Well, now, I've put this one off for too long now.
Truth is, I don't fancy writing about being home. Why? Because it'll only serve to remind me how lonely I can get once I'm back in the real world. Not lonely in the social sense, but bereft of the comforts and love I receive and have established here. From being with my family and friends, where most of the faces and skin tones are similar to mine.
Then again, home is but the place one's heart resides...and even here I feel a subtle yearning for the solitude and peace of the great green yonder on the Australasian plate border. Not to say I am not enjoying my time here; it's just that it's no longer the home I remember it to be. And as much as I'd like to deny it, things have changed. Quite a lot, I may add.
For one thing, I seem to be a bit more distant to members of the extended family I used to be quite close with. Lack of words on both sides when face-to-face, the complacent "I'm sure he/she's doing quite well" thought flitting through our minds. Of course, I'm only here for three weeks (this one's my last, oh dear), so I wouldn't expect anything other than what I've gotten (that's the complacency on my behalf).
On the other hand, my connections to my immediate family has become a lot tighter for the most part. Specifically, my brother and cousin.
It amazed me a few months back when I saw my brother when the family visited. Now that I'm here and finding out more about him, he surprises me even more. I guess the distance did help; if before we were sick of living with each other for all these past years, now we're more like old acquaintances re-learning each other. He's started seriously thinking about relationships with women, is far more skillful with the guitar than I remembered him to be (venturing forth into songwriting, as a matter of fact), and also a bit wiser to boot. We still crack jokes at each other and appreciate all those dirty jokes, which is good. But the fact that I can now talk to him for a bit longer than three minutes is even better. Ah, and he managed to turn vegetarian. Always was a stubborn one, my brother.
My cousin, 'R', changed similarly to my brother. Well, not so much, come to think of it. I've always had an easier time talking to him rather than to my brother, but now our topics are those I wouldn't have conversed about just a year ago. Last year the main topic was his affair with basketball and highschool intrigues. Now it's still about basketball and highschool drama, but with the addition of tertiary education, work, and politics. And occasionally rubbing in the fact that I'm still single after all this time (thanks for the support, R). He's no longer a kid, he's a teen now.
The city, however, has changed quite a bit. Some places are still pretty much the same, but others are...well, changing for the worse.
With development increasing, any empty lots that could've been potentially used for even the most minute rain catchment has been/are being wiped out. The first day I was here it rained quite hard for a few hours. Trapped in my car during a traffic jam, I found myself transfixed by the sheer amount of soil just flowing out in the gutters. Amazing. The next thing I noticed was how quickly the water level was rising. Within the first fifteen minutes to half hour, it was already ankle-high (wish I had a photo to show for it). And some people say it's because of global warming? Try shoddy city planning. Or shoddy national policies, for that matter.
And that's the interesting part. Everything is interrelated, more or less. People, development, poverty, 'natural' disasters, policies, and so forth. For instance, the slow development in other provinces (especially those beyond Java) has led to people moving into the cities, especially the capital for work. Because there are more people than there is living space and work, you get a surplus of labour which ends up becoming a burden on the rest of the city. How? By occupying space that could otherwise be used productively, and generating more waste (even if it's not in plastic, people still generate bodily wastes daily). This results in slums (or at least kampungs) and waste that cannot be readily disposed of in an environmentally safe way (i.e. as in developed countries - I doubt our landfills and incinerators are adequate enough as is). The slums stop water from infiltrating into the ground, the wastes clog up the waterways, gutters, and sewers. End product - flooding.
But mind you, that's only an extremely simplified example (textbook, almost). Other factors, such as the permeability of the ground, the increasing amount of development and roads, and *sigh* climate change are also part of the equation. And not just for floods, I might add.
Next up, the Busway. In an ideal world, the Busway is a wonderful idea. It's an effective and (somewhat) punctual way of getting throughout the city on public transport. And it would be so, if society followed the rules associated with it. Hailing buses and *shudder* minibuses from the side of the fucking road when the bus/minibus in question is on the farthermost lane still seems to be far more effective than having to wait at a designated stop. At least the average person around here. There's the increasing number of people driving and riding motorcycles (helmets and common sense optional), as payments have become surprising cheaper. Add to this the fact that the Busway takes up one lane of the normal road to become a pseudo-Autobahn. If anyone said that you'd spend most of your time in a car when you live here, they may change it to 'you'll spend the rest of your life in a car if you live here'. Oh, alright, it's not that spectacularly FUBAR-ed, but it's still bad. And getting worse.
I'd also put in a little rant about the new governor, who's apparently got his dirty, stubby fingers in a lot of profitable little pies, but I simply don't have the strength or will to. The other candidate was also reputedly crooked. Lesser evil? All the same. Just like Dubya winning the elections twice, you've got to question the ability of the voters to judge who should be a leader. And at the moment, I doubt the majority of the voters are looking at anything other than their next paycheck, so it shouldn't be too surprising that they'd vote for someone who can *ahem* donate to them. Oh well. This should be interesting to see from a safe, comfy spot on the other side of the world.
Aaaand...that's a wrap. Sorry to disappoint anyone looking for anything substantial or wholly enlightening here. It's a blog. Whaddaya expect?
[End Transmission]
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
To Follow Up On Last Week's Post
Well, the strike didn't go so well.
No ippon for me now.
Such is life. But on the bright side, it's a first attempt, and (should I not face an early and untimely end) it will not be the last. No, siree. Not until I get my ippon.
Also, missed two sessions due to sprained muscles. Which sucks, because the last session was the last for three of our members. Gah.
[End Transmission]
No ippon for me now.
Such is life. But on the bright side, it's a first attempt, and (should I not face an early and untimely end) it will not be the last. No, siree. Not until I get my ippon.
Also, missed two sessions due to sprained muscles. Which sucks, because the last session was the last for three of our members. Gah.
[End Transmission]
Thursday, November 1, 2007
What Kendo Taught Me
Strike first, strike fast, strike without hesitation.
Otherwise, you'll get struck first, and you'll never hear the end of it.
Of course, strike without preparation, you'll still get struck first.
And don't even think you can beat a ni-dan senpai with go-kyu skills. Well, you can, but you'll still get the inevitable hiding sooner or later.
Funny, the things I'm learning in kendo echo pretty much everything my parents (and religion, interestingly) taught me...which I still can't get right.
Perhaps it means that if I improve my own personality outside of kendo, my kendo will improve. And vice versa.
Or maybe I just need a lot more practice.
Yeah, that's probably it.
Boy, am I loving it.
[end transmission]
Otherwise, you'll get struck first, and you'll never hear the end of it.
Of course, strike without preparation, you'll still get struck first.
And don't even think you can beat a ni-dan senpai with go-kyu skills. Well, you can, but you'll still get the inevitable hiding sooner or later.
Funny, the things I'm learning in kendo echo pretty much everything my parents (and religion, interestingly) taught me...which I still can't get right.
Perhaps it means that if I improve my own personality outside of kendo, my kendo will improve. And vice versa.
Or maybe I just need a lot more practice.
Yeah, that's probably it.
Boy, am I loving it.
[end transmission]
Monday, October 29, 2007
Music
I recently borrowed a friend's unused iPod earphones (no, this isn't going to be a rant about how my iPod failed me, that'll be for next time). Not having used my Pod as it was supposed to be used for about six months now, as a portable audio playback device, I immediately jumped on the chance to walk out in a perfectly sunny and pleasant afternoon around the campus lakes. I put the thing on shuffle and headed out the door.
The first song to come up was Jacksonville, by Sufjan Stevens.
It was a somewhat surreal moment. One of those snippets in life where everything suddenly falls into place and you feel that all is good in the world, if only for that short stretch of time. The pre-sunset sunlight, the smell of the grass and the trees, the gentle breeze that played around the tips of my ears mixed into the flow and the feel of the song. The words may have been a little irrelevant (and a bit disconcerting at parts), but the voice they were sung in helped them join harmoniously with everything else. I ended up sitting under one of the bigger trees next to the large sports field and looking up at the sky.
Moments like these really etch themselves into personal history.
Though I've had his music for quite some time now (about 4-5 years now), it's only now that I picked up on it. He's still not one of my favorites, but being here has given new perspectives with which I can 'view' his music.
Still, I probably would have said the same about Tingstadt and Rumbel if they happened to pop up first. Haha.
[end transmission]
The first song to come up was Jacksonville, by Sufjan Stevens.
It was a somewhat surreal moment. One of those snippets in life where everything suddenly falls into place and you feel that all is good in the world, if only for that short stretch of time. The pre-sunset sunlight, the smell of the grass and the trees, the gentle breeze that played around the tips of my ears mixed into the flow and the feel of the song. The words may have been a little irrelevant (and a bit disconcerting at parts), but the voice they were sung in helped them join harmoniously with everything else. I ended up sitting under one of the bigger trees next to the large sports field and looking up at the sky.
Moments like these really etch themselves into personal history.
Though I've had his music for quite some time now (about 4-5 years now), it's only now that I picked up on it. He's still not one of my favorites, but being here has given new perspectives with which I can 'view' his music.
Still, I probably would have said the same about Tingstadt and Rumbel if they happened to pop up first. Haha.
[end transmission]
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Realizations
I recently underwent the realization that I'm not 'home'.
Yeah, it took that long.
I woke up yesterday morning (or afternoon, if you'd like to be precise), dreading the 2 pm exam. The sun's shining outside, some light filtering through the gaps between my curtains. A little bit bleary eyed, I grope around for my handphone to switch off the only tune I can wake up to. Then I sit up, look around my Romanesque (i.e. Romanesque post-Vandals, Huns, and what-have-you-nots) room, take a sip from my water bottle and softly clear my throat. It had to be that morning that I realised it's almost exactly the same thing I've been doing for every morning in the last 8 months. The novelty of living in a new place seems to have worn off some time ago; I'm by no means jaded, but it's become so much a part of me now that I don't see it. Now that I've decided to return to 'home', where the family is, things do seem a little different. The skies, the smell of fresh grass, the fact that the majority of people I see here at any given time are Caucasian...things I've started to simply accept as part of it all.
To be honest, I miss very few things about 'home', excluding family and friends. I miss the food, the sounds of a bustling city, things not closing up at 5 in the afternoon, and being somewhere where the people are physically similar to myself. Well, maybe not the last part. Oh, and being somewhere that has less drunken teenage yobbos/blokes/idiots/etc. on the weekends. Other than that, I'd say it's better to be here. I don't miss the polluted _____ (insert object of choice), the highly visible poverty, the stupidity (especially of public transport drivers), and the sheer mass of humanity that lives within the city's boundaries. Yes, you'd be correct to say I'm sitting on my high horse for this one. But it's truth (or semi-truth). If I'm a rational person given the choice to live and work back 'home' or some exotic country (which may or may not be similar to 'home'), I'd go for the exotic country. Why? Just because there's that hesitance to return home.
But it's not that I don't ever want to go back home. Much as I dislike the notion, I do feel a sort of 'homesickness' for the familiar climes. And there's that whole looming-over-the-horizon thing about repaying the country for the opportunity I received (well, more like the opportunity my parents received, and me through that proxy). As much as I'd like to, I don't really have good reason to turn my back on the country which I grew up in and claim citizenship elsewhere. And since the ethnicities of which I am part of are within that country (not that it matters, I just want to ramble), I guess I can't really escape what I really am.
Meh.
That was a rather long and meaningless rant. Screw the ending, I'm going to bed.
[End Transmission]
Yeah, it took that long.
I woke up yesterday morning (or afternoon, if you'd like to be precise), dreading the 2 pm exam. The sun's shining outside, some light filtering through the gaps between my curtains. A little bit bleary eyed, I grope around for my handphone to switch off the only tune I can wake up to. Then I sit up, look around my Romanesque (i.e. Romanesque post-Vandals, Huns, and what-have-you-nots) room, take a sip from my water bottle and softly clear my throat. It had to be that morning that I realised it's almost exactly the same thing I've been doing for every morning in the last 8 months. The novelty of living in a new place seems to have worn off some time ago; I'm by no means jaded, but it's become so much a part of me now that I don't see it. Now that I've decided to return to 'home', where the family is, things do seem a little different. The skies, the smell of fresh grass, the fact that the majority of people I see here at any given time are Caucasian...things I've started to simply accept as part of it all.
To be honest, I miss very few things about 'home', excluding family and friends. I miss the food, the sounds of a bustling city, things not closing up at 5 in the afternoon, and being somewhere where the people are physically similar to myself. Well, maybe not the last part. Oh, and being somewhere that has less drunken teenage yobbos/blokes/idiots/etc. on the weekends. Other than that, I'd say it's better to be here. I don't miss the polluted _____ (insert object of choice), the highly visible poverty, the stupidity (especially of public transport drivers), and the sheer mass of humanity that lives within the city's boundaries. Yes, you'd be correct to say I'm sitting on my high horse for this one. But it's truth (or semi-truth). If I'm a rational person given the choice to live and work back 'home' or some exotic country (which may or may not be similar to 'home'), I'd go for the exotic country. Why? Just because there's that hesitance to return home.
But it's not that I don't ever want to go back home. Much as I dislike the notion, I do feel a sort of 'homesickness' for the familiar climes. And there's that whole looming-over-the-horizon thing about repaying the country for the opportunity I received (well, more like the opportunity my parents received, and me through that proxy). As much as I'd like to, I don't really have good reason to turn my back on the country which I grew up in and claim citizenship elsewhere. And since the ethnicities of which I am part of are within that country (not that it matters, I just want to ramble), I guess I can't really escape what I really am.
Meh.
That was a rather long and meaningless rant. Screw the ending, I'm going to bed.
[End Transmission]
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Sakura
I said I'd put up something about cherry blossoms, so here's to fulfilling that promise. Well, kind of. Most of the blossoms are gone, and spring is going into full gear now. That aside, here's what I said I'd put up.
And to wrap it up, the official ending song to Byousoku 5 Centimeter.
Enjoy.
[end transmission]
And to wrap it up, the official ending song to Byousoku 5 Centimeter.
Enjoy.
[end transmission]
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Ni-Ju
Ah.
I have drifted through four more seasons, a new mark on my lengthly stay in this plane of existence.
I must say, it doesn't feel any more different than last year. I'm pretty much still the same person, still making stupid mistakes, still doing things wrong. But I do think I managed to do a few things right in the span of all this time, little bits and pieces of time and space that I knew were worth the effort I put into it.
I guess my previous age set me up quite nicely for this one. I've made so many more choices, mistakes, and personal triumphs than I ever had. It also marks the first time I'll be "celebrating" beyond the reach of my family. Almost. Not that it's a bad thing, but it's something I may have to get used to as I grow older and older as the earth completes more cycles around the sun.
Anyway, it's strange that I feel strangely calm about it; last year was a rather...angsty birthday. Struck with the realization that I was stuck in neutral gear and aging to boot, I kept lamenting the fact that my youth is nearing its end. But now...well, now my world seems to present so many more possibilities and opportunities. I can scarcely wait for my next year to end to gauge the extent of improvement in my kendo. Perhaps I'll be competing then, though probably getting pwned by everyone else for a start. It's also another year of university (hopefully), more challenges and fun, new people to meet and work with.
Yea.
It's all good. And I don't even need to celebrate it; it's a celebration in its own way.
Of course, all due thanks to God and parents, who have kept me alive, (somewhat) well, and prepared to face life on my own.
p.s. for those wondering why I haven't posted anything up lately, even with the promised videoclip from the last post, it's because things have been quite all over the place, what with Eid (whoops, should've posted that up too) and exams. Gomen.
[end transmission]
I have drifted through four more seasons, a new mark on my lengthly stay in this plane of existence.
I must say, it doesn't feel any more different than last year. I'm pretty much still the same person, still making stupid mistakes, still doing things wrong. But I do think I managed to do a few things right in the span of all this time, little bits and pieces of time and space that I knew were worth the effort I put into it.
I guess my previous age set me up quite nicely for this one. I've made so many more choices, mistakes, and personal triumphs than I ever had. It also marks the first time I'll be "celebrating" beyond the reach of my family. Almost. Not that it's a bad thing, but it's something I may have to get used to as I grow older and older as the earth completes more cycles around the sun.
Anyway, it's strange that I feel strangely calm about it; last year was a rather...angsty birthday. Struck with the realization that I was stuck in neutral gear and aging to boot, I kept lamenting the fact that my youth is nearing its end. But now...well, now my world seems to present so many more possibilities and opportunities. I can scarcely wait for my next year to end to gauge the extent of improvement in my kendo. Perhaps I'll be competing then, though probably getting pwned by everyone else for a start. It's also another year of university (hopefully), more challenges and fun, new people to meet and work with.
Yea.
It's all good. And I don't even need to celebrate it; it's a celebration in its own way.
Of course, all due thanks to God and parents, who have kept me alive, (somewhat) well, and prepared to face life on my own.
p.s. for those wondering why I haven't posted anything up lately, even with the promised videoclip from the last post, it's because things have been quite all over the place, what with Eid (whoops, should've posted that up too) and exams. Gomen.
[end transmission]
Friday, September 28, 2007
5 Centimeters per Second
Okay. I admit, I sometimes let a few tears slip out when it comes to watching rather dramatic moments in movies. Like when Mufasa died in The Lion King. Or when Lord Katsumoto dies in The Last Samurai, rather than Tom Cruise (admittedly, those were tears of disbelief that the only white person in the samurai army survives everyone else in a hail of steel and brimstone). If memory serves me correctly, I was inconsolable at the end of the Les Miserables production, where *SPOILER!* Jean Valjean dies of old age and goes to heaven escorted by a chorus *SPOILER!*. Watching most of The Curse of the Golden Throne also comes to mind...though those were out of an entirely different emotion altogether. Might have been the pain of...er...best not write about it in a family-safe blog like this. Especially not since quite a few people are reading these sordid accounts...
Now, I haven't seen any movies good enough to warrant any manly tears (because if I say otherwise it would be labeled sissy tears). Come to think of it, the last movie I saw in the theater was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Which was a letdown, really. But that's apart from the point. The point is that I've been too lazy (and cheap) to go into town and buy a movie ticket. Let me just add that the reason I watched Harry Potter was because I was desperate to get out of the house and my kendo buddy Awa offered me to join him, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend's (unfortunately underaged) sisters watch Harry Potter. Thus, transportation and desperation solved, I steeled myself and sat through that horse buggy of a movie. Not that I should be complaining, seeing as to how I scored a free ride. Har.
So it came to chance, as I was sick, that another Kendo buddy, Benji, came over and gave me a DVD chock full of anime- and kendo-related stuff (he's also the one who introduced me to the wonderful world of Azumanga Daioh). Why he wasted a perfectly good DVD on a dud like me is still a mystery (could it be, gasp, friendship?), but it's appreciated nonetheless. After watching the likes of Yojimbo and Twilight Samurai - both very, very excellent, by the way - I came across a little (as in 475 MB) video file named '5 Centimeters per Second'. Being the procrastinator that I am, I clicked on it instead of doing my homework and ended up being mesmerized for an hour and a half by the works of Makoto Shinkai. And I've got to say, this guy has an eye for detail. All of the backgrounds are heavily detailed, and will probably look pretty much the same in real-world Japan. It's crazy. For a guy who started out animation only using Photoshop, he's got mad skills in both illustration and storytelling. Not to mention the sweet-but-melancholic tunes of composer Tenmon. He's not quite Joe Hisaishi, but he always manages to set the feeling just right.
5 Centimeters per Second is an anime trilogy about the separation between two people, beginning from junior high up till adulthood. They are best friends first, are separated, become lovers, are further separated, and suddenly their connection is cut. How it ends...well, as much as I'd like to write it out so that my next few paragraphs make sense, it's something best watched on your own. Suffice to say it was a profoundly 'WTF', yet hard-hitting, ending for me. Actually, the tears came out during the first chapter, 'Oukashou'. But the second and third installments, though progressively leaning a bit into the realm of daytime soap opera fare, are also of large significance to me.
So why did I bother to get all worked up over the first episode? The main plot is that a year after being separated after graduating from primary school, Tohno-kun (the boy), decides to meet Akari (the girl) before he moves even farther away to his parents' next workplace. They've been in contact for a year, patiently writing to each other, and he embarks on a trip to the region outside of Tokyo (where he lives) to see her. Let's just say it isn't the easiest of journeys, and a lot of reminiscing happens. At the climax, things get quite desperate, and the narration becomes solemn and heavy. This is when two, nay, three tears dropped out. The way Makoto Shinkai portrayed Tohno-kun's anguish on a delayed train, knowing that he may have missed his last chance to meet a beloved *wink wink* friend was just...well...too much. Almost real. I could feel that pain. Not sure if it's because I've had a similar feeling...though it probably is. Perhaps I saw a bit of me in Tohno-kun, and that's why it felt 'real'. Meh.
Now, I would've been happy with the ending of 'Oukashou' (no spoilers :D), seeing as to how 'Cosmonaut' and 'Byousoku 5 Centimeters' started losing the touch the first chapter had. But as I said, both rang their own tunes in me. 'Cosmonaut' follows on where 'Oukashou' left off, around three years after the trip. Both Tohno-kun and Akari are senior highschool students now, both living far away from each other (though in the same country). The focus now draws on Tohno's life, and the girl who has been hopelessly smitten by his personality. However, he's still fixated on Akari, or rather the memory of her. A few spoilers coming your way, along with a soliloquy... be ye fairly warned.
By Cosmonaut, the boy is no longer in contact with his girlfriend. However, he continues to dream and think about her, never really doing much else. He types text messages but never sends them, instead preferring to keep her as a memory. A girl at his new school falls for him, but by the end of the film she realises that whatever she does, he'll never notice her because he's too engrossed in thinking of his old love. In 5 Centimeters Per Second, it's been years after, and both the boy and his old love are now adults. Though living in the same city, they never meet. While she has decided to move on, he keeps himself in the past, burying his feelings through work. Still, when cherry blossoms bloom, the feelings re-emerge, and he becomes bitter with the knowledge that he lost his youth mooning over a girl that could still have been his.
For some reason, the whole trilogy resonates within me. There is truth in each one, and especially with the ending. I've seen that relationships work only when both people are ready to make the necessary effort to keep the feelings alive. Yet, even with that knowledge, I don't really do much about it. Rather than go out and actively look for a girlfriend, I assure myself that a) I can't get one because I'm a mess of a person, or b) when she'll arrive in my life, I'll know instantly. Of course, I do realize the futility in both. But I still don't choose to do something else. Like the boy in the movies, I try to avoid it by busying myself with other things, like doing kendo and drawing lazy-ass comics (two things I doubt will get me any closer to finding a girlfriend, coincidentally).
Also, I know for sure that I've once failed to notice the feeling of affection towards me because I was too busy chasing after an idealized version of a girl who rejected me. Not even chasing; just like the boy in the movies, I simply did nothing to remedy my situation. Or really think much beyond it. Perhaps I could have had a great (if short) relationship with a girl who liked me for what I was, rather than spend much of my senior year moping and complaining about how I couldn't get a girlfriend. One fun point to poke out - I was so taken aback by her offer that I never answered. Simply put, I'm not desperate, for if I were, I would be desperately talking up all the Japanese/Chinese/Taiwanese/Korean women on campus in hopes that one of them would consider me good enough as a boyfriend. I think I'm actually scared of making that jump, from only thinking about myself and my wants to thinking about another person all the time.
The irony is, even if I write it out for all to see on this blog, I'm probably not going to do anything about it. Though I don't plan on staying single for the entirety of my university days (which would be a waste of potential, given that I didn't experience it in my school days), I'm probably going to bury myself in kendo and friendships, putting on the airs of a desperate pervert only to satisfy the curiosity of others as to why I don't yet have a girlfriend. Kind of like Tohno-kun.
Well, that's out of the way now. This kind of reminds of the time I wrote an entire essay-length entry on the game The Shadow of the Colossus back in my old (and DEAD! DEAD, I TELL YOU, DEAD! MWAHAHAHAH!) blog. I can get quite worked up about something so damn trivial, and ignore the fact that my *cue Borat-esque accent* home country has been on the business end of a few earth earthquakes lately. Or how people seem to object to the idea of nuclear power, although if as much resources were put into developing better techniques to use it efficiently, it would probably be better than using fossil fuels.
And yes, I do realize that last sentence has nothing at all to do with anything I've said before.
By the way, 5 cm per second is the speed by which sakura petals fall. And that is a major theme in the movie. Next mini-post will be the end theme of the trilogy, and you might see a bit more why it drove me to cry alone in a dark room.
On the other news...Daylight Savings Time starts this Sunday, which is coincidentally the day of my ERTH104 field trip. Joy! This means that instead of going at the reasonably early time (well, for me) of 8.45 AM, I get to go at 7.45 AM. Huzzah! At least it also means it'll get warmer soon, and that the nights will become a little bit more bearable without the heater (the damn thing died on me two weeks ago, but I dare not let anyone come into my guerilla-camp-with-Saxon-treasure-hoard-atmosphere-esque room...*shudder*). Such is life.
Ah, and I completely forgot to put on pictures of the sakura that I mentioned two posts ago. They'll come up as soon as I get batteries. Yeaa.
p.s. a belated Happy Anniversary for my Yankung and Yandung...love you both!
[End Transmission]
The Road To Recovery (And Other Sweet Nothings)
Well, I'm not dead yet, so I have be thankful for that.
Unfortunately, I'm not exactly in the pink just yet (as in 'in the pink', rather than 'in pink', which would be an unusually fashionable choice for me), and thus I embark on this journey to Recovery. Now, I'm not sure when I get there. Heck, I'm not even sure where Recovery is. All I know is that it's close when I can start eating more solid foods and not have my stomach bitch every now and again. So, it's a diet of white bread, pumpkin, eggs, honey, rice cakes, and tofu until then. Not that I'm complaining, really. I've come to appreciate the finer points and subtleties of each as a result of having to eat almost nothing else. Bread brings fluffy and salty-sweet comfort, hard-boiled eggs bring strength and variety. Honey is laced with energy and emotional uplift (although eating it by the spoonful is probably a faster route to diabetes at the rate I'm at), while pumpkin is soft and smooth, going easily down. As for tofu, it's silky and chunky, tasting like nothing else in the menu. And rice cakes? Well, I need a snack every now and then. Ha. Oh, and I forgot the kumara, potatoes, and rice porridge. Meh.
Being sick for the first time on my own proved to be a rather dramatic affair. The moment I acknowledged that the twisting and stabbing pain in my stomach was not something I normally have (ranging from mild to heartburn), it was 2 AM. As luck would have it, my flatmates were up and I got a ride to the clinic. For the days to come, I got visited by some of my countrymen and international friends, all looking quite worried. The plus side was that I got to see a bit more of my RA, who sometimes saw me sitting up in my room and came by to say hi and have a little chat. Heheh. Other than that, felt pretty crappy for about four days while waiting for the lab results to come out. No doubt my folks were a little worried when I told them about it (probably not the best thing to do immediately). But it all worked out. My body took its revenge (and still is), I, as the soul which drives it, had to let it run its course. Now I'm struggling to give it the rest it wants, while my mind keeps going on late into the night. Ah, well. Life will continue...soon enough.
Also, for some reason I'm completely hating my Economics 110 paper. I don't know why. I just do. I feel like I'm failing it (and probably am). Hm. Might have to talk to my lecturer about it.
Other than that...finally managed to book a flight to the homelands...more to come soon. Right after I'm done sussing out every other detail concerning my life here. Yes.
[end transmission]
Unfortunately, I'm not exactly in the pink just yet (as in 'in the pink', rather than 'in pink', which would be an unusually fashionable choice for me), and thus I embark on this journey to Recovery. Now, I'm not sure when I get there. Heck, I'm not even sure where Recovery is. All I know is that it's close when I can start eating more solid foods and not have my stomach bitch every now and again. So, it's a diet of white bread, pumpkin, eggs, honey, rice cakes, and tofu until then. Not that I'm complaining, really. I've come to appreciate the finer points and subtleties of each as a result of having to eat almost nothing else. Bread brings fluffy and salty-sweet comfort, hard-boiled eggs bring strength and variety. Honey is laced with energy and emotional uplift (although eating it by the spoonful is probably a faster route to diabetes at the rate I'm at), while pumpkin is soft and smooth, going easily down. As for tofu, it's silky and chunky, tasting like nothing else in the menu. And rice cakes? Well, I need a snack every now and then. Ha. Oh, and I forgot the kumara, potatoes, and rice porridge. Meh.
Being sick for the first time on my own proved to be a rather dramatic affair. The moment I acknowledged that the twisting and stabbing pain in my stomach was not something I normally have (ranging from mild to heartburn), it was 2 AM. As luck would have it, my flatmates were up and I got a ride to the clinic. For the days to come, I got visited by some of my countrymen and international friends, all looking quite worried. The plus side was that I got to see a bit more of my RA, who sometimes saw me sitting up in my room and came by to say hi and have a little chat. Heheh. Other than that, felt pretty crappy for about four days while waiting for the lab results to come out. No doubt my folks were a little worried when I told them about it (probably not the best thing to do immediately). But it all worked out. My body took its revenge (and still is), I, as the soul which drives it, had to let it run its course. Now I'm struggling to give it the rest it wants, while my mind keeps going on late into the night. Ah, well. Life will continue...soon enough.
Also, for some reason I'm completely hating my Economics 110 paper. I don't know why. I just do. I feel like I'm failing it (and probably am). Hm. Might have to talk to my lecturer about it.
Other than that...finally managed to book a flight to the homelands...more to come soon. Right after I'm done sussing out every other detail concerning my life here. Yes.
[end transmission]
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Cherry Blossoms and Abdominal Pains
This has to be a first time that I get to see cherry blossoms in a long time. This has also got to be the first time I experience inexplicable abdominal pain.
No, I haven't been drinking the detergent. And no, it's not a period.
For some reason, I woke up at two this morning with the center of stomach feeling like pins and needles. I figured it was some really bad indigestion going on, so I downed two bottles of Norit (yay, charcoal!) and tried go back to bed. By three, it got a bit worse, and it definitely wasn't the gas. The best I could do was huddle and clutch my stomach, hoping it would get better. It didn't. So I figured I might as well eat the pre-fast meal of the day. Which turned out to be quite a mistake, seeing as my stomach was disagreeing with my downing two kiwifruits and a piece of bread. So I downed another bottle and hoped it would pass. Not the brightest idea, I know. Anyway, I was able to somewhat sleep in, and had to miss two morning tutorials as it got a little uncontrollable. By eleven, it subsided enough to allow for proper movement. Feh. I probably should've broken my fast by then. Go figure.
Anyway, no doctors on campus until Monday, which leaves me only with the option of going into the town clinic...which is fcking expensive. Option 1: ignore and ride the pain. Option 2: give in and pay the bill to figure out what exactly is eating me from within (wow, so emo).
The upside was that I finally noticed that we have cherry blossoms on campus. And they're in bloom! If it weren't Ramadan (and drinking on campus were allowed), I'd have asked some of the guys from kendo to have a little cherry blossom viewing event. The kind with drinking hot sake and singing off key. Yes. And staging mini-pseudo-kabuki plays! Damn.
I'll post some pictures of the cherry blossoms as soon as I get some replacement batteries for the camera...curses...
[end transmission]
No, I haven't been drinking the detergent. And no, it's not a period.
For some reason, I woke up at two this morning with the center of stomach feeling like pins and needles. I figured it was some really bad indigestion going on, so I downed two bottles of Norit (yay, charcoal!) and tried go back to bed. By three, it got a bit worse, and it definitely wasn't the gas. The best I could do was huddle and clutch my stomach, hoping it would get better. It didn't. So I figured I might as well eat the pre-fast meal of the day. Which turned out to be quite a mistake, seeing as my stomach was disagreeing with my downing two kiwifruits and a piece of bread. So I downed another bottle and hoped it would pass. Not the brightest idea, I know. Anyway, I was able to somewhat sleep in, and had to miss two morning tutorials as it got a little uncontrollable. By eleven, it subsided enough to allow for proper movement. Feh. I probably should've broken my fast by then. Go figure.
Anyway, no doctors on campus until Monday, which leaves me only with the option of going into the town clinic...which is fcking expensive. Option 1: ignore and ride the pain. Option 2: give in and pay the bill to figure out what exactly is eating me from within (wow, so emo).
The upside was that I finally noticed that we have cherry blossoms on campus. And they're in bloom! If it weren't Ramadan (and drinking on campus were allowed), I'd have asked some of the guys from kendo to have a little cherry blossom viewing event. The kind with drinking hot sake and singing off key. Yes. And staging mini-pseudo-kabuki plays! Damn.
I'll post some pictures of the cherry blossoms as soon as I get some replacement batteries for the camera...curses...
[end transmission]
Monday, September 10, 2007
Soemamanga D'oh!
I just felt like saying that after wasting half my weekend's sleeptime budget watching Azumanga Daioh. Like Family Guy, with even less cerebral content.
Of course, when the opening theme goes in the vein of
[end transmission]
Of course, when the opening theme goes in the vein of
WONDERLAND! Welcome, for you FAIRYLAND! The joys of loveyou know you're asking for trouble if you expect anything other than an half-hour of brain rot. Or a Quaker Oats promo, come to think of it. But that's beside the point. It's silly. Just silly. Now, carry on.
LOVE'S ALL THE WAY! Every day, the adventures in wheat, so exciting
[end transmission]
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Ramadan!
Whoa.
In about 3 days the month of Ramadan is about to start. And this year will be a milestone for yours truly; it will mark the first time I'll be fasting for a month straight (hopefully) alone and in a foreign land. This means things will be different here. Very different. For one, nobody's going to wake me up at 4 AM to eat sahur (pre-fast meal). Second, I'm going to have prepare my own sahur. Third, I have to wake up early enough to prepare and eat my sahur. Fourth, I'm going to have to make my own fast breaking meals (breakfast?). Fifth, there will be no external indicators of when I can break my fast (e.g. the mosque loudspeakers or television broadcasts back home), so I'll have to be twice as alert.
So, yea. It'll definitely be a lot more different. But I'm looking forward to it. It'll be something to write about. Especially after I start realizing that staying up till 2 AM is not the best choice when I have to wake up at 4 to eat. Heheh. And maybe having to do this all on my own will enlighten me a bit more. Maybe. Nonetheless, it'll be new and (perhaps) exciting. Yay for me.
Righty-o. Other than that, I'm now a 5th kyu kendoka, and I only have one more essay to do for this semester. Oh, and I found a new halal deli in town. Sweet. That'll probably help for my sahurs. Yosh!
[end transmission]
In about 3 days the month of Ramadan is about to start. And this year will be a milestone for yours truly; it will mark the first time I'll be fasting for a month straight (hopefully) alone and in a foreign land. This means things will be different here. Very different. For one, nobody's going to wake me up at 4 AM to eat sahur (pre-fast meal). Second, I'm going to have prepare my own sahur. Third, I have to wake up early enough to prepare and eat my sahur. Fourth, I'm going to have to make my own fast breaking meals (breakfast?). Fifth, there will be no external indicators of when I can break my fast (e.g. the mosque loudspeakers or television broadcasts back home), so I'll have to be twice as alert.
So, yea. It'll definitely be a lot more different. But I'm looking forward to it. It'll be something to write about. Especially after I start realizing that staying up till 2 AM is not the best choice when I have to wake up at 4 to eat. Heheh. And maybe having to do this all on my own will enlighten me a bit more. Maybe. Nonetheless, it'll be new and (perhaps) exciting. Yay for me.
Righty-o. Other than that, I'm now a 5th kyu kendoka, and I only have one more essay to do for this semester. Oh, and I found a new halal deli in town. Sweet. That'll probably help for my sahurs. Yosh!
[end transmission]
Friday, August 31, 2007
Ad Infinitum
I had this thought stewing around in my head since the night of the lunar eclipse. The night the moon turned blood-red in all its ethereal glory.
It struck me that all I could think about of the eclipse was that the moon turned blood red, something eerie and ominous. Something that comes out of a videogame, where I’d be ambushed by some random monsters on the way home from kendo. That image stuck on my mind so much that I couldn’t really appreciate any other aspect of it properly. Sure, it was blood red, but that’s about all I cared. I didn’t care for any cultural significances, or celestial movements. I had effectively limited my scope to one that I was comfortable with.
Not that limiting you view is always a bad thing, really. To even try to view anything from all angles, whether physical, mental, emotional, or whatever, would drive you insane. Thus, it’s sometimes necessary for one to place a certain view on things, in a way that you’re comfortable and able to cope with. I believe it’s part of being human.
Example, a person who is not hungry can view an apple in many ways. That person may look at it and appreciate how flawless its complexion is, how healthy it looks, or how its placement in a fruit basket looks. On the other hand, a person who is hungry will most likely view the apple in less ways, probably only seeing the apple as a fruit which can be consumed.
Alternatively, we could use personalities. I believe that if my many aspects of personality are hooked out of me and extended, I’d probably reach China, or maybe even go around the world. However, the ‘me’ that people see and perceive is but a fraction of that length, in a spectrum which people accept me in. One of my juniors, a girl who knows me only through words and bits of information scattered throughout online conversations, sees that ‘me’ as a loving (perhaps doting) elder brother that she might not have had. What she will think of me once the cybernetic barrier is lifted and we finally meet in person, that will be something to look forward to. Would I meet her expectations of what she perceives me to be? It’s easy to give advice and talk to a person you clearly don’t know, but to do so once you have extended the boundaries of perception and become emotionally involved with that person...that’s a whole different story entirely. Probably most of the people who talk to me over MSN (discounting close, ‘real-life’ friends) hardly know me as anything but the ‘big brother’ presence which assures them that things will be fine and tries to give them good advice to learn from. Ironically, my arbitrary advice on romantic relationships seems to work on others rather than myself. Personal experiences drawn from observing the love lives of others doesn’t automatically work, useful as it is for reference.
On that same note, most of my best friends first saw me as an annoying, somewhat snooty jerk who kept getting his foot in his mouth and complicating affairs. Likewise, my relationship with them mostly started out on the wrong foot (e.g. arguing with Han on the bus because he couldn’t shut up, starting an unfriendly rivalry with Nda in drama class, immediately showing Yaz my photo albums the first time she came to my house, constantly ‘harassing’ Apu because I had a huge crush on her...the list just goes on and on) and ironically end up with a strong bond of camaraderie. Their perception spectrums (as well as mine) were gradually broadened after a rather constricted first opinion, generally because of some event that shows either or both parties in a light the other hasn’t seen. Or just that we have nobody else to hang around with, as was most cases of my friendships. The best of comradeships are formed in the most difficult of situations...even if it’s because of a difficulty in hanging out with other people.
I could put this in a religious/political perspective, but why bother? My views on those things don’t really matter. As far as I’m concerned, my religious perspective is wide enough to tolerate others (which don’t try to impose their perspectives on me) yet narrow enough for me to keep focused and detailed on. Politics...well...let’s just say I have a thing against politics. It’s all a big, convoluted, hypocritical mass which is as fickle as lady luck. Perspectives in that change as often as thoughts in someone with ADD.
The whole point of this entry was just to remind myself that although the world around me really has no boundaries if I want to view it that way, I automatically constrict myself to a boxed-in viewpoint, much like conventional maps. I do it because it’s convenient, comfortable, and less complicated. I could choose to try to view people in all their aspects, but all that would do is make me stalk a few people for years just to know every angle of them.
And why the serious rant all of a sudden? No real reason, I'm just feeling pseudo-philosophical.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Whoa
I just figured out that all if I had been doing my essay with the amount of inspiration and time I spent on making these rantings, I'd probably have had a less guilt-ridden 2-week break. Crap.
[End Transmission]
[End Transmission]
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Noctural Feeding Habits
I have a confession to make.
I have developed this strange tendency to suddenly wake up without cause and unable to sleep in the wee hours of the morning every now and then. This one of those nows and thens. Coincidentally, I also wake up hungry when I do so. Just as 1 + 1 equals a positive integer and the Star Wars franchise will remain a cashcow till Lucas buys the farm (on Tattooine, one guesses), I revert into my noctural predator mode. Unlike other nightcrawlers, those who prey on others out in the deep darkness, I prefer to recede to the confines of my kitchen. And the rabbits around here are too skinny anyway.
Thus, it falls upon what meager stores I have amassed (an oxymoron on its own) to provide me with sustenance. I'm not talking midnight munchies here; I'm talking full-scale dinner. If possible, a properly done one. If not, a half-assed (and half-edible) abortion of the culinary world would suffice. As it were, tonight I felt a subtle lust for...wait for it...flesh. Such carnal longing, such primal instinct! The other not-so-primal lust was for potatoes. Scratching my head and checking the fridge in a vain attempt to see instant meals which included potatoes and meat, I did the next logical thing (or illogical, if you're not me); looked for a recipe online. Then it struck me. Potatoes? Meat? An equation formed, albeit a rather simple and delusional one.
I have developed this strange tendency to suddenly wake up without cause and unable to sleep in the wee hours of the morning every now and then. This one of those nows and thens. Coincidentally, I also wake up hungry when I do so. Just as 1 + 1 equals a positive integer and the Star Wars franchise will remain a cashcow till Lucas buys the farm (on Tattooine, one guesses), I revert into my noctural predator mode. Unlike other nightcrawlers, those who prey on others out in the deep darkness, I prefer to recede to the confines of my kitchen. And the rabbits around here are too skinny anyway.
Thus, it falls upon what meager stores I have amassed (an oxymoron on its own) to provide me with sustenance. I'm not talking midnight munchies here; I'm talking full-scale dinner. If possible, a properly done one. If not, a half-assed (and half-edible) abortion of the culinary world would suffice. As it were, tonight I felt a subtle lust for...wait for it...flesh. Such carnal longing, such primal instinct! The other not-so-primal lust was for potatoes. Scratching my head and checking the fridge in a vain attempt to see instant meals which included potatoes and meat, I did the next logical thing (or illogical, if you're not me); looked for a recipe online. Then it struck me. Potatoes? Meat? An equation formed, albeit a rather simple and delusional one.
Meat + Potatoes = Shepherd's Pie
Having at least half a pound of mince meat (and half a teaspoon of good sense) as well as four potatoes taking root in the dark bottom of one of the kitchen drawers, I set upon the task with great vigor. That vigor was to last ten minutes, during which I managed to peel and dice all four potatoes and get the meat mixed and spiced. Upon reading the next set of instructions, my vigor was shattered. Beef stock? Flour? Eggs? I had not counted upon the use of ingredients I did not have and began to curse towards the ceilings (a psychological phenomenon otherwise known as denial). Also, I noticed that the meat in the mixing bowl was...less than adequate...for the task at hand. The pie was doomed. Nay, it was never meant to be.
My head spun with the options now left to me. Regardless of my decision, both meat and potatoes would have to be cooked, no bargaining with the dread ghost of decomposition. I could either attempt to create a potato pie with a garnish of pan-fried meat, or I could have pan-fried meat with a garnish of potatoes. Such a choice, heart-wrenching as it truly was, had to be made. Quickly (and while still chatting up people on MSN), I pulled the proverbial trigger. I made my stand. Stir-fried meat and a side of potatoes it would be.
I wouldn't dare bore anyone with a mundane description of how I cooked it. Instead, allow me to display this passage from the lore of O-Soe-Ma (Chapter MCXII, Volume XXII).
And thus it came to pass that O-Soe-Ma, the young general and amateur gastronomist, came upon a valley where two races lived side by side, neutral to each other. One was of beings made of minced beef, the other of potatoes. A species of mobile onions also lived nearby, flitting in and out of holes in the ground. Being a sly and crafty (though altogether bumbling) strategist, Soe-Ma saw an opportunity to bring both territories within his burgeoning nation-state's grip. Also, it was about time to feed the men.
Soe-Ma waited till nightfall, when the villages would be off their guards. Splitting his small army in half, he order one half to storm the mince village and the other to storm the potatoes. Show no quarter. Take every one of them, dead or alive. A glint of madness came to his eyes, and even his trusted captains shuddered. The man had done some strange things (including rumored fits of madness where he'd begin to sing and dance for no apparent reason in the moonlight), but this transcended all. To utterly annihilate two innocent villages in a five minute decision was, indeed, madness. But they too felt hungry, and watching the villagers all day only made them hungriers. The general smiled as he let his dogs of war loose, brandishing knives, peelers, and seasoning. His men would feast on the flesh of innocents, stain themselves with the starch of the unsuspecting.
There was no battle worthy of mention here, save a dispirited defence made by the few potatoes who managed to retreat to the village's stronghold. They lasted only an hour before giving up. For their insolence, they, as well as most of those who survived, were skinned alive and put into pots of boiling water. Those unlucky enough to still be conscious after the boiling witnessed yet another atrocity; their bodies were crushed and mashed till none would recognize. Weak cries could still be heard from within the bowl of doom as soldiers worked the mashing contraption.
The minced meats had no chance; they were taken from their beds and beaten, soldiers pouring the torturous seasonings all over their wounds with great relish. They were then taken and tossed into a contraption on the most twisted people could think of; a gigantic frying pan. Some pleaded for their lives, some fainted on the spot. All were doused in flammable olive oil and tossed in the sizzling den of metal. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of crackling flesh. It was all over.
That night, Soe-Ma's men dined on a special meal. Some felt horrible, others simply ate. The had literally dined on the remains of the defeated. The General himself tucked into his grisly dinner with great gusto, smiling all the way through. Truly, a monster among men.
Wow. I managed to put myself off something I already cooked just by reading that. Oh well. There you have it. Kind of. Not really.
Good night.
[End Transmission]
Having at least half a pound of mince meat (and half a teaspoon of good sense) as well as four potatoes taking root in the dark bottom of one of the kitchen drawers, I set upon the task with great vigor. That vigor was to last ten minutes, during which I managed to peel and dice all four potatoes and get the meat mixed and spiced. Upon reading the next set of instructions, my vigor was shattered. Beef stock? Flour? Eggs? I had not counted upon the use of ingredients I did not have and began to curse towards the ceilings (a psychological phenomenon otherwise known as denial). Also, I noticed that the meat in the mixing bowl was...less than adequate...for the task at hand. The pie was doomed. Nay, it was never meant to be.
My head spun with the options now left to me. Regardless of my decision, both meat and potatoes would have to be cooked, no bargaining with the dread ghost of decomposition. I could either attempt to create a potato pie with a garnish of pan-fried meat, or I could have pan-fried meat with a garnish of potatoes. Such a choice, heart-wrenching as it truly was, had to be made. Quickly (and while still chatting up people on MSN), I pulled the proverbial trigger. I made my stand. Stir-fried meat and a side of potatoes it would be.
I wouldn't dare bore anyone with a mundane description of how I cooked it. Instead, allow me to display this passage from the lore of O-Soe-Ma (Chapter MCXII, Volume XXII).
And thus it came to pass that O-Soe-Ma, the young general and amateur gastronomist, came upon a valley where two races lived side by side, neutral to each other. One was of beings made of minced beef, the other of potatoes. A species of mobile onions also lived nearby, flitting in and out of holes in the ground. Being a sly and crafty (though altogether bumbling) strategist, Soe-Ma saw an opportunity to bring both territories within his burgeoning nation-state's grip. Also, it was about time to feed the men.
Soe-Ma waited till nightfall, when the villages would be off their guards. Splitting his small army in half, he order one half to storm the mince village and the other to storm the potatoes. Show no quarter. Take every one of them, dead or alive. A glint of madness came to his eyes, and even his trusted captains shuddered. The man had done some strange things (including rumored fits of madness where he'd begin to sing and dance for no apparent reason in the moonlight), but this transcended all. To utterly annihilate two innocent villages in a five minute decision was, indeed, madness. But they too felt hungry, and watching the villagers all day only made them hungriers. The general smiled as he let his dogs of war loose, brandishing knives, peelers, and seasoning. His men would feast on the flesh of innocents, stain themselves with the starch of the unsuspecting.
There was no battle worthy of mention here, save a dispirited defence made by the few potatoes who managed to retreat to the village's stronghold. They lasted only an hour before giving up. For their insolence, they, as well as most of those who survived, were skinned alive and put into pots of boiling water. Those unlucky enough to still be conscious after the boiling witnessed yet another atrocity; their bodies were crushed and mashed till none would recognize. Weak cries could still be heard from within the bowl of doom as soldiers worked the mashing contraption.
The minced meats had no chance; they were taken from their beds and beaten, soldiers pouring the torturous seasonings all over their wounds with great relish. They were then taken and tossed into a contraption on the most twisted people could think of; a gigantic frying pan. Some pleaded for their lives, some fainted on the spot. All were doused in flammable olive oil and tossed in the sizzling den of metal. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of crackling flesh. It was all over.
That night, Soe-Ma's men dined on a special meal. Some felt horrible, others simply ate. The had literally dined on the remains of the defeated. The General himself tucked into his grisly dinner with great gusto, smiling all the way through. Truly, a monster among men.
Wow. I managed to put myself off something I already cooked just by reading that. Oh well. There you have it. Kind of. Not really.
Good night.
[End Transmission]
Monday, August 27, 2007
Oh, Them Halcyon Days
It’s funny. I’ve spent so long not thinking about home, and all it takes for me to feel a little pang of longing is looking at my old highschool’s website. Strange how memories of a place that is no longer the same for me affects me more than images and conversations with people from home. It’s as if the whole notion of home is overshadowed by that of friendship and camaraderie. Not that I see home is unimportant, that is. But home is something I…well…go home to. And hopefully will always be able to return to. On the other hand, highschool was different. Those were days of close-knit companionship, first loves, and thinking of little else. Back home, most thoughts were of either going abroad or looking forwards (or dreading) to a new day filled with fun and misadventures.
Yes, I do miss my highschool. Not so much the school and the studies themselves, but the people who were part of my experience. My friends, for sure. I found that friendship can be as thick as blood (though not as thick as my skull, at most times) and lasting friendships can be forged out of the fires of rivalry and hardship. My best friends, more like real brothers and sisters than simple friends. My juniors, those who saw me as less of a senior and more of a big-brother figure who was willing to lend a helping piece of advice or two. My film club comrades, people with whom I shared work, pain, joy, food, and the occasional bed. My teachers, who were there to teach and support me, in all their quirky little ways. Like Jacqueline Z. Cussen, the ‘Mother of the Revolution’ and year-level coordinator for the last years of my highschool. Truly a character straight out of a Shakespearean satire. And my principals…well, they were there, and they were always pretty fun to mess around with (like the time *some people* issued the fake announcements detailing uniform requirements…Ronald McDonald shoes, anyone?). In short, it was an entirely different world. And it still sticks to my heart like that piece of gum I stepped on earlier this morning stick to my shoe.
A testament to our glory days.
Alas, even if I return, it will never be same experience. My friends have gone, my juniors grown up, my teachers off to new horizons…even the buildings have changed and improved. And that was only a month after I graduated. So I can only look in longing at the photographs and smile as I read the online newsletters, all the while reminiscing the ‘good old days’ I once had. I certainly won’t forget them, but they’re just that; memories, and nothing more.
C’est la vie, shikata ga nai, and whatnot.
[End Transmission]
Yes, I do miss my highschool. Not so much the school and the studies themselves, but the people who were part of my experience. My friends, for sure. I found that friendship can be as thick as blood (though not as thick as my skull, at most times) and lasting friendships can be forged out of the fires of rivalry and hardship. My best friends, more like real brothers and sisters than simple friends. My juniors, those who saw me as less of a senior and more of a big-brother figure who was willing to lend a helping piece of advice or two. My film club comrades, people with whom I shared work, pain, joy, food, and the occasional bed. My teachers, who were there to teach and support me, in all their quirky little ways. Like Jacqueline Z. Cussen, the ‘Mother of the Revolution’ and year-level coordinator for the last years of my highschool. Truly a character straight out of a Shakespearean satire. And my principals…well, they were there, and they were always pretty fun to mess around with (like the time *some people* issued the fake announcements detailing uniform requirements…Ronald McDonald shoes, anyone?). In short, it was an entirely different world. And it still sticks to my heart like that piece of gum I stepped on earlier this morning stick to my shoe.
A testament to our glory days.Alas, even if I return, it will never be same experience. My friends have gone, my juniors grown up, my teachers off to new horizons…even the buildings have changed and improved. And that was only a month after I graduated. So I can only look in longing at the photographs and smile as I read the online newsletters, all the while reminiscing the ‘good old days’ I once had. I certainly won’t forget them, but they’re just that; memories, and nothing more.
C’est la vie, shikata ga nai, and whatnot.
[End Transmission]
One Evening
The young swordsman looks up, scanning the blurry faces which greet his gaze. He swallowed hard, hoping not to let his new subordinates know how nervous he was. In truth, he was slightly trembling; he had only come from a recent injury during training to be put immediately in the position of squad captain a few hours before the battle. Eight other warriors, standing gaunt and silent, were to be under his command, at least before the fighting broke out. Knowing that time was of the essence, he hurriedly tried to recognize his fighters to draw up an improvised plan of attack. He cursed inwardly for his poor vision; but even if his eyesight was perfect, he doubted his leadership skills would have sufficed for the sudden occasion. Hearing that the enemy were approaching fast, he promptly gave out his orders. Each nodded, and ran into position to greet the opponent.
There was silence as the opposition arrived, almost gliding out of the woodwork. Exactly nine other samurai stood in formation across their lines, each with swords at ready. Not a soul moved, not one noise was made.
Then they clashed.
One by one, the warriors rushed forwards to intercept their foes. In pairs they fought, swords shimmering in the last rays of the day. Battlecries and howls were flung at one another, both to discourage the enemy and cheer on tiring comrades.
Still standing in the rear, yelling out support to his squad, was the Captain. But even as he cheered, from the corner of his eye he could see several warriors already falling to the blades of their foes. Some lasted longer than others; some had barely begun to fight before they were slain. His heart began to drop, but he forced himself to keep strong. As Captain, he could not afford to let his men know he was afraid. It was then that he saw a sight that made his heart skip a beat. He had seen his adversary.
The one person he knew was in the enemy's squad, the one person he hoped not to meet. He had, in fact, set himself up to face the champion. His mentor. Curiously, he felt no further fear nor hesitation when he stepped out from the rear to meet his opponent. There was no turning back. There was also no way that he could possibly win against the person who taught him how to kill another. He took a deep breath as he went into his kamae. Faced with the realisation of certain death, one thought took precedence over all else. He would certainly not die without a fight. With that in mind, he roared and sprang towards the woman he called teacher.
His first strike was immediately parried, though he was able to close the gap between the swords in one bound. Face to face with his teacher, he was able to look into her eyes from under her helmet. He had no time to think before he jumped backwards, hoping to strike down the centre of her head while she let her guard down. But the blow was weak, and only managed to bounce off the helmet. Gathering his courage and strength for another attack, he roared once more as he leaped forwards, sword raised high. It was then that he knew he had failed.
He had jumped too far, and too soon.
Within a split second, his opponent had disappeared from sight. It was also at the moment when he he felt something slip between the right side of his stomach to the left side of his hip. A moment passed before he, still flying forwards, felt the searing pain. He landed heavily on his feet, still in the final position of the strike had it actually struck his foe. He looked down and saw the damage that had been done. His armor had been sheared completely through; where the metal parted crimson stains grew on his gi. He tasted and felt fresh blood trickling out of his mouth as his vision grew even worse. He noticed that there was no longer any feeling his legs, and toppled forwards. Everything became slow, and bright. His sword had long fallen from his hands, his face half-buried in the mud. His breath was shallow and ragged, and his mouth moved as if to utter words. Words which would never be heard by any other ears.
He gave a shudder, and exhaled for the last time.
The captain was dead.
The battle was lost.
There was silence as the opposition arrived, almost gliding out of the woodwork. Exactly nine other samurai stood in formation across their lines, each with swords at ready. Not a soul moved, not one noise was made.
Then they clashed.
One by one, the warriors rushed forwards to intercept their foes. In pairs they fought, swords shimmering in the last rays of the day. Battlecries and howls were flung at one another, both to discourage the enemy and cheer on tiring comrades.
Still standing in the rear, yelling out support to his squad, was the Captain. But even as he cheered, from the corner of his eye he could see several warriors already falling to the blades of their foes. Some lasted longer than others; some had barely begun to fight before they were slain. His heart began to drop, but he forced himself to keep strong. As Captain, he could not afford to let his men know he was afraid. It was then that he saw a sight that made his heart skip a beat. He had seen his adversary.
The one person he knew was in the enemy's squad, the one person he hoped not to meet. He had, in fact, set himself up to face the champion. His mentor. Curiously, he felt no further fear nor hesitation when he stepped out from the rear to meet his opponent. There was no turning back. There was also no way that he could possibly win against the person who taught him how to kill another. He took a deep breath as he went into his kamae. Faced with the realisation of certain death, one thought took precedence over all else. He would certainly not die without a fight. With that in mind, he roared and sprang towards the woman he called teacher.
His first strike was immediately parried, though he was able to close the gap between the swords in one bound. Face to face with his teacher, he was able to look into her eyes from under her helmet. He had no time to think before he jumped backwards, hoping to strike down the centre of her head while she let her guard down. But the blow was weak, and only managed to bounce off the helmet. Gathering his courage and strength for another attack, he roared once more as he leaped forwards, sword raised high. It was then that he knew he had failed.
He had jumped too far, and too soon.
Within a split second, his opponent had disappeared from sight. It was also at the moment when he he felt something slip between the right side of his stomach to the left side of his hip. A moment passed before he, still flying forwards, felt the searing pain. He landed heavily on his feet, still in the final position of the strike had it actually struck his foe. He looked down and saw the damage that had been done. His armor had been sheared completely through; where the metal parted crimson stains grew on his gi. He tasted and felt fresh blood trickling out of his mouth as his vision grew even worse. He noticed that there was no longer any feeling his legs, and toppled forwards. Everything became slow, and bright. His sword had long fallen from his hands, his face half-buried in the mud. His breath was shallow and ragged, and his mouth moved as if to utter words. Words which would never be heard by any other ears.
He gave a shudder, and exhaled for the last time.
The captain was dead.
The battle was lost.
Monday, July 30, 2007
On Oversleeping, Raw Fish, and Harry Potter
Question: What do the three topics above have in common?
Answer: Nothing at all.
If anyone really tried to deduct what's running through my mind when I write my entries, I'd suggest it's really a waste of their time. Now, on to the real post!
My oversleeping has become a dangerous habit of late. It's only been a month since I entered the semester and already I've been missing morning lectures here and there. I know the problem, and I know the solution. Breaking the habit, however, is a different matter. For those in the audience that know me, I'm a bit of a nightcrawler; Sleep late, wake late. Yes, I do realise that if I shifted that time a little bit back (say, 5 hours?) I'd have exactly the same time to do all my business for the day and still have time left over for quality me time. So that's what I'm working on, currently. That and getting to class on time. I still managed to get late to Friday's 9 am lecture even though I woke up at 6 (one of those mercifully rare occurrences that coincide with the arrival of the blue moon and motivation). So yes...time management's still the big issue. But I'm getting there. Trust me. These sleep-depraved eyes can only betray so much longing for a balance to the system. No, seriously.
I bought a kilo of raw fish last Friday. Why did I buy a kilo? I had no idea how much it would be, and I naively thought it would last in the fridge for at least a week. Contrary to my expectations (thought it's probably everybody else's), it did not. I managed to use four of the nine fillets and turned them into teriyaki-marinated grilled fish (had it for breakfat today...sugoi, ne...) on the weekend before checking them again this afternoon. To my surprise, it smelt fishy...-er than before. At first I thought it was the rotting vegetation that lines the veggie bin (I kid you not; nobody's willing to take responsibility for the marsh that lies within the recesses of our refrigerator) . Then I poked my hand in...and surprise, surprise, it was somewhat...slimy. Let me allow myself a short narrative in which our hero finds that his fish has, indeed, joined the undead.
As he reached tentatively into the plastic bag which held his marine sustenance, he noticed an odor most foul which seemed to emanate from within. It was a smell unlike any other, the smell of...death. Undaunted, whether by courage or sheer stupidity, he reached farther and farther within to grasp the true meaning of what lay within. A single touch warned him; a single, delicate touch of a dirty finger onto the half-putrid flesh of the animal. His stomach turned, though not from disgust; rather, from the hopes that his money had not been spent in vain. In desperation, he rammed his hand in, and drew out a single fillet of fish. It did not look as if it were in the throes of decay; it was still white, as white as it had been when he purchased it. But the trade of flesh had passed over the three days know as the weekend, and the bag had not been seen to properly. An opaque layer of fine slime covered the fish, and that too smelt foul, just like his laundry. Shaking his head and muttering in denial, he uttered the mantra he thought would work; "it's still safe to eat". But in his heart of hearts he knew that the fish was beyond saving. All five of them would have to be sent away, never to enjoy the ultimate sacrifice within his churning stomach. Yet, perhaps it was for the best of all that our hero placed the steadily decomposing remains in the trash can, whence they would be taken away and left to rot in peace. And after all, he was now a little wiser. Never again would he put fish in the fridge for more than 3 days.
Wow. I'd give J.K. Rowlings a run for her money with such superb storytelling skills (thanks, Nenek). And speaking of which, I read the last book. At the end of the book I realised three things. First, it ended the way I knew it would end...and come off extremely cheesy by doing so. I don't want to be a spoiler, but let's just say the best friends will become...ahem...more related to each other, and some character pairings seem to be the work of a clandestine (and rabid) fanfic group. Or maybe it was just Ms. Rowlings feeling 'inspired'. Second, it doesn't have Harry going all postal and turning into 'Dirty Harry' the Auror who blasts the living daylights out of every Death Eater he finds (although I do not doubt that a like-minded fanfic writer is typing away furiously with this idea as I write). Thirdly, I realised that I had wasted an entire weekend reading the damn thing while I should've gone and did my homework. Alas, such is my self control that the smallest distraction sends me packing off in another direction.
Still, I'm quite happy that Harry Potter ended the way it did. Unlike many an anime/manga, say, Dragonball or Bleach, both of which seem to head off into the horizon with the number of episodes and story arcs still being introduced to the franchise, it broke it off at the right moment. Sure, I'd like to know what happens afterwards (and I will not accept "happily ever after" as an answer), but I'll leave that to the rabid fanfic writers. Now, if I can only find some time to go at the end of the week, I should be able to procure more fish...and maybe hook me up with some more of that Samurai Champloo...oh, yes. Then it'll all be sweet as.
Ciao.
[End Transmission]
Answer: Nothing at all.
If anyone really tried to deduct what's running through my mind when I write my entries, I'd suggest it's really a waste of their time. Now, on to the real post!
My oversleeping has become a dangerous habit of late. It's only been a month since I entered the semester and already I've been missing morning lectures here and there. I know the problem, and I know the solution. Breaking the habit, however, is a different matter. For those in the audience that know me, I'm a bit of a nightcrawler; Sleep late, wake late. Yes, I do realise that if I shifted that time a little bit back (say, 5 hours?) I'd have exactly the same time to do all my business for the day and still have time left over for quality me time. So that's what I'm working on, currently. That and getting to class on time. I still managed to get late to Friday's 9 am lecture even though I woke up at 6 (one of those mercifully rare occurrences that coincide with the arrival of the blue moon and motivation). So yes...time management's still the big issue. But I'm getting there. Trust me. These sleep-depraved eyes can only betray so much longing for a balance to the system. No, seriously.
I bought a kilo of raw fish last Friday. Why did I buy a kilo? I had no idea how much it would be, and I naively thought it would last in the fridge for at least a week. Contrary to my expectations (thought it's probably everybody else's), it did not. I managed to use four of the nine fillets and turned them into teriyaki-marinated grilled fish (had it for breakfat today...sugoi, ne...) on the weekend before checking them again this afternoon. To my surprise, it smelt fishy...-er than before. At first I thought it was the rotting vegetation that lines the veggie bin (I kid you not; nobody's willing to take responsibility for the marsh that lies within the recesses of our refrigerator) . Then I poked my hand in...and surprise, surprise, it was somewhat...slimy. Let me allow myself a short narrative in which our hero finds that his fish has, indeed, joined the undead.
As he reached tentatively into the plastic bag which held his marine sustenance, he noticed an odor most foul which seemed to emanate from within. It was a smell unlike any other, the smell of...death. Undaunted, whether by courage or sheer stupidity, he reached farther and farther within to grasp the true meaning of what lay within. A single touch warned him; a single, delicate touch of a dirty finger onto the half-putrid flesh of the animal. His stomach turned, though not from disgust; rather, from the hopes that his money had not been spent in vain. In desperation, he rammed his hand in, and drew out a single fillet of fish. It did not look as if it were in the throes of decay; it was still white, as white as it had been when he purchased it. But the trade of flesh had passed over the three days know as the weekend, and the bag had not been seen to properly. An opaque layer of fine slime covered the fish, and that too smelt foul, just like his laundry. Shaking his head and muttering in denial, he uttered the mantra he thought would work; "it's still safe to eat". But in his heart of hearts he knew that the fish was beyond saving. All five of them would have to be sent away, never to enjoy the ultimate sacrifice within his churning stomach. Yet, perhaps it was for the best of all that our hero placed the steadily decomposing remains in the trash can, whence they would be taken away and left to rot in peace. And after all, he was now a little wiser. Never again would he put fish in the fridge for more than 3 days.
Wow. I'd give J.K. Rowlings a run for her money with such superb storytelling skills (thanks, Nenek). And speaking of which, I read the last book. At the end of the book I realised three things. First, it ended the way I knew it would end...and come off extremely cheesy by doing so. I don't want to be a spoiler, but let's just say the best friends will become...ahem...more related to each other, and some character pairings seem to be the work of a clandestine (and rabid) fanfic group. Or maybe it was just Ms. Rowlings feeling 'inspired'. Second, it doesn't have Harry going all postal and turning into 'Dirty Harry' the Auror who blasts the living daylights out of every Death Eater he finds (although I do not doubt that a like-minded fanfic writer is typing away furiously with this idea as I write). Thirdly, I realised that I had wasted an entire weekend reading the damn thing while I should've gone and did my homework. Alas, such is my self control that the smallest distraction sends me packing off in another direction.
Still, I'm quite happy that Harry Potter ended the way it did. Unlike many an anime/manga, say, Dragonball or Bleach, both of which seem to head off into the horizon with the number of episodes and story arcs still being introduced to the franchise, it broke it off at the right moment. Sure, I'd like to know what happens afterwards (and I will not accept "happily ever after" as an answer), but I'll leave that to the rabid fanfic writers. Now, if I can only find some time to go at the end of the week, I should be able to procure more fish...and maybe hook me up with some more of that Samurai Champloo...oh, yes. Then it'll all be sweet as.
Ciao.
[End Transmission]
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Reflections: Famiglia
I said I'd post something up about my family's visit, and here it is. Apologies all around for those who've been waiting for me to put something decent up (oh, how I love stroking my ego).
---------------------------------------------------------
How sweet. I must've been pretty high when that came around. Anyway, work to do, things to reflect. Next post...something completely different.
[End Transmission]
---------------------------------------------------------
It’s been almost a month now since the family came over for a visit, which this post is somewhat long-delayed. Well, better I wrote about it as a reflection rather than something half-hearted and asinine typed up in the wee hours of the morning. The inspiration happened to hit after today’s kendo session.
Simply put, I’ve been a part of, or rather made myself a part of, a whole collection of families. Just like anyone else, I suppose. There was always this strong desire for ‘family’, i.e. people I can love, trust, and grow up with. And at the top of that list is my very own family, which is my parents, my little (I use the term little very liberally here) brother and yours truly. Then there’s the big family, which is pretty much the families of my parents lumped into one unit. Moving on, there’s the extended family, which is the 50-odd (again, very liberal usage of 50-odd; I’m sure there’s at least that many cousins from my dad’s side alone). Not as close as the first two, but I still grew up in that setting and it gives me some attachment to the whole lot. Especially with the cousins, most of whom are growing up to be quite...attractive...ahem.
Then there’re the ‘external’ families. These are the ones I managed to acquire so far in life. Of these, three are deeply entrenched in my heart; my very own ‘family’, the film crew people, and my bandmates. My ‘family’ put me in as the eldest brother in a virtual family of 10, two males and eight females. I had a unit of my own as well, having two ‘sons’ and a ‘daughter’, juniors who suddenly started calling me ‘dad’ after a short while of knowing them. Funny how one can get so caught up in that kind of roleplaying, only to increasingly enjoy the interaction and finally accept the term as something real and tangible. As for with the siblings, we were a family in my head only, but my relationships to them were very much brother-like (me to them, that is). The old filmmaking club family is still very much alive, although the club has been long-defunct. Ours was a bond of suffering, joy, and long hours of random jokes (yes, that was all included in the package). To this day we still relive the ‘glory days’, and keep our support for each other strong. As for my bandmates...well, that’s pretty self-explanatory. We struggled together, made music that didn’t completely suck, and actually made a few public performances altogether. My relationship with my bandmates (the first two of my ten ‘sisters’, actually) was literally on the verge of turning into real family; true-blue, full-blooded kind of stuff where we’d stand by each other no matter what. And to some extent, that still holds true for us now, even with thousands of miles separating us from each other. In addition to those three, my fellow brothers- and sisters-in-arms as well as my seniors and sensei in the kendo club are becoming more and more of a family rather than just as individuals in a club.
So what’s the point of all that when I was just supposed to be talking about my family’s visit here? It’s just that I’ve always believed in the strength of family, and my own family takes centre stage. If you can’t find that by reading between the lines of this entry, then chances are I completely forgot to put it in. Come to think of it, I haven’t even put in anything about my family’s visit. Cripes.
Well, to be sure, here’s a short list of things that I learned during the family visit.
1. 1. As much as think I’ve successfully replicated my parents standards of hygiene, that belief was quite promptly shattered by the sudden inspection that came with the surprise arrival of the family. Lo and behold, the room which I deemed clean (I had just vacuumed the day before, and nothing was on the floor...apart from a few scattered binders and the week’s laundry) was promptly inspected and subsequently tidied up to the correct standards. Not that it lasted, really. Within a week the room returned to my interpretations of the standards, and I’m sure my parents understand (though they probably won’t let me off the matter so easily).
2. 2. My brother is no longer ‘little’. Not since I left, anyway. He’s now my height and a bit more. And he’s also managed to display emotions I thought were unnatural for him before (e.g. romantic involvement with women). Funny thing is, I never really understood him before. Now I understand him even less. It’s like meeting an old friend who you’ve known for so long after some time being separated. But that’s just my view. Ask my brother about what he thinks of me after being away for half a year, and he’d probably say I haven’t changed at all. Oh well.
3. 3. Parents = better food. For the first time in months, I had a steak (nearly choked on it, too). Not something that I had to cook for myself (and regret afterwards), but well-done, restaurant-regulation fare. Oh, Lord. If asked about my most memorable activity done with my parents, it would probably be stocking up on proper nutrients for the coming winter (competing for first place with hugs, though). I do believe that’s why I’m still standing (sitting?) in the midst of winter, laughing haughtily at the cold, cold wind and driving rain while other people are coughing like mad. Or maybe that’s because my heater finally works properly. Either way, it’s all good.
4. 4. The family in-jokes are still as funny as they used to be. My parents being who they are, jokes and laughter are always part of the conversation. Also, I hadn’t been able to crack any *cough*dirty*cough* jokes for about four months, so I was damn happy let loose the torrent of less-than-tasteful jokes I knew (or thought) my parents would enjoy. It’s these little things that really make being with the family so enjoyable.
5. 5. I miss the liberal hugging. I’m somewhat reluctant to give hugs to people I barely know; to me at least it’s as sacred and private as a kiss. I hold hugging in high regard; the people I hug and let hug are those who I believe I can trust and love with no regrets. Or those who need hugs desperately, but those are special cases. As much of a hugger I used to appear at home, over here it became apparent that I’m not as free in giving hugs to total strangers. Heck, the first non-familiar person to hug me over here made me hide in fear. I’m that paranoid of the consequences of surprise hugs. So I made the most of it when my parents came. Hug here, hug there, a hug an hour if possible. Call me crazy (or queer), but it’s one of the things I miss the most from home.
6. As much as I can make this place my home, my family will always hold a piece of my heart, and there is always a place for me to come home to (I hope). So here's a big, gooey, sentimental and love-filled shout-out from this end of the earth. You guys are the best.
[End Transmission]
Clocked: 10:30, Saturday, 21 July 2007
-----------------------------------------------How sweet. I must've been pretty high when that came around. Anyway, work to do, things to reflect. Next post...something completely different.
[End Transmission]
Monday, July 9, 2007
This Is The First Day...Of The Rest Of The Semester (Or: Guess Who Only Slept Four Hours This Morning)
Oh, my adoring _____. I _____ here before you ____ with my heart filled with ______. Alas, because of ______ I have found myself quite unable to write about my _______. Ah, yes. I realized the _______ of my words, for there is no assuaging your imminent _______. Therefore, I suggest that you kindly put your _____ up my ______.
Okay. Now that I'm done being an arse, I might as well start seriously.
The past two weeks have been...chaotic to say the least. A two week break after a semester of constant fretting and ulcers in addition to the re-introduction of my family to my life threw me back to stage one. Well, to be fair (and to make sure that my funding will not be subject to 'extreme budgeting'), it also had to do with a great deal of other things. New flatmates, new semester, new kendo rank...honest, Injun. Those two weeks have, in my mind, become an amalgamated mess transcending the laws of time and space. Not to mention my somewhat spotty memory. Some things have mixed with one another, others have been conveniently stored for belated embarrassment. But it has been a most memorable semester break, and I'm sure I remember the things that matter the most (which is a convenient way for me to say that I forgot most of it, but hey).
Thus, some of the subsequent posts will probably be frequently crossing the thin red line between nostalgia and fantasy. Or maybe not.
Hm. So much for wit there.
Anyway, the purpose of this post was to just to ensure anybody who's been reading this doesn't think I'm:
a) Dead
b) Lazy (but you're probably right)
c) Dead and lazy.
Agh.
Yet another lukewarm and half-hearted attempt for any real humor or intelligence. Never mind. I'll post back when inspiration strikes-
.
..
...
[Transmission Interrupted]
[Try Again Later]
Okay. Now that I'm done being an arse, I might as well start seriously.
The past two weeks have been...chaotic to say the least. A two week break after a semester of constant fretting and ulcers in addition to the re-introduction of my family to my life threw me back to stage one. Well, to be fair (and to make sure that my funding will not be subject to 'extreme budgeting'), it also had to do with a great deal of other things. New flatmates, new semester, new kendo rank...honest, Injun. Those two weeks have, in my mind, become an amalgamated mess transcending the laws of time and space. Not to mention my somewhat spotty memory. Some things have mixed with one another, others have been conveniently stored for belated embarrassment. But it has been a most memorable semester break, and I'm sure I remember the things that matter the most (which is a convenient way for me to say that I forgot most of it, but hey).
Thus, some of the subsequent posts will probably be frequently crossing the thin red line between nostalgia and fantasy. Or maybe not.
Hm. So much for wit there.
Anyway, the purpose of this post was to just to ensure anybody who's been reading this doesn't think I'm:
a) Dead
b) Lazy (but you're probably right)
c) Dead and lazy.
Agh.
Yet another lukewarm and half-hearted attempt for any real humor or intelligence. Never mind. I'll post back when inspiration strikes-
.
..
...
[Transmission Interrupted]
[Try Again Later]
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Inner Peace
Well, here I am again, at the threshold of yet another essay due date. Worse still, it's taken up most of my time and left me with little to study the upcoming Earth Science exam. Oh well. My fault, as usual. Coulda, shoulda, woulda but to no avail. Scheisse.
But, as always, there's a silver lining in every cloud as there is some form of soy sauce in an Asian person's house.
Felt so fed up with the crap I was writing yesterday, so I decided to play hooky for a while and go for kendo. It was only supposed to be an hour. Then it became an hour and a half. Two hours passed. Two and a half. Three. Before I knew it, I practiced almost nonstop from 2 till 6. Yes. Talk about shitty time management, but there you have it. So I guess that four extra hours to work on tonight. But heck. It was the best 4 hours of my entire week. Nothing beat the feeling of training my arse off all night long in the company of 'family'. 400 suburi (that's swinging exercise) went by and I still had enough going for ten rounds of stamping cuts. Whooah. Nearly dropped afterwards, but it was so worth it. I felt so...happy. For the first 100 cuts it felt like I was really wasting my time (and my arms...that 500 gram shinai can make itself feel like 2 kg at times). But come 150, I felt nothing. Either my arms died, or I was going into a trance. With forty other voices yelling "MEN" at the same time from start to finish, it suddenly became quite relaxing. And then I noticed my cuts looking and feeling better. And blisters! I NOW HAVE BLISTERS! Damn. Took long enough, too. Everyone else already has theirs. Haha. Felt like I could've gone on forever (even if my arms and lungs couldn't take it anymore). Then we stamped the length of the gym ten times. THAT took the fight out of me.
But who cares. I enjoyed myself so much. For four hours, I could bloody well forget the fact that I hated doing a paper I felt was complete and utter crap. For that small space in time, I also probably did more exercise than I had the whole week. Pure and simple joy. Who knew.
After that, I tried to stay awake but my eyes were dropping like sacks of rice (speaking of which, I now have a 5kg bag of rice, courtesy of the kind Jose. Now what exactly I'm supposed to do with it, I'm not sure). Metaphorically, of course. So, in addition to exercising for the first time in a week, I also fell asleep before 12 am for the first time in...er...a month? And woke up before dawn as well, although that might be the strep throat making its presence known. Hoorah.
Speaking of which, I got to train with that cute senpai...she's so cute...and strong. Ohh, yeah. Looks like a butterfly, strikes like a .45 slug. Gosh, I do like it when she hits my shinai for do cuts. So...mmm...forceful.
Ahahahah.
Move along, folks. Nothing to see there. Other than a lecher.
Other news...
I don't feel like talking to the girls (my flatmates) these days. Not good. But...not too bad either. K's got Jose to keep her busy now *wink wink* (and sigh of relief from me). And M's already in go-home mode, so she's pretty much sussed (other than losing her laptop to the hands of some wank...but that's another story). So all is well in my little world. For now.
Come next week, and that's in, say, 4 hours, and I'll be ready with yet another rant on why university isn't all beer and skittles. But then again, most of you would probably have been there and done that, neh.
Oh well.
Good night.
[End Transmission]
But, as always, there's a silver lining in every cloud as there is some form of soy sauce in an Asian person's house.
Felt so fed up with the crap I was writing yesterday, so I decided to play hooky for a while and go for kendo. It was only supposed to be an hour. Then it became an hour and a half. Two hours passed. Two and a half. Three. Before I knew it, I practiced almost nonstop from 2 till 6. Yes. Talk about shitty time management, but there you have it. So I guess that four extra hours to work on tonight. But heck. It was the best 4 hours of my entire week. Nothing beat the feeling of training my arse off all night long in the company of 'family'. 400 suburi (that's swinging exercise) went by and I still had enough going for ten rounds of stamping cuts. Whooah. Nearly dropped afterwards, but it was so worth it. I felt so...happy. For the first 100 cuts it felt like I was really wasting my time (and my arms...that 500 gram shinai can make itself feel like 2 kg at times). But come 150, I felt nothing. Either my arms died, or I was going into a trance. With forty other voices yelling "MEN" at the same time from start to finish, it suddenly became quite relaxing. And then I noticed my cuts looking and feeling better. And blisters! I NOW HAVE BLISTERS! Damn. Took long enough, too. Everyone else already has theirs. Haha. Felt like I could've gone on forever (even if my arms and lungs couldn't take it anymore). Then we stamped the length of the gym ten times. THAT took the fight out of me.
But who cares. I enjoyed myself so much. For four hours, I could bloody well forget the fact that I hated doing a paper I felt was complete and utter crap. For that small space in time, I also probably did more exercise than I had the whole week. Pure and simple joy. Who knew.
After that, I tried to stay awake but my eyes were dropping like sacks of rice (speaking of which, I now have a 5kg bag of rice, courtesy of the kind Jose. Now what exactly I'm supposed to do with it, I'm not sure). Metaphorically, of course. So, in addition to exercising for the first time in a week, I also fell asleep before 12 am for the first time in...er...a month? And woke up before dawn as well, although that might be the strep throat making its presence known. Hoorah.
Speaking of which, I got to train with that cute senpai...she's so cute...and strong. Ohh, yeah. Looks like a butterfly, strikes like a .45 slug. Gosh, I do like it when she hits my shinai for do cuts. So...mmm...forceful.
Ahahahah.
Move along, folks. Nothing to see there. Other than a lecher.
Other news...
I don't feel like talking to the girls (my flatmates) these days. Not good. But...not too bad either. K's got Jose to keep her busy now *wink wink* (and sigh of relief from me). And M's already in go-home mode, so she's pretty much sussed (other than losing her laptop to the hands of some wank...but that's another story). So all is well in my little world. For now.
Come next week, and that's in, say, 4 hours, and I'll be ready with yet another rant on why university isn't all beer and skittles. But then again, most of you would probably have been there and done that, neh.
Oh well.
Good night.
[End Transmission]
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Jailbait!
Ha.
Made you read. Nothing overtly jailbait-ish. Not tonight, at least.
It's 3.00 in the morning, and I've effectively screwed myself (yet again) in making an essay.
I should really get this #@$!*&^ essay done. It's ruining my study pattern. I do wish it were an exam instead. At least that's a 50-50 chance of success, and gives the course a due finality. Eh, come to think of it, so does this essay. 2500 words...mehhhh.
By the way, my flatmate got her laptop swiped from her room the other day. Apparently our windows aren't the most secure of constructions. Lesson to be learnt: paranoia pays. It's good to be a little suspicious of your surroundings every now and again. Not all that sparkles is gold, and nowhere is a utopia.
To conclude, here are a few things I probably shouldn't have wasted time doing.
Pseudo-Chibified RA
Konbanwa, and Aroha nui, all.
[End Transmission]
Made you read. Nothing overtly jailbait-ish. Not tonight, at least.
It's 3.00 in the morning, and I've effectively screwed myself (yet again) in making an essay.
I should really get this #@$!*&^ essay done. It's ruining my study pattern. I do wish it were an exam instead. At least that's a 50-50 chance of success, and gives the course a due finality. Eh, come to think of it, so does this essay. 2500 words...mehhhh.
By the way, my flatmate got her laptop swiped from her room the other day. Apparently our windows aren't the most secure of constructions. Lesson to be learnt: paranoia pays. It's good to be a little suspicious of your surroundings every now and again. Not all that sparkles is gold, and nowhere is a utopia.
To conclude, here are a few things I probably shouldn't have wasted time doing.
Pseudo-Chibified RA
Faux Art
[model by Oknum A]
[model by Oknum A]
The crap you see above has been made possible by the creation of Adobe's Photoshop Elements. Remember, kids, any editing tool can be dangerous in the wrong hands, i.e. mine. To this moment I'm still wondering why I even bothered. Meh.
Konbanwa, and Aroha nui, all.
[End Transmission]
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Parents, Avert Thine Childrens' Eyes.
Well, well, well. Hello, there, boys, girls, and those unwilling to answer to either! Do you know what time it is? You don’t? What’s that? You don’t have a watch. No, that was a rhetorical question. Yes. Understand rhetoric? Good. Now shush. You know what time it is? It’s time to...
Cook With Kakak O!
Yes, kids, it’s time to don on your aprons, take out those frying pans, and turn on your gas-fired stoves again. Your good old Kakak is back for another helping of F-U-N! Shut up, in the back row. Oh, very funny. Spell that out again, why don’t you? What was that? Huh? Huh? Not such a big boy, are you? That’s right. Go cry outside, see if your mommy cares. Ahem. As I was saying, your favourite big bro is here for yet another recipe that even a monkey on weed can whip up. And speaking of weed, that’s the word of the week! Say it out loud, everyone. Weed. G-A-N-J-A. No, Timmy, it means the same thing. Never mind.
So, for this week’s cook-up, we’re doing something that’s very close to my heart. That’s a metaphor, because we’re not cooking my spine or my lungs. Yes. We’re cooking something that almost every struggling university student should be able to get their hands on. I’m talking about...
Kakak’s Canned Sardines in Tomato with Onions and Chilli Peppers!
Boy, that’s a mouthful. Ha! Culinary pun! I’m so witty. Let’s do that again, shall we?
Kakak’s Canned Sardines in Tomato with Onions and Chilli Peppers!
Alrighty, let’s get started. Put that down. Yes, you. On second thought, have a taste. We need to know if that fish has any botulism in it. You don’t want to try it anymore? Too bad. Shove it down that mouth of yours, missy. Now. Good. Any strange tastes? Slimy or rotten sensations? Eh? It tastes fishy? It damn well better, otherwise we’d have to rename it. Har! Rapier wit, yet again. Alright, here’s what you want on your pantry, floor, or whatever it is you put your ingredients.
You need...
One can of Sardines in Tomato Sauce...
Half an onion...
A teaspoon of oil...
And two chilli peppers.
Oh, I should also add that unless you want a very lonely dinner of overcooked canned organism, you’d better prepare something else as a side dish. Mmhm. Something like pasta. I like pasta. Don’t you? You don’t, huh. Wash your mouth with soap, you little delinquent. The security guard will take care of that after the show, so count your seconds, kiddo. Yup. Where was I? Oh, yes. Pasta. In that case, add...
Half a bag/pack of any kind of pasta.
Now comes my favourite part. That’s cutting the ingredients! Why do I think it’s my favourite part? Well, that’s simple! I like to think that I’m cutting into the flesh of my producer, who thinks my show is absolute drivel. You hear that, Mrs. Bigshot Producer? Your flesh. Yes, your live and pulsating flesh. Ahem. So who wants to cut the onions and the chillies? You want to? Okay. You might want to wear this gas mask...no? Suit yourself. Now, kids, while you’re cutting up your stuff, don’t do what Ollie is doing. You see, onions are like little canisters of mustard gas. That means if it gets into your eyes and nose, it isn’t going to be pretty. Just like 1914 all over again. Good times. Oh, look, Ollie’s crying. That’s because he didn’t use protection. Oh! Another pun! I’m so damn good at this. Now, if what’s happening to Ollie happens to you, don’t rub your eyes like he’s doing. It’ll only make it worse. What’s that? He also cut the chillies? Oh, that’s just brilliant. Watch closely, kids, this is what happens when you rub chilli into your eyes.
Ouch. That looks excruciating. Would’ya look at that. What a little trooper, still trying to cut stuff up even with swollen eyes the size of ripe plums. Whoops, there goes the tip of his left index finger. Let that be another lesson, children. Don’t even attempt to cut things when you can’t see. At least we’ve got some stuff to put in the pan. Nice job, Ollie! Pity about the finger, but you’ll survive long enough to regret it.
So who wants to play with the pan? You do? Attaboy. Er, girl. Yes. Now, put that oil in the pan. Good. Now, we’re going to wait for the pan to heat up. You want to know how hot it is? Why not put your hand in it...oh. You did. Well, that’s what you get for not understanding sarcasm. Go backstage and ask for burn ointment from the nice doctor over there. Just go. Hm. It seems my little helpers are decreasing in amount. Can’t be helped. If you want something done, you might as well do it yourself.
To make a long story short, especially with time running out, dump those cut onions and chillies in the pan. Then shake it! Shake it! Shake it like a Polaroid picture! Man, oh, man, pure gold. Wait. That should be stir it...eh. Same difference. Wait till it gets all nice and red and brown. Ooh, baby, yeah. Burn. Burn. Burn! Mwahahahah. Halright. Now that they’re all nice and spicy, it’s time to put in the fish. Don’t forget to take the fish out of the can. Sorry. You can’t always get what you want, let alone putting an aluminium can in a frying pan. Yup. And that’s a rhyme, Annie. Bet your bottom dollar on THAT. Yeah. Then you mix it in with the rest. Now, just because I’m too lazy to cook it in front of the camera, here’s the dish I cooked last week.
Okay, I agree that there shouldn’t be mushrooms or strange, white strands of mould. I’m not even sure why there are things living in there, but c’est la vie. That’s ‘such is life’, for you kids who can’t speak French. Deal with it. Anyway, it’s going to look something like this. Keep it on that hot pan till you see no more sauce. Speaking about hot pan, looks like our current dish is done, kids! Amazing! Oh, it’s just a bit burnt, so it’ll be edible for you. Kids eat everything. Everything. Good.
Now, for you at home wondering why the kids are now screaming and lolling their tongues out, don’t worry. Eating this will not get you possessed by any kind of demon. It’s just the healthy side-effect of eating copious amounts of chilli peppers! When you feed this to your children or your hungry, near-destitute student self, don’t be alarmed by the clamouring for water and possible dehydration. It’s like those party pills, only they’re more natural! Yeah! Who said stimulants had to be expensive. Oh, and you might have bowel problems for a few days after, but it’s all good. Bet you never knew your intestines could dance like, eh? Of course not. It’s the closest thing to eating street food in a third world country. Enjoy.
Pasta? Screw the pasta. I’m finished. Anyway, all you boys and girls should already know how to make pasta. If you don’t, you should’ve considered that before making this dish. Ha!
Alright, that’s about all the time we have today. If you have any suggestions for what you’d like me to cook, write them on a 4x4 piece of paper, then eat it. Har! No, I’m just kidding. Send it to the address below, and receive a complimentary picture of a donkey courtesy of yours truly. As for your suggestion, chances are I won’t bother reading them. But that’s okay, because that’s the way life is. Understand? Good. So, until next time, this is Kakak O saying...
Give me a raise, you cheap b-
*After its fifth episode, Cook with Kakak O was decidedly scrapped in favour of the more child-friendly pseudo-Japanese Fun with (the) Furries. How either could ever be considered “child-friendly” by anyone, however, is another story.*
[End Transmission]
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Three Weeks!
Well, well. I find myself yet again staring down the sun on a lovely Sunday evening. Which is probably one of the most depressing things to do, really. I mean, Fridays and Saturdays are all good in my book. No classes, no lectures, just the feeling of two days without constraints. Then we come upon Sunday, which means it's the end of the week and the beginning of the next. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing, I guess. It's just that time really flies when you're doing something interesting. In a blink of an eye I've just ripped through an entire weekend. Again. C'est la vie.
I was going to post something up on Thursday night, but the fates (or procrastination) decreed otherwise. So it's here now. That night I watched a Takeshi Kitano film. For those who aren't aware, "Beat" Takeshi Kitano is a Japanese comedian/director. You know, the one who had an accident. Yeah. The new Zatoichi guy. Yup. That's the one. The movie's name is Kikujiro, and it was wonderful.
Simply enough, it's the story of a boy, who lives with his grandmother. No parents. One lonely summer's day (and I mean lonely; the first few scenes can be a bit depressing), the kid finds a picture of his mother, with an address written on the back. He goes off, but is accosted by local bullies. The bullies are driven off by her grandmother's former neighbor, and her somewhat deadbeat husband (Kitano). They hear the boy's story, and the ex-neighbor wants to help. So she sends him off with her husband as an escort, telling the boy's grandmother that the man is taking. The husband, seeming to be something of a former crook/gangster, grudgingly agrees, and so the two set off. Quirky characters, interpretive dance scenes, kindred-soul bonding, and a heartwarming twist (after a bitter climax that pretty much anyone can see looming miles away) ensue.
I have to say, they really picked the right kid for this film. Just looking at him makes you feel sorry that he grew up with no parents. His dialogue is also somewhat limited, and most of the time it's only 'mm's and 'uhm's, when people man are talking to him. Kitano, playing the ex-gangster/crook/etc. is pretty good, quirks and all. I find some of his humor to be a bit on the crass side (or overly slapstick), but it mixed well with his character, so that's all good. Kudos to the kind-hearted biker boys (Fatty and Baldy, who come later in the movie) and Mr. Good-Natured Guy (the novelist/songwriter), all of whom really lift the movie up near the end.
Oh, and did I say that Joe Hisaishi does the music? Perfecto. The proverbial icing on the cake, and more. The composer who gave us the music for Totoro, Spirited Away, and Princess Mononoke. Hell yeah. Most, if not all, of the music in the film really took things up a notch. The movie's opening (and main) theme, titled "Summer", is simply beautiful and stuck in my head for days. Bittersweet, hopeful, sad, poignant...it's just one of those songs which prop up stories. Muchas gracias, Hisaishi-sama.
On the home front...
My room has the amazing ability to acquire smells. And I don't mean the kind that can be sprayed out of a can or one of those new-fangled timed-spray thingamajigs. A few days ago I walked in from a date with the library to be greeted by the smell of something quite dead and rotting. After checking the room and the windowsill for anything in the process of returning to Mother Earth (and this took plenty of time, too), I looked out my window and saw the smoking gun. Apparently, having my window (and sole point of ventilation) directly facing the dining hall's trash container meant that downwind airflows carried eau de garbage into my humble abode. Ah. Other than that, some stranger smells emanated from within, including a somewhat refreshing scent of citrus mixed with fried onions. Don't ask me where these things come from. I just smell them. That's me. Chronic sniffer. Hahah. Please, slap me before my jokes get any worse.
Next week's itinerary...
Monday - Hand in Geography essay (oh noes)
Tuesday - ESLA summary test (double oh noes)
Wednesday - Geography presentation (triple oh noes)
Friday - *hopefully* leave for AKL to attend a wedding (oh noes to infinity and beyond)
Heheh. Toy Story reference. I'm just brimming with wit.
Ech.
Anything else to report...
Um...
Had a nice chat with Salty *nama disamarkan* earlier on. Just your basic chit-chat, but a conversation nonetheless. Hoho.
And with that, I'll call it a night (but not before I finish my Geo essay...oh noes!)
[End Transmission]
I was going to post something up on Thursday night, but the fates (or procrastination) decreed otherwise. So it's here now. That night I watched a Takeshi Kitano film. For those who aren't aware, "Beat" Takeshi Kitano is a Japanese comedian/director. You know, the one who had an accident. Yeah. The new Zatoichi guy. Yup. That's the one. The movie's name is Kikujiro, and it was wonderful.
Simply enough, it's the story of a boy, who lives with his grandmother. No parents. One lonely summer's day (and I mean lonely; the first few scenes can be a bit depressing), the kid finds a picture of his mother, with an address written on the back. He goes off, but is accosted by local bullies. The bullies are driven off by her grandmother's former neighbor, and her somewhat deadbeat husband (Kitano). They hear the boy's story, and the ex-neighbor wants to help. So she sends him off with her husband as an escort, telling the boy's grandmother that the man is taking. The husband, seeming to be something of a former crook/gangster, grudgingly agrees, and so the two set off. Quirky characters, interpretive dance scenes, kindred-soul bonding, and a heartwarming twist (after a bitter climax that pretty much anyone can see looming miles away) ensue.
I have to say, they really picked the right kid for this film. Just looking at him makes you feel sorry that he grew up with no parents. His dialogue is also somewhat limited, and most of the time it's only 'mm's and 'uhm's, when people man are talking to him. Kitano, playing the ex-gangster/crook/etc. is pretty good, quirks and all. I find some of his humor to be a bit on the crass side (or overly slapstick), but it mixed well with his character, so that's all good. Kudos to the kind-hearted biker boys (Fatty and Baldy, who come later in the movie) and Mr. Good-Natured Guy (the novelist/songwriter), all of whom really lift the movie up near the end.
Oh, and did I say that Joe Hisaishi does the music? Perfecto. The proverbial icing on the cake, and more. The composer who gave us the music for Totoro, Spirited Away, and Princess Mononoke. Hell yeah. Most, if not all, of the music in the film really took things up a notch. The movie's opening (and main) theme, titled "Summer", is simply beautiful and stuck in my head for days. Bittersweet, hopeful, sad, poignant...it's just one of those songs which prop up stories. Muchas gracias, Hisaishi-sama.
On the home front...
My room has the amazing ability to acquire smells. And I don't mean the kind that can be sprayed out of a can or one of those new-fangled timed-spray thingamajigs. A few days ago I walked in from a date with the library to be greeted by the smell of something quite dead and rotting. After checking the room and the windowsill for anything in the process of returning to Mother Earth (and this took plenty of time, too), I looked out my window and saw the smoking gun. Apparently, having my window (and sole point of ventilation) directly facing the dining hall's trash container meant that downwind airflows carried eau de garbage into my humble abode. Ah. Other than that, some stranger smells emanated from within, including a somewhat refreshing scent of citrus mixed with fried onions. Don't ask me where these things come from. I just smell them. That's me. Chronic sniffer. Hahah. Please, slap me before my jokes get any worse.
Next week's itinerary...
Monday - Hand in Geography essay (oh noes)
Tuesday - ESLA summary test (double oh noes)
Wednesday - Geography presentation (triple oh noes)
Friday - *hopefully* leave for AKL to attend a wedding (oh noes to infinity and beyond)
Heheh. Toy Story reference. I'm just brimming with wit.
Ech.
Anything else to report...
Um...
Had a nice chat with Salty *nama disamarkan* earlier on. Just your basic chit-chat, but a conversation nonetheless. Hoho.
And with that, I'll call it a night (but not before I finish my Geo essay...oh noes!)
[End Transmission]
Saturday, May 12, 2007
I Denounce My Poetic "Skills"
Lo!
How she hides herself
Behind curtains of green and white
Away from the light
Away from the sun
Like Persephone, floating out
A delicate white flower
Blossoming at night
Heart-shaped face
Tender-lipped
Eyes cast down and dimmed
Say, sweet flower
From whence hast thou came?
A smile, a chirp
But nothing more
Before
She passes into the night
And behind shut curtains
A fading scent
Of beauty
Ah, yes. I do realise that the content above makes pretty much lousy reading. And that I probably could've gotten some work done instead of writing such drivel. Alas, poor talent, I had it not. Hahaha.
On a much happier note, my Kiwi flatmate's elder sister came over to the flat earlier with her family. After teaching him how to make veggie soup, they left us with:
- a massive cooking pot
- about a week's worth of vegetable stew
- veggie stock
- cumin and cardamom
In my eyes, that's a pirate's horde sitting prettily on the pantry now. The Heavens smile upon the flat. Come to think of it, some pasta in the stew would be great. And I now have the means with which I may undertake the creation of chicken congee (a.k.a. bubur ayam)! The possibilities are endless. Especially after nearly an entire month (or was it half a month?) of eating tinned fish for dinner. Mwahahahah. Oooh. Gotta watch that mercury level. *shudder*
Also, I just realised that one of the cashiers at the Asian supermarket close to home is in one of my classes. Well, not just realised, actually. I knew it for about a month and didn't have the guts to speak. Damnation. So she spoke to me. I do hope she doesn't think I'm arrogant/forgetful/high for being in the store so many times and not engaging in any conversation. Wagh. Well, at least she recognised me as well. Huhuhu. So much for first impression, neh.
Tomorrow: Sweeping the floors, cooking lunch, and *fingers crossed* getting through my bogu grading! Hoo-hah!
[End Transmission]
How she hides herself
Behind curtains of green and white
Away from the light
Away from the sun
Like Persephone, floating out
A delicate white flower
Blossoming at night
Heart-shaped face
Tender-lipped
Eyes cast down and dimmed
Say, sweet flower
From whence hast thou came?
A smile, a chirp
But nothing more
Before
She passes into the night
And behind shut curtains
A fading scent
Of beauty
Ah, yes. I do realise that the content above makes pretty much lousy reading. And that I probably could've gotten some work done instead of writing such drivel. Alas, poor talent, I had it not. Hahaha.
On a much happier note, my Kiwi flatmate's elder sister came over to the flat earlier with her family. After teaching him how to make veggie soup, they left us with:
- a massive cooking pot
- about a week's worth of vegetable stew
- veggie stock
- cumin and cardamom
In my eyes, that's a pirate's horde sitting prettily on the pantry now. The Heavens smile upon the flat. Come to think of it, some pasta in the stew would be great. And I now have the means with which I may undertake the creation of chicken congee (a.k.a. bubur ayam)! The possibilities are endless. Especially after nearly an entire month (or was it half a month?) of eating tinned fish for dinner. Mwahahahah. Oooh. Gotta watch that mercury level. *shudder*
Also, I just realised that one of the cashiers at the Asian supermarket close to home is in one of my classes. Well, not just realised, actually. I knew it for about a month and didn't have the guts to speak. Damnation. So she spoke to me. I do hope she doesn't think I'm arrogant/forgetful/high for being in the store so many times and not engaging in any conversation. Wagh. Well, at least she recognised me as well. Huhuhu. So much for first impression, neh.
Tomorrow: Sweeping the floors, cooking lunch, and *fingers crossed* getting through my bogu grading! Hoo-hah!
[End Transmission]
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Fun With Phonics
Hello, strangers.
Yet another night I stay up in the false hope that out of the blue and inspiration will strike me like an Almighty Smiting. Ah, yes, how one does wish such things could happen out of thin air. But the thing is, inspiration doesn't come in strikes (unless you're doing a report five hours before the due date). So I do what I have to do anyway. I scroll through journals and sift through articles, looking for the smallest piece of information that may have *some* connection to what I'm supposed to do. 9 out of 10 times it actually works.
Ah well. I guess this isn't really one of those profound "eureka" moments. Pretty much everybody's been there and done that. Still, I do find it quite interesting that I'm finding it all rather strange, unusual, and difficult. Heck, I did this in highschool. But that was two years ago...
Now I wake up, every morning, in a room that's hundreds of miles away from my own. It's as if I'm just waking from a dream that has taken me for so long that I forgot what life was like in the real world. I've gone a pretty long way to wake up, but the more I open my eyes, the more I like what I see. It's a whole new world for me.
...Unbelievable sights
Take you wonder by wonder
Soaring sideways and under
On a magic carpet ride
A whole new world
A new horizon to pursue...
Whoops.
Where was I? Oh. Well, I was planning to write about how my ESLA (that's English Second Language for Academic purposes, ey) lecturer is the amalgamation of two of my highschool English teachers and John Cleese, but that's pretty much gone from my mind right now. What matters is that as much as she treats us (us as in English Second Language speakers...of which I'm technically not part of, come to think of it) somewhat like kids, she's a pretty darned good lecturer/tutor. Fair marks, constructive criticism, constant motivation ("get good grades or meet her again next semester" is good enough for me), and her Brit sense of humor. It's all good. Well, until we mess up and she goes ballistic. Did I mention the sense of humor?
Speaking about humor, this has got to be one of the funniest videos I've seen. It walks the fine line between being plain bad humor and flat satire. It does take quite a while to load, but it's pretty much worth watching.
Apart from that...
A four-hour Kendo session awaits me on Saturday. Sweet as. Which means I've got to get that Geog essay done by Friday...and at least half of the ESLA one by Monday. Meh. Oh well. At least after this all I'll have to think about are the exams...and the ESLA essays.
Yup.
Lacklustre, lacking wit, and lacking coherence as per usual. Night, all.
[End Transmission]
Yet another night I stay up in the false hope that out of the blue and inspiration will strike me like an Almighty Smiting. Ah, yes, how one does wish such things could happen out of thin air. But the thing is, inspiration doesn't come in strikes (unless you're doing a report five hours before the due date). So I do what I have to do anyway. I scroll through journals and sift through articles, looking for the smallest piece of information that may have *some* connection to what I'm supposed to do. 9 out of 10 times it actually works.
Ah well. I guess this isn't really one of those profound "eureka" moments. Pretty much everybody's been there and done that. Still, I do find it quite interesting that I'm finding it all rather strange, unusual, and difficult. Heck, I did this in highschool. But that was two years ago...
Now I wake up, every morning, in a room that's hundreds of miles away from my own. It's as if I'm just waking from a dream that has taken me for so long that I forgot what life was like in the real world. I've gone a pretty long way to wake up, but the more I open my eyes, the more I like what I see. It's a whole new world for me.
...Unbelievable sights
Take you wonder by wonder
Soaring sideways and under
On a magic carpet ride
A whole new world
A new horizon to pursue...
Whoops.
Where was I? Oh. Well, I was planning to write about how my ESLA (that's English Second Language for Academic purposes, ey) lecturer is the amalgamation of two of my highschool English teachers and John Cleese, but that's pretty much gone from my mind right now. What matters is that as much as she treats us (us as in English Second Language speakers...of which I'm technically not part of, come to think of it) somewhat like kids, she's a pretty darned good lecturer/tutor. Fair marks, constructive criticism, constant motivation ("get good grades or meet her again next semester" is good enough for me), and her Brit sense of humor. It's all good. Well, until we mess up and she goes ballistic. Did I mention the sense of humor?
Speaking about humor, this has got to be one of the funniest videos I've seen. It walks the fine line between being plain bad humor and flat satire. It does take quite a while to load, but it's pretty much worth watching.
Apart from that...
A four-hour Kendo session awaits me on Saturday. Sweet as. Which means I've got to get that Geog essay done by Friday...and at least half of the ESLA one by Monday. Meh. Oh well. At least after this all I'll have to think about are the exams...and the ESLA essays.
Yup.
Lacklustre, lacking wit, and lacking coherence as per usual. Night, all.
[End Transmission]
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