Perhaps I should, perhaps I shouldn't.
Living in the past. In a dream. In a world of my own. By myself. Reconcile to a lonely existence and be alright with that.
Indeed, perhaps.
Saturday, August 27, 2022
Monday, October 24, 2016
The Highlight of 2016
Early this year, I visited my sister in Adelaide. She's been there for over ten years and I've never once gone. Seriously. It was about time. It was long past time, in fact. I love the place, for sure, in spite of the scorching summer sun. Adelaide is beautiful.
The highlight of this highlight of 2016 is the three-day, thousand-kilometer, road trip that we took from Adelaide to Melbourne, along the Great Ocean Road.
Enjoy!
The highlight of this highlight of 2016 is the three-day, thousand-kilometer, road trip that we took from Adelaide to Melbourne, along the Great Ocean Road.
The Road Trip, reconstructed on Google Maps
My sister and I took turns driving and it was a great experience for us. I've never enjoyed myself more driving a car so much in disproportion to myself!
Our rental car and me
I intend to share some of the photos I took on this trip, on a platform slightly more contemporary *ahem* than a blog. Do follow me, dear Reader, on my relatively-new Instagram account, to view them. I'd also be posting (hopefully more regularly than what I've been doing here!) random photos that I deem pleasant to behold.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Tales From The Gym
This is the first post of 2016 and I really didn't want it to be a rant. This is a rant.
A while ago, my gym served some finger food in conjunction with an event they were holding. I'd just come out of a Fitball class and the ladies (my "classmates") headed straight for the buffet table. I wasn't about to walk away from "free" food, even though I had dinner waiting for me at home. So, I took some fruits *ahem!* and a curry puff. (The curry puff was sooo good, but I refrained from having more than one, because, obviously, it makes no sense to undo the whole hour of crunching and lunging!)
A few of the ladies sat near me and started conversing. I don't know why it is a necessity to talk when one could just focus on eating. Anyway, they started talking, and casually remarked that it was "so nice" to be me. Yes, me. They don't know me by name, yet they were sure it was good to be me.
"She's thin... she can eat what she wants without ever gaining weight!"
If I wasn't enjoying my food so much, and could speak in Cantonese well enough for people to understand me, I would've rebuked them so hard they'd never talk with food in their mouth, ever again.
Firstly, although I am not fat, I am far from being thin. Thin is when one's BMI is equal or less than 18. Mine is a healthy 21.5. Secondly, how dare they! *Ahem* I strive to maintain a more or less constant weight by watching carefully what (and how much) I eat, and counting the number of hours I workout every week (hours are so much easier to count compared to calories). I worked hard to make this my lifestyle because I am not, and never had been, one of the lucky ones who can "eat without gaining weight". Anyway, it wasn't a big deal. I just wanted to tell the story.
Yesterday, in yoga class, we did a succession of inversion poses (with the support of the wall). One of the last ones was the Scorpion. Most of them were either too tired by then or too afraid to try. I, on the other hand, obstinately fighting fatigue and pain, swung my lower body up without a grunt.
"Of course she can do it," I heard a lady say to the one beside her, "she's so thin!"
Were I not half-inverted and fighting the increasingly excruciating cramp in my shoulders, back and butt, I would've told her off. It's the strength, not the thinness! Of course, in building or conditioning the muscles, one naturally loses some fat, but in the end, it is strength that gets one up there, not the lack of rolls. Speaking of rolls, I have quite ample. When I get into twisting poses, sometimes, they pinch each other so hard, it positively hurts.
Oh, well. I'm not really that bothered. Once again, I suppose I just wanted to write it out.
A while ago, my gym served some finger food in conjunction with an event they were holding. I'd just come out of a Fitball class and the ladies (my "classmates") headed straight for the buffet table. I wasn't about to walk away from "free" food, even though I had dinner waiting for me at home. So, I took some fruits *ahem!* and a curry puff. (The curry puff was sooo good, but I refrained from having more than one, because, obviously, it makes no sense to undo the whole hour of crunching and lunging!)
A few of the ladies sat near me and started conversing. I don't know why it is a necessity to talk when one could just focus on eating. Anyway, they started talking, and casually remarked that it was "so nice" to be me. Yes, me. They don't know me by name, yet they were sure it was good to be me.
"She's thin... she can eat what she wants without ever gaining weight!"
If I wasn't enjoying my food so much, and could speak in Cantonese well enough for people to understand me, I would've rebuked them so hard they'd never talk with food in their mouth, ever again.
Firstly, although I am not fat, I am far from being thin. Thin is when one's BMI is equal or less than 18. Mine is a healthy 21.5. Secondly, how dare they! *Ahem* I strive to maintain a more or less constant weight by watching carefully what (and how much) I eat, and counting the number of hours I workout every week (hours are so much easier to count compared to calories). I worked hard to make this my lifestyle because I am not, and never had been, one of the lucky ones who can "eat without gaining weight". Anyway, it wasn't a big deal. I just wanted to tell the story.
Yesterday, in yoga class, we did a succession of inversion poses (with the support of the wall). One of the last ones was the Scorpion. Most of them were either too tired by then or too afraid to try. I, on the other hand, obstinately fighting fatigue and pain, swung my lower body up without a grunt.
"Of course she can do it," I heard a lady say to the one beside her, "she's so thin!"
Were I not half-inverted and fighting the increasingly excruciating cramp in my shoulders, back and butt, I would've told her off. It's the strength, not the thinness! Of course, in building or conditioning the muscles, one naturally loses some fat, but in the end, it is strength that gets one up there, not the lack of rolls. Speaking of rolls, I have quite ample. When I get into twisting poses, sometimes, they pinch each other so hard, it positively hurts.
Oh, well. I'm not really that bothered. Once again, I suppose I just wanted to write it out.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
The Pig
A while ago, I came across this "poster" someone made and put on social media.
It asserts that self-centered individuals behaving badly are referred to as pigs. Of course, this doesn't come as a surprise, as many people regularly use "pig" in name-calling those who are overweight and lazy, often extending to the unpleasant, mean, hateful etc.
I've always felt that it is a great insult to the pig. They're highly intelligent animals - just as, if not more than, dogs, so much so that they are one of the very few non-human species that understand mirrors and reflection, and can use that knowledge to locate food (click here, here). They likely are capable of complex emotions (here), make great pets to worthy people (here), and are almost always unbearably cute -
(taken from https://instagram.com/prissy_pig/)
In short, I think it is a great insult to the pigs, to call selfish, mean, useless, horrible etc., people "pigs". It is, in fact, an insult to whatever animals anyone decides to call them as. There is a perfectly fitting term for such people - sampah masyarakat - translated, the scums of society. Use that! Stop associating the adorable piggies with despicable humans!
Calling someone a pig should be a term of endearment. Like -
Sweetheart, you are my pig. I want to hold you in my arms and protect you from the big bad hungry wolf!
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Missing
Whenever the issue of class attendance is raised, we hear groans. The students hate it that the university forces them to go for classes. We, the academics, hate it that we have to keep track of each students' presence in our classes. We don't like babysitting. Yes - we've all heard, and agreed with, the reasons: they're old enough to know what's best for them; good attendance does not correlate with achievement (and if it does, there's that correlation does not equal causation); we'd rather not have any who are there begrudgingly, therefore likely disrupting the lecture by idle chatter and other mischief. I'm not a fan of attendance-taking. However, I admit that I am relatively less reluctant than many I know.
Story time.
Where I began my teaching career, missing classes was an "offence" taken very seriously. If a student skipped 3 classes (not necessarily consecutively), a warning letter will be issued and mailed directly to his / her parents. A second warning will be issued if the student missed 3 more. Being absent for 9 classes in a semester without valid reasons will get the student barred from taking the final exam. This effectively means failing the subject. I never cared much about barring the kids - most of them didn't go that far (because of the warning letters sent to their parents, obviously) - but I diligently and gleefully kept track of their attendance (once again, because of the warning letters to their parents, which I get to send!)
It is due to this careful tracking that, once, very early in my teaching career, I noticed that three of the naughtiest boys in class stopped coming for lectures. At first, I was simply counting the days till I could submit their names to the faculty for the preparation of warning letters, but after three whole weeks of absence, I started having a nagging feeling that something more might be up. At the next lecture, I asked if anyone knew them or knew the reason they were not attending classes. One boy, fellow member of the naughty gang, then dropped the bomb - the 3 of them were in a road accident and were severely injured. They were probably not coming back at all for the rest of the semester. Being a young, inexperienced first-timer, I didn't know how to react, nor what to do.
For a good few years, I obsessed over students' consecutive absences. It wouldn't have made a difference whether or not I know the reason for their being missing, but somehow, I could no longer be apathetic. The case of the three boys reminded me of the tragic, heart-breaking, case of my friend and classmate who died in a hit-and-run accident in the middle of a semester, when we were students ourselves. The police contacted the university (they found his student ID on him) and the university contacted his parents. However, oddly enough, the faculty and lecturers were not informed. In the week before the final exams, our lecturer published the coursework marks as was the usual practice. In the columns of the row that was my friend's name, there were, but of course, many zeros... and a note that said "COME AND SEE ME". Nobody wants that.
So, when a fellow colleague told me that a kid from his class hadn't been seen in weeks, I was concerned. He did not respond to our emails and could not be reached via the contact number we had in our records. He was missing for the rest of the trimester and did not show up for his final exams. I spent weeks trying to reach him. Finally, one day, after the new semester had begun, I got him on the phone. He got a good reprimand from me (absolutely a must, don't you think?) I made him promise to meet me to talk about his future, as he is just one subject short of completing his course. He came and in spite of my questioning, had no justification for his disappearing stunt. He could not explain why he didn't read the emails we sent, or why his mobile number couldn't be reached for weeks. He acted as if it didn't matter that he had been stuck more than two years in a one-year course, as if he didn't care that he'd only one subject left to clear. Nevertheless, I advised him on what to do to get out of the pickle he was in, and how to move on. This was about two months ago, and... I never saw nor heard from him again since. I am not surprised.
And I am reminded of why I completely understand academics that are determined to not waste their time tracking their class's attendance.
Story time.
Where I began my teaching career, missing classes was an "offence" taken very seriously. If a student skipped 3 classes (not necessarily consecutively), a warning letter will be issued and mailed directly to his / her parents. A second warning will be issued if the student missed 3 more. Being absent for 9 classes in a semester without valid reasons will get the student barred from taking the final exam. This effectively means failing the subject. I never cared much about barring the kids - most of them didn't go that far (because of the warning letters sent to their parents, obviously) - but I diligently and gleefully kept track of their attendance (once again, because of the warning letters to their parents, which I get to send!)
It is due to this careful tracking that, once, very early in my teaching career, I noticed that three of the naughtiest boys in class stopped coming for lectures. At first, I was simply counting the days till I could submit their names to the faculty for the preparation of warning letters, but after three whole weeks of absence, I started having a nagging feeling that something more might be up. At the next lecture, I asked if anyone knew them or knew the reason they were not attending classes. One boy, fellow member of the naughty gang, then dropped the bomb - the 3 of them were in a road accident and were severely injured. They were probably not coming back at all for the rest of the semester. Being a young, inexperienced first-timer, I didn't know how to react, nor what to do.
For a good few years, I obsessed over students' consecutive absences. It wouldn't have made a difference whether or not I know the reason for their being missing, but somehow, I could no longer be apathetic. The case of the three boys reminded me of the tragic, heart-breaking, case of my friend and classmate who died in a hit-and-run accident in the middle of a semester, when we were students ourselves. The police contacted the university (they found his student ID on him) and the university contacted his parents. However, oddly enough, the faculty and lecturers were not informed. In the week before the final exams, our lecturer published the coursework marks as was the usual practice. In the columns of the row that was my friend's name, there were, but of course, many zeros... and a note that said "COME AND SEE ME". Nobody wants that.
So, when a fellow colleague told me that a kid from his class hadn't been seen in weeks, I was concerned. He did not respond to our emails and could not be reached via the contact number we had in our records. He was missing for the rest of the trimester and did not show up for his final exams. I spent weeks trying to reach him. Finally, one day, after the new semester had begun, I got him on the phone. He got a good reprimand from me (absolutely a must, don't you think?) I made him promise to meet me to talk about his future, as he is just one subject short of completing his course. He came and in spite of my questioning, had no justification for his disappearing stunt. He could not explain why he didn't read the emails we sent, or why his mobile number couldn't be reached for weeks. He acted as if it didn't matter that he had been stuck more than two years in a one-year course, as if he didn't care that he'd only one subject left to clear. Nevertheless, I advised him on what to do to get out of the pickle he was in, and how to move on. This was about two months ago, and... I never saw nor heard from him again since. I am not surprised.
And I am reminded of why I completely understand academics that are determined to not waste their time tracking their class's attendance.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Hello (Again), World!
1. I am alive!
2. I am very occupied.
3. I am using a sleep-tracking app that is telling me that I have accumulated a 3-plus-hour deficit since Monday, and it's half an hour past my "bedtime".
2. I am very occupied.
3. I am using a sleep-tracking app that is telling me that I have accumulated a 3-plus-hour deficit since Monday, and it's half an hour past my "bedtime".
Sleep tight, World!
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Inversion
My yoga teacher insists that inversion poses have youth-preserving and brain-enhancing powers. I can't say for sure, but logic dictates that they are very unlikely. If blood rushing to my head really does improve my cognitive abilities, I would have gained several IQ points by now, having been inverting myself into wall-supported handstands nearly every single night.
I don't remember the exact number of years I've been doing yoga - granted, never intensely - but it must be at least 6 or 7. I remember I never managed to go into a headstand away from the assuring protection of a wall for the first 4 years or so. Yoga was not a series of challenging poses to master; it was my weekly physical activity, amounting (almost) to exercise that I fondly hoped would help keep my weight in check (yikes!). I was too comfortable and complacent in the class that was just me and my friend, and never had the motivation to take that leap. It came in form of a reprimand-like observation by a rock-climbing yogi who I met when I first took up climbing. Long story short, he was rather aghast that after 4 years of yoga, I hadn't learned how to do the handstand.
It took a while, a lot of courage and several falls to stand on my head (and elbows) in the middle of the room. The tripod quickly followed. I found that once I figured the key to stabilizing my body while being upside down, everything just works.
Handstands, however, are still a long way off. While I've been able to hold myself in position against the wall for a some time (years, in fact), I haven't been able to grasp the mental and physical key configurations to break away. That is why I hop up against the wall every night. If anything would work, it would be ceaseless, relentless determination.
Yoga is no longer just another physical activity amounting to exercise. It is so much more to me now, although I'm not (yet) at the level where I take an interest in the philosophical and spiritual aspects. Conquering the handstand is my current goal. Next, perhaps the Scorpion.
I don't remember the exact number of years I've been doing yoga - granted, never intensely - but it must be at least 6 or 7. I remember I never managed to go into a headstand away from the assuring protection of a wall for the first 4 years or so. Yoga was not a series of challenging poses to master; it was my weekly physical activity, amounting (almost) to exercise that I fondly hoped would help keep my weight in check (yikes!). I was too comfortable and complacent in the class that was just me and my friend, and never had the motivation to take that leap. It came in form of a reprimand-like observation by a rock-climbing yogi who I met when I first took up climbing. Long story short, he was rather aghast that after 4 years of yoga, I hadn't learned how to do the handstand.
It took a while, a lot of courage and several falls to stand on my head (and elbows) in the middle of the room. The tripod quickly followed. I found that once I figured the key to stabilizing my body while being upside down, everything just works.
Handstands, however, are still a long way off. While I've been able to hold myself in position against the wall for a some time (years, in fact), I haven't been able to grasp the mental and physical key configurations to break away. That is why I hop up against the wall every night. If anything would work, it would be ceaseless, relentless determination.
Yoga is no longer just another physical activity amounting to exercise. It is so much more to me now, although I'm not (yet) at the level where I take an interest in the philosophical and spiritual aspects. Conquering the handstand is my current goal. Next, perhaps the Scorpion.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Kota Kinabalu
I returned from the capital of Sabah, Land Beneath the Wind, two weeks ago. It's taken me long enough to write a few words. A few. There should be more to come, I hope.
While it is, one one hand, disadvantageous to travel alone - safety concerns and no one to share yummy seafood dinners / taxi fares / hearty laughter / silly vacation photography with - it is, on the other hand, very liberating. I wasn't obliged to plan perfectly my limited days there, or ensure I see all the must-sees, do all the must-dos and eat all the must-eats, or compromise on anything at all.
Oh, it was great. Any vacation, after years being without, is definitely great.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Impermanence
I took up belly dancing about three years ago. It wasn't something I sought specifically... rather, there was a class on Saturday afternoons in my gym, and I thought - why not? It looked interesting and potentially effective in ridding me of a flabby belly, and the instructor was (still is) great-looking.
Dancing was never my thing - not when I was young, nor in my teens not even the twenties. Once, in university, the singing group my roomee, Mee Mee, and I were in were set to perform two songs for a charity event. In the (relatively) last minute, they decided to throw in a dance as well. After the first rehearsal (in which we learned the steps for the first time), Mee Mee and I "showcased" our moves to Bee Ree in our hostel room. Bee Ree rolled onto her bed and laughed like a hyena - that's how much we can't dance. This belly dance class, however, was different. It wasn't only that I could do it, but I didn't make people fall over laughing doing it.
It was really great to find something I enjoy doing and have it do wonder to my fitness at the same time. And then... the moment I realized how great the once-a-week belly dancing classes were, I started worrying about the day when I don't have them anymore. My instructor was no longer a young man - one day, he would decide he has had enough and would retire. What will happen to my abs then? What will I do to maintain my fitness? How will I fill the gap that was a full hour of cardio and body-toning workout every Saturday?
Well, that day has come. The classes ceased two months ago.
What do I feel, you ask? Frankly, nothing. The reason is that I had actually stopped going for classes about 6 or 8 months ago. It started with an unexplained pain in one knee, and then a pain in the other knee. I simply couldn't dance anymore. I had, without consciously realizing it, long replaced belly dancing with Swiss ball exercises for core training. Do I miss dancing? Yes, but not for the reasons I initially thought I would.
This, Reader, is what I always do. I over-think everything and I worry about future changes that might happen before they even happen, if they do at all. I worry about how the changes might affect me negatively and I am always in fear of losing something good that is currently a part of my life. I know the saying that nothing is permanent, that change is the only constant... but, knowing (and even accepting) it is not the same as being OK with it.
In hindsight, all that worrying was simply as waste of time. I affected a change before circumstances did. I wish I can say this would be the last time I do it, but... well, one can try. And hope.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Depression
I started this post at least two or three months ago, but never got around to finish it. Somehow, now seems an apt time.
A close friend asked if I was prescribed anti-depressants for my tummy problems last year. I wasn't. I don't think I had written about what happened with me exactly. Here it is.
I had been unhappy for what may be a prolonged period. I had been stressed out by things I did not (and perhaps, still do not) consciously acknowledge, or hadn't been aware of. I know not when these unresolved issues, piling and compounding on each other, as issues are wont to do, crossed the limit of my tolerance. They did, and consequently, the tummy problems began.
My gastroenterologist diagnosed functional dyspepsia and prescribed me anti-anxiety meds. I took them for a couple of weeks to no distinguishable relief from symptoms. He upped the dose and I still didn't get better. Finally, he ordered an upper gastrointestinal endoscopy. Nothing. I continued on the anti-anxiety meds for another month or so, while making it a point to be fine with everything. I strive not to sweat the small stuff, not even the somewhat bigger ones. I made an effort to stop over-thinking too many things and learned to let go. I got better, and haven't been in serious pain for over a year now.
So, no, I told my friend. It wasn't depression, which, perhaps laughably, I experienced before too. It was the time I cried myself to sleep every night, lost the will to live, and lost enough weight to look like a ghost. Granted, I hadn't needed medical attention (or maybe I did, but... oh, well) and I dragged myself out of the crazy, all-encompassing gloom after several months. It wasn't easy, and it was scary.
It was scary because I entertained thoughts - several times - of ending it all. All I could see was circumstances hopeless and repellent - there wasn't a single thing I could imagine doing that would lead me down a path I would enjoy, or at the end of which I could see a light, or even affect in the slightest manner anyone in my life. No one cared, and I didn't care. It would be when I was performing mundane daily tasks - driving, showering - when panic would attack. I'd feel a tightness in my chest and maddening lightness in my head. I'd have to physically scream at myself, sometimes including pulling at my own hair or slapping my own cheeks, to snap out of it.
If you know me, Reader - if you are a friend, I imagine you might be rather taken aback right now. Is this true, what you are reading? Isn't she a very happy, funny, and most of all, tough, girl? How can she be this messed up inside?
The truth is, sometimes, the most messed up people put up the best facade to hide their true feelings. I am fortunate that I wasn't that ill, so that I was able to find my way out of the black holes on my own. What about those who aren't? They kill themselves.
I don't know why we should insist on saving those who want to die - in the end, we all have to die anyway. The reason I would guess, is that perhaps many just couldn't, at the worst time in their lives, see that they really want to live, and they can, if only they get past the darkness. And the darkness, eventually, definitely will pass.
A close friend asked if I was prescribed anti-depressants for my tummy problems last year. I wasn't. I don't think I had written about what happened with me exactly. Here it is.
I had been unhappy for what may be a prolonged period. I had been stressed out by things I did not (and perhaps, still do not) consciously acknowledge, or hadn't been aware of. I know not when these unresolved issues, piling and compounding on each other, as issues are wont to do, crossed the limit of my tolerance. They did, and consequently, the tummy problems began.
My gastroenterologist diagnosed functional dyspepsia and prescribed me anti-anxiety meds. I took them for a couple of weeks to no distinguishable relief from symptoms. He upped the dose and I still didn't get better. Finally, he ordered an upper gastrointestinal endoscopy. Nothing. I continued on the anti-anxiety meds for another month or so, while making it a point to be fine with everything. I strive not to sweat the small stuff, not even the somewhat bigger ones. I made an effort to stop over-thinking too many things and learned to let go. I got better, and haven't been in serious pain for over a year now.
So, no, I told my friend. It wasn't depression, which, perhaps laughably, I experienced before too. It was the time I cried myself to sleep every night, lost the will to live, and lost enough weight to look like a ghost. Granted, I hadn't needed medical attention (or maybe I did, but... oh, well) and I dragged myself out of the crazy, all-encompassing gloom after several months. It wasn't easy, and it was scary.
It was scary because I entertained thoughts - several times - of ending it all. All I could see was circumstances hopeless and repellent - there wasn't a single thing I could imagine doing that would lead me down a path I would enjoy, or at the end of which I could see a light, or even affect in the slightest manner anyone in my life. No one cared, and I didn't care. It would be when I was performing mundane daily tasks - driving, showering - when panic would attack. I'd feel a tightness in my chest and maddening lightness in my head. I'd have to physically scream at myself, sometimes including pulling at my own hair or slapping my own cheeks, to snap out of it.
If you know me, Reader - if you are a friend, I imagine you might be rather taken aback right now. Is this true, what you are reading? Isn't she a very happy, funny, and most of all, tough, girl? How can she be this messed up inside?
The truth is, sometimes, the most messed up people put up the best facade to hide their true feelings. I am fortunate that I wasn't that ill, so that I was able to find my way out of the black holes on my own. What about those who aren't? They kill themselves.
I don't know why we should insist on saving those who want to die - in the end, we all have to die anyway. The reason I would guess, is that perhaps many just couldn't, at the worst time in their lives, see that they really want to live, and they can, if only they get past the darkness. And the darkness, eventually, definitely will pass.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Older and Wiser
Picture this: three ladies in short dresses and high heels were walking down a paved road, towards a building on the opposite block. In their path, was a drain, about a foot or so wide. They could either hop across it, or walk a further distance where a completely covered path exists.
"Should we jump?"
"We're in heels... what if we fall?"
"It looks dangerous..."
We decided to walk further, like proper ladies ought to.
"You know, if I was ten years younger, I would've just jumped!"
"Right! Or if I was wearing flats or slippers, I would've considered jumping too..."
"Agreed! Totally!"
Yup, definitely older and wiser now.
=D
"Should we jump?"
"We're in heels... what if we fall?"
"It looks dangerous..."
We decided to walk further, like proper ladies ought to.
"You know, if I was ten years younger, I would've just jumped!"
"Right! Or if I was wearing flats or slippers, I would've considered jumping too..."
"Agreed! Totally!"
Yup, definitely older and wiser now.
=D
Thursday, May 29, 2014
The Last Concubine
It is not without reluctance that I tagged this post under my reads. I am barely halfway through it, and have completely lost the will the proceed. I might some day - some very distant day - finish reading it, but I don't want to wait that long to write about it.
I can't remember what of this book that caught my fancy. Perhaps it was the cover art (yes, I still make the mistake of judging a book by its cover, every now and then...), or the promise of the teaser-synopsis on the back. The only things I remember about it are the two or three times I started it, and then gave up before the first chapter was over. Trust me, Reader, when I say "dropping out" of a book isn't at all like me! I mean, I finished all four books in the Twilight series! Sure, I practically had to force my eyes on the pages by the time I got to the third one, but nevertheless, completed all four. That's how obstinate I can be. (Note: I will always regret having read them though...)
The Last Concubine is tiresome in its lengthy, yet uninteresting description of everything. Its pace is exceedingly slow, a painful drag. Certain parts in the story (up to less than half the book, where I'm currently paused...) are outright laughable. Should I extend my apologies to the author for what I've just written?
Sorry, Lesley Downer, I simply don't enjoy reading your book.
Reader, if you trust my opinion on reading material, don't bother getting this. If you have, by chance, already read this title and enjoyed it, I'd really like to hear from you! Leave a comment, or write me.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Two Months
It wasn't that I forgot my password or anything. I'd just been burning myself out taking on more than I ought to. It was work, and well, research obligations, and more work. And as if I hadn't stretched my limits out quite enough, I took on an extra "project", for lack of a better word, for the sake of *ahem*... glory. And, a small sum, of course.
Sometimes, I wish I were more regular. I wish I didn't think so differently, that makes the whole business of being me so... unbearable, at times. I wish I can be like all the other money-chasing fools out there. Earn big bucks, spend big bucks, *happyhappyhappy*. Imagine that in hashtag, Reader.
Most of the time, I don't know what I want. Sure, I wouldn't mind lots more money for the amount of heart and effort I put into what I do, but that's not the ultimate goal. I don't know what is. Perhaps, I'm still searching. Perhaps the reason I feel lost is... I'm actually lost. There are days I feel I'm right on track in my life, and there are those I feel I'm struggling for something I can't quite put my finger on.
Struggling. In high school, after a particularly disappointing test result announcement, my bestfriend felt especially depressed. She gazed listless out of the classroom window. It was pouring madly outside. In a broken voice, she said - Look at the bird flying in the rain. I am that bird... struggling. Of course, that, she definitely isn't now. I wish I can be sure that I'm not too.
Sometimes, I wish I were more regular. I wish I didn't think so differently, that makes the whole business of being me so... unbearable, at times. I wish I can be like all the other money-chasing fools out there. Earn big bucks, spend big bucks, *happyhappyhappy*. Imagine that in hashtag, Reader.
Most of the time, I don't know what I want. Sure, I wouldn't mind lots more money for the amount of heart and effort I put into what I do, but that's not the ultimate goal. I don't know what is. Perhaps, I'm still searching. Perhaps the reason I feel lost is... I'm actually lost. There are days I feel I'm right on track in my life, and there are those I feel I'm struggling for something I can't quite put my finger on.
Struggling. In high school, after a particularly disappointing test result announcement, my bestfriend felt especially depressed. She gazed listless out of the classroom window. It was pouring madly outside. In a broken voice, she said - Look at the bird flying in the rain. I am that bird... struggling. Of course, that, she definitely isn't now. I wish I can be sure that I'm not too.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Weird Sounds Past Midnight
There was once, when I was a child, laying in bed in the middle of the night, I heard weird sounds. I am convinced I was awake then - one would have to be awake to be trembling in fear - but I accept that I might had been only half-conscious, or completely unconscious and dreaming away. There is no way to determine that now. I was 8, maybe 9 years old, my family members were all fast asleep, and the house was in near-complete darkness. I heard rattling of the iron grill at the main door.
It was loud, it was clear - it was as if someone, or something, was grappling with it. It rattled. Then, silence. Rattling. Silence. Rattling. The pattern repeated for a good while. I heard it all, and was so terrified I couldn't move, couldn't make a sound - not even to wake my little sister sleeping in the next bed. I don't know how long it went on, I never found out what it was. Chances are, I never told anyone about that night.
There was another instance my sister heard crying in the house. She had somehow awoken, in the dead of night, and heard distinct sounds of weeping - heartbreaking cries, she added - from another part of the house. She was in her bedroom and had not dared to venture out to investigate. She told no one of it then, and only related the experience to me several months later.
As I sit here typing these words, I hear sounds coming from downstairs. Like, things being moved, doors or windows being opened or closed, indeterminate slight clickings and clankings. My family is fast asleep. All lights except that of my room are off. To insist that I am past the age of being terrified would be to be untruthful. I am in fear. Who wouldn't be spooked by unexplained noises one would not expect to hear at this unworldly hour?
This is unlike the iron grill rattling from my childhood, which may very well be nothing more than a vivid dream, given that I cannot be sure if I wasn't asleep. I am fully awake now. This is also unlike the mysterious crying my sister told of, for I was quite sure it was me she heard. Staying up all night and crying was something I tended to do as young adult when feeling depressed. (I am not crazy... wuahahahah *Ahem*) But this - now - I cannot explain what I'm hearing.
And so, yes. I am scared...
It was loud, it was clear - it was as if someone, or something, was grappling with it. It rattled. Then, silence. Rattling. Silence. Rattling. The pattern repeated for a good while. I heard it all, and was so terrified I couldn't move, couldn't make a sound - not even to wake my little sister sleeping in the next bed. I don't know how long it went on, I never found out what it was. Chances are, I never told anyone about that night.
There was another instance my sister heard crying in the house. She had somehow awoken, in the dead of night, and heard distinct sounds of weeping - heartbreaking cries, she added - from another part of the house. She was in her bedroom and had not dared to venture out to investigate. She told no one of it then, and only related the experience to me several months later.
As I sit here typing these words, I hear sounds coming from downstairs. Like, things being moved, doors or windows being opened or closed, indeterminate slight clickings and clankings. My family is fast asleep. All lights except that of my room are off. To insist that I am past the age of being terrified would be to be untruthful. I am in fear. Who wouldn't be spooked by unexplained noises one would not expect to hear at this unworldly hour?
This is unlike the iron grill rattling from my childhood, which may very well be nothing more than a vivid dream, given that I cannot be sure if I wasn't asleep. I am fully awake now. This is also unlike the mysterious crying my sister told of, for I was quite sure it was me she heard. Staying up all night and crying was something I tended to do as young adult when feeling depressed. (I am not crazy... wuahahahah *Ahem*) But this - now - I cannot explain what I'm hearing.
And so, yes. I am scared...
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Miracles
I'm not sure I believe in them... but we sure could use one right now. My thoughts are with the 239 souls aboard MH370.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Nothing To Say
Sometimes, there are just so much on my mind I want to simply spell everything out... yet, as I'm sitting, staring at the blank screen, I have nothing to say.
Certain things are too complicated; others too sensitive, or controversial, or at risk of putting others in trouble; there are those I feel reluctant to share under the semi-transparent cloak of anonymity. In short, I have so much, yet, nothing. It's the closet-full-of-clothes-and-nothing-to-wear situation again.
Perhaps it is more accurate to say that it isn't that I have nothing to say - it is that I have nothing I want to say.
Both life and work are too complicated for my liking at the moment. In the next, when things become more favourable, perhaps, I should find the the writer that I hope is still within me.
Goodnight, world.
Certain things are too complicated; others too sensitive, or controversial, or at risk of putting others in trouble; there are those I feel reluctant to share under the semi-transparent cloak of anonymity. In short, I have so much, yet, nothing. It's the closet-full-of-clothes-and-nothing-to-wear situation again.
Perhaps it is more accurate to say that it isn't that I have nothing to say - it is that I have nothing I want to say.
Both life and work are too complicated for my liking at the moment. In the next, when things become more favourable, perhaps, I should find the the writer that I hope is still within me.
Goodnight, world.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Talk
People talk. People talk behind people's backs. Do we all not know it already?
I'm really stating the obvious here - rarely do people talk positively of others behind their backs. Of the negative things said, though some may be true, much, I believe, are likely to be false, or immensely exaggerated to appear worse. The reason is simple - it is more enjoyable putting people down. The reason it is more enjoyable putting others down is also simple - it raises one's self-worth, albeit unjustifiably. So, really, people talk.
Sometimes, I come to know of the stuff said behind my back. There are good things, there are bad ones. There are false accusations, there are baseless assumptions. Mostly, they feel like arguments made against one, to which one simply does not have the means nor the opportunity, ever, to offer a rebuttal, or a defense, or anything at all.
This is life. And people will keep talking. Regardless.
So, let them. Let them have this one small recreation to liven up their otherwise mundane life.
You're welcome.
I'm really stating the obvious here - rarely do people talk positively of others behind their backs. Of the negative things said, though some may be true, much, I believe, are likely to be false, or immensely exaggerated to appear worse. The reason is simple - it is more enjoyable putting people down. The reason it is more enjoyable putting others down is also simple - it raises one's self-worth, albeit unjustifiably. So, really, people talk.
Sometimes, I come to know of the stuff said behind my back. There are good things, there are bad ones. There are false accusations, there are baseless assumptions. Mostly, they feel like arguments made against one, to which one simply does not have the means nor the opportunity, ever, to offer a rebuttal, or a defense, or anything at all.
This is life. And people will keep talking. Regardless.
So, let them. Let them have this one small recreation to liven up their otherwise mundane life.
You're welcome.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
January
I once said, not entirely in jest, that December is like the weekend, and January is like Monday. Don't you agree? The very last month of every year is all holidays, festivities and taking days off just so they are not forfeited by the end of the year.
January 1st is like Sunday night.
January 2nd is when children start their first days at school, adults go back to their workplaces, and all roads get clogged up terribly at precisely the hours you need to use them. A friend responded to my musing with "*an expletive* One whole month of blues!"
Maybe.
How is your 2014 so far, Reader? I made a little bunny ears hat for my teddy on the first day (for self-entertainment) -
=D
January 1st is like Sunday night.
January 2nd is when children start their first days at school, adults go back to their workplaces, and all roads get clogged up terribly at precisely the hours you need to use them. A friend responded to my musing with "*an expletive* One whole month of blues!"
Maybe.
How is your 2014 so far, Reader? I made a little bunny ears hat for my teddy on the first day (for self-entertainment) -
=D
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
The End of 2013
The year wasn't particularly better or worse than all the previous ones. Apart from functional dyspepsia, annoying rashes (on my forehead!) from an indeterminate allergen, and various joint injuries, I was in good health. I did not have any major breakthroughs in my research, nor contributed to my university in any monumental manner, but I gave my fair share of effort and energy, taught my students with my whole heart, and treated all who had to deal with me with utmost respect and sincerity. I was not deliberately hurt, slighted, nor slandered by anyone... I was adequately occupied and sufficiently happy. All in all, 2013 was fine - no complaints.
And here we are... at the end of it all.
Hope 2014 brings everyone the passionate drive, strength, and determination to work and strive for the heart's most desired.
To my loved ones - I love you still.
To the cockroach which flew right at me during class last week - please don't do that again. Kindly inform the rest of the members of your species too. Thanks.
Happy New Year, folks!
And here we are... at the end of it all.
Hope 2014 brings everyone the passionate drive, strength, and determination to work and strive for the heart's most desired.
To my loved ones - I love you still.
To the cockroach which flew right at me during class last week - please don't do that again. Kindly inform the rest of the members of your species too. Thanks.
Happy New Year, folks!
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Costume Party
Two months ago, during Halloween season, my roomee's department organized a party in the office and everyone was expected to dress up, of course. My roomee spent quite some effort (by my standard - for her, she didn't consider borrowing a few items, buying a black tiara, and doing the makeup "a lot of effort") transforming herself into the Black Swan. I wondered then, for a moment, what I'd do if I were invited to a costume party. (I'd never been invited to a Halloween party...)
At my previous company, there was a theme for every annual dinner we had. I am not that ashamed to admit that I never bothered to dress accordingly... I'd just dig whatever out of my closet that was closest to the theme, and wear it... often without accessories or even proper makeup. I am this sort of boring person, at whom you right now probably feel like shouting "You only live once!" (my roomee just did...)
So, what if I were invited to a costume party? Turns out, I am... and not just a party, but a wedding celebration party! The theme is Gatsby. *Gasp!*
Right. Google showed me that I would need a basic loose-fit dress, a long bead necklace preferably with matching bracelet, and an extravagant (= ridiculous) headband. I should be able to put that together... *Ahem*
Yup, this will be my once-in-a-lifetime best-effort costume assembly. Maybe, who knows, I will find the passion for a once-in-a-lifetime go-all-out one in the future, before I die... =P
At my previous company, there was a theme for every annual dinner we had. I am not that ashamed to admit that I never bothered to dress accordingly... I'd just dig whatever out of my closet that was closest to the theme, and wear it... often without accessories or even proper makeup. I am this sort of boring person, at whom you right now probably feel like shouting "You only live once!" (my roomee just did...)
So, what if I were invited to a costume party? Turns out, I am... and not just a party, but a wedding celebration party! The theme is Gatsby. *Gasp!*
Right. Google showed me that I would need a basic loose-fit dress, a long bead necklace preferably with matching bracelet, and an extravagant (= ridiculous) headband. I should be able to put that together... *Ahem*
Yup, this will be my once-in-a-lifetime best-effort costume assembly. Maybe, who knows, I will find the passion for a once-in-a-lifetime go-all-out one in the future, before I die... =P
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