I had come across this lovely song + making-of video about a couple months past, and as much as I was taken by it, it didn't occur to me to save it to my favourites or properly commit it to my memory. As such, yesterday night I found myself wanting to listen to it again, and couldn't for the life of me remember the name of the band, nor the song. All I remembered was that the band name involved two animals, and I had a semi-confident notion that one of those animals was a dog. Dog and something.
Dog and Bear? No.
Dog and Wolf? No.
Are you sure it wasn't Dog and Bear? Hmm.
Maybe it wasn't even Dog. Wolf and Bear?
Punyalah susah aku nak ingat nama dia. I spent a good fifteen minutes consumed with this activity of guessing animal pairings, and tried googling 'indie bands with names including animals', which yielded a facebook group devoted to such bands but without luck.
Thank God for web browser history. It turned out to be Dog & Panther!
After weeks of whining to Kelly that I really wanted to re-watch The Lord of the Rings, I was in enough of a funk today to convince myself a nine-hour movie marathon would, in fact, be ideal. I scouted out the DVDs on my way back from returning books at the library, and I'm watching The Two Towers as I type this. Hugo Weaving! I had forgotten you were in this!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Berenang
I can't swim.
Can I? I can propel myself forwards in water via kicking my feet, I suppose. But I don't know what to do with my arms. And I don't know how to breath. Every time I turn my head out of water to inhale I end up gulping water. And I can't do anything but panic if my feet don't touch the bottom.
So no, I can't swim.
I wonder why. I have this very distinct memory of being sent to swimming classes when I was a kid. This was back when we were staying in Kerteh, and mom would bring me to the resident golf/country club for lessons. I have a vague notion of being taught how to paddle my feet while holding on to the sides of the pool, but the strongest memory, the most solid recollection I have of swimming class is being with a bunch of other kids at the edge of the deepest part of the pool. The instructor put a buoy in the middle of the pool, and proceeded to ask us to swim to it and then back to the edge. HOLY SHIT WAS THAT SCARY. I remember swimming and breathing in sputtering motions, wanting to panic and not do it, but everyone else seemed fine and able to. I didn't want to be the only one too chicken to do it(I was six, but I had pride, yo). So I got to the buoy, where the instructor was treading, held on for a while, then sputtered and spewed my way back to the edge. I think he said something about how I could improve, but I think at that time I was just consumed with "TAK NAK BUAT LAGI DAH! TAKUT!" thoughts in my head. I can't remember what happened after that, but I think the way I swim now is exactly how I swam that day, so maybe I stopped going for classes.
Damn. I wish I could swim. I should be able to swim. If I could just do a decent front crawl that can get me from one end of the pool to the other, I'd be happy.
Is swimming something that can be self-taught? Study in theory, go to a pool, practice? One of my favourite Lat cartoons is a scene from Kampung Boy, the one where he depicts how he learned to swim, basically via his dad tossing him into the river when he was a kid. I'd like to believe if someone creeps up behind me and pushes me into a pool my survival instincts would take over and suddenly I'd be a freaking mermaid, but you and I both know that wouldn't happen at all. I'd just flail around and somehow make it to the edge of the pool before trying to kill the person who pushed me in. Swimming skills gained? No. Manslaughter charges? Yes.
Maybe I should coerce someone into teaching me. Kakak? Maybe I could save up money and go for lessons.
Takpe. By hook or by crook, I'll learn how to swim. I'll be a seal in the water someday. A penguin. A water baby. A platypus. A cat with a strange likeness for water. Until then I'll just sigh longingly every time I go to the gym and catch a whiff of the chlorine from the pool.
Can I? I can propel myself forwards in water via kicking my feet, I suppose. But I don't know what to do with my arms. And I don't know how to breath. Every time I turn my head out of water to inhale I end up gulping water. And I can't do anything but panic if my feet don't touch the bottom.
So no, I can't swim.
I wonder why. I have this very distinct memory of being sent to swimming classes when I was a kid. This was back when we were staying in Kerteh, and mom would bring me to the resident golf/country club for lessons. I have a vague notion of being taught how to paddle my feet while holding on to the sides of the pool, but the strongest memory, the most solid recollection I have of swimming class is being with a bunch of other kids at the edge of the deepest part of the pool. The instructor put a buoy in the middle of the pool, and proceeded to ask us to swim to it and then back to the edge. HOLY SHIT WAS THAT SCARY. I remember swimming and breathing in sputtering motions, wanting to panic and not do it, but everyone else seemed fine and able to. I didn't want to be the only one too chicken to do it(I was six, but I had pride, yo). So I got to the buoy, where the instructor was treading, held on for a while, then sputtered and spewed my way back to the edge. I think he said something about how I could improve, but I think at that time I was just consumed with "TAK NAK BUAT LAGI DAH! TAKUT!" thoughts in my head. I can't remember what happened after that, but I think the way I swim now is exactly how I swam that day, so maybe I stopped going for classes.
Damn. I wish I could swim. I should be able to swim. If I could just do a decent front crawl that can get me from one end of the pool to the other, I'd be happy.
Is swimming something that can be self-taught? Study in theory, go to a pool, practice? One of my favourite Lat cartoons is a scene from Kampung Boy, the one where he depicts how he learned to swim, basically via his dad tossing him into the river when he was a kid. I'd like to believe if someone creeps up behind me and pushes me into a pool my survival instincts would take over and suddenly I'd be a freaking mermaid, but you and I both know that wouldn't happen at all. I'd just flail around and somehow make it to the edge of the pool before trying to kill the person who pushed me in. Swimming skills gained? No. Manslaughter charges? Yes.
Maybe I should coerce someone into teaching me. Kakak? Maybe I could save up money and go for lessons.
Takpe. By hook or by crook, I'll learn how to swim. I'll be a seal in the water someday. A penguin. A water baby. A platypus. A cat with a strange likeness for water. Until then I'll just sigh longingly every time I go to the gym and catch a whiff of the chlorine from the pool.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Parmigiano Reggiano
Yesterday was cold. The kind of cold that provokes the consumption of lots of hot beverages, the exclamations of "Sejuknya!" to the housemate, the wrapping of oneself in blankets, and staring out the sliding door, trying to figure out how many layers I would have to wear to convince myself to go outside(answer:three).
Another one of those telemarketers called. This one talked so fast, trying to get every word of his sales pitch in. For a second I considered (as I always do in these situations) just hanging up on the guy but as always, I never can quite bring myself to do that. I notice that whenever I'm on the phone with someone I am mad with I tend to hang up as quickly as possible, after a brisk "bye", so I suppose hanging up on someone with absolutely no warning or courtesy must be the equivalent of a "fuck you". I haven't mustered enough social rebellion to do that. So I stayed on the line and tried to find some moment I could interject and say I wasn't interested.
I couldn't get a word in, he was careening along the path of a much repeated script. I wondered how many times he must have been hung up on to get up to this speed.I thought to myself, who would want this job? This job that requires you to talk as fast as you can, grasping any extra minute the listener doesn't hang up to stuff as much information as possible, sell sell sell, convince me not hang up just a minute longer, with every minute maybe I'll eventually give in. Maybe the guy didn't have a choice, maybe the job has a good base salary and a decent commission for every customer snagged, maybe he's actually lucky to be doing this. Hey, the guy's actually working. Which was more than I could say for myself.
Suddenly things just seemed weary and sad, so I slumped on my bed, resigning myself to listen. In the background on his end I could hear another telemarketer, probably in the next cubicle, a woman this time. I wondered what the place he worked in was like, was it a call centre like in Slumdog Millionaire, a big room full of people with headsets? I settled myself more comfortably on my bed while letting out the occasional "uh-huh". I wondered what was the success rate of telemarketing.
It had to stop somewhere. In the end, as he was trying to get details from me, I told him thank you for taking the time to explain it to me, but I wasn't interested. I could still hear him trying to catch hold of me, trying to reiterate the benefits of the plan, as I said bye and put down the phone.
***
Every time I go to the market or the shops and pass the cheese aisle, I often resolve to one day save up or cut down on other groceries in order to buy a hunk of good parmesan cheese.
Yeah. I make cheese-based ambitions now.
Another one of those telemarketers called. This one talked so fast, trying to get every word of his sales pitch in. For a second I considered (as I always do in these situations) just hanging up on the guy but as always, I never can quite bring myself to do that. I notice that whenever I'm on the phone with someone I am mad with I tend to hang up as quickly as possible, after a brisk "bye", so I suppose hanging up on someone with absolutely no warning or courtesy must be the equivalent of a "fuck you". I haven't mustered enough social rebellion to do that. So I stayed on the line and tried to find some moment I could interject and say I wasn't interested.
I couldn't get a word in, he was careening along the path of a much repeated script. I wondered how many times he must have been hung up on to get up to this speed.I thought to myself, who would want this job? This job that requires you to talk as fast as you can, grasping any extra minute the listener doesn't hang up to stuff as much information as possible, sell sell sell, convince me not hang up just a minute longer, with every minute maybe I'll eventually give in. Maybe the guy didn't have a choice, maybe the job has a good base salary and a decent commission for every customer snagged, maybe he's actually lucky to be doing this. Hey, the guy's actually working. Which was more than I could say for myself.
Suddenly things just seemed weary and sad, so I slumped on my bed, resigning myself to listen. In the background on his end I could hear another telemarketer, probably in the next cubicle, a woman this time. I wondered what the place he worked in was like, was it a call centre like in Slumdog Millionaire, a big room full of people with headsets? I settled myself more comfortably on my bed while letting out the occasional "uh-huh". I wondered what was the success rate of telemarketing.
It had to stop somewhere. In the end, as he was trying to get details from me, I told him thank you for taking the time to explain it to me, but I wasn't interested. I could still hear him trying to catch hold of me, trying to reiterate the benefits of the plan, as I said bye and put down the phone.
***
Every time I go to the market or the shops and pass the cheese aisle, I often resolve to one day save up or cut down on other groceries in order to buy a hunk of good parmesan cheese.
Yeah. I make cheese-based ambitions now.
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Turning Point
When I start tinkering around with a semi-active(or partially dead?) blog's colours, I can sort of tell that sebenarnya I takde kerja, ni. Well, this wasn't really tinkering. This was just a matter of bleaching all colour and making everything black and white. 2 points for kesenangan untuk dibaca.
The other day I realized I was turning 23 this year. Which means:
a) Jimmy Eat World's song, 23, finally applies to me.
c) I'm practically 25. Well, I'll be damned. It seems like age progression is continuous disbelief over your real age. I see these kids (kids?) who were born in 1994 or 1995 and for some reason I automatically think in my head that they're around 10 or 11, 1994 doesn't seem that long ago, but then I realize it's 2011 and they're 17 or 16, and I'm 23! 23! 25! 30!
***
I know this is one of those mundane domestic mishaps that doesn't need to be shared, but I let my guard down to the monster that is my washing machine and it decided to gnaw off the hooks of my favourite sports bra. Shame on me for being too lazy to hand-wash it and just chucking it into the known terminator-of-delicate-clothing, but seriously. Seriously?
Let me tell you about this washing machine. It's been here since my first year, and I have no idea how old it actually is (I would cut it through the middle and count the rings like I would a tree, but then I wouldn't have a washing machine). It's a front-loader, and it has analog dials on the front. It's loud and clunky, and spasms alarmingly when it goes into spin mode.
It eats bra hooks. Out of spite, I bet.
Monster that this machine is, it serviced our laundry needs adequately, with the peculiar exception that when I set the dial to cold wash, the clothes that came out of it were warm.
Then, in my final semester, the monster decided it had had enough. It went crazy, and refused to run on normal settings, or would start and then stop halfway, and generally was a pain in the ass. Especially when it was assignment/exam season and I didn't have time to worry about not having clean clothes. Boy. That wasn't a fun time. At one point I found myself sitting on the floor, leaning against the monster, crooning Padi's Menanti Sebuah Jawaban to it, in some bizarre, desperate belief that singing jiwang, Indonesian songs to a whacked out washing machine would somehow convince it to work properly.
Flash forward to now, and we're still stuck with this machine (long story). It works, in a way, but obviously is still eats bra hooks. Spiteful thing. Maybe spanish songs next time? Or mumbly french ones. Maybe it's an European washing machine.
The other day I realized I was turning 23 this year. Which means:
a) Jimmy Eat World's song, 23, finally applies to me.
c) I'm practically 25. Well, I'll be damned. It seems like age progression is continuous disbelief over your real age. I see these kids (kids?) who were born in 1994 or 1995 and for some reason I automatically think in my head that they're around 10 or 11, 1994 doesn't seem that long ago, but then I realize it's 2011 and they're 17 or 16, and I'm 23! 23! 25! 30!
***
I know this is one of those mundane domestic mishaps that doesn't need to be shared, but I let my guard down to the monster that is my washing machine and it decided to gnaw off the hooks of my favourite sports bra. Shame on me for being too lazy to hand-wash it and just chucking it into the known terminator-of-delicate-clothing, but seriously. Seriously?
Let me tell you about this washing machine. It's been here since my first year, and I have no idea how old it actually is (I would cut it through the middle and count the rings like I would a tree, but then I wouldn't have a washing machine). It's a front-loader, and it has analog dials on the front. It's loud and clunky, and spasms alarmingly when it goes into spin mode.
It eats bra hooks. Out of spite, I bet.
Monster that this machine is, it serviced our laundry needs adequately, with the peculiar exception that when I set the dial to cold wash, the clothes that came out of it were warm.
Then, in my final semester, the monster decided it had had enough. It went crazy, and refused to run on normal settings, or would start and then stop halfway, and generally was a pain in the ass. Especially when it was assignment/exam season and I didn't have time to worry about not having clean clothes. Boy. That wasn't a fun time. At one point I found myself sitting on the floor, leaning against the monster, crooning Padi's Menanti Sebuah Jawaban to it, in some bizarre, desperate belief that singing jiwang, Indonesian songs to a whacked out washing machine would somehow convince it to work properly.
Flash forward to now, and we're still stuck with this machine (long story). It works, in a way, but obviously is still eats bra hooks. Spiteful thing. Maybe spanish songs next time? Or mumbly french ones. Maybe it's an European washing machine.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Cookies - Part 2
Kelly's cookies are like crack,man.
The crafty girl split her batch into two and made one with white chocolate chips and macadamias. Anyone who knows me (well, that's not true. I think only Kelly knows this) knows that white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies are my supreme weakness out of all the variation of chocolate chip cookies. Especially large, soft, chewy ones. I weep. With joy.
Confronted with A WHOLE TIN of these decadent treats, of course I succumbed. Meaning I ate cookie after cookie after cookie. I don't know if it's because of the cold weather and unnecessary survival instincts taking over, or if it's just gluttony, but I can't stop eating, full-stop. Part of me goes "NOOOOOOO!", another part of me goes "I am not going deny myself the pleasure of cookies. Life's too short not to enjoy cookies", while another part of me logically concludes "Well, I'll just eat them all now. Then there won't be any left to tempt me later. Genius".
So I've been spending a large chunk of the day in my pajamas, eating warm cookies, reading food blogs, and I can tell you that this is a variation of lazy bliss previously not experienced.
Must. Get. Off. Arse.
The crafty girl split her batch into two and made one with white chocolate chips and macadamias. Anyone who knows me (well, that's not true. I think only Kelly knows this) knows that white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies are my supreme weakness out of all the variation of chocolate chip cookies. Especially large, soft, chewy ones. I weep. With joy.
Confronted with A WHOLE TIN of these decadent treats, of course I succumbed. Meaning I ate cookie after cookie after cookie. I don't know if it's because of the cold weather and unnecessary survival instincts taking over, or if it's just gluttony, but I can't stop eating, full-stop. Part of me goes "NOOOOOOO!", another part of me goes "I am not going deny myself the pleasure of cookies. Life's too short not to enjoy cookies", while another part of me logically concludes "Well, I'll just eat them all now. Then there won't be any left to tempt me later. Genius".
So I've been spending a large chunk of the day in my pajamas, eating warm cookies, reading food blogs, and I can tell you that this is a variation of lazy bliss previously not experienced.
Must. Get. Off. Arse.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Cookies
I've never had a casual job before.
Can you imagine? Never worked as a waitress, never an attendant at the neighbourhood Petronas station, or a cashier at Giant. I didn't work an iota in the 3 months waiting for my SPM results, and when I got to Melbourne, I did get working rights attached with my visa, but didn't actually work. Oy.
If I ever have a children, once they've completed their SPM (or whatever variation the public examination would have morphed into by then), I'll give them a month tops to chill, and then will proceed to drag them kicking and screaming if I have to to the nearest Secret Recipe (I don't know, for some reason I automatically think of Secret Recipe when I think of post-SPM employment).
And when the children look at me in puzzlement and ask why I insist on them getting a job, I will tell them they will thank me years down the line when they are compiling their first resume and see that the working experience they have is not limited to a solitary internship they did in their second year of uni. And they will proceed to further throw rose petals at my feet when they are trying to get a gig as a waiter/waitress in a foreign country and realise that most of the offerings comes with a requirement of previous experience.
Anyway.
Yesterday I had this one-day job involving mailing work. My first sort of casual work in any form, and it was easy, if repetitive. Thoughts gathered throughout the day:
Fell asleep at nine, woke up at ten in the morning and let out a yelp of delight when I saw Kelly had made a whole tin-full of chocolate chip cookies. That I now can't stop eating.
Can you imagine? Never worked as a waitress, never an attendant at the neighbourhood Petronas station, or a cashier at Giant. I didn't work an iota in the 3 months waiting for my SPM results, and when I got to Melbourne, I did get working rights attached with my visa, but didn't actually work. Oy.
If I ever have a children, once they've completed their SPM (or whatever variation the public examination would have morphed into by then), I'll give them a month tops to chill, and then will proceed to drag them kicking and screaming if I have to to the nearest Secret Recipe (I don't know, for some reason I automatically think of Secret Recipe when I think of post-SPM employment).
And when the children look at me in puzzlement and ask why I insist on them getting a job, I will tell them they will thank me years down the line when they are compiling their first resume and see that the working experience they have is not limited to a solitary internship they did in their second year of uni. And they will proceed to further throw rose petals at my feet when they are trying to get a gig as a waiter/waitress in a foreign country and realise that most of the offerings comes with a requirement of previous experience.
Anyway.
Yesterday I had this one-day job involving mailing work. My first sort of casual work in any form, and it was easy, if repetitive. Thoughts gathered throughout the day:
- I actually dig repetitive work. It's sort of meditative, much like that serenity experienced when folding a baking mixture (God, I love doing that).
- I was getting paid a rather ridiculously large sum for the sort of work I was doing, if I thought about it.
- I was working in what I think now of as the 'lawyers area', and couldn't help feel excited that the other people in the exchange I was delivering letters in were all barristers or law clerks. How cool are you people? Or why am I attaching such coolness with you?
- By the end of the day I was so tired I couldn't think straight. How could easy work become tiring? And it was cold. And I was hungry. But I got paid. Cha-ching.
Fell asleep at nine, woke up at ten in the morning and let out a yelp of delight when I saw Kelly had made a whole tin-full of chocolate chip cookies. That I now can't stop eating.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Flashback
Today is a gloomy day, all gray and dark, weather that doesn't encourage excursions outside. I'm half-wishing it would rain, storm, even. Stormy afternoons remind me of our house back in Ampang, when I'd come down to the kitchen to get a snack of some sort, and see it pouring cats and dogs outside the window, or maybe just about to, thunder growling. The front door would be closed of course, mom would open it first thing in the morning and keep it open with her door-stopper, a row of ducks, but in the afternoons she would close it before she went upstairs to her room to rest.
Everything would be dark and muted, the house would be quiet. Perfect time for napping, but I never did. I'd get something to eat from the fridge, maybe leftovers, maybe heat up one of those slices of frozen pizza mom stocked up for us.Then back upstairs to my room, to a good book and a hot snack. Contentment.
Everything would be dark and muted, the house would be quiet. Perfect time for napping, but I never did. I'd get something to eat from the fridge, maybe leftovers, maybe heat up one of those slices of frozen pizza mom stocked up for us.Then back upstairs to my room, to a good book and a hot snack. Contentment.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Kupasan Kpop
For God's sake, no. No! We shall not partake in such mundane discussions on a public holiday!
Yes, it's Good Friday here in Melbourne, so the shops are closed, the weather is chilly, and I have a tentative notion of doing nothing. Nothing.
While I think of something to type, let me entertain you with Clara C's cover of Rocketeer which is lovely, I'm a sucker for trumpet inclusions.
Things have been..... and here I falter, because I don't really know how things have been. Some inner part of me wants to sit down with you and look you in the eye and say help me, please, please. Another part of me is convinced things are ok, I am on track, and things are ok and will fall into place, I will make them fall into place. Another part of me laughs at the melodrama of it all, sometimes scornfully and with disgust at my foolishness, other times it is less unkind, and it nudges me gently and says this will be regarded with humorous wonder in just a few months from now, I will look back and think it was so amusing how out of sorts I was.
But anyway, how are you? Been occupying yourselves well? This morning I tried going for a run outside at the nearby park, I think time spent jogging solidly barely touched 5 minutes, the majority of the outing was occupied by walking and sitting down on bench reading Around the World in Eighty Days before deciding breakfast was needed.
I wonder, what music do you listen to when jogging? I've posed this question to kakak and my friend Azrieal, the former giving me an answer by saying she has a specific playlist for running without actually detailing said playlist, while the latter gave a more straightforward example of stuff by Sneaky Sound System. I tend to find dance and pop music the best motivators for jogging, something with a solid beat. Other times, I play songs that I imagine I have choreographed something to that I will perform as part of an appearance on a Korean variety show. As ridiculous as that is, it does seem to help distract from the tiredness. Don't kill the daydream of being a kpop idol, yo.
Speaking of kpop, wei! WEI! Some releases have definitely been getting the thumbs up and giddy approval, in my books anyway.
1. Big Bang's Love Song is a go. Sounded very U2. The video is one of the nicest among recent ones, I think, I'm a sucker for semi-slow motion, seemingly one-take shots.
2. Daesung's Baby Don't Cry. This isn't a single, but it's Daesung's solo song in Big Bang's Special Edition album. I was so excited to hear this, because I think at the end of the day I just want a good pop song, which this is. Plus, Daesung has an awesome voice, we all know that. I think he's been given the least amount of solo exposure within the group, but I think things may be turning, did anyone see his scenes in the Tonight video? Wah, when did he become all leading-man material and allowed hot scenes with a female counterpart?
3. Rania's Dr. Feelgood. Say what you want about their image, but I think they're fierce (even though their leather outfits are kind of fugly.I have a thing against the short shorts and boots combination). One thing that puts me off is when a group can't embody whatever concept they're trying to portray. Groups who look awkward and out of place doing cutesy aegyo and 'oppa' stuff, groups who try so hard to be sexy it just falls flat, etc. But with Rania, they totally pulled it off! The song itself is catchy, they all sound like capable singers, the choreography is spot-on, they are in sync and look all empowered. Like they could eat cute-aegyo-doing-girls for breakfast. Like they could bust into the kpop world and show how sexy's supposed to be done. Now if only I could tell the members apart.
4. Brave Girls' Do You Know. Another rookie release I'm excited about, though I was unfortunately disinterested in the follow up song, So Sexy. I like this one though, I think it's really pretty, in an old-school r&b/soul(sebenarnya aku main tibai je cakap genre ni, I could be wrong) fashion, and I'm digging the style and choreography.
Ok. Way too much kpop. Way too much for someone trying to convince strangers to hire her, anyway. Lebih baik pergi makan lunch.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
I go a bit mad at the end with all the link-inserting
In filling out application forms and writing cover letters, I feel like I am straddling a fine line between truth and bullshit. It's like, hello recruitment people, to tell the truth I would like to just say I sincerely think I have what it takes to do this job, could you please hire me? But of course it doesn't work that way, I get it, you need some filter system to detect valid candidates for the job. That's why you have all these questions asking me to describe situations where I faced a difficult task within a team environment, and what personal strengths and skills did I call upon to face it, and how can I apply what I learned from the experience within the workplace, etc.
It's all fine and dandy when you have existing, solid past events that straight-forwardly demonstrate whatever desirable quality you're looking for. But what if most of the events in your life are things that I regard as having stumbled through in a generally clumsy manner? There may have been good conclusions, e.g.: yes, we did get a good score for that assignment, but was it really the straightforward process of situation-conflict-collective actions-results? No. It was more like, situation-conflict-conflict not addressed directly-apathy-let's just get through this-submit-oh! decent score.
Do I have any recent major leadership positions from which I can expound on how I influenced subordinates and catalyzed beneficial changes to the organisation? No. Does that make me feel like I'm not worthy for the job? No. Do I still have to answer the question to submit an application? Yes. And so I end up on my hands and knees, trying to dig up some past situation, however minuscule, however pathetic, that I can wrestle and squeeze and cajole it into forming a charming description that answers the question.
Jeez louise, wei.
It's either I get side-swiped by the idea that my lack of fabulous list of extra-curricular responsibilities and activities means I'm shit.
Or I firmly kick the ass of these notions of inferiority and try my best to fill out this bloody application anyway, and truthfully at that, because goddamn, I know I can be a decent employee. A flawless list of student society leadership positions does not a good employee make! Karate chop!
But on a brighter note, I have amassed a current play list of songs that are just simply fantastic. There's Jamie Cullum's version of Don't Stop The Music, which is just freaking boss, I love it and it increases my love for Keone Madrid and Mariel Martin, because they made this amazing piece of choreography to it. Then there's Robyn's Hang With Me, which is Robyn at her best, I think, she excels at songs like these, sweet and sorrowful and earnest. I love singing along to the "and if you do me right, I'm gonna do right by you" line. Then there's Tommy Sparks' She's Got Me Dancing, which is total eighties flailing music wei, so getting-jiggy-with-it! Then I'm having a belated Killers's phase thanks to playing Tap Tap Revenge on my phone, I am currently hooked on Sweet Talk and Read My Mind. There's also there's a bit of a flashback to Joy Division, Love Will Tear Us Apart is finally being appreciated, why am I so ketinggalan zaman? And let's not forget Cold War Kids' Audience.
Let's have an omelette for lunch, shall we? Yes, let's.
It's all fine and dandy when you have existing, solid past events that straight-forwardly demonstrate whatever desirable quality you're looking for. But what if most of the events in your life are things that I regard as having stumbled through in a generally clumsy manner? There may have been good conclusions, e.g.: yes, we did get a good score for that assignment, but was it really the straightforward process of situation-conflict-collective actions-results? No. It was more like, situation-conflict-conflict not addressed directly-apathy-let's just get through this-submit-oh! decent score.
Do I have any recent major leadership positions from which I can expound on how I influenced subordinates and catalyzed beneficial changes to the organisation? No. Does that make me feel like I'm not worthy for the job? No. Do I still have to answer the question to submit an application? Yes. And so I end up on my hands and knees, trying to dig up some past situation, however minuscule, however pathetic, that I can wrestle and squeeze and cajole it into forming a charming description that answers the question.
Jeez louise, wei.
It's either I get side-swiped by the idea that my lack of fabulous list of extra-curricular responsibilities and activities means I'm shit.
Or I firmly kick the ass of these notions of inferiority and try my best to fill out this bloody application anyway, and truthfully at that, because goddamn, I know I can be a decent employee. A flawless list of student society leadership positions does not a good employee make! Karate chop!
But on a brighter note, I have amassed a current play list of songs that are just simply fantastic. There's Jamie Cullum's version of Don't Stop The Music, which is just freaking boss, I love it and it increases my love for Keone Madrid and Mariel Martin, because they made this amazing piece of choreography to it. Then there's Robyn's Hang With Me, which is Robyn at her best, I think, she excels at songs like these, sweet and sorrowful and earnest. I love singing along to the "and if you do me right, I'm gonna do right by you" line. Then there's Tommy Sparks' She's Got Me Dancing, which is total eighties flailing music wei, so getting-jiggy-with-it! Then I'm having a belated Killers's phase thanks to playing Tap Tap Revenge on my phone, I am currently hooked on Sweet Talk and Read My Mind. There's also there's a bit of a flashback to Joy Division, Love Will Tear Us Apart is finally being appreciated, why am I so ketinggalan zaman? And let's not forget Cold War Kids' Audience.
Let's have an omelette for lunch, shall we? Yes, let's.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Unrelated picture and daydream sequence no. 1
Phuket 2010. My siblings found a replacement.I want to be a celebrity who drives well.
So that I can be invited to be in Top Gear's Star in a Reasonably Priced Car segment.
And achieve a lap time within highest quartile of everyone who has ever done it.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Eh, ada masalah sebenarnya ni
At the moment, the filing drawer of my mind is in a state of disarray. Contents and are spilling out, things are not arranged according to alphabetical order, files are overstuffed or empty and not categorized correctly. On top of that, there is a layer of dust, the drawers creak and can't shut properly, traces of rust are beginning to show. Everything's a mess.
In the same way substance-abusers think alcohol or drugs make things ok, I've sort of come to grasp coffee meet-ups and sessions at the gym as an excuse to feel things are dandy and thus neglect filing-drawer tidiness. When I go to the gym, I feel productive enough and ludicrously pleased with myself such that I think it's ok I haven't done other things I should be focusing on, like finding a job. When I meet up with a friend for coffee, I'm buoyed by the hit of caffeine and the leisurely chat that accompanies these meet-ups. I am often given the luxury of a sympathetic ear and a kindness that deludes me into thinking my problems are more than just the well-trodden path of self-centered people everywhere.
Houston, we have a problem.
In the same way substance-abusers think alcohol or drugs make things ok, I've sort of come to grasp coffee meet-ups and sessions at the gym as an excuse to feel things are dandy and thus neglect filing-drawer tidiness. When I go to the gym, I feel productive enough and ludicrously pleased with myself such that I think it's ok I haven't done other things I should be focusing on, like finding a job. When I meet up with a friend for coffee, I'm buoyed by the hit of caffeine and the leisurely chat that accompanies these meet-ups. I am often given the luxury of a sympathetic ear and a kindness that deludes me into thinking my problems are more than just the well-trodden path of self-centered people everywhere.
Houston, we have a problem.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Lawatan Sambil Belajar
I had to go to the Malaysian High Commission, so I duly booked a seat on the 6.50am flight to Canberra and accordingly another one on a flight coming back to Melbourne at 5pm . Having done the trip before, it wasn't so daunting this time around. It sort of became a leisurely excursion, like one of those day-trips I used to go on during school, except instead of getting on a bus, I got on a plane, and instead of wearing baju outing and kasut PVC with white socks,I got to wear skinny jeans and a cardigan and the really nice purple scarf my mom got for me. Glamorous sungguh sejak dah tak sekolah ni.
Virgin Blue have several flights to and from Canberra throughout the whole day. Who on earth creates the demand for these flights? Business people. Show up at the domestic departure terminal at 5.30am and you'll find the place overrun with people in suits, either carrying just a laptop bag or small, very sleek luggage. Occasionally you'll see a mother and young child, or an unemployed bum like me, but passengers are mostly comprised of professionals, which makes sense, because Canberra isn't exactly a fantastic getaway destination, if you get my drift.
The passenger demographic was reiterated once I'd arrive in Canberra and was queuing up to get a taxi. As I lined up, two things caught my attention. One was the fact that about 4 buses full of military personnel had pulled up to curb next to where the taxi rank was, and I enjoyed a good 15 minutes staring unabashedly as the soldiers spilled out and unloaded their gear, standard-issue army-green duffel bags. The other thing was the realization that I may have indeed been the most exotic creature in the line of people waiting for a cab, such that I was the only one wearing clothing that wasn't gray or black. Amidst the various work attire, my blue cardigan and purple scarf combination was alarmingly conspicuous, like I was a red-bottomed baboon amongst a sea of koala bears.
High Commission of Malaysia. Oh, High Commission of Malaysia.
Suffice to say, I came out of the place at 11.15am with nothing to do and 5 and a half hours before I had to be at the airport for my flight back to Melbourne. What does a girl do when she has 5 hours to kill?
a)She meets an intriguing stranger and they go on a whirlwind tour around the city with a Lost In Translation scene at the end.
b)She kills it. Literally. With a knife, bloody stab wound and all.
c)She joins the Canberra Hare Krishnas.
Oklah, I took the embarrassingly less interesting option and just took a cab to the city center and headed for the shopping mall.
Virgin Blue have several flights to and from Canberra throughout the whole day. Who on earth creates the demand for these flights? Business people. Show up at the domestic departure terminal at 5.30am and you'll find the place overrun with people in suits, either carrying just a laptop bag or small, very sleek luggage. Occasionally you'll see a mother and young child, or an unemployed bum like me, but passengers are mostly comprised of professionals, which makes sense, because Canberra isn't exactly a fantastic getaway destination, if you get my drift.
The passenger demographic was reiterated once I'd arrive in Canberra and was queuing up to get a taxi. As I lined up, two things caught my attention. One was the fact that about 4 buses full of military personnel had pulled up to curb next to where the taxi rank was, and I enjoyed a good 15 minutes staring unabashedly as the soldiers spilled out and unloaded their gear, standard-issue army-green duffel bags. The other thing was the realization that I may have indeed been the most exotic creature in the line of people waiting for a cab, such that I was the only one wearing clothing that wasn't gray or black. Amidst the various work attire, my blue cardigan and purple scarf combination was alarmingly conspicuous, like I was a red-bottomed baboon amongst a sea of koala bears.
High Commission of Malaysia. Oh, High Commission of Malaysia.
Suffice to say, I came out of the place at 11.15am with nothing to do and 5 and a half hours before I had to be at the airport for my flight back to Melbourne. What does a girl do when she has 5 hours to kill?
a)She meets an intriguing stranger and they go on a whirlwind tour around the city with a Lost In Translation scene at the end.
b)She kills it. Literally. With a knife, bloody stab wound and all.
c)She joins the Canberra Hare Krishnas.
Oklah, I took the embarrassingly less interesting option and just took a cab to the city center and headed for the shopping mall.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Breakfast
Yo.
1. I've been seeing the new kids at uni, kids (kids? Am I that old to be calling them that?)carrying files and cameras, walking in large groups, meandering from building to building. Whenever I see them I have this huge urge to burst out laughing, I can't quite prevent a smile from spreading across my face, but I have no idea what's so funny.
2. What has been on the playlist? Melancholia, that's what. Are you, by any chance suffering from unrequited love? A little Kate Nash will help the wallowing.
3. I still resort to having conversations with imaginary people, to an extent that I'm starting to really wonder if it's merely therapeutic or whether it's a sign of early onset schizophrenia. To be fair, I tend to have the conversations with imagined versions of real people, people I know or wish I knew.
4. I've been going through one of those phases where I contemplate the idea of a partner, a kindred spirit. I'm not happy about this, I think I could save a lot of time and grief by not doing so, but it's kind of hard to control what the mind gravitates to when it's idle.
5. One product of being here over the summer has been an introduction to cricket. Coming from someone who had nothing in the data bank about the game except for preconceived notions that it was boring(I'm pretty sure it was dad who recently reiterated the saying that watching cricket is like watching grass grow), I was lucky enough such that my premier exposure to the sport was via watching a proper match at the MCG. It was a match between the Victorian and Queensland teams, and I had my very own cricket guide (in the form of Loges, who'd played the game back in school) to explain each play.
So it's all still pretty new, but I must say, I am baited. I am intrigued. If I were a guy and cricket was a hot chick that flirted with me, I'm asking for her number. In fact, maybe we've progressed and have had a couple dates already. I'm sincerely hoping this infatuation will not burn out.
6. I haven't had goreng pisang for a long time, nor the ludicrously awesome combination of nasi lemak and sambal paru.
Adoi. Nasi lemak and sambal paru.
1. I've been seeing the new kids at uni, kids (kids? Am I that old to be calling them that?)carrying files and cameras, walking in large groups, meandering from building to building. Whenever I see them I have this huge urge to burst out laughing, I can't quite prevent a smile from spreading across my face, but I have no idea what's so funny.
2. What has been on the playlist? Melancholia, that's what. Are you, by any chance suffering from unrequited love? A little Kate Nash will help the wallowing.
3. I still resort to having conversations with imaginary people, to an extent that I'm starting to really wonder if it's merely therapeutic or whether it's a sign of early onset schizophrenia. To be fair, I tend to have the conversations with imagined versions of real people, people I know or wish I knew.
4. I've been going through one of those phases where I contemplate the idea of a partner, a kindred spirit. I'm not happy about this, I think I could save a lot of time and grief by not doing so, but it's kind of hard to control what the mind gravitates to when it's idle.
5. One product of being here over the summer has been an introduction to cricket. Coming from someone who had nothing in the data bank about the game except for preconceived notions that it was boring(I'm pretty sure it was dad who recently reiterated the saying that watching cricket is like watching grass grow), I was lucky enough such that my premier exposure to the sport was via watching a proper match at the MCG. It was a match between the Victorian and Queensland teams, and I had my very own cricket guide (in the form of Loges, who'd played the game back in school) to explain each play.
So it's all still pretty new, but I must say, I am baited. I am intrigued. If I were a guy and cricket was a hot chick that flirted with me, I'm asking for her number. In fact, maybe we've progressed and have had a couple dates already. I'm sincerely hoping this infatuation will not burn out.
6. I haven't had goreng pisang for a long time, nor the ludicrously awesome combination of nasi lemak and sambal paru.
Adoi. Nasi lemak and sambal paru.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Peanuts
I can justify it as much I want, work out a plan of repayment,be aware of how lucky I am that my parents are financially stable and that they are selflessly willing to support me, but the truth is this: I am growing increasingly uncomfortable with how much financial support I need from my mom and dad. My dad, mostly.
When I was a kid, it was taken for granted that my parents would pay for everything I needed. When I was an adolescent, I realized what economic background I came from, and at the same time realized that it was my parents who had money, and I myself was a pauper lucky enough to have a decent lifestyle funded by them. When I was 18, I was grateful my dad had the means to get me into college when I didn't get a scholarship. When I was in uni, I started realizing the need to have enough money in the bank for bills and groceries, and I found out what it's like to be strapped for cash. Call me a slow-learner, but I think I only realized the proper value of money when I came here. Well. Better late then never.
When I finally understood the value of each and every bloody dollar I spent, that's when I actually got into my head the extent of the financial support my dad was providing me. It is slightly overwhelming at times to think of the lump sum he has forked out throughout my time here.
I'm not studying anymore, and now we come to the tricky bit. Now that I'm not studying, every time I get an allowance or money from my dad, my heart feels very heavy.
Wah. Heart feeling heavy. Melodramatic, much?
But I don't know how else to describe it. I suppose there's a good portion of guilt, guilt that I'm an adult who still depends on someone, who, whilst is my own flesh and blood, is essentially a retiree who doesn't need me flushing down his cash.
But there's something else too, and that is, when you have to financially depend one someone, you are indebted towards them. And here, it's not just in terms of cash either, this debt goes beyond that, it involves the selflessness of my dad doing this for me, what it means in terms of our relationship, it goes on top of everything else I already owe to him for being my father. Do you understand?
I suppose that psychologically, this could extend infinitely, but at the moment what I know is I wish wasn't so heavily financially dependent on him anymore. I don't want to burden him anymore, and I want it to be my own money on the line when I mess up, which I seem to have a knack of doing so.
Right now I'm trying to justify and economize whatever major spending I'm doing. But things are popping up, expensive, unavoidable things that there's no way I can pay for myself at the moment. I have to ask for money from my dad, and it just. It just. It makes me unhappy.
It's a temporary thing, I know. This is a necessary route I have to take before I get on my own two feet and start earning an income.
I know.
When I was a kid, it was taken for granted that my parents would pay for everything I needed. When I was an adolescent, I realized what economic background I came from, and at the same time realized that it was my parents who had money, and I myself was a pauper lucky enough to have a decent lifestyle funded by them. When I was 18, I was grateful my dad had the means to get me into college when I didn't get a scholarship. When I was in uni, I started realizing the need to have enough money in the bank for bills and groceries, and I found out what it's like to be strapped for cash. Call me a slow-learner, but I think I only realized the proper value of money when I came here. Well. Better late then never.
When I finally understood the value of each and every bloody dollar I spent, that's when I actually got into my head the extent of the financial support my dad was providing me. It is slightly overwhelming at times to think of the lump sum he has forked out throughout my time here.
I'm not studying anymore, and now we come to the tricky bit. Now that I'm not studying, every time I get an allowance or money from my dad, my heart feels very heavy.
Wah. Heart feeling heavy. Melodramatic, much?
But I don't know how else to describe it. I suppose there's a good portion of guilt, guilt that I'm an adult who still depends on someone, who, whilst is my own flesh and blood, is essentially a retiree who doesn't need me flushing down his cash.
But there's something else too, and that is, when you have to financially depend one someone, you are indebted towards them. And here, it's not just in terms of cash either, this debt goes beyond that, it involves the selflessness of my dad doing this for me, what it means in terms of our relationship, it goes on top of everything else I already owe to him for being my father. Do you understand?
I suppose that psychologically, this could extend infinitely, but at the moment what I know is I wish wasn't so heavily financially dependent on him anymore. I don't want to burden him anymore, and I want it to be my own money on the line when I mess up, which I seem to have a knack of doing so.
Right now I'm trying to justify and economize whatever major spending I'm doing. But things are popping up, expensive, unavoidable things that there's no way I can pay for myself at the moment. I have to ask for money from my dad, and it just. It just. It makes me unhappy.
It's a temporary thing, I know. This is a necessary route I have to take before I get on my own two feet and start earning an income.
I know.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Ish
Geez louise, man.
I'm annoyed at myself at the moment, I have made some mistakes that are costing me in terms of money and also in terms of feeling foolish. Part of me is trying to reason with myself, saying I wouldn't have known back then either way, while another is brandishing a rotan like the meanest teacher ever, bellowing "KENAPA LALAI SANGAT ORANG LAIN TAK LALAI PUN?!"
In addition, there is a culmination of irritation that I have bubbling under my skin for some other things at the moment, so when you add the annoyance directed internally as well externally, you end up with a very frazzled looking girl, who harrumphs a lot and lets out occasional "SO STUPID!" exclamations to items that happen to be nearby - chairs, the dryer, my foot.
It's okay. I will harness this anger and put it to good use.
Thankfully enough, the dominant reaction that has been triggered by this spout of anger has been one of grim determination (though I admit, there was that one moment when a bit of hell broke loose and I hysterically stuffed myself with cookies). I intend to bury this mishap with so much bloody productivity that any foolishness felt will die the sudden death of an aneurysm.
I'm on a rampage.
I'm annoyed at myself at the moment, I have made some mistakes that are costing me in terms of money and also in terms of feeling foolish. Part of me is trying to reason with myself, saying I wouldn't have known back then either way, while another is brandishing a rotan like the meanest teacher ever, bellowing "KENAPA LALAI SANGAT ORANG LAIN TAK LALAI PUN?!"
In addition, there is a culmination of irritation that I have bubbling under my skin for some other things at the moment, so when you add the annoyance directed internally as well externally, you end up with a very frazzled looking girl, who harrumphs a lot and lets out occasional "SO STUPID!" exclamations to items that happen to be nearby - chairs, the dryer, my foot.
It's okay. I will harness this anger and put it to good use.
Thankfully enough, the dominant reaction that has been triggered by this spout of anger has been one of grim determination (though I admit, there was that one moment when a bit of hell broke loose and I hysterically stuffed myself with cookies). I intend to bury this mishap with so much bloody productivity that any foolishness felt will die the sudden death of an aneurysm.
I'm on a rampage.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Chris, the operator, apologized profusely
In a twisted turn of fate, an ATM swallowed my debit card this afternoon.
I called up the bank, and the operator reported my card as lost and issued me a new one. The trouble is, through some misunderstanding (I'd like to think it's his fault as much as mine), he did it for my other, everyday-use ATM card, and not my debit card. After some questioning and a bit more clarification, we realized what had happened and he rectified things by issuing a new debit card as well. As such, I am now effectively ATM as well as debit card-less at the moment.
As I was put on hold while the operator sorted things out, two thoughts emerged:
1. I'm quite complacent (or chicken) about asking questions when I deal with such situations, I usually acquiesce to whatever explanation offered so I can end the conversation quickly. I should ask more questions when I'm not satisfied.
2. There are the good things, the bad things, and then there are things like these. Here, I have lost my cards in this somewhat clumsy fashion and therefore can't use an ATM, pay with EFTPOS, or make payments requiring a credit card for about a week or so before the new cards arrive. Is it a bad thing? No. Is it troublesome? Yes. And herein lies my ponder: I tend to connect things that happen to me directly to God. If it's a good thing, I am thankful; if it's a bad thing, I think it's punishment, or I think it's a way of telling me something. And so when this other category of things happen, minor but troublesome things, I still find myself mildly surprised. I can't conjure a purpose for this event that, asides from inconveniencing me for bit, in effect doesn't alter anything about my life. Why would God bother with small, completely insignificant events?
Of course, that's just my limited imagination talking. I'm sure any transaction, however small, could cause limitless ripples in its impact, though it may not be obvious to me.
Ceh. Tiba-tiba banyak pulak nak cakap kat sini.
I called up the bank, and the operator reported my card as lost and issued me a new one. The trouble is, through some misunderstanding (I'd like to think it's his fault as much as mine), he did it for my other, everyday-use ATM card, and not my debit card. After some questioning and a bit more clarification, we realized what had happened and he rectified things by issuing a new debit card as well. As such, I am now effectively ATM as well as debit card-less at the moment.
As I was put on hold while the operator sorted things out, two thoughts emerged:
1. I'm quite complacent (or chicken) about asking questions when I deal with such situations, I usually acquiesce to whatever explanation offered so I can end the conversation quickly. I should ask more questions when I'm not satisfied.
2. There are the good things, the bad things, and then there are things like these. Here, I have lost my cards in this somewhat clumsy fashion and therefore can't use an ATM, pay with EFTPOS, or make payments requiring a credit card for about a week or so before the new cards arrive. Is it a bad thing? No. Is it troublesome? Yes. And herein lies my ponder: I tend to connect things that happen to me directly to God. If it's a good thing, I am thankful; if it's a bad thing, I think it's punishment, or I think it's a way of telling me something. And so when this other category of things happen, minor but troublesome things, I still find myself mildly surprised. I can't conjure a purpose for this event that, asides from inconveniencing me for bit, in effect doesn't alter anything about my life. Why would God bother with small, completely insignificant events?
Of course, that's just my limited imagination talking. I'm sure any transaction, however small, could cause limitless ripples in its impact, though it may not be obvious to me.
Ceh. Tiba-tiba banyak pulak nak cakap kat sini.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Kpop and Beast
We kick-start 2011's year of kpop with MBLAQ's comeback, a slow/mid-tempo R&B offering called Cry, which I am beginning to just about love. I think it definitely beats anything they've come up with so far, and I thought this one was just ok at first, but until now I find myself replaying it over and over, it seems I can't stop. I think I would have preferred the video and the boys to have been less stylized, for some reason I could totally picture them in my head rocking this song(and garnering dozens of rabid noona fans like me in the process) with a more normal, clean, crisp look and setting. Irregardless, yay! For someone whose kpop spirit is at an all-time high, this is a good start.
I like kpop. I really do. What started off as tentative amusement over youtube videos of korean boybands singing and dancing simultaneously has morphed into bona fide fascination, I now have preferences and opinions regarding specific groups and singers, I regularly watch the weekend slew of music shows, and keep-up with allkpop.com quite religiously.
If this all sounds like a confession, it probably is, because I still tend to want to deny it from time to time. Sometimes I try to delude myself into thinking I take a more mature approach towards my kpop fancy, that I am actually interested in the intricate workings behind the manufacture of a kpop artist and that I pay attention to the details in songs, choreography, the concept adopted, etc. But then I catch myself grinning stupidly in the middle of the night watching fancams of boy groups doing something goofy, and realize I'm just another fangirl.Fan-noona. Oh well.
Current favored kpop tunes:
1.Cry by MBLAQ, obviously.
2. Lights Go On Again by Beast.
3. Niga Jiel Joha by Beast (I swear, 2010 was a really good year for Beast, they could do no wrong).
4. My Mistake by SNSD (I like it as much as I dislike Hoot, and that's a lot).
5. Lightless by Beast. There's a lot of Beast in here, but for good reason, I think. I could write a whole paragraph about them.
In fact, I think I will. Beast has a major portion of my devotion at the moment. They sort of exploded this past year, and the level of popularity they've achieved, considering it's only been slightly more than a year since they debuted, is pretty much something. What's more, I am of the opinion that they deserve it. With the exception of Junhyung who raps, each of them has legit singing chops, each one! Plus, they have dancing confidence. It's one thing to be able pick-up choreography and another to perform it with swag, and while HyunSeung or KiKwang tend to pop out to me more when dancing, it's safe to say they are a pretty evenly-skilled group. And when you pair these abilities with how Cube Entertainment's been handling them, it was pretty much inevitable they'd be big. The recent songs they've been given have been consistently good (I liked every song on the Lights Go On Again mini-album), and they're usually provided with very good choreography. Another plus has been the fact that for their latest release, a digital EP called My Story, they divided up into pairs from which each composed a song that went on the EP. Being directly involved in music production is still somewhat a rarity for kpop artists, more so for the 'idol' groups, so it's a pretty big deal. And yet another plus is the fact that JunHyung, the rapper, has a fundamental place in the group, I don't get the feeling that he's just someone Cube thought could fill in the role of 'rapper' and given only minimal parts in a song to cukup syarat (I'm thinking of Shinee's Minho here, is it obvious?). On top of that, he's been involved as a co-lyricist for the group's songs since the second EP.
Geez. I sure can gush about them, can't I? That was a long paragraph.
I get sick of kpop sometimes. When it seems like every new single sounds like the same manipulated, forgettable electro-pop crap, or when I dislike the image promoted,for example, it's too sickly-sweet, too sexy in unoriginal fashion, or too amusingly out of place(2pm's shuffling dance, anyone?). But despite the lapses, I find myself gravitating back towards it, and when something from the kpop scene appeals to me, I am happy, and all previous misgivings are forgotten.
I guess this infatuation's here to stay.
I like kpop. I really do. What started off as tentative amusement over youtube videos of korean boybands singing and dancing simultaneously has morphed into bona fide fascination, I now have preferences and opinions regarding specific groups and singers, I regularly watch the weekend slew of music shows, and keep-up with allkpop.com quite religiously.
If this all sounds like a confession, it probably is, because I still tend to want to deny it from time to time. Sometimes I try to delude myself into thinking I take a more mature approach towards my kpop fancy, that I am actually interested in the intricate workings behind the manufacture of a kpop artist and that I pay attention to the details in songs, choreography, the concept adopted, etc. But then I catch myself grinning stupidly in the middle of the night watching fancams of boy groups doing something goofy, and realize I'm just another fangirl.Fan-noona. Oh well.
Current favored kpop tunes:
1.Cry by MBLAQ, obviously.
2. Lights Go On Again by Beast.
3. Niga Jiel Joha by Beast (I swear, 2010 was a really good year for Beast, they could do no wrong).
4. My Mistake by SNSD (I like it as much as I dislike Hoot, and that's a lot).
5. Lightless by Beast. There's a lot of Beast in here, but for good reason, I think. I could write a whole paragraph about them.
In fact, I think I will. Beast has a major portion of my devotion at the moment. They sort of exploded this past year, and the level of popularity they've achieved, considering it's only been slightly more than a year since they debuted, is pretty much something. What's more, I am of the opinion that they deserve it. With the exception of Junhyung who raps, each of them has legit singing chops, each one! Plus, they have dancing confidence. It's one thing to be able pick-up choreography and another to perform it with swag, and while HyunSeung or KiKwang tend to pop out to me more when dancing, it's safe to say they are a pretty evenly-skilled group. And when you pair these abilities with how Cube Entertainment's been handling them, it was pretty much inevitable they'd be big. The recent songs they've been given have been consistently good (I liked every song on the Lights Go On Again mini-album), and they're usually provided with very good choreography. Another plus has been the fact that for their latest release, a digital EP called My Story, they divided up into pairs from which each composed a song that went on the EP. Being directly involved in music production is still somewhat a rarity for kpop artists, more so for the 'idol' groups, so it's a pretty big deal. And yet another plus is the fact that JunHyung, the rapper, has a fundamental place in the group, I don't get the feeling that he's just someone Cube thought could fill in the role of 'rapper' and given only minimal parts in a song to cukup syarat (I'm thinking of Shinee's Minho here, is it obvious?). On top of that, he's been involved as a co-lyricist for the group's songs since the second EP.
Geez. I sure can gush about them, can't I? That was a long paragraph.
I get sick of kpop sometimes. When it seems like every new single sounds like the same manipulated, forgettable electro-pop crap, or when I dislike the image promoted,for example, it's too sickly-sweet, too sexy in unoriginal fashion, or too amusingly out of place(2pm's shuffling dance, anyone?). But despite the lapses, I find myself gravitating back towards it, and when something from the kpop scene appeals to me, I am happy, and all previous misgivings are forgotten.
I guess this infatuation's here to stay.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Baru
When we were in Christchurch, we just so happened to be there at a time the city was experiencing a bunch of earthquake aftershocks. They were pretty minor, the biggest being 4.9 on the scale, but for someone not used to the idea that the ground can start shaking against your will, and that it's not something you can escape from, it's quite unnerving. We were in a shop when the 4.9 tremor happened, I was with my brother and sister in this quirky shop, and I was slipping a ring onto my finger to try it on, when suddenly the earth starts rumbling, and for a moment I didn't quite believe it, but then things started falling off shelves and crashing onto the floor, I turned around and saw a lady running out the entrance. Next I felt my sister pulling me out, and I whipped my head back to find my brother and saw that he was on my other side. And as we were running outside for some reason my head was tilted slightly upwards, and I remember thinking, feeling, "Really? This is what it feels like? Are we really about to be people whom Something Tragic happens to?". When we got outside to open space with everyone else, I noticed I was still clutching the ring.
Like I said, they were minor tremors and no big deal, we were able to laugh about it, but boy, was I glad to come back to Melbourne.
Our trip was plagued with cancellations, but asides from that, I think things went pretty smoothly. And there were some nice moments. Like waking up in the middle of the night in Mt Cook to the wind howling outside the chalet and a cupboard door banging repeatedly. I tried to close the damn thing tight but couldn't, because it was too high up, so instead I walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains. I was granted with the sight of a full moon hanging over snow-capped mountains, it's shine giving everything a surreal sheen, with the wind still howling about, and it was all slightly magnificent.
I'm not exactly one for taking pictures or videos, I probably have one of the most underused cameras ever to be bequeathed to a 22-year old. The simple reason is that I'm lazy and that I can count on my companions to take nicer pictures, the other being that for videos, whenever I'm recording, I feel like I'm wasting time trying to capture whatever it is I'm supposed to be documenting when I could actually be there,in the moment, experiencing, feeling. This doesn't apply to all situations, of course, mostly for when I attend gigs. Though now, I'm beginning to wonder whether it's silly to take this stance. By not recording, I'm depending on my memory to hold whatever I witnessed safe within its confines, I'm basking on the belief I'll never forget. But that's folly, isn't it? I'll forget, and what a shame.
Just got a thought. I've been writing all this with Florence + The Machine's Dog Days Are Over on repeat, and while it is too quiet and lazy a day to do much, I have that familiar urge to leap up and start dancing, hands clapping to the beat, spastic flailing. I've begun to sometimes worry that I'm getting too monotonous, too black and white, that my sense of fun is depleting, any originality and uniqueness of character(if any) going down the drain. The thought just popped into my head that as long I still get the urge to dance, this familiar longing to go crazy to the beat, I'll be okay. Not all is lost.
Happy New Year!
I've graduated.
I've got to get out of these pajamas.
Like I said, they were minor tremors and no big deal, we were able to laugh about it, but boy, was I glad to come back to Melbourne.
Our trip was plagued with cancellations, but asides from that, I think things went pretty smoothly. And there were some nice moments. Like waking up in the middle of the night in Mt Cook to the wind howling outside the chalet and a cupboard door banging repeatedly. I tried to close the damn thing tight but couldn't, because it was too high up, so instead I walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains. I was granted with the sight of a full moon hanging over snow-capped mountains, it's shine giving everything a surreal sheen, with the wind still howling about, and it was all slightly magnificent.
I'm not exactly one for taking pictures or videos, I probably have one of the most underused cameras ever to be bequeathed to a 22-year old. The simple reason is that I'm lazy and that I can count on my companions to take nicer pictures, the other being that for videos, whenever I'm recording, I feel like I'm wasting time trying to capture whatever it is I'm supposed to be documenting when I could actually be there,in the moment, experiencing, feeling. This doesn't apply to all situations, of course, mostly for when I attend gigs. Though now, I'm beginning to wonder whether it's silly to take this stance. By not recording, I'm depending on my memory to hold whatever I witnessed safe within its confines, I'm basking on the belief I'll never forget. But that's folly, isn't it? I'll forget, and what a shame.
Just got a thought. I've been writing all this with Florence + The Machine's Dog Days Are Over on repeat, and while it is too quiet and lazy a day to do much, I have that familiar urge to leap up and start dancing, hands clapping to the beat, spastic flailing. I've begun to sometimes worry that I'm getting too monotonous, too black and white, that my sense of fun is depleting, any originality and uniqueness of character(if any) going down the drain. The thought just popped into my head that as long I still get the urge to dance, this familiar longing to go crazy to the beat, I'll be okay. Not all is lost.
Happy New Year!
I've graduated.
I've got to get out of these pajamas.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Some of the best compliments I've ever received, I think, are the ones from people who've read my blog and say I write well. Now, the veracity of this statement is obviously debatable and, I would be the first to admit, flawed. But I am always very happy when some kind person says it, it leaves me positively chuffed to find that one of the scraps of nonsense I've written has managed to tug the interest of another being.In fact, I suspect if you ever needed to sweet-talk me for anything, start with such a comment and you're already halfway there.
Thank you to those who ever said so. It meant a lot to me.
Thank you to those who ever said so. It meant a lot to me.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Dark clouds rolling in
I liked today!
Today was unexpected good weather, and a trip to the market which yielded lots of summer fruits. Strawberries, mangoes, nectarines, cherries, yum. A sense of a productiveness, a purchase of things to read, breakfast-turned-brunch-turned-lunch meet up with 2 fascinating people in a nice cafe, banana bread and maple syrup, a walk back to the city that segued into a stroll through a park, and a sprawling out on green grass, sunglasses perched on the nose and their voices mingling and comforting, a lazy sense of drowsiness and ease. Then, iced-chocolate and then dinner and a walk back home, and all throughout the day my meals were paid for by generous people. How could I not like it?
Damn, I've had it going good! I must say thank you to God for that. Yes, I'm still worried about The Job and the growing amount of expense projections I'll have to present to dad, but these past few days have been very nice. Why?
1. The weather has been up and down, rain showers here and there, but all in all it has accumulated into an average weather of slightly sunny days which are not too hot.
2. The people I've been spending time with are people I am comfortable around and find fascinating, I am at ease with them and they provide good conversation such that I find myself blabbing about things like religion, and relationships, and tentative mentions about(ooooh!) sex. Me! Mentioning sex in conversation! To another person! Liberating? Inappropriate?
3. My family will be here in a couple weeks and I am SO EXCITED I cannot stop being excited. Part of me is scared that being over-eager will jinx things and the whole trip will backfire, but no, I am still excited. I really hope it works out well, that everyone enjoys themselves and that we have well-spent fun. I've been a planning whore, mapping out the trip itinerary using Excel, wielding funds provided by my dad like some crazed travel agent to book tickets, activities, car rentals, thinking of places to eat, wondering if I've worked out the hook turn when driving in the city, etc.
4. I bought this book which is a collection of essays by Greg Saunders, and it's proving to be an interesting, if not entertaining read.
5. An Interesting Encounter happened yesterday in the form of a young, boyish-looking missionary from the States who asked me if I believed in God and attempted to convey how he feels God's love through the Holy Ghost, I think that's how he put it? I asked him a couple questions, which he readily answered. It wasn't, unfortunately, enlightening in the sense that it piqued or furthered my existing considerations about faith and religion. When I asked him if I needed to be a Christian to be considered good he let out a laugh, as if slightly surprised by the question, and gave a polite answer that, while promoting the peacefulness of his faith, ultimately skirted what I was asking.
To be honest, I was more interested in asking about him. Why does he do what he do? Where does he get the courage to go up to complete strangers, some who may be hostile to the very idea of organised religion, to spread the word about Christianity? Why do missionaries always have to wear ties and shirts and socks and laced-up black shoes, even when it's really hot and it must be so uncomfortable to do so? Where does the solidness of his faith come from? Was there a specific event or did it just manifest softly?
But I didn't ask any of those questions, and after leaving me with a number on the back of a cardboard picture of Jesus Christ so I can call 'whenever I want to talk or learn more about God', he shook my hand in that very polite way of his, told me to have a nice day, and went on his way.
Oklah, bye.
Today was unexpected good weather, and a trip to the market which yielded lots of summer fruits. Strawberries, mangoes, nectarines, cherries, yum. A sense of a productiveness, a purchase of things to read, breakfast-turned-brunch-turned-lunch meet up with 2 fascinating people in a nice cafe, banana bread and maple syrup, a walk back to the city that segued into a stroll through a park, and a sprawling out on green grass, sunglasses perched on the nose and their voices mingling and comforting, a lazy sense of drowsiness and ease. Then, iced-chocolate and then dinner and a walk back home, and all throughout the day my meals were paid for by generous people. How could I not like it?
Damn, I've had it going good! I must say thank you to God for that. Yes, I'm still worried about The Job and the growing amount of expense projections I'll have to present to dad, but these past few days have been very nice. Why?
1. The weather has been up and down, rain showers here and there, but all in all it has accumulated into an average weather of slightly sunny days which are not too hot.
2. The people I've been spending time with are people I am comfortable around and find fascinating, I am at ease with them and they provide good conversation such that I find myself blabbing about things like religion, and relationships, and tentative mentions about(ooooh!) sex. Me! Mentioning sex in conversation! To another person! Liberating? Inappropriate?
3. My family will be here in a couple weeks and I am SO EXCITED I cannot stop being excited. Part of me is scared that being over-eager will jinx things and the whole trip will backfire, but no, I am still excited. I really hope it works out well, that everyone enjoys themselves and that we have well-spent fun. I've been a planning whore, mapping out the trip itinerary using Excel, wielding funds provided by my dad like some crazed travel agent to book tickets, activities, car rentals, thinking of places to eat, wondering if I've worked out the hook turn when driving in the city, etc.
4. I bought this book which is a collection of essays by Greg Saunders, and it's proving to be an interesting, if not entertaining read.
5. An Interesting Encounter happened yesterday in the form of a young, boyish-looking missionary from the States who asked me if I believed in God and attempted to convey how he feels God's love through the Holy Ghost, I think that's how he put it? I asked him a couple questions, which he readily answered. It wasn't, unfortunately, enlightening in the sense that it piqued or furthered my existing considerations about faith and religion. When I asked him if I needed to be a Christian to be considered good he let out a laugh, as if slightly surprised by the question, and gave a polite answer that, while promoting the peacefulness of his faith, ultimately skirted what I was asking.
To be honest, I was more interested in asking about him. Why does he do what he do? Where does he get the courage to go up to complete strangers, some who may be hostile to the very idea of organised religion, to spread the word about Christianity? Why do missionaries always have to wear ties and shirts and socks and laced-up black shoes, even when it's really hot and it must be so uncomfortable to do so? Where does the solidness of his faith come from? Was there a specific event or did it just manifest softly?
But I didn't ask any of those questions, and after leaving me with a number on the back of a cardboard picture of Jesus Christ so I can call 'whenever I want to talk or learn more about God', he shook my hand in that very polite way of his, told me to have a nice day, and went on his way.
Oklah, bye.
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