nondescript in blue

Thursday, April 27, 2006
This is hopeless. One hour before classes begin, I'm listening to spiffy Iranian pop tunes instead of dutifully memorising various types of religious chants or trying, for the umpteenth time, to bully my aurally-challenged ears into recognising the differences between classical Indian song genres. Bleh. I think I shall just give up on music and unwind with a bit of physiology revision.

Not that physio is much of an improvement. But at least I'm taking that class for a grade, and not pass/fail like I'm doing for music (even though my grades for that course are well above par - as long as my scholarship agency doesn't care what grades I get for such irrelevant courses, I don't see why I should worry overmuch). Which means, I had bloody well ace the final physio exam tomorrow. But music can go hang, for all my transcript cares.

Of course, I would be outright lying if I claimed not to care. But I could certainly care less.

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Sunday, April 23, 2006

Cherry blossom petals are drifting through the air like snow, the gingko tree outside my window is uncurling leaves of tender green, and I don't have the words to do this feeling justice.

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Spring Weekend... and it's bloody cold. From a balmy daily average of 15degC for the past week glorious weeks of spring, a miserable 6degC now. The sakura blossoms are beginning to fall - in a week or so they would be gone. But in the meantime, I am living in a CLAMP wonderland. Minus the creative perversions.

And since it's Spring Weekend at Brown, student debauchery is in the air, the police, firefighters and paramedics are out in force, and I'm spending all my time on the down-swing of my social moods, studying Organic Chemistry with a PRC sophomore when I'm not in my dorm feverishly engaged in fangirl pursuits.

It's a special kind of peace, to know that you're spending your day as you like it, while the rest of the world goes crazy and falling-down drunk around you.

I think last weekend was too exciting for me, and now this is the backlash.

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Monday, April 17, 2006

Aww, I love this shot. It makes me think of diabolical duck-drowning. Besides, it's undeniably cute.

This photo update is long overdue (I know, I know). Anyway, the London photo collection is now complete. I have the ducks of St. James' Park and examples of furtive Soho night photography up.

And here are the photos from the recent lecture series at Brown, in case anyone's curious: http://bumsls.zoto.com/

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Sunday, April 16, 2006

I find that alcohol doesn't have the desired effect on me.

In the proper spirit of Saturday night fun, I went for my roommate's birthday party (a "real" party - i.e. no "surprise", sissy birthday cakes and singing "Happy Birthday" like what I'm accustomed to with the Singaporean crowd here, but beer, spiked punch, hard liquor, music and bump-'n-grindin') to have my first taste of alcohol in a party setting. (I know, I'm behind - I've never even got drunk before.) I had one shot of some liquor, some spiked punch (which was probably stronger than I'd bargained for) - stood around, exchanged cursory conversation, wondered about the supposed euphoric effect of intoxication, felt bored.

Not that I got drunk - I was clear-headed, unless extreme sleepiness counted - but I didn't get the "buzz" either. All I got was dizziness, partial loss of coordination, and unbelievable exhaustion. I excused myself early and - fighting sleep all the way - made it to my room, where I literally collapsed half-conscious on my bed and slept all the way till 10 in the morning.

So much for my first party experience.

But to be fair, I had had a long and tiring day. Saturday was the day of the lecture series organised by the Brown University Merlions (or the BUM's - isn't Brown so much more fun than other schools who just have plain old SSAs?). Cherian George was there, and so was Alfian Sa'at, and there was plenty of intensive discussion about issues pertaining to government policies, globalisation, censorship, race and identity. We invited students from other universities in the Northeast - Wellesley, Columbia, Harvard among others - and the speeches were fascinating and the amount of debate and participation simply impressive. The official website, if you like:
http://www.brown.edu/Students/Students_On_Singapore/SLS/index.html

But, interesting as it was, the whole event left me feeling inadequate. You know the stereotype of the passive, politically infantilised, government-coddled, blindly obedient, narrow-minded and unimaginative Singaporean. I found myself ticking off a personal mental checklist of those attributes, with a sinking feeling, as the talks progressed and national deficiencies were brought up and criticised.

There were many fascinating insights to be gained from the lectures and discussions, but the one that stuck with me most was the unhappy realisation that I still have such a long way to go; the depressing thought that, even after spending more than half my life being educated in "elite" schools and programmes, even after being showered with all the awards, scholarships, trappings of privilege - there's still so little to show for all that.

I have always needed external stimuli to kick myself out of habitual brain-numbing passivity, if only for a while.

On a happier note: this lovely spring afternoon, while walking from crepes to dinner with a friend, the sight of cherry blossoms inspired me to wax fangirl-enthusiastically eloquent on the subject of my fascination with sakura. Or, to be specific, a certain evil, soul-devouring sakura tree eternally blooming in some imaginary corner of Ueno Park, and the outrageously dramatic events revolving around it. I do hope that in my excitement, I was being more entertaining than disturbing - although I think that by now, my Brown friends have some inkling of what to expect from me.

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Wednesday, April 12, 2006

I'm feeling inordinately pleased with myself today. I posted a parcel to my sister (which, as the postmaster commented, was "very well packed"), dropped off my winter jackets for dry-cleaning, went native and studied outdoors on the grass, and pulled off an information-gathering stunt on someone who had been intriguing me all semester by insinuating myself into the relevant social circle, followed by a socially successful dinner with American-style dinner banter (during which I was called a "flip-flopper" for seemingly being indecisive about materialism - how astute these Americans be - and yes, I understood the political allusion).

So, now, glowing with probably overrated self-satisfaction, I go back to being a nerd for the night. With no regrets.

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Sunday, April 09, 2006

The weather really is too nice to waste moping around indoors feeling ineffectual and irrelevant. Time to turn up the feel-good Amelie music and soak in the spring sunshine together with the merry people outdoors. I think a full day of anti-socialness should be more than enough indulgence for those bad humours.

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Thursday, April 06, 2006

A good sleep always seems to clear out the refuse and unnecessary clutter of the mind, enabling one to think more clearly, dispassionately and logically. I find myself appreciating this more and more - stress and euphoria alike seem to magically evaporate after a good night's rest. Besides, it's just plain common sense, and not at all a difficult concept to grasp.

Hence, sleep is good.

Ergo, I should get more sleep. But I'm still drawing on the sleep surplus I accumulated over spring break. And in the process, I might as well add, not accomplishing much of value.

Stupid vacation hangovers.

And it's still bloody cold. For spring, that is. Where are my daffodillies and crocuses in bloom? They are scattered around, braving the recent cold snap, looking none-too-impressive. I've been spoiled by Wales.

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Wednesday, April 05, 2006

I seem to have been afflicted with a temporary bout of Anglophilia. There was that trip to Wales, for one - which stirred up cosy childhood memories of lovely meadows, limestone cliffs, English cottages, crumbling castles, sinister caves, jolly good adventures and thrilling mysteries for 4 (or 5) children and a dog.

Moving on from Enid Blyton, London evoked another series of literary associations. I just had to visit St. James' Park to see the ducks for myself, and perhaps keep my eyes open for... interesting man-shaped creatures feeding the ducks at the lake. On a related tangent, I nosed around Soho, getting inordinately excited whenever I saw small, dusty bookshops selling rare volumes. I saw the stairs where Nancy, from Oliver Twist, was killed (I applaud Charles Dickens' choice - those stairs are creepy). At the intersection of Shaftesbury Avenue and Charing Cross Road I stopped to ponder the feasibility of Cambridge Circus as the location of Britain's foreign intelligence headquarters (I concluded that le Carre was probably making it up), in the buildings of Whitehall I envisioned the grand Admiralty offices of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey-Maturin series, and I even made a special trip down to Chelsea, at night, trying to espy dear old George Smiley's residence at Bywater Street. But alas, that cunning old fox chose too well - I walked down King's Road for a seeming eternity without ever seeing the street sign I'd hoped for. Oh well, at least I was in Chelsea.

In Soho and Bloomsbury, I caved in to the natural charms of British bookshops and bought 3 books, one of which was the guide to the UK citizenship test, containing earnest advice about all aspects of life in the UK. I found it too amusing to pass up.

I also caved in to the temptation of buying feminist retellings of the Arthurian legend (yes, Lin Zi, it was all your fault, telling me about that interesting thing that transpired between Morgaine and Arthur) - in particular, The Mists of Avalon. More Brit-ness, albeit ancient Brit-ness.

Er. And I've just watched Maurice (this is for you, my dear sister, with a big, soppy grin), a Merchant-Ivory film adaptation of E.M. Forster's posthumously published and very controversial novel.

And goodness me, it was heartbreakingly gorgeous and bittersweet and all those things you get when you put together 2 pretty boys, Cambridge, weirdly homoerotic classical literature, social prejudices, and the conceits of Edwardian England upper-class society.

Really, I'm just an old softie.

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Monday, April 03, 2006

Too tired to blog intelligently, but needless to say, spring break is officially over, and I haven't done any work. But the trip was everything I could have wished for (except for the Heathrow nightmare at the end - truly, that airport sucks), and I got souvenirs and photos and bought 3 books (because British bookstores are just so damned irresistible), observed nightlife at Soho and even made a short trip down to Chelsea (but alas, Bywater Street was nowhere to be found).

And now I sleep.

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Brenda - resolutely dedicated to a life of tedious stability and relentless obsession,
stuck with a mental age that is increasingly failing to keep pace with physical age.
Addicted to methyxanthines, NSAIDs, monosodium glutamate, instant gratification and certain forms of mindless entertainment. Now with a newfound addiction to pretty sweaters, online movie rental and solitary urban hikes in foreign countries.

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