspective in an effort to both understand the ‘illness’ and “cure” it. Some methods include: lobotomy- originally researched by Friederich Golz in 1890 by removing portions of his dogs’ temporal lobes to pacify or reduce their aggressiveness (Boeree, 2001); in the case of a homosexual patient, to reduce sexual desire-, aversion therapy- where patients were shown erotic pictures of the same-sex and given electric shocks in an attempt to develop repulsiveness by repetition-, castration and so on. These treatments failed thoroughly, and whilst such poor results did not discourage some undeterred psychiatrists from further performing them, it built up a strong suit that led to declassification of homosexuality as a ‘mental illness’.

The American Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) in 1973 (Herek, 26th March 2009). However, the British government did not do the same for its International Classification of Disease List until 1994- 27 years after homosexuality was decriminalised. The removal of such classification did not guarantee the immediate removal of the stigma involved as homosexuality continues to be referred as a mental disorder. Even though homosexuality is no longer, by medical standards, a mental illness, mental illnesses or psychiatric problems persistently encompass homosexuality. A study conducted by Herrell et al in 1999 (cited by Whitehead, 3rd September 2008), shows that on average, male homosexuals were 5.1 times more likely to display signs of suicide-related behaviour in comparison to a heterosexual male. The term ‘gay’ as it seems- by definition of being ‘carefree’ and ‘merry’ (Oxford Dictionary) - is a misnomer.

In a recent controversial video posted on YouTube (See link here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50Bl94Xby4g; or see embedded video below) shows an exorcism performed by the church on a teenager to “cast out the homosexual demon.” This overlapping or the amalgamation of demonic possession and homosexuality whilst invited ample criticisms, re-stresses the link between the influence of bigotry- putting the blame wholly on religion based on a small proportion of doctrinaire is not justifiable- and societal norms and values. There are people who were involved both in and out of the video, whose actions are seen as deviant in today’s contemporary societies; whose actions were convinced by themselves, carried out to liberate sexual deviancy; and whose rationality and irrationality was what Foucault (1967) had originally suggested with the growth of capitalism. Nonetheless, if the concept of deviance is only applicable to offenders who had violated norms and values, is bigotry, however ‘deviant’, then protected by a system of conformity instituted by religion centuries ago?

Indeed, reality can be perceived in more than one ways; but the underlying fact is that there is and can only be one reality. Through time, it is learnt that there may be scientific explanation to a seemingly spiritual cause. Despite the fact that some mental illnesses such as epilepsy are convincingly ‘real’ and evidence are provided by modern technological advances, Men- as opposed to ‘One Man’- have also realised their capability to socially construct and label the ‘differences’ they see of each other. To detach religion from culture is unimaginable yet infinitely more achievable than to (re-)unify God into today’s maths-ridden scientific equations. One thing remains concretely certain: cultural changes will not be ground to a halt even if one-day religion is rendered completely extraneous and impertinent.

Bibliography

• Bhaskar, R., (1979), The Possibility of Naturalism: A Philosophical Critique of the Contemporary Human Sciences, Sussex, The Harvester Press Ltd.

• Boeree, C.G., (2001), A Brief History of the Lobotomy, (http://webspace.ship.edu/cgboer/lobotomy.html) [Accessed on 27th June 2009]

• Busfield, J., (1986), Managing Madness: Changing Ideas and Practice, London, Unwin Hyman Ltd.

• Chasingthefrog.com (Date Unknown), The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005), (http://www.chasingthefrog.com/reelfaces/emilyrose.php) [Accessed on 29th June 2009]

• Foucault, M., (1967), Madness and Civilisation, London, Routledge

• Fulcher, J. & Scott, J. (2007), Sociology, Third Edition, Oxford, Oxford University Press Inc.

• Giddens, A. (2001), Sociology, Fourth Edition, Cambridge, Blackwell Publishing Limited.

• Gilman, S.L., (1985), Difference and Pathology: Stereotypes of Sexuality, Race and Madness, New York, Cornell University

• Haralambos & Holborn (2004), Sociology: Themes and Perspective, Sixth Edition, London, HarperCollins Publishers Limited.

• Herek, G.M., (26th March 2009), Facts About Homosexuality and Mental Health, (http://psychology.ucdavis.edu/rainbow/html/facts_mental_health.html) [Accessed on 29th June 2009 ]

• Lecture Notes Semester 2 Week 3-5

• Mentalwellness.com (Date Unknown), History of Mental Illness, (http://www.mentalwellness.com/mentalwellness/history.html) [Accessed on 29th June 2009]

• Scheff, T.J., (1966), Being Mentally Ill, Illinois, Aldine Publishing Company

• Searle, J.R., (1995), The Construction of Social Reality, New York, Simon & Schuster Inc.

• Szasz, T.S., (1971), The Manufacture of Madness, London, Lowe & Brydone Ltd.

• Terry, L., (Date Unknown), A Perception on Homosexuality, (http://www.planetsappho.com/lesbian-writing/a-perception-of-homosexuality.html) [Accessed on 29th June 2009 ]

• Whitehead, N.E., (3rd September 2008), Homosexuality and Mental Health Problems, (http://www.narth.com/docs/whitehead.html) [Accessed on 27th June 2009 ]

Departures.

2009-08-11T23:43:00.004+01:00

Can anybody tell me what it means to be ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in goodbyes?

After sending about ten people off in the airport, I can’t help but to feel myself stirring a tad bit inside. It surprises me, too, to learn that I could be, by the slightest chance, affected by their departures only after a mere seven months of bonding. Seven months? It didn’t even feel that long.

In contrast, I should be ashamed of myself thinking seven months back when I was departing my motherland. I couldn’t identify a speck of bittersweet emotion- let alone a wash of sorrow- save a rush of excitement, an excitement tinged with fear; a combination of independence and freedom in pursuit of a dream too big for a little lad my size. There was none a tear to spare for my fellow friends and family; I left with a grin.

I remember the childish promises that we made when we were twelve. To never be parted, to never lose contact, we say. All the things we used to believe in and hold dear now seem frivolous. I haven’t seen the most of them for many years now.

Then there was secondary school: squalor of a place diseased with teenage nuisance, disarrayed with immaturity expressed by grown-up wannabes. Sure there was a haven within, but it meant isolation- peace was only a by-product of rejection. I should know, for I was one of the each. They say your surroundings are what you make of it. Nonsense- how do you propose opposing a force of several hundred who are also making the surroundings?

Graduation put an end to my allergy to inflexibility that is the conglomeration of forever broken toilet doors, littered floors, bunches of ball-less delinquents too chickened to act up to responsibilities, on-sales short-skirted seventeen camouflaged in fancy makeup and whatnot. But out of it all, amidst the bedlam, survives a few friendships that I shall remain appreciative and grateful of beyond my death bed.

Yet, with my flag flown high in the sky and my smashed rear-view mirror, I was too proud to spare a tear. I was too afraid to make promises nobody is capable of keeping. Life on the fast lane at this stage is so changeable. It is often easier to tell the future in five years than in five weeks. And this unpredictability scares us all.

Seven months later, after the excitement subsided a little, I began to think differently. Of course, those obnoxious punks didn’t suddenly get their balls back out of thin air. They are still there (or not there). Negativity, I have learned, is, in nature, a magnet. The more you focus on the negative things around you, the more accentuated they are as eyesores.

Am I so foolish now to promise you we shall meet again soon? Maybe there is beauty in goodbye. There are people who will come into our lives temporarily and we shall never see them again after they depart. But I have learned, after this short seven months, goodbye isn’t about forgetting; it is about letting go.

These are the people who have come in and etched their names upon our hearts. These names will remain for so long our memories allow them to. Their departures are but an epitome of reminders, that subtly beckons us to never forget.

This... is farewell.

Kelly Clarkson Should Leave RCA.

2009-07-28T19:25:00.007+01:00

I know I said I would close the blog down but really, can't stand a second longer and I've decided to exercise my freedom of speech. Have you watched Kelly Clarkson's lastest music video for her 3rd single off All I Ever Wanted, called 'Already Gone'? Like it?

Everytime I watch the video on YouTube (which really, is... a lot of times), I see comments left by people saying that it's too bland or boring.

Watch carefully. There are plenty of ambigious signs: heels on the stairs with the necklace which reappeared later; her standing in front of the mirror with no reflection whilst holding a white Calla Lily; and instruments playing by themselves.

Heels on the stairs? She fell? Unlikely as it wouldn't fit the lyrics. So I'm going with suicide with necklace as rope. As for the instruments, suppose if we can't see ghosts, ghosts (Kelly) can't see us?

And here's another thing: Jospeh Kahn, who had directed this video as well as several other splendid ones like Behind These Hazel Eyes and Never Again, said he was unhappy with this version.

Why? Because RCA has reportedly (once again) tried to screw Kelly over. It's not unheard of. My December was leaked before it debuted. The album had considerably less success partly due to its minimal marketing. This time, RCA has allegedly 'forced' Kahn to re-edit the version and 'possibly' cut out the final most crucial part of the video as they thought it was 'too dark'.

Too dark?? Oh-My-God.

My two cents: Kelly Clarkson should leave RCA once her contract's up or something. She's already an international megastar she'd do fine without RCA. Actually she'd do better without RCA being in the way. Screw them for saying "Oh but we built you up when you first won AI."

I feel she's betrayed. Stupid record company.

Closed Down.

2009-07-25T16:10:00.004+01:00

Having a week of exams.

Computer has crashed beyond repair; I haven't got time to do anything with it.

Going to be busy settling with life issues such as trying to not sleep by the streets of Newcastle for 2 months whilst staying.

Moving out.

Moving in.

Visa renewal.

Paying fees.

...Etc...

Legally Old.

2009-07-21T23:44:00.006+01:00

The art of indulgence lies not at the object of indulgent, but rather one’s desire to indulge. After all, how grand and sought after can it be if it wasn’t longed?

I had the same thing yesterday, did the same thing the day before but today was exceptionally great. It’s my birthday, yes, but that’s not the reason why it is great; it is great because I wanted it to! It is an excuse to feel better, no less, but it also provided a chance to rekindle old friendships, which of course, made it even greater.

Certainly it was no hoopla turning eighteen, nor was there any fancy celebration. It had been a slow day but just slow enough to enjoy the day. Loy had sent a text message saying that it was a ‘must-go’ tonight at seven for dinner- sounding quite authoritative, might I add. The message was sent at about half past five but I was already sleeping soundly. I woke up later at ten to seven; awaken by the ringing of my phone, answered hearing a commanding voice ‘asking’ me to get ready in less than fifteen minutes.

We had ‘sumptuous’ Japanese food for dinner that was on me- well, dad actually (so, thanks!). And from eight we ate to ten. I had a great time just talking and laughing. I do feel a little bittersweet thinking we will be parted in less than 2 weeks from now, especially when we reminisce what seemed like yesterday that was seven months ago.

Since having friends back from Malaysia, my birthday had basically been extended to 32 hours (+7 hours). I thank you all for still remembering my birthday! Thoughts really do count!

Thank you for the birthday card, Vi Cher. It’s absolutely lovely! It’s definitely a keeper!

Thank you for being the first person to wish me in person right on time, Lee Veen! (Though Vi Cher beat you to it by mere seconds through phone) And thanks for the present!

Thank you Nata for your crazy tight hugs in the morning. It surely woke me up! And thank you for your presents, they are awesome! How I love those cartoon dogs!

Thank you Loy for those where-is-it-from-again? chocolate and sweets! Indulgence indeed!

Thank you JiaLik (and Xiao Shi?) for the humungous cookie! With Smarties toppings!

Thank you Neo for your present as well and for turning up!

I hope I have thanked everyone personally who had wished me already but if I hadn’t I’m sorry and thank you loads!

******************

It doesn’t feel different to- finally- be eighteen. Although secretly, some part of me does want to remain as young as possible whilst surpassing level of maturity common to my age. It’s odd to think that I am becoming just another face in the crowd as this human invention called time creeps up, or entering a world of adulthood I often associated with but never to become a member of participant- a world so tainted by depiction of wild uncontrolled freedom, loss of innocence and lonesomeness. And life here becomes a starting point where one struggles to reciprocate the demands of the society whose expectations are set upon the legacies and oversights of those forerunners before us, triumphant or fallen.

Is this a cause to celebrate, I ask? Or is this the long overdue farewell to childhood I hadn’t bided?

#Tech Failures 101.

2009-07-19T19:32:00.008+01:00

I had recently reformatted my computer due to a virus infection. I am not sure about most the other computers or brands out there, but my Vista enabled me to reformat whilst keeping the old files- only rendering the Windows-type files useless. So in other words, I was able to retain my personal files.

I did that twice. But to no avail.

I swear I was about to hammer my laptop into two halves provided if I have a hammer within reach. So, I had no choice but to use the last resort, which was to restore my computer and its system back to the state where it left the factory; a complete wipe. Thankfully, however, I had the chance to back up most my files during that tiny window I had in between reformations.

First of all, I should have never gotten a virus infection if not for my University’s proxies that block my antivirus’ auto-updates.

It’s fine now but the system seems to be running noticeably slower than usual. I got round improving that by using a few programmes that I would like to share with y’all. I certainly am not a whiz kid in computing but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve for these kinds of stuff.

Here’s the first and a very useful one called CCleaner. It works like the Recycle Bin on your desktop but more specific and thorough in wiping out the rubbish you don’t need. And it also scans for what it calls the ‘issues’ such as missing or outdated links etc and clean them up. Click here for link.

How often do you defrag your disk? What is it? Windows has its own defragmentation programme that sorts out fragmented files that could slow down your computer. So, defragging it from time to time is kind of like reorganising the library catalogue alphabetically. But I find Windows’ original defragmentation programme is... well... a little bit crappy. So I use this.

Of course, download at your own risk. Don’t come blaming me if your computer is infected!

July Tradition.

2009-07-18T23:42:00.004+01:00

I remember 2 years back my friends dragged me along to watch Harry Potter when it first came out. And I remember we were late to the show, missing the first few minutes. I remember I sat next to a friend of mine, who, throughout the show, told me what was going on as I had not watched the previous instalments. It sort of became a July tradition in conjunction with my birthday celebration.

I never really liked Harry Potter series. Although I do admire J.K. Rowling’s vivid imagination and her ability to pen them down so eloquently. Besides, she’s bloody loaded.

We went to watch the latest instalment yesterday. It started raining in the morning. I did carry an umbrella but unfortunately one strong blow of wind wretched it even before I reached my destination.

It never stopped raining. We decided to eat Chinese buffet after our last class at 3- remind me, whose brilliant idea is this?

I have got to say, this is the most memorable trip to the cinema ever. I was running with Nata under one small umbrella dodging rain, cars and people. We sort of realised the sorrowful depiction were we pictured in a film, and that inspired her to break out in an Indian (kind of, anyway) song- no idea why, but she claimed that she felt she was at a scene just after her boyfriend dumped her in the rain with a kid (me).

The movie was alright. You shouldn’t watch it whilst constantly comparing it to the book. Let’s face it, how many book-adapted movies actually work out? I admit after watching this one, however, I’ll definitely be watching the next and last one. (Well, I sort of watched all the previous 5 in one and a half day...)

Anyway, I’d like to once again give a big huge THANK YOU to all of you who were involved in making my birthday such an enjoyable time last year. I’ll never forget the meringue, of course; how conspiring it was to smack me with such disgusting stuff in front of the teacher and class. You were all awesome!

I doubt very much the same would happen this year, but what happened last year could most definitely last a lifetime.

Oh, the Turmoil.

2009-07-12T00:21:00.005+01:00

I know I’ve only been updating my blog with short posts, but really, you have no idea how ultra busy I am at the moment. Things will change by the end of this month as my course gears towards an end. You will probably ‘enjoy’ a resurgence of longer posts (which I am sure you thoroughly love).

So here’s the real deal if you haven’t already heard: I’ve been offered a place at Durham University.

You might remember the trip to Durham earlier this year.

I nearly got a heart attack when I found that out myself on UCAS. Durham University is, of course, one of the most prestigious universities in the whole of the country, frequently ranking amongst the Top 10. Particularly in English studies last year, Durham beat both Oxford and Cambridge by claiming the number 1 spot. That was probably why I had chosen Durham University in the first place; since I had 5 choices, why not waste one on the first?

In addition to that, as well, because Durham University does not offer a hybrid course like Newcastle’s English Language and Literature, I applied for pure Literature.

And what do you know? They so generously offer an acceptance!

What struck me as extraordinary and extremely odd, is the fact that I had been initially ‘rejected’ by University of Edinburgh (another highly ranked- but lower than Durham- University) for choosing English Language and Literature- but they were able to reroute my application to English Language the first year, and transfer to English Language and Literature the second year provided if I take side-courses to brush up on my Scottish Literature- because I was seen as ‘unfit’ for studying Literature without any background knowledge on the subject (presumably, anyway).

I did mention 'generously': Durham University is giving me a conditional offer that requires 60% overall for academic and 65% for EAP with no less than an element of 6 in each band. That is... well... quite a hoopla. It does have a reputation for high entry requirements- ranking at the 4th position (see video below).

The choice seems obvious for those of you not in my shoes: pick Durham!

Dad had already given me the go-ahead, although I have yet talked to mom (I’ve been forewarned that she might not accept the news with the best of grace...). This is once in a lifetime opportunity, as many of you might agree. But it doesn’t make my decision any easier.

I remember just a few hours before finding out the news, I was vehemently urging Loy to get a go on with the accommodation issues, asking him to ask a girl about her decision to stay with ‘us’. Who would have known, that a few hours later, I was the one who would possibly back out? They don’t seem to mind, but still, I can’t help but to feel bad.

And then there’s the whole issue of coping. We’re talking about mingling with the real smart-asses here (pardon the bad language but according to Nata, it’s true). Though I believe I will strive if I put in effort (of course, if I do get to study there, I’d be damned to not), it’s still intimidating. On the side note, with its smaller community of international undergraduates in comparison to other universities say Newcastle, I do wonder if I’d be the only “one of my kind” on that course.

Right at this moment, I am leaning towards going to Durham. (Furthermore, I still haven't gotten a response from Newcastle University) But things might change. Nevertheless, check out the videos below and tell me what you think!

...and I didn't even take A Levels! LOL

So, what do you think?

I'm Serious...

2009-07-07T13:42:00.003+01:00

(My fridge)

...don't fuck with me.

Save You.

2009-07-04T16:41:00.005+01:00

I remember when you first came to life. The moment I held you and your sister dearly on my chest whilst laying lazily on the couch, aimlessly fiddling with the television remote control. It must have been showing nonsensical commercials when I started playing with you- petting your tiny little head, listening to your grumpy baby snores.

Then you lifted your head, awoke from slumber. One of your eyes slowly pried itself open as you took in all that was around you- I wonder now if I was the first thing you saw. I was overjoyed. I tenderly placed your sister back to her shelter and excitedly carried you to my mom, couldn’t wait to bring her the good news.

You changed when you grew up, never were you the tiny little helpless pup on my chest again. You were unlike any other. You loved jumping on the couch to irritate my dad. You hated your sister when she steals your food. You ran and smashed into your dad when he’s sound asleep on the floor. You hated hugging- I would always laugh at the thought of you being the ultra-heterosexual-masculine-all-star-jock-dog. You changed when you grew up; but I loved you just the same.

The news came a day after, that you were gone the day before. I stared at the screen, stared at those words my dad sent to me several thousands of miles away. I stared until those words stopped making sense. He went on to explain the situation. I needed to know if he had not gone through a lot of suffering, that it was a quiet one. Yes, he assured me, he was very quiet when he was on drips.

Nothing registered. My eyes stung but there were no tears; my heart was shattered but I felt nothing; my hands trembled as I typed goodbye to my dad but I could not feel my fingers on the keyboard.

Unable to sleep, images constructed by my imagination invaded my mind: the scene where you would last be seen, powerless on that cold metal vet’s operating table. Mom would have stayed outside after she gave permission to proceed, crying perhaps; watching you go would be unbearable to her. Someone would have had to gun me down me to separate the both of us; I would never leave you alone like that. I wanted you to know I would be there as your life drifted away. I want to kiss your furry forehead, hold your paw, pet and comfort you as you so cruelly leave me. I would try not to cry, secretly wishing you wouldn’t understand human emotions.

But I failed you. I was not there when it happened. I was not even thinking about you when it happened. Thoughts of you flood my mind only now, when it is already too late. Knowing I did nothing then and the thought of not being able to do anything now rips me apart. I cried myself to sleep last night. I cried again this morning. I cried more when I saw my sister’s personal message on MSN, asking God to keep him safe even though I know she does not believe in Him. My tears fall in vain and they feel like salt water running down my freshly skinned face.

Loy jokingly said he’d try dog meat once last night. I slammed the table with my fist and feigned rage. “Well, the dog would already be dead, so...,” he tried to justify.

You or anyone can have him now. I understand. He is already gone. What’s left isn’t what I want. Take it. Mourn him if you will, bury him should you want to, but his motionless flesh and bones are meaningless when he has already spent his last breath on earth. I don’t want a shell; I want him back.

I hope he had good memory and still remembered me after 6 months. I hope he knows he will be remembered and forever missed. I hope he will visit my dreams tonight and every other night. If I couldn’t do what I said above when you were still alive, I hope I can do it every night in my dreams to make it up to you. Please don’t be mad at me for not being there. I am so so sorry. I promise I’d give anything now.

I remember asking my mom if she had already thought of a name for him.

“Yes,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“King Kong,” she replied.

I laughed heartily at how lame it sounded but couldn’t disagree how aptly the name suits him.

I love you, you furry-little-jock-dog.

Next Up: Questioning Thyself.

2009-07-01T01:25:00.005+01:00

The prospect of a satisfactory outcome is solely what propels me. No, satisfactory is perhaps not enough; I do demand much from myself- even more than I can actually provide.

Damn these weary legs- I can no further walk; I can no further crawl; I can no further stare ahead from where the soil I stand upon, as an ounce of confidence is drained for every breath in exchange.

Still, I refuse to lay through the night. If time does not stop, so will not my legs, however chivied by tire.

P/S: Post to be replaced by a real update.

Edited: I have recently created a survey for my Study Skills project. Please help me answer the questionnaire here.

Many many thanks in advance!

SOB.

2009-06-21T18:24:00.004+01:00

The following videos are why Sarah McLachlan is such an amazing soul:

I have already decided to join Newcastle Uni's Animal Welfare group (if I were to stay in Newcastle, that is). And if they aren't as active as I would imagine, I'd try to volunteer in a local animal rescue organisation should I find one.

It was long ago when I thought of being a vet. But I didn't have enough heart to cut an animal open even if it meant saving its life. So, to all the vets out there, I admire what you're doing.

And to anyone who has adopted and is adopting an animal, you are doing a good deed every single day. My heart goes all out for y'all.

FAQ: Fight or Flight?

2009-06-17T19:51:00.005+01:00

The question we all bear as Malaysians will continue to hang in midair whilst we try getting to nowhere; fifty years have gone and past since we were granted independence, but have we gotten far?

My father forwarded me several extended reading materials regarding the issue of mass emigration in Malaysia. Considering how sensitive this issue is, I shall be as discrete as possible. However, before you read on, do keep in mind that this is purely a matter of opinions. Whilst it is interesting to hear the arguments from both ends, it is equally- if not more- important to respect all opinions.

There are people who have decided it was all a waste of time and effort to fight the system that is relentless in keeping their heads under the water- hence, it is either the choice of departing or drowning. So they left. Though unfortunately, they have also been accused and deemed cowardice by fellow compatriots.

Was it inapt to say that the situation in Malaysia is as sorrowful and hopeless as painted? Or was it wrong that I agree to such claims? Are runaways necessarily cowards? Is flight better fight?

How far can patriotism carry you before it runs out of gas (pun intended)? Is it feasible to fight when the moment we stand up against the people who keep us down, they are the very people who are the quickest and loudest to scream?

I do not hope that anybody reading this will be able to provide some answers. And neither would I care for one since they are not meant to be answered in the first place. Nevertheless, what I have to share is a point of view shared by most people my age, my generation (shamelessly speaking, that is). Surely, there are people I know who are extremely keen to fixing the problem when they grow up; or when they have the right to vote (Yes, ViCher, talking about you). Still, people like them are rare and morbidly outnumbered by people who treat this with absolutely disdain.

I had the chance to discuss this matter with my father (a lot of the arguments I put forth here are also taken from there) and I described the difference between the younger and the older generations as “young lads who are like inexperience hunters, and who lack the patience to set up traps and therefore would go out with a gun and start shooting whatever moves.”

“Then you may shoot the wrong target and waste all the bullets. Hunter hunted!” he said.

Despite the irony and hilarity, it is exactly what we have in mind. Go out on a street and simply ask a teenager (who hopefully does not wear baggy clothing), what do you know about politics? The answer you’d get would probably sound like ‘I have no clue’ or ‘total chaos’. Either way, it shows how un-politically aware we are (indeed, I am generalising).

In addition to that, what interests me the most is how international migration is perceived primarily in the older generations. Perhaps the concept of ‘globalisation’ is too contemporary for one to grasp, but there seems to be two sides of the same argument here. Generally speaking, international intellectual-trading seems to be more acceptable when put that way in comparison to people who migrate because they ‘give up’. In other words, you can go if you think Malaysia is still great, but you cannot go and will be accused to be a coward by some people if you give up on Malaysia. Of course, the fact that international migration is happening all over the world is definitely something that is not new. So, why is there such fuss?

Going back to us youngster who lack patience and only dream of travelling abroad, I suppose it’s only going to be an issue of the ‘older generation’ because fighting for the country is not exactly what we have in mind now. How much does patriotism weigh in a meritocratic society?

Is it even fair for those ‘patriots’ to call the people who left cowards? I haven’t come all the way to England with an expectation that I will meet the society’s demand for conformity. To this day, I remain extremely self-conscious about my actions and reputation. Fitting in may be easier for some people, but in any case, it certainly does not happen overnight.

Take me for an example. Have I ‘escaped’ from a potential risk merely in search of a better life? Indeed, there would be little chance for me to explore the field of literature (that is non-existent, by the way). My indifference to bettering the country is not based on political instability, certain racial preferential privilege and whatnot. For every man for himself, I am in pursuit of a better lifestyle- one that my motherland will fail to provide had I chosen to stay. I, together with a bunch of other young and restless lads, do not see the reason in forgoing such opportunities. But then again, are there no risks involved in taking those opportunities? Why is it so commonly perceived that people who left are only escaping from a risk to a carefree paradise?

(God, I have SIX assignments all due within the end of this month and next month!)

Personally, I reckon privatisation and individualisation surpass patriotism. It is, to some degree, a bad thing, I might add. But really, can it, the reality be helped?

Is national loyalty an obligation that we all ought to bear but has dutifully become something that is so easily forsaken and failed to accomplish?

I think it’s safe to say that for now, I have chosen to flee but still fight- just not this one.

Views?

I Cried Watching…

2009-06-04T01:07:00.006+01:00

…Marley and Me.

Wailed and sobbed like I was born yesterday. I can’t remember when was the last time I had cried over a film. Sure, you might have watched the movie already and thought, hey, that’s no big deal, it’s just a dog.

My heart beats for these little ones. Having more than a handful of dogs back at home, I can’t express enough in words how much these little animals mean to me. Nothing gets on my nerves more than knowing an animal had been abused or mistreated out of cold-blood. Personally, I think these people should be lined up and shot dead. If it’s violence that it takes to counteract violence, so shall it be (you’d better not hope I take over the world one day).

We were sat around the table the other day for dinner and somehow, my mates came across talking about exotic food. I knew what was coming, I knew what I dreaded coming. Someone just had to mention about dog meat in front of me. No offense, I bear these people absolutely no grudge- it’s meat (or food for some of y’all) so long it’s killed. But who in the right mind and why on earth would someone MURDER a dog?

I speak in rage. I don’t care who you might be. I don’t care if you have saved a man’s life, or taken one. I don’t care if you’re a good man in your peers’ eyes. I don’t care if you are rich and charitable.

Because if my books, if you lay a finger on any of those poor voiceless souls, you are a f**king murderer, a criminal, a sinner. And if you believe in God, you will be punished. And if you believe in the law, you shall be confined for all your life. And if you have no beliefs, you are the lowest of the low, and that none of the seven sins is enough to describe aptly your monstrous acts. You have no place in my eyes and Earth has no place for you.

They aren’t toys. You can’t just take them in and toss them out like rag dolls as you please. If you think you can’t afford a dog, don’t get one! Because your love for it may be short-lived. When your money runs low, they are the first to suffer. Love alone will not save them. Know that.

Just imagine how many dogs are abandoned in the midst of the current economic crisis. Damn you heartless people.

And hey, whilst I’m at it, damn you heartless people back in Malaysia too. Someday (and I hope it’s soon), someone ought to ask National Geographic to do a documentary on dog abuse back there. Let the world see. Let the world shame your disgusting and mindless acts.

Have a heart. That's all I ask of you. And it's all they ask of you.

Chickening Out?

2009-06-01T00:14:00.007+01:00

By the time he was ending his speech, the class was engulfed in muffled snickers. My classmate who sat next to me tried hard not to burst out in laughter- and so did I. He had hardly made any sense in front, perhaps attempting pointlessly to make a point with the slides.

I thought it mean to laugh at someone who stood upfront facing about twenty of us as he grew visibly anxious- something I’d imagine him pinching himself, trying to cover it with an awkward grin. Well, maybe that’s what’s funny.

I recall giving a small sigh when he thanked the ungrateful audience. I was ready to pinch my own thigh. “Any questions?” he asked. I’d usually be the first or second to ask (because it gives the presenter more marks, not forgetting the fact that it was an assessed presentation) but I thought I should keep it low this time- that wasn’t until my classmate raised her hand and said ‘Excuse me’.

He talked about price and demand elasticity of KFC. She asked a question about the plan of his project I was sure he didn’t understand, let alone able to answer. So expectedly, he said he didn’t know. Her face was one of amusement, as if she was trying to subdue from screaming the question out loud in mandarin so he could understand. Then we were all suddenly overwhelmed by a deafening awkward silence.

I felt like it was my turn.

Therefore, I rephrased her sentence and tried to ask in another sense. Probably went something like “How are you going to go about conducting your primary research, if you are indeed doing one, because… well… KFC doesn’t change its price very often.” The class snickered. Okay I confess, I might have overdid it a bit. Then I (sort of) asked, “I mean, are you going to go around with a questionnaire that kind of… asks the customers whether they’d buy the... the… chicken bucket if KFC were to raise the price by say… 5% or 10%?”

The class laughed. A student, and a friend, who sat behind me and who appeared to be stopping herself from rolling on the floor called out my nickname- a gesture, I presume, to ask me to stop asking.

All he had to say was ‘Yes’! But he shook, with that grin that never left his face, and said he didn’t know.

My question (if you could call it a question at all) was genuinely constructed in such a way that I could help him gain more marks. But obviously it didn’t work and it sort of backfired when our tutor said, “OK. I think we should not torture our presenter anymore.”

My classmate turned to me immediately. Her look of amusement had completely dissipated, now replaced by a look of horror. I knew what that meant. We were suddenly convicted criminals- criminals who shamed our struggling classmate who could not stop smiling.

I was never the popular one at school or anywhere but somehow I know my presence is made known to my surroundings, though that might not be a lot. I may not be worshipped like a higher being but neither am I invisible. Knowing myself, I should have been the nerd with big round specs who visit the library day in day out with a stack of book as tall as I am. That doesn’t sound very much appealing, does it? If I were, I’d be probably snubbed to a corner by now feeling miserable.

My perfectionist streak, I suppose, counteracts the worm from punching holes into my books. And when I present something that I have put in effort to fix the flaws I’ve found, I do so with utmost confidence. Because honestly, when I’ve come to that, what have I got to lose?

Is it the way I talk? The way I walk? The way I do things? Or even the way I look? Has my exerted confidence been mistaken by an air of arrogance? And is mistakenly perceived 'arrogance' really arrogance? Do I give out the impression that I’d appear right in your face?

Should this be bothering me? Maybe.

But is this bothering me? No.

And why not? Because I’m fine as it is, as I am.

You never fix something that is not broken. I have friends. So that proves that I’m not fending them off with my ‘air of arrogance’. Unless y’all think otherwise, do y’all?

Pizza-making Guessing-game.

2009-05-25T00:45:00.004+01:00

I am still working on a longer (and supposedly ‘deeper’) post- well, not really a post, but a story. So, considering the fact that I’ve been missing and I know I can no longer cheat with just posting a video, I’ve decided to post pictures instead!

These were taken a couple of weeks ago when we decided to have a picnic by Tynemouth.

Introducing...

XiaoShi-zilla!

Don't we look posh? LOL.
Then these were taken when we had an impromptu pizza-making competition. Guess who won? No, wait, guess who lost instead.

Xiao Shi and JiaLik's seafood pizza.

Me, frying chicken and weirdly-shaped sausages.

Voila!

Loy's supposed vegie pizza.

Forgot whose what pizza.

Yeap, you guessed it!

The Drums Yee-ee-ee-e.

2009-05-20T12:09:00.002+01:00

I don't even know how long it has been since the trip to Edinburgh. But guess what? The video edit is finally completed, much thanks to JiaLik's splendid effort! Now, check this out and try not to laugh at fragile me:

EDIT: Look Ma! I'm on YouTube!

Or watch in High Quality.

**********

And aye, once I hand it over to the person in charge from INTO, you will most likely see it on YouTube.

Thoughts, anybody?

Edited: A new 'censored' version (which is hilarious, I think) will be uploaded to YouTube very soon. Stay tune!

The Inner Child.

2009-05-10T00:15:00.006+01:00

She clutched onto his hand in anticipation as he sat close to her bed, both anxious to learn the result of the ultrasound examination. Two sons of theirs were forced to stay outside and were warned that any mischievous behaviour would lead to a ‘good wallop’ when they get home; they, of course, didn’t listen.

The occasional frown on the doctor’s face gave the parents raised eyebrows. What, had he suspected that the growing baby within her had some sort of deformity? Please dear God, no. Would you stop frowning, doctor?

The doctor carried on the procedures and pretended he didn’t hear a thing when the boys shrieked on top of their lungs, fighting outside. He could have bet he saw her eyes rolling, thinking, they had better watch it.

“Congratulations, I believe it’s a girl,” he finally said.

“You ‘believe’, doctor?”

“It’s a girl.”

She let out the biggest sigh as her lips turn upward, exposing her teeth. She swears she could have sworn out in joy but would rather restrain herself in front of the doctor. Her mind ran through a million things at once as she endlessly lengthened her mental to-do-list: bird nest for fair skin, pink baby clothes, pink pacifier, pink everything!

Names, names, names, what name for their latest addition to the family? Latest and last, they had hoped. The boys were getting out of hand by giving them one heck of a migraine and they needed some ‘femininity’ to ease the tension. As the days go by, dad’s bank account and mom’s head screamed ‘Enough!’ Both of them had discussed about this repeatedly before; both felt that if this were a girl, she’d be the last child of the family. What a relief, they thought.

When the boys were finally let in, she broke the news. Seeing her so happy and so alive that they were expecting a little girl, they couldn’t help but to feel that faint twinge of jealousy in their guts, though they were probably too young to realise what it was they felt. What is the big deal here? Whilst they were busy talking about the prospects, one of the boys secretly prayed that they’d be so over their heads, they would forget about the wallop...

*
“What?” she didn’t quite ask questioningly.

“What?” she repeated.

They didn’t know what to say.

“It’s a boy.”

“What?” she said again as she laid on the bed motionless, exhausted from the labour. “I think I’m having a bad dream now,” she thought to herself, “am I?”

**
The relatives were worried. She looked like hell. Gone was her spirit, into thin air; gone was her laughter, too stunned to react. She held the oblivious sleeping baby boy close to her breasts. The relatives could only wonder what was on her mind when she did.

The doctor’s incompetence outraged her. “He believed,” she complained to her husband, “He believed...”

The boy was plagued with illnesses ever since he was born. They had to wheel the fragile weakling off in the middle of the night for immediate treatment as his temperature skyrocketed. Tears welled up in her eyes, still sitting helplessly on her bed of white.

***
Sixteen years later, he grew up to be a fine and ordinary young man. Made his parents proud on the few occasions, fought with his siblings just like any other family and learned his brothers’ mistakes as he was unwillingly submitted to live under their shadows. He was still partially oblivious about what happened then; nobody was willing to shed light on it. Since he thought it was rather embarrassing, too, he didn’t press on.

Fortunately, three years after he came to existence, the little princess whom they had been longing for came to life. There was no mistake this time- they were sure to change the family doctor after the previous incident.

The boy wondered behind closed doors if his sister covertly cursed him for stealing away the bird nest that was supposedly and rightly hers. Life’s irony, he’d laugh.

**
That year, he was hit hard.

His family and his relatives encircled the table in the living room, chattering away heartily. He had forgotten the very purpose of visiting his relatives- that was not important. He felt uneasy. The spotlight wasn’t usually on him. They either praised his younger sister’s growing beauty or talk about his eldest brother being abroad to study. It was awkward being talked about in front of the elders as he blushed a little and wished for them- the talk and the blush- to go away.

“Your mom was so bad,” one of them guffawed, looking at him then to the others, “do you remember how she looked like when she found out it was a boy?”

I hope they are drunk, he told himself, stop now.

He looked over to his mom. She was wearing an awkward smile he rarely saw.

“She looked so devastated. She just sat there staring into spaces,” she continued.

The boy was practically destroyed at that moment- obliterated into pieces, more like it. He felt the sting on his eyes as he subtly pinched his thigh to hold back the tears. No way, not in front of them, not ever. He was so focused on not letting his tear run stray, his mind had completely tuned everything else out. Nothing more was registered; nothing more he wanted to register.

It was bigger a disappointment to discover that he was a disappointment. He wished he had never gotten the full story- he never would’ve blamed them for not telling. Even so, what kind of twisted plot is this that he had to be told by someone else? He felt sick to his stomach as he put words to describe the past, his past: mistake, mix-up, error, surprise, fault, boob, miscalculation, misinterpretation...

He didn’t know which one fit best. Born a mistake? Ouch. Gender mix-up? Ouch. An error in infant’s gender determination? Ouch. Surprise, it’s a boy! You’ve been punk’d. Ouch. To find fault in anyone at all? Ouch.

Every time the words reverberated in his ears, he was slammed in the chest with a sledgehammer. Every time he recalled the laughter they shared then, he wanted to dig up a hole and bury himself. He didn’t blame them, but was it so funny to laugh at one’s shame?

There was no resentment, only an inexplicable pain inside. He was absolutely grateful of the love that his parents had showered him with past sixteen years and had continued to do so. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that they loved him. He was sure that nobody would have gone out to hurt him intentionally. Yet, it was not enough to alleviate the heartache, to undo the feeling of disappointment in the eyes of the one who was supposed to love you first the moment you were brought to life.

Sixteen years later, they hit him hard.

They moved on now, no longer talking about the boy. He sighed a soft one and squeezed a smile, the tear still hung dangerously close to the edge.

*
Seventeen years since he first looked into the eyes of his mother so full of love and care, the unmistakable look he still recognises in her eyes today.

The pain is still there, whenever it surfaces. Should it bother him, he’d turn an eye blind. They say ignorance is bliss, and so he blissfully ignores what he had come to terms with.

The pain is still there, but it could now be easily comforted as he is reminded of his mother’s unconditional love- the kind of love that surpasses physical barriers, that he can still feel thousands of miles away.

A year had gone by now from the time when he was given the revelation he never wanted. However closer he grows to be a man, he would still be the little boy in his parents’ eyes. He smiles as he thinks that they would never have thought he could spin this little yarn in humour in front of his computer now, during Mother’s Day.

As painful as it is to write and as painful as it is for one to read this, it is a story he never liked sharing but would hate to hide. Now that it has been told, why hide what made him who he is today, right?

As painful as it is for me to write and for you to read, it is a story I never liked sharing but would hate to hide. Now that it has been told, why hide what made me who I am today, right?

I know this is a very peculiar and possibly a very uncomfortable way of celebrating Mother’s Day. But know this, mom and dad, this is my way of reconciling with the past. I know that you both have loved me and still love me. So, can you bear in mind that this feeling is mutual, and that I will always love you, too?

Happy Mother’s Day, mami.

PS: If you’re a faithful reader, you might notice that this is actually a revised version of what I had written a year back then. Please remember that although the storyline is true, the details may not have actually happened.

Look Elsewhere.

2009-05-07T01:46:00.004+01:00

I sat idly, seeing my toes move, cracking the joints as I have always done so since I could remember. Then my mind drifted off from nothingness to a million of everything.

I remember we were on to the usual topic when Nata commented that ‘people only become worse’. Her claim stung truth- at least to a certain degree. I could not help but concur with her pessimistic outlook on human nature thereafter. Although the first impression I had was to defend the very thing that makes us human, I stopped myself and pondered over my intentions. Is it a ludicrous accusation to humanity or is it just Man’s futile attempt to justify its own preposterous nature- His own inhumanity? Are we or are we not blinded by our own ego, too shielded by our superiority, that we deny the flaws that equate us to the other earthly beings who walk the earth?

For a Man who is so submitted to vanity, so love himself he fills his own heart and gut with love for no one else, where lies the room for compassion and empathy?

Then I thought about the age-old belief of the existence of separate entities within a man- the body, mind and soul- that are interdependently coherent. I could never comprehend the distinction between the three of them and harder still to distinguish one from the other. Did my toes move because my mind asked it to? If mind is only responsible for thinking, what use does moving toes bring? Do my toes have a mind on its own? Could I see a clone of another set of toes were my soul leave my body?

If any of such ‘separate entities’ were true, the relevance between one’s soul and one’s human nature should be thus identifiable. ‘People only become worse’. What does that imply? Are we all born impure, tainted, that the mind is constantly under the influence of the Devil’s handiwork, that we have no hope in salvation? Or are we born clean and perfect, only to be subjected to temptations that will leave us astray? Life seems depressing down either road.

But could we not change? More specifically, could we not change for the better? Is there not the merest chance against self-interest, against... ourselves?

Is ‘God’ an image created upon the reflection of our damndest sense of over-spilling pride? Is His existence- true or otherwise- meant to humble our egos and dwarf our supremacy? To those who question the benefits of religion, like myself, have I done so in reasonable doubts or in defence in favour of my manifested self-interest?

Is 'love' the only answer to such humane impermanence? Or is ‘love’ a very selfish thing itself?

I have yet met a person, or found an example to neither overthrow nor support this supposed ‘abysmal truth’ of Mankind. However, it is certain that there is no middle stance in this matter- only two opposite extremes. So far, my journey sums up a few answers but gathered more questions. So far, I don’t know my whereabouts. So far, I know I need to keep going.

But you know what?

If loving others makes me feel good and that makes me selfish, heck, that’s the best kind of selfishness around. Why should I mind?

...should you, should we, look elsewhere?

The Revisit.

2009-04-27T20:05:00.006+01:00

My palms were glistening in sweat as they would when I grow anxious. Nature’s call was pressing and I desperately needed to use the toilet two flights down the stairs. I cursed myself for not going beforehand and now I had to sit through an hour with my bladder screaming for relief.

I hadn’t slept well the night before, if I had slept at all. I still remember the time during SPM when I would sneak up during the wee hours after only a few hours of sleep and dug into those inches-thick of formidable textbooks that I have now sworn not to lay my fingers on ever again. I have always found it better to study after a few hours of sleep rather than staying up with no sleep at all.

Half an hour into the exam, the urge to take a leak was becoming an overwhelming distraction- and I cursed my own stupidity more. After when I had finally finished the paper, well, Nature hung up on me. My mind drifted off to wonderland. I began to wonder about silly things: did I drink a lot this morning? I thought I peed!

Then just like old times, I allowed my eyes to scrutinise every details around me in the exam hall. I noticed the two holes on the ceiling- probably the consequence of a water leakage which they have now fixed seeing how badly it was...-, the worn out sockets on the wall they had repainted over, the floors which had endured years of abuse- oh yes, they have dance classes in this very hall as well... now that explains a lot-, and I suddenly noticed how natural it was how the light filtered in through the open windows on my far right...

Then I ‘realised’, I was in an exam for goodness sake!

I kept telling myself that if I kept that up, I might as well sit under the holes and drench myself in whatever water leak there might still be and thereafter, stick my fingers into those worn out sockets on the wall they had repainted over and electrocute myself to death. Alternatively, I could also just jump off the open windows and drop dead- that would be easier, wouldn’t it?

Then I ‘realised’, I caught myself imagining again. It’s this kind of ‘writer’s streak’ that I dread not having during an exam.

Fifteen minutes later, Nature called again. This can’t be happening, I thought.

I still recognise the atmosphere from that of my secondary school years. It was at that time that everybody appears to be excessively studious. The majority of the pupils were holding some sort of reference book whenever the time and wherever the place outside of the examination halls or classrooms. I once fitted into that typical all-out-scrambling student image armed with the reference book so thick you could fend off thieves. I gave up after I learned that it wouldn’t ever work for me to read whilst I’m eating. I wonder how many of those students were actually reading the book and how many of them were just treating it like a religious symbol that provided some kind of confidence- as if they were draining the knowledge out of it without spending the slightest effort to flip through the pages (my politest approach to say ‘they are just for shows’).

It felt funny being in the same class with people a few years older than I am and I am expected to treat them as fair competition. Come to think of it though, I- along with a handful of the others- am the youngest in my current circle(s) of friends. These people are indeed special (and very perky). They are a lot more different from the people I normally associate with. I would imagine them having the same feeling towards me, but I also doubt the possibility as most of them have met more people and been into a lot more situations than my petty seventeen years could live up to. Safe to say, this could be a chance to learn from them- and it has secretly been my ulterior mission (about to die laughing myself).

I’ve given myself a lot of time for reminiscence. I would deny saying that I miss the old times, though. I enjoy thinking about the past but it pretty much ends there.

The day I first breathed in the air of a foreign land, thousands of miles from my homeland I am still learning to miss, and the first sight of an alien place I am still learning to familiarise with, they are deeply etched in my mind. I’d recall the memories of which when I was in the taxi travelling from the airport to my new ‘home’- we drove past the depressing sceneries of the Winter but I was thrilled inside-, my mind filled with wonderful prospects and excitement.

“Exams,” I sighed. The excitement is still here; I can taste it. What changed? I keep asking...

I dug down and continued to go through the notes as I then wished I could magically absorbed the information scattered all over my desk...

Happy Birthday, Kelly!

2009-04-24T00:18:00.006+01:00

It’s 24th of April and it’s Kelly Clarkson’s 27th birthday!

So, Happy Birthday!

Check out her new sexy music video for ‘I Do Not Hook Up’ (I'm definitely buying this when it's out on iTunes). Sorry for the bad video quality. Gotta blame YouTube's most annoying and lame new copyright policies- couldn't embed the official one.

I'm in love, as per usual...

The Way I Never Was.

2009-04-15T18:25:00.005+01:00

It cheesed me off a tad when she seemed absolutely certain that I couldn’t understand what she was going through.

At a tender young age, throughout the little years that I’ve lived, I realise I am well capable of empathy. But, things appear to be more complicated than that: I have the uncanny inclination to not just put myself in somebody else’s shoes, but to also feel the characters in my very imaginations charged with intense emotions such that I sometimes query my own sanity. I fight the insatiable desire to not construct a world of fantasy composed of the pain that is not mine, the fears that don’t belong and the love that I’ve never felt; to fight relentlessly not waking up to a nightmare.

Yet strange enough, I am constantly haunted by the possibility of complete numbness- to be detached and dead of your senses, leading a paralytic life void of emotions. That fear, is tangible, and it is mine and mine alone.

If there is one exception, it would be that my wisdom has provided enough insight to refrain myself from fighting loneliness. I’ve grown adapted to isolation and friendlessness. There are times when one craves for love. There are times when parental love no longer suffice. There are times when friendship seems as distant as love on the other side. There are times when desperation creeps up on you in bed during the darkest hours trying to befriend your lonesome soul. Instead of engaging in a battle inevitably doomed to be defeated in times like these- imagined or otherwise-, I harbour comfort and consolation from acknowledging the universality of the case- it is after all, a commonplace by which we all associate with. I haven’t a doubt for that.

Is it desperation, or merely ignorance? Simply yearning to be touched, or giving up dignity in the name of pursuing love? I have dealt with desperation and I have dealt with ignorance. More than once I have failed to distinguished the differences, so spectacular, it brought me down to my knees, screaming in plea for it to release its hold. Funny way of saying I’ve never been in love and single all my life.

How am I to object her accusations of me not being able to understand what she was going through? Who am I to say I am a more complex being beyond anyone’s comprehension? Everything I’ve picked up from her distress tone, I could very well relate to the feelings in my little fantasy world. But am I not subjected to making mistakes? Being too sure of myself builds up the confidence to feed the greedy atrocity of my selfishness, yet, being wrong hurts the same confidence which would in turn crumble my esteem. Striking a balance, it seems, and indeed is, so very tedious.

It isn’t all bad, I suppose. Scientists suggest that without empathy, we may as well end up as criminals. It would be contradicting, however, to describe empathy as a weapon against selfishness since it has the capacity of both ends. Surely it sounds just like any other ‘weapons’ sound like: a mindless tool. Except this is all in the mind itself. Blame my overactive mind for messing with me. And how paradoxical is that- mind messing with me-, as if they are two separate entities.

I keep telling people I don’t go out finding love; I wait for it. It doesn’t mean that I don’t long for it and it doesn’t mean that I am emotionless. I’ve come to terms with that. I admit I have a peculiar way of leading my life. How many of you can understand that in depth? Even I can’t.

At a tender young age I realised that there is more than one way to go through life than to live it; I realised that you could imagine it. Now, no longer ‘tender young’, I’ve learned to pen down these imaginations along with the attached emotions and my own, to turn the incoherent thoughts into interpretable writings. It is only by examining the emotions- be it mine or made-up- that I can make sense of what I am.

And so far, I hope I am making sense of what I am.

Best Student for SPM English Paper.

2009-04-15T00:56:00.008+01:00

When I first saw the message my father had sent me- titled ‘Best Student for SPM English Paper’-, I thought he had attached and forwarded an essay of which was written by the best student for SPM English paper for me to read.

It only seem perfectly apt for me to title this blog post exactly what my father had titled the email.

In it, he writes “I received this letter from your school to attend an award presentation for achieving the best result on SPM English paper for year 2008 (in SMKSU)...”

I nearly jumped out of my skin from the ecstasy and euphoria. I believe I will still be engulfed in glee for the next whole week. I know, I’m being such a kid. Who could blame me? This is epic by my accounts: an achievement, a pride to hold on to for years and years to come. I don’t deny the fact that I’m letting this get over my own head for my own good but heck, who cares?

Although, I have to make it a point to save face in regards to an earlier post picking on the severely flawed system that had now granted me this award; I still stand firmly on my grounds. I am happy because I've done it- not that they have allowed me to do it.

If you’re happy for me, I love you.

PS: Still working on a longer post. JiaLik says 'masterpiece takes longer time to work on'. Listen to her.

Edit: Thank you Yeh Lih for your effort! Doesn't matter if you can't collect it on my behalf. Thank Pn. Christina for me too! :)

Be a Man! (Whatever That Means!)

2009-03-28T01:47:00.004Z

After handing in three assignments on the same day, you bet I’ve shouldered off the stones. And those sleepless nights binging on caffeine to desperately try to go through the work that saw no ends. Judging from the phenomena of frantic students trying to complete the assignment(s) during the wee hours, whatever possibility of a proper 'time-management' before, as it seemed, didn’t exist.

I wish I could have done more with my Sociology assignment, though. Given the restrictions of the topic- although already wide enough for many- it didn’t do me any good in working within the limitations. An assignment of that magnitude, it wasn’t at all hard to deviate too much from the central idea, as I’ve fortunately found out by enquiring my tutor.

Anyway, I’ve been meaning to post this up on my weblog but had to wait until I had officially handed in the assignment. Mind you, the awarding body is rather hot on ‘plagiarism’. I wouldn’t dare risk having my work stolen and discredited.

When you think about ‘gender inequalities’, what other words do you relate it to? Masculinity, femininity, post-feminism or most importantly, as I would imagine, the word ‘sexism’, perhaps?

I had had a hard time drawing conclusions to my research because of how synonymously the two expressions- gender inequalities and sexism- are used. Indeed, in general, both these expressions would have been used as an euphemism for the other. Due to this nature of interwoven tendencies and the flaw of the language system, I had to first try to define each of them as separately as I could and discern the key differences before proceeding to further arguments on contemporary gender portrayal (in terms of historical relativity and to prove or disprove an issue of recurrent).

Basically, our group research suggests that there is still an apparent feature of male dominance in occupations or positions pertaining to those of the upper strata on the social scale. Whereas to the contrary, the number of women appearing on advertising sections far exceed those of men’s. This is inequalities on opposite extremes. Which, of course, made my life more difficult.

It may make sense or it may not. I had defined ‘social inequalities’ as merely the ‘situation in which there is a [perceived] disequilibrium of how different individuals or groups are treated’. No reference on that bit because it was genuinely my point of view. Whereas, ‘sexism’ refers to the ‘context of attitudes, beliefs, policies, law and behaviours that discriminate on the basis of gender’. In other words, ‘sexism’ causes ‘social inequalities’; not the other way round and ‘sexism’ is not the only cause of inequalities- it is only one of the causes and therefore it is by no means responsible for the entire issue (you learn not to use the word ‘problem’ sooner or later in Sociology).

Jokes aside, I get rather fractious when female accuse male of being a sexist without fully understanding the context of the word. Of course, there’s the age-old argument on who’s the better driver which I personally think is pointless as long as you’re not running anybody down.

What does it mean calling someone a sexist? I may sound like I’m standing on the ‘male’ side of the argument trying to defend ‘ourselves’ against what appears to be a preposterous accusation. But I’m not. I am only trying to wake people up from their ignorance and keep them away from dwelling into this ‘gender war’ from the wrong perspective.

Coming back to the research, where I shall talk about the number of women appearing on advertising sections far exceeding that of men’s, this propose that women are still highly ‘objectified and sexualised’ for their significance in physical attractiveness, putting an emphasis of a ‘feminine stereotype’. I couldn’t help but wonder, however, is this a very sexist effort of us men trying to undermine the female contribution to the society other than being a ‘sex icon’? Have all these attractive women you see on the telly or on the papers been forced to do what they did? I would doubt so. They have been paid and hired with a choice of their own, gone forth to the job with a degree of willingness to subject themselves to be objectified. This, of course, explains inequalities. But I see not the slightest hint of ‘sexism’ involved; which party has been exposed to discrimination? Exploitation, maybe. But definitely not discrimination.

During a lesson in Sociology, one of the seminars, we were asked to discuss in groups, what is masculinity and whether masculinity is in a ‘crisis’. Funny notion, I thought.

All hell broke loose when the girls were flaring up on what masculinity stands for: the less emotional, less caring, tough, aggressive, egotistical and so on. Not many positive remarks, I thought. I felt like I had been indirectly insulted- either I have been a terrible guy with no emotions whatsoever, or I am not masculine enough. Why is it so widely condemned? I presume it’s something to do with social stratification and the theories of glass ceiling and glass escalator. But I shall pose a more crucial question: why is it so widely and wrongly condemned?

If the female accuses the male of being a sexist for all the wrong reasons, may he then accuse her of being the ‘real’ sexist?

Bear in mind that I am not saying sexism is not relevant. I am well aware that it exists in most cultures all around the world. But in the sense of our daily life experiences, it is rarely an issue. So why make it one? Why continue to perceive something imagined so to be real?

For a person obsessed with having labels themselves correctly labelled, that is an argument I am presenting. Forgive me if I had made absolutely no sense.

Any thoughts, ladies and gentlemen?

Who Reads My Blog; Who Watches the Watchmen?

2009-03-21T23:11:00.006Z

Close to 430 views (the hit counter embedded at the bottom of my blog page) in less than half a month! That’s epic! I never knew I have so many readers. I thought my blog was just full of rants that nobody cares about, but I’m glad some do. Although, I had taken into consideration the fact that one may repeatedly- for whatever reasons- refresh the page and in turn trigger the hit counter over and over again, I am still flattered over the possible obsession of yours. Really, thank you, whoever out there, refreshing the page, over and over again. Thanks.

*Wink

So, last night I went out with Loy, You (No, not ‘you’. You, the Korean guy) and Yazmin to watch what Nata claimed as the unwatchable Watchmen. She, alongside a few people, said it was horrible, which contradicted what the reviews say about the film. That’s why we wanted to find out for ourselves.

The papers say they had made the un-filmable filmable. It wasn’t hard to see why. A lot of the effects, even at the very beginning of the show, were very realistically computer generated. And it doesn’t take a genius to know why Nata (still) hates the movie and calls it rubbish. It was filled with gore, blood, blood, action, blood, special effects, bone-cracking violence, blood, blood and blood- you get the point. So, it’s not for the squeamish.

Of course, an innocent, well-behaved person like me would rather not enjoy the violence (excuse me). And I suppose I look old enough to watch an 18SG film. Well without a doubt I am old enough; I bought a bottle of Scottish whiskey, didn’t I?

But really, it wasn’t the violence that was why I liked the movie. If you see past the bloodshed, to the very essence of the story, you’ll be fascinated. The scriptwriting was brilliant.

I wouldn’t want to spoil the movie for those who have not watched it, so I won’t say much. The movie revolves around a central theme: human nature. In the movie, there’s one type of human nature that is universally applicable to all living beings,- even the superheroes- that takes different forms. It wasn’t brutality, it wasn’t autocracy, it definitely wasn’t love or friendship; it was the natural instinct to be egocentric, or selfish, if you’d like.

Love and friendship were best highlighted in the movie for its fragility. And are the both of them branched out from one’s selfishness to feed your own ego? And if you could live on your own now, not needing anything or anyone to complement yourself, would you require any love or friendship? And for the better for yourself- or the world in the eyes of the superheroes-, could love and friendship be so abruptly discarded as if they were meaningless?

Don’t be quick to say ‘no’ (spelt ‘n o’, not ‘y e s’), because it’s not merely a question of one plus one equals to two. Blow the dust away, scratch the surface and dig in a little deeper. There is neither true nobility, nor true evil.

They certainly aren’t your average superheroes (apart from the awkward tight outfit). They aren’t ‘dehumanised’. They are highly emotionalised and de-emotionalised. Imagine granting superpowers to anyone- anyone at all- you meet on the street. They could be your superhero or they could be the ultimate villain. And that’s debatable based on your perspective. It’s not as straightforward as saving the world from peril.

Surely, Watchmen follows a general trend most superhero movies followed. However, I must say, in my humble opinion, Watchmen had set the new benchmark previously set by The Dark Knight. I doubt I’d be easily ‘touched’ by any righteous gestures of self-sacrifice to save the world anymore, post-Watchmen. Next time Superman says he wants to save the world, I’d go ‘ARE YOU SURE?’

Moviemakers will need to work harder now to redefine the redefined term ‘Superheroes’.

PS: Please don’t force me to watch Dragonball Evolution. Goodness gracious, typing the name alone made me cringed.

Am’st I Bovvered?

2009-03-14T14:16:00.004Z

What was needed was an official stamp to end a five-year worth of chapter. In this tone of bitter disapproval without a minute amount of compliancy, I shall be heard. The system, so much flawed and left unattended for ages and for ages to come, had us confined and stripped of the freedom of knowledge acquisition. It took five years to build up a façade, a theatrical play where the players pointlessly strut on stage, with none an audience though seen only for the very final review- and be judged upon most indiscreetly.

To be involved in an outrageous fanfaronade; to have submitted such amount of effort, all for a merest piece of recognition written in a language not recognised on a global scale? I have but one crucial question: had I done so in the damndest vain, in the discourse of absolute meaninglessness?

I have the match of fear and anger lest the prospect I shall be judged so based fundamentally on what I perceive as an insignificant outcome of a façade. Although, I am basked in both joy and relief knowing I have already- or beginning to- stepped out of my own society’s vantage point of judgment. I have created a new benchmark as such, for myself, forsooth.

To my true delight, I shall remain in perfect nonchalance towards a system too ignorant to improve, too arrogant to change, for indeed, I will no longer be affected by it or any of its distasteful consequences.

This hasn’t been thought out and written in sour grapes, I assure. My disparagement is not directed towards the unattainable, but the fact that I had been subconsciously unwillingly put through education hell for five horrible years. Bear in mind, however, I had not regretted discovering friendships in those years, and safe to say, this part of the matter shall not suffer any of my depreciation.

I could not be more grateful of my parents, teachers and friends. Must you hear the truth, I have no pride in my supposed achievements, but my father had shared and displayed his parental pride to me which was enough for all that I am concerned about pride.

Allow me to hereby congratulate those who have done well. But I shall only congratulate you on a personal basis of you having put in effort and nothing more, for more of that will disputably go against my accounts and beliefs.

With that, I’d stubbornly hold my tongue and rest my sentiments.

All I Ever Wanted, Really.

2009-03-10T22:30:00.003Z

Finally the weather caught up with me. Although not wholly blamed, it is undoubtedly the major factor- alright, I confess that excessive chocolate and coffee played a role in this but still…- as to why I’ve fallen ill. Whenever I’m asked how the UK is like, I’d mention about the ever-changing weather. Hypothetically, Spring is on its way and Winter shouldn’t have stayed. But the wind (or gust, for that matter) still whips like nobody’s business and it even snowed a couple of days ago whilst the temperature plunged subzero.

So aye, ‘man down, sir,’ man down.

Thankfully, my momma packed me some medicine prior to flying over millions of mile to the other side of the earth (here). So last night before I went to bed, I had some. This morning I could barely drag myself out from the bed even though I had miraculously woken up before the alarm had rung. And even though I had woken up thereafter much earlier than planned, I was having difficulty getting prepared to get to the campus (I almost bit myself refraining from saying ‘getting prepared for school’). I text Nata and told her to tell my tutor I’d be late and asked that she explain the situation on my behalf.

On my way to the class, the slightly inclined slope that I walk on everyday seemed steeper somehow. The wind blew uncommonly brutal, the damp coldness seeped through the several layers of clothes of mine and hounded my bare skin unmercifully. I wondered if I had made a silly mistake bothered attending classes at all. Life seems to be harsher on you and it tends to fit in with what they say about kicking you whilst you’re down on the ground, don’t it?

But then I was reminded of my ‘ulterior agenda’ as to why I was walking up that slope and letting that wind victimise me with its tenacious harassment.

I was about 5 to 10 minutes late to my class and normally, my tutor would have barked (mind you, I used the verb in the politest of manner) at me for showing up late. She didn’t. But that didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was when after the class finished, she asked how I was doing in a genuinely caring tone. Which, oddly, brings me back to my secondary school years memories where I was treated by almost all the teachers I came across as a blue-eyed boy. Some things never change.

In spite of being sick, I walked from my campus to a nearby HMV music store to get what else but Kelly Clarkson’s new album ‘All I Ever Wanted’.

Call me crazy. You wouldn’t be the first.

I think I rest my case affirming myself the position as the ultimate fan with ultimate sacrifice to prove my ultimate loyalty- no, I’m kidding. I know a lot of crazy people out there crazier than I am. So don’t judge me; I’m not the first in line.

My friends all laugh at me but they can’t help to find my spirit of admiration admirable. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Done with the overdramatic effects. Must be the meds working its ‘charm’. Suppose paracetamol is no good taken with a cup of hot chocolate, 2 slices of chocolate cheesecake and bread with chocolate filling?

PS: Yes, I've gotten better now. No worries.

The Unjustified Changes.

2009-03-08T22:50:00.006Z

Watching that movie provoked a lot of thoughts- thoughts about stereo typicality. The movie did an exceptional job on capturing the picture that illustrates a society precipitous in the perception of stereo typicality; that poor people would never escape the supposed distinctive poor-people-traits. To be quite frank with you, I was not at all touched by the love-themed storyline; but rather, the portrayal of lives in privation through cinematography.

Sweeping 8 Oscars firmly proves the point.

The movie certainly got me thinking about the unfairness in life. Sure, it is perhaps a universal known fact that nothing is ever really fair. Yet, we attempt relentlessly to strive for equality and our beliefs in human rights unrivalled to that of religious unjust- so much so I’ve notice subtle effort to overthrow words written in stones centuries ago.

Or perhaps that’s to be blamed- those words written centuries ago. Remind me, we are living in the 21st century, no? Would then be practical to import mindset from 20 centuries ago into today’s world?

Take the instance of what happened in Greece during the early 900 to 700 BC. The place is believed to be the birthplace of democracy and the development of the concept of citizenship. What is interesting to highlight and consider, is the word ‘democracy’. Look it up in the dictionary and it would mention the word ‘equality’ at least once. However, that was definitely not the case in Greece eon years back then since women, children and slaves were considered lowly beings and denied their sense of belonging to the community which was predominantly ruled by male landowners.

You’d think, in all common sense, that this kind of mentality should have been abolished decades, if not centuries ago. But the fact is that it still exists, in everyone of us, buried, programmed deep inside our heads, disguised as an innocent attitude towards our own victims of discrimination.

If women, children and slaves were at the very bottom of social classes, things have merely shifted. The world is split into two halves: the rich and the poor and it functions no more different that how it did during the 900 BC. The society today is still very much class-ridden just like how it used to be but with a brand new level of mindboggling complexity.

When was the last time you’ve complained about people being too old-fashioned as if they time-travelled to 2009 from the time when dinosaurs still roamed freely? I think I did a week ago. Or sooner.

People in the States are screaming for a change and they have elected the first ever Black president. People in Malaysia desperately need one but muffled to silence for whatever reasons. In the midst of the economic crisis, all we want and need is a change. A change for the better.

‘No, this doesn’t work. Change.’

But you know what’s so stuck-out plain silly? Indeed we have undergone tremendous changes throughout the history of mankind and in fact, ever since the invention of history itself. Of course, today’s democracy would have made the Greek democracy seems like Disneyland- a child’s play and a failed act of justice. But what is so apparently silly that most people overlooked is the fact that we want things to change but we stubbornly stay the same.

It’s as if to say the world revolves around ourselves.

So, I don’t believe in changes. I believe in being the change who is a part of the changes.

PS: Told you the movie was thought-provoking!

Edinburgh, Firth of Forth.

2009-03-01T20:53:00.004Z

A day trip to dreamland Edinburgh- what a way to end the week.

I won’t have much to say in this post because I have several… no, plenty… no, a lot… no, should say ‘damn lot’ of pictures to post- try 721, in total.

I found this out from Wikipedia.org: “The city [Edinburgh] attracts 1 million visitors a year, making it the second most visited tourist destination in the United Kingdom, after London.”

After a visit myself, it wasn’t hard to see why.

The dead volcano overlooking the city of Edinburgh.

Fantastic Four meets The Mummy Returns.

That's Frank.

Nice ride, chap.

The Scott Monument.

Don't worry, them Scottish kilts don't necessarily go with blue hair.

Could not find a better spot to eat whilst starving, so we settled for M&S.

Outside the National Museum.

We were fascinated by the smallest of things.

Photography wasn't allowed but ViCher...

Presenting... the St. Giles Cathedral.

The... supposed... Scot Warrior?

Tagged team!

Welcome to the Edinburgh Castle!

Got the ticket...

...and got in.

Levi's Jeans' model. (LOL)

My favourite picture of the day.

I notice they like swords, a lot.

Stone cannonballs.

Pretty sure it wasn't a coffin, though.

Picture perfect.

Scottish fruitcake.

Told you they like swords.

Souvenirs.

"WE ARE LEAVING?!"

Look what I got!

Not Edinburgh, but taken during a 'celebratory dinner bash' for Leila's B'day.

I'm done.

Mankind’s Commitment to the Darndest Dumbness.

2009-02-26T22:02:00.008Z

(Like the new Blog Header?)
I have recently received this forwarded email from my father regarding the ‘correct’ method to cooking instant noodle. He meant and means all well, undeniably (thanks for the email if you're reading this), but I couldn’t help but to wonder in subtle amusement after reading the content- correct method, you say, but practical?

Read the following:

For all who love eating Maggi, DO NOT IGNORE THIS ……. Especially those fond of Maggi…….

CORRECT WAY OF COOKING NOODLES'
- The correct way to cook instant noodles without harming our bodies and health. Normally, how we cook the instant noodles is to put the noodles into a pot with water, throw in the powder and let it cook for around 3 minutes and then it's ready to eat.

This is the WRONG method of cooking the instant noodles.

By doing this, when we actually boil the ingredients in the powder, normally with MSG, it will change the molecular structures of the MSG causing it to be toxic.

The other thing that you may or may not realize is that, the noodles are coated with wax and it will take around 4 to 5 days for the body to excrete the wax after you have taken the noodles.

CORRECT METHOD :

1. boil the noodles in a pot with water.
2. once the noodles is cooked, take out the noodles, and throw away the water which contains wax.
3. boil another pot of water till boiling and put the noodles into the hot boiling water and then shut the fire.
4. only at this stage when the fire is off, and while the water is very hot, put the ingredient with the powder into the water, to make noodle soup.
5. however, if you need dry noodles, take out the noodles and add the ingredient with the powder and toss it to get dry noodles.

Dietician's Note: If you buy plain hakka noodles which you make initially need to boil in water and disca! rd the w ater. This will soften the noodles but to prevent it from sticking we need to add a tbsp of oil and also the noodles are deep fried partially to make it crunchy and then dusted with flour to prevent it from sticking while boiling. Hence when you buy the noodles they are already made unhealthy and this is the type we use to make stir fry noodles and the regular maggi too is made the same way plus they add MSG/ ajinomoto and other chemical preservatives.

A large number of patient with the ages ranging from 18-25 ears are ending up with pancreatitis either as a swelling or infection of the pancreas due to regular consumption of instant noodles..... If the frequency is more than 3 times a week, then it is very hazardous...

Makes sense. But highly impractical and redundant. The problem is rather manifest, I thought. Who spends time boiling water, then cooking the noodle, then pouring the water, then re-boiling the water, then making the soup, then finally eat it, if you’re in a rush? It’s called instant noodle for a reason, isn’t it?

If I were to go through all the fuss and the hassle for a bowl of instant noodles, I might as well spend more if not equal time making spaghetti?

Conclusion: if you’re concerned about your health, do not consume instant noodles at all!

That’s why I say, man does the stupidest things. If all things that may go wrong will go wrong, all things that is worthy of being called stupid shall be accomplished with ease- or even with much effort, arguably.

I recall having sent EeTien some points for her debate scripts on ‘peer pressure’. In it, I mentioned Malcolm Gladwell’s book ‘The Tipping Point’. I quoted a particular sentence about the phenomena of teenage smoking habits, that people don’t smoke because smoking was cool, instead, people smoke because ‘cool people’ smoke; in other words, it was the very perception of cool people’s smoking that was regarded more significant that smoking itself.

Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, at what expense shall man's pursuit of vanity be held?

Apart from that, that was another point that nagged at the back of my mind which only seem apparent to me now- sort of the sarcastic subtext to this post, I suppose (Ha, ha). He said, “People smoke not because they underestimated the health risks involved, they smoke even though they overestimate them.”

I couldn’t highlight the stupidity better than he did.

Do not thee comprehend the fume so condemned is murder on thy lungs? If Shakespeare were alive, I bet he’d romanticise man’s foolishness on this matter. Aye, lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe, lay breath so foully stench on thy foully mouth.

Impossible to do all the wrongs in the world, so it’s good to learn from other people’s mistakes, right? Too noble a job to rectify man’s idiocy, so I have but one wish, one aspiration: not to lose my head in all circumstances.

Pardon the ‘bad language’, folks. And stay away from them naughty cigarettes (I mean all well too, you know).

Adios.

Last-minute Tickets to the Last Show.

2009-02-25T14:17:00.003Z

Coming clean, I know I should’ve been more keen on updating. Well, apart from formal studies, there are, indeed, plenty of things to keep me occupied- hence the late update. One might even question if my ‘sole intention’ here is to study; I pretty much doubt it personally. Entertainment hasn’t got the better of me, though. It’s just that I am, admittedly, doing quite well in my studies now, so I could ‘afford’ some of that entertainment.

JiaLik, Nata and I went to buy the tickets to a theatrical play in Theatre Royal the other day. When we were at the ticket counter, we were told that there wasn’t any seats left for three people to the last show of ‘West Side Story’. Bummed, we flipped through the brochure and tried to see if there was any other show that we were interested in. A good 15 minutes later, we were told there were then seats available but one behind another- as opposed to three in a row.

Miraculous. Just miraculous.

It was my first time going to a theatrical play, so, you can imagine how excited I was. The story- 2 hours and 45 minutes split into two intervals- is based on a modernised version of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. I can tell you this much: one hundred percent masterpiece. I absolutely loved it. That 2 hours and 45 minutes couldn’t have passed soon enough. By the time we got out of the distinctively English architectural building, I was immediately caught up in reminiscence- as if it happened years ago (perhaps that was only a trait of my sped-up ageing process).

The revival of the 50th anniversary hit musical didn’t disappoint. I’m looking forward to more plays if there remains no hole in my wallet.

This was taken quite some time ago. I'm missing the snow already.

Newcastle's Chinatown.

Inside Theatre Royal.

I am not a 'pimp'! (Weird expression y'all have)

P/S: Kelly Clarkson's new album All I Ever Wanted was leaked. I have it. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it. I will buy it.

Let Loose.

2009-02-07T23:35:00.006Z

We were thrown into the world naked, alone and oblivious; in a world we constantly shape and are shaped by. We were incapable to even fend for ourselves in the vicious environment, but instead, found ourselves resting in the arms of the ones who loved us. It seems almost cruel, this concept of plunking lives into the unknown- birth as it then seemed, was an act of brutality.

Life then was just to merely survive, as we lived dependently; instinctively clinging on for dear lives. And who were we to object who we were? We did not have the chance to choose our parents, our gender, to pick a lifestyle to our preference, to be born in a place that we favour of. We certainly were not even in the position to say ‘no’. Perhaps that’s why we were born in tears, crying on top of our lungs!

One of the fundamental questions since human civilisation that we are still unable to have an absolute answer for and puzzled by for centuries and centuries to come, was: ‘What is Life?’

Really, what is Life if you weren’t given a choice before you were even thrown into existence- since life now is all about choices?

‘Get over it,’ some people simply just give up for obvious, justifiable reason, ‘because you’ll never get to the end of it.’

If it’s of any consolation, there is compensation for having chucked us to earth- we were given things: our identities, cultures, the sense of belonging and above all, morality. Those were the things that precedes our existence; they are always there, readily available to be given to the newborns. We were not born with humanities; we had to learn them.

After the transition from surviving to living, we learn about Death. We all know it is inevitable. Some embrace the ultimate consequence. Some fear as it creeps closer by the day, threatening to rob you of your belongings. If birth was an act of brutality, Death is utterly ruthless- to be born naked, to die, too, stripped of possessions.

We know for a fact that our existence is bounded by time. Sooner or later we will perish. We only ‘accepted’ Death because there are no other alternatives. What’s so bad about that, anyway? We learn to appreciate whilst we still can.

Some religions believe in reincarnation, a never-ending cycle of Life and some believe in afterlife, whether you’d escalate to the heavens, or plummet to hell.

What if there’s a possibility of a combined version of the both? A spiralling staircase, maybe? Still, we go round and round, but at least we’re going somewhere- upwards or downwards.

Maybe we’re of something bigger than ourselves. Maybe there is not a God but we’re all a part of a God; little parts of a puzzle that forms a bigger picture. This theory is not based on atheism but of a more daring approach- commonsensical or absolutely absurd is in the eyes of the beholder himself. Why not the case? Stop referring to the dictionary meaning of ‘God’ for a moment and try to expand the context of the word. A lot of times we’re stuck in the framework of words which limits our span of imagination. Since the invention of history, we’ve created countless of things, come up with explanations and scientific theories to our surroundings. We hold the power to create or to destroy- simply take the instance of the atomic bomb. So, why not the case?

Maybe. Who knows, right?

What can you relate to the word ‘freedom’? If you follow the dictionary definition of the word, then there is no ‘real freedom’. For we are continually restrained by boundaries. Imagine a man with ‘total freedom’ and he is free to do what he pleases. He could have just walked down the road and punch whoever he likes, or kick the young and trip the old. If everybody were to have ‘total freedom’, what would become of the world as we know it? This totality of freedom is synonymous to absurdity and not to mention, complete chaos.

‘True freedom’ exists within oneself- the freedom of thought. ‘True freedom’ lies in wisdom and morality. We are free to do what we want, as long as what we do is within reasons. But what is ‘within reasons’? How are we supposed to recognise the boundaries if they aren’t even visible?

It is all down to the case of individuality, I suppose.

I know I’ll never ‘reach the end of it’ and find the answers. I might just as well ‘get over it’, right?

But what’s the fun in living, then?

PS: Read more on ‘Existentialism’ if you want to know more.

My Life Would Suck Without KC.

2009-01-29T17:51:00.007Z

It was all a bit ‘informal’, I suppose, to celebrate Chinese New Year in the England. There was, indeed, a ‘reunion' dinner’ in a Chinese restaurant nonetheless, but minus the family members and relatives from the complex branch of extended family which honestly, I still haven’t got a clue who’s who and from where.

A ‘casual night out’ would probably fit the description best. The only difference was that Chinese New Year became an excuse to enjoy and celebrate and for some who are far away from home, to fill that void dug by the nauseous homesickness. Personally, I wouldn’t need to stay home all the time and deny myself the simple pleasures of life- especially during the special occasions, no?

I was ‘promoted’ from being an unofficial messenger to an unofficial event organiser. First, the were only three people who’d agreed on going out for a dinner and to watch Underworld. Then in the end, thirteen people (if I can count) showed up.

We went to a Chinese buffet restaurant. ‘A Chinese buffet restaurant,’ I thought. ‘Never have I come across such a thing back there in Malaysia.’

Yes, we have loads of variety of food but seriously, most buffet restaurants only serve either Western food or the combination of Western food and Chinese.

The food was good. The movie was great (always is, when you watch with a bunch of friends). Interestingly, the cinema (at least the one I’ve been to) runs on a free-seating basis. And interestingly, instead of shivering in the cold inside the theatre room like I would have been back there in Malaysia, I had to literally unbutton my shirt (was wearing another layer inside).

The day before, INTO organised a trip to Tynemouth, the coastline that runs along the side of Newcastle. Every trip I’ve been to, I’ve said the same thing and this is no different, so I’m going to sound so lame: the place was gorgeous.

I have proof, though. If you think my words are lying to your eyes, look for yourself because your eyes won’t lie to you.

Trust me, I did not think of this.

Don't know why Yang wasn't' smiling.

Can you see how adorable this pup is?

I'm melting.

Everyone's throat was gettin' a bit dried up. Thank God for Strepsils!

Neo brought us to Leazes Park after we left the Tynemouth.

Chinese New Year lunch. LeeVeen made some herbal soup with noodle with drumstick which was awesome.

That's Charlotte on the left and JiaLik on the right, from another flat.

Chinese New Year dinner.

I love this picture.

Was doing some work in the Robinson Library with my groupmate Natavan.

A super huge book.

Before I go, here's Kelly Clarkson's NEW music video. If you've been living under a rock and have not watched it, WATCH IT.

Ahhh I'm in love.

'My Life Would Suck Without You' has broken Billboard chart record by making the biggest single leap from number 97 to number 1.

That's goodbye.

Doused.

2009-01-21T20:50:00.005Z

Am I in the Chinese New Year mood?

What Chinese New Year mood.

Even though there will be events held in both the Student’s Union and Chinatown not too far from campus to ‘celebrate’ the upcoming festival, there’s just no such atmosphere close to being comparable to that at home. Think Titanic, then think Pirates of the Caribbean- like comparing apples to oranges.

I can’t even tell you when exactly Chinese New Year is- because I have not got a single clue. I think it’s the coming Monday. Anyone?

Funny thing is that Moises and several other people who are not Chinese started to refer to Henderson Hall as ‘the other Chinatown’, seeing how ‘infested’ the place is with people from China. Not exactly accurate, I’d say, since only our row of flats is heavily populated with them Chinese. But really, the sight’s pretty scary when they decide to have a get-together……

Anyway, I had a rather productive weekend visiting the Quayside. It’s absolutely gorgeous there. On one hand it has an old-fashioned taste to stone buildings alongside the river, on the other, modern architecture that astounds even the locals. On top of the fact that both sides are coupled by seven bridges- each with a story to tell-, as if linking a pair matched in heaven. (I know, a bit too ‘flower-ish’ the description)

The greatest fun was that we went in a group. The result is pretty self-explanatory if you were to put a few whacky people together.

We were all obsessed with taking pictures. I can tell you I hadn’t taken any less, not with the camera I have.

I won’t make this a long post because I have loads of pictures to show y’all.

But before I begin, I’d like to wish everyone here Happy Chinese New Year and a prosperous year ahead as per usual (lol). And if anyone here knows anything about what’s going to happen to the Goat people in the year of the Ox, do tell me. I want to ‘kay-poh’ a bit.

Me and Moises from Venezuela.

Jian, Moi, JiaLik, ViCher, Yang (at the back), LeeVeen and Me!

Feels like the 'escort'.

Tyne Bridge.

All the blokes. Neo on the right.

The famous Gateshead Millenium Bridge.

The Sage Gateshead.

Sunday market along the Tyne river.

The dog was too cute.

Notice I was clenching my teeth. It was freezing!

THE BIGGEST DOG I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. (and I want one!)

Ignore me- I look a bit too cheeky.

Inside of the Sage Gateshead.

Lunch at Pitcher and Piano.

The Gateshead Millenium Bridge actually tilts to allow ship(s) to pass underneath!

Another kind of 'wishing tree' featured in the Yoko Ono Art Exhibition at the Baltic Art Gallery.

The nightview...

...is fantastic.

Don't mean to make y'all jealous but I was CLEARLY DELIGHTED.

Ciao.

When Life Catches Up.

2009-01-17T16:09:00.003Z

In a recent interview with Kelly Clarkson, she mentioned something about New Year’s Resolutions- that they are loads of crap. That, by the end of February, they would all be rubbish. For some, surviving until mid-January would be a miracle in itself.

I can’t help to be cynical. Really, never have I heard someone’s stuck to their New Year’s Resolution(s) over the course of the next three hundred and sixty five plus a quarter days. Most likely we are to ‘renew’ our resolutions, or just rephrase them in such a way that it differs from the previously stated ones, giving an illusion- or tricking your head into believing- we’re making progress.

When one of your resolutions is to stick to the resolutions, and when that fails too, that pretty much sums up what I’m trying to say.

Aforementioned, my New Year’s Resolution (yes, I do have one) is to just ‘improve’. Which, gladly, I suppose, I am doing what I ought to do, as if dutifully, up until this moment.

Honourably, people do succeed. Very often, the formula is just determination plus perseverance.

I reckon, a lot of times, we suffer from excessively thinking ahead of ourselves; motivated beyond what’s necessary; propelled by uncontrolled ego; too much affected by the atmosphere, the trend. When that happens, life is bound to catch up. By then, misery would probably engulf you entirely.

So, to avoid ending up in misery, I’ve set myself a realistic goal that requires minimal determination and perseverance. It’s not cheating! No point striving for what’s beyond one’s capabilities, right?

I’ve gotten my new timetable. They decided to throw in one Business subject since they said I don’t have to take the 40 credits English (which is meant for students with poor proficiency of English, not someone who plans to major in English). Thankfully though, they pulled out the ‘Maths for Business’ classes.

Interestingly, the business subject seems to be quite enjoyable. Two female classmates of mine (pretty sure one of them would come across this paragraph lol) have the ‘hots’ for the lecturer because apparently, he looks like a movie star. Ever watched Damages? I personally think he shares a little resemblance to Ted Danson who plays Arthur Frobisher.

Okay, enough.

I’ll satisfy you people with some pictures and I’ll go study.

Me, ViCher and Frank.

Dinner at Nando's.

The inside of Durham Cathedral (Photography no allowed but that didn't stop ViCher).

The People's Theatre. (Upcoming assignment)

It reads: CLOSED.

But we managed to collect some brochures. I have no idea what's happening to my hair.

Bye.
Credits to Vi Cher and Jia Lik for the pictures.

High on Life (with Prozac?).

2009-01-15T18:53:00.009Z

Living here gives me a feeling I’m on natural Prozac. Maybe the friendliness of the people here brings out the best in other people, or maybe it’s just me going through a major spiritual development.

There was a petition right outside Students’ Union today promoting awareness about what’s happening in Gaza. There were pictures and posters of the conflict on display, reminding the passers-by the cruel and cold but true situation unfolding.

One gentleman came up to me and asked if I’d like to sign the petition. Didn’t even have to think before I said, ‘Oh definitely.’

I saw this little baby on the coach the other day. He was smiling at me; I was smiling at him. Every so often, he’d do something funny and I’d grin like a fool to myself. He was so cute!

You caught me. I surprised even myself.

You and I both thought I hated kids. Well, there is still a line between normal kids and screaming kids. Okay, so, upon a good while of reflection, I thought, perhaps there’s an alternative explanation to this uncanny scenario. I know it might not make full sense to you, but it does to me.

Back there in Malaysia, I see mostly Chinese babies- this may sound utterly biased, condemnable and racist almost, I realised. There is, however, a likelihood that these babies remind me of myself on a completely subconscious level. And that would lead to me thinking about the past that I don’t enjoy reminiscing.

Quite frankly, I still wish I hadn’t done a lot of the things I’ve done in the past. I’ve grown up a little now, and I know those things were wrong and sometimes I wish I could turn back time to rectify them. But I can’t. So that leaves me in regret plus the guilty feeling of not being able to do the right thing.

Just take the very reason I’m here in Newcastle for an instance. Leaving my childhood to embark on a journey of great length was indeed significant. But the urge to ‘do the right thing’ was more intense than ever. I knew if I didn’t do this, I would possibly regret later on in life. The phrase ‘possibly regret’ alone has already sent chills down my spine and made me cringe.

This, too, will then explain why I’m so headstrong about ‘go do what you really like to,’ as I’ve advised a few of my friends. It’s about feeding your passion, not wasting it.

The fact is the past is something I can no longer change. Although living in the present gives me a brand new chance because there will always be a tomorrow. It’s safe to say I’m living now for the future; any future regrets would then be traced back to the present, a past.

I don’t have any big plans, despite the flabbergasted theories of life. I suppose I’m just collecting these little pieces of my mind and getting prepared to do better good.

‘Ask not for a change; be the change,’ have you not heard that before?

I acknowledge the possible misunderstanding of the bit I talked about Chinese babies. It’s not like I experience child abuse or anything, it’s just that over the years, I’ve developed a strong sense of self-consciousness- which is both positive and negative. So I assure you, I grew up in a normal family and environment.

Therefore, you may relate by saying I have normal regrets as any other normal people do.

There are several societies in the Student’s Union that serve as charitable organisations. I am seriously contemplating joining some.

Next time you complain about, ‘I should’ve done that,’ spare a moment of grace and think, ‘what should I do now?’

Ps: If you want to leave me a comment and let me know what you think, please feel free to do so. (On top of the fact that the tagboard has been recently flooded lol.)

****************************************

Kelly Clarkson's new single has just been released! My Life Would Suck Without You

If you don't like it, you suck! Lol.

Life in Newcastle upon Tyne, England.

2009-01-11T18:41:00.009Z

I know, I know, it seems ages since I last updated my blog. I know I promised an email upon arrival too- that still hasn’t happened. But it will.

It was definitely a busy week and I may be expected to expect a busy year ahead. This orientation week has been beneficial and fruitful. The commonly known ‘shy boy’ is finally socialising!

One of the staffs taught me this English slang saying that is used almost exclusively in Newcastle: ‘shy bird gettin’ nowt.’ That basically means ‘shy boy getting nothing,’ or in another sense, ‘if you don’t ask, you don’t get.’ So aye, fellows, you would see me getting involved in a lot of social activities in the future.

The weather here’s a bit fluctuating- sometimes it’s alright; sometimes freezing. I reckon I’m adapting well, though. I was wearing my long john the first few days I was here and now I don’t even need them anymore. Firstly, it’s not like I have like a closetful of long johns. And secondly, the fabric kind of itches my skin.

The food here’s not too bad, too. They say the Brits are only concerned about table manners and how people behave at the table but not what they actually serve on the table. That’s not necessarily true. Quite reasonably, good food costs more. I could be making myself a meal out of canned food, still it would content me (or my stomach, rather). So food isn’t an issue that bothers now.

The people here are unbelievable. Yes of course, it’s a great place- no doubt about that. But the people here make it so much better. Geordie, as they are known, are so friendly- most of them anyway, since I might bite my own tongue by prematurely generalising them. I talked to my eldest brother a few days ago about this, and he said, ‘wait ‘till you see the ugly side.’

Well, ugly or not, we’ll see. But for someone to offer help even when you’re not asking for it; for someone to greet you or start a conversation because they want to, that’s pretty ‘not ugly’ to me.

I’ve gotten to know quite a number of friends too, from all over the world. It’s sometimes hard to communicate with each other because not all of us speak English. However, I find it useful to have learned Mandarin and Cantonese (but not Malay since nobody uses it here) since young. I can see myself still being able to speak Mandarin and Cantonese years later, but would probably lose all the neurons connecting to my BM side of the brain.

My campus is absolutely gorgeous. And it’s massive too. It’s located right in the city centre with a lot of shops and restaurants surrounding it. It’s highly convenient to engage yourself in some leisure activities after the class finishes. Since it’s more like a ‘student city’, a lot of things are at a discounted rate, too. Plus some of the shops accept student Smartcard for further reduction in prices.

Gotta watch it, gotta watch it. It’s not as if my wallet sees no bottom!

My accommodation is about 3 to 4 miles away. It’s a bit far and even though I have to take a ride on the coach every day to the city centre, I’m liking where I’m living. I shouldn’t complain one bit since I’ll be provided with a free bus pass next week and will be able to get on the buses and travel everywhere- not only the city centre- in Newcastle without paying a penny (where other people who live in a different Hall of Residence are not privileged of!).

Enough talking! Here come the pictures. (A WHOLE LOT OF THEM!)

Both my lovely parents.

A group of weirdoes you'd have to stab me to give up on.

Starbucks in Jawi, at the Dubai International Airport.

My accommodation. (The second green door!)

Sunrise view from my room's window.

University campus.

Union Society, also known as the Students' Union.

The famous Arches.

I told you it's gorgeous!

Right opposite the Arches is the St. Mary's Chruch. On top on the tower, lies a poster that says: Make Poverty History!
Eldon Square- your shopping paradise.

St. James' Park- a very, very famous football stadium.

Group photo after a session of bowling.

In an art gallery I forgot the name.

The Angel of the North. First future impression: BLOODY COLD.

It's not the hair gel; it's the WIND.

The city of Durham.

The Durham Cathedral. In which, a scene of Harry Potter was filmed.

The Durham Castle.

I had to pose. Had to.

The BEST fish n' chips I've eaten, yet.

Malaysian curry!

Could you tell what these are? Buttons.

Well, that's all for now.

Until We Meet Again.

2009-01-02T05:34:00.002Z

In less than half a day I will be stepping out of what I’ve been calling ‘home’ for the past seventeen years for the last time. Although I will be entering a brand new environment and settling down in a distant land, there would be no replacement for my ‘home’.

This would be my very last post written in Malaysia.

Soon, I will embark on a journey that would not only define my future, but also allow me to grow in ways I may never experience. Soon, I will leave behind the people who have made me who I am today; the man and woman who had and have dedicated their lives to raise me up when I was only a cell old; the friends who have become so much as a part of my life, I could call them my family.

And of course the five adorable but pain-in-the-ass dogs that I would miss so much, too.

A few of my friends have come up to me last night and told me they can’t make it to see me off tonight. It’s really a pity. However, I understand that these are difficult circumstances and very inconvenient too, that to ask everyone to come at late night to a faraway place, would be both untimely and potentially dangerous.

So, please, do not trouble yourself if you cannot or think you cannot make it. I can feel if you are really sincere about wanting to come. That sincerity, is all that I need.

I cannot begin to describe what I feel about all of my friends. Perhaps that’s because I have such a huge variety of different people, it’d be impossible to describe all of them as one. I wouldn’t dare do that, anyway.

I know I’ve said this countless of times but as cheesy and cliché as it may sound, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

I thank you for everything.

I thank you for nothing.

I thank you for you.

Dad has been as amazing as ever. He doesn’t really say much but it’s quite obvious sometimes. Thank you, father.

Mom, although still sometimes ferociously nagging, she’s a soft-hearted person beneath the skin. She is as real as she gets. Thank you, mother.

I wish I could give everyone single person who means something to me a big bear hug before I leave. Although that’s kind of impossible now, I shall do that in at least four years’ time.

Would YOU be willing enough to wait for my hug?

The Long Goodbye.

2009-01-01T06:41:00.007Z

Happy New Year!

It has been a crazy month for me. I have not done so much in so little time, ever- but glad that I did. So this post is solely dedicated to the people who have made it possible in the most magical of ways. Do not worry, as I will bring these memories and friendships afar and return unchanged, if not strengthened.

My only new year resolution this year can be summarised in one single word: improve. Seek not for perfection but strive for improvement for perfection is a state of mind, dull and merely a matter of opinions.

Not exactly in the right time for an elaborate entry, so I’ll just let the pictures do most of the talking.

Lunch at Ijok

My Aunts and Uncle

Teacher Joan

Christmas lunch at Luke's place

Primary school ex-classmates reunion

Kajang Satay for dinner

German food for dinner

Dinner treat for XuWai before he left for NS

We did not plan on wearing green together lol, right, sexy?

Countdown at Sunway Pyramid

I understand that goodbye isn't always easy. Especially long goodbyes.

As It Comes.

2008-12-30T05:02:00.009Z

There may never be a word strong enough, wide enough, powerful enough, and comprehensive enough within the framework of words to describe what we commonly surround ourselves with. There are the little bumps, the paved and the unpaved courses, plus the ever-changing weathers. All of which, make up what we mundanely- as if almost unexcitingly- or gratefully named as ‘Life’.

2008 was a year of changes. So were all the other years. Each year, we take baby steps towards greater individual development and for some they were truly successful in advancing whilst some were taken in a manner that made absolutely no sense to either them or the people around them and possibly both. And for some unfortunate ones, perhaps, they may think they’ve geared into reverse for the past three hundred days.

We all understand how complicated things can get. Simplifying them would simply mean further winding up in complications sometimes. Why simplify them in the first place then? Why would we all seem to share the natural tendency to attempt to get things simpler to handle? Is it because we are all a bunch of lazy asses who would prefer not to stress ourselves out but ironically do so because of our effort to ease things rather than to solve the problems as they are? I admittedly do not have the answers and in this case of utter paradoxes, really, should one take the effort and time to answer the questions we seem too naïve to?

‘Oh no,’ someone around could say, ‘I don’t have time for this.’

Maybe I got you good there.

Then what do you have time for? Or rather, why don’t you have time for it?

Fine, so if we know, possibly, we may never answer them, then why try at all, right?

And so, you drop by the coffee shop everyday for your first of the many daily doses of caffeine you needed desperately to get by the day without falling asleep. And so, you stare at your blank Words page trying to just scribble down some goddamn stuff for the assignment. And so, you spend hours straining your eyes and fingers coordinating the most difficult stunts… in a videogame. And so, you engage yourself in a conversation with a friend for the most important of issues- which store offers the best discount, who’s doing what, who’s doing who, what’s the latest gadget, who has got a new haircut, how much you hate your job, etc.

Thus, you don’t have time for Life.

Sounds like someone who deserves a slap? Well then, look in the mirror and slap yourself right across the cheek.

We all commit ‘crimes’ as such without realising it: Life’s too short, procrastinate now!

My apologies if I have generalised people’s negative behaviours as something we all universally share. Maybe you’re not like that, or so you claim. Maybe your just don’t wish to slap yourself.

What would be the year of 2009? Can we expect ourselves to procrastinate like we’ve been doing so for the past few living years? Why not, a sin is a sin. It’s not like I’m trying to preach like a saint either.

See? We could effortlessly make up excuses for ourselves to pardon us from the act of ‘doing the right thing’.

What is this misery, which we have since practised from the wake of consciousness; which has brought us the privilege of stalling that we never deserve; which has provided an insatiable appetite for merely doing nothing, we shall be doomed to live in vain. Is it fair, you ask?

You get what you ask for. Is it not fair, I ask?

I don’t reckon I’m here to motivate and I self-consciously know that that it is beyond my capabilities. Besides, I don’t think motivation can be ‘given’ in any way but one is to be ‘motivated’ by oneself. I have the very same problem as you do and I’m just saying, perhaps we could all make a difference, change for the better rather than to fall back and slouch into our couches.

Life’s hard- although might not suffice, it is perhaps the most appropriate word used to describe it. If it were easy, it would mean nothing.

Ask yourself whether you’d like to relive another 2008. If you think you have had a great year, then ask yourself whether you’re ready to embrace a greater year. If you think you had a horrible 2008, ask yourself whether you’re prepared to make 2009 a good one for yourself and for the ones around you.

To that, I already have an answer for myself. I wish y’all have an awesome New Year!

Tennineeightseven(SIX)fivefourthreetwoone.

2008-12-28T05:45:00.004Z

Six days.

I wonder what it would be like there. I’m starting to wonder if coping with the surroundings would be a difficult task if not an almost impossible one. But I’ve stopped wondering if I want this- because I do.

Lately, I’ve been speechless on the inside. I am always the kind who keeps in touch with oneself and therefore comprehends one in both spiritually and emotionally.

When I asked Ed how he was doing, he told me he was ‘confused’. Instinctively, I asked him why. ‘Nothing, it’s just a feeling,’ was all he could say. I don’t know if I understand him but I’m feeling the very same lately.

Perhaps I don’t know what to feel because I’m feeling too much of everything- all the excitement, the prospects, the worrying and the rest of the ‘what ifs’ in abundance. I know I won’t miss the place. But I guess I’m already starting to miss the people.

I never liked entering a brand new environment without someone by the side. So maybe that’s what’s scaring me subconsciously.

XuWai went away a yesterday for NS. I’m proud of what he’s become now. If he would keep up the image he got several years ago, he’d still be a punk. I’d hate him for that. He’s too much of a great soul and a blessed friend to go to waste. I hope you don’t mix around with the wrong kind of people whilst you’re in the camp! You said you want to size down a little so consider it a chance to do so!

Truly, I am blessed.

The friends around me are awesome. A lot of things we don’t say aloud but we know deep inside what those gestures mean.

We don’t need to ask, ‘hey, why are you doing this?’ or ‘so nice one?’ or even ‘no need to payback one right?’

A lot of my friendships have transcended that puny link between two individuals that speaks of returning favours, promising outcome or benefit weighing. Though I am no social bird who has a network so huge and complex, I’m grateful enough for my little ‘gang members’.

How can I ask more when I know the answer would always be, ‘nothing, I’m just being a friend’.

I’ll get y’all updated on recent events soon. Gotta continue packing!

Not Long Until So Long.

2008-12-20T13:31:00.002Z

I’ve started my countdown in MSN. It’s five days until Christmas, eleven more days until we step into a brand new year- hopefully stepping into it afresh- and finally, exactly two weeks until my departure.

Two weeks. In this state of excitement, two weeks could seem like two whole months or mere two days. On one hand that I cannot wait to go, the other, my bag still unpacked.

People from the University have started getting into contact with me and that kind of intimidates me. It intimidates me to know that all along what I wanted is finally coming into fruition, it all seems so unreal, so ‘dreamy’. It’d be ridiculous to say that I fear waking up one day and time rewinds back to before SPM but to some degree, it feels like that. But the difference to that, is that I know I’m wide awake and living my dream, embracing the uncertainties life could throw to kick me back into the state of reverie; the days of building castles in the air; the curse of oblivion.

All I’m trying to say, is that I’m ready for the downfall, but I cringe at not knowing what it is.

A couple of days ago, Lih and SuAnn threw me this impromptu surprise farewell party. It was really, really sweet of them and all the people who attended too. Even Mrs Christina, Mrs Linda and Mrs Yue were there. I hugged them at least twice.

Di Wei got me this wonderful scarf which I absolutely adore. You bet I’m going to use it. SuAnn got me a hill of chocolate, which I have yet finished! Mrs Yue got me an expensive-looking (and probably is) pen- it’s so going into my hand luggage. Mrs Christina and Mrs Linda got me a book entitled ‘What have you got to lose?’ I haven’t started reading it but I looks like a really good one.

I know a lot of you want to be real sweethearts, but please don’t trouble and burden yourself thinking what to buy and spending astronomically. And you don’t even need to ask me what I want- because like I told EeTien: whatever you buy I need and want.

There is one thing though that I will definitely bring over to the UK and it doesn’t occupy space in my luggage- YOUR love and friendship.

I called most of the teachers who taught me yesterday. The first was Mrs Lim. She’s as cute as ever. As soon as I identified myself, she apologised for not being able to make it to the farewell party. She said she has ten SPM markers under her and she’s just too tied up recently. That’s pretty impressive, isn’t it? I’m fortunate to have her as my teacher.

Then I called Mrs Tan, who taught me Moral. She didn’t know I was leaving and was surprised to learn that I’m leaving so soon. Sadly, she doesn’t have an email address but she did give me her address and asked that I write to her occasionally. If I know how, I’ll try!

After that, I rang up Mrs Sherily. When I told her I’m ‘Wye Liang’, she sounded as if she didn’t recognise me anymore. But when I told her I’m ‘Lem’, she nearly shouted ‘OH!’. Not surprising because she always if not all the time refers me as ‘Lem’. The first day when she came into our class and asked us to introduce ourselves, she said her favourite food was ‘lamb chop’ after my turn. I will never forget that look on her face when she said that. She told me she’d be going to the UK next year during March and told me to email my address to her so she could come visit me then.

I wonder who else I should call now…

There’s so much to talk about here, but I just don’t know where to start! Maybe I should organise my thoughts first and start later.

For now, goodbye and have a wonderful Christmas season!

Initiating Countdown.

2008-12-17T03:49:00.005Z

Okay, just a quick update here.

For those who don’t already know, my flight is now confirmed on the 3rd January and not the 2nd as the English would still be enjoying their holidays there; they wouldn’t be able to arrange my accommodation until a day later.

My flight is at 2:10am, so for anyone who wants to come see me off, you should probably be around from 9 to 10 o’clock onwards of the 2nd January. Please do not get mixed up by the midnight mark and come at 9 to 10 o’clock of the 3rd January- I’d be way off by then.

Here are some details you might not know:

I’m attending Newcastle University but first I will enrol in a foundation course that is conducted not by the aforementioned university, but by an entity that has partnerships with several other universities. In simpler terms, after I’ve completed my foundation course with acceptable results, I will be automatically enrolled into the university.

The duration of my foundation course is only about 7 months but my degree is about 3 years. So all in all, I’m going to stick around Newcastle upon Tyne for a good four years. Even so, I doubt I will be back right after that four years. I’m given an opportunity to work for another 2 years with my student visa. Undertaking a masters course would take another one year.

Most preparations have been done. I can admittedly tell you, I’m no role model in this matter. If you want to study overseas, don’t just plan ahead; act ahead. Getting everything done in under a month is really a mad scramble. The visa application especially, even with the help from the agency, I was facing difficulties.

I have yet started to pack my luggage. Sure, I have got a luggage bag big enough to fit a person inside, but it’s pretty much still empty. It’s not like I don’t have things to stuff the bag either, but rather, I’m thinking what not to put inside. To some degree, I’m packing a luggage that would last for four years, how can I not consider appropriately?

I have only 17 days left in Malaysia!

So people, if you want to hang out together before the departure, I suggest you hurry and make plans! LOL.

I have to go now. I had one of the worst headaches of my entire seventeen years of life yesterday. That’s the sign and symptom of serious lack of sleep, I tell you.

Just message me in MSN or E-mail me or give me a buzz or stalk me or do whatever you wish to do if you want to get in touch with me. The E-mail address is to the right of your screen, under my pretty vain shot of myself if you haven’t noticed.

Goodbye.

Let's Not Jinx It.

2008-12-07T03:17:00.002Z

I know I haven’t been able to blog much lately. So here’s a quick one- in discretion. I don’t want to reveal too much that you all might mistake ‘probability’ with ‘confirmation’ of something happening.

Anyway, not to slam it in your face, I’m living my dreams.

Not to bash it in your teeth, I’m going away for a long, long time.

Yes, I will miss all of you indefinitely, definitely.

Things are going well so far and I hope they keep up. There is still a little confusion in the mix but I suppose that will clear up in a short while.

I will get back on this in detail as soon as things settle down and when the boat stops rocking. Like I said, I don’t want to let you know too much, just yet.

Thanks for the sweet gestures, everyone. I really appreciate them.

One last thing before I go.

The interviewer asked me this, ‘I suppose this might be a bit of a weird question, but tell me, Ryan, do you have a lot of friends?’

I didn’t need to think to answer that one.

‘Yes, a lot. Friends I could cling onto for life.’