"Hui Jun...is not afraid of hardwork, and should be able to perform well as long as he keeps up the momentum."
Ha.
Hahaha...
HahahHAHAHAhahaaa...
<35 points>, with HLs at 6, 5, 5.
I'm not sure if it hurts more that people expect me to do well, or don't know me well enough to make assumptions like that.
Well, onward I guess.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Oh...! How The Mind Doth Dance...
Two of them, a man cloaked in shadows and silver, and a lady with golden-yellow hair, streaked with red.
A small figure, slim, dressed in white. Face a literal mask of neutrality, no expression, no features...just two slits, eyes, or what passes for them. Yet how much more they see.
Both of them stare, the third in the middle like a judge, words unspoken, thoughts unbidden, emotions unsuppressed. All it, bottled out, flowing out in a river of color and song, clashing where the white man stood. A white man that was there no more.
Below, the ground shakes, and the same two, opalescent slits open. The face of the white man watches from below, as after-images of the earlier clash linger. Dark claws grappling with bright sun-beam sparkles...neither side giving...then a flare of immense light, drowning out the shadows!
The white man closes his eyes, a burst of yellow flashing across their clear, crystal-like surface. The shadows retreat, under the trees and clouds, into the libraries and books. And for a moment it seems, the sun does shine.
But a single tendril, festering beneath the rocks emerges. A crooked finger, half-wisp not yet formed, growing slowly more solid arises. Deeper it becomes, forming an arrow of mist and reason, of worries and fear. Of calm, steady acceptance of the darker side of life.
An arrow that pierces the sun.
All light disappears. The shadows stretch out, shrouding the word once more. Crystal pools, once like golden honey, now swirl with fog and depths like the deepest black. The white man closes his eyes once more.
Seeds, once sown slowly sprout in the protection of the shade. Cooled in the soft breeze, in the still air they gleam with a light of their own. The roots grow, digging into the soft ground, no longer hardened nor blinded by the glare of the sun. Leaves, half-formed in mockery of the darkness that shackles the sun, creep up from above, ready and waiting.
From the sky, a rain of stars.
Shatter! The darkness cracks. Earth splits, pain fills the world. A blaze of fireworks, joyous yet stinging, dangerous yet mesmerizing. The shackles break, the sun bursts forth, rays spilling over the land, banishing the shadows once more.
Touching the leaves with almost tender warmth, watching them unfurl, feeding their grey-green surfaces strength.
The roots, so well formed in darkness, send their stores to the factories above. Powered by the same fire that fuels the sun, the leaves unfold. Stems, fresh shoots, networks! Drinking in the sunlight, the afterglow of the fireworks, storing their power and mixing it with the minerals cultivated deep within the soil. Fire and light, Darkness and shadow. Boiling water, more potent together than the two apart. A reaction, reaching forth, chaotic energies guided towards the tip. Logic and emotion, white and black horses, pulling the chariot in the same direction...
A whisper across the wind:
Bloom, my flower, bloom.
A small figure, slim, dressed in white. Face a literal mask of neutrality, no expression, no features...just two slits, eyes, or what passes for them. Yet how much more they see.
Both of them stare, the third in the middle like a judge, words unspoken, thoughts unbidden, emotions unsuppressed. All it, bottled out, flowing out in a river of color and song, clashing where the white man stood. A white man that was there no more.
Below, the ground shakes, and the same two, opalescent slits open. The face of the white man watches from below, as after-images of the earlier clash linger. Dark claws grappling with bright sun-beam sparkles...neither side giving...then a flare of immense light, drowning out the shadows!
The white man closes his eyes, a burst of yellow flashing across their clear, crystal-like surface. The shadows retreat, under the trees and clouds, into the libraries and books. And for a moment it seems, the sun does shine.
But a single tendril, festering beneath the rocks emerges. A crooked finger, half-wisp not yet formed, growing slowly more solid arises. Deeper it becomes, forming an arrow of mist and reason, of worries and fear. Of calm, steady acceptance of the darker side of life.
An arrow that pierces the sun.
All light disappears. The shadows stretch out, shrouding the word once more. Crystal pools, once like golden honey, now swirl with fog and depths like the deepest black. The white man closes his eyes once more.
Seeds, once sown slowly sprout in the protection of the shade. Cooled in the soft breeze, in the still air they gleam with a light of their own. The roots grow, digging into the soft ground, no longer hardened nor blinded by the glare of the sun. Leaves, half-formed in mockery of the darkness that shackles the sun, creep up from above, ready and waiting.
From the sky, a rain of stars.
Shatter! The darkness cracks. Earth splits, pain fills the world. A blaze of fireworks, joyous yet stinging, dangerous yet mesmerizing. The shackles break, the sun bursts forth, rays spilling over the land, banishing the shadows once more.
Touching the leaves with almost tender warmth, watching them unfurl, feeding their grey-green surfaces strength.
The roots, so well formed in darkness, send their stores to the factories above. Powered by the same fire that fuels the sun, the leaves unfold. Stems, fresh shoots, networks! Drinking in the sunlight, the afterglow of the fireworks, storing their power and mixing it with the minerals cultivated deep within the soil. Fire and light, Darkness and shadow. Boiling water, more potent together than the two apart. A reaction, reaching forth, chaotic energies guided towards the tip. Logic and emotion, white and black horses, pulling the chariot in the same direction...
A whisper across the wind:
Bloom, my flower, bloom.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
On 90% of the Internet
From a conversation with a friend:
"...its like miners going after diamonds getting frustrated from having to drill through all those layers of granite and useless dirt to get to the few precious gems, without realizing that without those layers of rock, the diamonds would never have formed."
Did the internet really create all the horrible, disgusting, perverted and depraved content that we see online everyday?
Did the internet also create all the wonderful, inspiring, beautiful, supportive, informative and helpful things as well?
Or did it simply bring whatever was already in human society: all our flaws, our dreams, our strengths and weaknesses, and display them for the world to see?
"...its like miners going after diamonds getting frustrated from having to drill through all those layers of granite and useless dirt to get to the few precious gems, without realizing that without those layers of rock, the diamonds would never have formed."
Did the internet really create all the horrible, disgusting, perverted and depraved content that we see online everyday?
Did the internet also create all the wonderful, inspiring, beautiful, supportive, informative and helpful things as well?
Or did it simply bring whatever was already in human society: all our flaws, our dreams, our strengths and weaknesses, and display them for the world to see?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Just a dreamer after all
The only foundations you shake are the ones in your head;
But then again, they're the only ones that matter after all.
But then again, they're the only ones that matter after all.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Microthoughts, Mini-reflections
Aid volunteers really have it tough I find.
To want to cure and help all those people, yet being unable to fully accomplish that.
To be blamed for not noticing enough, because it is they who choose to make themselves responsible, and yet must answer to those who don't.
To keep pushing, prodding, trying...meandering through life's many obstacles, following that little internal compass along a road paved with lode-stones...
Sometimes, all you can do is hope you're doing the right thing.
And that their replies of "thank you" won't become a last farewell.
To want to cure and help all those people, yet being unable to fully accomplish that.
To be blamed for not noticing enough, because it is they who choose to make themselves responsible, and yet must answer to those who don't.
To keep pushing, prodding, trying...meandering through life's many obstacles, following that little internal compass along a road paved with lode-stones...
Sometimes, all you can do is hope you're doing the right thing.
And that their replies of "thank you" won't become a last farewell.