..:. Cracking My Vainpot .:..

15/06/2008

One Day (..)

One day, I won't feel like triggering a revolution every time I kiss.

One day, I won't have to look over my shoulder before giving him a hug.

One day, I won't worry about being kicked out of a park for holding hands.

One day.



[ceramics by Kina Crow]

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14/06/2008

One Day (.)

One day, they'll think no less of me.

One day, they'll respect love.

One day, I'll have my parents back.

One day.



[ceramics by Kina Crow]

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27/05/2008

3 Different Corners

.: Hong Kong :. When Star Ferry was still Star Ferry, it was my favourite pastime. Every time I crossed the Victoria harbour, he'd be there by the entrance to the subway that leads to the Central Pier. Scrawny down to the bone, his ancient frame is an unwelcome reality check to all the well-heeled bankers passing by.

He must have contracted polio when he was small. One of his legs was visibly smaller than other and never quite touch the ground. Yet, unlike most of the beggars in the city, he chose not to mope around on the floor. In one hand he had his tin can, with the other he held his crutch. When late afternoon comes, his humble stature cast a long shadow. Still standing like a broken tripod, that is his dignity.

.: Oxford :. I wonder if he's a patient of my ex, a psychiatry consultant. Old and hunching, his long messy hair salt-and-peppering all over his shoulders. Day in day out, he wandered the busy streets of central Oxford aimlessly in his drape, dodging schools of tourists and exchange students.

One thing never changed. That big armful of yellowing letters he clung to ever so tightly in his chest. Never saw him dropping a single one. What drove him mad? Who was he writing to? Had they all deserted him? Are those love letters? Why is he still holding on to them so dearly? I do worry that I'll end up like him, with nothing but a load of memmories.

.: San Francisco :. There was this young hippy in Sunset who usually sat near the farmer's market on Irving. Most of the ones around the Golden Gate Park would openly ask you to subsidize their dope, but this one wanted money for carrots, too. If I got off work early, I'd make a little detour and pay him a visit, for he had the cutest grey bunny in the whole world. Sometimes, he would dangle a carrot in front it to make it stand up and walk in circles.

Then winter came. One dark afternoon, I caught him staring blankly into emptiness, with a sign "Money for new bunny". That day, I gave him a dollar for the first time.

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16/05/2008

This is Love

Within a week of the SiChuan earthquake, Hong Kong has already raised more than a billion dollars in donations.

China Life Insurance promised to pay for the living cost of all children orphaned until they turn 18.

Survivors become volunteers.

Peasants bring out food for the rescue teams.

Aid workers walk to remote villages when the roads are blocked.

Poor people in villages without much money still offer their grain stocks.

An officer breast-feeding as many as 9 orphaned babies like her own.

The blood bank in Beijing is now full and has stopped taking blood donation.

You don't see that in many parts of the world.

The Cultural Revolution might have robbed modern Chinese their grace, manners and pretentious sophistication. But dig deeper and you'll see a warm and beautiful China.

p.s. I've been running as far away as possible all these years, only to find that my heart has never left.

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11/05/2008

Funny Mummy

Guess what care package my mum sent me after I came out to her.



Beef jerky lol

I do love her :)

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24/03/2008

East of Troost

Kansas City, winner of the All American City 2006, is currently the 6th murder capital of the US and it shows. Everyday I hear ambulances and police cars rushing around town. Every evening news is dominated by reports of gangsters shooting, kids setting old lady on fire, boyfriend killing girlfriend and her unborn child, etc. Most of these happened in the ghetto and, like it or not, a lot of the suspects were black.

The first week I arrived at KC, people told never to venture east of the infamous Troost street into the black neighbourhood, where I'll not be welcomed. Indeed, when I drove around that block with my instructor, absolutely everyone within the 100m radius wanted to know why this Chinese guy was in a car with a 60yo black man. One even attempted to open our door and get inside. Scary.

Worrying that this may condition me to equate black faces with danger and turn me into a racist, I took this racist test called the "Implicit Association Test (IAT)" I found on BBC.

https://implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/

As part of the internet "Project Implicit" run by 3 scientists in the US, this test claims to dig out your deepest "automatic" attitude towards race, regardless of what you're willing to express outwardly.

After 15min of button pressing, the computer said no.

"I have a moderate automatic preference for Black People compared to White People."

Must be Obama.

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22/03/2008

Boys History

I don't fall in love easily and heaven knows when I will be ready again. But it will happen again, I just know it.

This very someone who is still a complete stranger, with an entirely different background and orbit. Somehow, we will defy the stupid zodiac, collide in space and derail each other from our orderly insignificance.

I shall be patient at my telescope, until this Big Bang of a new universe.

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14/03/2008

Life is full of loneliness is full of life

[click 4 panorama]

* * *

A friend once told me that in Goa, cows would gather at the beach and watch the sunset everyday. Wonder what that's like.

* * *

I have so much love to give. Where are all the people who deserve it?

* * *

My sister got me some Twinings Classics Darjeeling from London. Once it's opened, the musky scent will fade. So I've been sniffing and staring at it for the past 3 months, not wanting to use it...

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23/02/2008

8 per minute

1, 2, 3, 4... I still remember.

For three solid hours, I lay there counting, staring at the folds on his blanket slowly moving up and down. 8 breaths per minute, wikipedia said. Anything less than that, I had to call for an ambulance. 

It was Halloween. Picasso had been bobing up and down all night, dancing away, apparently enjoying himself. All of a sudden, he just collapsed. I couldn't sit him up even if I tried. Within a minute, the club just kicked us out, without lending a helping hand. OUT, that's all they us to do. After bankrolling our pink dollars month after month, year after year, they treated us like a stinking street rat carrying a deadly plague from the Dark Age.

Once we're out on the street, I struggled to keep him on his feet, as he weave in and out of consciousness, and his limps waving involuntarily in the air. Between violent bouts of throwing up, he managed to shout "Let me go" repeatedly. Some concerned pedestrians asked if we need help. But the trouble is, I did't even know what Picasso has overdosed on. The cupid in that concoction of his recreational chemical alphabet soup. His ever-present "water" bottle hinted at GHB the date rape drug, and someone suggested giving him Speed as an antidote. But how in Hell can I get that on a busy circus corner full of passers-by whilst restraining a maniac?!

Finally, a familiar face showed up and offered to take us home, but to get a hysterical 6'2 giant into car was no easy task. In a moment of frustration, I smacked him in the face. The first time in my whole life. It didn't work, of course.

I don't remember exactly how I dragged his 175lb of unresponsive flesh up the stairs in the end. In order to keep him from choking in his own vomit, I had to maintain him in the recovery position, which eventually meant lying there holding him tight, baking in a swamp of sweat and organic smell. It has always been difficult to get his pulse, so I concentrated on his impossibly slow and shallow breaths, counting away til the sun came out.

Was it love? It must've been.

I've heard of a couple, in which one date-raped himself so often that the boyfriend has to carry a small bottle of antidote around, whenever they go out.

I can't. I'm sorry, I just can't.

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15/02/2006

What's important

Finally, I got to this stage where I don't care about who I can trust, but who I can milk. Will I still be me after America?

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28/09/2005

Pearl of the Schizophrenic Shell

Fat Pang (Chris Pattern) was right. There's nothing like the sense of citizenship in Hong Kong.

Not even that blobby Pearl tower in Shanghai can steal the show. "Every building in HK is a freaking Pearl tower!" we say.

The answer to a "Where are you from?" will always be Hong Kong. Not Asia, never China and certainly not GBritain. Little is known from outside though, that such identity comes with a certain kind of schizophrenic emotional tug of war.

On one hand, Hong Kong has benefited from its gold pavement colonial past and enjoyed everything modern, efficient and civilized. The newspapers constantly remind us of Top of the World statistics like busiest airport, largest port, longest suspension bridge, tallest buildings, best paid officials, wealthiest government, biggest horse racing, most intelligent house wives, etc.

But however nostalgic HK feels, everybody knows the Opium War, which by all standards dwarfed the blatent malice and hyprocrity of the current Iraq conflict. Brits would now say "Oh yeah, the Victorians were nasty."

One only needs to look into the mirror to find him/herself, even if our skin is not exactly yellow in colour. Children of the dragon/5000 years of Chinese history/>15 dynasties/red pockets/moon cakes/marjong. People from the mainland might say that HK is not "real" Chinese, but it's easy to see that HK is even more Chinese and traditional than communist-washed China. You just have to look at how much we give our parents each month.

Yet, adherence to traditional culture doesn't necessarily bring us any closer to China China. Hong Kong only became what it was when the cream of Shanghai escaped from cultural revolution. Just when our grannies stopped telling tales about those horrible Communist, June 4th (massacre) broke out, reaffirming the notion that people don't matter in the people's republic. The arrival of 2 billion spitting-littering-nail clipping-urinating-bank robbing-street clogging mainland visitors doesn't help emotional integration either.

So back to square one. Love-hate China. Love-hate Britain. Schizophrenia both qualified and justified.

Yet, I suspect that this "We're special" mentality, like that of an Oxford undergrad, is bad for us. Afterall, you only hold on when you slip...

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28/06/2005

Thoughts of a "Dying" Atheist

I thought I was going to die, seriously, again. (hence that Sunset entry)

It's been long since I found out that I have some heart condition. At 15, I thought, Please God, it'd be great if I can live til 18; at 19 I thought reaching 21 would be cool; at 22 I thought fuck it, if this doesn't kill, makes me stronger.

As soon as I started exercising regularly, it went away. Even my superman medic flatmate used my body as his examination dummy day in day out and found nothing.

But recently my heart has gone a little funny again.

Whilst I walked into to the ER with my iPod, half suspecting that I might be wasting my insurance claim again, I got angry.

Not with fate, Not "why me", Not (even) with that receptionist who insisted on asking for my insurance policy/job/employer/job nature/social security number/address and emergency contact even, BEFORE letting me see the freaking nurse, whilst I was desparately out of breath, but with a sizable (?) chunk of the general population...

Those who got nothing to do all day, hang around the street, looking for trouble/crusing on the internet non-stop for sex/growing potatos on their couch watching every single bits of crap on TV.... and of course the suicidal ones.

*WHY* that some people are complete waste of time/space+organs, but in perfect health?? *WHY* that so many are battling to live one more day but others choose to throw their lives away??

Anyway, after testing 2 gallons of my blood and X-ray/CT/ultrasound scans, they found- nothing.

Absolutely nothing wrong with my heart, also meaning that they have NO clue what was wrong with me. In the end, I found a MountBlanc (pen) carrying senior consultant who sort of knew my condition.

Nice, some rare syndrome with a cool French name.
Nice, uncurable or treatable, therefore nothing I can do, therefore I should just ignore it.
Nice, no medical explanation/progress since first discribed almost 100 years ago.
Nice, after all my drama, back to one aspirin a day keeping doctors away.

(MiniVP: well at least the ER doctor was cute! remember that once you saw him, you thought you can't die yet?)

OK, now that I'm "normal", what do I do to avoid being one of those waste-of-space I so cursed?

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07/06/2005

... is my sun setting already?

still, no regret.

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11/04/2005

Personality Test

It's official. I'm an Experience Junkie.

On top of that, I'm a

Great! Or at least that's what my latest personality test told me.

According to this "Jung" test, whatever that is, I'm an "ENTP":-


Can you imagine going into your college career center and tell them you want to be a DICTATOR?

Oh well, I guess there won't be a folder somewhere with up-to-date info about current openings for international SPY either.

God, this test is so useless!!! It said, that my perfect careers include dictator, spy, ASSASSIN, fighter pilot, professional skateboarder (??), private detective, FBI agent, CIA agent... and last but not least, FREELANCE WRITER!

Oh well, whatever. Have a laugh! Free Jung Personality Test

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25/03/2005

Excavation

It was right after I watched "The Lover" with Al. It took me a while to realised that it was raining and if I didn't run then I would get completely soaked.

"Sorry to make you cry", Al tried to comfort me. It was the old me, the 16yo in me, sobbing uncontrollably. Mourning the death of love, for it has become everything that it's not.

"The Lover" was an oddly innocent love story between a poor French school girl and a rich chinaman twice her age in colonial Vietnam. It was only after all the love was made, after all the expenses were paid, after fate parted the two of them, that she realised it was love.

Rediscovering love, when it's gone, is a torture. Discovering that you can't love anyone else?

Years later, after all the marriages, all the children, the man traced the girl down. He didn't have much to say, but having collected his courage for all those years, he told her that he has always loved her and will do so until the day he dies.

I thought of her from once upon a time, when life was simple and girls were pretty.

Does she think of me too after watching a love story? Has she ever got caught unguarded and some ancient emotions stirred?

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20/02/2005

Memory Pollution (Rated 18/over)

I'm traumatised. The floodgate of my Reading School demons has been opened. My own chamber of secret.

Desparate to know when the school was found (from Friday), I went searching online and blimme, there it was.

That #1 place I absolutely want to burn down has its own freaking website.

The "why-can't-evolution-be-part-of-genesis" boarding housemaster is gone.

That 100yo oxbridge class teacher who had a crush on me is gone.

That maths teacher who called me "Chopstick" and "Stirfry" is gone.

That paino teacher whose mouth smelt of cum is still dead.

That biology teacher who said I wasn't good enough for Cambridge is gone.

But the chemistry teacher who said I wasn't good enough for Oxford is STILL there! In fact there's a gigantic picture of his big pink nose playing bunsen burner with the kids on the web.

May be I should post him a copy of my DPhil thesis and tell him to eat it.

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14/02/2005

Love Supplements

Finally, THAT day in February has arrived, AGAIN.

Well done to those who have found love!

Keep it UP. (Boys, don't drink too much!)

For those who haven't, keep trying!

As for myself, I'll find some practical supplements for my singledom.

(1) Chocolate.

Even Casanova considered chocolate as the Elixir of Love. Why? Because it has the natural chemical phenylethylamine that tells the brain to feel euphoric, to feel in love.

I always trust Lindt on this matter. Swiss best. But what about the rest? A major disappointment came from Hershey's much hyped "Hugs" and "Kisses". Despite their gimmicky names, their adorable teardrop shape only led to a lousy chalky taste. Cadbury's? Ill! How romantic is their vegetable oil content?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/mostof_chocolate.shtml

(2) Exercise.

Kissing and Sex induce endorphin release, which makes you feel good, lowers your blood pressure, and relieves stress. Guess what? So does Exercise. Go hit the gym baby. Since the amount of calories you burn during sex varies according to your organ shape and position, you should match your exercise accordingly.

http://members.iweb.net.au/~jspry/passiton.html

(3) Chewing Gum and Yogert.

Mechanically, kissing increases saliva production which as a result, can let in as many as 5 million bacteria in a single kiss. That means I'll need some gum for dribbles and a good scoop of Danon Yogert for some healthy L. bulgaricus and S. thermophilus cultures.

Since kissing can also fight against tooth decay, I should also brush with anti-decay Colgate with pepper mint.

(4) Drama.

Who said a Valentine's date will necessarily go well? For quality soap, I'd prob go (Netflix the internet DVD rental) for some old series of Sex and the City + Queer as Folks.

Since I've pledged not to pay for sex before 30, I know I still won't be joining musclemenXXX.com tonight.

HVD!

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13/02/2005

Beautiful Intimidation

I'm so pathetic.

Someone come and slap me please.

There I was, at N-Touch, the Kudos of San Francisco. Full of Asians/Orientals and their blonde admirers. The place where I started my SF adventure a year ago. But this time, there was no blood, no ambulance, no $6 kisses.

We spent half of our time fixated in front of the LCDs, watching French rugger bugger-cum-wrestlers. Ocassionally, we dodged over-enthusiasts who just came up for a snog. Generally by turning our cheek, and somtimes followed by a "Who do you think you are?!"

For the other half, I watched this jungle boy dancing his life away on stage. Wild, Mesmerizing, slightly provoking, immensely seductive. Generous enough to let us lust after his beautiful bronzed torso, he twisted, shaked and moved until he was covered with a fine layer of hot sweat.

I kept staring at him from a distance, doing my little dance. He noticed and accepted my attention.

When I turned around again, he was right there standing less than 2 inches away from me.

On a closer look, he has kiss-me lips and the cutest eyes. My heart skipped.

He was almost too hot to touch. My fingertips could burnt.

So I frozed. Didn't know what to do. Kept thinking that I haven't done anything to deserve this perfect specimen of the human race.

To complicate the matter even more, he was Asian, probably Korean. What am I suppose to do? Date/bed/small talk him? I've never really been with any Asian before. I was scared.

And that unfortunately, was the end of the story. Year of Chicken indeed.

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29/01/2005

Modular Love

I'm 100% single again.

So much about my modular outlook of love. I was at times quite single, at times not-really. Distributing my heart in slides. Dividing my attention into several categories. Differentiating heart from affection from forever. Stamp collecting variants of love, lust, passion & romance. Lending emotion to people who are running at the opposite direction to my own.

Well, at least I don't have to worry about the expiry date. At least now I don't have to put on a show that day in February...

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25/01/2005

Apologise for Hong Kong? (2)

Don't think I'm that sensitive, but I do get a little agitated/tired when I have to defend my birthplace day after day. These folks below love dim sum, but still have some friendly fire against HKG...

"So and so is such a mean person!" "Well what do you expect, he's from Hong Kong." (Singaporian)

"You people from HK. Asking for so much. Protest & democracy, today; independence tomorrow" (a mainland Chinese)

"It has no culture... it's trying too hard, everything is so artificial" (American Chinese, on the Walk of Fame)

"Hong Kong is so boring. Just a commercial city and nothing else." (mainland Chinese again)

"Twenty years ago, I went to HK and people dressed so well! The ladies were all very elegant, shopping was so good. But when I went again this year (2004), totally changed. People on the street look very lousy. I bought nothing this time." (a Taiwanese lady)

"I don't like Hong Kong, people are so rude there." (A Taiwanese estate agent)

"Where's HK, mum?" "Somewhere near Japan, I think." (in Beijing)

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23/01/2005

Apologise for Hong Kong? (1)

Over the years, I've received lots of racial comments/complaints from people around the world. Some almost made me want to feel a little sorry for being a Hong Kong"er" or Chinese or even Asian.

But come to think of it, did they hold me responsible for the status quo? Dunno. What did they want from me? Apologies? Huh, you wish. So Come on! Run Free, you junk memories.

"Oh, you're from the colony." (British, medic)

"Did you come here by boat?" (Sydney, at school)

"You should never tell anyone you live there (near a chinese community). It's a social dead end." (an Australian in SF)

"Oh you have the Asian gene. Going red when you drink? What is it again? Alcohol dehydrogenase! May be you should take a vaccine." (a white American girl)

"That club used to be so cool but is now full of "Asian invasion." (a half Japanese half American)

"Asians are the worst drivers." "You're just like all the other HK boys, always trying to pass off as British!" (a Hawaiian web designer)

"I went to China for 17 days, so sick of it I couldn't wait to come back." (a Texan 20 something)

"Dim Sum? Ill! Those dumplings with semi-transparent membranes look like there're aliens lurking inside! And God chicken feet? I'm not going to eat that!" (an New Zealander)

"We were on the bus and these Chinese men just spat all over the floor!?" (a brit touring Xian, China)

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29/12/2004

SAM-ON vs HE-RING

I went online to check the word "Salmon" today. Not trusting the all-American dictionary.com, I double-checked at the OED site.

So P was right, and I've always been wrong.

It reads "SAM-on" not "SAL-mon", and thankyou for telling it to my face.

I was quite tackful & restrained the other day when he said He-Ring (herring). Obviously the favoured ws not returned.

Nevertheless, this tirival incidence once again highlighted my troubled ego. I WAS the one who was all Ivory Tower, I WAS the one who has a (weird) English accent. I WAS the one who's supposed to have a better grasp of the English language. I WAS the one who's supposed to...

to be big headed twat? Ed, you're such an idiot you.

See, the quickest way to deflat a pride balloon is to pierce and burst it.

Thanks for Cracking My Vain Pot!

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23/12/2004

30 times

A little bit upset recently. I was talking to my lovely landlady about my parents and she told me this.

Let's say I'll go home and see my parents once every year. Since they're about 60 years old now, there will hopefully be another 30 years before we bite our final farewell.

Which means, I'm only going to see my mum 30 more times, and that'll be it. Red flag, from my guilt trip detector. White flag from my heart.

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20/12/2004

Coming Out of my Shell

Today, a Nobel laureate told me that I have been a complete waste of time since I joined the lab, and that I should stop doing what I'm doing.

But guess what, I didn't die, haven't even raised my eye brows. When he asked if I am stupid, I plainly said that there's no truth in that statement.

 

Because? Because I know it's not true. 4 years ago, something similar happened to me when I first started my PhD. My supervisor shouted at me, for executing my first experiment the way he dictated. But this time, it didn't ruffle no feathers. No earthquake, no tears.

I guess having gone through all the shit in the past I'm now ready to take on the world. Be it skipping heart, nasty mould, bullying, coming out. I guess I've finally grown up a little bit.

For a 20-something-no-name to stay calm, articulate and successfully negotiate with a giant who have already disprove my hypothesis "in 74' before I was born" (how does he know?)... it must be all the well-timed endorthin swimming around my shoulder deltoids and buttocks.

It's so good to have a gym right next to the lab.

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