爱为何物？

她，曾经是我天空中的月亮。她，曾经是我生命中的一个光芒。她，曾经是我活在世上的理由。她，曾经是我梦中想要陪到老的人。从我见到她的那一刻起，心中已有一种从来没有跟受过的感觉。或许是幻想，或许是迷惑，只知当时有如爱情般的甜美感。

“不在乎天长地久，只在乎曾经拥有”，这句话，我用了好几遍。说它是心里话吧，也不算。说它是个理想，也不是。或许它只是个空虚的话，说来安慰一下自己，让自己觉得人生并不像现实中的那么黑暗。迷惑，一个“情”字的迷惑。“情”给予我力量创作，“情”也带给我无从的心理伤害。为了一个“情”字，不知浪费了多少岁月时光，不知让自己遭受了多少心里打击。但，我依然像往常的愚昧，还是像一个无底洞钻。

“问世间情为何物？”曾经对情的理想，如今已成了昨日的幻想。以前的我，对情对谊，是那么的认真，那么的诚恳。但是，现在的我已经无法感受到当年的感觉。人性的转变是永恒，当年的好朋友，也能成为今天的敌人。对人真恳，并不代表人会对你认真。人心难测，又怎么知道谁是真的朋友呢？

然而，她，人们开口闭口的她，又似乎是人之常情的另一端。在人海中，某某她显得很突出，让人一见钟情。但，爱她也好，恨她也好，你又怎么知道她对你的意思呢？她对你的笑，可能是一种暗号，表示当你为朋友而已。她陪你吃饭，或许是表示你对她的情就像那最后一餐，从此各分东西。爱情，不是单方面的，在这科技占有的都市社会中，这简单的道理已变得越来越模糊了。科技让我们很容易的与人沟通，而这沟通也让我们轻易误解对方的意思，造成许多让人很难堪的场面。

我已不敢爱了。我所知道的爱，是属于当年的定义。我所知道的谊，也只不过是自己欺骗自己而已。人生单独过着，虽然会有点孤单，但至少自己能为自己活着。人生其中的一个意义是为了爱，但爱不是唯一能让人活下去的意义。或许时间久了，我就能找出一个属于自己的理由，让自己开开心心的活下去。也或者我能继续迷惑自己，告诉自己总有一天，我会明白爱为何物。

The Reality of It All

Funny what a little thing can do to one's psyche. After watching 一リットルの涙 and タイヨのうた, I'm starting to abstract myself away from my surroundings again. Looking around me, I realise that family is family after all; despite all the cordiality that people accord to me when I'm around, you still feel a little left out. This has something to do with the difference in culture, I guess. This is true even among those who are Asian of lineage. They may look like Asians on the outside (and probably are, based on genetics and other "objective" forms of measurement), but their behaviour is surprisingly American (what's new?), as in the way they act, think and do reflects the predominant culture here. And yes, they never fail to remind you that you are still, a foreigner in the lands, even though you might be speaking the same language and look similar to them.

And the age. That little disparity did not occur much before, but the difference in age and depth of thought is starting to show up more prominently now, after almost a whole semester of interaction. The kids here can be really whiney sometimes, but apart from that whiney-ness, there's also a general lackadaisical attitude towards the entire idea of studying in general. I humbly call this the "high school effect", where they are still living in their world of high school where everything is fun and games, and they have no real concept of the "real" world. Conversations are generally typical of that of 18-year-olds, and I miss the banter that comes from being in the workforce. Speaking too much kiddy talk does really weird things to my brain, and I'm suddenly drawn back to my basic isolationism policy with regards to handling people. I long for a real decent real life real world conversation, but I don't think that I'm going to be expecting much of that for some time to come. Listening to some of their explanations and arguments sometimes make me shake my head; watching them trying to shoot down my explanations based on real experience just makes me shake my head in wonder. Guess that sometimes, somethings need to be learnt the hard way.

*sigh*

So many complaints about things, so little that I can do about it. Anyway, I figure that my relationship status is as great as before (read: none in existence), and will likely to stay that way, considering the fact that there does not seem to exist a suitable person who is "my type". Guess most of them are still girls in their own right, and thus act the way they do. This makes me think back about the failed attempts I have in the past. Well, to a large degree, it could have been pure rashness on my part, but I figure that the girls I asked out were girls who don't really treat my feelings real enough. Girls will be girls, and I don't think that I'm going to get involved in any such things for a long time to come. A*STAR will be so pleased.

And I've been recently shot down on the quality of my poetry. Honestly, I don't give a damn if people don't like my poetry; it's mine and mine alone, and I choose to write it in anyway I see fit. If people enjoy them, that's good; if they don't, then too bad. I'm happy just writing poems as and when I feel like it. Which makes me wonder if the compliments that I've been receiving all these while are really compliments or just comments made to humour me. Or it could be another subterfuge of the locals trying to "prove" American superiority in the use of the English language. This... subtle "proof" of American superiority is occurring so often that it's not even funny anymore; should I consider this as some form of prejudice? I mean, it is okay to be proud of one's nation's achievements, but isn't it a bit xenophobic to just shoot off degenerating another person's culture? Perhaps degenerate is a tad too strong, let's say tease. Well, for the most part, the teasing is in good fun, but sometimes, the covert meaning of the tease is starting to irk even me.

And NaNoWriMo is a disaster. I found that... I just couldn't write anything. Totally nothing. Zero. Nil. Nada. Nadir. Totally and completely without anything to write. The words and ideas just didn't want to come out. I feel miserable that I've failed in this task that I deemed to be not too hard to complete. Maybe novel writing will remain as a "one day" affair; one day I'll write a novel.

And as I type all these, it's actually 3.40 am in Pittsburgh, USA, and I'm having a Calculus test in like 6 hours. I guess I should stop and go and sleep now. Maybe more mulling will shed new light to how to interpret the current environment and thus how to react. But meanwhile, I'll just maintain a cheerful outlook to the world, and wonder miserably inside what's going wrong. And time is ticking... just less than two months before I stretch the age gap even further.

Thoughts of the Day

I wonder, how many mistakes does one need to make in order to learn that one has made a mistake? Sometimes we can be so unaware of the things that we do, until we actually sit down and think it through, figuring out what we have done, and what we have said, to really understand the gravity of it all.

Well, I made at least one arrogant remark today. I guess I need to really curb myself from doing such a horrid thing. But, the issue here is, how do I do that without over-humbling myself to the point that I'm actually in self-pity? An interesting problem to contemplate indeed.

There are many things that one wants to do over the lifetime. A lifetime, though seemingly long, is really short, considering that there are so many things that we need to do, as opposed to want to do. It has been said that to be really good at something, one needs to dedicate at least 10 years of actually "doing" it in order to attain the required level of competency. Looking back at myself, I realise that there are only a few things that I've been doing for at least 10 years, amongst which includes writing poems, computer programming, cryptography, algorithms, playing my 笛子, doing Mathematics, and doing Mandarin. Coming here, so far away from home, has seemed to have reduced the number of activities that I can do well in, but that doesn't mean that I don't try. I'll write as many poems as I can, write as many programs as I can, speak Mandarin whenever I can, and play my 笛子 when Michael brings them over from Singapore for me.

Of course, there are other things that I know I cannot do well now, but that doesn't mean that I give up. I can't really draw well, so I'll learn it; I've got another 10 years to be competent in it. Compared to the others, I'll not be good at drawing still, even after the 10 years, but then again, not everyone can be equally good at everything at the same time. The most important thing is not being the best at everything, but being good enough at everything. The things that we love and have done well in, should be kept at the same level as we did, and perhaps bring it even higher, making use of cross-disciplinary knowledge that we gather from our forays into other fields to further our understanding in our own pet fields.

I guess, that should be the way that we proceed with our life.

Broken Promises, one by one

A promise made, a promise break. That seems to be the way that I am doing things now. Why? Why did I turn into this, untrustworthy fellow? I never did rescinded on what I promised, but now, it seems common place that I just miss the targets that I set.

I promised Irene to build the photomosaic, but I didn't.

I promised SK that I'd complete the experiment and write the paper, but I didn't.

I promised Nicole to write to her, but I've stopped.

I promised myself to complete NaNoWriMo, but I didn't.

Why? Why? What have I turned into? Why am I suddenly such a breaker of promises? What caused me to turn into this... abomination? When will I start to make my promises worthed it's weight in gold again?

Kitchen: Operational

And so, my kitchen is now operational. Check out the basic equipment that I've gotten for it:


My kitchen outfit with everything needed.


Things currently residing in larder.


Some other useful stuff residing in larder.


My utensils drawer, with basic equipment.


Close-up of my stove and the pot and pan and the cutting board and the cooking oil.


Basic condiment shelf.


First meal ever made in the kitchen.

There are lots of other stuff that are not in the picture, like the onions, potatoes, bean sprouts and eggs, which are all well hidden in my refridgerator.

Kitchen operational!

Fragile Life

Life... it's so fragile. Most of us think that we get a really bad deal at life; there are things that we want to do but are not allowed to do, or that people don't really want to listen to us or they don't seem to want to care. But we are all mostly healthy; we can run, jump, stand, crouch, all at will. We are mentally sound, we can go anywhere, anytime as we please. There are so many people out there who have a worser deal than us at life; a brilliant mind trapped in a defective body, a defective mind trapped in an able body. Who are we to complain about our lot in life when we are still in control of what we do?

Life, our life, is not a bad deal. We are mostly in control of what we do, from what we think to what we can do. With control comes responsibility. We are responsible for what happens in our life, and not put the blame on others or even a higher authority if things don't go the way that we want it to be. To be able to breathe the fresh air, to run in the warm sunshine, and to be around the people you love everyday, is a blessing; it is the good deal in life. Imagine a day when your body starts to fail you, bit by bit, while your mind is still alert. Imagine that day, that when you see the doctor, and he/she says that he/she doesn't know of any way of curing you. Imagine that day, where the people whom you care about doesn't care about you anymore. Imagine the day that you push those who care you away, so that you cannot see the sadness in their faces. The frustrations, the pain, the anguish; how can one complain that having a failing grade for a test means a bad deal in life?

I thought I had a raw deal at life. Having skin allergies since young, having poor social skills in general, not having a significant other; I thought those were really bad. But it's really miniscule. My skin allergies are milder now, and are not causing much of a distraction or hindrance, I have a small group of people who believe in me and in what I can do, I am still in control of my mental and physical faculties. I can go to college to study, eat out with a group of friends, play on my ocarina, type on Edythe, do Math problems, write computer programs, crack jokes, play games, sleep, wake up, lift heavy objects, run, jump, sing. What kinda raw deal is that?

"1 Litre of Tears", a short and simple story about a real girl suffering from a real disease that robs her of herself painfully, by reducing the things that she can do. Struggling till the very end, not giving up till the fight's over, Aya perserveres, diligently writing her diary up to the very end. She keeps on walking, even as she starts to lose control over her legs, even if it meant that she'd be late for class, even if it meant that it requires a lot of effort just to move. During a late progression of the disease, when she realises that she cannot stand or walk anymore and that she feels that there is nothing else that she can do or live for, her Okaasan told her, that she still has her writing, her diary, the words that she has penned down daily without fail. It is not about worrying or wallowing about what you cannot do, but to do what you can do, and to do it to the fullest extent of your ability. "You say that God is being unfair to you by giving you this disease," her Okaasan said, "but if you don't do the things that you can do, aren't you being fair to yourself?" Why should I be sad over what I cannot do when there's so many things that I can do? So what if I don't have a significant other, don't I still have friends around me who still care? Deep and old friends, like Xiaolu, Cui, Jess, Chinghua, new but caring friends like Mo, Phil, Megan, Linda and Paul. Why didn't I treasure their company well? Why am I still wallowing over something so small an insignificant like not having a significant other, and neglecting the fact that I can do so much more than others?

I am not helpless. I can move about freely and think on my own. I am alive. I have time, not a lot of it, but much more than those whose time have been cut short by the powers above. I may not have a lover, but I have friends. Each and every one of my friends care deeply for me, all in their own little idiosyncratic way. I have not been a good friend... all that I could do was to wallow away and to scare them with nonsensical outbursts which where wholly meaningless and selfish. I admit that I... know not the words to say to them. But deep in my heart, seeing them alive, feeling them next to me, hearing their breath, watching them smile or laugh, makes me feel glad. Glad that they, like me, are alive too.

I am not helpless or useless. I've got a job in the wings, a career to look forward to, an opportunity to take up the baton and make a real difference in the lives of people. "Live on," Aya said to Haruto nearing the end, "Live on, forever!" With a future so bright, why am I thinking nasty and destructive thoughts about myself? I've got a father who is proud of me, a mother (who'll never admit out loud) that she too is proud of me. I've got a sister who cares about me too, even though she too will never say it out loud. I've got an orchestra full of friends who support me, who wish me well, who are waiting for me to go back and make music with them once again. I've got other old friends, JJ, Joanne, Jon, Ding Ding, Victor, Kelvin, KX, MW, YT, who are all rooting for me. I will not worry about what I don't have, but cherish what that I have now.

Life... it's so fragile. The moment we are born, we are already counting down on an unknown timer to the very end. The past is always behind us, the future is always yet to be. We know our past, and plan our future, but... we should always live in the now. The Present. Here. No one knows when it's their time to go, no one knows how when that time comes they will go. We are all able bodied with good mental faculties; we are in company of each other. Cherish those that are around, for it is the strength in this love and bond that makes life worth living.

１リットルの涙

１リットルの涙 (Ichi Rittoru no Namida). One Litre of Tears. By 沢尻エリカ (Sawajiri Erika).

I just spent 11 hours watching this 11 episode series. It's... a very touching story. If you want to watch a drama that can (and will) inspire you to live on, then you must watch this drama series.

For a good introduction to this drama, see here.

I hate to admit it, but I did shed tears in some of the scenes in the episodes...

Watch it if you can... you won't regret it.

You thought, I think, who confirmed?

Blissful dreams, harsh realities;
Juxtapose with sweet death melodies.
If I'm asleep, don't wake me;
Terror sneaks when I'm not looking;
Let me leave peacefully, not with eyes staring.

--Silent Contemplation by yours truly

It has been a while since I last talked about anything of any material consequence. Having extricated myself from the tangles of what I thought was love, I don't seem to be in the mood to write anymore. In fact, I think that my ideas for writing have dropped to yet another low, possibly the lowest since I last picked up my metaphorical pen to write.

Could it be that true artistic expression comes only when there is a large emotional baggage involved?

The past few months saw many changes, not all good. In fact, most of the changes that I observed seemed to have occurred over the past few weeks instead of the past few months. Before the mid-semester break, everyone was much more jovial and open; friends were made quickly, and laughter was abundant. But after the mid-semester break, where the mid-term grades are published, there seems to be a sudden drop in energy level. The laughter that comes seem almost reluctant, and people who were once close seemed to have an aversion to each other. This is so sad; college life is supposed to be tough, but how does one endure the toughness if there is no fun?

Perhaps it's the vile nature of grades. To a strong student, good grades affirm their competency and thus give them the confidence necessary to scale even higher mountains to further themselves; to a weak student, bad grades serve as a shock prod to show them that they are not performing on par. *shaking head* I never did like the idea of grading anyone. It is so artificial, especially in terms of grading through test instruments like in-class examinations. The whole idea of taking tests and exams repulse me fully; in fact it appears as though college is of no difference than that of high school or middle school for that matter. Why is everyone so tight-assed on grades? How can grades ever measure the full potential of a person?

In other news, Pittsburgh is starting to get cooler. The temperature here hovers between 2 to 5 degree Celsius, which is seriously not cold (iff you wear a decent jacket). In fact, it's a long time since I've felt so cool in my life. My usual skin allergies are almost nullified in this beautiful weather, and the last time I used a steroid cream was almost a couple of months ago. Very interesting phenomenon, maybe I should start considering how to import this weather condition back to Singapore so that I will not have to suffer from real bad skin again.

Autumn is more or less here, with trees shedding their orange, red and brown leaves. It's pretty, the change of colours of the leaves, with the grass still green (but starting to turn into shades of beige as of now) as a nice background. I'm too lazy to bring my camera out to grab pictures, but I guess the main reason for that tardiness is the lack of an incentive to take pictures of just the surroundings.

One interesting note is that I've not really felt homesick at all... everyone else back in Singapore appears to be a dream, and that here is a reality; though there are times where this place feels like a dream itself. Hell, it could be that I'm living in a dream either way.

Anyone who claims that the American college system is not stressful should have his/her throat slit, shot, maimed and quartered. It does appear to be a bit more lax compared to that of Singapore, with their 1 hour block sessions instead of 1.5 hours that we are mostly used to back home. But do not be fooled! It is damn intense. For example, I'm practically having Mathematics lessons everyday; my taking of three Math courses simultaneously notwithstanding. Over the course of a week, a single large chapter of a particular topic can be covered, with homework assignments to be completed over the course of the week just to be handed in exactly on the same day the next week, before a new load of homework assignments are assigned yet again. But then again, I kinda love this system; I can structure my time and workload so much more easily than before.

Surprisingly, I find myself operating at least on par with the power curve, being able to keep up with my document filing and revision (as far as studies go). This is something worth noting, considering the fact that I was a really messy person during the school days of old when I was still in Singapore. I think I'm among the neatest guys around, with everything written down neatly and stuff filed away nicely and all things are easily accessible.

And so, I guess that's all that I can truly say for now. Who wants to confirm the details with me?

Darn... 3 more months to *that* day

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

That dreaded day is coming in 3 months from now. What am I to do?

Getting a high

Interesting weekend. As usual, I spent most of my time sleeping, which, considering the fact that I'm up for more than 19 hours a day, is more of a necessity than a luxury. Then, there was a screening of the show The PaperChase at the auditorium by my freshmen advisor. Great movie, that is; anyone who needs inspiration should attempt to seek out this little gem and learn from it.

Anyway, the high point came when we left the auditorium and stumbled upon some graduate students who were doing some complexity analysis problems. Paul asked some interesting question and the grad student who was heading the discussion started to talk about lambda calculus. Boy, that really made my day.

Alas, it is now time to finish up the homework. Oh, I downed 2 litres worth of diet Coke, so I should have enough energy to figure out how the homework should be done. ;-)

My Ocarinas are Finally Here!

And yes! My Ocarinas are finally here. Here's a look at them:



And don't they sound beautiful?

A Lost Cause...

《执迷不悔》—王菲

只一次我执著面对，任性地沉醉。
我并不在乎，这是错还是对。
就算是深陷，我不顾一切。
就算是执迷，我也执迷不悔。

别说我应该放弃，应该睁开眼。
我用我的心，去看去感觉。
你并不是我，又怎能了解。
就算是执迷，（就）让我执迷不悔。

我不是你们想的如此完美，
我承认有时也会辨不清真伪。
并非我不愿意走出迷堆，
只是这一次，这次是自己而不是谁。

要我用谁的心去体会，真真切切的感受周围。
就算痛苦，就算是泪，也是属于我的伤悲。
我还能用谁的心去体会，真真切切的感受周围。
就算疲倦，就算是累，也只能执迷而不悔。

别说我应该放弃，应该睁开眼。
我用我的心，去看去感觉。
你并不是我，又怎能了解。
就算是执迷，（就）让我执迷不悔。

我不是你们想的如此完美，
我承认有时也会辨不清真伪。
并非我不愿意走出迷堆，
只是这一次，这次是自己而不是谁。

要我用谁的心去体会，真真切切的感受周围。
就算痛苦，就算是泪，也是属于我的伤悲。
我还能用谁的心去体会，真真切切的感受周围。
就算疲倦，就算是累，也只能执迷而不悔。

要我用谁的心去体会，真真切切的感受周围。
就算痛苦，就算是泪，也是属于我的伤悲。
我还能用谁的心去体会，真真切切的感受周围。
就算疲倦，就算是累，也只能执迷而不悔。

A lost cause... I have become...

NaNoWriMo Warm-up Snippet #6

I begin:

...It was a little after midnight. Feeling a little peckish, he got out of his chair, grabbed his coat and left his apartment. As he walked down the stairs of the block, he slipped into his coat and braced himself for the harsh wind that was blowing outside.

Stepping out of the block, he was immediately greeted with the strong and cold wind of the deep night. Huddling deeper into his coat and slouching against the wind, he marched on stoically, towards the nearby Café, the only food place that was open at that time of the night.

As his face was blasted with the cold air, he found himself thinking once again about her. Her warm demeanour, her soulful eyes—no. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was never going to be possible; he should stop thinking about what was never to be. His mind a blank now, he trudged on towards the Café. Upon reaching, he reached out and pulled open the door, and went in.

It was different from the last time that he remembered it. The music was playing loudly in the background, the same as before. But it was the people, the people were different; the last time he came to the place, there were only a handful of night owls who kept largely to themselves, nursing whatever beverage they had bought. But it was different tonight; not only there were many more people, they seemed to be more jovial and friendly to each other.

He didn't care. Having had enough of the world at the moment, he ordered his snack and waited impatiently while it was being prepared. Then, when the order completed, he took his plate of sandwich and chips and made his way to the only corner of the café where it was still fairly quiet. Pulling the chair away from the table, he sat down, and nibbled on his sandwich.

Then she came in through the door. She was dressed in black all over, a sexy gothic kind of black. Her black gloved hands removed her silky black trench coat revealing a tank top hugging close to her luscious curves, and her long pants tracing the sensual contours of her rear and her legs, before stopping short at her calves, where black stilettoes continued the cover. She was smiling, and the radiance of her dazzling smile and her fair features made her so tempting.

Of course she was noticed. No one in the Café could ever miss a sight like that—her sexed up attire screamed for attention, and the attention was given. Some of the guys in the Café approached her, offering to buy her a drink or two, while some blokes even made suggestive passes. But she ignored them all, and walked on instead, still smiling sweetly, but to have come seemingly with a single purpose.

He couldn't be bothered. He was still nibbling on his sandwich when he found that someone had moved the chair across him and sat down. Mildly irritated that his solitude was encroached upon, he looked up with the intention to scold, but what he saw made him lose his will.

She was sitting directly opposite him. Her long black silky hair flowing and resting comfortably across her bare shoulders. And her soft eyes positively twinkled as she looked at him, and together with her smile, they promptly melted his heart.

A series of Unfortunate events

And so it is, a series of unfortunate events that have occurred recently. Granted, not all of the stuff affect me personally (read: as in me experiencing the event), but they still affect me all the same.

First off, something that is of a global issue. Thailand had a bloodless coup in which the military took over the government, thereby excising the position of the previous prime minister. All these before the newly arranged elections which was due sometime in October. *shakes head* What is the world turning into...?

Naq EK'f eryngvbafuvc sryy ncneg. Sbe fbzr haxabja ernfba, gurl whfg... sryy ncneg. Dhvgr fnqqravat; ur chg fb zhpu snvgu va gur eryngvbafuvc, ohg gura vg sryy guebhtu. Gur bayl guvat gung V ubcr vf gung ur vf abg fb urneg oebxrarq naq zragnyyl ybfg gung ur qbrf ernyyl fvyyl naq fghcvq guvatf gb uvzfrys. N cvgl gung V nz ab ybatre arne uvz—V pna bayl qb fb zhpu sebz guvf fvqr bs gur jbeyq.

Homework work load is starting to increase. Almost all of the initial advantage of advanced knowledge that I have is no longer available; the material of the courses have started to cross the threshold of the A-level syllabus. Time to work much harder now, I guess... All these homework grading schemes are killing me. It now seems that I do not have an advantage of completing my homework early, considering the fact that I spend a considerable amount of time trying to learn the material on my own, and even more time trying to apply what I've read on the question set. Frustrating. Maybe I should only do my homework about one day before at most so that I can perform better in the homework. This is starting to become crucial, as homework does count as factors of the final grade that I will have. Already I'm missing the 90% score requirement; I really don't know how am I supposed to be able to bring myself up to 90% without killing myself in the process.

Eryngvbafuvc ceboyrzf nobhaq. V sbhaq gung gurer ner n srj tveyf jubz V frrz gb unir qrirybcrq n yvxvat sbe, ohg V qba'g xabj ubj gb cebprrq. Creuncf V fubhyq whfg xrrc ernyyl dhvrg nobhg vg nyy, naq whfg ubcr gung gurl yvxr zr gbb. Ba n frcnengr abgr, V frevbhfyl guvax gung gur Fvatncberna pebjq qbrfa'g yvxr zr gbb zhpu, rfcrpvnyyl MJ. Thrff univat fgenvarq eryngvbafuvcf ner cneg naq cnepry bs jung qrsvarf zr gb or zr.

Like Jess, I'm starting to have serious doubts on my own abilities in my purported "pet" field—Computer Science. All the technical mumbo-jumbo, weird visualisation techniques and strange and arcane nuances of the language that they are teaching are starting to seriously make me reconsider my field of study. It does not help that everyone around me seems to be even more geeky on the topic than I am; guess that means I'm either meeting my match, or have already been pwned a long time ago. Either way, I am not feeling too good about myself on this issue. I'll just have to stick it out and hope to survive well enough so as to be able to do research next time.

Naq Avpbyr, ure ernpgvba frrzf jrveq. Ba gur bar unaq, fur frrzf cerggl pbby nobhg orvat sevraqf, lrg V frafrq n pregnva sbez bs vauvovgvba. Gur ivorf ner abg tbbq; fur frrzf gb or gheavat vagb lrg nabgure LG, jub, ol abj, unir pbzcyrgryl rkpbzzhavpngrq jvgu zr. Vs V fnl gung V'z hapbaprearq, V'z ylvat. Gurfr cnggreaf ner fgnegvat gb jbeel zr; V ubcr gung vg jba'g unccra, gubhtu V xabj va gur qrrcrfrg erprffrf bs zl zvaq gung vg jvyy unccra abarguryrff; bayl jurgure vg vf abj be yngre. Ohg vg jvyy qrsvavgryl bpphe. V'z fb hfrq gb gur fvtaf bs orvat ba gur iretr bs rkpbzzhavpngvba gung V pna fzryy vg pbzvat rira orsber vg neevirf.

And the department, they changed the prerequisite structure of our CS Major course. They have reduced the level of our current programming course from 200 to 100. And they increased the unit count from 9.0 to 10.0. What makes it worse is the fact that all these changes are done when we are almost a third into the course, and there is no retroactive fixing of our units. Maddening indeed.

I guess that all these are bad enough for now.

Ed: Yes, I am well aware that there are paragraphs of strange-looking words. They are in code due to certain sensitivities.

Feeling low

This week feels weird. For some strange reason, I just feel low. It seems like the initial advantage of the A-level syllabus is slowly drying up, and it's time to be even more hardworking now.

Made a few silly mistakes in my Math homework; when computing the negation of a statement, I negated the relation in the existentional/universal quantifier. That made me lose 5 marks for the homework (out of 60). Then, for a question which required a choice of the correct statement, I wrote the wrong option, but due to the fact that I did not incorporate an explanation of my reasoning, I lost 10 marks for that part. So, I nailed myself with a maximum score of 75%. :-( This sucks...

My homework scores seem to be falling as time goes by. Each time I match my homework answers with my neighbours', they seem to be totally and absolutely wrong. Time to stop doing homework too early... where the stuff that I self-learn is not as effective as that of what the Professor teaches.

On a separate note, I'm starting on the final plans for the plot for my novel-to-be for NaNoWriMo. Having not written narrative fiction for so long, I find myself being rusty in terms of trying to put together a decent plot. This is especially so as I'm attempting to write a *gasp* romance novel.

Whether the novel flops or not will be seen in time... I may post up snippets of it while I'm working on it in November when NaNoWriMo is in operation.

A pair of bittersweet songs

《至少我走得比你早》 卢巧音 你没有想过，我会说分手， 也许太习惯，我在你左右。 虽然离开你有很多理由， 可看见你这样惊讶，也足够。 我想得，比你多，陪你一起跟寂寞。 我性格，比你强，怎样做你的绵羊？ 我年轻，比你小，不信快乐找不到。 抬起头，开了口…… 最后我比你骄傲！从此不做你的牢！ 想不到你的好，记得和你的争吵。 想到老可到老，可是和你做不到。 如果你爱得比我少，至少我走得比你早。 你没有想过，我会说分手， 除非以为我，什么都忍受。 就算你这时候，努力挽留， 不过是你不能接受，我先走。 我想得，比你多，陪你一起更寂寞。 我性格，比你强，怎样做你的绵羊？ 我年轻，比你小，不信快乐找不到。 抬起头，开了口…… 最后我比你骄傲！从此不做你的牢！ 想不到你的好，记得和你的争吵。 想到老可到老，可是和你做不到。 如果你爱得比我少，至少我走得比你早。 轰轰烈烈的开口…… 最后我比你骄傲！从此不做你的牢！ 想不到你的好，记得和你的争吵。 想到老可到老，可是和你做不到。 如果你爱得比我少，幸好我走得比你早。

《好心分手》（粤） 卢巧音 是否很驚訝，講不出說話, 沒錯我是說：“你想分手嗎？” 曾給你馴服到　就像綿羊， 何解會反咬你一下，你知嗎？ 回頭望，伴你走，從來未曾幸福過。 赴過湯，蹈過火，沿途為何沒愛河？ 下半生，陪住你，懷疑快樂也不多。 沒有心，別再拖…… 好心一早放開我！從頭努力也坎坷！ 通通不要好過，來年歲月那麼多。 為繼續而繼續，沒有好處還是我。 若註定有一點苦楚，不如自己親手割破。 是否不甘心，首先給撇下， 換了你是我，你忍得到嗎？ 捱得過無限次，寂寞凌遲， 人心態早已看得化，也可怕…… 回頭望，伴你走，從來未曾幸福過。 赴過湯，蹈過火，沿途為何沒愛河？ 下半生，陪住你，懷疑快樂也不多。 沒有心，別再拖…… 好心一早放開我！從頭努力也坎坷！ 通通不要好過，來年歲月那麼多。 為繼續而繼續，直接不過承認錯， 若勉強也分到不多，不如甚麼也摔破。 難捱就無謂再拖…… 好心一早放開我！從頭努力也坎坷！ 通通不要好過，來年歲月那麼多。 為繼續而繼續，沒有好處還是我。 若註定有一點苦楚，不如自己親手割破。

A pair of bittersweet songs from the same singer; one's in Mandarin while the other is in Cantonese. Read the lyrics, and compare their level of bitterness...

*sigh*

No mood to write more. :-(

沢尻エリカ

She can sing! Oh my... *swoons*

And yeah, if you haven't realised, I simply adore 沢尻エリカ! She's like the human equivalent of Edythe Fujitsu~!

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

My path in life is solitary; people come by, and walk beside me only for a fleeting moment. It's always the same; when I try to change, I realise I end up on the same road that I knew.

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone

And my dreams were shattered, more than once. And the world, it doesn't care. It moves on, and I go on solitarily.

I walk alone
I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone

But it is the few closest friends that I have left, Chinghua, Jessica, Xiaolu and Cuilin who are always there when I need them. What am I to do if I can't find them?

Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Aaah-ah,
Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

A constant dilemma on who I really am. Am I the technogeek that I make myself out to be, or am I something more? Will I ever be as human as I wish to be?

Read between the lines
What's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

But barely. Sometimes, it takes effort to just—have the will to stay alive. But the journey is still as solitary as before.

I walk alone
I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone

Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Aaah-ah
Ah-ah, Ah-ah

I walk alone
I walk a...

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone...

And so. *sigh*

I walk alone on the boulevard of broken dreams...

NaNoWriMo Warm-up Snippet #5

I begin:

... 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. ...

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.