Day 24 ~ 27: The atrocity!

I should whip myself for slacking so much. Though reading wise, I'm actually on schedule. Anyway, here's what happened on Thursday:

I only had one class, and I remember it snowing so I didn't bother dressing up, choosing instead to conceal my pajamas with my coat. Though, things got pretty interesting in the evening:

Yeah... I had a couple of friends to help me with the curls. For about an hour. That just proves what amateurs we are. I'll try to get the more flattering pictures from one of them later. And just to compare it to my regular hair:

I don't have natural curls, though it looks wavy. Sometimes I wonder if it's really just the way I comb them with my fingers that makes them look like this.

And then, for Friday:

Nothing special. I just put this on and took off. I'm getting bored of February real quick... Thank goodness March is just a day away.

I've also been reading T.H. White's The Once and Future King. Well, I'm technically only a book away from finishing the series since I've finished The Ill Made Knight earlier this morning. My favorite is still The Sword in The Stone, partly because it deals with King Arthur's childhood, though mostly because Merlyn shoves his beard into his mouth whenever he's flustered or frustrated. The chain of events in the series are familiar, though slightly different than that of Malory's or Tennyson's. Still, it is a fantastic read. I mean, who would expect to read about bolsheviks and Freud when reading about the Round Table? What fun!

Day 23: The irony!

On the day I remembered to take a photograph, I forget to post. Hah. Anyway, I had the mid-term exam for my short story class and I'm pleasantly surprised with my memory. I mean, I can't even locate where I put my keys at times but I guess it still holds strong for academic purposes.

Well, I'll be posting again tonight (if I don't forget to do so...). And boy do I have a bone to pick with the weather...

Day 22: I guess it's no surprise that I'm having a hellish week...

It's not the workload, really, I'm just not feeling very comfortable lately, that is all. It was the yellow cardigan and the red check shirt today.

Day 21: Little to say, much to do

Big mistake - I forgot to take pictures again. But, I wore the yellow cardigan with a black singlet.

Day 20: 8 packets of... happiness?

Well, Justine went over herself to buy me a carton full of Maruchan's instant noodles. I told her she's mad, but thanked her nonetheless. I now officially have eleven packets of Har Mee and seven packets of Justine's specially delivered instant noodles. Yum~

Day 19: I'm late... though for a good reason

Well, I hope it's a good reason, though it does prevent me from writing a longer post.

I'm watching The Importance of Being Earnest (the one with Colin Firth... and to think, I just watched The King's Speech today...) after finishing the play by Oscar Wilde. Very charming indeed~

Day 18: TGIF

I'm in desperate need of sleep. Good night, world!

Day 17: Perfectly lethargic

The title says everything I need to say about my mood today. Oh well, back to more "soul searching."

Day 16: Fun with puns

How couldn't we possibly? Carroll's all about wordplay and he does it so eloquently, if not nonsensically.

Day 15: A short short!

I finally got my honors prospectus form done... Phew. Thought I'd be late to hand in that one...

Anyway, can't post much today, as I've got to finish both Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass tonight. GAH...

Day 14: Happy Valentine's Day~

Though I'd probably be single for the rest of the year, might as well wish everyone else otherwise, right? Right? Bah...

It's hilarious how everyone compensates for what they... "lack" during Valentine's Day. Ahem. Some just ignore it, some loathe it, some cry over it. The details one hears in the dining hall are absolutely scrumptious. Eh. Schadenfreude. Works everytime.

I realize my posts are progressively becoming shorter... and shorter. Hmm. I shall have to remedy that. But for now, it's time for more Tennyson. Good day.

Day 13: Oh-it's imminent, isn't it?

So tomorrow's Valentine's Day and schemes abound throughout campus. A surprise, a peck, a gift, a dinner, what else I wonder? Or maybe I'm just fantasizing waaay too much on what others might do on this lovey-dovey day.

Well, how do I celebrate Valentine's Day? Simple. Read. Even tonight will be another restless night - not just because I have to read stuff, but my roomie's having a blast wrecking the room, juggling his BB-filled tennis balls. Hurrah...

Day 12: Feeling bored...

I dunno. It's like... I have so much to do that it's absolutely tiresome to do all of them.

Sigh...

Though I know I'll be picking up me books after I shower.

Day 11: Makes me feel alive.

A little dark, but at least the features of the bow tie could still be seen. Somewhat.

People often ask me why do I wear shorts when it's way below freezing out there. "Aren't you cold?" many would inquire with perplexed expressions. Yes, it is cold. Bloody hell, it's freezing. But I wish to feel that "discomfort" every once in a while, the frigid winds licking my shins. Makes me feel alive, as if confirming my existence in this mundane life.

Day 10: I realize now...

Again, no pictures. My mood was still pretty foul during the day. I wore the turtleneck as I didn't bother dressing up much for a one-hour class.

I found out what my problem was. My affliction, it seems, stemmed from the fact that I owned such a small voice. The world we inhabit is huge. Enormous. And its immensity just weighed down upon me all at once. And I couldn't breathe. It's like laughing so hard at joke that it's so difficult to catch my breath again. So I gasped.

I wanted to shout. Clearly, a pillow isn't the best tool for that. Sure, it muffles the noise. I tried to be considerate. But it's the fact that I'm trying to be considerate that bothers me. I was tired of being considerate. And yet, in my one moment of fatigue, I was still trying to be considerate to people who wouldn't listen.

It's terrifying to not be able to hear one's own voice. I keep hearing everyone else's problems, but they're deaf to mine. Maybe it's because I don't voice. I keep a smile. I move on. I ignore that brief second where my words was spliced, interjected, by another. A lance shattering shield. And we move on. I didn't think my voice was that important. For what does it matter? I tire myself.

Interestingly, amidst my despair, I even agreed to help another person in his troubles. The solution was simple, but the process stole an hour from me. It was already three in the morning. Why do I do this? Can't I say no?

In fear of disappointment, I do not speak unless I need to. Unless I believed that there would be severe consequences if I didn't, or that the information itself needs to be heard, before it disappears. Forgotten.

I remember a line from Lahiri's book, where one of her characters, Mrs. Sen, asks the boy she's caring for if anyone would hear her if she screamed. The boy replied that the neighbors might, though they might think it odd. Strange. Peculiar. Otherworldly, maybe. I am like Mrs. Sen, I believe. I needed to scream. I wanted to be heard. But for what purpose? I know not the answers...

Everything is in pretense. It's so hard to find that single sincere individual in this world, don't you think? Some of us may have been remembered and valued for being good listeners, and we revel in that designation. And we expand like bubbles, absorbing every complaint, thought, opinion, joke, rant, wail, prayer, shriek, the verbs go on... And we forget that like a bubble, we are extremely fragile ourselves. How much of these foreign emotions can we contain within ourselves, before it explodes? I'd rather be a balloon, with a pair of hands carefully detangling the knot at the blowhole, slowly releasing air back to the atmosphere.

Aren't we all just plain individuals sitting at that empty bus stop, waiting for that single stranger to listen to all our troubles? Please, take it away with you when the next bus comes. But I pray you won't linger with my troubles, just as I've had with many others.

Day 9: Speeding to our deaths

I had been ill. Actually, I still am. Yet, regardless of my condition, I must return to classes tomorrow.

No pictures today. I've been sleeping for the most part. But I'm still tired.

How ironic is it for me to believe I have complete control over my health just last night during NSE training, only to succumb to my very own illness in bed all afternoon? Thankfully, I only had to miss two out of three classes today (one was cancelled). Even so, I feel completely disappointed.

How does one know if one is truly ill? Am I nothing more but a pathetic hypochondriac, using illness as an excuse? I detest my condition. This frail body I own is no more useful to me than deeds are to a sinner. Am I lying to myself that I'm ill? For what, exactly, does it mean to be ill?

My definition? I couldn't even write a simple reflective essay. It's absolute bollocks. The words just wouldn't form as easily in my head, and I'm stuck at the simplest of words. The very thing I love strikes at me like a snake.

I just realized how severely irritable I am right now. Everything around me is oppressive. Asphyxiating. Yet, my mind is working so fast that I can't even choose the right words to describe the drowning sensation.

Yep, I blame the literature. I might be losing my mind.

It's just that THERE'S SO MANY THINGS IN THE WORLD TO TALK ABOUT!

...

I need a breather. No, I need to slow down. I think when I look back to this post 20 years from now, I'd be wondering what the fuck did I just talk about?

Day 8: I just... couldn't.

Other than my glowing nose (not too obvious here), I just realized how high my forehead is. Hmm...

Anyway, the title's supposed to be comical rather than dramatic. Like, a "Haha" is supposed to follow after it.

...

I just destroyed the golden cliched rule of "Show, don't tell" for fiction writing. But anyhow, I have just arrived at the conclusion that I'm incapable of doing senseless things, having being immersed in an environment which demands things to make sense. It's a little windy but bear with me here.

For example, I can't start on a topic then divert the attention away doing something completely random and unrelated to the topic, making everyone laugh to tears, and consistently pull off epic punch lines that will be remembered in ages to come.

I dunno... Maybe it's the media influence that I've been receiving that allows me to only comprehend witty jokes and laugh out loud at scathing comments ridiculing society. Stephen Fry, Phil Jupitus, Bill Bailey, David Mitchell... The list of British comedians just goes on. Yes, I know them all from QI - my favorite show for now.

Random roomie moment - juggling tennis balls filled with BBs outside our room, in the hallway. Surprisingly more annoying than him doing it inside whenever one of it falls...

Ahem.

As I was saying, my sense of humor has developed in a different route from many Americans. I can pull off humor whenever I'm performing, regardless of audience's demographics, yet I am unable to practice it on a regular basis. I'm unsure if I should feel frustrated or... what? Precisely what am I missing here?

Which is why I keep telling people I feel 50, just because I read too much and think too much. It is as my former public speaking mentor told me, "We think too much, which is why everyone else around us look like idiots." It's the literature, I tell you.

As Paul Pennyfeather puts it, "God damn and blast them all to hell." Ahhh that was a good line.

Day 7: Read Doerr.

I look particularly disheveled for some reason. It's either the Starbucks, or the fact that I just put on a cardigan over a singlet and ran out of the room. Anyway...

I have issues. I don't write as much as I should be.

Well, that depends on what one means by "writing" again since I technically spend around half an hour daily updating my blog which is, really, a lot of writing in my opinion. So long I type around 500 words regularly. But it's not enough, I figure... And it's not like I'm being meticulous about grammar and syntax here as I normally would for an academic paper or some fiction...

Meh... just another excuse for carpal tunnel. Moving on,

Anthony Doerr. The Shell Collector. Brilliant. Love the pace. Short sentences and vivid descriptions. "But that sounds just like any other bestseller!" True, but he starts off his collection with a piece that makes anyone envious of a blind man for being blind. Odd, yet riveting. The shell collector wades through life in darkness, touching and feeling every object that washes ashore on the beaches of Luma, knowing each individual Latinate names for the various cone shells crawling about. I've never felt more compelled to look up every single species of cone shell on Wikipedia. It's fascinating. I have to constantly remind myself the protagonist is blind because of the way Doerr immerses his pages with sensual pleasures.

And he was 29 when the book was published so... it does make me wanna kick myself in the ass.

...

This is going to be a real random jab at language here but should "kick in the ass" be taken literally? I mean, no one can exactly kick in the ass, right? Unless, it's the "kicking" sensation one feels when the anal sphincter... Alright, enough.

But do give the book a go. It's currently my favorite collection for my short story course. Well apparently, almost everyone else's as well. A'ite, time for zee shower~

Day 6: In defense of language

Pajamas.

Now plenty of Malaysians, myself included, do this though I'm sure it gets pretty annoying to one unfamiliar to our customs. We switch between languages. A lot. Very quickly in fact. But hey, isn't it mutual in some sort of paradoxical way? Since, a lot of Americans know Spanish or some other language as well, and it only takes one to initiate it within a group to effectively isolate one who doesn't understand said language. Ironic, no? Lots of international students travel to the States just to acquire a better command of English, and next thing you know, locals have moved on to another fad. Brillante! I bet the Chinese wouldn't be too happy... "First English, now this?"

Now I'm neither for or against this; since, as I've mentioned previously, I do it myself. So who's to blame? No one, certainly. Because we do it rather unconsciously. Well, either that or we're just trying to impress a new friend that "I speak your language, amigo."

Yes, it is rude to knowingly do it in front of an individual who doesn't share an identical ideolect, but the fact is, many people do it unknowingly. Some consider it fun, and there's really nothing wrong with that. So we're really constantly being torn between two choices: either be considerate, or just let loose and cakap apa-apa you suka lah.

Perhaps, as an individual with an awareness towards one's own conscience, we can control the manner in which we speak in order to be considerate towards a diverse group of friends. Yet, at the same time, can we expect others to do/think the same? What happens if they do not?

Though this doesn't apply to everyone, my experience informs me that it's usually better to just accept things as they are. Should it not interfere with our professional lives or personal philosophies and everything in-between, just let that momentary linguistic faux pas slip by. Better acknowledge it than getting more wrinkles over it.

Why did I choose wrinkles as an example? I know not...

It does hurt when one doesn't feel "within" a group. I mean, I've had my share of awkwardness when the entire group started conversing with one another in Spanish, and I thought having a strong command of English was enough for an American audience. Clearly not. But, what can I do? I could pick up the language. Buy a dictionary and spend more sleepless nights studying it... massacring the pronunciation of every word... but would that be efficient/sufficient? More importantly, what would that achieve?

Frankly, I'm still searching for an answer. Maybe it makes us more "international" by picking up another language. Funny, 'cause I already know three, but I can only use one frequently, so how's that for pragmatism...

Cultural divide is still a huge issue. It's so blatantly obvious that no one notices it, oddly enough. Yet, who's compromising more than the other? The visitor, or the host? I'm frequently at odds here and it is an ongoing dilemma that I deal with everyday. Chinese people thinking I don't speak Chinese, Americans thinking I can't understand what they're saying, etc etc.

It's HILARIOUS I tell you. The more languages one knows, the funnier it gets. So I guess I'm really using my multilingual abilities discreetly to its fullest extent. Just sit back, and observe the multiple conversations happening all around you in a crowded area. The things people talk about these days... As if I've been living for a really long time.

Anyway, my point is, to not be offended when someone starts speaking in a foreign language to another, leaving you completely confused at what either is saying. (Okay, I'm beginning to get really annoyed at my roommate's attempts to juggle tennis balls filled with BBs...) Unless, of course, one somehow notices they're actually throwing insults towards one. Otherwise, let it pass or find some way to change the topic. Be patient. Wait for your moment, then drag said individual to your group of friends, and start tocking in your own dialect or slang or whateva lah so d other fella become so confuse he dunno wad to do.

Day 5: Best do this while I'm awake

I'm beginning to wonder if posting images of myself in "apparently" different looking outfits is feasible for such a project. I took up the challenge thinking that I might or would be able to conjure something uniquely different everyday with the same six items, but now I'm wondering if that's of the interest to anyone but myself...

"Heck no you narcissistic nimrod!" I hear my conscience punching me in the face.

Well, of course the main aim of this blog is to prove myself, right? Not to anyone else. I thought it interesting, so might as well give it a go. Yet, I'm investing quite a bit of time on this... so why not expand beyond the shallow repetitiveness of clothes, shoes and accessories?

...

That sounded as if I'm denouncing the very reason why this blog existed, but I'm not really.

What I'm trying to say is, in addition to the regular pictures of my daily excursions etc etc, perhaps I should try providing a regular commentary on books, life, current events (of which I'm shamefully terrible at) etc. Okay, "commentary" sounds elitist to a certain extent... Maybe, thoughts.

...

Maybe attaching a term to it doesn't work... But, here's an example. Slice of life I'm hoping to provide everyday~

Up until I was eighteen, I have never missed a single Chinese New Year reunion with my family. Now, all I'm getting for the lunar celebration is a packet of instant ramen I got from the express store in the basement. My company while watching QI episodes on Youtube.

Just this evening, my mother called me through Skype and showed me all the ang paos, red packets containing money, I've got from relatives this year. I shan't divulge on the actual amount I've received, but let's just say I'm quite content with this year's harvest.

I used to remember where every single ang pao came from. The one from my father would always be inside a red packet with our family's name imprinted on it, while my mother would just pick any leftover packet and fill it with a standard ten ringgit. But it was always the opening of packets themselves that was wildly exhilarating. Sure, the neatly folded notes inside were helpful, yet it was the memory of my cousin and I stacking the ang paos in our hands, locking ourselves inside the air-conditioned guest room of my grandmother's place, and carefully opening the sealed packages that remained strongly in my memory.

The past two years though have been different. I have been seeing those ang paos tied with a rubber band in my mother's hands through a computer screen. My father tells me he couldn't remember where each individual packet came from while my mother tells me she would be using the notes for her regular expenditure, reminding my father later to bank in a check to my account as just compensation. And even after hearing her disclosing the actual amount, I wasn't particularly fazed or excited. I couldn't touch them. I could only see them. My only request for my mother was to not throw the ang paos away just yet, even if she was to use the notes inside them. I'm still feeling quite attached to those packets, for some reason.

...

A'ite I'm done with that whole sentimental mishmash and it's still about my personal experience. Yet, don't we all have similar sentiments of our childhood memories? Certainly, not everyone might share the exact same experience I had, but the sensation of losing something as we grow up gradually grows within us. A favorite ice-cream store shut down, that place one calls home before moving to a new house etc etc. All these memories, collected, saved, and brought up during unexpected moments. And all we could do is pause and try to recollect every single detail dangerously clinging on to those images before they disappear in the rifts of the mind.

Yep, that's what I'll try to do on a daily basis, I suppose. I can't guarantee they'll all be an impressive display of language mastery (in fact, I hope they won't be) but if any of them can make the ordinary person to sit down and ponder, if only for a brief moment in this demanding life, I consider meself successful~

So why the sudden revelation?

Hmm... I dunno. I picked up Dinty Moore's (remember him?) Crafting a Personal Essay and read a chapter on blogging and thought "why not?"

Day 4: Ack! I forgot to post!

I went to bed early last night, and have completely forgotten about this... But anyway, here's what I wore:

Simple, though I like how the belt steals the attention. And I finally received my package for Topman! It's been delayed for almost two months due to the weather. I even got a refund... But I'm so glad it actually arrived~

Hmm... maybe I should've ordered more. This came along with a tie, a bow tie and a corsage. Yep, I definitely should've bought some more...

Day 3: I have lots to do in so little time...

... but I'm so lazy. Okay fine, I don't have much, but all I want to do now is just crash. Anyway, the last item is...:

Been a while since I last wore the check shirt. Actually, I don't think I've touched it since I came back from Malaysia. At least it goes well with the cardigan, so that's that.

Alright! Snooze...

Day 2: Me no sleep long time

Me no talk too much today. Me want sleep.

Well, actually, I can't... I still have to read Tennyson before that happens... Sigh~

I need to take that cap off...

6th Month: Day 1

I wore the first outfit in the morning, until I realized it was too difficult to wear it within a coat, and too warm to wear indoors, since I coupled it with the grey turtleneck. So I switched to the yellow cardigan in the second picture instead, which made it way easier to fluff up as in the third picture.

It was cold. The wind chill made it utterly miserable. Really, if they don't cancel classes tomorrow, I'll be one unhappy little boy.

I'm really, really lazy to take individual pictures of the new set for February. But as you can see, I've practically shown four items here already. I'll wear the remaining two in the next couple of days. And it's already the beginning of the sixth month! I'm almost halfway through the challenge and it's been working swell so far~

Alright, enough with the jubilation and on to more work... It's Darwin and Marx tonight. Fascinating, yet dreadful. Not because it's looong and dreary (okay, maybe long) but because of the amount of ideas packed inside those articles.