be jaxed

racial harmony

2007-08-22T04:40:00.000+08:00

came across this joke on a friend's msn nick. no intention to be racist, just thought it was rather funny.

How do you make a Malay panic?
Send him to a round room.

Because he cannot relac 1 corner.

Anyway, one thing I really like about our little multi-racial society is that we are able to share racist jokes about each other. I recall this 2 guys from my jc, an indian and a chinese, who used to tell each other jokes about their own race. Of course, not everyone can take these jokes without getting too personal and there are still a some discrimination beneath the surface, but at least most jokes are told in a good-humoured way and most sterotypical criticisms are mild and harmless compared to what i've seen in other countries.

though we are not the only multi-racial nation, not many can boast to be as harmonious as us. the best perks are PLENTY of national holdays and a wide variety of delicious food to satisfy your palate. i can't imagine how boring it will be to live in countries where 99% of the people you meet are of the same race. there will be no roti pratas and nasi lemaks.

by the way, i totally support inter-racial relations. it is intune with the government's racial harmony policy, and is a great way to have those beautiful mixed-race babies. Maybe if we have more inter-racial couples, we might be able to win the next Miss Universe. hah!

cheerios to racial harmony day!

Random News Flash

2007-07-10T01:02:00.000+08:00

The Statisticians Start to Wonder

A University of Chicago sex survey found that the average man has six partners in his lifetime and the average woman has two. If most men and women are heterosexual, as the study claims, then mathematically the average number of sex partners for men and women must be roughly the same. Where, then, do men get these four additional sex partners? Are they farm animals? Inflatable dolls? The researchers admit they "have no good answer" for the conundrum.

taken from The Essentials of Hip Mama

2007-07-07T23:46:00.000+08:00

"An eye for an eye, makes the whole world go blind." - Ghandi

Banana Nut Crunch

2007-07-03T11:39:00.000+08:00

have you recently bought a box of Post's Banana Nut Crunch cereal? if you have, turn it around to read the words at the back.

"We should all aspire to live like bananas. They are on permanent vacation, living in lush, tropical rainforest."

Have the manufacturers gone banana nuts or what?

youtube still rocks

2007-06-30T00:25:00.000+08:00

check out these 2 hilarious clips.

japanese tv tetris game

why asian guys can't get white girls

Loire Valley

2007-06-26T12:15:00.000+08:00

The Loire Valley (Val de Loire) is a region in central France famous for its numerous magnificant castles (chateaux). It was highly favoured by nobles due to its clement weather - neither too hot in summer like the south nor too cold in winter like the north. Chateaux sprung everywhere in the Loire during the French Renaissance, and an era of pomp reigned until Henri IV moved his court to Paris, marking the Loire's decline.

When visiting the Loire, it is advisable to choose the chateaux wisely, unless you plan to spend a whole month there. The most notable few are Chambord, Chenonceaux, Cheverny and Amboise. Visitors usually use the near by cities, Tours and Blois, as platforms to visit the chateaux, as cheap accommodations might hard to find in the town of the chateau itself.

Chambord

Chambord is magnificant. I've never seen anything quite like it in other parts of France. The Loire is definitely a must-see region for those who want to discover the different facets of France. The château is in a park of more than 5,260 hectares, enclosed by a wall stretching some 32km. (Note: distance from woodlands to Cityhall is approx 40+km) Four monumental towers dominate Chambord's facade. The three-story keep has viewing terrace from which the ladies of the court used to watch the return of their men from the hunt. The keep also encloses 2 intertwining staircases, superimposed upon itself so that one person may descend and a second ascend without ever meeting.

the stairwell

view of the park from the terrace

Alsace-Lorraine

2007-06-23T01:06:00.000+08:00

Strasbourg, captial of Alsace

"488km (303 miles) SE of Paris, 217km (135 miles) SW of Frankfurt

The capital of Alsace, Strasbourg is one of France's greatest cities and the birthplace of pâté de foie gras. Here Rouget de Lisle first sang "La Marseillaise," the French national anthem.

Strasbourg is one of France's major ports, only 3km (1 3/4 miles) west of the Rhine. In addition to being the site of the Council of Europe, Strasbourg is home to the European Parliament, which convenes at the Palais de l'Europe.

In 1871, Strasbourg was absorbed by Germany and made the capital of the territory of Alsace-Lorraine. It reverted to France in 1918. One street is a perfect illustration of the city's identity crisis: More than a century ago it was avenue Napoléon. In 1871, it became Kaiser-Wilhelmstrasse, then boulevard de la République in 1918. In 1940, it became Adolf-Hitler-Strasse, and it ended up as avenue du Général-de-Gaulle in 1945.

One of the most happening cities in France, Strasbourg is home to the University of Strasbourg, once attended by the likes of Goethe, Napoléon, and Pasteur. Today, some 40,000 students follow in their footsteps."

A little too tired to blog, as it is already 1am.

As you've already guessed, Strasbourg changed hands many times between Germany and France, and it is not uncommon to hear German spoken on the streets. Before the Euro was introduced, it was said that the most financially ideal situation for a French man is to live in Strasbourg and work in Germany. (the currency in the latter was much stronger).

When I stepped out of the train station, I was most severely disappointed as what greeted me was a huge construction site of a new tram way. This spreaded out into a few tight alleys cramped with kebab stalls, cheap hotels and dodgy beer pubs. Nothing remotely touristic in site. I had also made the mistake of not booking my hostel bed in advance nor printing out the direction map. Topped it off with searching aimlessly under chilling winds at 10 degrees and my way-too-thin jacket, I almost wanted to board the next train back to Paris.

It took me almost 3 hours to locate my hostel and checked into my room. I was so relieved. Fortunately, the hostel Ciarus, was fantastic, and I felt things might turn out well after all. It was new and very well maintained, spacious and had lifts for transportion between floors (no more struggling thru' narrow stairwells with oversized backpacks). The receptionists were friendly and the breakfast (included in the price) was satisfying. It is one of the hostels I would definitely highly recommend.

Armed with the tourist map from the hostel, I managed to find the old town and the shopping district tucked away far from the train station. The old town was rather pretty, with a spectacular cathedral and many half-timbered houses. (Forgive me if I didnt sound too enthusiatic. I had been to qt a lot of cathedrals and 'old towns' in France and they are all starting to seem the same after a while. I can't describe the town as observantly as a pair of fresh eyes). The shopping street was tempting, unfortunately it was a Sunday and most of them were closed.

old town square

the grand cathedral

The highlight of my trip was a boat ride around the river which surrounds the old town. It took us around the old town and the tip of the new area where the European Council was located. There was commentary via headphones and plenty of time to take photos while resting those weary legs. Moreover, it was only 3.50euros (student price).

the boat ride

la Petite France
a historical neighbourhood that looks like something straight out of a fairy tale book with its half-timbered houses accented by colorful flower boxes.

the courthouse (palace de justice) and a small church

a smaller cathedral

the European Council Building

strasbourg is famous for its many local delights like the Kougelhopfs, Strasbourg Sausages and Flammekuechen. there are many others which I didn't have time to try. pity.

Kougelhopfs, pastry with walnuts.

Flammekuechen, rather like an extremely thin crusted and crispy pizza with just lotsa cheese and ham
the sign says '(cooked in) Grandmother Style'

Nancy

captial of Lorraine. my 5-hr stop on the way back to Paris. nothing really much to see there, except the Place Stanislas, a plaza bordered by gold-embellished gates, most stunningly at midday when the Sun is at its brightest. you'll be dazed by the amount of light reflected by the golden ornaments.
There is also a huge park which is nice to have a summer stroll in, but other than that, it is probably only worth a visit if you're around the vicinity. oh, and i forgot to try the Quiche Lorraine here!

Place Stanislas

locals and tourists alike just hanging out at the plaza. the french generally enjoy being outdoors much more than us. i would too if i only get a few months of good sunny days like this in a year

the Triumphant Arc of Nancy

interestings bits in Paris

2007-06-16T23:23:00.000+08:00

this is a venting machine

I had thought it was a store-front when I passed by the first time. it's about 3m wide in dimension and has this huge mechanism to retrieve the selected item. it was at gare de lyon i think. the only down side was that the door to retrieve the food item (the pull open kind like those of our rubbish chute) closes automatically within the minute. I was so busy taking photos that I was too slow in collecting my box of cookies and the door closed with my cookies still inside! ended up having to buy something else to retrieve both items.

this is an ice-cream on a cone in the shape of a rose (ice-cream shop along moufftard)

they had a special machine that could do it. another interesting fact: the favour was Bandung! it was called 'Oriental Rose'.

the continued adventures of captain jaxe

2007-06-15T11:33:00.000+08:00

journey to Brittany and Normandy

Saint Malo

the walled city and the fortress gateway

St Malo is a fortified city in Brittany, in northwestern France along the English Channel. Our main destination was Mont Saint Michel, and as we had 1 extra day, we just popped by St Malo. Honestly, didn't really find anything exceptionally unforgettable about St Malo. It had the usual what i all European-Touristic-City-Configuration. Old town (the most visit-worthy area) centered around a Cathedral + shops selling touristic mechandises lined the cobbled streets + every other thing worth seeing was within 2-3km radius of the Cathedral. One notable fact is that you can walk along the top of the fortress wall, and go a complete round around the whole city. Our most amazing discovery had to be the Kouign Amann (pronounced Koo-Ning Aman). Sweet puff pastry overgenerously filled with sinful butter. delectable.

a part of the city and wooden logs errected to break the waves

Kouign Amann! I can almost smell it..omg

the one in the picture above was the small one. you can imagine how gigantic the big one was.

and this is worthy of mentioning! an one-of-its-kind outdoor seawater pool. the little structure you see at the far end of the pool is a diving platform.

Mont Saint Michel

When Mont St Michel came into sight as our bus approached the destination, i stared transfixed at the growing image of a real middle-aged town. If it wasn't for the humming of the bus engine, I swear I was back in the days when Joan of Arc fought for King Charles. The bus drove along the causeway which led to the town, and we alighted at the foot of the hill. There was no need for the bridge today, as the tides which used to surround the hill were now gone. In the ancient times however, the hill was an islet completely surrounded by water. There was only a natural land bridge which was only revealed during low tide, attributing to the mystical aura surrounding the hill.

Today, the flood tide comes in only twice a month during spring tides, due to the canalising of the river and the converting of the land bridge into a causeway.

The abbey situated at the submit of the hill is dedicated to its patron saint, Archangel Michael, who was said to have appeared there in 708. It began as a humble chapel and evolved into a full abbey over the years, with an entire town built around it. The construction of the abbey was particularly tricky due to the severely uneven ground, and various underground crypts and chapels had to be constructed to support its weight.

the abbey

golden statue of Archangel Michael on the pinnacle of the abbey

shadow of abbey on the banks

the banks (seen from a viewing fenetration along the fortress wall)

internal courtyard

seen from the top of the abbey, this river separates the regions Brittany and Normandy. (the left side of the river is Brittany, while the right is Normandy)

the streets of the town

Basilique du Sacré Cœur

2007-02-07T05:45:00.000+08:00

Basilique du Sacré Cœur or Basilica of the Sacred Heart is a Romano-Byzantine church on the highest point of Paris (a little hill in the area Montmarte) built between 1875 to 1914. It looks a little like the Taj Mahal if you ask me. If you're wondering how the basilica remains so white despite all the dirt and dust in Paris, it's because it is constructed with out of a special type of stone known as travertine which constantly exudes calcite. This ensures that the basilica remains white even with weathering and pollution.

here's a summer photo from the web. i think the basilica looks prettier in summer. the sunlight brings out the contrast of the whiteness against the blue sky. you can't really tell it's white in the winter photo i took because the sky is so gloomy.

The white material exudes a sense of purity and in addition to the uncommon style of architecture, the Basilica looks rather spectacular from afar. I been thinking for a while that I've seen similar architecture somewhere but I just can't recall the place. After some research (so I could write this entry for you), the word 'Byzantine' finally solved the mystery. It was in Turkey. Turkey was once, very very long ago, a part of the Roman Empire and quite a few of the surviving architecture were from the Byzantine period. If you examine carefully, it is similar to the Blue Mosque in Istanbul in many ways. Definitely more so than the Taj Mahal. I was less impressed by the interior though, as it is pretty much similar to most of the churches throughout France.

From the viewing area outside of the church, you get a bird's eye view of the whole of Paris. I would rate my geographical sense of Paris 7/10 by now. I was able to identity quite a handful of landmarks.

So what exactly is the Sacred Heart?
I had been pondering for a long time. According to the all-knowing Wikipedia.org...

The Sacred Heart is a religious devotion to Jesus' physical heart.

This devotion is predominantly used in the Roman Catholic Church and represents divine love for humanity. It also stresses the central Christian concept of loving and adoring Jesus. The origin of this devotion in its modern form is derived from a French Catholic nun Marie Alacoque, who allegedly learned the devotion from Jesus in visions. Predecessors to the modern devotion existed to some extent in the Middle Ages in various mystical sects.

The Sacred Heart is often depicted in Christian art as a flaming stylized heart, pierced by the lance-wound, surrounded by a crown of thorns, and bleeding. Sometimes the image is superimposed over Jesus' body with his wounded hands pointing at the heart. The wounds and crown of thorns allude to the manner of Jesus' death, while the fire represents love.

Michelle and me. It is freaking freezing up here...

2007-01-30T06:36:00.000+08:00

I happen to come across this lovely article online so I thought i'll share it with you. The author has written with such honesty and sincerity that makes it as sad as it is beautiful.

***********************************************

The Baby I Gave Away

Editor's note: This is the first in a trilogy of stories by three women whose lives were changed forever by adoption -- a teenager who gave birth alone in a home for unwed mothers in 1967, the baby girl who grew up to wonder who her birth parents were and the woman who became a mother when that baby girl was placed in her arms.

BY CEIL MALEK | At a poetry reading, I sit next to a woman I have known since our daughters, who are now finishing high school, were small. Between poems, my friend says, "I read your article about Florence Crittenton."

I'm taken back. She's referring to an article I wrote 10 years ago for a local parenting magazine.
After the reading, she says, "We should have lunch sometime. I was there too." We're in our early 50s, but talking about where we were 30 years earlier makes us both look around to see who might overhear.

"You were there?" I say. She seems so well adjusted that she's the last person I would have expected to have relinquished a child after a stay in a maternity home.

"I was there in 1965," she says. "I was 18, just starting college. I went to Rush Week at Colorado University and then I found out that I was pregnant,so I had to leave before my first semester even started."

"I know."

"I hated the lies. We told everybody I was in California working as a nanny for a rich family."

"It was the same kind of thing for me. Did you think about abortion?"

"It wasn't legal. Was it?"

"No, it wasn't."

"I just went along with it. All of it. What else was there to do? My mom took care of all the details. My family told people I couldn't handle school. I would rather have told them I was pregnant."
The crowd has thinned by now. Her husband is looking at books.

"What was it like for you at Crittenton?" I ask.

"Full of shame and fear."

"I no longer remember that so fully. Meeting my daughter a few years ago softened my memories. Have you met your child?"

"No, I don't think boys are as interested in searching as girls are." She adds, "I'm RH negative, and that first delivery was the only normal one I had. After I got married, I lost my first child. We tried again. I had a very anxious pregnancy with lots of amniocentesis. There were complications, and I had to have a C-section. Then it was hard for me to connect with my daughter. My husband had to tell me to go down to the nursery and see her."

"I went the other way. I was overprotective, afraid of separations. My daughter had complications at birth too, and I had to leave the hospital without her. It was harder than it should have been." I feel my friend's assent. She must understand this better than anyone.

"I've worked on my grief," she says. "I've worked in therapy, I've written, I've done body work."

"I have too. But the grief doesn't go away entirely. I didn't grieve then. Did you?"

"Oh no. I just put it all away and went on with my life."

Before the 1970s, most unmarried teenage mothers put their babies up for adoption. A 1993 New York Times article recalled that pregnant teenagers were treated as "pariahs, banished from schools, ostracized by their peers or scurried out of town to give birth in secret." Their secrecy was protected in unwed mothers' homes; the most familiar of these, Florence Crittenton Homes, offered sanctuary to unmarried mothers in most major cities for decades.

Twenty-five years after I gave birth to a daughter at Denver's Florence Crittenton home, my out-of-wedlock pregnancy was redeemed by meeting my daughter -- an intelligent, intense, warm, amazingly verbal young woman, obviously cherished by an adoptive family well equipped to care for her. Yet I still think about that pregnancy. A woman I know asked me recently, "Why not just focus on the good that came out of your pregnancy? The birth was good, after all." She's right, of course. The birth was good, the child I gave birth to a blessing for her family and for me. Why not leave it at that? I don't seem to be able to; somehow, I resist telling myself or anyone else the easy story -- the story of my child's birth and my reunion with her, the story that ends simply and happily.

At 19, I couldn't face the enormity of what was happening or understand what relinquishing my child would mean for me or for her. For a long time, I was afraid to acknowledge how complex my feelings were about the decision I made. But I've come to realize that giving up a child for adoption was the first act of my adult life. That means I need to get the story straight for myself, to tell the whole truth about the experience. I need to tell the whole story to honor the young woman I was.

The students I teach now in college level composition classes, even my own adolescent children, think the '60s were a time of free sex, abundant drugs and bra-burning women's libbers. But I was there, and I know that this picture isn't adequate to describe the whole decade. When I started college in 1964 at age 17, I didn't even feel tremors of the widespread social and political changes to come. The early- and mid-'60s were simply an extension of the '50s, when race, ethnic background, religion, class, breeding, grammar and table manners all mattered. Concern for keeping up appearances was pervasive, the sexual double standard taken for granted.

If free sex means guilt-free, open sexuality, it was a foreign concept in my college experience. All the sex I was aware of was explored and pursued stealthily, secretly. But evidence that other students were having sex came to light: unplanned marriages, children given up for adoption and abortions sought even though they were illegal.

I was just finishing my sophomore year. Disappointed in college, disappointed in my performance in college, I was on shaky ground. It had always been school that stabilized me. But those first two years --with their large classes and the impersonality of lecture and test, lecture and test -- left me feeling alienated and disconnected. I'd collected a transcript full of Bs and Cs and was wondering how I'd find a place for myself in the world.

Looking for something my college experience didn't offer me, I explored my sexuality timidly. I slept with David twice. He was a premed student at CU-Boulder, someone I had wanted to be in a relationship withfor many months. The relationship was tenuous, based more on mutual attraction than a deeper sense of connection that might have anchored a lasting bond. And David's ties to his upper-middle-class family were very strong. My middle-middle-class family didn't really measure up, and his mother, who kept a close eye on her sons, must have hoped that I was just a passing fancy.

I don't remember how I told David that I was pregnant. But his response was clear: My pregnancy marked the end of our relationship. I didn't see him or hear from him after that. He retreated into his family. I learned later that he did tell them about my pregnancy, but at the time I wondered whether he had the courage to do even that.

I do remember telling my mother that I was pregnant. She was sitting on the couch in the living room; my older sister was hovering inthe doorway, listening. Mom cried; it was the first time I'd ever seen her cry. I remember that she said, "I'm so sorry your first child has to be born under these circumstances." I didn't have to be told that I had to get out of my parents' house and out of their community. I suggested that I go to Denver. She knew how to arrange it. And she said she'd tell my father.

I was in turmoil. I knew something even worse than what I was telling people. I'd slept with someone else. It was a one-night stand with Harry, whose last name I didn't even know. I'd gone to a bar and a party with my roommate. Drunk, I'd slept with Harry. I couldn't justify that act to myself, much less tell anyone about it. It was unacceptable to be 19 and pregnant, but to be 19 and pregnant and not even know the father's last name was unspeakable.

I felt I had to maintain my story that David was the father of my child with my parents, my friends, David, of course, and my social worker at Florence Crittenton. Because the social worker would see to my child's adoptive placement, I had to protect myself and my child from what I thought would be certain rejection and absolute shame by claiming that I'd at least had something of a relationship with the child's father. At least I knew his name and the particulars for an adoption study. At least I had cared for him, had been cared for. And on paper, he and I made good birth parents: Our child was considered a high-background baby, one slated for an especially good home.

I went over and over my story in my head, clarifying the details I would tell, making sure I was consistent. My story was believable, and I would start to believe it myself. But then I'd rub up against the true story: that night with Harry and the fact that I really didn't know who the father of my child was.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --

The Denver Florence Crittenton Home was a three-story red brick building. It looked ordinary enough from the street, but once inside there was no mistaking the purpose of the building: dorm rooms, kitchen, school, even a hospital where girls gave birth, and a nursery where the babies were housed untilthey were taken off to foster homes and adoptive homes. There were 40 girls, high school and college students primarily, most of us within a month or two of term, all of whom had somehow managed to get by in the outside world until we had to come to the institution for cover.

Cover. That's a good word for what the home did; it covered us until we gave birth and could return to school, to our families, to our friends. Until then, we used no last names; I was simply C.C., even on the labor and delivery record. In the adoption study, I was reduced to: 19 year-old, green eyes, light brown hair, 5-9, fair skin, allergic to sulfa. I even relinquished rights to my child in court under an assumed name, Constance Anne Brown. To keep our secrets, our families concealed our whereabouts from extended family, even brothers and sisters, and friends who might ask questions. Mine said I was working as a nanny for a wealthy family, that I had dropped out of college after my sophomore year, needing a break.
What was it like at Crittenton? On the one hand, it was a safe place designed to protect us from censure. And it was comforting to me to discover that the other residents were very ordinary girls, including the daughter of a minister, the daughter of two teachers, the daughter of a Wyoming rancher. On the other hand, we knew we had done something so terrible that it required that we be segregated. We were hiding away, putting our real lives on hold.

We followed a strict, institutional schedule. Far from finding it limiting, I welcomed the structure. We woke early, had breakfast. The younger girls went to school while the older girls did their assigned jobs. Mine was to help the cooks fix lunch by cutting up fresh vegetables; preparing large bowlsof Jell-o, a different color for each day of the week; and serving bowls of cooked, limp, butter-soaked vegetables. This was one of the sought-after jobs, much better than swabbing floors or cleaning up after lunch. After our work was done, we could go out to walk or shop. Curfew was at 4:30 and lights out at 9 p.m.

I don't remember how I passed the rest of the time. I don't remember what I read. Or thought. Or felt. Did my friends send letters? I think so, but I don't know how often. My mother sent letters. I remember a package with her handwriting on the label; I don't remember its contents. I can see myself in the downstairs lounge where the library cart was placed and where I took knitting lessons. I don't think I watched TV -- it was on all the time, quiz shows, as I remember, during the day.
My dad came to see me once, unannounced. I'd taken up occasional smoking and was embarrassed to be carrying a pack of cigarettes, which I couldn'thide because my maternity smock had no pockets. My father didn't mention the cigarettes sitting in my lap or my prominent belly, although he must have noticed both.

No one took photos. There were no autograph books, no addresses were exchanged, no one kept mementos. We would leave our maternity clothes in a community closet so the new girls could use them, just as the girls before us had left clothes behind for us. Maybe there was wisdom in the conventions. Does an experience go away if it's not mentioned? In someways, it does. Without the anchoring of words, without the repetition of a story, experiences do drift, get less distinct.
Over the years I've told and retold the story of my child's birth to myself, protecting the most profound experience I'd had in my life; I was afraid that it was in danger of getting lost. In fact, for years I thought I had written the birth story over and over again. But when I looked through the boxes of journals I keep in my basement, the account wasn't there. I realized that it was an oral history, one I recited internally.

My parents took me out to lunch on Easter, the only time they had taken me out since I had gotten pregnant. By that time I was about two weeks past my due date. I can't imagine what we talked about. Maybe their taking me out into public was enough. Maybe they had told themselves people might think my husband was in the Army, my hands too swollen for my wedding ring. Or perhaps people would think my husband had died and that I deserved great sympathy. Whatever they told themselves, they braved being seen with me in public, but didn't linger after lunch.

At about 9 that evening, I started to have contractions. I walked up and down the hall as I'd been told to do in a birth preparation class to test whether these pains were the real thing or false labor. The contractions began to come closer and closer. When I was convinced that this was the time I'd been waiting for all those months, I walked upstairs to the third floor Mary Donaldson Hospital, where a single nurse was on duty. I was scared and excited, but for the nurse, I was just another unwed mother who'd come to term. She hurried me into a nightgown and brusquely showed me to a bed. She prepped me for delivery without speaking and then left me alone.

Later, the nurse gave me Demerol, which she must have assumed would slow down labor, so I wouldn't deliver until morning. But the next time she checked me, at midnight, I was fully dilated and ready to give birth. Horrified that I'd dilated so quickly and without a doctor for the delivery, she ordered me to slow down, not to push while she summoned someone. An intern from Colorado General came just as the baby arrived.The nurse said perfunctorily, "It's a girl," and whisked the baby away as if my seeing her or touching her would harm her. I looked over my shoulder at the nurse, bundling the baby in a blanket. Captive on the delivery table, I had no choice but to lie still and quiet while the intern stitched me up.

I wasn't surprised by this cold treatment in the delivery room; the people who worked in this institution simply shared the attitude of the larger culture. But I was unprepared for the incredible elation I felt, the exhilaration of having carried a child to term. Even the dreary hospital, the cold nurse, the impersonal intern couldn't dim this realization. I knew I would never be the same. It was, in fact, the very impersonality of giving birth that impressed me. I was Everywoman. It hadn't mattered what my name was, what color my hair was, what my age was, what my marital status was. I had delivered a child, a real child.
Not only Everywoman -- I was for a few hours Everyparent, stepping back to consider another, putting self aside, not so much as an act of heroism or altruism or compassion, but bowing to procreation, the beat of life expressed in a new person, separate, marvelous.

The exhilaration was short-lived. In the midst of enormous hormonal shifts and all too aware of my raw emotions, I found the days after my daughter's birth difficult. I took pills to stem the flow of milk in my breasts and more pills, green ones, to stop the tears that flowed after I saw my child. We were allowed to see our children and hold them, even nurse them if we chose. They were, after all, legally our babies. I opted not to hold or nurse my child on the advice of other mothers, who said it only made relinquishment more difficult. I did pin my hospital gown together with a clothespin and shuffle down the hall to see my daughter in the nursery. Outside the glass, I looked closely at her, tracing her head, her ears, hernose, her mouth with my eyes. I must have visited three or four times. When it came to the nurses' attention that I was crying after each visit, they told me I must stop because I was upsetting the other girls.

Several days after I gave birth, my social worker drove me to the Denver City and County Building, where I gave up my child and promised never to attempt to contact her or learn her whereabouts.

When I returned home, of course, nobody in my family mentioned the fact that I'd had a child. Twenty-five times a day, I wanted to mention it casually: "By the way, I gave up my child for adoption last week," or "by the way, my child's ears were shaped just like mine." But I said nothing. My parents and older sister said nothing. My younger brother, who didn't even know I'd had a child, of course said nothing. I sunbathed, dieted and exercised, erasing the visible traces of my pregnancy. By summer, I was tan, fit and thin, ready to return to college.

I didn't know then that the feelings that lay dormant in me, the ones I hadn't made a space for, would develop a life of their own to emerge later around the births of my other two children, my divorce, my children's gaining a stepmother and single parenting. The grief, the loss -- all the themes opened by relinquishing a child for adoption -- would demand their due. Sometimes they arose as questions: Am I a fit mother? Would I be fit with the addition of a husband, money, education, maturity? Can I be loving to a child? Is this pattern of walking away when parenting is inconvenient something I'll do again? Will I be chosen for marriage? Is something wrong with me? However, it wasn't only the doubts that remained; the exhilaration and pleasure also remained as a benchmark against which I would measure later experiences.

Time passed. A new, more forgiving era emerged. I had long since finished college, earning close to a 4.0 grade-point average those last two years. I even acquired a master's degree. I married and divorced. I had told my husband about my first child, and when my children were old enough, I told them. I hoped someday I'd meet her. It was stronger than a hope, really. I longed to know what had happened to her. I needed to know how the decision I had made on her behalf had turned out. I even joined a birth-parent group in which several mothers were actively searching for children they had surrendered for adoption. I stopped going to the group when I learned some of the mothers had illegally located their children's adoptive families.

I signed up with a birth-parent registry called Soundex, which matches birth parents and children only when both are searching. They didn't even make matches until the child reached 18. I knew I wouldn't be imposing myself in her life, but I would be available to her if she was searching.

Eleven years after I registered with Soundex, I got a call from the daughter I had given up for adoption. That was six years ago, when I was 45 and she was 25. She told me her name, Kristina Marie Zarlengo -- after all those years of waiting, her name, this prize, was handed over so simply. We talked and talked: She had good parents. Her father had died when she was 15, she had an adoptive sister, her mother had remarried recently. She was in graduate school in comparative literature at Columbia University; she'd been raised in Arvada, Colo., and then south Denver. All of a sudden, the facts of her life were right there, she was right there.

My memories of the reunion are not as clear to me as my memories of Kris' birth. There is no reason for me to protect them so fiercely. This could be talked about openly. I wrote about it, Kris and I wrote each other letters, I could tell my friends and, of course, my children; they told their friends. This was a more public story. And I realized it was a changing, evolving story. The first phone call was superseded by others; the original letters from Kris -- reflective, intense, intelligent -- were superseded by new letters -- equally reflective, intense, intelligent.

Kristina and I agreed to meet for lunch at a tearoom in Castle Rock. Walking toward the restaurant, I saw a young woman on the sidewalk. She was about my height, dark-haired. It had to be Kris. Seeing me approaching, she said, "Ceil? Do I call you mother?"

"Call me Ceil," I said. We hugged, somewhat awkwardly. It was hard to know how to respond when so many emotions were surfacing.

I don't think either of us ate much lunch. Mostly we stared at each other. I didn't want to turn my head away. I wanted to take her in, savor every angle, every expression. I wanted to hear her voice, impossibly a little familiar even though she had learned to speak in a household unknown to me. I'd last seen her when she was a few days old. Now a full, complex human being sat across from me -- mother, father, sister, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, teachers, lovers all unknown to me.

After that first meeting, I saw Kris from time to time when she came to Colorado for school breaks. We wrote, both curious and respectful. And then the story became more complex. After a couple of years, she wanted to find her birth father. I told her, had to tell her, my dilemma: The father I'd named might not be her real father. Actually, I'd gone farther than that in my mind. I'd convinced myself that Harry, the Harry with no last name, was Kris' father. And I'd built a whole scenario -- one I'd never tested, of course -- that he would have been more loving and accepting of me had I told him about my pregnancy than David was. It was an imaginary cushion I'd built into my private story, easier to live with than the truth.

Respecting Kris' wishes, I located Harry, rousing him from family and life to tell him I thought he was my child's father. He didn't even remember our encounter. Poor Harry. We met. I appreciated the disguise of middle age, my intrusion into this man's life somehow easier for me because I was almost 50.

Harry had blood tests done: They were negative. The story I'd brandished when I was pregnant was no fiction. David really was Kris' father.

Nearly 30 years after I'd last phoned him from Florence Crittenton, I reluctantly wrote David, sending him a photo of Kris. I knew it was essential to Kris to know her birth father. In fact, locating him might be the only thing she would ever ask of me.
I was relieved to find that David was open to his child and to me. He had thought of her through the years. He even explained why he had withdrawn when I was pregnant: He didn't have the strength to see the situation through. He'd had to withdraw to protect himself. It was an honest response, and although my feelings about David were far from resolved, I could tolerate that.

About the time that Kris met David, she told her adoptive mother about having met me. Shortly after that, Kris invited her adoptive mother, her stepfather, her adoptive sister, me, my son, her birth father, his wife, their 19-year-old daughter and her longtime friend to a picnic in Boulder, where we ate chicken and salad and chips and watermelon and talked. I got to meet the woman who was my daughter's mother. I sat across the picnic table from her, asking her question after question and learning what it was like to be Kris' mother -- to be the one who brought her home after she was born, who was there when she cut her first tooth, who took her to ballet, who saw her through her father's death, who sent her to Europe and then to college and graduate school as a single parent. I met the woman who had been Kris' sister her whole life. Meeting Kris' family, I realized I was not full author of this young woman's tale. Genetic influence stretches only so far; I could see that my part in her life had been early and relatively minor. My private story -- the one thing I'd held fast to all those years after her birth -- was outdated and limited.

Ironically, it was in finally meeting my daughter that I realized I really gave her up -- and how great my loss was. The opportunities for me to know her in the way I know my other children are gone: I gave them to her parents and her sister. And in that way, I have had to give her up a second time. But now I know how the story I nurtured in isolation all those years connects to Kris' life and her family. Now, because it is a story my daughter shares, it is whole.

*Ceil Malek is a senior instructor in the writing program at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. She is the single parent of two adolescent children as well as the birth mother of a 31-year-old daughter.

****************************************************

Part II
read My Mother's Daughter
http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/1999/01/05feature.html
written by Kirstina Zarlengo

Part III
read One Mother's Gain
http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/1999/01/06feature.html
written by the adoptive mother of Kristina

gratteciel geyser

2006-12-30T04:17:00.000+08:00

because i've been posting so many photos of food, i'm beginning to wonder if people have the misconception that all i did in paris was cook. so i'm going to post some photos of the project we did at Ecole Speciale d'Architecture this semester, to remind you that i was indeed here for an architecture exchange.

we were required to design a multifunctional skyscraper in the central business district in Paris, La Defense. it had to be more than 170m with spacial volume of around 35,000 sqm. this is the most challenging project we (the 4 of us on exchange) have worked on, because we've not yet designed anything beyond 3 stories in NUS. there were many issues to resolve, most of which we encountered for the first time - simple placement of your lift core, escape stairs, entry and exit points, structural support, facade treatment, juxtaposition of programmes, carparks, ramps, sanitary, hotels, offices, shopping, gardens.... the list is endless. the simple decision of whether you want columns as the main support or a free interior space supported by external bracing or a combination of both, takes a few days. the most tedious part was the cadding. (drawing it on computer) imagine having a building with increasing floor area as the height increases. that means you have to draw each floor slab individually. top that up with the fact that the floor plan is not rectilinear but an irregular polygon, plus the fact that your building has a good 60 stories. the result is a helluva of cadding. but it was challenging and exciting nonetheless, and i think i'll have a pretty good start when we embark on highrise construction in year 4.

here was how my final project looked like.

site perspective

site elevation

"The form of the building is inspired by that of a geyser, a representation of verticality chosen for its dynamic and energetic qualities. The building aims to capture the momentary explosion of energy when the geyser erupts, by adopting a form which appears to propel upwards in different directions.

The building is split 3 towers oriented in different directions. The 3 towers are connected and function as a single volume in the lower levels, eventually splitting outwards as the building grows vertically To respect the architecture language of the site, a literal organic form to express dynamism is avoided. Instead, straight walls are arranged in a parallelogram so that every wall is inclined outwards. The outward inclined walls instilled dynamism and the internal spaces expand as the level increases. The resultant is a building form that appears to be bursting with life as it rises, and one which literally grows from the ground.

Hence, the building grows upwards and outwards, an expression of the idea of explosion.

In the heart of the 3 towers is the main circulation core which is initially integrated within the 3 towers, but subsequently breaks free and rises higher than all 3 towers, exemplifying the ultimate explosive force.

The circulation core’s function is also a practical one. It grows from underground like the source of a geyser, creating a continuous circulation from underground. It also acts as the main structural support for the building by holding the 3 towers together. This gives the building a sense of centrality that is directed skywards, reinforcing the idea of verticality. There is also play of horizontal projection and recession planes which juxtapose the verticality of the building."

my tres joli model, which wouldn't have been realised without the help of my wonderful housemates from victor hugo :)

demonstrative model to show programmes and facade treatment.

which can be taken apart and resembled!

and some interior renderings

the bar and roof-garden

the entrance

hotel rooms with balcony overlooking green spaces shared with offices

interior of office (you can see the same green space)

the gym

within the circular core

adventures at Stade de France (paris national stadium) Part I

2006-12-29T05:37:00.000+08:00

18 nov 2006
NZ All Blacks vs France

of all the years i've supported the All Blacks, this is the first time i've watched a live game with the full team playing in a 15-man game. i've supported the 7s team at Kallang Stadium and seen them play on tri-nations, world cup etc etc, but never ever LIVE. man, i was all anticipation and enthusiasim.

i was cautious not to be over excited tho, because we didn't manage to get tickets from the box office. they were sold out even though we enquired a month before the match. the good thing is, we are in France, and not Singapore, and there was still a glimpse of hope of buying illegal tickets at the entrance before the match. the tip for buying these tickets is, if you don't mind missing a little of the match at the beginning, go a little later, say 10-15 mins into the game. the outlaws will be more desperate to sell their remaining tickets and hence guarantee you a more viable offer. we got our 35 euros tickets at only 40 euros, which i considered to be a pretty good buy. the seats were excellent, neither too high up on the stands where the players appear like black dots, nor too close to the field so that we can see the entire play formation.

a fellow AB fan was kind enough to lend us his scarf for this photo

the stadium. i would think it's slightly smaller than Kallang, but the seats are much steeper, which is smarter, so everyone sees the match clearly. they also have a suspended camera that literally 'flies' around the stadium like a small spaceship to capture the action. super cool. sorry didn't manage to a clear photo of that.

i am not particularly good at sports commentary, so I shall leave the match description to the expertises of the professionals which you can view here:
http://www.allblacks.com/index.cfm?layout=displayNews&newsArticle=5182

all blacks won of course, 23 to 11, though not too glorious. the paris, which i think it's the france 2nd team (i'm not too sure) wasn't that good, and all blacks didn't play up to their usual standards as they would normally if it's against the aussies or the wallabies. however, what was commentable was that Daniel Carter is becoming increasing good at his conversions. Now that Carlos Spencer has retired, Carter has all the opportunities he can get to practise. His conversion of the All Blacks second try from the corner of the 50meter line was almost effortless.

all blacks and france in full confrontation

joe rococoko in postmatch interview

adventures at Stade de France (paris national stadium) Part II

2006-12-29T05:36:00.000+08:00

16 december 2006
Race of Champions

for those not familiar with motorsports, the Race of Champions is an international motosport event held annually where drivers compete side by side in parallel circuits with similar cars, thus the only determining factor is their talent. It features the best drivers from international rally and racing competitions such as World Rally Championship, Formula 1, NASCAR, CCWS, IRL, and Grand Prix. Usually, the best 8 is choosen from each category. (*rally is on terrain, while racing is within a circuit)

the race consists of 2 parts, the first part is the Nations Cup, where 2 drivers from each nation form a team and compete in best-of-3 races. 1 driver will be from the rally category and the other from racing. the winning team would be awarded the best nation.

the 2nd part is an individual competition where the drivers compete with others in the same category (rally with rally) in a knockout towards the finals. the winner from the rally category will then compete with the winner from the racing in the Super Finals, and the winner will be crowned the Champion of the Champions.

sounds exciting? wait till you see the photos and videos. *the videos might take a while to load, but it's worth it to watch every one

the racing track.

looks kindda similar to my hot wheels set when I was younger, except for the roller coaster thing. the race starts on the left with the drivers on adjacent tracks. 1 lap is once around the inner track and once around the outer track. the design is so that the inner track leads magically towards the outer, so if the drivers are at the same speed, they will be side by side all the time, which is what makes the race exciting.

the cars used include
- Citroën WRC (red in the 1st video)
- Porsche 911 GT3 Road Challenge (white)
- Renault Mégane Trophy (blue and yellow)
- ROC Car buggies. (red in the photo)
- Aston Martin V8 GT Rally (green with orange top, which i thot was a super ugly combi, hence no photos here)

2nd lap of one of the races, with Sebestian Loeb, the french national hero

check out the DRIFT!!

during the interval of the matches, there were many 'surprises' that the organisers prepared for our entertainment

they brought in a Formula 1 racing car. the french renault of course

and a spaceship disguised as a car

*though the race guide states that it is the fastest car in the world capable of going up to 500km/h, i am still convinced that it is a spaceship in disguised. i mean, just look at the jets of flame from the rear!
u'll notice that the camera shook somewhere around the 56th sec, it's not because our hands were tired, but when the 'car' came by, the explosion of the flames were so loud and strong that the whole stadium literally shook and trembled. tt was how powerful it was.

there was also the Terry Grant Stunt Car Show.
i wun tell you what he did here, wouldn't wanna spoil the surprise. just look at the videos. u'll be amazed

and also the freestyle bike stunt show, which totally blew my mind

with all that entertainment and excitement, my 25 euro ticket was definitely worth it!

disappearing act

2006-12-26T07:29:00.001+08:00

i went especially to Trocadero today to see the upside down christmas tree hung under the Eiffel against the advice of my faithful meteo widget that spoke of piercing winds and temperates dropping below 2 degrees. i was anticipating a full 10 meters green, leafy tree, ornaments and all, stuck to the bottom of the world's most famous tower. to my dismay, it was nothing but a symbolic cone constructed out of green wires hung between the 2nd and 3rd level. fortunately, my trip was not wasted. half the Eiffel had been eaten up by the fog. it was quite a sight.

Prague I: Charles' Bridge

2006-12-25T08:50:00.000+08:00

as promised, more on prague :)

we set off on a very misty morning in Prague.

and we shall began our journey from the most beautiful place in Prague, the view of the Prague Castle from Charles Bridge.

Charles Bridge, 'Karluv Most' in Czech (Most means Bridge)
was commissioned by Czech King and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Charles IV in the year 1357. It is no more than an touristic spot now, but it used to be the most important connection between the Old Town, Prague Castle and adjacent areas as it was the only means of crossing the river in Prague. Both ends of the bridge are fortified by towers. Baroque statues (a total of 30) began to be placed on either side of Charles Bridge in the 17th century, tho many are replicas and the originals are kept in a museum. The bridge is 515 meters long and 10 meters wide. Thank god I went early in the morning and was able to capture some pretty pictures. There was hardly anyone and I was most fortunate to experience the feeling of having the whole bridge to myself.

The construction of the Bridge has a very interesting story. In the Medieval times, people placed a lot of importance on symbolic significance. Royal astrologers and numerologists specified a precise moment for Charles IV to personally assist in the laying of the foundation stone as 9 July 1357, at 5:31 am. This minute can be enumerated as

1 3 5 7 9 7 5 3 1

The bridge was built from Bohemian sandstone. There is a legend saying that eggs were used to enrich the mortar used to bind the stone blocks to make it harder. Although the saying cannot be verified, modern laboratory tests have indeed proved anorganic and organic ingredients to the mortar.

(my red earring, 1 of which I lost somewhere in the Prague Castle and the other which now lies quietly in the Vltava River under Charles' Bridge.

the Baroque statues along the bridge

view of the Vltava River in the morning from Charles' Bridge

activities on the bridge

and I introduced to you, none other than King Charles IV himself. the statue is located symbolically at the head of the bridge where the King seemed to be looking over his beloved bridge and castle.

the photo above is the Old Town Bridge Tower at the head of the bridge from the old town. below is a close up of the figurines placed on the facade of the tower. In the center is St Vitus, the patron saint of Prague. on either side of him are King Charles IV and King St Wenceslas, the 2 most loved and important Kings of the Bohemian empire.

Prague II: Prague Castle

2006-12-25T08:30:00.000+08:00

The Prague Castle (Pražský Hrad) is the castle in Prague where the Czech kings, Holy Roman Emperors and presidents of Czechoslovakia and the Czech Republic have had their offices. The crown jewels of the Bohemian Kingdom are kept here. Prague Castle is one of the biggest castles in the world (according to Guinness Book of Records the biggest ancient castle) at about 570 meters in length and an average of about 130 meters wide.

The Castle compound consists of many buildings, and I didn't have time to go to every one. The sun sets at about 4pm in winter, and by 4.45pm it is almost completely dark.

This is the St Vitrus Cathedral, which is the tallest building in the compound. From the photos taken from Charles' Bridge, the cathedral towers stand out distinctly from the other buildings which are mostly long rectilinear blocks. I would think it is the most worth visit building in the castle compound, as most of the others (including the Old Royal Palace) are not as spectacular as I thought they would be. They are all much smaller and humble compared to palaces in other European countries.

Inside the Cathedral

entrance to the underground Royal Crypt within the Cathedral where the tombs of the Bohemian Kings lie

I managed to climb 230 steps up the Cathedral tower and took this beautiful shot of the Prague city!

Saint George's Basilica and Convent

The Old Royal Palace (top: the Grand Hall, bottom left: detail of ceiling in Hall, bottom right: shelves with super ancient books in the palace)
The Old Royal Palace is rather small. The Grand Hall is looks like a big hotel ballroom, prob only 15m by 10m. Not many rooms were opened to public either. Only the Royal Chapel at the end of the Hall, the room where the King meets his councils on his throne, and a room somewhere like the studyroom.

The Golden Lane
The colourful, cute little houses in Golden Lane were built in 1597 by order of Emperor Rudolph II, to house his top marksmen and their families, as these were the men who would protect him from his enemies, which he had qt a lot. (It could have been called Sniper Alley) It was later transformed to the dwellings of alchemists and goldsmiths. Hence the name, Golden Lane. It is now lined by 11 historic houses, some of which now house interesting armoury and textile exhibits, along with tourist souvenir shops.

Souvenirs sold at the exit of the castle (left to right: painted cards, colourful tops and glass perfume bottles)

Random shot

Sculpture outside the old prison

Prague III: Old Town Square

2006-12-25T08:20:00.000+08:00

The famous Prague Old Town Square, (the 布拉格廣場 in Jay Chou +Jolin Tsai's song).
*these photos are dedicated to Uncle Zee who loves the song

left: Czech hotdog stall (hotdogs are very well-liked in Prague. there were so many of these little kiosks all around the city)
right: hot red wine, a beverage indispensible in winter

Troelnik
a traditional bread pastry. has a rather strong yeast taste. and you can choose the dip of cinnamon and 2 others (i only u understood cinnamon)

making process:
left: 1. dough is rolled around a round rolling pin
2. dough baked on hot rollers (u know the x-ray machine where they check ur baggage at the airport? before the bag enters the machine, there is a metal surface made of rollers. sth like that kind)
center: 3. baked bread is left to cool on a stand
right: 4. bread is rolled over desired topping

Astronomical Clock Tower
The Prague Astronomical Clock (Pražský Orloj) is a medieval astronomical clock mounted on the southern wall of Old Town City Hall in the Old Town Square.
The Orloj is composed of three main components: the astronomical dial, representing the position of the Sun and Moon in the sky and displaying various astronomical details; "The Walk of the Apostles", a clockwork hourly show of figures of the Apostles and other moving sculptures; and a calendar dial with medallions representing the months.

The Orloj displays the current state of the universe, with a background that represents the standing Earth and sky, and surrounding it operate four main moving components: the zodiacal ring, an outer rotating ring, an icon representing the Sun, and an icon representing the Moon.

at every hour, 2 windows open on the Orloj, and you can see a rotating display of figurines of the 12 Apostles. the "walk of the apostles" lasts about a minute, and usually a huge crowd will gather underneath the tower 15 mins ahead to anticipate the show.

They put up the giant Christmas tree and set up the stalls for the famous Prague Christmas Market that night I arrived

I would have shown you more photos, if not for the fact that I lost 10+ photos I took on the last day at the square. Sux. There was one perfect shot I took of the astronomical clock tower at the exact instant a horse carriage was driving past. I swear it could have been a postcard worth shot.

Prague IV: Sights Around The City

2006-12-25T08:17:00.000+08:00

Namesti Miru

(left: metro station, right: tramway)

Christmas market in front of a church

My hostel room at Czech-Inn
thanks to the off-peak season, I had the whole room (with 4 beds) all to myself all the 3 nights I spent there. I think I was the only girl using the female toilet on that floor too. the hostel was supposed to be something like a boutique hostel (as opposed to a boutique hotel). everything was very new, and the overall theme was clean minimalist modernism.

clever design of slide out shelf from underneath the bed to save space. note: my copy of Vogue in French, bought in Paris with Paris Hilton gracing the cover. not everything was well designed tho. the showerhead in the bathroom for e.g, was this big round flat thing as huge as 20cm x 20cm, looked pretty chic and cool, but it was impossible to shower without getting your hair wet.

St Wenceslas Square
is somewhat like Prague's equivalent of Champs Elysees. (to Czech stds tho) A long boulevard lined with expensive boutiques and restaurants spreads out before the National Museum. The 750m long and 60m wide boulevard was laid out over 600 years ago during the reign of Charles IV and was originally used as the main Prague horse market. Over the years it has been a regular parade ground for all kinds of organisations and political parties. From anti-communist uprisings to winning the World Ice Hockey Championships, this is where Czech's come to protest and to celebrate.

At the top of Wenceslas Square, the statue of St. Wenceslas on his horse cuts a striking figure. This is good King Wenceslas (from the Christmas Carol), murdered over a thousand years ago by his brother, and now a Czech national hero.

Rudolfinum Concert Hall

Fred and Ginger Dancing House
was designed by Croatian-born Czech architect Vlado Milunić in co-operation with Canadian architect Frank Gehry. The house represents a man and a woman dancing in unison and is named after famous American dance partners Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

Church of Our Lady Victorious - Holy Child of Prague
This 1613 early baroque church of the Carmelite order is famous throughout Italy and other predominantly Catholic countries for the wax statue of infant Jesus displayed on an altar in the right wing of the church. The Holy Child of Prague was presented to the Carmelites by the Habsburg patron Polyxena of Lobkowicz in 1628 and is revered as a valuable Catholic relic from Spain. (right: replica of robe wore by the statue of infant Jesus)

Prague National Theatre, all ready for Christmas

pretty neoclassical building located on a small island along Vltava River

Art Installation
theme: how communism destroys human. several bronze human figures are lined along the steps, each figure is more damaged than the one before, showing how communism progressively destroys the human race

Czech Cusine
(beef stew with bread + apple strudel topped with whipped cream)

The Astronomical Museum

Night falls on Charles' Bridge

Prague V: Kutna Hora

2006-12-25T08:15:00.000+08:00

Kutná Hora is a city in the Czech Republic, in Central Bohemian Region of Bohemia. Since 1995 the city center has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The town of Kutná Hora owes its origin to the silver mines, the existence of which can be traced back to the first part of the 13th century.

first, we'll need a train ticket. (which only costs 4euros!)

11am in the morning, I arrived at the train station of Kutna Hora, which was completely devoid of life. The map near the platform showed that the station was at the opposite end of the city, but there was no visible form of transport within the vicinity, except for 1 signboard with a lot of Czech words and timings which looked like bus arrival times. (nope, there was no pictogram that says 'Bus' even) The only people who alighted with me were a group of 5 in late 20s, and none of them spoke English or French. So i took my chances and waited at the signboard instead of trying to walk. Fortunately, a bus came after 30 mins. I showed the driver a photo of the town center and he gave me a 'get-on' sign.

I alighted at the periphery of the town center at the instructions of the driver because that bus doesnt go into town, and was at a equally 'uluated' place.

so i tried my luck and walked towards the direction which i remember seeing a church tower along the bus ride. after 30 mins of walking, I finally found the Cathedral of St Barbara, the UNESCO sight mentioned in the brochure I got from the Prague tourism office. To my dismay, 1/2 of the church was covered in scarfolding for restoration and the cathedral was closed!

nevertheless, i took some nice photos of children playing around the church compound.

the town itself was just as quiet. i was not sure why, it was a wednesday! most of the shops are closed and there were very few tourists around.

a hair salon!

The Italian Court
formly a royal residence and mint, built at the end of the 13th century

Christmas Decorations around the town centre

Prague VI: Postcards

2006-12-25T08:14:00.000+08:00

this is the end of my tour of Prague. I shall leave you with more postcard shots to remember Prague by.

just saying hello

2006-12-04T07:20:00.000+08:00

came back from Prague on Thursday. I've got to say, Prague is simply gorgeous, in a melancholic way. It is one of those cities where it will be a pity if half the teenage population don't turn out to be painters, musicians or poets. I have so many photos to show all of you, but submission is just round the corner. It'll be another 2 weeks before I have time to sort out all the photos and blog them. In the meanwhile, I'll leave you guys with a nice panorama which I stitched and a gorgeous view of the Prague Castle from Charles Bridge. Stay tuned.

strikes!

2006-10-29T08:23:00.000+08:00

our usual quiet saturday afternoon is disrupted by a passing strike on the street below. How exciting! here are some videos

updates from restaurant victor hugo

2006-10-29T04:25:00.000+08:00

chinese beef noodle soup

chinese curry chicken

grilled pork ribs and beansprouts

mexican baked beef tortilla with fresh greens and melted cheddar cheese,
served with potato wedges, tortilla chips and homemade salsa

malay nasi lemak
fragrant coconut rice cooked, ikan bilis, fried egg and chicken
served with ice-cold grass jelly drink (all those torturous times making grass jelly with my dad did come in useful afterall)

thai pineapple fried rice
served with sweet and sour fish, spring rolls and thai sweet chilli sauce

french mushroom vol-au-vent
served with greek mesclun salad of beetroot and feta

warm choclate brownie drenched in vanilla sauce
served with raspberry ice-cream

the rest of the tour

2006-10-19T07:33:00.001+08:00

besides the South, we also visited Paris, Versailles and Rouen.

Paris

Paris is rumoured to be the most romantic city in the world. I didn't believe the enigmatic sexyness of the Eiffel until i saw it for myself. If you have been following me, you should have seen the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Grande Arc. Next up is the Paris Opera House.

The Paris Opera House is gorgeous. Adorned with classical ornaments all around, every angle is photogenic. You might have noticed I used a much bigger photo size for this one, as I wouldn't be doing you justice if it was thumbnail size. the top of the building is flanked by 2 large golden statues that literally glow in the daylight. The words on the facade, from left to right, reads, Choreography, National Academy of Music, Poetry and Lyrics. Below are the statues of the 7 masters of music, including Beethoven and Mozart.

interior grand stairway of the opera house

"Although described by a contemporary critic as 'looking like an overloaded sideboard', it is now regarded as one of the masterpieces of the period. Here, Garnier triumphed over a cramped and difficult site, handling the carriage-ramps and approach steps, the foyers and staircases, both in section and plan, with confidence and skill. The style is monumental, classically based and opulently expressed, as the times demanded, in an elaborate language of multicoloured marbles and lavish statuary. Throughout his life, Garnier was criticized for his excessive use of ornament, as Napoleon and Haussman are still accused of being inspired by an out-of-date and imperialist showmanship expressed in a language already debased. Such critics forget that every city needs its occasional monuments and occasions of grandeur, and that thanks largely to these three men, Paris remains one of the most beautiful cities in the world."

-- John Julius Norwich, ed. Great Architecture of the World. p214.

Notre Dame de Paris or simply Notre Dame is the biggest and most important cathedrale in Paris. Major events are held there, including the coronation of Napoleon in 1804. Notre Dame is literally translated as 'Our Lady' which refers to Virgin Mary and it is the name used for the main cathedrale in every city in France.

France's "Point Zero", the reference point for distances along the highways starting in Paris, is situated in the square in front of the cathedral.

a gargoyle overlooks Paris from the Notre Dame

besides being famous for wine and cheese, i think France should also be famous for its pastries. some pastries shops can be filled with 20-30 different kinds pastries. i think i have seen all the pastries that i need to see in my life in france

escargots again! 6 euros for 6 pieces. Baked on the spot with herbs and butter

Rouen
Rouen is the captial of the Upper Normandy region (remember D-Day landings?) northwest of France. It is a beautiful little city with 200 surviving half-timbered houses from the medieval period. Half-timbered construction in the Northern European vernacular building style is characteristic of medieval and early modern England, Germany and parts of France, in localities where timber was in good supply and building stone and the skills to work it were in short supply. In half-timbered construction timbers that were riven in half provided the complete skeletal framing of the building.

Initially, I thought the houses were painted with strips for decoration. On closer inspection, you can tell that the structure is actually alternate layers of timber and stone.

Besides half-timber houses, tourists also visit Rouen to see the site where Joan of Arc was burned at stake. A cross is erected on the spot were the stake was, and the soil around it was preserved. There is actually a sign, "soil from the middle ages" stuck in the ground. The tower where she was imprisoned before her execution is also preserved.

The top two must-see places in Rouen are the Notre Dame cathedrale and the Gros Horloge.
The gothic cathedrale is breathtaking. Unlike the Notre Dame in Paris, the structure looks more delicate. I would say the Notre Dame in Paris is like the Queen, while the one in Rouen is the delicate princess that sits by the willow tree.

Our visit to the Gros Horloge (Big Clock) is almost accidental. We spotted a group of tourists looking upwards at the front of a building (we were at the back) so we went over to have to look. I thought they were simply looking at some cravings on the wall. Imagine my surprise when I found a huge golden clock glimmering in the sun on the other end. On the clockface, a single hand shows the hours, the days appear in the underneath window and the phases of the moon in the bull's eye above

other surprises in Rouen:
left: giant-sized truffle balls
right: 1.80 euros fresh strawberries that are really sweet

Versailles
The main attraction in Versailles is the Chateau de Versailles (Versailles Palace), which is the biggest and grandest palace in France. Like the other major palaces in Europe, we visited the bedrooms, studies, meeting rooms of the royals. The visit would have been more enjoyable if it wasn't packed with tourists in every inch. Naturally, I didn't felt like taking many photos.

Here is one of the King's bed. it is about the size of a queen-sized bed, but much shorter, almost square-shaped. Maybe it was meant for Napolean. The palace is still under restoration. I think I prefered the grand palace i saw in Madrid. The rooms were more complete. Almost all the furniture were there, and the carpets as well. But for Versailles, only the main furnishings for the inner half of the room remain (the outer half was cordoned off for walkway, and all the carpets were taken out. Many of the furniture were also duplicates. *the photo here is taken off the net. i think only the bed and the chantellier was there when i went.

However, Versailles Palace is worth a visit for it's beautiful garden. The garden is humongous. What you see in the photo is not even 10% of everything. There are countless statues and fountains, a big lake where you can rent a boat to row, and a labyrinth-like area.

fountain, the Palace is in the background

to give you an idea of how enormously big the garden is, I have attached a google earth image. the red borders the garden area. the purple is the palace. the yellow box is what you see in the photo above and the blue is the lake (which already looked very big to me on the site). now you know what i mean by 'humongous'. imagine the amount of gardeners needed! and the amount of tax-payers money which went into the maintenance of this garden which could only be used by the king then. what a waste.

down south

2006-10-19T02:17:00.000+08:00

my aunt and sister came over for 2 weeks which was great. the best part is they brought lotsa stuff from home for me. my mom was really thoughtful. she packed herbs for me to cook herbal chicken (instructions included), canned pork (the one with the soft edible bones which i made fried beehoon with), sambal balanchan, dried shrimps and my maid also prepared curry powder, lemon grass, pandan leaves, coconut milk etc. looks like we are gonna have a feast here.

i brought my aunt and sister around paris and down to the south of france. i even prepared a powerpoint itinerary for them with photos of every place we are visiting and description. i spent 3 nights doing it, you should have seen it. i thought it looked pretty professional.

here's a map for those not familiar with France's geography

9 oct 2006 - Nice

Nice is located at the southern tip of france, facing the Mediterranean Sea. It is in the region Riveria, Cote d'Azur and is supposedly known for it's beaches, tho I think it is a little over-rated. I would choose Sentosa beach over Nice beach anytime. I wouldn't even consider Nice beaches proper beaches, for 1 simple reason, there is absolutely NO sand. The shore is filled with grey pebbles which make is uncomfortable to stroll, even with shoes on. I'm amazed how the french can lie so comfortably (some without beach towels even) along the coast.

Just look at all these STONES. ouch.

Something interesting is that the walking path next to the beaches is divided into 2 parts. The eastern one is called Quai d'Etat Unis (left), or Quay of the United States, while the western one is called Promenade des Anglais (right), or Promenade of the English.

We climbed up this little hill 'Colline du Chateau' which used to boast a castle overlooking the sea. The castle is largely destroyed except a few surviving stone walls. From the top of the hill, we had a wonderful panoramic view of the Nice Port. I thought it was the nicest place in the whole city.

The city is pretty easy to navigate. The train station is located at the end of 1 of the main roads 'Rue de Jean Medecin' that cuts through central Nice. Little roads open branch out perpendicularly from the left and right side of the road. It's a pity that the road is blocked out in the center for the tramway construction, leaving only an inch of pedestrian pathway on each side. It made the city look very messy. And I find it rather annoying that the city center is totally cut off from the view of the beach and the old town by this long, ugly thing that resembles a double storey carpark. It is used both as parking and the bus terminal.

Beyond this long, ugly thing is the old town. Tucked away in one corner of the old town is the Cours Saleya Flower Market with an interesting assembly of stores. The front entrance is mostly florist stalls (hence the name), followed by stalls selling fresh fruits, vegetables, herbs, paintings and SNAILS! My aunt bought home a total of 6 dozens, (SIX DOZENS, that 72 snails in all!) home. For all those who haven't tried, snails or escargots as they called it in France, is quite tasteless with a rubbery texture like calamari, tho it is slightly softer. It is baked with herbs, tomato sauce or cheese and served as an appetizer.

2 dozens on top and 4 dozens below.

10 Oct - Saint Paul de Vence

We took a bus from the bus terminal located under the long, ugly thing to a town 1 hour away to see an ancient fortified village on top of the hill (St Paul). The charming medieval town is laid with narrow cobbled streets. Lining these streets are stone houses built towards the hilltop where a small church is situated.

It is obvious that the town's main patrons are tourists, with 7 out of 10 shops selling crafts and souvenirs. The remaining 3 sell beautiful artworks, mostly paintings of the Provence area (south of France).

left: toy shop we found
right: french man making french crepe

11 oct - Monaco

Monaco is an independent country 30mins by train from Nice, probably another hour away from the Italian borders. The city is tiny, you only need 1 day to visit all the sights. Monaco is one of those places where the rich and famous come to buy summer villas, and it is a common sight to see Ferraris and Porsches parked casually right on the sidewalk.

It is also famous for it's F1 Grand Prix (the track is right along the harbour), casinos (only for foreigners) and it's royal family. Monaco is one of the few monarchies left, ruled by Prince Albert, whose father was Prince Rainier III, the husband of the beautiful hollywood actress Grace Kelly. (No, there are no 'Kings' in Monaco, just like Singapore is not ruled by the President) Princess Grace, what Grace Kelly is known in Monaco, is much beloved in her country. There is a road named after her, and also a church and a garden.

Late Prince Rainier with reigning Prince Albert and his sisters. Princess Grace is shown on the painting at the background.

Port Hercules. Spot the start of the F1 Grand Prix. (ans at the bottom)

The Monaco Palace (left) is more plain and smaller than I had imagined, a big difference from the palaces I've seen in France and Spain. The Palace is located beside the old town, which is also tiny. In fact, the country is so small that the Palace, main Cathedrale (right) and Justice Court is only within 3 minutes walk from each other.

The graves of the royal family are placed side by side in a semi-circle surrounding the altar of the church. This is Princess Grace's grave.

Monaco is divided into 4 areas, one of which is Monte Carlo (which many people think it's another name for Monaco). The Grand Casino (in the middle) is located in Monte Carlo and I think it actually looks more grand than the palace.

The layout of the country is very interesting. Apart from the area around the harbour, most of the country is sloped upwards. At first, we navigated by taking flights after flights of stairs to get from one road to the one further in. After a while, we realised that there are actually public lifts that take you from one road to the other! The road names are marked beside the lift button!

Monaco also has a beach. And their beach is filled with sand. Why? Because they are rich and they imported the sand from somewhere else.

*the start of the F1 Grand Prix is located beside the orange roof on the extreme left

12 oct - Cannes

You probably know Cannes from the famous Cannes Film Festival. So do I. I imagine a grand modern theatre lined with red carpets inside and outside to welcome the stars from all around the world every year. But, sadly, this is what where the festival takes place.

Le Palais des Festivals

Not at all glamourous. It looks as if it has been a failed post-moderist building. I don't even want to mention the 5 letter 'U' word. I just found another photo off the internet of the Palais des Festivals when the event takes place. okay, some points accredited. But still, disappointing.

Cannes' beach, with sand! (not imported) Like all beaches in France, there is always a handful of women sunbathing naked

Left: this is not a statue. it is a busker!
Right: we found this billboard near the beach. i'm always surprise to hear that people so far away know about Singapore or see anything related to Singapore, because we are so so small.

Like Monaco, Cannes is also full of rich people, casinos and branded boutiques.

But it is also known for it's legend of The Man in The Iron Mask. He was locked in the prison of St Marguerite (15 mins away by boat) for many years and legend has it that he escaped one day and hid in a small tower in Cannes until his death. His iron mask is hung outside the entrance of the tower today.

read the story of The Man in the Iron Mask from Wikipedia

Saint Marguerite Island
The island of Saint Marguerite is mostly occupied by forests and nature walks except the Northern tip where the old prison is. A bit of history: the island was originally used by traders from Marseille. A fort was built by the Spanish. When the Spanish was defeated, the French took over the fort and turned it into a prison where prisoners were kept without trial. They were mostly political prisoners including Protestants priests and those who fell out with the French King. Of course, the most famous prisoner was the man in the iron mask.

You can see the prison cells in this photos. Today, the fort/prison is used as a summer camp for children and cells are combined to make classrooms.

left: the rest of the island. i'm standing in the clear, blue Mediterranean Sea!
right: desert plants are found throughout Cote d'Azur. the one in front is Agrave, used to make tequila. It is taller than me!

Strikes are a common sight in Paris

2006-10-04T03:38:00.000+08:00

Halfway through our lesson, we heard loud carnival music coming from outside our school. I didn't really understood what was in the song, but it sounded as though a large float was passing through.
When we left school an hour late, we were, quite unexpectedly, greeted by a seemingly never-ending line of french people going on strike! It was violent like how you would have seen it on tv, but rather peaceful and carnival-ish like Singapore's Big Walk. The people were walking slowly, some holding gigantic banners, some playing drums, and others making noises by clapping plastic tubes filled with air, and even a van playing music. Of course, every now and then, the crowd would start a chant-like cheer with the strike slogan. When you whip out your camera, most of them would smile and wave at you to strike a pose with their posters.

The roads were blocked at either of the parade by traffic polices, and an array of police cars and road-cleaners and trucks follow closely behind. Very organised.

And what were they protesting? The govt electric company is being privatised and the electricity bills will be raised.

Eiffel Tower at Midnight

2006-10-04T03:33:00.000+08:00

Every hour from 9pm, the eiffel sparkles continuously for a full ten minutes under the starry Paris night sky. Pretty.
I love the sparking eiffel.

Arc de Triompe.
(No, it's not snowing. Zy's lens are just dirty)

Serving you at Restaurant Victor Hugo

2006-10-04T02:59:00.000+08:00

Our guests: Roy and Shuan An
Plat du Jour: Nasi Lemak with fried egg, ikan bilis, egg-dippped luncheon meat and grilled chilli fillets

Our guests: Xiaoling, Kangmin, Yuanshan
Plat du Jour: Mexican Fish Taco: Beer-battered fish covered with chef's special white sauce, wrapped in soft tortilla. Served with fresh greens and deep-fried alphabets potato fingers

Our guests: Hobbit and Xintian
Plat du Jour: Battered fish with lemon butter sauce. Served with crispy crabsticks, juicy carrots and smooth mashed potato

Our guests: (okay, no guest, just yuying and me)
Plat du Jour: Italian Beef Puccia with Caesar Salad. Puccia: 2 thin slices of overbaked beef steaks covered with chef's special white sauce, then sandwiched in toasted pita bread with fresh tomatoes and lettuce. Salad: Fresh greens with slices of ham, cheddar cheese, overbaked chicken and homemade crotons, under a dressing of house thousand island. Served with baked potato, white sauce and "bacon bits".

shi an and weiloon's housewarming party:

2006-10-04T02:36:00.000+08:00

shi an and weiloon's housewarming party:
this is what happens when 2 ex-bartenders-ah bengs say together.

shi an and weilun lives in the Montmarte district (red light district), which in my opinion suits them quite well. Not that way of course. I know what you are thinking. It's more of the late night + 10 bottles of heineken and 10 sticks of Marbolo lifestyle. Whether of not they have the other habit, I can't tell you for sure.

but I must say, their apt is pretty cool. Equipped with thick flurry carpets, designer-lookalike kitchen equipment,martini glasses, shot glasses, even split-pourers, it was made for cocktail houseparty. their makeshift bar is astonishingly well-equipped. Your 5 whites (gin,vodka,rum,tequlia,cointreau), some liquors (blue curacao, peach, cassis, apple sourz), your bar-gun sodas (coke, sprite, tonic) and along with OJ, LJ and AJ, tomato and lycee juice, the bar is good to go. Together with dimmed lights and house music, Neat.

The 2 of them are truly a pair of jokers. This is what Shi An sent us the following day:
FULL TIME REPORT
Tout le monde,

Thanks for yesterday night. It was fun. I hope you all did not suffer too
much of a hangover. Wee Loon and I had fun cleaning the toilet today.

Full time report.
- Known Casualties = 5 (35.7%) *
- Known Smokers = 7 (50%)
- Person who inflicted the most damage = Yang Yang :)
- Man of the Match = Kai Xin

Special compliments to our man of the match for daring to drink, daring to
smoke, daring to party, getting drunk BUT KNOWING WHERE TO PUKE, while at
the same time taking care of another drunk person.

Bisous,
Shi An & Wee Loon.

-----------------
* total number of people who puked: Yangyang, Zhenyuan, Kaixin, Xiaowei, Weilun

fun with alphabets!

2006-09-19T04:12:00.000+08:00

fun with alphabets!

sunday brunch this week

2006-09-17T20:39:00.000+08:00

sunday brunch this week:

bruschettas

and apple crumble with ice-cream

centre pompidou at metz

2006-09-17T19:42:00.000+08:00

new pompidou center at Metz, region in North-East France, scheduled to open in 2008. designed by Shigeru Ban and Jean de Gastines.

http://www.centrepompidou-metz.com/site/en/nav/1

first attempt at making wanton

2006-09-17T04:31:00.000+08:00

hi mum!
look my the wantons i made.

see how good they look? thanks to my mum's advice over skype. haha.

the key word is "LEOPARD"

2006-09-16T20:25:00.000+08:00

are you ready for the new Mac OS X?

quoted from apple.com
"What do you do when you reach enlightenment? Keep going."

2 best new functions:

THE TIME MACHINE
regularly backs up your files, so you can "go back in time" to restore deleted files. something like System Restore from windows.
KO feature: get a snapshot of your entire system from day 1

SPACES
ur expose can now be divded into 4 now. when you are working simutaneously on several projects, for example,
1. safari and google earth
2. photoshop editing of your panel and multiple photos
3. i-tunes and music editing
4. i-mail and msn
you can put similar windows into the same space, instead of having 50 windows all over the place. all the photos that you open in photoshop will be in it's own expose, i-tunes and garage band in a different one, i-mail and msn in it's own space etc.

"you can organize your windows into different groups - work, play, communication, creation - and move between them all with ease. Spaces gives you a one click bird's eye view of every project"

KO feature: it's basically like having 4 different exposé screens. and in the era of the drag-and-drop, simply drag the a window from 1 space into the other.

start from 7:10mins.

introducting Mac OS X Leopard. the new mac platform that is cooler than cool.

http://www.apple.com/macosx/leopard/index.html

flowers and fleur d'artificielle

2006-09-16T19:17:00.000+08:00

studio was super slack today. and i mean Super Slack with double captial 'S's.

9am: start of studio, but tutors were having expressos at the cafe, so we just hung around the main hall.

9.30am: studio started. ppt presentation which was supposed to be finished last friday but it didn't so we continued on monday, and we couldn't finish it as well, so guess what? we are continuing it again today.

11.00am: some students declared their own mini-breaks and went out of class. i was in the library the whole time doing up our panel with groupmates because they didn't finish what they were supposed to do

12.30pm: lunch break. we had lunch at the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens today. it is huge! it might be as big as 1km long. there were so many brightly coloured flowers where you will never find in out tropical little island.

2pm: start of 2nd-half of studio. as usual, hang around the main hall

2.30pm: still hanging around the main hall

3pm: pinning up of panels at the long hallway above the main hall stepstutors came and look through the panels while one group member did a supposedly short presentation with lasted about 15 to 30 mins.

4pm: only 4 presentations passed, while the 3 of us sat at the other end of the hallway, chatting with other students.

5pm: probably only 2-3 more presentations. more chatting. our company included Janus (from Indonesia), Sarra (Tunisia), Fang Li (Shanghai), Geehee and another girl (Korea), Dorthy (authentic parisian of at least 3 generations), Kim (Hawaii, who came to NUS for exchange last year).

6pm: 10-12 presentations, 8 more to go. we left for french lessons.

7.30pm: end of French class. We are going to La Defense to watch the firework display! and of course, 1 whole week of homepacked sandwich lunches and homecooked dinner = time for my special meal of the week - Demoniak Cheese burger!

9.45pm: we were at La Defense, waiting for the fireworks to start. we were all prepared for those gigantic sparking flowers that bloom high up in the night sky, but guess what? the fireworks were shot right inside the Grand Arc inself! I have never seen fireworks that low before. it was simply splendid. there were fireworks imported from Spain, China and Italy as well. and the music accompany was a brillant idea. all firework displays should have came with music. the fireworks exploded to the rhythm of the music. it reminded me of the musical fountain we have at Sentosa, only grander and more exciting.

The illuminated Grand Arc at night

the Arc was like a gigantic photo frame hung on the wall formed by the nightsky, and we watched an everchanging picture of exploding sparks of a million colours through the night.

professor meade

2006-09-15T05:36:00.000+08:00

there is someone you definitely have to meet. Monsieur Meade from History of Paris. (not sure if i got his name right)
this man is ancient i tell you. he wears a (i am tempted to use the word 'costume') white suit with matching vest and a scarf around the collar, like how you wear a bowtie. i think the only thing missing is a tall victorian hat.

and you see this gold chain over here. OMG!! it is a timepiece. i was utterly amazed when he took this artifact out from his pocket during class. i am certain that someone imported him straight from the 19th century.

apart from the attire that doesn't quite fit the 21st century, he is a really nice professor. so far, he is the only one who is kind enough to add a little english here and there in his lesson just for the 4 of us. most of the other tutors didn't even want us to be in their class as they have to spend extra time explaining to us in english. and his expressions are most candid. he also brought us our on our 2nd lesson to take a look at 17th century Parisan buildings, which i really appreciated. at least we don't have to sit in the classroom all the time.

house warming

2006-09-13T02:12:00.000+08:00

what's the best thing to do when all the appliances you've been waiting for 2 whole weeks finally arrive? when you finally can wash your 2 weeks worth of dirty, smelly laundry, cook home-made chinese food (instead of greasely pizzas from the microwave) and get a fridge so you can buy that tub of ice-cream you've been eyeing for a whole week?

HOUSE WARMING PARTYYY!!!

it was a potluck of course, so everyone brought a little something to contribute. the delectable dishes served included curry chicken, meatball stew, coke braised chicken (yes, coke!), breaded silver fish, potato-cornflakes-apple-chilli (i didnt know you could combine all these things), bak-kua just to name a few.

sunday brunch

2006-09-12T07:00:00.000+08:00

our sunday brunch with our 2 special guests consists of:
- tomato and lettuce salad
- croissant
- scrambled eggs
- sausage
- bread and butter pudding
- orange juice

a healthy mix of all your daily nutrition needs - carbs, protein, vitamins.
that's what i call a wholesome breakfast.
just look at all our happy and contented faces.

ecole speciale d'architecture

2006-09-10T04:22:00.000+08:00

school is kindda disappointing i have to say. it's really tiny. it's a private architecture school, so there's only aki students there. looking at all my other friends who went to full universities, maybe it would have been better if we went to a full uni as well. at least there would be more students, more activites and a sense of uni life in france.

the school is really disorganised, despite being so small. when we were trying to get more information for the modules we have to take on the first day, we were being pushed from one admin office to the other and the admin seem to lack in communication with the tutors. but the good thing is, it appears that they don't really have a proper programme for exchange students, and so we can choose to take (or not) any modules we want! we can even just take design. now we are taking 1 module from yr3 sem1, 1 module from yr4 sem1, 1 module from yr3 sem1 and 1 module from yr2 sem1. we could even choose if we wanted to be in sem1 or sem2.

talk about freedom of choice.

here are some shots of the school:

the hall way

presentation in lecture theatre

the cafe. stella artois at 1E per 500ml glass after 5pm

the courtyard, or the smoking area. i think 80% of the students smoke here

Diet Coke and Mentos

2006-09-05T03:53:00.000+08:00

ever heard about the urban legend of exploding diet coke when added with mentos?
there it is. see it for yourself.

Arc de Triomphe

2006-09-03T20:21:00.000+08:00

it's just 15 mins away from our apartment. avenue victor hugo happens to be one of the 8 streets that lead out of the Triumphant Arc, along with the famous Avenue Champs Elysees.

safe in paris

2006-09-02T20:48:00.000+08:00

3.12pm in Paris
finally got our internet connection. I'm safe in Paris! No worries!
here are some photos of our apartment.

view from the balcony

the apartment

we are going to IKEA now! finally can get my bolster.

the serenity prayer

2006-08-15T00:45:00.000+08:00

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

How do angels look like?

2006-08-06T23:35:00.000+08:00

I met my angel. In a small town in France.

It was 4am in the morning. My eyes were sore from crying for hours in a corner outside the catheral. Along the walk home, I was continually teased and disturbed by drunk men loittering the streets in the wee hours. Halfway along the journey, he called out to me from across the street. He walked over, pushing an old worn out bicycle alongside himself. He said he couldn't speak English, and we communicated in French, very broken French on my part. He had a laptop sized wooden board tied to the back of his bicycle which he said he was going to make into a chopping board because he wanted to become a chef. He asked for my chinese name and what it meant. His face was kind and when he smiles, it was with pureness and benevolence.

When we parted, strangely, he said in English, "See you tomorrow and good night."
But i never saw him again. Yet his calming presence lingered on after his departure for days to come.

It was a magical feeling.

veronika decides to die

2006-03-30T20:37:00.000+08:00

In a world where everyone struggles to survive whatever the cost, how could one judge those people who decide to die?

No one can judge.

Each person knows the extent of their own suffering or the total absence of meaning in their lives.

2006-03-28T18:42:00.001+08:00

scopare cretino!

2006-03-28T18:42:00.000+08:00

"Men should be like Kleenex. They should be soft, strong and disposable."

the solitare calendar

2006-03-10T01:07:00.000+08:00

one pack of cards has 52 different cards divided into 4 suits and 13 numerical value, Ace being the smallest and King is the biggest. the suits follow the order of diamond, club, hearts and spades.
the year is divided into 13 months. each month is represented by 1 number. 1st month is the month of Ace, 2nd month is the month of Two and the 13th month is the month of the King.
each month has 28 days, and 28 multiply by 13 is 364.
every 7 days makes a week, and that makes 52 weeks, because 7 multiply by 52 is also 364
each card stands for a different week in a year of 52 weeks. Each month has 4 weeks, as each card value (Ace or a Nine or a Queen) comes in 4 suits. the 1st week of the first month of Ace is the week of the the Ace of Diamonds. 2nd week of the first month (Ace) will be the week of the Ace of Clubs. 3rd week of the Ace month is the week of the Ace of Hearts. 4th week of the Ace month is the week of Ace of Spades. 1st week of the Two month is the week of Two of Diamonds and so on.
The year ends with the week of the King of Spades in the King month.
The year is also divided into 4 seasons, and Diamonds are for spring, Clubs for summer, Hearts for autumn and Spades for winter.ery
So in a year of 365 days, what about the last day?
The 365th day is Joker Day! And we have 2 Joker Days once every 4 years.

So, if you follow, can you tell me what day it is today?

ok..finally, i figured out it's the 3rd day in the week of Three of Clubs in the month of the Three. with a little help from alex that is.

2006-03-09T00:41:00.000+08:00

sywn gave me a good quote today.
"Trying to forget someone you loved, is like trying to remember someone you've never met."

the reason why

2006-02-23T23:52:00.000+08:00

I think about how it might have been
We'd spend our days travelin'
It's not that I don't understand you
It's not that I don't want to be with you
But you only wanted me
The way you wanted me

So, I will head out alone and hope for the best
And we can hang our heads down as we skip the goodbyes
You can tell the world what you want them to hear
I've got nothing left to lose, my dear
So, I'm up for the little white lies
But you and I know the reason why
I'm gone, and you're still there

I'll buy a magazine searching for your face
From coast to coast, or whatever I find my place
I'll track you on the radio
And I'll sign your list in a different name
But as close as I come to you
It's not the same

So, I will head out alone and hope for the best
We can pat ourselves on the back and say that we tried
And if one of us makes it big
We can spill our regrets
And talk about how the love never dies
But you and I know the reason why
I'm gone, and you're still there

So, steal the show
And do your best to cover the tracks that I have left
I wish you well and hope you find whatever you're looking for
The way I might've changed my mind
But you only showed me the door

So, I will head out alone and hope for the best
We can pat ourselves on the back and say that we tried
And if one of us makes it big
We can spill our regrets
And talk about how the love never dies
But you and I know the reason why

extracts from turkey

2005-05-30T02:12:00.000+08:00

28 may 2005

i realised sometimes the beauty of nature lies not in elegance like monet's water liles, nor refinement, like meticulously manicured english gardens. these are too perfect, refined, delicate, that they become almost surreal. these are man-crafted beauty, often refined to fit man's conceived, idealised version of nature.
sometimes, beauty can lie in the roughness of the boulders, the randomness of the shurbs and wildflowers growing over the uneven mountains, and even weeds sprinkled carelessly over the fields. these are sometimes interrupted by fallen branches, or dead logs or sand patches along the way. though they are not perfect, they are beautiful because they are real.
sometimes, the secret to beauty lies in the unspoilt, unplanned and unconspired nature.

28 april 2005

silence is something that is difficult to appreciate. some people can turn even the most beautiful of places into a sunday morning fish market.

29 april 2005 1.45am

it's spring time in turkey, and flowers are blooming everywhere in turkey! the lavender ones, like floral prints on the farmlands, the yellow ones, like reflections of the sun in the fields and the white ones, like snow petals left behind from the previous winter. but the most beautiful of them all, the blood red ones, like the colour of the turkish flag, spread over the farms, the fields, the mountains and the plains.

8.05pm

eight o'clock in the night, and it's hardly near sunset. the day is longer in spring i guess. long hours of road trip through the mountains and the never-ending stretch of farmland. on the mountains, we saw shepherds herding their tiny little sheep. the sheep looked like little fluffy wool balls trotting along the mountains. absolutely adorable!

30 may 2005
cannakale

the turkish people

i will never forget them. especially the children. they would get so excited upon seeing chinese faces, and exclaim "japonais! japonais" delightfully while running towards you in big groups to take photographs with you. i've never imagined anyone would get so delighted to see chinese/japanese people.
the children would then run curiously around you, while rattling on and on enthusiasically, asking you about this and that. sadly, it was all in turkish and we couldnt understand a word of it and could only smile politely in reply. when you attempt to say something, they would wait eagerly to hear you speak in your own language and the girls would start giggling shyly.
we met a lot of other friendly turkish people as well. those that waved to you from the roads, from the buses and even the roadside cafes, those that greeted you with a friendly 'hello' on the streets and nudged their friend excitedly, and also those who were so eager to speak to you and learn about your culture which is distinctly different from their own.
the experience was unforgettable.

31 may 2005
pamukale

i was strolling on my own around the resort premises after an exceptionally heavy dinner. the nights in turkey were much colder in the absence of sunlight. i walked along the path winding in and out of the 3-storey resort, passing the thermal pool, the garden and finally the restaurant. it was a nice feeling walking on the stone path, breathing in fresh, cold air. i strolled out of the main entrance into the dark starry night, wondering where i should explore next. the only way out was a road that led into the town, as the resort was on the outskirts. however, the road was only lit as far as 100m beyond the resort and the rest melted into the darkness.
i thought about it for a moment, and decided to go ahead since there was nowhere to go anyway. i proceeded cautiously towards the darkness, going slower with each step i took.
right before the limit of my vision, i paused. i was a little afraid of walking into a space i couldn't see. it was quiet at night in the mountains. i heard the sound of a passing vehicle somewhere below. it lasted for about 5 seconds, then quiet agan. i continued.

one step.

two steps.

i stopped.

not because i was afraid, but all around me, everything was completely silent. there was no sound from passing cars, nor from the crickets and not even the rustling of leaves. the silence was entirely different from the quietness of the night. this silence, is not just the absence of sound, but also of complete stillness. nothing moved, not even me. i stood dumbstruck at the marvel of this stillness, holding my breath (literally, i didn't even dare to breathe for fear of disrupting the stillness) at the sight before me.

it was just the silhouette of the mountain, the starry night sky and me.

the experience was spine-tingling. i felt a thousand emotions at once. i felt like i was the only person that existed - it was just the world and me, which made me feel that i was of single, utmost importance; it made me more aware of my own existance in this world more than ever, that i was alive to see what i saw which i was grateful of. For the first time, i was really feeling what i was seeing, like there was an invisible bond that was there all along but i never really realised. but most of all, i felt as if all that i see, all the mountains, the entire night sky and even the whole wide world belonged to me, and i could walk along the mountains, sit between the rocks and sleep amongst the trees if i really wanted to. it felt magical.

i had been to high mountains, in Nepal, taller and more beautiful. i had seen night skies with 10 times more stars, bigger, closer, so close that you'd think you can grab one down if you reach out with your hands. i had been to caves, quieter, darker, that you can't even see you own feet. but the feeling i had that night was completely different.

the caves were quiet, but your footsteps echo disturbingly with every step you take. the mountains in Nepal were taller, but filled with trees and wildlife, and at night, you could feel the whole forest bursting with life. but the mountains in turkey were usually low and bare, with patches of yellowish-green grass here and there, and occasionally, a lone tree.

and in the darkness of the night, all were imposingly silent, all were deadly still.

i felt i was part of the endless mountains, part of the night sky, part of nature, but most of all, i felt i belonged to the wilderness.

4 may 2005
cappadocia

omg! it's snowing in turkey! in may! there's only one way to best describe it.
simply gorgeous.
the brown mountains, yellow fields, green trees and the red houses, all turned white overnight. it looked like angels came the night before and secretly sprinkled icing sugar all over the country.

with snow, everything becomes so much more beautiful.

6 may 2005
somewhere between ankara and bolu

turkish cuisine

turkish cuisine is a delightful fusion of european and asian culture, proudly reflecting the fact that it is the only country in the world to reside in two continents. it is usually served in 3 courses (european).
appetizers: cream soup, usually tomato, and mixed green salad (european)
main course: pilavi (turkish rice with olive oil, chicken broth and herbs) served with meat (panfried or in stew) (asian)
dessert: sweet cakes or fruits (european)

tomato soup and vegetables stew in claypot

pilavi with pan-fried mackerel

turkish dessert, sutlak. it's cheese baked between dried noodles soaked with honey. it's nice, but it's very, very sweet.

turkish apple tea. served in tradition glassware and saucer

turkish people

turkish people look suprisingly European (i always thought that would look middle-eastern) but most have darker shades of hair, although there are some blonds as well. they have more defined features and paler skin compared to Amercians. they are mostly very friendly (read above) and the many turkish men we met are quite cheeky as well. (think turkish ice-cream sellers)

6 may 2005
still somewhere between ankara and bolu

i'd say the highlight of our tour is the visit to the 'fairy chimmeys' and houses carved into stone mountains in Cappadocia. i don't think there is anything quite like it anywhere else in the world. firstly, there are these huge amounts of conical formations around the mountains, due to the unique errosion of the landforms. the strange thing is, most the these 'cones' have oversized rocked sitting on its pinnacle, perfectly balanced.

secondly, in these 'cones' or 'fairy chimmeys' as they are known, have door or window sized fenetrations carved into them, making them look like animated dwellings. these are made by people who lived in them a few thousand years ago. during that time, these fenetrations were originally hidden entrances leading to the homes of people who hid from enemies in the mountains. over the years, as the surface of the mountains erroded away, these fenetrations are thus revealed, forming what we see today.

during the visit to the georome open-air museum, a section of the 'city' cordoned off for us to walk into the houses, we saw houses that formed an entire neighbourhood. each 'cone' was like one apartment block with several units inside. (think smurf houses). besides residential caves, some were also made into churches, kitches and communial dinning halls. the churches had dome-shaped ceilings and arches carved out of stone and the walls were painted with murals depicting biblical scenes. you could tell the kitchens apart easily from the black ceiling and walls which were smeared with smog from years after years of cooking.

church entrance

7 may 2005

some turkish phrases

hello: merhaba (meh-ha-ba)
ok: tamam (ta-ma)
pretty girl: guzel kiz (gu-zel-kus)
bye: gule gule (gu-day-gu-day)
yes: evet (Aye-vet)
no: hayir (hirre)

for the rest of the photos, visit
http://share.shutterfly.com/os.jsp?i=EeEMmTVk0bOHGA&open=1

"everybody's changing and i don't feel the same..."

2005-04-21T02:11:00.000+08:00

the last line defence has finally been broken, when news came that the 2 remaining soldiers, badly wounded and worn out, have eventually decided to give up the struggle.

the war was long and tough. it had been almost two years since it started. initially, causalties were rare. but as time went by, we had more and more news of people deciding to end it. when those who fought the longest begin to surrender, we were all taken by surprise. perhaps as a result, others began to lose hope too. and it didnt seem that appalling when one by one, everyone pulled out eventually.

i believe we were all badly wounded, perhaps some much more than others. i don't know if giving up is the best way to go about it. i guess only time will tell. in the meanwhile, heal your wounds, and move on. do treasure the good memories and keep them close to your heart, but do remember that there are also much more good things in life to be discovered. it may seem difficult to pull through this moment of heartache, but in the long journey of life, this is but another passing phase.

trust me, it will be alright in the end.

fern faces

2005-04-18T06:40:00.000+08:00

the all blacks simply rock!
here they are...my sexy champions!

rushie and me!

us and the nz uncles

finally...the fern faces...

reflections on semester two

2005-04-16T03:00:00.000+08:00

This semester is basically consolidating what we’ve learnt in semester one, internalizing it and applying it in our design and panels. I realized the line-drawing and zoo orthographic exercises were indeed useful, as I know exactly how to construction different orthographic projections and also the importance of neatness and consistency in my presentation. I found it good that both projects for this semester had a focus, like for P1 it was materials and for P2 it was context, which enabled me to have a specific direction to work on. I think this is important for beginners (yr ones) like us as we are not familiar with the issues architecture projects deal with and these specific topics make rather good introductions.

Workload wise, I think this semester is a lot more intensive in terms of design, sometimes to the extent that we have to negate the other modules. I really don’t feel that 8 modular credits is justifiable for the amount of effort we put it, and I really want to concentrate on design since that is what I am in NUS for. It is really frustrating because on one hand I want to put more effort into design, yet I have to set aside so much time for 4 other modules, but in the end, design is so intensive that it takes up 4/5 of my time and I only use 1/5 of the remaining time for the 4 other modules. Eventually, time becomes so tight, I get so stressed, that I lose interest in the other modules. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. I think architecture is a professional degree and it should be treated like its counterparts such as a doctor degree or law degree, and that the focus should be on the essentials. It is reasonable to make us all-rounded students, but I think it would make more sense to give us more time so that we can complete our design, and use the extra time to pursue what we want to learn. Compulsory lessons are not the only way to make us all-rounders.

As for my tutor this semester, (I’m not sure if you are the one reading this, but I’ll just say it anyway. I told you I wasn’t prepared to comment when it was my turn yesterday that’s why I said very little) I guessed his teaching method worked for me more as compared to last semester as I’m rather headstrong and hate to be told what exactly to do (or design). I know it didn’t work for everyone, as some of my peers felt lost without specific guidance. Of course, I felt lost sometimes too and wished that I would be given what I was looking for instead of searching blindly on my own, but I still tried my best and eventually realized that we were actually given subtle hints for help. It was a good thing that I persisted, as eventually I found out that the joy of discovering the answer yourself is much more satisfying than being shown it right away, and sometimes there might be some unexpected discoveries along the way.
I don’t know if this is a good thing, maybe learning too much on my own put me on the wrong track for all I know, but for all I cared, I enjoyed myself. I guess we’ll have to wait until the grades are revealed to find out.
(I just want to say thank you for all the times you helped and also for all the times you didn’t)

For this semester, I stayed in school for 4 days 3 nights consecutively. It was 3 days 2 nights last semester. I wonder if the numbers increase as you go up the level? I hope the school will considering having hot water showering facilities. The reason for not having it is because the department doesn’t want us to stay over, but I think the issue is not about whether we want to, but we have to. Since we have to stay over anyway, I think it would be good to use our resources more wisely by giving the students have a decent place to wash up so that we can be fresh the next morning (because it is really mentally and physically draining to stay over) instead of using it to make better pavements.

zouking

2005-04-15T06:45:00.000+08:00

new pose invented

new pose tested

don't ask me what they are doing

death is just a simple logic that humans have long overlook

2005-03-30T04:30:00.000+08:00

maybe we afraid because we have not come to terms with the fact that death is just part of life. death is just a simple logic that humans have long overlook throughout the entire human civilisation. everyone that gets born, dies. it's part of the deal.

"...i strained my eyes to see where i was but everything was in a blur. i vaguely remembered i was lying in the hospital, with my wife and children by my bed. my vision cleared up gradully and i realised i was in a huge hall. it looks a little like a train station. no, maybe an airport departure hall. i'm not too sure. there are some counters with long queues of people behind.

why am i here? i wondered. is this heaven? not really i guess. no pearly gates, no angels, no God. is this hell then? i don't see the devil anyway. i tried to look for a way out, but all i could see in my area of vision was counters and people queuing behind them. i walked around a little, maybe i could find the door. but the hall was so big that i couldnt even see where it ends. so i walked up to a man in the queue and asked what he was queuing for. i thought it would seem quite silly to ask someone where you are.

he looked at me with a ridiculed expression like i had asked the dumbest question he has ever heard and replied, 'To go back, of course'.

'to go back to where?'

'argh. to the world of course! you are dead aren't you? we need to get a ticket to get back.'

i stared dumbfoundedly at him, trying to internalise what he had just said - One, i was dead. Two, he was dead as well. Three, we need to get a ticket to get back to the world. and four, he sounded so nonchalent, as if being dead was the most normal thing.

'well, what are you doing? come over and queue behind me. you'll have to queue for very long to get to my spot. quick before anyone else notices.'

bewildered and slighly curious, i went over apprehensively and stood behind him. we didn't talk much after that as i didn't know what to say to a dead person.

maybe 'hey, how did you die?' which i thought was kindda lame.
worse still, what should a dead person say to another dead person?

'hey, how did you die?'
'oh, i was hit by a car'
'oh really? i drowned. is it better to be hit by a car?'

that was how i imagine the conversation will be like, so i rather kept quiet.
i spent most of the time looking at the activities at the counters. there would be a few people in uniforms in charge of every counter. the person at the counter would be asked a few questions, some a little more qustions than the rest, and after which they would be given a card and proceed past several gateways located behind the counters. there would a minority of others who were denied of entry thru the gates and taken away. i wonder where they are being taken to?

after what seemed like a decade, it was finally my turn at the counter.
the officer behind the counter scrutinised me for a long while and said finally,

"Jim Stevens. 47. Born 29 may 1941. Died 3 september 1998."

"er. ya". i still found it unnatural to hear the last part.

"no crimes committed, but broke your boss' antique and accused your collegue of doing
it on 14 january 1994."

"er. yes' though i was tempted to lie, but i knew better.

"okay. you can go through." and handed me the small card. on it was written:

'Ryan Philips. Two-way return ticket.
Arrival: 8 september 1998
Departure: 6 feburary 2070'

two-way return ticket? i wonder if i can get just a one way. the officer seemed to be able to read my mind.

"only two-way return tickets," and shoved me through the gateway.

have you ever wonder what death is like?

2005-03-30T01:46:00.000+08:00

i guess not many people think about that. to the young people, it is just a myth. to older people, it is a taboo. perhaps it's because we know so little about it as we can never fully understand it in our lifetime (literally), and we are just too afraid of treading into unknown realms.

i always wonder what death will be like. will angels descend from heaven and lead our spirits up to heaven? or will hell-guards escort our spirits down to hell?

i was walking along the streets late one night when i noticed a cat lying motionless on the grass verge. initially, i thought it was asleep, which was weird because wild animals don't usually sleep in open places. cats are alert animals. even when they are asleep, they will wake up and run away when they sense someone near. when it did not stir as i walked closer, i was quite convinced that it was dead.

the way it laid there, motionless and all by itself in the open, made me think differently about death.

it looked so lonely lying there on its own. i begun to see death as a lonely thing. we could have all the world as friends in our life-time, but when we die, we die alone. we came alone when we were born, and when we leave, it's only natural that we live alone. well, i guess maybe twins lose out a little in this deal. and i'm being to wonder if it's better to die in a battlefield...

i realised that there is really nothing poetic about death. it's purely something factual. you're given a long string and every day, you cut a little from it. bit by bit, the string gets shorter. one day, when the string is so short that you can't cut it anymore, it falls out from your hand and that's it.

game over.

no angels, no hell-guards, no spirit leavin the body, no after-life, no reincarnation.

just that.

maybe it's not as glorious as we think it will be - we'll just inhale our very last breath, close our eyes and stop functioning.

it may sound cruel and harsh. but what if death is just that?

is this what we are afraid of?

happiness

2005-03-25T01:37:00.000+08:00

to two of my friends:
happiness is actually everything where, and in everything that we do..the only catch is..if we want to look for it..we must also be willing to let it come in..

reply to qibao's email

2005-02-20T03:53:00.000+08:00

just sending out my thoughts after reading qibao's mail. you all don't have to agree, i don't think many people will anyway, but it's just my $0.02.

for me, i have pretty strong opinions about my own design, and i wasn't exactly very glad when my last sem's tutor kept wanting me to change my design to things that he thought were better. some were obviously better, but there were also points which i felt didn't tie in with my concept (as erwin mentioned, for the tutor, it's 1 to 15, and we have to accept the fact that tutors might not understand everyone's design as well as we want them to)

in fact, i felt more stressed last semester because i was struggling with the dilemma of keeping my design to what i wanted and what my tutor suggested. there's always this tendency to feel that if our tutor suggested something and we didn't follow, we will eventually get penalised for it because it would seem that we are doing something that is apparently 'wrong'.

for this sem's work, i'm generally quite pleased with what i conjured. although what i eventually settled on might not be the best design amongst my peers, and it might not even give me a good grade, i'm proud to say that it's MY design, i like it and i didn't add anything that i didn't like to please others. i sought my own inner voice for opinions (not out of choice initially of course) instead of depending on someone else to 'confirm' my design for me. i realised it will be quite sad if we as designers have to rely on such confirmation.

i believe that when you are producing something good, you can feel it. if you don't, then it's probably not. and when you believe that it's good, please trust yourselves. as much as design is subjective, when confidence and belief shine thru', one can make others see even a controversial piece of work objectively.

i feel that we need to be less worried about getting things done the right way, (since there is no 'right way' to design) and about getting the approving 'green light'. instead, enjoy the exploration, enjoy the designing, and create something that we like and believe in, which are done to the best of our abilities at that given time.
this, i believe, is architecture that comes from the heart.

as for erwin, i hope you'll understand that it's not easy for everyone to get used to this education framework in a short span of time. it's easy to feel lost and helpless while working independently and we would be very glad to have some more guiding lights while we are learning to be independent. it would be helpful, perhaps, if you could be more specific in the questions which you intend to prompt us with.

i want you and your beautiful soul..

2005-02-14T22:04:00.000+08:00

just heard this song on radio by Jesse McCartney. it's called 'beautiful soul' and there's one line that goes "I want you and your beautiful soul". doesn't it ever occur to you that this might be a satanic song?

future tense

2005-02-09T02:32:00.000+08:00

je vais aller au France!

vous voir à Ronchamp!

how fragile life is..

2005-02-08T01:33:00.000+08:00

only after close encounters with death, will we realise how fragile life is. it's as if we are all scattering ants..and a finger from above will squash us anytime.

you realise how easy it is to die, but living, to carry on your difficult life, is the hard part. are you up for the challenge?

lost in translation

2005-01-30T23:26:00.000+08:00

loneliness...feels like getting lost in a foreign city

if there is no tomorrow, will today become more important?

2005-01-29T23:24:00.000+08:00

what i do today is important, because i will never have today again.

untitled

2005-01-28T23:21:00.000+08:00

when i look into the mirror, i see a reflection of myself looking back at me.
but how do i know that i looking into the mirror, and not looking out from the world in the mirror?

well done, i realised i'm made out of sterner stuff than i thought.

2005-01-25T22:28:00.000+08:00

you'll never know how strong you can be, until you've squeeze every last bit of energy out of yourself.

"through life's trails and hardships, we arise beautiful and free" -Luna butterfly.

december 26th, 2004 (II)

2005-01-04T01:01:00.000+08:00

sometimes there are some people out there, at this very moment in time, who need some things more than you do.

december 26th, 2004

2005-01-02T01:40:00.000+08:00

honestly, i don't believe people would feel genuinely sad when they see people unrelated to them dying. maybe there will be a fleeting moment of upset-ness, triggered by sensationalised images shown by the media, but not depression. the deaths are just numerials, and they will remain just that, unless you begin to put a face to each number.

what was more apparent to me was guilt. why am i out having nice meals at posh resturants with my friends, celebrating the new year, or even online chatting, while others are out there mourning over the dead bodies of their loved ones, or hanging onto their last breath in hospitals awaiting treatment?
how can i allow myself to do nothing, when people, not just hundreds, but thousands of them, are dying?

looking at ourselves, do you think you really deserve this place on Earth more than they do?

lesson learnt today: being poor makes you more streetwise

2005-01-01T01:38:00.000+08:00

i've found out 5 new routes by bus instead of taking the mrt (i have bus concession!) and many places to find the cheapest food.

don't let destiny push you around

2004-12-05T01:38:00.000+08:00

"Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live" -Morrie Schwartz

live like there's no tomorrow and there would be no regrets.
do what you want now, because it may be the only chance you have in this lifetime.
there is nothing such as possiblity and impossiblity, only how badly you want it.
remember, don't let destiny push you around.

wavelength of the soul (part two)

2004-11-27T04:03:00.000+08:00

When this discovery was made, it virtually shook the entire world. Thereafter, many scientists tried to identify a pattern at which the free-floating souls would travel after the departure of the body and the manner of selection for the new bodies on which they would settle. These attempts were targeted to trace the life cycle of the souls and perhaps, audaciously hoping that Man could someday control the cycle of Life.

If souls were a form of energy, they could neither be created nor destroyed (according to Newton’s Law of Conservation of Energy). This meant that souls exist eternally, continuously transiting from one body to the next after the course of a lifetime, a theory similar to Reincarnation in Buddhism and Hinduism. It was an exciting theory for many, as it represented a new milestone in the scientific arena --- one that could potentially lead to much more discoveries that we can hardly even conceive at the present moment.

Amongst the hype, there was slightly more excitement than anywhere else in the world in a remote town slightly off the borders of Moscow. A scientist was busily constructing a machine which would be able to read the ultra high frequency of the soul.

religion - extract from a conversation

2004-11-22T23:58:00.000+08:00

"religion is not of choice.
i mean that u do not choose your religion...rather, it choses u...and the act of going to worship is not an option of the conscious mind but an answer to the call of the spiritual mind..."

the wavelength of the soul (part one)

2004-11-22T01:22:00.000+08:00

Have you ever wondered what form your soul would take?

What if your soul was like an electro-magnetic wave which evaporates from your body with your very last breath when you die? With an extremely short wavelength (the very character that prevented the discovery of its nature until the advancement of recent technology) and infinite energy, it travels freely in space until it finally settles on another body of a newly born child. On the first breath of that tiny body, it releases its boundless energy, giving what is known to us as Life.

architecture's spirit from the roots of modernism

2004-11-21T16:07:00.000+08:00

"The minimalist art of 20th century could be thought of as a cleansing of the spirit in man's art and architecture, and that all the bad was removed and the emptiness that remained was now ready to be filled with the new art of the coming era. This is where I believe we stand today. In a limbo between emptiness left over by the Orthodox Modernists and the eagerness to fill that hollow with richness of the soul again."

by Anthony Catsimatides
December 31, 1998

Reflections for 1st Semester’s Studio Work

2004-11-18T10:36:00.000+08:00

Studio work. A love-and-hate relationship. I love it for the challenges it poses, the mental stimulation it gives and the artistic inclination is possess. At the same time, I hate it for the time limitation which prevents me from deeper exploration of the subject, for the laborious drawings that have to be so meticulously rendered (which I feel is beyond my nature), and most of the time, for taking away so much of my life. Yet, albeit the physical exhaustion, I’m mentally accomplished. Strange. I think all of us have been brainwashed these three months.

Learning about architecture has certainly altered my perceptions about the world. I remember a quote saying, “we live not in a world of reality, but a world of perceptions”, so I presume that it would not be too bold to say that architecture has changed my world.

When I am out with my bunch of studio-mates, the conversation hardly leaves the realms of architecture and studio. We can’t help but notice the difference in the threshold, lightings, shadows and circulation even while walking along the streets. It has come to my belief that this course is meant to re-program our brains to think like architects do, and it has certainly accomplished its mission exceedingly well.

All the prophecies that the seniors forewarned us have become reality. We read, live and (I can almost imagine) eat architecture. The Straits Times reaches my house before we do. We pass time backwards, counting down to the days left to submission. We spent money on sheets of paper, cupboard and wood. We have pencils with a variety of different pencils-nibs in our pencil-cases and the A4 sized paper suddenly feels incredibly small. I think I can almost start an A-to-Z list already.

Nonetheless, I believe that it is worth the while, at least most of the time. The satisfaction of a completed assignment is overwhelming. Architecture text looks more like English and less like Greek and houses start to feel more than mere space.
Though sometimes I lament the amount of nonsensical work I have to do to arrive at these, such as reflections essays amid the already too-short exam preparation period, cutting of ½ mm cupboard strips from for 400x600mm models and repetitious drawing of lines reminiscent of kindergarten penmanship exercises, I do understand the theory of “no pain, no gain”.

Sigh.

The agonies of life.

"everyone knows they will die, but nobody really believes it"

2004-11-17T23:55:00.001+08:00

a quote by morrie schwartz in "Tuesdays With Morrie"

life is short and the world carries on without you. who really cares if you die? nothing stops when your life does, the world doesn't and your friends don't stop living their lives, though we all want to believe so. if you know that, maybe nothing becomes that important anymore. we're all here just for a brief visit. everyone that get's born, dies. it's part of the deal. shall we make our visit worthwhile? or does it matters if we all just fade away silently. i'm strugglin to find the meaning in existance.

i can't hold a single thought straight.

i must be affected by my own mortality.

final crit and homosexuality

2004-11-12T23:23:00.000+08:00

at last we are free from the agony of awaiting death sentence at the final crit! phew. mine went rather went, aside than the fact that i was slightly nervous, missed some points and almost blushed. my tutors were pleased with my design. surprisingly. i was critised rather badly (or so i felt) the consultation session before. they said it was creative*. hah. i like that word.

went to holland v thai express in the evening with my studiomates. john n toon were having this argument about if two mutally attracted guys can have a non-sexual relationship as we were on the topic of homosexuality. did you know that majority of girls are bisexual in nature? well, that may be true because i dont exactly find it repulsive against female-female sexual relationship, then again i dont find it exactly attractive either. rest assured, i'm not gonna turn lesbian soon. perhaps the survey should show that majority of girls are indecisive. that would have definitely been true.

homosexuality, i feel, is matter of choice and i have nothing against it, though i am struggling with the fact that i have an open-mind to embrace the idea, but a conservative spirit which repels the sight of say, two guys kissing. i'm quite sure many people feel the same way. perhaps it's something like the war between the western liberation of our thoughts and the conservative asian mentality deep-rooted in us. one cannot really be totally detached from one's culture. there's really nothing about the choice of one over another, but more of the suitablity of each one in different contexts.

for homosexuality, i choose liberation and hopefully, i will arrive there someday.

2004-11-07T06:29:00.000+08:00

6.29am. i'm still awake. it is amazing how aki has changed my life.

Band Of Brothers

2004-04-05T23:20:00.000+08:00

just completed the 10 episodes of the serial. i won't say it deserves a 5-star credit, but it is certainly one well-made film. the different episodes had different characters as narrators so you get to experience the war from different points of views, such as from a Captain (Richard D.Winters who later turned Major), from a First Sergeant (Carwood Lipton) and also from a medic (Eugene Roe).

you might feel difficult to associate with the characters in the beginning, but as you get to know each soldier, you feel the war as if you were in combat with them. i especially like the fact that each episode zoomed in on a different character so you get to know each soldier in depth and it becomes easier to follow the story.
the best part? absolutely no sensationalism! (ok..at least to a mininum) no disgustingly gruesome and bloody scenes, no melodramatic events superficially created to evoke emotions. just real war situations like that the Easy Company went through.

a real jem in the movie circle flooded with sensational hollywood blockbusters.

The Legacy of Luna: The Story of a Tree, a Woman and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods

2004-04-05T04:04:00.000+08:00

"On December 18, 1999, Julia Butterfly Hill's feet touched the ground for the first time in over two years, as she descended from "Luna," a thousand-year-old redwood in Humboldt County, California.

Hill had climbed 180 feet up into the tree high on a mountain on December 10, 1997, for what she thought would be a two- to three-week-long "tree-sit." The action was intended to stop Pacific Lumber, a division of the Maxxam Corporation, from the environmentally destructive process of clear-cutting the ancient redwood and the trees around it. The area immediately next to Luna had already been stripped and, because, as many believed, nothing was left to hold the soil to the mountain, a huge part of the hill had slid into the town of Stafford, wiping out many homes.

Over the course of what turned into an historic civil action, Hill endured El Nino storms, helicopter harassment, a ten-day siege by company security guards, and the tremendous sorrow brought about by an old-growth forest's destruction. With great help from steelworkers and environmentalists, she successfully negotiated to permanently protect the tree and a nearly three-acre buffer zone. This story--written while she lived on a tiny platform eighteen stories off the ground--is one that only she can tell." --taken from book description of The Legacy of Luna: The Story of a Tree, a Woman and the Struggle to Save the Redwoods by Julia Butterfly Hills.

I first read the short report of this story a few months back, but it left such a strong impression on me that I felt compelled to understand the entire story. So I searched through the Internet and religiously read every single article that I managed to find. I thought I would feel tremendous admiration for Julia's courage and determination, but I did not expect to be truly touched by her passion from the love she had for both Luna and our Earth. In this world where many things appear under a facade, it is rare to find a story so real and so beautiful.

"I gave my word to this tree, the forest and to all the people that my feet would not touch the ground until I had done everything in my power to make the world aware of this problem and to stop the destruction." - Julia Butterfly Hill

Although those who do not feel a connection with Nature may deem Julia's actions as being useless as it is only one tree that she saved while hundreds of others are being toppled elsewhere each day, her resistance has alerted the world of the plight of ancient forests and provided inspiration for similar environmental activists to continue with their fight to save our Earth. When she came down on December 18, 1999, she not only came down to a world that recognized her as a heroine and powerful voice for the environment, but also to one that is one step closer to securing a beautiful future.

Her message is simple -- Love the Earth.

In her own words, "The common thread humanity shares is that we are all children of the Earth. We all need clean air and water for our survival. We are all planetary citizens, and the ancient trees are living, breathing elders that remind us to respect and honor that which we cannot replace. No matter what we do to hurt Mother Nature, to disrespect her, to desecrate her, to destroy her, she continues to love us by giving us life."

Julia's story has inspired me a lot.

In the repetition of our daily routines to obtain good grades, make big bucks or even idle our lives away, we often forget what is of utmost importance not only to ourselves but the whole of humanity. Even if we do remember, we either pretend not to or blatantly ignore the fact that we do. We can live without good grades, or big bucks or even having fun, but we cannot live neglecting our air, our land and our sea. Just imagine yourself sitting under a million dollars in a city with nothing but garbage dumps, drinking stale water and breathing in polluted air. Even with a million dollars, you cannot buy back a single tree when all of them are cut from the forest.

"Those things of real worth in life are worth going to any length in love and respect to safeguard." - Julia Butterfly Hill

No matter if you live in a cosmopolitan city or a small village, you are still living on Earth. No matter if you earn a million bucks day or thrive solely on burgers and fries, you will still need clean water and air to live. No matter how much you hate to admit it, you will always have to depend on the Earth to survive. If you don't protect it, who will?

Everyone can be an activist in his or her own right. Julia Hill was simply an ordinary woman before her tree-sit. She did not undergo any endurance or leadership training. Neither did she have magnificent ambitions of saving the whole world. All she had was her love for the Earth and wanting to do as much as she could by saving Luna.

Although not all of us may get to make significant contributions, we can still give the little that we have by saving and recycling paper to reduce on paper consumption and hence reduce the number of trees being cut. Even if you only managed to save that few trees your whole life or simple share the story of Luna and Julia, you could help your family understand the problems faced by the Earth or become a major influence to your friends. All these would definitely increase the number of people who care and protect the Earth. You will never know where it will lead to.

A little goes a long way.

Well, if you still feel indifferent to the environmental problems and that what I've said are lofty and irrelevant, perhaps when you have your own children one day, you will begin to understand the need to provide them with a clean and beautiful future to live in.

But if you do care, I hope you can do your bit today.

Other quotes from Julia Hill which I especially like:

"Love in our society has been devalued. To me, love, spirituality and life are all the same thing. To me they're all about honoring the circle, and they're just different ways of defining the same understanding. Our society as a whole, because we have placed our love for money above our love for life, has devalued the sacred and devalued love."

"Love is an important message. As we talk about what's wrong in our world, we have to talk about what's right. As we point to those who are making mistakes, we have to promote the solutions. We have to embody them. To me, love is the only way to do that. When you love something or someone, you not only will not destroy it, you'll do everything in your power to protect it."

"If she can continue to love us through all of what we do to her, then we can surely find it in ourselves to love each other.''

“Through life’s trials and hardships, we arise beautiful and free.”

2003-12-15T12:34:00.000+08:00

i received a mysterious phone call today..i think it's from Australia but i'm not really sure which city it was from..the person who called had this caucasian accent and asked for a really farnie name which i cant exactly remember...
he did call a second time... i wished i had time to ask where he was from...you don't get phone calls an ocean away pretty often do u? before i delete it..the number is +610402894987..mr whoever-u-are..if u read this pls contact me...