my thoughts, contained

Devotional

2006-07-04T10:57:00.000+10:00

I was thinking of how to set this blog of mine into a better mould once more and realised that a 40-day devotional and prayer-partnership will work excellently, and hopefully reap fruitfully.
So as I gather a contingent of like-hearted individuals, I hope this blog will be graced by inspired scribbles and truthful ponderings.

Condoning a bit of vilification

2006-05-09T14:28:00.000+10:00

The thought of sullying my other blog with a post on politics in Singapore was immensely off-putting. Not that either the contents of this entry or the content of the recommended blog in question are unworthy of a feature on my other blog.
I would rather keep politics, of a particularly dirty, underhand Singaporean nature, separate from the people and experiences that drive my life. Which leads me to the dish of the day:
http://singabloodypore.blogspot.com
You thought politics in Singapore were lacklustre, and its inhabitants mouthless, opinionless, directionless? Well you obviously have not thought of the possibilities afforded by worldwideweb resources.

ta.

The Zoom Factor

2006-04-04T21:02:00.000+10:00

Less than two years on and I realised I just could (and can) not keep this blog going, not with the style I am adopting and certainly not at the pace it is crawling at. How relevant has this been for me? well back in the days when I had every intention to cultivate a dry sarcastic humour whilst keeping up with writing, no matter how occasional it was, this blog had a purpose.
To completely adopt a different tone, visual concept and writerly intent seemed, to me, virtually (pun perhaps intended) impossible without embarking on a new journalistic project. To others a revolution was as easy as
a. insert an entry stating your new goals and the consequential change of tone
b. carrying on with your new blogging character like adapting was never an issue with author and audience at all
Well I guess the problem laid with me. If you don't like it don't read it anymore right? So perhaps assimilating into a new writing life within the same cyber-constructs seemed simply - wrong.
This doesn't mean that what has been written here was, and is, any less me. However as biological time moves so does the shape of my life. Am I going to resurrect this blog hereafter? by not deleting it I am both keeping alive that possibility and more importantly, affirming this virtual being's relevance to an understanding of my development over the past 2 years.
Blogs, as I have seen (and I do have a slightly illustrious history of starting and not properly ending blogs), cogently lack the ability to provide a stable and permanent means of expressing and understanding myself. Do I write everything and anything about myself in them? That is honestly a weak rhetorical question. Although everything and anything in them are, I admit, quite piercingly near the truth. [of course there's the odd exaggeration and attempt at sounding honest]
I have found a secure sanctuary where I can rest in the trust and confidence that anything I say and do is not without accountability and guidance. The virtual realm has provided an economical means in which I can express some of my thoughts - not all but just enough. A blog is not a sanctuary, never can fully be, but it can be a means to let others in on those little secrets that goes on in this sanctuary of mine.
Have you found a place to rest? I have. So I am moving on.

dredges

2006-02-01T13:23:00.000+11:00

when will I finally be able to cast aside all my habits of glancing back at my rebellious, self-destructive past, and focus completely on my more inspiring present? to not feel mawkish towards my (supposedly) melancholic former self, for to acknowledge the presence of sentiment and allow it to take root is cheap and useless.
I do not understand how I could once be caught in a lull and almost immediately perk up the next moment. or am I still doing it now except with less intensity and hence make those mood swings become simultaneously less perceptible? oh come on lux why are you still trying to rationalise the irrational.

provoking the peace

2006-01-31T01:45:00.000+11:00

In no particular order, list 3 people you talk to online, 4 people you see in school, 2 teachers, 3 people you lurve going out with and 3 people in your sms box.

1. Pat
2. Mic
3. Sam
4. Matthew
5. Shuwen
6. Angela
7. Cammie
8. David Liew
9. Rollie
10. Eliz
11. Allison
12. Zaki
13. Xinyan
14. Pris
15. Melissa

So what do you think about no. 4?
God-fearing guy, easy going, down to earth, great reliable friend to have.

How nice is no. 6 ?
Haha everyone's nice, I've yet to meet someone who's a pest. But having said that, I won't skirt the issue - Angela has one of the most genuine personalities amongst my friends. Humourous and light-hearted... does that qualify for nice or is nice to bland a word to use?

On a scale of 1-10, how good looking number is no.5 ?
She's got a fantastic smile, an infectious personality, is tall, slim with pretty eyes. So on a scale, she'll be hitting all the high notes.

Will you ever fall for no.11 ?
ahhh, sometimes randomness just suffocates you, maybe I should have been deliberate in my placing of names besides numbers. If I were a guy, I would, but proceed with much sensitivity and respect. But then I'm not a guy, so anything esle is a no-go, please.

Honestly, if no.8 met with an accident, what will you do ?
Get the whole art class to go visit him, maybe design some humongous 3D card, and pray. The last being the most precious and most fruitful.

How much do you like no. 2 ?
Hehe! Online buddy, or the 'diary' I report to daily (as I've called her, she wasn't too amused, haha). Frank, humourous, one who endears over time, and highly sensitive. Do I like? Yeah I do, for there is hardly any reason to dislike anyone completely. And - she's a dear friend to have, just that others have to appreciate her efforts and strengths.

Will 7 & 13 make a gd couple?
Well they know each other as friends. And again I'm kicking myself at the randomness of allocating names.

Would 14 kill you one day?
Nah! We lurve each other too much to do that! Bus buddies and endless-chats gal friends - too potent a combination to allow any hint of animosity get the better of her (or me).

Who do you like most ? 3 or 10 ?
ahhh 3 is a lurvely girl - though quiet and quite a tough nut to crack, she is amiable and frank. I lurve frankness. Realised how much both of us share in common with regards to certain aspects of life. With regards to 10 - she's fun and easy to talk to. known her for years but there's still an aura of mystery about her. as with 3, I find it easy at times relating to what 10 says and does. So perhaps owing to my, at times, capricious and idiosyncratic nature, I like neither the most and one just as much as the other.

Hehe. If any of you dear readers of this sluggish blog decide to do this *whatever* out of boredom or interest, keep me informed so I too can peek into your life.

Que sera sera? selah

2006-01-14T13:11:00.000+11:00

Life gets more compellingly difficult, and complicated, with every month that passes. The new year has quite comfortably settled in, as I find myself uttering the right numerals and stopped referring to the current year in future tense. However while my body moves forward, my mind is stalled by a habitual tendency to backtrack. What is so compellingly difficult is how I backtrack and remain there, mired and stuck in limbo.
The past week has been one of realisation and confusion. I dislike it when people, especially my mum, tell me I should do something with gifts I am supposed to be blessed with. I am no genius; and gifts, being alone, fades away without effort. I kick myself for not trying harder, for not being more 'proactive' (oh how I detest that word. is being active not enough? and if I act on it, do I really want to do it?). I always knew I enjoyed doing certain things and realising, in many more unexplainable, inexplicable ways, I was recognised for doing them. However it is no longer enough to be good, above average or remarkable, one has to continue upping the stakes, garner continual praises and be excellent, extraordinary, incomparable. Gifts are no longer natural endowments, they become quantifiable - never yours to keep but others to judge. So if I was as good as some people made me out to be some time in a distant past, why am I not doing nothing with anything in the present? I realised I am burdened by everything the past has made me out to be.
Where is the passion? Where is that vortex which attracts and draws out energy from within me? I would like to know, because for now, I feel like there is a small vortex within me myself which is slowly swallowing what passion remains within me. It is selfish and allows me to produce nothing tangible and satisfying.
I fluctuate between two states - that of being wholy fulfilled and the other, of being increasingly empty and drained out. The former is of hope, the latter of hope being run over by the drudgeries of time and lethargy. I try convincing myself that if I just took a rest and not work at proving anything to anyone, I would come marginally closer to achieving the true peace promised by the first state. Silly! Who is my worst, most insidious and deceptive enemy?
Is it me?

Bushisms of the Year!

2005-12-31T17:58:00.000+11:00

Came across this article in my country's daily and thought it'll be good to share something rather, silly, on the last day of the year. So while some of us (ie. me) are burning our brains and hearts out by thinking about the year that is about to pass down into history, a bit of mirth is not ill-timed and definitely not unwelcomed.
So laugh on.

Call it the wrong phrase at the wrong time, but "Brownie, you're doing a heckuva job" was named as US President George W. Bush's most memorable phrase of 2005.
The ill-timed praise of a now disgraced agency head became a national punchline for countless jokes and pointed comments about the administration's handling of the Hurricane Katrina disaster, and added to the President's reputation for verbal gaffes and clumsy turns of phrase.
My Paul Payack, president of Global Language Monitor, a non-profit group that monitors language use, says Mr Bush's statement in support of the then-director of the Federal Emergency Agency may be remembered for years.
"The 'Brownie' quote leads our 2005 list of Bushisms - memorable phrases or new words coined by the President."
Ten days after Mr Bush verbally patted Mr Michael Brown on the back, Mr Brown resigned.
Mr Payack said President Bush may be the foremost White House creator of new words, citing such past efforts as 'misunderestimate' (to seriously underestimate) and 'embetter' (to make emotionally better).

And a few others:

"See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda."
Mr Bush explaining his communication strategy last May

"I think I may need a bathroom break. Is this possible?"
Mr Bush asked in a note to Secretary of State Condolezza Rice during a United Nations Security Council meeting in September

"In terms of timetables, as quickly as possible - whatever that means."
The President on his timeframe for passing Social Security legislation in March

Reuters [featured in The Straits Times Dec 31, 2005]

dulling of the buds

2005-12-02T14:25:00.000+11:00

I have lost my appetite for over a month and for those who have seen and known me, this is not the most welcomed state I should be in. I have been eating out of necessity more than out of pleasure, which is not doing justice to the food. Afterall it is a blessing that I can eat whatever, wherever and whenever I want to.
I have been craving some foods back home but now that I have it, I find myself staring at them, sight being the only sense that is fulfilled.
There is hardly any real appetite to satiate.
But the company really makes up for it all. Having a meal remains awesome because of family and friends, to share the same space and the same food, is much to be thankful for. To have the strength and sustenance to hold conversations and lend physical and emotional support for each other -
yet somehow I wish I can appreciate my food as much as the act of sharing it.

dropping a note

2005-11-20T01:52:00.000+11:00

Back in Singapore for a week already but I am still a bit exhausted. I suppose 3 months of gradually intensifying mental, physical and emotional exhaustion is not going to be restored and replenished in such a short time, even though he's with me all the way. Time alone is not enough for this, grace is very much needed too.
The have-to-dos outnumber the want-to-dos, the shoulds exceed the coulds, and there is still only - one me.
I do not want to whine or complain or grumble because I have been looking eagerly forward to returning home. But being back here does not immediately resolve all bruises.

origami

2005-11-17T12:57:00.000+11:00

Everytime I shuttle from Singapore to Melbourne and back again, I feel like a slate being wiped clean in the process of transportation, a tabula rasa.
The people I encounter upon arriving at my destination, fold me in all kind of ways, that I find myself taking up forms I am unfamiliar with.
Jetlag for nearly 2 days is tiresome; but it is the lag in lifestyle and environment which hangs around a little longer, and crumples me up a lot more.
I am still finding a balance, one that does not have me fold and unfold myself each time I take flight, and land once more.

Little moments

2005-10-23T17:34:00.000+10:00

There are some things my friends do for me which I appreciate very deeply.
To wait for me, either in the car or standing a distance away, till I have unlocked the big green gates leading into my estate and walked safely in, before driving or walking off.
These are some of those moments I am grateful for.

Beauty by Breton

2005-10-13T11:26:00.000+10:00

Dreams

But the light returns
the pleasure of smoking
The spider-fairy of the cinders in points of blue and red
is never content with her mansions of Mozart.
The wound heals everything uses its ingenuity to make itself
recognised I speak and beneath your face the cone of shadow
turns which from the depths of the sea has called the pearls
the eyelids, the lips, inhale the day
the arena empties itself
one of the birds in flying away
did not think to forget the straw and the thread
hardly has a crowd thought it fit to stir
when the arrow flies
a star nothing but a star lost in the fur of the night
New York; Oct 1943

Taken from Andre Breton, Selections, University of California Press, 2003.

A mindful caper?

2005-10-01T13:29:00.000+10:00

I was walking past Lemongrass, corner Lygon-Pelham streets, when a car raced past. The guy in the passenger's seat stuck his head out of the window and shouted at me:
Get out of Australia!
I wanted to return a You don't own this place! but I wasn't going to try to beat him at his game. This game will have no winners, for sure.

We'll walk on, bit by bit

2005-09-25T00:29:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I did my third waitressing stint in Melbourne, this time for the 10th reunion of Medical students who graduated from the old University of Singapore in 1963. It was a small gathering of 46: this number made up of both alumni, their spouses and children (and partners for some, too). So as evidenced, the alumni gathered that night was accountably small.
The staff hired that night was very small too - including me, there were five namely the manager, John, Daniel and a couple. Daniel and I were the only ones who came on board on the second night. Yesterday's menu was Italian unlike the previous day's Chinese. This made serving much easier given the significant reduction in the number of courses and also the weight of each item we had to carry out.
What made this waitressing experience so memorable and significant were the people and the privilege of serving them. Daniel said something very true: when you served the diners, you establish a relationship with them. When you cook for them, like John did (and he was fantastic in his one-man-show I assure you), you are serving not just their appetites but also their well-being. Nothing connects people better than food and conversation; and behind all these are the service and the communication.
I had a good time talking to Sean, one of the waiters, who came back to Melbourne to work after returning to Malaysia for 8 years to work upon graduating from Melbourne way back then. He said he does not like it as much here as he did when he was studying, it is different. I do not doubt the change in perspectives afterall work is a different ballgame and we grow constantly, even if we are in our thirties I'm sure. We talked about working and studying here, the differences in approaches to education and lifestyle as compared to home. We shared our opinions and experiences with Aussies and how they focused more on talking than doing. hehehe but we are not too hung up on this, so relax.
John the manager is quite a personality. He was amazingly easy-going with blue eyes which emitted a warm glow of their own, and a gentle fatherly smile. He singlehandedly prepared the meals - chicken stuffed with spinach and pinenuts, trevally with a dollop of margarine and seasoning, crepes with cherries and cream, and finally that scrumptious lasagne with sundried tomatoes and ricotta cheese (which is still sitting in my fridge). It was a waste how some food went uneaten. I know I waste much good food often, but it is different when you are the one serving the food and when you knew how much effort went into preparing it. He came to Australia in 1971 from England. He began building his base in the hospitality and is now continuing his father's business. I can only contemplate how difficult and challenging it must be in this industry where the feeble and unsure are tossed out of the mix. He was the one who brought Dome to Singapore (I should really try it when I go back). It must be with a deep sense of pensiveness when he said he was married to his job. This came in reply to Daniel's comment on how happy his wife must be having a husband who could cook so well. He said he loved cooking, I told him he would have made an excellent one. I did not say that as a cheap trick to comfort. Both of us knew better.
There were inevitably many many speeches. I think they made up the bulk of what went on that night. However there was one significant part of the night's extended address where the speaker, Mr Leong (if I remembered correctly) named the individuals who could not be there with them to commemorate the years the alumni and their families have spent together, and apart. There was a one minute silence. He recalled an obituary published in the newspapers recently; the guy whom everyone "misunderstood" and was probably a great person despite what happened then; and all the people who have been mentioned in previous alumni gatherings. Then they sang 'Auld Lang Syne' a few times, the latter few with them holding hands and moving anticlockwise in a circular motion. Some of the men began running to their bags, grabbing their cameras. One of them moved out of the circle and began snapping the scene on a chair. Another placed himself on a chair in the middle of the circle and videotaped his loved ones from a vantage point.
Quietly we gazed from outside the room, singing both audibly and silently along with the 46.
They ended the night with a vote as to which place to hold the gathering next. They settled on South Island, New Zealand. This concluded the night. We remained to clean up the tables and arrange the furniture. It was with aching bodies and drowsy minds that we left the kitchen. When we do not know what a year will bring, and many whom we may or may not see again, but having a night to reminisce on nonetheless.

Please hold, will speak to you shortly

2005-09-15T15:16:00.000+10:00

I am eating Jalna's bio-dynamic apricot yoghourt and listening to Kings of Convenience and Fiona Apple now. Just chilling and cruising, after all my hols have already started and I do not harbour intentions (for now at least) of grinding the work machines. A good solid pot of tea, a tight read, a gentle warm ambience and a comfy woollen or pashmina throw... I know where this is headed: a private, obscure cafe tucked away in some small lane in Carlton. Together with a handy notebook, I will read and scribble the hours away.
Ooh this entry was actually to announce my new blog template, which I had a tiresome time finding and an even more perplexing time editing. But then again the look speaks for itself, no need for this wordy add-on.
I am off for some soymilk. yummm

When pain morphs into Pain

2005-09-05T11:06:00.000+10:00

Today I walked a bit too quickly, a bit furiously. This was how I usually walked in Melbourne anyway but today was a tad different - I was on heels. There was a metal buckle on the strap of each heel which went over my toes. So as I went clicking, kicking around Melbourne's little lanes, pounding the gravel I did not know what I was doing to my feet.
When I came back home I was changing into my track pants when I saw that my right foot's fourth toe was quite gruesomely bloodied. The skin had been abraised and blood had smudged itself liberally over my whole toe. The moment I saw this mess I never once intended to consciously cause, I felt pain for my little toe. It was not pain, not at all, I simply imagined and concluded (logically) that it was. Of course the reality of sensation hit me when I bathed. The first time warm water touched it I felt a jolt of pain. But that was just all because 30 seconds into my bath I was already numbed to this self-inflicted physical pain. No I am not some irrational masochist who relishes moments of striking, shocking sensations. Blood should flow when it should and not lost in some wasted manner.
However it is Pain, that which is mental and emotional, that hurts tremendously. I cannot bandage it up, apply antiseptic to it or numb it with more heat and pressure. Maybe it is because I do not want this heart and mind of mine to die as yet. If death is a non-issue I will not be in pain anymore, would I? When you know you messed up real badly, when the only one raising the stakes was you, you are in for a lot of regret. And I prayed: I need to be the one in focus, not self-righteous or selfish or confused, but doing and saying things with love, sensitivity and deep understanding. I know I have screwed things up somewhere, somehow and now I need to take care to heal the pain I have inflicted on others, and myself.

Sur-realism

2005-08-10T19:51:00.000+10:00

Surrealism & the creative imagination is turning out to be the slackest, and most eccentric, subject I have ever taken. Do not know what it means to be in arts and given the license to behave and dress ridiculously? You will get ample opportunity to try it out here.
Case 1: come in with cobalt-blue ecobag, green shirt, green diamond-pattered vest, puffy brown jacket and scruffy brown loafers with fluorescent yellow laces.
Case 2: wear bright red trenchcoat with small round badges lining the collar, add white-black striped stockings under long brown skirt.
Many more cases all too individual to recall in detail. Bottomline:

stock up on black, or as my art hist tutor said: black is the new black. Indeed.
black hair. if caucasoid do black, if asian do black. highlight with peacock green, magenta, blond. avoid doing the whole mop, target the fringe.
Fringe benefits!
go op! do it scruffy, vintage, antique but fashionable. threads come undone, you've got lint on your shoulders, your leather needs polishing. but please, heck.
words - the asian hiphop music fest '99, beauty and the beast musical '00, save the orang utans, and japlish-engrish or any queeer incomprehensible squiggle. your own language.

Today we watched Monty Python in class. The Ministry of Silly Walks, marathon for incontinents, football tussle between German & Greek philosophers and a dig at aussies. I heard the class go hush at the last one and there was a tension in the room. Relax! There's more to laugh at the yankees than you southern mateys.

My lecturer is an authority in this area. He said by the end of the semester we will truly understand what Surrealism and Dada are. But he did not mention how we are running the risk of being sucked into their worlds and coming out as weird and self-absorbed as they were. There can be a certain delight sometimes in trying to affirm one's supposed eccentricity and intellectual ability. But this is definitely not the best mentality to be nursing.

Un chien Andalou, finally got to watch it! Decomposing donkeys, roped-up priests, pumpkins, slit cow's eye, cane poking a severed hand, death eye moth and Vermeer. Unearthing the hidden soul's creative imaginative genius by damning rational, materialistic civilisation.

Were You Speaking To Me?

2005-08-06T14:33:00.000+10:00

On the steps of Flinders Street Station we huddled together for warmth against the Melbourne city winter and in blessed harmony. We stood a group of nearly 20 and sang.
Song book in hand, fingers exposed to the chill.
This is my desire to honour You.
I give You my heart I give You my soul I live for You alone.
But we were alone in so many ways. They did a jig in front of us, threw coins beneath the steps, took photos on their mobile phones, pulled out the guitar string, sang in mock harmony with us.
We were spectacular. There were girls in minis, girls in barebacked halters. Boys in T-shirts waved bottles around. But 'spectacle' was saved for us for in the midst of dissonance - trams gurgling on the tracks, people muttering our idiocy
Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.
You sing, I sing, I laugh.
But above all that I felt a certain calmness within me. A peaceful desire to touch someone with smile and song. You were there with me all along. You knew that someone heard and thought.
Mai-ke-feng proclaims Love!
Thank you for putting me there that night.

Whip out the plasic! :one:

2005-07-21T20:05:00.000+10:00

One of the most precious shopping finds in Melbourne (aside from Fitzroy's opp shops) cuts Collins-Swanston streets in the city. Today, after purchasing tix for a nite of fun with animation shorts for MIFF (melbourne international film fest), me and cam chanced upon this new shop. It was about a week old and poised to be an accessible hangout for just about anyone.
Why everyone? : well because it is unpretentious - it doesn't hide itself in some dark alley in a part of Melbourne (believe me there are several of these here) and claim to be for those who 'know better'. It is not hip or 'alternative' or for the crowd which clicks. However the hippy-looking storeowner with rimmed glasses, vest, patterned shirt, scraggly hair and earrings suggests otherwise.
I was at CD's Done Dirt Cheap and became very generous in my first-time purchase indeed. I grabbed 3 Tori albums - Little Earthquakes, Boys for Pele and Under the Pink. I have always wanted to own them but was waiting for the price to be tender enough for the picking. What a blessing indeed! 3 albums each for 10 AUD!
I was tempted to buy Jack Johnson, Kate Bush, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Bjork, Air, Ella Fitzgerald, Radiohead oooh stop me! There were a lot more of course but I had to stay my itchy fingers after grabbing my Toris.
And no they truly are originals, not some musty ripoffs, as my ears and eyes testify. Thankfully the pocket does not have to feel too sore in the process.
Oh did I mention I bought the Noir dvd anime series for 24 AUD?

2005-07-14T23:57:00.000+10:00

There is only a few reasons why I'm churning out so many posts in one nite and one of which is that I've nothing better to surf but still prefer to remain online and be aimless than to gainfully sleep. But oh well. Okie there's nothing I really want to write about in this post besides proving how aimless I am.
Hmmm lets talk about random stuff. Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events was good, if not because the girl lead looked gorgeous. She has a fabulous wardrobe, a hairdo I aspire to having (on occasions) and a pair of luscious lips. Her lips are much better than Jolie's. Declared virginal and very desirable *insert smiley* +> The film generally was Tim Burton-aspirant, somewhere there in terms of cinematography and art direction but also not quite there when it comes to humour and cohesiveness. But films based on books can always use their literary counterparts to cover up their flaws when they don't do as well. 'Well it's hard to match up to the novel but as we all know, the original is usually better.' or 'The novel dipped in quite a number of parts and we tried our best to improve on it. But it was all in all not easy...' or something like that. Simply put: please cut us some slack, okie?
That doesn't mean Lemony Snicket wasn't good. It definitely beats Mr & Mrs Smith, Fantastic Four and whatevercrap Hollywood churnsout next a thousand solid times.
On an unrelated note, I'm glad I didn't club much at all this semester! I've reached this stage in my life when time spent at home chatting on MSN beats a night spent dancing away. No more detestable grinding of male pelvises, cigarette stench that needs 45 mins of bathing and shampooing to rid off, or walking home after a night of tottering on heels or... Saved money on clubbing = more money on clothes and food = greater fulfilment. I realise I actually have very simple needs eh?
Ermm now it's time to list down a few wants. Every less-than-sensible girl has wants right? Oh right lets correct that, even sensible girls give way to certain cravings every now and then don't they? We are very easy to understand in this aspect. I lurve lists, they have an order which is destabilised when new cravings creep in.

Marks & Spencers' choc chip cookies
Bettina Liano jeans
Well-cut jackets
Funky knee-length skirts
A decent hardcover notebook
A bottle of Inniskilin icewine
White tea leaves
A good mug to drink any of the above

Irony how anything associated with food - self-image, dieting, overeating, hygiene, healthiness blahblah, slowly consumes our mind. Courgette! Zucchini! Cucumber! I want all of those, I want none of it. It doesn't matter if its eggplant or brinjal - more importantly is it organically produced? Oh are they all the same stuff? I'm confused. My mind is making my tummy confused. To eat or not to eat? Shakespeare and a play on society's eating disorder? I wanna watch!

All of sudden I feel like directing and staging a play. Lets see it'll be about (switch on: stream of consciousness) flowers, butter, toilet paper and killjoy. It'll star a milliner and an abject lamppost. Setting: origami lesson. Music: Basement Jaxx. I'll do something fun. It will be fun because I want it to be so. I'm blabbering. It's time to sleep lux.

This post was intentionally random. Trust no single bit of it. It is blogger-fraud.

Lifts me up!

2005-07-14T23:38:00.000+10:00

A blast of freshness in the atmosphere. I feel warmth marble itself across my body despite the wintry chill. Music courses through my veins, pumping the blood within, and it exhilarates me, calms me.
There are pecan melt crumblies, Zhang Shao Han, a good gym workout, a fulfilling week and beautiful friendships. You feel like you are being lifted up, up and up every moment you breathe and move.
When self-induced depression and melencolia seem to be three shadows away.

A summery winter in Sunshine Coast

2005-07-10T19:32:00.000+10:00

My three days of vacation in Sunshine Coast turned out to be a timely culmination of a series of spiritual experiences which started when the holidays began, and became more intense as the weeks passed. The first day was a visit to the beaches and a talk with Pastor Wee; the second a full day in church and of simultaneous thinking and contemplation; the third a visit to the mountains and a discovery of the beauty in my life.
I was once the cow chewing the cud but never daring to swallow it down.
It was a beauty I never knew existed in such a pure, simple and uncomplicated form. I had, at many times, professed to appreciate the subtler, more elusive details in life. I remember reiterating to friends and family the importance of not just going for the obvious big picture... thinking back I do not know if I did that because I truly believed so on every single occasion where I shouted loud and firm, or if I was concerned with building a reputation I thought was admirable by claiming to know better. Perhaps it was a combination of both - thing was when beauty revealed its unpretentious form to me, I remained unsatisfied and selfish.
Me being me, made things more complicated and difficult than they were. I had thought endlessly, trying to rationalise everything despite knowing that I was overwhelmed by a corpus of knowledge even before I could begin. My world was one where I did the thinking, the evaluating, the feeling and the worrying. I was the source of its limited strength and easily exhausted faculties. I was far from the beauties I claimed I could appreciate... if I wanted to.
Then I was brought to Pastor Wee, Auntie Janet and their children and their warm household. I am eternally grateful to them for what they have done for me and my cousin. And I will never forget the beauty of Your workings in my life.

Dutch Masters and a little German endeavour

2005-07-06T22:53:00.000+10:00

Today my cousin and I headed down to the National Gallery of Victoria (International) to view the Dutch Masters Melbourne Winter Masterpieces exhibition. I have been wanting to catch it and having seen it, I am not upset at having to wait over a month before the opportunity arrived. Entry was 10 dollars, and worth every bit of it. The exhibition came from the Rijksmuseum from the Netherlands and, to me, rivals and betters last year's Impressionist exhibition from France.
Today's collection featured works by Hals, Vermeer, Rembrandt, Hooch and many others from the 17th century. The subtle beauty, unassuming grace and simplicity of the portraits and genre scenes were astounding. Seeing the works in books and on the screen cannot compete with viewing them in their full splendour. I say splendour because I was never convinced by actual compelling visual evidence of how breathtaking and masterful the Dutch painters were. Their rendering of fabrics is marvellous - the quiver of a feather nestled on a hat; the soft folds of velvet, gold silk and embroidery; elaborate lacework and the stamp of wealth on those sleeves... yeah sleeves and much more.
That quiet, contemplative poise. A high, smooth unmarked forehead - a symbol of beauty. I stare deep into their eyes and into the trees...
The light falls muted. There are deep reservoirs of shadow because the Dutch seem to love their beauty partially hidden and elusive. Like my art tutor once said, 'Black is the new black.' Think you cannot see through the dark? well here the dark reveals and emboldens the viewer.
Of all the exhibitions I have been to, this ranks as unsurpassed in scope and quality. Munch, Impressionism, 20th century Paris, Pop Art etc. cannot beat this in its beauty. It does not jump out at you, brandishing a banner shouting big names. Instead you give them and yourself the pleasure of time, a patient spirit and keen eyes and revel in their auras. Good art does not need intellect or the eye and encyclopedic knowledge of connoisseurs. Just stand there and let it speak to you. The emotions the artist and his characters experienced then are no different from the ones we experience now. Do we not know pain, grief, joy, pride, jealousy, gratefulness?
Durer we didn't have much time to view. But I am going back, that's for sure. It has all his famous prints - The Passion series, St Jerome (and his numerous appearances), Melencolia, his rhinocerous (haha I just read recently that the collective noun for rhinos is crush) and others. I was pleasantly surprised that they decided not to charge for entry.
I am going back again. For Durer yes. For Dutch? hmmm perhaps verging on a bashful Yes!

Certain Temperaments

2005-07-05T18:20:00.000+10:00

- The phlegmatic suffers the problem, the melancholy sees the problem, the choleric solves the problem, the sanguine is the problem. -

I dig the quote above. I found it on the net. It is so politically incorrect, so hilarious because of the aforementioned quality, and so obviously biased towards the melancholic (which uncoincidentally I have been, through some fairly dubious personality tests; been associated with).

bartending on the freeway

2005-06-23T18:35:00.000+10:00

A few things you can do when you have the whole apartment to yourself

Blast music you guess may not go down well with your roomie. You whisper Love Psychedelico, Scissor Sisters, Athlete and live selections from Tori's Piano Bar.
Crank up food concoctions with strong smells (like kimchi, apple-cinnamon bread pudding, french onion soup and anything to do with fish) which soak into the air in the apartment.
Chat endlessly and loudly on the phone about ridiculous stuff like botched cosmetic surgeries, cravings for M&S choc chip cookies and how if you pad yourself with lotsa layers of clothing you'll feel no warmer than if you dressed more frugally if you get what I mean.
Guffaw in a most unfeminine manner as you watch stuff on the computer or the telly. They were screening The Iron Chef, Yakitate! Japan, FMP Fumoffu, aussie football and well, the daily Aussie late nite news.
Burst the fridge with your own yummies - brie, choc soymilk, celery, meatballs and leftovers of the strong-smelling concoctions you whipped up, amongst a selection of others.
Jump up and down, jog from one end to another, flail your arms as you attempt to keep yourself warm without having to switch on the heater.
Conscientiously try to keep the apartment tidy because you know that if it gets icky, the only one to blame is you.
Enjoy peaceful slumber free of any inconsiderate or unintentional interruptions.

I am loving it, if it has only been for a day so far, and when the fears of loneliness have yet to start kicking in.

one-uppance

2005-06-19T22:23:00.000+10:00

And things just get better and better. New webbies simply exist to thumb their noses at the oldies, 'Watch me.'
Watch the right hand side of this blog carefully, and let Live.

re-union dinner

2005-06-17T10:32:00.000+10:00

This post comes much delayed, owing to my tardiness when it comes to uploading pics from my camera. I feel like knocking some energy into my digicam. The feathery effects in the pics weren't intentional, they came kind courtesy from a machine with slow shutter speed and mechanical Alzheimer's disease.

tip the bowl!

karen, nick, xinyan, aikers, yenie (& hannah and kev who somehow didn't quite stick their faces into the frame...)

that'd be me, a cheesecake and 2 boxes of mochi

yenie and kev! (which means hannah doesn't appear at all!)

me and xy

Thanx everyone for a great time at dinner! Really appreciated the effort you all went through to plan a steamboat dinner in Melbourne right smack in the middle of winter! Wonderful memories to remember my twentieth with +>

2005-06-11T15:19:00.000+10:00

the harakiri of his dreams

-deviantart.com-

I want to share this with...

2005-06-08T15:09:00.000+10:00

It's quite a pleasant, if not ironic, surprise to open an Internet browser window to google.com and realise that it is commemorating the birthday of Frank Lloyd Wright. Right together with my own. It is quite a joy thinking that I shared a birthday with an internationally-renowned architect if not for the fact that he is already long deceased. And that being born under the same stars in different eras does not mean that I will inherit the talent and good reputation he had.
And then I realise that there are a few more peeps I know who share the same birthday as me. I know I should be glad that I am not the only one who feels a tad different, very likely special, on this day. I really should not be a sourpuss and whine about how more ordinary I feel... but well we all get a bit selfish sometimes.

So my birthday pressie for myself, so kindly sponsored by my (blissfully unaware, though I'm sure they won't mind it too much +>) parents is that two hour rendezvous at Hamer with Tori. And, I know it's more than one (but Tori was a month ago!), a small box of marrakech green tea from T2. It's this middle eastern gunpowder green tea and peppermint blend.

Anyone wants to share a lurvely after-dinner tea moment with me? You're more than welcomed!

2005-06-06T00:05:00.000+10:00

when addiction's well-meaning.

You are a cappuccino, sipped in the afternoon,
after sex.
You are not trendy; you set trends for others. You
wear black or nothing, and your playlist
alternates Mahler with bands no one else has
heard of. You read Rimbaud in public places,
and you have a vintage poster for La Dolce
Vita hanging over your bed. You pepper
your conversation with quotes from obscure
Jacobean revenge tragedies, and you cackle to
yourself when your lovers assume that you are
quoting I Love Lucy. Your glasses have
designer frames and you do not need them to
see.

What kind of coffee are you?

when my Brain is fairyfloss

2005-06-05T22:17:00.000+10:00

I am totally devoid of inspiration for my sociology essay. I hate the idea of having to whine about my uni essays on my blog but being so tied for time, and steamed out and I am still going to do so. So tell me, all you great minds, circa. Bourdieu, Giddens, Baudrillard, Melucci, just how does identity coincide with consumerism in a postmodern world? Come on you spirits fill me with your thoughts and endless mumblings about the state of the individual in this world where no meanings' fixed. Confuse me entirely so I can ably warble on for 2000 odd words tricking my tutor into thinking that after reading all your intellectual theses I come out a better, more knowledgeable person very much in touch with the world, thank you.

Pulling all the stops and realising you cannot dam the flow

2005-06-02T22:38:00.000+10:00

The damp has attached itself to the cold Melbourne air. Yesterday was technically the start of winter and also the next three arduous months. I can feel it in my bones, my jaws firm up and my fingers cannot grip my pen properly. I wake up to an aching body after a night of sleeping all curled-up, in a position dormouse-like.
I wear a thick winter coat out and pull the fur-lined hood over my head, hands in my pockets. But I still feel myself shiver when the winds blow. It is perplexing: how can I still feel the chill when I am all huddled up inside my padded third skin? I feel no warmer than if I only had a thin wool cardigan wrapped around me.
I kick and stamp the fallen dried leaves onto the gravel. Others have done likewise, and our combined efforts have firmly pressed them into packs of decomposing paste, all wet and sordid and dead. Leaves grow and fall and die and get swept away. They will never see the sun again. Others take their place and go through that same cycle. This seems like a cycle only to us, for in fact the life of each leaf truly ends when it dies.
At home I boil hot water nearly every hour to fill my tumbler with something simple but good. As I settle down in front of the computer, palms embracing the warm body of my tumbler, I feel content with my immobility. I sip the hot water and then gulp it down when it turns lukewarm and as my cold palms and the air starts eating up its heat.
Any sudden movement by my body causes the cold air to quiver and lick gently against my skin. And suddenly I feel the cold in my bones again. I hurry out to the bathroom and sit gingerly down on the toilet seat, feeling water course out of my body.
Then it is back to the kettle again. Already its metal coil is slowly burning away from all its overwork. I almost feel pity for it. Another round of warm water for my tumbler and the watercloset. I just wonder how much of my life am I going to spend fighting the damp of winter.

Spider solitaire

2005-05-30T00:22:00.000+10:00

me fave pasttime on the comp when i get tired of starin' at torrent d/l rates & messin' ard with msn messenger. clickin' on a deck of cards, draggin' them fr one pile to another till ya get a complete suit... how i wished life's as orderly! its not some mindless clickin' game like minesweeper mind ya there's lotsa thot and method involved here okie?
i think my addiction to spider solitaire can be attributed to whats left over of my obsessive compulsive behaviour. no more arranging shampoo and bath bottles in the bathrm so the labels all face the same direction. no more arranging pens in popular bkstore by brand and colour and type. or arranging dosh in my wallet... notes by denominator coins by size. no no no now i do spider solitaire. I arrange the cards in order, one by one, stack by stack, suit by suit. It is all to do with organisation. Woe betide if I fail!
and of course i do. whatdidya think? i'm playin' agst the comp for gdness sake...
no one's perfect!

Like a ukelele

2005-05-25T21:29:00.000+10:00

I have been mucking around the net the past couple of weeks, scouting for good music to help me through my tests and essays (which sadly, are still victims of my procrastination), and I managed to dig up some great finds. Which I willingly share and publicise on this little webbie of mine. +>
First up, Jack Johnson. I heard him in a cafe as I was munching down a choc coated cookie. He's Hawaiian, was a prominent black football player and now, in my opinion, an excellent vocalist. He's good chillout music - quite languid, very soothing and gentle on the ears. Great backup band. So extremely catchy.
Recommend: Losing Hope; Sitting, Waiting, Wishing; Taylor; Good People.
Next The Cat Empire! Melburnian (please don't mistake this as a blatant show of patriotism. it just feels good being able to namedrop individuals related to my makeshift homeland) and a quirky blend of funk, hiphop, jazz and a dibdab of ska. I do not think labelling the music does much justice but if we do not do it no one will understand where we're coming from right? Well this band delivers solid, un-mainstream material. Fun and fun somehow always reminds me of Basement Jaxx and that silly Romeo video.
Recommend: Hello Hello; Sly; Manifesto.
Finally Morcheeba. Alright they are nothing new and I am not too enthusiastic over them. But I want audio ambrosia right so they will do well for now. Portishead is too depressing and eclectic for me now.
Recommend: The Sea; The Great London Traffic Warden Massacre; Women Lose Weight.
Alright now that I have nothing more to talk about I'll return to my China readings and begin some tedious notetaking.

Pan toilets

2005-05-20T20:06:00.000+10:00

There are many politically-inclined individuals in my uni, with the queer community being the most vocal and active amongst the lot. If you do not know what 'queer' is (I didn't quite till I came here, and all of a sudden, queer took on another meaning besides unusual) you will after reading this extract adapted from a pamphlet distributed on Pan Toilet day.
What are pan toilets?
Toilets open to people who identify as woman or man, and anyone who's in between, has transitioned from one gender to another, has 'fluid' gender, is genderqueer, or rejects the gender system.
Why? whywhy?
They provide more choice for people by providing a space that doesn't enforce the gender binary. This benefits trans, intersex and genderqueer people who feel unsafe or uncomfortable in gendered spaces. Pan spaces create awareness that the gender binary is a social construction and not a 'natural' fact of life.
What can I do to help?
Visit the website (scroll down for I kindly provided the URL) to get PAN templates to make stickers to put on toilet doors.
As a stunt claim an existing toilet as pan for the day and give out info (if everyone claims a cubicle as sit of the day, then virtually All toilets will be pans for the day.. innit?).
Take part in awareness events like Genderf*#k Day, May 18 (crikey this entry's 2 days too late).
Who's against Pan?
The 'threat' of pan toilets critiques how sexism and queerphobia are used to protect mainstream culture and systems. The sexism and heterosexism that goes on in our public toilet system is a small cog in a complex social structure... yadda yadda.

So what we're supposed to feel more vulnerable and insecure just 'cos some queersupporters, or as they'd prefer pansupporters, want more sexual 'equality'? Some Alex fellow was quoted as saying 'My toilet at home isn't gendered.', for sure it isn't! University mates, just because they breathe the same air as you and bond with you as they complain about the horrendous canteen food, are not necessarily family.

Now should you ever decide to initiate Pan campaigns in your uni, you'd find this quote from the pamplet mildly inspiring if not amusing: Some people like to say that sex and gender is in between the ears and not between the legs. (ello?! sex is very much what's between the legs).

Contact http://groups.yahoo.com/group/appetitefordeconstruction/www.qc05.com

*And please no non sequiturs like What or who's a queer?

Original Sinsuality 2005

2005-05-16T16:57:00.000+10:00

I attended Tori afterall and those 120 minutes of her was worth every cent of the AUD110 ticket, and a lot more. I was plonked down, all alone with only a fur-trimmed jacket and striped slacks to keep me company. Thankfully I wasn't the only one feeling high-and-dry in Hamer Hall. Everyone looked like they were at least comfortably 10 years older than me... a fact that wasn't lost on me throughout the evening. She entered, placed both palms over her head and did a bow to the audience. Her signature red locks fell freely over this most artful white/light green frock she was wearing. It was almost empire-cut (cos I don't know if it was, it just seemed so), had a bow at the back and fell chop-chop to her knees. She wore a bright red tank under the dress and a pair of red wedges to match.
It was a one-woman show, with her playing the grand piano, organ and electronic keyboard throughout the night. The first song of the night was Amberwaves from Scarlet's Walk. As she crashed the piano keys, she lifted her right knee and bowed over the piano. The spotlight shone down on her, illuminating her red hair dramatically. So began her show.
The set list was obscure, even for someone who has listened to almost all of her albums, save The Beekeeper (which I've been slow to warm up to given the lacklustre reviews from my friends). She mainly played songs from Beekeeper like the title track, Parasol, The Power of Orange Knickers amongst others. Older selections included Happy Phantom and Horses and Rattlesnakes. Now tell me those are her most well-known songs to date. Twelve years and several albums later, Tori wasn't going to compromise by playing what the audience probably wanted. If you aren't hardcore Tori enough, sorry but you'll just have to forget about humming along and just appreciate her showsmanship.
I thought she was a spectacular vocalist and pianist. She was awesome with the improvisations. At times, like for Beauty Queen/Horses she'd play both the piano and organ at the same time - which seemed very sexual to me (imagine: in order to play both instruments she's to work both pedals right? ...). Her knack for performance aside, I thought she could've included more upbeat songs. I was really hoping to hear her sing Cornflake Girl and Bliss live... or at least Snow Cherries From France. But no! she decided to go for a more moody, sombre setlist. Not that I'm upset but well, fans want different stuff sometimes.
For me the highlight of the show came from her tribute Don't Dream Its Over for the Crowded House drummer. It was requested from a fan through email. I dont know who the drummer is, don't care, but her rendition was lurvely. I tried looking it up online but guess no one bothered to record the song down... yet hehe. Tori fans if you do come across that classic, grab it cos it's worth a good 4 -5 mins of your time. She also sang Puff the Magic Dragon. Cute and friendly the title may sound, it was actually much more depressing in reality.
She ended with Silent All These Years, not my fave track though it seemed to be most everyone esle's. I dunno why. Well it was the only encore song outta the four she performed which I could immediatley recognise, so I figured this was Tori's concession for the fans. Of course we lapped it up like we did almost all her songs.
As I walked out I saw a good handful of punks and goths, in full length red leather trenchcoats and black platform boots, and I quietly wondered how does Tori fit into their punk/goth lifestyle? Many fans also had dyed bright red hair as some form of visual tribute to Tori. So farny the fans. For me, camera-less and fiercely reluctant on splurging 25 bucks on a tour programme booklet which had more pics of Tori than writing (looks arent her selling point), I came home with a ticketstub and the image of Tori bent over the piano with light beaming down on her, seared into my mind.

Gastronomy lessons in Oz (III)

2005-05-10T23:13:00.000+10:00

Well let's continue talking about food. All the asian groceries you get you are of substandard quality Plus they cost many times more than what I get back home. Therefore my body is not tensing up not only because of the cold weather...
The 'pearl' barley here tastes nothing like the real pearly ones back home. I made barley gingko soup but it tasted quite awful because the barley grains were rough and big. Just awful - imagine chewing round wheat grains in your mouth (if they come round that is).
Soya bean milk tastes flat. Okie its not as thick and not as sweet than the ones back home which means less syrup and less soya beans used... sounds like a healthier alternative? But come on it doesn't taste as great?!
Indo Mie (and other brands of instant noodles). Well something got lost in the MSG flavouring as they got transported from Asia into the Dry and Deserted continent.
I shouldn't be bitching and complaining so much because having kaya, Chu Qian Yi Ding instant noodles, Pokka Peach tea, guilinggao and Hello Panda and Yan Yan beats having none at all; save dire cravings at night while mugging. I think I'd been less bitter and ungrateful if they didn't charge me so much for it. And please don't lecture me on the need to offset higher tax rates/import costs blah blah. I'm one helluva ignorant, unreasonable customer!

doomed

2005-05-09T23:39:00.000+10:00

I'm going to watch Tori alone. I'm doomed to solitude. Everyone esle will look cosy with a concert partner and I'll be doomed to solitary I-love-Tori-and am willing to pay 100 bucks gloom.

When we get a bit... unpredictable

2005-05-02T21:27:00.000+10:00

I was doing readings for my Love, Family & Sexuality sociology module and came across a handful of interesting quotes from this article entitled 'Scientific Discourse and Aging Women'.
There is no typical menopause, there are as many menopauses as women.
- Iris Murdoch, The Good Apprentice, 1985

I should observe, that though this climateric disease is sometimes equally remarkable in women as in men, yet most certainly I have not noticed it so frequently, nor so well characterized in females.
- Henry Halford, "On the Climateric Disease," 1813

Why do Western women make such a fuss about menopause"
- Asked by Jap gynaecologist at a Florida conference, 1985

2005-05-01T00:25:00.000+10:00

this blog of mine is in a lull. i feel lethargic just typing out an entry. so i'll just recommend some choice finds i've made over the past 24 hours.
peeps with mental hangover should check out Peaches' The Teaches with Peaches and Chicks on Speed.
ps: pls dont be too literal when reading what i just wrote. ie. dont apply complex terms like 'analogy' or 'metaphor' cos my mind is working on very simple logic right now.

Two walls, a door and the toilet bowl.

2005-04-27T18:35:00.000+10:00

In uni when the essay deadlines, word limits and realising how all research material are borrowed out by other more motivated individuals get you under the weather; you feel the urge to vent. You want others to hear your inner voice, not the politically correct polite views you obligingly say during tutes, but that inner self simply waiting to burst out and give the whole bloody world a piece of your very capable mind. But of course when other peeps look unstressed, like they're not on the verge of physical mutilation, you don't think that creating a scene as you explode with angst and earnestness will make earn you the respect you think you deserve.
So what better way than to vent, privately, in a very private space shared by the public?
A Buffy wall in the John Medley East wing third floor female toilet has had its fair share of trials and tribulations - inspired scribblings suffering from whitewashing by the authorities (though the repainting was so halfhearted that the scribblings still showed under), marker black-outs etc. But toilet literature is something to behold. Here goes uni gals' last stab at female teenage angst.
Buffy is an awesome example of post-modernist feminism
[in response to 'post-mod fem'] I'm asleep already
Kicking-ass in high heels does not make you a post-modern feminist
Buffy is a crackwhore
[in response to 'crackwhore'] damn straight
Buffy is a republican. no. really.

And of course any self-respecting lady will wanna claim credit for being the creator of toilet lit:
Thank you for defending my Buffy wall! I think Buffy is an important part of toilet entertainment!

Well said indeed.

Sketches with pencil and graphite

2005-04-20T12:13:00.000+10:00

Sometimes I think we live too complicated lives. We make them complicated, really. Not that we can avoid doing so because life deals us so many surprises that in learning how to cope with them, we end up driving ourselves deeper and deeper into the rathole.
Just pause, reflect and take some time to savour what we have in our lives. The good we appreciate; the rotten we learn to face directly. Why do we not know how to love what we have but continue to crave and yearn what we don't?
I always thought my life had a big grey centre which drowns all the shadows I immerse myself in. But there is a certain black and white which I have and which I ought to be grateful for.
And with grace and renewed faith, and love and thanks, I will give back.

My Prerogative

2005-04-16T22:31:00.000+10:00

I think Britney should die in typical infamous pop-rock star fashion - from a drug overdose.

postal code

2005-04-10T23:30:00.000+10:00

I am not sure why, at this age and stage of my life, I am still prone to periods of mood swings and depression like I do now. Frustration with how I can be misunderstood; say things which I did not intend to say; not do things which I intend to do...
Do not throw words like 'patronising', 'obligation', 'sensitivity' or 'mitigation' at me, because I honestly do not know what to do with them. Its times like these where I wished I never knew their meanings, or social connotations.
Lux, simply angst yourself silly. You are so full of yourself.

Two swords and an amulet

2005-04-09T10:38:00.000+10:00

I finally know what it's all about! After waking up to the sounds of my door knocking against the frame at nine, it dawned on me what Samurai Champloo was about.
Two guys claiming they fight only for themselves - one seeking self-redemption after living years of being a criminal who knows only his brand of breakdance-kenjutsu, the other who is searching inner resolution after killing his sensei in defense. Both met each other, fought, were stopped by Fuu, and promised to continue the fight after the end of their journey together.
Travelling across a Japan under the Tokugawa Shogunate for all 22 episodes and having me think that they must be headed nowhere for there was no plot. Each episode seemed to stand on its on, having seemingly no connection to the central idea [which we all know, and only surely know, that Mugen and Jin are enlisted by Fuu in a heads-or-tails? bet to help her find the Sunflower-smelling Samurai]. Occasionally the producers will be kind and tell me where they have roughly landed themselves in geographically.
All of a sudden I was at episode 24 and near the end of their journey together. I still did not know how it was going to end... and then it ended, as it had to.
And now I know what it was all about. There can be only one thing that can make them travel and fight together without realising how close they were reaching their destination, which is both the near-end and the Sunflower-smelling Samurai.
The Sunflower-smelling Samurai was killed by the Shogunate and they all departed their own ways knowing their paths will cross again somehow. But not after knowing that Fuu had tricked them earlier on. She said heads and they all thereafter joined her in her uncharted journey. It was really tails. But knowing that only at the end of everything can no longer tell us, and them, about anything that has happened thus far.
Tails, not heads!

M(ind). C(rash). Escher

2005-04-05T22:25:00.000+10:00

Three nights ago I had my first bout of insomnia in Melbourne. [Not that I am going to celebrate every first-of from now on because there will be many more to come and not all are worth thinking over.]
Well it was routine for me: the clock hands inched towards one a.m., I hit the sheets dutifully, curl up and begin to ease into slumber. I watched the trees shake terribly as gusts of wind swept through the neighbourhood. The leaves rustled restlessly. I couldn't stop thinking about the things that went on earlier in the day - grabbing a thorny stem with my left hand, hiking in my sneakers, eating Viet in Footscray, having an intense conversation with a good friend... So while the winds blew I kept on staring through the venetian blinds at the swaying trees, my mind working overtime.
I stared and my mind moved. Closing my eyes I could see my thoughts gaining visual form. They started morphing into tessellations, one moulding itself after the other. They clung to each other, moving endlessly, never seeming to end. Three hours later and I could still feel my brain organise itself into tiles. Defragmenting its bytes.
The crow cawed. I wanted morning to come so I could wake up. When I awake the whole ordeal will end.
I awoke to the sounds of raindrops hitting the window. The crow was cawing again. The trees were still swaying under the weight of the wind. At least there is rain... there is reason behind it after all.

No April fool

2005-04-01T23:43:00.000+10:00

I've no idea how why peeps celebrated this day as such, and I've no desire to find out.
But which is sadder: not playing tricks on anyone or not have anyone play tricks on you?
The only thing I got was a friend 'wishing' me Happy April Fool's day. The only significance the day now holds is the ushering in of a new month.
One more month into the year, more regret at not having done much so far, wondering what I'll accomplish in the next 9 months and feeling the weight of growing older as I inch towards 20.
For now I'll try to revive my blog writing! and end this day for fools on a positive note. Yeah!

Music router

2005-04-01T11:32:00.000+10:00

This is for you Zaki, after reading your blog.
Yes after looking up on the tour dates and realising Tori isn't coming to Oz, I hurriedly sourced out an online forum, signed their 'Tori please come to Auz' petition and resigned myself to waiting in vain. So eager was I to watch her in concert (and partly to send my friends, like you, back home swooning in envy). Little Earthquakes is such a find isn't it?
I thought Portishead had disbanded already? They released two albums and a NYC live recording and disappeared completely, save Beth who probably still guests sings for other acts from time to time. Not that the three albums are weak, rather the stuff they've dished out have found few rivals in the jazz triphop scene. So to hear that they're coming out with new material after nearly a decade, I suddenly feel immensely invigorated.
And on to the Scissor Sisters - I'd rather them not make it big in the US actually. That country of crass commercialism and media exploitation will simply make the band an overexposed/overrated/overhyped entity. I'm sure more discerning Americans, like people from the rest of the world, have and will listen to them.

Gastronomy lessons in Oz (II)

2005-03-31T20:40:00.000+10:00

Today was my first attempt at risotto. I grilled slabs of salmon fillet with a mustard, honey and herb mix for 20 minutes. Then it was 45 minutes or so of stirring in ladleful after ladleful of chicken and herb stock into the arborio rice. Stir and stir while fretting over the danger of burning the rice in the saucepan. As the rice got thicker and creamier, it also got heavier and I was feeling the ache of preparing risotto from scratch as compared to taking a five minute walk down Lygon and popping in one of the restaurants for the real deal.
I felt terribly generous with the herb portions and emptied a sizeable amount of fresh dill, chives and parsley into the rice, at the same time feeling really tempted to dash dried basil in. I kept on thinking to myself 'Its not green enough! Not green enough!' Thankfully thought didn't translate into action because the risotto was herby enough.
Salmon was placed on the herb risotto and served with rocket topped with olives and char-grilled mushrooms. I learnt a few things though: arugula tastes awfully bitter if kept for more than a week in the fridge; and I have to find uses for the hideous amounts of herbs (yeah even if they were the cheapest ingredient in the meal) left behind.
Otherwise with no burnt rice and a decent creamy texture, I'll give myself a small pat on my back. +>

Screwloose

2005-03-30T12:06:00.000+10:00

My blog's in a lull now - possibly a reflection of my mental state - and a night having to force your body to move to crap music doesn't help at all.
The day after becomes a series of attempts: an attempt to get up before the clock strikes twelve noon, the attempt to clean up the system of toxins by downing herbal rosehip tea, the attempt to rationalise my procrastination and inability to turn out a good art history essay on the passion of christ (more pathetic still it's only 400 words), and attempts to fit in a kickboxing lesson, risotto-making session, movie marathon, bedsheet-buying outing and weekend hike at the Grampians into what's left of my ill-planned easter week hols' timetable. And most importantly, deliberate on my regrettable decision to attend Reclaim, bad bad bad music and dancing, even though I knew it was all the to see and be seen hype and nothing esle.
There comes a time when you grow up, realise that time and money can be better spent eslewhere (even if it's 30 bucks for a night of eating cheese on crackers), and when you, unreasonably, think it's foolish how underaged teens can bob merrily (and awkwardly) to crap.
A blog entry later and I'm still not ready for that essay. Shit man.

Gastronomy lessons in Oz [I]

2005-03-28T18:50:00.000+10:00

Moving to a new land and being in full control of what you eat, of course I'll change what goes inside me. I'm pretty sure if my parents read my blog they'll be more than a little upset, but well it's my tummy afterall. Better to ground some facts before I get to the food - aussies lurve everything 'healthy' which also means anything high in the 'good' and low in the 'bad' (this will become clearer later on); and of course nothing here save authentic Viet/Italian/Greek cuisines and some significant others can rival what I get back in Asia in terms of taste and dosh.

Muesli, low in fat/cholesterol/GI (glycemic index: when it's low it allows for slow release of energy), eaten with 99% fat-free diet yoghurt with the token apricot and peach bits.
Honey, the best is reputedly Manuka in Oz, and of course bought from the organic section in Vic Mkt, drizzle onto wholemeal toast or muesli to add punch.
Genmaicha, or green tea with toasted rice, I dunno if it is slightly heaty but we can't go too wrong with tea. Buy it loose and place them in strainer to make drinking a less messy affair.
Choya, the plum wine/liquer with reputed health benefits.
98.5% or 99.9% fat free soy milk with very little calories to boot. Add it to milo, and then a dash of ground cinammon for the added kick.
Rooibos, with apple, cinammon, vanilla or just plain, as the caffeine-free replacement for tea (oooh simply addicted to this marvelous brew) and coffee and to receive all those antioxidants.
Almonds, macademias, walnuts and pecans ground and sprinkled generously on cereals, salads and baked fish fillets.
Smoothies blended from overripe/sour/slightly yucky fruits (like pears, nectarines) with generous dashes of yoghurt/sorbet/soymilk (make sure you lowfat everything).
Herbs by the kilos, be they oregano flatleaf parsley basil mint marjoram, for baking grilling soups carbs.

Antipodes

2005-03-28T00:49:00.000+10:00

Antipodes Festival 2005 - Melbourne's annual Greek community's get-together/attempt at displaying Australia's multiculturalism/date on the tourist calender. It was in all a very interesting weekend down Lonsdale Street, widely known as the little Greek enclave. Actually it isn't that little considering how the Melburnian Greek community is the largest outside Greece itself (this statement being a truism). There were all the patriotic displays of Greek culture: soulvaki, lamb kebabs, honey doughnuts, more honey-soaked desserts (of which baklava is a personal fave); a spontaneous performance of a Zorba dance by a half-blind man to rousing music; Cyprus flags; Greek banks giving out goodie bags and a baklava-eating competition (this is indication of how obsessed I am over the delicacy).
I heard when Greeks immigrated to Oz decades ago there were fervent efforts made to preserve their cultural roots by holding festivals and embracing cultural icons. Things have changed slightly since then, with the third generation redefining what it means to be Greek/Italian/Vietnamese etc. I wonder if they see themselves as being more Aussie than their respective ethnicity. The fests have inevitably wound down in terms of significance and scope and in come a new brigade of cultural icons - the blue and white Greek soccer jersey which catapulted into fame after Greece's UEFA cup victory last year; and the Ferrari logo for the Italians which I reckon is so potent a visual symbol, even if the team's fronted by a German, because the team consistently does well in Melbourne's F1.
By the way, what does Antipodes mean anyway?

Honey - nature's remedy for life's bitter moments

2005-03-28T00:27:00.000+10:00

Sheesh that title sounds so cliched I dislike it. But my titles are always measurably random anyway, whatever pops into my mind materialises into some odd phrase before the entry starts. I dont know if the title determines what I write about or if it happens the other round because occasionally the title has no relation to the content.
Oh well for all the aimless digressions above I'm going to talk about honey. I lurve honey. It is that thick, viscuous, sensuous liquid fit for the gods, or so they say. It is a blessing that lesser beings like us can savour it too. So the Greeks crush nuts and spices, have them generously drink in copious amounts of honey, slather the mixture onto sheets of pastry and have the delicacy soak in a bath of more honey.
They call it baklava.
They must have courtyards upon courtyards of bees busy at the flowers for there was so much honey in my pastry that its cloying sweetness stung the sides of my tongue.

The handywoman cares.

2005-03-24T10:55:00.000+11:00

i did some serious shopping

A picture of my very humble abode. See that shelf over there on the right? It was assembled, in under an hour, with a butter knife for screwdriver and a glass cup for hammer by me. Yes, IKEA furniture are practically idiot-proof (a caveat though: their artistically-challenged designers draw incorrect pictures in the instruction booklets which may lead to confusion and rising frustration over their idiocy). But it really is value for money. See how humble my room looks.

much to thank ikea for

and a pretty garden view from my balcony to boot

2005-03-24T10:52:00.000+11:00

living life outta some bags (not even a suitcase)

after the tidal wave

Body to body

2005-03-17T23:33:00.000+11:00

The weather was good at nearly 30 degree celsius. There was a housewarming party. It had asian food, which is undeniably the best stuff under the sun. There was bak kut teh, made from scratch, chinese herbs and generous chunks of pork, genuine solid good stuff. It came in a huge pot - just like everything esle in Oz `big and please know-no-limits`. There were five girls who, arguably, found it disagreeable gobbling up hunks of meat and were concerned their ill effect on their tummies. Didn't mummy and daddy tell you it is bad to waste good food?
They played rounds of tai ti with a deck of poker cards. They had the loser of each round down a piece of pork. The girls witnessed six slabs of meat polish off hunks of pork. They thought the guys probably did at least ten rounds.
The guys soon started feeling feverish. It must have been the heaty effect of the herbs. Oh well. There is always a moral to every story told.

The Dauntings

2005-03-17T00:21:00.000+11:00

Oh damn after nearly a month down under I'm finally connected to the world wide web. This means, prior to this, I was a spectre of the virtual world.
So I'm not ignoring you. Thinking about it more positively, a little space did us good. Afterall my shadow deserves some freedom sometime doesn't it?

Loose change

2005-02-25T14:18:00.000+11:00

When I arrive in Melbourne I will have an address, luggage to unpack, financial matters to settle.
I will also have no
bed
internet connection
mobile phone
cupboards to unload my belongings into.

I feel needy in this grand scheme of things.

The art of making-do

2005-02-23T21:36:00.000+11:00

Two days counting and I will be back in the driest, biggest, arguably most isolated human habitat in the southern hemisphere. And it will be here that I am going to hone my craft of making-do. I think I can be so selfish sometimes. As long as I compare, I will never be able to shake off the power of the original's influence on me; the points of reference which I use as standard measure. Never be able to fully see and accept the newer experience as unique in itself.
Alright, perhaps all the above comes from hindsight.

Knit a stitch

2005-02-18T23:09:00.000+11:00

As Holland Village's retail shops wound down business for the day, I did my first, and possibly last, brisk walk around the mall since I came back home. I saw a brown cloth tote bag. It was big enough to store a ring file and a bit more, had rectangles running diagonally down in a simple geometric formation, with bronze and silver sequins sewn over some of the rectangles. Nothing much, right?
The salesgirl came up to me (the lone vulnerable victim thinking window-shopping at 730 in the evening was retail therapy and nothing more) and proclaimed merrily in a long string of words possibly well-rehearsed by now.
I asked, Do you only have this in brown? hoping I could make it easy for me to escape from the evil salespeep-will-promote-anythingeventhebad syndrome because I had already decided not to consider buying it before she even came scurrying over. Only reason I was there was because my itchy fingers got the better of me.

Oh, the bag costs (checks) $89. It is the only piece and comes in only one colour, brown. So that's why it costs this much. It's very exclusive so it's worth it. (smile smile, sweet smile)

Oh okay (smile, talk about predictable yet fallacious arguments) thanks so much.

February 17, Thursday, 2005

2005-02-17T00:47:00.000+11:00

Sometimes I wished I was a bit more
political
or
tech savvy
graphic
creative
and
dedicated

so that this blog won't look half as bad as it does now
normal
boring
and prone to excessive selfish whinings.

About pens, a hand and a blank page

2005-02-13T13:57:00.000+11:00

To anyone who's:

interested in Japanese anime/manga
bored with nothing more significant to do
depressed/melancholic/indulges in the bittersweet rhythms of life
watched Furuba/Fruits Basket before, or any shoujo stuff for that matter

you can continue reading this entry. Otherwise you'll probably be let down by insipid writing and a topic you cannot be bothered with. +>

Over the past few days I've been reading Fruits Basket manga by Takaya Natsuki. I've watched the anime but could never understand why the animation house has failed to bring out an original video animation or a movie to complete the television series. Having read the orignal comic I now realised why. The series was simply a condensation of the original manga - it didn't stop midway through the manga, rather it picked out crucial bits of the story and left out many more crucial bits. ie. it took the start, kept the end and filled its middle up some way or another. Ha.

There's just simply so much to the story I don't know how to start, though watching the anime will be a good way to begin. Essentially the story's about a girl, Tohru, who meets and lives with the cursed Sohma family. To them she is a beacon of hope and love they never thought the world had; to her they are some of the people who have helped make life easier after her mum passed away. But curses are curses and all the love in the world can't hide their ominous shadow...

I am amazed at myself for getting sucked into a comic which exists solely on paper in a fabricated universe and in the minds of its escapist fans. Hmmm the story for one is immensely readable and funny, bittersweet with a strong dosage of black humour.

I give this 5 perfect stars! Please move your finger over to the 'Manga' link on the right and give it some good exercise. +>

Him Riddle Diddle

2005-02-13T13:23:00.000+11:00

I was watching an episode of Powerpuff Girls yesterday with a title like entry's title truly. Don't dismiss the Powerpuffs as plastic laminate cutouts fluff cos the show's actually an excellent example of satire. A case in point:
In the episode, the girls were anxious to safe their father from an enemy's evilest clutches. They sat for an exam. Blossom, obviously, was the one who completed the multiple completion test most effortlessly. Buttercup tried to copy Blossom's. While Bubbles looked perplexed for a while before she gained inspiration and began filling in the little circles enthusiastically.
Then came the results. Each sheet was sent through a scanner with a screen to determine the score. Buttercup got a 25. Blossom a 10 and lotsa Buttercup guffaws to boot. While Bubbles hit intergalatic effervescent superhero max with 1075. It turned out she coloured a flower on her sheet.
After a day of going against the clock, solving riddle after riddle. The girls managed to find their father. Apparently he was safe and all and the only catch in the wager between him and the evilest enemy was:
If the girls could solve everything correctly and reach him in time, he'd get the discount on the breakfast meal he just had.

Dusty on the mantlepiece

2005-02-12T02:39:00.000+11:00

Yesterday I found myself walking behind a young couple in their twenties. They held hands, she in a cyan frock with pretty flowers and he in an outfit most drab and forgettable. They seemed very much in lurve. And they were talking so I walked quietly behind and eavesdropped.
There was lotsa blabber, again themselves most dismissable. But I remember her saying something...
about how girls from this particular singaporean secondary school were groomed to become trophy wives. how she herself came from this school. I wondered if she considered herself one.
I sniffled a laugh and marched past them, thinking what in the world makes a 'trophy' wife. Issit a lady who sits patiently in the house, looks pretty and allows others to wait on her while she indulges in her whimsical fancies; a female who stays indoors and manages the household, making sure her family remains intact and socially-presentable; or a lady who is independent, capable and diligent be it for work or family.
Looking at the above I'm mildly surprised that there seems to always be a child or two involved. Then of course comes the question, will we ever level a similarly disparaging 'trophy husband' snub against the male species?

2005-02-05T13:50:00.000+11:00

Having given in to the persuasions of my friends, a fit of (untimely) consumerist urges and the all-time popular 'i've just got nothing better to do' I bought two cds!
The first: Scissor Sisters' self-titled debut. Campy , glam-disco funk, irreverently humorous and GAY! haha what a lark. I initially thought I wouldn't get it. But Take Your Mama Out was simply irresistible and jawdroppin'. wahahahah they tickle me - drag queen, taut bod, tacky uniform-costumes and all.
The second: Time of Rebirth by The Observatory. Well if I go back to Melbourne with all my records, it'll be terrible if I didn't show a hint of support for a local act. So hmmm here it is. Atmospheric and hurmm commendable. Just to top up my audio bank and make it seem more 'complete'. When history involves the Padres, Humpback Oak and Concave Scream it can't be all that bad lah.

Money Hungry

2005-02-01T23:09:00.000+11:00

Oh you damn sky rain some cash on me! Come on, measly dirt don't tell me money really doesn't grow on trees?! I'm terribly broke. Haha and unemployed too. I'm such a whiner, spendthrift and lazybum. Just stuck at home, downloading stuff from the internet and watching anime reruns on the computer. My parents must be thinking: what a demanding, unproductive daughter they have. Not far from the truth I must add.

A knot in my dreams

2005-01-28T01:34:00.001+11:00

A few nights ago, I drank too much water before hitting the sheets so my dreams became more vivid and real. So there was a dream coursing through my head and I remembered it so clearly then. My grandfather's presence was filling up every space in my dream. Perhaps it was not a dream, more a nightmare for it reminded me of the regret I felt, and still feel, for not being able to communicate with him. He was a figure I respected and love, and I was a granddaughter he loved. Yet such love only compounded the regret I felt when he passed away. I woke up slowly, and everything sank in steadily and surely. My bladder ached for instant relief but I felt myself sinking deeper into my sheets, my body huddling itself tighter into a ball.
And then I found myself crying. The tears came, not in streams. It trickled and I could feel each drop falling. Three years on and the hurt never stops.
After coming back from the toilet I slept soundly, and the dream never came back. In the morning I could not remember what happened in my sleep. But the feeling still remains.

Blanket cover

2005-01-25T01:24:00.000+11:00

Today I was in my neighbourhood's mama shop looking for the pretzel bits I've been craving terribly for. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw something small but conspicuous move. It turned out to be a cat! and it was oblivious to my presence. It crawled under one of the metal structures, tucked its head under a shelf and sat down, its swishing tail and fat black body visible for me to see. Waiting for that chance mouse, rat or cockroach? I was amused, and glad to see a significant furry other share the same aisle with me.
I bought a six-pack winter melon tea. There were no pretzels to be found.

regret?

2005-01-22T02:04:00.000+11:00

All the risks I'm taking just by going to Oz. Sometimes I feel immense regret at what I'm doing - starting a new life in some faraway continent sans family, close friends and a lifestyle I've grown so comfortable with having and living. When I should be spending time with my sis as she goes through puberty, when she's at her most mentally and emotionally vulnerable and physically insecure. My dad and his body's fight against the silent prowlings of high blood pressure. My mum and her battle against the onslaught of time. Every year I age and she does too. But somehow time shows more visibly on her.
And then all the regret of 'should-have-beens', 'would-have-beens' and 'might-have-beens' of my youth. Not doing this and that and wondering if I should have been this and that. All the relationships, competitions, classes of my teenage years and everything esle compounded into one huge regret. I find myself sighing so easily.

Footy

2005-01-18T02:26:00.000+11:00

Going to make this a quickie.
My legs and feet have become a good gauge of my coming back home. Getting mosquito bites on the soles of my feet; having my scaly skin on my shins become unscaly; not getting cracked heels; and knowing the cellulite on my thighs show more visibly under the sunlight.

Uber Trash

2005-01-16T01:55:00.000+11:00

Years years back before I heard of the words 'alternative' and 'indie', I listened to pure unadulterated teenybopper pop. Now under the heady influences of Gwen Stefani's nonsense lyrics and Harajuku's nonsense fashion cycles, I'm once again converted.
Tonight I'm gonna give you all my love in the back seat. *sing!* Bubble Pop Electric Bubble Pop Electric. Gonna speed it down and slow it up in the back seat. *sing!!* Bubble Pop Electric Bubble Pop Electric.
So here are my recommended pop songs of the moment. All of them excitingly noisy, messy and irresistible. So meaningless I'm falling head over heels in lurve.
1. Bubble Pop Electric Gwen Stefani Of course I've to mention this predictably unpredictable pop feline. Snarl, purr, growl and whine dearie. You were No Doubt, now you're harajuku honourary member.
2. Toxic Britney Spears A crazy introduction, crazy synthesised vocals and one helluva title. Fit for the januty strides on fashion catwalks. Pose and smile, darl...
3. Milkshake Kelis What ya suggesting dear? You think I don't know what ya milkshake's all about? I sure know where it's at, and it's where it's at.
4. Scar Missy Higgins In pop we celebrate diversity and at times, the edge of reason. Nowhere near as wacky as the above. Melburnian - simply have to plug her (guitar).
5. Push Up Freestylers The token male performance, which naturally pales in comparison to the antics of their counterparts. Sometimes however they may have some bite.
6. Whoever stops at 5? Cherry Lips (go baby go!) Garbage
She gave you everything she had
But she was young and dumb
She'd just turned twenty-one
She didn't care to hang around
So when the shit came down
Why she was nowhere to be found
This life can turn a good girl bad
She was the sweetest thing
That you had ever seen

You're such a delicate boy
In the hysterical realm
Of an emotional landslide
In physical terms

With your cherry lips and golden curls
You could make grown men gasp
When you'd go walking past them
In your hot pants and high heels
They could not believe
That such a body was for real
It seemed like rainbows would appear
Whenever you came near the clouds would disappear
Because you looked just like a girl
Your baby blues would flash
And suddenly a spell was cast

You hold a candle in your heart
You shine the light on hidden parts
You make the whole world wanna dance
You bought yourself a second chance

Go Baby Go Go
We're right behind you
Go baby Go Go
Yeah we're looking at you
Go baby Go GO
Aw we're right behind you
Go Baby
Go Baby
Yeah we're looking at you
Go

You tell me... ?

2005-01-14T01:43:00.000+11:00

For now I think it's better to be wanting. Better wanting than finally having what you wanted. The thrill and anxiety that comes with anticipation, yearning... wanting. Before I sleep and when I wake, my wanted stays with me. Occupying the spaces of my mind. My heart thumps ravenous heartbeats.
But when I've finally gotten my wanteds, the hunger leaves me. Guilt washes over me - why can I not be contented with what I have? Cravings... cravings their intense knockings on the doors of my mind will simply fade with time. My energy can and should be channelled somewhere esle. What I have in front of me simply cannot fill the void left when want made way for have.
Damn everything! I want to be selfish, happy enough desiring more than what's good for me.

A piece of me

2005-01-03T23:40:00.000+11:00

I think I write in this blog every once in a while because I feel like with every word about myself that I write here, I get closer to understanding what whirls around in my brain. How my heart and mind walk differently, the former paces ahead of the other. If I don't write about my life no one will write about it. I am but a selfish girl who is afraid of losing herself as she goes through the ordered mess of her daily life. Columns have been written about the philandering, wasteful ways of the rich and famous; novels dedicated to unravelling the crafts of great minds and thinkers; inches reserved for the rest with something special to share. What if I have nothing special to talk about let alone share? Do I try to make the ordinary extraordinary? Or is it better to leave the ordinary and mundane as it is - mundane and ordinary - not worth celebrating and certainly not aching to be written about.
Which is probably why this blog exists at all.

What you fear you find

2005-01-03T01:27:00.000+11:00

... or something to the sound of that. But how true it is! I remember quoting the very-quotable her in one of my earlier entries so this is almost like coming full circle. Now there are ladies-in-waiting, marriages, a maritime journey or two and an imagination spanning the breadth of the horizon.

"My husband married me so that his liaisons with other women, being forbidden, would be more exciting. Danger was an aphrodisiac to him: he wanted nothing easy or gentle. His way was to cause whirlwinds. ... What did it matter if he need a certain kind of outlet, so long as he loved me? I wanted to love him; I was determined to be happy with him. I had not been happy before.
...
I soon discovered that the women he preferred were the inmates of a lunatic asylum. With them he arranged mock marriages in deserted barns. ... He had them straight after on a pig-trough altar. Most were virgins. He liked to come home to me smelling of their blood.
Does the body hate itself so much that it seeks release at any cost?
I didn't kill him. I left him to walk the battlements of his ruined kingdom; his body was raddled with disease. The same winter he was found dead in the snow.
Why could he not turn his life towards me, as trees though troubled by the wind yet continue in the path of the sun?"

Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry
Grove Press NY

All the pressures of marriage will they come tumbling on me ten years from now? Or will I leap leap leap like a flying fish outta water towards the sunset?

sateen ribbon

2005-01-01T23:57:00.000+11:00

I have to revive this blog. To stop my mind from getting drowsy with lethargy, unsatisfying hiphop/r&b punes [pop-tunes] and tepid conversations with some peeps. To be more comfortable with the off-beat, eccentric and understated morbidity.
Rub salt generously on my ulcer, wince from the pain. And wonder why the worst, less meaningless things in life hurt the least, cost the least.
One year on and I feel like I have been walking on a treadmill. I have got the pace, in the mood, with a goal. But I am headed nowhere. All the stored up energy and nothing to expend it on.
So this year where am I headed? I am not too sure but I know I have got to exfoliate my mind. With some music, books, food and hopefully a few good scripts to boot.

For flowers: the bruises after the rain

2004-11-13T15:09:00.000+11:00

Today I experienced my most intense taste of melbourne's infamous capricious weather.
First the rain was whipped into sheets by huge winds and poured down terribly on the city.
Then the skies paused. The sun shone.
It was an hour of cool balmy respite.
Then it poured, this time with the full works. There was thunder, incessant rain and... hail. My first time seeing hail. cool. and it's cool only because I am inside my apartment watching ice pelt the panes. Poke, poke, poke. Now I am thinking that the small balls of ice cream from Mini-Dots (if I am not mistaken) back home were invented when hail triggered a brainwave in their creator's mind. Hail got me excited - when am I going to see bigger ones? When am I going to be got out cold, in the open, with no brolly and only hail-balls keeping me company?
Then it is sunny once more and there is rain.

Now it is sunny still. But no rain.
Ice cream anyone?

The nature of rain

2004-11-11T14:33:00.000+11:00

I lurve it when it rains. After it has ended it leaves this wonderful smell in the air which clothes the buildings and roads and trees and grass and flowers it had touched not too long ago. Something like a cool and unmistakeable aftershave.
I smell it now in my apartment and it sends me into this tizzy where I just want to get into bed, shuffle under the sheets with my bolster and huddle to dewy dreamland. The clouds hang low and grey and the moisture hugs the city snugly. When hot tom yum soup and a few hot savoury buns taste so good.
When rain and food become the tightest memories of home.

junk in the bunk

2004-11-09T01:00:00.000+11:00

sign fine dine wine
all the junk in my tummy!!
all the funk junk in my tummy!!!

possibly the only decent i had in the past few days were pink lady apples. simply addicted to those stuff, crunchy sweet and light. detox after exams! detox after these damned essays!
two exams and an essay to go!
to my tummy: if you think you can make me eat all this junk to satisfy your cravings... you're dead wrong cos lux's detox will be back with a vengeance!

ah and why is ripway screwing up my blog template?!!

my my what's with all these exclamation marks?

serial)(experiments

2004-11-03T16:39:00.000+11:00

I feel like whacking ripway.com to bits. They apparently deactivated my account so with no webbie to host my .gif files, my blog no has red crosses in place of slick images. I have no intentions of spending hours scouting around for a new template so please blady ripway, get your owners' butts moving right.
Been blog surfing and I have realised how far apart my friends' lives back home and mine have become. I silently fear the moment when I meet up with each of them and we sit down to talk, and I realise how difficult it can be to engage with them. University has dragged us in violently different directions. I miss them and family and food (of course) but at the same time I think I have lost touch of many things Singaporean. What is frightening is I feel neither insecure nor upset with the way things have turned out. I do not even really mind remaining clueless as to how sporean university life is like. My friends here say when they returned home in the first semester break, they found it disconcerting that they actually preferred spending holidays with their melburnian friends.
Well guess things somehow turn out this way.

Sleep less, frolic more

2004-10-31T01:38:00.000+10:00

Daylight saving time (DST) where we move our clock hands one hour ahead of local standard time in order to take advantage of the sun's desire to shine on the land. This way we will get to save more electrical energy as we wake up one hour earlier to await the sun's full unveiling of her glowy countenance.
So for those night prowlers the next six months will prove to be hostile territory.
Spring forward, fall back.

planets

2004-10-25T15:57:00.000+10:00

My little achievement of the day: to draw out 92 words of varying lengths from the word 'planets' in under 20 minutes.
a, an, at, as, et, plane, planes, ant, ants, lane, lanes, lap, laps, tap, taps, sap, sat, pet, pet, net, nets, ten, tens, alp, alps, eat, eats, ate, plate, plates, plan, plans, nap, naps, set, pen, pens, apt, nest, pest, last, lest, lapse, ape, apes, nape, napes, leap, leaps, peat, peats, pat, pats, tea, teas, tan, tans, pan, pans, lean, leans, pant, pants, lent, pale, pales, tale, tales, pleat, pleats, neat, seat, plena, pate, paste, last, past, pates, aspen, sale, seal, teal, ale, tape, tapes
and the seven words dictionary.com helped me clarify the meanings with:
ent, nat, penta, peta, sept, plat, plats

There hopefully no word got left out of the equation.

mea culpa

2004-10-24T13:44:00.000+10:00

And as always there is the occasional politically-incorrect, xenophobic jibes at other nations' icons of national pride and worth.

Now on the Effiel Tower:
'She is the symbol of France. I think she is perfect.'
Langdon nodded absently. Symbologists often remarked that France - a country renowned for machismo, womanizing and diminutive insecure leaders like Napoleon and Pepin the Short - could not have chosen a more apt national emblem than a thousand-foot phallus.

The da Vinci Code, Dan Brown, where our lead is reflecting on the beauties of his host country.

... as always there will be someone who shares the same ideas as you but has gotten ahead in terms of putting it down in words.

A little on body matters

2004-10-21T17:05:00.000+10:00

Talking about metabolic rates. I am not too worried about mine but there is no harm getting worried in preparation for the future right?
So well, how to increase it then?

exercise more: we all know this but problem with this is that most peeps don't find hitting the treadmill daily as enjoyable as hitting it weekly. Or bi-weekly.
eat three proper meals and snack healthily in between: again regulation's relative. Most either skip a proper or snack less-than-healthily.
consume chilies: they are spicy, hot and make you jump up in shock at their daring. They can burn your stomach walls but if they make you burn calories faster... to hell with a collapsing stomach!

And if your stomach collapses then food becomes a secondary concern right? Talking about metabolic rates. I am talking about serious stuff mate!

Additions to my list, anyone?

stunt doubles

2004-10-18T01:04:00.000+10:00

This is not happening to me now but I feel like I have to mention it anyway.

When you are infatuated you drive yourself so deep into a hole, and keep on trying so hard to climb your way out. The more you tug at the walls, the more dirt fall into your eyes, blinding you to the seeming futility of your efforts. So if no one looks down and realises your predicament, will you keep on trying to claw your way out? Silly as it seems?

mind spasms

2004-10-16T21:39:00.000+10:00

You know what a myoclonic twitch is, bonny boy?...
Well, when you're falling asleep. And your mind's wanderin'. And you've crossed over the boundary of sleepin' and wakin', and you're beginning to almost dream, and in the dream you take a step, or move an arm, and in real life it twitches too. And it wakes you back up.

- Gaiman in Death, the high cost of living

Wake me up from the nightmare I've been going through for the past couple of days, because I am unbelievably exhausted by it. Mentally, then physically. Ever felt like blood pouring out from within you and flooding your whole body over? Flowing terribly it pushes against your skin which is like the membrane of a blister about to burst from the pressure coming from within. Mine's a tired worn-out blood. And I've done things for selfish reasons, realising beforehand the risks I was taking, and then chastising myself after everything has happened. Because what I feared did indeed occur.
Just tired before it happened, when it happened, and now indescribably exhausted by what had happened. Why do I make things so difficult for myself? Because I can never understand how emotional matters could ever be easily resolved? Or because I subconsciously take secret pleasure in pushing myself to the limits and indulging in the drama?
You do not have to be so hard on yourself. Yeah right. There are so many things that cannot be simply explained away.

For external use only. Keep out of the reach of children.

2004-10-09T22:56:00.000+10:00

You never realise how important something is till you are separated from it. Gradually, and rather painfully, I have become more aware of my linguistic inadequacies. I was never competent in my Mandarin and over the years made minimal efforts towards improving it. There was always schoolwork, english novels to read and music from the West to listen to. Chinese characters are elegant, rich in historical meaning and excellent calligraphy material but for many years they have remained like this to me - beautiful, and detached from me. Always setting a distance between the language and myself; respecting its depth and breadth but not eager to plumb those dimensions. I was always the babuschka looking with fascination at the multiple miniature versions of me, realising they all make up me but yet are not part of me, because I keep pushing them out of me. Mandarin becomes that, fragments of my identity waiting to be understood and accepted, not some appendage I can throw away and ignore at will.
Here in Melbourne the value of knowing how to speak read write a mother tongue, or other languages for that matter, is made startingly clear. Suddenly I realised that I have to go back, reexamine my relationship with Mandarin and renew my interest in it. Not only because it is an obligation or that others will respect me for it but more because I know I want to. Knowing that I have access to many other languages on top of English unlike many monolingual aussies has made me proud of where I come from. Wherever it is. The only problem for me now is procrastination. How long will I wait for the moment when I can confidently start picking up the pieces?

A series of Ben Day dots

2004-10-05T15:28:00.000+10:00

Today I learnt a few words! Once more I am that wide-eyed innocent little girl who realises that the world is enormous and full of waiting-to-be-discovered surprises. I am standing in a pretty pink frock and open-toed sandals, giggling delightfully as the adults tell me new things in that matter-of-fact tone and severe facial expression. All these small cautionary tales.
The words!
Doujinshi: the japanese word for fanfiction based on manga. I have always known that 'yaoi' referred to male-male relationships of overt sexual nature, and 'shonen-ai' pointed to male-male relationships of a more emotional, immature nature; whilst the females got 'yuri' and 'shojo-ai' respectively. Doujinshi is not interesting, and perhaps worth writing/reading, unless it involves the above 'lemons'.
Slash: the english word for fanfiction with narratives involving homosexual relationships between protagonists of a TV series/film/cult whatever.
Vanitas: particularly popular during the Baroque, or more generally in 16-17th century Western art. An image or element in a painting, like skulls, flowers, bubbles, timepieces or guttering candles, which compel viewers to contemplate their mortality and remind them of the fultility of earthly achievements.

Because we are all going to die anyway.
One of the things I have learnt in this process of growing up, and discovering the secrets of the world adults walk in.

Tu Vous rendezvous?

2004-10-03T13:22:00.000+10:00

Argh enough of this already! I have had enough with all these pseudo-French blabberings. As part of MSN sign-in nicks, in blog entries and emails. Yeah I know the discovery and acquisition of a few phrases in a foreign language stir up the desire to put them into use but it is irritating when a safe number of people are using it at the same time. Maybe they can level the criticism at me that just because I do not understand it, I cannot be jealous/envious and run them down for using French at every opportunity present. But then again what is the point of using phrases few people can comprehend, let alone share your sentiment?
Like how I will throw in a quote for good measure:
Great art can communicate before it is understood.

T.S. Eliot

Cinematic ruminant

2004-09-30T10:04:00.000+10:00

Arghhh! The dearth of good, recent movies in melb! You'd figure that being a metropolitan city in Victoria it'd have a wide range of movies catering to different tastes. Haha you were just being naive. Well a list of some of the movies shown: Bourne Supremacy, Terminal, Cinderella Story, Shark's Tale and blahblah. All the indie movies' premieres are way later than in spore (and you thought spore was waylaid by the censors). Love me if you dare, zatoichi, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, farenheit are showing in One cinema. Not that I've watched all the movies prior to this complaint.
Next up are the prices: eleven aussies for a movie! Well nine if you buy it from the uni's union house which for obvious practical reasons (and I suspect a scheme hatched by governmental and private commercial institutions) is closed during the school hols. So if you want your monthly cinematic fix be prepared to pay a neat sum. Otherwise there are always alternative entertainment options like: shopping, clubbing, pubbing and indulging in the cafe culture. All of which, by sheer coincidence I suppose, will burn a significantly larger hole in any city dweller's pocket.

Arching back and forth

2004-09-25T13:29:00.000+10:00

I finally made a call home in slightly over a month. My father answered the call after nearly 20 secs of incessant ringing. Somethings never change: the peeps in my family take forever to crawl their way to one of two phones. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hello I'm Xiaohui.
Dad: Huh? Oh wait ah. [then shouts in the background to an imaginary me 'Xiaohui ah!'before realising that I wasn't at home anymore. He returns to the phone]
Dad: Erm Xiaohui is not at home.
Me: I am Xiaohui. It's Xiaohui here.
Pause
Dad: Oh! Xiaohui ah! Aiyoh so long never hear your voice already, cannot recognise it. [Nervous chuckle] Hmmm you want to talk to mama?
Me: Okay.
Mum: Papa qi sin [cantonese for crazy] one. Don't know what he's doing. So how are you?

Well, I'm fine of course. This is wonderful, your father forgetting how you sound like because you're too lazy and irresponsible to call home regularly. My friend and her mum laughed at me because prior to this embarrassing start to a call home, I was clueless as to how to use the calling card. I made a simple set of instructions seem particularly complicated and incomprehensible. I really quite am the limit.
Called a close friend after 20 minutes of chatting to my sis. Uni life for her is, apparently, quite a tiring mess too. All the readings, weekend excursions to the library and dodgy faculty mates... well encountering dodgy faculty mates seem to be an ongoing intercontinental phenomenon. To all my friends having difficulties meeting potentially good friends in your faculties: you're not alone. To all those who've met one or two good one: you're fortunate, you asses! To all those who've managed to gather a neat tight circle: you're either Potter discovering Hogwarts or Alice in Wonderland. Only time will tell.
Out of sight out of mind. I'm pretty sure some peeps back home have forgotten I ever left for Oz. I'm not bitter about this because it is inevitable. After all some peeps back home have clean slipped off my mind. In the midst of this new life I'm leading, I still find myself yearning for some familiar things from back home.
Be my Cheshire cat, darling.

Second, third servings

2004-09-15T21:55:00.000+10:00

Oh my lux you really screwed up your first sociology essay. Screw the crap up!
So I ate half a pack of Arnott's Custard Creams. bleurgh.
Come on vomit out all the carbo in your tummy! And your brains too! Your grey matter has coagulated into waste... glug glug glug down my oesophagus and into my tummy. So vomit it out, just choke it out!
Buy some new grey matter because when brains decay they need fresh food for thought.

The Little Prince

2004-09-08T13:30:00.000+10:00

You are the fox.

Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.

For all those deeply touched by this simple tale.

Happy birthday.

2004-09-08T11:56:00.000+10:00

My angst tastes like...

Lemon
Find your angst's flavor

Both sweet and sour, your angst stems from your sexuality; more specifically, your homosexuality. Maybe you're not yet sure and you're worrying and trying to find out more about yourself, or maybe you're pretty sure but still have trouble coming to terms with it and being honest with yourself. Maybe you haven't told anyone, or maybe you have and people aren't taking it well. It's sad that such a thing can still have potential for some of the worst angst there is, but as long as you stay confident and positive, you can get through anything. By nature, you and your angst are unseparable, but that doesn't mean you have to let it weigh you down or consider it something other than part of who you are. Remember that you are your own person and that nothing can change that.

My blog is a living online example of teenaged angst. I am nineteen but all this neurosis and rage don't seem to be letting up. Call me immature then. But sometimes all these feelings running through me make me feel young, and alive.

hehehe.

Slacking device

2004-09-07T15:22:00.000+10:00

It has been a full day of not doing anything particularly productive, which was fun and fulfilling, to say the least. Three essay assignments handed in back to back. Man, I deserve the rest! There is one more up next thursday, greatest weightage to date, and the only one I have yet to get started on.
Lux ask yourself - where's the stress, oh, just where's the stress?!

Comforter for the cold outside

2004-09-05T11:54:00.000+10:00

Things are at a stalemate now. We had our first proper conversation in weeks yesterday. Staying together is everything that is wrong. I am that domineering opinionated bitch who insists on her own way and I will not be surprised if she feels oppressed by me. This is not self-denigration, just what I honestly think I am. I believe a part of her agrees with me on this.
I stand in the bath wondering why so many things about her frustrate me so much. What is the problem with both of us? If I were her I will start thinking about how much better my friends back home are - more accommodating, understanding and caring. So we both start to run each other down, because we are getting so little personal space, and neither feel any happier after this.
I want to tell her I will never hate her after all this, that she comes closest to being my closest friend. Will such feelings be reciprocated?
I still feel like I am being pushed out of her space, the last to know anything significant in her life and hence I react by doing likewise. Am I the only one thinking so much about this, worrying about it more than I do with my assignments? Wasn't I the one who said time will resolve most issues? I realised that this is possible because I have spent so much time thinking and talking things out.
I wished things were simpler... life a little less complicated.

Technograde

2004-09-03T22:06:00.000+10:00

You are chill!

What kind of techno music are you?

You are drum and bass!

What kind of techno music are you?

Blisters

2004-09-02T20:24:00.000+10:00

As I was walking back over the past few days I kept recalling the conversations I had with my friends back home. Each day, I remembered having chats with particular friends. It still fascinates me how I reveal a different part of me to each of my friends - they aren't vastly different but each side is waiting for someone unique to understand and accept.
I have friends here and I am starting to open up to them. But I know that even if they were to discover a new side of me, the rest of me is yearning to talk to those who are not here with me. I can recall the conversations we used to have not so long ago and they comfort me, yet remembrances are weak substitutes for a physical presence.
... Someone visit me!

2004-08-31T14:37:00.000+10:00

I met my childhood friend here in Melbourne. It has been over ten years since we last played in the park together or slept in her bedroom. I remember how I took a stab at finding her on icq and was successful at it. That was about three odd years ago. Now in this new continent how everything comes full circle. However ten years is long and we have both changed.
I am such a hypocrite: I want people to say I am different from the person they had known earlier but I fear the people around me changing too rapidly and drastically. I want to remain in the safety net I have cast for myself where the only thing evolving is... me.
I never talked to her or approached her though there were many opportunities to do so. I am simply afraid of ruining that balance time and memories have so carefully set up. She smokes now, clubs incessantly and according to various sources can be both a popular bitch and a decent gal. Does she remember me at all or have I actually been the one changing rapidly and drastically to the point of non-recognition?
I was listening to a Snow Angel by Kotoko [I think], the theme song for the jap anime Onegai Teacher. The upbeat melody, chirpy singing and carefree-ness reminded me of her. It is amazing how one song links up all the memories and impressions I had of her and those brief years of our shared childhood. Amazing too how the lyrics cut quite close to the truth.

Two shadows are standing side by side carrying frozen hearts
Our chance meeting in this snow-white world was a miracle
meaning that I'm not alone anymore.
Instead of searching for words,
I'm looking for snow angels
In the spinning, starless sky

But I still think that I am alone in this pathetic show of sentiment.

implOSion

2004-08-30T20:46:00.000+10:00

urgh!!! three essays due back to back - thurs, fri, mon. and one more ten days from monday. the stress! the shopping therapy! i just can't wait for the two-week sept hols. maybe then i'll be able to coo at baby penguins on philip island from a considerable distance. such is the lure of tourism!
today i bent over, head facing knees, and realised i could feel the bumps formed by my spine very clearly. at that moment i felt skeletal. so i went on a mini carbo binge with bread, biscuits and some instant noodles late into the night. i weighed myself: no change ever since i came over to oz. i don't know if i should be feeling relieved right now. i simply know that in some peeps' eyes i'm a lucky gal who eats crap but doesn't grow fat. however i also have an unflattering uninspiring figure.
right now i have to get those essays done with. so many words so little time.
nothing comes without cost. you can't have your cake and eat it too.

I've got phelgm in my throat!

2004-08-26T21:43:00.000+10:00

It must be the pollen that comes with spring. Those evil little creatures which float in the air before clinging on to unsuspecting passers-by and crawling down to their lungs and then.... Ahhh ha ha Chooo! Now I am down with a sore throat and a fluey nose.
I haven't been eating properly the past few days. Food out or food which has sat in the fridge for over a week. The nutrients have all leaked straight out into the air and not into my system.
Guess what? My roommate has gone vegetarian! She didn't even tell me directly. I only happened to find out during a dinner at a friend's place when she announced that was the last time she will be touching meat. My mouth just dropped wide open. No wonder she refused to share the chicken breast meat I bought from the market earlier that day. I am supposed to be her closest friend this side of the continent but why do I feel like I'm always the last to find out her latest earth-shattering exploits?
Slowly slowly I feel myself being squeezed out of her life.