p.s. creeping back here because I noticed something weird:

IONA TAN WHY GOT 39 PPL COME TO MY BLOG IN ONE WEEK FROM YOUR BLOG?!?!
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Hmm, there are many ways to put this (at least 5, in my head), but I'd have to settle with one.

After years of sticking with this blog through thick-and-thin (and ridiculous threat of libel suits - yes I'm still quite bitter), I'm now skipping along to some other place to keep the things I write.
These past few weeks there's this antecedent disgust and dread, sort of inescapable companions when I visit the blog. It would be more interesting to coat this in language used for ghostly hauntings, so think of it as specters that dog me whenever I consider posting anything up. But instead of ordering an exorcism, or firmly telling myself I'm being ridiculous, I'm taking the less demanding option of shifting houses. And why not - the codings here are messed up (on the firefox browser on my PC, the links section is a non-functioning mess), I haven't changed the skin since I graduated from high school (and that's a conservative estimate), and the idea of posting here just seems rather worn out.

So rather than not writing anything (as you've noticed - I'm sorry for that), I am going to shift to a new place with perhaps less faults. But the address and the name comes from the initial conceptualisation of another project I'm working on with another friend, so you might have to go through another address-change, again. Besides, well, an address going by Paraphrase everything isn't very nice, is it? But I am short of ideas, completely devoid of them so far, in fact. One that makes me light up and smile and think it's brilliant and just right, at least.

So skip over to my new, perhaps temporary place, if you like what you've been reading so far, and we'll continue the cozy conversation there!

CHANGE OF ADDRESS: It's now http://brownoxfordshoes.blogspot.com/ (yes, still quite twatty, but it's the best I can do - I'm horrible with names)
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What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

- TS Eliot, The Wasteland.
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'It is only that people are far more different than is pretended. All over the world men and women are worrying because they cannot develop as they are supposed to develop. And others, others go farther still, and move outside humanity altogether. A place, as well as a person, may catch the glow. Don't you see that all this leads to comfort in the end? It is part of the battle against sameness. Differences - eternal differences, planted by God in a single family, so that there may always be colour; sorrow perhaps, but colour in the daily grey.'

- E.M. Forester, Howard's End.
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I'm trying to continue 1/3 of an essay that a copy-and-paste action went wrong has wiped away.
I know, to lose pasts of essays to copy-and-paste action went wrong, you must be an idiot.
But this is really an accident - it is so stupid that being stupid wouldn't have caused it. Think about it - and partly Evernote's fault. Partly my fault, of course, for being so anal, but that's another story.

That essay was written after spending hours trying to bully myself into writing better. I read New York Times articles, trying to grab at an emotion, a spirit, that I could use as a wave to surf on to write my essay.
Judging from this shit piece I'm writing now, you can see I'm not really in the writing-mode.
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'But this challenge is actually an opportunity for America. If we take it on, it will revive America at home, reconnect America abroad, and retool America for tomorrow. America is always at its most powerful and most influential when it is combining innovation and inspiration, wealth-building and dignity-building, the quest for big profits and the tackling of big problems. when we do just one, we are less than the sum of our parts. When we do both, we are greater than the sum of our parts - much greater.'

'The simple name for the new project I am proposing is "Code Green." What "red" was to America in the 1950s and 1960s - a symbol of the overarching Communist threat, the symbol that was used to mobilize our country to build up its military, its industrial base, its highways, its railroads, ports, and airports, its educational institutions, and its scientific capabilities to lead the world in defense of freedom - we need "green" to be for today's America.'

'They want our country to matter again'

Is it just me, or is it normal to feel uncomfortable when Americans talk about America?
I'm reading Thomas Friedman's Hot, Flat, and Crowded. I'm only at page three, and I suspect I'll agree with most of his points (because I'm too lazy to spend hours and hours anally examining every point to the death), but I'm not comfortable with this rhetoric of freedom and patriotism that is sputtered out in the same breath as the idea that the US has to be the leader of nations. Of course, I have to point out that that excerpt would sound worse if you read it as it is, without context.

As one columnist pointed out, patriotism in the United States is often inspired by the battle for freedom; the clarion call to unite in the face of a common, outside enemy of freedom - whether it be the communists, Osama bin Laden and terrorism, or against British imperialism. It's a sense of national unity against a common enemy that is unseen in most countries. In a way, this makes sense - after all, their constitution is a direct result of a resistance against a common, outside enemy - British imperialism; and some would argue that such threads of thought are embedded in the rhetoric of the Constitution of the United States itself.

But it making sense doesn't mean it is right or natural, to any outsider or any critical insider. It feels selfish, self-congratulatory, and too partisan. The conversation is based too much upon world domination, and uncomfortably so.

I read on. A few pages later, this tone hasn't ran out its course, and it's likely that this sub-theme would run through the whole of the book. Now I have to read a 500-page book that stimulates prickles of irritation every other paragraph. Brilliant.
Well of course I don't have to, but look at it from the perspective of a cost-benefit analysis - the cost of reading it (irritation) doesn't surpass the benefit (my intention of finishing it, because it is probably a good book).
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'Americans have a right to grieve and remember those who died on 9/11. But they have no monopoly on memory, grief or anger. Hundreds and thousands of innocent Afghanis, Iraqis and Pakistanis have been murdered as a result of America's response to 9/11. If it's righteous vengeance they're after, Americans would not be first in line.

If "they" killed Bin Laden in Abbottabad then "they" also bombed a large number of wedding parties in Afghanistan, "they" murdered 24 Iraqi civilians in Haditha and "they" gang-raped a 14-year-old before murdering her, her six-year-old sister and their parents near Mahmudiyah. If "they" don't want to be associated with the atrocities then "they" need to find more to celebrate than an assassination. Vengeance is, in no small part, what got us here. It won't get us out.'

Rather saddened of what I'm reminded of in light of all the news. The unintended, but certainly foreseeable consequences of 9/11.
Lesson of the week seems to be - if you bomb stuff up, shit happens to all kinds of people all over the world.
There's the dead of course.
Civil liberties of countries are stripped away
And people from God knows how many other countries it is now, would be killed in a war that is a consequence of the attacks.

I think the biggest impact of terrorist attack isn't the dead. It's what we do to ourselves afterwards.
Hallowed values spoken in terms of rights are discarded, as appalling miscarriages of justice occur. People morph into people who would cheer one's death, an unappealing sight.
And perhaps worse of all, all these are natural responses.
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In anticipation of the Big Bad Wolf Booksale of the year, here's a list of interesting books I will be keeping my eyes out for:

1. Incognito (David Eagleman)
2. Superfreakanomics (Steve Levitt, Stephen Dubner)
3. The Bell Jar (Sylvia Plath)
4. The physical form of anything by Stephen Fry.
5. Great biographies of anyone awesome (Churchill, Tesla. Anyone, really)
6. A biography about a red eyed figurine whose name I can't remember.
7. Anything by Ronald Dworkin.
8. Book of Disquiet (Fernando Pessoa)
9. Orientalism (Edward Said)
10. Some Jeeves and Wooster.
11. Anything by Evelyn Waugh.
12. The Remains of the Day.

*This list would be updated whenever I find a compelling book.
**Suggestions would be again, welcomed with a virtual hug :))
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My existing, working earphones, the beast I've introduced below, is so horrible that vivid imagery used to describe it comes tumbling out of me without any effort expended.

I found myself saying that it so absolutely terrible that it should be banished to the ninth circle of hell, where those punished for treachery go. Yes, treachery - for being so absolutely unserviceable to its mistress in her time of need; nay, beyond unserviceable. Treachery - for making good music sound so bad that I have to resist clawing my ears until they're nothing but a bloody mess. Treachery - for rendering such horrible service to the extent that its mistress may just commit self-harm. Treachery -

The fact that I can actually still go on shows how much venom I have for that thing.
Insert roar of anger here, however it sounds like to you.
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So, both my earphones decided to die on me right smack during this designated period before my exam - the crucial period where I absolutely need music to concentrate. Perfect timing, you guys.
At the time of typing, I'm using this pair that is absolutely shyte. So unbelievably horrible that I feel like yelling at it, asking if it knows what good music is and telling it to try emulating its diseased siblings (their performance when their limbs were still working and when they don't need time-consuming operations, of course. I mean this almost literally, if you take out all the imagery). But of course, I paid almost nothing for it, so it's not entirely its fault.
But I'd rather not listen to music if listening to music with such a vulgar device gives me a headache or make me question my musical taste. How now brown cow?

Of course, I should absolutely replace it. But:
1. I've filled in a warranty claim. It would be stupid to pay for another one before Skullcandy replies.
2. I'm not in the mood to go shopping for headphones. Exam period - I'm not in the mood to do anything except study, or procrastinate studying.

So how now brown cow?
Any beautiful people out there willing to loan me theirs for a week? Please oh please oh pretty please?

Good earphone suggestions would also be received with a virtual hug :)
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'Work', should be something that makes the eternal continuum of life bearable,
Not something that you do for sustenance and shallow respect.
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A writer is someone to whom writing is more difficult than it is to others A writer is someone to whom writing is more difficult than it is to others A writer is someone to whom writing is more difficult than it is to others.

This is ridiculous. It's an essay, for goodness sake, not your magnum opus. You don't need one day to write a thousand-word essay, love.
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'April is the cruellest month,' says T.S. Eliot.
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I'm now lazily awake, after having tea.
Making notes that are too pretty (or take too much effort) for this time of the year.
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Welcome back.
You might be pleased to know that I've given up the notion of applying for that scholarship.
I'm now committed to the cause of being a Vegan Hippie. Goodbye academics!

Meanwhile, I've finished watching a whole series (6 episodes) of Peep Show in one night.
If that's not the initiation ceremony to geek/loser-dom, I don't know what is.
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Writing an essay for a scholarship to the UK that I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get.
Watch me as my sense of dread builds up word by flipping word. Tune in to see if I explode from the building up of self-hate.
Until next time.
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Stephen Fry: probably the only person who can crack a joke about funny bird names, and still sound classy.
Poise, people. Poise.
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Would you choose to help someone, even if helping makes you miserable?

This week, I learned how to say no.
It's empowering, and made me infinitely happier.
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Oh God, why am I reading Peep Show sypnosis and the comments.
Peep Show is a sitcom about two sad losers so depressing that I couldn't bear to watch, however funny it is.
So what does reading about it makes me? A sad loser with a problem having to do with concentrating on decoding her law textbooks.
(because that's what it needs - decoding, not reading; those bloody things.)
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I'm generally in a permanent state of tiredness, to varying degrees, every day (don't know if everyone else has that too), but I woke up being more inexplicably tired than usual today, and after trying to hit the books for a bit, I went 'sod it', went to take a nap (that lasted for about two hours, which is very long considering the fact that I only need a ten-minute one to freshen myself up), which somehow logically proceeded to the sad spiral of spending the whole day watching Mitchell and Webb's stuff on Youtube. I'm now pretty happy (I basically spent the whole day laughing because I spent the whole day watching British comedy. And trying to be sneaky and use proxy IPs - that's the headache bit because it made firefox crash repeatedly when I was trying to watch Youtube, which was the whole point anyway. Grr.), but hating myself for being this sad, unproductive loser. To shorten that would make it: I'm now happily hating myself, which sounds, but does not feel like much of a contradiction.

(How can Matthew Gray Gubler make high-fiving a cat look so cool? Why do I waste my time by thinking about how cool he looks when high-fiving a cat? Why can't I, instead of thinking about how cool he looks when high-fiving a cat, think about how he's awesome because of his punishing work ethics, and adopt that myself?)

But now that I have a more lively mind although still having very tired eyes, I'm starting work for the day. At 2am.
I have this mental image of UoL students wanting to stab me when they read this. I want to apologise, but for what? Ridiculous. And that mental image of other people wanting to stab me is probably just a part of me that wants to stab myself, because I obviously don't know what other people think.
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Today, I:

- figured out how to make chocolate mousse.
- finished watching The Hours (great movie).
- spent about two intense hours figuring out legal/political philosophy concepts.
- watched 10 o'Clock Live and actually picked up something I can use in Public Law.

A full day, in short :D

And, the revelation of this site is the to me is the whipped cream on top of the chocolate mousse to my day:
If you love cooking and pretty/cute/awesome illustrations, you'll love this.


:)
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Natural disasters bring about the strangest feelings in me, probably because I think too much.

Of course, I don't feel happy about the many people who died and the many who are displaced. But at the same time, this is so far removed from me that I don't feel any great sadness. What I feel can be summarised in this sentence: 'aww so many people died :('. So I feel phony, like I'm showing off my compassion, if I express any message of condolence and well-wishes anywhere else but where those affected by the natural disaster are definitely going to see it; and that's not on my facebook page, my twitter stream, or in conversations with my non-Japanese friends. It's not that I don't want to give them well-wishes, but I think doing so on social media and in conversations doesn't achieve anything, and I felt uneasy when I considered doing it.

And to make things worse, the snob in me feels like screaming at idiots talking about the apocalypse, or about how it's vengeance. To the latter crowd: I hope someone haunts you and scream THIS IS GOD'S REVENGE FOR YOU BEING AN IDIOT every time something bad happens to you that isn't your fault. For the end-of-the-world crowd: if you're really concerned, you'll be building bunkers underground, not talking about it on facebook, so you're just saying it to sound smart (which has the opposite effect), or to create conversational pieces, which I normally find very stupid. If you think I unnecessarily worry about how the UK's new immigration policy might affect my ability to go there as a transfer student, given the amount of facts we know on both issues, I think worrying about the apocalypse because of an increase in Teutonic activity is even more stupid. And the radioactive rain crowd is the same crowd who believes in chain mails and health advices via email without googling to confirm them, and floods my inbox to an extent that I don't check it anymore. Of course I have nothing but contempt for them. Why listen to sources you don't know personally and can't sue if anything happens. Newspapers are held to accountability via threats of civil suits and possibly criminal suits, the person who started the chain SMS whom you can't trace, isn't.
Not exactly appropriate sentiments to have in light of an earthquake, a tsunami, and a possible nuclear disaster.

And then with all the apathy and irritation I felt, I move on to feel slightly guilty about the emotions I'm having - because those are not responses you readily admit without causing some amount of shock.

Then I proceed to tussle about whether or not I ought to be weepingly sad about the calamities that struck Japan. I can if I let myself be - but that's it, it feels so artificial. What's the point about wanting to being weepingly sad? It just sort of makes you slightly more proud about yourself for being compassionate, and if it isn't an automatic response, it feels, and is, phony.

I'm quite sure some would find my internal tussle amusing. But that's just how I function. I'm unhappy if I overthink, but even more unhappy if I don't overthink. So I'm just going to dispense with all the sentiments, and express my feelings with my cash, practically. Emotions wouldn't build villages - money would.
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I've always loved old, decrepit, lonely buildings that have been abandoned.
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'Lo, I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too much honey; I need hands outstretched to take it.
I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more become joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches'

Thus Spake Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche.

I wonder if everyone people find real delight in things I find depressing.
If they do, if they find the same kind of delight in pop music as I do in The Beatles; if they are similarly moved by American's Next Top Model as I am by books by Virginia Woolf - and they seem like they are - lucky them, for they can be happy and yet still fit in.
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Hello from Penang!
I'm writing this from a lovely hotel suite; it's sleek, yet very comfortably furnished, with two rooms and a living room. And we have wifi and three flat screen tvs in our suite! Two of them are now tuned to BBC, and I'm here enjoying this suite to myself while everyone else is at the pool. I love the room, and I love the solitude. One of the loveliest rooms I've stayed in.
Penang is a lovely, strange place that reminds me both of Singapore and Hong Kong; the former I dislike, the later I love to bits. Not completely surprising, since they all were major British ports whose main population is Chinese, but now, I'm confused - do I like this place?

I'll show you a view from my balcony I painstakingly tried to capture, but gave up after numerous failures. Sorry - awful non-DSLR I have. So I present you - the view of my room, 10 times less pretty than it is in reality:


I'd also show-off the pretty sealine just after sunset, with its pretty colours, but by the time I took my camera outside to take a picture, the sun had sunk and everything was too dark :( tomorrow then, perhaps.

But odd confusion nonetheless, am looking forward to a quest for good food! Dad's in his adventure-mode, and I've noted down top places for certain hawker food that MUST be tried!
Till I tell you more!
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And what is that loathsome, creeping thing that remains unsaid? That elephant in the room? Why is it unutterable? Is it because underlying that thought are feelings of shame, of guilt, and the innate knowledge that something about it is wrong?
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'Singapore is the Asian city all travel writers love to hate.

Almost any commentary on visiting here is filled with references to canings and chewing gum. The implication is that Singapore is uptight, militant, and boring. Mention you are going to Singapore among established travel writers, and many will roll their eyes. “Why don’t you go up to Malaysia or down to Indonesia for some real culture?”'

- From 'The Art of Non-Conformity'

There's something I don't like about Singapore I couldn't quite put my finger on.
That's the word, 'uptight'.
It lacks the history, the grit, that Kuala Lumpur has.
KL, and Hong Kong, would always be the cities for me.

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Perhaps an automatic response to reading Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own, is to ask oneself: why, why why, with all the opportunities I have now, am I still so lazy.

Women back in the ages were denied all opportunities to devote their energies, time and brilliance to anything academic, anything to do with literature - anything cerebral. Anything I love so much today. Statements like 'the best women are intellectually the inferior of the worst man' were not considered outrageous, and books titled 'The Mental, Moral, and Physical Inferiority of the Female Sex' seems to be a dime a dozen. Heck, women were goods to be bartered off in marriage, and were supposed to be devoted to only the comforts of the men. Outrageous, outrageous, and depressing.

Why then, with all the opportunities I have today, am I not devoting all my time to those pursuits denied women all these years? Why do I not use that opportunity to the fullest when I can? I have amazing, liberal parents who don't think that their daughter's education should be put on the back burner for their sons'. I am allowed to do all these things - read, write, discourse, think - by my family and by society, when I would probably be thrown into an asylum if I attempt any of that in those days where they throw women who don't marry into asylums. Why am I complaining about being constantly tired, when I know tiredness is just an excuse for indolence, and you can do anything you want as long as you will it?

A Room of One's Own is a very good book to read if you want to kick yourself our of indolence, regardless of whether you're male or female. You can probably shame yourself into activity if you're a man (with everything in your favour from eons ago,how dare you fail? What excuse do you have of failing? Certainly not that of millennias of subjugation), and guilt yourself into activity if you're a woman (for reasons given above).

It's also a good book to read if you're not seeking to shame or guilt yourself out of anything, if nothing else, because Virginia Woolf write so beautifully. <3



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The disappointment and the anger of having three pages of notes disappear before your eyes.
Oh Evernote, and I loved you so.
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Right, let's see if this works.
I've got a Viva (oral assignment/exam) on Tuesday, my chosen topic being about UK's Human Rights Act.
In an effort to disabuse myself out of crippling fecklessness and increase my attention span from that of a hyperactive dog, I'm going to finish all the reading I have to do today. That would leave my Monday free for speech rehearsals, or in other words, another round of disabusing myself of having a head that goes blank when I'm halfway through a sentence.
Now back to work. Real, earnest work.
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"Oh dear. Oh double dear. Such terrible, terrible misery. "
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Do I come here to tell you what a detestable monster I am? How wretched, how the first word I think of the describe myself is the word 'dog'? Dog in the literary sense, the last sentence of Kafka's The Trial. 'Like a dog!'

You ask if all the bad things in the world are even out by the good things. I don't think they are.
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Another assignment due date is hot upon us again. And I haven't written a word.
But of course. What's new?
I would be a strict adherent of precedent if this time around I also manage to hand in my assignment late. By doing stupid things like missing the train.

Meanwhile, while procrastinating the last assignment, I managed to learn to fold a bunch of stuff (they call it origami), cut up all my ang pows into shapes suitable for origami (when I say all, I meant this year's angpows and last year's angpow. Long story I shall not divulge into here because it cuts into the narrative), start writing with my left hand, learnt how to tie my hair into a bun, started using words like 'fatuous'. I also finished all three series of Kingdom, both biographies of Stephen Fry, endless comedy sketches, panel shows, and David Mitchell rants. I've almost finished Oscar Wilde's De Profundis in that interim too.
Whatever you can say of me, you can't say I haven't been prolific.
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Back. Sporadically.
With a change in direction, and perhaps new dreams.
How would this play out? How would life play out?
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I update a lot for someone with writer's block, don't I?
(Oh but it's true! I'm not a liar who throws out phrases like 'writer's block' for dramatic effect! But you have to believe me! I'm just a lonely person with no one right to talk to but myself!)

After this blasted assignment-writing (imagine mock screams of agony), I'm going to post up Youtube videos, the kind I'm watching incessantly these days. One reason for having a blog is to share, and I can't not share things I think are awesome here! They are simply the funniest, smartest things I've ever seen on video.
After this blasted assignment too, I'm going to buy books. And start analysing the writing I read and the comedy I watch. And get back to the textbooks, of course. Perhaps go out a bit.

Labels: Updates.

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Sometimes I fear that language is the only thing I have on my side.
Language, and knowledge that is the sum total of everything I've read.
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I'm on another one of those writer's block again. Right.
I'm starting to suspect that this writing thing is cyclical. Or hormonal.

Meanwhile, I'm feeling very restless, with no outlet for that restlessness. No one to bounce it off, no great projects to gnaw it off.
I'm also feeling this woeful, but not altogether dreaded feeling that I'm wasting my life away.
There is so much I can do if I actually get up and do it.
So for now, the only thing I seem to be able to do is to write it off, and that doesn't seem to work either. Especially now when I can't. Bleeding. Write.
Crazy little place that is the world. This crazy thing that is life.
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I suppose I'm disappointed with almost anything I write because I know that I haven't put enough effort into it. It could have been better, but out of agonising flippancy, I chose not to make it better, by my own standards.
This is going to change, with any important writing I do. I know I can write well enough if I choose to, and I know I like it passionately enough and know it well enough to make me work at it.
This I'm doing now is just childish flinging out of words, an easy party trick to impress. Being a shameless chameleon.
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I do not know why
Haikus are so popular.
It's so constraining.

I'm only used to
Writing freely, allowing
Words to run away.

Flinging in words,
Adjectives, phrases, sayings,
Stringing all neatly

Together - all this
In delightful abandon
Did I use to do.

Haikus cramp my style.
I don't like it. Don't think I'll
Write another one.

(And this one's horrid.)
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'Education is the sum of what students teach each other in between lectures and seminars. You sit in each other's rooms and drink coffee - I suppose it would be vodka and Red Bull now - you share enthusiasms, you talk a lot of wank about politics, religion, art and the cosmos and then you go to bed. I mean, how else do you learn anything, how else do you take your mind for a walk?'

'My Cambridge proceeded pleasantly enough without the intrusion of academic study: a university is not, thank heavens, a place for vocational instruction, it has nothing to do with training for a working life and career, it is a place for education, something quite different. A real education takes place, not in the lecture hall or library, but in the rooms of friends, with earnest frolic and happy disputation. Wine can be a wiser teacher than ink, and banter is often better than books.'

Who else but Stephen Fry again? (The Fry Chronicles)

Labels: Excerpts

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When bad things happen, it's so easy to believe in superstition.
What could I have done differently? Be more critical? Started earlier? Worked harder?
Or maybe I should have worn red, avoid black cats, turn away when the coffin was being sealed.

How the first day of the Lunar New Year goes better not reflect how the rest of the year would go. Because so far, it has steadily progressed from bad to worse.
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Now, what should I charm you with?
Do I wield language again, superficial language that would make most flaws almost invisible?
Should I pour my heart out and be mournful?
Pictures? Videos? Excerpts? Quotes?

In truth, I don't know what would delight me now.

Sometimes, I feel like the deep-water squid who dazzles people to escape. Instead of glitter, I use language.
What a fraud.
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This is something I watched on Sunday, and I absolutely love it.





A love for this movie may be reserved to someone just like me, completely besotted with Stephen Fry and the brilliant comedic partnership that is Fry and Laurie. But I love it. I love it because, of course, Fry and Laurie, and a ton of other great actors are in it (Emma Thompson! Tony Slattery! Kenneth Branaugh!). I love it because it has it's funny moments. And I love it because it's such a well-blended mixture, combining the sad, the funny, the tragedic, the nostalgic, into one movie. I said somewhere else that it's a nostalgia within a nostalgia - it's a 1992 movie, prompting a nostalgic, wistful glance to the years before for today's viewers; while being at the same time about a group of friends who haven't met for 10 years after being in a comedic troupe in Cambridge, coming together over the weekend, so there's a bit of looking back in the film itself too. Nostalgia is the emotion that I felt strongest for in the movie, and I love it with all my heart.
When you find yourself with nothing better to do, give it a go! Alternatively, Youtube up A Bit of Fry and Laurie, QI, Peep Show, The Mitchell and Webb Look, Kingdom, and other great British shows. I can't believe I didn't discover this genre earlier. What a waste.

This song's in the movie, and I'm addicted to it too:

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Of course that is necessarily a repudiation of your good self, love.
You're a silly, justifying child if you think otherwise.
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The thing about having high standards for yourself is that you'd expect people to have similar standards too, when it's no stretch of anyone's imagination to know it's not the case (unless you start dragging in the interesting and dreary thing that is philosophy, then a debate of that statement can go on for hours).

I'll get insulted, bored, or hurt easily when others do not meet up to that standard, reason being 'If I wouldn't do this to them, why should they think of doing this to me?'. Human beings are so cavalier towards one another, some more than others, and I've been guilty of that numerous times myself. God knows how many times I've fallen short of other people's standards, it'll probably be distressing to think.

One of my many weaknesses, and the most debilitating one, must be my lack of imagination. A lack of imagination mean that you would not step out of the box that is your own version of reality, and that brings about toeing the line and maintaining the status quo. But it also mean that you're constantly only in your own mind, thinking only about the things you think and the feelings you feel without once considering what others would think or feel. And that is the key to selfishness, jealousy, and all sort of green-eyed disgusting beasts that lurk in you. A lack of empathy springs out of a lack of imagination.
If I have to have one thing tattoed on my spirit self these days, it's the phrase 'Imagine'.
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Trawling Cambridge's website after reading of Stephen Fry's account of being admitted.
Do I regret not applying? Yes, of course I do.
I know what you think. Oh, Mei Yen is incredibly vain to even consider that idea! What makes her think she even stands a chance? Let us all berate this narcissism of hers.
I don't think that it's very likely to be admitted, but I do think that with my qualifications, I do stand a fighting chance, at least a chance to be considered.
But do I feel pangs of regret when I identify qualities I do own in its What Are We Looking For description? Do I feel pangs of longing when I read accounts of how the social culture at Cambridge is like? Do I feel like a prat when I see its admittance rate for law and realise that it roughly corresponds to some other universities I applied to (discounting the fact that Cambridge applicants are often of a higher caliber than the applicants of other universities)
Yes, yes, and yes.

Unfortunately, it's not something that can be remedied.

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I think I've always been in the 'not enough' bracket.
Smart, but not enough. Good writer, but not good enough. Knows a lot, but not enough. Draws well, but not good enough. Determined, but not determined enough.
It's like I'm forever condemned to this 'above average, but nothing beyond that' category, which is an appalling place to be because you'll fit in nowhere.
It's embarrassing. Normal people don't inspire you, and bore you out, while smart, great people don't like talking to you because you're insipid and not good enough. So that's one of the reasons I've been talking to myself via online mediums so much, I guess.
Maybe because I'm so half-arsed and flitty. I get inspired to do something, change things up, but that inspiration can easily be gone after a few days, or a few months. And I forget the whole notion. I've recently been trying to change that, but who knows how far that would go?

What's with the rather confessional blog posts these days, eh?

Then I'll get yells saying 'But oh, Mei Yen, this blog has always been confessional, right from the beginning. The reason you changed addresses was because it was too confessional, remember?'

I guess that's why Sylvia Plath's poems appeal so much to me. We write in the same manner, though she does it so much better than me.

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'Fawcett also shared with me a passion for words and we would trawl the dictionary together and simply howl and wriggle with delight at the existence of such splendours as 'strobile' and 'magniloquent', daring and double-daring each other to use them to masters in lessons without giggling. 'Strobile' was a tricky one to insert naturally into conversation, since it means a kind of fir-cone, but magniloquent I did manage.

I, being I, went always that little bit too far of course. There was one master who had berated me in a lesson for some tautology or other. He, as what human being wouldn't when confronted with a lippy verbal show-off like me, delighted in seizing on opportunities to put me down. He was not, however, an English teacher, nor was he necessarily the brightest man in the world.

'So, Fry. 'A lemon yellow colour' is precipitated in your test tube is it? I think you will find, Fry, that we all know that lemons are yellow and that yellow is a colour. Try not to use three words where one will do. Hm?'

I smarted under this, but got my revenge a week or so later.

'Well, Fry? It's a simple enough question. What is titration?'

'Well, sir..., it's a process whereby...'

'Come on, come on. Either you know or you don't.'

'Sorry sir, I am anxious to avoid pleonasm, but I think...'

'Anxious to avoid what?'

'Pleonasm, sir.'

'And what do you mean by that?'

'I'm sorry, sir. I meant that I had no wish to be sesquipedalian.'

'What?'

'Sesquipedalian, sir.'

'What are you talking about?'

I allowed a note of confusion and bewilderment to enter my voice. 'I didn't want to be sesquipedalian, sir! You know, pleonastic.'

'Look, if you've got something to say to me, say it. What is this pleonastic nonsense?'

'I means sir, using more words in a sentence than are necessary. I was anxious to avoid being tautologous, repetitive or superfluous.'

'Well why on earth didn't you say so?'

'I'm sorry, sir. I'll remember in future, sir.' I stood up and turned round to face the whole form, my hand on my heart. 'I solemnly promise in future to help sir out by using seven words where one will do. I solemnly promise to be as pleonastic, prolix and sesquipedalian as he could possibly wish.'

It is a mark of the man's fundamental good nature that he didn't whip out a knife there and the, slit my throat from ear to ear and trample on my body in hobnailed boots. The look he gave me showed that he came damned close to considering the idea.

Christ, I could be a cheeky, cocky little runt.'

From Moab is My Washpot, Stephen Fry.

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I hate to be misunderstood or misinterpreted, so here goes: no, the last post is not fueled by suicidal tendencies. Far from it. I get occasional, full-blown realisation of my inadequacies (which are many and despicable). A very human thing to do on normal days is to sort of forgive yourself for your inadequacies, mute them, or ignore them, just to get on with life. Yesterday was one of those days, and that was a little rant to exorcise or examine it. Don't get all concerned, and I'll smack anyone who demonstrates a hint of pity. The last thing I want is to be pitied. I need those days to shake myself awake, to remind myself that, by God, I really should try harder. I'd prefer if we not mention it at all, unless it's an investigation of why I'm like that. Don't heap compliments, don't agree with me - both are awkward entirely unnecessary.

(Yes, I do realise I sound like a snot for saying this. No one would probably give even two thoughts about what I wrote, and then snort and go 'teenagers' [except ah, I'm not one anymore. Tragedy of my life]. This is a in-case-you-work-you-knickers-in-a-twist post. In case you do. )
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So the crux of the issue is this, isn't it?
I'm good at things that is completely pointless in the real world, and bad at absolutely crucial things one needs to survive.
And all I can do is write about it, because nothing seem to work.

God, you know what I'd like to do? What I'd like to become?
I think it would be fantastic to be able to join the Cambridge Footlights student comedy troupe. Imagine group get-togethers to write a skit, fueled by ideas, lasting late into the night. Imagine the constant practicing, aiming for perfection. The performance, the success. The fun and growing up while all that is going on.
But of course, I'm not funny enough, not smart enough, not clear enough, not eloquent enough. Not sociable enough. And my acting, like my dancing, is probably completely shyte.
I'm always not fucking good enough for the things I want to do. To be liked by people I look up to. To be who I want to be.
I'm mediocre, and I'm a fucking disappointment to myself.
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I haven't really blogged for a while, have I?
Reason being I've lost the ability to write like I did.
It's funny; it sort of comes and goes. Spurts and fits - is that the right phrase?
Maybe it's because of the back-to-back intense writing I have to do. Writing is one of the most painfully satisfying activities for me. And after putting so much of my lifeblood, my spirit into those two projects, I find that I can't write anymore now.
So goodbye then, until I can find a brilliant quote I have to post here for posterity (is it even the right way to use the word?), or until I get that spirit back.


And I realise even posting this is vain. What makes me think I write anything worth reading before this? What makes me think anyone would even care? Why can't I be silent about my spiritual writer's block and my hiatus like all the other good, humble people who write?

Someone in an interview said that the thing she most despise in other people is unkindness.
Frankly, I've been rather unkind these days. I feel like I'm the most jealous, selfish, person I know.
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"The guilt-free scare me. Nice people, in my experience, feel guilty a lot of the time. It's an unedifying trend among our politicians to appeal to the side of human nature that congratulates itself but finds fault in others. The other way round is more polite."

- David Mitchell.

These days I don't feel guilty enough. I need to stop being so self-congratulating, and to stop taking things for granted.
Frankly, there's a lot of things I need to stop doing.

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One gift I regret not having is the gift of foresight.
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Of course I've shed numerous tears over the Tuscon shootings. How could you not, after you read the profile of the 9 year old girl who died (who went to meet her congresswoman to find out what democracy is like - yeah, she certainly got a taste of it), or the federal judge who died?
But amidst that, you read reports like this.

"Among the mourners lining the street outside the church were 18 people dressed as angels, who had come to block a protest by members of the Westboro Baptist church, who praised Loughner's attack as vengeance on America for its tolerance of homosexuality."

"A second victim, John Roll, a federal judge, is to be buried amid tight security, because more than 100 other judges are expected to attend, including members of the US supreme court. The Westboro Baptist church has threatened to picket the funeral."

Christians can be one of the most heartless groups of people. It sounds so crazy whichever way you put it.

And to Westboro Baptist church, John Roll is a prolific judge who did much good to the judicial system, and who attended church almost every day. Lay off, wouldn't you?

Labels: (Obstinate) Opinions.

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You poor dear, dear thing. Look at you weltering in your misery. The extraordinary truth is that you want to stay there. Unlike so many of the young, you do not yearn for adulthood, pubs and car keys. You want to stay where you are, in the Republic of Pubescence, where feeling has primacy and pain is beautiful. And you know what ... ?

I think you are right.

Stephen Fry, in a letter to his 16 year old self.

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A few posts ago, I said I'm extremely horrible when it comes to describing myself.
That statement isn't more true than it is now, when I have to write my personal statement, describing myself in 4000 characters to admission officers in universities like the London School of Economics, University of London's Queen Mary, the University of Warwick, and the University College London. How do you condense your whole being into 4000 characters (not 4000 words!), and be appealing to admission officers? Good God, every sentence I churn out sounds patronising, or fake. Good Lord, how do I tell people exactly why I love law! This perfect explanation, this perfect communication of feeling has eluded me ever since I started considering law. And how in the world am I supposed to now write it all down!
Sigh. I do think I have it in me to write a good one. But as of today, I can't find that passion that makes writing absolutely flow.

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Class starts tomorrow, and the unhappiness has already kicked in.
Which might also mean expect more grumbles.
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"Well, I don’t know about you, but when I recall childhood pain, I don’t recall the pains of toothache, a thrashed backside, broken bones, stubbed toes, gashed knees or twisted ankles--I recall the pains of loneliness, boredom, abandonment, humiliation, rejection and fear. Those are the pains on which I might and, still sometimes do, dwell, and those pains, almost without exception, were inflicted on me by other children and by myself.

...

It is a cliché that most clichés are true, but then like most clichés, that cliché is untrue.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will always hurt me.

Bones mend and become actually stronger in the very place they were broken and where they have knitted up; mental wounds can grind and ooze for decades and be re-opened by the quietest whisper."

Moab is My Washpot, Stephen Fry.

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One thing I hate about myself is the fact that I have to philosophise and find an intellectual reason to justify myself into doing something.
I turn simple things into an ethical/moral/philosophical debate perhaps comparable to the debate they have on legalising euthanasia.
Take for example writing.
I get people who go 'pfft, you have problem writing?' when I talk about it, who then give me the impression that think I'm being irritatingly, falsely humble. Leaving the fact that people have this stupid impression that I'm a literary whiz when I'm not (I can barely string words togehter nicely without working up a fit), But it's an absolutely agonising process for me. See I can't even type out how agonising it is for me, because typing this out is also agonising for me. I have this vision before I start, about how great it will be, with maybe snatches of short sentences here and there that sounds great. But when I get down to writing, I'm horrified with the result, with the mushy rubbish I churn out. I'm never good at explaining myself, conveying the exact feeling I feel with the exact degree of passion. Because I'm so afraid of the mushy rubbish I write and the utter despair of writing, I often postpone it to the last minute (the deadline for an assignment that would constitute 25% of my marks for one subject, is tommorow at 6. I only truly started the writing process today at 9pm), or not write it at all. I've not handed in any assignments that are supposed to be written at home this year, because I hate handing in anything rubbishy, and not doing that involves a lot of time reading up, that I either pass the deadline (not that there're any real deadlines) or think it's not worth it.
So now I'm looking up something I've read somewhere that says that, if writing feels like torture, and is the last thing you want to do, you're there. All this to give me a new writing-drive.
It's tiring being me. Half of the problem is that I'm so half-assed, which I would explain somewhere else. The other thing I need to justify to do is to dress up and to look pretty, because of the fact that a huge part of that process involves impressing others with shallow impressions that I don't really stand behind, so it's always a struggle to look nice or to not put in any effort, and I usually veer more towards the latter spectrum.

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I have this particularly evil idea to get the Latin version of 'Our Father' and embed it into my blogcodes, so that everyone who comes here would have to listen to it. Evil not as in forcing the Word of the Lord down your throats kind of evil, but evil as in forcing you to listen to any kind of music. But then again coming here is a choice in itself, so it's not exactly forced...and the argument goes on. But the song is so beautiful in Latin, isn't it? Like it takes on a whole new aspect, and morph into this glorious, dignified being covered in gold.
You might guess that I've rather drifted away from religion, and now more strongly believe in the concept of God than I once did when I was actually semi-religious. There, I've said it, and I hope that come what may, I would have the strength to state my point without flinching.

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I realise I sound like an absolute egomaniac in my description of myself, besides it being extremely badly written. Sorry, I'm always bad at writing about myself, which is why I took that segment entirely off the profile tab. I'm ashamed. I'm not going to write one for myself after this.
It still needs a bit more editing and updating (especially web address). I realise that 'Recommended books' sound a bit pompous too. Who am I to recommend books to anyone? What was I thinking? I now put it down to laziness and my constant inability to find a good name for something. God forbid I have a child in the future eh?

And under histories 'valued based on that but on what I write now'? Bullshit. I can't write well now, and my writing ability is so bad that I'm frustrated. Nothing flows, and words meander like a restless wind inside a letterbox (to borrow from The Beatles).
But maybe, if you peer close enough, anything you see can be construed to be egocentric.
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It is time, that you're introduced to the magnificent Stephen Fry:

STEPHEN FRY: WHAT I WISH I'D KNOWN WHEN I WAS 18 from Peter Samuelson on Vimeo.

Trust me, it's not one of those Youtube videos (it's not even on Youtube!)
I went 'awwwww' when he said 'I had a very troubled childhood that ended up in me going to prison', and it's said not even to elicit pity, but to explain what he's going to say next.
Stephen Fry is teaching me more things than lecturers are teaching me. But of course. I think I learn more life lessons from lecturers than I learn law. Knowledge is so fleeting - for most of us not blessed with perfect recall, and especially for me these days (I can't remember what my dad's car is called. It took some time for me to remember the name of the latest Bond), any knowledge you can learn from a lecturer, is almost any knowledge you can learn from a textbook. So the main point of going to class is learning and absorbing some point of view, how the lecturer sees things, and picking up some of that. I solemnly swear that I've forgotten what my Contract lecturer said in her last class, and would have to preview my notes, but I remember her tone when she said it, and remember that it was a revelation. Which is probably why I can't stand sitting in classes of some lecturers. Besides not learning anything, their personalities repeal me and they aren't someone I respect, or want to emulate.
It's amazing, when an amazing person, who happens to be your lecturer says something totally innocuous and it can change the way you see things, or yourself, by them just being themselves and not even realising it.

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"Just imagine in this square mile how many people were burned for reading the Bible in English. And one of the principle burners and torturers of those who tried to read the Bible in English here in London was Thomas More. Now, that’s a long time ago, it’s not relevant. Except, that it was only last century that Thomas More was made a saint and it was only in the year 2000 that the last pope, the Pole, he made Thomas More the Patron Saint of Politicians. This is a man who put people on the rack for daring to own a Bible in English. He tortured them for owning a Bible in their own language. The idea that the Catholic church exists to disseminate the word of the Lord is nonsense. It is the only owner of the truth for the billions that it likes to boast about. Because those billions are uneducated and poor, as again it likes to boast about."

- Stephen Fry, on the Intelligence Squared debate on how the Catholic Church is not a force of good in this country. D'you know that my church is named after this bloke? This sainted bloke. And the best part of all this is that one day before I found out that my church is going to be renamed, I was at the National Library with Sabin being very inquisitive and having my laptop, and we were googling up people, and accidentally clicked on Thomas More, the saint. Horror of horrors there're accounts of him burning people at the stalk for being heretics. I was, of course, outrageous that someone like him is a saint. And almost jumped out of my seat in disbelief when this was announced in church the next day.
The timing of everything is so unbelievably epic that I can't help but believe that God (if there is a God above and everything I feel is not utter madness) is trying to tell me something.
Come to think of it, from now on I should be making a statement by not calling my church by its new name but my its old one.

But Stephen Fry's excerpts on the Intelligence Squared debate are shockingly amazing (as usual). His opinions are well-founded, amazingly reasonable, and delivered with a Fry-ish kick. One thing I hate about people saying, oh God is beyond human comprehension is, what, then, do you understand and believe God with? It seems like they're using this argument just to win a debate, and it seems extremely cultish. Oh you don't question The Supreme Leader, what he does would be beyond your comprehension. And rather dangerous, don't you think? I understand how God can't be scientifically proven, as yet, and still believe in the concept of a God still (it's not beyond my comprehension). What I don't understand is how people can justify so much hatred with religion, and with so much, oh you don't question it, you can't understand what He meant by it. And pointing to an excerpt in the Bible as a vehicle, a justification for hate. Nonsense. I think however great the Bible is, it is a dated text, with many practices acceptable then not acceptable now, and vice versa. Jesus said my words will never pass away didn't he? And for most part I believe it. My words being Jesus' words alone, not everything in the whole Bible. Oh we never mention that slavery was once allowed in the Bible, but we keep on harping about how the Bible says that gay people are an abomination; and then we justify (or not justify) it by saying that it's not something we can argue on because we wouldn't understand why. Bollock. All I know, and feel deep in my heart, is that God and Jesus is a lot about acceptance and love, not about archaic rules that promotes hatred for something done that doesn't harm people.

(This is very badly written because it's written at a ridiculous hour (proof of this is that I've made mistakes writing that very sentence that would render it senseless), and everything's not perfectly thought through. I'll probably come back to it later, but for those on your mark to go against everything I've written down, wait a bit, please?)

Labels: (Obstinate) Opinions.

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The main reason I would like Thailand, if at all, is because I can buy cheap pretty things there.

The second reason would be architecture, but that's just a very small part. I find myself thinking something's beautiful, yet being unmoved by it.

Yes, I am ashamed.

No, I didn't much enjoy Thailand. Dull old trip with a big crowd of people, pedantic tour guides (tour guides always irritate me somehow, but they're always cut of the same cloth with the same characteristics that make them so irritating to me), and boring things to do, while at the same time being condescending towards the locals. I found myself sitting atop an elephant (the fact that the trainer has this evil-looking tool that looks fit to torture the elephant a reminder at the back of my mind), or going water rafting, or sitting on a boat zooming across the Mekong river (the Mekong river!), and feeling strangely bored and unmoved, while at the same time realising it's an epoch in my life. I find my sensibilities offended so often that that part of me zoned out and sort of just took things as they came along. The elephant ride and show, the aboriginal visit, almost anything the tour guide said, made me feel uneasy. And that no one felt the same way I did exacerbated the situation a little bit more. And plus, a seller cheated me off a 100 ringgit! I have only myself to blame, but I have this feeling that this wouldn't have happened in Hong Kong. (Grr). So in the end, I return unmoved, if not irritated, fully understanding the phrase that the best part of a trip is the coming home. And oh, the amount of work I could have done at home!

The best part of the trip is probably offering this adorable local aboriginal girl holding a plush kangaroo what's left of my bar of menthos. She melted my heart. I would have taken a picture of her if I didn't thought that was a touristy insult and being condescending.

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Am going to utilise the Blackberry's camera in a series of pictures. You're sure glad to see a bit of colour here after so long, aren't you?






We're now feeding the saddest looking dog I've ever seen, and her four puppies.
One thing to note here is, mum is turned into quite a softy towards them, really. When I used to feed strays a few years ago, she was out strongest opposer, and we had to even do it secretly to not let her know. Now, she usually feeds them herself, more often than I do in fact. It's funny to see her go, 'seperate the meat from the bones! They'll choke if they eat bones!' and feeding bread and leftover stuff from dinner to them herself, and being picky of what we can give them and what we can't (because it'll give them tummyache!).
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"But a striking number of the most successful entrepreneurs of recent decades dropped out of education early, including Microsoft co-founders Bill Gates and Paul Allen, and Apple co-founder Steve Jobs. Billionaire Warren Buffett also failed to complete his education while Simon Cowell left school at 16. Mark Zuckerberg was only 20 when he launched Facebook.

Peter Thiel, the first outside financial backer of Facebook, has encouraged young entrepreneurs to leave education altogether by offering 20 two-year $100,000 (£63,800) fellowships to teenagers prepared to leave education and work full-time on their ideas.

...

Jonathan Cain, one of the directors of the Thiel Foundation, agreed. "Universities aren't always set up to encourage entrepreneurship. Academia is about passing on wisdom, not necessarily supporting or understanding things people haven't thought of before. If you're an undergraduate, you're not necessarily taking classes with people who are working to push the frontiers of knowledge." "

here. Also talks about how Richard Branson thinks higher education might be in some ways 'pointless'.

No one believes me when I say reading is overrated. So is studying, and over-learning. And to some extent, a degree.
But sadly, every one of those things are things I'm good at. I've had someone once said to me 'everyone would like to be like you'. The honest reply to that would be 'I don't want to be someone like me'. Well, it's not that I think I'm absolutely despicable human being, but I do think I have so much more to learn, so much more to gain. The base is there, I love the things I love passionately (books, knowledge, thought, poetry, art - anything that elevates the human condition), but I need a little bit more courage (when it comes to things that matter - not to things like bungee jumping. In that area I have plenty of courage), be a little bit better when it comes to dealing with people, and a little bit tougher, a little bit meaner. I need to be a little bit less academic, a little bit more people-centric.

Peter Thiel's offer sounds so tantalising.
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So insomnia strikes again, the call to morning prayers came and went again, and here I am, nursing a Virginia Woolf book, with slightly heavy eyes yet a mind as fresh as ever, and on the PC to update the iPod's book library (in the guise of doing Something Productive).


Sometimes I think all I need to love myself forever, or forever make it in the world (my own definition applied here) is just a more courage. Since assimilation is so wholly unhappy, and thus wholly unacceptable, to me. But it's tough, being second rate and different.


I swear, when describing many characteristics of a person, normal should be considered an insult. Banal, insipid, simple, comes to mind. The typical, or the average, isn't something to aspire to. It's positively depressing.

In light of a Stephen Fry clip, sometimes I think maybe the whole problem is that I'm too nice.
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My 5 year old brother knows what's a Blackberry. He asked me where it is today.
I retorted and asked him if he knows what's a Blackberry.
He said the one with a lot of alphabets (talking about its qwerty keypad). And then he sort of walked off uttering 'blackberry, blueberry' in a sing-song tone.

Haih.

(a little bit of background information, for those who are bewildered - dad brought home a Blackberry - from thin air probably, no one knows - and after leaving it on the countertop for a bit, told me via mum that he wants me to use it for a month and then teach him how to use it. But basically, there's nothing much I can do with it without a data plan. See, Blackberry is secretly a control freak. Without a data plan you can't use BBM. You can't use apps, even free apps. Without a data plan it's utterly horrendous to use the wifi. Without apps, it's torturous and seems utterly archaic to use it's mobile browser, when you compare it to the likes of Apple and the glorious touchscreens and their glorious pinch-to-enlarge function. So basically, all I use it for now is to call and sms - things I can do on my old, 3 year old, 300-ringgit-when-bought phone. The only plus point would be the camera, and I'm using it sparingly and frivolously anyway.

But does having so many 'things' makes me feel like I'm a spoilt brat not worthy of all of it, even though this phone isn't mine? Yes. For all I know, people might be walking around thinking 'well now, this snob of a rich kid with everything she wants'. Truth is I'm sort of this frugal person, who can't remember the last time I personally took out money to buy an item of clothing [well now I can, it's a RM13.90 scarf more than a month ago. A RM13.90 scarf! And it proved to be immensely useful in many ways.]. I'm not the girl who goes for shopping sprees. In fact I think it's depressing to spend too much money on things. How I have everything is beyond me.)

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Kafka said 'follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly', didn't he?

In this case, if applied to me, that would be reading news on news portals.

When people list down addictions, or bad distractions, they must have forgotten to include 'reading the newspapers'. Except maybe the wise, wise Mr Einstein who said 'read no newspapers'. The internet age makes unique addiction of mine worse, thanks to a pretty much unlimited news source. Al Jazeera, The Guardian, The New York Times (this one a constant because the buggers over at US actually made an app for it. An app!). And what makes it even worse is that it's an addiction, a distraction, masquerading as a virtue! The general wisdom is that reading, even reading too much, is good for you, and I have a hard time convincing people otherwise. So no one would get worried like one would worry about a drug addict and try to ween them off it! And I'd justify it by saying 'but it's supposed to be good...'

Okay well, this is supposed to be a joke that didn't turn out too well. What, you didn't take it in jest? I think the thing I'm truly addicted to is this serene happiness that comes from art (movies, tv shows, books, articles, music, opinions), that inspires me to be better. Woe is them who tries to take it away from me.

And on a completely irrelevant note,

isn't she gorgeous? And the necklace is a beauty too.
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Just now in Criminal Minds, when Prentiss and Rossi profiled a victim, they said she's seems like she's studying film-making, after seeing books about film-making on a side-table in her home.

I think if profiled likewise, I'd seem more of a literature major than a law student. I have so many classics that I have to keep some on both bedside tables of mine. Most of my books are either classics or things that would be lovely to analyse.

Oh, if we live in a world where what you study has nothing to do with your job in the future! Then I might have taken literature as a major. Or it might be economics, it might be philosophy, it might be psychology, it might be social studies. Or it might still be law.

When I'm reading books these days, I have a tendency to analyse it less than I used to. It's probably an after-effect of all that law materials to read, which makes me feel that in-depth analysing is 'pointless', being time-consuming and, in a practical sense, futile. But I miss that joy I get out of that kind of intellectual pursuit (and again, the words 'intellectual pursuit' makes me sound like some pompous git, but I say that with very little pride).

And to make things clear, I do not detest law. It's a subject I love that I'm glad to be able to study. A subject that seems like it's tailor-made to fit me. But at the same time, I detest the fact that it takes up so much of my time, that I cannot read books and learn things in other areas I'm interested in. Sure, plan and use time more wisely to fit other things I love into my time. But that's difficult. I'm very much detesting the classes I have to go to, 4 days a week, that winds up making me tired at the end of the day, with some of them not helping me in any noticeable way - unless you count building up tolerance helping me in a positive way. Besides that, I'm a perfectionist who wants to really study, appreciate, and be good in law, in a way beyond the exam and the marks, so I'm working on that too. I'm now working on fine-tuning and establishing a rhythm to the things I do and the time I use to do that, to make myself more efficient so I can enjoy my study years before facing the onslaught of work-life. But one discouraging factor must be the time I spent traveling to and sitting in classes I get nothing much out of.

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'The only thing in this world is music - music and books and one or two pictures. I am going to found a colony where there shall be no marrying - unless you happen to fall in love with a syphony of Beethoven - no human element at all, except what comes through Art - nothing but ideal peace and enless meditation. Tis world of human beings grows too complicated, my only wonder is that we don't fill more madhouses : the insane view of life has much to be said for it - perhaps its the sane one after all: and we, the sad sober respectable citizens really rave every moment of our lives and deserve to be shut up perpetually. My spring melancholy is developing in these hot days into summer madness.' - Virginia Woolf, letter to Emma Vaughan when she was 19

Isn't she exquisite? Isn't she lovely?

I once said, in frustration, to a friend - that I wish we're not physical beings, but spirits orbs of sorts. (but I'm not picky exactly how we look like - that's secondary, or even irrelevant). That way, we wouldn't have to go about the unpleasant task of 'taking care of appearances', and there wouldn't be the male-female divide. I'm now struggling to make you sympathise with me and my idea, but my limited literary ability is making this hard. And oh, said spirit orbs don't communicate through the imperfect form of words and speech, either. Thoughts, precise thoughts, would be transmitted (for lack of a better word) to another without having to go through the distorting medium of words.

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Set my sights on - what is this? - another bag.

Oh, I'm an incurably frivilous child of capitalism. Or is the correct word consumerism?
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I don't know what it was - the movie with Sabin yesterday, the exercise I did, or the Virginia Woolf book - but whatever it was, today, I'm feeling happy, and inspired again, like I haven't been feeling in a very long time! I get tingles of inspiration, and I think wistful thoughts, and poetically (this sounds pretentious, but I'm saying that in the least haughty manner I can muster) once again!

And to make things even better, the ipod touch came back home! The (very nice, I might add) authorised dealer sent it back the second time for repairs, and when it came back, the touch screen was still faulty. I think he gave it up as a lost cause then, and gave me a new one! Which means that I now have music to listen to again! Hurrahs all around!

The only 'problem' with this, is that the only thing I want to do now, is think artful, beautiful thoughts, and read artful, poetic things. I feel like going on a tirade, quoting and talking to people about books, and poetry, in the most uplifting, inspired voice that would come natural to me when I'm in this mood (of course, people I can talk to in that manner without brushing me off or think I'm completely insane, are few and far between. Most people are either too mean, or too normal, or both. Pfft). I have no notions of studying, or reading my textbooks, or making notes, like a good law student with work ethics would do. Not that it's a real problem for me, this respite is probably good for me, and I need to bask in this new-recovered happiness.

And oh, the perfume I sampled at Esprit is smelling happily delicious, and my ipod touch just decided to play Oasis' So Sally can Wait. Can't you see I'm exquisitely happy? :D

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What happens when you have a lit geek as a law student:

While reading the textbook, the lit geek would suddenly react when he or she an obscure name, and go 'Leslie Stephens? LESLIE STEPHENS?! As in Virginia Woolf's father? What is he doing here?!'

And then google to make sure. He or she would be absolutely right.

The Criminal Minds geek, on the other hand, would get into an argument about the symptoms and characteristics of schizophrenia versus that of someone who is epileptic, in class, with the lecturer.

He or she would again google to be sure. And then turn out to be right.

I need to stop doing things like these. It's inadvertently turning me into someone insufferable in the eyes of others, when I don't have the slightest intention of doing that.
On the other hand, perhaps, screw it with what everyone else thinks.
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No country, this, for old men.
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I'm good at nothing that would pay and and make me happy.
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"Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly."

- Franz Kafka.

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Irrevocably, irretrievably.
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I remembered one point yesterday a moisturiser description brought me to the apex of the quasi-existential, Catcher in the Rye depression I had very recently, probably as a result of caffeine.

But what ridiculous things do we, do I put up with for the sake of fitting in.
Actually, saying that I 'put up with' any of these things would probably be inaccurate. I'm a rebel when it comes to things like these, things like fitting in. I'm not one that's big for things like fitting in, most of what people are required to do to fit in is ridiculous, and frankly depressing.
Which is why I'm determined to be so good at the things I do, that I wouldn't have to be subjected to the crazies to make it in life.

On another note, coincidences are curious things. I finished reading Murakami's Norweigian Wood yesterday (it was just so-so, for me), and just today, news about the upcoming movie is flashed pretty prominently in the papers around the world. Almost the same thing happened to me when I finished reading Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper. In the first case, the movie was pretty much horrible. But Norweigian Wood would be a very interesting book to be made into a movie, so we'll see ;]

What I'm doing now is trying establish, or to get back my study momentum, while simultaneously finding myself getting irritated by the lectures I have to sit through.
It's them, and it's me. Things would be fine if I'm a submissive, passive student who sit through lectures with good results being the shining light at the end of the tunnel, or if I don't demand so much, and show more respect. Things would also be fine if the lecturers don't read through the study manual and call it a lecture. But unfortunately, in this imperfect world of ours, none of the above is true.
Maybe I need to start following the philosophy of the mostly self-educated Albert Einstein. Or that of Oscar Wilde, and remember that nothing worth learning can actually be taught.
In that case, what the hell am I doing, traveling to classes in KL and find that I can learn nothing from them?

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What I can tick off my list of experiences after the Dinner and Dance:
#1 Dancing. On stage. Along to a Micheal Jackson song. With Micheal Jackson moves. Although strictly, for me, it's more like butchering Michael Jackson moves.
#2 Walking around Bangsar in unbelievably painful not-so-high heels for work purposes (although strictly, it's not work. It's called unpaid labour. The only difference this would be from slavery is that I signed up for this myself.)
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...and here are the hauls.
No pictures of my books nicely stacked up, with beautiful spines showing their titles this time, since I don't know where the camera went =[

It's still 8 ringgit per book, and I bought 14 books for RM112! As usual, a steal. Book-lovers, do NOT miss this!


But here are the titles, as far as I can construct from memory.
1. Starter for Ten, David Nicholls (this is a book I can go 'wow, I'm not that nerdy and awkward after all', and it's also very funny. Haih, the thin line between being a nerd and an autistic savant.)
2. A Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood.
3. John Milton's essential essays and poems (a hardcover monster of 1300++ pages. But it's a exquisite edition of Milton, so it's all good)
4. Shakespeare's Comedies, Part II (Beautiful, hardcover version of some of his 'comedic' plays like Twelfth Night or the Merchant of Venice)
5. Richard Yates' works (another hardcover darling, with Revolutionary Road also in it)
6. Romeo and Juliet.
7. Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami. (okay, I admit, I want to start reading Murakami, but part of the appeal came from the Beatles' song it's named after.)
8. The Waves, Virginia Woolf
9. Selected Letters, Virginia Woolf
10. A Room of One's Own and Three Guineas, Virginia Woolf.
11. Life of Pi, Yann Martel.
12. The Brothers' Karamazov, Doestovsky (hardcover and SO pretty)
13. Midnight Children, Salman Rushdie.
14. Disgrace, JM Coetzee.

Yes, I got all that for 8 ringgit each! Most of them are books I've thought of buying.
Bookworms would be appalled they haven't been there yet. But fear not! The bookfair is till 17th November, at South City Plaza, Seri Kembangan! Don't worry too much about the fact that it's a booksale - people I've met there are very nice, and there's this bookworm-to-bookworm camaraderie going around. I found Life of Pi thanks to a very nice person directing me to it, and when I was talking to Sabin about Salman Rushdie, this man pulled out his book and gave it to us! After a while, when the pile of books I was carrying around became unbearably heavy, and I resorted to kicking my box of books around, a lady took pity on me and told me that I could leave my stack of books at the customer service counter! Don't worry too much about overcrowded and hostile crowds!

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"I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m hopeless at math. And I just want to do cute things, but I’m receiving pressure from every angle to remove all cuteness in my life and tend towards a more practical route. Did you ever feel like this? Did you ever feel completely prickly and just wanted to hide away from the world and eat duck rice and ice cream (sequentially; not simultaneously) when you decided on your major and career path?"

Su Ann, quaintly.net

Hahahaha, that's what I've been feeling!
Just that I don't like duck rice.

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Remember the Gosig Terrier?
Yeah, I've given it away, but I'm missing it now =[
It has this symbolic value to it, besides being cute and lovely. It's the particular time frame I bought it in, and what feelings I've inadverently attached to it. It's like how I'm listening to Katharine McPhee ft Zachery Levi's Terrified over and over again for comfort these days.

So this is a friendly reminder to not buy things for your friends you yourself love to bits. It's heartbreak.

Maybe another reminder to not love your friends to bits too. That is also heartbreak.
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Today is probably the only day of respite I have in a long while. So today is a day of mourning, in many ways. A day to yourself that you use to purge everything from your system so you can stop being the the bundle of sensitive, stressed out nerves I currently am now. Not that the days are filled with many things to mourn for, not just prom-related. They're usually inter spread with things to mourn for and things to rejoice for. But now, the things to mourn for seems to have taken center stage in my emotions, and I can't seem to focus on the good things.
I really I need to go to a good library after this to return to normal. My bookish, poetic, calm normal.

On another note, I went to Ikea yesterday! Now I have a swivel chair, and a cute, white, doggy gift for my friend called the Gosig Terrier. Something cute to laugh about: my brother was told that the dog's name is Gosig Terrier (well to be more accurate, its breed). He then looked at the plush dog he was holding in his arms in a concerned, nervous way and said: "You got sick ah!". Gosig = got sick. Defeated by cuteness.

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The prom is currently all-consuming.
I live prom, eat prom, breathe prom, sleep prom.

And I'm here to show-off our posters, which I think is pretty well done and a class above most prom-posters I've seen.


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So we had our second dance practice today! (and being all girls, Macbook's photobooth is obviously too hard to resist!)
Besides being a really bad poser (as evidenced from the photographs), I'm also a pretty bad dancer. But no surprise there, I post news on facebook about me performing, dancing ala Michael Jackson in Smooth Criminal, and everyone promptly went to exclaim their surprise. Same with every other person I've met and told face-to-face. And no, I haven't made miraculous improvements since, so guess I just have to step it up :P

I've learnt quite a lot thus far, actually, through the whole rigmarole of it. I've learnt that:
- To really get to know somebody, work with them. Everything important (well mostly) you'll need to know will be revealed.
- You can only stand up for something if you truly, deeply believe in it. Pick your battles, wisely.
- I'm in the sponsorship department, so yeah, now I'm more immune towards jerks and rejections.
- Work is joy. Today I managed to give out 5 sponsor letters to owners around KL Central who might be interested. AND I figured out how to use proxy sites to beat the system, and am currently feeling like a million bucks :D

I think I've also learned a lot about power dynamics in everyday relationships (or at least now have a deeper awareness of it), and how much I love organising things, sans jerks and irritating people. I would kickass, and be really happy, if I have a team I can pick - my perfect team, in short. But organising events without those conditions are perfectly fine too.


PS. We might be getting quite a number of food vouchers, and we'll probably be giving them out when prom tickets are bought. If so, people who have already bought their tickets can probably redeem theirs too.
So:
I'm dancing.
Tickets are pretty heavily subsidised.
Performances are strictly vetted.
I'm working my ass off for it so you should come support me.
We're trying to make it as classy as possible.
You get free, amazing gelatos (RM1000 ringgit worth of it) after negotiations with one of our sponsors.
I'm still trying to get as many sponsors as I can. The lucky draw gifts and etc are probably to die for.
You might get food vouchers.

Need any more reasons to come to the Dinner and Dance this year? ;]

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I WILL read ashes for you, if you ask me.
I will look in the fire and tell you from the gray lashes
And out of the red and black tongues and stripes,
I will tell how fire comes
And how fire runs far as the sea.

- Fire Pages, Carl Sandburg.

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This is a shortened version of my first tutorial question: 'Is the fact that certain conduct is regarded as immoral by the majority of citizens a sufficient justification, in itself, for making that conduct punishable by law?'

At the end, I added that even if a conduct is not regarded as being wrong by most of citizens, and thus not punishable by law, that wouldn't make the conduct moral by any counts. Whether a conduct is moral or not does not depend on the general consensus. Then on Saturday, I had a conversation about how much our behaviours are affected by society. Malaysians' inability to speak up, for example.

Today, I read this article depicting the plight of some Afgan women, among the many articles of such nature I've read. I feel depressed, but I understand how inevitable things are. On one hand, things like this happen just because everyone is too weak and helpless to break out of this mentality - it takes someone strong enough to go against the tide, particularly in Afghanistan. You just have to be typical. But on the other hand, I'm still furious things like this happen everywhere. This reminds me why what everyone does might be condoned, but still not right by any means. An action, a mentality, or certain patterns of behaviour would be wrong if they would result in the oppression of others.

And for every gung-ho person reading this and beating their chests out there, proudly proclaiming they would never condone things like that - what do you think about animal consumption or animal testing? Would people in the future look back and denounce us like how we do slavery now? Food for thought.
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the days where you feel an extra sense of entitlement.

Where you expect even the internet to work right for you, and even the lift to wait for you, just because it's your birthday.
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the days where you feel an extra sense of entitlement.
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'Lend my your hand and we'll conquer them all; but lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall. Lend me your eyes I can change what you see - but your soul you must keep, totally free'

- Mumford and Sons.
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Happy Birthday, Oscar Wilde.
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'Whistle while I wait' loveliness very much in short these days.
Awesome people are very much in short these days too. Or at least, I don't see enough of them to make me happy.

In short, these days are replete with eye-rolling, on the inside or on the outside, and me feeling like smacking people.


This, too, shall pass.
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My life is either absolutely boring, or like one a Kafka protagonist has, one where it's absolutely beyond their control.
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It's damning, really. On one hand you read about Google inventing cars that can now drive themselves, while on the other, you hear horrific things about people torturing gay men.
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p.s. creeping back here because I noticed something weird:

IONA TAN WHY GOT 39 PPL COME TO MY BLOG IN ONE WEEK FROM YOUR BLOG?!?!
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