5AM

6AM?

2008-07-06T05:57:00.002+10:00

Ah crap.
The hour has moved on and the sun has finally risen.
I have packed my suit in a bag and the taxi is waiting outside my door.
It is a brand new chapter.
+++.

Have you seen...

2008-02-11T14:00:00.000+10:00

"Our spring was wonderful, but summer is over now and we missed out on autumn. And now all of a sudden, it's cold, so cold that everything is freezing over. Our love fell asleep, and the snow took it by surprise. But if you fall asleep in the snow, you don't feel death coming." - Francine

It seems to be the current trend lately to make movies with snippets of a common theme, much alike to those six-degrees-separation kind of films. The plot can be quite pointless, but their main focus is the human interactions and the impact the dialogues have on the audience. One false move, the film can turn out to be quite disastrous.

Scenes of a Sexual Nature
This is such a film.

There are about seven couples in this movie, all of them hanging out leisurely on Hampstead Heath in North London. And the one thing that the couples have in common is the topic of sex/love/relationship. Sure, the movie has its fair share of mystery: not revealing the true relationship between the characters until much later. It can get quite interesting at some point, but overall, it is pretty bland.

The are only two couples's stories that I like. One is of Iris (starring Eileen Atkins) and Eddie (starring Benjamin Witrow), an old couple who visit the same park bench on their individually selected day for the last 50 years until one of them screwed up the day and bumped into each other. They struck up a casual conversation and discovered not long later that they were very much in love when they were teenagers, which were the reasons why they have been visiting the park bench for the last 50 years.

Another one is of Peter Brian Maxwell (starring Adrian Lester) and Sara Louise Williams (starring Catherine Tate), a supposedly divorced couple, who share a seven-year-old daughter Eve (starring Elle Mackenzie). What I like about this couple is the caring relationship they remain in even after a divorce. They still joke the way they would as if they were still together. And they have made a point that they still love each other, but they are just two very different people to be together. As if a marriage together would destroy what is good in their relationship. And it is quite a rare thing because normally when couples break up or divorce, that is the end of everything. The friendship they used to have is more than ruined and over, and it is just a pain to be around each other. This is not so for Peter and Sara, and that is what I like about them.

Paris, Je T'aime
And this is a film that works.

There are 18 arrondissements - meaning 18 short films - in this movie. There is an interesting casting of Natalie Portman, Elijah Wood, Emily Mortimer, and Juliette Binoche, and directors, such as Wes Craven, the Coen Brothers, Alfonso Cuaron and Gus Van Sant.

One thing I like about short films is that they are precise and straight to the point. No beating around the bush and just going straight for the core, only because there is not much time to procrastinate about. So, it is a good thing if the execution is good. And of course, bad if it is not good.

There are a few arrondissements that I like: Loin du 16e (XVIe arrondissement) by Walter Salles and Daniela Thomas, Bastille (XIIe arrondissement) by Isabel Coixet, Place des fêtes (XIXe arrondissement) by Oliver Schmitz, and Quartier de la Madeleine (VIIIe arrondissement) by Vincenzo Natali. The last one is probably the most creepily romantic short film I have ever seen. Heh.

But the two of my favourites are Tour Eiffel (VIIe arrondissement) by Sylvain Chomet and Faubourg Saint-Denis (Xe arrondissement) by Tom Tykwer. The former is of a mime artists couple (starring Paul Putner and Yolande Moreau), and it is the more adorable and hilarious one. The latter is quite a heartwarming and sad one, about a young blind man, Thomas (starring Melchior Beslon) and a theatre actress, Francine (starring Natalie Portman). When he receives a phone call from her saying she is going to break up with him, he relives their relationship from the moment they met. I specifically like this one because the montage is great and how can you ever go wrong with someone like Natalie Portman in the film?

Credits: Wikipedia, IMDB, QuickFlix.

Lesson #11

2008-02-04T16:59:00.000+10:00

Life Comes Rushing at You
Lucas Scott

When life comes rushing at you from
  out of the darkness
Who will you choose to face it with
Will it be someone you trust
Will they be wise
And will their love for you help them
  to guide you into the light
Or will they lose their way in the darkness
Will they make noble choices
Or will that be
  someone untested
  someone new

Life comes rushing at you from
  out of the darkness
When it does
Is there someone in your life you can count on
Someone who will watch over you when you
  stumble and fall
And in that moment
  give you the strength to
  face your fears
  alone

Have you seen...

2008-02-02T14:42:00.000+10:00

"When you make a move out of stress or anger, it always ends in catastrophe." - John Casey

Elephant
For someone like Gus Van Sant, a director who is famous in his films portraying the mundaneness of human interactions, you would expect something better - something like Good Will Hunting perhaps.

This movie is awfully slow as we follow a few "ordinary" students through their "ordinary" day in an "ordinary" school. Maybe it got a little too "ordinary" because I found myself following the back of heads and going through a particular scene for maybe three times but from different perspectives. Sure, he is trying to convey everyone's point of view, but it got too redundant when I am seeing the same thing again and again. At one point, I am watching this kid going through his photo developing process, really thoroughly. And it made me think what is the purpose of this all. I do not know if that is point of it all, but I could not really remember all the characters vividly and some even popped out out of nowhere with no sense of purpose or reason, and before I knew it, he's cut off from the film already, ie. this Benny character (starring Bennie Dixon); I thought when he appeared at the very end of the film he would put up a fight with the shooters before going down, but instead he just merely got shot straight away. So, what is the point of bringing him into the movie anyway. The movie did not worked for me until the last ten minutes when the shootings started abruptly. Things got slightly interesting from there, but not yet desirable.

It is one of those movies about "what were you doing when it happened" kinds of events that reshape the rest of people's lives. It is unmistakable that this film got the inspiration from the 1999 Columbine High School shooting. And maybe I need to be in the middle of it all to know what it is all about. To know the normality of it all before something so tragic happened. To know the expectation of nothing in particular before it all unfolds. Then, I remember another fictional portrayal of a school shooting in one of the episodes of One Tree Hill, and the reaction I got from the latter was definitely more emotional and heart-wrenching than this film.

Well, if Gus Van Sant was planning to bring forth the originality of a boring school life, he had hit it spot on, but we are talking about a movie after all, a form of entertainment, so perhaps a little bit of drama or suspense will not hurt. If not, I might as well just reminisce my high school day and be done with it.

Bobby
Another "what were you doing when it happened" movie, but at least this one works better for me than the previous film. With an all-star cast, it tells the story of the days before Robert Francis Kennedy's presidential win and eventual assassination from the perspectives of the staffs and customers in the Ambassador Hotel.

A quiet Latino kitchen staff (starring Freddy Rodríguez) has to give up his tickets to the anticipated Dodgers game before he is working a double shift during the election party that night. A young black man (starring Nick Cannon) working in the Kennedy candidacy staff who have put all his hopes on Senator Kennedy for a better world for him and communities like him after the loss of Dr Martin Luther King. Two boys (starring Shia LaBeouf and Brian Geraghty) from the same candidacy staff who forwent their promotion duties to get high in a hotel room worries if they had done enough for Senator Kennedy to win the election. A young girl (starring Lindsay Lohan) married a boy (starring Elijah Wood) from her school so that he could be spared going to war in the front lines in Vietnam. And so on. Their day before the presidential announcement was all tied together by one man and one hope, and how the assassination would undo everyone in one single blow.

I was not born during that time of the year, nor am I familiar with the desperation for the kind of hope they were looking for: one that would bring them home from war, one that would better the communities of minorities, one that would dawn on a country a new ray of sunlight, before everything was taken away with a bullet through the head. I cannot really connect with these characters - heck, I even wondered if he was John F Kennedy's son or nephew or brother, and if it had died before JFK or after - but it showed me the kind of mess they were in, how they looked up to Robert Kennedy like a saviour, and how their dreams just shattered when the news of RFK's death hit them. It just made me realised that I was quite fortunate to not have been in their shoes, and wondered if we children of today were taking it all for granted.

Credits: QuickFlix, IMDB

Have you seen...

2008-01-22T15:12:00.000+10:00

"My characters will have, after a little trouble, all that they desire." - Jane Austen

Becoming Jane
I have only known Jane Austen by name, and have not read any of her books before. I do not think I am one to like a movie of Old England times. But I find it quite impressive how this movie can draw me in. Perhaps it is because it has so much to do with myself; I have always liked a movie that I can relate to. Although the movie is fictional, but it has, after all, been brought together based on researched facts of Jane Austen's life, so it cannot be that far from the truth.

Jane Austen (starring Anne Hathaway) has a mother (starring Julie Walters) like my own. Someone who seeks only the best for her own daughter, but seems to have conveyed her best interest in desperate ways that may have wounded the daughter's heart. "I could live by my pen, Jane said meekly. "Pen?" Mrs Austen repeated, sounding rather offensive. "Let's knock that notion out of the head once and for all." Not to say that she is a bad mother, because when it comes down to it, in practicality, she is right. She just underestimates the uncommon path her daughter is heading down.

And a father (starring James Cromwell), much like my own. Someone who will always put her daughter's own desires above the rest, no matter how impossible or childish it may seem. Yet, at the end of the day, it was his wife that he sided. Out of fear or out of concern, a daughter may not know. Deep down, he did not want her daughter to suffer the way he did most of his life. Deep down, he knew that his wife is right, as much as it hurt him that it contradicted her daughter's well-wishes. "Nothing destroys spirit like poverty," her father had told her.

Not much has changed since the 18th century. Most authors still do not have the best life. Never mind the famous JK Rowling, or Dan Brown, or John Grisham, or Stephen King. Beneath the few that hogged the New York Times Bestseller list, are the many trampled bodies of unsuccessfully emerging writers. So, the chances of gaining fortune from merely writing books are slim, if not none.

Surely enough, Jane Austen did not marry, keeping true to her word to not wed without affection. But how many writers out there have already succumb to dependence to a significant other of higher income, and how many writers followed her footsteps, remaining in her clouds of romance and succeeded in doing so.

Hunting and Gathering
Compare to Audrey Tautou's earliest works - Amelie and A Very Long Engagement - I do not like this movie much. Probably because it is just like any other romance movie out there: girl hates boy, they started harbouring likeness to each other, like grows to love, yada yada. It does not have the unique plots and characteristics in the previous movies she was in. But I have to give credit to Françoise Bertin (Paulette), for her acting struck a core in me that I never knew still existed.

I have always felt a pang of envy whenever my friends talk about their grandparents with such love in their stories. How well they get along with them elderlies and how much they miss them when they are away studying overseas. I cannot really chip that of my own grandparents because they are not around anymore. And to be honest, I have not been the best granddaughter when they were around either. Which is something I regret, I suppose. Not really something that makes me loose sleep at night, but definitely something that dwells at the back of my head unconsciously.

My heart feels alright when I see old folks walking down the streets around me, or when I see grandmothers fooling around with their grandchildren. I was a rebellious little teenager when I was young, and I often ask myself, would I have gone on alright with my grandmother if she were still around. Would I have learned to love her more. Maybe I will go ask her when I make a trip to her grave at the cemetery. I have a feeling it gets quite lonely up there, regardless of the swelling number of graves spilling out onto the narrow lanes.

Albums for 2007

2008-01-01T15:29:00.000+10:00

This is a year of downloading albums, instead of buying them. This is a year of soundtracks, lots and lots of them. This is a year of instrumentalism, not much of lyricism. This year I bring you album artworks too, and much much more to say for the help I have gotten musically to recuperate from the year before.

The Loves
Fires by Nerina Pallot
Damien Rice had just released 9 Crimes and it was only available for listening at 14th Floor Records. I found her folded neatly next to his new album, and one can never go wrong with a new musician when she shares the same home as Damien Rice. There is a stillness in her voice that is quite unlike Lisa Hannigan's, at a league of her own. I have always liked a singer with a beautiful and distinguishable voice. It is hard not to like her, when she is singing about things that are relative to me. You could say this is the album for me that year. Something about the frustration in life, about the realisation of loss innocence, about the ambition of running away, about the imagination of coming home.
- Idaho.m4a

Welcome to Reality by Ross Copperman
When there is a girl, there is a boy.
I first heard Ross Copperman on One Tree Hill and he just hit all the right notes for me. Granted, he is not the most thoughtful artiste out there. He is pretty much along the lines of James Morrison and The Fray. But he came to me on a night of the greatest despair and that is how he came to earn a spot in my heart. He is one of those male singers with a lovable voice that makes me want to listen to him a little longer and sing along with him. There is a tint of pain in his voice, which he used to his advantage, singing about hope and faith. He just makes my world alright again. And that is what I like about him. Maybe he is just a ghost of a good thing, and I am drawn to him in false pretenses. But he knows what the world will never know. He leaves me dreaming for another day and to wish it all away on January, March, December and May. He reignited my hope for a getaway. He gave me faith for a lucky day. He is not just supernaturalistic, artificial's cup of tea, but he believes in me.
- Believe.mp3

The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place by Explosions in the Sky
I was going through Shaun Tan's graphic novel The Arrival when I was listening to their 13-minute long It is Natural to be Afraid, and I am surprised myself to see how the change of tone in the song coincided with every page I turn and every mood portrayed in the pages. It is quite creepy, to say the least. If they did not get my attention back when I heard them on Friday Night Lights, they certainly got my attention then. Their music is something I have never encountered before in my entire music loving life. They are a breath of fresh air. Instrumental, ambient and technological. all mashed into one. With their haunting guitar and piano, with their catchy bass and percussions, they created a whole new world of emotions you cannot string words together to say. Try staying up late in the night without the lights on and listen to them with your headphones/earphones to get the full closure. You might actually see salvation.
- The Only Moment We Were Alone.mp3

Stay soundtrack by Asche and Spencer
If Explosions in the Sky were the immaculate moon, Asche and Spencer is the dark side of the moon. Taking my recent favoritism of ambient instrumental music to the next level, I decided to track down the soundtrack to the most peculiar movie I have seen. Unlike the former band, the tracks barely made it to the 5-minute length. Short and bittersweet, they delved deep into the most painful memory you hide at the back of your mind, stole them out into broad daylight and made you face all the fear you have been trying to hide from. The songs played their part in the music, making the movie, like so many movie soundtracks out there, complete. They took random noises of wails and squeaks, mixed them with the conventional pianos and strings and guitars and cymbals, and made them into the most aching music one would find to suit one's nightmares. Creepy, yet comforting, at the same time. Comforting sounds.
- I'm Never Gonna Sleep Tonight.mp3

Christmas Eve and Other Stories by Trans-Siberian Orchestra
A different kind of Christmas. The 3306 unit is stifling hot that day and we were playing another round of Mahjong. Shawn had his laptop out in the living room, going through Christmas songs by this particular orchestral band. I have always liked it when two different genres of music get together and create the most mind-blowing hybrid. There are the classical violins that raise goosebumps on your arms with that seasonal serenade. There is the heavy-metallic guitar that makes your toes curl with that soaring whine of a solo. When there are vocals, they remind me strangely of Meat Loaf, the same kind of majesty in the music and the voice. So what they are songs about Christmas. They are worth checking out any day of the year, and don't tell me you have never sneaked into the attic and thrash out your Christmas records to listen in the middle of July.
- Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24.mp3

Becoming Jane soundtrack by Adrian Johnston
I end my year with a blast back to the past. To the very beginning of my musical days when I had loved - and still do - the orchestra. Back to the basics. The bellowing oboe in A Game of Cricket reminds me of the evening before a performance, when a tutor paced around the backstage playing the Swan Lake Suite to calm his nerves. The fumbling flute in To The Ball reminds me of the days when I was still a skilled flutist, and how it aches my heart - like in the song - that I could never have those days back. The quiet pianos in Rose Garden reminds me of the days when I still aspired to be a musician. My fingers itch to touch the yellowing ivory keys at home. Sometimes, they just make it so simple to rekindle a fondness that had grown stale in you, make it seem like anything is possible again.
- To The Ball.mp3

The Likes

The Honorable Mentions

The Et Ceteras

Credits: Amazon.com, YouSendIt.com.

22 things I did when I am 22

2007-12-31T13:48:00.000+10:00

#1 - Went snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef.
#2 - Went white water rafting.
#3 - Danced on a massive anthill.
#4 - Went on, not one, but two roadtrips.
#5 - Spent the majority of my 22nd birthday in a car ride.
#6 - Finished University.
#7 - Baked cookies, and...
#8 - Set off the fire detector.
#9 - Spent Christmas in Brisbane.
#10 - Saw Damien Rice in concert.
#11 - Forwent two concerts after getting the tickets.
#12 - Moved into an apartment in the city.
#13 - Spent my birthday in Australia.
#14 - Learned to play Mahjong.
#15 - Made a photography portfolio of a fallen angel.
#16 - Read a novel a week for thirteen weeks.
#17 - Saw a chiropractor.
#18 - Met Glen Hansard in person.
#19 - Confessed to my family of my spiritual fallout.
#20 - Went for a picnic.
#21 - Attended the Boxing Day shopping extravaganza.
#22 - Fell down embarrassingly in public.

Christmas in Brisbane

2007-12-29T13:07:00.000+10:00

It was my first time spending Christmas away from home in Brisbane. It was quite boring, as most of my friends had gone back to their hometowns to celebrate Christmas with their families. However, we still managed to put together a Christmas Eve dinner gathering (with most of Ludwig's friends). We were to make a dish each to bring to the gathering, and since I was not a very good cook, and Ludwig and Eng Kiat had gotten that covered, I decided I would make some gingerbread man cookies.

This is not to say that I am any better at baking cookies. If you must know, this is my first time baking. Ever. Coming from a household where the mother bakes constantly, you would think I have the chance to bake a few times in my life before I hit the 20s. But, if you know my mom, it is a different story.

On the day before Christmas Eve, I had gotten the baking ingredients and borrowed some baking utensils from Kai Wen. That night, I set out to make the dough. Which was quite easy until the next day when I had to do the baking. I found out that Kai Wen did not have any gingerbread man cookie cutter and a dough roller, so I had to make do with what I have around me. Ah, the joy of being a student. I ended up making them cookies in the shape of Christmas trees and had to flatten the dough using a beer bottle.

All was well right until 10 minutes after I left the dough in the oven. Spongebob Squarepants: The Movie was on TV and Ludwig was on the couch minding his own business while I went about pottering in the kitchen. Suddenly, the smoke detector went off. In the midst of the deafening siren, we tried to disable the detector. Ludwig was fumbling with it, not knowing how to dismantle it to begin with, while I merely looked on, mentally urging him to hurry up before the fire department shows up. How embarrassing would that be.

Fortunately, we managed to shut the thing up by wrapping a plastic bag over it. The entire unit reeked of burned cookies the moment we opened the smoke-filled oven to take out the cookies, which had been smoldered to pure blackness.

It turned out that the 350 degree oven heat stated in the recipe, was actually in Fahrenheit, instead of Celsius.

So, I had to wait for about an hour for the smell of smoke to leave the oven before I continue baking the rest of the dough. We had two fans on in full blast to rid of the awful smell. And the fire department never showed up. Fortunately. Perhaps they had all gone on holidays too.

I decided to try again after that, because when you fail the first time, you brush yourself off and try again. This time, I have the oven at 160 degrees and fan-forced. At last, the cookies turned out alright.

Look at those beauties. Quite edible too, if I do say so myself. Not exactly the kind of gingerbread cookies I have expected. The gingerbread men I have seen were quite moist and thick. Mine were mere crispy cookies.

At the end of the day, I managed to finish baking the dough with an hour plus to spare. The crowd at the gathering quite liked them. Being the skeptical me, I did not know if they were just being polite or were truthful, but it did not matter to me. I wanted to try baking and I did. Even though there were a few set backs at first, it had definitely been an eventful Christmas for the year.

After all, what is life without setting off a few smoke detectors?

Credit: Simple Recipes

The becoming of an expensive Christmas present

2007-12-21T18:01:00.000+10:00

Sometimes, I do not know why I pay so much attention to the most mediocre things.

City love (Part 2)

2007-12-15T10:35:00.001+10:00

"I've got a city love. I found it in Lydia." - John Mayer

The first part of the post was up back in July, and by now, I would have already stayed in my "new" place for about four months, and would be leaving in approximately two months' time. Even the novelty of staying in an apartment in the city has worn off. Now, I am not even sure if moving into the city is such a good thing after all, but just something glamorous. Hurray for procrastination.

The apartment I am staying in is along Albert Street of the Brisbane City. A very close proximity to my Uni's Gardens Point campus; a mere 5-10 minutes walk. However, my classes are at the Kelvin Grove campus, so it is another 10-15 minutes of bus ride to school. The good thing is, I am right smack in the middle of everything. Shopping malls, grocery stores, and stuffs... Basically, things you normally find in the city but not in the suburbs. Honestly, nothing to shout about when it is in the Brisbane City you are staying in, because there is not much activities at night, let alone the weekends.

How is the view from the top? Quite magnificent. My unit is facing the Brisbane River, so we are getting constant breeze. Not really good during winter, but very good indeed during summer. We do not have the full view of the river, as you can see in the first picture, with that piece of an apartment in the way, but it is all good.

It is not apparent in the picture, but right at the horizon of the first picture, is actually the Brisbane airport. Day and night, we can see airplanes landing and taking off. It always brings a kind of unexplainable and bittersweet feeling to my heart whenever I see the planes heading off to unknown destinations. Not much of me getting home in time, but more of the urge to fly off to somewhere else.

How about the view down below? One side you see the bustling streets. Cars swerving out of their respective lanes, and pedestrians crossing the streets.

The other side you have a prefect view of ground zero.

Dandy.

The one bad thing about living in a developing city is that construction is always going on. It is like passing the baton; when one block is done demolishing, another block starts panning the grounds, and when that is done another block begins drilling the walls. When I first moved in, it was a constant disturbance to me. Once, they started work at six in the freaking morning. But I think I have gotten the hang of the noises now. I can say that on some days, I can sleep in through it all. Or maybe not. I just have to make sure I am listening to my music on full blast, and not sleep when I am half-awake, I will wake up not cranky.

At night, the city rings with occasionally sirens and hooligans. Especially during weekends, you can hear people screaming down the streets, or loud music playing somewhere around the corner. If things go real bad, the fire department or the ambulance would pay you a visit. So basically, living in the city, you barely hear silence - the sheer silence that rings aloud in your ears. Because even in the deepest of the night, the turbines keep the city's melody playing with the lowest hum.

The unit I am staying in is a two-bedroom unit. I have two housemates and none of us are sharing rooms. It is not rocket science, but I shall reveal to you as I proceed.

This is my housemate, Therese's room. It will be the first room everyone comes upon when entering the unit. You cannot really make it out, but it is a picture of a female pilot on her door. She has a thing for pilots (and doctors, but pilots especially, being an ex-air-stewardess herself). She is barely home during assignment season, and when she is home, she is asleep. So, most of the day while I am awake, she is actually asleep in the other room. Her alarm clock does not serve much purpose as she goes back to sleep after shutting it off. She smokes a lot. I mean, a lot. And is very loud. Heh. But a helpful friend nonetheless, and would only trouble you with the most trivial things and most random burst of irritating sing-songs.

Next, would be the bathroom-cum-laundry-room. Nothing appealing, so no pictures. Basically, it is just a tiny bathroom with a little partitioned corner for the dryer and washing machine. We have a huge slab of mirror across the sink, where guys could check themselves out while peeing. (Never really know if my guy friends do that, but I am sure it is unavoidable as the mirror is just in.the.face.). Then, the shower, which is quite spacious.

This be the kitchenette, where all the food is made with love. Where once Therese set the fire detector off while deep frying eggs. Where I burned a few of our dinners. Where my housemate, Victor, cooked different varieties of curry night after night after night. Heh.

Next, would be the living-room-cum-Victor's-corner/room. We have an interesting story here. In the span of say, four months, this little corner has been occupied by three tenants. First and initial tenant was Andrew, who stayed there for about a week, before moving up to a unit a few levels above when Victor had to move in due to erm, academical complications. He stayed with us for an entire semester before moving out in the summer to have our current housemate, Ludwig, stay for the summer.

Victor is a guy with few words, but sheer mumbles when he speaks. He talks fast and half of the time, I do not get what he is saying. Maybe it is just me, heh. Becase he is only enrolled for a class that semester, he is home most of the time watching TVB series and Taiwanese talk shows, and occasionally will play Dota. He cooks the most in the household, and as mentioned, mostly curry. So often did he cook curry that when I went on my Cairns trip and had curry after not having them for a while, it reminded me of him. Heh. He studies IT, so he does most of the electrical and Internet knick knacks at home.

Last but not least, this be my bedroom, with my Eskimo buddy to greet you first thing. It is obviously a smaller room compared to the one I was staying in in my previous house. But yet, quite spacious compared to my other housemates', which means higher rental fee. Nonetheless, I love my little space.

I had my study desk moved from Kelvin Grove, and had a new cabinet for some of my stuff. I came from a place with plenty of drawers, you see, so I had to make do with what I have here to fit in my things. Fortunately, I had a spacious wardrobe so I am not complaining. Also, I downgraded from a queen-sized bed to a single bed. Not complaining too, as I am not really a fan of big beds for myself. It is a good feeling, but it highlights loneliness too clearly sometimes.

My room has a sliding door to go out into the balcony, where me and my housemates do our bits for the environment every day without fail. I know it looks bad in this picture, but believe you me that it has gotten better since. It gets stuffy if the door is closed and I feel like I am asphyxiating so I would prefer the doors open when nobody is fagging outside.

Also, we get visitors almost every day as we have friends in, not one, but two units above us. One unit stays Esther, Shawn, Joel, Kai Wen and Leng, who unintentionally found themselves seeking refuge in the same apartment when their lease ended in another apartment. Another stays Andy, Andrew and Chung Yi. So, when we want to, it can get quite rowdy.

NaNoWriMo 2007

2007-12-01T10:17:00.000+10:00

40,055 / 50,000
(80.1%)

Hah! Bet you did not see this one coming. Honestly, I did not either, but I happened to be writing something in November so I decided to have it as a NaNoWriMo thing as well.

There is a reason I did not say anything about this story, mainly because I do not want to jinx it. I did not even key in the daily word counts until yesterday on the NaNoWriMo website. That was the mistake I did last year: I talked about it too much, I kept track with the daily word count too vigilantly, and I ended up killing the story. If you would believe me, I would have hit the 50,000 mark if I had not been away for 9 days. In fact, I would have gone further than that; I did went past my word count for last year. Alas. A girl needs her holiday too.

Yes, you read right. I went on a holiday for 9 days, so watch this space. I will be updating photos and perhaps stories very soon. Depending on how articulate and inspired I am.

Lesson #10

2007-11-08T23:39:00.000+10:00

"The world is a deaf machine"

"Sometimes you wait
and wait
and wait
and wait
and wait
and wait
and wait
but nothing ever happens"

"Wonderful things are passing you by"

"Sometimes you just don't know what you are supposed to do
or who you are meant to be
or where you are"

Credit: The Red Tree by Shaun Tan @ ShaunTan.net

QUT : Year 2 Semester 2

2007-11-06T21:00:00.000+10:00

To be honest, I had not much heart for this final semester. Probably got off on the wrong foot, and it did not help much when you have somehow lost faith in yourself in writing as well. I guess I should have made the most of this one last semester in University. Paid more attention in class. Tried harder to get better grades. Made the last attempt to blend into the crowd and stand out. Instead, I skipped a lot of classes. So many that by the time the last few weeks came, I was surprised to realise how fast time had passed me by. So many that by the time everything ended, I did not feel this burden lifted off of me, as it had been lifted off practically at the beginning of the semester. There might not even had been a weight at all.

Unlike last semester, three of my four studying days in the week started at 10AM. You know how I am with morning classes, and especially since after I had created a sort of writing pattern of my own first thing in the morning. I was not very pleased I had to sacrifice that for classes. So. Being in bed every morning seemed like a better choice than getting ready for classes.

Class #1: Photomedia and Artistic Practice
This is a photography class. I was quite excited about it when I heard of its existence, quickly signed myself up when I could. But the novelty sort of wore off as quickly as I stepped into my first classes. Mind you, the lecturer was quite an enthusiastic old lady - whom one of my friends dubbed a lady Tim Burton with her wrinkled skin and long crooked fingers - and she had been quite helpful in the few times I had asked for help.

I was just not really comfortable when things got so technical. That we have to watch out for so many technicalities that have nothing to do with the nature of taking photographs. I do not mean to sound snobbish; in fact, when this class was over I do feel a little left behind when everyone who took notes on those things got better grades than I. Throughout my years in QUT, I realised that studying writing did no good for my writing. Yes, I have learned that few things, but along the way, I went a little uptight and destroyed everything I touched. So yes, my fault. Did not say it was not. Thus, I just stay away from the tiniest knick knacks of photo taking, fearing that would somehow hinder the interest I have for photographing. And of course, being in a computer lab at 10AM is not cool. For me. I skipped the most classes for this subject. Did not do as well as my friends in the first three assignments as well. But well. I am not aiming for anything higher anyway.

We have four problem-solving assignments and a folio plus an artist's statement. Four problem-solving: pictorialism, still life, abstraction and redeeming the homely. Most of my pictures were the ones I have taken before in trips and back in Malaysia. So I guess I am quite grateful that I rapidly took pictures all these while. The folio is self-directed and we can do whatever we want, as long as it is in the premise of what we had studied. Mine was what I have shown in the previous post. Heh. I have gotten quite good feedbacks from friends and the lecturer, but the verdict still remains, so we shall see how I fair out.

All in all, I would say this is quite an easy class to score a High Distinction. After all, it is only just going around taking pictures. No writing involved except for that artist's statement, which is really nothing compared to a 6000 word novel draft. It is only me who decided not to try my hardest and very best, is all. It is just a principle thing.

Class #2: Creative Writing Project 1
Gawd. This class was gruesome. A 6000 word novel submission. The most dreadful assignment throughout my years in QUT. Only one class per week, but a good three hours at that. The lecturer skipped a lot of classes at one point, but then after that, I just stopped going.

In my opinion, this class would only work for and be useful for you if you already had a novel in the making and are really serious in having it go places. Because all we ever do is re-write, edit and critique, re-write, edit and critique. Rinse and repeat. So we have the lecturer give us the latest news in the writing and publishing world - Do you know: In Australia, Dymocks kind of bought over Borders; In the UK, Borders was sold to not a company, but a single man - and we have to like read out loud one "beautiful" sentence "from the wild" and another from our works, other than that, it is just boring writers' stuff.

What I do not like about this class, is that we got arranged into different crit groups so damn often I just do not know what to do anymore. We even have like different types of editing to do. There is this structural editing, which I do not know what the heck I am supposed to do, I even felt stupid asking for help. In the end, I did not get as much help for my story as I expected. In The Novel and The Short Story from my previous semesters, I got back a stack of feedbacks from practically the entire class. This one. I only got like, a handful. Mind you, not that I wanted much feedback on the story I worked on, seeing that it sucked in the first place anyway, but it is just a little frustrating when I got lost. Does not help either when your classmates wrote the most confusing pieces ever you do not know where to start critiquing them. Sheesh. Just makes me feel stupider than ever.

Class #3: Youth and Children's Writing
Quite an interesting class. We mostly just dealt with children and young adult fiction writing, and a lot of my course mates did show a great liking for it as well. But being the jaded person that I am this semester, it was just another class.

Like The Novel, we had to read a list of books, which were all shorter, but I did not read half of the list anyway.

... The Virgin Suicides : Jeffrey Eugenides *
... Deadly, Unna? : Philip Gwynne
... The Curious Incident of the Dog at the Night-time : Mark Haddon *
... Sleeping Dogs : Sonya Hartnett *
... Twelve : Nick McDonell
... Northern Lights : Philip Pullman
... How I Live Now : Meg Rosoff
... The Arrival : Shaun Tan *
... Seven Little Australians : Ethel Turner
... Lockie Leonard, Human Torpedo : Tim Winton

I only enjoyed a few books in this subject (noted *), especially Shaun Tan's, which happens to be a marvellous graphic novel instead. We have to pick a book to present during tutorial and I picked his book. The lecturer had quite detailed lectures on every book and they seemed quite interesting most of the time. Plus, an exam.

But. See. The real gist of this subject, was not the books but the creative piece we hand in during mid-semester instead. We have to write a 2,500 word piece - be it academic writing or a creative piece - and by the end of the semester, a handful of us was picked to have a reading in front of the class, and from these selected few, three winners would be picked to win gift vouchers. That got everyone hyped up. Everyone was included, including those writing academic essays as well, but we all know that is not going to happen. What would you rather hear, a story of a boy's adventure to destroy a bully's handbook, or a bunch of ramble on the Harry Potter phenomenon?

Class #4: Writing and Publishing Industry
This class seemed to make me the most depressed when I thought of my situation in being a writer. Cannot even find a good idea to write well and already I am figuring out how to get it published. Seems a little far fetched, no? Anyway, we had interesting guest speakers over to talk and sometimes, it got quite motivating. Other times, rather downhearted.

Quite a boring class compared to the others, but mostly we were just to write essays. Got one to write a report on a Brisbane Writers' Festival's panel we attended, and another on an Australian writer. We were supposed to argue something in the latter essay, but was not sure what was there to argue about for a writer's career. I picked Venero Armanno, author of The Dirty Beat, an interesting book I bought off the Festival. Turns out he is a lecturer in University of Queensland and he had wrote about ten novels that went unpublished before his first publication. Now, that is something motivating and humble. I think.

Another assignment is to come up with a publishing plan for a book we are "working on". I chose to plan out the story I wrote for the creative piece for Youth and Children's Writing. It was quite a fun thing to do, since I am one to kind of like planning stuff. I get to come up with interesting marketing ideas that I do not need to consider its practicality. Heh. Fun, really, to some extent.

So, there you go. At the end of my University days, I did the exact opposite instead. Forgive me that I sounded so ranting and cynical. One cannot help it when one has bigger problems to worry about. Just like that, done with Uni.

What now, Miss Writer?

A collection of portraits

2007-11-03T19:58:00.000+10:00

October's lullaby

2007-10-03T17:06:00.000+10:00

Like a lightswitch, it flicked on in my head and I was bright awake a few minutes shy of 6AM. The light outside looked weird, as if stained with the wrong colours. My blurry eyes made out the thick fog flowing through the city buildings. Vacant offices. Snoring residents. Simultaneous yellow lights at a crossroad. It seemed like Heaven came down on us, or the piece of Australian land brought up to the clouds. All of this happening while we were in a dreamworld. Literally, we were in a dreamworld.

I have not the mood for this. The island can sink down into the Pacific Ocean for all I care. I just want to sleep. Other than being called awake while I was still sleeping, I hate it that I am awake when I just want to go to sleep. Waking up at the shrill rings of my alarm clock, I have gotten used to. But waking up at that silent clap of my biological clock, that is just ridiculous. Wake me up when September ends. I am awake, alright.

Days have been bad since September left. Hours felt a little left to center. Food tasted awful in my tongue. Stories like a foreign babble in my head. Normalcy seemed abnormal. Tears cried easier than a tilt of the lips. And my only escape is sleep. Sleep away the painful minutes. Sleep away the wrongs. Wake up anew. Wake up with a shred of yesterday's memory forgotten, lost. Like an amnesia. Anything to make it through the day.

6AM. My mind ran like a jogger sprinting through the parks. So awake. I need a lullaby. A repetitive lullaby of dreamy pianos. Voice of a comforting father. "Do what you must do, to fill that hole. Wear another show, comfort the sole." Whisper of a consoling mother: "Don't weep. My sweet." And that strange works of an usual instrument. A bowl that sings. Word has it that in the Tibetan culture, the singing bowl calms the tired and troubled and sad souls. Put them to sleep. Put me to sleep.

I woke up to my alarm at 9.30AM. Awake. Dazed. Not really there. I went to school for the first time since the beginning of my break. The place I have been going every week for almost two years, suddenly seemed foreign to me. And I forgot why I like hanging out in that place so much. I ordered my usual take away Latte. The nice manager took my order, knowing what I would order. I am a regular. And for the first time, asked me how was my day. Why trouble a stranger? "It's been good." When actually, it has not.

I had coffee with a cigarette. And made it to class in time to do a presentation for a book proposal I have not even finished. All of these with my contacts too dry in my puffy eyes. Spaced out when someone commented on the original piano man, Billy Joel. The conversations spun too quickly and by the time I realised who he was - "Sing us a song, you're the piano man" - I know who he is, the time to say "Oh, him!" has passed.

Tonight. Instead of alcohol, maybe just tea to put me to sleep. Reading The Dirty Beat. Listening to Sleep Don't Weep and the straining singing bowl.

Bono was wrong. Sometimes, you have to make it on your own.

2007 Brisbane Writers Festival (12/9-16/9)

2007-09-15T22:54:00.000+10:00

"There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are." - W Somerset Maugham

Here comes another year of get together for Brisbane's homegrown writers. Unlike last year, I did not take part in volunteering, which gave me lesser chances to head on over there and attend the sessions. I could not help feeling like I am being left out from checking out some of the good authors out there, listen to them yak away about their books and about themselves, line up and get their autographs (how dodgy and lame), and get into paid events free. There are so many interesting sessions this year, but unfortunately, it seems like there are more paid sessions too, which is a bummer. Last year was gloomy and it rained during the festival. This year, it was sunny all along and they have shifted the event to the State Library, just across the road from Southbank. Nice place. Alas, no photos this time around. Although people said that writers do get inspired there. I have yet to feel it. Maybe if I have gone there more often, something pleasant may land on my shoulders. Or something less pleasant. Like bird poo.

Some of you may know Louis Sachar. Or not. I know I did not. He is the author of Holes, which was adapted for a movie starring Sigourney Weaver, Jon Voight and Shia LaBeouf. I should be honoured, being in the same room with an American author who has published close to 26 books in his writer's life and worked with those famous Hollywood stars. He sat a few feet away from me, sipping his coffee and just talking about his life as a writer. But. I hardly knew him. I vaguely knew about Holes - not the book, but the movie - from the TV commercial I saw awhile back on Astro. I did not know it was from a book to begin with. Shame on me.

I guess one of the plus sides of being in Australia is that we are more likely to meet internationally known people in person that I ever would if I were to stick around in Malaysia. Australia is more in touch with writers and artistes from America, while Malaysia is all about the channels we watch and the albums we tune in to. I did not dare comment on anything regarding his works and his experience. One thing I learned from taking up Journalism is that the interviewees are not going to be pleased if they are asked on rudiment questions that can easily be answered by rocking up the Internet for some research. So, if you have nothing smart to say, do not say anything. I would flip if I were a fan of Sachar's work. But alas. Good experience though. One of those experiences that can satisfy the fangirl in me, if ever she is still alive.

Sonya Hartnett is well-loved in my Uni. We are reading one of her books, Sleeping Dogs for Youth and Children's Writing and it is a favourite amongst the students too. I guess she is known like that because she is controversial, because she writes about bleak stuff and dark stuff and ends her stories without the conventional happy endings but something sudden that leaves the readers stunned. I cannot say I am awed by her writing style. I mean. What she writes is definitely up my alley, but it is not the first time I have read stuff like that. I used to write stuff like that and I have read quite a number of fictions online with such dark elements. So, what she is doing is not a first time for me. But I guess it is cool to see something I am used to and like to be doing well. Gives writers like us some sort of hope, I guess. Although it can be kind of played out.

She is at the festival to promote her recently published (just a few weeks old) book, The Ghost's Child, and she is everything I imagine her to be. My lecturer has been talking about her quite a lot in class for weeks before the festival. How controversial and frank she is. A cynic of sorts. And all that. She commented on the Harry Potter phenomenon and put in her two-cent about it, which was not a surprise. Is Harry Potter really that good, or is everyone just going out to buy the subsequent books just because they have read the previous installment and they have to keep on going. Is it really a bestseller or did Rowling just got lucky. Et cetera. Et cetera. Maybe she is jealous of Rowling's fame that leads to fortune (not to say that she indicated that she is), but if so, it is normal I guess. Authors would like that unexpected turn in life, which pays off for doing what we love the most - write.

I decided to get her new book to check out if it is in the same ground as Sleeping Dogs. She had a signing session as well, so I thought well why not get her autograph. While waiting in line for my turn, I was mentally coming up with something to ask her so that I do not seem dense or like I am just out to get her autograph like the school children in front of me. Got a little tongue-tied but well, it is expected as I am not a good conversationalist. Besides, I was kind of afraid I might offend her in some way (takes one to know one, perhaps?). She does not smile much, just that straight face while doodling "a spooky ghost!" on my book and answering my question in a matter-of-fact manner.

We have to do The Arrival as well for Youth and Children's Writing and I was immediately blown away with his artwork. Shaun Tan's name is an immediate give away that he has some Chinese blood in him. I read from an article that his father's family is from Malaysia, although he is borned and bred in Australia. So, he had a session at the same time as Sachar's that day, but fortunately enough, my Uni rocks and was able to get him over to our Uni to hold another session just for us. HAH! So yeah. For two hours plus, he talked about his writer's life - or lacked of - and how it led to him doing illustrations instead.

I am always fascinated with authors/illustrators of the fantasy or science fiction genre. It is like, they look at the same world we are in but what they see is totally different from what we see. As if they can look into the future and create a whole new world about it, but yet connects it so well with the current world. That is what Shaun Tan did for The Arrival. He took the aged old theme of migration and made a whole new world for the migrants to move into. Something that speaks to all the migrants around the world.

Again, during his signing session after his talk, I decided to rack up another silly question to ask him: something about the symbols and characters throughout his graphic novel. And pathetically brought up the coincidence that I am from Malaysia too. I would definitely sound more pathetic if I tell you it turns out his father's family is from Penang as well.

So. That is my highlight for this year's Brisbane Writers Festival. My second and last. And I cannot help feeling like I would miss this come next year, when/if I am not around. And how cool it would be to be one of the writers to have her/his name on the list of participating authors, to be talking about or launching my new book during the festival. Talking crap about my views on writing and how my writer's life go about. Hanging out with the cool writers in the after party and having people line up to sign my book. Watch this space. Coming to a bookstore near you. Booyah.

Credits: Brisbane Writers Festival. Wikipedia.

Have you seen...

2007-09-07T14:57:00.000+10:00

"Sans toi, les émotions d'aujourd'hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d'autrefois."

Amélie
I managed to catch Jean-Pierre Jeunet's other movie, A Very Long Engagement, on TV the other day and I absolutely loved it. By then, already Amélie was already on my rental list and I was waiting for the day to come when it would show up in my mailbox. It did not take long. Roughly just about a few days. Good words have been put for this movie for sometime already, so I decided to check it out.

It is unique. Definitely non-cliche. Jeunet seems to pick up quirky and unusual characteristics for his characters. Although quite similar sometimes, from movie to movie, but it is out of this world and untackled. Just seems to make the characters more human. He took time out for the narrator to depict every character's seemingly unusual behaviours and attitudes, letting us understand them a little bit more and in hope that somewhere out there, he gets to connect the characters with an audience watching.

It is heartwarming, how Amélie Poulain (by Audrey Tautou) disregarded the bigger issues around the world and took the littlest of things to make the day of the people around her. She found a box of childhood goodies hidden behind a tile wall on the bathroom floor - right after she saw the news regarding Princess Diana's accident on TV - and decided to hunt down the owner to return it to him. She stole her father's precious gnome and have it go around the world and snapping pictures and sent back to her father. All this, just to get her father to finally pack his bags and travel the world like he had wanted to when his wife was still alive but could not because of a self-diagnosed (and wrong) heart defect on Amélie. She found her childhood sweetheart's photo album of lomo shots from the instant photo booths and decided to solve the mystery of a man whose ripped pictures kept on showing up with the same facial expression - firm and dull. Et cetera. Et cetera.

Little Children
I would not say this is one of the best films I have come across. I would not say it is spectacular, as the movie is kind of all over the place and clunky. Because it tackles different characters and jumps around, it is hard to say what is the main plotline. The film started off depicting the return of a pedophile (by Jackie Earle Haley) to a small neighbourhood and how the neighbours are outraged, the character did not show up until probably 30 minutes well into the show. Rest of the time, we are dwelling on Sarah Pierce (by Kate Winslet) and the chatty and annoying housewives at the playground with their children, and her adultery with Brad Adamson (by Patrick Wilson) a.k.a "The Prom King", husband to a successful wife and a man who cannot seem to pass his bar exam because his heart is not in it anymore.

But. I will give credit to Todd Field for picking up unconventional roles for the main characters. He tackles characters we do not usually see in movies - a pedophile and married couples committing adultery. It is like telling the world that good people are constantly battling the urge to do evil. And that behind every wrong move they make, there is a story and a darn good reason for it. So maybe his execution is not as clean cut as Jeunet's, but he did come out making a different movie. And I guess, that is one of the reasons why his movie works.

Life is Beautiful (La Vita è bella)
This movie is definitely a breath of fresh air for me. A story about Guido Orefice (by Roberto Benigni), a man with an awesome level of optimism at the worst possible time. His life is a show to him, and he constantly plays a role of a comedian to woo Dora (by Nicoletta Braschi) to become his wife. Even after he was recruited to a restricted camp for Jews with his son Giosué (by Giorgio Cantarini), he refused to let his son in on what the camp was really all about, and convinced him that the camp was merely a competition to win a real life battle tank.

I find the movie very adorable. Bittersweetly romantic at times. How Dora, even though not a Jew, decided to hop on the train and become one of the secluded Jews just to be at the same place as her husband and son. How Guido, even at times when chances seem slim to escape alive, he managed to put on a smile for his son and still think of his wife on the other side of the camp, airing out the opera music they first met in the gramophone and exclaiming "Good morning, Princess!" - his first and ever wooing line to her - through the sound system, just to keep his wife's spirits up and remain hopeful.

Movie rental: QuickFlix

Falling Out of Reach

2007-09-05T17:06:00.000+10:00

I want to defy gravity. I want to bend all laws of physics. Spring is taking its own sweet time to come. Windy days are back to stay. I want to open up my umbrella and let the wind carry me away. I want to fly away from this world, to somewhere enchanted. Somewhere beautiful where the rivers flow and the trees are abundant and green. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city, somewhere where it is quiet and a hearty laughter can echo for miles, over mountains and valleys. Away from the over-achievements and under pressures, somewhere where time stands still, freezing everything good in the world for too long. I want to go to some fantasia and this reality behind. Somewhere I can pretend to be free and irresponsible and beautiful. I am a dreamer.

"Les temps sont durs pour les rêveurs."

Photo: Getty Images
Quote: Amélie

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 8) : Souvenirs

2007-08-19T15:14:00.000+10:00

I went all out and spend during this trip. Although from time to time I do keep track of how I am spending and what I am spending on, but when it comes down to it, I spent a lot. I know. I did a count. But all in all, it was a well-deserved retail therapy, and I was glad to have someone 'experienced' in the shopping department to help me out.

There is a nice little tea shop in Newtown called T2. The shop itself is lovely enough with the hugest variety of tea, each in an individual shelf that stands from floor to ceiling. They have those cupboards alike to those Chinese medicine stores. The teapots are arranged stack on top of one another and slant left and right. And the aroma in the shop is just fabulous. I just felt like I have died and gone to tea heaven.

Although the tea is quite costly in this shop, but I guess it is all worthwhile. There are just a few things in life you should splurge for yourself, and this is definitely one of them on my list. I have always wanted a kind of tea to drink before I go to bed, or to help me with my sleep. It is just not healthy drinking vodka almost night to go to sleep, you know. So, the salesperson introduced "Sleep tight" and "Relax". I took the former, the latter is a birthday gift for a friend who loves tea as much as I do.

So far, I have yet to see clear result that it helps me with my sleep. Sometimes it seems like it helps me sleep better, other times not really. But nonetheless, it smells wonderful while taking sips in between reading a book or watching a TV show before bedtime.

Holding true to my decision to buy a souvenir for myself in every state I visit in Australia, I decided to buy this. It is so cute, a paperweight shaped as a balled music score. I admit I spent a little too much for something like this, but well, it is pretty. Heh.

It is from the Museum of Art and the store is in the Queen Victoria Building. It comes in other designs too, such as a crumpled legal paper. Quite nice. But do be prepare for the price you are about to pay.

While going through custom on my flight back to Brisbane, I had a little problem because of it. The custom guy decided he would like to pry it open and see what is inside, and got all pissy when I said it is designed that way and you cannot pry it open. A lady nearby perked up and said, "Hey I saw that paperweight!" And when I told her the custom guy is going to pry it open, she got a little sad. But in the end, the guy merely ran it through the X-ray scan again, and hands it back to me. Without an apology. But a mere forced smile. That was the last time, probably not the first, that I decided that the people in Sydney are not very friendly.

I have been looking for a nice little pouch for my cell phone. When I saw what Ye Shan has for hers, I decided it is good enough. The pouch is from kikki.K and it is actually intended for an iPod instead.

kikki.K is yet another stationary store with the cutest things. I would buy the entire store if I could, but then again, I would not know what to do with the things I buy. University days are almost over and why would I need fancy files and notepads and the likes for.

It turns out there is an outlet in the heart of the Brisbane city, tucked in a secluded corner of a shopping mall out of sight.

A gift for Ee Ling. She likes flowery designs and the bag reminds me of her. I would have bought something for myself too, but there is nothing quite to my liking.

It is from the Original Shuk Koncepts and the designer has her own stall in a flea market. She has got quite good bag designs and I will give her credit for that. The cloth textures for the bags are quite flimsy, but smooth to the touch. I would not recommend heavy stuffs in the bag though. But. Beautiful choice of cloth designs and textures. Definitely a decent gift for a girl friend or girlfriend or girlfriends.

Other than these little knick knacks, I have also done some shopping for clothes. I would put pictures of them here, but I do not want to be anymore of a camera whore as someone would like to believe. They are just some new clothes for school, nothing fashionable about that.

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 7) : Chow time

2007-08-16T11:22:00.000+10:00

#5: Sydney Fish Market
Pyrmont, Sydney

The Sydney Fish Market is one of the must see landmarks when visiting Sydney. The last time I was there, the notion of a wet market still hung around with overwhelming smell of freshly caught fishes and the slippery floors with shaved fish scales. I remember staring at a very, very huge fish - probably the biggest fish I have seen in my life - lying on mounds of grounded ice looking back at me. After two years, the place has cleaned up and stalls were secluded into different corners of the market.

People still crowded the famous tourist spot. Locals living nearby would swing by during lunch hour for another seafood meal. Ching Chong tourists would flood the indoors and come out into the sunshine only to pick their teeth and talk about their wonderful oysters. Mostly locals would hang around outside under the shades, by the ocean, fighting the wind and the seagulls. It is always packed so it takes careful lookout and quick witted reaction to secure a seat once the current occupiers leave.

The dish as seen above was not really that mouthwatering. We also bought fresh bags of oysters and cooked prawns. I guess the fish market is the place to get fresh from the sea products. Have them cleaned and cooked before you buy them back for your own recipes. So there is definitely a certain standard of freshness for their products. Oh the prawns were the sweetest I have ever tasted. And that probably includes my days eating prawns in Malaysia as well.

#6: Some-Espresso-Cafe
Newtown, Sydney

It is one of those quaint cafe bars along the streets of Newtown in Sydney. We were not really picky because it is already around noon time and I have yet to have breakfast. It was one of those mornings when I was still craving for a good breakfast meal. Waffles are quite hard to come by in my days in Australia and imagine my excitement when I saw waffles on the menu.

Waffles with chocolate syrup and some berry sauce of sorts. A scoop of cream and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. It looks like Heaven. It tasted like Heaven. It felt like Heaven.

This cafe too serve the conventional breakfast sets and club sandwiches. The usual you would get in any cafes in any part of the country. And I think the orange juice was freshly squeezed too.

Definitely a good way to start off your day.

#7: The Liow household
Hurstville, Sydney

After my friends left Sydney to proceed the remainder of their roadtrip to Melbourne, I stayed with Ye Shan and her sister, Ye Ching. And I must say, I was quite pampered and taken care of in the food department while staying with them. Of course they will not let me get away totally as a guest of their house. They still make me clean the dishes and go to church and wake up early enough to start the day. Heh. But. Nonetheless, they are still great company and they are probably part of the reason that my Sydney trip turned out to be the must needed vacation I have been waiting for all through my semester.

We bought a crab during our trip to the Sydney Fish Market and on one of the nights I was there, Ye Ching cooked up a delicious meal of sweet and sour crab. As well as some other side dishes, but really, the focus is solely on the crab for me.

I love sweet and sour crab. Heck, I love crab. Once in a while, my family and I would go out for a seafood meal nearby my house in Penang and all I could ever eat was the crab. Granted the texture of the crab meat that night was not what I am used to back in Penang, but the sweet and sour sauce made up for it. Definitely a finger licking good meal. And just like that, one of my cravings for a hometown delicacy was satisfied.

Another dish for the night was Singaporean Laksa. Or. In another words, Penang Hokkien Mee. Heh. Another favourite dish for me. With all of my favourite ingredients in it. Spicy enough too for the cold weather in Sydney. Yum.

One thing I have learned about the Liow sisters while staying with them, is that they will never ever run out of chocolate substance. Never. They have a whole pantry of chocolate. Unlimited supply of chocolate bars. Different brands. Different flavours. Tins and tins of hot chocolate powder and seeds. And this goes without saying that they have two chocolate fondue sets.

So after another bloating dinner courtesy of the Liow sisters, we cut up some kiwis, peeled some langsats, and bought some strawberries. And Ye Shan proceeded to melting lots and lots of chocolates and mixing them with a carton of creamy milk. Funny thing was, she was looking for a milk chocolate bar but all she could find was dark chocolate bars. And she went to rummage this basket of random stuff under their coffee table and found a milk chocolate Easter egg. All puns intended, eh?

It was a wonderful desert. Sweet and heavenly and bound to keep you on a sugar high for the rest of the night. Or have you flow into a nice contented sleep in the night. But then. We had another dose of chocolatey goodness the following day at Max Brenner and although the chocolates there were quite irresistible still, it does get too much at times.

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 6) : Chow time

2007-08-15T17:33:00.000+10:00

#1: Pancake Place Restaurant
Port Macquarie, NSW

We spent the whole night on the road, sleeping in uncomfortable postures and listening to music on the loop too many times. When the light hit, we drove around finding a good place to have breakfast.

Pancake Place is where we stopped at. The first thing that got me interested was its adorable setting. Little cartoon figurines and colourful things hanging off the ceiling. I cannot say that this is the best place serving the best breakfast, but it had been a long drive and we were all starving. They did not hire rock scientists to figure out the best ways to arrange the presentation of the meals, but they were some effort set to it I presume. Their food reminds me those you get off highway diners by the road. Not the most beautiful cuisine you can find, but yet good enough to keep you going for the rest of the day. It is not how it is presented, but how it tastes.

They have a variety of pancakes, some simple fruity muesli cereal, and those big breakfast sets with bacon, sausages, toast, pancakes, beans, mushrooms... all in one single meal or take your pick. Nothing gourmet, but well, they have all you need for a good ol' breakfast time, in a nice little breakfast place in a nice little town, next to the lake where you can go take a stroll after a hearty meal.

#2: Fresh Cafe
Blue Mountains, NSW

Another big breakfast. It was our first and only day spent up in Blue Mountains and in the midst of the cold, cold atmosphere in the early morning - well, early for me - I think another huge breakfast is appropriate. It is like going all the way up to Genting Highlands for some mediocre Bak Kut Teh that you can easily find on the normal grounds of Penang or Kuala Lumpur. What makes it all so special? Because it at the very right place of the world that makes the food suddenly tastes so much better.

The cup of latte was warm enough. The piece of salmon on my toast was salty enough with the right kind of texture on my tongue and went especially perfect with the hollandaise sauce and runny poached eggs. Makes the cigarette right after just nice in the highlands of Katoomba.

#3: Mama Chu's Restaurant
Chinatown, Sydney

I thought a nice Chinese meal should be in order after being away from home for so long. Since Sydney has got a better Chinatown than Brisbane and that Chinese beggars cannot really be choosers in a foreign country, why not.

My century egg porridge was humongous. I only managed to finish up half the bowl. But I made sure I ate all the century eggs in my porridge. The Yau Zak Guai was nice. It was not the best one I have ever eaten in my whole life, but well, it was something. After being away from home for so long, it is not the taste we are looking for anymore because we will never find it here, but it is just the notion of eating something familiar that keeps us satisfied. The Dao Huey was a sheer downer. Even the notion of having it could not be fulfilled. Poor Esther, who loved the dish to bits but was straight away disappointed. It just was not sweet enough.

#4: Seoul-Ria Restaurant
Sydney CBD

It is probably the most popular Korean BBQ restaurant in Sydney. When we arrived, there was a long queue waiting to be seated and it took us about an hour before we could get a table. The place was packed for the entire night. But the food was good. It was spicy enough and warm enough to keep us filled for the night. I am just not a big fan of Korean food, is all.

A review: Once

2007-08-13T17:33:00.000+10:00

Disclaimer: Spoilers ahoy!

It was something I needed, after spending an entire weekend trying to fight against the currents of writer's block to come up with something good for my assignment. It had been quite disheartening, the weekend. A night out to watch a movie I have been waiting to see was quite a release. As Leng and I made our way towards the Regent Cinemas a few blocks away, I anticipated a few hours of relaxation to take my mind off what I have been trying to proceed properly at home. We went through the entrance, and striding out with a group of people, with his head shied away a little from public notice under his brown beanie, it was Glen Hansard.

The movie started off on a humorous note, and would continue so throughout the hours to keep the audience entertained. What with the Guy (by Glen Hansard) chasing a heroin addict across the streets for stealing his busking earnings, and him and the Girl (by Marketa Irglova) going for lunch as she tugged her little Hoover down the streets. It seems quite cheesy at times, sometimes predictable, but all in all, funny and cute.

It is said that Once is a musical film. That would explain the lengthy music "performances". But that has never crossed my mind. Normally, a musical would include sudden breakouts of dancing and singing. Ala Moulin Rouge or Chicago. What we see in this movie is as if a bunch of music videos strung into one badly cinematographed movie. At times, I do get bored when the songs decided to be played entirely. But seeing that it is a "musical", I guess that explains it. Yet the movie has a wonderful soundtrack. I like the songs. I just did not expect them to play it all in the movie. I would just stay at home and listen to the soundtrack on my iTunes again and again.

There is not a really interesting story plot for the movie. Just a simple one of the Guy's journey to fulfil his dreams. While getting there, he tries to mend a broken heart and knows a Girl who could probably just help him by taking him into her arms instead. You could say that the movie is sort of like a fictional documentary of Glen Hansard's life as a musician before he got famous. He did mention that it is partly real. It feels like a fictional documentary, what with the bad cinematography and all. But hey. It is an indie film and it was shot in 17 days in January with only $160,000 as the budget. The film is not really out to win Oscar awards or the likes. But. It has already won the World Cinema Audience Award at the 2007 Sundance Film Festival.

The movie tries to dodge potential cliched moments and did it quite marvelously. Although the ending did not really have a closure, especially after finding out what Miluju tebe means in Czech. But I guess I would rather take that ending than have the Guy and Girl kiss in the end and live happily ever after. As Hansard has stated himself, "Had Fox Searchlight Pictures changed it, had they changed the end and made us kiss, I wouldn't be interested in coming and promoting it, at all."

I will not say it is the best damn movie I have ever seen. Mind you, I have a tiny problem with musicians going into showbiz hoping to break free from their common ground but plays a part as a musician (Britney Spears in Crossroads and Ashlee Simpson in Undiscovered). But well. This is quite alright. At least Hansard is not pretending that he is trying to "break new grounds" for his acting career.

Before the movie began, a BIFF staff announced that Glen Hansard was in the next room and would come over after the movie for a little Q&A session, and hopefully sing some songs as well. Only then, was I certain that I did indeed bumped into him at the entrance. After the movie, Hansard took the stage and conducted a mini Q&A session about the movie. After that, he performed Say It to Me Now and Falling Slowly from the soundtrack, as well as a song he co-wrote with a friend in the middle of the night in a park drunk.

He hung around after that outside the theatre for an impromptu meet and greet. I managed to get his autograph and took a picture with him. I would have liked to comment on how brilliant his songs were, but I was never one good with words. Besides, I am not exactly his biggest fan nor am I familiar with his songs prior to Once. Honestly, I would choose Damien Rice over him any time of the day. Heh.

All in all, it was a good experience with such an unexpected encounter. Hitting two birds with one stone. Definitely something worthwhile. It is just weird that when I tell people I bumped into Glen Hansard they would have no idea who the heck I am talking about.

Credits: BIFF. IMDB.com. Wikipedia.

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 5)

2007-08-02T11:45:00.000+10:00

"I'm writing you to catch you up in places I've been." - John Mayer

Note: I added some more pics in Part 4.

Hazy. Lazy. Saturday.

2007-07-28T17:29:00.000+10:00

Last night. A sudden wash of haze clouded the buildings in the city last night and the smell of suffocating smoke intruded the usual fresh breeze of Australian winter. It reminded me of Malaysia. It seems to always be hazy there.

As the day proceeds, the haze cleared little by little. By evening I can still see the boundless clouds lining up the horizons and reflecting the sinking sun's light. Hues of purple/pink mix with the pastel blue skies. The clouds are gone. The moon is out early again. And I remember my Eskimo friend telling me the world is in actual fact pink. Trying to read through Lover on the Side / Lover in the Center as Dave Matthews Band's Crash into You bounces in my head.

"Hike up your skirt a little more
And show the world to me
A boy's dream"

The song is growing on me.

Trying to figure out what to write for the 6000 word assignment in my Creative Writing Project 1 class. A few more chapters of The Second Man. Or start afresh with The Piano Man on the 11th Floor. Trying to figure out what kind of a lover my writing is to me. Trying to answer the questions for this week's homework.

What is your writing life like now?
What sorts of things do you want to write about in the future? Why?
Where do you want to be as a writer in three years' time?
In order to do that, what do you need to have achieved by this time next year?
What are your specific goals for this semester? What stuff do you plan on writing other than your assignments?

Answering them could get so depressing at this time of my life.

I guess I miss something back home that I cannot really pinpoint just yet. The familiarity. The familiar malls. The familiar people. The familiar roads. The familiar eyes. And what it cannot offer me as a successful writer, but can offer me as a clueless daughter.

The haze may clear the next day. Winter has gone away. The nights are not so cold anymore. The mornings are warm and inviting. The sky will be obnoxiously blue again. I can only hope that my path will react the same as the weather forecast. How many times have we lost souls pray there is a weather forecast for us all. Like the blinking lights far away pointing landing airplanes down the skyline drive. Like the automated lighthouse bringing tired vessels to shore.

Home.

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 4)

2007-07-25T15:31:00.000+10:00

"I see her walking down lonesome avenue." - Satellite City

Other credits: Leng. Junie. Esther.

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 3)

2007-07-23T16:07:00.000+10:00

Other credits: Junie.

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 2)

2007-07-22T15:15:00.000+10:00

"Let's waste time. Chasing cars." - Snow Patrol

Other credits: Jessica. Junie. Esther. Leng.

Roadtrip to Sydney (Part 1)

2007-07-20T21:56:00.000+10:00

"I drove to New York in a van with my friends. We slept in parking lots. I don't mind. I don't mind." - Sufjan Stevens

Other credits: Esther. Leng.

Have you seen...

2007-07-19T12:03:00.000+10:00

"Now, the making of a good compilation tape is a very subtle art. Many do's and don'ts. First of all you're using someone else's poetry to express how you feel. This is a delicate thing." - Rob Gordon

High Fidelity
I think Nick Hornby is a music novelist worth checking out. I have only read 31 Songs. How different can a movie be from the book it was inspired from. I have the book stashed on the shelf waiting to be read, along with five other books.

Any movies related to music is something I would definitely like to watch. Hearing the characters name dropping musicians you actually know, or hearing your favourite songs played, it just feels good. Define good. You have got to be a deranged music fan of sort to know good. Or maybe not movies related to music. Movies/Shows with good music. Movies/Shows not only playing songs you like in the background, but introducing you to musicians you have not heard before but has a feeling you would like them. The feeling. Is good.

My greatest novel writing challenge would be to write a book that relates itself and/or the characters with music without seeming too cliche or cheesy or amateur or downright wrong.

Gladiator
I am forever amazed by movies about the Roman Empire, and the Greek legends. I am forever amazed by the amount of time they would spend on their clothes to make the movie more unique and different. I am forever amazed by the orchestrated themes brewing at the background. Not amazed by the wars they need to fight in the movies, but amazed by how they could find ways to rename the term 'gore'. Not amazed by the leads' need to say something profound to their soldiers, but amazed by what they said. Clive Owen in King Arthur. Brad Pitt in Troy. (A little out of place but), Viggo Mortensen in Lord of the Rings. (As much as I hate to say this), Colin Farrell in Alexander. Russel Crowe in Gladiator.

Will we actually learn from these war movies. So many has been made in Hollywood with big budgets wasted. So much time spent coming up with memorable fashion styles and choreographing war fights and attacks and deaths. So much time spent thinking of a bravado speech worthy of a leader once upon a time. What for. To win Oscars. To be better than the last - "My war is better than your war, it's got five thousand strongs and ten gallons of blood bath, sing it". To get the well thought of speeches into our heads. To show us war is of no good. Hmm. My bet is on the formers. We do not go to watch movies to be educated anyway.

DVD Rentals: QuickFlix

City love (Part 1)

2007-07-14T23:40:00.000+10:00

"I think we should break up, Kelvin. I am seeing Albert in the city."

7.7.07 was a fairly memorable day of the year, simply because of the numeric coincidence. All across the world, the Live Earth concert was commencing. Back in the town I grew up in, someone whom I have not spoken to for a long time turned 22. And she was loved. Everyone was trying to make the best of the day by doing something to commemorate this "special" day. I chose this day to make a move out of my old house in Australia.

It was a picturesque day that day. The sun was strong and the cloudless sky was ridiculously blue. Before I left for a holiday a few weeks back, the wind was unkind and there was an endless shower for days and nights. I came home and the sunshine state was at its renowned condition. Sunny and still. It was barely winter.

It did not take me long to pack myself up for the move. Merely a little over a day, working simultaneously with making endless phone calls to cancel utility services and redirect mails.And what you see in the pictures above were my belongings in my room. Boxes load of stuff and two luggages of clothes. (Mind you, I had not the patience then to pack my clothes properly; I just dumped everything in). For a student studying in Australia for two years, that is quite a lot of things. It is at times like these I regret bringing too many things over. Too many clothes. Too many redundant spares. It did not really cross my mind that I would be doing some shopping while I am here. My mom helped me get prepared for the first move to Australia a year back as if Australia was literally an outback. But it was for the good, or else I would have been spending even more than I already have buying the things I could have bought back home.

I moved with two more friends of mine, my housemates. And there was a holdup with the ute we rented for the day and we could only use it at 6PM. Which was fairly alright with me as it gave me more than enough of time to slowly - very, very, very, slowly - pack up the kitchen and the bathroom. Granted I was only back from my holiday for a couple of days, it was only natural to procrastinate on packing up the rest of the house, especially the parts of the house that is less personal to you. What to take along. What to leave behind. Oh. But. I managed to finally pack them all up before nightfall. And night fell pretty early in Australia during winter.

After that. It was the long boring wait. According to one of my housemates, Therese, there seemed to be quite a few rounds back and forth at her place. It took them close to five hours before coming over to my place. Whilst waiting, I managed to fuck up my Internet connection again while hoping to make the most of the final fully-charged quota by downloading missed episodes of One Tree Hill before it is disconnected on the third day of the fresh round. I even occupied myself watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets airing on TV.

It was a little over midnight before they arrived with an empty ute truck led by Victor's white Honda Civic. And just like that, the guys charged in and aimed for anything and everything that they saw fit to take along. They were quick. In a matter of minutes, everything was cleared up and loaded unto the ute. And just like that, the only round, the final round, I was swept off my feet planted in Kelvin Grove and was driven into the heart of the city for a change.

After getting everything up into the new place, it took a few more hours to assemble the furniture, especially the beds for the night's sleep. By the time everything was done, it was already 4AM. We huddled in the living room slurping down bowls of instant noodles - the only edible and accessible food in the house.

I had a good thought if I would miss the place in Kelvin Grove. So much hours spent in my room staring at my computer screen because there is nothing better to do at night. So much dreams forgotten in the cosy embrace of the queen-sized comforter and mattress. So many tears stained into the pillow cases. So much simple food cooked on the electric stove. How easy it was to walk to class every day, and come home whenever I felt a break between classes too long, or whenever the heart was not there to go to one. How easy it was to get into the city - a 10 minutes bus ride from the bus stop just at the doorstep. How much easier it got when an IGA outlet opened a couple of blocks away. But yet. So out of place I felt on darkened days. And oh how the days got even darker these days. So. Not right.

Kelvin Grove. I am leaving in search of hope and a place to belong. Goodbye.

PS: Of course I will still be back frequently for my classes. It is not forever.

A birthday mix : 22 songs

2007-06-27T06:27:00.000+10:00

1. Mr King : Nerina Pallot
2. Lullaby (Rock-a-bye) : Shawn Mullins
3. Black Tangerine : David Tao
4. A Bad Dream : Keane
5. Bad Day : Daniel Powter
6. Find Your Way Back Home : Dishwalla
7. Let Me Fall : Bethany Joy Lenz
8. Dusk and Summer : Dashboard Confessional
9. She Came Home for Christmas : Mew
10. I'll See Your Heart and I'll Raise You Mine : Bell X1
11. Heaven Forbid : The Fray
12. Rain on the Pretty Ones : Ed Harcourt
13. Bruises : Sandrine
14. Brighter Discontent : The Submarines
15. The Blues : Switchfoot
16. 22 : David Tao
17. Stop This Train : John Mayer
18. Bad Day : Fuel
19. Yesterday Went Too Soon : Feeder
20. Giving it All Away : Ashlee Simpson
21. EZ : Pete Yorn
22. Forever Young : The Youth Group

Music for a roadtrip

2007-06-26T00:52:00.000+10:00

"When you scan the radio, I hope this song will guide you home." - The Postal Service

For the people driving down the Great Ocean Road in the name of freedom. For the people emerging from the exam halls in the name of contentment. For the people retreating to their solitary hole in the name of clarity. For the people crying under the sky in the name of despair. For the people looking under rocks in the name of hope. This one is for you. May you find what you are looking for.

Mix #1:
1. Don't Wait : Dashboard Confessional
2. Holiday from Real : Jack's Mannequin
3. Evangeline : Satellite City
4. Fly Away from Here : Aerosmith
5. Boston : Augustana
6. Winding Road : Bonnie Somerville
7. Hotel California : The Eagles
8. Holiday : Green Day
9. Runaway : Mae
10. Freetime : Kenna
11. Idaho : Nerina Pallot
12. 3x5 : John Mayer
13. Sunny Afternoon : The Kinks
14. Takeoffs and Landings : The Ataris
15. Chasing Cars : Snow Patrol
16. El Salvador : Athlete
17. Where Happiness Lives : Magnet
18. Flowers in the Window : Travis

Mix #2:
1. Leaving Town : Dexter Freebish
2. Such Great Heights : The Postal Service
3. Pain Killer : Turin Brakes
4. All I Wanna Do : Sheryl Crow
5. Night Drive : The All-American Rejects
6. Lifetime : Better Than Ezra
7. Cruz : Christina Aguilera
8. Paradise by the Dashboard Lights : Meat Loaf
9. The Great Escape : We Are Scientists
10. The Boys of Summer : The Ataris
11. Sunny Road : Emiliana Torrini
12. Getaway : Train
13. Where the Street Has No Name : U2
14. California : Phantom Planet
15. Semi-Charmed Life : Third Eye Blind
16. The Importance of Being Idle : Oasis
17. Let's Take a Ride : Justin Timberlake
18. The World at Large : Modest Mouse

Mix #3:
1. Chicago : Sufjan Stevens
2. Not Quite Paradise : Bliss
3. Son's Gonna Rise : Citizen Cope
4. Somewhere Out There : Our Lady Peace
5. Hard to Find : American Analog Set
6. Work : Jimmy Eat World
7. Holiday : The Get Up Kids
8. Breakaway : Kelly Clarkson
9. When It Comes : Tyler Hilton
10. Headlights : Dispatch
11. Be My Escape : Relient K
12. Empty Apartment : Yellowcard
13. Soak Up the Sun : Sheryl Crow
14. Along for the Ride : Mates of State
15. One Big Holiday : My Morning Jacket
16. Mexico : Leona Naess
17. Long Way Round : Stereophonics
18. Sidewalks : Story of the Year

Have you seen...

2007-06-25T00:27:00.000+10:00

"When the Peony blooms, she stands tall. Does she mean no or yes?" - Chow Mo Wan

Almost Famous
Kate Hudson has a glow that came from her mother. And. Like her mother, I think her beauty will continue on even though the years have gone by. An everlasting beauty. I have seen her in quite a few movies and honestly, this is one of the better ones that I like. All she ever does lately are chick flicks. Same old story. One point or another, she will have a crying scene or two. One point or another, she will have those moments where she gets to look over her shoulder and. Smile. Her smile. Boy meets girl. Girl plays hard to get. Girl gets hurt. Boy kisses girl. They live happily ever after. I think it is all just going to waste like that. We still see her cry in Almost Famous. We still see her dazzling smiles too. But. There is something more than some cheesy love story. I would like to believe she is more than that.

2046
Contemporary Chinese movies have a habit of being artsy fartsy. Gone were the days of martial arts in bamboo forests and pointless Chinese New Year comedies. Now. There are fancy cinematographies. There are depressive characters. There are fucking scenes. But. For Pete's sakes, they have to work on the kissing scenes. Chow Mo Wan (by Tony Leung) seems to be sucking the fucking life out of the girls he kisses. Growing up watching too many Canto series and movies, I have seen vast changes. However, maybe it is in the contract or something that the actors should never kiss with their mouths opened and tongues showing.

I would say 2046 is a pretty decent movie. Confusing at some point because it is not really in chronological order. I mean. There is. But in between that things just go back in time or go forth in time. It gets quite long winded. And Chow's relationship with Bai Ling (by Zhang ZiYi) is a bit unnecessary, but all the same crucial. Everything does not really mean much until nearing the end. When things are finally revealed little by little and Chow's true characteristics are shown. I guess watching these artsy fartsy movies, you need patience and belief that something good is going to come soon. You probably need the intelligence too to figure out what is up. And for 2046, I think it is quite worth the wait.

The Shawshank Redemption
The truth is, we are all living a life of prison. We are "instituitionalised" in the places that we are forced into. Everyday, we look for this thing called hope. Sometimes we would find it, acknowledge it and pray that it stays. Sometimes we would miss it and only realise its presence when it is too too late. We are but inmates in prison. Waiting for approval of release after decades of jail term. Waiting for time to pass whilst being careful not to go insane of the mundane. Waiting for something good to happen from the actions you take to change this mundane life. Waiting for the right time to break free. Waiting. And. Hoping. "Hope is a good thing. And no good thing ever dies."

DVD Rentals: Quickflix

QUT : Year 2 Semester 1

2007-06-16T20:34:00.000+10:00

This year started with a bang and seemed to drag on too long. It felt like this semester has more to do than the semesters last year. Things just kept on coming I found myself snowed in quite often. I slipped a few times, might even fell. But I guess I picked myself up just in time for the final throttle. Or at least I hope I did. I have a good feeling this time around. I hope it is the right feeling too.

Class #1: Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll
I know, right? Heh. My Uni rocks like that. What-what. This is the first elective I did. I thought hey, I like music so why not do an elective in music. I have quite a firm grasp on the rock scene so that would already put me on the map already. Well. Not really.

They started talking about old skool rock bands I have only heard the names of. Some I have not even heard before. I guess I would just have to play along. Not really either. Because my tutor started making us listen to weird noises/sounds/music and asked us what we thought about it. Honestly, it took be a while to figure out what was going on. Because "sex", "drugs" and "rock & roll", they are not just sex, drugs, and rock & roll. I have to keep reminding myself that it is not solely on the rock genre. Do not let the "rock & roll" fool you. Apparently, there are also "sonic narrative", "technology", "syncretism" and "authenticity". I would know that if I had listened to the podcast lectures and gone to the handful ones. Or maybe even paid attention in tutorials. Heh.

The lecturer is nice. I only saw him twice in this entire course, but we communicated more via emails. He is quite a good fellow. I like him. Peculiar with his red leather boots, but nice. Heh. My tutor is cool. He let us watch R Kelly's Trapped in the Closet every week before we begin anything for the day's class. "What could be more important that this?" He said. Heh. I knew on the first day of class he would ask us what we were listening to recently, and I made sure I was listening to Bell X1's Flocked so as not to embarrassed myself. But I do not think anyone knows who I was talking about. He owns a recording studio, but I do not really have an idea what he is doing there. I checked it out and the CDs are like, hundreds a pop. And like, right now, he is touring around Japan. And I have no idea what he is doing in the tour. Heh. But he is laidback.

So. This unit we have two major assignments. One is the whole E-zine thing and the other a take home exam. I know, right? The E-zine thing. Nothing like an E-zine. I mean, yeah, we have volumes and issues on our unit website. But what it really is, is just a bunch of articles grouping together based on their common theme - "sex", "drugs", "rock & roll", and "sonic narrative". I teamed up with a local and a Korean for this assignment working on "rock & roll". There was another local but apparently she dropped out. I never liked her anyway. I did not think she likes me either. So. The three of us were like so confused when we grouped together. We spent an entire class mulling in our own confusion. Heh. But fortunately, we came up with a plan just in time. It just was not really bulletproof for me. But I had to follow through. This is what I came up with. Totally out of my radar but I guess I pulled it off.

The take home exam. Well. Quite self-explanatory. We get to do this "exam" at home in the span of one week. It was OK. The questions were given out beforehand anyway. Hit some bumps on the way, but nothing to complain about. It is basically just like what I would crap in this blog, but with Harvard references and a word limit (which I totally exceeded) and a grade. Heh.

Class #2: Media Writing
I do not think I would enjoy the class as much as I did if I did not have ideas for my assignments to begin with. But lucky me then, the ideas came to me during my summer break back home. I jot it down and was oh so ready to put them into the scripts.

The lecturer/tutor was nice. Bluest eyes I have ever seen in a lecturer/tutor. He kind of talks funny. He jokes sometimes, but it is not like really really funny. But it is evident that he is passionate in film and TV. He knows everything at the back of his hands, he has awesome short films made and even a TV show airing in Australia now I think. Unlikely Travellers or something. Something like a reality TV show, something like Amazing Race only nobody gets eliminated, and the travelers are all mentally challenged. He "premiered" the first episode in one of the lectures. It was so awesome, people applauded.

Three assignments for this class. Two scripts. One with a 5 minutes duration and no dialogue. Another with a 8-10 minutes duration. I will not go into details for the former (actually, I will not for both). But a friend is helping me make it into a film. So. Hopefully it works. Fingers crossed. Another assignment is to write a documentary proposal. This is the only assignment I do not have an idea about. I came out with it in quite a rush. These assignments are due like maybe just two to three weeks apart, not to mention assignments from my other subjects too. But fortunately, I came up with something. Whether it works or not, I cannot say as of yet. But I should be lucky if I even pass this assignment.

Quite an enjoyable class, this one. Makes me hopeful that someday I can write scripts, produce them and get rich. Of course unless I die trying.

Class #3: Creative Writing: Digital Media
I almost dropped this subject and broke it. Probably it was because the workshop started at 9AM every Thursday and lasted for three hours. It was too early to be comprehensive. I did not spoke at all in probably 8 of the 13 classes. Heh. But then again, I do not speak much anyway. And you know how I do not like going to computer classes in Uni.

At one point, I decided I hate this class the most this semester because I fucked up so much. Heh. And the assignments were kind of very time consuming. But then. Just as we were easing into the second assignment, I kind of started to like it again. But that does not mean the assignments were not kind of very time consuming anymore.

I got the same lecturer for my The Short Story tutor. He is cool. Lighthearted and humourous. So the class is not all that bad. Sometimes, he talks about how awesome Heroes is too. Heh. I can live with that.

Why I said I almost dropped this subject and broke it is because I was kind of on the wrong wavelength. I did not really get the important due dates right for a few times, which could probably damage things. And I thought we had only one big assignment when actually we had two.

First one is a digital story, which I like to tell my friends it is a PowerPoint slide-like lo-fi video. Because it is. I guess why I loathed this subject at a point was because I did not really know how to work out the programs we were using for this assignment. I used Audacity for the first time and because Mr Brightside was on the dark side with the PCs, I lost some voice clips I recorded. Bah. And because I was doing the assignment on my high school marching band, a lot of my resources were back home and like, non-existent anymore. It was probably two weeks to the due date when I realised what a silly idea it was to do something back home. But. Lady luck was kind to me. I was able to find a friend who had a song we performed I needed and she was on a break back home as well and she could go over to our high school and snap some pictures for me. And I figured out Audacity.

Honestly, I almost gave up this 30% assignment. I was just at a low point of the semester and I just crashed. The due date was near and I still have not gotten anything done and the other assignments were really really bugging me. Fortunately, there were a few good friends that night to see me through. As well as a kindhearted lecturer who would gladly grant me an extension just in case I could not make it in time. I managed to put together something decent and handed in on the initial due date too. So thank you to the good people out there.

I am still contemplating showing you guys what I came up with because there is a dorky high school picture and my squeaky voice so. Yeah. No.

The other assignment, which I thought was a part of the first assignment, is to create a hypertext. Kind of like an online story but with a non-linear narrative. This was one of the assignments which I, after coming up with an idea, did not follow through with it and rushed to work on a second more bulletproof one. Turns out alright. Initially, it was just the whole six-degrees thing like Babel or Crash. It did not feel right. But. Eskimo friend to the rescue. And I decided to finally work on a time traveling premise which he could not stop talking about. Eskimo friend approved it. My group mates approved it. I approved it. Would you approve it? It gave me a chance to put my rusty web designing talent to use again after such a long hiatus. And I am quite happy with what I came up with. I hope this assignment can bring me far.

Class #4: Creative Writing: The Novel
Now this class is exhausting. Because we have to read a novel practically every week just in time for a response of the week's novel on the Uni website. I would not give a damn if my grades did not depend on it so much. These are the books I read:

... Pinocchio in Venice : Robert Coover
... French Lieutenant's Woman : John Fowles
... Jane Eyre : Charlotte Bronte *
... The Secret Garden : F H Burnett *
... The Wizard of Earthsea : Ursula K Le Guin
... 100 Years of Solitude : Gabriel Garcia Marquez *
... The Big Sleep : Raymond Chandler
... Fahrenheit 451 : Ray Bradbury *
... Where The Wild Things Are : Maurice Sendak
... Plot Against America : Philip Roth *

I bought five of them when I was still in Malaysia and loved them all (marked *). Most of the books were awesome. So yeah.

We had to write a novel proposal and everything revolves around it. This was another assignment I switched idea. It was just in time for the essay due in the middle of the semester. I hated that essay. I took it over to Melbourne to work on it, but only wrote half of it. I came back, skipped a day's classes to write another half of it, and submitted it the very next day. It came back a mere pass. But well. It was crap anyway.

We had to also critique two to three people's novel introduction for the final assignment in class every week too. I mean. It is tiring enough speed reading a novel a week, but to read the introductions, most of the time my heart was not really there. But oh well. Time flied. Most of them had pretty awesome story ideas and I could really see their works progressing into full fledge novels one day. Mine was pretty awesome too, if I do say so myself. Haha. Initially, the story idea was a grade C love story plot (to quote the Eskimo friend) so I switched to work on a similar premise as A Move Script Ending from last semester. In my first critiquing, it did not go through a lot of people. It did not go through me too because I did not really spend a lot of time with it. But then, something happened and it worked fine well during my re-write and yeah, everyone liked it the second time. I shall work out putting it online soon.

Have you seen...

2007-06-11T00:56:00.000+10:00

The Purifiers
Too many bad dialogues. Moses (Kevin McKidd) talks a lot. Everytime he is on screen, he just keeps on talking and talking and talking. Even after John (Gordon Alexander) broke his arm and threatened to "kill" him with the final blow, yakkity-yakkity-yak-yak-yak. This is probably a common mistake for kung-fu action movies. In this bizarre world where there are no guns and everything has to be settled with a few kicks and spins (even though the easiest way to do that is a bitch slap), people talk a lot. And most of the time, it is unnecessary. Every first kick they take, they talk for five minutes to provoke the opponent. Throughout the movie, I could only imagine how I could save so much time not listening to them with a bullet through the head. The movie spent most of its time on not-very-perfectly choreographed fight sequences. I do not really know what the plot is about. Yeah, I get the idea of it. And yeah, I see the clans. But why and how. I do not know John is romantically involved with Frances (Amber Sainsbury), or Sol (Dominic Monaghan) with Li (Rachel Grant). They never told us or show us. Because suddenly, Sol is kissing Li and Frances is really, really sorry for betraying John's trust because she is an undercover cop. And they left out the information of Moses and John being ex-boyfriends.

Undiscovered
They try too hard with the names. Briar (Pell James)? Clea (Ashlee Simpson)? Who the heck name their daughters that? I mean, yeah, they are pretty names and I bow down to whoever came up with it, but come on. It is as ridiculous as naming your four sons Frodo, Sam, Pippin and Merry because you watched LOTR one too many times.

Musicians have to stop getting into the movie industry starring as a, surprise surprise, musician. They say they want to break new grounds but they go into a new ground being what they have always been. I can just buy your records and not miss anything in the movie. Ashlee went on in the interviews saying she is playing an actress' role. I just saw one scene of her as an actress. Rest of the time, she is singing. Who is she kidding?

DVD Rentals: Quickflix

Have you seen...

2007-05-27T23:02:00.000+10:00

"Can you imagine hating your life so much that you'd wanna bring a backup razor?" - Lila Culpepper

Stay
They say your whole life flashes in front of your eyes before you die. They did not tell you that for the last few minutes before you slip into eternity, everything slows down. You feel an unforgivable guilt. You cry the depressing fear. You search for questioned answers. You slip into an alternate universe. Where everyone is you. But not you. But is you. There are doublets and triplets. People coming and going, saying senseless and random things. Everyone feels what you feel. There is tension hanging in the air. A tension you cannot cure but to pull the trigger and wake yourself up.

Stay is immaculately depressing. The modern furniture arranged so insanely perfect. The pills you count before you go to sleep. The paintings you hang to see sanity through unexplainable strokes. The melancholic piano. The crying guitar. End the movie and be sad for sadness' sake. Cry. Why. Cry. Cry. Kill yourself.

25th Hour
This is the first movie I have seen set after the 9/11 incident. It has an eerie opening sequence where all you see is streams of lights flowing along with one of the best composed (by Terence Blanchard) theme song for a movie. The lights are the symbol of the WTC that lit up every September 11.

Characters unfold. When faced with moment that they cannot get out of, the strong becomes the meek, the friends become the foes, the quiet becomes the guilty, the assured becomes the confused. It feels like dying of cancer. Fair warning. It does not do anyone any good. What is there left to do but wait for the day to arrive. You can do everything to live the day "normally". But that is not going to change anything.

DVD rentals: Quickflix

Have you seen...

2007-05-20T00:38:00.000+10:00

"Hello, beautiful." - Don Johnston

Broken Flowers
The movie has the best non-verbal conversations I have ever seen. It is about a story of a Don Juan who has had his time, and he sets off on a journey to visit his ex-girlfriends and find out which one was it that had his child 19 years ago. One would probably expect a lot of reminiscing going on. Awkward moments when they recount bad times and maybe all of them would end up in the bed with him again. Not much was said in this movie. Most of the time, Don Johnston (by Bill Murray) was staring off into space, his thoughts unknown to us. But the little times he spent with the ex-girlfriends, one would know so much. Laura (by Sharon Stone) was the one who would go weak on her knees whenever Don did something sweet for her. A skank. Their relationship was merely physical. Dora (by France Conroy) was the one who loved him, but Don did not love her back as much as he should. And here she is, stuck with a man who is madly in love with her, but Dora just is not as happy as she should be. Carmen (by Jessica Lange) would rather have never met Don in the first place because she could manage life by herself anyway. Their relationship was a sour one, which resulted in her still disgusted of him even all these years. And Penny (by Tilda Swinton). She was the one wearing the pants in the relationship instead. And she still hates him as much as Carmen does, maybe much much more. And Michelle would be the one Don loved out of the bunch. The way he told the florist to wrap the flowers perfectly and they "have to be all pink". The way he walked up to her grave and greeted, "Hello, beautiful", something he never did with the others. The way he sat under the tree by the grave and cried, something he never did with the others.

Good Will Hunting
We will at least run into people like this at least once in our lifetime. You know. Those smart kids but from the wrong side of town. And sometimes, we will hope to be a hero and get them out to the right side of town. In movies, it always works. But in real life, it rarely works. Because. Not everyone sees an intelligent kid when he is cleaning up the offices. Not everyone will give him the benefit of the doubt, put their life on hold just to tweak his messy one right. Not everyone will be this patient. The kid may not even give a fuck what you do for him. The kid may not even listen. And one would spend nights drinking scotch and wonder what is the matter with the kid. One would cry to sleep every night and ask oneself what is not enough, what is never enough, for him. Then. Perhaps one would wake up one morning and decided he is not one's problem to begin with, and move on. What then happens to the kid? He remains as intelligent as he was borned with it, and remains on the wrong side of town since the day he was borned into it.

DVD rentals: Quickflix

Have you seen...

2007-05-05T22:01:00.000+10:00

"Stop it! Stop staring at me! You've never seen a human pizza before?" - Dan Dark

The Singing Detective
Apparently, film noir style movies seem to captivate me. Perhaps it is the cocky way the protagonists narrate. They seem to always be so poetic and descriptive. Vivid. Beautiful words. Or the private eye old skool settings. Granted this movie is in Technicolors, but if it were to be in black and white, there is not much to be missed out on anyway.

I have not watched a lot of Robert Downey Jr (as Dan Dark) movies, but it seems like I have. I think he is a brilliant actor. He is quite a singer too. Maybe I have seen too many Ally McBeal episodes with him in it. This happens to you when you spent too much time hogging the television with nothing more to do but switch channels.

I have wondered constantly if I will ever turn out to be those insane writers. You know, the ones that hide in their house forever trying to write something good. The ones that fall off the real world and see nothing but their fiction playing in their heads come to life. The ones that talk to themselves. The ones that end up in the cuckoo house. Hmm.

Traffic
Mexico will always be a hot orange to me, someone who has never been to Tijuana. Always in gold. The women with shimmering sweat-stained skins. The men with thick moustache and a bad guy look. Dirty and dusty streets. Cars parked with such liberty. Noise. Fiesta. Noise. Noise. Noise. Honk honk.

The movie is one of those Oscar big-bangs. One of those all-star castings like Alexander and Crash and Troy. One of those movies about worldly issues the US is trying to tackle. You know. Those that make you want to get your butt off the couch you are in and go out and do something about it. Depending on how passionate you are about things.

The movie is pretty much a flat line. You kind of know what is going to happen. The bad guy will surely be caught. There will definitely be crooks working within the force for their own benefit. A cop will die. Someone will die. The official will stop focusing on the big picture, and go back to being a father and worry about the drug addict daughter. The cop that sold the right news will end the movie watching the junior baseball league. Ahh. Happy ending.

DVD rentals: Quickflix

Quiet

2007-04-30T12:38:00.000+10:00

"Feels like the end of the world." - John Mayer

I woke up this morning and felt an unfamiliar sound blaring outside my window, the world around me. I drew back the drapes to check if today is a Sunday rather than the initial Monday. Later, I would check my laptop's clock to see if it is indeed Monday. On Sundays, the roads would bear fewer cars flying by and the streets would be lonelier without Uni students going to class but for weekly grocery shoppings.

The first autumn winds finally swept past the skies, blowing off the last femininity of April, making room for the chilly heart of May. I woke up with a morning chill nibbling my skin. Even the warm comforter felt cold. May came into the room uninvited. May made the trees dance gleefully. Yet deceivingly, May kept April's sunburns and blue blue skies. Ah, how unpredictable the weather has gotten. It would require one to leave house with clothing accessories of all seasons. Shades. Sunblock. Scarf. Umbrella. Slippers or shoes. Skirt or jeans. Little petty indecisions of vanity.

For the past few days - weeks, perhaps - even the tiniest sounds would irritate me. My housemate's vibrating footsteps to the kitchen so many times echoing beneath me on the wooden floorboards. Her quite intentions I knew not of by the counter figuring out her long winded thoughts again and again. My landlady's husband's truck backing out of the "driveway" just outside my bedroom, the old metals screeching at a top pitch. And the rusty gates opening and closing above my head. The construction suddenly erected just outside my window due to reasons I could not quite understand. (Why did they have the sudden urge to dig up the sidewalk and flip the soil and restore everything back again). The cruel banging and drilling and hammering that cut short my beauty sleep at 10AM. It is still too early for me. And at night, the crazy screams and shrieks of my faceless neighbours. The sounds come from everywhere and obviously drunk, but I cannot find them. I cannot see them. They hide so professionally in the dark. Occasionally, booming ching-chong-chang's would walk past under my window. This year, Brisbane has been disturbingly populated by people from the Mainland, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Korea, Japan... The annoying muffled cars racing down my street because it is fun, their turbine exhaustions let off like farts would in drunken manly farting competitions. Vroooom-psst. Vrooom-psst. Vrooom-psst. I cannot recall hearing these little fizzes last year. Have I gotten more sensitively alert.

But this morning. My housemate was out earlier than my waking hour. The construction outside has stopped, the men merely sitting around chitchatting in their glow-in-the-dark(-and-day) uniforms. The cars drive past the main road in an under-radar buzz. It was just this intangible peace lingering.

There is something peculiarly quiet about today's Monday. Yes, it is indeed a Monday.

Have you seen...

2007-04-30T00:18:00.001+10:00

"Lose it? I didn't lose it. It's not like, "Whoops! Where'd my job go?" I QUIT. Someone pass me the asparagus." - Lester Burnham

The Faculty
Who would have thought of selling drugs in pen cases? I mean. It is a good camouflage - Hey , wanna buy a pen for your exam? - and it is fucking convenient. You just unscrew the cap and take a big sniff.

You probably saw it coming. Perhaps it is some reverse psychology thing: the production team knows everyone will suspect the new kid in town is the cause of all the hoo-haa, so they might as well just lay in on the table and say "No, it is not me". But then, it is her. But. But. You said. Hah. Never believe a writer.

It is one of those movies that brought together the few biggest stars in current times. Robert Patrick (as Coach Joe Willis). Salma Hayek (as Nurse Rosa Harper). Famke Janssen (as Elizabeth Burke). Clea Duvall (as Stokely). Josh Hartnett (as Zeke). Elijah Wood (as Casey). Oh look, Jon Stewart (as Prof Edward Furlong). And what the heck is Usher doing in there?

American Beauty
I am familiar with Peter Gallagher (as Buddy Kane) the most as Sandy Cohen in The OC. It is refreshing to see him with white hair and a loss of cheery chirpy Cohen-ness.

Parents should stop hiding their secrets because the children can just see right through you. Whether you are a homophobic gay (yes, this is intended) marine officer or a horny father who jacks off to his daughter's hot friend.

Barbara Fitts (Allison Janney) is one character that got to me. A mind lost due to old age, but yet exchanged with a peace of mind away from the problems the people around her faced. When her son, Ricky (Wes Bentley) said goodbye to her after having an argument with his dad that resulted in him being kicked out, the mother did not try to hold him back but merely said "Don't forget your raincoat" - for it was raining outside - and leaned her face forward when he gave her a peck on the cheek. I guess it was self-explanatory.

DVD rentals: QuickFlix

The places you've come to hate the most

2007-04-22T01:13:00.000+10:00

"Each town it seems the same, my dear." - Pilate

When a place grows sour,
You can recognise the same car driving past your house at midnight, without looking out the window.
You run out of things to talk about with the friends you go out with every night.
You step into a posher restaurant because street stall cuisines have grown stale on your tongue.
And everything is not enough.

When a place grows sour,
You look for a better place.
A greener grass.
A prettier day.
A quieter house.
Another town.
Not this town.

When a place grows sour,
You wish you had never left the place you once grew to loathe.
You start missing the midnight car.
You start missing the friends you had so much to talk about that one day you just ran out of things to talk about.
You start missing the stalls serving unhygienic food that made you bound to the toilet for hours.
Days.

When a place grows sour,
And you have made plans to find a sweeter abode,
Something will happen and make you want to stay in the same sodding place.
Even though you have spent years lamenting its short comings.
You got a promotion with a better salary.
You got better political stance.
You found the person you thought you should find on the other side.
Shit.
Now what.

When a place grows sour,
It happens when you step foot on new grounds.
Because the promised land you promised yourself a better life with, is a broken one.
A place will always be sour.
Near or far.
Looking forward or behind.
Because whenever you are ready to say goodbye, you would wish you never had to say hello.
Because whenever you are ready to leave, you would have one more reason to make you stay.
Then only you would realise when it is too late that all along it has been enough.

Runaway in circles

2007-04-02T01:07:00.000+10:00

There was a 6AM jog my Eskimo friend would not believe in. "Fuck off," he said. "I'd rather believe in a sinning jester." Alas. I managed to drag my frail form out of the cozy bed out into the crispy air. The sun was brand new. The newborn autumn chill biting my bare legs. Josh Kelley walked me to the deserted Kulgun Park. I jogged and walked alternatively. I wished I was healthier than a fail attempted weekly morning jog. I have been back in Brisbane for almost six weeks and it was only my second time. But I needed the run, you see. I have so many problems to run away from. I used to solve them all with the mighty tip of my pen. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line, the tip broke because my problems have became too much for my writing to handle. So. I decided to runaway from them all. Alas. It is not that simple. But at least I return home with a tired physique, and my mind had nothing more to worry about but to rest my lethargic body well enough. I did not sweat enough to shower. It did not matter. It was a lonely bed.

Lesson #9

2007-03-13T23:12:00.000+10:00

"As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. Then gradually time awakened again and moved sluggishly on." - John Steinbeck; Of Mice and Men

Lesson #8

2007-03-12T22:30:00.000+10:00

Mr King
Nerina Pallot
(listen)

Good days, bad days, I've had a few of those.
Same old story - I know how this song goes,
At least, I did, but now I'm not so sure.
Nothing's in its place, nothing's certain anymore..
Birds fly. Trees sway. Why can't I be like that?
Happy knowing what I am, in fact, and leaving be?
But truth has been obscured -
I am only human and I'm always wanting... more.

Oh the world is a place, and the say its on our side,
But I wonder, is there comfort in those moments when we die?
Now I see, Mr King, this was in the books you gave me -
Which I read, disbelieving, thinking poets are depressed.
Oh, Mr King, I have changed, I confess.

Oh those good days I remember well:
Tape on windows, wintertime was hell
But it was fun, and people there were kind -
There was good work to be done, and I learnt to think my time.

And the world was a good place, and in days were where I lived
I imagined life had purpose and I'd something good to give.
Mr Cave played along on the battered hallway piano -
Oh every love song a secret to be shared.
Oh, Mr King, how I wish I was back there.

Now, I've got 10 things lined up on a shelf
Reasons to be cheerful for myself.
I don't know why you're showing me the sky -
You say you see heaven,
I see hell, but want to try.

And the world is a place, and I pray it's on my side,
But I'd find greater comfort if I just lay down and died.
I don't know what's become of the girl who once knew sunshine,
What's become of the girl who knew sorrow but was strong?
Oh, Mr King you were right, all along;
Mr King you were right.
Oh Mr King, you were right - I was wrong.

A review: Damien Rice in concert

2007-03-02T20:33:00.001+10:00

Date: February 25, 2007
Time: 7.30pm
Venue: The Tivoli

It was the last sold out venue in his Australian tour. The Tivoli was the perfect place for an intimate musician like Damien Rice. The crowd spilled into the room and everyone scattered to find the most decent spot to enjoy the concert. Many secured the balcony with a first class view up above. With seats. Either on velvet cushions or on the polished wooden floor. I, with an incompetent height, decided the leftest corner by the stage with the speakers just right beside my ears. As time passed, I would learn to appreciate the very spot I have chosen. It did not matter that my knees were about to collapse after standing for an hour plus outside, with roughly four hours plus more to go. There, I waited patiently.

The crowd welcomed Fionn Regan eagerly. He wore a hat. He carried a suitcase and played two guitars alternatively with his initials duct-taped on the surfaces. Hailed from the same country and signed under Damien Rice's label, Heffa, Fionn's voice was of a young Damien Rice. His music brought the crowd back to the vintage days of black and white, a relaxed stroll in the park with the master and mistress. You could almost see a fountain with a cupid statued in the center. Although his melody was leaning more towards the genre of country folk, and a tad bit more cheerful, his lyrics were written with the same ink of simplicity Damien uses for his songs. When he sang about a girl and going on a date with the girl, he sang about the girl and going on the date with her. There were no pretenses or hidden meanings. After every song, he would tip his hat gratefully and thanked the crowd for their support.

After's Fionn's hour long set, there was a short interval before the lights dimmed down once again and Damien Rice emerged last after his band members, cellist Vyvienne Long, bassist Shane Fitzsimmons and backing vocalist Lisa Hannigan. Later, Damien would explain Tom Osander, a.k.a Tomo's absence: he has "beautiful important things" to tend to. He opened with, of all songs, a B-side, The Professor. The crowd embraced it with a heartwarming applause. It was unexpected when Lisa stepped up and took on the second verse. I was literally captivated by her hoarse low-toned voice. There I stood, shackled by her spell as she sang, "Cry when I should, and I laugh when I could" and sang, "But he's the professor and he thought that he should know what makes me comes, what makes me stay..." If I were ever still a little girl, I would wish to grow up and be like her.

Damien proceeded with a string of songs, interlacing beloveds from both O and 9. Only then he noticed the crowd and decided to have a little chat as he tried to figure out what to do next. One thing I noticed about Damien was he was not a person for small talks. He did not seem to do well with spontaneous speeches. He struggled to find the next and right words to say, but ended up with babbles that was not funny, yet the crowd decided to laugh anyway. But there were no stutters and second thinkings every time he started off a new song. He performed with his heart and the band harmonised with him in one accord. Every beat his heart took was right with Vyvienne's wailing cello, Shane's supporting bass and Lisa's haunting chords. Even the lights changed colours and went off and on, all at the precise moments.

Damien basically performed all of the songs off O, a territory most of the crowd was more familiar with compared to 9. They sang along to favourite tracks like Delicate and Cannonball. They cheered for Rootless Tree when Damien drifted fluently into it after Volcano. They applaused as Damien took a seat at the forsaken piano for it was a cue for the self-pitiful 9 Crimes. They clapped their hands along Coconut Skins of contradicting lyrics and rhythm. Someone asked for more B-sides and instantly, he strummed the opening chords to Rat Within the Grain. Maybe the crowd did not know what song it was because they were a moment stunned when he started, but it was one of my favourite B-sides. "I only wanted to be wonderful and wonderful is true. In truth I only really wanted to be wanted by you". Everyone loved it.

He introduced I Remember as a song of changing our minds. Carefully, Lisa thread the first part before Damien took hold with his guitar and blew the crowd away. The speaker was right next to me and I could feel the anger (literally) vibrating my skin and bones as he screamed words I failed to remember.

Damien said fuck the French, for the Australians made better wines as Lisa filled up wine glasses and passed them around the stage. Only when he took hold of the bottle did he realise the wine was made in New Zealand. "You guys are all the same." He attempted to joke. So maybe he was funny there. Everyone laughed as if drunk. (There was a bar in The Tivoli, after all). He followed up with a tale of a drunken guy and gal and slipped into Cheers Darlin' with Fionn not having a slightest clue what he was doing being called to play the piano solo.

Damien asked for the lights to go off. Vyvienne dipped the piano keys for a change and they eased into Cold Water in the dark. It was all coming to an end. This wonderful night. The crowd burst the seams with a full volume ovation - we were all already standing anyway - as Damien and co. thanked the marvellous crowd and bid us good night and goodbye. Yet every single person in the crowd knew it was not the end. Not yet. Something was still missing.

The ovation was long and undying, until Damien returned once again and decided to let us pick what he should sing last. Unlike his Melbourne set, where a fan was lucky enough to go on stage to perform with him, and the crowd got to compose a spur-of-the-moment song with him, the Brisbane fans were not given the slightest chance for song requests when he was stuck halfway through his set. It was either The Blowers' Daughter, Sand or Elephant. The vote was. Of course. The concert went on close to three hours. Damien and Lisa sang till almost midnight. "Till I find somebody new".

The O.C.logy : Favourite moments (Season 2)

2007-03-01T14:41:00.000+10:00

I would probably regret what I am about to say here in years to come when I finally realise what a mindless show The O.C. is, just like I had done for Power Rangers. But. It is important right now to say that the show gets better actually, contrary to what the majority says. In my days spent watching the first two seasons over and over again, I can safely say that there is growth in between the seasons. Sure, there are some double-you-tee-eff moments - i.e Seth sailing off to Portland of all places when Ryan leaves Newport (I do not know about you, but that is just pleading for the gaydar to go off) - but when it comes down to it, some of the simplest things in the show makes sense. Something normal growing people can relate to. And here are my favourite moments for the second season. Surprise surprise, Alex and Marissa's relationship did not make the cut.

Favourite moment #1: Wham bam thank you ma'am!

I have never seen any shows kicked off their next season the way The OC did for season 2. I think it is probably the best one yet. It dove straight to the point and dealt with things they left off hanging by the cliff in the previous season. For the introduction to the season, I have three scenes I like.

The first is when Marissa called Ryan in the middle of the night. With Marissa left alone in Newport as Ryan left to take care of Theresa and her baby back in Chino. Marissa failed to say anything when Ryan picked up. Even though it was just her breathing on the other line, he could distinguish it was her. There was this heartbreaking connection and it went deep past the phone cord and signals, and straight through their heart.

It is just those times you have in your life when you would like to make a call to the person you care and/or like and hope to strike up a conversation and see things normal. But when the time comes, words fail you and what seems like a conversation that will run on for miles, becomes nothing but a mistake. A phone call that should have never been made. A phone call that should have never been answered. Just to keep things perfect and normal. And when you realise at that split second when there is nothing to say even when you would much like to talk the world away, that is when it hurts the most. Wanting to connect yet does not know how.

So maybe that is how it is with Marissa and Ryan. Their love is such a tragedy. What could be more hurtful than loving someone you know you cannot be with. It is just a simple mistake everyone makes in their lives. One too many times. We never learn, do we?

Call me sadistic, but I love this scene when Marissa exploded in front of her mom. Sometimes, life just get dramatic like that. (In Marissa's case, it is just the scriptwriters dramatising her life). One thing happens after another and there is nothing you can do but sit quietly at a corner and wait them all out. Every day, you question yourself if it is ever going to end. You fear if it is ever going to end. And as long as you hold your composure, as long as you do not slit your wrist or hang from the ceiling or gulp down a bottle of pills, everyone will assume you are alright. Maybe they just do not want to deal with the problem someone else is going through. Maybe they think their own shit is bad enough and that person is just exaggerating. So I guess we are alone like that in this world.

And when someone who cares actually swing by and ask really sincerely if she is holding up well, a heartfelt scream is suffice. Because. What words can describe her forsaken broken heart as she watched the one she loves walks away to be with another girl and it is only wise to take it as it is without a care of her own heart. What words can describe her trapped being when Caleb blackmailed her into staying with her mom, rather than her dad, the one she loves more than the other.

And sometimes, once or twice or thrice in every parent's life, they will lose their child as they themselves lose their way. It happens. Be patient with them. They are just trying to figure out the best way home. Everyone gets cranky when they are lost. Just like they do in Amazing Race.

And let us not forget every indie boy's vote for the cutest couple, Seth and Summer. Who knew Summer could change to become such a humane person as she falls in love. Ah, the power of love, they would say. But my heart goes out to Summer Roberts as Seth oh so cockily thinks she is just going to leap back into his arms and pick up where they left off after Seth up and ditched her when Ryan leaves. (Really, gaydar). Rachel Bilson did well here as she spoke the hearts and minds of every girl out there alike to Summer's situation. Especially when she confessed how she felt for the first time. (She has always been there but Seth was never satisfied). Maybe it comes with the package: bimbo = no feelings. (In truth, it is no brain, but OK). I am sure even bimbos have feelings.

It is just how a girl feels when a guy plays her hot and cold, whether it is all in the girl's head or it is all in the guy's doing for dissing and dismissing her. Coming and going as he pleases. It takes two to tango. And the worst thing is, she cannot really hate him for that because she loves him already. It would have been easier if her heart was not surrendered in the first place. Alas.

Favourite moment #2: Marissa, Ryan and the penguin

You should know by now I take pleasure in heart wrenching moments in the show. But I also find some scenes pretty humourous. Like this one for example. When Ryan offered to help Marissa with her props for the upcoming SnO.C dance without knowing what he is offering help on.

Honestly, it is a bit off, Ryan's character here, because usually he is the brooding wifebeater fellow instead of one who would make light of situations. But after his "Summer flu" and "Annabiotics" joke in season 1, I have a feeling they are going to disseminate more of Seth's comic relief onto this guy.

This scene is cute. Some Marissa/Ryan loving despite the whole Lindsey/Ryan loving coming up soon. But I guess it is just those simple moments in life you cherish with your friends, which can often be neglected when you decided it is a better idea to be more than friends. Yeah. Whose brilliant idea is that?

Favourite moment #3: Daddy's little girl

When Jimmy, Marissa's dad told her he would be leaving Newport to Maui to get his life straightened out, she was pissed and he was apologetic. He thought she was angry he was screwing up her life - getting the family bankrupt, divorcing with his wife, living below their usual status, and now leaving her - when actually, it was because she did not want him to leave. He was all Marissa had to keep herself from going insane from all the drama going on around her.

It was one of Mischa Barton's finest moments when she suddenly broke down and begged her father not to leave. I guess this is how a daddy's little girl would feel when daddy needs to leave. I am a daddy's little girl. Or. I was. Maybe still am. I would probably feel the same way and do the same thing if I were to find my dad gone with an indefinite and/or probably inexistent homecoming. But in my case, it was I who left first. Tag. You are it.

Besides that, I love it how Modest Mouse's World At Large just sits itself so perfectly next to Jimmy and Marissa huddled at the watch tower. It just turns on all the water tap, does it not? Kudos to the music team of the show.

Favourite moment #4: The forbidden fruit

All men with facial hair, an intention to rebel, and a surname "Buckley" is a dangerous territory every well-rounded woman would like to go.

In this episode (21. The Return of Nane), when Carter told Kirsten he was leaving for New York, and they stepped in for a hug, and when he kissed her after his farewell dinner, she seemed to really truly cherish the embrace and the kiss. Feel something she would never have a chance to feel anymore, and would probably be wrong to be feeling it in the first place. It hurts. Either way. Maybe this is how it feels knowing there is someone out there you think is decent enough for you, but you cannot be with him. In her case, it is because she is married to someone she (thinks) she loves. Not to say Sandy is a bad husband. But I guess. Sometimes, the person you trusts the most seems to disappear and the next best thing seems to be the best thing ever.

Kirsten confessed to Julie. How everything in her life fell apart when Seth and Ryan left for the summer, Sandy's old flame came back into the picture, and her dad's constant mischief. And Carter's oh so coincidental presence makes everything wrong seems right. It was probably the saddest thing to say. Coming from a person with everything so perfect for her, yet so empty.

I noticed that throughout the two seasons, Kirsten has not really broken down for real before. Even while dealing with Carter. I admire her fidelity, despite her strong feelings. Instead of sleeping with him, she would rather get shitfaced instead. She did succumb to alcohol in the end, but hey, even perfectionists are human too. We are bound to come undone at one point or another of our lives. And for Kirsten's case, I guess she has every right to. Not to mention a great chain reaction to the finale too.

Photo credit: Screencap Paradise

The O.C.logy : Favourite moments (Season 1)

2007-02-17T23:46:00.000+10:00

Well. You should have seen this coming. I spent a good half of last year watching and re-watching the first and second season of The O.C.. Word has it that the fourth season will end soon. So. I guess it is time to go down the nostalgic path and reminisce those good moments that pleasured us oh so guiltily. There are probably a lot of good moments that I like in this season, but by far, these are the ones that stand out. Arranged episodically chronologically.

Favourite moment #1: Seth sweeping Summer off her feet

He swept me off my feet too. And probably half of the female population out there watching the show while trying to decide to favour the hardcore puncher from Chino, or the comic relief skinny boy from Newport. Damn the boys and their good musical taste. Never mind that he happens to have a record player at the corner of his room, which coincidentally has Ryan Adams' - of all things musically formatted - vinyl set to Wonderwall.

And from then onwards, in my opinion, anything remotely romantic coming from Seth Cohen does not really seem plausible in real life. Because. These moments deep in a guy's heart is a rare breed in today's world. It is not easy finding a romantist like that. But what do I know, right? I have not dated all the men on the planet to make such a judgment.

Maybe I still believe there is such a sweet guy out there. Because deep inside of me, I still find being serenaded by Oasis' Wonderwall - or in this case Ryan Adams' - the most breathtaking thing a girl could ever encounter. Oasis has it well with the song, but there is just something more intimate and bittersweet about Ryan Adams' cover. His squeaking guitar. His rare piano. His breaking voice. And this coming from a person who does not really like covers, you can see that I am indeed pleased.

Favourite moment #2: Seth saying goodbye to Anna

This is when Seth rushes to the aiport to see Anna as she was leaving to go back to Pittsburgh. Based on his assumption that Anna was leaving because of what happened to them, Seth was determined to make her stay.

Anna is probably the best thing that has ever happened to Seth Cohen. (Excluding Ryan, whom, as seen in the fourth season, was supposed to be the one who changed Seth's life instead). If it were not for Anna and her wise words, Seth would either still be hiding around drooling over Summer, or still be letting Summer walk all over his tiny little emo heart. OK. Fine. Maybe Ryan should take some credit for Seth's better life, but it was Anna's "Confidence, Cohen" advice that would every guy out there who is too afraid to take that crucial step.

Saying goodbye to a friend is the hardest thing. Especially when you found out that you have so much in common and you have been through so much together, including going out together and finding out it still does not work out. So the latest era has emails and telephones and oh yeah, remember letters. But I guess. There is always the thought that things will not be the same again. And that makes saying farewell for good, the hardest thing.

Adam Brody did a fine job here. When he hit the transparent barrier and called Anna. Could you just imagine the fear he was going through as his good friend walked into the terminal, away from him.

And Nada Surf's If You Leave added the remaining essence for this scene.

Favourite moment #3: Jimbo to the rescue

After receiving news from Ryan via Sandy that Hailey is working in a strip club, Jimmy was willing to forgo building a career for his future, just to head down to Los Angeles to find Hailey.

The plot did not really work around Jimmy as a heroic character, especially after how he has handled his money. Or lack thereof. And Hailey did not seem to be the type in need of salvation. She seemed pretty content being the wayward child. But things took a sudden turn as Jimmy and Haily stood face-to-face at the dirty back alley. As she struggled to explain herself, Jimmy just matter-of-factly stopped her and told her it does not matter. Sometimes, just like that, the past does not matter. It seems that Jimmy knows what Hailey is going through. What with him borrowing money from Kirsten to pay off old miscalculated debts. What with her stripping just to make a living. It seems like they were floating on the same boat, eating the same stale fish and drinking the same salty sea water. Right here. Right now. It is what matters. We always do what we need to do, even if they are things that degrade us.

Tate Donovan has this fatherly characteristics oozing out of him whenever he speaks. He is not one to raise his voice and he will always has this smile that crinkles his face even when the going gets tough. His voice speaks like an angel's and that was more than enough to calm Hailey's troubled heart down.

"I wished you would've called first. I would've washed my hair."
Maybe it was to make light of the embarrassing situation. Or maybe it was a Nicol trend to stay tough no matter what. Even if your weakness has been laid out flat on the silver platter for everyone to see. Hailey's secret was out and she was not the strong one anymore. Yet. She would like Jimmy to think she is alright.

I guess. At one point or another of our life, we need someone to save us. Regardless if it is as easy a rescue as heading down to L.A to tell off an old bar manager and his buffy bouncer.

Photo credit: Screencap Paradise

A fool's love

2007-02-14T22:15:00.000+10:00

Once upon a time, there was a little girl with all the love she could get. She was borned with a blessed love from the High Priest her father had summoned for her baptism. She grew up with the unconditional love from her two healthy parents and four protective brothers. They lived in a majestic castle up on the hill overlooking the vast kingdom her father had conquered for his children. Every waking moment, she was showered with the fullest gifts of teddy bears and fresh flowers. Yet. Deep in her heart, she knew she was not content, and would never be.

She was the saddest girl the day she turned 18. Amidst the mountain high gifts from the young men from neighbouring kingdoms, she was not happy with the love that was there all along anymore. While her family were busy preparing a feast for her coming of age, and the bachelors sat in the guest rooms hoping she would come talk to them, she instead put on a ragged cloak and flee the castle.

The sun hung high above her head as she made her way through the crowded market in search of something her heart desired but her mind had not a clue of. She felt the sweaty man's fruits. She heard the blind lady's songs. She saw the hungry orphan's bare feet. The day was about to be over when she chanced upon a tent with colourful stripes cascading down to the ground. It was a call neither her heart or her mind could decipher, but her legs carried her into the mysterious tent. She sat down on the carpeted floor and an old gypsy greeted her by clasping her youthful hand in between her wrinkled ones.

"You are ready to love." The gypsy said. And she gave the 18-year-old girl a present she would come to treasure above all the expensive gifts from foreign lands.

The girl was shooed out of the tent before she could thank the old gypsy. She was entranced by the silver locket of a heart, bloated to the brim. Just like the love inside of her wanting out. She turned around, hoping for some elaborations, but to her surprise, the colourful tent was gone. And the market had grown quiet and dark. All she could see was the castle atop of the hill all lit up for her 18th birthday.

That night, she put on the necklace and danced with all the charming men in the hall. They made her laughed. They made her happy. As she felt the smooth surface of the hart-shaped locket, she came to realise that there was hope for the kind of love she had been longing for.

But. The night ended and the young men returned to their respective kingdoms. The young girl stared out her window every moonlit night and felt her heart slowly lost its ember. Too many times, she had sneaked out in search of the old gypsy. Yet every time she returned home defeated, for the old gypsy was nowhere to be found. There were rumours circulating the markets that the gypsy had passed on. Since that day, she gave up looking for the gypsy. She retreated to her room and caught on a broken heart disease.

Her father sent words to neighbouring countries for the best doctors in town to cure his ill daughter. Her mother sat beside her bed crying every night when she refused to eat. Her brothers questioned the young men who were invited to her 18th birthday and went out hunting for the man responsible for passing on the disease. This went on for two years. Until one night, the young girl gathered her family into her room. She told her father to stop seeking medical attention. She asked her mother to not weep for her anymore. She said to her brothers there were no men to crucify for there was never a man. After her family retreated to their own abode, she unclasped the gypsy's necklace around her neck and hid it in her drawer. The next night, the young girl would be turning 20.

As spring came and gone, and winter fled for the mountains, one by one, the brothers found humble wives to marry. One by one, they parted with their parents to build their own kingdoms in lands out of the sight of the majestic castle. Finally, it was the young girl's footsteps haunting the too many empty rooms. Her parents were growing old. The day her parents died, was the day all love drained out of the castle. Her brothers came back for the mournful festival. While the entire kingdom wept for a lost love, the young girl packed her clothes and stuffed the gypsy's necklace in her pocket. She passed the grand gates out into the forest without bidding her brothers goodbye. That night, she turned 21. Her brothers were too caught up in their parents' passing to remember the important celebration. But. Even if they remembered, she would have been gone too far away to return.

For countless days she roamed the thick forest with puffy eyes that wept too long and a heart that bled too much. She forgot the feeling of the fruits. She forgot the song of the blind lady. She forgot the sight of the unfortunates. Until one day, a familiar sight bore her sad eyes.

She stepped into the same striped tent and met the old gypsy a few hairs whiter and a few wrinkles fuller. The girl, not young anymore, held out her hand gripping the 18-year-old heart. She would have blamed the gypsy for this curse. But on those night she laid in bed diagnosed with broken heart disease, she came to realise that she had been cursed all along.

"Wait." The gypsy called out as the girl left. The girl trembled at the old woman's crooked voice. She had found sadness in every breaking twig and every raining sky and every dying animal.

The old gypsy placed in the girl's hand another necklace. And said. "Until you have found the intelligent and courage to love another, you shall bear only one heart and love only the heart of your own."

She woke up lying on green pastures. On her right grasp she held the necklace with two hearts, one of them detached from the chain. On her left grasp she held the 18-year-old necklace. The gypsy and her colourful tent were nowhere to be found. That day, she would grace into her 22nd year. She returned to the kingdom she abandoned to find the youngest of the brothers living in the majestic castle. He welcomed her with forgiving tears and opened arms. Unfortunately. The love he grew had grown foreign in the girl's heart. If ever there was an old love flowing down her stream, she would taste it stale rather than sweet.

The girl sat by her window at a night shimmered with moonlight. Her fingers touched the heart-shaped halo and looked at the detached locket on her other hand. She sighed, for she would be wearing only one heart for a very long time.

The End.

Have a nice Valentine's Day. I hope your significant other made you feel special today, as did you to him/her. If not, do not be too calculative. For the caring and loving heart he/she held out for you as you stay together, is more than enough for a silly teddy bear and a huge bouquet of roses on this day. You are already luckier than you think. For the singles, do not despair, but choose this day to love yourself. Because nobody else is going to do that for you today.

A review : 31 Songs by Nick Hornby

2007-01-18T04:01:00.000+10:00

"If you love a song, love it enough for it to accompany you throughout the different stages of your life, then any specific memory is rubbed away by use." - Nick Hornby

I first read an excerpt from 31 Songs – George Isaacs: Puff the Magic Dragon – for one of my Life Writing classes. It was about Hornby’s autistic son, Danny, and how he connected to the world around him despite his incompetence. When I bought his book, (something to pass the time back home, I guess) I thought maybe it was a collection of writings on Hornby’s life with songs personally selected as a guide. If that were so, maybe it would be interesting, though self-absorbing. Maybe it would be a memoir of sorts. Predictable, but yet not, because not everyone knows the life of Nick Hornby.

But I did not find this book in the Non-Fiction corner in Borders, sandwiched in between a few of David Beckham’s so-called official biographies. I found the book in the Music Reference section instead, tucked secretly at the lowest shelf with a guy sitting nearby reading a book he chosen blocking me from getting it. I had to get the staff to shoo this guy away. Actually, that was not true; he eventually walked away; I must have been circling the section and glancing at the same spot too often. The point is, wherever I found this book located in the big bookstore, is already saying that it will not be what I expect.

When someone writes a book on a collection of songs, it is only natural to think that he is reminiscing precious moments in his life that made these songs so special. Is that not why we make mixed CDs in the first place? Each track in the CD reminds us of something that happened in one particular point of life. Hornby mentioned somewhere in his book that he was in his mid-40s. 31 songs would probably be too little for someone his age, but maybe he was a careful selector. He did not mention that in his book, but from the looks of it he was a music fan and that would be saying something. And these 31 songs could be the keys to unlock all the crazy times he had in his 40-decade life.

The book is specifically about his life as a music fan. Not just his life in general. But most importantly, the journey of discovering music while growing old. He did not pick the songs because they remind him of certain events in his life. The songs were picked because during certain periods of his life, they happened to play a crucial part.

As I went through the last few chapters, I thought to myself will I – or anyone for that matter – be able to compile a selection of songs like Hornby did, or write a book in regards of why the songs were chosen by like Hornby did. Will Verve Pipe’s The Freshmen be the song I choose when I write about listening to a song again and again because I want to figure out what it is and “solve” the meanings in between the lines (Nelly Furtado: I’m Like a Bird). Will I still remember my favourite CD store shun away from the most popular hangout spots and my very own CD guy who is ever so kind to provide me with CDs I would not find anywhere else in Malaysia (Mark Mulcahy: Hey Self-Defeater). Will it still exist if it chances upon me to write a book alike Hornby’s. Will anyone be ever so kind to write a song inspired by a very book I debuted (Badly Drawn Boys: A Minor Incident). How would I feel when I hear Death Cab’s I Will Follow You Into the Dark in Starbucks just because some guy working behind the counter likes that song. Will I feel glad that someone shares the same thing as I. Or will I feel annoyed, the way I do when I saw Damien Rice’s 9 Crimes music video on Channel V or his new CD flocking the shelves on Tower Records. Or when I hear The Fray’s How to Save a Life way too fucking often on the radio. Or when Howie Day’s Collide seems to be every boyfriend’s ticket to soothe the girlfriend’s heart. Honestly, I worry when my favourite songs are overplayed and exposed to commercialism. I would feel a part of me is lost to mass destruction.

31 Songs is probably one of the few nice books I have read. Mainly because I am a fan of music myself. I am familiar with probably half of the musicians mentioned and I get giddy because I recognise them. As for the other half, I would like to check them out and find out of I could feel the way Hornby felt when he heard Frankie Teardrop’s Suicide. Or Bruce Springsteen’s Thunder Road. Or Santana’s Samba Pa Ti. Some chapters are written with Hornby’s personal take on the songs. A music review. With a personal touch on his life experiences. Ones that nobody else but Nick Hornby himself can ever write.

I would recommend this book if you were a serious music fan. Hornby knows what he is doing, so you can count on him. He wrote something all music fans are familiar with. Maybe not the same songs he talked about per se, but the similar experiences we go through.

I guess, it is just a matter of whether or not we can compile songs that were triggered by the life changing events, instead of songs that trigger the pettiest moments in life. It is nice to have a soundtrack to your life the way Hornby does. It might as well be one of the few things we should do before we die. Compile life’s soundtrack. Yes.

Photo credit: Amazon.com

Albums for 2006

2007-01-01T16:20:00.000+10:00

I bring you a list of the albums I bought in the year 2006. All 27 of them in total. (Mind you, some of them were downloaded). Of course, there are those I cannot get enough of, those I listen to to get by my days, those that totally ripped me off and those that is just there. Accompanied are some album arts and links to Amazon, as well as some sample tracks. ('Tis the season of giving, I guess). Although, some tracks are in m4a format and the links are only valid for seven days.

The loves
O by Damien Rice
I listen to this album when I could not sleep at night. I listen to this album when I needed a good cry in the middle of the day. I listen to this album when I wanted company out in the chilly spring night. This album is orchestrated perfectly as a whole as one tune connects to the next with slender threads of angelic vocals, heartbreaking strings and crying pianos. Although each with a different story to tell, the chapters managed to bind together into a book. It is the story of O. A newfound love. A star-crossed love. A blower’s daughter. No one’s daughter. An Eskimo friend. A darlin’. A storyteller. Read me your favourite line. A flying cannonball. I remember December. All dressed up for Prague.
- The Blower’s Daughter.mp3

9 by Damien Rice
I woke up earlier than usual the day this album was released in Australia. I had a quick shower – because I would do anything for love, but I won’t leave the house without showering first – and before having my breakfast, I hopped on a bus to the city to get myself a copy. It was not as if the album was going to sell out within seconds. It was the wait that made me do it. It rained almost the instant I returned home. I spent the rest of the day drawn into a world unlike O. A long time ago, my Eskimo friend sat me in his car and played me his favourite tracks on O and called Damien Rice a fucking genius in such an enthusiastic tone I would rarely see coming from him. He sent me a B-side, The Professor, and complimented Damien was versatile. I did not know how that word worked with Damien. Until 9.
- The Animals Were Gone.m4a

Declare A New State! by The Submarines
My anthem of the year. The tracks are arranged in the album – consciously or unconsciously – with vocals sang alternatively by the female and male lead. The songs are written at the saddest peak of their lives apart from each other, filled with so much misunderstanding, regret, depression and hopelessness only a long distance relationship would know how. Yet nonetheless, it does not hurt to be optimistic and faithful at the end of the day. Blake and John have voices that blend well together. Perhaps a match made in Heaven. Pronounced husband and wife. You may kiss the bride. The musical arrangements, both lyrical and technical, are simple and sincere. Just the way I like it.
- This Conversation.m4a

Move Along by The All-American Rejects
It was the first and only concert I went to in Australia this year. I was probably the only person who attended the concert by herself. I was too old for the pushing and shoving up front at the stage. I ordered vodka and lime upstairs and stood behind Australians one foot taller than me, peeking at Tyler in between bopping heads and jumping shoulders. But at least I got to stand still with nobody sticking his or her sweaty body up against me. It was a good concert. It would probably have been better if they played Straitjacket Feeling, or if I were a foot taller.
- Dance Inside.mp3

Plans by Death Cab For Cutie
I have never understood what my friends mean when they say, “Stop playing this album, it’s so fucking depressing.” Or when people on the Internet associates Death Cab For Cutie with being emo. “One guitar and a hell lot of complaining”, Summer Roberts said. All I hear is good music – the simplest piano repetitions and guitar riffs. All I hear is the most original words – Ben Gibbard is too fucking wonderful with his pen. Until. One bad day, I listened to What Sarah Said again and I was surprised I did not feel so sad when I first heard it. Maybe it was only lately I figured out what the song was about. What Sarah was really saying. The truth is, I never listen. Well, I do listen. But the problem is, all I hear are babbles and notes. Until it is too late.
- What Sarah Said.mp3

The likes
Trouble is Real by Johnathan Rice
The Last Kiss soundtrack
Eyes Open by Snow Patrol
Trigger by Sandrine

The honourable mentions
We Don’t Need to Whisper by Angels and Airwaves
Dusk and Summer by Dashboard Confessional
Parachutes by Coldplay

The dislikes
Good News for People Who Love Bad News by Modest Mouse
From Underneath the Cork Tree by The Fall Out Boy

The et ceteras
Grace by Jeff Buckley
More Than You Think You Are by Matchbox Twenty
Blink 182 by Blink 182
I Am Me by Ashlee Simpson
Sketches for My Sweetheart The Drunk by Jeff Buckley
Give Up by The Postal Service
Everything in Transit by Jack’s Mannequin
North by Something Corporate
Continuum by John Mayer
Warnings/Promises by Idlewild
Final Straw by Snow Patrol
In Between Dreams by Jack Johnson
X & Y by Coldplay

* Album arts credit: CDNow.com

I found the animals

2006-12-21T01:26:00.000+10:00

"I woke up for the first time, the animals were gone." - Damien Rice

Credit: Guo-Jian Yuan @ IKEA

Lesson #7

2006-12-07T22:45:00.000+10:00

My November Guest
Robert Lee Frost

My sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the whitered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

Spring cleaning

2006-12-04T22:58:00.000+10:00

"I rearranged the place a hundred times today, but the ordering of objects couldn't hide what's missing." - The Submarines

Before.

After.

I had to leave Brisbane for about two months plus to come back to Penang. Thus, there is some serious cleaning up to do before I head out. The cleaning for the rest of the house was pretty gruesome, but let us not get visual on that. In the meantime, I provide you with the tiniest corner in my house, my bedroom. My desk.

From the looks of it, there was not much to clean up. I merely dusted off the surfaces and tidied up the loose ends. I still have my tag from the Brisbane Writers Festival where it usually is. And I have grown a habit of using two cups. One for my tea. One for my normal drinks. Oh shush.

It is really a mild coincidence that this corner seems so colour coordinated. Or is it?

This be my top bookshelf. If you look really closely, you will see that the collection of books are different. Well, it is simple really. I just put away the books I brought from Penang and replaced the shelf with the ones I recently bought in Brisbane. The rejects are hidden in my wardrobe. It is not rocket science, really.

#1 are my photo albums, which I painstakingly lugged all the way from Penang. I am a person of memorable past. I like to look at pictures. And I am also quite OCD. I would much prefer 3R sized photo albums instead of the popularised - yet mostly not understood - 4R sized photo albums. And. My albums have to be of the same size. Hey, it is already a good thing that I am not looking for those with similar covers. I still have a stack of pictures I have yet to find an album for. Bummer. And I foresee more pictures to come.

#2 is my updated book collection. And some other paper-binded books. Hidden right at that little corner is my Bible. Yeah. It is nothing, really. Just some. Oh, nevermind. It is nothing. I have got The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, one of the few hardcovers I got and the only I took to Brisbane. And The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. I have not gotten to read it yet so I shall leave it on the she;f and wait for that fateful day. 1984 by George Orwell, the one I bought during my winter trip to Melbourne. The Bell Jar by Silvia Plath, a birthday present. The ones I bought during the Brisbane Writers Festival: The Girl Most Likely by Rebecca Sparrow, Pig City by Andrew Stafford and Metro by Alasdair Duncan. The ones I bought during Dymock's recent warehouse sale: The Bride Stripped Bare by Anonymous and Specimen Days by Michael Cunningham. And my most lates purchase, 31 Songs by Nick Hornby. Out of all these new books, I have only started reading Metro. Frankly, I was already bored. I took 31 Songs home with me and I am already slowly losing interest. Maybe I should have brought Specimen Days instead. Bah.

And. That big book is my dictionary-cum-thesaurus. Actually, it is rightfully my sister's. I stole it from her. I kept it handy by my side whenever I am writing a story. Or when someone started using unfamiliar words on me while chatting. (Hah, I am more dense than you think). Do not believe what they say about thesaurus being the root of all writer's evil. They are handy sometimes when you are inarticulate. Just do not overdo it.

#3 is a file. Of grown up stuff. You know. Bills.

#4 are magazines. Frankie. I just love this magazine. I chanced upon it during my Uni's Donnie Darko screening and they were giving out free past issues of Frankie. Since then, I would love not to miss an issue. It is an awesome magazine.

#5 is my growing CD collection. My purchases are haphazard, really. I never knew I have purchased that many CDs. Mostly I have gotten in the bargain bin. $10 each. Some, I bought because I should. You cannot really see them (I cannot really either), but if my memory serves me right, I have there Matchbox Twenty, Modest Mouse, a couple of Coldplay. Those were from the bargain bin. A couple of Damien Rice, both purchased with prices totally more than I should be paying. Yeah. And the Long Way Round DVD series. I bought it back in my first semester when I needed to do an assignment. The horizontal ones are blank CDs. With cases. Because I need to compile mixed CDs from time to time.

#6 are just miscellaneous bits. My cell phone kit. And the carplate photo album I bought from my trip to Adelaide.

I would like to call this my little Australia corner. Bits and pieces I picked up so far as I journey through my days in a foreign piece of land.

#7 was supposed to be a gift. But I never got to give it to the receiver. Thus, I shall have it as my own. Ah well. I bought this during my trip to Melbourne at the Victoria Market. It smells of faint timberwood and eucalyptus. The whiff hits one when least expects it and it is a scent unlike any other around.

#8 is a poster from a Frankie issue. By Edwina Lye of EdAndBek. The painting is entitled Hide and Seek. Something that is supposed to bring inspiration. Or joy. However, whenever I look to it I hear Imogen Heap singing in my ears and I saw no inspiration. And least of all, joy.

#9 lies my little collection. From Adelaide. From Melbourne. From Brisbane. And. An apple of my eye.

A review: 9 by Damien Rice

2006-12-02T02:00:00.000+10:00

"Yesterday you asked me to write you a pleasant song." - Damien Rice

Buy / Official site

One would expect Damien to release the second album with songs quite similar to his first album, O. However, he managed to pull through with his versatility and came up with a whole different world, yet never lacking of his signature sorrow in between the lines.

Most of the songs on the album are already heard of by fans, who frequent his live gigs. They are like floating bubbles in the air without a home until Damien decided to gather them all delicately in his arms and build them each a room. Some songs are renamed: Elephant, which used to be The Blower’s Daughter Pt. 2; Dogs, formerly known as The Girl That Does Yoga; and Rootless Tree, which was vaguely entitled Fuck You.

Although I am happy that there is more to Damien Rice than just what he has offered in O, I must say I am a tad bit disappointed with probably most of the tracks on 9. The songs are more upbeat, some even got me into a chirpy tap of the feet, which I never knew was possible in Damien’s books. The guitar rifts are fuller as so the chords, and in exchange, a few of these songs are robbed of intimacy. One can argue that even though there are happy elements laced with sad contexts, I am sorry, but it is very rare for this new collection.

In 9, we see less of Lisa Hannigan. She was all over O and so good at it one would wish to hear more of her. But Damien kept it purely him in this album. Lisa merely had a share of vocals in 9 Crimes while she occasionally shows up for backing vocals in other tracks. With that, the first track was rightfully blessed and they opened into 9 perfectly.

The Animals Were Gone became a quick favourite for me with its lovely, lovely lyrics. “Yesterday you’ve asked me to write you a pleasant song / I’ll try my best now but you’ve been gone for so long” – it totally grabbed your heart. The chorus just literally blossomed with backing violins that took you by the hand and brought you back to the older years of romantic black-and-white movies. Or ones alike Sound of Music and Julie Andrews would break into a spontaneous dance in the middle of the dewy garden with her love interest while singing a love song. This was a sad love song. “’Cause waking up without you, is like drinking from an empty cup”. Damien had, indeed, written a pleasant song.

Songs that surprisingly contained elements of glee include Dogs and Coconut Skins. Dogs was about a girl that does yoga under an orange tree: “Oh and she’s always dressed in white / She’s like an angel and she burns my eyes”. Cliché, but Damien held the words right with his soaring voice. It was a feel good song. Nothing sad about that. A song one learns to adore. Coconut Skins was just downright giddy. I could see a picture of a cowboy dancing around the barnyard tipping his hat and checking his boots. It was a bad picture. One you should not collaborate with Damien’s works. Granted the lyrics were not as bright as Dogs (“You can hold her hand and show her how you cry / Explain to her your weakness so she understands / And then roll over and die”), but it was the fast rhythm and bloated guitar chords that paid the happy price.

There were also angry songs in 9. Rootless Tree and Me, My Yoke and I. Rootless Tree was a good song title. The song possessed a larger than life orchestra of strings, percussion and frustration. So Damien did not really sound piss off when he go “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you”. But it was somewhat there in the end as he kept on singing, “Let me out, let me out, let me out” as he climbed up the octaves. The cello, the drums and the keys thrown at the wall so simply it worked and stuck anyway. Me, My Yoke and I finished the anger in Damien. The lyrics did not really hold any meaning of a full photograph. It did, however, possessed the ability to lash out a frustrated being. The song stepped in with the most original electronic guitar rift and slowly built up with Damien’s microphone voice (Something from Prague). Then, right in the middle of the air, the entire band fell down like a heavy storm. The suspense building for the end was strong. Very, very strong. Rock folk at its best. It was said to be a favourite in concerts. I could see why.

I am at first disappointed with Accidental Babies. Mainly because I have heard of the live version before the album version, and the former had done all that it could to steal my heart away. Damien performed well that day and despite the person recording the song breathing and sniffing in the background, it was enough to make me cry in the middle of the day like a child without a soul. “And I know I’ve made you cry / And I know sometimes you wanna die / But do you really feel alive without me”; this was my breaking point. Damien changed the lyrics for the verses in the album version. And it felt weird for me because I was so used to the live version. And I do love the lyrics in the live version better too. I was waiting for Damien to somehow break in some strings to strengthen up the song but alas, the repeating piano chords, it went on and on and on. However. It slowly grew on me. And I found myself sitting outside the house in cold nights and quiet streets and just listening carefully to what he has to offer. Damien did indeed offer. I just failed to receive it sooner.

I did not expect Elephant to live up to the status The Blower’s Daughter did, even though it was a part two. It was a whole different story and The Blower’s Daughter had done it all. Even Damien could not outdo this one. I was bored throughout the entire song until he hit the final bridge with the rest of the band: “What's the point of this song? Or even singing? / You've already gone, why am I clinging? / Well I could throw it out, and I could live without / And I could do it all for you / I could be strong / Tell me if you want me to lie / ‘Cause this has got to die”

O was a wonderful masterpiece so maybe it was not such a bad idea to have a couple of songs built on its solid ground. Grey Room and Sleep Don’t Weep were ones with the most familiar rift patterns. Sleep Don’t Weep was built with the skeletons of Cold Water; you could blend those two songs together anytime of the day. Lisa’s broken voice came back to haunt us as she did in Cold Water. Not really there, but altogether essential with that tiny and pitiful croak as the song slowly lay down on the floor, a heap of broken shards and splinters. “Do what you must do to fill that hole”. Hidden almost invisibly behind the last track was a good sixteen minutes for such self-recovery.

There were comforting sounds from a Tibetan singing bowl, which allegedly possessed healing powers for wounded souls. The mysterious instrument sang alike to light wind chimes hanging by the window bathed in breeze, and the tip of wine glasses crooning as a finger performs magic around the mouth. It was a good idea, to have something like that to end all things sad. However, in my opinion, the singing bowl was needed much urgently in O than 9. It fit alongside Sleep Don’t Weep, or perhaps Accidental Babies. But 9 Crimes was too far away in the journey to hear it.

9 lacked of something O had. The first album managed to go places the second failed to pursue. There was a sincere pain written in blood with every single word Damien penned down for O. Every single track was so beautiful it hurts. For 9, it had its moments. But if one were to search for a familiar sadness, for me, it lied only in 9 Crimes and The Animals Were Gone. And Accidental Babies. Rootless Tree and Me, My Yoke and I held a different type of bitterness altogether, walking the line of Woman Like a Man.

I am not saying that it is a bad album, because honestly, it is not. Maybe it is because 9 does not have the flow O does; one that seems to tie one from a song to another without feeling like one has been thrown around the room. O had something 9 did not have. But still, I am glad because 9 ventured into a whole new world that was nothing like O. And it seemed like a small crime itself to compare these two albums. I do not think I will be half as satisfied if 9 were to sound exactly like O. Damien’s confidence in versatility is enough of an excuse to check out the second album.

NaNoWriMo 2006

2006-11-01T01:14:00.000+10:00

36,077 / 50,000
(72.2%)

Also known as the National Novel Writing Month. Which is in November.

I have decided to participate this year after hesitating to do so for the past couple of years. The plot is set. The characters are beautiful. The timing is planned. What is left to do is to actually get down to business and write.

I shall not update my blog with any new entries. Even if I have chanced upon writing any new entries, I shall put them on hold till the month is done. Because I want to focus on this project. No, actually, I am just anal; I want this post to appear on the top always until I am done.

However, I am going to swing by regularly to update on the word count. Let you in on my shameless progress. Unfortunately, you will not be able to read what I have written. I am mean like that. Yet I will. I am such a tease. I may want to set up a website for the story, if I foresee possible prospects.

Fingers crossed for me.

ETA: Sadly to say. This is as far as I got. See you in December. I will start posting here again.

Unhappy birthday

2006-10-30T18:08:00.000+10:00

"You said something stupid like love steals us from loneliness. Happy birthday. Are you lonely yet?" - Idlewild

June 27, 1996
I was a pre-pubescent girl. I aspired to be rude like the boys, uttering fowl words in Hokkien in class like it was nobody’s business. (I do not know about you, but there is something really coarse about rude words in Hokkien. It is probably the rudest language of profanity ever to walk the Earth). The American way was the way to go. We spoke in English despite studying in a Chinese primary school. We listened to English songs – it was the reigning years of boybands and Backstreet Boys were our Gods – and would not speak of our past in the Chinese culture. I aspired to be cool and to be cool was to be bad.

It was not a huge party but quite a close-knitted one with my then best friends – Melissa (you are so reading this right now, lol), Genevieve, Chia Yiing and Khun Hooi. We gathered in the apartment I called my childhood home. I probably ordered pizza for the first time over the phone, a very “grown up” gesture for a kid like me then. We cranked Backstreet Boys and 911 to the top volume and did stuff we thought it was cool then. Of course, my parents were not at home.

Somehow, we got bored of what we were doing and decided to hit the streets. We were all dressed in black, some were in their oversized Backstreet Boys T-shirts (I was not because I was a poor kid and $15 a T-shirt was something my parents would not understand), and the day was stifling hot. We were kids; we did not have the licence to drive nor the knowledge to hail a bus. Yet, we walked on our own two feet to a bookstore in the next suburb and argued a little over who should purchase that issue of Bop on the shelves. Back then, it seemed cool. I failed to understand why it was cool the very next year.

I guess the novelty of coolness wore off when we were too tired to walk back and I called my dad over the payphone to pick us up at the nearest bus stop. My dad was not pleased when he showed up. We were red-faced and sweating twice the normal amount in our heat-absorbing outfits.

It was downright silly. But I was a kid.

June 27, 1999
I did not have much friends but I liked the term “the more the merrier”. I decided to have a birthday party without really planning it. What to eat. What to do. What to listen to. The shits. I just thought, “Hey, it’s my birthday, come on over and have a blast” without working on the “blast”.

I mentioned to Ethan about this and told him it was cool for him to bring over some of his friends. Never in my wildest imagination that the kid sitting next to me in primary school and snatching my entire exercise book during spelling tests to peek on would have an entire army of friends. I was new the teenager world and I wanted to be cool and coming from an all-girls' high school, I had the idea that having boys in my "party" would win me ten cool brownie points. Boy, was I wrong.

Things started off mellow. My friends swung by, probably just a handful. I was not a popular girl and I was quite picky of the friends I hung out with. And then, Ethan and his army gate-crashed my so-called party. Literally. They lingered on the street outside my house and by the looks of it, I knew it was a bad idea to get them in the same room as my parents. They were boys, for fuck’s sake. How were you when you were a teenager, huh? Rude and rowdy. When boys were 14, they were not one to be on a line-up where my parents pick which to be their future son-in-law.

I freaked out. Probably got in an argument with Ethan along the line of “I said a few, not an army!” They could not attend my “party” so the job was to get them out of my neighbourhood before someone starts a bigger scene. It was quite an embarrassing act; you told a guy friend who told his buddies it was cool to crash a chick’s birthday party, but before they could go in for some food they were shooed away.

I think my dad came out and talked to Ethan about it. I apologised profusely to him as he escorted his homies out of the neighbourhood to the nearest kopitiam. He was not pleased. Nobody was. I bet they hated me that night, saying it was cool to crash my “party” but throwing them out before they could get in.

When I got back to my “party”, my aunt was conducting a Christian sing-a-long to my guests. I was half-glad the boys did not make it past the gates. It would just be downright embarrassing.

June 27, 2003
My 14th birthday scared me. I was too afraid to do anything for my birthday in years that followed. I even resorted to nothingness for the oh so popular Sweet 16. Besides, I was a moody teenager. My parents gave me my first Discman and wrote in the birthday card of my bad temper and how they still loved me anyway.

But I guess I forgot all about it when I turned 18. I was fresh into college and I thought it would be a good idea to rally my different groups of friends in the same room for a birthday gathering. I refuse to use the word “party” because you shall understand later on.

I did not want anything fancy so my dad thought it was a good idea to have a buffet dinner at a hotel. His friend was the General Manager for say hotel and he easily secured a conference room with bad birthday decorations for the event. I had friends from my high school band, friends from my college and friends I usually hang out with: Ames, Shu Wen and Yi Shu. Ying Swee was already in New Zealand so she was missing all the fun. Not. And my family members.

I shall tell you why it is a “gathering”. It was like a fucking conference to meet well, me. My friends were segregated as mentioned above and they took turns to take pictures with me in groups as mentioned above. It was a bad bad picture. Stop picturing it. It is a bad bad picture. Granted I went clubbing for the first time past midnight. (I told my parents my friends and I would be hotel staying in another hotel; it was the perfect excuse to go get drunk and sexy; fine, neither happened).

Lame is the word. And that was the final straw. On my 18th birthday, I decided not to have a birthday party. Ever. I am a bad party hostess and an official party pooper. So to save my friends from boredom and myself from further dork embarrassment, I shall withdraw myself from such annual celebrations. Unless someone has the heart to organise one for me, I would appreciate you give me my presents when you chance upon me or just mail it to my home address. Thank you.

Inspired by Frankie Issue #14 "My Worst Birthday".
Feel free to leave a comment with your worst birthday or birthdays.

A review: Little Miss Sunshine

2006-10-26T17:43:00.000+10:00

Disclaimer: Spoilers ahoy!

IMDB / official site

The story is about a dysfunctional family’s impromptu road trip to get the youngest (and probably, the most normal) member of the family to participate the Little Miss Sunshine Pageant in California.

Little Olive Hoover (Abigail Breslin) is thrilled when she received news that she is qualified in the pageant after months of preparations. Despite the family having another bout of arguments, she is busy packing up her bags and excitedly chanting, “I’ve won! I’ve won!” around the room.

Prior to Little Miss Sunshine, directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris have been long time partners working on various music videos for famous musicians, such as Red Hot Chilli Peppers, R.E.M, The Smashing Pumpkins, and Weezer. For first timers in the movie business, I would say they have done a pretty decent job.

Things kicked off in the Hoover family when Sheryl (Toni Collette) welcomed her brother, Frank (Steve Carell), into her humble home after he regretfully failed to commit suicide. Immediately, from there on, all the nasty habits of the family members were revealed over a noisy dinner of chicken in the bucket. Father Hoover, Richard (Greg Kinnear), was an overachiever promoting his self-motivation scheme and would not tolerate losers, where one of them happened to be Uncle Frank. Brother Hoover, Dwayne (Paul Dano) decided to stop talking nine months ago just because of Friedrich Nietzsche and hated everyone. Grandpa Hoover, Edwin (Alan Arkin) snuck snorts of heroine in the bathroom and coached Olive’s talent performance in the backyard. Mother Hoover, Sheryl, just wished everyone would get along.

Having faith was what kept the family going all the way to California for the pageant. (Well, they have to, or not there will not be a movie altogether). Throughout the journey, the Gods were unkind to them and befell one after another an unfortunate event on every single one of them. The clutch on the old VW van broke down and everyone had to push the vehicle before getting it fired up. Richard learned that his self-motivation scheme failed to turn heads and bankruptcy was soon to occur. Frank bumped into the grad student who initiated the suicide attempt when he rejected Frank for another scholar. Grandpa died. Uh, yes. And Dwayne found out that he was colour blind; his dream of becoming a pilot totally shattered. There was a particular scene where everyone was so into in their own problems, sitting on their white asses moping and sulking. They were halfway down the road when they realised they have left Olive behind.

But as the saying goes, “when there’s a will, there’s a way”. Despite everyone’s loss in life, they were determined to keep Olive’s dream alive. They refused to let her into the adult’s life of deprivation and depression while she was at such a young age. She would have the rest of her life to get herself acquainted with the dark side of the moon but in the mean while, while she still can, it would be nice that she lived her age and be happy.

One scene that got me was when Dwayne found out that he was colour blind. At that one split second, a lifelong dream he has been anticipating for, one that would fly him away (all the puns intended) from his dysfunctional family, crashed and burned just because of this teeny weeny handicap. Literally, he was about to combust after not speaking and holding everything in for nine months. It was scary but it was sort of something I could relate to being the lacked of speaking one among family and friends. But then, his dialogues kind of went overboard with a hell lot of the F-word.

DeVotchKa provided the scores for the movie and it was a unique and good choice. The quartet trod the lines of Sicilian and Gypsy music with haunting vocals and heavy strings, and chanting chords of the sousaphone, piano and percussion. There was also an accordion, a trumpet, a bouzouki, and a theremin. No, I do not know what the latter two are. It was a good combination as the group ventured down the highway with DeVotchKa crooning at the background.

This is where I wrap things up with something, hopefully, profound and persuading. Of course it will fail but I shall say it nonetheless. Little Miss Sunshine, Fox Searchlight’s indie movie of dark comedy and adventure. The movie avoided the popular Hollywood clichés of someone in the group falling in love along the journey, or a close-ended curtain call where everybody finally gets along and live happily ever after. (OK, maybe even a Hollywood would not go for such old school cliché). But I guess this is what indie movies are all about, going along with the simplest things in life, things that matter to everyone personally, things that we have gone through before. Or not. (Here I go: something profound). The truth is, there are bound to be obstacles in life before reaching the finish line, stopping you from achieving your goals and hoping they would kill whatever hope you have in life itself. But I guess the key is to persevere and stay faithful. I guess it is how you choose to deal with these demons that will make your life’s story special. And maybe someday, hit the silver screen.

QUT : Year 1 Semester 2

2006-10-25T13:23:00.000+10:00

Our mid-semester break was not until the tenth week. By the time we returned to Uni for classes, I just wanted to die already. I felt so lethargic and I just kept on skipping classes for no valid reasons at all. Also, curse those evening lectures. Bah. Despite that, time flew. Once again, I was left confused as to how I have managed to waste my time away. Had I been daydreaming in classes again. Had I been sleepwalking. Alas.

Class #1: Narratives in Creative Industries
The core subject for this semester and the last that I will see ever in this course since I have been exempted from the other two. I am not really a big fan of this subject. When am I ever for core subjects. I was confused in the first few lectures when they were telling us about simple and complex narratives. I did not even know what narratives is all about. Maybe I still do not.

The main lecturer was an old Irish Australian. Everybody loves him; I do not know why. He had applauses after every lecture, which was not a lot. Half of the time, it was another woman delivering lectures and another quarter is scattering guest lectures. So he was a funny guy, he jumps around when conducting his lectures and he speaks about controversial stuff that everyone loves. But I do not think he deserves applauses after every lecture. He was probably as funny as my other lecturer. I do not see that guy getting applauses. Sheesh. Besides, he has a tendency of either being late or not showing up at all. Some of our lectures were cancelled because he was off in another part of the world. That kind of ticked me off.

This lecturer has an assistant that is the unit coordinator for the subject. I still do not understand him following the lecturer around and apologising to us when the old man cannot turn up on time. The news was that he had to step up to the plate at the last minute because the previous unit coordinator bailed out at the last minute. So each week’s topic was a little out of control and we always get last minute emails about tomorrow’s postponed/cancelled class. The assignments did not really align with the ones mentioned in the outline as well. But I do not blame this guy. He is positioned at the last minute. I mean, I would definitely fuck things up too if a huge project is shoved into my arms just like that. Besides that, he is a flamboyant fellow I like to check out, carrying his big Country Road duffel bag with his pair of aviator shades on. He arranges his hair a little too often and walks around with a slight jig in his steps. He had me at hello, announcing himself the whipped boy and the bitch.

But God bless my tutor. She is such a lovely lady. I have her tutorial before the lecture on Mondays and truthfully, I have gotten more out of the subject from her than from the lectures. We watched shows and movies every week that has something to do with the week’s topic. We watched The Simpsons, The Family Guy, The General, Singing in the Rain, Fahrenheit 9/11, Doom and so on. I looked forward to the tutorials because I get to see shows and movies.

The assignments were a little unclear because we were free to do practically anything. Just because it is narratives. Of course I would freak a little since I do not know what narratives is. I tread the assignments cautiously. Fortunately, I have gotten decent grades so far. So I hope the final assignment, which was the largest portion of the percentage, did me well. The first assignment was to write an essay about our “first”. The second part for it was to dissect another tutorial mate’s essay according to stuff we learned in the lectures. People wrote about first heartbreaks, first encounter with death, first day of school. You know. I wrote about my first time smoking. Yeah. I rule. The second assignment was to dissect two narratives pieces. I have no idea what I did in this assignment but I scored well so alright. The third assignment, we were to create a narrative piece on an autobiographical or a biographical memory. We can choose whichever ways to present say memory: dance, art, story, music. Whatever. So I chose to do a collage instead of writing. Look, when in a course all you ever do is write, when there is a chance to do your assignment in another form, heck yeah. I unintentionally stayed up the entire night working on this assignment. Which was the first since I got here. The artwork was generally a good idea when I first came up with it. But halfway through putting it together, I found it rather ridiculous and diagnosed myself an official creep. Because I am. Oh gawd of course I am not telling you what I have done. But if ever I score a say, 6 for this subject, maybe I will consider putting up a picture of the artwork. Sure, it has something to do with my Eskimo friend.

Class #2: Creative Writing: The Short Story
Word had it that we would only be working on a short story for the entire semester. How fucking cool was that? But we had to submit twice so we might as well work on two stories.

The first assignment was the earliest assignment so far; submission in Week 5. Of course I freaked out. It would take me about two months to get used to a new semester. I have not got my head wrapped around the subject and already I have to get a story up? Yikes. So needless to say, I handed in crap.

I wrote – no, rewrote – a story I had a very long while back. It was about a bunch of manmade robots I named Artificials. Because it was supposed to be a novel, there were plenty of scenes to work on when the decision was made to cram everything into a 1500-word piece. At first I settled for a scene that would go deeper into a father and son relationship. I was about to expand the horizon when I realised just last semester I did such a plot for my Film and TV Scriptwriting class. Just like that, the idea was eliminated and I went for one with a lame futuristic fight.

It failed quite miserably. Everyone thought it was a bad idea, including me. My Eskimo friend warned me not to ever write a sci-fi story again to at least save the present people’s fantasy on a futuristic world. The rewriting process was tedious and every single day working on it, I could see myself stabbing it to death as if it were a baby. I could not wait for the day I submitted the story in to put the poor thing out of its misery.

The lecture for this subject was one of the two in the evening. 6pm. But I liked showing up. The lecturers were fun. The main lecturer hardly conducted lecturers but they were fun times when he did. However, I had a perpetual fear towards him. It may have something to do with his honorary title “Prof”. Like he was sort of out of reach or mean or something. But he turned out to be a funny guy so I guess it was all alright. But still he stayed out of reach with his QUT sweatshirt and jogs down the stairs to the front to conduct his lectures. He published two books – one a children’s book while another, a grown up’s – based on the same concept of a creepy wombat.

My tutor was hilarious. He reminded me a lot of Sean Astin. So there you have how he generally looks like. His jokes were almost the same and he had the tendency to run off with his words with spontaneous mumbles on the sudden desire to talk with a German accent. I doubt he was even remotely German. We had two-hour tutorials every week and I felt like I was attending some group therapy session in a room with light blue brick walls. We would sit in a circle and critique each other’s work/assignment to pieces. He would time us and go ‘ding’. At first he brought along a glass and a spoon to do that but he realised that did not really make him any less ridiculous than saying ‘ding’ so he forwent the idea in the next class. He was a very busy man so half of the time when I emailed him about something I kind of expected him not to reply.

But the tutorials helped a lot because you got everyone’s take on your story. Like, everyone. So by the end of the semester, you would probably have a good grasp on what everyone likes in a story. I just like the attention. Heh. No, the classes helped improved my story too. And helped me work on my second assignment more seriously.

I really took the second assignment seriously. It was yet another old plot bunny because God knows these days I can barely copulate any working ones. I wrote about Death Angels and I was so vague I practically scared everyone in my classroom. See, a creep. But I was proud of the idea. I tried not to rewrite it too often but took my group mates’ advices all the same. In the end, I handed in a happy and living assignment. Yes. I pray for a satisfying grade.

Anyway, here be links to both stories. Bad sci-fi story entitled Versus. And. Good morbid angel story entitled A Movie Script Ending. If you ever wonder what my writing style is, the latter would be it. Yes. It is nothing like what I write in here. This blog is just a cover up of something much much more darker than you can ever handle.

Class #3: Corporate Writing and Editing
Gawd, I hated this class so much. Mainly because it had everything to do with serious business writing. You know I am not for all these professional crap. Ugh. But alas, I have to learn something useful for my future. The world is cruel for creative writers.

The lecturer was the same I had for my Writing for Creative Industries subject last semester. He is still as funny and I would have attended all of his lectures if they were not at 6pm on Tuesdays. The tutor, however, I loathed her. (Just because ‘hate’ is a strong word). She reminded me a lot of a primary school or high school teacher. She was wrinkled yet her lessons showed us that she had been to places. I think. I just did not like the way she talks; it is threatening and I definitely know she hates those that do not show up in class. Seeing that I showed up for only half of her classes, of course I was not really pleased when she said, “of course you guys present are going to get the better end of the bargain than those who do not show up at all.” And there is something goodie-goodie about the students in my tutorial. Especially the group of girls sitting in the middle. They seemed smartass-esque and they looked at me funny when I actually utter more than two words in class. Because I did not even try bonding with anyone from this class. I tried to a Singaporean in the second tutorial but she did not show up most of the time so no more bonding. So yes, not my favourite tutorial class.

For the first good weeks for this subject, we delved so deep into grammar I almost suffocated myself not being able to find the surface again. I became sensitive of everything I read and saw. It was really, really annoying when I was going through my assignment for The Short Story. It hindered with my personal style because I was looking out for potential grammar mistakes. So maybe I do blame this subject for the spawning of a crappy story. (But fine, it was a bad plot to begin with anyway). But it was irritating those few weeks. Very irritating.

We had a mid-term test, which I totally fucked up. I wasted too much time and ended up not finishing half of the paper. First time for me because regardless of knowing the subject at hand or not, I would still spill crap on blank papers. Never not going through half of the questions. So I ended up at the bottom end of the grading curve when the goodies from my tutorial emerged at the top end. Everyone was a happy camper. I was sort of ashamed and my tutor always kept an eye on me. Which was freaky.

Two assignments dubbed Portfolio A and Portfolio B. I kind of poured my heart and soul into these assignments after the messed up test. And I came out quite well for Portfolio A. So maybe, there is still hope for me. Portfolio B, though. Hmm. Blame it on the end of the semester because I always get indifferent when things are about to end and the new page is dangling in front of me waiting to be flipped over. I just hope my half-heartedness is enough to walk me through.

Also, an examination. My only exam in this semester. How annoying.

Yes, it is a boring subject for me. But, I will not deny that it has informed me a lot about serious corporate writing. I know one day it will work wonders for me in the working world and I may look back on this semester and thank myself for choosing it over Feature Writing. Probably email my lecturer and thank him for his welfare in this subject. Maybe email my tutor as well. Or not. Till then, I am just glad I am (almost) through with this subject.

Class #4: Creative Non-Fiction: Life Writing
It did not really occurred to me that this is a Year 2 subject until much later and I found out fuck, this is going to be tough.

For this subject, we were truly working on one assignment. A big ass one. 70%. Holy shit. And for a 70% assignment, I can honestly tell you and I did not put in enough effort for such a huge allocation. This was a research-based assignment. I hate research. I had a brilliant idea to write a profile on a busker in the Queen Street Mall. I fantasised on how interesting he was going to be and how much adventures I would be getting myself into while digging up stuff about him for my assignment. Alas. There was not really much to talk about and I lost half of the enthusiasm before the final draft was due. I hogged four library books for almost two months, letting them gather dust in my messy room while I get my head together to limp through this. I procrastinated a lot for this assignment. I submitted a crappy draft for auditing and felt very ashamed when my group mates wrote better articles already. But I prevailed in my next draft. I guess. 70% is a heavy burden so I will not put too much hope into this.

The lecturer is the same for last semester’s Introduction to Creative Non-Fiction. And this is when I know I will never ever do well writing a non-fiction piece, regardless of it being creative or not. So yes. Lectures were still guest lectured and were still quite boring.

My tutor was helpful. Very helpful. I would never forget the first tutorial when she walked in with blood red lipstick and a Styrofoam cup of coffee. She seemed to know what she was doing and she provided so much information for us. I never had such an informative tutor before. She taught us things we would not get to learn from the lectures. Probably would not from other tutors as well. And I loved her for that. She was serious about her shit and she was not afraid to use it. She was a busy woman as well, running around publishing books and conducting classes in QUT and Griffith University. Or study in the latter, I would not know for sure. But yet, she still found time to look through my assignment and track-changed from head to toe. Wow. I liked her a lot. God bless her too.

The udder one

2006-10-10T00:49:00.000+10:00

"I like the flowers, I like the daffodils
I like the sunshine and the rolling hils."
- Fliss Dodd ; @

One day trip to Noosa (Part 2)

2006-10-07T00:25:00.000+10:00

Noosa Heads

One day trip to Noosa (Part 1)

2006-10-06T12:13:00.000+10:00

Eumundi Market

Bits of Brisbane: South Bank Market

2006-09-28T13:58:00.000+10:00

2006 Brisbane Writers Festival (13/9-17/9)

2006-09-23T20:08:00.000+10:00

"The readers can forgive you for publishing your next book late. But they will not forgive you if you publish a crappy book next." - Rebecca Sparrow

The air was fresh. My sights were clear. I have never waked up in the morning in the longest time. And this was what it felt like.

On September 14, things kicked off officially for the Brisbane Writers Festival at Cultural Forecourt in South Bank. Marquees were set up. Four with colours – red, blue, yellow and green. One was a river, although it was the farthest away from the river compared to the other four. But it was larger, nonetheless. There was a marketplace, where writing related communities set up to lure writers-to-be in. Somewhere for them to pursue their fantasised careers further. There was a café. There was a bookshop. Writers would go there after their sessions for book signing sessions. Some would be as popular as a long teetering row flowing out of the marquee. Other writers just sat and wait for their almost non-existent fans to stop by. They would be nice because there were only a few.

Everything a writer could ever ask for. An alfresco coffee overlooking the gurgling Brisbane River while conceiving ever more a plot bunny. And a tent nearby to marvel at their past masterpieces. An affirmation. Yes, I have made it.

I have signed up to be a volunteer for the first two days. Something to do, I guess. It was time to network although I doubt when things have been said and done, we will move on with our individual lives not remembering faces we have smiled at. Next year, we will introduce ourselves again like strangers being too nice to one another. But it was a good chance for me to recognise some local writers seeing that I have only came to Brisbane in less than a year. It was a nice time to know who is who.

I was thrown around doing things I have never done in my entire life. I can now apply for positions in cafés because I have the experience of setting up outdoor umbrellas heavier than myself. I can now apply to be a messenger boy/girl because I have the experience of distributing packages in time before sessions commenced. I challenged my physical being. I killed my two little feet; damn you new Chuck Taylors. Yet. There was something to do. I felt useful. I slept well for two nights.

Half of the time I was ushering in individual marquees. I was in the River Marquee on the first day and the Green Marquee on the second day. Under the commands of venue managers with headsets to set them apart from normal ushers, I ran small errands and made sure I am doing well. I approached strangers offering empty seats, half of them declining my goodwill because they were just passer-bys. Some were grateful and occupied backseats. One of the sessions on emerging writers was bursting. People kept on coming in and the marquee could not hold everyone. We had to set up chairs outside the marquee and turned up the sound system. It started to drizzle but the audience were persistent. The secured their seats and huddled under their umbrellas. Alas. The Gods were kind. The rain did not gain momentum. Some times, the sessions were this popular. Other times, the crowd was disdainful. We had to segregate them instead of having them spread out all over the marquee. I wondered how the writers would feel seeing such bad outcome. Would they be thankful still of the ones who had shown up.

On the nigh I ended my volunteering, I attended a session at the Brisbane Powerhouse. Getting there was half the excitement. I got on the wrong bus and ended up in West End when I should be heading to the other side in New Farm. I walked a good distant not having the slightest idea if I was going in the right direction. Until at last, the neon lights of a salvation P stood clear from afar. I made it just in time.

The session was about emerging gay writer and how they came about. I sat amongst the thin crowd, 90% of which were homosexuals. I was the minority and I was not quit sure why I decided to pat $8 to attend this session. I have the most peculiar fascinations. Things were a flat line until the session was nearing the end and someone – most probably a lesbian – behind me raised a question of sexism in the panel. The crowd became separated in two as I watched sitting on the picket fence, trying to get a hold on what was happening in front of my eyes. They were so close to throwing chairs at the opposite sex. Granted alcohol was served that night. It might be possible. The chairperson was posed ready to spring from his seat just in case someone did the honours, as he explained dipped in nervousness that he had nothing to do with the all-male panel. I was amused. You would have thought this would happen between homophobes and homosexuals.

I would have walked the creepy road back to the bus stop to head home after the session. Instead, I stuck around, testing my blistered toe in the waters of a Brisbane writer’s life. Network I did over a glass of vodka and lime with my gay lecturer and her company. A flamboyant friend was drunk over his glass of wine. He asked me three times what I was studying. My lecturer supersized my drink and held my hands giving me probably the best advice I could have ever received, be it from a drunkard or a sober person. She grabbed my face and told me I was a beautiful person. I could only smile politely. The next thing I knew, I was strolling past the dark New Farm Park laughing at things only humorous to intoxicated fellows. We sat ourselves down at the end of the line. Gertie’s. Where all the happening people are at, my lecturer said. Credibility was to be questioned because she was really wasted.

I returned home on a cab at two in the morning.

God wept at my unholy lifestyle of getting drunk and hanging out with gay people the next morning. Saturday was a gloomy day as we made our way to the showground to attend a session on emerging writers from Universities in Queensland. Some were interesting; I had a good laugh. Others were just deadpan. I found myself spacing out in the easiest way. I have never really planted my own two feet on the ground. I am always floating in midair. I dreamed of myself having the honours of doing my readings in such sessions. People clapping for me. Half of them not even sure what the heck I was writing about. Then, I fantasised myself launching books in such festivals. Going to panels sitting at the front of an overflowing audience. Talking about a book I created from scratch. Reading bits and pieces to people all ears for something different. It was a beautiful life. I had gone as ambitiously as seeing myself on Oprah. Life was beautiful.

I purchased three books. Swiping my father’s card thin. If I looked close enough, I could see the golden surface turning a dull grey. No, not really.

I bought Andrew Stafford’s Pig City. I read an excerpt from his book in my tutorial readings from last semester. He seemed lyrically dark. There were copies of his book lying around my tutors and lecturers’ offices and that was already saying something. John Birmingham, probably one of those famous Brisbane writers, had his review splayed on the front cover of the book.

I bought Alasdair Duncan’s Metro. People looked up to him. People said he was the new voice of youth. Maybe I did not buy his book because of what other people said. My influence was not really based on what everyone thinks. Maybe I bought his book because I just have the most peculiar fascination ever.

I bought Rebecca Sparrow’s The Girl Most Likely. Because she was funny when she guest lectured a few weeks back. She turned her life upside down and wrote a joke about it. I wish I could have half the humour in her blood. I wish I could do the same for my life.

I got the latter two to sign the books after their session on Sunday.

Thus, ended the Brisbane Writers Festival for me. I came out on the other side brim full of inspiration waiting to be penned down. Alas. I am slow. I am dense. Like always, I will sit watching the bunnies flapping their wings around my head, tempting me to write them out of my system. Write something worthwhile. Be a God. Yet I sat around anticipating the day they would eventually die like rejected sperms in a girl’s body because only one sperm had the honours of impregnating her. Lucky sperm.

A Merdeka Day (Gratitious) Post

2006-09-01T18:00:00.000+10:00

"Although it's not quite paradise, but it sure feels like home." - Bliss

Everyone has a post on this eventful day. I did want to post one up myself but decided the heck with it. And then I saw all my friends with one, so I decided to resuscitate mine. Be forewarned that it is not the most loving post you may come across. In fact, my ass may be censored because you should know how our country operates. So I shall cross my buns and hope that nobody will take this even more personally than it already should.

It was probably just another public holiday to spend. When I was younger, I would wake up at a fairly early time in the morning (if compared to my sleeping ins of older years) and there would be Nyonya kuihs on the dining table alongside my favourite Hokkien Mee. This was not some National Day tradition my family upheld religiously. My childhood life was, after all, smacked right at the heart of Penang’s most crowded area. Delicious hawkers food was just a few minutes’ walk down the forever jammed roads. We would munch on our local breakfast and watch marching parades broadcast live from Kuala Lumpur. We would marvel at the simultaneous precision that were the uniformed militaries and would perk up whenever the Boys’ Brigade march pass. My father was the captain for the 8th coy.

Then, I found myself being in the parades in high school. Not those in Kuala Lumpur, where your royal spectator was the King himself. Penang has its own parades to boot at various switches of venues between some open field in Butterworth and Esplanade. I was involved in these Merdeka parades for four years during high school. Different high school marching bands were there to lead different sections of the parade. While they were at it, they made a competition out of it. Anonymous judges hid amongst the crowds, beside the main stage, behind that coconut tree and acted like local civilians there for the show. The winners would be announced probably a week later. We would always be biting our nails and hoping for the best. Then they started not positioning us and decided to give us Cermerlangs and Emases. Something to do with hurting people’s feelings, who knows. I was never one to mingle with politics.

I would get up in the most ungodly hours in the morning to get myself ready for the parades. Days of hard practices under the sun being yelled at, marching in artificial unison and getting the commands right, polishing our instruments until they grow blisters and cutting holes on our brand new gloves. All of these were boiled down to probably five hours of waiting and one hour of showcasing. It was great chance to show off animosity towards the other school bands. We would cross path with them as we go in a round. One time, we finished our round and marched past a co-ed school I shall not name here. They decided to turn up the volume of their drum solos for the heck of messing up our own drum solos and snicker as they see our footsteps get messed up and we ended up marching to their matra instead. My ex-drum major, then merely a member, was at the sideline, decided to give a shove at one of the members. Oh the patriotism. This went on for three years. From being a clueless junior to a sidebar senior. My last year saw myself leading the pack carrying a playcard. Even I was leading the drum major. Actually that did not give me much superior significance. I was just a poor senior pushed up to the plate when nobody wanted to act as bait.

Truth be told, I am not a very patriotic Malaysian out there. Shame on me. I do feel a little bad when I heard my friend *coughEsthercough* announcing proudly for having MAS as her all-time national carrier and loving every nook and cranny of the capitol. I was not able to convert patriotism into my blood no matter how hard they tried. In primary school, we were giving recycled paper-material lyrics of the National Anthem, the State Anthem and some famous patriotic song along with our school anthem. We had to underline the words we normally would sing wrong. We had been for maybe two years before the saviour of them lyrics. As we progressed to Standard 4, we were technically seniors and had to recite the Rukun Negara in Malay and Mandarin. I swear, I can still recite the Mandarin version. I just did it. You should see how we rushed the six lines just so we could finally sit down. It was quite dreadful for us kids back in those days. Singing four songs and reciting two allegiences without moving an inch or crouching our bodies.

In high school, we were forced to have National Day related assemblies on the school field. They rallied us to the front of our school way too early for anyone to give a flying fuck and make us do patriotic things. I do not really remember. Some classes were chosen to do marathons from somewhere to the Botanical Gardens just around the corner. We were all crossing our fingers we would not be picked. Pity those that did. We had to spring clean our classrooms as well. I think it was because some big shot was going to do tours in our school. Or not. The Principal just loved having us do something to honour patriotism. She does not want to feel bad we do not even care. There were probably a lot more tasks she put on us but alas, they were nothing but an invisible speck of dust in my mind. Granted I do delve into my head often enough to keep the surface polished and dust-free. However, of course she would threaten us greatly with demerit marks if we ever go against her will. Our school loves doing that. Threatening helpless students. Unfortunately, we woke up one day and realised demerit marks will not make any difference on us when we leave school.

There were cheesy commercials on National Day spilled all over the television channels. You cannot run away from it even if you are watching satellite television. Every five minutes an advertisement will come on reminding us that by midnight the great someone will be giving a Merdeka speech. Not that we would wait by and listen to him talking about God-knows-what - I do not even know what is there to talk about in a Merdeka speech; big shots are weird - but I guess the channel stations just enjoy annoying us with the advertisement. Something to do. We Malaysians are a bored bunch, you see. Petrol stations, mini-markets, convenient stores, and basically everywhere else with a cashier counter to boot set up a little corner selling the Malaysia flag to attach to the roof of your car. People do buy them. Kids who do not have cars will purchase those plastic Malaysia flags with colourful sweets inside the transparent pole. They are most wanted hot cakes. Hurray to those who rip money off of those who actually are patriotic. Especially when the occasion nears, these cute flags can be seen erecting on the top of every car zooming down the street, basking in the strong oncoming wind, fluttering their proud Jalur Gemilangs. I have seen some who have two instead of one. Some went all the way, jabbing the car from front to back, top to bottom with the flags, and shielding the bonnet with another big ass Malaysia flag. Some even have loudspeakers on. But I am sure they are just hired advertisers. It just makes me wonder if they are really that patriotic or they just love the gawking attention.

The politics got on quite a riot while I was away. I refuse to pass any judgements here because if you know me, I tend to stay as far away from any form of politics possible. I do not read the newspapers – yes, and I was majoring Journalism. Even when I do, I would read the comics and horoscope. That is like the only one page I pay attention to. If I can save myself, at least I enjoy It’s A Durian Life. So yes. Things are dirty in politics. They do not wash their hands under the tables. Then again, no politics is ever one without being filthy. Can you ever trust your children heading out to play without coming home mud-stricken? It is the tragic beauty of life.

On some days I may gain interest for my country. The riot. The rudeness. The traffic jams. The clueless gatherings at alleged celebrity visiting sites and definitely at brand spanking new spaces. The crappy music selections repeated again and again on radio stations. It is after all something I have grown up with, something I have gotten used to. Those years of forcefeeding patriotism down our throats do work out. There lives my family. There stays my house. There gathers my friends. I guess, it will always be somewhere we will find ourselves ending up in.

Top CDs off the rack (Part 3)

2006-08-29T23:29:00.000+10:00

"I want your symphony, singing in all that I am" - Switchfoot

Back from the living dead.

Language. Sex. Violence. Others?
Stereophonics
2005

1. Superman
2. Doorman
3. Brother
4. Devil
5. Dakota
6. Rewind
7. Pedalpusher
8. Girl
9. Lolita
10. Deadhead
11. Feel

I remember them vaguely back when I was still young and I was more interested in good looking boy band members rather than some alternative rock band members I will never remember their names. I would buy expensive foreign magazines for just a poster of said handsome celebrity with no good singing talent but a hell lot of artificial charm to boot. I remember penkniving the posters out from the magazines when I was about to throw them away. Always planning to maybe someday earn money from memories that have come to past, preying on clueless innocent victims to such prettiness just like I once was, but had never gotten to it and ended up throwing them all away instead. I remember seeing Streophonics popping in and out of these lyrics cards. I would remember their name but never give them a listen.

Dakota caught my attention from the very beginning with her dreamy keyboards, yawning guitars and disregarded drums. Kelly Jones has a raspy voice that I will always fall sucker for. Back in the earlier days he had a hairstyle I would not approve of even now. He turns out to be quite a good looking chap nowadays. But it does not matter anymore. Some things have come to past.

Dakota is a love let go. Have to maybe because the time is up. Or have to maybe because each other’s meant to be is not anymore. “Wake up call, coffee and juice / Remembering you / What happened to you / I wonder if we’ll meet again / Talk about life since then / Talk about why did it end” and “You make me feel like the one”. Who has not felt that way from the significant other? Makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world, does it not? Makes you feel like the worthless being lower than dust when it ends, does it not?

What caught my attention next was their album cover. Yes, I am of such peculiarly shallow being. I have a thing for simplicity and stripes just like that. And maybe one-worded song and album titles. You will notice that all the song titles are one words and the album title is a combination of one words. I find this interesting. Flip open the sleeve and you are attacked with feverish kisses of the most amazing illustrations out there. Everything the album title is made of: language, sex, violence and maybe others. The brilliance is Graham Rounthwaite. Meet him. He is please to meet you.

What I love most about UK rock bands are their original and unique riffs. Ash, Oasis, Snow Patrol, The Verve, Muse, Radiohead. To name a few. The re-occurring melody is always unheard of. Never ever familiar at the back of your head, like a skeleton in your closet you almost forget but will never. Stereophonics have the talent like these other bands. I enjoy listening to their album on my way to college. Their album is one of the few I would crank up a little louder because it is more fun that way. Hitting forcefully on the steering wheel. Tapping my feet on the accelerator. (Somehow, I manage to do that). Singing on the top of the world in my mom’s banged up car.

The album sounds high to me. Every word penned down when not sober. Wasted from too much cheap alcohol. Stoned from messy rolled up joints. Who would write Doorman when they are sane? “You look like a monkey scowling at me / Well suck my banana suck it with cream”. The song makes you want to drive three times over the speed limit and going round and round in the empty parking lot with the windows rolled down screaming your head off.

Devil sounds drunk. A series of slurs of an unconscious mind too intelligent. “Stop the car now baby / You can’t handle the truth / So what’s the point now lady / If you can’t stand to play and lose”. You can picture the chorus repeating with their eyelids half-closed. Javier at the jazz set his head lolling drunkenly on his head with his eyes never watching the crowd. Kelly’s whining solos pulling the song through with lazy repetitions. “So be my Devil, Angel / Be my shooting star” and “Bye bye Angel / Bye bye Angel / Be my Devil”. Such juxtaposition in itself.

Feel sounds ultimately stoned. Everything you see is in actual fact an illusion. But our minds will never believe things that will not make us happy. We would rather believe in lies when we know better. “It makes you a cheat / It makes you a liar / Step out of the fire / It gives you a spring in the step / Smile on the face / Sing like a bird / You’re running the race again / What makes you bad / Makes you feel much better / Than you ever can” and “It makes the world go round / It makes you homeward bound / It makes you want it more / You look around every corner / To see if there’s even more”. Like drugs. Sometimes, our significant other is our drug, our addiction. He leaves you coming back for more, even though you know he is not one you will bring home to your parents. Spouses commit adultery for a reason. Lovers opt for infidelity for a reason. Lonely girls choose drug addicts for a reason.

Other magnificent lyrics: “Superman on an aeroplane / Sitting next to Lois Lane / You got the woman but you want her gone / So you can fuck a teenage blonde” in Superman. “We used to meet at the waterfall / Pink heather on the falling wall / Nothing to prove / Drink beer from a stolen can / Smoke cigarettes when we can / Because we like to” and “I left you at the gold motel / Selling junk at the carousel / That bound you down / Can’t find you now” in Lolita. “Inside, outside, upside, downside / See my face wanna take me home / I miss ya sister, shake your pistol / Hear my voice on the telephone” and “Cigarette burning, got an opal ring / Dirty magazine turning, you’re a bird who sings / Sleeping on a shag pile, sleeping on me / Sleeping like an angel watching over me” in Deadhead.

Especially Rewind: “If Jesus rode on a camel today / With your cross on his shoulder time to take you away / Have you done all you wanted / Are you happy and warm / Do you miss someone special you don’t see anymore / Have you blood on your hands / Do you dream of white sands / Can you sleep well at night / Have you done all you can / The place I was born in stays crooked and straight / I see innocent blue eyes go blind everyday”. A checklist before you move on with life.

Long Way Round is a darling. The theme song for Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman’s travel series with the same title. Some source said Ewan asked Kelly to write a song about it. Other source told me Ewan was the one who wrote it for his wife Eva and Kelly arranged the music for it. Either way, it was a sweet attempt. “Remember me my love / I’m the one you’re dreaming of / Got sun in my face / Sleeping rough up the road / I’ll tell you all about it when I get home / Gonna roll up the sidewalk / I’m gonna tear up the ground / I’m coming round to meet you the long way round”.

Maybe Tomorrow is a popular one. It was the opening for Wicker Park and the closing for Crash. Everyone loves that song and I am everyone. It is the usual optimistic kind of song. It brings a little more sunshine to the dim cruel world.

(What's the Story) Morning Glory?
Oasis
1995

1. Hello
2. Roll With it
3. Wonderwall
4. Don't Look Back in Anger
5. Hey Now!
6. (Untitled)
7. Some Might Say
8. Cast No Shadow
9. She's Electric
10. Morning Glory
11. (Untitled)
12. Champagne Supernova

Oasis is once upon a time when music is life. They are doing simple Mathematics homework known back then as the hardest arithmetic. They are a broken down stereo listening to the World Chart Show with sandy receptions. They are sitting at the back of my head as I went around the world ignoring them and remembering them.

The cool kids. They are the world in the English Isles. They are the alternatives with easygoing yet catchy tunes and words that will keep you singing when there are no more words to sing. They have the undeniable brotherly rivalry but it does matter anymore when Liam puts on shades and preaches with his hands on his back to a microphone stand set in an inappropriate height that hurts his posture. Noel pays more attention to his guitar rather than his brother; it is his world coming out to sing.

It is a shame I went away from them. Boybands were the best to me during my pubescent years. They were moving on making more albums as they have the most dramatic lifts and falls, leaving me far behind and hard to catch up. When I finally came to my senses, they were nothing but a memory I wish to resuscitate. Lyla became their new flame.

Wonderwall is one of my favourite 90s rock songs. It was an easy song flowing alongside my easy life. I was a kid who sang along songs I do not really know the meaning to. It felt good at the tip of my tongue. The words orchestrated well on the rhythm. I grew up adoring this song and someday, maybe, someone will sing this wholeheartedly to me just like the darling that I am. One can only wish so hard till the stars fall from the sky. “I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now”. “There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don’t know how”. “Because maybe / You’re gonna be the one that saves me / And after all / You’re my wonderwall”. The cello bellowed against the heartstrings. The nonchalant tambourine. The acoustic guitar. The simplest drums holding it all together. It will be my romanticised doom.

I never bothered to learn the title of Don’t Look Back in Anger. I always thought it to be the Sally song. “And so Sally can wait / She knows it’s too late as we’re walking on by / Her soul slides away / But don’t look back in anger / I heard you say”. But I guess it is about a song about moving on without holding grudges on the past. Because honestly, when all has come to past, it all does not matter anymore. They are merely stepping stones towards the future. Whoever holds the past conquers the future. Once you are in the future, the past is as good as throwing away. The music seems to happen all at once, fighting for the limelight yet steady enough not to push one another off the platform. Noel took over for this song. There is something sincere about his vocal chords as he sings my favourite line: “Please don’t put your life in the hands / Of a rock and roll band / Who’ll throw it all away”.

I may have came upon Champagne Supernova often enough to have it stick to my mind and recognise it when it walks by again. I did not bother to learn its title as well. This is probably about life in general. How everything just takes shape by itself when mysterious hands guide the steering wheel. We, the handicapped driver, can only sit on our empty hands and watch as people come and go. They change till comforting faces become nothing but strangers’. “How many special people change / How many lives are lived in strange / Where were you while we were getting high / Slowly walking down the hall / Faster than a cannonball / Where were you while we were getting high”. Have you ever feel so helpless and worthless in your entire life? “But you and I / We live and die / The world’s still spinning around / We don’t know why”. The riff stays on the loudest pitch. Everything comes in full force. It is their finale; they want to end it with a bang. Keep your mind safe away from things that have to be done. Keep your eyes dry from things that cannot be stopped. “Wake up the dawn and ask her why / A dreamer dreams she never dies / Wipe that tear away now from your eye”. Yet. On the rarest occasions, however, people still meet at the same destination. Going around the world, walking down the straightest line, fighting through the most ferocious jungle. “Someday you will find me / Caught beneath the landslide / In a champagne supernova in the sky”. All road leads to Rome. Do not worry.

They are friends of Richard Ashcroft. The heroic musician from this band The Verve. Bittersweet Symphony would be the bell ringing in your head now. Cast No Shadow is for him. About him. The best explanation has been done so I will not even try:

“The song was dedicated to then-Verve singer, and close friend of the band, Richard Ashcroft. The opening lines of the song - "Here's a thought for every man, who tries to understand what is in his hands" - are similar to those in the refrain of The Verve's song History ("In every man, in every hand, in every kiss, you understand that living is for other men, I hope you do understand"), of which Gallagher is a huge admirer (he also provided handclaps on History during recording). The song's chorus ("As he faced the sun, he cast no shadow") has been interpreted as some as a lament for those whose lives are lived so thinly that they leave no lasting impression or legacy upon their demise. When questioned about this line in a September 2005 interview with San Diego radio station FM94/9, Gallagher replied, "The reason why one would not cast no shadow is because one would be invisible."
- Wikipedia.org

This is why I love this band. “Bound with all the weight of all the words he tried to say / Chained to all the places that he never wished to stay” and “As they took his soul they stole his pride”. This is a rerun.

There are good songs scattered all over the albums they have produced. From the album Be Here Now, All Around the World: “Where you gonna swim with the riches that you found / You’re lost at sea well I hope that your drown”. Stand By Me: “Times are hard when things have got no meaning” and “There is one thing I could never give you / My heart will never be your home”. From Definitely Maybe, Supersonic: “I know a girl call Elsa / She’s into Alka Seltzer / She sniffs it through a cane in a supersonic train”. Nothing thought provoking for this one but just plain drugged. From Heathen Chemistry, Stop Crying Your Heart Out: “May your smile shine on / Don’t be scared / Your destiny may keep you warm” and “Cause all of the stars / Are fading away / Just try not to worry / You’ll see us someday / Take what you need / And be on your way / And stop crying your heart out”. And many more.

Oasis may be the best band to go for if you want to start a CD collection. I have faith that their albums, although some are said to be not as good as the previous or the next, they are all part and parcel of a growing life. Full of ups and downs, bads and goods. The ugly side of the world. The fading sunlight to the dark side of the moon. The pretentious happiness, at least just for the littlest while. It is what is real.

Gravity
Our Lady Peace
2002

1. All For You
2. Do You Like It
3. Somewhere Out There
4. Innocent
5. Made of Steel
6. Not Enough
7. Sell My Soul
8. Sorry
9. Bring Back the Sun
10. A Story About a Girl

They were nothing but a peculiar band name. Our Lady Peace. It sounds near celestial. I never knew what they were about until Somewhere Out There. No song could be as beautifully portrayed. Of a lover dying to take flight and leaving him forever looking up at the skies, finding her amongst radio airwaves and scattered God’s salt. He misses her. He would love her to fall back to humanity. Yet he understands. She has to go. Nothing but this mere Heavenly glow. “Down here in the atmosphere / Garbage and city lights / You’ve gone to save your tired soul / You’ve gone to save our lives / I turned on the radio / To find you on satellite / I’m waiting for the sky to fall / I’m waiting for a sign”. “Hope you remember me / When you’re homesick and need a change / I miss your purple hair / I miss the way you taste”. Quoting only a few lines will never be enough. I might as well just serve the entire song up the plate. The myriad introduction easing you into a soft tempo of guitars and light drums. Things pick up a little for the chorus and strengthens with the all powerful strings. It is always the bow and string collision that gets the best. It grows. Level by level. It pulls you up towards the cliff and just hurls you over the edge, making you fly like the lover would. “You’re falling out of reach / Defying gravity”. Fly.

It is because of this song I purchased Gravity. I have this decision I keep to myself. I will not purchase new albums of bands I am not familiar with unless I have heard two or more songs from said album and like them. Rarely I would just go ahead and get an album based on the affection towards a single track. Somewhere Out There was this powerful. I visited the CD store with my dad that day and I picked the album off the shelf. I remember my dad’s uneasy facial expression. There were so many tamer genres to dwell on, oh why did my daughter have to go for this. I remember wincing at the unfamiliar explosion of All For You. Nothing I owned before this was so complex. I bought it anyway. I have the rest of my life to make use of this whole new world.

I love the lead’s name. Raine Maida. Something Microsoft Word will never approve of. When I wrote the stories, I referred to him a lot and used his name when it was appropriate. I had to ignore again and again the times to fix a mistake that was never wrong to begin with. Raine Maida. Lead singer of Our Lady Peace.

Innocent. “I remember feeling low / I remember losing hope / I remember all the feelings and the day they stopped”. The pubescent years were never the easiest days. The first phase of life’s hardship. You wanted to be ever more successful before you decided to lose yourself. You wanted to be perfect before you decided to be forever flawed. You wanted to be everything before you decided to be nothing. You remember the consecutive days you see your innocence being robbed off your skin on bones before you got numb. Welcome to maturity.

There is sadness in Not Enough. It is enough to move me on the wrong days. Our Lady Peace finds it a habit to slide into a song with mellow tunes. Something easy. Something everyone can accept before the harshness thrown at you. Raine was near death in his voice as he complements the simple introduction. Everything builds up. Level by level. There is a formation. You can see. The chorus holds a halfway climb with sincerity in every word, every note. “When they say you’re not that strong / You’re not that weak / It’s not your fault / When you climb up to your hill / Up to your place / I hope you’re well”. By the second round, it is strong enough for the strongest refrain. Your heart should be breaking by now. The fragile cover vibrating against the heavy bass. Raine achieving momentum. “If it’s not enough / It’s not enough / It’s not enough I’m sorry / It’s not enough / It’s not enough / It’s not enough”. Perfectionism is of such. There will always be a finish line we can never run home to. There will always be a hilltop we can never climb up to. There will always be a something we can never make nothingness out of. We will forever starve for a mirage feast.

Most of the album is made up of songs about a lover he is willing to give up everything for and do anything for. Have you not felt that way when you love someone whom you know deserve every second of your body, mind and soul? Gaining insanity is never wrong to him as long as it provides sanity to her. Losing himself is never a matter as long as it completes her. Self-sacrifice is nothing but a delightful offering as long as it conceives the better good for her.

All For You. With a past of consciousness and normalcy. He will forsake it. All for her. “He wants the best for me / An old school philosophy / So I can’t turn my back on him / He’s apart of me / He’d buy me anything / But I just need a friend”. Do You Like It. Even if she is treating him like the lowest scumbag he will never forgive himself for ever. He will endanger his pride and dignity. All for her. “I know why you’re playing these dirty games / They’re killing me and / I know how you love to watch me beg / Well here I am” and “I hate myself for begging / I hate myself for staying / I hate myself for listening to you”. She will turn a man into a slave. Sell My Soul. Make a trade with the devil and bleed for an eternity to win her heart. She will never know the turmoil he is going through. It does not matter. All for her. “I’m losing my heart / I’m losing my pride / I’d burn our initials in the sun if it would shine”.

Yet he will be her hero even though he has not armour to shield her from the dragon. All for her. Made of Steel: “I can be anything / That you want me to be / A punching bag / A piece of string / That reminds you not to think” and “They knock you down / I’ll pick you up / They laugh at you / I’ll shut them up” and “You want a hero tonight / Well I’m not made of steel / But your secret’s safe with me”. A Story About A Girl: “This world it tears you limb from limb / In your world you’re nothing but the best” and “Are you looking for something / I promise you one thing / I promise I’ll always always be there”. And marry her. He will be a wife’s ideal husband. Saying sorry to a fault that is not his and building her a white house surrounded with white picket fences. Bring Back the Sun: “We shouldn’t have to fight / Or worry about the bills tonight” and “Bury this hate / And build it with love” and “I know I know I failed you / I hope I hope we get through / Sunny days again”.

I will admit that I have not explored Our Lady Peace’s musical growth since day one. But from what I have heard so far, I am loving their gist. Something old. Are You Sad. “Your life has been so hard / It’s dried up angels that can’t keep guard”. Something new. Angels Losing Sleep. “Looks like the Holy Ghost is gone / Now you’re afraid of yourself / Over your shoulder you have to watch / Heaven fall into Hell / Even the angels are losing sleep / And the sidewalks are bare” and “And I’ll wait I’ll wait till you fall from grace / It’s the calm before the storm / It’s there then it’s gone”. There is a consistency. They are celestial.

The Beautiful Letdown
Switchfoot
2003

1. Meant to Live
2. This is Your Life
3. More Than Fine
4. Ammunition
5. Dare You to Move
6. Redemption
7. The Beautiful Letdown
8. Gone
9. On Fire
10. Adding to the Noise
11. Twenty-Four

I knew Switchfoot from my favourite movie A Walk to Remember. Jonathan Foreman did a duet with Mandy Moore (of all people) in Someday We’ll Know. But seriously, the song was much better in the movie when Jonathan sang the entire piece. Same goes for Only Hope. Mandy Moore did alright; this is already a milestone coming from someone like me. There is just something about her that I do not like and it irks me ever more knowing she has secured roles that I approve of. Jonathan closed the soundtrack well with his rendition of Only Hope. It is just something to fall in love with.

Switchfoot is what I am left with my Christianity. I would love to brag about how I found out about them before the country did. I saw Meant to Live on the Billboards and loved the song. I did not know when the album is going to drop bomb in my country, thus I went ahead and did my first ever online purchase in Tower.com for the album. I had to pay probably RM30 more but I would like to believe it is worth it. Maybe six months later, the album came. It was sort of a bummer for me because now everyone has a chance to be nuts over Switchfoot. But at least I have a different album cover.

Switchfoot’s music is contagious. Just when I thought I have had enough of them, the CD will still be spinning in the car stereo. It was in the stereo for a very, very long time. Probably longer than any albums I have. I would switch CDs, scared that I have grown bored of it but whenever I have it back in the player, it just plays like another new song. I believe the CD is scratched a little. The rhythms are familiarly catchy and the lyrics are learned eventually with a tone that is easy to sing along to. This CD got me through half of January 2005. It was an evil month.

Switchfoot questions conscience and conscious a lot. On the surface, they deal with the obstacles with life constantly. But if you are willing to delve a little deeper, they function like every Christian band out there – the journey towards building a relationship with God. Some songs can be easily mistaken to be a love song. But every song to God is already a love song. It is like an underlying subtext, a message in between the lines. It is amazing how it can appeal to anyone in general yet not coming out strong and creepy like some staunch born-agains.

I loved The Beautiful Letdown first not because of its intimacy with God. I loved it because of its disastrous beauty. The title itself says it all. This ruin. This fallout. Probably why I connected well with this song because I am a fallout myself heading towards a beautiful letdown. Or maybe just a letdown. Period. Because there will come a time in your life when you feel like the soil you are standing upon does not feel appropriate. Everything is foreign and you suspect a better world – your world – waiting for you just around the corner. The song speaks of the Kingdom. I perceive it solely in the embodiment of a girl. Her mystery. Her silence. One where when someone comes in contact with her will be blown away it springs tears in his eyes. Because it is this powerful. Her kingdom. He will not want to go home ever again. “In a world full of bitter pain and bitter doubts / I was trying so hard to fit in / Until I found out / I don’t belong here”.

On Fire. “Everything inside you know there’s more than what you’ve heard / So much more than empty conversations filled with empty words” and “You are the hope I have for change / You are the only chance I’ll take” and “I’m on fire when You’re near me / I’m on fire when You speak / I’m on fire burning up these mysteries”. The song can be easily made for a mortal loved one. Sometimes, the significant other is of such godly personification. She can mean the world to him.

Twenty-Four. “I am the second man” and “I wanna see miracles / See the world change / Wrestled the angel / For more than a name”. These words were the only inspiration I used loosely once upon a time. It is weird that what I wrote has nothing relevant to the song. In fact, it may even contradict. But the words shine through. I will tell you this is a very beautiful song. There are no misunderstandings. It is straightforward. It is about a man’s conversation with the Higher superiors. “Still I’m singing / ‘Spirit take me up in arms with you’”.

The rest of the time, it is about motivating life. Or maybe singing about what a fucked up life we are living in. In a polite way. Because Christian bands do not just use the F-word sloppily. The word is overrated anyway. Meant to Live: “Maybe we’ve been living with our eyes half open / Maybe we’re bent and broken” and “We want more than this world’s got to offer / We want more than the wars of our fathers”. This is Your Life: “This is your life / Is it everything you’ve dreamed it would be / When the world was younger / And you had everything to lose”. Dare You to Move: “Maybe redemption has stories to tell / Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell / Where can you run to escape from yourself / Where you gonna go / Salvation is here”. And my favourite with a catchy tune and cute lyrics, Gone: “Where’s your treasure / Where’s your hope / If you get the world and lose your soul / She pretends like she’s immortal” and “We are not infinite / We are not permanent / Nothing is immediate / We are so confident / In our accomplishments / Look at our decadence”.

Nothing is Sound
Switchfoot
2005

1. Lonely Nation
2. Stars
3. Happy is a Yuppie Word
4. The Shadow Proves the Sunshine
5. Easier Than Love
6. The Blues
7. The Setting Sun
8. Politicians
9. Golden
10. The Fatal Wound
11. We Are One Tonight
12. Daisy

A suitor got me this album for all the wrong reasons. I found myself to love it more and more but I can never like the guy one bit.

There is a difference. Switchfoot has improved a notch with this album. The bass are more angtsy. The lyrics are more powerful. The sadness is sadder. The motivation is stronger. As they grow closer to God, their animosity towards humanity thickens. Everything is more personal. Everything means business.

As I go through the album once again, I can see my route to and back from Dell. This album accompanied me a lot during those days. Mainly because it was new in the rack and all new CDs are to be played a lot of times in the car stereo no matter where I am heading to. Back then, I was heading to work everyday. The loose traffic around the corner and the ridiculous queue flowing into the only entrance and exit at the area. The empty parking lots. I saw a rainbow a couple of times. I would catch a quick shuteye if I accidentally arrived earlier. The Shadow Proves The Sunshine reminds me of the rainy days. Half of the time I could not be fucked to bring an umbrella into the office. It was a long walk to my car after work. Sometimes I was drenched. Once I was definitely wet. It was the hugest rainstorm ever. I had to tread through the lot to get home in time because my mom needed the car. I might as well just jump into the ditch.

Of course Stars has everything to do with this album’s popularity. The world fucking loves it. The radio stations were playing the song like a cheap whore. Selling it short. Keep the change. However, I will not deny I like it. The percussion riffs are contagious – there is a sense of militarism – as is the guitar’s. A song about the realisation of companionship living under the same sky. Fairly optimistic. This is what the band is built upon. Favourite line: “Stars looking at a planet, watching entropy and pain / And maybe start to wonder how the chaos in our lives could pass as sane”.

My favourite song is definitely The Blues. Whenever I listen to this song, I will always be reminded of Cedric Diggory. (Don't laugh). The movie Cedric Diggory because I do not read the Harry Potter books and Goblet of Fire was the only Harry Potter movie I watched. Twice. (Don't laugh). I can just see his dead stunned eyes haunting my head right after Lord Voldermort Avada Kedavra-ed his ass. Do not ask my why. It just happens. “Discontented fame” portrays the character, in my opinion. Besides that, it is quite a sad song weave with confusion. “Is this the New Year or just another night / Is this the new fear or just another fright / Is this the new tear or just another desperation / Is this the finger or just another fist / Is this the kingdom or just a hit-and-miss / A misdirection, most in all this desperation”. How we can be blinded so badly with desperation anything can seem right just because we wanted that one ray of sunlight so terribly? Desperate times come desperate measures. Yet. These desperate decisions, most of the time, are not the right decisions.

The backing cameo of strings comes in during all the appropriate times. The clapping is a big dodgy but well, Jonathan’s heartfelt lyrics can divert you from that. What is captivating is the unique choice of words. Simple words gathering together for a more special phrase. I might as well quote the entire lyrics here. I shall catch a few fireflies and shine them in your darkness. Basically, there are two and a half riffs available for this song and they take turns to hold hands with these special phrases. Or stanzas. If you want to be poetic. My favourite one is Riff #2. The one before Riff #and-a-half (a.k.a the chorus) breaks in. “Is this what you call freedom / Is this what they call pain / Is this what they call discontended fame” and “You push until you’re shoving / You bend until you break / Do you stand on the broken fields where your fathers lay” and “It’ll be a day like this one / When the sky falls down / And the hungry and poor and deserted are found”. Also from Riff #1: “I’m singing this one like a broken piece of glass / From broken arms and broken noses in the back”.

Daisy. This is their most personal song I have ever stumbled upon. The acoustic guitar brings us into the song. It is not the most perfect pitch a guitar can come up with but that is the beauty of it. And when Jonathan sings, his voice comes straight from his heart. He knows her. He is her. She is every single one of us. If you want to view this in a spiritual light, it will make the most sense. Submission to a better life. The Christian life. The new life. And letting go of the life you once knew and are familiar with. When it comes to familiarity, no matter how awful it has been, there will always be a sense of reluctance in letting go. Like leaving a craphole island and sailing off into the vast ocean. The island would seem like a resort compared to the seas of nothingness. “Let it go / Daisy, let it go / Open up your fist / This fallen world / It doesn’t hold your interest / It doesn’t hold your soul / Daisy, let it go”. It is not as easy as it seems. It takes more than a confession to cross over. Do not blame the backsliders. Or curse. This gnawing fear is enough to send us crashing.

Let us scheme through the rest. Lonely Nation: “We are the target market / We set the corporate target / We are slaves of what we want” and “Singing without tongues / Screaming without lungs”. I think Happy is A Yuppie Word is a peculiar song title. The Shadow Proves The Sunshine: “We are crooked souls trying to stay up straight / Dry eyes in the pouring rain”. Easier Than Love: “Everyone’s a lost romantic / Since when love became a kissing show / Everyone’s a cassanova / Come and pass me the mistletoe” and “Everyone’s been scared to death of dying here alone”. Politicians: “I pledge allegiance to a country without borders, without politicians / Watching for my sky get torn apart / We are broken, we are bitter / We’re the problem, we’re the politicians / Watching for our sky get torn apart”. The Fatal Wound: “Son of sorrow / Staring down forever / With an aching view / Disenchanted / Let’s go down together / With the fatal wound”.

Switchfoot may have probably gone full blown Christianity on us. As I go through the album along with the lyrics, there are a lot of elements on the religion when it is broken down to pieces. They see the living world as a temporary life and life itself is not worth living for anymore. Cure stands in succumbing to God. For a better life. For a better person. I would not put forth my stance here but I am sure you may have gotten my opinion on this. Or not. But. Switchfoot has good musical talents as well as lyrical talents. And they have succeeded in breaking into the commercial scene and everyone is listening to their songs. We might as well be fooled.

Photo credit: Amazon.com

Lesson #6

2006-08-25T00:36:00.000+10:00

The Hanging Garden (Excerpt)
Sally Breen

In the Twenty First Century I learned my own way that paradise was just one of our oldest lies.

The interior decorator had a penchant for poetry – not mine – but the metaphysical poets, the masters of the seventeenth century. He liked to read to me. The purveyor of grand narratives. I could have told him that shacking up with an interior decorator in a high rise was as close as I would get to God on the Gold Coast but a comment like that wouldn’t suit me. I listened instead, to Milton talking of great falls and of a great paradise long lost. I pressed my hands up against the plate glass windows of the tower six inches of it between me and the rest of the world and wondered why it was always so cool. Either the sun burnt down on the water or the moon did and nothing changed. The touch of invisibility was always the same. The interior decorator read on. Speaking in tongues. Sometimes I looked out at the perfect blue or endless black of the sea, and wished for a tsunami. By the time we got through Milton’s Book 2 I surmised that Eve had probably felt a similar longing for catastrophe.

I would have thought it more instructive to know what Eve was thinking. If only she had left a note. She never had a voice. We all have a looking glass for seeing.

‘We’re all just creatures of the sky up here.’ He said, gesturing around.

I shivered because it was true. The next morning I coaxed Missy with titbits and what I thought was a shared affinity for exile. I gathered him out of the kitchen cupboard and into my arms, crossed the threshold with my back to the sea and started the descent to the outside. I could feel Missy’s heart begin to throttle hard against my skin as the elevator plunged lower and lower. We hit ground. The doors slid open. He squirmed furiously away from all the bright cut surfaces. There was no one in sight. I held on – sure in the sanctity of my pilgrimage. But Missy did not calm. Once outside his reaction grew worse. He went completely limp – his heart still beating very fast. He was playing dead. We needed dirt. I headed for the pool area in search of grass. As soon as my hands left Missy’s body he went rigid with fear. His back arched as if he was trying to pull all his weight away from his paws, his white fur erect and electrified but what disturbed me most was his eyes: all that horror. I realised, Missy, like his owner, was convinced he was divine.

I picked Missy up and ascended the Tower for the last time. It did not take me long to collect my things. I had always been a gypsy. I recalled a small stanza not from Milton but from someone alive. ‘Eve wasn’t kicked out of Eden. She walked out’. It made me happy. I hit the button to exit, stronger now, and willing to concede that perhaps paradise wasn’t a lie. Maybe it was just a damn good story.

Converse v.2

2006-08-23T23:37:00.000+10:00

Same shit.

Different day.

A review: The All-American Rejects concert

2006-08-19T00:57:00.000+10:00

Date: August 18, 2006
Time: 8pm
Venue: The Arena

It all started with an almost missed poster in Chinatown. It was a dark lime green but the prints were clear enough. Normally there would not be posters of musicians hanging around if they were not to perform locally. I went home that day and went online immediately to google on The All-American Rejects’ tour dates. My heart was caught in my throat when I found out they were heading down south in a week’s time.

Questions sprouted in a nanosecond. Are there still tickets available? Where can I get them? How much will they be? Who will I go with? Should I go? Is this even for fucking real?

Ah the goodness that is the Internet. Everyone should make a best friend out of the Net dude. I was able to hunt down three outlets selling tickets at different prices. I have found a new friend: Rocking Horse. They sold the cheapest tickets at a mere $41.80. However, if I were to go I would not have any company as my friends are not fans of the rock genre. Besides, most of us are poor students. But the heck with it. I guess six months is long enough waiting for a band I want to see live. I have listened to their album often enough to wish would it not be nice to see them live. Here it is. A dream waiting to come true. The next morning, I headed down to the city and bought a ticket for myself. I would have the whole crowd to be my company.

Figuring out my way to get and come back from the venue was already half the fun. (I may be sarcastic here.) I did not even know the venue’s exact location. Gawd, I was so new to all of this it was kind of creepy.

There was already a line forming when I arrived. Everyone was in groups or at least in pairs. I think I was the only singular entity tonight. I felt like an idiot; people were looking at poor little me. I think I looked lost sometimes. Poor poor little Asian girl.

The crowd was the usual suspects. Punks dressed in all black with their favourite bands’ names emblazoned across their chest. Blink 182. Taking Back Sunday. Atticus (OK, so this is not a band.). And the likes. Chuck Taylor’s Converse. Vans’ checkers. Skinny jeans. Everyone almost looked the same.

The gate opened at 7pm. Suddenly, the crowd just grew rude and started shoving. Everyone wanted the front stage. I was almost at the front. Probably three or four rows away from the railing. Sweet. Fans made a quick pit-stop to buy T-shirts. Others went to buy drinks. Now that we were already in the venue, all we had to do was wait.

Avalon Drive was one of the two supporting acts to perform. I do not know who the heck they are. But there were fans amongst the crowd and they were extremely insane. They were shoving around and the girls in front of me was not pleased. Who would be pleased being shoved around anyway? Alas, it is after all a rock concert. It is no fun if nobody shoves around and pissed people off. The band was one of those punk bands. Screamos and good percussion riffs. It did not matter if you do not know the band. As long as you get the drift, it is all good. The reminded me a lot of Story of the Year and sometimes Angels and Airwaves. Those dreamy guitar whines. Some of their rhythms were heard of before. They were nothing spectacular.

By the time they were done, my curiosity of the people standing upstairs was getting the best of me. It looked so cosy up there. Thus, I gave up my almost decent spot in search of some alcohol. There is a reason why they sell 18+ and All Ages tickets. There is bound to be booze. And said booze is indeed upstairs. Oh, silly me for cramming amongst the All Ages people when I have the privilege of watching the concert upstairs without being shoved around. So I switched position. The security guard looked at me funny even after I showed him my ID.

The poison: Vodka and lime.

Suddenly, I felt sleepy as my ears and cheeks heat up from the alcohol. It was only a little past 8pm and it already felt like I had been there for two hours. My feet were killing me. And it turned out the upstairs was not as cosy as it seemed. Not that it was crowded. The railings were hogged. Everyone was fucking taller than me. I had no clear view but to peek past bobbing heads and shoulders. Lady at the front, please do not move around too much. A girl with bigger proportion totally blocked my somewhat decent view and I had to shift around. I looked like a bigger idiot upstairs. And there was something grown up about these 18+ people. (Well duh.) Yet more laidback. Like attending a performance in a mellow and intimate venue. Later, as the concert progressed I could see the crowd swaying left and right and was kind of glad I was not one of them. Some of them tried to surf but they were carried off the minute they got up atop the crowd by the security guards upfront.

Hellogoodbye came on. They were something toned down a little. The lead had a distinctive voice and I like that about him. If he mingled with the technical, I would believe he is the person singing the Chicken Little song. The crowd liked him. He looked peculiar. You know, those people walking around dressing a tad bit different from the majority and looked like he has so much unique musical soul in him it just radiates out of him. Their songs were near quirky. But yet so much fun. I thought about buying their CD to have a go at them. I did not know why I changed my mind.

When the lights dimmed and The All-American Rejects came on, I lost my somewhat decent view to no view at all. As they were performing Dirty Little Secret, I could not even find a gap that overlooked the lead’s mic onstage. Did I just pay almost $42 to just listen to them live? This blows. Fortunately, some holes came through. Beggars could not be choosers. I had to settle for second last best. It was not much. Probably none at all. But at least I could see them. Tiny tiny them.

They played most of the songs from their second album. The sequence was a little vague to me because I had no mind to memorise the playlist so do forgive me. Dirty Little Secret, Stab My Back, Top of the World, Dance Inside (I fucking love this song.), I’m Waiting and maybe, just maybe, 11:11PM. The only mellow song they performed was It Ends Tonight. They sang some silly impromptu song about water while distributing water bottles smacked with their saliva. There were also some songs from their first album. The annoying electric guitar stung the room. It vibrated the wooden floor I was standing on. It deafened my ears. The all-famous Swing Swing; even the 18+ crowd perked up when they started performing. Some B-sides: Paper Heart and Eyelash Wishes. And to end all songs, The Last Song. Of course we all knew it was not the last song. The crowd demanded an encore. They came back, performed Move Along, Tyler made up some song about not forgiving the fans if they threw water bottle at him, and they were gone.

They did not perform Night Drive. That song could have rocked the venue so fucking hard. And not even my favourite ballad Straitjacket Feeling. They ran out of expensive T-shirts. They took away my ticket prior to my entrance. My view was never the best being a midget. The pictures I took sucked big time asses. However, it was a good de-stress weekend for me after being burdened with a heavy assignment for the week. I would love to do it all over again. Maybe this time, sneak backstage, get wasted and fuck a band member. But merely doing it all over again is enough.

Back to school (Part 2)

2006-08-13T19:53:00.000+10:00

"Polaroids of classrooms unattended. These relics of remembrance are just like shipwrecks. Only they're gone faster than the smell after it rains." - The Ataris

Form 3: The outcast
First year in the morning session. Oh the fun of heading home in the afternoon and have lunch sitting with my high school PE shorts on in front of the TV watching reruns. Homework can wait till night falls. And definitely I enjoy the spontaneous naps under the cool fan spinning rapidly, chasing away the heat devils. The whole day is there for my disposal. The whole world is there for me to waste.

I can barely recall this year because I have spent the good first half of it selling my soul to my extra co-curriculum activities. This was the year SUKMA was held in Penang and my school band was one of the five being selected to join the ultimate band formation managed by Penang’s most sought after conductors and teacher advisors. And I was one of the few lucky new band members to join with the seniors in this once in a lifetime phenomenon. This became my calling to greater things in the band. This is what life will be in high school for the rest of my life. Or at least for the next three years.

I was sieved from my original class to assemble with the other band members from the same year in one class. It was the last class in the bunch but everyone did not mind because the bracketed ‘P’ – for Pancaragam, meaning school band – behind the class position was enough to satisfy all curiosity. Most of the time, we were not even in said class. Probably two days per week, three buses of us would be shipped off to our practice venue just as classes were about to begin in the morning. The remaining three days, we had our own band practices to go to. But I was not one to complain. I had the best days of my life there. Going to practices at the break of dawn bleary eyed and coming back sweat soaked and so bloody exhausted the bed felt like cotton marshmallow for a deep dreamless sleep.

I had to adapt back to my original class once the performance was over and I had earned my very first incentive. I doubt I had ever been in any class with my classmates. I barely knew any of them. I felt detached from them. However, things slowly fell into place as I stuck close with some friends I knew better.

Academics were the last thing on my mind that year. But alas, Form 3 was the second most important year in a girl’s high school life. PMR was the governmental examination that will seal our fate on whether or not we are up for the fourth year of high school. Before the examination period was around we already had assignments for Living Skills, building plank woods, sewing pieced cloths and wiring chunks of electronics. Mine turned out awesome, partly because half of them were done by better classmates. I loved my masterpiece I still had the junk stored at the top shelf, the useless wooden shelf its surface still glistening from yesteryear but the battery for the self-made music box had died and rot. It became a memory. An evidence to my once upon a life long gone.

The teachers. They did not give a damn about me. They did not know me well because of my absence for the first half. The Science teacher did not like me much because I was quite a brat. I would not bring her textbook to class and would love to move my seat towards Yi Shu beside me to share the book while having chitchats with her and Lynn sitting in front of her. She hated us. She would definitely stare me down and make me go back to my seat. I would always pray she would not walk over to my place when I did not bring my textbook. Fortunately, I had an interest in the subject since the beginning so it did not hinder good grades for this particular subject. Hey, we get to learn about sperms and sexual intercourses. What could be any better for a girl hitting in the middle of her puberty?

The Moral Education teacher was a nuisance. Words had been going around the year before of his strictness. To have him as one of our teachers bellowed out groans of dissatisfaction all year round. You know how it is. You would not know your teachers on the first days of school until they step through the door and oh gawd you wish so hard and pray so sincerely hoping they are just substitutes and will not be here for long. Most – if not all – of the time never answered. He was one of the teachers every class would like to not have. He gave you rattan whips if you failed to complete his homework in time, probably send you to the Principal’s office. Or force a demerit mark on you for not doing the corrections properly. He would leave fortune cookie-like note strips in between the pages. Always stating your mistakes and demanding a correction if not. Rarely there to praise you for an exercise well done. You would not want to see your exercise books – or even the pages – folded too drastically. He yelled at a few students and threw their books out of the classroom, over the balcony whenever he was in a worse mood. He was a nightmare.

I harboured an immediate animosity towards the English teacher. She was a newbie, you know, one of those fresh graduates hired mostly temporarily. I guess we got off on quite a good foot but she was not one to give me a sweet smile all the time, even if I did well for her classes. So, there was this test and we were to write about a trip to the Cameron Highlands. It is common for such essays to come with keywords dropped down on you like cats and dogs do on rainy days. It was fine by me. I just merely added a few descriptions, which were totally out of the books. See, I so coincidentally happened to have gone on a trip to the Highlands myself during the school break that year. I loved the place. I had a photographic memory of it in my head and blurted it all out in the essay in hope that what I saw would gain me some benefits. Mind you, I was not out to ass-kiss anyone. I felt accomplished being able to express myself. I was crossed when my paper came back and the teacher had left the entire essay cleaned and approved, save for that particular self-expression. The grade was dragged down a little because of that. Of course I was a tad bit pissed; I wanted to be a writer for the rest of my life. I remember myself arguing, “But that’s what I saw with my very own eyes!” I remember her sweating internally and thinking of a good excuse to rid of me as her red pen tracing the underline already there until the paper almost tore a hole. “I will discuss this with the other teachers.” That was her solution. Think about what? It was not a salvation. It was an insult.

PMR was a blur. What I remember vividly was burning the midnight oil memorising of all subjects, Geography. I was an ass with this so I need to save myself a little here. I did not score for that subject but merely gotten a decent grade. However, I earned myself a helluva migraine that will from time to time re-emerge if ever I think too much. Academically. I know it is a sad excuse but what do you know? I remember doing a lot of photocopied past year questions. Mathematics and Science mostly because those were the only subjects I could see myself completing with good marks that will motivate me to do better. Besides, those were the only subjects (including English) I aimed for and succeeded in scoring.

Despite its significance, it is nothing but a quick shuffle of blurry flash cards whenever I look back. I scored good enough for myself, a constant self-comfort for an average high school student. In fact, good enough to allow me a good seat in the Science stream for the next two years of high school. However, I forwent it and decided for something simpler. Because in high school, it was not about being in the best classes in the better stream. It was all about survival of the fittest. Make it out of high school alive and you will have the whole world to waste in your own sweet time.

Form 4: The bitter honeymoon year
The classmates for this year would be the same up until the next and final year. We were the fourth class in the Commerce stream. But it did not matter because we were of one unique crowd. We were the only class in the stream to replace Accounts for Information Technology. We had Additional Mathematics and Economics while the classes after us had to do Geography and Arts. The competition for class placings was just amongst ourselves. We were special.

Our classes were the furthest away from civilisation. There was a new wing for our high school that year and the Form 4 Commerce stream was lucky enough to be situated in the classrooms there. It sucked only because we had to walk practically the entire campus to get out of school. It sucked for some students too because the windows overlooked the gory cemetery in the backyard. When teachers decided to have meetings or not come to class at all – another perk – classmates would gather around in even numbers because of some superstitious belief. And they would tell ghost stories just for the heck of it. I sometimes would join them and watch some girls squealed over stories that were not even scary to begin with. Sheesh.

I would never be in class for the first half of the session. Suddenly, the school band took a passionate interest in annual state-level band formations. We would come to school early in the morning to attend long band practices standing under the hot sun in announced positions while leaders walked around trying to figure out how to get from one artwork to another. Practices would have ended just as the afternoon begins. Goodies would rush to go to class. Band members like me would drag our feet up to the band room and sit around till our sweats were nothing but another layer of skin on our hands. By the time we were done lazing around, the recess bell had rung its finale. Rarely the teacher advisors would pay surprise visits and force us to flee back to our classrooms.

It was around this year I was exempted from PE classes and house practices because of my well behaviour in band practices. Which was a perk for me because I was not one to love running four laps around the bigass school field and nearing blackout at the first lap. House practices were compulsory but yet a bore. I was a happy girl.

The form-cum-Chinese teacher was never a favourite for us. She built a sturdy bad connection with half of the students in class. They would always curse her back and wish she would not come to class tomorrow. Yet she meant good. Probably because I was not one to offend her. I remember something wise she once told us. Unfortunately, I have forgotten about it. Chinese had never been my strength or my favourite. I could not be bothered to memorise all those Chinese idioms. This might be the year we had to read The Three Kingdoms. I could barely keep my interest past the first line.

The Malay teacher was not my favourite. Her classes were such bores but I had to pay attention because she would randomly pick students to continue reading the literature passages. Student who failed to pick up from where their fellow classmates left off would be punished standing for the rest of the period. I was seated at the first row. Always exhausted from the band practices earlier, I would catch half-catnaps by looking away from her. I was never there spiritually in her classes. Out of the ten times I fell asleep, I was caught maybe just once. We paid hard attention especially for the literature section. There was a story about a second race between the hare and the tortoise (Perlumbaan Kedua) I never finished reading. We would find out about the ending anyway via the exercises we did. However, the poems would be fun if we had not to mind more of the technicalities.

The English teacher was such a darling everyone was shitting over her head for being too nice. The Science teacher was a darling as well but she had her own principles for us to walk along. I loved her classes. So maybe I had such interest in Science because of these lovely teachers. She once dubbed me ‘an angel in disguise’. I never knew what prompt her to give me such complimentary in the middle of the class. I hated Economics. I still hated History. I hated Moral Education as well but once you get the hang of things, it was not that hard to score anyway. But I was never one to get As for this subject.

Around September, things started to pick up for the next year to come. I was promoted a senior leader in the school band and earned myself finally a two-stripe pangkat I can be proud of. It was my ultimate dream to have more badges on my uniform. Around October, recruitment for our graduates committee commenced. And I thought to myself hey, why not make the most of this year and go help out in this committee. I would only be in high school once. Alas. My dear friends had to be in the recruitment committee as well and I was oh so easily nominated to be the Vice President of the graduates magazine. Oh what had I gotten myself into? I only wanted to play a little part as a representative not the whole fucking pie.

Form 5: The never ending finish line
The transition from Form 4 to Form 5 was not a broken gap but a well-engineered bridge. During the yearend holidays, tasks for the graduates magazines had kicked off well enough we had to be back in school almost everyday. Blame it on the President. She was a fucking perfectionist. She wanted everything to go her way and no other. Gosh, the entire committee had a huge problem with her. I knew it. She knew it. She did not care. She was one of those Ms Perfect who would embrace everything to her bosom if the others could not get it done the way she wanted. Thus, more pressure. I was the one to unwind her. This was in my job description, calming down the insane leader.

I had two reasons to skip classes altogether for this year. Like, from beginning till the end. Teachers would not even know I was even in school ground because if I was not in the school field screaming my head off at my juniors, I was in the meetings room getting things done for the magazine. If ever there were a chance I could go back to class for a few classes, I would be summoned back to the usual spots for meetings or more tasks. Everyone needed a piece of me. (Very vain indeed.) The only chance you might catch me was when I happened to pass by my classroom to the band room, or when I was chairing meetings for the committee. I was on a fucking roll. I wanted to make the best out of my high school year. And here it was. Being made the best of.

But it was fun, not going to classes and keeping yourself busy from idling. Yet it was not a year to dismiss as another mundane high school year. Because this year was it. The big year. The year of all years. If Form 3 were the second most important year, Form 5 would be the Big Daddy O. SPM would commence at the very end of the year and this, my dear, would be the governmental examination to decide whether or not you are cut out for the world beyond high school. Without an SPM certificate, you would be a drop out. Literally a failure. SPM would be your ticket to the rest of your life. It was so important that you would not even believe five years down the line the examination would not matter anymore. But back then, it was the only ticket to more forward. Without it, you would be done for.

Of the five years in high school, my parents had chosen this year to move to Sungai Ara. It would take practically half an hour to get to school, maybe up to an hour if the traffic was a bastard. I would always catch short naps on the way to school, my mom being the ever dedicated chauffeur. My backpack would be heavy carrying change of clothes for tuition classes after school. I would accommodate myself to a friend or two’s houses nearby and clean up for two-hour tuition classes. Additional Mathematics and Mathematics at Anthony Tan’s. Malay at Aziz’s. English at Ace’s. Form 5 was all about overhearing the best tuition teachers out there and getting yourself a spot in their forever fully booked classes. I would not be home until night falls.

My high school teachers were quite a drag for this year. My tuition teachers were abundant and pwned harder. I bet I could just not go to school altogether and I would still do well in SPM. Alas. Being the disciplined high school till the end, we would not be awarded our graduates certificate if our attendance were to show poor results nearing the end of the year.

There was a constant switch of teachers for Additional Mathematics I hated every single one of them. Especially the very first one: the infamous discipline teacher. She came to classes dependant on the power vested in her to distribute demerit marks at us like giving babies for free. This lady would cruise the canteen during recess hunting for students with inappropriate hairstyle. Not come upon them by chance but literally set out and hunt them down. Those poor souls. I was not one to hang around the canteen during recess. She could not teach to save her life. She would copy examples from our textbooks and walk us through the steps we would have figured out anyway without listening to her teach. I wanted to hurl the textbook at her every time she stood out there chalking up another example from the book. I learned peanuts from her. Without seeking salvation from my tuition teacher, I would have failed badly for this subject. Fortunately, she was repositioned a few months after that. I had Anthony and he was all I needed. I managed to save this subject just in time. From a mere E8 for the SPM mock exam, to a C5 for the real deal. I would have loved to score an A1 for this subject; I loved Mathematics to bits. Alas.

The IT teacher had a problem with me. It was because of her I question my decision in deciding IT as a subject. Then again, IT was an easy score. Granted it was not an A1 but at least it was a decent grade that did not pull down my GPA. The classes were boring. I have never found computer-related classes entertaining or ever exciting. It was always about a bunch of things I have learned or I cannot give a damn learning. So of course I would find never ending reasons to skip her classes. And of course she was not pleased with it. She did not have patience talking to me and I had to reduce to consulting my friend who was a better student in class instead. She said we could email her if ever we had problems with C++ Programming. I emailed her and did not get a fucking reply from her. Sheesh. That was the first computer-related class I disliked. There were more to come, which I always hated. Henceforth, I shall avoid enrolling in classes like such whenever I can.

The English teacher was spaz. One of her classes was the first period of the day. Thursday maybe. She would still be in a blur. Once she was reading through John Steinbeck’s The Pearl and accidentally skipping through two pages. I doubt anybody noticed. Half of the class was in their happy place. The other half sleeping and dreaming of their happy place. The handful of us noted the slip off but decided not to raise warning bells. It was way early in the morning to take heed anyway. It did not matter anyway, we just wanted the class to be over and done with as soon as possible. Honestly, she did not help me along with my perfect scores for my English papers in SPM. She was just there. I thanked her anyway when I bumped into her the day I received my results.

I still hated Economics. But like Geography in PMR, I forced myself to understand and did not get a very decent grade anyway. I could see the disappointment dripping out of my teacher when I bumped into her during result day. As long as I did not fail, it was already a blessing for me. I still hated History. The teacher could have been the best thing in my life, being ever so motivating and patient on us. However, History was never a favourite and I had given up on the subject even before I stepped into the examination hall. I aced Mathematics, doing my love for numbers justice after my boo-boo with Additional Mathematics. I aced Malay. Quite a surprise for someone like me. We had to do well in Malay. Any grade would be acceptable just as long as you do not fail. I guess I did my part well.

My high school years probably ended pretty. I held my end of the bargain being a senior leader for the school band. I did the same for the graduates magazine and gotten Repetition published at the contribution section. My grades were not the best but it was good enough for me. I was a girl easily pleased.