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.

Singing lessons

Breathe in. Breathe out. Not in your upper chest, fill your bottom part of your lungs! Use your diaphragm!!

The teacher goes over to the piano and hits a key. I breathe in (which feels like taking air into my stomach...and worse still, my tummy is making weird noises because it is empty. That's because I had diarrhea earlier but I'll spare you details) holding my lower stomach and sing "aaaaaaahhhh...". Another key. "Aaaahhhhh..."

No no. Think high.

Okay. I try to think high. "Aaaahhhhh....". I don't hear a difference but she seems satisfied. After a few more higher keys the teacher asks me to think low instead (whatever that means). So here I am concentrating and meditating on all things low.

Sit on the key. You know...just imagine you're sitting down. Push down. Here, put your hands up in the air and 'push' down when you sing. It helps you concentrate. Twist your head, relax those vocal chords.

So I shake my head from side to side like I'm in dissapproval, but its suppose to help me relax my vocal chords. I follow her and flap my hands up and down by my sides like a bird while singing 'aaaahhh'.

Pull it up to the front! *points at the side of nose*. See, right now you're singing from the back *points to back of head* and so it sounds airy. Bring it out, throw your voice out!

I frown in concentration. Breathe till my stomach expands, think low, sit on the key, flap hands up and down, sing from the 'front'. Got it. "AAaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"

Yes yes. That's better. So you shall practice this for the week ok? Do you want more singing lessons? That'll be RM100 per lesson thanks.

Gobbledygook; a nonsense word for wordy nonsense

I am in the state of irritation hitherto, descrying acrimoniously the disconcertingly unbearable excessive molecular vibration of the air. This situation is compounded by the absence of air movement, thereby facilitating the stagnation of warm air within confined spaces. At this moment hereof , such incondusive circumstances has resulted in mental incapacitation and disablement of rational thought processes in respect to processing input therefore producing the consequence of incomprehensible output. Hence the utilization of malapropitation and blunderbusses of yours truly to smear your conscience and while away that precious asset of yours called time.

Basically—the weather is so hot that my brains are fried which causes me to do stupid things like write about it and waste your time reading it.

Isn’t quite amazing how people write really superfluous stuff just to sound intelligent? I found this funny example, a parody of this issue. Consider;
Matt 16: 15-17
Jesus said unto them, “Who do you say that I am?”
Peter said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
And Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah, for flesh and blood hath not revealed this to you but my Father in heaven.”

Insert gobbledygook—
Jesus said unto them, “Who do you say that I am?”
They replied, “You are the eschatological manifestation of the ground of our being, the ontological foundation of the context of our very selfhood revealed.”
And Jesus replied, “What?”

Songs of Solomon 8:6

Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm;
For love is as strong as death,
jealousy as cruel as the grave;
Its flames are flames of fire,
a most vehement flame.

A song, a poem, a verse--a mantra almost.

It hangs boldly above my bed
watching over my sleep through the night.
Beautiful words, pleasing to the eye
but I never asked how, I never asked why
and perhaps, never set seal upon my heart
until today.
I could not understand it, those potent words
arm. love. death. jealousy. grave. fire

Set me as a seal upon your heart....
His heart, the core, Him. My name upon His, His name upon mine. No height nor depth, nor memory nor guilt, demons or angels could ever change that.

a seal upon your arm....
Love to the point of slavery. Branded with fire upon the arm.

For love is as strong as death....
I deserved the punishment. It would mean I could not see Him forever. He could not bear the thought and stretched His arms- He would rather die. But now, all I can thank Him with is my life.

jealousy as cruel as the grave....
A dark grey day. A hill with 3 crosses. Via Dolorosa is a long and difficult road. It takes your life, just like it took His. It's either all or none.

It's flames are flames of fire, a most vehement flame...
It is warmth to a a cold lonely traveller. It burns impurities for the goldsmith. To early humans, and now still, it gives life.

It is passion. It is hope. It is necessary. It is powerful.
It is dangerous.
Love-
Suddenly...I understand it all.

Mundane discoveries

It is a gloomy day today. It seems that the sun is undecided about its role and position, appearing every five seconds. Perhaps it is fighting with the clouds for air space. I have been thus kept inside my room for most of the day wondering if the grumpy old woman Weather will stop pouring rain every half an hour and let up on me.

Ah. Melbourne, Melbourne, Melbourne. Why is its weather so fickle? Perhaps it is because there are so many races and nationalities that have come from many foreign lands with different weathers. Maybe we all carry some form of cosmic power and unconsciously release our innate energies to control the skies. Or could it be that we each have our own ideas about the perfect weather and pray to our own gods they might be fulfilled? If so, the tumult in the heavens would be the clash of the gods.

Alternatively, it could just be that it is because Melbourne is near the sea. Hmmm.

I love to reflect back on my childhood and reminisce about the simplicity of it all. Simple things are lovely. Sure, I may be in university, possibly the most prestigious one in Australia as some would like to argue. Yet, sometimes, I still think I’m a child at heart. I like to create my own theories of the world which might not be true, but it is fun all the same.

Did you know that you can confuse ants? I spotted a trail of ants once and imagined that there must be some sort of scent to mark their ‘pathway’. How else could they always keep the trail? So I rubbed off a section of their invisible highway with my fingers. True enough, the ants were confused once they reached that point, many turning back towards where they came from. It would not last long though. There was always a smarty pants that would persevere till the other end of the disconnected highway was found.

Or try shining a torch light on an ant. It would stop in a daze for a few seconds and then start running in random directions, usually away from the light. Flash the light in various positions and it would run around in circles. Conclusion? It is not advisable for ants to go clubbing.

When I was seven, I discovered that ants were perfectly edible. My friend and I had a competition, in which my four year old brother was included. Whoever ate the most ants off the floor would be the winner. I can assure you, it’s much safer than eating cow testicles and a bowl of maggots on Fear Factor.

And do you know that bath liquid kill cockroaches in less than five seconds? It is even more effective than spraying insecticide on them.
I can almost picture you frowning. Perhaps I should have stuck to ants. I shall just be satisfied to wonder about Melbourne’s fickle weather for now.

Blame the Weather

Hmmm. Its been ages since I last wrote, mainly because I wasn't into the blogging 'fad'.
But now, the weather is too nice to bury myself under thousands of chinese characters, it sucks to have an exam when all around you friends are celebrating their freedom. Jars of Clay is strumming up an acoustic symphony in the background and I'm looking out over the tops of chimneys standing in salute to the clear blue sky outside my window....so I decided to give myself a break.

It wasn't any different yesterday- same clear blue sky, as if it was beckoning me to come outside. I gave in finally, in a spur of the moment when a friend on MSN asked "do you wanna go out?" in 10-15 minutes, we (Ben, Derek, me) decided to go rollerblading in St Kilda. 5 minutes after that, we were in the car and there was no turning back.

It was a perfect day for rollerblading- except that Derek couldn't remember where to rent the blades from. He said it was a small shop somewhere along the road...he remembered it from 8 years ago. Great. So we walk aimlessly along the street and past cafes, then backtracked to the Beach Sports Centre where we started from. A guy said it was at the street where we WERE walking on, and we were back there again. Oh well, the sun was shining and we didn't mind.

Soon, we were strapping the blades to our feet and wobbling around murmuring "its been a long time...". All three of us have not touched it for about 7-8 years. The next hurdle was to cross busy intersections with traffic lights and cars- without killing ourselves and looking like total idiots. Not killing ourselves- pass, not looking like fools- fail. You can imagine, wobbling around, near falls and swinging our arms like drunkards in front of a few hundred people. We left our pride then and there. The rest of the day would only get crazier for me :p

We finally made it to the jogging and bicycling paths along the beach. Things was much more smooth-going and we got the hang of rollerblading soon after, although the guys had to always wait for me when I lagged behind. The scenery was beautiful, some paths came right up to the sea, with bushes and schrubs along the way. I was actually feeling quite contented to have the breeze on my face and being able to blade without wobbling. After45 mins, we decided to turn back, the blades had to be returned. Then it started. I realised I forgot how to brake.

The guys weren't prepared for it either. But you have to understand that I have not done this for nearly a decade, and it didnt cross my mind that I would need knee pads or helmets because-hey- I'm usually pretty adept at these things (denial). So I happily skated/bladed/whatever my way back and realised I was going faster than usual...and oh no! there is a pole...stop! stop! And then *wham*, landed on my palms. Not too bad. I only skinned my left palm a little. "I'm ok. Let's keep going."

Ben and Derek were trying to tell me to use the brake at the back of the blades, which I knew of anyway. But, for some reason, I couldn't do it. The guys were getting concerned and kept looking over their shoulders for me...everytime we came down a slope, they would glance behind. The next crazy thing we did was Derek's idea. He said we should use the pedestrian bridge. He skated up the bridge while me and a tired Ben literally pulled ourselves up using the railings. Needless to say, they waited mid-way while I struggled upwards as passerbys gave me sympathetic glances and asked "are you alright?". Soon, we had to go down the bridge.

All of us used the railings (there are less painful ways to end up in Emergancy units). Everything was ok till I came to the end. Not being able to brake, my blades kept rolling right under me and I fell on my back. Isssh. In front of all those tourists waiting at the bus stop. Oh well. I wanted to keep going. I shall not be stopped!

I few metres later...I crashed into a stone wall. Skinned my knee. I now have 2 scars on my left and 3 on my right knee. Then I gave up. We had to cross all those intesections again to get back to the shop, with more cars, and I couldn't afford to fall down in the middle of the road. So I took off my blades and walked barefoot to the shop, much to the amusement of the drivers, some of whom had half-smiles on their faces. I didn't care, I felt safe walking.

But I didn't take into account that I would step on bird shit. OK. So imagine- I'm bleeding (alrite, alrite, just a little bit) and walking barefoot, looking pathetic carrying my blades and now I have bird pooh on the sole of my feet. I'll never never forget this.

I should have brought my camera.

In the beginning

I've always been a skeptic of these blogs....a waste of time and effort. But oh well, here I am at a place of learning...again :)