Time don't fly

There are so many times in my life when I find that time not only flies, but propagate like light in vacuum. *Snap* and its gone; *blink* and its gone; *twitch* and its gone. Yet, every time when I realised this, there are only two situations: a) I am having fun and b) I am rushing through my last-minute work, which is not fun at all. However in truth, time is really just sauntering past us in its invisible dimension.

No one hates having fun. Oh wait there are those who just feels guilty for enjoying themselves in their free time and then there are those who love to inflict pain upon themselves. Let me correct that statement, no one rational hates having fun, and while doing so, we tend to ignore the watch or clock or any other time devices.

Recall the time when you watch an American sitcom on the TV, say Ugly Betty, how fast did one hour pass? (Oh my gosh! It's ten thirty already?!?) Compare that to one hour in *cough*chem*cough* ist*cough*ry*cough* class. (What?!? That was just half and hour?!? There must be something wrong with the watch!) The counter in your digital watches functions just fine, its just the number of times you take a glance at your watch. What is there better to do when you are utterly uninterested in one compulsory activity? Doodle, let your mind wander, look as if interested, and in between? Look at the time of course, every few damned minutes. Look at how pathetically slow the seconds are ticking by, wishing that you have the superpower to fast forward time to end the slow 'torture'. Am I right?

Recall the time when you are just being given the assignments. (Meh, I still have 3 more days before the deadline, let's watch Ugly Betty first, homework later.) Compare this to the last-minute rushing. (Dang! I wish I have just one more hour!) Time sure seemed to just zoom past you when there is the feeling of urgency, because you are so steeped in trying to get the assignments done, you didn't look at the watch at all. Every second is precious now. You curse yourself for dropping the eraser and have to waste 3 seconds to pick it up. You swear under your breath when that damned chemical equation just cannot be balanced. You commented mentally: I don't care if the Earth's magnetic field line is 5.5 x 10^-5 T or whatever! Stupid physics question anyway... Now you wish you could slow-mo time, don't you?

However, take a look at those situations - all the time you want to 'fast-forward' and 'slow-mo' balance each other out. Time wasted equals to the time cramped. So the result? Time passes just as normal with each of our breath. It is us, who failed to manage it properly. Happy times seemed to go by so fast that you craved for more. Its just the opposite for unhappy times. Understand time, explore how it works, think how we work. Blend them together so that they complement each other. The resultant mixture is unique for each individual. In the end, it boils down to three words: Time's all relative.

Rain - The Paragraphs

Okay, this week's assignment is to make "Today is a rainy day." into one whole paragraph. Our beloved lecturer Mr D was teaching figurative languages used in fictions and assigned us to that. He wanted us to make the short sentence as interesting and as figurative as possible, or at least this is what I understood from his instructions. Mr D, if you fall asleep reading this, don't blame me!

"At first I thought it was the rustling of wind through the overgrown weeds in my unattended backyard. Like a little girl whispering to her mother. I turned to my side and snuggled my pillow. The cotton pillow casing was surprisingly cool, and felt a bit moist even. Then it grew louder. I climbed out of my bed and looked out of the window. Tiny raindrops were waltzing in the air effortlessly, choreographed by the wind. It was slow and elegant.

After a while it was brought into a crescendo, as the wind picked up. The waltz turned quickly into quickstep, trying to keep up with the tempo of the wind. Raindrops were flying all over the invisible dance floor, crashing beautifully into each other before finally go into the backstage of alluvial soil, quenching it of days of dehydration. Soon, the drizzle turned into a shower, and from shower into downpour. At the climax, it was a deluge from the sky, giving the exposed surfaces of the human civilisation a slippery sheen. I wonder how I was going to go to college with the standing water in the atmosphere.

I looked at the far away clouds, so thick and heavy from days of voracious accumulation. The Sun, with all the heating labour days ago, created its own fluffy, grey bed and slept. There was no sunshine that day, only the meagre amount of lights that managed to penetrate the gargantuan mattress of the sleeping Sun. There were no signs of the rain giving up. I prepared myself for the morning lesson, took my umbrella, opened it, and stepped reluctantly into the torrent of water and plodded my way to the college."

Why Ginger and Blogs collide?

Let's try a bit of poetry today, that'd kill some brain cells. Here goes...

Dawn to dusk,
a day had passed.
Dawn to dusk,
again,
a week had passed.
And again, it is Friday,
and I have to write, but
my brain is clogged,
because I have to blog!

I am at a loss of words
I do not dare to write,
because I know I am the non-expressive type.
Though you may see me
teeming with supreme spontaneity
but deep in my soul
is filled with extreme insecurity.

I am at a loss of words
I do not dare to write,
because I am not sure
what to share and
what to hide.
I need my own space,
my own personal,
private
space.

I have created a purple shell,
and encapsulate myself,
my thoughts,
my secrets,
my fear,
my aspirations,
my memories.

There were times I wanted to shatter the shell,
to release myself from the claustrophobic cell,
to share all
my thoughts,
my secrets,
my fear,
my aspirations,
my memories.

Yet I hold back,
debating to myself:
Is this too personal?
Is this too cynical?

Then in the English class,
I am told to write an online journal.
And this will expose my inner self,
like a bug in a glass,
so open and international,
I cannot protect myself.

So every week I have to select,
pry my mind open,
force out the right kind of subject,
to write in this borderless ocean,
where people surf,
where there is no sense of turf.

Now the shell is chipped away
and is turning a mellow yellow.
One fragment at a time,
one shade at a time.
Through the words that I chose to display,
I let people have a tiniest peek into who I really am.
Still, I am not so comfortable
with all the writing and blogging,
because I feel naked,
bare, and
vulnerable.

And now I am a hypocrite.
After years of anti-blogging,
after years of blog condemning,
here I am,
doing it, writing it.
It felt so right
and so wrong.
Part of me,
want to scream all my thoughts out silently,
via this medium,
at the top of my lungs.
Part of me,
want to keep it all,
in the void galaxy of my soul.
I am torn between me
and my doppelganger.
O blog, why do thy sting?

You, Me and English

Every Friday, I repeat, every Friday, I have to sit in front of my laptop and think. To think, to decide what to write for the week. Usually it takes me at least two hours to think and another two to type. Then probably another half to re-read and correct the grammar. Wow, that takes a hell lot of time there!

I admit I kind of like writing, but not really into it yet. Well, I should thank this for my shaky relationship with English since I was young. English was an enemy but kind of an acquaintance today. I wonder why the grammar is so complex unlike Mandarin in which there is little, if any, grammatical rules! This was before I learned that Russian, French, German etc. have even more complex grammar. I was grateful for not having to learn them now.

My English teacher in my primary school was fierce. She used to cane students A LOT for not finishing her homework, in which sometimes it was because that person don't know how to do it. It was worse after every test. Those who failed to reach her 'cut-off point' will be awarded with more caning, and the fun part is you get to choose your own cane. She taught me my very first three years of English and that created some kind of phobia in me. I never tried to befriend English since then, until 2006.

For your information, I'd only really started reading novels in 2006, and only a meagre amount before that, probably less than 5. I think it's mainly because my family do not buy books. My mum used to say: "Why waste money on novels when you can borrow it from the school library?" The reason here is that the novels in my school library was pathetically BORING and the choice is limited. Furthermore, I used to hate any book that is thicker than 2 centimetres. (Yes, that includes textbooks) But now I love thick books. Some of the thin ones are too fast paced and I love details. Yet, I read quite a lot today, and it is for fun.

Why 2006 is the turning point for my relationship with English? I am not really sure myself either, but it is most probably due to two main factors. One, my English teacher that year is great, and two, my classmate who was sitting beside me led me into the wonderful world of literature. I had the most dedicated teacher I've ever seen in my life for English that year. Though she looked as if she was still living in the 50's, her passion for English was overwhelming. She would scrutinise our essays and really want us to improve. Her aura made me feel guilty if I disappointed her. Then there was Talon (my classmate's alias), who speaks a lot English in a Chinese school and positively pessimistic. At first it seemed kind of weird talking to him. I would speak in Mandarin and he'd reply in English. Somehow over time, I find myself babbling away in English when I was having a conversation with him. Moreover, he is the one who recommended a lot of fictions to me and that was how I started reading novels.

Today, my life is centered around this language and I have to learn it, study it and love it. Though it is my second language, I feel like it is now stronger than my first language. I am still yet to be good in it, but I am working on it definitely. My grammar really is a big problem in both writing and speaking. Well, the fluency and the eloquence too. I don't blame the language, I blame myself for not setting a concrete foundation in my early days. Instead, my foundation for English is made of mostly hatred and fear.