As i scour the web for some advice and comments by people who have been there and done that, the rule of thumb from the crowd was that you never invite your ex(-es) to your weddings, except for “certain circumstances”. What “certain circumstances” mean ranges from courtesy to the downright dubious. Don’t know if you’re on to anything yet, but the general consensus is, “why bother?” if it ain’t making anyone happier. This the day you supposed to be the happiest, and you celebrate with the one you love the most, and the ONLY one you want to be with. Every other person’s feelings comes second. That includes your ex, and your parents. And definitely other assorted family members.
Perhaps the greatest trick to learn is to know how not to feel overwhelmed by the number of things that could go wrong at the wedding, so why add another to those possibilities? There’s an awful amount of politeness and correctness to be displayed, not to mention tact and organisational sense. And we’re not even stepping across the line to include children from previous relationships.
From thinly threading through message boards overseas and Malaysia, there’s an overall sense that my fellow country men/women would not give a heck, or even if they do, would still go ahead with their plans on who THEY want to invite. There’s so much courtesy involved in marriages in Asian customs which is primarily to be blamed for this. That’s just one thing, the other response breeds this idea; you think there’s nothing wrong about yourself inviting an ex over to your wedding, but the reverse situation is where all the alarm bells are ringing. And we tend not to hear it because it is often left unsaid. How many times do we, whether its the ladies or the men, put on a brave face and say “it’s ok” just so to make the counterparty feel better? So we don’t get into fights? This should not be one of ‘those times’. Not especially on your wedding day.
It’s surprising to see what our more “open minded western counterparts” have to say about this. Communication is seen as utmost importance, rather than the decision in itself. And as much as anyone would like it, the conclusion is reached together. Not me, not you, not your parents. That’s hardly philosophical if you remember the rule of thumb, because if he/she is worth the hassle to scratch your head whether or not to striker of THAT name, there’s some explaining to be done. In fact, there’s a helpful conclusion to this; if you’re still unresolved about this man/woman being at your wedding by the time the invitations need to be sent out, then he/she shouldn’t be invited. Simple, isn’t it?
Dr. Finner Williams believes it’s unfortunate that many people hold on to relationships that they think are much more special than they really are simply because they’ve known their ex for a number of years.
She warns future newlyweds to focus on their current relationship and avoid any situations that may cause either partner to feel uncomfortable.
“The time factor is irrelevant now,” she says. “You are now going into a new relationship where your husband or wife-to-be is the one whose relationship and feelings have to be superior to all of your history.”
“It doesn’t matter how long that per son has been in your life. It doesn’t matter if that person shares blood with you or not. In order to establish an atmosphere of trust in the relationship and for the question of infidelity to be dismissed, a couple needs to be comfortable with the friendships, relationships and socializations that their partners or the engaged person has.”
That’s just what the expert says. The more common user-defined experience would be, “if we’re great friends (after breaking-up), then why not?”. And so that’s where the “certain situation” thing comes into place. It’s almost always different with everyone, the time horizon, the places they met, the things they did, the words they said to each other.
A word of advice given to a user who sought advice on this was very simply put; if this person that you’re going to invite is still going to be prominent afther the wedding day, we’ve got some serious discussions that need to be done. In marriage, your friends are your partner’s friends. And your partner’s friends are yours too. If this friendship is going to make things awkward for the both of you, a solution must arise, be it ended or accepted. But be reasonable, and listen.
So my unapproving eyes met this user who described a friend (her ex) that she “CAN’T NOT have at the wedding cos he means so much to me”, who knew her husband to be from high school, and didn’t get along well. She and him were friends before she got together with her husband. Best (worst) part is she knows her fiance is not comfortable about it, but he’ll want her to be happy and invite the whole world. kidding, but you get the point.
She concludes by saying, “why must i destroy my friendships just because i’m getting married?”.
History should be kept away from the present for a very simple fact; history MAY repeat itself in the future. The mutualities that we share with another person is like playing with fire, we’re threading on thin ice knowing very likely we could fall. There’s just no excuse to say i tried and failed at marriage when we let a closed chapter make a comeback in a new book.
I subscribe to the above doctrine that says the length of time does not matter spent with a previous person does not matter, and should never be weighed into the current relationship, more so marriage. And the reason why no other friendship should mean more than your marriage is because your partner’s happiness is above it all. This is where the “blindly, over the moon and i’ll do anything and everything for you” period stops because marriage didn’t change a single thing for the both of you. Before marriage we’d think, i hope he/she never changes and we’ll stay like this forever. But a change is necessary. After marriage, you’ve gotta give it even more. Love each other more. Not less. Not even same. And when you go through your wedding album, you’re very likely not to want to see anyone else since no one else but yourselves got married that night.
Somber and dismal days
Relying on random devices
To relay words we wanna say,
And to the ringing the heart unfurls.
But where is the love, where is the touch?
I counted, and I don’t have much,
So where are you, when you’re not home?
So where do we want to be, when we’re alone?
So come together
You and I,
Stay within our reality,
And maybe you could stay with me
Cos how am I gonna carry you?
How am I gonna hold you?
When happiness is a place called home
But i’m walking there alone.
Come rain, come shine
I only ever want you to be mine,
The music, the pillows, the wine,
Baby i still see you everywhere,
But is Hollywood going to care?
And i only wished you’re there
When i’m walking home alone,
Walking till our feet hurts
Walking to where we want to go,
Walking to our very own home.
Cos, if happiness is a place called home,
Then let us build it together… patiently.
It felt like murder. The feelings were suppressed, inside of me, the extraterrestial ambiguous feelings that you had no idea you were capable for, all the while enveloping me as a lay next to the one i loved. It is never easy, never easy dealing with a feeling like that while being so close to the one you love. But there i was, with the craziest thoughts zooming about like a crazy horse leaving a blazing trail. I had to write. I had to write. It was murder.
I could not get my hands away without waking her up. The idea was not to understand why i was feeling this way, but the solution was a temp release. Beg your pardon but as i’m writing this, of course some words would have a shortened length as i would like to get my meanings across to whoever cared to listen. Perhaps, at the root of it all, there was nothing to feel to begin with. Life goes on, like a neverending tide, and the sea breeze that comes with it. You could not measure time, or rather, the meaning of time. So what happened in the last 5 minutes? I murdered my thoughts and my will to write. Closed my eyes. Continued to feel powerless. And then surrender fate, and my life to God. And when i get to heaven, i’ll be sure to notice that there were only ONE set of footprints there on the beach called Life, during this timeless moment. Timeless i say, because it was only 5 minutes, but 5 minutes which felt like murder.
The skies were evil. The panoramic sunset views were now red as blood. Dawn was approaching, but the bursting radiance of the sun seemed too far fetch to end this brutality alone.
Like Bush’s War on Terrorism, which seems to be missing the mark on targeting the right people, my posts on yoga, while intended to coincide with the Fatwa Council’s decision to look at yoga and addressing its “issues” and meant to promote discussion and debate, was caught in crossfires of broad-minded masses trying to address my shallow understanding of this world and how it world works. We all have an entitlement to opinion afterall. As long as it does not impedes national security (lest you be cellmates with Raja Petra) but that’s another matter altogether.
So while reflecting on comments here and there, yes, a few books does not make me smarter, or more in tune with Jesus. In discussions with many people, there is a general denial of us being part of a me-scentric society. Look, it’s not wrong to be concerned about yourself, don’t get me wrong here. And doing it because everyone else is doing it isn’t wrong either.
The fact of the matter is that while we’re going for all this upside potential in life, what are we giving up? There is an opportunity cost in every decision i.e the road not taken, the book not read, the job not done, the time not spent, the money not earned, the soul not saved. In being subservient to culture, are we being in the danger of relegating Jesus, our Lord and Saviour, to just another faith, just another religion, just like Scientology, or Jehovah’s Witnessses, or worse, just another way of life, another path to Heaven?
That’s what Creed (yes, that rock band) implied if you believe what Good Fight tells you here. Of course, in the eyes of the non-believer, Christianity is just another religion. Every follower of any religion thinks theirs to reign over the rest. Or at least serves their philosophies, thoughts and purpose better.
But in a way i’ve not seen before among Christian ourselves, religious tolerance have been trumpeted (and for good measure, since peace is all we love) to include ourselves, a salvation based faith privilieged with the cleansing blood of Jesus, with among other faiths. While in recent memory, some rogue Christians have served to undermine the faith from within, it shouldn’t change the fact that among ourselves, we should view our own God, Creator of all things, reign supreme. We have Buddhists prioritising Buddha, and i’m not belittling other religions here, but are we, as Christians, prioritising Jesus?
Of course with everyone question asked, comes the scrutiny of the intentions of it?
Am i accusing anyone?
No.
What am i implying here?
I’m saying that as Christians, we should prioritise God first, and seek Him first.
Am i saying Christianity is above all other religions?
No! Jesus came and died for our sins, that we may be forgiven. And He will come again. And He will save all those who truly believe in Him, and repent from sins. In no way am i saying that this is better than yours. Christ died for the world, that is the theme and message he bore and the weight of all our sins. And i’m saying that as Christians, and those who professed believing in Him, should take heart and revisit their foundations of faith as often as possible. And pray. Pray like there’s no tomorrow.
I cannot dictate what others should believe in, but at least, brothers and sisters in Christ, should remind me to keep my eyes on Jesus, because some days, i may be weary and i’m only human.
Sorry it took me so long to respond. I am glad you’re getting settled in Australia; I hope you do find a likeminded fellowship soon. Let me know how you like the AOG.
We definitely agree on where this world is headed…you wrote, “And then it occured to me that the great Christian divide will be one of Christians who compromise their faith and beliefs, and those who don’t.” I think that is VERY true. I couldn’t agree with you more, and I praise God for your discernment in Him.
Later, you wrote, “i just hope i would be steadfast and stand strong.” Brother, I think that is such an important thing for us all to cling to as the last days approach. So many places in the Word admonish and warn us to stand fast, endure to the end, persevere, finish the race. We’ve got to remain passionate for Jesus or we run the risk of becoming lukewarm.
i’m probably thinking of posting that email in my blog too, perhaps after i post on some detriments of yoga in contrast against Christian living and beliefs. I thank God too for allowing me some sense of discernment but i probably need to pray more and find a deeper motivation to try to talk to fellow Christians here and there.
I think it’s an unbelievable task to try to reach out to people, the difficulties in overcoming the stereotypes already present in their minds, the unwillingness to listen gets to me quite quickly. i still don’t know if blogging is God’s idea of the way i could try to do that.
i watched a talk show the other day here called Insight, which debated the use of embryionic stem cells for research. there were many guest debators, professors from UNSW, Sydney Uni, Melbourne Uni, accident victims, a priest, a catholic doctor and some other people. Some of their comments were really appaling, especially when they were debating on where does life begins, and the right of a baby and the parent.
one such comment was that this lady, got pregnant at age 21, didn’t have any ‘emotional attachments’ to the baby, and decided in such a case, it was better off to donate ‘it’ to research. but what was hard to accept was that the Christian viewpoint is seen as a hindrance to scientific advancement, and that we are following antiquated rules which hindered natural advancement in society.
And then it occured to me that the great Christian divide will be one of Christians who compromise their faith and beliefs, and those who don’t. This conflict i believe will turn the church and bite us from inside out. There are those who are in favour of advancement, even if there are some contradictions (as i have listened to a Jewish doctor in the show describe his interpretation of Judaism and its scriptures) and those who do not, and tries to make a stand against such advancements.
And it’s hard to compromise on matters with such huge implications. I was left pondering, how we are all being attacked by Satan on so many fronts and we only have our Bibles to defend ourselves. And the battle has even proceeded to making claims and interpretations of our Bibles and tell us what to believe and what should not be adapted into today’s society. Those who hold firm to their beliefs will be called stubborn, and those who bow down to the demands of society would be glorified beyond reasoning, one that has great powers of discernment and understanding. They would be the leaders of the downfall of Christianity and the architect of the bridge which condones the defilement of scriptures by faithless people who think they know better.
All this occured to me while looking at that talk show. It bothers me still, that’s probably why i’m sharing it with you. I’m not expecting you to agree, but perhaps to some degree i am prophesising. I hope it doesnt happens, but my gut feelings are that it probably will, and must come to pass.
i just hope i would be steadfast and stand strong. it’s much easier to say things like this and fall like everyone else instead of holding true to what one may believe in. But i believe that God would lift me, and perhaps with faith, hope, and love one would be able to overcome all trials and tribulations. i’ll stop here for now. God bless you Kristen, i love reading ur blog.
Thank you for that incredible e-mail. I agree with you WHOLEHEARTEDLY and am thankful that you discern these things. God bless you!
You wrote one of the most profound things I have read recently: “But it seems to me it is a task of enormous proportions to even convince our own fellow Christians that New Age theology and philosophy is poison. Our Bible is being defiled, our rights to voice as Christians are being limited, the Bible is being disregarded with many of people’s own interpretations and yet our community is so damnably quiet.”
I hope you do choose to blog on this and related topics. I pray that you are speedily settled in Sydney and are able to find godly fellowship.
I’m sorry for taking a long time to reply, i’ve just settled in in
Sydney. i’m in my final year at uni and being an international
student, there were a few things that required me to do and also look
for accomodations and furnitures etc.
In Malaysia, no matter how much we play down we ought not to follow in
the cultural and societal movements of the West, we still fall prey to
the degree by which Western societies advance. The ‘endorsements’ of
many celebrities are taken as literal advice and people follow blindly
in achieving it. The collectively thinking is that “if many Westerners
are trained in these exercises, why not us?” “It probably wont harm us
anyway.” “It’s just exercise and for a peace of mind.”
I believe Yoga, like many other New Age philosophy undermines people’s
belief as it transcends across religions, stretching and uniting many
into one. I ache in disbelief while looking how many ‘religions’ could
be united under yoga, since its meditation is supposedly able to
facilitate “meditating to your own God”. i’ve seen Buddhists, Hindus,
Christians and people of other believes unite in gym classrooms for yoga and pilates classes.
The worst feeling is the way how Christians so easily let go of their
faiths and beliefs and flock to exercise or achieve peace of mind
without first looking it up. I feel Christians themselves do not
know/feel targeted at all, when they are all the time, and they walk
around believing they are shielded by Jesus when their minds are under
constant threat. I am sceptical about the will of human hearts, since
we are born sinners, and unless we keep our minds on Jesus, the devil
lurking will seize the day and manifest in us.
But it seems to me it is a task of enormous proportions to even
convince our own fellow Christians that New Age theology and
philosophy is poison. Our Bible is being defiled, our rights to voice
as Christians are being limited, the Bible is being disregarded with
many of people’s own interpretations and yet our community is so
damnably quiet.
It’s not just yoga which is poison, but the whole New Age movement,
something i’ve come to notice only a few years back. Which is why i
extensively try to dig up many of their movements and beliefs. I have
heard of Alieter Crowley i believe in a book called Dark Secrets of
the New Age by Texe Marrs. That was my first introduction to New Age
theology. It all masquerades as light in a dark world, providing
comfort to those who seek it. But what i think, paralel and partially
influenced by Texe Marrs and a few other authors on such topics
(Embraced by the Darkness, Brad Scott and some others which i do not
have with me here) that the whole movement is a masterstroke of Satan.
All his cunning and devious plotting has finally led to today, and
what he’s going to bring is hordes of insurmountable philosophies
drowning the world to confusion of what is right and wrong, that an
open mind is key to understanding this world and the promises of
riches on earth.
While many disasters have threatened to turn this world upside down,
this plan is beyond what is conceivable by mere human. Even Hitler was
stopped, perhaps strongly showing the path to destruction is not a
violent one. Instead, it unite a whole world together. But only from
unity there can be separations, because fragments cannot be much more
separated than they already are. Immorality and sin is spread not of
violence or hate anymore, but from love, peace and joy.
Back to yoga. Logically speaking, yoga’s roots are not ‘mystical’ like
some who don’t know anything about it put it. It must have sprouted
out from somewhere and feel ashamed of those who don’t try hard enough
to know. Since its roots are from Hinduism, there’s hardly any logic
that one could separate the meditation aspect to suit all religions
and all gods. And the Lord hath said, thou shall have no other gods
before Me.
Although it is merely a comprehension if my mind, i’m beginning to
somewhat feel, see and realise how things in the last days are shaping
up. I can feel things like yoga are only a start as to what might
sweep over this world carrying all the devious plans and lies of Satan
that the Bible predicted in the last days, ‘where even the strong and
steadfast might fall’.
This is already an ultra lengthy email. i guess i should stop here.
i’m really glad that you are aware of the potential detriments of yoga
and new age philosophies. unfortunately, not many do based on the
replies i get from the email i sent out to a number of fellow
Christian bloggers.
Wow, what a great e-mail. I am so glad to see that you are wondering about this topic–and after I tell you what I think, I would love to know your own thoughts. How popular is yoga in Malaysia? I would think it would be very big.
I have not blogged about this, though I’d be open to doing so. My bottom line is this: I know about yoga’s spiritual roots, and I don’t think it’s something a Christian should participate in. I’ll answer your questions in order.
1. How aware are you about the origins of yoga, the implications of the exercises performed?
I know about yoga’s origins in India, and that it is definitely considered a spiritual discipline, and has been for centuries. The ‘kundalini’ force is often mentioned in connection with certain types of yoga–and ‘kundalini’ is likened to a serpent. Aliester Crowley, a satanist who mapped out the New Age movement way back in the late 1800s and early 1900s, was a huge proponent of yoga in all forms. His writings gained massive popularity during the 1960s counterculture revolution in the States. (Crowley also advocated psychedelic drug use, promiscuity, perversion, syncretism, etc.) More info on him can be found on www.goodfight.org, on the “They Sold Their Souls for Rock N Roll” tapes, or my favorites, “Rock N Roll Sorcerers of the New Age Revolution”. They’re free if you can’t pay…just tell Steve (info@goodfight.org) that Kristen told you about them.
2. What do you personally feel about yoga?
If I hadn’t seen Joe Schimmel’s research, I don’t know what I’d think. I remember as a young Christian, kind of wondering about it. I think I knew there was supposed to be a spiritual connection.
I got a Pilates DVD that, I discovered, has some basic yoga poses on it (like ‘warrior’). I never really answered the questions that came up in my mind at that point: is it possible to divorce the spiritual and physical aspects of yoga? Does one have to intend to call up demons to have that effect? Can it just be exercise?
I don’t know. I don’t want to experiment, I’ll tell you that!
3. Does the mysticisms of yoga and the fusion of Eastern philosophies play a part in convincing the masses of its effectiveness?
Honestly, I can’t help but see all of that–the whole influx of Eastern mysticism that has been flooding America this and last century–as part and parcel of the New Age deceptions Satan is introducing in these last days. 4. Do you find yoga appealing? Would you give it a try?
I think I answered that one…no. In my flesh, yes, I find it appealing because it seems relaxing and non-competitive. But knowing what I know, I won’t do it.
5. Does yoga contradict doctrine? (Jesus certainly never spoke of contorting limbs for any purposes)
I believe it does. The Bible warns us to keep watch and stand fast; our enemy is prowling about, seeking whom he may devour. I believe yoga and all other Eastern mysticism is clearly a device and ploy of the enemy to keep people deceived and to keep them from turning to Jesus. I don’t see yoga as being compatible with a Christian walk, though I am not saying that Christians in America who go to a yoga class are unsaved. If I were a friend of a Christian like that, though, I’d warn them against it.
Thanks for a very interesting and good question! I,
personally, know almost nothing about yoga directly.
I have heard in Christian circles that it is dangerous
because it mixes in “Eastern religions” (whatever that
means!). I think the people who say that probably
don’t know much about yoga either – they just pass on
what they hear.
Anyway, I’ll put yoga on the list of things to post
about, and when I have time, I will do some proper
research into it and give a balanced post (I hope)!
Thanks for your e-mail, and have a good day!
Joe
michael
to me
show details 2/4/05
Hi – I’d have to plead ignorance, although I am suspicious of Yoga, just
like I am of horoscopes and other things that appear to replace God as a source for supernatural healing and direction.
reindl
to me
show details 2/5/05
Hello,
I’ve tried as best I can to answer your questions, and I just included my responses within your framework. The truth is, I’ve never really thought about yoga, so I don’t have much of an opinion about it. Take care brother.
Tom
Martin
to me
show details 2/5/05
Hi,
I’m sorry, but I don’t really have too many thoughts on yoga. I feel
that with any of these Eastern disciplines, Christians need to take care
not to get too deeply into the spiritual side. But I imagine that it is
possible to do yoga exercises without the spiritual component.
Martin Roth
Dory
to me
show details 2/4/05
I am sorry, but I know nothing about yoga. I do understand that some
Christians object to it because of its ties to mystic religion. However
others enjoy the exercises and practice them without the meditation. I do
not have any experience with yoga, and so I have not formed an opinion of my
own. I am sorry I cannot be more helpful.
God bless you,
Dory
Brad
to me
show details 2/4/05
I certainly think there is nothing wrong with relaxation and paying attention to your body. BUT yoga mixes mystical and speculative philosophies which directly contradict the Christian worldview. For example, how do we attain “peace of mind”. The biblical idea of peace or shalom is found in knowing God and imitating God’s moral attributes namely love. It is often that peace would be taught through yoge by clearing the mind of desire or other Buddhist ideas. I think to the extent that Buddhism is mixed with yoga or other speculative ideas about the path to enlightenmment or peace to that extent I would stay clear of yoga. So the problem is not “being aware of one’s body” but Buddhism.
brad
2 reasons for this post: 1) it’s dug out from my gmail from a few years ago where i had initial concerns about yoga’s popularity, and at the time i promised to make known what were most people’s responses.
2) now if you don’t mind you could always have a look at the questions, (and skip the blah from here on) and give your comments or mail me.. (i can tell from my blog stats how many sees this post, vs how many comments, so that in itself is good data for me, thanks, since it probably means ppl have no idea)
Below is a long winded email i sent out to at least 15 blogs from across the world, to mostly Christian bloggers in America where movements such as yoga are not just a recent phenomenon, unlike the way yoga centres are mushrooming around in Malaysia with all style and no substance. When i say no substance, it’s mainly because people do not usually have a clue what yoga is really about. Most have associated it with exercise. Anyway, the questionaires were sent and responded to in 2005, but the recent Fatwa Council which banned Muslims from practicing yoga reminded me of this abandoned mission which was due to the lack of worthwhile responses locally.
There was no fuss about exercise afterall. People asked, “Why did you even bother?”
Had a few fruitful emails with several respondents, which will be followed on a separate post as to not tax your eyes and patience.
Hi Kristen, i’m Weng Kit from Invisible Footprints
(invisiblefootprints.blogspot.com) from Malaysia and i’d like to know
about what fellow Christians think about yoga. Yoga is quickly gaining
fame and publicity after being endorsed by many celebrities
(beatles, john mclaughlin, geri halliwell) and people who have tried
it says it works as a slimming exercise but its roots are very
mysterious. I am deeply sorry if you have posted an article on this in
your blog which i did not notice, then perhaps you could kindly direct
me to the link of the article in your site.
1. How aware are you about the origins of yoga, the implications of
the exercises performed?
2. What do you personally feel about yoga? (this is where you use your head and think, not question, unlike question one, where deals with what you know, here you tell what you feel)
3. Does the mysticisms of yoga and the fusion of Eastern philosophies
play a part in convincing the masses of its effectiveness? (i.e traditional medicine over western doctoring)
4. Do you find yoga appealing? Would you give it a try?
5. Does yoga contradict doctrine? (Jesus certainly never spoke of
contorting limbs for any purposes)
You don’t have to answer according to the above structure, it’s just
some rough questions i hope that may serve as a guide to getting you
to speak of what you know about this subject. Btw, this is not any
forwarded email, it’s just a personal research i’m conducting which i
would plan to publish in my blog later on. I find this topic deeply
intriguing and disturbing at the same time; regarding this as a start
of a new age of beliefs that could surpass religious doctrines and
beliefs.
Perhaps if you have more to share about this or anything else, pls do
email me. Thank you.
KUALA LUMPUR: There should be an intellectual renaissance to open up and liberate the minds of students, and this should start in the universities, said Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak.
“Our education system must change. Our children are just not curious enough. They must be curious about the world. They must ask questions,” the Deputy Prime Minister said.
In Ipoh last night, Najib, who is the Umno deputy president, urged members to return to the foundation of their struggle and be sincere if they wanted the party to be strong again.
Opening the second Umno Veterans national annual general meeting, he said members should follow the example of Umno veterans who placed the party’s interest above everything else.
After cutting thru all the long-winded stuff politicians normally say, to points to be noted from today’s headlines. Is Malaysia ready for a curious public? And where are the priorities of politicians; are they to the party or to the public? While senior politicians have asked for caution in relating well-publicized American elections, which culminated in having the first African-American voted as President, to our very own, are our politicians ready for a liberated public where one is urged by his own consciousness to speak freely? With a government still so unused to being criticised and being painted black, the public eagerness to sought for open questioning will undoubtedly change the status quo.
And i would welcome change. I’m unfazed by the state of our education here, I don’t know what the literacy rate is like, but i’m not expecting it to be great. Globalisation calls for adaptivity. How are we going to be global and compete when we speak a minority language?
Rarely do i feel disturbed by comments made by people on various issues whether it’s on news sites, on random blogs i visit or anywhere anyone feels free to put a foot down and stamp a comment regarding anything.
Full comment here reproduce without any permission:
Takeda Shingen: I think that judging Soi Lek’s ability to perform his job with the issue of the morality of him having an extra-marital affair is like comparing apples to oranges.
Firstly, if Soi Lek was a Muslim, he could have taken his mistress on as a second wife and this affair would be a moot point.
It is only because non-Muslims are lumped into the ‘Christian’ view of one life partner that we find him immoral. Look at the Mosuo women in China who practice polygamy with multiple husbands.
Is this wrong? If a man/woman has all the means to looks after multiple partners fairly, why can’t his/her actions be deemed ‘moral’?
The question that should be asked here is, ‘will this extra-marital affair effects his ability to do his job?’
John F Kennedy was famously rumoured to have had an affair with Marilyn Monroe. The FBI produced evidence of Dr Martin Luther King having a mistress.
John Edwards was recently thrown into scandal over the ‘love child ‘from his affair.
But did these instances stop them from achieving the righteous goals they strived to obtain?
John McCain himself had an affair which led to him divorcing his first wife. Yet people still believe in his leadership abilities.
In Korea, there are laws that passed out prison time for adultery. These laws have been objected to because it infringes on our freedom.
The reason Chua Soi Lek was voted back was because, until the infamous video was leaked people, people still believed he did his job well and that he is also a victim of a political assassination.
What you do in private, so long as you do not violate anyone’s freedom, is your own business. And as long as your private life is separate from your work, it should not be used as a tool to judge you at your job.
Before i make any critical assessment of the person i do not even know, i’ll agree with him that in issues of governing, one does not necessarily need to know if someone has ever cheated. He was voted back probably because people think he will serve their interest well and better than other candidates. He was the best there is, whatever that means.
However, if an act can be morally deemed wrong, i.e with the test being if you were the victim, would you just shout “shit happens?” or do you go into a rage about what constitute publicly accepted moralism, then that act is not justifiable in the society we live in. Concerning Kennedy, sure he made a fine President, presided over a time where liberalisation was all the buzz, free love and free sex and the Beatles were celebrated. Women were being liberated. But if Kennedy shags your wife, do you beat him to a pulp or do you give your utmost blessings for him to run beloved America? Like democracy, utilitarian rules help shape public opinion on ethics and morality.
All your heroes happen to live swell lives. You don’t get married to tell your wife you love her and shag someone else. Not even if you have the flipping cash for child support, insurance and tertiary education for a football team. You can divorce her, and marry your mistress, but that’s a little fickle and selfish, and defeated the point of your first marriage. It’s legit and natural to be bashful about so-called leaders, since they set the tone on a broad level. You want a role model, someone perfect, but they only exist in the ideal world. In our world, we select the “best candidate for the job.” In this case i agree with you. Just that i find even the mere thought of considering affairs as a normal course in life a little disturbing.
Polygamy and adultery, depending on which way you see it, has always been a spiteful debate. Some societies practice it, some wholly against. Blaming Christian views is an oversimplification of facts. The sanctity of marriage is signified by love and vows made to one’s partner, and one of common sense. When you fail to keep that vow, how would i know if you can keep any vows or promises. What assurances does one have that he will live up to keeping harder promises to people he does not even know, but claims to care so much about? Whether or not an affair affects the ability of one person is a moot point to begin with. Depending on how you measure performance, there’s not a single way to quantify if the affair has a bearing on him. But it certainly has a bearing on us. Because we might not trust him anymore. That matters. Not your liberal stance and your questionable claims about what constitutes freedom.
While the disorder affects people differently, individuals with bipolar disorder during the manic phase tend to be much more outgoing and daring than individuals without bipolar disorder. The disorder is also found in a large number of people involved in the arts.[28] It is an ongoing question as to why many creative geniuses had bipolar disorder. Some studies have found a significant correlation between creativity and bipolar disorder. Though studies consistently show a positive correlation between the two, although it is unclear in which direction the cause lies, or whether both conditions are caused by a third unknown factor. Temperament has been hypothesized to be one such factor.[29][30][31]
A series of authors have described mania or hypomania as related to higher accomplishment, elevated achievement motivation and ambitious goal setting. One study indicated that greater-than-average striving for goals, and sometimes obtaining them, corresponded with mania.[32]
It’s of no concern to me that I seem NOT to be able to write without inspiration, that thoughts and words do not freely flow unless there is an impediment to address, an annoyance or hindrance in my mind that I would wish to set free. I do find that I am more inclined, and able, to write in more deeper, darker hours of the year, which even upon reflecting at a later date, would take some discerning power to understand that depth for which I have used words that conjure up meanings of that moment, but maybe do not in itself constitute my very own general opinion.
It’s not saying that i wished, or do not wish to have some form of depression for which i could feel sorry for myself, and write myself jolly, or lament about my inability to come up with masterpieces all the time. The fable of “every now and then” is good enough for me, and as i wirte to you all now, i know that substance is clearly lacking up until this very point. And maybe further beyond too. For i’m telling you that clearly, I have things to write about, things to say, lament, complain, contradict, comprehend or whatnot, and that while the subject matters vary, time does not standstill for me to ponder and find my words.
The parable of the “who moved my cheese?” series, seemed to glorify the journey, rather than the destination or result, something about the changes we encounter and learning to savour it. And it’s obvious that during the journey our minds think more, wander more, and find more meaning. But it’s not to say that now i have my cheese beside me, life is less meaningful. Just that my opinion about everybody and everything else does not matter much anymore. Just her opinion of me.
I clearly have nothing creative left to write. And not that I’m sad about it. Inspired days will come back.
The 3rd quarter is usually the time where we reflect on the first half and try to pick up where we left off in the arbitrary cut off. Sadly, like the world economy, the 3rd quarter forecasts look gloomy with the inflation piling on the expensive and dismal first half. But to every downside, there’s always positives to look at. One such thing you can imagine is the humongous room for improvement. Putting things into perspective requires the multitasking, micro-managing human being to be able to sort the comings and goings of the sparse year gone by. Fear not, inability to do so does not spell certain doom, but the that question arises is that if you can smell where you are going? Forgive my ambiguity, though i may not be writing riddles, or writing in riddles, i am writing about life. In general. The spaz about the clicheness in bringing to light the global plight is just a fancy, whether you like it or not. It’s almost as if like the whole paragraph is a metaphor for thinking aloud “where the flipping hell are we getting at” and all the surrounding uncertainties we face, daily and eventually.
Accentuating the unpredictable would be too grand a topic for this blog. And now, who cares bout theories anyway. Let me act intuitively, with or without my long island iced tea. I’d like to think it’s still possible to be young and reckless today and tomorrow.
Bob Johnston: I believe in giving credit where credit’s due. I don’t think Dylan had a lot to do with it. I think God instead of touching him on the shoulder he kicked him in the ass. Really. And that’s where all that came from. He can’t help what he’s doing. I mean he’s got the Holy Spirit about him. You can look at him and tell that.
“You can’t be nice to everyone, and you certainly can’t afford to please everyone around you. The words you utter so carelessly sticks in other people’s minds. You have to bear in mind the weight of your words, the significance it brings and the hope that it gives other people. You have to remember what you say, because words are an action in itself, and the kindness you exuberate becomes a tangible feeling one would use to evaluate who you are. You do not allow yourself to say things you don’t really mean, I mean, I stress the word really because at that moment you might actually mean it, whether real or half-heartedly only you know. And you might find yourself in a position where you are not ready to stick to the meaning of those words, or you may not mean it anymore. You’re great, you’re kind, nice and understanding, but this cruel world will judge you in your absence, and your mind is judged by your actions and words. You encourage and give hope to the people around you. But your precious friends, when they find your words only give rise to a sincerity existing only in the heart, they will be hurt beyond repair. I will be hurt. I took your words seriously, when you asked me to keep my promises. I hope you know what I mean.”
He left on a bus to the city. Those were the last words I heard from him. Some said that he went abroad but I could not be sure. I get on by, still occasionally thinking about the person he rather not know about. I was still puzzled by his words, and up until now I could not understand what he truly meant. All of his words were always very subtle, and its meaning like a riddle, which you have to think with feelings. Imagine my surprise when I received a box from him, in it was a picture of him in a coat. The weather looked harsh and I wondered how he was really doing. How much of him have I really missed? How much did I want to ask him what he truly meant with those last words? There was a letter which I was not prepared to read at the lift to my apartment, so I kept them safely in the box again. The picture had some scribbling, words which read “Dear Sal, I hope you’ll agree…”. He was always so subtle, equally with words and thoughts. I sat by the dining, now ready to peruse through the box. I still hate to think that I had hurt him somehow. A letter. And a picture of a girl standing beside him, her head leaning on his shoulder. It read:
“Dear Sal, I hope you’re doing fine and getting by. As you can see, it looks like I’ve found a girl, and we’ve started striking off a good number of things on our lists; both hers and mine. Ski, puffer fish sashimi, searching for the best crème brulee ever, Greece, Italy, Japan, sunsets at the beach- the things I promised to do with you together. I’m sorry. I would have loved to experience all this with you in my first time, but was just not possible. I remember my lengthy speech the last time I saw you, and would not let my words stand alone here. They would be devoid of any meaning, since it’s just a piece of paper that you are holding. Doing the things that I mentioned, were richly rewarding and I got to know myself better. I would not have such a list if I had not met you. But rewards are nothing if they are not what you want. I still keep it in the notebook you gave me. I minced my words in the past, but I will not here. It was painful doing the things I want to do with you with somebody else. You’re the last person I want to do all the sweet things that we can find. You’re truly the last person I ever want to do it with. Because there’s no other person I want if I have you by my side. PS. Look at the picture of me with my back facing the glorious Alps.”
The picture was scribbled with words “Dear Sal, I hope you’ll agree…” as if asking me to look around for more clues. I flipped the picture to find words, words which accompanied by a ring. The words that end the sentence were, “…to be the last person I would do anything together with and spend nothing but tomorrows together.”
And I recalled all your schemes and dreams, the plans moving me… and the sense that you made.
*** title adapted from Better than Ezra’s “Howdoesyourgardengrow” album.
Some wiseguy on crack once declared that two people in love have their souls merged in an otherworld plane no one can comprehend or see, enveloping themselves as closely together as possible and distancing themselves from others. He proclaimed it was a phenomenon just like gravity; so little people understand it, yet everyone is affected by it. They said love is in the air, and he said, just like gravity.
There was no rebuttal, no snappy comebacks, for most people knew he was not joking at all. He was on a crusade to make his point and went to great lengths and depths to point them out. For one, he drew a Starry Night, with a man on the sidewalk with a vacuum cleaner, trying to suck in the stars and turned it in for the arts festival. The reason for this he explained, was that vacuum is not an instrument of love since it is essentially nothingness, and thus no relationship can exist in nothingness.
Alessa aroused and tormented him each time they were to have a conversation. She was a mean, petite frame of about five and a quarter feet, whose eyes stares motionless into any objects of interest in her line of sight but him. She earnestly questions her surroundings without a care for what the answers to her questions meant. It was exactly what tormented him so much, yet the whole discussion seemed fruitful at the time they were both intensely speaking and making their points worth every breathe it takes to spout such nonsensical gibberish about why, what, how, when or where. It aroused him so much that Alessa could spare time and thought, as though she was keenly dissecting his mind for his innermost thoughts about subjects he held a deep profound passion for. It further dawned on him, most nights when he was alone, that he would reflect on the healthy conversation that he just had with her that it was never filled with topics about her own fulfilling life. Courtesy gets in his way of spilling about how he will one day make this world a more fulfilling place.
Fulfillment never took priority in Alessa’s eyes. She never tries too hard for anything. She never tries too hard to study, to play the violin, to dance, to learn and least of all to understand him. She never tries too hard to excel either, but she does; in all of them. She was a mass of unknown matter, nurturing a benign smile to harness a graceful exuberance that was there for all to see. But that was all that was known, since her personality is almost an enigma to those who dare not confront her.
No one saw or appreciated her more than him. No one would empty their pockets faster than he would; to get her roses unharmed that would prominently go unnoticed when others emptied their pockets as well for the year’s Valentines special. He was most disconsolate about this, much like he was disconsolate about being in the same vein as the people around him, only able to merely refer to her as an enigma. His consolation comes in the fact that no one else has a better idea of who she is.
He had an articulate talent for producing meticulous and vivid drawings and paintings, none more vivid than his lucid imaginations of Alessa ponderously overdressing for his sake. He was good at drawings and paintings, but no better than his wondrous daydreaming. He was tipped for greater things in the future, but was in no position to alter the state of the world he has not come to understand. He was as discontent with this present state of things as he was about not knowing much else about Alessa, where he found that he was good in whatever he did, but not well enough, yet in consolation, not many people were better than him in whatever he does either. He was a walking contradiction nine-to-five on weekdays, while on Saturdays and Sundays he was too tired to contemplate any contradictive circumstance. All the thinking in the world he did, he did it in two intervals of fifteen minutes; while bathing and the fifteen minutes before he dozes off laboriously to sleep.
For all the momentous gazing he affected to her, he had hoped to find gravity within eye contact. He earnestly hoped that gazing at her from afar would somehow bring him closer to her. He never quite figured it out until one day Clarisse caught him staring into the clear skies in disdain, as if he was looking for atonement for something carelessly gone wrong.
“Are you going to lie there all day staring blankly at the sky?” she demanded to know, without trying to mask the notion that perhaps he was goofing off far too much.
“As far as I know, I’ve got nothing much to do.”
“You would might as well wait for the stars to appear at night here,” she said as she slipped beside him with her lunch on one hand, and some in between her teeth sealed by her soft, sweet lips that no one has ever come close to before; at least not boys and strangers.
“The stars are there alright, you just don’t have the imagination to see them.”
“And you do?”
“I could get all the stars I want here,” he claimed, holding out scrap pieces of paper in his hands.
“And no one would have the imagination to see them there too.”
“Only you,” he scoffed, mildly grinning without her noticing. “I could do much better than your imaginations.”
“Or much worse.”
“I don’t have much affinity for the stars.”
“Or anything else.”
“I don’t have much affinity for the stars, when I’m looking at it with you.”
“Or anyone else. The sky’s clear anyway.”
“The stars are there alright.”
“And you can see them?”
“I know they’re there.”
“The stars are there alright. But can you pick one out?”
“My eyes can’t pull the stars to your level.”
At that instant, he thought to himself, nothing could. It then occurred to him that merely gazing only brought meaning to himself, for Clarisse and himself were looking at the same sky, talking but not communicating. It felt entirely futile, his whole conversation, the irritation he was trying to inflict to the seemingly impervious girl next to him, her face shaded by the glorious trees around them which concealed her attractive features. All the thinking in the world, which he usually saves up for the times when he was bathing or preparing to sleep, he was doing it now. What price he would pay to have Clarisse substituted by Alessa, with the mere thought left him smitten by the analogy of what if, and began to picture her in his mind, his secret unspoken conversations with Alessa commencing that very moment.
Seeing one smile in her sleep, her fingers lingering just below her cheeks, the comforter in tidy fashion, covering her neck and all the way to her legs is the most beautiful sight after a hard day’s labour. It being dark and dim in the room, with the distraction of the television keeps you from wondering too much but to alternate your attention between the two. You would look at her without thinking much, but just enjoying the sight that she sleeps with no worries (subconsciously, you think, even with you in the room but that’s another matter altogether), and wakes up to a working Wednesday morning disguised as a Saturday.
All I could feel is the cringe, the same cringes I had felt from one year ago. The cringes my heart let out but no one could hear, when she cried to me, and in my arms I held her for a split second, that she, perhaps through my over-eagerness in comforting her, felt something was amiss. I do not know for sure, even now, if she had realized what I had saw in her, what beautiful smiles, what beautiful frowns, what beautiful eyes and what beautiful tears she carries above her shoulder. It was there and then that I had finally realized 2 things; first, I had fallen in love with her. And second, we had no chance to be together. Not yet at least.
No matter how much she would fret, no matter how jealous she can get, no matter how nasty she would get, regardless of what she would ask of, when she smiles…. The world is mine.
It may have been a shoujo-ish anime, but when Takemoto said those words to himself and wondered, and then answer to himself “yes” assuredly, i can’t help but to feel oddly familiar with those trains of thought. As i watched on in an empty hotel room, the cold became desertion and the awful depression started sinking in. The hotel started to become more desolate despite the best efforts of the pillows to smell like heaven.
Even if you know that your love will never be returned, the journey that one takes with the person he/she loves is the most meaningful part of it all.
“Earth Hour” was definitely a success in Kuala Lumpur. While over 300 cities faced an hour’s worth of darkness, our beloved capital city stood there glowing alight with all its glory. For an unhealthy Air Pollution Index and the kind of weather we have to endure everyday, Malaysia do have to do its fair share of keeping up with the world on climate change.
Twenty-three major cities worldwide, along with 300 smaller cities, took part in Earth Hour, a campaign by environmental group WWF to highlight the need to conserve energy and fight global warming.
New Zealand and Fiji were first out of the starting blocks this year. And in Sydney, Australia — where an estimated 2.2 million observed the blackout last year — the city’s two architectural icons, the Opera House and Harbour Bridge, faded to black against a dramatic backdrop of a lightning.
Lights also went out at the famed Wat Arun Buddhist temple in Bangkok, Thailand; shopping and cultural centers in Manila, Philippines; several castles in Sweden and Denmark; the parliament building in Budapest, Hungary; a string of landmarks in Warsaw, Poland; and both London City Hall and Canterbury Cathedral in England.
WWF Thailand said the lights out campaign in Bangkok saved 73.34 megawatts of electricity, which would have produced 45.8 tons of carbon dioxide.
In Manila, the grounds of the seaside Cultural Center of the Philippines went dark after four city mayors ceremonially switched off the lights. Shopping malls turned off street lamps around the metropolis.
“What’s amazing is that it’s transcending political boundaries and happening in places like China, Vietnam, Papua New Guinea,” Earth Hour executive director Andy Ridley said. “It really seems to have resonated with anybody and everybody.”
-CNN, 30 March 2008
Well, apparently, not just anybody and everybody. Where is Malaysia in that equation?
On March 31 2007, for one hour, Sydney made a powerful statement about the greatest contributor to global warming – coal-fired electricity – by turning off its lights. Over 2.2 million Sydney residents and over 2,100 businesses switched off, leading to a 10.2% energy reduction across the city. What began as one city taking a stand against global warming caught the attention of the world.
In 2008, 24 global cities participated in Earth Hour at 8pm on March 29. Earth Hour is the highlight of a major campaign to encourage businesses, communities and individuals to take the simple steps needed to cut their emissions on an ongoing basis. It is about simple changes that will collectively make a difference – from businesses turning off their lights when their offices are empty, to households turning off appliances rather than leaving them on standby.
Another sleepless night.. there’s much to contemplate about. I get to my most philosophical when sleeping, lying down pretty much helpless but let my mind run wild with its thoughts pervading every muscle and cell to kill me countless times over in order to get some sleep. It’s been awhile since i was able to sleep properly, and sleep without being completely without energy to move. I’m about 3 weeks away from a much needed rest, where i will be going to Sydney to really grind out my life and thoughts on life there.
On the brighter side of life…
Yes! I’ve gotten both Evangelion 1.0 movie and theme song, Utada is wonderful. “Beautiful World” when looking at the translated lyrics fits in perfectly with the Eva series. The upbeat mode being transcended by depressing lyrics is especially interesting, will this third alternate ending to Evangelion spiral to another bittersweet torment for its viewers?
The movie is more than just an upgrade/re-telling of episodes 1-6 of the original series. Some parts of the series are either emphasised or left out to push its own story this round, like the appearance of Kaoru even before you get to see the fiery Asuka. Oh, man, Asuka!
You’ve got to watch it, the Ramiel fight sequence is simply excellent. It keeps you guessing just how good things will be when the other movies are released. Right now i’ll just enjoy this song and think of someone to utter these words to.
moshimo negai hitotsu dake kanau nara kimi no soba de nemurasetedonna basho de mo ii yo
If I could only have one desire fulfilled, I would wish to be sleeping by your side, wherever that may be
Yup, it is confirmed, even the first week of March has come to an end. In that time, leading up from the New Year’s, with hyped up expectations of myself, i have, done simply nothing besides working. And suddenly, Pummkin asked me if i was gonna make it for her easter shows which she is performing, March was here. Yes. I mean it’s no big deal what month of the year it is today, as long as i’m alive and i can only thank God for that!
But the point being, i’m almost feeling like a lost child in the last 2 months. I wanted to watch Sweeney Todd in Feb, but it was over by then, and i didnt know it. Being disconnected like this is a little disturbing. We all talk about improving time management, it’s a long shot for me since i act intuitively. It precedes planning.
Well, Easter is coming and it’s time I looked back at the long, long beach which for a long time, only 1 set of footprints existed. I was carried to where i am today after pushing and stumbling all along the way. I owe Him so much.
It’s time to reflect a little on over the weekend, and catch up on so whimsical reading. Yes i read whimsically except for a few staples on the net. My room is littered with unfinished books that will take awhile to complete.
And on a side note, Bob Dylan is amazing. RM44.90 well spent. Now i really want Evangelion 1.0!
How are you celebrating Easter? I wanna go somewhere and see someone do something and be on my knees in prayer so please invite me!
After penning an extremely churlish entry on “Buzzwords” last time around, I decided to take a step back and write something more positive about life in Japan for this latest column. After all, if people want to read or hear about the difficulties of living in Japan, they can easily find other sources – including the nearest expat bar, where one can always find people grumbling over a glass of beer.
To be honest, I never wanted to become one of those people – let’s call them the “grumblers” – and I always vowed to simply move somewhere else if I ended up spending most of my time picking apart all the things “wrong” with “Japan.” But neither did I ever want to become a sort of latter-day Lafcadio Hearn, a “Japanophile” who gazes upon the country and people around him with decidedly rose-tinted lenses. It is said that Hearn, who lived for a while in rural Shimane prefecture, ran around his house, dressed in traditional Hakama (men’s kimono), while waving a Rising Sun flag and cheering “Banzai!” at the news that Japan had attacked Russia at Port Arthur, thereby formally beginning what would later come to be known as the Russo-Japanese War (1904-05).
I always found that image a bit comical, and dangerously naïve (to put it mildly), not to mention callous – after all, there is nothing to cheer about when war breaks out, and the Russo-Japanese War was a particularly bloody and pointless one at that. This image always diminished Hearn in my eyes, though I still greatly value his writing.
At any rate, as an expat in Japan, I think it is always important to maintain a balance between the extremes of “Japan-bashing,” which ends up being an all-too-easy and warped way of looking at life in this society (while idealizing life “back home,” in our native countries), and becoming “more Japanese than the Japanese,” a la Hearn.
One way of doing this, at least for me, is to turn off the television, which always depresses me, and try to return to and dwell upon the reasons why I came to this country in the first place. In other words, to accentuate the positive, and try to regain those jet-lagged, “Lost in Translation” – like eyes that many of us arrived with – by which I mean not a rose-colored view but, rather, a way of looking at the world around us with a sense of openness, curiosity and wonder, which I think Sofia Coppola captures very beautifully in her (admittedly problematic) film, in those lovely scenes wherein the main character first sees “Japan” while neon lights, rain and fuzzed-out guitar washes over her taxi. Whatever you may think of that film, I would guess that many of us have felt this same mixture of pleasant dislocation and utter strangeness when first arriving in Japan.
This brings me to a consideration of “Kawaii,” or “cute-ness” in contemporary Japanese popular culture – a much vilified and misunderstood concept, which in many ways embodies that love-hate tension many expats feel about life in Japan. Now, I have been asked about this aspect of Japanese society by many friends back in the US (most recently in the form of “What’s the deal with all that ‘Hello Kitty’ – stuff over there, anyway?”), and for many years I did not really know what to tell them. In my darker, more “grumbling” moods, I imagine that I attributed the prevalence of “cute” culture to a sort of arrested development or perpetual childishness (as an aside, I suspect that this is the source of my disappointment and sadness at the end of the film “the Mamiya Brothers,” which I wrote about previously). A sense of not wanting to grow up and face the harshness of the surrounding world, or even a kind of enforced infantilization, which acts as a means of social control. It’s easy to see where that gloomy chain of thought leads – straight to the nearest expat bar and an evening of complaining, over a few pints of beer, to anyone who will listen. But that’s too easy – and too stale a routine.
Instead, lately, I have been re-considering the concept of “Kawaii” and I think I have made my peace with it. How else to explain the cell phone-strap mascots, the complete set of Snoopy and Peanuts gang flatware, or the Crayon Shinchan pencil case…? Surely these are not the possessions of the aforementioned “been too long in Japan”-type, grumbling, burnt-out case!
In the winter of 1933-34, the novelist Tanizaki Junichiro published an essay entitled “In’ei raison” (translated into English as “In Praise of Shadows”), in which he (perhaps ironically) defended what he saw as the defining, yet rapidly disappearing, characteristic of Japanese aesthetics – namely, the beauty of shadows, age and wear, or what has also been called “Wabi-Sabi” (an appreciation of the imperfection and transcience of things). He was writing, at least in one reading of this deliciously ambiguous text, in an attempt to restore a sense of dignity and worth to what was being disparaged as old-fashioned, obsolete, or backward, in the face of rapid industrialization (or “Westernization”). Whether he was completely serious in this endeavor is not clear and perhaps never will be – after all, when an architect he had hired to build a new house mentioned to him, years later, how he planned on designing it in the traditional style so highly praised in the essay, the author reportedly told him, “But no, I could never live in a house like that!”
In any case, I want to come to the defense of the culture of “cuteness” in contemporary Japan. Yes, it can be overdone and, at times, it seems downright silly and dis-empowering, especially for women and young people – or foreigners who go overboard in their efforts to “blend in” by collecting character goods – since there is a very clear hierarchy in this society. After all, it is hard to take someone with a Crayon Shinchan pencil case too seriously.
But, at the same time, I tend to see this cuteness much in the way that Tanizaki conceived of shadow and darkness: as something disparaged, yet valuable, in our current situation. In other words, as a means of resistance to an otherwise hostile world – a world in which it is all-too-easy to fall into cynicism and despair.
Seen in this light, perhaps (if my reader is generous) we can look at “Kawaii” culture as an assertion of purity and innocence, even hope, in the face of a frightening, deadly serious and very adult world. In this way, I think it is a very brave face to show to others, when all the evidence seems to point to the contrary – that the way of the world is violence, hatred and cruelty. When contemplating the bleak landscape of hopelessness that seems to pervade much of “Western” culture today, I’ll take the cheerfulness and optimism of “Hello Kitty” any day.
Sudah agak lama saya ingin buat satu “post” dalam Bahasa Melayu yang telah aku meninggalkan sejak berakhirnya Tingkatan Lima dan bermulanya kehidupanku di kolej. Penggunaan terhad setakat secara am/kasar semasa berminum teh dengan “member” yang tidak bermakna dan bagaikan bahasa pasar yang bercampur dengan pelbagai bahasa yang berlainan. Sebelum ingatan saya merosot dan penyalahgunaan bahasa kebangsaan kita mencapai tahap tiada pengampunan, biarlah saya cuba untuk menulis esei buat kali pertama sejak ujian SPM yang sekian lama sudah selesai.
Dengan melihat jam komputer pada lewat malam ini, saya mendapati bahawa saya telah menggunakan hampir tiga puluh minit untuk merangkakan paragraf pertama saya di atas. Jika topik SPM yang teramat suka dengan topik-topik yang memerlukan perbincangan tentang baik buruk perkara berkenaan, terpaksalah saya menonjolkan kesulitan yang dihadapi oleh seseorang yang hanya menggunakan bahasa tersebut di mamak.
The root word here is not Junk. In English, it technically is. Oh, it’s a name of a dog by the way. It’s pronounced “yunkasu” in Japanese. God knows what that means.
And the title of an anime movie. Very simply done, but reminds me well enough of the exploration of some of the themes in Pan’s Labyrinth. The fantasy part, that is. Both deals with struggling relationships and somewhat depressing environments, although the latter is toward an extreme darkness without much light at the end of the tunnel, except for death, to escape from it all.
Oh there’s been really good movies this past week. Most notably Das Leben Der Anderen (The Lives of Others) was showing at GSC Mid Valley on Sunday which i managed to catch, with the smallish theater almost full, and truly deserved one of the larger cinema halls. It was awesome. Let’s just say the ending felt like The Shawshank Redemption. For those who missed it, it’s alright, you can still get carried away with your own meaningful lives. If only more European movies of this quality come to our shores more frequently, though i am lauding some efforts with the recent KL Film Festival which i thought should enjoy a prolonged run in the scene, with heavier emphasis on exposure, not censorship. Not think about what movies could be shown here, but rather on which movies to show at all. And i can only imagine the competition getting bigger and better. Which is good since i do dream about making my own movie one day.
Kuala Lumpur deserves a film festival. Let’s make it work. Don’t let Malaysian movies traveled the world making its name before opening here! Movies like “Junkers Come Here” deserves a wider audience, but being the lucky few to have watched it, it almost feels special. I mean, movies are timeless and ageless. Why is Shakespeare still done today? Why do people not say that, “What, it’s like 500 years ago man, get a life!”?
Yeah, so don’t tell me that the movie was done way back in 1995 when you probably thought CG was Back to the Future stuff. Because i don’t care. And neither should you. Talk about “open minds”, people are really laughable. Slip a nipple, open mind… Tell the truth, “….”.
I have things that i want, and things that i need. I want the things that i want more than the things that i need, and i need the things that i need more than the things that i want. I want the things that i need, but i don’t need the things that i want.
Sounds like a tongue twister. But makes plain logic to me. A very logical proposition indeed. Doesn’t make life any simpler though.
Annual dinner was great. Looking forward to Christmas next!
I believe that I am almost incapable of loving somebody who does not already worship me. Would you stay with the one who loves you, or go back to the one you love? To say that I am more of the former person, would not be literally self-praise of my own stupendous loyalty to the companionship I owe the person beside me, but rather I am the person who indulges in the comfort of being in the reaches of someone who would sacrifice more than they demand. The matter of convenience or a life without trouble is a simple and sorry way to live, but makes accepting and blending into the world at large, and the world under the microscope that we familiarize as our environment where we live this cherished life, easier and less painful. Kill, or be killed. Hurt, or be hurt. It was simple. I wanted neither. Natural instincts provides otherwise.
Her pain makes her beautiful, and she loves to lose control. I am not about to accept into my life the girl who is hungry for love, almost as if thirsting for blood. The flashy lights, podium and her combined, degenerating itself into a soulless atmosphere, shackling her, while her hands try to reach my heart. The façade drew me a little closer into her plight. She had seemed weightless in the room, enticing me to a few songs and drinks. Maybe more than a few drinks I suppose. I remember her hair was neatly done, with a simple bun to furnish her petite body. Her frail figure lay wasted on the bed. Her fatigued eyes were kindly heading home. Her hands disorderly flail around to turn off the lights, perhaps spending her last speck of energy to do so. I stood in the dark, with certain anticipation as the darkness hid the implosion of thoughts. It was thoughtcrime. She smelled of beer and cigarettes. I spoke kind words, in a kind and appropriate tone, as if comforting a child as she sleeps knowing she would not understand the meaning of those words being uttered but she responded with an eye lazily half-opened, smiled and reached her hands to stroke my face. Like those without sight, her fingers caressed my face, making out the contours and conjuring vivid pictures and images in the unlit room. I stuck to my part by remaining unfazed and unmoved. I only did as much as breathe. Unbeknownst to her, my thoughtcrime was ever-increasing. Or maybe she knew, and this is her way of resisting an imposition of my pre-meditated criminal intentions. If she demanded subtlety, I will oblige. She shed her top, revealing before me her bare shoulders. Her body was wrapped beneath the white covers reflecting the faint, gleaming streetlights piercing through the windows. I imagined her naked body curling submissively to my advances. It almost feels like I’m ganging on her; both my mind and body were swiftly advancing against her lowered defenses as I moved into position, taking a pull at the curtains before hiding under the soft covers lying next to her. I patted her head and played with her hair to gain her attention. Her hair was a little messed up now. She turned to look at me and said something in her native language. Even I could tell she was mumbling incomprehensible words should I have a decent command of the language. I wrapped my arms around her, even if it was against her will. The lack of courtesy to ask to do so was compensated by the slow, gentle movement as a gesture of kindness and respect. The night concluded as two atoms insufficient as a whole, combined to form a particle. This particle remains as a fragment of memories I cannot erase.
Looking at her picture, i can’t help but wonder, “i’ve grown up to be everything everyone expected me to be.” What, with my first 2 CPA exams done for the moment, I can’t help but feel, i sure would have loved to do something else. Yes, i’m an idealist, coming to terms an un-ideal (am i even allowed to use this word?) world.
She is the picture of what i dream to be. Free. Capitalist. Utilitarian. But i’m not. I’m foolish enough to believe in my own ideals. And that’s what you would love about me.
Remember to smile first thing in the morning; you cannot believe the joy it brings. Ha Ha!
I have got my hands on Botchan today! By the sheer greatness of Kinokuniya! They’re awesome, prompt emails, and etc etc Placed an order with them on Tues, received reply and confirmation on Wed, received book on Thurs.
#$%@ you MPH.
Oh no. You know it. You can sense a book review coming up. Well, not anytime soon i assure you!
A car sticker i saw today proclaimed, in the words of Mother Theresa, “Fight abortion, Love children”. Scarlett Johansson would have you believe, in a recent interview, smashing George W. Bush’s apparent torment of the feisty American public on his stance on abortion, telling Cosmopolitan magazine that:
“We are supposed to be liberated in America but if our President had his way, we wouldn’t be educated about sex at all. Every woman would have six children and we wouldn’t be able to have abortions.”
We are not animals, neither are we stupid, and should not allow such instincts preside over rationality. The thing other than making mistakes which makes us human, is our ability to think and rationalize and learn from mistakes.
Mr Bush is staunchly anti-abortion and has heavily advocated teaching teenagers to abstain from sex to avoid pregnancy. Such a stand, has obviously its underlying reasons for pushing such a hardline agenda on the board. Advocating a stance such as this immediately raises awareness and creates such a fuss that a star like Johansson herself even wishes to sign herself in.
First question, who suffers during an unplanned pregnancy?
Second question, what are the medical effects of abortion, and possibly multiple abortions? What are the risks involved? Have all these issues been properly addressed, discussed and disclosed in public? Are people aware of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies and STDs as much as they are aware of the effects of abortion?
Third question, what are the psychological effects of abortion? Again, has appropriate and proper knowledge been disseminated to the public?
Fourth question, in this demand induced economics, what is the professional stance, both on the ethical issue, and the meaning of life? When does life begin?
Fifth question, is unnecessary time and money wasted, forming part of a conditional consequence as a result of a certain act, this being sex? What i am asking is that do we all readily acknowledge the consequences of sex?
Meaning, as each and every action has an equal and opposite reaction, the act of sex has its own consequences. Contraception suppresses the consequence, but does not limit a typical reaction, this coming from the Pope himself, with perhaps an even harder stance in denouncing the use of condoms. Pro-Choice activists have a point in the adult choice one can make a in free, liberated country, however, that does not constitute a right to condemn the consequences of an initial action that bore immediate consequences readily acknowledged by the human race in general.
A college paper i had written for my English course had collated researches, ethical discussions of life and potential hazards of free sex and subsequent abortions, and the apparent war between Pro-life and Pro-choice but went missing. Anyhow, it was collated here on the Net. I am pretty sure information is not getting any less here and you’ll find what i am talking about easily.
If a concerted effort is made on sex education, a similar effort should be sized up for abstinence. The choice still lies with each individual, but individuals need to be constantly reminded of pertinent consequences that one should face in irresponsibility. My stance would be along the lines of, legalizing abortion to the extent it does not permit irresponsible and irrational behaviour. Maybe that definition did not help at all, but that’s what lawmakers are for.
The subject says it all. As always, there are 2 ways to looking at things, half empty or half full, death the end of life or the beginning of life without you. When people say time is money, they mean it. In fact, that is an understatement of time. Time is MORE than money. And so the first round of my CPA examinations will be shrouded with dilemmas of a person who just cannot focus on the task at hand at the moment. Born to hardworking baby boomers that i call mum and dad, i have the freedom of being able to pursue things of interest and whatnot. Yes, in other words, i’m spoilt. Just like many of you are, stop denying it.
So.. study, pleasure, interest, friends. It’s harder to focus when you’ve got options. Working suddenly seems illogically easier.
****
I have watched Howl’s Moving Castle, again, and still remain so fascinated by it since watching it 2 years ago in Sydney. I could not get hold of Diana Wynn Jones’ published story the movie is based on then, but scouring amazon, I have suddenly a plethora of books to buy that i have “saved for later” in my cart. Yes, dubiously disregarding the post of a few months ago, that says George Orwell will have to entertain me to the end of the year. Howl’s Moving Castle is not only moving (forgive the lame pun), it is beautiful to look at and leaves the plotting aside and focuses on the characters, which much of the plot subject to your own interpretation. With a nice soundtrack you can handily purchase with the book and dvd on amazon. Marvellous. Hope someone who likes it as much as i did will read this, and email me. Tell me you love it too.
****
Natsume Soseki. This man actually had his face printed on the 1,000 yen note from 1984 to 2004. Has anyone read his works? I am curious. This is an author whose books have no central or coherent plot, only emotions and visions, blended into a book simply with a beginning, middle and an end. Kokoro, Botchan and I am a Cat (literal translation from Jap).
I Am a Catis a satire on Japanese society in the time of the Meiji Emperor. Among its major themes are the period’s uneasy mix of new Western ideas and Japanese traditions, and the aping of Western customs. -wikipedia-
I quote, because i have not read, and so am not entitled to an opinion. But he surely seems like my kind of author. For the observant, wiki writeups do not include a plot summary for Botchan, and have very little about it to say about Kokoro and I am a Cat. The fact that these books were written around100 YEARS ago, from between 1904-1916 at the time of his death, proves ultimately, only the existence of death can you truly live eternally. Because these books are still relevant today. Just like an over exploited Sun Tzu. Those hacks.
I would like to continue posting, but i am hungry. The last book which makes up my cart list is Bataro Rowaiaru (Battle Royale) by Koushun Takami.
Has time stood still for me? I feel like i have stopped growing, and merely getting older.
Has time stood still for her? Just the other day she described a girl who has spent eight months in her firm, earned her promotion as the new girl who just joined.
Has time stood still for him? He sidesteps her with pedigree, forgetting her in her absence and regretting it when she’s gone.
Has time stood still for us? We who aimlessly seek the blind’s happiness and create hollow spaces among us all.
Has time stood still for me? I who can see it all so clearly, yet go unnoticed and taken for granted.
What good is wine when
you got no one to share it with
Subliminal, she disappears into
dark, and the soothing silence
melds the ire and dust
the picture frames and the song,
captivating, the beautiful and the
intricate, find queues of persons
who cannot figure just
what good is wine when
the world is just a big machine.
When David Gates sang “If” one of Bread’s more famous repertoires, he mentioned that a picture can paint a thousand words. Now, i believe, for the highly imaginative, who may or may not believe in infinite possibilities, can actually paint a thousand pictures with words.
As she leaned forward and kissed my forehead, i can hear her heavily breathing as she descended past my eyes and then stopped, nose to nose where i regained a shallow perception of consciousness. I had been totally unaware of the moments that were conspiring against me, the reality of which i have yet to discern from the shipwrecks in my heart, pieces which have been scattered across the world.
“Do you actually like me?”
“I don’t know,” she softly whispered in my ears. It blew. Even before her lips could regain its natural shape, they approached mine and subsequently engaged in a sweet, soft passionate kiss.
Her warm lips are a delight and a menace, in wonderland. As we merrily smothered each other’s delicate lips, i could not help but think, despite her apparent confusion, that my mind was made up. I’d give up a lot, to be with her. I’d do everything in my powers to sway her vigorous mind. And as these thoughts raced to me at that very moment, but i do believe now that i’m awake, “I don’t know” is possibly enough to keep me more than alive.
excerpts from my very own vague, unfinished dreams.
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new day
That’s the last line of the song made famous by Cat Stevens, now aka Yusuf Islam since his conversion to Islam. It was a song i was introduced to back in primary school, if i remember correctly, a time when the English teacher wanted to impart some unique blend of artistry into her languid classes. The joys of school at the workplace today was indeed a welcomed experience.
Lethargically returning to office after a long weekend spent on doing pretty little (if anything at all), the sweet stroll from the open aired, full of sand, stone and greens parking lot to the lobby, then proceeding 10 floors above and into the doors of my office took me from a “walk and stagger” routine to my desk to a nourishing, rich and vibrant morning beyond my anticipation. Greeted by a smiling miss sakaki who seemed to be concentrating on work before she gets distracted by anyone else, and upon parking my bum and removing my heavy duty brick of a laptop and swiftly turned it on, sakaki-chan presented me with my most favourite Whitakers’ peanut slab bar.
“Happy Belated Birthday,” she said with an ever gracious smile. My consciousness has drifted to an otherworldly plane.
As i paced about to the toilet and arranging stuff and whatnot, the bubbly sakaki unmasked herself to reveal 10,000 smiles, sparkling pigtails and a plastic of 3 pcs of Krispy Kreme donuts she later reveal she had short-sold to us without her sister’s knowledge and said we’ll all be sharing it for breakfast.
Zap. It sure felt like we were suddenly back in high/middle/elementary school, where we, young innocent kids were contemplating about spending the good portions of the day dallying in the most insignificant times of the day. And to me, this, in reality, a so-called working adult was basking in a morning full of glory. Thank God for mornings like this.
And thank you miss sakaki for the peanut slab from Sydney. You don’t know how much that made my day.
I’ve been mulling about the places that i wish to go all around the world since forever. And now, in the 6 and a 1/2 short years left of my 20s, i believe that options will have to be narrowed, and sacrifices to be made. But which? To say my life is at its crossroads now would be Hollywooding things a little, but UK, Japan, Australia all littered with pros and cons as well as trying to carve a career in the place i call home; just how much to aim for? Before this becomes a “Dear Thelma,” post I guess more importantly, i’ve got to wake up and smell the coffee of reality, a sleepless passing of time, and walk in the consciousness of growing up. I don’t want to just get older.
And then, in the midst of thinking, i realised i’ve not asked myself. Where does God wants me to be? I closed my eyes and started asking. I turned off my music, and tried earnestly to hear something. But feedback from all those thinking, the pros and cons of everything i was ever considering like voices from the graves came out firing like AK47s in the hands of some insignificant terrorist making all the headlines in my head.
In other words, i’m in the RED for the past few months and the damage is beyond belief. Must start saving again. No dvds, books, trips and whatnot. George Orwell’s 1984 will have to keep my company for awhile, otherwise i will not achieve my savings target this year.
There’s much to aim for.
To increase propensity to save from 30% to 45% of net salary.
No vacations this year.
Books limited to George Orwell and CPA.
Movies limited to current collection. Cinema pleasures belong to indie flicks.
Drinking/clubbing expenses totally dissolved. There’s liquor and beer at home.
NO MORE CDs.
Gadgets only if necessary. (22″ monitor is a necessity, i’ve thought it over.)
Dreams of new webhosting to only begin next year.
Food expenditures to be cut in half.
9 step program to ensure i stay in healthy stead. You can do it too.
The Neon Genesis Evangelion franchise is more than 10 years old now, and i’m still raving over a new theatrical release spanning 4 new movies which provides (yet) another alternate conclusion to the series. The original had moments of pure joy, despair and even disgust which really kept it in the minds of all its viewers. No international release has been slated just yet, although most fans would be closely watching. I’ve let my guard down and only figured this morning, looking at wiki, checking out the trailers, just a week over before the Japanese release date (1/9/2007).
Differences include:
According to an article in the February 2007 issue of Newtype USA, the first movie will end with Operation Yashima, an incident that takes place during Episode 6 of the original Evangelion TV series. The article also states that a brand new character to the Evangelion universe will be introduced in the second installment and that some of the differences between the original series and the new movies will take advantage of 3D CG technology not available when the series was produced back in 1995. Another story change is that Kaworu will make a much earlier appearance; in the series, he was not introduced until episode 24. – source: wikipedia
Well now, if you’ve watched the original series, you probably would get excited all over again. It’s a real emotional roller-coaster as you dive deep into each character’s thoughts. Just when will this reach Malaysian shores?
***
I did my best. Even after reading in TheStar how StarHub, a leading ISP in Spore was forced to blow on its users who have illegally downloaded animes and dampen the sales of Odex, Singapore’s largest anime retailer/provider who will take action with fines of around SGD5,000. I do not know if TMNet would ever do that, since its users can’t even use a BT client for more than 3 mins without causing all sorts of deathspells and plagues on your internet line, neither do i care. But being left in awe by Mind Game and Paprika reviews, not to mention a host of other non-mainstream animes which unluckily for this part of the world is not genuine appreciated, I have resorted to downloading both of those movies online. I swear i’ll purchase those dvds if they were available (affordably). If i atone for my downloading in that way, there’s no issue right?
Living a double life, Dr Atsuko Chiba is a 29 year-old research psychotherapist working on the cutting edge of the scientific community. Her alter ego, 18 year-old Paprika, is a dream detective who enters people’s sleep at night to battle the source of their neuroses and anxieties. When an evil force steals her dream-entering device, waking life becomes over-run by nightmares and Paprika is the only hope for saving Tokyo from annihilation. - MIFF
Now let me just add that to my wishlist. A wishlist that’s not been updated for awhile. Christmas’ coming soon, and i would love to strike a few of them out by then. Yes, the title appears to be the first words on Paprika, Satoshi Kon’s latest anime offering. Well now, anime self-respecting anime fan has to know that name, and at least watched one of the following 3 movies; Perfect Blue, Millennium Actress and Tokyo Godfathers.
A brave tagline seen on IMDb, regardless of who put it there, is “This is your brain on anime” and the first thing that comes to mind was a similar mind-boggling anime, Mind Game. It goes beyond artistic elements and metaphors, blending the craziness of what you can do with animations and just fudging with you mind. Thus, Mind Game, i suppose. Paprika seems to explore something of a more coherent plot or idea or whatever you like to call it. It was shown on the Melbourne Film Festival, and i can’t believe that it’s been a year now since i was in Melbourne having the time of my life overexposing my eyes to films of all languages and genres.
I’m no artist, and though life may not seem that way, i agree with Jean Luc Godard that a film has 3 necessary elements; a beginning, a middle and an end, but not necessary in the said order.
“This head movie is cunningly designed to mess up minds.” – Japan Times.
***
Another interest bit. For some reason i ticked the section GSC In’tl screens Newsletters when signing up as a member there, and to my greatest surprise, my curiousity in actually opening the email which i usually delete without a 2nd thought reaped a sorta of a magical gem which i thought i had lost about one year ago. The three words i saw was “Linda Linda Linda“. Thank you GSC for having this Japanese Film Festival, though it might not be much.
A reflective day, where i blab a whole lot with miss sakaki, had a lot of cheese and then regretting it when i look into the mirror, i finally realised, at the end of the day, while typing the few paras above that today marks 1 year i’ve been back in Malaysia. Not that it really matters to anyone anyway. But one year on, have i decided what i really want? sakaki-chan was saying that even she doesn’t know (yet), and i can’t say i am relieved. I mean, when i look at all those shiny happy people who seem to know where they are going, i’d really love to know if where they is really where they wanna go?
It’s still early days in life when i think about it again. And i think i am beginning to be able to map out what i really want. I just need the Lord’s help.
Though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea. Well she said that when guys are in a group, their IQs don’t add up. She suggested that we even share just one person’s IQ! It became far more apparent that same night, when i was lazing at the garden of my friend’s house, that the 3 of us were having the most senseless conversations, and mind you, enjoying it. We talked about high school like we were literally still high school kids. 3 hours of the most meaningless and senseless of ideas and topics. I think she’s just about right.
hmm.. i’ve looked at my own blog time and again over the past couple of weeks, and reading the murky waters that is called ‘fiction writing’ and its semblance of a rioting mind working in a box. I’ve read “Alison Foley” and “Under You” songs by Better Than Ezra from which the stories were based on, and each reading makes me feel like tweaking it. But the split-second ideas that come and go were unrecorded, and, with the 4th and 5th parts of a story already fully developed and thought out, changing the 2nd and 3rd parts might be a little tricky. Not that i care, or that you would mind, but time, like money, is always scarce.
It will be done over again. Until then, the original will remain.
***
Enough bout the selfish me. I’ve just came back from Phnom Penh, Cambodia, again. It was actually a pretty rewarding trip, I didn’t do all the greatest work in the job, but i did what i would have wanted to do from the start. And that can only be a good thing. It was a good opportunity to take a look at the KPIs of a company, breaking ‘em down and analysing it. I’m not master of statistics/sampling, linear/nonlinear functions/ and probability but no such complicated measures were involved. Although if i had the time, i would love to do something like that.
There is still much to learn.
I didnt finish my book, even with an entire month of reading before sleeping as i mostly crush and bend my book after dozing off from reading a few pages. And now i’m even looking for a new one, not the deeply profound/confounding book i had lent my friend, but something satirical. Like Catch-22.
I had found out the reason why Lep Zeppelin was the biggest band in the world during its prime. For me, even without my life’s annotations scribbled in my mind, Ten Years Gone just blows Kashmir and Stairway to Heaven away. It just gets to you. And now it’s repeating itself in my Media Player, morning, day and night; office, car and room.
It was time to kick myself for wasting away; life was on the edge and yet it was still a blur. I embarked on a (very) personal journey, to rid myself of being in depression. In my very little own world, joys and sorrows are measure by my standards, and experiencing harrowing highs and lows in daily flashes were self-destructive. Four months into California, the ridding of my self-pity was almost complete. Solitude was madness; but bartending, or at least working at the bar, was my life-saver. Right next door was a Ramen noodle shop, whose demographics were limitless unlike its neighbouring bar. Working right next door was Minami, or Mimi for short, a girl that anyone would love to pamper. Her large round eyes seemed to be begging whenever she’s asking for something, and she smiles rain or shine, in pain, defeat, in joy, in doubt and other unconceivable circumstances. The only annoying part about her was her idolization of Hollywood. In all the small chatter with her, I found out how much she wishes to be someone else, to be a diva walking on red carpet or whatnot. The reason she absolutely adores ‘I am Sam’ was Dakota Fanning whom she thought was stunning; I thought the performances were stunning nonetheless, but it was the immense use of the Beatles on the soundtrack was what captivated me more, in particular, ‘Across the Universe’.
Thursday, the night of 4th June, I succumbed to my landlord’s belittling, leading to the obvious conclusion that I was now homeless. I moved my belongings down to the bar, with the idea of turning it into my temporary shack. It was at this moment, where the basic need for survival, namely, a home, was of utmost importance, that a gleaming pair of eyes turned its sight upon me. At the footsteps of the Ramen noodle shop, Mimi stood and watched as I slowly stumbled next to her, where she invited me to her place for the night ‘since we could go to work together the next day’. What a premise. But I admired her kindness and was not ready to turn her down under current circumstances. The implications of the situation I have not fully come to terms yet dwindled with her charm, where we laughed off about our fortunes, about how we’re not even close to realizing who we are or who we could be. She prepared her famous Ramen noodles to my delight, at the same time hilariously performed a number of scenes from a Japanese movie that I bet she has watched a dozen times. If there was one thing she made me feel, it’s that I felt more alive, more conscious about existence, life and relationships with people. How is she able to withstand being with a half-assed bartender, still without a real job or aim in life, who cannot yet decide between watching Jerry Maguire or Fight Club even after finishing a hearty bowl of Ramen? The answer was probably in that I may not be as worthless as I seemed to be and that her kindness was overlooked and deemed an over-eagerness to be loved. We nuzzled onto the sofa bed, with the TV playing The Mexican, as we carelessly talked about nonsensical ideas like being famous or dating the famous. It was a topic which would have put me to sleep instantly, but for her curiosity and kindness, I repaid by being attentive. I woke up with the bright summer skies in full bloom, wishing the clouds would exercise care in allowing sunlight to invade people’s privacy. When I had fully shaken from being immobilized in sleep, I found myself under my petite host, her head lying on my stomach, her arms wrapped around my back, softly breathing and enjoying her rest. I’ll always remember how enormous those feelings being pinned back were, how long that moment seemed to feel, and how deeply appreciated I was by her tenderness. I smiled at her, though she was not looking. She had taken over me.
If you’re wondering why the hell am i spouting nonsensical posts about nobody in particular, have no fear; i’m plainly living on a temporary inspiration on creating a series of short stories based on songs from an old Better Than Ezra album i happen to find somewhere in my room that i had forgotten i had such a disc, and the reason why i bought it. Listening to it again, the memories of being in the 90s rolled once again. They spawned a hit or two in their early life as a band, (and they still exist today) but still maintained little else in terms of history. It’s sure great to feel a sudden sense of inspiration, and look for 3 more shorts to come by.
It’s part of an experimental writing exercise where limits are in place, but the boundaries of exploration is like an experimental journey. Where the end result is something you anticipate, not envision. So i shall stop bragging about how highly intellectual i am, and just paint paragraphs in my head .
Temptation has been one of the greatest killers of man, if not mankind. Life would be mundane had no one ever drifted into temptation and contemplated very fundamental sins. Man can only forget loneliness through the company of another being, with the obvious choice in mind, the opposite sex. Similarities dissipate into thin air faster than the speed of thought (meaning you do not even think about it) but the opposites, like how our limitations of perception of good is represented by something evil beforehand before we can distinguish from either, extend our existence and provides us with a purpose in life; to co-exist and understand one another. It’s funny how our species have aims to mate without the consequences of reproduction. Mating is a sign of co-habitation in process; proving 1) we need each other to survive, and 2) that despite all the differences, we are still attractive to one another. Or at least a need to be attracted to one another. The point is, our advancements as a species make us far too brilliant to be limited by a place like Earth. We’re smart enough not to overpopulate the world with our brilliance and let it self-destruct within our calamitous desires that would belie our fate. That is wisdom.”
My attention was drawn to Alison’s words, but not the meaning. I was not so sure myself if there was one in the first place. I stared into her starry eyes, while in my inexplicably intoxicated state, was content at sharing laughs with her over nothing at all. We were drunk, bored and lonely, and particularly stoned in our smoked, sweaty outfits, that we were still too shy to remove. Lying next to each other, running short on cigarettes and alcohol, last cigarette in my right hand, last green whisky bottle in her left which we happily wrapped our lips with while we took turns to serenade each other with whatever charm we had left. I was so drawn in by her erection inducing smiles down at the bar where she works; whether or not it was me she was smiling at didn’t matter. We hit it off like two souls drowning in an over-eagerness to be with someone who could listen as much as they talked. I liked her. I liked the fact we could be so spontaneous with one another, and as if without a care, could get as smashed and stoned as life allows us to be at either my place or hers. We couldn’t care less. We both desire an audience, and each other is just who we need. Her smiles might cause my blood to circulate faster, but it did not compromise my comfort of being with her. Mind you, there was nothing much sexual of our relationship; we kissed, hugged, held hands, fingered each other’s hair, maybe a little tongue, but hardly explored further than that. She was 29, and had enough sex. I was 25, and looking for a meaning in life. Tonight was no different. We stared at the ceiling, what was once an unfamiliar sight for me, but passing out on the floor and subsequently waking up the next morning looking at an unfamiliar ceiling seemed to bother me less and less each time. There are times when 2 persons are looking at the same thing, and their thoughts are seemingly connected by a string, and we were like souls in tandem. We needed each other, the affection and a certain mutual respect that we believed we could afford one another and through the immersion of our unfulfilled desires, lift us up from a cynical and rampaging state. Those were among the last words I heard from her, and the visions of a ravaging beauty I had become so fond of was immortalised as a photo still. I was, and forever will be, wounded by her death, knowing I accompanied her in wasting away, but did not let her know how much I wished she would be content with just me. So long, Alison Foley. So long, bye bye.
3.00 am. We’re driving in your car. My heart was behaving wildly like a lost child, but this child, at least in his own world, was far from being seated in a car. Like a burning jet nose-diving in all its glory straight down to hell, where I, the imaginary pilot, could no longer wrestle control and take any rational course of action. It is hell (where all the good things are), and pure ecstasy at the same time. Hell, the way I defined it, was a plane where desires and rationality do not meet in equilibrium. Diverging hearts and minds stirs the echoes and they ring in your ears so loudly, yet fall short of a trumpet of war. Ecstasy, the way I think about it, was being in this unbelievable state of consciousness, where you are not even certain how conscious you are, where reality and dreams do somehow equate. They’re such a rarity, that gushing split seconds of plum and torment. It’s not even funny how each word bears weight; the sharp ones stacked thornily on your head, and the pleasant ones dissipate into an unseen, unnatural fragrant to-die-for. That illusion of chasing this sweet smell of something detracts you from feeling the thorns the moment the blur turns clear. You realise there are thorns everywhere! And then you remember the aroma, albeit faintly, but keep your heart beating like rhythmic pulses envisaging a certain soundtrack to go with it. You have had that song you wanted to suddenly come to life now, but it’s the pictures that take its place in your capsule of a mind. But at the end of it all, I looked and screamed out at the stars, hoping that you’ll never have to take me back.
That’s the beginning of my love-hate affair for someone I truly adored and despised, unattainable yet an enviable friend, the girl I seemed to know from afar. She was fascinating. I should have dropped her at her door. When I finally did, I came back in sudden randomness with one phone call (obviously, I made the phone call), blushed upon meeting her face at the door, looked at my shoes as if it was the mirror, and smiled politely as I entered her domain. We watched a movie, which only after intermediate viewing, I recognised it was a movie this dearest had laid eyes on before. Her giggles, her wavering eyes latching onto discontinued joints of a world around her; books, magazine, her minor fiddling, which suddenly ends when she puts in an attentive stare at the widescreen box I had been pretending to observe with vigor. She’s an absolute delight to look at; a joy to behold to me, the onlooker, that the more I see the different sides and angles, the more I think there is a deepness that is unfathomable about this beauty. I want to know her and relate to her, but she keeps her guards up, barring infiltrators lacking charm and wits. Her dreary eyes by the end of the movie were contemplating sleep, but I was reluctant to allow an unbecoming finale to take the airs of such an awkward yet pleasant moment. I carefully poured bits and pieces of my life and my relationships, not ever knowing if she were even a tiny bit interested in it. After thinking it to be unfair for her kindness, I rapidly said good night, thinking the next morning would be the same again. I loved the smell of her long, straight, silky hair which covered parts of her ample forehead, strands of which were littered by her cheeks and by now her eyes, which were crying for sleep and her apparent lack of rest made her a fine, gentle and extremely adorable woman. What my eyes saw, my heart tacitly agreed. She was stunning, even in her droopiness; her ruffled hair mindlessly spawned thoughts protruding even the most lyrical beauty.
That man, mind you, is one who pokes agony all over me. A pretender when he took the reigns 20 years ago, he has emerged a master and one of the finest managers in the world. That he has almost set the record straight in 11 glory years, speaks of a man with immense stature.
Alex Ferguson’s greatest challenge arrived in the form of a nutcase duo; one believed he could buy everything, the other believed he could win everything. The challenge was nothing compared to the occasional verbal sparring with Wenger, or the spiteful 2 games with Liverpool every season. Chelsea’s dynamic team meant that the bar had been further raised to be crowned champions of England. Liverpool have found life easier in the Champions League where the spotlight is on the team of the night, not of an entire campaign. Carefully blending a team of true consistency and grit was the ultimate challenge for Ferguson, and he has openly adopted his greatest nemesis as a person he’d share good bottles of wine with. Ever since that fateful evening Porto eliminated Man Utd from the Champion’s League, you get the feeling it was the start of a stormy rivalry between the two managers every time they met.
That this season they have made their love affair public, Ferguson had more than just gall to talk about the team he probably spites as much as Liverpool. He had respect. And maybe Mourinho gave him a tad too much, or must be still drunk from all the wine Fergie has put on his doorstep. He had honestly believed he could win everything. But was his own stubbornness to blame? He spoke of what might happen if Roman doesn’t listen to him and not give him some $$$ to reinforce a beleaguered team who was missing far too many ‘untouchables’. And it was apparent on the pitch with 10 draws. Mourinho said, “I knew there will be a season where i will not be a champion.” But i dont think this was the season.
While Mourinho would envy the longevity and status of Ferguson, the latter would swap his soul for youth. How Ferguson turned the tide on Mourinho by turning the pressure over to the Champions was the key to this season’s league title. For the last 2 seasons, Ferguson was playing catch, and just could not match Chelsea’s strength. This season he forced Chelsea to paddle up to them, and 4 competitions proved too much for a Chelsea squad that was thinner than last season’s.
Ferguson lured Mourinho into far too many drinks, and even gave him a sparkle of wild imaginations; that they could meet each other in the Champion’s League final. In all that talk, Fergie must have been lusting over the Premiership all along anyway. And the Devil himself triumphs in the end.
If every season Liverpool beats Chelsea in a semi final of any competition means we’ll win it, i’ll pray for Chelsea every season, please, do well enough to lose to us. Who would’ve thought an epic final would be staged again? Battle Royale 2. We’ll have to pray for another miracle following Milan’s anal pounding on Wednesday night. I doubt even Liverpool’s resilience can hold the mighty Milan at bay for 90 minutes, while we sneak one in at their end. I believe hunger and desire will be the key.
I will be the first to acknowledge that the road to Athens was not easy, but was helped along by fate, i suppose, call it anything you want. Barcelona’s lunacy in the Nou Camp, Alex’s rather convenient ghosting after so crucially denied Arsenal a place in the final 8, and Carvalho’s prudence in defence was sorely missed at Anfield. He could have possibly turned Mourinho’s blasphemy into truth had he started, about how Chelsea were the more dominant force in Merseyside.
Now, a different proposition; a FULL strength Milan exhibited one of their finest performance, perhaps reminiscent of their first half blitzkrieg which rampaged Liverpool in Istanbul, and disposed the soon to be crowned English Champions. Disposed being the least annoying word at the moment.
Hacks in the press commented that in 2005, Benitez’s stroke of genius and good fortune struck gold when he brought the ol’ big ears back to Anfield, at least a crowning jewel in the storeroom which will be the envy throughout Europe for awhile, had bought him ‘an extra few seasons’ following the mishap of finishing 5th in the league. But hell, i’d give Rafa an arm and 20 years if he’ll bring back more European Cups and keep grabbing Chelsea by the balls in every semi final.
The fact is, this small club from Merseyside now have to chance to stake its claim on the European scene like they were once so feared; win in Athens and we’re level with Milan and boast we’re arguably the 2nd most successful team in Europe. 6 Finals and 5 wins. Milan has been to 10 finals and won 6.
Milan stakes their pride in deep history and luxury and glamour; none of which the army of Liverpool fans have come to take part in and that’s what makes this club special. It’s the people’s club, the Liverbird on your chest is the essence, and we don’t know the fine Italian wines, the robust historical influence and impact on modern culture but by golly, we want this trophy to fill our sweat and emotions.
I read with agony that many great Malaysian films tend to get accepted in various popular film festivals around the world. Pusan. Rotterdam. Berlin. Tokyo. Toronto. They call it an international film festival and that’s not about the standard of the films, but rather the sharing and understanding of this multicultural, multi-linguistic world. Maybe people don’t understand or don’t value the ideas of such film festivals (or life, for that matter), which probably makes it less worthwhile to produce films here. It makes the Malaysian New Wave (literally meaning a new wave of indie directors) sound like an underground movement, when they should be lauded for making quality films. I noticed the number of recognitions that Mukhsin had attached to its poster, it was like it traveled around the world before coming back to be released here, backed by auditions abroad to stamp a more marketable feature of the film.
I still cannot believe the stance on censorship. Every Malaysian would want to have an internet connection, and TMNet knows this, offering desktops with their streamyx packages, and lowering rates to attract new customers (even if it means disgruntled existing customers). Well, why not? It’s uncensored. For now, at least. Everything you wanted to know in a movie, but was cut for whatever dubious reasons, you can find it out on the net. You can find out The Departed had used the work “fuck” a massive 237 times but probably none were heard at cinemas. It’s not that it’s a great deal, or the word “fuck” was fundamental to the plot, but the notion of the cover-up, of something so blatantly obvious and so that it makes us, the population, seem like weak-minded fools who needs other people to decide if anything is too much for us. Let’s not kid ourselves anymore. This is why we look up to people who have travelled extensively, where visual and verbal expressiveness are far more advanced than those of ours. If you want to censor violence, censor the news. Maybe replace the news entirely with “Football Focus with John Dykes”. There’s certainly no violence there, plus, our very own Shebby Singh is there vehemently bombarding us with his cracking wit.
Where’s our own film festival if we’re so broad-minded, and so willing to embrace globalisation and think globally? This is such a pampered and protected country that is still too highly appreciative of ourselves. We’re hardly a place too good to be true. We’re still developing. Yes, developing more smart people, developing more people who can grow money, developing people who will work more for less, developing people who can achieve anything and developing people with other broad elements as mentioned to spur the development of this country. In other words, spawning people who would create both value and wealth, striving for excellence and looking forward to spend a good amount of their wealth on foreign luxuries and luxuries in foreign countries. It almost sounds like we’re a programmable robot, trained to be as dynamic and useful as can be, though there’s still a band of people whom robots will find hard to replace. No, they’re not called the government. They’re most likely the people who feels life is more than just money, love and sex. Well, more often than not.
Back to the film festival rant; i’m still appalled by this country’s lack of recognition of our indie filmmakers, and much of indie filmakers in general. I mean, i’m not praying for them to be accepted as mainstream, but why do our films enjoy greater measure of publicity in foreign countries, while after all that touring, it comes back to open at box offices in Malaysia? It’s probably not good enough and too good at the same time for us. Not good enough when compared to Spiderman, yet too good for us to understand and appreciate. Our own sadistic Malaysian Film Festival (please find that the word International is NOT attached, which again, is by no means indicating the standard of the films but rather the sharing and understanding of this multicultural, multi-linguistic world) which is the product of goofy industry people, had 30 awards to give out to 25 films in 2005. 2006 had 2 less films, the same number of awards. “Filem Malaysia Era Globalisasi” konon. (loosely translating to “Malaysian films in the globalisation era” my ass.)
Amir Muhammad
Director of Tokyo Magic Hour (IFF Rotterdam, Singapore IFF, Hong Kong IFF, San Francisco IFF, Los Angeles Asian Pacific FF, CINEFAN FF, and Melbourne IFF)
What are your thoughts on the awards?
It places importance on not offending anybody, giving awards to everybody.
Fantastic.
Singapore’s Intertional Film Festival is already reaching its 20th year, yet another feather in their cap and argument for them being light years ahead of us. There’s even a Yasmin Ahmad retrospective on the 19th Tokyo International Film Festival, probably the most acclaimed Asian Film Festival, where Sepet was honored as Best Asian Film. Here is another retrospective in honour of our Yasmin Ahmad, who’s not shy to court controversy in recent memory.
UNIVERSITY OF HAWAII WILL HONOR ACCLAIMED MALAYSIAN FILM DIRECTOR WITH FIRST U.S. RETROSPECTIVE
What: Retrospective on Director Yasmin Ahmad and Contemporary Malaysian Cinema, Director in Person
When: April 13 to April 15, 2007
Where: Doris Duke Theatre, Honolulu Academy of Arts
900 South Beretania Street, Honolulu, HI
1 808 532 8768
Study so hard for what, when we cannot appreciate things and efforts like this. I don’t think we’re that flipping special that they should labour to learn about us and our cinema, since we don’t learn anyone else’s. A handful do. But again, no, it’s not at the inception of our government. They’d wish for people to accomplish anything, and then hail the great people of Malaysia, fuelling the fact that “Malaysia (masih) Boleh!”. They would provide something like a free education (which means, cheap textbooks and a real building to study in, but offset by placing 50 people in a class, lousy facilities and unmotivated teachers) til 17 and some tax concessions. Like i said, study, make money and hopefully be somebody. In no particular order. That’s life here.
When did USA’s oil production peak? How did the Reagan administration administer a dose to lubricate the disintegration of the old Soviet Union and end the Cold War? Has global oil production peaked? What are possible sources that may replace oil? How is that change going to take place? Are our financial sector growth dependent on the lie of everlasting oil? What is our consumption amounting to? How does our consumption pattern compare with the world production pattern? Is the war on Iraq suppose to secure oil for the US? What impact does China and India play in regards to hastening our oil’s demise? Are there new deposits that have been found? How long does it take to retro-fit current refineries to create alternative sources of energy? How will markets then react to the realisation that energy consumption cannot be fulfilled? How does the free market further amplifies attempts at conservation that threatens to increase societal output? What is going to happen to us? What are the big energy firms doing? How will oil, or the lack of it, threaten to destroy the economy? Why has the world not reacted?
I can’t answer all that, but someone else can. You can find the answers here. Scare yourself to death with this documentary. Or at least visit the website. You do realise that these questions were asked because the answers provide a very real threat to this world.
Is this a lie? I certainly hope it is. But frankly, it probably isnt. Watch this.
I have refused to be drawn on the much publicised Virginia Tech shooting, rather prefering to mourn sensibly at such a horrendous act and the ease with which guns can be acquired. What was he crying out loud for? Why did he do it?
Ultimately, he was the product of our society, maybe more appropriately, of American culture. Did we spawn a creature like him? His mental state may have been disorderly, but was his oppression part of a greater fault of our race (as humans, not as national colour)? The consensus among the media and most commentators are that his own ways capitulated in his own tortured soul, and that he plays the blame-game, blaming the world for what an unruly life he has had.
A matter of law is that, we are innocent until proven guilty, and in concluding that this killer, this angry, tortured soul, with his mental anomalies shall not be taken seriously, are we possibly missing out on a plot, on reasons why this mass-murder has occurred not once, but twice in a public education vicinity? I am not sympathetic towards him, but how far fetched are his accusations? Has our society created monsters like him?
His assertions are rather immature, and blames the world for various atrocities; hedonism and whatnot. Our own judging society blames him for his own demise. Surely his actions cannot be right, but several keywords of his, most notably; rich, debauchery and hedonism refers to a decay in our society, for which ongoing debates exist regarding the ways of this world. Are we, fellow commoners, turning a blind eye towards the things that we cannot control, and exercising respect for a societal system which fails to connect with humans who cannot follow suit and follow the majority?
The shooting must be condemned, and perhaps be less publicised for fear of more martyrs to rise and massacre the public. Any inquiry as to the reasons he did what he did may not be able to fully explain the motives behind it all. But our failure to grasp or grapple with an individual like this may cost us dear. Or do we already know the roots of oppression, but find it easier to blame a dead person?
*** This is a call for moderation and contentment of our lives. I think berating someone is generally violence. So too is using dollars to endorse a lowly act. That might even be murder.
Your name starts with a C. It also contains eight consonants and 3 vowels.
There are no disabled people. Only people who have met Chuck Norris.
Chuck Norris’ tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.
When Chuck Norris has sex with a man, it is not because he is gay, but because he has run out of women.
Macgyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it.
Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.
Chuck Norris doesn’t read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, “Two seconds till.” After you ask, “Two seconds to what?” he roundhouse kicks you in the face.
Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother’s womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard.
Chuck Norris appeared in the “Street Fighter II” video game, but was removed by Beta Testers because every button caused him to do a roundhouse kick. When asked bout this “glitch,” Norris replied, “That’s no glitch.”
Chuck Norris lost his virginity before his dad did.
Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.
Chuck Norris can unscramble an egg.
Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn’t stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.
Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.
Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK’s head exploded out of sheer amazement.
Chuck Norris is not hung like a horse… horses are hung like Chuck Norris.
To prove it isn’t that big of a deal to beat cancer. Chuck Norris smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong.
Chuck Norris does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway.
There is no chin behind Chuck Norris’ beard. There is only another fist.
The original theme song to the Transformers was actually “Chuck Norris–more than meets the eye, Chuck Norris–robot in disguise,” and starred Chuck Norris as a Texas Ranger who defended the earth from drug-dealing Decepticons and could turn into a pick-up. This was far too much awesome for a single show, however, so it was divided.
The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.
It was once believed that Chuck Norris actually lost a fight to a pirate, but that is a lie, created by Chuck Norris himself to lure more pirates to him. Pirates never were very smart.
Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.
Chuck Norris used live ammunition during all shoot-outs. When a director once said he couldn’t, he replied, “Of course I can, I’m Chuck Norris,” and roundhouse kicked him in the face.
If paper beats rock, rock beats scissors, and scissors beats paper, what beats all 3 at the same time? Answer: Chuck Norris.
If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can’t see Chuck Norris, you may be only seconds away from death.
Edie Sedgwick, with Maureen Tucker from the Velvet Underground singing "After hours" from its self-titled album. Fascination with Andy Warhol's Factory and Explosive Plastic Inevitable led me here. A dark, solemn, natural beauty that was doomed from the start?
Yes, model, actress and socialite who lived a life less ordinary than most of us, and died at age 28.
There is an extremely bitter irony about being someone other than yourself. A devotee and advocate of an innate beauty of our minds, the intangible over those that which were tangible, i have been no more concerned than before about my poise, the delicate surface of my cheeks and forehead, ruthlessly abstaining from the wild sunlight, and my discreet eyes, like distant innards of a dark and mystical cave, one which so many men have tried to gaze into but grew too uncomfortable to let them persist for any longer than a split second. I may be guilty of a blatant fool’s simple-mindedness, helpless means of acquiring chattels and walked the path of sloth. Failing to apprehend the uniqueness and advantages of this body is not a crime on my part, but to put it quite simply, any gothic wishes or spells you wish to put yourself in is better off staying in an unmanifested sub-personality in the recesses of everyone’s unfathomable world. Restlessly clawing my way around floor after floor of mind-numbing, spirit-crunching people, filled with an omnidepressive aura that i begin to make sense of the atrocities of being an upstairs.
I have been previously guilty too, of being unaware of the importance of my existence to the people around. I had found out the injustice that befell upon the people around me through a tragedy occurring before my eyes, the eyes of which is not mine, making contact and focusing on a little girl whom i could no longer claim as my own. She was rushing, almost racing to the arms that comforted her all this while, clinging relentlessly to someone who almost treats the little girl as a stranger and nothing more. I looked into the eyes of the man i used to be, his derailed mind descending upon his ample, round, dumbfounded face. There was the initial feeling that i was losing much more than she was; she had already built up a cockiness that will take charity beyond belief to undo all the rage snowballed across the department. She had presumbly no friends, no one who would cast a genuine care of her life. Surrounding the walls of her life are only those who would take pleasure in her sufferings (like me).
There was just a fleeting thought, that maybe a there’s a man in her life that she would submit to. A far, more horrible and dominant person who would sedate her with scary, phony and the occasional thoughtless words that would keep her waiting for him while they both try to topple their superiors, one with a dash of beauty and supreme confidence, the other with logical, rational thoughtlessness and an irrevocable self-belief. That man did not exist. That men did not exist in her life was no utter shock, since guys these days don’t tend to work too hard for their women, recalling the days of the cries of gender equality, men and women are one of the same, that should place no responsibility on who makes the first move during courtship. Who would’ve thought the constant old barrages of women accusing men to be nonchalant and not working hard enough to earn necessary amounts to make everyone happy still exist? Free enterprise has a problem here.
My life, on the other hand, has never peaked. But the joys of the laymen were all to see. I’m well-liked by my peers and i’m father to a delightful little girl who means the world to me. It occurred to me, she was full of respect and never doubted her father, a strange bond that i was to notice only looking at someone else take on the responsibility of being her father. She remained ever as jolly when he is around, although his hair drastically changed, his ways and mannerism were infinitely faggot-like, and the most violent change of all; being determined and hardworking. Mind you, i have never taken pride in being lazy; i just do not know how to take what i have to the next level.
All of our hardwork should have culminated in a blast as we surpassed all the expectations at the job fair. Intricate planning was ruined at the last minute, with one heart attack almost leading to another. We embarked on a scandalous pursuit for replacements, and we found them to be more than deputising for our lost personnel. The disaster that befell upon what was supposed to be a crowning moment for me, was only made less sinister by the same action which had started these chain of events.
In all seriousness, recounting these days is taking its toll. I wake to find i’m somebody else everyday. Although after the job fair episode, i had begun playing an active role of parenting again. It wasn’t like i could do much else. It was manic. The everyday highs and lows and the exasperating notion of wanting it all to change. The windows. The doors. The fridge. The cabinets. The glass mirror. The cosmetics. The couch. The TV. The vase. The sink. The coffee cup. They have all been abused, in my misery. No one would believe our fabled, delusional fantasies. Searching cluelessly for an answer, i looked up books on the arcane and on philosophy.
The human mind is a strange matter. Without our natural bodies, our minds lack the defining characteristics. We were born with superficial wisdom; the ability to distinguish wrong from right. The inheritance of such discernment meant we, at all times, could identify with the good and the bad. There are possibly 3 ways of looking at it; two extremes and somewhere in the middle. How could we exist with just a beautiful mind? It is not the tangible object we could look at and judge. Judge. That is the consequences of the ability to tell right from wrong, good from bad, beautiful from ugly.
The isolation was killing us. This was no way to live, and i will rather die than grow old like this. When i was myself, i never felt alone. But now, it is unbearable. I have thought of killing him. Maybe that would bring me back myself, and my sanity. But he’s the only person whom i can empathize with, the one who would understand my predicaments. Self-pity was a trait that i loathe in people, but i find myself loathing my own circumstances, endlessly wishing for the day this transcendental madness would end.
Appearances manifests itself in the minds of people. What appears to be, is, until contrary evidence can uncover that what appears to be, actually, is not. It is just like my burly figure is not a reflection of the size of self-worth i used to place on myself. The accident remains a surreal tragedy to me. I clearly remember the despair of hovering in the car, in my dodgy estimation of about 60 – 70 feet off the ground, but never hitting the ground. I battered my mind to recall the accident. Perhaps the only way we both could force a way to pick the pieces of the accident, was to deliberately do it again.
I was hesitant, at first, but surely i could not do without trying. My determination was met with the resistance of the little girl; should both of us not survive the crash, there is little justification in our actions. My affections for her grew as i dived deeper and deeper into the role of a parent, one responsibility that I still find hard to understand. I could never understand if the way i am, was through my own microscopic view of this fledgling world, or the nurturing of great parenting. She does show steely grit at a tender age, and i see much of myself in her. But I am not fit, perhaps not ready nor wise enough to be a parent. That was the only for argument that would allow me to coax him into forcing the accident one more time.
Like many grand schemes of mankind, two (or possibly more) heads were combined. We had rifles; openly shooting non-sensical notions of the psyche, figuring there must always be a relation between cause and effect; creation and destruction, birth and death, in and out, and surely there would be a way out for both of us. One such occasion, we rubbished the anomalies of spirits and souls, and envisaged the use of some hypnotic technique, or engage in some form of meditation or another, or offer ourselves as research subjects to transfer our bodies somehow. That would have been groundbreaking. The truth is, we were every bit outraged that something like this could ever happened, and yet soothing each other in our own careless ways. Careless because at this point, we could hardly care less about who we are. Replicating what happened one year ago was at all easy; there was planning to do and a plethora of uncontrollable, variating circumstances and situations. Speed, timing, pedestrians, other cars, and finally, the colossal impact that nearly killed us both.
We finally set the stage at exactly one year after the accident. It suited us since it was a Saturday, the roads were less generous with the cars and quite possibly, our experimentation would only hurt ourselves. How badly i wanted this to end was a tragic feeling. I felt a certain rage, a rage similar to the initial despair i suffered in the hospital, lying on the bed. That rage was peculiar. The nervous anticipation surrounded my head, looking at an unfamiliar ceiling, an unfamiliar scent, and an even more unfamiliar sight standing on my left. The disdainful look on their faces, faces that i could not recognise, sharply fixated on my wellbeing. I was bewildered. Barring my condition, i would have seeked an immediate explanation for all the unfamiliarities my eyes were witnessing. Simple bits were already unfolding amidst the silence of the room, but these obtused looking bunch of sporadic faces were supressing my search for an answer. I gave up, already feeling weary from all this penned up animosity with people i don’t know, but were already abusing my mind. This injection of unprecedented uneasiness allowed me valid reasons to take another deep nap to recover from this shock.
Our initial conjecture had us starting out from the office parking lot. This proved to be a problem as the office has since folded, and is now taken over to be part of a burly multinational. Part of me was subjugated by the fact that this could go horribly wrong, kill one or both of us, or wreck other people’s lives, and destroy the lives of the people around us. The guilt was regressing into a potent factor, one that was threatening this plan. I mulled over the idiosyncrasies of the gaps between us, something which i have wondered since the beginning of this debacle, was that putting the interests of others first gets us nowhere. This has to be done.
And it was. It will remain a mystery, how the divine must have felt for us, and heart our hearts yell. It looked a perfect day. After agonising over where the chase would begin, we departed. All contingencies thought out beforehand had been in place. We had seem so thorough that we felt that we would pull this off, like a magician who never fails to pull the dove out from his hat. Sweats of concentration trickled down in the noon heat. Mixed emotions began to set in. There seemed to be something attached to the accelerator, for the more i stepped on it, needles were flying and every part of my body seemed to be bleeding. My mind was screaming, but i continued.
We hit the long stretch, quick and easy. The roads were safe, save for a few strollers who we left behind to bake in the sun. We cringed at each bend; the signs were not there but it signalled our intensed minds we were surely not getting any further from our rendezvous. By this time, if it meant that i will be crippled within the next minute, it was too late. There was no going back. The bend approached. The mirrors emptied the roads.
An ire of crunching brakes. An eruption of screeching tires. The first car halted its dynamic left swerve as it scraped the railings of the overhead bridge with the front making contact with the concrete railing first, the second car frantically followed suit, smashing into the rails with less impact than it did into the tail end of the first car, sending it in a frenzied spin, with the second car crashing onto the passenger side of the first car at reduced speed, partially from the blazing contact with the railing. The cars stopped. Both started breathing again. Blood flow struggled to match the intensed emotions rushing through their bodies. Pictures, words, voices, actions from the past, present and the future were emanating from various sources, transmitting themselves before them right now. Tears welled up. It was the one thing they could not imagine that saved them from plunging. Death.
Running around in bangles isn’t exactly the stuff Velvet Underground fans are famed to do; it’s more likely to be a loner’s pleasure, with its industriously taboo lyrics and vague sounds and extremely experimental, especially with its first two albums. Such creativity and coupled with a lack of fame and attention, would see them change course in search of different musical confrontations. Lou Reed is a great songwriter. And this short story, written in his college days, is just one such display of an epiphany of how music can be done, rather than how it should be done, convocating in airs of retreat by the mainstream joyriders, while those who espoused the initial ordeal, consecrated an unknown band during its life, and an immortal upon its death.
The Gift
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she’d returned to Wisconsin and he to Locust, Pennsylvania she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes, As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear. Visions of Marsha’s faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn’t understand who she really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn’t there. (Awww.) The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear. He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing more than a circular form the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough to write.
It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck him: he didn’t have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box, just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, a selection of midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist.
By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o’clock. He’d marked the package “FRAGILE” and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foam rubber cushioning he’d thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha’s face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he’d only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and then he was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he’d said that he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature and even though no, he didn’t love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo — but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door into the kitchen. “Oh God, it’s absolutely maudlin outside.” “Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky.” Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. “I’m supposed to be taking these salt pills, but,” she wrinkled her nose, “they make me feel like throwing up.” Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she’d seen on television. “God, don’t even talk about that.” She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. “Want one? Supposed to be better than steak.” And attempted to touch her knees. “I don’t think I’ll ever touch a daiquiri again.” She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. “Maybe Bill’ll call,” she said to Sheila’s glance. Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. “After last night, I thought maybe you’d be through with him.” “I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place.” She gestured, raising her arms upward in defense. “The thing is after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all he didn’t really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean.” She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. “I’ll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while,” she bent forward in a whisper, “I wanted to,” and now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in the den. “What do you think it is?” Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. “I don’t know.”
Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. “Why don’t you look at the return address and see who it is from?” Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. “Ugh, God, it’s from Waldo!” “That schmuck,” said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. “Well, you might as well open it,” said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.
“Ahh, shit,” said Marsha groaning. “He must have nailed it shut.” They tugged at the flap again. “My God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened.” They pulled again. “You can’t get a grip!” They both stood still, breathing heavily. “Why don’t you get the scissors,” said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand. “This is the best I could find.” She was very out of breath. “Here, you do it. I’m gonna die.” She sank into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too big and there wasn’t enough room. “Godamn this thing!” she said feeling very exasperated. Then,smiling, “I got an idea.”
“What?” said Marsha.
“Just watch,” said Sheila touching her finger to her head.
Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the middle of the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and right through the center of Waldo Jeffers’ head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
Yup, here it is the Holland Film Festival 2007 exclusive at GSC Midvalley from April 26 to May 2! I just love to champion film festivals for it can be an amazing showcase of differring cultures stretching beyond borders.
From the 8 shows that will be shown as part of this film festival, Paradise Now probably stands out between the picks by far.
“Dutch-German-French co-production is a political feature film about the topical issue of suicide missions in Israel. The Arabic-spoken film shows the final twenty-four hours of Khaled (Ali Suliman) and Said (Kais Nashef), two young Palestinian friends who are ‘chosen’ to commit a suicide attack in Tel Aviv. On the eve of their secret mission, the film follows particularly Said, who bids farewell to his mother and family, who are ignorant of his plan. He also visits a girl he has recently met. In the morning, the twosome leaves for the border crossing, bombs under their smart suits. But the scheme does not work out as planned, as the two lose sight of each other. This forces them to think again about their destination and they are torn by doubt.“
It’s great to see Tourism Malaysia promoting the arts too, but will the censorship board get their hands on these indie screenings? Can’t wait. Anyone else who finds this interesting?
yada yada i’m prepping for what could be the longest 5 days of my life yada yada by spending the entire week in a cave in midvalley fed on UV rays and air cond; i hate to play the reporter so i’ll stop short here. Further speculations on the merging of departments are supposedly good news, since we’ve avoided with a few “unwanted” departments (but does the rest think highly of us?). yada.
Had a good taste of the searing sun on Friday, clocking up almost 200km on mileage by the day’s end. I appreciate days like these. Driving out in with the view of the eary sun, meeting new people at the stocktake, did some work, and went for a promotion dinner at Hilton, which ironically on our table, the girls were buying and the guys were exposed of their stupendous voracity. It was all very encouraging at first, with the smell of sate, grilled beef and lamb, and some other flashy meats. Any buffet would be disappointing when you find their grilled zucchini finishes on the podium. But bad food can turn good if you blend them with some good company.
The people at the stocktake were hilarious. “Eh bateri pun mau tengok ke?” “Alah, tak rokok, tak jantan la!” “Yang ni penting (pointing at us), yang lain tu biar dia kira sendiri.” “Kotak ni, tiga ratus ribu tau. Boleh beli rumah, kereta, lepas tu dua orang lagi boleh kahwin.”
Colleague did not get his bonus. Maybe freshies like me could hardly bother to find out, but missing out on a bonus the way he did seems rather unfortunate. *** Note to self: Ensure at all times, whenever changing jobs, i will be a confirmed staff before their financial year-end.***
I think i’m getting totally out of whack here; i even feel uninteresting to myself. If i was someone else, i’d hardly want to know me. Playing the ostensible office boy, claiming work to be all-important. There’s a world out there still waiting for me, waiting to be explored. The office aside, all i talk to other people now is about work, the typical “me,me,me” conversations i’ve grown up laughing at. Is it a stage one must forcibly go thru and evolve into something socially acceptable? “Something” sounds about right, since i think this process is dehumanizing me.
For all the pragmatism i’ve so come to admire, i simply cannot faithfully practice as such. There is an idea, albeit an abstract of sorts and idealistic fragmentation, where this world could operate by, but rejected its notion for the right to the “true-r” sense of freedom.
Bought lotsa DVDs yesterday. This is as straight-to-the-point as i’ll get, getting myself all the movies i’ve not been able to watch from the time i came back from Sydney. The Prestige, Blood Diamond, Babel, Little Miss Sunshine, Twelve and Holding, Days of Glory, Flags of Our Fathers and… a Mind Your Language boxset.
Yes, that’s right, the infamous Mr. Brown at the classroom, teaching assorted foreign fruit tarts, in what is a simple, divine comedy. While the production is ancient, the cast nowhere to be heard of, and i’m quite sure its most famous character other than Mr. Brown himself had passed away if i remembered correctly, Mind Your Language is the series i’ve been always looking out for. Torrents have forgotten about them.
Burt Bacharach’s songs doesn’t normally haunt people; many hit pop oldies were the result of his poetry. But upon listening to his collaboration with Elvis Costello on the exquisite “What the World Needs Now is Love”, it became addictive far beyond the poppish likings of a catchy song. If you knew me better (or my tastes), it’s these songs that make me tick, fizzle, tick again and fizzle out later, before coming onto a realisation that i could probably make something out of this. It’s the arrangement, the use soft-loud interchange of vocals on emphasis between Burt and Elvis, the sudden quickfire drumming and soothing piano playing, expertly screwing your mind over with its haunting lyrics and pacing of the words. Reminds me particularly of “Heroin”, a cult Velvet Underground track.
I don’t admit to knowing what this world needs; but i secretly believe that it’s God. My subservient nature dictates the way i feel, but there’s a long way to come to the realisation before happiness becomes a thing you acquired when you know that God is behind you if you were to lean or fall, and ready to catch you in His arms.
“The one thing that is so noticeable about Valentine’s Day is that it is ALL about a person called me. That’s right. Me. “Have I found love?” “Did I lose it?” “Does anyone love me?” “I don’t really care…But why does no one love me?!” And on it goes. Even if we are in a loving, secure relationship it still tends to me about me – “Oh thank God, someone loves me!”
I’m not the most pragmatic of people, in fact my base is fortified by theory. The real world is a vicious place, and i’m starting to adapt. I have got a long way to run, and i hope i’ll get the enjoy the scenery with the people i care about. I still believe in the ways of self-sacrifice as the most sacred act of love, not in the same veins as Jesus dying for us, but putting the interests of others before yours. We find the perfect justification for it in the name of happiness. “It’s everyone’s right to be happy, so screw you!”.
Some people still think i’m crazy; why don’t i just fly to london? Airliners burn huge quantities of fossil fuel and are now the fastest-growing contributor to global warming. Flying emits CO2 directly to the atmosphere. The damage is amplified with the increase in short-haul, budget flying since much fuel is burnt trying to reach the cruising height. I plan to reach London without flying, just taking trains and buses. The itinerary is very much in the planning and budgeting phase. Besides, i’m not very young, and not intent on spending the best years of my life striving to be a millionaire. I might not be bright, but i know what to do with my life. High on my to-do list isn’t to become a Director of a so and so MNC, but rather more fulfilling things (to me) like writing and travelling. KL – London – KL sounds like the most exciting plan i have to date. Sign a flight pledge here today
An idea of how much fun of not travelling non-sensically via an airplane:
I’d surely love to complete a 2nd degree now, but i still believe in the value of the practical experience i must endure and make good of, because of the mis-match of my perceptivity and my ability to take action. Doing and understanding what needs to be done are simply different. Perhaps UTS might be my next destination again, with a Masters in International Studies (which sounds just right, perfectly for fun) or perhaps specialising further, i.e. enrolling in the Institute for Sustainable Futures.
Anyway, before my dear friend Dee gives up on me, i’d better complete my writings and send her an email.
In one of the previous post i was spouting some of the writings of Freud, about existence somewhat, some ask the pointlessness of having a blog that no one cares to read.
”I’m here, you can find me, it proves existence. How i exist, is none of anyone’s business.”
ok, i’m just bored and biased with life here. It’s not a bad place afterall. It’s booming, charming and pretty lively too. Oh i just miss it there.
Will probably update the Angkor Wat page with a little bout combining a day or two in Phnom Penh. Updated pics in Angkor Wat page as well. And my wishlist too.
… is when i have all these common flashes of brilliance, of ideas, of imagination, of thoughts of great magnitude and velocity, of a meticulous arrangement of words that would take a lifetime to remember if i do not record it quickly enough, during working hours.
it kills me, over and over and over and over again…
there’s a person i know who tries to do too much, far too much from what he is normally capable of and ends up achieving nothing. They said that if you put your mind to something, you can achieve it, if you push it far enough you’ll do it better. A normative statement like that bears as much truth as, maybe like, accountants usually make alot of money? Nah, doesn’t sound right, but you’re starting to understand i hope. Nevertheless, my point being that, each person is an intolerable variable of one another, and co-exists through an unseen compromise. Applying Popper, how do you go about falsifying something as careless and stupidly said as that?
So, subconsciously a bottom lined veil is present in the form of a “present self” and a top end probably looking something like an “intended self”. Extracting a modern description from the excellent Jerry Maguire, it’s possible to love someone for the “man he almost is”. This could go as far out as possible in preaching the eccentrities of an absurd form of beauty, something like a flawed perfection. In the same way raw, unpolished stones can be beautiful and magnetise people with a charm incomprehensible, this oxymoronic expression of a fondness for imperfection cannot be deemed illogical.
Is there a problem not achieving anything, yet knowingly and possibly doing the best you can? If you are not remembered, you do not exist. If there’s a me in every you, then i do exist, possibly in 2 ways, a physical form and an intangible form stemming from the recollections of me in every one of you. The emphasis on action to stake claims on existence is natural. Words, like us, if passed through unheard indicts it as having never been spoken at all. Hurt someone, and you’ll be remembered.
Doing too much and not seeing results is a double blow; you have spent time and resources but have gained nothing in particular, yet there is something scribbled on the board but no one can make sense of what you are trying to do. Plan. Execute. Accomplish. Simple. An inherent variable of life is that not one of us is the same; we wish we are but we are not, and when we do become, we fight to be not. I cannot further stress how beautiful minds can be, without a body and needs to fulfil. Mind and body are one but for our so-called gift of discernment, they are separate for the purposes of passing judgement of good and bad.
We all do as much as we think we can, but are sometimes hopelessly wrong. Ambition can be viewed as a form of failure; a failure to accept. Spare me your thoughts on this, it’s about as impossible to debate as the statement i put forth above so just listen. I could never do as much as the person next to me, or as little as he/she does, or equivalent to whatever the output might be. Mathematics may allow me to make 10 shoes like the person next to me, earn $20,000 p.a like the person in front of me, but not allow me to love the person behind me as much as the person in the southeast corner. I could do as much as i can do, love as much as i love, feel as much as i can feel, understand as much as i can understand so do not question and compare my capacity for life. My appetite for life can only be as big as i want it to be, but people are having each other for lunch nowadays.
I close with a thought; a combination of thoughts if you cared enough. The laws of motion, such as that which is described as “every action has an equal and opposite reaction” being nurtured in the context of the economics of the invisible hand, deals a terrifying effect. If both buying and selling is an action (a separate action i should clarify), and the invisible hand the main mechanism by which the veins of economic life are rolled out and about, will we ever see the equal and opposite reaction?
Almost everything (i dare not say everything just yet) is interlocked in an action of acquisition, and unravelling the net effects of every reaction, whether equal or unequal, opposite or not, can perhaps only be measured by the longevity of the human race. A sustainable future and a sustainable world requires a sustainable attitude and i can barely tolerate this world and myself.
I’ve been in Phnom Penh, Cambodia for 2 days now, i’ll be back next year but only God knows when. It’s partly dependant on us to see how much work we can finish in the time before New Year’s. So that’s that. Just so everyone knows where am i.
Am i, or am i not going to Cambodia? That’s the question that’s been lingering on my mind over the weekend, and since morning today when i saw that i was allocated to a senior tied to that job. If i am, i’ll be away until next year… No Christmas, No New Year, No Raya Haji but yes to USD35-40 allowances, and all expenses and meals are paid for. I do hope to go, since it’s actually quite exciting, but then again, giving this time of the year which has been traditionally my holidays period seems hard.
I hope i do know ASAP about when i’m going. It makes planning easier. Sigh. Make plans to buy presents, and not open and not see people open them. If it is God’s will, then so be it.
Hi guys, a hectic first week at office is creeping its way into my life and will soon become more than a week, lasting perpetually. Without anything to do (yet), and thus far, still lacking ambition to install MSN Messenger, without the proper software to perform proper analytical procedures, with work pending but still on someone else’s desk, and a client visit tomorrow north of my house but having to visit south to the office to get the right software installed and then head north north to get to the client’s place promises an eventful tomorrow. I’ve gotten my company bag, my bag of stationaries and whatnots that i don’t really need except for the software that is going to cost me RM9 in parking fees, and extra 45 mins of my life charged to the company for travelling which i will never claim back.
Well, in a country where everyone is encouraged to be fake and pretends to be outwardly saintly in accordance to eastern traditions but is in fact rusting and decaying, the apparent national debate about one of the most notorious criminals being ‘immortalised’ in a movie becomes a worthy front-page topic. All unconcerned parties begin writing in earnest to newspapers to lend their support or question the need for such a movie.
Honestly, a lot of rubbish movies also we don’t need. And a lot of rubbish movies make money for its producers. But the point is, a movie, is in fact for entertainment and those who choose to part with hard earned money to be entertained as such, cannot be faulted. Simple economic concept this demand and supply. Nevertheless, the outrage is understandable in a country where there is belief the thinking of some of its population is “monkey see, monkey do”. 20 year old watch 18PL films also censored, so why can’t 16 year old watch 18PL film since they dont get to see anything anyway?
The advent of the television was the real beginning of mass media, providing quick information to the public. The boom of the entertainment industry pertained to it a different function. It was to entertain. Fast forward to the 21st century, with globalisation and the seamless sharing of information, we could try our best to police the sharing of information and fail, wasting time and money. It is no longer the major medium of instruction; most people have become too smart to take instructions from an idiot box.
I’ve watched Scarface, and many others too, learned from Tony Montana about the art of swearing and getting the ‘job’ done; what is the concern about Botak Chin?
Perhaps it’s the time and setting of the movie. The 70s was a volatile time. God knows what happened then. Only our parents and grandparents would know. What was he thinking? What were his ideologies? What did he see at that present day society? Will the social context of that period mirror what it is still today? Why bother taking initiatives out of our way in glorifying the police, when the truth is, scum exists there too?
The only peril i’ll think of is about the lives he has put in danger, or harmed and those suffering from his ill will even today. But it’s for entertainment’s sake, and a lesson in history. Mind you, i’m interested in how he lived his life, rather than the methodology he used in pursuing what he craved. Truth and honesty is the lesson here, so please don’t go about crystalising the virtues of our police. Stop lying to us. Stop sticking to lousy premises about how things should be done.
I’ve been busy uploading my pictures after editing them, but streamyx is slow, and instead i’ve finish summarizing my trip in my own words faster than i can upload the pics. I’ve grouped them into albums based on each temple, and will upload them as previews along with the itinerary in chronological order.
I have noticed with my night shots, by setting ISO to the max (400), i get brighter pics without flash, but the light boards turn far too bright. Hmm….. i’m not very apt with the camera. Let me know any useful knowledge for dummies. I’m using a Panasonic Lumix FX8.
Pics coming soon i swear! In the meantime, hopefully you’ll enjoy the randomly written summary of my trip.
MALAYSIA’S been at it again, arguing about what proportion of the economy each of its two main races — the Malays and the Chinese — owns. It’s an argument that’s been running for 40 years. That wealth and race are not synonymous is important for national cohesion, but really it’s time Malaysia grew up.
It’s a tough world out there and there can be little sympathy for a country that prefers to argue about how to divide wealth rather than get on with the job of creating it.
The long-held aim is for 30 per cent of corporate equity to be in Malay hands, but the figure that the Government uses to justify handing over huge swathes of public companies to Malays but not to other races is absurd. It bases its figure on equity valued, not at market value, but at par value.
Many shares have a par value of say $1 but a market value of $12. And so the Government figure (18.9 per cent is the most recent figure) is a gross underestimate. Last month a paper by a researcher at a local think-tank came up with a figure of 45 per cent based on actual stock prices. All hell broke loose. The paper was withdrawn and the researcher resigned in protest. Part of the problem is that he is Chinese.
“Malaysia boleh!” is Malaysia’s national catch cry. It translates to “Malaysia can!” and Malaysia certainly can. Few countries are as good at wasting money. It is richly endowed with natural resources and the national obsession seems to be to extract these, sell them off and then collectively spray the proceeds up against the wall.
This all happens in the context of Malaysia’s grossly inflated sense of its place in the world.
Most Malaysians are convinced that the eyes of the world are on their country and that their leaders are world figures. This is thanks to Malaysia’s tame media and the bravado of former prime minister Mahathir Mohamad. The truth is, few people on the streets of London or New York could point to Malaysia on a map much less name its prime minister or capital city.
As if to make this point, a recent episode of The Simpsons features a newsreader trying to announce that a tidal wave had hit some place called Kuala Lumpur. He couldn’t pronounce the city’s name and so made up one, as if no-one cared anyway. But the joke was on the script writers — Kuala Lumpur is inland.
Petronas, the national oil company is well run, particularly when compared to the disaster that passes for a national oil company in neighbouring Indonesia. But in some respects, this is Malaysia’s problem. The very success of Petronas means that it is used to underwrite all manner of excess.
The KLCC development in central Kuala Lumpur is an example. It includes the Twin Towers, the tallest buildings in the world when they were built, which was their point. It certainly wasn’t that there was an office shortage in Kuala Lumpur — there wasn’t.
Malaysians are very proud of these towers. Goodness knows why. They had little to do with them. The money for them came out of the ground and the engineering was contracted out to South Korean companies.
They don’t even run the shopping centre that’s beneath them. That’s handled by Australia’s Westfield.
Next year, a Malaysian astronaut will go into space aboard a Russian rocket — the first Malay in space. And the cost? $RM95 million ($A34.3 million), to be footed by Malaysian taxpayers. The Science and Technology Minister has said that a moon landing in 2020 is the next target, aboard a US flight. There’s no indication of what the Americans will charge for this, assuming there’s even a chance that they will consider it. But what is Malaysia getting by using the space programs of others as a taxi service? There are no obvious technical benefits, but no doubt Malaysians will be told once again, that they are “boleh”. The trouble is, they’re not. It’s not their space program.
Back in July, the Government announced that it would spend $RM490 million on a sports complex near the London Olympics site so that Malaysian athletes can train there and “get used to cold weather”.
But the summer Olympics are held in the summer.
So what is the complex’s real purpose? The dozens of goodwill missions by ministers and bureaucrats to London to check on the centre’s construction and then on the athletes while they train might provide a clue.
Bank bale outs, a formula one racing track, an entire new capital city — Petronas has paid for them all. It’s been an orgy of nonsense that Malaysia can ill afford.
Why? Because Malaysia’s oil will run out in about 19 years. As it is, Malaysia will become a net oil importer in 2011 — that’s just five years away.
So it’s in this context that the latest debate about race and wealth is so sad.
It is time to move on, time to prepare the economy for life after oil. But, like Nero fiddling while Rome burned, the Malaysian Government is more interested in stunts like sending a Malaysian into space when Malaysia’s inadequate schools could have done with the cash, and arguing about wealth distribution using transparently ridiculous statistics.
That’s not Malaysia “boleh”, that’s Malaysia “bodoh” (stupid).
A thrilling, genre-bending hybrid, Bong’s film veers between monster shocks and deadpan humour with a dose of sharpened parable thrown in for good measure. Bound for instant cult status, fans of inventive cinema should clear their calendars for this one.
…Still, any horror fan’s going to have a ball with The Host; as it hits all the right bases. It’s primal and post-modern, scary and slapstick, gory yet good-hearted. The Host may be lumpy and bumpy, but it’s also one of the freshest monster movies we’ve had in decades — and, to any creature-feature buff, a rocket-ride blast of the highest order
Inspiring a bidding war upon its World Premiere at Cannes, Bong’s latest feature – like his 2003 breakthrough, Memories of Murder – is a canny blend of genres and tones, playing at times like a half-dozen films in one. It’s also some of the best fun you’ll have in a cinema all year: shot with extraordinary confidence, effortlessly juggling moments of SF wonderment, white-knuckle drama, and pitch-black comedy, and featuring some state-of-the-art CGI effects, it’s enough to remind you why you started going to the movies in the first place.
A sequel, or follow up by Michael Backman on his article about waste has been published in The Age today. This time as its title suggests, “trading insults” and digging up some dirt that Rafidah would love to forget.
Read up and discuss.
Malaysia bites back and industriously trades the insults by Michael Backman
The Age
November 29, 2006
MY LAST column on wasteful government spending in Malaysia (Business, 15/11) generated a furore. I received more than 600 emails from readers, mostly Malaysians (both expatriate and in Malaysia) and nearly all supportive.
The column was the most emailed item on The Age’s website for six days straight and it was replicated in dozens of blogs worldwide.
My personal website received more than 50,000 hits. A Malaysian Government minister criticised the column publicly. And the Malaysian Opposition Leader issued a news release in its support.
The minister, Rafidah Aziz, Malaysia’s Minister for Trade and Industry, declared somewhat imperiously that she didn’t care what I said because I am a foreigner and I probably don’t know much about Malaysia anyway.
Rafidah knows her trade brief like few others. Her knowledge of the complex rules of the international trading system, with its many trade barriers, is remarkable. In meetings with other trade ministers, she rarely needs assistance from minders. Hard working and tenacious, I once thought she might make a reasonable prime minister.
But her technical abilities are marred by her mishandling of other issues, most recently her ministry’s allocation of much coveted car import permits. Most went to a handful of well-connected businessmen, including her own relatives.
The issue exploded in Malaysia late last year and she was lucky to keep her job.
And then there are the corruption allegations. In 1995, in a report to the attorney-general, the public prosecutor said there was a prima facie basis for Rafidah’s arrest and prosecution on five counts of corruption.
An opposition activist later acquired official documents that appeared to confirm this. He was jailed for two years under the Official Secrets Act simply for possessing them. Rafidah, on the other hand, was not even charged.
Rafidah added to her remarks about my column that no Malaysian should say such things. It’s little wonder that she doesn’t welcome scrutiny from her own people. But then the idea that Malaysians cannot comment publicly about how their country is run but a non-Malaysian can, is disgraceful.
Perhaps Rafidah needs to be reminded who pays her salary.
And as if to underscore my points about waste, on the day that my column was published, an assistant minister told the Malaysian Parliament that Malaysia’s first astronaut to be sent into space next year aboard a Russian space mission will be tasked to play batu seremban, a traditional Malay children’s game played with pebbles, will do some batik painting and will make teh tarik, a type of Malaysian milky tea, all to see how these things can be done without gravity.
The day before, the Government announced that a new RM400 million ($A142 million) palace will be built for Malaysia’s king, a position that is almost entirely ceremonial.
And the week before a groundbreaking ceremony was held for a second bridge between Penang and the Malaysian peninsular costing RM3 billion, a bridge that many consider unnecessary.
Where would the money be better spent?
Education is the obvious answer. But not on school buildings, for it matters less in what children are educated than how. And how children are educated in Malaysia is a national disaster.
Learning is largely by rote. In an email to me last week, one Malaysian recalled her schooling as being in a system “all about spoon-feeding, memory work and regurgitation. Students are not encouraged to think for themselves and they become adults who swallow everything they’re told.”
Even the existing system fails many. It has just emerged that in Sabah state, only 46 per cent of the students who had sat the UPSR — the exam that students sit before going to secondary school — had passed. One small school actually had a 100 per cent failure rate.
But does the Malaysian Government want creative, critical thinkers? Prime Minister Abdullah Badawi said to the ruling party’s recent general assembly Malaysia needed to make students creative. But that means they must be questioning and thus critical; what hope is there of that when one of Abdullah’s own ministers tells Malaysians that they cannot say the things that I can and hundreds of them write to me to complain because they don’t feel that they can complain to their own Government?
Malaysia needs to do something. Its oil will run out soon and it has lost much of its appeal to foreign investors — recent UN figures show that from 2004 to 2005, foreign investment in Malaysia fell by 14 per cent, when the world economy was enjoying one of its longest periods of growth. One might wonder what the Trade and Industry Minister has actually been doing.
But, while politicians from the ruling party preach about Malay nationalism, there are at least some who quietly go about the business of trying to secure the country’s future. Not all of them are Chinese.
Two weeks ago, Malaysia’s MMC Corporation, together with a local partner, won a $US30 billion infrastructure deal in Saudi Arabia. That’s a huge undertaking for any company, let alone a Malaysian one, and just as well too — someone has to pay the bills.
ends
www.michaelbackman.com
Are Malaysians getting too full of ourselves? We are perhaps guilty of being proud of nothing at all. We’re neither here nor there in so many areas, democratic in appearance, but in mind? Free market in a way or two, but 98 or 99 ways to intervene.
Michael Backman, should his articles find its way around, has perhaps in one article or two, summed up how our voices are repressed. Singapore’s voices are stifled to some extent too, but at least they are light years ahead of us.
Everyone votes in politicians who can lie, and still make the future look bright. Ours are bleak. When Donald Trump says, “The world is unfair,” we all believe him. Because that’s the truth. But i do not want that coming out of anyone who’s sitting in Parliament. We want to be told that our country WILL reach developed status by 2020 and have the means currently to say it’s somewhat realistic. Obviously, when you want to believe in lies, they have to have some realistic components.
Save for the fact that i’m a loyal TMNet customer, been around using streamyx for 4 or 5 years now, upgraded my lousy connection of 512kbps to an indifferent 1Mpbs line, paying RM88 instead of RM77 from the very start. Ok, promotions entice you to get something, and offering a good deal is good for them and i could be just unlucky.
But for the love your EXISTING customers, please please please ensure that all of us have the connection we deserve. I do not trust the bandwidth test offered, and i’ve done some other tests which puts my speed around 800kbps. ????.
Pages take forever to load. How to view my fave photoblogs?
If you can’t handle the number of subscriptions currently, dont #$%$# offer your services even cheaper lar! Seriously. Damn kurap.
I’m probably going to cancel my account, ask my mum to sign up and get 24 months at RM77 and when TMNet screws up, they won’t want to deal with her……
A Prairie Home Companion, the last feature of the late Robert Altman, is very capably and immaculately done, as you would imagine. So much so that the characters seem to be totally enjoying themselves in the movie, with lively and natural performances. They seemed relaxed, without signs of over-perfecting the entire movie.
An idea inspired by Garrison Keillor, it draws THE fitting end to a long running radio show, in front of a live audience. Star performances by its elite cast is a joy to note; Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly as Dusty and Lefty, sterling performances by Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep who seemed like they’ve been working together forever, a delightful Kevin Kline doing what he does best and a noteworthy performance by Lindsay Lohan, shying away from all the teensy-weensy movies. All this under the watchful eye of the master.
Its leisurely pace, the setting, the direction and the camaraderie which existed between the characters. Funny, witty conversations, Dusty and Lefty providing lots of it, along with GK, who wrote the screenplay. A joy to watch, nothing the masterpiece or the marvel but very delightful nonetheless.
indiewire remembers him here, and you can learn more about the man as the tributes pour in the for a great filmmaker.
Sorry! Streamyx hasn’t really been kind to me so no updates were done. Still running some much needed errands throughout the week and the coming one, and then i’ll kickoff my career. But before that, lots need to be done.
Jinny will have to be patient with regards to my update about Cambodia, i’ll prolly get all the pics uploaded asap, before i start recollecting my trip in words. Apologies, i have been procrastinating quite a bit, even without MSN.
I have watched Ciplak on the GSC International Screens and i’ll say i enjoyed it thoroughly. Indie films are such a joy to watch, since i’ll go home thinking about making my own short film or some sort. You can sense that the movie contained everything Khairil M. Bahar liked about films; the style, the wits and humour. Support Malaysian indie films!
Save some money, and stop watching mind-numbing, ball bustin’, mental films from Hollywood and give this a go. After that, you can watch the ciplak movies you love.
No, i’m not whining about Casino Royale; which is as a matter of fact, great!
Michael Backman’s article on Malaysia, labelling his arguments as ’constructive criticisms’ may have more than valid claims about the direction we are heading. As any country can be ‘bodoh’ (stupid) with their policies, Bolehland thrives on the ‘boleh’ (can-do) spirit and to a certain extent, idiocy.
You can find his article on The Age here; Rafidah’s tame response:
“What do we care? Obviously, this person doesn’t know Malaysia. He is an outsider and he can say what he likes. I don’t really care about what others say – as long as it is not a Malaysian saying it,” she said.
The Wanita Umno chief said the Australian writer had apparently not followed the Umno general assembly proceedings closely.
“If he did, he would have seen things differently.”
Well, of course he can say what he likes. But if he was Malaysian………..
I’ve perhaps immortalised about a quarter of the itinerary of movies i watched at the Melbourne International Film Festival 2006, and still have some way to go before i finish every one of them. Along the line somewhere, will be 3 very interesting documentaries shown at the festival; An Inconvenient Truth, A Crude Awakening: The Oil Crash and Black Gold.
For now, i’ll take a break from writing and posting film reviews and do some candid posting around. I’ll amass another bulk of reviews and post them up again.
I’m still only 40% complete in a story that i’ve promised to mail to my dear friend in Sydney. I’ll be working on that for the whole coming week. When she gets it, i’ve already got permission to post it here, so you’ll get a read too!
I’m also in the middle of editing the pictures i’ve taken at Angkor Wat and provide the details of my trip, hopefully every detail that i can remember of it including the planning of the entire trip. It will be on a new page, just like my new wishlist.
I guess it’s now time for a heavenly cuppa Kopi ‘C’ and disabling my MSN and PS2.
A princely animated debut, drawing some stylistic parallels with Japanese animation. A violent, action packed feature contrary to what the title may lead you to think. The feature title turns out to be a dead character in the movie, Christina, a celebrated porn star. Her death give births to horrors when her brother finds Mia, Christina’s daughter, has been abused.
When his request that all footage of The Princess retained by the porn company be destroyed, an uncalled for bloody violence is unleash upon the people who brought her fame, taking on the entire industry single-handedly.
The film features sequences of live action replaying flashbacks, and boasts violence that live action films would find difficult replicating. A one-man slaughtering of the porn industry, the film seemingly points to a certain agenda that it is made for. As the director remarked, “whilst pornography is openly available (in Denmark), the women involved are regarded as being a sort of underclass – and his film was partly an attempt to expose this hypocrisy.” (citing londonviewer)
Phillipe de Nohan, a Parisian actor from the Comédie Française is the sole survivor of a shipwreck, and finds himself the sole inhabitant of an island. Phillipe recontructs his life in the island, cursing his luck at first but find it inevitable that he will spend the rest of his life there. Set probably during the pre-Renaissance period, he sets about his lonely life and stumbles across a dog, which he domesticated and put to good use pitting the dog as part of a society, electing himself absolute ruler and governor of the land.
When he encounters a tribe of unknown origin on the island performing a ceremonial rite, he sets about investigating them and ends up capturing one of them and held him to be his slave. His solitude bordering towards insanity, he sets about teaching the boy the ways of the world he used to know, and finds a different meaning of life altogether; one that as a person rich in culture, can hardly differentiate.
I could scarcely remember anything from this movie, other than the depiction of the 9-by-9 cells used by the inmates, the methodology used to create the film and that I really do not want to be in prison. 2 reasons for this; 1) I had no notepad to record anything that I wanted to say, even if I had anything to say at all and 2) I had barely any sleep the night before, for reasons unknown, and was drooping off to sleep every 5 mins, largely thanks to the fact that there weren’t many people sitting around me anyway.
The idea of the film was to convey to the viewer of the conditions and the life being in prison as viewed from the eyes of the inmate. 10 inmates were used for this film, armed with basic filming skills and thus allowed full freedom of expression and each became their own director and star of their own short films of their lives. It was easy to comprehend, no whiff whaff to consider about plots; just clear pictures of who these people really are and how they go about living their own lives in the cell provided, some bringing lively and frank introduction, so less so, some were totally annoyed at their cellmates and this made the film seem so enterprising. You’ll need a certain mood to watch this, not recommended if you do not have enough sleep.
A dark, depressing film of consequence and morality following a student activist, Nina, who was accused along with 2 friends of killing a policeman. Middle-aged college professor Carsten who is also her lover, decides to forsake his family to spend time with Nina, abandoning his wife and losing the respect of his son.
Loopholes the size of the ozone and a lack of evidence acquitted Nina and her friends, sparking an outrage of the policeman’s widow. What follows on here is the guilt, regret and insecurities that takes ascension in Carten and Nina’s lives, with a policeman killed, outrage from the media and 2 destroyed familes haunting them.
This felt like it was somewhat styled like a B-grade Hollywood drama with lots of emotions, but not much substance.
Tough action throughout, Pusher is the first of a trilogy of the same title, possibly Godfather inspired about life pushing drugs on the streets and living it out loud. A cult favourite among indie viewers and in Europe, its all action characters lives up the action on the streets depicts the viciousness of the business.
When Frank screws up a huge deal, all hell breaks loose and he can only rely on his wits with the whole world. Good acting and clever writing, with a good mix of character development and action, resulting in a splendid, compelling action movie.
A father, upon the wishes of his ailing wife, sets out for Wuhan to search for his son with the help of his daughter. His disillusioned daughter confers little help, but he meets a policeman who offers to be of service despite being only a few days from retirement. Determined to find his son, both of them slowly unearth clues regarding is whereabouts and find out a little more about who he was and what he was indulging in.
A tale of despair and fate, Luxury Car examines what life can be like when country folks wander into the city in search of a better life. It visualizes a virtue clearly lacking in today’s society; contentment. But everybody loves a rags-to-riches tale. So why make a movie about those who tried and failed?
This is straight from the arthouse; from a team of real-life husband and wife who play the lead characters, the contours of their faces form the basic expressive dialogue in the movie. The settings and landscapes are pleasant, and the weather is a metaphor for the ever changing moods the characters go through. You can sense the subtle perfections in each frame, and leaves the viewer to feel the raw emotions of the characters.
Very, very impressive and artistically done. There is gravity drawing you to the characters, and while the expressiveness is central, the dialogue does moves the story forward. Artistically superior, but not much else.
Myself, had been reading as many reviews as i can regarding The Host, for each of the reviews doesn’t seem to help much. And i can’t help much either. This is genre defying at its best as it has so many sides to it; action, comedy, horror, political satire, family drama without being too much of either one.
It shies away from stereotypes, seamlessly blending everything and conjuring up something very special here. It goes lengths to show bizarre and commiserating sequences. taking your heart out for a wild ride and you feel for each characters, even for Kang-du’s lack of flair for living and you’ll see why even though you’d pull your guts out for him. By the end you won’t know what you’ll feel, but that’s the best thing. Unpredictability is a gem of this movie and a blockbuster of a movie in Korea.
Watch for yourself, and you will see what i mean. Opens at GSC on the 30th of November.
Well now, it’s interesting to note that it began on the 9th of Nov til 18th Nov, showcasing movies predominantly from Europe, with a large selection from Finland in conjunction with their chairing of the European Union. Delectable films from Sweden, Austria, Spain, Germany, Romania and the like are hard to come by here in Malaysia and i look forward to catching some of them here.
A complete listing schedule can be found here for GSC 1Utama and here for GSC Midvalley.
A note of interest; how come Malaysian made films are shown on the International Screens? Ciplak (English) by Khairil M. Bahar and Rain Dogs (Cantonese) by Ho Huyang (who prominently has screenings in film festivals elsewhere anyway), among them, questions about the objective intended for the international screens arise.
Non-mainstream? Probably, yes. Malaysian? Probably, yes too. I may be wrong about what’s good to be part of being screened at the International Screens, but finding it was quite a hassle, and now that i’ve found it, i’m looking forward to see it. Anyone else?
Movie titles often hints on the tilt of the theme with a very basic notion of the film, whether literally or indirectly. This film goes a long way in doing that; it embodies everything about the movie to the extent that the title becomes the very essence of the movie. Loosely based on co-writer Francois Boulay’s memories of growing, and i must say, along with Jean Marc Vallee, they have created one of the best coming of age movies.
There was a way long forgotten about making ordinary lives seem so wonderful and interesting and watching this makes me remember how. Lives of 5 brothers and their family, interwoven before the eyes of Zachary. It apparently took 10 years to write this film, and i can see why. The depth of each character is vivid; everyone has very interesting traits, each person is carefully detailed and you feel alot for certain characters. You can feel both the happiness and anguish each character feels, because it’s easy to relate to. I, for one, was moved by his Zachary’s antics to ‘heal’ his asthma, since everything else failed him, Mum, medicine and the tupperware lady who thinks he’s divine, and he thought only God or something freakish would save him.
As they go along, you’ll see the there indeed isn’t any right or wrong about growing up, they all took different paths, and they seem to turn out alright. Disappointments and anger come and go, but families are forever. I’ll rate this as the best coming of age movie i’ve ever watched, and as a general movie, there is a comparable likeness to Goodfellas, on so many levels that i’d find it hard to pick which was better. The music, the plot and the characters, much like in The Goodfellas, are superb. The Who, Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Patsy Cline, David Bowie and Elvis, ringing the tunes, putting the gloss on a timeless classic.
My very own review of the movies that i’ve watched on the Melbourne International Film Festival 2006! As much as they are my own reference that i may always recall this positive experience, i’m writing this for you too, that you may gain more insight on the films that were screened at the festival, and many of these movies were originally screened at other festivals too like Pusan, Toronto, Rotterdam, Berlin and Cannes.
No attention is paid to whether this movie was screened elsewhere for competition, any winners are disregarded. I’ll just go through the films with a clear mind and of course, what i remembered and felt while sitting in the theatres watching that particular movie. I dont deny some movies tend to be more appreciated after awhile or repeated viewings, and some truly understand it after some time. I’ll do my best to keep it straight from my mind, attempting to look at what is conveyed and depicted on the screen, rather than the techniques and the big so-and-sos making the film.
Im not a film student, and hence will not try to act like one. I just love films and the beauty that they may carry, and value it more than just an activity i do to waste my time.
here was seemingly no plot in this movie, but it goes to great lengths to depict pre-Revolution 1989, under the Communist dictatorship of Nicolai Ceausescu. It follows Eva, her surroundings, family and growing up during those last days prior to the Revolution. Lalalilu, her very likeable brother who more than totally adores her; he loves and respects her, providing some cheery and feel good moments in a rather easy watching film than what the title suggests.
It was what that we cannot convey in words but expressed through experience and your eyes are taken into Eva’s life. She was ardently gifted with innocence and was no more beautiful than anything, drifting a long, long way to make life simpler. There was no great achievement, no victory or defeat, no grandeur, but emotions and the silent resistance that many families take part in.
The grandest of plans was conjured by 10-year-old Lalalilu and his 2 carefree friends, aiming to be part of something you do not want to be foretold. It was beautiful, careless, charming and sad, and I cannot help to take my eyes off Eva and ‘Lali’ (as he is called for short) and their bond is something uncommon and wonderful. No matter how hard life can be, being there for one another compensates and soothes them to no ends. One of my favorite feel-good movies, it’s a touching story in a historical setting that thankfully does not immerse itself in history lessons.
I went watching FLANDRES hardly remembering anything i’ve read about the movie which made me want to see it above other film screening at the same time, which can be a good thing. It was the 3rd screening i was watching at the Regent Theatre on Collins Street
The movie was a minimalist effort in that it appears not to have a coherent plot which prefers revolving in the static emotions and actions of its characters in backdrops of the hills, deserts, war, lush forests and beautiful landscapes to carry the movie forward. Emotions were never floating but rather regressing into each individual character’s behaviour and actions and we are left to wonder about the thoughts of each character who do what they do and deal with its subsequent consequences
Very graphic portrayals of violence, rape, a lot of sex and very capable of seriously offending those not accustomed to watching such movies, it is a tale building blocks on grounds of regrets, our choices in life, our fears with very little unnecessary dialogues. There is a void each character is trying to fill, and actions, rather than facial expressions or words convey most of about what a character is feeling. You have been warned.
In what could be described as an enquiry into human behaviour and desires during a true historical period in the 80s, Heading South documents the desires that envelopes its characters quite candidly, exploring their confessions and feelings as expressed on a character by character basis
Three middle aged women from North America who visits Haiti for a vacation are the focus of the movie, depicting them as financial goddesses with infinite dollars while dissimilarly having precious little to contend with in where they come from. It is the connections and the relationships with people that they seek with the dollars they bring. It made them somebody there, instead of being tirelessly nobody at home. The viewer gets subjected to the fabrication and the callous denial of loneliness, the imposing gap of societies and left with the feeling that they’re not the only ones who feel the way they do. A gem of a movie, but perhaps not everyone’s cup of tea.
The great deal about Jake Clenell’s absurdly honest take on this niche of men servicing females in closely similar proportions of prostitutes is that it fundamentally portrays that we do not have the answers to the deepest darkest questions that we ask about ourselves; whether we’re looking at our jobs or relationships, and who we are is truth that flows through the course of our lives. At its core, it raises the questions that we probably do not know what we really want, or if we do, we do not know what to do or how to deal with deficits. Osaka is the place we look at, focusing on Issei (just 22 years old) and his club, Rakkyo.
What was annoying though was that parts and connection that were drawn on depicting the cultural aspects of Japan we found to be funny when it clearly was just the way people communicate, albeit fairly dissimilar to Western culture. I find it slightly disrespectful; since I don’t laugh at Western cultures despite providing high figures of doomed relationships that were mingling with pretentiousness and validation of self existence bordering on the foolish. But I shall never understand, perhaps for now, although the mood for the movie was brutally honest and I truly liked it.
Getting on to the deails of such host clubs; prostitution is celebrated as men’s fantasy, desire and urge that men have accumulated inside. Its emphasis is of the physical state, venting sexual frustration and tensions that are choked up without any release. Bar hostesses, GROs, strippers provides company, entertainment, friendly chats and flirting which more or less rather rejuvenates a person mentally. Male hosts, however, sells and paints dreams. Dreams of attention, love, compassion, innate hunger, longing and desire for the lonely women who are in fact their customers. Any woman could walk herself right in, few drinks and champagnes later she would be the happiest girl alive; at least they try to make her feel that way. Comfort is essential, since we are dealing with sensitive, delicate and emotional creatures after all. Indeed to some extent these guys are good; Issei is exceptional to the guys in doing his job, phenomenal to the girls. Answers to the questions of their sincerity lie in the numbers.
In the simplest form, a male host is a salesman; we are taken through scenes where they actually do public direct selling of their services out on the streets, with umbrellas too, selling their company to women and linger and shower them with drinks, attention and a champagne or 3.Champagnes range from $250 to $5000, and they get surrounded by male hosts when they make their “champagne call”. The amount that they spend would eventually be a male host’s pay. As part of their job, they are required to sing, drink, dance, talk, lie, joke, listen, advice, puke and whatever else they would require of them, as long as it keeps them happy. You would be thinking they would end up in bed all the time, but we’ll get to that part later.
It is neither a new concept nor a stroke of genius. What Issei does is that he rips apart with intent targeting the susceptibility and loneliness of these women clients who are ecstatic that people do care and party with them, loving, hugging, kissing, and having sex with them too, for a price. This is as close as it gets to buying happiness and love. Being there drinking and spacing out actually creates a very real fantasy world where they are the goddess/princess or whatever they are, they know they are in control of the current universe with all these men worshipping her (money). It is impossible to justify spending obscene amounts on something so temporary, menacing and possibly self destructive with all the lies and booze involved, but it IS happening.
And I wonder why. How far is a woman going to chase this illusionary happiness is something the male hosts toy upon, it is their bed and butter after all. Women are willing to spend on anything to be happy, for that is what ultimate matters, but what exactly are they looking for varies within each individual. Looking from the host club’s perspective, to make lots of money would be to have these same regularly, rich depressing women who come back often enough looking to spend some money to be happy. Morality comes into play. The ultimate form of companionship they can provide would be sex, and sex, would not be the best choice to keep them coming all the time. There is a dream to sell, which is more than sex, but the idea of being happy. And dreams pay better than sex.
Technically, male hosts are not male whores, believe what you may. The honest admission of guilt from Issei comes from his comments while discussing about the morality issue of letting these women spend all their money on them and starve and contribute to social restlessness against the desire to make more money. The lie is built on relationships, and forges into trust in time, the greatest paradox I’ve heard, but there is a moral duty for these host to avoid them spending every hard earned penny on them, where some host confess to earning $20,000- $30,000 a month. Issei said, “This is the only reason why i don’t make more than $50,000 a month.”
The demographics are appalling; though basically every woman is welcomed, most of the women interviewed are fuzokus, and some find the solace in host clubs in the fact that they are both doing the same things, except fuzokus doesn’t focuses on building relationships. They cannot find other avenues with which they could release their own stress, and no one else who would understand it more than these male hosts. Society in general looks down on prostitution, especially for women, and we find that many of these women are healing themselves by bonding with males that would understand and listen, albeit at a price. One girl even admitted to hating being a fuzoku, but without her current job, she would not be able to support her own lifestyle of going to Rakkyo every week. Getting her paycheck and visiting Issei is what keeps her going on and on and on. Issei’s affection is the paramount reason for some women to always be back there, some hoping to actually connect on a real-world basis.It will never be possible to fully understand the needs of our species.
The central plot surrounds around the arrival of Marco’s girlfriend who seems to contribute to the edgy and awkward situations that was non-existent before her stepping foot into the family. Shot in a documentary like style, using handhelds, it was a close examination of family and friendships; looking into 3 eventful days leading up to Easter in what was supposed to be a good, quiet holiday at the family’s beachside home.
Sofia was braving a contemptuous assault on Marco’s family, her openness creating an aura of tension and having her dominance endowed on each member and friends, taking a further dislike on Rita, who is rather quiet, almost mute, but more likely selectively. Though she was mute, she was beauty so prominent. Whatever she conveyed, she did so without words, and was beautiful just watching her.
Nick Naylor probably sees America as a country divided in two; the ones who smoke and the ones who doesn’t. And that itself in only a start of the satirical fun fare that one is taken about through the whole movie, ludicrous Senator Ortolan K. Finistirre brilliantly played by William H. Macy getting in Nick’s way as chief spokesperson for the Big Tobaccos. Nick Naylor is more than just a smooth, fast-talking SOB, he’s a serial killer that no legislation has as yet caught up with him. And he’s on a vicious mission to make smoking cool again.
It’s no dinnertime conversation, but just gets your mind working a little. Just even for laugh’s sake, you should not miss this movie. It lacks the glam and gloss to be a classic, but it’ll be a favourite cult movie that just sticks in your mind for its memorable laughs,
It would seem that my life has ended since the end of the Melbourne International Film Festival, and that no further updates other than movies were nearly necessary. I have since spent a week back in Sydney after the festival in Melbourne, scrambling to pack the pieces that i was supposed to bring back home to Malaysia, and scrambling to meet some friends who i believe i will not meet for a very long time. The final 7 days in Sydney were the fastest to have ever gone by, for it started then that i was already frantically missing life in Sydney for all sorts of reasons.
I was never one who showed too much outward emotions; ambivalence dictated both my arrival in Sydney and my departure from it. Since returning days have gone by in a flash as i look to pick up bits and pieces of my life here and there and carving new stonepaths in differing directions. I’m not complaining that there are too many things to do with little time to execute; much has to be said with the number of things on my mind and the time i take to try to complete anything.
But let’s talk about things that i have done.
I spent two brain-dead, lazy days in Malacca, eating and sleeping. Sickness and laziness would span the entire week after, before i decided to help out at a restaurant/cafe i used to frequent for fun, earning minimum wages so that i would not take anymore $$$ from my dad.
I was looking forward to Cambodia in mid-September and it was an extremely refreshing trip. Sydney aside, i’ve never traveled abroad alone before, and it was really exciting to do so. Siem Reap was a nice, charming little town but i’ve seen so little of it to actually say so, but we stayed right in the middle of the town it was hard to say otherwise. It was bustling with both traders and travelers, the sky gave way to the sun for 4 whole days before raining on the last night of our stay there, which was incredibly convenient since the 500 or so pics that i took was unblemished with the gloom of rainfall and its aftermath.
I’ve planned 2 pieces of fiction writing, as yet untitled, one a short haunting piece (if i can make it haunt you) and a longer work, which will take a very long time based on my current hunch. Definition of ‘a very long time’ means that i have no idea when exactly it will be completed. In ranks i would obviously want to place it in the same vein as C.R.A.Z.Y (Canada), arguably one of the most enjoyable movies i’ve gone to watch at the MIFF 2006. This would also mean that by the time i finish writing reviews of the MIFF 2006 it would be 2007!
I’ve also marked down a date with Eric Clapton, live in Singapore on the 13th of January 2007 where I’ll be only 22 rows from the stage! Really looking forward to that!
Well now, this might not surprise you; 2 attempts were made to get this post published when i wanted it to be, the 2nd time being NOW, the first; 2 weeks ago. The notable difference of highlighting my tepid attempts of keeping this blog running was that the week before Hari Raya, I had not yet secured any job offers. And now i have. I’ve got the position i wanted at KPMG, auditing. I’m 99% certain of accepting it, since i have no interviews lined up, that 1% is just for statistical sake. I’ll see what comes of it having done the medical but falling short of signing the contract.
I shall now take my rest before this ends up as a draft for the 3rd time…
I am the armchair traveller, already been to watch 32 different movies, from about 20 different countries, i guess i should be having delusions about travelling the entire world from watching movies. Nope, i’ve not reached that point. And i must say i’m having an extremely good time being part of this year’s Melbourne Film Festival. I am not a student of film, though i’d like to be one, nor a movie-maker, but the visions and perspectives that can be viewed through the minds of so many individuals is what i would be looking for, coming to terms with words, depictions, stories, parables, lessons and why people do the things people do and why we are where we are. Movies go a long way reiterating what we would like people to perceive, and indie filmmakers have seemingly so, an agenda more than money.
My host here in Melbourne, Beatrice, asked me cordially about whether i’d enjoy movies more by not knowing anything before watching it, or having read up about it first and then expecting something. I didn’t know what to say; more often than not i would read up all i can about the movies i watch, without spoiling the fun. I would say that forming an expectation level can be good, for your expectations can be exceeded by the film and it turns out to be quite a feeling. However, the feeling of not knowing what to expect can create something different, but it really depends on the mood of the movie.
Enough bout movies for now.
Friday seems to be the movie-day i’m not particularly up for. Instead i’ll be pondering more about my future, my departing Sydney which i have grown accustomed to, my returning home. That there is a great deal to ponder, worries me, since i have probably ignored most of it all to the 15 mins i spend reflecting on my life before i sleep. And Lord, have i neglected You.
When one is focused on Him, there often is a voice reminding me that no problem conjured by man was impossible for Him to solve, and i do not hear that voice now. I hear doubts. I feel as though my footprints are going backwards. In my own way i have moved out of the glory of God in my life, and i only run raggedly whenever i need Him. A thousand times we’ve been reminded, to always stay in focus, yet we can be blinded by the events unfolding before us everyday, and everyday is a continuation of our routine habits divided into timelines called days, weeks and months. Our natural tendency to sin takes up residence every moment we’re not engaging in the habit of staying in the Light. But Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things i cannot change, the courage to change the things i can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
• 5.00 PM: 9 SQUARE METRES FOR TWO
• 7.10 PM: THE GREAT HAPPINESS SPACE – A TALE OF AN OSAKA LOVE THIEF
• 9.25 PM: LUXURY CAR
I’ve arrived in Melbourne at 12pm, 3rd August 2006, all geared up to head to the movies that i have pre-booked way back in Sydney. I was originally scheduled to watch a 3pm screening of Our Daily Bread, a documentary about the ‘crises’ we call famine, when as a matter of fact, our food production capacities can feed twice our beloved Earth’s population. I gave that up, seeing that it was a little too rushed, having to take a 45 minutes bus ride from the airport to the city, and decided to go for lunch instead. I’m really thinking that my eyes wouldn’t outlast the movies that I have booked for anyway; realistically speaking, 50 movies in 10 days is a little incomprehensible to the average human being. And my thoughts for the day were about how long I can hold out my enthusiasm in the air, missing out on the luxury of another companion validating that what I am doing really is a good experience. Not many share this enthusiasm that I have for movies in this regards, the tagline already bearing warning; “IT’S A LONG WAY FROM HOLLYWOOD”.
With movies from across the globe, I am sure it will more than just re-spark my interests in looking at the world outside of the nutshells that I’ve cracked out from; movies here are either driven by Hollywouldn’t ideas or by perfectionist and masterful storytelling that either compel or bore the living hell out of you. What I’m so sure of is that I’ll be meeting different people here and there, that I will be so engrossed with everything about the movies that I might seem disinterested to talk about anything to anyone else and that some ideas will stick with me that I will repeat it to everyone I know when I’m back in Malaysia. What I’m not so sure of is that I would be able to keep my schedules, remember everything I have watched to maintain a proper dinner time conversation and actually make it a point for me to be part of a film festival every year. At least I know I’ll be sure in a week’s time.
It’s been a long week, graduating, birthday, and drinking that i’ve totally neglected posting here again. I’ve also been preparing to go to Melbourne again, and leave Sydney for good when i get back. I;m hoping to enjoy the last few weeks of my time here in Sydney before i make my way back home.
Well, enough on the pleasantries of my life. I should feel lucky to have the opportunity to be where i am, as long as God wants me to be there. In the wake of war, it doesn’t feel good to be anywhere.
i was told by someone, in a toilet in a bar, that he hates Christians, subsequent to asking if i was one myself, and the reason was “you’re $#%ing murdering all the Muslims”. At that moment, i was wary of two facts; he was a big bloke, and we’ve both been drinking. Based on that rationale i refused to say anything, even here and now.
In a totally separate event, i was told that ‘religions are $#%^ed up, they divide the world and create’ wars. I find that this impartial blame game as being totally absurd and ridiculous, for is it not the same to be saying that ‘race divides this world’ too, creating alarming blasphemy upon history (like the white supremacy theories) and nonetheless, violence and destruction. Why not blame sin? Why not blame our innate hungers and desires to be superior?
I was also told that “civilization did not create wars; wars created civilization” which was cause for pondering. I’ll leave discussing this for later.
This post was due before i went to melbourne, but here i am, continuing where i left off just before leaving Sydney. More posts coming up….
My apologies for my hiatus every now and then, it just happens without me really realising that i’ve not been doing my work on the net to only crystallize all my thoughts as memories for the day, and liquidated the very next. It’s a foolish thing to trust your memory sometimes, as though it’s an everlasting source, much like the way we store files in the computer.
Since my last post, Italy won the World Cup, a tsunami hit Indonesia, chaos in Beirut, I’ve graduated, I went to Melbourne and got back home today, I experience writer’s block on a current undertaking, I challenged myself with several ideas that i would love to work on, I’ve decided to go back home to beautiful Malaysia on the 20th of August, I’m spending well ahead of any graduation benefits i’m bound to receive, 1/3 of the money going to a desperate recklessness of curing my ailing restlessness of buying the 55th Melbourne Film Festival Passport which allows me to watch each and every single film showing at 5 different locations in Melbourne city. As the festival lasts for 19 days and i’m only going to be there for 11, i’ve booked myself 50 films to watch in those frantic 11 days. It’s going to be quite a feat, an incredible one for me. That’s youthful recklessness for you.
For one, my festival passport was paid by my bro (and he paid for a lot else too) while i paid for me own flight tickets back to Melbourne a 2nd time, as i belatedly waited for 3 days to learn of my impending final exam results before letting my plans for a 2nd trip to Melbourne be known to my family. Many people will have you believe that people should do whatever they feel like doing, that you should have aims and ambitions in life, and in my opinion there are two types of people in that regard. First, a person who slogs and works hard enough to gain what he has willed to achieve, and second, a person who selfishly accomplishes what he wants without much deliberate consideration of the means; hence the term ‘reckless’ comes to the fore on my behalf.
My lack of drive and motivation from my younger years in school has caught up with me, and now i’m vigorously making up for loss time from those days, capitulating me to making a rather rushed, and somewhat weird holiday. I was gutted to be missing the Sydney Film Festival as my exams were at the same time, and i was still partly working during that period to help support my expenses living here. And now, restless that i have not much claim to having done anything worthwhile, i will be gearing myself for a full 2 weeks of the arts and movies study; watching and making notes out of everything that i will be treated to at the cinemas come August. I’m already challenging to conjure some form of fiction to validate my experiences, to test my abilities and push myself into doing something i would really cherish.
While i’m proudly declaring my stout defiance on trying to live my life to the fullest, it did not come without marathons of contemplation, guilt and tying up a sense of fulfillment to do as i see fit. It’s just not me to do something rashful such as parting with money without contriving about the impact on net wealth, and the satisfaction i’m gaining from it. The worst bout of trying to make some sense of it all came after purchasing my air ticket, and festival passport for a sum total of $400 which took me some time to realise that i’m really doing it. At that time i was even calling myself foolish to have gone there earlier, and bemoaned my lack of planning that has contributed to a further decline in my financial position.
But now, with this post, i’m looking forward to the coming weeks, and extremely happy to being part of my own epic adventure that i will want to make as fulfilling as possible, harnessing all the ideas and insight that i should really be taking note of, and come up with something to even surprise and surpass my own imaginations. I’m talking about concocting a project that would be the first of many for me, and you will be the first to know of it and see it here.
On a side note, Melbourne was fun. Met up with my high school friend there, and spent 3 days out of 7 letting my mind go bonkers thinking about what i’d be doing on my 2nd time there in exactly 2 weeks time, armed with my glasses, notepad and pen, along with my laptop. I’m ecstatic.
That’s Stevie Wonderful, following the footsteps of my “housemate” Charlie (cos he bunks over all the time) and pay tribute to the one and only Steven Gerrard. Anfield legend / captain / general / lead bombardier / fan / player / inspiration / engine / engine oil / superhero he is a winner and Liverpool thru n thru. Sure sure, we all dreamt of a team of Carraghers and Hyypias at Anfield for the devotion to the cause. We just don’t dream of a team of Stevie Gs cos he’s too much class to dream of. We don’t say just cos Stevie G missed a penalty, he’s had a bad World Cup. I don’t care to say the least since i’m not English. But here’s a song and a clip to show my (and Charlie’s) gratitude towards the superlatives of Steven Gerrard!
“There’s only one Stevie G”
It’s all right
Stevie G
You don’t have to
say you’re sorry
It’s all right
Stevie G
We’re still happy
with one trophy
It’s all right
Stevie G
We’ll just blame it
all on Wayne Rooney
It’s all right
It’s all right, right, right
It’s all right
Stevie G!!
There’s only one
Stevie G
He runs and marauds you
and stings like a bee
There’s only one
Stevie G
He looks and shoots
and we laugh with glee
There’s only one
Stevie G
He just drives
all you mancs crazeee
There’s only one
There’s only one, one, one
There’s only one
STEVIE G………
It’s all good
Stevie G
We’ve got five
and one to keep
It’s all good
Stevie G
Don’t worry bout Chelsea
We’ve got 18, they’ve got 3
It’s all good
Stevie G
Not long more
til they sack Fergie
It’s all good
It’s all good, good, good
It’s all good
STEVIE G!
Our grasp of the picture of the devil from our apparent hindsight that we are capable of discerning good from evil, is that the Devil is the ultimate of all that is evil, his form the ultimate of all that is unpleasant, his wickedness is the ultimate that a mind is capable of, his words is the sharpest and deadliest of swords, his home the convocation of sin. You cannot see him, nor can you touch him, lest you too be consumed by fire and be destruction's incarnate. His power is beyond you, leaving you in leaps and dangles on a thin fine line; a fraction of him in you can empower you to unfathomably surpass others in any of your perilous pursuits. Yet you despise his very existence, his image, and you are genuinely afraid of losing your soul you claim to own.
This is me shedding some sympathy for the Devil. This is the self Lucifer loathes, the embodiment of all that is wrong with this world. He cannot come to you as who he really is. He has not the face that anyone has seen, yet we paint him so vividly. But what do you expect to see when the devil taps your shoulder, and you turn back to stare in his face?
I could be wrong. Perhaps i am wrong. As far back as i can remember, The Rolling Stones' called him 'a man of wealth and taste' in the song "Sympathy for the Devil". Maybe he doesn't need my sympathy. Maybe he isn't so ugly. Maybe he's more prevalent in this world than you think, by that i meant, the current workings of contemporary times.
Maybe we ought to take him more seriously, as he silently plots in this so called globalisation and the creation of a better, if not infinite world. You think about it. My sympathies for the devil from all the Hollywood blockbusters which portray him so graphically in his outward appearance, without ever knowing how he ever looks like. My idea is that he is unequivocally adept at creating the images that we want to see of him.
The title says it all; my circus life as a student will now come to an end soon and i'll be enveloping myself in a spiral of a directionless compass which will lead me some place that i don't know yet. It's winter now in Sydney, and i've not made any plans other than the tempting food trips i've been wanting to go for a long time now. Patisseries, sweets, paellas, sangria, pancakes, fresh seafood will provide some warmth this winter, albeit burning holes in my pockets.
And now that i think about it, i'll never want to leave uni. Reading and writing have been the handiest skills that i have, that i shall never want to swap doing anything else even though exams are a lil tedious sometimes. If only i get paid to read, write, speak occasionally! I've been pondering about life as an academic, though it doesn't sound too exciting, but if it was excitement i want i'll look elsewhere other than the job market. I don't want to come across as arrogant or smart at all, but i suppose each individual have a value in them that they could put to good use; some people have more practical skills, some have a sound understanding of theoretical implications, some are just made for something else.
Come Wednesday, elated and jubilant i might be, i'll be looking back at the end of what has been a nice and pampered lifestyle. I supposed it's time i make my interest payments back to my pops!
No, i am not angst-filled; just merely making my point after a day full of complete gastronomic desires. I'm just saying that sometimes you feel like you can have your own fun in your own way and you don't have to consult anyone else nor do you need to care what others' opinions about how to have a good time are.
I hate questions like "why are you drinking beer?" when they are intent on getting smashed on vodka or whisky or something else. What do people want me to answer? I drink beer because i hate it, and impress people with an extensive knowledge about where the beers i'm gulping are brewed. Also, i find a belly successful, reassuring and comfortable to have. And I don't like spirits, liquor or people.
Haha, i assure you i am not venting out my anger on anyone; just making a huge generalisation on people. Sometimes they just have to ask it. It just appeals to them like how certain activities appeal to certain people. I don't need a reason to be doing what everyone else seems to be doing, and i don't have to like what everyone else likes. But this statement is not a cavity of reasons by which i would justify any form conduct. I just like to bask in simple pleasures.
Anyway, i've had quite a pleasant day even though it wasnt the best in terms of weather. It was cold and raining all day and night, but i had this arrangement of having lunch with a dear friend of mine, which turns out to be a tea-time appointment. Not that i'm blaming anyone though, but it just makes it a wee bit more tedious walking out in the rain. Besides, Newtown Thai III was already closed by that time we met up and so we embarked on a journey towards The Rocks.
If weather and time had permitted me, i would have gotten me camera along and take loads of pics today, but it was not to be. Had a pre-supposedly 5 minute journey from the bus stop to Pancakes on The Rocks, but the downpour seemed to make it last an eternity. Crap. We were feeling cold, fingers numbed, and my friend's toes were drenched with freezing raindrops and sand.
Naturally, like kids our cheeks were revitalised even though our bodies took somewhat a battering from the bad weather, but i was all smiles and chatter by the time i sat myself down. I had been looking forward to Pancakes for awhile now, it was ages before i could reconcile and rationally pick from all the sumptuous, delightful pleasures. "Devil's Delight" sure sounds like a sinful pleasure, and so does the Seafood Crepe. By the time we were finished, the crowds were storming in, eyeing viciously on the table we sat ourselves so comfortably.
Being kind and considerate, we left, and was out in the rain once again. We stumbled all the way back to the bus stop to catch a bus back to the city, where we strolled into chinatown's night market for some food, again. The whole walking in the rain was taking its toll and decided to warm ourselves in the shopping complex, where we then decided i should get my keys from my other housemate at the Chinta Ria. That meant another distant 20 minute walk in the rain.
It must have been the cold weather that got the food outta my system hastily, and by the time i got my keys i was thinking about what to cook at home. We got ourselves a bottle of wine to go with whatever was on my mind then, by then totally withered out by the relentless rain. The hilly road towards my apartment made us feel like we were making this final push through enemy terrain before reaching home.
Entering home was utter joy. A glance at my fridge and i came up with a carbonara recipe tucked at the back of my mind for awhile; a creamy sauce with bacon and served with wine. What heaven. Food, wine, rain and some company was such a refreshing feeling, it beats me what else could better this. An awesome Friday night, championed not by the rain, food, or wine but the simple contentment of an unintrudable home and a lively breathing soul to bask in these pleasures with. And thank God for it all!
This is probably the longest post about myself to date in any of my blogs! Contrary to the blog post, i have spouted out my nice little Friday night.
It's been another week since my last ponders appeared here, and looks like it was far too long for anyone to bother reading, much less to even comment! haha, not that i'm fretting over it, but i guess it wasn't generally persuasive enough to start a conversation about what people think about equilibriums in life other than in the context of economics. Just this past week i was reading about how a rugby league player was kicked out off the sport for punching a woman's face and breaking her nose. I'm against violence against women, but being de-registered from the sport, banned from joining any other club, is similar to a capital punishment. Is that too harsh, or the perfect message to spread about the extend that society is willing to punish violence against women? I'm saying that because some other criminals do get a 2nd chance at life too. Too bad we don't live in a perfect world.
Now, the past week, God has been really kind to me. To some extent, work was kind to me too. The exquisite thing about working at Chinta Ria is that you can meet some very prominent people in Sydney, i won't name names just yet, but last Monday i was introduced to some very extendingly kind people. It was fun joking around with them, tempting them with more beers every passing glance, since it was one of the blokes' birthday. A real welcome indeed, at the fore of it, when the birthday bloke was taunted by his mate saying, "Do you wanna start with 5 beers while waiting for the others?".
"That's deadly," i said, and subsequently whispering, "mate".
I won't bore you with further gibberish, but i felt more than content to serve them, almost a pleasure with their constant laughter and fun-poking involving me as well. What further filled my day was the fact that while collecting their bill, i was to find out from them that they were themselves owners of a nice establishment with a firm group of supporters around Sydney. Strangers With Candy. It's rather catchy, and jovial, i can almost picture the atmosphere that would surround the place.
It may not be much, the extending of an invitation for me to spill back the tips they so gracefully offered, but it just made my day. It's like one of those times, where you found a terrific secret that you can't just keep to yourself, the times like finding a place where you would be so excited to explore about. It's almost like finding a treasure if i may say so, that you would like to discover it once and for all and then tell others about it and bask in all the glories of having found a beauty of a thing.
Some thing of this magnitude came upon me that time i was in Watson's Bay, Sydney. Absolutely beautiful, it's not the best, but beautiful nonetheless. And some things you just feel like it. Don't ask me why.
But tell me other enthusiastic explorations you have gone for just based on your gut feelings. To stumble upon something that stirs up this kinda feeling is just treasure to me.
Tonight has been a long time coming, a night where i find solitude in the comfort of my own home. Not that i'm saying that my housemates are getting in my way all the time; they've been anything but that really. They've actually been great for the last few months and i'm working in the same place as one of them too. So now, i've concluded weeks of assessments, quizzes and the like that are often juggled up by the seasoned uni student during this time of the semester.
At the end of my taxation law quiz, i didnt feel like i aced it, but in somewhat fair circumstances i think i did alright. I was to reiterate that fact at my interview with Maybank, who was up at the Sydney Hilton conducting with graduates and soon-to-be-graduates like myself, about baffling subject contents within the tax regulations and auditing guidelines. I found myself explaining bits and pieces of the tax legislation in a bid to convince him i would WILL be graduating at the end of this semester.
Though i am expecting my audit assignment to taste a battering, and be a brain cell killer for my tutor. It will perplex him to no ends, trying to consider the flow of the whole assignment being pieced together by 4 individuals, one of which was a total recluse who was not only uncontactable, but was unable to confer to us that she was not able to timely dedicate herself to working on the assignment because she was either sick, moving homes, or changed her bloody phone number.
And now i'm done complaining. Time to do some serious pondering while i sip my $8.00 Semillon Sauvignon Blanc. I dont know much about wines, or its significance with the names but for $8.00 worth, it was well and truly good value. So yea, while i was busily sipping my eyes was feasting on a real pleasure of a movie, Being John Malkovich.
Now it's an easy premise to determine that the movie would talk about you being in someone else's shoes or position. Being someone else. Is it totally cool? There are two things in life you wished you could do at least one point in your life. First, people have also been fascinated with the idea of being someone else. The latter point, refers to immortality. The movie addresses them both with certain interesting side points.
One of the points i took note of is the impotence of the 'free markets' regime which dictates supply from demand. We see this fallacy in the regards where the fact exists that a nobody like John Cusack's character, yet embellished with an enthusiasm and genius for puppeteering can only vividly imagine his immense success in his own workshop, devoid of any glamour and attention. On the other hand, when his phenomenal strengths were exposed as John Malkovich, all hell broke loose.
Am i missing something here? Yes, credibility often comes with effort, and Malkovich has pawed his way to fame as an actor. A capitalist is usually one who invests money, but what about the vastness and richness of human capital? We see here Malkovich unleashing his 'immense' talent in puppeteering, greatly revolutionising the entire genre, going to even inspiring the world with his apparent groundbreaking achievements in his artistry. Finance economists will have you know that capitalism is a great way of determining what people want, and economics affects lives and behaviours and for markets to be efficient information must be readily available.
My question is just how did the world come to realise to accept the works of a John Malkovich indulged in puppeteering so monumentally more than a someone else with his rightful claim to the performing talent? You say you trust your eyes, and what your eyes see is evidence, but how your mind portrays inside of itself performs the greatest bias of all, which no one else can see. How did you come to like what you like? Are we imagining that through the course of one person's life, his past dictates his future? That a John Malkovich can unleash just about anything with a great deal of effectual success due in large through his recognition as a person, yet no one knows what another person with less grandeur in stature is like.
The economics of opportunity, a synonym of chance, is just that. Chance. Luck. Fallen from the stars. Anointed by God. Maybe. If there's one thing i shall assume after 2 hours of looking at someone looking at the life through someone else's life, is never to take your own overly ambitious desires to levels beyond your control. If you want the power to do anything, pray.
This is quite a commentary. A bold uncompromising Christian living beside compromisers speaking his mind. and the truth too might i add.
For your convenience, if you don't feel like clicking the link, this is the part i really like from the article:
"The problem with the progressive wing of today’s Church is not that the devil makes us do bad things – “smoke, drink, chew or go with boys/girls who do” – but that we are so damnably quiet, so status quo subservient in our niceness, that we ignore the Spirit’s leading and play patsy with the most seductive temptation of all: namely, to go along in order to get along, which is natural for us and all human beings, given the innate hunger for bread, power and entitlement all of us harbor." – Joseph Sprague
It's not Greek nor is it hard to understand what implication this paragraph serves to show. It is true that people value companionship with high regards, that some people would go a certain distance for a friend. At times for us as Christians, it goes beyond what we are supposed to do. We compromise, we keep quiet, we stand back, stand still, tremble, we ignore, we contemplate, we question ourselves, we accept, and we allow the feeling of being accepted to forge ahead of our priorities in life.
Do not misinterpret me. I am not asking people to sever any ties with people who do not share the same views or hold the same beliefs as you. But rather to speak up, aloud of Christ and do not be ashamed of Him who is greater than all of us. Why do some of us profess our faiths so timidly as without regards for the Saviour who purchased our souls with blood? Why do we keep the knowledge that Jesus came down to save us from eternal flames to ourselves?
Our Bible is being defiled, our rights to voice as Christians are being limited, the Bible is being disregarded with many of people's own interpretations and yet our community is so damnably quiet. It's like we're sitting here basking in all the pleasures and glories of this world, forgetting we serve a sovereign God. If we sit tightly and quietly too long, we risk losing our voice to voice out the truth later on.
And i'll be first to admit, this at times includes me.
Been starting work for almost 2 weeks now, and not that i've worked every other day that i'm not having classes. Just that the whole idea of balancing work, play, friends, and living in alone in a foreign country is a little new to me.
I have to face the facts. Facts are; i've never worked before in a formal job description anywhere in the world, except for the odd jobs here and there to have some extra income to buy my desires. And not that i'm carrying a big job description over my head now, i'm just a waiter. In a Malaysian restaurant on Cockle Bay Wharf, Darling Harbour.
My point is, it's not easy to be balancing work, play and studies all at the same time. And i salute those who can. And i'm not bragging either, i'm just starting out, and transforming my life to take into account more responsibilities in my life. By now, i'm probably talking like a kid who's been living with a silver spoon all his life, but my yes, i may have been pampered for far too long.
But i'm happy to take up this challenge, and only with God's help i can truly be able to cope with it. Using all my strength in pursuing the ends of everyday may only result in gruelling fatigue, and totally devoid of anything else. Anyway, everyone has to go through the stage where one shifts from being a full time student to a full time employee or employer. And i salute those in between, the part-time student and part-time employee, who makes ends meet, who bears more burden than others yet still excel in school.
It looks like Chelsea has wrapped up the title in emphatic fashion, hitting 3 past their nearest challengers. Their midfield prowess was almost unmatchable for long periods in the game, and from that performance it is hardly any wonder why they are champions. And their championship was not won without effort. It did seem like a 'Buy One, Get One Free Deal'. Big efforts in the transfer market with funds surpassing perhaps the fortunes of the entire Premier League, meticulous efforts from the staff and players, but pale pale supporters.
Besides, Chelsea is one of the most expensive clubs to support, with its ticket prices bordering on the outrageous. These tolls may limit the tenacity and ferocity of its supporters to push the team beyond the boundaries, perhaps instead resting on the laurels of the overwhelming team sheet and benches, which in some cases is worth more than another team's entire squad. The stadium lacks bite. Lacks a vicious atmosphere. Perhaps, at the time being, still sorely lacking in silverware too, though that may change in the next few years. But it was plain funny, amidst all the hype of securing their 2nd consecutive title, at the end of the game, they needed some "we are the champions" anthem over the P.A to stir the crowd into blissful choruses and echoes stretching from end to end. Before long, the song ebbed away into obscurity again, with only certain quarters singing, certain ones waving at the TV cameras, some chatting with loved ones, and the little London school kids who probably never seen Peter Osgood played in a Chelsea shirt in their lives, remembering only the last days of Zola donning the Blues.
I'm not complaining, nor am i fighting jealousy, but it seems as though some of the crowd lacks the passion of putting their voices, pockets and energy behind their beloved team. They have lost 2 vital semi finals to Liverpool now, the latter semi with a ticket against an underdog team in the final which would make them odds on favourites to win. The bitter part of the 2 ties is that on paper, in both games, Chelsea have a far superior side on the field, witnessed both in worth and form. Yet somehow the pride of the club were not worn on the shirt, for maybe they still lack the history to say that, "A club like Chelsea should be winning every damned silverware".
What i felt that tilt the tie in Liverpool's favour was some the great desire to win it for the amazing fans and some good fortune, while Chelsea's millionaire superstars are highly motivated to achieve the peak of every footballer's career with as many winner's medals as possible. Bear in mind, Istanbul was won with the fans in mind, the fact that they sang their hearts out at half time, down 3-0, still believing something could happen in the next 45 minutes. How in the world did we, from being railed off the park by an invincible Milan side, to come out and match them, and to beat them? It was the fans. They carried the team on against Olympiacos, Juventus, Chelsea and Milan.
A club with special people does not make a club special, for it is the individuals in the clubs who are special. Great clubs are about dynasties. Leeds were big at one point, so too were Arsenal, Man Utd, Liverpool and European Cup winning sides of Nottingham Forest and Aston Villa. Liverpool, engineered a footballing dynasty with successive League titles and European Cups in the 70s and 80s. Man Utd did not achieve immortality in the public eye before 1999, 5 league titles in the last 6 seasons, and a European Cup to boast. That is a dynasty.
2 league titles do not make a club immortal, nevertheless there is a core of a great thing in Chelsea that could work in the future. Unless they win a hattrick of titles, a double, a European Cup, a treble, it remains to have no right to claim greatness. Not yet at least, especially when a club is so full of itself. Just remember to get poor ol' Mourinho a Chelsea scarf to show off next time.
When a child draws a picture of an elephant, and shows it to an adult, they would appreciate it if they were told that it's beautiful.
If an adult draws a picture of an elephant, and shows it to another adult, they would appreciate it if they were told that they've just revolutionised art.
Take a look at this and you find that it's not so alarming at first sight. But all i'm wondering about by the time i finished the articles was why was our "Don't know" percentage at least about 3 times higher than the British public? Considering that their sample sizes would be much larger than the 2000 BEIM surveyed, which only enhances the stronger viewpoints associated with the British public.
Really beats me. What do you think? I'm thinking the list is fair enough, but really, what is the difference between a TV news reader and a journalist? I suppose one is an occupation, the latter being a profession, which in turn would comprise TV news readers would they not?
Auditing requires that independence be of utmost importance, in fact, it's the cornerstone behind auditing, its results and consequences. Since it is fundamentally human behaviour that we are considering, with the bright minded elitists coming to terms about putting this world right, but it is the interests of those who have resources that we serve.
It was interesting that my tutor pointed out the fact that 'we cannot question a successful business' policies'. In that regard, he pointed to Harvey Norman, where billionaire Gerry Harvey virtually runs the whole show, and claims, contrary to common Corporate Governance practices, that Harvey Norman has "the best type of corporate governance; we own half of it, it's our blood."
Well, yes he is successful, tough, a motormouth, and defiantly stubborn, all in all, a success. So now, does success makes someone impervious to rights and wrong? In our cocoon called 'the modern context', we find ourselves submerged within the glamorous declarations of how 'we could all be successful'.
The convenient paradox created to suit our lives sounds like this; amidst our bold independent judgement, past results should not bode into the future, only our mind allows it. If someone was right 10 years ago, would he/she still be right now? Quite possibly yes, but perhaps not because he was right before, but it should be assessed on the fundamental merits of his decision. Someone richer doesn't make him/her more right than his/her poorer counterparts. Successful business man would not be more right about life, how to be happy, but maybe at amassing a small fortune. Human truth is only temporary, not infinite. And success should/cannot be aggregated into a single pool, singular for billions of individuals.
I'm this far, arguing on too many contexts, that i probably dont make sense or maybe you'll find contradictions along the lines. Ultimately, my point insists that truth is defined in the mind of the beholder. Credibility is a reality we create in our minds. Whether it leads to reality in essence or a real-world context, can only be told in the future.
Seems like i'm lacking my usual sharpness and more tactful this time.
Critics said, "This is one of the bands you have to see before you die." But, i was far less concerned about my own wellbeing compared to my concerns about their energy levels and anxiously waiting to find out how energetic their performance would be. By the night's end, i was convinced that i would be beaten by Sir Mick Jagger in a 1.5km jogathon held an hour after the concert.
That was it, they seemed to be able to absorb the youth of the audience and turn it into some form of elixir for them to stay young. I just can't fault their performance that night, and for me it was worth every penny. Forget their history, forget their bollocks off stage, forget what they stand for, but i can't forget their music. They are showpeople, and they know how to light up their audience.
Among the notes of their introduction, was that the Stones have amassed around 500+ songs to their credit. I wished there was less. That way the value derived from being there would be greater (typical kiasuness) but it was great just being there. There was genuine class being exerted, and genuine effort to stay young, remain in the business, set the standards and show the world that they are still at their fighting best.
Genres are elusive in this show, for they epitomised music itself. Masterful tracks. Brilliant coordination. Energetic. They are everything they are on the stage. Without the stage, they'd cease to exist. But enough with the superlatives, and get down to the tracks.
My faves that night in no particular order:
tumbling dice
honky tonk women
brown sugar
angie
satisfaction
you can't always get what you want
Tracks i wished they had played:
beast of burden
wild horses
gimme shelter
ruby tuesday
under my thumb
street fighting man
Nevertheless, fantastic stuff. You could go to each and every show of theirs, and still find something new to enjoy, that much i'm sure of.
I still sometimes despise the glorious industries of human capitalism, this bitter irony always makes its way into my head come the festive seasons. Like Christmas, Easter just has to have incentives to make good boys and girls, and only reminders that it is a somewhat solemn celebration deter us from giving away presents twice a year. Not that i'm denying that chocolates, eggs and bunnies aren't a subset of presents, but yes, you'd get the drift, the symbols of Christmas creates a euphoric sense for celebration for the gift of Life. It IS Jesus' birthday.
But our lives are truly granted on Easter, so here's to greeting life after Christ. Chocs. Bunnies. Eggs. We are such creatures of habit, as we learn through the course of our lives, or in a lecture in Accounting, a social science, and our habitual acts of exploiting incentive.
Essentially, death must occur prior to rebirth, and Jesus' crucifiction and subsequently, his resurrection paves the way that flawed humans can join him up in Heaven. His perfect life and exemplary conduct serves as the perfect sermon for us Christians. Remember rapture, and remember that prior to it, only Jesus has died and reborn to live eternally, and if he were to set a precedent for doing so, he'll be lonely in Heaven.
Darkly fortunate we are, that that is not the case, but still caution must be served for us in His example. Christian living has always been a challenge, but never have the masses had to deal with such rapid globalisation, blending culture, religion, thoughts, businesses, practices, communication and success so seamlessly, where the youth dream agelessly, the elders envisions far beyond their lifespan, and our children reap the rewards and replicate it.
What about us replicating the life of Jesus? Such habitual creatures we are, that it makes a mockery of our eating from the Tree of Knowledge, and our ability to discern good from evil, for how do we, rational humans, define 'good living'? Giving up fun is sacrifice, but not when fun creates problems, and denies you from living 'right'. And why do we need incentives for it? I'm robbing no one of their presents, chocs, bunnies and eggs nor am i calling for a boycott, but just how much do we need 'IT'?
One of my favourite books has gotta be 'The Little Prince' which is a really profound account of life thru the eyes of a 'little prince' written by a grown up. All round it is very thoughtful and provide chances to reflect upon the 'once upon a time' when we were young and looked at life in such a way.
Children are often misunderstood and their intelligence are underestimated by grown ups. The logic and reasoning abilities of grown ups compounds the complexities of life that one must face. The theories and hypotheses that we develop tend to make things much much harder to comprehend. Though such a research as on human behaviours will always be an incomplete one thus, a moot point, i think that the simplicity of a child's mind can be key to understanding grown up problems too.
I've seen kids in Sunday school give a very swift and definitive answer, unlike their i decisive grown up counterparts. If you asked them Heaven or Hell, it's simple. They'll answer Heaven in unison. But for me to claim that this single-minded approach of heaven or hell applies to the real world would be creating a false premise. So how and where did we get lost, where was the transition from the innocence of boyhood to complicated adulthood? Adolescent is not a state of mind, just a number beyond our own comprehension. While we are thought many things in our adolescent years because grownups felt it was about time we learnt it, our feelings and instincts have far outgrown over knowledge.
Exploring from T.V.F Cuffe's introduction of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery, Cuffe states: "…children can bear a great deal of reality; the child is a conscience as well as a consciouness and no longer a state of innocence.". Children are not miniature adults. "These hermetically sealed adults are not only solitary but also needy and demanding, since company is what most adults, unlike children, inordinately desire," as Cuffe further elaborated.
Do we still remember any of our early childhood? And what do we make of it now, that we're such rational adults? And what bodes for us in the future stemming from who we were, when time has shaped us into who we are today?
If you haven't read the book, read it. If you have, leave me some comments.
Imagine a tourist from Europe, looking to a travel agent to arrange a perfect holiday. Points to a part of the globe, and the agent responded, “No, you can’t go there, there are terrorist kidnappings there.” Optimistic and nevertheless undiscouraged, the traveler decides that let’s pick another destination. Again, the 2nd destination was met with an even swifter response from the agent saying, “Well, there’s a flu epidemic prevailing there. It’s a really killer flu.”
By now, the tourist was adamant that his next pick better be a good one and that the agent had better just say the 2 magic words; O.K. He spun the globe and looked carefully. Yesterday’s newspaper just reported a killer tsunami which claimed a staggering 27,000 lives across South Asia. That’s completely out of the question. The southern islands around Philippines and the coasts of Sabah boast beautiful beaches, but, ahh, terrorist kidnappings. Out.
Sigh. “Let’s go to the United States. Miami, Vegas!” the tourist said with a sight of clear frustration.
“Oh, what, did you not know that a madman got reelected as President? Terrorists are hell-bent on plotting an assassination of him.”
“But that attempt is just going to take place where he is at.”
“Yes, but perhaps not so. The last time they tried to take him out, they tried to crash a plane at his house, and 2 took down the World Trade Center. I guess, you never can tell where’s next, you know.”
Perhaps your passport says you can go anywhere. Or even your money allows you to go anywhere. But where exactly would you want to go? Maybe the agent above is the most pessimistic agent you’ll ever meet, but heck, he might be right on a few accounts.
The bum market may be bigger than you can imagine. the entire world’s research are devoted to bums. for those who have difficulty picturing it may find light in food research. Food research have largely contributed to the bum culture. We have burgers and potato chips for the bums who wanna have big bums, instant noodles and canned food for the bums, and health supplements for bums who detest being a bum. We cannot escape our bum destiny.
Inheritance has placed paramount pressure on us to escape it. In more ways than one, i firmly assert that money is the key and passport to bumness. And if i may warn, that bumness is contagious. Your money will always be your money, and your fathers money will soon be your money. The more money your father has, the less likely you will work harder but increases the possibility you will spend more. Obviously, bumming does not discriminate between gender.
Your father has a son called You. You has a rich father. This entices You to pursue the better things in life. What better way to pursue it with girls and trying to have a sniff at nice round asses. And thus, based on the desires of You, courtship expenses may vary.
A girl named U on the other side, who also happens to be that daughter of an up and coming exec who profits from bum research, would be no different than You. To be noticed, and desired by You, U will have to be absolutely desirable. And thus, based on the taste of You, cosmetics, slimming programs, low fat food, lovely hairdos, pimple removers, bras, panties, nail polish, contact lenses, shoes, handbags and tonnes of magazines which gathers together the best of all the former’s expenses may vary.
Pursuing the finer things in life is never far from being a bum, if it doesn’t makes You and U even bummer. The thrifty makes the have-not bums look bad. They masquerade the authenticity of their actions by claiming ‘my parents bought me the rights to be a bum’. Nevertheless, the arrival of new bum equipment have brigde the gap between have-not bums and the thrifty bum. Television, internet and certain print medias play a pivotal role in informing the bums of the world to what the latest bum developments are. This has help increase the demographic possibilities and niches of the bum market. There’s now the wannabe bum, the i-want-knowledge-at-my-fingertips bum, the playstation bum, the scholarly bum who discusses ways he can save the world by sitting with other bums over coffee, the telebums, or you may encounter the i’m-too-lazy-for-courtship bum, who sneaks to watch porn after everyone is asleep.
As you grow weary reading, it is now possible to understand that the extent of the bum market and that the influence in the future is inevitable. The economics of bum is never-ending, decreasing the impossibility of achieving everything by doing nothing.
I am glad you’re getting settled in Australia; I hope you do find a likeminded fellowship soon. Let me know how you like the AOG.
In my flesh, yes, I find it appealing because it seems relaxing and non-competitive. But knowing what I know, I won’t do it.
I mean, movies are timeless and ageless. Why is Shakespeare still done today? Why do people not say that, “What, it’s like 500 years ago man, get a life!”?
T
