Life's Little Destruction Book

Only For Now

2006-11-09T06:30:00.000-08:00

Hi.

Week six.

It’s not winter yet, but it’s getting pretty damn cold here. Temperatures in the night and morning are in the sub-tens, dropping to zero on occasion, which was amusing and a real novelty initially, until you realise that I’m not exactly, to use a legal term, a person of ordinary fortitude. You’ll cough and wheeze from the dryness and coldness of the air, and you’ll perpetually feel like you have a sore throat.

Haven’t updated in weeks – partially for the lack of anything interesting going on, partially because I’ve been doing so much writing lately that I can’t possibly find any motivation to do any more writing than I have to, especially if it’s not compulsory or enforceable in some way or another. But mostly because I’m a loser who has no life.

Which brings me on to the next point – my brain is somewhat paralysed from the amount of work I’ve been exposed to. I choose those words in particular because they don’t imply that I’ve actually done the work, but suggest that I’ve been in close enough contact to feel the distinctly drain-some properties of it. The workload is simply ludicrous. The amount of readings have escalated to a point where we’re expected to read some hundred full pages of text per day – and mind you, legal texts aren’t exactly the most riveting read – for some reason, legal academics have reached such a point of competency with the language that actually decline in coherence over the years, resorting to an odd fusion of Latin, English, old English, ultra-long, complex, run-on sentences that take forever to make a point, which they might or might not make, where by the time you reach the sixth clause in the sentence, you’ve forgotten the first and second, so on and so forth.

I don’t actually do work on a regular basis anymore. I find that the strongest disincentive to doing work is the knowledge that you’ll never be able to complete it. On the assumption that I study ten hours a day (which I don’t, obviously), I still wouldn’t be able to finish my work. From that point my mind will draw upon the fallacious argument that therefore, I shouldn’t begin – which is obviously illogical, but somehow very convincing at a very fundamental level. The easy way out that appeals to one of the most primal of instincts – pure, unadulterated laziness.

There’s just something about reading dozens of cases – hundreds and hundreds of pages of walls of jargon and reasoning – that just liquefies your mind. Doctrines and policies which keep tearing and pulling at your mind, beckoning you to follow it down its own, dark, little alley. It makes you feel inclined to start drawing upon the most-antisocial of mannerisms; it makes you feel like you should be speaking in such ways as well. There’s a sense of authority and power behind that impenetrable blockade of consonants. I liken the experience of the workload to that of my Junior College life. I did work sporadically, and left everything to the last week. It’s the same now – just instead of it being on a yearly basis, it’s on a weekly cycle; I spend the first three days of the week sitting slack-jawed and dumb, and spend the rest of the week regretting it after. Enough of this, though.

Guy Fawkes day – woo. I’m sorry to say I didn’t attend any of the major celebrations related – but it was quite an experience in itself, irregardless of how actively you participate. For the past month there’ve been fireworks of gradually escalating magnitudes, every single night, which culminated in a massive display on the actual and eve of the actual day. There’s just something inherently appealing about fireworks. The pyrotechnics, the burst of colours exploding vibrantly in the night sky, the brilliance of their all-too-short lives dissipating as rapidly as it began, having achieved its entire life’s purpose. They have only one purpose in life, and they do it well. First time I’ve seen so many fireworks being set off right in front of my eyes – literally being set off next to my room, by the hall manager – something you don’t actually see that often!

I had my first formal. It was a very interesting experience. It’s basically just a formal dinner that you turn up in in a full suit. The last time I dressed up for anything was prom – if you could call it that. This was something of the sort, just more formal, without the crowds moving about the entire time, minus the smoke, noise, and special effects. This was something on a more human level. I sat with the other chinese people in the hall, which was a rather odd experience. We simply don’t have much to talk about, which is, of course, monumental in its irony. For some reason, I relate to the locals better – which doesn’t say much. I still don’t talk to people much. The only time I’ve spoken during my tutorials is when I had to present a 25 minute long case of ‘paramount importance’ to modern constitutional law, and that in itself was memorable purely because of the scope of terror I was subjected to during the presentation.

But yes, the dinner was okay.

I thought I’d just touch upon my most recent obsession. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’d like to talk about it in more depth. I refer, of course, to the magic that is Avenue Q. To the uninitiated, Avenue Q is a Broadway musical. It was first performed in the US, and has recently moved to the UK. It’s a musical about puppets – and not surprisingly, it follows the structure and presentation of something which most of us can relate to, at a very basic level – Sesame Street (hence Avenue Q?). It’s probably impossible to describe it without comparing it to Sesame Street. Avenue Q is quite simply, an adult version of Sesame Street. It is – by my own conclusion – an insight into what Sesame Street would look like if they actually grew up. There are many caricatures, naturally. You have your Bert and Ernie equivalents – did you ever suspect or get the feeling that there was something – how should I say this – odd, about them? This possibility is explored fully and explicitly in Avenue Q. You have a slight variation on the Cookie Monster mould; this time, his obsessions have changed somewhat.

If I were to define it in one sentence: Avenue Q is politically incorrect, rude, blatantly vulgar, racist, discriminatory, sexist, and antagonistic – and it is oh-so-glorious in all of that. It is an explicit exploration into territories we do not dare trek into, for fear of stigma or policy. It is amazing, clever, terrifically choreographed, meticulously planned, brilliantly scripted. It is distilled humour, a comedy that revels in genius. It is all these things. It is, quite simply, the most amazing piece of theatre I’ve ever witnessed. It’s upbeat, it’s fun, and you’ll laugh your way through it until you cry. You won’t want it to end, because once you step into that theatre, you would have subconsciously stepped into a world so unusually magnificent and joyful that you can’t fathom leaving it. But you will have to. You’ll step out of there, and you’ll feel mirthful and at peace with the world. You’ll think about it. And it will change you, in all likelihood.

The last time I felt that good watching anything was the Jamie Cullum concert back in Singapore. The experience is surreal – it invigorates you and reinstates your faith in the world, regardless of how dismal it is. I’m happy that there’s such brilliance out there – the knowledge that there are things out there that could possibly alter your perspective of the world, for the better, when you need it, is comforting. It gives me something to believe in. Maybe I’m overreacting. But it’s the only thing I’ve been listening to lately. Every night before I go to sleep, I listen to the entire album once through, regardless of how late it is or how much work I have yet to do. It’s an addiction. It washes away my pains and loneliness for that time, and purges me of all my worries and fears.

Listen to it if you have a chance, but do not dishonour it – listen to it in full, from the start, to the finish, and don’t listen to it while you’re showering or studying or something. Listen to it for the words, for the melodies, and for the rhythms. The cohesive experience is of paramount importance. Only then will you be able to understand the message they are trying to convey.

Death to the Really Annoying Upstairs Neighbour

2006-10-08T13:35:00.000-07:00

Hi again.

It’s already the end of week three here in Nottingham, and it’s also the end of the first actual, actual week of term (you know, the one with real lessons). Not surprisingly, the term seems rather hectic, and that’s just for a start. At a risk of saying something you’d probably already know first hand, I’ve probably done more reading here in the first week then I did, say, two weeks before my ‘A’ levels. It’s a rather abrupt change of pace compared to junior college, and compounded by the fact that my brain is still slowly recovering from the past three years worth of atrophy, I’m having some amount of difficulty learning how to think, in general, or for myself, all over again.

I’ve also never done my own housework or laundry before, or have had solve my own logistic-related problems like a creaky door or a rather odd smell in my room (read: old socks), so having to actually take care of myself has been a real ordeal for me; such expectations of me can indeed be construed as cruel and unusual, or even inhuman.

People have asked me about the food here. The answer is yes. I’ve never been a fan of mushy peas (or like I call it, the green diarrhoea), black pudding (which is pig’s blood or something), kidney pie (pie with like, kidneys) or mustard mash (it’s like mash potatoes, just that…), and having actually been given an opportunity to try them, my attitude towards the cuisine has definitely changed quite a bit. It has completely redefined my conventional perceptions of what food actually is. Some people live to eat; and some people, well, simply eat to live. I think most of us Singaporeans can agree that we fall into the former category. I’m not going to say more, because apparently, these walls have eyes and ears.

The person living somewhere upstairs is a real nuisance. He thinks he’s some god-like percussionist or something of the sort. I bet he has fantasies of himself jamming with Gadd and chilling out with Vinnie on a daily basis. I bet he webcams himself playing his instruments and sends it to his friends. All I can say is, I’ve listened to groups of termites underneath the tiles in my room back at home that make better percussive music than him. And they’re all dead. I would go upstairs and give him a piece of my mind, but that wouldn’t be ‘big’ of me.

Speaking of which, I auditioned for the Philharmonia/Sinfonia or whatever you call them. I have no clue what the system of orchestras is here. It’s ridiculously confusing, and the best part is that even the current members don’t really know for sure how it works. In any case, I was invited to play for the Philharmonia, so I was rather pleased about that. I’ve been told that they’re actually the better of the orchestras on campus, but feel free to correct me on that. In any case, most of them are music students, and I have to say that I feel rather odd being the only asian in there or something. Anyway, I hope that it’ll be a good experience, considering that you can’t really join this sort of orchestra in Singapore, thanks to our incredibly vibrant music scene.

I also auditioned for the university big band, but let us never speak of that again. All I can say is that I wanted to both laugh and cry by the end of it, because the people auditioning me were simply too dumbfounded by my performance. I actually felt bad for them at that point of time, because if it were me, I wouldn’t know what to say to me either, that could possibly sound comforting or even remotely tactful. I don’t remember the rest because whenever I try to recollect, my mind’s natural defence kicks in and I end up blanking out. Well, at least I won’t regret not trying, huh? Yeah, right. On hindsight, I would rather have spent the next few years wondering whether I would have made it, and saved that remaining shred of dignity or self-respect I once had, rather than to lose it all just to give myself momentary peace of mind, and to ease my own eventual guilt.

I haven’t made many friends here, but that’s fine, for now. I was told by my friends that I would be closer to my Singaporean peers here than I would ever be to the rest of the locals; if that’s the case, then it’s going to be a sad, sad three years here. There are some friendly enough Singaporeans around, but it’s quite clear to me that we’re fundamentally very different from one another; for instance, I’m a real nuisance, and they’re not. And that I’m antisocial and mostly a loner. And my sense of humour is an acquired taste. All these, I know. In part, I suppose I could blame myself for the predicament I’ve gotten myself into.

But I'm not going to.

Some random pictures:

Covent Garden. Profound, no?

Quite possibly the best musical in the universe.

Hellooo

2006-10-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Nottingham!

Apparently I haven't changed a bit despite having moved over here. I reaaaally don't like writing.

I've actually been here for two weeks already, and I've only just gotten my internet up and running. I use those terms in the broadest definition possible, because apparently we're forbidden to play any form of game over the university network - and as we all know, that simply does not count as an internet connection.

So in my typical sociopathic style, I've managed to avoid just about anything interesting over the past two weeks. I've avoided just about every bar crawl and every pub or club event with a mysticism that could rival Houdini (yes, it's a lousy analogy, he died in the end, I know). I had a lemonade sometime last week. That's about the extent of change I've undergone. Woaaaah there tiger, slow down.

So far the locals here aren't too sociable - but who can blame them? It never once occurred to me, over the past six years, how PRCs ever felt, being alienated by most of the community for no reason other than the virtue of our births. This is, presumably, poetic justice. I would do the same if I were in their shoes. I could blame myself for being a sociopath, of course, and attribute some of that to my despising of humanity as a whole, but I won't - not as though those could possibly contribute to my lack of friends, right?

But overall, it's been nice. The weather is pleasant (so far). The gloomy skies, chilly winds, and persistant drizzles really brings out the best in me, I think. I find that there are very few middle grounds here in the UK - in the night it's hot and stuff, in the morning it's freezing; the taps only either spit out bitingly cold water or boiling water; the food is either excellent or horrid beyond mortal comprehension. It is a land of extremes.

The campus itself is rather nice. It's mostly spawling fields of green, very low rise, red brick buildings, and surrounded by a natural wilderness through and through. In some ways it gets monotonous - I guess in the same way the concrete jungle of Singapore appears monotonous. It looks the same throughout, but it has it's own charm and personality throughout. It's definitely a welcome change. There's a spectacular photograph I have yet to take from across the lake, with the clock tower of the Trent Building overlooking; fantastic (and non-existant, for now). Ah, yes, the lake. A university campus with a lake! With ducks, and swans, and like, water.

Aside from that, there really isn't much to talk about. The welcome programme was alright, but nothing really jumps out from my memory at this point of time. Fresher's Faire was pleasant enough, and a fairly organised way of housing presentations of all the hundreds of societies here; there was at least some order among the chaos. Aside from that, the only other noteworthy thing is my unjustified defiance of my usual cowardly self - in the state of what can only be madness, I signed up for two auditions! One for the concert band, and one was big band, both of which are apparently of some rather terrifying standard compared to what we have back home. In any case, I think I did okay for the concert band audition - I presented a grade 6 piece because I wanted to be safe with something I could easily play. Still, it was only until I got to the recital hall did I realise exactly what sort of standard we were talking about - the people competing with me were music students in some form or another, with their fancy diplomas and scores that, on hindsight, look a bit like those 'Magic Eye' things. Oh well - no regrets here, I suppose. That's the most important thing... right?

Oh - doing my own laundry is a whole aspect of pain I've never known about. And pizzas are reaaaally cheap. They have five story Marks and Spencers superstores. That's not very fair, is it?

Anyway. That's about it. Real lessons start tomorrow.

Three

2006-09-18T13:58:00.000-07:00

I go up to Notts tomorrow. All the awkwardness, the false sincerity, the need to make a decent first impression, the oppressive loneliness - all this will be realised soon, in full force, in one cataclysmic blow. I have been nervous, even intimidated by this the past few months. The thought of having to fend for myself has never been more real than it is now.

Goodbye, days of awesome (albeit ludicrously expensive) food, goodbye television, hello, mushed peas, unironed shirts, and unchanged/unwashed, week-old clothes. Thinking about the four hour coach ride tomorrow makes me sob uncontrollably into my beer. And I don't even drink beer.

I've been told that if I'm extraordinarily lucky, polite, and particularly generous, I might receive my broadband connection in less than six weeks. One day without internet connection is a rather implausible, far-away concept to me. It's one of those things parents in the near future will tell their children to frighten them into eating their lima beans. The past ten days have been akin to a slow, painful throttling; this must be what limbo feels like. My mind cannot even begin to comprehend the general terms that could possibly illustrate any assortment of emotions a mortal man could feel, if you could define feelings within a state of undeath, to survive over a month without internet. What have I done?

I'm not a man of words, so that's all for now. I'll see you on the other side.

Two

2006-09-17T13:22:00.000-07:00

It’s my seventh day in London. It’s surprisingly warm, though I have a feeling that that will be short-lived. People are actually opting to sit outside of restaurants during the day so as to soak in the scorching sunlight. I will never understand these people. Then again, they must be wondering why I have to wear a thick coat during the night despite the fact that this is probably just about the warmest time of the year in London.

It’s a pretty nice place, though there doesn’t seem to be much to do. That is also in part due to a few factors – it’s not exactly easy to commute from place to place. It’s expensive, and unpredictable. The subway is pretty user-user unfriendly, though that’s probably due to how the infrastructure and geological profile of the system is. It’s rather hot at this time of the year, and the trains simply don’t have any air-conditioning of any sort. The ventilation seems non-existent. Trains break down and stop all the time, and there are always delays due to people jumping in front of the trains. I wish that were an exaggeration, but it’s true. So far two people have jumped in front of some train or another during my stay here, or so I hear.

Everything is absurdly expensive. It’s true that people get paid in pounds here, so it’s not easy for me to compare, but it’s also not hard to believe that in general the standard of living is lower for the same jobs and pays compared to that in Singapore. Anyway – everything is absurdly expensive. Everything. The only thing I’ve found that is possibly cheaper than Singapore, after conversion, is some brands of milk. And some books. The rest is a lot more expensive, some even numerically, before conversion. Five SGD for instant bowl noodles? Three pounds for a single trip on the subway? Three pounds per half an hour parking? The prices are simply astronomical. I know from my friends that eventually I’ll have to stop comparing prices and to suck it up and buy whatever it is I have to buy – but still, I don’t think that that will ever change the fact that every damn thing costs about three times as much as it does in Singapore. A cheap meal here is about eight pounds, excluding tips. That’s a frikkin’ thirty bucks for lunch or something. The best piece of advice I’ve heard is to save my conversions for pounds to SGD when I get back to Singapore, where everything will look ridiculously cheap in comparison. I don’t think that’s too far off.

I’ve visited several of the more significant tourist traps in the country, in and out of London, that I just have to get out of my system so I can say I’ve been there – Stonehenge, the Salsbury Cathedral, Big Ben, the London Eye, Tower of London, London Bridge (Tower Bridge), Shakespeare’s ‘Birthplace’ in Stratford, Windsor Castle, the usual stuff. I’ve visited a few museums as well – Tate, Science, and V&A. Those things are simply colossal compared to ours. Some of these places have been truly magificient – Stonehenge and Windsor Castle are both a serious eye-opener. Others like Shakespeare’s ‘Birthplace’ (I’m not going to go into the whole whether-he-ever-existed-or-not debate) were a bit more disappointing, in part due to the fact that it’s totally flanked by a highly commericalised village, geared towards milking the most out of it’s tourist trade. The whole environment takes away a lot of the mysticism from the actual site itself. And you know that the Americans have taken over the whole world when there’s a Starbucks within Windsor Castle’s grounds.

I visited Fifteen! One of Jamie Oliver’s restaurants. This is the original one based upon his reality show about the fifteen underprivileged youths he recruited to run the place. Terrific service, and outstanding food, as expected. The menu was most incomprehensible, thanks to the rather fancy names. Too bad Jamie himself doesn’t pop by the place much. Still, it was a must-do on my list, and I’m glad to have popped by. I also watched a couple of musicals – one of them was Avenue Q. It was quite simply the most amazing show I’ve ever seen in my life. Perfectly choreographed, brilliantly executed, slashing wit and a flawless musical score have put it high on my must-do-again list. Anybody who drops by London simply has to watch this.

People actually keep right on escalators. They actually keep right to let others pass on the left, damn it! You could go up some four story high escalator and look down the entire left side of an escalator and see no one there. Fascinating. Oh, and the police cars, fire engines and ambulances here are really berserk. During emergencies (and that’s very often), they weave in and out of traffic, dash into oncoming traffic, speed past red lights like no one’s business. It’s always like a frantic chase sequence out of some action movie, just that this is the real stuff.

All in all it’s been pretty nice so far, aside from the guilt trip that inevitably follows after every single purchase, no matter how small or necessary. I hate the fact that the only place I can get any internet connection is from my hotel lobby. The time difference makes it really hard to communicate with anyone as well. Of course, this will all be a moot point in a few days, when I actually move up to Nottingham. There, I’ll be cut off from the rest of the world for probably over a month, if I’m very lucky. That’s the beauty of how they do things here. You’ll really learn to appreciate Singapore when you actually leave it for an extended period of time.

I’m not getting used to the life here as yet. In fact, I’m feeling rather homesick. Some people never really get used to that, even after a few years away from home. It’s part and parcel of leading a pampered life. I think I’m that sort of person. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to leaving home for extended periods of time – hell, I never even got used to it while I was in the army. I remember that ominous feeling of loneliness washing over me for the first few weeks of BMT. ‘But this isn’t the army’, you whine. ‘Tis true, but I’m talking about the spirit of it. Loneliness doesn’t discriminate. Coupled with the fact that I don’t know anyone, that I don’t have the dimmest idea how to do anything for myself, that I have no life-sustaining internet, and you’ll have a really potent recipe for feeling like crud.

My brother flew back to Singapore today. I spent the last few hours contemplating how useless I am without him. He’s been bringing me around London since we arrived, guiding like a pro even though he’s not any more knowledgeable than any first-time visitor. Only now do I realize how much of an indecisive freak I am. I probably wouldn’t be able to make a decision to save my life. My parents are still with me here, and they’ll be following me up to Nottingham. I don’t know how much worse I’ll feel once they leave as well. Then, I will be truly alone.

I would write more, but I have to wallow in some self-pity and head to bed soon. I hope to write again sometime soon, for it should be a joyous occasion when I finally do receive my connection. Given the notoriety of how such things are done here, however, I’m really not too hopeful.

And I’m going to miss Neil Gaiman’s signing here on the 26th because I would have just left for Notts then. Talk about insult to injury.

The Road Not Traveled

2006-08-15T09:09:00.000-07:00

Hello.

Some of you might know me from a distant past.

If so, you might know how this ends.

This is, or will be, or what I intend to be, my little repository of experiences, idle banter, and reflections about my new life in a foreign land. Yes, thoughts - most convenient, because I have hardly any. Any that will not make you go blind, at least. That will hopefully be my pathetic little scapegoat for my inevitable lapses and indefinite hiatuses.

For the uninitiated – the poor sods – I will give a little introduction of myself. I am a young adult; my cranial functions would seem to suggest that I am even younger than that. I am not symmetrical. But I assure you that I am, using a wide definition, a qualified adult. I know this to be true, because I am often told as such.

I am very interested in music. The primary reason for this is, having spent most of my life in close contact with it in some form or another, it has somehow eluded me in a most consistent and almost impressive manner. I often tell people that I don’t know anything about music at all. For all intents and purposes, I would not be considered a liar.

I don’t speak well. The reason is obvious – it comes from the same reason as to why I don’t write well. Quite simply, I don’t think well, in general. I hardly have any thoughts that are worth expressing in any form, save flatulence. On a related note, please read up on the word 'Meteorism'. Truly fascinating! Anyway, Lord Denning - bless the man - wrote that ‘obscurity in thought inexorably leads to obscurity in language’. That would undoubtedly explain a lot, I think. Or rather, I don't. On a rather truthful (and regretful) note, I am mostly incoherent, illogical, humourless, short-tempered and slow-witted. I sound funny too. Discordant is the word, I think. Once, I made a speech in front of an auditorium full of people, and they started laughing at my opening joke. Only problem is, I didn't actually have an opening joke. True story. Hardly fitting attributes for a person hoping to join the legal profession, you'd agree! It is, then, no surprise that I'm hardly the stuff of which the locals are made of.

Most of my closest friends have ended up in the local law school. I am happy for them. Never did I dream that we, all of us, would have aspired towards the same profession. I would have laughed in your face if you told me that two years ago. I am not laughing now. My only regret is that I cannot be there with them; that is simply not what fate has in store for me, for better or for worse. We often spoke of, having left junior college, how wonderful it would be if we could relive those memorable years again, together. It appears that fate has a sense of humour.

Has it always been my dream to study, and one day, even practise, law? I cannot say for sure. The only thing I’m sure of is that I know nothing about anything. No, I'm not trying to rip off Socrates. I don’t have a scientific mind, no affinity for numbers, I'm not even sure how many different countries constitute Europe, and I’m not spectacular at literature. I have read more books in the last month than I have at my A-level English (two). I am a jack of no trades and a master of none. My brother is a lawyer, and together with my parents, no less, have nudged me onto the road of what is most practical for a boy who has no dreams or ambitions. I often wonder where I would be today, without them. But that is better left to the philosophers.

The truth is, I am afflicted with somewhat high expectations and a rather abysmal degree of self-esteem; in short, I am a modern day youth of average intellect and ability. Sadly, they are both more than justified. I have been surrounded by brilliant and over-achieving people all my life, and I have desperately tried to stay afloat amidst them, perhaps even tried, at some point or another, to edge my way smack dab into the middle of average. I don't even succeed all that often in that aspect. I hope, however, that I will be able to keep up that trend for the next few years, and strive to slip past mediocrity, at the very least. If not for myself, then for the few, few people who still have some iota of belief in me. They deserve that much.

Also, I like Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore.

And I hate things that go bump in the night.