#6

I should bring this Oscar Wilde thing to some sort of proper terminus. But when I was flipping through my copy, I got a sense of how singularly amazing his works are, so I would be sorry that I would no longer have a motivating factor to get me to flick through his things once in a while.

Maybe, on days when I really have nothing to write, I'll flick through his works and extract a gem that I want to remember. They're lovely.

But on another note, here's an Oscar Wilde documentary. I haven't got around to watching it yet, but if you're interested, here it is:

"In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. The last is much the worst; the last is a real tragedy!"

Wherein I insert in a bunch of links. But still no pictures though.

Remember the cooking thing I was supposed to do?
We settled on Dauphinoise potatoes - lovely things, imagine baked potato with a healthy (well, not healthy if you're talking about cholesterol levels) dose of cream and garlic.
But when I called up my friend on Tuesday, it turns out she has forgotten about it and was en route to Johor.
Now, I don't want to comment on the fact that an increasing number of my friends are seemingly ditching me to do other things, as evidenced from previous blog posts. It's just a coincidence, I swear. I am absolutely confident. No, really.
Or maybe I should throw in the towel, buy utensils, and start making yummy things by myself. This shortbread recipe looks easy, if only I had a baking tray and a rolling pin. Mmm, shortbread.

But anyway, these days I'm alternating between studying (I have tons of assignments to read up for) and putting off studying, and my new favourite way to put off studying is by reading things from The Guardian's Life and Style page. And I've just discovered its makeup column..
I don't like makeup much - it makes me tired, and it's an expectation imposed on me by other people. The best way to get me to hate something is by making it do it. And I'm sufficiently removed from concrete things that any activity requiring me to focus on my face irritates me.
But I saw this picture of lovely dark blue eye make up, and realise that this, is actually art. Just look and tell me you don't find this gorgeous. Absolutely elegant.
Makeup might just be an art form, an outlet for creative expression; not a bastation for the blonde and the vacuous, and liking makeup does not mean that I'm automatically joining their fraternity. Although why I didn't realise that earlier beats me - I have a friend who is a wizard at makeup and fashion, and she's far from being vacuous.
And it helps that The Guardian's column doesn't run like those in most beauty magazines I've read. Beauty magazines irritate me, but this column is so comforting I can read it to procrastinate.

It's Sali Hughes' beauty column on The Guardian, and this is the article with the aforementioned smexy eye-makeup.

*But then again, with my unrestrained fawning over dark eye makeup, the last time I had dark eye makeup on and went home, mum saw me, and in between laughs, asked if I had been punched the the eye(s). You be the judge: a picture, that also has the benefit of proving my existence. And that I can be pretty if I want to. I'm the one on the left of the picture.

I have been writing about That Significant Event I Mentioned. It is taking a while because I am very bad at narratives.

I've been having this dream lately, where I'm rushing to pack my things so I can make it in time for my flight to UK. I'm off to the UK in about a year to finish off my degree, so it's either the Gods warning me that I would do some pretty last-minute packing again, or that I'm eagerly anticipating my time in the UK, so much so that my subconscious is spending time thinking what I should pack for the stay while I slumber.
The second option might be coupled with the fact that so many friends of mine are now in the UK that it's seriously messing with my psyche. My poor subconscious somehow just couldn't take it, and it's starting so see the faces of people who have left for the UK in the faces of strangers (seriously), and starting to panic about missing the flight to UK.

Now that I've analysed myself while typing this out, I'm slightly worried about my sanity.

I think there's this gloom in this post. Must be because I've been reading F. Scott Fitzgerald and listening to a cover of Bob Dylan's You're Gonna Miss Me When You're Gone. The melancholy is seeping in.

Monday.

Relax, I haven't tumbled into a mental whirlpool of my own making. Yet.
It's just that I had something really, really funny happen to me yesterday, that must be written down. It's so funny I thought it was a birthday gift from God, for God's sake. But the fear that I wouldn't do it justice is making me put if off.
I was also thinking about trying to explain my philosophy when it comes to birthdays, since I, rather unfortunately, recently had one happen to me. But I spent so much of my time replying to birthday wishes on facebook that I don't have time to do anything justice, and I have to go to bed now. :(

I'm happy whenever I see my new (acquired yesterday) law textbooks in a nice pile. You can't believe how incredibly sexy they are. You also presumably can't believe how incredibly nerdy I am, now that I've said that.
Forget it. Some things are just beyond people who aren't law students. Like the allure of legal textbooks.
(But frankly, I get similarly excited with whatever book, so I think it's just me being nerdy.)

#5

'There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution'

Therein lies the heart of self-deprecating comedy?
The Picture of Dorian Gray. 

Saturday.

I've finally got around to buy this. It's slightly unforgivable, because I saw this in the bookshop about a month ago.
As far as I can tell, it isn't very well written, but Einstein is my personal hero, and any book about him that's more than 700 pages thick is worth the 30 odd ringgit I paid for it.

I spent the last few minutes of my teenage years watching this episode of Would I Lie to You: 

Now, this constant posting up of comedic panel shows and well, Youtube clips of comedic shows in general, AND the lack of any camwhore pictures wherein I smile and frolic about in the sun doing banal things with my friends, would make you think that I'm a sad nerd and the only thing I do is watch comedy shows at home alone. 

That's where you're wrong. 

Because I devote some time to my legal studies too. 

But while watching the smexy Victoria Coren, and all the other smart funny people on the show, I realise I go about interacting with the world like a plank of wood would. Well, a plank of wood that has to walk about. Yeah, I would be as awkward as that. 

This realisation isn't newborn or anything, but I saw the show and while marvelling at the absolute beauty of it, thought 'oh God, those people are so smart! So funny, and so socially graceful! How do they do that?' And then I reflect on my own acute deficiencies and go sulk about in a corner like Marvin the Paranoid Android.

How do you get social grace? Are you born with it? Do you inherit it from your parents, like curly hair or skin colour? Did they put you in a class for it at school, a class I somehow missed?

Because for as long as I can remember, I've been that awkward one that never knows how to act normal. Even if I do manage to stimulate it, I'd feel dead inside, which is no way to go about life. 

And I'm a stickler for sincerity, which I suspect might be a 'problem'. Not one I'd willingly fix, I'd admit. 

Friday.

I was contently sipping Milo while watching 30 Rock (because that's the only way you should drink Milo: contently), when - wait, do I sport someone that looks like David Mitchell? Someone with the signature Mitchell/Hitler hair, large forehead, moon-like face, and slightly largish eyes that would suggest themselves to be slightly doe-like if you thought hard enough about it? And the same sort of height too?

*That was definitely not David Mitchell.

Yeah, I really do have nothing to write about.
Well, I can write about catty people, or my response re the pictures + videos of Gaddafi being published everywhere in the press. Or what I think about the way Gaddafi/his body is being treated in the most appalling way possible. But I really don't have the elegance to bring both topic off without elements of righteous indignation, which isn't pretty.

#4

"It is personalities, not principles, that move the age."

From The Picture of Dorian Gray.  

Updates.

1. So yeah, the cooking thing didn't work out (I think I mentioned the 'valiant sacrifice').
This friend I was talking about - I'm starting to think that Fate will forever render our relationship asunder, keeping us at physical distance even though we live so stupidly near to each other. Hitherto, our relationship will commence merely on facebook walls, by longingly posting up links of recipes + pretty pictures of food.
But Tuesday is the postponed-to date. We're probably making chocolate meringues.
If something turns up again to muck this up, then Fate, I'd like to have a word with you.

But I've also discovered the BBC's cooking website yesterday. Yay joy! It's a delight to use, and it's so well designed. Guaranteed to make even the laziest of you pick up the cooking-bug.

(Don't go about thinking I'm domesticated now. I hate that - this stupid Chinese checklist a woman has to have to be 'wife-material'. To this I bluntly say: 'fuck off'.
Cooking is just a very fun thing to channel your creative energy into. AND the end products can be eaten!
Besides, no decent 'wife-material' woman would be caught dead trying to make banana + honey + milo as comfort food. Therein I draw the distinction.)

2. The Big Bad Wolf Booksale thing didn't work out :(
Mostly because it's in The Middle of Goddamn Nowhere (you're also allowed to call it Serdang, I think). It's at somewhere I have to take two trains and a cab to get to, and be left with an absurd bill for the cab fares for my efforts. I don't feel very enthusiastic about taking a cab alone in Serdang anyway. I have been inculcated to fear taxi drivers, brought up with enough warnings to think that you should assume that they are All Evil until after you get off the cab and nothing happens to you. And so you should Never Get on a Taxi, and if you have to (say, to go to a library), you Have to Have a Friend With You. The last option isn't even entirely safe - it's something you should do only when you really must.
Long story short, two friends ended up cancelled on me (two!). And on the last day of the sale, when I happened to be in KL, I was sufficiently motivated to go alone, even with the taxi, but I wasn't wise enough to bring money you ought to bring to a booksale.
Needless to say I went home that day needing comfort food, and there is still a hole in my heart for beautiful new books that isn't filled yet :(
I will be heading to Booksxcess tomorrow to fill that gaping hole that can only be filled with new books.

About whether or not to be sorry, and my 'writing skills'

I'd say sorry about last night's omission, but that would mean I'm assuming you even care, or even noticed, which let's face it, you don't. So now, I just don't know what I should say. Say sorry to myself for breaking my own rule? But I'm not feeling very sorry for breaking it.
See what happens when you overanalyse things? Sorry, anyway, if you noticed and was upset. Here's a bit of virtual chocolate.

But if you do like to know: I was studying, and I was tired. Didn't feel too zippy to fire out some sentences for your amusement because I am sure they would amuse no one, not when I'm feeling too drowsy to be zippy. And besides, there wasn't much to write about.

Now, my writing skills is simply appalling. You know it's quite bad when even the writer herself can't stand it, what's with all of us probably having personal egos that convince us we are better at various things than we really are. Even my personal ego didn't feel like it was up to the task of convincing myself that I can write well, and just threw in the towel. Or maybe my personal ego is just the lazy sort, like the rest of me.
How do you suggest I go about improve it? The writing I mean, not the personal ego or the laziness.
(I read a lot of newspaper articles, by the way - not out of fastidious ambition or anything, it's just a very relaxing way to procrastinate - so the typical advice to 'read more' would probably not apply here. I'm most probably reading a newspaper article, or looking for one to read, when I'm not channelling my energies into productive activity. And besides, the Guardian's site is just good.)

#3 From Lady Windermere's Fan.

'I don't think now that people can be divided into the good and the bad as though they were two separate races or creations.'

*

'We all have ideals in life. At least we should have. Mine is my mother.'
'Ideals are dangerous thing. Realities are better. They wound, but they're better.'
'(shaking her head) If I lost my ideals, I should lose everything.' 

Just nice snippets from the play I'd like to pen down on a piece of scented paper and keep in my wallet.
Of course, with smartphones and like devices, I don't have to do something that sentimental any more.

Ventriloquism.

Watched this:




Got curious about ventriloquism, and turned to my Godfather, Google, to ask questions.

Basically, the collector of various trivial hobbies she never bothers to really develop, has now got a new hobby she wouldn't bother to really develop.

I laughed when I found myself in front of a mirror last night, singing a litany of Beatles songs while looking at myself in a mirror to make sure I don't move my lips.

This wouldn't be a serious hobby because I have no shot in hell when it comes to developing a stage presence. My own normal, day-to-day, personal presence needs dealing with in itself.

#2 - To all you brave individualists out there,

"When we are happy we are always good, but when we are good we are not always happy." 

"Ah! but what do you mean by good?" 

"To be good is to be in harmony with oneself. Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others. One's own life - that is the important thing. Individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality consists in accepting the standard of one's age. I consider that for any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality." 

From a brave individualist.

(The Picture of Dorian Gray).

#1

'I never approve, or disapprove, of anything. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices.' 

Well, you've probably heard of The Picture of Dorian Gray (where the above quote is from) and The Importance of Being Earnest. But while going through a copy of his selected works I have lying around, I read The Canterville Ghost, a charming short story that made me laugh. It's so unconventional, it reminds me of Douglas Adams' short stories. I mean, who would think of treating scary phantoms the way they did in the short story? Full of humour, pathos, and unconventionality. And it's a short story, which, in this age where the average attention span is that of a hyperactive puppy, might be a charming quality.

Oscar Wilde.

I love Oscar Wilde. I, quite painfully, lack the faculty of explaining why I like something, but I'm still able to say I absolute adore something, and I do adore Oscar Wilde and his works.
I think it has something to do with genius. Something being remarkably clever, and so absurdly brilliant, that for one moment, you're elevated to an almost divine plane of existence. That genius might express itself through remarkable insight, expert use of language, or wonderfully deviant pathways of thought - and Oscar's work, though more often invoking the first genre, incorporate aspects of all three sorts of genius.

It was his birthday last Sunday, and by a lucky coincidence, I happen to have just finished a collection of his works. I'm sitting here, trying to conjure up a reason to explain why I'm about to say I'm posting up Oscar-related materials here every day, for a week - I mean, wouldn't it be quite boring? - but the truth is that I just love the things he writes, and when you think something is brilliant, you want to tell everybody, whether or not they want to listen.

So here's my sort of tribute to my favourite Irish wit, more a personality and a philosopher than he is a writer - Oscar Wilde.
Happy Birthday.

Travelling books.

Reading Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island would make you think:

If I do get around visiting Britain, I really should make a real effort to visit their cathedrals. 

Utterly immodest, eccentrically so.

So I was wondering if I should pretend to be normal, like how a nice Chinese girl ought to behave, or if I should just rock the eccentricity. As it happens, I wondered aloud on twitter.

A friend tweeted back nice words of support, saying something along the lines of how I ought to rock the eccentricity, because I'm eccentric, not just weird like some other people are, which is a completely different category.

That I immodestly do not doubt. I mean, everyone else can be weird, but do they get so many sketch ideas in a day that they don't bother writing any down, because they know when they finally get around to making a sketch, they'll have materials anyway? Is their own mind a reliable source of entertainment? I think not.

But it would be nice to elevate this eccentricity into a glorious form. Instead of being mediocrely eccentric (something I suspect is my current state of affairs), and letting down all the eccentric people out there, I should be gloriously eccentric to the point where I elevate eccentricity into a quasi-art form.

Now this isn't easy at all, because normal people can be such haters, so you have to fight for your right to be eccentric and yet still be loved.

X

Disclaimer:

Most things here ought not to be taken seriously.

This means war.

I'm wearing a ridiculous combination of a zipped-up jacket with no clothing underneath, and an unnecessarily long pair of pants.

Fuck you, mosquitoes.

Bite me some more and I'll fumigate the house with insecticides.

Just dropping by to say a lousy hello.

I do want to write down something here, but I just don't have the energy, or the solitude, to do that.

There just isn't this mad, gleeful sort of mood that compels me to write now, although that mood does come and go throughout the day. Words would just suggest themselves then, sort of segue/bubble into my consciousness. Nothing of that now, because I'm kind of tired. 

Oh, have I told you about my temporary insanity induced by reading Haruki Murakami? It was yesterday night, after reading about half of a short story of his, I got more angsty than I ought to about the fact that I have to take a taxi to a booksale. I don't know, it isn't that the subject matter is depressing, and I've certainly read more depressing things that I loved whole-heartedly (Anne Enright's The Gathering). It's something in the writing style, I think. I just got utterly desperate, quite irritable. My twitter stream is what's left of last night's spell, of which I'm now too tired to describe and be funny. I must warn you that I'm Unusual, but I think anyone reading this would have whiffed that out already. 

Quote.

"Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself, and yourself alone, one question. This question is one that only a very old man asks. My benefactor told me about it once when I was young, and my blood was too vigorous for me to understand it. Now I do understand it. I will tell you what it is:

Does this path have a heart?

All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. They are paths going through the bush. In my own life I could say I have traversed long, long paths, but I am not anywhere. My benefactor’s question has meaning now. Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t, it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn’t. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life."

I think I've accepted the fact that I'm eccentric, that I just function differently the way other people function - with a different ethos and different needs, different requirements for happiness. And that's fine, because there is a way to be good at being eccentric - as in, there is a way to be different without feeling like you've completely failed at life - and then there's just failing to grasp at anything.
I think I've tried being 'normal' for too many years of my life - failing badly at it, and being utterly miserable at the same time. So there is nothing to do but to throw up arms and figure out a sort of system where I can still be happy.
But maybe, once in a while, life decides to lift the veil and show me how badly I'm failing to grasp at anything. That what I thought was a relatively stable platform was non-existent, and I'm actually in a sort of fall that I'm not completely aware of, occasionally trying to grasp at something.
It gives me a sort of nervous, desperate lump in the throat when I realise this eccentricity is badly taken by someone one has an innate desire to feel accepted by. That I've utterly failed at everything, that everything must fall.

What is the point behind this long, meandering journey?

This is how I roll.

Right, I've just sliced up three small-sized bananas without a chopping board, and popped them into the freezer. It is there they will nestle comfortably (I don't know, do bananas nestle comfortably in freezers?) until they're cold enough, wherefore I would pop them out of the freezer and proceed to drizzle honey on them and consume them heartily.

You may think this is the product of insanity allowed to run its natural course, but I think this is me following the spirit of Nigella and other TV cooks, or really, just about anyone fun to be around. That's it, whip up anything that comes into your mind, as long as it sounds like it would taste nice. This is the exact philosophy that underlines any invention.

Update: decided, on a whim, to add milo powder to the bananas already drizzled with honey, and the result is what I can only describe as: Homg awesome!

A question of statistics.

I took a peek at my blog stats column (because I'm a mixture of curious, narcissistic, and paranoid. Go on, sue me, haters. Only you probably technically can't because in no where have I heard of anyone being able to sue anyone for casually checking their blog stats for reasons such as curiousity, narcissism, or paranoia. I'm a law student, but admittedly it's only my second year, so I might have missed something. But the idea is still ridiculous.)

As I was saying, I took a peek at my blog stats column, and realise that, as of now, there are more people reading this from the UK than there are people reading this in Malaysia. And this odd spike happened, I think (I haven't been paying attention) after a significant amount of my friends bandied together and flock off, en masse, to settle in various old institutions with pretty buildings in the UK to study.
So a hello here to you UK people! Hope you are all healthy, happy, and having tons of fun.
Do me a favour and leave me a blog link here, if you do blog about your going-ons. At least I can have a look at what studying in UK would be like (and be mentally prepared?), while being able to live vicariously for about 10 minutes from your account of your experiences.

And people from everywhere else: of course you're much loved too. Hope that you all, too, are healthy, happy, and having fun.

- Insert obligatory blog post here -

I'm studying in front of the computer, almost convinced that I can no longer study without putting on the music video of Adele's Rolling in the Deep. Occasionally wondering if various sort of insects can stop cavorting around my table - it's a computer table, for God's sake. No food to be found here. Really.
Well, except me. In the sense that I'm usually the prime choice of food for mosquitoes. I'm caviar to the mosquito world. But those of insects I've made it a point to deliver to them a quick clap of death. That's right, fear my naked palms of speed and terrifying accuracy.
Well, it's not really your fault. You don't deserve death. Just that we're both made in such a way that it's impossible to coexist in a small space without you biting me or me wanting to kill you. Sorry. I'm looking mournfully on the floor, at one of the dead ones I killed, with sadness. Cruel, cruel world. God, you need to find a solution that doesn't involve killing insects, if you exist. I humbly suggest subsisting just by breathing alone? Saves us a lot of time too - no more wondering what to eat for lunch, or spending time eating lunch, and other various meals.
I'm sure we can find something else to do for pleasure.

[look at this - isn't this a thing of sheer beauty? The music video, the craft of the song, the vocals, all top quality stuff coming together perfectly. How can you not be inspired by something this well-made?]

Anyway, after much dithering about (I must be an expert at putting off things), I finally fired up google for some help with figuring out how to get from the Serdang KTM station to MAEPS (where they decided to have the BBW Booksale this year). And homg, what difficulty awaits. So basically, the only way I can get there is by 1. finding someone who can drive, willing to ferry me there (I suspect this is why some girls get into what seems to be completely unsatisfactory relationships: to get their boyfriends to fetch them around. But my stubborn integrity would prevent me from doing something like that, which is unfortunate in this instance) 2. taking a taxi after the Serdang station.
Of course, you can take a bus/walk, but for the bus option you have to walk at least a km.
Walking that distance with a lot of books isn't pleasant at all, and guaranteed to reduce you to a sweaty, disgruntled mess with muscle aches the next day. I don't want to risk ending up loathing otherwise stupendous booksales.

Remember the friend I haven't met in a while because of 'stupendously bad luck', and whom I'm supposed to meet on Thursday?
Bad luck and stupid timing had to stick its oars in again: something came up and I had to valiantly cancel this to babysit my brothers on Thursday.
But we're postponing this and crossing our fingers. I think we should either cook something sweet or something that has cheese in it (because those sort of food are awesome food), and I'm referring to Nigella Lawson's website to find something sweet/cheesy to cook, because Nigella is a GODDESS. Watching her cooking shows gives me the feeling akin to having a mother figure comforting you in times of distress.
It's lovely to watch even in times of non-distress, of course.
Will update you when I have anything to update you about.

X

Reminder

With my atrocious memory (or maybe I just am not trying hard enough), I shouldn't be surprised that I forgot to mention how determined (and lazy) I am to head to the Big Bad Wolf Booksale!...in Serdang.
Go adversity!

And I should stop procrastinating making digital copies of books I ought to make digital copies of (scan into computer, for you laymen out there). Tomorrow, I fervently promise. Yell at me a bit if I don't.

Two feet on solid ground.

Are you desperate for an ounce of reality here? Slowly driven mad by the fact that I never post anything 'realistic' (ie what's going on in my life), or really, anything but the progenies of my (slightly mental) head?

Well, I'll deliver a slight relief to that, though I don't promise pictures, or anything interesting, really.

Written a lot, physically, today (so much so that a part of my right hand hurts and I had to make myself stop, because man, this ceaseless writing can be addictive. They're only law notes, but can they put you in a trance-like state). So technically, I've did a lot of work. Trying to make everything fit snugly, so they'll have a degree of permanence there. Please stay, kindly knowledge. I'll try to treat you well, dust you sometimes, and always use you benevolently.

Facebook is decent enough to permit the introduction of two avenues of actual activity, too. (You can't believe the hissy fit it's throwing these days - I suspect because it's made slightly insecure by the introduction of Google+, and because of the fact that I deactivated it for a while, so it knows I don't like it very much. I've had two - two - friends leaving comments almost simultaneously going along the lines of 'that's weird, I'VE LEFT A COMMENT HERE! Where has it gone to?!') Anyway, one is a warm, snug meet in a college (not mine), where I'm cordially invited for an afternoon of coffee-sipping, brownies-nibbling, and music-listening. All generally very cosy, artsy, and loveable. Something I'd drag my lazy self to, if I can persuade myself to stop being so lazy.

Another is a notice left by a friend who I live 1km away from but I haven't met since maybe 4 months ago (there were a few international sojourns in the way, and just stupendously bad luck after that). I'm induced to a - slightly devilishness, just because it can be so much fun - plan to go cook up something in her house on Thursday, where we would have a whole house to ourselves to cook in. Anyone who follows my twitter stream (of profanities and occasional insight but usually, just a lot of madness) would know of me spontaneously hatching up plans to cook mad stuff when I'm feeling restless. So far, the progenies of such restless states are: omelettes that are just unbeatable because they have the awesome combination of BBQ cheese and onions as stuffings. Nuggets with melted cheese on top. And odd combinations of bread spreads including marmite on bread, and honey + koko krunch on bread. With other mad - and frankly brilliant - spread ideas I couldn't execute because the intended ingredients are beyond my reach. So yeah, nobody says I can't cook, or don't have the inclination to try. My mad inclination to try will beat up your sad resignation to cook.
Before I descend further into the stream of utter hyperactivity, yes, I like cooking. So yes, I would like cooking something fun, very much indeed.
And this would also mean meeting something I can spend hours talking to without feeling bored, which is more than a good thing because frankly, those sort of people are running short in my social life.
Sure, people are lovely, but can they be less boring to me please?

Not-very-sorry.

I know I've broken my own rule about writing something every day here.
It was because I was tired, and lazy. And I'm only slightly sorry now.
My explanation is that Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays are tiring Class Days (because I'm coolly unconventional like that and elect to have my classes on weekends. Well to tell you the truth it's only because I'm lazy to commute/commuting is tiring for me, and this option allows me to travel less, and hence, study more. You nerd), and I come home on Fridays and Saturdays tired and definitely pass 8pm. The only thing I feel like doing after I come home is laze around, besides sleeping.
And I did write something for Thursday. It's nicely saved up in my iPod. But I was too lazy to look for the links I want to provide for it, so it is staying nicely tucked up in my Moleskine app, waiting for a day where I'm less lazy for it to be made an honest article (will it be today? Only time can tell.)

Meanwhile, I've taken the train so much that I have a whole, vaguely-completed set of sketch ideas in my head, all having to do with trains.
Mitchell and Webb would be so proud. Mostly because when the sketch ideas come spontaneously into my head, one of them would inadvertently be cast in the lead role, acting out my sketch.
I watch too much British comedy.

Work.

Yes!

Got a lot of work done.
Enough to be modestly proud of myself, at least.
I think I might have rediscovered my inner workaholic.

Credits given, with much gratitude, to the Pomodoro technique (something I overheard other writers talking about, but which turned out to be the absolute Tabasco Sauce). And Accuradio is also a very good motivator.
Its Classical Radio channel is just unrivalled. Soul-snatching stuff.

Militant sister.

These days, I've made it a routine to teach my 6-year-old brother bits of Mandarin every day. Sweet kid, but he can get a bit restless, and he likes watching tv/playing games too much. And he reads his things so slowly my mum would often quip that one can really fall asleep while teaching him. I just say he moves at a non-human pace altogether when he's reading. Like how slow lorises move at a completely different pace when compared to humans.

I used to do the nice, kindly sister thing when I'm teaching him, but I've recently adopted the militant, angry sister stance.
I'd use a timer and threaten him with something if he doesn't finish reading/learning by a certain time. I'd fling some small objects around (seemingly) in anger where appropriate. A bit of table-banging and yelling. Exposing him to the good ole' Chinese-style education, in short. (If you think that sounds cruel, you've never been to a Chinese school)
And that works quite well actually. The brother isn't too terrified (because I'm just a sister, not his mum. If you understand familial hierarchy/ever had siblings, you'll get what I mean), and he's learning by leaps and bounds. I think he quite likes the excitement implicit in such a routine. And he sure loves the timer.
Plus, today, he got nuggets (that I fried!) after reading. If that isn't reward enough, I don't know what is.

David Mitchell + angry rants.

Now, if you don't know who David Mitchell is, I'll tell you that he's a comedian famous for being posh and for his angry logic rants.




When I watched this, I pictured him being irritated by an inconsistency in a widely touted parable, and decide to use his sketch show to sort of transport himself back to when Jesus was telling that parable, insert himself in it, and have that rant. I found that mental image very funny.

(Of course, someone did make a point that in the bible, Jesus didn't actually use the words 'Good Samaritan' concurrently.)

Mei Yen,

Stop dithering about and start doing some work please?

From the more conscientious, Chinese, puritan part of your brain.

Stray observations (or a lot of 'I was's)

# I was drifting in and out of listening to BBC Radio 4 yesterday (I was studying, you see), and I caught something about a politician heaping abuse on a journalist, using the word 'wordsmith' repeatedly, derogatorily.
I do happen to think that's a very nice word to call someone who fiddles with words.
If I'm to call myself anything, that is what I'm going to call myself. Writer/blogger screams "YOU THINK YOU ARE GOOD, DON'T YOU" (and I'm the cowardly sort who fears, at every moment, someone's going to scream that in my face and go on a spiel about how I'm not very good at all). Author no, because I don't write books.
Yes, wordsmith would do, though I'm not calling myself anything as of now. An inner voice clucks disapprovingly and is telling me I'm giving myself airs.

# I was getting angsty sitting at my table doing tort-lawly things, so I went downstairs with my mind set on cooking instant noodles. I didn't bother turning on the lights of the kitchen, because I can see well enough with the light streaming in from outside the kitchen. In the dark, I sort of saw this fluttery shadow of a black thing darting quickly across a pot I moved, but I can't see anything, so sort of told myself I must be seeing things.
I turned on the lights later, and saw a cockroach hovering around the sink.
Now, I have this odd relationship with cockroaches. I think they're vile creatures and I don't like them, but I do realise the poor things can't help being what they are.
And having read Kafka's Metamorphorsis, and probably too much Nazi-related literature, I now think that me, personally, killing cockroaches (or any other insect that doesn't bite me for a living) is like being a Nazi.
You're killing them off because you don't like the look of them, the slimy creatures. That's exactly what the holocaust was about.
But they're not human, you argue, so killing them is different from killing the Jews?
That's what the Nazis said about the Jews - that they're subhuman, not like us, which justifies the killing.
This explanation is very badly developed, but think about that the next time you want to squash a cockroach.

# I was following the Apple keynote address with slight interest, because I had my eyes on what speculators call 'a cheaper version of the iPhone 4'.
Yes, yes, there isn't going to be an iPhone 5 this year. You can feel the tears, anger (and the incredible desire to lynch someone) from those who worship at the shrine of Apple. After being led on for so long, how would they survive not having a new iPhone 5 to slobber over in the next few days?
But I was also pricking my ears and twitching my nose in anticipation of their new software announcement. There is just this enthusiasm at every Apple keynote event. Apple is one of the forerunning innovators in the current digital universe, and it is exciting to pay attention and see the new shiny bauble they're unveiling, and figure out how you can use it to make your life easier.
Well, they've unveiled Siri this time - a voice-activation programme that actually works.
I'm a bit of a MacGyver, so I can easily see how that can be utilised. I can also see how I wouldn't be able to help but append a 'please' at the end of the sentence whenever I'm using the system. Bit ridiculous, but I can't help but being polite, even to something that probably wouldn't appreciate it. Doing anything else makes me uncomfortable.
But then again, you'll never know - it might be convenient to cultivate a good habit in anticipation of the time they eventually create sentient devices, like those in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I'd like something that would get sulky/upset if you leave out your please and thank yous.

*Ohh, can you choose the 'personality' Siri adopts? I'm lobbying for a Jeeves sort of personality, probably voiced by Stephen Fry.
Instead of dull, generic questions from a sat-nav voice going 'What would you like to do now?' or something of that effect, you get polite questions phrased in Jeeves' posh-English-valet sort of style. An everyday delight.

Writing.

I think I am firmly bringing myself to one side and giving myself a good talk. The talk will consist of me telling myself, in no uncertain terms, that I should write something every day.

Because I do like writing, I want to be better at it, and if I'm good enough at it one day, writing as a living would be the bees' knees.
(Something like journalism. Not something like novels and books.)

And I fear, most of the content will be on this blog. Yes, you would have to read rambling content that probably wouldn't be very good (because I would be forcing myself to write, and there would be days I'd be writing while disgruntled or unhappy).

But I crave approval enough to say: please, stay tuned.

Here's well wishes to all and sundry, and here's a virtual cookie (the wholesome chocolate kind you consume, not the malicious digital kind that clogs up your hard drive).