SpeechBubble

Cbox

2012-01-01T21:02:00.001+08:00

So apparently Shoutmix doesn't provide free chatboxes any longer so I've reverted to the good ol' Cbox.

JS

2011-12-31T17:06:00.001+08:00

I'll be going away from January 2 - February 19 for this thing called Jeremiah School. I won't have internet access the entire time (save for a short CNY break), so there won't be blog updates for the duration of JS. Mobile phones are only usable during weekends, so save your text messages for Saturday and Sunday!

Come back in late February and I promise you that this blog will not die. :)

Malay Food

2011-12-31T17:02:00.001+08:00

I meant to blog about this yesterday but I forgot about it! :P

If you ever go to Penang, to Teluk Bahang, check out a warung called Alaf Sejahtera. After the family's overdose of Chinese hawker food, we needed something different yet good. So we went Malay-style.

Alaf Sejahtera appears to be a family-run eating place, so the food's as good as anything home-cooked. The serving of the food was done chap fan style — self service. Our family chose a variety of dishes including fried fish, peanuts and anchovies, kangkung belacan, honey chicken, pajeri (a speciality of Alaf Sejahtera; a generous slice of pineapple cooked in sauce), fish curry, etc.
It was a hearty meal; the sort that leaves you feeling contented rather than sick. Father rates it as one of the best Malay meals he's ever had.

The service there was great too. The mak cik who ran the restaurant was warm and friendly (ooh I like Malay aunties like that). She joked with us and enthusiastically thumped me on the back as if she'd known me for years. If the 1Malaysia slogan seems to be somewhat superficial, then this Malay aunty epitomizes true harmony that comes from deep within! Sometimes I feel that we try too hard to be nice to people despite their race, but really — we should just be nice regardless of others' race. Thanks aunty! :)

So do check this little eating place out if you're at Penang with some time to burn.

2011 At A Glance

2011-12-31T16:31:00.002+08:00

"This year is going to suck."

That was how I began this year. 2011 gave me the most miserable January of my entire life, and the heightened sense of gloom led me to predict an awful year ahead. (Think: Stan Man.) But five of us courageous kittens overthrew the source of my January misery. So the rest of the year was much better. I love you five courageous kittens.

And 2011 didn't suck after all.

I sat in a most unstrategic place in class — last row, right corner. As a short dwarf I could never see the whiteboard. Especially when Sel tied her hair into a bun. (I like to blame my math non-skills on the fact that Sel's bun always blocked me from seeing the workings on the board.) But besides the height problem, I had a lovely position in class. Next to me was the Panda, next to her was Tzibear, next to her was Szeraffe, and in front of him was Chimpanzee. And they were kind enough to get me an extra chair so I could sit on a stack of two. Hail the tall Hornet!
The Barnyard Animals are one of the reasons why 2011 turned out well for me. These are some of the best friends I have known. We laughed, bullied, poked, claimed neutrality, sucked up (only Tzi), doodled, talked, threatened all the way through the year. I thank them for their awesomeness. Thanks especially to Panda, the zui hao de peng you for blocking the sun for me during assemblies.

I also continued the yearly tradition of having bust-ups with the debate team. This leads me to make a mental note not to join any debates in college. Though I doubt my resolve.

I took part in the ISKL SEA Forensics. Rayshini called me the Chief Cadaver. I was not amused. So I rose from my death and started speaking and the adjudicators were probably rather startled and so they let me slip through to the semifinals. Aye Lazarus.

I joined the school concert. The first costume they gave me was a shard of tracing paper. When I first tried it out for the teachers to see, I tried to sneak through the corridors covertly. Alas, my all-knowing friends were there. Ah, how naked I felt. I have never sworn so publicly before. Thankfully they changed my costume.
I had fun being the narrator. No one ever pays attention to the narrator at practice, so I could get away with almost anything. Including Audrey running into my spotlight and hitting my bottom in the middle of a performance.

There was no Evo Night (or as Clar puts it, Evil Night) this year. I whooped upon hearing the announcement. No more meshing of Grease, The Wizard of Oz, Mamma Mia! or The Sound of Music. No more stress. No more confounded script writing.

I started this thing called SOS. The real reason why I wanted to start SOS was because I missed being Leticia onstage. (No, I'm kidding. I really did want to offer help to whoever wanted it.) I don't know if SOS was a complete success or not. Sometimes I think that it wasn't. But it's alright. I am happy with whatever my amazing team accomplished in the short span of time.

My trust was betrayed and is still in the process of being won back.

I studied for this ridiculous thing called SPM. I mentally recited the book of Acts and Luke word-for-word at least four times. My mother knew what cepumas means, and I did not. I was not pleased with the Moral-like Sejarah paper. I did not balance my accounts. I counted fifteen rolled tongues and ten unrolled tongues for Science. Overall I think that SPM was an election paper (just a harmless opinion). And overall-overall, I feel that I have hardly learnt anything of worth through my years of schooling.

But that's enough recapping of school life. Beyond school, I was tremendously terrified to take my Grade 8 piano exam. The examiner had a thick, curly beard and was excessively friendly. His hello frightened me. I played terribly. But in the end I more than survived. Thank you Andrew Tan for being such a patient piano teacher. You may not have very fond memories of me and my dozing off in class, but I have very fond memories of you. You were the only piano teacher to last five years with me (the shortest survivor was four months; she tried to make me play Fur Elise every week).

I also went to Bangkok to visit the best friend. At Bangkok, I was like a baby opening its eyes for the first time. Salty toothpaste! Election campaigns using the faces of monkeys and dogs! Seven people in a sedan built for five! Love advice from the tour guide! Multicoloured taxis! I had the time of my life with Kimmy. Even now, I only wish that we could get together and jam and play Jodoh-Jodoh again. Kimmy I love you.

Fat Pig came home from the US. I had fun with Fat Pig. We jammed a lot until he had to start reporting to work at TFM. We talked about silly things. He did not like my guitar skills. But he was a good Smule Ocarina-ist. He drove me around. When we happened to listen to Lady Gaga, he said that 'radio stations nowadays should stop playing songs in Morse code'. He is not the most articulate person around, but when he wants to, he does have a way with words. We took silly pictures at Lake Gardens. When he was about to leave, I was sad. I am rarely sad.

Father and Mother and I did lots of things together. We had ridiculous conversations. But I forgot most of them. Most of the silly moments are recorded in this blog though. I love them very very much. They are quite cool (although Father is embarrassing most of the time).

Min Shen left for the UK. It is now very quiet without her. When she left, 33.33% of the church's alto singers left. She is the 33.33%. Chloe did not return for Christmas too. That makes another 33.33%. I am the final remaining 33.33%. One alto cannot survive amidst a choir of soprano aunties. Hence there was no caroling this year.

Every year, I look back at the good times. I do not regret them.
I look back at the bad times. I do not regret them either.

And so, as I have said every other year,

2011 was a great year.

To my readers, happy new year! Don't make new year resolutions — you'll break them by mid-January. Best wishes. :)

PK9454 & Pig Brains

2011-12-31T14:48:00.004+08:00

And this is the culmination of my Penang trip.

The Law of Diminishing Return

2011-12-28T18:47:00.002+08:00

"Hannah, wake up. Want to go for breakfast?" Mum tried to rouse me from bed yesterday morning.
"mmmphghhh."
"Come on. What hawker food do you want today?"
"I don't know," I mumbled.
"Char koay teow?"
"Uhhhhh. Wanna sleep," I drawled from under the covers. I rolled over in bed.

Dad gave a sly grin. "So the Law of Diminishing Returns is kicking in."

I find the Law of Diminishing Returns one of the most curious economic principles around. (This law actually adds on to what we've already learnt in class!)

Let's say you have a factory producing shirts. Your factory has machines, and these are not increased in the production process. However, you increase the quantity of labor used in the production process. These two factors combine to produce output — the shirts. (Think of machines as constant variables, quantity of labor as manipulated variables, and output as responding variables.)
Initially, with each increase of one unit of labor at a time, the number of shirts you produce increases. This is because more workers are available to man the machines and sew buttons and such.
But at a certain point, when labor has been increased too much, other things kick in — inefficiency due to a crowded workspace, complications in supervising a large workforce, worker fatigue, and breakdowns by over-utilized machinery. Eventually, the number of shirts you produce will decrease.

Summary: Too much of a good thing (labor) isn't good.

Here's a very simple graph for you to understand this better:

Although the Law of Diminishing Returns is typically used to describe the things that happen in the production process, my family uses it to describe our Penang food hunting.

My family is full of small eaters. Picky eaters. Bird-like eaters. But that's at KL. Penang is a different story altogether! We've spent the past few days eating and eating and eating. I even have a tradition of keeping a family food log each time we come to Penang (which more often than not shocks us at the end of the trip). So far, my family — including Vanny, our domestic helper — clocked up a total of:

- 6 Char koay teow
- 2 Sar hor fan
- 1 Pasembur
- 2 Soybean drinks
- 2 Barley drinks
- 5 Hokkien mee
- 1 Set of Apom
- 2 Teh si
- 2 Cockroaches (I mean, Heng Jin. It's an awful almond drink which Father likes which I think smells of roaches.)
- 2 Ais kacang
- 1 Ang tau th'ng
- 1 Bak chang
- 1 Yee foo mee
- 1 Curry mee
- 1 Popiah
- 1 Rojak
- 3 Teh juak
- 2 Milo drinks
- 2 Wan tan mee
- 2 Ban chiang kuih

We ate all that in two and a half days! As you have probably guessed by now, the Law of Diminishing Return is kicking in. So much so that we swore off hawker food for lunch yesterday and ate Subways (eating a Subway is akin to committing a food crime, more so at this food paradise of Penang). And I've also taken a minor break from Hokkien mee for the fear that I might get bored of it (which would be a tragedy).

Summary: Too much of a good thing (food) isn't good.

But not to worry. In a day or two, and I'll be back at the beginning of the graph — and every bowl of Hokkien mee will give me maximum pleasure. Chuckle.

Grandparents

2011-12-27T18:50:00.001+08:00

I have rather quirky grandparents.

Dad: So, any good places to eat?
Grandpa: Yes, just that day we had very good porridge!
Dad: Oh really?
Grandpa: Yeah, we ordered porridge with all the extra innards. And we had pig brain too. (points to Grandma) She didn't eat her portion of brains so I got a double helping!
Grandma: Yeah la, I was scared that it would be too high in cholesterol.
Me: (whispers to mum) Good grief, she's not scared to eat pig brains because they're BRAINS but because they're high in cholesterol.
Mum: (whispers back) Weird people.

Not only are they quirky, but they're pretty cool too.

Grandpa: Check out my new Samsung tablet! (goes on to explain to us why Samsung is better than Apple, while I unsuccessfully try to defend the iPad)
Me: I think it's less intuitive than the iPad. Probably a little harder to learn to use it.
Grandpa: Excuse me, I learnt it all by myself. No one taught me. What other apps should I download?
Me: Wow. Wow. I think you have all the apps that you need for now.
Grandma: I learnt it all by myself too. Any idea how this tablet will be beneficial to me?
Me: Err... I'll go download Fruit Ninja for you.

Wah Suka Chiak

2011-12-27T12:08:00.002+08:00

I'm at Penang now. It so happens that my ultimate favourite hawker food is Penang Hokkien mee (not to be confused with KL Hokkien mee — I don't know how something so deplorable can share the same name as something so divine). As it is with all types of Penang hawker food, there's a never-ending debate about which stall serves the best Hokkien mee on the island.

My parents like the Hokkien mee stall behind Giant. They say that the soup is thicker and more authentic. I suppose that their argument holds water judging by the crowds of people that throng the stall everyday. Demand is so great that when we once tried to order a few bowls of Hokkien mee from them, they scolded us, "Beh sai! Beh sai!" (Cannot! Cannot!) and attempted to stop us from ordering. When we persisted, they warned us, "Lu tan ku ku ah!" (You wait long long ah). Turned out that the stall owners were terrible pessimists, for the bowls of noodles came pretty quickly. Father and Mother enjoyed it, but I found the soup too strong and spicy as I have pathetic chili tolerance. On another note, this is a very interesting business model that utilizes reverse psychology. Perhaps by turning customers away, the desirability of the product increases!

My favourite Hokkien mee stall has always been the Bangkok Lane one, so we went there this morning. There is always a lovely balance of ingredients, and the soup is light. The soup was so addictive today that I sucked my noodles dry by the time I ate half my meal. Mother told me to ask the Hokkien mee uncle for a soup refill, but unfortunately Father arrived and that meant no refills (Father vehemently declares that Hokkien mee soup is full of MSG). Pity. While eating, I commented, "I hope the Hokkien mee uncle lives to a hundred."
When Father paid the uncle, he told him, "Wah eh cha boh kia chin chia suka lu eh Hokkien mee. Ee kong lu live to a hundred." (My daughter really likes your Hokkien mee. She says she wants you to live to a hundred.) LOL shy face. The uncle was pretty happy, I think, so he started explaining how he always puts in his best effort and the best ingredients into his Hokkien mee.
Father rates the Bangkok Lane Hokkien mee with a 4.2 over 5.0. I give it a 4.8.

I had a cup of teh si to go with my breakfast. Drinking hot tea while eating a spicy bowl of Hokkien mee in a stuffy coffee shop is a sure form of masochism. All the factors add up and make you sweat buckets and set your tongue on fire early in the morning. Yet it gives you this great sense of gastronomical pleasure when you slurp up the remains of the soup, drink the dregs of the tea, and lean back and sigh after everything has been licked clean. That's exactly what we did today.
Plus, we added to the masochism by ending our meal with apom. It's an experience in itself eating apom — paper-thin eggy pancakes — straight out of the skillet with one's hands. No one but losers ever eats apom with cutlery. So it was a joy to unwrap the brown paper package, peel off a piping hot apom from the stack and flip it from palm to palm like a hot potato to avoid being burnt. Oh, and eat it too, of course.

That was just breakfast. I have approximately eleven more meals here, and that doesn't count the in-between snack times. Feel free to turn green.

Christmases Through the Eras

2011-12-25T17:21:00.004+08:00

It's Christmas time again, and how do I know that?

For one, Father is lying under the table.

For another, I am trying to help him to extend our extendable table.

This is an annual tradition. Usually we give up after ten minutes and wait for Aunty Huey Fern to come by (whereby she will give the table a quick tug and everything will instantly assume Christmassy perfection). But this year the aunt will not be coming around to work the table. So Mother has been standing around making very unhelpful comments such as, "Just pull it. It's so easy. It's pushing the table back in later that will be difficult." As if pulling it out isn't difficult enough!

Finally, I manage to pull it out. Mother is right. I only have to 'just-pull-it' and it slides out quite nicely after that. Father continues to be sprawled on the ground in a very unbecoming manner, claiming that he has contributed to the Opening Of The Table.

I only hope the guests do not see him in such a disgraceful state.

Yes, guests, because there'll be a Christmas party later (did you really think that the Opening Of The Table was a tradition just for fun? Come on.).

The Christmas party is a perennial source of worry. I do not know what sort of games Father has in mind for tonight. They will probably be harmless, merely involving a large mess, voluntary public humiliation and a lot of facepalming. I am sorry if you are a guest and you are reading this. I hope you will still come tonight.

Also, Mother has insisted on caroling. She has handpicked some rather obscure carols (which I am not sure are even classified as carols). Of course I have to play them.

But let us take some time to move away from the present and shift into the past.

If this is Christmas now, then Christmas two thousand years ago was somewhat like that. But much more epic.

For one, Jesus was born lying in a manger. A manger is a long, wooden trough out of which animals eat. It can be assumed that even lying under an extendable table along with a crustacean of a father is more comfortable than having barn animals nose you each time you sleep, braying in protest because a newborn baby is quite inedible.

Then there was the party. A party minus Father's terrible Christmas games. A party whose guests consisted of angels, shepherds and wise men (and a party pooper named King Herod too). And all of them, besides the party pooper, came to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

And the angels sang songs too. (That's where the words of your Christmas carols come from, alright?).

But the similarities between my twenty-first century Christmas and the original Christmas two thousand years ago end there.

The difference? Jesus' birth is so significant that we still celebrate it two thousand years later. The twenty-first century Christmas party, on the other hand, will only be remembered (sorely) by the victims of Father's games.

Happy birthday Jesus! :)

And Merry Christmas everyone!

Family Names

2011-12-23T22:59:00.001+08:00

Possibly, due to the influence of my brother as well as the Enid Blyton books I encountered in our annual spring cleaning exercise, I have started addressing my mum as 'Mother' and my dad as 'Father'. Very quintessentially English.

Mother has responded by addressing me as 'Daughter'.

Father, as usual, doesn't address me by any sort of name.

I wonder how long this will keep up for.

The Dilbert Principle

2011-12-23T18:33:00.002+08:00

I've been reading this book called The Dilbert Principle by Scott Adams (yes, it's that Dilbert). Although it was first published in 1996, the book managed to capture the quirks, ironies and the plain hard truths of office cubicles and corridors and bosses' offices that remain constant to this day.

I myself, being a fresh-faced kid just out of high school, have obviously never worked at an office. But I've heard enough office stories from family and friends to know that Adams has captured office life very accurately (and painfully).

Whoever buys this book to gain insight and skills to conquer the corporate ladder will, sadly, be disappointed. It doesn't teach you how to work hard, get to the top and earn money. However, it teaches you how not to work, stay at the bottom, and still earn money. All with hilarious Dilbert comic strips inserted on every single page!

This book unapologetically kills any inflated sense of self-worth that office workers might have (so thank goodness I don't plan on becoming a cubicle dweller myself). Only twenty-four pages into the book, Adams tells readers:

"You're only as important as your furniture. And that's at peak levels of dignity. Often you're less important than your furniture. If you think about it, you can get fired but your furniture stays behind, gainfully employed at the company that didn't need you anymore."

In another section of the book, Adams addresses how the media manipulates corporate statements to blow them out of proportion.

"For instance, see how an innocuous corporate statement can be edited slightly to alter the original meaning while still being a legitimate quote:
You say: "Our company is skilled in many other things that are never reported by the biased media."
Media reports: "Our company _____ killed _____ m ________ other t _________________ er ____________ e _____ s ___________ a."

(Just in case you are like my mum, who couldn't quite get it, the media report is a grotesquely edited statement: "Our company killed mother teresa".)

Later on in the book, Adams goes on to tackle the subject of marketing and sales. As he puts it, "Optimism is contagious. A professional salesperson will avoid negative phrases and use only positive-sounding words."

Don't say Do say
Old technology Backward compatible
Overpriced Premium
Unavailable Can't keep it on the shelf
Incompatible Proprietary

I haven't quite finished the book, but by reading it I have managed to largely stay out of my mother's annual spring cleaning exercise while still appearing to be intellectual.

Maybe there's more practical use to this book than I've given it credit for.

Fickle

2011-12-22T00:59:00.003+08:00

It's crazy, the rate at which I change my mind.

But this is insane, this is like a dream.

Yes, no, yes, no... yes?

YLDP 2011: Roots

2011-12-20T23:17:00.001+08:00

You know, I do want to blog about YLDP, but there are far too many things to say that I barely know how to begin.

So I'll keep it short.

I learnt a lot — much more than I learnt in previous years — through both the level and plenary sessions.
I learnt that may be a leader at risk, which is really quite a wake-up call.
I learnt that my distractions tend to get the better of me.
I learnt that jackets and broken windows can keep a whole dorm of girls laughing through the night.
I learnt that my hopes and dreams may not turn out the way I want them to.
I learnt that my ambitions should be realigned with a greater plan.
I learnt that I shouldn't make decisions just because they feel right.
I learnt that although I only meet many of my camp friends twice a year, they're like family to me.
I learnt that getting down and dirty is extremely fun.
I learnt that a wilted hibiscus can teach me lessons of the heart.
I learnt that pride is the greatest hazard of leadership.
I learnt that leadership is not an option without humility.
I learnt that it is not possible to run away from the security team (as Hannah Foo would know!).
I learnt that quiet time is a priority.
I learnt that work is not the foremost priority.
I learnt that seeing the big picture is important.
I learnt that life isn't about me.
I learnt that time can't diminish my love for my Lg Lamai family — both the villagers and the mission trippers with whom I went.

I do realize that I get lazier and lazier to write detailed blog posts about events as time goes on, but I suppose that this list neatly sums up my camp experience.

Special thanks to Joanna (jie jie!), Sue Anne, Jen, all the group members from Potatoes, the facilitators, the incomplete Lg Lamai family — Crystal, Kin-Hoe, Fung Hao, Evie, Austin, Uncle Herbie, the Dorm 1 roomies with whom we shared flies and laughter, the devo group with Walter, Ryan, Maynie, and Doreen, and all the other people who made YLDP so fun. I cannot begin to describe the rush of happiness I get when I see you all.
Most importantly, all thanks to God! :)

The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe: C.S. Lewis

2011-12-20T20:35:00.002+08:00

"Couldn't we have some strategem?" said Peter. "I mean couldn't we dress up as something, or pretend to be — oh, peddlers or anything — or watch till she was gone out — or — oh, hang it all, there must be some way. This Faun saved my sister at his own risk, Mr. Beaver. We can't leave him to be — to be — to have that done to him."
"It's no good, Son of Adam," said Mr. Beaver, "no good of your trying, of all people. But now that Aslan is on the move —"
"Oh, yes! Tell us about Aslan!" said several voices at once; for once again that strange feeling — like the first signs of spring, like good news, had come over them.
"Who is Aslan?" asked Susan.
"Aslan?" said Mr. Beaver. "Why, don't you know? He's the King. He's the Lord of the whole wood, but not often here, you understand. Never in my time or my father's time. But the word has reached us that he has come back. He is in Narnia at this moment. He'll settle the White Queen all right. It is he, not you, that will save Mr. Tumnus."

We love to dream up big philanthropic ideas to save the world. But when we take the trouble to step back and see the bigger picture, we realize how stupid our ideas are and how powerless we are to solve them.

Until we look up to the greater power.

Which, in the book, is Aslan, and which, in real life, is God.

It is he, not you, that will save Mr. Tumnus.

Off to Camp

2011-12-13T19:49:00.001+08:00

Alright, so I'm off to camp tomorrow! YLDP, here I come!

Back on Sunday. :)

Instant Gratification

2011-12-13T15:36:00.000+08:00

We've all probably heard time and again that this is the age of instant gratification. And I've always felt that this is true.

Well, I went book shopping a few days ago. If I could judge the extent to which instant gratification pervades society based on the books I saw — then heck — that's a pretty large extent.

First I saw a book entitled: "Have a New Teenager by Friday: From Mouthy and Moody to Respectful and Responsible in 5 Days".

I nearly gagged on my own tongue. My mum laughed.

Then I saw another book by the same author: "Have a New Husband by Friday: How to Change His Attitude, Behaviour & Communication in 5 Days".

We chortled together. (We even started thinking about how much funnier it would be if the section after the colon was removed. So if you are not pleased with your husband, just get a completely new one by Friday. If you are not pleased with that one too, get a new one by the following Friday. Repeat until you get a fairytale husband. If that doesn't work — ah wait, this is a book by a bestselling self-help guru so it will never not work!)

Funny how Leman doesn't think of a better book like, "Have a New Me by Next Next Next Next Next Next (etc) Friday". As silly as that sounds, that would make more sense. (To his credit, the blurb does give a slight mention to the fact that dear wifey has to undergo change. But the mere fleeting mention of that, coupled with the brash title gives the reader a completely different impression. And remember that readers do judge books by the cover! So their impression of the book is what they expect and are willing to pay for.)

I find the titles of the books so funny because, firstly, we are pretty powerless to change other people. You can take fifty-two Fridays religiously following Leman's book, but your teenager will probably still be Mouthy and Moody and your husband will still have bad Attitude, Behaviour and Communication and you will still be unhappy because your fairytale is not working out. Because you can't force change on others.
Secondly, change comes with time. I have a stubborn streak, and I told myself that when I was thirteen. Well, four years on and it's still there. I guess that's why it's stubborn. 'Nuff said.
Thirdly, let's say we take into account the two points above: 1) We can't change others; and 2) change comes with time. Hence the sensible thing to do would be willing to let ourselves be transformed first, and over a generous period of time too. Then perhaps the husband and teenager will be more willing to change too.

Well, that's instant gratification for you. If instant is what you want, you get Maggi Mee. If you are willing to wait a little longer, then maybe you'll get some nice pan mee with egg and anchovies or something.

Egg Tarts

2011-12-12T20:45:00.001+08:00

I was having lunch with my dad today, and the young man at the next table picked up a call.

"Hello? Hey brother, yeah, how's the project going? ... Delayed? Delayed! You're kidding me! ... It's 2.45 now. Still early. I don't care, by tomorrow, you better have it on my table. I don't care. ... What? Damn you back! Damn you! ... No, I don't care. You better do it. Today's a holiday, you'd better not make me turn on my com. ... If I don't get my promotion, you die. Seriously, you die."

The young fellow spent the next five minutes cradling his head in his hands. Then his girlfriend walked in and gave him meatballs and everything became alright again.

I expected my dad to give me some long life lesson about how to and how not to treat one's staff in the future. But then he just remarked, in three words, "That's real life".

I picked at my egg tart.

Tales of the Cardboard Girl

2011-12-11T23:11:00.001+08:00

I've always loved working with my hands.

I remember the time when I was younger and my grandparents went to the US to visit my uncle. Two gifts were sent back to me: the first, a newfangled automated toy which could guess whatever I was thinking of in no more than twenty questions; the second, a pack of craft foam that cost a dollar.

The telepathic toy guessed my thoughts for a couple of days. But it never got a chance to guess another dog, pencil or fireman after the initial excitement died down. Yet, the pack of craft foam is with me to this day. And if you've ever been a recipient of my stuffed creations — a crocodile, panda, dinosaur, penguin, etc — they all lovingly came from a one-dollar pack of craft foam.

When we were young, my brother was the Car Boy and I was the Cardboard Girl. Everyone knew what to get him. They knew what he wanted. Matchbox cars! Hot Wheels! Collectors' items, preferably of Ferrari or Jaguar make! In stark contrast, no one knew what to get me. They knew what I wanted. But they weren't the sort of things you'd give a kid on her birthday. Scrap cardboard. Egg cartons. Empty toilet rolls.

Happy birthday, Cardboard Girl.

Fast-forward a decade or so. Nothing much has changed, save for the fact that we've each moved up a notch. My brother is now Inspector Gadget and I am Cardstock Girl. (The difference between cardboard and cardstock? You can get cardboard from any old flabby box which once used to house Sharon persimmons at the market, but you have to buy pretty cardstock at art shops.)

In Economics, one learns that consumers aim to maximise utility, with utility being defined as relative satisfaction. I think that many kids nowadays stray from this traditional consumer function. During birthdays or Christmas or other events that warrant gift-giving, they tend to milk out the most expensive gifts they can squeeze from their parents, rather than going for the gifts that will grant them maximum satisfaction. It's a bit like going for a Japanese buffet and gorging on sashimi although you swear to the highest heavens that you can't stand raw fish... just because the sashimi's the most expensive dish available.

In this respect, I'd like to think of myself as the poster child of utility-crazy consumers. Not the sashimi-hating, sashimi-eating buffet visitor, but the one who goes for the teriyaki although that's just a bloody waste of a good buffet. If a gift is expensive, but it grants me satisfaction, so be it (I am currently eyeballing my piano and guitar). If a gift is inexpensive, but it grants me satisfaction, then I'd rather have it any day than a white elephant I will never use that costs a bomb.

Which brings me back to the topic: I've always loved working with my hands. And I've wrangled out a deal with my mum — for Christmas, I'll be allowed to build my own bookshelf. And paint it after I've finished building it. Pretty inexpensive, really. But it'll give me maximum, maximum utility. Of course, I had to make certain concessions: Firstly, I had to promise not to saw off any of my limbs (because prosthetic arms aren't cheap); secondly, I'm not allowed to build it from scratch. It's coming from IKEA. The latter condition's a bit of a bummer because a pre-processed set of planks isn't going to grant me the same sort of satisfaction I'd get if I did everything from scratch. But hey, better stay on the good side of the one who'll be paying for the prosthetic limb, huh?

If all goes to plan, then I'll be looking forward to seeing a sweet little bookshelf painted over with my favourite quotes and excerpts from my favourite books, and possibly some of my favourite characters too (I'm eyeing the Little Prince).

Then I will collect my old, dusty books from miscellaneous cupboards all over the house and restore them to a place of literary honour.

And if I ever find my telepathic Twenty Questions device while looking for my cheap paperback novels, I will ask it to guess one final word: White Elephant.

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years — Donald Miller

2011-12-11T22:15:00.001+08:00

An excerpt from the thought-provoking book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. All credit to the author.

"It's like this when you live a story: The first part happens fast. You throw yourself into the narrative, and you're finally out in the water; the shore is pushing off behind you and the trees are getting smaller. The distant shore doesn't seem so far, and you can feel the resolution coming, the feeling of getting out of your boat and walking the distant beach. You think the thing is going to happen fast, that you'll paddle for a bit and arrive on the other side by lunch. But the truth is, it isn't going to be over soon.

The reward you get from a story is always less than you thought it would be, and the work is harder than you imagined. The point of a story is never about the ending, remember. It's about your character getting molded in the hard work of the middle. At some point the shore behind you stops getting smaller, and you paddle and wonder why the same strokes that used to move you now only rock the boat.

... The shore you left is just as distant, and there is no going back; there is only the decision to paddle in place or stop, slide out of the hatch, and sink into the sea. Maybe there's another story at the bottom of the sea. Maybe you don't have to be in this story anymore.

... I think this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids and change the way people buy office supplies. But they get into the middle and discover it was way harder than they thought. They can't see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting smaller and none of the trees ahead are getting bigger. They take it out on their spouses, and they go looking for an easier story.

... It's like this with every crossing, and with nearly every story too. You paddle until you no longer believe you can go any farther. And then suddenly, well after you thought it would happen, the other shore starts to grow, and it grows fast. The trees get taller and you can make out the crags in the cliffs, and then the shore reaches out to you, to welcome you home, almost pulling your boat onto the sand."

I was given this book one Sunday smack in the middle of SPM. I took a slight glance at the first page, then more than a slight glance, then finished all 254 pages of the book kneeling by my bedside (I hadn't showered yet, so I didn't want to get my bed all dirty). And barely days after SPM, I've reread it already. Says something, doesn't it?

Where Love Is Found

2011-12-11T22:09:00.001+08:00

So I'm playing the piano for a family friend's wedding. When I first heard one of the songs I had to play, my first thought was:

"Dammit, should've kept the piano teacher"

Sky, Please be Less Ambiguous

2011-12-10T17:15:00.001+08:00

I have been wanting to go for a jog for the past hour. But the sky keeps on rumbling. Not the crackling, whipping sound of thunder that snaps trees into half; but the sort of mellow thrumming, half-here, half-there grunts from the sky.

All this while, the sky has been bright. The road is dry. Not a drop of rain has fallen.

But the mellow thrumming of half-baked thunder is keeping me indoors.

The Kite Runner

2011-12-09T21:18:00.001+08:00

Rereading The Kite Runner, once again finding it a very well-written book, and can't help feeling a tiny bit like Hassan. Minus the awful scene with the corduroy pants.

How I fail to be as blindly, purely, devoted as Hassan, but still, "For you, a thousand times over".

Quote

2011-12-09T13:37:00.001+08:00

I saw the most amusing quote in Darren's blog.

My husband gave me a necklace. It's fake. I requested fake. Maybe I'm paranoid, but in this day and age, I don't want something around my neck that's worth more than my head.

-Rita Rudner-

Amusing, but also thought-provoking.

Donkey

2011-12-09T12:55:00.001+08:00

So I had the oddest dream yesterday.

My family and I were escaping from our house. Dad drove the car. As he drove along our neighbourhood roads, the scenery kept on changing. For each few metres he drove, it seemed as if we'd entered new country after new country.

The recurring theme of the dream was donkeys.

It was migration season for donkeys. So we saw herds of donkeys migrating, native to each country we passed through. When we drove through springy green grass and blue skies, there were the regular sort of donkeys. Then when we went through the alpine region with snow-capped mountains, we saw yak-like donkeys with blonde fringes. There were many more, I remember seeing, but I can't recall what they look like.

The dream ended with me sitting in a boat in a dungeon which had sludge dripping from the ceilings.

Cars

2011-12-09T00:36:00.001+08:00

I had a conversation with Ash today. We talked about drifting (no, not the car sort).

Sometimes people (fortunately enough) bypass the drifting phase and make good on all their promises. Sometimes they drift, but the next time they meet the person, they easily pick up from where they left off. Sometimes they drift and never return to shore.

I have done all three. Sometimes I wonder how much drifting or non-drifting I will do in the future. I already know that I am going to be a lousy driver on the road, but I also wonder if I will be just as unable to proverbially drift. That would be nice (the proverbial bit. I do wish I could be a better driver, pfft).

Only time will tell, I guess. Because after all these years, I've come to test the quality of relationships based on how they fare in the test of time. Some survive, some don't survive. The thing about the ones that don't survive is that they rarely bother you anyway, because if you'd have let yourself drift from someone then that means you can live life as usual without the person. Though at some point in your history, you wouldn't have said the same thing. (it would probably have been some melodramatic, "I cannot live without you" or, "you are my joy" or, "no one will ever understand me the same way" - yes, some awful sitcom line like that). But time fades intensity, and when intensity fades, you'll see if there's something, or nothing left.

I am going to get my driving license next year. Two driving licenses. One for Malaysian roads, and one for drifting. I hope I fail the latter test.

SPM Ends!

2011-12-07T10:29:00.001+08:00

My massive clean-up job of two years' worth of books began the very day SPM began. Well, let the pictures talk!

Day 1: BM

Day 2: English

Day 3 (The Academic Day of Death): Sejarah and BK

Day 4: Math

Day 5: Moral

Day 6: Science

Day 7 (The Second Academic Day of Death): English Literature and Accounts

Day 8: Econs

I rather surprised myself throughout the clean-up; I felt a more than a little twinge of regret that I'm never going to sit in another of Mdm Noor's classes again. She was (and still is) one of the teachers I hold most dear to me, what with her sarcasm and the caring heart behind all that sarcasm too. When I first entered the Arts stream, I was just terrified to find that she would be teaching me. But my fears quickly proved unfounded. She turned out to be a great friend to us, without us losing the respect we had for her as a teacher. She could make jibes at her (kesuburan, Yang Diabaikan), we could make jibes at her (about her meeting Mr Yassin, about her being a little miswired in the head due to her insane Econs papers), and we could make jibes about other things together (menangkap burung to release stress from our best friend).

So yes. I have a good set of Econs notes that would be of help to anyone I pass them to, but no, I am going to hoard them for myself. The messages we wrote to her, and the responses she wrote back in our books will stay with me. Including the econgineer's theme park and her self-designed roller coaster which doesn't make sense. :)

Last

2011-12-06T22:01:00.001+08:00

There were many 'lasts' for me today.

Before school: Last time putting on the yellow uniform (so faded that it's now more off-white than anything). Last time speeding past the traffic light that has a way too short green-light time. Last time passing by the grotesquely gaudy lit-up UMNO building. Last time seeing Najib and whoever else shining like a beacon of light upon the citizens below. Last time driving past chickens roosting in trees. Last time watching our beloved Sentul cows graze on almost non-existent grass.

At school: Last time going into class. Last time sitting for SPM in the hall. Last time seeing the invigilator who hands out foolscap paper in slow motion (waiting for her to give you paper is like waiting for someone shitting in the bathroom when you really, really need to go pee). Last time hanging out with Pei in the classroom setting, with everything just so normal, with no sentimentality, that it almost felt good to end it that way. Last time lepaking with Mdm Noor, the most wonderful high school teacher ever; saying bye to her was the closest I felt to being remotely sentimental.

After school: Last time comparing answers for Econs; last time complaining about kajian kes — in this case, ERK Homestay. Last time being given The Face by Ann when I called her Hitam. Last time seeing friends in the habitat I've grown accustomed to seeing them in. Last time being walked out of school by the friends I love best.

Also, last time getting stuck at school because dad comes late. :P

Bursa Rakan-Rakan

2011-12-06T17:20:00.000+08:00

It sounds awfully mercenary to say this, but friends are like shares in the stock market.

You invest in each other. Time, laughter, support, philosophical conversations, silly moments, comfort in trying times, help in stressful situations. This is your capital.

You carefully evaluate the shares you want to invest in. Then you figure out what sort of approach you will take with regard to investing — diversification, or not? You're aware that diversification smoothens out the unpredictable risks that come with investing. Yet if you concentrate the bulk of your funds on a set of shares that you place your trust in, and they come good — jackpot. Of course, we know of the investment mantra: High risk, high return. If your shares flop, you flop too.
The value of shares go up and down. Some investors play the game of speculation, buying low and selling high. Other investors buy and keep their shares for the dividends through the ups and downs.

In life, in one's circle of friends, everyone is an investor. We all evaluate potential acquaintances when we meet people for the first time — are these the kind of friends we want? Then different people choose different approaches to friendships. Some people diversify. They have wide social circles and are seemingly friends with everyone, but the relationships tend not to go very deep. Other people (I have to include myself in this group) invest very heavily in fewer friends who mean more to them. Sometimes this is an incredibly stupid thing to do. Yet sometimes it pays off richly. High risk, high return.
Friendships have their ups and downs. Some friends stay on when things are good and leave when things get nasty. Others invest in friendships long-term for the dividends.

As for me, throughout my upper-sec high school life, I've chosen the riskier path of not diversifying my shares. High risk, high return — I've gotten my fair share of both outcomes. Shares I'd completely trusted in flopped in the recession; while other shares reaped great dividends. I've lost, regretted, won, cherished.

But before I delve into this post proper, let me just say that this stock market illustration is merely an analogy — the most appropriate I can come up with for my finance-loving friends (that's the special thing about you arts students). I don't actually think that friends can be bought. You guys are too priceless for that. And I wouldn't want to sell you even if I could (except maybe Tzi, considering that bear bile brings in quite a lot of money in the black market).

Now let me share (pun intended!) with you the financial reports of some of the blue-chip stocks in my high school life.

1. Au Tzi-Hua

Tzi's looking very happy next to her favourite teacher in the world ^^

Her financial report is only posted here because she had the thick skin and gall to ask me, "Was it worth investing in me?" during the Monitors' farewell. To which my insipid answer was, "Mmm, yeah".
But really, this is one girl who has certainly brightened up my high school life. Tzi is the person who has given me multiple (strange) nicknames, including Na, Hornet, HTH, Hanster and so on. Tzi has the rare ability of being able to butt into one of Pei's and my deep conversations, and turn it into a light-hearted but violent joust with connectable pens instead. She is also the most talented suck-up I've seen in action — ever! (I guess that's why the above picture is chillingly relevant to this financial report.) I mean, how often can you find a non-annoying suck-up? My favourite Tzi-Suck-Up-Line will always be, "Madam, did you write that yourself? What excellent penmanship!" Besides, Tzi's also the one I turn to for brainless conversations when Pei isn't around to stimulate my mental capabilities.

"You don't talk!"
"YOU don't talk!"
"No, YOU don't talk!"
"YOU are the Sejarah queen, you don't talk!"

Plus, she is the most irresponsible but indispensable class monitor ever, backed up by her sidekick, yours truly. Missing dusters, missing boys, missing English Literature teacher, scandalous happenings in the classroom, noisy classmates, collapsing projector screens, Xerox machine Sejarah tests, punning during Econs, stewing in annoyance when people whine — this non-exhaustive list barely covers what we've been through (and caused) together.
Dear Tzitzibear, thanks for everything (if you want, it can be your turn to say, "Huh? What did I do?"). Thank you for the wahyu beef and Peking dakwah and khalifahrnia rolls, thank you for the Chingkunguya, thank you for letting us all laugh at your expense. My dear punny friend, in your honour — Au revoir, I'll Tzi you again, Hua-ha-ha. (yes I know that was a terrible pun.)

2. Ng Chi Yean

In my com, this picture is saved as 'Chi's an Idiot ;)'

I'd never imagined that someday I'd be good friends with a bimbo. But it's okay, there's beauty in diversity, isn't there?
Chi is the one who has given me the worst of my high school nicknames, namely Hannah Montana and even worse, Haaaanny Waanny (clutches arm, head rubbing shoulder). Shudder. But anyway, recently we were walking together in the corridor when Chi asked me a question.

"What's the nicest thing you'll remember about me when you leave high school?"
"The time you answered my emergency call and rescued me at one in the morning."

I suppose Chi is an incurable bimbo, but inside she's a (sometimes) mature, (sometimes) sensible and (most of the time) caring person. With reference to the above conversation, there was one day when I accidentally cut myself with a blade and the cut wouldn't stop bleeding. Tzi, of course, wouldn't reply me and would have left me dying in a pool of blood until the next morning. But Chi immediately called me up and told me what to do with my bloodied finger at some unearthly hour in the morning. Then she called me the next day to find out if I was still alive. It was a simple gesture, but through it I was reminded about her genuine concern for her friends, even through trivial and silly matters like a hacked-off chunk of finger.
We've also had lots of laughs at her expense. I mean — who else drives a Yaguar to the grocery store to pick up some mek, brad and bif? And I won't forget her bimbo moments too: "You have a K-bar? I have a K-bar too! Let us throw them at each other!" And Chi has had some pretty epic moments with teachers too. I don't think I'll forget the way she tugged at Min-Min's shirt to gain some extra favour for BM. And, saving the best for last, the time she declared to our chubby man, "Sir, I want to beat your _______!"
Dear Chimpanzee, thanks for everything. Thank you for not claiming your midnight nursing fees from me, thank you for the fun we've had with Leticia-Felicia-Amelia and the Malaysian Institute of Baking, thank you for the entertaining Rempit text messages. And no thank you for the Eternal Spring you once created under my chair. Nevertheless, I'm glad to have invested in our friendship, and I'm glad you have too.

3. Shia Pei Shan

It's so hard to find a good picture of us, so this will have to do.

I don't know what to say.

(5 minutes later) I still don't know what to say.

(Three days later, I'm not even kidding) I still don't know what to say.

But I suppose my inability to say anything reflects the kind of friendship we've had.

We don't need to talk.

We can almost wordlessly communicate in front of a person we're talking about, using monosyllables or knowing looks. Then, we can have incredibly deep conversations about life, family, friends, philosophy, politics, and cylindrical stone pillows. When we find it hard to convey concepts with the right words, we either start talking in BM or just get each other. And we can look at each other, think of the same joke at the same time, burst out laughing at the unsaid punchline, and the joke ends even before a single word is said. Plus, who could forget our same-thought moments? My favourite is still:

Me: Eh, I thought —
Pei: — tomorrow.

And then (forgive the brief inside joke),

Me: I know why you canceled it. You wanted to put English Lit next to Chinese Lit but it was too low down the list.
Pei: (astounded) How do you know?
Me: That's what I would have done too. HEEHEE.

The one thing I love about our friendship is that we're so chillingly similar, yet so different — and I wouldn't have it any other way. I love how Pei's such a pure Chinese (national Chinese debater, has a nerd Chinese face with typical Chinese black-rimmed glasses, Mandarin and Chinese Lit for SPM with A-plusses in both for trials — ughhh freak), and how I'm the Yin to her Yang with my passion for English as well as banananess. I guess I'm the Yin to her Yang in terms of math too, since I seem to have numerical dyslexia sometimes. Even our exam papers have numerical dyslexia, 85 - 58! No prizes for guessing whose marks belonged to whom.
Dear Panda, thanks for everything. Thank you for trusting me with your friendship, thank you for your sushi and pizza at lunch (hooray Kak Siti and Pei Fei!), thank you for stalling Mr Alamin with your "... matahari melambangkan bla bla bla" so that I wouldn't have to do it, thank you for blocking the sunlight for me at assembly, thank you for doing my job (you're the best and only Assistant-Assistant Monitor Wesley has ever seen), thank you for not spitting your Chinese herbal potions at me when I made you laugh, thank you for making high school a happy, happy memory for me. Oh, and thank you for being my zui hao de peng you too.

I have invested, and I have invested well. Thank you, my three blue chip stocks!

To end this post, what about a song? (It's been chronically playing on loop in my head for the past three days so I figure there's no harm sticking it in your brains as well.) I'm not as diehard optimistic as the song writer — but well! Here goes.

Disclaimer

2011-12-03T01:22:00.001+08:00

First and foremost, my sincere apologies to my blog readers for posting a whole lot of BS (as you can scroll down and see). It's a necessary evil for SPM. So just ignore it and wait for better posts I guess.

Secondly, there are bits and pieces of unoriginal writing, so I will credit http://imaginativeliteratureforeccentrics.blogspot.com/ for those bits and pieces of notes.

Thirdly, dear Soo Ann, this is for you! Because it was ma fan to convert all my Mac files in to the Word format. SAYANG YOU HITAM :)

SPM English Literature: Cinderella Girl

2011-12-03T01:18:00.001+08:00

Change is necessary. Discuss. (8m)

Based on the short story ‘Cinderella Girl’ by Vivien Alcock, I believe that change is necessary to some extent. It is necessary for us to adapt according to the situation without compromising our own values.

In the short story, Meg Hunter is a rambunctious tomboy who is ‘too rough, too noisy and too grubby’. Her physical appearance is very different from the well-groomed girls of her age — she has a ‘great bush of hair’ which she never combs, her face is often dirty, and is described as being an ‘utter mess’. Meg also does not bother to dress up nicely, often turning up at school with ‘horrible green trousers... done up with safety pins’. The other girls of her age do not want to be associated with her. Worse, Meg’s unruly appearance makes her good friend Edward slightly embarrassed to even think about dating her. However, over time, he plucks up the courage to ask her out to the summer disco. Edward worries that Meg will turn up in her old green trousers and with her face smudged, and that he would be laughed at. When Meg arrives, though, everyone is amazed to see the stunning physical change she has gone through. Now Meg’s brown hair is no longer like a great bush, but it is ‘sleek and shining’. She is wearing earrings, there are silver buckles on her shoes, and her dress swirls out like ‘waves of the sea’. Although it is true that Edward loves Meg for who she is and not for what she looks like, it helps that she has taken the trouble to change her physical appearance. Meg’s newfound beauty makes it easier for Edward to kiss her amidst their friends’ catcalls. As such, change is sometimes necessary for positive turns in our lives to take place.

Besides that, we should be willing to change for the better according to situations, especially when our loved ones advise and help us to do so. All her life, Meg has found no reason to to spruce up her physical appearance — she is too busy climbing trees on the common and ‘playing football with the boys’ to think about such things. Nevertheless, when Edward asks her to the summer disco, she realises that she cannot turn up as she usually does with her ‘horrible green trousers’ and ‘shaggy brown hair’, as that would not be fair to Edward. As such, Meg allows her stepmother and stepsisters, Josie and Netta to dress her up. They love her and have been ‘longing to do it for ages’, but this is the first time Meg actually lets them give her a makeover. Meg’s stepmother buys her a ‘whole lot of new clothes’, Josie gives her earrings, and Netta gives her bracelets. As a result, Meg turns up at the summer disco looking fabulous, and Edward and the others find her new look a refreshing change from the grubby girl they usually see. Meg’s physical transformation helps her to be appropriately dressed for a formal event, and this prevents her from feeling out of place there. It also saves Edward from embarrassment.

Change is necessary in life; however, it should not come at a cost to one’s values. Meg has great inner beauty — she is described as having ‘a sort of warm glow, a friendliness’. She laughs a lot, and is well-loved by younger children. Besides, she is a good friend to Edward. Earlier on in the story, they sit atop Meg’s favourite tree in the park, and she patiently listens to his lovesick laments that Bella Jones does not love him. Eventually, Edward grows disillusioned with his infatuation for Bella Jones and realises, after all, that he loves Meg. When Edward asks Meg out to the summer disco and she turns up dressed beautifully, he feels an ‘odd pang of loss’. He embraces her newfound, stunning beauty, yet hopes that she will retain her rough and unpolished inner beauty — much like an uncut diamond. He says to her, “Don’t change too much”, and then kisses her. As the story draws to an end, the reader hopes that Meg’s inner beauty will remain constant, just as her physical appearance has changed for the better.

In conclusion, change is indeed necessary in life if one is to adapt to varying circumstances. As the saying goes, “Change is the only constant in life”. However, if and when we change, we should always remember to retain our good values and remain humble.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Discuss. (12m)

As the saying goes, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. In essence, different people have different ideas of what is beautiful. This proverb rings true in the short story ‘Cinderella Girl’ by Vivien Alcock.

In the story, Meg is described as looking like ‘a fright’; however, she has ‘a sort of warm glow, a friendliness’ that draws younger children to love her. The children do not judge Meg’s beauty based on what she looks like, but more on whether she is friendly and fun to be with. As she gets along very well with children, they probably think that she is beautiful despite her grubby exterior. However, Edward’s mother clearly has a different idea of what is beautiful. When she sees Meg playing football with boys, she makes a remark about how Meg is covered in mud. She disapproves of Meg’s unkempt appearance — to her, Meg is ‘not the sort of girl boys look at’ as she does not put in effort to groom herself and make herself look presentable. Hence, it is clear that beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder as what seems beautiful to one person may not seem as beautiful to another person — just as the children think that Meg is wonderful and Edward’s mother does not.

The essence of the proverb is also reflected by Edward’s best friend, Michael. Initially, Edward follows herd instinct when it comes to matters of teenage infatuation — like other teenage boys, he wants to date Bella Jones. She is pretty and popular, and boys claim that she ‘would let you kiss her in the cinema’. Edward has never kissed a girl before and feels ‘left out’, so he brings his problems to Michael. Michael is wise beyond his years as he does not join teenage boys of his age in their quests to woo Bella Jones. He is ‘not one of Bella’s admirers’. He can see that Bella’s beauty is not worth pursuing as she is a cheap sort of girl. Hence, when Edward comes to him, Michael merely remarks, “You always want to do what other people do”. As such, the proverb, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” fully applies to Michael as his idea of beauty differs from most boys of his age group.

However, over time, Edward himself begins to appreciate the essence of the proverb — he begins to get his own ideas of what is beautiful. After failing many times to ask Bella out on a date, Edward eventually snaps out of his futile infatuation with her. Then he realises that Meg is the girl whom he truly loves. However, Meg is not the sort of girl whom boys eagerly set their eyes upon. She is described as being ‘too rough, too noisy and too grubby’. Her physical appearance fares no better as she has a ‘great bush of hair’ which she never combs, her ‘face is often dirty’, and she wears ‘horrible green trousers... done up with safety pins’ to school. However, after Edward’s unpleasant experience wooing Bella, he learns to overlook physical beauty — and perhaps, even embrace — the kind of unruliness that Meg possesses. Although the other boys probably do not think that Meg is beautiful, he does. Eventually, Edward plucks up the courage to ask Meg out to the summer disco, and she turns up at the disco dressed up beautifully. Yet even through Meg’s stunning transformation, Edward tells himself that Meg is ‘the girl he had always liked’. Grubby or not, Edward thinks that Meg is beautiful, true to the meaning of the proverb.

In conclusion, it is true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Our respective ideas of beauty should not be restricted by cultural or social norms, because each one of us is unique. More than anything, we should learn to appreciate inner beauty before looking at one’s exterior.

SPM English Literature: The Landlady

2011-12-03T01:17:00.003+08:00

People usually fall into others’ traps because of first impressions. (8m)

The short story ‘The Landlady’ by Roald Dahl carries a large lesson about the danger of first impressions. There is a saying that goes, ‘Never judge a book by its cover’, and it rings true in this short story.

Billy Weaver is a naive young man who arrives at Bath to report to work. Although he thinks that a pub would be ‘more congenial than a boarding-house’, he strangely feels compelled to lodge at a certain boarding-house along a road. He rings the bell and is greeted by a landlady with a ‘warm welcoming smile‘ — she has a ‘round pink face’ and ‘very gentle blue eyes’. Billy is put at ease by the landlady’s motherly manner, and his earlier reluctance to lodge at a boarding house with ‘rapacious landladies’ is erased. The pleasant first impression that Billy has of the landlady lulls him into complacency, and he begins to think of her as ‘the mother of one’s best school-friend’. He does not think of the possibility that the landlady may, in fact, have twisted intentions beyond her gentle appearance.

Billy’s first impression of the landlady is also shaped by the cheap rate she offers him. She charges ‘five and sixpence a night, including breakfast’, and even offers to lower the rate if he can do without an egg. It is less than half of what he had initially been willing to pay. As such, Billy gets the impression that, while the landlady is ‘slightly dotty’, she is ‘obviously a kind and generous soul’. He becomes so confident that she is harmless that he does not question the ridiculously cheap rates she offers. Rather, he even begins to conjure up reasons why she appears to be ‘slightly off her rocket’, thinking that perhaps she had lost a son in the war and had never got over it. He does not consider that possibility that such cheap rates would make a bed-and-breakfast business unviable; and if the landlady is not running it for profits, then she probably has some other darker motive.

Besides that, Billy’s first impression of the landlady is also shaped by the fact that she has made the boarding-house look so welcoming. Contrary to the images of ‘watery cabbage... and a powerful smell of kippers in the living-room’ that he initially had of boarding-houses, the landlady’s boarding house has a bright fire burning in the hearth, pleasant furniture and a baby-grand piano. Moreover, it looks even more homely as there is a little dachshund ‘curled up asleep’ and a ‘large parrot in a cage’ there — this puts Billy into a state of contented complacency. Ironically, the things that put Billy at ease are the very things that should make alarm bells go off in his head. However, because of the pleasant first impression he has of the landlady, Billy does not question why neither of the animals move; should he do so, he would realise that both the dachshund and the parrot are stuffed — and that if he is not careful, he will be next.

In conclusion, it is never wise to judge a book by its cover, because a pleasant-looking book cover may contain a grisly horror story inside. We should, however, be wary of things that seem too good to be true and not be too quick to trust others.

How is suspense aroused in the story? (12m)

‘The Landlady’ is a masterpiece by Roald Dahl that gradually builds suspense, then leaves readers with a chilling cliffhanger at the end of the story. There are several ways in which suspense is aroused in the story.

Billy Weaver goes to Bath with new freedom as a young adult and looks for a place to stay. As he is about to head to the Bell and Dragon, he finds himself riveted to a small notice propped up against the window panes of a house: BED AND BREAKFAST. The suspense in this story begins to build up here, as the curious description of the notice — ‘a large black eye staring at him‘ — arouses the readers’ suspicion. The sign compels Billy not to walk away from the house; rather, it draws him to it, and so he presses the bell. Strangely enough, the landlady pops out and opens the door like a ‘jack-in-the-box’ in an instant after Billy presses the bell. This is the first indication readers get that the landlady is expecting Billy.

The landlady greets Billy with a warm welcoming smile‘ — she looks ‘exactly like the mother of one’s best school-friend’. She offers him lodgings for five and sixpence a night, including breakfast, and even offers to lower the price by sixpence if he can do without an egg. It is an incredibly cheap rate, ‘less than half’ of what Billy had initially been willing to pay. Although Billy thinks that the landlady is ‘slightly dotty’, he does not give a second thought to her oddities because the deal almost seems too good to be true. However, he unfortunately does not realise that what seems too good to be true is probably not true at all. This situation creates suspense as readers realise that there has to be a catch to such a cheap rate.

Curiously enough, everything is ready in the house, just as if the landlady had been anticipating Billy’s arrival that very hour. In a regular bed and breakfast, a typical landlady would not prepare a hot water-bottle, take the bedspread off the bed, or turn the bedclothes neatly back on one side unless was certain that a guest would be lodging there that night. However, in Billy’s case, all these are done for him by the landlady. She even remarks, “I’m so glad you appeared... I was beginning to get worried”. This increases the story’s suspense because readers begin to question how and why the landlady anticipates with such eagerness Billy’s arrival.

Suspense is also built up when it is revealed that the landlady has a strange quirk of choosing her tenants very selectively. She describes herself as being ‘a teeny weeny bit choosy and particular’, only taking in tenants whom she deems to be ‘just exactly right’. Billy Weaver is, in her eyes, just exactly right. When it is later revealed that two other tenants and Billy share a common trait, being ‘tall and young and handsome’, it becomes even more evident that the landlady is choosing her guests with an agenda that is unrelated to the bed and breakfast’s profits.

The landlady directs Billy to sign a guest-book, claiming that it is ‘the law of the land’. There in the guest book, he sees two names which seem to ‘ring a bell‘ — Christopher Mulholland and Gregory W. Temple. Billy tries to remember where he has heard the names before as they appear to be connected, as if they were both ‘famous for the same sort of thing’. He almost manages to recall that both young men came to an ominous end, but his train of thought is conveniently interrupted by the landlady, who asks him how he wants his tea done.

All this while, the landlady has rather successfully kept her warped intentions hidden from Billy, but the suspense gets even more intense when she lets slip an inconsistency in her tenses. Referring to Christopher Mulholland and Gregory W. Temple, the landlady says, “They’re on the third floor, both of them together”. Later on, however, she refers to Mulholland in the past tense: “Mr Mulholland was also seventeen”. This, curiously, is true because Mr Mulholland was seventeen when he was killed and stuffed by the landlady, but in the present, he is still on the third floor with Mr Temple — dead. The suspense is heightened because Billy does not realise this, thrusting himself into grave danger.

While conversing with the landlady, Billy suddenly realises that the landlady’s pets are not actually alive, but are stuffed. Her parrot ‘doesn’t look in the least bit dead’, and her dachshund is ‘perfectly preserved’. Billy asks the landlady who did it, and she says that she did it. That remark alone should have set off alarm bells ringing in Billy’s mind, but instead he stares at the landlady with ‘deep admiration’, saying, “How absolutely fascinating”.

All this while, the landlady has been serving tea to Billy — it is described as having a peculiar smell — perhaps of pickled walnuts, new leather or the corridors of a hospital. Moreover, it tastes faintly of ‘bitter almonds’. This indicates that the tea has been poisoned, and that Billy is about to share the gruesome fate of Mr Mulholland and Mr Temple. However, he does not suspect anything. The suspense in this story reaches a frightening climax when Billy asks the landlady if there had been any other guests there besides the two men in the last few years. The landlady’s chilling reply is, “No, my dear... Only you”. The story ends when the suspense is at its greatest, then the reader is left to wonder what eventually happens to Billy Weaver.

In conclusion, Roald Dahl has done well to create gripping moments of suspense in this story. In life, we should not have the blind naivety that Billy possesses, but rather, we should always be wary of situations that seem too good to be true.

SPM English Literature: Neighbours

2011-12-03T01:17:00.001+08:00

Who do you sympathise with in this story and why? (8m)

I sympathise with Veronica in the short story ‘Neighbours’ by Robert Raymer. Veronica lives in a neighbourhood in Malaysia — and naturally, she lives amongst a mixed pot of neighbours of different races, temperaments and agendas. Veronica is the wife of Johnny Leong, who attempts to commit suicide by drinking Paraquat.

I sympathise with Veronica because her neighbours make spectulations about her husband, Johnny, and about her relationship with him. When Veronica is not around and Johnny is dying in the hospital, the neighbours gather casually and end up gossiping about them. Mrs Koh, for one, claims that Johnny and Veronica had been ‘fighting’ that morning. When Koh and Tan refute her claim, she goes on to sensationalise Johnny’s attempted suicide. As each neighbour arrives and joins the conversation, she grabs every opportunity to inform them that ‘Johnny’s dead’. Of course, that is an exaggeration as Johnny has not died yet — which is something that Koh has to explain to the neighbours each time his wife exaggerates. Mrs Koh relentlessly piles baseless accusations upon Veronica’s family, saying, “Gambling, drinking, womanizing — what a family!” Veronica is powerless to stop all this neighbourly gossip as it is all done behind her back.

Besides that, I also sympathise with Veronica because the neighbours question her parenting style. Mrs Koh makes judgmental remarks about the way Veronica raises Lily — “And that — that Veronica! The way she lets that daughter of her run around like some tramp!”. This is despite Miss Chee insisting that Lily, who is her best student, scores all A’s. Mrs Koh also launches into a character assassination attempt towards Lily, claiming that that Veronica lets Lily ‘run around with boys’, and with a tinge of self-righteousness, adds, “I’d never let my daughter do that!” Mrs Koh goes on to suggest that Veronica spoils Lily although they have financial problems, saying that Veronica ‘throws away money’ on Lily by always buying her the latest styles. All in all, Mrs Koh cannot adequately prove the claims that she makes; yet she continues to rivet the neighbours’ attention because human nature takes perverse pleasure in the failings of others. As such, Veronica becomes the unfortunate victim and subject of juicy gossip among the neighbours.

Furthermore, I sympathise with Veronica because the neighbours make unsubstantiated assumptions about her financial status and habits. Mrs Koh claims that Veronica ‘plays mahjong’ every Sunday, and that her gambling habits have placed her in debt. Mrs Koh adds that Veronica ‘once tried to borrow money from Koh‘ — a statement that Koh quickly refutes, saying that Veronica only wanted five ringgit to buy vegetables. She then comments about Veronica’s catering business, remarking that her ‘food isn’t much to talk about — so bland’. Mrs Koh complains that Veronica always asks for ‘advance money’. She wonders out loud why Veronica’s son doesn’t give her some of his money. Throughout the story, most of Mrs Koh’s claims are easily nullified by the rational Mr Koh. However, Mrs Koh’s claims have a telling effect on some of the other neighbours — they are inclined to believe her although it is quite clear that she is exaggerating. This possibly happens because gossiping gives a feel-good vibe to people and allows them to feel self-righteous. Unfortunately for Veronica, the neighbours are self-righteous at her expense, behind her back.

In addition, I sympathise with Veronica because her neighbours are all too eager to use her to fulfill their own agendas, but they shy away when she needs help. Faced with the prospect that Veronica and Lily may leave the housing area, the neighbours hope that they will not leave for own their respective reasons. Miss Chee hopes that they do not move because Lily is her ‘best student’. Nathan, on the other hand, does not want to ‘lose two more patients’. In essence, the neighbours do not see Veronica, Johnny and Lily as anything more than a family unit they can milk various benefits from. They begin to excuse themselves to return to their houses after that. When Tan asks, “Who’s going to tell Veronica?”, Ramli and Nathan shrug and walk away. In the biggest ironic twist in the story, Mrs Koh tells Tan, “Not me... It’s none of my business”. At the end of the day, the neighbours have spent much time discussing Veronica’s personal issues, sometimes even feigning concern for her — but when it comes to something as simple yet important as notifying her about Johnny’s suicide attempt, no one wants to do it.

In conclusion, as a reader, I sympathise most with Veronica in this story. In addition to her grieving over her dying husband, she has to cope with the judgmental community around her. As neighbours in a multiracial country, we should avoid gossiping and strive to preserve peaceful relationships with others.

In the story, each character has an agenda. Discuss. (12m)

It is idealistic to hope that neighbours will be there to help us selflessly whenever the need arises. This is because neighbours too are people, and people tend to have hidden agendas in their relationships. In the short story ‘Neighbours’ by Robert Raymer, each character has his or her own agenda in the neighbourhood.

It is clear from the beginning that Miss Chee’s agenda is to catch the attention of Tan, the ‘new math teacher at Penang Free School’. Tan politely asks her if her name is Miss Chee, and she replies that yes, it is, and, “My friends call me Alice”. As the neighbours carry on their animated conversation about Johnny, Tan remarks that he had been over to Johnny’s house just last night. Miss Chee unwittingly reveals that she has been watching Tan in his more private moments — she says that she did see Tan at Johnny’s house as she had ‘happened to glance down’ from her bedroom window. She also tries to look for opportunities to slip in a mention of her single status, and finds the perfect avenue when Mrs Koh speculates that Veronica would move house because her Johnny had attempted to commit suicide there. To that, Miss Chee quips, “I’m not married”, and steals a glance at Tan.

Besides that, Dr Nathan is an Indian dentist who has a financial agenda to everything he says and does. Upon learning of Johnny’s attempted suicide, Nathan makes a cursory remark that Johnny, was a ‘good neighbour‘ — and then he goes on to lament that Johnny ‘still owes’ him for a root canal treatment. Here we can see that Nathan is more concerned about getting his money than in the welfare of Johnny, who is currently dying. Nathan also grabs every opportunity to get more business for himself — when Mrs Koh speculates about Veronica’s purported gambling habits, Nathan jumps in to say, “You should never gamble with your teeth”. Then he conveniently takes the opportunity to hand his business card to the new neighbour, Tan. Moreover, when the neighbours discuss the prospect that Veronica may leave the housing area, Nathan says not to mention it, because that would mean that he would ‘lose two more patients’. He is really not concerned about how Johnny’s possible death will affect Veronica’s emotional wellbeing. Rather, he is more concerned about how his death will drive her and her daughter away, and how that would mean less business for him.

In addition, Mrs Koh’s agenda is to spread juicy gossip amongst her neighbours. It is said that knowledge is power, and this saying rings true in the short story. Mrs Koh’s knowledge of Johnny’s attempted suicide allows her to rivet the attention of her neighbours, and as she exaggerates the circumstances surrounding his death, they are even more interested to listen to her. She lets up no opportunity to sensationalise Johnny’s death — each time a neighbour joins in the conversation, she quips to the effect that ‘Johnny’s dead’, and seems rather proud to be the first one to know about it. As a chronic gossiper, Mrs Koh makes assumptions about Johnny, Veronica and Lily and presents it as fact. For instance, she remarks that Veronica ‘once tried to borrow money from Koh’. The readers, however, know that it is an exaggerated statement because Koh says that she just wanted to borrow five ringgit ‘to buy some vegetables’. Nevertheless, Mrs Koh continues to question Veronica’s lifestyle, claiming that she ‘plays mahjong’ every Sunday and runs up ‘gambling debts’.

Furthermore, Ramli’s agenda is to make Johnny look bad and make himself look good. Ramli has a self-righteous nature, and is exceedingly proud of the way he has handled his hard life. He condescendingly remarks that ‘Johnny had it too easy’ as he has a working wife and only two children, one of whom lives on his own. Ramli compares Johnny’s purported easy life with his own harder life — he says that he has six children and a mother-in-law at home who is driving him crazy. Then Ramli tries to demonstrate how he is better than Johnny, saying, “You don’t see me committing suicide, do you?” By this, he gives the impression to his neighbours that although he has had a hard life, he has chosen not to take the easy way out by committing suicide, unlike Johnny.

In conclusion, it is clear that neighbours can be manipulative, having their own agendas amidst their interaction with one another. However, as neighbours ourselves, we should always try to be helpful and kind to our neighbours without harbouring any form of ulterior motives.

SPM English Literature: Naukar

2011-12-03T01:16:00.001+08:00

The rickshaw-wallah was treated differently by Julia and the Indians. Suggest reasons why this happens? (8m)

The short story ‘Naukar’ by Anya Sitaram reveals a facet of an India steeped in social prejudice and class differences. What is described as ‘sinister undercurrents... beneath the fragile coexistence of rich and poor’ can be seen up close through the treatment of the rickshaw-wallah by Julia and the Indians respectively.

Julia is first introduced to readers as an refined English lady seated in a rickety rickshaw, careening around corners in Calcutta. She is uncomfortable, her lanky frame being squeezed into a tight vehicle built for shorter beings — but she is much more uncomfortable seeing the rickshaw-wallah labouring with the task of transporting a ‘richer, fatter, more fortunate being’ to her destination. Having come from a highly developed country, namely England, Julia has a culture shock when she sees the poor people at Calcutta, their poor living conditions, and the poor treatment that they receive. This leads her to feel compassion towards the rickshaw-wallah. Also, having come from England, Julia has comparatively much more money to spare. This combination of compassion and relative wealth leads Julia to treat the rickshaw-wallah kindly. She offers aloo paratas, a mango, a bottle of chilled water and twenty rupees to him. Upon receiving much more than the five rupees he initially wanted, the rickshaw-wallah gives Julia a ‘broad smile’ and thanks her repeatedly. The realisation that the slightest act of philanthropy reaps great gratitude in Calcutta likely bolsters Julia’s resolve to do more for the poor in India.

This first incident paves the way for conflict in the story to build up. Eventually, the rickshaw-wallah returns to Julia and asks for a job. Julia decides to empower the man with a job and so employs the rickshaw-wallah as a bearer in her house. However, Nilkant is furious when he finds out what his wife has done. Although Nilkant had for some time worked in England, it is evident that he retains a quintessentially upper-class Indian view towards the rickshaw-wallah. The caste system in India dictates the worth of individuals — the higher one’s caste, the higher one’s value; the lower one’s caste, the lower one’s value. The rickshaw-wallah, in Nilkant’s eyes, is of no value. Nilkant goes as far as to draw a parallel between ‘the puppy that gnawed at the furniture and the bearer who served the drinks’. The Indian culture of dividing society into impenetrable societal classes leads Nilkant to find every reason to prove to Julia that her bearer is a good for nothing, worthless rogue.

Nilkant gets his break when Julia’s gold necklace — her anniversary gift — is stolen one day. The rickshaw-wallah is swiftly accused of committing the crime. In Nilkant’s own words, “Of course he’s guilty. It’s obvious.” Here, the writer introduces another group of Indians who mistreat the rickshaw-wallah — these people are none other than the policemen. The policemen seem to carry out investigations just for the formality of doing so. Harbouring the traditional notion that members of the lower castes cannot be trusted, they quickly jump to the conclusion that the rickshaw-wallah is guilty. They take him away to be questioned, and for three days he refuses to admit to the crime. However, the policemen are more interested in making the innocent, unwitting rickshaw-wallah admit to the crime than in actually finding the real culprit, so they beat him. As the beatings become ‘more persistent’, the rickshaw-wallah admits to the crime he did not commit. The Indian policemen’s priorities that rest on looking important rather than upholding justice is a reason why the rickshaw-wallah is so poorly treated by them.

In conclusion, cultural differences cause the rickshaw-wallah to be treated differently by Julia and the Indians. Julia’s upbringing in a culture that places importance on human rights greatly differs from the traditional Indian culture of class separation. However, all in all, it is important for us to be kind and compassionate towards other human beings.

It is said that fortune favours the rich. Do you agree with this statement? (12m)

I agree with the statement that fortune favours the rich. In this warped society, money is an important key to unlock power, security and life’s luxuries. The absence of money, on the other hand, tends to deny an individual such things. In the short story ‘Naukar’, Anya Sitaram reveals the vast disparity that exists between the rich and the poor in India.

Julia is first introduced to readers as a refined English lady who relatively has much more wealth than the poor people in Calcutta. Her wealth stands out in stark contrast to the rickshaw-wallah who labours with the task of ‘transporting a richer, fatter, more fortunate being’ to her destination — Julia herself. Although she feels uncomfortable with her lanky frame packed tightly into a shabby rickshaw, the fact that Julia pays the rickshaw-wallah to take her to her destination is a reflection of the advantage that wealth affords the rich. Julia has the option of taking a ride in a rickshaw whenever she wants to. However, the rickshaw-wallah, being poor, has no option of avoiding the toil, the unrelenting heat, and the ‘wet, pink sores’ his occupation brings him. Julia, being rich, can afford to be a housewife, have an easy life and rely solely on her husband’s large pay packet. In contrast, the rickshaw-wallah’s life has been fraught with hardships — his buffalo died, his wife developed a cataract in her left eye, and he has a family of a wife and eight sons to feed. As he is poor and has no savings to rely on, he has to toil and endure the hardships of serving his rich customers each day to earn a meagre income.

The fact that fortune favours the rich can also be seen in the general gap between the rich and the poor in Calcutta. The writer provides stunningly disparate descriptions of life in Calcutta. Among the poor, Calcutta is described as reeking of ‘poverty, death and confusion’; it is a ‘seething, multi-mouthed volcano’. Beggars litter the streets, and those who are too weak to beg collapse on the pavements. There are two outcomes to their unfortunate lives — they are either ‘fortunate enough to die or be scooped up by a Mother Teresa’. Yet, great luxuries are to be had at the homes of those in the upper income bracket. Nilkant and Julia, who belong to such an income bracket, live in a comfortable house with servants at their disposal to do the dirty work for them. Nilkant can afford to enjoy a ‘restorative gin and tonic’ each evening, before taking his wife out to the Tolley Club or the Oberoi-Grand for dinner. In effect, the fate and livelihoods of many poor people are at the mercy of the rich. Julia has the option of employing the rickshaw-wallah or not, and when she does, Nilkant almost exerts his authority to sack the new bearer at once. He only relents because of his wife’s persistence.

The statement that fortune favours the rich is also supported by one tragic incident in Calcutta. One day, a street urchin was killed by an oncoming car. The sight of the ‘limp, bleeding five-year old rendered lifeless by a more privileged being’ angered the crowd, which seized the driver and killed him in return. The next day, two deaths were reported in the Calcutta Statesman, one of the child and the other of the driver — but ‘all the poor in India were responsible’. This incident clearly reflects the fact that there are less implications towards rich people who commit crimes, than towards poor people who commit the same crimes. Furthermore, the rich are generally the people who are in control over the media, the media in this case being the Calcutta Statesman. As such, they have the power to manipulate the way news is reported — just like how ‘millions’ of poor people were framed as responsible for the crime by the Calcutta Statesman.

Fortune also favours the rich in the legal sense. The story is set in India, where the caste system pervades society. In general, the lower the caste group, the poorer the members of the caste. Also, the lower the caste, the more suspicious people are of its members.This works to the rickshaw-wallah’s disadvantage when Julia’s priceless necklace goes missing. Seeing that the rickshaw-wallah is poor and despised, the policemen take advantage of him, implicating him in the crime. The policemen hardly care about finding the true culprit — they are merely interested in declaring someone guilty to to look as if they have done a good job with the investigation. The fact that Nilkant already harbours the notion that the rickshaw-wallah is a ‘worthless rogue’ makes it even easier for the policemen to accuse him of stealing the necklace. Initially, the rickshaw-wallah denies stealing the necklace, but as the policemen’s beatings become ‘more persistent’, the poor, innocent man declares that he is guilty.

In conclusion, fortune certainly favours the rich, especially in instances when money can buy unethical solutions to a problem. However, wealth that we obtain should be shared with those who are less fortunate, as in the case of Julia, to give them a better chance at life.

SPM English Literature: The Way Things Are

2011-12-03T01:15:00.001+08:00

Children’s perspectives differ from that of adults. Discuss.

‘The Way Things Are’ is an insightful and witty poem by Roger McGough. It peers into the inquisitive and imaginative mind of a child, whose idealism is quickly dampened by a realistic, authoritarian father by the end of each stanza. This poem explores the notion that children perceive the world and its activities in a manner rather inaccessible to experienced adults.

Children tend to make perceptive, imaginative observations in contrast to adults, who tend to be more practical. A child may feel sorry when one lights a candle, thinking that the fire will hurt it. Moreover, after a candle has been kept alight for awhile, wax begins to trickle down its side — this gives the child the impression that the candle is crying. However, the father in this poem tells the child, “No, the candle is not crying, it can not feel pain”. While the child applies personification to the candle, giving it feelings and emotions, the father merely sees it as an object. Their varying perspectives are testament to the young child’s fresh interpretations of his observations as well as the father’s years of hard-won experience.

Furthermore, children perceive everyday items differently from adults, and they tend to understand things in their literal context as well. In the poem, there is a line, “Bubblegum will not make the hair soft and shiny”. A child who uses shampoo that has a bubblegum fragrance may take it literally that he is washing his hair with bubblegum. As such, he may venture to scrub real bubblegum into his hair someday to make it soft and shiny — but he will cause a sticky mess instead. As such, the father cuts in to tell the child the reality about regular bubblegum, which is much more damaging to the hair than what the child imagines.

In addition, children tend to make imaginative inferences in comparison to more realistic adults. A child, seeing pictures of seeds, plants and flowers in a gardening book, may wonder if the book will sprout some flowers when planted. After all, when a seed or a plant is put into the soil, it grows and flowers — and gardening books have plenty of seeds and plants printed in them — so why shouldn’t they flower as well? However, the father tells the child that, “Gardening books when buried will will not flower”. He is realistic and knows that the plants and seeds in gardening books are merely pictures, and that they cannot grow.

Besides that, children tend to perceive the world less cynically than adults. When a child sees a woolly hat being hung on a railing, he may interpret it as kindness — perhaps someone wants to keep the railing warm in the cold weather. Nevertheless, the father brings the child back to reality by telling him, “No, the red woolly hat has not been / put on the railing to keep it warm’. The father knows that a railing is an inanimate object and it is hence pointless to try to keep it warm. In contrast, the child gives life to the shivering railing that needs to be warmed by a red woolly hat.

Children also make inferences that may not be entirely accurate, aided by observation and perception alone — but adults are more sure with their facts, backed up by their scientific knowledge. A child may see his shadow shortening at noon and worry that he is getting shorter in tandem. Nevertheless, the father knows better. He tells the child, “Even though your shadow is shortening / it does not mean you are growing smaller’. At noon, the child’s shadow shortens due to the angle at which the sun hovers over him. It is only the shadow which changes in length — the child’s height remains the same.

Moreover, children perceive spectacular and wonderful things differently in comparison to adults. This is reflected in the line, “No trusting hand awaits a falling star”. A child, seeing something that looks too good to be true, will believe in it anyway. This is due to children’s innate innocence and tendency to trust people easily. However, adults, having gone through the difficulties of life, tend to approach such spectacular things with more cynicism and wariness. To them, if something seems too good to be true, it probably isn’t.

In conclusion, it is true that children perceive things differently from adults. It is good for children to be allowed to imagine and explore, but at the same time, the realistic nature of adults is also needed to rouse children from some of their dangerous illusions.

SPM English Literature: For My Old Amah

2011-12-03T01:14:00.003+08:00

Describe the condition of the amah.

The poem ‘For My Old Amah’ by Wong Phui Nam is a tribute to the persona’s old amah, or nurse. The amah, who once took care of the persona and served his family, is at the tumultuous threshold of death.

The poem begins with the line: “To most your dying seems distant / outside the palings of our concern”. The word ‘palings’ refers to a fence. Although the amah had once been an integral part of the persona’s family, she is now fenced out and isolated from the family. Now that she no longer works for them, they are hardly concerned about her welfare — out of sight, out of mind. The line, “Only to you the fact was real” intensifies the sense of loneliness — the family is blissfully unaware of the amah’s pain, so she suffers in silence.

It is likely that the amah is suffering from a painful, terminal illness as the persona likens her pain to a ‘flame’. The words ‘final brambles’ also suggest a sort of finality that the illness will bring to her life. She lives in pathetic, squalid conditions, not having a house to stay in or a bed to sleep on. She lies bedridden in a ‘cubicle’ and sleeps on a ‘trestle’. The mention of a ‘spittoon’ also suggests that the amah has a chronic cough, and may even be coughing and spitting out blood. This lends even more depth to the possibility that her illness is rapidly taking life away from her.

Besides that, the old amah spends her final days in abandonment and neglect. The lines, “The moth fluttering against the electric bulb / and on the wall the old photographs” accentuate the amah’s desolation and loneliness. The old photographs give the impression of a memory long gone; they suggest that in the amah’s isolation, the most human element available to comfort her would be nothing more than pictures. Perhaps the photographs are of the persona’s family, and when the amah looks at them, she is reminded that they ‘do not know’ of her impending death.

Furthermore, the amah is dying. The line, “When branches snapped in the dark” suggests that her life is ending. Just as brambles signify life earlier in the poem, the snapping of branches connotes the end of her life. The lines, “you would have had a god among the trees / Make us a journey of your going” further give the impression that she is on her way to crossing over death’s threshold. The reference to a ‘god’ holds some spiritual significance — perhaps she will waste away and die, then cross over to whatever may lie at the other side of death’s shore.

The persona mourns the passing of his old amah, but still he cannot fully grieve because he remembers how her ‘palm crushed the child’s tears’ from his face. Possibly, when she was still working for the persona’s family, she taught him to be strong and not to cry. The poem ends on a melancholy note: “Now this room will become your going, brutal / in the discarded combs, biscuit tins / and neat piles of your dresses”. ‘Brutal’, an intense word, is juxtaposed with comparatively mild and insignificant images of the amah’s belongings. This signifies that while the amah’s death may seem insignificant to most people, it is painful and brutal for the persona.

In conclusion, the amah has led a lonely, desolate life full of suffering and is about to face death. We, however, should not neglect our loved ones no matter how burdensome it may seem to be. When our loved ones are at the threshold of death, we should surround them with human presence and affirmation of our love for them.

SPM English Literature: Sonnet 43

2011-12-03T01:14:00.001+08:00

There are many facets with regard to love. Discuss.

‘Sonnet 43: How do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways’ is an elegant, heartfelt, romantic yet gracefully simple poem written by Elizabeth Barrrett Browning for her husband, Robert Browning. This sonnet celebrates the many facets of love.

The sonnet begins with a rhetorical question — ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways’. This line in itself suggests that there is no one way to love someone, but that love can be shown in many different aspects of life. Elizabeth Browning goes on to describe the ways in which she loves her husband — “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight”. The ‘depth and breadth and height’ mentioned here is traditionally used to describe a spiritual sort of love for God. As such, Elizabeth Browning suggests that one may love one’s partner with similar magnitude and devotion typically reserved God. The word ‘reach’ in the following line is dramatic, as though it is difficult to attain such heights of divine love.

Aside from loving in a spiritual dimension, love also encompasses our daily existence. Browning writes, “For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. / I love thee to the level of everyday’s / Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.” The word ‘ends’ suggests that love is stretched to its limit; the word ‘Being’, on the other hand, connotes one’s existence. When one truly loves someone else, one’s existence will be devoted to loving one’s partner to the limits. Besides, as love encompasses one’s existence, it is constant throughout the days and the the nights. Elizabeth Browning attests to this, using imagery of the ‘sun’ to represent day and ‘candle-light’ to represent night. Regardless of time and circumstance, pure love will continue to shine.

Besides that, love is selfless, unbounded and sincere. In the sonnet, Elizabeth Browning writes: “I love thee freely, as men strive for Right”. Elizabeth Browning wrote the sonnet at a time when the anti-slavery movement was at its height, and she compares her love for Robert Browning to the intensity of men fighting for freedom. In addition, the word ‘freely’ can also be interpreted to mean that one should love willingly and without compulsion. In the following line, Elizabeth Browning writes: “I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise”. Love should be sincere and virtuous; it should give and not expect admiration and praise in return. This unconditional love is the highest form of love for it has no ulterior motives.

Love may also be seen as balm to a wounded soul. Both Elizabeth Browning’s brother and mother died in her lifetime, causing her to grieve immensely. However, when she fell in love with Robert Browning, she loved him with the same kind of passion and intensity she felt when mourning over the deaths of her brother and mother. Love and anguish are both exceedingly intense feelings, and in that light, Elizabeth Browning makes it clear that one may be able to substitute for another. This can be seen in the line: “I love thee with the passion put to use / In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.’

Furthermore, love is an all-encompassing element — it goes beyond emotions, and perhaps even life itself. The line, “I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life!” reflects the universal nature of love. The word ‘breath’ connotes one’s life, while ‘Smiles’ and ‘tears’ reflect the emotions that we all go through in life. Whether one is happy or sad, love remains as life’s constant variable. Elizabeth Browning then proceeds to highlight the eternal quality of love, as can be seen in the line, “— and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death”. The end of one’s life does not necessarily denote the end of love, but rather, love may continue to flourish even after death. Elizabeth Browning promises this for her husband.

In conclusion, love is a beautiful, multifaceted thing and it encompasses all of life. In fact, the purest form of love even goes beyond life itself and continues after death. At all times, at all places, we should always strive to love sincerely, unconditionally and purely.

SPM English Literature: Tonight I Can Write

2011-12-03T01:13:00.001+08:00

Do you think that the persona has gotten over the loss of his lover? Give reasons for your answer with close reference to the text.

The poem ‘Tonight I Can Write’ by Pablo Neruda explores the intense experience of lost love and the whirlwind of emotions that come along with it. While the persona is trying to find closure to his experience of lost love, I do not think that he has fully gotten over it yet.

Throughout the poem, the persona sorrowfully reminisces about the times he once shared with his lover — this indicates that he cannot let go of the past. He writes, “Through the nights like this one I held her in my arms / I kissed her again and again under the endless sky”. In the past, the night held moments of romance for the passionate couple; but now the very same starry night seems ‘shattered’ to the persona. Even the ‘blue stars shiver in the distance’, which, perhaps, is a metaphor for cold distance and isolation. He no longer feels the warmth that his past relationship brought him.

Besides that, the persona has not gotten over his lost love because a deep sense of loneliness pervades the entire poem. The line “To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. / To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.” The persona cannot contemplate life without his lover. He finds it difficult to cope with the drastic change in his life — from passionate romance to the terrible silence of loneliness. The scenes of nature that he had once enjoyed with her now seem larger than life and overwhelming as he faces them alone. He goes on to write, “My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her”. This line further accentuates the sense of isolation he experiences.

In addition, the persona is trying to get over his loss, but is clearly unable to do so. He writes, “I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her”. The persona appears to write this with great certainty. However, he soon reverses his thoughts and writes, “I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her”. Perhaps the persona wrote the former line to try to convince himself that he no longer loves her, but is eventually betrayed by his true feelings in the latter line. Although he wants to get over his lost love, he is too deeply entangled in his memories of her that he simply cannot find the closure he is searching for.

Furthermore, although the persona is no longer with his lover, he continues to pine for her. This can be seen in the line, “My sight searches for her as though to go to her. / My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.” His life, at one point in time, had been so intertwined with hers that it has now become a natural impulse for him to reach out to her. Yet the persona knows that she is unattainable. Despairingly, he writes, “Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.”

The persona himself admits that he finds it difficult to forget about his former lover. He writes, “Love is so short, forgetting is so long”. He acknowledges the reality that it is easy to fall in love, but that it is much harder to extricate oneself from a broken love relationship. As such, this line implies that the persona has not gotten over his lost love. Although the romance was short-lived, the intensity of their relationship was such that he cannot forget about their lost love for a long time now.

In conclusion, the persona is still on his journey of finding closure to his lost love and has not managed to get over it yet. The pain and sorrow that comes along with a broken relationship takes time to diminish, and forgetting is not a process that can be rushed or forced.

SPM English Literature: A Prayer For My Daughter

2011-12-03T01:12:00.001+08:00

What are the father’s hopes for his daughter?

The poem ‘A Prayer For My Daughter’ is William Butler Yeats’ prayer for his infant daughter, Anne. In the poem, Yeats envisions that ‘the future years’ have come — hence he thinks of the kind of characteristics he hopes she will possess as a grown woman.

Firstly, Yeats hopes that his daughter will be beautiful. However, he wants her to possess unassuming beauty in order not to ‘make a stranger’s eye distraught’. Her beauty should not inspire futile and hopeless passion amongst her admirers who desire but fail to possess it. Yeats is also afraid that if his daughter is ‘made beautiful overmuch’, she will consider beauty as a means unto itself. Beautiful people tend to get their way more easily, and Yeats worries that such beauty may cause her to ‘lose natural kindness’. Hence, with such an attribute, she may be less inclined to perform acts of goodness, for her beauty is sufficient to place her in a position of security and acceptance. Moreover, Yeats fears that excessive beauty will cause his daughter to be wooed by many suitors, and that she will be superficial in her choice of a life partner as a result: ‘Lose... / The heart-revealing intimacy / That chooses right, and never find a friend’.

Besides that, Yeats hopes that his daughter will choose her husband wisely. He uses Greek mythology to express his hopes: ‘Helen being chosen found life flat and dull / And later had much trouble from a fool’. Helen of Troy, being the most beautiful woman in the world, married Menelaus, a stupid man. Yeats continues, ‘While that great queen, that rose out of the spray / Being fatherless could have her way / Yet chose a bandy-legged smith for man’. Aphrodite, being the Greek goddess of beauty, could marry anyone she pleased with no parental restrictions — but she in the end she married Hephaestus, a lame man. Both Helen and Aphrodite had beauty in their favour but they squandered it by not choosing their respective husbands wisely. Yeats does not want his daughter to make the same mistake as them; rather, he wants her to choose a man who is worthy of her. He does not want his daughter to end up proverbially eating a ‘crazy salad with... meat‘ — indicating that she should not marry a man who is as unsubstantial as salad.

Furthermore, Yeats hopes that his daughter will be full of noble virtues. He hopes that she will become a ‘flourishing hidden tree‘ — beautiful and quietly strong, yet modest. Yeats also wishes that Anne will talk of good, pleasant things: ‘That all her thoughts may like the linnet be / And have no business but dispensing around / The magnanimities of sound’. The linnet is a bird which has a melodious song, representing a merry, sweet girl who always has pleasant things to say. Yeats goes on to hope that his daughter will live like ‘some green laurel’; in essence, to uphold her purity and virtue. Here, the green laurel refers to the nymph Daphne who was pursued by Apollo. Eager to protect her virtue, Daphne turned into a laurel tree. Similarly, Yeats wants his daughter to be chaste as long as she is unmarried, and to remain faithful to one man when she eventually marries.

In addition, Yeats hopes that his daughter will not be opinionated or strong-headed. In the poem, he makes references to Maud Gonne, a woman he once loved. Maud Gonne was extremely beautiful but she was also harsh, opinionated and hateful. Yeats declares that an ‘intellectual hatred is the worst’. Such a hatred is the worst because it is strong, destructive and purposeful. Hence, Yeats wants his daughter to think that ‘opinions are accursed’. He says this because Maud Gonne squandered the natural beauty accorded to her by ‘Plenty’s Horn’, bartering it for an opinionated, argumentative and angry nature instead. Her intellectual hatred and opinionated traits leads Yeats to compare her to ‘an old bellows full of angry wind’. The bellows depict strong opinions which accomplish nothing of worth in the end.

Yeats also hopes that his daughter will marry and settle down. He wants her to have a good, conservative husband who will raise the the family the traditional way. Yeats hopes for this because such a traditional, virtuous setting would not allow ‘arrogance and hatred’ to permeate the home. He believes that such evils are only ‘peddled in the thoroughfares’. Yeats also prays that his daughter’s future home will be full of ‘custom and ceremony’, two important elements he deems necessary for the birth of innocence and beauty. Yeats believes that ceremony is synonymous with the Horn of Plenty. Custom, on the other hand, is represented by a laurel tree. Such a tree is described as ‘spreading’ because Yeats wants his daughter to be fruitful and have children — the branches spread, making a bigger family steeped in custom and ceremony throughout the generations.

In conclusion, the hopes that Yeats harbours for his daughter can be applied to women of this day as well. Women should strive to be virtuous yet modest in every way, rejecting hatred and harshness but embracing gentleness.

Discuss the role of beauty in a woman’s life with close reference to the poem. (12m)

In the poem ‘A Prayer For My Daughter’, William Butler Yeats writes of his hope that his daughter, Anne, will be beautiful. Throughout the poem, he expounds on his ideas of womanhood and beauty. Beauty plays a significant role in a woman’s life and is a wonderful yet destructive element.

A woman should possess unassuming, modest beauty. Maud Gonne, a woman whom Yeats had once loved but who had rejected his proposals, was excessively beautiful and this led to the destruction of her virtues. As such, Yeats believes that a woman should ‘... be granted beauty / Yet not beauty to make a stranger’s eye distraught’. Women who are excessively beautiful find it easier to get their own way and to take advantage of others; hence they may end up feeling superior towards less-beautiful people. As a result, they may not feel it necessary to be compassionate and kind to others. Neither will they feel inclined to perform acts of goodness, because their vanity causes them to ‘Consider beauty a sufficient end’. However, Yeats advocates a sort of beauty that is tinged with compassion. Women should not use beauty as a means unto itself, but as a blessing that goes hand in hand with kindness and all other noble virtues. Yeats desires his daughter to regard her beauty with modesty, fearing that if she does otherwise, she will ‘Lose natural kindness and maybe / The heart-revealing intimacy / That chooses right, and never find a friend’.

Furthermore, a woman should possess inner beauty. Physical beauty does not guarantee true love. A physically beautiful woman may easily win the attention of suitors, but the heart — the true love — of a sincere man is not so easily obtained. Yeats attests to this in the lines, ‘Hearts are not had as a gift, but hearts are earned / By those that are not entirely beautiful’. In this respect, even women who are not very attractive can work towards a healthy, genuine relationship with their respective partners. Yeats suggests that sometimes, less-attractive people may have a better chance at establishing a happy and wholesome marriage because their lack of beauty drives them to earn their partners’ hearts by developing inner beauty. He acknowledges that at the end of the day, it is inner beauty that matters more — ‘Yet many, that have played the fool / For beauty’s very self, has charm made wise’. Many men, blinded by empty charm, pursue stunningly beautiful women but they are ‘made wise’ when they realise that beauty alone is a poor substitute for noble virtues. Rather, it is women who are rich in inner beauty who enjoy the sincere love and gratitude of their partners, as can be seen in the line: ‘And many a poor man that has roved, / Loved and thought himself beloved, / From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes’.

Besides that, a woman’s beauty should not be entangled with hatred. Yeats laments that ‘The sort of beauty that I have approved / Prosper but little, has dried up of late’. The sort of beauty that Yeats approves of is that of submissive and modest beauty. Here he makes a reference to Maud Gonne, a sort of woman who is ‘choked with hate’. Although she was stunningly beautiful, she also was a clever, intellectual and headstrong woman who harboured strong and hateful opinions. These traits of hers diminished her natural beauty in Yeats’ eyes. Women should not ‘Barter that horn and every good / By quiet natures understood / For an old bellows full of angry wind’. Strong opinions which accomplish nothing of worth in the end are a poor exchange for natural beauty. Instead, women should complement their beauty by enhancing the virtue of gentleness in their own lives. In the absence of hatred, women will recover ‘radical innocence‘ — this, then, allows for the kind of virtuous and pure beauty that Yeats advocates.

In conclusion, beauty plays a significant, multifaceted role in a woman’s life. It is up to women themselves to use the gift of beauty wisely. All in all, we must always remember that inner beauty is the yardstick that should be used to measure the depth of one’s character.

How It Has Never Lit Up My World

2011-12-02T13:04:00.001+08:00

I don't think anyone below 16 reads my blog much. But perhaps there are. And maybe if you're fifteen, and you plan to go to the Arts stream, and you don't like math that much, and you love English, and you're considering taking English Literature because it sounds like an awesome subject — then hello, I was once like you. And maybe you'd like to read this. Because it's been two years of English Lit for me. Two long years.

So this is my take on English Lit.

If you're in Wesley Methodist School Kuala Lumpur...

Don't. Take. It.

Or more accurately, check who is teaching you first, then make an informed decision.

Because, instead of unearthing the hidden meanings in poems, researching the historical significance of the drama, going in depth into the novel and analysing short stories, you will probably end up talking about grandsons and strong-headed debaters who turn out gay or lesbian. For two years.

Plus, the thing about Wesley's Lit classes is that everything you learn can be found online. You might as well not take physical Lit classes and go for Add Math. Trust me, Add Math will be much more useful (as I have discovered rather belatedly). Because the person who conducts our class downloads unauthenticated notes from the Internet and then reads them to us. Some notes are okay, but most are bad. Just bad. Some cannot even be classified as notes — they come from articles written by students, and also from the comments section of the said articles. I, for one, cannot see how the line, "A lighthouse, launched, will not go far" can be interpreted as a child thinking that a lighthouse is a rocket. It is the light, you doofus, the light that travels while the lighthouse remains firmly planted where it is. But you will have to take students' comments down as concrete notes anyway. And when she finishes reading all the notes to you, she repeats it all over again. And again. And again. Until two years is up.

If you do not die by then (by some sort of miracle), then you will have to face SPM with barely any resources. The syllabus is very poorly researched and supported, with the exception of the novel and drama which are internationally known. But I guess that the silver lining behind that big grey cloud is that, in the absence of guidance, you learn to be more resourceful and not wait to be spoon fed. And through mutual suffering, your class will have this very close, unspoken bond with each other. That's just about the benefits (if you can even call them benefits).

So there you go.

Think twice, and research your teacher before thinking of taking Lit! ;)

All Accounted For

2011-12-02T11:31:00.001+08:00

I am dying, I am slowly but surely dying, but after the accounts paper — if all goes well — I will live again! Hooray!

I just spent a good fraction of the morning trying to wrestle with my debits and credits, all coming from a certain diabolical Cerdik book. I did two Akaun Kawalans and one Akaun Perdagangan, and they gave me three marks for that. Three marks! (I would have thought it deserved more than ten... but evidently not. It's like doing the work of a CEO but getting the salary of a part-time burger flipper at McD's.) Then I did five A4-sized pages worth of workings, and I got seven marks for that. Seven marks! But I shall not harp on it. -_________- You are all such generous people!

Yun says that the actual SPM papers are harder than Teester's trial. But we certainly hope not!

Hitam dan Aku

2011-12-01T13:11:00.001+08:00

I was texting Ann last night, and we had the most hilarious conversation ever that it was almost like the good ol' days.

Me: ... we basically don't have a choice for poetry because freaking stan man only taught us one theme -____-
Ann: Oh we have options. Beautiful! :) Thank you yea! Great help here :) HAHA Miss booger! I should show you her Whatsapp status. It says "I miss you... I really do"
Me: WHAT? Miss Booger has whatsapp??? What's this la!
Ann: But I've a strong feeling I saved the wrong number... somehow. When I asked her she went like "WHAT? Whatapp?!" Then Tzi stopped me from asking. :P
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 013-xxxxxx?
Ann: ............. I saved the wrong number. -.-
Me: This is so disappointing.

We all love 'em unhygienic habits! :)

Stumbled Upon Ya

2011-11-29T23:12:00.001+08:00

Yes, I do stalk the keywords that people enter into search engines that lead to them finding my blog. I must say that I'm slightly weirded out.

"teacher in tight pants"
"leo messi porcelain skin"
"hannah khaw gymnast" (This is the worst. Who would search for something like that?)

Taekwondo

2011-11-29T11:29:00.001+08:00

Wow. This is just... stunning!

Clerk.

2011-11-29T10:14:00.001+08:00

I had the most amusing conversation with the clerk (not sure how to spell it, but I think she's Mdm Sumi) at school just the other day.

Mdm Sumi: Hello! How's SPM, dear?
Me: Hi Madam! It's going alright so far.
Mdm Sumi: Yes lah, I'm sure you can do it.
Me: I'll try to do it.
Mdm Sumi: No, you will do it.
Me: We'll see.
Mdm Sumi: I know you can.
Me: (laughs) How would you know?
Mdm Sumi: I've seen all your trial marks.

It was then that I realised that the dear lady stalks me.

I Don't Know You.

2011-11-28T21:56:00.001+08:00

I have to confess that I have a slightly odd way of accepting Facebook friends. I follow a list of steps to do so.

When someone adds me, I check if:

1. the person is a Form 1 or 2 kid from Wesley.
2. I don't know the person.
3. the person is a girl who purses her lips when posing.
4. the person has gaudily edited his/her profile picture.
5. the person is madly in love (i.e. "in a relationship", or even worse, "it's complicated"), which means my news feed will be spammed with love notes to his/her partner.

A couple of yes-answers to the five criteria above probably means that I hit the Ignore button.

How To Spend Eleven Days Of Nothing

2011-11-26T15:02:00.001+08:00

So I study English Lit in the morning, sleep in the afternoon and do Accounts at night. Gosh, where does Econs fit in? Growl.

Blue Eyes Blue

2011-11-26T02:18:00.001+08:00

Uh oh, started on my Clapton stalking spree again sigh. His songs are just so listenable.

Hokkien Mee

2011-11-25T09:38:00.001+08:00

After dad picked me up from school yesterday, we went out to eat at Bangsar. My bowl of Penang Hokkien mee arrived. But just as I was about to take the first slurp of the soup, dad said, "Hey, careful, don't get it all on your uniform". I paused. Then I answered, "Don't worry, I'll only ever have to wear this for two days more".

I was eating a salty bowl of Hokkien mee, but that was a bittersweet moment.

Just End It.

2011-11-22T22:40:00.001+08:00

Six down, four more to go!

And of the three killer papers, two down, one more to go!

More SPM Capers.

2011-11-12T13:16:00.001+08:00

I have a wonderful set of parents who are incredibly supportive in most aspects of my life, and this includes the academic aspect as well. They are willing to help me out in whatever way they can, even if it means doing the most unconventional things. And so this is what happened today.

I was studying alone in my study room. Then dad comes knocking on the door.

Dad: Hannah? Want to have something nice to eat?
Me: ... erm, depends.
Dad: (brandishes a plastic container) What about... a live frog?
Me: Yewwww GO AWAY TAKE IT AWAY I DON'T WANT IT
Dad: Hehe. Look at its beady eyes.
Me: Why are you doing this to me?!
Dad: ... To improve your blood circulation.

Then he takes the frog out of the house and lets it out into the jungle.

I'm not sure if anyone else has parents who brings frogs to their kids' study room in order to improve their blood circulation. Really, I don't know.

Education

2011-11-10T13:47:00.003+08:00

A friend of mine linked it on her Facebook profile and I found it a great article!

The link: http://www.themalaysianinsider.com/opinion/article/three-cheers-to-teachers

The author: Ang Jian Wei

Three cheers to teachers

November 08, 2011

NOV 8 — Up till the beginning years of my secondary school, I never really thought much about myself. I was convinced that I was destined to remain an average person.

Having gotten 4As and 1B for UPSR while the rest of my classmates got their perfect string of As was enough to cap any form of greater expectation I had for myself. Ironically, I come from a very loving family with parents who are always supportive and will go that extra mile to seek the best for their children. I knew my parents would love me no matter what and I’m grateful for it.

But it wasn’t enough.

Unknown to me at that time, I wanted the validation of others — especially from those who have no obligation to look me twice in the eye. And it came in the form of my teachers.

When I told those around me that I was born in secondary school, many would dismiss it as a mere form of hyperbole. But I mean every word. For a boy who thought average was okay and accolades belonged to someone else, the constant encouragement and validation of teachers who could easily turn a blind eye meant the world to me.

I write this article at a time when the issue of PPSMI saturates our national discourse and the future of our education system is being debated front and centre. While the teaching of maths and science in English has its place, I believe very little is discussed on the need to have passionate teachers in our classroom. We need them not just because they are driven to teach well, but rather when teaching is done right, it kindles interests and changes lives.

When one of my teachers asked me, “What is it about our education system that is so bad?” I replied that there are many specific policy grievances, but the overarching theme would be that our education system has been reduced to a rite of passage.

Most of us go to school because the law decrees so. The credibility of our schooling system to add value comes under siege. And that is how education inequity begins — when those who need help cannot get it and those who do not need help will do well regardless.

It’s just a little perplexing to see that there isn’t an equivalent political momentum to raise the stature and standards of our teachers vis-à-vis how we are pressuring the government on PPSMI. Hypothetically speaking, if tomorrow maths and science are to be taught in English, without teachers who can teach it or teachers who want to be there teaching it, we might as well disseminate these subjects in Latin!

The truth is teachers are undervalued, overworked and underpaid. Funnily, part of the reason is because it’s so easy to be a free rider. We put our children through the education system hoping that they would never be teachers and it’s always somebody else’s child that will be that passionate educator that that we so desperately need.

I’m not advocating that every bright person needs to enter the teaching profession — that’s silly. There is nothing worse than having a teacher who treats his/her job as a last resort. But for those who want to be teachers and are willing to put up with whatever the system throws them, to have their passion systematically extinguished is a real tragedy indeed.

We all don’t need to be teachers. But we all can be education advocators by ensuring that those who want to enter this profession get the help and support they so rightly deserve. This is a far cry from idealism.

My story is not unique. I am sure that most of us can recall a teacher who made an impression in our lives. And some of them have probably changed ours. They are not extinct, even till today. It’s just that they are relatively quiet.

In their memory and in any capacity that you can, let’s restore the magic that the teaching profession so rightly deserves.

BK

2011-11-10T13:08:00.001+08:00

This hardcore BK mugging must be paying off (hopefully, that is).

Dad: Uhhh... there's this passage where the disciples are in the house, right — and then they didn't believe the servant girl... uhhh (about to check online)
Me: Acts Chapter 12, the servant girl is Rhoda.

LOL.

But on the other hand, I took a look at MCKL's BK trial paper and I hope SPM isn't as hard as that. When next Wednesday is over, I'll be able to breathe.

Mum's the Word

2011-11-08T18:56:00.003+08:00

After graduation, mum picked me up from school. And she had a pretty epic moment. ;)

Mum: Hmm, so it's your last day of school.

Me: Uh huh.

Mum: Well, I guess we don't have to wash your school uniform anymore. Just throw it away.

Me: ... Mum? I kinda have SPM.

Mum: (giggles) Oh yeah! I forgot!

Graduation Speech

2011-11-04T14:43:00.003+08:00

This is my graduation speech — prose proved too cumbersome, so this called for some poetry! :)

What defines a Wesleyan?

Let’s start with a cliché —

piles of homework day after day!

Unrestrained, unremitting, unrelenting

At Wesley, homework’s a more basic right than eating.

Cliché number two would be our success

in all forms of activity, be it fencing or volleyball or chess.

And if sleeping was an extracurricular activity, first place would surely belong

to Bryan Teh Theng Hong.

And what else defines Wesley?

Perhaps it’s the odd fact that we have a Nazi

and also a Navy Captain with the guitars

graduating in this year’s class.

And besides that, when your Dewan Siswa is left upstairs,

it doesn’t matter — who cares?

Because you just rip your friend’s magazine in two, and it’s perfect

for whenever you need to con a prefect.

Wesleyans are also defined

by having to stand in line

roasting behind skinny shadows from the sun’s rays

during three assemblies every single day.

And lines aren’t just restricted to assemblies —

but they’re also all over our bodies!

Pull off the socks and glasses of any Wesleyan

and you’ll find sun-kissed tan lines very evident.

And what about the bane of female existence —

the white pieces of cloth with lace, flowers and patterns —

that keep us sweating, as a whole

... the eternally derided camisole.

And what about our teachers?

The ones who make school life all the richer?

She who made us copy rangka karangans from

www.anelyza.blogspot.com.

He who blew up the lab as far as the eye could see,

She who kept us interested in boring old History.

She who wouldn’t get married to her man

Until all of us ace SPM.

And the sarcastic teachers in Staff Room Six —

a lethal combo of Chemistry and Economics!

She who called us all ‘hantu’ —

these wonderful teachers and more, they’re authentic Wesleyans too.

But personally, for me,

the best part about Wesley

(despite all the high socks, camisoles, and prefectorial fines I’ve paid) —

the best part surely has to be the friends I’ve made.

And if you’d let me make a personal shoutout here,

I’d like to say — thanks to my class, 5M, for this year.

And thanks also to Pei Shan, Chyn and Tzi-Hua —

thanks for being the incredible friends you all are.

But while I’m at it, why don’t you join me?

Just turn to a friend and say thanks for every memory —

because Wesleyans, we’ve come this far

and pretty soon, it’ll be au revoir.

And so I return to my first question:

What defines a Wesleyan?

The answer is clichéd, yet easy —

We are Wesleyans, you and me.

Now we’ll all be parting ways

to pursue our bright futures, in a matter of days.

Yet if you end up at Harvard or Cambridge or Oxford,

never forget Wesley, the place where you first became a nerd.

Stats

2011-11-03T13:10:00.002+08:00

Oh look at my newly minted (five minutes ago) resolve to stop blogging! It has died!

But no, I really couldn't resist.

If you're a Blogger user, you'd know that you can, among other things, track what keywords people type into search engines that lead to them visiting your blog.

Well, for mine, this is one of the keywords (or key phrases?) displayed in my stats:

"I used to be Chinese"

LOL

Hiatus, Maybe.

2011-11-03T13:04:00.001+08:00

Seeing that tomorrow is our graduation and that SPM will arrive at our doorsteps not too long from then, maybe it's time I cut down on blogging.

Cough.

Yeah, it sounds noble, cutting down on Internet time for the sake of the exams and all, but my true reason is that I somehow can't blog from the iPad and I'm lazy to turn the computer on everyday. But in any case, it works.

Though maybe a post here and there wouldn't hurt.

R&B

2011-10-30T19:07:00.001+08:00

Yesterday wasn't that great a day, thanks to a certain mishap with a blade (to the point that Miss Ng Chi Yean had to give me a rescue call at one in the morning).

Today wasn't a superbly fantastic day either.

But then my brother just barged into my life (probably having learnt how to use some audio mixing technology or something) and made my day :D

Penguin

2011-10-26T19:00:00.003+08:00

A few days ago, I came home and found a SillyBandz (okay that's bad grammar — make it SillyBand) among a mishmash of my miscellaneous belongings. And it's shaped as a penguin! And it glows in the dark!

Now I have taken to shooting the blue penguin at specific targets all over my study room. When the penguin hits the ceiling fan, it makes a nice twanging metallic sound. I only wish I could get my guitar tuner closer to the fan so I can find out what note the fan makes. And besides, my current target is the clothes hook behind the door — before SPM ends, I hope to shoot the rubber penguin perfectly onto the hook at least once.

Which doesn't look like it's about to happen anytime soon. Perhaps I should just focus on studying.

Slightly, Just Slightly

2011-10-25T19:18:00.001+08:00

Tzi and I have always been slightly irresponsible monitors (yes, I know, 'slightly' is a slight understatement).

Our class' whiteboard dusters have broken so many times that the office clerk told me to keep them in my locker. The projector screen has come crashing down twice. We generate a fair bit of noise, and then tell the others to keep quiet. When they don't keep quiet, we don't really mind (except when whining ensues). We wait thirty minutes before going to look for a missing teacher. If it is a certain teacher who's missing, we dawdle around the whole school before looking in the lounge... because we know we'll find her there. We attempt to unintentionally snap our tie clips. When that fails, we paste white stickers over the spelling errors on the tie clips. Our collars are only buttoned in front of the CCTV and certain high-liability teachers. We question the flustered and sweaty prefects as to why we need to be in a straight line (after all, "when you go for a girl, you'd like her to be curvy; so isn't it better for the girls to be in a non-straight line?"). We lose the appendages to our uniforms — Tzi's blazer went 'missing' over the holidays; each of the ties I used had an average lifespan of three months (and they were all borrowed). We don't write the list of absentees on the board for the reason that we outsource this job to the efficient Assistant Assistant Monitor. The other reason is because it is usually us who are on the list of absentees. We have a lot more fun than we technically should.

I'm glad I've retired.

And Tzi, I'm glad I got the chance to be slightly irresponsible with you.

Ticker Tape

2011-10-21T21:30:00.001+08:00

I went out with the CF / Chapel committee for our farewell lunch today.

I suppose the fact that it was a farewell made us think about the bigger farewell coming up ahead. Wens decided to get all sentimental about us "closing a big chapter in our lives" when school ends not too long from now.

We talked about the people we'd miss — and I suppose everyone had their own silent hopes and fears. Hopes that our friendships would be the sort that would stand the test of time; fears that the inverse would happen instead.

And I, too, was not alien to entertaining such hopes and fears.

Reconnect.

2011-10-20T13:33:00.000+08:00

Okay I really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really want to go back to my almost-favourite place in the world in Sarawak but I'll stop myself from hoping now just in case I'm not allowed to go haha.

Of Learning Styles and Exercise

2011-10-20T12:45:00.000+08:00

I'm a visual-kinesthetic learner — and that basically means that I learn best by seeing and doing. But this learning style works against me in school, because nothing goes into my head when the teacher talks. (Hence the noise that comes from the back of the class, haha.)

So I have to do all my studying at home. And when I study, I have to read straight from the book (see) and walk around (do). Which, in the end, promises a very amusing sight. A nerdy kid walking around the house poring over a History textbook = win. :D

And it wasn't too long ago that I read a study that recommended people to walk 10 000 steps a day to keep fit. So today, just for kicks, I decided to count the average number of steps I take in a full day of studying. The number of steps came up to a whopping 18 000!

So I guess this visual-kinesthetic learning style is pretty awesome after all. I get my mental and physical exercise simultaneously. Epic multitasking. :P

Those Crossroads

2011-10-18T22:26:00.002+08:00

Every time I think I've made a decision about which college to go to, something always has to make me undecided again rofl.

A Leader: Today and Tomorrow

2011-10-16T21:52:00.004+08:00

Ittakes a leader of today...

...to be the leader of tomorrow.

Leadersare always created through themid-life range and beyond. They wear black suits, white shirts and ties, withpolished shoes. They pick at dainty finger foods and drink champagne fromcrystal flutes. They give press conferences. They are surrounded by flashingcameras and microphones. Usually the men are balding. And they are always adults.

Orso we think.

Theprevalent misconception that leadership should only emerge in adulthood hascome at a cost to humanity. For generations, youths have awaited their turn toembrace leadership, only to discover that decades of (what could have been)productive years have wasted away. Assuming that leaders live for seventy yearsand lead for twenty, but could have begun to be leaders at the age of fifteen —that’s thirty-five wasted years of potential leadership.

Theicons of our history may seem to be old. Or dead. But what we should rememberis this: They started young.
Mahatma Gandhi, the great civil rights activist,began to develop the tenets of nonviolent resistance in his early twenties. Heorganized marches against British policies, one of them being the famed SaltTax March. He fought for independence. He fought for his people. Young as hewas, he left a permanent impact on India and the world.
Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu developed her vision to help the poor when she was still a child. She left her family when she was eighteen to join an Irish community of nuns. One thing led to another, and she soon found herself working among the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, India. And she rose to become one of history's most-loved icons — Mother Teresa.

We remember Gandhi as an old, barefoot, wizened man in a robe. We remember Mother Teresa as a wrinkled old lady in a blue-and-white nun uniform.

But also remember that these leaders started young.

AntonyJay once said, “The only real training for leadership is leadership.”

Anda leader today will be a leader tomorrow.

Apple.

2011-10-14T22:19:00.002+08:00

iOS 5, why can't you just install nicely and make my life easier? Ughhhh.

Kesuburan

2011-10-14T17:40:00.001+08:00

Today I had one of those epic moments. The kind that one would half regret and half not-regret just because it was super hilarious (at one's expense).

"Aiya Madam, just stop talking la. Okay guys, it was me."

Sighhhhh bully victim :( yet I wonder why I still love you all so much. :)

Grafitti

2011-10-12T23:20:00.001+08:00

I find it remotely amusing how Tzi and I completely defaced Pei's test paper right before she had to hand it back in to the teacher.

Dear Tzi, nice squid.

Social Experiment: Tell Me The Reason Why

2011-10-11T23:40:00.000+08:00

A couple of months ago, out of curiosity, I carried out a week-long social experiment, dubbed 'Tell Me The Reason Why'. I wanted to find out the way leaders react when questioned about the things they do. The subject of the social experiment being leaders, my victims were inadvertently prefects. (As J.B. Priestly says, "Public men... have responsibilities as well as privileges".) So before I start writing out this experiment, let me apologize to 'em blue-tied people for making them guinea pigs without consent! And if you happened to be one of 'em blue-tied people reading this, please don't get offended. This experiment was carried out as objectively as possible.

Method:

Every day in the week, one of my friends or myself would politely ask a random prefect, "Tell me the reason why I have to (task)" when any of them asked us to do something. For instance, "Tell me the reason why I have to stand in a straight line". Or, "Tell me the reason why I have to leave the canteen now". The prefect's response would be then recorded.

Results:

The following are the recorded results. Each bullet point denotes the response of each prefect.

Day 1
- "I dunno"
- "I dunno. Damn stupid. I don't even know why we have to do this."
- Gave a proper explanation

Day 2
- "Because I said so"
- Gave a proper explanation
- Gave a proper explanation

Day 3
- "Woi"
- "Ehhh, stop it"
- Sighed loudly

Day 4
- "Because it's the rule"
- (referring to low socks) "Because prefects don't like seeing the line on your ankle"
- Gave a proper explanation

Day 5
- "Because we don't let you"
- Gave a proper explanation
- Gave a proper explanation

Analysis:

A sizable majority (60%) of the pool of respondents failed to give students a proper reason behind their instructions. Most of these prefects became defensive and overly-assertive when they sensed that I was 'challenging' their authority (though I really wonder if it was insecurity disguised as assertion). They probably either didn't know their own job scope; just wanted to get the job done with minimum effort; or wanted to squeeze respect out of minions like us students. But their overzealous quest for respect worked against them — at least, in my case.

Yet, the minority (40%) took the trouble to explain the reason behind the rules they were enforcing. One stellar example of this would have to be Sam Ng. When I asked her, "Tell me the reason why I can't bring home-cooked food to school", she rattled off a whole verbal list of bullet-point reasons. And she did it politely with no trace of defensiveness at all. Although I didn't agree with a number of things on that list, I respected her and what she said because she had basic respect for me.

Conclusion:

1. Power ≠ Respect

2. Respect = Win

Disclaimer:

All efforts were made to keep this experiment as objective as possible. But due to the small number of guinea pigs, this experiment may or may not be an accurate reflection of the state of leadership in our little school community. The end.

Cough!

2011-10-11T16:57:00.001+08:00

This happened a few times between myself and various people today.

Person: Hey, why didn't you come to school yesterday?
Hannah: I was sick.
Person: Heh heh... Yeah I bet you were 'sick', huh.
Hannah: Don't believe me? I really was.
Person: Sure thing.
Hannah: (moves closer) If you want, I can prove it to you, and tomorrow you'll really be sick. (cough)
Person: Oh... uhh... never mind.

I win, yet again.

Words With Friends

2011-10-10T12:36:00.001+08:00

I accidentally made three 60+ point moves in a Words With Friends game with the bro. And there are still 57 tiles left to play. I feel kind of bad for him, haha.

Genius, You

2011-10-08T22:18:00.001+08:00

Everyone is a genius.

But if you judge a fish
on its ability to climb a tree,
it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.

- Albert Einstein -

Fried Pig

2011-10-08T19:29:00.001+08:00

I have a magnificent cough and sore throat and am also having a magnificent bacon sandwich for dinner.

Opportunity

2011-10-07T13:01:00.000+08:00

I talked to a deputy director (DD) of a bank department recently.

Part of her job scope was to work with new hires — "all these high-flying grads from the top unis in UK".

Yet in that batch of new hires, there was this one girl who'd graduated from Universiti Malaya. Barely two weeks after joining the bank, she was depressed.

The DD explained, "She told me that she felt so inferior to the UK grads. They were all so confident — they spoke with ridiculous accents, they could articulate their thoughts so well... And when I asked her where she came from, she seemed ashamed to tell me that she was from UM."

"The UK grads would always talk among themselves, and even from the first day, I already noticed that she was alone. She said that when they went out for lunch together, it hardly made a difference to them whether or not she was there."

I interjected, "That's sad".

"Yes, it's sad," the DD replied, "I just wish there would be one person who'd look out for her. She just needs one friend."

"And sometimes I feel so angry at the snobbish UK grads."

It got me thinking. It's so easy to point fingers at the UK grads in this story and accuse them of being elitists, and then feel sorry for the UM girl. But then I realised that, being put in their shoes, I might have acted in the same way they did. Think about it. You've graduated from one of the top universities in the world. And sitting in the same program as you is a local grad whose university doesn't even appear in the world rankings. You instantly feel a flush of pride and superiority over the supposedly inferior goods sitting there. You are better, you are smarter, you are more competent, you deserve more, you are a higher being. Aren't you?

The DD quipped, "The UK grads are where they are now because they are the rare few who had great opportunities. But some people don't even have the chance to study overseas. Yes, our local unis may not be very good, and that's why many local grads don't have the chance to sharpen their skills. But that doesn't mean they're any worse."

Opportunity. A word that is constantly thrust upon some people with much gusto; yet a word that eludes the masses. What the DD said is true. It's likely that many of the UK grads had all their basic needs provided for throughout their lives, a decent primary and secondary education, and sizable financial backing (or perhaps a scholarship of some sort). In simpler words, they had opportunities. And those opportunities were the stepping stones for them to proceed to the next level.

But many people don't have opportunities.

And just because they don't have opportunities, that is hardly a basis for those who do, to look down upon them. Because you'd never know if someone could have done better than you — given the exact same opportunities. But let's make things a little more dramatic.

According to www.globalissues.com, almost half the world — roughly three billion people — live on less than $2.50 a day. (We urbanites live in our cushy little bubbles of ignorance, so it seems as if there are more rich than poor around us. But a study by the UN University revealed that the richest 10% of adults accounted for 85% of global wealth. And this proves that heck, yeah, there are far more poor people than rich ones.)
So, assuming that we are all middle-class / upper-middle-class / rich / ridiculously rich citizens of the world, we receive opportunities that more than half the world has no access to. And so we excel, because of our opportunities.
Now, imagine that every single person on earth was given the exact same opportunities. Imagine that every African child, European child, Asian child, American child, Eskimo child was given the exact same level of basic needs, education, and financial backing. (And here I must add, familial support as well.)
Now what? Chances are, an African kid from Rwanda would make it to John Hopkins as a neurosurgeon. An Eskimo kid would read Law at Cambridge. An Asian kid from Myanmar would make it to Harvard to study computer science. And we, laggards as we are, may or may not even make it to the Top 20 universities worldwide. For the talent pool, in effect, has more than doubled — because of opportunities.

Having said all that, this brings me to my final point: No matter how far up you fly, never look down condescendingly upon those with less opportunities than you. They might have been able to do better than you, given better chances.

Lidra Farewell

2011-10-07T01:11:00.001+08:00

We had our Lidra (Literary Drama Club) farewell lunch at Legend Hotel today.

The food was pretty good, but the company made it a blissful afternoon of laughter and fun. My table-mates were Sam Ng, Drey and Aarathi — my lovely chocolate ladies! The fun started when we were eating pasta, and Audrey claimed that mixing alfredo and bolognaise sauces would make it taste nicer. So Sam and I went back to the pasta station and sheepishly approached the waiter.

Waiter: What type of pasta would you like?
Sam: ... erm... mix all, please.
Waiter: (smiles to himself) No problem. Now what sauce do you want?
Me: ... erm... mix all, please.
Waiter: (gives us the weirded out face)

When we mixed it up nicely, it looked like puke. But Drey was right! It tasted great and we all enjoyed it. :) You should try it one day.

From where we were, we also spied Ashwin taking a full plate of what looked like one fish's worth of raw salmon.

Then we went for dessert. There was a chocolate fountain, but we didn't want the skewered fruits and nuts. We wanted the chocolate. Just the chocolate. So the Chief Barbarian (cum ex-school captain), Sam Ng suggested that we take an ice-cream cone each and fill it with molten chocolate — which we dutifully did. And then only did we pile a scoop of ice-cream on each of our cones to hide the chocolate. Our ice-creams weren't like those pathetic Cornettos which have 1 cm of chocolate at the bottom. Ours had 75% chocolate and 25% ice-cream. :D

As we were on our way back to our seats, we met Clar, who also had a funny food story to tell. She had a lot of leftover wasabi on her plate, and being the kiam siap kid that she was, she refused to let the waiter take her plate away. So the waiter had to pacify her, "Don't worry, miss, there's still a lot of wasabi out there, don't worry".

Anyway, we got back to our table and ate our ice-creams. To cut the story short, Sam had a chocolatey accident. She ended up looking either like a 4-year-old kid with chocolate stains on her face... or a middle-aged man with a flourishing goatee. Which was infinitely amusing for the rest of us.

Then Carmen, the incoming president and organizing chairperson for the farewell, gave her speech. I was still eating my ice-cream (and almost getting into a similar predicament as Sam) when the jokers at my table started chanting my name to give a speech. -.- Well, how could I say no?

The moment I stepped up to make my speech, a group of chefs at the other side who were having a party started clapping at their own event. So I took the opportunity to acknowledge the extra applause bahahaha.

This is what I can remember of my impromptu speech:

Think about the clubs in school. The nature of a club's members can typically be identified by the name of the club.
For example, when you think about the Science and Math club, you think about people who are best friends with their calculators and Bunsen burners. [at which point someone interjected, "And Kai Yuan!"] Or when you think about the Computer club, you think about people who, in the future, will leave their mothers in Malaysia and go to work with their motherboards at the Silicon Valley. And when you think about the Environment club, you think about people who never use styrofoam and love the colour green.
But what about us?
I, for one, can't categorise Lidra under any label. I mean, come on — here, we have a failed nun who is married to an Austrian Navy Captain. Here, we have someone who is so paranoid about people following him, yet is on Twitter 24/7. Here, we have two Filipino maids, Leticia and Olibia, who always hab problems in de house wit ma'am and sir, weder it is wit de dishwasing masine or planting underground and oberground herbs.
Lidra's strength lies in its diversity. And Lidra is a year-long celebration of diversity.
[Here I meant to say that in our diversity, we're united by our common love for the artsy-fartsy circles of life... but I forgot.]
And so, to the Board of 2010-2011, thank you for all your support. We wouldn't have been able to achieve a lot of things if not for the teamwork we shared.
To the Board of 2011-2012, I'm confident that you can bring the club to greater heights. And thanks for organizing this farewell lunch — we were in your shoes last year, so we know what it's like!
To all the club members, thank you for being uniquely you.
Last but not least, thank you teachers for spearheading our club, guiding us, and accompanying us to competitions!
To conclude my speech, I'd like to end with a quote that Kar Jin passed down to us last year:
"A club is only as good as its members."

Yep, well, that was impromptu-ish! That explains the speech quality, doesn't it? -.-

After the formalities were over, Sam went high and started forcing us to eat sugar. So yes, we all had a shot or two each at tipping the sugar sachet into our mouths what the crap.

The Form 5s received some gifts from the Form 4s, and then it was all over.

Well, I guess that marks the end of my Lidra journey.

It hasn't been entirely easy, nor entirely tough;
neither has it been entirely problem-free, nor entirely rough.
There were moments when I felt like quitting;
yet also moments when I felt like continuing.
But the journey's best when it's uncertain;
bringing about the best finale at the final curtain.

Meh.

2011-10-06T10:41:00.001+08:00

I'm kind of gutted now.

I took the easy way out in the past, and my unwillingness to make difficult academic decisions is coming back to haunt me. I had better not take the easy way out this time, lest I come to regret it again in the future. And anyway, I should aim to fix whatever's in my power to fix while I still can. Not when it's too late.

Lesson learnt: Sometimes you've just gotta do what you don't want to do.

Out.

Bocor!

2011-10-05T23:53:00.000+08:00

A friend of mine, Shin Yee recently told me about how nearly all the Selangor SPM trial papers were leaked online. Apparently, one could just do a quick search on the Internet and instantly find the questions and answers for upcoming papers.

What she said next struck me.

"I refused to look at any of the bocor papers."

Personally, I strongly stand against all forms of leaking and so-called tips given out before exams. As far as possible, I stay away from such things. But what if everyone else has the tips? What if every student around you (who has studied far less than you) knows exactly what is coming out? Then what?

To be honest, I'd feel sorely tempted to study what was leaked. After all, it's only fair — because everyone else has the leaked questions and answers.

"It's dishonest," she said. I conceded that she was right.

Shin Yee is one of the rare students who has the guts to stand up for what she believes in. But in totality, many students and teachers don't care about the ethical arguments involved in this seemingly simple issue of bocor test papers.

But why have we degraded ourselves to this level?

"I don't care how you do it, I just want you to get the A." Sound familiar?

The grade-orientated education system that we have focuses more on the results than the process. Simply put, it matters more that you got your A than that you learnt something useful. Hence, when questions are leaked, students only study the bocor topics and neglect all the others. And so learning only happens in this narrowed spectrum of bocor topics. As a result, students trade in their thirst for knowledge in all aspects, for a poor return of a string of A's procured through dishonest methods.

And how does this implicate the future of the country?

Every criminal starts small. A child who steals a sweet worth 10 sen from the school canteen gains courage to steal RM10 from his classmate's wallet. Which then gives him courage to snatch RM100 worth of items from a lady while riding a motorbike. Which then gives him courage to organise heists on a larger scale.

Making use of bocor questions teaches us to take unethical shortcuts to achieve our goals quickly and easily. And if this gives us courage to cheat on a larger scale, our education system may very well be on its way to churning out a generation of people who bribe, hoax and create frauds.

Learning via the help of leaked questions is comparable to taking a scenic walk through the icy beauty of the Artic... with your eyes closed. At the end of the day, you do get to your destination (you get your string of A's), but it's all meaningless because you savoured and learnt nothing along the way.

Having said that, I'm thankful that Wesley doesn't really have this bocor problem (besides the occasional tips we get that aren't too blatant). I'm glad I don't have to look around me and see people studying a few select topics while I slog away at the entire textbook.

Really, at the end of the day, honesty is the best policy.

Change of Guard

2011-10-05T00:11:00.001+08:00

Okay so I've found a nice new way to stave off lethargy and misery while studying = Ban self from listening to anymore Adele, John Mayer, etc until SPM (haha though I don't think the ban will last long).

And replace 'em all with some happy Latin music. The Bueno Vista Social Club! And Lady Black Mambazo, with its amazing African acapella licks. Happy music prevents me from thinking unhappy thoughts... for the moment. :)

When It All Spirals Beyond Control

2011-10-03T20:45:00.001+08:00

Currently just so frustrated and tired.

I'm thankful, though, to my beloved class backbenchers for giving me a reason to laugh and be happy-ish today. Tzi, Jeremy, Pei. <3

I need to get my drive back. Seriously.

Stop This Train - John Mayer

2011-10-02T22:24:00.001+08:00

No I'm not color blind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind but...
I just can't sleep on this tonight
Stop this train I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly won't someone stop this train

Don't know how else to say it, don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own

Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't but honestly won't someone stop this train

So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game to find away to say that life has just begun
Had a talk with my old man
Said help me understand
He said turn 68, you'll renegotiate
Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
Don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly we'll never stop this train

See once in a while when it's good
It'll feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing
'til you cry when you're driving away in the dark.

Singing stop this train I want to get off and go home again
I can't take this speed it's moving in
I know I can't
Cause now I see I'll never stop this train

I'm Watching You

2011-09-30T18:42:00.000+08:00

When I was studying in my brother's room during trials, there was this icky house lizard that glopped itself against the window each night.

Then when I moved to my room to study, there was this gigantic monitor lizard sitting on the roof below my room and staring at me.

It is no wonder then, that I screwed up my accounts. Must be the lack of concentration. Haha!

Thinking

2011-09-30T18:23:00.003+08:00

I've been thinking.

And perhaps — just perhaps, one's greatest sadness lies in one's greatest happiness... when you know it is about to end.

Which creeps me out just a little because I'm so darn happy nowadays. So, so, so darn happy for no apparent reason.

I'm not a terribly sentimental person. I've moved from school to school countless times, from Villamaria to Hartamas primary to Elwood back to Hartamas primary to Hartamas secondary to Wesley. Every time I moved, I barely felt a thing for the people and the environment I left behind (okay, what I just said doesn't apply to Elwood, though!). To be honest, sometimes I even felt slightly guilty for not missing my friends at all. :P

But our trials just ended today — and it kind of reminded me that with every milestone we take from here, we're inching towards the end.

At the end of my Hartamas primary days, I had no feelings of nostalgia and whatnot towards the school and its people. Ditto that for Hartamas secondary. (In fact, I was rather relieved to be moving.) And even for Elwood, which I loved, I didn't feel too bad about leaving.

Looking back, I suppose that was because I had very typical friends... which isn't actually a bad thing. Typical friends are the sort that can be easily found and easily replaced. I know that I sound pretty tactless saying this, but take a moment to think. I'm sure you'd be able to think of some friends whom you can hang out with, have fun with, complain to all the time. But then we realise that nearly all our friends fit that 'typical' bill. And no matter how much we try to deny it, it's true that most friends are, in some way or other, replaceable.

But maybe the reason why I feel pretty sad thinking about leaving Wesley is that I've found a friend so far removed from the typical. A friend who understands; a friend whom I can share deep conversations with; a friend with whom I can discuss psychology, philosophy, politics, economics, culture, language, relationships, social issues and anything under the sun. A friend who is book smart, street smart and world smart. A friend who knows exactly what to do with me when I'm angry (haha). A friend with whom I share so much in common to the point that telepathy becomes a daily norm — yet is so different from me that we complement each other almost perfectly.

---

Zui hao de peng you, you're so Chinese that I don't even know how we became friends. But I'm glad we did.

Strings of Music

2011-09-27T14:34:00.001+08:00

My dad got me a new pack of amazing guitar strings and he got my guitar restringed! :D

Baby sounds super sexy now woo hoo.

The downside to this, though, is that I keep on getting distracted when I'm studying.

And not to mention, the calluses on my fingers are so crazy that I have no fingerprints at certain regions. And I can barely use touch screens with my left hand anymore (I can't scroll, lmao). Though I find that kinda amusing sometimes. :)

Witching Hour

2011-09-24T01:38:00.002+08:00

It's one-plus in the morning and it's the time when I start thinking about all sorts of things and now I'm realising that I've got the best group of friends ever and when high school ends I'm going to miss them like crazy and we'll probably go to different colleges and I won't have my furry black and white friend with me anymore :(

You're my zui hao de peng you but I don't even know if you read my blog but if you're reading this, then, hi see I'm like you, thinking about the future too.

19 Chapters More

2011-09-24T01:30:00.003+08:00

Okay I know that BK is awfully hard and all, but deep down inside I actually like it woo hoo!

Malaysia Day: The Day East and West Became One

2011-09-16T02:38:00.001+08:00

Happy Malaysia Day! :)

Malaysia Day means a lot to me because it commemorates the day Sabah and Sarawak were added to Peninsular Malaysia.

We Westies tend to be apathetic towards the Sabahans and Sarawakians at East Malaysia. We live in our comfortable little urban bubbles, oblivious to the goings-on in the East. It's true that large percentage of the East Malaysian community already live in developed areas and enjoy the same amenities that West Malaysians do. But there still exists a sizable number of marginalized communities, i.e. the the various Orang Asli ethnic groups. And reports in the past and present have alerted us to the political, economic and social problems faced by these communities.

A major political problem that the Orang Asli face would be that of land rights. Recently, a government proposal to award the titles to more than 50 000ha of land to the Orang Asli was rejected by the indigenous people themselves. This was because the government already recognizes 129 000ha of land as theirs — but under new laws, the Orang Asli would only be given ownership of 50 000ha of land. The rest would be taken away.
Right outside my school, there is a dirt road. By the dirt road there is a dilapidated cow shed. All around the cow shed are, well, cows. The funny thing is that my school isn't located in some rural, forsaken place. It's in KL. I'd have to admit that the cow shed is a terrible eyesore: everyday, my parents have to negotiate cow pats while driving; sometimes a herd of 30-odd cows cross the road and block all traffic; at other times, cows enter my school and sit on the stairs (I'm not even kidding).
It's a rather odd sight — skyscrapers, construction sites, big roads — and a cow shed. It's easy for us to question why such an eyesore exists in a modern city like KL. But I suppose, for the owners of the cow shed, it's more of a question of development encroaching into cow-territory rather than cow-territory encroaching into development. And now, on hindsight, I've grown to be rather fond of those cows. Not every city kid has the chance to pass by barnyard animals each morning.
I'm hardly trying to compare the Orang Asli to cows and their homes to dilapidated cow sheds. But this is just an illustration to show that sometimes, lawmakers shouldn't bulldoze (pun intended!) their way in acquiring Orang Asli land in the name of development. Development is good, but it turns bad when it takes place at others' expense. Anyway, we should all remember that the Orang Asli were here first. And if one is reluctant to go by the who-was-here-first argument, then take into account that their way of life requires large parcels of land, forests and bodies of water. Our way of life requires 2000 square feet of land, a garden and a water pipe. We can move. They can't. So let's just be understanding.

Economically, many Orang Asli people fall into the hardcore-poor category. I myself have been to a Sarawakian Penan settlement and have seen for myself the extent of poverty that these people face. In a family of three kids, this was their clothing equation: 3 kids = 1 shirt. On a graver scale, many parents cannot afford to send their kids to school. The cost of education varies from settlement to settlement, but I do know of one Orang Asli village where parents have to fork out RM50 for the education of one child. That RM50 sum may be worth 0.01% of the salary of someone from the lower-middle class in urban Malaysia. What is RM50 to you or me? Not much, maybe. But when you're living deep in the heart of the forest, ten hours away from civilization, with no city job, surviving on subsistence farming, with only a gruelling pick-up truck ride linking you to a nearby town... maybe RM50 would mean a lot more to you. And then, maybe, education — which is a basic right — becomes a non-option for some Orang Asli kids.

Socially, there is much to write about. We've already discussed about education in the above paragraph. Now let's say that you are an Orang Asli parent. You stinge and save and starve to pool enough money to send your kid to school. But the school is located two hours away from where you stay — and you have no mode of transportation to get your kid there. It so happens that there are loggers in your area. They have trucks. They happen to be going in the direction of the school. What a stroke of luck indeed — so you wave and let your smiling kid hop into the truck. Well, that may be the last time you see your kid so carefree again. Because, along the way, the loggers rape your child. It does sound rather dramatic, but cases such as these have happened before and have been reported in the papers. And if we're not careful, they will happen again.
But the implications of this problem go beyond the effects of rape (which are horrific enough). When you, as a parent, know that there is no way of getting your kid to school safely, what do you do? Of course, you pull her out from school. When you pull her out of school, she doesn't get an education. When she doesn't get an education, she loses a clear-cut path out of poverty. And hence the cycle continues.

With all the problems that the Orang Asli have faced, though, they have remained resilient (well, at least the ones I know do). But resilience will always be made easier when there is not just strength from the inside, but strength from the outside as well. And you and me can help to provide strength from the outside. If you're old enough to be financially stable, find ways to donate. If you're young, dream up ways you can help out in the future. If you're in professions with degrees that enable you to provide practical help (law, politics, economics etc), then help. If you're young, old, middle-age, black, white, yellow (you get my drift), spread awareness!

Because a country is only ever as good as its people — and are not the Orang Asli an integral part of the Malaysian community?

Once again, Happy Malaysia Day. :)

Weather Forecast

2011-09-16T01:17:00.002+08:00

Juuuuust a thought. Instead of pestering the teachers with all our raise-forecast-results-by-three-grades pleas, why not try working harder to earn the grades we deserve?

Because some people seem to work harder to get a raised forecast than they do studying.

Just saying.

Japanese Stationery

2011-09-12T22:25:00.001+08:00

You probably know how the Japanese people like to print stationery with all sorts of friendship quotes on them. And you probably know that their grammar is always wrong (and their sentences rarely make sense too!).
Today Pei folded me origami stars using the said Japanese paper products. Then I read the quote printed there, and sure enough, there was an error.

Pei and I assumed that the following was the intended message:

"You are my best friend because you always listen to what I say."

But the Japs seemed to have gotten it wrong in this way:

"You are my best friend because you always listen to what I don't say."

But then it suddenly struck us that the erroneous quote made more sense than what was probably intended. And if you're fortunate enough to have a friend who always listens to what you don't say, then that's one gem of a friendship. Well, I would know. :)

The Very Best

2011-09-08T23:32:00.003+08:00

I am either going to fall in love with Josh Groban or Eric Clapton. My ear candy yummm.

Of Tragedies and Lessons

2011-09-05T01:01:00.001+08:00

The sobering death of Mr Noramfaizul Mohd Nor, a BernamaTV cameraman on a Malaysian mission to Somalia has swiftly hit the news.

I happened to catch the English segment of the NTV7 news today while I was at a restaurant. And a good 15 minutes or so was dedicated to this tragedy.

Noramfaizul went to Somalia with a number of other Malaysian journalists to administer aid to the Somali people, as well as to do some TV coverage of the happenings there. NTV7 showed whatever little footage they had of the incident — a short clip of Noramfaizul while he was still alive, the bullet hole in the vehicle window, interviews with the other mission members.

And then a heart-wrenching clip of Noramfaizul's mother weeping was shown. "Dia nampak cantik... lebih cantik lagi sekarang. Bila saya pandang, muka dia bertambah berseri-seri." (Well, that is what I can recall of what she said.) Then Noramfaizul's body, wrapped in white cloth, was lowered down into the grave while his mother sobbed at the side.

Then came a special segment during which an NTV7 reporter, Melissa Ong came on air to be interviewed. She, having been in the vehicle during the time of the incident, shared her experiences. She described in detail how the handful of TV journalists were on the way back to their hostel. About how they were only 250 metres away from the hostel when two gunshots were heard. About how she ducked — and looked behind — and saw Noramfaizul's lifeless body flopped over his friend's shoulder. About how her Malaysian comrade was pronounced dead soon after the incident.

And she added that there was something she wanted to tell all Malaysians. She wanted to tell us — you; me — how important unity is to our country. This is the kind of thing that happens in in war-torn countries, she said, and, "I hope Malaysia doesn't go down this road".

I too hope that Malaysia doesn't go down this road.

This isn't a time to politicize what happened. Yes, the mission was organized by Putera 1Malaysia and Bakti — organizations that some people support and others are less fond of. Yes, better precautions could have been taken (bullet-proof vests, proper training and the like). Yes, Malaysian leaders are prone to analyzing disasters on hindsight.

But think about it. If we choose to politicize this death (as well as host of other Malaysian issues), it's going to lead to more death. Physical death — because bickering breeds disunity which breeds violence which breeds war which breeds death, although it is quite a far shot. Or more likely, figurative death — because bickering breeds disunity, which breeds the death of trust, the death of security, the death of peace.

A very perceptive Chinese man once told me what he observed about himself, "When I read about a bus crash in the newspapers, I do three things. Firstly, I check if I know anyone on the list of dead people. Secondly, I check if there are any Chinese people on the list. Thirdly, if there are no Chinese on the list, I heave a sigh of relief." Sounds dubious enough, but this man is one of the most tolerant and accepting men I know. So don't be too quick to make a judgement. Think about yourself. For all you know, the above may apply to many people... including you, and me.

In politics, we're divided — by race, religion, and ideology. And perhaps, we may just use these three components to tick off the value of a person's life. So a Muslim Malay with BN leanings may sympathise with Noramfaizul and his family. But a Chinese affiliated with other political parties may skim through the first few pages of the newspapers and forget about the incident quickly enough. Or, as a reverse example, when Teoh Beng Hock passed away, he had far more Chinese sympathisers than Malay ones.

But life is more than politics. And so is death. When a Malaysian is killed in the battleground, it is not for us to dissect his beliefs before we accord him some measure of sympathy, and for his family, empathy. Because, at the end of the day, we are all human. We believe differently, but we all identify with each other at the deeper, emotional, more human level. After all, all mothers regardless of race and beliefs would probably be sobbing at the edge of their sons' graves if such a thing ever happened to them.

As far as I'm concerned, Noramfaizul was a Malaysian who died in a tragic manner in a foreign land. My best wishes go out to his family. And I hope you do the same.

JK Rowling's Speech at Harvard Commencement

2011-09-02T01:07:00.000+08:00

Note: I personally haven't read the Harry Potter series — but this is a fantastic speech by JK Rowling. Do take the time to read it to the end.

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I have endured at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and convince myself that I am at the world’s largest Gryffindor reunion.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, the law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step to self improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that have expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These may seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.

Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.

I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that would never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension. I know that the irony strikes with the force of a cartoon anvil, now.

So they hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all the subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.

What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears that my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea then how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above the price of rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I ever earned.

So given a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

Now you might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I personally will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working at the African research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to speak against their governments. Visitors to our offices included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had left behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him back to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just had to give him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard, and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces leads to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped change. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, people who have been kind enough not to sue me when I took their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.

So today, I wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:

"As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters."

I wish you all very good lives.

Thank you very much.

Happy (belated) Merdeka!

2011-09-01T00:20:00.003+08:00

What defines your country?

"Malaysia? Politics? They'll never have a reasonable debate in Parliament."
"Malaysia? Economy? Prices are rising — how's one to keep up a decent standard of living?"
"Malaysia? The social situation? Malaysia just isn't an equitable place to live in."

How true are the above statements? Well, I'll leave that up to your interpretation, but I'll tell you something that I know for sure — the statements are flawed.

The big mistake that most of us tend to make is this: We unconsciously define our country by its government.

This goes to say that if the government does something good in our eyes, our country automatically becomes good. In the same way, if the government does something bad in our eyes, our country automatically becomes bad.

Or how about this for an example. Malaysia is a glass. Its people (government and rakyat included) are teh tarik. The glass contains the teh tarik.

When the teh tarik is nice and hot and frothy, you can see all its goodness from the outside of the glass. So much so that the glass itself looks good. Like this:

But when the teh tarik is has been left out in the cold for too long and the froth has bubbled away, you can see all its badness from the outside of the cup too. So much that the glass looks bad. Like this:

(okay okay I know it still looks kinda good. I tried my best.)

So when we go to a mamak and are served with a nice cup of teh tarik, we say, "What a great glass of teh tarik!' On the other hand, if the teh tarik is pathetic, we say, "What a terrible glass of teh tarik".

But it's not the glass that's good or bad. It's the teh tarik that's good or bad. The glass merely displays what's within it.

The teh tarik is the manipulated variable.

We, the people, are the manipulated variable.

The glass is constant.

Malaysia is constant.

So don't blame your country for what your government is or is not. In conclusion...

Happy Merdeka. Malaysia, I love you, frothy or not.

Hidden Away — Josh Groban

2011-08-28T23:49:00.000+08:00

Josh Groban <3

Over mountains and sky blue seas
On great circles, will you watch for me?
The sweetest feeling I've got inside
I just can't wait to get lost in your eyes

And all these words that you meant to say
Held in silence day after day
Words of kindness that our poor hearts crave
Please, don't keep them hidden away

Sing it out so I can finally breathe in
I can take in all the same
Holding out for something I believe in
All I really need today

I want to free your heart, I want to see your heart
Please, don't keep your heart hidden away

You're a wonder, how bright you shine
A flickered candle in a short lifetime
A secret dreamer that never shows
If no one sees you then nobody knows

And all these words you were meant to say
Held in silence day after day
Words of kindness that our poor hearts crave
Please, don't keep them hidden away

Sing it out so I can finally breathe in
I can take in all the same
Reaching out for someone I believe in
All I really need today

I want to feel your love, will you reveal your love?
Please, don't keep your love hidden away
I want to free your heart, I want to see your heart
Please, don't keep your heart hidden away

Jalur Gemilang

2011-08-27T02:14:00.001+08:00

Just that day, we were waiting outside the lecture theatre for the Accounts seminar to start.

We started talking about Malaysia. Pei said, "I love Malaysia." Jeremy said, "I love Malaysia." I said, "I love Malaysia." We looked up, and as cheesy as it sounds -- right in front of our faces was a large Malaysian flag hanging on the railing.

It was a proud moment.

Happy Birthday Dear Blog

2011-08-27T02:09:00.000+08:00

Four days ago, my blog was five years old. <3

Dear blog, you have journeyed with me for five years. You have been there each time I was happy, angry, excited, sad, apprehensive, joyful, depressed, bored, exuberant.

You have helped me to grow in my writing.

Dear blog, thank you.

Love, Hannah.

Unadulterated Fun

2011-08-25T17:04:00.000+08:00

The best days ever are those when you feel awfully happy for no apparent reason.

I've had a number of those kind of days lately -- simply hanging out with Pei and Tzi and Chi and Sze (all their names rhyme except mine).

Exuberance. That must be the word. A compressed aerosol can of joy that has waited for the right day to be sprayed out.

Writing notes on each other's diaries, drawing stuff, talking psychology, discussing about the three faces of human beings, exchanging hugs, affirming each other, writing silly notes to Mdm Noor, sharing our common love towards Malaysia, doing the deep-conversation routine, carrying out juvenile pranks.

I don't want this to end.

Friends from A to Z

2011-08-21T00:04:00.000+08:00

I have friends all around me. All sorts. All temperaments. All shapes. All sizes. All (cough) heights. And well, I decided to type each letter of the alphabet in my Facebook search box, and write a bit about the first person on the list there, here on my blog! :)

A: I have a friend who once had bomb-like laughter, but has now become slightly milder in terms of explosiveness. Who can be relied upon always.

B: I have a friend whom I've known since I was in S-sized kiddy white dresses. Whom I can tell anything to. Who is horribly random (cockroach lim!). With whom I've had some of the most fun times in my life. Whom I love very very very much.

C: I have a friend who is really fun to poke fun at. Who is, nevertheless, one of the most caring, helpful people in I've ever met. Who is willing to take one's stress upon herself just to help one out a bit.

D: I have a ~~friend~~ brother who is horribly fun, caring, helpful, thoughtful, but in essence, annoying. Who is the best brother in the world.

E: I have a friend who brought radical new ideas to the classroom. Who challenged me to buck conventionality and push myself to the limit. Who is buckets of fun. Who has given me a lot of advice about the big dirty political world out there.

F: I have a friend who is an incredible saxophonist. Who has a generous heart. Who is a big fun kor kor kind of character.

G: I have a friend who has different nail colours each time each time I see her. Who has pullable tops too. Who is a great person to hang out with.

H: I have a friend who makes me laugh even when I don't want to. Who is the worst suck-up I've met in my life. Who comes up with the best poems ever in incredibly short periods of time. Who has a special talent for puns.

I: I have a friend who has lots of energy and initiative.

J: I have a friend whom I look up to a lot. Who is a great debater, orator, actor. Who, if is made a national leader of some sort in the future, I would be voting for.

K: I have a friend who seems to be perpetually heartbroken haha.

L: I have a friend who was supposed to go to India with an elephant but isn't going anymore. Who is the only alien-person who can get a hundred for Accounts.

M: I have a friend who is my soulmate. Who is one of the most talented musicians around. Who has some of the funniest facial expressions too. Who will be leaving me soon nooooo. :(

N: I have a friend who is a bimbo, but who is actually a mature bimbo. Who is composed and courageous character. Who is one I can call a genuine friend.

O: I have a friend who showed me great hospitality when I was at Singapore on an exchange trip.

P: I have a friend who is my zui hao de peng you, with whom I've had some of the best times of my life. Who whips me everyday. Who is a black and white animal. Who is a fellow nerd, one of the rare people who can understand and come up with intellectual jokes. Whom I care about deeply and would do (almost) anything for.

Q: I have a friend who is an godly person, whose character I admire. Who can learn almost anything on his own (guitar, piano, drums, movie-making, parkour, wushu).

R: (Well I typed R and the first thing that appeared on the menu was 100 000 People Request Najib Tun Razak Resignation, so... ) I have a leader who (fill in the blanks yourself).

S: I have a friend who was once my junior. Who has matured over the years. Who is fun to be with. Whom I refuse to give biscuits to at CF.

T: I have a friend who was one of my first few friends on the Nips bus. Who has experienced the literal and metaphorical ups and downs of Mr Leong's very safe bus-driving. Who has been scolded by the Pui Lang at Petronas along with me for walking into the shop's racks..

U: I have ~~a friend~~ an uncle who is one of my life's greatest influences. Who has greatly impacted the way I think, talk and act. Who is generous with his time.

V: I have a friend who chases me out of the canteen even when I haven't finished eating.

W: I have a friend whom I sat with for much of my Form 3 life. Who is one of the funniest people I've met in my life. Who is a fantastic actress and impersonator. Who is my beloved partner in crime for the Leticia-Olivia act. Who means a whole lot to me.

X: I have a friend with whom much has been said and with whom much has had to be healed.

Y: I have a friend who always has something nice to say.

Z: I have a friend who is a friend of my brother. Who apparently speaks, if I am not mistaken, five languages or so. Who is very smart. Who gets my nerdy econ jokes.

Friends come in all sorts and shapes and sizes and temperaments and heights; and that very diversity lends more vivid colours to the world!

Fine

2011-08-18T18:53:00.000+08:00

I just had my second last piano lesson today. :'( I'd never thought I'd say this — but I'm kinda sad that it's ending. After 13 years of sitting in front of my black and white baby. A few years of Miss Lee Ting Ting, quite a long time with Aunty Dorcas, four weeks with Aunty Glenise (now don't you ask me why it was only four weeks haha), and roughly five musically-awesome years with Andrew.

The ending was the best. After two tedious years of slogging out my Grade 8 pieces, I finally got to have a few months to learn what I really wanted to learn — jazz. Andrew was an awfully patient, fun and competent teacher throughout (considering that he had such a sleepy and blur student, yours truly). Each week I was blown away whenever he played anything.

And now I kind of wish I could continue these fun lessons, but SPM calls.

S.O.S.!

2011-08-14T00:26:00.000+08:00

S.O.S.! will be up and running next Monday! For blog readers who aren't from my school, well, S.O.S.! (Shake Off Stress) is a peer-to-peer learning group whereby students teach students. We started the group hoping to get a little less than ten recruits to teach, and maybe around twenty students to join our discussions. But as of now, we have 18 recruits altogether, and 28 students for the first Sejarah meeting. Plus a lot more students for the other subjects which we haven't finalized yet. It's rather amazing. So here's a shoutout to Wesleyans: I love your community spirit!

It's been quite a journey to come this far — but I'll leave the reflection and all for another day. Suffice to say that I'm quite excited for next week. And I'm sure the whole S.O.S.! team is just as excited.

Special thanks to:

The Uncle Alvin and The Bro — for first giving me the idea to restart PANIC. Which was eventually renamed S.O.S.! Thank you for bearing with me even through all my buts and butts. You two are some of my greatest human influences.

PeiShan — for being such a zui hao de peng you to me, for helping me get all the groundwork done, for your terribly systematic brain which I would love to steal. But most of all, for your support! It's priceless, coming from you. :)

Chyn — for being the self-appointed best company lawyer (99.9% win!). For accompanying me to nearly every visit to the principal's office. For all the input, constructive criticism, and bimbotic moments. Because S.O.S.! would hardly be in existence if not for your efforts.

Jeremy / Olibia (or Olivia) — for helping out with the publicity. Olibia, thank you for acting even though you didn't want to. You have great courage! Jeremy, thank you for stepping in to help so late in the morning. You are a superhero.

Aarathi — for so enthusiastically supporting S.O.S.! (and PANIC) all the way back in 2009 until now. For being my partner in crime. And of course, for being my scanner too.

Kay Yi — for taking this so seriously (haha!) and for tanggunging like one million subjects. :D

Tzibear, Sara Chen, Xiao Yi, Mimi, V Vern, Hao Zhe, Yih Wen, Anand, Max, Gareth, Wen Chuan, Li-Vern, Amanda Sim — for volunteering your time, effort and brains in this project! Without you, S.O.S.! wouldn't be here. It's the product of all your effort.

Everyone else who has contributed to S.O.S.! in some way or other — Thank you! No contribution is too small to be overlooked — your help is greatly appreciated.

Let's get started.

Would the Earth be a Better Place Without Humans?

2011-08-10T23:37:00.002+08:00

Would Earth be a better place if humans didn't exist?

That was the question our little group of friends casually debated on today (thanks to the lawyer Chyn who brought it up).

Initially the debate was skewed towards the affirmative answer -- yes, the Earth would be a better place without us selfish, greedy, unethical polluters. Without humans, all the animals would be able to live peacefully. There'd be no pollution. No global warming. No problems.

Then Jeremy brought up the fact that humans have intelligence. And hence, humans are the only beings who are capable of living with purpose. A world inhabited only by animals is a purposeless world.

"Why?"
"Because humans can live with purpose. Animals can't live that way. They only exist."

I then posed the question, "Would you prefer something that exists without problems, but has no purpose; or something that exists with a purpose although it has problems?"

To which the general answer was in favour of the latter.

"Well, in essence, that's almost the same question as ours, only framed differently."

---

But our discussion got me thinking. The root of our question basically lay at this one word: Purpose. If human beings don't know and don't fulfill their purpose on Earth, then we wouldn't be too far off from animals. Then maybe it wouldn't matter whether or not we existed. But if humans know and fulfill their purpose on Earth, then yes, Earth is a better place on our account.

Which actually brought us to yet another question: "What do you think your purpose is?"

That's a question that can only be answered by oneself.

And one that I've already determined the answer to. My purpose in life is to honor God.

---

The bell rings, the prefects chase us out, and thus ends a very interesting conversation.

P/S: I love you all and the differing viewpoints you brought to the discussion! I love how our opinions vary; and I love the way we keep an open mind towards each other. Pei, Chyn, Jeremy -- you guys are the best. (:

The Leadership of Force

2011-08-07T22:41:00.000+08:00

I had a pretty interesting conversation in the car with my family today.

We talked about leaders. About, in general, Malaysian leaders. Leaders in the country, in the community, in organizations, ... and in school.

We love putting people at the top brass of leadership, giving them power, status and a uniform (where applicable), and then calling them leaders. And those leader-creatures at the higher regions of the hierarchal pyramid take orders from the pharaoh sitting on top.

And so often when we question these people about their decisions and policies, their typical answers are:

"I'm just doing my job."
"That's the way it is."
"Just do it."
"Don't be rude."
"JUST KEEP QUIET AND GO BACK TO CLASS."(narrows eyes and purses up lips)

That is not the leadership of reason. That is the leadership of force. That is a leadership that says, "I have power and for that reason you must respect me."

"Obey me even though I can't give proper reasoning behind what I'm ordering you to do."

The moment we show signs of possible disobedience towards archaic laws, the authoritative figure plants hands on hips, gives a warning look, and does anything possible to ensure that subjects are kept in place. (This can come in a form as literal as I have written it — which often happens where I am — or also in a more figurative form. i.e. ISA.)

But if you read the news enough, you'd know something — force never works. Gaddafi. Abbas. Mubarak. What force really does is this: It makes the leader's subjects squirm with rage in their seats and ask, "Does he really think I'm that stupid?" And then the subjects revolt.

Or closer to home, most of us would have come across crusty rulers and bosses and teachers and prefects once upon a time. The surly sort who always have furrowed brows and rule with an iron fist. The kind who silence us into dog-like obedience in their presence. And we all put up a great show of respect in front of them.
But when their backs are turned, we giggle.

Why does this happen?

Because, simply, they expect respect without earning it. But my dear friends, power does not buy respect. It is your character, your sincerity, your actions that earn you respect.

Many people are addicted to the leadership of force — because it provides instant results. You raise your voice, your people are silenced. You advance, they back down. You order, they obey. But these leaders don't see what happens in their absence. The moment they step out of the room, people watch the pad-pad-pad of the heavy, polished shoes going in the other direction... and utmost 'respect' rapidly changes into utmost disrespect. People start laughing. People start complaining. People start impersonating (cough, yours truly).

And personally, that's the kind of leader I don't want to be.