I thought that this last day of the year is just too significant for me not to write about it. Especially when almost everyone is out there somewhere ready for the big countdown. If I have reason to stay home alone, it has got to be something as good as writing a solemn, thought-provoking piece, and not blatant laziness.
But what should I write about? I do not have much to say on the closure of this year, nor do I have exciting plans lined up for the coming one. After all, I have quite established my reputation for being the-one-without-plans.
Come to reflect on it, maybe my new year resolution should involve some kind of plan, even though my past experience tells me that planning or no planning makes no difference to new year resolutions. They are never meant to be realized. How else do you think we can keep coming up with new year resolutions year after year? If you do not believe me, just see how many 2007 new year resolutions you have that are similar to those in your list this same time last year...
Nevertheless, I have decided that as a mature, responsible adult who is taking a big step into the next stage of life, I need a plan, which is as follows:
- I will be neat and tidy around the house and at work.
- I will do my yoga and running religiously everyday. Oh well... every alternate day.
- I will cut down on snacks and sugared drinks. And greasy food, and synthetic flavorings, and...
- I will put on sunblock and some makeup when I go out, at least when I go downtown.
- I will put in effort to dress up, and stop wearing the clothes I keep wearing repeatedly.
- I will be more careful in what I say, and stop making silly social boo-boos.
- I will stop losing things.
- I will stop forgetting to bring things.
- I will remember things.
(and lastly, the most treacherous one...)
- I will save $$$.
Wow, it's amazing just how satisfying making a plan is. I think I'd better take a rest before my new year starts. Got lots to accomplish...
Happy New Year!
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Fly and Take Me Places
A tribute to the good people in the aviation business.
Oh, and especially dedicated to TK, my beloved brother who has finally gotten his wings and proved himself Ray Bans-worthy... Congrats!
You know, when you say how a man's medicine could be another man's poison, it's the same for airplanes.
For those who travel distances, the plane is probably the best invention ever known to mankind. I'm one of them who think quite so, despite the fact that I absolutely hate every ear-popping minute strapped up there with nothing but great masses of mist. For the frequent flyer that I have become -- previously for studies, then for work, and now simply for pleasure -- air travel has become a normality. It is impossible to imagine a world without airplanes anymore.
But for the rest of the world's population who never had the need, the urge, the guts or the means to stash money on a few hours' worth of fast moving transport in a two feet wide space, the airplane is then probably one big piece of metallic crap that uses up way too much of the world's precious resources.
Well, I can totally see their point. In fact, at this very moment I'm jetting away for the nth time on an airplane, I feel so overly indulgent that I am a tad apologetic toward the feet-firmly-planted-on-ground folks. By the same token, I wonder if the thrust-worthy guys over at NASA feel the same toward us lowly, gravitated earthlings too when they blast off to outer space.
Alright, back to my point. The point is, if you have not gotten it already (and I do not blame you if you haven't, considering that you're listening to a person who, technically speaking, has her head in the clouds at this moment), is that I love my airplanes. Airplanes big or small, airplanes long or short haul.
The funny thing is, I had never put much thought about an airplane in my entire life until just minutes ago when my flight was preparing for take off, and I had pressed my face against the tiny aircraft window to see four other airplanes of various sizes waiting in line behind ours. There they are, with their respective carrier colors and logos proudly emblazoned on their bodies, these powerful creatures carry a somewhat elegant, yet secretly haughty demeanor, not unlike their prettily groomed crew.
As I have mentioned, I do not enjoy being couped in thousands of feet above sea level. The level of discomfort is on par with being in a dentist's chair. However, quite ironically, I take great pleasure in the fact that I've flown with them. Them... the planes... The Big Guys, as I call'em.
In case you are wondering what on earth the cabin pressure had done to make me sprout so much senseless gibberish, let me draw a parallel -- it's about the camaraderie between me and the airplanes. It's like fighting a battle alongside the general whom you admire. Yes, I WORSHIP airplanes.
I worship their ability to fly and take people places. Through thunderstorms, blizzards, roller coaster turbulence, they almost never fail in their job. I worship them for the fact that about a million people a day entrust their precious lives to them. They carry on them, academic minds of students, profitable prospects of businessmen, and even hopes of miracles of patients with various health conditions, jetting them off to the land where their dreams may come true. Or, perhaps true for most other frequent fliers, simply ferrying weary travelers home, to where their loved ones are patiently waiting. Such is the lofty job description of these mean machines.
I continue to count my blessings each time I get to fly and witness that great responsibility upheld and delivered upon every arrival to all who silently pray in their seats, a smooth, safe touchdown.
Thank you, and it has always been a pleasure flying with you, Mr. Aeroplane.
Oh, and especially dedicated to TK, my beloved brother who has finally gotten his wings and proved himself Ray Bans-worthy... Congrats!
You know, when you say how a man's medicine could be another man's poison, it's the same for airplanes.
For those who travel distances, the plane is probably the best invention ever known to mankind. I'm one of them who think quite so, despite the fact that I absolutely hate every ear-popping minute strapped up there with nothing but great masses of mist. For the frequent flyer that I have become -- previously for studies, then for work, and now simply for pleasure -- air travel has become a normality. It is impossible to imagine a world without airplanes anymore.
But for the rest of the world's population who never had the need, the urge, the guts or the means to stash money on a few hours' worth of fast moving transport in a two feet wide space, the airplane is then probably one big piece of metallic crap that uses up way too much of the world's precious resources.
Well, I can totally see their point. In fact, at this very moment I'm jetting away for the nth time on an airplane, I feel so overly indulgent that I am a tad apologetic toward the feet-firmly-planted-on-ground folks. By the same token, I wonder if the thrust-worthy guys over at NASA feel the same toward us lowly, gravitated earthlings too when they blast off to outer space.
Alright, back to my point. The point is, if you have not gotten it already (and I do not blame you if you haven't, considering that you're listening to a person who, technically speaking, has her head in the clouds at this moment), is that I love my airplanes. Airplanes big or small, airplanes long or short haul.
The funny thing is, I had never put much thought about an airplane in my entire life until just minutes ago when my flight was preparing for take off, and I had pressed my face against the tiny aircraft window to see four other airplanes of various sizes waiting in line behind ours. There they are, with their respective carrier colors and logos proudly emblazoned on their bodies, these powerful creatures carry a somewhat elegant, yet secretly haughty demeanor, not unlike their prettily groomed crew.
As I have mentioned, I do not enjoy being couped in thousands of feet above sea level. The level of discomfort is on par with being in a dentist's chair. However, quite ironically, I take great pleasure in the fact that I've flown with them. Them... the planes... The Big Guys, as I call'em.
In case you are wondering what on earth the cabin pressure had done to make me sprout so much senseless gibberish, let me draw a parallel -- it's about the camaraderie between me and the airplanes. It's like fighting a battle alongside the general whom you admire. Yes, I WORSHIP airplanes.
I worship their ability to fly and take people places. Through thunderstorms, blizzards, roller coaster turbulence, they almost never fail in their job. I worship them for the fact that about a million people a day entrust their precious lives to them. They carry on them, academic minds of students, profitable prospects of businessmen, and even hopes of miracles of patients with various health conditions, jetting them off to the land where their dreams may come true. Or, perhaps true for most other frequent fliers, simply ferrying weary travelers home, to where their loved ones are patiently waiting. Such is the lofty job description of these mean machines.
I continue to count my blessings each time I get to fly and witness that great responsibility upheld and delivered upon every arrival to all who silently pray in their seats, a smooth, safe touchdown.
Thank you, and it has always been a pleasure flying with you, Mr. Aeroplane.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
I Love My Friends!
Lest you think I'm a sentimental tree-hugging romantic. One who will buy Forever Friends bears for every friend's birthday.
Nope, I'm so not.
On the contrary, I'm quite a cat. And I thank the deities that my dearest pals take my affectionate, albeit naughty, nips and scratches (figures of speech, not literally!) with plenty of tolerance and huge doses of humor. It's these people I safely call my friends who are good enough to take my crap. Not just any crap. Real intense crap.
Friends, to mean that special circle of four, a clique we call it The Support Group. And friends we've been for a good two decades (close!) : HF, XF, YB and myself, not really by choice, but more by natural default due to frightening similarities in our beliefs and personalities.
Oh, and before I offend the other darrrrlings whom I failed to mention, you do not qualify mainly because unlike us fabulous foursome, you are either married and therefore too busy to spend time bemoaning little absurdities with us, or you are out there spending too much time trying to get married, therefore resisting any force that may somehow land you in The Support Group. (You should get an inkling of how the group works by this far... not unlike Alcoholic Anonymous...)
Yes, we are helpless feminists.
A paradox, you'd say, but nevertheless real. This is how: one of us is a walking magnet for undesirable foreign men. Another one has the hots (OK, maybe just innocent admiration) for mature, married but unavailable men. Yet another has her undying love pledged only for The Man with the Guitar and the Beer Bottle. As for the last one, gee, I don't know... she never figured it out.
And so it goes... we strong, independent females spend weekends together doing nothing but fretting over our men, real or not. It's slightly depressing, but actually very therapeutic to be just sitting around over tea and desserts while we ponder who's next to leave this oh-so-exclusive group.
Girls, what do I do without you! I might have never said it, but I really love all of you very very much, and I'd rather be with you gals than anywhere else on a Saturday night! But, ahem ... it's just that maybe, we could do this WITH the guys instead? Let's really try...
Before then, here's to the power of four!
Nope, I'm so not.
On the contrary, I'm quite a cat. And I thank the deities that my dearest pals take my affectionate, albeit naughty, nips and scratches (figures of speech, not literally!) with plenty of tolerance and huge doses of humor. It's these people I safely call my friends who are good enough to take my crap. Not just any crap. Real intense crap.
Friends, to mean that special circle of four, a clique we call it The Support Group. And friends we've been for a good two decades (close!) : HF, XF, YB and myself, not really by choice, but more by natural default due to frightening similarities in our beliefs and personalities.
Oh, and before I offend the other darrrrlings whom I failed to mention, you do not qualify mainly because unlike us fabulous foursome, you are either married and therefore too busy to spend time bemoaning little absurdities with us, or you are out there spending too much time trying to get married, therefore resisting any force that may somehow land you in The Support Group. (You should get an inkling of how the group works by this far... not unlike Alcoholic Anonymous...)
Yes, we are helpless feminists.
A paradox, you'd say, but nevertheless real. This is how: one of us is a walking magnet for undesirable foreign men. Another one has the hots (OK, maybe just innocent admiration) for mature, married but unavailable men. Yet another has her undying love pledged only for The Man with the Guitar and the Beer Bottle. As for the last one, gee, I don't know... she never figured it out.
And so it goes... we strong, independent females spend weekends together doing nothing but fretting over our men, real or not. It's slightly depressing, but actually very therapeutic to be just sitting around over tea and desserts while we ponder who's next to leave this oh-so-exclusive group.
Girls, what do I do without you! I might have never said it, but I really love all of you very very much, and I'd rather be with you gals than anywhere else on a Saturday night! But, ahem ... it's just that maybe, we could do this WITH the guys instead? Let's really try...
Before then, here's to the power of four!
Saturday, November 11, 2006
* Celebrating Mid-Autumn...
... with mooncakes, champagne, and a little bit of haze.
Emerald Hill, Singapore
Mid-Autumn, 2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
God Save the Monkeys
Anger. Agitation. Sympathy. Sadness. Disappointment. Fear. And more anger.
This was cycle of emotions that I felt when I read, with much disgust, at the plight of the orangutans in Indonesia. In a nutshell, the poor primates are being driven out of their homes by ravaging fires in forests of Sumatra and Borneo, many burnt to death or injured and blinded in the deliberate disaster. For the orangutans which escaped the thick smoke, blistering flames and searing heat of their ruined habitats into the supposedly safer civilisation of mankind, they were instead subjected to further infliction of pain as men armed themselves with machetes, attacking every "encroaching" monkey they see.
I shudder to see photos of their fearful expression in the newspapers, and I shudder to think of how many more orangutans may be out there unknown to the ill fate that is awaiting them.
Please, wake up! How many more forests do these people have to burn down before they are realize that they are treading precariously on a fine line between existence and extinction. Not only of monkeys, nor the thousands of forest animals which are in real danger this very moment. But of this deteriorating earth that we all live, breathe and feed on.
Of course, I do not foolishly hope that the subsistent farmers and mercenary plantation companies in Indonesia care about what I, or anyone else, may think of them. However, it does not mean that I, or anyone else for that matter, should then shut up and do nothing about it.
Perhaps it is a reminder for us to reflect on our own ways, and ask ourselves if we are treading that fine line too.
God save the monkeys, and let us try to save them too.
This was cycle of emotions that I felt when I read, with much disgust, at the plight of the orangutans in Indonesia. In a nutshell, the poor primates are being driven out of their homes by ravaging fires in forests of Sumatra and Borneo, many burnt to death or injured and blinded in the deliberate disaster. For the orangutans which escaped the thick smoke, blistering flames and searing heat of their ruined habitats into the supposedly safer civilisation of mankind, they were instead subjected to further infliction of pain as men armed themselves with machetes, attacking every "encroaching" monkey they see.
I shudder to see photos of their fearful expression in the newspapers, and I shudder to think of how many more orangutans may be out there unknown to the ill fate that is awaiting them.
Please, wake up! How many more forests do these people have to burn down before they are realize that they are treading precariously on a fine line between existence and extinction. Not only of monkeys, nor the thousands of forest animals which are in real danger this very moment. But of this deteriorating earth that we all live, breathe and feed on.
Of course, I do not foolishly hope that the subsistent farmers and mercenary plantation companies in Indonesia care about what I, or anyone else, may think of them. However, it does not mean that I, or anyone else for that matter, should then shut up and do nothing about it.
Perhaps it is a reminder for us to reflect on our own ways, and ask ourselves if we are treading that fine line too.
God save the monkeys, and let us try to save them too.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Friday, September 01, 2006
Indulge Me
Yesterday, for the very first time in my life, I celebrated Teachers' Day as a teacher. To be honest, I wasn't quite prepared for all that attention I was to receive, and nearing the end of the school celebrations when the girls all shouted "Happy Teachers' Day!", tears actually welled up in my eyes.
Call me a sentimental fool, but I am truly touched.
It all started early in the day, when assembly had bared started. I saw several students sneak up one by one to their respective teachers to give them their T-Day gifts, and felt mildly envious. As a new teacher, I was rather anxious about the whole gift-receiving affair. Like any other teacher in the world, we do really mean it when we say, "the best present you can give me is to be a good student." However, blame it on our less-then-perfect human nature to worry when we do not receive as much attention as the teacher-next-door on this special day. Do my students hate me? Do they respect me? Am I even considered a teacher in their eyes?
So imagine the insecurity in me when I see the teacher seated next to me receiving present after present. I had none yet.
It was only after receiving the first gift (regrettably, I have failed to remember which student it was from) that I felt marginally relieved. Soon, the gifts started to trickle, and then pour in. Before I knew it, the two empty seats beside mine were bursting with flowers, cards and colorful packages. It was almost as if Christmas had arrived early. Suddenly, I felt quite overwhelmed, and slightly embarrassed to be showered with that much attention.
With the morning assembly and the ACES Day (it was also the national-wide All Children Exercising Simultaneously Day) event well over, I staggered into the staff room, half-exhausted, half-invigorated by my students' display of affection. As I stumped into my seat, looking at the messy heaps of gifts on my desk, it struck me. I AM a TEACHER.
As the day progressed, more gifts poured in, and at last count, a fellow teacher in the afternoon session informed me that there are more on my desk, apparently from students after I had left for the day.
That night, while I sat in my living room reading each card, tearing up gift wrappers and unveiling the content of the packages, the "I AM a TEACHER" thought became stronger and stronger, and never before had I felt more pride, responsibility and love for my students.
Try as I might to remember the faces of students who came up to me with their gifts and well-wishes, everything was a blur and I could hardly match a single gift with a face. Never mind, I appreciate every single thought. Gifts are immaterial.
To the students who saved each penny to buy a gift, thoughtfully wrote each word in your card and painsakingly wrapped each present, teacher wants to say a big "Thank you!" to you. I love you all.
To the students who didn't get me any, I still say, the best present you can give is to be a good student. Honestly. And I love you too.
Call me a sentimental fool, but I am truly touched.
It all started early in the day, when assembly had bared started. I saw several students sneak up one by one to their respective teachers to give them their T-Day gifts, and felt mildly envious. As a new teacher, I was rather anxious about the whole gift-receiving affair. Like any other teacher in the world, we do really mean it when we say, "the best present you can give me is to be a good student." However, blame it on our less-then-perfect human nature to worry when we do not receive as much attention as the teacher-next-door on this special day. Do my students hate me? Do they respect me? Am I even considered a teacher in their eyes?
So imagine the insecurity in me when I see the teacher seated next to me receiving present after present. I had none yet.
It was only after receiving the first gift (regrettably, I have failed to remember which student it was from) that I felt marginally relieved. Soon, the gifts started to trickle, and then pour in. Before I knew it, the two empty seats beside mine were bursting with flowers, cards and colorful packages. It was almost as if Christmas had arrived early. Suddenly, I felt quite overwhelmed, and slightly embarrassed to be showered with that much attention.
With the morning assembly and the ACES Day (it was also the national-wide All Children Exercising Simultaneously Day) event well over, I staggered into the staff room, half-exhausted, half-invigorated by my students' display of affection. As I stumped into my seat, looking at the messy heaps of gifts on my desk, it struck me. I AM a TEACHER.
As the day progressed, more gifts poured in, and at last count, a fellow teacher in the afternoon session informed me that there are more on my desk, apparently from students after I had left for the day.
That night, while I sat in my living room reading each card, tearing up gift wrappers and unveiling the content of the packages, the "I AM a TEACHER" thought became stronger and stronger, and never before had I felt more pride, responsibility and love for my students.
Try as I might to remember the faces of students who came up to me with their gifts and well-wishes, everything was a blur and I could hardly match a single gift with a face. Never mind, I appreciate every single thought. Gifts are immaterial.
To the students who saved each penny to buy a gift, thoughtfully wrote each word in your card and painsakingly wrapped each present, teacher wants to say a big "Thank you!" to you. I love you all.
To the students who didn't get me any, I still say, the best present you can give is to be a good student. Honestly. And I love you too.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
My Lord, What a Din!
Tuxes, lime green socks and a goofy sense of humor. That was the repertoire that the sensational Harvard Din & Tonics, an all-male a cappella group from the Harvard-yes-THAT-Harvard University, presented to Singapore on its National Day eve.
I was there that night at the Esplanade with three fabulous singer-friends - Huifen, Xiufeng and Chronos, who are almost as talented in music and comedy as those twelve funny ruffians (they called themselves that), and even bumped into a colleague who had watched the Dins last year and assured that they were 'very good'.
Nice. I was looking forward to hearing them for my very first time. Especially after a frustrating start to the evening.
You see, it was also a National Day fireworks night at the very location, with the fanfare set to go off the same time as their all-American performance. As you can pretty much imagine, the rest of Singapore jam-packed the entire City Hall/Suntec/Marina Bay area, with the Esplanade being smacked right in the heart of things. Thank God the four of us managed to squeeze through to the recital hall just before the performance started, but a good number of the audience were rather late, possibly due to the bad human and vehicle traffic.
Despite the less-than-stellar pre-concert experience, I must say that the boys were quite brilliant in their own rights. There was no question about their vocal prowess, but what was more captivating was their ability to tickle a somewhat mature and straight-faced audience while they sing to a perfect pitch. Whether it is their boyish looks (I'm referring to those few who have it, but to those who haven't, they are cute in their own right...), their hilarious improvisation antics (like the one of the Michelangelo masterpiece. Who ever thought that you can physically mimic a painting?) or their tongue-in-cheek moments talking about academic inadequacies, unrequited loves, and of course, the night's dazzling fireworks which every one of us in the recital hall missed. All for the sake of music.
So, amidst tapping our feet to the tunes of Blue Skies, Blah Blah Blah and My Lord, What a Morning, we were left clutching our sides from laughing too much. Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's what I call entertainment. Now, if only we can see the fireworks going off at the same time...
Perhaps next year? You bet.
I was there that night at the Esplanade with three fabulous singer-friends - Huifen, Xiufeng and Chronos, who are almost as talented in music and comedy as those twelve funny ruffians (they called themselves that), and even bumped into a colleague who had watched the Dins last year and assured that they were 'very good'.
Nice. I was looking forward to hearing them for my very first time. Especially after a frustrating start to the evening.
You see, it was also a National Day fireworks night at the very location, with the fanfare set to go off the same time as their all-American performance. As you can pretty much imagine, the rest of Singapore jam-packed the entire City Hall/Suntec/Marina Bay area, with the Esplanade being smacked right in the heart of things. Thank God the four of us managed to squeeze through to the recital hall just before the performance started, but a good number of the audience were rather late, possibly due to the bad human and vehicle traffic.
Despite the less-than-stellar pre-concert experience, I must say that the boys were quite brilliant in their own rights. There was no question about their vocal prowess, but what was more captivating was their ability to tickle a somewhat mature and straight-faced audience while they sing to a perfect pitch. Whether it is their boyish looks (I'm referring to those few who have it, but to those who haven't, they are cute in their own right...), their hilarious improvisation antics (like the one of the Michelangelo masterpiece. Who ever thought that you can physically mimic a painting?) or their tongue-in-cheek moments talking about academic inadequacies, unrequited loves, and of course, the night's dazzling fireworks which every one of us in the recital hall missed. All for the sake of music.
So, amidst tapping our feet to the tunes of Blue Skies, Blah Blah Blah and My Lord, What a Morning, we were left clutching our sides from laughing too much. Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's what I call entertainment. Now, if only we can see the fireworks going off at the same time...
Perhaps next year? You bet.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Guilty As Charged
Warning: This is not a happy post and should be avoided if you are, in anyway, even remotely depressed.
The past two weeks had been a little too much for me to bear, if not for my best-friend-and-evil-twin-sister Siewhong's timely companionship (including food, booze, loud music, and lots of senseless laughter) which tided me over.
The problem with me is that I'm one wide-eyed wonder, way too cheery to confront negativity. Not that I don't understand negativity, it's just... I don't understand why some people embrace it.
Take my cousin for example, she has everything she needs and all that she wants, save for a miscalculated career move some four years ago that has had some serious repercussions on her social and mental state of well-being, to the extent of being suicidal. To me, I'd probably say, so what. But to her, this episode has pinned her down and driven her deep into the doldrums. Maybe it's like clearing hurdle after hurdle but never reaching the finishing line. That, I can understand, and can sympatize with. But that, I cannot face.
It pains me a great deal to see her suffering, struggling to get out of that pit, while I look on so helplessly. Frankly, I do not know how to help her, despite showing a brave front and dishing out what I think is good advice. Her situation depresses me so much that I am avoiding it altogether, because I do not know what I can do for her anymore. To think she trusted me and came to me for help before she tried to jump off a building or swallowed pills. I should be so ashamed.
For now, I am trying. Trying hard to help her, and to help myself at the same time, coz I have realized that maybe, I am the one who is in denial. Maybe, I am the one who cannot cope with negativity. Just maybe, I am not as happy as I think I am.
The past two weeks had been a little too much for me to bear, if not for my best-friend-and-evil-twin-sister Siewhong's timely companionship (including food, booze, loud music, and lots of senseless laughter) which tided me over.
The problem with me is that I'm one wide-eyed wonder, way too cheery to confront negativity. Not that I don't understand negativity, it's just... I don't understand why some people embrace it.
Take my cousin for example, she has everything she needs and all that she wants, save for a miscalculated career move some four years ago that has had some serious repercussions on her social and mental state of well-being, to the extent of being suicidal. To me, I'd probably say, so what. But to her, this episode has pinned her down and driven her deep into the doldrums. Maybe it's like clearing hurdle after hurdle but never reaching the finishing line. That, I can understand, and can sympatize with. But that, I cannot face.
It pains me a great deal to see her suffering, struggling to get out of that pit, while I look on so helplessly. Frankly, I do not know how to help her, despite showing a brave front and dishing out what I think is good advice. Her situation depresses me so much that I am avoiding it altogether, because I do not know what I can do for her anymore. To think she trusted me and came to me for help before she tried to jump off a building or swallowed pills. I should be so ashamed.
For now, I am trying. Trying hard to help her, and to help myself at the same time, coz I have realized that maybe, I am the one who is in denial. Maybe, I am the one who cannot cope with negativity. Just maybe, I am not as happy as I think I am.
* Twenty Ways to Say "I'm Vain"
A chronical of Ms. Hypewriter's valiant (and futile) efforts to remake herself over the years.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Braveheart
It's insane. I work close to 12 hours everyday, five days a week, sometimes with a complimentary Saturday morning thrown in for good measure, and yet it always seems like the entire PL teaching force works harder than me.
Well, to be fair, I don't take lunch or tea breaks. I don't partake in small talk with my colleagues. And I am always fast on the move, multi-tasking between full-blast lessons, desk-ridden marking and a whole list of miscellaneous chores. Yet, piles of books sit on my desk each day, as if silently mocking my incompetence.
In fact, PILES and PILES of books sprawl across every single desk in the staff room, as teachers shuffle in and out everyday, demoralized, defeated and destroyed, but nonetheless fearless enough to soldier on without as much as a second thought.
Sounds pretty bad huh? Well, on the contrary, I think it's great, because I actually do like my job, and I like it a great deal. As the saying goes, you can never conquer the books, but you do conquer the little minds.
And by the way, that saying was from me. Heh.
Well, to be fair, I don't take lunch or tea breaks. I don't partake in small talk with my colleagues. And I am always fast on the move, multi-tasking between full-blast lessons, desk-ridden marking and a whole list of miscellaneous chores. Yet, piles of books sit on my desk each day, as if silently mocking my incompetence.
In fact, PILES and PILES of books sprawl across every single desk in the staff room, as teachers shuffle in and out everyday, demoralized, defeated and destroyed, but nonetheless fearless enough to soldier on without as much as a second thought.
Sounds pretty bad huh? Well, on the contrary, I think it's great, because I actually do like my job, and I like it a great deal. As the saying goes, you can never conquer the books, but you do conquer the little minds.
And by the way, that saying was from me. Heh.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Monday, June 05, 2006
When Mate Turns Into Mom
I'm not sure when exactly my friendship with Huiann developed into what it is today. To begin with, Huiann was such a model student back then in school, so much so that it seemed like protocol to be engaged with her just as such - hardworking, disciplined, saccharin sweet; just a trifle too proper for someone as un-decent (not indecent though) as me.
Looking back, I guess our rough VJC-ODAC days had built good foundation there. After all, you don't go through two years of frolicking in dirt, seawater and sweat with a person and simply end up being just regular friends. And I'm not even exaggerating.
Perhaps it was that moment when I foolhardily jumped onboard that malam express train with her, secretly discussing our Mission America as the train chugged fervently towards her hometown Kuala Lumpur. It was from each other, I supposed, that we garnered the courage to seek further education some 9000-plus miles away from home despite parental objections.
Or maybe it was the occasional phone call we'd give each other, whether across states (she in New York, and I in Minneapolis then) or across continents (she still in the States, and I somewhere in Asia later on). In between us, there was a comforting sense of camaraderie that I never shared with anyone else.
Whatever it was, it developed into a sisterhood that remains fast and strong, notwithstanding our lack of contact in recent years. In fact, it seemed just like yesterday when we settled in our sleeper bunks to KL, when we caught up for a few minutes through a glass panel at the Changi Airport transit area, when you introduced us to Kengo for the first time, when I literally got you on your knees at your wedding tea ceremony, and when you had that weird little bulge in your tummy and had to wear jeans that wasn't button-fly but elastic-band...
And good grief, it has been ten years since that fateful train ride. Ten years on, nothing has changed for me, but you, (gasp) you have turned from Huiann-the-mate to Huiann-the-mom. It's like you have a PhD in life and I'm still stuck at Survival 101. Well, heck, I don't really care, except that I feel really happy for you, it's like watching a movie with a happily-ever-after ending and coming out eager for the sequel (where you get the baby and all that...)
I don't really know why I'm saying all these, but I guess it's just my way of saying "Great Job, Mom!" and to let little Erisa know that she's got a helluva mother.
Looking back, I guess our rough VJC-ODAC days had built good foundation there. After all, you don't go through two years of frolicking in dirt, seawater and sweat with a person and simply end up being just regular friends. And I'm not even exaggerating.
Perhaps it was that moment when I foolhardily jumped onboard that malam express train with her, secretly discussing our Mission America as the train chugged fervently towards her hometown Kuala Lumpur. It was from each other, I supposed, that we garnered the courage to seek further education some 9000-plus miles away from home despite parental objections.
Or maybe it was the occasional phone call we'd give each other, whether across states (she in New York, and I in Minneapolis then) or across continents (she still in the States, and I somewhere in Asia later on). In between us, there was a comforting sense of camaraderie that I never shared with anyone else.
Whatever it was, it developed into a sisterhood that remains fast and strong, notwithstanding our lack of contact in recent years. In fact, it seemed just like yesterday when we settled in our sleeper bunks to KL, when we caught up for a few minutes through a glass panel at the Changi Airport transit area, when you introduced us to Kengo for the first time, when I literally got you on your knees at your wedding tea ceremony, and when you had that weird little bulge in your tummy and had to wear jeans that wasn't button-fly but elastic-band...
And good grief, it has been ten years since that fateful train ride. Ten years on, nothing has changed for me, but you, (gasp) you have turned from Huiann-the-mate to Huiann-the-mom. It's like you have a PhD in life and I'm still stuck at Survival 101. Well, heck, I don't really care, except that I feel really happy for you, it's like watching a movie with a happily-ever-after ending and coming out eager for the sequel (where you get the baby and all that...)
I don't really know why I'm saying all these, but I guess it's just my way of saying "Great Job, Mom!" and to let little Erisa know that she's got a helluva mother.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
Training
This post is just a light-hearted take on my precious teaching career and is not meant to be taken seriously. So pupils, spare thy teacher. And MOE, please don't prosecute me.
It took me seven months of hard work at NIE before this funny little thought crossed my mind.
In fact, it was a copy of Behavioral Modification notes that did it for me. I realized we are a bunch of kid manipulators in training, not unlike zoo-keepers or circus-trainers.
Well, not that it is a bad thing after all. Young children nowadays... you'd wish they were made with some sort of embedded remote control. Better yet, let them run on DC so that we can take the batteries out once in a while! Teachers gotta do what we gotta do -- set spoilt-brats and cry-babies straight by learning various important-sounding Educational Psychology methods. Give them a reward when they are behaving well, and ignore their nonsense to extinct their behavior. Yeah, it's really just pet-handling. (Do not quote.)
BUT, it's not as simple as it sounds. As with any self-respecting high-risk vocation (yes, teaching is a dangerous affair, ask any practising teacher) we must first be trained under the supervision of a world-class faculty (read: probably ex-teachers who had spent years under the torture of their wards, and now redirecting their energy to help others battle evil students instead.)
And of course, place our campus in an unbelieveable location at the western-most point of Singapore. Good heavens, it is so goddamn far that I can travel to Malaysia and clear the customs in less time than it takes for me to reach home. I suppose they just wanted to make sure that no school kid can come near enough to know what child-handling spells they have been teaching their teachers. But then again, a dreadfully slow bus service and a mind-numbling MRT ride daily is all it takes for us to forget everything that we've learnt. So there, relax, kids.
Ahh, and food. They feed us revolting food on campus so that we will eventually learn to appreciate the art of fine dining in future school canteens. How thoughtful. Acquired taste for 50-cents siewmai and cheechongfun: check.
It's all a massive effort to prep us for The Unbearable Madness of Teaching. Now that I'm the midst of my teaching practicum, I've begun to appreciate what the Institute had given me, even though I can't remember a thing at the back of my thick skull when kids are poking each other's eyes and making animal noises in class. At the very least, I know I have those Behavorial Modification notes in my locker.
Phew!
It took me seven months of hard work at NIE before this funny little thought crossed my mind.
In fact, it was a copy of Behavioral Modification notes that did it for me. I realized we are a bunch of kid manipulators in training, not unlike zoo-keepers or circus-trainers.
Well, not that it is a bad thing after all. Young children nowadays... you'd wish they were made with some sort of embedded remote control. Better yet, let them run on DC so that we can take the batteries out once in a while! Teachers gotta do what we gotta do -- set spoilt-brats and cry-babies straight by learning various important-sounding Educational Psychology methods. Give them a reward when they are behaving well, and ignore their nonsense to extinct their behavior. Yeah, it's really just pet-handling. (Do not quote.)
BUT, it's not as simple as it sounds. As with any self-respecting high-risk vocation (yes, teaching is a dangerous affair, ask any practising teacher) we must first be trained under the supervision of a world-class faculty (read: probably ex-teachers who had spent years under the torture of their wards, and now redirecting their energy to help others battle evil students instead.)
And of course, place our campus in an unbelieveable location at the western-most point of Singapore. Good heavens, it is so goddamn far that I can travel to Malaysia and clear the customs in less time than it takes for me to reach home. I suppose they just wanted to make sure that no school kid can come near enough to know what child-handling spells they have been teaching their teachers. But then again, a dreadfully slow bus service and a mind-numbling MRT ride daily is all it takes for us to forget everything that we've learnt. So there, relax, kids.
Ahh, and food. They feed us revolting food on campus so that we will eventually learn to appreciate the art of fine dining in future school canteens. How thoughtful. Acquired taste for 50-cents siewmai and cheechongfun: check.
It's all a massive effort to prep us for The Unbearable Madness of Teaching. Now that I'm the midst of my teaching practicum, I've begun to appreciate what the Institute had given me, even though I can't remember a thing at the back of my thick skull when kids are poking each other's eyes and making animal noises in class. At the very least, I know I have those Behavorial Modification notes in my locker.
Phew!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Adieu
Time flies. No, maybe fly is not a good enough adjective. Time rockets.
I can't believe that it had been almost eight months since I started my teacher training course.
I can't believe that I had survive two semesters of intensive pedagogical and curricular modules. I can't believe that I am really going to step into a classroom to teach.
You mean, I am a teacher??!!
It's all rather sad, really. I hate to leave NIE. This, despite the fact that I have to endure the long commutes to and from campus. Afterall, there is a bunch of fun and spirited coursemates to share that horrible MRT ride with, to pack together like sardines on a 199 service bus, and to go through the thick-and-thins of preparing for presentations after presentations, assignments after assignments, all for the sake of being a qualified, and hopefully, also a competent professional educator. Competent enough, at least, to survive the unknowns that behold in schools. Shudder.
I will miss all of you:
My GESL-mates who have shared many grumbles and frustrations initially, and then lots more fun and supportive moments, especially at our VERY SUCCESSFUL camp. (I just had to BOLD that part.)
My Chinese specialization coursemates and classmates, who have infected me with their passion for the language, and for those witty moments that made learning so much easier. Special thanks to my groupmates. I could not have done this without you! Collaboration at its best!
My other module-mates, thank you for selflessly sharing all that you've got. I feel as if I've had a lifetime of classroom teaching after listening to all your experiences. You guys have just given me a good headstart there.
My lecturers and tutors, you have all inspired me to give everything I have to education, just like you have given yours. I will never forget what you have done for us.
With this, adieu NIE. Till we meet again.
I can't believe that it had been almost eight months since I started my teacher training course.
I can't believe that I had survive two semesters of intensive pedagogical and curricular modules. I can't believe that I am really going to step into a classroom to teach.
You mean, I am a teacher??!!
It's all rather sad, really. I hate to leave NIE. This, despite the fact that I have to endure the long commutes to and from campus. Afterall, there is a bunch of fun and spirited coursemates to share that horrible MRT ride with, to pack together like sardines on a 199 service bus, and to go through the thick-and-thins of preparing for presentations after presentations, assignments after assignments, all for the sake of being a qualified, and hopefully, also a competent professional educator. Competent enough, at least, to survive the unknowns that behold in schools. Shudder.
I will miss all of you:
My GESL-mates who have shared many grumbles and frustrations initially, and then lots more fun and supportive moments, especially at our VERY SUCCESSFUL camp. (I just had to BOLD that part.)
My Chinese specialization coursemates and classmates, who have infected me with their passion for the language, and for those witty moments that made learning so much easier. Special thanks to my groupmates. I could not have done this without you! Collaboration at its best!
My other module-mates, thank you for selflessly sharing all that you've got. I feel as if I've had a lifetime of classroom teaching after listening to all your experiences. You guys have just given me a good headstart there.
My lecturers and tutors, you have all inspired me to give everything I have to education, just like you have given yours. I will never forget what you have done for us.
With this, adieu NIE. Till we meet again.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Stress-Buster
Some people blog to relieve boredom. I blog to relieve stress. Strange as it may sound, I always have the biggest urge to post something here when I'm at the peak of my work cycle. No matter how near a dateline is, or how high my workload piles up in front of me, I'd find time to log online and type away.
And it's happening right now. I have two presentations, two papers and an exam due next week, which means I really should be looking at a Word or Powerpoint window right now, not this one that says Internet Explorer. What to do, I need to tell the world that I am busy and stressed out right now, OK?
So the next time you see a new post on my blog, remember that I'm not loafing around. I've got plenty on my hands and the pressure is running high. Which reminds me, I've got to go back to my Word and Powerpoint windows. Now God help me.
And it's happening right now. I have two presentations, two papers and an exam due next week, which means I really should be looking at a Word or Powerpoint window right now, not this one that says Internet Explorer. What to do, I need to tell the world that I am busy and stressed out right now, OK?
So the next time you see a new post on my blog, remember that I'm not loafing around. I've got plenty on my hands and the pressure is running high. Which reminds me, I've got to go back to my Word and Powerpoint windows. Now God help me.
Practicum Posting
It has been decided. I'm going to do my teaching practicum at PL**S. Looks like I am destined to go to all-girls' schools my whole life. Some things never change.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
Warfare
Yes, you heard my battle calls. I'm going on war and it's no laughing business.
OK, I am sick la. You heard my coughs and sniffs, more likely.
Not deliriously sick, but sick enough to have stayed at home over the weekend and as a result, missed a birthday party, a stag night (why am I invited anyway?) and worse, my sister's invitation to drop by her home to pick up free cosmetics.
See, I am THAT ill.
The irritating thing about this current flu bug, is that it has bogged me down for some weeks now. Some serious bug, really! And to top it off, this workaholic works without a schedule. My condition swings erratically from being absolutely bubbly and well, to being confined in the pits and in my bed, with just a box of Kleenex for company.
Well, not that I am complaining, since I am partly responsible for my own state of well-being. You see, from Dec 10 right up to Jan 2, I have been putting my health at stake by having way too much fun. It was of course no joke that I had to start school on the very next day. To add insult to injury, the very next day = my birthday, which was, by the way, also my last twenty-something-th birthday. Sniff. Sob. WAHHHHH...
Frankly, starting 2006 in such less than desirable condition did shake me up a little. I have since learnt my lesson and decided to make health my top priority in my days ahead. Having fun will, unfortunately, have to take the second spot in my grand list of resolutions.
With this, I declare that I will devote my every living moment henceforth to making The Flu Bug miserable and wishing that it had never lived.
Medicine, vitamins, bring them on!
OK, I am sick la. You heard my coughs and sniffs, more likely.
Not deliriously sick, but sick enough to have stayed at home over the weekend and as a result, missed a birthday party, a stag night (why am I invited anyway?) and worse, my sister's invitation to drop by her home to pick up free cosmetics.
See, I am THAT ill.
The irritating thing about this current flu bug, is that it has bogged me down for some weeks now. Some serious bug, really! And to top it off, this workaholic works without a schedule. My condition swings erratically from being absolutely bubbly and well, to being confined in the pits and in my bed, with just a box of Kleenex for company.
Well, not that I am complaining, since I am partly responsible for my own state of well-being. You see, from Dec 10 right up to Jan 2, I have been putting my health at stake by having way too much fun. It was of course no joke that I had to start school on the very next day. To add insult to injury, the very next day = my birthday, which was, by the way, also my last twenty-something-th birthday. Sniff. Sob. WAHHHHH...
Frankly, starting 2006 in such less than desirable condition did shake me up a little. I have since learnt my lesson and decided to make health my top priority in my days ahead. Having fun will, unfortunately, have to take the second spot in my grand list of resolutions.
With this, I declare that I will devote my every living moment henceforth to making The Flu Bug miserable and wishing that it had never lived.
Medicine, vitamins, bring them on!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Sob Stories
An interesting fact about me is I almost never cry, but when I do, it is usually because of really weird things.
I remember when I was in secondary school, when we had to bid farewell to some relief teacher or retiring teacher (I don't even remember) and everyone was tearing like nobody's business, I stood blinking, dry-eyed and feeling very ridiculous about the scene others were making.
Another incident I recall was the one featuring my face-to-face, skin-to-skin encounter with my worst nightmare - the house lizard (believe me, I could withstand a few fat leeches sucking my life out of me, or capturing a flying cockroach with my bare hands, but when it comes to lizards, I'd rather die). I was happily digging into my box of leftover chocolate bits and munching away when the cursed little reptile fell out of it, onto my hand. I think I screamed so loud that the entire Serangoon estate could hear me, but nevertheless, I did not cry.
Then, there was this time when I had to kill a chicken with my bare hands and dig its intestines out from the butt-side. I didn't cry too. Instead, I laughed a little and unfortunately got caught on camera, thus earning me the royal title of THE DAREDEVIL.
However, I cry at the most unbelievable things. Or rather, I should say that things simple and mundane move me the most. Usually, it'll be something like a Kleenex ad, a folk song, or just a random scene from a comedy. I would sometimes be strangely moved to tears too when I see a lone bird in flight, a few kittens playing with one another, or an old man peddling ice-cream. Once in a long while, I would just lie on my bed and start to cry non-stop for no reason at all. Must be my quirky way of relieving stress, I don't know...
One sure way to start me sobbing away almost immediately is when I think of my parents. I become extremely vulnerable when they come into the picture. So, it's good that I am back under the same roof with them, and hence not having to miss them too much.
So you see, so much for those till-death-do-us-apart Korean dramas or sob-till-you-drop Qiong Yao romance novels. They are just no match against two jolly old folks; or an elderly street hawker; or a single bird. Not even a box of tissue.
I say, what touches the heart, is what is in the heart itself. No more, no less. Go figure.
I remember when I was in secondary school, when we had to bid farewell to some relief teacher or retiring teacher (I don't even remember) and everyone was tearing like nobody's business, I stood blinking, dry-eyed and feeling very ridiculous about the scene others were making.
Another incident I recall was the one featuring my face-to-face, skin-to-skin encounter with my worst nightmare - the house lizard (believe me, I could withstand a few fat leeches sucking my life out of me, or capturing a flying cockroach with my bare hands, but when it comes to lizards, I'd rather die). I was happily digging into my box of leftover chocolate bits and munching away when the cursed little reptile fell out of it, onto my hand. I think I screamed so loud that the entire Serangoon estate could hear me, but nevertheless, I did not cry.
Then, there was this time when I had to kill a chicken with my bare hands and dig its intestines out from the butt-side. I didn't cry too. Instead, I laughed a little and unfortunately got caught on camera, thus earning me the royal title of THE DAREDEVIL.
However, I cry at the most unbelievable things. Or rather, I should say that things simple and mundane move me the most. Usually, it'll be something like a Kleenex ad, a folk song, or just a random scene from a comedy. I would sometimes be strangely moved to tears too when I see a lone bird in flight, a few kittens playing with one another, or an old man peddling ice-cream. Once in a long while, I would just lie on my bed and start to cry non-stop for no reason at all. Must be my quirky way of relieving stress, I don't know...
One sure way to start me sobbing away almost immediately is when I think of my parents. I become extremely vulnerable when they come into the picture. So, it's good that I am back under the same roof with them, and hence not having to miss them too much.
So you see, so much for those till-death-do-us-apart Korean dramas or sob-till-you-drop Qiong Yao romance novels. They are just no match against two jolly old folks; or an elderly street hawker; or a single bird. Not even a box of tissue.
I say, what touches the heart, is what is in the heart itself. No more, no less. Go figure.
* Always Put Up a Good Fight...
... even if it's against your twin sister.
Pacific Bay, Taiwan - Oct' 01
I Love Rock N' Roll
I hate the fact that I look like a proper law-abiding citizen. I dislike the superficial Ms. Decent skin that I was born in. I wish I can look like a rocker. An angst-ridden, tough-as-steel rock star in leather.
If you are thinking, "Wow, I would never have guessed", then you probably don't know me very well.
You have probably never heard me at KTV.
You have probably never seen me at rock concerts.
You have probably never witnessed how I scream at my students.
Yes, my favorite movie is School of Rock.
And yes, I ever sang and dance to Elvis' songs with a comb in hand.
I ever cried with my mom when John Lennon was murdered.
I cried again with my sister when Beyond's lead singer fell off the stage and died.
I ever really wanted to marry Jon Bon Jovi.
I ever imagined I could play the guitar like The Edge in U2.
I ever spent SGD$50 on a Japanese CD by Spitz.
I even know all the lyrics to Mayday's hokkien songs (and I'm not even Hokkien).
In other words, I am a multilingual rock chick. Love and peace.
If you are thinking, "Wow, I would never have guessed", then you probably don't know me very well.
You have probably never heard me at KTV.
You have probably never seen me at rock concerts.
You have probably never witnessed how I scream at my students.
Yes, my favorite movie is School of Rock.
And yes, I ever sang and dance to Elvis' songs with a comb in hand.
I ever cried with my mom when John Lennon was murdered.
I cried again with my sister when Beyond's lead singer fell off the stage and died.
I ever really wanted to marry Jon Bon Jovi.
I ever imagined I could play the guitar like The Edge in U2.
I ever spent SGD$50 on a Japanese CD by Spitz.
I even know all the lyrics to Mayday's hokkien songs (and I'm not even Hokkien).
In other words, I am a multilingual rock chick. Love and peace.
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