I'm home sick today. Woke up with a headache, temperature and sore throat. I've been stressed lately, effectively working two jobs since my trafficker left. We've hired another one to start Monday, but it's been all hands on deck for the last few weeks. I felt guilty about taking a sickie when there's so much work on, but damn, I've pre-paid for a big ski weekend in 3 days and I don't want to jeopardise my investment! hehehe
I've been too busy experiencing to blog or create lately. I'm going thru an "experiencing" period, you might say. Lately I can't stand my own company, so I've been going out after work and cramming my leisure time with movie nights, karaoke, hiphop dance lessons, gym, and late-night gaming. On weekends, I go hunting for realestate, the perfect bubble tea and good occasions for getting drunk. I'm enjoying life, greedily seeking out new friends and experiences, improving myself thru study and sport, and socialising like all lonely bastards should. I'm still somewhere between Coldplay's The Scientist, Robbie Williams' Better Man, and George Michael's Waiting for that Day. From the sublime, to the popular, to the pathetic. Haha, well we all have our pathetic moments. And somehow music manages to elevate the pathetic into the sublime.
Anyway, to keep you company in my absence, here are some blogs that do get updated regularly. I've been reading them vicariously, instead of writing my own. And no, I don't know any of these people personally, so don't go tellin them I sent you!
It's A Big (Fucking) Deal - sassy Malaysian girl who studies at UNSW.
A Soul-Less Man's Journal - funny ass Korean guy from LA who works in an ad agency like moi.
Dawei's House of Debauchery and Beeyotching - gay fucker from Brisbane... so offensive he's brilliant.
An intimate scrapbook documenting the trials and tribulations of nereis, our intrepid nematode at large (and a somewhat inconsistent blogger)
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
Monday, August 18, 2003
On Saturday morning I got a call from my cousin in Sabah. My uncle had passed away in Kota Belud, my Dad’s hometown. As coincidence would have it, my Dad was in KL for a work conference, and as I got the news first, I thought I should call him immediately on his mobile.
“Dad, I’ve got some very bad news for you. Your brother is dead.”
“Which one?
“Second uncle, Ah Seng’s father…”
My dad was in a good mood at the time, and I found it a bit strange not to detect any shock or sadness in his voice, but considering the way Asians dislike public displays of emotion, unexpected phonecalls of this type are sometimes hard to read. Anyway he cancelled his conference and flew to KK that day... and is now in KB, ready for the funeral tomorrow.
When my parents first came out to Australia as students, they both lived with Australian families who rented out the spare room to international students. These landlords/guardians eventually became adopted family. I grew up thinking of these folks as my Australian grandparents. We had three pairs of Aussie grandparents – the Kidds, the Hickeys and the Scotts. I will always remember the morning that Grandpa Hickey passed away and I had to get my Dad out of the shower to answer the phone. I must’ve been about 8 or 9 years old, but I remember him standing in the kitchen, dripping wet, and crying. I can’t remember ever seeing him cry, except for that occasion.
Last night I was out clubbing with my friends at Temptation, an Asian dance party at City Hotel, when a fight broke out on the dancefloor. An acquaintance of mine got the shit kicked out of him by 6-8 guys. I think he tried to chat up one of the girls in their group and that was all the excuse they needed. One of them grabbed him by the arm as he tried to walk away. He was apologizing at the time, saying “Sorry, sorry sorry” but they must’ve been spoiling for a fight because from out of nowhere they swarmed on him and beat him to the ground, kicking and punching him senseless. One of the bar-staff intervened and pushed the attackers back. I saw Paul’s body huddled on the floor, but at that stage I didn’t realize who it was. Then one of the gang members started throwing glass tumblers and bottles at the barman, who was forced to retreat. The projectiles hit his body and bounced up into the ceiling. It was all so wrong. I wanted to tackle the guy who was throwing the glasses, but before I knew it the psycho was hugging a friend that he had spotted in the crowd, and Paul and the barman had both disappeared.
We left before the cops arrived and went for a late-night pie at Harry’s Café de Wheels. Unlike my companions, who had found the whole spectacle rather surreal and exciting, I was disturbed by the ferocity of the attack, and the way the violence switched from Paul to the barman so quickly and indiscriminately. Just half an hour earlier, two of these haters had shaken my hand and ruffled my hair, as I was resting by the windowsill.
… I went to yum cha and played tennis today for the first time in 10 or so years, with some new friends I met on a recent ski trip. I've been raving and clubbing with these guys a fair bit lately. They're very close, but at the same time, welcoming to strangers like myself. And for some reason, they're going through a tennis craze at the moment. Tennis is one of my dad's great passions, which is one of the reasons I never really enjoyed it. When we were little kids, he used to make my sister and I accompany him to the courts, rather than hire a baby sitter. Later on, we both had to take tennis lessons so he could use us as target practice for his power serve. But today, I actually enjoyed bashing a few balls around, even though the events of the last two days have left me unsettled.
“Dad, I’ve got some very bad news for you. Your brother is dead.”
“Which one?
“Second uncle, Ah Seng’s father…”
My dad was in a good mood at the time, and I found it a bit strange not to detect any shock or sadness in his voice, but considering the way Asians dislike public displays of emotion, unexpected phonecalls of this type are sometimes hard to read. Anyway he cancelled his conference and flew to KK that day... and is now in KB, ready for the funeral tomorrow.
When my parents first came out to Australia as students, they both lived with Australian families who rented out the spare room to international students. These landlords/guardians eventually became adopted family. I grew up thinking of these folks as my Australian grandparents. We had three pairs of Aussie grandparents – the Kidds, the Hickeys and the Scotts. I will always remember the morning that Grandpa Hickey passed away and I had to get my Dad out of the shower to answer the phone. I must’ve been about 8 or 9 years old, but I remember him standing in the kitchen, dripping wet, and crying. I can’t remember ever seeing him cry, except for that occasion.
Last night I was out clubbing with my friends at Temptation, an Asian dance party at City Hotel, when a fight broke out on the dancefloor. An acquaintance of mine got the shit kicked out of him by 6-8 guys. I think he tried to chat up one of the girls in their group and that was all the excuse they needed. One of them grabbed him by the arm as he tried to walk away. He was apologizing at the time, saying “Sorry, sorry sorry” but they must’ve been spoiling for a fight because from out of nowhere they swarmed on him and beat him to the ground, kicking and punching him senseless. One of the bar-staff intervened and pushed the attackers back. I saw Paul’s body huddled on the floor, but at that stage I didn’t realize who it was. Then one of the gang members started throwing glass tumblers and bottles at the barman, who was forced to retreat. The projectiles hit his body and bounced up into the ceiling. It was all so wrong. I wanted to tackle the guy who was throwing the glasses, but before I knew it the psycho was hugging a friend that he had spotted in the crowd, and Paul and the barman had both disappeared.
We left before the cops arrived and went for a late-night pie at Harry’s Café de Wheels. Unlike my companions, who had found the whole spectacle rather surreal and exciting, I was disturbed by the ferocity of the attack, and the way the violence switched from Paul to the barman so quickly and indiscriminately. Just half an hour earlier, two of these haters had shaken my hand and ruffled my hair, as I was resting by the windowsill.
… I went to yum cha and played tennis today for the first time in 10 or so years, with some new friends I met on a recent ski trip. I've been raving and clubbing with these guys a fair bit lately. They're very close, but at the same time, welcoming to strangers like myself. And for some reason, they're going through a tennis craze at the moment. Tennis is one of my dad's great passions, which is one of the reasons I never really enjoyed it. When we were little kids, he used to make my sister and I accompany him to the courts, rather than hire a baby sitter. Later on, we both had to take tennis lessons so he could use us as target practice for his power serve. But today, I actually enjoyed bashing a few balls around, even though the events of the last two days have left me unsettled.
Saturday, August 16, 2003
Sunday, August 10, 2003
Things I like to do on weekends. Get horribly drunk at rnb parties and karoake. And read the arts section of the newspaper.
This week's highlight was an article on the concept of Beauty, which got me thinking because it relates to my last few posts about love, religion, and what motivates us to keep on living. How do we know what beauty is? And why do we seek it?
Everyone has heard that old acorn "beauty starts in the eye of the beholder." And yes, concepts of beauty differ from culture to culture. There is no doubt that beauty is tied up with perception. But it seems all cultures seek out the Beautiful, and there must be some underlying reason to all this yearning and drooling.
Some see beauty in Darwinian terms, as a sign of physical health, and by implication, reproductive ability. Handsome Kings are born of flawless Queens, which explains why the kingdoms of men often went to war over women. This theory also sheds some light on non-human kinds of beauty such as buildings and music. Things we create to impress the opposite sex and increase our chances of getting laid. However, it doesn't explain the heroin chic of the 90s supermodel scene, in which a healthy glow was considered the antithesis of beauty.
Plato thought the true lover of wisdom gained a heightened sensitivity to perceive natural beauty in the world. Thus a life of true virtue brought one in touch with the Beautiful. Many who followed Plato and Aristotle also intertwined beauty with truth and goodness... spreading the idea that beauty springs from moral purity, and because of this, beauty historically signified goodness. This explains why heroes and gods are always beautiful. However, ugly people are often nicer than their beautiful counterparts, perhaps because they have to try harder to attract the opposite sex. They cultivate inner beauty to cancel out their outer ugliness. Beautiful people have it easy. They are born with physical assets that bring happiness to others. This kind of effortless giving is akin to a headstart in life.
But if there's one thing I've learnt in months of clubbing, it's that beautiful people can also be sluts. This goes against the traditional view of beauty being associated with virtue and goodness. I think the Neech had it pegged right when he said that "truth is ugly." We possess art lest we perish of the truth. And similarly, beauty, much as it is tied to physical appearance, is actually this more complex, spiritual thing. Beauty belongs in the world of art, of ideals and dreams, and not the world of everyday truth. Because that beautiful young girl you see with the angelic face that radiates hope, innocence and a romantic future, is often an unpredictable, high maintenance bitch who sleeps with gangsters and backstabs her friends.
There is something inherently random about beauty. Part of its appeal is it's rarity. Cosmetics, surgery and clothing only go so far. True beauty is effortless superiority. Nature encourages mutation and constant adaptation. The natural distribution of all this variety creates beauty as a necessary and mysterious pinnacle towards which our loins command us to climb. Beauty as an evolutionary goal, an ancient, instinctual lust. And thus strange and wonderful species like the proboscis monkey came about because the babes kept choosing mates with big noses.
Lastly, beauty is inspiring because it gives us a glimpse of some greater existence - whether it be the hand of God or some natural order. Iris Murdoch wrote that "Art and morals are, with certain provisos, one. The essence of both of them is love. And Love is the extremely difficult realisation that something other than oneself is real." A beautiful girl, apartment, painting, or song, answers in us a primal need to believe in something greater than ourselves, and to be mesmerised by it. This transcendent moment of wonder and recognition allows us to triumph, however fleetingly, over death.
This week's highlight was an article on the concept of Beauty, which got me thinking because it relates to my last few posts about love, religion, and what motivates us to keep on living. How do we know what beauty is? And why do we seek it?
Everyone has heard that old acorn "beauty starts in the eye of the beholder." And yes, concepts of beauty differ from culture to culture. There is no doubt that beauty is tied up with perception. But it seems all cultures seek out the Beautiful, and there must be some underlying reason to all this yearning and drooling.
Some see beauty in Darwinian terms, as a sign of physical health, and by implication, reproductive ability. Handsome Kings are born of flawless Queens, which explains why the kingdoms of men often went to war over women. This theory also sheds some light on non-human kinds of beauty such as buildings and music. Things we create to impress the opposite sex and increase our chances of getting laid. However, it doesn't explain the heroin chic of the 90s supermodel scene, in which a healthy glow was considered the antithesis of beauty.
Plato thought the true lover of wisdom gained a heightened sensitivity to perceive natural beauty in the world. Thus a life of true virtue brought one in touch with the Beautiful. Many who followed Plato and Aristotle also intertwined beauty with truth and goodness... spreading the idea that beauty springs from moral purity, and because of this, beauty historically signified goodness. This explains why heroes and gods are always beautiful. However, ugly people are often nicer than their beautiful counterparts, perhaps because they have to try harder to attract the opposite sex. They cultivate inner beauty to cancel out their outer ugliness. Beautiful people have it easy. They are born with physical assets that bring happiness to others. This kind of effortless giving is akin to a headstart in life.
But if there's one thing I've learnt in months of clubbing, it's that beautiful people can also be sluts. This goes against the traditional view of beauty being associated with virtue and goodness. I think the Neech had it pegged right when he said that "truth is ugly." We possess art lest we perish of the truth. And similarly, beauty, much as it is tied to physical appearance, is actually this more complex, spiritual thing. Beauty belongs in the world of art, of ideals and dreams, and not the world of everyday truth. Because that beautiful young girl you see with the angelic face that radiates hope, innocence and a romantic future, is often an unpredictable, high maintenance bitch who sleeps with gangsters and backstabs her friends.
There is something inherently random about beauty. Part of its appeal is it's rarity. Cosmetics, surgery and clothing only go so far. True beauty is effortless superiority. Nature encourages mutation and constant adaptation. The natural distribution of all this variety creates beauty as a necessary and mysterious pinnacle towards which our loins command us to climb. Beauty as an evolutionary goal, an ancient, instinctual lust. And thus strange and wonderful species like the proboscis monkey came about because the babes kept choosing mates with big noses.
Lastly, beauty is inspiring because it gives us a glimpse of some greater existence - whether it be the hand of God or some natural order. Iris Murdoch wrote that "Art and morals are, with certain provisos, one. The essence of both of them is love. And Love is the extremely difficult realisation that something other than oneself is real." A beautiful girl, apartment, painting, or song, answers in us a primal need to believe in something greater than ourselves, and to be mesmerised by it. This transcendent moment of wonder and recognition allows us to triumph, however fleetingly, over death.
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