Saturday, May 28, 2005
For some reason, the Chengdu hotel computer I'm currently using doesn't allow me to access this blog. That is to say, I can edit it, but I can't view it. China's major cities actually have pretty good tech, but the internet censorship is... blah. So I can't read any of your comments, if any. I'm sorry, but for now I guess it's back to traditional email or SMS if you want to drop a line.
Yes, I'm still alive and well. However, the money seems to be draining away at an alarming rate, even though I've stubbornly refrained from splurging on souvenirs. Instead, I've been splurging on film. A necessary expense, because China, with its architecture, gardens, mountains, flora and fauna (and that includes people) makes me especially trigger-happy. I've been averaging a film consumption rate of 1.5 rolls a day, and that's a somewhat scary thought, considering how long I will be here.
In brief, the places visited:
1) Beijing
Summer Palace ('new'), Tiananmen Square + Gate, Forbidden City, Jing Shan Park, Bei Hai, Hutong, food street.
Resided at apartment in Beijing's 'Silicon Valley'. Learned how to take public transport - both trains and buses. The public transport isn't as terrible as some guide books make it out to be, and most importantly, it is cheap. A mere 1-3 yuan (S$0.20 - S$0.60), depending on the type of bus, and you can ride that bus to any stop along its route. Also realised that China is big. Far, far bigger than my native tropical island - Beijing alone is 31 times the size of Singapore, so naturally, there is plenty of walking involved. The city is located on a flat plain, though, so walking (or cycling, for that matter, but pampered Singaporeans should never attempt to cycle through the brutal Beijing traffic) isn't that strenuous. Learned how to fend off persistent Beijing touts.
2) Chengdu
Du Fu place, Zhugeliang + Three Kingdoms Shu history place, bunch of temples, tea ceremony, Ren Min Park, central shopping district
City is overcast all day long, and dusty like most other Chinese cities. But at least it's humid. Beijing's air was good for drying clothes, but bad for the eyes and lips, as I found out to my dismay. Discovered that I can't really take authentic Sichuan cuisine - they use this nasty 'flower' pepper that numbs your tongue. Charming gardens drenched in mist and overflowing with tradition, traffic more decent than Beijing's, but not by much. Well-fed with spicy Sichuan food, and imbibed local alcohol.
3) Jiuzhaigou/ Huang Long
Beautiful scenery there: snowy peaks, pine forests, waterfalls, mountain streams, impossibly blue lakes. Ate up lots of film, but I'm not complaining. I managed to avoid hypothermia and altitude sickness up there, 1500-4200m above sea level, despite having no winter coat or physical fitness. Ingested meat roasted on a spit Tibetan-style without incident. Imbibed local alcohol - some type of Tibetan wine which tasted sweet enough for me to loosen my usual inhibitions concerning alcohol. Fended off persistent Tibetan vendors.
To my parents and sister: can you please take a look at my letters and INFORM me when they come in? I'm far away on vacation and worrying about intimidating paperwork. I had a nightmare last night about important, time-sensitive emails lying unopened in my inbox.
words were spilled on Saturday, May 28, 2005
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Thursday, May 19, 2005
A brief bulletin: I'll be away in China (trying my utmost not to get conned/robbed/kidnapped/murdered/worse) from 20 May to 22 June. That's 34 days, folks - more than a month of dodging unspeakable perils in a dangerous, inscrutable land, if what my relatives have been tirelessly reminding me of is true. Still, as odd as it may seem, I do plan on enjoying myself.
During this period, my handphone will be out of commission, but I'll probably still be checking my email and updating this blog (at least while I'm in major cities). I'm contactable at 97724982 (sharing Xuwen's handphone), and will be returning on 22 June at 7:40pm.
If you still owe me CDs, do leave them in my mailbox (Blk 625 #08-94). A certain party is kindly reminded to water the plants, check the mail, do her household chores and burn DVD+Rs and CD-Rs as instructed.
Here's to hoping my money and luck won't run out in China.
words were spilled on Thursday, May 19, 2005
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Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Just two more days to take-off, and to my utter dismay I find myself rushing around trying to tie up loose ends, or to untangle stubbornly knotty problems. I feel as though I've been given just enough rope to hang myself with. In serious, desperate need of some
slack.
A*Star will only offer the scholarship on the condition that I submit to psychological guidance sometime in the next week. Yes, well. But (and that's a big 'but') next week I'll be off to the land beyond the South China Sea having fun (hopefully), beyond the reach of scholarship boards (fingers crossed) - with their compulsory pre-departure briefings and OBS camps that I, for reasons already stated, cannot attend.
That's not the only complication, of course. Think I shall prescribe for myself some caffeine to survive the next two days. Survival is very easy, really.
(And this, precisely, is the sort of statement that gets me into messes like this.)
words were spilled on Tuesday, May 17, 2005
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Friday, May 06, 2005
Yesterday's psychological interview went... OK, but it's kind of hard to tell with these things. The oriental carpet, soothing furnishings, soft toys and magazines, couch and armchairs came as a bit of a shock, even though common sense dictates that they shouldn't have. After all, I was being dealt with by professional, trained counsellors and making subjects feel at ease is what they do; I guess weeks of formal interviews conditioned me to expect the usual severe, deliberately stress-inducing furniture layout - a long table separating interviewee from interviewer(s), hard edges, sharp corners.
Apparently my psychometric test results indicated that I was depressed.
Not entirely accurate, of course, but then again, hardly surprising. I told the psychologist that I was introverted and that my personality had a definite pessimistic streak, but oh no, I wasn't clinical, if that was what she meant. And I certainly never entertained suicidal notions, if that's what she was trying to lead to. I mean, life's beautiful, I take pleasure in blue skies, good books/music/films and even some human relationships; I'm no morose, despairing poet, and I'm pragmatic to the core, so why on earth would I want to throw it away for the sake of a melodramatic gesture?
More than enough truth to be convincing, if she didn't pull a psychoanalysis stunt to overinterpret hidden layers of meaning and conclude that I was protesting too much. I don't know. Of course I wasn't being entirely candid (who would?) - she was my assessor, not my counsellor and confessor. But whatever she made of my performance... psychology is really NOT my thing. Maybe I should add it to my reading list.
I will just have to (sigh) revert to default and wait for word from A*Star. I wish they'd hurry up so that I can settle all that matriculation paperwork before flying off to Beijing. Long distance paperwork via a reluctant proxy doesn't appeal.
There was... one thing that I - in a fit of self-destructive pique - included in my psychometric survey that was glaringly missing from the entire session. I'm still disturbed by it. It seems unlikely that she simply... overlooked that not-so-little detail. Yet no mention of it was made, no allusions even. Even if it was probably a tactful move, I can't help indulging in the suspicion that the omission was deliberate, to keep me off-balance, and perhaps to test my professed well-adjusted stability.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
At least, I handled this one better than I did the last time I had an encounter with a trained counsellor, which was all the way back in Primary 5.
There was a debacle with my math teacher Miss Kim, which started when the mother of a certain... childhood nemesis of mine questioned her teaching methods. Predictably, she flew into a self-righteous rage. For reasons that evade me, that mother saw fit to casually mention my name, and thus to came to be that my unfortunate connection to said nemesis drew me into the ugly little drama. To assist her in her cause, Miss Kim recruited Mrs Wong, the school counsellor, who accused us of unfairly bad-mouthing our self-sacrificing math teacher; after an extremely traumatic session, the
school counsellor eventually managed to extract 'confessions' and grovelling letters of apology from us.
In all my 11-year-old wisdom, I actually used the word 'interrogated' in the diary entry detailing that incident. That was
before I grew up, exposed myself to all forms of corrupting influences, and learned, in greater detail, what lay behind that word, and just how apt a choice of word it had been.
That counsellor inflicted psychological terror on defenseless, bewildered and innocent 11-year-olds. She was a foregone conclusion searching for confirmatory evidence - in the classic tyrannical interrogator mould. We did nothing wrong - it was a case of bruised ego, of a teacher who believed that she could do no wrong. And yet by the end of that session I was a sobbing wreck choking out profuse apologies for something I wasn't guilty of, pressured into signing a load of self-incriminating rubbish just to soothe a math teacher's offended dignity.
As I've said, it was classic, traumatic and scarred me for life. I could never look at counsellors the same way again. In fact, I
never wanted to come into contact with another mind-specialist again, and I was extraordinarily successful (considering subsequent developments) in putting off the encounter until circumstances made it unavoidable.
Hindsight isn't making me any more dispassionate. Yes, the initial fear, anger and bitterness have faded just like any other memory and now exist mostly on the scented pages of my pink childhood diary. Now, when I recall that incident, it appalls me - a more sophisticated, intellectualised emotion informed by the intervening years, I'm sure. Appalled that such a thing could have happened, appalled at my inability to withstand psychological coercion, wondering darkly if it all points to some fundamental weakness.
Lawyers, interviewers, psychologists... I've never liked them. All part of the same phenomenon - or neurosis - I suspect.
words were spilled on Friday, May 06, 2005
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