Shanghai Crib

Ooh, so I just got off the phone with Kow Foo, who had spoken to his friend in Shanghai. At any rate I don't get to rent a room in their swanky unoccupied pad in central Shanghai, but that friend (thank you, thank you, whoever you are) with all his leisurely time went to check out ACLS and the surrounding area, and even scooped out some potential places for me!

- The 2000RMB one, which is about 10 minutes' walk from ACLS, in a slightly older quarter, a slightly older building
- The 2500RMB one which is just about completing renovation, a decent 6-7 minutes from ACLS
- The 2200RMB one, relatively new, and RIGHT NEXT TO the academy!
- And apparently another one in the nearby JingAn expat area, also nearly completing renovation.

They're are the open-concept single-person type units, and I guess decent places to live in for 6 months. We're gonna check it out some more, but at any rate I'm kinda grinning at the possibility of waking up just 5 minutes before class, pulling on my clothes and dashing next door! Heh, lazy me. Things are looking a little more exciting now, what with firming up my visa and travel plans.

So initially I was planning to fly on the 8th, maybe take the 9am flight with Auntie Ivy's son Jason who's working there. He'll be back for CNY, and it'll be nice to have someone to travel to SH with, who can at least help me a little in the airport. The original plan was to check into a youth hostel for a few nights and hunt around for suitable accommodation with the estate agents in the area. But then Mum's reminded me that Poh Poh's death anniversary falls on the 17th day after CNY, which for this year is the 12th of February. Might decide to fly late 12th or early 13th instead, depending on what flight with what airlines are available.

(Be warned, from here onwards the post changes tone and direction considerably, which is not all surprising since I wrote this in two parts. Feel free to skim over the graphic, grandmother-story descriptions and jump from introduction to conclusion.)

So for this new year, it'll be a new country, a new city, a new place to call my temporary home. I wonder now, how things will look like in a mere few weeks' time; 6 months from now, I will remember how I felt this moment, and ask myself whether it was as I expected, and what things I would do differently, if I could do it all over again.

6 months ago, when, for the final time (for now), I stepped off the plane from England, into the enveloping familiarity of my blue-brown room, the knowledge that I will not budge from this place for a while was like a sigh of relief and finality. That time, before I made the decision to uproot yet again, I finally did something that was the culmination of a 10-year habit.

Without fail, everytime I said goodbye to a place I had lived in, I would sit upright in the middle of the bed, close my eyes, and slowly visualise the peculiar nooks and crannies of the space I had to call Home for a while. That night 6 months ago, I sat cross-legged on my bed and closed my eyes in that darkened bedroom, and slowly brought to the surface of my mind those visualisations I'd etched deep in my memories. Minutely savouring the countours, objects and sensations of those spaces, it felt as if I was really there again, inhabiting that place, that time, that younger self.

First I visited my 11-year-old self, some 10 years ago. My divan bed had a worn cotton quilt with a patchwork of dolphins leaping up from the sea. The wall immediately to the right had a cantilevered double bookshelf, the upper level stacked with books that I'd somewhat outgrown. Behind was a raised cabinet storing various soft toys that took their turns on the bed, and in front was a sliding-door double wardrobe with a recessed, fluted pattern. The desk ran parallel on the left, filling up half the length of the room, its large window overlooking the fountains, bridge, and covered walkway. The floor was of the typical brown parquet you'd find in these mid-range condominiums. Even with a small oscillating fan on the wall, the afternoon heat usually drove me to the greater shade of the dining room to do the homework, but evenings were spent sprawled on the bed, zooming through my Enid Blyton and early fantasy books, and later on the rhythmic croaking of bullfrogs lulled me to sleep.

Next it was that chilly single bed in my quite-bare room in Gardenville, Singapore. A loan from the real estate agency until we bought our furnishings, that rented bed was the only item of furniture in the largest bedroom I'd had until then. Essentially a generous-sized rectangle with amazingly high ceilings, built-in airconditioning, a big wardrobe along one end, the room had floor-to-ceiling length glass windows with the most fantastic view over the lushly forested gardens of the Shangri-La Hotel. That first night, I switched off the lights and sat awake in bed for a long while, drinking in the softly spilling light from the moon and the trees that seemed to be waving a leafy welcome. It was also the first time I'd attempted to pull on a large duvet cover over my new goose-down duvet - needless to say I got tangled up inside the sheets!

That room, that apartment, was wonderful, and I absolutely loved it. Shortly later, I got a lovely, high loft bed from Ikea, a queen-sized manifestation of every child's dream with a workstation and shelves underneath, and most importantly, a real 6-foot ladder to climb into bed with. As expected, whatever books we had brought over from Malaysia lined the shelves; a framed photo of Mum with an infant me hung on the wall, and I even had a "chicken carpet" underneath my very own swivel chair. Luxury indeed, and Mum's complaints whenever she had to climb up to change the sheets was somewhat tempered by the fact that it was ridiculously easy to clean under the bed, for once.

Alas, my enjoyment of that bed and room didn't last terribly long, and it was onto a vastly different scene when I came to England at 14 years. Imagine how an only child feels, when you've always had a room of your own, and the only time you've had to share was with your nanny/maid during toddler-hood, upon realising you've somehow got to survive in a old English house and share the room with 3 other girls! But Wells saw some fun times, some great memories that I wouldn't replace with anything in the world. As I'd arrived there first, I got to take my pick of the 4 study-cum-bed units and of course chose one by the window and heater. The unit was one of those peculiar things that is hard to picture unless you've seen them before. the bottom layer consists of an incredibly deep desk, the inner half of which is covered lengthwise by a single bed about 2 feet above. To the right is a deep, broad drawer, and underneath a cupboard with 2 shelves. Below the desk is a pair of lockable doors which led to the empty space underneath the inner half of the bed. Designed for boarders to store all their belongings in-between terms, that back storage portion was actually open, but there wasn't much fear of vandalism or theft as the heavy units were pushed up against the wall. To the side there were 3 cubby holes where we would put our shoes, and a separate wardrobe for each of us. Boarders were allowed to stick things over any surface we chose, as long as it wasn't offensive or in the way of the cleaners. In my year, the wall shared between Emma and me were plastered with various posters, magazine cut-outs and print-outs of the Lord of the Rings movie and especially Elijah Wood (Emma's) and Orlando Bloom (mine). Eleanor had a large poster listing the reasons why a man was better than a dog, and Emily had one of those "Chocoholic" posters with a dancing purple berry in the middle. Along the headboard around the bed I'd stuck various cards from family and friends, Claire's sketch of a feisty Shetland pony (supposedly me), a newspaper clipping of an exposed Afghan woman's face in a sea of veiled heads, another clipping of a Picasso sketch, and a shiny red-and-gold ang pao. Funny, the things one can recall across the years.

Year 11 saw me sharing a much smaller room with Eleanor. Again, I chose the bed nearest to the window and heater, coincidentally directly above my bed from the year before. This was one of the prized dorms everybody fought to be allocated to, for it had its own sink (a luxury so you didn't have to stand in the cold bathroom brushing your teeth), and a mirrored alcove with its own built-in bench seat, in which generations of Plumptre girls would hide the damning evidence of outlawed vaguely-alcoholic drinks sneaked into the boarding house in soft drink bottles. Ah, the shenanigans of 16-year-old girls!

In these two years I grew resilient to the winter cold of the English countryside that is so different from the cold of airconditioning - the sensation of slipping from warm silk bathrobes and fluffy ducky slipppers into freezing cold sheets, and later on learning to run the hot air of a hairdryer underneath beforehand. Initially accustomed to the deep, complete silence and darkness of my Singapore room, I learnt to fall asleep to the comforting sound of occasional cars zooming along Liberty Road, their headlights through the thin curtains throwing slanted rays across the cracked plaster ceilings.

Even now, I still miss the gnarled character of that old English house, that inimitable sensory experience of patchy paintwork, the not-quite-straight lines, those chilly drafts sneaking through windows that cannot or will not close properly, and the clear, crisp sunlight streaming through old rippled glass panes. Sherborne's character was never quite in the same vein of quaint oldness.

Lower Six in Sherborne saw me bundled into Wingfield House, packed into a longgggggg, partitioned room with 5 other 6 Formers on the 3rd storey. My "room" was positioned to the far right of the dorm, directly facing the entrance. Furnished with a basic 3-ft bed with drawers underneath, wardrobe, tiiiiny study desk, our cubicles didn't have proper doors, only some mottled green-blue curtains that barely stretched the length of the entrance, and the partitions ended some 4-5 feet short of the ceiling - all this contributing to the lack of aural insulation, and a thin veneer of physical privacy. Luckily enough, my corner lot provided me with a nice bay window that overlooked the tennis courts and main school building.

My neighbours were, in order of proximity, Tamara, Cindy (Ting), Cherrie, and Lizzie, the only British girl in our dorm. Tamara and I, and occasionally Cindy, used to curl up in the toasty laundry room just behind our dorm, especially when winter gave its all. I missed the frequency of that companionship when I was made Vice Head of House, and subsequently Head of House later in the year, and given a room all to myself on the top floor. Nevertheless, that proper room gave me the privacy I've learnt to treasure, a place that was warmer and cosier that anybody else had the fortune to have, and my favourite bit of English houses: slanted ceilings with exposed rafters.

All the Upper 6 moved into Mulliner House for our final year, some 70-odd stressed, playful, loud, moody, vain, hormone-charged females under one roof. Again, my real estate luck held up, and I absolutely loved the single room I was given on the top floor, along the quietest corridor in the whole building, with the least-visited toilet, and overlooking one of the more tranquil spots of the school grounds. Everything about the furnishings they gave us was simply... generous. From the 3 1/2 foot bed, the large wardrobe and ample drawers, the full-length mirror (always very important), to the broad and deep desk and wide window, there was just so much space in Mulliner. It was, very simply, the best place anyone could be in, for having the optimum personal space for studying or just simply sleeping through a rainy winter afternoon, snuggled under an airy, warm duvet, unfinished knitting on the table and some music playing softly in the background.

My remembrance of Derby House, Whitworth Park, during my first year in Manchester is tinted by a strong wash of the colour orange and a stomach-churning waft of cooking oil. Having chosen one of the cheapest accommodation Halls due to its proximity to the business school, I had the misfortune of being placed into the most dilapidated of the housing blocks, the one that was next-in-line for rennovation and refurbishment. Though comely enough from afar, the make-up of Whitworth Park was a throwback to the architecture of the dread '70s, and Derby House was the worst of the lot. My room was perhaps the tiniest I ever had the misfortune to stay in, the rickety furniture and mottled orange curtains long deserving of the nearest garbage heap, the insulation and heating a laughable affair, and worst of all, situated above the window was the opening of the kitchen extraction pipe. I shall not bore you all with detailed descriptions of the stench, not commiserate at length on the narrow and so-thin-you-can-feel-the-springs mattress among other things, but suffice to say, my final visualisation of the place was not the best.

Thankfully, the final two years of my tertiary education saw me considerably upgrading my housing conditions, taking the D room in the H block of Wilmslow Park, originally intended as Manchester's poshest student accommodation. The carpet was noticeably thicker, the carpentry far superior in design and build.. well, everything was just miles better. But more importantly, the super twin bed saw me finally making my transition from the 3-foot bed of Derby House back to the original Asian (ie. larger than Western) Queen size of the bed at home. My room had more storage space than a student could wish for: besides and above the bed frame, cubby holes behind the door, a decent-sized wardrobe, small coffee table, bookshelf on the wall, standalone 3-tiered bookcase, drawers below the desk, a shelf and ledge inside the bathroom. The desk ran the breadth of the room, giving plenty of space to be messy, and the easy access to the electric heater somewhat made up for the relatively smaller size of the restricted window.

It was a great place, with great times. Cook-out sessions in the decent-sized kitchen, packed pot-luck parties, some intense society meetings, crazy drunken poker/chor dai di matches. Intimate one-to-one talks, heated discussions and hilarious imitations, and studying, sleeping, frantic essaying. The drama of 2 years played out to a striking backdrop of another hundred students doing the same things, across an airy, quadrangle courtyard.

And now it's a complete circle, and I'm back in my room, in a space that is finally mine, in a home that is truly our own. In my darkened room, cross-legged on the bed, I skim across remnants of the past, through times tumultuous and calm, and wonder what new adventures will come about soon enough.

Do you ever get nostalgic for the places you've lived in before? Do you, like me, try to preserve something of that familiar, illusive place within your memories, an essence of those spaces you breathed life into that can never be captured in a photograph?

One Month To Go

And thus begins the final month countdown to take-off day. Just another one of those days, when, after some rest and respite in No.795, I take that 45 minute drive to KLIA, check in, pop my bags on the carousel, and say my goodbyes all over again. After 7 years of living away, each one with at least one or two of those days, it's gonna be an over-familiar feeling, tinged with a hint of alien-ness, and a different flavour of trepidation this time around.

It will be a little strange, this imminent journey. I've flown off so many times in that north-east direction, bisecting the globe diagonally through the Andaman spice route, over India's booming cities of Hyderabad and Ahmadabad, across the tumultuous Middle-Eastern lands of Pakistan, Afghanistan and Iran, onto the blooming cultures of Europe, and then finally landing on that vaguely triangular-shaped island. The place that started it all, a land of bangers and mash, custard and crumble, the rhubarb and Yorkshire puddings that saw me through my formative years on a smug, rotund belly.

It's been rather nostalgic recently, picturing myself again in Manchester, perhaps braving the unusually biting winter cold with an army of jumpers, fleeces and my dad's infamous sheepskin underwear. (No, not literally!) Malaysia's monsoon this year has been on the chilly side, albeit nothing like South/North-East England this year. In that sense, I am looking forward to spending the last part of this winter in a different country, a different place. They say that Shanghai's winter isn't rationally that cold, but the omnipresent chilling wetness that spreads to your bones makes it as formidable a winter city as any.

Despite feeling relatively gung-ho about the impending winter, I'll easily admit that I'm a little scared of this new adventure I'm plunging head-first into. Just a little. Because for me, that small sink-hole of fear and foreboding in the pit of your stomach that materialises with the looming take-off, could be, more often than not, attributed to a guilty lack of preparations for forthcoming exams. This time, essays and exams are (for now) a distant thing of the past, but venturing into the unknown future alone is still somewhat daunting.

Suddenly, it's like I'm going away to boarding school again for the first time, just that I don't have my parents beside me, don't know anyone there, coming to grips with an unfamiliar language, and the school of 600 is now a swirling, pulsing city 10 times the size and density of KL. I'm buoyed up with the same irrepressible confidence that my 14-year-old self had, that by hook or by crook, I will get through it all, and have a jolly good time to boot. Coming along in the luggage are the same niggling doubts from 7-plus years ago: what if I don't fit in, what if I can't cope, what if I've pushed my extraordinary luck too far and something really bad happens this time around...?

During countless occasions when that sickening, sinking feeling of nerves made a timely appearance for my entrance on-stage, I'd stride out on the high of the adrenalin rush and the audience's adulation, and deliver one heck of a performance. It's like swinging your way across mountain tops, suspended 100 feet off the ground with no visible means of support. High time to reclaim my place out there. Stay tuned for one helluva ride.


p.s. How d'ya like the new bloggy template for the new year?

Endings

With at least half the world ending 2008 on a decidedly low note, replete with dollops of bitching on and on how crap their year was, and the uncomfortably gloomy tidings of the year to come, I decide to - surprise! - blog about things decidedly less Gormenghast-esque for the first post of the new year.

Hello 2009!

So dad and I have been gearing up for our amazing event to start the year - a surprise 30th wedding anniversary for my mum! (Goes without saying that I'll be publishing this blog post a few days' later.) It's been a pretty busy, stressed couple of weeks, us having to plan and tiptoe around her all the while having secret conferences and making phonecalls/decisions when we're out of the house. It really doesn't help that she's a stay-at-home person, and the house is single-storeyed and relatively small... Anyway more about our secret bash later.

I guess with this new year, it's a timely reminder for me to come out of my hibernation-reclusive break. What with my feet nearly healed from the operation (what operation, you say? Just ask.) and the event-organsing nearly done, I don't quite have much excuse any longer to remain in my Hermitage. With my departure for Shanghai looming imminently in a month's time, it's really time to finally get off my butt and out there again. No new year's resolutions, as usual. Perhaps reviving this blog would be good, a sort of chronicle of my Shanghai adventures, but then again, I won't commit to more than 1 or 2 posts a week. Max. Can't be spending much time writing on here, when so much needs to be sorted and done, can I? Just writing from time to time will get them brain juices flowing again, a prelude to all the mental labouring I'll have to do once the Mandarin lessons begin. So here's to an exhilarating year off-the-beaten track, with plenty of opportunities to grab, places to see, and people to love!

Eurotrip sneak-peek

Hiya, just a quick update before I lose my complimentary WiFi.

Been a hectic month since exams finished end of May. Tension of results, the relief of knowing, the stress of planning the logistics of a colossal EuroTrip, "ng seh duk-ness" of leaving UK after 7 colourful years, the dratted weather! Mum & Dad both arrived in Manchester safely, 2 weeks within each other. 4 nice days around Manc city for the last time, though Dad was a little ill and jet-lagged. Then it was off to Paris for 6 days - crammed into our tinytiny apartment somewhere central; food was great, the city was lovely but perhaps a little overrated? After that, 2 days' break before zooming off again. In Budapest now, our last night out of 4, and the end of the first leg of our erm.. Imperial Habsburg trail. On to Bratislava by train tomorrow after lunch, for 2 days, then Vienna and Prague for 4. To be honest, slightly travelled-out at this point, because our 2 trips were so close to each other, but nevertheless, on we go!

A handful of sneak-preview pics before it's off to bed.


And hungry in Hungary mmhmm...

Dust

It's most often at the deepest hours of the night, when Chaos triumphs over Law, enabling creativity to turn mundanity upside down, when the darkest thoughts swirl around me, threatening to sweep me away like an uprooted sapling, that I turn to writing in an effort to calm the frenzied waves.

Apart from the obvious creative gratification, there is a certain pleasing utility in churning out word after planned word, the sensation that by focusing on typing letters on a keyboard, a disordered mind is straightened into neat rows of sentences and thoughts. It's almost like that scene in Mushishi, when miles and miles of written text escape from the supernatural bondage of their scrolls, a seething inky mass across all surfaces in the room, and Tanyu grabs her special chopsticks and expertly proceeds to stick the lines of words back onto the page in the order that they belong.

See? Feeling a great deal calmer already.

So, why the ruminating around at 3-something this morning? In one sentence, the end of childhood, the beginning of adulthood and assuming the responsibilities attached to it, and trying to tackle head-on the tough decisions to come.

I worry about how I've done in these last few exams of my university days. I worry about how this one wasted year is sending difficult ripples through my future years. I worry that the decision not to redo 3rd Year was the wrong one after all. Most of all, I worry that I'll never have the strength to get better and stand on my own feet again.

I think I can pinpoint the beginning of this rapid downward spiral - when all these years I've managed to cope - to that moment last July when our exam results were released on the intranet. As expected, I did pretty all right with middling grades that were hovering around the 60 mark, give or take a couple. Except for one shocker of a grade. 39.66 for the 'Marketing: Foundations and Applications' exam. Luckily that 20-credit module was saved by the essay which made up the remaining 50%, for which I'd gotten 76%.

Thing is, it's not as if I'd never failed a paper in my life before. Just the previous August I had to resit for 3 Year 1 papers, but those were in Quantitative Methods and Finance, and it's no secret that numbers ain't my selling point. But this time around, I failed in Marketing. Of all subjects, one that I enjoyed and was so sure I was good in. It's one thing to do poorly in something you have no talent in or don't even like doing, and a completely different issue to fail something you thought was a breeze. It wreaks havoc on your confidence. And for someone who always got away with just intelligence and marginal hard work to get good grades, the crumbling on this last bastion shook my faith in myself to the core. So badly that it's taken me 9 months to admit this on my blog.

In the end, I've failed to build a solid foundation of tertiary education for my future career to stand on. With so much competition in getting a job, one way of salvaging my marketability is to get a further qualification. But is further study what I really need? Then there's the IGS which has been extended to 2 years, and at the same time a change in British immigration policy. It's the big boys that can afford to pay £1,000 to get onto the register to legally issue certificates for foreign employees to obtain work visas, but they are the ones with the highest degree class requirements. Smaller firms are more likely to take me in, but can't afford it. On the one hand, there is a desire to try and live out the next year in the UK solely on my own endeavours, prove to myself that I can handle things on my own, make something of myself without relying on others. It's partly the urge to properly 'fly the nest' all the way through, the pride in saying I was fully independent from my parents even for a short while, and partly the need to reestablish my own esteem by doing so. But already we've seen 55,000 jobs lost in the UK financial sector (of which insurance is part of) due to the credit crunch, and at the same time I've completely lost the confidence to go into marketing. Then there's that conflicting pull of home - that I still call Malaysia "home" means that there's still something there that I can't find anywhere else. It's pretty probably that home is the only place where I can get better quickly and fully, plus the added benefit of being able to *ahem* "pull strings" to get a decent first job, but will that then deny me the career advantage of first gaining work experience in the UK? Decisions were easier to make when you were still a kid.

So many choices, only one lifetime to live it all. It's finally time to go out into society as an individual, not an extension of my peer group, nor a continuation of my parents' hopes, but just as me.

I guess it is futile to resist change - each of us lives in an continuous state of limbo throughout our lives. We only reach the state of completion when there is nothing more to see, to do and to learn, when the journey ends and we die. The ancient Greeks had this saying, "Never call a man happy until he is dead." Somewhat cynical, but so very true. Seeing that life is unpredictable from one moment to the next, we earn the right to call ourselves something only when the possibility of change ceases to exist, that is, when we are no longer living.

And though the darkest period of night allows luxurious time for silent contemplation, it is in the brightening of day that one gains renewed strength to take charge of the exhilarating changes from dawn to dusk.

Dawn's dreams are done.
From misty slumber half-born sprites
spring towards the fingering light
tumbling, cavorting
golden ether forming,
caressing contours
and raising clamours,
melting into the blaze of day.

Write to me a letter each day
Be sure you don't neglect
To pour libations, bless and pray
Or else you shall regret.

Traversing waters, skies, furlongs
My sailor 'cross the sea.
Lonely Odysseus dreams and longs
For land; Penelope.

Enduring long days, months, swift years,
With spindle, broom and comb.
I'll wait with patience just to hear
Your voice saying, "I'm home."

Write to me a letter each day

So I do not forget
To watch and wait come First of May
For your homecoming silhouette.

Of May and Media

Been trying unsuccessfully to sleep for the past few hours. Blame it on the caffeine from the bubble tea? Nah, that was consumed ages earlier. Habitually trawled through the latest news feeds. Oh boy, when it rains, it really pours, and May certainly feels like monsoon month. Let's see, this month we've had:

• Infamous blogger Raja Petra Kamaruddin the first blogger to be charged under Malaysia's 1948 Sedition Act
• Cyclone Nargis wreaking havoc and devastation across Myanmar
• A Tibetan woman hoisting the Olympic Torch at the top of Mt. Everest
• A horrendous 7.2 earthquake hitting the Sichuan region in China, with the quake and aftershocks felt across the whole country and even in Thailand
• Barack Obama just about to clinch the Democratic nomination for presidential candidate
• Mother's Day in Malaysia
• And last but not least,

EXAMS
(kill me please.)

~~~~~~~

The New York Times is currently running a series "examining the lives of youth across the Muslim world at a time of religious revival", and it was to my utter dismay when I saw that articles #3 and 4 were about the lack of individual freedom in dating and marriage in Saudi Arabia. Click on the numbers for the links, but I wouldn't advocate either article if you're looking for sophisticated or intellectual reading. Considering how this series was meant to showcase a current snapshot of Muslim youths in general, I was quite stunned by such a biased and blinkered representation of the Islamic world in the two articles, and even more so considering the prestigious reputation of the NY Times.

Yes, I can understand the need for journalists to produce attention-grabbing headlines, and their fondness for intense coverage on issues that are guaranteed to stir up their readers, but has journalism fallen to such a low that even the higher ranks of journalists (ie non-paparazzi) resort to such sensationalist, one-sided reporting in order to increase their readership? I'd freely admit that even I have succumbed to the cheap allure of the shock headliner (t0 illustrate, see my previous blog post, 'Of Airports and Boobs', which actually elicited a response from Mr. Malat-Lou-in-Miri), but the main point is that I write for my own enjoyment and limited circle of friends, whereas a newspaper has the responsibility towards its shareholders and readership to produce neutral, balanced, discerning journalism. (Politics-studying/loving friends will argue with me that no newspaper is ever neutral, but I digress.)

What's even worse is that the 3rd article, "Young Saudis, Vexed and Entranced by Love's Rules", obviously succeeded in eliciting an outpouring on views on the issue - 257 comments by readers from all over the world. Quite troublingly, a sizeable chunk of them express different combinations of revulsion, anger, and outrage, some directed against the Saudi Arabia as a whole, and others sweepingly at Saudi-Islamic male-female segregation practices even though the ultra-conservative practices in the article are in fact limited to a small number of ultra-conservative Saudi families. One sentence that struck me as being particularly sloppy reporting was: "Saudi Arabia’s strict interpretation of Islam, largely uncontested at home by the next generation and spread abroad by Saudi money in a time of religious revival, will increasingly shape how Muslims around the world will live their faith." Firstly, just like how traditional Christian/religious practices vary across countries, the situation in Saudi Arabia is hardly a blanket representation of that of other Muslim countries. Furthermore, what an idiotic assumption that Saudi Arabia's considerable but hardly unrivaled oil wealth grants it leader status among Muslim nations!

Gaah, I'm peeved. Accuse me of making sweeping statements, but what's with the plummeting standards of Western journalism nowadays!

There and Back, Again

Joyful tidings! It's official. Those of you who've been tracking LOTR news would already know The Hobbit is definitely on its way from book to screen, and although it's a shame that Peter Jackson won't be returning to helm the project (due to his infamous falling out with New Line Cinema), he will still be executive producer. So, who else to fill the long-contested throne of director for the most successful fantasy film franchise ever, but the man who's possibly the latest visionary for creative fantasy films?

GUILLERMO DEL TORO

*Chilipadicello whoops for joy.* (Read the news here.) With Peter Jackson out of the picture, Del Toro is arguably the most fitting person to direct Tolkien's, with his experience in delivering brooding, epic historical/fantasy/comic adaptation films. I've only managed to catch one of his films, the fabulous Spanish Pan's Labyrinth, and I've been a fan of his ever since. Looking forward to see how Del Toro will merge his darker, mordant directing style with the initial lightheartedness of this children's book, as well as Jackson's expansive masterpiece. He thinks The Hobbit is a "world that is slightly more golden at the beginning, a very innocent environment taking you from a time of more purity to a darker reality throughout the film, but in the spirit of the book". And the icing on the cake, Ian McKellan is now officially reprising his iconic role as Gandalf. Yipee! Can't wait to see the extended line-up of cast and crew for the movie. It would be interesting to follow the casting process for Bilbo, cos obviously ancient Ian Holm wouldn't be able to reprise his role from the LOTR trilogy. It would be a joy to see Andy Serkis back as Gollum (my preciousssss...) and Hugo Weaving as Elrond - Del Toro wants actors from the trilogy to reprise their roles, plus key members such as Howard Shore (composer), Richard Taylor (WETA boss), Alan Lee and John Howe (conceptual artists). My money's on Del Toro regular Doug Jones as Beorn the bear-man.

2 films have been scheduled for back-to-back filming in - you guessed it - New Zealand, to be released in 2011 and 2012. The 1st will be a more straightforward interpretation of the book, with the 2nd an original plot covering the 60 years between events in The Hobbit and the beginning of LOTR.

Ahh the delicious anticipation! The wait's gonna kill me!

Chinese, China and the Olympic Games

I'm sure all of you who do drop by from time to time are quite aware of all the hullabaloo of anti-Chinese sentiment leading up to this summer's Olympic Games because of China's poor record of human rights.

TIME and BusinessWeek have a couple of the better articles on Chinese anti-foreign media stance, highlighting the opinion that the Chinese are retaliating against what they see as very biased anti-China coverage by Western media. Do skim through the readers' comments if you have time - very interesting conflicting viewpoints.)

I have to admit I was actually more indignant about the Western media's blanket criticism over fallacies in Chinese manufacturing, blackening the tag "Made in China" even further, to the extent that I actually wrote a short defense about it in one of my January exams. To me, currently the whole storm is very much a China-issue, with the criticisms directed at China the country no reflection on my identity as a Chinese, and I can't help feeling slightly ambivalent about it all.

But the question one must pose is, if not for the March 14 Tibetan riots, would all these so-called righteous activists have done anything to voice "popular" dissent over China's poor human rights record? Communist China has had stringent controls over its people's fundamental human rights for many decades, but never have we seen such widespread, intense criticism before. The whole issue this time started with the recognition of Tibet's independence and separate cultural identity, and has gone on to criticise China's policies as a whole.

Accuse me of being apathetic, but I won't claim to know enough of the big picture to put down an opinion on the Tibet contention. What strikes me as pure irony is that dissenters have chosen to highlight their pet peeve by disrupting the Olympic torch relay around the world. Don't get me wrong - it is good that people are actually doing something about an issue they believe strongly in, but for any instance did they think that this destructive campaigning will affect the Games in any way, or make China change its policies? Cases like the Chinese paraplegic who was attacked while relaying the torch makes one wonder who the real "bad guy" is. Presumably these "activists" will also be boycotting the Games in Beijing come August, not that they have enough $$ to go anyway.

Secondly, society's collective memory seems to have conveniently forgotten that the whole Olympic torch relay was the brainchild of Carl Diem, a Nazi commander, for the purpose of promoting Nazi ideology and propaganda. With the support of the infamous Joseph Goebbels, Diem twisted the ancient tradition of a fire burning throughout the Olympics in commemoration of Prometheus (a human) stealing fire from Zeus. It shouldn't be necessary for me to point out that Nazi Germany is one of the most well-known instances of the lack of human rights in Western history. Shouldn't these well-meaning activists be channeling their energy into getting rid of a practice with such a foul conception, or at least actively doing something about China's other issues such as child labour?

I'll take the Chinese's side in being irritated by those countries and politicians who have felt pressurized by the media to boycott the opening or closing ceremonies, or even the Games in its entirety. For goodness' sake, get a backbone. Nevertheless, however much we would like to the the high moral ground that "the Games are a celebration of sportsmanship and the human spirit, leave politics out of it!" (hello, Mr. Bush?), the truth remains that the Olympics have always been a source of political intrigue since its conception, a fact so succinctly pointed out in an excellent commentary by a classics professor from Cambridge writing for the Times.

Contrary to what I wrote earlier, I did get a little riled-up there hehe. Come what may, this August I'm gonna be glued to the TV watching the Games on Astro (television provider la, not Minishort's rabbit haha). Okay, lame joke.

Anyway, here are some images emailed in today by my cousin brother (one of the many =P) of botanic Olympic advertisement scattered in various cities in China. Kinda reminds me of the big keris-with-hibiscus structures promoting our Commonwealth Games way back in 1998. Hope the Chinese will be able to maintain these beautiful creations even after the Games are over, unlike the miserable state of our monuments.

Impressive water features:

Particularly like the one on the left

Amazing animals - I think the horse is really realistic

Elegant celebration of the (idealised) ancient Chinese lifestyle,

Allusion to a couple of Chinese inventions.











Fitting homage to the Games' Greek origins,
with the Temple of Zeus in Olympia on the left,
and what seems to be a very Palladian structure on the right,
a likely symbol of Western Civilisation's rebirth in Renaissance Italy.

And of course, what would a celebration of mankind be, without a salute to the 2 other cornerstones of civilisation?

Finally, a salute to the tremendous effort and
sacrifice of sportsmen around the world,

while ordinary rakyat like you and I go about our daily lives
interrupted once in 4 years by the greatest sporting event of all time.

Of Airports and Boobs

Just seen a new slide-show on BusinessWeek, the results from the latest annual survey by the Airports Council International on the best airport service quality around the world. (Check it out here.) KLIA is ranked 2nd! How awesome is that! I've always thought that KLIA was a great airport, with its high airy ceilings and palm-tree columns, plentiful use of glass, clear signage, clean and abundant toilets, etc. So proud that we Malaysians can actually get some things right, and especially since the airport is really the first contact point for so many people visiting Malaysia for the first time. Often, good or bad first impressions of a place is pretty dependent on what kind of welcome greets you.

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And this is another random bit from earlier this evening when *ahem* mammary glands crept into the dinner conversation, and the girls on the table commented that we were pretty happy with what we had been blessed (or cursed?) with. This reminded me of something on a random blog I stumbled upon some time ago:

According to some research (via the BBC) released to time neatly with all those women exercising to remove the Christmas poundage, apparently 9.5 million British women don't wear the right bra when they run and are damaging themselves irreperably. Some scary facts and figures...

• Boobs move in a figure of 8 shape when you jog. This strains your ligaments and tissues.
• If you run a mile, your bosoms will bounce 135 metres.
• Each funbag moves independently of the body by an average of 9cm for each step.
• An average boob weighs 200 - 300g.
• Wearing an average bra stops bounce by 37%.
• Wearing a sports bra stops bounce by 78%.

Scattered Thoughts: Wow! 200-300 grams! What size cup is that? Hmm.. I really should get hold of a sports bra then, if it really is that helpful... Why figure of 8 and not just "up-down-up-down"? How is it possible for a boob to move 9cm for each step??? Is that when one is or isn't wearing a bra?

For all ye female readers, hope that was an amusing read and a strong enough warning that we should heed our mothers' advice to always give 'em girls enough support. It's never too late to get properly fitted! And to all our dear blokes out there, please appreciate *them* better and with more care! =D

Of Competition and Triumph

Been reflecting a little on the various events that have transpired over the past 3 weeks, and realising that they've been linked by a common theme. (Apologies for the lateness in actually publishing this post - I've been waiting for the photos from Phing's camera which I borrowed for the first event.)

What a month! Be warned, it is a very long post, so skip the bits where I start rambling away.

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~ COVENTRY ~

Date: 29 Feb - 2 March
Place: Coventry (Warwick University)
Status: a very long overdue reunion with some of my good friends from school
People: Cindy Ting, Meryl Lam, Fred Emmott, Nick Sutcliffe, Ruari Edwards
Event: University of Warwick Symphony Orchestra concert.
Soloist: Cindy Ting

For those who don't know, Cindy, Meryl and I were part of the Sherborne Schools' Joint Symphony Orchestra way back when we were in 6th form. The SO was a joint effort between the all-boys Sherborne School and our Sherborne School for Girls in Dorset. (Similarly, Fred, Nick, Ruari and I were part of the Wells Cathedral Symphony Orchestra when I was in Years 10-11.) And as with most school and university orchestras who have sufficient resources, every year there are concerto auditions for musicians to grab the chance to perform as a soloist with the orchestra in one of the concerts usually held throughout the year.

Cindy and I went for the concerto auditions in September 2004 under the guidance of our piano teacher, Martin Walker. I played the 2nd movement and part of the 3rd from Shostakovich's 2nd Piano Concerto, and Cindy performed Schumann's Introduction and Allegro Appassionato, a quasi-concerto stand-alone work. While yours truly received some favourable comments but ultimately did not win a concerto spot, Cindy shone through with her authoritative and elegaic take on Schumman's rather neglected work, and we performed her concert in March 2005 in none other that the famous St. John's, Smith Square, in London.

Words couldn't not rightly describe the intensity of the emotions and bonding between us during that year so full of joyous music-making. Suffice to say, learning a concerto is no mean task, and we stuck together through the whole journey. Unless you've experienced it yourself, I couldn't possibly convey to you the incredible fullness of connecting through the creation of music. It's not the same when you are the audience, merely absorbing the sounds coming from the orchestra or speakers in front of you. Immersing yourself in the whole creation process is a completely different experience, and the connection you make with the musicians around you, however brief, transcends the moment and stays with you for a lifetime.

Needless to say, when Cindy told me that once more, she will be performing the Schumann, this time with the UWSO, I couldn't have missed it for the world. After a ridiculously cold journey complete with train detour from Manchester, I arrived in Coventry and was picked up by Meryl and her boyfriend. Carefully bought the flower bouquets for later, and went to IKEA for a warming cup of (free!) hot chocolate. Met up with Cindy before the rehearsal started, and the first thing she says to me is, "You've grown!" - jokingly of course. Helped her sound-check in the venue hall, which, with its slightly out-of-tune piano, awkward stage arrangements and short length, was rather dissatisfactory. (A concert venue that's not long enough results in the sound from the stage bouncing front-to-back-to-front very quickly, giving off jarring echoes and poor clarity.)

But poor performance conditions aside, the whole evening was a nostalgic trip down memory lane for both of us, and I'd freely admit that we both got rather emotional at some point. Nobody broke down and cried, but there were definitely 2 pairs of misty eyes that evening. In all, just those 16 minutes when Cindy played her Schumann made the whole trip worthwhile, if not for the actual performance itself, then at least for the sense of closure and accomplishment I felt.

Post concert: a rather dishevelled me with the lovely soloist.

Holding up the back page of Cindy's Schumann score.
My comments and signature as the "Page Tuner" are in black in the middle of the page.
Yes, the one from 3 years ago! =D

The rest of the weekend consisted of some nice chill-out in a peaceful, green uni campus, a lively flat dinner, and a tour around the University of Warwick and Coventry town.

Cindy in front of her uni flat.

The superbly sinful hot chocolate at the Warwick Arts Centre cafe.

Equally superb but a thousand times more sinful "Thing".
Method: 2 slices thick white bread, peanut butter in between, deep fried in oil, slathered with butter and honey. Munch away.
Argh.

Cindy's Stitch fetish.

And lastly, the rather wonderful ruins of Coventry Cathedral:

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~ MALAYSIA ~

Date: 8 March
Place: all over Malaysia
Event: 12th General Election
People: Malaysians
Status: the people have spoken

Probably the most exciting and tense election in Malaysia's recent history. The very year in which I turn legal to vote, but unfortunately the registration was held before my 21st birthday. Darn! Anyway, it was still a pretty exhilarating time once the election date was announced, reading analyses from pro-government papers like The Star, prolific opposition blogs such as Screenshots and Malaysia Today, to articles in the international news-sphere of our election's hanky-panky phantom voters and politicians' gerrymandering. Late Saturday night, when the "experts'" analysis and commentaries started flooding in, I stumbled across a Reuters articles with a slide-show of the election proceedings. After numerous images of notorious politicians and voters from all walks of life, the last photo was a quiet one devoid of any signs of human activity.

(Copyright Reuters International)

After all the excitement, tension and relief of the previous hours, going through the intense emotions and swirling thoughts shared by most of my fellow Malaysians wherever they might be, the sight of a new sun dawning upon the heart of our country was a veritable tear-jerker. Aye, I choked up.

And who wouldn't? Whether pro-government or pro-opposition, passionate or apathetic, no one person involved with the progress of Malaysia and the fate of Malaysians could possibly remain unmoved by the thought of 27,496,000 Malaysians waking up to a whole new political landscape on the morning of 9th March 2008. The feeling must be somewhat akin to our forebears' emotions when Malaya declared her independence 50 years ago in 1957.

Only time will give judgment on the choices we Malaysians made that day. Stay tuned.

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~ MANCHESTER ~

Date: 15 March
Place: Council Chamber, UMSU
Event: inaugural UKEC Intra-Regional (North-West) Debate 2008
People: Rohit and Krishnan; miscellaneous
Status: pretty flabbergasted

Seeing the low levels of interest for this inaugural event, Vince made quite a few phone calls in an attempt to persuade more people to participate, and managed to rope in my interest more than a week before the debate. However, I didn't manage to find anyone else who was keen/available to participate, partly due to the last notice and the high turn-off point of having to wake up super early on the first Saturday of Easter Break.

On Friday morning I received a last-minute offer from Rohit and Krishnan to join their hastily-formed team. Vince decided to open up the competition to non-Malaysians as well, and they were roped in to fill the 4th team for Saturday. (Note: participation was so bad, that instead of the targeted 8 teams, UKEC would've only gotten 3 teams if not for us.) Went over to Whitworth Park early evening and we trashed out our basic argument, and decided on the order of speakers. 1st speaker: Krishna; 2nd speaker: Rohit; 3rd speaker: Yours Truly.

- 1st preliminary round: This house believes that commercialization has eroded sportsmanship. Opposition.

Having had an evening to prepare for the first round, we were reasonably confident and ready to tackle the debate head-on. Nearly had an emergency when Mr. "Let's-Meet-At-8am" Madathil stayed up until 3am watching some Indian movie called 'One-Dollar Curry' and couldn't wake up in time. Rohit had to go bang on his door at 9am and almost physically dress the fella up and drag him to the SU.

Being the first time I'd participated in a formal debate, I was understandably nervous when it was finally my turn to speak, and didn't do as well as intended. Nevertheless, we won! 178 to 158 points. Unbelievably, the score was out of 180. What a shock. What on earth did we say right??


- 2nd preliminary round: This house believes that everyone should be able to access your Facebook profile. Opposition.

In all fairness, the topic was obviously biased towards the Opposition. Government had hardly any space for argument at all, and honestly they did jolly well considering how difficult it was for them. Their main argument was that these so-called privacy settings only serve to give users a false sense of security, and opening up everybody's profile functions as a protective psychological warning for users.

Our argument was divided into 3 neat parts: the inherent human right of privacy; information security against predators, fraud and exploitation; the right to choose. Needless to say, we won by a considerable margin too.

The other 2 teams had the pretty fun topic of "This house believes that Wikipedia should be given equal importance as Encyclopedia Britannica", which seemed a more balanced debate than ours. The 2 teams with the highest cumulative marks from both rounds were to proceed to the finals. Rather pleasingly, but not surprisingly, our team emerged with the top score out of the 4. For the finals we were going up against the winners of the Wikipedia/Britannica round, Joshua's team whom we faced in Round 1.


- Finals round: This house believes that tradition hinders progress. Opposition.

At first glance, the topic seemed highly daunting as one's immediate impression would be that tradition does indeed hinder progress. Then we pushed way our self-doubt, the 3 big brains got cracking, and the battle plan was formulated.

Govt 1st Speaker, Arthur, started his "social" argument with how traditions such as female circumcision has impeded women's suffrage/progress, and the blossoming of LGBT rights in our modern society unshackled by tradition. I POI-ed both points with examples of circumcised women such as Iman and Waris Dirie who have become international icons and successful female entrepreneurs, and the prevalent tradition of homosexuality in ancient Greece and Rome, the 2 founding empires of Western civilisation.

Opp 1st Speaker, Krishna, spoke of the founding of the UAE, and the incredible progress the nation has achieved despite (because of?) the highly traditional mind-set of the first president, Sheikh Zayed. G1 POI-ed by claiming that the UAE is very much the exception to the norm, and other tradition-bound countries in the Middle-East such as Yemen and Oman are still very backward.

G2, Lilian, tackled the arts aspect of progress, drawing on 2 examples: if society followed tradition, we would still be painting Madonnas like the Renaissance, instead of works such as Warhol's iconic multi-coloured Marilyn Monroe; and it is because society has broken free of tradition that literature such as Harry Potter and the Da Vinci Code can be written, where before the Church would have persecuted their authors much like Nostradamus was for claiming the Earth is round.

O2, Rohit's argument was that India, commonly claimed to be the world's most religious country (by The Economist, etc), is also one of the fastest-progressing countries. Govt POI-ed by arguing that we were confusing religion with tradition, and that India is still held by by outdated practices such as caste barriers. Rohit defended by saying that India's religious practices are their traditions, and the analogy is a metaphorical representative of tradition. He went on to tie-in Krishna's UAE example by illustrating briefly the concept of Islamic finance - brilliant supportive example, don'tcha think? He finished off by contending that tradition evolves with time, and goes hand-in-hand with progress.

G3, Joshua, took the typical textbook route by expounding on how all our team's arguments so far were mere exceptions to the norm.

And finally, it was my turn to take the floor. I began by explaining how my speech's structure will be much like Joshua's, firstly by rebutting some of the Government's points, then adding my own examples, and closing off with a summary of my whole team's argument. I got a perverse satisfaction in knowing that, being the final speaker of the whole lot, I get the supreme upper-hand in having literally the last say, thus refuting all of Government's points and firmly driving home my team's argument.

1. G2's point about art is irrelevant and invalid. The reason why Madonnas were prevalent in the Renaissance was that Christianity was a huge aspect in their everyday lives, and the Madonna served as a constant point of reference and reverence. (1) Nothing to do with tradition. Secondly, where the Renaissance Italians worshiped the Madonna by creating images of her, arguably our modern society is a continuation of that by worshiping images of our modern idols/celebrities such as Marilyn Monroe. (2) G2's Warhol example illustrates how tradition has continued into our time, and encouraged "progress". p.s. With both examples, G2 seemed to be mixing up religion with tradition, so how dare they accuse us of getting confused?
2. G2's literature argument is irrelevant and invalid. (Poor Lilian! Going up against a History of Art/ClassCiv student. Sorry girl, my A Levels learning was at stake =P) The Chuch dislikes Harry Potter and DVC not out of tradition, but because content within these 2 works directly contravenes some of the very foundations of Christianity. Again, a theology-based argument, nothing to do with traditional religious practices.
   
3. Our examples are not exceptions to the norm. (1) Japan, arguably the world's most progressive country, has grown with an economic structure based around the 19th century concept of zaibatsu, ie family conglomerates. (2) Going along with China's stance that Tibet is part of China - Tibet is famously known for being an ultra-traditional society, but the standard of quality of living there is considerably higher than many urban areas in the rest of China.
4. Time does not stand still, and neither does tradition. Tradition and progress and not mutually exclusive. In fact, tradition is a new expression of progress, and to throw off tradition is to be stagnant.
   

Heckling for the first time, I banged my hand subtly on the table top, and uttered the opponent's death-blow: "To say that tradition hinders progress is to put a full-stop to our time, and to our future." You just had to be there. =P


When Vince went on-stage for his final announcement, he certainly dramatized the situation to the fullest extent! Grinning at the audience with the results in his hand, his first comment was "Ohhh it's very close!", then went on to invite the panel to distribute the certificates of participation, the award for Best Speaker for the preliminary rounds (congrats, Nicholas!), and the award for Best Speaker for final round (way to go, Rohit!). By the time he declared, "And now I would like to invite the runners-up to come to the front," my nails were gone and my hair had almost turned white from the gan jeong-ness. And then he said, "The runners-up for the *insert full title* debate...

"-Government."

I stood there for several moments before the realisation actually hit. And when it did, the flood of jubilation was incredible. Grabbing my teammates for a celebratory group hug, the adrenalin and pent-up tension drained away like an unplugged bathtub, and my whole body went weak from the relief and happiness.

Champion team.
from left: myself, Krishna, Rohit

(No amount of superb Photoshop is gonna save the photo. Sheesh.)

Yours truly receiving her trophy and certificate from one of the judges.

WOOHOO! My heartfelt thanks, you two.

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~ MANCHESTER, LATVIA? ~

Date: February - March 2008
Event: Peak Time Business Challenge 2008
People: Allen, Aditi, JJ, myself
Status: did not proceed beyond semi-finals

Aditi, Allen and myself randomly decided to participate in one of the current biggest business challenges available, and managed to rope JJ in as our 4th team member. Finals to be held in Riga, Latvia, with cash prizes of up to 5,000 euros!

First stage involved 5 rounds of an online hotel business simulation, directly competing against 7 other teams. All the teams started out equal in terms of financial and operational resources, with decision-making required in each round according to market outlook. Competing for highest market share and revenue, we were required to make decisions on factors such as staff wage, employees' numbers and capabilities, marketing budget, room rates for current, +1 and +2 periods (each period = 6 months), renovation and maintenance budget, dividends paid, loans and payback etc.

At the end of the 5 rounds, the top 3 teams from each group of 8 were selected to proceed to Stage 2, and we got through! And with the highest market share by a considerable way, no less! Out of the 4 teams from Manc Uni, we were 1 out of the 2 that succeeded. For Stage 2, each team was required to submit their recommendations and reasonings for a case study on automobile leasing, auctioning and sales, a brief group description, 1-page CV from each member, and a "creative" group photo.

My favourite photo among the whole lot. Lookin' good!

Even though, in the end, we were not among the top 20 teams shortlisted for the final round in Riga, the whole exercise was pretty interesting, informative, challenging and above all, good fun!

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It's been a great month for learning and challenges. So for whatever life serves up next, bring it on!