Feeling better. Friends are such nice things...
I'm going on a sugar cold-turkey. Please don't wave ice cream or soft drinks in front of me. Rabid clawing might ensue.
Really must thank one particular person for talking. Or two, rather.
Inspirational models are aplenty, but models whom you can talk to personally? Rare.
Perhaps I'm just an analytical bastard, seeking to make "friends" with those in high positions and learn the secrets of their power.
Or maybe I'm just a confused little wanker without any idea who or what he is interfering with.
When you play with the Big Boys, expect to get stomped.
Water Boys and Benchwarmers never shine much, do they?
We, the losers of life
pledge ourselves as one enduring people
regardless of curses, swear-words
or abuse
To work on and on tirelessly
out of love or stupidity
Because we cannot
compete
with the pro-ness
of the
next generation
Apparently I'm still not that much better, am I?
At least I'm happy enough to joke about it though.
I think.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Nah...no poem for today. Emoness demmands further attention elsewhere.
Sleep calls...as does Math Portfolio and TOK.
Q: What is the role of language in doing Math?
A: To supply all the swear words, Sir!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Question of self: Ability and selfishness
And today I read a newspaper article about China. And the earthquake in China. And how it killed lots and lots of people.
Lots and lots of students too...
So I felt sort of sad and went to my bed and slept for a while.
And afterwards I went to do my chemistry, before proceeding to go onto Devart. Initially it was to check up on Zinc Hydroxide, but then I came across this little story on the front page, titled "Uncle Danny". I read it.
And then I smiled.
-----------------------------------------------------
Still, all the above seemed somewhat artificial, doesn't it? I mean: I can feel pity and remorse, and I can feel sadness for the survivors/victims of the earthquake.
I can feel admiration and delight from reading a well-crafted story. I can feel pride from knowing the world has a good author out there.
And yet...none of these really compare, emotionally and perhaps mentally speaking, to my own problems.
Why are humans such selfish bastards?
Or at least, why am I?
Our own problems shall forever overshadow the problems of others. Because they are our own. Commonsense? Definately. Yet society does not seem to preach this way.
We are supposed to be able to "empathise" with others. Feel for others. Bring joy to others. Yet in the end, are we merely gunning for ourselves?
I regret and am somewhat ashamed that I have difficultly emphathising with people. I have wallowed in the depths of emoness to try and grasp the essence of it, yet somehow I still fall short. Me thinks I shall never be able to understand the suffering of the millions in Africa, the pain of a rejected child, or the despair the suicidal student has felt.
I tried to feel it. Nearly took myself out in the process. And still I feel hollow inside.
On the other side of things: the workers, the studious. Admiration is something I always held for these people. The drive and motivation: the sheer "its-just-something-we-gotta-do" mentality towards work; its amazing. I tried too, to become like them. I gain insight into their spirit, their passion and fire. The fuel of creativity and genius that propels these tireless innovators and thinkers towards their goal.
And still, once again, I fall short.
I cannot feel their passion. Their love for the subject, for the world, for its people. I cannot understand their ideas the same way they grasp a topic: Instinctively, all-encompassing and thirsty. Thirsty, in fact, for more knowledge. This drive I observe: Perhaps its an overstatement. Workers never show their inner passion that outwardly. Yet it is there, I suppose. A need and desire; a love for what they do.
Why can I not find this love?
And so my problem is presented, the problem greater than the starving millions, the olympic gold, the endless destruction of cities, the 3rd best school in the world.
In my selfish eyes, I ask: Where do I belong?
What, in this world of light and shadow, of suffering and pain-
What in sweet God's name can I do?
Lots and lots of students too...
So I felt sort of sad and went to my bed and slept for a while.
And afterwards I went to do my chemistry, before proceeding to go onto Devart. Initially it was to check up on Zinc Hydroxide, but then I came across this little story on the front page, titled "Uncle Danny". I read it.
And then I smiled.
-----------------------------------------------------
Still, all the above seemed somewhat artificial, doesn't it? I mean: I can feel pity and remorse, and I can feel sadness for the survivors/victims of the earthquake.
I can feel admiration and delight from reading a well-crafted story. I can feel pride from knowing the world has a good author out there.
And yet...none of these really compare, emotionally and perhaps mentally speaking, to my own problems.
Why are humans such selfish bastards?
Or at least, why am I?
Our own problems shall forever overshadow the problems of others. Because they are our own. Commonsense? Definately. Yet society does not seem to preach this way.
We are supposed to be able to "empathise" with others. Feel for others. Bring joy to others. Yet in the end, are we merely gunning for ourselves?
I regret and am somewhat ashamed that I have difficultly emphathising with people. I have wallowed in the depths of emoness to try and grasp the essence of it, yet somehow I still fall short. Me thinks I shall never be able to understand the suffering of the millions in Africa, the pain of a rejected child, or the despair the suicidal student has felt.
I tried to feel it. Nearly took myself out in the process. And still I feel hollow inside.
On the other side of things: the workers, the studious. Admiration is something I always held for these people. The drive and motivation: the sheer "its-just-something-we-gotta-do" mentality towards work; its amazing. I tried too, to become like them. I gain insight into their spirit, their passion and fire. The fuel of creativity and genius that propels these tireless innovators and thinkers towards their goal.
And still, once again, I fall short.
I cannot feel their passion. Their love for the subject, for the world, for its people. I cannot understand their ideas the same way they grasp a topic: Instinctively, all-encompassing and thirsty. Thirsty, in fact, for more knowledge. This drive I observe: Perhaps its an overstatement. Workers never show their inner passion that outwardly. Yet it is there, I suppose. A need and desire; a love for what they do.
Why can I not find this love?
And so my problem is presented, the problem greater than the starving millions, the olympic gold, the endless destruction of cities, the 3rd best school in the world.
In my selfish eyes, I ask: Where do I belong?
What, in this world of light and shadow, of suffering and pain-
What in sweet God's name can I do?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Bus Stop
I sat on the benches
and saw beside a man;
an old man, grey
hairs almost gone.
Sitting there, he waits
For something I know not,
In his hand, a bag-
its weight he has borne.
Occasionally a passer
would drop a coin, two;
Sometimes a child, points
Curious enough to say:
"Why is the man there?"
She asks her mum, instead
Silence, the response-
is but a swift tug away.
Certainly the mother
is but a child in age;
yet to her, the man-
is but a child in place.
Another coin drops, clink
into the cup; The bag stays
by his side, heavy filled
with stories, now a waste.
The bus is coming
to take me home;
Eventually to come, even if late-
But the old man who sits,
To where does he go?
On the dry-grass patches
For whom does he wait?
-----------------------------------------
Little thought, completely unrelated:
Trust is like a mountain. To climb it, one must subject oneself to the harshness of the elements, the trials of the road, have the humility to bow against the winds and the perserverance to keep climbing.
And at the top, after all that suffocation and strangulation and seemingly-restricted life, along the restritcted paths.
You reach the top, and behold
The freedom of wonder
The freedom of sight.
------------------------------------------
and saw beside a man;
an old man, grey
hairs almost gone.
Sitting there, he waits
For something I know not,
In his hand, a bag-
its weight he has borne.
Occasionally a passer
would drop a coin, two;
Sometimes a child, points
Curious enough to say:
"Why is the man there?"
She asks her mum, instead
Silence, the response-
is but a swift tug away.
Certainly the mother
is but a child in age;
yet to her, the man-
is but a child in place.
Another coin drops, clink
into the cup; The bag stays
by his side, heavy filled
with stories, now a waste.
The bus is coming
to take me home;
Eventually to come, even if late-
But the old man who sits,
To where does he go?
On the dry-grass patches
For whom does he wait?
-----------------------------------------
Little thought, completely unrelated:
Trust is like a mountain. To climb it, one must subject oneself to the harshness of the elements, the trials of the road, have the humility to bow against the winds and the perserverance to keep climbing.
And at the top, after all that suffocation and strangulation and seemingly-restricted life, along the restritcted paths.
You reach the top, and behold
The freedom of wonder
The freedom of sight.
------------------------------------------
Monday, May 5, 2008
A so it begins....
If you read Klow's blog, you'll see his post abouts TNN
Alright, confession time: I'm joining the writing squad.
Erm, what's the big deal? some may say; Others might go: WTF NOOB
I dunno, I never really was part of the "original" TNN, but in many ways I found the storylines and ideas behind it...interesting.
And so according to XM, my writing will provide a "outsiders" pov about TNN, GEP and so on. Makes me worried though. It means a) suddenly I'm a representative, though of what, I'm not sure and b) I'm gonna screw up. Somewhere. I know I will.
Doing an arc right now, its rather...testy. So far about 3-4 people have read it, and I'm not exactly keen on spreading it out. For one thing, the entire pieces can be rather...insultive at times, me thinks. For another, I fear for my n00bish writing skillz.
But klow isn't complaining and XM's fine, so I guess that'll do.
I really like writing though; Hopefully I'll be able to pull this off. ^^
Night.
Alright, confession time: I'm joining the writing squad.
Erm, what's the big deal? some may say; Others might go: WTF NOOB
I dunno, I never really was part of the "original" TNN, but in many ways I found the storylines and ideas behind it...interesting.
And so according to XM, my writing will provide a "outsiders" pov about TNN, GEP and so on. Makes me worried though. It means a) suddenly I'm a representative, though of what, I'm not sure and b) I'm gonna screw up. Somewhere. I know I will.
Doing an arc right now, its rather...testy. So far about 3-4 people have read it, and I'm not exactly keen on spreading it out. For one thing, the entire pieces can be rather...insultive at times, me thinks. For another, I fear for my n00bish writing skillz.
But klow isn't complaining and XM's fine, so I guess that'll do.
I really like writing though; Hopefully I'll be able to pull this off. ^^
Night.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Reflection
And so the fool shall shun
what the fool not know,
And the fool shall run
from the seeds it sow;
Unknowing, uncaring
apathy at worst-
when the time is ripe,
he misses
the chances each time; a curse
Never looking, never seeking
Always running, the fool
Never wanting, never caring
Forever and ever, a tool.
No dreams, they're gone
No wishes, they're wrong
Afraid of the world, the sky and sea-
Afraid of people
Afraid to be.
what the fool not know,
And the fool shall run
from the seeds it sow;
Unknowing, uncaring
apathy at worst-
when the time is ripe,
he misses
the chances each time; a curse
Never looking, never seeking
Always running, the fool
Never wanting, never caring
Forever and ever, a tool.
No dreams, they're gone
No wishes, they're wrong
Afraid of the world, the sky and sea-
Afraid of people
Afraid to be.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Ripples
A single touch some would say
Is all you need to save the day,
to right the wrongs, to blaze the trail
through the snow in heaviest hail;
A single step, a single voice
All we need is make our choice,
to stand up right and make our speech
and force the words we claim to preach
Into the skulls of of the opposed
Until at last I would suppose
By some miracle or hand of God
Our works recieve the world's applaud.
It all made sense, so simple it was;
Just stand up strongly and say your words
No need for reason nor for thought,
Just say your piece and don't get caught.
So I touched the water and watch the skin
surface and ripple towards the rim,
Yet still far off as i watched aside
my ripples were buried; under the tide.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Wrote this very long ago, in response to a blogpost by a friend. Decided not to post it, and it has been lying in my folder since. Strangely appropiate to how I feel right now. Sometimes a poem can say so much more.
Is all you need to save the day,
to right the wrongs, to blaze the trail
through the snow in heaviest hail;
A single step, a single voice
All we need is make our choice,
to stand up right and make our speech
and force the words we claim to preach
Into the skulls of of the opposed
Until at last I would suppose
By some miracle or hand of God
Our works recieve the world's applaud.
It all made sense, so simple it was;
Just stand up strongly and say your words
No need for reason nor for thought,
Just say your piece and don't get caught.
So I touched the water and watch the skin
surface and ripple towards the rim,
Yet still far off as i watched aside
my ripples were buried; under the tide.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Wrote this very long ago, in response to a blogpost by a friend. Decided not to post it, and it has been lying in my folder since. Strangely appropiate to how I feel right now. Sometimes a poem can say so much more.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Meh
A friend pointed out to me today that Africa has been suffering from poverty for more than 24 years. And alot more people than just person in the house.
So all I can say is...sorry. For being an idiot. I never really should have ranted like that. Some sort of reaction...sparked off at that time. Perhaps it is the fact that I could identify more with one person than a group. Or maybe its cause of the lack of coverage, like my friend said.
Worrying isn't it? How many more people might have been suffering. All around the world. So many places...so many people.
It makes me feel kinda short-sighted and immature in thought. Like another friend says: Suddenly I feel I'm not thinking enough.
Meh. I'll just go emo somewhere. Or play DnD. Escapism ftw.
Hui Jun, signing off.
So all I can say is...sorry. For being an idiot. I never really should have ranted like that. Some sort of reaction...sparked off at that time. Perhaps it is the fact that I could identify more with one person than a group. Or maybe its cause of the lack of coverage, like my friend said.
Worrying isn't it? How many more people might have been suffering. All around the world. So many places...so many people.
It makes me feel kinda short-sighted and immature in thought. Like another friend says: Suddenly I feel I'm not thinking enough.
Meh. I'll just go emo somewhere. Or play DnD. Escapism ftw.
Hui Jun, signing off.