Walking Fossil

It doesn’t feel like that long ago when I started teaching, yet without any warning, three years have passed by. I remember walking into my very first tutorial, I had to put on a shirt, proper cotton pants and leather shoes to give the impression that I was older and wiser. The age difference between the students and myself wasn’t that far apart and it didn’t take long before we communicated at a level you would on a Friday evening at the pub.

Time flies as swiftly as my monthly cash injection mysteriously disappears (yes I bought that damn ski goggles). It was an entirely different feeling when I met my students this semester. I introduced myself and so did they, “hi my name is girlie and I’m 19 years old.” There was a sudden twitch on my brow, possibly the instantaneous formation of wrinkles, and I felt like a walking fossil. The age gap is moving towards a decade and no longer could I pretend that I had youthful exuberance to spare. I was having a conversation with my colleague and I realised that I no longer use the word ‘my students’, instead I call them ‘the kids.’ Where did all that time go? That, I suppose is the problem with studying at the same University for 8 years. You stroll along the same corridor on a daily basis and you feel like everyone around you are getting younger and it really isn’t your fault. The last thing I need is to be stuck in a time capsule, which is why I’m pretty sure I’m not going to pursue academia for my career.

My Top Ten
You know that a generation gap exists when :

• you play Eric Moo in your car and your passengers say, “is he still alive?”
• you invite someone over for dinner and she talks about how she was in junior high when the spice girls appeared, and you realise you were already in Uni then
• you wonder why the kids support Taiwanese bands that name themselves with three-letter-acronyms
• you get frustrated because you can’t hear what in the bloody world Jay Chou is singing about
• you bought tickets to watch a tribute to Louis Armstrong
• you feel that the spoken language is better served with adjectives (as opposed to “I’m like….. it is like…..and then it’s like…..”)
• you think that World of War Craft is evil
• you stick to the speed limit when you drive
• you enjoy a 21 year Scotch on a week night (and not down it like the crazy Vietnamese)
• you know that Laurel and Hardy is not a designer label

my new toy 

Beyond the White Yonder

I feel battered. Perhaps carrying a washing machine, fridge and bed-frame up and down two flights of stairs has something to do with it. Otherwise it will be old bones complaining about staying up too late while being intoxicated at the same time. Instead of driving home to call it a night, I find myself in the office typing a blog entry. I really wanted to write for the last couple of weeks, but I found it just too hard to take time off from my work. I have to write tonight, even though there appears to a backlog of sentiments organised in a manner that humbles my office of utter chaos, I feel the need to pen (keyboard) something down tonight.

It is going to be a very long and hard semester and I’m not a hundred percent certain that I’m up for the challenge. For one thing, I want to complete writing my thesis by October so that I can enjoy my trip to Tennessee in November. Given my rate of writing a quarter page a day, I seriously doubt that a thesis can be fabricated….. I mean constructed …. within that time period. I’m uncertain where I can draw that kind of strength from, but I’m sure more focus and less mental wandering beyond the shores of ‘wouldn’t it be nice if…..’ might help.

My lady boss just announced that I will have four tutorials to teach this sem, that is four classes in a row!! Six hours straight, and I feel sorry for my last class already. I will be as drained as a deflated whoopee cushion that wheezes a puny sniffer by the time I’m done with the first three tutorials. Henceforth, Thursdays shall be known as grouchy-Thursday, or leave-me-alone-Thursday, or if-you-think-my-bad-hairday-was-bad-try-asking-about-my-wellbeing-on-Thursdays-Thursday.

The winter break has been great though. I do wish that I got more accomplished with my research but the distraction from exam marking, exam admin and mating-dance sort of sidetracked me more often than I liked. The ski trip was brilliant though and I can’t wait to hit the slopes again. I can just close my eyes and see the lavish blanket of snow and feel the winter air battering my ski mask as the slopes reveal a pathway beyond the white yonder.

Speaking of which, I’m struggling. Really struggling to keep my wallet in my pocket because I have set my eyes on this pair of Oakley ski goggles that I’m convinced will make my life complete. Never mind that I’ll probably only ski once more this season and it won’t be two more years before I’ll see snow again, but it will make my life complete. Never mind that I already have a fully functional, double-lens Scott ski goggles that more than serves my functional needs, the Oakley ski goggles will make my life complete. Never mind that the opportunity cost of a new ski goggles will buy me four full tanks of petrol, or 28 plates of roast duck rice, the Oakley ski goggles will make my life complete. Life can sometimes be a struggle when you have so many hours to procrastinate from doing your work, and the ageless notion rings in your mind as you scroll through ebay pages…. ….. to click or not to click…….

Untold Cosmic Powers

It was June I told myself, June that the flowers will bloom, all will end well and I will complete writing my thesis and live happily ever after. Well as a start, flowers don’t bloom in winter, my thesis isn’t due till March 2007, and I can’t live happily ever after when I don’t have a cent in my retirement fund. The targets were unrealistic I have to admit, but I can always use unrealistic targets as a good source of motivation. It works like this; create a pressure cooker to induce unnecessary stress, tap into stress induced to generate motivation for drudgery and at the same time, fairly distribute residual stress to annoy anyone who is somehow connected to me by blood, relationship or proximity.

I came to realise that through reasons unexplainable by biology, there is an inbuilt mechanism in me that dictates my productive output. It is a little like the digital timer I use to turn my column heater on/ off at certain hours of the day. When the off switch is flicked, no matter how much stress is being cumulated through self-infliction, the stress energy gets stored in a certain reservoir resulting in no productive output whatsoever. This mechanism appears to triggered by solar power. I came to this deduction because I notice that when the clock reads between 12pm (which is half hour after I usually wake up) and 6pm, I contribute as much to my academic endeavors as the soft-shell turtle’s contribute to a nation’s GDP (I don’t know what that means, but I always wanted to use ‘soft-shell turtle’ in an analogy). However, when the clock hits 6pm and the sun has set, a certain enigmatic force which has a certain resemblance to mom’s voice whispering in my ear if I have done my homework (think they call it guilt), will release a surge of impulse to write at least two whole paragraphs of my thesis. Quite uncanny really. But I musts say that this sudden rush of mental force can be quite draining, thus leaving me often with no choice but to retreat to my living room not long after to watch a DVD, preferably Stephen Chow, or watch the World Cup, or write a blog entry.

At this rate, think I’ll finish my thesis at the end of the World Cup, in South Africa.

The Story With World Cup

It is 10:40pm on a Friday evening and I’m sitting in my office typing an entry on my blog. It doesn’t really bother me that much, although I must admit that it used to. Not doing anything eventful used to feel like being robbed and an embarrassing occurrence that I need to hide from. I guess given the life I’m leading now, weekends is just a schematic conception, as everyday, if I chooses can be a long weekend.

It is the world cup again. The world cup is something quite special for me, as it is three world cups ago that I found my passion for football (that’s FOOTBALL not soccer) and found a very special friend whom I still call buddy till today. It was really strange, this bloke in class whom I didn’t think much of save his smelly T-shirt, became my best of friends just because I was so desperate to find someone to bet with. A phone call to a stranger whom I never once said hi to despite spending two years in the same class, and suddenly he became my witness in my journey through life. Since I’m talking about him, I should just drop him a line…… …..

…… …. poor fella, I woke him up in the middle of his slumber. He is prepping himself to watch the first game. Years have past us by and I do feel sorry that he is now a working man and needs to catch up with sleep after spending hours earning his money (a concept still rather foreign to me). I do wish that the clock will turn back to the days where we didn’t need to think beyond what happens after the school bell rings, yet I take a lot of pride and comfort that friendships like this just don’t change. Little thoughts like these make feel like a blessed man.

I'm Blogging Again!

I’m blogging again! What are the odds? I’m sure my disappearance has been as noticed and I have been missed like how Eskimos miss the cold. I really wasn’t in the mood to blog over the last couple of weeks. For one thing, my workload had me spending too many hours before the computer, and the last thing I wanted to do was to unwind my day by romancing with the keyboard before I go to bed. Not to mention that by this coming Thursday, I will celebrate my 7-week anniversary over my dry cough. It is getting better now although I gotta stick close to my inhaler like an asthmatic. I love that inhaler, coz whenever you flaunt it before you shove it in your mouth and breathe deeply like a hybertensionaric (don’t even know if that word exists), people look away! You get the feeling that they get uncomfortable being put in a position to whether to offer a word of concern and risk a moment of awkwardness, or offer a sympathetic eye. In the midst of all the clumsy options, it will appear best to look away. I love it!

I’m really pissing my friends off lately. Coz all I can talk about is my infatuation with snow. I hope this infatuation thing won’t get out of hand but itz really exhilarating while it lasts. There appears to be a new story to tell, a new adventure waiting to unravel (walking to the supermarket to buy peanuts can turn out to be an adventure when you are infatuated) each day. I’m even finding the motivation to get into the office early (that’s 11am) just to start the day off sooner in hope for some stirring moment to take place. It really has been a while since I was infatuated (the last time was probably Vietnam, but I was pretty confused between being intoxicated – literally and infatuation). I really find myself in a strange dilemma between dropping the whole leaky heart ordeal and focus on my work, or continue to grin like an imbecile every time snow drops an email. Oh what the heck, I still have March next year before my tenure is over.

Okey I’m just saying this. I’ve been busy taking one step forward and five steps back with my research. Effectively, more than four months of work have gone down the drain. Tomorrow marks a new day where I will try to get my work back on track, now that the semester is almost over. I think I will dearly miss teaching when my short academic career is done. I received a lovely email today from a student, who had the kindest word to say. It is messages like this that make me want to teach, even if it is for free – not marking though, I’ll charge an arm and a leg for marking.

I’m really rambling on this entry. Can’t focus (wonder why). Hopefully this’ll mark a start to my blogging habits once again. It is nice to take a month break from blogs and focus on other things (snow). But watch this space, it wouldn’t be long before I rediscover my routine.

Over and out.

Water Parade

I feel like doing absolutely nothing, apart from maybe staring at the dust on my monitor screen in anticipation to clap my hands if the speck of dust moves. I have 8 hours of sleep behind me yet I still feel like I need more. My identity card says I’m 28 yrs old yet I feel like 60. I’m coughing as well, which adds further evidence that my preliminary observation may not be too far from the truth. Tuesday was meant to be my research day, yet I’m halfway into declaring it to be a ‘no-work’ day, and instead spend time to complete my sandcastle construction project.

Maybe I’m burned out, as the last few weeks have been really hectic. I actually worked to 2am in the office for three days straight. It was a great experience actually when I finally got my work done. The sense of achievement was almost as good as getting a full-house in poker. I needed to write a paper from scratch and I actually did it in five days. I was rather proud of myself with the thought that I could finally call myself an academic. My self-praise and celebration were short-lived when arnette announced that she had a deadline to complete five papers in a week. I suddenly felt like a tadpole in a well. The anticlimax was like a dying cartoon jingle played through a broken speaker.

I really wish that this cough will go away. It is something that I can never get used to, despite suffering from viral coughs twice in a year. You tell yourself, maybe it’ll go away the next day, but you still find yourself croaking your lungs out in the morning. Traditionally, this kind of cough would only leave me alone after four weeks, but I’m still naive enough to hope. Drink lots of water they say, so I end up visiting the toilet as often as I need to procrastinate when I work. I think I’ve tried everything in the cabinet, cough syrup (with and without codeine), chinese herbs, vitamin C, zinc and garlic extracts, cough drops and here is a new one, Manuka honey. Maybe I’m getting desperate. I have three more days before CG is coming over for dinner and I’m pretty keen to make an impression. I guess coughing away while you make the red-wine sauce ain’t really the kind of impression I want to make. I’m running out of ideas continue to drink lots of water I guess and perhaps make the washing-closet my second home.

Wonder who might be reading this?

Chee Soon Juan gets sued again. If we get a dollar every time that happens, we might collect enough for one week’s worth of ERP expenses. Poor Chee, you have to feel for him, he is like a political rag doll that is flung around by the big boys, yet he comes back with puppy eyes and asks for more. To most Singaporeans, Chee has the political standing of a crippled insect whose place is to make the lives of the big guns just that bit less perfect. He is an annoyance, and much as I am no fan of his, I feel that he has an important role to play.

In Singapore, placing the word ‘opposition’ in the same sentence with the word ‘PAP’ gives a forlorn sense of futileness. Given the stringent rules in the game, there aren’t many ways one can play the devil’s advocate. You can follow the rules, do everything right and perhaps find inconspicuous longevity in the political game as Chiam has. Or be the quiet citizen who may every now and then blog his political view while harbouring a nervous suspicion over who may actually be reading those words. Or the last and least celebrated approach, the soap-box-squealing ex-psychology lecturer who collects summons for defamation suits instead of Christmas cards.

Chee is no fool. He is pushed against the corner with nothing to lose which ironically releases his damaging worst. He cries foul as often as the government gives away money before election, yet he is not just a balloon of hot air. He is Dan Brown when it comes to fabricating conspiracy theories and he uses the old saying ‘there is no smoke without fire’ to good effect. Yet at the same time, his allegations are not completely baseless. Not backed with facts, because if he was able to, he wouldn’t be bankrupted. He listens to the whispers at coffee shops and amplifies them. He suffers the consequences with the hope of becoming a political martyr despite having only his wife, 3 daughters and a few fellow bankruptees who would care enough to celebrate his endeavors.

In Chee’s most recent and strategic outcry, he draws the parallels between the NKF saga and the national governance of Singapore. Just before General Election some more, perfect. Be it a knee-jerk reaction or a traditional practice of fanning the smoke, the Strait Times announces that Chee’s allegation is dignified by a defamation suit. And as predictably as a B-grade chick’s flick, Chee will lose the suit – how do you prove that the government does not operate in transparency? The logic of proving that an allegation is not not correct is quite hopeless; especially when you are trying to say that to Davinder Singh. Chee will sit in a cell with a daily 45mins break to brush his teeth for 7 weeks, but he will do so with a smile. Suddenly, the word nepotism will ring at the back of people’s head – Chee 1, Lee 0. But it will soon be forgotten when the government announces new shares to give away. Chee continues to sit in his cell, but what the heck, you can’t be bankrupted twice.

Bum On My Lounge Floor

It is the 7th April. I really should be sitting in my new office, peering through my window blinds at the lunch hour traffic as I procrastinate my day away in blissful daydreaming. Yet, I still find myself engaging in an extended liaison between my bum cheeks and my lounge carpet because I have to work from home. It has been more than a month and the new office was meant to be ready before the Germans surrendered. They say I’ll be at my new desk next Tuesday, but I know that with a bit of luck, I should be happy if the office was ready before Christmas.

Working from home is not easy. Apart from having to work on the floor, there are the distractions of mid-day TV programmes like Oprah and Judge Judy and self-inflicted commitments such as keeping my PSP company and regular testing of the springs on my Slumberland mattress. There is also Raft the furry white cat. Raft is my neighbour’s cat and I have taken a keen adoration for it. I’m not really cat lover, but since I spend so much time at home nowadays, Raft is my only window for mammal-mammal interaction. He is a really adorable cat with fur soft as erm…. fur, and a face that looks perpetually squished against a glass door. I think I should stop letting it into my house, as I suspect that the owner smells something fishy, and that is not just the tuna and chicken treat I feed Raft when I’m in the mood for feline affection.

Work is also getting increasingly demanding. Despite spending more than 2 years in my research, it only just occurred to me that PhD is actually a difficult ordeal. Most candidates would have figured that out in the first six months, but I say why waste time worrying when you could take it easy and spend time indulging yourself in squandering scholarship money? Being in my final year, the story is quite different now. It is not really the amount of work I have to do, because after living the life of a maltreated cur in the army, hard work doesn’t bother me. It is the stress and frustration of not knowing what to do that drives me up the wall and sometimes through it. It is the feeling of being lost in a forest somewhere in Poland with aid of a needle-less compass. At the end of the day when the frustration gets the better of you, you would turn to the clock in seek of an escape… … the clock reads 6pm, perhaps it is time to take a break – you deserve it. You would then pack up with weary eyes and look forward to….. …. Alas! You realised that you have been rob from the pleasure of going home after work!

I need my office, they better have it by Tuesday. Otherwise we will have one fat cat in the neighbourhood.

a chat with Jameson

It has been a very long week and I’m weary. I would love to say there hasn’t been any entry in this blog for more than a fortnight because I have been too busy living a life. Instead, I have been too busy pondering about one. It is the end of the day and I figured that I’ll pen down a few lines before I turn in for the night. I really don’t have anything in mind which I particularly want to share; there are thoughts in my mind, and they waft across like ink in water – formless, silent yet restless.

My lounge is dimly lid by four burning candles, each releasing a subtle scent; a strange mix of blueberry and ocean breeze. Nora is weeping the blues in her sweetly haunting vocals. Jameson swims in my old English rock glass… … good’O Jameson. I take solace in my introspection… ….

Sometimes I wonder where I am heading, which is probably ironic since everything appears to be so well-planned ahead of me. Maybe paradoxically, it is within these plans that I find restlessness. The problem with a plan is that when doubts creep in, like seeping water of a leaky vessel, faith threatens to fall apart. It is a very dangerous thing to lose, faith is. Not in religious means, as I still stand within an under-defined realm when religion is concerned. Faith that I am heading in the right direction and despite the momentary discomfort, everything will be just fine. I wish that I could find it within myself to find these words but more often than not, I choose the easy way out by seeking reassurance from an external source. Otherwise, I would find myself living within my past glory and completely forgetting about the journey ahead.

Where is the line? The line that differentiates dwelling, if not being engulfed in the past from drawing strength from memories of yesteryears? This wisdom escapes me. I draw a smile when I sometimes take a stroll down memory lane and relive some of the warmest memories that I will always bring with me. Yet the same memories will sadden me when I realise that I will not find them again when tomorrow comes. I wish that life can be simpler sometimes, where you could go to bed with certainty that you would wake with optimism, not doubts.

I wish…. …. I close my eyes and I wish….. …