Chimera -- Dreams and Enigma

2007-12-25T23:20:00.000-08:00

It has been much too long. Let me begin with one word: crazy. This past semester, which ended last Friday, has been the most maddening form of Academic Indulgence I've ever experienced. Not one of the 26 of us has ever been pushed so hard, I reckon. Myself included.
But like I tell the folks here as I describe our mind-boggling, jaw-dropping curriculum to them: the experience has been incredible, the amount of knowledge I've acquired is staggering, and I couldn't have done it without help and support from home...mainly, keeping me sane and keeping me with a life beyond school.
My writing had a take a step back, but was never forgotten. In my last week of school, I felt my characters coming back with friendly, patient greetings, waiting for me to return to them, to bring my experiences of the past 5 months (school and beyond) into them. I am astounded by the convoluted mess I have made of my Origin series. 5 months of absence, and I return to a bunch of stories that I can make no head or tail out of because I kept copying and pasting the same things here and there, hoping to be able to recycle material in new contexts.
Took me 2 hours to sort everything out and delete stuff so I won't be confused. Jessie made a very good, very practical and sensible suggestion: keep notes. Duh, why didn't I think of that? I do keep notes...just not the best of note-keepers.
As for stuff I've already finished. They're waiting. Waiting for their time. I can't wait to see Mike and Mary in about a week, and ask them about the script and the filming. There is a time and place for everything, and you never know watch'ya gonna get.
This semester hasn't been easy. For me, for many people. Nobody said medical school was gonna be easy, on top of all the other things that have happened. Bottom line after all this, 5 months down the road, 7 more semesters to go, I trust in the strength I have been endowed with. I trust not in myself, but in the things beyond me, of which I cannot understand, but which have always shadowed me faithfully, with goodness, peace, and fortitude.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus......whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is anything of virtue, and if there is anything praiseworthy, meditate on these things. Philippians 4:6-8

Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Lean not upon your own understanding, but in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6

2007-09-24T21:15:00.000-07:00

My mind is drifting.

If you know the difference between StarGate, Star Craft, Star Wars, and Star Trek...you are a true sci-fi geek.

Guess what. I do!

Yippee...

Ok, back to cancer biology.

2007-09-13T21:34:00.001-07:00

Man, oh man...You know you're studying too hard when you have a dream about Egyptian mummies, and museums vis-a-vie Brandon Fraser's The Mummy Returns...and the damned mummies are known as Oxidation Bodies.

2007-08-26T18:25:00.001-07:00

An Oral History

The other day my dad went to make a recording as part of a series of oral histories being collected for some national archives. He came home with a binder of newspaper clippings starting from 1977 when he first appeared in the papers. Pretty interesting stuff he used to say, a lot of unabashed critiquing and very eloquent (to the point of corniness, says my sister) speeches. I'm guessing I inherited my "penchant" for writing from my dad. He writes very well and writes all his material.

Like father, like daughter. I'm a product of my parents, no doubt about that.

And, like someone recently said to me and my classmates at a orientation speech, the government does what it usually does to those who speak up more and "make a lotta noise" more here in my home country. They take those people, put them in positions of power and responsibility, thereby shutting them up.

Pretty funny stuff.

2007-08-26T18:18:00.000-07:00

Wow...that was fast. Over a month since my last entry.

Let's see, what have I been doing...

1) Attending med school. It ain't so bad. JC was about the same. Could be worse. Definitely could be less fun, but I'm glad it isn't. My 25 classmates are awesome, and the setting of all our discussions and classes is Americanized, informal, and insightful. I think we're surprising the guys from Duke quite a bit with our openness and honesty about things.

2) The cat's been back for 3 days. Man, is she enjoying her newfound freedom. 30 days in a cubicle-like quarantine place with 30 other cats, and now she's all by herself in a big new house, and with her humans for the most part of the day. My dad keeps wanting to make friends with her, and we keep telling him it doesn't work that way.

3) Danny's got a new job at Biopolis. Wonderful place, lots of wind tunnels to keep everything cool, and he's got a much more research-like job than his previous QC job. He thinks he wants a PhD. We'll see about that...

All in all, life is good.

Except for the fact that I haven't had a spanking fat cookie in a long while, the coffee here ain't quite the same as Specialty's or Noah's Bagels, and it's hot and humid. California must be nice, cool, and sunny right now. Bloody tropics...
I haven't watched TV in about a month, haven't watched a movie in the same period of time, and I've yet to catch up with old friends here. Sigh...I suck.

But all in all, life is good.

2007-07-23T15:52:00.000-07:00

Today I end my 5-year sojourn in California. I return home to Singapore where I will begin medical school. I will miss this place that I've called home for the past few years, the people I've worked with, the friends I've made, the culture and lifestyle...But this is a choice I've made, and there's no turning back. We will keep in touch with everything here in America, that's our promise to this wonderful country.

On Saturday, we went to Skates once more for dinner. As we drove along the road toward the Marina, I recalled the time we went kite-flying, summer of 2005. It was beautiful, gorgeous, just like Saturday. I wanted to jump out of the car and run through the tall grasses, smell the sea air, and just scream with nostalgia and gratitude. These words come to mind: "Goodbye, America," I wanted to shout. "I'm not done with you yet, so I'm not saying farewell!"

I've grown and changed much, learned a lot, since the day I stepped foot on American soil at SFO in 2003. Who knows what the next 5 years will bring.

Que sera, sera......The future's not ours to see.

2007-07-14T12:51:00.000-07:00

I dreamed my sister wanted to hide away from everybody back home. She decided to change herself into a laptop bag to do so, and I had to go catch her. The bag was skipping about all over the place, jumping fences and rails, and hopping over water. Finally, I caught her (or rather, the bag), and it changed back to Miss Pamela Tan. She looked at me grouchily and pouted.

Then...I woke up.

I told Pam about that dream, and she's like, "Wha...?" I told her it was probably because I was thinking about my new laptop tote/handbag, and also, Harry Potter opened this week.

2007-07-05T23:10:00.000-07:00

Transformers was AWESOME!

Watched a sneak peek on Sunday night. It was totally worth staying up till 2am, and then getting up for work at 830am.

And in my semi-drunken stupor (induced by drinking white wine while watching people play Gears of War on a 56-inch TV, and then driving for dinner at someone's house where the entertainment was Season 1 of Family Guy, followed by the battle scenes of 300), I ended up doing this:Look...everyone was choosing the Autobots and Optimus Prime. Nobody wanted the baddies, so I chose the ultimate bad guy....MEGATRON! Whoo-hoo!

2007-06-24T15:42:00.000-07:00

Watched Silver Surfer and Ocean's Thirteen last night. Both are meh movies, but at zero cost, I'm not complaining.

I read Richard Matheson's I Am Legend yesterday afternoon. It's an old story, first of its kind, and yes...about vampires. But this is a far cry from Anne Rice and pulp vampire fiction books. This is about a man being the legend, not the vampire. I can't wait to watch the movie with Will Smith in it.

2007-06-05T21:25:00.001-07:00

My favorite lines from Gone With the Wind:

1) Land is the only thing worth working for, worth fighting for, worth dying for. Because it's the only thing that lasts...... - Gerald O'Hara to daughter, Scarlett.

2) As God is my witness...I'll never be hungry again...If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again!...... - Scarlett O'Hara.

3) Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. - Rhett Butler to Scarlett.

2007-06-05T21:02:00.000-07:00

The first and, hopefully, last rant I will put on this blog. I don't like ranting.

Just finished watching Blood Diamond. I never was a fan of sparkling things and bling bling. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of jewelry and gems in shops and in magazines, or in any other types of media featuring weddings, and I wonder whether or not to pester my beloved for a brilliant stone. Why not? Every other woman seems to love diamonds. But after watching the movie, I am all the more so inclined to stay as I am - unattracted to such things, content and happy as I am. Why?

1) Bright and shiny. So? Can I watch TV on it? No. Will it engage me in intellectually stimulating conversation? I highly doubt it. Can I wear it constantly and show it off? Well...it might get scratched or lost, then I'd be pissed.

2) Is it really everlasting? As all science majors know, the answer is a resounding no. Diamonds are freaking carbon atoms arranged in pyramidal shape, forged from prolonged periods of high temperature and pressure from graphite. Pencil lead, people. Yeah, the stuff on the pointy end of your pencil. They're allotropes. Enough time, pressure, and temperature, the stuff reverts back to pencil lead. Nuff said.

3) Is it worth getting the smashing stone, knowing people are killing each other for it in some impoverished third world country? I've seen third world, and it ain't pretty. Do you want to contribute to the problem? As Leo DiCaprio's character says in the film, "You girls think it's all bling bling. Well, in reality, it's actually bling bang."

Some people would accuse me of not seeing the big picture. Well, I haven't. I don't know the whole story. I've only seen a movie with a brilliant Hollywood script. But look, I would rather turn down a diamond, than worry about whether or not it came with a blood price.

2007-05-13T13:06:00.000-07:00

Two days ago 我拍妈妈马屁. Here's how:

Me: Hi Mom, tomorrow is Mother's Day. What're you going to do?

Mom: Oh, we're taking 婆婆 - my maternal grandmother - out to dinner. Tomorrow is 爱妈妈的日子. (Tomorrow is the day we love our mothers...)

Me: Oh, Mom, don't say that. 每天是爱妈妈的日子! (Everyday is the day to love our mothers!)

Mom (ultra elated): Oh, you just made my day!

This is the same woman who brainwashed me with the song 世界只有妈妈好 since I was a kid.

2007-05-13T13:01:00.000-07:00

Wow...I was there...

From the Straits Times. Saturday May 12, 2007

May 12, 2007
Going... Going... Gone

A five-storey building in Surat, in the western Indian state of Gujarat, tilts dangerously.

The building, which was constructed in the early 1980s, had started leaning to one side on Wednesday night, and it was evacuated the next morning.

The next day, it toppled over like a house of cards (below). There were no casualties.

The local media quoted city officials as saying the 'structural engineering of the building was not up to the mark'.

They added that giant billboards erected on the roof might have created added pressure on the building's foundation. Winds of up to 20kmh had also been whipping against the boards for several days.

Floods last year might also have weakened the building's foundations, the officials said.

Yeah...we all love India.

2007-04-21T20:21:00.000-07:00

Oh boy...you know, novels are shit hard to write. I'm switching to short stories. Yeah, like they're any easier. What the heck have I gotten myself into? Did I think I was really going to become a published writer?

Well, I can still hope.

2007-04-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

The Bar Chor Mee man...arguing about tur kua...hee hee hee...CCTV...

There needs to be more political satire in Singapore. Come on, all your Jon Stewarts and Stephen Colberts!!! Come out and make all the politically apathetic S'pore youths care!!!

2007-04-17T09:15:00.000-07:00

"Origin" update:

I am no longer writing a series, even though I originally had FOUR parts. Here's what happened:

1) Parts I and II were combined to make something longer and stronger. Feedback so far from people close to me is quite positive. Thank you, Alice Orr, for that wonderful suggestion.

2) Part III was too comic-book like, and was probably something I just had to get out of my system. I think it's well-written, but too cliche, and "out of trend" with what I was trying to achieve with the previous parts. I've decided to consider this part as completely unpublishable, but the history and background of characters established in highly useful for my purposes.

3) Without Part III, Part IV is useless. The material in Part IV is wholly useable, though.

So...here's the lowdown:

1) I now have a standalone novel, and I removed the original cliffhanger I wrote in January 2007 (though I must admit the cliffhanger was pretty awesome).

2) I am writing a second novel based on ONE (and only ONE) character from the above. There are few connections, it's completely different in style, and I'm almost starting from scratch. I am going from a thriller-type novel to a historical one.

Wish me luck...In 3 months' time, I may not be able to write creatively for 8 long years. Sigh...

2007-04-16T12:03:00.000-07:00

Cross those fingers people...

1) Maybe I'll be a Hollywood scriptwriter. Shooting's supposed to be in June. Can't wait to see what my writing looks on-screen.

2) Sent out some queries last week to agents. Queued up with the last-minute folks trying to mail off taxes. So clever, huh? What a waste of half an hour...Moreover, my queries right now are cold. I'm just hoping I get the rejection letters sooner rather than later, so I'll know that it's time to just move on. Sigh...

Seriously, Publishing Fairy, where art thou???

2007-03-02T16:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Cousins (first and second, Mom's and Dad's side etc etc, esp. Mom's side) :

I had a lot of fun growing up with all of you. You know who you are, especially the ones who crammed into my Mom's old boneshaker every Saturday afternoon to go 1) kite-flying in Marine Parade, 2) bicycling in Bishan, 3) Fantasy Island in Sentosa, and 4) anything else you guys can recall.

I guess it all started when I was 12, and we took our first overseas trip together to Australia. To me, that was more memorable than Disneyland. Most of us (including our parents) began the trip a little uncertainly, because we weren't very familiar with each other. I think at the end of those 3 weeks, we all got pretty close, huh? And it didn't end with that, I'm glad to say...After Australia, there was Bangkok, Koh Samui, China, Egypt, and Chiang Mai (remind me if I've missed anything out).

I was reminiscing today with one of the "gang" like an old grandmother ("Ah Kong", you know who you are), and you know what, I have to say, if there's one thing my mom did that she did right with me, it was that "Blood is Thicker Than Water". She set an example to me by organizing little trips and gatherings for my cousins and I, thus instilling the concept that besides being great in laying down fond memories, our families are there for each other.

Of course, there's always the great food that went along with it. Food at No. 16, food at Tuas seafood restaurant, Uncle Jimmy's, No. 16...Oh wait, I mentioned that already, right?

Oh, and who can forget all those games we used to play? When we were younger and more physically active, there was Police & Thief, Catching, and...Soda-Pop I think was one of them? Then, when we got older, we "sat down" and played card games like Heart Attack, Taiti, Bridge...Oh and I remember there was this other game we used to play, where everyone sat in a circle, and winked at each other...I think it was called Detective, or something.

Other activities included gathering for the Saturday night movie, gossiping about school (in our school uniforms), and eventually...as we got older, the games went away, but the conversations, catching up, and drinking, and mahjong, didn't...=)

Anyway...

I've missed out for 5 years. And I guess we're all pretty grown up now. I think half of us has finished college (some are on their second degrees, my goodness!), but we've all passed that point in our lives when we were all kids, haven't we? And I guess a few things have changed here and there in terms of who's around, and who's not around (NS, overseas studies, work etc).

I don't regret leaving for this period of time. I've found myself in a different culture and had some amazing life experiences. I've found passion for certain things in life that I could never fully explore back home.

And yet, the call of "kith and kin" remains strong. Some people laugh at my use of this old Scottish adage, but hey, when you're British-educated, sometimes you just use those Ye Olde English words.

I remember when I was about 16 or 17, Shijin said to me, "I hope we stay close when we all grow up. Sometimes, people drift away, but after sharing so much together as kids, it'd be a waste if none of us ever stayed together as adults and shared our experiences with our own children."

Yes, just as my mom did.

Dear cousins, the point of this long-winded nostalgic essay is this: I cherish the times we shared together. Let's not ever allow those lovely memories to fade away. And the best way to achieve that is if we continue to have our little get-togethers, even after the "old" generation has passed, and show, not tell, our children that Blood is Thicker than Water.

In no particular order, this essay was written for:

CSYing (Honestly, you were my best friend-who-was-also-a-relative),
CSJin,
Pam (don't forget the wishing well!),
Mee Pok,
WSwei (I'll never call you Brandon),
WSJin (hey, remember when you were a "Min"?),
Lisa, Roy, Meimei,
Bernie, XYi, XXian,
Elvine, Elaine,
Darren, Jasmine

I sincerely hope I haven't forgotten anyone. Oh wait a minute, this essay is also written for all the parents of the above listed. Without your love of food and each other's company, I wouldn't have the memories I have of my growing years.

PS: If any of you would do me a huge favor a send along a photograph with most of us in it, that'd be terrific. I'll show you all off to my coworkers and show them the meaning of "kith and kin" too!

2007-02-28T21:31:00.000-08:00

Just finished watching Stranger Than Fiction, starring Will Farrell. Beautifully written comedy (or was it a tragedy?) that hits home because I wish I could write as eloquently and so ironically. I am not a comedy writer, but I am an aspiring one. This movie was a real motivator.

Oh, and it's a great placement ad for Timex. Seriously.

2007-02-24T22:09:00.000-08:00

I am highly encouraged by this quote I found in Danny's page-a-day desk calendar, the 2007 "365 Stupidest Things Ever Said", by Ross and Kathryn Petras.

The entry for Tuesday, February 6th, 2007, was given to an editor of J.K.Rowling's, after her first Harry Potter book (Philosopher's Stone) was purchased for about $2000 in 1996. This editor told her:

"You'll never make any money out of children's books, Jo. Keep your real job."

Yowtch.

I love bittersweet justice. I also love it that editors, the guys who make or break a writer's ego and self-worth, can sometimes be wrong. That, coming from an aspiring writer who's New Year's resolution is to submit my manuscript this year.

Wish me luck. I'm almost into March. 9 more months of 2007 left to go.

2007-02-24T22:01:00.000-08:00

I've been watching Mind Your Language the past week or so. The first thing that strikes you is the bell bottom pants and the open collar shirts.

Then there's the heavy British accents.

And then the jokes about foreigners.

It's a show that couldn't pass the ACLU and Politically-Correct Police censorship tests, but it sure is hell of a lot of fun. I've been laughing so much every night during dinner, or before going to bed, that it's sure keeping me more stress-free and cheerful during the day. Highly recommended as a stress buster.

2007-02-17T22:44:00.001-08:00

Gong Xi Fa Cai...

Happy Chinese New Year, everyone. It's the Year of the Golden Pig. My year.

Oink.

2007-02-14T17:13:00.000-08:00

Remember how I said I was "done" with my Origin stories?

Yeah, well, anyone ever heard of RE-writes? Yeah, I hate them too.

2007-02-11T08:58:00.000-08:00

An Inconvenient Truth

Al Gore deserves an Oscar for this documentary, and not because it was well done, but because he is a great spokesperson for global warming. As someone who has learned about global warming since Secondary 3, I believe what he says, and given all the crazy weather lately, what's not to believe? I hope someone steps forward and claims Richard Brandon's $25 million prize, because heck, I don't want my home country to go under when the ice caps melt. Yes, "when", because I absolutely agree that we're all frogs.

No...that's not a typo.

State of Fear

Michael Crichton's take on the whole issue. I read his book a while back, before I watched Al Gore's movie last night. When I finished the book, I was amazed at the way he rationalized both sides of the argument. Al Gore argues that there is no "both sides", that the side of the skeptics was invented by the popular press and by politicians. Well, who knows right? Personally, I think if Al Gore ever met Michael Crichton, he'd deck 'im for writing that book. And I like Michael Crichton, don't get me wrong, he writes great books. But State of Fear isn't helping the cause to combat global warming...

Oh my gosh, maybe Crichton secretly works for Mobil or Chevron...

Or maybe, Crichton's just thinking like a writer - whatever it takes to rake in the dough and readers. That's pretty much what I've been getting from all the writing books I've perused lately...

2007-02-09T19:55:00.000-08:00

Wow...it's amazing how something traumatic (ie, being in Ankle Bar) can affect you. I dreamed that I had to go again, but I had 1 days' notice, and I had to fly on some crappy airline. And when I tried to check-in, I realized I didn't have my passport, and that since it was a Sunday, I couldn't go to the bank and get my passport from my safety deposit box.

You know things are going down the drain when you start having work-related nightmares.

Personally, I'm learning a lot, so my experience level is increasing. Which is fine. I just don't know about the company......

2006-12-28T22:34:00.000-08:00

I've had the chance this last week of the year 2006, to watch a late afternoon comedy called Reba. I'm at the part of the series where an unemployed Texan woman, Reba, is finalizing her divorce, learning how to tolerate her ex's annoying new fiance, and raise three young kids. Here's the catch: her oldest girl, 17, is at least 3 months' pregnant, recently married to the high school boyfriend who knocked her up, still attending school, and they both live with Reba under the same roof, because the guy's parents kicked him out of their household.

Now...I like the show, and I'm not sure why. It's definitely not the comedy - the jokes aren't original, and in fact, I'm downright disturbed by how screwed up and dysfunctional the characters are. Ok, it's one thing to watch The Simpsons; it's another to see a family in real color. Perhaps it's the Texan accents which draws me to the show. I find that refreshingly unusual as compared to all those other New York / East Coast / Little Italy sitcoms. But I doubt it. I think it's because Reba's life has the potential to be utterly out of control, and yet she's managed to pull it together and hang on to her sanity. She's managed to take care of her children, despite ostracism from her own mother and the school that her daughter attends.

The character of Reba is real. She represents the choices - right and wrong - that people have made over their lives, affecting their journeys down the road. Comedy, I suppose, is a good way of presenting the issues and the problems...But I find it harder to laugh when I watch a show like that. There's too many "what ifs" that suppress the laughter (which doesn't happen often with this show).

Incidentally, the middle child (forgot her name) is played by the same actress who was Naomi Wildman, first child born aboard the Starship Voyager. She's grown, and NO, I'm not a Trekkie!

Happy New Year, folks. May life's infinite decisions take you down the paths of your dreams and amibitions. And if not, well, you didn't evolve your survival skills, your kiasu/kiasee iron determination, for nothing

2006-12-27T09:27:00.000-08:00

Patricia A. McKillip - finally, someone who writes short and sweet stand-alone fantasy, which is intruiging, and not filled with women's porn. I read one of her books, called Alphabet of Thorns, and I like her style, as well as the magnificent cover art that was done on her book.

John Robert Marlow - if anyone wants a synopsis of the ethical issues involved in developing nanotechnology, the pros and cons, its potentials, as well as an excellent, riveting plot, check out Nano. I do hope this will eventually come out in movie form. I'd love to see how they do the Golden Gate Bridge scene (as compared to X-men: The Last Stand, when Magneto rips the bridge off its struts). Poor Golden Gate! Nonetheless, a great book, highly recommended for geeks and the layman.

2006-12-13T11:28:00.000-08:00

2001: A Space Odyssey, by Arthur C. Clarke and Stanley Kubrick. An excellent sci-fi book that I've heard so much about, but only read myself because Danny picked it up at the library (yeah, I know, Danny - at the library!).

So that's where that funny dramatic theme song comes from...Ya know, the one where the apes are dancing about that black monolith.

2006-11-30T02:29:00.000-08:00

Ankle Bar...

It's depressing. I can only eat vegetarian, everything is in curry form. I can only drink and brush teeth with mineral water, and in my hotel room, I have to walk and bathe with my slippers on. Did I mention the complete lack of women everywhere I am? Even my coworkers with me are men. If I have to stay longer than I'm supposed to, I'm-a kill one of those cows on the street.
Of course, if I eat it, I'll get poisoned.
Oh, and those lorries, tuk-tuks, scooters and tiny cars. Man, they'd knock the socks off those Formula 1 racers.
Shiok, man.

Business Class...

I vow to be filthy rich so I can be just as demanding as those suited passengers around me.

2006-11-04T00:27:00.000-08:00

Elantris.

I'm not a big fan of wholesale fantasy, like Robert Jordan's or Terry Goodkind's dozen-book series. Those are monstrous reads that require dedication which is hard to come by. I like standalone fantasy novels like this one. It's predicatable, but sweet, and reflective of the times.

I like that the author, Brandon Sanderson, is probably a Mormon of sorts (I'm assuming, since he's associated with Brigham Young U.), yet in this book, the "pantheon of gods" are the good guys, and the "One God" has minions who are ultra bad guys. Of course, that's my own interpretation. Don't want to step on people's toes (and goodness gracious, these days people tend to have highly sensitive toes)!

I also like his dedication, which, if I remember correctly, reads:

To my mom
Who wanted a doctor
But got a writer
And is nice enough not to complain
(Too much)

Gosh, that potentially sounds just like someone I know...Hm, wonder who that could be? (Who, me?)

All in all, a memorable book because of the sweet and simple plot, beautiful concept and resonating dedication.

2006-11-03T09:21:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday, I put "THE END" on my four-part novella Origin series. Been working on these stories since I was sixteen, and my writing has changed and matured over each part of the series.

I have several hundred pages of material, and I know the next step should be to edit and submit. I'm nervous about that. I want my stories to come out, to see the light of publishing day. But will they ever? I can always hope.

I know what I'm going to write on my "Author's Memo"/"Dedication" page, if I ever have one:

Vampires, I am SO through with you.

2006-10-15T09:52:00.000-07:00

Ireland. For me, it's very name now conjures up images of rolling green hills amidst a gloomy landscape of unending fog and chilly winds. I think not of the troubles that has plagued this land, nor of it's current political and economic landscape. The image in my mind is of its nature and history, it's utter isolation, greenery as far as the eye can see, and the tangy smell of sea spray (the Atlantic or Irish, depending on where you are).

When I was in Dublin nine years ago, the tour guide/driver took us around town to see the sights. We went shopping (and ate 10 dollar McDonald's burgers for lunch!), ate incredibly sour tomato soup in a hotel cafe, and stood outside the gates of Bono's house.

We saw the Book of Kells at Trinity College, toured the Guinness brewery, and stayed 1 night at Waterford Castle. My fellow travelers, PT and CS, will remember that it was quite an eerie castle, especially since we had arrived at night, after traversing a lake by ferry. The castle was dark, poorly lit, and there were two ghostly-looking porters whom, on hinsight, weren't ghosts or ghouls, but probably a couple of college kids earning a living by working double and graveyard shifts, and just looked incredibly tired.

Then there was the "black cat" (I'm quoting CS now), the "huge toilet with ancient bathtub" and the "creepy bedroom" (the one with the humongous fireplace and the red leather chair that looked like it was for Dracula). I'm not surprised that we ended up sleeping somewhere else for that night, spooked out as we were about spending a night in a medieval castle for the first time.

Oh, and let's not forget the "porridge" we had the next morning. How were a bunch of Chinese people supposed to know that "porridge" in Ireland meant "oatmeal"? We were expecting rice, fish, spring onion, and peidan!

Granted, the castle was very beautiful in the day. It overlooked a forest that was a mix of rust-red, sandy-yellow, and green. And that next morning, the sun shone beautifully, warming me up from the cold.

Two memories of my trip to the Irish Republic resurfaced in my mind last night.

The tour guide/driver in Dublin brought my fellow travelers and I to a mountain, and we drove along a pretty isolated road. We walked some distance, until we arrived at what appeared to be a centuries-old ruin. I can't remember where and what those ruins were exactly, but I can recall gazing in wonderment at the black stone, gleaming from the forest dew, amazed at the fact that some Catholic monk must have spent his days within those ruins some six or seven-hundred years ago. I remember the tour guide pointing at a hole in the stones, saying, "That was the toilet."

Ok. Mood-killer.

My second memory was when our group was at Dublin airport, about to fly off to London. Another tour guide was biding us farewell. He said something in Irish Gaelic, which when translated into English, sounded very beautiful, and seemed to convey something of the magical mystery that was Ireland's culture, history, and mythology. It was the first time I had ever heard Gaelic, and though those words may not have been as beautiful as I remember, first impressions count. And that first impression influenced me greatly.

I can't remember what he said, nor can I deny that I may be romanticizing a bit. But I can attest that from that time on, I have been fascinated by things Celtic. I tried to learn a bit of Gaelic as a teen, but that didn't pan out because I had no reference point. I recently re-discovered that I like Celtic music, especially the type from the soundtrack of Riverdance.

Then, I took two Celtic classes in college and realized that my interest was more than just for "things Celtic". It was for classical history. If I'd had the chance, I might have done a second major. But rising tuition costs called for me to graduate quickly, so now I transmit that interest to my writing.

Through my personal researches into ancient history, and the classes I took, I learned a multitude of things about civilization, about the search for power, resources, and territorial bragging rights. One thing I realized about the past nine years has been this: going to Ireland has influenced me in a way that Places can. For some people, it is the sight of the Washington Monument, or the Lincoln Statue, and the emotions of patriotism that those images stir. For others, it is the sight of the Pyramids of Giza, or of the Great Wall, which convey the weight of history and absolute power and might to those who lay eyes upon them.

For me, that First Place was Ireland. There is magic in learning about a place's history and mythology, about the people who lived before me. I have tasted some of it in my learnings and travels, and hope to convey that magic in my amateurish way. It is worth holding on to.

By the by, I still have an image in my head of us all sitting in a smoke-filled pub on our first day in Dublin. We were all hungry and jet-lagged and PT was busy "praying". Still cracks me and CS up.

Copyright © 2006. All written works are the original creation of the author.

2006-10-09T13:23:00.000-07:00

How I spent my Mid-Autumn Festival

A thought occured to me as I stared at the 12%-larger-than-normal full moon on Friday. Where did the design of No. 16 come from? I mean, where did it really come from?

In this year's personal statement, I wrote about my dad being a great Elvis fan, who built his home to model that of Graceland, "pillars and all". Here is a picture of the front:

Granted the picture could show the pillars a bit better, but trust me, they're there. I can't help if the palm trees are 12 years old and are nice and tall.

Here is a picture of Graceland:

Do you see the similarities? There' s the pillars, the windows, and the large balcony. I never thought our house looked that much like Graceland, except for the pillars and, as it turns out, my dad clarified the matter this past weekend. While No. 16 is inspired by Graceland, the house was more accurately modeled after the Silverado Country Club & Resort in Napa Valley (built in the 1870s), which was featured in the 80s TV show, Falcon Crest (a show my dad watched). On the show, this location was known as the Del Oro Spa & Country Club.

Here are two pictures of the front of the Silverado, as well as a side view:

No. 16 has aspects from both locations: white paint, large windows, sprawling garden in front with palm trees, a central balcony and distinctly triangular roof.

So if Graceland and Silverado inspired the design of my parents' house, what inspired their designs? According to architectural history, these designs are known as American Greek Revival architecture. The classic trademark of these designs is the white pillars. This syle became widely popular on the East Coast during the late 18th and early 19th century. Its increasing widespread use is distinctly related to America's independence. The citizens and government of the new US of A wanted their buildings and structures, monuments and landmarks, to reflect their newly acquired democratic status. Aptly so, Greek and Roman designs (whose cultures are perceived as the Founders of Democracy) were mimicked to help express the new status of America in its architecture. The Greek Revival style is considered to be America's first "national architectural style".

A similar movement occured in Europe, where there was growing interest in ancient Greek art. Here is a passage I wiki-ed that talks about the influence of ancient Greek architecture: "In the wake of European interest in Greek art, America shirted from Roman forms toward the Greek style in the 1820s. This was caused by many factors: The War of 1812 caused Americans to feel contempt toward anything British, including architecture. The Roman, or Federal style, was no longer favored. Greece was now looked upon as the true home of Democracy, and the Mother of Rome."

As an example to illustrue the "Mother of Rome" point, here is a picture of the Pantheon, an ancient Roman temple:

And here is the Parthenon, a 2,500-year-old Greek structure, at least five centuries older than the Pantheon itself:
From Wikipedia: "The Parthenon (ancient Greek:Παρθενών) was a temple of Athena, built in the 5th century BC on the Acropolis of Athens. It is the best-known remaining building of Ancient Greece, and has been praised as the finest achievement of Greek architecture. Its decorative sculpture is considered one of the high points of Greek art. The Parthenon is an enduring symbol of Ancient Greece and of the Athenian democracy, and it is regarded as one of the world's greatest cultural monuments."

Now that you've come this far, return to the start of the post and scroll down, looking only at the images.

What struck me profoundly on Friday, as I stared at the shiny round moon in the sky, was this: How amazing it is that because of global communications, because of an increasingly well-connected, smaller world, an architectural design that is 25 centuries old has traversed all across Europe, spanned the Atlantic to the US East Coast, hopped along to the Pacific, and found its way to my tiny home country, to inspire the architectural designs of No. 16.

I love how this house, with its white pillars, triangular/angular design, and sprawling size is ultimately an expression of our desire to capture our own piece of history, and that this piece of history is an "enduring symbol" that is thousands of years old. It moves me to know how ancient the design of No. 16 really is. It moves me even more to know that because we have television, the Internet, cameras, because we have architects and design schools, we are able to build our own Parthenons.

No offense to those other house owners back home who have tried valiently (but weren't often successful) to imiate the house's design. Being biased, I believe that No. 16 is the best looking one and was the first of its kind back home. Know this, folks: you didn't just borrow the design of Graceland; it's far more than that.

Oh, and you need better architects.

And that's how I spend my 中秋节. Didn't get to eat any mooncakes, though, how sad is that?

Copyright 2006©. All works are the original creation of the author.

2006-10-08T01:49:00.000-07:00

I watched Infernal Affairs (無間道) some time ago back in Mountain Blvd, a great Hong Kong movie that actually had a good plot with no gong fu (some folks would find that blasphemous).

Tonight, I watched The Departed, a great film that is faithful to the original plot with a great cast. Half the time, I was very tempted to yell out what was going to happen next, but of course, the mostly-white audience of seemingly Irish descent might have stoned me to death first.

I wonder if there's going to be a part II and III? Hm...

Interestingly enough, one of the producers is Brad Pitt. Ha, what a hoot.

2006-09-28T10:04:00.000-07:00

"Plagiarism has its place - it's called ghost-writing."

- Action Ong, driving home from Cupertino last night.

I wasn't going to quote Danny at first, but that would have been ultra ironic, yes?

2006-09-25T20:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Pam,

Last night, I dreamed about you and me. We were back home, but somewhere underground, having discovered that there was a well beneath the swimming pool. The well was plugged up, and we decided, crawling around in the mud, that we would figure out a way to undo the plug and get the well flowing with water again. We asked Pa if we could pull the plug, and he said, "Sure, as long as you do it yourselves."

So together, we went back to the well and somehow managed to get the plug out. The well started to fill with water. At first, the water was quite mucky and disgusting (I won't mention what we saw in it - it's quite gross), but very quickly, we cleared the mess away and soon the well was brimming with clean, clear, cold and delicious-looking water.

We were both a sight: crawling in dirt, covered in mud (I know, we princesses don't like to get dirty), and who-knows-what-else. But we were absolutely happy because we had accomplished something.

I woke up today wondering why on earth I had such a strange dream. I found some time during work to look up "dream symbols". The Web has many such places where quacks can tell you what every single thing in your dream means, so I looked up "sister/sibling" and "well".

Dreaming about a well supposedly has something to do with sharing.

Dreaming about your sibling, especially your sister (and especially if you have a real-life sister whom you grew up with), signifies some aspect of my life that I shared with you.

Ok, I don't know how accurate those quacks are, but here's my conclusion: I dreamed that you and I shared a common goal. We worked together as a team and accomplished something. We grew up together and had our fair portion of cat-fights, arguments, happy times, and talks.

I don't know if my dream signifies something that happened in the past, or something about our future together. I hope it represents our bond as sisters, having grown up together, and the bond we will share as we grow old together.

I guess then, it would be appropriate to say: Happy Belated Birthday, Pam. I wasn't expecting to give you anything, and I don't know if this counts.

Love,
姐姐

2006-09-25T13:27:00.000-07:00

Nowadays I see a lot of people walking/driving/working with wireless Bluetooth headsets attached to one ear. Back home, you can't use a cellphone while driving, and in California, the same law is going to apply in 2008.

One day, we're all going to look like Borg: each with our own Bluetooth headset attached to our ear, blue lights flashing. Maybe our cellphones/PDAs/Blackberrys will become optic/neurogenic implants, attached to our eyes, so we don't even have to carry anything physically. Hah...

Speculative science-fiction.

2006-09-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

Once again, the saga of Temasek Holdings and Madam Ho Ching. Now, it has to do with the recent Thai coup.

Just now, KB asked me if Singapore Airlines was government-owned. I said "no", while drawing imaginery apostrophes in the air with my fingers.

2006-09-25T09:16:00.000-07:00

"Blossoms of pride gave forth seeds of contention and deceit, which sown into the hands of his fellows, yielded a harvest of rebellion." - Arena by Karen Hancock

2006-09-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

I think my student, Mael (not real name), is crazy.

And on that note, I think I need a raise. At least, at the end of the year when I've gained enough experience and undergone enough training.

I also need a self-imposed ban to stop reading books and start writing. However, the will is weak. Each of us have our hobbies and obsessions.

Did I mention I need a raise?

2006-09-11T23:44:00.000-07:00

I have been handed a colorfully illustrated pdf file of a book from China - a modern-day replica of Sima Qian's Shi Ji. Dr. Chen and I argued once or twice about the validity of the historical "facts" in the Han dynasty text. He believes in its truths like Christians believe in the Bible. Perhaps it is his Chinese upbringing, perhaps it is because he also happens to be a Christian. I believe history almost certainly never accurately records events. Dr. Chen insists he is right, because, he claims, the Chinese government has found artifacts that back up what Sima Qian wrote.

We could argue back and forth through our precious lunch hour, but neither of us will know because we have not experienced history first-hand, have we? Plus, I'm trying to eat, not philosophize...

Nevertheless, it's clear we both love ancient Chinese history. I intend to read the book. It will be difficult because my Chinese is rusty, and thus far, slogging through the text (I am at Da Yu's construction plans) has made me drowsy...but I think I will get through because of my interest in knowing what was written, even if it was by one man 2000 years ago.

2006-08-27T16:26:00.000-07:00

Another interesting piece of info:

In the recent X-men movies (I've watched all three), Wolverine is portrayed as a cigar-smoker. In particular, when I watched X-men III, I was struck by how Wolverine seemed to remind me of some other character I knew... However, in the X-men comics I've read so far (and I've perused quite a few of them), Wolverine is not a smoker. So what gives?

I watched the first X-men movie again this weekend. The screenplay is written by David Hayter.

Anyone who knows/plays Hideo Kojima's Metal Gear Solid series will know that Hayter is the voice actor for Naked Snake (aka Big Boss). Incidentally, Snake LOVES cigars to death.

Coincidence? I think not!

Forgive me, you comic-book lovers and video game players who might have already realized this, and all I'm doing is repeating what is already common fact.

2006-08-25T12:01:00.000-07:00

The Truth of Nature (written around 2001 after watching a BBC show about the African savanna, I think)

The grey wolf bays at the tarnished moon.
The cheetah races across the sandy plains
The vulture circles the empty skies
The mermaid swims the deep, silent oceans.

Across the world, through the universe
Nature calls and Nature kills
The hunter preys on the hunted
The strong overcome the weak
Which one are you?

A city wakes at the crack of dawn
A soldier marches in the dying sun
A mother weeps for her ailing child
A battle rages amongst the living hordes.

Across all time, through the ages past
Nature calls and Nature kills
No remorse nor mercy
Nature is careless about its choices
Survive, if you will.

Truth be told, we are really all alone.
Let it be said, to live we must raise arms.
Struggle day and night
We fight each other for survival
Selfishly we face all battle
We are warriors
We are hunters
We conquer the conquered
We prey on the hunted
We run from the unseen enemies and
faceless adversaries, strangers
We become the hunted.

Through the years, centuries and ages untold,
Nature calls upon the weak and strong
Nature chooses indiscriminately its kill
Nature cruel and Nature kind
Don't be fooled up in your mind
Deceiving is Nature's truth.

The hunters hunt the hunted
The weak are prey of the strong
Which one are you?
Which ones are we?

Copyright © 2006

2006-08-25T11:53:00.000-07:00

Melodrama

Drops of sweat glistened on the back of his head, amidst the foliage of his ebony black hair, like tiny fragile crystals of ice. Precariously hanging on to the tips of each strang, a simple flick of his head breaks the hold of each droplet, and they fall to the ground, shattering into irretrievable fragments, having lost their hold forever.

Written during JC2 one day in class, as I sat behind one of my classmates after lunch. Thanks, Shiyi!

copyright © 2006

2006-08-23T14:55:00.000-07:00

One of the hardest questions I had to deal with was: "What is your most significant vulnerability?"

It's not asking about my weakness (and I have many), nor is it really asking about my bad quirks (of which I have a few). I have considered an appropriate re-phrase of the question: "What emotional/physical aspect of your life has the potential to hold you hostage?"

Ell had a great answer, better than what I could come up with. Thanks!

Oh, and Stargate SG-1 is over, after 9 years. Well, there's still Atlantis.

2006-08-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

This is what it was like for me when I volunteered at the "happiest" ward in the hospital:

"During the morning shift, at half-past ten, I would direct 6-10 new moms (and some new dads) to a breast-feeding class. The patients would vacate their rooms, each carefully pushing a cot with the infants inside. Some of the infants would be peacefully sleeping as we headed to class. More often than not, they would join the rest of the ward's "Baby Chorus" in a boisterous song of "Wail Your Lungs Out". - excerpt from one of my numerous secondary essays.

2006-08-17T23:37:00.000-07:00

I'm probably not the first, but has anyone ever noticed how similar Mr. Mxyzptlk of the DC Universe is to John de Lancie's "Q" of the "Q Continuum"? Sure they don't look alike, but is you wiki them both, there are similarities...Hmm...Intruiging...

2006-08-08T15:23:00.000-07:00

Majulah Singapura.

Happy Birthday, my home. Live strong and free, and be your own. Someday I will join the ranks of those who have helped to build and to strengthen you.

2006-08-07T11:34:00.000-07:00

I read a lot of books, especially of the science-fiction, medical/scientific thriller, and fantasy genres. Every time I go to the neighborhood library, I make a beeline for the kid's section and have to avoid the stares of the librarian, the parents, and other tiny tots in there, because I'm kid-less and am making out with a pile of comic books (typically of the Superman/Batman/X-men/Tintin/ Asterix titles). Yes, I'm an overgrown kid in some senses. Aren't we all?

People here know very little about Tintin and Asterix. Probably because the comics are European in origin. But these, and the comics of DC and Marvel, are what I grew up with. I loved them as a kid, I love them still. My dad tells me he got those Superman and Batman comics in (surprisingly) an airport in Sydney (way way away from the USA), and I've told him to treasure those comics. They will make valuable antiques.

If I read any interesting books, or find any interesting quotes, I'll put them here.

Currently, I am reading "Wicked" by Gregory MacGuire, a re-telling of the Wizard of Oz from the POV of the Wicked Witch of the West. She may not be that wicked after all. And isn't that always the case in history, in stories, in myths and legends? The media/history books tell us (often) one side of the story. History is told by the victors, who become the heroes. It is one of the first things I learned in History class in Sec. 1: objectivity is an ideal, biasness is the reality.

But...people and society, cultures and story-tellers, all need their heroes. Those who epitomizes everything that the audience will love and adore. Then, there are the anti-heroes. Just like Jean Gerard of Talladega Nights is portrayed. He is in NASCAR-land, chief opponent. But he is 1) French, 2) of the Middle-Eastern phenotype, 3) Married with a husband.

Well. I suppose the anti-heroes also say something about the times, don't they? Perhaps the heroes are more eternal in their representation of good, but the anti-heroes are fluid, dynamic, reflecting what contemporaries fears and apprehensions are.

I digress and have gone on a terrible tangent.

My point is, I like sci-fi, fantasy, and comics. So there.

2006-07-24T13:11:00.000-07:00

Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber'd and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

The Kraken, by Alfred Tennyson, 1830

2006-07-21T10:32:00.000-07:00

Damn...I have a LOT of poetry (looking through my scrapbook here).
Oh Publishing Fairy, I'll be good if you send someone (ie, some publisher) my way! I promise I won't eat the tsuchinoko on MSG III, and I'll become pescetarian so I don't contribute to killing those poor cows along Davis anymore...Sheesh...how are you still vegetarian if you still eat certain types of meat (just not "red meat"), including fishes?

2006-07-21T09:17:00.000-07:00

Nostalgia and Reminiscence.

Here follows two poems and a song I wrote when I was younger (I even have a tune for the song). I was having nightmares and I felt a lot of frustration as a teenager. It is perhaps the one motivation I had to put my thoughts on paper, and has led me to this path today. Sarah always said I was a tortured soul.

Oh and please forgive any cheesiness. I wrote these when I was 15 or 16. At that age, everything you write seems original and excellent. And I was REALLY REALLY angry, in my own way.

Dreams (I suppose since that is part of the title of my blog, I have to have something, right?)

Dreams enter your mind
Creeping up behind you
All ready for the pounce

Sleep comes so fast
Then your dreams
Hit you

You know what to do?
You don't like what you see
But you can't run, you can't hide
It won't work
You can't escape
Those Dreams

Wake up
Scream in terror
You're drenched in sweat
Shaking with fright all over
Don't sleep
It'll happen again
You might not wake up
From your dreams, ever

Scream and yell
Kick and fight
Struggle to keep away
But sleep lulls
The Sandman beckons
Nothing can help
To escape
Your Dreams

Bird In a Cage

All alone like a bird in a cage
Isolated, sad and lonely
Why is it this way?
Others fly around free
Soaring, happy, joyful
Why them and not me?
Jealousy runs in my mind
Alienated, angry and mad
Wish I could be with them.

How my life was just like theirs
Feel like screaming but I can't
Why are they so happy?
Why am I so lonely?
Trapped like a bird in a cage.

Solitary and chained down
It's cold, oh so cold.
Am I the one to blame?
Others, they don't give a damn about me.
It hurts, it's so painful
To know they just don't care.

COPYRIGHT© 2006

Trying Not to Cry

Desperately,
You try to stay together
No matter how hard, no matter how long
You know that friendships last till the end of time.
Tearfully
You bring yourself together
There's no way out, you have to accept
Nothing lasts forever, never that way.

So walking down the road of life
At first you thought you'd never part
But in the end it all stopped short
You'll never get the things you lost
What can I say, what could I do?
It was all up to you.
As you ask yourself why,
You're trying not to cry.

Hopefully
You stand by each other
Through thick and through thin,
Won't matter when
No one knows how long
Your friendships can last
Maybe
Your final time together
Don't say so long, don't say goodbye
It hurts so much to see you part.

This was my very first song/poem, written when I was 14. Those from home understand that between 14 and 15, there is typically a shuffling/streaming of students into new classes, so that friends you've made the past 2 years are separated. This was, and still is, dedicated to Grace Ho, Elisa Chan, Teo Beng Wee, Elizabeth Chen, and Kimberley Wang. Hey guys, remember I.Y.F (In Your Face)? I am thankful I've found you guys again. Thanks Li-Lin.

COPYRIGHT© 2006
All works are the original creation of the author (me)

2006-07-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

The Cold Truth

Attention seeking
Leads to jealousy
Leads to hatred
Leads to emotional rage and thought of murder
And blood

Small and large scale
All the same
Human emotions are fragile
Bullshit
Through ages past logic fights emotion
Emotion wins
And many die

When logic wins
Emotion dies
And coldness ensues

Dual natures
They can't live with each other
For without one nature
The other nature ceases to exist

March 31st 2006

COPYRIGHT© 2006
All works are the original creation of the author (me)

2006-07-21T09:08:00.000-07:00

Not So Different After All

I am older
The word mother holding child
Says no

I have learned
I love people; can't stand them
Leave me alone!

No angst no pain
No anger no rage
No flow of thought
Empty boring slate

Even this is a cliche

Am I happy?
Yes
Am I sad?
Not really
Am I content?
Never
Am I free?
I truly will never be

Such if my life

Freedom lies in my mind
Freedom is in my heart
The freedom I seek I will never get
For that freedom could kill those I love
And the lack of freedom
Will consume the spirit that wants
To roam, to explore, to seek, to fly
To have my 5 lifetimes

No more angst that is true. Yearning is what I feel in my soul.
March 26, 2006

COPYRIGHT© 2006
All works are the original creation of the author (me)

2006-07-20T11:26:00.000-07:00

"Nothing is more difficult to exterminate than religion, no matter how false it may be." - sayeth the Emperor to the rebel Jubad in The Carpet Makers, by Andreas Eschbach

2006-07-14T09:09:00.000-07:00

Let me make a political analysis of the current situation in the mid-East, and regarding Israel's bombing of Lebanon.

KIDDING. All I know if what the media tells me. But here's something interesting:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MacDonald_House_bombing

In brief, once upon a time, before independence, when my dad was still a teen, a bomb detonated in Singapore in beloved Orchard Road. Who the culprits are is not important. The fact is, our dear LKY and the newly elected PAP came into power in such tumult and uncertainty. All those cheesy National Day songs about "uncertainty" and "troubles" have a very valid basis on the nation's past. So this National Day, I pledge to remember what our fathers' generation went through. I am glad for the stability of my country, and for LKY's paranoia about dissent.

Thanks for the enlightenment, DO.

2006-07-12T16:13:00.000-07:00

Alright I admit I'm not a poet (guess I don't chou yan enough, if you get my drift)...

Thai Fighters

Drenched, cold, slimy arena
Reeks

Bursting sunshine filtered through
Tap water
Splits in Newtonian fashion
Rainbow

Two contenders meander 'round each other
One with plume of Air Force blue
One with uniform of Communist red
Count the seconds...

Fight!

Iron muscles lash out like chains
Gnashing teeth tearing tender flesh

The Blue leaks red, zigs and zags
The Red turns and bites again
Blue loses magnificent plume; sinks mournfully
Red readies to blast again, beady eyes ferocious and hungry...

I scoop him up, back into his own glass jar
Before he can kill my Blue, tail-less fighting fish.

END

*All works are the original creations of the author (me).*
COPYRIGHT 2006

2006-07-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

"A Place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, renders it, loves it so radically that he/she remakes it in his/her own image."
- Joan Didion

Weathered books line the shelves in the Room of Self-Reflection, standing beside the fresh and new generation of nolves bought form airport bookstores. There is anarchy: bulky kids' encyclopedias are crammed awkwardly by Nancy Drew; a 1975 edition of Enid Blyton's Circus Days poses magestically with its red musky-smelling cover next to the $2.99 Archie comics. Running along one wall is a double-decker train of imposing Encyclopedia Britannica, each volume bound in charcoal leather covers with sun-kissed embossing. The books seat themselves too comfortably on the gleaming, lacquered shelves: a distinct dip has developed in one shelf like the bowing of a hammock, and the shedding of human skin, along with dust pollution, have settled neatly amongst the volumes as if they had always been one with the pulpwood giants.

Once upon a time, the Internet had not burst forth like a broken dam inundating individuals with infinitisimal details about Mao Zedong's concubines and Sherlock Holmes' cocaine addiction. Once upon a time, I whiled away hour after sweaty hour (I had no air-conditioning) flipping the precious clean pages of the Britannica books to learn about Stonehenge, Stalin, and silicon chips.

This Room of Self-Reflection in my parents' home is where my ruminations, my unsuccessful novellas and short stories, and my angry angst-filled poetry were faithfully spewed out like vomit: crude and indigestible. How I wanted my numerous projects to be as glorious masterpieces, singing to the readers' hearts like the voices of seraphim.

Two white-framed windows overlook the garden, in which my mother stills spends her Sundays wearing a straw hat and weeding desperately, maintaining the impeccable neatness of the lawn: sharp and crisp like the crunchiness of celery. Through the windows, I would gaze in reverent awe at the rising sun inevitably peeking through the horizon of angsana trees like the emerging smile on a mischevious child's face. The sunrise was always heralded by silence, just like the mango-orange rays, shrouded by the rich saturation of the tropical atmosphere. Even the crickets held intermissions as morning trumpeted its muted way into the world.

Once upon a time, I played oldies on my first guitar, a hand-me-down acoustic-electric Fender from my dad. The coffee-stained yellow gleams like the color of pearls, winking at me to play, as I used to, inspired by the crooning sounds from my dad and his band, a group of schoolmates, who gave themselves the endearing name, The Young Once.

For four years the Room of Self-Reflection has done plenty of self-reflecting. The bespectacled girl no longer pounds her head on the table, muttering apocalyptic curses at the high school exams. She no longer induces more myopia by spending her nights squinting at typed words on the creaky computer monitor. The ancient PC device has been usurped by a sleek 2-pound laptop. The pearl-yellow guitar leans casually like a weather-beaten cowboy against a wall in a bar. Yet its rusty strings shout disapproval at being so utterly neglected. And all this time, contemplates the Room of Self-Reflection, Anarchy still retains a foothold in the masses of Cellulose Land.

*All works are the original creation of the author (me).*
*COPYRIGHT 2006

2006-07-12T12:11:00.000-07:00

Wrote this one time when we went riding:

Sunday April 30, 2006

I never thought I would see a better spring day than this day in sunny Northern California. The hills were covered in a pelt of green fur that was not so much luscious and quenched but slightly parched for the summer-like weather and the recent, sudden absence of rainfall. The grasses were still as yet un-yellowed, un-burnt by the unforgiving sunshine, so they remained greenish-yellow and long, swaying in the gentle breezes that flowed through the hills from the Pacific Ocean and over the Peninsula ridges.

There were cars of all forms: weekend, sports, SUVs, sedans, beat-up trucks and RVs, which sped around the windy one-lane roads of Highways 92 towards Highway 35. There was the occasional big rig, carrying much sought-after refined petroleum to fill the bellies of the gas monsters which we have unintentionally come to depend our lives on. There were also creatures on two wheels zipping about: the Ducatis, Harleys, Kawasakis, Yamahas, Hondas, BMWs, Aprilias...Hundreds of times more powerful than horses, each rider confident and sure-footed upon their steeds, some carrying passengers, some galloping alone.

The springtime weather brings with it colors and new blossoms the likes of which I had not noticed before. I saw patches of lavender violets, pale but so numerous they appeared to form wispy miniature clouds of bluish fog over the grasses. There were many bushes sprouting with flowers of mango-yellow, unnamable, but everywhere, amongst the trees, on the sharp cliffs between the roads, and on the fields between the hills and precipices of Highway 1, where land meets ocean. Occasionally, I saw clusters of bright persimmon-colored tulips, startling in their brilliance that they appeared as lucious fruit. Even along the roads of Foster City Blvd, I saw royal purple sunflow-like blooms on the sidewalk, filling the streets with a color that was not present when I moved there last July.

And within the forests of Highway 35, there were white dandelions, small and quaint like little children, with yellow buds in the center of the petal plumes. Much of the green consisted of ivy - weed-like and pond-like. Some were of the ancient equinas species, the indomitable horse-tail, which tried to outgrow the ivy wherever possible.

The smell of dryness, grass, horses, fuel...they melded together as we zipped through what was left of the natural landscape from the memories of William Randolph Hearst and Robert Louis Stevenson. The land is marred now by giant grey snakes that have laid themselves all over the hills and through the valleys and crevices; these snakes with their great yellow bands along their backs, bright and in stark contrast to the uniform greenness of the forest which remains, and across their backs ride the gas monters and two-wheeled horses of new. Power lines and telephone wires drape lazily across the trees, so that when I stare across the acres of endless green, my line of sight is regrettably interrupted by those sizzling cables.

Yet the advent of technology and industry cannot mar the beauty of the Peninsula ridges. Daily in summer, giant white fingers curl over the ridges as the ocean fog lays down over the land to sleeps, as the world goes to sleep as well. And when the dawn arrives, and the fog lifts itself from the trees, the dark-green crowns of the earth gleam with moisture and vigor, for these deciduous trees - oak, redwood, birch, fir, and pine - never fade with winter, nor do they wither under the summer heat.

I do not want to regret never seeing these sights. I picture myself thus: leather-clad, helmet in ahdn, standing upon the edge of a cliff that overlooks the vast rolling hills. My steed stands silent behind me, quiet, engine hot. My fellow rider(s) beside me. And as we stand together, staring into the setting Californian sun, who keeps her appointment with the residents of the Orient, a sense of peace and joy are mixed with the melancholy I feel at witnessing such silent glory.

All works are the original creations of the author (me), and should not be reproduced without adequate citation of the writer.

2006-07-11T13:41:00.000-07:00

Great idea, Danny.

Now what should I post first...?

I am a creative writing-inclined resident of California applying for medical school, but nursing some thoughts about posting my work in the hopes of publishing. I've said it before, my inner critic loves slapping me back into reality and quelling the rebellious dissonance in my heart. But perhaps something good will come out of this, no?