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]
Showing posts with label Rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rant. Show all posts
Friday, May 16, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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]
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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]
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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]
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]
Saturday, January 12, 2008
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
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]
Thursday, May 3, 2007
4 hours to sunrise
I.
Whacking.
Hate.
Essays.
I'd go into a rant about how I should've done it weeks ago, but I'm too whacking pissed off to write about that.
Now that feels a lot better.
[End Transmision]
Whacking.
Hate.
Essays.
I'd go into a rant about how I should've done it weeks ago, but I'm too whacking pissed off to write about that.
Now that feels a lot better.
[End Transmision]
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