I'm worried about my IS for KI.
D:
I will randomly insert a song now.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Vietnam 2009
I'm back! (and have been back for a number of days now, but that doesn't stop me from surprising people with my sudden and timely arrival.)
I won't do a lengthly write-up of how Vietnam is like, because the New York Times does a far more thorough job at presenting Vietnam beyond this imagined agrarian idyll; instead I'll attempt to reconstruct my memories into a series of non-chronological vignettes or episodes which will attempt to dispel hazy and nebulous romanticized versions of a wonderful holiday overseas. (Also because I'm supposed to be doing a report to submit to the MOE, and I'm lazy like that.)
1.
The coach has been crawling along the highway out of Hanoi like an aging somnambulist; it excruciates me. The second time within an hour, I note with abject horror that I need to use the bathroom again while trapped and chugging on the road. Jia-En snickers and diagnoses me with having a bladder the size of a gumball, but this time I agree and picture myself facing a lifetime of urinary tract infections from the somewhat traumatizing experience of holding it in all the time. The bus maintains its steady crawl and this makes me want to scream at its insouciant attitude towards efficient transportation. At the same time, my limbs seem to throb and writhe with the suppressed anticipation of Release.
Suddenly, the coach stops at the shoulder of the road and someone leaps out with the guide. I am not alone - we form a sort of camaraderie in our brave agony. I run out of the bus too, and nearly die while weaving through the lines of speeding traffic. The assistant driver grabs my arm and we march across the road towards the gas station. Accustomed to seeing gleaming mini supermarkets residing within kiosks like these in bigger cities, I plod onward and feel crestfallen upon discovering the barren interior of the building - it was a small concrete cell, with rattan sofas and a yellowed wall calendar.
"The toilet's over there," the guide laughs and points at a small red sign proclaiming "W.C." with a streamlined arrow suggesting immediacy and the promise of a long-awaited relief. I scramble into a provincial outhouse with no roof, ignoring the poor sanitation and dubious smudges on the concrete divers, and emerge feeling gravity losing its pull on me and the colours seeping back into my field of vision.
The guide, the assistant driver and my comrade in all things urological have knowing grins on their faces when I return to the front of the gas station. A truck swerves by and blares its horn to assert its beastly presence, and our jackets are briefly caught in the gale that the truck manages to stir up in its wake. We hold on tightly to each other and trudge on towards the coach on the other side of the road. For a moment I feel like I can conquer anything.
2.
Nicholas, my roommate, climbs the winding flight of steep marble steps up to the 8th floor of Hong Ngoc Hotel in Hanoi, with me trailing behind and lugging a clunky lime green trolley bag. We are pissed because the elevators do not serve this wing of the hotel, and our luggage weighs at least 3 tonnes. On the last flight, I use my hands to grip the steps up in front while cursing the day I decided to bring this bag along, smartassedly thinking that I would benefit from the extra storage space.
20,000 burnt calories and a series of cool-down stretches later, at the peak of the claustrophobic stairwell, we open the door to our room and are severely underwhelmed. We have a mildly breathtaking view, but hardwood veneered benches and deathly cold marble flooring do not exactly glow with the promise of badly needed warmth. Sleep was desperately called for, and after settling down, we turn on the TV, watch the Large Hadron Collider being built on the Discovery Channel, and drift into sleep.
20 delicious minutes later, we are woken up by the sound of bells beckoning us sleepy teenagers to get our asses out of bed and down to the lobby, and begrudgingly climb down the stairs much like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The air outside is frosty and nimble motorcycles seem to nip at us from the stream of traffic. The bus takes forever to arrive and we ready ourselves for the first meal we'll be having in Vietnam.
3.
Andrea says that it is sad how the Vietnamese portray puppet kings - rulers with only de jure power and have no say in the dealings of the country. We are examining the concrete figures outside the tomb of King Khai Dinh in Hue, and notice how the features of the royal servants, cast in stone, are Europeanized. They have large eyes and pronounced nose bridges like the French, hinting that colonial presence is pervasive in this king's reign.
The guide looks excited to bring us here, and upon stepping into the chambers of the building, we immediately understand why. The first step into the building will land you in a high-ceilinged vestibule with marble flooring and polished walls adorned with complicated arabesques and oriental motifs, alongside a frame of blue china and gold detailing. Turning to your right, you will notice the sudden bright light from the doorway. There is magic upon entering the chamber: the walls open up to what appears like topiaries of delicately crafted porcelain towering above you. In the centre of the room lies an immense platform with a bronze statue of king, seated on a gleaming throne. On the ceiling, dragons dance among rolling clouds, and from this hangs a massive shelter as if suspended in mid-air. It appears embroidered with astoundingly intricate detailing, but it really is crafted out of ceramic, inspiring grandeur and pure decadence.
We walk around the place, stunned. The guide tells us that a complex labyrinth lies beneath the platform to protect the treasures stored within the grave. He chuckles, mentioning that the treasure will be here forever - whoever removes them from will cause the tomb to crumble, burying thieves alive with the king and his immense fortune. We are somewhat amused with the uncanny similarity to the ancient Egyptians, but take in the immense beauty as the walls around us fold into bejeweled sanctuaries immortalized in stone.
4.
We have two hours to ourselves to shop and have dinner on our last evening in Hanoi. At the foot of the cathedral towering over us, the teachers release us into the chaos of the city, and Zhi Wei, Andrea, Jan, Jia-En and I take to the streets with glee in our eyes and Vietnamese Dong spilling out of our wallets. The shopkeepers along the streets eye us like whalers looking out for their next catch. They shoot their harpoons and the girls are drawn to the shoe and bag stores. (Before that, however, Jan and Jia-En stole into a Parisian boulangerie for Zhi Wei's birthday cake.) I browse around, feigning disinterest lest an enterprising sale assistant pounces on any show of tourist vulnerability, but a Rasta-looking hobo bag undermines my charade and the shopkeeper points excitedly at it.
"It's nice, yes? Only seven dollars!" he cries enthusiastically. While the rest peruse scarves and foldable linen placemats, I think about my sister's penchant for quirky ethnic bags and hastily secure a deal. This continues for the next few stores, and the women in my family end up benefitting greatly from my shopping with the girls: I get bags for my grandmother, my mum and Esther. In-between shops, we cross the dark streets with pounding hearts and twitching fingers, waltzing with the mercurial light trails of Vespas and motorbikes with our shopping dangling from our white knuckles much like plump figs ripe for the picking.
Jan and Zhi Wei flit off to hunt for shoes, and emerge with heady enthusiasm and new heels. They dash across the roads hand-in-hand and prance towards shops with the thrill of the hunt. I stop to buy touristy tees, and then worry about getting to the pho place for dinner in time. Zhi Wei yells at me to lead the way. We head towards the lake and run halfway round its perimeter before running screaming through a busy intersection moments before the light turns green, eyes wide alert and faces deathly pale. We realise we are late and run along the uneven paths past shuttered shopfronts and curious locals. We stop at a pizza place to pick up dinner, and then run back in time to the hotel for the day's debriefing. On the elevator up and with a minute left to our presentation, Jia-En and I divide our content and we scramble into room 404 while trying to collect ourselves, and we celebrate Zhi Wei's birthday along with the little victories of the day in the suite upstairs.
5.
The train has a rhythm as it chugs in the darkness of the Vietnamese countryside at night, and I am snacking on lip-puckering vinegar and salt Kettle Chips with the rest in a cramp little sleeping cabin. We are thinking of ghetto names for our alter-egos in Da Hood, and so far we have named Jia-En "Da Big Foof". She is a hairdresser with a heart of gold but with history burdened by manslaughter - she accidently killed her friend during a slumber party pillow fight in the early eighties. Thereafter, we name Zhi Wei "Z-Wei" - she's the pimp who happens to know all our secrets.
We play a round of Old Maid and a never-ending game of Cheat. Being lousy at card games, I decide to sit out of this and snooze for a bit. The train moves through a black void, it warps the space time continuum, forages into territories that never existed, carves out new tracks, breaks free from material decay — I feel the wind cool in my face, and am unsure about borrowing Zhi Wei's miracle moisturizing cream to prevent drying out my skin. We chug along in this steel womb and hours later I am rocked to sleep.
(Hate to break the scene, but I had to get up three times at night because I have a bladder the size of a gum ball.)
I won't do a lengthly write-up of how Vietnam is like, because the New York Times does a far more thorough job at presenting Vietnam beyond this imagined agrarian idyll; instead I'll attempt to reconstruct my memories into a series of non-chronological vignettes or episodes which will attempt to dispel hazy and nebulous romanticized versions of a wonderful holiday overseas. (Also because I'm supposed to be doing a report to submit to the MOE, and I'm lazy like that.)
1.
The coach has been crawling along the highway out of Hanoi like an aging somnambulist; it excruciates me. The second time within an hour, I note with abject horror that I need to use the bathroom again while trapped and chugging on the road. Jia-En snickers and diagnoses me with having a bladder the size of a gumball, but this time I agree and picture myself facing a lifetime of urinary tract infections from the somewhat traumatizing experience of holding it in all the time. The bus maintains its steady crawl and this makes me want to scream at its insouciant attitude towards efficient transportation. At the same time, my limbs seem to throb and writhe with the suppressed anticipation of Release.
Suddenly, the coach stops at the shoulder of the road and someone leaps out with the guide. I am not alone - we form a sort of camaraderie in our brave agony. I run out of the bus too, and nearly die while weaving through the lines of speeding traffic. The assistant driver grabs my arm and we march across the road towards the gas station. Accustomed to seeing gleaming mini supermarkets residing within kiosks like these in bigger cities, I plod onward and feel crestfallen upon discovering the barren interior of the building - it was a small concrete cell, with rattan sofas and a yellowed wall calendar.
"The toilet's over there," the guide laughs and points at a small red sign proclaiming "W.C." with a streamlined arrow suggesting immediacy and the promise of a long-awaited relief. I scramble into a provincial outhouse with no roof, ignoring the poor sanitation and dubious smudges on the concrete divers, and emerge feeling gravity losing its pull on me and the colours seeping back into my field of vision.
The guide, the assistant driver and my comrade in all things urological have knowing grins on their faces when I return to the front of the gas station. A truck swerves by and blares its horn to assert its beastly presence, and our jackets are briefly caught in the gale that the truck manages to stir up in its wake. We hold on tightly to each other and trudge on towards the coach on the other side of the road. For a moment I feel like I can conquer anything.
2.
Nicholas, my roommate, climbs the winding flight of steep marble steps up to the 8th floor of Hong Ngoc Hotel in Hanoi, with me trailing behind and lugging a clunky lime green trolley bag. We are pissed because the elevators do not serve this wing of the hotel, and our luggage weighs at least 3 tonnes. On the last flight, I use my hands to grip the steps up in front while cursing the day I decided to bring this bag along, smartassedly thinking that I would benefit from the extra storage space.
20,000 burnt calories and a series of cool-down stretches later, at the peak of the claustrophobic stairwell, we open the door to our room and are severely underwhelmed. We have a mildly breathtaking view, but hardwood veneered benches and deathly cold marble flooring do not exactly glow with the promise of badly needed warmth. Sleep was desperately called for, and after settling down, we turn on the TV, watch the Large Hadron Collider being built on the Discovery Channel, and drift into sleep.
20 delicious minutes later, we are woken up by the sound of bells beckoning us sleepy teenagers to get our asses out of bed and down to the lobby, and begrudgingly climb down the stairs much like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The air outside is frosty and nimble motorcycles seem to nip at us from the stream of traffic. The bus takes forever to arrive and we ready ourselves for the first meal we'll be having in Vietnam.
3.
Andrea says that it is sad how the Vietnamese portray puppet kings - rulers with only de jure power and have no say in the dealings of the country. We are examining the concrete figures outside the tomb of King Khai Dinh in Hue, and notice how the features of the royal servants, cast in stone, are Europeanized. They have large eyes and pronounced nose bridges like the French, hinting that colonial presence is pervasive in this king's reign.
The guide looks excited to bring us here, and upon stepping into the chambers of the building, we immediately understand why. The first step into the building will land you in a high-ceilinged vestibule with marble flooring and polished walls adorned with complicated arabesques and oriental motifs, alongside a frame of blue china and gold detailing. Turning to your right, you will notice the sudden bright light from the doorway. There is magic upon entering the chamber: the walls open up to what appears like topiaries of delicately crafted porcelain towering above you. In the centre of the room lies an immense platform with a bronze statue of king, seated on a gleaming throne. On the ceiling, dragons dance among rolling clouds, and from this hangs a massive shelter as if suspended in mid-air. It appears embroidered with astoundingly intricate detailing, but it really is crafted out of ceramic, inspiring grandeur and pure decadence.
We walk around the place, stunned. The guide tells us that a complex labyrinth lies beneath the platform to protect the treasures stored within the grave. He chuckles, mentioning that the treasure will be here forever - whoever removes them from will cause the tomb to crumble, burying thieves alive with the king and his immense fortune. We are somewhat amused with the uncanny similarity to the ancient Egyptians, but take in the immense beauty as the walls around us fold into bejeweled sanctuaries immortalized in stone.
4.
We have two hours to ourselves to shop and have dinner on our last evening in Hanoi. At the foot of the cathedral towering over us, the teachers release us into the chaos of the city, and Zhi Wei, Andrea, Jan, Jia-En and I take to the streets with glee in our eyes and Vietnamese Dong spilling out of our wallets. The shopkeepers along the streets eye us like whalers looking out for their next catch. They shoot their harpoons and the girls are drawn to the shoe and bag stores. (Before that, however, Jan and Jia-En stole into a Parisian boulangerie for Zhi Wei's birthday cake.) I browse around, feigning disinterest lest an enterprising sale assistant pounces on any show of tourist vulnerability, but a Rasta-looking hobo bag undermines my charade and the shopkeeper points excitedly at it.
"It's nice, yes? Only seven dollars!" he cries enthusiastically. While the rest peruse scarves and foldable linen placemats, I think about my sister's penchant for quirky ethnic bags and hastily secure a deal. This continues for the next few stores, and the women in my family end up benefitting greatly from my shopping with the girls: I get bags for my grandmother, my mum and Esther. In-between shops, we cross the dark streets with pounding hearts and twitching fingers, waltzing with the mercurial light trails of Vespas and motorbikes with our shopping dangling from our white knuckles much like plump figs ripe for the picking.
Jan and Zhi Wei flit off to hunt for shoes, and emerge with heady enthusiasm and new heels. They dash across the roads hand-in-hand and prance towards shops with the thrill of the hunt. I stop to buy touristy tees, and then worry about getting to the pho place for dinner in time. Zhi Wei yells at me to lead the way. We head towards the lake and run halfway round its perimeter before running screaming through a busy intersection moments before the light turns green, eyes wide alert and faces deathly pale. We realise we are late and run along the uneven paths past shuttered shopfronts and curious locals. We stop at a pizza place to pick up dinner, and then run back in time to the hotel for the day's debriefing. On the elevator up and with a minute left to our presentation, Jia-En and I divide our content and we scramble into room 404 while trying to collect ourselves, and we celebrate Zhi Wei's birthday along with the little victories of the day in the suite upstairs.
5.
The train has a rhythm as it chugs in the darkness of the Vietnamese countryside at night, and I am snacking on lip-puckering vinegar and salt Kettle Chips with the rest in a cramp little sleeping cabin. We are thinking of ghetto names for our alter-egos in Da Hood, and so far we have named Jia-En "Da Big Foof". She is a hairdresser with a heart of gold but with history burdened by manslaughter - she accidently killed her friend during a slumber party pillow fight in the early eighties. Thereafter, we name Zhi Wei "Z-Wei" - she's the pimp who happens to know all our secrets.
We play a round of Old Maid and a never-ending game of Cheat. Being lousy at card games, I decide to sit out of this and snooze for a bit. The train moves through a black void, it warps the space time continuum, forages into territories that never existed, carves out new tracks, breaks free from material decay — I feel the wind cool in my face, and am unsure about borrowing Zhi Wei's miracle moisturizing cream to prevent drying out my skin. We chug along in this steel womb and hours later I am rocked to sleep.
(Hate to break the scene, but I had to get up three times at night because I have a bladder the size of a gum ball.)
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
ellipses mania
I walked past my sister's toiletries bag sitting next to my toiletries bag and felt kind of sad, for both of them are headed to different places and the last time they've been together was a million gagillion years ago. :(
Off to familiarize myself with a millennia of Vietnamese history now, starting with the immortal fairy and her tryst with the dragon lord. It's gonna be a long night...
Off to familiarize myself with a millennia of Vietnamese history now, starting with the immortal fairy and her tryst with the dragon lord. It's gonna be a long night...
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
a crack on the head is what you get for asking
I've woken up out of a nap into a nightmare, but then again it's difficult to articulate existential crises.
So I spent the day writing the written report for our economics project and somewhere in between snacking on a Whopper (shame on me, yes I know) and having a Tendergrill for lunch, I fell into a trancelike state amid microeconomics, and Rachelle and Angeline had to fan me back to consciousness every 5 minutes. It was like childbirth.
Anyway, it has dawned on me that I'm supposed to be at the airport in 36 hours' time and I am not yet done with the money changer and my clothes still refuse to pack themselves into my luggage despite my yelling into the wardrobe for some discipline 'round here. Vietnam, here I come – and may I remember to bring 3 ponchos, 2 bags of gummy candy and a pepper spray.
If you want anything specific, drop me a tag/sms and I might be able to procure it for you!
So I spent the day writing the written report for our economics project and somewhere in between snacking on a Whopper (shame on me, yes I know) and having a Tendergrill for lunch, I fell into a trancelike state amid microeconomics, and Rachelle and Angeline had to fan me back to consciousness every 5 minutes. It was like childbirth.
Anyway, it has dawned on me that I'm supposed to be at the airport in 36 hours' time and I am not yet done with the money changer and my clothes still refuse to pack themselves into my luggage despite my yelling into the wardrobe for some discipline 'round here. Vietnam, here I come – and may I remember to bring 3 ponchos, 2 bags of gummy candy and a pepper spray.
If you want anything specific, drop me a tag/sms and I might be able to procure it for you!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
it's also fine to feel finite
I admit: I end up posting YouTube videos when I can't think of anything else to write. The only thing on my mind now is how I find Gossip Girl hilariously melodramatic but horrifyingly addictive. I blame Esther for watching it next to my workstation (now covered in OP things).
Oral Presentation will take place tomorrow, and then I'm disowning this buttcrack of a subject! Hasta la vista, hours wasted questioning oneself of linguistic abilities! In an ironic twist, Soag signed off his last (meandering and unfunny) email with a plea to never forget him. Like, Dude, I will, but for all the wrong reasons. *guffaw* Like I said, good riddance to bad pedagogy. *self-appraising guffaw*
Now, onward to the 12 circles of IS hell and Fun In Vietnam (Not) for the rest of the holidays. Did I mention that we have three group projects to do? And a zillion things to read? And a huge repertoire to prepare for next year's Poland trip? Leading my own life is just a side-project when I'm not shackled to the Majestic Green Mushrooms of Bedok.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Year of The Weekend
Friday:
Choir dinner was a blast! Can't wait for the next one. *grins*
Saturday:
Spent the morning playing Café World *shame* and then left to meet the two SCs! They were recovering from the conducting workshop in the morning. However, the Vienna Boys Choir concert at the Esplanade was great fun! We were ushered personally to the VIP box by the usher and Olivia encountered something potentially life-altering along the way.
Sunday:
Ate sushi for lunch and made a creamy spaghetti al pesto for dinner. Happy that I don't have papers tomorrow! :D
I realised that I'm living for the weekends.
Choir dinner was a blast! Can't wait for the next one. *grins*
Saturday:
Spent the morning playing Café World *shame* and then left to meet the two SCs! They were recovering from the conducting workshop in the morning. However, the Vienna Boys Choir concert at the Esplanade was great fun! We were ushered personally to the VIP box by the usher and Olivia encountered something potentially life-altering along the way.
Sunday:
Ate sushi for lunch and made a creamy spaghetti al pesto for dinner. Happy that I don't have papers tomorrow! :D
I realised that I'm living for the weekends.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
An exercise in opening up my auditory capabilities
Hi: update of my life thus far.
Walked out of the history lecture feeling happy and sad all at once. People around me are spontaneously breaking down and losing their cool, but this is not due to the process of "finding yourself" as perpetrated by indie movies and road tripping hipster aesthetes. (Although I have to get into Beat and On the Road mode etc. etc.) and I'm rambling again oh no I write bad history essays.
Michesaur and Sepia Guy have cleverly come up with Uber Funky IS as the title for next year's IS madness, which I think is hilarious and cool.
Jamie is mad at me for not staying back till 5 PM in Bedok with her! :O
B for I&R. I need to "beef up some of my points". Sorry man I'm selectively vegetarian.
I apologize on behalf of all men for everything that has happened.
Jia-En: Are you signing up for Chingay? (I think I misheard what she said.)
I think I'll stay back in school. I have my laptop, my music, the sims 3 and a renewed sense of purpose (not).
Death surrounds me.
The fan in the arts hub makes a funny whirring noise. (Actually, really it isn't funny. It's just loud and annoying, but has since blended into the environment.)
Re: the play, I am pretty screwed in my lack of
Oh Xinmin people are here in TJ! Hi guys!
Walked out of the history lecture feeling happy and sad all at once. People around me are spontaneously breaking down and losing their cool, but this is not due to the process of "finding yourself" as perpetrated by indie movies and road tripping hipster aesthetes. (Although I have to get into Beat and On the Road mode etc. etc.) and I'm rambling again oh no I write bad history essays.
Michesaur and Sepia Guy have cleverly come up with Uber Funky IS as the title for next year's IS madness, which I think is hilarious and cool.
Jamie is mad at me for not staying back till 5 PM in Bedok with her! :O
B for I&R. I need to "beef up some of my points". Sorry man I'm selectively vegetarian.
I apologize on behalf of all men for everything that has happened.
Jia-En: Are you signing up for Chingay? (I think I misheard what she said.)
I think I'll stay back in school. I have my laptop, my music, the sims 3 and a renewed sense of purpose (not).
Death surrounds me.
The fan in the arts hub makes a funny whirring noise. (Actually, really it isn't funny. It's just loud and annoying, but has since blended into the environment.)
Re: the play, I am pretty screwed in my lack of
Oh Xinmin people are here in TJ! Hi guys!
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