I passed! I passed! What a load off!
My dog's wonderfully mischevious but sometimes her spoilt brat act goes a bit far. We were eating lunch at a coffee shop today, al fresco style, and a scant meter and a half from the side of the road where our car was parked.
Okay, so we were double parked, but we were also eating real quick. Unfortunately it didn't seem quick enough, and Perdy who was waiting in the car kicked up a huge ruckus, barked her head off, and attracted plenty of attention - the kind that saw the same people walk back and forth again and again. Everytime she fell silent, I turned to look towards the car and the noise would start up again.
Cheryl asked me why I keep up to date with this girl's blog even though I haven't always been entirely fond of her. I actually don't know. What is it that makes us go back to the life stories of the people we dislike? A sick compulsion to find out every single detail of their lives so we can sit back and feel better about ourselves? Maybe it was insecurity at first, but now it's just a habit - part of the routine as I flick through my daily dose of gossip.
Batman Begins is really quite good.
I swear my sister hasn't stopped talking (loudly) since her exams ended Tuesday.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
I <3 angry people
I've been told so many times to take down my tagboard. It seems to have invited nothing but trouble, but thus is the nature of people.
I suppose the problem with tagging is that you can tag under your own name, someone else's name or your own name when it's really someone else's. Then you should ask yourself how many of these tags I delete on a daily basis, and how many more I've doctored. Cue cliche evil laugh.
It's like a mystery wrapped in an enema. - Nanny Ogg
And I would say none. Except for the really unsuitable ones my sister puts up in one of her rants - I don't know where she learns these things. Children these days. But I'm totally for free speech, say what you want when you want, it tends to be a fair reflection of the person you are.
I suppose if I did take down my tagboard, it would be like admitting defeat, as if telling all those wonderful anti-ashes, leos, and bambinos out there that their puerile jabber actually gets to me.
Maybe it sort of does. They're exactly the sort of people that remind me to be thankful for the ones I love and hold dear, that my friends and family are so much bigger than the lowliest of lifeforms that use my two-inch column of public space as a means of fighting their own inadequacies.
I'd suggest therapy, but go ahead and make use of whatever resources available.
I suppose the problem with tagging is that you can tag under your own name, someone else's name or your own name when it's really someone else's. Then you should ask yourself how many of these tags I delete on a daily basis, and how many more I've doctored. Cue cliche evil laugh.
It's like a mystery wrapped in an enema. - Nanny Ogg
And I would say none. Except for the really unsuitable ones my sister puts up in one of her rants - I don't know where she learns these things. Children these days. But I'm totally for free speech, say what you want when you want, it tends to be a fair reflection of the person you are.
I suppose if I did take down my tagboard, it would be like admitting defeat, as if telling all those wonderful anti-ashes, leos, and bambinos out there that their puerile jabber actually gets to me.
Maybe it sort of does. They're exactly the sort of people that remind me to be thankful for the ones I love and hold dear, that my friends and family are so much bigger than the lowliest of lifeforms that use my two-inch column of public space as a means of fighting their own inadequacies.
I'd suggest therapy, but go ahead and make use of whatever resources available.
To my little brother
It pains me to look at you. To see the sharp, probing mind behind that vacant stare, wrapped in that lanky frame struck in a pose that screams I-can't-be-bothered.
I don't understand why you don't want to do well just for the joy of doing well, for the simple pleasure of knowing you've given it your best, instead of for another promised handphone or extortionate amounts of money.
I don't know why you can't hear your own voice when you talk to the ones that love you most. Is it because we didn't buy you a pen drive or a new handphone or iPod upon your demand, that you think we don't love you? Is it because your friends give you these things for free and that they seem to be the root of your happiness and we are the necessary evil?
I don't get how you don't see what kind of hurt you've caused us.
How Mum cries for you because she doesn't want you to grow up not being able to look after yourself when she dies; or how much stress and worry you caused Dad when you left the house without telling us yesterday - he was going to go out and look for you all night.
Did you know that the one who tracked you down was Cheryl? And that the whole time you were missing, she thought of nothing else but you, even though she had three papers in a row the next day and little time to study. And you called her a bitch.
I don't know what goes on in your head. I don't know how you can do this to them. You're right. I don't seem to know anything at all about you because I can't get past the aggressive tone or forgive your stinging retorts and rejections.
I didn't ever think you could hurt me this much when I first picked you up fifteen years ago.
I don't understand why you don't want to do well just for the joy of doing well, for the simple pleasure of knowing you've given it your best, instead of for another promised handphone or extortionate amounts of money.
I don't know why you can't hear your own voice when you talk to the ones that love you most. Is it because we didn't buy you a pen drive or a new handphone or iPod upon your demand, that you think we don't love you? Is it because your friends give you these things for free and that they seem to be the root of your happiness and we are the necessary evil?
I don't get how you don't see what kind of hurt you've caused us.
How Mum cries for you because she doesn't want you to grow up not being able to look after yourself when she dies; or how much stress and worry you caused Dad when you left the house without telling us yesterday - he was going to go out and look for you all night.
Did you know that the one who tracked you down was Cheryl? And that the whole time you were missing, she thought of nothing else but you, even though she had three papers in a row the next day and little time to study. And you called her a bitch.
I don't know what goes on in your head. I don't know how you can do this to them. You're right. I don't seem to know anything at all about you because I can't get past the aggressive tone or forgive your stinging retorts and rejections.
I didn't ever think you could hurt me this much when I first picked you up fifteen years ago.
Do it like this
The day's barely started and I've already begun to tread the path of knowledge and enlightenment. So far, I've learnt that it is in fact rude to mix your wasabi and soy sauce, which will probably go on to shake the very foundations of South East Asian-ised Japanese cuisine. I've never seen anyone not dump a lump of wasabi into their soy sauce and proceed to mix it into an evil looking grey-green paste of stinging death prior to their meal. It's such an instinctive thing to want to burn your sinuses out, I mean, what are we thinking?
I'm still waiting for someone Japanese to verify that though, because I got that ultra-helpful, ground-breaking tidbit of information from an eurasian rojak. No offence intended; said in the fondest possible way.
I'm still waiting for someone Japanese to verify that though, because I got that ultra-helpful, ground-breaking tidbit of information from an eurasian rojak. No offence intended; said in the fondest possible way.
Monday, June 27, 2005
I'm sorry
I apologise for the outburst, and even if he did run away for a little bit after that, he finally came home, and I'm glad he's safe. Now we're waiting for Mum to come home too and sort things out.
And I'm not Malaysian. Really.
And I'm not Malaysian. Really.
The little turd
Who am I kidding. I'd rather skydive with a baby than even try to help my brother who's more stubborn than a donkey. Grr!
We've spent too much time and effort over the years trying to cushion his seemingly inexplicable ability to do well in school by telling him he has a lot of potential and telling ourselves that he's a late bloomer. Pah. Lazy little piece of poo. Grr!
It's just lie after lie, excuse after excuse! Today's lie was about forgetting his metronome. He told his music teacher he didn't bring his metronome because the weight had fallen off it (yes, we must have the oldest mechanical metronome in existence). His exam's in four weeks and he's far from comfortable with his pieces.
So I went home and mg, to my complete and utter surprise, it was right where it had left it, on the bloody stick thing on the face of the metronome. Argh. Idiot, so I stormed downstairs with it and placed it very emphatically infront of his face.
A: Do you honestly think we're all morons?! Why did you tell Claire you lost the weight? Why couldn't you just say you forgot to bring it?!
B: Because I keep forgetting to bring it back.
A: What?
B: I told her I lost the weight so I wouldn't have to bring it so I wouldn't forget to bring it back.
(His unflappable logic strikes again.)
A: The point is she wants you to play in time!
B: But I keep forgetting to bring it back!
A: ...
Prior to this there was a conversation about his math.
A: Since I'm going to be home for three months, I'm going to help you on your math
B: But I don't need help, I'm improving!
A: But you failed your exam, so you need to put in the extra work, and I'm willing to sit down with you and coach you.
B: But I don't need it! Urgh! I already had this conversation with mum!
A: Okay, fine, so I'll set you a paper and if you pass then fair enough, I'll leave you alone.
B: What?! No! I'm doing okay!
A: But if you're doing okay, you should pass, it's no new material, everything you did last year. You didn't fail your school exam that badly right? Borderline fail right? So you should more or less know everything.
B: No!! It was a bad fail!!
A: So that's why you need help...
B: No!! I don't need help!!
What a moron. Argh. I have to hit something before I kill him.
We've spent too much time and effort over the years trying to cushion his seemingly inexplicable ability to do well in school by telling him he has a lot of potential and telling ourselves that he's a late bloomer. Pah. Lazy little piece of poo. Grr!
It's just lie after lie, excuse after excuse! Today's lie was about forgetting his metronome. He told his music teacher he didn't bring his metronome because the weight had fallen off it (yes, we must have the oldest mechanical metronome in existence). His exam's in four weeks and he's far from comfortable with his pieces.
So I went home and mg, to my complete and utter surprise, it was right where it had left it, on the bloody stick thing on the face of the metronome. Argh. Idiot, so I stormed downstairs with it and placed it very emphatically infront of his face.
A: Do you honestly think we're all morons?! Why did you tell Claire you lost the weight? Why couldn't you just say you forgot to bring it?!
B: Because I keep forgetting to bring it back.
A: What?
B: I told her I lost the weight so I wouldn't have to bring it so I wouldn't forget to bring it back.
(His unflappable logic strikes again.)
A: The point is she wants you to play in time!
B: But I keep forgetting to bring it back!
A: ...
Prior to this there was a conversation about his math.
A: Since I'm going to be home for three months, I'm going to help you on your math
B: But I don't need help, I'm improving!
A: But you failed your exam, so you need to put in the extra work, and I'm willing to sit down with you and coach you.
B: But I don't need it! Urgh! I already had this conversation with mum!
A: Okay, fine, so I'll set you a paper and if you pass then fair enough, I'll leave you alone.
B: What?! No! I'm doing okay!
A: But if you're doing okay, you should pass, it's no new material, everything you did last year. You didn't fail your school exam that badly right? Borderline fail right? So you should more or less know everything.
B: No!! It was a bad fail!!
A: So that's why you need help...
B: No!! I don't need help!!
What a moron. Argh. I have to hit something before I kill him.
I need a PA
Things are improving, I didn't get up before the sun, and Rudy must be the only other one who's as bored as I am so early in the morning which is why his conversation is blinking orange.
I've completely accepted that I can't sing, so my fall back plan is to lipsynch, like Britney Spears, only better.
I've also never enjoyed tennis as much as I have now. Squash is so yesterday, tennis is the way to go. Weng's line of the day, "After watching two hours of Wimbledon, I know all the moves, so you better be prepared." +rofl+
My mummy's left for Singapore today to be with my grandma who's got a check up, which leaves me with oh, about the same amount of driving/chores/responsibilities. She's rediscovering her adolescenthood, so most holidays see me screaming and stressing out at my brother on her behalf. +sigh+
I've completely accepted that I can't sing, so my fall back plan is to lipsynch, like Britney Spears, only better.
I've also never enjoyed tennis as much as I have now. Squash is so yesterday, tennis is the way to go. Weng's line of the day, "After watching two hours of Wimbledon, I know all the moves, so you better be prepared." +rofl+
My mummy's left for Singapore today to be with my grandma who's got a check up, which leaves me with oh, about the same amount of driving/chores/responsibilities. She's rediscovering her adolescenthood, so most holidays see me screaming and stressing out at my brother on her behalf. +sigh+
Sunday, June 26, 2005
A new project, an old horror
"I can't sing, I promise. You know like Jonathan not being able to sing at first? Yea, like that, only worse. You don't want me in it..."
"Ashley! Come and sit here..."
The next thing I know, I'm struggling through an alto part while at the same time trying not to laugh hysterically at the mess I've got myself into or at Weng sitting across the room straining to hit the notes in his tenor part and pulling faces to match.
I quite simply couldn't say no to his Aunt.
Thus, due to a stirring bout of politeness, I have four weeks to get it right, and goodness knows I'm awful at singing in parts. I get distracted so easily and after five valiant alto notes, I'm singing along with the soprano part only in a different key. In fact, it feels like I'm singing in a different key all the time. If singing even describes it.
"Ashley! Come and sit here..."
The next thing I know, I'm struggling through an alto part while at the same time trying not to laugh hysterically at the mess I've got myself into or at Weng sitting across the room straining to hit the notes in his tenor part and pulling faces to match.
I quite simply couldn't say no to his Aunt.
Thus, due to a stirring bout of politeness, I have four weeks to get it right, and goodness knows I'm awful at singing in parts. I get distracted so easily and after five valiant alto notes, I'm singing along with the soprano part only in a different key. In fact, it feels like I'm singing in a different key all the time. If singing even describes it.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Checkin' in early
I'm getting there, slowly but surely. It's already six this time, not five thirty. Yes, my eyes are still grainy and I'll probably have to have a lie down at around 2 or 3 this afternoon but I'll eventually get back in sync with this timezone.
I'd forgotten how funny it is watching my dog eat durian until last night. She begged at my dad's feet for a while before vaulting herself onto the nearest arm rest to get a little closer to the fruit he was holding in his hand. Then she got her own piece, chased it across the balconey before wedging it up against the wall and finished it with a very satisfied look on her face and durian in her fur before immediately begging mum for another piece.
Ah, I can hear my Dad's up. Any hour for golf.
I'd forgotten how funny it is watching my dog eat durian until last night. She begged at my dad's feet for a while before vaulting herself onto the nearest arm rest to get a little closer to the fruit he was holding in his hand. Then she got her own piece, chased it across the balconey before wedging it up against the wall and finished it with a very satisfied look on her face and durian in her fur before immediately begging mum for another piece.
Ah, I can hear my Dad's up. Any hour for golf.
Survival: The feminine movement
Clearly they had been there long, descended on the hapless piles like vultures on a zebra corpse, the bright fabrics in the bargain bin could hardly be seen in the flurry of arms, manicured fingers, and jostling handbags.
The musk hit you with the rolling heatwave, like stepping into a wall of eau de primal instinct. Every woman for herself, occasionally a helpless male bobbed along in the crush of hangers, tags, and made up faces.
It was not a sight for the faint hearted as bits of material were clutched covetously to heaving bosoms struggling towards the cash register while others made a beeline, actually more akin to a smoke particle in a Brownian diffusion experiment, to rejoin the melee. I don't know if there was such a thing as rejoining the heaving mass of female hormones because it sort of sucked you in, in a dance that seemed random, but not quite. It was complete and utter chaos.
And the clothes weren't even all that pretty. It felt like one big joke. That they would put up discount signs and really old stock in a persychological study on how easy it is to whip our hunter-gatherer instincts into a frenzy. I bet somewhere there are men in white clothes laughing behind a one way mirror.
This is the MNG sale.
The musk hit you with the rolling heatwave, like stepping into a wall of eau de primal instinct. Every woman for herself, occasionally a helpless male bobbed along in the crush of hangers, tags, and made up faces.
It was not a sight for the faint hearted as bits of material were clutched covetously to heaving bosoms struggling towards the cash register while others made a beeline, actually more akin to a smoke particle in a Brownian diffusion experiment, to rejoin the melee. I don't know if there was such a thing as rejoining the heaving mass of female hormones because it sort of sucked you in, in a dance that seemed random, but not quite. It was complete and utter chaos.
And the clothes weren't even all that pretty. It felt like one big joke. That they would put up discount signs and really old stock in a persychological study on how easy it is to whip our hunter-gatherer instincts into a frenzy. I bet somewhere there are men in white clothes laughing behind a one way mirror.
This is the MNG sale.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Eat and be merry
There are so many more distractions at home. I've sorted out the bulk of my cravings already, so I'm pretty content: home cooked food, roti canai, nasi lemak, and bak kut teh. Dim sum tomorrow morning and probably char kway teow tomorrow night.
My clock's completely messed up though, I got out of bed at 5.30 this morning and crashed into a chair, aggrevating the beautiful deep-purple bruise on my knee that I got from climbing over the back of my aeroplane seat the evening before (I got the window seat and I really needed to go.)
My mum and dog came downstairs at six thirty and she asked me in that clever way mothers do whether she should take the dog out, which saw me walking Perdy in near darkness while drivers beating the rush hour traffic tore past. Perdy seemed to know the way so I stumbled after her fluffy beige form while trying to scratch at mosquito bites.
I went back to bed at 10.00am to take a nap. I couldn't get up to drive Cheryl to her clarinet lesson so I made her take a cab with the promise that I'd pick her up and take her shopping in the afternoon. Completely dead to the world, I was out cold for the next three hours and only woke up because Cheryl called demanding to know where I was, saying that I'd better be on my way to get her.
I was falling asleep against by 6.00pm, and no one could decide what to eat for dinner, so at eight, when I had just given up trying to stay awake waiting for someone to decide, Dad shouted, "Haagen Daz! Let's go for Haagen Daz!" and everyone came running, ready to leave. Clever.
I've decided I can't post the rest of the Poland pictures because there are just too many and they're all beautiful, and it takes too much time - precious home time too.
I've started learning basic French vocab though. I have a mission this summer, and the first phrase I've mastered goes non, je ne comprends pas. Oh, and merde.
My clock's completely messed up though, I got out of bed at 5.30 this morning and crashed into a chair, aggrevating the beautiful deep-purple bruise on my knee that I got from climbing over the back of my aeroplane seat the evening before (I got the window seat and I really needed to go.)
My mum and dog came downstairs at six thirty and she asked me in that clever way mothers do whether she should take the dog out, which saw me walking Perdy in near darkness while drivers beating the rush hour traffic tore past. Perdy seemed to know the way so I stumbled after her fluffy beige form while trying to scratch at mosquito bites.
I went back to bed at 10.00am to take a nap. I couldn't get up to drive Cheryl to her clarinet lesson so I made her take a cab with the promise that I'd pick her up and take her shopping in the afternoon. Completely dead to the world, I was out cold for the next three hours and only woke up because Cheryl called demanding to know where I was, saying that I'd better be on my way to get her.
I was falling asleep against by 6.00pm, and no one could decide what to eat for dinner, so at eight, when I had just given up trying to stay awake waiting for someone to decide, Dad shouted, "Haagen Daz! Let's go for Haagen Daz!" and everyone came running, ready to leave. Clever.
I've decided I can't post the rest of the Poland pictures because there are just too many and they're all beautiful, and it takes too much time - precious home time too.
I've started learning basic French vocab though. I have a mission this summer, and the first phrase I've mastered goes non, je ne comprends pas. Oh, and merde.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Poland in pictures: Warsaw Day 1
Warsaw was completely destroyed during WWII in retaliation to an uprising during the German occupation.
In the sixty years after the war, it was completely rebuilt, based on a series of Italian paintings commissioned by one of Poland's last kings.
Its rooftop residents...
In the sixty years after the war, it was completely rebuilt, based on a series of Italian paintings commissioned by one of Poland's last kings.
No effort was spared in recreating the charming bustle of its narrow cobbled streets...
The Old Town wall...
Its rooftop residents...
And every piece of enchanting motif that adorned the facades of the shop houses.
It's so early!
With about a hundred pictures to sort through and rearrange (because people forgot to format their cards...) I'm feeling pretty good, even if its 5.30am. I must be jetlagged or something.
Or excited about going home, tomorrow.
Here's what happened on Sunday morning, when I had just woken up with tight hamstrings and even tighter calves:
Weng's phone went off as we were passing from unconciousness into conciousness and swiftly back again. His display read Aunty Nancy, which jolted me awake and running through the list of excuses I have stored in my head (whenever Mum calls Weng, it's rarely ever good), but that's okay, after the mild panic it was actually Cheryl.
C: Hey woman! Aren't you supposed to be on a plane in four hours?!
A: Huh what?
C: Plane! You know, fly home!
A: Oh shit, I'm still in Poland. (thinking, Dad's going to kill me if I miss my flight)
C: Huh? But aren't you flying home today?
A: What?! ... Oh, haha, no, only on Wednesday evening
C: OH cheh...you got Mum all excited for nothing.
A: - Back thursday night. Eh, this is costing Weng a lot. I better go, I'll be back in London tomorrow, talk to you then.
Which brings me back to now. So I'm going to get sorting on those photos and try to put some up. I love this bit of the post-holiday when you get to sort through pictures and remember what a great time you had, but I'm not so sure I want to sort through the Auschwitz photos because that place left me so horribly traumatised. I might let Weng do it.
Or excited about going home, tomorrow.
Here's what happened on Sunday morning, when I had just woken up with tight hamstrings and even tighter calves:
Weng's phone went off as we were passing from unconciousness into conciousness and swiftly back again. His display read Aunty Nancy, which jolted me awake and running through the list of excuses I have stored in my head (whenever Mum calls Weng, it's rarely ever good), but that's okay, after the mild panic it was actually Cheryl.
C: Hey woman! Aren't you supposed to be on a plane in four hours?!
A: Huh what?
C: Plane! You know, fly home!
A: Oh shit, I'm still in Poland. (thinking, Dad's going to kill me if I miss my flight)
C: Huh? But aren't you flying home today?
A: What?! ... Oh, haha, no, only on Wednesday evening
C: OH cheh...you got Mum all excited for nothing.
A: - Back thursday night. Eh, this is costing Weng a lot. I better go, I'll be back in London tomorrow, talk to you then.
Which brings me back to now. So I'm going to get sorting on those photos and try to put some up. I love this bit of the post-holiday when you get to sort through pictures and remember what a great time you had, but I'm not so sure I want to sort through the Auschwitz photos because that place left me so horribly traumatised. I might let Weng do it.
Monday, June 20, 2005
I return
Poland is a truly incredible country. For a nation whose history is most often remembered for its suffering, they have shown the courage and pride that took them through those atrocious years to emerge as one of the most beautiful sights I have ever laid eyes on.
And with lots of cherries. You'll see what I mean when I get my photos up somewhere.
We touched down today at the end of what's been an amazing experience, so I probably won't be talking about much else for the next three or four posts.
And with lots of cherries. You'll see what I mean when I get my photos up somewhere.
We touched down today at the end of what's been an amazing experience, so I probably won't be talking about much else for the next three or four posts.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Day 2::Warsaw
Today saw us run out of camera batteries and/or memory space, but let me tell you about last night first.
There are so many irritating little flies in Poland, the sort that bug horses all the time and we suffered from a slight infestation last night when they drew to the light and swarmed Tom's ceiling. Being the galant men they are, Tom and Weng quickly dragged the vacuum cleaner - a throwback from the 70s, into the room to do some quick extermination. And boy were they efficient.
After sweeping the ceiling twice and not seeing any kind of real improvement, Tom checked the fittings.
T: Oh damn, the hose is in the wrong hole! It's blowing!
W: Oh, no wonder my t-shirt kept getting sucked in.
It was a lot funnier last night, maybe because we were so tired, but they had effectively spent half an hour displacing the tiny bugs.
Another killer line that set me off was Nat screaming at Tom, 'You're a pain in the rear trumpet!' and Weng asking, 'He has a rear trumpet?'.
After an immense brunch spread with three types of ham, cheese, three types of bread, and kielbasa (the world's best sausage), we set out down the King's route. There were a lot of pictures and so much walking - I can hardly remember all the places we stopped by at, but we eventually made it to the piece de resistance of today's tour and reached Lazienki Park, where a beautiful palace sits across an even more gorgeous lake built in the 16th century - the King's weekend retreat.
Then it was dinner +sigh+ and cherries.
There are so many irritating little flies in Poland, the sort that bug horses all the time and we suffered from a slight infestation last night when they drew to the light and swarmed Tom's ceiling. Being the galant men they are, Tom and Weng quickly dragged the vacuum cleaner - a throwback from the 70s, into the room to do some quick extermination. And boy were they efficient.
After sweeping the ceiling twice and not seeing any kind of real improvement, Tom checked the fittings.
T: Oh damn, the hose is in the wrong hole! It's blowing!
W: Oh, no wonder my t-shirt kept getting sucked in.
It was a lot funnier last night, maybe because we were so tired, but they had effectively spent half an hour displacing the tiny bugs.
Another killer line that set me off was Nat screaming at Tom, 'You're a pain in the rear trumpet!' and Weng asking, 'He has a rear trumpet?'.
After an immense brunch spread with three types of ham, cheese, three types of bread, and kielbasa (the world's best sausage), we set out down the King's route. There were a lot of pictures and so much walking - I can hardly remember all the places we stopped by at, but we eventually made it to the piece de resistance of today's tour and reached Lazienki Park, where a beautiful palace sits across an even more gorgeous lake built in the 16th century - the King's weekend retreat.
Then it was dinner +sigh+ and cherries.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
On location::Warsaw
This has got to be one of the most exhausting days ever. We finally slept at half one, and the alarm was supposed to ring at half four. It did, only everyone assumed that someone else would wake up and wake them up, which didn't happen. Thankfully something ticked over in Weng's mind and he shot out of bed with a 'Shit, it's 5:57!', so with the cab due to arrive at six, we rushed out of the house in pretty impressive fashion.
Warsaw is beautiful, and I cannot say enough what a joy it is being hosted by Tom's parents, they rock. We've been eating Polish food, and the least I can say is that England were behind the door when God handed out palatable national food. And the soil here must be better or something - boiled potatoes tasted amazingly good and the strawberries were like little dark red bags of sweet, succulent juice.
Tom's currently convincing Nat that he's sexy from ages 2 through to 15. They're poring through his photo collection, and being an only child, there are a lot of photos and even more laughing.
I can't wait 'til tomorrow when we hit Warsaw again. I promise so many pictures when I get back!
Warsaw is beautiful, and I cannot say enough what a joy it is being hosted by Tom's parents, they rock. We've been eating Polish food, and the least I can say is that England were behind the door when God handed out palatable national food. And the soil here must be better or something - boiled potatoes tasted amazingly good and the strawberries were like little dark red bags of sweet, succulent juice.
Tom's currently convincing Nat that he's sexy from ages 2 through to 15. They're poring through his photo collection, and being an only child, there are a lot of photos and even more laughing.
I can't wait 'til tomorrow when we hit Warsaw again. I promise so many pictures when I get back!
Friday, June 10, 2005
Almost entangled
They introduced me to Warcraft.
He taught me the basics.
I was his production line.
We owned the world.
Mwahahaha.
And I woke up this morning thinking, Damn, let's play some Warcraft.
So far my knowledge lies purely with Nightelves, I can't run any other strategies other than making huntresses and chimeras, and I'm crap at keeping a hero. I basically suck, which is why when they picked teams, they decided that it was fairer if Tish got me. But that's okay, we won. Even I'm not a big enough handicap for the powas of Tish The Destroyer. +lol+
He taught me the basics.
I was his production line.
We owned the world.
Mwahahaha.
And I woke up this morning thinking, Damn, let's play some Warcraft.
So far my knowledge lies purely with Nightelves, I can't run any other strategies other than making huntresses and chimeras, and I'm crap at keeping a hero. I basically suck, which is why when they picked teams, they decided that it was fairer if Tish got me. But that's okay, we won. Even I'm not a big enough handicap for the powas of Tish The Destroyer. +lol+
Strawberry pickin'
It was a beautiful day for strawberry picking, and after years and years of Tishen's advertisements, we finally made it to The Farm to gorge ourselves on strawberries to our heart's content. The city slickers were high on expectation and not much sleep.
As we pulled into the parking lot, row upon row upon row of strawberry bushes greeted our eyes, followed by row upon row of vegetables. So it was with much anticipation that we collected our blue plastic baskets and headed out into the field.
It wasn't long before comparisons were being drawn as to who could find the most perfect strawberries, but that got boring, and the mutated ones were far more interesting to 'eww' at.
We posed for the compulsory pictures about half way through when the strawberry patches started to get a little repetitive. Hsiang and Weng (city boys) decided that strawberries weren't interesting enough and went in search of carrots, cabbages, and mange tout.
They soon realised that these fresh produce were even more dull, and the lowly strawberry was once again elevated into the most pickable fruit in our 100m radius, much to Tishen 's (country boy's) approval, who carefully introduced our valiant city slicker and one Japanese tourist to the hidden delights of eating strawberries right off the plant.
The country boy found much hilarity in the Japanese tourist's reluctance to eat the said fruit without washing it, but ignored the protests of "What about the pesticides? There are no bugs around, they must use pesticide." Protests which rang deterringly true as I was halfway through my eleventh strawberry.
As we pulled into the parking lot, row upon row upon row of strawberry bushes greeted our eyes, followed by row upon row of vegetables. So it was with much anticipation that we collected our blue plastic baskets and headed out into the field.
It wasn't long before comparisons were being drawn as to who could find the most perfect strawberries, but that got boring, and the mutated ones were far more interesting to 'eww' at.
We posed for the compulsory pictures about half way through when the strawberry patches started to get a little repetitive. Hsiang and Weng (city boys) decided that strawberries weren't interesting enough and went in search of carrots, cabbages, and mange tout.
They soon realised that these fresh produce were even more dull, and the lowly strawberry was once again elevated into the most pickable fruit in our 100m radius, much to Tishen 's (country boy's) approval, who carefully introduced our valiant city slicker and one Japanese tourist to the hidden delights of eating strawberries right off the plant.
The country boy found much hilarity in the Japanese tourist's reluctance to eat the said fruit without washing it, but ignored the protests of "What about the pesticides? There are no bugs around, they must use pesticide." Protests which rang deterringly true as I was halfway through my eleventh strawberry.
Ah, 'twas a good day indeed, and my brave hunter-gatherers held their trophies and their heads high as they marched t'wards the till.
Like chess played blindfolded
Everyone has unannounced but generally accepted labels like 'The one who always cooks" or "The one who always throws parties". I wonder why, although we may complain about how it inconveniences us to perform these social duties, we so jealously guard them from usurpation at the same time.
What is it we feel when someone else tries to fulfill the role that we so covetously hold on to? Is it that you won't have anything left to contribute when you're not needed in that job anymore? And are we so scared of sharing because they might do a better job than us effectively rendering us redundant?
And what about the ones that have no jobs? Are we perceived as freeloaders, hangers on, and social parasites, so much so that the people with the jobs can say to each other, 'Yea well they don't give us anything, and we have to keep on helping them out..."
It's all about social order right? Whoever has the most to offer naturally has the weightiest opinions. It's funny how everything boils down to a struggle for power and a competition for favor.
It happens at the most subtle level, when you want to be the one everyone comes to, the one who's opinions they value highest even if it means having no time for yourself. You want to be the alpha presence.
What is it we feel when someone else tries to fulfill the role that we so covetously hold on to? Is it that you won't have anything left to contribute when you're not needed in that job anymore? And are we so scared of sharing because they might do a better job than us effectively rendering us redundant?
And what about the ones that have no jobs? Are we perceived as freeloaders, hangers on, and social parasites, so much so that the people with the jobs can say to each other, 'Yea well they don't give us anything, and we have to keep on helping them out..."
It's all about social order right? Whoever has the most to offer naturally has the weightiest opinions. It's funny how everything boils down to a struggle for power and a competition for favor.
It happens at the most subtle level, when you want to be the one everyone comes to, the one who's opinions they value highest even if it means having no time for yourself. You want to be the alpha presence.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Boiz
So Weng's exam's have finished and as expected he's glued his face to his computer, occasionally rising from the depths of Arsenal's financial and injury problems to pack a little, grouch at little, and eat a lot. Boiz.
The romantic tragedy that inspired I'd rather you not love me because I love you has come to a end, I'm pleased to announce, and the tears that fall are tears of longing and sweet expectation for things to come, and now I'm being filled in on all the soppy details +sniff+. Boiz.
We packed about 500 quid worth of textbooks (14 in all) into a parcel box, decided that it exceeded the recommended maximum weight of 5kg by a factor of 8, and transferred it to his suitcase. I don't look forward to getting that thing down four flights of stairs come tomorrow, but that's okay, because it'll probably be Weng doing the work. Boiz.
They can be useful sometimes.
The romantic tragedy that inspired I'd rather you not love me because I love you has come to a end, I'm pleased to announce, and the tears that fall are tears of longing and sweet expectation for things to come, and now I'm being filled in on all the soppy details +sniff+. Boiz.
We packed about 500 quid worth of textbooks (14 in all) into a parcel box, decided that it exceeded the recommended maximum weight of 5kg by a factor of 8, and transferred it to his suitcase. I don't look forward to getting that thing down four flights of stairs come tomorrow, but that's okay, because it'll probably be Weng doing the work. Boiz.
They can be useful sometimes.
One tub of icecream and a can of whoopass
This is the second time this week that I've written something to save Hsiang from writer's blog and certain blogdeath, which is good because we wouldn't want his blog to die again. His latest post in response to The fairer sex is completely borne on the male ego.
I'll concede that guys do keep things level and that their time outs are more useful than we'd dare admit, but they should learn to compartmentalize their lives. I haven't met a guy who could take a blow to the heart and still function. They get all mopey and "How do I breathe without her?" or "I'm nothing without her".
Their egos seem nothing more than souffles. Maybe they need romantic guy flicks, like chick flicks only featuring a guy who gets castrated in a break up, finds his balls again, reattaches them, and hooks up with his hot, faithful, loved-him-since-they-were-kids best friend. Yea, maybe.
On the other side, girls manage. It's about being able to lock all your emotions away temporarily to get on with your life and do what has to be done, like work, feed the dog, look after yourself. You see all those movies with women who haven't been out of bed for two weeks because their boyfriends have left them? Utter rubbish.
The most downtime we'll spend on a guy is maybe one night with a tub of icecream and a good movie, but then it's right back up and at the world again. It must makes us dig deeper, stiffens our resolve to be beautiful and have a good night out. Our natural reserves of stoicism and determination are what gets us through pregnancy dammit, so we're well equipped for everything else. We are lean mean fighting machines.
Note: I think this largely applies to the dumped. The pain of the dumper is only short lived, no matter how much you mean 'This is hurting me more than it's hurting you' (more lies). There's nothing worse than falling out of love later than your otherhalf, and definitely nothing worse than being rejected.
So drama drama. Hehe.
I'll concede that guys do keep things level and that their time outs are more useful than we'd dare admit, but they should learn to compartmentalize their lives. I haven't met a guy who could take a blow to the heart and still function. They get all mopey and "How do I breathe without her?" or "I'm nothing without her".
Their egos seem nothing more than souffles. Maybe they need romantic guy flicks, like chick flicks only featuring a guy who gets castrated in a break up, finds his balls again, reattaches them, and hooks up with his hot, faithful, loved-him-since-they-were-kids best friend. Yea, maybe.
On the other side, girls manage. It's about being able to lock all your emotions away temporarily to get on with your life and do what has to be done, like work, feed the dog, look after yourself. You see all those movies with women who haven't been out of bed for two weeks because their boyfriends have left them? Utter rubbish.
The most downtime we'll spend on a guy is maybe one night with a tub of icecream and a good movie, but then it's right back up and at the world again. It must makes us dig deeper, stiffens our resolve to be beautiful and have a good night out. Our natural reserves of stoicism and determination are what gets us through pregnancy dammit, so we're well equipped for everything else. We are lean mean fighting machines.
Note: I think this largely applies to the dumped. The pain of the dumper is only short lived, no matter how much you mean 'This is hurting me more than it's hurting you' (more lies). There's nothing worse than falling out of love later than your otherhalf, and definitely nothing worse than being rejected.
So drama drama. Hehe.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
The fairer sex
Here's a quick word, completely open to debate as well.
I've come to realise that guys aren't designed to deal with emotional troubles. They either cease to function, dive into melodramatics, or assume a rock-like facade.
I think it's also quite amusing that I'm completely shaped by these very guys who define my world, and I sleep well at night knowing that my closest friends'll become loveable wussies at the whim of a female.
The force is strong within us.
And I'm currently torturing Weng with my cold hands and feet. It's not my fault that I gravitate to the warmest thing in the room.
I've come to realise that guys aren't designed to deal with emotional troubles. They either cease to function, dive into melodramatics, or assume a rock-like facade.
I think it's also quite amusing that I'm completely shaped by these very guys who define my world, and I sleep well at night knowing that my closest friends'll become loveable wussies at the whim of a female.
The force is strong within us.
And I'm currently torturing Weng with my cold hands and feet. It's not my fault that I gravitate to the warmest thing in the room.
Farewell Soton, I will miss you
Weng's exams end tomorrow and the conclusion of second year for him brings about another wave of hectic packing and moving and more packing as we rush to finish a Herculean list of errands and get back to London by Thursday night (which means, Tish, we're up for strawberry picking on Friday! I convinced the cranky monkey).
Since we won't be back here for a while (til next term, hopefully) here's a quick run down of Southampton.
Things I like about Southampton:
Since we won't be back here for a while (til next term, hopefully) here's a quick run down of Southampton.
Things I like about Southampton:
- Beautiful flowers and green green trees. There's something so wonderfully serene about a place which has rooftops poking out of a sea of green instead of the other way around.
- You can't hear traffic or ambulances or police cars. I wonder where all those screaming vehicles go to when they rush around London like that.
- I love seeing the cruise ships on the horizon, especially when they announce their departure with their blaring horns.
- Friendly people not too caught up in their own lives to smile and nod.
- There's fresh air - your boogers don't turn black.
- The girls here are refreshingly real - not too much make up, not trendily anorexic, happy to go about uni in their jumpers and trainers.
- The way Weng's toilet floor seems to be gently cone shaped and if you're not careful you'll find yourself losing purchase in a slow slide into the drain of doom.
- The buses don't seem to be on time, and the bus drivers think they're dragsters.
- Too much FM can make you go crazy
- Weng lives at the top of the tallest tower (fourth floor) with no lift.
- The laundry room's the other side of the compound.
- It's a lot colder and damper here
- It's too far away from London
Shooting from the hip
Almost all of the songs on my playlist go something like "You left me, I'm so lonely" or "Come back to me, what am I going to do without you". So depressing, but it goes to show that sorrow and loss are some of the hardest things we have to deal with, significant enough that 76% of all songs involve losing someone and wanting them back. That's some tough shit.
On a lighter note, Evan and Tish are having a photo competition. We were talking about it last night, or rather, they were talking about it. It started like this:
E: hey ash dont u think we shold have a photography competition. me and tish? just for a bit of fun. Shes not there it seems
T: i need chocolate. i dun think ash is there u eediot
E: thats just what i said u eediot
And it quickly degenerated into this:
T: Why you so confrontational tonoight?
E: hahaha I want to fight.
T: (Insert hugging icons)
E: No lar
A few lines later:
E: But you take some good pictures man
T: Oo, butter me up then batter me up
E: Batter u? Shaddup, the only good pictures I take are of myself
T: Oh dear
E: hahaha it's true. im too sexy for my camera too sexy for my camera...im toooooo seeeeexxxxxxyyyyyyyy. people cry when they see me, i'm blindingly sexy
It seems I didn't come back soon enough:
E: IMMMMMM SOOOOOOO SEXY. LOOK AT MEEEEEE. sexy bum...sexy bum...
T: Horny eediot
E: hehe, I'm running high on something and I don't think its sugar, must be testosterone. ROOOOAAARRRRR
T: go exhaust ur testosteronies on someone else
When I stopped laughing enough to type, I stepped in and rescued the conversation with:
A: wow.
The rest is no where as near as interesting, just establishing some of the finer points of the competition like um, subject. There was a bit of a problem because the first suggestion was a red flower, which Evan claimed he'd struggle to find because, I'm guessing, they don't have red flowers in Yokk? I dunno, so I changed it to street, which meant Tish would have a slight disadvantage since he lives in the woods.
I can't wait to see what they come up with. I love these guys.
(Hey guys, Weng suggested 'females', and relatives not allowed, so that'll be your next topic. +winkwink+ hehe, I'll give you more than a couple of days.)
On a lighter note, Evan and Tish are having a photo competition. We were talking about it last night, or rather, they were talking about it. It started like this:
E: hey ash dont u think we shold have a photography competition. me and tish? just for a bit of fun. Shes not there it seems
T: i need chocolate. i dun think ash is there u eediot
E: thats just what i said u eediot
And it quickly degenerated into this:
T: Why you so confrontational tonoight?
E: hahaha I want to fight.
T: (Insert hugging icons)
E: No lar
A few lines later:
E: But you take some good pictures man
T: Oo, butter me up then batter me up
E: Batter u? Shaddup, the only good pictures I take are of myself
T: Oh dear
E: hahaha it's true. im too sexy for my camera too sexy for my camera...im toooooo seeeeexxxxxxyyyyyyyy. people cry when they see me, i'm blindingly sexy
It seems I didn't come back soon enough:
E: IMMMMMM SOOOOOOO SEXY. LOOK AT MEEEEEE. sexy bum...sexy bum...
T: Horny eediot
E: hehe, I'm running high on something and I don't think its sugar, must be testosterone. ROOOOAAARRRRR
T: go exhaust ur testosteronies on someone else
When I stopped laughing enough to type, I stepped in and rescued the conversation with:
A: wow.
The rest is no where as near as interesting, just establishing some of the finer points of the competition like um, subject. There was a bit of a problem because the first suggestion was a red flower, which Evan claimed he'd struggle to find because, I'm guessing, they don't have red flowers in Yokk? I dunno, so I changed it to street, which meant Tish would have a slight disadvantage since he lives in the woods.
I can't wait to see what they come up with. I love these guys.
(Hey guys, Weng suggested 'females', and relatives not allowed, so that'll be your next topic. +winkwink+ hehe, I'll give you more than a couple of days.)
Monday, June 06, 2005
So you think you can act?
It seems that the Taiwanese offering of performing artists have something good going on, so good in fact that many of Hollywood's leading ladies are seeking to emulate their Eastern counterparts.
Crossovers are rife in this day and age and it seems that actresses find the lure of a record label and screaming crowds attractive enough to leave their millions-a-role job behind, while singers want to be just as multi-talented and yearn to be regarded as serious actresses. Either way their egos and bank accounts grow, inversely however to their general stupidity rating.
Shall we examine them.
Jennifer Lopez
Music: Plenty of whiny tracks, some in Spanish too.
Acting: Many romantic comedies, but I wouldn't call them achievements.
The movie-going audience's welcome was lukewarm bordering on tepid, just like the roles she chose and her acting talent. Her brief bouts of stardom are only matched by her even briefer marriages.
They must've struggled to get her butt to fit on the screen, so they didn't but they could've taken tips from her MTV producers and used a third angle in reverse.
Mariah Carey
Music: It's Mariah.
Acting: Awful.
She must've started the whole 'if I can sing, I can definitely act' farce. I blame her. I think her movie was a last ditch effort to save her flagging career and uninteresting life, sadly she's failed to reinvent herself convincingly, but she's trying, with the release of Emancipation of Mimi - catchy title.
Britney Spears
Music: Many records sold at bubble gum level. Now trying to sell even more records by gyrating various body parts and heavy breathing.
Acting: What was that movie called? Road trip? No wait, crossroads. That's right. So no, she gets a zero.
Apparently the screaming crowds of prepubescent teenyboppers wasn't enough for her and she sought fame on the red carpet with the hope of an Oscars on the horizon. She shouldn't ever be allowed near a camera ever again - she might accidentally get in front of it. Thank God someone married her.
Mandy Moore
Music: Not worth mentioning
Acting: A Walk to Remember (at least I recalled the movie title this time)
Her entire career's been sad version of 'almost like Britney', so she also tried a move into the movie industry. So far, no one's married her.
Kylie Minogue
Acting: Neighbours, although you wouldn't know it because she looked so different back then
Music: Every other guy in England adores her, on mute or not.
She's reinvented herself to keep up, kudos for hitting the right notes with each costume change, but she's starting to get old, reminds me of one of those plasticky women who're going on 50 and still insist that they can wear fishnet stockings.
Natalie Imbruglia
Just like Kylie, minus the hits. There was only one absolutely ages ago and since then she's struggled to get back on form with her big eyes and edgy, tortured expression.
Look out for:
Lindsay Lohan who's lost a lot of weight and her boobs, and gone blonde in hopes of drawing thousands of horny boys, fixing a record deal, and signing on a voice-over artist.
Hillary Duff, who's already forced out an album, and even did a song with her sister. Can't sing, can't dance, can't act, should've stuck to grade school plays.
Kate Moss, who's dating that singer Pete something. She claims that they're in love, but I think she just wants the record deal. Can you imagine, her (soon to be former) career involved her being paid to stand still, quietly I expect, so now she's going to rock the stage?
Crossovers are rife in this day and age and it seems that actresses find the lure of a record label and screaming crowds attractive enough to leave their millions-a-role job behind, while singers want to be just as multi-talented and yearn to be regarded as serious actresses. Either way their egos and bank accounts grow, inversely however to their general stupidity rating.
Shall we examine them.
Jennifer Lopez
Music: Plenty of whiny tracks, some in Spanish too.
Acting: Many romantic comedies, but I wouldn't call them achievements.
The movie-going audience's welcome was lukewarm bordering on tepid, just like the roles she chose and her acting talent. Her brief bouts of stardom are only matched by her even briefer marriages.
They must've struggled to get her butt to fit on the screen, so they didn't but they could've taken tips from her MTV producers and used a third angle in reverse.
Mariah Carey
Music: It's Mariah.
Acting: Awful.
She must've started the whole 'if I can sing, I can definitely act' farce. I blame her. I think her movie was a last ditch effort to save her flagging career and uninteresting life, sadly she's failed to reinvent herself convincingly, but she's trying, with the release of Emancipation of Mimi - catchy title.
Britney Spears
Music: Many records sold at bubble gum level. Now trying to sell even more records by gyrating various body parts and heavy breathing.
Acting: What was that movie called? Road trip? No wait, crossroads. That's right. So no, she gets a zero.
Apparently the screaming crowds of prepubescent teenyboppers wasn't enough for her and she sought fame on the red carpet with the hope of an Oscars on the horizon. She shouldn't ever be allowed near a camera ever again - she might accidentally get in front of it. Thank God someone married her.
Mandy Moore
Music: Not worth mentioning
Acting: A Walk to Remember (at least I recalled the movie title this time)
Her entire career's been sad version of 'almost like Britney', so she also tried a move into the movie industry. So far, no one's married her.
Kylie Minogue
Acting: Neighbours, although you wouldn't know it because she looked so different back then
Music: Every other guy in England adores her, on mute or not.
She's reinvented herself to keep up, kudos for hitting the right notes with each costume change, but she's starting to get old, reminds me of one of those plasticky women who're going on 50 and still insist that they can wear fishnet stockings.
Natalie Imbruglia
Just like Kylie, minus the hits. There was only one absolutely ages ago and since then she's struggled to get back on form with her big eyes and edgy, tortured expression.
Look out for:
Lindsay Lohan who's lost a lot of weight and her boobs, and gone blonde in hopes of drawing thousands of horny boys, fixing a record deal, and signing on a voice-over artist.
Hillary Duff, who's already forced out an album, and even did a song with her sister. Can't sing, can't dance, can't act, should've stuck to grade school plays.
Kate Moss, who's dating that singer Pete something. She claims that they're in love, but I think she just wants the record deal. Can you imagine, her (soon to be former) career involved her being paid to stand still, quietly I expect, so now she's going to rock the stage?
In need of new amusements
Have you ever come across a blog that reeks of domesticated, unparalleled bliss that it just makes you want to rip out your eyeballs and skewer them? A feeling which then grows into mind-numbing agitation as their words sear into the lobes of your brain and you can't navigate away from that page quickly enough.
I sound bitter.
Maybe it's the book I've just finished, The Virgin's Lover, one of those semi non-fiction books that are based on real events, fraught with rivalries, unrequitted love, and Tudor politics at the beginning of Elizabeth's reign. It didn't have a happy ending.
I get too attached to the characters, but I think that that's what defines a good book - I love hating the villain and feeling for the hero, which also means I cry a lot and my mood matches the story. Weng got a lot of "Why are guys such bastards?!" for all of yesterday and was quite relieved, I imagine, when I finally finished it.
Reading Spartan now. It's very military, like scenes from Rome: Total War, kinda slow, but it kills time waiting for FM to load. Ah, this is the life, complete and utter time wasting.
I can't really see the sun and when we're both playing FM, the hours get lost very quickly and when the sky light begins to darken slightly, we know it's dinner time.
I sound bitter.
Maybe it's the book I've just finished, The Virgin's Lover, one of those semi non-fiction books that are based on real events, fraught with rivalries, unrequitted love, and Tudor politics at the beginning of Elizabeth's reign. It didn't have a happy ending.
I get too attached to the characters, but I think that that's what defines a good book - I love hating the villain and feeling for the hero, which also means I cry a lot and my mood matches the story. Weng got a lot of "Why are guys such bastards?!" for all of yesterday and was quite relieved, I imagine, when I finally finished it.
Reading Spartan now. It's very military, like scenes from Rome: Total War, kinda slow, but it kills time waiting for FM to load. Ah, this is the life, complete and utter time wasting.
I can't really see the sun and when we're both playing FM, the hours get lost very quickly and when the sky light begins to darken slightly, we know it's dinner time.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Lookit!
Here's Weng studying, who, btw, got asked for ID on a bottle of sparkling grape juice today. rofl
And here's that pain in the ass skylight at 9.00pm/5.30am.
And here's that pain in the ass skylight at 9.00pm/5.30am.
Operation shock and awe (now with English subtitles)
I have a picture under my profile now.
Don't all be in a rush to see it.
I wonder if I'm setting myself up for another tagattack.
Why on earth do they have a "view full size"?
That's awful, the thumbnail version is so much better.
Yea, I know you're all gonna click on "view full size" now.
I would definitely appreciate it if you left it as a thumbnail, and let my little fantasy of a good picture live on a little longer.
I waited on campus yesterday during Weng's exam. So for two hours I moped around Southampton Uni on a Saturday morning. I was hoping that Waterstones would be open so I could slowly browse through their collection and hopefully buy a new book to read. But it wasn't, so I wandered around some more.
While at the ATM, this old couple, a white haired, slightly stooped man, and an equally old woman in a wheel chair approached me. I started forming an excuse in my head because I thought they wanted directions. I had no idea how to get around this area, I got lost getting to the ATM and was currently worrying about how to go back to the building I agreed to meet Weng at later.
Then the old man started speaking Mandarin, and I stood there in shock. The best I could get out in response to his "Ni hao, ni jiang hua yi mah?" was "Gnnh, err..."
How embarrassing. Sensing my distress, he went "You don't speak mandarin? You speak can-ton-nese?"
At which point my brain caught up to speed and I gushed "No, I speak English."
I was so embarrassed because he really looked like he wanted to try out his Mandarin speaking skills on me. I can speak Mandarin, just not well, in fact, I wonder if there's a threshold level below which it just isn't Mandarin anymore which would disqualify me from saying I can speak Mandarin.
He said, "Oh, haha, you see, we've gone and learnt Mandarin and everything."
I replied, "You probably speak it better than me."
Which was the absolute truth. Then he proceeded to talk to me about the Bible, teens in trouble, reaching the Chinese community, and left me with a magazine. Which was a blessing in disguise because I had nothing to do for the next hour and slowly ploughed my way through articles like "Teens left alone only mean trouble" and "Parents are to blame for teenage delinquency" and "15 white crocodiles found in India".
Good thing I had something to read to take my mind off of the searing wind. It's not my fault I didn't know that the building I was sitting in front of was open. Almost everything else was closed. So I froze my butt off waiting for Weng to finish.
Don't all be in a rush to see it.
I wonder if I'm setting myself up for another tagattack.
Why on earth do they have a "view full size"?
That's awful, the thumbnail version is so much better.
Yea, I know you're all gonna click on "view full size" now.
I would definitely appreciate it if you left it as a thumbnail, and let my little fantasy of a good picture live on a little longer.
I waited on campus yesterday during Weng's exam. So for two hours I moped around Southampton Uni on a Saturday morning. I was hoping that Waterstones would be open so I could slowly browse through their collection and hopefully buy a new book to read. But it wasn't, so I wandered around some more.
While at the ATM, this old couple, a white haired, slightly stooped man, and an equally old woman in a wheel chair approached me. I started forming an excuse in my head because I thought they wanted directions. I had no idea how to get around this area, I got lost getting to the ATM and was currently worrying about how to go back to the building I agreed to meet Weng at later.
Then the old man started speaking Mandarin, and I stood there in shock. The best I could get out in response to his "Ni hao, ni jiang hua yi mah?" was "Gnnh, err..."
How embarrassing. Sensing my distress, he went "You don't speak mandarin? You speak can-ton-nese?"
At which point my brain caught up to speed and I gushed "No, I speak English."
I was so embarrassed because he really looked like he wanted to try out his Mandarin speaking skills on me. I can speak Mandarin, just not well, in fact, I wonder if there's a threshold level below which it just isn't Mandarin anymore which would disqualify me from saying I can speak Mandarin.
He said, "Oh, haha, you see, we've gone and learnt Mandarin and everything."
I replied, "You probably speak it better than me."
Which was the absolute truth. Then he proceeded to talk to me about the Bible, teens in trouble, reaching the Chinese community, and left me with a magazine. Which was a blessing in disguise because I had nothing to do for the next hour and slowly ploughed my way through articles like "Teens left alone only mean trouble" and "Parents are to blame for teenage delinquency" and "15 white crocodiles found in India".
Good thing I had something to read to take my mind off of the searing wind. It's not my fault I didn't know that the building I was sitting in front of was open. Almost everything else was closed. So I froze my butt off waiting for Weng to finish.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
What am I doing wrong?
Every year.
League Cup, kena whack.
FA Cup, also kena whack.
Champions League, kena whack over and over again. My second string runs rings around the likes of Inter and Leverkusen but my first string crashes and burns horribly. I qualify first for the competition and I'm always first out.
Grr.
And I can't bear to sell anybody because I love them all, no matter how crappy they are.
League Cup, kena whack.
FA Cup, also kena whack.
Champions League, kena whack over and over again. My second string runs rings around the likes of Inter and Leverkusen but my first string crashes and burns horribly. I qualify first for the competition and I'm always first out.
Grr.
And I can't bear to sell anybody because I love them all, no matter how crappy they are.
I'd rather you not love me because I love you
Someone told me today of a very typical boy-girl story.
Boy meets girl, boy and girl are good friends, boy and girl fall for each other. One confesses their feelings, the other rejects the move.
Sounds very run-of-the-mill? It gets worse. They both feel the same way about each other, with the right kind of emotions to take it to a higher level, and the one that pulls away does so on the following grounds:
Boy meets girl, boy and girl are good friends, boy and girl fall for each other. One confesses their feelings, the other rejects the move.
Sounds very run-of-the-mill? It gets worse. They both feel the same way about each other, with the right kind of emotions to take it to a higher level, and the one that pulls away does so on the following grounds:
- I don't deserve her
- I would mess her up
- I would mess our relationship up
- I don't want to mess our relationship up
- I love her too much to put her through a relationship with me because I'm bad at that kinda thing
Firstly, it's way beyond promising that she has feelings for you and even more endearing that she's put herself out there. To play the melodramatic fool and reject her on the grounds of 'I'm saving her from me' is just stupid.
Why do so many people have themselves convinced that they're bad at relationships? If you've already got to the point where you have such strong feelings for each other, you're obviously doing something right, and it's clear you've got past that wierd communication bit where it's all 'Err, so, you like um, the color pink huh?'
Half the work is done getting them to even keep on talking to you, and while I hate to say it, once the relationship starts, love takes over and the freewheeling begins. When the freewheeling ends is of course another story for another day.
So unless you're so selfishly attached to your bachelorhood, carpe diem. There could be so much happiness in store for you.
When I grow up, I want to be
It's started, nice and early on a beautiful Saturday morning. The poor guy looks very very tense. He was bouncing off the walls of his room last night and talking really loudly and quickly and occasionally screaming. I'd've laughed if the situation wasn't so serious. I kinda laughed anyway. I'm trying very hard not to think about how many mistakes I made in my papers.
His room's comfortable. It's clean, quite new, and well furnished for uni accommodation. I suppose I should be thankful that he even has a window, then again, it's hard to be thankful on six hours of sleep with the sun streaming in through this wonderful window that's set in the sloping roof above his bed at six forty in the morning.
We were talking last night about responsibilities, not so much the gotta shower everyday, pay my bills responsibilities, but the social, cultural kind that applies mostly to the oldest child, oldest son.
Most of us are brought up to be good, responsible people, with a strong sense of duty to our parents and siblings. We're brought up to be the achievers, the ones who should be able to look after ourselves, and should the need arise, after the rest of our family too.
But what happens when we lack the drive or ambition that our parents want to see in us? When our own dreams or plans for the future don't exactly read 'Good job, wife, and kids by forty'? Sometimes it seems our lives are not ours to lead but to be lead, instead, by the social obligations placed upon us.
I'm sure that looking after our loved ones comes quite naturally but there's always the nagging doubt that you'll fail at it, or that the risks you need to take to chase your dreams leaves you unable to fulfil that duty.
I think your parents will be proud of you no matter what you do, even if you're a circus clown, they'll say that you're the best dammed clown in the industry, but at the same time I think they'd also want a son or daughter they can boast about to their friends, that they have beautiful, well adjusted, talented children, with the perfect story book jobs, and the perfectest grandchildren.
Gosh, I don't know, where do you draw the line?
His room's comfortable. It's clean, quite new, and well furnished for uni accommodation. I suppose I should be thankful that he even has a window, then again, it's hard to be thankful on six hours of sleep with the sun streaming in through this wonderful window that's set in the sloping roof above his bed at six forty in the morning.
We were talking last night about responsibilities, not so much the gotta shower everyday, pay my bills responsibilities, but the social, cultural kind that applies mostly to the oldest child, oldest son.
Most of us are brought up to be good, responsible people, with a strong sense of duty to our parents and siblings. We're brought up to be the achievers, the ones who should be able to look after ourselves, and should the need arise, after the rest of our family too.
But what happens when we lack the drive or ambition that our parents want to see in us? When our own dreams or plans for the future don't exactly read 'Good job, wife, and kids by forty'? Sometimes it seems our lives are not ours to lead but to be lead, instead, by the social obligations placed upon us.
I'm sure that looking after our loved ones comes quite naturally but there's always the nagging doubt that you'll fail at it, or that the risks you need to take to chase your dreams leaves you unable to fulfil that duty.
I think your parents will be proud of you no matter what you do, even if you're a circus clown, they'll say that you're the best dammed clown in the industry, but at the same time I think they'd also want a son or daughter they can boast about to their friends, that they have beautiful, well adjusted, talented children, with the perfect story book jobs, and the perfectest grandchildren.
Gosh, I don't know, where do you draw the line?
Friday, June 03, 2005
Southampton: Day 4 (Wha? Only?)
I don't think I've talked to another person other than three of Weng's four other hallmates who share his kitchen.
I've been busy trying to motivate him to finish studying but it's kind of hard, what with keeping one eye on FM. I'm addicted. Realising your problem is half way to solving it, but I don't want to solve it.
I have to stop eating everything in sight. It's just so comforting to sit and munch your way through alot while the game's running. Man, it's SO slow.
I should do something way more productive. (Weng says, 'Ya, vacuum my room.' Do I look like a maid?!!) We've been rather cranky the past couple of days. It's like Survivor only you can't vote anyone off.
No, just kidding, it's not that bad. Only just maybe.
I've been busy trying to motivate him to finish studying but it's kind of hard, what with keeping one eye on FM. I'm addicted. Realising your problem is half way to solving it, but I don't want to solve it.
I have to stop eating everything in sight. It's just so comforting to sit and munch your way through alot while the game's running. Man, it's SO slow.
I should do something way more productive. (Weng says, 'Ya, vacuum my room.' Do I look like a maid?!!) We've been rather cranky the past couple of days. It's like Survivor only you can't vote anyone off.
No, just kidding, it's not that bad. Only just maybe.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
The first step
The older you get the harder it seems to be able to form deep lasting relationships. It's like you need the naivity of a playground setting and everything from 'I friend you' to 'I don't friend you later this afternoon' to weed out potential close friends from the social climbers.
Maybe it's more difficult now because we don't want to come across as desperate or dweebish, have to always maintain that ultra-cool 'whatever' exterior, and should never say things like 'I like you, I can't wait to get to know you better and make you one of my best friends'. That's just lame.
But how else do you let them know without sounding gay? Or perhaps I'm too impatient, or maybe I'm not so sure where the social boundaries lie anymore.
It used to be okay to go to whoever and just talk about every little thing that's bugging you. Adolescent friendships demand that kind of patience from the listening party, and an almost immediate closeness afterwards because you know so much and you've been sworn to secrecy, to bear a burden that was imparted to you in a flood of hormones.
Now that we're growing up a bit, it's less appropriate to go around making big news of all your problems. In some cultural groups, problems aren't conversation topics anymore but things you should hide and never expose to the rest of the world because they're embarrassing. Talk about them too much and you're inviting more problems onto yourself and whoever's listening. In worse cases, they might be used to exploit your vulnerability.
Which is ironic, seeing as this is probably the time you need your friends most, when you're making that transition from dependent child to responsible adult, looking after yourself and coming to terms with a highly disillusioned world.
So maybe we should bring some of the playground back into our lives, a bit of that childish joy like finding someone else with a wobbly tooth, and let me say, 'I'll friend you now, with a possibility of forever'.
Maybe it's more difficult now because we don't want to come across as desperate or dweebish, have to always maintain that ultra-cool 'whatever' exterior, and should never say things like 'I like you, I can't wait to get to know you better and make you one of my best friends'. That's just lame.
But how else do you let them know without sounding gay? Or perhaps I'm too impatient, or maybe I'm not so sure where the social boundaries lie anymore.
It used to be okay to go to whoever and just talk about every little thing that's bugging you. Adolescent friendships demand that kind of patience from the listening party, and an almost immediate closeness afterwards because you know so much and you've been sworn to secrecy, to bear a burden that was imparted to you in a flood of hormones.
Now that we're growing up a bit, it's less appropriate to go around making big news of all your problems. In some cultural groups, problems aren't conversation topics anymore but things you should hide and never expose to the rest of the world because they're embarrassing. Talk about them too much and you're inviting more problems onto yourself and whoever's listening. In worse cases, they might be used to exploit your vulnerability.
Which is ironic, seeing as this is probably the time you need your friends most, when you're making that transition from dependent child to responsible adult, looking after yourself and coming to terms with a highly disillusioned world.
So maybe we should bring some of the playground back into our lives, a bit of that childish joy like finding someone else with a wobbly tooth, and let me say, 'I'll friend you now, with a possibility of forever'.
Diversions
Trapping my thoughts in the words on the screen you see before you is like that Quidditch scene from one of the Harry Potter movies where he's after the Golden Snitch and everyone's out to get him, including the balls (I can't wait for the new movie), only I've got no head for heights, no magic, and definitely no broomstick.
You know, I try.
Today's topic of conversation is dolls. I'm quite like one of those dolls that have those weighted eyelids and when you tilt them past a certain degree, their eyes shut. Only mine are installed the other way around and when I lie down I'm fully awake.
What else. Oh right, I hate dolls. They give me the heebeejeebees. There was this cross stitch of a little girl sitting amongst her tiny dolls playing 'tea party'. My mother thought it was beautiful and hung it above my bed, and for five years I had nightmares of this fatass slave driver making her distressed Lilliputians eat forever and ever. Or something along those lines.
I'm currently seeking comfort in the arms of Football Manager and have just finished my first season. A late charge saw me snatch victory from the other big three but I've only got a 4.9mill transfer budget. Who do they think I'm going to buy with that? Maybe a pet canary to take on Arsenal. Yea, that'll work.
I think I'm starved for entertainment, but I'm happy.
You know, I try.
Today's topic of conversation is dolls. I'm quite like one of those dolls that have those weighted eyelids and when you tilt them past a certain degree, their eyes shut. Only mine are installed the other way around and when I lie down I'm fully awake.
What else. Oh right, I hate dolls. They give me the heebeejeebees. There was this cross stitch of a little girl sitting amongst her tiny dolls playing 'tea party'. My mother thought it was beautiful and hung it above my bed, and for five years I had nightmares of this fatass slave driver making her distressed Lilliputians eat forever and ever. Or something along those lines.
I'm currently seeking comfort in the arms of Football Manager and have just finished my first season. A late charge saw me snatch victory from the other big three but I've only got a 4.9mill transfer budget. Who do they think I'm going to buy with that? Maybe a pet canary to take on Arsenal. Yea, that'll work.
I think I'm starved for entertainment, but I'm happy.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Day 2: Southampton
I've been having the worst dreams lately, really violent ones about zombie people and lots of blood, or screaming at someone telling them exactly what I think of them. I can understand the latter - I deal poorly with suppression, but I don't quite get where the bloody zombies are coming from.
There are still a hundred and one things to do. Tying up so many loose ends before I head home to K.L.. I can't wait, the year's felt too long and far too draining.
Psyched that Evan's got his passport back and that he'll be making it home this summer. More fun! My parents want to take us to Melbourne for a little skiing or to Shanghai to shop. I get the idea that I'm probably um, not so welcome in Melbourne at the moment and I hear Shangai's bloody hot. So I dunno, I just want to get home first.
We get to go to the supermarket today. Yay! I <3 Southampton, it makes London look like its standing still.
There are still a hundred and one things to do. Tying up so many loose ends before I head home to K.L.. I can't wait, the year's felt too long and far too draining.
Psyched that Evan's got his passport back and that he'll be making it home this summer. More fun! My parents want to take us to Melbourne for a little skiing or to Shanghai to shop. I get the idea that I'm probably um, not so welcome in Melbourne at the moment and I hear Shangai's bloody hot. So I dunno, I just want to get home first.
We get to go to the supermarket today. Yay! I <3 Southampton, it makes London look like its standing still.
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