Mood swings

There is something calming and pleasing in taking a walk after a few hours of analysing Land Registry Records, CON29 and LLC1 forms. A Costa mocha in one hand, I walked down Tottenham Court Road in the wintry weather, enjoying the sharp contrast of the warm coffee in my throat and belly and the myraid shops, cafes and restaurants in the area.

There is something quietly satisfying about it all.

So just you take care, what you think is the heart might well be another organ.

Oranges are not the only fruit, Jeanette Winterson

"God Almighty. You could say all you liked about reason and logic and common sense and imagination, but when the chips were down the one skill you needed was the ability to think about absolutely nothing whatsoever."

a spot of bother, mark haddon

Current obsessive song

Things I learnt today: Lao PDR as opposed to Laos

Unread books on my table

1. Jpod by Douglas Coupland

2. Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

3. Oranges are not the only fruit by Jeanette Winterson

4. Watching the English by Kate Fox

Currently reading A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon

One thing I learnt from work today, coffee from toast box is much stronger than that from Spinelli's

Joseph Arthur In the Sun

Regardless of the extent to which I loathe my life in Singapore, there is always this initial nostalgic yet fleeting feeling of returning home when I am about to leave the United Kingdom. Normally, this comes from my lack of social interaction in this country; the absence of friends to engage in conversation with. I was truly alone in my three years of doctorate studies as I was practically treated as invisible by the rest of the phd students. But in London, things changed. One of the best decisions I made in my time here, was to join the gym near my flat. The pick-up basketball games that I participated in has made me less isolated. For the first time, in a long while, I have friends/acquaintances to joke with, to laugh with in the context of the game. I felt included as part of a group. I don't play exceptionally well, the competition is after all genetically and naturally stronger and bigger than me, but I do hold my own weight. For the last few months, I have been playing almost every weekday, normally four times a week with players from Greece, Belgium, France, Lithuania and of course, Britain. There is a certain connection that develops when you play with the same people for a long time; a chemisty that evolves naturally and instinctively. As such, I do feel at home here in London now that I have something to feel passionate about. If not for the fact that I have some administrative matters to take care of back in Singapore, I would not go back home this time round.

At the end of the day, perhaps this is really all I need, friends in this country.

I can't stop working on my articles. Every waking moment, I am either reading my research materials or constructing arguments and structuring them in my head. I can be cooking, bathing and eating, and still perform all these tasks. The only time I can really relax is on the basketball court. That's the time when everything is in the moment, it's just instinct that fuels my movement.

I love how ideas materialise in my head, a point, a link, an original thought. When it happens, I am so apprehensive that I won't be able to recollect it again, and even if I am into the midst of bathing, i will run out soaking wet to look for a piece of paper, to write my thoughts down. Thank God for the mobile phone when I am out. I just type in my ideas and store them as a draft sms.

This is the kind of life I desire, the kind of life i relish. I have little patience for the mundane going ons of life or the gratuitous pursuit of wealth. I just want my creativity to bloom, to take tangible form in the articles I write.

I have long ceased to believe in love, in people. It's what goes on in my head that matters to me now. Nothing else.

Last Friday, I was having a pretty good game at the basketball court. I was just in front of the basketball rim when I received a pass from D (who is incidentally one of the best players I have ever played with). My opponents were around me and so I pump faked, hoping to create some space in order to make the shot. Unfortunately, they couldn't control their movement in the air, and both of them collided into me. I was wearing my glasses then and the impact excoriated the skin on my eyelids. Blood was dripping into my eyes and my initial reaction was: let it not be my eyeball. I was so relieved to find that it's just my eyelid. Do people remain calm in such circumstances? Or do they lose their composure. I have no idea but I do know that in such situations, I am always phelgmatic. It took a long while for the bleeding to cease;the wound would not close as the incessant blinking of my eye preventing it from doing so. In the end, M made a makeshift eyepatch for me, and I went to bed. It was quite an unbearable experience wearing the patch. If you are not blind and you have to wear something like that, the injured eye can still see the back of your eyelids. And you view nothing but coloured dots in a field of darkness. As your other eye is still privy to the light, the combination of the two images coalesce into an uncomfortable mixture of light, darkness and fuzzy dots. I had to sleep. I was so relieved when I woke up to find that the wound had closed. I am now wearing contact lenses to my basketball games

"But you can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up under them."

Fahrenheit 451

"The faces of those enameled creatures meant nothing to him, though he talked to them and stood in that church for a long time, trying to be of that religion, trying to know what that religion was, trying to get enough of the raw incense and special dust of the place into his lungs and thus into his blood to feel touched and concerned by the meaning of the colourful men and women with the porcelain eyes and the blood-ruby lips. BUt there was nothing, nothing; it was a stroll through another store, and his currency strange and unusable there, and his passion cold, even when he touched the wood and plaster and clay."

Fahrenheit 451

At a dinner the other day, my uncle declared that he is not going to leave a single cent to his children. Not because he is selfish or that he doesn't love them but because he believes that to do so would be an insult to them, a commination of their ability to make a life for themselves. He has faith in the way that his children are brought up, he has the utmost confidence in his genes that they will survive and prosper. He also doesn't want them pummelling each others' lives into the dust over his assets when he dies, either in the courtroom or in public. He said that siblings may have the best of relationships when they are young but when they grow up, blood often is thinner than water. They may be influenced or even coerced by their spouses or they may simply grow apart. The safest way, to him, to avoid all such arguments is to expurgate the key reason for them to fight: money.

His reasoning makes complete sense to me but it is probably polemic to a huge proportion of the population in Singapore, at least. For the first time, I finally understand why he is my favourite uncle.

When I shop, I detest shop assistants hovering around me. I want to look at things at my own pace without anyone interrupting me intermittently, inquiring as to whether I require their aid. Perhaps my gestures to wave them away are just not sufficiently peremptory or the tone of my voice isn't magisterial enough. I really should adopt a more supercilious visage in front of them. But, of course, being the legally trained individual accustomed to diplomacy, and extremely neurotic as well, I created a problem for the assistant to solve. I told him that I like a particular pair of jeans, I like its cutting and the colour, but I didn't want it with buttons. I preferred zips instead. I knew exactly where I could find it. I had already spotted the item in front of the store, and I was going to pick it up once I have finished my browsing. But since he needed something to do, I told him to look for it without informing him as to where it is. I managed to get around five minutes of solitude, to walk around the entire store and to ruminate on whether I should actually get that pair of jeans. Oh, and he came back to tell me that he was sorry that he couldn't find those jeans. I expressed my gratitude, I didn't want to seem indecorous, walked away to those jeans, picked them up, paid for them and left.

"Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pullinbg switches, fitting nuts and bolts?"

Fahrenheit 451

"They name a lot of cars or clothes or swimming pools mostly and say how swell! But they all say the same things and nobody says anything different from anyone else."

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

http://www.whydoesgodhateamputees.com/

I wish I could lead a solitary life, surrounded by books, dvds and video games, and all I needed to care about is the interminable production of articles that meet my exacting standards. But, alas, that is not to be. I am forced to venture forth into a world that I adhor, a world that I thought I had left a few years ago.

I can't stand human contact, particularly in Singapore because most people bore me with their terribly mundane and banal life. It just seems to me that their lives have been planned out meticulously for them. Everything is about money. The one thing that galls me most is that, to them, pedagogy is about getting a better paid job. These are the same people who inquire abrasively, what is the point of doing a PhD. Why do you want to be an academic? In tawdry and literal hokkien, can your PhD be eaten? I don't want the money. I just want to be in a state of repose. I want to lead a halcyon life. Most of all, I just want to be happy, and I know money isn't going to the panacea to all my problems. l tells me that I have been mixing with the wrong crowd, and that's why my stereotypical Singaporean is as such. Perhaps, that's why I enjoy J and her company.

To me, a child is superfluous. What is the point of spewing out another human being, when this world badly needs a cataclysm to cleanse it. What is the point of spawning yet another lifeform, cursed to die? What is the point of producing another flawed individual, saddled, burdened with the sum of his parents' sins. The sad truth is, you can never escape from who your parents are. And the sadder thing is, your kids are unlikely to do so as well, no matter how hard you try. They are going to be damned with your mental illnesses and your physical aliments. You can protect them but you can never save them. I don't want kids because I don't want them to be like me. I just want to be alone, I want to bear my own sins, and I want them to die with me.

I was at Shaw House, in front of Les Amis, waiting for my dad to pick me up, when three rambunctious caucasian teenagers walked past me blithedly, with skateboards in tow. The path was elevated, a good two feet or so above the road where cars drive by and turn into the car park entrance. Using the height as a makeshift skateboarding rink, they started practising their jumps, learning to be equipoise when contact is made with the ground. All this time, cars went to and fro. Exhibiting a smidgen of common sense, (overall, I would say they are moronic for doing their jumps there), one of them stood in front of the car park entrance with smirking equanimity, raising his arm to stop the cars from plowing right through them.

Part of me was thinking how wonderful it would be if one of them should lose his balance and fall onto the ground and his friend unable to impede an oncoming SUV. He would lie prostrate to the SUV that runs right over his head, his skull crushed and the insides splattered onto his friends as well as the vehicle itself. I can imagine screams of horror reverberating through the area around. I wouldn't be surprised if his friends ran off and eschewing all that had happened. As a final touch to this gothic scene, I would be laughing at his downfall.

Part of me was envious of the freedom that they had. The foolhardiness to engage in such activities, knowing that the people around them are probably too cautious, too fearful to do anything to them. And so they could go on in their wayward, recalcitrant ways, mocking all those that glared at them.

"Yet if there's no reason to live without a child, how could there be with one? To answer one life with a successive life is simply to transfer the onus of purpose to the enxt generation; the displacement amounts to a cowardly and potentially infinite delay. Your children's answer, presumably, will be to procreate as well, and in doing so to distract themselves, to foist their own aimlessness onto their off spring."

We need to talk about Kevin

Of course,if your purpose in life is what the Book says, life is very simple isn't it, just do what He tells you too, regardless of whether it's really Him or not. Life is simple in that way. Just listen to what He says. Never questioning, Obsequious, servile and fawning.

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) - Cite This Source
clem·ent /ˈklɛmənt/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[klem-uhnt] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–adjective 1. mild or merciful in disposition or character; lenient; compassionate: A clement judge reduced his sentence.
2. (of the weather) mild or temperate; pleasant.

He had learned what all skilled liars register if they're ever to make a career of it: Always appropriate as much of the truth as possible. A well-constructed lie is assembled largely form the alphabet blocks of fact, which will as easily make a pyramid as a platform.

Lionel Shriver, We need to talk about Kevin

The keys taken back I throw
The useless seed was sown
When they say they're cutting off the phone
Then tell 'em you're not home

No place to hide
You'll find there's a soldier on their side
You're still a soldier in your mind
But nothing's on the line

You say it's money that we need
As if we're the only mouths to feed
I know that no matter what you say
There are some debts we never pay

Working for the church while your family dies
You take what they give you
You keep it inside
Every spark of friendship and love will die without a home
Hear the soldier groan all quiet and alone

I can taste the fear
Lift me up and take me out of here
Don't want to fight, don't want to die
Just want to hear you cry

Who's gonna throw the very first stone
Oh, who's gonna re-set the bone
Walking with your hand in a sling
Wanna hear the soldier sing

Working for the church while my family dies
You're little baby sister's gonna lose her mind
Every spark of friendship and love will die without a home
Hear the soldier groan all quiet and alone

I can taste your fear
It's gonna lift you up and take you out of here
If the bone shot never heals
I cannot make him yield

You can't find me now
They're gonna get their money back somehow
And when you finally disappear
They're gonna say you were never here

Been working for the church while your life falls apart
They're singing hallelujah when defeating your heart
Every spark of friendship and love will die without a home
Hear the soldier groan all quiet and alone
Hear the soldier groan all quiet and alone

"But don't you think," I persist, "that it's better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?"

The Time Traveller's Wife

"Praise means nothing to Mama, she doesn't believe it. Only criticism can flush her cheeks and catch her attention. If I were to say something disparaging she would remember it always."

Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveller's Wife

After reading PD James's The Children of Men, Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveller's Wife just seems coarse and tawdry in comparison. But still, the concept is intriguing, and the interaction between Henry and Clare, cute at times.

"Lord, thou hast been our refuge: from one generation to another. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made: thou art God from everlasting, and world without end. Thou turnest man to destruction: again thou sayest, Come again, ye children of men. For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday: seeing that is past as a watch in the night."

Children of Men

Rolf turned to him and asked, as if he really wanted to know: 'But what do you believe? I don't just mean religion. What are you sure of?'

'That once I was not and that now I am. That one day I shall no longer be.'

PD James, Children of Men

"I have never known what it is to love. I can write those words, know them to be true, but feel only the regret that a tone-deaf man must feel because he can't appreciate music, a regret less keen because it is for something never known, not for something lost."

PD James, Children of Men

My friend's uncle's dog gave birth to two puppies on Christmas Day. It was by way of artificial insemination, the bitch was apparently grumpy for a very long time. Why shouldn't she? Getting pumped full of semen without even the pleasure of sex, isn't exactly fun. Anyway, as it was a virgin birth, my friend wanted to name one of the dogs, Jesus. I suggested Mary for the other dog but that would of course be incestuous. My friend's dream scenario is to go to the beach with the dogs, and screaming at the top of his voice, "oi, Jesus get your arse back here this instant."

"How can there be dignity if we care so little for the dignity of others?

PD James, Children of Men

i passed my viva! with no amendments. Just want to say thanks to all of u for supporting me throughout this time:) heh heh i am Dr Tong now

What do you do when different people have different definitions of 'racism'? Go for the lowest common denominator or go for a principled approach based on the freedom of expression, even though it's likely to offend a section of the population?

Tough questions, and ironic that it's brought about by a show as pointless as Celebrity Big Brother.

It's funny, but my China friends from Oxford, have the impression that Singapore is full of homosexuals because of the Singaporean movie Hainanese Chicken Rice or something. (I have never watched that movie before.) So, I guess, the Singapore government is "right" to ban the making of certain movies. They, obviously, don't want to give the wrong impression to tourists unless, of course, they want to make the pink dollar.

Playing Kingdom Hearts II is like reading a really good novel, and you want to read ahead to find out what the hell is going on, but you can't.

Rushing through Waterloo tube station to get to the Northern line, for my journey to Leicester Square, I found, to my disgust, two rows of 'Uniquely Singapore' advertisements. Forced to look at them, as I stood on the escalator, I honestly can't find anything unique in their sales pitch. For example, Singapore, according to them, is a place with no strangers, just friends whom the tourist has yet to met. Come on, I am sure most countries can lay down that empty claim. And besides, if a foreigner comes up to a Singaporean to befriend him/her, I am sure most Singaporeans would just look at him/her as if he/she is crazy/a pervert/ a beggar unless, of course, that person is an outstanding physical specimen of his/her gender.

God has a sense of humour. One day after my diatribe on weddings, my cousin sent me an email, informing me that she's getting married at the end of this year.

God, good one! That's how You get closer to your mortal subjects.

I am trying to push myself to my physical limits. My new exercise regime involves a 3.2 km run, followed by half an hour of weights and subsequently, an hour on the basketball court: a number of one-on-one games. What's all this for? It's to challenge my younger brother whom I have not beaten in basketball for the last couple of years or so.

Damn, I'm fucking hungry now.

Reading Lynne Truss's (I believe I was taught that it should be Truss' instead) Eat, Shoots and Leaves The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation is probably not a good thing for me as I am developing a habit of staring at advertisements everywhere to see whether the punctuation is correct. Now I just need her to write a book on grammar to complete my transformation into a pedantic freak.

Listening to, and reading about the descriptions of the trials and tribulations leading up to a wedding ceremony as well as those subsequent to it, has made me very irritable in recent weeks. It just reminds me of how trapped we all are, in superstitions, customs and traditions, and how, very often, the people around the couple in question especially the ones closest to them care the least for them: they are only concerned with their own interests, their reputations in front of others and how the show must go on. If I could, and I honestly hope I can, I want the most informal wedding possible. Only CLOSE friends and CLOSE relatives [just to make the limitation clear] would be invited. [L and N, you are both included but feel free to say 'no'.] I want to keep the numbers down, down and down. I do not want a certain family at the wedding even though technically speaking, the same blood runs in us. I am willing to incur the wrath of my parents to do so. No Chinese banquets for me, it's just going to be short and sweet, either a buffet lunch or a three course dinner preferably French or at the most, an Italian five course meal. I should just have the bloody thing in the UK so that most people can't attend. In that case, maybe I can afford to book a room at one of Gordon Ramsay's restaurants.

Oh, and I will not be attending any weddings (not that I will be invited to a lot of them) except that of D's as I just can't stomach the whole ordeal even as a spectator. I rather have a separate meeting with the couple, my treat. For D, it's because he's my best friend and most importantly, the fun I am going to derive from torturing him during his wedding ceremony, in jest of course with the rest of the guys, is going to keep me on a high, for many, many days. Good thing, I have my excuse, I am in the UK and hopefully I will still be in the UK when you people have your weddings and so it's simply too much of a bother to fly back to Singapore, just to attend something that holds no meaning for me. (I will mutter to myself). Ok. That's my rant on weddings. It's good to let it out.

I can't stand exclaimation marks. There's something so unfathomably cheerful about that mark,(line with shite going out of its arse) that it just pisses me off. I can't stand it when people use it liberally, "I had dinner at KFC!" "I picked up a penny from the ground!" "The train came on time!" The mark should be reserved for situations like: "I climbed Mount Everest!" "I won the lottery!" "I hate you, you bitch/bastard/wanker/cunt! Not some insignificant shite like realising that the sun is up unless you have been blind for the whole of your life and you are seeing the sun for the first time.

I hate Christmas.

I have always liked the Shin Megami Tensei RPG series, with its fiendishly difficult dungeons and its deep and complex demon summoning system. I also love the fact that you can ally yourself with the forces of God or Lucifer. So, if you side with Lucifer, you will be fighting God's army of angels, such as Gabriel, Oriel and Michael. If you are with God, you will be fighting legions of demons such as Beezelbub and of course Satan.

In Shin Megami Tensei Nocturne, my protagonist chose to go against God and destroy the natural order with Lucifer. The final scene which saw my main character leading an army of Lucifer's demons was truly awe inspiring. Now in Digital Devil Saga, an offshoot of the Shin Megami Tensei series, I am controlling the Embryon, a tribe of demons, as they venture forth into the Sun to ask God why He has brought about Armageddon on Earth. I suspect it boils down to a final boss fight with Him.

Cardinal rule of RPGS: SAVE THE FUCKING GAME AFTER YOU BEAT A DIFFICULT BOSS!

Damn, damn and I forgot to do that.

1. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

2. Perfume by Patrick Suskind

3. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

4. Children of Men by P D James

Capote: Phillip Seymour Hoffman did an excellent and fascinating portrayal of a manipulative author bent on getting his story, to the extent that he wanted his subjects to die so that his book can be published. Its also interesting to see how self absorbed he was. His friends can only look at him from afar, knowing they cannot rely on him for support or even friendship at times. I am going to get his book "In Cold Blood" after I finish reading the books on my 'to read' list. At least, I have finished reading Eragon but now I am in Christopher Paolini's second book Eldest. Eldest seems much more promising and you can tell that his writing has grown up since Eragon. Its definitely more fluid and engaging.

You know you have had a good gym workout when you have difficulties lifting your arm to brush your teeth.

Losing to H, 3 games to 2, wasn't exactly in my mind when I decided to go easy on him. But it did happen. So today when I played against this German guy, I went all out. It was a pretty convincing victory on my part although it would have been much closer if he made his shots. He missed quite a number. I can't wait to play against H again.

I don't have the patience to run for long distances. I prefer short runs at an extremely high speed. I am still trying to boost my stamina to the extent of running at 11 km/h everyday.

You know that you have been going to the gym [too] often when you notice that 10.5 km/h on one treadmill is not the same as 10.5 km/h on another treadmill.

Do not try to go for a second or third pick up game with anyone when you have just completed a 3.2 km run. You are almost guaranteed to lose.

One and a half weeks ago, my glasses were knocked off my face by an over enthusiastic opponent who mistook my face for the basketball. One and a half weeks later, I managed to twist it back to its original state. Its like a rubric cube, you have to keep shifting the sides of the frame in order to provide for an overall balance, for the spectacles to fit on your face. So long as it is crooked, my vision would be impaired and sadly, headches would ensue. But thankfully its fixed now, at least, until the next time someone smacks me in the face when we are both going for the rebound.

That said, a pair of broken glasses is not a legitimate reason for me to stop playing basketball.