Here it is, once again.
To cram everything into a 40 x 60 x 100 cm space. To pack away life, home, everything familiar into an unfamiliar feeling and lock it all away. To split myself into two once again and live two lives across a piece of ocean.
I used to want a life of adventure. But now I realise that the more you travel, the more places you place your mark, and the more places call back to you. It just gets easier to ignore the voices the more you do it.
I just want one place which I can truly, definitively call home. But that will have to wait for a few years.
Just a little longer now. Wait for me.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Monday, 8 February 2010
Clutter
It was, I think, 2002 or 2003 when we moved into the new house. It was certainly a nice house, bounded by a small jungle on one side and a river/canal on another. My main interest, however, was the bathtub in the master bedroom. Perhaps now I could attempt that water-wasting yet oh-so-decadent method of self-cleansing, as immortalised in both media and literature!
Not so. My mother was too crafty for me. "Finish clearing your room," she suggested, "and I'll let you use the bath."
I didn't earn the right that year, or the year after. Each year, in fact, the task grew steadily harder as I amassed more material., making it more and more difficult to put everything into a coherent order. Finally, in self-defence, I decided I wasn't interested in the bath and allowed the clutter in my room to do as it would.
Then, at some point, I became an adult.
Today, I have finished clearing my room. I have gone through every item in my possession, and thrown away some four or five large bags worth of material which I no longer value. The room is now organised, and if I chose I could locate most of my possessions if necessary. The task is complete.
The room feels emptier, somehow.
Not so. My mother was too crafty for me. "Finish clearing your room," she suggested, "and I'll let you use the bath."
I didn't earn the right that year, or the year after. Each year, in fact, the task grew steadily harder as I amassed more material., making it more and more difficult to put everything into a coherent order. Finally, in self-defence, I decided I wasn't interested in the bath and allowed the clutter in my room to do as it would.
Then, at some point, I became an adult.
Today, I have finished clearing my room. I have gone through every item in my possession, and thrown away some four or five large bags worth of material which I no longer value. The room is now organised, and if I chose I could locate most of my possessions if necessary. The task is complete.
The room feels emptier, somehow.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Inside Out
I like to keep things inside.
Oh, no, don't get me wrong. I have raging fits of temper. I have moments when I spill all, as coherently as it appears to me at the time, with furious, brazen words. There are times when I suddenly have the urge to be honest, to tell the truth as I see it.
But most of the time, I keep it inside.
Part of it is that I have no one to talk to. Not out of want of trustworthy people, but rather that they seem to have problems of their own or, as the case may be, they more readily part with their problems than I do. Being selfish under such circumstances would be wrong, and perhaps pointless as well. If someone badly wants to unload their secrets, they would not pay a great deal of attention to another person's issues.
So I keep it all inside.
It works, I suppose. I've gotten good at talking out the truth with myself. And when the cause is uncertainty, rationalising the facts or even doing a bit of research helps. As for the rest, well, my body has a very strong will to survive, even when I don't.
It's both frightening and empowering, to rely on oneself.
Oh, no, don't get me wrong. I have raging fits of temper. I have moments when I spill all, as coherently as it appears to me at the time, with furious, brazen words. There are times when I suddenly have the urge to be honest, to tell the truth as I see it.
But most of the time, I keep it inside.
Part of it is that I have no one to talk to. Not out of want of trustworthy people, but rather that they seem to have problems of their own or, as the case may be, they more readily part with their problems than I do. Being selfish under such circumstances would be wrong, and perhaps pointless as well. If someone badly wants to unload their secrets, they would not pay a great deal of attention to another person's issues.
So I keep it all inside.
It works, I suppose. I've gotten good at talking out the truth with myself. And when the cause is uncertainty, rationalising the facts or even doing a bit of research helps. As for the rest, well, my body has a very strong will to survive, even when I don't.
It's both frightening and empowering, to rely on oneself.
Monday, 1 February 2010
Don't Follow Me, I'm Going to Zorbitron
I have to say, I love the Borders Bookstore. There are a wide range of books on the most fascinating of subjects, the environment is comfortable for browsing, and in spite of the posh atmosphere no one looks at you askance when you walk in wearing a T-shirt and shorts. This morning, with some time to kill, I wandered in with my mother. Borders was fairly empty at the time, this being a working day. My mother made a beeline for the non-fiction, and found what she was looking for with a compact book about actors and actresses. This sort of thing doesn't interest me greatly, and I was about to move on to another section when I spotted The Encyclopedia of Animated Cartoons, now in its third edition. Intrigued, I flipped through it.
It was, as its name suggested, very much in the style of an encyclopedia. Various animated feature films, television specials and television cartoons were listed, with a short run-down of the voice actors and production crew, and a brief blurb. The text was relieved with the occasional greyscale cartoon screen capture, and a few pages of coloured images at the centre of the book.
I have often wondered about the relevance of such books in the age of the Internet, that endless repository of information on more subjects than any one person could possibly be aware of. What could be the purpose of purchasing a book when information can be so readily obtained with lesser cost to both the wallet and the environment? Perhaps the allure of a book is the promise of accuracy, and in the collection of information carefully prepared by the author. In order to read up about, say, Turbo Teen on the Internet, one must have first seen it mentioned somewhere. A book would have already done the necessary research, and presents the information in a clear and accurate manner, ready for consumption.
Digressions aside, I continued to scan through The Encyclopedia of Animated Cartoons, marvelling at the sheer number of animated features which have been created thus far. I stopped at a familiar name.
THE TRANSFORMERS: THE MOVIE
Ah, the 1986 classic which is much reviled by some fans and loved by others, and notable for its polarising decision to kill off most of its popular cast. I continued to read.
Set in 2005, the Transformers and their archenemies, the Decepticons...
The Transformers are actually a class of autonomous robots, of which the Decepticons are a single faction. A fairly common mistake, nothing too ser-
...are at war with one another when an Earthly group, the Autobots...
Wait, what?
...enters the picture and helps send the Decepticons into outer space.
I must have stared for sometime, re-reading the sentence to check if I had read it wrongly. When it became apparent that I hadn't, I had to clamp my mouth shut to hold in my giggles. Where on earth had the author gotten that information? The almost complete inaccuracy was astonishing. Not only were the Autobots erroneously listed as being a separate, "Earthly" group from the Transformers, but the blurb also stated the complete opposite of what happened at the beginning of the movie.
Then again, perhaps it I was being unfair. Mistakes are common, and surely I couldn't expect the author to have a complete understanding of all the subtleties in every cartoon he had listed in his book. Surely this was only a one-time error. I looked in the section on television cartoons.
TRANSFORMERS
The Autobots, residents of the planet Zorbitron...
At that moment I had to double over to keep my laughter, if not completely inaudible, at least at a low volume. Part of me doesn't want to know how "Cybertron" managed to end up so mangled, or where the author got "Zorbitron" from, but another part really, really wants to know!
But I think I'll stick to using the Internet as a source of information on cartoons. Especially since this encyclopedia of "animated cartoons" lists Walking with Dinosaurs, but not any of the Bionicle movies.
It was, as its name suggested, very much in the style of an encyclopedia. Various animated feature films, television specials and television cartoons were listed, with a short run-down of the voice actors and production crew, and a brief blurb. The text was relieved with the occasional greyscale cartoon screen capture, and a few pages of coloured images at the centre of the book.
I have often wondered about the relevance of such books in the age of the Internet, that endless repository of information on more subjects than any one person could possibly be aware of. What could be the purpose of purchasing a book when information can be so readily obtained with lesser cost to both the wallet and the environment? Perhaps the allure of a book is the promise of accuracy, and in the collection of information carefully prepared by the author. In order to read up about, say, Turbo Teen on the Internet, one must have first seen it mentioned somewhere. A book would have already done the necessary research, and presents the information in a clear and accurate manner, ready for consumption.
Digressions aside, I continued to scan through The Encyclopedia of Animated Cartoons, marvelling at the sheer number of animated features which have been created thus far. I stopped at a familiar name.
THE TRANSFORMERS: THE MOVIE
Ah, the 1986 classic which is much reviled by some fans and loved by others, and notable for its polarising decision to kill off most of its popular cast. I continued to read.
Set in 2005, the Transformers and their archenemies, the Decepticons...
The Transformers are actually a class of autonomous robots, of which the Decepticons are a single faction. A fairly common mistake, nothing too ser-
...are at war with one another when an Earthly group, the Autobots...
Wait, what?
...enters the picture and helps send the Decepticons into outer space.
I must have stared for sometime, re-reading the sentence to check if I had read it wrongly. When it became apparent that I hadn't, I had to clamp my mouth shut to hold in my giggles. Where on earth had the author gotten that information? The almost complete inaccuracy was astonishing. Not only were the Autobots erroneously listed as being a separate, "Earthly" group from the Transformers, but the blurb also stated the complete opposite of what happened at the beginning of the movie.
Then again, perhaps it I was being unfair. Mistakes are common, and surely I couldn't expect the author to have a complete understanding of all the subtleties in every cartoon he had listed in his book. Surely this was only a one-time error. I looked in the section on television cartoons.
TRANSFORMERS
The Autobots, residents of the planet Zorbitron...
At that moment I had to double over to keep my laughter, if not completely inaudible, at least at a low volume. Part of me doesn't want to know how "Cybertron" managed to end up so mangled, or where the author got "Zorbitron" from, but another part really, really wants to know!
But I think I'll stick to using the Internet as a source of information on cartoons. Especially since this encyclopedia of "animated cartoons" lists Walking with Dinosaurs, but not any of the Bionicle movies.
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Update XXVI: Countdown
Once again, I'm on the threshold of yet another phase in my life. This time, it will be four years (or more) straight, with little to no breaks in between. I'm actually rather looking forward to it. Once a routine has been established, there's no need for breaks, and indeed they can be quite annoying. Also, I will be doing some important work, which I must say does appeal to me.
A few days ago I was walking past a Forever 21 outlet, and I thought to myself, "Oh, hey, I'm the age everyone wants to be." I'm also going to lose that status soon. Can't say I place very much importance on it, other than as a marker of my ever-increasing age.
The other day, I bought what will probably be my last Bionicle set: Tahu. It was a sad moment as I clicked the pieces together, perhaps the last time I will have that joy of seeing a new set come together. But I have to say, I think I picked the perfect set to end my collection with. The Hau is the most iconic of the Kanohi, as well as one of the most beautifully designed. It sent a wave of - something through me, as I held the two masks which came with the set. Something wistful. Something nostalgic. A longing, perhaps, for the old simple days on that beach in Ta-Wahi, the sound of the sea in one's years, the seaweed-draped canister lying quietly in the sand and that anxious blue person in the distance, waving with all her might...
I enjoy looking back a lot, it seems. At the old friends I once had who, through inaction or circumstance, have drifted away, sometimes to the point of no return. At the things I used to do. The things I was proud of once. The things I'm still proud of - a smaller number. The things I once thought were important.
It's strange. I'm still the same inside. I have the same sort of reactions, the same kind of shrinking away, the same type of enthusiasm. The same disdain. The difference lies only in the triggers. Things are the same, only not so.
I can only imagine now, what sort of things I do would endlessly irritate me in the future.
A few days ago I was walking past a Forever 21 outlet, and I thought to myself, "Oh, hey, I'm the age everyone wants to be." I'm also going to lose that status soon. Can't say I place very much importance on it, other than as a marker of my ever-increasing age.
The other day, I bought what will probably be my last Bionicle set: Tahu. It was a sad moment as I clicked the pieces together, perhaps the last time I will have that joy of seeing a new set come together. But I have to say, I think I picked the perfect set to end my collection with. The Hau is the most iconic of the Kanohi, as well as one of the most beautifully designed. It sent a wave of - something through me, as I held the two masks which came with the set. Something wistful. Something nostalgic. A longing, perhaps, for the old simple days on that beach in Ta-Wahi, the sound of the sea in one's years, the seaweed-draped canister lying quietly in the sand and that anxious blue person in the distance, waving with all her might...
I enjoy looking back a lot, it seems. At the old friends I once had who, through inaction or circumstance, have drifted away, sometimes to the point of no return. At the things I used to do. The things I was proud of once. The things I'm still proud of - a smaller number. The things I once thought were important.
It's strange. I'm still the same inside. I have the same sort of reactions, the same kind of shrinking away, the same type of enthusiasm. The same disdain. The difference lies only in the triggers. Things are the same, only not so.
I can only imagine now, what sort of things I do would endlessly irritate me in the future.
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Red Tape is Fun
"What about "Red tape holds the nation together"?"
If you're planning on applying for a student visa to study overseas, take my advice and GET AN AGENT. On one hand, you might get a lousy agent who conveniently tells you to take the IELTS test a month too late for you to actually take it on time. On the other hand, said agent is paid to circumnavigate red tape and make aggressive phone calls to the embassy. The exchange is worth it, trust me. Furthermore, you don't have to pay anything beyond the standard visa application fee - the embassy pays the agent directly.
However, if you choose to handle the matter yourself, be prepared to send an inquiring email to your case officer:
Dear [WITHELD],
I took a medical examination last year for the renewal of my previous visa, less than twelve months ago. Shall I go for another medical test now, or are my previous results still valid for my current application?
Regards, etc
And get a reply like this, two days later:
Medical report is valid for only 1 year.
[automatically generated signature]
Expect officers to ask for copies of your passport even though NOWHERE in their document checklists did they mention such a thing was required. If an officer promises that a call will be made to you to advise you of the next action to take, no call will be made. Ever. No calls can be made into the embassy either, as the telephone line is carefully protected by a minefield of automated responses.
But if you really want some fun? Fill in the wrong form.
And then offer to pay the application fee with someone else's credit card.
- Bernard Woolley
If you're planning on applying for a student visa to study overseas, take my advice and GET AN AGENT. On one hand, you might get a lousy agent who conveniently tells you to take the IELTS test a month too late for you to actually take it on time. On the other hand, said agent is paid to circumnavigate red tape and make aggressive phone calls to the embassy. The exchange is worth it, trust me. Furthermore, you don't have to pay anything beyond the standard visa application fee - the embassy pays the agent directly.
However, if you choose to handle the matter yourself, be prepared to send an inquiring email to your case officer:
Dear [WITHELD],
I took a medical examination last year for the renewal of my previous visa, less than twelve months ago. Shall I go for another medical test now, or are my previous results still valid for my current application?
Regards, etc
And get a reply like this, two days later:
Medical report is valid for only 1 year.
[automatically generated signature]
Expect officers to ask for copies of your passport even though NOWHERE in their document checklists did they mention such a thing was required. If an officer promises that a call will be made to you to advise you of the next action to take, no call will be made. Ever. No calls can be made into the embassy either, as the telephone line is carefully protected by a minefield of automated responses.
But if you really want some fun? Fill in the wrong form.
And then offer to pay the application fee with someone else's credit card.
Monday, 18 January 2010
Flat Major
Or, the apparent result of dropping a piano on a military base. The complementary riddle concerning the release of a piano down a mineshaft (flat minor) is a little more subtle, but requires the first to aid its setup.
I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned MS Paint Adventures. If I haven't, it is a grave injustice because it deserves to be mentioned. Repeatedly. I have never seen another webcomic - I use the term loosely, because "webcomic" does not properly describe MS Paint Adventures - create such a sense of epic scale so successfully. Part of it may be that readers are able to influence the story by making suggestions for character actions, so there is a very real investment in characters. The other part consists of the grand-scale animations, which are staggering in their length and complexity. Things happen in this story, and they are BIG.
Now if I haven't mentioned Alice is Dead before, this is because I didn't know of it previously. This is also a grave injustice, though an unintentional one. There are currently two episodes of the game, and while the puzzles aren't too hard, the writing is riveting and the art, beautifully detailed. The world of Alice is Dead is twisted version of Wonderland, and one can't help but want to know how deep the rabbit hole goes. So to speak.
I've been cleaning up the corners in my life, quite literally. There comes a time when one must sit down and go through the belongings which were once valued, now not so much. I have twenty years worth of collected material, most of it junk, to sort through. It is inevitable when pursuing such an occupation that there are a few surprises. For one, I discovered a large number of fancy pens, most of them still working well, including a lovely Sheaffer. I also found some old, old things I've forgotten about - photographs, papers, drawings, even cash - hidden away like a squirrel might hide its nuts. With the same effect.
One of the interesting surprises came when I was searching through a folder of art constructed by myself primarily between the ages of one and five, and which proved very difficult to prune down. I found an old, old drawing of a bird by myself at around the age of four, with the wobbly lines and patchy colours typical of a hand lacking dexterity. It was recognisably a Kakapo.
Clearly the drawing had been copied from a photograph - I doubt that at that age I could even pronounce "Kakapo" properly. But the main features had been preserved, so that my twenty-one-year-old self was capable of recognising it at a glance. There is a lesson here somewhere.
My father is finally retiring his seven-year-old IBM ThinkPad, a model which I maintain was the best work laptop ever made. I remember playing Lego Robohunter on that thing, and taking my first wobbly steps into the Internet. I remember using it as a backup computer when mine failed repeatedly, and then again when mine failed for good. I remember the day when it finally could no longer function without a constant power supply, its battery not nearly as durable as the computer itself.
I think I will miss it. When something has been nearby for so long - especially something with so intimate an association as a laptop - it leaves a mark. Suddenly the things you thought would always be there clearly and firmly demonstrate that all things are tentative.
Change is inevitable.
Except from vending machines.
I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned MS Paint Adventures. If I haven't, it is a grave injustice because it deserves to be mentioned. Repeatedly. I have never seen another webcomic - I use the term loosely, because "webcomic" does not properly describe MS Paint Adventures - create such a sense of epic scale so successfully. Part of it may be that readers are able to influence the story by making suggestions for character actions, so there is a very real investment in characters. The other part consists of the grand-scale animations, which are staggering in their length and complexity. Things happen in this story, and they are BIG.
Now if I haven't mentioned Alice is Dead before, this is because I didn't know of it previously. This is also a grave injustice, though an unintentional one. There are currently two episodes of the game, and while the puzzles aren't too hard, the writing is riveting and the art, beautifully detailed. The world of Alice is Dead is twisted version of Wonderland, and one can't help but want to know how deep the rabbit hole goes. So to speak.
I've been cleaning up the corners in my life, quite literally. There comes a time when one must sit down and go through the belongings which were once valued, now not so much. I have twenty years worth of collected material, most of it junk, to sort through. It is inevitable when pursuing such an occupation that there are a few surprises. For one, I discovered a large number of fancy pens, most of them still working well, including a lovely Sheaffer. I also found some old, old things I've forgotten about - photographs, papers, drawings, even cash - hidden away like a squirrel might hide its nuts. With the same effect.
One of the interesting surprises came when I was searching through a folder of art constructed by myself primarily between the ages of one and five, and which proved very difficult to prune down. I found an old, old drawing of a bird by myself at around the age of four, with the wobbly lines and patchy colours typical of a hand lacking dexterity. It was recognisably a Kakapo.
Clearly the drawing had been copied from a photograph - I doubt that at that age I could even pronounce "Kakapo" properly. But the main features had been preserved, so that my twenty-one-year-old self was capable of recognising it at a glance. There is a lesson here somewhere.
My father is finally retiring his seven-year-old IBM ThinkPad, a model which I maintain was the best work laptop ever made. I remember playing Lego Robohunter on that thing, and taking my first wobbly steps into the Internet. I remember using it as a backup computer when mine failed repeatedly, and then again when mine failed for good. I remember the day when it finally could no longer function without a constant power supply, its battery not nearly as durable as the computer itself.
I think I will miss it. When something has been nearby for so long - especially something with so intimate an association as a laptop - it leaves a mark. Suddenly the things you thought would always be there clearly and firmly demonstrate that all things are tentative.
Change is inevitable.
Except from vending machines.
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