Coldplay is playing at the Brixton Academy on June 16th.
There's no way I'm gonna make it.
They're playing again at the O2 Arena in December.
It's a date. I hope.
Showing posts with label london. Show all posts
Showing posts with label london. Show all posts
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Rootless
I feel more and more displaced for some reason. I looked forward to coming home to Bolehland and imagined that things would be wonderful, great food, great weather, catching up with friends and family.
The food has consistently been great and if I had spent the first week consistently downing sambal petai, my system had to put up with copious amount of Tom Yam last week. My abused digestive system handled the challenge very well. It is probably relieved that for these few weeks it doesn't have to put up with my own cooking.
The weather, ahh, the thing that became an obsession with me since I started living in London. The weather has been predictably great and as the sun mercilessly grill us and try to drown us in our own sweat, it is easy to forget the chilliness of a typical day in London. It is probably considered ungrateful to wish that it could have been sunnier here, but I reckon that it would certainly have helped with the visibility when I went snorkeling in Perhentian. Maybe I am speaking out of unjustified nostalgia, but I think I prefer Tioman. Maybe the weather was a lot better or the water was less polluted when I was there, but I remember the water as being a lot clearer than Perhentian. What happened in Perhentian though, stays in Perhentian. I am of course trying to make it sound more interesting to cover the fact that we spent the weekend mind numbingly staring at the sea. I am boring, I know.
As for relations, well, people move on. Meeting up for a few times in the span of a few weeks in the interval of a year make for stilted conversations. We are different people now. It is true that living abroad changes you, but your friends at home have also moved on with their life. Generally I find that conversations revolve around at the superficial level, we were spewing out facts without really going deeper on the rationales behind the facts (GM, I support your decision bebeh!). Not that I want to be nosy, but I am aware that I haven't been there and thus have been out of the scene. And to include me again requires a hell lot of explanation about the background of the issue and maybe even the backdrop. And I can't be there to hang out at the mamak with my friends anytime I want, as mentioned before, I don't live in the same city as them.
At times I feel like I have lost my social skills. It is easy to explain away my silence in social situations in London by putting the blame on language barrier which then influence my confidence in speaking up (or I can blame it on the fact that I fell asleep while you were talking). But here, I am on home ground and can deliver a joke in my own language with all the cockiness of a local. And I can just continue to meaninglessly rant to keep conversations going. But still sometimes pregnant silence fill the void in conversations. People have moved on and I am no longer a part of their daily life. I feel like I am desperately trying to retain flowing water in my cupped hands. Nobly Herculean but hopelessly Sysiphean, I know.
I feel like I am not here neither there. I feel at home in London for the aspirations it offers me as well as the freedom to be whatever I want to be. And of course for the challenge it offers me by merely being contextually different which then keeps me on my toes intellectually. And also the freedom of discourse. But it can get lonely at times. And since my tastebud has refused to adapt, I generally pine for the ready availability of cheap good greasy spicy food well-suited to my Malaysian palate. And while Malaysia can offer me all that I pine for in London, I feel that it would be too easy to fall into the old rhythm which will then dull my senses and I will then be chained by the demands of daily routine. And I won't have the time, or maybe willing company, to rant about the bigger questions in life.
It has only been 2 weeks, but I am beginning to miss London. I have to keep myself occupied. Tomorrow, I am going out to sketch the old Chinese townhouses. For I have brought back the white Ordning and Reda sketchbook still untouched since I got it for Christmas. Tomorrow, for once, the pages will be streaked with ink. And maybe I will make friends with the Chinese shopkeepers to whom I can rant about my life questions.
The food has consistently been great and if I had spent the first week consistently downing sambal petai, my system had to put up with copious amount of Tom Yam last week. My abused digestive system handled the challenge very well. It is probably relieved that for these few weeks it doesn't have to put up with my own cooking.
The weather, ahh, the thing that became an obsession with me since I started living in London. The weather has been predictably great and as the sun mercilessly grill us and try to drown us in our own sweat, it is easy to forget the chilliness of a typical day in London. It is probably considered ungrateful to wish that it could have been sunnier here, but I reckon that it would certainly have helped with the visibility when I went snorkeling in Perhentian. Maybe I am speaking out of unjustified nostalgia, but I think I prefer Tioman. Maybe the weather was a lot better or the water was less polluted when I was there, but I remember the water as being a lot clearer than Perhentian. What happened in Perhentian though, stays in Perhentian. I am of course trying to make it sound more interesting to cover the fact that we spent the weekend mind numbingly staring at the sea. I am boring, I know.
As for relations, well, people move on. Meeting up for a few times in the span of a few weeks in the interval of a year make for stilted conversations. We are different people now. It is true that living abroad changes you, but your friends at home have also moved on with their life. Generally I find that conversations revolve around at the superficial level, we were spewing out facts without really going deeper on the rationales behind the facts (GM, I support your decision bebeh!). Not that I want to be nosy, but I am aware that I haven't been there and thus have been out of the scene. And to include me again requires a hell lot of explanation about the background of the issue and maybe even the backdrop. And I can't be there to hang out at the mamak with my friends anytime I want, as mentioned before, I don't live in the same city as them.
At times I feel like I have lost my social skills. It is easy to explain away my silence in social situations in London by putting the blame on language barrier which then influence my confidence in speaking up (or I can blame it on the fact that I fell asleep while you were talking). But here, I am on home ground and can deliver a joke in my own language with all the cockiness of a local. And I can just continue to meaninglessly rant to keep conversations going. But still sometimes pregnant silence fill the void in conversations. People have moved on and I am no longer a part of their daily life. I feel like I am desperately trying to retain flowing water in my cupped hands. Nobly Herculean but hopelessly Sysiphean, I know.
I feel like I am not here neither there. I feel at home in London for the aspirations it offers me as well as the freedom to be whatever I want to be. And of course for the challenge it offers me by merely being contextually different which then keeps me on my toes intellectually. And also the freedom of discourse. But it can get lonely at times. And since my tastebud has refused to adapt, I generally pine for the ready availability of cheap good greasy spicy food well-suited to my Malaysian palate. And while Malaysia can offer me all that I pine for in London, I feel that it would be too easy to fall into the old rhythm which will then dull my senses and I will then be chained by the demands of daily routine. And I won't have the time, or maybe willing company, to rant about the bigger questions in life.
It has only been 2 weeks, but I am beginning to miss London. I have to keep myself occupied. Tomorrow, I am going out to sketch the old Chinese townhouses. For I have brought back the white Ordning and Reda sketchbook still untouched since I got it for Christmas. Tomorrow, for once, the pages will be streaked with ink. And maybe I will make friends with the Chinese shopkeepers to whom I can rant about my life questions.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Home
From time to time, specially when I am at this place I proudly call my hometown, I would think about the meaning of home. For the likes of me, the word 'home' could be the starting point of an interesting and long-winded discussion, and would then proceed to other mundane topics like the meaning of life (I prescribe to Monty Python's interpretation in case you are wondering, so that question has been answered for me). For us, home is not easily defined nor identifiable. We are the people who are at home anywhere in the world, and yet, precisely because of that, we are tied to none.
When I say the likes of me, what I mean are those fellow ex-boarders who left home at the age of 13 to go live with their peers from all around the country. I am not saying all ex-boarders are as screwed up as we are. No, some ex-boarders turned out exactly like our Orwellian government intended us to be (come to think of it, maybe WE are the results they intended and not vice versa, hmm, trust my old paranoia to kick in). Good or bad, I am not one to judge.
Having left home at such a young age and having spent our formative years with people from the same age group, we learned to be emotionally independent (although of course the first few days at the hostel were spent glued to the public phones bawling our eyes out begging our parents to come pick us up), and we learned the intricacies of friendship. Living together with about 200 other girls was no joke. Had I paid more attention to the politics, I could probably be a shrewd politician today (there goes my career in politics eh Idlan? lain konteks sama maksud ni, boleh kot apply? hehe). Friends became substitute for family, for they stuck with you through your years of teenage angst, and being teenagers themselves, accept your emotional rants as normal. Well maybe not 'normal', but they accept it as part of who you are. Without question.
And thus, we became emotionally independent from our families. Not to say that we cut ties from our families. Being Asians, being Malays, and being Muslims, and of course, being products of boarding schools in the sense that there's always that desire to excel in life (and not be failures in any way possible although glitches are considered normal), we dutifully make that journey back to our parent's home from time to time. We try our best to be filial children and accommodate to our parents wishes (maybe this doesn't really apply to me come to think of it). Most of us ex-boarders never fail to make our parents proud of us, although at times in worryingly unconventional ways.
Being emotionally independent has its uses. If you haven't seen your mom on a daily basis for the past 5 years, what's another 6 at a Uni away from home? And then what's another god-knows-how-long in another different city for you to pursue your career? And the ultimate is of course when you get on that plane to fly halfway around the world and have no idea when you'll come home for good. Or if you ever will.
We then went to Uni and make another batch of friends from around the country. At this point, having at least one friend from your hometown is considered a bonus. I don't know, maybe
- Melaka is too small a place for its loyal natives to leave ever,
- or Melakans in general snub offers to go to boarding schools and prefer to remain roasting in this coastal town,
- or maybe we did not go to the same one,
- or maybe just having the same hometown doesn't mean that we would get on like a house of fire,
- maybe Melakans in general do not go to that particular architecture school, or
- repeat reason 4 but change context to Uni.
As a result, most of us do not really have friends from our own hometown. We make that dutiful journey home to spend time with our family, and apart from that, if your hometown doesn't happen to be happenin' KL y'all, there's not much action as rest assured that most of your friends, exes, foes, lovers, haters, from boarding school AND from Uni, would be roosting there. Through my conversations with friends, I find that most of us experienced the same thing when we visit our parents. There would be days when the only time we stepped out of the house was just to hang the laundry or take out the garbage. Our moms wanted us to be home, and hey, they got their wishes. Our life at our hometown would really revolve around the family, we go out to visit uncles and aunties, to chauffeur our parents or grandparents around, we tag along when our parents do their groceries shopping, and we go to eat out with our families though we have no idea which place is good.
Our hometowns thus become that place where we spent our childhood and where our families reside now. We recognize certain landmarks which evoke certain childhood memories, but that's about it. Our hometowns now serve as museums to us, and coming from a place which city centre is chock full of museums of any kind, I certainly appreciate the irony. There is nothing there for us save for our families. And although we can always make that journey home for good and settle there, most of us need the bright lights and fast pace of big cities to function. And for people like me, we always want to keep our hometown different from where we reside, just for that novelty of being able to escape to the bosom of your family when you are troubled (or in serious trouble). Also, after so long of keeping your families at an arm's distance, most of us can't really deal with living in so close a proximity to them.
Not to say that we do not love our families, we do. Of course we do. We do in our weird little ways.
And thus that explains why you can't really give directions around your own hometown (I gave directions to a friend and out of caution I called my mom to check, and of course, I was giving my friend the wrong direction), or tell people where are the best places to eat and drink. When you are home, you eat at home and rarely have any interest to eat out unless of course, you are going for seafood at Umbai. Now, THAT is a place I know how to go to (although I need to check the direction with my mom first, you know, just in case).
Having been away from our families since we were 13, we also find it easy to relocate. We rarely tie ourselves down to a particular place. That place where we spent 5 years at and then dispersed was just boarding school, that place where we spent 6 years at and then dispersed was just uni, that place where we spent 1 year working was just a transit while we ponder our next move. In fact, every place served as mere transits because we knew we would leave. I am amused at friends who ended up living and working in the same town where they went to school or uni. Kajang as I remember was a small town close enough to KL and barely able to satisfy our needs. Bangi was just that suburb which was slightly better than Shah Alam, at least it didn't have as many confusing roundabouts, I don't know now though. Skudai was a different animal altogether, the people there scared me initially, though during the time when I was almost done with my studies, Starbucks opened their first branch there, and therefore, Skudai had arrived. JB was made up of peculiar people, though of course my JB friends are different. In terms of the daily on-goings, all these places numbed my senses. JB has its quirkiness which made it kind of fun when you were there after a while but not enough to make me stay. Therefore, the amusement I feel when friends decided to settle in those places. And then of course, the extremes are those who grew up, went to school, went to uni, got married and settled down in the same bloody town. These people I sometimes playfully and openly mock, although they are probably scratching their heads looking at my nomadic life and wondering what the hell is it am I looking for shuffling from one place to another?
Where is home then? Is it where our parents live though we barely feel any actual tie to the place itself? Is it where we went to school although we spent every semester shuffling from one dormitory to another, and our perception of that place was confined to the compound of the school? Is it where we went to Uni though we knew since day one we wouldn't want to stay? Is it where our friends we accumulate from school and uni live and work? Is it where we live now though we don't know how long we'll be there? Or is it that place we have yet to live at?
I left home when I was 13. I am now 26 years old. I have been away from my family for 13 years. 13 years is not a short while. A lot had and could happen in 13 years.
I always feel comfortable wherever I go, because adaptation is one of the useful skills the likes of me learned as a boarder. Though it is liberating to know that we are so mobile that given the chance we could easily uproot ourselves and explore a new place, it is also somewhat unsettling to feel at the same time that we are rootless.
So where is home then? Perhaps it is not a place, but rather an ideal we bring with us no matter where we go. Perhaps home is that comforting knowledge that no matter where we are in the world, we still have our families and friends who love and care about us whom we can always visit. Perhaps it is knowing that although we can't call a particular spot our home, the whole country and what it is made up of then, is home. Perhaps to feel at home is to make peace with ourselves and the reason why we struggle is the reason why we feel unsettled.
They say home is where the heart is. I agree. And we, the likes of me, we take our hearts with us wherever we go (the likes of me are also terrible at maintaining relationships come to think of it, and thus we always wrench our hearts back from those who have managed to steal them), and so our homes are with us, always.
Picture credit to the talented Din Dang.
Our hometowns thus become that place where we spent our childhood and where our families reside now. We recognize certain landmarks which evoke certain childhood memories, but that's about it. Our hometowns now serve as museums to us, and coming from a place which city centre is chock full of museums of any kind, I certainly appreciate the irony. There is nothing there for us save for our families. And although we can always make that journey home for good and settle there, most of us need the bright lights and fast pace of big cities to function. And for people like me, we always want to keep our hometown different from where we reside, just for that novelty of being able to escape to the bosom of your family when you are troubled (or in serious trouble). Also, after so long of keeping your families at an arm's distance, most of us can't really deal with living in so close a proximity to them.
Not to say that we do not love our families, we do. Of course we do. We do in our weird little ways.
And thus that explains why you can't really give directions around your own hometown (I gave directions to a friend and out of caution I called my mom to check, and of course, I was giving my friend the wrong direction), or tell people where are the best places to eat and drink. When you are home, you eat at home and rarely have any interest to eat out unless of course, you are going for seafood at Umbai. Now, THAT is a place I know how to go to (although I need to check the direction with my mom first, you know, just in case).
Having been away from our families since we were 13, we also find it easy to relocate. We rarely tie ourselves down to a particular place. That place where we spent 5 years at and then dispersed was just boarding school, that place where we spent 6 years at and then dispersed was just uni, that place where we spent 1 year working was just a transit while we ponder our next move. In fact, every place served as mere transits because we knew we would leave. I am amused at friends who ended up living and working in the same town where they went to school or uni. Kajang as I remember was a small town close enough to KL and barely able to satisfy our needs. Bangi was just that suburb which was slightly better than Shah Alam, at least it didn't have as many confusing roundabouts, I don't know now though. Skudai was a different animal altogether, the people there scared me initially, though during the time when I was almost done with my studies, Starbucks opened their first branch there, and therefore, Skudai had arrived. JB was made up of peculiar people, though of course my JB friends are different. In terms of the daily on-goings, all these places numbed my senses. JB has its quirkiness which made it kind of fun when you were there after a while but not enough to make me stay. Therefore, the amusement I feel when friends decided to settle in those places. And then of course, the extremes are those who grew up, went to school, went to uni, got married and settled down in the same bloody town. These people I sometimes playfully and openly mock, although they are probably scratching their heads looking at my nomadic life and wondering what the hell is it am I looking for shuffling from one place to another?
Where is home then? Is it where our parents live though we barely feel any actual tie to the place itself? Is it where we went to school although we spent every semester shuffling from one dormitory to another, and our perception of that place was confined to the compound of the school? Is it where we went to Uni though we knew since day one we wouldn't want to stay? Is it where our friends we accumulate from school and uni live and work? Is it where we live now though we don't know how long we'll be there? Or is it that place we have yet to live at?
I left home when I was 13. I am now 26 years old. I have been away from my family for 13 years. 13 years is not a short while. A lot had and could happen in 13 years.
I always feel comfortable wherever I go, because adaptation is one of the useful skills the likes of me learned as a boarder. Though it is liberating to know that we are so mobile that given the chance we could easily uproot ourselves and explore a new place, it is also somewhat unsettling to feel at the same time that we are rootless.
So where is home then? Perhaps it is not a place, but rather an ideal we bring with us no matter where we go. Perhaps home is that comforting knowledge that no matter where we are in the world, we still have our families and friends who love and care about us whom we can always visit. Perhaps it is knowing that although we can't call a particular spot our home, the whole country and what it is made up of then, is home. Perhaps to feel at home is to make peace with ourselves and the reason why we struggle is the reason why we feel unsettled.
They say home is where the heart is. I agree. And we, the likes of me, we take our hearts with us wherever we go (the likes of me are also terrible at maintaining relationships come to think of it, and thus we always wrench our hearts back from those who have managed to steal them), and so our homes are with us, always.
Picture credit to the talented Din Dang.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Weekend
I'm just gonna rant a bit about my final weekend here in London. I don't know how long I'll be away, and I want to remember this weekend. Hence I feel compelled to write this down as I have a rather shitty memory which chooses weird things to remember and very apt at forgetting the really important ones. Nothing spectacular happened, but it was just another nice weekend in good old Stoke Newington where a lot of Orthodox Jews, Muslims, and apparently lesbians live. I swear I didn't know before I moved here.
It was a pretty relaxing weekend. I went all the way to Portobello Road in west London yesterday to find something for dear Pak Lang, and although I didn't manage to get you riding goggles as promised for your Norton, I bought a pocket watch designed for the Russian KGB for you. I remember you berating me for not getting you that Chairman Mao watch when I went to Shanghai, and I'm not about to make the same mistake again. Though the only watch/clock I think iconic enough for London is the Big Ben, I don't think they'll let me take it home for you. Hence the pocket watch. For someone who is creative enough to turn old gauges from the oil rigs into clocks, I reckon you'll be able to appreciate the pocket watch. It's a real beauty. I'm haf in love in with it actually.
Of course since I was in Portobello Road, a part of town which I rarely venture into, I just had to pop in to Hummingbird to get some cupcakes. Credit to Mooke for introducing the cupcakes to me. It was a life changing moment. My life has a purpose now. Those cupcakes are worth living for. I heard that there's this craze for cupcakes in Bolehland now, maybe I should check out the cupcakes scene in KL when I get back. i like cake, big or small. And cupcakes are just so handy because of the size.
As a firm believer in spreading good things around, I got cupcakes for the Scandinavians too (Tall Dane, Mad Bag Lady [also Danish], and Mad Bag Lady's friend who's Swedish). And so I sat with them at the Safehouse later that evening and had my second cupcake for the day. Red velvet to the fore baby. How such a small thing like that can taste so good is beyond me. Really.
Spent the rest of the evening talking to the Tall Dane. It was like the old times; society, religion, personal issues all thrown in. Went to bed very late as I was surfing the internet like mad on her laptop. I still haven't bought a Mac yet ever since I lost my laptop in January, and although living in London without the Internet is comparable to having your right hand amputated (I'm left handed so maybe that doesn't apply to me), at least now I have the time to read No Logo. So you can understand that I just go berserk when I come across a laptop with internet connection. (I am typing away on her laptop now).
Went to this nice Turkish place on Stoke Newington High Street for brunch this afternoon. The food was excellent and it doesn't break your bank. I had this Menemen thing, it's like scrambled egg with minced meat and spices and spinach (I think that's what the green thing was). It was rather spicy so it was gorgeous. Downed it with a glass of OJ and I was happy. Credit goes to the Tall Dane for introducing us to that place.
After making a pit stop at my place, we went for a walk in Abney Park which is really close to my flat. Abney Park is a cemetery which is wonderfully messy. It's so dense with a lot of graves and almost forest-like with the trees and plants growing wildly. I've spent 3 Sundays going for walks in that cemetery now. I've seen it in 3 different weather and it was gorgeous whether in snow, rain, or plain old sunshine. The dates on the graves range from the 1800's to 2000's and reading the inscriptions on the headstones, I couldn't help but think about the person lying inside. I thought about the life and aspirations and dreams and loves and lovers and families. I couldn't help but to contemplate on my own life.
Almost immediately after emerging from Abney Park, we found ourselves seated at the Tea Room on Stoke Newington Church Street. We all had Rose tea which tasted very delicate save for the Mad Bag Lady who had Peppermint tea. We sat too dangerously close to the cakes on the counter and it was with Herculean effort that I managed not to stuff my face with any of them. I lost my battle with the Rock Candy though. In my defence, they were within hand reach. I fell in love with them and took 4 to take home to Bolehland.
And here I am now back at the Safehouse typing away. I am going to walk home in a bit. I'll just plan my week ahead when I reach home. From the look of things, I am going to have a tough week ahead. I'll just have to bulldoze my way through until Saturday night when I get on that plane.
To friends and family in Bolehland, I look forward to seeing you!
To London, I look forward to coming back.
It was a pretty relaxing weekend. I went all the way to Portobello Road in west London yesterday to find something for dear Pak Lang, and although I didn't manage to get you riding goggles as promised for your Norton, I bought a pocket watch designed for the Russian KGB for you. I remember you berating me for not getting you that Chairman Mao watch when I went to Shanghai, and I'm not about to make the same mistake again. Though the only watch/clock I think iconic enough for London is the Big Ben, I don't think they'll let me take it home for you. Hence the pocket watch. For someone who is creative enough to turn old gauges from the oil rigs into clocks, I reckon you'll be able to appreciate the pocket watch. It's a real beauty. I'm haf in love in with it actually.
Of course since I was in Portobello Road, a part of town which I rarely venture into, I just had to pop in to Hummingbird to get some cupcakes. Credit to Mooke for introducing the cupcakes to me. It was a life changing moment. My life has a purpose now. Those cupcakes are worth living for. I heard that there's this craze for cupcakes in Bolehland now, maybe I should check out the cupcakes scene in KL when I get back. i like cake, big or small. And cupcakes are just so handy because of the size.
As a firm believer in spreading good things around, I got cupcakes for the Scandinavians too (Tall Dane, Mad Bag Lady [also Danish], and Mad Bag Lady's friend who's Swedish). And so I sat with them at the Safehouse later that evening and had my second cupcake for the day. Red velvet to the fore baby. How such a small thing like that can taste so good is beyond me. Really.
Spent the rest of the evening talking to the Tall Dane. It was like the old times; society, religion, personal issues all thrown in. Went to bed very late as I was surfing the internet like mad on her laptop. I still haven't bought a Mac yet ever since I lost my laptop in January, and although living in London without the Internet is comparable to having your right hand amputated (I'm left handed so maybe that doesn't apply to me), at least now I have the time to read No Logo. So you can understand that I just go berserk when I come across a laptop with internet connection. (I am typing away on her laptop now).
Went to this nice Turkish place on Stoke Newington High Street for brunch this afternoon. The food was excellent and it doesn't break your bank. I had this Menemen thing, it's like scrambled egg with minced meat and spices and spinach (I think that's what the green thing was). It was rather spicy so it was gorgeous. Downed it with a glass of OJ and I was happy. Credit goes to the Tall Dane for introducing us to that place.
After making a pit stop at my place, we went for a walk in Abney Park which is really close to my flat. Abney Park is a cemetery which is wonderfully messy. It's so dense with a lot of graves and almost forest-like with the trees and plants growing wildly. I've spent 3 Sundays going for walks in that cemetery now. I've seen it in 3 different weather and it was gorgeous whether in snow, rain, or plain old sunshine. The dates on the graves range from the 1800's to 2000's and reading the inscriptions on the headstones, I couldn't help but think about the person lying inside. I thought about the life and aspirations and dreams and loves and lovers and families. I couldn't help but to contemplate on my own life.
Almost immediately after emerging from Abney Park, we found ourselves seated at the Tea Room on Stoke Newington Church Street. We all had Rose tea which tasted very delicate save for the Mad Bag Lady who had Peppermint tea. We sat too dangerously close to the cakes on the counter and it was with Herculean effort that I managed not to stuff my face with any of them. I lost my battle with the Rock Candy though. In my defence, they were within hand reach. I fell in love with them and took 4 to take home to Bolehland.
And here I am now back at the Safehouse typing away. I am going to walk home in a bit. I'll just plan my week ahead when I reach home. From the look of things, I am going to have a tough week ahead. I'll just have to bulldoze my way through until Saturday night when I get on that plane.
To friends and family in Bolehland, I look forward to seeing you!
To London, I look forward to coming back.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The Self Defence Weekend Breakfast Club
Dear friends and foes, I am still stuck in London where it's freezing enough to snow but not cold enough to retain it.
If the bloody immigration gets its act together, I should be home by next Sunday.
So if you're calling or sending texts to my Malaysian number, hold your horses, I'm not quite there yet.
Thank you GM for calling me while I was having breakfast at Newington Green. Sorry luv that you found out I'm still here.
To the Dane who's out travelling, your flatmate and I have started The Self Defence Weekend Breakfast Club on Easter Sunday. We went to the French cafe on Newington Green. After stuffing our face with delicious quiches and downing a cup of cappuccino each, driven by sheer greediness we attacked the chocolate Rabbits (hey it was Easter!) accompanied by Earl Grey. We plan to do it on a monthly basis. Well actually I suggested that we do it weekly but perhaps our wallets can't handle it, so it's a monthly thing now. We'll try a different cafe each time.
Let's do that together when we're both back in London.
In the mean time, I'll just plot what to eat in Malaysia, yumm...
If the bloody immigration gets its act together, I should be home by next Sunday.
So if you're calling or sending texts to my Malaysian number, hold your horses, I'm not quite there yet.
Thank you GM for calling me while I was having breakfast at Newington Green. Sorry luv that you found out I'm still here.
To the Dane who's out travelling, your flatmate and I have started The Self Defence Weekend Breakfast Club on Easter Sunday. We went to the French cafe on Newington Green. After stuffing our face with delicious quiches and downing a cup of cappuccino each, driven by sheer greediness we attacked the chocolate Rabbits (hey it was Easter!) accompanied by Earl Grey. We plan to do it on a monthly basis. Well actually I suggested that we do it weekly but perhaps our wallets can't handle it, so it's a monthly thing now. We'll try a different cafe each time.
Let's do that together when we're both back in London.
In the mean time, I'll just plot what to eat in Malaysia, yumm...
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
What I did last Sunday
I shot naked men running.More at Idlan's flickr. Despite me being there because of her, and also despite her generosity of letting me used her DSLR, I took maybe 2 pictures of her. Those 3 guys however, got shot maybe 1o times.
It was raining and bloody cold. Seeing these guys running naked reminded me of those Chinese girls who like to wear really short shorts and big tshirts, so then it looks like they're not wearing any pants, walking around in freezing Malaysian shopping complexes. Ok it may seem like a tall order, comparing those Chinese girls and these Borat aficionados, but then my perception of coldness is also relative to then and now, and relatively speaking, it's not that far off. Ok. I was exaggerating just a little bit.
It was a Sunday well-spent ;P
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Of Demi Gods and Carburetors
Just to share that my office has won one of the bids for the Olympics!
Obviously not for the one in Beijing this year, as they should probably have finished building for that (at least, I hope so), but for the one here in London in 2012.
It's pure urban design. It's for the last leg of the marathon! It's just so bloody cool that I just feel I am cool too for working in a cool office in a cool area of London. I am also very very modest and grounded like hell. Ha. ha.
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One of my uncles asked me to bring back a carburetor. Well, actually he gave me a list of spare parts to bring back from the UK, but he will be happy if I could just bring back a carburetor for him on this particular trip. Pak Lang, thank you for the very short notice. This will be slightly challenging as I don't even know how a carburetor looks like, but I have this nagging feeling that it won't fit into my small suitcase.
I could however try to get some flying goggles for you. That, at least, I think I could manage.
Obviously not for the one in Beijing this year, as they should probably have finished building for that (at least, I hope so), but for the one here in London in 2012.
It's pure urban design. It's for the last leg of the marathon! It's just so bloody cool that I just feel I am cool too for working in a cool office in a cool area of London. I am also very very modest and grounded like hell. Ha. ha.
-----
One of my uncles asked me to bring back a carburetor. Well, actually he gave me a list of spare parts to bring back from the UK, but he will be happy if I could just bring back a carburetor for him on this particular trip. Pak Lang, thank you for the very short notice. This will be slightly challenging as I don't even know how a carburetor looks like, but I have this nagging feeling that it won't fit into my small suitcase.
I could however try to get some flying goggles for you. That, at least, I think I could manage.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Office meeting at 4
Had my first office meeting today. The first thing they did before starting was to send someone out to get a few bottles of beer with some spares for those who fancy seconds.
Considering that when they talked about presenting a project chronologically meant that it started somewhere in 10,000 BC, it sure as hell was an interesting meeting. We'll have another one next Friday.
I can always use a bottle of Coke. Friday evenings mean copious amount of Coke as always.
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I learned a few days ago that my computer at work, a typically delicious looking Mac, was named after a sexist TV icon. And I thought Benny Hill is a bloke who used to work there and used the machine before me.
Good thing I didn't ask.
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I have to stop going home this way.
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Happy weekend all. To the good people of Malaysia, happy casting your votes!
Considering that when they talked about presenting a project chronologically meant that it started somewhere in 10,000 BC, it sure as hell was an interesting meeting. We'll have another one next Friday.
I can always use a bottle of Coke. Friday evenings mean copious amount of Coke as always.
--------
I learned a few days ago that my computer at work, a typically delicious looking Mac, was named after a sexist TV icon. And I thought Benny Hill is a bloke who used to work there and used the machine before me.
Good thing I didn't ask.
--------
I have to stop going home this way.
--------
Happy weekend all. To the good people of Malaysia, happy casting your votes!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Consultation
What striked me with awe the most yesterday was how people are really engaged here. It's only a proposal to refurbish a square in front of their blocks of flats and to upgrade certain common facilities, but hey, if it is to affect their daily lives, they very damn well have a thing or two to say, and sometimes in a not very polite manner too.
Some people got really agitated about the smallest things. Their demands and concerns can be very specific, and as a newcomer to the project it shamed me that I'm not that familiar with the area. That prompted me to go for another round of site visit to have a look at the area of which I'm part of the design team.
As I've said, some people were really agitated. One woman just stormed out of the church because she was upset. At the risk of repeating myself, I was at awe with how engaged and passionate people are with their surroundings. If they can have a say about something, then they very damn well would have a say. Even if they're not consulted but still they have a thing or two to say, then hey, just wait for the petitions to start coming.
I was at awe because this would never happen in Malaysia. Public consultation is an alien concept and besides, the public just do not give a damn about getting involved. We're rather jaded as a society. Maybe because we've never really had a platform to affect change and the politicians have always taken a patronizing approach when dealing with the public majority, over the years we came to believe that there's nothing we can do. As a society we have this 'tidak apa' (it's ok) mentality even though we're getting screwed in broad daylight sometimes by those in power. We are as a people, to put it in a not very mild manner, fucked.
We believe that there's nothing we can do. We believe that as individuals we can't affect change. We forgot that a lot of individuals make up a significant number, and then what we have is a significant majority who are supposedly well informed but are just content to let things go to the dogs.
How do we sleep at night? Oh as long as we have our grilles on our doors and windows and we didn't forget to set the alarm before we go to bed, we'll be fine. Who cares about what's going on out there, it's not our problem.
I told my boss that we don't have this in Malaysia. People just don't care. He proceeded to say but you do so many big tall buildings over there. I answered by saying well that's why we could do that, you just don't ask the people. You just do it. The government is still very much the patron in this matter.
Yesterday, a woman who walked with a cane spoke to my colleague for an hour yesterday just to make sure that we will resolve the connectivity for the disabled. She started by speaking to me, but when she questioned our design decision, I mean proposal as nothing's decided yet and hence the point of the consultation, and said that it's pointless and we (the people) are going to pay for it with our money. As a designer, the reason why we proposed that was clear cut to me. We wanted to raise the level of the car park so that it's at the same level as the street and pedestrianise it so that it's safer and more pleasant to use. We also proposed a ramp besides it so that the disabled can use it. I honestly don't understand why she was opposing it as the existing car park is crap and there is no connection at all for the disabled at the moment.
I passed the buck to my colleague. Didn't know how to handle that. I am always bad at communicating the obvious. And as a true product of the society, I just realized that I myself took a patronizing stand when thinking about the public. I'm the designer, I know what's good for you, was my approach. I didn't realize that but I did yesterday. A real eye opener, that.
I've never met these people before so it was a surprise when some of them said that I've spoken to them before. People were generally friendly, and even when they get upset, you understand that it's nothing personal.
I think that one resident, a certain Tommy C, an old gentleman with real charm and a tad cross-eyed, was probably there just to kiss the girls. After greeting me with 'Hello sweetheart,' I don't think he listened to what was explained to him anymore. When I met him outside the church on my way back from my site visit, I stopped and we talked. After quizzing me about whether I remember his name, he proceeded to tell me his flat number (which for some reason I still can remember but won't share with my gentle readers just yet) just in case I need anything. After saying 'you're beautiful sweeheart,' Tommy just leaned over and smack, planted a wet one on my cheek. Tommy is probably as old as my grandpa and even if he was probably a leery old man, I didn't feel that way.
Father D, who unlocked the church door for us yesterday, looked more like a redneck with his rough looks and buffed body and crew cut hair. When he came to see us in late afternoon in a pair of very short shorts and a sweater and told us he was on his way to the gym, we told him that we probably could figure that out. He then said that he would look totally different tomorrow morning (Sunday service).
There's a lot to be done still. Yes it's only a refurbishment proposal for a public square but this will take time.
It was a fine day. I learned a lot.
Some people got really agitated about the smallest things. Their demands and concerns can be very specific, and as a newcomer to the project it shamed me that I'm not that familiar with the area. That prompted me to go for another round of site visit to have a look at the area of which I'm part of the design team.
As I've said, some people were really agitated. One woman just stormed out of the church because she was upset. At the risk of repeating myself, I was at awe with how engaged and passionate people are with their surroundings. If they can have a say about something, then they very damn well would have a say. Even if they're not consulted but still they have a thing or two to say, then hey, just wait for the petitions to start coming.
I was at awe because this would never happen in Malaysia. Public consultation is an alien concept and besides, the public just do not give a damn about getting involved. We're rather jaded as a society. Maybe because we've never really had a platform to affect change and the politicians have always taken a patronizing approach when dealing with the public majority, over the years we came to believe that there's nothing we can do. As a society we have this 'tidak apa' (it's ok) mentality even though we're getting screwed in broad daylight sometimes by those in power. We are as a people, to put it in a not very mild manner, fucked.
We believe that there's nothing we can do. We believe that as individuals we can't affect change. We forgot that a lot of individuals make up a significant number, and then what we have is a significant majority who are supposedly well informed but are just content to let things go to the dogs.
How do we sleep at night? Oh as long as we have our grilles on our doors and windows and we didn't forget to set the alarm before we go to bed, we'll be fine. Who cares about what's going on out there, it's not our problem.
I told my boss that we don't have this in Malaysia. People just don't care. He proceeded to say but you do so many big tall buildings over there. I answered by saying well that's why we could do that, you just don't ask the people. You just do it. The government is still very much the patron in this matter.
Yesterday, a woman who walked with a cane spoke to my colleague for an hour yesterday just to make sure that we will resolve the connectivity for the disabled. She started by speaking to me, but when she questioned our design decision, I mean proposal as nothing's decided yet and hence the point of the consultation, and said that it's pointless and we (the people) are going to pay for it with our money. As a designer, the reason why we proposed that was clear cut to me. We wanted to raise the level of the car park so that it's at the same level as the street and pedestrianise it so that it's safer and more pleasant to use. We also proposed a ramp besides it so that the disabled can use it. I honestly don't understand why she was opposing it as the existing car park is crap and there is no connection at all for the disabled at the moment.
I passed the buck to my colleague. Didn't know how to handle that. I am always bad at communicating the obvious. And as a true product of the society, I just realized that I myself took a patronizing stand when thinking about the public. I'm the designer, I know what's good for you, was my approach. I didn't realize that but I did yesterday. A real eye opener, that.
I've never met these people before so it was a surprise when some of them said that I've spoken to them before. People were generally friendly, and even when they get upset, you understand that it's nothing personal.
I think that one resident, a certain Tommy C, an old gentleman with real charm and a tad cross-eyed, was probably there just to kiss the girls. After greeting me with 'Hello sweetheart,' I don't think he listened to what was explained to him anymore. When I met him outside the church on my way back from my site visit, I stopped and we talked. After quizzing me about whether I remember his name, he proceeded to tell me his flat number (which for some reason I still can remember but won't share with my gentle readers just yet) just in case I need anything. After saying 'you're beautiful sweeheart,' Tommy just leaned over and smack, planted a wet one on my cheek. Tommy is probably as old as my grandpa and even if he was probably a leery old man, I didn't feel that way.
Father D, who unlocked the church door for us yesterday, looked more like a redneck with his rough looks and buffed body and crew cut hair. When he came to see us in late afternoon in a pair of very short shorts and a sweater and told us he was on his way to the gym, we told him that we probably could figure that out. He then said that he would look totally different tomorrow morning (Sunday service).
There's a lot to be done still. Yes it's only a refurbishment proposal for a public square but this will take time.
It was a fine day. I learned a lot.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
For March 8
If you still exercise your right to vote, good for you. But if you don’t – why don’t you? Numbers of voters are falling and the reasons are numerous. Perhaps you feel the parliamentary system is outdated, politics is happening somewhere else – on the high street, or in the country lanes. Maybe you could spoil your ballot paper, but you know this isn’t right. Or you just can’t be bothered to vote.
Whatever the reason, across the globe people are fighting and dying for the right to vote, just as others have done in this country. In the UK we expect, as practised consumers, the right to pick and choose.
Our proposal is simple: what if, rather than making it easier for everyone to vote, we made it really hard? What if we made the act of voting something precious, something you really have to struggle for?
The new Polling Booth for the 21st century is a symbol of British democracy. It is hard to get at, it’s out of date, it’s shaky and you feel uncomfortable. You have to make so much effort. You think there must be a better way. You wonder if it’s all worth it. And yet you wouldn’t be without it, would you?
Published in Building Design in the run up to the general election, May 2005.
...............
This was what my office proposed a couple of years ago. Original page and full credit here.
Fikir-fikirkanlah.
Caffeine
I managed to go for two weeks without touching coffee at all. I gave up on Monday. Am averaging two mugs per day now, which is ok.
I used to chain drink coffee. Well, what I used to chain drink had some coffee in it at least. Back in Bolehland I couldn't function properly without a mixture of Nescafe, Milo, and milk. By the time I add water, the mug would already be half full (ever the optimist). And I would continue making mugs of it through out the day.
It's a wonder I still have all my teeth. And we all know my digestive system has given up on me a long time ago due to my zealous intakes of chilli.
.....
I've been making a model of the site since Tuesday. Site's pretty, it's in hilly Sheffield.
Note to self: Next time don't use so much glue. Carving out cardboards glued overzealously is not that much fun at all. It's heart-wrenching to see my beautiful model torn out.
It's ok. Got to wear a cool pair of goggles to do the model. They said be careful, if the blade snap it might get into my eyes, so don't take off my glasses. Dude, without my glasses all I can see is a blurry version of things. I jokingly asked if there's a pair of goggles lying around somewhere. 2 minutes later, I was wearing one.
I get up in the morning to go to this cool place to make things. While listening to Nina Simone.
I think I can like this job.
Oh and I've been asked if I could come to a consultation event. You know, to talk to people and explain things (so perhaps I'm not exactly the bumbling idiot I thought I was). We'll use the information gathered to develop the design.
Cool eh?
I don't think people do this in Bolehland. Well, not to my knowledge anyways. Site analysis is usually done by taking in the physical factors mainly and even the feel and experience is taken from the perspective of the designer. Newsflash: Let's ask the people what they want! Well, they'll be the ones using the bloody space anyways. Designers seldom use the space they created themselves, unless of course, it's their own house. Designers always assume how people are going to use the space while really, they don't have a clue. We are too weird to function like normal people do. We do things for the wrong reasons. Attuned to asthetics, sometimes we sacrifice practicality, while the average joe really just want to walk the fastest route so screw this business of pattern-making on the landscape.
It's participation. I'm not that crazy about talking to people really, but for the sake of designing and getting the information, I'll do it because I think it's bloody crucial. it's democratic, well, at least the people have a say in how they want their environment shaped. Also by getting them involved in the design stage, they would feel a sense of ownership and care more about the space. It's about fostering that sense of neighbourhood.
Perhaps this is the result of hanging out with the Tall Dane and the Only English Girl In Our Class. Those two are really into this participation thing and although I found it interesting, I found other things more interesting (for example, my quest for the inclusion of landscape into the process of urban design which I never got to solving, I think the subject is worth another masters, or a PhD. Hell, who wants to study anymore?).
The time of the gentleman architect with the royal patron has long past. It's the time of regeneration and thus the inclusion of the people in the design process. The people ARE the patron.
Unless we're talking about the Middle East of course.
I sound like a bloody socialist don't I?
..............
Can't believe it's Friday tomorrow. Where has the week gone?
...............
Oh elusive flat, please materialize. I think I've found the flat that I want, well, judging by its description at least. It's a studio with a separate kitchen and the rent is inclusive of all bills, which is very good.
Haven't seen it yet but the agent said she'll arrange for a viewing.
If I like it I prolly would just snap it on the spot. You have to move fast in London.
...............
Have a nice weekend people of the world.
I used to chain drink coffee. Well, what I used to chain drink had some coffee in it at least. Back in Bolehland I couldn't function properly without a mixture of Nescafe, Milo, and milk. By the time I add water, the mug would already be half full (ever the optimist). And I would continue making mugs of it through out the day.
It's a wonder I still have all my teeth. And we all know my digestive system has given up on me a long time ago due to my zealous intakes of chilli.
.....
I've been making a model of the site since Tuesday. Site's pretty, it's in hilly Sheffield.
Note to self: Next time don't use so much glue. Carving out cardboards glued overzealously is not that much fun at all. It's heart-wrenching to see my beautiful model torn out.
It's ok. Got to wear a cool pair of goggles to do the model. They said be careful, if the blade snap it might get into my eyes, so don't take off my glasses. Dude, without my glasses all I can see is a blurry version of things. I jokingly asked if there's a pair of goggles lying around somewhere. 2 minutes later, I was wearing one.
I get up in the morning to go to this cool place to make things. While listening to Nina Simone.
I think I can like this job.
Oh and I've been asked if I could come to a consultation event. You know, to talk to people and explain things (so perhaps I'm not exactly the bumbling idiot I thought I was). We'll use the information gathered to develop the design.
Cool eh?
I don't think people do this in Bolehland. Well, not to my knowledge anyways. Site analysis is usually done by taking in the physical factors mainly and even the feel and experience is taken from the perspective of the designer. Newsflash: Let's ask the people what they want! Well, they'll be the ones using the bloody space anyways. Designers seldom use the space they created themselves, unless of course, it's their own house. Designers always assume how people are going to use the space while really, they don't have a clue. We are too weird to function like normal people do. We do things for the wrong reasons. Attuned to asthetics, sometimes we sacrifice practicality, while the average joe really just want to walk the fastest route so screw this business of pattern-making on the landscape.
It's participation. I'm not that crazy about talking to people really, but for the sake of designing and getting the information, I'll do it because I think it's bloody crucial. it's democratic, well, at least the people have a say in how they want their environment shaped. Also by getting them involved in the design stage, they would feel a sense of ownership and care more about the space. It's about fostering that sense of neighbourhood.
Perhaps this is the result of hanging out with the Tall Dane and the Only English Girl In Our Class. Those two are really into this participation thing and although I found it interesting, I found other things more interesting (for example, my quest for the inclusion of landscape into the process of urban design which I never got to solving, I think the subject is worth another masters, or a PhD. Hell, who wants to study anymore?).
The time of the gentleman architect with the royal patron has long past. It's the time of regeneration and thus the inclusion of the people in the design process. The people ARE the patron.
Unless we're talking about the Middle East of course.
I sound like a bloody socialist don't I?
..............
Can't believe it's Friday tomorrow. Where has the week gone?
...............
Oh elusive flat, please materialize. I think I've found the flat that I want, well, judging by its description at least. It's a studio with a separate kitchen and the rent is inclusive of all bills, which is very good.
Haven't seen it yet but the agent said she'll arrange for a viewing.
If I like it I prolly would just snap it on the spot. You have to move fast in London.
...............
Have a nice weekend people of the world.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Fluidity and things in between
I survived my first week at work, phew! Didn't do much, just sketched a lot (Fatin, thanks for the pencil luv, I absolutely went bonkers with it!) and coloured things on Photoshop. Which was totally manageable. I do hope that the people would enjoy the square more after the refurbishment has been completed because our design rocks, woohoo!
On another note, Im sure the Archbishop of the Canterbury meant well. Poor bloke. Now there are calls for him to resign. Considering that he is the head of the Anglican Church, I can see how calling for the Shariah Law to be incorporated into the British Law can cause quite a ruckus. Imagine an ulama' suggesting that we incorporate things from the Bible into our law. He'd probably be shot dead by some crazed extremist or something by now.
What do I think of this? Well first of all, I'm not sure about his understanding of the Shariah Law. Hell, I'm not sure I get it either. I reckon that it all boils down to that. Frankly speaking, I've only been following the the news on the telly, well, snippets of it at least, and I probably should read about it so that I can make an informed opinion.
It's not so funny though to see people jumping on the Islamophobia wagon a tad too quickly after the Archbishop's speech. I've seen the frontpages of newspapers on the telly and it's not looking good.
Anyways, I find it funny how the term fundamentalist is most of the time interchangeable with the term extremist. Extremism is the exact anti-thesis of fundamentalism and yet, people freely use both words to describe violent Muslims. I personally would go for the term extremists to describe these people, because there's nothing fundamental in Islam when it comes to violence. I would say I'm a fundamentalist in that I try to live by the gist of the religion, which I believe is for the goodness of mankind. But I won't announce it on the tube just yet. Imagine what would happen to me if I were to stand up in the tube and announce, 'I'm a fundamentalist Muslim and I'm proud of it!' I'm pretty sure it wont be long till I find myself in the custody of the police.
Religion is a funny thing. It is supposed to bring people together and is supposed to be the manifestation of good moral conduct. And yet, we see people more divided now and acting crazy all in the name of religion. And you see most of these things happening amongst people whose religions share the same roots. We are not as different from each other as we think we are.
That's the irony of it I guess.
On another note, Im sure the Archbishop of the Canterbury meant well. Poor bloke. Now there are calls for him to resign. Considering that he is the head of the Anglican Church, I can see how calling for the Shariah Law to be incorporated into the British Law can cause quite a ruckus. Imagine an ulama' suggesting that we incorporate things from the Bible into our law. He'd probably be shot dead by some crazed extremist or something by now.
What do I think of this? Well first of all, I'm not sure about his understanding of the Shariah Law. Hell, I'm not sure I get it either. I reckon that it all boils down to that. Frankly speaking, I've only been following the the news on the telly, well, snippets of it at least, and I probably should read about it so that I can make an informed opinion.
It's not so funny though to see people jumping on the Islamophobia wagon a tad too quickly after the Archbishop's speech. I've seen the frontpages of newspapers on the telly and it's not looking good.
Anyways, I find it funny how the term fundamentalist is most of the time interchangeable with the term extremist. Extremism is the exact anti-thesis of fundamentalism and yet, people freely use both words to describe violent Muslims. I personally would go for the term extremists to describe these people, because there's nothing fundamental in Islam when it comes to violence. I would say I'm a fundamentalist in that I try to live by the gist of the religion, which I believe is for the goodness of mankind. But I won't announce it on the tube just yet. Imagine what would happen to me if I were to stand up in the tube and announce, 'I'm a fundamentalist Muslim and I'm proud of it!' I'm pretty sure it wont be long till I find myself in the custody of the police.
Religion is a funny thing. It is supposed to bring people together and is supposed to be the manifestation of good moral conduct. And yet, we see people more divided now and acting crazy all in the name of religion. And you see most of these things happening amongst people whose religions share the same roots. We are not as different from each other as we think we are.
That's the irony of it I guess.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
The worth of things
In the grand scheme of life, I sincerely wish that in the future, I can look back and be proud of myself for choosing to join the firm which offered me the least money.
Was offered the highest end of the salary range that I quoted, and instead I went for the firm which offered £1000 less than the lowest end of the range I quoted. All in all, I let go £4000.
All for the excitement of regenerating a dilapidated graveyard and turning it into a viable open space. And also turning the edges into a nice housing area. To work from the scale of masterplanning down to the scale of choosing materials for the buildings. Oh the design challenge! And the opportunity of actually designing! I'll be moulding spaces and turning them into places! Yay!
You'd think that after more than a year of scrimping in London, I'd go for the big money. If my year in London has taught me anything about money, it's that it's really just a means to an end. Not having it sucks, big time, but just because you have it doesn't mean you're more happy. Because I don't have money and have to save on my travel expenses, I've seen more of London on foot. And it is the best way to experience the city, or any city, if you ask me. I went for long solitary walks and noticed quirky little things about the city. I've thought a lot during these walks. It really helps to clear your head, walking. I was really worried about my situation back then, but I was in some weird ways happy. And I felt alive.
When I was in Bolehland I was in my comfort zone and as a result I became jaded and numbed. You know the drill. Finish-high-school-go-to-uni-finish-uni-go-to-work-witness-the-slow- painful-death-of-your-idealism-then-slowly-rot-at-work-get-married- have-2.4-kids-buy-a-car-and-a-house-in-the-suburbs-and-then-it's-a- matter-of- keeping-up-with-the-joneses!
Phew!
I was rotting. The more I thought about the route that people normally take, the more I got scared. What I really needed was change. And since then, it's been one hell of a ride. The experience, to borrow Mastercard's tagline, is priceless.
Can I translate all these into monetary value? Nope.
It'll probably take me longer to pay for my huge study loan, but hell, it's worth it. Seriously, making big money is not high on my list at the moment. Maybe later. For then, there's always tax-free Dubai =D
So what's £4000? Give me the graveyard any time.
Was offered the highest end of the salary range that I quoted, and instead I went for the firm which offered £1000 less than the lowest end of the range I quoted. All in all, I let go £4000.
All for the excitement of regenerating a dilapidated graveyard and turning it into a viable open space. And also turning the edges into a nice housing area. To work from the scale of masterplanning down to the scale of choosing materials for the buildings. Oh the design challenge! And the opportunity of actually designing! I'll be moulding spaces and turning them into places! Yay!
You'd think that after more than a year of scrimping in London, I'd go for the big money. If my year in London has taught me anything about money, it's that it's really just a means to an end. Not having it sucks, big time, but just because you have it doesn't mean you're more happy. Because I don't have money and have to save on my travel expenses, I've seen more of London on foot. And it is the best way to experience the city, or any city, if you ask me. I went for long solitary walks and noticed quirky little things about the city. I've thought a lot during these walks. It really helps to clear your head, walking. I was really worried about my situation back then, but I was in some weird ways happy. And I felt alive.
When I was in Bolehland I was in my comfort zone and as a result I became jaded and numbed. You know the drill. Finish-high-school-go-to-uni-finish-uni-go-to-work-witness-the-slow- painful-death-of-your-idealism-then-slowly-rot-at-work-get-married- have-2.4-kids-buy-a-car-and-a-house-in-the-suburbs-and-then-it's-a- matter-of- keeping-up-with-the-joneses!
Phew!
I was rotting. The more I thought about the route that people normally take, the more I got scared. What I really needed was change. And since then, it's been one hell of a ride. The experience, to borrow Mastercard's tagline, is priceless.
Can I translate all these into monetary value? Nope.
It'll probably take me longer to pay for my huge study loan, but hell, it's worth it. Seriously, making big money is not high on my list at the moment. Maybe later. For then, there's always tax-free Dubai =D
So what's £4000? Give me the graveyard any time.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Skaal!
I first came across the term skaal years ago when I began to devour Roald Dahl's Boy on a regular basis. Boy is Dahl's account of his childhood, detailing his schooldays in English public schools and his holidays in Norway, where his mother would single-handedly arrange the journey and took the whole family every summer all the way from England to Norway. It was and still is, were I to have my copy here with me, a fascinating read. I can't remember how many times I've read and reread the book, after which I would continue to read Dahl's other book, Going Solo. Going Solo is where Dahl told us the story about his adventure as an officer with Shell in Africa and also his stint as a fighter pilot with the RAF during the World War. I'm a big fan of Dahl. I envy his adventure-filled life and also his quirky sense of humor. And he's a bloody good writer. And just because he mentioned Isak Dinesen in the beginning chapter of Going Solo, I found myself reading Out of Africa last week.
I remember Dahl writing about lunches with his grandparents once he got to Norway. This was when I came across the term skaal. Basically it means cheers. I remember that he wrote that it went something like this, he would say 'Skaal grandpa skaal!' and then both him and his grandpa would look deeply into each other's eyes while sipping the drink. He would then continue 'skaal'ing everyone else around the table. And other people would go 'skaal'ing him too. Since it was always a large party, Dahl said he would always end up tipsy as a lord (yes, that's the exact expression he used).
Because I didn't know how the bloody word is pronounced, it didn't immediately register when Madi, the Tall Dane's mom taught me the word when we first had dinner together in London. It hit me later that night, 'Ah so that must be the same word I found in Dahl's Boy!' I was very pleased to finally discover how to pronounce this Norwegian/Danish word, years after I first came across it. For some weird reason, I kept the discovery to myself. Needless to say, I put the word to good use when I was celebrating Christmas with the Jorgensens in Denmark last December. I actually have no idea if it's spelled the same way in Danish, or even if it's pronounced the same way in Norwegian. But I only know the Norwegian spelling and the Danish pronounciation describing the same act, so to me, the tropical-blooded Asian who thinks the Nothern people really just grunt when they talk, they are the same indeed. Any Dane is welcome to comment on this.
Anyway, I have a reason to say it again.
Skaal everyone! For I have landed a job in London =D
I remember Dahl writing about lunches with his grandparents once he got to Norway. This was when I came across the term skaal. Basically it means cheers. I remember that he wrote that it went something like this, he would say 'Skaal grandpa skaal!' and then both him and his grandpa would look deeply into each other's eyes while sipping the drink. He would then continue 'skaal'ing everyone else around the table. And other people would go 'skaal'ing him too. Since it was always a large party, Dahl said he would always end up tipsy as a lord (yes, that's the exact expression he used).
Because I didn't know how the bloody word is pronounced, it didn't immediately register when Madi, the Tall Dane's mom taught me the word when we first had dinner together in London. It hit me later that night, 'Ah so that must be the same word I found in Dahl's Boy!' I was very pleased to finally discover how to pronounce this Norwegian/Danish word, years after I first came across it. For some weird reason, I kept the discovery to myself. Needless to say, I put the word to good use when I was celebrating Christmas with the Jorgensens in Denmark last December. I actually have no idea if it's spelled the same way in Danish, or even if it's pronounced the same way in Norwegian. But I only know the Norwegian spelling and the Danish pronounciation describing the same act, so to me, the tropical-blooded Asian who thinks the Nothern people really just grunt when they talk, they are the same indeed. Any Dane is welcome to comment on this.
Anyway, I have a reason to say it again.
Skaal everyone! For I have landed a job in London =D
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Laptopless
Yes, I am laptopless, not topless.
6 laptops were stolen from the flat yesterday including mine.
If you think living without the Internet is hard in London (we depend on the Net A LOT), try not having a laptop at all.
It's a wonder how much we depend on our laptop. Besides linking us to the outside world, we actually depend on it to arrange our lives. We check the weather religiously every morning, arrange our journeys on the Transport for London's website, and also get our tickets online. We look for flats online, shop online, and google everything that we need to know, ok want to know. 90% of my job hunt was conducted online. I look for all the adverts online and sent my applications online.
Offline, we listen to music, watch movies, do our work on our laptop. I must admit that the first thing I do every morning before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water was to make a pit stop at my laptop to turn it on.
Now that we don't have our laptops, we're stumped. What should we do to fill our days? Perhaps we can take up knitting. Perhaps I can actually finish the 2 books I'm currently reading. Perhaps we can start collecting stamps. Now we can probably have actual hobbies.
My friend said it's like losing our boyfriends. She's right in a way. It's the only intimate relationships we have at this point of our life. Sad isn't it?
So to all my dear 3 readers (mama, ayah, and my imaginary cat), this blog won't be updated as often as before. Yes I know the last time I said that it only meant I didn't update my blog for about 6 hours. But I think this is for real. It's no joke luv when you've lost your boyfriend, I mean, your laptop.
If you readers need to reach me quickly, please contact me via my phone. Yes I know not all of you have my phone number. Well, too bad.
Ma, you can get my number from the cat. *Wink*
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Aksi Kucing
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Everyday I look at funny cat pictures with even funnier captions. I reckon that's the nearest I could get to being near a cat these days. If I were to do what that baby was doing in that picture, chances are when I emerge you won't recognize me with my puffy eyes, runny nose, and broken skin.
I lost my leather gloves and my wool scarf yesterday, all due to me being absent-minded. The full blast of the cold made me feel naked.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Russian Winter Festival
Trafalgar Square, 13/01/08There's no doubt I could fit into this particular Russian doll.
Friday, January 11, 2008
If I find a Malaysian Muslim girl one day, I'll marry her.
Said the guy behind the counter who was sewing on a piece of cloth, while smiling at me.
I smiled back. It was the polite thing to do. Besides, I was asking about the job advert for a shop assistant posted on the door of his shop.
'I like Malaysian Muslims. They are honest. Not like other Muslims you meet on the street.' He said while wildly gesturing his hands in the direction of the street outside the shop.
I was on Edgware Road, where Muslims tend to congregate in Central London. The street is laden with halal Lebanese restaurants and some Turkish outlets, and of course walking on the street wouldn't be complete if you don't accidentally inhale the sweet shisha smoke emanating from the various street cafes (even more so after the smoking ban). Even Mawar, the (in)famous Malaysian restaurant is on this road. This road was where the Iraqis came out to celebrate when they won the Asian Cup last year, and boy, those people sure know how to party. But this part of Edgware Road is near the end where Maida Vale, a residential enclave would start. Hence, the dry cleaner. From his looks, I think he is Turkish.
I smiled again.
'Well, people are people you know. There are honest people and there are dishonest people everywhere.'
'Yes, but I like Malaysian Muslims. They're different.'
I gave up.
'Well, thank you, that's a very nice thing to say.'
'So leave your phone number. I'll pass it to the manager. I think you have a good chance you know.' He said and smiled again.
'Thanks!'
And I left the shop. Once outside I burst out laughing. I then shook my head and walked away to the tube station.
I smiled back. It was the polite thing to do. Besides, I was asking about the job advert for a shop assistant posted on the door of his shop.
'I like Malaysian Muslims. They are honest. Not like other Muslims you meet on the street.' He said while wildly gesturing his hands in the direction of the street outside the shop.
I was on Edgware Road, where Muslims tend to congregate in Central London. The street is laden with halal Lebanese restaurants and some Turkish outlets, and of course walking on the street wouldn't be complete if you don't accidentally inhale the sweet shisha smoke emanating from the various street cafes (even more so after the smoking ban). Even Mawar, the (in)famous Malaysian restaurant is on this road. This road was where the Iraqis came out to celebrate when they won the Asian Cup last year, and boy, those people sure know how to party. But this part of Edgware Road is near the end where Maida Vale, a residential enclave would start. Hence, the dry cleaner. From his looks, I think he is Turkish.
I smiled again.
'Well, people are people you know. There are honest people and there are dishonest people everywhere.'
'Yes, but I like Malaysian Muslims. They're different.'
I gave up.
'Well, thank you, that's a very nice thing to say.'
'So leave your phone number. I'll pass it to the manager. I think you have a good chance you know.' He said and smiled again.
'Thanks!'
And I left the shop. Once outside I burst out laughing. I then shook my head and walked away to the tube station.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
New Blogging Project
I thought of this while sitting on the throne this morning, relishing one of life's little pleasures. Because you don't really do anything while you sit on the throne, the mind would usually tend to ponder. I've lost count of the solutions to the world problems that I've formulated while I was sitting on the throne every morning.
This morning though, the thought was actually fixated on what I was doing at that moment. I kept on thinking, man, this one of life's pleasures isn't it? The satisfaction you get out of clearing your stomach, that relieved feeling that gives you the giddiness that somehow manages to calm you and thus allowing you to think with a clearer mind. This is indeed one of life's pleasures. I'm sure most of us have experienced the pain of not being able to do it, and how uncomfortable and miserable that is. Truth is, not being able to crap would usually means your day is practically ruined, because you won't be able to function properly.
So I thought, hmm, why don't I record this in that blog of mine? No, not the finer points of the art of crapping, because believe me, I've had 7 years of architectural education, and most of the time crapping is what we architecture students do. Hence the term bullshit. What I was thinking is, why don't I record life's little pleasures every day (or every other day) in my blog? The seemingly insignificant things that we sometimes overlook in our mundane day to day routine, and too preoccupied to notice because we're worried about the bigger things in life, while really it's being able to enjoy these small things that makes life more worthwhile. I reckon by doing this, I would have to be more aware of the world I'm living in, and hopefully in the process, I'll be able to enjoy it more.
I've already started another project of similar nature. I have this sketch book that I got for Christmas from the Tall Dane's parents, which size is just perfect for these kinds of projects because like most architects, I'm scared shitless of large format papers. Even A4 paper scares me. Yes, this maybe weird coming from a person who derives great pleasures out of designing masterplans. I've already used that sketchbook while I was in Copenhagen to sketch daily of the things that caught my eyes. From the gaily decorated Christmas tree to the typical typology of Copenhagen's buildings, it is all recorded in my sketch book. I was going to say neatly, but let's face it, my strokes are too messy to pass as neat. In fact, nothing scares me more than a perfectly drawn straight line.
Now that I'm back in London, I haven't started sketching yet. But I intend to do so. I don't know how long I'm gonna be here anymore, so while I'm still here, I'll try my best to soak in the sights and textures of the city.
Sound like a plan no?
Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone, they paved paradise and put up a parking lot - Counting Crows
This morning though, the thought was actually fixated on what I was doing at that moment. I kept on thinking, man, this one of life's pleasures isn't it? The satisfaction you get out of clearing your stomach, that relieved feeling that gives you the giddiness that somehow manages to calm you and thus allowing you to think with a clearer mind. This is indeed one of life's pleasures. I'm sure most of us have experienced the pain of not being able to do it, and how uncomfortable and miserable that is. Truth is, not being able to crap would usually means your day is practically ruined, because you won't be able to function properly.
So I thought, hmm, why don't I record this in that blog of mine? No, not the finer points of the art of crapping, because believe me, I've had 7 years of architectural education, and most of the time crapping is what we architecture students do. Hence the term bullshit. What I was thinking is, why don't I record life's little pleasures every day (or every other day) in my blog? The seemingly insignificant things that we sometimes overlook in our mundane day to day routine, and too preoccupied to notice because we're worried about the bigger things in life, while really it's being able to enjoy these small things that makes life more worthwhile. I reckon by doing this, I would have to be more aware of the world I'm living in, and hopefully in the process, I'll be able to enjoy it more.
I've already started another project of similar nature. I have this sketch book that I got for Christmas from the Tall Dane's parents, which size is just perfect for these kinds of projects because like most architects, I'm scared shitless of large format papers. Even A4 paper scares me. Yes, this maybe weird coming from a person who derives great pleasures out of designing masterplans. I've already used that sketchbook while I was in Copenhagen to sketch daily of the things that caught my eyes. From the gaily decorated Christmas tree to the typical typology of Copenhagen's buildings, it is all recorded in my sketch book. I was going to say neatly, but let's face it, my strokes are too messy to pass as neat. In fact, nothing scares me more than a perfectly drawn straight line.
Now that I'm back in London, I haven't started sketching yet. But I intend to do so. I don't know how long I'm gonna be here anymore, so while I'm still here, I'll try my best to soak in the sights and textures of the city.
Sound like a plan no?
Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone, they paved paradise and put up a parking lot - Counting Crows
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