The Brown Cottage

test

2008-04-08T15:47:00.001+08:00

tes test

testing

2008-04-08T15:44:00.001+08:00

testing 123

A coincidence

2007-07-31T10:21:00.000+08:00

...and what a coincidence. Ten years ago today The Boy Who Lived received his first owl mail.

My head is not exactly in this world as is apparent.

Magical towns

2007-07-31T09:56:00.000+08:00

CORS bidding has begun and i sure miss participating in it. the delight of seeing modules you want to read allocated to you, the first lectures and the smell and feel of new books...classroom learning may later heighten to much intellectual challenge or dwindle to a bore, but one thing is sure, the excitement of starting a new semester never fails to meet those of 11-year-olds who receive owl mails, who trot through Diagon Alley wide-eyed carrying parchments with a list of classroom paraphernalia. A new semester is dawning and i will miss it all, though i am sure that in its place lies a journey still akin to walking down a magical town, albeit of a different kind.

Note: Deathly Hallows

2007-07-25T01:10:00.000+08:00

Done at 11:55pm 24 july 2007. My thanks to Rowling for filling a good six years of my life with the warmth of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade (in particular The Three Broomsticks and butterbeer), and for keeping the child in me alive. And for doing this to all readers around the world! My words are an understatement.

22 july

2007-07-22T20:30:00.000+08:00

it's 8:30pm, it's raining heavily, picked up J after QMall. Deathly Hallows was out yesterday. Extraordinary price at Tesco. Muggle bookstores were enraged. Wizards must be amused.

Took last look at S'pore on Thurs night. Realised that I'll miss it. Realised that it's become my second home.

Simply happy.

Comments on AY06/07 Sem 2 papers

2007-04-25T22:29:00.000+08:00

(this entry to be reflected and laughed upon 1 - INFINITY years down the road)

The paper is an impossibility. A lot of blanks left. The few answers you have, you are uncertain of them. You feel like retaking it. But you have got to fail to retake it. You worry.

The paper is do-able. You can do everything. You did your best. Very possibly, everyone did their best, and many find it easy. The bell curve will be distorted. Your effort will worth little. You worry.

The paper is your best bet. You know you can do it. But the clock keeps ticking. You have written a lot. There is plenty more to write. Your hand aches. You keep writing. You have the answers but not the time. You keep writing. The invigilator announces the time is up. Any person found writing will be deemed cheating. You watch helplessly as the paper you know you can do but is half done, collected and stacked and will be examined. You worry.

Sigh.

But as TYJ's counselor said (perhaps I should really get a counselor of my own too, since I'm already paying the fees, might as well), look forward. But just before I do that, here's a shot of the mock BTC paper I looked through this afternoon. Got me in stitches. What amused me is that it started off as a rather unsophisticated speech, but later evolved into something completely different. Just imagine the faces of the audience, who happen to be quite important people.

I am not a thing

2007-04-19T15:58:00.000+08:00

I imagine if had graduated now and in search for a job, I would probably do terribly at it. Not because of my limited working experience, not even because of trailing bad luck that punctures the tyres of every bus that I travel in on the way to my interviews. No, I would do terribly very first and foremost because I find resume writing a stressful, rigid, cold, emotionless, insurmountable task.

Resume writing to me is as stressful as shopping is to men, as poisonous as peanut butter is to anaphylaxics. It kills me to have to write in self-applauding words that advertise myself, not unlike some Nokia commercial - "I have something in my pocket. It is not one thing. It is many." I am one person of countless skills and ability [cough, cough]. No one (other phone) matches me. I am special (incorporates the latest wireless entertainment technology). I, and only I, befits the position (the only phone you need). How bashful, how pretentious, how impassive! One thinks about this affair happening everyday (in the real, people world, for goodness sake) in such unfeeling manner and it shouldn't be too difficult to conjure up an image of commercial goods in stylish coats/dresses, leather shoes and briefcases, complete with perfume and makeup, strutting in and out of interviews, carrying nicely printed - and most certainly expensive - advertising brochures of themselves, perhaps even an ISO certified sticker. Excuse me while I rush over to the washbasin and puke.

I cannot for the life of me comprehend this need for crowing, albeit only on paper. Yes, it is a competitive world. Yes, to succeed we must have an edge over others. Yes, the first page of a resume must be impressive enough to entice the reader who probably has hundreds other resumes on her desk. But do we have to go over the top with this? Lately I have had to submit a CV. After two stressful days I finally came up with one, together with a personal statement, written in the only way I know how. A well-meaning friend*, having read through it, said "I think you are wasting words with your first paragraph" (I was talking about an influential person in my life) "Maybe you should mention all your IT skills instead."

Well, come on. I've only been introduced to programming two years ago, Mozart was a child prodigy at four years old, still it took 13 years before he produced world-class music. Two years of very small scale programming and I am entitled to holler about it? And well, perhaps, perhaps prospective employers would agree with my friend on the first paragraph, but it was after all a personal statement, and that was an introduction to who I am. And I am a person. Not a Sony Vaio TX Series notebook. Employers who seek to employ laptops should turn their heads to Sim Lim Square instead.

I see no need for excessive self-praise. Unless one has truly earned the boasting rights, exaggerated self description is not only pompous, but also bogus. Yet somehow, it seems that such grandeur is expected in a resume. And it is pretty sad, because each one of us is special and different in our own ways. Now, instead of expressing the person that he is, the individual is forcefully reduced to unfeeling, advertising words on paper - words akin to describing lifeless commercial goods.

Well luckily for me the cultural setting where I was sending my CV to favours modesty. I wonder if this is the case in a highly competitive place like Singapore. Probably I will find out after graduation...I would know that I've become a Samsung D900, if I ever start to puke all over my documents.

*no offense intended, this friend was very well-meaning and supportive. We were all "victims" to this employment hoo-hah.

By My Side

2007-04-16T23:20:00.000+08:00

I am not one to share my innermost feelings with just about anyone. Simply put, I am not like others who can so comfortably publish their anger, sadness, frustrations, or even the highest of feelings - joy, excitement, extreme happiness. I am talking about heartfelt feelings, those implanted in the depths of one's soul, whose roots are deep. Those which linger long after the triggers wear off. Those, I am not very good at talking about. I attribute that to my shyness.

I suppose the reason I am typing this is because an online diary allows one to convey one's feelings without the need for physical expressions, expressions that sometimes are not precise representations of the emotions enclaved in the heart - especially when one is brought up in the typical Asian culture. How many times have you played down your fears, sorrows, grief when you talk about them? Someone says matter-of-factly "my father passed away" and you respond sympathetically with "i'm so sorry" but neither actions and words really convey the true sentiments of both persons - one who could be very devastated with the loss of a loved one, the other absolutely helpless and empathetic.

I went to bed at 8:50 last night. After only two hours of rest the night before (or rather, in the wee hours of the morning) and after a long day spent on OS assignment, I was ready for a good slumber. This night I had a bizarre dream, which would wake me up at 5:30 and in the still and darkness of a young day, fill me with agonizing sadness and yet, with overwhelming gratitude.

I dreamt of people I haven't seen in person for a while. It was a long saga, but as far as I can remember, the faces appeared after my zipper was stolen. Someone stole my zipper, and that zipper could stick to the celling. This somehow left me panicked, and I suppose for a very good reason, because someone began shooting at me from the celling through the opening of the zipper. Bizarre dreams can be.

I was afraid, but was even more frightened at the thought of my mom and grandma getting in the way of the bullets, so I stood right in front of the gunman, tried to shoot back, and called to my mom to get grandma and herself out of the room. After a while, I was out on the road. The backdrop throughout the dream was white and gray. Mom and grandma had safely left in a car. I was still being hunted. Then my aunt came by, adamantly wanted to stay with me, despite furious efforts of asking her to leave. My other aunt tried persuading her too, she wouldn't listen. I was exasperated by her stubbornness.

Suddenly I was in a cell, shielded with bulletproof glass. Something happened here which I don't remember. Someone defeated the gunman. Then my former classmates came to me, concerned. These were faces I haven't seen for a long time - people whom I rarely even talked to. I went to the glass door. As I opened it I saw, at the corner of the room, my yet other aunt in light green baju kurung, and sitting right behind her, his back against hers, was my grandfather. He was wearing a blue shirt. Tears flowed. I vividly remember thinking that it has been three years. I hastened towards grandpa, then wrapped my arms around him. Tightly. The tears were endless. Called out to him repeated. It has been three years since I saw you.

My arms on his back. The feel of his flesh. It was so real. I remember feeling so thankful. To be able to see him, to hold him. But it had to end there, and suddenly I find myself under the sheets looking out the window at the pitch black sky. It took about a second to realise what happened. Then slight happiness dawned at such a surreal experience. That immediately was followed by a deep pang of sadness, knowing that I could never again deliver the hug in this world that I live in.

I told my mother about the dream an hour ago. As usual, you down play your emotions when it comes to these things. You try not to choke in front of your mother, not even on webcam on Skype.

She told me it was the last night of Cheng Beng.

I am scientific, logical, realistic. But I do believe there are some things which are inexplicable, some things which happen when they mean to, for a reason. I believe he was telling me that he is here, by my side. And that is motivation enough for me to work hard for next week and beyond.

Finally

2007-04-05T03:13:00.000+08:00

Am happy. Finally satisfied with the effort I put in for a reaction paper. It wasn't that hard; now, why did it feel so in the past? Am so gay at three. Witching hour hohohoho...

The Sky

2007-03-23T20:13:00.000+08:00

Talking about the clouds, this was the sky captured just right after the earlier post. Slightly disappointed that such intimidating blanket of gray produced only a thin shower of rain. Perhaps it'll pick up volume tonight.

First attempt at merging photos here. Wasn't as easy as taught at the Adobe Alter Ego workshop on Tuesday, largely because the pictures used by the instructor were already carefully selected.

On a very different note, it's the end of the tenth week. Three more weeks to reading week. Have mixed feelings about the term coming to an end. For one, I would be happy by the last week as I have only three papers to look forward to. And certainly happier with whatever projects in store after the exams.

For another, this would signal half my journey as an undergrad. And it is rather sad to know that I would be leaving this knowledge trove that has become my third home. Well, if I am smart I may extend it to four or five years or even to a lifetime, hur hur...suddenly a lifetime doesn't sound too pleasing.

Ah, nonetheless, as Bilbo would say, the road goes ever on and on. Can I not stop to savour it? Alas, the feet never stop, for time waits for no one. Not even a hobbit.

Hohoohohohoh

2007-03-23T18:59:00.001+08:00

Got it!

Today was also the first time I have ever eaten a chicken curry puff with only a die of chicken meat as large as 5mm cube.

Am also slightly down with the flu. And discovered that if I lay my head on the desk and look out the window, with the help of some imagination it would seem as if I am 500 storeys high in the clouds, and that if I ever stick out the window and peer down I would see a sea of nothingness but white cottonish clouds. How nice...

Risk it not, ask!

2007-03-21T22:13:00.000+08:00

It is hard to miss. Even when one hastens here and there, pacing furiously to keep up with the sprinting time, mind occupied with a hundred and one thoughts about the thousand and one deadlines, it is hard to miss. Those red bold letters. Spelling out fervor and glory from the days of yore.

Amidst the colourful booths at the bustling bazaars that occur every so often these days on campus, those red letters caught the eyes of a commander of the past. The feet remained quick, but the eyes had been drawn. The mind registered those sightly letters.

RISK.

RISK. Never have I seen stacks of boardgames so simply arranged on the floor of the Central Forum. But two or three weeks ago I have walked past them again and again. This is the perfect time to get a set. But how much will it cost? Not cheap I presume. Must be about $40. Not something I, an unemployed (or poorly self employed) undergrad with five figure loans can afford.

Saw them again today. At the corner of LT27 forum, one upon another, a tower of cavalry and brave men calling, luring. Well, I might, might, consider getting a set if it is $20. $20. What am I, hoping against hope? No RISK - or any other board games of the sort - sells for $20. That would be half of the shelf price.

Why don't you just ask. No harm asking, right? So I went to the aunty at the stall. How much is this, aunty?

"Fifteen."

Fifteen? Did she say fifteen? Or is it fifty?

"Fifteen?"

"Ya, and this one is eighteen."

"Owh... this is fifTEEN and Star Wars is eighTEEN?"

"Yes."

OK, I don't know what the usual price of boardgames is in this country, but I know some explosion akin to the shots of cannon has gone off in my chest. Didn't buy it. Still dazed (or shocked). Waiting for reality to set in before I pack some cash and revisit the sweet old aunty on Friday.

Sidenote: Just last night Terrible messaged me and said that Conquerer has been found.

This and that

2007-02-23T04:23:00.000+08:00

What does one write about at four in the morning? Thoughts of present and past perhaps. Perhaps also, try not to give in to temptation of commenting on the just-watched US remake of Dark Water, letting loose one's imagination in the still and darkness of one's room and scare the poops out of oneself.

I met two of my old friends today (sigh, need I mention that one made us wait 75 minutes, said there's a reason for it - and that was probably that she spent the morning blogging! Don't worry, I still adore you, you-know-who-you-are). We haven't met for months I think. Yet strangely I didn't feel like it was a long while. Strange how we feel the effects of time. It was as if not many days have passed since our last outing. Strange.

Not too odd is how a certain dreadful feeling settles on one's mind as the semester break nears to an end. Feli has described it much better than I can. One returns home, be a kid again, then face the prospect of leaving these comforts behind and try to function again as an adult. One morning you wake up with your poodle licking your face, your mom around the house, the next you wake up, thinks your poodle is beside you but silence quickly settles in and you find yourself staring at four pale walls. The mind is blank at first, but realization strikes and you think of that pressing deadline, that unfinished assignment and that reading undone.

I try not to think about that. There's more pressing unfinished business. C, OS labs, OS tutorials, OS readings. Software Eng midterm on Friday. Software Eng project preparation for Sunday meeting. Those USE papers. Need to take care of these when the sun rises tomorrow. Really looking forward to checking off those one by one. Looking forward to that sigh of relief.

Then brace for more. Those Cyberarts videos. OS midterm. OS assignments.

That Video. Professionally and personally I resolve that it will be the best of our efforts.

I think, I worry too much. There's something called selective focus and I will need it now and the coming weeks.

That will be the end of my stressful stories. Selective focus in motion now.

This is another thought. I am an observer. Not in the attentive sense. But I rest on a bench at the underground subway, watch the shuttle of time dart by. Nothing much changed on the bench, but I am amazed by the people alighting from the train of time, those whom I met before they boarded the train.

Actually if I recall properly there were a number of friends whose house I frequent when I was in primary school. Those times. Girlish chatter, video/computer games, R.L. Stein, Russell Lee, Doraemon. We end up alighting at different stations. Essentially we aren't all that different. The stops differ.

What became of the little girls with flowers? They rode on the train. They grew. They are little girls with flowers no more.

The self and anti-cool

2007-02-09T22:37:00.000+08:00

Had my first visit to an art festival yesterday! Ms Daniela our Cyberarts instructor decided that it would be enriching to have a class excursion to the M1 Fringe Festival organized by The Necessary Stage, and sponsored by, well, the telecommunications company M1 (Ms Daniela said all these details have to be taken notice). It has always been known as the Fringe Festival, I thought having a commercial organization prefixing a creative event pretty much defiles the free spirit of art.

Regardless, I felt like a 6-year-old again. Can't remember if there was actually any class excursion during my schooling days. It is a pity that I can't recall any. But I shall not digress.

The theme of the Fringe Festival this year is Art and Disability. In spite of the supposedly more advanced, more accepting and matured community of this era we still see segregation of what we consider less perfect than what we are or have. The theme, I gather, probably seeks to redefine what disability is, and puts it in a different light that reflects it in all of us. Disability is after all, in the eye and mind of the observer. The works of the artists hope to reveal the alternative views that we can all adopt in our quest to understand and redefine the notion of disability.

Right...Just realized how that ties in to Jan Rothuizen's work, erm...

Rothuizen's installation at the Waterloo Gallery was the first work that we headed to once we arrived at the Singapore Art Museum. Entitled The Self Collector, it showcased six (if I get the numbers right) probing, at the same time rather humorous pieces. With regards to the intellectual and artistic depth I must say that I still have quite a long way to go. My classmates however have been offering some very enlightening explanations.

[[ I would hate to describe an artwork with solely words. so, more on Rothuizen once I get the pics from my classmate ]]

It wasn't in the initial plan but we were told that there was a performance art at a gallery not far from where we were. So those of us who have done our FAST diagrams on Rothuizen's work (it is still after all a class field trip, can't escape the assignments!) went ahead to the Queen Gallery. The performance art is indescribable. Literally, really, because I came out not understanding a thing. Still, STILL, it was my first ever performance art and it was just captivating!

When we were in the gallery we took our places on the stools right in the middle of the room. We didn't know how the performance was going to start, at least I didn't, not until I noticed that a man in gray suit was walking around with a bunch of roses. Slowly he moved, the tap-tapping of his soles gradually reduced our chatter to silence. A woman in blood-red dress then walked in. The man tried to present the roses to the woman, she refused. He kept trying, both hastened their pace until he finally caught her hand. A pause, then she took a look at the roses and reached out for them. The man walked away. She positioned the stalks vertically, then went to a corner pulled out a shear, stood in front of us and gave a rather intimidating snip with the blades.

About then I realised that this person was the artist. Tomoko Takahashi a.k.a anti-cool. Ah I thought she was pretty cool. After deflowering a couple expensive roses (considering the price of those stalks at this time around Valentine's) she put down her shears, picked the two fallen rose buds, stood up with a blank expression walked towards me, handed me a bud, then turned and handed Noel the other one.

And then she went on and killed all the remaining roses. I'll save the details. She went out after the roses scene, and came back wit a really, really huge ladder. Started to paint black the projected faces on the wall. Did some sit ups...I mean...did a LOT of sit ups. 105 altogether to be exact. And did it right on the bench in front of us. In her red dress. And black heels. Pretty hard not to find it amusing. Already, watching woman in dress and heels on the ladder with a tin of paint and brush was unusual, but then this...105 sit ups. And it wasn't an easy feat, I suspect for her too, she did pant and stopped now and then.

I was wondering what she was trying to put across by this "torture" to herself (with my level of fitness 105 sit ups IS torture to my eyes). When she passed 100 I thought she was never going to stop and that she was going to continue until all of us left the gallery. Pretty relieved she did. But then. She went to the corner. Pulled off the black garbage bag and revealed --

A treadmill.

Yes, she jogged on the treadmill. In a dress. On heels.

Strangely I can't remember how the performance ended. She left the gallery shortly after the treadmill scene, I can't remember what transpired before then. Must have been too shaken up by the idea of running on heels and imposing all that force to the back bone.

One of my classmates suggested that the first scene of the man and woman was a metaphor of contemporary match-making services. And how unhappy it has led the lady, because she then stemmed off the roses, and her giving me the rose may have been her way of wishing me (I suppose, a representation of participants in the match-making context) luck. The blackening of the faces may have symbolized the gradual loss of identity, and the sit-ups and treadmill were all the effort and torture girls impose on themselves.

I thought the whole performance was about the environment. About shattered hopes and forgotten human race, and the acts of redemption.

Anyhow, anti-cool, I believe, wanted to etch a picture of red dress, heels and treadmill on everyone's mind. She succeeded.

She was going to talk about her art (which is called Reset Button) at 7pm the same day. Didn't stay for it. I am still curious about her own interpretation of Reset Button. Will I ever find out?

Art. I knew it was deep. But until yesterday, I have never felt its depth.

---

M1 Singapore Fringe Festival

Hello World!

2007-01-27T04:39:00.000+08:00

First off, I've set the visitor counter to zero, so if it says "1 visits since 27.." on the counter at the foot of the page, it will be the only grammatical mistake on that sentence for this ONE and ONLY time AND it means you're the very FIRST visitor! Tell me who you are.

OK, looks like my *old place* WILL indeed be infested by the fat blogspoti.

This shall be my new blog address from now on. The old blog will no longer be in use. Please update any links to the blog if it is not too troublesome, thank you, thank you. Am also interested in exchanging links, so if I've missed you somehow, do message/email me your addy.

The thumbnails on the sidebar are assigned randomly to the links - which are still working - from my old blog. So...if you find the characters unbefitting of you (like if you're slim, slender, young AND A GIRL and your thumbnail happens to be a dark, bearded, GIANT of a MAN...) don't swing that axe at my neck just yet!. Well, you can send over a 41px by 41px anime thumbnail of your liking and I'll put it up =)

Have nothing much to say, am just glad that the site is up otherwise, me being me, I would probably spend the whole weekend on it until it's done. I like the new design, it's white and *translucent*. Love, love it...