It seems like I have a knack for ending every year feeling rather downcast. Maybe it’s the realization that a year has passed and I’m essentially pretty much the same. Perhaps it’s the feeling that I am falling into a pattern of things being the same. And then it could be the fact that I am essentially a terribly pessimistic person and remember all the nasty bits easier than I do the happy ones. Like instead of thinking I have successfully established myself in a new city, I think I am all over the place now.
2009 has been especially reflective for me. Maybe it was the end of a continuous stream of academic nonsense, or maybe it was having to live in a new city, or even maybe the entrance of someone that reminded me of another one who I let slip through my fingers. Either way I keep thinking of the past, and all that had brought me to today. I think and I recall, and hope by doing so I will finally be able to let go and free myself. Maybe one day I will be less depressive and upset (though I doubt my neuroticism will ever fully go away). Maybe one day I’ll finally be free of my spectreing past, maybe one day I will be free of me.
2009 has also been my most traveled year. I traveled to Bali, Nepal, the USA and to various countries in Europe. I rode on 8 new different subway systems: New Jersey (well sort of one), New York, Washington, Naples, Rome, Barcelona, London and finally Paris. I went on a cruise ship. I went trekking in Nepal. I rode a Donkey in Greece (definitely a bad idea). I lazed by a beach in Bali. I bumbled about a drizzling Paris with my mother – our first trip without the father. I probably spent the most I ever have on shopping too :/
2009 also ejected me further out of my comfort zone. From working in another law firm without a familiar face, to being shuttled about by Lauren with her friends in the USA, to working with customers I wanted to badly punch in the face during my sales job and finally to being dumped in London to fight with banks, grocery shopping and handphone providers. It also probably explains why I have been so crazy as of late, having to finally confront the idea that I’m not a little girl anymore and I need to support and look after myself out there.
2009 indeed. 2010 will have a tough act to follow in terms of new experiences. Hopefully it’ll be a more peaceful and stable new year.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Top Ten Reads for 2009
2009 was a strange year for reading. It started out with much reading, and then when university started for me, went along limpingly. There was simply too much already to read for school and my eyes were strained (though evidently not strained enough to stop me playing Warcraft III). Nonetheless the last 3 slots of my list still managed to be filled up sufficiently during that time period. Thus with much effort, I present my Top Ten Reads for 2009. Last’s years list is present here.
The List (not in any order, though some obviously take precedence in my mind):
1. Ha Jin’s War Trash
“Below my navel stretches a long tattoo that says “FUCK… U… S…” The skin above those dots has shriveled as though scarred by burns. Like a talisman, the tattoo has protected me in China for almost five decades.”
I haven’t even finished reading this one yet. Yet there was a part about the prisoners of war being separated under the watch of the mini Nationalist movement in their POW camp and how the protagonist was unable to signal to his friend that he decided to stick with the CCP group despite all the threats and violence of the Nationalists,
“Later I heard from a fellow who had joined us in the afternoon that after Daijain returned to my former company [had decided to stay under the Nationalists], he kept asking others, “Where’s Feng Yan? Did you see him?” They all shook their heads. For hours he wept quietly alone. What had happened that morning was that before entering a screening tent [to determine where they’d go], he was sandwiched between two pro-Nationalists, who had told him I had just made “the wise choice”. So Daijian declared to the arbiters that he would go to Taiwan too.”
The matter of fact manner in which the narrative was done blew me away. You can feel the sorrow in that incident, and yet not once does the narrator’s voice break. I found it strongly reminiscent of Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day. Despite of the huge disappointment I found Ha Jin’s Waiting, this has more than redeemed him in my eyes – and I’m only midway through this book.
2. Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
“What about a teakettle? What if the sprout opened and closed when the steam came out, so it would become a mouth, and it could whistle pretty melodies, or do Shakespeare, or just crack up with me? I could invent a teakettle that reads in Dad’s voice, so I could fall asleep, or maybe a set of kettles that sings the chorus of “Yellow Submarine,” which is a song by The Beatles, who I love, because entomology is one of my raisons d’etre, which is a French expression that I know.”
Another heartbreakingly beautiful piece by Safran Foer. I cried. From the young narrator boy, who keeps distracting himself with quests, trying to connect in his own way with his dead father, to delude himself that he’s still alive and merely hiding – to his grandmother, the heartbroken woman still in love with a man who disappeared out of sadness years ago. Most poetic and memorable still is the old man so sad that he cannot speak anymore, so he carries around a sketchbook so he can still communicate with the outside world, thinking about the woman he fell in love with and lost to World War Two. Centered around momentous events like Sept 11 (how the boy’s father died) and the upheaval of World War Two with the characters all richly fleshed out, this is one hell of an ambitious and successful piece of writing.
3. Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children
I think I left my copy at my Aunt’s place in the US, which is a pity since when I read the first lines to retype here, I remember all the exact emotions I felt when reading the book. I remember a few things, more well fleshed out characters, more personal tragedies (for some reason I remember a Doctor friend with delusions of grandeur who died tragically and sadly, without his intended mark in the world), more interlinks with History – the formation of Pakistan in this case, more excellent narration. I think I spot a trend here in my preference for books.
As I was telling JLC when I saw him on Sat during a class outing, there was a part where his mother goes to meet her old lover. Her marriage was a bad one, and she evidently still loved her old flame. They would meet in a café in back alleys, and all they’d do is hold hands. I remember the phrase he used was something along the lines of “talking hands” and how by that mere touch they contained all the love they had for each other deep inside, but that was all they could do. Damn I hate not having the book with me. Either way that paragraph alone sealed its place in my Top Ten list for this year.
4. V. S. Naipaul’s A House for Mr Biswas
“Ten weeks before he died, Mr Mohun Biswas, a journalist of Sikkim Street, St James, Port of Spain, was sacked. He had been ill for some time. In less than a year he had spent more than nine weeks at the Colonial Hospital and convalesced at home for even longer.”
Mohun Biswas, is the saddest loser you will ever read about. Nothing ever goes right from him. From an accidental marriage, to being dominated by a matriarch, to his numerous attempts to find a house to call his own, he goes through life constantly disappointed with little high points here and in between. Saddest though, was his son who experienced and saw first hand all these disappointments that his father carried around with him. A son the father loved so much, but yet ceased contact after leaving to study abroad. Hilarious for the absurdity, mollifying for the schadenfreude, saddening for all the disappointments, this is a wonderful book. Thank you Arjun for recommending it to me.
5. Rob Thomas’s Rats Saw God
“Though I tried to clear my head of the effects of the fat, resiny doobie I’d polished off an hour before, things were still fuzzy as I stumbled into senior counselor Jeff DeMouy’s office. I had learned the hard way that Mrs. Schmidt, my physics teacher, was less naïve than her Laura Ashley wardrobe suggested. I made the mistake of arriving in her class sporting quarter-sized pupils and a British Sterling-drenched blue jean jacket.”
A dark horse, this one almost didn’t make the list. This in fact dethroned Krauss’ A History of Love from the list (more on this below in Honourable Mentions). A coming of age story, this grows from the happy care free optimism of the teenage years – amusing Dadist society wrecking hell on the school’s annual homecoming float to disappointment and a sad forceful ejection from bliss at the betrayal of a first love and betrayal of a friend, and the realization of a son that he had wronged a father. Unconventional, yet readable and memorable, I remember the sinking feeling I felt as he discovered his girlfriend cheating, and the tears prickling at my eyes.
6. Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Interpreter of Maladies
“At the tea stall Mr. and Mrs. Das bickered about who should take Tina to the toilet. Eventually Mrs. Das relented when Mr. Das pointed out that he had given the girl her bath the night before. In the rearview mirror Mr. Kapasi watched as Mrs. Das emerged slowly from his bulkly white Ambassador, dragging her shaved, largely bare legs across the seat. She did not hold the little girl’s hand as they walked to the rest room.”
A richly written book, Lahiri’s narrative is the quiet-covering-disappointment-and-sadness sort of narrative I associate with Ishiguro and the other Indian writers I have read. Perhaps it’s an Asian thing. She possesses evocative yet straight forward language, but the feminine touch of digging into the inner painful and disappointing emotions of the soul. I once said in a presentation (probably earning the ire of a certain John Connor, not of the Terminator sort) that Rushdie could never have written The God of Small Things, simply because he was male. I am reminded of that rather strong statement when I think of Lahiri. She knows how to relay enough to make one sorrowful, but not tear up.
7. Natsuo Kirino’s Out
“She got to the parking lot earlier than usual. The thick, damp July darkness engulfed her as she stepped out of the car. Perhaps it was the heat and the humidity, but the night seemed especially black and heavy. Feeling a bit short of breath, Masako Katori looked up at the starless night sky.”
Possibly the scariest book I read all year, Out was less elegantly crafted than Grotesque from last year, but nonetheless equally thrilling with it’s succession of characters seeking to break out from their bleak and disappointing existences with violent consequences. Out had one of the most unforgettable characters ever, Masako Katori, and the ending with her and gangster Satake is equal parts horror and equal parts darkly insightful of the darkest depths of human minds. There were also points of time that I couldn’t read the book right before I slept, because it created such an adrenaline rush in me that I was unable to sleep – such was the impact of the book on my psyche.
8. Donna Tartt’s The Secret History
“Does such a thing as ‘the fatal flaw,’ that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside of literature? I used to think it didn’t. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.”
Yet another book I found near impossible to put down, The Secret History features yet another host of unforgettable characters in their flaws, idiosyncrasies and intelligence. Similar but yet dissimilar enough to Out, the book is centered around the build up to the death of Bunny Corcoran, his death, and the consequences faced by an increasingly paranoid group of friends who soon start to break down mentally. The writing and pacing were thrilling and the characters were nicely and plausibly woven together, though the part about the Bacchanal was at best dodgy. Also features an unreliable narrator (as Daryl pointed out).
9. Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondorous Life of Oscar Wao
Another book that has been left somewhere but home (London in this case), I am sadly unable to quote the opening lines once more. Featuring an interesting narrative (multiple narrators, distinctly different styles of narration for each, plentiful sprinklings of Spanish) and a wonderful plot (historical links to the Dominican Republic, semi-tragic characters and the tragedy that surrounds them), this was yet another wonderful tome. I remember thinking of how similar it was to Eugenide’s Middlesex when I was reading it, of how there was a passing of narrative from Grandmother (I think) to Mother, Mother to Son.
10. Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go
“My name is Kathy H. I’m thirty-one years old, and I’ve been a carer now for over eleven years. That sounds long enough, I know, but they actually want me to go on for another eight months, until the end of this year. That’ll make it almost exactly twelve years.”
Yet another one of those really sad but in an indirect way sort of writers, I started sniffling when I reached the poignant ending where she drives off and steps out of the car to feel the air whirling around her. Set in a dystopian future, I initially found following this book rather confusing. Yet the circumstances of the book made it infinitely more interesting, bringing up the concept of cloning (and also humanising an current ethical issue) and how it vastly constrained the lives of the characters to their fates – making it all the more sadder. They are sealed in their fates, and though they try to prolong their lives, it does not change their situation the least. Another quietly heartbreaking piece.
Honourable mentions:
Yoko Ogawa’s The Housekeeper and The Professor (novel inclusions of mathematical formulae, well constructed characters and their connections)
Irvine Welsh’s Porno (same mad cap gang, but less mad men narrating and more uncomfortable Begbie violence)
Aravind Adiga’s The White Tiger (smooth and well written, enjoyable)
Steven Galloway’s The Cellist of Sarajevo (horrifyingly vivid, jarring to read on a flight back to Philadelphia)
Ken Follet’s Pillars of the Earth (wonderful yarn, kept me awake)
Giovanni Boccaccio’s The Decameron (mostly because I can say I’VE READ IT!, though it was an enjoyable and amusing read, all 797 pages of it)
Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love (reads like a Safran Foer wannabe, especially his Extremely Loud and Incredibly close. I also just found out they got married. I want to read the books of their kids. On another note, I think my edition might have hampered my appreciation as I was told there was a special arrangement to the typography of the text that I do not remember when recollecting the book)
-----
And thus 2009 is almost finished hurtling towards its end.
The List (not in any order, though some obviously take precedence in my mind):
1. Ha Jin’s War Trash
“Below my navel stretches a long tattoo that says “FUCK… U… S…” The skin above those dots has shriveled as though scarred by burns. Like a talisman, the tattoo has protected me in China for almost five decades.”
I haven’t even finished reading this one yet. Yet there was a part about the prisoners of war being separated under the watch of the mini Nationalist movement in their POW camp and how the protagonist was unable to signal to his friend that he decided to stick with the CCP group despite all the threats and violence of the Nationalists,
“Later I heard from a fellow who had joined us in the afternoon that after Daijain returned to my former company [had decided to stay under the Nationalists], he kept asking others, “Where’s Feng Yan? Did you see him?” They all shook their heads. For hours he wept quietly alone. What had happened that morning was that before entering a screening tent [to determine where they’d go], he was sandwiched between two pro-Nationalists, who had told him I had just made “the wise choice”. So Daijian declared to the arbiters that he would go to Taiwan too.”
The matter of fact manner in which the narrative was done blew me away. You can feel the sorrow in that incident, and yet not once does the narrator’s voice break. I found it strongly reminiscent of Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day. Despite of the huge disappointment I found Ha Jin’s Waiting, this has more than redeemed him in my eyes – and I’m only midway through this book.
2. Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
“What about a teakettle? What if the sprout opened and closed when the steam came out, so it would become a mouth, and it could whistle pretty melodies, or do Shakespeare, or just crack up with me? I could invent a teakettle that reads in Dad’s voice, so I could fall asleep, or maybe a set of kettles that sings the chorus of “Yellow Submarine,” which is a song by The Beatles, who I love, because entomology is one of my raisons d’etre, which is a French expression that I know.”
Another heartbreakingly beautiful piece by Safran Foer. I cried. From the young narrator boy, who keeps distracting himself with quests, trying to connect in his own way with his dead father, to delude himself that he’s still alive and merely hiding – to his grandmother, the heartbroken woman still in love with a man who disappeared out of sadness years ago. Most poetic and memorable still is the old man so sad that he cannot speak anymore, so he carries around a sketchbook so he can still communicate with the outside world, thinking about the woman he fell in love with and lost to World War Two. Centered around momentous events like Sept 11 (how the boy’s father died) and the upheaval of World War Two with the characters all richly fleshed out, this is one hell of an ambitious and successful piece of writing.
3. Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children
I think I left my copy at my Aunt’s place in the US, which is a pity since when I read the first lines to retype here, I remember all the exact emotions I felt when reading the book. I remember a few things, more well fleshed out characters, more personal tragedies (for some reason I remember a Doctor friend with delusions of grandeur who died tragically and sadly, without his intended mark in the world), more interlinks with History – the formation of Pakistan in this case, more excellent narration. I think I spot a trend here in my preference for books.
As I was telling JLC when I saw him on Sat during a class outing, there was a part where his mother goes to meet her old lover. Her marriage was a bad one, and she evidently still loved her old flame. They would meet in a café in back alleys, and all they’d do is hold hands. I remember the phrase he used was something along the lines of “talking hands” and how by that mere touch they contained all the love they had for each other deep inside, but that was all they could do. Damn I hate not having the book with me. Either way that paragraph alone sealed its place in my Top Ten list for this year.
4. V. S. Naipaul’s A House for Mr Biswas
“Ten weeks before he died, Mr Mohun Biswas, a journalist of Sikkim Street, St James, Port of Spain, was sacked. He had been ill for some time. In less than a year he had spent more than nine weeks at the Colonial Hospital and convalesced at home for even longer.”
Mohun Biswas, is the saddest loser you will ever read about. Nothing ever goes right from him. From an accidental marriage, to being dominated by a matriarch, to his numerous attempts to find a house to call his own, he goes through life constantly disappointed with little high points here and in between. Saddest though, was his son who experienced and saw first hand all these disappointments that his father carried around with him. A son the father loved so much, but yet ceased contact after leaving to study abroad. Hilarious for the absurdity, mollifying for the schadenfreude, saddening for all the disappointments, this is a wonderful book. Thank you Arjun for recommending it to me.
5. Rob Thomas’s Rats Saw God
“Though I tried to clear my head of the effects of the fat, resiny doobie I’d polished off an hour before, things were still fuzzy as I stumbled into senior counselor Jeff DeMouy’s office. I had learned the hard way that Mrs. Schmidt, my physics teacher, was less naïve than her Laura Ashley wardrobe suggested. I made the mistake of arriving in her class sporting quarter-sized pupils and a British Sterling-drenched blue jean jacket.”
A dark horse, this one almost didn’t make the list. This in fact dethroned Krauss’ A History of Love from the list (more on this below in Honourable Mentions). A coming of age story, this grows from the happy care free optimism of the teenage years – amusing Dadist society wrecking hell on the school’s annual homecoming float to disappointment and a sad forceful ejection from bliss at the betrayal of a first love and betrayal of a friend, and the realization of a son that he had wronged a father. Unconventional, yet readable and memorable, I remember the sinking feeling I felt as he discovered his girlfriend cheating, and the tears prickling at my eyes.
6. Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Interpreter of Maladies
“At the tea stall Mr. and Mrs. Das bickered about who should take Tina to the toilet. Eventually Mrs. Das relented when Mr. Das pointed out that he had given the girl her bath the night before. In the rearview mirror Mr. Kapasi watched as Mrs. Das emerged slowly from his bulkly white Ambassador, dragging her shaved, largely bare legs across the seat. She did not hold the little girl’s hand as they walked to the rest room.”
A richly written book, Lahiri’s narrative is the quiet-covering-disappointment-and-sadness sort of narrative I associate with Ishiguro and the other Indian writers I have read. Perhaps it’s an Asian thing. She possesses evocative yet straight forward language, but the feminine touch of digging into the inner painful and disappointing emotions of the soul. I once said in a presentation (probably earning the ire of a certain John Connor, not of the Terminator sort) that Rushdie could never have written The God of Small Things, simply because he was male. I am reminded of that rather strong statement when I think of Lahiri. She knows how to relay enough to make one sorrowful, but not tear up.
7. Natsuo Kirino’s Out
“She got to the parking lot earlier than usual. The thick, damp July darkness engulfed her as she stepped out of the car. Perhaps it was the heat and the humidity, but the night seemed especially black and heavy. Feeling a bit short of breath, Masako Katori looked up at the starless night sky.”
Possibly the scariest book I read all year, Out was less elegantly crafted than Grotesque from last year, but nonetheless equally thrilling with it’s succession of characters seeking to break out from their bleak and disappointing existences with violent consequences. Out had one of the most unforgettable characters ever, Masako Katori, and the ending with her and gangster Satake is equal parts horror and equal parts darkly insightful of the darkest depths of human minds. There were also points of time that I couldn’t read the book right before I slept, because it created such an adrenaline rush in me that I was unable to sleep – such was the impact of the book on my psyche.
8. Donna Tartt’s The Secret History
“Does such a thing as ‘the fatal flaw,’ that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside of literature? I used to think it didn’t. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.”
Yet another book I found near impossible to put down, The Secret History features yet another host of unforgettable characters in their flaws, idiosyncrasies and intelligence. Similar but yet dissimilar enough to Out, the book is centered around the build up to the death of Bunny Corcoran, his death, and the consequences faced by an increasingly paranoid group of friends who soon start to break down mentally. The writing and pacing were thrilling and the characters were nicely and plausibly woven together, though the part about the Bacchanal was at best dodgy. Also features an unreliable narrator (as Daryl pointed out).
9. Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondorous Life of Oscar Wao
Another book that has been left somewhere but home (London in this case), I am sadly unable to quote the opening lines once more. Featuring an interesting narrative (multiple narrators, distinctly different styles of narration for each, plentiful sprinklings of Spanish) and a wonderful plot (historical links to the Dominican Republic, semi-tragic characters and the tragedy that surrounds them), this was yet another wonderful tome. I remember thinking of how similar it was to Eugenide’s Middlesex when I was reading it, of how there was a passing of narrative from Grandmother (I think) to Mother, Mother to Son.
10. Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go
“My name is Kathy H. I’m thirty-one years old, and I’ve been a carer now for over eleven years. That sounds long enough, I know, but they actually want me to go on for another eight months, until the end of this year. That’ll make it almost exactly twelve years.”
Yet another one of those really sad but in an indirect way sort of writers, I started sniffling when I reached the poignant ending where she drives off and steps out of the car to feel the air whirling around her. Set in a dystopian future, I initially found following this book rather confusing. Yet the circumstances of the book made it infinitely more interesting, bringing up the concept of cloning (and also humanising an current ethical issue) and how it vastly constrained the lives of the characters to their fates – making it all the more sadder. They are sealed in their fates, and though they try to prolong their lives, it does not change their situation the least. Another quietly heartbreaking piece.
Honourable mentions:
Yoko Ogawa’s The Housekeeper and The Professor (novel inclusions of mathematical formulae, well constructed characters and their connections)
Irvine Welsh’s Porno (same mad cap gang, but less mad men narrating and more uncomfortable Begbie violence)
Aravind Adiga’s The White Tiger (smooth and well written, enjoyable)
Steven Galloway’s The Cellist of Sarajevo (horrifyingly vivid, jarring to read on a flight back to Philadelphia)
Ken Follet’s Pillars of the Earth (wonderful yarn, kept me awake)
Giovanni Boccaccio’s The Decameron (mostly because I can say I’VE READ IT!, though it was an enjoyable and amusing read, all 797 pages of it)
Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love (reads like a Safran Foer wannabe, especially his Extremely Loud and Incredibly close. I also just found out they got married. I want to read the books of their kids. On another note, I think my edition might have hampered my appreciation as I was told there was a special arrangement to the typography of the text that I do not remember when recollecting the book)
-----
And thus 2009 is almost finished hurtling towards its end.
There's no Twilight Galaxy
I have that strange feeling again whenever anyone mentions returning to London. That little downward flowing feeling of liquids in my chest cavity. The feeling of a little black hole forming between my lungs and my heart. While there is someone I dearly miss there, I cannot help but think of returning albeit sadly, that the little taste I have been given of home and all it’s familiar trappings will soon be once more taken away from me. Then it gets me in a tizzy all over again about my conceptualization of home.
I am a very strange, neurotic planet.
It is like just as I have settled down into the idea of being home, I have to prepare to leave it again. Not fair! Why must everything be so far away from each other? Why couldn’t I just hop on a bus every three weeks from Rhode Island to New Jersey every weekend, like my cousin does? Why does the family that I dearly love have to be so far away from me? It sucks.
And then there is my brother. All I hear is happy sounds when he hears my voice on the phone. I imagine him jumping up and down, like how he does when he is very happy. When I am at home, he goes to the bathroom and runs out without washing my hands, looking for me. He waits just to hear me yell at him to wash his hands with soap. It is our special routine that he does to no one else. I wonder if he runs about with unwashed prehensile digits when I am not around. I wonder what he makes of me disappearing and suddenly reappearing like that.
I want everything, everything. I want all my loved ones to be in one area, so I can always miss one place – not three like the way I am now. It is tiring wanting to be in three places at the same time. I think one day I will deliberately move so it can become two places. It sounds like a deliberate thing I will do. Two places are definitely less tiring than three.
I strongly dislike missing things. Missing things makes me feel anxious, it makes me feel worried. It makes me feel like part of my heart has withered away. It reminds me of how limited my time is really with these people, that they won’t be around forever. It reminds me of their (and my) mortality. For being separated from your loved ones and missing them feels like one step closer to losing them forever to Moirae’s scissors.
There are lots of little dead things cluttered in my heart this year.
I am a very strange, neurotic planet.
It is like just as I have settled down into the idea of being home, I have to prepare to leave it again. Not fair! Why must everything be so far away from each other? Why couldn’t I just hop on a bus every three weeks from Rhode Island to New Jersey every weekend, like my cousin does? Why does the family that I dearly love have to be so far away from me? It sucks.
And then there is my brother. All I hear is happy sounds when he hears my voice on the phone. I imagine him jumping up and down, like how he does when he is very happy. When I am at home, he goes to the bathroom and runs out without washing my hands, looking for me. He waits just to hear me yell at him to wash his hands with soap. It is our special routine that he does to no one else. I wonder if he runs about with unwashed prehensile digits when I am not around. I wonder what he makes of me disappearing and suddenly reappearing like that.
I want everything, everything. I want all my loved ones to be in one area, so I can always miss one place – not three like the way I am now. It is tiring wanting to be in three places at the same time. I think one day I will deliberately move so it can become two places. It sounds like a deliberate thing I will do. Two places are definitely less tiring than three.
I strongly dislike missing things. Missing things makes me feel anxious, it makes me feel worried. It makes me feel like part of my heart has withered away. It reminds me of how limited my time is really with these people, that they won’t be around forever. It reminds me of their (and my) mortality. For being separated from your loved ones and missing them feels like one step closer to losing them forever to Moirae’s scissors.
There are lots of little dead things cluttered in my heart this year.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
"Graham was a very strange planet"
I am back to reading silly old soppy Shojo manga again. I read three lines of Machiavelli and my mind blanks out. I am in a bad bad way. Though of course it could be argued that this happened even when my mind was in full studying mode in London.
On another note while out today I bought Calcium Made Interesting, a book with excepts by Monty Python's Graham Chapman. Amusing stuff. I wish the Britain I thought was awesome from old clips of Blackadder, Mind Your Language and Monty Python was still around - not the boring fusty place it is proving to now be.
On another note while out today I bought Calcium Made Interesting, a book with excepts by Monty Python's Graham Chapman. Amusing stuff. I wish the Britain I thought was awesome from old clips of Blackadder, Mind Your Language and Monty Python was still around - not the boring fusty place it is proving to now be.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Take me to the ballroom
It sucks missing someone, more so when they're in a different time zone.
I have no idea how the long distance people do it.
I have no idea how the long distance people do it.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Zara
Last night was one of the first times I saw my mother cry. She was talking about how she was so busy with work the past few months she didn't have time to miss me. Then she spoke about the only time she missed me, when she went out shopping one Saturday by herself and she saw this mother and daughter pair shopping together. Incredibly I noticed my mother's eyes redden and some tears leak out to the side. She was never the open with emotions sort, nor a terribly passionate character like I. Needless to say it was a surprise. I teared up too.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Help I'm Alive
I was always interested in history as a young girl because I strongly (or pessimistically) believe that history has a huge impact on the present - if it doesn't repeat itself over and over again, it dictates how the world behaves in the present. People, whether consciously or not, are affected by history every day of their lives.
Everyone is subject to history and everyone has their own history. I've been deliberating for a while whether I want to undertake the soul searching (or perhaps navel gazing) task of writing down my own personal history so that perhaps I may best conquer it once and for all. I am extremely wearied when I think about the life I have lived thus far and wish to make a change properly. I would like to shed all the emotional baggage and worry that I have been carrying all these years, and I can only perceive do so by writing.
We shall see.
Everyone is subject to history and everyone has their own history. I've been deliberating for a while whether I want to undertake the soul searching (or perhaps navel gazing) task of writing down my own personal history so that perhaps I may best conquer it once and for all. I am extremely wearied when I think about the life I have lived thus far and wish to make a change properly. I would like to shed all the emotional baggage and worry that I have been carrying all these years, and I can only perceive do so by writing.
We shall see.
My neighbourhood has changed again
I went for a run today. I ran like maybe a kilometer, a far cry from my usual 2.5km-ish route. I already felt like I was going to die. My head was throbbing while being light headed. I couldn't breathe properly and started panting. I felt soft skin chafe against my garments. I felt like vomiting when I stopped, and felt like I had blacked out for a nanosecond. I am so unfit it boggles the mind. Hopefully this is the start to me running more :/
While out running I noted how the neighbourhood had changed. Similarly when I was out yesterday with Xianyi, I noted how much and how fast Orchard Road had changed. Then there was the car ride my grandmother gave me when I first came back - an old police warehouse near 6th Avenue which had been the same since the time I was a young girl had now been completely demolished with a new construction site on the area.
Times and things have changed.
While out running I noted how the neighbourhood had changed. Similarly when I was out yesterday with Xianyi, I noted how much and how fast Orchard Road had changed. Then there was the car ride my grandmother gave me when I first came back - an old police warehouse near 6th Avenue which had been the same since the time I was a young girl had now been completely demolished with a new construction site on the area.
Times and things have changed.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Halfway around the world
I suddenly feel like I really really miss someone in London.
I don't like the feeling ):
I don't like the feeling ):
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
I believe there's hope buried beneath it all...
...Yet it is so hard for me to remember and accept that.
Today I caught myself thinking "what am I going to do with all this free time? It seems to meaningless" as I was walking up the stairs to my room after breakfast. Then the feeling started to hit again, the initial dip in the fluids nestled in chest cavity, the slow beginnings of spinning of the head and mind.
I have a packed day today from Lunch to Tea to Dinner. There wasn't that much free time to begin with, yet I started thinking and felt that sensation again
I took my medicine quickly.
I'm very tired.
Today I caught myself thinking "what am I going to do with all this free time? It seems to meaningless" as I was walking up the stairs to my room after breakfast. Then the feeling started to hit again, the initial dip in the fluids nestled in chest cavity, the slow beginnings of spinning of the head and mind.
I have a packed day today from Lunch to Tea to Dinner. There wasn't that much free time to begin with, yet I started thinking and felt that sensation again
I took my medicine quickly.
I'm very tired.
Monday, December 14, 2009
I am an idiot redux
I left my mac charger in T103. I think. I hope. No wonder when I was at the airport the words "where's your charger?" was floating at the back of my head. I chose to ignore it, came back to Singapore and calmly searched. Calmly tried to contact London. Then the father came in and went HAHAHA YOU'RE SCREWED. Then I started panicking and freaking out. The bloody charger costs S$150.
-----
I realised today, in the few hours that I have come home how different life is. Like I haven't sat in a car in months, and I never pushed a shopping cart in a long time too as well. No air conditioning, no lactose free milk and no private room to myself (I think my room is 3x the size of T103, slightly smaller than T105). No more worrying about whether I am hogging the shower. It feels a little like I've not left, yet the odd signs are all there. Like how I scoffed when I saw Waitrose store brand cornflakes that I bought in Waitrose Brunswick for like 2 pounds 50 p selling for S$9.60 in Cold Storage.
I need to reconcile my concept of home again.
-----
I realised today, in the few hours that I have come home how different life is. Like I haven't sat in a car in months, and I never pushed a shopping cart in a long time too as well. No air conditioning, no lactose free milk and no private room to myself (I think my room is 3x the size of T103, slightly smaller than T105). No more worrying about whether I am hogging the shower. It feels a little like I've not left, yet the odd signs are all there. Like how I scoffed when I saw Waitrose store brand cornflakes that I bought in Waitrose Brunswick for like 2 pounds 50 p selling for S$9.60 in Cold Storage.
I need to reconcile my concept of home again.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
I am an idiot
I just realised while looking at my air ticket today that my layover in Paris is exactly 55 minutes long on the return leg. I am going to be running, some crazy Chinese girl long hair a-flying, around Aerogare 2 Terminal E on the day itself.
I am so bringing extra clothes with me. And toiletries.
I am so bringing extra clothes with me. And toiletries.
rah rah ah ah ah
I'm trying very hard to understand how my life has become like this.
Yesterday I spent the afternoon hiding in bed. I thought about skipping the rest of the week. I thought about emailing the most ineffectual person this side of the world and saying "I can't do your essay Sir, because I am currently too melancholic in disposition." I drifted in and out of consciousness, meditating dreams of anti-depressants and Irvine Welsh. I noticed a little pock mark on the ceiling. I just wanted to stay in bed the rest of the week and stare at the ceiling. I wanted to sink into pocket springs and synthetic foam. I dragged myself out of bed and went to eat, yesIamtired/sorryI'mnotfeelingverywell/don'tworryitsnotcontagious. I am so overwhelmed and tired of work. I am so overwhelmed and tired of the complications of human entanglements. I am so overwhelmed and tired of life. I want a break from everything.
Today I woke up next to an emotional entanglement and left feeling more exhausted. I thought 2 pm was 12 pm. I looked at my essay after 3 days of not doing work (a record!) and felt a panic attack rising. I felt my temples start to throb. I typed off 500 words in 45 panic filled minutes. I felt like bursting out in tears and dashing things about. I took too much panadol on a empty stomach and my head is empty once again. I felt the tense nerves in my shoulder tingle and the tips of my fingers trembled as they touched keyboard. I cooked pasta for lunch. I felt the skin on my forehead feel strangely light and heavy at the same time.
I am very tired of life again.
Yesterday I spent the afternoon hiding in bed. I thought about skipping the rest of the week. I thought about emailing the most ineffectual person this side of the world and saying "I can't do your essay Sir, because I am currently too melancholic in disposition." I drifted in and out of consciousness, meditating dreams of anti-depressants and Irvine Welsh. I noticed a little pock mark on the ceiling. I just wanted to stay in bed the rest of the week and stare at the ceiling. I wanted to sink into pocket springs and synthetic foam. I dragged myself out of bed and went to eat, yesIamtired/sorryI'mnotfeelingverywell/don'tworryitsnotcontagious. I am so overwhelmed and tired of work. I am so overwhelmed and tired of the complications of human entanglements. I am so overwhelmed and tired of life. I want a break from everything.
Today I woke up next to an emotional entanglement and left feeling more exhausted. I thought 2 pm was 12 pm. I looked at my essay after 3 days of not doing work (a record!) and felt a panic attack rising. I felt my temples start to throb. I typed off 500 words in 45 panic filled minutes. I felt like bursting out in tears and dashing things about. I took too much panadol on a empty stomach and my head is empty once again. I felt the tense nerves in my shoulder tingle and the tips of my fingers trembled as they touched keyboard. I cooked pasta for lunch. I felt the skin on my forehead feel strangely light and heavy at the same time.
I am very tired of life again.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Sunday, December 06, 2009
The roses on my desk are wilting, but I have fresh flowers to replace them with
I've always been bad with separation. Even the slightest thought of time that is more than a day apart makes me tear up a little. If it happened gradually then it wouldn't be so bad and I wouldn't think about it, but the idea of leaving or someone leaving to another geographical location just makes me tear up. The idea being of course that they are not physically there anymore, a phone call and a bus stop away.
When I was little I used to cry everytime my Mama took a day trip to KL. Just the idea of her being away and out of the country scared me and made me cry. But she also used to disappear for the entire day and come back only at night, spending the day out with friends. The duration she disappeared for was the same, but the effect on little-me so different.
I can't quite put into words the little thoughts floating in my head about this but I think it has to do with the idea of physical distance, of a distance that never used to exist. A distance that feels too long and makes me scared of the things that might happened when I'm not around. Little (morbid) thoughts like 'what if this is the last time I see them?' which make me panicky and sad inside.
I remember reading a line somewhere that having to leave someone and/or be left behind felt a little like someone had died, because someone who you have been used to having around in your daily life is suddenly gone, leaving only memories and little physical traces behind.
When I was little I used to cry everytime my Mama took a day trip to KL. Just the idea of her being away and out of the country scared me and made me cry. But she also used to disappear for the entire day and come back only at night, spending the day out with friends. The duration she disappeared for was the same, but the effect on little-me so different.
I can't quite put into words the little thoughts floating in my head about this but I think it has to do with the idea of physical distance, of a distance that never used to exist. A distance that feels too long and makes me scared of the things that might happened when I'm not around. Little (morbid) thoughts like 'what if this is the last time I see them?' which make me panicky and sad inside.
I remember reading a line somewhere that having to leave someone and/or be left behind felt a little like someone had died, because someone who you have been used to having around in your daily life is suddenly gone, leaving only memories and little physical traces behind.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Boulevard Raspail
Things I have eaten in Paris so far:-
1) Little Madelines
2) Pain Au Chocolate
3) Applesauce
4) Plain Crepe
5) Fresh grilled salmon roll
6) Italian chocolate
7) Alsace Baguette
8) Bite of Foie Gras Baguette
9) Macaroons
10) Crab Ravioli
11) Beef Tatare and Fries
12) Some white fish
13) Creme Brulee
I am going to be fat.
1) Little Madelines
2) Pain Au Chocolate
3) Applesauce
4) Plain Crepe
5) Fresh grilled salmon roll
6) Italian chocolate
7) Alsace Baguette
8) Bite of Foie Gras Baguette
9) Macaroons
10) Crab Ravioli
11) Beef Tatare and Fries
12) Some white fish
13) Creme Brulee
I am going to be fat.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Random Things on a Thursday Afternoon
Last Sunday (29th Nov.) I made cooked a pot of Bak Ku Teh for 7 hours, running up to check it every 30-45 minutes. It was really yummy. Looks I am a better cook than I originally thought.
This Weekend I am heading to Paris for a 2 days with my mother. She is there on a business trip and I'm going to visit her. I've already printed out the reading I need to do on the 30 Years War to read on the Eurostar and printed the photo I want to hand to her. Also bought the Long Johns and other things she asked for.
I finished my Christmas Shopping yesterday. Well, majority of it. Yesterday it was also raining outside and I had to keep telling myself to stop spending money :/
Today I talked to my Dad for 45 minutes. I was also a fool because I ducked out for an errand lightly dressed. More lightly dressed than I had been in weeks. Somehow I thought it would be fine. I hid indoors mostly and speed walked all the way back to Passfield from Marchmont.
I went for a Law Cocktail party on Tuesday night. There was chocolate fondue, which was yummy. There was breadsticks and white chocolate. Together it was like the most awesomest Pocky on Earth. The setting itself was more like a hobbit house though, and after a drink I felt like sleeping.
Yesterday the guy who served me at Primark was from Indonesia. I ended having a short conversation with him. He looked really happy, and I felt happy too thinking of home. Just over 1 week till I fly back.
I signed up for a Photography course from 9:30am to 12:30pm on Tuesday mornings for next term. I shall be running from Keeley Street to the Hong Kong Theatre for EH101 lecture next term.
I want to do a Sculpture course in Central St Martins, and a (clay) throwing class in YMCA/wherever is cheap. I realise how much I miss art and creating things. When I get bored in lectures I draw the backs of the heads of my coursemates in their various stages of concentration or boredom.
I seriously need to buy a daily planner. I realise how much I need one now because events are all weeks in advance and there are so many of them. Juggling them in my head is getting exceedingly hard, what with my memory deteriorating thanks to the weird lengths of days.
I have 2 essays due next week, and they're the worst subjects possible. I feel stressed thinking about them, but at the same time cannot bear to think of them. When I look at the question titles I feel sick to my mind and cannot process the information. This should be interesting to see how it pans out.
This Weekend I am heading to Paris for a 2 days with my mother. She is there on a business trip and I'm going to visit her. I've already printed out the reading I need to do on the 30 Years War to read on the Eurostar and printed the photo I want to hand to her. Also bought the Long Johns and other things she asked for.
I finished my Christmas Shopping yesterday. Well, majority of it. Yesterday it was also raining outside and I had to keep telling myself to stop spending money :/
Today I talked to my Dad for 45 minutes. I was also a fool because I ducked out for an errand lightly dressed. More lightly dressed than I had been in weeks. Somehow I thought it would be fine. I hid indoors mostly and speed walked all the way back to Passfield from Marchmont.
I went for a Law Cocktail party on Tuesday night. There was chocolate fondue, which was yummy. There was breadsticks and white chocolate. Together it was like the most awesomest Pocky on Earth. The setting itself was more like a hobbit house though, and after a drink I felt like sleeping.
Yesterday the guy who served me at Primark was from Indonesia. I ended having a short conversation with him. He looked really happy, and I felt happy too thinking of home. Just over 1 week till I fly back.
I signed up for a Photography course from 9:30am to 12:30pm on Tuesday mornings for next term. I shall be running from Keeley Street to the Hong Kong Theatre for EH101 lecture next term.
I want to do a Sculpture course in Central St Martins, and a (clay) throwing class in YMCA/wherever is cheap. I realise how much I miss art and creating things. When I get bored in lectures I draw the backs of the heads of my coursemates in their various stages of concentration or boredom.
I seriously need to buy a daily planner. I realise how much I need one now because events are all weeks in advance and there are so many of them. Juggling them in my head is getting exceedingly hard, what with my memory deteriorating thanks to the weird lengths of days.
I have 2 essays due next week, and they're the worst subjects possible. I feel stressed thinking about them, but at the same time cannot bear to think of them. When I look at the question titles I feel sick to my mind and cannot process the information. This should be interesting to see how it pans out.
Monday, November 30, 2009
I want to use the words "dodgy tactics" but I think I'll get marked down for that
The clock on my desk says 2:15 am. It is really 1:15 am. I have not been able to reset my cheap Argos LED clock from daylight savings over a month ago. I keep pressing the buttons, but the little metal connectors inside refuse to yield. I am stuck in an artificial timezone every half split of a nanosecond every time I glance at the clock and have to minus off an hour. I feel like when I do this, I have lost part of my reality. I feel slightly disconnected. Which is not too bad of course, if it's really 1:17 am in the morning and you can hear the slightly-stuffed-nose breathing of your roommates as they sleep, bless their souls, but you're up doing your History essay on the Spanish Armada.
It's supposedly -5 degrees Celsius out tonight. Reality now has certainly become very detached from the things that I used to know.
It's supposedly -5 degrees Celsius out tonight. Reality now has certainly become very detached from the things that I used to know.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
The Ottoman Turks
I just realised one of the assigned readings I have to do this week for HY114 is from a book I used in 2007 to do my History Internal Assessment on the Armenian Genocide. For some reason I find this incredibly odd, like a strange strange coincidence. I also remember not liking this author and thinking he was incredibly biased towards to Ottomans in their role in the genocide. I wonder how this will colour my perception of the reading.
In other news it has rained almost all day, from yesterday afternoon. It comes pitty-pattingly, then explodes in a giant stream of piss, then peters off to a light drizzle over and over again. This perhaps can explain (the constant rainfall that is) why my mood has been very temperamental over the past 24 hours. It's like I know I'm being extremely unreasonable but yet still feel that way. It's a most uncomfortable feeling indeed.
Also: school stress again.
I think I really need to unlearn a lot of things I've learned over the past few years. Like that of trying to be a perfectionist in as many things as possible (but which I fail in and then get terribly stressed and upset) and getting incredibly stressed when things don't go to plan. I think my low blood pressure has now been replaced by high blood pressure now (and not just due to greasy British Saturday Brunches).
In other news it has rained almost all day, from yesterday afternoon. It comes pitty-pattingly, then explodes in a giant stream of piss, then peters off to a light drizzle over and over again. This perhaps can explain (the constant rainfall that is) why my mood has been very temperamental over the past 24 hours. It's like I know I'm being extremely unreasonable but yet still feel that way. It's a most uncomfortable feeling indeed.
Also: school stress again.
I think I really need to unlearn a lot of things I've learned over the past few years. Like that of trying to be a perfectionist in as many things as possible (but which I fail in and then get terribly stressed and upset) and getting incredibly stressed when things don't go to plan. I think my low blood pressure has now been replaced by high blood pressure now (and not just due to greasy British Saturday Brunches).
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
More Kitchen Things
Fishcake and Chili Pasta
Tesco Linguine - 10p
Cod Fishcake from Sainsbury - 50p
Llyod Grossman's Chili and Tomato Sauce - 50p (was on offer)
Cost per serving - 1.10
Verdict - pretty yummy, looked a little like Big D's much drooled about Crabmeat Pasta (which I miss like hell), but taste nothing like it. Could do with some spices, which I forgot to add.
Tesco Linguine - 10p
Cod Fishcake from Sainsbury - 50p
Llyod Grossman's Chili and Tomato Sauce - 50p (was on offer)
Cost per serving - 1.10
Verdict - pretty yummy, looked a little like Big D's much drooled about Crabmeat Pasta (which I miss like hell), but taste nothing like it. Could do with some spices, which I forgot to add.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Memento Mori
Last night a bunch of us went out for a walk at 12 midnight. We first played this 'game' where every time we reached the junction of the block, someone in the group had to say the direction everyone was going next, like either left, right or straight. We ended up walking down to Russell Square from the dorm, (a left, right, straight) and then cutting through SOAS (right, straight) and then walking about the University of London grounds. We ran about, laughed, jumped. We marveled at the welcoming night air of 11 degrees. We turned towards Tottenham Court Road. We passed by drunk people. We avoided dodgy wet patches.
At Tottenham Court Road, we walked downwards towards New Oxford Road. Outside Goodge Tube there was a hog parked at the side with it's passenger straddling the seat and ready to go off. Karn stopped and talked to the guy, and Kaisheng got to sit on the hog and take a picture. Opposite the Dominion Theatre a wonderful smell of frying onion was wafting about. We ended up buying hot dogs from the illegal vendor (3 pounds each, a little pricy if you think about it). As I collected the hot dog I was sharing with Sheun, I felt large sporadic rain drops pelt my back. I went with the rest to hide, flush against the closed Boots store, to avoid being hit by the rain.
After finishing our hot dogs (and the rain nicely stopped) we continued down Oxford Road. We marvelled at how crowded it was despite there being no stores open and all. We also went in search of ice cream, but all the places along the road was closed. We finally turned right at Great Portland Street and then took another right when we hit New Cavendish Street.We continued walking onward, Sheun and I ahead as the rest straggled.
Near the BT Tower, I remember looking about and seeing a UCL dorm. This is because I remember Jia telling me that her dorm was in the vicinity, so I was especially looking around for it. I also remember seeing a Saatchi & Saatchi building, because I thought it was in a weird location. I walked past it all and stopped outside a lit building where a teleconference was talking place somewhere sunny (America?) and watched the people inside as we waited for the rest to catch up. They were unusually slow. Then Sheun and I continued walking and somehow lost the rest of the group again. When we finally met up again in front of UCL about a block and 10 minutes later, we encountered a rather quite ashen faced group.
Them: "Did you see the dead body?"
Us: "What dead body?"
Them: "It had two feet with shoes on, we couldn't see the rest"
Us: "WHAT?"
Them: "The shoes were still on."
Us: "HAHAHAHAHA WHAT, you're fucking around right?"
Them: "No."
Us: "Oh. Shit. SHIT!" (this was at the point I also noticed a rather whiter-shade-than-pale Su Ean.)
In our distraction, Sheun and I had walked past two policemen, and a body lying on the street - shoe clad feet sticking out under plastic sheet. The rest weren't so lucky, they were walking slowly and had noticed. They didn't stick around to inquire.
And thus the night ended on a solemn note.
At Tottenham Court Road, we walked downwards towards New Oxford Road. Outside Goodge Tube there was a hog parked at the side with it's passenger straddling the seat and ready to go off. Karn stopped and talked to the guy, and Kaisheng got to sit on the hog and take a picture. Opposite the Dominion Theatre a wonderful smell of frying onion was wafting about. We ended up buying hot dogs from the illegal vendor (3 pounds each, a little pricy if you think about it). As I collected the hot dog I was sharing with Sheun, I felt large sporadic rain drops pelt my back. I went with the rest to hide, flush against the closed Boots store, to avoid being hit by the rain.
After finishing our hot dogs (and the rain nicely stopped) we continued down Oxford Road. We marvelled at how crowded it was despite there being no stores open and all. We also went in search of ice cream, but all the places along the road was closed. We finally turned right at Great Portland Street and then took another right when we hit New Cavendish Street.We continued walking onward, Sheun and I ahead as the rest straggled.
Near the BT Tower, I remember looking about and seeing a UCL dorm. This is because I remember Jia telling me that her dorm was in the vicinity, so I was especially looking around for it. I also remember seeing a Saatchi & Saatchi building, because I thought it was in a weird location. I walked past it all and stopped outside a lit building where a teleconference was talking place somewhere sunny (America?) and watched the people inside as we waited for the rest to catch up. They were unusually slow. Then Sheun and I continued walking and somehow lost the rest of the group again. When we finally met up again in front of UCL about a block and 10 minutes later, we encountered a rather quite ashen faced group.
Them: "Did you see the dead body?"
Us: "What dead body?"
Them: "It had two feet with shoes on, we couldn't see the rest"
Us: "WHAT?"
Them: "The shoes were still on."
Us: "HAHAHAHAHA WHAT, you're fucking around right?"
Them: "No."
Us: "Oh. Shit. SHIT!" (this was at the point I also noticed a rather whiter-shade-than-pale Su Ean.)
In our distraction, Sheun and I had walked past two policemen, and a body lying on the street - shoe clad feet sticking out under plastic sheet. The rest weren't so lucky, they were walking slowly and had noticed. They didn't stick around to inquire.
And thus the night ended on a solemn note.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The Heart and Mind never agree with each other
I often feel like I am 2 people. 2 people that are very different and do not gel together the least. They are my Heart and Mind. I could on and on about how much they affect the decisions I make, but especially in light of events during the past few week I've been doing quite a lot of reflecting, especially on their effect of my romantic relationships. I've realised that in my case I have 2 types of attractions to people, that of intellectual and emotional.
All my intellectual attractions have been dysfunctional and unhealthy. They are the crazy ohmygodIcannotlivewithouthim sort. The crazy IcrywhenIdon'tgetaphonecallfromhim sort. The totally exhilarating like oxygen on steroids sort of madness. Of course as expected this is completely and utterly unhealthy, not to mention that the guys invariably turn out to have strange issues (like mine are not enough + probably why they were even attracted to me in the first place) rendering the relationship dysfunctional after the initial madrushhappy! period has passed. Then the shit hits the fan. All my relationships have fallen into this category thus far, as have majority of my crushes.
Then there is the rarer emotional attraction. An attraction that stems from the heart, a slow and building of respect and admiration for someone. An attraction where you see the person that is inside and slowly learn to love them for it, a sincere want to see them smile because it warms your heart. I've only experienced this twice before, and I let one slip through my fingers because it was the wrong time. I'm not going to mess this one up.
All my intellectual attractions have been dysfunctional and unhealthy. They are the crazy ohmygodIcannotlivewithouthim sort. The crazy IcrywhenIdon'tgetaphonecallfromhim sort. The totally exhilarating like oxygen on steroids sort of madness. Of course as expected this is completely and utterly unhealthy, not to mention that the guys invariably turn out to have strange issues (like mine are not enough + probably why they were even attracted to me in the first place) rendering the relationship dysfunctional after the initial madrushhappy! period has passed. Then the shit hits the fan. All my relationships have fallen into this category thus far, as have majority of my crushes.
Then there is the rarer emotional attraction. An attraction that stems from the heart, a slow and building of respect and admiration for someone. An attraction where you see the person that is inside and slowly learn to love them for it, a sincere want to see them smile because it warms your heart. I've only experienced this twice before, and I let one slip through my fingers because it was the wrong time. I'm not going to mess this one up.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Another week another dish
Totally Bastardised Chicken Inasal
Datu Puti Vinegar - S$0.10
Tesco's Lime Juice (dodgy, will not buy again) - 10p
Chicken Fillet (150g), diced - 1 pound
Olive Oil - 10p
Rice - Sheun's (which turned into a goopy mess)
Total: 1.30 pounds
It tasted disappointing ): Definitely not one of my better ideas, but I don't know how else to use the Datu Puti.
Also, I'm half wondering whether I'm in the right course. My 2 most enjoyable lectures are not government lectures, and I dread the reading especially for Political Science because it was evidently written by people with impressive minds and limited communication skills. Oh dear.
Datu Puti Vinegar - S$0.10
Tesco's Lime Juice (dodgy, will not buy again) - 10p
Chicken Fillet (150g), diced - 1 pound
Olive Oil - 10p
Rice - Sheun's (which turned into a goopy mess)
Total: 1.30 pounds
It tasted disappointing ): Definitely not one of my better ideas, but I don't know how else to use the Datu Puti.
Also, I'm half wondering whether I'm in the right course. My 2 most enjoyable lectures are not government lectures, and I dread the reading especially for Political Science because it was evidently written by people with impressive minds and limited communication skills. Oh dear.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Jenny Lewis is obviously a reader of St Augustine
"You are what you love, and not what loves you back" - Jenny Lewis versus "If we are to discover the character of any people, we only have to examine what it loves" - St Augustine
-----
The sun now starts to set at 3:30pm. Before I run off for HY114 class, I nip to Wright's Bar for my ritual 60p Hot Chocolate. I walk holding the cup tilted, liquid away from tiny mouth of plastic lid. This is after I've spilled Hot Chocolate on my now lightwhite gettingdry palms one time too many. I dash into Connaught House, conscious of trying to remember which way the door opens. I push. It refuses to yield. I pull and feel the weight of the door in my arm and dash in quickly, stepping on the tapeddown cardboardcovered floor. I dash up the stairs. I feel conscious of the person behind me staring at my thin tightcovered ankles. I run up faster. I see my classmates standing outside the class and smile vaguely at them.
I enter class and sit in the back row, a seat away from the person closest to me. I wonder for a moment if anyone will come and sit next to me. I look around class a few minutes later and realise at least 2 people are missing. I sit alone in class today, a little island of myself surrounded by colourful chairs and folding lecture tables. I decide I don't care and proceed to sip my Hot Chocolate. I wonder if anyone is wondering what I'm drinking. I wonder how I look to the other people in my class. I catch the teacher looking at me, wanting to call me to answer questions.
I never raise my hand, I only talk when I am called upon. Sometimes I think I have something utterly groundshattering to say, but this feeling lasts only for a second. Then I am left with the feeling of being really silly and realising that I have no confidence in myself whatsoever. This bothers me for a moment, then I decide that as long as I know what I'm doing, I need not bother about anyone else. I lie back against the bright red walls and bang my head. I instinctively put my hand up to rub it. The teacher calls me, voice hopeful with a want for me to say something. I say I just banged my head against the wall, sorry. He looks a little disappointed. My classmates laugh politely. I feel amused. I think about tonight, and how I can't wait for 9pm when he comes back.
I wait outside the Old Theatre for my next GV100 lecture to start. It's dark outside. A classmate approaches and I talk to him. Another one approaches and we make some polite conversation before entering the theatre. One disappears into the crowd and I fall back to my usual seat in the back row. The first classmate joins me. Later I see the second classmate looking about for me. I feel an urge to stand up and go join him. I feel his momentarily confusion and want for human company. He settles down alone, where I can see him and feel guilty throughout the rest of the lecture. I study the back of his head, because the lecturer is batty and says about 10 minutes worth of content during the 1 hour lecture. I take out my notebook and draw the back of his head.
After the lecture I walk back. I run into Rufus and Dexter, but they're not heading back. One has French and the other got suckered into a Malaysian Club event. I walk back alone. I put on my scarf because the wind is blowing strongly. Outside Holborn tube, I take a free Evening Standard because the headline catches my eye ("A Liar, Cheat and ****" [the text got cut off here]). I think for a moment then gravitate over to the florists with the florescent lights. I inquire the price of a daisy. I evaluate it to the price of the daisies I saw in the florists at Brunswick last week. I buy the daisy, picking a nice yellow one. I carry it stiffly in front of me as I walk back, like how one might carry an umbrella. I'm afraid of someone crashing into me and destroying it, as Londoners are wont to do. I meet Zhi Wei at Russell Square. I walk back the rest of the way with her.
I reach back to the dorm. My day is beginning soon.
-----
The sun now starts to set at 3:30pm. Before I run off for HY114 class, I nip to Wright's Bar for my ritual 60p Hot Chocolate. I walk holding the cup tilted, liquid away from tiny mouth of plastic lid. This is after I've spilled Hot Chocolate on my now lightwhite gettingdry palms one time too many. I dash into Connaught House, conscious of trying to remember which way the door opens. I push. It refuses to yield. I pull and feel the weight of the door in my arm and dash in quickly, stepping on the tapeddown cardboardcovered floor. I dash up the stairs. I feel conscious of the person behind me staring at my thin tightcovered ankles. I run up faster. I see my classmates standing outside the class and smile vaguely at them.
I enter class and sit in the back row, a seat away from the person closest to me. I wonder for a moment if anyone will come and sit next to me. I look around class a few minutes later and realise at least 2 people are missing. I sit alone in class today, a little island of myself surrounded by colourful chairs and folding lecture tables. I decide I don't care and proceed to sip my Hot Chocolate. I wonder if anyone is wondering what I'm drinking. I wonder how I look to the other people in my class. I catch the teacher looking at me, wanting to call me to answer questions.
I never raise my hand, I only talk when I am called upon. Sometimes I think I have something utterly groundshattering to say, but this feeling lasts only for a second. Then I am left with the feeling of being really silly and realising that I have no confidence in myself whatsoever. This bothers me for a moment, then I decide that as long as I know what I'm doing, I need not bother about anyone else. I lie back against the bright red walls and bang my head. I instinctively put my hand up to rub it. The teacher calls me, voice hopeful with a want for me to say something. I say I just banged my head against the wall, sorry. He looks a little disappointed. My classmates laugh politely. I feel amused. I think about tonight, and how I can't wait for 9pm when he comes back.
I wait outside the Old Theatre for my next GV100 lecture to start. It's dark outside. A classmate approaches and I talk to him. Another one approaches and we make some polite conversation before entering the theatre. One disappears into the crowd and I fall back to my usual seat in the back row. The first classmate joins me. Later I see the second classmate looking about for me. I feel an urge to stand up and go join him. I feel his momentarily confusion and want for human company. He settles down alone, where I can see him and feel guilty throughout the rest of the lecture. I study the back of his head, because the lecturer is batty and says about 10 minutes worth of content during the 1 hour lecture. I take out my notebook and draw the back of his head.
After the lecture I walk back. I run into Rufus and Dexter, but they're not heading back. One has French and the other got suckered into a Malaysian Club event. I walk back alone. I put on my scarf because the wind is blowing strongly. Outside Holborn tube, I take a free Evening Standard because the headline catches my eye ("A Liar, Cheat and ****" [the text got cut off here]). I think for a moment then gravitate over to the florists with the florescent lights. I inquire the price of a daisy. I evaluate it to the price of the daisies I saw in the florists at Brunswick last week. I buy the daisy, picking a nice yellow one. I carry it stiffly in front of me as I walk back, like how one might carry an umbrella. I'm afraid of someone crashing into me and destroying it, as Londoners are wont to do. I meet Zhi Wei at Russell Square. I walk back the rest of the way with her.
I reach back to the dorm. My day is beginning soon.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Ryan Air
One day, I'm going to close my eyes and click about on the Ryan Air website and book a flight to the destination my cursor lands on.
I did buy a nice totally useless green dress from H&M though
I spent 72 pounds out shopping today - insane!
I spent the entire day out, tired.
I came back and spent 2 hours not studying.
I went for dinner, spent almost an hour.
I have a 3,000 word GV100 essay due on Friday, and 2 readings to do before classes on Friday.
I have math tutoring tomorrow in Bermondsey, and I couldn't be more excited.
Hello life.
I spent the entire day out, tired.
I came back and spent 2 hours not studying.
I went for dinner, spent almost an hour.
I have a 3,000 word GV100 essay due on Friday, and 2 readings to do before classes on Friday.
I have math tutoring tomorrow in Bermondsey, and I couldn't be more excited.
Hello life.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Accounts
It's almost 3am and I'm still up because I'm trying to wrap my mind around the idea of how I spent 55 pounds in just 5 days. I've not spent so much before... except the time I went shopping in Primark, or the day I did major necessities shopping. I cleared out my wallet and looked at my receipts, so now it all makes sense (though I still feel a little shocked):
Phone Top-Up (Monthly) - 15
LSE Hoodie - 20 (weather's getting cold, wearing it now)
Sat Dinner and Groceries - 10
Groceries on Monday + Flowers - 10
So there it is, mystery solved!
Phone Top-Up (Monthly) - 15
LSE Hoodie - 20 (weather's getting cold, wearing it now)
Sat Dinner and Groceries - 10
Groceries on Monday + Flowers - 10
So there it is, mystery solved!
Now I need to write a GV100 essay on Aristotle
I woke up at 10am today in pain from cramps. I skipped my EH101 lecture and stayed in because I was in pain and I wanted to do work. I had thick soup for lunch. I took about an hour's nap. I talked to people. I went online and wasted lots of time. I didn't do any work.
I don't know where my day went, but I know it began when he came through my doors after coming back from school. I managed to finish my EH101 essay shortly after and before dinner.
:D
I don't know where my day went, but I know it began when he came through my doors after coming back from school. I managed to finish my EH101 essay shortly after and before dinner.
:D
Sunday, November 08, 2009
cease and desist
I know you're reading this.
I've told you already I have no more words left to say to you, much less after those poisonous words you sent me in an email 2 days later.
Please, stop harassing me. Leave me alone.
I've told you already I have no more words left to say to you, much less after those poisonous words you sent me in an email 2 days later.
Please, stop harassing me. Leave me alone.
I'm almost finally out of words
In order to make a clean cut of one's past, one must do away with all remaining strands of romanticism. No more 'ifs' and 'maybes', no more lying to yourself that things were really better than they really were. Instead what is needed (rather than just time alone) is an unflinching recognition of events as they were. Over this past week I've been doing a lot of reflection and thinking about the past few months (and years) of my life in Singapore. I remember all the feelings I felt then clearly, but now looking back I wonder about it all again. This is something that would not have happened had I not left Singapore, for it is only through being completely emotionally cut off from things that one can view things objectively.
I think about Singapore less and less now. I think about the people I miss from time to time. But I know these emotional bonds that tie me to the land will soon become less and less as people move on with life and move overseas. Singapore will never be the same again for me, and over time the association of Singapore with Home will fade. Instead Singapore will line up with the words Past, Over, Childhood and Many Bad Decisions. London's will be Unfriendly Rude People, Present, Bloody Cold and Turning Point in Life.
I am done with selfish semi-destructive relationships. I am done with all these intriguing tortured souls who have done nothing but wreck havoc upon my soul and mental faculties, in their quest for something better; guys who project their fantasies upon me and except me to fulfill their imagined roles. I am done with guys who bring out the worst in my behaviour. I am done with unhappy endings and will no longer accept them as my fate. I will now instead receive the love that I know I deserve, the love I know that awaits me outside my door. No one has the right to make me feel terrible, and no one has the right to attempt to change or manipulate me in any manner possible - much less think they have the ability to do so. To this I laugh at bitterly: for I am no ones person but mine.
I have carved a new independent life for myself here in London. A life that shows that it is perfectly fine to start over and be alone. A life that turned out to be very different from one I imagined, but one that is very much mine. I have become reconciled with myself and the past, reconciled with things that are very much out of my control, reconciled with my fight for life, reconciled with my present. I have made new friends, settled in, developed routines, familiar places and have found one I can truly fall in love with. I have found myself, and have (vaguely) found my place in the world. I have stopped acting as anything that I do not feel like. I am myself, and never have been more so. I am happy.
We accept the love we think we deserve, and I think I finally can.
I think about Singapore less and less now. I think about the people I miss from time to time. But I know these emotional bonds that tie me to the land will soon become less and less as people move on with life and move overseas. Singapore will never be the same again for me, and over time the association of Singapore with Home will fade. Instead Singapore will line up with the words Past, Over, Childhood and Many Bad Decisions. London's will be Unfriendly Rude People, Present, Bloody Cold and Turning Point in Life.
I am done with selfish semi-destructive relationships. I am done with all these intriguing tortured souls who have done nothing but wreck havoc upon my soul and mental faculties, in their quest for something better; guys who project their fantasies upon me and except me to fulfill their imagined roles. I am done with guys who bring out the worst in my behaviour. I am done with unhappy endings and will no longer accept them as my fate. I will now instead receive the love that I know I deserve, the love I know that awaits me outside my door. No one has the right to make me feel terrible, and no one has the right to attempt to change or manipulate me in any manner possible - much less think they have the ability to do so. To this I laugh at bitterly: for I am no ones person but mine.
I have carved a new independent life for myself here in London. A life that shows that it is perfectly fine to start over and be alone. A life that turned out to be very different from one I imagined, but one that is very much mine. I have become reconciled with myself and the past, reconciled with things that are very much out of my control, reconciled with my fight for life, reconciled with my present. I have made new friends, settled in, developed routines, familiar places and have found one I can truly fall in love with. I have found myself, and have (vaguely) found my place in the world. I have stopped acting as anything that I do not feel like. I am myself, and never have been more so. I am happy.
We accept the love we think we deserve, and I think I finally can.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The Wizard of Oz as a Monetary Allegory
I'm currently writing my essay down in the Dining Room with my friends. My roommate is next to me now, struggling with possibly the most absurd piece of academic literature ever (courtesy of the Economic History department: this is one reading I'll avoid next week when its my turn to do EH101 readings) The Wizard of Oz as a Monetary Allegory.
Academics really have too much free time and an odd sense of humour.
In the meantime, I need a break from concentrating for an hour on Charles V. And to think I've only written 383 words.
Academics really have too much free time and an odd sense of humour.
In the meantime, I need a break from concentrating for an hour on Charles V. And to think I've only written 383 words.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
W is an 'oo' sound in Welsh
When I first came to London a month ago, the sun set at 7:30pm. There was a night in Cwmffrwd (Coomfroond for those of you curious to know the pronunciation), Carmarthen in Wales where my parents and I went to Morrisons and bought a roast chicken, salad and pasta (salad). That was the night we came back from Dylan Thomas' Boathouse and Pembroke Castle in Pembroke, along with visiting little Welsh seaside towns and standing on dead jellyfish. We sat outside on the porch of the B&B and just ate there, enjoying the cool air and the sun setting slowly.
This week I got out of class at 5pm on Monday and the sky was inky dark outside. The sun now sets at 3:30pm (if you disregard Daylight Savings which has already started here). A 4 hour difference in just slightly over a month. How startling.
This week I got out of class at 5pm on Monday and the sky was inky dark outside. The sun now sets at 3:30pm (if you disregard Daylight Savings which has already started here). A 4 hour difference in just slightly over a month. How startling.
Girls who get drunk and puke are extremely classy individuals
Last night I was on a boat for a party to celebrate (well that's what it seemed anyway) the demise of the Malaysian-Singapore Society in LSE. I was like the only Singaporean out of 10 there - which is kind of why the club failed to begin with because, I kid you not, no Singaporeans joined. So there I was rubbing it in their faces by being there, oho. To my surprise I met Tessa there too.
Last night I drank a bottle of Magners Cider and a double shot of Vodka. After the Vodka (which I was reluctant to drink) I went downstairs to stuff myself with potato wedges because I was afraid my stomach was a bit empty. I think I ate like 3-4 potatoes in that one sitting because I went crazy scarfing them down, trying to avoid getting drunk. See, I had the image of a happy then violent drunk female who embodied one-two-three-floor just last Saturday in Rufus' room. Now THAT, shall never happen to me. It's disgusting and degrading to see anyone that way. So anyway I ate a shitload of potato wedges. This backfired because I ate so much it soaked up ALL the alcohol and I didn't even feel buzzed.
The Boat Party was a success in that I enjoyed myself. I got to see Tower Bridge from the river, and the Thames Riverside all lit up. I got to have a fun night out with friends, dress up and feel pretty as opposed to the usual frumpy and actually enjoy myself dancing (because I figured I didn't give a shit about most of the people on the boat, so I became less inhibited). I also got to enjoy the nice weather on the open deck of the boat and watch some totally wasted girl flopping about in her heels at 10:00pm at night. It was schadenfreude at its best as I just happened to be at that spot where her friends brought her to puke over the side of the boat and turned around minutes later to see a sizeable crowd partaking in someone elses' misery.
The Boat Party was a failure in that it was hardly a party. When Dexter and I first hit the dance floor, there were like 5 people on it. Suddenly during one song I realised the dance floor was packed with people. Then I went out to get a breather a few moments later, came back and realise the dance floor was down to 5 people again. And then it proceeded to stay that way the rest of the night. I guess Asians don't party very much.
By 11:00pm, everything was over and we walked back to Passfield. However the night still didn't feel over and I wandered off to the Satander Building along Euston Road with Sheun to explore.
Then at night I couldn't sleep because once I lay down the alcohol in my blood sloshed to my brain. I wondered if it was because I was on a boat because it felt a little like I was being tossed around by waves. I ended up staying in the twilight zone of sleep and lucidity till about 6am, then I fell asleep proper and woke up coughing like an emphysemic chain smoker at 8am. I went back to sleep at 8am and woke up at 11am.
My life is so exciting.
Last night I drank a bottle of Magners Cider and a double shot of Vodka. After the Vodka (which I was reluctant to drink) I went downstairs to stuff myself with potato wedges because I was afraid my stomach was a bit empty. I think I ate like 3-4 potatoes in that one sitting because I went crazy scarfing them down, trying to avoid getting drunk. See, I had the image of a happy then violent drunk female who embodied one-two-three-floor just last Saturday in Rufus' room. Now THAT, shall never happen to me. It's disgusting and degrading to see anyone that way. So anyway I ate a shitload of potato wedges. This backfired because I ate so much it soaked up ALL the alcohol and I didn't even feel buzzed.
The Boat Party was a success in that I enjoyed myself. I got to see Tower Bridge from the river, and the Thames Riverside all lit up. I got to have a fun night out with friends, dress up and feel pretty as opposed to the usual frumpy and actually enjoy myself dancing (because I figured I didn't give a shit about most of the people on the boat, so I became less inhibited). I also got to enjoy the nice weather on the open deck of the boat and watch some totally wasted girl flopping about in her heels at 10:00pm at night. It was schadenfreude at its best as I just happened to be at that spot where her friends brought her to puke over the side of the boat and turned around minutes later to see a sizeable crowd partaking in someone elses' misery.
The Boat Party was a failure in that it was hardly a party. When Dexter and I first hit the dance floor, there were like 5 people on it. Suddenly during one song I realised the dance floor was packed with people. Then I went out to get a breather a few moments later, came back and realise the dance floor was down to 5 people again. And then it proceeded to stay that way the rest of the night. I guess Asians don't party very much.
By 11:00pm, everything was over and we walked back to Passfield. However the night still didn't feel over and I wandered off to the Satander Building along Euston Road with Sheun to explore.
Then at night I couldn't sleep because once I lay down the alcohol in my blood sloshed to my brain. I wondered if it was because I was on a boat because it felt a little like I was being tossed around by waves. I ended up staying in the twilight zone of sleep and lucidity till about 6am, then I fell asleep proper and woke up coughing like an emphysemic chain smoker at 8am. I went back to sleep at 8am and woke up at 11am.
My life is so exciting.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I has an essay
‘Charles V was more concerned with honour and crusading than with acquiring new lands.’ Discuss.
-----
I am daunted by my! first! ever! university! essay! and numerous other things. I am already stressed out from school and it has just begun, oh goodness me.
Also I impulse bought a weighing scale from Argos today. I've gained 2kgs since being here, shit.Sunday, October 25, 2009
More calculations
Steamed Minced Pork Egg in a Rice Cooker
Rice: 50p
Minced pork: 1 pound
2 eggs: 15p
1 salted ducks egg: 50p
Soy Sauce: neg.
Total: 2 pounds 15p
Est servings: 4 at least
Total per serving: 54p
Yay, I feel frugal. Except I spent 2-3 pounds on chocolate today (well it WILL last me a month at least), effectively undoing any real savings. It's like I try to skimp on little things but end up spending a lot on other things. I am still a failz, and boo, London is expensive.
Too many online readings hurt my eyes and my brain.
Rice: 50p
Minced pork: 1 pound
2 eggs: 15p
1 salted ducks egg: 50p
Soy Sauce: neg.
Total: 2 pounds 15p
Est servings: 4 at least
Total per serving: 54p
Yay, I feel frugal. Except I spent 2-3 pounds on chocolate today (well it WILL last me a month at least), effectively undoing any real savings. It's like I try to skimp on little things but end up spending a lot on other things. I am still a failz, and boo, London is expensive.
Too many online readings hurt my eyes and my brain.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
5, 6: DOWN WITH HATE POLITICS
THE BNP IS A FACIST PARTY
DOWN WITH THE BNP
THE BNP IS A NAZI PARTY
DOWN WITH THE BNP
THE BNP IS A RACIST PARTY
DOWN WITH THE BNP
DOWN WITH THE BNP
THE BNP IS A NAZI PARTY
DOWN WITH THE BNP
THE BNP IS A RACIST PARTY
DOWN WITH THE BNP
At all started one fine afternoon not too long ago (Tuesday I think, for I remember having stomached free Hari Krishna lunch within the same hour) when Rufus and I were walking through LSE and the Socialist Worker booth outside the Old Building and the woman there handed him a flyer about the upcoming protest outside the BBC. My mind stopped for a moment: protest? Invite to a protest? PROTEST!!! LET'S GO!!!
So that is how on a lovely Thursday afternoon, the nicest warmest weather we've had in days, we ended up hopping onto a tube towards Zone 2 White City tube station - right outside the BBC's Wood Lane office where the filming of Question Time was going to take place. We arrived at about 5:10 pm, when the main protest was due to start. As we walked out towards the crowd we could see in the distance we came across some protests signs lain by the side of the pavement, so Rufus picked one up.
There we kind of hid behind the pavement area, taking pictures for a short while and generally watching the milling crowd that was right in front of the gates of the BBC. Some of the people in the group were pumping people up and shouting slogans, and most of them were carrying signs. I squeezed past some photographers to get a better view. After a while there was a sudden commotion behind us as the police (I think) arrested a protester in green and were dragging him behind. The crowd surged and people around us started going crazy and running in a swarm towards them shouting SHAME ON YOU. I got kind of scared as Rufus disappeared in the running mob and went to cling to the sides.
A few terse minutes later Rufus appeared again and I felt immensely relieved. We stayed in the same area for a bit watching people scale the walls (the tube tracks were 20 metres down a slope from the walls) to watch the continuing commotion. A policeman came and shouted at them to come down, and the guys on the wall shouted back OUR STREETS, OUR STREETS and the policeman wandered away to cry in a corner. We went down to the main crowd and clung about the outer side, sometimes chanting along with the shouting slogans, when we met these guys:
They very nicely passed us those posters which they made themselves. I ended up carrying and raising mine till I later found a misplaced picket pole on the ground and stuck it on. More chanting and shouting of slogans followed for a bit till we decided to join the front crowd and attempt to push through the human police barricade at the front. I kept my camera.We joined the main crowd and when someone shouted PUSH we all forced ourselves through, pushing the policemen back a few metres till they were backed up against the gates. It was madness in there as human body shoved against human body, trying to break through the line. There was much dropped debris on the ground (like how I found my stick). Madder still was when the police shoved back mere moments after we shoved through and the crowd surged back with some people squirming away in panic. You could see the front where the police in their neon yellow vests collided with the dark black tones of the protest crowd, beating them away with their batons. It was another moment where I felt really scared because I feared a stampede. Luckily this time it was more organised and there was no running or shoving, just a mass wave of humanity.
We moved out of the main surge and stood about the outskirts. The more sedate spectator area on the pavement (for we had occupied and closed the entire Wood Lane) started growing in numbers. Finally we heard calls for the final surge and we shoved through one more time. This time the crowd was too much and the policemen were pinned against the gate. Some climbed over in time, but others were stuck and crushed against the gate. Suddenly much shouting and a scream happened just right next to me as a policeman roughly grabbed the girl standing next to me and literally threw her out of his way as he rushed to pull out his colleagues from the crush. The girl fell and started screaming bloody murder. I empathise with both her and the policeman.
We shoved through little more and found ourselves right against the gate, at the side. There we could clearly see the policemen inside watching us protesting. There were about 30+ of them. Some guys started heckling them and a new chant was heard: HOW MANY POLICE ARE IN THE BNP?/THE POLICE PROTECT THE NAZIS. Camera whipped out again, I took cruddy pictures with a quickly darkening sky and a lousy flash.
Right in front of us was a pile of discarded trash from the protest. Signs the police had either yanked from the front line of protesters or had been willfully flung at them. I even espy a loudhailer in the corner of the photo now. After a while the police started putting on their riot helmets (if there is such a thing) and in went the camera into my bag. I started feeling a bit scared again, but also oddly thrilled.
After a while the vans started up, inching closer to the gates. Then they started taking out the riot shields. The guy right next to us was talking on the phone to his friend, "Come one down here and take some pics/it's about to get pretty violent/think they're going to open the gates and come smash everyone/they've got all their gear out already". I asked him what was about to happen next and he mentioned the police was highly likely to come through and that it was best to scatter soon. Good man.
So we pushed through the crowd again and fearing the police suddenly bursting out, I climbed under a handrail where people were standing on to get a better view of the mob. Rufus and the other guy followed. We stood on the edge of the mob and watched, walking about a bit. Then we went back to that spot and two people were giggling like crazy and pointing to one of the BBC's signs that had been defaced to say FACIST PIGS. I stopped to take a picture of it and the author of this rather original statement reappeared to cross out Audience and replace it with NAZIS on the sign.
I peeped inside the darkened building for a moment and got the shock of my life as 2 eyes looked back at me, in a yellow neon vest. After that I kept repeatedly staring in, just watching the watchers. Someone elsewhere in the crowd wearing a full face mask started burning a sign and all the news media outlets ran to get footage of him. Standing next to him was incongruous Afghanistan Protester Man (see pic with people at wall with copper), getting free publicity.
Around 7:30pm we left the area to head back to the dorm. We took pictures with 2 incredibly nice policemen at the side and then departed. On the way back we met this girl with a very large pizza on the tube and had a short conversation with her - a nanny from South of France.
All in all, Rufus and I were the only 2 Chinese people in the entire protest. I guess the stereotype of Indians and Chinese not being very politically active holds through. There was however this little old Indian auntie holding a picket sign, in her nice red coat, walking about. Lovely looking lady.
Talk about a memorable day.
Extras:
BBC Video of Protesters Surge
Pictures I took on flickr
Thursday, October 15, 2009
My Roommates are out, so I can blast music :D
I did the sums mentally in my head today as I was stirring the Spaghetti boiling in the sauce pan:
Dolmio Bolognese Sauce from Sainsburys: 1.89 pounds
Minced raw beef from Waitrose: 1.68 pounds (was on special, usually 1.99)
Sainsburys Basics Spaghetti: 48p
Random Tomato I had about: 25p
Random Spices borrowed from Zoe: free
Total: 4.30 pounds
Number of servings: 6
Cost per serving: 72p
Normal cost of cold sandwich outside: 2 pounds
Times I need to eat spaghetti bolognese to make it worth my time: 3
So I just need to eat the spaghetti one more time (tomorrow's lunch) to get my investment back, plus I managed to feed 3 other people.
I am a happy girl.
Dolmio Bolognese Sauce from Sainsburys: 1.89 pounds
Minced raw beef from Waitrose: 1.68 pounds (was on special, usually 1.99)
Sainsburys Basics Spaghetti: 48p
Random Tomato I had about: 25p
Random Spices borrowed from Zoe: free
Total: 4.30 pounds
Number of servings: 6
Cost per serving: 72p
Normal cost of cold sandwich outside: 2 pounds
Times I need to eat spaghetti bolognese to make it worth my time: 3
So I just need to eat the spaghetti one more time (tomorrow's lunch) to get my investment back, plus I managed to feed 3 other people.
I am a happy girl.
Monday, October 12, 2009
The last 96 hours have been very strange
Sunday morning yesterday, 3 of us went to the Quaker House located just around the block from Passfield Hall. Service started at 11am. When we went in we were greeted at the door and the friendly man gave us a "Your First Quaker Meeting" flyer, then another man with a crutch who just arrived too showed us to the main meeting room. Along the way up he was telling us a little about the meeting, to expect much silence. Still the actual experience of stepping into a meeting hall which was almost full with people sitting in silence was startling.
What followed next was more silence for about an hour, with 2 people getting up to talk. This time was spent pondering what my 2 companions were thinking about (the stain in the carpet apparently), listening to the sirens outside, thinking about random old prayers I learnt in church and general stoning (because I took drowsy medicine the previous night). It was strange. I was bored and mildly disappointed.
Later after the meeting, we gathered outside in the foyer randomly chatting to people. As I had lost my voice I wandered away from the other 2 who were chatting with some guy and went to look at the pictures of the members. As I did so, one of the other attendees came to join me and we started talking. His name was Andrew and he was doing his PhD in UCL Psych. He mentioned how he would wave to the bust of Virginia Woolf in Tavistock Gardens every morning as he walked by. I thought that was really cute. He also turned out to be the first openly gay guy I met (being the sad Singaporean I am, my first thought was 'SO COOL!'). Nice chap. He also said today was oddly quieter than usual, that usually more people would get up to talk.
As we ended up being the last few in the foyer, the ushers gave us the free leftover sandwiches. We (and one of the other attendees, a Malaysian Birkback Masters student) ended up going to Tavistock Gardens to eat the sandwiches and talk. Then because I really wanted to eat porridge badly, we went to China House at nearby Marchmont only to find it closed (and it didn't serve porridge at all anyway) :/ so Rufus decided to make porridge instead. We went to Waitrose and got all the ingredients, and went back to the dorm to make porridge.
At night I went to sleep at about 11:30-ish because I was still feeling unwell. At about 12:00 I woke up suddenly and noted that the room was entirely dark and my roommates were all asleep. I went back to sleep. I woke up again at 12:30am by an alarm. The fire alarm. I hopped out of bed and went to peep outside the door, I thought it was a false alarm. Instead there were people running down the stairs and out the door. SHIT. I ran back into the room and got my handphone/inhaler/key card/jacket while yelling to my roommates to get dressed. Then we all ran out into the cold where everyone had assembled.
I walked away from the Taviton group and went to look outside the main Passfield Hall. Everyone was there, so I walked back and told the group and everyone slowly came over. Outside, it was really cold and some people had ran out without their jackets. As I had 2 jackets on (I had slept with one on), I passed one to a guy who had none. The jacket was one of those windbreakers and the fabric was not stretchable, and as the guy was muscular he had trouble putting it on. Then dead terrorist* came over, shivering, SNATCHED MY FUCKING JACKET from my friends back and RAN THE FUCK AWAY.
WHAT THE FLYING SON OF A FUCK?
I was DAMN FUCKING PISSED OFF. As you can imagine. I was so angry the guys around me got scared (damn meek things) and went to get the jacket back. Only when they pointed out it belonged to me, a female AND that I was quite sick, did he give it back. Seriously? Apparently earlier he was going around asking all the girls from their jackets because he was cold. EVERYONE IS COLD DICKWAD. WHAT THE HELL GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO HAVE A JACKET MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE?
Then what he did next shocked everyone. Like a silence fell over the entire 200 of us standing outside in the cold, the entire incredulity of the thing just blowing everyones mind to a billion bits. He ran into the building. The building that we had just evacuated because the fire alarm went off. Ran and tried to HEADBUTT his way into the dorm past all the wardens. Suddenly everyone just burst out laughing because NO ONE could believe what they just witnessed.
I later saw him sulking around the back. URGH. I'm going to avoid him like the plague now.
Monday was packed lecture day. I woke up early and walked to school with the actuarial science people for HY114 (War and Society). After the lecture I went to the Shaw Library and did my readings. Around 2pm I got hungry and I got a craving for a corned beef sandwich, so I went near the Temple tube stop to get a sandwich with salad (1.90 pounds) from this Taxi Stand Shop which is in a little caboose-like structure on the roadside. Then I headed for class early and tried to get in, only to find it occupied by the Anime club. I found another empty classroom and ended up talking to the girl there who turned out to be in the same HY114 class as me next.
After class I rushed for the GV100 lecture, which turned out to be an utter waste of time. The professor is really something else. And when I say that something else, I mean not from this world. Now I know philosophers are supposed to be poetic and all that, but this one was Mrs Dalloway and Ulysses on a mixture of speed and weed. Nothing that came out of her mouth showed linear thinking whatsoever. I thought I was a random thinker, but everything she said was a separate unrelated point to the earlier statement. It was hell for 1 hour. I drew a mini Socrates in my file. I walked back with Anesh and complained about dead terrorist*.
At night I went out to Sainsburys at Tottenham Court Road (the Warren Street tube one) with Sheun and we ended up walking around the dorm area looking at things (and looking for Dylon ColourRun Remover -_-). When I came back to my room both my roommates were asleep, so I didn't want to wake them. However I accidentally let go of the door handle and the door started to close (and it closes with a really loud slam). I started to reach out for it instinctively... and the door slammed on my finger joint bones.
I wanted to started screaming bloody murder, but that would defeat the effect of my earlier valiant (and painful) save. So I opened my mouth and screamed silently. I don't even know how that was possible. I just did it anyway. I staggered back to my desk and looked at my fingers. They were throbbing and swollen. Nice one. Sheun messaged me on adium asking for a marker. Typing back hurt. ARGH(UV*@%&@$*.
The next day I woke up early again and went for the Student Tutor training, a volunteer programme which I signed up for. I couldn't hold a pen properly. My fingers hurt. Roar. After training I ran into Allen, some guy I met at the government reception, and I ended up dropping by the Sainsburys at Holborn to get some food and groceries before rushing back for EH101. I ended up falling asleep. One of the most interesting lectures I have and I fell asleep because I suddenly felt so exhausted. After lecture I walked back to the dorm, talked to my parents and went to sleep for 3 hours.
I woke up at about 5:30-ish and met Rufus to go look for the Dylon ColourRun Remover (silly dress I wore for Crush). We found it at Waitrose. Then we met the Malaysian Quaker guy again and went to a nearby bookstore he recommended.
Today I woke up after a nice full 8 hours of sleep and lazed about. I ended up leaving at about 11:30 to go buy minced meat from Waitrose. I came back and the 2 Sheun/Shons ended up helping me cook Spaghetti Bolognese. It actually turned out better than I expected and I was quite pleased with myself.
Later, I went downstairs after lunch to get something from my room and I ran into Michelle in the room. She was upset. It turned out she had been pickpocketed on the bus ride back to Passfield. WHAT THE. On a selfish note my mind was like thankgoditsnotme/omgsoscarywhatifithappenedtome but I felt really sad for her too. All the trouble to get to the banks to cancel cards, the embassy to report the national identity missing and then having to deal with the famous British police in order to REPORT the damn crime.
And the rest of my day is boring. Comparatively. To everything here.
-----
*dead terrorist is a nickname Rufus and I have given to that person. When he first met Rufus he went I HATE LAWYERS!!! IN BANGLADESH ALL THE LAWYERS ARE CORRUPT AND EVIL AND BLABLABLA. Nice introduction.
Then during the Warden's dinner he got wasted. On 2 glasses of wine. He went around pretending to speak in an American accent and randomly slamming tables/doors, pointing at people and challenging them to drink MOAR.
Fucking retard.
What followed next was more silence for about an hour, with 2 people getting up to talk. This time was spent pondering what my 2 companions were thinking about (the stain in the carpet apparently), listening to the sirens outside, thinking about random old prayers I learnt in church and general stoning (because I took drowsy medicine the previous night). It was strange. I was bored and mildly disappointed.
Later after the meeting, we gathered outside in the foyer randomly chatting to people. As I had lost my voice I wandered away from the other 2 who were chatting with some guy and went to look at the pictures of the members. As I did so, one of the other attendees came to join me and we started talking. His name was Andrew and he was doing his PhD in UCL Psych. He mentioned how he would wave to the bust of Virginia Woolf in Tavistock Gardens every morning as he walked by. I thought that was really cute. He also turned out to be the first openly gay guy I met (being the sad Singaporean I am, my first thought was 'SO COOL!'). Nice chap. He also said today was oddly quieter than usual, that usually more people would get up to talk.
As we ended up being the last few in the foyer, the ushers gave us the free leftover sandwiches. We (and one of the other attendees, a Malaysian Birkback Masters student) ended up going to Tavistock Gardens to eat the sandwiches and talk. Then because I really wanted to eat porridge badly, we went to China House at nearby Marchmont only to find it closed (and it didn't serve porridge at all anyway) :/ so Rufus decided to make porridge instead. We went to Waitrose and got all the ingredients, and went back to the dorm to make porridge.
At night I went to sleep at about 11:30-ish because I was still feeling unwell. At about 12:00 I woke up suddenly and noted that the room was entirely dark and my roommates were all asleep. I went back to sleep. I woke up again at 12:30am by an alarm. The fire alarm. I hopped out of bed and went to peep outside the door, I thought it was a false alarm. Instead there were people running down the stairs and out the door. SHIT. I ran back into the room and got my handphone/inhaler/key card/jacket while yelling to my roommates to get dressed. Then we all ran out into the cold where everyone had assembled.
I walked away from the Taviton group and went to look outside the main Passfield Hall. Everyone was there, so I walked back and told the group and everyone slowly came over. Outside, it was really cold and some people had ran out without their jackets. As I had 2 jackets on (I had slept with one on), I passed one to a guy who had none. The jacket was one of those windbreakers and the fabric was not stretchable, and as the guy was muscular he had trouble putting it on. Then dead terrorist* came over, shivering, SNATCHED MY FUCKING JACKET from my friends back and RAN THE FUCK AWAY.
WHAT THE FLYING SON OF A FUCK?
I was DAMN FUCKING PISSED OFF. As you can imagine. I was so angry the guys around me got scared (damn meek things) and went to get the jacket back. Only when they pointed out it belonged to me, a female AND that I was quite sick, did he give it back. Seriously? Apparently earlier he was going around asking all the girls from their jackets because he was cold. EVERYONE IS COLD DICKWAD. WHAT THE HELL GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO HAVE A JACKET MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE?
Then what he did next shocked everyone. Like a silence fell over the entire 200 of us standing outside in the cold, the entire incredulity of the thing just blowing everyones mind to a billion bits. He ran into the building. The building that we had just evacuated because the fire alarm went off. Ran and tried to HEADBUTT his way into the dorm past all the wardens. Suddenly everyone just burst out laughing because NO ONE could believe what they just witnessed.
I later saw him sulking around the back. URGH. I'm going to avoid him like the plague now.
Monday was packed lecture day. I woke up early and walked to school with the actuarial science people for HY114 (War and Society). After the lecture I went to the Shaw Library and did my readings. Around 2pm I got hungry and I got a craving for a corned beef sandwich, so I went near the Temple tube stop to get a sandwich with salad (1.90 pounds) from this Taxi Stand Shop which is in a little caboose-like structure on the roadside. Then I headed for class early and tried to get in, only to find it occupied by the Anime club. I found another empty classroom and ended up talking to the girl there who turned out to be in the same HY114 class as me next.
After class I rushed for the GV100 lecture, which turned out to be an utter waste of time. The professor is really something else. And when I say that something else, I mean not from this world. Now I know philosophers are supposed to be poetic and all that, but this one was Mrs Dalloway and Ulysses on a mixture of speed and weed. Nothing that came out of her mouth showed linear thinking whatsoever. I thought I was a random thinker, but everything she said was a separate unrelated point to the earlier statement. It was hell for 1 hour. I drew a mini Socrates in my file. I walked back with Anesh and complained about dead terrorist*.
At night I went out to Sainsburys at Tottenham Court Road (the Warren Street tube one) with Sheun and we ended up walking around the dorm area looking at things (and looking for Dylon ColourRun Remover -_-). When I came back to my room both my roommates were asleep, so I didn't want to wake them. However I accidentally let go of the door handle and the door started to close (and it closes with a really loud slam). I started to reach out for it instinctively... and the door slammed on my finger joint bones.
I wanted to started screaming bloody murder, but that would defeat the effect of my earlier valiant (and painful) save. So I opened my mouth and screamed silently. I don't even know how that was possible. I just did it anyway. I staggered back to my desk and looked at my fingers. They were throbbing and swollen. Nice one. Sheun messaged me on adium asking for a marker. Typing back hurt. ARGH(UV*@%&@$*.
The next day I woke up early again and went for the Student Tutor training, a volunteer programme which I signed up for. I couldn't hold a pen properly. My fingers hurt. Roar. After training I ran into Allen, some guy I met at the government reception, and I ended up dropping by the Sainsburys at Holborn to get some food and groceries before rushing back for EH101. I ended up falling asleep. One of the most interesting lectures I have and I fell asleep because I suddenly felt so exhausted. After lecture I walked back to the dorm, talked to my parents and went to sleep for 3 hours.
I woke up at about 5:30-ish and met Rufus to go look for the Dylon ColourRun Remover (silly dress I wore for Crush). We found it at Waitrose. Then we met the Malaysian Quaker guy again and went to a nearby bookstore he recommended.
Today I woke up after a nice full 8 hours of sleep and lazed about. I ended up leaving at about 11:30 to go buy minced meat from Waitrose. I came back and the 2 Sheun/Shons ended up helping me cook Spaghetti Bolognese. It actually turned out better than I expected and I was quite pleased with myself.
Later, I went downstairs after lunch to get something from my room and I ran into Michelle in the room. She was upset. It turned out she had been pickpocketed on the bus ride back to Passfield. WHAT THE. On a selfish note my mind was like thankgoditsnotme/omgsoscarywhatifithappenedtome but I felt really sad for her too. All the trouble to get to the banks to cancel cards, the embassy to report the national identity missing and then having to deal with the famous British police in order to REPORT the damn crime.
And the rest of my day is boring. Comparatively. To everything here.
-----
*dead terrorist is a nickname Rufus and I have given to that person. When he first met Rufus he went I HATE LAWYERS!!! IN BANGLADESH ALL THE LAWYERS ARE CORRUPT AND EVIL AND BLABLABLA. Nice introduction.
Then during the Warden's dinner he got wasted. On 2 glasses of wine. He went around pretending to speak in an American accent and randomly slamming tables/doors, pointing at people and challenging them to drink MOAR.
Fucking retard.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Minced Pork Porridge
The unthinkable has happened, I am really legitimately sick away from home. From developing an asthmatic cough on Thursday, I was sniffing and feeling unusually hot last night. I took medicine. I went to sleep. I just woke up feeling like I had been a bear in utter hibernation, blood pooled in internal organs away from limbs that were now weak and semi-paralysed; every semi-stuffed nose breath forced through with extra violence and exertion.
Last night before I went to sleep I lost my voice. I sneezed, Michelle said bless you, and I said Thanks but it came out as a croak (it seems I am very into animals at the moment).
What I'm thinking of now is minced pork porridge, as my maid used to do it. The laziest shit on earth, it was minced meat dumped into rice plus water. It was tasteless. I'd add tons and tons of soy sauce into it (like I didn't already do that to my other stuff) just to get some damn taste to my shell shocked sick taste buds. In essence it sucked. Still on this vaguely early Autumn day in London (12 degrees out according to BBC), that is all I can think about.
Last night before I went to sleep I lost my voice. I sneezed, Michelle said bless you, and I said Thanks but it came out as a croak (it seems I am very into animals at the moment).
What I'm thinking of now is minced pork porridge, as my maid used to do it. The laziest shit on earth, it was minced meat dumped into rice plus water. It was tasteless. I'd add tons and tons of soy sauce into it (like I didn't already do that to my other stuff) just to get some damn taste to my shell shocked sick taste buds. In essence it sucked. Still on this vaguely early Autumn day in London (12 degrees out according to BBC), that is all I can think about.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Last night I danced with a stranger
Last night was the first night I went to a clubbing event and actually clubbed, not random pretended to dance '70s style with Cielo, Jin and Mong in a fail place. It was Crush, the weekly clubbing event in LSE. Some of us had free entry because we went to the Student Comedy Night held by LSE earlier in the week (which was really good and exceeded expectations). The overall experience of clubbing was really weird initially, like the words "awkward" and "whale" kept floating through my head. I also finally understood why people had to drink to go clubbing too, because when you're 100% sober and your brain is firing at a normal rate, you understand how silly everyone looks and how stiff you feel.
Last night I had 3 drinks, and I can safely say I've found the right amount of alcohol I can take without getting drunk. I was very impressed with myself, oho. Which is just as well because majority of last night when not spent attempting to dance and look like a natural was spent watching over one particularly inebriated person in the group who kept spacing out into the twilight zone and hopping at random inopportune moments. I think attempting to watch him sobered me up too.
At the end of the night 4 of us left early, 2 sober people and 2 drunk people. It was fortunate that the 2 drunken ones were nice happy ones, not angry violent drunks. I shoulder supported one of the guys half the way till I got too tired and asked the other sober guy to hold on to him. While I held on to him, he kept saying "are we there yet?"/"is it 2 minutes more till we're back?"/"i have soccer tomorrow at 10!". When I asked him why he chose the number 2, he replied "because 1 sounds too unrealistic!". He also attempted to set his handphone alarm while I was holding on to him.
After relieving myself of 2-minutes drunk, I ended up upper arm supporting (I can't think of any other name for it) Apologetic Drunk (the same spacing out one from earlier), who kept saying "I'm so sorry" every minute or so. When we reached back to the dorm, the other sober guy and I had to pull 2-minutes drunk onto the bed and then brought Apologetic Drunk back to his room where he sat quietly cowed. Both guys puked twice that night. Nice stuff.
-----
Earlier in the night when I first got into Crush with my roommate, Michelle, and Rufus, we headed to the bar to look for the rest of the group. Rufus went to buy drinks and Michelle and I were randomly standing around when a guy who was heading to the bar made eye contact with me and reached out and held my hand. I remember being really shocked because well 1) WTF? and 2) my hands were icy cold from being outside. He raised his arm, still holding my hand in a gesture to make me twirl underneath. He then started dancing while holding my hand. This carried on for 30 seconds too long as I smiled and quickly squirmed away. I think he was a little upset by this because I saw his shoulders slump in the corner of my eye as I squeezed away. Maybe another time stranger.
Last night I had 3 drinks, and I can safely say I've found the right amount of alcohol I can take without getting drunk. I was very impressed with myself, oho. Which is just as well because majority of last night when not spent attempting to dance and look like a natural was spent watching over one particularly inebriated person in the group who kept spacing out into the twilight zone and hopping at random inopportune moments. I think attempting to watch him sobered me up too.
At the end of the night 4 of us left early, 2 sober people and 2 drunk people. It was fortunate that the 2 drunken ones were nice happy ones, not angry violent drunks. I shoulder supported one of the guys half the way till I got too tired and asked the other sober guy to hold on to him. While I held on to him, he kept saying "are we there yet?"/"is it 2 minutes more till we're back?"/"i have soccer tomorrow at 10!". When I asked him why he chose the number 2, he replied "because 1 sounds too unrealistic!". He also attempted to set his handphone alarm while I was holding on to him.
After relieving myself of 2-minutes drunk, I ended up upper arm supporting (I can't think of any other name for it) Apologetic Drunk (the same spacing out one from earlier), who kept saying "I'm so sorry" every minute or so. When we reached back to the dorm, the other sober guy and I had to pull 2-minutes drunk onto the bed and then brought Apologetic Drunk back to his room where he sat quietly cowed. Both guys puked twice that night. Nice stuff.
-----
Earlier in the night when I first got into Crush with my roommate, Michelle, and Rufus, we headed to the bar to look for the rest of the group. Rufus went to buy drinks and Michelle and I were randomly standing around when a guy who was heading to the bar made eye contact with me and reached out and held my hand. I remember being really shocked because well 1) WTF? and 2) my hands were icy cold from being outside. He raised his arm, still holding my hand in a gesture to make me twirl underneath. He then started dancing while holding my hand. This carried on for 30 seconds too long as I smiled and quickly squirmed away. I think he was a little upset by this because I saw his shoulders slump in the corner of my eye as I squeezed away. Maybe another time stranger.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
I met a grasshopper in Lincoln's Inn Field today
Today was a disappointing day. I left the dorm with the intention of a) setting up a bank account, b) seeing the doctor because I felt sick. I accomplished nothing. Both times I was told to come back next week. Okay the bank I can understand, but the doctor? Hello, I'll die from asthma first. I already have breathing difficulties today. I understandably left the doctors feeling rather upset. I then resolved to make the best of my situation and headed to the Shaw Library to read my text.
I went up to the library only to see a crowd of people milling about outside. Surprise! The library was closed. Thwarted for the 3rd time today. Fed up, I left LSE altogether and walked to Lincoln's Inn Field. The only bonus was that it was rather sunny today, so I found a spot under a tree and sat there to read my hist text. Then came a grasshopper. I saw it out of the corner of my right eye, advancing slowly towards me. It was a baby grasshopper, and the brightest vividest green I had ever seen. I didn't even know there were grasshoppers in UK.
Anyway because it was a baby I took pity on it. Instead of stomping on it, I picked up a stick and poked it away while saying 'go away go away' (why, I don't know). It hopped away from me and I went back to reading. Some time passed before suddenly I noted a bright green thing on my very black jacket. So I jumped up and screamed, like any (ir)rational female of my age, and it fell off. After I calmed down from the initial shock I looked about on the ground for it, but saw no sign of it.
Sufficiently startled but still trying best to be calm, I sat down again and tried to read, all while keeping a lookout for the cretin again. Then I saw it out of my left eye. Near the puddle to my left (a leaf and water filled depression in the tarmac). I eyed it suspiciously. It looked at me. It hopped closer. I jumped up from the ground and ran over and kicked it away. It fell into the puddle. It started drowning. I freaked out. I felt bad because it was a baby. It started flailing about and I started to feel traumatised. Then it righted itself. It started kicking, started swimming. HOLY SHIT IT'S A MUTANT GRASSHOPPER! I felt kind of scared. I watched it swim about for 10 minutes as people walked by, wondering if I was on some sort of experimental drugs, not taking my gaze off the florescent green thing in the puddle.
Finally after watching for a while and living in terror that it might swim to the 'shore' and come back to jump on me for revenge, I took another stick and poked it to the other side of the puddle where the 'shore' was. As I lay back satisfied that I had been a good samaritan and saved the grasshopper from certain unceremonious drowning, I noticed it now looked dead. It was on its side, legs bent a bit funny and wasn't moving. Uh oh. I finally went over and poked it one more time, righting it and it started to twitch and move its head about. It was alive!
So I quickly left the area, before it got any more funny ideas.
I went up to the library only to see a crowd of people milling about outside. Surprise! The library was closed. Thwarted for the 3rd time today. Fed up, I left LSE altogether and walked to Lincoln's Inn Field. The only bonus was that it was rather sunny today, so I found a spot under a tree and sat there to read my hist text. Then came a grasshopper. I saw it out of the corner of my right eye, advancing slowly towards me. It was a baby grasshopper, and the brightest vividest green I had ever seen. I didn't even know there were grasshoppers in UK.
Anyway because it was a baby I took pity on it. Instead of stomping on it, I picked up a stick and poked it away while saying 'go away go away' (why, I don't know). It hopped away from me and I went back to reading. Some time passed before suddenly I noted a bright green thing on my very black jacket. So I jumped up and screamed, like any (ir)rational female of my age, and it fell off. After I calmed down from the initial shock I looked about on the ground for it, but saw no sign of it.
Sufficiently startled but still trying best to be calm, I sat down again and tried to read, all while keeping a lookout for the cretin again. Then I saw it out of my left eye. Near the puddle to my left (a leaf and water filled depression in the tarmac). I eyed it suspiciously. It looked at me. It hopped closer. I jumped up from the ground and ran over and kicked it away. It fell into the puddle. It started drowning. I freaked out. I felt bad because it was a baby. It started flailing about and I started to feel traumatised. Then it righted itself. It started kicking, started swimming. HOLY SHIT IT'S A MUTANT GRASSHOPPER! I felt kind of scared. I watched it swim about for 10 minutes as people walked by, wondering if I was on some sort of experimental drugs, not taking my gaze off the florescent green thing in the puddle.
Finally after watching for a while and living in terror that it might swim to the 'shore' and come back to jump on me for revenge, I took another stick and poked it to the other side of the puddle where the 'shore' was. As I lay back satisfied that I had been a good samaritan and saved the grasshopper from certain unceremonious drowning, I noticed it now looked dead. It was on its side, legs bent a bit funny and wasn't moving. Uh oh. I finally went over and poked it one more time, righting it and it started to twitch and move its head about. It was alive!
So I quickly left the area, before it got any more funny ideas.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Nice One
Today, all 4 hours plus of it, has been weird.
First I set off looking for the O2 nearest to my dorm, and ended up walking too far down on Eversholt, up Northish from me. The place was too quiet and had too many dodgy stores, including Transformation UK and too many closed/boarded up stores. Not a good sign. I was starting to get a bit scared, with all sorts of Doomsday (okay Daylight Robbery in a more literal form) Ideas flowing through my head. Then just as I turned to walk back, a white car slowed down next to me and the young white driver leaned out and started barking at me. WHAT THE FUCK?! I felt really scared and my mind was going 'OMG RACIST/BNP SUPPORTER!!! RUN BEFORE YOU GET LYNCHED!!!' but after a few moment he got back into his seat and drove off. This all just 50m away from a busy British Rail station.
I finally found the address of the O2 booth and it apparently was located in Euston station itself. This started a wild goose chase looking for the damn booth because train stations are busy places. I learnt that after swerving multiple times away from irate looking people, satisfied customers of British Rail, dragging luggage about. When I finally located the damn booth, it was closed. Closed as in finito, no more in existence. I was so angry and annoyed. ARGH.
Then I gave up and headed out of the station and walked down Tottenham Court Road. I went into a shop and bought 2 plates and a bowl. I was looking around for knives but they didn't carry any. What a fail crockery store. Anyway I asked the counter girl if she knew whether there was an O2 nearby and she shrugged at me, 'dunno'. Thanks you've been a great help.
As I walked out, I started to feel scared the plastic bag would break because the bowl and all suddenly felt very heavy and the plastic bag very thin. So I walked to the side and leaned against the wall, I think it was between a Pret a Manger and a Rymans, to take out my shopping bag and shove in the crockery. Something in that action, maybe the bright green shopping bag, maybe the standing-under-a-pret-a-manger-sign, maybe the stressed look on my face, attracted the attention of 2 people and they started to come towards me.
Unfortunately as we all known extra weight does not make for a quick escape so I was stuck between a Pret a Manger and a Rymans, boxed in by 2 grinning white people. My mind was a bit blank at this time from the stress and I can't confess to any amusing notions of more BNP people, which is just as well because my mind exploded when the guy started talking to me in Mandarin. 'Hui jiang pu tong hua ma?' My mind then went to, 'oh is this guy asking for directions?/wait why is he asking me for directions? he looks like a local!/WAIT WHY IS HE TALKING TO ME IN MANDARIN?!?!'
They were Jehovah's Witnesses.
They wanted me to go to their church.
They wanted to save my soul.
They were actually pretty nice people, if albeit idealistic with their notions of a world without war.
They spoke better Mandarin than I did.
They gave me flyers and leaflets.
I talked to them for 10 minutes. Then I semi-ran away.
The rest of my time out was tame compared to the first 1+ hour. I went to Uniqlo and bought a hoodie for running, went to O2 and finally bought the damn card and then spent like 30 minutes trying to decide between boots in Clarks. Then I went to Sainsburys and bought some supplies. I walked back to my dorm feeling really silly and overburned with weight and items. I reached back just in time to grab my phone and Cornish Pastry to go into the garden and wait for the phone call from my parents.
I feel tired already.
First I set off looking for the O2 nearest to my dorm, and ended up walking too far down on Eversholt, up Northish from me. The place was too quiet and had too many dodgy stores, including Transformation UK and too many closed/boarded up stores. Not a good sign. I was starting to get a bit scared, with all sorts of Doomsday (okay Daylight Robbery in a more literal form) Ideas flowing through my head. Then just as I turned to walk back, a white car slowed down next to me and the young white driver leaned out and started barking at me. WHAT THE FUCK?! I felt really scared and my mind was going 'OMG RACIST/BNP SUPPORTER!!! RUN BEFORE YOU GET LYNCHED!!!' but after a few moment he got back into his seat and drove off. This all just 50m away from a busy British Rail station.
I finally found the address of the O2 booth and it apparently was located in Euston station itself. This started a wild goose chase looking for the damn booth because train stations are busy places. I learnt that after swerving multiple times away from irate looking people, satisfied customers of British Rail, dragging luggage about. When I finally located the damn booth, it was closed. Closed as in finito, no more in existence. I was so angry and annoyed. ARGH.
Then I gave up and headed out of the station and walked down Tottenham Court Road. I went into a shop and bought 2 plates and a bowl. I was looking around for knives but they didn't carry any. What a fail crockery store. Anyway I asked the counter girl if she knew whether there was an O2 nearby and she shrugged at me, 'dunno'. Thanks you've been a great help.
As I walked out, I started to feel scared the plastic bag would break because the bowl and all suddenly felt very heavy and the plastic bag very thin. So I walked to the side and leaned against the wall, I think it was between a Pret a Manger and a Rymans, to take out my shopping bag and shove in the crockery. Something in that action, maybe the bright green shopping bag, maybe the standing-under-a-pret-a-manger-sign, maybe the stressed look on my face, attracted the attention of 2 people and they started to come towards me.
Unfortunately as we all known extra weight does not make for a quick escape so I was stuck between a Pret a Manger and a Rymans, boxed in by 2 grinning white people. My mind was a bit blank at this time from the stress and I can't confess to any amusing notions of more BNP people, which is just as well because my mind exploded when the guy started talking to me in Mandarin. 'Hui jiang pu tong hua ma?' My mind then went to, 'oh is this guy asking for directions?/wait why is he asking me for directions? he looks like a local!/WAIT WHY IS HE TALKING TO ME IN MANDARIN?!?!'
They were Jehovah's Witnesses.
They wanted me to go to their church.
They wanted to save my soul.
They were actually pretty nice people, if albeit idealistic with their notions of a world without war.
They spoke better Mandarin than I did.
They gave me flyers and leaflets.
I talked to them for 10 minutes. Then I semi-ran away.
The rest of my time out was tame compared to the first 1+ hour. I went to Uniqlo and bought a hoodie for running, went to O2 and finally bought the damn card and then spent like 30 minutes trying to decide between boots in Clarks. Then I went to Sainsburys and bought some supplies. I walked back to my dorm feeling really silly and overburned with weight and items. I reached back just in time to grab my phone and Cornish Pastry to go into the garden and wait for the phone call from my parents.
I feel tired already.
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