What kids are reading these days II

Remember Humpty?

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings' horses and all the kings' men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

Apparently there's a little-known second verse:

Scrambled or omelette was the choice.
"I love the taste," yelled somebody's voice.
"His death was not kind," cried one of the men,
"But I'd shove that egg all over again."

Hur hur.

Monday snippets

After dinner tonight, we stayed on a little longer than usual, tossing around ideas about what to get for a classmate's birthday present. Spent from the late lecture, and exasperated that we were not making any headway, I sighed heavily and suggested: "Aiyah, why don't we just get him something practical -- like... underwear?"

Before anyone (else) could react, HW whipped out a plastic bag from out of nowhere and announced gleefully (and very loudly): "I just bought underwear today, leh!"

"..."

We stared at him in stunned silence and amusement. In a public place? At the dinner table? FLAILING UNDERWEAR?!

Oblivious to the inappropriateness of it all, he grinned widely at us. "So? Are we getting him underwear?!" he asked, as he swung the bag of underwear in our faces like a pendulum.

Sigh.

***

Dr. C: "Rejections are merely opportunities to other things."

***

I met S (I'm running out of acronyms -- if you can call this that -- because too many people's names start with the same alphabet; I hope I haven't used this one before) on my way to class today. He eyed me curiously.

"What?" I asked.

"You look cute today."

"???"

As opposed to all the other days where I look like chopped liver, I suppose.

Mere musings (or not?)

"What could I do that would encompass both Chemical Engineering and English Literature?" I muttered, to no one in particular.

"Maybe you should just drop the Engineering part," X suggested nonchalantly.

Stop it. Don't toy with my feelings like that.

Picture perfect parents

My parents recently switched mobile phones; at the same time, to the same model. They got the phones free of charge because of that promotion that comes with the phone directory collection notification letter that every household receives.

My folks are not the most tech-savvy people around. They have two approaches towards new technology; it either keeps them highly fascinated and occupies all of their time awake, or they ignore it completely and get the kids to do the job instead. I used to think that the latter was annoying, but now that the Mobile Phone Twins have gotten hooked to the camera in their phones, I'm having second thoughts. (Incidentally, ST has a short commentary in today's papers about cameras in phones; subscribers can click here to read.)

My dad has trouble photographing himself; I guess that would be the same trouble one would have with taking a photo of oneself with a camera, generally devoid of a rotating lens capability. They do have this miniscule reflective surface on the phone to serve as some sort of estimation, but you know how these things go. Last night, my dad spent the entire evening playing with the phone, muttering to himself: "Too high, too low, too big, too small."

Sigh.

My mom, on the other hand, is not as concerned with alignment. But with this photo-taking feature comes other peripheral nonsense, like simply accessing your photos, or sending your photos to someone else's phone, none of which she seems capable of handling on her own.

Of course, while they are doing all of this, I have to drop whatever I'm doing -- which, last night, happened to be running on the treadmilly thingy (really, I don't know what to call it) -- and attend to their queries immediately, otherwise they will just repeat their question over and over and over again, until I drop whatever I'm doing, and... well, you see how it works. I literally felt the lactic acid building up in my calves (pun not intended) as I hovered over them, directing their every move, wondering why they couldn't get it the first time.

***

The phones were on the table, side by side; you couldn't tell one from the other.

I picked one up and opened it (they're the clam-shell type). The screen lit up, and a photo of my mom's smiling face stared back at me.

"Is this yours?" I asked my mom.

"Hmm?" she looked up at me, and I turned the phone to face the screen towards her.

"Nope, that's Daddy's phone."

My dad's phone -- with a wallpaper of my mom. Huh.

In that moment, I realised how good we had it -- how good we have it. I can't say for sure what will happen in the future, but for now, they have given us the best gift that any set of parents can give their children -- love for each other. My parents have been married a little over 26 years now; we've been unspeakably blessed. You only ever read about the tragedies in the news, but the perfect family exists; the perfect family is not one free of troubles, but it is one filled with love.

I smiled at my mom. "So sweet, ah?"

My mom beamed, and a slow smile broke across her face. Then she let out a tiny laugh, and shook her head, still smiling: "Sometimes, lah."

Some things are well worth the lactic-acid build up, if I do say so. :)

Honesty: the best policy

Dr. C: "Just design the thing. Don't worry about the cost; there are many rich people in Indonesia who will buy your product."

***

Dr. C: "There's nothing wrong if you want to settle for a $3,500-job in this [particular] petroleum company, as long as you are aware that it is a business-driven company. Me? I turned them down three times. I'm a technologically-driven person; I've never played golf in my life."

***

Dr. C: "A good presentation is one in which you can impress your boss. There are two ways to this: either you are smart, or your boss is stupid."

Memories

I watched Stealth.

And that's all I can say about it -- no review -- nothing. Well, actually, I do have this much: fighter jets that talk are not acceptable when you are trying to pass your film off as anything other than fantasy; save the talking robots (that ultimately develop feelings and give up their "lives" to save yours!) for Star Wars.

I guess I wasn't expecting much; towards the end I even enjoyed myself a little the only reason why I watched it was because my friend had free tickets (now I know why). After all sorts of fiascos, like this other couple who were assigned to the exact seats that we were in, and losing one of the spoons in our ice-cream tub, we finally settled down.

The cinema was pretty empty, given the movie that was being screened. It was also a Tuesday afternoon; I was surprised that we weren't the only ones there. We were doing some pre-movie chit-chatting, about everything and nothing, when he leaned over and asked, lowering his voice gently: "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"So..." he began, hesitatingly, as if unsure as to how to broach the subject. "It's been a while since Rocky's... you know," he shifted in his seat, and cleared his throat, waiting to see if I would react; I didn't. "Are you okay? Better?"

I typically don't sit back and assess the status of my grief, but I guess I've been crying a lot less lately; at least, not on a daily basis anymore. That was always to be expected. Now and then, though, I get flashes of memories, and it still hurts -- only because I know that I'll never be able to relive them. Nothing has to happen -- no one has to hit the remote for the images to come on.

But there also times where things do happen -- things that hit the trigger to the floodgates -- like finding his baby clothes folded and tucked neatly in the corner of my shelf. You know, the ones he wore while he was nursing the wound from his surgery. I unfurled one of them the other night, and I remembered how, for those weeks, we'd cleaned his wound every day. Warm water, dry gauze, antiseptic powder -- twice a day. He never once flinched, but I cringed every time I felt those stitches under my touch.

Then there was the Herculean task of getting his shirt back on. Sometimes he resisted, other times he just wanted to be somewhere else -- like he'd suddenly feel the unexplainable urge to investigate the nooks and crannies under my table, and he'd just scoot off, oblivious to the fact we'd been trying to put his shirt on for the past 15 minutes, and had just succeeded in getting one leg in. We'd scream for him in exasperation, but when he looked back at us quizzingly, we'd laugh out loud at the expression of bewilderment he wore on his face. He made us laugh, and he made us love -- every single day.

***

A part of me really did die that day, even though I didn't know quite how the first time I said it; the part of me that cleans up poop and vomit, the part of me that can reach over to a warm furry body first thing in the morning, the part of me that separates the soft bones from the harder ones when I eat chicken, the part of me that delights in being greeted with barks and scratches when I come home every day, the part of me that races with a four-legged creature the last 50 metres home on our walks out.

I wonder: does a parent stop being a parent when their child dies? Can one still be a parent when there's no one to parent? How does one stop being a parent?

Do we stop loving someone when they die? Can we still love when there's no one to love? How does one stop loving?

When someone asks me, "Do you have a dog?" or "Do you have any pets at home?", why shouldn't I say, "Yes, I do have a dog"? He just isn't here with me now.

***

"It was more than a year since his death, more than a year since the news came; she seemed as though she would remember and mourn for ever... [W]hile we were still shaking hands, such a look of awful desolation came upon her face that I perceived she was one of those creatures that are not the playthings of Time. For her he had died only yesterday."

-- Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

What kids are reading these days

Whatever happened to Charlotte's Web and The Magic Faraway Tree?!

I love Gmail

Everybody should get Gmail. This is especially true in cases of group e-mails, where some discussions result in 30 e-mails in a span of two minutes; sometimes we forget that we're flooding innocent mailboxes, because of how Gmail stacks the conversation. Oops.

I've been reading old e-mails (where we often post the things people say, not unlike those that you read of here), and I've literally laughed so much that it hurt. As much as I'd like to reproduce them all here, many of them involve compromising on certain identities and/or private jokes of complicated ancient origins. Regretfully, Yahoo Groups has eaten many of these messages up, and I only have those from when my Gmail account was birthed. Still, here are some oldies that crack me up even now. :)

***

XL: "I have a question..."

(Something profound?)

XL: "If you step on a snail and crush his shell, will he die?"

J (rolling his eyes): "You think, leh?!"

XL: "Why?! Maybe he will regenerate a new shell?!"

J: "Why don't we try and cut off your finger and see if it will regenerate?!"

***

XL: "Can a snail survive without his shell??"

J (deadpanned): "No, he has to go to HDB (Housing Development Board) to apply for a new house..."

XL (annoyed, but being perfectly serious): "Oei! I think I stepped on a snail the other day, leh. But there didn't seem to be anyone inside..."

J (blue in the face with laughter): "He went to send an e-mail to HDB to..."

XL: "OEI!!!"

***

XL: "If the snail sees that someone is going to step on him, how come he doesn't EEEEEEEEEEVACUATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (She actually screamed this out really loudly in a public place.)

Everyone (frightened and embarrassed): "???"

***


Garfield by Jim Davis

Quentin Tarentino's breakfast and Uma Thurman's lunch

This blogging thing is very tricky, especially when it overlaps with real life. With blogging conventions and what-nots, the virtual-to-real life transition has been talked blogged to death. But there's also the real life-to-virtual situation, like having someone tell you about their blog, or just chancing upon the blog of someone you know, which -- since everyone blogs these days -- is not that difficult to do.

With friends or friendly acquaintances, it's not that big of a problem; drop a note to say Hi, I found your blog, things like that -- generally acceptable standards of courtesy. But then there are other people... well, the thing is that, the only reason why you know them is because you've been unwittingly thrust into a situation that you really have no other choice, such as being in the same class, or having been introduced by mutual friends (or "friends"). You're not enemies -- that's a tad dramatic -- but you simply don't have any (apparent) common points of interest, you don't laugh at the same jokes (it's a victory if you just manage to not cringe), you just don't click. And so with these people, you find yourself avoiding on the streets years later, just to avoid the awkwardness of conversation.

Then you stumble upon their online abode, and it just seems wrong. It shouldn't, because -- after all -- many of the blogs you read are of total strangers, anyway. But you get the feeling that they'd rather you not, just as you'd probably rather they not read what you write. While you're sorting out this dilemma, however, you read, and you realise -- no, you're reminded of something you know but always forget -- that beyond that seemingly impenetrable glass of awkwardness (even hostility), you're not all that different, not as long as you both think and feel, even if they are about vastly different things.

So I guess what I really want to do is to catch that evading eye once in a while, manage a polite smile, even cursory laughter at the jokes I don't understand. You never know how much it may mean to someone else, and even if it doesn't, there's nothing really to lose.

***

On a separate note, tutorials are finally settled! :) I have Tuesdays and Fridays free, which sounds like a good thing -- and it is -- but only at the expense of 10 AM-to-9 PM Thursdays.

***


Pearls Before Swine by Stephan Pastis (Click for full strip)

With love from Down Under

I'm not sure what kinds of presents other people get from their baby sisters who are a million miles away from home, but I'm guessing not this.



And Gargamel wouldn't be Gargamel without his infamous line...



Ooh, scary! I shudder.

Corrinne May in concert III

Sometimes I wonder what lies ahead
How long till my hunger is fed
They say it's hard to make it in this part of town
So many people on this merry-go-round

Some folks try astrology
Some turn to crystal balls
To find an answer
To get through it all
I just fall on my knees and I try to pray
In the silence I can hear Him say

The river runs and the river hides
Out to the ocean and under the sky
I promise you, the answer will come
Hold on to patience and watch for the sign
Everything in its time

I often feel like I'm two steps behind
Somebody must have moved that finish line
There are a thousand reasons
Why I should give up
But I'm stubborn in the things I believe

'Cause maybe there's another plan
One I still can't see
A little surprise, like your love in my life
Funny how time changes how we see

-- "Everything in its Time" by Corrinne May

(Download eiit.wma, 3.81 MB, 04:08, via YouSendIt.com, link expires in 7 days expired, available upon request)

***

I've always been more poet than musician, although I'm not necessarily much of either. With music, it's always been about the lyrics -- I guess that's why my favourite performers are those who also write their own songs. And that's been the main reason why I love Corrinne May. I love the mix of maturity and playfulness, the poignancy and humour...

I'd never paid much attention to her voice; I guess when you mean what you sing, that sincerity just shines through, and that's more than enough for me. But last Wednesday I truly appreciated how beautiful her voice really is. The recordings don't do any justice to the power and smoothness in her voice; it's simply captivating. There is a piercing quality in that voice -- I found myself bawling a couple of times; I heard sniffles around me, so I know I wasn't alone.

She sang most of the songs on both her albums, and we had a real treat when she performed The Carpenters' "Close to You" during one of her encores. Definitely someone I'd pay good money to watch again, and it was a perfect respite in a stress-filled week. :)

***

X (over the phone): "Where are you now?"

Me: "In the car. Driving."

X: "Huh? You can talk on the phone while you drive?"

Me: "Earpiece."

X: "WAH! So high-tech, ah?!"

Me: "..."

My precious!

Signed, sealed, and delivered! :) That's seven months of labour in there. Almost like giving birth to a baby! Hur hur.



As it is, my acknowledgements for my final report took up a whole page. Still, I couldn't thank all of the people that I wanted to. So to complete the list, thank you to:

... Mom and Dad, for witnessing me at my (stress-induced) worst, for still choosing to love me, for staying up with me, for making ginseng tea for me, for praying with me, and most of all -- for just believing in me, despite my many doubts. (I tried to explain what my project was about, but I must not have done it too well; Dad started telling all his friends about it, and the more he did, the more different the story got. I bet somewhere in Timbucktoo, someone thinks that I just found the cure for cancer. A girl could not have better parents than these.)

... Friends who popped by to have lunch at my place when I quarantined myself, determined to exercise some semblance of self-discipline; know that no matter how busy I get, my doors will always be opened for you. Thank you for keeping me sane.

... Friends who prayed for me; there is no greater gift than your gift of prayer.

... Lastly, my beautiful Saviour -- the lover of my soul. Thank You for holding my hand every step of the way. Thank You for being the strength in my weakness. Thank You for being my light even when all seemed dark. Thank You for Your faithfulness in the midst of my faithlessness. Thank You for painting the sky a glorious shade of sunrise every morning, reminding me of Your goodness, and making each long night of work worth the while.

True-blue teddy

Even Blue Nose Bear loves Singapore... :)



I guess this post is kinda belated, but I'd just like to say anyway, that that new National Day song -- "Reach Out for the Skies" -- whenever it reaches the part where they sing "Our dreams, we all achieve," I keep hearing it as "Our dream rheology." Of course it doesn't make sense. (Er, well, in some warped, contrived, metaphorical way, maybe... nah.)

Lecture lamentation

You know you're hungry when you look at a friend's arm...



... And it reminds you of a twisted doughnut.



Sigh.

Inspiration

Taking a break from writing my report (due Monday), I caught sight of something that I'd pinned up on my board. In June, Steve Jobs delivered his now-famous "Stay hungry, stay foolish" speech. A glance at the wonderful blogs that I read (see sidebar) showed more than a couple of people who were touched by it. That is all well and good, but I didn't feel anything reading it.

Is this because I've never touched a Mac? ;)

On the other hand, it made me think of another commencement speech that was delivered earlier (in May) by Carly Fiorina -- ex-CEO of Hewlett Packard. Now this one -- it truly blew me away; it was funny, endearing, and inspiring.

Is this because I'm a woman? ;)

"To me, what you make of yourself is actually two questions. There's the 'you' that people see on the outside. And that's how most people will judge you, because it's all they can see -- what you become in life, whether you were made President of this, or CEO of that -- the visible you.

"But then, there's the invisible you, the 'you' on the inside. That's the person only you and God can see. For 25 years, when people have asked me for career advice, what I always tell them is don't give up what you have inside. Never sell your soul -- because no one can ever pay you back.

"What I mean by not selling your soul is don't be someone you're not, don't be less than you are, don't give up what you believe...

"... [Y]ou will be tested. You will be tested because you won't fit into some people's pre-conceived notions or stereotypes of what you're supposed to be, of who you're supposed to be. People will have stereotypes of what you can or can't do, of what you will or won't do, of what you should or shouldn't do. But they only have power over you if you let them have power over you. They can only have control if you let them have control, if you give up what's inside.

[...]

"Most people will judge you by what they see on the outside. Only you and God will know what's on the inside. But at the end of your life, if people ask you what your greatest accomplishment was, my guess is, it will be something that happened inside you, that no one ever saw, something that had nothing to do with outside success, and everything to do with how you decide to live in the world."

-- Carly Fiorina, commencement address at the North Carolina Agricultural & Technical State University, delivered May 7 (full speech here)

Sem VII, Day One

First day of school -- less than two hours of lessons -- and the madness has already begun.

Z: "Why don't they give us half day off? It's the eve of National Day, you know?"

Me (snickering): "As if that means anything to you."

Z (defiantly): "It does!"

Me: "Why? What do you need half the day off for?"

Z: "I have to go home to... er, wave my flag!"

Me: "..."

Happy National Day. Sigh.

One month ago

I was clearing out some of the messages and photos in my phone's archives, and I found this. Well, I found many photos of Rocky, but a look at the date that this was taken on gave me a little shock.



Here is Rocky in the waiting room of the vet's on July 8, terrorising some pup. What a difference a day makes, huh. I never even stopped to consider the time span in which everything took place. I mean, he was having trouble with his throat, yes, but he was still running around on all fours. And I realise how unhealthy this is, but for the first time, I can't help but wonder if I made the wrong decision. I know, I know, it doesn't matter now -- except that it does to me.

After we left the vet's, I went swimming. I knew I was going to be crying. Those of you who've done this before know that hours of crying is extremely tiring -- the eyes and face become tender from wiping away those tears; it's just a horrible feeling to add to all the worry and doubt. I thought that swimming would be a good distraction, plus I could cry while swimming and wouldn't have to care about the tears; no one would know, too.

Goggles were a huge oversight (pun not intended).

***

The phone call came. My mom and sis were in the room. I stopped towelling my wet hair, and the three of us exchanged knowing glances.

I answered the phone, and she broke the news. It's strange how you have this day pegged at the back of your mind -- you always know that someday... But when the words actually come out of the doctor's mouth, giving someone -- the love of your life -- a deadline, in the most literal sense of the word, I can't explain it. Suddenly there are so many things that you want to do all at once; scream, cry, turn back the time, spend every waking moment with him.

"Okay," I nodded, as if she could've seen. "I understand."

"Meanwhile, you can bring him home anytime from 6 PM tonight," the vet said gently.

"Okay," I nodded again.

I hung up, and I didn't even have to say anything -- my mom and sis already knew. We cried, and occasionally, someone would say something sensible like, "It's okay, he's had a long, good life," like it made everything better, but it didn't. I said it a couple of times too, I think. It didn't.

***

If I didn't have an idea of just how grave the situation was, I knew it the moment I saw Rocky in his cage when we went to pick him up that evening. No matter how weak he got in the past, just seeing us would have him climbing to stand on all fours. Even after that first surgery -- where the best he could do was wobble on those weakened limbs -- he stood up, wagged his tail, and threw himself into our arms.

This time, though, he laid motionless in the cage. Even as I called his name, and stroked the length of his body, he didn't budge; there wasn't even so much as a twitch in that tail of his -- his happiness indicator.

I carefully took him into my arms and cradled him in the car ride home. My baby.

He never stood to walk again; he never wagged his tail again. That photo of him in the waiting room? That was the last time he did all those things.

Something right

"There is nothing righter in the world than to love your wife, your sisters or your daughter."

-- "Present Continuous," Tribolum

Every once in a while, you come across a phrase, a sentence, or a paragraph that's so perfectly worded that you have to stop to take a deep breath, and read it over and over again; sometimes it touches you so deeply that you have no control over the tears that fall.

For a moment, I wondered if it was the sleep deprivation, or the stress of an impending deadline, but then I realised that this blog (if you can call it that) always makes me cry -- in a good way, of course. :)

Great big hole in the ground, please

A year ago at around this time, I was doing a vacation job with a bank. Now, the department was pretty big -- 100 people? -- and even if it was physically possible to meet all of them in a span of two months, it was mentally improbable that I would remember all of their names. I'm not particularly sociable anyway, so it was that I mingled primarily with a smaller group (less than 10?); they were the ones that I worked directly with, anyway.

A shuffle in personnel towards the end of my stint meant new people joining this smaller group, people that I didn't know, and as we went for lunch one day, to kinda initiate the new members, this guy -- whom I'd seen around as part of the 100-odd people, but only exchanged the occasional smile in the office -- came up to me...

"HELLO! Hi auntie, what's your name ah?"

Now, I've been called "auntie" before, but usually only by my neighbours' children i.e. under 12 years of age, and officially by Ben, of course. Oh, and also by friends who do it just to irritate me. Okay, so I didn't expect anyone to be able to tell at a glance that I was a student under that office garb, and this guy could pass off as an undergrad anytime, but "auntie" was still pushing it.

"Do we know each other very well?" I asked him, while furrowing my eyebrows disapprovingly.

"Eh, no. That's why I'm asking for your name!"

"Don't you think it's a little bit rude to be calling someone you don't know 'auntie'?! I mean, for all you know I could be younger than you," I rolled my eyes at him.

"HUH?! Eh, I didn't call you 'auntie' leh! I said, 'HELLO, I'm Andy, what's your name?'" he clarified, half-screaming his defence.

And for the first time in my life, I understood what people mean when they say that they want a big hole to open up in the ground beneath them; oversensitive, paranoid, whatever. I really just wanted to disappear, or at least, to stop my ears from turning bright red; I could feel them burning already.

I apologised profusely, but he was too busy laughing to catch anything substantial. From that day on, Andy took it upon himself to make fun of everything I said, and, progressively, also to everything I did, and... ate. Guh.

(The story wouldn't work with any other name, so I couldn't use a pseudonym or an acronym like I usually do. Please, please, please, don't let him chance upon this entry.)

Late-night ramblings IV

For the second time this week (that we know of, anyway), Marshall's Cat blatantly strolled into our house. She hasn't been as friendly since that one fluke encounter, but she still huddled in a corner of our kitchen and fell asleep anyway. We can't figure out if she walked into our house by mistake (she belongs to our next-door neighbour), or if she just decided that since there is no longer a dog around, she'll claim our house as her territory as well.

We get the occasional stray lurking in the kitchen from time to time, but Marshall's Cat actually curled up underneath our dining table the other day. We didn't even realise she was there until she eventually woke up; she gave my mom quite a fright.

"Maybe we have such a nice home that she can't help but be drawn into it," I offered.

"No, lah! It's because you keep on playing with her, lah!" my brother interjected objectionably.

Oops. I'd better think of something to stop her from coming into the house, especially with my aunt (yeah, the one who's afraid of cats; come to think of it, all my aunts are afraid of cats) coming home in two weeks' time.

***



Here's another photo I found of Marshall's Cat. This was taken in May of this year. As you can tell, she isn't looking at me. Yep, she's looking at Rocky. That's the ledge at our backyard that I was talking about; this was one of the instances where she was just taunting Rocky, a ritual that we'd come to be used to witnessing.




And this is a really old photo of Rocky, taken about five years ago. The reason why we had to mesh the grilles was because Rocky kept squeezing through (despite pictorial evidence of geometrical impossibility). He would walk up and down the ledge, perilously close to falling to his death (the ledge is about five metres off the ground, because our house is built on an incline).

We went crazy each time he ventured out, sometimes even despite the mesh, because he would somehow burrow his way through some part of the wire that wasn't properly tied. But each time we rushed towards him, screaming for him to hold still, he would just flash us that silly grin (even if it may not be accurate to say that dogs actually smile) as if to say, "What's up, guys? Everything's cool!" Everything was definitely not cool; you can tell how much space there was -- or wasn't -- for a dog his size.

Just one of those everyday adventures that you never give much thought to when they happen so often, but that you find yourself missing so acutely when you realise that you will never be able to retrieve any experience that's even remotely similar.

***

Mom and I were taking an evening stroll around the neighbourhood, when we heard two cats in the bushes. On closer inspection, we saw Crescent humping Marshall's Cat. I thought I made sure to check for Crescent's gender, but now it looks like I was wrong! I'll take a closer look the next time; that night, however, was reserved for the, ahem, lovebirds.

***

On this upcoming week (where Tuesday is a national holiday)...

X: "I feel like taking leave on Monday..."

Me: "Long weekend?"

X: "... And Wednesday, and Thursday, and Friday."

Me: "..."

Random reminiscence

I know that girls write letters to girls, and boys and girls write letters to each other, but do boys write to other boys? And I don't mean a birthday card with two words on it, I mean a real letter. I'm just wondering, because I found a wad of old letters the other day, and I don't recall any of my guy friends writing to one another.

***

"Hey, I have something for you. Are you in school today?" HM messaged me. We were in one of those revisional periods in JC -- just before our 'A' Levels -- where attendance was unnecessary (and hence sporadic). I wasn't in school, as it turned out.

"Nope. I'll be in school tomorrow though," I replied.

"But I will be skipping class tomorrow!" she protested.

"Uh, uh-oh. Okay, why don't you drop by my class bench and just pass it to G. I'll get it from him tomorrow," I suggested. G was a classmate, and he'd always expressed a slight crush on HM (who was from a different class), but never dared to take any initiative beyond the cursory hi and bye; I thought I'd give him a little surprise.

"Okay, I'll do that!" HM confirmed.

I gave G a call, telling him to expect something from HM for me, and his voice went all high-pitched and stuff. Yeah, yeah, she's cute -- I get it.

***

Later that day, HM called me. "Your friend -- that G -- he's very rude!" she huffed.

"Really? What happened?" I asked. He couldn't have offended her on their first real exchange, right? He just couldn't have.

"Go ask him what he did, just go ask him," she said, her voice dripping with contempt and disappointment. "I have to go. I'll talk to you again?"

***

"What did you do?!" I demanded of G the next morning.

His face forlorn, he explained how she'd handed him a Charlie's Angels postcard. You see, Charlie's angels were clad in skimpy bikinis, and he thought -- to leave her a good impression, that she might think him the decent sort (which he is not, but never mind that) -- he'd face the scantily-clad women down. He flipped the postcard over, only to find the side where all the writing was crammed on staring at him.

"HEY!" HM shouted at him. "That's really rude, you know, reading a letter meant for someone else?!"

"Oh no, no, I wasn't..." he tried to explain himself, but she'd turned and stormed away so quickly; he was left standing there, momentarily stunned. (I can't remember if she took the card back, but she probably did.)

Listening to him relate the story in helplessness, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I promise I'll explain it to her," I managed to assure him amidst the guffaws.

***

Days like these, I can't help but wonder how much of what I perceive are actually what they appear to be; I wonder -- these stories that I tell -- how different they are in someone else's memories, if they even remember at all.

I guess that's the beauty of human dynamics -- in one single encounter, we can walk away with vastly different experiences (as HM and G did); there are moments that some of us will remember for the rest of our lives, but these same moments, someone else will forget in an instant.

***

"There are minutes and there are moments. Minutes are for e-mail, meetings, standing in line and mowing the lawn. Moments, on the other hand, are for meditating on the first line of a book endlessly, looking at a genuine Da Vinci painting for the first time, listening to the ocean’s surf wash in and out, watching bluebirds teach their young how to fly, taking your daughter on a date, or celebrating a well-deserved accomplishment. Minutes are passing, moments are forever. Minutes get you by, moments transform your life as you know it."

-- "Minutes and Moments... Part One...," Ethos

Sem VII

The bidding process that we have to go through to procure our modules works pretty much like a simple auction -- each student is given a number of points, and you prioritise, strategise, and basically just plan where to put your magic beans.

The tricky part -- and also the most interesting -- is that two hours before bidding ends, the system goes into what we call the "Close Bidding" period. During this two-hour window, you cannot see what the minimum successful bid points are for each module, so you don't know if you've done enough to stay in the game, or if you're out of it, or if you just need that one more point.

Naturally everyone logs in during this period of time, to deliver that last-minute sucker punch, which no one can see, and therefore (hopefully) no one will outbid.



The thing is that, if this is the first time that they're doing this, then there is some excuse for the server overload. But this must be the fifth semester (or thereabouts) that they're doing this, and the server dies every single time! There are only so many students in the school, and given previous semesters' experience, shouldn't some provision have been made?

I'm just saying -- it's unfair for a deadline to be set, only for it to be effectively moved forward by three hours (or some other undeterminable length of time) without notice.

I was in the middle of typing an e-mail of complaint concern to The Powers That Be, expressing those very sentiments, when an alert came in (at 2:46 PM) to inform us that the bidding period was extended to 5 PM from the original 3 PM. Guh, okay.

***

These are the modules that I'll be taking next semester, if nothing goes terribly wrong:

• CN4119 -- Design I
• CN4210 -- Membrane Science
• CN4215 -- Food Technology
• EN2111 -- Reading British/World Texts
• LAB1201 -- Bahasa Indonesia I

I don't know what I'm doing taking a Level 2000 English module. Well, no, actually I kinda do -- they ran out of Level 1000 modules for me to take. Hur hur. I like having arts modules during the semester, because it means that after I throw up from looking at all the equations, I can lie in bed and read, and I don't have to feel guilty for not doing work. I'm just kidding -- well, partly -- but I did feel warm tears well up in my eyes when I held a Joseph Conrad book in my hand for the first time in many years.

This is actually quite a huge deviation from my original plan; I didn't have enough beans for the film module that I wanted. But it works just as well; I'll have one final unrestricted module for my final semester, and I've gotten so used to taking at least one arts module every sem that I'm not sure how I'd survive without it.

***

HW: "I can speak Tamil! My friend taught me one sentence! (Insert Tamil-sounding string here.)"

Me: "And what does that mean?"

HW: "Er..."

Me: "It means something bad, right? Obviously. Like you would ever pick up something otherwise."

HW: "Yah, it means 'you are a stupid pig.'"

T-T-T-Typical.

We'll see what else he manages to master in Bahasa Indonesia during the course of this sem.

Putting words into my mouth

One of those what-in-the-world moments; there's nothing quite like total unexpectedness to throw a conversation in a whole different direction.

Me: "Eh, I have something to tell you."

Terry/Vandice: "You have a crush on me?"

Me: "???"

T/V: "Don't worry, you're not the first!"

Me: "!!!"

My computer monitor would be a lot cleaner if people didn't keep saying things to make me spew my food out.

***


Pearls Before Swine by Stephan Pastis