breaking (glassware is) bad

today i was teaching a first year chemistry lab. the students were taking a unit where all of them had some background in basic chemistry, so usually they kind of know what to do. sure, i'll always get the silly questions of 'how do i use this (commonly used apparatus)?' or 'what is this (self-explanatory item)?', which is fine, because they're not supposed to know everything (and i definitely empathise with the students who come from relatively poor high schools, and have actually never encountered some of the items in the lab); but generally, the labs are pretty entertaining and it's fun for me to get around and teach some basic chemistry (i do love my basic sciences).

anyway, they were doing some classical organic experiment, which was the reduction of benzophenone to diphenylmethanol, followed by a purification process. the jokers were a handful today, and a group of them were being know-it-alls (which i normally do not mind, as long as they get their sch*t done and don't bother anyone else), which was particularly disruptive today because they didn't know what they were doing and were 'coaching' others to do the experiment wrongly. i just step in and correct everyone, so all is fine. one hour in, so far people are behind and some are looking sheepishly around in lost attempt to copy others. clearly a lot of them don't even know what's going on, which i attribute to not having read the pre-lab (this is pretty common, and i'll admit i wasn't the most studious when i was in their shoes, so all is still well).

two hours in, and so far so good, people are getting some yield, and others are... well, fluffing around. i make an announcement to please keep on track, which prompts some of the students to check the time and work a bit faster. all is well.

fifteen mins to go from the three hour lab. i tell people to start packing up, and of course, some of them would not do this in an attempt to complete the experiment, and some would continue to have their apparatus out in the last 2 minutes. i really get annoyed when i have to stay half an hour after the lab to clean up after them - it's not an issue of not being paid or anything, just that i have other errands to run and have appointments to keep on fridays, so i really cannot spare the time. that being said, i'm quite lenient and let them run 5 - 10 minutes late (i know some of the teaching staff will just walk out and refuse to mark anyone who submits late. i wonder if i'll turn into that begrudging person in the future).

anyway, so far, the lab has gone well, and of course someone would have to jinx it - in the final five minutes, no less. in quick succession, five pieces of broken glassware will echo down the lab corridors, and i am definitely peeved at this. they're first year students, granted, but the reason this was happening was because they couldn't be bothered with time keeping or heeding the continual suggestions, and were rushing at the final moments.

and then, all hell breaks loose (at least i would have imagined it to), when a student breaks a mercury thermometer and the contents spill on the lab floor. now, i have to emphasise that thermometers nowadays are pretty robust. they won't generally break if you let them fall on the floor, or accidentally knock them against the table / drawers etc. you really have to smash them with significant force to get the bulb to shatter. so i don't know what this student was doing (the experiment doesn't involve using a thermometer!) to have it happen, but c'est la vie. what surprised me (and dismayed me, mostly) is that none of the students in the proximity seemed to care. 'oh, look, elemental mercury on the floor. ho hum, business as usual'.

guys, i really don't have to spell this out to chemistry students. that sch*t is dangerous, son. stop working at that bench and clear the fsck out, mate. oh, man, i was having a minor heart attack at this moment, and everyone else (besides, perhaps the other demonstrator), seemed to care more about a measly 2 or 3 marks on their lab sheets than the possibility of dying or having mutant babies (ok, this is a lie, the amount of mercury in a thermometer even if you ingested in whole, will probably not be enough to kill you. but still, my point stands. heavy metals coming into contact with exposed skin is not as fun as, say a slayer concert).

anyway, it takes a good 10 mins for me to clear the scene (and there was this one student who kept trying to point out where pieces of broken glass / liquid mercury were, and i know she was trying to be helpful, bless her soul, but really i would have liked her to just move away from the area), and the next thing i realise is that we're 5m over time. half the class is still there.

a piece of me dies inside as i submit that i'll have to remain late, and though i won't miss my appointment, i have yet another (literal) mess to clean up after these students, who, as soon as they submit their handouts, walk ever-so-gaily into the sun while laughing *birds chirping in the background*. ok maybe not so much, but i'll allow myself a bit of a rant, regardless.

anyway, teaching is fun. you should do it for a living.

your face

kau yang muka penyapu,
tidak sedar bicara begitu;
terlalu menyengat pada lidah,
terlalu kasar, tidak petah,
jika cakap tidak tahu selain merapu.

kau yang muka sampah,
jika berlaku salahnya langkah;
tidak tahu maaf meminta,
pula mahu kau bercinta,
sedarlah diri kau akan kena pangkah.

kau yang muka perogol,
otak kecil, bodoh dan dogol;
jika berbuat baik, tak apa juga,
tapi bersalah tanpa diduga,
macam penyakit, air muka ibarat mongol.

kau yang muka jijik,
jika berhadiah pun macamkan sadistik;
usah pinta hati yang lain,
kalau berfantasi bukan main,
kalau kau bunuh diri pun lagikan lojik.

kau yang muka sepatu,
jika berangan kau nombor satu;
usahlah kau mencari,
mengejar pari-pari,
kerana kau sebenarnya adalah aku.

the death of a gentleman

a long time ago, i posted pertaining to the death of gentlemen (although i don't believe that was the post i am thinking of, i can't really find it right now). nevertheless, it has occurred to me that, perhaps, there is little in the way of effort that one can do to change perceptions of others with regards to his principality. when i was much younger, a continual fuel of victorian novels and high culture embedded in me the imperative to act in ways that would not befit the norms of my country, culture, religion, and race; to open doors for others, to stand from one's chair when someone approached his table, to wish a simple and good day, were aberrant practice, and furthermore could be (mis)interpreted as haughtiness, conceit, and even egotism. of course, this lead to the instant demise of what gentleman i could have been, or at least wanted to be.

many years later, after having immersed myself in foreign culture (and i do not brag as if i know any more about these than the average person), and having become somewhat detached from said norms, i am happy to have grown into the type of practices that i used to want. or at least, i was happy to have come into such happenstance. it is with great misfortune and distaste that i would report that, even in the culture of birth of gentlemen, such acts are not warranted or even accepted readily. i have been the victim of disgustful gazes and hefty sighs all too often when enacting gentlemanly conduct to perfect strangers, and not without ill reason. i would easily and happily attribute it to ignorance, or perhaps disdain, or even apprehensiveness, but this would not be the case, as i have found the persons (particularly women) of such foreign land to want for appeasing conduct - except by far from me (or persons as myself).

i begin to wonder why this is so, and it has dawned upon me, not without little observation, and much enforcement, that the explanation is simple: the nature of a man and his submitting to gentlemanly predisposition is not of utmost import, unless the appeal of such a man is firmly established beforehand; to be perceived as such is not only a blessing, but a draw of luck, dependent upon the sole distinguisher in (what must have arisen many centuries ago) an age of perception and prejudices. succinctly put, without sufficient physical appeal, there can be no gentleman. there can be only the deadened gestures of a desolate (and desperate) man, vying for things beyond him. and for those who appease the eye, there need not be a gentleman's predisposition: even the though, or deign, or want for such action in said person is enough to entitle him that sought and bewildered title of a utopian gentleman. one such thing that a person as myself could never hope to attain, but will always endeavour to be closer to - for if one cannot be that which is the best in men, he can only aspire to be something shoddily made in such image, even though that will never be good enough for the perceiving party. however, is it not enough in the eyes of oneself to know that he has tried?

i would argue not, for the living of astute and handsome gentlemen is a great testament; one that is rarely observed today. on the other hand, the death of such dopplegangers and would-have-beens is commonplace - though unappreciated - and only with their demise can the culture of gentlemanly conduct survive (if not thrive).

i would pass the proverbial baton to all those who are pleasing to the eyes, except it is not mine to give: it never was in the first place, and i can only apologise for trying to have pried it from such worthy hands. regardless, there is only little place left for such musings, for in the death of unscholarly gentlemen, there rises the need, and want, and imperative for his sovereign ruler, his brother in arms of well-endowed looks. and him, i most graciously oblige.

no final pardon

i once had thought that i was hold, to stand, to run upon my own,

but little did i know this fallacy was all but set in stone;

it did not take famine or death, or depraved thoughts of 'ternal strife,

to show me how i lacked in love, was you to walk into my life.

but sorry, i could not impart upon you what should be my all,

instead i fumble, foolishly, and trip then stumble then to fall;

what left after the fretful scorn, that leaves with you such wretched haste,

an unpalatable disdain that warrants hateful, bile'd distaste.

so 'pon this eve, i beg and plead, that nothing more come wedged and 'tween,

that i may ask of you one thing, that absolution from my sin;

and if you will not grant me thus, fear it is that takes my soul,

for nothing more is left of me, and never 'gain can i be whole.

perhaps redemption is too high, and ask of you upon this nigh,

but that you 'tain perfection still, no man, no demon can deny;

instead to this perfection is upon my humble'd beck'd decree,

for nothing more, and nothing less, your pardon is what sets me free.

to what i hope is 'ternal love, and if there's more, than i submit,

that even god cannot but laugh, for this mere hope, should you see fit;

to grant this soul one last sweet taste, a breath of air before i drown,

i crave your word, your sweetn'd smile more than of gold, of life, and crown.

to all who may read, to all who may hear, i cannot love beyond once more,

away.

away.

away with me.

that you should give, i would implore.

the most uninteresting person

a very wise and intelligent person told me that people walk in and out of your life; that persistence, and indeed, love, is a chance of timing. what makes it stick is just like what i find interesting - in a novel, a movie, a piece of art, a song - who can really tell, even one's own? one day you may like kittens, and another day puppies; one day you may like melancholy, and another you may find white noise the most acceptable thing to accompany you, while other days yet, you may languish in eerie silence; one day you may lust for that sweet, bitter chocolate, where another you may find all wanting but for spice and hot of chilli and peppers. who can tell, for the interplay between subject, self and environment is something far too complex for your simple mind to predict, and for my simple tongue to express.

an expression i once came to distinct between wisdom and intelligence is:

an intelligent wizard knows that facing a dragon is folly. a wise one never would.

i learned this from dungeons and dragons.

clearly my wise and intelligent friend spoke in cryptic because she had never come to meet the wyverns and werebeasts of the relationship world - one never can when she is most beauteous and charming. for the few of us gifted and endowed to make steel and spell of unwanted visage or character, fight on!

that name i could not remember

this name i hear you mention, as if i’ve heard it before,
sworn to speak it in ill light, and thenceforth nevermore;
although i think now i recall with passing memories fond,
a sweetened smell, like oranges, with mildew wiped upon.

surfaced now through thickened thoughts like ether made of tar,
beyond my loathsome recesses or mayhap from afar;
i see it now, but then it’s gone, this visage of a face,
that haunting smile with playful grin, like hallowed death’s embrace.

say it now, but one more time, that i remember yet,
was it a child? was it a friend? someone that i had met?
upon a family dinner or in a vivid dream maybe?
or was it underneath the stars, over a cup of tea?

ah, yes, i see, i recall now, the times were not but one,
they spanned from moonlit, humid nights, to days under the sun;
that time we spent our lazy hours, skipping stones by the pool,
all the while just waiting on ourselves to be made fools;
while turning fronds and browning leaves that from the treetops hung,
where colourful, wild flowers hid and careless mushrooms sprung;
and in my hand - that name it sighs - a wreath of soft, blonde hair,
its silken gleam of angels’ tears for sight, my soul should bear.
then came the foretold drizzled drops, to cleanse our tired eyes,
lay giggling like mad children waiting for this earth’s demise;
and when my breath would catch upon a glaring, spiteful breeze,
i’d clench that lei of hopeful strands, and leave my heart at ease -
let chirping swallows, buzzing bees, to lead these eyes astray,
like leaves whisked on a gentle wind,
away,
away,
away…

remains yet but an image, poor, beyond my feeble mind,
a sorrowed tune, so sickly sweet, a memory i can’t find;
how would i to describe this feel, a sordid jamais vu,
that tells of past and future tales before they have come true.

a glaring blanche to pierce my eyes, that squinting sightless blind,
bedazzled states, and wild-run legs to lead a clueless mind;
as i recall, a daisy ‘pon a sun hat that she donned,
a jewelled glow for silken skin, that prances with light shone;
it seems so faint, but all too real, that brief ephemeral touch,
that meant nigh all to one, but to the other, nothing much?
yet paled the light in contrast to what grainy sea-swept floes,
that makes it hide and slinks with tide between less nimble toes;
oh, of the sea! i recall now! through which we ran at pace!
and when we stopped to catch our breaths, it reflected her face -
a perfect smile, and nonchalant, i hear her laugh so coy,
my heart fills with the same she had;
that mirth,
that gay,
that joy.

as if it were to prey upon the unwitting and slow,
the sun had set, the tides had gone, the grass had ceased to grow;
but in their stead, fall ochre leaves, and rustling winds like mad,
if change is all that we can hope, it must be good (and bad).

those sanguine leaves that creeped upon a bridge, a stump, a wall,
had she been sly? had she been quick? had she been short, or tall?
it must have seemed a little dense, how with the undergrowth,
what lies beneath her perfect smile, was just a bit of both;
’twas not too dinned, that starry eve, just like her person true,
but misconstructed shallow gifts, would make the day i rue:
for this, you see, is how her name, now tarnished, to forget,
i weeped a against the shallow tune of crickets at sunset;
how could it be that twilight came, sent shivers down my spine,
to recollect her name instead, when she’d forgotten mine;
i see it now, etched in the clouds that whisper through the night,
i’d lull upon her fingertips,
i wish,
i may,
i might.

but warmth evades this very thought,grows tenebrous and cold,
it haunts me even in my sleep, as sure as i grow old;
but seasons turn, as minds do fade, just as her thoughts of mine,
but who’s to say that in mine stead, is something less sublime?

for in that final hour or with its fast encroaching fare,
my hopes for one last stroke of luck, i beg of this you spare;
as holy as i clenched upon that golden lock of hair -
but how could i to cherish what was smeared beyond repair?
you see, what once was temperate to the touch, is now so icy cold,
as if her sun-touched mere embrace is now bereft of soul;
and with it borne a frigid stare, what piercing blue-green eyes,
such that all that had been our truth is now but paltry lies,
yet who could blame such detached glance, that skewed and sent away?
for all that would to speak my name had perished with the day.

but how would it be described now, this decrepit, white shame? was it a truth? a mere facade? a folly of a game?
if you permit, that it should have no bearing all the same - ’twas love, you see, that’s what she was; indeed, that was her name.

where heaven is a state of mind

when i was younger, i never really understood why heaven was described the way it was, or why people would want to strive to be in it. judaism paints a picture of lush, green expanses, with flowing waters and streams of honey and ambrosia. those familiar with renaissance paintings will have a good idea of what the descriptions are like. similarly, the christians have a timely portrayal of clouds and angels, harps and cherubs, and your obligatory God the Father, alongside Jesus, shepherding the people into a life of ease and prosperity. The muslims, have a similar depiction, though, that of grand and expansive castles, made of gold and jewels, which coincidentally house not only the persons themselves, but also their families and friends (?), who also have palaces of their own, in which prayers are held and merriment is had. oh, and let's not forget to toss into all the abrahamic interpretations a handful of beautiful (virgin) maidens (though i want to assume for the female counterparts, there will be lustful and glistening men of bronze, ivory or whatever it is flavour that catches your eye); perhaps more riches like mountains of gold and foods that will make connoisseur seem lacking and tasteless. (this is my favourite ice cream. recognise).

of course, the more practical or etymological amongst us will be quick to argue that these depictions are catered for the times and people they are preached to - and this makes a lot of sense to me. but for religions that should transcend time and place, age and bearings, i find it hard to fathom that a heaven or any semblance thereof can be so limited to those descriptions.

i believe that, the essence of heaven is that of an idyllic or utopian place. people. things and ideas. a perfect everything. and this is something that boggles me the most - is this a unified utopia, for each and all, to be made such that everyone can lounge and languish in the perfection that is God's ultimate reward (and arguably, test, as well). or is it catered to the individual? can there be a heaven of gourmet foods and tasteful wines, of extreme relaxation and pampered devotion, which accommodates for the hedonistic amongst us; but at the same time a heaven of culture and knowledge and exploration for the inquisitive? can there be one of merriment and company and inclusiveness for the socially apt, just as there would be one of solitude and peace for the introverted? do these have to be mutually exclusive?

the expanse of considerations are limitless, but the gist is that 'how defined is heaven, at least for the human mind?', and furthermore, 'how well does the translation and representation of heaven become for humanity?'. i cannot think that, if God, in his all encompassing powers, is able to create an infinity of idealisms (or ideals), he is not capable of creating them all at once and in the same existence. surely there must be a(n unfathomed yet) heaven that accommodates and speaks to all. and if not, just how well can there be cross compatibility between the different visions (or hopes) of heaven?

i do not think that religions (and we have not even discussed the alternatives outside abrahamic ones!) have yet portrayed sufficiently what haven is (to be). and i hope that there is such a thing, only that it is ill defined in holy scriptures with purpose of being enticing to the reader, but not exclusive to those with... different (deviant?) wants.

perhaps, if i hope for a heaven where all is not idyllic, i can be granted such? maybe, au contraire, i can hope for something like an easymode videogame, or a leisurely but intriguing book, or perhaps a mind blowing movie. the cruces of which are that they are all amazing, but different. or perhaps, i should just hope that there will be pegacorns and ninja zombies alongside death rays and time travel. i definitely would like that (as opposed to attending mass or jumaah or sermons, which are apparently all part of the utopian heavens). or perhaps God will have made me love for those things where i do not as yet.

oh, that's right, i didn't consider that i'd probably never set foot in any such heaven in the first place, huh? time to go pray or something.