A baby does battle with the zzz monster... and loses. Don't you just want to pinch his cheeks though. Haha. Adorable little tubby thing.
Friday, May 29, 2009
mrbrownshow.com - Wash Your Hands Too (Parody of Wonder Girl's 'Nobody')
Trust Mr Brown to produce something like this. And for someone to sync it with the video.
Mr Brown, your singing is horrible! But its so funny how the words match the actions.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Lunchbreak.
Met a friend who was studying here yesterday. He invited me to lunch in his apartment because he said he had a dream we would meet and hence I had to fulfill his dream. I asked him what the hell he was doing dreaming about me before realising okay maybe I don't want to know.
It was great to catch up though. And when I met him, I realised that his housemate was my primary school classmate, with whom I go way back. So it was like meeting two good friends at once. And I met their two housemates, one of whom knows someone else from CS. It was amazing finding out how small this world really is.
As he cooked lunch, we started talking about our lives here. And he remarked "You people are so interesting. It's always fun to meet people on exchange because they're so different. They don't get sick of traveling. They don't seem to have realised that after a while every town is the same. One town square, one cathedral..."
"one museum..." I added.
"And after that its a mad rush to the airports to get to the next destination. Actually, you've been to more places than I have although I've studied 2 years here. It's like you people have an entirely different view of the experience." he said.
"Well yeah dude, I have to do what you do in 3 years, but I only have 5 months. And it helps that I don't have to study so much." I wanted to tell him that I was actually very sick of travelling because I've had enough hassle planning them for a few lifetimes, but I stopped myself. Sometimes people don't need to know so much.
He started asking me if my hall had catered food, and I was like no, I wish it did. Then we got into a discussion of whether catered food was better than having to cook food for yourself, before concluding it was just too difficult and troublesome to cook just to survive. We even managed to conclude that guys would enjoy having catered food more than girls simply because we were less inclined to cook being lazy slobs. An entirely long and pointless discussion that served as a good distraction from having to watch chicken and onions sizzle in a wok, hardly the most interesting thing.
Next, we talked about a girl that he thought was hot, a topic that always starts off in this fashion - "Do you know ____? Do you think she's hot?"
At this moment I looked at my primary school classmate, who had perked up upon hearing this conversation being started. Realising that we both knew this person because she was another of our primary school classmates (damn small world), we started laughing like crazy. He even went on to say "Wasn't she going out with that handsome guy?" I was like "what guy?"
"You know, that good looking one." he said.
"Haha dude thanks, that was damn helpful." The three of us laughed again.
He concluded that she was a person that divided opinions, and we concluded that he had funny taste. At least the stuff he cooked didn't turn out tasting funny, in fact it was pretty darned good.
It's always great meeting old friends again. Sometimes, it's almost as though you never left. You just carry on where you left off, even if you haven't seen these people in a year. I've come to value good friendships because I've realised that they are like banks, you put in stuff into it and it grows, and even when you leave it for a period of time, when you return, you start again where you left off. Sometimes, the long absences have an "interest" effect, in both senses of the word, because you have so much more to share, and as a result you just can't stop talking, until you realise that you have to part again, and it's always too soon.
In a world full of nasties, stupids and other bad things, good friends keep you sane.
It was great to catch up though. And when I met him, I realised that his housemate was my primary school classmate, with whom I go way back. So it was like meeting two good friends at once. And I met their two housemates, one of whom knows someone else from CS. It was amazing finding out how small this world really is.
As he cooked lunch, we started talking about our lives here. And he remarked "You people are so interesting. It's always fun to meet people on exchange because they're so different. They don't get sick of traveling. They don't seem to have realised that after a while every town is the same. One town square, one cathedral..."
"one museum..." I added.
"And after that its a mad rush to the airports to get to the next destination. Actually, you've been to more places than I have although I've studied 2 years here. It's like you people have an entirely different view of the experience." he said.
"Well yeah dude, I have to do what you do in 3 years, but I only have 5 months. And it helps that I don't have to study so much." I wanted to tell him that I was actually very sick of travelling because I've had enough hassle planning them for a few lifetimes, but I stopped myself. Sometimes people don't need to know so much.
He started asking me if my hall had catered food, and I was like no, I wish it did. Then we got into a discussion of whether catered food was better than having to cook food for yourself, before concluding it was just too difficult and troublesome to cook just to survive. We even managed to conclude that guys would enjoy having catered food more than girls simply because we were less inclined to cook being lazy slobs. An entirely long and pointless discussion that served as a good distraction from having to watch chicken and onions sizzle in a wok, hardly the most interesting thing.
Next, we talked about a girl that he thought was hot, a topic that always starts off in this fashion - "Do you know ____? Do you think she's hot?"
At this moment I looked at my primary school classmate, who had perked up upon hearing this conversation being started. Realising that we both knew this person because she was another of our primary school classmates (damn small world), we started laughing like crazy. He even went on to say "Wasn't she going out with that handsome guy?" I was like "what guy?"
"You know, that good looking one." he said.
"Haha dude thanks, that was damn helpful." The three of us laughed again.
He concluded that she was a person that divided opinions, and we concluded that he had funny taste. At least the stuff he cooked didn't turn out tasting funny, in fact it was pretty darned good.
It's always great meeting old friends again. Sometimes, it's almost as though you never left. You just carry on where you left off, even if you haven't seen these people in a year. I've come to value good friendships because I've realised that they are like banks, you put in stuff into it and it grows, and even when you leave it for a period of time, when you return, you start again where you left off. Sometimes, the long absences have an "interest" effect, in both senses of the word, because you have so much more to share, and as a result you just can't stop talking, until you realise that you have to part again, and it's always too soon.
In a world full of nasties, stupids and other bad things, good friends keep you sane.
Barcelona FC. New champions of Europe.
What can I say. It just wasn't Man Utd's day. Right after the match, the Man Utd crowd filed out silently, leaving a bunch of black guys who all support Barcelona for some strange reason, and the only Asian guy who wasn't a Man Utd fan (aka me) in the pub. Most anticlimax end to a Champions League final ever.Lots of heartbroken people in pubs tonight. All the better for business. Can you hear the tills ringing. Ring ring!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Manchester United Vs Barcelona 2009 Stadio Olimpico Rome TRAILER Champions League Final
This is the final football purists have been waiting their lives for. The two best sides in the world lock horns in a contest of technique, vision, brawn and heart. A final romanticised as an exhibition of attacking flair.
The mesmerising dribbles of Lionel Messi will be pitted against the sublime trickery of Cristiano Ronaldo, both players capable of ripping defences apart with breathtaking skill, deadly pace and a willingness to bring the game to the opposition.
Both teams are armed with matchwinners. Ronaldo can turn the tides with a single freekick, and not even the whole backline can stop Messi at his best. And even without these 2 key men, there are 20 others on the field equally capable of making football history.
This will be the day thousands of football fans around the world wear their hearts on the sleeves of their champions. This will be the day thousands of men, women and children unite around a single obsession, willing their team to go forth and do battle in their names on the arena of greatness. This will be the day the fate of the team and its supporters come together as one, to be lifted or broken as a collective spirit. This is the day soccer fans live and breathe for, the biggest match of the year.
It will be an enthralling contest, no holds barred, no prisoners taken. Sit back and watch the fireworks.
Monday, May 25, 2009
The right to go home.
I was talking to a friend in Scotland who's studying to be a doctor. He's going home in a few days, and it made me think about my own impending departure from this place. We then talked about our lives, and he recounted this funny incident to me.
He was examining patients when this lady came in. Apparently in pain, she said "I'm jaundiced like the Chinese." Upon realising that her doctor was in fact, Chinese, she quickly apologised.
I had a good laugh, before remarking to him that I was happy to be Chinese, because the white equivalent would be "I'm stupid like the British." The last thing you want to do really, is make racist jokes at your doctor's expense.
Well, to be fair the Chinese are a different kind of racist. We aren't good at being racist to other races, but we're pretty damn good at exploiting our own race. I mean, look at those factories in China. Once in a while one of them turns out to be an illegal fireworks factory which blows up, and hundreds die in a flash of colourful explosions that bring unbridled joy to children. It is times like this that I tell people I'm Singaporean.
I have one paper left tomorrow, and after that, my obligations in this exchange are complete. I haven't chosen exactly when I will return, because now that everything's winding down, I'm not sure I'm ready to give up this life yet, to return to the other life that I used to live before coming over. Now that it's almost done, it really hits you in the face that you've been living in a suspended reality for the last few months, and like all things, it has an end.
I'm now in that place where I've seen what it's like to be an international student, as well as a local one, and I can't actually say I prefer one or the other. I know I will miss aspects of this experience, like the total independence and the opportunities that come with it (aka shopping), but I also know I miss Singaporean food, and my friends and family back in Singapore.
Now I really just want to go home. But in a few months I will probably wish I was here. The irony.
He was examining patients when this lady came in. Apparently in pain, she said "I'm jaundiced like the Chinese." Upon realising that her doctor was in fact, Chinese, she quickly apologised.
I had a good laugh, before remarking to him that I was happy to be Chinese, because the white equivalent would be "I'm stupid like the British." The last thing you want to do really, is make racist jokes at your doctor's expense.
Well, to be fair the Chinese are a different kind of racist. We aren't good at being racist to other races, but we're pretty damn good at exploiting our own race. I mean, look at those factories in China. Once in a while one of them turns out to be an illegal fireworks factory which blows up, and hundreds die in a flash of colourful explosions that bring unbridled joy to children. It is times like this that I tell people I'm Singaporean.
I have one paper left tomorrow, and after that, my obligations in this exchange are complete. I haven't chosen exactly when I will return, because now that everything's winding down, I'm not sure I'm ready to give up this life yet, to return to the other life that I used to live before coming over. Now that it's almost done, it really hits you in the face that you've been living in a suspended reality for the last few months, and like all things, it has an end.
I'm now in that place where I've seen what it's like to be an international student, as well as a local one, and I can't actually say I prefer one or the other. I know I will miss aspects of this experience, like the total independence and the opportunities that come with it (aka shopping), but I also know I miss Singaporean food, and my friends and family back in Singapore.
Now I really just want to go home. But in a few months I will probably wish I was here. The irony.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Stuff your Acai berries.
Everyday I get like at least 10 offline messages, all about this stupid Acai berry. I bet everyone has seen these messages or some variant of them.
"A word of advice from a friend here, I ordered those acai pills that I kept hearing about from everyone and on oprah too, well its been two weeks now and I lose 22 pounds and still losing more, I am living proof that they do work, try them for only five dollars at ..."
"Are you finally ready to lose some weight with no effort, well I am living proof that those acai berry pills everyone is talking about actually work, I lost 22 pounds in two weeks and it only cost me five dollars over at ..."
The person who started this virus should be arrested, locked up in prison and fed nothing but Acai berries.
"A word of advice from a friend here, I ordered those acai pills that I kept hearing about from everyone and on oprah too, well its been two weeks now and I lose 22 pounds and still losing more, I am living proof that they do work, try them for only five dollars at ..."
"Are you finally ready to lose some weight with no effort, well I am living proof that those acai berry pills everyone is talking about actually work, I lost 22 pounds in two weeks and it only cost me five dollars over at ..."
The person who started this virus should be arrested, locked up in prison and fed nothing but Acai berries.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The end of exam party
There are Brits, there are drunk Brits, and then there are end-of-exam drunk Brits. The level of destructiveness and craziness increases exponentially with each level. Cat 1 is pretty harmless, but Cat 3, please stay in and bolt your door shut. Better still, put a chair against it.
Last night I was unable to sleep, because there were just simply too many Category 3 Brits running around screaming at the top of their voices. I saw white confetti raining down from all the third floor windows onto the grass below. The next day I found out they were shredded revision notes. Well, figures.
There were also other stuff being flung out of windows. Walking back to my hall after returning from dinner, I saw a whole torrent of liquid gushing down. I looked up, and from the third storey there were 2 Brits emptying their beer bottles. After doing that, they just chucked the bottles out, and they smashed onto the ground a few metres behind me.
Hey killer litter yo! But I realised this is Britain. They don't have a concept of killer litter. After all, if you get smashed by a beer bottle on the head here, you probably don't stand to lose much. I mean, how much dumber than dumb can you get. One of the guys then shouted "Konichiwa" at me but I ignored him. I rather they shout "Konichiwa" than "Ni hao", because it's still cooler being mistaken for a Japanese.
Anyway, on an unrelated note, this is the reason why I eat out nowadays. There's no point in cooking if there is never any sink space for you to wash up after that.
Later from my room, I heard the noise of lots of drunken Brits outside. I decided to stay in, but when I finally had to come out to use the toilet, I had the good fortune to see stuff I didn't want to see. It could best be described as "good things, just on the wrong people." And there were pictures of a naked guy plastered all over the flat that said "Please do not feed". Yeah, feed what? On second thoughts, please don't answer that.
One of the things they plaster around my flat. It's the tamest already, but you get the idea. Obviously I didn't want to upload the pictures of the naked guy.
Later, my door started rattling because there was loud music being played and people were constantly moving in and out of the flat. Every time they opened the main door of the flat and left it to slam, my door would rattle. And 5 seconds later, they would exit, more of the same. And when the music got to certain bits, same thing.
I actually feared for my door, because just yesterday I had to take apart the lock and fix it, because it had been rattled out of position and I couldn't lock my door. The last thing I'd want is to live in my hall without the security of a locked door between me and madness.
At 2am, they decided that being noisy wasn't enough, so they held a mock fashion parade. with a guy dressed up as a woman. He was wearing a long green skirt, complete with one of those belts girls use to tighten the waist area for long dresses. You know, those brown ones with huge buckles. He also had green stockings on and brown heels, and it was completed by a handbag. But I knew it was definitely a guy because his hair was too short and no girl has shoulders that broad. They took so many pictures the flashes made me think it was lightning or something. It made me happy because I thought they'd finally leave when it rained. But when I got up to check, I realised it was just their cameras.
The "lady" in question. The guy standing behind is security. They got so noisy security actually came to check. Not like it stopped their nonsense though.
I'm always asked why I don't join in their parties. Well, I don't know man. I don't exactly enjoy destroying the infrastructure of my own flat. I mean, if they invited me to destroy the stuff in their flats, hell yeah. I'd make them proud. Why use beer bottles if you can use chairs? And why use chairs if you can use THE WOK.
The WOK. Alternatively known as a club, a gong, and a weapon of mass destruction.
Sorry, I hate that wok. It's my greatest enemy when my flatmates and their friends go crazy. I mean at least beer bottles break and that's it. The damn thing resonates, and it doesn't even dent after being smashed against the wall a million times.
But it's always my flat. Now my whole staircase landing is dark because the Brits destroyed every single staircase light fixture from levels 1 to 4, and I have a feeling my good friend the wok had a hand in it.
See that? Yeah. I thought pictures would be the best form of expression to show the level of destruction my flat endures every week.
The day I move out I'm going to find that wok, and put it in recycling. I don't care who it belongs to. May you come back as something less irritating.
Last night I was unable to sleep, because there were just simply too many Category 3 Brits running around screaming at the top of their voices. I saw white confetti raining down from all the third floor windows onto the grass below. The next day I found out they were shredded revision notes. Well, figures.
There were also other stuff being flung out of windows. Walking back to my hall after returning from dinner, I saw a whole torrent of liquid gushing down. I looked up, and from the third storey there were 2 Brits emptying their beer bottles. After doing that, they just chucked the bottles out, and they smashed onto the ground a few metres behind me.
Hey killer litter yo! But I realised this is Britain. They don't have a concept of killer litter. After all, if you get smashed by a beer bottle on the head here, you probably don't stand to lose much. I mean, how much dumber than dumb can you get. One of the guys then shouted "Konichiwa" at me but I ignored him. I rather they shout "Konichiwa" than "Ni hao", because it's still cooler being mistaken for a Japanese.
Anyway, on an unrelated note, this is the reason why I eat out nowadays. There's no point in cooking if there is never any sink space for you to wash up after that.Later from my room, I heard the noise of lots of drunken Brits outside. I decided to stay in, but when I finally had to come out to use the toilet, I had the good fortune to see stuff I didn't want to see. It could best be described as "good things, just on the wrong people." And there were pictures of a naked guy plastered all over the flat that said "Please do not feed". Yeah, feed what? On second thoughts, please don't answer that.
One of the things they plaster around my flat. It's the tamest already, but you get the idea. Obviously I didn't want to upload the pictures of the naked guy.Later, my door started rattling because there was loud music being played and people were constantly moving in and out of the flat. Every time they opened the main door of the flat and left it to slam, my door would rattle. And 5 seconds later, they would exit, more of the same. And when the music got to certain bits, same thing.
I actually feared for my door, because just yesterday I had to take apart the lock and fix it, because it had been rattled out of position and I couldn't lock my door. The last thing I'd want is to live in my hall without the security of a locked door between me and madness.
At 2am, they decided that being noisy wasn't enough, so they held a mock fashion parade. with a guy dressed up as a woman. He was wearing a long green skirt, complete with one of those belts girls use to tighten the waist area for long dresses. You know, those brown ones with huge buckles. He also had green stockings on and brown heels, and it was completed by a handbag. But I knew it was definitely a guy because his hair was too short and no girl has shoulders that broad. They took so many pictures the flashes made me think it was lightning or something. It made me happy because I thought they'd finally leave when it rained. But when I got up to check, I realised it was just their cameras.
The "lady" in question. The guy standing behind is security. They got so noisy security actually came to check. Not like it stopped their nonsense though.I'm always asked why I don't join in their parties. Well, I don't know man. I don't exactly enjoy destroying the infrastructure of my own flat. I mean, if they invited me to destroy the stuff in their flats, hell yeah. I'd make them proud. Why use beer bottles if you can use chairs? And why use chairs if you can use THE WOK.
The WOK. Alternatively known as a club, a gong, and a weapon of mass destruction.Sorry, I hate that wok. It's my greatest enemy when my flatmates and their friends go crazy. I mean at least beer bottles break and that's it. The damn thing resonates, and it doesn't even dent after being smashed against the wall a million times.
But it's always my flat. Now my whole staircase landing is dark because the Brits destroyed every single staircase light fixture from levels 1 to 4, and I have a feeling my good friend the wok had a hand in it.
See that? Yeah. I thought pictures would be the best form of expression to show the level of destruction my flat endures every week.The day I move out I'm going to find that wok, and put it in recycling. I don't care who it belongs to. May you come back as something less irritating.
Old man, you win.
There are certain days in your life where nothing goes right. Sometimes you feel like you're but a pawn in a great scheme of things. All the world's a stage, and we're but its actors. It's like the Truman Show, only that it's a game you can't win. It's called Man vs. Old Man.
Old Man is a term I use for that person up there whom I conveniently believe exists when shit happens, and conveniently forget when all is good. I also use it for Harry Lee, because in Singapore, the two of them are the same person.
Today I woke up, and realised my room was unusually cold. As spring is here, it has become too warm to leave the windows closed at night, since my heater can't be turned off, which makes me glad I'm not here in summer. Heater knobs are not supposed to make full 360 degree rotations. Mine can do that, or 720 if you like. You can even pluck it off and roll it on the floor.
It so turns out that today my heater decided it was French, and went on strike. I'd gone to sleep all snug and warm the night before with the windows wide open, and woke up feeling like I'd been shipped to Siberia. Even the area under the duvet was cold.
I couldn't get out of bed, because it was so cold. I just didn't want to. Then my flatmate started vaccuming his room. I've never seen anyone in my flat use the vaccum before. My flatmates are like the last people on Planet Earth who would clean their rooms. It just had to be today, that they suddenly developed a liking for cleanliness. If this was Singapore, I would buy 4D, because I am so damn sure I would strike. Stuff like this, it simply just doesn't happen.
Crawling out of bed grudgingly, I started my lappie and tried to contact my family in Singapore. I just had to talk to somebody. I saw them online, but I couldn't talk to them. I just kept getting the error message "The message could not be delivered to all recipients". I tried talking to other people to see if it was a problem with my connection. It was fine. Then I tried talking to my family again. "The message could not be delivered to all recipients." Yeah, I get the message alright. Shaddup.
I decided to get out of my cold room, so I took a walk out to the shopping centre nearby to get a bite of fast food. I just wanted some comfort food. I ordered the most expensive and best burger they had, and I even upsized it because I wanted to eat something decent so I'd feel better.
The burger actually came without a patty. Can you believe it. I know the slogan for Burger King is "Have it your way", but I wanted the patty. Who doesn't?
I only realised it about halfway into the burger when I was like "why doesn't this burger feel like a burger?" I opened it, and saw two tomatoes, lettuce, and bacon strips, and sauce. I was in such disbelief that I actually used a fry to prod around the sauce to see whether there was a patty in there, when it was obvious there wasn't.
At that point, I was too full to change for a new burger and finish it because I'd been indulging on the soft drink and fries, but I knew I'd be hungry if I just finished eating that "burger". It was so incredulous it was funny. Old Man, this was so well done, if I wasn't the target, I would applaud you. Really.
Perhaps today just wasn't my day. I went to the library to do some work, so it would pass more quickly. Halfway into my work, the place closed. It's a 24 hour library, but I had conveniently picked the day of the week the place closes early for maintenance without realising it.
Old Man, you must have been playing chess with Mr Murphy today.
Old Man is a term I use for that person up there whom I conveniently believe exists when shit happens, and conveniently forget when all is good. I also use it for Harry Lee, because in Singapore, the two of them are the same person.
Today I woke up, and realised my room was unusually cold. As spring is here, it has become too warm to leave the windows closed at night, since my heater can't be turned off, which makes me glad I'm not here in summer. Heater knobs are not supposed to make full 360 degree rotations. Mine can do that, or 720 if you like. You can even pluck it off and roll it on the floor.
It so turns out that today my heater decided it was French, and went on strike. I'd gone to sleep all snug and warm the night before with the windows wide open, and woke up feeling like I'd been shipped to Siberia. Even the area under the duvet was cold.
I couldn't get out of bed, because it was so cold. I just didn't want to. Then my flatmate started vaccuming his room. I've never seen anyone in my flat use the vaccum before. My flatmates are like the last people on Planet Earth who would clean their rooms. It just had to be today, that they suddenly developed a liking for cleanliness. If this was Singapore, I would buy 4D, because I am so damn sure I would strike. Stuff like this, it simply just doesn't happen.
Crawling out of bed grudgingly, I started my lappie and tried to contact my family in Singapore. I just had to talk to somebody. I saw them online, but I couldn't talk to them. I just kept getting the error message "The message could not be delivered to all recipients". I tried talking to other people to see if it was a problem with my connection. It was fine. Then I tried talking to my family again. "The message could not be delivered to all recipients." Yeah, I get the message alright. Shaddup.
I decided to get out of my cold room, so I took a walk out to the shopping centre nearby to get a bite of fast food. I just wanted some comfort food. I ordered the most expensive and best burger they had, and I even upsized it because I wanted to eat something decent so I'd feel better.
The burger actually came without a patty. Can you believe it. I know the slogan for Burger King is "Have it your way", but I wanted the patty. Who doesn't?
I only realised it about halfway into the burger when I was like "why doesn't this burger feel like a burger?" I opened it, and saw two tomatoes, lettuce, and bacon strips, and sauce. I was in such disbelief that I actually used a fry to prod around the sauce to see whether there was a patty in there, when it was obvious there wasn't.
At that point, I was too full to change for a new burger and finish it because I'd been indulging on the soft drink and fries, but I knew I'd be hungry if I just finished eating that "burger". It was so incredulous it was funny. Old Man, this was so well done, if I wasn't the target, I would applaud you. Really.
Perhaps today just wasn't my day. I went to the library to do some work, so it would pass more quickly. Halfway into my work, the place closed. It's a 24 hour library, but I had conveniently picked the day of the week the place closes early for maintenance without realising it.
Old Man, you must have been playing chess with Mr Murphy today.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Blink 182 - "All The Small Things" on Leno 5/19
This is so bad. So bad. So so bad. What happened to Tom's voice. It sounds like an uncle trying to sing his nephew's songs. The attitude's all wrong, the look's all wrong, don't get me started on the voice, everything is just wrong.
I guess it's what happens when high school jocks grow up and the effects of drug abuse start to show. Blink shouldn't have come back.
Now or never. (GA S5 finale)
I so did not see that coming. Damn it you really got me, I can't remember the last time I was duped that bad, probably never. I will never forget this episode. Bloody epic. It sure was difficult getting through the last few minutes.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
a note.
to that British girl who hoofed a plastic bin with such force it made a few rotations at the sight of me yesterday
I'm sorry the sight of me made you want to kick the bucket.
I'm sorry the sight of me made you want to kick the bucket.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Quit dissing its pissing.
If you follow commercial music, you'll realise bands have it hard these days. They start out as indie little outfits, get signed on by record companies if people appreciate their music, release their first record, get mainstream recognition, and when their second album comes around with a different sound, they get branded sellouts.
I was listening to an acoustic rendition of Viva la Vida by Coldplay on Youtube, and reading the comments, I was surprised at how many people actually hated the song and called Coldplay sellouts. Just because the song isn't all oh-I-want-to-cut-myself-emo it means Coldplay has sold out? Damn, I guess its hard to cut yourself to Viva la Vida huh. Violin too preppy for you?
Okay, apparently they preferred songs like Yellow, The Scientist, and Parachutes. The last song is probably one of the shortest songs I've ever listened to. The first time I heard it I thought it was a bad download and went to download it again, only to realise it was really only all of 46 seconds long. Oh, did I just admit I'm a pirate? Whatever. It's more fun being a pirate. For the record, bittorrent rocks my socks too. I definitely recommend it.
That still isn't the shortest song I've listened to though. That record belongs to my cousin, who got called on stage by an overenthusiastic emcee during mid-autumn festival once, and went on to sing 3 chinese words before clamming up and refusing to continue. You can't blame the poor kid for his stage fright. He was only 6. But anyway, 3 seconds. Beat that. On second thought, don't.
I don't deny old Coldplay had awesome songs, but do you expect a band to sit around for a few years and not change? That was 2000, now its 2009. I think it's a miracle that they are still around making good music because most bands these days don't last that long. Do you still remember who was big in 2000? Backstreet Boys. N'SYNC with Justin. Britney Spears with hair. I think I've proved my case.
Anyway teens have a sad life these days. At least I had Britney Spears to listen to. Now they get Miley Cyrus. No offence, but Britney pwns Hannah Montana big time. Okay, Britney before she decided to go all GI Jane, become Paris' other BFF and marry Fed-Ex. I guess she found the perfect life boring.
I wish people who hated Coldplay would not do stupid things like load Coldplay songs on Youtube and listen to them just to diss them all over the comments pages. And they do it again and again. Like seriously, don't you have better things to do with your time? Don't like don't listen la. Seriously damn bloody bo liao.
Oh wait, I'm sorry, you really don't have anything better to do with your time do you? My sympathies. Go diss the Jonas Brothers or something. You'd find a community there.
I was listening to an acoustic rendition of Viva la Vida by Coldplay on Youtube, and reading the comments, I was surprised at how many people actually hated the song and called Coldplay sellouts. Just because the song isn't all oh-I-want-to-cut-myself-emo it means Coldplay has sold out? Damn, I guess its hard to cut yourself to Viva la Vida huh. Violin too preppy for you?
Okay, apparently they preferred songs like Yellow, The Scientist, and Parachutes. The last song is probably one of the shortest songs I've ever listened to. The first time I heard it I thought it was a bad download and went to download it again, only to realise it was really only all of 46 seconds long. Oh, did I just admit I'm a pirate? Whatever. It's more fun being a pirate. For the record, bittorrent rocks my socks too. I definitely recommend it.
That still isn't the shortest song I've listened to though. That record belongs to my cousin, who got called on stage by an overenthusiastic emcee during mid-autumn festival once, and went on to sing 3 chinese words before clamming up and refusing to continue. You can't blame the poor kid for his stage fright. He was only 6. But anyway, 3 seconds. Beat that. On second thought, don't.
I don't deny old Coldplay had awesome songs, but do you expect a band to sit around for a few years and not change? That was 2000, now its 2009. I think it's a miracle that they are still around making good music because most bands these days don't last that long. Do you still remember who was big in 2000? Backstreet Boys. N'SYNC with Justin. Britney Spears with hair. I think I've proved my case.
Anyway teens have a sad life these days. At least I had Britney Spears to listen to. Now they get Miley Cyrus. No offence, but Britney pwns Hannah Montana big time. Okay, Britney before she decided to go all GI Jane, become Paris' other BFF and marry Fed-Ex. I guess she found the perfect life boring.
I wish people who hated Coldplay would not do stupid things like load Coldplay songs on Youtube and listen to them just to diss them all over the comments pages. And they do it again and again. Like seriously, don't you have better things to do with your time? Don't like don't listen la. Seriously damn bloody bo liao.
Oh wait, I'm sorry, you really don't have anything better to do with your time do you? My sympathies. Go diss the Jonas Brothers or something. You'd find a community there.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Cleaning out the (kitchen) closet
The kitchen is a mess again, so I head out to buy some dinner. It's a relief to have an excuse to do that actually, because I'm sick of my own cooking.
As I step out, I quickly realise that the stairway looks different. There's some white powdery substance all over the linoleum on the 3rd level. I have no idea what it is, but I had to admit my first thoughts were anthrax. I've been brainwashed too much by the Singapore government. I mean, I actually believed Mas Selamat was in Singapore eating berries, even though I've never seen any berries in the forests.
In any case, anthrax is too expensive to be wasted on random staircases killing Brits who are trying their best to kill themselves with alcohol anyway. Just buy them a crate of beer. They'd kill themselves, and thank you for it.
I take a few steps down one flight of stairs, and there's a handful of french fries in a corner. I gingerly step past them, and down another flight, I see a plastic cap that came from a McDonald's paper cup, and the cup a few seconds later, squashed into the railings. At the second level landing, I see several brown stains in the linoleum, probably the Coke from that cup, and the same white powdery substance all over the floors, only that the white patches are more numerous, and bigger here. Further on, I see a discarded salt container, with a crushed up cap. So that's what the white powdery substance is. There's also some miscellaneous debris that used to be food but now just looks disgusting.
Down the last flight of stairs, I see the door that leads to the lobby. The glass in the door is smashed. Someone's been kicking it in again. Every week someone does that for the glass on the door for every single level. I just wish someday they would have the sense to use a thick pane of clear plastic so that the son of a bitch who kicks in the glass every week will kick it and break his toe. Then when I see a person around with a broken toe, I will ask him "Tried to open the door with your foot again? Next time use your hands. Doors have handles for a reason."
Upon entering the lobby, I realise there's a really sick smell in there. Like literally, a smell that smells like sick that makes you want to sick.
I look in the corner, and outside the door of one of the ground level flats there's a stack of containers with old curry inside them. Okay, very very old curry, judging from the smell. And some of it is in the linoleum of the lobby, soaked in so that the linoleum now has orange splotches. I quickly press the door exit button and run out into fresh air.
Yet another episode of Food Wars, or what happens after drunks come back from the bar and head into the kitchen, and realise its actually massive fun to throw the contents of the kitchen at each other. Well I don't doubt it is fun, but you don't shit where you eat/live right? I don't understand the logic behind inviting your friends to mess up your flat so that they go home happy and you live with the aftermath the next morning.
Oh hell. In my last week here I'm going to join in the food war. I've got a bottle of salt, a whole litre of cooking oil, and lots of other random shit. It's time for the Singapore dude to fight back. For the Merlion and old Harry Lee!
Damn I wish I'd never said that. What a terrible set of last words.
As I step out, I quickly realise that the stairway looks different. There's some white powdery substance all over the linoleum on the 3rd level. I have no idea what it is, but I had to admit my first thoughts were anthrax. I've been brainwashed too much by the Singapore government. I mean, I actually believed Mas Selamat was in Singapore eating berries, even though I've never seen any berries in the forests.
In any case, anthrax is too expensive to be wasted on random staircases killing Brits who are trying their best to kill themselves with alcohol anyway. Just buy them a crate of beer. They'd kill themselves, and thank you for it.
I take a few steps down one flight of stairs, and there's a handful of french fries in a corner. I gingerly step past them, and down another flight, I see a plastic cap that came from a McDonald's paper cup, and the cup a few seconds later, squashed into the railings. At the second level landing, I see several brown stains in the linoleum, probably the Coke from that cup, and the same white powdery substance all over the floors, only that the white patches are more numerous, and bigger here. Further on, I see a discarded salt container, with a crushed up cap. So that's what the white powdery substance is. There's also some miscellaneous debris that used to be food but now just looks disgusting.
Down the last flight of stairs, I see the door that leads to the lobby. The glass in the door is smashed. Someone's been kicking it in again. Every week someone does that for the glass on the door for every single level. I just wish someday they would have the sense to use a thick pane of clear plastic so that the son of a bitch who kicks in the glass every week will kick it and break his toe. Then when I see a person around with a broken toe, I will ask him "Tried to open the door with your foot again? Next time use your hands. Doors have handles for a reason."
Upon entering the lobby, I realise there's a really sick smell in there. Like literally, a smell that smells like sick that makes you want to sick.
I look in the corner, and outside the door of one of the ground level flats there's a stack of containers with old curry inside them. Okay, very very old curry, judging from the smell. And some of it is in the linoleum of the lobby, soaked in so that the linoleum now has orange splotches. I quickly press the door exit button and run out into fresh air.
Yet another episode of Food Wars, or what happens after drunks come back from the bar and head into the kitchen, and realise its actually massive fun to throw the contents of the kitchen at each other. Well I don't doubt it is fun, but you don't shit where you eat/live right? I don't understand the logic behind inviting your friends to mess up your flat so that they go home happy and you live with the aftermath the next morning.
Oh hell. In my last week here I'm going to join in the food war. I've got a bottle of salt, a whole litre of cooking oil, and lots of other random shit. It's time for the Singapore dude to fight back. For the Merlion and old Harry Lee!
Damn I wish I'd never said that. What a terrible set of last words.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Simple words dammit. Simple words.
Have you ever read an article that interested you, and soon realised that you couldn't continue reading, because the writer was writing in a language you understood and yet did not understand? You know the person is writing in English, it's just not English you understand.
To put it more simply, sometimes when I read something, I come away from it feeling impressed by the writer's command of language, and yet knowing absolutely nothing about what he or she just wrote about.
One thing I've learnt in communication school is, nothing communicates better than the simple word, and the most effective prose is always by nature, succint.
I will be the first person to admit that my abilities of comprehension are limited. Often, when I read articles on social issues I don't know what the hell they are talking about. In most cases, the writers don't make any effort to make it relevant to me anyway. It is almost as though they are hiding the perceived superiority of their argument behind verbosity and vocabulary, so that at the end of it, I don't even understand your argument enough to rebut it.
It makes me wonder then, why did you write the piece if you don't want anybody to understand it? Is it an ego trip, is that it? So you can show us just how intelligent you are? By doing that you just reaffirm your status as a minority that cannot be understood, and really, nobody cares enough to make the effort.
Remember those review pages in newspapers? Now, hands up the number of you who actually read them on a regular basis. I thought as much.
The irony is, if you're debating a social issue, you want to engage society. So use the language everyone is most familiar with - simple words. I find it funny sometimes that people chide the layman online for using Singlish and laugh at his command of the English, because we understand him fine. He doesn't write perfect, but he gets his point across. At least he cares enough to post. If you smartasses could actually lay it off enough to realise its the content that's important, you might begin to understand why people can't be bothered to read about what you write sometimes.
By the way, don't even get me started on university readings. Were they even written to be understood? What's with all these stupid attributions to books that I will never find time to read, or all these "invented" terms that mean nothing to me because I don't even understand the explanations for them. And why do I find myself checking the dictionary 3 times in every paragraph? Is that what you want me to do, practice using my dictionary?
Small wonder I still haven't figured out what you're trying to tell me. And it's not like I'm not trying. I just read the same paragraph 3 times and I might as well be "eye-powering" it because nothing's gone in. You know, half the books in university libraries, nobody ever reads them. The other half, I wish someone would publish an abridged version of them. The library could burn down and the only thing I'd miss is like, the Wi-Fi. Oh, I just realised that doesn't go away. Even if the place burns down. Hooray.
I remember a time when my textbooks used simple English that I could understand. Holy shit, I think that was the PETS textbook.
To put it more simply, sometimes when I read something, I come away from it feeling impressed by the writer's command of language, and yet knowing absolutely nothing about what he or she just wrote about.
One thing I've learnt in communication school is, nothing communicates better than the simple word, and the most effective prose is always by nature, succint.
I will be the first person to admit that my abilities of comprehension are limited. Often, when I read articles on social issues I don't know what the hell they are talking about. In most cases, the writers don't make any effort to make it relevant to me anyway. It is almost as though they are hiding the perceived superiority of their argument behind verbosity and vocabulary, so that at the end of it, I don't even understand your argument enough to rebut it.
It makes me wonder then, why did you write the piece if you don't want anybody to understand it? Is it an ego trip, is that it? So you can show us just how intelligent you are? By doing that you just reaffirm your status as a minority that cannot be understood, and really, nobody cares enough to make the effort.
Remember those review pages in newspapers? Now, hands up the number of you who actually read them on a regular basis. I thought as much.
The irony is, if you're debating a social issue, you want to engage society. So use the language everyone is most familiar with - simple words. I find it funny sometimes that people chide the layman online for using Singlish and laugh at his command of the English, because we understand him fine. He doesn't write perfect, but he gets his point across. At least he cares enough to post. If you smartasses could actually lay it off enough to realise its the content that's important, you might begin to understand why people can't be bothered to read about what you write sometimes.
By the way, don't even get me started on university readings. Were they even written to be understood? What's with all these stupid attributions to books that I will never find time to read, or all these "invented" terms that mean nothing to me because I don't even understand the explanations for them. And why do I find myself checking the dictionary 3 times in every paragraph? Is that what you want me to do, practice using my dictionary?
Small wonder I still haven't figured out what you're trying to tell me. And it's not like I'm not trying. I just read the same paragraph 3 times and I might as well be "eye-powering" it because nothing's gone in. You know, half the books in university libraries, nobody ever reads them. The other half, I wish someone would publish an abridged version of them. The library could burn down and the only thing I'd miss is like, the Wi-Fi. Oh, I just realised that doesn't go away. Even if the place burns down. Hooray.
I remember a time when my textbooks used simple English that I could understand. Holy shit, I think that was the PETS textbook.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mother's day.
Growing up, I was always faced with questions of self-doubt, that I would never be good enough for anything. My parents certainly seemed to find fault with me at every juncture. "You never make your bed in the mornings! Why are your grades going down again! Why are you always losing your temper!" And being young, I would resent all these judgments being passed on me, feeling indignant and yet helpless to fight the inevitable doubt that would set in after the initial rush of anger dissipated.
I tried to arrest the doubts, but they slipped me with a fleeting evasiveness, so much that I never knew who or what was the reason behind that feeling of inadequacy I always felt. I just knew that no matter what I did, it would never be enough. It would never be enough to erase the doubts of those around me. Because those around me doubted themselves, and in doubting themselves, they also doubted me. And that was what I lived with.
I came from a family where both parents worked, and no one would be around to do the housework. Eventually, it became implicit that I would do it, because no one else would or had the time to. And I found that I enjoyed it, because it was something I knew I could do well. I could see if I was doing well. The floor was cleaner, the sheets neater, and I had an element of control over it that I never had over anything else in my life. The battered sense of self-esteem that I had also made me very good at it, because I actually became obsessed over it. It was a principle that would guide everything work-related in my life - if I had any element of control over the outcome, I would do it right, and to the best of my abilities, to the extent that it might seem a little OCD to those not accustomed to it.
But when one is navigating the perliously thick and foggy swamp that is social life, I often found that this principle constricted me as much as it helped me. I would try my very best to relate to the people around me, but sometimes, people don't respond the way they should, and it took me a long time to understand that it's not your fault, that it's out of your control, because ten million things are happening at once, and sometimes, people don't treat other people right because they are still trying so hard to figure out how to treat themselves right.
I've never had the easiest of relationships with my parents. I felt they never understood me, but now that I'm older, I realise that many times, they couldn't have. They grew up in a Singapore that transformed within their lifetimes, from a sleepy rural village into the urban metropolis it is today. They could never have experienced what it was like to be a student with the privileges and trappings that came with it, not in the context that I had today. They've never had the opportunities I've had, because in their time, they didn't exist.
And I felt many times that their ignorance came at a cost to my own ambitions, but now that I'm older, I see that although they were ignorant, they always tried their best to support me and help me in any way they could. They worked their lives off, to provide money for my education, although it also meant that as a result, they were mostly emotionally absent, because being away at work so much, the only real emotional investment they had in their children's lives came once a year on "Meet the parents" day, and we all know how teachers always try their best to make you the angel you're not in front of your parents.
It may not have been the best way, but to quote a line from Grey's anatomy, "people are better than no people." The fact that they've never left, and unquestioningly given me their support so that I may now stand on my own two feet in exchange, and seek a life I can finally call my own, I owe this to them.
As I reflect on myself, I realise that the best and worst in me, I got from them. I learnt how to lose my temper because I saw my parents lose theirs sometimes, and that was precisely what I did when I felt angry, because I didn't know any other way to deal with it. And my temper was to cost me much more than I'd ever think, so much that I told myself that I would never lose it again. I haven't lost it in over a year, so much that some people actually think I don't have one, and only the ones who've known me longer know how bad it used to be.
I also learnt how to forgive people for all the wrongs I've had done to me, because that was what my parents always did, like when my grandmother was paralysed as a result of a botched operation which had an 80% rate of success, which saddled my family with immense debt and stress.
I learnt love and sacrifice, because that was what we all did when we put our lives on hold, so that we could be there for her. For 6 long years, our lives stopped. No more family holidays, picnics and barbeques, because someone had to care for her. When she finally left us at the close of 2007, I was devastated and disorientated. My first university exams were in 2 weeks, and I had just suffered a huge emotional loss.
But that very same principle I have for work, it served me very well during that time. Throughout those 2 weeks I juggled the roles of student and grandson, studying overnight in a void deck as I took my shift to watch over the wake, because the adults were exhausted from the day's proceedings. I told myself that I had to get over the exams first, before I could allow myself to sit back, to grieve, to take stock of the scale of what had just happened in my family.
It was then that I realised that everything that has happened to me, it's not a weakness, its a strength. It is a strength and resilience borne out of great tragedy, the one good thing that has come out of all this, that allows me to become stronger even as the world around me crashes, I know where I'm going, what I have to do next, and I do it.
Sometimes, shit happens in your life. But the only thing you can do is live the best way you know how. The world is not all about you. The world doesn't revolve around you. You can make a difference to it, but the world will not stop for you just because your world is a mess, and much of the time, the mess is of your own making. Your fears, your insecurities, you let them take over you, like a pair of glasses that tints everything you see and experience, and after a while, you become so used to having those glasses on you forget what it's like to take them off.
Take them off, if only for a moment. And just sit there, thinking, feeling, living. And if you do that long enough, you might realise that maybe, there's a better way to live.
Everyday, I wake up, and I do as much right as I can in my life. And I fight away the inevitable neuroses that come once in awhile. I don't always win, but nothing is ever worse after a good sleep. And after that, I am ready to live again.
Happy Mother's Day Mom. I'm sorry this is late, but it wasn't easy to write. I do appreciate all that you've done for me, and although it hasn't been easy, I know how much you've given so that I might live. I hope that the person your son has become makes you proud.
I tried to arrest the doubts, but they slipped me with a fleeting evasiveness, so much that I never knew who or what was the reason behind that feeling of inadequacy I always felt. I just knew that no matter what I did, it would never be enough. It would never be enough to erase the doubts of those around me. Because those around me doubted themselves, and in doubting themselves, they also doubted me. And that was what I lived with.
I came from a family where both parents worked, and no one would be around to do the housework. Eventually, it became implicit that I would do it, because no one else would or had the time to. And I found that I enjoyed it, because it was something I knew I could do well. I could see if I was doing well. The floor was cleaner, the sheets neater, and I had an element of control over it that I never had over anything else in my life. The battered sense of self-esteem that I had also made me very good at it, because I actually became obsessed over it. It was a principle that would guide everything work-related in my life - if I had any element of control over the outcome, I would do it right, and to the best of my abilities, to the extent that it might seem a little OCD to those not accustomed to it.
But when one is navigating the perliously thick and foggy swamp that is social life, I often found that this principle constricted me as much as it helped me. I would try my very best to relate to the people around me, but sometimes, people don't respond the way they should, and it took me a long time to understand that it's not your fault, that it's out of your control, because ten million things are happening at once, and sometimes, people don't treat other people right because they are still trying so hard to figure out how to treat themselves right.
I've never had the easiest of relationships with my parents. I felt they never understood me, but now that I'm older, I realise that many times, they couldn't have. They grew up in a Singapore that transformed within their lifetimes, from a sleepy rural village into the urban metropolis it is today. They could never have experienced what it was like to be a student with the privileges and trappings that came with it, not in the context that I had today. They've never had the opportunities I've had, because in their time, they didn't exist.
And I felt many times that their ignorance came at a cost to my own ambitions, but now that I'm older, I see that although they were ignorant, they always tried their best to support me and help me in any way they could. They worked their lives off, to provide money for my education, although it also meant that as a result, they were mostly emotionally absent, because being away at work so much, the only real emotional investment they had in their children's lives came once a year on "Meet the parents" day, and we all know how teachers always try their best to make you the angel you're not in front of your parents.
It may not have been the best way, but to quote a line from Grey's anatomy, "people are better than no people." The fact that they've never left, and unquestioningly given me their support so that I may now stand on my own two feet in exchange, and seek a life I can finally call my own, I owe this to them.
As I reflect on myself, I realise that the best and worst in me, I got from them. I learnt how to lose my temper because I saw my parents lose theirs sometimes, and that was precisely what I did when I felt angry, because I didn't know any other way to deal with it. And my temper was to cost me much more than I'd ever think, so much that I told myself that I would never lose it again. I haven't lost it in over a year, so much that some people actually think I don't have one, and only the ones who've known me longer know how bad it used to be.
I also learnt how to forgive people for all the wrongs I've had done to me, because that was what my parents always did, like when my grandmother was paralysed as a result of a botched operation which had an 80% rate of success, which saddled my family with immense debt and stress.
I learnt love and sacrifice, because that was what we all did when we put our lives on hold, so that we could be there for her. For 6 long years, our lives stopped. No more family holidays, picnics and barbeques, because someone had to care for her. When she finally left us at the close of 2007, I was devastated and disorientated. My first university exams were in 2 weeks, and I had just suffered a huge emotional loss.
But that very same principle I have for work, it served me very well during that time. Throughout those 2 weeks I juggled the roles of student and grandson, studying overnight in a void deck as I took my shift to watch over the wake, because the adults were exhausted from the day's proceedings. I told myself that I had to get over the exams first, before I could allow myself to sit back, to grieve, to take stock of the scale of what had just happened in my family.
It was then that I realised that everything that has happened to me, it's not a weakness, its a strength. It is a strength and resilience borne out of great tragedy, the one good thing that has come out of all this, that allows me to become stronger even as the world around me crashes, I know where I'm going, what I have to do next, and I do it.
Sometimes, shit happens in your life. But the only thing you can do is live the best way you know how. The world is not all about you. The world doesn't revolve around you. You can make a difference to it, but the world will not stop for you just because your world is a mess, and much of the time, the mess is of your own making. Your fears, your insecurities, you let them take over you, like a pair of glasses that tints everything you see and experience, and after a while, you become so used to having those glasses on you forget what it's like to take them off.
Take them off, if only for a moment. And just sit there, thinking, feeling, living. And if you do that long enough, you might realise that maybe, there's a better way to live.
Everyday, I wake up, and I do as much right as I can in my life. And I fight away the inevitable neuroses that come once in awhile. I don't always win, but nothing is ever worse after a good sleep. And after that, I am ready to live again.
Happy Mother's Day Mom. I'm sorry this is late, but it wasn't easy to write. I do appreciate all that you've done for me, and although it hasn't been easy, I know how much you've given so that I might live. I hope that the person your son has become makes you proud.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Hey Kid You Want A Hand Grenade?
A American solder attempts to give an Iraqi kid some "candy". His reaction is priceless, but really, I couldn't help but feel this joke was a little sick.
It makes one sad to realise that a kid that young and innocent is already familiar with the destructive power of a hand grenade. Makes you feel lucky to be born in Singapore.
Soccer's Born Loser
Here's a gif showing one of the most memorable moments of that Chelsea Barcelona match, the sight of an enraged Ballack chasing down the Norwegian ref Tom Henning Ovrebo. It has been the subject of much ridicule online, with some people going one step further to create their own gifs, like these.
And this one is a real kick in the balls, especially if you know Ballack's personal history in soccer.
Tom: No I'm not giving you that trophy Ballack. Try harder next time. =p
On the international stage, Ballack is one of those people you would term an eternal bridesmaid or born loser, always second best or falling short at the final hurdle, destined never to claim the top prize. Here's a list of his "almost-there" international accomplishments.
1) UEFA Champions League 2001-2002: Runner-up (Bayer Leverkusen), lost to Real Madrid
2) FIFA World Cup 2002: Runner-up (Germany), lost to Brazil
3) FIFA Confederations Cup 2005: 3rd, Losing semi-finalist (Germany), lost to Brazil
4) FIFA World Cup 2006: 3rd, Losing semi-finalist (Germany), lost to Italy
5) UEFA Champions League 2006-2007: Losing semi-finalist (Chelsea), lost to Liverpool
6) Euro 2008: Runner-up (Germany), lost to Spain
7) UEFA Champions League 2007-2008: Runner-up (Chelsea), lost to Manchester United
8) UEFA Champions League 2008-2009: Losing semi-finalist (Chelsea), lost to Barcelona
Eight attempts and no trophies to show for it. How much pain can a man take. It sucks to be you Ballack. Maybe you should stop wearing the no. 13 shirt.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Mas Selamat gets caught in JB
Of all places, it turns out Singapore's most wanted man was just across the island in JB. It really makes you wonder why it took so long for the authorities to catch him. JB is hardly the biggest city, and thousands of Singaporeans pass through it everyday. Anyone could have tipped him off, me included.
It just makes me feel like shit knowing a million bucks was walking around and the two times I was in JB while he was there I didn't capitalise on it. He could have been the guy flipping my prata, the random dude cleaning the toilet, or one of those people on the street selling keropok for 1 ringgit.
But anyway, he had the whole of Malaysia to disappear to. He had more than a year, he could have fled to Indonesia or some other random corner of the world where he'd never be found. And he chose to stay in JB. I just can't find the words to describe how stupid that is. Some people don't deserve to be free. While I'm not saying I condone his escape, making it so easy for the authorities to catch him only makes me wonder why he tried so hard to escape in the first place.
Anyway, on a side note, the networth of JB just dropped by 99%.
It just makes me feel like shit knowing a million bucks was walking around and the two times I was in JB while he was there I didn't capitalise on it. He could have been the guy flipping my prata, the random dude cleaning the toilet, or one of those people on the street selling keropok for 1 ringgit.
But anyway, he had the whole of Malaysia to disappear to. He had more than a year, he could have fled to Indonesia or some other random corner of the world where he'd never be found. And he chose to stay in JB. I just can't find the words to describe how stupid that is. Some people don't deserve to be free. While I'm not saying I condone his escape, making it so easy for the authorities to catch him only makes me wonder why he tried so hard to escape in the first place.
Anyway, on a side note, the networth of JB just dropped by 99%.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Barcelona gets lucky at Stamford Bridge
Soccer related post. Non-football fans stay away.
I watched the 2nd leg of the Champions League semi-final between Barcelona and Chelsea in the Elehouse, the school's version of a pub. It was filled to the brim, with me being the only Asian in there but I didn't care. It was actually quite intimidating because everyone was drinking and rowdy. But I figured that we were all fellow football fans, and if anybody wanted to do anything funny I'd just shout "Come on Chelsea!" and I'd be spared, or even better, treated to a beer.
The match started in a pulsating fasion, fast and furious from end to end, with Barcelona enjoying the lion's share of the possession early in the game. But slowly, Chelsea's muscular midfield wrested control of the match. The midfield trio of Essien, Lampard and Ballack was quickly proving to be too much to handle for the likes of Xavi and Iniesta. With Iniesta and Messi often drifting wide, and with a rookie Busquets alongside Xavi, it was obvious that Barcelona was going to lose the battle in the middle of the park. Chelsea made the more powerful runs, the better interceptions, the better forays at goal, and Barcelona was reduced to passing the ball around in frustration trying to find an opening. The attack, often lauded for its creativity, was beginning to look like a one trick pony - midfield gets ball, punts a long ball to the left or right winger far upfield, who tries to cross into the box only to see it headed clear.
I have no bloody idea why Barcelona likes to play the ball out wide before crossing. In the first place, they don't have a single player in the box who heads the ball well. Secondly, by doing that they allow the opponent's defence time to pack the box, which only serves to make it impossible to score. For all their fancy passing and dribbling and shit, they have virtually no incisiveness. Reminds me of Arsenal, but at least Arsenal attacks faster. And really, is there anyone in the Barcelona front line who can beat Terry at headers? Messi is short, Eto'o is too busy being invisible, Iniesta never does headers, and Henry wasn't playing. If that's the case, why bother?
Chelsea were so dominant that Barcelona never looked like they were in the match. On Chelsea's first foray into Barcelona's final third, Lampard attempted to drive the ball square across the box, but it deflected off a defender, looping overhead, and Essien took it in mid air, striking a thunderous left-footed volley which dipped just below the crossbar of the top left corner into goal, right past the despairing dive of Victor Valdes. The Barcelona players were stunned to find themselves behind on just 9 minutes, but they had only themselves to blame for not pressing their attacks better.
Throughout the rest of the match, Barcelona were reduced to passing the ball around aimlessly and shooting wayward shots into the stands. Chelsea had 4 penalty appeals turned down, at least 2 of them legitimate for fouls and handball. This pissed off the people seated on my right, who were Chelsea fans. They kept shouting "Ref! Hey ref!", and "Come on Chels!", "Come on Lamps!"
The only bright spark for the Catalans was Messi, whose mesmerising dribbles often astonished me. He could run past 3 or 4 Chelsea players like they weren't there and still squeeze off a shot. It was amazing because no matter how hard the Blues tried to stop him, they couldn't trip or get the ball off him. It was almost as though he had it glued to his feet. It was unfortunate though that nobody could read his runs or provide support when needed, and it often felt like it was Messi vs. Chelsea, and one man doesn't make a team, no matter how good he is.
Barcelona eventually got Abidal sent off for tripping Anelka, although it wasn't deserved as it was more of a case of the other way round, but it looked bad because they were a goal down, a man down, devoid of inspiration and with 30 minutes remaining, quickly being forced out of contention.
At 90 minutes, the score read Chelsea 1, Barcelona 0, and four minutes of stoppage time were added. At this point, Chelsea had 8 shots, 4 on goal. Barcelona had 13, and a big fat ZERO on goal. Petr Cech had not made a single save from a goalbound effort up to this point. Barcelona has a dream attack force? Bullshit. They were so pathetic, even Newcastle would have done better, and they are about to be relegated from the Premier League.
And then it happened. In the 3rd minute of stoppage time, off a cross on the right, Messi took the ball and squared it right to Iniesta, who struck a fierce rising shot past Petr Cech into goal. Nobody in the pub could believe what they had just witnessed. There was a stunned silence, before the whole pub exploded with cheers and people jumping in jubilation. It was only then that I realised the only Chelsea fans in the pub were the two guys seated on my right. The rest were there to see Barcelona. And this goal was it, because at this point, Chelsea had no time to come back into the game. The Chelsea players were absolutely shellshocked and horrified. Even their captain Terry, normally resolute, looked lost, even as he tried to rally his players into pressing for another goal.
At the final whistle, guess what, Captain Terry bawled like a crybaby again. But this time, you really felt for him because it wouldn't be wrong to say that he had been robbed of a place in the final right at the death, like how he was robbed of the trophy right on the last penalty kick of the game last year.
The faces of jubilation and despair, the eventual outcome of every game where there must be a winner, and a loser.
The final score read Barcelona 1, Chelsea 1, with Barcelona proceeding on the away goals rule. Barcelona didn't deserve to win. But Chelsea couldn't kill off the game, and Barcelona, with their only shot on goal, steered it true, and booked their passage into the final. But based on this performance, Man Utd is going to pwn their butts.
I watched the 2nd leg of the Champions League semi-final between Barcelona and Chelsea in the Elehouse, the school's version of a pub. It was filled to the brim, with me being the only Asian in there but I didn't care. It was actually quite intimidating because everyone was drinking and rowdy. But I figured that we were all fellow football fans, and if anybody wanted to do anything funny I'd just shout "Come on Chelsea!" and I'd be spared, or even better, treated to a beer.
The match started in a pulsating fasion, fast and furious from end to end, with Barcelona enjoying the lion's share of the possession early in the game. But slowly, Chelsea's muscular midfield wrested control of the match. The midfield trio of Essien, Lampard and Ballack was quickly proving to be too much to handle for the likes of Xavi and Iniesta. With Iniesta and Messi often drifting wide, and with a rookie Busquets alongside Xavi, it was obvious that Barcelona was going to lose the battle in the middle of the park. Chelsea made the more powerful runs, the better interceptions, the better forays at goal, and Barcelona was reduced to passing the ball around in frustration trying to find an opening. The attack, often lauded for its creativity, was beginning to look like a one trick pony - midfield gets ball, punts a long ball to the left or right winger far upfield, who tries to cross into the box only to see it headed clear.
I have no bloody idea why Barcelona likes to play the ball out wide before crossing. In the first place, they don't have a single player in the box who heads the ball well. Secondly, by doing that they allow the opponent's defence time to pack the box, which only serves to make it impossible to score. For all their fancy passing and dribbling and shit, they have virtually no incisiveness. Reminds me of Arsenal, but at least Arsenal attacks faster. And really, is there anyone in the Barcelona front line who can beat Terry at headers? Messi is short, Eto'o is too busy being invisible, Iniesta never does headers, and Henry wasn't playing. If that's the case, why bother?
Chelsea were so dominant that Barcelona never looked like they were in the match. On Chelsea's first foray into Barcelona's final third, Lampard attempted to drive the ball square across the box, but it deflected off a defender, looping overhead, and Essien took it in mid air, striking a thunderous left-footed volley which dipped just below the crossbar of the top left corner into goal, right past the despairing dive of Victor Valdes. The Barcelona players were stunned to find themselves behind on just 9 minutes, but they had only themselves to blame for not pressing their attacks better.
Throughout the rest of the match, Barcelona were reduced to passing the ball around aimlessly and shooting wayward shots into the stands. Chelsea had 4 penalty appeals turned down, at least 2 of them legitimate for fouls and handball. This pissed off the people seated on my right, who were Chelsea fans. They kept shouting "Ref! Hey ref!", and "Come on Chels!", "Come on Lamps!"
The only bright spark for the Catalans was Messi, whose mesmerising dribbles often astonished me. He could run past 3 or 4 Chelsea players like they weren't there and still squeeze off a shot. It was amazing because no matter how hard the Blues tried to stop him, they couldn't trip or get the ball off him. It was almost as though he had it glued to his feet. It was unfortunate though that nobody could read his runs or provide support when needed, and it often felt like it was Messi vs. Chelsea, and one man doesn't make a team, no matter how good he is.
Barcelona eventually got Abidal sent off for tripping Anelka, although it wasn't deserved as it was more of a case of the other way round, but it looked bad because they were a goal down, a man down, devoid of inspiration and with 30 minutes remaining, quickly being forced out of contention.
At 90 minutes, the score read Chelsea 1, Barcelona 0, and four minutes of stoppage time were added. At this point, Chelsea had 8 shots, 4 on goal. Barcelona had 13, and a big fat ZERO on goal. Petr Cech had not made a single save from a goalbound effort up to this point. Barcelona has a dream attack force? Bullshit. They were so pathetic, even Newcastle would have done better, and they are about to be relegated from the Premier League.
And then it happened. In the 3rd minute of stoppage time, off a cross on the right, Messi took the ball and squared it right to Iniesta, who struck a fierce rising shot past Petr Cech into goal. Nobody in the pub could believe what they had just witnessed. There was a stunned silence, before the whole pub exploded with cheers and people jumping in jubilation. It was only then that I realised the only Chelsea fans in the pub were the two guys seated on my right. The rest were there to see Barcelona. And this goal was it, because at this point, Chelsea had no time to come back into the game. The Chelsea players were absolutely shellshocked and horrified. Even their captain Terry, normally resolute, looked lost, even as he tried to rally his players into pressing for another goal.
At the final whistle, guess what, Captain Terry bawled like a crybaby again. But this time, you really felt for him because it wouldn't be wrong to say that he had been robbed of a place in the final right at the death, like how he was robbed of the trophy right on the last penalty kick of the game last year.
The faces of jubilation and despair, the eventual outcome of every game where there must be a winner, and a loser.The final score read Barcelona 1, Chelsea 1, with Barcelona proceeding on the away goals rule. Barcelona didn't deserve to win. But Chelsea couldn't kill off the game, and Barcelona, with their only shot on goal, steered it true, and booked their passage into the final. But based on this performance, Man Utd is going to pwn their butts.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Swine flu.
What can I say that hasn't been said about swine flu already? Well, firstly you cannot catch swine flu by eating pork, because the current strain of virus has mutated into a form that is more suitable for human to human transmission. Good news for me because I am sick of chicken. I am Chinese. I need my bak kwa. And my abalone. The last part is a hint that if anyone is feeling rich from having struck 4D or found a rich boyfriend/girlfriend that I would like some. It's known as charity towards your fellow man and the accumulation of good karma.
Although Britain is currently besieged by swine flu, I don't feel the effects at all. I could almost accuse the newspapers of trying to create a mass panic to sell more papers, because I think that is precisely what they are doing. Some people would probably say I'm being too cynical because increased newspaper coverage helps drive home the fact that swine flu is a serious threat, but really, to do that we just need the facts and figures. We don't really need full length articles day in day out about how swine flu might ruin our lives, or a detailed explanation for the 10th time on why the Tube is a perfect breeding ground for swine flu.
The Tube is a perfect breeding ground for swine flu, chicken pox, dust clouds, furry rats, smelly people, white supremacists, Oyster cards with insufficient value, and perpetually lost tourists who would rather snap pictures than figure out where the hell they're going. They are the same ones who stand on the left side of the escalator. Keep right you bozos. Can't you read the signs?
The Tube could probably breed anything if you gave it enough time. They have line closures all the time for engineering works, but for all you know they could be doing it because they need to scrape green algae off the walls before it grows so thick the trains can't pass through their tiny tunnels.
Today, I read an article in the London Lite about how getting swine flu is really very similar to a normal flu, and hence according to this 11 year old girl, we have nothing to worry about. I have no idea what kind of reassurance that is supposed to be, it's like saying "oh even if you get swine flu you won't die, if you do you were destined to die anyway because even the normal flu would have killed you." Seriously, it was one of the strangest articles I've read in a long time.
I hope I don't get quarantined when I'm back. It would suck to be forced to spend a week at home for a flu that is as deadly as "normal flu", knowing full well people with normal flu are walking around and I don't even have the damned thing.
Although Britain is currently besieged by swine flu, I don't feel the effects at all. I could almost accuse the newspapers of trying to create a mass panic to sell more papers, because I think that is precisely what they are doing. Some people would probably say I'm being too cynical because increased newspaper coverage helps drive home the fact that swine flu is a serious threat, but really, to do that we just need the facts and figures. We don't really need full length articles day in day out about how swine flu might ruin our lives, or a detailed explanation for the 10th time on why the Tube is a perfect breeding ground for swine flu.
The Tube is a perfect breeding ground for swine flu, chicken pox, dust clouds, furry rats, smelly people, white supremacists, Oyster cards with insufficient value, and perpetually lost tourists who would rather snap pictures than figure out where the hell they're going. They are the same ones who stand on the left side of the escalator. Keep right you bozos. Can't you read the signs?
The Tube could probably breed anything if you gave it enough time. They have line closures all the time for engineering works, but for all you know they could be doing it because they need to scrape green algae off the walls before it grows so thick the trains can't pass through their tiny tunnels.
Today, I read an article in the London Lite about how getting swine flu is really very similar to a normal flu, and hence according to this 11 year old girl, we have nothing to worry about. I have no idea what kind of reassurance that is supposed to be, it's like saying "oh even if you get swine flu you won't die, if you do you were destined to die anyway because even the normal flu would have killed you." Seriously, it was one of the strangest articles I've read in a long time.
I hope I don't get quarantined when I'm back. It would suck to be forced to spend a week at home for a flu that is as deadly as "normal flu", knowing full well people with normal flu are walking around and I don't even have the damned thing.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
New awakenings.
Having been overseas for about three months and a half now, I've become accustomed to living in these parts. The irreverent behaviour of the youths, the dry witticisms of the bus drivers, the dust in the air that swipes your face as you trudge down the windswept dusty streets all over London, the choking cigarette smoke that overwhelms as you meander into a group of locals lighting up, all these form a picture of London that you can never gleam from a picture. The living, breathing soul that defines the place, the cacophonic chorus of ambient noises that enmesh into a miasma we often call culture, and yet struggle to define when presented with the straightforward query "What is London like?"
I can't define London for you, because I have come to know it too well, and hence my impression of the city has long surpassed me being able to cage it into mere words, into that grammatical structure we call a paragraph, because mere words will never satisfactorily encompass everything I've come to know and love about this place.
I can't find the words to define the bustling crowds pushing their way through to catch the morning trains in the Tube, I can't find the expression to show you how I feel when I see Westminster from yet another angle and realise that this was the very same thing I used to see in postcards, I can't find the correct phrase to tell you about why is it that this place is hardly the prettiest, or the cleanest, with weather more unpredictable than a woman's moods, and yet it endears so much that when you leave it, you find yourself wondering when you'll be back.
I am in that uncomfortable place where I can no longer be a mere tourist, and yet I know that this place is merely be a stopover, a station along a railway line, one of many that I will eventually traverse in the continuous track that is my life. I know my fate is not twinned with that of the city dwellers, who hurry along to an unseen destination, the events of tomorrow already on their minds, those of yesterday long forgotten. I know that someday I will have to go home, but no matter what, a part of me can never return, because it has long been stolen by this place.
And I look back at the raw 22 year old I once was, the starry eyed traveller who uprooted himself from the comforts of home and flew halfway across the world, carrying 3 full bags and a heart full of trepidation into the unknown, and I remember how hard the first week was when I couldn't settle into my hostel because someone was holding my keys, forcing me to spend my first night in an utterly foreign land 6000 miles away on a mattress with a plastic wrapper for a bedsheet, unable to tell anybody about the abject loneliness, the fatigue setting in as the 8 hour time difference began to tell, and the ridiculous cold that had me jumping even as I stood outside the hall waiting for the electronic door to open.
I will never forget the first day, the 17th of January, because it was the longest day of my life. I remember stepping off the plane having endured a 14 hour flight, only to realise that it was merely 6am and the day was just beginning. I remember how I had no internet connection for a week, so the only human interaction I had was restricted to short phone calls, knowing full well that I had to try to say as much as I could in the shortest time possible because I was racking up one heck of a phone bill, the feeling of frustration I had every time I finally put down the phone and realised I still had a lot to say, but I couldn't call again because it wasn't worth enough to call for.
And I realise how much I have grown in just these 3 months. I have seen all manner of places and things, and I can no longer go back to being that same boy that I was when I left for this place. A boy I was, wet around the ears, believing that I knew all about the world, when I knew next to nothing. I thought my education had prepared me for everything, but when I came out here, I saw that the biggest lessons in life will always be learned outside of a classroom, because life itself is a teacher borne of the school of hard knocks. Looking back at the things my life used to revolve around, I now feel a tinge of warmth flushing around the edges of my ears at my silliness, because suddenly, the very same things have ceased to matter.
And I am suddenly jarred out of my pensive mood, as the cold night wind starts to blow again, filtering in through my window into the hall room where it is just me, with a laptop, and a guitar for company. It settles around my legs and whips sharply around them, drawing a quickly muttered grumble from me about how cold it is yet again. I hear the laughter from downstairs of two drunk girls stumbling across the well worn mud path towards their flats, joined soon after by the inevitable bunch of drunk guys. And I brace myself for yet another night of noise from rowdy youths well beyond my normal bedtime, often followed by a bunch of them bundling into my flat and slamming doors so hard my door rattles in its frame.
But through it all, I know I will miss everything about this experience when I'm finally home.
I can't define London for you, because I have come to know it too well, and hence my impression of the city has long surpassed me being able to cage it into mere words, into that grammatical structure we call a paragraph, because mere words will never satisfactorily encompass everything I've come to know and love about this place.
I can't find the words to define the bustling crowds pushing their way through to catch the morning trains in the Tube, I can't find the expression to show you how I feel when I see Westminster from yet another angle and realise that this was the very same thing I used to see in postcards, I can't find the correct phrase to tell you about why is it that this place is hardly the prettiest, or the cleanest, with weather more unpredictable than a woman's moods, and yet it endears so much that when you leave it, you find yourself wondering when you'll be back.
I am in that uncomfortable place where I can no longer be a mere tourist, and yet I know that this place is merely be a stopover, a station along a railway line, one of many that I will eventually traverse in the continuous track that is my life. I know my fate is not twinned with that of the city dwellers, who hurry along to an unseen destination, the events of tomorrow already on their minds, those of yesterday long forgotten. I know that someday I will have to go home, but no matter what, a part of me can never return, because it has long been stolen by this place.
And I look back at the raw 22 year old I once was, the starry eyed traveller who uprooted himself from the comforts of home and flew halfway across the world, carrying 3 full bags and a heart full of trepidation into the unknown, and I remember how hard the first week was when I couldn't settle into my hostel because someone was holding my keys, forcing me to spend my first night in an utterly foreign land 6000 miles away on a mattress with a plastic wrapper for a bedsheet, unable to tell anybody about the abject loneliness, the fatigue setting in as the 8 hour time difference began to tell, and the ridiculous cold that had me jumping even as I stood outside the hall waiting for the electronic door to open.
I will never forget the first day, the 17th of January, because it was the longest day of my life. I remember stepping off the plane having endured a 14 hour flight, only to realise that it was merely 6am and the day was just beginning. I remember how I had no internet connection for a week, so the only human interaction I had was restricted to short phone calls, knowing full well that I had to try to say as much as I could in the shortest time possible because I was racking up one heck of a phone bill, the feeling of frustration I had every time I finally put down the phone and realised I still had a lot to say, but I couldn't call again because it wasn't worth enough to call for.
And I realise how much I have grown in just these 3 months. I have seen all manner of places and things, and I can no longer go back to being that same boy that I was when I left for this place. A boy I was, wet around the ears, believing that I knew all about the world, when I knew next to nothing. I thought my education had prepared me for everything, but when I came out here, I saw that the biggest lessons in life will always be learned outside of a classroom, because life itself is a teacher borne of the school of hard knocks. Looking back at the things my life used to revolve around, I now feel a tinge of warmth flushing around the edges of my ears at my silliness, because suddenly, the very same things have ceased to matter.
And I am suddenly jarred out of my pensive mood, as the cold night wind starts to blow again, filtering in through my window into the hall room where it is just me, with a laptop, and a guitar for company. It settles around my legs and whips sharply around them, drawing a quickly muttered grumble from me about how cold it is yet again. I hear the laughter from downstairs of two drunk girls stumbling across the well worn mud path towards their flats, joined soon after by the inevitable bunch of drunk guys. And I brace myself for yet another night of noise from rowdy youths well beyond my normal bedtime, often followed by a bunch of them bundling into my flat and slamming doors so hard my door rattles in its frame.
But through it all, I know I will miss everything about this experience when I'm finally home.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
The province of the weak.
It was Saturday evening and there wasn't any food left on my shelf, so I had to get a takeaway and do some grocery shopping. Arriving at the town centre, I was confronted with a row of shops. There was fried chicken, but I passed on it because I had heard it was too salty. There was Chinese food too, but it was a little on the expensive side. There were kebabs, but I wasn't in the mood for those. And there was Ladbrokes, the local betting shop, but this lad was a little too broke for Ladbrokes.
So I settled on Subway. Somehow, when faced with a row of unfamiliar shops, you will gravitate towards the American fastfood chain because it is reassuring to know what to expect from your meal. The guy inside manning the shop had just wiped the tables though, so he wouldn't let me eat in the outlet. "Takeaway only" he said.
With sub in hand I trudged out into the bitter cold so characteristic of night in these parts. The only place I could eat the sub in warmth was at the supermarket, so I walked over, and found a corner to sit.
The people in the supermarket paid me no heed as I slowly worked away at the sub. The cashiers were busy keeping the tills ringing, and shoppers hurried on their way to get home with their groceries.
I was leaning against a pillar, and suddenly I heard a group of young guys on the other side. They were laughing, making hooting noises, and having a conversation although I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying.
Suddenly, the conversation ended abruptly, and the whole group started leaving. One of the guys in the group suddenly came right up to me, put his face right next to mine and shouted right into my face. I was so stunned that it took me a few seconds to realise that I had just endured yet another incident of racism. I looked around at the supermarket staff, who were just as surprised at what they had just witnessed, but they quickly looked down and carried on with their jobs. It was then that I realised that the discussion they'd been having was about a dare to intimidate the Asian on the other side of the pillar.
I still remember the expression on his face as he shouted at me. It is probably something I will never forget. It was mocking, with a defiance that said "I'd like to see what you can do about this", the look a person gives to someone he feels nothing but contempt for, knowing full well the person has no means of fighting back. I was tempted to stuff my half eaten sub into his large mouth, but I realised that if I had done that it would be a waste of a good sub.
It was then that I realised something. You can live here, but because of how you look, because of the fact that the way you look marks you out as someone that doesn't belong, you will never be treated as well as you will be in your own country. You will always be an outsider, alien to the culture, alien to the locals, and no matter how much you try to fit in, your attempts are doomed because your skin colour is a badge that you cannot remove.
And yet through it all, there is nothing I can do but forgive their ignorance and immaturity. Bigotry is borne out of ignorance, a series of stereotypes people assign to something they have little understanding of, and thus fear. I could very easily give in to the indignation that arises, and develop a view of British people as racist philistines, but that would be equivalent to putting on the same pair of bigoted glasses they have, a pair that blinds more than it helps one to see.
I have met many people in this country, of which most of them have been nothing but warm to me, and the memory of their kindness tempers the inevitable pain that comes from being judged by the ignorant and found wanting, the pain that comes from being wronged having done nothing to deserve being treated so mean.
I forgive, because ignorance is something my conscience will not let me claim.
So I settled on Subway. Somehow, when faced with a row of unfamiliar shops, you will gravitate towards the American fastfood chain because it is reassuring to know what to expect from your meal. The guy inside manning the shop had just wiped the tables though, so he wouldn't let me eat in the outlet. "Takeaway only" he said.
With sub in hand I trudged out into the bitter cold so characteristic of night in these parts. The only place I could eat the sub in warmth was at the supermarket, so I walked over, and found a corner to sit.
The people in the supermarket paid me no heed as I slowly worked away at the sub. The cashiers were busy keeping the tills ringing, and shoppers hurried on their way to get home with their groceries.
I was leaning against a pillar, and suddenly I heard a group of young guys on the other side. They were laughing, making hooting noises, and having a conversation although I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying.
Suddenly, the conversation ended abruptly, and the whole group started leaving. One of the guys in the group suddenly came right up to me, put his face right next to mine and shouted right into my face. I was so stunned that it took me a few seconds to realise that I had just endured yet another incident of racism. I looked around at the supermarket staff, who were just as surprised at what they had just witnessed, but they quickly looked down and carried on with their jobs. It was then that I realised that the discussion they'd been having was about a dare to intimidate the Asian on the other side of the pillar.
I still remember the expression on his face as he shouted at me. It is probably something I will never forget. It was mocking, with a defiance that said "I'd like to see what you can do about this", the look a person gives to someone he feels nothing but contempt for, knowing full well the person has no means of fighting back. I was tempted to stuff my half eaten sub into his large mouth, but I realised that if I had done that it would be a waste of a good sub.
It was then that I realised something. You can live here, but because of how you look, because of the fact that the way you look marks you out as someone that doesn't belong, you will never be treated as well as you will be in your own country. You will always be an outsider, alien to the culture, alien to the locals, and no matter how much you try to fit in, your attempts are doomed because your skin colour is a badge that you cannot remove.
And yet through it all, there is nothing I can do but forgive their ignorance and immaturity. Bigotry is borne out of ignorance, a series of stereotypes people assign to something they have little understanding of, and thus fear. I could very easily give in to the indignation that arises, and develop a view of British people as racist philistines, but that would be equivalent to putting on the same pair of bigoted glasses they have, a pair that blinds more than it helps one to see.
I have met many people in this country, of which most of them have been nothing but warm to me, and the memory of their kindness tempers the inevitable pain that comes from being judged by the ignorant and found wanting, the pain that comes from being wronged having done nothing to deserve being treated so mean.
I forgive, because ignorance is something my conscience will not let me claim.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Prague - 24/04/2009 - 25/04/2009
Prague is one of those cities you visit and never forget. Breathtakingly beautiful, it also charms in a way that steals your heart before you know it, and at the end, it makes you wish you never had to leave.
There are some places that you will hope to visit 3 times in your life. The first is with friends, when you are younger, bursting with vivacity, free in spirit and able to take in the sights of the city, with all the innocence and rapture of experiencing something new and wonderful, and with the license to do just about anything you like.
The second trip would be with the one you love. Familiar with the city, you find little corners to create the moments that make your heart stop, rediscovering what made you fall in love in the first place. Backed by magnificent vistas, you savour the magic as time slows to match your pace through gardens filled with the blossoms of spring, or as you watch the sun set over the castle on the hill.
The last visit would be in the twilight of your life, where you would take a stroll across the bridge spanning the river in the rays of the fading sun, give thanks for the life you've lived, and for the hand that you hold at your side. As you walk, you would feel the years fall away, and you would smile, feeling a tinge of sadness reminiscing about the friends you've known and loved, and the ones you've lost. Yet through it all, you are blessed because the light of your life is still at your side, to cherish and honour till the end of your days.
Prague, without a doubt, is one of those places.
Stare Mesto (Old Town)
The main town square
This astronomical clock was quite interesting. At every hour, little figurines of the 12 apostles will make an appearance from the two little doors at the top of the picture.
Shots of the rest of Stare Mesto
Mala Strana (lesser town)
St Nicolas' Church
Inside the church
Atop Petrin Hill
This was taken from the highest point in Prague, the top of the radio tower atop Petrin Hill.
The sun sets in Mala Strana
Prague Castle at sunset
And at night
An example of the gardens they have in Prague
One thing I liked about Prague was that their souvenirs were very different from those in other European cities, and they also looked a lot better.
In the shops of Prague
Painted wooden boxes. That small open one there costs 90 euros, or almost 200 SGD.
Glass earrings and pendants
Glassware of all shapes, sizes and colours.
Ain't this the cutest glass angel ever. And because people have been asking me, no, I didn't buy it in the end. It costs 20 SGD. Would you buy something this small for 20 SGD, even if it was cute? Actually, I think I know people who would say yes.
Paintings
Hand carved and painted wooden earrings. No two pairs are the same.
Perfume and cologne bottles
Wind chimes shaped like angels
Crumplers in Prague. Nice, and yet ridiculously expensive. Some things never change. I know they don't exactly count as souvenirs but it's almost impossible to see a Crumpler shop and not go in.
Absinthe not allowed in Singapore? No problem. Make your own.
There are some places that you will hope to visit 3 times in your life. The first is with friends, when you are younger, bursting with vivacity, free in spirit and able to take in the sights of the city, with all the innocence and rapture of experiencing something new and wonderful, and with the license to do just about anything you like.
The second trip would be with the one you love. Familiar with the city, you find little corners to create the moments that make your heart stop, rediscovering what made you fall in love in the first place. Backed by magnificent vistas, you savour the magic as time slows to match your pace through gardens filled with the blossoms of spring, or as you watch the sun set over the castle on the hill.
The last visit would be in the twilight of your life, where you would take a stroll across the bridge spanning the river in the rays of the fading sun, give thanks for the life you've lived, and for the hand that you hold at your side. As you walk, you would feel the years fall away, and you would smile, feeling a tinge of sadness reminiscing about the friends you've known and loved, and the ones you've lost. Yet through it all, you are blessed because the light of your life is still at your side, to cherish and honour till the end of your days.
Prague, without a doubt, is one of those places.
Stare Mesto (Old Town)
The main town square
This astronomical clock was quite interesting. At every hour, little figurines of the 12 apostles will make an appearance from the two little doors at the top of the picture.
Shots of the rest of Stare Mesto
Mala Strana (lesser town)
St Nicolas' Church
Inside the church
Atop Petrin Hill
This was taken from the highest point in Prague, the top of the radio tower atop Petrin Hill.The sun sets in Mala Strana
Prague Castle at sunset
And at nightAn example of the gardens they have in Prague
One thing I liked about Prague was that their souvenirs were very different from those in other European cities, and they also looked a lot better.
In the shops of Prague
Painted wooden boxes. That small open one there costs 90 euros, or almost 200 SGD.
Glass earrings and pendants
Glassware of all shapes, sizes and colours.
Ain't this the cutest glass angel ever. And because people have been asking me, no, I didn't buy it in the end. It costs 20 SGD. Would you buy something this small for 20 SGD, even if it was cute? Actually, I think I know people who would say yes.
Paintings
Hand carved and painted wooden earrings. No two pairs are the same.
Perfume and cologne bottles
Wind chimes shaped like angels
Crumplers in Prague. Nice, and yet ridiculously expensive. Some things never change. I know they don't exactly count as souvenirs but it's almost impossible to see a Crumpler shop and not go in.
Absinthe not allowed in Singapore? No problem. Make your own.
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