Coming out of the closest

I was catching up with a friend the other night when the conversation turned to close friends and how we might define who we are 'closest' to.

As a rule, I generally don't give much thought towards quantifying my varying degrees of closeness to my friends, but for discussion's sake, it did make for an interesting topic: what does make a close friend close?

Is it the person with whom you spend the most time with? The person to whom you share the most with? The person you talk to the most? The person you have the most in common with? The person with whom you have been friends for the longest?

There are endless reasons to be close to someone, and indeed all the above reasons are reasons to be grateful for. For me, there are two reasons that I am close to the people I am close to.

The first is honesty. Among those I count as my closest friends are those who are willing to open up to me. They have shared things with me I know that one does not immediately readily share with the world, and their trust and vulnerability induces reciprocality in me. I have great difficulty in sharing and opening up to people, and as I have grown older I have only made more mistakes in whom I elect to share my vulnerabilities with. This negative feedback means that I tend only to open up to people I feel have opened up to me.

However, more than just sharing their personal lives, such friends are treasured for the fact that they are unafraid to share their personal opinions, even when said opinions may be less than savory. When someone is willing to insult or rebuke you in the interest of being completely honest, it is for me one of the signs of a true friend. Caveat: insults alone do not imply friendship though - quite often they imply rather the opposite.

The second is gratitude. As my dear blogstalkers are well aware of by now, I love a good cliche, especially when it is true. And my dears, a friend in need really is a friend indeed. This works both ways. Both those who have helped me when I am weak and those who have allowed me to see and aid them in their darkest moments, are friends who I treasure deeply.

Music: the polite audience

Warning: gush alert which shouldn't be surprising since I'm such a big fan of the artist in question.

Went for Lenka's Asia Tour at Zirca Mega Club (which is ironic, considering its unobtrustive location and tiny size). Was it The Show. As some fans said, "We don't want our money back." She's just that good.

The thing I love about live performances is the raw, unadulterated quality of the performance - you get to see whether the singer is really good or whether it's just smoke and mirrors. Lenka's even better live than she is on album, which is really quite rare in singers nowadays. Her slightly breathy, sexy vocals had remarkable breadth and range, which she exhibited quite fully in this performance. One of the things I particularly enjoyed was the emotion of it - there's no replacing a sensitive artist putting her soul into a song, and hearing and feeling it live. For one song, I was even moved to tears by her rendition. I also really enjoyed that she gave little snippets of insight into the songs she sang, and these added a depth to the songs which I already knew so well from her debut album. For instance, I found out that Dangerous and Sweet was a dance number written because of a fight with a girl friend in LA, and that We Will Not Grow Old was written for a best friend in high school who shared her sentiments of not wanting to grow up and become an adult. Although the meanings were quite implicit, it was nice when she spelled out that Don't Let Me Fall is about being afraid of getting hurt in relationships and wanting to trust again. In fact, her live renditions of Don't Let Me Fall and Like A Song were notable in their unique instrumentation. In Like A Song, fans got a blast from the past with radio waves from WWII.

The only disappointment was how, well in Lenka's words, polite the Singaporean audience was, laughing on cue, clapping and cheering on cue, and obediently doing everything on cue. There was no musicality in our response, nor was there an uninhibited sense of enjoyment (perhaps due to a lack of inebriation) that one might expect from adoring fans of at a live concert. Those in the mosh pit, most certainly didn't mosh. Instead, there was a sea of small LCD screens - yes, everybody there was so busy recording the concert that there was hardly anybody actually enjoying and experiencing it.

Nonetheless, it was an enjoyable evening with good props, better technicians, and wonderful musicians with a great sense of humour. Lenka even gets brownie points for attempting to play the trumpet! All in all, I was not disappointed, at least not with her and her artistry, and I can't wait to see more from her.

Some snippets of song lyrics from songs not in her album:

Maybe I Love You

by Lenka

Maybe I love you,
maybe I do
maybe this feelin'
inside me is true.
And if I love you,
and if I do,
then maybe, baby,
maybe you love me too.

I knew I liked you,
I knew I could.
And I knew a song
that was brewing in the air.
But I don't fall easily
too many betrayed me.

Pull Me Apart
by Lenka

You are the one
you are the only one
that can make me whole
yeah, you make whole.
There's only one problem
with this situation:
when you go,

I can't go on.
...

Cause you have a piece
a piece of my heart
that you take with you.

You pull me apart,
you break me in half.
Every time you leave
I'm a broken heart.
And I stay that way,

till I see you again

You put me all

back together again.

All My Bells Are Ringing

by Lenka

Take my heart this Christmas,
I'll wrap it in a ribbon and a bow,
yes, take my heart this Christmas,

take it where ever you go.

All my bells are ringing just for you.

Home on a high

Random cool song I heard on Gossip Girl, Season 3, Ep 6. The band looks really stoned, and the lead singer sounds a bit like he has a Messiah complex. But hey, if it's good music, I'm hardly one to judge a bit of insanity.

Demon in my veins

Oh caffeine, caffeine -

exalted guanine degenerate,

won't you please release your hold on me?

Without you I am but a daytime walking zombie -

brain-dead, I am poor company,

paying attention to naught but

your absence from my body.

Yet with you,

my nights are passed sleeplessly -

where I am only relieved of you

in the spewing of badly rhyming poetry.

Caffeine, caffeine,

held in your stimulating thrall,

I am powerless with or without you.

The Xinner's guide to blogstalking (or how to waste away your afternoon)

What made me really get into blogging way back in '03, was that I've always a bit of a people-watcher, and so really enjoyed reading my friends' blogs. Their thoughts and perspectives on things they were experiencing (that I often knew about firsthand) revealed a side to them that I didn't really get a chance to see in real life. What you write in your blog can sometimes be quite different from what you would talk about.

As I moved from high school to university, I found I still belonged to the blogosphere, albeit a slightly different one, when one of bible study mates remarked on the existence of my blog. I suddenly realised that here too, a blogging culture existed, one which I felt I should get better acquainted with.

So, here's my guide to getting to know your blogosphere, aka blogstalking.

1. Obviously, ask. One of the primary ways you can find someone's blog is by asking them if they have one. You aren't going to find a blog if it's not there. Makes an excellent opportunity for conversation too, as it begs questions like 'why blog?' and 'what do you think of blogging?'. If you, like me, take vicarious pleasure from the reading of blogs, you might want to play that down a bit by focusing on the other person in such a conversation, as well, we all know that stalking is weird and possibly even sociopathic.
2. Blog stalking is not about targeting specific people, but getting to know your network of bloggers and the blogosphere in which you belong. Once you have the address of one person's blog, you will often easily find other blogs through links on their sidebar. Let the click-fest begin!
3. Facebook is an excellent tool for discovering someone's blog. If you check under their profile information in the sidebar, or under the info tab, you may just strike gold.
4. For most part, there is no way that a blog is not linked from some other place on the web, whether it is another person's blog, or Google, or Facebook. Have faith, if you are sufficiently determined, you will be aptly rewarded for your efforts.

Oh dear, I fear I have just opened a can of worms with regards to blogging culture, privacy and why-I-am-not-a-sociopath.

Beatitudes

1. Sunlight shining on a white picket fence against a backdrop of green
2. A cool breeze on a sunny day
3. Running against the wind
4. Running with the wind
5. Realising you're not alone
6. Dancing cheek to cheek
7. The smell of freshly laundered linen
8. The smell of someone who's just had a bath
9. The feeling of Hazeline Snow on dry skin
10. The whoosh of air in a flying leap or in the angular momentum of turning
11. An anticipated meeting of old friends
12. Colours in the afternoon sun
13. Being a part of the music
14. Good group/team dynamics
15. Meaningful conversation
16. Getting something, really understanding it, for the first time
17. The salty smell of the sea
18. Holding a stuffed toy
19. Having your hair stroked
20. Being held
21. Making someone's day
22. Finding God in the small things

A minute of silence

Interesting thing happened in the library today. I was studying when it was suddenly announced,

"It is customary that at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month we observe a minute of silence for those who have died in the war..."

14:10

Only 50 minutes more,

to 3 pm - class dismissed.

I look around at these familiar unfamiliar faces

belying what they feel and think -

I smile and look away

knowing they cannot know me

any more than I know them.

Only a few more days till I return

to a swelteringly humid little island.

Only a few more days,

but it can't come sooner.

And only far too soon before I'll be back

in another giant flea-ridden furnace.

Who really knows another's hidden landscapes? For

Each heart knows its own bitterness -

Incapacitating fears and debilitating sorrows,

private tears we never cry and never let on,

lurking in the shadows, weighing down our souls.

The little, everyday tortures we'd never dream of sharing,

we're burning in our own private little infernos.

Different ghosts haunt different corners,

different trusts I know I've broken,

different hopes misplaced in me -

another set of haunts to avoid and run away from.

Another set of demons turn me cold.

Still I try in vain.

Beneath the sweetness of smiles and

the concerted effort to turn away

the tiredness and

tightness

in my chest -

老了， 累了-

the growing apathy to

this world's concerns,

I rest on the Word

alone.

But I confess, in a hell that is both hot and cold,

the warmth of such a comfort's hard to hold.

My spirit's distance only superseded

by the distance the spiritual can seem

from my earthly fallibility.

I'd rather something more tangible, but

all the world's a stranger.

For no thing can thaw this heart,

no one else can share its joy.

Watching Memorable Walks

The other day in bible study, our leader asked us why we, or other people, might write poetry. He then asked us to write an 'If' poem as part of an exercise to introduce us to the study of Psalms. Since then, these ideas have been playing on my mind.

If asked that question in a setting where I wasn't under pressure to not answer and appear an emo-kid, I would probably say that the reason why I write poetry or enjoy art of any form is because in reality, I repress my feelings. Rather than limit them to the banality of their everyday context (petty annoyances, base desires, irrational fears), I'd rather invest them in an avenue with a higher rate of return. I get to control exactly how much I reveal, how much I explore, what the listener gets out of the poem. A poem doesn't limit you to reality, either.

I used to favour dance as the way to tell the greatest truths of myself to my audience. Poetry, I suppose is a natural extension of that. It too is focused on expression through a medium (the human body/words) and the movement inherent (in dance sequences, or the formation of sentences). It may not be about me, but in creating it, I often feels as though I were baring some part of myself that I normally keep hidden.

Even if my heart says yes, my mind says no

(based on A Walk To Remember)

If

this were yesterday, I

might've said yes to you. I was

happy to bask in the love of another,

then - I would not

be so afraid to let my heart be thawed by

the heat of your pull

on my heartstrings, and your assurance not to break them, or -

ever let them go.

But because

this is today,

I am sorry,

but my answer is no.

But even if being around you arrests my senses,

makes time stop and space irrelevant,

even if it feels like more than just another EM-pty pull, it's

just a lull - a break from reality's gravity, for today.

For even if this were yesterday,

you can't change my tomorrow.

The one where Xin wishes she was studying something else

Sometimes the human body just doesn't make any sense. The science of the way biological processes work is almost as incongruent as trying to decipher the varied motives and workings of the human mind.

Case in point, free radical damage causes mitochondrial and cellular damage that leads to aging. Anti-oxidants reduce free radical damage by eliminating free radicals through chemical reactions. Logically speaking, you'd suppose that reducing free radicals by increasing antioxidant levels would reduce free radical damage. However as antioxidants reduce free radicals, hormesis may occur. This is an increased sensitivity as a result of a reduction in the body's natural protection against free radicles that may actually result in an increased mortality.

I suppose it's the frustration of a posteriori acquisition of knowledge and understanding. At best, you can only see one or two steps behind the rationale of the way something has changed, and that means that the fundamental logic of how things work will always remain somehow behind the veil. Just like no matter how well or how long you've known someone, you never really know them.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm motivated to wade through the explosion of theories of why this or that occurs. Science is messy work, and our attempts to explain things we don't even really understand seem so laughable and vain in the wake of reality. Scientific method is hardly what I'd call intelligence at work: trial and error is more what it might be described as. In its attempts to simplify and organise life, it seems to only make things more complicated, particularly at the so-called cutting edge of the field.

Music: the upbeat

Once in a while a good singer comes along who makes music that strikes a chord (yes, pun intended). Lenka, a Sydneysider, is one such musician. Upbeat, yet introspective, she's got the I-don't-take-life-too-seriously-but-I-haven't-lost-my-ideals ethos that's so easy to fall in love with. From the moment I heard her, I heart her.

Her winsome smile and cheeky grin make her music video release of The Show very worth a gander.

For posterity's sake, here are the lyrics.

The Show

Lenka

I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don't know where to go, can't do it alone
I've tried and I don't know why

Slow it down, make it stop or else my heart is going to pop
'Cause it's too much, yeah it's a lot to be something I'm not
I'm a fool out of love 'cause I just can't get enough

I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don't know where to go, can't do it alone
I've tried and I don't know why

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out, it's bringing me down
I know I've got to let it go and just enjoy the show

The sun is hot in the sky just like a giant spotlight
The people follow the signs and synchronize in time
It's a joke nobody knows, they've got a ticket to the show

Yeah, I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don't know where to go, can't do it alone
I've tried and I don't know why

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out, it's bringing me down
I know I've got to let it go and just enjoy the show
Just enjoy the show

I'm just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don't know where to go, can't do it alone
I've tried and I don't know why

I'm just a little girl lost in the moment
I'm so scared but I don't show it
I can't figure it out, it's bringing me down
I know I've got to let it go and just enjoy the show
Just enjoy the show, just enjoy the show

I want my money back, I want my money back
I want my money back, just enjoy the show
I want my money back, I want my money back
I want my money back, just enjoy the show

What a woman

I was mooching around today, and found out about Aimee Mullins. Wow.

Note to self

Head over heart -

Anatomically,

Alphabetically,

Always, sensibly.

Alien weather

Cosmic Radiation in NewScientist

I would really love to get a meteorologist's take on the recent weather changes.

As the night breaks and the day falls

Rescue me from underneath the fluorescent sky,

the restlessness and the bleeding of time.

Deliver me into the darkness

for more than a flickering moment's

greater finality

in a destination for this train of thought to alight.

Rather than the relentless chug

that drives only to eventual exhaustion.

The depletion far more final.

The duration of rest unknown -

pray not that this time will be the

straw that brakes the camel's - bringing me

back into the nightmarish wreck

-age I tunneled out of,

only to return to

my deepest fear and my darkest longing -

brief respite

as the night breaks and the day falls

and fear of leaving lucidity farther and farther behind.

It's the heart that matters most

[Warning: as you may have discerned from the title, this will be a cliched and gushy, probably preachy post.]

Looking around at the doctors and doctors-to-be around me, I see people of all walks of life. There are the foul-mouthed swearing types, there are the jokers, there are the cold and distant types, there are the overtly caring ones, there are the ones who claim they don't give a damn.

But they do. We all do. The thing that binds us isn't that we're high academic achievers, or that we're competent, or that we've an all-consuming interest in what we do.

It's that we've got heart. Underneath our exteriors, whether hard and clam-like, or soft and welcoming, we feel for others. When we see another human being suffering, some part of us is fundamentally driven to do something, unselfish enough to care about it, and to want to make a difference.

If you're in the profession for anything else - whether it's the so-called glory or prestige, or the financial stability, or even for the intellectual gratification, you're bound to be disappointed. There's little real glory to be had - every other course from Politics to Culinary Skills, has its fair share of high-fliers. As for financial stability, there are easier ways to get that. You will spend a long time awaiting intellectual gratification, if that's what you're hoping for. Frustration is more likely, with all the loose ends and incomplete science.

The only thing that I can think of that makes us want to go on in this race is that we care. We care about our patients. We care about being good doctors. We care about each other.

A large nose isn't a godsend, it's a...

Ladies and gentlemen of the mockery, I give you the original nose on a stick. Paul Townshend is a guitarist whose large nose drove him to an incredible career in guitar.

[Historic relevance: Just in case you happen to be blind or short-sighted or dyslexic (or a stranger who doesn't know me), I have a rather prominent nose that used to be the subject of ridicule in my early adolescence, when it used to rather overpower my face.]

Oh glucose, glucose!

Specially for the chemistry geeks out there, I present:

As time passes

Emptiness pervades
as movement carries forth space-
time residuum.

What is matter
but a concept of movement
that slow eyes pick up?

Where is displacement?
Impossible concept if
there is no stillness.

Yet stillness exists
only hypothetically -
really think on it.

Acronymn of the day: FAAK

No, it's not a four letter f-word.  OK, it is, but it's got nothing besides aural similarity in common with that.

Used to end late-night MSN/Skype conversations, FAAK stands for falling asleep at keyboard.  As in, OK FAAK TTYL.  Or, I'm FAAKed out.  

Room 5.312 was getting a little warm

Trapped heat can't breathe - it's stifling in here

as my palms get sweaty and

the temperature goes up

while I chat to a friend about

uncomfortable stuff.

I can't get no air as I feel

unwelcome clamminess

beading in the creases of my palms

the increasing heat

hits me with a force that impels

me to open the window,

or strain to open it,

while knocking over cups on my messy desk

in an effort to get the right leverage.

As I break out in sweat from all the wrong places,

and the window panes slips in my grasp,

and the liquid spilled spreads dangerously close -

its close proximity to my technological equipment may mean damage if I do not act fast enough to stop its furthering.

So I end it,

putting down everything else -

to give it a quick wipe down with a convenient rag.

No dramas* -

there's no use crying over spilled milk.

Suddenly the room feels drafty -

the window's let too much cold air in;

I need to tidy up the mess.

Life goes on.

*'No dramas' is Aussie slang for the American equivalent of 'No big deal'.

Dance therapy

I was doing some research for my latest assignment, and I found out about Trudi Schoop, this really interesting dance therapist. :)

I'm willing to tell you. I'm wanting to tell you. I'm waiting to tell you.

We spend most of our lives waiting for things to happen. Eventually, you come to accept it as a part of life. Some people are able to do it graciously and patiently, while others will whine their way through it - I remember when I was four, how I used to have to wait for unimportant grown-up stuff, like checking the apartment for locked doors and windows, to be done, and lilting, "Why are we waiting?"

Well, one reason might be that we are waiting for someone else to act. Much of our lives consist of the things that are beyond our control, and most of our lives are spent waiting for these things to occur - whether it's waiting for army to be over, waiting to reach a destination, waiting for someone to call, or waiting in the doctor's office. It might even be as big as waiting for love, or waiting for the new covenant to be fulfilled. Or worse (to pull a Hermione Granger), waiting for late exam results.

Another reason might be that we ourselves aren't ready. We've got other commitments, we're afraid, or we don't have the skills required to take on the challenge - for instance, as much as I longed to ski down the Snowy Mountains last week, I knew that I just wasn't ready for that then.

To put it simply, we have no choice.

Even though it often feels frustratingly akin to doing nothing, waiting is still an action, of sorts. According to my trusty Oxford Apple Dictionary (OAD), the word 'wait' came from the word 'wake', which means to emerge from a state of sleep, become aware of, or cause to stir. This puts things in quite a different light - when we wait for something, we are aware of the likelihood of something happening, and that changes the way we live. From a state of sleeping unawareness to that of waking, we have shifted our perspectives, our modes of life, in a significant way.

Sometimes, the best way we can handle this awareness is to carry on as we were - pretending like we didn't even know it was going to happen. But although on the surface it may seem to pass muster, this is never really the case. Whether we will or nay, we keep ourselves attuned to that thing we know will happen. In fact, early senses of the word 'wait' included to be watchful, or observe carefully. In a sense, waiting is a filter of what we see - if we are waiting on the good stuff, we can be optimistic (although some might say we will be disappointed). We can never be completely objective our observation, and waiting is what colours our lenses.

Besides being alert to what we are waiting for, we also prepare ourselves for it. The OAD says that some aspects of the word 'wait' include being ready for a certain purpose. Today at church we had an interesting sermon that tied in perfectly with this; the preacher presented the time between the Lord's first and second coming as a window of opportunity to repent and come to God, as a period of grace - the Lord is waiting for us to be ready, we aren't just waiting for him.

Waiting may seem pointless, futile, or like you're just plain doing nothing, but it's a deceptively active verb - you need to be on the alert, you need to make yourself ready. You may have no choice but to wait, but what you do have a choice in: how you respond when that thing that you've been waiting for happens, will depend on how you've waited.

Yet another reason to dance.

Chicken soup

I've been moving my old blog entries to this blog over the past few months, and I came across an entry that's very relevant, what with H1N1; sometimes the best medicine is a good ole' dose of mum's wisdom.

Although colds and flus are not the same, they share inflammatory effects (your body's response to most invading pathogens), so if you happen to be down with either, according to RealAge (which is apparently six years out of date),

"Chicken soup really can help you get over a cold. Ingredients in chicken soup have anti-inflammatory properties that inhibit the movement of neutrophils into airways. Neutrophils are white blood cells that contribute to the inflammation that causes cold symptoms. Combat your next cold with plenty of rest, lots of fluids, and a bowl of homemade chicken soup...chicken soup contains compounds that help inhibit mucus production. In addition to chicken soup's anti-inflammatory effects, the heat and steam may help open up nasal passages...Sipping hot chicken soup may help, as well -- a steamy bowl of chicken soup with plenty of garlic and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper will boost the nasal-clearing effects of the soup. And be sure to finish the broth; researchers determined most of the anti-inflammatory effects of chicken soup come from the liquid."

(first published 7/3/06 9:11 PM)

Yo momma's so fat...

...that when she fell in love, she broke it.  That, and 'How I met your mother' are two important things I have discovered since arriving in Australia.

After completing the first season of the show, these are the things I have learnt:

1. Decisions after 2 am are always bad ones.
2. Never say 'I love you' on the first date.
3. Long-distance doesn't work.
4. Suit up!
5. This is going to be, legen - wait for it - dary.

My timetable for thursday:

9-12noon - sex

1-4pm - emo

4.15 pm- run

Seriously.

I think studying for Medicine can sometimes be really strange.  What we have learnt, in summary, for this course is: 1) how to take care of kids (parenting), 2) how to stay happy (depression), 3) sex ed.

Of couse, there are other incidentals like, how we hear, the fact that you are going to fall sick from invading pathogens, and an introduction to neurology and endocrinology (which are both very interesting, much more interesting than they sound).

But I think studying Medicine is like the University Course to Living Well.  Though studying for it is living hell (sorry, I know that was lame, just couldn't resist it).

Medicine course takeaways

Over the last two days of my course, the things I have learnt from my lectures and tutorials include:

1. guys who clean get women hot
2. I should probably have gone into arts, based on my personality - we did a Big 5 (extraversion, openness, neuroticism, agreeableness, conscientiousness) personality test tutorial, and I scored low on conscientiousness, and almost off the charts on openness.

Kenny's amazing expert tute on embryo

It's a bittersweet symphony

It's funny how we all have preoccupations with our scars and wounds. We've all poked, picked at and scratched our scabs, or rubbed our bruises (or at least thought about it), and even though there's a kind of pain that comes with that, it's not the unpleasant kind. Even wounds that have healed completely, leaving scars or keloids, feel somehow odd to the touch.

Every one in a while a song will hit you in an odd place like that. I recently lost all my music library after taking my computer for repairs, and a friend of mine was kind enough to supplement my loss with his albums. So I found out how much I liked yet another Singaporean artist, Olivia Ong.

Olivia is only 4 years older than me, which makes me realise just how old I am!

Sweet Memories

by Seiko Matsuda, also sung by Olivia Ong, lyrics by Miss er

なつかしい痛みだわ ずっと前に忘れていた
でもあなたを見たとき 時間だけ後もどりしたの
幸福？と聞かないで うそをつくのは上手じゃない
友だちならいるけど あんなには燃えあがれなくて

失った夢だけが　美しく見えるのは何故かしら
過ぎ去った優しさも今は 甘い記憶 sweet memories

Don't kiss me baby we can never be
So don't add more pain
Please don't hurt me again
I have spent so many nights
Thinking of you longing for your touch
I have once loved you so much

あの頃は若過ぎて いたずらに傷つけあった二人
色褪せた哀しみも今は 遠い記憶 sweet memories

Translation

by Moo

natsukashii itamidawa
(it's a pain that lied in my memory)
zutto mae ni wasureteita
(that I did not remember for a long time)
demo anata wo mita toki
(But when I saw you)
jikan dake atomodori shita no
(only the time went backward)

"Shiawase?" to kikanaide
(Don't ask me, "happy?" )
usowo tsuku nowa jouzujanai
(I am not good at telling a lie)
tomodachi nara irukedo
(Although I have friends)
anna niwa moeagarenakute
(I could not have that much passion)

ushinatta yume dakega
utsukushiku mieru nowanaze kashira
(I wonder why only the lost dreams look beautiful)
sugisatta yasashisa mo ima wa
amai kioku
(sweet memories)

Sweet memories

Don't kiss me baby we can never be
So don't add more pain
Please don't hurt me again
I have spent so many nights
Thinking of you longing for your touch
I have once loved you so much

anokoro wa wakasugite
(We were too young back then)
itazura ni kizu tsukeatta futari
(Two of us hurt each other in vain)
iro aseta kanashimi mo ima wa
tooi kioku
(The faded sadness is already a memory of long time ago)
Sweet memories

I miss my piano.

Exhortation to love

The other day I saw fliers being pasted all around the suburb I frequent in Sydney.  They were for someone who had gone missing.  As much as it was sad that someone had indeed gone missing, and the circumstances behind it must be quite unfortunate, it was obvious that the person who had gone missing was loved and missed.

The same cannot be said for everyone though, and I cannot help but reflect that it is possibly the worst thing in the world to be unloved and uncared for, to be shunned by others, to feel alone and isolated.  I think I would rather be that person who had gone missing, than someone whose existence people know of and care little for.

Of course, with my exercise-induced endorphin high, I couldn't help but put a positive spin to the melancholy thought.  I realised then that love really does cover everything.  You can be in the worst situation - suffering, diseased, in dire circumstances, but if you are loved and in a supporting environment, somehow it seems more bearable.  Conversely, you can have everything, yet have not love, and the world becomes an empty and torturous place indeed.

If you believe in God, the benevolent love and wisdom of a creator, can help us through troubling times.  We might possibly comfort ourselves in the knowledge that the shit that happens to us, happens for a purpose.  Perhaps, we may be strengthened by the experience, and some good things are bound to come of the bad.  

But more than this, we creatures of such a creator have in us the capacity to love each other, in a tangible way, for a tangible physical realm.  So every opportunity we get, let us be there for one another, and love one another, so our sorrows might seem that little bit easier to bear.

As an aside, in Christianity, the foremost command after loving God is loving others.  Cognitively, this for me is what makes Christianity such a valid fundamental belief.  Jesus Christ realising God's love for us by dying for us divinely substantiates the Christian dogma.  

Monopolar mania

Once long ago, I sat on my toilet bowl back in Chip Bee Gardens and thought about the greatest things that God created.  I came to the conclusion that two of the greatest things God created were 1) the most basic unit of matter, 2) water.

I continue to be fascinated with these, and as my scientific understanding grows, so does my sense of wonderment.  From atoms to sub-atomic particles, to the gradual melding of our disparate concepts of energy and particle in physics, the recent interesting advancements in physics suggest that the most basic unit of matter is not dots, or atoms, but string.  Our best analogy or understanding of the wave-particle duality of matter is that of a piece of string that indicates the probable positions of a particle's trajectory.  

As for water, as I began to understand the intricacies of hydrogen-bonding, my appreciation of the molecule reached new depths.  The way the specific properties of the elements hydrogen and oxygen result in dipole formation, that results in bonding that leads to water's unique and anomalous properties is nothing short of miraculous in its simple ingenious logic.

Today, I found something that fused my two pet topics (quantum physics and water).  Forget bipolar magnetism, monopoles are the next big thing in physics, and it seems dreadfully exciting.  It's based on the way chaotic way in which certain molecules are organised when in crystal lattice.

Monopoles are found in a substance known as spin ice (holmium titanate), which organises itself in a way that is configurationally similar to ice due to the properties of holomium, titanium and oxygen.  

Holmium ions align their spins more than twice as readily as even iron does, but in holmium titanate, the titanium and oxygen atoms form a tight tetrahedral lattice with holmium ions at the corners (see diagram). Thus corralled, the ions cannot align their spins all in one direction, so plump for the next best thing: two spins pointing inwards to the centre of the tetrahedron, and two pointing out. "

It's an unhappy arrangement. The spins don't know where to go," says Oleg Tchernyshyov of Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland, who studies similar instances of magnetic frustration.

The spin arrangement in holmium titanate mirrors the way that hydrogen ions are arranged in water ice, so Harris and Bramwell coined the term "spin ice" to describe their compound.

 - Newscientist.com

Biblical 32"-24"-32"

Today during bible study we were sharing about our recent quiet time experiences, and I started rambling on about one of the verses that I hold dear to me, the Proverbs 31:10-31. It's one of my impossible ambitions - to become a Proverbs 31 woman. (That, and to be ravishingly beautiful. Yes, I know it's a cliche.)

Anyway, while trying to share why it means so much to me, I realised I couldn't say much. I began to get self-conscious and embarrassed and think about how time was running short and ended up not saying anything at all, really. But coming back, I decided to find out more about what other, more authoritative voices had to say about the verses.

This resource divides the biblical ideal of a woman into the different roles she fulfills for ease of study - her position as a mother, a wife, a neighbour and so on. This one does a line-by-line analysis, as well as an overall situation of its context.

As for the ravishing beauty, well, there's a history to that. I don't mean the earthly Liv Tyler kind of beauty, although I truly wouldn't mind a bit of that, as I really can't say much of my god-given assets. I mean the heavenly Sarah Smith kind of beauty you read about in The Great Divorce (C.S. Lewis). Suffice to say that it is and always will be, a distant, misty-eyed dream for the life to come.

For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.

- Audrey Hepburn

Dear reader,

Somehow, I find it's when I've got a million things to do that blogging suddenly becomes the one thing I want to do.  I could be finishing my 2000-word report, finding out what I need to do today, reviewing the work I've learnt over the past few weeks, replying e-mails, finding out how to do internet banking and so much more.  But instead, I'm here, thinking about life, love and laughter.

I realise there's so much to be thankful for this year, particularly in Australia.  I've been blessed with good friends, a good school, good housing, and the lovely Australian weather.  Somehow, everything is so relaxed, even while rushing a paper you haven't started till nine o'clock the night before.  

Looking at the cards people gave me before I left, and the extra special one I received after I came, brings me especial gladness.  I know I'm loved, I know there is much to love; that gives me the strength to go on even when I go existentialist.

It's funny though, that coming to Australia has made me more Singaporean.  I come to realise the differences between my culture and other peoples', and although I tend to adapt to other people, I can't help but feel a certain pride for my own culture.  As much as Sydney's cosmopolitan and multicultural, its societies largely cohabit in a kind of isolation from each other.  They are distinct and separate as pigeonholes in a post office.  Although Singapore isn't exactly perfectly blended, there is a certain appreciation for each other's culture, and an evolution of a fused culture that is, I suppose rather cheesily, uniquely Singaporean.

Another thing that has happened is that I find that I can express myself through dance more easily here.  Perhaps this is because, unlike in Singapore where I have my own dance studio, there's no real place I can dance completely comfortably on my own, so I have to make any space I dance in a place that I can dance comfortably in.  I increasingly find the need to take solace in art, which is something I know I count on to soothe my ruffles.  I miss playing the piano though.

I realised on my run the other day that sometimes we need words for more than just expressing ourselves to other people.  If you are reading this, mum, I run only during the day or with a friend.  It's very safe and the traffic is definitely less than in Singapore.  We need them for ourselves to understand ourselves.  It hit me that I've been spending all this time trying to find the words to describe and process what has happened in my life, because of some precept that if I do, I will somehow be better able to understand my past and be more forward-looking.  Words and the ability to use them have a power that I've long lusted after, but am only beginning to understand.  

Some days I would give anything for a night back in Singapore, to dance or just spend time with people whom I can pour my heart out to.  It's so easy back home.

Praying for you,

writer.

Right here, write now.

Today I was on the bus, pondering life's mysteries (see, life is not so very different in another country), when I suddenly realised why I write, why I chronicle my thoughts and emotions. Simply put, it's because memories of these things aren't very lasting. Feelings are ephemeral, fading with the light of each new morning, and very soon what you want to remember is forgotten.

Sometimes, it's better this way. To live in the here and now, and be focused on what I need to do - many times I wish I could be more like this, rather than living with my head in some obscure cumulonimbus of its own. Better not to dwell in the past, especially if it's painful or bittersweet.

But as it turns out, writing is precisely what we turn to to capture our reveries, our caprices, our very souls. Reading a book by a master of the language lifts us up to greater heights, or acts as a kind of catharsis to our own repressed emotion. Writing for yourself is no different. You don't have to be particularly eloquent. A few choice words suffice to trigger a torrent of recollection.

It's like mother says - if you think you'll forget it, write it down.

Lonely, lovely night

Rounding the corner,
jasmine suspended,
delicate and heavy -
one fears to break the atmosphere
with an offending breath.

Still I press one foot ahead of another,
head set on going home,
heart ruffling itself
like a bird too fat to fly
away into the darkness.

Still I slow my gait,
and my head looks up in spite of itself
at the glitter
a careless child strew in the dark velvet
that cloaks us by night.

And every night of every day of this week I find myself wondering, will this be the last night I will see the stars
from here.

Steaming the window pane with a sigh
on an early morning sleepless night
(it's still dark),
I promise myself I will return to this
place that I have grown to love.

forming a poem (it doesn't want to end)

verses hanging in the air
whirls of words waiting
to be strung together

so many beads on a string -
yet what do they matter
such very transient things
are these(that are
impossible to break apart
once they have been joined)

I feel them blowing
gently in my ear
as they coalesce: amalgamated
thought and feeling
inappropriate to express

so I will let them fill me
with abandonment for now,
before the prosiac world whisks
the wor[ds away -
a hazy memory of a lazy day
a secret happiness
a deeply buried sorrow
and to dance, dance, dance with no tomorrow...

I wish I were a useful person.

I wish I were more practical. All the stuff I enjoy doing are so useless, like dancing and music and drawing. Why can't I enjoy organising my life, or being knowledgeable about computers and cars and things?

Catch this if you can

Today I watched a really good movie. This past year or so I've watched a spate of movies, some good, some not so good, and some pretty darn good. But Doubt was really surprisingly good.

I suppose I should have anticipated it, with Meryl Streep acting in it. But the only reason why I watched it, at least at first, was because the person I was watching it with wanted to watch it. I mean, you'd think a movie about nuns and monks in the 1960s would have little relevance in today's context.

Yet the challenge of living a moral life is just the same for a person of the cloth as it is for a normal person, and the movie peels away those layers of the habit to reveal the humanity in both priest and straitlaced nun.

Beyond the good acting, the direction itself blew me away, and it was not just the motif of wind that did the trick. Although translating from a play to the screen might seem easy, the finesse of direction was palpable. Almost every scene was very deliberately and delicately orchestrated, without being cliched or overly arthouse or sentimental.

I won't belabour you with a bad pun on the movie's name, but I do encourage you to watch Doubt if you feel like a thought-provoking, aesthetically- and dramatically- satisfying movie, that's not in Chinese (the other movie to catch is Red Cliff).

More philosophy tests

Which philosopher are you? Your Result: W.v.O. Quine / Late Wittgenstein   There is no provable absolute truth. The way you see things is dependant on your language. Truths exist only within a language, and change as the language does. --This quiz was made by S. A-Lerer.
Sartre/Camus (late existentialists)
Nietzsche
Early Wittgenstein / Positivists
Immanuel Kant
Aristotle
Plato (strict rationalists)
Which philosopher are you? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Why I do not believe in true love

I used to believe I was married to ballet.

Now I know better.

With a couple of good friends coming back from overseas, I had the chance for a few heart-to-heart sessions. One thing that bugs me after I walk away from them is the odd feeling that I might not have been telling the truth. The thing about discussing one's feelings is that they're so apt to change and so hard to pinpoint that you can find yourself agreeing or claiming something that seems true at the time, but in retrospect wouldn't be something you would actually think of as true on your own. Truth is so finicky sometimes.

In the process of teasing words out of feelings and thoughts, you can manufacture sentiments that don't actually exist or find yourself saying things about people (whether yourself or others) that you might not otherwise say. For lack of a better way to say this is an expression I frequently find myself using to express half-baked thoughts in a rather skewed manner. At best, what you end up saying contains connotations you didn't at first intend. Whether it's because of a subconscious imperative to impress the listener, or a rather conscious attempt to skirt issues you feel are taboo, you can end up saying things that somehow grow progressively further from the truth as you keep up the discussion.

The worst part of it is, you may not even realise it. You think what you're saying is true, until several days, or weeks, or months later, when the issue comes up again, and you find yourself saying something completely different to someone else.

The world of emotions and opinions seems to slide between truth and untruth as (for lack of a less cliched to say this) water of a duck's back (from one metaphorical duck to another, I suppose). So much so that I often find myself questioning the value of the evaluation of truthfulness.

I guess I'm just not a very honest person. Then again, maybe I'm not dishonest. Just paradoxical. Periodically paradoxical.

Unending beginning

I feel like I've hurtled into the new year the way a speeding car goes round a blind corner. One (figurative) minute it was 2008, the next it was '09. Perhaps it was because the new year started on a Thursday. Not properly the beginning of a week, or the end, but the day that rushes into the weekend.

Whatever the case, somehow I now find myself a few days into 2009 not quite knowing what hit me and trying to regain my bearings after a bevvy of church and social activities, a wedding, and a concert. Phew! But all the same, if the rest of this year follows the same way, I think I shall quite enjoy the (rather surreal) experience of scenery rushing by me. The only thing is, I fear I have already broken my resolutions before I've even had a chance to take a breather and make them properly.

Perhaps it's because of the manner in which I have hurtled into this year, or the fact that I'm aging significantly, but I no longer feel the sense of rejuvenating new-ness that I used to when a new year heralded. Although theoretically it should be a year of changes and sparkling potential, things of the past remain like the stubborn stains that ingrain themselves onto the insides of mugs. Tea stains, coffee stains, and soup stains; I've all but given up trying to rinse them away. The same old struggles continue to plague me, and the same bittersweet aftertaste remains from drinking of it. My cup is my cup, and I'm not really averse to it being a bit old after a couple decades use.

All in all, I feel older and more tired, yet stronger and more wiry. Somewhere between cynicism and naivete, self-consciousness and laissez faire. Not quite ready for novelty, but not opposed to it either, insides still churning from the sharp direction change as I've rounded the corner of 2008.