Kivan's Rantings...

A short story of little sense

2006-04-17T19:41:00.000+08:00

It was supposed to be the beginning of a story, but it ended up quite different. The Eliyan in the story isn't actually the same Eliyan as my previous one, I just ran out of names at the last minute, and my muse wasn't available at my workplace - so there's that.

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There was little that he could do but accept the fate that awaited him. The blade held high glinted in the sun. Evilly, perhaps? Or would that be far too descriptive of a common butcher’s blade? Although, given his reasons for doing so, evil might not suffice its present deeds…

Hardly one for waiting for events to unravel in their own time, Eliyan might have rushed things a little prematurely when he had confronted his present captor in an effort to regain his family holdings. Brought up by priests and clerics, Eliyan was a fond believer the wielder of truth and justice would prevail before all travesties, evil and tempting as they may be. Such was not to be, even with his family name and honour intact and restored. Eliyan was, in full honours and titles, easily a name that took hours on end to announce to a lord’s audience.

Eliyan had previously considered himself lucky that he had yet to reveal all this titles – one could never be too sure of kidnappers and robbers on the road – and that there had been no true need thus far in his travels. Now however, he was beginning to rethink his reasons for such an action. Prudence was, in all and definite terms, not one of the reasons, that was for sure. It was not as if he carried large amounts of gold, silver, gems, or any other type of precious metal, mineral or stone of any sort on his person. To be exact, on any given day, his meagre coin purse would be celebrating if it ever held more than a handful of coppers for any longer than a couple of minutes.

This brought back a snatch of conversation Eliyan had heard early on his travels.

“I do not take to giving you, my husband, any more money to spend on your ale and your wenching.”

“Ay? Worried about the metal burning a hole in my pocket? That’s nice of you…”

“Burn a hole? The metal wouldn’t even be there long enough to warm the lining!”

Eliyan smiled as he compared the way that the coins changed hands whenever he held it. Where he came from, the metal never cooled down long enough with the way it changed hands. The only way it stopped moving would be if the metal finally burned its way through a merchant’s palm, perhaps. But even so, the merchant would be shaking his scalded fist at a street urchin who had palmed the coin on the way down.

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I might continue the story, but for now, I'll end off here. The story came as an inspiration from Thomas M. Reid's The Scions of Arrabar Trilogy, hence the coin and merchant stuff. At the back of my mind was also Paul S. Kemp's Sembia stories, with all the merchants and all, hence the long titles and weird thoughts.

~ Kivan signing off for the day and night.

Animal training ramblings

2006-04-17T19:33:00.000+08:00

I attended a training a couple of weeks ago, and got terribly bored. It was then that Kivan came to the front of my mind and took over, hence, Kivan's little compositions came mostly from little inspirations or from words I picked up randomly either from the speaker, or from the people seated around me. Enjoy.

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The importance of fools

The importance of fools is beyond comprehension. Without count jester, kings art naught. No village idiot, wiseman there is not. There is so much to be said of them, yet nothing we have spoken. Believe it if you will, or call my bluff – it still remains that naught there is in the world, whichever you live in, that can compare to a fool.

Would it be…

Would it be that you were a man,
The world would be a safer place to be.
Would it be that you were a ghost,
Life would not be worth living to me.

Would it be that he were a monster,
The world would be a place of suffering.
Would it be that she were an angel,
For thy to exist would mean nothing.

Would it be that I were a ruler,
There would be no pain.
Would it be that I were a tyrant,
The world would have nothing to gain.

Would it be that they had not spoken,
This place would be so different.
Would it be that they had not done,
To us would not have fallen this burden.

Life without a cause

Cause and effect, effect and causality. What exactly do these two have in common, one might ask. Should there be one, the other would be present. Should there be an absence of the other, the first would be a myth. We always say that our life should have a cause, for without one we would be lost. I think not. Without a cause for life, all that would happen is that we would hold no effect. None to the surroundings, none to ourselves. On the other hand, a life without a course would mean that we would be lost, or at least we wouldn’t know where we are (save for ‘here’) in the maze of life, but we would still have a big effect on the people and environment ‘here’ around us (wherever here may be).

So which do we actually lack? The cause or the course? Are we lost but effective? Or are we effect-less but present? The paths more travelled have maps, held by elders and peers mostly, but bear in mind that paths change all the time. The path taken yesterday may no longer be there, or a ghost and illusion of it remains but ineffectual. Still, paths once trodden often come back again, even if it takes an eternity.

Causes in life are hardly one and the same. Everyone serves a different purpose, but by serve I do not denote the complete servitude of man to purpose, instead more like the sly advisor who serves for his own benefit but whose allegiances are a willow in the wind. A cause one must find, else life ineffectual. A course one need not find for it will find you, or you will stumble into it in the blindness of time. The problem that remains is staying on it, as it slithers off into the darkness. Just remember to not be one of those who spend entire lifetimes scampering after a path which no longer exists or winds repeatedly away – life just isn’t long enough to be worth the chase of a phantom into the mists of time.

Random Poems 2

2006-01-03T10:51:00.000+08:00

Crusades

Nights with a cause, sometimes a fiery temper,
Wholly is the reason for the greater good.
Sole is in the actions of a long forgotten hero,
Met with no grace came the ensuring flood.

Lacking the best of all lost arts,
Faith is the speaker in a parliament of ravens.
Believe in blindness condemns a multitude,
Forgiveness is left on the ledger lines.

Midnight the sky may seem to be,
Farther beyond the knight comes a-riding.
Slow is the progress of the dams being built,
The sands of time leave hope like a sieve.

King

A vision seen clear,
attainment unfounded.
Wishes and hopes,
are breaths in the wind.

Intention and happenstance,
twins in a feuding battle.
Seen is eye to eye,
unmet is of the mind.

Foreseen not fore planned,
the colossus of my life.
It ends that I ruled naught,
and none commanded I.

Brotherhood

Certainty is an absolute,
Confidence a given.
Where the breath of life ends,
The kiss of death returns.

One is a taker,
The other a giver.
Neither can be returned,
Both can be lost.

None can see what tends to be true,
Twins of high-standing, hard as can be.
To emerge a victor is to surface anew,
But neither sibling will you set free.

Not woodsmen, not hunters,
though prey they may be,
Loggers the both of them,
with no wood cut between these.

Sombre

A symphony of feelings,
Met with ideas too sombre.
Blown away all thoughts,
Morals with lost timbre.

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I wrote these when I was really bored one day, while waiting for... oh, I can't remember what anymore. They were, incidentally, all based on Kingdom of Heaven. I really, really, love the first poem though. You've got to read it out loud to find all the puns that I've hidden inside.

Just to get you started, the first word, "Nights", is a pun for something spelt real similar, and sounds exactly the same when pronunced. It become even more obvious when you take into account the title of the poem.

So, there you have it. Have fun!

Coronation

2006-01-03T10:47:00.000+08:00

Amazing. I always thought no one ever read this blog of mine. And to think within a single week, two people have actually spoken to me about the blog… Seriously amazing. But on to more important things…

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Before I start, I must admit that I have lost my writers’ bug somewhere, about… I don’t know, maybe 3 months back? But I’ve got to try, if only to prove to myself that I’m still sane and writing. For one thing, my typing speed has slowed down horrendously.

As always, to state my inspiration, I’m listening to the Kingdom of Heaven soundtrack now, although it doesn’t seem to be giving any ideas to this dried-out corpse of a once-inspired mind. Too many examinations can do that to you, I suppose. I really should be studying for my ACMB test tomorrow, and ABC and CCTA on the day after, but like I said, I need to stay sane someway.

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Coronation
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The gentle wind caressed the coarse, sable sheets in the air. Sheets that were once most revered, most respected in all the lands one could see from this tower…

Ah yes. This tower. A tower that once symbolised fairness, signified the just, represented the downtrodden when they could not speak. Now? All it denoted was the downfall of such a wondrous time. A Golden Age, some of the elders called it.

Golden? I scoff at that word. I sneer at the meanings it once held for me. Ridiculed I have been, bearing that dark emblem once. Jeered and mocked by all I had once protected. All because of that insolent young whelp!
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Arisen from the ashes, a new king will be born. Fallen into glory, a demon shall be devoured. Hung in glass all others will be. In their hands they hold the power to conflict.

I never understood the meaning of these words, spoken by the cursed one. I did not name her as such once, for her beauty and innocence outshone everything she came into contact with. But now, but now… She is cursed, not blessed with the future. A seer, some call her. A harbinger I believe to be more likely.

A new king was indeed born, the elder whom we all loved and respected till the day he died. His child, oh yes, his child, was indeed another matter. Incorrigible in his actions, wild for laughter, hungry for blood – a warmonger, we all said, but he would not listen. He should have, for it was his downfall…

We, his people, had praised him to the skies. His son believed it, and he foresaw, in those crooked eyes of his, that if his father fell in a hunting accident, the glory would be his. All his…

We rode with the youngling after the fall of the elder. ‘Pillage and plunder!’ he cried. ‘The strong shall rule, the weak shall whimper! We are of the iron fist! We shall rule with an iron heart!’

We saw that which was coming, but there was naught we could… no. There was much we could do, but naught we put into action.

When the commoners began to leave, we blockaded the city. But they were the ones who built it, stone for stone, brick on brick. They tore down the foundations, finding weaknesses only the builders would know. Together, they fled, leaving only the Black Knights of the Iron Rule behind.

Once, we were known as the Knights the Black Fist, and we gloried in such terms. Respected, revered, honoured even. But now, our name meant only fear, and a false admiration came from the blood-thirsty barbarians of the south.

Looking back now, I do not rightly remember how it happened. It was barely last night, that I am sure. And there was a storm. The old tree in the courtyard had fallen, and we were clearing it. Our armour clanking noisily – we never took off our platemail anymore, there was no use. The king often summoned us off for battle every other day – we removed the bulk of the split trunk and branches.

None of us actually reacted when we heard the scream, or when we saw the blood and splatter. We just watched his life drain away, and we continued to remove the wreckage the tree had wrought by its fall. Eventually, we cleared it all by sunrise, and then we turned.

He had been stabbed in the back by a carving knife, presumably taken from his table of dining. But that was not what killed him. He had been pushed, from the highest tower, from his bed chambers, and he fell into the courtyard. Knights of the Black Fist we remained, even in our uneasy servitude to our lord’s son. Now dead, there was no one to carry the line, and so we left.

We left the towers. We left the garrison. We left the feasting halls and the ballrooms and the kitchens. We left the barracks empty. We left the gates open, we left the doors ajar. But most importantly, we left the body there. We left it to rot in the sun, we left it for the vultures and the scavengers and the rodents to feast in the place where laughter ceased a lifetime ago. The place where there was no joy, there was no happiness, there was nothing left but the wind – and the corpse of a murderer.
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Now, walking along these streets, they recognise me for what I was, for what I symbolise. A Knight of the Black Fist, turned from the paths of just and holy. A Black Knight of the Iron Rule, returned from the abyss and chasm of the damned.

The fickleness of the gods is shown in my walk, the unpredictability of man in my steps. They turn from me, a harbinger of doom of sorts. They do not face me, for I reflect their sins. They turn from me, shying away from the truth which I bear on my forehead now. Branded for life, they question my loyalty. They wonder at my actions. Doubt, suspicion, uncertainty… These are that which I face everyday now.

So strangely akin to that woman – Cassandra – the cursed one. Almost daily now, I repeat her words to those that would hear them. Already, I hear them terming me as a cursed seer, or farsighted one…

But already, as I look into the towers that rise above me, so similar and different from the ones I once served, I see its future… It is the same in so many ways – his lady is with child…

Strange how history repeats itself in front of my very eyes.

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Oh dear. I didn’t intend for something so dark. I meant for something light-hearted, or at least I was aiming for something towards the good side, not the bad. Oh well, my rants don’t always end up the way I intended them to be.

By the way, just so I could share yet another little piece of useless information I have gathered in my life thus far:

Cassandra is a seer, a prophet in… err… I seem to have forgotten. Greek mythology, I think. She was somehow, either through angering the gods, or out of pure malice they did it to her, gifted with the ability to see the future – accurately. However, they put a lovely little twist in her abilities. No one, absolutely no one, would believe her words. The gods had gifted her with the ability to see the future that was about to unfold, but cursed her that no one would listen to her words.

If I am correct, I believe that Cassandra was in Troy before it fell. She predicted that Troy would fall, but no one listened. I don’t know if she survived the fall of Troy, but I’m quite sure most of the Trojans would have been feeling a little like the protagonist in my story.

Anyway, so that’s why you should choose names for yourself, or for your kids carefully. Some of the names sound really nice and innocent, but sometimes, the names bear a terrible meaning, even if no one really remembers it anymore. Cassandra is a great example. I myself have known a number of Cassandras, but not a single one knows that her name denotes “a seer who has great foresight, but no one would listen or pay heed to”. Or something to that effect. And just so you know, I am not telling tales so tall. I read it somewhere once. It’s true.

~ Kivan signing off for the morning (and going off to study, seriously)

A Spontaneous Rant!

2005-10-26T01:44:00.000+08:00

Wow. I've just realised that I've not been here for over a month now, and truth be told, I've had a lot of free time lately. Just that I couldn't think of anything to write, so why bother coming online and embarrassing yourself, no?

Well, one way or another, I've decided that I definitely need to say something to let those loyal *coff coff* readers of mine, or at least the management at Blogger, know that the owner of said blog has not kicked the proverbial bucket, or something to that effect.

And so, I bring you one of the world's most feared artefacts... A random rant!

Well, actually not. THIS one's going to be a spontaneous rant. I've absolutely nothing in mind now, and it's 1am... Well, I am listening to the soundtrack for The Day After Tomorrow... I suppose that's inspiration enough. Let's see how this goes.

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They say that there's a heaven in every man's heart, in every man's soul. That if we were willing, and if we were guided with that perfect hand, a touch is all that we need to find that path...

But then, there are those who speak of the underworld. They say there's a hell in every man's mind, an abyss in the deepest chambers of their forsaken hearts. There's evil in every man's action, sin guided them into this world, and so sin shall lead them through it, and ultimately sin shall throw them out.

And so? There are still others who speak of heaven and hell in a detached way. There is no heaven, there is no hell. All there exists is our conscience and our desires. Most of the time, they work together, pulling and pushing us through our lives, passing judgements and tossing out advice, most of which we rarely hear and heed. It is at times when they conflict that they pose a problem.

No man can admit that he is divided in a matter. Truly divided in an important matter, that is. People would call him insane at best - worse would be to be branded a witch or warlock. And so, was created "good" and "evil". Sentient beings gave them shape and form and meaning, breathed into them their life and essence, and from them was born beings, similar to their creators, equally sinful and lustful, yet benevolent and kind at the same time. The balance of these "virtues" rule their actions, with those of the demonic nature leaning towards the "evil traits" of the infamous seven sins, and the angelic ones being the epitome of good natured-ness and perfect values.

Yet, these humanoids... They are beings, but they are not human. They should live, or at least exist someplace, but surely, they cannot exist alongside their creators for they were only mortal. And so heaven and hell was created. Yet, somehow, hell seemed more important, did it not?

For heaven, there is only one path, there is only one name, there is only one direction.

For hell, there's a multitude of ways to get there - sin being the chief among them. The names are plentiful - abyss, underworld, Hades, the Below... For the direction? Why, depending on what you believe, going to hell might be a matter of up, down, left, right... If you could find a fifth direction, I suppose someone would tell you of a way to get there using that direction.

Which brings one to this thought; Why the need for such an elaborate way to get to hell when it obviously is not where mortals wish to be?

'Tis simple to answer - because of the nature of mortals.

Mortals are often held sway by desire. Conscience may serve you for a lifetime, keeping you from ill for a thousand years. All it takes is for the final slip of tongue in front of the ultimate judgement and you'll be branded a sinner for eternity to come. Desire needs only caress your cheek and turn your head for you to fall to hell, where conscience must keep an iron fist on mind, heart, soul and body. So why not blame their failings on something they created? It was the obvious choice, and they've taken that path.

And so, the thousand roads to hell increase in number, size and magnitude as each day passes. Each road is more well-tread than the last, none is disused.

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Well, finally lost my train of thought. I've got to credit the topic to something else other than the soundtrack though - it was Sarah Brightman's Eden. Yes, now you can see where the inspiration came from, eh? The darkness of the piece? Was listening to Ameno and Fundamentum. One must understand one's own mind on how such weird pieces come to light. Else... wouldn't one have to be insane if one truly thought along these lines? True, such are but passing fantasies to dance and tread upon lightly. But to linger, there lies the danger. 'Tis not the fear of being branded pagan, 'tis much worse. To believe truly in this, to the extent of refuting all logic would be insanity. While one may know deep inside the ring of truth, and the lies of "reality", one must sometimes wrap oneself with such comforting tales and untruths, like a blanket to block out the bigger truth. And I quote "You can't handle the truth!"

Yes, a rather anti-climax ending, no? But think on it. I rarely seem to be able to work on an isolated level kind of train of thought nowadays. I've got several meanings in my sentences. Even in the afterword (the foreword as well).

Enjoy the rest of your web surfing. Cheers!

~~Kivan signing off for the night.

A word From the Elvene

2005-09-19T23:32:00.000+08:00

And I have returned. Finally.

The long-awaited Ephorus and the Lady is now published, although I am rather disappointed at the way it turned out. I had tons of ideas, but after a couple of months... Well, it's rather understandable that the whole thing turned out to be quite un-continue-able.

So, basically, what is published here is what has been composed since two, three months or so ago. Happy reading. I might try and continue the storyline another time when the tiger strikes again. (I'll explain the choice of animal some time later. Maybe if I ever publish that pathetic comedy I wrote a long time ago. I can never get pass the crude puns long enough to publish it...)

Ahem. Anyway... The Guardian was inspired by the book I was reading a few months ago - The Guardian of the Lost, by Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman. It turned out to be absolute rant though. The rave about foxglove is true, however. It is true that the nature of the word Foxglove came from Folk's Glove rather than Fox's glove. Although... I wonder if it's Folks' Glove or Folk's Glove... Does it belong to one or more of the Little Folk...?

Black Sins & Eating Hawks were, as I have said before, inspired by the movies. If I didn't have so much work sneaking up behind me, I wouldn't have procrastinated the writing of that entry. Then I might have actually gotten something written down that actually made some sense. But what is done is done. There's no way to turn back the time. As yet, at least.

Little Rants are basically a compilation of most, if not all, the wintry deposits of papers and random scraps dusting my desk. Thus, they don't really have any connection between each other and all. If you can see any connection... Well... Let's just say I wasn't aware that Nostradamus II was reading my blog.

And the humongously long post... Random Poems, are just that - a random collection of poems composed. Or rather, a collection of randomly composed poems. Those composed on the first day, the 16th, were composed as a release of a sort for the writers' bug that kept biting during my alter's finals. Planning to write only one, I ended up writing more and more as I tried to use different methods...

Most don't really make sense, but my favourites are mostly those written on the 16th, and the one inspired by "Shakespeare". By the by, the words in bold and italic before the poems are the source of my inspiration. Most of the earlier ones are inspired by the lyrics of the Romanian song Dragostea Din Tei as sung by O-Zone (You can hear the chorus by selecting it on the player on the right). The later ones were mostly random words I picked up as I looked around (quite literally, as in sitting on your chair and lifting your head while turning around).

I might discuss my poems. Most have several layers of puns, especially the one inspired by Shakespeare - of which I'm tremendously proud of. Oh well, to let you in on my genius (right, I know, most of you are gagging now), the second poem, the one that goes:

Leave, by all means go,
It portends to nothing.
Dear John she wrote.

It has a double meaning. John may or may not be the recipient of the letter, it matters not. But if you were a "literary" person, or rather, just a little more well read, you would also know that a Dear John letter is the type of letter which a female writes when she breaks up with her life-partner / boyfriend / (so long as it is male in gender, and is an intimate relationship) etc. The first line, "Leave, by all means go" can refer to his exact words, or in a deeper meaning, it also refers to "she left by a certain means that the poet disliked" (probably in the arms of another).

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Yes, yes... I can see your open-mouthed stares as I explained that one... Thank you, thank you. I'm such a genius, am I not? Wahaha... No, just joking. Have a wonderful week, no matter when you read this, I mean the same (hint, hint: TS, are you reading this?).

Oh yesh, speaking of hints... Did you guys catch the hint about the coming Wednesday yet? No? Just kidding. Doesn't matter. Won't be seeing most of you till November anyway. That's if my timetable allows for it... With the coming piano examination, the other piano concert... and... Oh yeah... I promised the band kids to go back and see them... Busy, busy Kivan's alter... No time for Kivan to write...

*Man, I sound like someone out of a kiddie's book. Talk about the incredible number of fullstops too - I doubt I've ever used so many in so short a paragraph before; not in a proper composition, at least.

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Random Poems

2005-09-19T22:12:00.000+08:00

Friday, 16th September 2005
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Alo, Salut, sunt eu, un haiduc.

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A greeting, salutations.
A name, in itself
Meaningless.

An outlaw, or in?
'tis decided.
But not by you.

To wish, to want, is decreed
But not by above.
Your conscience.

A goodbye, not said
Aloud. Leave-take
If I may do.

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Vrei sa pleci dar nu ma iei.

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Leave, by all means go,
It portends to nothing.
Dear John she wrote.

Heart unbroken is
By no course unspoken.
You perceive naught.

Sightless I wander
Amid the glowing streets that
Dawns not today.

Muse I have not. Yet
To fault is to err, that
Is but human.

Left alone, spiteful
And callous. Vindictive
Is no virtue.

There'll be another
Tomorrow, day after
It matters not.

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To let go is amazing,
To foresee, incomparable.
Leaving's eternally easy,
Left behind, poorly sentimental.

Eventide I salute,
To you in the winter.
Know not what it means?
I will accost you later.

Adytum, safe haven,
The difference unknown.
Sanctum in the ancients,
Disparity not sown.

To forgive and forget
Two values you seek to learn.
Eternal truth in a coffer,
There's nothing in that urn.

Sift no more,
The journey's at an end.
What you've pursued,
You will now tend.

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Si sunt voinic.

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Strength is in the water,
Heart is in the sand.
Life is in the whether,
That, you understand.

Care not for my words,
They only mislead.
Listen to the rhythm,
The truth, you will not heed.

Bravery for you to swallow,
Courage is but a drink.
Profound this may be,
Far too much, you do think.

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Dar sa stii nu-ti cer nimic.

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Askance and repentance,
Questions and regrets.
Knowledge in refusal,
Punishment is not met.

Sufferance in perusal,
'tis at first glance.
Invisible souls crumble,
But not perchance.

Loyalties lie,
Where they may need to.
Treachery stands,
Such a banal tool.

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Love is for free
But not without a price.
It heralds much pain,
Why suffer this vice?

Our hearts feel not,
Yet is far from vacant.
Its chambers are filled,
We have grown complacent.

"Trust not your mind,
For it lies like no other,"
Insanity rules us then,
For that is what I gather.

A paradox,
Is what we've become.
There's no cure for it,
We are all done.

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Si te rog primeste fericirea.

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Happy for a minute,
Sad for two more.
We put up with that,
Whatever for?

Tolerate incompetence,
That, we often do.
Why put ourselves to such grief?
Because I love you.

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Acceptance is not
For you to ask.
It is given.

Take it or not, the
Anguish is yours.
Pain rules your soul.

Essence seeks revenge
It can't obtain.
Rage uncontained.

Resentment, fury.
Blame no one. The
Fault was your own.

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Iubirea mea.

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False hope, false desires.
"You complete me,
Life is never the same"
How could it be?

Annoyance, so infuriating.
Antagonism to no end.
Exasperation; I am riled.
At what? Can't comprehend.

Self torment brings trouble,
Worry and fear is a shroud.
Swathed in a funeral pall,
Anguish is not just a cloud.

Unfulfilled and bare,
Drained to barrenness.
Misery can only fill that much,
The rest has become a mess.

Withered spirit to the core,
Faded beyond recognition.
Tedious life becomes,
It will be your turn.

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Affection means so much,
The dedicated understand.
Fond and attentive,
They support and they tend.

Committed and devoted,
Keen is their desire.
Duty is their keep,
Enthusiasm, their fire.

Sweat and blood dampen not,
That is their merit.
Flame burns so bright,
It is ablaze with spirit.

Needless to say,
It raises much.
Smouldering with adoration,
It boasts the gentlest touch.

Fixated with adoration,
Drunken on such mead.
It's like no other addiction,
You have no other need.

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Aria

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An aria to the living,
A lament for the dead.
When all is said and done,
What remains in your head?

"Everything leaves with the soul,
Nothing is left behind."
Then what use is the cadaver?
Why not feed it to the swine?

Dignity is no more,
Honour long since fled.
Yet we reach beyond our graves,
The living fears our tread.

Sullen are their voices,
Rejoicing though they must.
Sable is their dress,
Diminished, their trust.

Requiem for a dream,
In more meanings than one.
Lost are the promises,
Remembered are deeds done.

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Saturday, 17th September 2005
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Reason

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Reason is beyond
Fair comparison.
'tis hard to believe.

Yet there is a sad
Truth. To such words, all
Is run through a sieve.

Meaning bears no truth,
Harbours no lie. It
Simply is - let be.

No good is sown, no
Bad is bred. Life has
Been paid your eye-teeth.

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Beyond belief
My life often is.
What you desire,
I may never give.

Deem me unfaithful,
Deem me incredible.
I'm no commodity,
At any, every level.

Credibility I fight,
At every winding turn.
A forest is the world,
I am but a fern.

"See not the forest
For all its trees."
Then where do I belong,
A weed, if I be?

Beg I do not,
Crawl only if I may.
Creeping is weird,
Grow I do everyday.

Believe me not,
For the truth I may not tell.
Your death I do not speak,
For that there is the knell.

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Scavenge

___________________________________

A scavenger of eternity,
A looter of tomorrow.
Such is what we must be,
'tis our greatest sorrow.

Looking for a jewel,
No one has ever seen.
Is it not cruel,
What we've done, and where we've been?

An impossibility awaits us,
A punishment for the forsaken.
Cannot find in our hearts to trust,
For us, there is no such haven.

Forgotten and forgiven,
That is our wont.
We exist in no other coven,
Futility, our taunt.

Manage our fears,
As one often does.
Our fire burns in its bier,
It lives through bone, ash and dust.

___________________________________

Sunday, 18th September 2005
___________________________________

Dust to dust

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Fair Veron has gone to dust,
All that is left is the air and its musk.
Comparable to Venice it is said to have been,
We would like to have known, but naught remains to be seen.

Bard of Avon,
Words long gone.
Arthur Pendragon,
Is now in Avalon.

From dust to dust and ash to ash,
Seldom remains still bear their sash.
All is equal when all is dead,
All these lies, we've been fed.

They care not,
But we've been bought.
Away they trot,
With treasures we sought.

Truth and white lies are what they tell,
We listen, we accept, we're charmed by their spell.
Wash over us, we allow it, even at the very end,
We bother not, we fuss little, we will never contend.

__________________________________

Shakespeare

__________________________________

Speak no more of truths and lies,
It is now time to say goodbye.
Thrice we've said it, thrice I say.
Yet what do we aim to keep at bay?

No pretender can fake it through,
With a look, with a glance, you can see he's a fool.
A bard he is not, a minstrel, even less.
Unique he has made of such a mess.

Playing he does, a genre he's built.
His favourite haunt is of the kilt.
Stars a-crossed has made him famous,
Yet the stories are far from amorous.

A merchant at night, there have been twelve.
In the midst of summer, 'tis for their health.
O' ruler and conqueror, he has raised them all.
In sweetest of dreams, he's made royals fall.

A legacy he's left of phrases and words,
Some so obscure we've seldom heard.
His reach extends from beyond the grave,
We fear and we adore the road he has paved.

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Little Rants

2005-09-19T22:08:00.000+08:00

I've been thinking, and I've decided to just dump up here everything I've got on my desk. Let's start with a little nonsensical blabber to help you ease into my world of absolute nothing.

___________________________

Such is the fine technique,
when one is to argue,
it helps to be quite vague.

- Kivan

Above is a little bit I composed but a few days ago. I suppose on first glance, it appears to be some sort of Haiku, perhaps a tribute to the terminally insane, but in truth, you may count the syllables - it doesn't match any Haiku at all. Unless of course, you count 6, 6, 6 as a Haiku of sorts...

Now, now, before you start, you must understand. The number 6 was quite unintentional. Not so the triplets. I was just trying to recreate what is known as an "eye rhyme". I suppose there are more rules than just that it appears to rhyme to the eye, but not so to the ears, but when I thought of the word "argue", the next words that jumped in was "technique", "vogue" and "vague". So... well, I just kind of forced the words into a meaningless little jumble. It started off initially with something whose syllables were 7, 6, 7 (more similar to a Haiku, no?) and then I tried to make sense of it, and it became 6, 6, 7. I settled finally upon creating a false sense of Haiku out of perfectly even lines... and this is what I came up with. Clever, no? (Yes, yes, I've got an oversized ego...)

___________________________

This came out of a Chinese movie I watched months ago. (Yes, some scraps on my table are really that old...)

"Lies? Truths? Who knows which is which? All we need have to do is to not make mistakes."

That is the direct translation from mandarin, which is kind of weird. The real meaning behind the words, as I feel it should be, is more like the one below.

"Lies? Truths? Who knows and who cares? All we need do is to know where our loyalties lie."

Strange how some words off the silver screen more oft than not ring true in our lives, no? Think on it a bit.

_________________________

And then there was this sentence from the movie, From Hell, "How long have you chased the Dragon, inspector?"

That has amazing significance for me. I don't know how many of you out there actually know of The Dragon. Well, for those who don't, the dragon often refers to the hallucinations people who smoke opium see when they're feeling high. Just before they really hit rock bottom, if you ask me. Well, or at least, I think it's opium. If not, it's probably some other drug that makes you hallucinate one way or the other.

So, what's with the dragon? Well, it all traces back to Puff. Puff the Magic Dragon, they call him. Yes, they do call him that. To be exact, there's a song entitled Puff the Magic Dragon. That's how I first came across the Dragon.

It all started when I was a kid, and we were singing one of those songs. So the teacher gave us a song sheet but asked us to ignore one song. I always wondered about it, since the other class got a chance to sing it. I heard from my friends that the song sounded wonderful, but my teachers were adamant. They said that they just found out that the song was about drug addicts. Come to think of it, I wondered who enlightened them...

But anyway, yup. That's Puff for you.

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I saw this ad in the newspapers one fine morning months ago. It was an Olay advertisement (you know, the facial cream brand or something...), and I scribbled this down on a scrap on my table:

Couldn't resist this one: From an OLAY ad "I love the fact that I'm now fighting the 7 signs of aging twice as fast!" Well, girl, welcome to the 8th sign of aging - the fact that you care about fighting the other 7. (Whatever the other 7 are...)

Hope you understand what I'm saying here. It sounds better if you could say it out loud with this super sarcastic tone. And roll your eyes while you're at it. It really helps the mood of this little piece.

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Got the next one out of a Canadian TV series off Hallmark - ReGenesis. It was referring to something about microbes or something or another... But I'll not forget the words, or at least the meaning of the words. I forgot the exact wording, I'm afraid, but the idea ran something like this:

"There's no such thing as not making any mistakes - you nearly always do. It's just a matter of prolonging it until it becomes far less serious - hopefully to the next lifetime."

Believe it or not, I actually got my own ideas from that episode. It runs something like this:

"The earlier you make a mistake, the harder it hits - you just get further and further from the truth and you just start drifting. All you can hope is to prolong the mistake until it hurts less."

Well, I suppose we all learn something from nothing. Sort of anyway. Think on these words, it might offer some insight. I can see the second level of it, can you?

__________________________________

Black Sins & Eating Hawks

2005-09-19T22:05:00.000+08:00

Black sins and eating hawks... Sounds rather scary, ya? Well, no need to worry about yours truly. I haven't converted from the non-existing religion I have to some strange cultist movement. Quite the contrary. I've been feeling rather... believing, if you can accept the word as an adjective.

The title, is not an action, if you were wondering. It comes from the two movies I watched over the weekend. The Sin-Eater, and Black Hawk Down. Aww... That popped the balloon of anticipation just hanging above your head there, didn't it? Well, no point lying, I saw it...

Ahem. What's with the title you say? Well, these two movies have really been a major influence on my thoughts recently. Fine. So a single weekend does not technically count as recently, but hey! Based on the measly average of 70 years we get here on this world, before we're whisked off to (fill in this blank depending on your faith, race, creed or religion [man, I sound like I'm reciting the pledge here]), a weekend does not really count as a rather short time, no?

Especially compared to the fact that we would probably be outlived by our works, on paper, canvas, digital and memory, what is a weekend?

_____________________________

Right, right. Quit the empty talk and just get on with the supposedly thought-provoking, philosophical ideals I picked up this time, ya?

Well, first up The Sin-Eater. It started off with a very interesting line of thought, and a even more religion-ly disturbing thought, and then "poof"! It disappeared as most movie storylines go - a healthy amount of background, base and foundation, but too little bricks and cement to make a house worthy of living in. But the point here, is that the foundation was wondrous - wondrously thought-provoking, although depending on your faith and religion, it may be a tad... erm... blasphemous, I suppose.

Ahem. But on to other aspects of the movie... There was this little part of the movie where the sin-eater was talking to priest, and he was talking about his brother.

_______________________________

Weeks after the first few paragraphs were composed...

_______________________________

Erm... sad to say, but I've lost the entire train of thought. Only thing I can say is that the two movies really touched me. Sin-eater for it's religious thoughts, wrong as you may view them to be, and Black Hawk Down for its insights into the pathetic lives that we lead, having to draw circles round and round ourselves before losing ourselves finally to the great big mess we have created, only to be pointed out our mistakes by an entirely unrelated person, and having to live with the ignominy of our stupidity the rest of our lives.

*Well, that was probably the longest sentence I've constructed in a while. Not counting this morning's little bit on B cell and T cell actions... That doesn’t count though, it was a paper. Get me?

______________________________

Right. So I'll just end off this entry here while I continue to tie up the loose ends of whatever thoughts I've had on those little scraps of paper littering myself like the first fall of wintry grace. Or the finest dew coats worn by the early shoots of grass and leaf in the initial days of spring. Or the... Erm. Okay. I get it. I'll stop the description just here.

- Signing off, Kivan's alternate ego.

_________________________________

The Guardian

2005-09-19T22:02:00.000+08:00

The Guardian. The Guardian of the Lost, perhaps? Or the Guardian to the Lost... What may the Lost be? Is it someone? Or someplace? Or something that no one has ever heard of, and can never hope to remain sane after seeing, meeting, or hearing about...

There. I've just lost that train of thought. I wonder... All those phrases we use, all those idioms; the simplest of these more often than not have the crudest of explanations. Often very crass to the literary eye, but to the unexpecting, such thoughts, when placed in a more knowledgeable way, seems to pose a great deal of profoundness.

Let's take some words for example. Has anyone ever wondered about the plant Foxglove? Most people just take it as it is. Take it at face value, as they say. Well, the name of this simple looking plant has rather interesting roots.

Many of the older generation believe that the name is derived from the two separate words, "Fox" and "Glove". It literally means, "The Fox's glove". This comes from the folklore that foxes are magical creatures, and since the plant looks like a miniature glove, the plant naturally is related to the magical creature's apparel.

However, what most people, including myself, believe, is that the roots are a little less magical and mystical in origin... Foxglove originally came from the words "Folk' glove". The plant was related to the "Little Folk" - meaning leprechauns. And since the leprechauns wore little pointed green hats, and had such cute leggings and waistcoat, who's to say that they don't possess gloves as well?

Hence, the plant was known as "Folk’s glove", and over time, it was known as "Foxglove". If you pronounced either and both words, you'll find that foxglove is by far easier to pronounce than folk's glove.

Ephorus and The Lady

2005-09-19T22:01:00.000+08:00

The sensuous beauty of the maiden teased every male that walked past, causing those whom had not previously come into contact with her to goggle at her exquisiteness.

Exquisiteness. That was truly one of the few words that could do her justice. Yet, to a certain extent, even so fair a praise did little to bring her picturesque beauty to life. There was indeed nothing that could compare to her long, lush and flowing hair, falling down in soft sable tresses that seemed to act as a veil for her elegantly proportioned face. It was almost as if this high-born noble had been carved from stone, and the best mathematicians from all over had calculated the exact positions of her features, creating the most breath-taking of sculptures, poised in the perfect lighting all to see and despair. Yet, there was a tinge of sadness in her expression, a look of longing or perhaps anguish, such that her sinuous sable gown that brought her figure to justice seemed exactly as it seemed - a dress for the mourning. Were it not for the firmness of her flesh, one might even mistake her for a sufferer of adynamia, possibly caused by the recent loss of someone close. The colours of gown and locks contrasted against her marble skin, giving stark comparison and a disillusion that she was a spirit or spectre floating along the corridors, searching for eternal solace where one might never find any. The pathos of her entire being produced a multitude of emotions, each warring with more than another to find its place in the viewer's heart.

Yet that was not intended, for in truth, her presence was to mark the entrance to the adytum. Such sanctuaries were now rare, and it was rumoured that despite her stillness, the Lady, as the maiden was named, would bar entrance to those intended to act upon foul deeds, as well as those who had gone amiss in the course of their short time spent on the mortal world. Such was her duty, it was told to all newly arrived at the temple.

The Lady guards many secrets, but none of which are evil. For she would spare no thought or notion of even protecting so tainted a soul as to try to seek entrance into an inner sanctum without repentance. Such is her task, so that we may forever be watched over by the all encompassing presence of the great god Ephorus.

So it is written in the enchiridions passed out at the entrance to the Temple of Spaces, holy place of the priests of Ephorus. The Temple itself is a curious structure, with large circular pillars that, when seen from a distance, resemble gigantic bean stalks entwining around each other to form a central overhang above the priests' quarters. Such a design was undoubtedly designed for such a purpose, but also because it gave the impression of an extremely aerated building. Ephorus, god of the winds was also worshipped for his purity, which is well-known in the stories concerning his becoming. All throughout the Temple, Aeolian harps played their impromptu music while seemingly dangling from thin air, giving worshippers and common visitors alike a feeling that the place was constantly touched by the god himself.

In one of the corners not too far from the Lady stood a majestic monument to a god in a parallel world - Aeolus, from whom the harps were learnt from. Being both gods of the same thing, yet belonging to different worlds, priests of Ephorus worshipped primarily their god. However, on certain occasions, they would pay their respects to his equivalent in that different world, just in case he turned out to be the same god anyway.

And...

2005-08-25T21:41:00.000+08:00

First things first, no, I'm still alive. Keep dreaming on, the lot of you.

Secondly, I'd like to apologise to those who keep checking back and seeing nothing changed. I admit I myself have not yet checked my own blog since... erm... I don't remember now. Last month? The month before that one? Whatever.

Anyway, I've been a little too busy lately, and right after I type this I'll be going back to doing real life stuff. Just haven't got the time lately. But before I go, I'd like to say a couple of things:

In my life:

a) Whew! All my projects are finally over. But that also means that the end of the semester is drawing near, and the examinations, and the stress levels are definitely piling up.

b) I still don't know what to make of my new-found position... Well, maybe not that new, and definitely not found... at least among you other people who have known me since BC and CSS, those above (I couldn't find a single diety/position that works with all you guys' beliefs...) know that this sure isn't the first time I've been voted into secretary/treasurer/financial secretary/etc position before. I normally just... erm... stayed out of the tide and let the current push me. Sort of anyway.

c) Sorry to hear about the loss of your internet connection, TS. Believe me, I read it a long time ago, but I kinda forgot, and then there was the entire episode of projects piling up one after another. Now I'm way behind on my tutorials (not that she cares, but I do. I'm a good student [yes, yes... I know. You don't agree.])

d) Erm... I was kinda sure that there was something else, but I can't remember anymore. Will fill in soon. After Kivan has wrecked his havoc around these parts at least...

____________________________

And on to my, me as in Kivan, lord of this section of web space 's recent happenings:

i) I have been composing that bit about Ephorus and the other person for a very long time now, but seem to have lost that train of thought. Meanwhile, I shall be posting other little random rants every now and then, whenever I get the chance to come "online", as these puny mortals term it.

ii) There was this little other thought that should be the next thing up, based on these two movie that my alternate ego watched. Surely I have better things to do, you ask. Well, truly, I do. But I lack the time and energy to put them to paper, and thus, I shall preoccupy myself with smaller feats.

iii) The next post up should be entitled "Black sins and eating hawks", unless I am unable to finish that train of thought either. Fairly unlikely, I believe, although I must admit that after 2 weeks, I've still only had the time to put down a paragraph or two. A pity, I sincerely believe.

iv) There will also be a change in the appearance of my domain, as well as the other realms I have leave over. As soon as my alter-ego stops those dastardly things called "examinations", at least.

I will be checking back on my domain within the next 2 weeks or so, else I would not be seen in my realms for a further month, I'm afraid.

Speaking of which, while it is strictly forbidden in the words of my law to bribe the monarch, the monarch would like it to be known that the monarch will be celebrating an event soon, and would be delighted very much should any gifts fall mysteriously into the monarch's hands.

____________________________________

Guys, just kidding about the gifts thing. I was just trying to see between your prelims and your A's if anyone actually remembers the event. Highly doubt if you know what I'm referring to. Another hint: It's on the Wednesday after my exams (Not that you'd likely know what day my exams end on anyway...).

Btw, if anyone does remember, never mind about meeting for a meal. A message or e-mail would be equally appreciated. I wouldn't dream of tearing you away from your books. No, seriously! Your books are important to you, no? A's are the world's most dreaded thing, doubtlessly. In your world at least. Once again, good luck for your pre's and A's. Not that any of you I know actually need it. You guys can do well enough without the fickle Lady Luck as she always is.

Hmm...

2005-07-30T10:30:00.000+08:00

Was blog surfing the other day, and realised what a gigantic error my alter-personality made. Just in case you guys start staying away from me thanks to my stupid online persona, I should make it clear. Neither of us have ever, ever, ever written anything aforementioned by him. The embarrassing thing which I supposedly wrote under the influence of a stupid bet, was 4 separate POVs (that's point of view for you non-internet-reading people) based on a stupid anime that once upon a time I sorta watched.

There was something else, which was based on yet another anime (yes, I was part of that stupid anime craze a couple years back). That had nothing to do with anything that you dirty-minded folks are thinking of. It was some sort of semi-alternate-universe kind of thing, which I never finished anyway.

The last one was probably the most embarrassing one. It was supposed to be some sort of semi-rant, semi-storyline kind of thing, and it ended up being over 12,000 words, and I hadn't even finished the beginning yet. It was a chapter or two, if memory serves me correctly, and I took it down within a week of posting it online. So, you won't be finding any trace of that anywhere online.

__________________________________

So. Now I am some sort of stupid online persona now, eh? I'll teach that stupid alter-ego... Ahem. But anyway, like that idiot said, I did not exactly mean what it sounded like. No self-respecting elf, human or... errgh, I can't believe I'm saying this: dwarf, would ever be caught dead or alive writing those... erm... unatural acts of... whatever.

Just so you know, I do not in any way whatsoever support those thoughts. As my life motto probably reads, ~~Do what ya like. Just stay away from me.~~ Do what you wish. Just don't drag me into the same ~~shit~~ mess when judgement day arrives.

Hmm... On second thought, maybe my motto should be, To each his own. Just don't try to make your own my own as well. That applies for thinking, I mean. You know like, don't try to convert my religion (or lack thereof), or my fashion sense (or non-existence of such), or anything else. ~~Elves~~ Humans are ~~dependent~~ independent ~~creatures~~ sentient beings, you know.

Whoa. Just realised how bad I'm writing today. I've made so many ~~slip-ups~~ errors in such a short post. It's all because of that stupid alter-ego of mine, which keeps refusing to believe that it's just an alter-ego, not a real person.

Kivan's words

2005-07-24T22:11:00.000+08:00

I haven't been posting much, leaving the filling up of blog space to that other being with a real life. Since I'm back, there are a number of things I should clarify. I have never, ever, ever written for horrific websites other than my own, and even so, I don't think it's that horrific. Is it?

Secondly, I, being a civilised and proper sentient being, would never, ever describe non-consensual or unnatural relationships. (Although I really wonder where people ever got that idea from...) I don't even recall ever writing about relationships in general! (Not human-human ones, at least. Thought-reality relationships are always in abundance here.)

Lastly, I am in no way, anyone that you readers have ever met. Mainly because I never talk to people face to face. Get that straight. MY alter-ego is the one that talks to you. Not the other way around. Now that that irritating personality is out of the way, I can finally type in peace.

Just so you know, my alter-ego has, unfortunately, due to some pathetic bet that was never realised later on, written some extremely embarrassing stories, and posted them *gasp* online for everybody to see. Thankfully, I believe them to be in some isolated corner in the web-verse. I must confess however, I have been unable to remove the semblance of language use. So if there are any similarities out there, it's not me. Just remember that. (A disclaimer is always good...)

And on to the stories and other important stuff. Next time though. It would seem that my irritating alter-persona is screaming about some "soon to be due project assignment" or the such. I shall take my leave and pray that this character will do no further harm to my image as it already has.

________________________________

Weekend at a seminar

2005-07-24T21:51:00.000+08:00

" What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal" -Albert Pine

__________________________

Above quote came from the end signature of an e-mail I recieved. Interesting, isn't it? Really sets you thinking...

__________________________

Well, that aside, it's time to spam online/on-blog about my weekend. Well, not exactly spam but more like, rant about useless information that no one wants to know. Seriously.

Ahem. So, for those who have been chatting with me over the past week, or at least seen the "online" sign next to my nick, you'll have noticed the message that ran along the lines of "Panic has just set in. Common Test Week is here. And I quote, 'It has begun.'"

As such, I obviously have not been blogging as much as I'd like. So now, I shall make up for the lost time and start typing rubbish. Ahaha... Yes, joke not understood. Fine.

I spent the weekend at a Golf Resort in the middle of nowhere, which now, upon reflection, I believe was such that we could not escape and go home if we got really bored. Dang. They found us out.

It was a seminar/meeting kind of briefing something or another. Now you're confused? Think about the poor soul who's trying to type this. Okay, I don't know what I'm saying now...

Right, so it wasn't exactly heaven, but it was fun, in a weird sort of way. Kind of anyway. I enjoyed it in a crazy way, which like all my previous entries that run along this line, involve:

- Mask

- Acting

- Being insanely happy

- Not being yourself

Unfortunately, or fortunately, there was that thing about losing yourself. While there, it's like, "Whoa! This is cool! This is fun! Let's just party man!" Upon return, it's more of a mellow, "I don't believe I did that. It's not really me, but... I liked it, didn't I...?"

Very confusing if you ponder on that, so I won't. All I have to say is, "You guys out there, you know who I'm talking about, you're lucky that I didn't bring my camera. If not... Your reputation is finished!" Yup, now you can guess that kind of things we were doing there...

Won't dwell on it much, will just move on to the next topic.

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2005-07-17T10:26:00.000+08:00

You Are a German Shepherd Puppy

Intelligent, quick witted, and a bit aggressive.
You've got the jaw power to take a bite out of anyone you choose.

What Breed of Puppy Are You?

Oh boy. I'm a German Shepherd puppy, ay? Well, kind of expected that kind of thing.

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You Are an Old Soul

You are an experience soul who appreciates tradition.
Mellow and wise, you like to be with others but also to be alone.
Down to earth, you are sensible and impatient.
A creature of habit, it takes you a while to warm up to new people.

You hate injustice, and you're very protective of family and friends
A bit demanding, you expect proper behavior from others.
Extremely independent you don't mind living or being alone.
But when you find love, you tend to want marriage right away.

Souls you are most compatible with: Warrior Soul and Visionary Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

Oh great. Even the quizzes call me old now. Oh well... Nevermind. Although... It is a bit freaky how right these things can get after some time... Or maybe you just start believing it them. Whatever.

________________________________

You are pure, moral, and adaptable.
You tend to blend into your surroundings.
Shy on the outside, you're outspoken to your friends.

You believe that you live a virtuous life...
And you tend to judge others with a harsh eye.
As a result, people tend to crave your approval.

The World's Shortest Personality Test

Whoa... Freaky. Really, really freaky. How in the world do they get these things based on the pictures man...

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You Are Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

You are kind, popular, and generous.
You tend to be successful at anything you try.
A social butterfly, you are great at entertaining a crowd.
You are most compatible with strawberry ice cream.

What Flavor Ice Cream Are You?

Okay... That is weird. I don't think it's true. Hmm... Well, half of it is true, but not the rest. Not telling you which half it is... Nyah nyah nyah! *sticks out tongue*

Yes, yes, I know. It's childish. Whatever. At least my faith in "internet rubbish" is restored. It's not always right. Freaky stuff are just accidents of nature. Sort of...

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A couple of corrections

2005-07-14T12:02:00.000+08:00

I just re-read my post from yesterday, and I'm really sorry if I lost a couple of readers sometime during the impromptu composition. I believe I was a little distracted at that moment. As such it didn't really turn out like I planned.

The corrections which I would like to point out, is the part about the garbage bag tumbling down the chute. I wrote something to the effect of "...joining his kith and kin...". I would like to correct that. Since it is a garbage bag, it should be "...joining its kith and kin...". Sorry about the... erm. What do you call it? Pronouns, is it? I've forgotten most of those technical terms.

The other thing I would like to point out is the part about the robin causing distress among the bird-dom. I wrote something to the effect of "...disrupting the natural cause of things...". I regret to say that due to my unfortunate habit of mouthing whatever I want to write, and then typing it, I tend to mix up the various words due to their sounds. Obviously, this only happens once in a blue moon, and only if I'm typing very quickly, and do not have time to check. The correct form should be "...disrupting the natural course of things...". I hope any reader who has been previously thrown off by the innumerous bumps are now placated by the continuing road works to smooth out the irregular cobbles. I appreciate anyone who wishes to point out any, and all of this pathetic author's mistakes.

Perhaps I shall continue another day. I feel that I should really get on with my studying now.

Let's talk

2005-07-13T17:51:00.000+08:00

Over the past week or so, maybe a little longer, I've found myself coming up with many unusual thoughts. Some of them political, others purely just that - thoughts. Nothing spectacular. As such, I've decided to see if I could try to compose a single blog entry dedicated to some thoughts that have run through (others dashing through) the sea of chaos that is my mind. And do it in an English-ly correct, and precise manner. In addition to that, I've decided to see if I could do it on Blogspot, without the help of either a dictionary or a thesaurus that I'm apt to use when typing in MS Word.

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The first of these thoughts concern last week's London bombings. Believe it or not, but somehow, I knew that something had gone wrong. Call it the sixth sense if you must, but I am quite certain that something had happened on that day. I do not have the benefit of clairvoyance, in spite of my previous post, but I am fairly sure, nonetheless, that on that day, I had indeed felt something. Obviously, I did not have those type of feelings whereby one suddenly feels a jolt, or a sudden coldness when it happened. I just had this terrible mood begging to be let out the whole day. Somehow, when I heard about the news, I didn't get anymore upset or depressed. Instead, I had that kind of feeling which was synonymous to the "I told you so" faces that you oft get when someone is right and you were wrong.

And I didn't sleep too well that night either. Something just struck a chord in my soul, as the poets are bound to say.

Since I am on this topic, I should say this:

My greatest grievances to those who were caught in the bombing. Despite my high-born, noble, snobbish use of words, I really mean it. Truly, with the utmost sincerity. I personally do not believe that it is the natural cause of things for people to take out their anger on the populace, when they have their own faults, and their fury is directed at a higher power, of whom would not actually be greatly inconvenienced on a personal level. True, their work might be harder, but it does not do to vent your anger and misgivings on the innocent public.

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The second of topics I have chosen to air my views, like that old rug in the cupboard we've kept stashed away for emergencies (and I mean, really emergency purposes), is that of an entirely different nature. My feelings were elicited when I was listening to the BBC World Service and their coverage on the G8 Meeting. It was on Bush's views on the Greenhouse effect. Unless I am much mistaken, his views on stopping the production of greenhouse gases ran along the line of, "Oh, we've been there, done that. Doesn't work. We should instead stop worrying about the production, and more on how we're gonna get rid of it."

Right. And that from the mouth of the president of the highest greenhouse gas producing country. Unacceptable, I say! There goes the World's Police Officers, sticking their noses where they don't belong, starting wars that never existed in the first place... Perhaps I was a little harsh on that image. Let me try to find a more suiting metaphor.

A police officer, an extremely law-abidding one, has just completed the greatest drug-bust in history. On top of that, he's just stopped a terrorist sleeping cell, and he's successfully negotiated peace talks with two other countries' diplomats, all in the same week. Upon reaching home, he grabs a cigarette, and starts to smoke them by the pack. From the plastic bags he carries by his side, he takes out entire meals of fastfood. Naturally, one must feed one's family, so what is one to do? When they have finished eating, he packs all the rubbish into the plastic bags, and chucks them ~~out the window~~ into the garbage chute. The plastic bag tumbles through the cold night air, and joins his kith and kin at the bottom in a big trash bin, waiting for the truck to pick them up to the incinerator.

At the incinerator, one can only see the multitude of black trash bags, and the stench that arises from such a gathering. The black smoke curls into the air, and not too far off, the stomach of a robin curdles at the smell, and all thoughts of mating have flown from his head. Turned off by the smell, he heads south prematurely, startling a great number of his friends, and spoiling the natural cause of things.

Countries away, the populace is in unrest. The government has failed time and time again to provide them with their needs, and it is felt in the bones of the people, that the time has come for a new power to arise, and the old one to fall.

In their meetings and discussions, the government searches desperately for some answer, some solution to the terrible disease that has struck them from nowhere. Being a poor nation, they have no resources, nor access to advanced science and technology, that would have immediately pointed out that their disease was one of unnatural causes. The water is murky, the ground is tainted. The air is afoul with pollution, but they do not notice. They only notice the dying, and those who have already passed.

Back in the police officer's house, he puts his twin sons to sleep, and he thinks on the future. There is a rookie in the department, newly joined. He knows little of the politics that is rife in the headquarters. Scheduled to be his new partner, the police officer wonders what he should teach the young lad first. The youngster is from the country, and has little practical knowledge of the city life.

First, I must teach him how to live the city life. Cooking everyday like that for his old 'mam does not do for an officer of the city, that's for sure. Certain on his next steps, the police officer tucks his little monsters into bed, blissfully unaware of the dozens of souls that have fled their homes because they were struck by an unknown cause.

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Well. I've got to say, that turned out very different from what I planned. First things first, however: I chose the bird robin because I had no other in mind. I am uncertain as to whether or not the robin actually travels south, and would be delighted should anyone wish to point out any mistakes that might have occurred during the course of this composition.

Also, the last part regarding the souls might be a little unclear. I meant the souls left their previous homes for the great city of paradise. Now you know what I mean...

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As for my original topic, I was talking about Bush. Let's chart out my feelings on Bush from the very beginning. When I first heard about Bush, I was indifferent. What does a country whose time averages half a day later than mine have to do with me, right? Wrong.

That was when I heard about the Gulf War. So, this guy's pop was the one who started the Gulf War, ay? Well, I began to distrust Bush. And there was the War on Iraq. I really had my doubts on this guy. During the election, I had my hopes pinned on Kerry. And Bush won. When I heard all the doubts about the American system, about how it was states, and not people that mattered, well... Let's just simplify all that and say, I believed that Bush definitely shouldn't have won. So I began to dislike him. Rather strongly too.

And now? His latest stunt? The lovely speech at the G8 meeting on Greenhouse gases. Congratulations Mr Bush. I don't even know you, have not even met you, doubt I've even been within a thousand miles of your presence, and I really, really, really ~~hate you~~ wouldn't vote for you if my life depended on it.

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Right. And I suppose I should be getting back to my studying, so I'll sign off here.

And for those asking (which I truly doubt there are any), I'm really working very hard on that story on Ephorus. I actually got most of it down. Just need some time to finish it. After my examinations, obviously.

And sorry if you took insult on my little impromptu composition up there. I have this strong dislike for him, see... And I really support the British. Kinda, in a way... Well, not really, but rather take a little pity on them for being the brunt of the world's anger, especially over that matter of Iraq.

Whoa...

2005-07-13T12:39:00.000+08:00

~*~Result nr 1~*~

Your power is: Clairvoyance

Explanation: Your power is that you can
look into the future and see what is coming.
How far and long you can look is all depending
on your skill level. This can, as all powers,
be used in both evil and good. Even if it may
seem like a boring ability it is a huge
responsibility for the carrier, becase they are
constantly tempted with doing the wrongs deeds
(e.g. cheat on a test). It takes high morals to
not be brought down with it.

Therefore you fit with this power quite well.
You take responsibility and do what is the
right thing to do. This does not make you a
saint, since you're only human after all. But
it makes a trustworthy person and you are loyal
to camrades and/or team mates. In school you
were probably a good student. If you were
social varies from person to person, but most
clairvoyant people tend to prefer their own
company or that of close friends and family.
That is because you are wise and knows how to
treasure the reliable in your life, since you
know popularity can be a false element. You are
also not that big on taking risks and prefer
what is already explored. That is because you
don't like suprises, they can turn out bad and
then you won't be in control.

Negative aspects: Since you're always
doing the right thing and being trustworthy all
the time you can become frustrated. Also, all
that you carry on your shoulders may stress you
out. You need to relax to be in good mental
shape.

What Power is Compatible With You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Wow... I never knew some quiz could be so accurate. Well, okay. Some quizzes occassionally hit the mark, but not very often. This one was one of the insightful ones. Very strange, especially if you were in my shoes, but hey! Maybe the quizzer is a clairvoyant. Wahaha... Okay, okay. I might have spelt that word wrongly though...

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Am listening to Maksim Mrvica at the moment by the way. Just love his songs to death. So... strangely inspiring and motivational at the same time. Don't try to study with it though. You'll probably start nodding your head to the music, and there goes your lovely little AD-grade.

Oh yeah. Did you know that when studying immunology, it's best not to listen to the Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves soundtrack? Since no one I know out there studies immunology, let me clarify a bit. Immunology has always been likened to studying military tactics, and it's not too far from the truth. With the leukocytes - Macrophages, Dendritic Cells, APCs, Lymphocytes aka B and T cells... etc. It's really like seeing a battlefield in action when studying about how macrophages attack and "eat up" the antigens (enemy cells), and how the Cytotoxic T Cells kill or activate apoptosis (programmed cell death... okay, in layman's terms, that basically means making the cell commit suicide) in infected own cells. It's like how those... hmmm... what's the term... Internal security goes around checking on people, and when they are suspected, they are interrogated. Only in the immune system, if the person fails the test, the person is either gobbled up, or given the signal to commit suicide.

So anyway, I was studying Immuno in the library the other day, and listening to the Robin Hood soundtrack, and suddenly, halfway while studying, I realised I was studying a "battle plan" to the final battle scene music. Naturally, I found it funny, and was giggling away... in the library. Generally, that tends to earn you really nasty looks from the people around you, but the only other person near me was on the phone, so... well... I was feeling pretty bad though. *Glares at the readers* Oh c'mon! Don't give me that look! I got a conscience at least, to feel bad for talking and giggling in the library. Incidentally, those are among the "Top Ten Greatest Sins to commit in the library" on my list.

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Right. I'm going to change my blog now. And maybe the rest of my webbies as well. *Looks a bit guilty, wrings hands in shame* Okay, I don't have the time to get a new one up and running, so the only thing I got on my webbies are going to be Under Construction signs. You're gonna love the music I'm planning on putting on, btw.

Back again...

2005-07-05T14:59:00.000+08:00

Hello hello... Waiting for my maths tutor to walk into the door any moment now... Meanwhile, let's see if I can type something for my "beloved" blog. Great. She just walked in. My maths tutor, I mean. Will save up to here as a draft, and continue another time. Later during my CCA would be a good time, I guess...

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2 hours later:

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Waiting for the ex-co meeting to end so that I can type in peace, and enjoy the free air-con, and start freaking out because I've no idea how to do the last part of Group C with a guy... Right. Forget about that. Let's talk about other stuff, like more important things like my ranting. I'm beginning to feel a bout of elvish-ness upon me, so why not let it flow, no?

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Days later...

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Okay, you greater powers above. I concede defeat. You just have to make sure I can't compose anything this week, right? Even something I wrote days ago, I can only publish today... (Read: 5.24pm Jul 12)

Right. I promise there'll be a serious rant coming up. It's in bits and pieces as usual, some are in the draft format on blogger, some in MS Word, some on my desk in pieces of paper... But most of them are stuck in my head, dying to get out...

Speaking of which, the other day, while eating, I had this fabulous insight into something... And I was thinking the whole time, I seriously need to get this penned down. And guess what? Yup. I forgot about the whole thing until about yesterday, which by then, of course, I totally forgot what the brilliant insight was about.

And it's not the first time. Right. By the way, the next time I update should also be when I change my blog, again. And that refers to the music as well. I'm putting on music fit for dance. And I mean like clubbing dance, not cha-cha dance.

My mom hates it though. Although... Well, what can one expect? Okay, okay... Actually, the music kinda grates your nerves, but if you ignore the drum beat, it's super cool, and sounds wonderful.

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Last thing I gotta say before I leave for school to go to dance practice. Incidentally, Brennan just, and I mean just, told me that dance started at 5pm. Yay... Jin Jin's so gonna have my head.

Ahem. Anyway... My mouth hurts like hell!!!

Just put them braces on today. Don't think I can smile or talk without feeling like my teeth are about to be ripped out of my head... Or maybe fall out on their own because their no longer attached to my jaw. Arghh... Hate this incessant pain. It's like the little voice that keeps going, You've got common test in a week and here you are still blogging! You better go study now, young lady!

Ooh. My mistake. The last part must have come from my mom... Haha... No, not really. But I can imagine her saying that. Okay, that's it. I'm logging off about now...

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Back from the dead...

2005-07-04T13:53:00.000+08:00

No, I'm not dead. No, I have not been abducted by some strange egg-headed, thin-bodied, space travelling bug-eyed creep either. I have simply been in a very, very stressed out state. Even as I'm typing this, I'm reading an article on a bunch of scientists genetically altering a litter of pigs so that their organs may be used as transplants for human beings. And guess my project title...

Xenotransplantation: Domestic Swine to Mankind

Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Well, better than the original title I planned; "Human-Pig Xenotransplantation" or "Pig-Human Xenotransplantation", dontcha think?

Ahem. Enough of my project and pigs, ya? Let's talk about my social life... Wahahahaha... Yes, yes, I know. "Don't start now, Kiv, I'm warning you! Or I'll boink your head!" (And to those who read anything remotely not innocent from that, please, please, go to the toilet, grab the liquified soap, and drink the whole thing. It'll do wonders to your brains. Trust me. *with cleaning up as the chief one...*)

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I've actually watched 2 movies in 8 days! In the cinema! That is an entirely new record for me in my life. Most of the time, I watch movie at the rate of about 4, 5 movies a year... So, well, 2 movies in slightly over a week is a real improvement/deprovement, ya?

The first was Mr & Mrs Smith. Only thing I can say: Not much storyline, but a lot of lame jokes, and a lot of mindless, no meaning action. The only other thing I took notice of was the last few sentences in the movie.

"Ask the sex question!"

"Erm, okay."

*mouths the word "10" with ten out stretched fingers*

Right. That was the thing which Darryl was imitating that day... But no one wants to know that, ya?

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Movie number 2: Batman Begins. Watched it the Friday just past. And I missed the first 5 minutes. Dang. Will someone please e-mail me and tell me the beginning? All I watched was when he was in the cave already. And I paid $8.50 for that too...

Don't have much to comment on the movie except that Scarecrow is sooo cool... And he really looks the part. The doctor I mean. And Alfred in the movie is really "Alfred-ish", as in he really sorta acts like the Alfred from the cartoons. Right. That doesn't make sense. Just ignore that.

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My apologies is this entry doesn't make much sense. I started with lots of time to spare, and my computer had to hang on me... So, I'm trying to rush and finish this entry 'cause I got a lecture on in approximately 7 minutes. Right. Will continue later. I promise. Sorta anyway...

Blog's changed again!

2005-06-16T12:58:00.000+08:00

Yes! I discovered how to code for font styles today. And that was by trial and error and changing the code and seeing what freakish things happen.

I got sick of the maroon colour, so now, I'm trying out what is supposed to be my lucky colour - Green. A slight improvement, I'd say, although most out there would say I'm colour blind. No?

Right. Check out the music as well. Especially Spirit Dreams Inside. One of my bro's and my favourites. By a Japanese band called L'arc En Ciel, if I spelled that correctly. Means rainbow in French, unless I'm mistaken. Not too bad a song, if I may say so myself.

Spirit Dreams Inside, Screaming and The Dream Within are from the animated movie, Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within. It's got nuts for a storyline, I mean, it's nice, but not really that nice, but the graphics is really whoa. There's nothing else to say but, whoa.

Incidentally, Screaming is in Cantonese. By a Candy Lo, whoever she is. The Dream Within is by Lara Fabian. Err... And the other two are from games. Water comes from the same game as the previously uploaded Earth, spiff.

Hmm... I guess there's nothing else to say, so happy blog surfing fellow travellers of the digital realm. Hope you think that the music is a mark improvement, and not a de-provement. Thanks for dropping by.

Mood's down. Again.

2005-06-16T11:40:00.000+08:00

From title of this post, I suppose you know what this entry's going to sound like. So, for those of you beginning to think that befriending me was a bad idea, I suggest you go read something else and don't come back to my blog until I put up my next story/rant, which should be entitled Ephorus and the Lady. And no, it aint' a crappy love story (Shame on you for thinking that! Don't you know me well enough?). It's about a god, Ephorus (of what, you'll discover for yourself in the story), and a... um... well, I haven't gotten that far yet. Haven't decided what the Lady is yet. Ahahaha... Yes, my story isn't done yet. I've just finished writing about Ephorus, so give me a little time. Brain cells, mood swings, and writing bugs are hard to come by, you know.

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Well, on to more serious things. This is a little excerpt of what I wrote during the first 5 minutes or so of Mathematics and Statistics lecture yesterday. Which, for those of you who know me, goes to show how depressed and crazy I was feeling yesterday. The student, was ignoring the Maths lecturer to write something crappy...

I am so going to break down some time this week. Tonight, there's the Klavierensemble Tea Party, and tomorrow the DS practice at night. Between one or the other, I am so going to snap and just die emotionally there and then. Just had a talk with my mom before lecture started, in the lecture theatre, and I literally started crying there, while sitting in my seat. Had this weird feeling that a couple of my classmates saw, but didn't say a thing. On the other hand, maybe they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Spiff, I can totally understand how you felt then. Absolutely crappy huh? I agree completely.

Before I continue any further, I would first like to say something. I meant to post this yesterday, or something like this the day before, but I've been holding back because recently I told a couple of people my blog address, and on retrospective, I think it was the wrong move. It's not that I don't trust them and all, it's 'cause I don't like people near me (as in classmates and people whom I just crap to, not those who got the same understanding) to know my problems and all. It's difficult to explain... It's something like what I told you the other night, spiff. About the not wanting people to see the mask etc etc...

So, I think you know who I'm talking about, so you guys out there, I appreciate if either you don't read what I'm about to write, or if you do, please don't bring it up. At least not face to face. I got this big communication problem, you konw? Not that anyone probably ever noticed. I mean, as in, you can get across dumb and lame and not important things, but real stuff, the information that really matters... I suck at that.

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I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. On Tuesday, the minute I arrived at home, I pulled out my laptop and started typing. I originally intended for it to be a blog entry, just a weekly rant of some sort, but it turned into a full-scale pour out your soul kind of thing. In the end, obviously since you haven't read anything of that sort, it's sitting in my computer, somewhere in the hard drive, just waiting for a virus or somewhat to gobble it up into non-existence. No, I'm not going to publish it. It's too personal. But there were a couple of points which I really need to yell out to the world (though the world never cares, maybe it's a good thing...)

Spiff, I read your reasons for joining and staying in DS. Happy for you. Truly am. The adrenaline rush, the feeling that you're just way up there and nothing can ever bring you down, the concentration that you feel yourself pouring into all the actions, and of course, the exhilaration that you feel during and just after the dance, before the pain and tiredness kicks in... Well, when coupled together (or rather, when multituded together... is there such a phrase?) it creates that feeling which is just unbeatable, and impossible to describe unless you feel it yourself. It is a great feeling. And it's a good feeling to have provided it stays with you.

For me, I joined DS because I had an interest. I joined DS for S&W because... I don't know. I liked dancing since I was in primary school (was in Chinese Modern dance then) and when I heard you could take dancing lessons for PE... Well, that was just over the top wasn't it? Joined the CCA because I became really interested then. After some time, I kind of decided that interest was the only thing keeping me going, but it was more than enough. I didn't really care about much else, since at that time in my life, I just entered poly with no friends, and was basically the loner of the class, with no one to talk to and go out with. Everyone else was going out in pairs or groups 'cept me, so honestly, yeah. I didn't care. Period.

There was that little period of time when I thought about quitting. Seriously. But I had just stepped out of CO for other reasons, and I felt in my heart that it was wrong to not have a CCA (see what 10 years of CCA has made me into? Yes, I had a CCA from P1 to Sec 4). So I stayed, and kept contemplating quitting DS for good. But I didn't because I had to have a CCA. Sort of anyway.

I can't think of any other way to put this, so I'll just quote from my untouchable entry:

But like I was saying: I used to love dancesport for the adrenaline it gave me, for the concentration I could gather from any one of the lessons, that in-feeling that floods my nerves and brain whenever I’m moving on the dance floor. I was nervous when I heard about the competition. I wanted to join, but I was worried, because, well I’m naturally worried when it comes to performances of all kinds. After some time, however, I didn’t really want to join anymore, mostly because I had no partner.

And then came my downfall, and my downfall it was, I’d like to think so at least. I made good friends with a couple of the other guys. First, it was with spiff, whom I found through Friendster, was also an avid reader of fantasy and Forgotten Realms. Then I got talking with the rest of the girls, and subsequently, it was the guys. Starting from the beginning, I only talked to the seniors, so now I practically made friends with everyone in the club. That made things really bad for me. I began to feel left out, feel so damn, damn shitty when everyone was going to the competition but me, and Atlantis wasn’t much of a consolation either. I was more like a consolation to her.

Erm... Then I wrote something else personal, so I'll censor that part off, and it continues with: *After the competition* It hurt so freaking bad, but there was nothing I could do. In one of my fits, I wrote that blog entry, where I confessed everything, and then I censored more than half of it, and posted the remainder.

Censored again: Great. Wonderful. Doesn’t my life just resemble a cesspool? I really need to say that my life is just a big pool of cess. There’s nothing else in the world like it.

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This part onwards, Vanessa, if you're reading this, please, really please... I'm begging you, don't continue reading. It's not that I don't trust you or anything, but honestly, I don't want to drag you into all of this. I really don't want to make you feel like crap after you read this. So please, don't. I really appreciate it.

Also, for anyone who knows anyone in particular in NPDS, don't read this. I'm going to get hated, or get super pitied by those who know about who I'm talking about, and honestly, unless you know or understand what I'm going through... Let's just say that I'm torn between screaming the truth to the whole world, and hiding away and just letting it all go when the time comes. If the time comes.

And on to the stuff I wrote on Tuesday:

Now there’s the politics, and the problems, and the depress-ees, the falling out, the anger… Including my own. I’m going to break down soon. I can feel it. I walked out today because I was literally going to cry if Harie did that to me one more time. He doesn’t know it, I guess, and he probably thinks he’s helping. But he’s not. He’s making it worse.

I don’t have a partner. For goodness sake, Harie, I know you want to go to the competition with Karen. Fine. I don’t mind, I don’t care. Okay, maybe that was a lie, I care, I mind, but hey! It’s your life isn’t it? I bloody do not want to know. So dance with her. Stay with her. Ignore the fact that I keep looking at you once in a while and hope like crazy you’ll dance with me for the competition or something. Please stop all that “here I am down in the dumps, and there you are walking towards me, and decide to dance a single dance with me before flying off to Karen again”. I’d feel loads better if you didn’t dance with me at all. At least my emotions won’t be a bloody yo-yo. I just want to wallow and cry in my own grief, let it just die okay? Every time you lead me onto the dance floor for a single dance, I’m just so happy, hoping that maybe you’ll dance with me for good or something, but no, after a single dance or maybe two, you’ll go back to Karen. Trust me. It hurts like hell to have that happen to you. Knowing that you’re so near yet so far from having a partner, knowing what it feels like to have a partner who gets the same adrenaline when you dance, yet losing it to yet another person. I’m the eternal loser, aren’t I? I’m going to grow up to be the epitome of old, wrinkly unmarried spinsters who spend all their time, wiling away, thinking of some past experience that should have happened some other way, thinking of a past action that should have been taken a different way…

That’s me. The eternal loser. I aim to go to UK, hoping that maybe it’ll be different, maybe different in a way that people can accept me, and maybe even like me, not as a friend, but as something more, or maybe make me understand what the hell I’m doing wrong here, and let me learn how to appreciate my life here as it is.

Okay, I admit it. That last part was a total and utter lie. I don’t believe it. I just want to go to UK because to me, it’s a kind of paradise. It’s the place where my parents met, the place where my favourite language ranks supreme, where people give a damn about what I care about (English, grammatically etc), where my idols are, mostly, and where my dreams all seem to be. I wanted to learn theatre, I wanted to learn acting, I wanted to learn speaking… And to a certain extent, I still do. Those dreams in my heart aren’t dead, they’re just buried, buried alive, and when I think about them, when I dig them out again, it wrenches my heart to think of them in any way at all.

But back to dancesport. Why am I staying? Well, it isn’t because of the dance anymore. It’s gone now. I don’t feel the rush, I just feel the pressure. I don’t feel the adrenaline, I only feel the pain, both physically in the form of blisters and too-tight shoes, and emotionally in the form of the disappointments.

I stay because of the people. Because I’m just so bloody afraid that if I leave, I’ll never see all those people I’ve come to love as friends. Henry, Jose, Michael, Jin Jin, Melvin, Michelle, Sharon, Danny, Darryl, Heather, Sheryl, Darsh, Vanessa, Brennan, spiff… The rest I don't really know that well, and I'd know that if I stay any longer, it'll only spell more trouble for me. I'd just find another dozen reasons not to leave, when I already have a dozen and a bit up there.

I’m just afraid I’ll never meet them again, I’ll never share those dumb jokes, those moments of seemingly naïve and youthful joy, with no bothers and no politics, and no problems within and without. That’s why I stay. But maybe not for much longer. I can’t stand the loneliness one suffers every time there’s a competition, every time everyone gets so hyped up, practicing all the time, always in pairs… It’s beginning to hurt again, only it’s getting much worse this time. I caught myself tearing just now, at the dance studio. No one saw, I’m sure, and I was so ready to go but for a new problem.

The freshies. I really made good friends with some of them: Zhuo Er, Nan Ting, Lenny, Gwendelyn… They’re perfect as friends. I know I can get along with them, I know that I can gain their friendship and keep it. I know that I can make dumb jokes, act like a fool, and in short, pull on my normal mask in front of them and bask in that moment of friendship no matter how brief, and no matter that it wasn’t really intended for the real me.

Wrote something else personal, again and continues with:

*Regarding the only relationships I've ever had, and the people I've had them with (refer to blog entry from months ago)* It’s good to have someone fawning over you the whole night long, and to have a group of friends whose friendship could not possibly be damaged, looking out for each other, and in those dreams, I’m one of them, which really makes it so believable that it’s possible to find something in the nothingness I’ve been given.

Looking at that, I think I need help. The only people who know me the best, who know everything, are 5 elves who do not exist in any way, save for in books and movies, yet even then, they are amazingly different from their original counterparts. They’re just a bunch of fictional characters that I’ve created in my own head for my amusement. Yet they’re also the people who know me the best, the first ones to know when I’m in trouble, and in need of a friend. They’re the only ones who stick to me through thick and thin, regardless of what state I’m in. They’re never afraid that I’ll lash out at them, they’re never worried that I might never speak to them. Yet either because I’m so sure they’ll never interfere with my life, or that they’ll never tell, or they’ll never bring up the problem when I don’t want to hear it… I only confide in them. No one else understands me like them, and they never try to give advice, they never try to judge you, they never bring their friendship into the matter. They’re just there, as a pillow to cry on, as a pillar to support your crumbling foundations of your soul and emotions.

And I’ll be using them again in a couple of moments, when I’ve concluded this confession/diary entry/rant/rave/madness. It’s good to know that someone’s waiting to comfort you, or at least bring your mind away from matters that… well, doesn’t really matter. They, at least, know the priorities. They can sort out what you need most, and pick it up, force it down your throat, until you feel better and less choked up. It’s always good to have them by your side, although it is probably not the healthiest of decisions to make when trying to de-stress…

_________________________________________

Well. Yup. That said everything that needed to be said. And there I was trying to crack my head on how to phrase everything. Looks like when you ever get in a tight spot, just confess everything, and censor it later. At least you'll feel that you've said everything that needs to be, and can be said.

Oh yeah. And since I didn't snap yesterday, I decided I'll forgo tonight's practice. Although of course, it could be just because of everything I just typed. Hope no one minds. Well, I guess no one really cares the way I'd like. They just care "Why didn't Kiv turn up today... Hmm... I wonder. No matter, we should continue practising for the competition. Shall we?"

Yar, so I won't be turning up tonight. Strange as it may sound, the only factor that had me wanting to go tonight was Lenny. The freshie who has no partner tonight 'cause she's going for kick-boxing lessons. No, don't ask me why she would want to learn that except maybe to kick her partner's ass if he pisses her off... Maybe that's a good skill to have...

Anyway, well, from that alone, one can tell how depressed and sick I'm feeling now. So, once again, I'm not going tonight. I'm too sick of everything to do otherwise.

____________________________________

To spiff: If you're feeling down again recently or in the near future, or something else, sorry if I don't notice. I'm in a little fix myself. And from the way I look at it, it's not a fix that's going to go away sometime soon. But just to let you know in advance, if there's any problems, go ahead and talk. Listening to another's problems often takes the mind off matters at hand, and gives one a moment's respite from the shit in one's life.

3 Items

2005-06-12T13:49:00.000+08:00

Friday, 10th June 2005, 9.27pm

In order to prevent my goldfish memory from striking today, or rather in case it strikes, I shall put down my three main points before proceeding to writing about them. Just so you know, you can skip this entire paragraph and just read from the next one onwards. First, the incident concerning my file on Wednesday. Second, the sudden not-me feeling yesterday after my piano lesson. Last, the feeling of light-headedness, and the slight suicidal impression-esque stuff.

________________________________

Right. First up. On Wednesday, I went to the library to return a Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman novel. It’s the second book of the Sovereign Stone Trilogy, if anyone’s interested. And yes, I think the Wyred are amazing, and downright cool. The disgraced house, the House K-something (I only remember that the House name started with the letter K), was even cooler. With their final charge down at the Taan, and the action of taking their black mask off, wetting it, and wiping off the black paint from their shiny armour to reveal their house insignia, and the way they revealed their tattoos of the raven wings around their eyes… (Actually, I can’t remember their tattoo. I’m marginally sure that it is raven wings. I think.) That was just way cooler than anyone has the right to be.

Ahem. But back to the topic I was talking about before I digressed. I returned the second book and borrowed the third. After borrowing it, I was feeling literally elated (aside from the other problems which I solved that week), since I had borrowed the last book in the trilogy when I had believed there was absolutely no chance of even finding it. Right. So I borrowed it, and off to the trains I went. I was waiting for the train, when I decided to look at my timetable again. Incidentally, for those unaware of my habits, but the majority of you should know, my timetable is posted at the back of my folder. So I started looking for it, and guess what? I left my folder in the library. Yay. Brilliant, huh?

I literally ran to the control station, and I was on the verge of blabbering some inane excuse to get the guy on duty to let me out without charging me for going in and out the station without taking the train. I lucked out this time though. The guy just opened the gate with a, “It’s going to be very fast right?” and not even bothering to hear what I had to say. He then let me go with no questions asked, and I ran all the way back to the library.

To cut through the chase, there was a Good Samaritan who gave my folder to the counter staff in the library, and the other Samaritan who let me in and out of the station when I was in trouble. The last person I met whom was of any interest, was this Indian man. You know how everyone’s just so impatient, and block the doors when they try to get on the train, and doesn’t let anyone on board the train a chance to get off? Well, it happened right in front of me on Wednesday. There was this Indian man beside me, and he literally tapped the shoulders of everyone in front of us, crowding around the doors even before it opened, and gently pushed them aside, saying, “Let those people get off first. Don’t you know that?” or he said something else to that effect.

What I have to commend, is his willingness to take action where all others have ignored completely. I myself am not fond of crowding in front of unopened doors, and frown upon those who take such actions. However, the furthest I have ever done, is give a sour look to those who do so, and cluck my tongue impatiently and rather quietly, not that they probably ever took notice. This man went as far as to let these people know that they were wrong, and he wasn’t rude about it either. He just told them off nicely, or at least as nicely as you can be with people such as this.

That which was a shame unfortunately, was that instead of looking embarrassed with the classical textbook “I’m so sorry” expression on their face, they had this angry and pissed off look which they spared no effort to hide at all. And they directed this to the Indian man! I mean, hello! You’re in the wrong! I myself have been at the brunt of the “great mass of human bodies”, and in the wrong direction too. I had to give a “What the hell do you all think you’re doing”, and one of the extreme versions of that face too, before about two people would finally stop pushing back into the train, and let me get off. The rest were giving me this sour look, like I was in the wrong for trying to get out when they were trying to enter the train.

Man. The thought of these people just push me off the edge sometimes. But my point here is not to rant and rave about these idiotic conscience-less people, but to commend once again, the Indian man who had the guts to stand up and speak up where no one ever has.

______________________________

Most of you probably know the tremendous pressure I have been feeling lately, and the kind of shitty mood which I’ve been throwing around, online and off. Well, firstly, I’d like to say thank you to all those who gave me the encouragement to just let go for the first time in my life, despite the “Are you mad?!!!” and such words coming out of my mouth / typing etc.

So I’m in a better mood now, and once again with the help of my trusty laptop, I’m back to ranting and raving again. For the interested, my next Kivan-related rant will probably regarding another House in the Eleven, the same Council which House Aruneas belongs to.

_______________________________

Yesterday, I was more rested than I had been in over two, maybe three weeks. It happens that I had a piano lesson yesterday afternoon, and it was after that class that all the weird things (namely point number two and three) happened.

I had just gotten out of the lift of the block I stayed at for the past 17 years or so of my life, when I saw that one of the neighbours had thrown out a white wall-to-wall low bench-cupboard. It ran the length of the lobby, so I had my attention directed at that for the better part of the time which it took me to walk around the bench-cupboard. Looking up, I was thinking that the furniture was an old one, and probably belonged to the family living closest to the lift when it happened.

Now, before I continue, I should describe a little about the block which I live in. The whole block is teeming with avid plant lovers, or at least avid plant growers, and it is rare that a single floor (with 5 families) would have no plants along the corridor. As such, plant recognition plays as much a part in recognising the correct floor, as recognising the door colour/size/design and the door number.

Based on past experience, whenever I get off at the wrong floor regardless of the reason, I would literally freeze and turn around, check the nearest door/gate design followed by the door number. The latter often sheds some light on which floor I had accidentally gotten off on, and the former tells me that it isn’t my neighbours’ or my house.

And this all brings me to yesterday, when the weirdest and somewhat freakiest thing happened. As I was saying, I got off the lift and saw the furniture, and I was walking right? Then I turned back to look towards my house and I felt lost and… I don’t know how to explain it. All I can say was that it was a very bad feeling. It was like suddenly, I was another person looking through the eyes of someone else walking towards his/her home. It wasn’t my home, I didn’t recognise anything there, not the doors, not the windows, not the house, not the plants even. But the strangest thing was that I was still in part me, since I was looking at the plants for a sign of recognition, only it happened after I looked to the door colour, instead of before, as I normally would. The other thing was that I didn’t stop walking. It was like my body was someone else’s, and that someone was going home and the body knew it. It didn’t stop and its steps were so sure and absolute, and I didn’t have control over anything.

I really freaked out at that moment. It all happened in the span of a couple of seconds, so fast that I didn’t even finished walking pass the first family’s door. I was so scared in that moment, and I looked back to the last thing I recognised, which was the furniture and the door. The furniture was fast disappearing behind the corner, so I looked instead to the neighbour’s door on my right, with the familiar shoe rack and chocolate brown gates. I felt a slight relief when I recognised the colour, and with more than a little fear, I looked to the rest of the neighbours’ houses as well as the plants and everything else. And everything just sort of snapped back in place. I was who I was again, and I had stopped, belatedly, but unnecessarily. I knew where I was, I knew that straight ahead was my house and those were my neighbour’s bamboo plants, and the other one on that side was my dad’s little array of potted plants. I did continue walking, but I still felt mildly disturbed. I mean, who wouldn’t after that little experience?

The strangest thing was that for those two seconds I wasn’t in someone else’s body, instead my body was still me, but my mind was someone else who had never even heard of me before. And I was thinking as that other person, scared stiff and, in one word: lost. It’s almost like what I wrote in one of my previous entries, regarding the sudden insights into what the world really is like, and how lost you feel then. Only in this case, it’s the other way around. It’s the real world peeking in, and it’s the real world that has no idea what’s going on. But the catch is that for those few brief moments, your mind belongs to the real world but your body does not.

I think I should end this segment here. I can feel that I’m beginning to rant and repeat and make less and less sense. So, as they say, quit while you’re ahead.

___________________________________

Yesterday, when I was on the way to someplace else, I was walking along one of those pedestrian paths lined on both side with really tall grass. Said pedestrian path however, is raised somewhat higher than most, and said grass probably has not been cut in the last five years. This creates an illusion of the grass and path being the same level, only if you try to step off the path, you suddenly find yourself an entire foot shorter than two seconds ago, and an acute pain in the hip joint of the leg which you stepped off the path with.

Past experience has shown me thus, when I tried to manoeuvre around a herd of stampeding freshmen coming down my way. (Okay, so I’m a bit harsh on the description, but if you were there, I think you’d be hard pressed to come up with a more apt portrayal.) As such, I make it a point to stay away from the edge of the path when walking, and I aim to walk more towards the centre without leaning too far to the right and falling smack facedown in front of the approaching undercarriage of miscellaneous vehicles.

Anyway, what happened was something I noticed out of the blue, and occurred again today. I was walking on the edge of the path, literally, like a model on a catwalk tracing the line on the platform. Obviously I panicked slightly, since on occasion I have learnt the hard way what happens to those who stray towards “the grass side”. I changed my direction slightly, and that was when I noticed that I was rather light-headed. Of course, when my brain took notice of said light-headedness, brain forgot legs, and I was marking out the entire edge of the pedestrian pathway with my shoeprints again. I tried it two or three more times, when I realised that light-headed though I might be, I had gained an amazing sense of balance. So I just left it as it was, feeling a little weird, and ecstatic, but worried at the same time.

Happened again today, when I was walking the path outside my house a thousand times, and I found myself straying onto the edge again. I didn’t bother changing direction, but I found myself walking dangerously close to the edge, but feeling rather good about it. Yes, I know, I should get some sleep soon. I’m going mad, right?

___________________________________

Well, it was also yesterday on the bus, when I realised what was wrong with everything lately. I was stressed, yes, I admitted as much the minute I started this entry. Like I had said before, everything’s solved; I’ve given up a position in the ex-co, I’ve finished my assignments extra early, I’ve decided to take a more laid back approach to my life, and I’ve even done myself a favour by helping another (long story there, don’t ask).

Well, I think the problem is that I’ve got nothing to do now. No, I’m not saying that I’m addicted to work, although I might be a mild workaholic (Erm… I understand that there may be a clash of meanings there, but I’m a bit short on descriptive nouns at the moment.). What I mean is most aptly portrayed by a metaphor which I thought of in the bus.

There was this cartoon I watched a couple years back, it was Batman of the Future, if I remember correctly, or maybe one of the original Batman cartoons. Anyway, in that episode, some evil villain, the Joker or some other guy who laughs too much as well, had the commissioner of Gotham City (or someone else equally important. Look, I can’t remember if it was Gordon. I think it was Commissioner Gordon come to think of it… or maybe his daughter) held prisoner. Said evil villain stuck prisoner in some virtual reality machine that was simulating an extremely fast, mind-killing (literally) rollercoaster ride. Batman arrives in the picture, and he decides to pull the plug (again, literally). So evil villain says to Batman that pulling the plug is akin to having the victim in the virtual reality machine travel at like, 120 miles per hour, and coming to a sudden stop, just like hitting a brick wall while travelling at 120 miles per hour (just add all the gravity and inertia and all that physics stuff I’ve forgotten, and you got an instant brain dead victim.)

So, the analogy in this case actually kinds of works for what I’m going through. It’s like you’re overloaded with way too many assignments and jobs, and suddenly, everything’s just lifted off your shoulders. It creates a very big vacuum, and it kinds of suck your life into that little empty hole, trying so desperately to fill it up with something.

Basically, that’s what happens to an overworked person, or at least to an overworked me. It’s times like these that I started thinking all philosophical and all on a single bus ride to a brain-numbing class, and start placing all the facts together and forming a theory on why I’m so fretful these few days. It could also be the reason for my inability to read a number of books I’ve been meaning to read. Speaking of which, I think I’ve formed a fairly accurate measure of whether or not I’m overworked. If I’m in a reading mood, willing to read anything and everything placed in front of me, then I’m definitely relaxed. If I start going all over the place and even far, far out of the way looking for something to read, then I’m beginning to get stressed. If I can’t even sit down and read more than a chapter without getting distracted or feeling the book is just to wordy (and that’s a word coming from me or all people), then I’m definitely about to snap. If I want to read but just can’t get down to it, then I’m on the way down the overworked meter, but still quite high up the scale.

At the moment, I think I fall under the last category. Maybe I should go create a meter like that on my blog or my webpage. Might be a fun thing to have, and it could serve as an early warning system, not dissimilar to the Tsunami Early Warning System, only on a smaller scale, but having the potential to avert an equal amount of devastation.

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I can’t write anymore, I keep thinking of that last book in the Sovereign Stone Trilogy sitting on my shelf (or maybe in my bag. Where did I put it…?) and I’m half asleep. My fingers are typing at about the same speed as I’m thinking. Come to think of it, it’s like the walking on the edge thing. When my mind’s just to preoccupied (or tired) to think about it, it performs the best. Now I know, I think the next time I gotta go on the balance beam, I’ll make sure I’m half asleep.

Ahem. So, that’s all for this entry. I typed from Friday to Saturday. Kind of. Not counting the time I spent watching Messiah 3: Part 2 on AXN just now, I think I spent about 50 minutes on this entry. Interesting. And FYI, Messiah 3 ended at 12 MN, so pardon my sleepiness. If you would excuse me (or even if you wouldn’t, I would still excuse myself), I’m on my way to bed now. Or maybe to reading Sherlock Holmes the Complete Collection, or maybe Journey into the Void (Sovereign Stone Trilogy Book III). It depends on my mood I guess.

Saturday, 11th June 2005, 12.54am

Windbane

2005-06-12T13:48:00.000+08:00

Ah. It's good to be back again. After so long, I've finally been released to do as I please, once again. Perhaps as a marking of said freedom, I shall celebrate by showing off a little piece I wrote some time ago, not too long after Tarsakh, in Mirtul. Having finished before Kythorn, I was a little preoccupied with other things, namely 'fleeing from the mad priests who have all got it into their heads that an elven sacrifice, moreover a vampiric one, would please the gods to no extent during the Time of the Flowers'.

Ahem. So on to my story. After all, 'tis not everyday that one may celebrate the freedom one enjoys, if only for a fleeting moment while the priests prepare for Eleasis and Eleint.

_____________________________

The long blade swished through the air as he danced to a music only he could hear. A dangerous thing to behold from such a close distance, yet nonetheless amazing. And of course, equally beautiful. Few could compare to the beauty that displayed itself in front of Windbane, so carelessly, not giving a thought for what emotions it might elicit out from any onlookers near-by. Naturally, as was the nature of the place they were in, Windbane was not alone in his silent spectatorship. More and more were surrounding the soundless spectacle, every moment getting themselves deeper and deeper enthralled in the mesmerising performance. Only once in a while, when the blade struck a little too close did it startle a whimper or gasp out of the otherwise still watchers.

Faster and faster he twirled, never stopping, never hesitating, dancing to an excellently choreographed ballet of stabs, thrusts and feints. Every now and then, his blade drooped a little, seeming, to any member of the audience who still was in any position to think of anything aside from the elegance of the performance, that he had faltered, only to realise in a moment that it was in a new position, accompanied now with yet another spinning, whirling blade.

It was indeed a breath-taking sight, in any and all regards, the very epitome of beauty and perfection melded into one, displayed in but these few minutes of dance and danger. The dance flawless in itself, only to be further accentuated by the danger that the subconscious felt and realised, was not so far away. The result was an experience that was faultless in every way, the danger causing every sense in the body to tingle with anticipation, the magnificence of the dance absorbed by the entire person, filling to the brim with an alertness that was somehow pleasing to the mind and body and soul.

The dance stopped suddenly, but somehow, it felt just the right length, as if before the dance one was already told the ending and the exact length, allowing one to predict the conclusion at the precise place.

As was expected at so enthralling a dance, none of those that surrounded him moved, at least for a short while. When he managed to clear his mind enough to see around his person, he tried to regain his bearings. The performance had indeed taken a lot out of him, yet he had gained, in a certain sense, more than he had lost. He bent over to retrieve his belongings, rummaging for his drinking skin, and draining it in a long measured draught. It would not do for him, he knew, to drink too quickly after exerting himself as he had just done, for it would only cause the water and a little stomach fluid to exit even faster.

Windbane was the first to break away from his position among the spectators, moving quietly and gracefully as he did so. His movements shattered the remaining hypnosis that the dance had cast upon the audience, causing a great number of them to look about self-consciously, only to realise that they were standing side by side with one of their mortal enemies. Many had been so entranced that they had simply shouldered their way to the front of the crowd in an effort to get as close to the dance as they could, not really caring who they shouldered aside, nor who they stood beside. Perhaps due to the lingering essence of the performance, all the audience left without a fuss, many of them giving each other warning looks and empty threats that they would not carry out, not in the light of the performer and his friend at least.

Standing beside his companion, Windbane watched as the remnants of the crowd departed, leaving behind a silence that was so perceptible to the senses that it was more felt, than heard. Snorting unbecomingly, Windbane trotted over to one of the many spots where some of the audience had left some of their belongings behind. Upon closer inspection, Windbane tossed his mane back and whinnied in protest.

“Bane, you of all people should know better than that! Aside from the occasional nuts and berries that they leave behind, not forgetting the half-eaten rabbit we once had left on one of my blades, they only leave the…” seeing the nasty look he was getting from his friend and steed, Dralir Elmstar continued carefully, “unmentionables.”

It’s easy for you to say when it isn’t you who steps on it. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to clean up this mess on my hooves? Cocking his head to one side that Dralir had in his long years of friendship with the asperus come to recognise as a teasing action, Windbane sighed comically and continued, I suppose the only consolation I have is that if I don’t get this off my hooves, you wouldn’t be able to stand the smell, you possessing that hyper sensitive nose of yours.

Sighing in resignation, Dralir raised both his hands in mock defeat and started towards the magical beast, scanning the ground for something, anything, to wipe off the leavings that a family of extremely well-fed squirrels had apparently left behind. “I don’t suppose you would care to help by…”

Dralir trailed off as he heard a scream, sounding tremendously out of place in the forest that both the elf and asperi called their home. Snapping his head up and staring hard at his mount as if Windbane could by some means unbeknownst to him explain what She was doing in the middle of their forest. Staring at his immediate surroundings helplessly, he tried to figure out why one of the them would be so desperate as to try something like that in a place such as this. Before he could reach a plausible conclusion, however, a second scream sounded. This time, Dralir recognised at once as a defence of some sort, the sound piercing through his skull and nearly freezing him to the spot. Scanning the trees around the glade he stood in, Dralir at once realised how stupid his reaction had been. There was no way he would be able to track her by her voice alone. Even if he could decipher which direction the scream came from, such a desperate cry would mean she was facing a very dangerous and powerful enemy and there was no way he could track her through the forest in time to rescue, or help pacify her. Moreover, her scream would render anyone, sentient being and animal alike, either dead or paralysed. If the scream had not worked on her enemy the first time, it did not matter how loud nor how many times she sought to try at all. That would also mean that since the second time had been louder and more powerful, it would place many, himself included, in mortal danger if she sought to scream again, whether in defence of herself or otherwise, and at the same time, not do any lasting damage, to her aggressor.

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And that was the conclusion to the first chapter thus far. If you enjoyed it, I would appreciate the feedback, and I might continue writing the rest. As of yet, I've but the faintest ideas on how to continue. However, should my 'need' to write continues, I would be delighted to resume this story on the earliest possible date.

Btw, I would like to know if anyone fell for my description at the beginning. On the other hand, I was originally describing a street side performance, but decided that Sword Dancing was just too fancy, traditional and sacred for a market place performer. And hence, Dralir was born.

Will continue writing later.

2005-06-09T13:52:00.000+08:00

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!

Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very Low
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Divine Comedy Inferno Test

Wow... I'm a heretic. And all I had always believed I was but a non-believer. But dang if I'm bothered by it. I scored VERY HIGH for both being a heretic and a virtuos non-believer. I never knew one could be both and either at the same time. And then I decided to rethink my answers a little, and now I'm:

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to the First Level of Hell - Limbo!

But in all the scores were still the same. Amazing how two questions when answered a different way can fare. I wouldn't say I'm a heretic, but I admit I'm a non-believer, fortunately or unfortunately, whichever it may be.

Strangely though, sometimes one can't help thinking, as a non-believer (as it is termed), what it's like to have faith. To believe in something must be a rather refreshing feeling, after doubting the world for a lifetime. I think I'll talk about that in another blog entry someplace else.

___________________________ Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Low
Schizoid:	Moderate
Schizotypal:	Moderate
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Moderate
Histrionic:	Moderate
Narcissistic:	Moderate
Avoidant:	Moderate
Dependent:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Information --

Whoa... I'm a moderate practically everything. Amazing. But after reading the 10 different personality disorders, I think I'm a mix of so many that they all conflict each other, and thus I can't be put in a single category. It's almost like that Simpson's episode where Mr whats-his-name (you know, Homer's boss, the really miserly old guy) found out he had so many illnesses that they all kinda balanced out and so he was healthy, although fatally ill.

But I have to say, these tests are really cute, in a very strange way. And can possibly shed a little light on your present situation. Okay, okay, they can't. But at least it will help poke fun of your present situation, and give yourself a little well-deserved break. That's for all you A'level students. You really need to relax. It's holidays man, try to give yourself a little break. All right?

Loneliness Quotient: 46%

Your Personalized Assessment Report:

An LQ score of 46 not the best, however it is still on the healthier side of the meter. This score is indicative of some problems that could be worked out, and we will take a closer look at specific areas of interest. A weak point for you is the situation with your friends, who are one source of your loneliness problem. This is an area that needs attention. Thankfully, your family is not a source of loneliness for you. Sometimes family can put a strain on your life, but in your case things seem to be okay. Your romantic life is, however, not a pretty picture. Significant improvements need to be made in this area to combat your loneliness. Finding a guy who compliments you will greatly reduce your LQ. Luckily, shyness is not a setback for you, which makes resolving the sources of your loneliness easier. Finally, a bright spot for you is that you don't suffer any major insecurity issues. This fact helps keep your LQ lower than what it might have been.

Take the Loneliness Quotient Test at Dating Diversions

And I never knew there was such a thing as a LQ. But cool, I'm not crazy at least. Right. If anyone is still reading this, I congratulate your patience, and I pity the fact that you've nothing better to do than read my lame tests.

______________________

Kiv, you're an Observer!

This means you're one of the more kind-hearted people around. You are unusually intuitive, and you probably understand yourself, as well as others. That also means you're a good mediator — though you may prefer to spend more time on your own than most.You are better equipped than many to steer your life in the right direction. Understanding more about the components of your personality will reveal unique information that even people like you might not realize. And the better you know yourself, the more confident you'll be making decisions that affect your life. And that's just scratching the surface!

This last one's from Tickle. Obviously I didn't pay the fee, so this is all I'm getting. A pity though. Anyway, I gotta pack up and go for my piano class. Will continue blogging nonsense on a later date.

And remember. You are reading the blog of a person who's supposedly gonna be thrown about between the 6th and 1st levels of hell. So that means that Charon will be pulling me from Satan's City whenever he can remember me, and the furies will be dragging me back from Limbo. Interesting company in both places though. Either get bored to death by the great but pagan philosophers and authors, or scream in torture and pain under the watchful eyes of the Furies. Interesting afterlife.

*Disclaimer: I'm only joking. I don't really think all that. Btw, for those who know about the Kiv's Space thingie, the site is up, but the music's giving me a pain in the arse.

Lost... not!

2005-06-07T13:34:00.000+08:00

Your EQ is

120
50 or less: Thanks for answering honestly. Now get yourself a shrink, quick!

51-70: When it comes to understanding human emotions, you'd have better luck understanding Chinese.

71-90: You've got more emotional intelligence than the average frat boy. Barely.

91-110: You're average. It's easy to predict how you'll react to things. But anyone could have guessed that.

111-130: You usually have it going on emotionally, but roadblocks tend to land you on your butt.

131-150: You are remarkable when it comes to relating with others. Only the biggest losers get under your skin.

150+: Two possibilities - you've either out "Dr. Phil-ed" Dr. Phil... or you're a dirty liar.

What's Your EQ (Emotional Intelligence Quotient)?

Got really bored, and found this on a blog. Incidentally, am happy that you're feeling better now. Although as I have said before, "I don't put my trust in your saying 'Fine' anymore."

Ahem. For those who have been asking, I'm fine. No, I did not crash-land someplace and have my own mini-series filmed. No, I did not get stuck in the toilet for an indefinite length of time. And I am absolutely certain I did not get abducted for over a week and failed to blog the whole of last week.

But on to more serious matters. Am feeling fine now. Do not think I will scream later tonight. Probably feeling more than a little literary. If I got sufficient time, I'll type out some really long philosophical piece on the meaning of some miserable little word I decided to dissect for no particular reason.

Meanwhile, you'll just have to hang on. I've got stuff to do, namely send an e-mail I do not want to send (make that two e-mails), and do Mathematics online. Literally. I gotta go to some webbie known only as MOL aka Maths on-line, and do a bunch of sums, but you've got to put the answer exactly the same, otherwise the computer will mark it wrong anyway. Like if you put fractions and the computer answer is in decimals, or vice-versa... I'll blog that later. I really gotta send those two long overdue e-mails.

By the way, I really had no idea I was that "emotional". Or does the EQ figure mean your ability to talk and relate to other people...? Well, ahem. Never mind that. I've got e-mails to send and mathematics to do. Not to mention places to go *mutters under breath* even if it is a maths tutorial.

HK Raves 1

2005-05-25T23:40:00.000+08:00

4/4/05, Monday morning.

7.15am – or around there at least.

I just bought a new notebook the other day at Popular and in all true honesty I intended for it to be a library for my written rants. But here I am, on the aeroplane, writing in it as if it were my diary (well, I suppose if you look at it technically, it is my diary, but not really.)

So, my general purpose of this entry? Well, I am sitting next to the window in what, in all the years of travel to and fro Hong Kong, I deem as the world’s smallest aeroplane. Well, the smallest commercial flight at least. Its an Airbus A320 (and for those who know me so well, yes, I just paused there for a second to double check the number. I am incorrigibly precise).

Anyway, I just saw the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen in my life thus far. From the plane window, of course. And as I quote Lucifer from that Sandman comic I just read a couple days ago, “I must admit it – The sunrise (or was it sunset?) was beautiful, you bastard.” Or something to that effect.

I don’t mean the ‘you bastard’ part, but despite my religion difference (or rather the lack thereof), for those few minutes there, I could believe that there was a God, or maybe a higher being, or at least a different place up there in the clouds, and I was looking at the gate to that place. I mean, the clouds were absolutely beautiful. When I first saw the sun coming up, it was as if I was staring at a gateway of some sort. You know how all those movies show that little scene where the clouds are kinda like parted and there is this base of clouds underneath, with light shining through the space in between? And there’s that divine voice or being or whatever speaking? Well, short of the voice, everything was there, and it really, really, lifted my spirits. I haven’t had a decent night’s rest for three days, and I woke up at 2.30am to get to the airport on time this morning, but that sunrise really just pumped me up, and gave me all this energy to take photos and smile and write all this as well, the primitive way – pen and paper. No laptops, unfortunately. My shoulder would positively die if I were to lug the thing from here to Hong Kong and back again for 18 days.

But anyway, back to the original topic. It was raining last night / this morning, and the sky was overcast when we took off, which, I have to tell you, is probably the most beautiful thing you could possibly see in the morn. Entering the clouds, it was akin to floating on mists. I mean normally, when you look out in the plane, you’re way above the clouds, which is nice, but nothing really spectacular. Ascending through the heavy clouds. There were four or five layers of clouds, about 10 or 20 metres of space in between each (distances and height get rather foggy when you’re in the plane (*note: Now as I’m typing all this out, I realise that the distance is actually closer to a couple hundred metres. I saw the height of the whole plane and more or less figured out that I was previously wrong.)), so there was practically a minute or two spent in between each layer. It was like walking on mists, with clouds above and below, and it was still dark, the sun hadn’t risen yet, so it was grey and dreary and all. It was like the ultimate setting for some sort of role playing game or a really amazing story of something. But I missed it. I mean I saw it, but I didn’t manage to get my camera out in time. I did manage to catch the sun emerging from behind the clouds and everything else, but not really very good pics. I mean, I forgot to change the setting, and everything was either blue, or too bright. But I caught a few good ones, though.

(*Just a little break here. Typing this out, I realise how lousy my grammar is when I write –pen and paper. Something about your thought processes moving at too high a speed for your hand to catch up. An example would be the number of times I used “I mean” in a single paragraph. Terrible. If I weren’t so tired of reading the thousands of words comprising the diary entries, I would change the grammar a little more. But trust me on this. The version you’re reading has already been highly edited. Most of the typical American high-school blond female jargon has been cut out. But I must emphasise – most, not all.)

At the moment, the plane’s far too high for any decent pictures, and the morning sun’s way too bright. But nice and cheery and warm all the same. Good, eh?

Right. So it’s nearly 8.00am now, and the burst of energy is running out. I really gotta sleep now; I’ve only got about 9 hours sleep for the past 72 hours or so, and I’m really conked out, especially with yesterday’s “Qing Ming Jie”. By the way, I met Danny there, at “Guang Ming Shan” aka Bright Hill monastery/temple (I’ve forgotten the English name). And that would be Danny Ng, not Seng. I doubt the latter has a religion, aside from occasionally (or maybe not so occasionally) claming to be Lucifer’s son reincarnate or something.

Ahem. Yes, right. So anyway I met Danny, but didn’t say much – I was lagging behind with my extended family far ahead (I was bored and tired), and Danny was probably bored too; he was hanging around and sms-ing or playing hand phone games or something. So we just said hi.

But I’m dead tired now, my eyes are half closed, and my nose is an inch and a half from the table right now. So I better go sleep.

Just past 8.05am. 4/4/05 Monday.

Oh man… The grammar and language is absolutely frightful… I’m not sure I can continue this… Nah. I’m kidding. Of course I will. You guys just wanna laugh at the BS I churn out on pen and paper right?

2005-05-25T23:39:00.000+08:00

An amazing swirl of clouds, if I may say so myself. The most beautiful picture I took. Definitely something I won't be able to see again anytime soon.

2005-05-25T23:38:00.000+08:00

Forgot to adjust the "blue-ness" of the picture.

2005-05-25T23:37:00.000+08:00

Another shot with way too much blue...

2005-05-25T23:36:00.000+08:00

Coming out of a bunch of clouds is Mr Sun at the right side just peeking out.

2005-05-25T23:35:00.000+08:00

And here, it just keeps getting brighter.

2005-05-25T23:34:00.001+08:00

A second shot at the same thing, but still with the wrong settings. Too bright this time, but the "two layer of clouds" is quite obvious here. (See grey white grey)

2005-05-25T23:34:00.000+08:00

This was the "gate thing" I talked about in my entry. A pity this was the first photo I took, and forgot the adjustments were meant for indoors at night and way too much fluorescent. Destroyed the effect, but I'll always remember the memory of it all.

2005-05-25T23:33:00.000+08:00

I'm looking up, not down. This is about the last time I saw clouds "above" me.

2005-05-25T23:32:00.001+08:00

You should have seen this. In real life, it felt like I was walking on clouds. Not those lousy smoke and fog producing machines they have in the film industry, but the real dreams you had when you were a kid...

2005-05-25T23:32:00.000+08:00

Notice the left side of the photo is darker? Well, that's 'cause we're pretty high up, and the sky is pretty dark despite the fact it's nearly 9 plus, 10 am in the morning.

2005-05-25T23:31:00.001+08:00

I was trying to capture the contrasting look here, but didn't really make it. The stupid window blocked the view. You can see it just coming in on the bottom right corner there.

2005-05-25T23:31:00.000+08:00

This was taken about 10 am, when the sun was really up. Love the way the clouds look. By the way, do you see a bear looking up at the sky at the top right side of the pic?

2005-05-25T23:27:00.000+08:00

This was taken for the sake of the sky above. No, my camera's not upside down, the plane engine is proof enough. But that's space high above there, where there's no light. Love the effect of the super dark sky above the really bright and glaring white clouds.

2005-05-25T23:26:00.000+08:00

This was another one like the previous one, but this one wasn't as nice. It still show the contrast between cloud and sky, and no, I did not flip the pic. The feeling is really amazing though, when you're looking at it through tired, half-closed lids.

2005-05-25T23:25:00.000+08:00

Now, I have no idea why this is behind, but this is the picture of the "gate" which I screwed up in front. It's really tons more beautiful in real life, with the sun beams literally coming through and above the clouds, and seeing the way it just lights up everything else... Pardon me for saying this, but I feel that this is probably the closest to heaven I'll ever get.

I Admit Defeat

2005-05-25T23:21:00.000+08:00

I finally understand why people don't like to read really long passages. I can tolerate it, normally, but when it comes to copying thousands of words, I draw the line there. I'm talking about the bunch of HK diary entries I promised thrice, and more than that to a couple of people, but have yet to put up.

Well, here and now, I admit defeat. So, I decided I shall post excerpts from my little notebook that I kept. Naturally, they'll be the ones that sound a little more "cheem" than my general air-head talk.

By the way, since I was on holiday, I wrote very much in the style of airheads. So, forgive and forget the poor grammar, the excessive use of "like" and the inability to construct proper sentences that flow like their supposed to.

I'll be putting them up every few days, so keep your eyes "peeled" for them. There isn't really a lot that won't make me a laughing stock, mostly from the first week or so, when I still could speak English. The rest, well, I wish I could write Cantonese, since I was definitely speaking it for the better part of three weeks.

Well, as they say in show business, without further ado ("Whatever an ado is", as quoted from a TV series), I shall post day 1 of the HK Raves.

Have Men gone mad?

2005-05-25T21:31:00.000+08:00

A bunch of guys I know lately, not a single one of them related to the other, have been acting extremely weird. To show you I mean, I can only use pictures to describe. As they say (and as my friend just wrote on his blog lately)," A picture is worth a thousand words", not that that is a problem when I start ranting. My rants are probably worth a couple of pictures ay? And rather big ones too...

But here goes a couple of the weirder ones I've been seeing lately...

2005-05-25T09:34:00.000+08:00

Right. So first up, is Obi-Wan. No, I don't know Obi-Wan Kenobi, nor do I know Ewan Mc Gregor (although one can wish), but it's about his hair. I actually know for a fact that someone I know is looking to adopt that little pigtail-along-the-side hairstyle.

Ahem. Yes, keep your comments to your self for this one. Actually, I know a couple of someones. The first person I ever knew who was Star Wars mad enough asked me if he'd look good with a lightsabre. The second was asking something about changing his name to Darth something-else. The next few involved dressing like padawans, or Darth Vadar, or having face make-up like Darth Maul. And there was that interesting one about the long cloak... So, pigtails don't sound that bad, doesn't it? Compared to going home and having your mom say, "Ah Boy! What have you done outside! Look at you, your face looks so bruised! Oh wait. That's make-up..." Or something.

But one has to admit. It doesn't look too bad, once you guys get your brain washed up. I mean, it's not like it's 302! (For those who don't know what that means, go ask anyone in NS)

2005-05-25T09:29:00.000+08:00

Second up. What do these guys think they're doing?! I know the Japanese girls supposedly look "kawaii" in this, but hey! You're guys for goodness sake.

But no, seriously, I think it's kinda funny. Obviously they were going for this super lame look, and they achieved it. Congratulations.

2005-05-25T09:28:00.000+08:00

And last, but not least, welcome to the homo society. Obviously, this photo is posed. No one would be caught dead in this position in front of a camera otherwise. Strange thing was that there were all of a couple hundred people in that hall at that time, and no one who wasn't intended to see this noticed. Well, hopefully, no one who sees this will know anyone in the piccy.

*Warning: The pictures were posed for fun. Don't think otherwise. As for the pigtail thingy, it's not illegal to have long hair if you're a guy. My cousin (male, 25) has a ponytail, and he doesn't look gay. To be exact, he looks kinda hippy-ish. Quite nice, I have to say, but once again, pigtails and ponytails only look nice on certain people, guys and girls alike.

2005-05-20T01:51:00.000+08:00

I was game surfing the other day, a long, long time ago, about the same time as when I posted "Runescape Madness", when I came across this game. Vanguard, Saga of Heroes. I think the game should be worth playing, a pity it actually costs money... Ahaha... Yes, I know. I'm a miser.

2005-05-20T01:48:00.000+08:00

Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith has opened! And I watched it! Whee! The movie may not be as cool as some hoped, but this picture just rules, doesn't it? The clash of good and evil and all that stuff...

Strange

2005-05-20T00:59:00.000+08:00

How such moods come across me, I'll probably never know. There I was, so hyper and mad today, came home, and started that really nonsensical entry about movies. I was even planning to "spam" on one of those forums I frequent (under a different name, of course). And then I saw a comment from a friend of mine on my blog. It isn't really what was written in the comment of course, those of you who bother to search for it would find that it probably doesn't make much sense anyway. It was... I don't know. The sobriety involved, I suppose, that really got me in this mood. Honestly, I had planned to write about this two entries ago, but Desperate Housewives caught me in such a bad timing, and ruined my perfect ranting mood. Thus I had abandoned my raving, and ended the entry abruptly.

The thing I really wanted to talk about, was hinted somewhere in the middle. The part about "fellow brudder". It's strange actually, when a part of you wants to be part of the enthusiasm, and hence part of the "brudder-hood", if not the, and so aptly named by my classmates, "ya-ya-sisterhood: for boys only". I suppose, to add on to my earliest rantings about masks, the problem with slipping one on, is the fact that it is unmistakably to oneself, always only a mask. In the end, no matter how much we change, or how much we believe we have altered our lives and thus experiences, there is always a shred of the original self lurking behind. A self which resents that which we have become, a self that begrudges all change - up until, and including the ones we have forced upon ourselves.

And here I arrive at my point regarding the "brudders". I'm an introvert. I make no effort to hide it, nor do I shy away from the fact. Any, and every personality test ever taken, some of which was forced down my throat by my school (for some unknown reason, I suppose to test if we have gone on to the "dark side") has revealed it as thus. I'm an introvert! Whee!

Right.

But that's my point. Having a mask of an outgoing person, one who's mad, crazy, hyper, and all such things is draining. Worse than most shields, I suppose, for to be the utter opposite of what you were born to be often leads to many cases where all shields just give way, and everything just pours out in a seemingly never-ending torrent of emotion and anger. The thing is, the whole "brudder" thing was in the making all along. Maybe I was aware of it, maybe I wasn't. But the whole point is that it has happened. Everyone treats me like one of the "divine brudderhood", and hence it is expected of me to react and to continue this brudder status as I have. Strange however, that no one notices the act. Maybe I've done it so often in its complete entirety that I've succeeded in pulling the wool over the eyes of everyone else, but it still doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. When all is said and done, I'm still who I am inside, and the worst part of it, I believe, is that EVERYONE treats you like a "brudder". Nothing else matters. Not the fact that you aren't really one, nor the point that it is theoretically impossible for me to be a "brudder", both physically and mentally, and definitely not the point that you aren't really like that. As the old saying goes, "You are what you are envisioned by others to be. Who you think you are doesn't matter, because that aspect of you doesn't really exist." And hence, I am a "brudder". But not really.

It's strange. I suppose no one really knows what all this means, I barely remember what it's about. My mum called me away to discuss my brother's (in her eyes and my father's) non-existent future. Maybe those words are a little on the harsh side, but the problem with being the "more responsible sibling" is that all those little family discussion moments often happen when you are present, and the "less responsible one" is away. Doesn't really matter that you're the youngest either...

Arghh. I think I was just depressed because I talked to Darryl that day on the CCA fiesta. I mentioned lightly, although of course I felt a lot more than that, that I was probably the worst of them all, since they had the benefit of 2 competitions up their sleeves, and I had none. His reaction, a little pep talk, and ending off with a "we're all brudders, we stand by each other" kind of speech. Not that those were his exact words, I assure you, but that was the gist. I don't know, maybe I knew it was coming, but I definitely was not surprised when he bestowed the title of "fellow brudder" on me for the first time that day.

______________________________

Reminds me of tons of times when I suddenly realised I was the only "not real brudder" among 5 or 6 members of the brudderhood, having lunch and just crashing in general. And the other times when you just wish they'd treat you like any other normal element of your side of the human race, and your disillusionment is destroyed by a simple action like a pat on the back or a joke punch on the shoulder followed by the words "Yo, brudder!" Some times, it might be that I really am born on the wrong end of the ladder that balances everything.

But then again, it's not their fault. I started it. I suppose the mask I've slipped on one too many times, and have become my trademark, has finally become me. My mad jokes, my lame speeches, the craziness incorporated into my actions, everything that was a lie and a mask has become part of who I am.

But I resent it. Strangely, while that little self is still an introvert, the rest of me no longer is. I can't live without the people and the "brudders", I can't live without the friends whom mistaken me for the mask I wear... Everything depends on keeping that mask intact. And so, when that little self emerges, and sees something that it likes and points it out, the mask is torn between keeping up the "brudder" status, and being what I was born to be.

________________________________

Once again, as usual I am, upon reflection of what I have written, going to beg and whine and bother you until you promise never to reveal that which was written here. Especially to spiff, I don't mind you reading it, nor any of my other friends who actually can burrow through the nonsense and rantings and reach this ending, but I'd appreciate that you do not tell anyone. Especially not from NPDS. Although, maybe you could mention it to Fanny... Maybe I could bget kicked off my position from Klavierensemble...

No, no, I'm not serious. Don't mention it to anyone. And I'd appreciate it. This was just a regular ranting that's been long overdue.

Ashes, I just like you to know that if you don't send me an e-mail regarding the name "Fanny", I'd appreciate it even more. Ever since the last one you sent about the Organ Players, I really, really couldn't think about the word organ without my face contorting in absolute horror.

And so I get bored again...

2005-05-19T23:20:00.000+08:00

Your #1 Match: ISTJ

The Duty Fulfiller

You are responsible, reliable, and hardworking - you get the job done.
You prefer productive hobbies, like woodworking or knittings.
Quiet and serious, you are well prepared for whatever life hands you.
Conservative and down-to-earth, you hardly ever do anything crazy.

You would make a great business executive, accountant, or lawyer.

Your #2 Match: ESTJ

The Guardian

You're a natural leader and quick, logical decision maker.
Goals are important in your life, and you take many steps to acheive them.
You enjoy interacting with others, mostly through work related activities.
Your high energy level means you are great at getting things done!

You would make a great teacher, judge, or police detective.

Your #3 Match: ISTP

The Mechanic

You are calm and collected, even in the most difficult of situations.
A person of action and self-direction, you love being independent.
To outsiders yous eem impulsive, surprising, and unpredictable.
You are good at understanding how all things work, except for people.

You would make an excellent pilot, forensic pathologist, or athlete.

What's Your Personality Type?

Right. So there's a little bit of nonsense I found online today. There were other things, but I decided this was the only thing worth my trouble signing in and all. Anyway, for those of you who have yet to watch the summer blockbusters, I advise you to go away, and come back after you watch them. Because if not, well, don't say I didn't warn you...

________________________

First up, Kingdom of Heaven. The movie was cool. And I don't care what everyone says, but I think all the charaters were really cool. Especially the guy (I've forgotten his name) who was wearing black, and rode off to die because he was ordered to. The stuff he said about religion, well, it's not because I'm lacking in that department, but I think he's right. Or at least, whatever he said is the closest I have ever come to agreeing with someone on said topic. Tiberius was fine, but of course, it was Jeremy Irons...

The other person I really thought was cool, was King Baldwin the Leper. I mean, I never thought a dying king could ever be so cool. Okay, so I'm biased towards Edward Norton, but anyone who's ever seen that movie he was in, with him doing the mad murderer split personality would think he is definitely one of the better actors, if not A-list material. But his lines were amazing. And the stuff he said...

Last, we come to the protagonist (I didn't get the term wrong, right? My Lit teacher would so kill me...), Balian. The only thing I've got to say, is that the character is really, really, awesome. Not taking the actor into consideration, I would say that the script writer and director did a marvellous job bringing out the character of the grieving blacksmith turned knight. Only two things marr the image:

1) The fact that he literally jumped into bed with the Princess Sybilla, while he's still seeking forgiveness and repentence for his own sins, let alone his wife's

2) The all so American, so mood destroying "So I say let them come! Let them come!" speech. You know, before that little speech there, I was putting down Balian as one of my all-time faves. And then the too American words come spewing forth, and the actions, so modern day, so... American.

Well, pardon me if I'm sounding a bit anti-American, but with such an English cast (Liam Neeson, Orlando Bloom, Jeremy Irons), hearing such a jarring American-ish phrase just ruins the mood. I tell you, for most of the 2 hours plus, I was so in the mood. And then came the atmosphere destroying speech, and it never truly recovered since then... What a pity.

____________________________________

Next, Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith. I know for sure, almost ALL of you have not watched it, so reading beyond this point is your own funeral. Don't drag me into the grave as well...

Aha. I've repeated this a dozen times, and I'd be glad to say it for another score more. Anakin Skywalker is soo... junkie looking in this film. And so is Palpatine (or however you spell it). Kind of dumb, nothing much to say, I'm not that big of a Star Wars fan. I've always preferred old fantasy to scientific fantasy...

Oh all right. There is that little bit about Anakin being so heartless in the Jedi Temple, and the part that Padme Amidela (is that how you spell her last name?) couldn't believe that her beloved "Ani" could have turned to the dark side. If you look at it from a technical point of view, one has to admit that all the actors did amazingly well. Especially Hayden Christensen. However, somehow... It doesn't feel right. The way that everything flows, the way that the story ends, it just doesn't feel like a good movie. There were plenty of touching parts, including the part where the youngling speaks to "Master Anakin" and realises his error when the latter's lightsabre comes on... Man, the look on the youngling's face could have melted the iciest heart of stone.

But still, there's something lacking. I guess it all boils down to the fact that I'm not a sci-fi fan. But then again, I'm so totally in love with Dune, and Children of Dune. The Hallmark edition, not the lousy name-spoiling movie they had during the era of the first Star Wars movie. I really love that "hero in one book", "possibly the bane of the entire galaxy in the next", and then "the probable messiah for the universe" kind of character build up. Yes, for those who read the Dune series, I'm talking about Leto II Atreides.

But back to the point. Star Wars is good, I suppose. Much better than episode 2 at least, but I think it was lacking, somehow. I can't describe the feeling, it just is.

_______________________

Next movie? Well, I haven't watched anything worth commenting about. All I'm going to say, is that I'll retract my statement regarding Hitchiker's. It doesn't look too bad, but I believe it's no where near the book. But it does have it's own merits, and so, I shall watch it. Also, I'm planning to watch War of the Worlds, and Madagascar. But I think the latter will be on VCD, or borrowed from someone. Well, that's all I'm planning to watch this summer, as far as I know. Anyone wants to "book" me for watching movies, you're more than welcome. So long as it doesn't require cutting classes.

Sorry buds, but that's still my rule. Anything goes, just not late nights, and no skipping lessons. I'm still that much of a bookworm, I guess.

I'm back!

2005-05-16T22:40:00.000+08:00

Aha! I have returned! *waits for the dramatic music to play, and the cool lighting to flood in*

*Cough cough, sniffles* Ahem... *Clears throat*

Okay, maybe I'm not that back yet, but I'm writing again. Sort of, at least. Well, I've got nothing to report, aside from the fact that I've been found out. Oh shucks. A pity though, and there I was, gullible enough to think that no one would ever figure out I was involved in two CCAs. So what really happened, for those of you whom I have not been nice enough to enlighten, was that I was some how, against my wishes (you can believe me in this matter, and no, Ashes, it ain't funny. Cut out the sniggering.) voted by the rest of the ex-co of a certain CCA to be part of the ex-co. Weird huh?

Well, anyway, I'm part of the ex-co in a CCA which I don't really love all that much. I mean, I still love the piano, which is what the CCA is about, and I really like the people, and the instruments, and the chance to get to play a really expensive keyboard/synthesiser (I mean, come on guys, as a fellow 'brudder', who wouldn't?) and all that stuff... What I can't understand is the lack of camaraderie despite the enthusiasm we all share. And the headaches, and the locked out of house affairs, and all the stuff which are happening to me ever since I joined the CCA.

Not that I really want to boast or anything, and much less want to be the harbinger of doom and all, but I told them so. I told them so in the beginning that it wouldn't work. At that time, they were all rather cynical about my background, and my words, but look at them now. More than half of them are on my side now, only that I don't know why I bother to take sides anymore. So many things I told them before, has really happen thanks to their shitty leadership.

*takes a deep breath* Okay, before I go on any further today, I should first warn my *smiles extremely wide* dear friends reading this blog. *Grabs the front of reader's shirt* If you ever, ever, ever let out what I said about the piano CCA, especially to the rest of the ex-co, I shall personally have your head. Or I'll let Fulheim play soccer with that lump of **** on your shoulders. OR, I could let Keylia turn you into a toadstool. OR, I could arrange for Berith to stab you in the back, and let Leranspir practice his ill-learnt necromancy spells on what's left of you.

Ahem. So that's that.

___________________________________

But honestly. Sorry, to those who bother to read my blog all the time. I know you've all had to tolerate the frequent (if I may borrow the word from the comic strip Baby Blues) cussing, and the more than occassional *s. I also understand that not many people like to listen to other people bitch about their problems. Incidentaly, I just heard something off Desperate Housewives: "What if you want to be a friend, but you can't stand people bitching?" "Then you pretend."

Argh... Watching Desperate Housewives while writing your blog totally destroys your mood. I guess I'll wait till tomorrow, and I'll go stark raving mad after watching Kingdom.

Kingdom of Heaven

2005-05-05T19:20:00.000+08:00

Kingdom of Heaven opens today. Yes, I do want to watch it. No, it's not because of certain people acting in it. To be exact, I should say, "I want to watch it despite some people acting in it."

Unknown Poem

2005-04-29T15:17:00.000+08:00

My love is of a birth so rare
As ‘tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so diving a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne’r have flown
But vainly flapt its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended Soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds it self betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect Loves; nor lets them close:
Their union would her ruin be,
And her Tyrannic pow’r depose.
And therefore her Decrees of Steel
Us as the distant Poles have plac’d,
(Though Love’s whole World on us doth wheel)
not by themselves to be embrac’d.

Unless the giddy Heaven fall,
And Earth some new Convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the World should all
Be cramp’d into a Plainsphere.

As Lines so Loves oblique may well
Themselves in every Angle greet:
But ours so truly Parallel,
Though infinite can never meet.

Therefore the Love which us doth bind
But Faye so enviously debars,
Is the Conjunction of the Mind,
And Opposition of the Stars.

- Unknown

_________________________

You know, I saw this poem when I was in HK, and honestly, it would astound you as to where I saw this. Either this poem is so deep and profound that not everyone can understand what it's about, or it's utter and complete nonsense. Actually, my reason for putting this up is to ask you guys reading my blog if you've seen this before... I really want to know who the poet is...

Will probably discuss the poem in length at a later date. At the moment, I'm a little busy with a dinner reservation... With 4 guys... Ahaha... You who know me, undoubtedly you can guess what the irony in the situation is...

Incomplete Quotations

2005-04-28T11:48:00.000+08:00

“Where I’m going is anybody’s guess.”

Destination. Is it truly that important? Some have said, and I don’t mean the normal people but the philosophers and such, “The journey is the most important thing in life. The arrival at the destination is just a side effect.”

So does it mean that people who have, proverbially, lost their direction in life have the most fulfilling and exciting life? After all, they don’t have a destination. Or even if they do, they probably wouldn’t have known if they had been there before. They just keep on going. It’s almost as if for them life was a big journey. Of course, to those who don’t really believe in this stuff, I’m just going to say, you can accept it if you may: As, if I remember correctly, Terry Pratchett once wrote, life is a journey. It’s the one where you take the first step on this amazing road trip the moment you first open your eyes up until the moment you close them for good.

Of course, if seen from that point of view, it’s quite obvious that destination isn’t exactly what we’re all looking forward to. The journey is possibly the one which no one wants ended, or cut short abruptly.

But back to a less cynical view, the destination they mean possibly means where you’re going with your life. Quite obviously not Death, although we must all take that path one day, but the other paths. The ones which everyone talks about, but don’t really know what it is, or how to put/convey the idea.

______________________

“Voices tell me I should carry on.”

* Hopefully here, he’s referring to divine intervention, or his conscience. If it’s the other kind – the type which is accompanied by dancing leprechauns and twirling fairy lights – then good luck to him. *

Ahem. Well, this refers to having your life hit the bottom, and people, or possibly yourself (or in the most uncertain, the latter from above) try to encourage you and get you to pick yourself up.

Does it really work though? Has anyone ever thought about that? For the suicidal, or the utterly pessimistic, carrying on would only mean more hurt, more pain, and a second chance for the bottom to get a good look at one’s face again. Possibly a very sudden, very painful look, especially when seen from one’s view, not from the rock’s.

You know, maybe this other line from the middle verse can help sufferers of this down in the dumps syndrome.

“I don’t want to make you face this world alone.”

Ahaha… I just realised the moment I typed that how unlikely anyone is ever gonna say this to anyone down in the dumps. It sounds like an invitation to a mass suicide… I’ll skip this one. (Not a good thing to say, especially if the line after this comes concurrently: “I don’t want to make you face this world alone, I wanna let you go.”)

______________________

“I’m awake, but my world is half asleep.”

Sound familiar? I suppose it does. And it works for practically every single situation if you spent but a moment standing aside and just looking at the situation from a distant. I guess he meant that feeling you get when the world seems to be made out of cotton and fog, everything’s just kinda moving so slowly, and nothing seems to make any sense. Everything’s foggy and blur, and when you try to look at something really hard, to make out what it is, you realise that it’s like a cloud: What one person sees as a puppy, looks like a dinosaur to another and a car or a ship to yet someone else. Everything in the world is a mess of interpretations, and nothing anyone else says makes sense. Even that idea that you had two seconds ago seems so implausible, and nothing seems right.

And then all of a sudden, it’s like the world’s snapped back in place – or you’ve been snapped out of, to be in sync with the rest of them – and everything makes a weird kind of sense. Or rather, it makes perfect sense now; but only… if you put this perfect sense back into the same context as the one you were thinking of just a moment before, it doesn’t work out at all.

And we all just move on regardless of the number of such episodes we’ve got. Those who never make it back in sync with the rest of us dreamers, they’re someplace else, seeing everything so much clearer. Yet there’s a price to pay: in order to do so, they’ve left their bodies behind in some asylum or another to better let their mind’s eye read the truths.

I suppose there’re two types of people right now, who’ve read this entry thus far. Those who think I’ve seriously hit a major nerve in my brain, and am utterly and insanely hopeless.

The others of course, might actually agree. I’ve already got a few people in mind whom I’m quite sure have probably felt this way before, or at least can relate to what I’m saying. To these, here’s a question to you all:

You know you’re not really seeing the truths, you’re not really thinking the right way. But if you were given a chance to, would you? Would you give up the bliss of ignorance and find out the hard facts of life? The real ones? Not the distorted shapes we’ve been interpreting.

You know your own answers. I’m almost certain regardless whether the answer “Yes” or “No” is on your lips, in your heart, the answer is an anonymous “No”. Reason is simple: If you really wanted to look for the truth, what are you doing back here? You’ve already had those little glimpses of the other side, if one may term it as such. Even if one were incapable of controlling these lapses, why put them aside so quickly? Why be so certain of locking up such ideas? For fear of rejection? For fear of humiliation? From the rest of the others? But all of that’s a lie, isn’t it? So why stop yourself from looking for the truth if all that’s keeping you back is the lie?

___________________________

If there could be a voice over, I would put one in here, in the style of those deep, wise, and ancient sounding (but not cranky or cackly), female voice speaking thus,

But you like the lies, don’t you? It’s what you’re so used to, it’s what you’ve used to cushion yourself from the harsh effects of everything else. After all, when everything else is a lie, why shouldn’t you be? The truth is, we don’t want to know the truth, not because of truth in itself, but because we’re afraid to lose the lies – especially the ones we’ve built upon ourselves.

_____________________________

I think I should end the dismal sounding chapter here. I would like to add that the above quotations surrounded by the open and closed inverted commas come from the lyrics of a song. One that’s on air now, but not in the stores yet. If I’m correct, the album should be out some time in June. In the US at least. I’m not sure about here…

Okay, okay. I won’t hide from the disclaimers… The song’s Incomplete, single from the upcoming album Never Gone, by the Backstreet Boys. For those who did not change their internet watchamacallit, you should be able to hear it in the background. IE5 and IE6 is okay, I think.

(Look guys, stop giving me that look. I happen to think that they sound good. Better than N’Sync at least. By the way, don’t sue. That’s my personal view. Freedom of speech and all.)

Oh yeah, one more thing. The song is totally not as dark as my entry, so don’t expect screaming and revelations from the song. Seriously. The song’s about a guy losing his girl or something like that. Or maybe he’s trying to let go of his girl and all…

_________________________

Argh. Just re-read this entry, and realised it wasn’t half as bad as I thought. I mean dismal, sadistic, bad. Not good, bad, bad. It sounded a lot more serious and a lot more unhappy, more un-something in my head. Can’t seem to find that word right now.

And I’m not going crazy. I don’t think dark, unholy, thoughts when listening to boy band music. It’s not my natural state of mind. I just got the inspiration while reading the lyrics, and while listening to the instrumental part – the part with the piano and the strings playing alone. Of course, you gotta tune down the drums in your head a little. Kind of distracting. But if you listened to the background, just the piano and strings, and ignored the voice, it’s really great music for inspiring sombre thoughts.

And it didn’t really mean to turn out like that. Just repeated listening to the same song does strange things to your head, and you get weird ideas when you type, did you know that? When you’re typing just a little faster than your thought processes, there’s that certain speed when the two are so perfectly co-ordinated that new thoughts kind of just emerge, and you never end off.

That which is happening right now. This little post-entry part was only meant to be a paragraph long, but look what I’m crapping right now. That does it. I’m signing off here.

8:33pm – Tuesday, 26 April 2005

* Ps. the blog entries from HK are still under construction. Please hold.

I'm back!

2005-04-21T15:40:00.000+08:00

Woohoo! Guess what? I'm back in front of my best pal ever - my laptop! Yay!

Ahem. Forgive me for the momentary lapse. It happens to people every now and then, and yours sincerely is not immune to the faults and sins of mankind (despite much trying).

Anyway, I just wanted to let the people who read this know that I'm not dead, or concussed, or anything. I'm perfectly well, and back from HK, although it gets a little disturbing since I'm beginning to think in Cantonese. No, don't look at me like that, it's not that. You try going to another country that speaks a totally different language/dialect, and you try to get your life back in order...

Anyway, just like to inform you, I haven't been entirely idle during my holiday. To be exact, I was itching to get back to my writing. I've got a huge number of blog entries written down in pen and paper, and a couple of other inane ramblings, and I fully intend to put it up. I'll probably stick it up there some time soon (not there you pervs... You guys are always so... vulgar, even in your mind... Okay, I admit. I'm not much better :p), as soon as I figure out where my life has gone without me the past 18 days, and as soon I catch up with and rein in my problems. Right. So here's a little sample of what I've been writing in my notebook...

________________________

I think I can safely add the teeny midi game music that comes from those small hand held games to the category of "Really irritating sounds heard repetitively on the MRT/MTR". Alongside are the champions "Stupid handphone ringtones" and "People who do not pick up their handphones and let their Nokia ringtone go on and on and on". Of course, in terms of a joke, the most annoying sound has to be the first seven notes of "It's a small world" whistled repeatedly without stopping".

____________________

The entry would have been longer, but I maximised the length of three sms-es. That's a couple hundred of characters. Okay, alright. I lied. Not all my entries were handwritten. For goodness sake, it's the era of computers! I type faster than I write. Although my sms-ing skills are only marginally better than writing... Not to worry though, most of my entries are hand-written, so they'll be longer (they took forever to write as well...)

The above was composed in a moment of fury, when I was stuck in a crowded MTR in HK, and some kid was playing some really noisy game. I tell you, when your journey is so boring, and you're stuck for at least half an hour to an hour in the MTR, you feel like murdering the kid...

*Ps. For the unaware, it's known as MTR in HK, and MRT back home.

Runescape madness

2005-04-01T23:49:00.000+08:00

Yup, and now, it’s the part all of you have been dreading! It’s update time! Time to bore all of you to death with my second by second retelling of how miserable my life was the past week!

Okay, okay, I was just joking. Nothing actually happened. Except for that stupid thing regarding runescape. Err, those of you who have known me since Secondary school would probably know that I don’t really like games (computer games at least). I get tired of them really quick, and then I would rather hang myself than play it again (although of course, I would very much prefer to be stuck in a library of the complete series of every single Forgotten Realms book ever written).

Those of you who have known me since sec 3 would probably remember my extremely embarrassing time when I got addicted to an internet online game… Neopets, of all damnable things. Well, thankfully that only lasted the better of six months or so.

These few weeks, I got hooked on something else. I’ve been addicted to those little freebie games they have on Yahoo! since last week. And on Monday, I graduated to Real Arcade. While I was surfing for something else to play, I stumbled upon a long-forgotten link, dusty with the cobwebs spun by the copious spiders of the internet, spreading its tendrils into…

Ahem. Sorry. A little writers’ bug bit me on the arm back there. Anyway, as I was saying, I came upon a link of all the online games they had. Most of them were small minor stuff like Zuma, or Solitaire, or Mah Jongg (I still wonder why Caucasians are such lousy spellers), or Diner Dash. This one had a very interesting name: Runescape. So I clicked it.

And lo and behold, it brought me to www.runescape.com (No, they are not paying me to publish them, I haven’t sold out, as my brother so kindly terms it, yet.). And I have to say, once you’ve got a hang of it, it’s quite a fun game. It’s a MMORPG, by the way, so don’t always pay attention to all those irritating people. Some of them are just idiots.

By the way, you’ll love this. One of their weapons is a chicken on a stick or something. Basically, it’s a chicken which has been hardened or something, and they use the beak to stab you. Don’t laugh yet! It does plenty of damage to you! Much more than an ordinary sword, at least. (And yes, Spiff, I think it’s the same place as the web page you showed me that time. Strange how small the world can be at times, eh? Even the vast and bountiful internet.)

So my point here, is that I had the hardest addiction in my life. I was thinking about the game Monday through Thursday, and resisting every cell in my body down to the last mitochondria, since they all wanted to go back and play the game. (See what I mean when I say I fight an addition?)

Today, after my blessed freedom at 12pm, I got home, and ate, and started playing. And man, I was like god! It was so cool, and my character advanced several levels so fast! And then I made the world’s biggest mistake.

You know how all those MMORPGs have different characters doing different things at the same time? And everything interacts with each other? Well, I forgot. I was at the sidelines picking berries (don’t give me that look! I was on a quest, the apothecary needed some berries and I was picking them) and there was this gigantic battle going on just beyond my screen. So, I finished picking them berries, and then guess what happened.

The battle going on was between a couple of level 30-somethings and level 50-somethings, versus a bunch of demon priests and, well, a demon. I was a cute little level 8 warrior standing on the sidelines berry-picking.

Oh yes. I can see all of you “lol” and “rofl” at the moment. I can see it all too clearly. So I was struck by the priest once, and I lost half my life. And then here’s a little fact in Runescape. By default, your character walks, and it’s super slow. However, you don’t use up energy when you walk, so it’s better. So I left my default on walk.

Back to the story:

So there I was (in real life I mean), freaking out on the keyboard, trying like hell to change my default movement, trying to make my character run away, when that evil priest was behind me clubbing my head with a staff in the game, and my character was – walking.

I really couldn’t resist, but imagine if this was all in real life, I suppose it would go something like this:

___________________

Thorgral, warrior level 37 was battling the demon Drelith, and the evil priests who had summoned him. Along his side were Leranspir, an elf mage level 42, an innocent bystander who had been pulled into the circle of casting by the priests via their foul magics.

Out of nowhere appeared several valiant others: Keylia, a half-elven ranger level 29 with a small array of druidic magic; Fulheim, a hulk of a human barbarian, level 33, who counted orc blood as his ancestry; and Berith, a quick fingered thief and rogue, level 40, whose expertise in poisons and ranged weapons came into quick and deadly use in battle.

*---*

The battle raged long and hard, with no clear sign of an imminent victor. In the midst of the battle, Thorgral could have sworn he heard Keylia shout, “Who in the world is that pig-headed, ass-brained nincompoop whose picking cadeva berries at the sidelines?!” But of course, it was a fierce battle, and Thorgral was bleeding profusely. Hallucination was expected, especially where the foul priests of a damned god was concered.

He was not so sure, when barely seconds later, he heard Leranspir exclaim, “That bloody idiot’s only a single digit level for goodness sake! What in all the Hades is he doing so close to the circle of casting?!”

Just as Drelith lay his final colossal stroke upon Thorgral, breaking his back and ending his career, at least as far as demon-slaying was concerned, he saw through red mists enclosing upon him, a curious sight.

There, barely a few yards from his fallen sword, was a young elf, an aspiring young man who was carrying in his hands – berries. Red berries, and cadeva berries. I must be going mad, seeing such a sight at the time of my leaving… Just then a priest stepped out from behind a pillar and cast his staff in the direction of Wyn.

“Ouch! What was that for? If you want some berries, you could have said so. Here. Would you like some?” the young elf approached the priest at a leisurely rate, strolling as if he were in a royal garden of some sort, and not a casting circle of foul magic, amidst a life and death struggle between good and evil, saint and sinner.

Staring in complete and utter disbelief at Wyn, Berith tried to buy the ignorant elfling a little time by fitting a poison dart into his pipe, and readying a breath to exhale. His kiss of death was stopped short when he saw his temporary comrades in greater trouble, or at least trouble of greater import when the demon Derlith completed crushing the bag of flesh and bones which had been, up until a minute ago, the house of the soul of a great warrior – Thorgral.

Swinging his pipe around, he emptied in quick succession his pipe, followed by his throwing daggers he kept on his sleeves. The idiot will have to take care of himself for now. I’ve got better things, nay… more profitable things to do then saving an idiot of a level 8 elf.

*---*

Fulheim reared back, raising his sledgehammer far above his head, to bring it down with devastating force upon a gaggle of priests. Straightening his posture, he turned to see the elfling realise his mistake and begin to turn away from the battle. Smiling fiercely, he hefted his bloodied hammer in one hand and began to swing it around slowly, gaining momentum for the throw that was about to strike.

*---*

“Oh, so you aren’t interested in the berries? Oh well, never mind. I assume you must have struck my shoulder because you mistook me for somebody else. It’s no matter, I assure you, I’ll just be on my way then.” Turning back to the road, Wyn proceeded to saunter at his leisurely pace.

Trying to twist its already twisted mind upon the concept of being ignored, the priest screamed its fury, and raised its staff above its head, waving its arms and weaving the staff, casting yet another fearsome spell.

Upon completion, eldritch symbols carved onto both staff and arm of the caster began to glow, and a great mass of poisonous mist descended upon the ignorant youngster.

“That is bad. He’s pissed the high priest off now. I hope he’s happy…” Keylia muttered to herself, raising her composite bow, she pulled back the bowstring as she uttered the beginning incantations to an ancient druidic spell.

Staggering and waving his hands blindly in front of him, Wyn emerged from the poisonous mist coughing and sputtering. “I say, will you watch where you point that, young man? You might put someone’s eye out with that.”

Striding confidently (into the awaiting arms of death), Wyn raced his hands in a manner similar to a mother scolding her disobedient child. “Will you look at this mess… Now I’m going to have to go to the laundrette’s to have this cleaned! And I haven’t even got enough money on myself for a decent chain mail yet!” Giving the priest the evil eye, Wyn continued as he moved closer to the priest, “And will you take a look at this splotch of blood! This fabric is good-quality doe skin! However am I ever going to get this blo-… oh.”

“Now you notice your mistake?!” Leranspir screamed at him as he released a fireball into the priest. Dead, or rather, undead as it was, the priest was amazingly nimble, and had the reflexes of a cat. Leaping aside to let the fireball hit the empty ground, the priest snarled at Wyn. Just as suddenly, it snapped its head around, opening its mouth wide to reveal a yawning abyss of darkness amid the sable of his hood, and from within came the most terrifying of sounds – a shriek unlike any other the adventurers had ever heard, freezing their blood where they stood, and giving them a new name to terror.

Their fear was multiplied thousandfold when the sound was echoed, allowing that it was echoed at a much lower pitch, by the demon Drelith. Having been hit by a double dosage of what would have been a more than enough to kill a city, Drelith had nearly been defeated. The rallying cry from the priest had awakened the beast from its pre-emptive sleep, and it was now looking to seek revenge.

Thankfully, Keylia now saw the opening she had been looking for. Finishing off her incantation, she let fly her enchanted arrow, piercing deep into the flesh of the horrendous demon lord. Screaming its pain, Drelith turned to face his new aggressor, or at least he tried to. Maddened by his immobility, Drelith raised his arms and spread his wings, trying to show his might and glory. Strangely, just as he had unfurled the leathery appendages, they stuck. They just couldn’t move anymore.

Growling his delight, Fulheim saluted the half-elf as soon as he released his grip on the sledgehammer, sending it flying into the entrapped demon. “You do well, young one… Very well. We’d be pleased to fight by your side.”

“Ah, well. It was just a minor entangle spell, mixed in with a few extras, enspelled to an arrow. Nothing much.” Keylia replied with a gentle smile, and turned to face the high priest, their last and final adversary.

*---*

“No, look! I’m sure you – ow! – made a big mistake! I’m not the –ouch! – person you’re looking for! Look… Ai! Somebody! Help me!” Wyn was trying his best to walk away from the priest, turning every now and then to try and explain his plight. Why walking? Well, because he was elven, of course, and elves don’t run from anything. Or so he thought.

A real pity that he was thinking that way still, all the way as his soul travelled back to the House of Yersail, the place of resurrection.

*---*

“Well. That was bloody stupid of anyone to do that. Why didn’t he just run?” Leranspir exasperated in between tossing random chain lightning and flaming arrow spells.

Releasing a series of darts, Berith shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe he was sick in the head or something. I mean, I for one would notice that the priest didn’t just,” and he sniggered at this, “tap me on the shoulder, and suddenly more than half my body parts start fountaining.”

Placing her hands on her hips, Keylia stared down the two who had now taken cover behind one of the bigger pieces of ruins and laughing silently but hard. Clucking her tongue, she berated them both, “Come on, you two children. The poor elfling’s dead now, can’t you give him a rest? And besides, I thought elves believed strongly in not insulting the dead.” Eyeing Leranspir, she gave a victorious smile when she saw him sober up a little.

“And you too,” staring down Berith, she continued, “thieves and rogues had best not anger the dead, lest they wreck havoc in the silence you so badly need.”

Berith nodded with a huge sigh, but added with a theatrical and over-dramatised wink, “But you know it, and I know it, and for goodness sake, the gods above know – he earned it.”

At this point, all three men in the group, an elf, a human, and an orc-blooded barbarian burst into loud and uncontrolled laughter, which naturally, since they were in the midst of a battle, was cut short suddenly by a well-aimed ice bolt that nearly took off the top of Berith’s head.

“At least you won’t need a hair cut for some time to come, eh? Thief?” Leranspir chuckled.

Having his mood so soured by the change of events, Berith snarled back, “Very funny, mage. Very funny.” as he loaded his crossbow from his fast-emptying supply of bolts.

*---*

“Eh…? Wha-? What happened? Where am I?” Wyn blinked several times against the harsh light that beat down upon him.

“Peace, brother. Be at peace. You have returned to us, us who are children of Yersail, healer of all, god of resurrection.”

The calm voice was soon connected to the gently smiling face of an elderly elf garbed in the simplest of garments, as Wyn slowly sat up, and recalled his previous final moments on this land.

Smiling as pleasantly as he could, Wyn spoke, “Oh. Erm. Thanks a lot. I’ve got to be going.”

“It is as you wish.”

As the elderly priest turned to go, Wyn realised that something was missing. “No, wait! Err… I mean, could your stop for a moment?” Seeing the priest pause in mid-step and turn to face him, Wyn continued, “Erm. My clothes…?”

Hoping that the priest would understand his meaning, Wyn gestured wildly with his hands, trying to outline his sudden, unexpected, and somewhat extreme, predicament.

“Yes. Of course. I will bring them to you.”

“Ah… Thank you.”

*---*

“I’m dreadfully sorry master Wyn, but you have lost all your personal belongings in the resurrection. All that remains is this stupid, dumb sword and your shield. And this curious amulet.” Tossing his head back, Wyn stomped through the town in an extremely foul temper, as he re-enacted with little flattery the words spoken to him by the priests just moments before.

“But of course, if you would like, we could divine what this amulet is… Oh, the lot of whiners! All of them! I would rather have my gold, and my armour, and my gloves and my boots, then the stupid amulet of ghost-speaking!”

He was enraged by the fact that he had lost much, if not all, of his personal artefacts, save for the few that he had left in the bank. Not much help there, though. Most of it was junk, like a couple of buckets and a pot, and two jugs filled with water. And a spade. Mostly, they were stuff he couldn’t sell, and was stuck with.

Determined to cut his losses, Wyn decided to go complete his quest. Seeing that he had lost an important and unique scroll that was to be given to a wizard, and having lost one of the three keys necessary to obtain a sword to slay (irony upon irony) the demon which had slain him, he decided to play it safe, and go find a simple, uncomplicated quest.

And so, he travelled far and wide, and found himself, for no apparent reason, upon the same road that would lead him to his previous place of inhumation. And perhaps the Fates enjoyed playing with his life, he got curious, and decided to check if the demon was still there.

*---*

“I’m out. You?” Keylia looked desperately at Berith checking for spare bolts, praying fervently to whichever gods were around to hear her prayers that he had more luck than she.

“I’m afraid not. Looks like that we’re gonna die together. Like a team,” Berith replied, a little sadly, and a little disappointed at the same time.

“Partners? With you?” Leranspir asked incredulously, “You’ve got to be kidding. I wouldn’t be seen dead with you.” Smiling mirthlessly at his choice of words, Leranspir elbowed the barbarian, “I wouldn’t be seen dead with you either. Now, Keylia, that’s a different matter…”

“She not even your race, you speak so much.” Fulheim teased, and he laughed when Keylia began to blush. He was about to add more, when Leranspir gasped, “I don’t believe what I’m seeing here.”

The other three crowded around Leranspir, eager to get the first glimpse of what Leranspir had spotter so easily with his heritage. They spotted it together, mostly because no one, not even a blind man, could miss what was happening on the other side of the casting circle.

*---*

Wyn was creeping along the side of the brush when he spotted it on the ground. “Hey! A gold coin! This must be my lucky day!”

Following the trail of coins and armour and the like, he soon found a pile of clothing, bones, coins and food. This must be my remains. I had no idea I had so much on my person. And then Wyn looked up.

*---*

“What in the blazes is that idiot doing?!” Keylia whispered harshly.

“That is same idiot, no?” Fulheim asked, perplexed.

Leranspir sighed, “Love, that’s the work of Yersail, god of resurrection. Although I have no idea why an uprighteous, just and, above all else, smart god like that would raise an imbecile like him. Unless of course, he likes the entertainment, or he finds life up there too boring, and needs something to remind him of the hours like clockwork.”

Pulling away from the cluster of bodies, Fulheim eyed the elven mage critically. “I not know you that long.” As if to emphasise the point, Fulheim lifted his weapon just a little higher.

Berith stepped in and placated, “Fulheim, Leranspir didn’t mean that. ‘Love’ is just a way that he addresses people.” Daring Leranspir to speak against him, he admonished, “Not that he should ever again.”

Leranspir shrugged his shoulders in defeat as Berith changed the topic. “Come to think of it, I remember a poet once said, ‘Alas, but if only aspiring young men would not become expiring young fools.’” Smiling broadly at his companions, Berith whispered conspiratorially, “Suits him, don’t you think?”

*---*

“Oh… Hi! I was just passing through, and I thought there was nobody here…” Trying his best to put up a smile, Wyn could almost hear his face cracking from the strain. “Well, looks like I was wrong. I’ll come back later when you’re not busy.”

Hoping as best as he could that he wouldn’t break into a run and go screaming about monsters into the city, Wyn tried to about-turn, but was smacked in the stomach with a solid strike by the staff of one of the priests.

Almost doubled over, Wyn tried to crawl away with as much dignity as possible, but found that he got the direction wrong. He had ended up in the circle.

*---*

“What is he doing now?”

“He’s crawling… into the circle!”

“He’s asking for it, isn’t he.”

“Asking? He not speaking…”

“I didn’t mean that…”

“But you say ‘asking’.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

“But…”

“Enough, you two! Are we going to stand here bickering or are we going to go out there and help the poor boy?”

“We’re going to sneak away while the demons are busy with him, and escape with our lives.”

“Always thinking like a thief, aren’t you?”

“Well, pardon me, but that happens to be my profession. Besides, I’m rather attached to this physical being of mine. I’m also rather attached to my head, my arms, my legs… To be exact, I couldn’t be apart from them. They are a part of me!”

Groaning, the thief’s companions turned back to the battle, fully expecting to join the fray. But what the were in time to see, was Wyn being clubbed once more on the back before falling flat on the uneven ground, dead for the second time.

“Well, you’ve got to say that he’s accomplished what most people wouldn’t be able to do.”

“Don’t tell us. I’m afraid to find out, with you and your nasty jokes Berith. Besides I think I already know.” Looking back at the casting circle which they were successfully sneaking away from, with the fiends busy looting the bodies of the dead, Leranspir reconsidered his words.

“On the other hand, I don’t think it can get any worse than that,” he said jerking his head towards the ruins.

Stopping in his tracks, Berith took a deep breath, and spoke, “It is said, ‘Thousands of aspiring youngsters face the world, but only one in a million seizes the chance to conquer it.’”

Leranspir looked at Berith in surprise, astounded that he could be so full of depth. Glancing at Keylia, he saw that like he, she was agreeing with Berith.

Berith continued, “I’m sure that right now, I can amend it: ‘Thousands of expiring youngsters face the world, but only one in a million seizes the chance to do it – twice.’”

Flashing his companions a wide smile true to his roguish charm, he sprinted off as fast as his weary legs could carry, knowing full well that as soon as they figured out what he said, they would be after him – but not his stories.

_________________________

I can’t believe that I wrote that. Right. I think the stupid bug bit me half way. The whole short story is 3,062 words, if you want to know.

So first things first, I managed to kill my character twice in an hour. They gotta have an award for stuff like that. Many really stupid things happened, but because I died so quickly in succession, you can say that it killed off my addiction.

Anyway, my character really did approach the priests again and again, although not for the same reasons as above. I was just trying to construct a story around what little I had. The truth was that I failed to switched yet another default off. That was the retaliation option. My character was trying to retaliate to something that was so obviously above my abilities. Which was why as I was clicking madly off screen, every time the priest struck me, my character would start to saunter back to the priest to try to hack at him. And by the time I had control over him, he was halfway back, and I was madly trying to find a way to get him away from there, and run at the same time.

The second time was really my fault. I thought the demon was dead. And I was picking up bones, not coins actually. No, I’m do not have some morbid fascination with bones and the dead. It’s because every time you bury bones, you gain XP for prayers. And with higher XP comes better prayers, better skills, etc. And I walked into a gaggle of priests, like I said. And the whole thing repeated itself.

By the way, I hope you liked my story. I think I just fell in love with the four extras: Leranspir, Keylia, Berith and Fulheim. I invented them on the spot. And to think that Thorgral was supposed to be the lead in this story, and I killed him off in the first few paragraphs… Oh well, that’s life.

So you can be expecting more adventures from the four of them, and maybe *flashes evil smile* just maybe, I’ll have ‘The Return of The Imbecile’ every now and then between their adventures, yes?

*Ps, all of the puns, in the story, and this last bit about ‘the return’ is intended.

The nature of dwarves

2005-04-01T20:49:00.000+08:00

Thursday, 24 March 2005, 1.08pm

I woke up this morning and the urge to write this became too great for me. I was always wondering about something or the other concerning The Lord of The Rings. Well, it was only natural that after some time, I began to realise that I very possibly knew more, and was aware of more in depth things about the characters, and the author himself, than the people around me. Well, we’ll come to that on another day. Today, I will voice out my opinions on one of what I call the greatest mysteries of all – the nature of the dwarves in JRR Tolkien’s The Lord of The Rings trilogy (From henceforth, I shall call it LOTR. It’s really a pain to type out the whole thing properly, complete with the caps in the right places.)

Despite the lovely sounding grand title this little discussion of mine here has taken upon itself to call its heading, I’m not really discussing much more than Gimli. Yes, Gimli. To me, he’s an eternal enigma. For starters, and doubtlessly everyone of you out there have wondered one time or another, about the Mines of Moria. I mean, honestly, he and all his talk of “My cousin, Balin, will give you a mighty welcome”. When was the last time he checked on the situations in the mines? Don’t tell me that things in Moria get more dusty quicker than outside. Judging from the state of the mines, it must have been like that a long, long time. So, to borrow the words of an authoress I once read, maybe now Gimli knows why all those years of Christmas cards went unanswered.

Anyway, on to the more important and less frivolous things, those far more worthy of our attention. During the screening of the LOTR movies, almost everywhere, whether it was television or bookstores, there would be either a) LOTR merchandise for sale, or b) documentaries based on LOTR. Of course, and who can be blamed, the latter normally was the one that held the gazes of the true LOTR fans (and I’d like to think of myself as one).

As such, many of us realised that LOTR was not just some normal storybook or novel, that graduated from the bits and pieces of scrap paper that so often litter our desks, into a full-scale, god knows how many (I think it’s nearly two thousand) paged titan. Instead, the LOTR was entirely based, for the unaware here’s your little history lesson, on the great master Tolkien’s real life experiences and feelings. His reasons for writing LOTR came after the immense success of the Hobbit, yet many wonder why he had such detailed maps for even the Hobbit. Well, he wanted the second to be a real treasure for the English (or at least the UK people). He was a professor in literature (if I’m correct), and was also an expert in languages (I’m quite sure here). He had self taught himself at least one language (Finnish, unless I’m mistaken) using lexicons and the such (I’m not entirely certain, but that’s how I remember it).

He was inspired, by Beowulf among other things, to realise the dream of having a real legend, a real myth for the modern day Englishman to look up to. After all, Beowulf has gained such immense popularity since its composition in 8th century AD in North England (or so my sources tell me). Thus, the maps, the history and the paraphernalia (or the everything else, if you must call is as such) of Middle Earth was born.

By now, most must certainly know that Tolkien had been undertaking more than just a simple story in his composition of LOTR. There was so much more: A history that made sense; characters that were linked in some form or another; an underlying message to the weary; the evolution of the peoples and of the world (Middle Earth) itself… etc.

If you want to hear more, come ask me in real life. I just realised that I’m running of track here, so I better resume my discussion of the nature of dwarves.

______________________

The major influences, outside of Beowulf, came chiefly from Tolkien’s life. Having taken part in both world wars, he was definitely someone you might call a veteran. Much of his childhood took place in some peaceful village somewhere, up until the Industrial Revolution. This influenced his writings greatly (Think about Treebeard and Saruman’s actions. They make more sense now, don’t they?)

Having written the books in the 1950s, and finishing the last one in 1955, on would believe that Tolkien is a modern man. He was born in the late 1890s and by that time, unless my sources are terribly wrong, the Woman’s Liberation Movement had already been established. (Sorry spiff, it was movement, not front… Dang. It would have been funnier that way.)

As such, why was the fellowship so male based? Where were the females? Aside from the lovely “Arwen being chased by the Ring Wraiths” scene, and the “Galadriel being more famous and more feared than Celeborn of Lothlorien” parts, where did all the females go? Well, naturally, there was the “Eowyn fighting The Witch King”, but there were only three females, and none of them were really carried through the story entirely.

For those who read the book (or those who are curious), here’s something to chew on:

Arwen did not raise the rivers to wash away the nasty Nazgul, it was her father Lord Elrond, and the horses at the front of the torrent of waves were created by Gandalf (his idea of a joke, I suppose).

There was not this much Arwen based hoo-hah on her love for Aragorn and all – it was all on the fellowship (unfortunately ladies, Legolas was not someone he cared to focus much upon).

Arwen technically did not marry Aragorn in the book. Before you start screaming that it’s in the book, well, check again. Arwen married Aragorn in the appendices. Not in the book.

_____________________

Ahem. To get back to the main point here: Gimli. Yes, Gimli. What’s so special about him, you say? Well, my point to all this is, are you sure about your articles there? I mean, and I quote, “The fact that dwarf females look so much like dwarf men has led to the speculation that there are no dwarf women… It’s all in the beards…” Taking that into consideration since it was spoken by Gimli, especially since no one in the fellowship actually checked (and I sure hope they didn’t), how can anyone be sure of Gimli’s… erm… well, there’s no other way to put this – gender.

And so, with that, do I not have the right to doubt, seriously doubt, Gimli’s actions? Does it mean that he was simply doing a Mulan, or was it that dwarf women got a kick out of hanging around with, oh let’s see… eight other men? Of which, one of them, no lady can take her eyes off; another who is rumoured to be just about the cutest man/hobbit alive; and two men whom are just so ruggedly manly?

Well, I suppose when anyone puts it like that, it might actually explain why there were no females, at least, no known females at the Council of Elrond. Everyone would have been too busy drowning in drool to do anything about the one ring… Seriously, with Arwen as his only daughter, and very possibly the fiancée of the next king of Gondor, why didn’t she just run off with Aragorn or something? I think it was to avoid... err… distractions, as you may call it.

(Which reminds me. If I ever get bold enough not to care about who reads my blog, I might just post this little bit of madness I wrote some time ago concerning a very big “What if *so and so* was female…?” And I don’t just mean Gimli here…)

Okay, okay. So maybe Gimli is a guy. It’s not my fault for doubting, is it? After all, the great master of it all has passed on to a better place, hopefully without people with minds like my own, doubting every single word of his literature, yet holding and grasping the life out of every other sentence. So no one can confirm it. Incidentally, that spells all the better for people like myself, ya?

____________________________

By the way, since I didn’t really want to break the flow above, but I’ve got this feeling I’ve already broken the flow, the last bit concerning Gimli was written today. And that would be… oh… approximately Friday, 01 April 2005, 8.00pm.

Yes, yes, I know. You can’t believe it. If you check the date above, you would realise that I wrote the top part a week before this last bit, so please don’t flame me for that: It’s kinda hard to keep the flow of something you wrote a week ago. Also, if you didn’t already know, I would like to remind you that I’ve been having exams up till this afternoon? And it really doesn’t really help when you’re trying to write a little bit of nonsense, when your lecture notes from Physiological Systems start waltzing and twirling in your head and shouting and chanting the words/terms “Bulbourethra gland… Prostate gland… Seminal Vesicles…”

If you want to remain my friends, I suggest you don’t look up the words. Although, Spiff and Ashes, you two might like me all the more if you found out what I’ve been thinking about for the past afternoon. Believe me, it was against my free will, but hey! I’ve been studying that for two freaking days… You don’t just forget about it in two seconds… Also, it doesn’t help when you’ve been staring at the lovely diagrams at the same time (At least she didn’t ask us to draw it today…).

Ahem. Yes, so my point here is that I got a little distracted, and I can’t compose anything worth nuts. Err, I just realised that doesn’t really make a lot of sense, but I can’t seem to remember what the original sentence I wanted to say was, so that’ll have to do for now.

_______________________

I had actually composed a little more, but it’s a bit long, so it’s now my next entry. By the way, since I'm feeling so Physiological System-ish today, I might as well say this: One of the known reasons for dwarfism in modern people is the lack of production of HGH aka the human growth hormone, for some reason or another, during childhood. (Yes, I know. Scientists are rather unimaginative when it comes to naming hormones, eh?)

Siesta!

2005-03-21T15:39:00.000+08:00

Okay, okay... I'll admit it. My blog title has nothing whatsoever to do with my entry. I just felt like entitling it thus. Anyway, I was thinking as I was buying my lunch just now, and it hit me that I should try and list down the people I call "my friends" (hopefully the feeling is reciprocated) and see if I manage to miss out one of the people who know me well enough to try to beat nine kinds of crap out of me.

Right. Just so you know, I'm in the middle of this super "text message" language mood right now, and I'm listening to Secret Garden in the background, so... Well, you can figure out mostly what happens when a really moody, horrible spelling, slightly hyper person tries to list down all existing friends. Right. All hell breaks loose. Ahaha... Okay, I think you've figured out by now that I'm a little hyper at the moment.

Anyway, here goes (by the way, yes, the inspiration came from you, Mr-thinking-about-it-all-the-time-but-still-immaculately-dressed):

- A slightly suicidal but very hyper 24/7 person
- A couple of you guys from the BC
- A couple of you gals from the BC
- A couple of you teachers from the BC
- A couple of you janitors from the... alright, alright... I'll stop crapping...
- A bunch of really mad people wielding brass weapons of war
- Another bunch of really crazy people wielding wooden instruments of maiming
- A, for the moment at least, half-elven mage who, incidentally keeps thinking about that all the time.
- An elven vampire
- A moon elf rogue
- A forest/wild elven ranger/druid
- A gentle-elf minstrel

Erm... Wait a minute... These are my imaginary friends!

- A mad idiot who keeps saying cheesebun and lunchbox
- A girl who is a self-termed virus
- A bunch of supporting actors and actresses who keep up the tirade of those two aforementioned
- A couple of otherwise normal girls who keep thinking about gay relationships

Just to interrupt here, the last ones I mentioned are the ones responsible for my knowledge, and awareness of the fact that if you split up the word Welcome in a very obscene manner, you end up with a very... ahem... phrase that may be used by gays or a very, very unusual female.

And unfortunately, I was also informed by them of the fact that in JRR Tolkien (Oh what a genius...) 's writing, in Elvish, Welcome unfortunately, is made of the two words whose meaning is "good" and "approach"... Which in normal instances is okay, up until you start thinking dirty, that is.

- A couple of females who spend their entire lives rp-ing and composing extremely impossible scenes regarding two men (well, males at least)
- A guy who doesn't mind it at all
- A guy who distanced himself from the rest of his friends after we went separate ways after Sec school that I'm not sure if he's appeared in that little section between the sports and the finance section of the newspaper

Okay, okay... Such a guy doesn't really exist. But to all you friends of mine out there, this is a really big and obvious hint. You know who you are.

Upon reflection, it has occurred to me that if someone no longer contacts me, there's practically no chance of them knowing about this blog... Hmm... I've got to think on that...

- Some guy who apparently teaches the top five primary school bands in Singapore
- Three people with the initials JJ
- Six people with the initials NL
- No one who studied literature
- A girl who's obsessed about dolphins, Hello Kitty, S.H.E, among other girly things
- A person who calls herself "Xiao xin", whichever meaning she's referring to
- A Star Wars fan

Speaking of which, I really gotta say something about this guy. He has read EVERY SINGLE Star Wars book, or Star Wars related book ever written. He can spell all the names of the planets, including Naboo, without laughing. He can spell all the names of the characters. He knows the spelling and the pronounciation, and incidentally, he's the one who taught me, of Qui Gon Jinn.

Star Wars unrelated, he's a damn good pianist. He's learning the Klavierstruck (is it spelt that way?) and he's only failed his diploma by a single mark... (Apparently, the specialist didn't like him much) Also, he and I used to recite the famous "Attack on Pearl Harbour" speech by Roosevelt all the time (until it drove the people sitting next to us totally nuts, then we started playing hangman for a change...) And oh yeah, did I mention, he's in NJC? He is a triple science guy, so dang smart it hurts to look at his school grades, and of course, it must run in the blood. For goodness sake, he's got a doctor and a dentist for parents!

- A person who has, what I believe to be, an unhealthy obsession about her Sec 1 Lit. teacher
- A person who bought a CD worth nearly $100 online
- A guy who thinks about it all the time, and enjoys talking about it with guys (he doesn't read my blog btw)
- A guy who got 29 for prelim, and dropped it to 14 for O's
- Five people who think that Who's Line is funny
- Nearly twenty people who never heard of Who's Line
- A couple of people who think that I'm an ace pianist

And that happened because I played Chopin's Fanatsie Impromptu for them. Right, do they have any idea how difficult it is? Well, I suppose that's the reason why, but that's besides the point. They for crying out loud, are diploma holders!

- A girl who laughed so loud while watching a comedy during a night flight from Singapore to Sydney that everyone in the plane woke up
- A guy who has four elder sisters, and amazingly, is not at all feminine in the slightest possible way
- A group of weird people who think that both males and females suck, but they rule
- An art teacher who knew a person who went to Thailand

Now here's another interesting fact. This friend of his who went to Thailand was a he. Went to Thailand, had a major revamp. Came back a she, and amazingly, no one said anything and accepted the situation as it was. Tells you something you learn when you go to art school. Anyway, apparently the change was so good and perfect, that she was even hotter than the females with the guys (even those who knew she had been a he). Erm, I mean the ones born female... or something.

- An ex-English/Literature teacher who went to NZ to study (he's where I learnt the "pull your leg" joke from)
- A really sad clarinetist who doesn't know he has a girlfriend who changes boyfriends every other day
- A bunch of business students (female)
- A bunch of engineering students (male)
- Almost every single one of my mom's colleagues, and their families (tells you something about the parties my mom throws, eh?)
- Most of my dad's old colleagues (I think my mom doesn't invite them anymore)
- My bro's friends, all of which are either rp-ers or rpg-ers, or just serious gamers
- The librarians at NP
- Quite a number of the people dressed in blue in NP
- A guy who coloured his face orange about a week ago
- A lot of females who dare to wear things I wouldn't even dream of wearing
- Guys who are in love with the "pasar" look (you know, the t-shirt, bermudas, slippers/sandals look)
- A really deprived guy who knows more about a certain brass instrument than about the girls around him

Just so you know, this guy I just talked about? Well, I don't mind if he stayed that way. He's a bit... Weird... Know what I mean?

Ahem. I think I should end here. If I've forgotten any of you, well, this should cover it:

-Everybody else that I know

Yes, yes... I know. That was cheating. But hey! I don't want a black eye and a couple of broken limbs... I'm lame enough as it is.

Right, right... not funny... point taken.

Feeling a little weird / Schooling

2005-03-21T12:38:00.000+08:00

Nope, it's not that type of weird. It's the strange feeling you get after you've been "chiong-ing" school for the past 16 weeks, with the sea of endless homework flooding your senses; the never-ending bouts of depression every now and then; and of course, the sudden realisation that another year of your short but beautiful (or meaningless, choose one depending on your present mood) has just slipped away, eaten and consumed in its entirety by a monster that plagues us all: Education. Or rather, the education system. Education in itself was never a bother, nor a problem. It was always meant to be useful.

__________________

Well, since I’ve started on my tirade on the education system, I might as well continue with that little scrap of paper on my table which has been trying so hard to get my attention for over a month now… (For the unaware, my table has been infested, and successfully taken over by a little tribe of note paper, and as time goes on, their numbers only increase. Short of starting a nice little bonfire and burning my “little rants”, as I call them, the only other way is to fulfil their destiny as a full-blown one, and type them out nicely on my computer and post them here. Or maybe at the home of the great Kivan. Depends how difficult it will be to maintain that little brain child of mine.

Ahem. So here goes the little rant of mine: Full-blown style.

___________________

Have you ever wondered about the education hierarchy? I mean, the stupid little propaganda (well that’s what I call it anyway, even if the word is a little strong) about how much better JC students are then polytechnic students who are better than ITE students and all…

Well, in tribute to Terry Pratchett, or at least as close as I can get to his style, I’m going to try to boil it down to the bare essentials, with no influence from modern day life. Here goes:

The four main categories of students: The elite. The norm. The students who are not good, but passable. And of course, the hopeless.

For the sake of simplicity, and since it is quite true based on what everyone thinks nowadays, let me further define these four categories:

The elite: You know that wonderful system that the government introduced last year (or was it the year before)? The one where the students go from sec 2 to J1 straight? Yup, this category refers to ALL of those who did that.

The norm: Surely you don’t need me to explain, but well, in everyone’s head (or at least most of the population’s), JC is the way to go, ya? If you’re not a JC student, well, look below.

The “not good, but passable still”: Polytechnics, ITE grads, NAFA, Laselle, etc… You know who belongs here in people’s heads.

The hopeless: Just to tell you, I don’t think that this is a real category. Unfortunately, most people seem to have this wonderful category reserved for those who don’t make it academically.

So, let’s just boil the terms down, and look at it from the simplest angle possible.

The elite: Students, who for some reason unknown to us, skip O’levels and go straight to JC. Strangely, O’level seems to be the bane of every student, you know… The standard for everything… (And honestly, before this, I thought that only *ahem* students skipped O’s because they couldn’t make it… But hey! Don’t listen to me, listen to the government. They’re always right, ya?)

The norm: The poor JC-goers who have to do an additional two years before entering a tertiary education, aka the university. (Don’t see the irony yet? Not to worry… Keep reading.)

The “not so good, but hey! They still got somewhere…”: A bunch of pitiful students who sadly did not make it into JC. Strangely, they for some reason, although they are not better than the norm, they go STRAIGHT into tertiary education, aka poly, ITE, NAFA… (And there I was thinking that it was the smart ones who could skip school… or at least advance faster than the dumb ones)

The hopeless fools…: I really don’t want to go there. But generally, just bear in mind that they are the foundation of society. (And they’re the ones treated the worst… Strange how the world works, ay?)

Still can’t see the irony between the Jc-ers and the polytechnics? How about this:

You know how EVERYONE tells you that JC is better than poly because although poly students can still make it into uni, they spend an extra year studying at poly? Well, they are WRONG!

Come on man… You know, for three year unis, poly students get one year exemption, straight into second year, or if they can really make it good, a year and a half’s exemption, meaning that poly students end up a half year ahead?

For four year ones, polytechnics get a year and a half to two years exemption, meaning that they end up half a year to a year ahead of JC-ers… Poor things… Didn’t you ever notice?

Well, there’s the other fishy thing about universities here in Singapore. Why do they limit only 5% to 10% to poly students? I mean, if they’re REALLY that much worse than JC students, why bother? They wouldn’t be able to make it in even if you opened the whole university to them!

So doesn’t that make you wonder why the JC people need so much help from the government to ensure they’ve got a lovely little position in the university? Oh well… Who are we to complain, ya?

But of course, we notice things. We’re not blind, you know. Like for example, how despite everything that’s so good about JC, poly students generally have about a year’s working experience ahead of JC-ers by the time they graduate from poly?

Well, the first half year opportunity comes while waiting for polys to start. It might not mean anything to your résumé in the future, but if you really look deeper, working at such a young age gets you used to the working world earlier. Also, when you study at polytechnics, you deal with people of a large age group. That also helps you with your people to people skills, ‘cause that means that you’re not treated like a baby. You’re not pampered, you’re not guided like a disabled, and if you make the wrong decisions, the lecturers/tutors sure as hell ain’t responsible.

The second working XP comes from your compulsory vocational training in second/third year. That can be either a month to six months, depending whether its overseas, and depending on the course taken by the student.

After graduation, there’s that little time frame of about three to six months (or a year if your graduation timing really sucks), you can get work with your lovely little object known only as your diploma certificate.

All in all, if you’re really trying to make your mark in the world, and the timings are really good (or bad, choose one), you can end up with leaving the university about a year behind JC grads, but with 2 years of working experience. Which, needless to say, is not really the “Not good but still passable students” that you all get treated as, ya?

Aha!

2005-03-19T14:35:00.000+08:00

I've got a webbie... Yay! Okay, okay... It's no big deal... Everyone's got one... But I tell you, it's bl***y hard to find a free web "hoster" that will agree to take in music...

Ahem. Anyway, If you'd like to see my partially (on second thought, it's not even fractionally) constructed webbie, go ahead and click on the links section. If not... Well, here's yet another mad story to help you pass your time.

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Silence is beautiful. The lack of noise can last forever. The quietness of my surroundings would drive most mad, but somehow, just somehow, I find it rather pleasing to the ear... well, at least to the mind, in any case. When there is nothing in the air, there is no way to mark the passing of the ages, the passage of time could be crawling or sprinting for all you know, but with silence as your ever-present companion, there is no difference; there is no change.

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"The end is nigh!"

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Almost. It is a word that is filled with so much hope, yet in itself, bears none. A pity, one might think, but then, one would undoubtedly be forced to think again. After all, who does not use the word "almost"? Who does not bear the hope that the word would in itself be not the harbinger of doom, but the deliverer of justice?

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Sorry... Just felt like typing that... No particular reason... Anyway, yup, that's the end of my entry for today. A short one, so rest easy. No 3,000 word posts today.

House Aruneas & Habit

2005-03-18T15:11:00.000+08:00

Ahem. So I've gone on a mad blogging spree. Decided to just post everything online today. Most of it was written a long time ago, and practically all of it I finished today. I've decided to make life easier for everyone, especially the little over-used scroll bar on the right, so I made my blog one entry per page. Because of that, it would be a crime to make this the shortest blog entry of all, ya? So let's see if I'm in the mood to rant as someone else today...

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It is more difficult than anyone can ever hope to realise. To be a dancer, to be a minstrel, to be "the entertainment of the night" as the men so often address us. To be able to laugh and smile and giggle without fail whenever a joke, no matter how unsightly is told. To tell the patrons of the house that they are free to return if they wish. If only they knew. If only they knew who we truly were, would they return? Would they look upon us in horror or in admiration?

"Patience. When this is all over, we will get our revenge, we will have what we always wanted." He tells us this everyday. Everyday since the first of us started to despair, since the first of us took her life. She couldn't take it, yet she was no weaker than us, if not any stronger. Why should any mortal put up with this every night? No, not even every night... Now, some of the more daring ones come back during the day, in the hopes of finding the same enjoyment. How can we not despair and feel the frailty of life and its careless promises, its pathetic lies and facades when our enemies come to us, seeking our bodies for their own pleasure, while we wait in the sidelines, with nothing but a word of promise, with nothing but the temptation to draw our blades and bleed them as they lie upon our knees.

Tell me, how can you accept such a fate? Tell me, how can we let it all go on? We are promised it, yet we cannot see the horizon from where we stand. Here, there is no ending. Here, there is nothing but the emptiness of our existence. Is it possible to hope still then? Is it possible to believe in it still?

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You ask me questions of which I have no answers. You ask me if I can answer your prayers, be your deliverers of justice. I answer you now. I am no metter of punishments. I am no hero whom you believe me to be. But hope still. For while I may not be its bearer, I know that it follows my footsteps. I know, because after you see me, there is no way for you to go any lower. When you hit the bottom, there is nowhere left to go but up. Hope is just behind me, let me leave in peace, and you will have your hopes. The patron of your house is right, your revenge is just beyond the horizon. You may not see it, but still, it lurks in the corners, waiting for the opportune moment as they call it.

You are not a lost house, you are small one, growing stonger every minute. There is fire in your eyes, I can see it... Cherish it, and you will grow much stronger than you are. Remember, you've been at the bottom, nothing else can be worse than what you've already seen, everything that you've gone through. It is those that have yet to see the worst that will fear the times to come. You will not for there is nothing that can freeze your heart any longer. Let it be, and your revenge will come.

Arise, house Aruneas... Arise from those ashes that your enemies have burnt and left behind. Arise from those whom your opponents call the dead. Your gift is in your invisibility. Your gift is there, in all your adversaries - in their death, you shall find it. You are a dealer of death, a house of assassins, poisoners, and rogues. Do not hide your true face from the world. Make them look you in the eye, force them to accept you, or you will not accept them.

Show your true bravery House Aruneas, and they will remember the true glory of The Eleven. Poison Ivy grows everywhere, and as they say, unless you can get their roots, you'll never solve the problem of their spread. Their everywhere, like a parasite, under your skin...

House Aruneas will rise above the ashes of its rivals. That is the prophecy that was spoken a long time ago. Whether or not you believe me, it is up to you. But you must trust in this: There is hope. Look for it.

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Wrote this on the last day of February. Can't figure out how to lengthen it, so I'll just leave it as it is.

Man has always been a creature of habit, and there is no reason for them to change. Why should they, when everything has worked so perfectly for them? They will always find another way to solve their problems, most often of all, they probably will cause another problem when solving the first, but that has never stopped them before. So, will they ever change enough to help themselves? Or will only the strongest survive, just as it always has been in the beginning. Only… Right now, even the weakest will thrive, if only having the resources, and that of course would be money.

Such a material thing, such meaningless pieces of paper and metal. Yet, the chief starter of sins and origin vices aplenty, how can it be so simple as we believe? Is it truly that simple? Or are we hiding a bigger truth from ourselves?

Chants

2005-03-18T15:04:00.000+08:00

Wrote the bulk of this in mid-February (can you believe that?). Finished it today. So maybe you'll notice the last part after "I really wonder sometimes" doesn't really fit, but hey! All things need an ending, one way or the other. Anyway, I'm not too sure about what I'm saying at the end, so don't go seeking some greater truth after reading this, eh?

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Chanting can be so misleading I feel. To most, chanting represents the spiritual way of getting in touch with your inner self. Yet so many people fear that for what it is. They fear that we will be taken over by an unexplainable force, making us do things which we should not, hypnotising us into committing crimes and the such. Are these groundless fears or are they there for a reason? What gives these chants such a power, such an ability? Surely not the singers themselves, for to do so would be meaning that they have the ability to control our minds and actions through song and voice alone. If they could do so, why not just speak to us and be done with it? Why go through all that unnecessary effort just to achieve the same result?

Then, is the supposed power of chants in the music, or in the instruments themselves? Yet not all singers and chanters use instruments in their music. Besides, have we not already ruled out the unlikely-ness of the musicians hand in “hypnotism”?

The last and most probable culprit in that case, would be ourselves. It is said, and I believe it to be, that music of said nature is soothing and allows us to view our inner most thoughts and desires. Then, can it not be said that these demons which take us over are but the horrors of our own soul? The deepest and most scary things which we do when “under influence” are but the actions that we ourselves are capable of and crave to do but do not for decency and integrity’s sake.

So where does all the fear of ourselves emerge from? I really wonder sometimes. After all, is it not our own demons that we try to run from? How can one escape oneself? How can one fall prey to one’s own vices and sins? Are these not the things that we are in total control of? Or is it…?

We do not have control over ourselves; not the true control that we so often want when we lead others, when we try to control the lives of pets, slaves and servants; when we try to control entire nations and kingdoms alike, when we try to grab hold of those “lesser truths” that escape our grasp.

But let it be, I say. Let everything be. Whatever will be, will be. Nothing can change that, not you, not me. Sure as the world moves on, everything has its place in time. Of course, if you do not believe in the world always moving on, you are right. You do have reason to fear. What’s to stop them from making sure you never existed?

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Incidentally, I just remembered what an author once said (I believe it was Terry Pratchett). "Lisps is one of the most cruel words in the English tongue." Don't believe him? Go say it out loud. Also, you can add "grasps" to that list. Not nearly as bad since it has a longer "a" sound than "lisps".

Bard and Minstrel

2005-03-18T10:38:00.000+08:00

I think I should give you all a fair warning, this is a VERY confusing piece that I wrote. I still have no idea where it's set. Probably in the marketplace of some city, and the narrator is probably some guy advertising for a barding college or something. I'm not sure. Anyway, if at any one point in the piece you should feel confused, just skip all the way to the bottom and read my (author's) notes. That's the stuff that's in bold and italic, if you haven't noticed my style of posting already.

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“Ain’t life great, eh?”

Now, there’s a phrase you don’t hear everyday. Normally uttered by drunkards or mad men, in my opinion.

“You can take your – *fill the blank with anything you’d like* – and stick it up your arse!”

Now, there’s a reply that you hear almost every three seconds from where I come from.

So, I think you’ve heard enough crapping and just want me to get on with my little speech here that you’ve paid a pretty silver to listen to, yes?

Anyway, today, I’d like to talk about – no, not mad men and drunkards dear maiden – I’m talking about barding. And minstrelling, and poeting and the like. Yes, I am well aware, as a bard myself, that minstrelling and poeting is not a word as you might call it, but how else would you explain what a minstrel and poet does for a living? No, a poet doesn’t just recite and write poetry, he also studies the history of poems, and the best ways to talk about history using poems, with the perfect mix of fact and myth and exaggeration. That, is poeting. That is also, the profession of a real poet.

Similarly, that is also what one calls minstrelling. Only that it applies to the context of a minstrel instead of a poet. Or a bard. The difference between a minstrel and a bard? Well, I’d like to think of it as a minstrel is a person who specialises in singing, and tends to understand more about real history and truth, whereas a bard is more like a jack of all trades, but a master of none. A bard only needs to know enough songs, history and jokes to scrap a living by entertaining people, but a minstrel needs to know enough about social etiquette to keep his place in wherever he’s been invited to sing.

So in short, a minstrel is a learned and civilised person, who has chosen the path of a singer, but a bard is just a very vulgar street rat who knows how to sing and entertain the masses.

Lost you somewhere back there ya? Well, I can understand, seeing that I myself am a bit lost in terms of not remembering what I started the speech to talk about.

Oh yes. Bards and minstrels. Well, yes, poets as well, for you die-hard fans of romance and action. Always thinking about moonlight chases across rooftops, and lovesick, puppy-eyed popinjays and coxcombs. Well, I can see that a number of you ladies in the back row are beginning to take insult to what I have just stated. Yes, stated. It’s a statement of a fact and not any other.

How can I say that, you ask? Well, how else would you call those “amazingly sweet” pathetics in those stories that hardly make any sense? I think that one of the most critically acclaimed storytellers is a fraud. Yes. They call him a bard. Oh well, that’s just like the rest of the world, spoiling the good name of us all, just so that you can find a single descriptive noun for some idiots like those. I mean, who in the world would actually pay good gold, and silver and copper of course, to watch a… play, as they call it, about a bunch of sick lovebirds and their crooning to each other? And the whole story? To poof with it all! The whole story of so-and-so dying because of his lover and all… A gigantic misunderstanding, I say! Honestly, if I were to walk up to a famous playwright and say,

“My good man, it’s your lucky day! You won’t believe what I just heard at the market place but a moment ago!

“Last month, the chicken seller was down with a flu for a week, and it was exactly on the third day that some nasty foreigner came to the market. Apparently, he was sick with some sort of animal disease and had passed it to every animal up and down Faunia’s Ride! So, later in the week, the chicken seller was the only one whose wares were worth looking at, just because he didn’t go to market on the day everyone’s animals fell sick!

“And know what happened? Because no one was able to sell their stock, he made tons of coppers and half-bits selling all that chicken! Not only that, he was practically discussing his retirement in public!

“You won’t believe what happened after that. The townsfolk found that he knew the foreigner who brought in the animal disease! So, they decided that he was doing on purpose to spoil their business, and just the week before, someone stuck him with a knife in the alley behind the Wrench’s Please!

“And… don’t you go yet, you haven’t heard the best part yet… Just yesterday, at the chicken seller’s funeral wake, they found out from the widow that the foreigner was a travelling healer, and if it wasn’t for him, the hawker would never have recovered from his flu! On top of that, the healer wasn’t the one who carried the sickness in, it was the bunch of warriors fresh out from the marshlands due east of here!

“A neat story ay? What do you think of that, eh?”

I in full confidence, have faith that if anyone, let alone I, were to approach anyone, least of all a playwright, with a story that preposterous, I would be thrown out of the doorway in a matter of moments, and I wouldn’t even have gotten even halfway!

So why are people paying perfectly beautiful silver to those lads over there at the theatre to listen to some pitiable story about “a pair of star-crossed lovers” when all there is to it is some unfortunate miscommunication on their parts entirely?

Well, since I’m on this topic, why don’t I discuss that story… now what is it called…? Ah, yes. Raunlain. I find that story absolutely dry! I mean, how can anyone possibly listen to a play that runs on for the better of two hours about a prince who tries to avenge his father’s wrongful death by his uncle, who had married his mother? And in the end, everyone dies! What kind of mass genocide is this?

I mean seriously, please! Come on! Who can possibly accept such an impossible story but a bunch of fops and dandies themselves?!

Ahem. You did not hear me say that. I had been talking about bards and minstrels and poets, and I am entirely eligible for that since I am one myself. Of the bardic profession, not the other two, I mean.

So, how exactly does one define any of the three? A poet, easiest of all, is one who can describe even the most repugnant of cesspools as the exquisite of flowers. Sure enough, one such as that has above all, the power of language and the skill of the gods when it comes to exaggeration. ‘Tis difficult to call it otherwise, I’m afraid.

Minstrels are more than just storytellers, or singers without a cause. I believe that they do have a cause, even if it may be that transparent, read this however you may, they still possess one. They are the masters of song (and dance for some of them, if you can believe it) and the lords of legends, myths and folklores. They have an immense library, each, in their heads, and such an amazing memory to store all of it, even to the final minute detail. And for this, I salute them all, the great minstrels of our time who, sadly, are often looked down upon, or even ignored! They are the unsung heroes of the arts, not those pathetic excuses of human beings who hide in those theatres everyday trying to compose an implausible story involving a swan, a wooden peg and a sailor!

Aye, and now, to the minstrel. We are neigh as glorious as those above, and we are hardly as desperate as the beggars on the streets. We can make a living that, while not as glorious as we’d like, is more than enough to make it through this life of ours. Don’t understand me? Well, I don’t expect you will without experiencing it all!

Come take a look at our barding college, where you can experience the life of us artistes. While we are called a barding college, we do train some of the highest paid minstrels and poets in the lands! So why don’t you drop by and have a quick glance at our students! You never know, you might be the next storyteller on the streets, earning a quick buck here and there on the side of your existing jobs, ay?

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Well, before you start to call the asylums, I must first state that I wrote this at five (or maybe more) different times, of varying moods and time of day. So, part of it would be sheer madness (the part about the chicken seller), since I myself have no idea what I'm talking about, part of it would be kind of like a commercial (the ending, 'cause for some reason I'm feeling like it today) and the centre part about Raunlain was composed around the time when I watched Hamlet, and so, well, that's where the genocide thing came in. The rest of it, like the bit part describing poets and minstrels came when I was in a bit of a descriptive mood apparently. Oh yeah, and the beginning was composed when I was pissed at someone (I think) and so I was dying to say "stick it where the sun don't shine". (Actually, come to think of it, I did use it in one of my stories... Now which one was it...)

Trials and Tribulations

2005-03-18T10:25:00.000+08:00

A little something I wrote last Saturday. I swear I intended to continue it, maybe I will post a longer version in the future (I don't think it will be soon though), but somehow, the bug that bit me on that day seems to have disappeared. Yes, I know, sad right? Anyway, here's the little bit that I composed. Enjoy!

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Does it really matter what all this means to me? Why is it so important for you to seek the opinion of another when so obviously you have already made up your mind? Do you sift through our words to find hidden meanings where there are none? Or do you actually mean that you care so much about our opinion that it matters not for you that it is different from your own thoughts and ideas, and that you would willingly take our word, to do as we say, not caring about your own conscience – should you have one.

They say we are all born with a conscience. A conscience that guides us all the time, giving directions when necessary, telling us the little truths in our hearts that we so sorely need to hear. That is not too far from the truth, I feel. Our conscience does not so much guide us, than push its opinions in our face. We have no choice but to hear it out, since it is the incessant voice that mews so irritatingly in our heads, forcing us to listen to its aggravating little ideals. It does not give us directions, instead it states its destination and expects to be taken there, sooner or later. Telling us little truths that we need? No. It galls us by explaining the minute details which we have either no time to listen to, or do not ever want to know about ourselves. It tells us the very things that so often put us down, and philosophers call it “testing ourselves for the trials that are yet to come.”

This quote reminds me of another situation. When a man is on the battlefield, and he fights for country, monarch and kingdom, he defends his people, his family and friends, and he struggles in the never ending war of something of another, he is told that these are the trials to test his loyalty, his honour, his beliefs, his love, and of course, his strength – the strength to live, to carry on day after day, knowing all too well the number of lives he had taken in the past, knowing that one day, and that day will come sooner or later, there will be a number of brothers… comrades-in-arms awaiting him on the other side, waiting to exact punishment, seek revenge, or perhaps welcome him to the over-glorified afterlife.

That is the true ordeal and tribulation that one has to go through, the suffering and pain that one has the misfortune to bear. Yet so many use this as a way to recruit soldiers and warriors, even clergymen sometimes!

They are told that no common man has the ability to withstand such pressure, and the only people “special” enough to do so are the select few who are on the battlefield itself, earning for themselves the fireside stories, the conversation-starting medals and of course, the battle scars that shall forever leave fair maidens swirling in their wake. Yet they are never told of the thousands who never make it to those fireplaces, to those taverns where anyone is willing to listen to a distant traveller. Nor will they ever find themselves in the courts of the nobles, or the dances and parties of the rich and famous. Not even the brothels and cheap wenches will they ever visit again, so far gone in their misery or insanity they have become.

Those are the unlucky ones, some say; or the lucky ones if you wish to compare deeper. After all, who is worse off: the young lad who dies championing off somewhere, sacrificing his noble self in defence of nation, home and glory; or the old man, senile and dribbling down the side of his shirt, speaking of monsters that no one has heard of, let alone believe in, yelling and screaming of wraiths that haunt his mind and soul…

The priests and acolytes of the various orders, attracted by the words of the higher authorities, of their words concerning the deeper perils and burdens that they will be able to endure once the torments they undergo are past… What drives them to believe this, I wonder? What allows them to follow such truths they see in lies?

Lies, I call them, for in the end, what exactly is this immense test they are all preparing for? Is it death? I do not see it that way. If you are dead, what more can you possibly feel? Pain? Distress? Sadness? Anxiety? How can you feel when your heart is dead? Whyfore then, do so many still deem such actions worthy of their commitment? I wonder. I truly wonder why.

The stupid, stupid actions of the great Kivan

2005-03-17T12:02:00.000+08:00

Well, well, well... I just realised how much of my friends' lives I've been missing out on just by not coming online for a couple of days. The minute I logged on this morning to messenger, there was a flurry of messages from my friends and unfortunately, for some unknown reason, all of you asked me, "So, did you read my blog?"

Ahaha... Well, confession time again: Nope. Really sorry. A couple of you, I managed to delay long enough to read your entries in between the lines, literally. Okay, okay, that was lame. What I meant was that in between the time it took for you to answer and for me to type, I was reading your blog. Yup. There it is. Yet another astounding confession from the great Kivan.

Yes, yes... Don't elevate yourself up to what pedestal does not exist. Right. So anyway, on to my bloggy confessions.

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I had no idea that so many of you took inspiration from my words here online. No, I'm kidding. Alright, what I truly mean is that I had no idea that so many people would actually blog about what I said/ranted/screamed/raved about.

I'm fine today, I think. For the moment at least. For now, I'll stick to screaming about what happened yesterday. (And yes, for you people who just won't stop flooding my mailbox, I'm gonna post one of my infamous stories as well. But later today, after I've finished them.)

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Yesterday, I did the unthinkable. I practically quarreled with my teacher, during my presentation to the class, and that was the presentation that carried 40% of my grade. Well, if I don't make the promotion, guys, you know what happened ay?

Well, it wasn't really anyone in particular's fault that I got so worked up, except maybe that it seems that the closer it gets to exams, the shorter my temper becomes. Not in front of the people I call my friends, of course. I've discovered that I like to act in front of people. And that I change topics too fast for my own thoughts to actually follow.

It's something about the fact that I don't want to burden people whom I like and treat as equals with my incessant flood of problems. Strange huh? Don't kill your own friends with your problems, but let all hell break lose on the people you don't know as well. That explains why my "friend-o-meter" doesn't seem to go up beyond a certain point.

Ahem. So as I was saying about my class yesterday, it was actually my class's fault. We were doing this IT programming thing, and we were supposed to program some crap for our 40% grade. Anyway, our teacher was so slack that more than half the things we were required to do we didn't know how to do. So in the end, although my group had 3 people, I ended up doing the bulk of the project, 'cause my other friends couldn't make head or tail of the programming language. I didn't mind though, 'cause for some weird reason unknown even to myself, I seem to take delight in doing crazy stuff with the computer (reading and rewriting html codes, writing programming codes for fun... etc. Yes, I know I'm a nut)

Yesterday was the big day, we showed off everything we did. We were the 6th team to present, which I may say, was a major bad timing. My class has some very good contacts in the other semester's modules. Hence, many of their friends had finished this module already, I don't mind. They got many tips from those same people, I don't mind. Many of their notes etc were from their friends, I don't mind. They found out how to do some of the really tough programming from their friends, I don't mind. They copied wholesale from their friends, I still don't mind.

What I bloody got so upset about yesterday, was that there were 5 teams ahead of me, ya? Out of the 5 of them, 3 of them had the exact same bloody pop-up (read the exact same bloody programming) and the teacher was so facinated. EVERY SINGLE ONE of the other teams, that would mean 6 teams out of 7, had a log in user screen, which once agian they copied the bloody programming from each other.

I was pissed. They were my classmates, whenever they had a problem, they would come to the great Kivan, who could program anything from scratch, even if the teacher hadn't taught them yet, and Kivan would just happily do it for them, even going to great lengths to explaining how the codes work. Even for the project, so much of the programming would not have worked had I not given them the basis for the codes. And then. They do this to me.

Bloody hell! I wouldn't have minded if one or two people had the codes. That would have meant they asked the right people. But every single one of them copied the codes from each other! Honestly, under different circumstances, I would have given them a pat on the back and said, "Wow! Great programming!" And deep inside, I would know that they copied from someone, and I wouldn't care whether or not they learnt something from copying from another person.

But this time, this time was different altogehter. Their copying impressed the teacher so damn much, that it was compromising my project! I was so bloody pissed, I mean, if it were just a normal thing, I wouldn't mind looking bad, 'cause at least I would be able to say, "I did ALL the codes myself. I didn't copy from anybody, I didn't refer to anything else other than my brains." Although I must admit, I actually got the idea for one of the codes from my friends, but even so, I only found out that you should write the codes by double-clicking this... I still spent a half hour trying to figure out the exact codes myself.

The other "copiers" in my class were the type of people who sat behind you in class, and said things like, "Erm Kiv, could you move a little to your right, I can't see the codes on your screen." And when you tried to teach them the coding so that it would allow them to learn as well, they said stuff like, "Aiyor, too troublesome. I can't be bothered. Just let me copy them."

So I was pissed. All of you out here can understand right? You understand what I'm going through. Strictly speaking, I should be mad at the two wagon-riders in my team, since they didn't do a thing, but somehow, I wasn't. I didn't mind them wagon-riding, 'cause I know I could do better than them, and they knew it as well. What I was really pissed at, was that a bunch of people in my class could spent at most, an hour or two copying the entire completed project of another, and hand it in, possibly getting high marks for that, whereas, I spent 3 entire weekends, slaving away, doing the bloody thing to what I deemed perfection, but what was "definitely only gonna get a passing grade" in my teacher's eyes.

Can you imagine what it feels like to spend your weekend, Saturdays from about 10am to nearly 4am the next day, up to the point that one day my father walked into my room early one sunday morning and commented, "Hey, you're up early this morning." When in truth, I hadn't slept at all? Doing this for three consecutive weeks, and missing out on a chance to be in the bloody competition which I ranted about so much the last time I was here? Yes, it was the same bloody project.

I didn't mind. I didn't mind before I presented. I didn't mind when the teacher walked in. What I did mind was when I saw all my friends' projects, and saw the bloody approving look he was giving them, and the gods be damned look he gave me when I showed him ours. How can I not be pissed when I threw away so much of what I wanted, for something else, and in the end finding out that I wouldn't get that other thing I wanted so much?

It's so much akin to opening that christmas present of yours that you are so sure is that book you've been wanting to read, and opening it up to find that it isn't, but instead it's a full length report of what you've been doing wrong all year.

I admit that I'm a prideful person. I like being proud. There are it's benefits. But now, I wonder if pride was the only thing motivating me. I know what I was aiming for the whole module. I was aiming to be the best in my class, maybe even the whole level in this module. I was aiming for the bloody AD. I had decided that somehow, ironic as it may seem, getting AD in a module that doesn't even have the slightest bit of relation to my course, was more important than the CCA which I so dearly love. Pathetic, ain't I?

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You know, it was on Tuesday, when the thought popped into my head, and it just came straight out to my friends. "Strange, but every single one of my CCAs and my interests have been ruined by the education system. My first, Tae-Kwon-Do, was cut short because of PSLE. I nearly got a black belt, but because of horrible timing, I was only at Red-black when I finished. I nearly joined the SYO (Singapore Youth Orchestra), but I couldn't make the audition, despite having a personal recomendation from the director of music from NAFA, because it clashed with my A-math exam."

Oh, the bloody ironies involved. I'm so bloody pissed with my life. Do you enjoy playing with the stupid thread, Fates, or is it that you three enjoy quarreling when it comes to mine? Just spin the bloody spool, draw out the thread, and if you deem fit, cut it as you may! Stop winding up my life just as it is getting better, and drawing it back out when I feel like giving up!

So what are you gonna do to my poly life? You've already successfully crapped up the ending of this academic year. I suppose it's only right that you make sure I don't get into anything that I really want ya? Like maybe by making it so damn obvious on Tuesday that I was the only girl not to have a partner ya? By making sure I made a bloody fool of myself when I was dancing with someone? You're doing a great job, please don't quit now. I guess the only thing you can do to top it all, is if you can make something dumb happen like, let's see... By letting me find out two days after I wrote my bloody confession to the guy I like that he has a girlfriend?

Oh yeah... The "great Kiv" made a bloody fool of herself. Yay. Bring out the champagne. While you're at it, why not give me a whole sack of salt? I promise I'll rub it into the wound often like clockwork.

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Sorry. I needed a break before I continued. If I didn't, I might just destroy what little friendship I may possess with those reading this rant. I tend to get a little "rough" with my language when I'm mad. Give me a little time to cool down. Maybe after my piano lesson later I'll post the stories I've been promising for weeks, ya?

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Just remembered something. Tim, sorry about what happened, man. I didn't know till TS told me. You should be reading this, since I gave you the add for my blog, but I've got this really crapped up feeling that you never came here before. Well, my condolences are offered here, for the moment at least. Until I can calm down enough to make sure I don't start screaming at you for not telling me, and letting me find out only a week after the incident from another friend, I'm afraid I can't send a decent msg or e-mail. Take care, man.

Aftermath

2005-03-13T20:40:00.000+08:00

Err... I typed all this yesterday, and I kinda looked through what I wrote again, so this is the highly censored version. One thing you can depend on: When I'm pissed enough, I swear more freely in typing than in real life. So here goes...

Before I begin proper, I think I should add this here: Anything and everything I write in my blog isn’t really as personal as you believe it to be. Should it sound personal, well, trust me, there’s a lot more personal things I‘m hiding from you. So, to cut through the chase:

Anything and everything here is meant to be read. By anyone and everyone. If I put it up here, it’s for you to read, or at least, you can read it, even if I don’t expect anyone to read it. If I react a tad strongly in person, well, it’s not ‘cause I don’t want you to read it, it’s because where I’ve been in the last five years up till I met someone in NP, no one I knew ever read anything longer than 500 words – and that’s only because they gotta write a compo that length to pass their English examinations.

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It’s 12.08 am on the night of Saturday, March 12 (or the morning of Sunday, 13 March. The Dancesport competition is over, and I was there, watching not participating. Anyway, I would like to congratulate everyone who took part, be it whether or not you won something. Special congrats goes to Vanessa and Brannen (Is that how you spell his name?), I believe you both can do better; trust me, screwing up is a periodical thing – doesn’t happen all the time, doesn’t make you a loser either. Extremely special congrats to Choon Lim and Nadiah, you guys rule man! The champion for the poly closed category eh? Gotta start watching out for you rising stars from now on… Heh, looks like tough competition’s on the menu…

Anyway, that’s all I gotta say in the congratulations department. Honestly, if I congratulated each and everyone of you, I wouldn’t have to sleep ‘cause I’d be wrecking my brains over your names and their spellings, and of course, I would definitely forget someone. So, congrats to everybody who took part again, and honestly, I think no matter what you believe, the experience was worth it all.

So, let’s now move on to the behind the scenes fun. Ahem. So, tell me, are you guys really gonna start a NPHDS? The “H” standing for homo… Ahaha… Okay, okay, I’m joking, but I’m thinking that those photos that Nadiah’s gonna send to us are going to be in my collection for a long, long time. You got to say, that made me feel much better, playing around with the bunch of you all tonight. Thanks for all the fun and entertainment tonight, both the dancing and the impromptu uh… “gaying”? Haha…

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So, here comes my usual dose of ranting. Those who don’t want to know me as a different person should stop reading here. Seriously. There’s nothing beyond here that isn’t depressing or aggravating, trust me on that. For those of you that I’ll meet anytime soon, please, if you do read this, please don’t try to ask me about it in real life: You know I won’t be able to. I just can’t act the right way in front of people. Got a question? E-mail it to me or comment something. I’ll probably reply via blog/e-mail. Don’t expect a face-to-face answer.

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The truth is that I didn’t want to go to the competition today. I swear it. After the events on Tuesday, I didn’t even bother to turn up on Thursday. Do you think I would’ve cared whether or not I went to the competition, or who won what today? In the end, I went because Melvin messaged and asked me if I was going. During my practical examination. Thank you so very much. No, seriously, I didn’t check my phone till after, and I was feeling kind of high (I mean, come on, I was stuck in a lab for two and a half hours, smelling alkene and ester unknowns… For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, think “petrol station… a very, very strong petrol smell”.)

Anyway, I was kinda high, and didn’t really think properly, when my mom called me. So I was talking to her, and casually asked her, “Hey mom. My teacher just messaged me and asked me if I’m going for the competition. Well, the tickets are $20 each, but if I get them from my cell bio lecturer, I’ll be able to get them at $10.” And my mom said that I could go if I wanted to, and I got the tickets.

So, it turned out that my mom was under the impression that I really wanted to go, since I was telling her that I could get tix at 50% off. Whereas in truth, I was just telling her that because I was kinda woozy from the lab smells, and I was just dumping all the relevant information on her at one shot. Also, I was really high, so I was thinking how nice it would be if I went… right.

So the point is that’s why I was there (I don’t buy tix and not go the events. I’m too much of a miser to waste money.). I was dressed so formally today not because of the event, in case any of you were wondering, but because I was actually planning to go to the UK education fair at Suntec, the one with all the UK universities there and all. I didn’t go in the end, because of a number of other stupid things that happened (I won’t bore you to death, so I’ll just skip that).

I found out a long time ago, that the minute I opened my mouth in front of “adults”, I would forever be classified as “someone who is working, or in university”. Hence, I decided to look a little more formal so that I could get the attention of those people trying to pull students into their universities. And yes, I’m already planning for U although I’ve got a full two years ahead of me.

The scarf is a whole different reason. I’m wearing it because I’ve got what the TCM (traditional Chinese medicine) calls “bai tian ke” (hundred day cough). The minute my throat feels cold, I’ll end up coughing to no end. I wasn’t trying to be Ah mah or anything…

Which brings me to my extremely important message to all you people whose intent is to irritate me to no end next week: I noticed in the past week or so that when I’m sick (or at least sick with this bai tian ke) I end up extremely emotional. So, please, please don’t make me scream or cry in front of you. I’ve done that twice today, and both times were in the span of an hour (the screaming part, not the other).

I arrived at the convention centre, no ticket in hand (it was with Jin Jin) and with no friend by my side. I was alone, and the guy at the front desk asked me for my ticket. I replied that it was with a friend, so he told me to call the friend. I was just about to add that I didn’t have his number when, miracles abound, Jin Jin suddenly appeared not too far behind the guy. So I started waving like a maniac and he saw me. So he motioned for me to wait while he went to get my ticket.

So there I was, standing alone outside the convention centre, when the usher decides to be friendly, and asks me, “You came alone? No friends?”

And my reply was, “Err… They’re all dancing inside.”

It was then that I was hit by the extreme loneliness of the situation, and I decided that no, it would be okay, since I knew so many people in there, ya?

And I stepped into the main hall, and again I felt lost. What was I supposed to feel? Standing alone at the entrance of the main hall, not a friend or familiar face in sight, no idea where to go or how to find my friends, but eventually I saw Darsh and Henry and the rest, so I made my way over.

Talking to you guys made me so happy there. Much happier than I was two seconds before I met you all… Anyway, I ended up your unofficial storekeeper and cameraman for the night. So I don’t mind. It kept my thoughts away from the more dangerous things. The first time tonight that I felt terrible was when you were all preparing inside, and I was outside trying to find a place to sit down or a decent position to take a picture. Being alone, holding onto a bag laden with your friends’ hand phones and wallets, and carrying six digital cameras is quite a juggle, literally. But when you add on the factor that the reason why I’m doing this alone is because everyone’s taking part in the competition is quite depressing.

I have to thank the fact that during the whole competition, I was too busy running around, taking pictures and juggling cameras to care about the dismal thoughts that were rampaging around and causing mayhem and havoc in my head. Chaos was something that was external for me tonight, so the internal one just had to shut up and go away till I got things sorted out.

So if my pictures tonight were lousy well, firstly, I’m not photographer. You want one, I’ll bring my brother down sometime. He’s got a dip in FSV and lots of work experience. Secondly, well, when you’re just trying to point and shoot, and get a nice angle, and don’t even know that someone was stepped on right in front of you by another dancer, well, that proves your not really using your brain overmuch tonight, ya?

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“You should have joined.”

“You could have really made it.”

“You’re competition material.”

“Looks like that you not joining was both a good and bad thing, eh? (referring to being a cameraman for the night)”

These are just a couple of things I heard tonight. Trust me on this one, I’ve been hearing things like this ever since the first of you all signed up, and it doesn’t get any better. I know I’m probably being unreasonable, I know that you guys really mean it (well, I’m quite sure about most of you at least), and you guys mean well, but hey, I don’t want to hear anymore of it, you know? It doesn’t get any better over time, and it sure as hell doesn’t make the pain go away.

I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to join, but if there are factors working against me, who am I to do anything? I supposed that’s the reason why I didn’t make it. Every noticed that my answer to everyone is standard, doesn’t change? It’s always, “Don’t have a partner. Can’t join.”

Well, that is the truth, but it’s also a bloody big hint. I’m not like some who don’t want to join and test their skills, I really do want to go. And do you have any idea how difficult it is to just smile and tell everyone, “Sorry, I don’t have a partner, so I can’t go.”? It hurts every time you say it, and it definitely doesn’t help when someone hears that and says, “Oh. Well, you should join. You’ll be really good.”

I know that the bloody grapes are not sour, and I don’t need anyone to tell me how much I would love the grapes if I only I had a taste. I don’t have a stupid ladder! What do you want me to do?

I know it’s my own fault that I don’t have a partner. It was my own stupid personality and ideals that got in the bloody way. Trust me. Over the past two weeks, I’ve thought about it – a lot.

So I’m old-fashioned. I believe that boys should chase girls, and leave the asking out and actions to the boys. To me, it’s pretty much the same thing when it comes to looking for a dance partner. The guy goes looking for a lady, and all the girls do is wait to become such a lady and say “Yes”. I know. Nowadays, you call that playing coy. I thought about it, and I’ve decided, yes, I like to “play coy” as most call it. To me, that’s just how I think that all females should act. I like to play that I don’t really give a damn, and that if no guy wants to ask me, I don’t give a hoot about it either. Maybe that’s why I lack the skill and luck in the relationship department as well.

So, since the competition’s over, I’ve decided to say it out loud. I’ve been wrestling with this notion of telling the truth, the whole truth online, and I’ve decided that if it turns out to personal in the end, then tonight’s entry is just gonna be a big empty space.

Believe it or not, I had been planning to ask you if you had a partner since the day Melvin first told us about the competition, CL. My bloody pride got in the way because, I thought your partner, be it official or not, was Valerie. I was trying to work up the guts to ask, and then I thought you weren’t joining anyway, so I kinda pushed the thought aside. And then I found out that Valerie was going with someone else (I didn’t know who then) and so I was back to wrestling with that notion of asking you just for the sake of asking, but again, I’m just too arrogant to take “no” from a guy. So I just waited in the sidelines. I was actually not even planning to care about the competition, until about a month ago, when (I forgot why) many people didn’t come, and I was partnered with Darryl (the younger one). That incidentally was the first time I spoke to either Darryl or Danny. I felt, how should you put it, the camaraderie, and I found that I really wanted to go, if not for any other reason than to just be part of everything that was happening.

So for the first time in history, I asked a guy. I asked Darryl, and his reply was, “Sorry, I’m going with Sheryl/Cheryl (how do you spell her name?). Maybe next time huh?”

It was amazing for me, because that was the first time I gathered enough guts to ask a guy this kinda thing. (Yes, I classify them in the same group as “Do you want to go out?” and “Will you marry me?” kind of questions. Of course, the latter is a rather strong example, but you get the gist.) And apparently, it didn’t feel that bad, I mean, it hurt less than I thought it would.

Strangely, I started noticing that everyone had a permanent partner but, me. Even Atlantis and Deborah who joined so much later than me had a partner. That’s also when I realised how difficult it was to admit something like that, that as much as I wanted to join something which the others say I’m good at but I so highly doubt, I couldn’t, for reasons I could not control.

In the past, I was always the one in control, deciding the decisions, making up my mind who I wanted to dance with, whether or not I was going somewhere, and now, I was restrained by a stupid problem which I should have seen coming.

Two weeks ago, while dancing with Harry, I asked him if he had a partner. And he replied, “Yes. Valerie.” And that is how I knew all their partners. By methodically asking around whose partner was whose. Yes, I know, once again I was “playing bloody coy”. I couldn’t bear to ask someone who didn’t have a partner, I had to ask who had one. Dumb, right?

Jonathan, both of them were mistakes. Big ones. I kinda pinned my hopes on the Jonathan that joined earlier that since he didn’t have a partner and I didn’t have one, we could join together, but big problem – the only thing he’s interested when dancing, is his hand phone which he is always staring at, messaging this person or another, or making calls. Mostly to his girlfriend, as I am to understand. The second one, was due to stupid timing. I’m still trying to make up my mind whether what I did was the right thing to do. I skipped dance practice, both of them, ‘cause I was trying to finish my IT projects – one in Dreamweaver, one in Visual Basic (read programming). In the end, because of that, Jonathan partnered Karen because Atlantis backed out last minute. Amazingly, when I asked Jonathan if he had a partner, his answer really cleared up the chaos I was trying to understand. “Why didn’t you ask me during lecture if you wanted a partner?”

Good question. I don’t know. Because I’m always looking for someone better, something better. I’m always looking to the unreachable, wanting what’s already taken. Maybe. Perhaps. I still don’t know.

Which brings me back to my surprise on Tuesday, whether or not you detected it, when I was reading your confirmation letter and ended up reading “Mr (you know who) and Ms Nadiah”. I knew you were going with someone, I just didn’t know it was one of us ‘juniors’. I regretted it a lot that night, especially when you were all practising the entrance etc. I didn’t know it then, but now I’m sure it was because I was sick, and my emotions were on the rise, so I was feeling rather peeved with myself after reading that, and hence my stupid rant later that night.

So there it is. The complete and utter truth about everything that happened. Strange, it doesn’t help that I’ve said it all out, maybe I’ll feel better when I actually post this, if I actually post this. I’ve a strong feeling I know the reaction I’ll be getting from this. It’s either, “Why didn’t you ask me?” or “Oh my god. I can’t believe she is so bloody bold. To actually tell me something like that… etc.” Well, but who gives a damn, ya? My reputation is gonna be finished on Tuesday, I know it, whether or not I post this on blogger. I don’t know if I can put up with all that “Oh my god, I still can’t believe we got…” and all the “You really should have gone.”. Maybe I’ll not go. It might be better, there’s a less chance of me actually revealing my idiotic side which I so often show off so blatantly on blogger.

(Erm, by the way, in case you are wondering, I really mean my congratulations. I'm just angry at myself for being a bloody idiot. It's nothing to do with you.)

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Well, I’ve decided that since I’m so into confessions tonight, I might as well just tell the whole world the other thing I’ve been keeping inside.

There are a number of people who read my blog, from top to bottom. Yes, I know, I always tell each person that they’re the only ones who do it, but well, that’s because the others who do it they don’t know (as a friend I mean), so while it is still lying, it’s not entirely false, ya? Oh yeah, the total number of people reading this crap is not 2 (or 1, for spiff). I did not fail my English - I know that two does not make up "a number of people". The rest of you never ever bother to use the comments button, eh? Well, my e-mail has always been open all the same…

No, that was not the confession. The confession here is that one of you, the ones that read my entire blog, not the ones that read halfway. (Yes, I know who finishes them – they’re generally the only ones who bother to feedback.) Anyway, one of you people, and that only applies to the males, I’m not les, I really like a lot.

Bloody hell. I can’t believed I actually typed that. But since I did, I’m not backspace-ing it. It took me ages to write that down, let alone admit it.

Well, yes, I know that all of you are thinking, “Oh wow. She actually likes some guy.” Yup, it’s always the next guy whenever a woman admits something vague. Well, the right person is probably gonna think it’s not him anyway, so that didn’t really help a lot, ya?

Well, to heck with it all. If you figured out who, congratulations. If not, well, you won’t force it out of me unless I’m about to take desperate measures, but knowing my own pride, I don’t ever think I’ll be that desperate. As for judging my character face to face to see if I’ve changed after admitting it, fat chance. TS, YN and WA, you know me long enough to know that there is absolutely nothing I can possibly do the day before that will show up in my personality the day after. For the rest of you, I leave it up to you if you really want to test the limits of my stoical emotional sector.

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Well, that was amazing. Started two hours ago, more or less okay, ended two hours later, feeling definitely not as depressed as before, and much more relieved, ‘cause whether or not the person figured it out, I’ve finally admitted liking someone to the person himself. Well, maybe not directly, but you know what I mean.

Or maybe it's just like I wrote the other time - my personal aunt agony and my best friend is the same person: A lovely little black plastic covered object by the name of "My laptop! Don't touch!". I always feel better after typing out all the crap happening around me. Don't know why...

Ahem. Sorry about boring the bunch of you about dancesport, I know you don’t really care much about that, but hey… that was what I was ranting about from the beginning of the entry till now, so if you’re still reading, you’re in no position to complain.

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Word count: 3,625

(Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more long-winded…)

Females and Relationships

2005-03-09T11:46:00.000+08:00

It’s 10.02pm exactly right now, and I’ve just finished my dinner. Yup, you didn’t read wrong, I just finished my dinner. Well, that’s the curse when you’ve got a CCA that starts at 6.30pm and ends at 9pm or so, or at least you hang around long enough to make it 9pm.

I’m probably posting this tomorrow morning, so take no heed of the date and time at the top – I always write my stuff in MS Word, and then copy and paste the whole lengthy rant/ramble/random post on blogger and let them do their stuff. (Yeah, I got attacked by the evil, “Server not found” message one too many times, I’m not taking the risk no more.)

Anyway, the point of this essay is to get something out of my head, that I had stuck in there the whole journey home, plus the entire dinner. It was about chiefly two things – females, and relationships.

Ahem. So let’s start with the first. I don’t like them. Period. (No, there’s no pun intended here.) Despite the fact that I happened to be looking at the whole situation from the wrong side of the human race, I still don’t like them.

I find that they are annoying. They are extremely bitchy, and that most of all, they resemble too much like cats, for comfort. Haven’t you ever noticed that the difference between when two females fight, and when two males fight, the result is always different? The males can start with a small argument, build it up to a fisticuff, beat the shit out of each other, and maybe stop talking to each other for a while. And then, two days later, miraculously, they’re talking like buddies again! (Well, yes, I am aware that it sometimes doesn’t happen so easily, but we’re talking generally. This normally happens.)

For females, all you need is a slightly louder than usual debate, a little bit of screaming at each other, maybe a little bit of scratching and cat fighting, and there’s only one solution: They stop talking for the rest of their sorry lives, and they probably spend every minute of their waking life thinking up new ways to make the other person’s life worse, and use their dreams to fantasise about successfully doing so.

So I’m exaggerating. As I’ve said before, “Who doesn’t?” Anyway, I think that females are worse than males. I call if a fact, some call it a claim, or an opinion. It’s up to you what you call it. I think that I would prefer to live my life out as a guy. Not that I’m crazy enough to go to Thailand or something, I just think that I would be able to accomplish more, live my life fuller, and maybe, just maybe, be a happier person if I were different.

I think that my biggest problem, is that my brain and my gender don’t match. It’s always thinking about the wrong things at the wrong times, but not all the time. If that were so, you wouldn’t see me in polytechnic; you would see me, if you bothered to visit, in an institution.

I think females spend too much of their time doing unnecessary things, doing dumb and senseless tasks and jobs assigned to themselves by themselves, and committing themselves to mindless responsibilities and obligations. Males have such a better life, lying back and letting those idiots that make up the other 50% of the human race to do the jobs.

Okay, so that’s not what I really think. I’m just trying to keep up the flow… For those of you whom I met in the last few days, you would know that I got a blocked left ear, and that I’m at the moment on medication, so I don’t really know what it is that I’m writing. Well, not completely at least. That’s what happens when you’re on the doctor’s “special strong stuff” that makes you super drowsy and costs like, over $40.

So maybe I’ll rant about females another time, I’m not in the mood today. Let’s try the relationships segment which I got stuck in between my ears. (Ahaha… Not funny? Well, I guess no one caught that pun.)

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You know, just now during dancesport, I suddenly started taking stock of all the relationships I ever had. Outside of my family kind of relationships I mean. And counting only from after secondary school years, ‘cause I think I don’t remember much before that, and that I didn’t really care much in the past either. So here’s the list, ranked in order of importance to me.

First up, starting some time in March or so the year I was in Sec 2, an elven minstrel. He is, incidentally, a spell singer as well, and I think he’s the coolest thing to have happened to me. The source of most of my happier days, he provides amazing comfort in times of dire need (like I’ve had any…). He also happens to be my other split personality online. Or at least, he used to be. Nowadays, I just keep him for my own, private enjoyment. (Ahaha… Down boys, down. Stop thinking dirty.)

His place as my alternate ego has been succeeded by another person, an elf. Yup, that’s all I can tell you about for the moment, ‘cause he’s turning out to be a lot of different things in my fantasies/stories. Some days, he’s an elven ranger, of mixed heritage (mostly, he’s Green elven, mixed with either Copper or Silver); on some others, he’s a roguish sort of person, but with that perfect gentlemanly flair (at this time, he’s mostly Silver with Copper, or Gold); of course, there’s that very obvious one, which I’m trying to write him as: an elven vampire. I am, however, having serious doubts about this, for that would make my dearest a rather, antihero, bad person type, but that’s not what he really is like. (Of course, many would start to doubt my sanity here, since there isn’t really a “real” him, anywhere.)

In third place, there’s this other person whom most people know very well, but for exactly those same reasons, I’m not naming. He is, again, a fictional character whose, ahem, character has been greatly altered so much in my stories, that he might as well adapt a new name and start his life anew. He is an elf, again, and he’s actually an elven archer, deadly accurate, and has twin blades: daggers on some days, and short swords on others (all depends on my mood on that day). He’s ever the gentleman, being so impeccably generous and courteous, and not having a single fault. Well, I do know that there’s probably no such person out there, flawless, faultless, impeccable, absolutely the ideal dream guy that every girl out there dreams of.

Next up, from the same birth place as my “first love”, the elven rogue and crime lord – a Moonelf whose honour and integrity is greatly doubted by nearly everyone. He’s one of those bad boys that all girls dream of one day or another, and my relationship with him is, expectedly, perpetually on the rocks. No, I’m not insane, imagining love lives where there are none, my relationship is referring to his being in my stories. He is such a cool character, and I hardly dare to mar his perfect image with my horrendous writing.

And well, I don’t think I need to continue right? You’ve probably got a grasp of what my relationships are largely made of. Well in all honesty, that’s what all my relationships are made of. So guys, if you’re looking to get my attention, go get a set of pointy ears, learn how to ride a horse really well, go learn some killer skills (I meant cool skills) like archery, and of course, go find a way to be tall, thin, and perfect.

Bwahaha… Okay. I think I’ve confirmed it. The doc’s medicine brings out the absolute worst in me. Spelling-wise, thoughts-wise, organising skills-wise… etc.

So what was all that about? Well, it started because of that stupid rumba music. It wasn’t really my fault. There I was, just looking at all the other couples dancing cha-cha, and then Jin Jin switched the music to rumba. Right. I hate slow and emotional music. It always gets me on the high, or low depending on how you look at it. Not the high high, but in terms of emotional high/low. I was feeling so bloody melancholic when I was listening to that crap, and then I noticed, Hey! I’m like the only person down here without a partner, and hanging around like a desperate whore looking for a quick buck. Well, there is one other person, but she doesn’t want to take part, so that doesn’t count.

Guess how that made me feel. Well, if you do want to know, the impossibly emotionless and mad girl of class 4/5’03 was suddenly thinking about seriously getting a guy. Ahuh. Read boyfriend. And then I started counting all my past, existing and predominating relationships, and I came up with that list up there. Not that I dislike Wynn, or Kivan, or the rest, but hey, sometimes you just need a real life anchor, you know? To hang on to the things that “matter the most”, as they say.

I mean honestly, there I was, sitting alone, watching everyone dance with a partner and thinking, My relationships to date include: an elven minstrel, an elven vampire/ranger/rogue/person, an elven archer, a gentle-elf crime lord, and a couple others from other books and stories, all of which are… *gasps in surprise*… elves!

Take it from me, thinking about your life in such a cynical manner really puts a lot of things, and priorities, in view. So here and now, in this blog, I am stating, “I’m free, and single, so guess who’s up for grabs?”

Ahaha…No, I’m kidding. I’m not that desperate… yet. Anyway, that was what I was thinking, and that made me so dang depressed that I was close to tears (Keyword: close). I haven’t cried in school and I don’t intend to start now. Ahem, so that’s why I was kinda quiet when you guys came to talk to me when you were done. And then I slipped into that hyper-drive automatic gear, out of habit I guess, and started to tell you about that lame joke about my Literature teacher and his adventure of pulling a woman’s leg. I wasn’t in the mood, but CL, I gotta say one thing:

You’re right. We go there so often that sometimes, or rather most of the time, you’ve forgotten who was there in the first place, and all that is left is that other alien who was never there in the first place. You’re always searching, looking for some remnants, for some memory of that other place, of that other person, but there’s hardly ever any trace. You only remember that you aren’t really like that alien, but that you have no memory of what that other persona looks like, or is like. All that you remember is what you are not, and you can’t place exactly what it is you are, what exactly you are comparing that alien against.

Yet strangely, how can we compare ourselves against something that doesn’t exist? How can we look at something and instinctively know that that isn’t what we are looking for, when we don’t even remember what it is we are searching for? But we do know. We always know what we are not, even if we don’t remember what we are. Why? I don’t know. Maybe someone someday can tell us, but until then, what are we to do? Change ourselves continuously in the vain hope that one day we might be able to find what we lost? Or do we stay as we are, living out the lie we know is an untruth, yet everyone takes for the reality of ourselves?

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Arghhh… How in the world did random rambles about relationships that are nonexistent suddenly morph into this gigantic glum and depressing rant? I think I’ll sign off here, it’s 11.13pm now, and I haven’t studied for a single one of the three tests I’m having tomorrow. Besides, I’m tired. Maybe I’ll post this up tomorrow, maybe the day after. See how it goes.

Tuesday, 08 March 2005
11.14pm

Ad:

Single and boyfriend-less. Never had a real relationship. Interested, please call…

Ahaha… No, I’m kidding again. Take everything I say with a pinch of salt. I don’t really mean it.

Of course, that could just be the real me talking, not wanting anyone to actually care… Then again, it could just be me exaggerating everything, as usual…

Oh man… I love messing up your heads… So, shoot me! I take pleasure in your headaches… Ahaha…

Disclaimer: The original quote is “I take pleasure in your pain.” I changed it, so it’s mine now. Bwahaha.

Word count: 2,167

Sins

2005-03-07T17:00:00.000+08:00

Just a little random piece that I found stuck in the corner, gathering dust and... Okay, okay... I didn't write this that long ago. This I composed some time last week, at night, if I remember correctly. Anyway, I was inspired by two certain female elves, possessing so much beauty and intelligence, both of which are in abundance.

Ahem. Anyway, here's the little piece, I don't remember what it was about, except that it had a lot of LOTR rip-offs. No, it does not belong to me. LOTR, I mean, the story does. If you can call it a story, that is.

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The sins of a father are not transferred to his sons. They bear not the sins that their fathers held, but the mark of them. The sons do not have such sins as may their fathers possess, but instead, they are the representation of such a sin, they are the symbol of what their fathers may once have done.

They bear not his sins. They do not have vices, nor the same faults of the one who fathered them. Instead, they bear the mark of such an evil, whether they would have it or not. There is nothing you can do to change it, nothing that would matter for generations to come. That is why many people, no matter what their personalities are truly like, are never accepted into our society. There is nothing that we can do, nothing that will change this fact. We can only accept that the sins of a father can be erased not so easily than we believe, for they are forever fixed into place by the symbol of his son.

You must understand this, in order for you to accept it. To accept a person is to accept more than just who he is: You must accept all the faults and the problems that he represents ever since the beginning of his line. The longer the line, the more vices he bears the mark of. That does not mean however that he bears all, or any at all, of the sins that had at one time or another visited his forebears. This is dismal, for those of you whose lines are as long as your memory of the trees, but there is always hope: For with such a long line, comes the many chances that your ancestors may have repaid those sins in full; they would have proven themselves over and over again, showing their worth even alongside the worst of sins and vices. Such an evil is often overshadowed by the pure spirit of life.

Difficult as it may be to judge, we often find ourselves in those shoes: judging those who pass us, judging those who meet us, and even judging those whom we have never seen before, but have heard of so often. It is in these small judgements, that the lines and paths converge, and the history that will be written upon face and heart and soul of descendents will be changed. This is the small consolation that we have; the little we have to light a candle against the immense despair that covers us, like a pall of darkness, shadowing all light, letting only the evil of the situations through, taunting us to the very end.

It is because of this, that we must be strong, that we must see through such dark times, and look to the fertile fields and rolling hills at the end, the end that we are all promised, but so often is forgotten during the journey itself; so much to the extent that many of us, when suddenly interrupted or turned aside in our journey, are unable to find the way back to the paths, finding only the beginning, and drawing a complete circle, from beginning, to beginning again. And so it is in this way, we find ourselves lost time and time again, searching forever for the path to the end, and hoping against all hope that there is such a divine being beyond, who will see our difficulties, and guide us out of that maze which we have constructed.

It is impossible, for most of these beacons that mark our paths, as well as those shepherds of lost sheep, are no more than a figment of our imagination; in our desperation to find the paths out, we often mistake the finding of a path by pure incidence as some unforeseen guidance of a divine origin. As for those who claim that such a person exists, and that the very same person had indeed guided them out of the perpetual maze, they had simply followed the path previously carved out of stone by those who were strong enough not to waver in their journey, and stronger still to leave behind markers of their passing. It is these that are the true “divine help”, as we call it, who guide us where no light has passed, where there is seemingly no hope at all.

But back to the matter regarding the sins of a father: There is indeed nothing one can do to stop those who wish to believe that father and son is one and the same, and that the sins of a father is always revisited upon by the son. Whether or not you believe this, it is up to you to decide. Sins are obtained and passed on only due to influence. If a father does not raise his son, and is instead raised by another, the sins of a father is not at all reflected within his son. However, the son, when looked upon by others, will always bear the mark of such a vice, for it belonged to his father, and it was his father who had begotten him. All who knew his father, will see his father’s sins in him, no matter his person. And it is always in this way, is the sins of a father passed on to his son. It should not happen another way, although almost certainly every time, it does.

And I should quote that which is infamous, and first gave me the inspiration to write this:

“You are Isildur’s heir, not Isildur himself…”

“The same blood runs in my veins… The same weakness…”

And so, is the sins of a father revisited upon his sons and his sons after. It should always only be so, but it isn’t. And often, we should really pause and wonder why… After all, was not the second person in my quote proven wrong by the first? It can happen, for such nobility and strength does exist in the human race. We simply have to find it, hard as it may be.

“Yes, we are greedy … But there is strength also… and honour in Man! Can you not see it? Why do you not trust your own people, but look to others for aid?”

But the question remains: Knowing ourselves, do we still there trust the actions of our people? Do we still believe in the supposed strength that lies dormant under all the layers of greed and selfishness?

“And who will come to our aid? Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky as you in our friends…”

“Gondor will answer.”

“Gondor? Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell?... Where was Gon-?... No, we are alone.”

There will always be those who do not believe in the power that they possess, either fearing to be hurt by said power, or simply not daring, or not wanting to reveal such an ability.

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I couldn't remember in entirety what it was that was said, but I don't think I was that far off from the idea and the exact words that was spoken in the movies. Ahem. Don't sue me, this was composed from memory, you can't sue people for using their cerebrum (aka cerebral cortex), can you?

Aha... So I just finished my Physiology lecture... You caught me...