My faithful friend.

If there is a song that can make me feel for the singer, I think this has to be it. It starts slow, so you might want to wait a bit before you write it off. =)

Does America need a democracy?

I find the principles of democracy strangely amusing now. I like the ideas, but there are bits about the world that point to democracy being sub-optimal as a form of governance.

I was forwarded this article in the Time magazine recently that discussed the Democratic party in-fighting that some analysts say are going to cost them the presidency. That may be true, but the bit about the article that really got me thinking was the part when they started looking into the tactics that both candidates employ.

Obama projects the calm, collected, and controlled persona. He avoids using negative campaigning and has an almost detached feel from the rest of the country. And apparently, its costing him dear. "In his 1991 book, The Reasoning Voter, political scientist Samuel Popkin argued that most people make their choice on the basis of "low-information signaling" — that is, stupid things like whether you know how to roll a bowling ball or wear an American-flag pin." Obama tried a different tactic. He tried to see the bigger picture and deal with the biggest problems that Americans are facing. But the Philadelphian people were not interested. Apparently, the debate that he was involved in recently "will go down in history for the relentless vulgarity of its questions". In short, the American public prefer having one of their own SUV-driving, big mac munching dude next door as their president.

But are they really making the right choice? I honestly don't think the average American understands the state of their country at the moment. And I also think that if they did understand, they would care a lot more about their national healthcare policy than flag pinning or bowling balls. But democracy works by giving the power to the people. My question is, what if the people don't know what they are doing?

I know that I am taking a very dangerous line here. I know that I have no right to tell a polygamist red neck how to live his life, or what to believe in, or who to vote for. Who is to say that my line of thinking is superior to their's? But I also know that there is an information imbalance in this case. Unless of course, the American people intentionally choose to not take the war in Iraq and their battered economy seriously, which is too weird to even contemplate.

In the end, this is how I see it. In America, the questions they should be asking are 'Can he help our economy?' or 'What does he want to do to our health system?' But the questions that they are instead asking are 'Does he like barbecued pork ribs?' and 'Does he own a pick up truck?'. It is pretty damn obvious to me that the first two questions are far more important, but for some reason, are brushed aside in favour of the third and forth ones. It is in their best interests for the people to vote based on the big issues, but they are choosing not to.

Can we still say that democracy represents the best interest of the people?

The 9 types of intelligence.

While I don't consider Howard Gardner's theory to be totally accurate, it does make a certain amount of sense to me.

A quick Wiki of multiple intelligence theory tells us that Gardner believes that no one kind of intelligence is more important than the other. I find that belief a bit naive to be honest.

It might be an unnecessarily utilitarian way of looking at life, but having what it takes to carve out a living sure beats everything else. I would personally rank logical intelligence near the top simply because so many jobs in the world right now need exactly that.

But looking at the types of intelligence, I can't help but to think that one single type stands out well above the rest in terms of importance as a life survival tool - interpersonal intelligence. Remember how people always say that its not what you know anymore, its who you know? I think that nicely sums up why its so bloody important to have interpersonal intelligence. 'Young adults with this kind of intelligence are leaders among their peers, are good at communicating, and seem to understand others’ feelings and motives.' I got that from some random site. Screw the last two. Look at the first one. Want to enter the corporate world? Intend on getting far? If you don't have this form of intelligence, then don't count on it. Actually, I would go as far as to say that it extends to all professions. A char kuey tiow seller with good interpersonal skills build up customer rapport. The only time when this doesn't affect your career is if you really and truly work alone. Like as a lighthouse watchman or something. Even then, you are going to need that intelligence when you approach your boss for a raise. If you ever approach your boss for a raise...

And what would be the worst one to have career wise? I have to say intrapersonal intelligence. 'These young adults may be shy. They are very aware of their own feelings and are self-motivated.' Who needs self motivation when you can make people believe that you are already self motivated? Personally, I think that shyness is a death sentence in the world. People tend to view shy people and wonder what is going on in their minds, and constantly trying to guess if that person means harm. Shy people constantly avert people's gaze. Do people assume that the reluctance to make eye contact is due to shyness? I think most take it as a sign that the person is an egoistical prick. Isolation from the rest of humanity is something that no amount of gardening (naturalist intelligence), tennis aces (bodily kinesthetic intelligence), or best selling novels (linguistic intelligence) will be able to compensate for.

At this point, I would like to borrow a phrase used by my friend once. 'Socially retarded at every level'. Its a brutally honest quip that explains everything. It is a form of retardation, bad enough, in my opinion to warrant a certain amount of medical attention. I find it amusing how much we fight for equality at the workplace when this fairly obvious shortcoming is not accounted for. Maybe its hard to classify and hard to determine, but since when has something being hard to do ever been an excuse for not doing it? As of now, we only treat severe shyness. Unless its really bad, its not even recognized as a problem. Thats like saying that we will help people who have lost their leg, but those that have lost their foot don't need our help; they can deal with the problem on their own.

I know I'm not making any sense. I know that what I'm proposing is insane and even if it were possible, we are 20 years away from it. And even if we do come close, there would be protests from Scientologists and other mental purists. But I think its a problem, and its one worth solving.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Why can't things be easier? Why does the obviously right thing to do have to feel so neutral, but the consistently, stupidly dodgy path raise my pulse everytime I think about it? Why did the stakes have to raised? I know I asked them to be raised, but still... Now there is so much to lose, and so much I could regret. I'm good at lying to myself, but I'm not that good.

I know what I need to do. I just need to start feeling what I need to do. But thats the really hard part. I can't make myself feel it. Not now at least. Maybe, if I actually had the opportunity to help it along. Sometimes it feels like the opportunity is always there. Sometimes it seems completely unfeasible, even to the most hardcore impulsive action-taker I know.

Gah!

Message to the universe : I know that you can do a lot worse, but, please, be kind to me... You know the way my mind works. You know that to most other people, it won't even be a problem. But its insanely confusing to me. Stop messing around with my head. I'd really appreciate it.

I wish I didn't have to be so cryptic writing this, but for my continued survival, I think I ought to.

Hats off to this guy. I think.

This was forwarded to my inbox recently. Its a pretty old story, but its still freaking hilarious. And since I haven't updated in like forever, I decided that someone else's thoughts are better than no thoughts at all. I don't condone such behaviour though. =P

This is why women should not take men shopping against their will.

After Mr. And Mrs. Fennell retired, Mrs. Fennell insisted her Husband
accompany her on her trips to Wal-Mart.

Unfortunately, Mr. Fennell was like most men--he found shopping Boring
and preferred to get in and get out.

Equally unfortunately, Mrs. Fennell was like most women--she loved to
browse. One day Mrs. Fennell received the following letter from her
local Wal-Mart.

Dear Mrs. Fennell,

Over the past six months, Tom has been causing quite a commotion in our
store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and may be forced to ban both of
you from the store. Our complaints against him are listed below and are
documented by our video surveillance cameras.

1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's
carts when they weren't looking.

2 July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute
intervals.

3. July 7: Made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the
women's restroom.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice,
'Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away.'

5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&M's on
layaway.

6. September 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

7. September 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told other
shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets
from the bedding department.

8. September 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began
crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?'

9. October 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a
mirror while he picked his nose.

10. November 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked
the clerk where the antidepressants were.

11. December 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly
humming the 'Mission Impossible' theme.

12. December 6: In the auto department, he practiced his 'Madonna look'
by using different sizes of funnels.

13. December 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed
through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'

14. December 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he
assumed a fetal position and screamed 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!'

And last, but not least

15. December 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile,
then yelled very loudly, 'Hey! There's no toilet paper in here!'

Regards,

Walmart

I can totally relate.

Except for the making out with myself part, of course. But the dude who did this is a genius.

The Spiderwick Chronicles - Retold.

Inspired by the Spiderwick Chronicles, this story has been through a number of incarnations. And each time I change it, it sounds less and less like the story that inspired it. Still, it was the Chronicles that kick started it. Many incarnations also means many hours spent. I certainly hope that the quality is proportionate to the effort spent. Enjoy. =)

It was a curiously bound book, wrapped in purple velvet with a gold spine, and gold flowers printed on the cover. It had nothing written on the cover, nothing to indicate what lay within. Around it was a matching ribbon, tied neatly into a bow, keeping the tome from being unintentionally opened. The little boy stared in wonder at the book that lay on the table; he had never seen anything quite as unusual. He was quite apprehensive about the book, the superstitions that seemed to govern the workings of all things strange were clanging the alarm bells in his head. He was drawn by the book, that much was apparent. Its flamboyant colour and intricate mural that decorated the cover appealed to him, for no particular reason he could think of. He was asking himself if he would ever find the courage to pick it up and open it.

It wasn’t exactly the first time he had found himself in such a dilemma. For so much of his life, the boy had let fear of the unknown control his conscience. It was only recently that the natural urge to explore his surroundings, that seemed to be inherent in every other child his age, took a hold of him and started his journey into the uncharted waters that he had once felt content to leave unvisited.

The tug of war still raged in his little head, but this time, as it had been in his recent history, curiosity had an inherent upper hand. The reassuringly cold tone that superstition used to take seemed to have lost their powers of persuasion. Finally, after two hours of deliberation, the boy made up his mind. He crept up carefully and silently towards the book, as if afraid of offending it by making sudden moves. When he stood within an arm’s length of it, he stopped and stared at it. It was even prettier up close than it had been from where he had been sitting. The boy began noticing little details that he never saw before. He decided that the book had to be special.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled at the ribbon. As the knot became undone, he heard a soft sigh, as if the book was talking to him. He stared at it. The book was alive. Or had he imagined the sound? Shrugging away his petty concerns, he slowly lifted the cover.

It was full of writing, complicated cursive written in compressed paragraphs. The boy had enough trouble reading in block letters, so neat lines of flowing writing looked like a messy jumble of random lines to him. He was intelligent enough to pick out certain words, and he began to piece together the story of the book a little at a time. He found the writing to be very melancholic, and most of the time, very evasive. He could never actually be sure about what he was reading, not knowing if his interpretation was accurate. Still, he persisted.

As he flipped the pages, he reached a sudden change of tone in the book. The writing became more pronounced and larger. At the end of the page was a large print warning :

‘Proceed no further. You will bring nothing but harm to yourself. I beg of you, dear reader. Put me down’

The boy froze. The message was clear enough, written in such a way that even one of his limited vocabulary could understand it. He read the message again. And again. And then he flipped the page and kept reading.

Some would call him stupid to defy such a clear warning. Others would applaud his tenacity, but ultimately conclude that he asked for the consequences that he would have to pay for. As he continued scanning, he felt himself lose control of his own conscience. His actions were no longer his own, yet it seemed like he had done everything by himself. He was in a haze, a dreamlike state from which he couldn’t snap out of.

As he continued, he felt a sudden stinging in his right arm. His first reaction was to retract his arm, but his body defied him. Another sharp spike of pain seared his arm, and he started screaming. There were no physical marks, just a continuous barrage of unadulterated torture.

`The open page of the book flipped itself, and from its glowing pages, rose a shining meat cleaver. Terror overwhelmed pain, but the boy still could not move voluntarily. The large knife turned around in the air and presented itself hilt first to the boy. He heard a sad whisper in his ear. ‘Cut yourself free, dear child. Remove that part which hurts you so.’

Frightened and confused, the boy sat there doing nothing. He suddenly realized that he had control of his left arm. He flailed about trying to release himself from the bond, but always found himself being drawn back in. The whispering continued, ‘Cut yourself free. Cut yourself…..’

“NO!”, cried the boy. He was still defiant, refusing to give in to the pain. There was something more than just himself in this chain of events, and he was determined to see it through. But the pain intensified, and more voices joined in, telling him to let go. Telling him to do what he needed to do.

He reached for the cleaver, willing himself to get it over with. But each time he drew close, something within himself stayed his hand and kept him from touching the weapon. Then it happened.

A white hot flash of pain burst through his arm, overwhelming his senses, very nearly driving him insane. Reality set in very quickly and in one swift motion, he severed his right arm at the elbow. The pain shifted at the moment of slashing. It was a thoroughly different kind of pain, but equally torturous. The fact that he now had regained control of his own body did little to dampen the burning.

He collapsed into a sobbing heap as to book snapped itself shut. The ribbons that had held it together did themselves back into a pretty knot.

The boy’s stubbornness had cost him. Again. He had left a piece of himself in the book, never to regain it.

Unless, one day, the book sees it fit for him to continue reading.

I haven't written a caustic rant in a while, and even I'm beginning to miss that part of me. With any luck, regular service shall return. =))

For the love of a project.

He walked briskly, wanting to get the matter resolved quickly. His posh leather shoes fell silently on the soft carpet, making his heavy footstep sound a lot lighter than it actually was. The lack of exercise was beginning to show; he wasn't quite the compactly built person he used to be. He passed the abstract sculpture that stood in the middle of the waiting room as he walked. He never liked the sculpture. Too ostentatious and vulgar for his tastes. It actually looked like some ancient phallic symbol, which isn't exactly something you want as the focus of the waiting client's attention. But the boss liked it, so naturally, he kept his opinion to himself.

He turned into the brightly lit meeting room at the end of the hall and found Nathan sitting at the end of the conference table. He was staring at the mess of papers that lay before him, his mind quite obviously wandering. There was a look of defeat on his face, a look that he had carried a few times before. Only this time, it almost looked devoid of hope, as if he had lost one battle too many and he was going to leave everything to rot now. At the sound of the door opening, Nathan snapped out of his dreamlike state and sat up. "Micheal! Finally! A voice of reason!"

"What happened?", asked Micheal.

Nathan picked up a folder and flung it across the table. Micheal stopped it before it could fly off the edge and took a look at the cover. Across it, was emblazoned the insignia of Jetstar Enterprises.

"What about Jetstar Enterprises? I thought this was a work in progress. Under top administration instructions. One of the long term projects that our apparently brilliant CEO seems to think is a worthy investment," said Micheal.

"I looked at the books already. It doesn't look good. Percentage probability of actually hitting the target the the CEO has set is in the single digit zone. And even then thats after heavy investment and a long string of making the right calls. This is bloody insane!"

"Mate. This is investment banking. Its always crazy. I've seen projects with worst odds make it before."

"Yeah, but this is ridiculous. Even the upper management of their company has told me that they welcome the investment, but they can't provide any returns. He actually asked me to take our money elsewhere. They know that they can't deliver."

Micheal frowned. "They actually said that?"

"Yes! And our CEO's response was 'have faith, son'. God dammit, sometimes I feel like wringing his idealistic neck. This company is a no-go. Every manual on investment banking will tell us to stay away. I got consults from a few third party bankers. All of them gave negative appraisals. One actually pointed out that even if the company does post a genuine profit return, which it won't, the alliance is not likely to work. Two separate philosophies. I just don't know why our CEO loves this little project so much."

"There are some things you just cannot explain, Nathan. Just accept that."

"Don't you go pseudo-philosophical on me now! You know very well what this is costing the company. At first, I played along. It looked like a fantastic deal actually. I had a few doubts, but when I started to get to know the company, things started to look up. I was actually cautiously optimistic. Then I went to one of their meetings and they dropped this huge tangle of problems in front of me. And every subsequent meeting, the web gets more complicated. And here is the kicker! I can't untangle it. I'm not allowed to. Apparently, its all very complex and it will be a complete bother trying to explain the whole thing to me. We have to seriously cut back our involvement with this company. It could spell the end of our organization."

"Nathan, listen to me. You just came out of graduate school, and you have this very preformed idea on how the system works. I'm not saying its wrong. I'm saying that sometimes, things just don't work out the way you want them to. But we are a company with principles and values, and we will stick by them. Whatever the cost. If leadership wants to love its little project, then let them do it. There is more to life than making money. How you make it and who you make it with is important too."

"You're kidding right? Money is money! Its the same wherever it comes from. And besides, we can never provide them what they want. We don't have the ability. I've seen their journal online, and I know that we don't have the kind of understanding that their past backer used to have. Its heart-breaking, but so searingly true, that I can't ignore it. We can't compete. Time to cut our losses and move on."

"Dude. You have no idea what you are talking about. Maybe you will in the future. But let me give you a word of advice. Stop fighting it. I've given in to it, and everytime you storm into the CEO's room and you try to prove a point, he is just going to brush you off as the noob who doesn't get it. In a way, your apparent discontentment could be setting off alarms in Jetstar Enterprises. They are not going to storm off and refuse to cooperate because of you, but they are probably going to resist the ultimate aim of the company a lot more. We already have a whole bunch of things working against us. Don't make it any worse."

There was a tone of finality to the speech. Satisfied at making his point, Micheal turned and walked away.

/curl up and cry

/wake up to reality

/wallow in own insignificance

/scream

/emo

/repeat cycle

Teardrops on my guitar.

I never make music endorsements in public, and for good reason. I don't really think that I have a right to do so. But this song....

There is just something about it. Its sad, but it makes me smile. (not in a cynical way, I know what you're thinking) I can't really say that I particularly relate to it; it is after all about a girl pining for her friend who is seeing someone else. And I can't really say that I play the guitar either. And its sappy and uses a lot of the usual love song lines that song producers seem to love recycling.

I suppose ultimately, it does tell a bit of a story, and I'm a sucker for that kind of thing. I still listen to Stand (Eminem) and my favourite song from Music and Lyrics is the one that the washed up pop star sang to win the girl back, not the main theme song that the movie revolved around. And as atheist as I am, I love Hallelujah, the soundtrack from Shrek sang by Rufus Wainwright.

One thing though. I had no idea what Taylor Swift looked like until I saw the video. I imagined it to be a melancholic brunette strumming a guitar while sitting on a stool under a spotlight looking sad. What I got was a blond bombshell in an evening gown singing on her bed hugging her guitar.

Dude.

I guess I don't see the song the same way as the music video director.

Feminists, may I introduce you to your worst nightmare.

I wrote this post a long time ago, actually as a very immature response to emoness. But I guess the ghosts of the past have been mostly banished, I'll publish.

A bit strong, but then its just my opinion. And last I checked, a very unpopular one.

I seem to have built up quite a reputation of being a hater of all things related to Japanese culture. I've ranted about anime, the influx of Japanese music, and I've written an article about how the Japanese are just as guilty as the Americans when it comes to cultural imperialism. To be honest, most of my criticism of Japan in the past really did spawn from fear of the unknown. You know, the old saying 'What you don't understand, you fear'. I never did understand Japanese culture, probably because I hold much of oriental culture at contempt. But now, I'd rather just ignore that part of the world and let them do as they please. After all, they aren't doing any harm.

So, which part of Japanese culture is a danger to the feminist movement? One word. Kawaii. The most overused and popular of Japanese vocabulary exports. Anything positive is kawaii, much like how anything negative can be represented by fuck in the English language. The underlying causes behind the kawaii phenomenon is scary. Granted, the people who came up with these causes were just postulating. They are theories, which means they are not proven causes and are still very much open to debate. If I had a better understanding of the human mind, I would be able to come up with credible opinions of my own, but for now, I borrow from the pros.

There are links between kawaii and social acceptance. And the lolita culture. And submissiveness. And general helplessness. Its almost like anyone who wants to be kawaii wants to be the damsel in distress. The helpless little girl who needs a man to take care of everything. It just so happens that there are lots of men who like girls who turn to them for everything. Gives them a sense of control, massages their ego.

So any girl that sticks two fingers into the air and squeals 'kawaii', and then later in the day bunches the same hand into a fist and screams 'girl power' is essentially being hypocritical. To me, you can't be both. Pick one, and stick with it. I'm not saying that one side is better than the other. Each has its merits, and depending on what gives you fulfillment in life, choose.

Feminine feminists can exist. Kawaii feminists are just confused people.

I may have mentioned anime in the start, but this post has nothing to do with that. For the love of God, don't misinterpret this post.

I have a second blog.

Yes, I do. It partially explains why I haven't really been posting as much here. Actually, thats just an excuse. I haven't been posting here because I honestly have nothing to post about. The ideas I have been getting are pretty offensive, and I rather keep them to myself. Or just share them with those whom I know will not flip. A public space just isn't the place to air those opinions.

But, the bit about the second blog is true. I didn't really have a choice. Its for a subject called Engineers and Society. Its rubbish. To me at least. Suddenly MMU notices that engineers are graduating with little or no knowledge about their surroundings and decides to do something about it. The result is this total retard of a subject.

And to make the engineers a little more outspoken, we have been required to blog. About the society. I don't know if you have seen the kind of people that populate the engineering faculty. If you do, then you will know that having an opinion is just something that they are not very good at. When all you do is study indisputable facts about our universe, you tend to get used to not arguing. So what we get is a big, drivelley pool of literary degenerati. The attempts at giving relationship tips are so bloody shallow, I really wanted to harm myself after reading the posts. Then there are the usual religious nutcases who want to talk about 'the greatest man who has ever lived' or 'why pork is haram'.

Some people have a problem with the system because it is more of a popularity contest than anything else. The more friends you have in class, the more stars you get on your articles, even if they may be close to being unreadable.

But my problem with the damn system is just the fact that it exposes the true extent of what engineers in MMU consider important and worth writing about. Its something I can live happily without ever knowing about. I don't want to know. It depresses me. And the worst part is I have to comment at least 3 times a week, which pretty much forces me to read the posts.

No escape. These lecturers think of everything.

Damn.

A silly little monologue.

You know what your biggest problem is? You let life's little imperfections get to you. You make mountains out of bloody dung beetle nests.

You say it all the time. Life sucks, deal with it. Its about time you started living by it.

Let go. Move along. There are enough things going right to be happy about.

State of transition is an excuse and you know it. Everyone is in a state of transition. They may be less aware of it than you are, but it still doesn't mean that it isn't happening. Confusion is common. Depression will come and go. But you have to bounce back.

You have come a long way, friend. But the end is no where in sight. Just keep your head up and keep walking.

Against the odds.

By request from her ladyship.

I'll be perfectly honest, I was actually dreading the thought of seeing that debate pan out. I've seen my fair share of one sided drubbings, and it could get ugly. I have seen just how crushing such defeats can be, just how demoralizing such demonstrations of ruthlessness can crush the spirit.

But I put up a brave front. When I saw the motion, my heart sank further. International relations. Probably the least forgiving of the themes that could have emerged for the round.

An hour and a half later, I was left feeling so proud of the products of our half assed academy that I wanted to hug them all. To say that they rose to the occasion would be an understatement. They were like 300 Spartans surrounded by the Persian army. They were like Stephen Chow in Kung Fu Hustle. Even after getting his head pummeled into the floor, he raised this small stick with the last ounce of his strength and tapped the greatest assassin in the world on the head.

It was, to me, one of the most inspiring 'never say die' moments I have seen. Others would have curled up into a ball and prayed for it to end quickly. They took the fight to their illustrious opponents and kept the facade till the very end.

The fairly spectacular fallout that happened after that was painful to watch, but they all bounced back admirably in the next round.

This is totally cheesy, but that really was one case of students teaching the mentor something.

Waking up II

The wind blew gently into his face, occasionally throwing a stray blade of grass into his face. He sat on the soft ground, hugging his legs, his chin resting lazily on his knees. It was a beautiful morning, and he had a wonderful view of the sunrise. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, smiling as the scent of spring flowers wafted past him. Life was good, almost dreamlike.

He heard a squeak. He couldn't place it, but he knew what it meant. Springing to his feet, he started combing the hill, looking for its source. It could have come from anywhere in the grass, and as he searched, his desperation started growing.

The squeak started changing. It started becoming lower and lower, until it was soon more of a growl. At this point, the source has become quite visible. A great hulking mass of muscle and fur lay at the foot of the hill, curled up into a ball. It was breathing heavily, and steadily growing.

He rushed forward hoping to reach it before it became too late. As he ran, the beast unfurled itself revealing its claws and teeth. It still moved slowly, like a bear just coming out of hibernation. The growling was turning into roars, each one progressively louder.

He reached the growing monster and flung his arms around it in a bear hug. Surprised by the sudden intrusion into its leisurely awakening, the beast started trashing about in an effort to throw the offending creature off its back. The claws flailed about in random directions. But he hung on. He had to.

Pulling himself a little higher up the back, he wrapped his arms around it's neck. Feeling the small limbs wrapped around it's windpipe only served to make it feel even more vulnerable and prompted even more violence.

He stared whispering into the beast's ear. He has learned long ago that a soft, persuasive tone didn't work. It only antagonized the monster even more. The only thing that worked was an icy, emotionally detached appeal. A cold dose of logic and reasoning. The simple facts and nothing more.

It was taking longer than usual this time. The razor sharp teeth were slashing dangerously close to his face. Sometimes, they got close enough and they grazed him slightly. But that was enough to draw blood, and soon his face was a mess of nasty cuts. Soon he began to tire, his aching muscles begging him to let go. But he hung on, keeping his vice-like grip. He kept up the whispering, kept up the firm and gentle pressure to calm down.

It took what seemed like an eternity, but the persistence finally started to pay off. Slowly, but surely, the snapping and scratching abated. The monster started shrinking until it was back to its usual small self. He slumped to the ground, thoroughly exhausted. Every time he does it, it gets harder. One day, the beast will get the better of him, and all hell will break loose. He needed help, needed someone to help contain the monster.

He could only pray that the saviour will come soon.

Pretty fun stuff.

I haven't been posting for some time, between my dad being discharged from the hospital, L!m's assignments and a final commentary piece for Model United Nations, I haven't really had the time.

The weekend spent in Singapore was what I would have called a complete experience. For me, it had everything. A sense of achievement, embarassment, elation, depression, the whole works. On the bright side, my team won best newspaper. And I had 2 articles published front page. And my editor really liked my analysis. So did the head of the press corps. I went from reporter on day one to analyst on day two. All in all, enough to make me wonder what I'm doing in engineering all over again. I became a mentor to a journalism student, which was a little weird to be honest.

Then there was the hour or so that I spent on the verge of tears. I still managed to churn out a decent article in that state, probably because I had all the ideas already preformed before I curled up into a small ball and started whimpering. I haven't felt that way in a while, the shortness of breath and actual physical suffocation still catches me off guard.

I had fairly high expectations for the Model UN and I would say that NTU has fulfilled them. I feel a sense of vindication, like I proved something to myself. I suppose you were right when you told me to go with what I felt was right for me, even if it seems like the encouragement served a secondary purpose. Whatever it is, I just hope I didn't cock up too badly. Sorry.

Near walk out.

I actually felt this urge to walk out of class in the middle of a lecture today.

The lecturer was an old friend; if students and lecturers can be considered friends in MMU. Being a pal, he noticed someone he didn't recognize and asked the offending girl if she was part of the class. She replied no.

That was fine.

He said that he liked having non-registered students in his class. Especially if they were girls. Mechanical engineering joke. Little chuckles all over class.

Still fine.

Then he asked the guy sitting next to her, "Is she yours?"

I perked up.

Then he added, "Who does she belong to?"

Frown. I like that lecturer, I think he is one of the best the whole faculty has to offer. And I really didn't want to make a scene. But I couldn't deny that nagging sense of unease that I felt when he said that.

Sure, you might say that he was just joking about. Well, to me its not funny. I find it deeply insulting actually. Am I over-reacting? To most people around me, probably yes. But I live along very strange ideals that few bother to understand. In the name of tact, I play along. But as happy I am with where I am now, when things like this happen, I can't help but to feel that I was born on the wrong side of the world.

LOL.

http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2008/1/20/lifefocus/20036279&sec=lifefocus

Pissed me off at first, but then I realized its quite funny. A good laugh, this opinion.

Pope versus potter.

The church has never really been happy with Harry Potter and I always imagined that its because of all the hocus pocus involved and the number of children who actually believe it. That was until I read an article about a certain future pope being opposed to the stories because they blur the line between good and evil.

In all fairness, he didn't actually say exactly that. What he did was endorse a book Harry Potter- good or evil? by a German writer. That book claims that 'the Potter books corrupt the hearts of the young, preventing them from developing a properly ordered sense of good and evil, thus harming their relationship with God while that relationship is still in its infancy'.

That writer is either so smart she sees things that I cannot possibly see, or very, very naive. This is what I think of the world. Its a relentless sea of gray where we are all asked to make moral choices on a regular basis. There is no right or wrong; only what we perceive as right or wrong. Some people tell me that I have a fucked up moral compass. Some call me a heartless bastard incapable of pity. I don't really think I'm one.

I think that good and evil is a very lazy way to think of the world. It saves you the trouble of finding exactly where you stand on an issue because it narrows everything down to two options. Yes or no. Nothing in between. I used to think like that as a child, thanks to a steady diet of Enid Blyton and Disney. Debating beat those beliefs up pretty badly, and now, I still slightly resent the people who fed me stories that have very attractive and likable protagonists and butt ugly and repulsive antagonists. I can still feel the effects of those years of conditioning till now. I subconsciously expect every asshole I meet to be instantly unlikable and my subconscious takes a bit of a jolt when I find that nice people turning out to be dicks and bitches.

Sure, when we read a story, we want someone to cheer for. I'm not against that at all. All I'm saying is that a good dose of reality for children isn't really a bad thing. Every hero can have a dark side, just like how every villain can have a good side. Its never too early to realize this.

Harry Potter

I : Welcome to another edition of Smalltalk, the show that hits all the small issues and hits them hard. We are joined today by a very special guest from the wizarding world, Mr. Rofelius Udder. With him, we will hopefully explore some of the more shocking things that seemed to be overlooked by the Ministry of Magic during their war with the one that may not be named. We will also take a look at wizarding language, and try to get some insight into spell wording. Mr. Rofelius, welcome to the show.

R : Thank you.

I : Let us first look at the war with Vol-

R : Argh!

I : Sorry. I thought the taboo would have been lifted a year after his death. Very well then, lets just call him V shall we?

R : V is fine. Thank you.

I : Right then. The war with V. What was your role in the war?

R : I was an Auror. It was a terrible job at that time. So many of my colleagues died.

I : Yes, yes. I suspect the Aurors are like muggle policemen then. In charge of law enforcement and the like. You are accustomed to muggle life, are you not, Mr. Rofelius? You know what policemen are?

R : Yes. I lived a muggle life before Hogwarts, much like Harry Potter. Yes, Aurors are very much like policemen. Under the jurisdiction of the Ministry.

I : I see. And what of the army? Or do the Aurors double up as that too? Because thats the impression that I got. They seemed to be doing work that is normally the domain of the army.

R : I suppose they do in that sense.

I : And if there is international conflict? A war between countries. Do the Aurors then pick up their wands and do battle just like any regular army?

Pause.

R : I suppose. I never really thought about it to be honest. I don't really think that the wizarding world gets into international conflicts.

I : Frown. The wizarding tournament points otherwise actually. Wizards seem very comfortable resolving their conflicts in spectacular shows of destruction. But I don't think this is getting anywhere. Next question. How is the Ministry's relationship with the Americans?

R : The Americans?

I : Yes. The people who look remarkably like us, except they insist on being as different as possible. Live across the ocean on a big piece of land, eating hamburgers and getting too fat to walk.

R : Ah. Yes. Them. They are our friends of course. Just like in the muggle world.

I : Really? And it never occurred to the Ministry to ask for help from the Americans or your neighbouring French when you had the most dangerous terrorist in the history of magic running riot in Britain?

R : I am not at liberty to answer that question.

I : I didn't think so. I suppose only Minister Rowling will be able to answer that. I just find it intriguing that in a world that seems so connected by magic, all the countries seem content leaving Britain to collapse to its knees, knowing full well that V is bent on global domination. I would have thought it was in their self interests to see V beaten.

Silence.

I : I see. No matter. I just have one last matter. It concerns the language of magic. Do other cultures have their own magic words?

R : I should think so.

I : But pronunciation is an important aspect of the spell is it not? So translating the spell into say.... Chinese would have it lose its effect then?

R : Squint. I suppose.....

I : Then all magic must come from England, America or Australia then. Pretty much every spell seems to be rooted in the English language. Expellimarius, Stupefy, Confundo, Crucio. All seem to have English root words don't they?

R : I'm not a history scholar. I wouldn't know.

I : In that case, non-English speaking wizarding communities have my sympathies. Why they wouldn't just learn English and make their lives easier is beyond me. Anyway, thats all we have time for today. Thank you Rofelius for your time today, although I must say, you weren't very much help at all. I'll try to get a more informed person on the show the next time.

Till then, goodbye.

I freaking hate that country.

I can't think of any other title for this post, really. I could try naming it something more sensitive and then proceed to talk about how bloody scary this few days have been for me, but that really wouldn't be much fun now would it? (Damn, I'm starting to sound like yahtzee)

Anyways, this time, it really is the last straw. I'm sorry if you come from there, but the doctors in your country are useless. Even your specialists seem to have less medical training than a five year old waving a pink plastic stethoscope around. I will never forget the day that your doctors told my dad he needed an operation when all he needed were a few pills and a few lozenges. It seems like the only person who can get decent healthcare in your festering pus-pit of a country is your ex-president who seems to be more resilient than a cockroach.

This time, you people almost killed my dad. I'm not exaggerating. If he had waited another day for your bloody specialist to turn up, he wouldn't have come back in a wheelchair. He would be back in a coffin. As it is, I think that we got lucky. I have never seen him that way, and I never want to ever again.

Sure, there are lots of parties to blame. Sure, blaming an entire country for the failings of a few who were supposed to provide the very basic medical services is a simplistic and very unfair way of looking at the situation. But I'm pissed. One too many times, I say. I can only forgive so many times, and this time the transgression has taken a step too far.

I have never really liked the country, save for one little trip to the education capital. Most of the time, I reach the KLIA with a feeling of relief, as if I have returned to civilization. I don't expect I'll return willingly there.