Day 1: Times Square

My first reaction when I walked out of the subway to the Land of Giant Billboards and Neon Lights was to curse. Behind me all the French girls were also gasping and muttering "Putain"!, which is a French curse word.

It was a full-scale visual and aural assault, with enough lights to light up an entire small nation and enough people to be classified as a mob and crazy yellow taxis honking like they're going to DIE on the spot if they don't murder people's eardrums.

You haven't been to Times Square if you haven't taken a picture of yourself grinning like an idiot in the middle of the craziness

Broadway musicals!

I'd like to work here someday. Reuters, not New York City. Tell you why on another post.

There were some problems with the Teachers' Union.

M&M's World, heaven to chocoholics and hell to diabetics

It took me a few minutes to wait for the giant M&M to appear on the giant electronic board

Saturday Night Fever M&M

M&Ms of the entire colour spectrum

From the floor to the ceiling

The view from the second floor of M&Ms World

Lots of street vendors plying their trade

Has anyone watched Forrest Gump?

I have no idea what this rhino van is doing here

Manhattan and its garbage problem. The American version of Naples.

Day 1: Checking into the hostel

A view of New York City from the airplane. Rows and rows of buildings like a Matchbox City.

The tell-tale signs of tourists: Bags and suitcases, check. Map, check. Lost look, check.

Arrived at LaGuardia Airport, then took a bus to somewhere we thought was near the hostel. Turned out the hostel was more than 10 streets away.

New Yorkers have a passionate relationship with their dogs

Destination: Hostel

Pretty Woman, walking down the street

Don't you think Cecile looks a bit like Julia Roberts? But oh well, her Richard Gere is back in France.

Either burn to death or break your leg

Finally reached the hostel, which turned out to be really fucked up (more on that some other day)

This is like something out of Dawson's Creek, where Joey climbs into Dawson's room through the window

Looks like something out of action movies

Me, feeling like Jackie Chan minus the somersaults and big nose

Hungry...need...food...

New York pigeons have a death wish. This birdie here is happily perched in the middle of the road during rush hour traffic.

A Jewish father and his son

A Greek man who works in the cafe we ate in

He has been living in America for 30 years. Anyway I think he's quite a dashing old man, a bit like Clint Eastwood. My idea of ageing gracefully.

Cookies here can be used as a murder weapon

Really funny guy

I was asking him for directions when I noticed that he has a different accent:

Me: "Are you from here?"

Funny Guy: "Yes, I am." (He said "yes", not "yeah"! Definitely not an American!)

Me: "Really? Sorry, but you don't sound like an American."

Funny Guy: "That's because I speak correct English."

LOL.

A very successful ad campaign (in my opinion) because, more than anything, it generates curiosity.

Who on earth is Sarah Marshall?? I tried to visit the website printed on the ad but it's not even active.

Kansas City

I guess I have to start updating bit by bit from now. Otherwise I'd only finish in 2009, what with my piled up assignments (which I had left completely untouched during Spring Break), projects, exams and Visa application for Germany and Belgium this May.

At Wabash bus station: Yi Wen, Eunice (UK), Hyo Jung (South Korea), Cecile (France), Anais (France).

The other two French girls, Melissa and Aurelia, had gone to Kansas City with Aurelia's roommate. We took the Megabus from Columbia to Kansas City, which turned out to be mega late. It came only after more than an hour. But for five bucks, I can't really complain.

Jazzy the old grandma cat who "owns" the house

We stayed in Aurelia's roommate's house. Britney's family is the most wonderful host ever. They really took great care of all of us, who were perfect strangers to them (apart from Aurelia). Honestly I can't imagine that kind of hospitality being offered by Singaporeans or Indonesians.

We were well-fed and happy

The basement, where we slept

They have a freaking hockey table!

Aurelia and I with our Venus of Urbino pose

Eunice with her anti-human trafficking pose

Me, Melissa, Hyo Jung, Cecile, Anais, Britney's mom, Yi Wen, Britney (Aurelia's roommate), Eunice, Britney's dad

They then sent us to the airport, but not before giving each of us two mini goodie bags full of chocolates, peanuts and crackers. "For eating on the plane," said Britney's mom. God bless them.

To be continued.

Back in Missouri

Updates later.

Hello, Spring Break is here

I'll be in New York and Washington D.C. for a week. Take care.

E.

Music has never been this bad

I just wasted 20 cents downloading and printing the crappiest music score ever. The music is bad, the lyrics are even worse. My comments are in blue.

LOVE OF MY LIFE
Dedicated to Héloise Richard
Words and Music by Samuel Labrecque

Slowly, with a lot of feeling (Yeah, I laughed with a lot of feeling indeed)

The first time I saw you, I was like "Wow". (Wow. This composer is a twit.)
Since this time I am in love. Maybe you don't love me, and maybe yes. (With lyrics like these I can see why the girl doesn't love the composer.)
But anyway, me I love you.
You are the love of my life.
I want to share my life with you.
You are the love of my life.
I don't want to lose you.
I love you so much till I dream of you. (It's not love. It's schizophrenia.)
You make me live. My destiny is now scelled. (He meant "sealed", of course.)
You are the love of my life.
I want to live with you forever.
You are the love of my life.
I think of you all the time.

If God had a singing voice He would sound like Andrea Bocelli

The best singer in the world, to me, is Andrea Bocelli. He's one of the few singers who sound as good, or even better, live than in music videos:

Melodramma
Time to Say Good Night to Elmo
Can't Help Falling in Love with You
Mille Lune Mille Onde

He's not just a wonderful singer. He's a wonderful person too.

"My blindness has never been a tragedy to me; I don't know why it should be a tragedy to others."

He was born with congenital glaucoma and became totally blind at the age of 12 after a football accident. But that didn't stop him from getting a law degree and becoming a practicing lawyer, skiing, parachuting, owning a vineyard, mastering the piano, flute and saxophone, and a hundred other things, I'm sure. I think he might even have a fuller life than those with perfect eyesight. And another thing I really like about Andrea Bocelli is that he seems genuinely humble and likable as a person.

But of course, every music genius has an anti-thesis: the Music Critic (read: Total Prick).

In 1999, the New York Times' chief music critic Anthony Tommasini in his review of Bocelli's North American opera debut at the Detroit Opera House in the title role of Massenet's Werther commented, "The basic color of Mr. Bocelli's voice is warm and pleasant, but he lacks the technique to support and project his sound. His sustained notes wobble. His soft high notes are painfully weak. Inadequate breath control often forces him to clip off notes prematurely at the end of phrases."

In December 2000 Tommasini again criticised Bocelli, this time for his La bohème album when he claimed that Bocelli's voice had been "carefully recorded", "to help it match the trained voices of the other cast members in fullness and presence."

In describing Bocelli's singing, prominent New York Times music critic, Bernard Holland, noted "the tone is rasping, thin and, in general, poorly supported. Even the most modest upward movement thins it even more, signalling what appears to be the onset of strangulation. To his credit, Mr. Bocelli sings mostly in tune. But his phrasing tends toward carelessness and rhythmic jumble... The diction is not clear." (Source: Wikipedia)

My first thought when I read their critique was "F you". Nothing irritates me more than some enlightened soul who thinks that a couple of years of music education automatically makes them Orpheus incarnates. Couple that with a verbal diarrhoea of technical jargon and an ego as huge as Mount Olympus, in my personal hate list these music critics rank up there with the Ebola virus, greenhouse gases and Crocs. It seems that music critics have a chronic fetish of playing God. But of course! With a swift stroke of their poisonous pen they could spell the death of many careers, some undeservingly. They remind me of Anton Ego in Ratatouille. About as delightful as a tooth extraction.

There is no chance in hell that Anthony Tommasini and Bernard Holland would read this blog post, but I'd still like to say what I have to say.

Dear Mr. Tommasini and Mr. Holland,

With all due respect (however forced), I think that many esteemed music critics, you included, have forgotten to listen to music with their hearts. Instead, they listen with their heads, and they find faults and loopholes, however small, in order to justify their illustrious and hardly earned music education. All in the name of proving that they are better equipped than the general less-educated public in discerning the finer qualities of music.

But honestly, do you actually think that audience members who had listened to Mr. Bocelli would give a rat's ass (Oh, sorry, not refined enough for you? A rodent's posterior then.) about all those technical assessments you so lyrically waxed on your piece of critique? Newsflash: they don't. What matters is that Bocelli's singing touched them, and that's what makes a great singer. Not your so-called strangulation, diction, premature clipping of notes, sound projection, note-wobbling and the rest of your Music Terms 101.

Music, Mr. Tommasini and Mr. Holland, is more art than science. Until you can understand that, you'll never understand why hundreds of people stand up and clap till their hands are red and cheer till their throats are sore for an artist that stands on a stage, without back-up dancing, showy stage props or wardrobe malfunction, and sings from his heart.

Regards,
Your fan (Not.)

Show me the money!

Yesterday was Las Vegas Night and the Memorial Union was turned into a gambling den. But Mizzou students got 10 chips for free, so there wasn't cash involved.

I played the jackpot machine. Yeah baby show me the money!!!

I got a jackpot!!! I was screaming like hell and punching my arms in the air when I saw it.

Ivan (Serbia) and Pedrag (Montenegro) the Mafias. I call them the S&M guys.

Sara and Miriam the German Gambling Queens. Anyway I didn't try my luck on the table at all because I know I have no luck. I gave all my chips to the queens.

I played this Wheel of Fortune Game. I got a political trivia and it was easy. They showed me a picture of Condoleeza Rice and asked me to guess who she is. I was tempted to say Tina Turner and see their expressions but oh well, I want my prize.

Pedrag the Montenegran Beach Boy

I got a pair of made-in-China sunglasses

Sophia (Montenegro) and Ivan sang a karaoke duet, REM's Losing My Religion. They were unabashedly bad. Should have changed the song title to Losing My Voice.

The lyrics perfectly described their valiant attempt at singing. But it was fun watching them, so rock on!

Anyway before Sophia and Ivan sang there was this big-sized guy who sang...Fergie's Big Girls Don't Cry. What's worse, he has this really low and heavy voice that reminds me of a tuba. I hate the tuba because it sounds like an extremely low-pitched fart. Like someone had eaten an entire barrel of rotting cabbages and not gone to the toilet for weeks. And anyway, you may say, you think you're so good, Eveline, so why don't you sing? Well I didn't sing because my voice is just as bad, or even worse. I know that for a fact. Why would I want to make a fool of myself in front of so many people? Leave that to all the American Idol contestants.

Stay away from gambling. But since Oscar Wilde had said that "the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it", at the very least keep your shirt on and don't go all out.

Our horizon is not the end of the world

I had signed up for this program called American Life where I got matched with an American family for some sort of a bonding. We're supposed to do some activities that will give the international students a sense of what the American Life is like. And guess what, I got matched with the Currey family, the family of the International Centre Director who gave a performance at the International Orientation. Refresh your memory here.

Two weeks ago they brought me to their home at the countryside which stretches over 11 acres of land. They have a horse, a chicken farm, 2 dogs, 2 cats, 2 beehives, 2 parakeets and a rat. A modern day Animal Farm. I didn't take any pictures because I thought it wouldn't be decent to shove a camera on someone's face on the first meeting. Coming across as a paparazzi on steroids is not going to help my first impression.

Me and Frodo, the male parakeet. Frodo is really tame and he'll just perch on your finger or your hand or your shoulder, and when you use your other finger to touch him he'll nibble on it. Maybe my finger reminds him of a fat worm, oh well.

Me and Sadie. Sadie is a semi-professional horse trainer. I guess she just has a way with animals.

All the children are home-schooled by their mother, Mrs. Nancy Currey, and I must say that all of them had turned out very fine. Every week they learn something about a foreign country - the culture, geography, history and other aspects of that country. They took out this huge-ass atlas and lay it on the table and asked me to point out Singapore. Notice the word "point". I told them most of the things I know about Singapore, Malaysia and Indonesia till I ran out of saliva. It's just refreshing to meet a family that is so globalized, that is so interested in what is going on in the world.

It kind of irks me when people don't know anything that is happening outside their own country. I mean, the world doesn't stretch from Boon Lay to Pasir Ris. It's not a matter of being hoity-toity or pseudo-intellectual or stuck-up. It' s a matter of making yourself more interesting as a person. Do you actually think that international people would want to know about your GPA or the Great Singapore Sale or your MMORPG score? You need to start talking to them from a common plane, and that is by knowing something about their country. In fact, I think what is more stuck up is thinking that you only need to know about your own country, which is quite common here in the US.

My Political Science lecturer did a study some time ago on the likelihood of citizens to support a war initiated by their country. The finding is that people who regularly read a variety of newspapers find it easier to cut through the smoke screen generated by many crappy or agenda-driven media outlets. That is because they are more capable of making informed opinions, as compared to those who just swallow whatever is spoonfed to them. Most of the Americans who watched Fox News (and the belligerent Bill O'Reilly) strongly supported the Iraq War. Of course weapons of mass destruction turned out to be weapons of mass delusion. Don't be like them, please. If reading more would mean making a better choice about something that has the potential of affecting the lives of so many people, I think it's hardly a contest.

I do understand that most of the time people are too busy minding over bread and butter issues to think about what is happening somewhere on the other side of the globe. That's why I think I'm fortunate that I can afford to be an idealist, in every sense of the word "afford". But if you have access to newspapers or other sources of information everyday, I think there's no excuse for you not to read them. If you're not going to travel at any point in your life, newspapers are your only window to the world. Cliched but true.

Nani, who put up a performance with the Japanese Association

Then I went to the International Fashion Show. It was great, but the hosts were on the other end of the spectrum. One of them asked the audience whether anyone knows how to speak the Indian language. And this was the host of an INTERNATIONAL event. Even Mrs. Currey said that the host was living up to the whole blond image. Anyway Yi Wen has better pictures of the event, so maybe she'll upload them someday.

Nani is like a manga character. Hyper and out of this world sometimes.

Shoko, Su Kyung (Korea), me, Nani

Random thought #4: There is no reason for this post

Hegel once said that everything that exists must have a reason for this existence. It's like if it's time for a flower to wilt it will wilt and decompose and fertilize the soil for another flower to grow. Once something had outlived its existence, it must make way for something else that has a reason to exist.

Like Hegel, I'm the type of person who believes that everything happens for a reason. If I fail something, it's a sign that I'm not doing something right, or that maybe I'm too arrogant for my own good, or that failure is necessary for something better to happen. And it's good in a way because I don't really dwell on things for far too long. Most of the time I just sleep it off and the next day my body kind of takes over like it has this self-coping mechanism.

But at the same time the thing about thinking that everything happens for a reason is that you never really know whether you've really screwed up big time. Like let's say you'd hurt someone really badly and you didn't even know it, and when you finally realized it you can either think a) I am a colossal ass! I shouldn't have done it I shouldn't have done it I shouldn't have done it oh God what am I supposed to do now? or b) Okay, I hurt someone. I mean, yeah I feel guilty, but the past's past and I don't think that person would want anything to do with me anymore so I guess there's nothing I can do.

My point is that this Hegelian thinking makes it hard to really learn from mistakes. I can screw up something 10 times and each time I'm going to think there's a reason for me to screw up. And of course there's a problem with that.

When you screw up something the first time you can genuinely call it a mistake. But the second time you do the same thing you don't have the privilege to call it a mistake anymore. It's more like stubbornness or stupidity. Like what my friend said, it's like being banged down by a bus, collapsing on the road all bloody and standing up again with so much efforts, and getting banged down by the same bus on the same road. How do you call a person like that? You call that person a bloody idiot and pray that your kid would never grow up to be such an idiot.

I have no conclusion for this post.

May you be of sound mind and heart

I haven't been updating because I was rushing through my History presentation on the Mau Mau Revolt in Kenya, and the article that I picked just happened to be the most pretentious and incomprehensible academic wank I'd ever layed my hands on. It's a bit like the French language - the author was obsessed with the beauty of expression rather than the content. But the sad thing is that his writing was not even beautiful. It's revolting. Well at least I'm done with the presentation and it didn't go too badly. In any case, you can just hop over to Yi Wen's blog to check on the updates because I also went through most of the stuff she did.

My friend flew to Kenya recently because her parents got hospitalized after getting beaten up by students in Sudan over something trivial (Kenya has a better medical centre). My friend did say that it might have been an accumulation of discontent, but her parents are missionaries who are working for a non-profit organization and they were in Sudan to actually help those students. It's like a case of biting the hand that feeds you. The worst thing is that these students are supposed to be educated.

It kind of makes me wonder if education really makes you a better person, because in some cases it doesn't. Just look at Enron, Worldcom and Societe Generale. Instead of sticks and stones, this new breed of criminals are armed with computers and binary digits. I guess education is like a double-edged sword - it can sharpen people's minds, but these same minds can be used for a new form of savagery. The more you know, the more you realize what you don't have. It's like Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. When we are busy trying to fulfill our lower-order needs like hunger, thirst and security, we have less time to think of higher-order needs like relationships, self-esteem and finally self-actualization.

And I wonder if some people have a more violent predisposition than others. My psychologist friend said there are no genes for violence, but at the same time, I don't believe that people were born as a blank slate. Tabula rasa.

There are three stars in Chinese astrology called Sha Po Lang, representing greed, avarice and destruction. It is believed that everyone is born under these three stars. Machiavelli also claimed that we thirst for glory. We all have an innate desire to conquer, to dominate, to have what others have. I must admit that this strand of argument is kind of compelling. Just look at kids. They don't have to be taught to fight, to break things, to roll around on the floor like a devil's spawn. People don't have to be taught to descend into vice. It just comes naturally.

Kindness, on the other hand, is something that has to be moulded with one's own hands as one grows up. It's not something that can be taught in schools, although it can be taught through example, most of the time by parents.

I'm not saying that education is useless. On the contrary, it is one of the best things that have ever happened to me. Power lies not with the muscle but with the mind. It is even more true in the Information Age, where knowledge is a major currency. Just look at the construction worker who has to expend so much efforts to get the equivalent of what a white-collar worker gets for expending so little of his energy.

But at the same time, the mind is nothing without the heart. What does it tell people about you when you go around beating a defenseless old couple? You can very well use your diplomas and degrees as toilet paper.

Romeo is white, Juliet is black

I watched a play at Rhynsburger Theatre. If you can't see the lettering, it's Romeo and Juliet.

I saw many of my floor people there. Does it mean that we are all closet romantics? Heh.

The usual suspects: Anais, Melissa, Wiedad, Saori, Anni, Aurelia, Yi Wen, Cecile. Some are not shown on the picture.

The setting. Actually I'm not allowed to take any pictures inside the theatre, but oh well, itchy fingers I have.

The unique thing about the play is that Romeo is white and Juliet is black. And the rest of the cast is multi-ethnic. I must admit that I was quite surprised. I mean, it wasn't a huge affrontery to my senses or whatever, but it does take some getting used to. And it's good, because it challenges the way I see things.

Anyway, I won't bother giving a synopsis of the play because it's Romeo and Juliet, duh. I'll just let you read the Director's Notes because I kind of identify with it.

"We are living during a time when hate crimes, historic prejudices and irrational violence seem to spring up in far too many of our schools and communities; consequently, I believe that theatre artists are challenged to send a resounding message of empathy, understanding and tolerance. While the daily integration of technology into the fabric of our lives seems to promote a culture of isolation, whenever a skilled artist holds up a mirror to our common humanity, we are able to recognize ourselves in others and feel a little less alone in the universe.

The genius of William Shakespeare was in revealing and dramatizing human emotions and experiences that are universal and timeless. The MU World Theatre Workshop has embraced this vision by conceptualizing a production that incorporates a multi-ethnic cast, a diversity of cultural influences, and an understanding of human behaviour that strives to transcend history, time and race.

The best productions of Shakespeare succeed by shocking us into thinking we are seeing something new - while revealing to us in the end that we are not. In the final moment of this production of Romeo and Juliet, I hope that you will emerge moved by the tragedy of unsanctioned love, angered by the selfishness of intolerance, outraged by the proliferation of hatred but ultimately persuaded of the necessity to live the journey of your life with more compassion. That is the power of theatre."

- Professor Clyde Ruffin, February 2008

Something beautiful

I'm obsessed with this piece right now:

Schubert's Impromptu Opus 90 No. 3
http://youtube.com/watch?v=KkqDEh-fXVI
(The pianist's expression is kind of amusing to watch at some points).

The piece has 6 flats so it'll take some time for me to get my way around. I've been practising at Laws' Lounge for hours ever since I downloaded the score and I think the Laws Desk people are sick of it by now. But I can't help it, the piece is really beautiful. Something worthwhile is worth being miserable over.

All right, I'm going to take a nap.

Disastrous African Night

Last night was African Cultural Night (Ghana) and I went there with Melissa, who was born in Burkina Faso, and Aurelia.

At first things went all right. Everyone had dinner and the President of the African Association (I think) gave a presentation on Ghana's history, albeit with an overload of bullet points and little visuals. The video of a Ghanaian marriage didn't work so oh well.

Eunice was born in Ghana but she has been living in the UK since she was a small girl. I can't remember where the guy is from.

Melissa, always making me laugh

But then this Americanized African-born girl took to the podium and started showing us a slideshow of pictures of her stay in Ghana as part of an exchange program. Instead of pictures of Ghana's people or cultural traditions or historical relics, I was sitting there staring at picture after picture of that girl in bikinis and her friends having the time of their lives on a beautiful beach, partying, lying on hammocks and canoeing for leisure. Granted, there were pictures of Ghanaians living their everyday lives, but those were easily outnumbered by the girl's personal pictures.

Compared to the first speaker, this girl was twice as loud, twice as animated and twice as fake. She was going on and on about how living in Ghana had touched her and made her a different person and how she had broken down when she visited what used to be a slave's quarter, where many Ghanaians were killed.

I couldn't really stomach all that so I asked her during the Q&A session whether she really thinks that she had immersed herself in the Ghanaian culture, and she oh-so-confidently flashed her smile and said "yes".

Then I said, but most of the pictures and the video I see are of her and her friends having fun in a resort-like place. She said that the beach was so peaceful, where there were only her and her friends, except for some people who kept asking them for money. And she said it with this disdainful expression and a quick wave of her hand, like brushing off an insignificant fly-like topic. Had she actually asked these people why they needed money? Had she actually spent time with ordinary Ghanaians? Had she actually tried to understand their lives?

In retaliation, she said that she did spend time with the Ghanaians and yada yada at that point in time she had lost all credibility to me and her attempt at self-defense just made her all the more fake. After the whole thing the President of the African Association came to talk to me and she said she agreed with what I said. I was really quite pissed and I just told her what I really thought.

I went there wanting to learn about African history and culture, I want to to know more about the people there, how they live, how they cope with their poverty. If I really want to see pictures of a bunch of college students playing with coconuts or sun-tanning on a beach, I don't have to come all the way there. I can just ask my friends back in Laws to show me their pictures. For crying out loud, don't call the whole thing African Cultural Night then, call it My Vacation to Ghana. That girl didn't just show a form of disrespect to her audience, she also showed disrespect to the people of Ghana. Eunice left halfway through the presentation and I can understand why.

African food. Stew and curry and fish soup.

I thought that the only saving grace that night was the delicious African food. But the next day I got diarrhoea and my stomach was queasy for the entire day. I thought it was only me until I learned that Melissa and Eunice also had stomachaches. Aurelia surprisingly was not affected. Maybe she has an iron stomach.

So that's it, the African Night was a disaster.

Random thought #3: The dirty C word

I think the word "change" is over-rated and over-used. It's all over the place like the Ebola virus stuffed into a canon. Album covers! Presidential campaigns! Speeches by motivational speakers who charge a thousand bucks to tell you things you already know! You need to change this, change that, believe in change, and one more time I hear the word I think I'm going to puke.

I think the older we get the less likely we are to change because apparently some things would have been like solidified cement by then. Like in most countries the legal age to vote is 21, because generally once people hit 21 they are deemed to be mature enough not to sway their votes like a Bobo doll (the type of inflatable doll that will keep coming back at you when you punch it). And of course when you're 21 you're expected to vote rationally rather than based on how much Candidate A looks like Brad Pitt.

I guess it'll take something on the scale of an armageddon to change most of my character traits right now, as opposed to when I was The Great Mouldable Play-doh as a teenager. It's hard to make a moron change to less of a moron. It's nearly impossible to make a 50-year-old moron change to less of a moron.

And I guess the most lasting kind of change doesn't happen in some kind of an explosion or a giant fart where you suddenly become someone else entirely. Like say I suddenly transform into Paris Hilton overnight, which is, of course, impossible. I don't like pink and I don't like puny dogs that squeak like they had inhaled one thousand ppm of helium even more.

When you change for real I don't think people can really notice it unless they take a very close look at you, but you know you've changed because after all it happened inside you. Like say one day you realize your heart no longer aches when you think about something that used to make you feel like Prometheus. Or say you no longer feel bitter when you see something that reminds you of what could have been. Or say one day a song becomes just a song or a book becomes just a book or a movie becomes just a movie, not a treasure trove of memories or feelings.

When that happens you know you've changed and you keep it inside you, and you guard yourself like Cerberus because you never ever want to change again. Because most of the time change brings an excess baggage of pain and who on earth would want that extra baggage when the airline that is your Heart has a weight limit?

But when change comes it comes like a cloaked thief in the middle of the night and there's only so much you can do before it overpowers you, and it'll come to a point where you'll just have to give up your resistance and let it envelope you slowly. And you'll just have to live with yourself, not necessarily as a loving couple or even friends, but as companions who have gone through Purgatorio together and have finally come to acceptance of each other.

Motherrr Rrrussia!

We had Russian Night at Laws Hall Lounge to (sort of) celebrate Pancake Week in Russia, which is kind of like the Mardi Gras. Anton and Marina did a presentation on Russian history and culture. I think they hate me because I asked so many questions.

Russian food

Pryaniki is kind of like a sweet fried dough. The sushki is really hard, though. I couldn't even bite through it. I didn't try the kuzinaki.

Lots of people from nearby dorms

Sophia (Montenegro), Pedrag (Montenegro), me, Megan (US), Ivan the Serbian Husky

Before this picture was snapped we made a toast to Motherrr Rrrussia! Sometimes we just try to imitate the Russian accent for fun. Lots of tongue vibrations on the Rs. Indonesians, Italians and Germans will have no problem with it, but I think Americans and Singaporeans will have a bit of a difficulty.

Melissa and I were drinking tea so we thought we'd make a tribute to the English Queen. It's just a joke about how the English are chronic tea-drinkers.

Saori (Japan), Melissa, me, Nani (Japan). Sorry about the lousy quality of the pictures, but I didn't want to buy a new camera because my parents had spent more than enough money on me.

Russian Rubles

I won this matrushka magnet by answering one of the quiz questions: Who is the third president of Russia? Answer: Dimitri Medvedev.

A matrushka is a popular Russian doll that consists of many mini dolls inside. It's like when you open the doll you'll see a smaller doll inside, and when you open the smaller doll you'll see an even smaller doll, and so on.

"Are you taking care of your boobs?"

I have absolutely no idea why they placed this pamphlet on the display table. Don't even want to guess the message they are trying to convey, if any.

Random thought #2: Why do people say "How are you" when they're not interested in the answer?

The Holy Grail of social conversation:
You: "Hi."
Person: "Hi. How're you?"
You: "Great/All right/Fine. And you?"
Person: "Great/All right/Fine too."
You: "Great/All right/Fine. See you around."
Person: Great/All right/Fine. Bye!"

Yesterday an acquaintance (wouldn't call her a friend because I don't know her that well) asked me how I am, and I said, "Oh, great. Last night I went to this International Fashion Show and the show was really good except for the host who's a typical blond. She asked: 'Does anyone here know how to speak the Indian language?' Which is, of course, kind of like asking if anyone knows how to speak the American language. But the show was overall still pretty good."

And the said acquaintance looked at me as if I've gone crazy (no, she's not blond).

The other day the girl who always swipes my ID card at the cafetaria asked me how I am, and I said, "Oh, faaantaaastiiic!" And she looked at me as if I've gone crazy too.

Welcome to Social Alchemy 101.

Random thought #1: Lock your heart in a box and throw the key away

I'm wondering, if say you were being an ass and you hurt someone without realizing that you hurt that someone, and then say you got hurt by someone else in return, is that what you call karma or what goes round comes round or divine retribution or whatever it is?

But if that's really true then everyone will just go around hurting each other in return for everyone hurting each other and that would be a really sucky way to live now wouldn't it?

And there's no way to guard your heart against such things unless of course you have a cold dead heart, in which case there's really no point in living.

Which finally leads to the conclusion that there is no conclusion. Tough luck, that's just the way it is.

Ignore me.

Golden Slumbers

Once there was a way
To get back homeward
Once there was a way
To get back home
Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullabye

Golden slumbers
Fill your eyes
Smiles awake you
When you rise

Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullabye

Once there was a way
To get back homeward
Once there was a way
To get back home
Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullabye

- Ben Folds Five

Orpheus, I wish you had not looked back

I watched Mizzou Symphonic Band because Anais's housemate plays the saxophone and she wanted to be a clandestinely supportive housemate. I know I may sound daft, but I can't appreciate symphonic band music. Why, I do not know. It's just like how I don't like oranges and there's no reason for it.

I do not love thee, Dr. Fell,
The reason why I could not tell;
But this much I know, and know full well,
I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.

I was quite surprised that my floormate plays the oboe. People have this amazing capacity of surprising you with what they can do. And when you discover it by accident it just makes you all the more impressed.

The next night I watched Gabriela Montero, a pianist from Venezuela. She truly has a gift from God. Good musicians can play from scores perfectly, but great musicians have that spark of originality, that playful creativity, that ability to seamlessly weave emotions ranging from happy to sad to pensive in a change of movements. Montero doesn't just play the piano, she becomes the piano. And when she talked to us we got a glimpse of her personality: charming, witty, elegant. I wonder if you need to know how to live first before you can be a musician.

There was this improvisation segment where she asked audience members to sing a line from any song they like, and she'll improvise on the spot. And, God, she turned Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon and Cats' Memories and some other songs that most people (including her) had never heard before into classical and jazz and something in between on the spot, without any mistake, with so much flowing expression, and with so much talent that audience members just looked at each other seemingly to say: "Can you believe this woman?"

A standing ovation for a truly gifted pianist who is worth so much more than 7 bucks.

I saw a bunny on my way home