... He sat at his desk, his book opened on the table. There was work to be done, but somehow he couldn't put his mind to it. There was a sense of foreboding; a feeling of unease that he couldn't explain. It wasn't about the work that he had to complete, neither was it the impending cold from winter. He looked up from his book, staring blankly at the wall behind his table lamp.
What if she said no?
He shuddered from the thought. He had put everything that was dear to him on the line, hoping to the high winds that she would be willing to spend her life with him. Never did he take failure as a possible option; there was no room for failure. He couldn't bear the thought of failing; his world would just collapse all around him. She was as good as a girl could be; though they met only for a short while, he felt that there was something special in her that drew him closer and closer to her. It was her eyes; the same expressive eyes which told him that she wanted someone to be her hero, someone to love her as deeply as it was mortally possible.
The wind howled. Momentarily distracted from his thoughts, he got up and closed the window. The wind howled on, muted. As he stood by the closed window, he looked on into the darkness, again lost in his thoughts. He was in a dilemma; inasmuch as he wanted an answer from her, he dreaded the moment when he realised that his dream was not to be.
"Unchained Melody" was playing softly on the radio from the other room. It accentuated his helplessness further. Cocking his head to his right, he drew in the soft melody, his heart heavier with each beat from the bass.
"God speed your love to me," he mouthed silently. ...
Thursday, August 31, 2006
NaNoWriMo Warm-up Snippet #5
I begin:
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
On writing
I love writing. This comes up as a strange fact to talk about, but actually, I started off as a writer before I became a computer programmer, the latter of which had become my default persona that I adopt.
It all began a long time ago, when I loved reading fiction and non-fiction books. Learning to read them was one thing; I found that I could understand what the items were written inside the books, which was pretty wonderful. My writing "career" kicked-off properly when I was in Primary Six, where I had the most wonderful English teacher that anyone could ever ask for: Mr Lin Min.
Mr Lin was the head of department of English of my primary school. A mild-mannered man, he was unlike most of the teachers in the school. For one, he treated us like adults (even though we were at least 6 years away from being anything remotely like an adult). For two, he was completely into English, taking every opportunity to teach us/correct us on proper English usage. His notes for the class were unique; they didn't cover the primary school syllabus, but was based on the standard of English that was in existence in the real world. As such, the information that was contained in the hand outs were of immense use, and I do refer to them at least once a year after that to refresh myself on the proper usage of certain English terms.
His total devotion to teaching us the English language the way that the English language was used can be seen in the way that he metes out punishment. Unlike other teachers who use uncreative means of punishment like staying back after class, or even to write lines, Mr Lin would provide a topic and set a word limit, for which we would need to write an essay pertaining to the topic and meeting the word limit at the same time. Most of the time, the essays were to be completed either on the day itself or at the latest, the next morning. The most interesting thing about this exercise was the fact that he actually marked each and every essay that we write, regardless of it being class work or punishment. Needless to say, that was where I had most of my writing training from, for I was always finding myself in some situation of sorts where I would be "punished".
The word limits started off innocent enough. A couple of hundred words, maybe three or four hundred words, which is roughly the number of words that a decent essay written by a primary school student should have. However, as the days went on, the word limits increased slowly, first to five hundred, then to eight hundred (roughly the number of words that the A-level General Paper essay should contain), and sloowly exceeding a thousand words. All these writing training meant that I could easily write anything under the sun under any word limit that was set, and at a decent speed too. I was so caught up in all these writing that even for my final examinations (the PSLE), I wrote something like a two-thousand-word essay or something; all I could remember was that I used two booklets of writing paper, even though the usual number of booklets used is under one.
I daresay that Mr Lin Min has taught me all that I needed to know to communicate effectively in English. The subsequent years' English lessons were mainly to enrich myself; I never strayed far away from his teachings. I usually best the time limit and word limit of all the essay-based English papers that I ever took. I guess my intuition in the English language was strengthened over the years, but the initial push was done by Mr Lin Min. That I can say without a doubt.
But of course, when I was in secondary school, I found a higher calling in the field of computer programming, which was really another form of writing, except that this time, it was a clearer and more concise language than the English language. Though I was still good in English, there were others who were significantly better than me, so I kept a low profile on my language skills, and stuck with my programming persona for the rest of my years.
It was when the blog came about that I had the chance to reignite my passion for writing.
My first blog was on poetry. Poems are writings that I feel passionate about. Having taken English Literature at the O-levels, I've come to better appreciate the nuances that co-exist with the compactness of a poem. I find that writing poems are more liberating, as it could really stretch my self-imposed limits on vocabulary and expressiveness. Unlike prose, which can get too wordy in order to bring about a nuance, poems are more succinct. Each line of the poem carries substantially more information than each line of prose. And poems are beautiful works of art; in it you can feel the passion of the poet, about the things that the poet feels strongly about, about the things that the poet is writing on explicitly, about the things that the poet is implying through the inobvious writings.
I like writing prose. It is more base than poems, since most of the time you have the luxury of using many more words to bring out the ideas and thoughts that you want to say. Prose can be beautiful too, but they lack the compactness and the Aha! factor that poems bring about to the reader. And to pull off nuances in prose is just disaster-prone; too many words means that the nuances can be easily lost in the cataclysmic avalanche of words.
I gain inspiration for my poems based on what my mind is thinking about. If you've read the flagship blog, you'd realise that most of the time, the poems are written either at night or in the dead of the night. Sometimes, they come during the day, but those that I consider among my best works are usually inspired when it gets dark outside. I guess that when it is dark out, that's when my mind starts to relax into its best state, and that's where the creative juices just flow on unhampered. It also helps that in the dead of the night, there is hardly any noise from the outside, and that makes concentrating so much easier to accomplish.
That's all I have on my writing, for now.
It all began a long time ago, when I loved reading fiction and non-fiction books. Learning to read them was one thing; I found that I could understand what the items were written inside the books, which was pretty wonderful. My writing "career" kicked-off properly when I was in Primary Six, where I had the most wonderful English teacher that anyone could ever ask for: Mr Lin Min.
Mr Lin was the head of department of English of my primary school. A mild-mannered man, he was unlike most of the teachers in the school. For one, he treated us like adults (even though we were at least 6 years away from being anything remotely like an adult). For two, he was completely into English, taking every opportunity to teach us/correct us on proper English usage. His notes for the class were unique; they didn't cover the primary school syllabus, but was based on the standard of English that was in existence in the real world. As such, the information that was contained in the hand outs were of immense use, and I do refer to them at least once a year after that to refresh myself on the proper usage of certain English terms.
His total devotion to teaching us the English language the way that the English language was used can be seen in the way that he metes out punishment. Unlike other teachers who use uncreative means of punishment like staying back after class, or even to write lines, Mr Lin would provide a topic and set a word limit, for which we would need to write an essay pertaining to the topic and meeting the word limit at the same time. Most of the time, the essays were to be completed either on the day itself or at the latest, the next morning. The most interesting thing about this exercise was the fact that he actually marked each and every essay that we write, regardless of it being class work or punishment. Needless to say, that was where I had most of my writing training from, for I was always finding myself in some situation of sorts where I would be "punished".
The word limits started off innocent enough. A couple of hundred words, maybe three or four hundred words, which is roughly the number of words that a decent essay written by a primary school student should have. However, as the days went on, the word limits increased slowly, first to five hundred, then to eight hundred (roughly the number of words that the A-level General Paper essay should contain), and sloowly exceeding a thousand words. All these writing training meant that I could easily write anything under the sun under any word limit that was set, and at a decent speed too. I was so caught up in all these writing that even for my final examinations (the PSLE), I wrote something like a two-thousand-word essay or something; all I could remember was that I used two booklets of writing paper, even though the usual number of booklets used is under one.
I daresay that Mr Lin Min has taught me all that I needed to know to communicate effectively in English. The subsequent years' English lessons were mainly to enrich myself; I never strayed far away from his teachings. I usually best the time limit and word limit of all the essay-based English papers that I ever took. I guess my intuition in the English language was strengthened over the years, but the initial push was done by Mr Lin Min. That I can say without a doubt.
But of course, when I was in secondary school, I found a higher calling in the field of computer programming, which was really another form of writing, except that this time, it was a clearer and more concise language than the English language. Though I was still good in English, there were others who were significantly better than me, so I kept a low profile on my language skills, and stuck with my programming persona for the rest of my years.
It was when the blog came about that I had the chance to reignite my passion for writing.
My first blog was on poetry. Poems are writings that I feel passionate about. Having taken English Literature at the O-levels, I've come to better appreciate the nuances that co-exist with the compactness of a poem. I find that writing poems are more liberating, as it could really stretch my self-imposed limits on vocabulary and expressiveness. Unlike prose, which can get too wordy in order to bring about a nuance, poems are more succinct. Each line of the poem carries substantially more information than each line of prose. And poems are beautiful works of art; in it you can feel the passion of the poet, about the things that the poet feels strongly about, about the things that the poet is writing on explicitly, about the things that the poet is implying through the inobvious writings.
I like writing prose. It is more base than poems, since most of the time you have the luxury of using many more words to bring out the ideas and thoughts that you want to say. Prose can be beautiful too, but they lack the compactness and the Aha! factor that poems bring about to the reader. And to pull off nuances in prose is just disaster-prone; too many words means that the nuances can be easily lost in the cataclysmic avalanche of words.
I gain inspiration for my poems based on what my mind is thinking about. If you've read the flagship blog, you'd realise that most of the time, the poems are written either at night or in the dead of the night. Sometimes, they come during the day, but those that I consider among my best works are usually inspired when it gets dark outside. I guess that when it is dark out, that's when my mind starts to relax into its best state, and that's where the creative juices just flow on unhampered. It also helps that in the dead of the night, there is hardly any noise from the outside, and that makes concentrating so much easier to accomplish.
That's all I have on my writing, for now.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
And so ends day 1
Yeah, it's the end of classes for today. Pretty interesting experience over here. Instead of monster-sized 100-minute blocks for lectures, we have nice juicy blocks of no more than 50 minutes each. This allocation of time seems near optimal—the professor teaches less per lesson, shorter lessons mean greater breaks interspersed, and all these add up to a refreshing experience for learning in general. Studies have shown that having small but frequent breaks are much more useful in aiding content retention, and it seems that that is what they are practising here. This, added to the diversity of the topics that are taught, allows the mind to be fully utilised in such a way that synergises the energies within, causing a result that is greater than the sum of the individual constituents.
Now, if I conscientiously review the material that I've learnt through the day, there is almost little effort required to retain all the knowledge learnt. Evil...
Now, if I conscientiously review the material that I've learnt through the day, there is almost little effort required to retain all the knowledge learnt. Evil...
Monday, August 28, 2006
And so classes begin
After almost 3 years of living in the real world, it's time to re-immerse myself back into the pretend world of academia. Not that I've not done any studying during my brief stay in the real world, but that the pace and way of life is set to change once in such a academic setting.
So, looks like I need to re-learn all the nifty tricks of the trade that I employed so long ago during JC in order to stay ahead of the pack.
Anyway, on a separate note, I finally saw a real life PDP-11 machine! It looked so cool, with one big printed circuit board with 36 leds and roughly the same number of switches below, and next to it was the programmer's manual. It's like a dream come true to be able to see such a legendary machine.
And further down from the display case where the PDP-11 was housed, was the most powerful-looking slide rule I'd ever seen. It's like even more powerful than the Staedler one that my father passed down to me. It has inspired me to start dreaming of all kinds of scales to add to a slide rule, and it will only be time before I assemble my very own multi-purpose slide rule.
My room mates are great people. They are fun to be with, and have amazing things to share, like Hot Pockets and a colour printer. Just enjoyed an interesting dinner last night with them at Subway; am attempting to know them better as opposed to clumping with all the Singaporean students. One of them has even suggested that I spend winter at his place! I thanked him for the offer and said that I'd certainly take it up if my plan to visit Cui in Toronto is totally screwed. :-)
And so, classes begin...
So, looks like I need to re-learn all the nifty tricks of the trade that I employed so long ago during JC in order to stay ahead of the pack.
Anyway, on a separate note, I finally saw a real life PDP-11 machine! It looked so cool, with one big printed circuit board with 36 leds and roughly the same number of switches below, and next to it was the programmer's manual. It's like a dream come true to be able to see such a legendary machine.
And further down from the display case where the PDP-11 was housed, was the most powerful-looking slide rule I'd ever seen. It's like even more powerful than the Staedler one that my father passed down to me. It has inspired me to start dreaming of all kinds of scales to add to a slide rule, and it will only be time before I assemble my very own multi-purpose slide rule.
My room mates are great people. They are fun to be with, and have amazing things to share, like Hot Pockets and a colour printer. Just enjoyed an interesting dinner last night with them at Subway; am attempting to know them better as opposed to clumping with all the Singaporean students. One of them has even suggested that I spend winter at his place! I thanked him for the offer and said that I'd certainly take it up if my plan to visit Cui in Toronto is totally screwed. :-)
And so, classes begin...
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Excommunication
The wonders of being excommunicated. When you get excommunicated by a group, you tend to sit down, preferably under a Bodhi tree, and meditate on the issue. Despite what others say about you, you pause to think a little more deeply into the matter. And then you'll realise that the situation is only because both parties (you vs them) have set up the case of excommunication.
You live your life the way that you think is the form that is worth living. They find you plain odd, and decided that you embarrass them with your antics. What both don't realise is a clash of ideology. You think that as long as you are not breaking any rules or laws, it is okay to do whatever you want to do. They think that if you are not socially conforming to the norm, you will embarrass them, especially when you are tagging along in their group.
A clash of ideologies. The world is a free place; it has place for everyone of every race, every creed. What limits who we are with, what we can do, how we do it has nothing to do with the world, it has everything to do with the narrowness of our own perception of what the world is. It is due to the innate shallowness of people that cause the multitude of problems stemming from non-tolerance of people who are different.
Of course, there are deviant lines of thought that threaten the society as a whole; these thoughts are best dealt with to prevent the collapse of civilised society. However, there are so many other people around who believe in different things, who do things differently. If we were to excommunicate them, aren't we reducing the meme pool from which our diversity and social survivability stem from?
So, after you sit and meditate on the issue, you realise that it is not the fault of any single entity; both parties are to be blamed. But now, a tough question remains: do you want to re-integrate into the group or totally dismiss them and seek your own fortunes somewhere else?
You live your life the way that you think is the form that is worth living. They find you plain odd, and decided that you embarrass them with your antics. What both don't realise is a clash of ideology. You think that as long as you are not breaking any rules or laws, it is okay to do whatever you want to do. They think that if you are not socially conforming to the norm, you will embarrass them, especially when you are tagging along in their group.
A clash of ideologies. The world is a free place; it has place for everyone of every race, every creed. What limits who we are with, what we can do, how we do it has nothing to do with the world, it has everything to do with the narrowness of our own perception of what the world is. It is due to the innate shallowness of people that cause the multitude of problems stemming from non-tolerance of people who are different.
Of course, there are deviant lines of thought that threaten the society as a whole; these thoughts are best dealt with to prevent the collapse of civilised society. However, there are so many other people around who believe in different things, who do things differently. If we were to excommunicate them, aren't we reducing the meme pool from which our diversity and social survivability stem from?
So, after you sit and meditate on the issue, you realise that it is not the fault of any single entity; both parties are to be blamed. But now, a tough question remains: do you want to re-integrate into the group or totally dismiss them and seek your own fortunes somewhere else?
Nostalgia
"The most painful thing on Earth is a pleasant memory. This nostalgia that sometimes comes over us isn't an accident. It's a message. It has something to tell us. We're programmed to indulge in life, but this haunting nostalgia is a sublimal message from another plane... Touching it, you touch the Eternal."
~ Richard Rose, from After the Absolute by David Gold with Bart Marshall
Ed: This is... very philosophical.
~ Richard Rose, from After the Absolute by David Gold with Bart Marshall
Ed: This is... very philosophical.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Because Jess did this for me...
If you comment on this post:
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll challenge you to try something.
3. I'll pick a color that I associate with you.
4. I'll tell you something I like about you.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something I've always wanted to ask you.
8. If I do this for you, you must re-post this on your blog.
Ed: Ugh... free spam... >.<
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll challenge you to try something.
3. I'll pick a color that I associate with you.
4. I'll tell you something I like about you.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something I've always wanted to ask you.
8. If I do this for you, you must re-post this on your blog.
Ed: Ugh... free spam... >.<
Friday, August 25, 2006
It's hard to be a good person
Anguish. There's no other way to speak of it but thus. Anguish is what I feel now... It's the kind of inexplicable sadness that one sometimes feels especially when the events seem to suggest that nothing done will ever be right.
I try to be a good person. I'm not rich, nor famous, nor handsome, nor smart. But I try my best to be a good person, to help those who need help, to support people who need support, to care for those whom I want to care. But... as always, Fate plays cruel tricks on me. My silent help is often unappreciated, and I'm often ostracised, no matter where I am.
*sigh*
Here, in America, with no one to call kith or kin, I entrust my sense of belonging to the small community of my fellow countrymen. Yet... at times I feel as though they are no different from the Americans; strangers all of them seem to be, aloof and even at times, biting cold. I cannot comprehend this feeling that I have. Sometimes when they speak, it seems that they have some other form of communication of which I'm not privileged enough to be part of. Again this is happening. Again I'm getting cut out of the group.
Perhaps it's time to revert to the old ways, as detestful as it may be.
I thought I'd changed much as a person, but the reality check proved otherwise. I'm still the same old loner I was, just that this time, my loner attribute is more camouflaged than before, under the many layers of personas that I've carefully crafted over the years. But scratch deep enough through my personas, it's still the same old me that I was for so long.
*sigh*
Why? Why must it be the case that I need to end up in such a situation?
With sadness, I turn and walk away, a stray tear escaping from my eye.
I try to be a good person. I'm not rich, nor famous, nor handsome, nor smart. But I try my best to be a good person, to help those who need help, to support people who need support, to care for those whom I want to care. But... as always, Fate plays cruel tricks on me. My silent help is often unappreciated, and I'm often ostracised, no matter where I am.
*sigh*
Here, in America, with no one to call kith or kin, I entrust my sense of belonging to the small community of my fellow countrymen. Yet... at times I feel as though they are no different from the Americans; strangers all of them seem to be, aloof and even at times, biting cold. I cannot comprehend this feeling that I have. Sometimes when they speak, it seems that they have some other form of communication of which I'm not privileged enough to be part of. Again this is happening. Again I'm getting cut out of the group.
Perhaps it's time to revert to the old ways, as detestful as it may be.
I thought I'd changed much as a person, but the reality check proved otherwise. I'm still the same old loner I was, just that this time, my loner attribute is more camouflaged than before, under the many layers of personas that I've carefully crafted over the years. But scratch deep enough through my personas, it's still the same old me that I was for so long.
*sigh*
Why? Why must it be the case that I need to end up in such a situation?
With sadness, I turn and walk away, a stray tear escaping from my eye.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
M2M, 邓丽君, Michael Learns to Rock, Atomic Kitten and whatever
My playlist is weird. Well, I have music from several genres, from English ballads to oldies, to Mandarin ballads and oldies, to Trance, and instrumental pieces spanning from people like Nobuo Uematsu and some classical pieces, to the Zen-like Kitaro, to the Chinese Orchestra pieces. Seems like most of the main types of music are represented, perhaps only those that are metal-like.
Among all the songs that I have, I find myself listening mainly to my ballads, whether they are Mandarin or English. I dunno... I just find that the ballads are more soothing to listen to, and the emotive content from within just seems to resonate strongly with my innate character. Only thing that I regret not doing before flying over is to rip my Disney Love Songs CD and another Mandarin music CD that I bought about 2 days before my flight and have no time to rip them to perfection.
Perhaps, it's because of the way that I am. I'm learning how to better control my emotions such that they do not all come out as a chunk or worse, being kept deep within myself without every releasing them. Seems like I'm having some progress in this... Hopefully, I'd be able to master this skill well enough to be able to accomplish more.
Just some random posting from nowhere...
Among all the songs that I have, I find myself listening mainly to my ballads, whether they are Mandarin or English. I dunno... I just find that the ballads are more soothing to listen to, and the emotive content from within just seems to resonate strongly with my innate character. Only thing that I regret not doing before flying over is to rip my Disney Love Songs CD and another Mandarin music CD that I bought about 2 days before my flight and have no time to rip them to perfection.
Perhaps, it's because of the way that I am. I'm learning how to better control my emotions such that they do not all come out as a chunk or worse, being kept deep within myself without every releasing them. Seems like I'm having some progress in this... Hopefully, I'd be able to master this skill well enough to be able to accomplish more.
Just some random posting from nowhere...
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
NaNoWriMo Warm-up Snippet #4
I begin:
Inspired by location in CMU
... He stood in the middle of the lawn, halfway around the world, lost in his own thoughts as much as being lost in the crowd. The midday sun was scorching hot, yet he felt no heat as the cool breeze brushed by. The throng of people seemed to be non-existent; all that he could saw was her face, her beautiful eyes and her soft smile, and all that he could feel was the warmness of her breath when she spoke, and the soft and delightful sensation when she touched his hand, and all he could hear was the passion in her voice when she spoke of her favourite subjects.
The breeze died. It grew warmer. He was still in the middle of the lawn, completely engrossed in his thoughts of her. He didn't notice his friend approaching him from behind, didn't notice his friend quietly stepping up close, and didn't notice his friend poised to strike.
Tap tap on the shoulder. "Hey! Ready to go?"
"?! Argh... why did you have to— oh well, nevermind, let's go."
His daydream shattered, he turned around and started following his friend, who was already ahead. Silently, he muttered "I miss you so much dear" before he quickened his pace to catch up. ...
Inspired by location in CMU
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
I'm at the airport
I'm now at Changi Airport with Michael. Will be offline for at least 48 hours.
See you all soon. :-)
See you all soon. :-)
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Maiden attempt at fireworks...
Another picture blog post, I'm afraid. This time this is on the Fireworks Festival held last night.
I went with Chinghua and Ding Ding for the photo shoot. The place was packed, and I, having the smallest camera around, had to sit below Ding Ding's ginormous tripod for my take of the fireworks. Yeah yeah, I know I should have brought a tripod, but...
Skyline! This is before the fireworks started...
The next few shots are but the few that are "passable" using my non-tripod photo-taking skills...
Looks horrible, right? Well, next summer, when I'm back, I'll bring a tripod and take better pictures. ;-)
I went with Chinghua and Ding Ding for the photo shoot. The place was packed, and I, having the smallest camera around, had to sit below Ding Ding's ginormous tripod for my take of the fireworks. Yeah yeah, I know I should have brought a tripod, but...
Skyline! This is before the fireworks started...
The next few shots are but the few that are "passable" using my non-tripod photo-taking skills...
Looks horrible, right? Well, next summer, when I'm back, I'll bring a tripod and take better pictures. ;-)
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Picture post of Kangyi's party
I've been writing for the last few days... my brain is now in cramps and can't really think straight. Anyway, here's a list of the pictures I took at Kangyi's party last Saturday. Enjoy. :-)
Cheryl looking at Kangyi's photographs. Trust me, if you missed looking at his photographs, you missed a lot of err... interesting stuff. ;-)
Draw your own conclusions, people. *evil grin*
Same same.
More guests, about the second wave or so.
As above.
Cheryl and Dr Broke in a duet (where did those fingers around Cheryl's right arm come from?! (no no no... not Cheryl's fingers, but look closely at the right arm...))
One sweet high-pitched singer and all the rest slacking somewhat.
Close-up view of the sweet high-pitched singer.
This bunch didn't sing at all (why?).
Me. The back-stage back-up singer for songs that were picked and no one sang... Included one weird song Hound Dog by Elvis Presley (now, who picked that?).
Ah, Francine the pro singer. Must have caught her at a bad time with this shot. Oops...
Belting out a piece that I don't think I could remember... Saturday is like 2+ days ago, and so many things have happened that I can't really remember now. :-P
Yay~ Nicole made it to the party in the end. Posed with Dickson in this shot.
A stitched picture of almost everyone near the end of the party. I'm not in the picture because I am behind the camera. Hahahaha...
Final shot with Nicole at the end of the party. (We got chased out by the management again :-( )
Cheryl looking at Kangyi's photographs. Trust me, if you missed looking at his photographs, you missed a lot of err... interesting stuff. ;-)
Draw your own conclusions, people. *evil grin*
Same same.
More guests, about the second wave or so.
As above.
Cheryl and Dr Broke in a duet (where did those fingers around Cheryl's right arm come from?! (no no no... not Cheryl's fingers, but look closely at the right arm...))
One sweet high-pitched singer and all the rest slacking somewhat.
Close-up view of the sweet high-pitched singer.
This bunch didn't sing at all (why?).
Me. The back-stage back-up singer for songs that were picked and no one sang... Included one weird song Hound Dog by Elvis Presley (now, who picked that?).
Ah, Francine the pro singer. Must have caught her at a bad time with this shot. Oops...
Belting out a piece that I don't think I could remember... Saturday is like 2+ days ago, and so many things have happened that I can't really remember now. :-P
Yay~ Nicole made it to the party in the end. Posed with Dickson in this shot.
A stitched picture of almost everyone near the end of the party. I'm not in the picture because I am behind the camera. Hahahaha...
Final shot with Nicole at the end of the party. (We got chased out by the management again :-( )
Monday, August 07, 2006
NaNoWriMo Warm-up Snippet #3
I begin:
Inspired by photo taken with Nicole
... "Oh come on! You've never taken a picture with me before, let's just do it now," she said as she was lightly tugging at his sleeves.
"Uh, okay, sure, why not? Let me get my camera first," he said as he fished out his digital camera from his pouch.
"Hey dude, could you do us a favour and take a picture of us?"
"Sure, why not?"
He handed his camera to the bystander and gave some simple operating instructions. Then, he walked towards her and took position.
Instinctively, the two of them stood close together, afraid of not being in the view of the camera. Her arm was lightly touching his chest, her head subtly tilted, and she smiled. He stood slightly behind her, angled slightly, and trying to look as macho as he could to match her apparent feminine charms. His heart increased its rate ever so slightly from the warmness of her arm.
"Smile!"
Her smile grew radiant; his was wrily hinted with a slight upmovement of the side of his lips. At that moment, he, who had rarely been photographed, felt both ecstatic and proud that he could have the honour of having a photograph taken with her.
Click.
"Alright, it's done."
"Hey thanks a lot!" He said as he took the camera back from the bystander.
"I'll send you the picture once I get home."
"Sure, why not?" She smiled sweetly as she replied.
His heart melted there and then. ...
Inspired by photo taken with Nicole
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Massive Panorama
Finally, I can do something that I like doing best; constructing impossibly large field of view panoramas. With my new digital camera and Edythe's processing power, I've managed to create a nice panorama of the view as seen from the 21st floor where Cheryl lives. Behold!
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
NaNoWriMo Warm-up Snippet #2
I begin:
Inspired by a recent gathering
... They sat at the table in the hawker centre, opposite each other. Around them, their friends were happily chatting away. She laughed at a funny comment by one, and then, for a moment, their eyes met. In that split second, he felt that his world was suddenly brighter, and that the other people were just shadowy figures lurking in the background. All that mattered there and then was that she had seen him. Her eyes seemed to have a sparkle that just draw him like a firefly, and he just felt like giving her a warm hug there and then. Seemingly sensing his thoughts, she averted her gaze, and his heart was chilled. Perhaps there was another time where he could tell her how he really felt. ...
Inspired by a recent gathering
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