Yesterday was my first Chinese Calligraphy (书法) class! Not my first actually, since I started way long ago in Primary Three but it was sort of a join-every-CCA-you-can move when joining a CCA was the rage in primary three.
And of course, like every fad, and like every poor time management routine, I left that CCA. I also left the PRC Chinese teacher who was teaching there.
I took an hour just to "get right" the 点 right. And that kind of 点 was just one of the many different ways to write a 点.
Then I decided one hour of just practicing 点s were boring. So I decided to jump the gun to the first page of my Chinese Calligraphy Workbook.
Chinese boleh! 能用华语是服气，别失去！
Postscript 点 is the simplest stroke in the writing of the Chinese language. It is merely a dot in daily writings. It is pronounced as dian.
Post-postscript "能用华语是服气，别失去!" is one of the slogans from the Speak Chinese campaign in Singapore. It suggests that using Chinese is a blessing, and that you should not lose that ability.
And of course, like every fad, and like every poor time management routine, I left that CCA. I also left the PRC Chinese teacher who was teaching there.
I took an hour just to "get right" the 点 right. And that kind of 点 was just one of the many different ways to write a 点.
Then I decided one hour of just practicing 点s were boring. So I decided to jump the gun to the first page of my Chinese Calligraphy Workbook.
Chinese boleh! 能用华语是服气，别失去！
Postscript 点 is the simplest stroke in the writing of the Chinese language. It is merely a dot in daily writings. It is pronounced as dian.
Post-postscript "能用华语是服气，别失去!" is one of the slogans from the Speak Chinese campaign in Singapore. It suggests that using Chinese is a blessing, and that you should not lose that ability.
See (love)
Want (love)
Get (love)
Spread (love)
Bouncy (love)
Pure (love)
Fake (love)
Have (love)
Happy.
Want (love)
Get (love)
Spread (love)
Bouncy (love)
Pure (love)
Fake (love)
Have (love)
Happy.
Mac OS X Leopard's icon for a networked PC on Leopard's menu!
Mac rules!
Mac rules!
377a is just a facade. The government keeps it there just to please our conservative hoi polloi. I mean, seriously, keeping 377a is not gonna stop Singaporean gays from having gay sex. They have been having gay sex for a long long time. And they're not going to stop.
I'm hooked on A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. It's so good that I'm freaked that his entire style of writing might just flow right into mine because I'm so in love with this book. I've come to see why Man Bookers and Newberies and Pulitzers and Nobels and whatevers out there don't really define whether a book's good or not. It's down to whether the book is good or not.
So anyway, everyone should get a copy of it (although it is pretty rare in Borders now so who knows how rare it is someplace else) or borrow it or something. It will rock your box of socks.
Faces are confusing. There's just too many of them and you wish there were just lesser. It's too tiring to want to switch and to cope with the switches.
I showed some people the thing Esther showed me. I can show it to you too. Click here. It's an article by the Herald Sun to test whether you are using your Right Brain or Left Brain to perceive things and whether you're more prone to the left or the right.
In case you didn't know (I didn't before I read this), the Left Brain is more logic orientated while the Right Brain is more feeling orientated.
And when I showed it to whom I showed it, some were like "Aiya, I want to see it this way, or that way." Basically saying that they wished to be more prone toward a side of the brain.
And I think a lot of times things are like that. We want to be something we're not. Or want part of us to be more dominant. I really don't know if oozing a certain part of you out for more is good or bad. It's subjective I guess. After all, the Bible did say you reap what you sow.
So yeah.
Postscript. On a more hit-reality note something terrible happened today. I didn't cap my bottle properly and chucked it into green crump. The water then went into my pencil case and mixed with the leaking black pens and soaked my bags contents with diluted black ink. My iPod Photo and Calculator since Sec 1 both whom I have had immense intimate relationships with are now RIP.
I never wanted to change my calculator. Despite there being new ones and how everybody moaned about buttons not having spring to it I still sticked on. And now it's gone.
The iPod photo (Queenie) has never ceased to be a part of my life. I still used it as my Music Library connected to the room stereo to play music. All my photos are inside it. It was my first iPod. It is vintage. It is cool. It is dead.
Bye Queenie. Bye Cal.
So anyway, everyone should get a copy of it (although it is pretty rare in Borders now so who knows how rare it is someplace else) or borrow it or something. It will rock your box of socks.
Faces are confusing. There's just too many of them and you wish there were just lesser. It's too tiring to want to switch and to cope with the switches.
I showed some people the thing Esther showed me. I can show it to you too. Click here. It's an article by the Herald Sun to test whether you are using your Right Brain or Left Brain to perceive things and whether you're more prone to the left or the right.
In case you didn't know (I didn't before I read this), the Left Brain is more logic orientated while the Right Brain is more feeling orientated.
And when I showed it to whom I showed it, some were like "Aiya, I want to see it this way, or that way." Basically saying that they wished to be more prone toward a side of the brain.
And I think a lot of times things are like that. We want to be something we're not. Or want part of us to be more dominant. I really don't know if oozing a certain part of you out for more is good or bad. It's subjective I guess. After all, the Bible did say you reap what you sow.
So yeah.
Postscript. On a more hit-reality note something terrible happened today. I didn't cap my bottle properly and chucked it into green crump. The water then went into my pencil case and mixed with the leaking black pens and soaked my bags contents with diluted black ink. My iPod Photo and Calculator since Sec 1 both whom I have had immense intimate relationships with are now RIP.
I never wanted to change my calculator. Despite there being new ones and how everybody moaned about buttons not having spring to it I still sticked on. And now it's gone.
The iPod photo (Queenie) has never ceased to be a part of my life. I still used it as my Music Library connected to the room stereo to play music. All my photos are inside it. It was my first iPod. It is vintage. It is cool. It is dead.
Bye Queenie. Bye Cal.
My infatuation with the multiple periods writing-style has been confirmed as style worthy since i got twenty-five out of thirty for my End-of-year free writing composition! Apparently the highest teachers ever give out is a twenty-six and that, is extremely rare.
I remember relishing the moments of writing that essay, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream as it neared the climax (yes, I am not kidding) but as I speed read it through again, today, while the paper was given out, I didn't enjoy it as much. I wonder why.
Thank God the teacher did though. Twenty-five!
I have come to a somewhat conclusion on what I will be writing about for this year's NaNoWriMo. I'm still aiming for a multiple short stories framework because, that way, I could address more issues. This is however contradicted by my current lack of issues to write about. However, if I just focus on one story-line, my whole thing just might turn boring.
Okay you did not have to read that. Ramblings. Suck.
Haha.
I remember relishing the moments of writing that essay, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream as it neared the climax (yes, I am not kidding) but as I speed read it through again, today, while the paper was given out, I didn't enjoy it as much. I wonder why.
Thank God the teacher did though. Twenty-five!
I have come to a somewhat conclusion on what I will be writing about for this year's NaNoWriMo. I'm still aiming for a multiple short stories framework because, that way, I could address more issues. This is however contradicted by my current lack of issues to write about. However, if I just focus on one story-line, my whole thing just might turn boring.
Okay you did not have to read that. Ramblings. Suck.
Haha.
My left foot pushes ahead of my right. My right foot pushes ahead of my left. Left, right, left, right. I get the rhythm. This isn't so difficult.
Then tiny ants start nibbling on the soles of my feet, as if my socks have some kind of lice growth. This is aggravated by iron nails growing on the underside of my shoe, it digs into my feet. Bloodless. Excruciating.
Left. Right. Left. Right. I try again.
I can't. Can.
Left. Right. Left. Right. I try again.
I can't. I really can't. Fuck.
I squat on the grey road. My stomach rises and falls. Sick overwhelms me.
Shit.
I vomit. It sprays everywhere. It seeps into the gaps between the pavements. People walk pass. One per cent of my brain is thinking if they're looking at me.
Ninety-nine is overwhelmed with the bile at the end of my throat.
My squatted legs give way. I break into a sit.
I breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
It feels much better, but ants are now crawling everywhere. Everywhere.
Fuck.
I itch. It gets worst. Worst.
The nails are back again. And now its in my head. I grasp my hands around my head. I rub my hair. I'm mad. Mad.
I struggle to get water. Yeah. Water. That'll do me good.
I can't. Now the itch in my hands.
I struggle to get up. I fail.
I lie on my back. I give up. This is too hard.
I breathe. Breathe. Better.
Inspired by Ingrid Michaelson and her song, Keep Breathing. For all the Sec 4s out there. Just hang on.
Then tiny ants start nibbling on the soles of my feet, as if my socks have some kind of lice growth. This is aggravated by iron nails growing on the underside of my shoe, it digs into my feet. Bloodless. Excruciating.
Left. Right. Left. Right. I try again.
I can't. Can.
Left. Right. Left. Right. I try again.
I can't. I really can't. Fuck.
I squat on the grey road. My stomach rises and falls. Sick overwhelms me.
Shit.
I vomit. It sprays everywhere. It seeps into the gaps between the pavements. People walk pass. One per cent of my brain is thinking if they're looking at me.
Ninety-nine is overwhelmed with the bile at the end of my throat.
My squatted legs give way. I break into a sit.
I breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
It feels much better, but ants are now crawling everywhere. Everywhere.
Fuck.
I itch. It gets worst. Worst.
The nails are back again. And now its in my head. I grasp my hands around my head. I rub my hair. I'm mad. Mad.
I struggle to get water. Yeah. Water. That'll do me good.
I can't. Now the itch in my hands.
I struggle to get up. I fail.
I lie on my back. I give up. This is too hard.
I breathe. Breathe. Better.
Inspired by Ingrid Michaelson and her song, Keep Breathing. For all the Sec 4s out there. Just hang on.
Exams really kill the joy from a subject.
Oh and guess what, China's wetting it's pants now. Too big a baby to let their exiled Dalai Lama get an award. He's already out of your country!
Oh and guess what, China's wetting it's pants now. Too big a baby to let their exiled Dalai Lama get an award. He's already out of your country!
ChristmasChristmasChristmas
0 Comments Published by wengkeong on Sunday, October 14, 2007 at 8:08 PM.
See Han was listening to Corrine May's Christmas album on Friday. While playing dota. I guess it's the right time to use the overused o.0 smiley. So there: o.0.
Hence I hastily commented that Christmas was 2 months away! This was also hastily corrected by Esther Chee who told me that when you wait for Christmas to come before getting into the Christmas mood, it will be over really soon. Then you'll still be in Christmas mood after Christmas when all the major department start to tear down all their pretty Christmas stuff and you'll be yearning for something non-existant.
Yeah. I remember the sad withdrawal symptoms from last year. Christmas withdrawals.
So I decided to listen to Jump5's All the Joy in the World Christmas album and Lisa Ono's Spanish-y Boas Festa.
Guess what. Nothing.
I think Christmas cannot exist when one in still going through exams. Either that or I'm deluding myself of being able to get the Christmas spirit a full 71 days before the day itself.
Come Christmas come!
p.s. My biggest Christmas wish? 50% off all Borders purchases!
Hence I hastily commented that Christmas was 2 months away! This was also hastily corrected by Esther Chee who told me that when you wait for Christmas to come before getting into the Christmas mood, it will be over really soon. Then you'll still be in Christmas mood after Christmas when all the major department start to tear down all their pretty Christmas stuff and you'll be yearning for something non-existant.
Yeah. I remember the sad withdrawal symptoms from last year. Christmas withdrawals.
So I decided to listen to Jump5's All the Joy in the World Christmas album and Lisa Ono's Spanish-y Boas Festa.
Guess what. Nothing.
I think Christmas cannot exist when one in still going through exams. Either that or I'm deluding myself of being able to get the Christmas spirit a full 71 days before the day itself.
Come Christmas come!
p.s. My biggest Christmas wish? 50% off all Borders purchases!
Exam period is far from over. It's like a sting, constantly there, crawling over your mind. Not really like jail or entrapment, just that constant lingering of exams. As certain people start the rejoice that their last paper is tomorrow, I realised I'm one whole week away from completion. Sometimes I really cannot discern the administration's complete lack of understanding. 7 subbers get a whole Monday to Thursday off next week and I'll be damned coming back every day.
Even the supposed "marking day" is actually the Art Theory Paper. Seriously.
While whining and pining about the nuance and end of exams, my constantly vigorous brain has thought of millions of things to compel myself with after the wonderful examinations.
Read compulsively. I have my list of books already. And it's pretty creepy.
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion.
A Million Little Pieces by James Frey.
On the Road by Jack Kerouac.
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan.
The Gathering by Anne Enright.
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy.
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett.
A Book by Gogol, if I can find it, by Nikolai Gogol.
And of course other miscellaneous books which I have bought but not read, including:
The Diana Chronicles by Tina Brown.
The Impressionist by Hari Kunzru.
Fiasco by Thomas E. Ricks.
Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.
Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh.
Shogun by James Clavell.
Mao by Jun Chang and John Halliday.
The Assault on Reason by Al Gore.
Miracles by C.S. Lewis.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.
Run compulsively. I will pull myself to East Coast Park at least once a week to run. Roy!
Rollerblade compulsively. I suppose this and run compulsively could be under "exercise compulsively" by there's something about East Coast going that makes matters interesting. Bullshit.
Play guitar compulsively. I will actually be able to play bar chords.
Travel compulsively. This is nevertheless only a hope, unless two destinations in two months is compulsive. I want to fly to Hanoi and Tioman (which is of course highly unlikely) while Delhi and Rompin is largely confirmed.
Photograph compulsively. Chinatown! Little India!
Write compulsively. I will aim to at least do a quarter of NaNoWriMo!
Yes. That is all. Compulsive too many is too scary.
Holidays!
Even the supposed "marking day" is actually the Art Theory Paper. Seriously.
While whining and pining about the nuance and end of exams, my constantly vigorous brain has thought of millions of things to compel myself with after the wonderful examinations.
Read compulsively. I have my list of books already. And it's pretty creepy.
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion.
A Million Little Pieces by James Frey.
On the Road by Jack Kerouac.
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan.
The Gathering by Anne Enright.
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy.
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett.
A Book by Gogol, if I can find it, by Nikolai Gogol.
And of course other miscellaneous books which I have bought but not read, including:
The Diana Chronicles by Tina Brown.
The Impressionist by Hari Kunzru.
Fiasco by Thomas E. Ricks.
Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.
Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh.
Shogun by James Clavell.
Mao by Jun Chang and John Halliday.
The Assault on Reason by Al Gore.
Miracles by C.S. Lewis.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.
Run compulsively. I will pull myself to East Coast Park at least once a week to run. Roy!
Rollerblade compulsively. I suppose this and run compulsively could be under "exercise compulsively" by there's something about East Coast going that makes matters interesting. Bullshit.
Play guitar compulsively. I will actually be able to play bar chords.
Travel compulsively. This is nevertheless only a hope, unless two destinations in two months is compulsive. I want to fly to Hanoi and Tioman (which is of course highly unlikely) while Delhi and Rompin is largely confirmed.
Photograph compulsively. Chinatown! Little India!
Write compulsively. I will aim to at least do a quarter of NaNoWriMo!
Yes. That is all. Compulsive too many is too scary.
Holidays!
My cousin is getting married this Saturday. I don't know about everybody but weddings do extract a certain amount of ting from me. Ting as in tingly.
Their wedding blog (kboyjgal.blogspot.com. Just take a moment to absorb that URL.) has been pretty novel. My cousins (and uncles, and aunties) have been devouring their entries of late. But after reading each entry (my heart skipping beat when I see that they have updated), I have come to a conclusion that when you garner such a strong foundation with your fiancee or fiance, a wedding doesn't do much to your relationship.
There isn't a big change emotionally. Sure, you now write "Married" on Facebook, forms, surveys etc. and you move in together and sleep together and share your life whatever. But the fact is that a wedding and marriage is there just to proof that you and your f/f (fiance/fiancee) have come thus far.
Maybe I sound loony. But that's the way I see it.
You know a book is really that good when you find yourself sitting at the large sitting areas at the train station right after come out of the train and reading. When you decide to leave, you find out you have to pay two dollars because you overstayed your time in Singapore's rail.
p.s. DOUGLAS KENNEDY IS JOY READ.
p.p.s I am absolutely in love with my EOY English Free Writing essay
Their wedding blog (kboyjgal.blogspot.com. Just take a moment to absorb that URL.) has been pretty novel. My cousins (and uncles, and aunties) have been devouring their entries of late. But after reading each entry (my heart skipping beat when I see that they have updated), I have come to a conclusion that when you garner such a strong foundation with your fiancee or fiance, a wedding doesn't do much to your relationship.
There isn't a big change emotionally. Sure, you now write "Married" on Facebook, forms, surveys etc. and you move in together and sleep together and share your life whatever. But the fact is that a wedding and marriage is there just to proof that you and your f/f (fiance/fiancee) have come thus far.
Maybe I sound loony. But that's the way I see it.
You know a book is really that good when you find yourself sitting at the large sitting areas at the train station right after come out of the train and reading. When you decide to leave, you find out you have to pay two dollars because you overstayed your time in Singapore's rail.
p.s. DOUGLAS KENNEDY IS JOY READ.
p.p.s I am absolutely in love with my EOY English Free Writing essay
Human Rights Watch: What is going on here?
Girl: My hut burning after being hit by a bomb.
HRW: And here? [Pointing to what looks like an upside-down woman]
Girl: It's a woman. She is dead.
HRW: Why is her face colored in red?
Girl: Oh, because she has been shot in the face.
HRW: What is this vehicle? Who is this in green?
Girl: That is a tank. The man in green is a soldier.
Adapted from Slate Magazine.
I picked the least hair-raising, goosebumps manifesting picture. Check out the rest of the series here.
Genocide.
