Crapology: A psycholinguistic analysis of Crap

Chew, Sarah and Yuen, Justin (2006) Crapology: A psycholinguistic analysis of Crap. Melbourne: Lame Publishers Ltd.

JusTim邦 says:
why do we talk crap
JusTim邦 says:
is it genetic
sarah/suan mei says:
its cultural Crap differs across different sub-groups and cultures
sarah/suan mei says:
it is to create a sense of bonding and familiarity hence making it an in-group marker
sarah/suan mei says:
in order to fit in a social circle, one has to be competent in speaking the lingo of Crap in that group
sarah/suan mei says:
'Crap' occasionally has different terminology in youngsters today...sometimes called 'lame jokes' or it could be a generic term for many meanings, from 'alot of content' to 'non-useful bantering'
JusTim邦 says:
wow i guess yea cultural is one thing
JusTim邦 says:
but i think some people crap more than others
JusTim邦 says:
so i think there is still a genetic link
JusTim邦 says:
maybe there is a gene that makes a person more predisposed to crapping than say another person without it
JusTim邦 says:
and the predisposition to crapping can be affected by the cultural context in which the person grows up or lives a long time in
sarah/suan mei says:
the frequency of 'Crap' output also may differ according to variables such as mind alertness (inverse relationship), exposure to other Crappy people (linear relationship over time). The content of Crap, however, is greatly influenced by environmental factors such as exposure to film, books, family etc.
JusTim邦 says:
i think it might be exponential relationship over time in terms of the exposure to other Crappy people.
sarah/suan mei says:
ah true that
JusTim邦 says:
i think the cause of crap still lies in culture and genetics
JusTim邦 says:
both are valid factors
JusTim邦 says:
so the question now is
JusTim邦 says:
which one is more dominant factor
JusTim邦 says:
is it the cultural factors of exposure to like-minded people which cause so many people all over the world to succumb to this verbal nonsensical disorder
JusTim邦 says:
or is there something that is written in our code.
sarah/suan mei says:
well I believe the capacity for humour may be in some sense genetic...but 'Crap' is such a generic term and it means different things to different people--therefore already proving its cultural beginnings
JusTim邦 says:
you might be on to something there
JusTim邦 says:
cultural startpoint
JusTim邦 says:
without the culture of the group giving a pretext for Crapping, without it as a trigger to an otherwise dormant behaviour disorder, i guess it matters not whether a person is genetically predisposed to Crap or not
JusTim邦 says:
however, it stands to reason that for a person with a genetic predisposition, only a mild exposure to Crap culture can cause the person to burst out with Crap upon Crap in their spoken and written languages.
JusTim邦 says:
and for a person who is not predisposed, it may take longer, or there might not be any capability to Crap whatsoever
sarah/suan mei says:
hence from this intellectual discussion on the subject of 'Crapping'
sarah/suan mei says:
I now come to this one conclusion
sarah/suan mei says:
both of us are Crappy people

HOW DARE THEY...watever la.

You would think that in the 21st century, most affluent people living in cities should have some sort of western rationale. Or sensibility. Or idea of politeness.

Well. That's what YOU think, and what I would LIKE to think.

Just the other day, my uncle's GF's parents called my race 'backward'. We're Baba Nyonya, so what? We live in good suburbs, own a few cars, a fair education. But they think he's not good enough for their daughter...because he's not earning like, huge bucks in a month. They think we're stupid and below their class. And they want their daughter to get out of the relationship, nay, get out of the COUNTRY even.

They called the house and threatened my grandparents that they will do something to him if their daughter still refuses to leave.

No my friends. This is not Afghanistan or India or something. These are affluent chinese in Malaysia.

And they call us backward.

Cool video- animal cannibalism

Pelican Eats Pigeon - video powered by Metacafe

One of the comments said this:

A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His bill will hold more than his belican.
He can take in his beak
Food enough for a week,
But I’m damned if I see how the helican.

and they say they envy me

Just the other day, my friends and I were talking about our families.

They said they have problems relating to their parents, or their siblings--or just simply do not know what to talk to them about. It's kinda like this:

Dad/Mum : How are you?
my friend : Ok lor.
Dad/Mum : How are your studies?
my friend : Ok.
Dad/Mum : Are you sure you alright?
my friend : Uhm. Yeah. Oh, my bank account running low *ahem*.

Here is what a conversation with my parents are like:

Dad : I've been trying to call you. Why you never call me one? How come you can call other guys and not call me?

Me : I tried calling you yesterday la AIYO.

Dad : So you said you bought that jacket. Does it look good?...bla bla (half an hour later) Wait,your mum wants to speak to you.

Mum : Eh, how are you? Alot of assignments? Why don't you wanna come home and work next year?

Me: Erm, cuz I think its good to do Honours and bla bla ....

Mum : So you wanna stay there for another year? So, any potential guys? *laughs*

The above is usually the nice chirpy tone and everyone thinks, oh how lovely, my parents are my friends and why can't their parents be that way? And oh, I'm so close to all of them, we share information and hardly any secrets are kept. Well. I'm not complaining- usually. Just wait till you hear them scold me :p. Or see the sort of strict lifestyle I live. And people wonder why I have only seen like, maybe 20-30 movies in my lifetime, or have hardly much interest in anything vaguely 'worldly'. There are reasons for all that of course, but none of you would understand completely. But no, we don't follow a cult and my Christian life has been anything but boring, but that is a story for another time.

But at the end of the day, I won't give my family up for anything else. So here is to my family.

(there was a scandalous pic here of myself and my bro but it has been taken off because of the publicity it has attracted. And my mum is worried that potential suitors might think we are already taken. Which we aren't but nevermind)

Hmm. I know this last pic is quite *scandalous* but at least you know who the guy is :p

Last (and only) woman standing

From left to right (top): me, Sam Tai, Derek, Patrick, Sam Wong's friend, Pat's fren 1, Ji Xiang who thinks he's too cool

From left to right (bottom): Sam Wong, Ben Wong who is more concerned with shooting Pat than the camera, Pat's fren 2, Kim Seng (Pat's only fren whose name I can remember)

23 September- we donned army suits, wore weird hats with laser sensors, formed ranks while totterring guns and took to the bush. Yeah sounds like a guys' thing but I suppose as Derek says, I'm one of them...sometimes. Hey I like pink and making apple crumble ok, so I'm not tomboy or anything. Anyways, I ended up being the only female in the outdoor laser skirmish outing. The guys said they would *protect* me but HA, like I believed them. They ended up shooting me even *gives Pat and Kim Seng a knowing stare*.

And yes I know I look like a kid up there so stop laughing.

Each of us had to wear those ugly green suits, and two different kinds of hats which will determine which team we're on. The laser sensors were on the hats and our guns, therefore we had to either shoot the gun or ppl's heads. There were a few guns to choose from....from the smallest one which had 3-40 metres range to sniper guns which had grenade launchers that 'kills' anyone within 90 degrees radius, bout 90-100 metres range. I'm carrying one of those that has 70 metres range. The guns also indicated how many lives we had, depending on the game.

Well we weren't the only group there for the laser skirmish, there was a huge group of kids from maybe 6-10 yrs old all yelling and shooting away in the woods and we had to form two opposing groups with them. I suppose I could have fit in with them if they weren't so....u know, one of them shot me from the back, while I was crouching on the ground...my life went down from 9 lives to 4 lives. He just stood there grinning like he accomplished something but I WAS ON HIS TEAM arrrgh. Well you will find out later however, that I'm no better :p

We played a few rounds, sometimes with the kids, sometimes by ourselves. I quite enjoyed myself minus the terrain- I mean, there was bushes, holes and lalang and thorns everywhere. Natural forest, no cleared paths or anything. At one point where I 'captured' the flag and I was on my hands and belly crawling because of the crossfire, cut my hands on the thorns. Wasn't too funny trying to endure them while brushing teeth that night.

The last game was probably be the funniest laser game we had. It was called 'last man standing', where basically it's every person for himself/herself. Well, we still formed alliances among each other. I was in alliance with Sam Tai, Pat, Derek and Ji Xiang. We just hid behind trees and killed nearly everyone else until Derek (who got killed somewhere in between) told me "there are no others! Kill everyone!" So I shot Ji Xiang till he died, much to his dissappointment. I dont think he would trust me much now haha. And while Pat were finishing Sam and Ben Wong off, Sam T was trying to shoot me. Then me and Pat ended up shooting him. Then it was the two CG leaders against each other--we had killed all our CG members. And while all the CG members sat around watching, I was jumping from tree to tree trying to figure out where Pat was. Right.

So technically, I was the last woman standing.

That is, until Pat shot me bout 5 times and finished the game. So ok FINE, he's the last man standing. He wanted me to say on my blog about how he is so skilled and suave and yadayada. Oh well Pat, who are you trying to impress? Heh :p

Gals, you missed out.

Guys, you need to get back at Pat haha. You gonna let him take all the glory?

People actually CARE

I can't believe how self-centred and pessimistic I can be sometimes. Usually everyone thinks I'm the calm, never-get-angry, always-in-control kind. But recently I'm been more and more revealing of my emo side and I think I'm freaking some ppl out. Heh.

I had a great camp last weekend. The camp committee and I have been working like crazy for this (and some of us were treading the line between sanity and insanity haha) but well--it was worth it. People made new friendships, people were hungry for answers and were eager to learn, they had fun, etc etc. But towards the end I sat and thought to myself...I'm so tired. Does doing all this matter? Did people meet God? Why do I feel like I keep giving out when I have nothing left to give, I need some TLC myself.

But the last session answered that for me. If people didnt meet God, at least I did. And the camp didn't have the speaker doing all the laying of hands la and the charismatic acts and stuff. God met me there, while I was sitting listening to the speaker. I just started crying. Not the occasional sniff sniff kind, I was nearly crying my eyes out. And all the guys (yes, I noticed guys dont handle a gal's crying very well) starting freaking out. The gals were more accepting and offered a prayer.

Like, how self-centred can I be? Sure, I may be going thru tough emotional patches, but hey, as if no one else does. And the speaker--we didnt have anything much to give him. He agreed to speak at the last minute and yet, he made it almost his own responsibility to make sure camp was going great, he went out to buy toilet rolls for us when we forgot to bring our own, he bought presents for the camp commandents and the chefs(!!) when really, it was our job to do it. Then on the last day, he went on his knees and washed all of our feet. Literally.

And the chefs- 6 of them from church- came to cook for us all those 2 nights and 3 days. And we're not even paying them, the church is paying for their accomodation. Cook and clean for 40 people.

There are people out there who care so much when there is possibly nothing in it for them. Why? Do they love God so much that they'll keep giving anyway?

Is it possible I've become so hard and selfish that I find it hard to believe?

07.09.2006

I didn't know how painful dying to self felt. Until now.

The forgotten Sydney holiday

The Gap. Nice place...although some people suicide there. A pastor friend I was staying with after the conference took me to take a look after Hillsongs Conference.

Bottom: My friend John whom I kept in touch with since ...5 yrs ago I think.

A scary picture a friend took of me while taking the train back from the conference to Rachel's house, where we stayed.

Left: That's Sam, Rachel and Su Ann. Making funny faces, we all were...cuz we were bored in the train.
Right: Steamboat! Prepared by Rachel's parents, they made us dinner/supper every night. We felt really at home.

This is Charlene. She sleeps with a koala and talks to him every morning and night in a weird kiddy voice. Sometimes in the middle of the night she wakes up and rummages the bed to find her koala and wakes us all up in the process.

Ok, if you were wondering when on earth did all these happened, I was in Sydney 2-10 July this year. Mainly for Hillsongs Conference with some church friends. And also to visit a family friend' family. I didn't put up pics of the Sydney Opera House or the Darling Harbour and the incredible speakers at the conference, bla, too cliched. I just showed you some quirky stuff in Sydney, that probably noone will remember in time to come.

12.35am

Loneliness
some say, is a cruel thing
and while it has a mortal sting
the greater culprit is the absence of love.

One can feel lonely but be loved
If one is not loved, one will be lonely
truly alone.

You. You said 'I Am'
and You are
all I have now
I'm not alone for You are Love
so don't go. please.
Stay till I take the final bow.

questions questions

why do people like to

scratch their mosquito bites and draw crosses in them
dig their noses and smell/eat/roll the buggers
pinch their pimples
bite their nails or pull out bits of skin beside their nails
shake or swing or vibrate their legs subconsciously
make funny faces at babies
stick their tongue out when they make a mistake
comment about your weight if they haven't seen you in ages
wear black
eat food that are sweet, sour or salty over bitter

A weird dream

The jungle was like any Malaysian jungle, a little dense on the ground and muddy tracks fashioned by a few hikers before us. My friends and I were walking through it. Then for some absurd reason, I sensed danger...I told them we have to turn back. It's WWII, the soldiers will find us! So we dart through trees, and came upon a clearing, with some squatter houses.

Suddenly there were soldiers everywhere! A friend (I'm declining to mention names, cuz some of them are ppl reading this blog) and I slipped into one of the houses to hide...but we were finally caught anyway.

We were all thrown into prison. I couldn't really remember much of what happened to the whole lot of us, but our captors were pretty sadistic. Each of us had our own type of 'torture'. For me, it was to face a torturer one on one in a dimly lit room. Behind the torturer (which was a woman, with a face I shockingly recognised) was an array of weapons. Clubs, swords, knives, sickles, etc. I was given an axe. Here was the deal; if I could kill the torturer before she kills me, I could go free. If not, every few minutes- starting from the 'least harmful' weapon- she would switch to a worse weapon and start cutting me to death.

She started with a switch blade. I thought an axe was an advantage, but it was so heavy I could hardly swing it. Half the time I was just defending myself from her swift attacks. But fortune would have it, I actually manage to knock her out a little. At one point she looked dizzy, and I decided I was gonna run for it. I ran for my life,...past the guards and and doors. Then I came to a wooden platform and realised that the whole torture chamber was a wooden structure built on sea, surrounded by sea. The sea was choppy, and the wooden structure was close enough to land for me to escape. A friend was already on the other side, he must have been one of them who escaped too. "Jump," he told me, "quick!"

The phone rang. I staggered out of bed and answered it. "Is Dad awake?" my mum asked. I passed the phone to dad and wondered....did I escape?

God, this stinks.

It hurts. It really really does.

And yet I've run out of energy to ask You 'why', cuz it's so cliched and it's useless. And I know better than to blame You. Yet somehow more than ever, You are close. I can hear You whisper and I can hear You speak--they way You used to joke and banter with me when I was a child.

People ask me, how can I hear You, how can I know it is really You? I dunno, I just do. And when I do, I don't ask anymore questions.

But oh God, it still hurts.

view my website!

Just in case any of you are interested, I have created a website called 'Racism in Australia' for an assignment. I thought, since I stayed up all night to put it up...and not to mentioned my friend helped me for 5 hours...I'll let you all take a look. But do look before July.

http://webraft.its.unimelb.edu.au/100206/students-2006-1/smchew/pub/index.htm

Why I luuuurve academic essays/assignments

10) Because it allows me to make full use of the library resources. My room is crammed now. I paid nearly $400 for services and amenities fee, I should make damn good use of it.

9) Because it allows me to suck up to my lecturers and tutors when discussing essay topics and possible ideological arguments.

8) Because whatever you write in it is most probably useless in the future. So you don't have to retain the information in your brain.

7) I have the rare opportunity to indulge myself with coffee and lose sleep over it.

6) So I can get a new 'look'; I heard that pimples-enhanced-complexion is the current trend.

5) So I can let my nerdy side go crazy with delicious terms like 'post-structuralism', 'discourse' and 'hegemony'.

4) Because I have the right to tell people that I can't talk to them, go take your problems somewhere else, I'M LOVINGLY COMPOSING AN ESSAY, CAN'T YOU SEE?!?

3) It allows me to legitimately skip meals and lose weight. Without people complaining I'm too thin, bla bla bla...

2) I can sit in my heated room all the day (and night) long. No need to freeze in examination halls.

1) Ze feel of paper and ze smell of ink is...mmm. Ze best, my friend!

On Air. You're listening to SYN 9-0-7

Melbourne Uni's media collective have started a radio show called S.P.I.T. Don't ask me what it means, I forgot. After a few weeks of preparation on segments like news, comedy, arts and reviews, the show aired for the first time today on community radio station SYN, bandwith SYN fm, 90.7....so if you're in Victoria (Australia), tune in. It's on Tuesdays, 2-4pm.

Anyways. I popped by the SYN studios today to take some photos of the nervous presenters, Ben and Hagen, stressing out, I caught them fumbling with CDs on the desk, headphones dangling on their necks, pushing buttons and going..."ok, what's next? Are you gonna talk about that song? How bout this song?" Perhaps they weren't too pleased I showed up with a camera but they let me sit in anyway.

Two other segment presenters for pop culture and review was sitting outside, waiting for their turn to come in and talk. But inside, the announcers were screwing up certain bits and I just sat and laughed. We grimaced when some songs had the 'f' word in it, because they didn't give a language warning. We just broke one of the station rules.

Then once Hagen hit the 'off' button on the CD volume by accident and the song halted for 1-2 secs...on air. Ben switched it back on--"What the hell are you doing??!" We were laughing our faces red, to Hagen's exclamation "I can't BELIEVE I did that!!"

After they recovered from that mishap, they put on a comedy segment...only to have a girl come into the studio 3 minutes later. "Guys? What happened? You're off-air."

"WHAT?!"

"The back-up music is playing....you must have had dead air for 7 seconds or something."

So the guys scramble to cut the segment and play some music to get back on air. Just then, a call comes in.

"You....the managers are gonna be mad at your foul content!"

Hagen's eyes nearly pop out and he swings around to face Ben and I. His face was pale for a moment. This was probably the worst imaginable thing to happen, get your show ticked off even from its debut airing. We all read Hagen's panic on his face and held our breath-for a few secs. Because then Hagen broke out laughing. It was just one of our production editors playing a prank.

WELL. What a day.

CONSPIRACY

Welcome to the 8.34pm Lame News Network. The top story today;

Melbourne University's media and politics lecturer thinks that we're all DOOMED to be doped by the LIES perpetuated by the elite who flirt with the media as a means to an end. Beware people, be afraid. Is our government REALLY doing things in our interest?

Today, on Lame's exceedingly-self-centred news, I bring you Dr. Boring Wanker with a case study of war coverage pertaining to Iraq, another thorn in the side for the Bush and Blair administration.

In 2003, someone leaked a few photos of 'British troops' in Iraq wearing uniforms, abusing two Iraqi teenagers, to The Spam tabloid newspaper known for it's anti-Blair stance. The editor decided to run the pictures. However, investigations were later carried out to gage it's authenticity. It was a very thorough investigation headed by Spot-the-Difference experts as it boiled down to micro aspects such as the insignia on the jackets and the what kind of buttons were on the shirts. It was found that the insignia and buttons in the photos were not the same as those in the regiment posted there at that time. So the photos were faked.

Ms. Busy Body, who wrote about the pictures, resigned in disgrace and other authentic stories and photos of abuse never really made it into the media again. The media was effectively silenced by fear.

"It was a brilliant piece of manipulation," said Dr. Wanker. "The Government KNEW beforehand that there will be potential stories on troops abusing civillians and therefore leaked fake pictures to the media, knowing experts will pick on it later and prove them fake."

Prime Minister Tony Blair was unavailable for comment.

This is Sarah Chew, reporting from Physiology Building, Tute Room 116. Lame News Network.

My Brisbane trip

OK, since everyone is asking me what I did in Brisbane, here's a summary.

1) Beach (man made, just looking at it)
2) Sun
3) Movie World
4) Beach (real beach, just looking at it)
5) Sun

It was 28 degrees on most days. Good if compared to Melbourne, not good if you are walking up the hills. Brisbane is full of hills. Bad for driving a manual rented car too and we probably did a 100 three point turns and U-turns.

The city wasn't much, although it had a 'beach' and laidback feel to it. Heck, even the city had a man made beach. It's probably the sun and architecture. Gold Coast had more excitement. We went to Movie World and Surfers Paradise where the real beach is. Rented a car and drove around, which was kinda fun. Highlights were screaming on the Superman roller coaster, picnic by Surfers Paradise beach, meeting my bro who was there, and being around friends who graciously took us around the quaint shops and restaurants. Oh! And some woman in Surfers Paradise grabbed my arms and made me dance in the public square to the music of a busker who impersonates Elvis, while my dear friends stood close by and laughed. Look, they could at least have taken a photo if they didnt want to help me escape, but NO, they just stood and laughed.

We didn't go swimming or surfing or watch dolphins. Not even close. I didnt even touch seawater. What we did do was walk around, eat food, wave at Bugs Bunny and Batman, and watched planets in some space adventure thing. Oh well.

I am a racist

I was just thinking. If you are proud of your country and dedicate yourself to it's cause, you are a nationalist. If you are proud of your femininity and fight for women's rights, you are a feminist.

So what if I'm proud of my race and purpose to further its cause? Am I a racist?

No. It seems that you are a racist if you are prejudiced against other races. But aren't we all inherently racist in some sense? Ok, Malaysians and Singaporeans will *understand* me if I throw out some stereotypes like Chinese=cunning and $$$ minded, Malays= lazy, Indians=somewhere-out-there, marginalized (for Msia, at least). I don't mean to offend people, but look: nearly everyone, from our grandmothers' generation to our generation, think that way. Heck, even Mahathir thinks that way.

So ok, I might be kinda racist when I'm in Malaysia. But perhaps when I'm here in Melbourne, I might be either an Asianist or a White-ist, depending on context. I'm Asianist when some white person asks me "Oh! You can speak English?" (me: yes, perhaps even better than you) or when some guy yells "Go back to China, you #$@%!" but I can be White-ist when I hear a fellow Asian speaking such broken English/Manglish/Singlish/whatever in tutorials that I want to hide in embarassment.

Well, 'racism' is the in thing now for the Aussie media. Everyone is talking about what it means to be Australian and immigrants should get lost if they don't like the 'liberal' values. Here's an interesting website: http://www.news.com.au/story/0,10117,18362839-421,00.html

Face it. You're some '-ist' too.

My greatest enemy

Here I am looking at job and internship openings.

I'm trying to psyche myself up in my head to apply for them. What could go wrong anyway? So many opportunities have come my way and I overlooked them because I have always successfully convinced myself that I don't fit the bill, I don't have the necessary skills, I don't have time. I've got too much on my hands, I found myself saying again this time.

Enough. I should stop this and just go for it, Carpe Diem! they say. It's my last year in Melbourne,I should make the most of it.

Life is short--I know that. From friends' relatives dying, to babies short-lived, to watching a video on abortion where the foetus' head gets dismembered, to listening to survivors of the Holocaust. From the doctor advising to abort me 22 years ago, to the 6-yr old me hitting her head on the monsoon drain, to me screaming "NO! God, No!!" in the car last year before it crashed, hands symbolically over my head defiantly telling God that my time has not yet come. And He knows it has not come. I'm here for a reason.

I could have died in many ways...and yet I'm here, living, breathing, able bodied, relatively unscarred.

Oh gosh, how did I come to this :p

I guess the point I'm getting at, is since I have a chance at life, why not make the most of it? Why do I keep worrying about not meeting people's expectations, about appearing stupid, about a 100 other things?

Today my enemy isn't my circumstance ,or demons, or people. My enemy is myself.

What animal am I?

My friend calls me a rabbit.

So far, I have been called a swan (understandably because of my name), a hamster (because I am small, ahem, petite) and a white tiger (whatever that means). Anyone cares to add to that list?

I think the next time we give our friends 'how well do you know me?' tests, we should include the question "What animal do you think I am, and why?"

You'll be surprised to see what they think of you. But if you're planning to say someone is a cow, you'd better give a damn good reason why you think so :p I nearly got away with that one.

Moomba: having fun together or 'up your ass'?

Moomba. It's the name of the 'water' festival in Melbourne that happens every year--ironically, its has no historical significance to do with water, and there is no particular reason to have this festival. It's just for fun, literally.

According to an official touristy website, moomba means 'to get together and have fun.'

I was supposed to 'cover' this festival yesterday for the international student mag and RAGE (hopefully that turns out well, at least they pay for articles!). So I dragged myself out of bed and from the moment I set foot outside, I could tell it was a pretty big thing 'cuz a television network vehicle with satellite dishes attached drove past me.

Reached the city, the main streets (yes, Melbourne can afford to do such things) of the city were blocked and the crowd was starting to build. I squeezed in till I nearly got to the front, camera ready in hand.

OK, so there were brass bands, clowns and people on stilts and in weird costumes, music, dancers, multicolored floats and stuff you will expect in a parade. Noise and laughter, children with their Mummies and Daddies asking lots of questions, Asian looking tourists with their bulky cameras, police and security personnel. There were floats with Hawaiian hippies playing guitars, some white swan, some walking trees and guys in gas suits to raise awareness of environmental issues, a playschool celebrating her 40th anniversary (I dunno why this particular float is so important, but it was mentioned in all the newspapers. I suspect money talks) and etc. A group of Hare Krishna followers walked past chanting, Chinese, Cambodians and Indonesians dressed in all sorts of cultural costumes twirled their arms gracefully, a gang of taekwondo fighters showed their moves. Schools (yes, educational institutions) of brightly colored fishes and jellyfish went past, so did big stuffed chickens. None of these things need to make sense in relation to the organisation they represent, I noticed.

Everyone was basically out to have fun. In the previous years, other major events would be held over 4 days- like waterskiing spectaculars, the Birdman rallies where ppl create plans that fly off ramps, a carnival with crazy rides, various other events to do with fun and water and it usually ends up with fireworks at night. It coincides with Labour Day, so why waste an opportunity to spend money on floats, send some fireworks off, stop the main traffic and tram lines, let the whole world spill unto the streets and let's Moomba!

I found something interesting though. Some people are speculating on how the name Moomba came about. Popular folklore has it that in 1955 when this started, the council approached an elderly Aboriginal and asked for his opinion on naming it. It seems that he decided to make the whites a laughing stock, by giving the name Moomba, 'moom' (mum) means 'buttocks' or 'anus' in various Victorian languages and 'ba' is a suffix that can mean 'at', 'in' or 'on'.

Well, the Aboriginal people sure must be laughing now.

As a side note, I wonder if any of this has to do with water. Try not to think dirty ok??

Why Asians don’t write

Now. This entry is my rant (albeit a mild one after two edits), so if you’re reading this, don’t start getting personal—this isn’t a personal attack on anybody.

Farrago is Melbourne University’s official magazine. I was (yes, past tense, because I’m hoping it’ll change this year) the ONLY Asian/international student in the community of active writers, and the only one in the editorial team. I started thinking, why is this so? 10,000 internationals in this uni—95% of which are Asians, and Media and Communications (my course) is SWAMPED with Asians. So what is the matter?

Here are a few possibilities:
1) Asians are too shy, they feel intimidated
2) The Aussies are racist
3) There is a secret movement to deny equal rights to international students
4) Asians don’t know Farrago exist (uni is strictly about books and exams, they’re ignorant of everything else)
5) Asians don’t understand Farrago, it’s Greek to them
6) Asians are too busy—shopping, DVDs and DOTA takes up time

Most of the above are correct to some degree, except number 2 and 3 (I think!)

But guess what? I think I know another possibility. Asians just couldn’t be bothered. These are some reasons my friends always give me;

Friend: Oh! Farrago is just so good, I could never write that well.
Me : Did you try?
Friend: Erm, no…but I would really love to! I don’t know much about their culture and politics and all that, sigh….
Me : Huh, haven’t you been here, like, ages?
Friend: Yeah, but you know, I don’t read the papers (its so boring!), I don’t see the news on TV….etc etc…anyway, how do you start writing for them anyway…
Me : Well, don’t you see posters everywhere? Why don’t you just see the editors in the office?
Friend: Ha? Oh no, so scary!

Argh. And to think these are people who wanna be somebody in the media world.

Note: This scenario is perhaps more accurate in Melb Uni and universities in Western countries rather than Asian countries. If I may add; if you’re an international student, your fees are so damn high, make the most of it, you *@sponferluted goblok#*!

The Second Shock

Yesterday, it was news of a death. Today, it is news of an engagement.

MY HOUSEMATE IS ENGAGED!!!!!!!!
*cue...flowers! confetti! violins and doves, yadayadayada*

I went out for a late dinner at an Indian 'mamak' with some friends today (it's not a mamak by our standards because it closes 11.30pm, but that's Australia for you).

I got back at nearly midnight, the apartment was still empty. Which is pretty normal for a friday night as I'm usually hanging out with friends and my housemate would be galivanting somewhere with her boyfriend. The rubbish was piling up. Sigh. Thought I'd better clear it and do my bit for apartment cleanliness--these sort of things help in maintaining the harmony, ya know.

So anyway, with my hands clutching rubbish bags, I walked down the stairs just while my housemate and her darling were making their way up.

"Sarah!! Look!"

She thrusted her left fist into my face (not literally, more like...waving her fist) and lo and behold: a big beautiful diamond ring nestled snugly on her slender fingers.

I looked at my rubbish bags, then looked back at her beaming face.

"OH!...congrats!" My mouth was hanging open. Hands still clutching bags. "Wow! congrats congrats!" Looked at her fiance then looked back at her. "Wow, like, congrats!"

It's quite annoying that at times like these, even a communications student such as I are stumped for words. My brains just refused to think of more eloquent praises for the blissful couple.

After a few seconds of repeating 'congrats', I ran out to throw the rubbish while they patiently waited at the door so that I could photograph them together in the apartment.

After the phototaking session, I was busy interviewing them. How did he propose? Where did you go for dinner? Was it a surprise? It was a nice restaurant by the beach, they said, with the view of the sea as the sun set. Candles and wine and music, all the cliched things you can imagine. He wanted to propose over the intercom system, but the restaurant didnt have one. So he took her for a walk and went on his knees on the sand.

Then I asked her the golden question,

"How did you know he was 'the one'?"

And here is the profound answer, take note ladies and gentlemen *drumroll* "You just know."

Wow.

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

My friend's mother died yesterday. Cancer.

I got the message on my mobile this morning from Liang. He is the same guy who told me, a few weeks ago, that the father of another mutual friend of ours had died.

I feel really bad for these, my friends. I really really do. Liang would have attended their parents' funerals, but I can't--for one reason or another. This time, it's because I'm overseas.

I'm so sorry.

HG, I just want to be there for you. I know perhaps nothing I say now really matters, it won't take away the grief, but at least you know that your mum is in a better place.

Take heart.

Uni started today!

Today is the beginning of a new uni semester. And it started with my room phone loudly ringing at 10am.

My friend ALWAYS does this to me. She prides herself on being the more efficient alarm clock even when I don’t need one— 8am on Saturday mornings, for instance. Anyway, this time she needed to gripe to someone about how she doesn’t want to go to uni anymore. A perfect start to my day.

I had two lectures from 11am to 1pm. In true Sarah fashion, I went in about 5-10 minutes late. Hey, I’m a usually punctual person but seriously, living 200 metres away from the university building itself does things to you. After the first hour of politics, Michel Foucault, left wing, right wing, liberal democracies…and the second hour of a rundown of what we can expect in regards to hypertexts, FTPs and Dreamweaver, I started to think; wow, I really need to get a hang of studying again.

I suddenly realized how different this year is compared to the FOB (fresh-off-the-boat…Aussie slang for newbies. PS: please do not use this just on anyone, it can be considered offensive for obvious reasons) first year student I was. I noticed that I bump into someone I know every hundred metres while walking around in campus (Note: this doesn’t happen very often, it’s just that it’s the first day of the new semester). The editor of the international student magazine chanced upon me and promptly summoned me to a meeting on Thursday and to go check my email.

After eager snatches of conversation here and there, catching up with people I haven’t seen for a few months, I had to rush off to a writer’s meeting for the University magazine and Media Club. I had this guilt trip going for the entire meeting because I had been Missing-In-Action for 3 months, and heck, I’m suppose to be the sub-editor. I had ABSOLUTELY no idea what was going on. To add salt to the injury, the editors kept referring people to me and my co-editor for information. One of the editors approached me to sniff up 5 international FOBs for an interview, to set up a new column. “By the way,” he says, “the deadline’s this Friday. Meet me in the office at 3pm later.”

Brilliant. I’m SO loving this.

A disheveled Indian man approached me today. He was carrying a stack of books from the Left Behind series and carried around this placard that said “I’m a Christian missionary. I can’t speak English properly. I need some funds bla bla…” I really hate situations like this, not because I despise the man, but because I don’t know what to do. Is he really what he says he is? Why is he here in Melbourne University? Why does he need the money? Why doesn’t he search for Christian organisations that can help him?

Not to sound antagonistic, but I really wonder what people think of God when they see him. Can’t God take care of His servants? But perhaps the same arguments could be made of Buddhist monks, but it seems that giving to them is like giving to God.

He wouldn’t leave me. And my conscience played tricks on me. So I gave him some spare change and took one of the books out curiosity.

What would you have done?

Tssh, airports!

There is something about me and airports. We don't get along well with each other.

SO, why is that, you ask? Well, when I went to the airport to fly off to Melbourne last year, I brought my NEW passport. But the check-in counter people told me that I do not have a valid visa on the NEW passport so did I bring my OLD one? I didn't and so I was frantically running up and down KLIA trying to get them to call Canberra to tell them yes, I do have an e-visa and I'm not a terrorist. I got through.

This time, my crime was not bringing my NEW passport. I must have been dreaming when I picked up my OLD and expired passport (and can you believe it, I was actually staring at it wondering why it was chipped at the side) and off we went to the airport. Only to be told I was to show them my NEW passport. So I had no choice but to book the next flight to Melbourne while my family and I went home to look for my NEW passport. ARGH.

But when I got home, I thought, I need to do something to cheer myself up. So the first thing I did was to call my friend, TC. Needless to say, he was very very shocked and thought, what the hell did he do to warrant a call from my house phone and probably my parents. And of course, he couldn't stop laughing at me after I told my story.

THEN, I had another idea (Muahahaaa....). I decided to prank call my work collegue, M. This should work, I figured, since he 1) doesn't know my house phone number and 2) he is not familiar with my parents. SO I called his mobile and tuned my voice a few tones higher, complete with the auntie-like "ah" and "ohhh". It went something like this;

Me : Uhm, ahh, is this, uhm...(name)
M : Yes, yes?
Me : Oh hi, this is Suan Mei's mother ah. You are my daughter's work collegue right?
M : Oh! Uhm, yes. Hi...uhm...
Me : Sorry for calling so late ya...uhm (M: Oh no, auntie, its ok!) I just want to ask ah, I heard my daughter saying, about the job salary ah, has your boss paid you all yet?
M : No, uhm, we're in a bit of a difficult situation right now, just try to understand....

So anyway, I kept this up for like, 10- 15 minutes when finally I couldn't take it. I was like, "Oii, it's me." M was confused, "Sorry?"

"It's me la, Sarah..."

"What? Where are you now?"

"I'm at home"

"Who was that just now?"

"Me la!! hahaha..."

Silence for 3 to 4 seconds. And finally M finds the voice to speak.

"I HATE YOU!!!"

Hah. Mission complete. I mean, come on, since I have to endure such bad luck as I have mentioned, I might as well make the most of it.

He left

Mum's fussing over his bag and sorting out his shirts...does he have his passport? yup, check. His camera? Check. Air tickets? Check.

I'm standing around listlessly wondering what to do. Already both parents are trying to help him pack and having one more pair of hands to do the job seems ludicrious, but I ambled over to look through his electronic items anyway.

Mobile phone messages keep coming in. All these girls wishing him all the best with some sweet *ahems* in between. I shake my head. Gone are the days of his childhood when he used to vehemently declare he hated girls and would never marry. Heck, he can hardly get them off him now.

Today was a blur. We both slept late and struggled to keep awake in church. Friends gathered around to support him afterwards, the prayers and the usual slaps on the back...the laughter, the advice. Over lunch someone made a comment;

"You both are so close. Have you two ever fought?"

We look at each other. Amused. Oh yeah we fought when we were little--he used to throw toys at me and I remember slapping him once. And trying to hush his crying afterwards for fear of my parents' fury. I suddenly recall random events of the past. Like how our family drove to a Macdonalds drive-through on the way to church. All five of us happily ordered our meals through the microphone and drove round the other way to collect them and- of course, pay. Except we ALL (coincidentally, I assure you) did not bring our wallets/purses. SO we sheepishly told the woman at the counter that we didn't have any money. She took one glance at five of us in the Audi and raised her eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. Later that night, we had to borrow some money from Dad's friend to get us some dinner. AND we also got caught by a traffic policeman for speeding...but were not able to show any forms of identification. Heh :p

Hey, let's have a thumb war...'1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war!!'

The car rambled along on the familiar route to the airport. There we go again, playing this childish game since we were kids. But it'll be a number of months before we can poke each other in the ribs and play thumb wars in the car.

KLIA is a huge airport. We walk around, grab a light meal and a drink. People everywhere...with friends, with family, with special someones. I give him a run down of things to watch out for, things to keep in mind. Watch your back, I tell him, not everyone is trustworthy. And grow up, man!

He's leaving now. Waves, goodbyes, more prayers, and 'yes, I'll be fine, mum, it's just 6 months!'. I can't believe he's 18, we were kids a moment ago. Now we're all leaving the nest. I'll be the one saying my goodbyes in 3 days.

It's raining now outside the airport. He's left.

Forgive me. I've fallen.

When will I see him again?

It's great to have five senses. I'm very thankful.

But now when I hear that music, I can hear him humming in the background.

When I smell coffee, I can hear his spoon stirring in the cup.

I picked up a letter and saw that it was stamped. There was a stamp on his table too.

Go away go away go away.

He doesnt care anyway. So why should I?

I really can't stand myself sometimes....I thought I was stronger than this.

The Underworld

I just heard a tape about a guy who got taken down to hell and came back to earth. "23 minutes of hell" is the title.

OK, now before you start getting cynical about whether this is just another proselytising material to scare people to conversion, hear my thoughts. I believe in heaven and hell and angels and demons and bla, I practically grew up with the Charismatic movement and exorcism (yes, people screaming and jumping around and all that), and looking at all the mediums and mysticism going on, there has to be some supernatural world. Perhaps if you grew up in my background, you'll understand. I saw heaven when I was 11, but that's another story altogether.

So anyway, this guy was talking about the stuff he experienced and saw in hell...and I kinda believe it wasn't a nightmare or anything. First of all, it took a year for him to get over the trauma--and hearing his story I can see why. It's absolutely horrifying times a thousand, and even that is an understatement. And secondly, it was described by 400+ verses existing in the Bible already about hell which these people (and I bet most of you) didnt previously know about. Thirdly, which provoked me to think deeply, was how other peoples' experiences of hell that I've heard or read before (and they have no connection with each other) were actually similar. Like, freakingly similar. Then last night by accident I saw some really old paintings on the net (must be like...16th century or something) depicting people in hell, and my gosh, the way it was so similar to all these accounts were quite scary. Right down to the torture method of the demons and how they looked like. And these paintings are not famous, it was some obscure middle east paintings and european paintings.

I was thinking of uploading it but now I cant find the picture. And besides, its *sensitive* material at the moment, I might get bombed for it, heh. Go figure.

But it's certainly food for thought.

I still remember

You said
this is the last time we'll ever meet
It's funny
how history repeats and returns to haunt me
I had a friend
he made me laugh
he made me cry
he sat beside me and thought I was an angel
till I realised I could not be
what he wanted
and we spoke not
for years, and years...
Now, only scars and superficial smiles remain.
I have you
you made me laugh
now all that are left are tears
You sat beside me and thought I was an angel
till I realised I could not make myself become
what you wanted.
Your fingers are at my lips now
and you say we should speak not
for many, many years to come
till time heals the wounds
and leave behind superficial smiles.

But oh, don't you know?
My wounds have not healed
because time stops when I think of you.