Farewell, English class!

 I had my last English class (yes, last, as in I probably will never have another English class for the rest of my life) on Tuesday, 13/12/2011. It was a simple affair, just some final words on our assignments, and then class was dismissed. Like Pn. Chai (my last English teacher) said, it was just like our first class for the semester, but as opposed to my delight at that time, it was with heavy feet and heart I left my classroom this time.

English has always been my favourite subject ever since... before I could remember. Mostly because it feels so much more relaxing and we get more freedom during class (maybe it's just me?), as opposed to the rigidity and formality of other classes such as Chemistry class (gah, just can't get along with Chem. I enjoy Math, but even the Math in Chem disgusts me. =/).

My perception of: English class Chemistry class

Also,  English teachers always seem so much more amusing and interesting than most other teachers (could be just my imagination again? o.O). No seriously. I attended the English spelling bee last night, and for the 2 hours I was there I found that invited English eacher to be pretty good-humoured as well.

As you can probably tell, I have many fond memories of my English teachers. In fact, I like English classes so much it was the only tuition I took that was relevant to my school curriculum (the only other tuitions I took were art tuition and violin/piano tuition) until Form 4, when I, sadly, had to graduate.

At first, I thought my preference for English classes had something to do with my penchant for languages. There is just something very remarkable about languages. While I find English witty and easy-going, Chinese, my native language, is a delicately intricate and cultured persona to me. Japanese, my best-loved language at the moment, is a deep, ambiguous languge with various subtle nuances. So it made complete sense for me to love a language class, no matter what language it was.

That was, until I took up Malay tutoring in Form 4.

...

Let's just say after my Malay tutoring, I can safely conclude that my liking of English classes has nothing to do with my penchant for languages, and has everything to do with how interesting the teachers always are. I know I will miss having English classes.

さらばだ、英語のクラス～

P/s: Pn. Chai, if you are reading this, Godspeed!

Writer's Block

Improvised from Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken' (much apologies for hacking the masterpiece). Please excuse my poor sense of humour, it tends to happen when I force myself to write. Here is a cute image to make up for it. :D

The Block Not Budgin'

Two words written on a white pad,

And sorry I could not pencil more

And be one writer, long I stared

And glared down as hard as I cared

To where it stopped expanding evermore;

Then glanced at my computer, much more inviting,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was effortless and so very appealing;

Though as for that further procrastinating

Had repercussions I did not want to name,

And both that morning equally lay

The computer and pad on table black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how easily distracted is my way,

I doubted if I should ever keep on track.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Sometime ages and ages hence:

Two words written on a white pad, and I—

I chose the one less favoured by,

And that has made all the difference.

A Retort on Behalf of 'Unhealthy' Food

Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim all responsibility on writing this blog in the case of someone holding me accountable for this during my future career as a dietitian. Please note that I am only a second-year Dietetics Undergraduate, and therefore am still ignorant in many areas regarding food. ;D

What do you think of when you see these pictures? Scrumptious? Beguiling? Or 'ZOMG THESE ARE DEVILS TRYING TO GIVE ME HEART DISEASES DIABETES PIMPLES AND MOST IMPORTANTLY.... MAKE ME FAT!'?

Eye Contact: A Tricky Art

The MRT (Mass Rapid Transit) shook and rocked on its rails. I clung onto the metal pole, expecting the others around me to do the same. But when I looked up, everyone was standing or sitting calmly, eyes determinedly fixed on the floor.

And that is something I've learned from my vacation to Singapore - that people are always careful not to make unnecessary eye contact.

It is a wholly different experience from my time in the Russian metros - Russians are not at all shy with their gazes; a few of them openly stared at me as if I was an alien from a faraway planet called Asia. And this is where the difference between Asian and Westernised cultures comes in; in most Asian cultures, it is considered impolite, rude even, to look at someone in the eye. In Westernised cultures, not maintaining eye contact or avoiding eye contact with someone will give people the impression that you are unfriendly or have something to hide.

However, even in Malaysia, I have found that some people are more comfortable with eye contact while others only hold gazes with people they are very familiar with. A friend of mine used to lower her eyes all the time whenever she talks to me, a thing I found very frustrating. Now, she will look me in the eye and give me an incredulous stare whenever she feels like it. This just goes to show that everyone has different standards for acceptable eye contact.

Which is why eye contact is such a difficult art to master - yes, I consider it an art. Too much, and people will get creeped out or uncomfortable. Too little, and you will come across as not paying attention or even disrespectful. Unfortunately, I have this tendency to catch people's eyes when I don't intend to and realise that only after I have stared at them for like, 5 seconds. Just the day before yesterday, I was engaged in a staring match with an Indian stranger at the airport for 10 seconds or so before I realised what I was doing and snapped out of it.





Other times, I have deliberately avoided eye contact with people; sometimes to dodge awkward situations like bumping into a 'familiar stranger' and being unsure whether to greet them or not; sometimes to evade catching someone's attention - I'm sure most, if not all, of us have been through this situation - the teacher asks a question and looks around for a student to answer and everyone immediately bows down their head. We have this mentality that if we do not meet someone's eyes, we can pretend not to see or hear them, or even that they are not there, like the ostrich that sticks its head in the sand at signs of danger.

Personally, I prefer that when I'm talking to someone, that someone would look back at me steadily with a smile in their eyes. It makes me feel that they are interested in and like what I have to say. Like Nicholas Boothman said, "The cheapest, most effective way to connect with others is to look them in the eye." Eye contact conveys a lot of things, such as if someone is paying attention, if someone finds you attractive or if someone likes you. The amount and length of eye contact can give people the right - and wrong - ideas.

The only way to improve in the art of eye contact though is practice, practice, and practice! (I found this blog to be particularly pragmatic and useful in mastering eye contact.) In hindsight, I should've utilised the time in the subways to catch the eye of some strangers and give them a friendly smile. Who knows - it could have been just the catalyst to a beautiful friendship.

Dreams

I'm used to having weird, realistic dreams.  There were ridiculous ones, like standing in limbo surrounded by gigantic floating noses when I had a runny nose.  Another one about the ghost of the mother of a friend I hadn't seen since forever visiting me in my bedroom spooked me for days (her mother is still alive and well, thankfully).  Months ago, I dreamt about the end of the world in the form of the moon striking the earth, regenerating itself, striking the earth again, and repeating the cycle for a total 27 times before I (thank God!) woke up.  The image of the moon steadily growing bigger in the dark night sky until it was the sky itself, the ground quaking beneath my feet from the impact, and the sight of people scurrying everywhere were so vividly imprinted in my mind I was traumatised the whole next day.

They all paled in comparison to the dream I had yesterday.

It started out fine and real, as my dreams always do.  Minutes after my dream started though (or what felt like minutes in my dream), my dream self received the news that my dad had just died in a car crash *crosses fingers*.  I was shocked.  I couldn't stop thinking of all the things I should have done to him while he was alive.

It was days (I think) after the news when I looked out of my home one day and saw, to my utmost disbelief, a fuzzy figure that eerily resembled my dad walking towards me.  I blinked, utterly certain that there was something wrong with my eyes, but instead of becoming clearer, the figure fuzzed even further, kind of like static on the television.  I stood stock-still until the figure was right in front of me.

There was no mistake - it was my dad.  A semi-transparent, fuzzy version of my dad.

I remembered panicking in my head, wondering whether I should be afraid, to ask questions, or to simply run.  In the end, what I did was reach up my hands to touch my dad's, half-expecting my fingers to pass right through his.  Instead, I felt warm, solid fingers locking with mine, and I was so amazed the next thing I did was throw my arms around my dad.  The feeling of comforting arms winding tightly around me was one of the best feelings in the world.

My dad was back in my life, my family.

It didn't occur to my dream self to wonder why nobody else was even remotely surprised to see my dad back (don't ask, it's another one of those dream things that make no sense).  All that mattered was that my dad was back, and I could appreciate him like I never did when he was still alive.

Happy days passed.  Slowly, though, my dream self realised that my dad wasn't back for good.  I tried asking, but he wouldn't divulge when he would disappear.  I didn't want that to happen, of course, but there was nothing I could do.  Every time he fuzzed, my heart would skip a beat.  The only thing I could do was stick close to him and enjoy his company for as long as I could.

And then I woke up.

Dreams like this always leave me disoriented in the mornings, wondering whether they were reality or merely a work of my insane mind.  So there was a bleary moment after I woke up when I actually believed the dream to be real.  I hope I never have to return to that bleak, wistful reality ever again (sometimes I have recurring dreams, or follow-up dreams too).

Here's to hoping for sweet dreams tonight.

Going home...?

              I remember when I was just a first year here.  Floundering my way around, surviving through yellowish water and mediocre facilities, dragging myself to this and that event just to earn enough merits to secure myself a hostel room for next year.  Most importantly, while I had friends and kind seniors helping my very befuddled self, I didn’t have a real sense of belonging.  Second year is much better; I have one side of a double room totally to myself, I know (a majority of) my way around by now, and though life is busier now that I’m actually part of the people in charge of events and organisations instead of only a participant like last year, I finally feel like a part of my university.

                But still, I inwardly cringe every time someone says ‘I’m going home’, with home referring to their hostel room.

                It shouldn’t be a big deal, really.  For most people, saying ‘going home’ is just a figure of speech, as in going back to the place they are currently staying in.  Some people can even carelessly toss out ‘going home’ when they mean returning to their hotel.

                I have never ever referred to my hostel room as ‘home’.  I recall a friend commenting, “I can never think of this place as ‘home’,” during my first semester here as a freshman.  I don’t know if she still thinks that way, but I know I do.  Home is, for me, a place I can freely do whatever I want, say whatever I want, go bananas whenever I feel like it, and know that my family will accept me unconditionally whatever I do.  This is not the case here.  No matter how close and relaxed I am with my friends, they are still people who have only known me for slightly more than a year (most of them, anyway).  I cannot pick a fight with them like I sometimes do with my younger sister just because I feel like it.  I cannot reject their invitations as bluntly as I do with my family.  There are social conventions to follow, and repercussions if I do not.  There is no such thing as ‘unconditional acceptance’ here.

                Nevertheless, they are awesome friends who I have a lot of fun with, who have helped me through countless situations, who are there when I need them.  They may never be able to replace my family, but they are great people to spend time with while I am away from home.  So...  I may not consider this campus my home, may never consider it that way, but it is a sanctuary, a 'home away from home', as they say.  And it is enough.

Colours of My Life

                Red is the colour of the fire extinguisher outside my room, the first thing I see every day when I open my door.  Orange is the kin of sunny yellow, the tint of my feelings when I successfully complete a gruelling assignment.  Yellow is the sound of my friends' laughter, and the sound of my laughter along with them.  Green is the colour I search for in the cafeteria, and murky green is the hue I always get.  Blue can be found all over my hostel room, splashed on my bedspread, my pinboard, my laptop.  Indigo is the theme colour of my university, a proud identification of my status as an undergraduate of USM.  Violet is the shade I hope I never see coming out of the water taps.  A rainbow is many things; a work of nature, the colours of the Malaysian food pyramid - and the colours of my life.

THIS WILL BE AN HONEST BLOG...

...BECAUSE MY TEACHER DICTATES SO.  =P

 I'm not much of a blogger; tbh, the sole reason I made this blog is for my English course, but hey, that doesn't mean I can't have fun while doing it.  ;D

So.  This blog will be honest, but not forthcoming, what with all the cyber crimes nowadays.  That said, I've had very pleasant experiences making friends online, so I won't mind divulging some of my more personal information once I get to know you better.  Hence, if I strike your interest and you are able to tolerate my nonsensical randomness, do feel free to chat me up.  ^o^

And to my fellow coursemates, let's hold hands while we journey through this challenging adventure that is being creative blogging.  :")











Ta-ta.