Recovery

(Warning: Graphic images follow.)

One year ago, Rocky had no chance. Too old, too weak, they said.

One week ago, Rocky risked having his leg amputated. We'll see how it goes, she said.

One hour ago, Rocky came home, much to his relief -- shaky, but on all four legs. I'm not going down without a fight, he said.



Thank you all so much for your thoughts, well-wishes, and prayers! It's been a difficult week, and recovery looks to be long and frustrating. But I think we'll manage; he's a tough one, my baby.

I suppose the copy of The New Paper serves as a good scale; this was the reason for all the pain, anxiety, and tears -- but through it all, the courage and strength of a 15-year-old dog. The monster lump that is no more.



Thank You, God. You did it again.

***

On a side note, the vet said that he was going to be drowsy for the rest of the night. In the true spirit of doggy resilience, he hasn't so much as sat down since we got home. Despite the ambling, and inability to walk five steps before falling down, he's still at it -- more bewildered than anyone else at his new symmetry.

Perhaps what makes all of the pain and worry worth it, is this ability of his to surprise me at every turn; because of him, I've learnt that it is possible to love someone more and more with each passing day.

Just like that

Rocky's surgery is scheduled for Thursday.

We have grappled with this decision for too long now; the past month or so saw his health deteriorate unbearably.

We'd consulted two different vets before, and their advice had been the same: he's too old, he probably isn't going to survive the surgery; just let him live out his remaining years.

***

In the past year, we've seen Rocky's movements slow down just that little bit. His eyes'd dimmed too, and he'd begun to sleep longer hours. All the while, the lump to the left of his chest kept growing -- and at an alarming rate. Six months ago, it was the size of a fishball; today it's about one and a half times the size of his head. Just looking at him makes me cry sometimes.

I don't remember when it was that he stopped climbing stairs. His walks were getting shorter and shorter; at some point, he'd voluntarily turn back and head for home. When he was younger, we could walk for half an hour and we would still have to drag him home; this past year the duration of his walks became 15 minutes, 10 minutes... These days, it seldom lasts beyond five.

The trouble is not even that we have to carry him everywhere now; it's that the lump is so huge that there are few ways in which we can carry him without causing him pain. He's also been scratching at and licking the lump quite a bit.

Almost every day now, he struggles with things like getting up from a lying position, getting cramps in his legs (from long periods of lying down). He wakes up a lot at night, scratching, licking, whining. Some nights, I have to wake up every hour to pat him back down to sleep.

With him losing control of his limbs, he sometimes flops down on his left side (with the lump) and is unable to get up afterwards. I have no choice but to forcibly flip him -- and I always squeeze my eyes shut when I do this, as if it would help shut out the chilling yelp of pain.

Every day, my heart breaks a little bit more, seeing him struggle to maintain an upright sitting position. He can no longer walk in a straight line -- much to his frustration. When he wants to sit down, he has to find a wall to support him; he leans against the wall and slowly slides himself down. Without something to lean on, his legs give way from underneath him, and he falls down really hard.

We knew that the growing lump meant that his gait would change, but I don't think any of us had any idea exactly how big it would get, or the multitude of problems that would come with it.

He can jump onto my bed (which is considerably lower than most others) with reasonably ease, but getting down from it puts too much pressure on his front limbs (especially the one that is handicapped by the lump). The other day, as I observed him quietly from outside the room, I saw him drop his butt off the edge of the bed and fall awkwardly to the ground; that's how he gets off the bed now. This was when I knew -- that if this "fall" causes him less pain -- it was time.

***

We brought him in tonight -- a third vet. She was surprisingly confident about his chances. She told us about a new general anaesthesia that they use for older dogs now, and how she'd just successfully operated on a 19-year-old dog.

After assessing his condition, however, she warned us that -- if, during the course of the surgery, they find that the lump has infiltrated his joints -- they may have to take his leg off.

I felt as if someone had reached in and wringed my heart. I couldn't speak; I was trying to stop the tears from flowing.

I know that dogs cope very well on three legs; I'd semi-rescued a three-legged dog before (another story for another time). But there are no words to describe the feeling you get when you imagine a part of someone you love being severed.

If that is what has to be done, I nodded, half in a daze.

Recovery, she said, would take foreseeably longer for older dogs, but other than that, she saw no major problems.

"I'll see you on Thursday, then."

"Thursday," I echoed in confirmation -- still nodding, still half-dazed.

Feast Forty

This week's Friday Feast. :)

Appetizer: What is the worst movie you've ever seen? I'm going to say American Pie II. It's so bad that I don't even want to link to it. I watched it because my brother borrowed the DVD -- and I wanted to know what the hype was all about. It wasn't even that it wasn't funny; I think I was more disturbed by the fact that I wasn't even disgusted. I was just so bored. I think halfway into the show I fell asleep and never woke up.

Soup: Name something that reminds you of your childhood. "Beng." ;)

Salad: If you had to live in a large city, which one would you want it to be? If I had to live somewhere outside of Singapore, I wouldn't want it to be a city, baby.

Main Course: What's a "big word" you like to use to impress people? Big words -- in my world -- tend more to baffle than they do impress. "Eccentric" is a big word to HW, so with him, I don't even have to try, really. :p

Dessert: Describe your hairstyle. Funny you should ask. I just dyed it today! :)



Obviously it turned out nothing like blond. My hair's usually pulled back into a ponytail, which -- I'm guessing -- is about 10 inches long or thereabouts. Low-maintenance -- that's my motto when it comes to hair. This way, I don't even have to trim it every month or so. :)

Tiny

For Photo Friday.

I realise that the quality is terrible, but she was the first thing I thought of when I saw this week's challenge. I can't remember how long ago this was; I'm guessing two or three years. She's so small that she fit right into the palm of my hand. For someone so tiny, she had huge, beautiful eyes that made you melt whenever you looked into them.

It was after a huge downpour. My brother and a couple of neighbours found her cold and drenched, underneath a car. I'm not sure why they decided to solicit my help, but once I saw the kitten, I couldn't help but fall in love. Long story short, we got her some milk, dried her off, and kept her warm until she could at least move her limbs (which had been frozen stiff).

Crescent (they let me name her) stayed in our garden for a couple of hours, but we knew we couldn't keep her, because Rocky's afraid of cats. For the next week, the neighbours took turns to take care of her, but none of their parents approved of keeping her. We reasoned, too, that her mother might be looking for her, and that she'd be better off under her mom's care. We brought her back to where we'd found her, and it was a while before we could leave her without her attempting to follow us home. Every day after that, for a couple of months, we laid out a dish of milk in the area. We stopped when, for a few days, we saw that it remained untouched.

We had a lot of fun. The kids were all giggly, and they squealed whenever she wiggled in their arms. Come to think of it, I haven't met a child who didn't love animals.

I still see her around; she's a big girl now. (Well, I'm not sure that she's a girl at all, really.) I wish she'd jump onto my lap or something -- something to tell me she remembers. And I wish I could tell her that I remember -- that if things were different, she'd be sleeping in my bed every night, away from the onslaughts of ill weather.

[Edit: This is a great Photo Friday entry: World's Smallest Claddagh Ring! :)]

Waa-choo!

Being sick is no fun. One more lecture tomorrow morning and I can finally get some rest for the week.

***


Baby Blues by Rick Kirkman and Jerry Scott

Terri Schiavo

"This is my first question up front: Can food and water -- sustenance -- be classified as 'artificial'? If it can be classified this way, we are all in trouble as we ALL are being kept alive by 'artificial' means."

-- "A Life Less Ordinary" by Kerry R. Fox

The best take on the Terri Schiavo case -- of those I've read -- comes not from any news or editorial commentary, but from a blog. You'll have to read the whole entry; although I think it probably is unfair to paint such a sceptical picture of Michael Schiavo, I also think that that isn't what matters.

Friday's Feast

Riding on the success of the now-defunct Friday Five is the new Friday's Feast. Unfortunately, just as I've found it, the webmistress has taken ill. Joe has very kindly put up a substitute set of questions -- and quite a good one, I must say. :) So here I go again.

Appetizer: What song makes you cry and why? We have to choose one song? There are many songs that make me cry, but Nichole Nordeman's "Why" seems to do it for me every single time. In this song, Nordeman describes Jesus' crucifixion through the eyes of three: a little girl, Jesus, and God the Father. The realisation always hits as if it were fresh -- because I love you that much, Jesus says.

Soup: Tell about a random act of kindness that you had happen or did for someone this week. I have to say with some shame that the only thing that comes to mind is that I bought a packet of M&M's chocolate eggs for XL. It's a random act, but probably not one of kindness! :p



She loves them chocolate eggs, especially the M&M's, but they're not easy to find, so she typically settles for the Cadbury ones. I saw the eggs over the weekend at Cold Storage's Easter display, so I bought them for her. (We finished them within the hour's lecture.)

Salad: What is your favourite beverage? Carrot-orange juice. I hate the taste of carrots, but the orange masks it well, so that I can feel I'm milking the benefits of carrots without having to taste them. ;)

Main Course: Tell at least three people today how much they mean in your life. Just because it's three, I pick AY, XL, and Z. The guys in our class have a nickname for the four of us -- they pieced together the characters from our names (but it's not family-friendly so I shall refrain from spilling the details).

AY is my partner in (karaoke) crime; we've sung and danced to Chinese New Year and Gao Ling Feng songs enough to last anyone a lifetime (don't ask). The adventures that we've shared include simultaneously breaking into tears even on five-minute bus rides and simultaneously breaking out in laughter while carrying hot Horlicks filled to the brim. AY's specialities range from animated impersonations to being able to tell -- by smell -- the exact temperature of any kind of food item. She also moonlights singing Christina Aguilera's "Genie in a Bottle" to McDonald's waiters, and considers herself youthful -- having been asked to produce identification to watch an NC-16 movie when we're 6 years past the legal age.

A couple of years ago, when we had to pair up for a school project, I drew XL's name -- and the rest, as they say, is history; XL has since been my default partner on many academic assignments. Despite her appallingly frequent displays of ditzyness (ditziness?), our close working proximity makes me feel somewhat justified to inform everyone else that -- when it comes down to what counts -- XL is really very very intelligent. One day, many years after we graduate, the guys will regret giving her so much stick about being a bimbo -- right after she kicks all their asses. XL has a strange affinity for all things slow-moving (but draws the line at actually touching them), and has to wash her hands three times after she uses the toilet. If they run out of soap, we have to find another washroom for her to carry out her ritual.

If I kept my friends in labelled boxes, Z would be in the box that says "People who get it." If you don't get it, you're in the "People who don't get it" box. We've shared much laughter and tears of laughter at the expense of the latter. Z has broken one too many hearts, including one whom she (inadvertently) "hurt deep, man, deep." Z is the girl that all guys want to have rescue, and all girls want to be. Smart, articulate, and confident, she can do better than hold her own, and often leaves guys peeing in their pants. Which is why, when she does get emotional, it baffles them and they don't quite know what to do; we know better -- just smack her around and make eunuch jokes (don't try to get it). Most importantly, Z loves Jesus, because Jesus first loved her. :)

How much do they mean to me? I'd like to think that they know -- because I tell them often enough. I'm not big on reserving good opinion until it's too late. I love them, and am always thankful for having them in my life; for the support and the memories, the laughter and through the tears. :)

Dessert: What would you take on a picnic for dessert? This is tough. I really love any kind of dessert. (Joe's cake sounds good.) I think I'll go with something cold though. Ice-cream... wait, no, ice-cream with brownie... with strawberries... drizzled with chocolate sauce. I'd better stop.

Network error

Network error, eh? Blogger seems to be feeling a little under the weather lately. Of course, being an ex-Diary-X-er (Diary-Xist? Diarist-X?), I'm kinda used to the long down times. I actually have a folder labelled "D-X" in which all the entries that I'm unable to post are stored; most of the time, they go up once the server is up and running, other times, I change my mind and they remain in that folder, privy to my eyes only.

***


Baby Blues by Rick Kirkman and Jerry Scott

Glow

For Photo Friday. I posted this way back when I was at D-X, but I never tire of looking at it. This was taken on our way home to Perth from Margaret River.

[Edit: Also for Photo Friday's "Divine" challenge, September 16, 2005.]

***

At Photo Friday, you can vote for your favourite photos every week. No prizes for the winner(s), but the entries with the highest number of votes get placed on a "Noteworthy" list, which is nice.

I don't know if anyone else has a mental flowchart when they do the voting, but originality's at the top of my list. This means that if the theme for the week is "Ghostly," I generally skip through all the photos that have been deliberately blurred for that effect; because they're not ghostly, they're just... blurred.

I am quite easily impressed by ideas that I didn't think would pop into my mind, which is why I end up voting a lot. But my other rule is that I go through the photos in chronological order in which they are posted. So for the week of "Faces," the first one who posts pictures of masks, I will vote; subsequent photos of the like, I skip through.

If there is any description of the photo (in a language that I can comprehend), I do generally take the time to read, because a photo is not really just a photo. I enjoy the stories behind them.

Those are the general rules that I play by, although it must be said that it's always difficult to skip through pictures of babies without voting for them. ;) Half the time, I'll admit, that I throw out these rules and vote from my gut -- irrational as it is.

Perspective and ambiguity

Dr. A: "Taking care of all the relatives, planning for the wedding dinner, going to pick out 'Thank you' cards -- which you really don't care about... Weddings are very stressful times! They make funerals seem nice and relaxed."

***

Dr. H (on thought-experiments): "That was what Galileo was trying to do when he rolled his balls off the tower."

Equal rights

I was at the wheel, driving at 60 km/h, a two-car length behind someone who was driving at the same speed...

Dad: "Overtake him! He's driving so slowly!"

Me: "Dad, the speed limit is 60 km/h. And there're speed cameras! If I overtake him I'm going to get caught for speeding..."

Dad continues to grumble about how slow the car in front of us is, as I get a little exasperated.

Me: "You know, to be fair, I don't drive very fast either."

Dad: "But that's because you're a girl!"

Me: "..."

***

Late-night kimchi, one of life's understated pleasures. I could eat this every day.

Lift high her banner

Something about this that moves me almost to tears. Clay has never looked more dashing. And it's not because he's Clay, but because he's there.

***

But it was the first picture in this brilliant post that brought back the real tear-jerking memories; the place I called home for 10 wonderful years. In that time, I have learned and grown in ways that I don't believe I would have anywhere else. I have been blessed and loved, and I will always owe my life to the people in this school that have prayed for me and moulded me into who I am.

Unlike the school song of "The Institution," I know every single word of the MGS school song by heart -- even now -- all three stanzas of it. Every. Single. Word. And unlike those of "The Institution," the words bear depths of meaning to me; I still find myself trying to live up to her high standards.

Even though it wasn't that long ago that I last returned (August of last year for a worship event), I've missed going back on Teachers' Day the past couple of years; I've missed thanking my teachers -- my mentors. Maybe I can make amends this year. :)

My first love

When I was in kindergarten, there was this boy -- let's call him Beng (for purposes that you will come to see). Every (school) day, I would get the full "I love you" whisper and peck on the cheek treatment from him. Every single time, I would turn beet red -- I would smile back, but I don't remember ever reciprocating either gesture. (I would appear to carry this trait of stoicism -- as well as propensity for blushing -- with me as I got older, but that's another story for another time.)

During the school holidays, we'd talk on the phone -- sometimes for whole days. I remember getting so restless that I would be under the chairs, the tables -- over and under everything within the radius of the phone cord. Still, we'd talk until the phone receivers were hot enough to poach an egg on. What did we talk about? That's the mystery.

I'd assumed that this was the guy I was destined to marry -- way before I knew the many things that a marriage entailed.

Once, as we were forming a circle for games, he'd reached out to punch a classmate of ours, Don (for short), for holding my hand, but ended up punching me instead. His face went green; already having a high threshold for pain then, I just looked on in amusement as our teacher fussed over me and handed out the appropriate punishment -- to both boys. (Poor Don.)

You can see why he fast became my knight in shiny armour; I didn't even care that he was clumsy and threw inaccurate punches -- hey, it's the thought that counts, right? ;)

All that, however, came to a screeching halt when one day -- in the middle of our lesson -- I saw him kissing my best friend, Eleanor (I don't remember how she spelt it); so did our teacher, and promptly sent them both to wash their mouths out. I don't even remember feeling heartbroken, or any such feelings that you would expect -- I just remembered being immensely grateful that I'd never been called out by the teacher all the times that I was on the receiving end of his kisses.

After that, I wasn't even angry with him -- I suppose there's something to be said about how quickly and readily children forgive and forget. I did wonder if he was going around kissing every single girl in our class, so some days, I'd try to avoid him and kept myself in full view of our teacher so that he wouldn't dare do anything. But mostly, I continued to let him tell me that he loved me, and give me that perfunctory peck -- because it felt good, I suppose.

Then we went on to primary school -- he to an all-boys school, me to an all-girls school. In our first year, we still talked on the phone, and pestered our mothers (who came to be good friends, because, you know, it's so cute that your kids are in luuuuurve) to bring us out to see each another now and then. But starting out in primary school was tough -- although, thankfully, it got a lot better -- and gradually the phone calls lessened, the trips stopped, and I never saw him nor talked to him for many years. I thought about him now and then, but mostly I was more interested in studying (geeky, I know) and how many pairs of shoes my Barbie doll had (the measure of "coolness" among girls at the time). He sent me cards during Christmas and Chinese New Year every year without fail -- I sent him a total of two cards in five years.

I was studying at McDonald's with X this very fateful day (by this time, I was already in secondary school, six or seven years since I'd last met him) -- when I heard someone called out my name. This boy, decked in his uniform the only way kids our age knew how -- shirt half-tucked in, pants too big for his frame -- came running towards me.

"It's really you! I can't believe I recognise you after all these years!" he heaved.

"I'm sorry, you are...?"

"You don't recognise me? I'm Beng! You know? From kindergarten?"

I almost fell out of my chair. "Bbbb... Beng! It's great to see you! I can't believe you recognise me after all these years!" Yeah, way to go on originality.

X will tell you that the only thing that she remembers, as he tried to carry on small talk with me, is that she didn't even have time to wonder who the guy was, because she was trying to hold down our tilting table, which he had put his hand on, and was leaning his entire weight upon.

We exchanged phone numbers (actually, he asked if my number was the same; I said yes, and he said he'd give me a call that night), and after he left, I explained to X who he was ("My kindergarten boyfriend, until I found that he was snogging every other girl in my class.") and apologised profusely for leaving her out in the cold while I collected myself. She never let me forget that.

We talked over the phone a few times, had lunch at McDonald's a couple of times, but I was bored by the guy; it was clear that we had different interests (to say the least). He asked if he could buy me a pager; I wondered why he couldn't just call me at home like he used to. My short-term ambition (or so I thought) was to do well enough in my exams to be able to take all three Sciences (Biology, Chemistry, Physics) the following year; his even-shorter-term ambition was to beat up a guy who stared at him the day before.

It all went downhill, and he knew it too. We had little in common, and frequently ran out of things to talk about. I was so relieved when he finally stopped calling. It was closure enough for us both, I think.

I've since spotted him a few times, out in town, but never once called out to him -- something I always feel guilty for. If he recognised me (which I don't think he did -- I cut my hair short for the first time, shortly after my encounter with him, and got rid of my glasses), he didn't stop me in my tracks either.

I don't know if he remembers me anymore, but I think of him very little these days. The reason why I was reminded of Beng was because -- you know the anti-drug abuse advertisement on our local screens these days, where at the end, the protaganist says (in Chinese): "Finally, when I was put away in jail, none of the friends whom I called 'brothers' came to see me. It was then that I realised that my greatest enemy was none other than myself." Yeah, Beng is there as one of his 'brothers.' His five two seconds of fame. :p It's a funny, funny world.

I don't understand

... Why they would have a "Vegetarian Vegetables" soup -- could it be any other way?




... How one word can mean two things so different that they're further than opposites.




... What the toy-makers must be thinking when they made this mini version of a table tennis set -- how do they expect any child to manage a successful volley? I mean, to play with paddles half the size of the actual ones is the kind of challenge professionals look for.

Late-night ramblings

What would you do if, in Googling for one of your professors (because it's late at night and people do such things, that's why), you find out something horribly embarrassing about him? It isn't a secret, because it's there -- but I'm guessing no one else would plough through five pages of searches, if they even bother to Google. It's almost too hilarious to keep to myself. Dude, these are the kinds of things you use pseudonyms for!

***

How did I even enjoy watching The Matrix? I suppose that having watched the entire trilogy and having foreknowledge of how lame the whole thing turned out to be makes watching the first instalment a lot less fun.

So The Oracle lied to Neo? Yes, I know, if she hadn't, he wouldn't have gone back to save Morpheus. The ends justify the means, you say? Isn't the whole point about the matrix is that it is a big fat evil lie? But it's okay for The Oracle to lie. Okay.

What am I doing? I refuse to allow myself to be sucked back into this.

***

More quips from Dr. T:

"I have a sore throat today, so instead of my deep sexy voice, you're going to get Rod Stewart."

"I sleep five hours a day. I hear lions sleep 20 hours. That's quality of life!"

"[Working like a machine] is not what humans are made for. That's like asking a bear -- who just wants to sit by the stream and eat salmon sashimi all day -- to wear a mini skirt, ride a bicycle, and carry an umbrella. Or asking a lion to jump through hoops of fire. Why on earth would he want to do that? He wants to sleep for 20 hours!"

"Training involves sacrifice. Of course, this is not always the case. If you get a high from attending sociology lectures, then it's intrinsically rewarding."

***

Greensleeves. I knew the snow globe was given by Luka, but I just remembered something about the song. I think Luka mentioned it before. Something about Croatia. But obviously Abby doesn't remember -- she hasn't even figured out the snow globe.

Losing Carol, and then Abby; I wonder if Luka will ever love again.

***



Would you believe the crazy people at Switchfoot (from whence the title of this blog came) made iPod tattoos?! ;)

They just finished touring Australia. My sister made me insanely jealous by taking photos with Jon Foreman. JON! FORE! MAN!

Faces

For Photo Friday.

Ben has an excuse to be obsessed with the mirror -- he's a baby, and he's unbelievably cute! ;)

School days

Yay for Scott! :) Seacrest and his "Two of you are going home tonight -- and Scott, it's you..." *cries* "... who's in to the Top 12!" *cheers*

I'm dropping Constantine from my list because he just scares me. So that just leaves Bo and Scott that I'm rooting for. I'll have to admit that it's difficult to see either of them having a particularly huge fan base -- especially for Scott. But I like the guy anyway. Something about stoicism that makes a girl want to break him down.

The only other performer that I thought was good this week was -- for the first time -- Mario. But mostly I was bored. Even more so by all of the girls -- but that could be because I am my hormones are biased. ;)

***

I had dinner with an old classmate earlier in the week. I never realised how parallel our lives are. We have a younger brother and sister each, and both our sisters are studying in Perth. Also, we were both highly inclined towards Physics and Mathematics in the past, only to find ourselves steering towards a Biology-related career -- he in Life Sciences, and me considering a specialisation in Biomolecular Engineering.

We spoke candidly about our concerns with our field; how it's very much restricted to research; what kind of work would be available to us when we graduated; how most pharmaceutical research labs don't take in fresh grads. It's all very worrying -- more than I'd ever cared to admit. I don't know why it is that misery loves company, but we do; it helps to know that someone else is clueless too. (Feel free to send job opportunities and advice my way.)

Grown-up concerns aside (I'm still young enough to do that), the reason why we were meeting up was because he wanted to pass me my (belated) birthday present. I almost passed out when I heard that, because... well, you will see why.

Back when we were in JC "that is now an Institution" (even now, actually), we used to give him a really hard time about his frugality -- if you can even call it that. He'd come up to me looking very apologetic, and the first couple of times, I would wonder why; he would look at me with those puppy-dog eyes, hem and haw, before blurting awkwardly that I still owed him five cents from a week ago. It was so hilarious, it drove us all crazy!

We would do things like, send him to buy us ice-cream, saying that we'd pay him back. He'd come back with two McDonald's ice-cream cones (each costing 50 cents then), then we'd spend the next hour trying to talk him into giving us a treat because we had no money! The agony on his face was priceless.

In the end, we paid off all our debts, and, as you can see, he never held it against us for torturing him. ;)

So this is why I was surprised at the thought that he'd actually paid money to buy me something. And it wasn't even just some teddy bear he plucked off the shelves on a whim, either.



Look at that -- a Mogu cow! Complete with a little trinket tied to its ear, and a nice (cow-themed) birthday card. :) (And if he ever reads this, I would just like to say that you forgot to remove the price tags from the trinket and the nice big bag that the cow came in, you dork! :p)

***

Speaking of school (because, you know, I was talking about old schoolmates), A L has a post on the strangeness of school songs. I realise that posting my ex-JC's school song is going to skyrocket my geek quotient, and send my popularity ratings sliding, but I couldn't pick out specific parts that made me cringe -- because they all did. For some sense of political correctness (as if we needed more of that), but mostly because I'm hoping people don't figure out which JC I was from, I will replace the name of my JC with "The Institution." Strictly not for the weak hearted:

As part of our glorious land
Sharing her spreading fame
"The Institution" will firmly stand
Always to maintain her name

Multi-racial we study together
For knowledge we wish to attain
Many races we shall gather
Each day to achieve its aim

We shall strive with verve
For health in body and mind
We'll learn to lead and yet to serve
In character ruggedly fine

May "The Institution" shine forever
Her name big and strong
One and all, let's stand by her
That she may live on and on

Apparently "The Institution" is very big on racial harmony, seeing as they had to reiterate "multi-racial" with "many races" (just in case you didn't get it), which is ironic because -- while I don't have the official statistics -- I think we probably have the most un-multi-racial student population among the JCs.

Superman

Last night's Memento-style E.R. was just brilliant. I mean, honestly, they just keep outdoing themselves. But I don't know how Luka has managed to get himself in such a mess -- and how he's going to take it from here. He's been the one to insist on the strictest of morals (or he did in the beginning), and he has somehow found enough stupidity to throw that all away. The Superman-mentality -- thinking that you can take it all on -- will get you (or someone else) killed someday, seems to be the moral of the story.

These and those

Picked up some videos, mostly because The Matrix and Memento were recommended films for my philosophy module. Thought I'd better refresh my memory. And Being John Malkovich, but the VideoEZY branch that I went to didn't carry it. I haven't watched Troy, and I hope that people are not saying that it's good just because of Brad, because I'm not his biggest fan. I am, however, re-smitten with Will Smith (yes, since Hitch), hence Ali. I don't know why Monster's Ball -- probably the best actress thing. And a little bit of Heath. :)

***

I also baked for my baby today. Just because. Well, actually, I was given a recipe book for dogs. Admittedly I always pick out the recipes that I think I would eat as well. ;)

Just for you (although I don't know how many people who read this cook for their pets), here's the recipe for Banana Mutt Cookies, complete with pictures! :)

3 cups bananas, mashed
1 teaspoon vanilla
6 cups oats
1 cup peanuts, chopped
1/3 cup applesauce, unsweetened

Count them: five ingredients. This is about the simplest recipe you'll find. The only unsweetened applesauce I could find was baby food!




The recipe called for chopped peanuts, but this was much easier. :p This was how I mashed the bananas too. I can't believe I ever used a fork to do it.




Mix all ingredients. I know how it looks. But it gets better -- I promise!




Spoon them onto a greased baking tray.




Pop them into the oven at 350 degrees F (or 180 degrees C, but I've learnt that it's always best to set it a little lower after conversion, so I put mine at 160 degrees C) for 15 minutes. And that's it! Your Banana Mutt Cookies are done! :)




Yes, fit for human consumption too -- very much so. Yummilicious! And it's healthy too! Bon appetit from me and my pooch. :)

***

Dr. Nice-tan called today to ask if I managed to get the contact lens fragment out -- so sweet! Do GPs do this these days? I've been going to the same doctor since I was zero years old (except for when he's closed, like last night), so I don't really know how the market is. Time to consider a change, maybe? ;)

Eye fishing

All I really wanted to do tonight was to come home after a nice dinner with an old friend, and mourn for the failure of my biochemical engineering quiz. Maybe watch a little of The Practice, or get some sonoluminiscence reading done -- depending on how I felt after all that mourning.

Instead, when I took my contact lens out of my eye, I found that it had torn, and the other half was stuck in my eye. For those of you who think that this might be some catastrophic predicament -- it really isn't. Of course, I had to take some time to convince my mom that I was not, in fact, going to go blind as a result.

She insisted we go to a clinic right away -- and even refused to let me drive.

Back it up a little: this has happened before, which is why I wasn't half as excited. I was just not keen at the prospect of long queues at the doctor's. I know that the only way to fish the broken shrapnel out of my eye is to drop some dye into the eye -- it would take supersonic vision otherwise.

After an hour or so of waiting, I explained to the doctor how we last managed to get it out; records say that I have consulted with him before, but I can safely say that I have never in my life seen the guy. He didn't mention anything about the dye, but he asked me to lie down, and prodded my eye under a bright light; I knew it wasn't going to work.

The thing that bugs me about visits to clinics and hospitals when my mom is with me is how much she embarrasses me. I say this not with annoyance (although I must admit to this being my attitude in my awkward adolescence) but with endearment. These days I'm rather impervious to being embarrassed in public; what does it matter that I get made fun of by people who I'm probably never going to see again?

My mom thinks the world of me -- of her three babies, to be fair. She thinks that I'm the most beautiful, intelligent, kind being that ever walked on two legs. She also thinks that every single male within the age range of 20 to 35 is interested in her daughter.

"Ooh, did you see how the doctor was talking at you? He was so nervous! He likes you, I can tell." She beamed. It scares me because she really thinks this! I'm not kidding, and neither is she.

Yes, the doctor seemed a little jittery -- but my first thought was that he had to pee. My mother rubbished my hypothesis, and continued to rave about him -- as if I was just going to pick a doctor up from a clinic -- nice tan, doesn't look like the doctor type huh?, more like a swimming coach, a good build on that body too, and did you seeeeee how he was looking at you?

Yes, Mom, he was looking intently into my eye(s). He was also trying to fish out that contact lens fragment, remember? Which was what we came here for, remember?

That lasted our entire trip to the hospital. Why were we going to the hospital? Because Dr. Nice-tan couldn't get it out, and didn't have the necessary dye. He very nicely (albeit still seemingly urgent to use the loo) advised that we go to a private hospital -- where they would have the dye in stock. "It's just going to cost you a little, seeing as how late it is and all," he warned. In the end, he felt sorry that he couldn't do anything, and didn't even charge us consultation fees. The consolation for him was that I was his last patient for the night, so he could then retire -- for the night.

So off we were to the hospital, where I told my story ("Don't worry, you're the third one this week."), they took my temperature and blood pressure (I know: huh?), plonked some dye in my eye, and got it out.

That was my night -- and now I have none of it left.

On the way home, my mom couldn't help herself: "Ooh, this one looks more like a doctor (again: huh?). Did you seeeeee how he was looking at you?"




They are also very generous with their bills, is what they are. (Click to see bill.)

***

Dr. L (on normalising quantities): "Who runs faster -- a man or an ant? How do we compare? An ant can take a leaf, fold it, and make a home out of it -- can we? So who is to say we are superior to an ant? I don't know."

KR (muttering under his breath): "The guy (Dr. L) has issues!"

Short takes -- Hitch and Amsterdam

• Hitch

Most fun I've had in a movie in a while. :) I'm not so sure about the Will Smith-Kevin James chemistry that people keep talking of, but they are both brilliant comedy actors in their own right. (Leah Remini might beg to differ.)

• Amsterdam

All the while I was reading this, I was thinking, What the heck am I doing reading a novel when I have so much work to do?, because, what the heck am I doing reading a novel when I have so much work to do? Even so, I have to admit that it was pretty good. (And I don't even like novels.) I have my suspicions about Ian McEwan, but that's beside the point. No, seriously, that's my last book until the exams are over -- in my spare time I really should be reading about fermenters and kinetics and Monod -- because, you know, I have so much work to do.

Things that your friends will remember for years

(And will tell to your future spouse/in-laws/children/grandchildren, and just about anyone you don't want getting hold of the story.)

The story that they will tell you is that I once sent them porn. The real story is that I did not. Eh. Well, that's not exactly true. I kinda did send them porn, but only by mistake!

I don't know about the rest of you, but exam periods, for me, always bring about a whole slew of e-mails and IMs recommending games to "relieve stress."

So it was about a couple of years ago -- I was probably in my first year -- that I sent out this site that had kept me occupied: www.orisinal.com. Check it out! So fun! I've been at it for hours!, I mass-messaged. I didn't get any replies for a while... and when I did...

"Erm."

"Yes?"

"You... like these stuff?"

"What stuff? The games? You don't like them? Then just don't play lor."

"There's a game? The girls... they play games?"

What is this guy talking about? -- "Boys can play the games too," I clarified.

I had a funny feeling, and scrambled to find the message that I had sent out. True enough, there was a typo: www.orsinal.com! And guess what it was? Who knew that missing out an "i" would make such a difference. Of course, the message that accompanied the URL did not help. (The site has since been taken off, it would appear. Which is a good thing, because I don't want to be accused of linking to porn, on top of everything else.)

I spent the next 20 minutes having to explain the typo, and convincing people that I did not, in fact, intend to send out pictures of grown women (in more ways than one) bursting out of school uniforms.

Two years on, and still, whenever there is mention of the word "games," they never fail to take the opportunity to remind me:

"I found this game last night..."

"ORSINAL, right?" Snickers and guffaws all around. Very funny, guys.

Obsession

For Photo Friday.

Tiger Cup Final 2004. :)

New kid on the block

So little girls don't play with Barbie dolls anymore?

(Sighted at Clementi Central.)

Book review -- Clay Aiken: Learning to Sing

I had two choices: save the book for after my exams (in April) or finish reading it by this week's end; I know that when school kicks in again on Monday (after the lull of having completed my mid-terms), I will probably have more tasks on my hand than time to do them.

It didn't turn out to be much of a choice, really. I couldn't put it down, and here I am, 43 hours ahead of schedule.

Typically when I read a book, I will pick out little nuggets, and mentally make a note to quote them. Some books are a little more clever, and I have to use flags to mark out the many pages, and then choose the best one to post.

With Learning to Sing, I gave up trying to do that; within the first chapter, I'd already wanted to post every other sentence.

Part of me wants to say that everyone has to read this book!, another part of me feels that -- as hard as it is to believe -- not everyone will appreciate it. Those of us who have been gauche social misfits at one time or another (or still are, really) will laugh and cry along with it, and it will make our struggle a little less painful and embarrassing. Those of you who have always fit in -- who have always been confident, popular, successful -- probably aren't going to find much in common. (Which is weird since this is, after all, the autobiography of Clay, who is, by most standards, confident, popular, and very successful.)

But I guess that's really the thing: childhood (or adolescence) isn't ironed out by virtue of having attained success. No amount of fame, fortune (or sex, for that matter) is going to make everything go away. You learn to grow up, even when you fail.

This is a book that I will share with my family, that I will want to pass down to my children, that I see myself re-reading many times in the near and not-so-near future; already I have a mental list of friends who would love the book, and those who wouldn't.

This is a book that even someone who's never heard the words "Clay Aiken" would fall in love with.

Things that amaze me

Catherine Willows on C.S.I. is the kind of woman every girl (or just me) wants to be -- cool, smart, sophisticated. Isn't this who you'd expect men to fall for like trees in a forest being... felled? (I want to say bees drawn to honey, but I really hate the sound of that idiom. Not that this is any better. Not that it's an idiom to begin with.) Apparently not.

Marg Helgenberger sure has an uncanny ability to look entirely different with different hairstyles.

This is how she looked in the first season of C.S.I. Nowhere near impressive (especially by Hollywood's standards). Very fuddy-duddy-ish.




Fast-forward to now. Blond and straightened hair. Woohoo. Looks a whole 10 years younger.




But the most amazing transformation is the blond streaks and hair wax she wears in a breast cancer awareness campaign ad. The woman is pushing 50 and she looks like she's my age, for crying out loud. We could be sisters! Well, no, of course not. But you get my point. This, the boys will fall for, I suspect.

Bargain buy

One of those things that you never imagine people would invent (or can't imagine why they would). For $2, you can get a coupon holder...




It's even sorted by types of items -- like household products, canned foods, frozen foods.




(Although I personally think that it should be by location or shop/restaurant name. Like: Perlini's, Topshop, Haagen Dazs...)

***

Joe is out. :(

***

It's Thursday! *Throws confetti*

Things that don't make sense

So they pulled DOOL, citing "dipping viewership ratings" right, and guess what's on in place of DOOL at 1 PM? Triple Nine. Because that's going to get more viewership than DOOL? Snick. Ker.

***

It's uncanny how my friends have the ability to telepathically know when I am deepest in sleep (most deep in sleep?), and then all decide to call or SMS at the same time. Then when I decide I've had enough, I drag myself out of bed, wash my face, and turn on the TV, read the papers, do everything else but sleep, and the calls stop.

***

Yesterday morning (or whenever it was that I was supposed to wake up; it's difficult to keep track these days) I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock. Instinctively I guess I knew that I was supposed to hit the snooze button and go back to sleep turn off the alarm and get out of bed. Instead, I put the alarm clock to my ear... "HELLO?" I bellowed. Of course, no one answered, and it took me a while to realise that I was crazy. I was too sleepy to laugh (or cry) at myself, so I hit the snooze button and went back to sleep.

Claddagh ring

Some of you may be familiar with the Claddagh ring.

The first time I saw the ring was on Buffy. A couple of years later, my cousin bought one for me, all the way from Ireland. I almost cried when I saw it, despite it having been given in one of the most unromantic settings possible.

Rustic charm aside, I've always been big on symbolism (although not quite of the three-roses-means-I-love-you variation), and that was what I loved most about the Claddagh ring. The story of the Claddagh ring, on the other hand, is cliché at best and tacky at worst. Still, it was just how perfectly the symbols fit together that made it tug at my heart.

The heart symbolises -- you guessed it -- love. In another version that I've read, however, it was said to stand for charity -- that, to me, held so much more: a generosity of spirit, not just of the momentary passion that we have come to mistake for as "love."

The two hands clasping the heart symbolise friendship -- the thing that cements and holds together a union of souls. The laughter, the tears, that telepathic understanding.

Finally, the crown, which symbolises fidelity, completes the Claddagh ring: one heart for another -- a wholehearted adoration.

Worn on the right hand, with the crown pointing inwards, means that your heart is yet unoccupied (single).

Worn on the right hand, with the crown pointing outwards, shows a commitment to someone special (courting).

Worn on the left hand, with the crown pointing outwards, shows that your heart has truly been spoken for (married).

I love how that sounds -- to be spoken for.

And yet, it's not about the Claddagh ring, really. It's about realising that there is more to a ring than just the one with the biggest rock, and more to a marriage than just a ring.

Critter adventures

What you know is that I was slogging away at my desk last night...




What you don't know is that sometimes the reason why I have to pull all-nighters is because I live in a family where catching a grasshopper is an adventure, and we can spend hours squealing and watching it hop around, despite some of us having imminent deadlines to meet...




(No animals were harmed in the making of this... post. :) We really do love the little critters, no matter how unattractive their undersides may be.)