Google search: leap year + British tradition, and you will find that it's an ancient British tradition that on the 29th of February, women are allowed to propose to men. And if the men reject them, the men will have to kiss them and buy them a silk gown or a pair of silk gloves.
My housemates told me about it two days ago. I didn't believe them. I leapt out of bed this afternoon to Google it. Heh. So I rushed out and gleefully proposed to both my male housemates who, being attached, have to reject me. Yay!! :)
but
One of them ran to his room and shut the door. He shouted that I had better ask the other housemate instead, since his own girlfriend wasn't at home, so he didn't have to reject me.
*lol*
But this is really a great opportunity to enlarge my wardrobe! All the guys I know are attached. Hmmm... I think I shall go off to make a couple of calls now...
I've just woken up about half an hour ago. I wonder if the random guy, friend of a friend of a housemate, who's staying in my house is still here. Or whether he has left. I think all my housemates are out. And this guy's friend has gone off travelling too.
Living in London, I don't think I've ever had a moment of house peace. My room/house(s) have always been a veritable bed-and-breakfast establishment for all and sundry who happen to pass through this little corner of the world. Mostly they were bored student-friends from hick towns elsewhere in the UK out to London town for some fun, then there are visits from student-friends from across the Atlantic, from elsewhere in Europe, and also from the sunny island Singapore. Then there are those who bunk over while searching for accommodation. People who stay over because they have interviews or assessment days. Working adults from Singapore, family members... you name them, I've seen them.
Not that I mind really. I've gotten used to it and it's a way of life for me. My friends bunk over too. And I think all Londoners have gotten used to random strangers crossing their paths, and being hospitable. We've had a friend of a friend, an Austrian guy, stay over before, unaccompanied by the mutual friend. And if even that has happened, it's pretty much a free for all.
The good thing about guests though, is that they tend to clean our bathroom, which is perpetually rank and dank. :)
Two things to share today:
[1] The urethral vibrator:
I came across this thing called the urethral vibrator at osocan.com. It was uh... very interesting. I wanted to post it in the sexual forum of RBJ. But I decided it might be too dodgy. And maybe everyone knows about it except for me. ??
What do you do with it actually? One description said talked about ""insertable" length", another stated: "Use to dilate the urethra down to the bladder." So you insert it?? Doesn't it hurt? Why would anybody want to do that? Or am I just plain ignorant??
[2] A funny music video:
I came across this 'music video' which brings back memories of my young He-Man, and cantonese days, at deepestred.com
I think I might as well do laundry today, since I have the whole house to myself.
Disclaimer: The opinions here are entirely my own and are not to be miscontrued as being representative of the female population. I will not accept any legal liability for consequences that may or may not result from reading, acting on, or transmitting the following words.
Once again, I reiterate that the following applies only to me, and selectively to a couple of my female friends, and SHOULD not be generalised as universal to the female population. I will however, state one piece of opinion which may be offensive to females. For that I wish to humbly apologise, and defend my right to free, if-possibly-misguided-or-regressive speech.
The Story:
There is one particular female friend in the London circle, who is known far and wide to be the most mild-mannered, sweet-tempered, reasonable, and rational girl that could possibly be imagined. This girl, who shall remain un-named, once asserted to me, the moody, quick-tempered, love-buffeted girl, that *she*: i) would neither fall in love nor get attached ; ii) and even if she did, she'd be calm rational and not at all emotional.
Me? I snorted.
There wasn't a girl in the world more ready or suitable for love and to be loved than she. And I told her that I would not only see the day she got attached, but I'd also witness the day when she'd ride the wild rollercoasters of love: from the electrifying heights of ecstasy, to the dismal depths of despair. And that aye, when that day came, she'd be irrational too. For how can frigid reason stand against the battering heat of love?
Without going into details, this sweet girl had been a tad (UNDERSTATEMENT ALERT!!) unreasonable recently, and she actually got incredibly angry. And let me remind you, that she is the ONE girl, who nobody I know, who knows her, can imagine being angry, cross, or even unreasonable.
So I have concluded (and herein lies the offensive opinion) that ALL girls are incapable of being cool-headed and rational in love and in relationships.
Personally, I find this reassuring and self-affirming. Several years back, when I was in a relationship, all my friends were single. And I found love to be a wild uncharted territory. I was sometimes overcome with self-loathing when I felt I was being excessively unreasonable or emotional. And not knowing any other attached people, I had no one against whom to benchmark myself. I am relieved to find out that it is normal to suddenly morph into a monster at odd moments.
So I'm thinking that maybe it is the guys who need educating instead. A little understanding can go a long way.
The Lesson:
I hate the cliché that a woman means No when she says Yes, and means Yes when she says No. But I have to say that the following holds for me, at least:
When I say: "I'm not angry. I'm just tired."
I mean: "I am angry. And being angry at you is making me tired." The WORST possible responses in this case are: "Good." or "Great that everything's okay." or "I think you work too much, you should rest more."
When I say: "You don't have to come along/do this..."
I mean: "This is a test. I want to see if you care enough to come along/do this anyway. I am expecting you to surprise me, and come along/do this because you *want* to and not because I asked you to. So if you turn up/pull through, I will be surprised and extremely happy. If you don't, I'll be angry at you because you're not romantic, you clearly don't care enough, and you don't love me." The ONLY appropriate response to this: Come along/pull through. Don't just hear the words that I spout.
Listen to what I'm saying. I want the reassurance that you care enough to *want* to do this for me, even if I know it doesn't make rational sense (and thus I speak the words asking you not to do it). I want to feel that you care enough to surprise me. Sometimes a girl feels depressed and insecure, and needs some reassurance that she is loved and not merely an obligation.
Stunned? Am I being unreasonable? Well yeah I think probably yes. But this is just me. And I think it takes so little to make a girl happy really. So why not do it?
I slept at 1am last night, but with a will of steel, still managed to climb out of my bed at 6am, ostensibly to do my reading for my 3pm pre-Development class discussion.
My failure lay in the fact that, in a moment of weakness, I switched on the subversive laptop. I ended up poking around in the Bowl until it was 8.30am and I was late for my 9am.
I think I shall avoid the today's discussion meet-up, which is just the second one. And I didn't even do the reading last week!
There's yet another smear campaign going on against Sir Howard Davies, the new director of the LSE. This time round, there are posters protesting his directorship in TotalFinaElf.
And I quote:
"SIR HOWARD DAVIES? TOTAL DISGRACE
Sir Howard Davies has been appointed a director of TotalFinaElf, one of the world's largest oil firms. This is on top of his £196,000 a year job as Director of LSE, supposedly a full-time post.
Total were the largest backers behind the vast Yadana pipeline in Burma, which runs from offshore fas fields into neighbouring Thailand. There are well documented reports of significant human rights abuses directly connected to this project, including the use of forced labour in its construction. The Burmese military junta holds a 15% stake in the pipeline, so it contributes directly to propping up the dictatorship there.
Most multinationals have followed Burmese democratic opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi's call to pull out of the country, yet Total moved into Burma. A French Parliamentary Commission called for a "freeze" on Total's operations in Burma in light of the significant concerns it raised.
TotalFinaElf were "named and shamed" by the UK government's environment agency last year as one of Britain's worst polluters, receiving significant fines for their destruction of the natural environment.
Directors of Elf were implicated in France's biggest postwar corruption scandal, receiving £30, in kick-backs from illegal takeover deals.
Davies has a simple choice. He must choose between LSE or TotalFinaElf. He cannot work for a corrrupt multinational responsible for human rights abuses and environmental destruction, and claim to also speak for LSE."
Mai was outraged as she pointed out the poster to me, but I was blasé about it. She was like: "But you don't know what kind of a company this is. It has committed human rights abuses. It's propping up a military dictatorship in Burma!"
I shrugged: "Yes I know. But if he doesn't do the job, someone else will. Why not him then? It's good. TotalFinaElf is a big company. If LSE's director is a director there, it's good for LSE."
Her point was the exact opposite. She didn't care if he worked for TotalFinaElf, if he weren't the LSE director. But she did not want someone who worked for such a company to represent LSE.
She was aghast at my views and she was like: "I'm really angry about this. This is an institution, not a company. Don't talk to me. I don't want to talk to you." and stalked off.
I thought about it. I guess I see her point. I reckon I sound really callous. And I'm a bit surprised at my callousness myself, especially given that I used to be a big environmentalist as a kid.
But I think my point is that, this is Howard Davies' life. If he wants to take up this job, he should have the freedom to.
And anyway, everybody knows that LSE is practically LSE Inc. It's an institution that is also a great business, and run like a good company. No lofty ideals about the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake for LSE. If you want to do something, make sure it pays. That's the kind of institution LSE is. Its ethos is commercial pragmatism, and I think that is appropriate given the huge funding difficulties that British universities are facing. So perhaps for such an institution, my heartless views are justifiable.
I do wonder though, whether LSE's ethos has seeped into me and perhaps made me just that little bit colder, and more ruthless? Or is it a process of growing up. Or if it's just part of my character. Or is it an anomaly? At the heart of me, am I a humane person, or a callous person? Have I been corrupted by the world? Is the younger, idealistic me dead? (But this question that I have been struggling with is for another post some other day.)
But I'd like to defend my attitude over the Howard Davies' TotalFinaElf directorship here. I shrugged off Howard Davies' directorship in TotalFinaElf simply because I think this is merely another smear campaign to make life difficult for him. I think sometimes student activism goes too far and borders on the ridiculous.
When Howard Davies first came in, a section of the student population gave him hell for everything from going for a state dinner (which George Bush was attending), and for working for GSK and some "major arms manufacturer" in the past {refer to my post on December 5 2003}. So our good man attended *TWO* UGM meetings to defend himself and hold a dialogue with the student body.
I didn't attend either UGM, but I read about it in our school paper The Beaver. And from what I read, I feel that he has successfully defended himself. The company he worked for manufactured some steel product which was used in arms manufacturing as well as for the manufacture of other products, which conveniently, the accusers forgot to mention. And I think Howard Davies is quite nice, inviting the students who work for the school to his house for an Open House, which shows that he is interested enough in the students. Furthermore, from what I read in The Beaver, there was a face off between a Student Union member (I think it was Jo Kibble the SU Treasurer) and Howard Davies. At the UGM, Jo was very publicly rude to Howard Davies and refused to give any credence to Howard Davies' arguments.
So personally, I think this latest smear campaign is yet another attempt by this section of the student population to sabotage Howard Davies, and I think that is unnecessarily disruptive and childish. And given the SU's stand on the uber watered-down top-up fees proposal (they opposed it), I think the SU is clearly irrational and why on earth would I want to support any of their initiatives if they are mere rabble-rousers who have a grudge against a figure of authority?
Maybe if I felt that this concern of theirs is truly motivated by a genuine concern for Burmese opporessed citizens and forced labourers, instead of petty vengeance, I would have been more sympathetic towards their cause, and more angry at Howard Davies. Right now, I think they are being infantile.
If they have a grudge against Howard Davies, then analyse this LSE policies. Criticise his policies constructively. Don't engage in protests over what is at best a tangential issue. Let's see *their* own environmental record and contribution to the world so far, punks.
Why am I here now? It's 2.30pm on a Tuesday, and I should be in my Development lecture.
I have actually given up. Today is a lost cause. I am writing off this day. Some companies write off investments which have failed. I write off this day. This day cannot get any worse for me. No matter what else that happens this day, I will be calm. Cool. Cucumber. Yes, I will be a chilled-out cucumber today. If I do nothing productive, or if I screw up anymore today, I will not be surprised, frustrated, or otherwise affected in any manner out of the ordinary. If anything goes smoothly at all, it will be a bonus. Yay to me.
The only good news I have had today, is that Carrie of Sex and the City ends up with Big in the final episode to end all seasons. I like that. Yay to her. :)
Mai says I should watch Sex and the City's Season 6, Episode 9: "A woman's right to shoes" or also known as "No shoes, no service".
We had lunch and Misato's and I was telling her (and X)about some decisions I've made that they opposed. After lunch, we headed back towards school. When we were nearing school, she suddenly turned to me and said: "We should be celebrating your choices in life."
I was painstakingly writing this entry when IE blinked and the page was gone, flushed down with my words. Add that to the fact that my MSN died on me. My emails keep bouncing back. And that it's that time of the month. And you know this just isn't a good day for me.
I was writing about this middle-aged Vietnamese guy I met and helped today. He doesn't read or speak English, and we our only common language (dialect) was Cantonese, which I barely speak.
One thing he said struck me: "I am mute and deaf here."
There was a lot more that I had to say. But I'm just all out of it now.
This morning (It was 1 pm, but I had just woken up, so that's good enough), I was sitting at the kitchen table with three of my housemates, two girls and one guy, when one of the girls asked me: 'Why do you wear your going out trousers to sleep?'
I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing: my black three-quarter sleeved top that I wore out yesterday, my new-ish brown going out trousers, and my brown sweater.
I didn't actually wear my brown trousers to sleep. But I debate whether to tell her that, since a male housemate - her boyfriend, was at the table. The moment passed, I decide: Hell why not, we are adults.
"Uh actually I didn't wear it to sleep. I wore just the top to sleep. But I had to wear something before I came down, so I just grabbed the nearest pair of trousers at hand. It happened to be this one."
In the moment when I was debating the decency and appropriateness of telling the truth, I reflected on the differences between living in an all-girl household, and in a mixed household.
Last year I stayed with three other girls. It was incredibly fun. We did a lot of girly things. In that one year, I became more feminine than in any other period of my single life. I learnt more about clothes, dressing up and make up than I ever expected to.
Living in an all-girl household had its other benefits. We'd never have to worry about intruding unwisely into anybody's room. We'd never have to screen or censor anything we said for suitability. We could change in each others' rooms. Walk out from the bathroom in our towels. Walk around the flat half-undressed. All I had to make sure I had on was a T-shirt and underwear. Everything else was optional. It was perfect for those lazy tumble out of bed days. Or when all my clothes were in the laundry, or in one huge unwashed pile on my room floor.
In a mixed household, there is that much less freedom. Especially when both guys are attached. You never know when girls will get upset, or get it in their heads to be jealous. I don't expect girls to be unreasonable in their suspicion or jealousy. I never want to do anything that could remotely cause any kind of upset for any girl in the worst throes of PMS.
Living in a mixed household, I try never ever even to wear shorts. Long trousers for me all the time. I've lapsed into walking out of the bathroom in a towel only because my room door is right in front of the bathroom door. I can never go around bra-less. And if I do, I have to pile on layers upon layers of clothes. I have to put on clothes whenever I go downstairs, or even when I step out of my room to pick up the phone that is just two steps from my room door. I have to screen what I say.
But on the other hand, living in a mixed household has its moments. Probably the most stunning one which stuck in my mind, happened one freezing day when we were sitting in the kitchen. One of the guys went: "It's so cold that my nipples hurt."
Momentarily I was knocked out. I felt like a huge weight, the kind that Coyote tries to launch on Roadrunner, had dropped through the sky and flattened me. "Too much information!" I groaned.
He was like: "Why? It happens what. You know when it's cold..."
*lol* That was unbelievable. I can't believe he said that. So living in a mixed households has its precious moments too, even if it were less convenient.
Given a choice, would I choose to live with only girls or mixed or all boys next time? Haha, I don't know.
Me, I'm inconsistent and inconstant. Sometimes I don't blog (although I do so fairly regularly nowadays), at other times I blog fast and furious in quick succession. Maybe not 'fast and furious' exactly. But it alliterated so well. I admit that sometimes I fall prey to whoring the factual reality out for artistic effect. That doesn't happen too often though, which is why my entries tend to be long, rambly, or abrupt. I am torn between truth and beauty.
I'll come back to that in a sec.
Firstly, I want to say that... through the pathways following kopikia's blog, I came across this thing called 'londonbloggers'. It seems interesting. I am slightly tempted to join in. After all, I should meet fellow Londoners, seeing as how it is going to my home for a while yet. And yet, I hesitate. My anonymity is something I have treasured in cyberspace. I feel safe and cocooned in it. If I join LondonBloggers, my space will be invaded. I will feel vulnerable. I am a slightly paranoid person. Where is the line between virtuality and reality? Part of me wants to step into the community I am living in, part of me is afraid. I think I have too much of my self in these pages. Not in the early days, when this was a kind of scrap-log alternative to another website. But now, too much of me is invested in these pages. I talk too much than is wise.
To go back to the distinction between truth and beauty. Presumably it depends on what the blog was set up for. At its inception, this was my online diary and journal for daily events that happened. I wrote the things that mattered somewhere else. I kept it hidden away from sunlight. Like mould or fungi that thrive in secret, dark, dank places. Almost things to be ashamed of.
My blog was mainly for myself, to remember the things I did in daily life, years and years hence. It was for my friends too, to tell them what's happening in my life. Later on, after I scrapped my other website, this blog became a place for my more heart-felt ruminations too.
Somewhere along the line, impure thoughts of entertainment creeped in. There are times when I write to be interesting, for the reader, not so much for myself. For that purpose, beauty is good. But given that I no longer keep a separate physical journal, if this blog becomes for someone else instead of for me, what will be left to me when I am old doddering and at Death's door? What will be left of myself in these pages when I look back many years hence, to recall? Will I not be mis-representing my now-self to my future-self? On the other hand, the exhibitionist and performer in me seeks to assert herself.
Again, sometimes reading other people's blogs is depressing, because you discover your thoughts and life are not as original as you would like to think. It somehow dimishes the value of your life. On the other hand, reading other people's blogs is sometimes good. Because that is the only way we can indirectly compare our life to that of others, and put it in context. Through reading people's lives, we solve the problem expressed in the chapter Lightness and Weight I in Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being: "We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives, nor perfect it in our lives to come."
Once more, I am tempted to hide under my duvet and avoid this world. But I have to stand firm. I am I am I am.*
*From Slyvia Plath's The Bell Jar: "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am."
Or if there is no hell, I am going to be reincarnated as a PETA-TV chicken in my next life.
I can't believe it, after watching PETA TV's video on farm animals {Please see: "Meet Your Meat" in the "favorite links" drop down box to the right}, I still had the heart to kill, cook, and consume not one, but two whole chickens.
I had the girls over for dinner today, and I cooked my aunt's curry chicken, and my mom's linseed oil ginger chicken.
To me, cooking is an act of love. A labour of love. I only cook for those I love and care for. And I express my love and affection for my loved ones through cooking. That seems almost archaic for a militant, modern feminist like myself. But as Mai said, cooking is not anti-feminist if it is undertaken freely. It is only anti-feminist if it is presumed to be the female's duty, and the kitchen the domain that the female is relegated to by assumption.
But cooking is a matter of inspiration for me. There are times, I can barely drag myself to make anything above the level of instant noodles. Whenever I put my hand to anything besides instant noodles, what I do can hardly be labelled 'cooking'. I take an indifferent vegetable, throw it into an oiled pan or pot, sprinkle some salt, pour soy sauce, shower with pepper, and leave it there until it is time for me to mechanically masticate and swallow the resulting mass of essential nutrients. Those times, food is seen as nothing more than bundles of nutrients necessary for my continued function.
Then there are other times when I am constantly in search of new things to cook, new ways to cook them. During those times, every meal is an adventure that I embark on eagerly, never knowing where the road ends. Enthusiastically, I try out permutations and combinations of the few sauces and spices that I have, or I reapply the same formula but to different vegetables, to investigate the difference in effects.
Recently, I've been bitten by the cooking bug. More importantly, I was very eager to share good things with the girls. And I had been daydreaming and planning all week what to cook for them and my household this weekend. It was frustrating to say the least, given that I have a housemate who only eats meat and refuses any dish which has even the slightest hint of greenery in it. And one girl can't eat really spicy food, which is my personal favorite. So at random moments during the week, I'd try to come up with a menu that would suit everyone.
The dinner didn't go exactly as planned, due to unforeseen circumstances. And frankly, when the plan started to go awry, I got worked up into a bit of a state. I wanted it all to be perfect. And if things don't turn out the way I want it to, I tend to get really depressed (Hmmm.. perhaps, surprisingly and cornily enough, in a weird way, I might be a perfectionist after all).
But in the end, it worked out beautifully. The girls were stars in doing virtually all of the prep work. And I only cooked the two chicken dishes, both dismally, I hasten to add (especially my mom's dish). But we also had bitter gourd with egg, steamed egg with frankfurters, caixin, and miso soup. Six dishes for six to seven people. Plus grapes and dessert at the end. Yuuuummmmm... It's been a long time since I felt so happy. I think I like the whole idea of having a spread of piping hot food. Being the crabby Cancerian that I am, nothing warms my heart more than the sight of a feast, and the feeling of a warm, filled belly. :)
(Except that the next time, I'd like to get the entire dinner and host thing down right.)
Development Economics
Just finished a Development Economics class group discussion. From this week on, a bunch of us are going to be meeting on Fridays from 3-4pm (during the time slot of our Michaelmas Term class) to discuss the research paper for the following week's class, which are on Mondays, 9-10am.
So essentially, we're double-attending class - we discuss the paper twice over: once in the pre-class discussion group, and once during class. Are we mad, you might ask. Isn't it redundant? Why are we so over-enthusiastic?
I have to say that prima facie it does seem a bit repetitive. But at least we get to moan and bitch about what we don't understand in the paper beforehand, so maybe we can question the teacher on our 'consensus queries' during actual class. And there are many questions which don't occur to me to ask during class time, so it's good if we can thrash it out beforehand.
And yes I think we are a bit mad. Yes we are being over-enthusiastic. But I like this enthusiasm. This is what I've always imagined and believed that university life should be like. We should be idealistic and intellectual hand-wavers and fist-raisers. We should sit around tables and engage in active debate and discussion on issues that are raised in the classroom.
Okay alright, so today's discussion went more like: 'So did you understand how this equation was derived?', 'Why did he use non-parametric estimations?', 'How does bootstrap work?', or 'What do these figures mean? How do you interpret the positive coefficient for this variable?' Not exactly ideologically-motivated or passion-filled.
But hey... at least we were questioning the basis of the paper (aka. bitching): 'Isn't he just spending the whole paper saying that he's right and XXX [another academic] is wrong?', 'I think he was being rather rude.', 'Really? You thought he was rude? I thought he was being pig-headed, but not rude exactly.' And questioning the rationale of our course: 'Don't you just copy out whole chunks of the paper for the answers?', 'Is that how it's supposed to be done you think?', 'What are we supposed to be learning actually?', 'Maybe the purpose of the exercise is just to make sure we've read the paper?'
Hmm... come to think of it, I think the purpose is to make sure we read the papers, understand the development theories and the empirical studies/results, and also learn about the econometric methodologies and techniques used. After all, if we are to become Development Economists in the future, that is what we need to know. And at undergrad level, all they can do is just to give us a taste of the work.
I'm amazed and incredibly pleased that everyone who was there was extremely conscientious and had read the paper. Admittedly there were only 3 others besides myself. I was the only leech to be honest, not having finished the reading. But next week, I'm going to be a star. I'm going to read up so unbelievably well on it, just to make up for it.
As usual, my favorite part was the policy question. At least I could contribute there. During our regular class, I'd usually come up with policy suggestions, cos that's the only I can do, really. I don't understand half the econometric specifications, or techniques. And I feel guilty for not contributing, so whenever the policy bit comes along, I'll set my creative juices flowing. And apparently my classmates have been impressed. Heh.
Industrial Economics
We had a case study for Industrial this week, and as is usual with case studies, our class tutor Antonio splits the class into two groups to 'compete' with each other. Every answer given by each team will add one point to the team's score, and if a team is able to disprove the other team's argument, the former will get two points.
I was quite competitive, counting the score, and volunteering answers quite vocally (where normally I tend to be reticent). At one point, Antonio said that he refused to accept any more answers from Fred, the most actively contributing team member, and wanted other members who hadn't spoken up to speak. Having had my turn, I couldn't have another go. The remaining team members glanced at each other hesitantly, each uncertain where she/he should volunteer. Worried that we would lose out to the opposing team, I frowned slightly and went: "Hey come on guys, we're gonna lose a point here, somebody say something!"
After the class, my housemate (who was in my team) and I were talking and laughing about the class, and she said that the tutor's method of pitting two groups in competition was a simple trick to trick little children. And I had to confess to her that this simple psychological trick worked on me. - I am surprisingly competitive at times. Put a scoring system into anything, and I am raring to go. Haha.
I'm amused at this new self of mine. She has just newly emerged and I'm getting to know her a little bit. And I find I quite like her, alien though she is to all that has been me before. Enter: Me, the Geek. ^_^
After 6 hours, finally settling myself down and getting into the mood of reading my Development research paper, I find that *I*, the Great One, the Supremo Numero Uno (stupido) did *not* print out said paper and assignment sheet. B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T. Just brilliant. - Does anybody have *any* idea how rare it is for me to feel inspired to sit down and *look* at my notes??!! ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH.........
Technically I could read off the online pdf file. But that's just tiring for my eyes, plus I can't take notes.
And so I think, maybe I can read my Industrial case study instead. But NOOOOOOO... I didn't print that out either.
I should just jump off some building now. ARGHHH.
Other notes:
- My wisdom teeth are growing... it hurts a little.
- I've been receiving random prank overseas calls.
Oh what (productive thing) shall I do tonight???!!!
Despite my best intentions to sleep circa 12 midnight last night, I ended up crawling into my duvet only at 3am. So today I wake up 12 noon, which is a decent time, although I'd much rather have slept my way till mid to late afternoon.
I potter over to my housemate's study room next door: "You have a free day today?" She nods. I am puzzled. My brain is still sleep-fogged: "Don't you have a class at 12?"
She replies:"That was yesterday. Don't you remember? We have lunch together on Wednesdays."
A brick drops on my head. Rays of sunlight burst out from beyond dark clouds to illuminate my cavern of a mind. I wince with guilt inwardly as I remember how she always cooks lunch for me Wednesdays. I am always the bum who staggers out of bed at lunch time to a piping hot meal. Or else the net addict who sits in her dark little room staring at the lighted laptop screen in a vegetable daze as my housemate pops her head around my room door and asks: "I cook lunch for you hor?"
So this time I resolve to be a model housemate and make it up to her. I perk up a little: "How about I cook lunch for you? I want to try out this thing that XM taught me: You just throw everything into the rice cooker and everything comes alive!!" Then after a beat, I ask anxiously: "It *does* work right??"
My housemate is taken aback: "Why are you so energetic all of a sudden? One moment ago, you were half-dead, now you want to cook lunch... But yes I think it works."
I confirm with her that she eats capsicums, and that there are no more mushrooms left in the house. My other housemate comes down all dressed up in a suit and tie. He is going for an interview. I tell him he looks handsome. We walk out together: he to the 100 bus-stop, me to Safeway.
As I walk along, inwardly I muse on life. How wonderfully simple this life is. My life consists of shopping at Safeway, and my housemate is going for a non-essential interview - he has already secured a job. And I feel light-hearted and happy. Happy that finally all seems to be going well for us. I remember the time when we were all first internship-hunting, then job-hunting. Then an issue one housemate had with her job offer. How worried we were, how furrowed our brow, how beset with dark doubts our hearts! So today, walking along on the sunny pathway outside my house, I feel blessed to be alive. Thankful that the shadows have gone for this year.
Lunch didn't turn out too bad. XM was right, the cooking technique actually worked, although I wasn't really expecting it to. I threw in white cabbage, orange capsicums, tomatoes, and button mushrooms with soy sauce, salt and some chilli for taste. Later on, I added in two eggs and some corn flour to be funky. A male friend taught me that adding in corn flour would make vegetables smooth.
One thing I have learnt is: do not buy white cabbage! Being restless and slightly adventurous, I have been trying out every unconventional vegetable on sale at Safeway: pointy sweetheart cabbage (slightly bitter but quite good), 'greens' (a disaster but I think it'll be okay in fried rice and should perhaps be given another chance. however my housemate has begged me not to ever go near those infernal greens again. *shrugs*), savoy cabbage (slightly bitter, but I know a way to cook it to make it palatable at least to myself), and now white cabbage. I enthusiastically propose that I buy 'curly kale' next, a vegetable that was highly unpopular with my ex-housemate, but I still stubbornly insist is edible.
Post luncheon, I surf a bit and check my mail. I discover that my Wednesday evening class is cancelled: Hurrah!!!
I log back on to RBJ after what seems like a long time (yesterday afternoon. but I was only there for a short while yesterday). It's strange that when I first went to RBJ, there seemed to be so many blogs to read, and so little time. I felt like there was an information overload. My system went into shock, and I disappeared from my blog for a couple of days. Thereafter, for some strange reason, except for a few blogs, whenever I want to surf random blogs, I can't really think of what blogs to read. So I trawl RBJ for random blogs, and I have seven windows open on my laptop now.
But first, I have to start on my Development reading. Reading the blogs shall be my reward. :)
(Though God knows I really ought to be reading my 'Economist' and finishing up 'Crime and Punishment'. Too little time...)
Bleargh. This weekend has been utterly rank for me. Not utterly rank exactly... but absolutely shattering. I slept a total of 2 and half hours between Sunday afternoon and Monday night. And now, I'm down with a sore throat, I'm sneezing, and feel feverish. To top it all off, London weather has taken a turn for the colder. Each time I walk outside, I feel the wind hacking through me, stabbing my lungs.
I actually had quite a few things I wanted to blog about, but right now, I can feel the rhythmic pumping of my life-blood in my temples, and I just want to crash into bed-oblivion.
But three things for the moment:
[i] wedding bells
Another two of my seniors are getting married. O_O I can't believe it. As usual, I am shocked that they have chosen to take the plunge at the (not so) tender age of 26-27. I think that is still young, but my other seniors who have married did so at 24-25, which is just way too young as far as I'm concerned. We're practically still babies at 25. How can anyone take the gigantic step of being bound to another person for life at 25? I barely feel responsible enough to manage my own life, much less to consider the needs of another person all the time, for the rest of my life.
Randy is also engaged now. So is Alex. Or maybe Alex has married? But at least Randy is in his thirties (forties??) and Alex is late twenties at the earliest.
The wedding bells are ringing, ringing.
[ii] that I am so practical
My pragmatism astounds and dismays me. This is an excerpt from an email (I wrote the stuff following the '>'):
"> yes i know the important emails weren't those. i know
> impt emails mean work/study stuff.
hahahahah...
funny isn't, how much we perfectly keep level-headed.
impt stuff not only means work/study stuff, but only those
which we can have an influence over still for the future.
my type of philosophy."
I find my pragmatic attitude disturbing.
[iii] My desktop
I think our computers say a lot about us, the way our bedrooms, bags, pockets and garbage do. A screenshot of my desktop:
accounting for fashion
A couple of weeks ago, my friend and I went a-window-shopping, and I saw this funky dress that I was tempted to buy (Yes. After you finish gasping of shock, I hasten to assure you that your hearing/eyesight is not at fault. I actually meant 'dress': one piece of cloth covering torso and part of legs with only one big opening for the legs). Unfortunately, I lacked a suitable set of footwear to go with said dress.
So this friend of mine suggested getting one of those tall, knee-high boots.
Said I: "But they're so expensive. A decent and quite inexpensive pair costs about 80 quid."
Countered she: "But boots are essential. And think of it as an investment. If you divide the cost of 80 pounds over your lifetime, it will only cost a few pounds each year."
Hmmm.. I guess so. Except that I don't usually (ever) wear skirts. I don't even own skirts that can go with boots. So I don't see when I will ever have the occasion to don those sexy boots. But those are small matters. Niggling details to be ironed out later. After all, every girl should have at least one good pair of knee-high boots in her wardrobe. If I live my whole life without owning a pair, I'd feel like I have missed out on an essential part of the female experience (which is something I may regret later in life, even if I don't now). And time is running out for me to do the whole boots thing. So I rationalised: "Even, if I wear the boots only once in my life (if ever), it can still be depreciated over 40 years can't it? And therefore it is a good investment."
With that in mind, I decide half-heartedly to go boot-hunting. On Valentine's Day, I make a date with another friend to go boot-hunting. In the space of an hour, after looking at only one other shop, I managed to find a pair of boots which I felt were a pretty decent buy, given that I just felt like owning a pair of boots.
These are my 40-pound boots:
But look at them stilletos!!! I think I'm going to kill my feet and my back wearing them.
I didn't end up buying that dress which started it all. So now I have to go skirt-hunting! *lol*
Val's Day gathering
We had a Valentine's Day gathering, the two households plus two others. So we went to other house, and had a food fest. I don't know if it's an Asian thing, or just a Singaporean/Malaysian thing, that every possible special occasion is used as an excuse for gorging ourselves. Imagine, even Valentine's Day, the most romantic of all romantic days, has been morphed into one big meal.
We had: pigs' trotters noodles, lap cheong rice, deep fried sliced fish with tomato and vegetables, one roast duck, pizza and garlic bread, and one huge plate of pak choy. And that was just the main course. Prior to dinner, we had deep fried prawn keropok (crackers), plus heart-shaped butter cookies. Then for dessert we had muah chee, strawberry and nata de coco konniyaku, and chocolate mousse and butter cookie in an edible chocolate container!
The food came out in waves, and we had several rounds of eating with breaks in between. We started eating at seven-ish and our eating and talking-cock session lasted from seven pm that night till about five am the next day, and still there was leftover duck and pizza and muah chee!!!
We talked about everything under the sun: Movies, TV shows, people... and we talked about having kids, whether we'd be disappointed if our kids were stupid/ugly, about our respective primary, secondary schools and JC, which school we'd send our kids to... the Rafflesians and the Nanyang-TCHS-Hwa Chong types pitted against each other in two equally staunch camps. And then the lone Dunmanian stood against everyone else as we heatedly debated the merits and demerits of single-sec versus co-educational schooling. Next, the topic shifted to expectations of ECAs (extra-curricular activities) of our future hypothetical kids, their physique and fitness, and we talked NAPFA (a physical fitness test that all Singapore-educated students are subjected to annually), and as expected, some Army talk came in. At this juncture, we were discussing flexibility etc, and the best squatting technique (As defined by being very stable - you're not easily pushed over when squatting.).
And all of a sudden, this bunch of adults (all of us are at least 21) started going down into the small space on the floor between the dining table, the couch, and the bed, and started demonstrating/competing to see whose spine was straightest when we put our heads to our knees and stretched, or who could do the lowest split, or who had the best squatting technique. And we each of us began trying to learn how to squat 'well', pushing each other aside in our eagerness to try out our squatting position and get feedback on our 'performance': "Eh... quick quick my turn! *squats in position* - Is this the correct way??" *lol* - The key apparently is to ensure that your CG (centre of gravity) is very low. But try as we may, one of my housemates and I were dismal at squatting. It was eventually concluded that it was due to our body structure. The best squatter was the boyfriend of my fellow bad-squatter housemate. And this bad-squatter housemate was pronounced to be the most inflexible person, along with another housemate of mine.
And so the night went on. By the time we finally left their house, it was past 5 am. We crossed Tower Bridge and reached home at half-five. And that was my Valentine's Day.
This is a shot of some of us in squatting positions, haha:
