b for bug

Waltz with Suy - continued

2009-07-07T21:22:00.004+08:00

Front-right-step,
I chanted in my mind.
Back-left-step,
in my head she danced.

"One, two, three,"
I whispered to her ear.
"One, two, three,"
she drew me to her.

I lost myself,
in her familiar scent.
I lost count,
and traced along her neck.

The arm around my waist,
lovingly led me.
The hand that held my wrist,
I hold on dearly.

Waltz with Suy

2009-07-07T20:56:00.002+08:00

Song just for you.

Song, a little sad, I think.

Three times of crumpled words.

Some notes and all my regrets.

All my regrets, of both of us,

are at my fingertips,

like do, ré, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.

It's a song of a faded love,

like the one which you used to hum.

Three times, nothing of our lives.

Three times, like this melody.

What remains of both of us

is at the hollow of my voice,

like do, ré, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.

It's a song in remembrance,

not to forget without saying anything.

Forget without saying anything.

triste

2008-02-25T22:45:00.006+08:00

I have been moody and slightly depressed all day. I made myself listen to Barber's adagio for strings and wrote... a lot.

My friends here come and go, but I still cannot believe Alexis left Beijing... just like that.

exposed

2008-02-25T14:14:00.004+08:00

Creamer's pilot roll came out mostly overexposed. I'll have to spend the next couple months experimenting what suits Creamer well... positives? Negatives? Adjust film ISO speed? Lens filters?

All the pains and overexposed pictures aside, it was still quite a trip.

Thanks to Creamer, I finally used my darkbag for the first time.

hidden dimension of a cello

2008-02-24T16:33:00.001+08:00

A month ago I went to my usual hideout for dinner and live Sitar performance. Somewhere along dinner Marie-Claude showed up at my table and introduced Matt to me. Matt is a writer, and has composed poems that he wants to write music for. Matt wants to have cello in the music.

Over the following week I burned a lot of cash on my cello. For the first time in 8 years I held the bow in my hand, struck the strings with my fingers, and leaned my cello against my chest.

I have lost my bow arm, I have lost my left hand positions, I have lost the ability to sing the tunes I have in my head through my instrument... but it felt good to play again nonetheless. Yes, the aching muscles on my back that I haven't used in 8 years, the hardened skin and relentless pressure my fingers held against the strings, the changes in the shapes of my fingertips - utterly slanted and unsightful, but unmistakenly cellist.

Two weeks later I played with Matt for the first time. Raymond, who performed sitar at my regular hangout, also showed up. After another rehearsal Matt booked a recording studio and scheduled our recording session.

Prior to this I have made 5 recordings with 4 orchestras/ensembles. I have also made speech recordings in state-of-the-art studios. However, yesterday was the first time I had to do a multi-track recording on a solo cello. It was also the first time I had to record solely on improvisation, to a piece of music that has nothing written down.

We did the first run with all three of us playing together in the studio. It was great - the adrenaline rush made us more spontaneous to one another than ever. However when we listened to the track in the control room it became clear that the cello part has to be recorded alone. The cello sound resonated with the equipment and introduced drones, my movement and swaying made it impossible for the Mic to capture even energy.

So I went back to the studio alone. I put on the headphones playing Matt and Raymond's and did my tracks... It was the most surreal experience.

I've always thought with all the time I've spent playing on the cello my body remembers how the bow feels in my hand as it arcos across different strings at different angles and speed, that the fingers on my left hand remember how the strings feel under the tips, and the subtle changes in vibrations on the strings as I press on different notes. I thought I remember how the cello resonates with my body and makes the sides of my knees and my chest go slightly numb.

But back in the studio as I put on the headphones they shut me out from my cello's voice. As hard as I tried the cello's sound was barely audible. I was deaf, and I was lost in voices and lines but my own. I desperately tried to hear what my cello sang but the only way I could do that either in the control room, or through the headphone after a run I made.

I came out feeling rather dejected. Not hearing myself when I played meant the only way I could control my tone and timbre was through my muscle memory, and after 8 years of silence every single ounce of it left my body.

How frustrating. I felt quite helpless in the studio. But at the same time it was fun picking up details of how my cello and I responded to each other, details that I missed when I could hear him. Even though I left the studio with my lines still out of tune... I felt that I have discovered a whole new dimension of my cello.

creamer, please!

2008-02-14T10:52:00.004+08:00

There has been a very long silence since my last rant. Today I will rant no more and announce homecoming of my new family.

Creamer is rock solid and feels very powerful in my hands. Taking pictures with Creamer is a pain... sometimes, and exciting at the same time. How liberating to be able to fit all that goes into your eyes into one picture with such ease. Of course, they all come out (I think... debut server still undeveloped) curved and slightly distorted, but I think that is severely underrated.

a borderline-marginal person that I am

2007-10-25T17:48:00.002+08:00

Quite a few expressed on different occasions that I am adrift, and I am marginal in my values and the lifestyle I pursue, or, in the case of being adrift, the lack of pursuit I make.

Most expressed their thought somewhat dismayed, with a slight hint of disapproval.

Why are these negative traits for most?
Because I want to savour and relish the richness life has to offer?
Because I am not convinced what are valued by most will make me a content individual?

A friend tells me in his country moderation is best, a virtue that should be pursued. But for whose sake is this?

It is interesting that while I am in a country where I am in many ways the opposite from most I feel the least marginal. I lose the point of reference because my own tangent never meet with others', that comparing who I am with others is utterly pointless. Whereas in the US, where people will accept my attitude, they accept me as Alternative.

Even being marginal is so easily dismissed as just being alternative. Oxymoron...

Things are relative, you may say. However I believe truth, beauty and goodness are a matter of conscience, and conscience is absolute. If you see me as collective differences from others and from yourself you may think I am indeed different, and you may think I am unique. But if to you I am but these collective differences, maybe you lack the palette I deserve to be savoured and tasted with.

heartfelt

2007-09-23T22:52:00.000+08:00

Lately I've been touched with a sudden urge to indulge.

I'm ready for a bit of intemperance in my life, or a heartfelt yearning.

I'm a pro

2007-08-07T11:01:00.000+08:00

I played beer pong for the first time last Thursday and took down 5 out of 6 glasses. I should have a job change and see if I can make a living out of it.

in the middle of nowhere

2007-07-17T16:56:00.001+08:00

I told myself that I would spend two years in Beijing to see what I have to see and guage what I can do at this place.

Next month marks the end of two years. It sounds like a good length to come to a conclusion about a place. I did, and I feel ashamed of myself at how confined I've led my life in Beijing.

Last week one of my coworkers commented on my "expat life", which made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I insisted his was an one-sided argument. Over the weekend, however, I spent an afternoon reflecting on things I do, things I do not do, friends I make, and friends I do not make here in China. I drew circles, and put bits of my life in the appropriate ones. In the end I had to agree with him.

I have established a few mutual relationships. They're French, German, Canadian, Korean, American. I have zero Chinese friends. Among the people I interact with here are the smartest from creme de la creme universities, the well-travelled, the noble who devote their lives to ideals and are respected by many, and the rich and powerful. Whom I miss out are 90% of the population - the working class, struggling with weal and woes of life just to make ends meet... I talk to many of them, I want to know them. But something within myself prevents the interaction and relationship from becoming reciprocal.

Maybe I lack the flexibility and the empathetic fiber to belong. With the way I protect myself I can live in many different countries, be exposed to many different cultures... but always observing from the outside.

more about bugsy

2007-07-11T23:02:00.000+08:00

Gentle readers.
It is time I share with you the strengths and weaknesses, the daily forecast and what goes on in the head of... yours truely.

Look on the right

Bugsy's head consists of
60% emptiness/void
35% pleasures
5% lies

Bugsy's score in abilities (out of 100)
Explosiveness - 60
Unexpressed motives - 90
Sound - 15
Senses - 100
Sensitivity - 50

Bugsy's forecast for 7/12/2007:
Chances of Bugsy winning at "hami" - 59%
Chances of Bugsy's senior thinking Bugsy's cute - 27%
Chances that Bugsy is crazy - 61%
Chances of Bugsy floating - 57%
Chances of Bugsy lining up at a register with someone who is "もたつく" (somebody please tell me what this means) - 11%

black box

2007-07-05T23:55:00.000+08:00

Our developer J wrote a tool for our language experts to use.

Tomomi, our Japanese language expert, gave up trying to install the tool and went to our tester R for help:

"R, can you help me out with the black box?" Tomomi asked.

"Black box? What black box?" R asked, I could almost see him wince at the B word - testers and us program managers particularly dislike having anything to do with the term black box.

R went to Tomomi's desk and saw a black box on her display. It was the command prompt...

The tool Tomomi wanted to install has to be done so in the command prompt. Therefore Tomomi did "Run" and typed "cmd." For the first time in her life, Tomomi saw command prompt, aka the black box.

Her cubicle exploded in laughters. We couldn't believe this happened in Microsoft.

... Microsoft did change the way people use computers, and perhaps the way many live.

darjeeling

2007-07-04T09:36:00.000+08:00

I had a very nice cup of darjeeling tea.

It was first flush darjeeling. I like having it in the afternoon. However I'm usually at work during the day and I cannot find a good space/time at work to give it proper appreciation. Therefore, since I bought it in January this has only been the 4th time I've had it.

When I first tasted darjeeling tea I conjured up a mental picture of Darjeeling - Isolated, serene with a homogenized community of simple villagers, mainly consisted of tea farmers. I thought nowhere less pure can home teas so exquisite and delicate.

I'm going to Darjeeling in October. After some research -
Darjeeling is in the lower Himalaya. Darjeeling is where India meets Nepal. Darjeeling is where India meets the Kingdom of Bhutan, the most isolated nation in the world.

Darjeeling is a melting pot of Nepali, Tibetans, Bhutanese and the Sherpas. It is a hot spot of music.

I'm extremely excited.

I've also made up my mind to make my way to Bhutan in 2 years.

a minty sort of day

2007-07-04T09:18:00.000+08:00

I woke up this morning craving for mint sauce.

Weird, isn't it? Craving for condiments instead of food.

I indulged in my cravings for a while and thought of all the excellent vehicles for mint sauce:
- English bangers
- Pork chops
- Lamb chops
- Lamb chops
- ... lamb chops

These gave rise to manifest gluttony. I've decided to have a lot of meat for lunch.
Maybe Korean barbeque.

But what's to be done about mint sauce? I can't seem to find it anywhere in the city.

you like nice?

2007-07-01T12:25:00.000+08:00

Nice is... I'm glad we spent time together, I enjoyed being with you, you're a decent guy. You're nice.

Good is... I wish I could have spent more time with just you, I enjoy feeling different when I'm with you. You are irresistable.

Nice is... I'll call you sometime. Keep in touch. Let's hang out when we have time.

Good is... I want to see you, let's make time. I want to get more of you, I'm hooked. You feel like freedom.

Franco-German Anita

2007-06-27T23:39:00.000+08:00

Do Germans or New Yorkers speak better French in general?
I'm trying to decide if I've made progress or if I'm hopeless at French.

Anita: Je déteste la culture populaire américaine...

Marie-Claude: Oh?

Marie-Claude: You speak just like Carrie Bradshaw!

Anita: Who?

Marie-Claude: Carrie, from Sex and the City.

Anita: Why? Pourquoi?

Marie-Claude: You sound like a New Yorker when you speak French.

Anita: What's that supposed to mean?

Marie-Claude: You know, someone that does not know French but tries to speak it very well.

Marie-Claude: And you don't sound like you're from Germany anymore when you speak French.

what to blog about a blogger

2007-06-24T14:07:00.000+08:00

What sort of person do you think I am, from reading my blog?

There seem to be so many layers and facets about knowing a person - There is knowing him in a social setting, there is knowing him on a 1:1 basis, there is him showing you the whole of him according to his reality, there are his fantasies and dreams and it's up to you whether you will help him achieve or turn your back on in disdain.

There are also his blogs.

Someone that I had considered to be a thoughtful and free-spirited person I later realized to be narrow-minded and judgemental. If it were for the blogs I wouldn't have known...

I'm not sure what point of reference I should use when I interact with this person in the future - from our past conversations or from the blog?

adagio assai

2007-06-14T22:50:00.000+08:00

I was upset and devastated, sitting at the back of the taxi chain smoking on my way home. When I ran out of cigarettes I played Ravel's adagio assai.

The piano solo hits B, I found tears trickling down my cheeks.

The cor anglais starts, I had to stop the taxi so that I could find an empty spot to weep... I cannot remember the last time I wept.

Do you prefer your music uninhibited, full of emotions and sentiments, one that gives you energy, and sometimes suck you dry? Do you prefer your music poignant beauty that is at times morbid?

I prefer the latter, where all the notes seem to belong where they are because they are meant to be. Where when it reaches its peak you cannot help but sigh and yearn for more. Where you forget to breathe and you wonder if you feel light-headed because you are out of breath or because it is too beautiful. Where you find yourself in tears.

Everything beautiful is a bit sad... yet I am hopelessly drawn to it.

Sometimes when I listen to a beautiful piece... for a brief moment I am willing to believe there is god.

boundaries

2007-06-13T23:20:00.000+08:00

Someone once told me that there are always boundaries you draw with people you're connected with on different levels. What he did not tell me is whether you draw boundaries for what you're willing to do and how much you're willing to care for them, or you draw boundaries for how much they can affect you, how far they can take you, and what they can do to you.

What do you do if someone does not cross the line by staying really, really close to the line?

If someone decides to cross the boundary how do you fend for yourself?

How do you stand by the line you've drawn, push him back, and still feel at ease about the relationship knowing his intentions?

Is the trust shattered to pieces, leaving you confused and helpless? You realize your perception of this relationship is just a fragment of a larger work that is not as perfect as you thought.

Will you be sad? The boundary broken and the magic lost. Irreversible. The relationship changed if not gone.

I'm sad. I feel violated.

I wish I can put what we had in a metal box. I will seal it while it was perfect so that it can always remain so.

I am really sad.

new arrival

2007-06-07T09:18:00.000+08:00

Yesterday morning Marie-Claude hopped her way to my seat with a suspiciously big black bag-

Marie-Claude: "Anita! Voila!"
-Anita gasps- "Goodness! You got it!"

After a lot of oohs and aahs we dragged this big black thing into an empty meeting room so that I could have some private time bonding... with my new accordion. I decided to call it Blam.

Blam is black, sleek and sexy. Blam has 80 bass (Stradella) 37 treble (f-f'''), 3 sets of reeds and he weighs a ton. I have to re-adjust myself from playing a 32 bass to my new 80 bass.

So many more buttons... so confusing yet so much more freedom!

how're you today?

2007-06-04T09:33:00.000+08:00

How often do you ask people how they're doing?

I don't ask this question as a routine way to greet, but just because I want to know how someone's doing. But me being my usual oddball, I often find myself at a lost of words when people ask me the simplest questions:

Our cleaner showed up at 8 this morning, as she entered the study she went "How're you doing today?"
-Erm yesterday I jokingly challenged Nic to climb up a stone wall but unfortunately he accepted the challenge so I ended up banging my left knee against a protuding rock followed by landing hard on my left foot. I have been limping if you haven't noticed. Afterwards I practiced a bit too much and my left arm is now hurting like hell. This is Monday so I won't be able to get a taxi to go in for work today, which means I'll have to walk... I mean limp to work in this dreadful pollution. I'm not doing that well but there's nothing you can do about it."-
Despite all these I said "I'm tired, got up late this morning so I haven't taken Brinjal out yet, can you take her out soon?"
----
People that I barely know, and probably won't see again for the rest of my life, asks me "Where're you from?"
-If you mean where I was born then Seattle,
if you mean where I was before I came to China then Seattle,
if you mean where I'm staying now then China,
if you mean where I grew up then Taiwan and Singapore,
if you mean where my parents are from then it could be Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, or Thailand,
if you mean my ancestrial heritage then from 3 generations before we've been overseas Chinese,

if you mean the one place I identify myself with then I really haven't thought about it yet.-
"Erm, I've lived in a few places, Seattle, Taiwan, China... Singapore..."
----
"Can I have your number?"
-you can but I'm not sure I want you to have it because you're not really going to call. You're asking for it as a gesture. If you call I don't think I'll really enjoy the conversation.-
"I forget what my number is (which is really the case). Why don't you give me yours and I'll call when I'm free to hang out."

i've got the bug

2007-06-03T19:50:00.000+08:00

4 days before I left for my trip to the US my coworker Marie-Claude and I went to dinner at a French brasserie. By the end of the dinner, as a result of too much wine, chimay, pastis, and steaks close to perfection, we decided that we will perform an accordion duo at that restaurant in 3 months.

4 days later I took off for my month-long trip. I only practiced once before I left. That was the first time I played the accordion.

Now that I'm back there're only 2 months.

I practiced very hard for 3 hours yesterday... this morning I had to use my right hand to hold the cup while having tea because my left hand wouldn't stop shaking when I lift it.

But I'm so hooked - playing is too addictive. Now I can't get the tune out of my head, and I want to play on my cello desperately. I've got the bug. My left hand is still shaking as I type now but in a bit I'm going to practice, practice, practice.

"Survival" French

2007-06-02T11:30:00.000+08:00

3 of my 5 favorite French people are leaving Beijing in 2 months. Tragic!

Last night we went out for sashimi, sushi, sake, and a lot of explicit language -
Seungmee knows of 5 french catch phrases/words, and decided to teach me how to say "cute ass" because you never know when you should say this to someone, right?

Seungmee gave Arnaud a friendly nudge and said in French
"Arnaud, you've a cute ass!"

Arnaud "...hmm?"

Anita: (in French) "You've a cute ass, sir."

Nic: "What does it mean?"

Seungmee: "It means you got cute ass."

Arnaud: "No! It means I have asscrack."
-----------
A lot of sake and beer later, Seungmee designed a dialogue that she insists is the key to survival should you ever find yourself at a butcher's in France -

"Hello Ma'am, sausage?"
"No thanks."
"Cute ass?"
"Later, yes!"

But what came out of her mouth really meant the following
"Hello Ma'am, sausage?"
"No thanks."
"Asscrack?"
"Fuck, yes!" (confused "plus tard" with "putain")

I also learned that "you are good" in French really means "you're a dumbass"

If I talk like Seungmee when I visit France I may not have very long to live.

New York, New York!

2007-05-23T03:08:00.000+08:00

I flew to New York last Wednesday.

Complications. I boarded the plane and realized I left my wallet behind.

In the 20 min I had before I had to turn off my cellphone for the plane to takeoff, I frantically called my hotel in Seattle, my hotel in New York, my parents in Seattle, and arranged to have my wallet delivered to my NY hotel via overnight delivery. Verdict: I cannot check into my hotel unless I can produce 350 in cash upfront, which means I had to survive on the change I had in my jeans pocket and live at the mercy of UPS.

I started reflecting on the message in the first fortune cookie I had after arriving in the US from Beijing -
"The following month will bring you happiness"

I decided that meant my current trip, which lasts almost the whole of this month, is going to bring me all but happiness.

This is good. This is the first time in my life that I've ever "lost" my wallet and I just so happened to be very far away from home. Part of me shook with excitement because I love adventures. Part of me shook with insecurity because I'm expected to be at my top form to work the next day whether or not my hotel/wallet crisis is resolved.

We finally reached NY, but as I sat on the plane circling the city in a holding pattern waiting for the thunder storm to pass I wondered if I should have gone get my wallet and catch the following flight. Maybe it's a sign...

I usually assume the end-of-the-world scenario, as you can tell from my last post. But I say it still worked out in the end. I didn't have to sleep on the street, I got what I wanted from the 2 days of work. I had my favorite Jamaican patties in Brooklyn, I went to a bunch of cool places, I got to know a cool person who brought me to bar-hop in Manhattan.

I'm looking forward to my next business trip to New York - I'm promised a seat in the Carnegie Hall to the New York Philharmonic, in the very box that Isaac Stern always sat in.

Hopefully next time I will have my wallet with me.

diverge, converge

2007-04-11T12:09:00.002+08:00

Since when has it become my duty to conform?

Anita's best taken at face value because there is no hidden intention. She wears her preferences on her sleeves, preferences that are formed with reasons, good or selfish.

My life is just a statistical inevitability - why dig so deep, why bother with intentions, why bother being fair and just when you can indulge with preferences?

Why would I even consider conforming? I may as well seek within the unknown.

When I land on a sweet spot I converge quadratically. When my requirements are not satisfied I diverge with an increasing rate. I'm a firm follower of Newton's iteration.

know what busy means?

2007-04-01T08:59:00.000+08:00

I've been carrying the following in my bag for the whole week:

My new iPod shuffle
My CD/DVDs of MP3s
My Lomo LC-A

The reason I've been carrying them in my bag is because I had been meaning to import mp3s to a PC and run my new iPod with PC compatibility so that I can use it at work. I've also been meaning to drop off the roll of positives in my Lomo to be developed.

It was of course all futile. I still only have music in my iPod photo that's compatible with Mac, I still have my Lomo in my bag, but I've crossed out 2 pages of to-do items. In fact work has been so busy that it took me more than a week to find the time to set up the new computer I received at work.

Brinjal's got my back

2007-03-16T09:19:00.000+08:00

For a brief 2 minutes every morning I have the impulse to quit my job and be a housewife, or to retire.

This takes place during my walk from my building to the gate of the compound to get to work.

This morning there was an exercise group, in the yard by our building, of women in their forties who were doing very PG belly dancing in sweaters, sweat pants and tennis shoes. Two buildings south and one minute later there was an exercise group of women in their sixties and seventies who were doing... some abstract moving about in unison. Synchronized motion and mind, they moved in pride and paid particular attention to the silky, long, pink ribbon they wore about their waists and waved about gracefully.

And of course, there's the Taichi sword group, which I once found myself surrounded by. Same group of old people with iron will that will not lower their swords to let innocent and blunt trespassers through without a showdown. However, if you have an impossibly cute dog with you, say... Brinjal, they will let down their guard, nod at you in approval and make way for the dog.

Brinjal is 独孤求败, the sword devil. Everyone knows not to mess with her.

first taste of spring

2007-03-15T10:51:00.000+08:00

I'm wearing my skirt and sandals for the first time this year, and successfully turned many heads.

I've decided not to fit in the "Yeah... you dress like you could be working at Microsoft" category.

Although... something has to be said about being able to put my feet on the desk at work. Can't do this in my skirt.

do you lomo?

2007-03-13T09:39:00.000+08:00

It's official, I'm a spec-crunching machine.

On a more pleasant note, the debut roll from my Lomo LC-A is out! It's tricky taking pictures with Lomo, half the roll didn't come out at all. The other half that came out were mostly out of focus, but with amazing hues.

I like it, I like anything that has an attitude and doesn't yield.

I need to go back to Andy, my lomo master, and grill him about how to unleash the secret magic of my Lomo.

I'm so in love with this quirky metal box. It has a big ego and needs to be gently coaxed to perform at top form. My lomo loves flattery, unquestioned faith and patience from its owner. It is irresistable.

I'm clearly submissive in this relationship.

upper bounds

2007-03-10T05:53:00.000+08:00

I've been working on overdrive and adrenaline for the past week:

I wrote an 8-page specifications in one day.
I acquired data that unblocked 2 sub teams in one morning.
I had lunch meetings 3 days this week.
I was off sick for a day.
I took the afternoon on women's day off and for the first time experienced how wonderfully shop therapy works.
I spent 5 hours in meetings yesterday, with the remaining 3 hours I produced work that would have taken a language expert 2 days to complete.

I wonder how far I am from my upper limit, and when I'll be pushed over my limit.

Shopping, Glenmorangie, and good sushi saves the week.

murder

2007-03-05T17:40:00.000+08:00

... and it pains me to the spine to type each character -

Last week my closest aunt in Taiwan died.

I learned of her death yesterday. It was odd. I haven't thought of her for a while, but just last week I dug up her name card and gathered the files I said I would email her. I was going to do that next week.

"43 year-old Taiwanese woman was strangled to death by her English husband during their vacation in the Philippines."

Now the death of a daughter, a wife, a little sister, an aunt, is presented as that of a victim of an interracial marriage.

i want to look invisible

2007-02-26T11:01:00.000+08:00

I was bored with my hairstyle, so yesterday after work I went to the hairdresser's.

I thought it would be nice to have a change - maybe wavy hair may suit me and make me look more my age.

With my limited Chinese vocab in fashion and hairstyle, I tried to describe to the hairdresser what I want. He then described what he had in mind about what I wanted. I let him go ahead with it. It proved to be a false-false, misunderstood as positive communication, and I wince at every single thought of it.

Three hours later I left the hairdressers wanting to hang myself in shame. I have bangs like a Chinese doll, which I don't mind at all. However the rest of my hair is like that of a Chinese punk rocker with Afro hairdo. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought my head had a 100% increase in size.

Today I'm wearing very glamorous eye makeups.

Please, just look at my eyes, just my eyes, not my hair...

a week of fun, or the lack of it

2007-02-25T11:03:00.000+08:00

A week's break for the Spring Festival is over. Here is the breakdown of things worth mentioning:

Met an aspiring young man, a few years older than me, who co-founded the Polaris Project.
Went to Ikea, got a 170 x 200 cm rug. Lugged it back home and discovered it is one size too small. Dreading another trip to Ikea.
Walked Brinjal 3 - 4 times a day, took her to the vet for antibiotic shots 3 days in a row.
Went to 全聚德 for yummy, yummy Peking roast duck.
Made up my mind to change my wardrobe.
Made my own kickass masala chai.
Went to the temple festival and ate many suspicious things.
Set off fireworks, but quickly ran away and didn't see it go off.

So yeah... pretty uneventful, which is good.

uurrgh!

2007-02-25T10:36:00.000+08:00

Know what I'm so disgusted about? This -

"A newer version is available. You must install the newer version in order to continue"

Sounds familiar? That's right, dear readers, it is from msn messenger... I mean, Windows Live Messenger. Some things never change.

behind closed doors

2007-02-23T12:49:00.000+08:00

I never liked doors.
I was obsessive-compulsive as a kid.

I'm slightly handicapped - till this day I still cannot fully understand how "right" and "left" differ from each other. Even though I'm right-handed myself, I feel a bit helpless in this world where so many things are single-sided.

When I first started writing I wrote with my left hand, and everything that came out was in reversed direction. My teacher spent a great deal of time pointing out the difference but I simply could not get it. I successfully convinced both my teacher and myself that I was stupid. She gave up, shoved the pencil into my right hand and forever changed me into a right-handed person.

As I grew I couldn't stop being one sided - I don't write in reverse anymore, everything in English and simplified Chinese is printed from left to right.

It's all boring and predictable. I'm so boring a person now.

in 15 floors' time

2007-02-22T11:17:00.001+08:00

I was listening to Edith Piaf this morning, looking out of the window in the studies from the 17th floor on this sunny, sunny day.

A kid flew his orange kite up to 5 floors high after 4 attempts.

A red piece of debris from the firecracker was twirling in the wind, wandered about listlessly outside our windows.

I put down the book I was reading and stretched my arms and back to my heart's content. I looked over my shoulder and saw Brinjal stretching herself too in a very sunny spot next to the speakers on the wooden floor. She then flipped to her side, wagging her tail at Nic, who was having a cuppa in the living room.

Nic ignored her, so I lay around with Brinjal in the sunny spot and we scratched/bit each other for a bit.

Lost track of time. I found Brinjal with her head tucked under my shirt, snoring away to my belly.

The orange kite was up to 20 floors high and going strong.

What a lucky beast.

a brief moment of stillness

2007-02-20T22:12:00.000+08:00

All I want is 40 minutes of placidity so that I can go to the park across the street and clear out the mundane thoughts and fragmented ideas others have forced on me. Instead, there isn't a single block of 10 seconds uninterrupted by the fireworks after 8pm.

As a result, Brinjal has been slightly constipated every evening for the past 4 days because she sincerely believes that outside our 80-square-meter apartment is a war zone. She also assumes that it is not in her best interest to have a bowel movement when there are constant explosions in close proximity. If I were a dog I would think the same.

I feel clogged and heavy myself, with all the everyday things I can't be bothered to store in my head. I need to purge them, I need to find the plug and pull it.

masālā chāy

2007-02-19T08:04:00.000+08:00

Been cracking and shelling the cardamom pods on my small wooden motar and pestle. The kitchen smells of cardamom, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and other spices of the chāy masālā, all waiting to be cracked or crushed with the pestle in my hand .It feels so personal, and I'm loving it.

Can't wait to bring all this effort and my treasured Assam to a boil and simmer to a cup of masālā chāy in its perfection.

week of good spirit

2007-02-18T23:24:00.000+08:00

Feb 11th:

2006 Sauvignon Blanc, Chile.

Feb 14th:

Barossa Valley Estate 2003 E&E Black Pepper Shiraz.
Champagne (of course!)

Feb 17th:

Rodney Strong 2002 Sonoma Merlot.
Glenmorangie Single Highland Malt Whisky - handcrafted by The Sixteen Men of Tain.

Feb 18th:

Atalon 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon, Napa Valley
Warwick Estate Pinotage, South Africa

these cold walls, these accents

2007-02-17T11:37:00.000+08:00

I've recently sorted out where to put "living in China" among my priorities, and it occurred to me how tired I am moving from apartment to apartment at least once a year for the past 5 years. Why am I never content with where I live?

YL asked me why I don't have the guts to put up my Mao's poster. Truth is I can only picture this giant poster on a cement wall, stripped of paints.

My idea of a perfect apartment is as such -
concrete, cement floor and walls.
comfy, velvety couch.
an old trunk/chest to be used as a coffee table. A selection of fabric to lay over it depending on my mood at the time.
ample of spaces on the wall to put up my posters by Dominique Appia, Andy Warhol, Ukiyo-e, Old Shanghai advertisements, and Vintage French...

Although knowing me as erratic as always... my perfect idea about the apartment may only remain perfect until when I finish listening to Arvo Pärt. Cherish this piece - Tabula Rasa: II. Silentium, and this meditation on my perfect home and atmostphere.

It's a wonder how much beauty comes out of his elegantly minimalistic lines, ascending, descending. It all dissolves as the chords meet and part. It all ends in tears.

dog year

2007-02-17T06:32:00.000+08:00

Today is the last day of the year of the dog. I was born in the year of dog, so today also marks the end of my Year of Fate, which is supposed to lead me to misfortunes and major changes in life, according to Chinese beliefs.

Can't think of any misfortune.

Does getting a real job count as a major change in life? What about coming to terms with my insecurities?

how do you fly?

2007-02-15T22:57:00.002+08:00

Are you the type that goes to the airport 2 hours or longer ahead of time? Do you look into your bag to make sure you have your passport and itinerary/plane ticket every hour you spend in the airport? I'm not.

I'm a very last minute person. I realized today that no matter how early I get up in the morning I always end up running out of the door to get to work, even on days I know people will only start showing up 2 hours after I get there.

A coworker of mine and I went to Seattle for a week of meetings last month. On the day of our flight I was still picking out which pair of jeans to bring when I got a call from Ron.

"Hi Anita!"
"Hello! I'm heading out soon, are you ready yet?"
"I'm at the airport already, I think I'll check-in now."

I quickly put on the pair of jeans I was holding and threw aside the bag of cough medicines that I bought earlier in the morning (which later proved to be an unforgivable mistake). Dashed out of the door and strutted out to the roadside to flag for a taxi.

Long story short, my flight started boarding when I was in a fat line trying to get my boarding pass (E-tickets don't make your life any easier in China). By the time I got to the gate I already missed 3 calls from Ron, who sat nervously looking around for signs of Anita. I thought it was perfect timing on my part.

On my return trip leaving Seattle, my dad insisted driving me there at the crack of dawn. I got to the gate when they were boarding the flight before mine sharing the same gate. I set myself up nicely with a book, iPod, and an empty bench close to the boarding counter. I fell asleep.

Have you ever had your name announced in an aiport? I have.

In my sleep on the bench the noise of the announcement and the bustle all slipped into the background. At one point I thought someone called my by my name, but I sat up and looked around and the waiting area by the gate was empty... I thought the previously flight finally finished boarding when, to my horror, the woman at the boarding counter announced last call for "Passenger Chiu, Anita."

I was shocked, while trying to get up, look for my boarding pass, and throw my book and iPod into my bag at the same time, I tripped over my own bag and "almost" banged my head instead.

All three women at the boarding counter stared at me and looked perplexed for a moment. When I pull myself together and walked up to the gate with my boarding pass, however, they all rolled their eyes at me.

It's starting on something too early that puts me at risk.

August 06

2007-02-15T00:20:00.000+08:00

August 24

feeling at home

If you read my previous blogs, you probably have come across...

- best conversation killer-

In Seattle someone asks:
"So, Anita, what's your major?"
"Scientific computing."
"Come again?"
"Applied math."
"What does that mean?"
"Math."
"Oh... uh... I hate math."
"I see."
---- ---- ---- ----
Here at work:

"Hey Anita, what did you study?"
"Scientific computing."
"Interesting." (but not sounding one bit interested)

But I have the satisfaction knowing that everyone knows what scientific computing means, and is probably way better at it than I withoutt having to major in it.

I'm beginning to like Microsoft.

August 19

burp I'm a party-crasher burp

I crashed a party last night for free food and drinks at Durty Nellie's, the Beijing Irish Pub...
I thought I was back in seattle. I seriously couldn't tell I was in China by the people that were there. In fact, College Inn Pub in the U-District had more Asians than Durty Nellie's!

After one HUGE mug of beer:
Greg told me 3 different stories about how he lost his fingers. One involves his motorbike accident and flying through the windshield of another car. Another involves his stay in Africa and his fist inside a lion's mouth. The last was about his trip to the Amazon and multiple packs of catsup.

After two HUGE mugs of beer:
I told Greg my list of things (remember I'm obsessed with lists?) that I must do before I die:

Live in England
Live in Southern France
Go to a proper cooking school in Europe
Visit India, Nepal, Bhutan, Tibet, Brazil, Mexico, Spain, Iceland, and Sweden
Wear leather jacket, short skirt, black stockings, long boots and a swanky helmet, riding at the back of a classic Harley-Davidson.
Wear leather jacket, short skirt, black stockings, long boots, a swanky helmet and a retro pair of goggles, riding in a classic sidecar.
Build my own eco-home.

Supercool Greg then told me he has two sidecars... REAL SIDECARS!! And he offered to take me out for a ride on it!
OK, so I was thrilled about crossing "6" off the list, because he said he would pick me up in his sidecar this weekend or the coming weekend. That's not all, Greg also promised that he'll have his friends who own Harley-Davidson bikes to take me out on rides. Now, how'bout crossing out "5" and "6"?

After 2 1/2 beers and 1 chicken wing with lots of batter:
I found myself talking tech goo and geeky stuff with Matt, who works for Apple.
I also found myself losing a foosball match miserably to Tom (another Apple guy).

I left Durty Nellie's with Jason and company for pizzas at the Tree, and I made a total mess of myself there. That's another blog for another day.

August 18

Morning at ATC

Strut to the pantry,

Eight-Forty in the morning.

One person, one beverage!

Machines drone and hum,

Distracting conversations,

A morning market.

I type in silence,

keyboard, mouse, in summer heat.

Coffee keeps me sane.

Corpus. Lexicons.

Three months to a new voice font.

Process, what process?

August 15

taxi!

As much as I don't like to be put into categories, I constantly find myself tagged with one of the 2 labels:
1. Bad girl! No cookies!
2. Weirdo.
So being your average woman in her twenties who has a soft spot for lists, the following is the result of my 5 min ride from work to home:

I need 3 cups of tea a day to save my day from my crankiness, but I usually only have 2 cups.
I spend 15 min a day sitting at my desk and can't type shit from my caffein high. Coffee is an evil, evil thing.
I will kill for a decent pair of doc martens.
I will kill again to spend a few months in Cuba, India, Bhutan and Argentina.
I'm hopelessly attracted to old men that play the cello.
I solve most problems when I eat and when I try to get asleep.
I really don't have ninja powers, but I have a battlecry that is just as deadly.
You may not know this, but I'm actually a pet bug.
I love anything retro.
I spent 80 euros on a Chairman Mao poster but don't have the guts to hang it up because it's purple and green.
I want to start a drinking club with a bunch of geeks.
I seek the meaning of life in food.
I like to match things into pairs:
- wine and cheese
- dvd and snacks
- writing specs and bjork's music
- brushing my teeth and Yann Tiersen's
- taking taxis and making lists
- hiking and whistling
- reading and bad american-chinese food
- beers and cigarettes
I hope bad things happen to Bush.

September 06

2007-02-15T00:18:00.000+08:00

September 30

That could have been me

You may wonder what "Davidoff" was all about. I don't know either. I had a very surreal dream Thursday night that I was still 16.

I was not a program manager. Mathematics did not have a spot in my life. I was deciphering a conductor's score as if I was a mad person with only my left brain functioning at double-speed trying to see the relationships of prime numbers.

My buddy told me his interpretation on the piece and we chain-smoked like chimneys. As we talked I could hear the music lingering in my head. Just looking at the score I could feel the vibrations on my chest, on my knees, in my hand. I could feel myself leaning onto the back of my cello, its varnish slightly worn where I lean against from my daily practice.

The familiar imperfections on my cello, the repair mark near the sound hole, the stain coming off the ebony fingerboard where the string spans across. The sticky layer of rosin by its bridge that formed out of my sloppiness in cleaning. These are what I miss the most.

Music classes, rehearsals, concerts, practices, hours spent listening to the same music performed by different musicians, by different orchestras, by different conductors. Hours spent in line to get rush tickets that I couldn't afford to pay for.

That could have been the life I am living now. I miss how the orchestra sounds sitting in the cello section. I miss holding my breath while I wait for the conductor's cue.

I miss being a poor poor student who could not live without music.

September 29

Davidoff

200 years of slow but promising growth, you withstood thin air in the Rennaisance and become an impressive figure. One stood in your shade and see the preciousness you could give.

The best of you was carefully sawed off, while the rest of you lay still and became earth. What few inches which was all that remained of you was treated with care, carved, bent with the best precision, then left alone for years to mature.

How well flammed. You're stained deep, rich orange-red, and layers of varnish sealed your spirit intact. Once again left alone, you and your spirit hardened with time.

You've seen from the beginning to end of the Classical, Romantic, and Modern era. You're modified to relive Baroque, then yet again for modern. You've seen the rise and decline of du Pré. You fought against her playing, she gave up but you did not.

It took you 200 years to be discovered by Antonio, who gave you reputation people took for granted. You've spent 300 years in defence. Yo-yo Ma, Rostropovich... cellists are your instruments, Davidoff, and they will die to know your full range and colors. 300 years later you will evolve into someone completely different, but you will still be Davidoff.

September 04

annoying bloody little things

Mosquitoes are shameless, shameless creatures.

I spent 5 hours in bed last night, 2 of which asleep, 2 of which being annoyed and trying to eliminate mosquitoes, and 1 hour scratching myself like an ugly, crazy woman having an episode.

I don't mind mosquitoes living off my blood. However the buzzing noise drives me crazy, and the itchiness makes anita a very very cranky person...

Little creatures, you not only expect me to nourish you, you also nag around my ears and deprive me of sleep. You inject toxin through my skin and turn me into a moody woman.

I'm getting an electric swatter. Tonight I'll put you out of your bloody misery and show you who's the boss.

October 06

2007-02-15T00:16:00.000+08:00

October 30

so much food, so little room.

Frank is eating 4 big macs a day in order to loose weight. I wish I can do the same. No... actually I wish I can have cabonara, puttanesca, mussels in sauce of white wine and blue cheese, and croque madame each day AND still loose weight.

That would be just greedy, wouldn't it.

On a more uplifting note, today I finally got my hands on my brand new gym membership card, thanks to Microsoft's effort in trying to help employees like me to get in shape. I'm not sure how much mileage I'll get out of this membership. Instead I'd like to see someone fitting a generator on an exercise bike so that I have to keep paddling to generate electricity to keep my computer running while I work. THAT would:

1. Keep MS employees, mostly geeks like me, from heart diseases.

2. Keep lazy bums like me from having back problems, or other physical injuries induced by poor ergonomics.

3. Save energy, save money.

Speaking of saving energy, maybe they should build a greehouse on the top floor so that I can work on my laptop, lying around in the sun, perhaps get some tanning done while I'm at it.

Maybe they should not only provide wireless internet/intranet connectivity for the building, but also wireless electricity supply available for the building. Turn the floor into a gigantic charging pad. Imagine how pleasant it will be with NO wires.

Although this wireless electricity business may mean we can't bike to keep our computers running, and ourselves healthy.

October 29

not my type.

After one faithful year, my Apple ice keyboard was officially spent and looking somewhat grey. I invested one evening rejuvenating it. The procedure was easy, but painstaking. It involved popping out 108 keys, cleaning 108 keys, drying 108 keys, and lastly putting the 108 keys back onto the keyboard.

I almost went crazy doing it.

Who came up with this stupid and inefficient layout anyway?

Half way through drying the keys I decided to see if putting a wet key back in will result in electric-shocking myself so that I can have someone to sue in order to not work for the rest of my life. I'm afraid the cheap white plastic isn't that good a conductor.

I was somewhat resentful and decided that Apple doesn't think different after all, even when it comes to things as fundamental as a keyboard.

I arranged the keys upside-down for them to dry asap, after that I made myself tea while waiting for them to dry.

20 minute and 2 cups of tea later I had completed a brand new keyboard layout design. Still qwerty, but more efficient, in terms of ergonomics and efficiency.

October 25

ODed on Chicken

Not really, I actually ODed on caffein.

This blog is the result of 2 cups of chai and a cup of peach tea, consumed past 7pm on a week day. I'm officially sleepless, and pissed.

I'm not tired yet, but 6 hours from now I'm supposed to get out of bed to have my routine "very strong English breakfast tea", assuming I can retire to bed free of random thoughts and konk out.

rraarrrrr......... I wish I have been granted RAS access already so I can shut up and work and not wasting time being frustrated and sleepless.

I wonder if Indian food is caffeinated.

October 18

Harass! Huzzah!

Gotta have a first in everything, right? Including harassing people.
I made the switch at work this Monday, and one of the few "perks" is a change in my phone number and the privileges of the account. So I decided to try if I could dial international calls freely.

1st attempt 206xxxxxxx:
I thought "what am I, stupid?!"

2nd attempt 1206xxxxxxx:
I thought "Dun! What am I, stupid?!"

3rd attempt 9+1206xxxxxxx:
There was a slight pause, then there was signal for the call getting through! I held the phone for 3 seconds and realized that I have just dialed my parents' number. It felt awkward for a moment, and I guessed the conversation would have gone like this - "Hi dad."

"Hi mei, are you ok? Is something wrong? Do you need help? Why are you calling?" (I have yet to call home yet since I left for Beijing, so something must be up.)

"Er... yes I'm ok. No nothing's wrong. No I don't need help. No there isn't a terrorist attack and I'm not kidnapped. I'm calling because I'm trying to figure out how to use my phone at work to make international calls."

"Does that mean you're calling for free?"

"Yes... uh... I gotta get to work."

"Ok bye!"

"Bye!"

And that would have been emotional because a) I subconsciously dialed my parents' number. b) I called home for the first time in more than a year. c) I actually called home. d) I initiataed the call to home. e) My parents didn't have to call me and we talked on the phone. ... there can't possibly be enough times spent emphasizing the fact that I, Anita, dialed with my very own index finger on my left hand, the number of my parents'. That's just shocking, if I may say so myself.

But after the phone rang a few times I looked at my computer and realized it was about midnight in Seattle. I gasped and hoped my coworker didn't think I was burping from indigestion, and concluded that as much as I would love to give my parents a very pleasant and totally unexpected surprise, they may need some uninterrupted rest. I quickly put the receiver back to the cradle and pretended nothing happened.

I realized that today I have committed my first phone harassment.

I could have stayed on the phone and explain to my mum or dad that I was being stupid. I could have asked them aside from being woken up by their daughter how things were otherwise. However I freaked, panicked and hung up the phone. In doing so I decidedly turned myself into a wimp. Shame!

To mum and dad it was probably as if nothing happened, while I spent a good hour reflecting why I haven't called them for so long.

October 15

I. Hope.

msn messenger 6.0.0 (060825) for mac refuses to scroll to the bottom of the conversation by itself, and it's making me slightly paranoid when I hear multiple chimes while the conversation window looks unchanged.

On a more uplifting note, today I had a very pleasant outing with the usual suspects and Joan Hinton, a nuclear physicist that helped develop the first atomic bomb. After it was dropped in Nagasaki, she left the US for China and devoted herself in the communist revolution and to improve socialist economy and agriculture.

"I touched with my own hands the first bomb that hit Nagasaki. I tasted a feeling of deep guilt during the preparation of this crime against humanity. How did it happen, I was thinking, that I went on to make my contribution to this? But it did happen! And it happened because I then believed in the wrongly held assumption that the advancement of science should be pursued for the sake of science. This very philosophy constitutes the poison of modern science. And because of that assumption, which makes us draw a line between science and social life and human beings, I came to work on the atomic bomb. We thought that as experts we should be dedicated to “pure science” and that everything else should be left to politicians. I am ashamed to confess that it was the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombing that made me get out of my Ivory Tower, the one I had built for science, and made me realise that there is no such thing as pure science, and that science has no mission and no purpose other than serving the interests of humankind."

Not that the bombing in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was more uplifting than the msn bug, but I am relieved that someone robbed of philosophy still sees the world with hope. I spend 40 min everyday in traffic from my isolated courtyard to the city wrapped with layers of toxic fumes and that alone is enough to make me lose my perspective in life. I still believe I can make a difference. For starters, these are what I'm doing:

I'm not paying taxes to the US government.
I buy fairtrade coffee and teas.
I recycle.
I only buy electronic goods that rate well in efficiency thus not wasting energy.
I bring my own chopsticks.
I bring my own shopping bag.

Tomorrow I'm going to Jane Goodall's speech. I hope I can find the motivation and inspiration that I need to grow the list.

November 06

2007-02-15T00:15:00.000+08:00

November 27

smelly, not to be confused with smiley

It's a drag having people with body odor nearby because I can't make up my mind whether I should

take deep breaths and hold for a long time,
take shallow but more frequent breaths while thinking pleasant thoughts, or
breathe through my mouth.

Any brilliant idea?

What about this - I sometimes have to talk to people with bad breath, and I have succumbed to the tactic of pretending I have a runny nose so that I can use kleenex as a mask to shield the foul smell off... doesn't always work, but it's the intention that counts, as one may resign his fate as such.

Now, today not only did I have to endure both body odor and bad breath at the same time, Smelly decided to talk without keeping his saliva inside his own mouth. I sensed a tiny droplet landing on my right hand, too subtle for Smelly to notice. I was in shock. I stopped typing and froze for a couple seconds. I started panicking and dreadful outcomes flashed before my eyes:

1. Maybe it landed on my keyboard too! How'm I going to type if it's going to stain my hand?
2. Damn it! Should have kept my Dove deodarant stick at work. I can totally see it sticking in his mouth.
3. How many keys are there on my Dell keyboard? Do I have to spend even more time cleaning it than I did my apple keys?
4. I wonder if my hair's still clean...
5. Did I wipe it off on my pants? I didn't? Phew... I just had this pair washed!

I then spent a couple seconds wondering if I should be polite and pretend nothing happened, or if I should grab the kleenex and start cleaning my hand and examine my keyboard for suspects. But before I could make up my mind I realized that I was subconsciously wiping my hand on my pants... Argh!

I knew I should have kept a spare Dove stick at work, it would have come handy.

November 26

fantastic plastic machine

I've been looking like an autistic person with ADD that is pretending to be rainman for the past 10 min. That is partly due to my condition to bob my head uncontrollably when listening to music with cool beat, but mainly because the fantastic plastic machine and MC Solaar are simply amazing...

Speaking of MC Solaar, I've always thought of French as a lyrical and somewhat poetic language, it is only after I went to France that I came to the following conclusion:

French is lyrical and poetic when a French speaks it.
French speaking English is sexy, in a very eloquent way.
French coming out of an African's mouth is very sexy, in a very sexy way.

I wish I can learn a new language and sound equally exotic in some ways.

Comment dit-on...

November 09

My eyes hurt...

I learned today that you can get arthritis on your eyes. It's called iritis, and it will result in a prescripted eye-drop that makes your pupils dilated. I'm glad I didn't get it.
My eyes didn't have a very relaxing time either. I got two IMAX tickets and used them today, now any thought remotely related to "3D" makes me flinch. So I'm going to frown compulsively and get myself away from the computer. Night.

December 06

2007-02-15T00:12:00.000+08:00

December 12

Realizations

Funny how long it takes people to realize certain things.
It's taken me 12 years to realize I didn't want to become a musician, 3 years to realize I didn't want to become an engineer, and 2 years to realize I can never become a mad mathematician. I've spent the past 6 years trying not to be put into categories, and I thought with my background it shouldn't be hard to stay away from any category. This past Sunday though, Nic's father's passing comment brilliantly put me into one I didn't even know existed.

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you Anita, a typical TCK.

Here's what Wiki's got to say - Third Culture Kids (abbreviated TCKs or 3CKs or Global Nomad) "refers to someone who [as a child] has spent a significant period of time in one or more culture(s) other than his or her own, thus integrating elements of those cultures and their own birth culture, into a third culture.

What the hell? They even have a category for that?

Alright, that isn't that bad of a category... and it wasn't that shocking of a self-realization, compared to what Nic had to go through.

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you Nic, who is 1/4 Jewish.

Nic turned 29 last week. On saturday he had a somewhat questionable haircut. This is what happened when he examined his side profile:

nic: "do I have an aquiline nose?"
me: "you mean that can be something other than an aquiline nose?"
nic: "have I always had it?"
me: "yup..."
nic: "Damn! I always thought my nose is straight."

I was at a lost, not knowing whether I should comfort him or give him a whack in the head. Then I started examining my own nose:

me: "I'll still love you, you know?"
nic: "..."
me: "My nose isn't straight either anyway."
nic: "I know."
me: "What do you mean you know. Is my snub nose that obvious?"
nic: "No."
me: "Good."
nic: "No it's obvious you don't have a snub nose. You have a snubby nose that isn't upturned."
me: "So it turns up or down?"
nic: "It's like a little S curve, you know? Turns up near the top, and turns down on the snub."
me: "... yeah, with a zero in between, huh?"

Great. Nic realized he has aquiline nose after 29 years. I realized I have an S-curve-snubby nose after 24 years. Oh and we're both TCKs.

December 04

morning!

Wow, this is about as bad as you can start a day.

- Sore shoulder from sleeping funny.

- Sore ankles from a whole weekend of walking.

- Cold tea.

- No breakfast.

- Knocked over and broke the bottle of tabasco sauce that I've used only once.

- Got the tabasco sauce all over the pair of pants that I put on for the first time after I bought them.

and you think your Monday sucks, huh?

January 07

2007-02-14T23:59:00.000+08:00

January 31

my illegitimate child

Today a coworker emailed me and asked "You have a baby? I didn't know you got married."

Another thought I have a baby and went "Wow... Really?"

I showed up at my 4 o'clock and another said "Congratulations! How many months? I couldn't tell!"

Thank you very much. I regret to tell you, gentle readers, that unfortunately (or fortunately) I don't have a baby, and I'm not married.

It all happened because an email was sent to the team suggesting a morale event for exiting our current milestone, and other things worth celebrating. One of "the other things" to be celebrated about is apparently that "Anita already has a baby."

This is so random.

one day dogfood shall rule the world

The seven of us spent an hour in the meeting room brainstorming how to make everyone in the team dogfood our own product, which is not something I am particularly fond of.

I left the room feeling like a helpless pup destined to be force-fed... with dogfood.

Speaking of dog food, 獨孤求敗did particularly well on her first day! Walking her in the morning proved to be a challenge, she didn't feel safe with me. Half the time she was trying to chew off the leash, the other half she was busy entangling my feet with the leash. I had been reduced to unleashing my last secret weapon - chicken flavored treats. Even then she still gave me a lot of attitude. Good, I like stuff that's got character.

By the time I came back home though, she was more than eager to throw herself on the floor and rub her back against the back of my feet. I was a bit disappointed this power-struggle was over and roles have been established. However I was truly relieved in the evening that I wasn't walking her appearing like a dog-kidnapper anymore. No more strange and suspicious stares from passer-bys.

All these progress with 独孤求败 wouldn't have happened without my secret weapon - chicken flavored treats.

One day dogfood shall rule the world!

January 30

we took her in

Last night Nic and I swung by to pick up 獨孤求敗. We hopped onto a taxi to go to the nearest pet shop. 獨孤求敗 was smelly, dirty, had fleas and lice. Nic and I are convinced that we should take our coats to the dry cleaner's so that we don't start another colony at home.

Two persons in the pet shop spent three hours on 獨孤求敗. They first cleaned the ears and eyes, then shampooed twice with different shampoos, blew dry, trimmed, shampooed twice again... you get the idea. Oh and we discovered that 獨孤求敗 is a four-month old girl, so we couldn't name it Major Brinjal.

Four hours, a lot of supplies and a lot of money spent later, we were finally home. We put her on a lush velvety matt and so far she has refused to leave it to go explore the rest of the apartment.

Not a very responsive dog really. I think she's still in shock. I have to feed her food piece by piece, by hand.

I also need to figure out how to walk her, as she refuses to get on her feet.

I also need to do all the above and be at work ready for the meeting.

January 29

commitment

Last Saturday Nic and I ended our relationship because after 5 years we still can't commit to each other. Reason being we were never in love romantically.

We still live together and we still hang out together, but now there're many comments I don't know how to react to:

"You guys look great together."

"Where's Nic taking you for Valentine's day?"

"When are you getting hitched?"

To others nothing seems to have changed, that is because I haven't come out to everyone.

Nic seems to be more interested now in what's going on in my head. He breaks the silence a few times each day, asking "What's on your mind?"

I seem to have a lot less to say. Dinners are pretty quiet. We don't really talk in bed anymore, I fall asleep listening to my iPod.

It's all too easy. Five years and not a single argument/tantrum, and not a single thing we had to sacrifice for each other. Even getting out of it was too easy. I felt empty for a bit... felt lost for a bit... slept through the night without any lingering trace of my dreams, which is extremely rare for me. The next morning I felt I was ready to take on the world again.

Even being single is easy. I still have the same good cup of tea with him every morning. I still hold his hands when crossing the street. I still pull myself away from work at 6.

But now he feels insecure about us, and I feel more secure about myself.

Now if you ask me when I'm getting married with Nic I will tell you this - "Either 10 years from now or never."

January 28

tricky business when someone's hurt

It was gorgeous yesterday. We went snowboarding and I had great fun until a couple things happened...

A woman fell hard and sprained her ankles, and couldn't reach her boots to release from the snowboard. She was in tears and looked desperate while her boyfriend standing next to her stared blankly.

I went and try to release her boots from the board, she was lying face-down, kicking about frantically cuz she couldn't get that damn thing off. She also couldn't see me working on it, so she conveniently swung the side of the board onto the back of my left shoulder. It was so hard I could hear my bone.

By then I was a very cranky helpful person. I yelled at her boyfriend, who was by that time staring at me blankly, to come hold the board down while I pull out her feet. However he decided to go hold his girlfriend's hands and say lovingly "It's ok, someone's here to help."

I thought I ought to suggest the girl dumping this useless, wimpy guy. But then she was equally annoying so maybe they're good together in their own miserable way.

I knelt down to pin her board with my knees, and with great effort, got her feet out. I was ready to roll away and find a snow cave to fall asleep in when one of the onlookers told us where the medics station is.

10 minutes later the couple was probably having a cup of hot tea at the station while the boyfriend says he'll always be there and make sure she's OK no matter what (even though all he did was holding her hands), while I was still on the slope, lugging my own board, AND the girl's board up the slope. Did I mention the boards are heavy?

About 5 minutes after I was done with this ordeal. Nic came with his left hand raised,

"Hey, how was the slope?" I asked,

"It's very nice!"

"What's up with the hand?"

"I think I hurt it."

"Did you fall on it?"

"No I didn't fall, I was trying to pivot myself and I felt this sharp pain. I think I broke my finger."

And then we carried on about our own business, went to the shops to check out equipments. Michael went for a few more rounds before we convinced him that it may be a good idea to drive back to the city so that his son can have his hand checked. Dropped Nic off by the hospital and then his Dad and I came back to my place for tea.

I like low-maintanence.

January 25

my irresistable metallic eye

Nikolay Torasov is probably very old.

Nikolay Torasov is one of the very few craftsmen left that are experienced in 35mm cameras.

Today I went and dropped off the 3 rolls of 120s to be developed, the shop I bought my Holga moved to right next to our office. Andy (who sold me the camera) saw me and was stunned for a few seconds. He thought I left the country for good.

"I called so many times but couldn't get a hold of you."

"I changed my cellphone number."

"I called your house but no one answered."

"I moved."

"I emailed you. You use Gmail, right?"

"Yeah... sorry."

"When was the last time I saw you?"

"A long time ago, last August probably."

But I got over the initial awkwardness and he showed me his new photowall and his new works. One hour later I told him I want to get a paronama camera soon because I'm going to Tibet in May and I want to have enough practice with the new camera before I take it 4,000m higher and use while suffering from altitude sickness.

Another hour went by, and I knew what to do and what not to do, what to bring and what not to when I go to Tibet. By chance he showed me the pictures he took with his Lomo LC-A, I fell in love with it immediately.

"What's so special about LCA?"

"It's handmade in Russia, its production has been discontinued. It's got superb lens and it's got a small metallic body."

"But it's more expensive than the wide angle panorama!"

"It's the last one we could get from the factory."

"I'll get it."

I took the box out of the bag. It's the second piece of something I've acquired with the maker's name written... not printed on it.

The first piece is my cello. The maker is Czech and his last name is Dvorak.

The second is my LCA, no one knows who the original maker was from years ago, but it was sent back to Russia and refurbished by Nikolay Torasov. Nikolay has very neat handwriting, slightly slanted to the right, with generous space between each charactor.

I'm so in love with my new lomo, my irresistable metallic eye.

January 23

resolutions

When was the last time you took a picture on film?

When was the last time you bought a non-digital camera?

I'm not the picture taking sort, and I feel resistant to digital cameras. I don't care what resolution my camera can produce.

I have 2 cameras, one is digital from years ago. The other is my much-loved HOLGA 120.

My friends thought I like it as a toy because it's made of plastic, and that it doesn't operate on batteries so long as you don't use flash. My Holga deserves a lot more respect than this.

I don't take pictures that much because I keep faces and pictures in my head. I can indulge anytime. For memories long forgotten and seldom thought of... do I want to look at pictures to remind myself of them?

Taking pictures with Holga is a very different experience, one which is very private and personal that I cannot share. I don't know if the back is sealed tight and which part of the film will be exposed. I don't know if there's any light leak. I don't know if there'll be the classic tunnel effect. I don't know if you had your eyes closed or open, your smile forced or brilliant. I don't, really.

In fact, I don't even know what will be in the picture because I don't use the viewfinder on my Holga. But I can remember what I wanted to see every single time I heard the shutter.

I sometimes take the time to adjust the focus, sometimes not. I sometimes turn the dial and listen for 24 clicks before taking the next picture, sometimes I just turn a bit and expect part of the film to double-expose.

But at the end of 12 shots I always feel my heart beating fast, my breath rapid and shallow as I take out the roll of film and imagine all the possibilities with the 12 moments that I was trying to capture. This burst of excitement and anticipation are all that matter to me in picture taking, and I feel the later I see the developed pictures the longer I have these treasured memories kept inside me. The moment I see the pictures with my eyes is when I lose them in my mind forever.

This is why I still have 2 rolls of negatives and 1 roll of positives left undeveloped for 6 months.

People take pictures for different reasons - You may for you don't know when you'll meet again. You may because it's so beautiful you want a part of it to remain unchanged. You may because you want to see her face all the time but don't want her to know. You may simply because you can.

I don't take pictures because I don't know what I'm looking for.

I take pictures but don't look at them because I don't always want to know.

Yes I am, it's proven.

I found out yesterday at work that rumor has it that Anita's a party animal.

At home, Nic calls me his pet animal, pet mushi to be exact.

Last night Seungmi and I went to a kickass massage and spa. As I was lying face down in my robe, she commented out loud "Anita! You look just like a small animal!"

I wanted to ask "What's that supposed to mean?" But as I shifted my masseur went on pressing away, I heard my back crack and I gave a soft yelp instead.

So instead, I yielded and the conversation in our room went somewhat like this -

Seungmi: Anita! You look just like a small animal!

Anita: m... Ooww!

Seungmi: I said, you look like a small animal.

Anita: That's because I YAM a small animal.

I'm pathetic.

---- ----

Off a random tangent however still around pet animals... on Saturday as I was on my way home from lunch I saw the perfect stray dog. Dirty, boney, and a bit worn out, but had confident yet cautious strides and an air of reserved arrogance (isn't this just like Dr Watson when he first returned from Afghanistan?). Nic and I followed it sheepishly to its shelter and thought about what we should name it.

I suggested "Pickled Ginger" but Nic would have none of it. His family has the history of naming their cat "Pork Chop" and their rabbit "Dinner."

We settled down to 2 candidates:

Nic: 獨孤求敗 (Dugu Qiubai)

Me: Dr Watson

Work item for next week: Smuggle Dr Watson to our courtyard house.

January 22

getting to work is a matter of life and death

I grabbed all my junk, cranked up the volume on my iPod and dashed out of my apartment for work.

Decided to take the shortcut out of the compound by cutting across the courtyard, but 10 yards in I realized I cut into the center of a morning exercise group - about 20 old people practicing taichi sword, and they wouldn't stop their routine and put down the swords to let me pass.

Got out of the gang unharmed, but immediately felt a sharp pain on my right ankle and my laptop flew out of my hand. I looked over my shoulder and realized someone just ran into me on a bike, and was then lying on his side on the ground. Was going to apologize profusely and help him up but I heard him cursing my entire family. I gave him a very hostile stare and limped my way out of the gate to flag for taxi.

Welcome back to Beijing, and to work, Anita.

January 21

the naked truth

that we knew all along, but only 5 years later came to terms with it.

"It's alright," he said.

"Maybe tomorrow morning I'll wake up a changed person and be at ease with it," I thought to myself.

The morning came and I was a changed person. Everything felt good and I was convinced it all happened for a reason.

I realized we already moved on before we told the naked truth.

January 17

Anita-proofed... not.

How many times can you bang your head in half a day? Try four.

Strike 1: Tossed and turned in bed, banged the side of my head against the wall.

Strike 2: Well I hit my head so hard I sat up by the side of the bed and needed a few minutes to reboot. I was going to lower to a nice position to feel sorry for myself, but still with my eyes closed, I banged my forehead against the back of my chair instead.

"oh fcuk!" I cried.

My dog barked twice in agreement.

I sneered at the thought of good things coming in pairs, and was immediately reminded of my conversation with Charles last Wednesday - that scorpions in Africa always appear in pairs.

I thought a fine cuppa was all I needed to set things right, so I went to kitchen to boil some water. I felt my dog licking my toes so I stepped over it, right onto its toy, which I couldn't see because I'm legally blind without glasses. I slipped and had the most spectacular fall of my life and ended up lying on the floor in the kitchen. Banged my head on the fridge as I struggled to get off my back [strike 3]. Lost all sense of orientation.

I eventually crawled out of the kitchen on all fours because I didn't want to die and that I was in so much pain. I felt my way along the walls back in my room and decided that since I almost killed myself I'd better call it a day. Went back to bed.

Strike 4 is too embarrassing to tell. However it took place right before my doctor. It was so embarrassing that she pretended nothing happened. But I had the peace of mind knowing that if blood was streaming down the side of my head I would get some first-hand treatment.

January 16

for Irma

I couldn't get the music played over dinner on Wednesday out of my head, so I went to bed listening to Kremer playing Piazzola on my iPod. Stella, who lay asleep on my chest last Sunday morning, came back as a dauntingly beautiful figure. I know her as Irma now.

I felt weak all over along with a piercing sharp pain on the small of my back but I couldn't take my eyes off Irma as she stood by my pillow staring back at me. Its arrogant stare came right through me with such poignant elegance... Its green eyes were a slow but steady current that held me fixed, as if in a trance. I gave a long sigh of relief.

I opened my eyes and realized Irma was just a dream and felt like crying for a bit. I haven't seen anything this beautiful in a while. I gave a long sigh lachrymosely.

Rest of the day was peaceful. 7 hours of James Tate's poems and not a soul in sight is just what I need.

Of course, I'm leaving out the part where I have to force giant red pills down my throat every couple of hours.

January 13

down time, please.

It's quite an experience coming back to Seattle. Strangely familiar, but I felt somehow removed until the day before I'm to leave. I finally felt at home for a brief moment this evening, or rather midnight, strolling along Alki Beach.

Been doing nothing but working, drinking, hanging out with friends here. Before this it was 2 weeks of hectic schedule in Shanghai and Beijing for the holidays. I'm ready to disappear somewhere and spend a week of quality time alone with myself.

Met up with people I haven't seen in 3 years, 2 years, 1+ years... shared so much with people I was previously merely acquainted with, felt distant from ones with whom I was inseparable with before.

Did I change? Did others change?

I'm in a very awkward spot now and I don't feel comfortable with myself.

I really need some down time.

January 09

bar accident

You know you're over something when you are strong enough to blog about it.

Except for things that you know you can never get over, but you blog about because it's unfair that you should bear the misery alone. You blog so others can share the pain.

If you read my earlier blog about crashing the party you might remember me making a total mess of myself at the Tree after too much beer on an empty stomach. I decided to blog about it now and move on.

After I've had too much beer and became this drunk and largely obnoxious small Asian woman, Jason, my ex-coworker and fellow google reject after 11 interviews, took me to The Tree for some pizza and nice Belgian beer. I had about half a slice when I realized all my energy went into digesting the alcohol that I consumed, I simply couldn't handle any food. I went outside with Jason and Tom (if I remember his name correctly) to have some fresh air. 2 minutes later I realized I was seeing colors and not hearing a thing. I excused myself to go to the restroom and Jason insisted in helping me there, as the gentleman that he's always been.

What I knew not was that Jason was almost as drunk as I was.

Half way to the restroom I had a wipe-out and collapsed. Jason held on and grabbed me by my shoulders. However, either I was too heavy or that he was too tipsy, he didn't manage to exactly hold on to me. I still fell. I guess Jason grabbed me reeaaally hard because he ended up tearing off my sleeve on one side and leaving a 7cm bleeding scratch across my back.

So I fell flat on the floor on my way to the restroom, and Jason came down with me too. Everyone started staring. We spent a long time trying to get back on our feet but we couldn't because we were both too drunk. I guess Tom noticed the crowd staring in our general direction so he decided to come check on us. Except he didn't expect that we would be struggling on the floor, so instead of "checking on us" he tripped over Jason, fell on top of Jason, who fell on top of me, while I had my back on the floor, wondering what that sharp, piercing pain on my back was about.

Won't get over it until that huge scar is gone.

February 07

2007-02-14T23:48:00.000+08:00

February 14

colorless green ideas sleep furiously

In 12 of 23 random words:

Ambiguous homes unite,
Criminals connecting grand, ghastly habits.

Rude lovers, black accordance.

---- ---- ---- ----

Randomness is not meaningless.

February 13

life as a means to death?

I re-read many books, mostly because I enjoyed reading them immensely.

Yesterday, however, I started on one that I first read when I was 14. I read it again because I was curious if I would be equally disgusted and creeped out.

The book is The Complete Manual of Suicide (完全自殺手冊). No it doesn't scare me as much now, and in fact I find it extremely insightful to the darker, twisted side of the Japanese society. Sociopaths and text book cases aside, it is still interesting how creative people can be in how their lives were to be ended, and how determined they were to die, willing to go completely out of the way and spend tremendous amount of effort to:

die unnoticed for 14 years.
die just to show she can.
die to retaliate.
slit the wrist and throat, stabbed himself in the chest multiple times and still NOT die.
spend weeks starving themselves to death.
hang himself on a 91cm tall railing while he is 163cm tall.

The list goes on. This book is certainly an eye opener - albeit an unpleasant one, and makes me sick to the stomach.

February 06

picture of picture;enjambement

I spent a good while this morning looking at a poem by E E Cummings:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

——————————————————— i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Now what about this:

i carry your heart with me

i am never without it

i fear no fate

i want no world

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart

Now this:

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear;

and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

you get the idea... I played around with it until I almost forgot how the original format was.

I then went back to look (reading and staring) at the original but then still didn't get the enjambement, the lowercase, the missing white spaces, and the white spaces that weren't missing. It's only when I formatted the last one that I realized how plain and boring and predictable it would seem to the reader - without any enjambement, the lowercase, and the missing white spaces.

see if i weren't blogging about

a poem and enjambement i would never

realize what it's all about;what difference

it makes

BTW, putting up a picture of picture, of myself when I was 16.

February 02

the unfortunate wonder of cynicism.

It took some time to see what it means getting out of a relationship. I think it just dawned on me last night what it means to me. It also occurred to me what sort of idealist I am and how for the rest of my life I may never be truly content.

Or maybe I'm only as good as an idealist-wannabe, maybe I'm in fact just a pessimistic perfectionist.

I thought I could always keep my sense of wonder in this cynical world.

I haven't figured out what to do to not slip, but I think a rebound may help.

a track for every mood

Woke up with a splitting headache but couldn't pull myself away from of the computer (I don't even remember how I got to my desk). I put my iPod on shuffle mode and was immediatly distracted with music that:

I could have sworn I didn't know I have.
I forgot about.
Reminded me of highschool.

And then it started playing the Wallflowers and I felt so much better.

I've been in a very rebellious and non-conforming mood lately... and when I first started listening to the Wallflowers I was infamously problematic and stubborn in my class, rebellious as hell, and nobody could do anything about it but warn me not to bring bad influence to my closest friend, who's the model student.

Ten years later I'm still the oddball.

b for bug

Waltz with Suy - continued

Waltz with Suy

triste

exposed

hidden dimension of a cello

creamer, please!

a borderline-marginal person that I am

heartfelt

I'm a pro

in the middle of nowhere

more about bugsy

black box

darjeeling

a minty sort of day

you like nice?

Franco-German Anita

what to blog about a blogger

adagio assai

boundaries

new arrival

how're you today?

i've got the bug

"Survival" French

New York, New York!

diverge, converge

know what busy means?

Brinjal's got my back

first taste of spring

do you lomo?

upper bounds

murder

i want to look invisible

a week of fun, or the lack of it

uurrgh!

behind closed doors

in 15 floors' time

a brief moment of stillness

masālā chāy

week of good spirit

these cold walls, these accents

dog year

how do you fly?

August 06

feeling at home

*burp* I'm a party-crasher *burp*

Morning at ATC

taxi!

September 06

That could have been me

Davidoff

annoying bloody little things

October 06

so much food, so little room.

not my type.

ODed on Chicken

Harass! Huzzah!

I. Hope.

November 06

smelly, not to be confused with smiley

fantastic plastic machine

My eyes hurt...

December 06

Realizations

morning!

January 07

my illegitimate child

one day dogfood shall rule the world

we took her in

commitment

tricky business when someone's hurt

my irresistable metallic eye

resolutions

Yes I am, it's proven.

getting to work is a matter of life and death

the naked truth

Anita-proofed... not.

for Irma

down time, please.

bar accident

burp I'm a party-crasher burp