Who's breaking through,Taking down the wall, brick by brick?
Who dares bring warmth to a place,
Of cold and dark and damp?
Your light seeps through.
Sunday, 24 December 2006
Sunday, 10 December 2006
A single floodlight shines on the plane, a lone actor on a stage. I hurry across the tarmac, struggling to keep the bag from falling off my shoulder. Oh good, the door is still open, I think to myself when I reach the plane. I hate being late, and I chide myself for leaving everything so last minute again.
'Come on in,' says the driver. I mutter an apology and jump on board. The plane has now turned into a bus, and it's filled with guys talking and laughing. A few people greet me, but mostly they're engrossed in conversation with the person beside them. I can only see the first few rows - afterwards the faces are lost in the darkness - but I know that everyone is from my high-school. I seat myself on an empty row at the front, make myself comfortable for the long trip. I look outside the window, and there's nothing but the black tarmac illuminated faintly by overhanging orange lights.
The driver, sitting in the driver's seat not far from me, turns the key to start the plane, and we slowly taxi down the runway. Hawaii, here I come. It doesn't bother me that we're sitting in a plane that looks more like a bus, or that the pilot is a bus driver. I'm too excited to care. Or is it something else...
And then an important thought strikes me. I stand up and face everyone.
'Hey guys, do you think t-shirts are cheap in Hawaii?'
'Why?' some of them ask.
'Cos like, my mum packed my luggage and she put all winter clothes in there.'
The bus erupts in laughter. 'Shut up!' I shout, and sit back down. Whatever, I think to myself as the quasi-plane-bus lifts into the sky...I'll just get myself some Hawaiian shirts or something when I'm there. I close my eyes and think of the Hawaiian sunset. Days of bliss; nothing in my head save for the gentle waves on gentle shores. Hawaii, here I co.........
I wake up abruptly. The picturesque views of evening beaches dissolve like wisps of smoke through an open window. The bright sunlight signals another working day, and my mind curses itself for the trickery played in its own corners.
And then I glance at the time. 8.15.
Oh shit.
'Come on in,' says the driver. I mutter an apology and jump on board. The plane has now turned into a bus, and it's filled with guys talking and laughing. A few people greet me, but mostly they're engrossed in conversation with the person beside them. I can only see the first few rows - afterwards the faces are lost in the darkness - but I know that everyone is from my high-school. I seat myself on an empty row at the front, make myself comfortable for the long trip. I look outside the window, and there's nothing but the black tarmac illuminated faintly by overhanging orange lights.
The driver, sitting in the driver's seat not far from me, turns the key to start the plane, and we slowly taxi down the runway. Hawaii, here I come. It doesn't bother me that we're sitting in a plane that looks more like a bus, or that the pilot is a bus driver. I'm too excited to care. Or is it something else...
And then an important thought strikes me. I stand up and face everyone.
'Hey guys, do you think t-shirts are cheap in Hawaii?'
'Why?' some of them ask.
'Cos like, my mum packed my luggage and she put all winter clothes in there.'
The bus erupts in laughter. 'Shut up!' I shout, and sit back down. Whatever, I think to myself as the quasi-plane-bus lifts into the sky...I'll just get myself some Hawaiian shirts or something when I'm there. I close my eyes and think of the Hawaiian sunset. Days of bliss; nothing in my head save for the gentle waves on gentle shores. Hawaii, here I co.........
I wake up abruptly. The picturesque views of evening beaches dissolve like wisps of smoke through an open window. The bright sunlight signals another working day, and my mind curses itself for the trickery played in its own corners.
And then I glance at the time. 8.15.
Oh shit.
Pain is an unpleasant feeling, and so on Wednesday I made it my friend. After work I walked down to Chinatown in the sweltering heat and into pain's abode: The Chinese Youth League headquarters.
Walking in, the memories of when I used to train here during uni came back to me: the pungent smell of sweat, the solemn faces on the wall, the murderous chin-up bar, the lion's head and drums. And, of course, the pain.
We started off with the weights. 'Come on guys,' said the heavily-muscled guy who was taking the training. 'We want to work on endurance today. We'll be doing four sets of twenty reps and then another....'
I went to pick up a heavy set of dumbbells - well, tried to. Shit, too heavy. 'Try those ones there,' said the heavily-muscled guy (I've forgotten his name). He pointed to a smaller-looking but no less ominous set of weights. 'Okay thanks,' I said, and chose a smaller set after he turned around.
I never did manage to finish all the sets, as halfway through my arms started feeling like they were going to simultaneously explode and drop off my shoulders. I spent the last few minutes walking casually around the room, pretending I had finished everything.
After the weights session, the Heavily-Muscled Guy called us outside. 'Time for the run guys,' he informed us. Groan. I bent down to tie my shoelaces, but tying shoelaces is pretty hard when your fingers feel like bricks.
The suffering I had endured from the weights was soon overridden by the run. Running for me usually follows a typical pattern: start strong and end up dead. This time was no different. At first I cruised along at the front of the pack, but after ten minutes I was really struggling. I was sweating like a pig, panting like a dog. My legs threatened to give way any second. I was like one of those runaway horse carriages you see in movies, with the wheels almost falling off and the whole thing in danger of plummeting off the cliff.
I eventually made it back, splintered wood and broken wheels. 'Okay guys,' said the Heavily-Muscled Guy, 'back inside.' We all filed back into the gym for stretches and (oh god) sit-ups. Suffice to say, I spent most of the time sprawled on the mats, dreaming of dinner and bed.
On my way out, one of the guys asked if I'd be back next week. 'Mmm..I'm not sure; I should be,' I replied.
But I know I'll be back because it's painful. And pain is my friend.
Walking in, the memories of when I used to train here during uni came back to me: the pungent smell of sweat, the solemn faces on the wall, the murderous chin-up bar, the lion's head and drums. And, of course, the pain.
We started off with the weights. 'Come on guys,' said the heavily-muscled guy who was taking the training. 'We want to work on endurance today. We'll be doing four sets of twenty reps and then another....'
I went to pick up a heavy set of dumbbells - well, tried to. Shit, too heavy. 'Try those ones there,' said the heavily-muscled guy (I've forgotten his name). He pointed to a smaller-looking but no less ominous set of weights. 'Okay thanks,' I said, and chose a smaller set after he turned around.
I never did manage to finish all the sets, as halfway through my arms started feeling like they were going to simultaneously explode and drop off my shoulders. I spent the last few minutes walking casually around the room, pretending I had finished everything.
After the weights session, the Heavily-Muscled Guy called us outside. 'Time for the run guys,' he informed us. Groan. I bent down to tie my shoelaces, but tying shoelaces is pretty hard when your fingers feel like bricks.
The suffering I had endured from the weights was soon overridden by the run. Running for me usually follows a typical pattern: start strong and end up dead. This time was no different. At first I cruised along at the front of the pack, but after ten minutes I was really struggling. I was sweating like a pig, panting like a dog. My legs threatened to give way any second. I was like one of those runaway horse carriages you see in movies, with the wheels almost falling off and the whole thing in danger of plummeting off the cliff.
I eventually made it back, splintered wood and broken wheels. 'Okay guys,' said the Heavily-Muscled Guy, 'back inside.' We all filed back into the gym for stretches and (oh god) sit-ups. Suffice to say, I spent most of the time sprawled on the mats, dreaming of dinner and bed.
On my way out, one of the guys asked if I'd be back next week. 'Mmm..I'm not sure; I should be,' I replied.
But I know I'll be back because it's painful. And pain is my friend.
Sunday, 26 November 2006
This week I demonstrated my unswerving loyalty to the god of Work by:
Leaving the office for home, the streets are calm and serene. Bits of paper and empty cans waft up and down the pavement like restless spirits. Taxis scurry cockroach-like over sleepy roads. The street lamps wait longingly for dawn to return. I collapse in bed fully-clothed.
Only a minute seems to pass when my phone rings. I open my bloodshot eyes, the harsh sunlight blinding me. I pick up.
"Hello?" I answer.
"Hi Aidan. Are you going to be in the office at 7.30?"
"Umm.....yup. I'll be there soon."
She hangs up. I check the time.
7.15.
Shit.
I had a dream the other night I was having a coffee with two friends on the Harbour Bridge. I don't even know who those two people were, but in the dream they were my friends. There were no cars, no sign of anyone except the three of us seated around a small coffee table in the middle of the road.
We started talking, and as we sat there I could see in the distance a white wall of fog approaching. Soon the fog was upon us, and the faces of my friends became fainter and fainter, fading away until all I could hear were their voices. Finally, even their voices were drowned out by the thick enveloping haze and there was nothing left but a blank slate, like some omniscient being had come along and smitten us with a giant eraser.
- Working from 9am till 11.30pm on Wednesday
- Working from 9am till 4am on Thursday, and then starting at 7.30am on the same day and working till 5pm.
Leaving the office for home, the streets are calm and serene. Bits of paper and empty cans waft up and down the pavement like restless spirits. Taxis scurry cockroach-like over sleepy roads. The street lamps wait longingly for dawn to return. I collapse in bed fully-clothed.
Only a minute seems to pass when my phone rings. I open my bloodshot eyes, the harsh sunlight blinding me. I pick up.
"Hello?" I answer.
"Hi Aidan. Are you going to be in the office at 7.30?"
"Umm.....yup. I'll be there soon."
She hangs up. I check the time.
7.15.
Shit.
I had a dream the other night I was having a coffee with two friends on the Harbour Bridge. I don't even know who those two people were, but in the dream they were my friends. There were no cars, no sign of anyone except the three of us seated around a small coffee table in the middle of the road.
We started talking, and as we sat there I could see in the distance a white wall of fog approaching. Soon the fog was upon us, and the faces of my friends became fainter and fainter, fading away until all I could hear were their voices. Finally, even their voices were drowned out by the thick enveloping haze and there was nothing left but a blank slate, like some omniscient being had come along and smitten us with a giant eraser.
Wednesday, 8 November 2006
Last Saturday was quite eventful. It started out as a night out for a friend's birthday, and ended up with me coming home at 4am, exhausted and smelling of vomit.
It was Amy's birthday, so I joined her and her friends for a night out. We had a nice, cultured faux-French meal at The Little Snail in Pyrmont, which, surprise surprise, is famous for serving snails. Everytime I hear of snails, I think back to when I was a kid, and how I used to go out into the backyard and stomp on any snails I could find when they appeared after the rain stopped. And then one day, as I was stepping on a snail and heard the crack of it's little shell and it's green blood oozing out from beneath my shoe, I felt a strong and sudden revulsion - I was disgusted at myself for being so cruel, and disgusted by the sight of the deceased snail in all it's slime. From then on I wanted nothing to do with snails.
So instead of ordering snails for the entree, I chose an exotic dish called 'penne pasta with tomato, basil and bocconcini'. Very exciting. This was redeemed by the kangaroo steak in plum sauce that followed, and topped off by the honey and vanilla cheesecake at the end. Yum.
Stomaches filled with food, we bundled into our cars and drove to the city, where we met in a karaoke room. Also there to greet us cordially was a large stash of alcohol. Uh-oh.
The first bottle to be opened was the Cointreau. Everyone was poured a shot of it, and then, since most of us hadn't had it before, we were instructed to 'gargle, swallow and breathe'. After downing my shot (god it tasted foul), I promptly went red as a tomato and retired into a quiet corner of the room, never to be heard of again.
The rest of the night consisted of drinking games (I'll play but I'll just drink juice), more drinking (nono, I'm good - I've had heaps already), and general drunken behaviour (look seriously, stop trying to kiss me, I'm not gay). Some of the girls started crying for no particular reason, people sang wildly out-of-tune, and one guy was jumping on the seats like a gorilla.
I find people - well, people I know - fascinating when they're drunk. They become vulnerable, uninhibited, exposed. They reveal things that normally reside in some hidden chamber of the heart. If you want to know what a person is really like, buy him/her a drink. Don't try it on me though. The only thing you'll discover is what I just ate for dinner.
The night ended up with people lying on the street in their own vomit and me driving half the people home in one of the guys' Tarago. At one stage I even had to carry a girl into her boyfriend's house. I'll never forget the smell of vomit that pervaded everything, and followed me home.
Life is light and loss and small fragments of...salvation?
It was Amy's birthday, so I joined her and her friends for a night out. We had a nice, cultured faux-French meal at The Little Snail in Pyrmont, which, surprise surprise, is famous for serving snails. Everytime I hear of snails, I think back to when I was a kid, and how I used to go out into the backyard and stomp on any snails I could find when they appeared after the rain stopped. And then one day, as I was stepping on a snail and heard the crack of it's little shell and it's green blood oozing out from beneath my shoe, I felt a strong and sudden revulsion - I was disgusted at myself for being so cruel, and disgusted by the sight of the deceased snail in all it's slime. From then on I wanted nothing to do with snails.
So instead of ordering snails for the entree, I chose an exotic dish called 'penne pasta with tomato, basil and bocconcini'. Very exciting. This was redeemed by the kangaroo steak in plum sauce that followed, and topped off by the honey and vanilla cheesecake at the end. Yum.
Stomaches filled with food, we bundled into our cars and drove to the city, where we met in a karaoke room. Also there to greet us cordially was a large stash of alcohol. Uh-oh.
The first bottle to be opened was the Cointreau. Everyone was poured a shot of it, and then, since most of us hadn't had it before, we were instructed to 'gargle, swallow and breathe'. After downing my shot (god it tasted foul), I promptly went red as a tomato and retired into a quiet corner of the room, never to be heard of again.
The rest of the night consisted of drinking games (I'll play but I'll just drink juice), more drinking (nono, I'm good - I've had heaps already), and general drunken behaviour (look seriously, stop trying to kiss me, I'm not gay). Some of the girls started crying for no particular reason, people sang wildly out-of-tune, and one guy was jumping on the seats like a gorilla.
I find people - well, people I know - fascinating when they're drunk. They become vulnerable, uninhibited, exposed. They reveal things that normally reside in some hidden chamber of the heart. If you want to know what a person is really like, buy him/her a drink. Don't try it on me though. The only thing you'll discover is what I just ate for dinner.
The night ended up with people lying on the street in their own vomit and me driving half the people home in one of the guys' Tarago. At one stage I even had to carry a girl into her boyfriend's house. I'll never forget the smell of vomit that pervaded everything, and followed me home.
Life is light and loss and small fragments of...salvation?
Sunday, 29 October 2006
'It's time you started saving up for your own place,' said my mum.
'Get a place now while the property market is down,' said my grandpa.
'I've found some nice units on sale nearby. We'll go look at them on the weekend,' said my auntie.
And so we did.
Getting a place of my own has always been at the bottom of my 'to-do' list. Sure, I would love to move out of home and finally be free of the shackles parents put on their kids, but I'm not nearly earning enough to feed myself, let alone pay rent or a mortgage. Plus, I have other things I want to splurge on, like a car (status: soon) or travelling (status: not-so-soon). If I were to get a place now using borrowed money, I would waste my dying youth with financial restrictions.
Do people ever see things from your point of view though? A person can understand and empathise with you, but to see the world through your eyes is an entirely different matter. If people could walk around in each others' shoes, the world would be a smelly place. And of course, there would be no hatred, no war.
Anyway, we drove around looking at a few units. I have to admit, I got swept up in the whole property-buying mood, and soon I was carefully inspecting each place: Is that carpet mouldy or is it astroturf? Do the toilets have half-flush, quarter-flush and woolly seats? Is there a helipad on the roof somewhere? During those few hours, I lived with the fantastical notion that somehow I had the money to actually buy these units; until, that is, my grandpa asked if I had enough money to cover the deposit, and I was sucked back into the painful reality that I'd only saved up enough for a small car. My grandpa informed me that he'd lend me some money for the deposit, and the rest I'd borrow from the bank. 'You'll have to pay a few thousand every month,' he calculated. Oh dear.
In the end, there were no units that struck us as being particularly enticing (or affordable), and thus ended my house-hunting expedition. It won't be the last one though.
Hate-thing of the day: daylight saving. I hate losing time! I waste enough time as it is, wasting time.
Are you my confidence?
I wish I could be every little thing you wanted.
'Get a place now while the property market is down,' said my grandpa.
'I've found some nice units on sale nearby. We'll go look at them on the weekend,' said my auntie.
And so we did.
Getting a place of my own has always been at the bottom of my 'to-do' list. Sure, I would love to move out of home and finally be free of the shackles parents put on their kids, but I'm not nearly earning enough to feed myself, let alone pay rent or a mortgage. Plus, I have other things I want to splurge on, like a car (status: soon) or travelling (status: not-so-soon). If I were to get a place now using borrowed money, I would waste my dying youth with financial restrictions.
Do people ever see things from your point of view though? A person can understand and empathise with you, but to see the world through your eyes is an entirely different matter. If people could walk around in each others' shoes, the world would be a smelly place. And of course, there would be no hatred, no war.
Anyway, we drove around looking at a few units. I have to admit, I got swept up in the whole property-buying mood, and soon I was carefully inspecting each place: Is that carpet mouldy or is it astroturf? Do the toilets have half-flush, quarter-flush and woolly seats? Is there a helipad on the roof somewhere? During those few hours, I lived with the fantastical notion that somehow I had the money to actually buy these units; until, that is, my grandpa asked if I had enough money to cover the deposit, and I was sucked back into the painful reality that I'd only saved up enough for a small car. My grandpa informed me that he'd lend me some money for the deposit, and the rest I'd borrow from the bank. 'You'll have to pay a few thousand every month,' he calculated. Oh dear.
In the end, there were no units that struck us as being particularly enticing (or affordable), and thus ended my house-hunting expedition. It won't be the last one though.
Hate-thing of the day: daylight saving. I hate losing time! I waste enough time as it is, wasting time.
Are you my confidence?
I wish I could be every little thing you wanted.
Sunday, 15 October 2006
On Friday night, a group of us met for dinner at the Noodle Markets in Hyde Park (these are really cool; they should have them more often). It's been a while since we all met up like that. It really goes to show how much some of us have changed. It has gone from staying out till 3 or 4am in the morning at Coogee Beach in first-year uni, to just having a quiet 'family' dinner somewhere in Chinatown and going home. How do people change so suddenly? Why don't we know each other anymore? Is this the end, my beautiful friend?
After the food - I had some super-salty Singaporean shit (wow, alliteration! Actually, they were noodles) - some of the group peeled off, and the rest of us went to Privilege Bar to admire the talents of the girls dancing there. Yes, umm, lots of talent there. Dancing talent. The air was hazy with smoke, and I felt like I was entombed in some giant chimney. There was so much smoke, I could see it seeping out from my shirtsleeves and collar. At first I thought, 'Gosh, I really am hot! (psssst),' but then I realised it was some guy blowing a cigarette behind my back. I think my life expectancy has been cut down by 5 years (that's 35 now).
After half an hour or so of bobbing up and down and flapping my arms about like I was trying to fly, we decided we'd had enough and came out for some air. We trundled down to Sheraton on the Park for dessert - mini pavlovas, chocolate truffles, hazelnut gelato and dessert wine. Delicious. Some of us didn't finish everything; I was so tempted to take the leftovers, but then everyone would have realised how much of a pig I am, so I only took a bit. And thus concluded my Friday night.
Saturday: Eat. Sleep.
Sunday: Eat. Sleep.
After the food - I had some super-salty Singaporean shit (wow, alliteration! Actually, they were noodles) - some of the group peeled off, and the rest of us went to Privilege Bar to admire the talents of the girls dancing there. Yes, umm, lots of talent there. Dancing talent. The air was hazy with smoke, and I felt like I was entombed in some giant chimney. There was so much smoke, I could see it seeping out from my shirtsleeves and collar. At first I thought, 'Gosh, I really am hot! (psssst),' but then I realised it was some guy blowing a cigarette behind my back. I think my life expectancy has been cut down by 5 years (that's 35 now).
After half an hour or so of bobbing up and down and flapping my arms about like I was trying to fly, we decided we'd had enough and came out for some air. We trundled down to Sheraton on the Park for dessert - mini pavlovas, chocolate truffles, hazelnut gelato and dessert wine. Delicious. Some of us didn't finish everything; I was so tempted to take the leftovers, but then everyone would have realised how much of a pig I am, so I only took a bit. And thus concluded my Friday night.
Saturday: Eat. Sleep.
Sunday: Eat. Sleep.
Monday, 2 October 2006
On the long weekend, Monkey, Serena and I planned to go camping at a national park in the Hunter region. This was sadly cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances, so we decided to have a one-day hiking trip along the coast of Bouddi National Park.
The weather was fine, the scenery sublime (cuedance dream music)...
The start of what was to be a long and torturous journey, fraught with great peril.
Trudging upwards towards the jungle, our hearts were filled with the dreadful realisation that every step could be our last; until, that is, we looked up and discovered that there were yet more steps before us.
As we stumbled blindly along our path, I heard a low rumble and the crack of twigs. I turned, and, to my horror, discovered that one of the large boulders by the side had loosened and was ready to roll onto our path and crush us all. Luckily I ran ahead and steadied the rock, thus saving us from almost certain death. I didn't get any words of gratitude from either of them, but that's ok; I know they'll give me an extra special present when my birthday comes around.
Through the Alley of the Blind. The gnarled branches tore at our clothes, and invisible claws waited behind every tree. The wails of dead spirits engulfed us and threatened to drive us more insane.
Monkey writes: 'I have been stuck on this island for nigh on forty days now. My thirst is so great that I have resorted back to my old habit of drinking my bodily fluids. The taste of it brings back precious (my precious!) memories. For food I have been scaling palm trees and eating coconuts. 
Oh how I long for the bananas of old!
Methinks this island is haunted. This terrible swamp monster oft appears and dances along the sands; tis truly a horrific sight. I also woke up one morning to find a gay baby-blue band attached to my wrist...'
The journey home. Driving in silence through the still night.
Went back to Monkey's place and played scrabble. Fell asleep on the couch and dreamt about jungles, bongos and waves lapping on white, white sand.
The weather was fine, the scenery sublime (cue
The start of what was to be a long and torturous journey, fraught with great peril.Trudging upwards towards the jungle, our hearts were filled with the dreadful realisation that every step could be our last; until, that is, we looked up and discovered that there were yet more steps before us.
As we stumbled blindly along our path, I heard a low rumble and the crack of twigs. I turned, and, to my horror, discovered that one of the large boulders by the side had loosened and was ready to roll onto our path and crush us all. Luckily I ran ahead and steadied the rock, thus saving us from almost certain death. I didn't get any words of gratitude from either of them, but that's ok; I know they'll give me an extra special present when my birthday comes around.
Through the Alley of the Blind. The gnarled branches tore at our clothes, and invisible claws waited behind every tree. The wails of dead spirits engulfed us and threatened to drive us more insane.
Monkey writes: 'I have been stuck on this island for nigh on forty days now. My thirst is so great that I have resorted back to my old habit of drinking my bodily fluids. The taste of it brings back precious (my precious!) memories. For food I have been scaling palm trees and eating coconuts. 
Oh how I long for the bananas of old!
Methinks this island is haunted. This terrible swamp monster oft appears and dances along the sands; tis truly a horrific sight. I also woke up one morning to find a gay baby-blue band attached to my wrist...'
The journey home. Driving in silence through the still night.Went back to Monkey's place and played scrabble. Fell asleep on the couch and dreamt about jungles, bongos and waves lapping on white, white sand.
Sunday, 24 September 2006
These few weeks have been pretty uneventful. Work has been busy like hell, but in spite of it, I've been getting through my stuff real slow. I've just lost all my motivation, and I'm not sure why. I'm entering into one of those Couldn't-Be-Fucked (CBF) stages. I'm young, I'm impatient, and I don't see myself going anywhere in my current role anytime soon. But then, I feel powerless to do anything about it. It's the price one pays for being ambitious and lazy.
What else has been happening? We had an expensive ($80 per head) dinner for Monkey and Adam's birthday at Balzacs in Randwick. The food was pretty amazing, and I was going to write a separate post for it, but...CBF. Maybe sometime later.
Let's see, what else... Oh, had a BBQ yesterday at Bicentennial Park with the soccer team. Unfortunately, when we got there, all the public BBQs were taken so we ended up using someone's portable one. But then we didn't have enough heat beads, and by the time we went out to buy some more, it was already 2pm and we were starving. When we eventually managed to get it all going, I somehow (voluntarily/stupidly) ended up as the cook. And so I stood there for two hours cooking all the food. Fun.
Other than the BBQ, I've had a pretty boring weekend. I feel like I'm wasting my weekends sitting at home doing nothing. Everyone else seems so caught up in their own little worlds. People say I have a lot of friends, and, true or not, it makes no difference - I'm mostly a gap-filler anyway. All the money in the world can't buy friends; all the friends in the world can't buy company.
What else has been happening? We had an expensive ($80 per head) dinner for Monkey and Adam's birthday at Balzacs in Randwick. The food was pretty amazing, and I was going to write a separate post for it, but...CBF. Maybe sometime later.
Let's see, what else... Oh, had a BBQ yesterday at Bicentennial Park with the soccer team. Unfortunately, when we got there, all the public BBQs were taken so we ended up using someone's portable one. But then we didn't have enough heat beads, and by the time we went out to buy some more, it was already 2pm and we were starving. When we eventually managed to get it all going, I somehow (voluntarily/stupidly) ended up as the cook. And so I stood there for two hours cooking all the food. Fun.
Other than the BBQ, I've had a pretty boring weekend. I feel like I'm wasting my weekends sitting at home doing nothing. Everyone else seems so caught up in their own little worlds. People say I have a lot of friends, and, true or not, it makes no difference - I'm mostly a gap-filler anyway. All the money in the world can't buy friends; all the friends in the world can't buy company.
Sunday, 17 September 2006
Money money money. We hate it intensely, but strive just as intensely to earn it. I never used to worry about money. Back in my school days, when all the other kids dreamt about being millionaires, I would dream about living the simple happy life. But I've always been rather naive and idealistic - life isn't simple, and, more often than not, not happy either.
Once you finish school, finish uni, you have to live life according to a new rule - Everything Has A Price. There's so many things I want to have and do in this world, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to afford it. I don't want to be fifty by the time I see the sun rise above the sands of the Serengeti.
Okay, so this post is all very dull. Oh well. I felt obligated to write something, since it's been a while between updates. I received many suggestions* on what to write, but I thought I'd keep it simple. Don't worry, there'll be a good post soon about the dinner I had last night, once I get the photos.
*'Write about your cooking skills... write about your eating skills... write about your badminton skills...' etc.
Once you finish school, finish uni, you have to live life according to a new rule - Everything Has A Price. There's so many things I want to have and do in this world, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to afford it. I don't want to be fifty by the time I see the sun rise above the sands of the Serengeti.
Okay, so this post is all very dull. Oh well. I felt obligated to write something, since it's been a while between updates. I received many suggestions* on what to write, but I thought I'd keep it simple. Don't worry, there'll be a good post soon about the dinner I had last night, once I get the photos.
*'Write about your cooking skills... write about your eating skills... write about your badminton skills...' etc.
Monday, 4 September 2006
Crocodile Tears (The Shit Day)
Oh Stevie,
Today you fought a fish,
And lost.
The women weep,
The men are mourning,
The leaves on the trees,
Are pitifully falling.
Oh Stevie,
Often you did stare in death's face,
And laugh.
Foolish mortal - it was today you could not save!
(Sometimes I wonder
If I could join your watery grave).
Oh Stevie,
Today you fought a fish,
And lost.
The women weep,
The men are mourning,
The leaves on the trees,
Are pitifully falling.
Oh Stevie,
Often you did stare in death's face,
And laugh.
Foolish mortal - it was today you could not save!
(Sometimes I wonder
If I could join your watery grave).
Sunday, 3 September 2006
Spring. The green buds of newborn leaves sprout on bare branches. Drops of crimson colour rose bushes. Ice melts and flows into mountain streams. The beginning of an ancient cycle. What will this spring bring? Too bad the only thing blossoming is my workload, and it's my childhood that melts with the passing seasons.
I went into hibernation many winters ago, and I'm buried somewhere out there in the frozen snow.
I went into hibernation many winters ago, and I'm buried somewhere out there in the frozen snow.
Monday, 21 August 2006
This weekend, I did absolutely nothing. Funnily enough, I actually looked forward to doing nothing when Friday reared its happy head (I love Fridays).
I slept in on both days, waking up to eat brunch and do time-wasting things such as play games and watch DVDs. The only time I stepped out of the house was to walk the dog and clean the pool, as per usual. Ah, the joys of idling one's life away. I wished the weekend bliss would never end, and I tried to make it last for as long as I could. Alas, come Sunday night, two days whittled down to one hour, and the drudgery of Monday loomed into vision; it was time to start the cycle all over again.
The harder you try to keep something, the easier it is to lose it.
I slept in on both days, waking up to eat brunch and do time-wasting things such as play games and watch DVDs. The only time I stepped out of the house was to walk the dog and clean the pool, as per usual. Ah, the joys of idling one's life away. I wished the weekend bliss would never end, and I tried to make it last for as long as I could. Alas, come Sunday night, two days whittled down to one hour, and the drudgery of Monday loomed into vision; it was time to start the cycle all over again.
The harder you try to keep something, the easier it is to lose it.
Wednesday, 16 August 2006
This weekend, like all weekends, passed in a blur. Literally. I went snowboarding at Thredbo, slipping and sliding through fields of virgin white snow. Actually, the snow was hard as hell. And probably no more virgin than you are. It hadn't snowed in ages, so the slopes were more ice than snow. Being my first time snowboarding, I sustained my fair share of injures - my chest (breast) is still bruised, my knee feels dislocated, there's a bump on the back of my head (leaving me even more incapacitated) and my wrist hurts even while I'm writing this. Ah, but it was fun. No pain, no fame.
Yeah! Team Snowboarder! Gosh, looks like I'm the only male on the team...
Right now, I'm on the bus back to Sydney. I'm sitting on an isle seat, next to a guy who snorts like a bull when he breathes. I thought I might write, since there's nothing else to do on the bus ride.
Even though the bus is full, I feel isolated, disconnected. Sometimes, I think that's the way I want it. It's just that...that...yawn..... I fall asleep briefly, and awake disoriented. For a second I'm lost. What's that eery blue light on the ceiling? Why is there another guy sleeping next to me? Where's my teddy bear? And then my brain works again, and everything's okay.
I put on my headphones, and an orchestra plays for me. The long-drawn cello mourns with me, too.
I've been on the bus seemingly for hours and hours now; strangely, if this journey lasted forever, I would be content sitting here, next to the innocuous couple and the snorting bull guy, jotting down meaningless thoughts as the world passes outside. Meanwhile, the wheels on the bus go round, and round, and round...
Yeah! Team Snowboarder! Gosh, looks like I'm the only male on the team...Right now, I'm on the bus back to Sydney. I'm sitting on an isle seat, next to a guy who snorts like a bull when he breathes. I thought I might write, since there's nothing else to do on the bus ride.
Even though the bus is full, I feel isolated, disconnected. Sometimes, I think that's the way I want it. It's just that...that...yawn..... I fall asleep briefly, and awake disoriented. For a second I'm lost. What's that eery blue light on the ceiling? Why is there another guy sleeping next to me? Where's my teddy bear? And then my brain works again, and everything's okay.
I put on my headphones, and an orchestra plays for me. The long-drawn cello mourns with me, too.
I've been on the bus seemingly for hours and hours now; strangely, if this journey lasted forever, I would be content sitting here, next to the innocuous couple and the snorting bull guy, jotting down meaningless thoughts as the world passes outside. Meanwhile, the wheels on the bus go round, and round, and round...
Monday, 7 August 2006
Everyone says I'm skinny. Stop dieting, says my mum. Stop staying up late, says my grandma. Stop eating so healthy, say my friends. It's not my fault! No matter how many times I tell them, they just don't believe me. They think I'm some anorexic health freak. I eat heaps - more than double some other guys, but I just don't put on weight. Too bad, so sad. Anyway, it's not like I'm really that skinny; see look, my stomach (lifts up shirt), it kind of pokes out here and.....okay okay, I'll stop before you start getting sick (puts shirts down)....
Like all things, I have an explanation as to why I never put on weight. It's to do with my brain. Did you know the brain consumes the most energy out of all the organs in your body? It figures - most smart people are skinny. Which explains why I'm skinny. Muhahaha.
Ha.
I had a funny conversation/meeting today with one of my colleagues. I was showing him a draft of a diagram I had drawn up as part of the project I'm on. Being a draft, the diagram didn't look particularly pretty, and everything was squashed up in columns running down the page so it'd all fit. My colleague, upon seeing the diagram and the vertical columns, said to me in all earnesty: '...in Western cultures, we tend to read from left to right across the page, rather than down the page.'
I froze, my mouth half-open. In my head I thought, 'What the fuck?! Does he think I've just come from 14th century China?' But then, it seemed like he was genuinely trying to 'teach' me something, and his tone of voice was in no way mocking or derogatory, so I let it pass. Ignorance is bliss, and best tolerated with a smile.
Like all things, I have an explanation as to why I never put on weight. It's to do with my brain. Did you know the brain consumes the most energy out of all the organs in your body? It figures - most smart people are skinny. Which explains why I'm skinny. Muhahaha.
Ha.
I had a funny conversation/meeting today with one of my colleagues. I was showing him a draft of a diagram I had drawn up as part of the project I'm on. Being a draft, the diagram didn't look particularly pretty, and everything was squashed up in columns running down the page so it'd all fit. My colleague, upon seeing the diagram and the vertical columns, said to me in all earnesty: '...in Western cultures, we tend to read from left to right across the page, rather than down the page.'
I froze, my mouth half-open. In my head I thought, 'What the fuck?! Does he think I've just come from 14th century China?' But then, it seemed like he was genuinely trying to 'teach' me something, and his tone of voice was in no way mocking or derogatory, so I let it pass. Ignorance is bliss, and best tolerated with a smile.
Saturday, 5 August 2006
Yes yes I know. I'm updating less and less. Being able to update one's blog timely and constantly is the bane of all bloggers. But now that I'm working, there's even less to write about. I mean, who really wants to hear about work. Work is work, and don't ask me what I'm doing, because sometimes even I don't know. To add to that, I'm in the all-singing, all-dancing IT department - it's not like there's any excitement (i.e. girls) to spice up the office or spread some gossip.
I always thought I'd choose a career I like, that I would define my job, but increasingly I think it's the other way around. My job defines me. And my life, well, it starts on a Friday afternoon and finishes on a Sunday night.
Good news though. I've been offered, and signed, a permanent contract with the company. Well okay, it's a permanent one-year contract (a bit of an oxymoron I know), but still, I get all the usual benefits such as annual leave, sick leave etc. My first salaried job - CEO, here I come!
Last night some friends came over for DDD (Dinner, DVDs, Drinks). It was all going good until one of the girls got drunk, melted my inflatable exercise ball on the heater, kissed another girl (we have the whole thing on video) and harassed my brother. Oh brother.
Anyway, we watched a few episodes of this sitcom called Arrested Development. I don't usually find most sitcoms funny. They just seem...lame. Friends, Seinfeld, whatever. But Arrested Development is seriously the funniest show I've ever seen. You really have to watch it. Too bad (like all good things) it was canned.
I always thought I'd choose a career I like, that I would define my job, but increasingly I think it's the other way around. My job defines me. And my life, well, it starts on a Friday afternoon and finishes on a Sunday night.
Good news though. I've been offered, and signed, a permanent contract with the company. Well okay, it's a permanent one-year contract (a bit of an oxymoron I know), but still, I get all the usual benefits such as annual leave, sick leave etc. My first salaried job - CEO, here I come!
Last night some friends came over for DDD (Dinner, DVDs, Drinks). It was all going good until one of the girls got drunk, melted my inflatable exercise ball on the heater, kissed another girl (we have the whole thing on video) and harassed my brother. Oh brother.
Anyway, we watched a few episodes of this sitcom called Arrested Development. I don't usually find most sitcoms funny. They just seem...lame. Friends, Seinfeld, whatever. But Arrested Development is seriously the funniest show I've ever seen. You really have to watch it. Too bad (like all good things) it was canned.
Wednesday, 26 July 2006
Saturday, 15 July 2006
She rings me late in the afternoon during work. My hand reaches instinctly for the phone, but then hovers hesitantly over the receiver when the number appears on the display. The phone's red light flashes urgently; I reach out, lift the handset off the cradle and put it to my ear - "Hello."
She asks what I've been doing and how my job is. I reply as nonchalantly as possible. The words 'yeah' and 'nothing' become my friends. And then the urge strikes me. I ask how her boyfriend is. This time she doesn't deny his existence. She asks if I want to see his picture. Curiously, stupidly, I say yes.
The email arrives in my inbox. I click on it impatiently, waiting for the picture to display. I stare at it intently. He is ugly. I am glad.
She asks what I've been doing and how my job is. I reply as nonchalantly as possible. The words 'yeah' and 'nothing' become my friends. And then the urge strikes me. I ask how her boyfriend is. This time she doesn't deny his existence. She asks if I want to see his picture. Curiously, stupidly, I say yes.
The email arrives in my inbox. I click on it impatiently, waiting for the picture to display. I stare at it intently. He is ugly. I am glad.
Monday, 3 July 2006
'So this Enterprise Architecture Project will run over the course of 12 months...'
Another meeting.
'...through this project we will establish a suitable sustainable architecture and master planning function in the ICT team...'
Another day.
'...demonstrate the value of AMP by applying it to relevant tactical and strategic challenges...'
Hmmm...his handwriting looks strange.
'...leverage information globally....'
Oh he's left-handed. My brother's left-handed.
'...progressive approach to project scope, starting with the mapping of foundation artefacts...'
I'm hungry. I wonder what I can get for lunch.
'...implementation of additional architecture technologies...'
Wait I brought lunch from home. Pasta.
'...not sustained internally...'
Again.
'...engagement of stakeholders will be planned...'
I wonder what I'll do...
'Is there anything that's unclear at this point?'
Oh crap. He's asking me a question. Quick, think!
My brain starts up like a spluttering engine.
Select mode: "Say-something-stupid-that-sounds-really-smart".
Oh wait, that is the default mode.
I ask, hesitantly: 'Will there be any input from the other business units?'
'Hmm... Good question. Well...'
He drones on. The sun sparkles on the harbour outside. The clouds float idly by. I turn my head to look. My mind is already there.
"What did you do all day?"
"I sat in my room and talked to my lightbulb."
She laughs and shakes her head.
"You're funny!"
I don't reply. Reality is not so amusing.
Another meeting.
'...through this project we will establish a suitable sustainable architecture and master planning function in the ICT team...'
Another day.
'...demonstrate the value of AMP by applying it to relevant tactical and strategic challenges...'
Hmmm...his handwriting looks strange.
'...leverage information globally....'
Oh he's left-handed. My brother's left-handed.
'...progressive approach to project scope, starting with the mapping of foundation artefacts...'
I'm hungry. I wonder what I can get for lunch.
'...implementation of additional architecture technologies...'
Wait I brought lunch from home. Pasta.
'...not sustained internally...'
Again.
'...engagement of stakeholders will be planned...'
I wonder what I'll do...
'Is there anything that's unclear at this point?'
Oh crap. He's asking me a question. Quick, think!
My brain starts up like a spluttering engine.
Select mode: "Say-something-stupid-that-sounds-really-smart".
Oh wait, that is the default mode.
I ask, hesitantly: 'Will there be any input from the other business units?'
'Hmm... Good question. Well...'
He drones on. The sun sparkles on the harbour outside. The clouds float idly by. I turn my head to look. My mind is already there.
"What did you do all day?"
"I sat in my room and talked to my lightbulb."
She laughs and shakes her head.
"You're funny!"
I don't reply. Reality is not so amusing.
Sunday, 2 July 2006
Grounded into despair,
By fickle heart and scrupulous mind,
Like grains of lifeless sand.
Something lost,
Something found,
Fragments scattered,
Trampled on the ground.
You are that I need,
But not which I seek.
The first step,
Not the final leap.
We kneel and grovel on the floor,
Bowed at the feet of prententious whores,
Thus are we made pawns and jesters, all.
By fickle heart and scrupulous mind,
Like grains of lifeless sand.
Something lost,
Something found,
Fragments scattered,
Trampled on the ground.
You are that I need,
But not which I seek.
The first step,
Not the final leap.
We kneel and grovel on the floor,
Bowed at the feet of prententious whores,
Thus are we made pawns and jesters, all.
Saturday, 24 June 2006
I can't believe its the middle of the year again. It feels like the New Year fireworks lit up the sky not long ago. When you're young, time can't go fast enough. As the years come, time speeds up - first a run when you're in high school, a sprint in uni, and then a blur when you start working.
Work is the bane of modern society. It's a ridiculous human concept; to think we are born free, free to do whatever we like, and yet we need to spend the best years of our lives sitting behind a desk in order to live. In the end, when we have enough money to really enjoy life, we are already too old...
Most of my friends are working, and all of them are disillusioned: is this what we'll be doing for the next 30 years?
To be honest, I like my workplace. The people are nice, the building is nice, and free food is nice, too. The work itself, though, is nothing I would call stimulating or challenging, which is what I look for in a job. Well, I recently moved to a web development team on another floor for a one month project, and although the stuff they do looks interesting, in reality my role is more like advanced data entry.
Still, I've been working hard at it, and I usually leave the office late. My mum once told me: 'Aidan, since you aren't very smart, you have to work extra hard in life to get anywhere.' I can't say I've followed that mantra devoutly ('I am naturally lazy' - Excuse #43) , but I'm a pretty ambitious person, and to get anywhere in an organisation, you have no choice but to work hard.
Anyway, I'm moving back to my old team next week, onto a new six month and possibly one year project. Beyond that, who knows what will happen? One day I'll be CEO... one day, one day...
I'll leave you with a funny conversation I overheard from the HR team who sit behind me on the current floor I'm on. The HR team comprises of four girls and one guy, and they always gossip and have weird and wonderful conversations about everything, from what they thought of Desperate Housewives last night to troubles with their boyfriends.
[Andrew says something]
Girl 1: 'What? Errr.....that's interesting to know Andrew.'
Andrew: 'Huh?'
Girl 2 to Girl 1: 'So do you have them?'
Girl 1: 'Have what?'
Girl 2: 'The fact sheets.'
Girl 1: 'Oh! Oh my god... before, I thought Andrew said "I'm into the fat chicks"!'
[Laughter from everyone]
Andrew: 'I'm into the f-a-c-t sheets! Not fat chicks!'
Girl 1: [Laughing] 'I was thinking - Andrew, that's very interesting and I respect your preferences entirely, but please don't voice them publicly at work.'
Work is the bane of modern society. It's a ridiculous human concept; to think we are born free, free to do whatever we like, and yet we need to spend the best years of our lives sitting behind a desk in order to live. In the end, when we have enough money to really enjoy life, we are already too old...
Most of my friends are working, and all of them are disillusioned: is this what we'll be doing for the next 30 years?
To be honest, I like my workplace. The people are nice, the building is nice, and free food is nice, too. The work itself, though, is nothing I would call stimulating or challenging, which is what I look for in a job. Well, I recently moved to a web development team on another floor for a one month project, and although the stuff they do looks interesting, in reality my role is more like advanced data entry.
Still, I've been working hard at it, and I usually leave the office late. My mum once told me: 'Aidan, since you aren't very smart, you have to work extra hard in life to get anywhere.' I can't say I've followed that mantra devoutly ('I am naturally lazy' - Excuse #43) , but I'm a pretty ambitious person, and to get anywhere in an organisation, you have no choice but to work hard.
Anyway, I'm moving back to my old team next week, onto a new six month and possibly one year project. Beyond that, who knows what will happen? One day I'll be CEO... one day, one day...
I'll leave you with a funny conversation I overheard from the HR team who sit behind me on the current floor I'm on. The HR team comprises of four girls and one guy, and they always gossip and have weird and wonderful conversations about everything, from what they thought of Desperate Housewives last night to troubles with their boyfriends.
[Andrew says something]
Girl 1: 'What? Errr.....that's interesting to know Andrew.'
Andrew: 'Huh?'
Girl 2 to Girl 1: 'So do you have them?'
Girl 1: 'Have what?'
Girl 2: 'The fact sheets.'
Girl 1: 'Oh! Oh my god... before, I thought Andrew said "I'm into the fat chicks"!'
[Laughter from everyone]
Andrew: 'I'm into the f-a-c-t sheets! Not fat chicks!'
Girl 1: [Laughing] 'I was thinking - Andrew, that's very interesting and I respect your preferences entirely, but please don't voice them publicly at work.'
Sunday, 18 June 2006
Judgement is handed out swiftest by those who have been wronged. And yet, Your Honour, I offer no defence. I plead guilty to a hundred accusations and incriminations; the relentless sinner in angel's clothing. I stand, a condemned man awaiting condemnation. This cross I will bear, and all the streets lined with people will know of my guilt - 'There he goes, that worthless shit of a man,' they will curse.
I sought comfort and solace in the wrong arms, blinded by the horrible emptiness inside. Thus the blind led the blind, and the way back was lost to us. Soon, I know, your sadness will turn to pain, your doubt will turn to anger, your regret turn to hate.
We set out on this doomed voyage long ago, our hearts filled with the pretence of an amicable friendship. Naively we sailed, through murky waters and cloudy skies, and no matter the direction we chose, we were certain that a clearing was just ahead. But now we have sailed into the storm. We are two rats, clinging to the mast of a sinking ship. The black waters, they beckon...
Tuesday, 13 June 2006
It was Panzer's 12th birthday last week. With it comes the obligatory birthday poem (Happy Birthday Panzer!):
Twelve Years of Panzer
The years they quietly fly,
And in dark corners do they devise
Plans to rob you of your spritely step.
But even when your shining eyes
Stop shining,
Love for you,
Like the biscuits in your bowl,
Will always lie.
Twelve Years of Panzer
The years they quietly fly,
And in dark corners do they devise
Plans to rob you of your spritely step.
But even when your shining eyes
Stop shining,
Love for you,
Like the biscuits in your bowl,
Will always lie.
Sunday, 28 May 2006
Okay, so you've waited and waited, periodically checking this page, wondering 'When will he update his blog?' and 'What's happened to him?' and 'When the hell will he update?!'
Well here I am, and here is the update.
(No no, none of that 'this page has been intentionally left blank' bullshit)
So...let's start with my graduation.
I've been looking forward to my graduation for a long time now, anticipating the day I could wear a flowing black cape and a square hat with swinging tassels. How sexy. I've been to a lot of my friends' graduations, and each time I would feel simultaneously happy and sad - happy to see them so filled with joy, and yet sad knowing that I might never see my own graduation.
Uni really was a struggle for me, and there were so many times when I was positively sure I would never make it. But, as the song goes, if at first you don't succeed, pick yourself up and try again. Hmm...I'm not sure if I actually did that; I think it was more I latched onto the people passing by, and rode on their coat tails to the finish.
Funny though, as my graduation day drew nearer, I became more and more disinterested. I have so much to do at work and I can't be stuffed getting there at 8.30 in the morning and no one's going to turn up anyway!
In a few (hundred) blinks of an eye, the 26th of May arrived. I dressed groggily in the morning, the whole family bundled into the car and we drove off. After getting my gown, we stepped into the uni courtyard to take pictures. As the sun shone through clear blue skies, dissolving the dew on the blades of grass, so too was my disinterest in the whole proceeding dissolved. Seeing the other graduates, the gowns, the colours, and the smiles of my family, I was suddenly overjoyed. My family was proud of me - a rare thing - and I took as many photos as I could with them, certain that this moment would never come again. (Well, it might, but not anytime soon, that's for sure.)
The ceremony itself in the Great Hall was soooo boring. I had to stop myself from laughing when we stood for the 'main procession'. The procession consisted of a few old guys dressed in an assortment of robes, fluffy hats and more robes, with a few of them carrying big gold rods. Anyway, the formality of it all is just so ridiculous.
After the certificates were given out (First Class Honours... blah blah blah... Second Class Honours... blah blah blah... Pass... Aidan. That will be all.), another guy made some long speech about biomedical engineering and water shortages. All the while I sat there, dying to just run out of and eat all the free food sitting on the tables outside. Nah kidding, I couldn't wait to see my friends who were waiting for me to come out. Honest!
Hmmm...I've been trying to write this post for two weeks now, but with the little time (work, it's killing me - will write about it later) I have, I've only managed to fill in bits and pieces. Now that I do have time though, I can't be bothered writing, because I've really lost interest in this whole graduation thing. So yeah, I'm gonna cut it short and just leave you with a few photos to ponder over.
By the way, thanks to the people who turned up, and thanks for the gifts too! (Thank goodness there weren't any flowers.)
Bloody hell it's hard posting images in this blog without some major fiddling. Stuff it. If you want to see more, ask me.
Well here I am, and here is the update.
(No no, none of that 'this page has been intentionally left blank' bullshit)
So...let's start with my graduation.
I've been looking forward to my graduation for a long time now, anticipating the day I could wear a flowing black cape and a square hat with swinging tassels. How sexy. I've been to a lot of my friends' graduations, and each time I would feel simultaneously happy and sad - happy to see them so filled with joy, and yet sad knowing that I might never see my own graduation.Funny though, as my graduation day drew nearer, I became more and more disinterested. I have so much to do at work and I can't be stuffed getting there at 8.30 in the morning and no one's going to turn up anyway!
In a few (hundred) blinks of an eye, the 26th of May arrived. I dressed groggily in the morning, the whole family bundled into the car and we drove off. After getting my gown, we stepped into the uni courtyard to take pictures. As the sun shone through clear blue skies, dissolving the dew on the blades of grass, so too was my disinterest in the whole proceeding dissolved. Seeing the other graduates, the gowns, the colours, and the smiles of my family, I was suddenly overjoyed. My family was proud of me - a rare thing - and I took as many photos as I could with them, certain that this moment would never come again. (Well, it might, but not anytime soon, that's for sure.)The ceremony itself in the Great Hall was soooo boring. I had to stop myself from laughing when we stood for the 'main procession'. The procession consisted of a few old guys dressed in an assortment of robes, fluffy hats and more robes, with a few of them carrying big gold rods. Anyway, the formality of it all is just so ridiculous.
After the certificates were given out (First Class Honours... blah blah blah... Second Class Honours... blah blah blah... Pass... Aidan. That will be all.), another guy made some long speech about biomedical engineering and water shortages. All the while I sat there, dying to just run out of and eat all the free food sitting on the tables outside. Nah kidding, I couldn't wait to see my friends who were waiting for me to come out. Honest!Hmmm...I've been trying to write this post for two weeks now, but with the little time (work, it's killing me - will write about it later) I have, I've only managed to fill in bits and pieces. Now that I do have time though, I can't be bothered writing, because I've really lost interest in this whole graduation thing. So yeah, I'm gonna cut it short and just leave you with a few photos to ponder over.
By the way, thanks to the people who turned up, and thanks for the gifts too! (Thank goodness there weren't any flowers.)
Bloody hell it's hard posting images in this blog without some major fiddling. Stuff it. If you want to see more, ask me.
Sunday, 14 May 2006
I've lost faith in myself once more.
One circumstance leads to another, and like a giant snowball they roll into each other... You'll be on your way up, halfway up the mountain, and you'll see the snowball coming, you'll see it from a mile away, hurtling down the slope like some possessed animal (the metaphorical rolling of one's insecurities into a ball), and you'll see it coming towards you, oh yes it's coming, but you won't move, you won't move an inch because you think you're strong, but no, didn't you know that the flesh is weak, and yes, even a snowflake can kill you, and the snowball crashes into you, and you're caught up and blinded senseless in a swirling catastrophe of white and grey.
You awake, to start once more at the bottom.
Fragmented, like an ill-fitting jigsaw puzzle.
One circumstance leads to another, and like a giant snowball they roll into each other... You'll be on your way up, halfway up the mountain, and you'll see the snowball coming, you'll see it from a mile away, hurtling down the slope like some possessed animal (the metaphorical rolling of one's insecurities into a ball), and you'll see it coming towards you, oh yes it's coming, but you won't move, you won't move an inch because you think you're strong, but no, didn't you know that the flesh is weak, and yes, even a snowflake can kill you, and the snowball crashes into you, and you're caught up and blinded senseless in a swirling catastrophe of white and grey.
You awake, to start once more at the bottom.
Fragmented, like an ill-fitting jigsaw puzzle.
Sunday, 7 May 2006
an unfinished letter to someone. anyone. no one.
...I yearn for something greater, but it is the lesser you give (and the lesser I contend with). I am forever the sideshow, the provider of things others will not give, the filler to occupy the gaps in your life.
I have languished in these dark forgotten halls, imprisoned by my own grim determination and the beatings of my stubborn heart. I curse myself, curse my luck, curse you. But if you should call my name, I shall emerge, blinking in your sunlight, filled with the false hope that will surely die as light fades in the evening...
...I yearn for something greater, but it is the lesser you give (and the lesser I contend with). I am forever the sideshow, the provider of things others will not give, the filler to occupy the gaps in your life.
I have languished in these dark forgotten halls, imprisoned by my own grim determination and the beatings of my stubborn heart. I curse myself, curse my luck, curse you. But if you should call my name, I shall emerge, blinking in your sunlight, filled with the false hope that will surely die as light fades in the evening...
Saturday, 6 May 2006
It's about time I updated everyone on what I've been doing lately.
Okay, here it comes. You ready?
(this space has been intentionally left blank)
Yes, exciting, I know.
Lazy Saturday afternoon. Nothing to do, and even less to say.
I think that's one of my biggest problems. I never talk much around other people. It's not to say I don't have anything to talk about, but I just don't think anyone is interested in hearing about the mundane. So after the initial meeting where I tell them everything about me ('I am Lazarus, come from the dead!'), the conversations die down and I am left to dispense with monosyllables and fragmented sentences.
Believe me I do try - most people nod subconsciously and then ramble on about their own lives, forgetting what you told them just moments before. It can be hard to find someone who genuinely listens.
Boy: 'Mum mum! I came first today at the school athletics carnival!'
Mum: 'Mmm...that's nice.'
Boy: 'And then like...I was also in the relay and I...'
Mum: 'Mmm...yes yes. Can you take out the rubbish now?'
Lazy Saturday afternoon. I was going to go out tonight, but someone always seems to need the car when I do. I feel light-headed from lack of sleep - my sister has an annoying habit of singing and playing piano in the morning.
I think I shall rest my head and sleep, and pray that I awake when the world has turned.
Okay, here it comes. You ready?
(this space has been intentionally left blank)
Yes, exciting, I know.
Lazy Saturday afternoon. Nothing to do, and even less to say.
I think that's one of my biggest problems. I never talk much around other people. It's not to say I don't have anything to talk about, but I just don't think anyone is interested in hearing about the mundane. So after the initial meeting where I tell them everything about me ('I am Lazarus, come from the dead!'), the conversations die down and I am left to dispense with monosyllables and fragmented sentences.
Believe me I do try - most people nod subconsciously and then ramble on about their own lives, forgetting what you told them just moments before. It can be hard to find someone who genuinely listens.
Boy: 'Mum mum! I came first today at the school athletics carnival!'
Mum: 'Mmm...that's nice.'
Boy: 'And then like...I was also in the relay and I...'
Mum: 'Mmm...yes yes. Can you take out the rubbish now?'
Lazy Saturday afternoon. I was going to go out tonight, but someone always seems to need the car when I do. I feel light-headed from lack of sleep - my sister has an annoying habit of singing and playing piano in the morning.
I think I shall rest my head and sleep, and pray that I awake when the world has turned.
Thursday, 27 April 2006
Schweppes Orange & Mango (315mL)Rating: 4 out of 5.
With all the hardships people seem to be having lately, I think it's time for me to write about something less sombre.
What better way to do it than to write about another drink from work?
A wise man once asked me: 'If an orange was not orange, would it still be called an orange?'
To which I replied: 'Can a man go back in time and kill his grandfather?'
To which he replied in turn: 'How do you describe music to a man born deaf?'
And so on and so forth, until our ponderings mingled with the thoughts of gods and we achieved enlightenment and left this earth. Oops sorry, wrong story.
Anyway....
I love oranges. Admittedly, I'm not such a fan nowadays - I'm too lazy to peel them and wash my hands afterwards - time does, as you get older, come at a premium.
When I was a kid though, oranges were one of the few fruits I actually enjoyed eating. (It may have been helped by the fact that the oranges were always sitting on a plate, peeled and ready for my greedy consumption. )
I loved oranges so much that I would only choose the orange-flavoured Sugus (an Asian version of Starburst) candies when offered, or take nothing at all.
But seriously, nothing beats a nice, sweet, juicy orange. It has an irresistible coolness that other fruits only dream of possessing - the juices mix with your saliva, slide coolly down your throat and deliver its promise of anti-oxidising vitamin C.
And yes, even the colour is funky.
Mango however, I am impartial to. I used to love mangoes until one day I came home to find my grandma's lips swollen with ulcers after eating half a dozen mangoes in one sitting. From then on I developed an aversion to mangoes, convinced they were the devil's fruit disguised as a produce of paradise.
Even without this conviction, I find people's adoration of mangoes puzzling. It's taste borders on sour, and its flesh has the texture of mashed bananas. The skin is usually a sickly yellow and red with black spots, and the overall shape resembles a person's bum or, if you prefer, someone's face.
Schweppes Orange & Mango is the second drink I tried at work. It's very sweet, akin, to say, concentrated orange cordial (with air). As with its Lemon Lime & Bitters, Schweppes has decided to put only 5% orange and mango into the actual Orange & Mango drink, so again I'm not sure what the rest is made of. Strangely (or fortunately), I can't taste any mango in there, so the percentage of mango is probably even less.
Well, that is all I have to say about the actual drink really. See, isn't it great? In this post you were afforded a glimpse into my childhood and the fruits I do and don't like. Yes, you think you know everything about me now. But no, that can't be right...I'm not that simple, am I?
Ahem, back to the review. Overall, this is a very good and satisfying drink. I love oranges, so I love you. Schweppes Orange & Mango, take a bow.
Friday, 21 April 2006
"Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?" -Joel, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
She asks me whether I like Thai. I tell her Thai sounds good. But the Thai restaurant is closed, its black windows giving away nothing but our darkened reflections. I suggest the Chinese BBQ place just up the road; she agrees, and we walk there. She tells me she often comes here with her family and they know the owner. I tell her I often come here too with my friends.
We seat ourselves and quickly pick up the menu. We're both starving. I glance over it and put it down. I already know what I want. Peering over her menu, she asks me whether I am one of those people who know what to order before they even step into the restaurant. Apparently so, I reply. She smiles. I pour her tea.
The food comes promptly. She offers me some of her rice. I tell her it's okay, I've got enough here, but she insists I take some. I can't finish a whole serving by myself, she explains. I take a bit from her plate, and half-heartedly (I am very hungry) ask if she wants some of my noodles. She declines. I pour her tea.
She has eaten less than half her plate, but she puts down her chopsticks and announces she's full. But you ate so little, I exclaim. I told you I couldn't finish it all by myself, she retorts. I continue eating. Not long after, I'm also full - I haven't done much better than her. Think of all the poor kids in Africa, she laments. I explain to her that when you're really hungry, it doesn't take much until you're really full. Poor African kids, she repeats. Maybe we should mail this food to them. We both laugh. I pour her tea.
I wouldn't mind going to Africa, I tell her. It'd be nice there. We start to talk about all the beautiful places in the world we'd each like to visit. Talking about beautiful places, we somehow (after we established we'd both watched the movie) move onto how nice the scenery was in Brokeback Mountain. The ending was really sad, she comments. Yes, I nod, agreeing. I was a bit depressed afterwards. Depressed? She stares at me. Yeah, I continue earnestly, the movie was depressing.
She starts laughing. I ask her what's so funny. She says (between laughter) she must get the DVD when it comes out and we should watch it together (I smile) - so she can see the reactions on my face.
She laughs again, longer this time. It is a child's laughter, unrestrained, without pretentiousness, free. In her laughter I hear the church bells from the local parish ringing out into the clear Sunday morning. I hear certainty, the promise of blue skies and starry nights. Something in my heart stirs, ancient rusted gears slowly moving once more. The world shrinks. It's just me, and her.
We talk more - music, people, relationships. We talk and laugh, talk and laugh, and I pour her tea. Soon, too soon, it is time for her to go. I walk her home.
I ask if I can call her sometime. Sure, she says. She turns to leave, but at the last minute asks me what my last name is. I tell her. She's not sure which 'yau' that is - is it the fish one? I assure her that it isn't. Just as she is about to enter the apartment building, she yells out 'goodbye fish', laughs, and is gone.
I am awake for half of the night, thinking.
I ring her. She says she is busy, and won't have time to talk anytime soon. The conversation lasts no more than two minutes.
The movement in my heart subsides, and is silent.
She asks me whether I like Thai. I tell her Thai sounds good. But the Thai restaurant is closed, its black windows giving away nothing but our darkened reflections. I suggest the Chinese BBQ place just up the road; she agrees, and we walk there. She tells me she often comes here with her family and they know the owner. I tell her I often come here too with my friends.
We seat ourselves and quickly pick up the menu. We're both starving. I glance over it and put it down. I already know what I want. Peering over her menu, she asks me whether I am one of those people who know what to order before they even step into the restaurant. Apparently so, I reply. She smiles. I pour her tea.
The food comes promptly. She offers me some of her rice. I tell her it's okay, I've got enough here, but she insists I take some. I can't finish a whole serving by myself, she explains. I take a bit from her plate, and half-heartedly (I am very hungry) ask if she wants some of my noodles. She declines. I pour her tea.
She has eaten less than half her plate, but she puts down her chopsticks and announces she's full. But you ate so little, I exclaim. I told you I couldn't finish it all by myself, she retorts. I continue eating. Not long after, I'm also full - I haven't done much better than her. Think of all the poor kids in Africa, she laments. I explain to her that when you're really hungry, it doesn't take much until you're really full. Poor African kids, she repeats. Maybe we should mail this food to them. We both laugh. I pour her tea.
I wouldn't mind going to Africa, I tell her. It'd be nice there. We start to talk about all the beautiful places in the world we'd each like to visit. Talking about beautiful places, we somehow (after we established we'd both watched the movie) move onto how nice the scenery was in Brokeback Mountain. The ending was really sad, she comments. Yes, I nod, agreeing. I was a bit depressed afterwards. Depressed? She stares at me. Yeah, I continue earnestly, the movie was depressing.
She starts laughing. I ask her what's so funny. She says (between laughter) she must get the DVD when it comes out and we should watch it together (I smile) - so she can see the reactions on my face.
She laughs again, longer this time. It is a child's laughter, unrestrained, without pretentiousness, free. In her laughter I hear the church bells from the local parish ringing out into the clear Sunday morning. I hear certainty, the promise of blue skies and starry nights. Something in my heart stirs, ancient rusted gears slowly moving once more. The world shrinks. It's just me, and her.
We talk more - music, people, relationships. We talk and laugh, talk and laugh, and I pour her tea. Soon, too soon, it is time for her to go. I walk her home.
I ask if I can call her sometime. Sure, she says. She turns to leave, but at the last minute asks me what my last name is. I tell her. She's not sure which 'yau' that is - is it the fish one? I assure her that it isn't. Just as she is about to enter the apartment building, she yells out 'goodbye fish', laughs, and is gone.
I am awake for half of the night, thinking.
I ring her. She says she is busy, and won't have time to talk anytime soon. The conversation lasts no more than two minutes.
The movement in my heart subsides, and is silent.
Saturday, 15 April 2006
At work I'm what's called a Technical Writer. Actually, make that a Junior Technical Writer. My role in the company is to write user manuals and training documents for end users. And making friends with inanimate objects, of course.
I thought I might write a brief manual for you guys (free of charge) because...well, because I'm bored and feel like writing and have nothing better to write about.
I did a little survey with some friends on what in life they would like a manual for. Since most of my friends are single guys, the most common reply was: How to Get Girls.
So, here it is:
How To Make Love To Your....oops. Hold on, that's later on....This first...
I thought I might write a brief manual for you guys (free of charge) because...well, because I'm bored and feel like writing and have nothing better to write about.
I did a little survey with some friends on what in life they would like a manual for. Since most of my friends are single guys, the most common reply was: How to Get Girls.
So, here it is:
How To Make Love To Your....oops. Hold on, that's later on....This first...
The Kamikaze Method
1. Overview
You are a single guy (or not). You're in a club with your boys when, out of the corner of your eye, you spot a girl that tickles your fancy. She's all curves, legs and smiles. Oh she is hot! You have to make her yours, you decide. But how? She is surrounded by her girlfriends! Defended and guarded so tightly, it's nigh on impossible for you to approach her! What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?! Use the Kamikaze Method!