Confucius Temple

Yu Garden

He thinks. Shanghai is such a polluted and dirty city. Despite the heavy downpour yesterday, it's still very hazy today. And it's not just because of the traffic, not that it's very congested. Rapid urbanization results in countless construction sites churning out tonnes of dust. It doesn't help either when its inhabitants do not understand the meaning of cleanliness and personal hygiene. Shanghai still has a long way to go.

He thinks. It's very easy to underestimate the impact Confucianism has on Chinese lifestyle. Visiting the Yu Garden, social hierarchy is so apparent in the seating arrangement of its halls.

The Bund

The rain lets up. He decides to explore the Bund after a quiet dinner at a local restaurant. He thinks it's stunning.

His guess is that it's modelled after Hong Kong. It's a younger city after all. Across the Huangpu River, East Shanghai's skyline reflects that of Hong Kong Island's skyline. There are influences from the Bank of China, the Hong Kong Convention & Exhibition Centre and 2IFC. It's younger age is obvious from the smaller number of skyscrapers. The Bund itself resembles Hong Kong's Avenue of Stars. Minus the stars and street performers.

But that said, it is unique in its own way. The dominating Oriental Pearl TV Tower of East Shanghai is definitely something on its own with its three 'pearls' and the colonial buildings with their characteristic Graeco-Roman columns of the Bund are something to behold. It's a very nice starking contrast.

People's Hero Memorial Column

Nanjing East Road

It's raining absolutely cats and dogs. A proper tropical storm complete with brilliant flashes of lightning and threatening rumbles of thunder. Cats and dogs.

Pedestrians without umbrellas scurry along sidewalks from shade to shade. Others huddle beneath what little protection their umbrellas give from the heavy rain. Himself. He sits out the rain in Western decadence. Starbucks no less. Shame.

At least the rain will wash away the haze. In fact, the lights of the city look brighter and more vibrant in the rain. The skyline should look fantastic once the rain stops.

It's a dog-eat-dog world here. People are rude and cut queues at any opportunity. His British accent keeps them at bay. It's hard to determine if the impressive skyscrapers of East Shanghai reflect this 'competitive' nature or a deceptive facade of its inhabitants' true attitude.

Dubai International Airport

Dubai International Airport. First leg. A two-hour delay due to a missing passenger. Another two-hour delay due to a sick passenger. He's thinking he should never ever travel to a place more than two hours away by any means of transport.

Beautiful today

You were beautiful today. Not that you aren't any other day. But today. You were beautiful.

In the bleak weather, dreary post-war buildings overshadowed opulent Baroque monuments. The black river finished the mournful glum of the city.


It was beautiful despite its sadness.

It was beautiful in its sadness.


The more I visit London, the more captivated I am by its beauty. Its many faces. Its many moods.


Everytime I visit it, there's always something surprising around every corner. Something interesting at every nook and cranny.


Save me. I am love-struck.

Post-exam hedonism

After six continuous days of drunkenness and debauchery, I've finally copped out for a night of sobriety and propriety. But despite my patchy memory, I'll try to recap the past week.


Day 1 (Tuesday)
Immediately after my last paper, I rushed straight to the Mill for what would be my first alcoholic drink of many to come within the following days. It took a Herculaneum effort to contain my happiness. I could hardly stop myself from jumping up and down and skipping along the road.


Whilst waiting for the rest of team to turn up, I had a nice warm cup of tea with Peter at Pembroke College and caught up with him. It's been too long. The last I saw him was probably last term. Dinner followed soon after with some of team at the swanky Zizi's. Sweet wine flowed freely and we had a nice buzz going by the end of it.


More drinks followed at the Maypole with more of team turning up. Cocktails accompanied general banter and before long, we were too far gone to be saved. The rest of the night was spent dancing at Life.


Day 2 (Wednesday)
Celebratory drinks at a pub in commemoration of Andy who finished a day later despite doing the same course as I am. The small affair ended with more wine back at college.


Day 3 (Thursday)
Retail therapy with my beloved Sam from late morning to early afternoon. Drinks accidentally started at around 4.00 pm. We were drunk surprisingly early. But who would ever resist Cherry Brandy? Mmm! The alcohol was accompanied by thumping music and texts were immediately sent out to the rest of team. 'Spice up your life! Come to k's room! You know you wannabe! Say you'll be there!' You get the idea.


Tired and hungry, we retired to a quiet meal at the classy Pizza Express. With the night being so young, more drinks were in order after dinner. Same went for music and dancing. Second round. An episode with the vodkamelon followed of which more to come at another post. Like previous nights, the entire sordid affair ended early in the morning at around 5.00 am.


Day 4 (Friday)
When you're with team, you come to expect every night to begin with drinks. Cocktails and dinner began at Old Orleans where we were tipsy enough to chat up the waitress and play pictionary.


Satisfied and satiated, we trouped over to the University Centre for General Dancing. More drinks followed after at the bar before retiring to my room for even more alcohol. Once again, music and more dancing ensued. Twister is always a good idea when you're drunk and with team. Before long, we were progressing on to Advance Twister which can only be left to the imagination.


Day 5 (Saturday)
All I can say is: Special day. Also, Ali's birthday celebration with lots of alcohol and random banter. Didn't stay for long because of too much alcohol and general happiness.


Day 6 (Sunday)
Team Garden Party at Darwin Island. Alex prepared the Pimm's whilst his boyfriend Dan got the barbecue started. That was until I replaced Alex who had diluted the Pimm's way too much with Lemonade till it was just as good as Lemonade. Oh and not forgetting the much anticipated vodkamelon.

It's unbelievable how inappropriate team can be and the fact we put up with it. Life followed immediately and boy, was it packed! But again, when you're with the dance team, it's not a problem getting our own space on the dancefloor. We're not trying to make the others look bad. Honest.


Funnily enough, my room became the last stop after Life where we had nice cups of tea and good soothing music. It was a good relaxing way to end the night.

And so, I rest on the seventh day. Only to ready myself for the coming week: May Week. And the rest of my Summer break.

Happiness is a full stomach

The Ting's counter (note ingredients)

'Kenny! I need your help!' the Ting says to me as she opens the door. I roll my eyes. When you're friends with the Ting, you come to expect these things to happen. 'It's a mess!' I roll my eyes again.

The Tong's stove

She leads me to her kitchen and I finally understand her exasperation. Before us, her ingredients strew the kitchen floor, dinning table and counters. Raw food still in their wrappings, pre-prepared food on plates and in tupperwares as well as plastic bags of condiments. 'We're so not taking your entire kitchen with us,' I say to her.

A ting tong evening

Eight plastic bags, five tupperwares, a plate of prawns and a potted basil later, we cram ourselves into the coach's car. The Tong's cheerful greeting gets lost in his apprehension when he finds out that the Ting's ingredients fill the entire boot and backseats. He's clearly unimpress by her coloured candles with rose petals and orange peel decoration.

The Tong's zucchini and porcini risotto with rocket salad

Joining the Ting's promise to cook for me and the Tong's promise to cook for the coachess was a good idea. With such company, it'll be a weekend of endless merriment and laughter. The coach's car is like a time machine and before long, I'm back in my long-gone childhood days spent running barefoot over soft green grass under a benevolent sun without a care in the world.

The Ting's flowery prawns

The coachess greets us warmly when we arrive and shows us her kitchen. It's bigger than the Ting's. Big enough to dance in as the Ting practises some Cha basics. The Tong follows her example and soon, we're all working the floor.

The Tong's dill salmon on asparagus with minted baby potatoes

Satisfied with their basics, the Ting and the Tong start cooking. Within an hour, the Tong is almost ready to serve his starter while the Ting is still preparing her ingredients. Realising she's behind time, she recruits me and the coach to help her. 'The only things I can cook are cup noodles.' She doubts my cooking abilities but gets me to cut bread into little perfect cubes.

The Ting's chicken lemon grass and salad

I try my best to fulfil her demands. Tediously.and.painstakingly.slow. Finished with butterflying the Ting's prawns, the coach relieves me of my suffering and starts to shred the bread into small indistinguishable shapes at a reckless speed. 'She won't notice. And even if she does, we won't be eating at 9.00 pm at the very least,' the coach whispers to me. The Ting glares at us.

The Tong's raspberry cheesecake

Two hours later, we gather in the tastefully furnished dining room and sit ourselves around the dining table where the Ting's candles cast a soft red and blue glow. Alternating between the best of both Western and Eastern cuisines, we subject our taste buds to a mind-shattering explosion of orgasmic tastes. With our tongues occupied, we tease our intellects with discussions on chilli and other trivial matters.

The Ting's yellow mung bean sweet soup (with whiskey)

Two hours and six courses later, the coachess compliments the chefs and retires early from the night. I pity the baby. All he or she will be getting are simple sugars and amino acids. Then again, being carried around all day in a warm squishy waterbed must surely make up for it.

The Ting 2-0 The Tong

The rest of us waddle into the living room and flump ourselves onto comfy couches. We nurse our palate with steaming cups of tea over small talk. Once our stomachs stopped protesting, the coach sets up his EyeToy which we play well into the early hours of the morning. The Ting gets a tad bit too excited in my opinion but amazes us by winning the Brad Pitt quiz.

The hurdles race

We didn't know it then but we would all awake late next morning with aching arms due to the Ostrich race. Still, live life for the moment I say. And right there and then, that was my life: Spent with the ones I cherish and love the most.

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.