The principles of old,
like the ancient fig tree,
unyielding,
despite the wind of change.
I live by such rules and laws which I abide
to determine black from white,
clarity from the grey.
I am flawed.
And I find salvation only by the bonds
that I am blessed with.
People who despite my imperfections,
call me friend.
And for that I will love them.
Oh what hurt finds me,
when betrayal looms
like a white nightingale that whispers the song of forlorn.
Faith be blinded.
I know not where to journey from here.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Saturday, December 23, 2006
A Short Story
On a cold and stormy night, there was a desperate knock on the castle door. The housekeeper scampered to answer it while pondering the purpose of the call at such late hour. Stood beneath the pale moonlight, was a young lady in an old hooded cloak, soaked to the skin.
“I lost my horse in the storm. May I impose on you for shelter, least till morning breaks?” The young lady implored.
“Oh my. You poor dear, do come in,” the kind servant invited. “I will have the maids fix you up with dry clothes while I inform the mistress.”
The lady of the household was Lady Gillian, Duchess of Everington. Once dubbed the name ‘the old tortoise’ by villagers who felt that her ladyship has inappropriately outlived almost all who were kin to her. A most peculiar lady, even by standards of royalty, who has a certain insistence that her rose garden remained blossomed, even in winter. Some said that she would have slumbered in her deathbed, if not for a dying wish to see her only grandson, Prince Marius, wedded to a true princess and honour the royal lineage.
“She may stay. Though the room in the east-wing is only where she shall slumber”, the Duchess instructed with such an air of authority that the servants scurried upon her very last word.
The room in the east-wing was as intimidating as it was majestic. Stretching over three stories high, it seemed almost like a great hall if not for the lack of furniture, save a single structure that rested staunchly in the middle of the room. Framed within four wooden posters with carvings of forest trees and creatures, were mattresses, piled high enough to reach the ceiling. The young lady counted. There were twenty mattresses in all.
The housekeeper ushered her to climb to the top, using a splinted pole ladder that did not command much confidence. It was upon the twentieth mattress that the young lady slept, till the break of dawn.
“I do trust that the night was kind to you,” the duchess queried when the young lady offered her greetings the following morning.
“Let nothing take away my gratitude for your generosity my lady. But last night was a night I found no rest, no slumber and no cheer. While the castle slept, my body carped of discomfort. And so it was a night of unrest, like the storm that battered the castle walls.”
Silence suddenly fell upon the castle. It was an uneasy silence which seemed to have lasted an eternity. And then what appeared to be a veil of despair was lifted by a single smile. A single smile that ushered in a sense of hope and faith not felt since the birth of the young prince.
The old duchess finally spoke, “then it must be, as I have hoped through the many winters that I have hoped. You are the one! As only one fair by birth and virtuous in upbringing would have found discomfort, by a single pea concealed beneath her sheets and mattresses of twenty. A single pea indeed, and from a single pea, I have found a princess!”
The castle erupted in cheer and rejoicing. Lady Gillian strolled towards the young lady and clasped her hand with approval, “what say you my dear?”
“It was haemorrhoids,” the young lady replied.
~~ The End ~~
“I lost my horse in the storm. May I impose on you for shelter, least till morning breaks?” The young lady implored.
“Oh my. You poor dear, do come in,” the kind servant invited. “I will have the maids fix you up with dry clothes while I inform the mistress.”
The lady of the household was Lady Gillian, Duchess of Everington. Once dubbed the name ‘the old tortoise’ by villagers who felt that her ladyship has inappropriately outlived almost all who were kin to her. A most peculiar lady, even by standards of royalty, who has a certain insistence that her rose garden remained blossomed, even in winter. Some said that she would have slumbered in her deathbed, if not for a dying wish to see her only grandson, Prince Marius, wedded to a true princess and honour the royal lineage.
“She may stay. Though the room in the east-wing is only where she shall slumber”, the Duchess instructed with such an air of authority that the servants scurried upon her very last word.
The room in the east-wing was as intimidating as it was majestic. Stretching over three stories high, it seemed almost like a great hall if not for the lack of furniture, save a single structure that rested staunchly in the middle of the room. Framed within four wooden posters with carvings of forest trees and creatures, were mattresses, piled high enough to reach the ceiling. The young lady counted. There were twenty mattresses in all.
The housekeeper ushered her to climb to the top, using a splinted pole ladder that did not command much confidence. It was upon the twentieth mattress that the young lady slept, till the break of dawn.
“I do trust that the night was kind to you,” the duchess queried when the young lady offered her greetings the following morning.
“Let nothing take away my gratitude for your generosity my lady. But last night was a night I found no rest, no slumber and no cheer. While the castle slept, my body carped of discomfort. And so it was a night of unrest, like the storm that battered the castle walls.”
Silence suddenly fell upon the castle. It was an uneasy silence which seemed to have lasted an eternity. And then what appeared to be a veil of despair was lifted by a single smile. A single smile that ushered in a sense of hope and faith not felt since the birth of the young prince.
The old duchess finally spoke, “then it must be, as I have hoped through the many winters that I have hoped. You are the one! As only one fair by birth and virtuous in upbringing would have found discomfort, by a single pea concealed beneath her sheets and mattresses of twenty. A single pea indeed, and from a single pea, I have found a princess!”
The castle erupted in cheer and rejoicing. Lady Gillian strolled towards the young lady and clasped her hand with approval, “what say you my dear?”
“It was haemorrhoids,” the young lady replied.
~~ The End ~~
Thursday, December 14, 2006
a quick one
I know, I have not posted anything since August!! Reason being is that I'm writing up my thesis and with so much writing going one, the last thing I want to do is to write when I get home, which is a time for the mind to rest.
However, just a quick one, there is something which I'm just really proud to share..... I was just awarded the Dean's Award in Teaching Excellence - the first ever to be awarded to a sessional tutor.
What can I say? Just feeling very proud of it at the moment.
However, just a quick one, there is something which I'm just really proud to share..... I was just awarded the Dean's Award in Teaching Excellence - the first ever to be awarded to a sessional tutor.
What can I say? Just feeling very proud of it at the moment.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
A Tune on the Radio
I was sitting in my office the other day pretending to work while envisioning the beaches of Tahiti before a familiar tune on the Internet radio brought me back to reality.
“Count on me Singapore… … count on me Singapore… …”
My immediate response was a peculiar blend of mild astonishment and nonchalant disregard; a little like how you would feel if a friend pointed out that you had lint on your jacket. An inquisitive thought dawned upon me as I pondered to myself in a moment of self-enlightenment;
“National day oreadi meh?”
The 9th of August is a day you can easily overlook if you have lived, as I have, for more than eight years overseas. Even when I was living in Singapore, the significance of the 9th of August appeared nothing more than a day on the calendar which I did not have to attend school. That of course changed when I was serving in the army, because national day became a management project that yielded long hours and countless stay-ins so that your scholar-commanding officer may gain leverage for promotion. But then again, the 9th of August never received the same kind of brand recognition as say for instance, the 4th of July which we associate vividly with the red and white stripes.
So when I was asked to write an article on patriotism and Singapore, I realised immediately that the stringing of the two words in a coherent sentence by itself, presented a daunting challenge.
While most of us associate Singaporeans with efficiency, competitiveness and exquisite social grace, patriotism appears to be the last on our list of national core values. For instance, we are probably the only country where the majority of the citizens have no idea what the anthem is on about. Our commitment to the country is grounded on the recital of the national pledge so frequently in school that we can regurgitate the words with ease without ever having spent a moment to ponder its meaning.
Patriotism and Singaporeans appear go together like peas and Clorox.
Perhaps unlike the Americans, the emergence of the nation was not built on war and our military is not glamorised by glorified impressions on the big screen – think for instance, Sheikh Haikel in Army Daze. Our very young history does not command much grandeur compared to dynasties of ancient kings and royal lineage. Our story started with a lost Srivijaya prince who mistook a tiger for a lion and henceforth named the island based on a misconception (this really is a matter of personal opinion because lions are only found in India and Africa; our nation should have been named Haripore).
Despite a lack of splendour there is, however, pride in our historical development – a fairytale about how an island with no natural resources (save mosquitoes) advanced into a developed nation with one of the highest living standards in the world. Over forty-one years on national day, we are timely reminded of our achievement, or otherwise as Dr Chee put it, the achievement of one man and his party.
In a society of meritocracy however, one forgets very quickly about the past, and anticipates in keen earnest of what future the nation has installed for him or her. As so candidly portrayed in a recent televised forum with MM Lee, the mindset of the third generation is less concerned with ‘what you have done for us’ and more of ‘what else can you do for us’. If this is true, patriotism then becomes a conflicting notion when matched against personal agenda.
The talk about patriotism is hardly relevant. For one thing, I feel it is too Americanised a concept that entails stars and striped underwear and unacquainted cries for freedom.
Behind the cynicism, scepticism and perpetual grumble against price hikes and high transportation costs, there is love that resides within the blood of a Singaporean. As we rail against the restrictions to our lives back home, we find ourselves defending the same interest when being questioned by a foreigner. While the boys whine about the time lost in NS, you see pride in their eyes when they share stories of character building when they served their nation. Though I forget sometimes what the 9th of August really means, the tune on the radio that day brought back fond memories of my family and how we would sit together on national days waiting in anticipation for the fireworks.
Singapore is after all, a place where I grew up, where I made friends and a place which has kept my family safe. It has given me an identity, as evident when I count ‘one, two, tree, instead of three’, and despite my proclivity for nitpicking its political, socio-cultural and economical landscape, Singapore remains a place where home is.
So I sat there in my office as the tune played over the Internet, I logged onto Straits Times to see what message our Prime Minster has for us this year. I then looked around to make sure there was no one else in the office. Perhaps I was just trying to kill time or maybe I did not want the moment go to waste, I found myself singing along to the rest of the chorus.
“Count on me Singapore… … count on me Singapore… …”
My immediate response was a peculiar blend of mild astonishment and nonchalant disregard; a little like how you would feel if a friend pointed out that you had lint on your jacket. An inquisitive thought dawned upon me as I pondered to myself in a moment of self-enlightenment;
“National day oreadi meh?”
The 9th of August is a day you can easily overlook if you have lived, as I have, for more than eight years overseas. Even when I was living in Singapore, the significance of the 9th of August appeared nothing more than a day on the calendar which I did not have to attend school. That of course changed when I was serving in the army, because national day became a management project that yielded long hours and countless stay-ins so that your scholar-commanding officer may gain leverage for promotion. But then again, the 9th of August never received the same kind of brand recognition as say for instance, the 4th of July which we associate vividly with the red and white stripes.
So when I was asked to write an article on patriotism and Singapore, I realised immediately that the stringing of the two words in a coherent sentence by itself, presented a daunting challenge.
While most of us associate Singaporeans with efficiency, competitiveness and exquisite social grace, patriotism appears to be the last on our list of national core values. For instance, we are probably the only country where the majority of the citizens have no idea what the anthem is on about. Our commitment to the country is grounded on the recital of the national pledge so frequently in school that we can regurgitate the words with ease without ever having spent a moment to ponder its meaning.
Patriotism and Singaporeans appear go together like peas and Clorox.
Perhaps unlike the Americans, the emergence of the nation was not built on war and our military is not glamorised by glorified impressions on the big screen – think for instance, Sheikh Haikel in Army Daze. Our very young history does not command much grandeur compared to dynasties of ancient kings and royal lineage. Our story started with a lost Srivijaya prince who mistook a tiger for a lion and henceforth named the island based on a misconception (this really is a matter of personal opinion because lions are only found in India and Africa; our nation should have been named Haripore).
Despite a lack of splendour there is, however, pride in our historical development – a fairytale about how an island with no natural resources (save mosquitoes) advanced into a developed nation with one of the highest living standards in the world. Over forty-one years on national day, we are timely reminded of our achievement, or otherwise as Dr Chee put it, the achievement of one man and his party.
In a society of meritocracy however, one forgets very quickly about the past, and anticipates in keen earnest of what future the nation has installed for him or her. As so candidly portrayed in a recent televised forum with MM Lee, the mindset of the third generation is less concerned with ‘what you have done for us’ and more of ‘what else can you do for us’. If this is true, patriotism then becomes a conflicting notion when matched against personal agenda.
The talk about patriotism is hardly relevant. For one thing, I feel it is too Americanised a concept that entails stars and striped underwear and unacquainted cries for freedom.
Behind the cynicism, scepticism and perpetual grumble against price hikes and high transportation costs, there is love that resides within the blood of a Singaporean. As we rail against the restrictions to our lives back home, we find ourselves defending the same interest when being questioned by a foreigner. While the boys whine about the time lost in NS, you see pride in their eyes when they share stories of character building when they served their nation. Though I forget sometimes what the 9th of August really means, the tune on the radio that day brought back fond memories of my family and how we would sit together on national days waiting in anticipation for the fireworks.
Singapore is after all, a place where I grew up, where I made friends and a place which has kept my family safe. It has given me an identity, as evident when I count ‘one, two, tree, instead of three’, and despite my proclivity for nitpicking its political, socio-cultural and economical landscape, Singapore remains a place where home is.
So I sat there in my office as the tune played over the Internet, I logged onto Straits Times to see what message our Prime Minster has for us this year. I then looked around to make sure there was no one else in the office. Perhaps I was just trying to kill time or maybe I did not want the moment go to waste, I found myself singing along to the rest of the chorus.
Monday, July 31, 2006
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 :
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
Saturday, July 15, 2006
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…….
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…….
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, June 09, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, June 05, 2006
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.
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.
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