Redecorating

By a flash of inspiration I decided that something needed to be done about the blank white walls in my room. So I did this:

Many Linsteadians from 03/04 will remember that Pink Floyd poster from the room I shared with Kristina in the first year. Phil Dolan will also remember that I said:
"Pink Floyd? Whatever made you think I was a fan? What a random question"
Only to have him explain that my poster (which I thought was a genius work of art) was an album cover.

Andrew (who flew over to London for Thanksgiving break) and Christina visited my room over the weekend. Andrew took a look around my room and said
"You like butts, don't you?"
Dammit, I forgot about that postcard sitting on my desk.

My cupboard on the other hand looks very plain now. It needs a bit of work.


But if you look very carefully, you'll see many dirty and probably stinky people on top of mountains, in canoes and dressed hideously in red. These photos are definitely worth more than a plain cupboard. I'll do something about it. Soon.

Feeling morbid

Outside my window
Hang telephone wires
My neighbour's dog
Is on fire
It barks
At everything and anything and bugs and birds and little children

Until one day
It lay
Tied up in a sack
By the littlest
Of the children
While birds watched
From the telephone wires
And bugs danced outside my window

SPM Sejarah and I have some issues to settle

Just 2 months ago, my mother gave my brother and I the excruciating task of coaching my little sister for her exams. Science and math are pretty much subjects we're able to coach her in with one eye closed. Give us history and we balk at the sound of it.

Clearly History and I were never the best of friends.

Anyway, I decided to tackle it since it's only Form 4 history. Sejarah Dunia. I never liked mugging dates, but world history was my favourite part of it, due in part to my love for art museums and other boring hobbies like spending 7 hours exploring mummies in the British musuem.

However I reeled in horror when my sister showed me her textbook. What used to be 4 or 5 glorious chapters on everything from the Reformation up till Imperialism and the brink of World War I, had been squashed into 1 chapter. And in place of all that was several chapters on Islamic history. Huh?!!

Now I don't abhore Islamic history. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I know the Ottoman empire was not a revolution of footstools. When I was travelling in Andalucia, I bored Lionel with more facts than he wanted to know about the great Islamic empire before those Catholic brutes came in and wiped them out. I know the life of Prophet Mohammed and I can name early Islamic Mathematicians and Astronomers and I know they invented the concept of zero (the nothing that is).

However, my impressive (pea-sized) Islamic knowledge aside, what is the point of this as we begin to prepare the next generation to face an ever-shrinking global world? My sister knows close to nothing about world history. She doesn't know the effects of the Renaissance, she thinks the industrial revolution is solely defined by the car and paper making industry, she doesn't know about the cold war nor about Napoleon. And it doesn't help that she doesn't read any books that aren't teen-lit!

After ranting for awhile about my sister's blinkered education to my mother who wasn't listening (and has frankly given up on Malaysian education after three children who bluffed their way through the system), I started wondering why no one has complained about the new history syllabus.

A quick check on the internet turned up... nothing! I can't find the new syllabus anyway. I mean, I didn't spend like half a day searching, but you'd think that it shouldn't be too hard to find. The MOE website returns nothing. In fact clicking on a link to Secondary School Education gives you a blank page. Clicking on Examinations tells you nothing either. I think I'm doing it all wrong. Search engines don't like me.

Anyway, if you find out, let me know.

I know I could just ask my sister, but she currently thinks I'm a trouble making nerd.

Time magazine's 60 years of Asian Heroes

... yet not one of them is Malaysian. Maybe I'm just short sighted and missed out one?

Di mana dia, wira Malaysia?

Colin Hay - Beautiful World

When people ask me what kind of music I like, I get pretty stumped. I don't think there's a genre for my type of music. But I like music just like this...

Drive to the ocean, stare up at the stars...

Civil Servants, how lowly art thou?

My daddy is a civil servant.

As a primary school kid, that was perplexing and I found it embarrassing to write the word "servant" on rough, yellow forms required by the school for mysterious reasons quite incomprehensible to a seven year old. Would they black-list me because my daddy wasn't a "doktor" or "pengurus" and couldn't afford to donate hundreds of ringgit to fund the new staffroom wing? Other kids would point grubby fingers at the papers on my desk, "Kakitangan kerajaan? Apa tu? Sapu lantai ke?". It was only when I was twelve did my dad spot the mistake, cross it out and write "pegawai kerajaan". My twelve year old self did not think a "pegawai" was any better than a "kerani" and was clearly not impressed.

Not until I was in turqoise coloured pinafores, feeling quite proud of reaching teenhood and a 'big girl' in secondary school did I realise the effect I had on teachers when I mentioned that my dad was a civil servant. Teachers, civil servants in their own right, recognised how rare it was to find a non-Malay in the service. Better yet, one who had decided to send a child through the national school system instead of straight into the strict Chinese education system. Maybe it was faith in the national system. Maybe it was ignorance. Nevertheless I was happy to go on at length telling everyone my daddy worked for the government and was an integral part of the development of our great nation. A day in my daddy's life was akin to moving mountains and parting rivers, and the ministry of trade and industry was the heart of the Malaysian Plan. My daddy was making history.

The fact that by working for the government, my daddy would never be able to afford to send me or my siblings to university, never crossed my mind. The innocence of youth is precious.

It didn't take long to shatter that illusion, of course, when JPA turned away my scholarship application and my parents had to send me to Singapore where I could study for free on other tax payer's money. So what if my daddy had spent all his life growing industries from dust for Malaysia? Let Singapore fund his kid's education.

The glamour of my daddy's heroic job is fading. The respect for civil servants which existed in my grandfather's time has been eroded by corruption and monopolisation by a single race. When once only the brightest minds could seek out a government position, now it is only a dumping ground for unemployable graduates as the Badawi administration pledges to absorb them into the system. And my dad's face grows weary from the disheartening interviews with graduates who cannot speak a word of English. "How to work for MITI? How to bring investors into Malaysia like that?"

Today our Prime Minister has called on civil servants to be more efficient to fulfil the NEP. And this is a cry we all know too well, the semi-annual plea to the government sector to buck up and stop making us look bad. But how do they do that when you've stripped all their dignity away from them. How do you keep the pride in my daddy's eyes when you deny him his promotions and push his juniors forward? I needn't even mention what race they belong to. At the same time how dare you beg my daddy not to retire after all that he's been through because you suddenly realise he's the last of the good men. He's the last one who fought the good fight. And what have you given him in return?

Once, a long time ago, I wanted to be just like my daddy and serve my country. But like unrequited love, it is only a matter of time before you give up on someone who is constantly pushing you away.

I took a walk...

It's dark out. Not the 5pm winter twilight kind of dark.

Proper dark.

My muscles are aching crazily after an overenthusiastic weekend at the gym. Hobbling past the library, out Falmouth gate in the cool evening breeze towards Sainsbury's. Nostalgia hit pretty quick.

A weird kind of nostalgia. Bits of 2003, 2004 and 2005 all rolled into one. As if forming a dizzy patchwork design of memories.

The aching pain after M-Nite dance practices in the first year. And I saw myself, gingerly making my way back through the darkness of Princes Gardens, back to Linstead. Looking out for the light on one of the sixth floor windows. Maybe Lionel will still be awake to hear me grouse and grumble. Maybe he'd be writing Spanish essays and I shouldn't bother him.

The lights bring about a strange glow to Gloucester road as the remaining drops of rain glisten like watching eyes in the dark. And I see myself, running home to Emperor's Gate after long hours of M-Nite rehearsals. Running home to the welcoming warmth of its kitchen. Maybe Yi Shan and Lu would be teasing each other like little kids. Maybe Lionel will be waiting with an episode of The Amazing Race to watch on the sofa under fleece blankets and I'll fall asleep before the hands on the clock touch midnight.

The cars racing down Cromwell Road towards Earl's Court make me want to follow them. Back to the strange rustic mess that is Earl's Court road. And I see myself, Sainsbury's groceries in hand, a bunch of experimental recipes in my head, and my keys are nowhere to be found as I buzz the doorbell to the apartment and Lu answers with reluctance. Maybe there'd be CSI on the telly. Maybe Lionel will be up in the attic blasting sappy James Blunt music. Maybe there'd be a welcoming, cosy duvet to snuggle under and a plump and well-fed boyfriend to cuddle.

And then I find myself walking the other way down Cromwell Road. Back towards Linstead. It still feels strange and unfamiliar to be on the other side of college. But would I rather be walking the other way?

I've been blogging a lot these days, you say? Yeah, naturally when I've been so used to constant company (i.e. taking for granted my being able to bug Lionel at any given moment, even when he's sleeping), when I'm in my room in halls and there's no one to talk to... I just have to talk to myself.

Non-halal turkeys for Christmas this year? Lucky chickens...

I was reading Jeff Ooi's post and the Bernama article on non-halal turkeys being imported for Christmas this year, while sipping my morning cappucino (chilled, mind you) and giggling to myself.

While I think it's wonderful that Jakim is being very considerate to allow the import of more turkey for Christmas and New Year (macam inilah masyarakat muhibbah!), my mother never buys turkey but orders a very fat chicken from the local wet market (cheaper, ok?) and serves it roasted - stuffings, chestnuts, cranberry sauce et al. I don't know whether the chicken is halal or not lah, but it's juicier than dry turkey!

There's one chicken who didn't get a lucky Christmas break.

It's never too early to start a Christmas wish list...

And yes, I've gotten over wanting Lychee scented ironing water, in case you were wondering.

It's come to that time of year again when I ponder laboriously over the perfect gift for my loved ones. (Xiaokai, that does not include you in case you were wondering)

So I go about my usual routine - walk up and down Oxford St/Regent St/Covent Garden/Sainsbury aisles... in the hope of finding something that will make the receiver gasp in awe at my wonderful gift selecting skills. Something tells me that isn't what 'giving from the heart' is about. *shrugs*

Now the problem with the perfect present is that is always costs way above what I can afford. And that's when I go snooping about eBay in the hopes of spotting a good bargain. But then my Scrooge-like attitude catches me off guard and I resign to the fact that I do not have the heart to give anyone a second hand present. With the exception of some presents I've received over the years which go into a recycling box and are picked up again and rewrapped when in desperate need of a last minute present. Don't look at me that way. You do it too!

Is there any point to me telling you this? Is there some anecdote from my daily life that I am going to share with you regarding Christmas presents? Nope, none at all.

Except that the Christmas displays on almost all the London high street shops too freaky and distorted for the Christmas spirit. What do mannequins that are dolled up like Marilyn Manson and his equally freaky gothic, burlesque queen wife Dita von Teese, have to do with that warm, fuzzy Yuletide feeling?

The days are long and the nights are lonely...

First off - Happy 21st Birthday Vidu!!!
The poor girl's celebration of adulthood is being completely overshadowed by her sister's wedding, nevertheless we're still gonna celebrate it next week. Now that I've written it on my blog, I'm obliged to attend without any excuses... and I am good at making up excuses as my ISE classmates will attest to.

My weekly organiser looks like a warzone. I have too many things... TOO MANY THINGS! I had to repeat that with emphasis, because I clearly haven't realised it myself.

I have nothing to blog about now. Except that I swam 30 laps and did about an hour at the gym over the weekend. Aren't you proud of me? My mum is, so you should be too!

I'm taking the Linstead freshers (approximately 60 of them) to Chinatown for dinner on Sunday. It's time these gwailos were exposed to authentic (well, almost authentic) Chinese food. There will be NO sweet and sour chicken, no matter how much they plead and beg. And there will be kung po "paddy chicken". I didn't bother translating it properly.

Ok, time to head off for an EESoc meeting. Then to sort out some accounts stuff. Then hopefully I can fit in an hour at the gym before dinner. I hope to get addicted to the gym and swimming before Christmas. Sherene is gonna be my inspiration for getting rid of a summer's worth of flabby fats!

On the NEP...

I wish I could speak as frankly as Wan Aimran does, but I'm scared to because I'm not the right race

and the money keeps rolling in (and out)

Like Nero fiddling while Rome burned... wake up, Malaysia!

Look at what they are saying about us in Australia!

And don't be too quick to lash back.


I personally am going to use the last line ad infinitum ad nauseum...
"That's not Malaysia "boleh", that's Malaysia "bodoh" (stupid)."

Studying is a burden

but I only have one year left to enjoy it (psst, does that not frighten you? yes, a little...)

8 months, to be exact, to see how far I can push my brain, my weakening eyesight and my caffeine limits.

I have not learnt how to study in the last 15 years of my life. I don't think I'll ever start.

I have only learnt how to be kiasu and overachieving. That's so Asian. It's not much to be proud of.

Maybe one day I'll miss studying enough and return to academia to earn my PhD.

Oh what a joke! The only reason I want a PhD is so I can say I've made it one step further. So I can say I'm better than you. Screw it. I'll just go into politics, like I said I would.

The ultimate procrastinator

Although it's almost pointless to compete with Xiaokai for the title of 'Best procrastinator in the Universe', I am still somewhere at the top of the league. (Xiaokai thinks just being the best procrastinator in my course lacks ambition, but not that I ever really care what Xiaokai thinks).

So, there's an accounting exam on Wednesday. I've just spent the whole day doing close to nothing in college and then proceeded to spend the two hours before dinner skimming through old photos. Then after dinner, by a spur of inspiration I picked up my accounting text book and a calculator, dumped it on my bed... and proceeded to blog surf, followed by facebook stalking, followed by several spam emails to my accounting project group (I cannot believe they made me group leader just so they can extort cheesecake from me!) followed by a bath to refresh my mind and get me into a studying mood, followed by "ooh! new podcast on Mr. Brown", followed by Ebay surfing...

and all of a sudden it's nearly midnight. And somewhere across the atlantic, Lionel is shaking his head because he knows I need to be checked on almost every 20 minutes just to be sure I'm not doing something that's a waste of time. Like blogging.

Oops!

The red cups are back!

Chugging Starbucks gingerbread latte
Listening to Savage Garden's Santa Monica
I'm a sucker for old times
Advanced databases - thou shall be my Everest today...

Saving money

My brother has decided to leave Oxford for another weekend and spend it in London. This is why I tell people to study in London and not be smitten by Oxbridge. Follow the lights, baby. London is where the life is!

I'm supposed to meet him in awhile. It's the second time in 2 weeks that he's asked to meet me for a meal, not because he misses his sister terribly. It's all part of his expert budgeting. Making me pay for his meals. It's quite easy to tell when he's looking for sisterly love and when he wants a meal ticket. The meal tickets usually start of with "Chae-chae...", otherwise it's no point addressing me by my older sister title, unless of course there's a need to sort out Matlab coding.

I on the other hand have been rather terrible at saving money this term, no thanks to graduation and the number of meals out with friends I've missed greatly. When you think you're not going to see someone for a good number of months or ever again, what's 20 or 30 pounds? Yeah, it's about 150 ringgit... thanks for doing the math. Still, when you're feeling melancholic you'll spend money on a good bottle of wine, Italian food, platters of grand thali's, Nobu even! Although, sitting on the benches outside the Science Museum with Ayish, Tao and Chien Liq for a good hour or so, in the middle of the night, (not to mention in the COLD!) was probably the fun-nest thing I've done for free!

My brother's calling. He's hungry. I'd better go.

Must speak Engrish liddat!

The very talented Tyler Creasma who's spent 7 years perfecting his Singlish. Hoh boh?

Thoughts on a number 10 bus

(or random sightings of Oxford Street being decked up for Christmas when you're stuck in a traffic jam)

"It's almost Christmas, but I can't recognise Christmas in the concept behind Selfridges' androgynous mannequins. Avant garde window displays are in. Baby Jesus is out.

"An old woman poses beside Marks & Spark's 'mix and match 3-for-2' posters. Why does she want a photo with bright pink baubles screaming '3-for-2'? "But then again she looks like she just arrived from Andorra. The don't have pink baubles over there, do they?

"It's starting to look festive along Oxford Street, even if it's a warm 16 degrees outside. [n.b. this was written about 2 weeks ago, before the temperature nose-dived off the scale!]. You can't ignore global warming effects now - at the height of its glory.

"A blind man is playing his violin outside Debenhams. I feel for him. I can't even play a violing with both eyes open. IS it all about musical feel? I don't know. I study music but I don't feel it.

"I like the penguins at John-Lewis. I obviously lead a superficial hydro-plastic life. Two in one? Lasts for longer? As good as the real thing? I'll take it. And as if to endorse it, I find myself staring at a crackling fire place... on a plasma screen TV. Nothing's real except virtual reality. You've gotta love technology. I should know. I study at the heart of technological innovation where our mission statement is to cure cancer and make everyone else fat and lazy. It's all about automated voice control and self dusting vacuum cleaners. Here's a toast to science.

"Ponchos are not in season anymore. I have three. Dammit.




And then I decided to jump off the bus, forget about heading to Tottenham Court Road, and meander down Wardour Road until I hit Leicester Square where Lionel was waiting with a mini panettone and gelato! What self-absorbed thoughts I think of when I'm alone...

Code Pink

Maybe it's rather lazy and convenient for me to sit behind a computer screen and idly click on links to show my form of protest against war. But it's better than not doing anything at all I suppose.
And just as an added note of interest. I have to admit that I don't usually listen to what goes on in church on Sundays. I have a short attention span, but I'm working on it. However yesterday, I woke up from a stupor in time to hear Father Geoff say "and if we're happy about the fact that Saddam has been sentenced the death penalty, maybe we need to re-examine ourselves". His homily for the day was about 'loving thy neighbour' (I *was* paying attention at the beginning). But who is thy neighbour, if not everyone else? Even Saddam Hussein.

Thanks for not blowing up the Parliament

If it wasn't for some nutter called Guy Fawkes whom in 1605 inspired the Gunpowder Plot to blast the Parliament into smithereens, we wouldn't be able to construct gigantic bonfires and fill the air with fireworks.

As I pushed my way through the crowd at Battersea Park, closer and closer to the flames which were consuming an effigy of Guy Fawkes himself (poor guy, I really hope he isn't burning in hell because it sure is hot enough in that fire), and once I got close enough to feel the heat on my face I refused to budge. Not when it's about 8 degrees anywhere beyond a 3 metre radius of the fire.

It didn't take long to focus my attention skywards, as did all the under 10's standing around me.

Nothing is more fun than standing in the crisp cold air, as a bonfire burns beside you and the smell of hotdogs is wafting through the crowd, and watching a haphazard display of fireworks bursting in the air.



The best part of the night had to be sipping mulled wine as I walked back to the bus stop and warming my hands while the alcohol muddled my brain. I bet Alex and Charlie, whom I met at the bus stop, wished they had mulled wine. Especially Charlie who just wanted to get home and get drunk.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day! The 5th of November is easily remembered

Talking Cock in Parliament - Hossan Leong

Abit late on posting this one - Lionel introduced me to Hossan Leong when I was in Singapore and he's absolutely endearing! I don't care which side of the fence you're on... but this is funny!

Oh, what a circus!

I called my mum yesterday after disappearing into the abyss for nearly 3 weeks. My mum's pretty good at yanking me out of the abyss though. She sends me guilt-ridden smses.

"Your dad's not feeling well" - Yes mum, but a cold is a cold - "... and we musn't take things for granted because he's still in remission"

or "Your little sister misses her kor-kor and chae-chae" - Yes mum, but when I call she's too busy watching The Next Top American Model.

"Your grandfather just left KL and went back home, leaving your grandmother behind" - Now, that's new! AND interesting to boot.

My grandparents have fought each other with such venomous rage for approximately 50 years. That's a good waste of a lifetime. My grandpa's an awfully nice old man, even if he asks me the same question three times. I put it down to him being hard of hearing these days. However, nice as he is, he was a strict civil servant and ran his home like the Penang court of justice - and that included my grandmother.

I have nothing nice to say about my grandma, which may appear to be positively shocking to most. But you spend most of your childhood having to pick out 4D numbers and being scolded for ludicrous reasons, most of them related to just being a child, and you'd have nothing nice to say either. My grandma never doted on her grandchildren. In fact I applaud how she's rather tolerated us. There are all the usual hugs and kisses when we've travelled the 4 hours up to Penang to see her, but after that it's "go away and don't make any noise!". Lovely childhood memories that.

And nothing scars a childhood (apart from the lack of doting grandmothers - I have no grandparents on my dad's side) more than your grandparents practically hating each other. It just needs something as small as a drop of soya sauce to spark a world war in the house. My mother, aunts and uncle bear the scars of their battles. My cousins try to make our own happy worlds, but we're affected too. My eldest cousin once said there has never been a family more blessed and yet doesn't recognise it. Eccentricity is clearly a strong trait in this family.

However for all their long-drawn fights, I've never seen my grandparents apart. But clearly something clicked in my grandmother's head when she flung open the front door of our house a week ago and announced to my mother that she was staying and NOT going home. Dammit! Why do I always miss all the drama! It's a welcome ceasefire. And my grandmother who for sometime has been complaining of suffering from every ailment in the world is suddenly very able-bodied. My grandpa is enjoying the luxury of the peace and quiet in which to read his Chinese newspapers.

And I am wondering what could possibly make two people who have nothing nice to say to each other everyday, stay together for so long? 50 odd years is a long time to suffer somebody 24 hours a day.

Nevertheless I'm doing what most of my family is doing - kicking off my shoes, sitting back, and letting the real show begin...