a little late, but, rest in peace.
millhouse is still not a meme (but...)
Saturday, 27 February 2010
nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy
a little late, but, rest in peace.
millhouse is still not a meme (but...)
Friday, 26 February 2010
contemptible wretch
pigs. we are all, once, pigs, if we were at our finest. and this is an admirable thing. to be pigs, or to the puritan, at times, boars. such an admirable thing.
because, us, as pigs, want not but to bring betterment to our fellow animals. is this not so?
indeed, of many things that we hold dear, i think the most important would be the dogma that all animals are equal. yes. all of us. equal. though, in time, as many should come to learn, as i have, some animals are more equal than others.
but, i digress. being pigs. such an admirable thing to be. why, if we were born in such a way, what more could we want? what more could one ask for? personally, though, i was never one to mingle with the ruling pigs and boars. no, i guess, i am more suited, in company and in demeanour, to be with the horses. yes, it is an equally admirable thing, as long as we are not amongst the sheep. my skin says 'pig', but truthfully, i am nowhere as ingeneous (or kniving, or supercillious) as my kin. my heart shouts 'horse', instead. not such an admirable thing, maybe, but i am proud. so very proud.
but today. today, i mingle with the many pigs, in asking favours. for you see, there has been a shortage of hay in the farm (oh, no!), and though us pigs would be unaffected by such trivial things (for we are such admirable beings), it breaks my heart to say that all my horse kin are suffering. suffering more so than they should be, though there is much pride in suffering for us horses. yes, much pride.
so i ask the fellow pigs for hay. and they say there is many a procedure to be indulged in. for one cannot simply ask and be given hay - such an admirable task this procedures are. so very admirable. such that none could have done it better, than the pigs, of course! of course. and it fills my heart with much happiness. nay, joy. to be one of these pigs (and, of course, horses). such admiration. such pride.
but tomorrow. tomorrow, after asking for such a favour. i will wake up knowing, that my request is in the pipeline. yes, i have made a difference. though a horse or two may perish, there's pride, you know! pride in such suffering, because us horses have a job to do. much like us pigs, too. everyone has their place on the farm.
i wake up before tomorrow comes, though. sweating. much like a pig. hungry. much like a horse. and something feels not right. i have been feeling this way since. well. since putting in the documentation for hay. why? why would such a noble endeavour lead to such queasiness? or maybe they are unrelated. never you mind that, though. what is important is, i feel unwell. but i am still admirable. still proud. am i not?
what i need is a breather. yes, i shall wash my face in the trough, and sleep again. and tomorrow, when my documentation for hay has been processed. and the horses have their hay. and i have mine. everything will be alright. will it not? yes, everything will be alright.
hark! what is this? i look in the trough and there is a vile being! oh, no! a vile, contemptible wretch is staring back at me from beneath the depths of the murky water. surely the moonlight is playing tricks on me. but as i wash my face, i realise, this is no trick. no, no trick. such a hideous reflection. such that i have lost all admiration. all pride. in seeing myself. no! what is this disgusting alien that looks back at me?!
i am human.
because, us, as pigs, want not but to bring betterment to our fellow animals. is this not so?
indeed, of many things that we hold dear, i think the most important would be the dogma that all animals are equal. yes. all of us. equal. though, in time, as many should come to learn, as i have, some animals are more equal than others.
but, i digress. being pigs. such an admirable thing to be. why, if we were born in such a way, what more could we want? what more could one ask for? personally, though, i was never one to mingle with the ruling pigs and boars. no, i guess, i am more suited, in company and in demeanour, to be with the horses. yes, it is an equally admirable thing, as long as we are not amongst the sheep. my skin says 'pig', but truthfully, i am nowhere as ingeneous (or kniving, or supercillious) as my kin. my heart shouts 'horse', instead. not such an admirable thing, maybe, but i am proud. so very proud.
but today. today, i mingle with the many pigs, in asking favours. for you see, there has been a shortage of hay in the farm (oh, no!), and though us pigs would be unaffected by such trivial things (for we are such admirable beings), it breaks my heart to say that all my horse kin are suffering. suffering more so than they should be, though there is much pride in suffering for us horses. yes, much pride.
so i ask the fellow pigs for hay. and they say there is many a procedure to be indulged in. for one cannot simply ask and be given hay - such an admirable task this procedures are. so very admirable. such that none could have done it better, than the pigs, of course! of course. and it fills my heart with much happiness. nay, joy. to be one of these pigs (and, of course, horses). such admiration. such pride.
but tomorrow. tomorrow, after asking for such a favour. i will wake up knowing, that my request is in the pipeline. yes, i have made a difference. though a horse or two may perish, there's pride, you know! pride in such suffering, because us horses have a job to do. much like us pigs, too. everyone has their place on the farm.
i wake up before tomorrow comes, though. sweating. much like a pig. hungry. much like a horse. and something feels not right. i have been feeling this way since. well. since putting in the documentation for hay. why? why would such a noble endeavour lead to such queasiness? or maybe they are unrelated. never you mind that, though. what is important is, i feel unwell. but i am still admirable. still proud. am i not?
what i need is a breather. yes, i shall wash my face in the trough, and sleep again. and tomorrow, when my documentation for hay has been processed. and the horses have their hay. and i have mine. everything will be alright. will it not? yes, everything will be alright.
hark! what is this? i look in the trough and there is a vile being! oh, no! a vile, contemptible wretch is staring back at me from beneath the depths of the murky water. surely the moonlight is playing tricks on me. but as i wash my face, i realise, this is no trick. no, no trick. such a hideous reflection. such that i have lost all admiration. all pride. in seeing myself. no! what is this disgusting alien that looks back at me?!
i am human.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
unutteredly profane to you
the afternoon smells of chinese incense and lethargy. the atmosphere is laden with drunken humidity and callous disregard of social etiquette. and my mind... my mind is filled with troubled thoughts, as i lay in wait for a friend. sipping my mochachino (one has to have standards nowadays), the artificial sweeteners are not nearly enough to sugar-coat reality in its raw, unadulterated form. ah, he approaches.
exe: hey, how're things with you?
hendrix: f*cken awesome. did you know house officers have the ability to bend space-time, now?
exe: really? this is awesome. when do i get to abuse your new-found powers?
jh: never. we only get to distort time such that we work 32 hours a day. that's about the extent of our powers.
exe: sucks ass.
jh: tell me about it. so how's life?
exe: eh, same old, same old. can't complain.
(what he really wanted to say: life sucks ass. i'm falling off the edge, and i can't really say why. it's a generalised feeling that i can't seem to wrap my head around. if you'd care to hear about...)
jh: well, that's good. it's good to see that you've come to terms with things.
exe: oh yeah. totally.
(that couldn't be any more further from the truth than australia is from uranus. if anything, everything is falling apart faster than it used to. reality is blurring, leaving myopic edges to a once crisp vision. i can only see nothingness, even when my thoughts are focused)
jh: have you made any progress with [such and such problem].
exe: kinda. it's looking up, now. finally got some feedback from them.
(well, this is true, yet. it all seems to not matter at all. nothing does, anymore. in kierkegaard's eyes, i have failed in my personal duty to give life meaning. and all is lost. drowned. suffocated by angst, despair, anger. feck feck feck feck feck)
how about you? heard you're having problems with work, and the fiance?
jh: well. something like that. you see...
and the conversation goes on. with more itallicised sections.
on another occasion, exe meets, in a rare moment with fermina. there can be no colour more resplendent, no flavour more savoury, no sound more acoustic. there can be no honey, sweeter than that tasted in this moment of rarity. and yet, such a moment blurs by with more itallics:
exe: oh hey, haven't seen you in ages!
f: hi.
exe: so, yeah, how's things with you?
(here, i wanted to say, how much the hours in your absence have left no meaning up 'til now. how tasteless the humour of men has been, and how ironic the laughter of god is, as all is lead up to this point)
f: okay. just started working here.
exe: awesome. assume you've got everything from the previous job settled?
(and tell you how much i have longed for you, in love and in lust. how much moreso there can be none other to substitute for an irreplacable feeling, no matter how i have tried. no matter how i've disgustedly tried)
f: yeah, it didn't work out how i wanted it to, but, eh.
exe: yeah, i know what you mean. life's like that i guess.
(and tell you even more that it has been seven centuries since i last felt something would mean as much, or even as close. and that i have waited. and waited. and waited. and will continue to do so, until there is a day where waiting is all there is left. and still, then, i will wait. on something that may never happen, but. there will still be me, in wait)
f: yeap yeap. thanks for supporting me through these hard times.
exe: sure thing, that's what friends are for, right?
(and how i hate that you cannot see, all that i could do, even though i have done nothing. all that i would do. just so that you could see, what i would throw on the line. for. something. even nothing. that you would never understand. how could you, indeed? fsck fsck fsck fsck)
really. how could anyone. because, although all these things run through my head, nothing is conveyed through my tongue. nothing. because all that i can say is, that i am, at the very least, super-articu-lative.
for those who haven't realised, this is yet another fictional entry, as per promised, following on the (apparently) popular previous one, which can be viewed here.
exe: hey, how're things with you?
hendrix: f*cken awesome. did you know house officers have the ability to bend space-time, now?
exe: really? this is awesome. when do i get to abuse your new-found powers?
jh: never. we only get to distort time such that we work 32 hours a day. that's about the extent of our powers.
exe: sucks ass.
jh: tell me about it. so how's life?
exe: eh, same old, same old. can't complain.
(what he really wanted to say: life sucks ass. i'm falling off the edge, and i can't really say why. it's a generalised feeling that i can't seem to wrap my head around. if you'd care to hear about...)
jh: well, that's good. it's good to see that you've come to terms with things.
exe: oh yeah. totally.
(that couldn't be any more further from the truth than australia is from uranus. if anything, everything is falling apart faster than it used to. reality is blurring, leaving myopic edges to a once crisp vision. i can only see nothingness, even when my thoughts are focused)
jh: have you made any progress with [such and such problem].
exe: kinda. it's looking up, now. finally got some feedback from them.
(well, this is true, yet. it all seems to not matter at all. nothing does, anymore. in kierkegaard's eyes, i have failed in my personal duty to give life meaning. and all is lost. drowned. suffocated by angst, despair, anger. feck feck feck feck feck)
how about you? heard you're having problems with work, and the fiance?
jh: well. something like that. you see...
and the conversation goes on. with more itallicised sections.
on another occasion, exe meets, in a rare moment with fermina. there can be no colour more resplendent, no flavour more savoury, no sound more acoustic. there can be no honey, sweeter than that tasted in this moment of rarity. and yet, such a moment blurs by with more itallics:
exe: oh hey, haven't seen you in ages!
f: hi.
exe: so, yeah, how's things with you?
(here, i wanted to say, how much the hours in your absence have left no meaning up 'til now. how tasteless the humour of men has been, and how ironic the laughter of god is, as all is lead up to this point)
f: okay. just started working here.
exe: awesome. assume you've got everything from the previous job settled?
(and tell you how much i have longed for you, in love and in lust. how much moreso there can be none other to substitute for an irreplacable feeling, no matter how i have tried. no matter how i've disgustedly tried)
f: yeah, it didn't work out how i wanted it to, but, eh.
exe: yeah, i know what you mean. life's like that i guess.
(and tell you even more that it has been seven centuries since i last felt something would mean as much, or even as close. and that i have waited. and waited. and waited. and will continue to do so, until there is a day where waiting is all there is left. and still, then, i will wait. on something that may never happen, but. there will still be me, in wait)
f: yeap yeap. thanks for supporting me through these hard times.
exe: sure thing, that's what friends are for, right?
(and how i hate that you cannot see, all that i could do, even though i have done nothing. all that i would do. just so that you could see, what i would throw on the line. for. something. even nothing. that you would never understand. how could you, indeed? fsck fsck fsck fsck)
really. how could anyone. because, although all these things run through my head, nothing is conveyed through my tongue. nothing. because all that i can say is, that i am, at the very least, super-articu-lative.
for those who haven't realised, this is yet another fictional entry, as per promised, following on the (apparently) popular previous one, which can be viewed here.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
aren't you angry?
on tuesdays, there's about a 3 hour break between the mycology lecture (horrible stuff on fungi. there couldn't possibly be a drier subject in this course) and the foundations of infectious diseases lecture. the latter lecture, by the way, is shared with the undergrad medics and pharmacy masters students. this makes it very clinically-oriented and hence, equally boring. damn the luck.
but anyway, this does not concern the purpose of this entry. instead, focus on the three hours between lectures, where we have nothing to do, and end up hanging out in the common room (or, as per yesterday, driving to the city to have half-off waffles and ice cream). sitting with a caucasian girl who happens to be a friend (herein avoiding the term girl->friend and its connotations), she strikes up the most unusual conversation:
ice-princess: aren't you angry?
etc: say what?
ice: angry. aren't you angry that all these white guys are stealing asian chicks?
etc: stealing? i wouldn't really use the word, but i think i catch your drift. and, no, why would i be angry?
ice: because, they're taking away your girls. not just any girl, either. the white guys take the hottest of the lot. i'm just saying, if i were you, i'd be pretty pissed.
(it takes me a few pondering minutes to digest this)
etc: no, still not really. if you think about it as a racially-unbiased population - a pool from which anyone can chose any partner. then everyone has equal chances at getting anyone else. right?
ice: i don't think so. it's not really unbiased. white chicks don't really dig asian guys. heck, nobody does.
etc: way to go. kill my self-esteem much?
ice: well, i'm just being honest.
etc. ctfd. that's not true... actually it kind of is... go on.
ice: ok, so. white chicks want white guys. or black guys... mmmm (goes into some trance)
etc: *snap fingers* ctfd. concentrate, you can daydream about black guys in the lecture, later.
ice: sorry, just went to my happy place. anyway, asian chicks, apparently they want white guys as well.
etc: i can see your argument. this is slightly unnerving.
ice: yeah. i'm not saying anything about asian guys, though. it's probably because of the asian mentality as well.
etc: meaning?
ice: well, you get married to a white guy, and you've got a helluva chance of migrating here. citizenship. money ensues. this is the whole asian paradigm, isn't it.
etc: ... this is true...
ice: see. plus, white guys are hunkier.
etc: sure. why don't you point out the fact they have enormous (by comparison) c*cks, too.
ice: hey, i didn't go there.
etc. you were thinking it.
ice: my case still stands.
(pause to drink, while i think of a witty, yet substantial comeback. i have nothing T_T).
etc: ok. so you might be right. i'm still not angry, though.
ice: how can you not be!
etc: because, i'm an individualist. any girl, irrespective of being white, asian, black or purple, will chose accordingly. there's only so many pros you can list for white guys. asian dudes have their days as well. so, may the best man win.
ice: hmmm... i want to agree. but.
etc: yeah, i can't really lie to myself, either. ok, different argument. it's not like i stood any chance in the first place, so why would it make a difference?
ice: f*cken emo much? cheer up emo kid.
etc: hey, that's my line. no stealing.
ice: well, you're not doing yourself any favours with a mentality like that.
etc: calm. the. f. down. just saying.
ice: uh-huh.
etc: besides, i'm pretty much black. everyone digs a black guy.
ice: yeah... good luck with that. you're brown but no way black.
etc: :(
ice: we'd better head back to uni, lecture's in... one hour.
etc: way to go. aren't you angry, either? that all the asian chicks are stealing your guys?
ice: i... never really thought about that. f*cken asian chicks. we should get rid of them, for the betterment of you and me, both.
etc: i don't see how that helps my situation... at all.
ice: well, don't tell me you're into asian chicks?
etc: entirely besides the point. unbiased, remember?
ice: sure. well, i guess if you get rid of asian chicks, you have a chance, by force, with a white girl! that's gotta be pure win.
etc: hmmm. i dunno. big boobs. big ass. blondes. blue eyes. enticing but. this isn't an equilibrium. removing asian chicks from the equation won't force a shift in another direction. just saying.
ice: f*ck it, we should just get rid of them, nonetheless.
etc: are you angry?
but anyway, this does not concern the purpose of this entry. instead, focus on the three hours between lectures, where we have nothing to do, and end up hanging out in the common room (or, as per yesterday, driving to the city to have half-off waffles and ice cream). sitting with a caucasian girl who happens to be a friend (herein avoiding the term girl->friend and its connotations), she strikes up the most unusual conversation:
ice-princess: aren't you angry?
etc: say what?
ice: angry. aren't you angry that all these white guys are stealing asian chicks?
etc: stealing? i wouldn't really use the word, but i think i catch your drift. and, no, why would i be angry?
ice: because, they're taking away your girls. not just any girl, either. the white guys take the hottest of the lot. i'm just saying, if i were you, i'd be pretty pissed.
(it takes me a few pondering minutes to digest this)
etc: no, still not really. if you think about it as a racially-unbiased population - a pool from which anyone can chose any partner. then everyone has equal chances at getting anyone else. right?
ice: i don't think so. it's not really unbiased. white chicks don't really dig asian guys. heck, nobody does.
etc: way to go. kill my self-esteem much?
ice: well, i'm just being honest.
etc. ctfd. that's not true... actually it kind of is... go on.
ice: ok, so. white chicks want white guys. or black guys... mmmm (goes into some trance)
etc: *snap fingers* ctfd. concentrate, you can daydream about black guys in the lecture, later.
ice: sorry, just went to my happy place. anyway, asian chicks, apparently they want white guys as well.
etc: i can see your argument. this is slightly unnerving.
ice: yeah. i'm not saying anything about asian guys, though. it's probably because of the asian mentality as well.
etc: meaning?
ice: well, you get married to a white guy, and you've got a helluva chance of migrating here. citizenship. money ensues. this is the whole asian paradigm, isn't it.
etc: ... this is true...
ice: see. plus, white guys are hunkier.
etc: sure. why don't you point out the fact they have enormous (by comparison) c*cks, too.
ice: hey, i didn't go there.
etc. you were thinking it.
ice: my case still stands.
(pause to drink, while i think of a witty, yet substantial comeback. i have nothing T_T).
etc: ok. so you might be right. i'm still not angry, though.
ice: how can you not be!
etc: because, i'm an individualist. any girl, irrespective of being white, asian, black or purple, will chose accordingly. there's only so many pros you can list for white guys. asian dudes have their days as well. so, may the best man win.
ice: hmmm... i want to agree. but.
etc: yeah, i can't really lie to myself, either. ok, different argument. it's not like i stood any chance in the first place, so why would it make a difference?
ice: f*cken emo much? cheer up emo kid.
etc: hey, that's my line. no stealing.
ice: well, you're not doing yourself any favours with a mentality like that.
etc: calm. the. f. down. just saying.
ice: uh-huh.
etc: besides, i'm pretty much black. everyone digs a black guy.
ice: yeah... good luck with that. you're brown but no way black.
etc: :(
ice: we'd better head back to uni, lecture's in... one hour.
etc: way to go. aren't you angry, either? that all the asian chicks are stealing your guys?
ice: i... never really thought about that. f*cken asian chicks. we should get rid of them, for the betterment of you and me, both.
etc: i don't see how that helps my situation... at all.
ice: well, don't tell me you're into asian chicks?
etc: entirely besides the point. unbiased, remember?
ice: sure. well, i guess if you get rid of asian chicks, you have a chance, by force, with a white girl! that's gotta be pure win.
etc: hmmm. i dunno. big boobs. big ass. blondes. blue eyes. enticing but. this isn't an equilibrium. removing asian chicks from the equation won't force a shift in another direction. just saying.
ice: f*ck it, we should just get rid of them, nonetheless.
etc: are you angry?
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
quality control
an acquaintance via the blogosphere recently wrote an opinion piece on how to make your blog entries sell. i'm not going to summarise it here, as most of the ideas are either intuitive, unethical or both, but there's something in particular that has caught my eye. according to him (and i wouldn't be surprised if this holds true in many person's lights), one way of making your blog popular is to feign literary value. in specific, he elaborates that you can make up poetry by 1. rambling 2. (mis)using big words 3. faking the artistic process. the latter includes being vague and nonsensical, and if / when attacked for doing so, one can counter with the claim that such haters have no literary appreciation.
this is all very well designed, but i lament the idea of being so callous with words. personally, i love writing poetry (as any reader will sighingly testify) and i put any personal work through at least a meager level of scrutiny before passing it as worthy of an audience (although this is not always the case, as i am a big believer in spontaneous works). in any case, if my acquaintance's observation / opinion that in general, people are misusing (maiming, butchering and adulterating) literature to this extent, which i can only describe as 'lacking good faith', then i am truly disgraced. annoyed. peeved. disappointed.
it makes me wonder, though, just how much quality i put into these 'poems' i may write, and am i just another (mis)user of a tried and tested 'cheap publicity stunt'. i guess, if anything, at least i still have my (unobtainable) muse.
Monday, 22 February 2010
lethargy
i'm so tired. so very tired. of walking home in the blistering heat. of just walking in general. of many things. so, on my route home, i find shade in the shadow of a deciduous tree, in a park. and prop myself up against the sunlight. my bag feels heavy upon the green, green grass. my head feels heavy against the dry winds of an ending summer.
i lay down and gaze to the skies, futility in making up shapes from the nimbus clouds, for they are too streaky to bear resemblance to anything, unlike their cumulus cousins. and all that i can see against the white backdrop is dots. of black. a colloid of cells from detached retinae, oh joy. and doze off, in the midday heat, which is ironically cooler because of the breeze, than the sanctuary of my room.
i lay down and gaze to the skies, futility in making up shapes from the nimbus clouds, for they are too streaky to bear resemblance to anything, unlike their cumulus cousins. and all that i can see against the white backdrop is dots. of black. a colloid of cells from detached retinae, oh joy. and doze off, in the midday heat, which is ironically cooler because of the breeze, than the sanctuary of my room.
An hour’s worth, spent in silence, which actually is to mean,
That there is loneliness even when music is a din,
Waiting on a figure, which should be of a friend,
Anything will do as long as it is an offered hand.
There is beauty in walking this lonesome street,
With a naked heart and bare feet,
Because when it comes to trying to believe,
One can only wear his heart on his sleeve.
But falter when returning to an empty home,
Which one tries to fill with words from a tome,
And all this emotional distress has left myself wanting,
You leave me here, breathless, I have nothing.
Another teardrop manifests itself, dry,
Another feeling that is emotions awry,
Another day realises my attempts, which make me weary,
Oh ye, monetary.
Takkan dapat ku serukan sebuah lagi perasaan dalam menanti,
Sebak melihatkan gambarmu, mencoret luka di hati.
(Oh ye, monetary).
Thursday, 18 February 2010
(intro to 'talk shows on mute') bzzz bzzz
yes, yes another reading list. i figure, i should put it down here, at least to motivate myself to finish the ones i'm reading, and actually get around to finding the ones i intend to read in the future. i have this tendency to want to read many things, but end up actually finishing maybe 10% or 20% of the list.
currently on my desk are:
the catcher in the rye by j.d. salinger, who passed away recently.
catch 22 by joseph heller.
through the looking glass, by you-know-who. now i'e been pining and b*tching about getting this book for ages, and since i got it about 2 months ago, i haven't touched it. there is reason for this - i am waiting for some quiet time to savour the book. really sink my teeth into it and enjoy every little literary mauve, each tiny artistic device. and it will totally be worth it.
... well, i'm sure nobody's really interested in my reading list - i know i wasn't too interested when my friends' posted their lists, unless, in the very rare occasion, i happen to know what books their talking about, or their lists happen to be very much into my interests.
what might be interesting and intriguing, however, is the situation i'm in as i'm writing this up. i've just arrived back in perth and i have friends taking me around, eventually getting me back to my new house, which has no inhabitant as of yet. on the route, though, i'm at a mackers (mac donald's in aussie slang), and they're meeting up with some middle eastern real estate agent. where i'm worrying about half a million to one million rm, they're talking, on the fly, about dealing in 58 million aussie dollars. fifty. f*cken. eight. million. dollars.
i need to get into this. god damn it.
currently on my desk are:
the catcher in the rye by j.d. salinger, who passed away recently.
catch 22 by joseph heller.
through the looking glass, by you-know-who. now i'e been pining and b*tching about getting this book for ages, and since i got it about 2 months ago, i haven't touched it. there is reason for this - i am waiting for some quiet time to savour the book. really sink my teeth into it and enjoy every little literary mauve, each tiny artistic device. and it will totally be worth it.
... well, i'm sure nobody's really interested in my reading list - i know i wasn't too interested when my friends' posted their lists, unless, in the very rare occasion, i happen to know what books their talking about, or their lists happen to be very much into my interests.
what might be interesting and intriguing, however, is the situation i'm in as i'm writing this up. i've just arrived back in perth and i have friends taking me around, eventually getting me back to my new house, which has no inhabitant as of yet. on the route, though, i'm at a mackers (mac donald's in aussie slang), and they're meeting up with some middle eastern real estate agent. where i'm worrying about half a million to one million rm, they're talking, on the fly, about dealing in 58 million aussie dollars. fifty. f*cken. eight. million. dollars.
i need to get into this. god damn it.
parting is such sweet sorry. i mean, sorrow.
i hate moving. once i settle down, things are always fine, even when it's a whole new place, with nobody that i know (such as when moving to university way back when). but the idea of moving just gives me jitters. butterflies in my stomach and all that jazz.
when i attended high school, i had this ritual to psyche myself up for moving back to the boarding school, and even back home (this is very odd, as most people only have anxieties when moving away from home, but not in the opposite direction. as i said, for me, it's just moving in general, irrespective of destination). i can't remember exactly what i used to do, but it doesn't really matter because it hasn't worked for many years now. ironically, i didn't need to use it for a couple of years after graduating high school because of the location of my pre-university programme, which was close to home (plus i always had a blast there, so it took me just slightly over 29.31 minutes to adjust, anyway). and like the forgotten, red-headed step-child who runs away from home, only to say 'screw you' when she turns into a popular country singer and the parents fall upon hard times, this ritual would not work for me thenceforth.
but, i make due. distracting myself with little things. big things. anything. people, and books, video games and movies. sometimes just wandering around helps, but not so much as it did before. anything that takes my mind off the move. but it's inevitable that a threshold is reached (usually on the day of the move itself) and i wake up feeling like sh*t. the whole day is downhill from there, and it would be much better if i was just magicked away to my destination and got it all over with. someone should really invent or discover teleportation for people like me. not to mention the other uses of blinking from one place to another, like transportation. stealing money from the bank. spying on threesome lesbian porn stars. well, i guess you can get the latter-most on the internet, but that's beside the point. ahem.
my propensity to digress increases when i'm having such anxieties. (then i think of fantastical things in my head. like you, tee hee). it usually just gets worse :/
when i attended high school, i had this ritual to psyche myself up for moving back to the boarding school, and even back home (this is very odd, as most people only have anxieties when moving away from home, but not in the opposite direction. as i said, for me, it's just moving in general, irrespective of destination). i can't remember exactly what i used to do, but it doesn't really matter because it hasn't worked for many years now. ironically, i didn't need to use it for a couple of years after graduating high school because of the location of my pre-university programme, which was close to home (plus i always had a blast there, so it took me just slightly over 29.31 minutes to adjust, anyway). and like the forgotten, red-headed step-child who runs away from home, only to say 'screw you' when she turns into a popular country singer and the parents fall upon hard times, this ritual would not work for me thenceforth.
but, i make due. distracting myself with little things. big things. anything. people, and books, video games and movies. sometimes just wandering around helps, but not so much as it did before. anything that takes my mind off the move. but it's inevitable that a threshold is reached (usually on the day of the move itself) and i wake up feeling like sh*t. the whole day is downhill from there, and it would be much better if i was just magicked away to my destination and got it all over with. someone should really invent or discover teleportation for people like me. not to mention the other uses of blinking from one place to another, like transportation. stealing money from the bank. spying on threesome lesbian porn stars. well, i guess you can get the latter-most on the internet, but that's beside the point. ahem.
my propensity to digress increases when i'm having such anxieties. (then i think of fantastical things in my head. like you, tee hee). it usually just gets worse :/
Wednesday, 17 February 2010
guilty by association
i don't personally celebrate valentine's day. st valentine's day. or as my friend calls it single's awareness day. but it was nice to hang out with some (single) friends on sunday, and at the very least, i got to meet some pretty cool people in their associates.
anyway, that's besides the point. the point was... yes, valentine's day. like i said, i don't celebrate it. but, apparently, every aunt, grandmother and cousin in the family does, and it does not pass 20 minutes before someone or another is asking me who i'm spending valentine's day with. i'm not one to get offended by innocent questions, especially since it's a big part of the culture here, and so i answer nonchalantly 'nobody'. this, i discover, is the wrong answer. you cannot be my age, and single (whatmore, super awesome, good looking, an enthralling conversationist and just plain sexy. did i mention good looking, too?). and it seems it is the sacred duty of these aunts and grandmothers - nay, their sole purpose in life - to hook me up. but, i'm a slippery eel. nobody's getting their hands on this prize fish, nosiree. and i swiftly ask if they called to talk to my parents, without listening for an answer, call on them and leave the phone in their hands.
well, that's all fine and dandy. in fact, i know of at least 7 persons, who also blog, and write of the same 'issue' (i'm not really sure if personally i can call it an issue, but for some, it is, and so we shall treat it that way. besides, of the 7 people i can call off the top of my head, 6 are female, and would be thoroughly disgusted if i should dismiss this as a non-issue). what is an issue, though, is a specific person whom i can only fathom spending a valentine's day with and not being in the presence of a third wheel. or something like that.
the constant questionings in itself is not bothersome, but the fact that it serves as a reminder, that every little thing that reminds me of this person... is very much so. and having known this person to some extent, that includes a lot of things that encompasses the motions i go through in what existence i call upon as 'daily life'. simple things like a smile on a friend's face. scrumptious things like the spicy fish that my grandmother has cooked for lunch. lolable things like your favourite manga series that updates every friday. ethnic things like the slanted eyes that peer intently out into the disparities that is me. sweet-smelling things like the perfume that i cannot identify. beautiful things like... beauty.
i cannot bring myself to say, that one day these things will mean nothing more than what they are. this bothers me, not only for myself, but for the future fermina. although, i doubt there can be one in your light.
such a bothersome thing, this is, this commemoration day of fructus' brother, and saint. such a bothersome thing, this reminder of singular(ities) of love. such a bothersome thing, this heavy burden of the heart and mind. such a bothersome thing, this thing that is an idea of you. yet bothersome, is not what aptly describes any relation of you, any association.
ah, such a bothersome post. luckily, i do not celebrate valentine's day.
anyway, that's besides the point. the point was... yes, valentine's day. like i said, i don't celebrate it. but, apparently, every aunt, grandmother and cousin in the family does, and it does not pass 20 minutes before someone or another is asking me who i'm spending valentine's day with. i'm not one to get offended by innocent questions, especially since it's a big part of the culture here, and so i answer nonchalantly 'nobody'. this, i discover, is the wrong answer. you cannot be my age, and single (whatmore, super awesome, good looking, an enthralling conversationist and just plain sexy. did i mention good looking, too?). and it seems it is the sacred duty of these aunts and grandmothers - nay, their sole purpose in life - to hook me up. but, i'm a slippery eel. nobody's getting their hands on this prize fish, nosiree. and i swiftly ask if they called to talk to my parents, without listening for an answer, call on them and leave the phone in their hands.
well, that's all fine and dandy. in fact, i know of at least 7 persons, who also blog, and write of the same 'issue' (i'm not really sure if personally i can call it an issue, but for some, it is, and so we shall treat it that way. besides, of the 7 people i can call off the top of my head, 6 are female, and would be thoroughly disgusted if i should dismiss this as a non-issue). what is an issue, though, is a specific person whom i can only fathom spending a valentine's day with and not being in the presence of a third wheel. or something like that.
the constant questionings in itself is not bothersome, but the fact that it serves as a reminder, that every little thing that reminds me of this person... is very much so. and having known this person to some extent, that includes a lot of things that encompasses the motions i go through in what existence i call upon as 'daily life'. simple things like a smile on a friend's face. scrumptious things like the spicy fish that my grandmother has cooked for lunch. lolable things like your favourite manga series that updates every friday. ethnic things like the slanted eyes that peer intently out into the disparities that is me. sweet-smelling things like the perfume that i cannot identify. beautiful things like... beauty.
i cannot bring myself to say, that one day these things will mean nothing more than what they are. this bothers me, not only for myself, but for the future fermina. although, i doubt there can be one in your light.
such a bothersome thing, this is, this commemoration day of fructus' brother, and saint. such a bothersome thing, this reminder of singular(ities) of love. such a bothersome thing, this heavy burden of the heart and mind. such a bothersome thing, this thing that is an idea of you. yet bothersome, is not what aptly describes any relation of you, any association.
ah, such a bothersome post. luckily, i do not celebrate valentine's day.
Monday, 15 February 2010
i'm coming apart at the seams. bzzz bzzz bzzz.
in a previous post, i made a brief reading list, which i had been eating through during my term studies. considering my 3-month break is coming to an end, and i think i've done at least some reading (not really, but this makes me feel better, so let's work with that), so it might be a good idea to post a follow up here.
i didn't actually finish dostoyevsky's 'the brothers karamazov'. my excuse is that i left it back in australia, and i'll read it during the term. but in all honesty, it's a bit dry and dreary. i actually like the dreary part, but i can only fathom reading this book and enjoying it if i had someone to discuss it with.
shakespeare's sonnets are awesome. 'nuf said.
love in the time of cholera, by gabriel marcia maquez is, in the immortal words of any high school girl, 'oh em gee it's like so awesome. like. wow.' but really, it's such a good book. as i might have said before, though, it may be because i relate with florentino pretty well. (oh, fermina...). ahem. the story is beautifully written, with a pace that befits the interjections of romance with personal drama, tragedy and the blissful escapism into (in)fidelity. my only regret is that i cannot read the novel in its original written hand.
which brings us to my recent reading list - starting off with re-reading austen's sense and sensibility, emma and (without surprise) pride and prejudice. during my younger days, we had to read pride and prejudice in malay, and having read it in english, i can only sigh in disappointment and disapproval at the loss in translation - the beautiful puns, witty sarcasm, sinister dialogue and extravagant descriptions. all lost. another death to the tongue of belittling men, another escape for the literary feeble. son, i am disappoint.
i have been reading, experimenting, and actually writing in plays and dialogue, recently. it is fascinating! i never really ventured out of descriptive writing and opinion pieces, but now i see what worlds of articulation i have been missing all these years. it has not passed me that, at a younger age, i would not have appreciated such style, but now i am happy to say, i will be delving into the dark arts of dialogue (and maybe plays) when i can perchance the time. oh yeah, as for the books that i read, they were by my all-time favourite author, oscar wilde. the importance of being earnest, lady windamere's fan, and a woman of no importance.
rest assured, i have not been wiling my time in such literary redundancies and escaping into, what german-bear refers to as, 'dead, white people's' words! borrowed from a friend, (i cannot think of an appropriate pseudonym right now :( ), 'what your teacher didn't tell you: the annexe lectures, by farish a. noor. this is well outside my norm of reading material. politico-historical and somewhat controversial, the least i can say is, it was an "interesting" read (note the inverted commas). in all honesty - no. just, effing, parameswara jesus, no. the contents of the book are not novel. there are no 'unexplained facts', conspiracy theories, elaborate schemes and overskipped details. there are no half-truths (well, as much as a historian may give leeway for), there are no hidden agendas. everything in the book, really was told in high school history, i kid you not. and for my (anonymous) friend who said they weren't, all i can say is, he probably wasn't paying that much attention in high school, because the examples he gave, all ring a bell. all of them. now, this is not a personal attack on my friend (although i could make it one, tee hee), but it is just to emphasise the gross false advertising the book's title has. nothing, i reiterate, in the book is entirely novel. sure, there is better referencing, there is slightly more elaboration, there are opinion pieces (and for this point, i give the author much credit, as history book at the high school level have none. just how much opinion should be in an ((unbiased)) history lesson, though, is another story). but, really, it's ho-hum, been there, read that. and for this, i would summarise, it is a good read. but nowhere as great as i thought it might have been, given the predispositive state my friend had put me in. ah well, can't win 'em all.
post is getting long, so i'll end this here and talk about more in another post.
i didn't actually finish dostoyevsky's 'the brothers karamazov'. my excuse is that i left it back in australia, and i'll read it during the term. but in all honesty, it's a bit dry and dreary. i actually like the dreary part, but i can only fathom reading this book and enjoying it if i had someone to discuss it with.
shakespeare's sonnets are awesome. 'nuf said.
love in the time of cholera, by gabriel marcia maquez is, in the immortal words of any high school girl, 'oh em gee it's like so awesome. like. wow.' but really, it's such a good book. as i might have said before, though, it may be because i relate with florentino pretty well. (oh, fermina...). ahem. the story is beautifully written, with a pace that befits the interjections of romance with personal drama, tragedy and the blissful escapism into (in)fidelity. my only regret is that i cannot read the novel in its original written hand.
which brings us to my recent reading list - starting off with re-reading austen's sense and sensibility, emma and (without surprise) pride and prejudice. during my younger days, we had to read pride and prejudice in malay, and having read it in english, i can only sigh in disappointment and disapproval at the loss in translation - the beautiful puns, witty sarcasm, sinister dialogue and extravagant descriptions. all lost. another death to the tongue of belittling men, another escape for the literary feeble. son, i am disappoint.
i have been reading, experimenting, and actually writing in plays and dialogue, recently. it is fascinating! i never really ventured out of descriptive writing and opinion pieces, but now i see what worlds of articulation i have been missing all these years. it has not passed me that, at a younger age, i would not have appreciated such style, but now i am happy to say, i will be delving into the dark arts of dialogue (and maybe plays) when i can perchance the time. oh yeah, as for the books that i read, they were by my all-time favourite author, oscar wilde. the importance of being earnest, lady windamere's fan, and a woman of no importance.
rest assured, i have not been wiling my time in such literary redundancies and escaping into, what german-bear refers to as, 'dead, white people's' words! borrowed from a friend, (i cannot think of an appropriate pseudonym right now :( ), 'what your teacher didn't tell you: the annexe lectures, by farish a. noor. this is well outside my norm of reading material. politico-historical and somewhat controversial, the least i can say is, it was an "interesting" read (note the inverted commas). in all honesty - no. just, effing, parameswara jesus, no. the contents of the book are not novel. there are no 'unexplained facts', conspiracy theories, elaborate schemes and overskipped details. there are no half-truths (well, as much as a historian may give leeway for), there are no hidden agendas. everything in the book, really was told in high school history, i kid you not. and for my (anonymous) friend who said they weren't, all i can say is, he probably wasn't paying that much attention in high school, because the examples he gave, all ring a bell. all of them. now, this is not a personal attack on my friend (although i could make it one, tee hee), but it is just to emphasise the gross false advertising the book's title has. nothing, i reiterate, in the book is entirely novel. sure, there is better referencing, there is slightly more elaboration, there are opinion pieces (and for this point, i give the author much credit, as history book at the high school level have none. just how much opinion should be in an ((unbiased)) history lesson, though, is another story). but, really, it's ho-hum, been there, read that. and for this, i would summarise, it is a good read. but nowhere as great as i thought it might have been, given the predispositive state my friend had put me in. ah well, can't win 'em all.
post is getting long, so i'll end this here and talk about more in another post.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
find yourself, pt III
the final installation to this trilogy superficially touches a few broad questions on the never-ending high school stereotype, mainly - how, and why the system is preserved. for those who have not enjoyed the trilogy, rejoice, as i have just given away, this will be the last of my experimental efforts to write in this style. for those interested in seeing more (hopefully more refined) opinion pieces which follow an antithetical pattern, we'll see how i'm feeling about these things in the future.
in any case, 'how'. the answer is actually, in practice, quite simple. an inbred and familial establishment of hierarchy over the ages, with development and dependency on specific social, economical and (perhaps most importantly) psychological niche-roles. i'm not one for wishy-washy sentences (although i seem to use them repeatedly), so, let's break that down into something less generic. what i mean to say is, similar to political ideals, religious zealism, and philosophical doctrines (amongst other things), this is just another thought process. something that can be, and usually is, handed down to you on a no-questions-asked silver platter, wrapped in glittering stamp-of-authority christmas wrap, and (my favourite simile here!) before you pop it down your throat, realise that it is very superficially candy-coated with epic fail. much like the examples i have given, there may be, and i believe really is no reason for the implied rules of highschoolism to be there. where people and their social norms have changed, pre-set rules have not. it is an epistemic disease of the young, and fearful distraught of the old combined in unerring proportions, which results in respectively the shallow conformity and narrow-minded room for leeway in this system. indeed, as there is an exception to any rule, some of us will find ourselves castaways. outliers on a demographic plot that has catered to the niche-roles that, i believe, none of the individuals actually want, but are there as part of the greater good - of the hive.
more stereotyping here: the jock. the nerd. the cheerleader. and now with fotm flavours of the goth, the emo, and the marlon brando-in-streetcar. some may be derived from images we see in movies, others may be just intuitive. but really, where they come from is of less import than why are they here and what do they mean to do to (with) us? these aren't alien races who may come in peace or, alternatively, with the intention of defiling our every orifice with proboscis-like appendages. these are your friends. your brothers and your sisters. your parents and your children. your greatest enemies. as well as yourself. at least when viewed in others' minds eyes. why are they here? why are you here?
which has inadvertently lead to the second question of 'why'. why does society as a whole tolerate, nay, encourage such social segregation and labelling? not only does it settle for a fertile breeding ground for such fraternities, it also stamps out any defiling blight on its lush grounds - you and i. and this is the reason for such questioning. unique to any society; unlike such examples as political, economical, religious or artisitic tendencies; it seems that highschoolism runs rampant in all societies. when one talks with acquaintances from diverse backgrounds (such as when i entered university, and for the first time, met a transsexual from nepal), it is interesting to note that everyone (with no exceptions) can relate to conversations on and about how high school never ends. amazing. like rule 34 of social studies. wait, rule 1 and 2. now.
i guess, that's a pretty good way to end this entry. with a reference to 'that which shall not be spoken of'. no, not that one. in any case, just something to ponder - highschoolism. is it really a phenomenon? or do some of us (mostly the minorities) create it to get away with sh*t ass luck? do such rules really exist, or is this the modern day equivalent of seppuku, when one has failed the duty of social acceptance?
in any case, 'how'. the answer is actually, in practice, quite simple. an inbred and familial establishment of hierarchy over the ages, with development and dependency on specific social, economical and (perhaps most importantly) psychological niche-roles. i'm not one for wishy-washy sentences (although i seem to use them repeatedly), so, let's break that down into something less generic. what i mean to say is, similar to political ideals, religious zealism, and philosophical doctrines (amongst other things), this is just another thought process. something that can be, and usually is, handed down to you on a no-questions-asked silver platter, wrapped in glittering stamp-of-authority christmas wrap, and (my favourite simile here!) before you pop it down your throat, realise that it is very superficially candy-coated with epic fail. much like the examples i have given, there may be, and i believe really is no reason for the implied rules of highschoolism to be there. where people and their social norms have changed, pre-set rules have not. it is an epistemic disease of the young, and fearful distraught of the old combined in unerring proportions, which results in respectively the shallow conformity and narrow-minded room for leeway in this system. indeed, as there is an exception to any rule, some of us will find ourselves castaways. outliers on a demographic plot that has catered to the niche-roles that, i believe, none of the individuals actually want, but are there as part of the greater good - of the hive.
more stereotyping here: the jock. the nerd. the cheerleader. and now with fotm flavours of the goth, the emo, and the marlon brando-in-streetcar. some may be derived from images we see in movies, others may be just intuitive. but really, where they come from is of less import than why are they here and what do they mean to do to (with) us? these aren't alien races who may come in peace or, alternatively, with the intention of defiling our every orifice with proboscis-like appendages. these are your friends. your brothers and your sisters. your parents and your children. your greatest enemies. as well as yourself. at least when viewed in others' minds eyes. why are they here? why are you here?
which has inadvertently lead to the second question of 'why'. why does society as a whole tolerate, nay, encourage such social segregation and labelling? not only does it settle for a fertile breeding ground for such fraternities, it also stamps out any defiling blight on its lush grounds - you and i. and this is the reason for such questioning. unique to any society; unlike such examples as political, economical, religious or artisitic tendencies; it seems that highschoolism runs rampant in all societies. when one talks with acquaintances from diverse backgrounds (such as when i entered university, and for the first time, met a transsexual from nepal), it is interesting to note that everyone (with no exceptions) can relate to conversations on and about how high school never ends. amazing. like rule 34 of social studies. wait, rule 1 and 2. now.
i guess, that's a pretty good way to end this entry. with a reference to 'that which shall not be spoken of'. no, not that one. in any case, just something to ponder - highschoolism. is it really a phenomenon? or do some of us (mostly the minorities) create it to get away with sh*t ass luck? do such rules really exist, or is this the modern day equivalent of seppuku, when one has failed the duty of social acceptance?
Monday, 8 February 2010
job interview? hot date? monetary woes? worry not! the answer is here...
sometimes i think that all my life has lead up to this moment, and now that it's here, what should i do about it?
then i remember that in 5 billion years life on earth won't even exist anymore. ah, nothing like the bigger picture to put your mind at ease. making those important decisions never felt so easy knowing how fleeting and meaningless everything is in comparison.
see, everything is about being relative.
then i remember that in 5 billion years life on earth won't even exist anymore. ah, nothing like the bigger picture to put your mind at ease. making those important decisions never felt so easy knowing how fleeting and meaningless everything is in comparison.
see, everything is about being relative.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
find yourself, pt II
where in the previous entry, i would be happy to raise the awareness of (high school) social caste and niches, this entry sets off with a greater goal - the consequences of pigeonholing and hierarchical adherence.
it goes without being said that, having a place in this (high school) world; whether you relate to it or not, whether you deserve it or not, whether you fit into it or not; will only serve to enforce others' indoctrination of how the system works, and (unfortunately) in most cases impose the same upon yourself. sweet cardinal jesus, that's a long sentence, you might need to read that again. anyway, it creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. let us take an example, again from my time in high school:
but, such a happy ending is not for all of us. indeed, it is probably not for the vast majority of cases, and they all end up conforming to the status quo of their own (given) caste and niche. again, riding both sides of the fence, there is nothing wrong with the status quos themselves, but i think that having them as a benchmark where one should be free to create one's own is an affront to... many things, not least the (preposterously) claimed leeway to chose your own future.
i slightly digress, but i remain on the point by reiterating, this creates a self-fulfilling prophecy - by choice or by double-thinking oneself into belief (though this matters much less than the already alarming loss of individual free will).
i am not one to fight entirely for personal choices, though. there is a beauty in the necessity of having society take its hold on our decisions. however, when 'the greater good' becomes 'hive mind', i am thoroughly certain that the pigeonholing has far surpassed its functionality (on both the individual and societal levels) and become an unnecessary evil.
bringing it home: the consequence of (high school) casting with canonical roles and forms is that of an unimaginative people. unimaginative persons. unimaginative minds. do we still live with these restraints? only you can answer this for yourself. from a personal point of view, i found that i had never really released myself from such intricate binds, and sadly may never fully be able to do so. it is not to say that i shall now blame society and its flaws for (its manifestation in) mineself, but it does hold true that, if highschool really never ends, can we at any point in life see the greater picture (or lack thereof)?
it goes without being said that, having a place in this (high school) world; whether you relate to it or not, whether you deserve it or not, whether you fit into it or not; will only serve to enforce others' indoctrination of how the system works, and (unfortunately) in most cases impose the same upon yourself. sweet cardinal jesus, that's a long sentence, you might need to read that again. anyway, it creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. let us take an example, again from my time in high school:
frogger is a beautiful person. beautiful irrespective of his external features, but because he has a gift for the literary arts, and better yet, an interest in it, where nobody at that age could give it three cents' worth. however, frogger is also 'smart'. in a society where your child's worth is measured by the number of a's he receives in the latest exams, there is only room for one definition of 'smart', being that of gift with the (science and mathematics) core education subjects. hence, frogger grows up for about 5 years believing that it is his destiny, to serve the world behind a desk, duelling numbers and fencing formulae. i later learn frogger had been chosen to break free of this, and found his love in journalism.
but, such a happy ending is not for all of us. indeed, it is probably not for the vast majority of cases, and they all end up conforming to the status quo of their own (given) caste and niche. again, riding both sides of the fence, there is nothing wrong with the status quos themselves, but i think that having them as a benchmark where one should be free to create one's own is an affront to... many things, not least the (preposterously) claimed leeway to chose your own future.
i slightly digress, but i remain on the point by reiterating, this creates a self-fulfilling prophecy - by choice or by double-thinking oneself into belief (though this matters much less than the already alarming loss of individual free will).
i am not one to fight entirely for personal choices, though. there is a beauty in the necessity of having society take its hold on our decisions. however, when 'the greater good' becomes 'hive mind', i am thoroughly certain that the pigeonholing has far surpassed its functionality (on both the individual and societal levels) and become an unnecessary evil.
bringing it home: the consequence of (high school) casting with canonical roles and forms is that of an unimaginative people. unimaginative persons. unimaginative minds. do we still live with these restraints? only you can answer this for yourself. from a personal point of view, i found that i had never really released myself from such intricate binds, and sadly may never fully be able to do so. it is not to say that i shall now blame society and its flaws for (its manifestation in) mineself, but it does hold true that, if highschool really never ends, can we at any point in life see the greater picture (or lack thereof)?
Saturday, 6 February 2010
find yourself
the first time i heard 'highschool never ends', i had already embraced the concept. having the idea concisely packaged in three words made it easier to toy around with, to relate to others, to remind myself of it. but the essence remains that no matter where you go in life, no matter what you end up doing, there will be all these rules and regulations, pigeonholes and class stigma, axioms and bureaucracies - which you would have encountered during highschool (or if you're some unlucky sob, earlier in life).
this does not have to be a bad thing, though. but it is definitely... something. at least something to be aware of. and the something that it is, is quite complex, such that i do not think i can fully do it justice by writing so aloofly about it. indeed, this seems like a good time for personal stories and first-hand experiences. note the following:
when i entered highschool, everyone was so quick to brand each other, and ironically, thoroughly enthusiastic of securing a brand for themselves. some tag or label which, i felt most of the time was not justified of who they were, but who they wanted to be perceived to be. again, this is not something bad - having a firm foothold on the 'good' side of society is like having a 20m headstart in a relay: it won't guarantee you the win, but it'll make life that much simpler. at least, 'life' here pertaining to your few years in highschool. as for myself, it is unfortunate, but unerring that i fell into the 'nerd' or 'geek' category as soon as everyone could simultaneously say 'good news, everyone'.
a side note, the 'nerd' mentioned here is not the type similar to:
a) weezer, where uncool is the new cool.
b) bill nye, where nerdy is educational, funny and fun.
c) generic high school drama, where at the end of the movie / episode / season, the nerd gets the cheerleader, saves the world, discovers the cure to cancer and helps a grandmother across the road, then to discover that she is the queen of england, who rewards him with a lifetime of gold, whores and crack cocaine.
d) emo, underground french revolution-esque movements, which end up toppling the social hierarchy, and have the nerds take their (arguable) rightful place in the world.
e) american hi-fi, where the geeks get the girl.
f) so on and so forth.
indeed, being in such a group sets (low) standards for individuals, which at the time was such as myself, and this was fine and dandy.
next comes the issue of social mobility - as long as you progress through life with people who had known your prior social status, there can be none. zero. nil. this is why people who chose to move up (or down) in the world, have to shed their acquaintances. or preferably, win the lottery, move to columbia and start a plantation full of beautiful, red flowers. nothing says success more ardently than a white suit, a pair of dark shades and a latina ho hanging from each of your arms. aw yeah.
while today we have been wishy-washy with the rising and establishment of social statuses in highschool, let us part with rememberance of how we came into our little roles, and in the next entry, hopefully ponder the consequences of living in such nietzches. that's a cross between niches and nietzche, just because i feel i haven't made today's quota of horrible puns.
this does not have to be a bad thing, though. but it is definitely... something. at least something to be aware of. and the something that it is, is quite complex, such that i do not think i can fully do it justice by writing so aloofly about it. indeed, this seems like a good time for personal stories and first-hand experiences. note the following:
when i entered highschool, everyone was so quick to brand each other, and ironically, thoroughly enthusiastic of securing a brand for themselves. some tag or label which, i felt most of the time was not justified of who they were, but who they wanted to be perceived to be. again, this is not something bad - having a firm foothold on the 'good' side of society is like having a 20m headstart in a relay: it won't guarantee you the win, but it'll make life that much simpler. at least, 'life' here pertaining to your few years in highschool. as for myself, it is unfortunate, but unerring that i fell into the 'nerd' or 'geek' category as soon as everyone could simultaneously say 'good news, everyone'.
a side note, the 'nerd' mentioned here is not the type similar to:
a) weezer, where uncool is the new cool.
b) bill nye, where nerdy is educational, funny and fun.
c) generic high school drama, where at the end of the movie / episode / season, the nerd gets the cheerleader, saves the world, discovers the cure to cancer and helps a grandmother across the road, then to discover that she is the queen of england, who rewards him with a lifetime of gold, whores and crack cocaine.
d) emo, underground french revolution-esque movements, which end up toppling the social hierarchy, and have the nerds take their (arguable) rightful place in the world.
e) american hi-fi, where the geeks get the girl.
f) so on and so forth.
indeed, being in such a group sets (low) standards for individuals, which at the time was such as myself, and this was fine and dandy.
next comes the issue of social mobility - as long as you progress through life with people who had known your prior social status, there can be none. zero. nil. this is why people who chose to move up (or down) in the world, have to shed their acquaintances. or preferably, win the lottery, move to columbia and start a plantation full of beautiful, red flowers. nothing says success more ardently than a white suit, a pair of dark shades and a latina ho hanging from each of your arms. aw yeah.
while today we have been wishy-washy with the rising and establishment of social statuses in highschool, let us part with rememberance of how we came into our little roles, and in the next entry, hopefully ponder the consequences of living in such nietzches. that's a cross between niches and nietzche, just because i feel i haven't made today's quota of horrible puns.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
it's not you, it's me. actually, it really is you.
although this is something most of us might associate with break-ups, i am happy to announce that this entry has nothing whatsoever to do with the doom and gloom of relationships. yay!
it's about a common theme in my blogs, though, which is *drumroll* hypocracy. in a more specific niche of hypocrites and their nature, is something i like to refer to as the 'lose-lose argument' because, as it blatantly states, you are at a loss no matter what you argue for (or against) in said argument. let's take an example.
again, just to point out, i'm neither saying A nor B was right, (in my opinion, both should have taken their stuff to the kitchen right away), but this is a pretty good example of a lose-lose argument.
yet another situation:
i guess the moral of the stories is that before you make a rash accusation / conclusion / observation / baby seal with pink ponytails, you should probably think about the flip side of the coin - would you say the same thing given the tables turned? or something chivalrous like that.
it's about a common theme in my blogs, though, which is *drumroll* hypocracy. in a more specific niche of hypocrites and their nature, is something i like to refer to as the 'lose-lose argument' because, as it blatantly states, you are at a loss no matter what you argue for (or against) in said argument. let's take an example.
on day 1, A is eating in the living room, and B walks in:
B: when you're finished with that, remember to take the dishes and cutlery to the kitchen.
A: calm it down, i'll take it later. my show is on.
(A's show is 'so you think you can dance?'. such horrible taste).
many minutes later, B re-enters the room to find A sleeping and his plate in the middle of the room. needless to say, A gets a rude awakening, and a punch. bam! straight to the face.
day 2, B is eating in the living room and leaves his bowl in the middle of the room. A enters, carrying his laundry and is oblivious to the placement of said bowl, and in moments has tripped over it, nearly falling to his death. ok not really to his death, but maybe injury.
B: dude. wtf. watch where you're going. could have broken my favourite bowl.
A: (insert wtf?!? face here)
again, just to point out, i'm neither saying A nor B was right, (in my opinion, both should have taken their stuff to the kitchen right away), but this is a pretty good example of a lose-lose argument.
yet another situation:
X is driving the car and Y is in the passenger's seat. a car cuts X off at an intersection, where it should be X's right of way. X continues to berate the reckless driver, while driving. this, in turn, leads to a lapse in concentration and X changes lanes without giving his indicator signal. a speedily approaching car swerves out of collision's way with a hair's breadth to spare, and in the confusion and embarrassment, X says:
'why the hell is he driving so goddamn fast? this is the slow lane. jesus'
i don't think i need to tell you what X would have said, had Y been driving. again. lose-lose argument.
i guess the moral of the stories is that before you make a rash accusation / conclusion / observation / baby seal with pink ponytails, you should probably think about the flip side of the coin - would you say the same thing given the tables turned? or something chivalrous like that.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
enthusiastic
one of my favourite comics, smbc, recently posted a very interesting strip.
indeed, i think that after all these years, i have come to the realisation (by just reading it) that i'm actually more a fan than a real scientist. with that in mind, i ask myself, 'what now?' and i really don't have the answer. stupid web comics, shattering my dreams with subtle pedanticisms and semantics.
indeed, i think that after all these years, i have come to the realisation (by just reading it) that i'm actually more a fan than a real scientist. with that in mind, i ask myself, 'what now?' and i really don't have the answer. stupid web comics, shattering my dreams with subtle pedanticisms and semantics.
Monday, 1 February 2010
discerning lifestyles
someone once told me, you cannot fathom what someone's been through because you do not lead his life. while this is true, and there can be no precise replication of a life's events, there has to be enough sampling of either a finite or infinite set of 'group events' (this is my failed application of group theory) to warrant use of the word 'empathy'.
and while i believe this, when people say they offer advice, i like to think of this in terms of 'opinion' rather than 'been there, done that'. in effect, this is saying nothing new - when someone approaches you having been in your situation, they are not relaying their (unbiased) observation, or perception of the event. indeed, this would be inhuman, and not what one would expect. instead, what you hear is an interpretation of the event. full of opinions, judgment calls, bias etc. and obviously this follows through into fallacies and untruths, though what portion of a story is full of this, depends on various factors. nonetheless, the (given) gist of this paragraph is that, again, it's not 100% a re-telling of purely the events.
and, although we all know this, sometimes, if not most times, i think it falls into decay from our fleeting memories, as we proceed to tell someone:
or something to that effect (personally, my favourite quote is 'yeah, when i did that...'). now, i must go home and actually regain what lost touches i have of this insightful thought, and hold someone accountable for the use of such phrases (even if it may be myself) as: 'what are you doing with your life?' - something i ask myself and then decline to even ponder, on a daily basis.
and while i believe this, when people say they offer advice, i like to think of this in terms of 'opinion' rather than 'been there, done that'. in effect, this is saying nothing new - when someone approaches you having been in your situation, they are not relaying their (unbiased) observation, or perception of the event. indeed, this would be inhuman, and not what one would expect. instead, what you hear is an interpretation of the event. full of opinions, judgment calls, bias etc. and obviously this follows through into fallacies and untruths, though what portion of a story is full of this, depends on various factors. nonetheless, the (given) gist of this paragraph is that, again, it's not 100% a re-telling of purely the events.
and, although we all know this, sometimes, if not most times, i think it falls into decay from our fleeting memories, as we proceed to tell someone:
'when i was your age...'
or something to that effect (personally, my favourite quote is 'yeah, when i did that...'). now, i must go home and actually regain what lost touches i have of this insightful thought, and hold someone accountable for the use of such phrases (even if it may be myself) as: 'what are you doing with your life?' - something i ask myself and then decline to even ponder, on a daily basis.
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