nerdy is the new cool

2009-02-28T00:38:00.000-08:00

I HAVE MOVED.

wake me up when march rolls in

2009-01-02T00:39:00.000-08:00

Been back home for two weeks already, but it feels like months. Moolah rapidly running out due to the everyday trips made to Orchard Road. Huge on big brands right now. Must have been greatly influenced by Sis. Girls on paychecks were giving out free hugs the other day along Orchard Road shortly before Christmas. One approached Sis and said, 'Can I give you a hug?' but was promptly rejected and went to mend her broken heart by lamenting to fellow colleagues.

And am currently battling rashes outbreak. So much for doctor's medication, boo =(

And so 2008 has been a year of constant flying (literally, in the air). And another overseas trip is on my calendar for the month of Jan. So not looking forward to it. New year. Family gatherings. Which is sucky, considering there is no family to speak of in the beginning. Unless the equation of family equals to betrayal, bitching and gossiping. Dad refuses to let me remain the hermit crab I am, and so my fate is sealed. Sixteen people. Three Days. I wonder what interesting things will happen. The bitching has already started even before the trip has begun. Too many fragile egos to handle???

Ever since the passing away of both our grandparents, everyone has been trying to keep the tapestry of kinship together, desperately tucking away loosened threads, sewing, mending...but it just keeps getting worse, why don't they give up already? It was Grandma's wish for our family to remain intact even after her passing. And even though that is the excuse hanging on Dad's lips, I know he feels the same way I do. I don't consider putting any efforts, neither am I at all interested in maintaining any sort of relationship. Why should I with aunts who gossip and bitch behind our backs, and show their fake plasticky smiles in front of us. And to consider the things they said behind our backs when Sis and I was in Oz.

Hello, adults? It's time to Grow up please.

Blood is thicker than water? Oh, I so doubt it.

back...

2008-12-19T17:36:00.000-08:00

...and it feels like I've never left.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes, which I finally got time to read today, 13 days after my 21st =D

Korea - Day 2

2008-11-21T23:11:00.000-08:00

Taken near Incheon River

We had spaghetti for lunch, YJ's mum is a really really great cook. Suddenly, YJ and I became very afraid because the both of us had been pigging out at home ever since the morning before, sleeping and eating and sleeping and eating, and doing little else. Not surprising, with the weather hitting as low as minus four degree celsius, all you wanna do is stay at home.

We finally got our arses out of the house and off we go to Incheon's departmental stores. The things there are freaking expensive, but they were having a one-day only 70% sale, which was a steal for the both of us.

YJ's dad drove us to Chinatown for dinner at this high-class restaurant. They had many car valets waiting to serve customers outside once they drive to the front of the restaurant, and hand over their car keys to the valets who would assist them in parking their cars. I had the best bowl of noodles in the world at this restaurant, called Zha Zha Mian, invented by a Korean restaurant a few doors away.

After dinner, YJ's dad drove us to the sea. Incheon (the city where YJ resides in) is a famous port area, so this is the place where goods are being transported.

I had a mini history lesson today about North and South Korea. The conflicts between the two countries first arised because of their ideological differences, largely due to their geograpical locations. N.K is situated near China and Russia, hence they have been greatly influenced by Communist ideals. S.K on the other hand is near Japan, whose values system follow the American model of democracy. N.K remains a very poor and closed nation, which has no interaction with the outside world. Their citizens are heavily brainwashed by the communist government, and they have a very narrow-minded perception of this world as they have little or no knowledge of what is going on outside N.K. They are not even allowed to travel outside the country because it is illegal! Those who attempt to escape by swimming across the sea to China are instantly shot dead if discovered.

passenger on board

2008-11-20T21:38:00.000-08:00

I booked a cab for the trip from my apartment to Southern Cross Station. You know how cab drivers always bombard irriated passengers with a hell lot of questions, when all the passengers want are silence? Well, during this trip, the taxi driver (an Indian student) began asking me some questions while stuck in the morning traffic, but I decided to bombard him with questions before it became the other way round, until finally, the taxi driver asked...

TD: So, what course are you doing?
Me: Well, actually, I'm studying journalism.
TD: No wonder you are asking me so many questions!
Me: Hahaha! Because taxi drivers always like to bombard their passengers with a lot of questions, so I thought it would be nice to turn the tables around.
TD: Hahahahahaha...It's nice to finally have someone turn the tables around.
Both: Hahahahahaa...

Singapore, 23:45PM

I really miss living near the Equator. When I left Melbourne, the weather was slightly chilly and I had a jacket on throughout the flight. But, as we got nearer and nearer to Singapore, and when the plane passed through the Equator, it suddenly felt like sauna inside the plane and I even began perspiring.

Seoul, 6.58AM

6 hours away, and the weather is a whole different temperament.

I landed in South Korea this morning at 7.04AM. The temperature was minus 4 degree celsius. 13 hours on the plane in total, good thing I was in transit in Singapore for 7 hours, or else my ass would really hurt. The moment I stepped out of the gates , Yoo Jeong was there waiting, and she greeted me with a huge yawn. We went to Starbucks to have coffee, then proceeded to YJ's house. She suggested taking the subway, even though the bus trip was only half an hour, so we would have a nice scenic view of the river. However, we had to change subway three or four times, each a 10 to 15 minute ride, and a 5 minute walk away from the previous one. And, then, from the station to YJ's house, we had to take a taxi down because the weather was freezing and we had three luggages to carry.

Because YJ's entire family doesn't speak English, and know only a few simple words, each attempted conversation with her mum (because her dad was at work) was a comedy of sorts, and YJ would roar with laughter each time she saw us trying to have a 'conversation'. We had an afternoon nap, and I woke up earlier than YJ, so I went out of the room and her mum was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She began talking to me in Korean, and I had a 'Huh?' expression on my face, so her mum would repeat herself again. In Korean. And, then when I still couldn't understand, she would say the same thing louder again. In Korean. When I told this to YJ, she couldn't stop laughing.

Kimchi is a must-have at every Korean meal, including the rest of the other small servings of traditional Korean dishes. Koreans eat really really little, and their meal servings are really tiny portions. When I came out to have lunch, I looked around the table. YJ's bowl had a few spoonfuls of rice, her brother's was about half full, and mine was filled to the brim with rice! I was very happy. Yay, YJ still remembers that my stomach is a rice bucket! After that, I was like, 'Thanks for remembering that I eat a lot of rice," and YJ laughed. Compare this to Chinese dishes, which are like huge communal bowls, not considering how much rice and refills we go for. No wonder Korean people are so skinny. YJ once said that for someone who eats as much as I do, I am super skinny. Gee, thanks.

At the dining table: See the four small tiny dishes? That is what YJ's family usually has for dinner, and still have many left-overs. Unbelievable. The big dish of dong fen was a special for both me and YJ, who only landed back in Korea one day before my arrival. We also had crab meat soup, which was super super delicious! Fyi, The full bowl of rice is mine.

After lunch, we had a quick nap. We were both dead tired. A small culture shock when I first walked into YJ's room. "Where is your bed?!!" Turns out Korean households do not have any beds, and they laid out their mattresses on the floor when they go to bed, and then fold it up neatly and pack it back to the wardrobe in the morning. YJ's mum prepared layers and layers of thin mattresses and two blankets (including an electrical blanket) for us. After some time, the heat emanating from the blanket woke the both of us up, and YJ was even perspiring. Our pillows were really flat (YJ's mum believes it will bring longer life) bean bags. The floor was so hard, I had trouble sleeping initally. Even YJ had trouble adjusting, given that she spent 9 months in Melbourne sleeping on soft beds. But, when you have accumulated as much sleep debt as the both of us, you wouldn't have much trouble dozing off soon.

I got the second culture shock when I saw the clothes being laid out neatly all over the living room floor. Turns out that Korean households dry their clothes by laying them on the floor! Because beneath their floor are heaters, they make use of the heat to dry their clothes faster.

down the prison gallows

2008-11-19T01:00:00.000-08:00

I have interviewed some interesting personalities during the course of my degree, but yet the most unexpected and impromptu interview turned out to be the most eye-opening experience. Sometime back, I did an interview with someone working in the Old Melbourne Jail, which has since closed down and turned into a tourist sight-seeing place, where tours such as ghost trails are being held.

-----

“Enjoy your freedom – while it lasts.” Natalie Carr clicks the metal gates open to release crowds of people into the daylight. The location is Police Watch-house at the Old Melbourne Gaol, and Carr is smartly-attired in a navy blue police outfit, mega-sized black sunglasses, her hair neatly tied in a bun complete with a no-nonsense piercing glare. But, the crowds in question are not prisoners, they are tourists. And, Carr is an actor.

“My job is to play the role of a police, I arrest tourists, give them a charge sheet, process them in the charge area, search them, and then I lock them up in the cells.”

The cells that Carr, a 38-year-old sergeant at the Watch-house is talking about are the very same precinct which, since 1850 housed Victoria’s most hardened criminals. Some of the more high–profile criminals included the notorious bushranger Ned Kelly, Chopper Read, Ronald Joseph Ryan and Jean Lee who were the last man and woman to be judicially executed in Australia. It is the very same watch house where Ryan led a daring escape on 21 April 1960.

Forward to 16 October 2008, and Carr is standing before those very cells, a bunch of keys dangling nosily in her pockets.

“Sometimes, I close cell doors, and turn around, and they have been opened again. That’s strange, because there’s no wind in here. When everyone goes home, and we are locking up, it’s an eerie place.”

She leads me through a sneak peek along the gallows and into the cells of the 19^th century Goal, each of which is a similar replica of the other: four graffiti-scrawled walls, dirty, small and reeking of a morbid stench, with hardly any natural light. The funereal atmosphere of a bad omen hangs around the cells like an albatross.

When Carr is not busy ‘arresting’ people, she works as a singing teacher in Victoria primary schools and performs at The Dog Theatre in Footscray. No doubt, that she remains passionate about her unusual job at the Old Melbourne Gaol, which keeps her on her toes.

“The show changes every time I do it, purely because I have different people in the audience who react differently every time. I have had some people who had claustrophobia or panic attacks, and had to leave. Some children get very upset and cry. We have some school groups coming in, and some of these young people get frightened about being locked up and seeing what it is really like inside.”

And what does she like best about her job?

“It’s something different, only 5 people in the whole state do what I do.”

-----

Afternote:

The prison gallows was a chilling experience, it reeked of the smell of death. I walked through the galleries which since 1841, has seen the hanging of both men and women. These inmates were hanged publicly, such that when the rope that hung around their neck was tightened and the trap door opened, their body was left to dangle in the middle of the other inmates' prison cells. Carr led me through quick peeks in the prison cells, which was completely bare except for a small toilet bowl at the very far end of the corner. There were no windows, and obviously no light, it is not hard to imagine that one can go crazy staying in an enclosed space like this. Although the prison has seen been turned into a touristy area, but as you stroll through the halls of the prison cells, it is as though you can still hear the silent screams of those who once lived and died there.

Brighton Beach

2008-11-18T23:45:00.000-08:00

Brighton Beach is a childhood dream come true. Ever since Fann Wong did an 8 Days photoshoot Down Under, I've been wanting to visit those places she did her photoshoots in. Brighton Beach was one of the destinations. So, on a hot summer's day, Hannah and I headed out to Brighton Beach. Good riddance to the winter season!

I took this shot of a jellyfish, because they were everywhere on the beach. Some dead, some alive. I went really really close to get this close-up shot. But, later, I learnt that jellyfish are one of the most dangerous creatures on this earth. Those who were bitten by a jellyfish have suffered the most painful and slow death, that has been described as worse as having a tiger bite half your neck off because the jellyfish's venom will go through every veins in your body slowly before it finally attacks your heart.

racism in australia

2008-11-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

"Religion is not an opium."

Call it white bigotry, the archaic White-man mentality that they are a cut above the rest just because they are of a lighter skin color.

Look no further than the western media coverage of the Beijing Olympics or even closer to home, for me, would be my university's outright and blatant prejudice against Muslim students.

RMIT Islamic Society has been holding a campaign over the university's decision to covert the Muslim Prayer Room into a "multi-faith" facility. Apparently, a staff member had entered the facility and complained about the Muslim "branding" of the facility. Funny how the university did not even utter a word of contempt when they were collecting school fees from these Muslim students. In a bid to recover their prayer room, RMIT Islamic Society has been holding open protests in the middle of the school campus, Bowen Street, every Friday.

This is the longest student campaign in recent memory, spanning approximately 7 to 8 months, and the actions of these Muslim students and their decision to fight back and not be needlessly intimidated by a giant commercial and profits-driven tertiary institution is highly admirable and laudable. Week after week, these Muslim students congregate together in protest, and support for their cause have been encouraging, the movement has seen a tremendous growth from 75 to 650 people. In a heartening show of solidarity, they have also received support from the RMIT Christian Students Union and the RMIT Branch of the Australian Union of Jewish Students.

I attended one of their meetings last Wednesday, on the alarming increase in anti-Muslim bigotry and Anti-Muslim racism in Australia today. RMIT's decision to shut down the Muslim prayer rooms, no doubt, has a 'political agenda' attached to it. No doubt that it is a university, and its ultimate aim is to make as much profits as possible, but yet we cannot deny the fact that there is some sort of racism against Muslim students going on here.

Many Muslim students choose RMIT because they had the impression that the university was "Muslim-friendly". RMIT was happy to take their money, and yet they showed an uncaring attitude towards these Muslim students after that.

It is outrageous to expect these Muslim students to share their prayer facility room with groups of other faiths. Firstly, there is a strict dress code to be observed. And secondly, there are specific windows of prayers of time. Other customary routines that need to be observe include removing one's shoes before entering the prayer area, and that it must be free of any other representations of idolatry.

This campaign highlights the existence of Muslim discrimination, in a pervasion of a culture of fear, intimidation and terror towards Muslims.

I spoke to J, a political activist for a few years, and she termed Australia as a "disgustingly- racist" country. We had a very long chat, and much of the information she provided was very quote-worthy, but unfortunately, she refused to go on-the-record. Even though she was Aussie, she said that as a Left-Wing socialist activist, she had to be upfront about the blatant discrimination Aussies hold towards their Asian counterparts. She commented that Australia denying themselves to be racist would be like George Bush saying, "I support democracy." RMIT has successfully put up a propaganda show, a demonstration of 'racism attack' masquerading as upholding the principles of a 'secular society'.

One of the speakers for the day was a member of the RMIT Islamic Society. He said that penetration of Western media forces and influences has cast a disparaging stain towards Muslims, triggering a flood of anti-Muslim sentiment, bias and prejudice.

No doubt, the word 'terrorism' has become a synonym for 'Muslim', 'Islam', 'Afghanistan', 'Bomb'. A recent survey conducted in Australia had half of the respondents believing that Muslims have a negative impact in Australian society. This climate of racism and thwarted media representations of what constitutes as Muslim or Islamic, has led 96% of Muslims to consider suicide at one point in their lives. The speaker even confessed that he sometimes felt 'guilty' to be a Muslim.

One of the members from the floor proclaimed that it was ironic that the government was stripping funding from universities, healthcare and education to fund the 'war on terror'. This has resulted in massive cuts to government funding in universities and tertiary education, where the funds used on the terror war could have been put to better use.

I approached the two speakers after the event. One of the speakers happen to be one of the lecturers in my department in RMIT. He asked me if I recognized him, and my response came in the form of looking at him blankly. He suggested that I get my article published out there, instead of merely completing it as an assignment.

After speaking to many supporters during the event, and doing my own research, they all pointed to one person who had to bear the full brunt of the responsibility for the taking away of the Muslim prayer rooms - the Vice-Chancellor otherwise known as the CEO of the university.

And, so I rang up the VC the very next day, and of course her assistant picked up. My question posed to them was: "Do you think that such a move clearly places the economic welfare of the university as a priority above the welfare of the students?"

I was directed to the Media and Communications Advisor instead. It seemed no one was willing to speak to me or to answer my queries. I wonder if I had been an Age or Herald Sun reporter, instead of a mere journalism student, would they have been more responsive?

In the end, I was forwarded an email which contained another VC's official statement which rejected any propositions that the removal of the Muslim prayer room was an official attack directed towards the Muslims.

This is what I abhor about journalism. Because we journalists are obliged to an ethical code, which means that we have to be 'objective' and 'truthful' in all our reports. This presents a major Catch 22: How can journalists be expected both to be objective and truthful at the same time? Sometimes, being truthful means not being objective. It means taking a stand, or otherwise a 'biased' perception in our story angle. But, because we are journalists, and we have to act ethically and the whole other truckload of ethical bullshit, we are ethically obliged to report whatever junk information and propaganda that the rich and powerful feed us with, just so you know, that we 'balance both sides of the story'. It doesn't matter that in the course of the interview, it becomes clear to the journalist that one party is wrong, and merely feeding propaganda message to the news media. Our job is to regurgitate whatever has been said, reducing the job of journalists to marionettes for the rich and powerful. I think that all journalists should act MORALLY, not ETHICALLY.

The second form of racism in Australia would be towards the Chinese, or rather, China and the Beijing Olympics, in particular.

I follow the news in Australia daily, and the media has been inundated with negative reports of the Beijing Olympics. Lavish praise and media adoration can only be found in reports exalting the proud achievements of Aussie athletes taking part in the Olympics, especially Australian's golden swimming girl, Stephanie Rice and her multiple gold-awards winning.

Apart from that, every single day, there is one more page of criticism, literary attack and assault against the Chinese. Being in a Western country which prides itself on a 'libertarian' press model, I thought I was glad at once to be out of Singapore's tightly-controlled media. So, I appreciated all the negative reports that I was reading in Australia's dailies that I wouldn't otherwise have if I was back home. Until, that is, I smelt something amiss, the lethal whiff of strong racism and the Western countries' fear of the Chinese imperialist powers. It is as though that the Western media assume that by launching a tirade of verbal and literary assault upon China, they would gain an upper-hand, that by putting down China, they would portray themselves as greater, that by criticizing China, it would wash clean their own sins, and that it would dwarf China's growth into a world power. While Singapore's reports are diluted, Australia on the other hand, is largely tilted towards Western pride, in favor of the West over the East.

In fact, among all the coverage of China during the Olympics, there has only been one favorable piece speaking up in favor of China's growing power and host to the Olympics this year, and no surprise that it was written by a Chinese.

Again, we see the 'Western media's assault on the East' masquerading on the moral high ground of 'press freedom'. To see the extent of Australian's bias coverage of the Olympics, one need look no further than the headlines of the Australian major dailies.

1. Don't Boycott China's Shame (Herald Sun, 26 March 2008)
2. Games spirit stifled under an iron fist (The Age, 4 August 2008)
3. Tanks for the memory of Tiananmen 1989 (The Age, 4 August 2008)
4. Crouching tiger, hidden dragon (The Age, 11 August 2008)
5. Controls on China media exposed (The Age, 14 August 2008)

The above is only a microcosm of the negative media coverage of the Beijing Olympics.

In a clear demonstration of Western countries' fear of Chinese imperialism, the story of the use of fake singers and computer-generated fireworks during the Olympics made front-page highlights in The Age. The only time a Chinese athlete, Liu Xiang made the front page of the online Age's website was because of his surprise withdrawal from the Olympics because of an injured hamstring, and the subsequent shame to the entire nation who had their hopes pinned on the golden boy for a gold medal.

Sydney Olympics 2000 was not without propaganda as well. Yet, the Australian media choose to disregard all those flaws and gave positive media coverage to the event. For example, when China and Australia were fighting over the Olympic bid, the Australia government put together a team to uncover all the dirt about China and to publicize their flaws, so as to gain an upperhand over them. Also, when the Olympic team came to Sydney to scan the surroundings, the same people made sure that everytime the car of the IOC chairman drove pass a traffic light, it would turn green instantly. Even the Sydney Opera was not 'live' in action, and pre-recorded in advance (something that the Australian media only choose to highlight in 2008).

But, perhaps, it is a good thing after all. Criticism is always good, because at the very least, it means someone is watching.

Flabby!!!!

2008-11-17T20:28:00.000-08:00

Went to Francisca's house to see Flabby! It has since grown much fatter, even though it has only been a few months since Fran bought her bunny.

Because Fran had to go back to Brunei, so we went over to her friend's house where Flabby would be checking in temporarily.

They say rabbits fall in love quickly, and it's usually love at first sight. True enough, the reticent Flabby and Cupcake (white rabbit) began kissing less than half an hour after the both were introduced to each other. Flabby soon forgot about Fran because she was so absorbed with her new love, Cupcake.

blur me.

2008-11-12T02:08:00.000-08:00

Everyone who knows me knows that I'm blur, and I'm muddle-headed in all the wrong situations. So it came as no surprise that I gave YJ a minor heart attack, when I rang her up this evening, because she was still in Sydney and thought she had missed her own farewell party.

Me: Hello, I'm in Chinatown already.
YJ: Huh?
Me: So, where is the farewell party?
YJ: Huh? What are you talking about?
Me: Your farewell party. It's in the Chinatown area right? I'm here already.
-Silence-
YJ: My farewell party is tomorrow.
Me: What?! But, you sent me a facebook invitation that said the party is on the 13th November.
YJ: Yes.
Me: Yeah, and then?
YJ: Today is the 12th November.
Me: Oh.

melbourne - singapore - korea - singapore - melbourne

2008-11-10T21:08:00.000-08:00

Yes! Finally booked my flight to Korea! It is a 14-hours flight, but because I spend 7 hours in transit, the air ticket is a lot cheaper. It would cost $500 more to fly direct to Korea. Amazingly, the cheapest air carrier turned out to be SIA, so I will be spending 8 hours in transit in Singapore!!!

My conversation with the staff went something like this...

Staff: In the airport in Singapore, there is this area that you can spend in transit. So you can watch TV and wait there blah blah blah...
Me: Er, it's ok. Because I live there.
Staff: - stares at me in silence -
Me: I live in Singapore, it's my country!
Staff: Oh, that's your country?
Both: HAHAHAHAHA...

Will be departing Melbourne on 20th November, and reaching Singapore at 3.55pm, and I have 8 hours there before departing for South Korea, Incheon Airport at 11.45pm. Spending 2 weeks in YJ's house, then mum and sis will join me there, and we will be touring areas like Jeju Island (Teddy Bear Museum - Goong!) and many other locations where Korean dramas like Coffee Prince have been filmed. Can't wait! =)

And, then on my birthday, I will be back in Singapore again at night, but only for about two hours or so, so I will probably while my time away in Changi Airport before I catch my midnight flight. And, then it's back to Melbourne again for Sis's graduation ceremony.

I have my own house!! At last!!!

2008-10-28T03:07:00.000-07:00

Yay - finally! I have my own house! Just take a look at my new house, it's so big! Big living room, big kitchen, big bathroom, big wardrobe, reminds me a bit of home, me is a happy girl! =)

A super happy me jumping around and posing on my mega super king-sized bed =))

Ok fine. So this is Eurani's house in Toorak (the rich people's area, although the houses are a tad old) and I'm staying just for the night. But can't a girl dream?

Btw, the house is not as fantastic as it looks. It has really bad reception and bad electricity supply. When my friend and I wanted to watch TV, she had to manually hold up the TV antenna.

Me: (happily sitting on the sofa, wrapped up in blanket) No, a bit to the right.
Friend: (twists antenna to the right)
Me: No, no! To your left!
Friend: (twists antenna to the left)
Me: Ok, that's better.
Friend: (drops antenna to the floor, reception starts to go haywire)
Me: Hey!!!
Friend: What?! Do you expect me to stand there the whole night holding up that stupid antenna?!!!!
Me: Hee...

After a while...

Me: Hey, it's very cold. Can you please turn on the heater?
Friend: Cannot. Because this is a very old house, you can only turn on one thing at a time. So if you turn on the heater, you cannot watch TV.
Me: ... (OS: what kind of house is this...)

Verlin Tulip Festival 2008

2008-10-27T05:31:00.000-07:00

Singapore Day 2008 @ Sidney Myer Music Bowl

2008-10-27T04:58:00.000-07:00

I am Singaporean. And, I am kiasu. Very kiasu. Singapore Day 2008 @ Sidney Myer Music Bowl took place at 10.30am. I was prepared to be at the venue by 10am. My non-Singaporean friend chided me for being so 3k (kiasu, kiasi, kiabo). Thankfully, I decided to pop down in the afternoon instead. My sister went there in the morning, and she told me that an extremely long queue had formed in front of the venue, and she estimated it would be about a 2-hour wait at least just to get inside.

The turnout was amazing - 11,000 people, double the amount of Singaporeans who took part in SG Day in New York last year.

Eating plays a big role in SG Day 2008. Singaporean food such as Roti Prata, Nasi Lemak, Hokkien Mee, Mee Soto, Laksa, Chendol and Bak Chor Mee, Char Kuay Teow, Chicken Rice, BBQ Wings and Satay was divided into 4 different sections named after prominent eating places back home: Newton Circus, Clarke Quay, Rocester Park and Dempsey Hill. Here, you see a signpost named 'Buona Vista'. It has many memories for me, my secondary school used to be located near there. Sadly, it has since closed down (my school, of course) =(

For the record, the food was all free. But, I gave up queuing because of the long-snaking queue. And, also, partly because after queuing for so long in the hot sun, I was disappointed only to receive a small serving of curry chicken not enough to fill even the stomach of a 2-year old.

The hawkers were specially flown in for the event, and the food cooked and served in a hawker-centre style - on the spot.

The sitcom staged by Phua Chu Kang and family had the Singaporean audience roaring with laughter. Halfway through the play, it became extremely obvious that they were trying to pull Singaporeans (and talent) back to their homeland because the actors and actresses were reiterating the positive changes that Singapore has since introduced, such as citizens being able to protest at the Speaker's Corner now.

Tay Ping Hui sang two sings, one in English and the other in Chinese. When he went down the stage, a gaggle of teenage girls came scrambling to take photos with him, forming a snaking long queue in the stadium.

I was quite amazed at the amount of audience excitement that Hady Mirza induced, especially among the Malays. A bunch of Malay girls and guys kept screaming 'Hady! Hadddddyyyyy! Look here, look hereee!!!' at a eardrum-shattering 10 decibels. However, Hady Mirza was very soon upstaged by Phua Chu Kang and family. Within a matter of a few moments after Gurmit Singh descended the stage, a huge crowd had formed around him, everyone fighting to take a photo with them. The first five rows in the audience suddenly disappeared when Hady Mirza was hardly halfway into his first song. Poor Hady Mirza.

here's looking at you, baby

2008-10-24T01:20:00.000-07:00

It is amazing how dogs attract more attention that their two-legged counterparts - human beings. Just look at how much attention we garnered when we brought the cutest dog out for a walk at Carlton Gardens.

lonely hearts in a big city

2008-10-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

"I'm suicidal."

A voice drifts over our shoulders and Jodi and I turn. The voice belonged to a shoddy-looking man, unshaved, dirty, and looking very untidy with his shirt tucked out over a long black pants. "I'm miserable, I have no feelings, I hate myself and I feel there's no point continuing living." As soon as he finishes his speech, he lays his head down once again on the metal bench along Bourke St.

I first met Jodi that very same day on the streets on 17 October 2008, a jovial red-haired Aussie, slightly chubby with a cheerful grin plastered on her face. That's how we became friends. She is 26 years old this year, and has been living on and off the streets for the past fifteen years. Estranged from her family, she relies on welfare organizations to provide her daily meals and other necessities. When I asked her where is her home, her reply was, 'Salvation Army'.

I asks her how she spends her time, with no job and no education (she stopped after Grade 8, because she hated school, which she very much regrets now). She says that she whiles her time away by walking, sitting and talking to strangers on the street. I followed her along and told her to treat me as invisible. Very soon, Jodi is chatting up a couple, a Chinese girl lying on the lap of her boyfriend. She joins me very soon again, and I say to her, 'Great job, Jodi. That conversation lasted - looks at my watch - less than five seconds.'

Jodi is bumbling down the street again, looking for strangers to chat up. I follow her along the congested streets on a Friday afternoon, and someone soon sticks a newspaper into my face. 'No, thanks' I say. But, the person tries again and I reject, turning to leave. But, the person - an old, frail-looking woman - is nonplussed. 'Why don't you want it? Why wouldn't you want to read such a good newspaper?' I stop, and take a look at the newspaper - The Epoch Times. On the front of the cover is a story about a 22-year-old boy in China being beaten to death by 6 Chinese policemen for obstructing their way. Three pictures came along with it: First, of the deceased's mother kneeling on the floor and crying bitterly at her son's death; second, of the corpse, with a face that the deceased's sister said, 'was beaten so out of shape that she could hardly recognize her brother' and the third, of the congested streets where a protest was held where the boy was beaten to death. 'This is the only newspaper in the whole of Melbourne that dares to talk.' I'm listening, and the woman continues. Very soon, our conversation stretches out into an infinity, and Jodi waits patiently at the sidewalk.

The old woman tells me that during the Tiananmen crackdown in 1949, the Chinese police force used guns to shoot down students and huge trucks to run them over. She says that her own experience with the Chinese government has been 'traumatic'. Her grandparents were being shot dead by the Chinese government. Why? Only because they were richer than the government, and so they were being accused of wrongdoing simply because the government couldn't stand anyone having greater wealth than them.

She continues by saying that brain-washing by the Chinese government is so great, that even the young generation has been won over by the propaganda and lies that the government tells. 'Look at places like Melbourne - where we have protests taking place everyday. It's a free society, and people are allowed freedom of speech.' Then, she goes on to lament that today's society is led astray by money. Take the recent milk poisoning incident for example, where the government placed financial wealth over their citizens' health and well-being. My China friend tells me that after the incident was uncovered, she became terrified, because many of the milk products which she had taken growing up turned out to have 'poisonous' ingredients in them.

We continue our walk down Swanston St and Jodi is high-fiving people on the streets, which she calls 'my friends'. The smartly-attired man playing the violin, the homeless Big Issue vendors, the tattooed-guys with their skateboards and the old man dancing on the streets - she knows them all.

She chats up one of the tattooed-guys sitting on a bench.

'Where's your girlfriend?' Jodi asks.

'She's off stealing stuff for me,' the guy replies, pointing to David Jones and the conversation ends there. Jodi doesn't have a say in what happens next, because I am pulling her by her grey sweater down the streets towards David Jones. 'Where are we going?' She asks. 'To stop his girlfriend from stealing stuff.' 5 seconds later, and we are scanning the men's section of David Jones looking for that dude's girlfriend. The search turned out unsuccessful, and we soon gave up, continuing our stroll down Melbourne CBD.

'Don't you ever get tired walking?' I ask Jodi, and she laughs, 'You get used to it!'

I tell her that my legs are very tired and we sit down along Bourke St. You can always rely on Jodi for a good life story. For example, I asked her how she knew so much about pickpockets, (like how they go to Big W, take off their shoes, put on a new pair on the shelf and walk out of the store) and her answer was that they were her friends. Her eyes have seen much more things than the average 26-year-old. I once jokingly said to her, 'You think too much!' only to be silenced by her reply, 'Think too much, or know too much?' So, there I was having a chat with Jodi, and she was telling me about the rough patches that she went through in life. And, how there was a point in time, where she felt like committing suicide.

Right at this point, a man's head pops over from behind our shoulders and in a deep voice, he growled, 'I'm suicidal.'

I soon learn his name is Nathan. He once tried to kill himself by jumping off a building. I ask him what made him changed his mind. He said that at the last minute, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He talked about his past, his colorful history which only served to highlight his current bleak condition. He used to be a strong Christian, but after a traumatic mental illness which struck him at the age of 20, he stopped believing there was a God. He said he hated himself, and he could see no meaning in life, and that God had abandoned him. 'If there really was a God, he would have saved me,' he rationalized.

Jodi tells him that God loves him, and if he truly seek, he will find. I tell him that God has a purpose for everyone in life, and God's purpose for him is definitely not to spend his youth wasting away on a bench along Bourke St, smoking and drinking his life away. We spend an hour just chatting with Nathan, and just before we leave, he turned to me and said, 'I used to be a man with charisma, you know? Do you know what is the meaning of charisma?' I nod, and he says, 'So, I'm not mad, I'm not a crazy man.'

Jodi and I continue our journey along the streets. Just outside Starbuck's, colorful bunches of flowers circled a pillar. Jodi picks one up. I look at it. It said, 'We all love you very much. Rest in peace, Catz.' Catz is the cyclist who recently was knocked over by a bus parked along Swanston St and was killed instantly. This sparked off a huge furore, with hundreds of cyclists congregating along Swanston St in protest against buses parked along that area which posed a huge danger to them. There was even the no-vehicles zone proposal - to turn Swanston St into Swanston Walk.

My tutor was so damn right where she said the city is a myraid of stories - you just gotta know where to look.

newbies in culinary art

2008-10-16T02:51:00.000-07:00

Han's Chinese dishes

Yoo Jeong's cheap imitation of Korean food

Quoted from the email I sent Sarah - For the first time in months, I picked up my cooking pots and pans and exercised my culinary muscles once again, which I thought up till that point was reserved solely for the cooking of maggie mee.

Also, I figured that if cooking amateurs like my friends can do it, so can I! =)

Although I have to thank Sarah for that, because she was the one who gave me the motivation to cook once again.

Anyway, about two weeks back, I cooked a meal for YJ, and it was my first time cooking for someone other than myself. Well, ok, actually it's my second attempt. My first attempt ended up in three people getting diarrhoea. (Because my smart-ass friend decided to place the coconut-filled dessert in the fridge for a couple of days, and then went on to serve everyone in her household.) The thing was, YJ loved my food so much that she kept praising it throughout the entire meal, and she kept saying, "Oh my god, this is really good" or "You're really a good cook" or "This is so delicious, thank you so much for the meal" throughout the entire 30 minutes of eating my dishes.

1st attempt at cooking for a friend - success!

pulling through, you know it is worth every bit.

2008-09-30T22:42:00.000-07:00

"I don't think anyone knows how to appreciate home
as much as when they are away from it."

Just within the span of less than a month, and I have witnessed two friends breaking down in front of me because they were lonely and missed home and their family very much.

In the first case, I was just talking random stuff with a friend, and she was telling me about all her problems, and how much she missed her mother, and there I was sitting there quietly listening as she talked, and then before I knew it, there were the first sign of tears. And, then, a whole stream of tears began falling down.

In the second case, I was happily singing Britney Spears 'Lucky' (please don't ask why) at K-Box when tears started streaming down my friend's face suddenly. Mariah Carey's 'Hero' made it worse.

Isn't it ironic how the people who have the most number of friends and the largest social circle are the same ones who cry themselves to sleep every night because they are so lonely?

The truth is, which foreign student doesn't miss their home? Which one doesn't suffer from bouts of loneliness? Which one truly can say that they don't miss their family or friends back home one bit?

I've been so homesick before that I even was prepared and willing to give up all my journalistic dreams, just to return to the place that I was so familiar with. I've been in a position where I hated myself so much for my dreams, blamed myself for it, and would do anything, everything to turn the clock back. I've been in a position where I regretted my decision so much, that I was willing to give myself the short end of the stick by signing up for a local university if I had a second chance. I've been in a position where I miss home so much and where everything doesn't seem right and I seem so lonely, and I walk around feeling empty and lost, and I would give up the whole world just to be back home.

I've been in a position where the biggest dream I've ever harbored was an air ticket back home on the earliest flight.

I've lost count of the number of times where I've regretted my decision to go for overseas studies, where three years seem to sketch out into an infinity, I've lost count of the number of times I've cried because I was so homesick, of the number of times when the light goes off, and I stare at the ceiling and think about home, and when I finally doze off and dream that I was back home only to wake up and have that rush of disappointment pour over me like wet rain.

But, I'm really glad.

Because I made it through. I pulled it through.

I can't say that I've fully gotten over that phrase, and I know it will get worse the moment I return home and have to say goodbye once again sometime next year, but at the very least, I know and I'm very clear, that my dream is worth it, that my dream is worth so much that three more times of the experience I went through is worth every bit.

And, that is when I truly realize, that I can't turn back.

我不可能再回头
我只能一直往前走

please remind me again why.

2008-09-23T07:15:00.000-07:00

The Brownlow event might not ring a bell, but in Australia, it is a huge media event where star footballers congregate together to receive awards. Interestingly, none of these are the highlights in the Australian media, instead it is the footballers' wives who are getting all the limelight, because they are beautiful and young creatures with great fashion sense. Krusla attended the red carpet event, dressed up in a mocking caricature of one's footballer wife, and received so much media attention (including the Herald Sun) that she didn't shy away from admitting that she even upstaged the footballers' wives - with her low cut mini-top, fake tan and five-inch stilettos.

Holly might be only 20 years old this year, but she worked for 8 months as a nanny in Germany. The family she worked for was extremely rich, both parents having their own companies and their own personal villa for family vacations. Just one problem: Their 3 young children hardly ever see their parents. 4, 7 and 11 years of age, they have grown up to be young, angry boys. So full of pent-up anger that one might easily mistake for an adolescent phrase, but really, lack of parental care and concern has gravely affected their emotional and mental well-being. The boys have a new nanny every year, which means 11 nannies in total thus far, which also means that every time they grow attach to their 'surrogate mother', she packs up her bags and leave. Raising a very interesting case of why the hell people procreate, Mandy said that she once worked as a nanny where the young child had a fractured bone in his skull all because a nanny dropped him on the floor when he was six-months-old. Finally, sick of all that drama, a teary-eyed Holly set her mind on leaving. When she made up her mind to leave, it wasn't only a job that she had chosen to abandon, but the hearts and minds of three crushed souls.

Chevron might look like the sweet and unassuming girl-next-door. But the 20-year-old does charity work on pilgrammes trips to India. During her last trip to India, she was invited to an event, which had nothing to do with beer or partying. Instead, it was an event where demons are exorcised from the bodies of the human beings of whom they reside in.

Just one hour.

Same time to yawn through a boring lecture on economics. Same time to sit through yet another half-session of the tutor droning on about the communications industry. And, yet, what I sat through, was one of the most interesting tutorials ever, with some of the most colourful human stories being told in vivid imagery and details.

We got into pairs for a mock interview session. Normally, I am very relaxed when interviewing people, but not this time round, with ten pairs of eyes around the room trained on me, my every word, my every gesture, my every slip-up. Turns out that the class was pretty impressed with my interviewing techniques. The leaning forward and pointing of toes towards my interviewee was partly out of nervousness, but was mistaken to be a show of interested concentration, which made the interviewee want to ramble on and divulge more revealing information. So, that was good, because I am a great pretender. The tutor even got so far as to observe our body language, freezing the moment of my crossed legs, and then bringing up the topic on whether females should cross their legs when interviewing someone. (Interestingly, at that very moment that subject was brought up, all the females in the room had their legs crossed.) Fyi, the answer is no, but our tutor advises us to get into any position we are comfortable with.

For every single bad thing that's been said about journalism, for every bad cloud of omen that hangs or negative thing that's been said about the profession like the recent negative publicity that 550 job cuts in the Australian journalism industry garnered, today's journalism class renewed my passion for the craft. In my tutor's words, which other job in the world gives you the privilege of reporting to work expecting something different everyday, affording you the license of getting people to share with you their most interesting life stories, for getting the taste of something so exciting and exhilarating?

"No matter what it takes, how long it takes you, let me tell you, it is worth it. It is worth every bit."

p.s./ I totally heart my tutor. She's the best journalism teacher ever.

homeless?

2008-09-23T00:11:00.000-07:00

I turned the door knob again. NO. This is not happening to me. It can't be. This must be a joke. All I have to do is to try again and the door will open naturally.

Unfortunately, my optimism (or rather, desperation) didn't help things one bit. So, great, this is what I get for being a hardworking nerd, staying in the uni computer labs until 11.30 at night to study. (Actually, it was because I was feeling guilty, because I had been busy having fun going out the whole week, and it's alright to have fun, but not when you have 3 major assignments due soon.)

So, great, now I was left with my wallet. My handphone, bag and everything else was locked inside the room. I immediately headed to the security centre and walked around campus for a while looking for any security guards. Drunkard teenagers strolling the streets peered at me curiously and then I was reminded that it was Friday. Who the hell stays in uni on a Friday night studying their ass off, except for a nerd like me?

Was beating myself up for being such a nerdy ass, before finally realizing that all I could do now was to make my way home and come back again early next morning to retrieve my belongings. And, then suddenly, a thought struck me like lightening, and I went, 'OMG, my house keys!!!'

And, that is the story of how I came to spend one night homeless, out on the streets, with no house to return to. Reduced to the same state as the other 23,000 homeless people in Australia, out in the winter cold, not catching a single wink, and returning home with panda eyes the next day.

Nay, kidding. Good thing I have a habit of leaving my house keys in my pocket, because I realized that people can steal your bag, but not your pants. Well, in most ordinary circumstances, that is.

random ramblings

2008-09-21T01:36:00.000-07:00

Four more weeks till school ends. Four more weeks till I officially graduate from First Year in university. Time is one sneaky thief, I don't know where all the weeks went to. All I know is that by the time Monday rolls by, I've programmed myself like an automaton, ready to report back to uni again.

Booked my flight back to Singapore, so will be flying back with Dad, Mum and Sis. But, Mum's keen on a trip to Tasmania, because she thinks she will rot spending 7 days in Melbourne. I've been planning for a holiday trip to Tasmania with my friend forever but it's freaking expensive. And, in the end, we gave up on that idea. Too much moolah to pay for fantastic scenery.

I've been thinking a lot about where my degree is eventually going to lead me to. It's hard not to when everyone around me keeps asking me if I'm going to stay on after three years. At first, I thought the last place I would want to work in was the country where I grew up. But, then, I realize that my first love is still the entertainment industry. I've never lost touch on that, no matter how far away I am. I still know every artiste who sets foot in Singapore, which artiste and which drama is currently being filmed in Singapore. Friends back home are amazed that I know more about what's going on in the local entertainment industry, than all of them. Sometimes, I get angry and upset, because artistes who I have been waiting for many, many years finally decides to come to Singapore when I have decided to leave. No matter what, two years is a short time, and even with 95% international students applying for PR status, it holds zero appeal for me. My dream country to work in might not be Singapore, but it is definitely not Australia. This is only a stepping stone, and time will eventually demand an answer from me. New York, nonetheless, remains my first love. And, my ultimate dream.

My aim right now is to get a high-paying job to fund my planned trip to Korea in January to visit Yoo Jeong, who keeps pestering me to visit her country so she can bring me to the nicest eating and shopping places. If I'm going to fly there alone, I would definitely have to fund my own trip. Well, at least I wouldn't have to worry about accomodation, since I'm staying at YJ's place.

My biggest dream right now is to catch Epik High and DBSK in a live concert in Korea.

another day in the life of a journalism student

2008-09-15T05:27:00.005-07:00

Today's class is Reporting and Newswriting. I skipped two lectures in the morning because I couldn't wake up (what's new?) and that left me fully energetic for the practical session.

We got back our results for our in-class assignment, and I was very disappointed by my 7 out of 10 marks, and then I realized 3 marks were being deducted for style mistakes, and was very upset about it. But, at least, this time, my tutor ticked the bracket which said, 'Copy is publishable, but needs minor editing. Story is soundly reported and written." instead of 'Copy contains most information, but may need close editing. May need improvement in structure. Is publishable, but the sub might not finish his/her shift on time' which was what I got last semester, and wasn't very flattered by that comment.

So, feeling very unhappy, I approached my tutor to protest. I asked whether all my marks were being deducted solely because of style mistakes.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" my tutor asks sympathetically, "That's 1 mark each for every mistake."

I look at her very sadly.

"Well, you got 7 marks. That's very good."

I continue looking at her sadly.

"Look, the highest I would have given anyone would be an 8."

I guess I must have looked at her very very sadly, because then my tutor reviewed my work again, and realized that she had marked me incorrectly, because I had only committed two style mistakes. So, she gave me 8 marks.

I was so angry, and still am, for the two stupid mistakes I made, which robbed me of a perfect score. If I had written "8000" instead of "eight thousand" and "nine" instead of "9" I would have topped the class. So, later on, I ACCIDENTALLY peeked at the scores of everyone in my class that our tutor had recorded in her book. The highest scorers in the class were two students who got 8, one of whom which were me, which made my very angry, because of my innate competitive streak, and my desire to always be the best, best, best.

(You would think that I would have learnt my stupid mistakes, but for the next graded assignment, I went on to write five as '5', which cost me one bloody mark, grrr)

So, I decided to blame the uni bookshop which had run out of the style guide book, and also I started to blame myself for being so KIND by giving up the last copy to a friend.

So, in what I suspect was an attempt to cheer me up, my tutor told me that I had a very sharp news sense, because I had gotten the main point of the article which flew over many other people's heads. I replied that I wasn't as good as she thought I was, because I hadn't scored very well last semester. "Well, clearly, you've vastly improved," my tutor said. Another attempt to cheer me up.

And, then because we were supposed to do a group story together, and two of my groupmates had abandoned me by not turning up for class, my tutor told me that I had two choices. First, was to go ahead with the idea and do my own story, and if I was successful, I would get my own byline. Second, was to abandon the whole idea of a story altogether.

Without hesitation, I told her I would go for the former, and I would go ahead with the story all by myself. The tutor said that I had the right spirit and attitude for a journalist. But, actually, I'm selfish and I want the byline all to myself, and I didn't want to share it with anyone else. So, I was really very happy that my groupmates had abandoned me.

Met up with Sarah after class. We talked so much until the shops closed and we had no choice but to leave. That girl is a public embarrassment, and I told her so, because she drags around this humongous fluorescent pink trolley bag when grocery-shopping.

Something I thought only people like my mum would do.

when human life goes on sale

2008-09-13T02:54:00.000-07:00

She was a young woman of Chinese nationality. Single, maybe. Married, maybe. Alone, crossing the street, probably in a hurry, probably not.

But, by the time I saw her, she was lying on the middle of the street in a bloodied mess. Minutes later, she was lifted up onto a white sketcher by two uniformed paramedics. The trams had ground to a halt, traffic was building up. Huge crowds of by-passers had gathered, police were at the scene talking on their walkie-talkies, an ambulance was parked nearby.

The crowds were speculating whether the victim was alive or dead. As she was being carried onto a higher trolley, there is an audible gasp among the crowd, and some girls moved away. There, right on the ground, was a huge mass of blood. Thick, gory, horrifying. I saw her clearly from where I was standing. Her eyes seemed to be open, but I couldn't be sure, because her entire face was soaked in blood. I wonder what she must have been thinking, if she was doing any thinking at all. And, then she lifted up a bloodied hand to touch her bloodied face.

Traffic slowly built up, as trams after trams ground to a halt. Annoyed and irritated passengers alighted from the trams. Tram drivers with perplexed looks on their faces. I know what were on their minds. What were causing the delay?

I just wonder, in this uncaring society where a dead female body can go undiscovered for six months, if they knew what happened, would they still be as annoyed, would they still be as irritated as what was causing the delay just because they were in a hurry to go home or meet their friends? And, then I imagine the media coverage splashed all over newspapers tomorrow, which would unfailingly mention how many trams were delayed as a result, and for how long. And, then I realized, how cheap human life had become, at the expense of a modern society.

return to basics

2008-09-06T07:48:00.000-07:00

in loving memory of 阿嬷
02.09.2008

Death is taboo. We no longer say someone is dead, we use a polite euphemism of death, 'passed away', as if it makes any difference. As though by shying away from such a direct term, it would chip away at some of the harsh reality.

The memory of my grandfather's death still remains raw in my mind. I don't talk about it. The skeletons of yesteryear's memories still crusade through my disturbed mind. I still have nightmares about it, I still get startled awake by it. It seems like it happened only yesterday, when my father came up to me when I was preparing for work one morning, that my grandfather passed away that morning.

I still remember his face no longer looking back at me from behind the cold, unfeeling metal of the coffin. I still remember my auntie bawling her eyes out on the day of the burial, her hands clinging onto the side of the coffin, and before a crowd of hundreds, screaming her lungs out with utter sorrow at her father's death. I still remember all of us standing in line as we witnessed the coffin being lowered into the fire, and the burning emotions that it lit up within us. I still remember the white ashes that I let slip from my hands back into the box. I still remember, one year on, my family standing before my grandfather's grave, my mother standing beside me, my auntie standing beside my mother and saying to her, "Look, Cousin Michelle has grown so much fatter." I still remember myself thinking whether it was appropriate discussing such matters in front of grandpa's grave. I still remember two days after the burial, my grandmother sitting in the living room, in the dark. It was the first time the TV wasn't switched on. It was the first time the lights were off. I still remember my sister asking my grandmother, "Ah ma, do you want to watch TV? I can switch it on for you." And, my grandma replying, "Grandpa is dead. What's there to watch?" I still remember my sister's silence, because no words could fill the empty void. My sister's silence must have been accompanied by feelings of loss and uneasiness.

My elder sister tells me that attending a funeral is like going to church. Because you don't have to go to church to believe in God, but because you believe that you must, you go. In the same vein, you don't have to attend a funeral to grief, but because, i don't know, you go.

It's true. I think I grieved harder than if I were to be present at Grandma's funeral.

One cousin remarked that because she hadn't attended the funeral, the death of Grandma hadn't fully registered in her mind, and she hadn't really grieved. I was physically present during Grandpa's funeral, yet, not at Grandma's. And, yet when I received the news that Grandma had passed away, I grieved harder than over Grandpa's death.

Regret is a stinging sensation, an emotional wound in my heart and also the nagging sense of a guilty conscience. It suddenly struck me that no longer will there be anyone for me to ignore, for me to walk pass without saying a word, for me to rush past when I'm late in the early mornings, and for me to stroll away from because I was in a rush to sit in front of a wired-up device. And, I realize that no longer, will my father scold me with disappointment for not spending enough time with Ah Ma, no longer will he chide me for not informing Ah Ma about my whereabouts, no longer will my heart be filled with anger and bitterness at my father's scoldings all because I couldn't be bothered to say a little greeting to Ah Ma.

No longer will Ah Ma sit down with me at dinner, and tell me how much she misses my sister. No longer will she take my hand and tell me that she loves all of us so very much. No longer will she talk about how much she misses my grandfather. I still remember the times where she was so feeble to move around on her own, that I had to support her for her daily walks. And, I remember her clutching onto my arm, so tightly that it hurt. And, I remember thinking what soft, wrinkled hands she had, so delicate, like that of a fragile new-born's.

Because I've not been the best granddaughter, the tears that flood my face now seems so borrowed, the wounds that reside in me seem so hypocritical, and my mind screams out endlessly for more time, more time, more time...before a response echoes back, that time waits for no man. And, the reason why my heart aches, is because I've had so much thoughts of how to treat her better when I return home, and my sister's pain is because she never spent enough time with Ah Ma, because she was always out with her friends. I realize then that time might be our perfect excuse for procrastination, but it is also man's weakest justification.

Let me return to basics, please. Let me give up a little of my dreams, slowly.

Beijing Olympics @ Federation Sqaure

2008-08-31T00:04:00.000-07:00

I know this entry is VERY, VERY backdated. When I reached there, I was ten minutes late, and the national anthem was being telecasted on the big screen at Federation Square.

Thousands of Chinese people had congregated together in celebration of their country's proud achievement. They stood up, hands on their chests, eyes fixated to the big screen, and sang along to the national anthem. Their voices were loud and clear, their pride clearly evident in their serious demeanour.

To be honest, even though I am not from China, the Chinese's people's pride for their country shone through so brightly, that even I felt my heart swelled with pride together with them.

Anyway, when I reached there, I saw my China friends carrying a red flag like this:

Pardon me, but I had a minor culture shock at the outward displays of national patriotism. Simply because I cannot imagine that during Singapore's NDP, a Singaporean would pocket a big red and white flag from home, and bring it to the stadium to wave it in front of everyone and declare his or her dedication and love for Singapore.

After I got over my initial shock, I asked them why they were carrying their national flag. They didn't have an answer for that. Instead, they were surprised at my question. Perhaps, what seemed like a perplexing scenario to me, to another, it was the most obvious thing to do.

hunters in the city

2008-08-22T02:57:00.000-07:00

The past few weeks have been crazy. University life has been hectic, hectic, hectic. I am amazed I even found time out of all that pandemonium to breathe. The common phrase I hear among Asian students is that the academic curriculum here is very relaxed. One even described it as a 'holiday'.

This is not true at all.

So, last week, we were sent out on a journalistic assignment, where we had to scour the city for story ideas. According to the tutor, stories are everywhere and you can find hundreds just by walking down the streets alone. Well, according to the students, some spent hours scouring the city and came back with zero ideas and zero inspiration.

Finally, my groupmates and I reached an exasperation point and we decided to look for story ideas in a...police station. So, we walked in and introduced ourselves as journalism students and said we were hard-up for story ideas, and would the police so kindly assist us by providing us with something interesting that was happening in the city?

Well, the police recommended the halt of the 2am lockout, which was the Victorian government's initiative to curb alcohol-fuelled violence and crimes. It was to end its run very soon, and the police officer suggested that we do a story on the likely death sentence to be passed on the highly-controversial lockout.

Meanwhile, while we were busy hunting for stories to submit to City Journal, we had to do another individual assignment hard news story.

And, hence, I embarked upon another brainstorming trip again, which frankly is consuming all my brain juices. I'm not a fan of walking around the city scouring for ideas on blind faith, and I decide to conduct my research in the same fashion as most new-age journalists today: research on the net.

So, I goggled the latest events happening in Melbourne, and came across Melbourne Citymission's Homelessness Campaign 2008. Held in conjunction with National Homeless Person's Week, they feature activities such as Winter Sleepout and PJ Day. As the names suggest, Winter Sleep-out is held on a particular day where Melburnians organize their own sleepout, just so they experience what homeless people have to endure having to go by without a roof over their heads. Whereas PJ Day is where companies and schools wear their pyjamas to work, a smart PR tactic to highlight the desperate plight of homeless people.

So, I reported back to my 'newsroom' with two story ideas in mind. First, I informed my tutor that I was doing my hard news story on homeless people, knowing very well that my tutor would have concerns over whether it was more of a feature piece. True enough, with furrowed eyebrows, the tutor expressed that she thought it was a tad too featurish. I replied that it wasn't a problem, and I would find a way to make it more of a hard-news piece. Blame it on my lack of concern on insipid stuff that involves city councils, meetings, transport issues, blah blah blah.

So, on the day of the Winter Sleepout itself, I was supposed to be scouring the streets looking for people who had organized their sleepouts in the city, but I ended up at Federation Square watching the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics 2008 together with thousands of China people on that Friday night. (More on that in another blog entry, and also, not you get a rough idea of how backdated my blog entries are, given that Olympics has already ended!)

My second story (individual assignment) was similar to the story ideas of two other groups in the 'newsroom'. We all had the same idea of doing the same story. Which is, the exploitation of international students as 'cash cows' by Victorian universities. While a local student only has to pay $2,500 a semester for his or her school fees, international students have to pay $9,000 a semester. A petition was filed by the student union to the Federal Government, protesting on the unfair treatment of international students. The petition urged the government to abolish full fees and to give international students access to student concession cards.

So, when I proposed this story idea to the tutor, I choose to do it from a different angle from the other two groups. I remembered my tutor telling me that the most important thing was for me to talk to people. Which I did, friends, strangers, events coordinator, media and PR people. Because she said that is the origin of story ideas. Talking to people is your tap flow of story ideas. And, sometimes, even though you set out to do the story in a way, someone might tell you something interesting that makes you go, 'Hey, wait, that is something interesting. Maybe I shall do on that instead,' and end up switching the angle of your story altogether.

I would find out very quickly that very same afternoon that what my tutor said was right. After deciding to narrow the focus of my hard news story down to my university's student union who was holding its very own petition, I decided to pop down to the student union for a chat for the first time ever. While I was poking my head around, I came across a room, where there were two guys inside. I introduced myself as a journalism student, and then started asking them questions about the petition. They were very nice and polite, and one of the guys from Africa said that he had visited Singapore and liked it very much. Then he offered me drinks and donuts, which I politely declined. And, he said it was part of the Middle Eastern culture to offer their guests food, and he wasn't sure if it was Singapore's culture as well.

---------------------------------------------------------

Sidenote:

Why do everyone I meet tell me that...
1. They have visited Singapore before.
2. They like Singapore very, very much.
3. Singapore is very clean.
4. They would like to visit again.

A Spanish girl even told me that she loved Sentosa so much she was planning to apply for PR status in Singapore! And, then halfway when the conversation drifted towards what languages she was hoping to study, she rattled off, 'Erm...French...Italian....and, of course, Singlish! I plan to learn Singlish one day!"

My jaws immediately dropped to the ground. I had no idea Singlish could even be considered a language of its own. And, even more so, that someone would be interested in learning the language made (in)famous by the Phua Chu Kang series.

---------------------------------------------------------

So, back to my story. And, the trip down to the Student Union was where I got my second idea from. Noticing a sign pasted on the front door, I queried about it, and found out that there was a Soup Kitchen held every Wednesday in my university! Soup Kitchen is where the volunteers of the student union gather together to cook for students who are in financial difficulties. I ask about the response. One guy said it was very good.

"Would there happen to be any homeless university students among the queue?" I asked, seeing a glaring interview opportunity for my second hard news story on homeless people in Victoria.

One guy looked at the other and started talking about this guy and before I knew it, he was telling me all about this homeless university student whose conversations rotated around the orbit of his homelessness situation.

I expressed my interest in interviewing him, but they told me that since he was homeless, he couldn't afford a phone and didn't have a number. So, they suggested for me to come down the next day instead to look for him. I agreed.

To be continued...

in a foreign land

2008-08-20T01:51:00.000-07:00

I was having this long chat with one of my friend, David, and halfway through the conversation, he commented on his bad impression of Singaporeans. He then went on to accuse Singaporeans studying in Australia of being a cliquey bunch, unwilling to mix with locals and sticking to their own kind.

So, I asked him, "Why only Singaporeans? Aren't all Asians the same?"

"Yes."

"Aren't all Aussies the same?"

"Yes."

He then went on to argue his point. His rationale is that foreigners should take the responsibility of assimilating into the culture of the country that they are staying in. The onus is on Asians to take the first step to bridging the gap, and making friends with the Aussies.

"Let's say I visit Singapore, so I'm a visitor to your country, therefore it is my responsibility to extend the first hand of greeting. But, now, you guys are the ones coming into our country, and it is your responsibility to make that first step and try to blend in with our culture."

I commented that he made it sound all very easy, when in practice, most Aussies aren't willing to talk to Asians. And, there is always that fear of the unknown, that fear of talking to someone with a nationality that is alien from yours.

Being in a classroom that is filled with Aussies, and being the only Asian, I have to admit that sometimes I get the feeling that I have four eyes, six mouths and eight ears. It doesn't help when Aussies generally adopt a very Westernized perception of beauty, and being the only one in class wearing spectacles sometimes makes me feel like an alien invading Planet Earth.

After 5 months, I can say that Aussies are not a very friendly bunch. And, dare I say it -no, I won't say it, I won't even mention that they are racist - but the way they interact with Asians, that discriminating twinkle in their eyes, their lowering of voices, their changes in tones. DIFFERENT. That is all about I'm going to say. Different.

I did try convincing myself otherwise for a period of time. When my Singaporean friend lamented about the way her Aussie classmates treated her - "Yeah, it's okay if they don't talk to us Asians, because why should they, when we don't even try? But, when we try to be friendly, the very least they could do is reciprocate", when my Indonesian friend who tried striking up a conversation with an Aussie who entertained her with a flippant attitude before turning her attention back to her Aussie friends said, "Aussies can't even be bothered to talk to us. I don't even bother, I've given up trying." - still I didn't give up, trying, hoping.

I would even go so far as to say that me and one of my Asian friend has, on so many accounts, been the first to break the ice with our Aussie classmates. But, not ONCE, not ONCE, has a single Aussie classmate ever bothered to talk to us FIRST. Maybe, just like my friend David, they think that we have to do all the work since we are visitors to their country, and so we have to assimilate their culture? Well, how about looking at it from another angle? That they should do their duty as hosts, and invite us with a welcoming smile and an embracing attitude? I know this sounds condescending, but that's not my intention, I just don't know any other way of putting across such a crude concept benignly.

And, mind you, I'm not even talking in terms of individual experiences. I'm talking about Asian students' experiences in general. Yes, Asian students are sticky. Yes, Asian students only speak to their own kind. Yes, Asian students continue to communicate in their own native languages. But, what about Aussies? Aren't Aussies sticky? Don't Aussies only speak to their own kind? Don't Aussies only communicate in their own native language?

I used to feel really awful about the fact that Singaporeans hang out with Singaporeans, Malaysians hang out with Malaysians, Indonesians hang out with Indonesians, Vietnamese hang out with Vietnamese and so on. But, then I stopped to think. Isn't it the same for all Westerners? I see Aussies hanging out with Aussies, Brits hanging out with Brits, Italians hanging out with Italians. So, what right does anyone have to accuse us Asians of being sticky?

And, then, I ask myself a very simple question. Why should these Aussies even bother talking to me? Why should these Aussies even give me a damn? Why should they choose to talk to a Chinese girl from Singapore when there are so many of their kind around? Why should they choose to talk to someone wearing spectacles when there are so many wearing contact lenses around? Why should they talk to a yellow-skinned girl when there are so many white-skinned ones around?

Really, I've given up trying. Why should I even bother?

Alice Pung drove the point straight home in her article "Shunned in a strange land, we should offer them more" published in The Age on 17 August 2008. She wrote:

THEIR big apartment blocks are like pointed middle fingers scraping the Melbourne skyline. Their presence in our city is only tolerated because they bring money into our education system. They are anti-social, rich, young foreigners who "form ghettos and don't assimilate".

This is what is said about our international students, and these perceptions dangerously verge on the kind of racist rhetoric we thought had ended a decade ago. Worse, they are not true.

Orientation week is daunting and international students soon start to become invisible, because they do not go to pubs twice a week. Drinking makes my local students garrulous and extroverted — qualities that seem to earn acceptance and respect in Australia — but many international students come from cultures where drinking is not a social pastime.

There is a misconception that all international students are cashed-up because they pay the exorbitant fees that our government extracts from them. There is also the pointed accusation that international students do not "assimilate", but this is not always a choice they are able to make. They do not "form ghettos" — on the contrary, they are largely and deeply in our community, yet they are also largely ignored. They are the students who serve our meals in Chinatown, the people who drive our taxis. They are the lowest paid and often most exploited workers, unprotected by Australian workplace relations legislation. We refuse to see their toils because it does not accord with our image of how our overseas cash-calves should be.

Eventually, most find company and comfort in the presence of each other. No one seems to begrudge Western students latching on to other Westerners when studying in Asia and forming insular little expatriate communities to observe the locals as if they were sociological studies instead of people who are only separated by a different culture. But somehow, we in Australia seem to demand assimilation from our temporary visitors, instead of offering acceptance and understanding.

Many international students are acutely aware that their parents back home are breaking their backs and bank accounts to send them here. It is not their duty to assimilate: many of them come here, under no uncertain terms, for an education.

It is our duty to deliver that education, but perhaps it is also our obligation to show to our young overseas visitors that we are also a tolerant society — and that we see them.

A childish, immature reaction to this entry that I've tried to write as honestly as possible would be, "Get out of this country, then. If you hate Aussies so much, then get lost, go back to your own country." But, really, I don't blame them. When I was studying in Singapore, and there were exchange students from America (who of course only hung out with other exchange students from America), my Singaporean friend took one look at them and muttered under her breath disparagingly, "Just get lost back to your own country!" I was shocked and asked her, "Why?" And, she fired off a list of reasons, like them not being serious in their studies and drinking and partying hard all day.

So, my point is, if we can't welcome visitors to our country with embracing attitudes, then I prolly can't expect to be treated the same way when I'm visitor to another.

p.s./ I know this entry comes across as a bit ironic, given that David is an Aussie, and also that most Aussies I've met are really, really nice people. Maybe it just has to do with the Aussies studying in the media stream, especially those studying PR, huh? The stereotype that arts students tend to be a tad more bitchier? Or maybe I just have to try harder. Me. Not them.

sappy farewells

2008-08-13T04:36:00.000-07:00

I was speaking to Yoo Jung, a South Korean friend, and she was telling me something that really struck a chord in my heart.

'Tears were rolling down my cheeks, it was so embarrassing, especially since I was crying during my tutorial class!'

She was talking about the time when one of her close friends left Melbourne permanently.

I wanted to say something to her. Anything. Anything to comfort her. To soothe her ruffled soul. To tell her to be strong. But, I said nothing. I just sat there and listened to her talk.

I was silent because I realize the pain. The pain of being away from home and seeing one of your best friends leave. And, it's the kind of pain that no words can take away, that no emotional plaster can erase. It's the kind of pain that you have to overcome yourself. All by yourself.

I am beginning to realize that what Han said was right, that no one will, and can ever replace my friend.

hello can be the beginning of a new friendship

2008-08-12T03:50:00.000-07:00

I first met Yang on a chilly Friday morning outside Lecture Hall 5.3.1.

It was my first class for Professional Writing.

Remember the time I attended the wrong lecture (Let's call this Class 1)? And, remember the time I begged the lecturer to take me in (Let's call this Class 2)?

Well, after two weeks of attending lectures and tutorials for Class 2, I decided the course which I've so desperately begged the lecturer to take me in wasn't right for me, and choose to drop it, and take the pre-requisite course for the wrong lecture (Class 1) that I have attended. Isn't it funny how fate has its way of twisting through our lives in delightful ways?

Yang was standing all by herself outside the lecture room, looking very very lost. After class, I approached her and introduced myself. We started conversing, but it quickly became evident that Yang had trouble speaking in English. She had difficulty understanding what I was saying, sometimes I had to repeat myself twice, thrice, even. Other times, the meaning of my words just flew right past her head.

Yang is an exchange student from South China Normal University. She arrived in Melbourne the day before yesterday, and admitted that she had trouble acclimating herself to the foreign culture here. She didn't say much, or at least she tried to say as much as she could manage, but it became quite clear that language was a serious barrier in our conversation.

So, finally, I decided to break my silence, and after five long months of not conversing in my Mother Tongue, I spoke my very first sentence of Mandarin since I've arrived in Melbourne. (Well, okay, not really, remember that time I had to interview a China girl for my hard news story?)

Yang's entire face lit up, her eyes immediately shone and she exclaimed in her own native language, "You know how to speak Chinese?!" From that moment on, everything else is history. Yang started leaping around with joy, and clutching my arm several times while speaking to me. She gestured me to the nearest table in the school cafeteria.

A waterfall of words started pouring out of her mouth rapidly, and she confessed that she felt so very very very lost in Melbourne, and how glad she was to meet me. And, when I just offered my simple and polite help by asking, "Do you need help with anything, getting around, etc?" Yang looked as if I've just told her that she had struck the million-dollar lottery. She replied that there was a million things she needed help with, everything, and then she repeated how very lost she felt, how she had trouble adapting to the culture over here and how very thankful she was to bump into me, and also how glad she was to bump into someone who could offer her help and a sense of familiarity by speaking Chinese.

Yang said that Thursday (the day before) was her first day of classes, and she couldn't understand a word the lecturers were saying. I laughed, and said it was normal, even up till this date, I have trouble understanding the Aussie accent. Since she is only required to take four modules, and she has five under her belt, she is obliged to drop one. She said that she was considering dropping one of the Thursday classes, since she couldn't understand a thing the lecturers were saying.

So, I brought Yang to the computer labs and after some checking, her timetable showed that she had a class at that very time, and she was half an hour late. Hurriedly I brought her to the class since she still wasn't familiar with the buildings and all. After class, we met each other up again, and after much administrative sorting out and all, I brought her to my favourite dumplings store, which I introduced to her as the "cheapest and nicest dumplings in Melbourne!"

After that, we went for Professional Writing class together. My tutor approached me in the middle of the tutorial with a very concerned expression and asked, "Cheryl, are you sure you are in the right class?"

And, when I insisted I was, she continued, "I just wanted to make sure because I never ever had any journalism students in my class before."

Well, I just like to write, and so I told her, "I think the reason why is because journalism students do so much writing in their course already (not true at all), and they just want to select a module that has nothing to do with writing." (Entirely quoted from my friend, Amanda)

After class, I brought Yang to the school bookshop to buy all her academic notes. And, then we said our goodbyes.

The next morning, I woke up and checked my handphone. There was an sms waiting for me. It said,

"Dear Cheryl, this is Ying. I really appreciate what you have done for me yesterday, you just can't imagine how much convenience and happiness you have brought to me! What I can do is to say 'thank you' again and again! Hope you have a nice weekend!!! ^-^"

This is something I've learnt ever since I came to Melbourne. I've learnt to take the initiative to get to know more people and make more new friends. I've learnt that either you can keep the silence and the both of you shall remain 'familiar strangers' during the entire course or you take the first step and it might be the beginning of a brand new friendship.

Once, I bumped into an old friend of mine, Deepak, and he took the initiative to say hello to me. I couldn't even remember his name, or what he looked like, and I didn't even recognize him, but he did. And, so he said hello and introduced himself again, after a couple of minutes of me staring blankly at him. Look, I've only met him at an informal gathering once, and I couldn't even remember anything about him, and it wouldn't have been awkward if we've just walked past each other without saying a greeting even. But, because he made the effort to say hello, we ended up chatting for three hours while walking around aimlessly!

And, something he said to me then was, "If I hadn't approached you to say hello, imagine what would have happened? We would both have gone on to our separate ways, you, maybe you would have gone home or somewhere else, and we wouldn't even be standing here talking to each other!"

a day in the (boring) life of a journalism student

2008-08-07T23:50:00.000-07:00

I wake up and glance at my alarm clock. Shit. I overslept again. Missed classes. That's not a problem though, I can easily just attend the afternoon tutorial session instead.

This time I'm quite careful to confirm my tutorial location. Earlier this week, I sat in on the wrong tutorial, and was listening to a teacher whose face I had never seen before, among a sea of students whose faces were also unfamiliar to me.

It's one thing to sit in on a wrong lecture, but when you sit in on a wrong tutorial, you start wondering whether there's seriously something wrong with your brain.

Today's tutorial is communication law. It's rather depressing that studying the law is a compulsory module for journalism students this year. It's such a dry and boring subject. I arrive at class, and listen to the tutor drone on and on, not understanding a word. Or rather, catching single phrases here and there, but not understanding the overall meaning of anything. The tutor is mumbling and he speaks with a strong husky Aussie accent. Finally, I give up trying to comprehend whatever he's saying, I just sit back and pretend to be listening. That's not so bad, considering the fact that my tutor looks like Jude Law.

We get into groups. When given our question, all five of us in the group just sat and stared blankly at each other. No one knew how to answer the question, and no one had done their readings, we laughed at ourselves and joked about it.

Towards the end of the tutorial, the tutor informs us that we are supposed to attend a court hearing at any of the Victoria courts, preferably the Magistrate's Court or the County Court. I would love to attend a Children's court case, but most family courts involving children are closed sessions, to protect the privacy of the children.

Amanda is telling me that our tutor is a 'beautiful' guy.

"Are you attracted to him?" I ask.

She was, until that is she got the opportunity to see him up-close and saw a row of black, stained teeth staring back at her. Rather a turn-off, she pointed out. "I think he smokes or something, his teeth are all black, and I like guys with white, clean teeth."

After further analysis the following week, she comes back to me with fresh results: He drinks.

Later on, she complains to me that our tutor couldn't stop staring at her boobs while talking to her. "His eyes kept looking down there," she said, gesturing at her cleavage-baring outfit.

After class, I am talking to Amanda and I notice Morash staring at her. The guy gives me the creeps. I try concentrating on what Amanda is telling me, but my attention keeps diverting to the guy in the black sweater standing behind Amanda and staring at her.

Morash is a pudgy lad from Pakistan and has the longest crush on Amanda. He tried unsuccessfully on many attempts to ask her out for coffee and to get her number. When we walk out of the class, Morash is standing by the door. I know he is waiting for Amanda, and Amanda tries her best to ignore him. I am perfect at pretending to be engaged in deep conversation with her.

When we finally emerge out of the building and into the cold winter air, I tell Amanda that Morash couldn't stop staring at her in class. She tells me that she could feel Morash staring at her during specific brackets of time in class. "Remember when he tried asking me out for coffee, and I said no, and then he went on to ask for my number? Why would someone who doesn't want to have coffee with you give you their number?" She reasoned.

I feel pretty sorry for Morash, though. He attracts a lot of negative attention. Whenever he walks into class or opens his mouth to speak, you can see a random student here and there giggling or sniggering behind his back. Whenever he sits beside someone in class, you can see the person straighten his or her back immediately and silently go, 'Why me?!' The other time when he sat beside me in class, I looked at S and silently went, 'Why me?!' S wasn't being very helpful when she started sniggering at the whole affair.

Amanda points out this incident to me. I am shocked. "You mean it (my reaction) was that obvious?" She nods and tells me, "When you dislike someone, you tend to take notice of other's reactions towards that person. And, I disliked him."

Don't get us wrong, we are not discriminating Morash because he's from Pakistan, and neither are we discriminating him because he can't stop talking about Iraq, Iraq and Iraq. But, because this guy has an ego the size of an elephant. It's okay to be smart, but it's another thing to be boastful in front of everyone. In the way that Amanda puts it, "Little doses of him is fine, but too much is not okay."

I say goodbye to Amanda and go to my favourite bubble tea store and Japanese restaurant for my takeaway dinner. I always go to the same place, because Don Don serves the best and cheapest Japanese food in Melbourne.

I am waiting at the traffic light and there are two Chinese guys in front of me. The taller guy is saying, "You know our teacher, I don't know whether she is from Singapore or Malaysia, but wah, she has this strong Malaysian accent. No one in class could understand a word she was saying!"

I have this perverted pleasure of walking really close to other people and listening to their conversations. Two streets away later, the guy is still complaining to his friend. "I thought Malaysians should be able to speak proper English...I mean, at least be able to communicate properly lah."

The two guys reach their apartments and went in, and I continued my way home in the cold winter evening.

(Update: Studying the law has been nothing but fun, fun and fun. Reading my law textbook is like reading a storybook. An interesting one.)

learning how to eat with chopsticks

2008-08-04T22:58:00.000-07:00

I bring Han to my favourite Chinatown dumplings store located in the Melbourne CBD. She actually has the intention of asking for a FORK to eat the dumplings, so I curtly inform her that she is not allowed to use any forks in my presence, and that she must eat dumplings the authentic Asian way, aka with chopsticks.

"Are you trying to tell me how I should eat?" She asks, with a mock-angry expression, to which I reply yes.

The dumplings arrive, piping hot, as usual.

Han picks up a pair of chopsticks and fumbles to hoist a dumpling out of the bamboo basket. The skin of the dumpling breaks loose, and a ball of minced pork comes tumbling out. I try my best not to laugh, but fail miserably.

The Shanghai dumpling is what one International Herald Tribune reporter described as, "an elegant culinary achievement masquerading as a humble snack". I teach Han how to eat this "elegant culinary achievement".

Use a chopstick to take the dumpling out of the container and place it on the spoon. When you take a bite into the juicy dumplings, be sure to keep the spoon underneath at all times, because there is a spoonful of pork soup inside, and you don't want everything to leak out and drip all over.

She asks for a fork again, but I stop her. So, she picks up the chopstick and attempts another try. I try to teach her the correct placing of her thumb, second and middle finger. I tell her to jam the chopstick betwixt her thumb and middle finger, with her index finger placed on the top of the chopstick.

She tries to follow, but she is holding the chopstick the wrong way, even after my numerous attempts to teach her. People are staring at us now, a Chinese girl teaching an Aussie girl how to hold a pair of chopsticks. Han thinks I feel embarrassed because of her. I am embarrassed to tell her that she is right.

I teach her how to use the chopsticks again. Following which, she makes a couple of failed attempts. I'm not being of much help when I'm sitting there laughing my head off.

She is hell-bent on learning how to use the chopsticks and picks it up again, poking at the dumplings. Her chopsticks are unable to fasten a firm hold on the dumpling, and as she lifts it up to the air, the dumpling falls apart and slips onto the dirty table. She wraps up the dumpling in tissue and puts it aside.

Within less than 10 minutes, there are a total of three dumplings being wrapped up and put aside.

Two Aussie girls walks in. They order a bowl of noodles and dumplings. I watch them, as the both of them use chopsticks to navigate through their food effortlessly.

I point them out to Han. My intention is to make her feel embarrassed. She looks at the girls, then back at me with a mock sorrowful expression, following which she attempts to justify her inability to use the chopsticks effortlessly to growing up in a place where there were no Chinese eateries in the vicinity.

She wonders aloud why her nimble fingers that are so acquainted with the violin and the paintbrush, deviate into a complete failure when confronted with an innocuous pair of chopsticks.

When we were getting up to leave, Han turned to me and said,

"Don't you DARE blog about me having trouble eating with chopsticks!"

"How you KNOW?!!!! Hahahahaahahaaa......"

Mount Buller

2008-07-31T01:57:00.000-07:00

I wasn't expecting to see snow in Australia, but viola, Mount Buller is snowing! At first, news reports about Mt Buller not snowing this July because of climate change and global warming dominated the media, much to our disappointment. In the end, we got the chance to see real snow!

I had to wake up at 5am in the morning to board the bus to Mt Buller, and knowing my sleeping patterns very well, I opted to stay awake the entire night. It was a 3-hour drive from Melbourne to Mt Bullet, and when we got to Mt Buller, snowflakes were falling from the sky!!!

Pure, white snow blanketed the entire Mt Buller! I heard the snow had fallen to 20cm deep! We were all freezing cold, and everyone went through a mummification process by wrapping themselves up in bundles of layer. Maggy called me a "Spongebob Squarepants" when she saw me wearing a thick, waterproof jacket. Great. I not only felt like an idiot, I looked like one too.

We took a bus up to Mt Buller, the temperature for the day was minus 4 degrees, the ground covered in layers and layers of thick snow. I'm glad we had opted for the sightseeing tour, because I wasn't really in the mood for any sort of sport exercise ie. skiing in this freezing cold climate.

The mist clung to the sky like a gauzy fabric, creating this ethereal and unwavering glow and occassionally, disphanous fickles of snow fell from the sky to everyone's excitement, blanketing the entire Mt Buller with pure, white magic!

Most people come to Mt Buller to ski, but we come to Mt Buller to take photos. So, while everyone else was busy changing, preparing their skiing equipment and attending the skiing lessons, we were very happily camwhoring.

Maggy and Me in front of the clock-tower

It was so cold, and I couldn't keep my eyes open because wind and snow kept blowing into my eyes!

Mt Buller's alpine environment

We were busy taking photos when suddenly, someone skiing crashed into us. Not surprising, one guy's ski even crashed all the way into my bag placed on the ground, filling my entire bag with snow. I had to help him lift his ski out of my bag. So, the girl who crashed into us and fell onto the ground remained there for the next 5 minutes, simply because she couldn't get up! In the end, Mon and Me each took one side of both her arms, and hoisted her out of the thick piles of snow.

Sidenote: All skiiers are required to sign an indemnity form in advance, so that Mt Buller does not have to take any responsibilties in the case of accidents.

Pictures time!

This very, very cute creation of a snowman, which has green leaves for hair and twigs for arms, consummated with a heart drawn deep into the snow. I'm guessing the artists behind this creation must either be a very sweet couple or a bunch of romantic die-hards.

Evidence of the cold? My camera died on me several times.

heart-wrenching

2008-07-24T22:44:00.000-07:00

Just received an email from my friend:

Hi everyone,

It's a little hard for me to communicate because I am under house arrest, I got no net and phone connection at the moment, I can't even log onto facebook, I came out today for some work, so yeah, just mailing you guys a quick update.

My parents are crazy, I made a big mistake in coming back home. They are not sending me to UK or anywhere for that matter. They want me to get married, to some random guy, like an arranged marriage thing, forcefully, which is like legal here in a way because your family's honor and pride is more important than your daughter's happiness.

Anyways, I stay home the whole day staring at the TV. Yeah, I get TV here, thank God for that. But, nothing seems to go through my head, am getting more and more depressed everyday, and all this happened because my stupid cousin sister went and snitched and dobbed on me to my parents about me and my boyfriend. She knew what my parents would do after that, but still she couldn't keep her mouth shut.

I cry everyday and am lonely and sad and stuck in my own house and none to share all this with. Dad wants me to work at one of our national dailies, but he doesn't trust me, so I doubt he will let me work there. Today, Mum and Dad said I can go to a local uni and do my BBA, but the thing is I have lived abroad all my life, I doubt I will be able to adjust here, but I wanna get some fresh air so I might as well go for it. And, I hate my family. Anyways, I gtg, guys, don't know when I'll talk to you guys again, love you all...

tc
xxoo

I cried when I read this email. I don't know how I can help my friend anymore, I haven't been in a good or stable mood these past few weeks, dealing with many issues revolving around my friend. Watching her as she excitedly informed me about the patch-up after the break-up, watching her as she smiled and air-kissed her boyfriend over the phone, watching her as she talked about her future with her boyfriend and the kids they would have, watching her struggle to keep her relationship under wraps, watching her as she broke down after receiving a call from her mum to break off all ties with her boyfriend or they would disown her, watching her cry when her parents stormed into her room and smashed everything into bits and pieces and take her home by force. And, to think, that all my friend did was to fall in love. To think that such a deep relationship could be met with such twisted rejection is way beyond my thinking. All I know is that I refuse to give up without a fight, to the extent that now her boyfriend thinks I am a big-time idiot.

It gets to a point where your sympathy for your friend turns into sympathy for yourself. I just want to escape from all of this. Your nightmare has become my nightmare. I no longer want to bother. No longer want to try. No longer want to reminiscence. I'm sick and tired of all these months of melodrama, really. Give me a break.

If I cry with my friend, who's gonna cry with me?

the brevity of misery

2008-07-21T23:59:00.000-07:00

I've learnt not to make the same mistakes again, not to harvest the same regrets again. Instead of commiserating over the lost friendships, I should cherish the ones I have right now. It is okay to miss those who were once close to me, it is okay should distance draw our relationship apart, I should never let unhappy thoughts overwhelm me or compensate for the missing jigsaw puzzles in my life. I do indeed realize that sometimes we get so consumed by certain things happening in our life, that we forget that God sees the bigger picture. An ending of any relationship is just a beginning of a new one. A dollop of misery is just to provide a contrast to the blessings to pour your way. I do believe that any situation can only get better.

Had a good chat with Han today, about life, God, sex, virginity, relationships, unhappiness, happiness, emotions. There is just something so edifying about chatting with her, a releasing and a pouring out of emotions. Certain emotions and certain situations that I probably wouldn't even think of encroaching to some of my closest friends, it comes so easy for me to talk about all of it in front of Han. Lying naked all my emotions, the pain, the rejection, the hurt, about forgiveness. Han never fails to encourage, inspire, put me in awe. It is perhaps this spirit that I look up to her for. She looks at me and tells me that the thing she admire me most for is my brave soul, my courageousness, my daringness, my perseverance, my unwillingness to give up without a fight. She sees in me what others don't, and it is this force that propels me forward, that ensures me that there is someone out there who notices. Han is truly a God-sent, and I'm so glad to have her as one of my closest friends.

laugh at myself.

2008-07-21T22:58:00.000-07:00

I must be the biggest idiot on this planet.

I just sat in on a wrong lecture for an entire hour, and only realized it an hour after the lecture was over.

First, I enrolled in the wrong course module, and ended up having to literally beg the lecturer to take me in, and now this.

So, there I was rushing into lecture late, taking my place in the second last row, taking the hand-outs given by the lecturer, and thinking to myself why the hell there were so many unfamiliar faces (given that this module was a continuation of last year's semester), and so many new people whom I've never met before. Looking at my hand-outs, there I was, wondering why the school had been so irresponsible in not informing us about a change in course code and name.

...and, sometimes, I wonder whether I left my brain at home.

on your feet, soldier

2008-07-20T23:15:00.000-07:00

It suddenly occurred to me that no longer will there be 13 missed calls for me, random smses, occasional ringing up after 2am, no one to go to the dumplings store at Chinatown with every other freaking day (because we are incurably hooked onto dumplings), no one who whom I can spring random surprises on like suggesting going to the beach after midnight, no door that I can come knocking on as and when I like, and bunk over for the night. No longer, no longer.

"I hope everyone will cherish everything they have now, and not wait till the day to lose it to regret, because for all you know, every person or every object by our side, might disappear the very next second."

How very true.

We made so many plans together, to go to new york, etc etc, and now all of them are not going to happen. Hanging out for the last time outside the winter cold way past midnight chatting, there were some regrets. So many places that we said we were going to travel to, but plans got cancelled nonchalantly. We said that if we had one more chance, we would definitely do what we had planned to, otherwise all that's left to embrace now are regrets.

It's time to be strong. On my own two feet. I will be my own emotional pillar, my own support, not because I want to, but because I have to.

On your feet, soldier. I have to fight this battle alone.

another farewell

2008-07-18T07:56:00.000-07:00

"Being away from home,
being away from the ones you love,
makes you strong,
builds your armor.
Because in the end,
the only person in this world you can depend on is yourself."

~ Ugly Betty

As if things couldn't get any worse, I had to say farewell to another of my best friend in Melbourne today. It was so unexpected, she wasn't supposed to leave the country for another three years, and suddenly, an sms sent at 3 in the morning informed me that her parents were forcing her to get the hell out of Melbourne.

This farewell was a lot harder than the first. Especially since S was someone I hanged out with 24/7. We were so different, in so many ways, and yet we became instant best friends right from the very first day we met. Even though we had virtually nothing in common, we just clicked. She once asked me why I don't swear, don't smoke and don't take drugs. She was a party girl and a wild animal, and me the studious bespectacled kid. She loved partying and clubbing, I thought it was a colossal waste of time. She loved reading, I thought books were boring. She loved smoking and taking drugs, I thought it was the path to lung cancer. In so many ways, she influenced me, and vice versa. For one, she started adding 'la' behind every one of her sentences.

At the end of everything, she thanked me for the friendship and said that I had done so much for her. I told her that I had done nothing to help her, and felt so useless. For a while, we even talked about her running away from home, running away from her family who were committing an act, which in the case of a stranger executing it, would be deemed 'kidnapping'. So what if I stood in the freezing cold next to my friend for hours while she cried and talked, cried and talked? So what if I helped her pack her luggage and listened to her complaints? In the end, I didn't do shit. In the end, I didn't help change anything. In the end, she is still going back to her country. Against her own will. It is very hard to believe that in this day and age, pre-arranged marriages are still taking place, parents will happily sacrifice their daughter's happiness in exchange for wealth, status and prestige.

PEOPLE FUCKING TELL ME THAT I CAN'T ALWAYS LET MY FRIEND'S PROBLEMS GET TO ME BECAUSE I HAVE MY OWN FUCKING LIFE TO LEAD. WHAT DO THESE PEOPLE FUCKING KNOW? WHEN YOU ARE WITHOUT YOUR FAMILY, YOUR FRIENDS ARE YOUR LIFE.

I get so fucking sick and tired of trying to bloody explain myself. It's okay. As long as I understand my own situation, it's enough. After all, at the end of the day, you only have yourself. I don't expect anyone to FUCKING understand my situation. Just go on and think that I am being a whiny, childish and immature person.

Anyway, a few of my friends are flying back to Melbourne soon. With so many people leaving, people actually returning is a breath of fresh air.

Goodbye to 4 months of our friendship, and of course, I will attend your wedding in Sydney.

Melbourne Zoo

2008-07-17T01:32:00.000-07:00

I thought Singapore Zoo was nothing great, until I went to Melbourne Zoo. It is suffice to say that from the very moment I entered the gates, I was very, very disappointed. It was nothing like a zoo, instead it felt like I had entered Botanic Gardens.

Dull gravel pavements leading to even duller wooden signboards, leading to the animals. There were no sort of embellishments or nicely done-up enclosed viewing areas. People go there to see the animals, and only the animals, literally.

Took many, many photos of reptiles - chameleons, snakes, etc. I liked the contrast the lighting and background provides to the enclosed creatures.

People generally look at this photo and wonder if I had been standing right in front of the tiger. Yes, I did, and managed to come out alive. No, stupid, can't you see the reflection of the mirror upon the tiger's striped body?

It was so nice meeting not one, but TWO Singaporeans! They identified me quickly after seeing my ez-link card. But, I totally couldn't tell because one of them had developed this accent. Anyway, it was very weird and surprising to hear familiar places like 'Bugis' and 'Orchard Road' being mentioned occasionally.

My favourite animal of the day!

The reason why I absoutely adore pelicans so much - to the point that I couldn't stop snapping countless photos of them even long after the entire group had moved on - is because they are so CUTE, from their artificial-looking eyes that looks like it had been plastered on to their long beaks and their webbed feet.

The second reason, being, that they were practically the only animals in the zoo which were allowed to roam freely about, instead of being enclosed in some cage.

gone.

2008-07-15T00:03:00.000-07:00

I sent my friend off today, the very last place I saw her was the very first place she first brought me to, which I still remember was at a time when I was very new to Melbourne, and she was like an oasis to me.

I don't think I've seen her best friend S looking so upset before. She still struggled to smile when she saw me, but the beautiful smile I had grown so accustomed to wasn't there, the smile that I once told her was so very very beautiful and never failed to brighten up anyone's day. The same smile that an acquaintance once commented no matter how sad she was, she would still continue smiling. Gone.

I opted for my way of saying goodbye, no hugs, just simple words, a goodbye wave and a turn on my heels. This is my way of saying goodbye, for her saying goodbye means a hug, she has learnt the Aussie way of open affection.

Life will go on. What I hadn't expected was that I feel much more horrible than I had ever meant to be.

this is farewell.

2008-07-14T00:14:00.000-07:00

"You are worth much more than that."

I attended a farewell party for a close friend of mine today. The thing about farewell parties is that it gets messy, the atmosphere is all funereal, all don't-be-sad-that-it-ended-but-be-glad-that-it-happened, everyone's noses are suddenly running, eyes are overflowing, tears are spilled, and the farewells are never right.

The time we knew each other was barely there, short, very short. But, the thing about being away from your family is that you grow closer to friends, you treasure them more, you appreciate them more, you notice their presence more. The thing about being away from home is that you hang out a lot more with your friends, you speak to them a lot more, you grow a lot closer to them than if you've been home.

We once made a pact: that once she quit her job, we would have dinner everyday. With her, I got introduced to all the mouth-
watering dishes in Melbourne. With her, I had the most meaningful conversations ever. With her, she taught me a whole new lesson about love, generosity, honesty and what a beautiful heart really looks like.

I prepared my farewell speech even months before she was to leave. This was what I had intended to write on the farewell card:

I won't say friends forever,
because time has driven the closest of friends apart.
But what I can say is, thank you for leaving footprints in my heart.

But, I didn't. Saying what I had intended to say would be like personally putting a full-stop to our friendship, and signing off. I couldn't do that without my heart bleeding out of a guilty conscience. And, the last thing, someone needs to hear when saying goodbye is that it is forever, it is eternal, thank you for everything and I will never see you again.

What really touched me during the farewell party was a witnessing of a kind of friendship I've never seen before. With tears soaking her entire face, her best friend left the room. Everyone took turns saying what they wanted to say to her, and she teared, a teardrop here and there. But, when her best friend appeared, and started sobbing uncontrollably, started by saying, "I don't know what to say...you are much more to me than a sister", I saw my friend broke down, totally losing control, for a while time did stop, at least in the house. Nothing else mattered, only two best friends throwing away their dignity, their pride, both sobbing away uncontrollably, and one saying, "...you taught me how to laugh like I've never laughed before."

The funny thing about these two friends is how different they look, and how similar they both turn out to be. One has black hair, the other yellow; one is Asian, the other English; and yet I cannot find two individuals with more matching personalities than them.

Before their departure, everyone took turns hugging her and exchanging some words here and there, making jokes about both their countries being a stone's throw away, about how she should and must visit, about how the doors of their house will be open to her, about how there will always be a home away from home, waiting right here for her in Melbourne.

The thing is, yes, everyone will feel sad, everyone will feel loss. My friend has come a long way, from her initial reluctance to leave her hometown to come to Melbourne to study, to her longing for more time, more opportunities, about her missing her friends.

Maybe, once a while, they will keep in contact. They might even call each other. But, slowly, as time crawls to a week, a month, a year, the distance between them becomes unmistakable. They will go on living their lives, and all they will have is the memories of the past. Because they will no longer feature in her present.

What my friend did say was that I made her fat. What my friend did say was that I never knew how much I meant to her, more so than I could ever imagine. What my friend did say was that I am worth much more than I ever thought myself to be. What my friend did say was that no doubt we shall see each other again soon.

And, yet, what she didn't say remained the most obvious to me. Given time, and given distance, the two most unforgivable elements, one day she will mean no more to me than a footprint in my heart, and me as someone she used to be close to.

But, right now, at this very moment, with her departure, all of a sudden, I feel a gaping hole in my life.

Empty. No words to fill the void.

Why does this farewell feel so hard? Why does this farewell feel like goodbye forever?

forgiveness is to free yourself from the prison of anger

2008-07-04T21:07:00.000-07:00

"Forgiveness is the fragrance of the violet
which still clings fast to the heel that crushed it."

I was involved in a money scam sometime back. I won't go into details, but what I lost was more than the paper notes in my wallet, it was a trust in humankind in general.

As outsiders looking in, one can only think that the person who had been cheated was either naive or plain stupid. The thing is, unless you are immersed in such a sticky situation yourself, you will never understand.

I once came across a report stating that many highly educated and intellectual Singaporeans had been involved in email money scams costing them more than a few thousand dollars. It might sound ironic that an educated bunch of Singaporeans are actually 'stupid' enough to fall for the old trick in the book, or was it their lust for financial wealth tempting them? A friend of mine also lost thousands of dollars involving some lottery draw scam.

I must admit that when I came across that article and my friend's situation, only one word flashed across my mind: Stupid!

But, there was one thing that my friend told me that I remembered up to this day:

"It is only when you are personally entangled in such a situation yourself, then you will fully understand
(how someone can get cheated)."

What was upsetting was that my trust in someone had been betrayed. When the person first disappeared with my money, anger and hatred reigned dominant in my mind. I even cursed the person to go to hell.

On that particular Friday evening that I sat on the cold chair in the cold night for a person who had long fled with my money, and coming to the even colder realization that I had been cheated and lied to repeatedly, it was only then that I fully understood. It is only when you have been personally involved, would you understand the intricacies involved. These might be normal people, but they are masters at playing mind games, twisting and turning your minds around until you are mere marionettes under their thumb and obediently hand over the wad of notes.

It is only when you look back, that you realize the many loopholes. But, again, the majority of us are not fortune tellers, and we do not possess prophetic minds. What matters is that we walk away with a lesson.

The guy whom I met was a fortune teller and he tempted me with the possession of hidden information. It wasn't money that I was tempted by, it was immaterial possessions that I was after.

The stranger I met was a morally bankrupt man who uses his special talent to swindle other's money, who had the audacity to mention God frequently during our conversations. There is still some traces of anger in me, but I still wish him well. And, no, I don't really wish for him to go to hell.

From what I know, I wasn't the only one who was cheated. Scribbled in the notebook where the man asked for my name and telephone number, were many other people's telephone numbers in the same scrawny handwriting.

Right now, I can only say that losing the money is no big deal. It's not the worst thing that can happen to me. I still have my hands and legs, and I still can earn the money back.

I don't know if I should make a police report or not, since I know next to nothing about this stranger.

Back to the me sitting on the cold chair in the cold night on that Friday evening. I was sizzling with anger, very upset and kept chiding myself for trusting so much in a stranger I barely knew about. I didn't know his (real) name, his (real) telephone number, I knew next to nothing about this guy, and yet he is such a smooth prophetic talker that spun the cobweb of lies that slowly corroded the wall of resistance and that I had built up initially.

Half an hour before I was scheduled to meet this stranger, the growing feelings of unease finally escalated to a point where I realized plainly that I had been cheated. I took out his number from my wallet, and dialed it. It turned out to be an invalid phone number.

But, I walked away with a very potent lesson: Forgiveness.

The me that was swearing and cursing at the guy to go to hell was one full of pent-up anger, sadness and full of agony. But, the moment I decided to let go, to forgive this guy, to a point where if I were to bump into him on the streets one day, I wouldn't feel like hammering his head to a pulp and run a car over him, I felt a peace of mind. I then realized how tiring it is for me to keep on hating someone…

Anger is using another's actions, words or behaviour to punish ourselves. Why would anyone do that to themselves? Hating someone is only torturing yourself, not the hated party. The person whom you are directing all your wasted energy and hatred might not even be aware, or might not even care about your feelings. There is simply no point. No matter which angle you look, it is a superfluous waste of energy. It would be so much easier to extinguish the feelings of hatred directed to people who have hurt us in the past.

Also, you cannot control how other people behave. You can only control what you want to think or do.

Why then allow your prison of hatred thoughts to form a stranglehold over yourself?

media internship

2008-07-02T11:32:00.000-07:00

There has been a constant inundation of job opportunities in my inbox ever since the holidays rolled along, courtesy of the head of journalism department. Unfortunately, none caught my eye. Too boring. Not interested. Nothing to do with my course. Hence, all emails were relegated to the back of my mailbox without a second glance.

That is, until an email sent on the 20th June jumped out at me. A media internship!

I promptly sent my resume along the way, and received a phone call interview shortly afterwards. When the guy over the phone questioned as to how much I knew about the company, I was stunned. Made a mental note to read up on company profiles before blithely sending out resumes. Crapped out something about having a passion for environmental issues, and having the opportunity of being the driving force behind the concoction of such a meaningful global project.

And then came the inevitable: Why didn't I have any job experience in Australia (as illustrated so clearly in my resume)? My response came in the form of informing him that I've only been in Melbourne for a short period of four months, before proceeding to blabber on about my 'impressive' work experiences in Singapore.

The guy seemed pleased enough with all my answers, and an interview date was quickly set up. In the end, the guy called me up again and my interview was pushed back two days, because of the apparently overwhelming response from numerous potential candidates vying for the same position, as kindly divulged to me by the guy over the phone, and later in person as well. Talk about competition. Suddenly, the internship increased its attractiveness quotient tenfold, and I wanted it so badly!

Their office premises is located along the prime district of Melbourne, in a dull grey and nondescript building. The guy who interviewed me was the same guy who spoke with me over the phone. The same guy who for every 100 words he spoke, I only managed to understand 10.

Both our uniquely French and Singaporean accent presented a form of albatross in our awkward and repeated attempts to try to understand what the other was trying to communicate. This resulted in me squirming and writhing (inwardly) and nodding my head in enlightenment (outwardly) at every sentence he said that I managed to understand. He apologized for his accent when the necessity arose for the both of us to keep repeating our sentences.

When the guy asked me why he should choose me over so many others whose interviews he had conducted over a session of three or four days, I cooked up the same shit I did over the phone, about having passion for environmental issues. After the interview, I felt my position as media intern cemented. Got a call back from the guy in the evening, and was informed that I would start work on Friday.

This is not easy. After having cultivated a sloppy lifestyle habit of cocooning myself comfortably in bed till early afternoons (my mornings are non-existent), and basically leading a hedonistic lifestyle, I now have to commit myself to a regimented (albeit normal) waking up habit, not to mention the de rigueur ordinance of the pinstriped working world.

Basically, this spells the death of eyes glued to the computer screen till 7am in the morning, thanks to some soppy drama series.

Nicholas Cage in Melbourne

2008-06-19T23:49:00.000-07:00

I thought that once I had planted myself in Melbourne, I would no longer be the celebrity-crazy fanatic who screamed at almost every celebrity who was coming to town, who spent hours researching on which celebrity was coming to town, who wasted precious moments of her life chasing celebrities when they came to town. No, I would immerse myself thoroughly in my studies, and not waste time on such superfluous activities.

Boy, how wrong could I get.

Got to know from a friend that Nicholas Cage would be in Melbourne to film his new movie, Knowing, just a block away from where my friend was staying.

Freaked out!

Don't misunderstand me. For one, I have not a single clue as to who Nicholas Cage is. What I do know for a fact is that the man is famous. And, that's all that matters, really.

Googled him and saw pictures of a middle-aged man staring back at me. Call me ageist, but second thoughts about whether the half-an-hour walking distance was worth it surfaced immediately.

Filming was to be held along Drummond Street on the 20 June from 7am to 7pm. Apparently, the filming was to be held at Melbourne University Hostel. Imagine the students living there!

I went down around late afternoon, and the entire stretch of road had been closed to vehicles. Pedestrains strolled along pathways that were lined with gargantuan white lorries and trucks. The behemoths are presumably props for the movie. I continue walking until halfway, I see a group of people huddled behind a big white truck. I stop.

There is a car crash scene. Smoke emanating from a black car that had 'crashed' into the sidewalk. Huge cameras on tripods casting blinding beams set up indoors. The entire street was littered with white and yellow papers, presumably from the 'explosion'. Even the naked trees whose leaves have been streaked bare by the winter season now had a whole new embellishment, streaks of paper dangling loosely from twigs, branches and a once less-than-balding crown. And the director shouting, 'Action!'

I see a middle-aged man coming out of the building. He is wearing a bright green vest and dull-coloured trousers. OMG! Nicholas Cage?! My heart skipped a beat. The man does bear some sort of resemblence to the Oscar-winning actor I had googled the night before. He is yawning now. In fact, he looks so unglamorous yawning, that I could almost positively be sure that he wasn't Nicholas Cage. Actors don't yawn like that in public. And, I was right. He turned out to be a staff from the filming crew.

I notice now that the girl standing in front of me has shreds of white paper all over her hair. I wonder how big an 'explosion' it must have been until I realized she was an extra. The girl and another guy standing in front of her were both extras for the movie. The guy holding onto a luggage. Casting my eyes to the street opposite, I see more of them. Extras huddled up behind big white lorries, their hands firmly fastened on to huge, colourful luggages.

A Chinese girl walks by. She is carrying two handfuls of groceries.

'Marc! Will you please stop the passer-by, please!' the director is yelling. The security guard in a bright green jacket halts the poor girl, who goes on to stand by the sidewalk. And, then, 'Action!'

I continue surveying my surroundings. It was so cool seeing the scene from a movie acted by Hollywood star Nicholas Cage real-life. Seeing it up-close was so un-reel-like and non-cinematic. I can't believe they can transform something that looks so 'normal' in real-life to something so glamorous on celluloid film.

In fact, I was so busy scanning my surroundings, that I didn't notice that a man had sidled up the walkway and was shaking everyone's hands now. The extras' hands, to be precise. I turn and look. The man was coming closer now, shaking everyone's hands. 'Who is this man?' I thought. 'He's really very friendly. He must be a really friendly staff member to come shaking the extra's hands and thanking them personally.' And, then the man's face loomed closer and I got to see his face much clearer.

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!

THE MAN IS NICHOLAS CAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am stunned now. My legs can't move, and I know I am standing them stonily. Thankfully, I am still breathing. Nicholas Cage is moving closer now, shaking all the extras' hands, thanking them for their help today. I can only look. Until I realize, that I was about to be next. My heart thumping a million beats, and my throat dry, I begin rubbing my sweaty palms against my jeans. Cage is looking at me now. He is approaching me. OMG!! What am I supposed to do?!!!

Then a man stopped him. 'Excuse me, can I take a picture with you, please?' And then without waiting for a reply, sidled up next to Cage, and thrust his camera to the next nearest person in front of him. ME. 'Could you please help me take a picture?' he asked. I did. And soon Cage is resuming his shake-hands-and-thank-you routine again. I was so stunned when he shook my hands, and then still stunned when he went on to shake other's hands, that I totally forgot something very important. MY CAMERA!! I hadn't bloody carried it all the way for nothing!

I reached quickly for my camera in my bag. TOO LATE! Cage's back was turned now. Oh, but wait, there is a man running after him now! And them to my horror, the man tapped Cage on his back with what seemed a less-than-gentle tap. Oh, the horror! The presumptuous! That faintly reminded me of myself. He wants a picture. And Cage politely obliges. Then, just as Cage was again navigating his way around to the car's front seat, a lady rushes up to him with lightning speed. It is smile, pose, and then off he went! His car zooming off so quickly that I don't realize until long after the tires have screeched away, leaving behind a pile of swirling leaves dancing on the gravel pathway .

Drummond Street - Filming scene of Knowing

Car crash - Taken after smoke has been removed

Fan of Nicholas Cage happily pose for a picture with him

Sydney - Day 4! Blue Mountains! Wildlife Park!

2008-06-11T00:15:00.000-07:00

This picture above is of the Blue Mountains. It is, apparently, the No. 1 most famous tourist attraction in Sydney. But, I feel cheated. I feel cheated travelling all the way just to see three unedifying pieces of rock, otherwise known as the famous Three Sisters.

The Three Sisters, are really, just three pieces of ROCKS, which by some intervention of nature, are sitting side by side next to each other. No big deal, really. Apart from that, the Blue Mountains are just acres and acres of grass patches, mountains, valleys and tree stumps.

Close-up of the Three Pieces of Rocks

Took a cable car ride down to the other side of the mountain.

Inside the cable car, there is this elevated platform that you can step on. And, once the cable car starts moving, the platform will become transparent, so you can see what's underneath!

The cable car brought us to the other side of the Blue Mountains, where we embarked upon a mini-trekking session to get to the various pit-stops.

The next destination was Featherdale Wildlife Park.

A rare sight of mother kangaroo with baby kangaroo in her pouch.

Remember my entry on the little penguins at Philip Island, and, that photos were strictly banned to prevent spoiling the peace and serenity that the penguins enjoy? Well, imagine my excitement when I discovered the Philip Island penguins at the wildlife park!!!! I became a trigger-happy tourist (:

Sydney - Day 3! City Tour!

2008-06-10T12:27:00.001-07:00

Half day city tour, passed by the business district, populated with human robots with humorless expressions on their faces, all decked out in the same grim black outfit on their way to work. Some yawning, none had a smile on their faces.

Uninterrupted view of Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge.

Luna Park, an amusement theme park right next to the Harbour Bridge, was a gift from the English people to Sydney for putting up with all the noise pollution during the construction of the bridge. This was ironic because the roller coaster ended up with the fate of being removed as residents had complained of the noise pollution.

Seafront Lookout over Middle Head and Pearl Bay Marinas.

I have to say I am terribly disappointed at the landscape of Sydney, expecting a city much more glamorous, but instead got a KL-lookalike. There were times where I thought I was strolling the streets of KL, what with the run-down shopping centres in the major shopping districts and dodgy signboards fronting the stores. I can finally understand why people would liken Melbourne to a ‘Little London’ because it really is so much more beautiful.

It was difficult spotting a single Aussie, as the majority of the throngs of crowds were made up from people from all over Asia, especially those of Hong Kong, Japan and Korea citizenry. Everywhere you turned, there was sure to be someone speaking a foreign tongue. In fact, that was the only kind of language I heard 99% of the time. We were the only rare ones who communicated in English.

Was crossing the road late at night when this dude with his head sticking out of a taxi driving past yelled, “Sayonara! Konnichiwa!” at me, mistaking me for Japanese, because of the way I dressed. It was weird because he committed a linguistic faux pas, saying bye first, before saying hello. Not at all surprised and quietly flattered, because most people assume I’m from China. In fact, I’ve been mistaken from everything from Malaysian to Indonesian. And, being mistaken for a Japanese was something novel to me.

Got mistaken for a Korean too. Entering a storefront, the store employee greeted me with a cheerful "Annyonghaseyo".

This reminds me of a time I was buying coffee at Starbucks. When it came to my turn, the guy behind the counter asked me, “So, where are you from?”

And, before I could answer, he rushed to guess. “You are from China right?”

“Er, no. I’m from Singapore.”

A wave of disbelief flashed across his features, before he exclaimed, “You have got to be kidding!”

“No, why?”

“You serious?! Are you really from Singapore?”

“Yes, why? Is it so surprising that I’m not from China?” I asked, but didn’t get a reply, as the guy couldn’t stop smiling and shaking his head in disbelief.

Back in Melbourne, strolling the streets once again, a young Caucasian dude greeted me and my sister with, "Oh, konichiwa, konichiwa!” which was a first since I’ve been here and very very strange.

It is so immensely frustrating that all the shops in Sydney close early, similar to Melbourne. And, we ended up strolling before dark and empty storefronts. The only places that opened till late at night, besides the rare local major franchises, were Asian groceries supermarkets and eateries.

Sydney - Day 2! Nelson Bay! Dolphins!

2008-06-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

We got to see dolphins!

They are terribly shy creatures by nature, only allowing the curious and anticipating throngs of tourists a sneak peep of their majestic bodies. Riding atop a cruise at Nelson Bay, we saw grey fins sticking out from the great blue ocean. Once in a while, the dolphins would swim really close to our boat, but yet most of the time, they remained instinctively under the water. It seems like dolphins don’t really fancy loneliness that much, as we spotted many swimming in pairs.

You know how postcards and advertorials often feature dolphins jumping out of the water in a full-bodied perfect arc? Oh no! In reality, that is a rare sight to behold, and all my camera lenses managed to capture were fins, fins and more fins. As each time the dolphins allowed us a sneak peek of its full body in its entire glory, it would disappear swiftly into the bosom of the great ocean within the next second before I could snap a shot of it!

Sydney – Checking In

2008-06-08T12:01:00.000-07:00

Woke up at bloody 3am in the morning to catch a flight down to Sydney to join Mum and Sis.

My flight was at 7.45am, and I had to reach there an hour or so earlier, so left the house at 5.30am. Walking to the train station was a circus balancing act, as I had to juggle a total of three luggages. So, I anticipated the usual 20-minute walk to Melbourne Central Station to take a free train ride to Southern Cross Station (train rides before 7am are free-of-charge) to board the Skybus to Melbourne Airport.

After walking 20 minutes, I reached it, only to find the gates shut. This man approached me, and asked me what time the station was going to open. When I told him this was my first time taking the train so early in the morning, the man told me that this was the first time he encountered this, and usually every day at this time he would catch a train around this time, but he had been waiting for half an hour and the station still had not opened.

Raising my eyes to heaven in praise of my 'good' luck, I waited and waited and even resorted to flinging my arms wildly before the security camera and banging loudly against the metal gates out of desperation. I suggested the guy to do the same, which he did.

After waiting for what seemed to be the longest time ever, in which I spent trying to dial my friend for SOS and whiled the time away talking to the guy, I checked my watch for the 50^th time and discovered I still had an hour and a half more to go before my flight take-off! Panicking like crazy, I decided to walk to the next nearest train station, which was a good 20 minutes away.

“Are you coming along?” I asked the man, with a hidden agenda that he would help me carry one of my three luggages.

“No, you go ahead. I’ll wait here,” the man insisted, to my aching shoulders’ disappointment.

And, so with my 3 luggages, I headed in the direction of Flinders St Station. On the way, this fucker tried to make conversation, which I would usually be glad to entertain, but couldn’t he see that I was having great difficulty walking around town with three luggages and looking like a demented idiot?

When I finally reached Flinders, I was very very confused, and choose a platform by default. Seeing no trains coming, I approached this homeless guy to ask him for directions.

Very kindly, he tried his best to help me but was of no practical help. In the end, I found the right platform and waited for the train to come, but soon lost patience and as time was running out, I decided to hail a cab instead.

Seeing virtually no cabs in existence along the dark and gloomy lane, I turned towards the train platform once again in utter desperation. And, then I saw that the next train was due at 8.20am!

Spewing a line of vulgarities, I was panicking while my eyes scanned the empty streets desperately. Finally, a line of cabs came approaching my direction. I waved and boarded one.

“How much does it cost to go to Southern Cross?” I asked.

“Around AUD$9,” he replied.

After boarding the cab, the taxi driver was on his way when suddenly he whipped his head around and asked, “Are you going to the airport?”

“Yes.”

“How are you getting that?”

“By bus.”

“And how much would that cost you?”

Thinking that he was merely making casual conversation, I just replied, “”$25”, not entirely sure of the cost myself.

“And how much will you pay me if I take you to the airport?”

“$20.”

The taxi driver laughed, a cold, sinister and mocking laughter. “It costs you $25 to get there by bus, and you are offering to pay me only $20. Quote me a price.”

“$20.”

“It will cost you $25 and an additional $9 in total if you go by bus,” he reminded me now.

“Okay, $25 then.”

“$35.”

“No, $25.”

“$35,” he was saying now, his voice raising a notch higher.

“No, $25,” I repeated again. And, then finally, “It’s okay, just take me to Southern Cross.”

In the end, I went to check the prices and discovered that the actual cost for a single trip was only $16 and a return trip $26. That stupid fucker tried to cheat my money!

The flight to Sydney was just over an hour. Virgin Blue had limited leg space in exchange for cheap domestic air-flights, in which I slept all the way. Had to take a bus from the Domestic Airport (Terminal 1) to the International Airport (Terminal 2) which was a good 5 to 10 minutes away. Finally understood why I should learn to appreciate Singapore's Changi Airport even more.

retail therapy

2008-06-04T21:52:00.000-07:00

Exams over. Been shopping like crazy, and spending money like water. The things here are so attractive, but come with exorbitant price tags. This has resulted in something I term 'selective shopping'. It doesn't help when your friends are shopping addicts as well. My friend cum shopping khaki from Malaysia Yung frequently claims that she can get the same items for less than half the price back home. After which, she would unhook the items off the racks and make her way to the cash register.

Kangaroos, Emus, A Urinating Duck, and The Penguin Parade

2008-06-02T18:57:00.000-07:00

We visited an animal farm, typical native creatures like kangaroos, and we got to feed the kangaroos. I love the setting of the animal farm, the long winding path leading to the a cottage house made from pine woods, and the kangaroos of different sizes and colours hopping around with carefree abandon. One even tried to escape.

the tourist attraction: the animal farm didn't house any real koalas, so this big furry toy animal sitting outside the toilet was the next best thing.

A HUNGRY KANGAROO IS A PERSISTENT ONE.

Picture 1: Kangaroo wants food, and it wants it now

Picture 2: Other kangaroos join in the fat-sharing session

Picture 3: Kangaroo decides to self-service

This picture above was taken on our way to see the Penguin Parade, after visiting the animal farm. The Penguin Parade @ Philip Island Nature Park is a famous attraction where numerous tourists congregate daily to watch the penguins come home. These are the world's smallest penguins.

Because photos were strictly disallowed, I can only describe the experience to readers. The location where everyone sat and took in the scenery was one word - breathtaking - the most amazing thing I've ever seen. It was as though the distance between the immense sky and corrugating sea were only inches apart.

We listened to the sound of the rippling waves as the sky darkened, waiting impatiently for the penguins to appear. It finally did, the first three penguins of many more to come, waddling across the ocean, their tiny figures cutting only numerous black figures in the inky darkness. And then more, and more. One by one, masses of black figures surfaced from the depths of the sea, the peacefulness of their returning home disrupted only by the occasional noisy spectator.

After 10 mins of the first bunch of penguins appearing, we headed up. This was the time when we followed the penguins home. Making our way up the slopes, we spotted numerous penguins waddling among the grass patches on the mountain slopes. They were so tiny and cute. Some marched in clusters, and obediently in neat rows. Sometimes, they halt, waiting for the slow ones or those who were left behind. Some were alone, some in pairs, and a mother and her child. There were just so many of them, all over the place, waddling home.

It was the most amazing penguin experience ever.

Xiaxue and the portrayal of Orientalism

2008-06-01T12:05:00.001-07:00

Sometime back, we had a lecture on Internet and Sex, where we looked at (in)famous Singaporean blogger, Xiaxue. The lecturer showed us a video clip of Xiaxue's Guide to Life, the episode where she patronizes Oohtique, a sex shop. In her blog, the only thing Xiaxue talks about is herself, she talks about getting an orgasm and getting a boob job. So the question raised to us was this: Does that make her a feminist or is it an Orientalism portrayal of her?

Two other controversial Singaporean bloggers that were discussed during lecture were Celeste and Nicole Chen. For those who don't yet know, Celeste posts up video clips of herself performing some kind of dancing deemed 'provocative'. Some has criticized her for promoting herself as some form of sexual symbol. Again, we revisit the topic of Orientalism.

Something interesting to think about: Does these blogs reinforce pre-existing stereotypes and ideology of women, or does it liberate them?

the blackboard grading system.

2008-05-19T21:16:00.000-07:00

Out of 4 assignments, I got C for 3 of them.

For the last one, I got D..

...This is so not funny lor.

Btw, I had a very good nap during lecture just now.

When I told this to my sister over msn, she said:
dun worry, you are a singaporean. your standard is supposed to suck

=_=||

The funniest shit is that the average score for my course is around that standard.

the difference between smart and stupid people

2008-05-15T02:20:00.000-07:00

I spent weeks ahead of the deadline in the library researching, hours poring over heaps of books, days spent carrying out extensive online research, countless late nights typing out the essay.

My friend spent her week before the deadline partying, getting drunk pissed, wasted, smoking weed, and 24 hours before the essay due, fooling around. One hour before the deadline, working her ass off to piece together a decent piece of essay, and asking me to come up with some ideas.

In the end, we both got 20 marks for our essay.

Being born stupid means I have to do 10 times the work of everyone else just to reach their standard. Being born stupid means I have to spent 10 times the amount of time and effort above everyone else just to attain the same level of understanding as them. Being born stupid means that I have to work harder than everyone else.

And, sometimes, I wonder why I bother putting in so much effort at all.

playing truant.

2008-05-14T00:16:00.000-07:00

I have been skipping classes quite frequently because I have trouble waking up in the morning because I have trouble sleeping at night.

...This is not right. Nerds are supposed to attend EVERY SINGLE class.

emptiness

2008-05-13T00:32:00.000-07:00

It's one thing to be sad and lonely.

But, it's another thing to be sad and lonely and decide to have unprotected sex, and during a visit to the doctor, get informed that there is a chance you might have contracted an STD.

Also, also, while you bitch about the Mainland Chinese who "do nothing but study everyday, and have zero social life," keep in mind that there are others out there who might be categorizing you as the girl who "do nothing but party everyday, and spend zero time on her studies".

These sad, sad lonely creatures. I really pity all of them. Trying so hard to fill up their life with booze, party and drugs. All they get at the end of the day is a sense of emptiness. And, perhaps, an STD.

Also, please open your eyes BIG BIG. Not everyone out there is a couple, there are many swinging singles. Not every couple is together because they genuinely want to, but not every couple is together just because they need someone to be with.

If you keep thinking he isn't worth it, then he probably isn't.

the great censorship in China

2008-05-09T06:29:00.000-07:00

Just as I was getting fed up with the albatross of the classroom and being spoon-fed information, we were assigned to do our very first real hard news story.

We were given a lot of freedom as to how we wanted to go about doing it.

Since I've become much more politically-aware and immensely interested in the Tibetan's protestations taking place in China, I decided to cover the China's human rights violations campaign held at Federation Square.

Companies such as Google and Yahoo! actually help the Chinese government to censor out sensitive material, restricting access to web content for China citizens. Ironically, these are the companies that publicly state that they support human rights and freedom of expression.

Shi Tao, a journalist in China, sent an email to a friend in the US. When the friend published the material in the US, the Chinese government approached Yahoo! to get personal details of the source of the email. Without any questions asked, Yahoo! handed over personal details of Shi Tao to the government, including his name and address, which allowed the Chinese authorities to track him down and sentence him to 10 years in prison.

I love talking to random strangers and have so much fun interviewing them. But, it can get pretty hard garnering interesting answers, and most Asians are rather reluctant to speak up.

Since I have to be unbiased as a journalist in my report, I had to hang around waiting for Chinese faces to appear on a rather slow Friday afternoon. The first few Chinese people I approached avoided me like the plague. Also, I mistook many Chinese-looking people for China citizens, when they were in fact Korean.

Sometimes, I get really irritating and annoying answers out of interviewees. The one which I hate the most is when the person I'm interviewing turns the table around and I end up being the one getting interviewed.

Example:

Me: So, do you think such an awareness campaign is effective in highlighting human rights abuses taking place in China?

Interviewee: Err...I don't know. What do YOU think?

Me: Erm, I'm asking you the question, not the other way round.

Interviewee: Yeah, I know. But, what do YOU think?

Me: But, now I'm the one asking you the question.

Interviewee: (hyped-up) Yeah, but what do YOU think? I want to know your opinion.

Me: Well, okay. I think the campaign is very effective because it attracts the attention of the media and garners wide media coverage, so more people actually get to know about the internet censorship taking place in China. Because many people in China have absolutely no idea that their government censors the state media.

Interviewee: (Nodding head in agreement) Hmm....yeah, yeah. That's right. What you're saying is right.

Me: No, but that is MY opinion. You are not supposed to throw my own answer back at me.

Also, interestingly, some interviews stray away from the main topic.

Me: Thanks so much for agreeing to do the interview. Can I have your contact number please?

Interviewee: Er...I don't have a contact number because I just arrived in Melbourne yesterday.

Me: Well, okay...how about your house phone then?

Interviewee: Er...I don't have a house.

Me: Okay, can you just give me ANY number at all?

Interviewee: Yeah, okay, how about you give me your number, and I'll put it down.

Me: No, I can't do that! Okay, how about giving me a friend's handphone number?

Interviewee: Er....I don't have any friends. Would you like to be my friend?

Me: Do you really not have a number you can give me? Don't worry, everything will be kept confidential.

Interviewee: Okay, look, I have a friend's handphone with me right now. But, I don't know if it's right to give his number to you.

Me: Well, could you ask him then?

Interviewee: Yeah, okay. But, I can't contact him right now. How about I give you a call when I get his number?

Me: Okay, great.

Interviewee: So, would you like to be my friend? We could meet up for coffee or something.

Me: ...

I had been hanging around for 2 hours approaching random people who looked like they were from China to me. In the end, I found guys were easier to approach than girls, who were far less accommodating. They were either in a rush or turned me down flat.

My life-saver came in the form of someone munching on McDonald's. I was initially apprehensive about approaching her, but in the end, she turned out to be from China! I felt a huge sense of relief after so many failed attempts.

Since she was from China, and insisted on speaking English, I couldn't understand a word she was saying in the beginning. Also, she was a bit reluctant to talk about politics. In the end, we got along so well that we ended up chatting for over half an hour. She told me that it was my persistence that finally made her open up. In the end, the interview I had with her turned out to be one of the most crucial part of my news story.

not the biggest nerd

2008-05-08T01:42:00.000-07:00

Friend: Do you know that Caucasian guy and girl?

Me: Yup, I went out clubbing with them once.

Friend: (incredulous look) YOU went clubbing?

Me: Yup.

Friend: You mean you went CLUBBING?

Me: Yup. (sarcastic) And I even smoked and took drugs.

Friend: (shakes head) I think, by the time you get to Year 3, you would have become bad and corrupted.

My friend cannot be more wrong. I am a nerd, and 10 years down the road, I will still be a nerd. 50 years down the road, and I will be an old nerd, if I get to live till that age that is. My purpose of blogging about this is to say that doesn't mean you hang out with people who sleep around, means that one day, you will end up sleeping around. Although it does happen, but I would like to believe that I am not a person who is easily influenced. And, also to tell readers, that although it is hard to believe it, there are bigger nerds than myself around.

protest marches and riots

2008-05-04T23:30:00.000-07:00

In conjunction with May Day, there was a protest on the streets of Central Melbourne this afternoon. Men and women, young and old, marched on the streets of Melbourne holding up posters and signboards demanding more rights for workers. Even young children and dogs wearing customized T-shirts with words like, 'May Day' and 'More rights for workers' in support of the protest thronged the streets.

Needless to say, the protest march attracted a lot of attention from passers-by, who stopped to stare or take a couple of photos.

The group who led the protest were decked out in Scottish outfits, armed with heavy band equipments, blowing their trumpets and beating their drums.

On another occasion, April 30, a protest by taxi drivers jammed up the streets of Melbourne's CBD. Photos of a large gathering of taxi drivers, mostly of Indian ethnicity, were splashed all over the major metropolitan newspapers and dailies.

The cabbies whipped off their shirts and sat down in the cross-intersection road just outside the busy streets of Flinders Street Station. The protest occurred because of the fatal stabbing of a fellow taxi-driver. Transport system was disrupted and traffic brought to a halt. Within 22 hours, the government had acceded to most or all of the demands and requests of the cabbies, such as installation of safety screens and mandatory pre-payment of night fares.

This sparked off a copycat scenario the very next day. Commuters taking the train refused to pay their transport fares, to protest against bad service standards. And, when they were caught, they refused to pay the fines. They said that by doing so, the government will listen to them, and they were just following the example demonstrated by the taxi drivers.

hailstorm

2008-05-02T21:59:00.000-07:00

My friend in Singapore tells me that the weather back home has been unbearably hot these couple of days, but over here, it's a totally different experience.

At one point this week, the temperature dropped to 8 degree celsius, and was so unbearably cold. In fact, it has been so cold that I experienced my first hailstorm today. For those who don't know what a hailstorm is, basically, it means the combination of ice and hard snow. When the weather gets so cold that it begins to rain ice.

So, instead of raindrops falling all over me, I had pellets of ice raining down upon me. Sweet.

the 'foolish journalist'

2008-04-29T21:42:00.000-07:00

We had a little role-play for our class today, where we had to draw lots to pick out a character and act it out in class. The setting was for a 'press conference', and the theme on 'Asian values', where Singapore's draconian laws on hanging without exceptions taking central stage.

The roles were that of Singapore SM Lee Kuan Yew, Malaysia former-PM Mahathir Mohamad, and journalists from all over the world, including South China Morning Post, International Herald Tribune, New York Times and The Straits Times.

As usual, you always pick out the role which you least favour. And, for me, I picked out the role that I would most hate to be in real-life - Journalist for The Straits Times, Singapore.

Well, basically, since the setting was a 'press conference', the main stars were 'Lee' and 'Mahathir', who had to field questions from the 'press'.

Everyone began saying how easy my role was, because basically I had three choices on what I had to do as a journalist with The Straits Times:

(1) Agree with Lee Kuan Yew

(2) Agree with Lee Kuan Yew

(3) Agree with Lee Kuan Yew

How hard was that, really?

And, so, the 'press conference' began. It was basically divided into three groups. 'Lee' (played by this Caucasian guy) & 'Mahathir' (played by another Caucasian guy), the 'Western press' (played by mostly Caucasians) and the 'Asian press' (played by mostly Asians, including myself).

The 'Western press' started off by firing questions mostly at 'Lee', such as why Singapore had to resort to hanging people, instead of sentencing them to life-long sentences.

(Side-track a bit: Hangings in Singapore take place every Friday at 6.05am at Changi Prison, and media coverage usually seen the following week. Singapore journalists actually send their articles to public relations departments to proof-read before sending it to press. And also, some international publications go to the extent of sending their articles to Lee Kuan Yew himself to proof-read before sending it to press.)

A 'Western journalist' argued that a lifetime behind bars was more humane than hanging people. To which 'Lee' replied, "Do you know how much it costs to keep someone in jail?" adding that it was costing taxpayers' money to pay for jail -baits' food, housing etc.

The 'Western press' was pretty aggressive in the beginning, firing non-stop queries, leading 'Lee' to question: "Can we please have some questions from the Asian press?"

So, basically, as I've so clearly outlined my role before, I had to agree with whatever the Caucasian guy (playing Lee) said. Easy enough. But, I ended up making a fool of myself.

Raising my hand, I introduced myself and where I was from, before directing my question at 'Lee'.

"Singapore is building itself up as a global city. So, by hanging people without considering reasons such as why they are bringing drugs into the country, do you think it will taint the image of the city?"

Which I admit was INDEED a very inane question, and TOTALLY OUT OF CONTEXT OF MY ROLE-PLAYING.

To which, 'Lee' turned to the lecturer, puzzled, and sought to confirm which 'publication' I was from again. After confirming, 'Lee' turned to me and said something along the lines of,

"Well, you do know that you need to have
your license renewed annually.
I'm going to have your license revoked."

I know of some Straits Times journalists who have actually been brave enough to voice out their dissent to Lee himself. But, unfortunately, the only outcome of their courageousness was having their press license revoked, and most leave the country disillusioned.

There was a Reuters journalist who also posed a very provocative question to Lee once on the freedom of the press, or lack of it, in Singapore. To which, Lee avoided the question thoroughly and asked totally inconsequential questions of his own, such as the journalist's name and which publication she came from.

I could be wrong, but after answering my question and causing a minor uproar, 'Lee' turned to 'Mahathir' and said that it was a 'foolish' question to ask, which led me to think if it were in a real-life setting, would I have done the same thing? The answer is no. Because it's just not worth it, simple enough.

Well, I got to redeem some of my common sense back later on in the 'conference'. A 'Western journalist' had posed something along this line of question to 'Lee': "Do you think it's right to restrict the freedom of the press and cause your citizens to live in a climate of fear?"

To which, 'Lee' started off by disagreeing that the citizens live in a climate of fear, before trailing off, and finding himself at a loss for words. Cleverly, he turned to me and asked, "Well, what do you have to say, Singapore journalist from The Straits Times?"

My reply went something along the lines of, "Well, I would say that Singapore citizens don't really mind the lack of press freedom. Because they have everything, housing, cars, education...They place economic stability above freedom of speech." To which, I could see my lecturer at the side nodding her head vigorously in agreement.

Having only stood up to 'Lee' in a pretend-setting, I must say that I applaud the journalists who have done so in real-life, but yet I cannot help shaking my head and questioning the outcome of their bravery.

A revoked license. A disillusioned you. And just another statistic that bloggers and senior citizens at the Kopitiam discuss about and the mainstream media indelibly censor out.

Is it really worth it?

the death of a loved one

2008-04-23T17:50:00.000-07:00

❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
girl im suffering from a heartbreak
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
becoz my beloved jus died..
sweet ★ promises says:
ok im gg to type WHAT
sweet ★ promises says:
but i think you're talking bt e JJ serial right
sweet ★ promises says:
=)
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
NO I'M TALKING ABOUT REAL LIFE
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
AND I'M REALLY UPSET
sweet ★ promises says:
WHAT ? ?
sweet ★ promises says:
WHO ? ?
sweet ★ promises says:
JJ died ? ?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
AND VERY DEPRESSED
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
I COULDN'T SLEEP OR EAT PROPERLY EVEN.
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
NO. NOT JJ.
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
ITS MY DARLING.
sweet ★ promises says:
i thot ur darling IS jj
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
LIKE THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE IN MY LIFE.
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
GET IT?
sweet ★ promises says:
ohmygod is it really a person ?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
MY SONY ERICSSON PHONE DIED YESTERDAY NIGHT LA
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
VERY DEPRESSING CAN
sweet ★ promises says:
OH GOSSSH you gave me a heart break can!
sweet ★ promises says:
but thats still terrible news !!
sweet ★ promises says:
how
sweet ★ promises says:
you dropped into e bowl isit
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
YES
sweet ★ promises says:
what you really did ! TSK !
sweet ★ promises says:
i hope it was a CLEAN bowl
sweet ★ promises says:
=P
sweet ★ promises says:
but ew, toilet bowl =P
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
yeah. and it was a toilet bowl full of shit
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
becoz i haven flushed it yet
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
and the hp dropped in
sweet ★ promises says:
YUCKS tell me you are SO kidding
sweet ★ promises says:
then you deserve to have it die on you after such humiliation !!
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
no i'm not kidding
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
i'm totally serious
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
and u know what else?
sweet ★ promises sent 4/23/2008 5:03 PM:
oh gosh it better be sth not worse than what you've alrdy told me
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
well actually it is
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
but if i tell you, you must promise me not to tell anyone else
sweet ★ promises says:
WAIT I KNOW
sweet ★ promises says:
you took it out w ur bare hands amidst e shit !!
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
OMG, how did u know?????!!!
sweet ★ promises says:
YOU SO DID NOT DO THAT !!
sweet ★ promises says:
dont you have gloves or anything like tt ? ?
sweet ★ promises says:
TONGS ?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
how else was i supposed to take it out?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
it was a public toilet, for goodness sakes!!
sweet ★ promises says:
hahhahahaha
sweet ★ promises says:
oh man
sweet ★ promises says:
tissues! LOTS OF TISSUES
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
but that was not what i was going to tell you
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
i was going to tell you something else
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
but then u must promise not to tell anyone?
sweet ★ promises says:
zip mouth shut and throws key out e window
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
ok la its kinda like a secret
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
you see
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
actually, i'm harry potter, and every night, i fly around on a broomstick, and if i touch water, i turn into a mermaid

I might as well mention to you, dear readers, that this is the very same friend who once believed me when I told her I was working as a fireman (or woman). "I put out a fire and saved an entire family today," I said, and she took in every word faithfully, in the same way a Christian believes in the words of the Holy Bible.

The real truth of the death of my handphone is a lot less carnival-fanfare. I forgot to take it out of my jacket and soaked the whole thing in water.

St. Kilda Beach

2008-04-20T01:48:00.000-07:00

St.Kilda beach is postcard-perfect.

Especially more so when the sun begins to set, and amazing streaks of pink and orange start to taint the sky.

St. Kilda Beach at Daytime

St. Kilda Beach at Sunset

St. Kilda Beach at Night

And, that's not the best thing about St. Kilda. While loitering around the beach and the sea rocks, we noticed a sign that said penguins come out to play at St. Kilda when night falls. After confirming it with some passers-by, we hanged around, waiting for the penguins' grand arrival. As far as I know, there are a total of three penguins at St. Kilda. Shy creatures by nature, they cower behind a stumble of rocks, and never really come out to meet people. Photos are not allowed, but...

Penguin hiding behind rocks

Close-up of Penguin

Seagulls at lighthouse

Close-up of seagulls

Just some of the thousands of boats floating above the seas

When we were about to leave, we stopped for a chat with this fisherman. He was only one of the many people fishing at St. Kilda. Apparently, he had been here for quite some time, and haven't had a single catch yet. During our conversation, his fishing pole started stirring. He had caught a fish! Just as he was reeling his catch in and placing the fish into the white bucket, his second fishing pool started jumping as well. He had caught another fish! Before we left, this gentlemen held our hands and thanked us. "You bring me good luck," he said, the resounding ending note of our time spent at St. Kilda.

i want to go home

2008-04-19T20:42:00.000-07:00

Once the novelty has worn off, I miss the familiarity I once had.

fuck you

2008-04-18T00:44:00.000-07:00

I'm not scared of loneliness.
If I were, I wouldn't have come all the way to Australia all by myself.

Suddenly, three years seem like an eternity.

clubbing: billboard style ver 1.0

2008-04-06T07:07:00.000-07:00

I went clubbing on Saturday night with a few of my mates at Billboard. Basically, clubs are a mass gathering and the 'celebration' of the wastage of so much human potential.

Young people, with really bad dancing, attention-seekers trying to fit into the 'cool' bracket, girls with outfits that one of my ex-colleagues term 'half of her moon is showing', and guys looking for a free fuck.
Loud, blaring music. Cool, hip people. Outrageous dress sense. And, some of the rare few with So You Think You Can Dance? worthy dance moves.

It amazes me how my friends who are all great dancers, can dance for more than three hours without stopping. Vic, who is from Russia, got onto the tabletop and danced continuously for three hours straight, no breaks in between.

This guy, with piercings all over his face, asked me to take a picture of him in this body-builder posture. Here are his 5 seconds worth of fame in this humble blog of mine.

This couple (OR RANDOM STRANGERS, I REALLY HAVE NO IDEA) were engaged in some sort of dirty dancing. Dance, kiss, separate, dance, kiss, separate, guy walks off, friend joins girl, and then both get back together again. Repeat above.

Halfway, I caught one of my friends chatting with a very decent-looking Malay guy. Initially, I assumed that they knew each other. But, then something about my friend's demeanour, triggered off alarm bells ringing within me. Something inside me snapped and I just knew something wasn't right. My instincts were later proven correct.

This Malay dude proceeded to whisper something in my friend's ear. Again and again. While my friend listened intently. "Do you know him?" I wanted to ask, but the blaring music made any sort of hearing nearly impossible.

My friend, clearly drunk, would later confess that she couldn't hear a word the dude was saying. I guess the dude took my friend's drunken disposition as silent acquiescence, for the next thing I knew, he had a firm grip on my friend and was dragging her across the dancefloor. Hand on heart, I didn't want to intrude, especially if the both of them knew each other. With a million questions racing through my head, my feet did the thinking for me. My steps quickened with each beat of the music, as I whizzed past the dancefloors, the table tops, to come to the bar.

Now, the Malay dude was talking to my friend again. But, in a split of a second, all the dynamics shifted. He pressed my friend against the wall, his body against her, and he was kissing my friend on the lips. My friend said, 'No', but the guy persisted. It was clear enough that he wanted to bring her home. Confused, shocked and disconcerted, I found myself reaching for my friend, pulling her away from the guy, turning on my heels and walking away. My head was reeling from all the shock and the mystifying turn of events.

These guys are so cheap. They go to clubs, pay a cover charge of 15, and scan the dancefloors for a free shag. Suddenly, I find that guys who pay for prostitutes are waayyyy classier. So, when my friend T told me: "If you dance, you get to meet some really nice guys," I shot him back with, "If you dance, you get to meet all the wrong sort of guys."

The night was called to an abrupt stop when all the lights went up, the music went dead, and the security guards started chasing everyone out. I checked my watch. 3.10.

When it was time to leave, we caught M scribbling his number on some Asian chick's hand. Apparently, the chick wanted his number, and he said, 'No', but he could give her his number instead. What's the attraction factor that Asian girls have towards Aussie guys? The exoticness that allures them to something unknown, tantalizing, fascinating, strange and the very unfamiliar?

After a couple of drinks....

S: "Cheryl, I swear, you are my best Uni friend ever!"

C: "Er....okay. Right.....but I've only known you for a while..."

S: "NO! That's not true! I've known you for TWO weeks."

I SWEAR drunk people have no idea what they are talking about.

more than meets the eyes

2008-03-26T06:29:00.000-07:00

In most people's eyes, holidays have become a festival of convivial merry-making, school holidays, time-off from the banality of life to smell the proverbial flowers by the roadside.

These festivals have become so commercialized that how many of us actually truly know the meaning of these festivals, that these calendar dates actually mark the death of these saintly mortals?

During Good Friday and Easter, crucifixions in honour of Jesus take place every year in the Philippines, the only country in Asia that has a predominantly Roman-catholic population.

Children as young as fifteen are pinned to crosses, have 6-inch pins driven into their flesh, and have to endure blistering pain as whips are slashed across their backs hours before the crucifixions take place.

The voluntary participants line up as they wait for their turn to be crucified for an excruciating five minutes under the relentless scorching sun. As pins the size of an adult's little finger are hammered through their flesh, you witness their faces twisting into tormented expressions, and blood pours down their faces and bodies. It is a gory, bloody sight to behold.

Sadly, even the evil claws of commercialization have found their way into such activities. Stalls are set up nearby selling items like souvenir whips and even VIP tickets are sold for spectators wishing to have an upfront view of these real-life crucifixions going on right before their very eyes.

Such events are treated with all-seriousness in the Philippines, being the only Catholic nation in Asia. During the Easter festival, bloodshed has a whole different meaning with the Filipinos. During processions, they cut their backs with broken glass, until their entire back is covered with blood, some of which inadvertently splattering onto the cutter's hands.

In such reconstructions of how Jesus died on the cross, these acts of self-flagellations are seen to be a washing away or atonement of sins, as well as to bring blessings for the family.

The entire significance of the event has been lost through the meaningless blood-fest tastelessly packaged as a spectator sport, ad nauseum in its masquerading as a glorification or tribute to Jesus. The volunteers who have the pins pierced through their flesh do it for base reasons, and lack true understanding of the crucifixions.

I think such processes lend new meaning to Good Friday and Easter, that in some countries, it is more than just cute bunnies and chocolates eggs.

the ugly duckling among the swans

2008-03-22T23:31:00.000-07:00

Before I came to Melbourne to study journalism, my friend who is studying media in Perth told me,

"No matter which class you go to, there will definitely be ONE Singaporean. I went to a class, there were 23 students. 11 were Singaporeans, and 12 were Aussies."

My friend's right.

No matter which class I go to, there will always at least be ONE Singaporean.

And, that's myself.

It was hard getting used to the idea. Going to a class full of yellow heads and blondes, where you are the only Asian, where no one bothered to talk to you, where the Aussies congregate, where you feel different, out of place, foreign. Before I came here, I had a very idealistic view. But, after I came here, I noticed that EVERYONE sticks to people who are a mirror reflection of themselves. The Asians stick with the Asians, the Aussies stick to the Aussies. That's the rules of the game. You either stick to it or you rewrite the rules. Most people do the former.

In a world where the Chinese stick to the Chinese, the Westerners stick to the Westerners, being the only Asian studying Journalism (an unpopular course in the East, no doubt), with no Vietnamese, no Malaysians, no Indonesians to turn to (my Modern Asia class is the only exception), you are forced into a situation whereby you have to change things.

Any Asian student who has ever studied in Australia can tell you how difficult it is to make friends with the Aussies. Reasons have been given for this: saying that Aussies may not be as confident as they appear to be, they might have the same insecurities as the foreign students, and so they choose to mix with their own kind.

But the rule of the game is: You have to be the first to throw the dice.

You see so many Asians on the street that you forget this is Melbourne, that this is a Western country (afflicted with the "Sydney disease" - large influx of foreigners). But, then you take a further look, and you realize the great segregation of skin colours.

F1 Ferrari Fever @ Lygon Street

2008-03-17T22:42:00.000-07:00

This post is specially dedicated to my friend Dee, who is nuts about F1. Happy 21st babe.

Hand on heart, I did everything I could to dig up every last piece of information bone-dry on the Australian Grand Prix because my friend is a fan of F1 and Kimi Raikkonen.

I even searched the internet for details on Kimi's flight, but some of my guy friends who are into F1 told me that it costs at least $80 for the cheapest ticket to the Grand Prix. So, it would be wiser to watch it on TV for free.

So, I thought that at the very least, I could make my way down to Albert Park on the day itself. But guess what? All the tram services have been shut down due to the Grand Prix!

So when this Aussie friend working at an Italian restaurant informed us that there was going to be a Ferrari showcase ("where people go to see the models, not the cars"), I went nuts.

The entire Lygon Street was brimming with activity, restaurants having outrageous promotions, Italians who are HUGE, HUGE fans of F1. Trust me, I hear the word F1 wherever I go.

The F1 merchandise is sold for crazily high prices, a jacket alone costs $180, and an autographed memorabilia of Kimi costs $200++. It's crazy.

The night ended on a note of disappointment, as you can see from the photos below. There wasn't much to see at all, even when I returned at a later timing.

Lunch at the famous Lygon Street. This is seriously the only place I know in Melbourne that operates on a 24-hour basis.

It has built up a well reputation for housing a smorgasbord of high-class dining eateries. The prices of the food are equally high-class.

Here you see me having pasta for lunch. See the wine and see the plain water that I'm having. The wine owner recommended the sweetest type of wine to me, and I still found it bitter! Apparently, its a medley of rose and raspberry, and the bright, ripe colour gives an idea of how sweet it is supposed to be. I guess, unlike Aussies, I don't have a 'European's stomach' ( a term used to describe people who can consume large quantities of wine in a single seating) for wine.

A giant poster of Kimi. Or at least what I think is Kimi. For god's sake, I have no idea what Kimi looks like exactly, so please forgive me, if the guy in the photo is some random dude instead of Kimi.

youth is wasted on the young

2008-03-13T23:15:00.000-07:00

My friend ruffles through her bag, takes out a cigarette and brings it to her lips. "Ahhhh..." A mild form of ecstasy passes her face briefly as wisps of smoke danced around her. "I haven't smoked, like, the whole day."

I sit beside her, witnessing my friend in her marathon run to get lung cancer. She's doing well in the race.

"So..." I begin. "Your aim is to get lung cancer, huh?"

My friend's face tells me she doesn't like the sound of that. She is silent for a moment before asserting, "I don't smoke a lot. I only smoke, like, once a day!"

"Yeah, that adds up to 365 times a year." I pause. "That's like, 365 attempts to get lung cancer!"

My friend doesn't look pleased at all. Honesty is a rare commodity, nowadays.

My friend, who is a heavy drinker and smoker, laments that I do neither of those. "It's a pity you don't drink, because it's when you drink, that you talk crap." And, her argument is that you can have a hell of a great time, bonding and talking crap with your friends when you are drunk-pissed.

What good is verbal diarrhoea if all that comes out is shit and crap? (pun totally intended)

This is why George Bernard Shaw said: "Youth is wasted on the young." We are at the peak of our physical health, our minds are at its most alert, and what do we decide to do with this boon? We go out, party, and get ourselves drunk-pissed.

Nice.

"So, basically, you don't drink, you don't smoke, and you don't do weed." One second later, "That's pretty good, you know."

Sometimes, I forbid my friend to smoke, and she listens. And, because I don't drink, it means that time spent with me isn't spent on drinking.

I think that I'm a very positive influence. This is the reason why people should try hanging out with nerds more often.

road trip

2008-03-08T22:45:00.000-08:00

On an early Saturday morning, the seven of us made our way to Mount Dandenong. We set out in two separate cars, and it was a one-and-a-half-hour journey from the city.

Halfway, we had some car trouble. One of the car's wheel got stuck in a pile of debris and had trouble reversing. So, we had to get out of the car, which was halted in the middle of a down way slope. Meanwhile, a middle-aged lady living nearby was peeping her head outside to see what the ruckus was all about.

One of our pit-stops - where we could feed the birds - the cockatoos and the parrots. The cockatoos were an aggressive bunch, and one of us got bitten. Here, you can see a cockatoo happily munching on food.

This is the part where supposedly you can see the whole of Melbourne from where you are standing.

Just your typical English Garden - flowing gushes of little streams of rivers, green shrubbery, flowers (some in their full bloom, others in a withering state), bridges, benches, old and young people.

The girls - on one of the benches in The English Garden

The guys - on The Giant's Chair.

Apparently, there is a legend (to trick small kids) that whenever the monster who lived in the Stone Age got tired, he would traipse his way to The Giant's Chair where he laid to rest.

Miss Marple's Tea Room, a cute cottage outside flanked by acres and acres of creeping greenery, inside is like straight out of a movie set - replete with teapots, cackling firewood, photos of Miss Marples (a movie character), and waitresses decked out in cute, tablecloth-inspired dresses and aprons.

We had British-style breakfast of Scottish origin - freshly-baked Devonshire scones, complete with a heavenly combination of soft vanilla cream and jam.

pardon me.

2008-03-06T20:22:00.000-08:00

For my previous post, I recieved some flak from a couple of total strangers for NOT raising my hands when my lecturer asked if there were any Singaporeans in class.

Many seem to have gotten the idea that I was ashamed to raise up my hand become I was embarrassed of the country that I grew up in.

YOU GUYS ARE SO WRONG.

However, to say that I didn't raise my hand because I was a Singaporean, and because I was born that way, then you've got it right. As one reader put it, "Shows how much of Singaporean indoctrination you've gotten into you already."

I once read an article that Singaporeans who have emigrated overseas or are just staying in foreign countries on a temporary basis, love to fade into the background. They seldom do or say things that makes them stand out from the crowd, but rather, they seem contented to remain just another face in the sea of crowds.

Another reader lamented that it was a shame that I choose to melt into the background, and that "The country has no connection with you, apart from the fact that you were born there. "

REALLY???

I have no idea why he would choose to romanticise the entire scenario. The truth is, people have their own biasness and prejudices, and people form baseless opinions of you just based on your nationality. For example, I would say that China people have a pretty bad reputation among Asians in Australia. And, even if you were just a product of your country, there is no denying the fact that the culture you grew up in has a very vital role in shaping and forming you as an individual.

Also, just as a final thought, as another reader also pointed out, if I had really went on to raise my hand, would the lecturer then have minced his words? On the other hand, wouldn't it be interesting for the lecturer to speak with unbridled flow, without biting his tongue or toning down his language just because there was a Singaporean around? Maybe only then could he really say what he intended to say.

And, that's probably the best excuse I can give for not raising up my hand.