Archive for March, 2007

For U 2

Friday, March 30th, 2007

The stars are sleeping
Just as you are sleeping
The sky is clouded
Just as I am clouded
Thoughts glide to you
I would glide to you if I could
You’re unbelievable
I don’t know what to believe
I am clouded
My mind is asleep
You stole my dreams
In return I have your happiness
I want to thank you -
Thank you
My smile is yours
I am yours.

I hope that this put a smile on his face. I do love his smiles so. I might even love him, despite everything. I don’t know. The third pint has that effect on me.
Manchester here I fuckin’ come.

Omg …

Thursday, March 29th, 2007

What have you done, sweetheart? I’m listening to .. to .. cheesy RADIO TRASH!
I’m listening to Madonna’s ‘Crazy For You’ over and over again and I’m actually smilling. No anal twitch, none whatsoever.
It’s Madonna, for crying out loud! Cheesy, cheesy, cheesy! I’m embarrased! I’ve been spasticated! What’s next, Kylie Minogue?

I am by nature a very impatient person, but for this I have learnt to wait. Zen-mode. Zen-mode. Being calm. Mantaining calm. Until I think of puppykins, that is. Then you can see my face break into the goofiest grin ever. It’s mental, it is.

It’s all brand new, I’m crazy for you
And you know its true
I’m crazy, crazy for you

OH CHEESY-NYA!

Hear ye.

Thursday, March 29th, 2007

This is gonna be a long one.
A friend of mine got into, I quote, ‘hot soup’ over her blog which had complaints about USM. Some fuckers reported to the Dean or something like it, and X is pretty much fucked because these people with power generally do not accept any other reasoning save their own (Not a personal attack, darlings. Keep your panties on). Excuse my language, if any you USM people read this. I can swear like a sailor at times and I have no qualms about swearing like a fucking sailor. Get someone to censor this post if you like, because I’m not fuckin’ changing a single cunt-lickin’ word.
We’re not trying to spread propoganda, we’re not trying to insinuate anything, we’re not rebelling, we’re not anti-government, we’re not anarchistic, we’re not Unabombers, basically, we’re nothing. We merely take out our frustration by writing about it, to express our dissentment. It stops there. This is wrong, obviously, to USM officials and sycophantic ex-students.
I’ve never really written anything about USM. I’ve always found it tedious to write about things like that, but let me do it once and for all (hopefully). Hell, they let me come to Ireland to compare notes, right?
Let me compare it now.
USM is a pretty cool place, I gotta admit. The facilities are good, the library is well-stocked with academic and non-academic materials, everything works fine and dandy. I’m not going to complain about the physical aspects of USM - they’re all ample. The buses are always full, maybe they should invest in buses instead of annoying employees, but that’s their initiative. You just gotta know when to avoid the buses and use your feet instead.
That aside, let me get to the lecturers. I am an ELLS (English Language and Literature Studies) major, second year. The lecturers. What can I say. Dr. J. was very interesting, he really held my attention in class (and it had nothing to do with an obvious physical feature he had). Mr. R. was extremely cool and supportive. Both have since transferred. Dr. S. is the most inspiring lecturer ever, and she definitely kicks the asses of the lecturers over here. She’s the only redeeming aspect in my entire course. Woe betide USM if she were to transfer.
The other lecturers? Let’s talk about the literature lecturers. I can safely vouch that many of us have better English comprehension than them. We have better textual understanding as well. Not to boast, not to sit on my high horse and look down on them, but I really wonder how they earned their PhDs. Their explanations are equivalant to lower secondary textual analysis. Many of them use bits of Malay in lectures, in an English course. Makes you really wonder, doesn’t it. There is one lecturer who is petty, trivial and nonsensical. Her thinking is like that of a teenager’s. Honest.
Many of these lecturers are disorganised. They seem to have no class plans prepared, and simply come into class and spew caboodle. Here, the only time the lecturers use slides is for long quotations, long points and basically things too long to read out and have us write it down promptly. I suppose that it’s a Malaysian thing to teach from slides, but it really takes up too much time to wait for students to copy down notes and whatnot.
Credibility of lecturers. The aforementioned nonsensical lecturer has used notes taken from online websites like SparkNotes, so I’ve heard. Totally what the fuck.
Rigidity of USM.
#1 - Rigidity of rules. Attire - utterly understandable, but when the guards ask you to lift your arms up to see if yout t-shirt is too short, that is just plain sexual harrasment. I’m not gonna fuckin’ do aerobics in the fuckin’ library. Hair colour - I’ve seen students with pink hair here. Really weird, but anyhow what the fuck has hair colour got to do with your studies? Some rules about attire in other schools - things like you gotta wear heels and stuff. Silly. Accesibility, ie. vehicles entering USM gotta have the USM sticker, or else they gotta spend a motherlode of time getting the visitor’s pass. Students not allowed to drive in unless they have the bloody annoying sticker. I’ve mentioned that USM is a huge place, and there are loads and loads and loads of parking space. I really do not understand why this rule was implemented. There are many other rules that literally make you scratch your head, but I can’t list them all down.
#2 - Rigidity of lecturers. Literature calls for creativity in analysing texts but at the same time backing up ideas with logical points. Nothing is wrong if you’ve got the info to back it up. Yet, some of the lecturers refuse vehemently to hear out ideas that do not concur with their own. Attendance taking. Some of them read out names like back in fuckin’ primary school. That’s just plain whacked. Here they don’t take attendance yet students are responsible enough to attend class because the lectures are sardin-packed with info necessary to pass the exams, the lectures are properly organized and the lecturers are passionate about what they are teaching.
Incompetence of some of the employees.
I had to settle some matters on my Ireland exchange program, and got transfered from person to person to person I swear you could see my hair stand on ends. Many employees don’t know their head from their tails, and this is a total embarrasment. I went to the International Office over here to ask about a glitch in my passport and in two seconds the problem was solved. No transference, no dallying, nothing of that sort.
What can USM do?
Why are so many students, even those who can’t afford it, studying in private colleges?
Incompetence. Low standards. Triviality. Above all, rigidity. I don’t recall encountering blatant personal racism in USM, so I am not going to go into it. We all know what we all know about that subject anyhow.
USM can be a really swell place. Don’t get me wrong, I basically like USM. I’m rather proud to be in it at times. But dudes, you really gotta look into those things - they are really embarrrasing for a university in the top 200 list.
This post has merely tiptoed on the problems. My eyes are half-closed already. Writing about something like this fatigues me, but I felt that I should do it.
My complaints have been logical, don’t you fuckin’ turn around and tell me that they’re unreasonable. Don’t pinalise someone for expressing their opinions albeit in an angry manner. Instead of being blinded by his/her use of ‘vulgar’ language, look into those problems brought into light by the person. Being narrow-minded about it only results in stagnation.
I’m gonna go sleep now. I’ll probably be editing this later. O sleepiness.

Another month, another moon.

Wednesday, March 28th, 2007

After rain, wind blows the clouds away to reveal a deep prussian-blue sky. I see Orion chasing his hare across the night. The moon illuminates everything - she is still young, but boy does she shine. From my window I see the rooftops alight in silver, drops of rain on leaves and the grass reflect brilliantly. On a night like this one could imagine exotic ancient Celts in their groves. One could believe in the existance of strange, mystical beings in fields and burrows. The mind takes flight to another realm.
Three full moons ago, I remember I was at Sunset Bistro, sitting by the shore talking nonsense with Wayne and Fifi. Another three full moons and I’ll be home free. 94 more days, kiddo. Ain’t nothing beats a drag and a kiss under the naked full moon.

Freaky …

Tuesday, March 27th, 2007

http://www.secret-loves.com/index.php?test=539798

You have no idea how freakin’ accurate that thing is, man. Try it out, my fingers are still shaking from the result. It’s nothing scary, I can vouch for that because I’m one of the biggest scaredy-cats around. It’s just .. incredible. I’ve never believed in these online things, but damn! It’s .. insane. I’m trying my best not to sound like a slogan, but I’m just syncophantic over it.

Chongsies damn funny

Monday, March 26th, 2007

I says we rent a car like he said to go to Loch Ness. After much deliberation he says it sounds good. We depart after lunch on Friday, says he. And sleep in the car, an’ go back on Saturday.
At first the plan seemed fine.
However, something sounded wrong. Terribly wrong. I re-read what he typed. Sleep in car.
Sleep in car.
SLEEP IN CAR ?! SAY WHAT ?!
OMGS
DUDE I DON’T WANT TO BE CRAMPED IN A TINY LITTLE CAR WITH YOU
IT’S UNTHINKABLE. HOW COULD YOU EVEN COME UP WITH IT? DO I LOOK LIKE A TOTAL DUDE TO YOU? I NEED AMENITIES, I NEED THE TOILET, I CAN’T PEE STANDING UP IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, I NEED MY SHOWERS, I NEED TO WASH MY HAIR, I CAN’T BLOODY SLEEP IN THE CAR.
Then he suggested camp sites. Which is fine, except that it might get really cold (it’s Scotland after all) and I seriously don’t want to freeze my ass off. But that’s a triviality. Here’s the bigger problem which he just mentioned like two seconds ago.
He said to me, ‘I hope you can get used to driving manual.’
Enter silence of silences.
Manual? I ain’t driven manual in four years. Last time I did my friend hammered on the hazard lights and asked me to stop by the roadside after a minute or so. I barely even moved a hundred meters.
Good lord. That is gonna be one hella roadtrip if it happens.

Nostalgia.

Monday, March 26th, 2007

Late afternoon and I go downstairs for tea and a cigarette. I step into the backyard, a warm dry day awaited. Sun on my face, hot, felt almost like home. I light up, lean against the wall and close my eyes. Bright orange through my eyelids. Sound of bees buzzing. A bird swooped past overhead, wind from its wings blew me a gentle breeze. Smell of ginger and Chinese things from my meal in the microwave reminds me of afternoons growing up in my granma’s house.
I see myself as a child - sweaty, gnarly haired, invading the gardens before I developed the fear of milipedes. Philodendrons, ferns, hibiscus plants, other greens I know not their names. I feel like I am back in the days before I started kindergarten.
The air is balmy - my grampa had yet to renovate the house and the neighbours build their walls. Radio playing somewhere. Granma talking to someone, cooking dinner, the smell of chilli powder permeates the air. I play by the pond, catch fishes, the humidity of the shade stiffling but when you’re a child you cared not. I had no other children my age to play with during those afternoons. I invent my own games, follow my granma along wherever she went. There was a kindly old couple who would take me in sometimes but they moved away.
The sun filters in through the windows in my granma’s house, I remember it vividly. I see the dust in the dark, yellow sunshine, and when all that dust settled, I move around and kick it up again and watch it float in the air.
Sometimes I imagine myself in a fort, and shoot at strangers passing by the house.
And in the evening, my parents will fetch me home for dinner. We go to my other granma’s house to eat. TV always playing some Cantonese serial. Always too loud. The house is badly lit, more smell of food, mother talking to granma.
We eat out as well at times. Memory of a coffeeshop in Welky, a red shrine in front of the shop, I sit on two stools stacked on top of each other. Floor is dirty, there is a dog too. Everyone shoos it away.
The microwave beeps, shocks through the silence of the afternoon and I come back to the present. The child in me slowly faded away, staring at me with my own eyes. She looked neither happy nor sad. She was just looking, standing at the sidepath in my granma’s garden, she waved not, she resigned herself to be forgotten again.
I am frightfully afraid of losing these memories. Strange memories of childhood. Strange to remember it so intensely in a land far away from home.

Owh.

Saturday, March 24th, 2007

I miss those times when I was younger and I could say ‘You’re everything to me’ without my eyelid twitching. It’s not a lying twitch, unlike some people who twitch when they lie or try not to laugh. It’s more of a ‘it’s so corny my insides retch’ twitch. Just like when you’ve had something too sour and your whole face caves in.
I can’t say things like ‘I want to hold you forever,’ or ‘I’m yours forever’ anymore, because let’s be realistic - you can’t hold someone forever. You gotta go shit sometime. Or break up. You also can’t be someone’s forever, because we all die. Or break up. I think I still have those letters where they wrote things like ‘Yours forever’ or ‘Together forever.’ They make me smile. It’s partly smiling at the sweet naivety of adolescence, and it’s also a partly cynical smile. Forever? Where are you now? Hah!

The search for better mushroom soup.

Saturday, March 24th, 2007

I decided to try Marks and Spec’s Mushroom Pottage instead of their Mushroom Soup. I expected something better - it was slightly more expensive. I was expecting maybe something like Baxter’s mushroom soup but creamier and basically better tasting. What I got was exactly the same taste as their Mushroom Soup, just that there is a little more mushroom in it.
I paid an extra 40 cents for extra bits of mushroom. Golly gee. Fuck you Marks and Specs. I’m never buying your lousy Mushroom Pottage again. I’ll just stick to your cheap and bland tasting Mushroom Soup.
Campbell’s is still the best.Thing is (and it’s a really embarrasing thing), they don’t come in easily opened cans. You sorta have to use the can opener, and .. I don’t know how to use the can opener (insert beetroot blush). Last time I tried I ended up cutting myself and throwing the damn can on the floor.
And don’t even get me started on Knorr’s Mushroom Soup. Avoid at all costs.

It’s gonna be a long, boring day. Korean guy moves in tomorrow. Kimchi, woot! He better have kimchi, or else I’m gonna shun him like French cheese. My life revolves around food a lot, I notice. I have a feeling that when I get back, I’m gonna be avoiding mushroom soup and chicken & mushroom soup for a long, long time.

Another funny thing. I met this Portuguese girl at the pub the other night. I introduced myself, and this is the funny part. Get this - she asked me for my real name. My name is Julia, whaddaya mean my real name? Prrfh. Seriously, what kind of a question is that? Who the hell does that? Someone introduces themselves to you and you ask for their real name? *grumbles on and on* Was I supposed to give an unintelligible Chinese name like ‘Ong Wooi Chong?’

Wooi Chong: Hi, my name is Ong Wooi Chong.
European person: Ang Weey John?
Wooi Chong: Nono, Ong Wooi Chong.
European person: *blank stare*
Julia: *manical cackle*

Stereotypes. Prrfh.

Three.

Thursday, March 22nd, 2007

Killing spree!
What I meant to say was, it’s been five hours since something really, really, really good happened and here I am still grinning my mouth to bits.
I really want to sleep but when I close my eyes I see someone plastered on my eyelids. It’s insane in the bestest way possible.
Talk about being vague. Heh.
Prrfh.