The Cave Dweller

Myself, of course.

For the last two months there are basically only two places where I've been spending my life. One is the library, the only place I can get my hands on the Economics coursebook (which for some reason I decided to not buy throughout the semester). However, the library has to close at 10 pm. And on weekends, it's only open between 11 am and 5 pm. That's it. The second place, in which I've spent probably 99.9% of my time is...

My room.

More specifically, at the desk next to heater, in front of my beloved laptop.

Now, the room is a mess. Can't be bothered to check whether I've said this before, but for the majority of this semester I went into this bad funk. Part of the funk is being indifferent to the condition of my living quarters. Add to this the exam period, so the books and papers are all over the floor and the desk. There's also this rather strange smell emanating from the room which I can't quite put a finger on. Mold? Fungal growth? The mixture of smells from my flatmates' cooking (given that I'm got the room at the farthest end of a corridor, where these scents seem to circulate and seep into my room)? Laundry? The only I can find out is if I actually clean my bloody room. I can't even remember the last time I changed my sheets. Good gravy. Actually, that's probably because it's winter and I love my flannel sheets to bits in situations such as these, but still. I probably should've invested in a second pair of flannel sheets. Some air freshener would probably be good as well. That's probably the only option short of fumigating the place. But cleaning should be the priority. My carpet feels grittier than ever (soon to match the texture of the ground cover on the other side of the windowsill), which is not a good thing when I'm trying to fold my kendogi. Not acceptable (but acceptable enough for the time being).

My habit of lurking more in the internets to the wee hours of the morning and almost never popping out of the room have gained me the status of cavemen among my flatmates, who are never quite sure whether I'm in the house or not. This does lead to many fun times, especially because I have this uncanny ability to sneak up on all of them in the kitchen quite easily.

The height of isolation occured with the dying of my handphone. The poor thing crashed and died. Or more like went into this undead mode where it turns on and off at its own bidding. Some kind of freak sentience, I suppose. It was then that I realised just how alone I could be around here (minus the company from MSN, though). My folks didn't have any other way to find out about my situation, as I'm pretty shoddy with email correspondence. End of the story is that I got it fixed...and it came back with the entire harddrive content wiped. Gone. All the numbers, photos, messages...just blank. I picked it up today and had a hard time keeping myself from laughing with the irony of it all. The reason I wanted to fix it was to backup the data in order to transfer it to a new handphone. So much for that.

Well, it's late. More...soon.

[End Transmission]

Interlude

So, I woke up in the middle of the night earlier for absolutely no reason. Just did. Was suddenly awake (unlike the last three days, which have been disastrous to say the least). Spent an eternity just looking at my wooden ceiling and kaputt light.

Then I started laughing, also for no reason.

Snickering first, then chuckles, then suddenly I found myself laughing out loud. I can only hope my flatmate didn't hear that going on.

So what was I laughing about?

Beats me. One of those random moments in life where it all seems so...hilarious. The past month has been a bit of a rollercoaster. Or a sinkhole, to be more precise. Started off with not being able to put in an essay in time...which gave me some sort of excuse to start dragging my feet and feeling (or thinking that I feel) depressed. It's been a slow, slow descent, with periods of freefalling now and then. The indirect result of that being a completely messed-up sleeping and eating pattern. I've lost about 2 kg in last month, and it actually shows now. I'm roughly the size I used to be back in 2005...and even worse my pants are now almost 2 sizes too big. It's frigging ridiculous.

The good news is a) I'm not the only person who's gone through this shitestorm (pardon my language), and b) I actually found a way to help me regain myself. After consulting with various sources, notably my folks and a student counselor, I've been trying to implement some plan to get me off my self-pitying ass and working. Which has resulted in last week spent almost entirely in the library. Not pleasant...but it does get me working. Less temptations, I suppose. And for the most part, it worked for a few assignments. The challenge now is to keep it that way...or at least make sure I know what I'm working for.

Which really does lead to the (or at least the major) cause of why I've been wasting my time and not studying properly - I've lost sight on what I'm really here for. Perhaps not completely, but enough to get me sidetracked quite a distance. The difference between this and kendo is that in kendo, I can see where training will lead me. I train harder, build discipline, form instincts, and that can result in me having a chance to become a champ one day. But uni seems so different. The last month has made me think about the future...and the more I think about it, the bleaker it seems. Probably because I haven't really had any information on what happens after. Life outside of school and university seems a little...daunting. Hahaha.

Anyway, I've said too much already.

[End Transmission]

On Presumed Dieting

Jangan2 gw cacingan.

Hm. Food for thought, that.

[End Transmission]

The Good and The Bad...

The Good News:

Iron and Wine's coming to NZ next weekend! Whoah!

The Bad News:

Iron and Wine's coming to NZ next weekend. Argh.

Why the 'argh'? I've got a 2-day mandatory fieldtrip going on that same weekend. Argh.

[End Transmission]

Pie, Wonderful Pie

Pie, pie, glorious pie. A hollow pastry filled with all the somewhat dodgy-yet-pleasurable mush and pieces of flesh masquerading as 'meat', baked to near perfection, frozen, then re-heated and sold to unsuspecting customers. If there was ever a pastry hierarchy, the pie would be the proletariat; at the bottom of the social ladder, but essential and hardy. The foundation on which all other pastries sit upon, the pillars that hold up the puffs and the pavlova's (although they're technically not pastries) and their ilk.

Oh, yes, I do love me them pies, sir.

And that's one of the things I find so attractive about this place. The pies. The sheer number of pies produced, the variety of these which may perhaps one day rival Willy Wonka's creations. I'm sure the world could use more marmalade-filled meat pies. Yes, indeedy. Feeling the munchies? Shell out a buck or two and receive, in return, one of Western civilization's finest accomplishments.

Of course, one must be a discerning customer. For even among these miracles-in-a-flour-shell there are ones far more dodgy than others (as almost all pies are dodgy...can't argue with that logic). Price is usually a good indicator; in the pie world, what you pay is often what you get. Buy that cheap steak-and-cheese sitting quietly in the dairy, prepare to face an abomination with a crust so think you end up with only a smidgen of gravy and a smattering of meaty bits. And even that won't necessarily be worth all the effort you put into chewing it. So unless you don't have the money (in which case you shouldn't be buying that pie), find it in your heart to let go of some loose change and enjoy a pie. A good pie.

And what exactly do I mean by a good pie, you ask? Well, that's something you'll have to learn for yourself, grasshopper.

In the meantime, I'll go foraging for one of those rare smoked fish pies Maketu makes...now that is a first among equals. The pastry just right, stuffed with white fish gravy (no gelatine, at least that's what the wrapper said :D), and bits of real smoked fish generously added within. It's sealed happiness, that's what it is. Words fail to describe how it tastes. Failed a test? Grab a fish pie. Getting stressed from piling deadlines? Grab a fish pie. Fish pie. Makes it all better. At least for a few hours, after which you may start regretting why you bought a pie rather than study some more.

Amen.

[End Transmission]

And So It Begins...

The first official academic week of 2008 is over.

And, well, it wasn't as epic as I'd thought it'd be. No sudden epiphanies, no sudden realization that I've just advanced one more level before my degree is over. Just more of the same...a few differences here and there, but mostly the same kind of feel last year had in store for me. And it's definitely harder. Just like life. Ha.

So, more on that in the near future. Oh, and summer school wasn't as pleasant as I thought it would be.

With the end of the summer semester, I was able to move back into the on-campus flat I was in last year. Mostly because it was cheap and close to uni, but also because it had a free wi-fi connection. It wasn't until I moved in that I realized that they had stopped the one thing all laptop-wielding returning students (and there's quite a few of us) were looking forward to utterly abuse. So now I'm paying for my internet usage. And I still have to sit out in the hallway to get any decent wifi coverage. C'est la vie. At least it works.

The good news? I'm back in my old flat, same room. Better yet, my flatmates this time around will probably be in for the whole year. A Japanese guy, a Punjabi girl, a Korean girl, and an Indonesian bloke living under the same roof...we've got a neat little foodcourt thing going on here. And a look into the kitchen confirms the fact this has become an all-Asian flat; the rice-cooker to individual ration is 1:2. Fun, fun, fun.

Uh, yes. Can't creatively think of anything else to say. Meh. Cut.

[End Transmission]

Get Me Away From Here...

They never know unless I write
"This is no declaration, I just thought I'd let you know goodbye"
Said the hero in the story
"It is mightier than swords
I could kill you, sure
But I could only make you cry with these words"
~ Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying - Belle and Sebastian

Since when do I listen to B&S? Hmm.

By Jove, I'm surrounded by flying crickets. Coincidentally, my room has also turned into bug haven. Mental note: throw away month-old bananas...when they're a month old. Also, remember to actually clean my bed once in a while. I plopped down on it three days ago and caused a bunch of insects to fly out from under my covers.


No, I'm just kidding about that last reminder.

On a happier note, my first official kendo competition is next week. Right after an essay due date and two days before an assignment due date. Lovely. Not to mention my second official kendo competition, which is exactly 7 days after. Oh, yes. Bring it on.

[End Transmission]

This has become simultaneously the fastest and longest summer vacation I've been through so far.

Come to think of it, it's the only summer vacation I've been through so far.

Hm.

[End Transmission]

Storytelling

My father recently sent me an email reminding me of the old story-telling habits I had back when I was younger. Up until four years ago, I think. And most of the time, my audience would only be my brother. Mostly because I was a loner until late in primary school, and also because our cousins didn't come around enough or have similar contexts we had to join.

Actually, to call it storytelling wouldn't be fully correct. It was more like roleplaying.

Back when he and I were both a lot younger, it was a lot simpler - I'd give a basic premise, say, a day at Taronga zoo, and we'd start acting and create a story together. One of us (usually me, I think) would be the narrator, the other would be a supporting actor. For instance, with the zoo, I could be a visitor or a tourguide, and my brother would play out the animal (although probably not quite as accurate as desired). I can't remember whether we ever ended these little episodes, but I'm pretty sure every now and again we'd piss each other off by not cooperating and end up doing something completely different. Like act out a different scenario and get pissed off again. Haha. Occasionally one or more of our aunts (both sides of the family had multiple daughters) would indulge me and join along. We were close back then. Still am, actually. They would be both audience and actors, playing along but also watching and laughing with us. I can still remember that, even if a little hazy.

As we grew up, my new knowledge was almost directly represented by the additions I made into the stories. Instead of simply 'being', I formed goals. Exposure to RPGs and videogames helped me form a flexible, albeit oft frustrating, guide by which we'd start our adventures and progress. For inspiration I drew upon the books that I read. Mythologies, fantasy, and medieval history I can remember quite well. The villains were admittedly poor copies of DnD monsters mixed with an unhealthy dose of mythological figures. Quests would be mostly the "go here - kill that - go back and level up" variety. By this stage, I was in early primary school, and we met our cousins (codenamed V and R to protect their posteriors) a lot more often. So we occasionally had more players to go by. The aunts were getting busier, and I usually didn't want them around for these roleplays, anyway. So our adventures turned from solo-questing to group roleplaying.

Hold the phone, was I born a LARPer? Oh, sorry.

Anyway, just to illustrate on what I mean by that, here's one scenario I can remember quite well. Which is more than can be said about the more important things I could've been remembering.

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This one is very...er...Van Helsing-y. Get quest, fight monster, go home, get cash. Rinse and repeat.

The usual format was that I'd be the narrator, dungeon master, every single NPC, and every single monster throughout the entire game. My brother and cousins (or cousin, depending on who was there at the time) would be the heroes. For some reason, they always ended up overpowered with everything going their way. Blame it on my shoddy DM skills. The scenario normally begins, as any generic RPG does, in a village.

The 'Village' is the one-stop place, filled with taverns, doctors, and as many NPCs as the players wanted to interact with. Which was usually just the barkeep (quest-giver), blacksmith (of course), pharmacist/item storekeeper (for those potions), and occasionally the clients who gave 'hints' - not too subtly, of course, considering the players were still in kindergarten - and a little bit of backstory as to why they'd want some yahoos to go out and kill a rare specimen. No morals necessary - it's all black and white (later on to be revamped after gaining the nuances of treachery and gray areas).

The thing that separated my protagonists from other, more conventional plays was the fact that they fought hand-to-hand. They were just that butch, going into battle with some horrendous foe armed with nothing but a magical Dragon Gauntlet (they aren't that stupid to go without some kind of mystical artifact) or something similar and an assortment of potions which would in reality kill them sooner than their wounds. Well, partly. The main reason was that we didn't have any adequate substitutes for toy swords/shields/spears, so we made do with pummeling and kicking each other. In retrospect, probably not a good way to spend my childhood. But I digress.

Once supplies and orders were sorted out, it would be time to move into the 'action' section. Those of you familiar with MMORPGs should know the drill. Go to some spot on the map, kill a few random under-beastlings, fight the big kahuna, win, divide the spoils. So it was that I had to narrate the entire journey to my budding heroes, keeping them awake by throwing in some surprise ambushes by the side of a cliff of something. Then it was the boss.

Ah yes. The boss. The climactic battle. I'd shed the role of narrator and fully (probably unsuccessfully) turn into the behemoth I thought up of. Nothing terribly twisted or original, just reworked versions of long-recycled villains in stories past. A minotaur, a giant bug, a golem of some sort...standard boss fare. And nothing too difficult either - being a boss is pretty tiring stuff. Not only did I have to flail around or walk on all fours, I also had to make sure the kids could beat me with some measure of difficulty. Usually after knocking them about, I'd break the 4th wall and tell them where the secret spot was. Then, with all their power, they'd coordinate an attack (surprisingly) and wail on me with their magic/fists/magical fists.

End of mission, go back home. The client or barkeep would be waiting (looking quite tired indeed) with a sizable lump of gold, the sum of which was negotiated beforehand and divided among the two. Then they'd go off into town, looking for food or going up to find a new technique I'd thought up of barely five minutes ago (Flaming Dragon Hook, anyone?).

Rinse and repeat, until a) the narrator runs out of ideas or breath, b) the protagonists get far too powerful and end up bored, c) someone has to go home, or d) we happily conclude the game, save it, and wait for the next time around to continue.

The part I liked best of this whole ordeal was keeping the records and making up new stories. We actually kept track on what we did, how much gold was negotiated, the prices (not yet reflecting knowledge of real-world trade) for goods and services, how much HP was left over after that particularly long fight, what techniques had been learned and how to use them...the list just goes on and on.

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Hmm, probably a tad revealing of my true leanings back in those innocent days.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have indeed realised that I have been, and perhaps always will be, a roleplayer. Not a very good one, perhaps, but a roleplayer nonetheless.

Just a second though, wasn't this supposed to be about storytelling?

Why, indeed it was. But then one can argue that roleplaying is but an extension of storytelling, where the audience is directly pulled into the events transpiring rather than as para-omniscient observers forming images from printed letters. Whether or not I was consciously aware of it, I was still fundementally telling a story to my younger kin. The goal was the same, to entertain.

In some ways, I still do that even now. Well, not the roleplaying, unless you count kendo as roleplaying. No, ever-changing perspectives on the world and its workings have hindered my ability to create worlds without boundaries. Of course, back then I also worked with boundaries - limits set by conventions in the books I read, fences that often my younger players could walk through while I denied my innate ability to do so as well. Now, it just becomes too complicated. Scenarios become convoluted, grim, pseudo-noir affairs where nothing is what it seems, no-one is who they appear to be, and morals are always in question. It just gets so tedious sometimes. This new approach has, however, helped me in writing with my erstwhile collaborator Pepen, as both of us apparently share similar views.

There was also a time where I dabbled in an RP forum, using that complicated, intricately detailed, and grim realism I came to appreciate. This, on the other hand, allowed me to create completely different characters to the others playing. It might help form the image to know that this was an anime forum (yes, I also enjoy anime, what of it?), so most of my fellow RPers had characters who were...well...more or less predictable. Avatars of masculine or feminine (or multispecies) perfection, nice hair, either eternally youthful or incredibly old (yet still looking like a sprightly young thing), and well-sculpted faces (occasionally with tasteful scarring to give that 'brooding hero' look). Oh, and don't forget overpowered, with a tendency to destroy any opposition within three posts. Not all, but some.

Then there's me, and my host of characters. Pretentious, some might say, trying too hard. My characters were to the threads I frequented either a completely average everyman (no good anime looks, almost painfully bland, stuck in his own little mortal drama)...or a homage to Frank Miller's antiheroes that would probably prompt him to send a letter asking me to please stop using his gritty characterisation. Of these, I was most fond of a character that I named Sal.

Sal's role was the loner. [Don't snicker just yet, there's worse to come.] He's an independent operative that works outside of any legal governmental body in a world divided between utopian rule (non-human) and a dystopian empire (human). [Not yet...] He's human, but has Spec Ops training and physiobiological implants that makes him harder to kill than any other person. He's also the only human in the hero roster, everyone else being powerful non-humans (dragons, animated dolls, and werewolves just to name a few). Not having supernatural powers, he relies on contraband/stolen weaponry, survival skills, mixed martial arts, and a grimly pessimistic demeanor which speaks through action. In a word, he's a pseudo-Batman, minus the cape and cowl. [Now you can laugh] Replace the costume with a tired brown trenchcoat with dusty jeans and utility belt with a large duffelbag, and you've got a substandard stand-in for the Dark Knight. Or Hartigan. In that sense, he also brings a kind of balance to the players. He's the only one who's grounded to any conventional rules governing humans, he's not completely made of stone or a tragic hero, he's just there. Eccentric enough to be realistic, concerned with things that would not register with non-human characters.

Then strange thing happened; I began to write a backstory, which suddenly grew and formed into the universe the RP is set in.

It's not brilliant, I can give you that. It takes so much out of post-apo and alternate reality literature that I scoff when I read it myself. Again, lots of influences from history and mythology. Sal became the connection between that world and the other players - he provided the story for the other side. Thus I set about ambitiously forming that world, making the intricate details I love so much in stories; politics and backstabbing, ancient cultural references, alternate history...all these things which the others could interpret into their own contexts and flesh out their characters. Sure, you can have a werewolf not like a vampire just because, but what if there's a long history of hatred and backstabbing, even if they're supposed to be allies in a utopian government? Little things that help people imagine things better (if under my hand, come to think of it).

Unfortunately, I never got around to rejoining the RP after going on hiatus two years back. I still regret it, though new activities have led me to spend my time in other places. The last time I checked it was still going, now having moved on to a separate thread after maxing out the reply quota. They're still using Sal's backstory, though all other things have grown to become something completely different to what I planned to make it. Nobody else, including the ones who joined after the first three arcs that I helped co-plan, has made a human character as of yet, and Sal's name is still on the roster though inactive. Forgive this writer for feeling a hint of pride towards the recognition and thought that his is a character no-one else is willing to emulate.

It was after quitting the RP abruptly that I began to write up a story with Pepen, and that's still undergoing a lot. A lot of changes, messes, dead ends...a lot. Again, intricately detailed, forming a convoluted mess that neither of us can grasp as of yet. Whether or not it's a plan to be realized, that's only for the future to know.

So from all this, I gradually understood one thing; storytelling, like life, is a whole lot more interesting when more than one person tells it. I don't mean that solo writers don't make interesting stories, but everybody needs inspiration, almost always from other peoples' ideas and opinions. Without supporting cast members or even the mention of an indistinct character, a monologue, no matter how beautifully worded, will still sound empty to me.

Creating stories with others seems to be a part of me that survived childhood (idealism is sort of ill and groaning in the background these days). It not only relieves me of the burden of having too much to think about, but also it adds new insights and pathways with which I can further my stories. And since I'm no Tolkiens, Gaiman, Murakami or any of those people whose imaginations and determination are the envy of so many others, myself included, I am more than happy just to write and expand my knowledge with someone else. I doubt personal success in writing as an occupation, but it is something I take much pleasure in. That's all.

And the connection to life? Well, we're all playing out our own stories, personal dramas and adventures, where we're the main characters. Yet we are each also supporting characters to someone else, even to someone who we may never meet. And all of us connect in a gigantic web to create this one multi-thread story of humanity.

Ah, well. It's about damn time I finished off this post. It's taken approximately three hours which I could've used to sleep or write up something I was supposed to write, rather than this brainfart.

Konbanwa, and good luck.

[end transmission]

This heart, my thread, I tried so hard.
The best that I could sew was death,
no matter how I covered it with deeds.
What's there left to do?
Because the mud only covers up the stains…
who could imagine a holiday at the sea?
Down there, in the sea,
I should hold my breath
'til this other person's blood is washing off of me.

~ A Holiday At The Sea - Anathallo

I somehow managed to have this song tucked away in a rarely-opened folder. So it was a surprise when I found and put it on.

Regardless of what the lyrics actually mean (sounds a tad religious, come to think of it), it's an awesome song. The musical arrangement is somewhat reminiscent of Sufjan Stevens mixed with a bit of Hey Mercedes...strange at first, but gets better with every replay.

So yes, I'm pretty happy.

[End Transmission]

This is one of those nights where I can't sleep, despite having exhausted myself thoroughly the night before.

This can mean one of three things:
a. I'm going to go down with some wierd disease, again,
b. I'm slowly building up my immune system again, and it's causing me to stay up later, or
c. I have extremely poor time management skills and/or discipline.

I'm putting my money on c.

On the bright side, I've been able to appreciate my new, albeit temporary, home a bit more. All things considered, I actually got an excellent deal. My humble (oh, alright, not-so-humble) cottage is nicely located close to the parking lot, and close to the access point into the university. Sure, it takes a bit longer to get anywhere, but the views at night are something I won't get in Studville. Due to all cottages only being one story in height, you get to see so much more...with less light, obviously.

Tonight, the moon is an almost glaring disc suspended between the horizon and that point you'd assume was the middle of the sky. Oh, it's lovely. Such a pity that my camera cannot possibly capture all the nuances that this night has brought. There are wispy clouds playing across the face of the moon, the ground lit up by the sheer lunar radiance. It's a night you'd expect to find strange people clad in black jumping from roof to roof, or lovers and friends lying down on the grass to gaze up at the sky.

Also, it's making me rather hungry for some reason. Hm.

But it's a wonderful night.

On the other news, the other guys in the cottage have decided to make some fun by doing scientific experiments around the complex. Mainly blowing up plastic bottles with vinegar and baking soda. Don't ask me why they did it...it's strange enough to hear about two scientists and an engineer placing these rather volatile explosions in a housing complex. The first explosion I assumed was someone's car backfiring. When the second one blew, they looked quite shocked (having been told off by the duty RA for the first one). And there's also a third one, which may be a dud but could also just have delayed action...hahahahahahaha. There's fun to be had as a science major, in this case. Guess you do get a little stir crazy being in a lab all day...

[End Transmission]

Haiyah

I checked the due date for my first Philosophy essay. Guess what? It's due in 3 days. How I'm going to do a 1000 word essay in 3 days is still beyond me...but nothing a few sleepless nights won't remedy. I hope. Otherwise, I'm looking at a really quick fail rate. Mwahahah.

Anyway, saw something pretty amazing tonight. Clear night sky outside, the kind that makes you feel so small in the face of it all. The half-moon shining brightly, the stars twinkling strongly...and then one of them moved. As in, it was stationary for a moment, then it started to move. Very quickly. No, I'm not under the influence. It just happened before my mortal eyes. Freaking epic. Could've been a plane, maybe an optical illusion, but I'm going to stick with my 'moving star' theory. Screw modern science and rational thought. It was magical, and that's all I need to know.

Oh, and it turns out I did mess up my wrist a bit. Which isn't good, considering that next week I have a kendo grading. And an ECON test the day after. Whoo. So, essay on Monday, kendo on Tuesday, and ECON on Wednesday...8 AM. Hahahahahahahaha. Lovely. This summer's turning out to be a lot more than I expected.

Screw it.

[End Transmission]

Ech.

I just realized my Economics paper is a whole lot easier than the one I took last semester.

To be honest, it's probably easier because I actually learned a few things back then. Also, there isn't that annoying compulsory forum section.

Which, coincidentally, forms the bulk of my Philosophy paper.

That isn't very good. But on the other hand, it'll force me to make a stand for once...even if it means getting my arse mangled by holier-than-thou Philosophy majors who always try to one-up everyone else with their thoughts.

Just kidding.

Actually, on the issue of possums in New Zealand, I believe (here we go) that they should be eliminated only if they're threatening human wellbeing. Ambiguously useful, that. Preservation of local species, perhaps for tourism or emergency food sources, may affect the welfare of humans, thus justifying the elimination of possums.

Yes, I know there's no justifying to killing. I'm taking the utilitarian view. The problem is that possums are probably already part of the NZ ecology, and getting rid of them may also cause problems in local ecosystems. Who can tell if the possums are actually doing something useful, perhaps keeping a rampant local pest from overpopulating and achieving the exact same thing DoC keeps spouting about possums? Take away all the possums (near impossible, given that they can breed and spread pretty fast), perhaps you'd leave an imbalance in the local ecology, one native species outcompeting all others. Could be just as bad as letting the possums go free, as an animal lover might argue.

Such is the joy of philosophy - you can say whatever shite you want and it'll still be valid as long as you keep it pleasantly ambiguous.

Hm.

I also seem to have injured my left wrist. Which is not good, because the Beginner Cup starts in about a month and a bit, if I've got my timetable correct. Must prove to myself that I too can fight! Yar!

[End Transmission]

My First Culinary Abortion for 2008

If cooking is half the battle, eating whatever you just cooked up is the remainder.

And if the quality of food is equal to the amount of effort and skill put into it, I should be thankful that I'm still alive today.

So on to tonight's lovely little tale. It's a story about how a seemingly innocent idea can turn out to be not-quite-so-innocent.

It's called Kakak O's Spaghetti Bolognaise with Corned Mutton.

Now, if the name didn't already scare you off, perhaps the description would.

First of all, gently heat up a frying pan. Preferably a non-stick one. I had the joy of cooking on a steel-only frying pan, and spent the rest of the evening scraping pieces of mutton fat off. And you might want to skip on putting some oil in; this'll be obvious in a few moments.

Next, open a tin of corned mutton (hopefully with a can opener or bayonet). Scoop out half the contents and dump it on the frying pan. The fat content of the mutton should be sizzling happily the moment it hits the pan, thus eliminating the need for cooking oil. Add some chopped onion if you like.

Allow the corned mutton to cook for a while. Yes, I understand it's redundant to cook something already pre-cooked, bear with me. Let it simmer in its own fat until it turns somewhat brownish.

Now dump in some tomato sauce over the pungent concoction. The ones that come in jars. Yes, those ones. What, you'd think I'd actually make my own sauce? Eh? It's cheating? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Hopefully, you'd have the spaghetti at least half-cooked by now. Otherwise filling your home with the rather strong smell of something that's containing bits and pieces you'd rather not see from an animal mixed with tomato sauce would have all been for nothing. Can't have spaghetti bolognaise without the spaghetti now, can we? I dare say, old chap.

Oh, you might also want to add some spice to make the sauce taste more like proper spaghetti sauce as opposed to reconstituted meat covered by tomato sauce. Correction, make that a lot of spice. I probably used up half of my pepper and oregano supply to make it not smell like a dead sheep.

So, once all this is done, the sauce cooked to taste and the spaghetti reasonably chewable, you now have the (dubious) honor of tasting it yourself. Go ahead.

By the time you finish that first bite, you might well be thinking,

"What the hell did I just make?"

Note that this is an expression of incredulity at the tomfoolery you've unknowingly committed. You have, in fact, created a culinary abortion. Note how the taste of the corned mutton contrasts to practically everything else. You are essentially eating a plate-full of dodgy sheep bits smothered in red paste and unsuccessfully disguised by spices.

You might also feel a little heavy and disoriented after that. Or you may collapse and see a bright light at the end of a tunnel, given the right circumstances. Don't worry too much, that's just the cholesterol speaking. Eating that dish probably contained the equivalent of two Double Big Macs and a generous side order of french fries. Go ahead, sleep it off. With any luck, you won't wake up seven weeks later with a catheter stuck in your nether regions.

And with that warning, I bid you all a good night (or morning).

[End Transmission]

Yet Another Late-Night Soliloquy

So I'm back.

And I'm adapting, though a bit more slowly than I'd expect myself to. The last two weeks have not been the most pleasant of re-introductions into the host culture, but personal sense of destiny (i.e. there's no way I'm going to drop out like this), kendo, and the looming threat of failure have managed to put me back in line.

And then there's the sky.

Oh, yes. I had almost forgotten. Forgotten how the stars were supposed to shine back through the inky night, celestial beings forever winking down from between the clouds. How the sunsets were not just the mundane travels our earth around the mighty star, but rather the brilliant display of so many hidden workings of the planet. How the sky can be so clear, you could feel the endlessness of outer space beyond.

Indeed, in my heart's distressed wanderings, I overlooked the many things that made me feel this place to be the right one. The reasons why I thought this was home for the next four years at least, why I thought it better than Auckland (until I found Wellington, but that's another story). In fact, I had been so sure before that I would enjoy my time here, that I would be practical and live in the now.

Of course, I'm an impractical soul. Honestly. The moment I'm reminded of the things I left behind, a glimmer of doubt breaks through. Why am I here? What am I doing here? Why should I be here? All these raced through my mind. My heart, or something close to it, pleaded for a change of place, to be out of this landlocked town in the middle of the dairy region.

I considered the options. I could easily leave. Well, easy is a relative term. I ask to be transferred, pack my bags, and scamper off to some other city in search of new grounds. But then what? I doubt I'd be happy for long wherever it is I moved into. There would be the excitement of being new, of being somewhere else...but then that would fade away into routine and I'd be stuck in this predicament once again. So, what's a guy to do?

Well, I reasoned with myself that it would only be three, four more years at the most. After that I'm pretty much welcome to bugger off wherever I please (though in reality, lack of funding will probably be an obstacle at the beginning). It's just like that night in the gym, the night I rather idiotically volunteered to watch over training equipment for instructors who had come from overseas.

Come to think of it, the conditions were eerily similar to my current predicament. Choosing without clearly thinking through the consequences. In the long term, that could be connected to me actually enrolling up in this part of the world, without having much thought on what I'd do afterwards or how I'd cope after a while. As for the gym night, I didn't think about how cold it would get (mind you, this was in winter, so it was pretty stupid to only bring a sleeping bag and sweater for warmth) or how uncomfortable sleeping directly on a wooden floor could be. As the night progressed, things became increasingly discomforting. The temperature dropped, I couldn't sleep, I didn't bring any food or water...yeah, pretty stupid. Couldn't contact anyone; it was midnight by then. I had to rest up for the following day, as there would be a whole lot more training involved and I'd miss out on too many things I'd probably never get the chance to learn again. Amidst all this, doubt began to flourish. Oh, leaving would be easy. I could just walk out the door, go home, sleep, and come back the next morning well rested. Just like that. But I'd be going against something I've promised to do. Giving up and letting down the people I had started to see as family...stay it was. In the end, I managed to sleep. I found the switch that controlled the heater fan for the gym, and could construct a makeshift bed out of some chairs. And the reward was worth it. Not only did I retain the trust and welcome from my adopted family, I also got a rare item from the most senior sensei, Yoshihiko Inoue-sensei. Oh, and some 6000 xp from surviving the two-day camp. I probably leveled up twice in that one weekend.

But I'm digressing.

The point is, this could be just like that night. A stretched out version. Staying and going through with the original plan might seem like a waste of time now...but I could always find ways of making it through. Maybe even make it enjoyable. The reward's also there. On the other hand, if I walk out the door, I could be faced with other opportunities...but perhaps not the ones I'm looking for. Either way, each action has its own set of consequences and opportunities. But for now, I'll stick with Plan A. See how it rides out. I'm already here, I've already paid...might as well make it worthwhile rather than ditching it for some other plan I haven't clearly thought out either.

In a word...meh.

p.s. To Yaz and Nda, if you guys are reading this, please know that the reason why I haven't written back is because I still have no idea what to write about. What? Write about my life? Preposterous. Compared to you guys my life is pretty much as stable as a noble gas...haha. Oh, all right. I'll write. Cheers.

[End Transmission]