Unlike any other

Meeting in London yesterday. 'I should be revising, really', I tell myself. But Mr. Sunshine's finally decided to show himself after a long leave of absence. It'd be such a waste to greet him over my lecture notes from behind my window. Of course I can always work outside. But then again, it is London.

The weather in London isn't any different. Absolutely gorgeous. There's no question that lunch has to be outdoors and Convent Garden is where it's at with its selection of posh restaurants and chic cafes, its throngs of locals and tourists as well as its eclectic collection of street performers and musicians. The atmostphere: vibrant.

Richard's right. 'London has personality.' Every niche of it has something different to offer. There's something going on at any one moment and there's always something for any one person. It is quite a city. Alive. Unlike any other.

Not wanting to miss out on such wonderful weather, I seek out a scenic place to enjoy the rays of the afternoon sun. I find the perfect spot by the banks of the Thames at Embankment. With the impressive London Eye towering above me against the backdrop of the oh-so-very-blue sky, I fall asleep on the soft green grass almost immediately and do not wake up till two hours later with brown sun-baked skin.

And then it was off to a nice home-cooked meal with an old friend for dinner.

Not you

You already have more attention than you actually deserve. Coward. At least have the courage to face the consequences of your actions instead of taking the easy way out. I'm not going to say anything more. My silence goes out to the 32 victims. They are the true martyrs: the weak and the defenceless. Not you.

General Dancing

The music plays from the four speakers at the corners of the hall. Bolted and secured high on the walls, they are a first for the Cambridge Dancers' Club, replacing the old portable sound system. Before me, couples dance the graceful Foxtrot, in circles of rise and falls. From my experience, I can tell the professionals from the amateurs.

Many people come up to me and say 'hello' or 'hi'. Acquaintances. Some start a conversation with me of which I lose interest almost immediately. Friends. Two of them force me to dance with them. Not that I don't want to dance with them. I'm just not in the mood.

'Maybe it's just for the sake of being polite,' I thought as I try my best to ignore anyone I know. Eye-contact. That's the key. No eye-contact means no obligation for people to talk to me. All I want is to be alone.

When I have my moment's peace, I watch them dance. Their mistakes. Errors. Flaws. Through their mistakes, I correct my own as I run a mental video of my routine. Most of the dancers on the floor have appalling posture. It sticks up like a sore thumb. Sore thumbs in this case. Self-conscious, I check to make sure that my own posture is spotless.

It's a habit. Not that I go every week. But I always leave during the last Waltz. It's a mystery. Been a while now.

The cold air is refreshing. I make my way slowly to Clare Bridge, my favourite bridge. In the semi-darkness, the Cam is eerily beautiful. I let my thoughts run loose. I collect them. With a deep breath, I obediently head back to my room as revision beckons.

Jogging

Just got back from one. The long one. The exhausting one. Three days running now. I've been experiencing a lot of pent-up frustrations recently. Three days. That says a lot coming from myself.

But it feels great to just take it out on the beaten path at the backs of the Cam. So much better than pumping iron in a stuffy gym. The scenery does nothing to allay my anger. If anything, it fans it into a blind rage. The world isn't this beautiful at all. Mother Nature's a liar.

And when my frustrations surface, I push myself even harder. Faster. So the wind blows it all away. So I leave them behind without a backward glance. With only the firmness of the path beneath my feet reassuring me in my times of doubt.

At the end of the day, your sweat runs down your rugged face. Your shirt clings to your broken body. And your muscles scream at you. 'Hell yeah!'

once upon a time

once upon a time.
there was a little boy.
who was enchanted by fairy tales.
tales of faraway lands and castles.
of magic and mythical creatures.
of charming princes and knights in shining armour.

he grew up with them.
and when the time came to leave them behind.
he didn't want to.
he threw tantrums and fits.
screamed and shouted.
stamped his feet.

those around him shook their heads in pity.
at his naiveness and idealistic views of the world.
and in the end.
they let him be.
alone with his fairy tales.
he loved so dearly.

and so he lived out his days.
one after the other.
amidst the hardness of the world.
the ugliness of reality.
in the safe comfort of his fairy tales.
and fair company.

and as he lay dying.
for die he must.
his only companions were his fairy tales.
no comfort nor company could they offer.
for they were only that.
mere fairy tales.

The pickle

Easter Sunday today. Everyone gets a big chocolate Easter egg. The symbol of new life. Yummy. The pickle devours his egg almost immediately and then steals some of my smaller ones from the hunt around the garden. Cheeky little tyke.

He learnt how to tie his own shoelaces yesterday. He'll be getting 10 quid and a new pair of sneakers for it. Those were the days, when anything done well earns praise or reward. At my age, it's all about self-motivation and fulfilment.

The pickle drags me away from my latop despite my addiction to the stranger. He gets me to play football with him despite my superior physique, swapping between striker and keeper. Bored, we turn to his diabolo 空竹 where I manage to toss and catch it four times in a row. The pickle gets jealous after trying many times but his cuteness redeems him.


I take him to the park in the evening while the sun shines in all its majesty and glory. The pickle tries to out-cycle me with his six-gear mountain bike while I run in loose jeans and converse shoes. He learns how to swing himself on the swing and tries to out-swing me. His naiveness gets the better of me. He beats me on the obstacle course but only because it's designed for small little pickles like himself. He outwits me at the maze and I finally concede defeat.

I buy him ice pellets and have an ice cream myself. He's only seven years old and already talking to me about Cambridge's winning strategy on the Thames and the gene which confers obesity to some people. The pickle reminds me of my dreams.

I'm here to fulfil them.
To achieve my destiny.

I've got my edge back.

Some things just don't change

30th of March. It's the end of March and yet, it's a friggin' five degrees in London. Arriving at King's Cross station, I thought 'So much for escaping the depressive weather of Cambridge.'

With a 20 minute delay due to coupling problems, the train ride was uneventful aside from the passenger seated next to me. Dressed impeccably and looking not too bad himself, he kept dozing off whilst lolling his head to the left and almost resting on my shoulder before correcting itself. So much for our vestibular system. Of course, I wouldn't have minded because we all need a shoulder to lean on every now and then.


At Westminster Abbey, it began to rain. The archetypal British rain. The one which feels like rain, only not quite. Like the mist blown by fans at high-end coffee shops such as Coffee Bean in Malaysia. The wind doesn't let up. If anything, it's stronger.


Pass the Houses of Parliament, Downing Street is as heavily guarded as usual. Trafalgar square remains very much the same since I ushered in 2006.


After lunch at Chinatown, I spent two whole hours on just two small rooms of the National Gallery's Sainsbury Wing. Whilst studying the paintings from 1250 to 1500, I remember the Uffizi Gallery of Florence where I spent the entire day contemplating the history of Art and its development through the times. This gallery will last me a couple of years at the very least.


The old fruit and vegetable market of Covent Garden has been replaced by small chic shops selling arts and crafts. Exploring them, I couldn't help but hum to myself, 'Lots chocolate for me to eat. Lots of coal makin' lots of 'eat. Warm face, warm 'ands, warm feet. Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?'


Down the Mall and then to Buckingham Palace. Nothing interesting there. Not when you can't go in. A quick coffee break at the curious Starbucks of St Katherine's Dock before heading for the highlight of the day: The Mousetrap. Running for its 54th/55th year, it is the world's longest ever running play. Mother even saw it 20 years ago. It doesn't disappoint either.


Some things just don't change in London. Others remain pretty much the same.

Contracheck

So there we all were - 20 or so of us - gathered in the library. It's an exquisite room with wooden bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling and an old but perfectly tuned piano in one corner. Up above, the chandeliers cast a soft yellow glow all around - illuminating the redundant elaborate fireplace along one wall.

Boarding school was nothing like this at all for me. The boarding house was originally a private mansion with creaking floors of carpeted wooden boards and groaning staircases lined by sturdy banisters. Furnished with two wide-screen televisions, multiple computer terminals, a table football, a pool table and table tennis - just to name a few, I wished I could've boarded here.

Sinking ourselves into comfortable couches and settling onto reclining chairs, we sampled an array of desserts accompanied by its complimentary dessert wine. Tasting my lemon sorbet with the Riesling Eiswein icewine, I think to myself, 'God, how pretentious is this?' Feeling absolutely disgusted, I lay my head on the good friend's shoulder for comfort and security.

While the expert drones on and on about Pedro Ximenez as a sauce for vanilla ice cream, all I can think of is the contracheck figure in my Quickstep routine. Dance camp has been such an amazing, if not exhausting experience. Three days of non-stop dance workshops, practice sessions and mock competitions as well as two nights of complete drunkenness and debauchery, I wouldn't have it any other way. I can only wonder to myself, 'Why am I reading Medicine instead of Dance at an arts school?'

Two hours, eight desserts and seven dessert wines later, we're all playing Psychiatrist and finding out each other's dirty secrets. Who owns sex toys, who's had sex with the same gender, who's had a threesome and other filthy things we would never tell anyone off the cuff. Feeling comfortably at ease now, I relax and open up and start to enjoy myself as the dessert wines buzz in my head.

After all, it's all about the contracheck.

It's not true

They tell you he's not the one if he brings you this much hurt. It's not true.

There's no such thing as the perfect man. There will always be grievances, arguments and fights. You will get hurt. But that doesn't mean he isn't the one. Sons always hurt their fathers but that doesn't mean they aren't loved by their fathers.

And there will always be someone better. Someone who's more sensitive and caring, more tender and loving. Someone who won't hurt you. But why do we not choose the person who's less likely to hurt us? Simply because he's not the one.

I'm sure we deserve better most of the time. But love is blind, no?

Goals

It's funny how we set goals only to end up disappointing ourselves when we don't achieve them despite the effort we put in.

We tell ourselves: This time around, we'll succeed. So we stay up all night trying to finish that essay just so we can hand it in on time. We force ourselves to stay awake during lectures so we can understand what's being taught. And we revise all through the night just so we can do well during supervisions.

Oh yes, we do try. And yet, more often than not, we fail to achieve the goals we set ourselves. And then we think: We're probably better off without them in the first place. No goals to achieve means no stress. No goals to achieve means no disappointment.

But the real question is: Will we be content with such mediocrity?

Cynicism

We tend to become cynical as we get older. Cynicism. It comes with age. Like fermentation. Surprisingly enough, we all love a sip of cocktail every now and then.

Glad tidings

So Christmas vacation started a fortnight ago and what have I been doing since? Why, catching up on all the work and revision I postponed during term! I even had to shift my entire workspace to the library because the darn computer kept distracting me Facebook and Youtube. Blogging activity has suffered as a consequence, I'm afraid.

Anyway, I digress. Why am I working this hard during the start of vacation? Well, simply because I have such an amazing holiday planned out that if I don't finish my work, it'll occupy my mind and that's not something I want to take with me on my travels. And everything starts tomorrow. Woo hoo!

So tomorrow, I'll be flying off to Vienna with the British XS Latin Formation Team to represent England at the World Championships. Alex (my best gay friend) and I have been designated travel buddies and will be sharing a room together (how cool is that going to be?!). David (our coach) will be picking us up in front of Churchill college to the airport and it'll be one happening party car. (He calls Alex and I the Chuckle Brothers. Go figure.)

There'll be 28 teams competing and it's going to be really tough for sure. Here are some videos of Latin formation teams and their themes:

Theme: Moulin Rouge
Not very strong technique but presentation is remarkable. Walk-on and walk-off are brilliant though!


Theme: Nightmare before Christmas
Very cute routine to very cute music.


Theme: Anime
A German team with the theme 'Anime'. You can hear the introduction song for Naruto as their walk-on. Now I know I've seen everything. (Brownie points to anyone who can name the rest of the animes from which the songs come from)

The competition itself is on Saturday and we'll probably explore Vienna on Sunday before flying back to England that very evening. It doesn't end there however as I'll be catching the next flight to Italy for the Christmas with two of my friends from Hong Kong. Maslina (a very old school friend) and her friends will be joining us in Rome up to Milan. The itinerary is as follows:

Day 1 (18th December)

Arrive at Naples
(will hopefully catch a glimpse of the Isle of Capri as described so beautifully by Somerset Maugham in his 'The Lotus Eater')

Day 2 (19th December)
Day trip to Pompeii
(my parents might've visited it but I might be mistaken)

Day 3 - 5 (20th - 22nd December)
Rome and Vatican City
(just before Christmas too. It'll be amazing! What with Christmas villages and the atmosphere. We might even catch sight of the Pope!)

Day 6 (23rd December)
Day trip to Pisa
(standard)

Day 7 (24th December)
Florence
(birthplace of Italian Renaissance)

Day 8 - 9 (25th - 26th December)
Venice
(to see the authentic Bridge of Sighs this time)

Day 10 (27th December)
Milan
(as much as it'll bore me to death, my friends wanted to do some shopping there)

On the 28th, we'll be catching a night train to Paris where we will spend the rest of the year till the New Year. I can barely imagine the Eiffel Tower framed by fireworks at midnight of the New Year. It'll be so wonderful!

So that's that. But until tomorrow, I've still got lots of work to do. There's no way I'll be able to finish everything by then but if I work really hard tonight (which I will after I'm done with this post), I should be able to get most of it done. Pictures should follow after I'm back.

Till then, a very merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year to everyone!

Life is short

Life is short. We've heard it a thousand times before. But we don't realize it till it happens to us: cancer, stroke, death. And then we start asking ourselves, 'how much of the world have I seen?', 'how many achievements can I be proud of?', 'how many people will grieve at my passing?'. Ultimately, 'what have I done with my life?'.

I guess in some ways we're not that different from animals. After all, we're motivated so much more efficiently by negative cues than positive ones. But then again, life just isn't all about food, shelter and reproduction. And I guess this distinguishes us from animals in some ways. But the main question is, will it be too late by the time we realize it?

Surreal

Opening his small black umbrella, he emerges from the laboratory into the cold wet dusk of night. As the rain falls around him, he walks down the old cobbled streets of Cambridge. The dim yellow streetlights dance upon the rippling puddles which he cautiously avoids. And all around him, pedestrians hurry home as cyclists whiz past.

Shaking the raindrops off his umbrella, he ascends the staircase leading to his room. He unlocks the signposted door with his name printed above it. With a sigh of contention, he enters his warm familiar room, kicks off his shoes and snuggles underneath the duvet of his cosy bed.

The good

On the other hand however, I had a really enjoyable weekend. Here's an account of it:

Friday night was spent watching the monthly meteor shower orionids with a friend until the wee hours of the morning. It was a cold night despite the low clouds which threatened to stop us from seeing any meteors. But we brought a few of packets of crisps and a flask of steaming milo with us as we made our way on foot to Castle Mound - the highest spot in Cambridge. It was perfect. When we arrived, the clouds had cleared and it was dark enough to make out the faintest of faint stars as we laid down to watch the dance of the celestial bodies. We passed the night away, kept each other company, made small talk, seemingly insignificant, but nonetheless meaningful. And witnessed three meteors. It was my first and I made three wishes.


Saturday was a very hectic day with dance taking up most of it. But it all ended very nicely with a potluck dinner I organized with a few friends and freshers. It was a pre-Halloween celebration and we all came in costume. It was a very enjoyable meal with just about enough food and alcohol while the chatter was lively and funny. After the meal, I rushed off to my friend's room for our weekly mahjong session before heading to Queens' for their R&B Ents with the rest of the Dancesport team. It was a very good night indeed with some of us getting slightly tipsy and dancing energetically on the dancefloor. Saturday night ended with a rather interesting chat in Sam's room to which I shall not divulge the contents in order to avoid embarassing myself.


The weekend ended with a relaxing formal at Pembroke. Peter invited me over for a free formal meal at his college to which I accepted. It was my first formal of the term although not my first at Pembroke. This is how busy I am. But the food was good and so was the company. Peter gave a tour of his college before ending with a friendly chat in his room where we discussed many matters including our future involvements with OCEP. It was definitely a very good weekend although I doubt it'll happen again. Very much less as the term progresses. But it was a good respite from it all.

And the bad

The past two days have been the worst days of the term so far. Here's an account of it:

I woke up really early at 7.45 am on Thursday morning hoping to catch up on some of my work before my first lecture at noon as stated on my lecture timetable. While having my breakfast, I thought it slightly suspicious that I've had three consecutive Thursdays starting at noon and this being the fourth one. So I decided to recheck my timetable and to my horror, I realized that I've been looking at the previous week's timetable with the current one stating that I've got a Neuroanatomy practical starting at 10.00 am. So I plowed through the practical manual in order to familiarize myself with the experimental procedure whilst feeling absolutely terrible that I had to postpone my revision.

When I arrived at the laboratory, I was utterly dismayed when we were told to conduct another experiment instead of the one I had already read. It also didn't help that my laboratory partner was not keen on the experiment and just couldn't be bothered to do anything which really got on my nerves. But the one thing which annoyed me the most was when he asked for my answer to a supervision question which I had already submitted. After telling him my answer, he patronizingly shook his head and proceded to explain why my answer was wrong while giving me his correct answer. I honestly do not understand why he even bothered to ask me for my answer when he already had the correct one. The fact that I had already submitted my assignment made it all even worse because that meant I couldn't change my answer.

So after a gruelling two-hour practical which I conducted on my own, I had to attend a Pharmacology lecture which I look forward to as much as going home. The current lecturer has as much passion for the subject as a cold body waiting for an autopsy. It's the way he presents himself. It's the way he stands, walks and talks. It's the tone and slur of his speech. Think of the teacher Mr. Garrison from Southpark and you have a pretty good replica of him. I have never in my entire educational life felt such a strong urge to throw something at him after every. single. god. damned. lecture. I would've followed the rest of my friends and skipped the entire lecture series if I weren't so afraid of regretting that I did not try my best when I fail my Pharmacology exams.

And just a moment ago, I was notified that I wasn't selected to represent England in Germany which I found slightly disappointing although I was expecting not to get selected. It just seemed as if all my efforts for the past few weeks - rushing my work during the day so as to dance the nights and weekends away - were flushed down the drain. Despite the fact that I got selected to represent England in Vienna, I think I'm going to give it a miss because I was really banging on Germany instead. Oh well. I just hope the weekend will take a turn for the better.

It's nice to be part of it too

So I spent the whole day along the banks of the river Cam just in front of Trinity College's Wren Library. The sunny weather was just to gorgeous to be spent indoors and the place was absolutely beautiful. The library overshadows the green lawns which border the river as it takes a bend beneath two willow trees. I like it there.



There's a bench which I've already claimed as my own after spending hours on it writing up my coursework. From it, I can see the hillarious antics of novice punters tackling one of the hardest bends of the river. More so because the furthest edge of the riverbed isn't covered by gravel resulting in a lot of stranded poles.


~


So I struck up a lively conversation with an elderly lady sitting next to me. I like talking to the elderly. They have such a jaded view of the world - one that comes from wisdom and experience after having lived for so long. We both shared the same love for the river - for the reassuring sound of the pole striking the gravel. And after having talked for hours about family, punting and life in general, she said:

"It's amusing to see the world go by, it's nice to be part of it too."

and the world suddenly seemed so different to me.

~

I think people are getting more spoilt by the generation. In Hong Kong, I witnessed a maid carrying a student's bag in one hand while holding up an umbrella for her royal highness in the other in order to shade her pale skin from the sun. And back in my time, my parents couldn't afford to fly with me to England. Back in my time, they couldn't drive up from London to Cambridge. Back in my time, they couldn't help me unpack and decorate my room, sort out bank account applications for me or buy groceries for me. It's quite clear what the world is coming to and it doesn't look pretty.

Term has begun

You know term is about to start when you see:

1. Scholars heaving bulky rucksacks on their shoulders and dragging large suitcases through the gravel to their rooms with their Herculanean effort etched on their faces
2. Familiar faces on the narrow streets of Cambridge and you're suddenly overwhelmed by hugs and kisses as well as besieged by recollections of Summer escapades
3. Friends unloading carts laden with big boxes of their possessions as you immediately run to help them.

~

So I've got a new room this year. It's not as big as my previous room last year and not as well furnished. In fact, it's over-furnished with chairs (which I really don't need considering the lack of space) and under-furnished with electrical sockets (which I desperately need). Other than that however, I am quite pleased with my choice this year and here's why:



1. My room has a lovely tall window overlooking the Typewriter a.k.a. the Lasdun Building (which I think is definitely in the wrong place and should be on a beach somewhere facing the sea). The window is framed by green creepers (for the time being) with the solitary leaf being blown in by the wind to further carpet my already-carpeted floor. It's so romantic. I can't wait for Autumn when the leaves will turn a brilliant shade of red, orange and gold and my room will be ablaze with a barrage of fiery colours.


2. I'm very proud of my shelves. My previous room was not furnished with any and I was in desperate need of them. I've made full use of them now as you can see with books I've yet to read and little mementos I've gathered here and there from my travels. If only it had a glass cover, everything would be perfect. But as it is, I'm very happy with it.

~

I know I've said it before but I absolutely love the marketplace. My Sunday afternoons are almost always spent exploring the marketplace with its stalls of arts and crafts. You can find absolutely anything there from fresh produce to clothes to incense to pottery to paintings. Everything on display is so interestingly beautiful. If only I had more than £5 in my bank account.

~

I realize I've been frequenting King's Bridge ever since I got back. There's something about sitting on its thick cool walls and watching the punts pass underneath. As if they could carry my overflowing thoughts away with them. As if the river could provide me with a sense of comfort by its gentle sway.

You can't go back

You've changed so much.

We were the best of best friends. We'd play house on the school grounds every lunch break. We'd leave the house in the mornings and work the afternoons before coming back to the house for a nice quiet dinner together. We'd sleep in the same room although we never had any kids. I still wonder why. She was pretty and sweet and we were best friends. That was all I knew. And I was happy.

You've changed too.

With a smart tap of her thumb, she flicks the cigarette between her second and third fingers. And as she exhales the foul smoke, the unkempt locks of her bleached hair falls down around her shoulders.

Our conversation is shallow and meaningless. Like the ash which falls from her cigarette only to get lost in the sudden gusts of wind. Insignificant.

I was aching to hold her in my arms. But to do so would be to acknowledge the fact I already know so well. And yet, am trying so hard to deny.

Her boyfriend appears at her door from within the house. He wraps his arms around her fleshy waist and frenches her in front of me. I look away. Not out of disgust but out of a lack of anything else to do.

When they're done, I reach out my hand to shake theirs. I pause a little longer over hers, as if it could give us back the time that was stolen from us. I was disappointed.

I guess we've all changed.

I'd cry if I could but nothing comes. Not even a sob. I guess deep down inside, I was expecting it.

I wonder what happened to all the dreams we had? The hopes and dreams we shared. Where did they die and how did they die along the way?

All that is left now is a framed class photograph taken more than a decade ago. And this is how I will always remember her. Her warm brown hair tied behind her back as she sits so ever gracefully with her legs pressed together and slanted at an angle. As she sits, with her slender hands on her lap, smiling defiantly against the very essence of time that would change us forever.

It just shows. You can't go back. It won't be the same.

Melanie was right.

Of journeys and sojourns

And now that I'm back, I realize I can finally breathe easily again. I have a feeling I'll be getting my first peaceful night's sleep tonight since a month ago. Despite the wet and cold welcome, it's good to be back again. And now, I can finally breathe easily again.

~

I've flown a total of 18 hours: Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok to Frankfurt to London. If that wasn't hell, I don't know what is. Never ever fly Lufthansa. With little space, uncomfortable seats, no personal screen and bad entertainment, its aircrafts are the worst. So, unless I'm flying First or Business Class, there's absolutely no way I'm braving the journey to Malaysia. And since that's financially impossible, I guess I won't be seeing the Muddy Estuary anytime soon.

~

I finally bought the Swatch watch I've been eyeing for more than three years. It's automatic - isn't battery-operated. Aside from its transparent display of sophistication with its miniscule gears rotating and a small spoked-wheel acting as a pendulum, I simply love its representation of time: its never-ending ticking. Even when you pull out the stopper to adjust the time, it doesn't stop. Does time really stop for us to adjust our watches? I wonder if it occured to anyone 'I've wasted 18 hours of my life doing absolutely nothing when I could be out there making a difference.'

~

Night flights are so enchanting. The inky blackness of night blots out all other details of disinterest, leaving behind an etch of the city outlined by dazzling lights. The layout of the city becomes more vivid with this contrast of light and darkness. And if you're flying just long enough, the golden chariot of the sun rides the sweet bosom of the sky, unbridled by clouds - strong and mighty in all its splendour.

~

It's surprising how many interesting people you meet on your journeys. On the flight, I was sitting next to a tall pretty German girl a year younger than I who had just spent four weeks teaching English in Myanmar. I couldn't believe the coincidence as we shared similar experiences with each other - e.g. the hillarious banana dance - and give each other suggestions and advice. She's given me the necessary contacts should I want to teach English in Myanmar next year. That definitely kept the insanity at bay.

Also met an old Hong Kong lady who was asking for directions - she must've thought I was from Hong Kong with my dyed hair and pierced ear. Thank God for six weeks in Hong Kong. Although I couldn't follow her fast speech (I had to ask her to repeat herself three times), I got the gist of it and gave her directions. Surprise, surprise! She was also heading to Cambridge.

~

Aside from the usual going out and in, there's nothing interesting to report of my sojourn in Malaysia other than my birthday gifts from my parents. I usually tell people not to buy gifts for me because no one ever gets my taste. And so, instead of seeming ungrateful by not using or wearing the gifts I get, I just tell them not to bother.

This year however, mum bought me a white gold chain on which a key was strung. Apparently, it's a Chinese tradition for parents to give their child a key on their 21st birthday. And being in admiration of Chinese tradition and culture, it was the perfect gift (not to mention it being white gold because yellow gold looks chav-y).

But of course this doesn't mean I'm ditching dad's gift - a Tag Heuer watch. I mean, dad's quite a Scrooge when it comes to money and receiving a watch worth thousands came as quite a shock. It's a beautiful one too - worn by Kimi Raikonen. It feels really weird to wear something on your wrist which costs a hundred times more than the total of what I'm wearing. But in the end, you know what the Chinese say about giving clocks (or watches) to other people.