katze-ren

2011-08-01T23:53:00.003+08:00

Before we moved out of Scotland Road, my family and I used to attend tarawikh prayers quite regularly at an old ancestral mosque. One of the things that struck my family and I during our prayers would be the conduct of the imam – at times during the prayers, whilst reading the Quranic verses that is usually read after the al-Fatihah, he'd suddenly break down into tears, and we could all hear him struggling to control himself, we could hear him choking back his sobs, and I remember that this happened particularly when he mentioned 'Palestine'.

Back then, I thought he was actually saying a prayer for the Palestinians instead of reading from the Quran, and his prayer seized him with such passion that it overwhelmed him and made him break down with emotion. However, I think I understand better now. Most likely he was really reading verses from the Quran, and the reason he broke down was because he understood the meaning of these verses very well, understood (almost) everything it meant from (almost) every perspective, and so meaningful and powerful were these verses to him that he could not help but weep in the middle of our tarawikh prayers, understanding every word he was uttering for everyone following his lead, understanding every implication and every Word of God.

This year a very strong thought occured to me. As you know there are certain people who make an occupation out of quoting Quranic verses. Some use it for positive purposes, as an idea to reflect on, whilst a considerable others use it for negative purposes, usually to justify some meanness they love indulging in. However, I am never able to say for sure whether these people who abuse the content of the Quran are really truly right by quoting the Quran in a certain context, for the simple reason that I myself do not know what is really stated in the Quran. Yes, I have completed reading the full Arabic text several times, but I have never actually picked up a translation of the Quran and studied it properly.

I don't think I can remain ignorant for any longer. I often tell myself and people that I will abide and practise only what is stated in the Quran, be it in religous, political or ethical terms, but how can I when I myself do not know what is in the Quran. And I want to know the truth. I want to know the absolute truth, I cannot bear not knowing, not being able to understand the world and Man. I may not be able to quote facts at the drop of a hat, and I am often ridiculously naive, but I at least want to understand as much as possible on how this world works, I want to understand the mechanisms of Man, and most importantly, most importantly I want to understand my religion and my God. I want to know if these people who adore quoting Quranic verses to explain some of their actions are right. I want to know which political party is the closest to being 'Islamic'. I want to know if my ideas and principles and opinions are right or wrong – and as a believing Muslim, reading and studying the Quran is one way for me to know.

So that is my mission for the next 30 days: to read the translation of the Quran. It is a quite frightening endeavour actually, because I am going deep into my faith, to the very core of my religion, which is the Quran. I am going to know once and for all the Word of God. Some people say you should not read philosophy if you fear for your faith due to some notorious atheistic ideas certain philosphers have, but I think if you truly fear for your faith, reading the Holy Book of your religion is more frightening than any atheist grumpy philospher – in fact it is the most frightening of all, because the moment you become disillusioned with what you are reading, and what you are reading is certainly no ordinary book, who else can help you? The spiritual battle that will ensue within yourself is something no one can guide you on. It is you and God alone.

No, I don't fear reading the Quran (neither do I fear for my faith, since I have decided long ago that I do believe in God, and I do adhere to the Islamic concept of God and faith), don't get me wrong. I am not afraid of truth. I am almost always ready for the truth, or so I think. Whatever happens, may God be with me always. May God be with all of us always. And may I emerge from this mission wiser and stronger. Have a smooth Ramadhan/August, everyone.

2011-07-08T23:58:00.004+08:00

Alright gentlemen, here’s the (somewhat) full story:

1. I will be heading to Kolej Yayasan UEM (KYUEM) this 12^th of July to do my A-Levels. I will be taking the four standard Arts subjects: Economics, History, Mathematics and Literature in English.

2. Yes, I shall be taking Literature in English even after my disastrous SPM results (B+), worsened by the fact that I’d been getting only A+ and A for the subject in school. But, as my friends assured me, A-Level Literature is going to be completely different than SPM Literature, and regardless of what my SPM results indicate, they still have faith in my (supposed) abilities in Literature. Besides, I don’t think I can risk taking a non-traditional subject for my A-Level, and Literature in English seems like my best bet. The next point explains why.

3. The fact is sending one to KYUEM is a cutthroat investment in monetary terms, unless your parents belong to the income group where spending RM66000/+ doesn’t sound at all paralysis inducing, or if you happen to be under the responsibility of scholarship-giving companies. I happen to belong to neither group – as such I must do all I can to ensure that my parents’ investment in me and KYUEM will not go to waste by achieving our primary goal: and that is to do my university studies in the UK. Taking traditional subjects in spite of my trauma and doubt is one step.

4. No gentlemen, I will not be going to KYUEM under a scholarship. The truth is JPA awarded me a scholarship that I listed as my second choice but which I never intended to accept – we only picked the course because we didn’t have any other options (we promptly told JPA to award the scholarship to some other student). I only got called for one other test (PNB’s), but that was that. Hence, I am sponsor-less, with no one to call my Boss.

5. Initially I wrote down a long post detailing my thoughts and my torment and my self-doubt centring on scholarships, but I found that I couldn’t publish it and that I really hated the post. I don’t want to whine here about the anguish we went through and to moan and to be bitter and angry; I prefer to approach this subject matter-of-factly, just to clear some questions I’m pretty sure some might be asking. Even if nobody is asking I think I’d feel more at peace if I stated my situation the way it is without keeping quiet and hinting at my situation once in a while.

6. However, I think I am willing to share a certain aspect of how I feel: I feel relieved. In a way. There is always a silver lining amongst the clouds as my mother and I like to tell each other, and I think one of the silver linings in my rather nightmarish situation is that perhaps God is giving me a chance to do the one true thing I really want to do: Government at London School of Economics and Political Science (LSE), since we have decided not to market ourselves as a lawyer but as an economist when applying for the undergraduate scholarships. Perhaps Law is really not for me, no matter how convinced everybody is that I have what it takes and how I remind many of them of a lawyer. Even a lady whom I have never met but got into a discussion with assumed from the first moment that I was going to take up Law. But as I said, perhaps Law is really not for me. I have doubted doing Law more than once already, but never have I doubted that I’d like to do Economics or Government/Political Science if the chance arises. But of course this is speculation – one never understands God until everything is settled.

And that is all. I look forward to attending college, very much so. It is going to be one heck of a life-defining experience, I know that, because now I will be truly away from the security of home, and, to quote Prince Myshkin of The Idiot fame: “now I will be with people”. Gott mit uns.

Belief

2011-06-25T21:52:00.010+08:00

NOTE: This is a post on religion. I apologise beforehand if anybody is offended with this post; do note that I never intended to insult or undermine any quarters. Do note also that this is not an evangelical post. As usual, I am open to any comments and feedback correcting me or giving us a different point of view.

Recently I suddenly found myself in the company of two Catholic British authors (Catholic British! swoon!): David Lodge and Graham Greene. Let me do a quick review of both books I read before going on to what I really want to talk about.

The British Museum is Falling Down

David Lodge

The first thing that stood out about this book is that it is kinky in a non-kinky way (precisely why I loved it!). It discusses the issue of sex and the Vatican-approved contraceptive, also known as the Rhythm Method; and tells the tale of the panic and paralysis practising Catholic Adam Appleby suffers when he discovers one morning that his wife Barbara might be pregnant, which is not a good thing since Appleby is this unemployed postgraduate student passing his days at the British Museum working on his thesis, Barbara isn’t working either, and they have three young toddlers to care for already. What makes it all the more difficult is that he simply can’t remember whether they did it or not before it was the right time to engage in relations, and at the same time he is so envious of other non-Catholic (or non-practising Catholic) couples who do not have to worry about conceiving or not when they get up to their nonsense. It doesn’t help that his day started off pretty badly, and that he’s bound for some trouble once he's at the British Museum.

I called it kinky in a non-kinky way because throughout the whole book Appleby is constantly thinking of five things only: his thesis, sex, contraceptives, the day when the Vatican finally declares non-rhythmic contraceptives legal, and the possibility that Barbara might be pregnant and the troubles that will follow. And yet this book is not lewd or coarse or graphic. At its most lewd point it is rather funny and very matter-of-fact. I’ve come across a lot of books touted to be the ultimate book discussing sex which is nothing but endless descriptions of people having sex (I hate sex in literature, it beats the whole purpose of writing) – but this one comes close to being the ultimate book discussing sex precisely because it discusses sex with a straight face – in other words in a (rather) scientific way. That’s what I call discussion, not people moaning and screaming.

Monsignor Quixote

Graham Greene

Didn’t enjoy this as much. Partly because the religious themes and the adventures in it were a bit too tame for me and were nothing earth-shattering; partly because the introduction by John Auchard was brilliantly-written and very thorough – a little too thoroughly unfortunately. It diminished the joy of exploring Greene and Monsignor Quixote and the themes discussed, which is really unfortunate because the setting is really very mouth-watering. When I first heard of this book (courtesy of somebody from the Well Lit. Sessions – an excellent place to pick up book recommendations) I knew I just had to read it. In fact I have been spending some time looking for this book, but was eventually forced to settle with online shopping.

You see, unlike Cervantes’s Don Quixote (which inspired this book), Quixote here is a Catholic priest who has just been promoted to Monsignor status, whilst his pal Sancho Panza (who isn’t really Sancho Panza in this one – read the book) is a former Communist mayor. Together they go on some self-discovering journey, and along the way they discuss faith and belief as they encounter some ... disturbances. But can – you – beat – that. It’s an Atheism vs. Theism showdown. As I said: positively mouth-watering. Really, if Dostoevsky had written something like this … I’d have … I’d have … God damn it he probably did!

Anyway, the books may be starkly different in many, many ways, but they are both similar in one way: both books touch a lot on moral theology, or rather, the rules of the religion. What is right, what is wrong, and what is sin. Hukum-hakam as it is known amongst the Malays.

In the two books, the protagonists often debate on what is sinful and what is not. In Appleby’s case, he looks forward to the day when the Vatican will one day declare contraceptives unsinful, and questions why are contraceptives sinful when it actually does a whole lot of help to a whole lot of people. At the same time he pessimistically tries to device ways to get around the contraceptive ban. In Monsignor Quixote, Quixote and Sancho also talked a bit on the Catholic sin of utilising contraceptives. They quote from a famous moral theologian (ulama in Malaysia-speak) who wrote that in certain situations the Rhythm Method will become sinful, whereas in certain other situations the Rhythm Method is okay. There are so many ways that define the legality and illegality of the Rhythm Method that it becomes a confused affair.

As a believer of an organised religion, I can tell you with certainty that one of the main factors that drives people away from religion is the ‘rules’ and how oppressive these ‘rules’ are, and how these ‘rules’ sometimes contradict the concept of faith and belief in God, the concept of good and bad and justice, and, for Muslims, what is contained in the Quran. The situation I mentioned in the previous paragraph is not exclusive to Catholics too; Muslims face the same problem everywhere. These religious people always come up with fatwas and rules. Most of the time – in fact some dare say all – these ‘rules’ cannot be found in the Quran. I don’t know about the Christians and their Bible. I don’t know if they can turn to the Bible when they face uncertainty about the legality of a certain action, but I know Muslims can. We have the Quran to tell us what is right and what is wrong. That is the whole point of the Quran – to guide us on right and wrong and the way of God. Unfortunately we still have moral theologians forcing us to follow rules that are not in the Quran for God knows what reason(s).

The thing is, when people who doubt and disbelieve see how organised religion and these confusing rules are not only contradictory but also negatively affect society, they don’t see it as a flaw of humans and organised religions – they see it as a flaw in the concept of God. They reason that if the ‘rules’ and hukum-hakam of the Being that (allegedly) made them are faulty, then whoever that Being is must be wrong. And since this is God we’re talking about, if God is wrong, then God cannot possibly exist, hence their disbelief. And I don’t blame them. A lot of believers reinforce their belief in a certain religion by pointing out the irregularities of other religions. Atheists do that too, especially those who base their atheism on science and logic. Seeing that theism is full of inconsistencies, atheists, like theists, naturally stick to the most consistent philosophies – science and logic (the very reason atheism very much resembles an organised religion – agree?). But as I said, at least where Islam is concerned, these irregularities stem from manipulation of the contents of the Quran or ignorance of it. Some are nice and say it is a case of misinterpretation. Perhaps with the Christians, Hindus and other religions with different sects, that is the case too. Their Holy Books state things clearly to their believers but certain moral theologians insist on making things more difficult by saying that going with the Rhythm Method is not enough, you have to do it in a certain position under certain circumstances, whilst other moral theologians disagree and say no, it has to be this and that position and circumstance.

What I am trying to say is DO NOT believe the moral theologians blindly. You have to do your own research – only then can your faith be affirmed. For a Muslim, the best research source is the Quran. It is when you blindly believe everything the moral theologians say without consulting the Quran or whatever Holy Book you subscribe to that organised religion becomes haywire and is a mess of contradictions. It is this that erodes faith, this first of all. Some people thankfully still have faith in God; they are called Deists – to put it simply they believe in God but not in any religion (I highly recommend that you read Wikipedia’s series on Religion and Irreligion. It has the usual academic Wiki gobbledegook, but otherwise the series is very good and enlightening).

But let’s be realistic: studying your respective Holy Books and others are not enough. It is also our mentality that we must fix if we want to benefit from the Quran (let me just put this in Islamic context since I am a Muslim – but it applies to every religion, I should think). Remember that the Quran will not always give immediate answers. You must think about its contents thoroughly – just like any philosophical work. Also, I’ve come across many people who read the Quran not seeking enlightenment but seeking justification for their actions. This is very bad. That is why the Quran often gets quoted out of context – because those who quote it out of context only seek to find ways to make themselves look right, not because they are seeking ways to right their wrongs. As I am often reminded, we must take into account the verses preceding and succeeding the verse we want to quote. One verse will only tell one part of the story – the preceding and succeeding verses will tell the full story.

Also remember that the first and foremost thing about religion is belief in God. People tend to overlook this and focus more on rituals and ceremonies and whatnots. As a writer once wrote: “We’re so absorbed in Hell that we’ve forgotten about Heaven”. This is why we have moral theologians. We only care about not sinning and going to Heaven. It is not God we love and want to please, it is not out of sheer good-heartedness; it is our skins we want to save from Hell. Believing takes second place. This is wrong. The rituals and whatever are important, but only to a certain extent, because at the end of the day what is all that if there is no belief? And I’m talking about genuine belief – not the belief you have because you grew up believing, not the one you have out of habit. I’m talking about the belief acquired through labour, knowledge and thought.

Honestly, what sort of belief is that? Believing and being obedient because it is Heaven you expect. Is this the sort of believer we want to be? The type that will immediately cease to be obedient if one day God (somehow) announces that everybody will go to Heaven irrespective of merits?

Unfortunately, the truth is most believers are like that. Sadly I am most probably one of them too (this is not modesty – I am never modest. If I say I am like that then (I truly think) I am like that). We are taught that in Heaven we will have endless joy and everything we wish for shall be granted. But why must we need these incentives? Why can’t Heaven simply be a place where we are by His side and in His grace for eternity? Is that not the ultimate Heaven for believers – to know and see for real that you are loved, that you have been forgiven, and that for all your stupidities and faults you are still there with Him? Why must our obedience and love be artificial? I cannot deny that Heaven will absolutely need some lovely things to keep us entertained for eternity, but when taught about being good, about Heaven and Hell, the emphasis is not on the acceptance and forgiveness of God – the emphasis is on these lovely things. Should it not be otherwise?

Belief is not easy, but let’s not give up on it. We cannot be afraid to doubt, and we cannot be afraid to ask questions and seek their answers. True and full belief can only be acquired through labour, knowledge and thought. One way to truth is to understand different points of view, regardless of whether you agree or disagree. So here's some food for thought for the Muslims and for all readers to wrap up this post.

The Fiction-Writer

2011-06-22T23:35:00.002+08:00

One thing I keep telling everybody is that I have ceased to be a (fiction) writer.

I still want to be a writer of course, but not of fictions. What I would like to do someday is to work with a publishing company and have my own column in a newspaper, preferably the New Straits Times (my personal NST tag-line: "The Number One Paper in Malaysia and in My Heart"). I used to want to write fiction, and I did write some pretty good fiction at one point of my life, although not very frequently – but one day the dream died in me. Here I am going to tell you why.

When it comes to fiction-writing, I want to be unusual. However conventional I am in real life, I want my fiction to be unusual. Once upon a time it was easy and possible to write fiction differently, and that is the whole problem: I can't find anymore ways to write fiction differently and unusually. I read stories and I can find a million other people who write the same way, and a million other people who have discussed the same themes and have recycled the same plots over and over again. It is so boring. When writing fiction I don't want to bore. I want it to be a work which might shock you immediately and makes you go HM!, or which doesn't shock you immediately but is something you can pour over again and again without boring you. Reading my archive of fictions, I find that I have managed to fulfill the very very basics of my expectations twice or thrice – meaning it is possible for me to write in such a way, even though a little unpolished. But alas, along the way I got disillusioned. I could not find anything else that I could write about which would be different and unusual. I was thinking of going along the lines of the tales which Suhaimi Ramly sometimes posts on his blog – but upon consideration, the fact that those stories are of a genre of their own makes them not unusual anymore, so the plan was half-dropped. Besides, I find those tales somewhat pulpish in the sense that they are not that shocking or unusual or haunting – they provide mere cheap thrills, although granted those tales are not for everybody, but aren't all writings anyway? I have been told to write about themes I feel passionate about or which capture my imagination in fiction form, but I don't know. It's not really the theme (or the style) I'm concerned about – it's the plot!

Having said that, I am now going to talk a little on how I may have found something to draw me out of my I-write-non-fiction-only shell.

Last Sunday Daphne Lee of The Star (this newspaper I am forced to read every Sunday for rationality's sake) wrote on a writers worskhop organised by some writers: Writers Unlimited. She mentioned that some writers got a little bit political with their works, and she dropped enough hints for readers to know that these writers are obviously aligned with the Opposition.

Reading that, my immediate reaction was why why why must every Tom, Dick and Harry fiction-writer be aligned to the opposition? Why must it be so fashionable for this group to be anti-establishment? I bet these people aren't actually pro-Opposition – they're just aligned that way because they think they have to be aligned that way since they are writers. I'd love to see their faces if the Opposition ever takes over Malaysia – I don't think they'll be very happy because after the euphoria and all they'll find, to their utmost disgust and shame, that they are now pro-Government. This is not only applicable to Malaysia – read George Orwell's The Lion and the Unicorn and in it you'll find that he classifies the intelligentsia – meaning all those posh writers with their alcohol and cigarettes and whatnots – as left-leaning, meaning the anti-government group who wanted the UK to go to hell and were more than willing to slave away for the Soviet Union (if possible they'd have liked to be part of the Soviet Union). I have nothing against the Soviet Union, but national identity is national identity.

Okay, I am aware that there are pro-establishment writers out there – but the problem is they don't seem to be writing any fiction to express their support for their government. Can you name any pro-establishment fiction off-hand? If you can, please do name me a few; I am extremely curious. Well, perhaps there are pro-establishment fictions out there, but I don't think they are that popular (I may be mistaken of course – just because I don't know them it doesn't mean they are not well-known), though I understand why these works wouldn't be popular. The fact is pro-establishment fiction isn't very marketable and doesn't capture the imagination of the masses: everybody imagines that he is being manipulated and suppressed in one way or another. As if that's going to change if the Opposition takes over – hah!

This has nothing to do with whichever political party I am aligned to. It is more to do with my earlier mentioned like of unusual fictions. I think writing pro-establishment fiction is unconventional (prove me wrong!). Hence, I hereby declare that one day, one day definitely, I am going to write a pro-establishment novel. It won't be The Great Malaysian novel, it is not a grand idea and many people are bound to scoff this idea and brand me an apologist because it is so like uncool to be pro-establishment. Perhaps some readers reading this are even thinking: so what if it's pro-establishment (to those who did, please read this whole entry again).

I don't know what this novel is going be like (I'm thinking about it). I don't know if it will be specifically pro-Malaysian Government or pro-establishment in general (which is why I keep using pro-establishment rather than pro-government). I don't know from which angle I shall approach the pro-establishment camp – from the leaders' point of view or from the supporters' point of view – and the problems that shall be discussed in them. And really who knows if this novel shall ever materialise? Maybe whilst writing it our Government would have changed, or my alignment would have changed. Maybe my reignited interest in writing fiction will fizzle out again. And I don't know when it will be published – 2020 perhaps? Whatever it is the novel will definitely not be apologetic in nature; I am no apologist. Please do keep a look out for it in nine or ten years.

ps: To my pro-Government comrades, do not steal this idea!

The Piano Player

2011-06-16T23:54:00.002+08:00

I've begun to play the piano again!

I started out with playing Tchaikovsky's June, but I still haven't managed to get past the second part, when the piece cheers up and increases in tempo. I tried moving on to July, because I have this grand plan to play each month's piece on the first day of whatever month it is in question, and since July is quickly approaching I thought I should get over June – but then I am extremely fond of June so I decided to hell with July and its Chinese market lilt – I'm going to play June and conquer June (but knowing me soon enough I'll be obsessing over July once more).

Recently we went to KL and we bought two playing books by ABRSM – Spectrum 3 and Spectrum 4 (we already have Spectrum 2 at home, and we did not buy Spectrum because firstly, the Spectrums are insanely expensive (about RM60 each) and secondly, Spectrum didn't look too interesting compared to 3 and 4). I was personally involved in the purchase of our two new Spectrums, and this ignited an excitement within me to play the Spectrums. For the first time since I stopped playing the piano I felt the yearning to play without being told to and without having some (pointless bohemian) plan in mind (see first paragraph). So after we got back from KL I went through the whole of Spectrum 4. Not all the pieces of course, you know how some of these contemporary pieces can be intimidating and quite mind-boggling in its contemporariness. But playing the simple "Grade 1 to Grade 4" pieces in Spectrum 4, I was struck by the sense of enjoyment I felt, something I don't always feel when playing the piano – the enjoyment of freedom.

Because when it comes to playing the piano I become very insecure. At home I live with two excellent pianists and one decent player whose repertoires are quite extensive. I'm not a very good player as I take more time than usual to get used to a piece (I have very bad body coordination and trust me this is NOT an excuse – ask my former judo teacher) and since I am the obsessive type, my repertoire isn't very extensive as I tend to focus on one piece at a time and play it until everybody grows sick of it. Because I am embarrassed by my lack of skill and my lack of repertoire, and I hate it that everybody grows sick of the pieces I play, I prefer to play in private when I know no one is paying attention. As a result, I don't play much. As a result, my skills, whatever they are in piano playing, suffer even more.

I always felt not good enough a pianist for being unable to play the more difficult pieces smoothly; the deadlines and the exams weighed me down (when it came to the aural test I was beyond hopeless), and I felt quite unworthy of playing the piano for not being pitch perfect, for not having good sight-reading skills, and also for playing the same pieces over and over again. It's not that I hate playing the piano. I don't. In fact I love it, but only when I was alone and when there was no one around to tell me to stop banging the piano, and to play something different already. But at the same time I disliked it so much!

However when I played Spectrum 4 it was then that it occurred to me: so what if I can only manage Grade 1 to Grade 4 pieces (and the occasional Grade 7 piece) like the ones in Spectrum 4? So what if I play horribly? So what if I am not perfect pitch? I no longer sit for exams. All these don't matter anymore. I'm reminded of the lotus eater in Maugham's The Lotus Eater (teehee). He told the narrator that he was terrible at playing (and indeed he was, the narrator observed) but he enjoyed it nevertheless. So what if I'm like that? Who says the mark of a pianist is one who can play difficult pieces with no difficulty at all?

No one told me this, but I assumed this was what they were telling me based on their criticisms, and on the awe and marvel everyone shows when somebody plays a difficult piece. Because when you play Chopsticks, no matter how brilliantly you played it and how much you enjoyed it, somebody's bound to tell you, "Anyone can play that", which can pretty much translate into: "You're no pianist, you just play". That's what I told myself, at least. And I wanted to be a pianist. When you play the piano how can you not want to be a pianist? When you're surrounded by pianists how can you not want to be a pianist?

Relax. I'm not blaming anyone. If anything I'm the one to blame for my unhappiness. My pig-bro, who was once called the 21st-century Bach by his teacher (Bach!), plays the same pieces over and over again. He looks happy enough. We all think his playing is rubbish but look at what his teacher called him (and look at his exam results – grr!). I had stupid insecurities. My fingers are like bananas and so was my playing but I couldn't accept it. And I really, really wanted to do excellently for the exams (needless to say, I didn't. It was only in Grade 3 that I did). As a result I couldn't enjoy playing the piano most of the time. It took me until Grade 7 Practical to accept that I was wasting everybody's time and money by still going for classes.

Oh, another problem which made me an awful piano player – my stubbornness. Sometimes I insisted on playing the pieces the way I wanted to. Tchaikovsky's October is this slow, moody, contemplative piece but I turned it into a Bollywood movie. The reason I did well for Grade 3 is because they were simple pieces and I enjoyed playing them the way they were supposed to be played.

Anyway, with the pressure of exams and deadlines out of the way, and having made peace with myself over my insecurities and the piano, I think I now have more courage to play. I'm not a pianist. I don't play well. But I love the piano very, very much, and I want to play it no matter what. Still in private, of course – music is like my own thoughts to me. And as my mummy always tells me, "The problem with you is you have too much freedom of thought". And that is the playing I will be playing.

ps: This post was in no way an advertisement for ABRSM's Spectrum series, but do check them out here if you're intrigued.

pps: Can I demand a commission from ABRSM anyway?

ppps: Speaking of advertisements, here's a reverse advert: if you're thinking of purchasing audio recordings of Tchaikovsky's The Seasons, don't buy Mikhail Pletnev's version. I have that and I wouldn't call it the best version ever.

pppps: For those who want a less dreary post on music, go here.

2011-06-11T13:20:00.000+08:00

Whilst cruising along the Internet I came across this extremely interesting quote that immediately compelled a reply from me:

Remember, you cannot be both young and wise. Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world are mostly just cynics. Cynicism masquerades as wisdom, but it is the farthest thing from it. Because cynics don't learn anything. Because cynicism is a self-imposed blindness, a rejection of the world because we are afraid it will hurt us or disappoint us. Cynics always say no. But saying 'yes' begins things. Saying 'yes' is how things grow. Saying 'yes' leads to knowledge. 'Yes' is for young people. So for as long as you have the strength to, say yes. – Stephen Colbert

I'm going to be very direct.

1. Remember you cannot be both young and wise.

I absolutely agree. If there is one thing that is stopping me from enjoying my youth, it is my lack of wisdom and ignorance of everything. I am not the type who can sit back and enjoy the mysteries of life, even if I do appreciate its beauty. I want to understand everything, everything, every little thing in this universe. It is only when I understand everything that I can think more clearly and be more confident of what I believe in. This is why I don't read fluff anymore. It is a waste of time for me. It is why I (try to) observe and analyse people, advertisements, television shows, parties, rooms, pictures and pretty much anything that can be observed and analysed. I am not trying to show I am oh so intelligent here (my days of doing that are over), but such is my way. Unfortunately, no matter how much I observe and analyse, my age will always stop me from fully comprehending things. There is still much that I do not understand and when I finally understand something unpleasant it upsets me and throws me a little off balance. That is the way of the young.

2. Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world are mostly just cynics.

I disagree with this statement. Young people who pretend to be wise to the ways of the world will pretend to be cynical too. Being young, they think that cynicism is the way of the wise. I am not a cynic (hell no I'm not. Ask GAS and Mummy), but do not underestimate cynicism. A lot of it is valid.

3. Cynicism masquerades as wisdom, but it is the farthest thing from it. Because cynics don't learn anything. Because cynicism is a self-imposed blindness, a rejection of the world because we are afraid it will hurt us or disappoint us. Cynics always say no.

Upon consideration I find that I disagree with this too. Cynicism can be a lot of things. It can be propaganda to downplay a rival country's achievements/grandiose plans, it can be rhetoric to prevent your supporters from going to the opposite side, it can be blind irrationality based on blind hatred and prejudice; but it can also be pure realism, it can be based on experience, experience gathered from life after living and observing and thinking and reading for fifty long years, and after having seen so many things happen, having lived through the most difficult times and the most wonderful times of your country and the world – in other words, cynicism can be wisdom too. It is NOT a self-imposed blindness, and it is NOT a rejection of the world. True cynics are cynical because they are NOT blind, and they are aware of what is going in this world, and they cannot reject it because they know this is the world and this world is real. True cynics do not say no; it is fake cynics, the (young) people who pretend to be wise and to be cynical, who say no. True cynics doubt but they do not stop you. Do as you like but remember the old patterns, remember the past, remember the consequences. Remember, remember, remember.

Incidentally, it is a certain group of idealists that fits Colbert's description of cynics. Why are idealists called idealists? Because most of the time their ideals are mere ideals – they simply cannot work. There are some idealists who are reconciled with this fact, the fact that their ideals can never come true. They understand that their dreams are not compatible with the world and human nature – thus their ideals are only secret longings which they don't expect to achieve. In fact they are pretty much realistic in principle.

However there is another group of idealists who simply cannot accept that fact that their ideals do not suit the world, that they contradict human nature and will do no one any good. They let their unattainable ideals form their opinions and control their thought processes. No matter how destructive their ideals will eventually be, no matter how irrational, they hold on to it – forever believing that this ideal can be achieved and will fix the world and their lives. It is this type of idealists who are on a self-imposed blindness. It is them who reject the world as the way it is because this world hurts them and disappoints them, refusing to accept that the world has to hurt and disappoint. They say no to everything that does not comply with their ideals.

4. But saying 'yes' begins things. Saying 'yes' is how things grow. Saying 'yes' leads to knowledge.

Hell yeah sir.

5. 'Yes' is for young people.

Bullshit. 'Yes' is for everybody. It's this type of thinking that makes the young (and everybody, for that matter) adhere to silly stereotypes (e.g. teenagers are always anti-establishment and rebellious in nature. WRONG).

6. So for as long as you have the strength to, say yes.

I hate to kill your joy, sir, but that really depends on the situation. We must always be careful with what we yes and what we say yes to.

Have a nice day everyone.

ps: Please note that I am commenting on the quote per se, without taking into account the context in which it was spoken and to whom it was addressed.

The Night I Lost My Mind on Twitter

2011-05-31T16:18:00.009+08:00

If you follow my Twitter (thank you to those who do), you'd notice that last night I went bonkers with rage. Just to recap, I saw red when I saw this phrase on somebody's Tumblr:

#youreamalaysianwhen you wish you were born Malay so your life would be much more easier.

In all honesty, I am used to certain things being said about the Malays, and how certain people regard Malays grudgingly. When you are a regular on Recom.org since 2008 you get used to racism and non-racism. Whether I agree with them or not is a different matter, but trust me my opinion is not as straightforward as most Malays (or so I think). The point is I am used to these things, and I know the common opinion of unhappy non-Malays. Thus when I go batshit furious over phrases like the one above, then you know that whatever that phrase is, it is really ... really ... bodoh nak mampus (beyond stupid, so stupid I am angry). And the irony is that from what I gathered from the tweets of the owner of said Tumblr, who as you guessed is a non-Malay, she is going off to study in the USA in January (I could be wrong, please correct me if I am, and apologies in advance if I am), whilst my relative who is a Malay with 7 A1s, 3 A2s and 1 B3 to her name doesn't even know where she'll be once she completes her A-Levels. She has an offer to do Aeronautical Engineering at Imperial College, but no money (yet, and who knows maybe never) to finance her undergraduate studies. And she is a Malay.

I know and understand why this relative of mine did not get a scholarship, but if things were really oh so easy for the Malays she should not have been denied one. If things were really so easy for the Malays she'd be rich enough to finance herself. And my race certainly didn't help me in school or in life. Anyone who thinks otherwise can tell me so, I'm interested to hear what you think. My skin colour did not save me from favouritism in the Debate team. We wanted to buy a house a few years back and couldn't even afford the cheapest one after the 5% discount. Still think life is rosy and carefree for us? And for your information, I did not go to any MRSM or SBP because we absolutely refused to use the crutches readily available for us; we wanted to make it on our own. The Malays who went reaped all the benefits, obtained scholarships and come back preaching to the Government to abolish its policy which benefitted them (they're called Hypocrites if you don't know).

I have refrained from speaking on racial issues, but this time I cannot keep quiet. It is not about defending Malays or things like that, I'm not the type to get so het up over stuff like that. Malays can go hang if they want, I'm not going to cry for them if it happens. You get what you deserve. It is about people saying bodoh nak mampus things. There are some bodoh nak mampus things I can tolerate, and there are some that I cannot forgive. This is one of them.

Because I am a Malay and I have hopes and fears and dreams and desires. And they are real, as real as the hopes and fears and dreams and desires of any other non-Malay, and I am just as tormented by them because they are real.

ps: I personally have nothing against the person who said that (I don't even know who she is). I am just angry at her words. It is stupid and it does not befit a seemingly intelligent person like her.

Super Cool Soviet Cartoons

2011-05-22T18:14:00.005+08:00

Some Sunday awesomeness.

Soyuzmultfilm, a Russian animation company (Russia again ... sigh), has been producing some very wicked and beautiful animation since its conception during Russia's Soviet days. They do produce regular cartoons such as those churned out by Disney, but I don't think Disney has ever produced anything like what Soyuzmultfilm has released. I won't go on blathering: here are some of my favourite Soyuzmultfilm videos. Some are frightening, some are sad, some are sweet and charming, some are what the hell-ish, all are bloody brilliant and unique – and watching them I feel so regretful and WHYYYY? that we missed out on these during our childhood, although I can't really blame the television people, what with Russian being a totally foreign language to majority of us and all. Watch them and love them please:

I am particularly intrigued by Soyuzmultfilm's interpretation and execution of Winnie the Pooh (Vinni Pukh to them), which is starkly different from Disney's. It's rather difficult to say which one I prefer. I grew up on one, and the other is simply stunning in every way – music, direction, animation etc. In fact you just can't compare Disney and Soyuzmultfilm and say Disney is shit or whatever because both are run by different philosophies altogether and are of two very contrasting cultures. Any thoughts on this?

ps: Soyuzmultfilm has their own Youtube channel here, although their uploads are somewhat limited. But fret not – look around and you'll find all their gems all over Youtube. Also, Soyuzmultfilm is currently working on a stop-motion film, and unfortunately even they don't know when that's expected to be released.

pps: Argh, I am so freaking sad that its golden days are over!!! Over!!! (Go ask Wikipedia. Actually you needn't even ask because it is obvious. But you might want to read Soyuzmultfilm's Wikipedia page anyway – some interesting info over there).

ppps: God damn it I really love Soyuzmultfilm!!! The music!!! The art!!! The language!!! The everything!!!

Tagging Time: Things About Me

2011-05-19T02:29:00.049+08:00

Somebody’s been tagging me. I’m popular!

10 Things

1. I used to be beyond obsessed with sanitary napkins when I was in primary school. I’d go crazy if I couldn’t use a pad of a specific brand of a specific length during specific times of the day. Now I’m not as obsessive, but I still go crazy sometimes.

2. I’m semi-obsessed with underwear too. They must match each other and my clothes.

3. When I listen to music – and I mean really listen – I must either stand or pace my room. No sitting at all.

4. I still sleep with my mum, so my dad is forced to sleep in my room.

5. Because I’m scared cockroaches will crawl all over me at night, even though that has never happened. You just don’t know when those buggers are going to appear.

6. I adore children’s cartoons. Blue’s Clues will forever be my number one favourite television show.

7. My fantasy career is to be the driver of a mafia who waits outside to drive the gang away from the crime scene (murder, robbery, etc.).

8. My other fantasy career is to be part of the intelligence team of a bicycle-cycling (?) mafia.

9. I know a bit of Mandarin. Sometimes I can even understand full (simple) conversations on television. Sometimes.

10. I badly want to own my own revolver, or at least have a husband who owns one.

7 Things

Seven things to do before I die:
1. Have a Russian Communist boyfriend
2. Travel all over Europe
3. Work in a book publishing company
4. Read the full translation of all holy books (the Quran takes top priority)
5. Seek forgiveness and forgive
6. [Too inappropriate to mention, but I MUST do it!]
7. Read all the books I want to read

Seven things I will not do even if it kills me:
1. Sell my soul to the Devil (or any other devils)
2. Have premarital sex
3. Commit murder
4. Commit suicide
5. Betray
6. Denounce God
7. Sell my country

Seven things I do when I'm away from public:
1. Read naked
2. Study naked
3. Play the piano
4. Pinch my brother
5. Wear the shortest, shortest shorts
6. Discuss sensitive issues openly
7. Check my weight

Seven favourite sentences/quotes/expressions:
1. Based
2. Depraved
3. Magnanimous
4. I am not a Marxist. – Karl Marx
5. Moron
6. Apalah Lim Guan Eng ni.
7. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Seven songs:
1. George Orwell – Georgia
2. My Strange Uncles From Abroad – Gogol Bordello
3. Exogenesis Symphony: 1. Overture – Muse
4. Take a Bow – Muse
5. Space Dementia – Muse
6. Love Can Damage Your Health – Télépopmusik
7. 2+2=5 – Radiohead

2011-05-18T14:28:00.004+08:00

Ever since I changed my blogskin and wrote the previous post, my enthusiasm to write about anything and everything has multiplied a thousandfold.

I finally managed to go to a proper bookstore with good books and made some purchases over the weekend. I haven't done that for months already, not since London, and that was in January.

I bought two books actually: David Lodge's The British Museum is Falling Down and William Goldman's The Princess Bride.

Not sure if I've mentioned this, but I will mention it again: some time last year Penguin Books launched a series called Penguin Decades, which examines groundbreaking British books of every decade. I'm not sure which decades exactly are featured, but The British Museum is Falling Down is from the 60s, whilst the other one I have, Daphne du Maurier's Don't Look Now is from the 70s. The covers are designed by artists from various fields, they aren't necessarily book cover designers; and each decade comes with its own design theme. See this and compare: Don't Look Now is of a different design and theme altogether:

I'm not going flipping insane over this series, but I think it's a brilliant marketing strategy for stubborn traditionalists like me to explore new writers (I’d never heard of David Lodge or Angela Carter before this – and she seems to be pretty big judging by Penguin’s infatuation with her). If the given synopsis and catchy titles don't scintillate you into buy the books, at least the beautifully designed covers will – which is what Penguin does best, eh?

Speaking of Penguin, I also finally managed to see their Mini Modern Classics in the flesh, and they are indeed very mini (about the size of two and a half iPhones perhaps? And as thin as a quarter of the size of a regular Penguin Great Idea), selling at a price of RM16.50. Like Penguin Decades, it serves as an introduction to the works of writers whom you aren’t familiar with and features rare works of theirs. Frankly, no matter how exciting this series looks, I’m not willing to spend on it, mainly because of its seemingly limited content – it really is very thin, I doubt if I’m getting my money’s worth by spending RM20 on something so very thin. Even the Great Ideas are not so atrociously priced at RM27.50 – at the very least they are indeed full of great ideas (and very pretty to boot) – sometimes you can’t help but feel that RM27.50 is pittance in exchange for these earth-shattering essays. Okay, let’s move on now.

Now this one is horrendously ugly (not done by Penguin, as you can see). I was ashamed I had to buy it, and that’s the real reason I bought David Lodge’s book – to save my face from the humiliation of having to buy an ugly book that suspiciously looks like fluff. The Well Lit. team should seriously start reconsidering the type of books they want us to dissect every month (the reason why I even bothered with The Princess Bride: it’s Well Lit.’s May selection). Heck, even one half of the duo managing Well Lit. pointed out last month that they seem to have a penchant for books of this genre. Well, in a way it’s good I suppose – for the sake of Well Lit., I am willing to pick up books I wouldn’t even look at in a million years, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised once (John Grisham’s The Innocent Man). I’ve always dismissed John Grisham to be in the same room as Sidney Sheldon and James Patterson (writers of a genre I absolutely cannot bear), but the story of The Innocent Man really shocked me, and is probably one of those books that will continue to have an effect on me. Anyway, the Well Lit. duo has promised me a Russian book soon, and now I hope to God that it will be dissected in December, a month when my attendance is pretty much assured since it’s the holidays and all.

By the way, speaking of exploring new territories, I can’t remember if I dreamt I thought this thought, or if I really did think this thought at the bookstore (like most imaginative people, I have trouble differentiating dreams from reality at times) – but I think it’s time I start exploring some Spanish or Latin American Literature (there’s a difference!).

And speaking of all things European, the French Film Festival is coming to Penang this 26^th May, so get your cardboard censors ready! – they’re French/European movies after all. Only God can count the number of times we had to endure scenes of naked people running around and flashing themselves gleefully.

The Arrogant Bitch

2011-05-17T23:20:00.008+08:00

Hello everyone. As you can see, this blog has undergone a mini renovation. You might be surprised to see that the layout is pink and very girly, but it’s nothing surprising – this isn’t the first time I opted for something fluffy. In 2009 my blog was green in colour and had hearts all over it (I kid you not!). Even I was taken aback that I actually liked the skin a lot. But soon enough I decided that I wanted something sober and opted for a black and blue theme. I am now sick of being overly sober and want some fluff back in my life; for the second time in my life I am indeed sick of blue (!). I’ve had to do some mini renovations myself too. I think that’s pretty much why I suddenly felt compelled to install a new pink blogskin. In fact I wanted to change this whole stupid blog, I even nearly moved to Wordpress – and did actually, until I was confronted by Wordpress’s super user-unfriendly dashboard. Back to Blogger’s arms I went.

Okay, so nothing much has changed, but there is some sort of significant change happening to me – or maybe has happened? It’s interesting how all these skins reflect the user’s mood eh? Even blogskins have trends. I used to be a frequenter of Blogskins.com back in 2006 and 2007, and I am always amused to note that for a certain period the popular skins are so similar to each other, whether in theme or in colour. Right now the trend is to have a pink blog, so you can imagine my indie annoyance upon discovering that I wasn’t the only one yearning for a pink-coloured blog.

I was God-awful post-SPM. I think my general state of contentment (London, Well Lit. Sessions, The King’s Speech etc.) brought out the worse in me, and my worst flaw would have to be arrogance, so I became a very arrogant person. I was laughing at people, getting really frustrated with certain unpleasant traits of theirs, taking pride in certain advantages I had over people – hell yeah, I was such a stuck-up bitch. And I was very much aware of it. Since I believe in God, I knew someday I was going to be punished for this vanity. Did I try to change myself? I am sure I did, but it was a feeble effort – I continued to laugh and laugh and laugh. God had to remind me. And He did.

Basically, this is another restart. Mummy told me to be fluffy. I’m not going to be all that fluffy, but I definitely have to lighten up. Six months of idleness has given me too much space for thought, and for people with certain flaws, too much thinking is not good because whilst the act of thinking is good, it is what you think about that matters more. Come on, we learnt this in Pendidikan Islam Tingkatan 4 (or was it 5?). I haven’t been thinking about good things. The ‘good’ things I thought about only added to this poison suddenly thriving in me, in indirect ways.

And I think I owe several people an apology. Being nasty is not a nice thing. It’s a virus that slowly takes away whatever feeling of contentment and happiness you have, because you always hate on other people. Earlier this year I was so happy and full of joy, but mounting pressure led to hate and bitterness and now I am unsettled. Very relieved, but still unsettled. See? It’s easy to let the feeling spread but no vacation can just as easily take away the bitterness and contempt that has been allowed to breed inside; and bitterness and contempt are very ugly feelings that take away one’s peace. Nothing is right, and everybody else is stupid. You are the only one who is right and who is clever.

Basically, just don’t hate on other people okay. Don’t even think about them and their issues. I’ve stopped reading the newspapers, and I badly need a holiday, a real one, not the type where you disappear for two or three days. Here’s to the pink life.

ps: I suppose I should mention that this skin is temporary, until I find a better pink one, or I stop wanting something pink.

Classical Music

2011-05-05T02:06:00.000+08:00

I adore classical music. I think that classical music is way better and more precious than modern music because modern music relies on catchy beats, catchy choruses, scandals, outrageous and good-looking singers to sell, which is why singers like Ke$ha are allowed to even be signed to a label. Classical music relies on everything except good looks to sell: as you can observe most composers are ugly as shit (but of course that's relative). Scandals only make the composers alienated, and for those composing before the mid-20th century, catchy is nothing if the laws of music theory are violated. It's all pure talent and passion and patience (money and fame do not come pouring immediately, sometimes even never).

I can’t remember not ever being so involved in classical music, and I can’t remember how our family became so passionate over it, although it’s quite certain that our taking piano lessons did help the passion grow (there are people out there who learn music and yet remain so aloof to classical music). We used to buy cassettes and cassettes and cassettes of classical music, and after school I’d have my bath, eat my lunch and then laze away on the bed doing homework or revision whilst listening over and over again to these cassettes, often putting them on mindless repeats (note that this was when I was still in primary school – when in secondary school you just don’t have the time nor thought to do such things have anymore). And every time we went to Popular Bookstore, we’d always be on the lookout for new material to listen to (we still do this, actually, though not as often since they seem to have lost interest in stocking good classical music).

Well, not all of us are such learned enthusiasts – GAS isn’t very familiar with all these composers and whatnots and doesn’t have an obsessive-compulsive outlook to classical music like us, and neither am I to a certain extent – but a trip to watch PESSOC in action, and later the Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra, would always be an exciting event which we take pains to dress and look pretty for, and which we try to go for at least once a year (it isn’t easy, you know, to plan a trip to KL. You can’t simply say oh I am going to KL because there’s this MPO concert I want to watch).

I wasn’t much of a pianist unlike my little pig-brother and other older sister (there are four of us, you see), but I was always interested and intrigued by the pieces that I had to play, and I always feel a thrill of importance whenever I realise that I have just played a composition of Tchaikovsky’s, Beethoven’s, and all these other illustrious composers. Unfortunately, I have yet to play anything by Rachmaninov whose music I am intensely crazy over, but don’t blame me: Rachmaninov was one of those bugger composers who assumed that everybody else can play as brilliantly as he just because he could. I tried playing something by Liszt and Chopin, but stopped halfway because I immediately forgot I was trying to play something by them a few days after I started (it happens, this dementia).

It was always exciting to receive new material to play, back when we were still taking piano lessons. I’m quite sure my siblings agree with me when I say that there is always a faint thrill of anticipation when the teacher is selecting a new piece to tackle once we have mastered the current one. In fact every two years we always look forward to seeing the new selections by ABRSM for the piano exams, in addition to the new design on the playing book. My pianist pig-bro and other older sister would be trying out every piece in the new syallabus, whilst I (and probably GAS too) would be sitting in the armchair listening and mentally taking note of which piece I’d like to play when my turn for that grade (if it’s a higher grade) comes.

As I said I wasn’t much of a pianist, but I did enjoy playing the piano. Trashing it out with the piano when trying to master a piece is of course a chore and an unbearable one, but it was heavenly when you’re finally able to flow through the whole score with the most minimal slips, more so if the piece was one that you’d decide to undertake simply because you loved the sound of it without anyone telling you to. You know those pieces: you test out a few notes, and find that you know it is going to sound lovely, so you decide to play it anyway. I had many of such pieces, and most of them were in the minor key and were Eastern European in origin. It was actually through these pieces that I began to grow enamoured of Russian art and culture, and not through its literature, as many are inclined to believe – the literature merely catalysed it. Of course, not all of them were Russian; as I said, they were Eastern European in general, but isn’t Russia the heart of Eastern Europe? Over there everything seems to relate in some way to Russia.

And it was also through the Russian Romantic composers that the fascination for Russian art and culture grew. Out of all the compositions I listen to it is often the Russian Romantic ones that stirs and inspires me, even if they are cheerful and sweet. However the composer I hate the most happens to be Russian too: Igor Stravinsky. A lot of his music is awful, even if they are theoretically ingenious, and he insulted Rachmaninov. Can you believe that this guy actually dated Coco Chanel? And apparently their relationship was legendary – it has inspired a book and a movie, with gratuitous sex scenes it seems. Eww right? Who the hell wants to see old Stravinsky make out? Eww.

The reason I am suddenly talking about this is because firstly, it occurred to me recently to learn a new piece after a year of not seriously playing anything. Secondly, I recalled our music shopping in London, and it made me realise how ingrained classical music is in our lives, and how we’ve been taking it for granted. Thirdly, GAS recently went to Prague and listened to a live performance at a museum, and I am so jealous! I haven’t listened to any live classical music since London. I was planning to this month: MPO was playing Rachmaninov and Stravinsky, and it has always been my dream to listen to MPO playing Rachmaninov. However, as I said earlier, you can’t just fly to KL to listen to an orchestra play, you need some valid primary motive as well, and sadly I didn’t have any excuse to go to KL the weekend they were playing Rachmaninov.

And the fourth reason is because I suddenly remembered one of those lovely pieces I used to play over and over again without the teacher ever asking me to play: Rimsky-Korsakov’s Song of India (another Russian!), taken from his opera Sadko. Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov is another amazing composer – I can’t understand why Tchaikovsky is more popular than he is, Rimsky-Korsakov is simply brilliant (he had synaesthesia)! You should listen to his Scheherazade: it is almost like reading a book or watching a movie on some sea adventure – it leaves you completely breathless and overwhelmed. In fact most of Rimsky-Korsakov’s compositions are vivid and lively. If there’s anyone who can compose music and turn it somehow into 3-D form it is Rimsky-Korsakov.

Well – about Song of India. It is tender and peaceful; and listened at the right moment with the right frame of mind, its beauty may bring tears to your eyes. And here it is (!), in all its Russo-Indian glory. I absolutely love it:

ps: Someone asked a pertinent question: why is Tchaikovsky spelled with a ‘T’ instead of just leaving it at ‘Ch’? Why eh?

Food for Thought on 1st May

2011-05-01T16:39:00.014+08:00

Having finished reading The Master and Margarita yesterday, I feel that it is my bounden duty to tell everyone that the first thing you should know about The Master and Margarita is that it is not about the master and Margarita. They are featured, but their story set in 1940s Moscow is secondary to the Biblical tale of the procurator who sentenced Jesus Christ to death, Pontius Pilate, which is the crux of the whole novel. This book has many themes, most if not all of them anti-Soviet, but I am quite sure that the main theme is the belief in the existence of God.

But I won’t spoil your fun at discovering the novel (which is beautifully written, although the tale in contemporary Moscow got a little bit dull and forced me to dock half a star when reviewing this in my Book Journal) – instead I’m going to ask a few questions about the anti-Soviet themes.

Alright, what anti-Soviets and Soviet dissidents say about the USSR is already familiar to us. Simply put, the USSR is super awful. Big Brother watching you all the time. No freedom of speech and expression and everyone lives in fear of denunciations every second of their lives (a main theme of the master and Margarita’s side of the story). Corruption and doom and hell all over.

Malaysia has their very own dissidents too. According to them, the Government is always keeping tabs on us. Their latest ingenious tactic to continue invading on our privacy and mind is the 1Malaysia E-mail Address of Evil. They are always conspiring to bring the brave and noble Opposition down. Freedom of speech and expression here is so terrible, everyone is in fear of voicing out their opinions, more so if it’s anti-Government in nature. Corruption and doom and hell all over. Note the pattern.

We all know what our local ‘dissidents’ are like. Most of the time, their criticisms are either based on incomplete facts, irrational ideals, blind hatred, or are imagined. It got me wondering: all these bad things about the Soviet Union that we have been hearing about from the non-Soviets and Soviet dissidents alike – are they true? Because based on the aforementioned patterns, it seems that Soviet and Malaysian dissidents have the same complaints, and if the complaints are the same, are the Soviet dissidents just as delusional as the Malaysian ones?

Here’s a little factoid: according to some statistics by research institution Levada Analytical Centre, majority of Russians regret the collapse of the Soviet Union, and majority also feel that contrary to popular belief, its collapse was NOT inevitable. Based on these statistics alone, it should already make you take a second look at all the unflattering popular opinion and assumptions concerning the Soviet Union – was it really that bad back in the USSR?

All the flaws in the Soviet society dissidents and haters point out in their works – are they accurate, or have they been blown out of proportion? If it has been horribly misconstrued, how are we to regard works such as Bugakov’s The Master and Margarita, and other works that depict the stifled Soviet life? It may be very beautifully written, and is so in Bulgakov’s case, and leaves a powerful impression on the reader (I woke up in the middle of night deeply troubled by the Biblical tale), but inside it could be full of trash, sheer lack of patriotism, ingratitude and infatuation for a shameless capitalistic lifestyle. It has been hyped and given various awards and commendations simply because it is anti-Soviet.

Let’s bring this closer to home, to make it more relatable. Let’s say a local distinguished author who is publicly aligned to the Opposition publishes a book condemning life in Malaysia. It is well written, the language and style is impeccable, but everything he wrote in the book is absolute rubbish and delusional. How would you regard this book? Is it still of any value? When foreign newspapers review this as the next best thing in Malaysia, the defining moment of Malaysian literature, how would you feel about this? Disgusted? Angry? Proud? Err … avenged, even?

Let’s look at another aspect of these questions. Maybe yes, it really was that bad in the Soviet Union. Corruption, doom, hell. But based on the previously mentioned numbers, it seems that majority of Russians regret that the Soviet Union collapsed. Does this make things in the USSR bad? It was what the majority were happy with, wasn’t it? They did not have a say in the way things were run, I presume, but they were happy. It is almost the same as the Voice of the People – the voice nobody is allowed to deny nowadays, no matter how nonsensical.

However, before you answer any questions, bear in mind that perhaps, at the time of the collapse, the Soviet Russians really wanted to get away from their system, but now, in the 21^st-century, upon reflection of the way things are locally and internationally, they find that perhaps it was better if they had remained under Soviet rule. It is said that in the 90s there was indeed a sort of infatuation with the Westerners amongst Russians, but after Boris Yeltsin’s disastrous rule and other issues, nobody wants to be American anymore (save for an extremely small minority, certain bloggers stress). Or it could be plain nostalgia.

Well, what do you think? I can’t answer these questions at the moment, because firstly, I am preoccupied with other things, and secondly, I am not well versed in Cold War matters, and USSR and modern Russian politics. However you can answer the one whereby I asked if a beautifully and powerfully written book containing untruths and pure nonsense is of any value. Now that is an interesting question which I am also unable to answer for now, not because of the beauty but because of the power, the writing that deeply troubles you and keeps you awake until dawn.

ps: No Google banner for Labour Day. I am disappointed!

2011-04-25T01:45:00.034+08:00

A Doctor in the House

Tun Dr. Mahathir Mohamad

Truth be told, I am getting bored seeing this blog not updated, so I’ve decided to talk about Tun Dr. Mahathir’s A Doctor in the House, even though there’s nothing much to say. Is this even a review? I don’t think so, but I’ll just put it in review form.

So. Did anyone cry after reading this? I didn’t (and I wouldn’t), but I am certainly very moved and inspired by A Doctor in the House. This is Tun after all – any patriot would find him inspiring regardless of their political affiliations (or so I prefer to believe).

And that, I think, is the most important thing you have to do if you want to learn anything from Tun’s memoirs, and that is to abandon any political prejudice and bias before reading this, more so if the reader is a student, because I believe that the people who shall benefit the most from reading this are Malaysian students. It is such a pity that I haven’t come across many students who are reading this book. Instead, I see a lot of old fogies losing their minds with love and also hatred. Tun’s views on national identity and the importance of education are priceless, particularly on the process of learning, of observing and learning from the past and also from the present. Reading them I totally forget about Dostoevsky and Orwell, although of course you can’t compare the three – but the excitement and love I feel when reading Dostoevsky and Orwell are felt a thousand times more when I read A Doctor in the House, probably because the latter is closer to home and deals with specific issues affecting Malaysia and Malaysians.

Even if they, the students, still disagree with his views on world affairs, education and other related topics, it doesn’t matter – the point is not to get them to agree with him, but to show them other points of views, particularly this one, which unfortunately many students are not inclined to seek (if they are, forums for students would be less filled with morons). It is a shame that many Malaysian students will miss out on these extremely important opinions not only as a result of political prejudice, but also indifference, which is many times more unforgivable than political prejudice.

Because it puzzles me how many are able to regard the country indifferently and not feel anything for it. Being a regular reader of certain Western political blogs, I am often amazed to find how many can casually label themselves as ‘rootless cosmopolitans’, and happily live their lives jet-setting from one country to the other without being able to identify with any nation or people. People and their worries and joys are all the same, that is true – but cultures and national identities are not. In London I can find a lot of people I identify with, and I’m sure in Australia too, but it is just not the same as going and being at home in Malaysia. It’s hard to explain national identity, really; it’s somewhat similar to faith and religion, although of course not as spiritual. Just as people question why should I believe in so-and-so, people can also ask why should I give a damn for this country? I don’t have the answer for now (only generic ones), but I can’t imagine not doing otherwise.

I think to miss out on important books such as A Doctor in the House simply because you don’t give a damn for politics or the country, and have no intention of ever reading it for the same reasons is silly. It is just as philosophical and groundbreaking as any of those infamous Russian and German books. In that case why continue reading Tolstoy (just an example, any philosopher/author will do)? You’re not Russian, Russian politics and society doesn’t concern you. Obviously the reason is because Tolstoy isn’t just about politics and society, there’s more to his works than a couple of disillusioned once-infatuated lovebirds, that's why you continue to pour over his books. The same goes for A Doctor in the House: it isn’t just about Malaysian politics and society – there are a lot of ideas and philosophy in this which everyone can learn from, especially Malaysians since Tun is a Malaysian – naturally the things he discusses will strike a chord more with the locals. You can argue that the issues Tolstoy touched on are universal (and plus he is super famous), that’s why every local literature enthusiast are falling over each other wanting to read Tolstoy, but so are the issues touched upon inA Doctor in the House (and note that Tun is also super famous). There are so many issues concerning world politics and economics discussed in that book, all relevant to first-world and third-world countries. If you tell me you’re not going to read A Doctor in the House because you’re not interested in politics or your own country Malaysia, then reading Tolstoy or other famous people only shows what a stuck-up pretentious prat you bloody are (whoa there! – slow down with the judging!).

I think this memoir should be a priority in every Malaysian student’s reading list. It’s not only his opinions that are worth reading, this is a treasure trove of information about the dynamics of administration and business, our country and those events we could not witness or were too young to remember. Footnotes are a-plenty, and there’s an extensive glossary at the back of the book. It’s always better and more important to learn about your own country first before learning about other people’s country. Is there any good in being so learned about all things American, for example, and knowing barely anything about your own? No, seriously, consider it – what’s it to you if you know American history like the back of your hand whilst your native country's history is ignored? What, what?

Before you can even make sense of world history, you need to know your own history, the story behind your country, how the past has shaped the present, and along the way you learn about how world history has played a part in shaping our past and present, the role of your country in the region and the world, relationships between your country and others, and with this knowledge you will learn to predict the future and other possibilities. It annoys me when I hear students moaning that we should learn more on world history rather than our own history, and how our history is so boring. Number One: so what if our history is boring? Does the interestingness of our history prove our self-worth? Wars may be fun and interesting to learn about, but reflect: what does a country involved in so many wars tell about the country and its people? And remember that boring is relative. Number Two: would learning world history in class actually make you more interested in learning history? We spend a substantial amount of chapters on world history in Form Four – heck, only four out of ten touches on local history; I still hear a lot of complaints. Number Three: if you really wanted to learn more about world history, you wouldn’t wait for the system to silver-spoon-feed you; you’d actually go to the bookstore, get some books and do your own research.

Let’s talk about the style a little. His style of writing has not changed one bit – still crisp, business-like and meticulous. I compared the memoirs to his The Malaysian System of Government, which was written in 1995, and it is still the same. I think this is good because it shows that he has only one thing and one thing in mind – and that is to educate his readers and to help them understand his point of view, his reasons for having so-and-so an opinion. He goes back to the past, and brings it back to the future. He is always proposing solutions and methods to solve a problem. He doesn’t seek to impress with any creative curly curvy style. Being a fan of his and living with other fans of his, I can testify that this is one of the main reasons why he has so many admirers.

About the content. I don’t think it is as juicy as many expected it to be. I am unable to pronounce judgment over the contents, really, because I am not well versed in most of the issues he spoke on, so the best thing to do is to refrain judgment. His account was certainly enlightening, but I’m not assuming that they are the truth. In fact this whole memoir could be a lie, none of the opinions written are really his – but I doubt it because he has always been consistent with his views, and if he changes his mind, he’ll tell you so himself. That’s what he did anyway in this book. Furthermore, even if he lied throughout the whole book, I don’t really mind, because: firstly, his ‘opinions’ (assuming they are lies) have inspired me to become a better citizen, and this surely is good for any country and any individual, more so since I am still a student (meaning I am a ‘future leader’). Secondly, I’m the type to reserve judgment on things that I am not sure of, so whether his accounts on certain controversies are true or not, my perception is not really affected. Thirdly, if he does turn out to be a liar, I would be terribly disappointed, and I’d most certainly stop supporting him, but I wouldn’t be depressed or suicidal. He’s a human being after all; he has feet of clay. I think that’s what many political enthusiasts in this country (or all countries for that matter) fail to realise – that politicians are humans too, they are not angels or prophets, let alone God-sent. Come to think of it, politicians themselves seem to have forgotten this, which explains why they keep making themselves out to be the perfect individuals they are not.

Of course, just because I wouldn’t mind so much if this memoir is filled with untruths, that doesn’t mean it is good. I am not advocating it, please do not misunderstand. I’m just trying to be sensible, that’s all.

Let me end this with a plea: please, please, please do take the time to read this for those of you who have not. Just because you disagree with him, it doesn't mean you don't have to pay attention to him (the main reason I am still reading TIME). It is worth every cent. In fact RM100 seems to be too cheap for a book of this magnitude (but then again it isn’t my money). Do not see this as a political book, imagine this is like an Orwell autobiography, or a collection of his letters. If you like reading autobiographies or letters of this sort of people, then you must read this. Don’t be a stuck-up pretentious prat – read, read, read this.

The King's Speech

2011-03-06T23:08:00.002+08:00

When I found out that The King’s Speech would be released in Malaysia, I knew then: I absolutely had to watch this movie. In London I’d already known this is the one movie out of all the other now showing movies that I really wanted to watch, but I didn’t because it meant that if we can go to the cinema to watch The King’s Speech, then we can also go to the cinema to watch Black Swan. However, upon knowing that The King’s Speech is now available at my doorstep, the excitement seized and overwhelmed me: I absolutely had to watch this movie.

So I did, thrice.

1. Mummy and I still do not know why we like this movie so much. It’s nothing like Sherlock Holmes at all (of course), we all know what is going to happen in the end, yet it is so compelling and gripping – at our second viewing we were both surprised at how much we both really loved the movie. I mean, naturally we knew that we liked the movie very much – and even before watching I just knew that this movie is in my line, that here is a movie which will move me – but to this degree? I seriously wonder how people find the words to describe the poignance of this film. I read through some reviews, and I find that all their descriptions are not quite there, you know. Some word is missing, some adjective. But I won’t try to find that absentee adjective, because I know I am unable to. What I want to talk about is what that movie means to me.

2. I was struck by the amount of importance the characters seemed to put on the role of the King in society. In the movie, Churchill, when urging the Duke of York (later King George VI, our speech-delivering hero) to replace his brother as King, said that the people needed a King to stand by throughout the impending war. Earlier Prime Minister Baldwin told him that if his brother, the King Edward VIII, were to enter into a marriage with a twice-divorced woman, he and his government would have to resign. And of course, there is the final speech itself – how significant that speech was in giving hope to the citizens of the UK, even though it was a mere speech, just because it was the King who delivered it. It makes one wonder. It also makes me all the more convinced that a society needs a king.

3. The truth is we humans need a Leader. We need a father figure to hang on to. This is why, said Freud, we invent Gods (evident by how certain groups revere their leader as though he is a deity). Anarchism is a lie, a Huge Delusion. Why do humans easily hang on to the word of a charismatic person, to a person who projects himself as a leader? Because it is our innate need for a Leader. Without a Leader we will go astray. Who shall sort us out? Who shall inspire us? Who shall reassure us and lead us to prosperity and peace? Many may not see the Prime Minister as their Leader. A Prime Minister is a person who acts in not only his country’s interest but also in his party’s interest. He is a politician. He is a person who is willing to sell the soul of his country just to ensure he stays in power (if he is that kind of person, that is). Loyalty to him varies according to political alignment or personal principles.

Hence, the importance of a king in a society. You see, a king is not like a Prime Minister. A king is first and foremost apolitical. The fact that he is apolitical is the reason why he is our Head of State. It is in our nature to need a Leader, but for us to unite under One Leader, he needs to be apolitical so that we should never feel the need to doubt or question him. Even if he has his preferences, he must not and he can never show it and act according to his preferences when carrying out his official duties. For this reason alone our loyalty to him should never be influenced by whichever political party we prefer. Here is our unquestionable and undisputed Leader.

In time of crisis, like a revolution, or a war, when people lose faith in the Government, it is the duty of His Majesty to guide us through it and call for perseverance. It is him who shall reassure us, who shall join hands with us and inspire optimism in us. In fact it is during time of crisis when we need him most. This is why speeches or statements by our King is truly important, as has been shown in The King’s Speech – his word, as long as it is legal, is Final. The King’s Speech shows that these constructed and monotonously read speeches are not just words – they represent our Oneness and Unity, they are Hope in the time of Uncertainty, they are the words of Our Leader, Our Head of State. Churchill’s words, that the people need a king whom they can stand by throughout the war, sums up beautifully the role of a king in a country and how important he is to his country.

4. Allow me to make myself clear on something: I don’t come from a state that has a Sultan as its head of state. I come from Penang, a former Straits State. I don’t know what it is like to be under the reign of a Sultan, and I have always wondered. When the late Sultan of Johor passed away, I was amazed to see the people of Johor weeping. It is important that I say this to stress on how dead serious I am in supporting our country’s monarchy, that I did not come to this conclusion just because I am a Malay, and that I have given much thought on whether a King is needed in our society or not.

Another thing I must stress: I don’t give two hoots about our royalty. I’ve come across blogs of students belonging to the royal family, and some of them are trash. My loyalty is solely to our Yang Dipertuan Agong, although I also believe that the people of states with kings should be equally loyal to their own Sultan, and I look upon with disdain on people who have no good reason to disobey or be disrespectful to their Sultan.

When I saw The King’s Speech, I was touched and moved by the people’s patriotism, by how highly they regard their King, and how they cling to their King’s words. Maybe it is not so anymore, but the patriotism shown in the film struck me. I was wondering, what do regular Malaysians feel about our monarchy? All this God Save The King stuff – do regular Malaysians feel the same of our own monarchy? I certainly do. Look, I don’t know how to express myself more clearly. The fact is we need a King, and that is why I believe in our monarchy. He is more important to our society than we realise it.

5. But as usual I am no fool. I do not attribute any sort of divinity to the King, neither do I gush over him, for I do not know what he is really like. My loyalty stems from patriotism and sheer pragmatism, because I believe we need him. Whether he is just an ordinary man, maybe even stupid, a spendthrift, no better than you (as William Hazlitt our favourite anarchist believes) is irrelevant. A Yang Dipertuan Agong only rules for five years. If he does not display wisdom, I trust the judgment and wisdom of the other Sultans to name a better successor. Besides, I doubt that the King and the Sultan are as clever as your average uninformed citizen. They were, after all, brought up on expensive education and were trained to be kings (and The King’s Speech has shown us that ‘kinging’ is no easy business); and the other Sultans, after all, carefully select the next King. We are not the UK, where the title is hereditary, where any royal fool can take the throne. And they certainly have no need to offer or receive bribes (although of course I can’t guarantee that).

6. Back to The King’s Speech itself. The film is truly a study of sterling acting and delivery. It does not have mind-blowing cinematography or a crazy murderer on the loose to grip and daze the audience – it is the acting that really brings the movie to life, coupled with its dignified, minimalist soundtrack and charming dialogue. This is a story with no surprises, very little suspense, and everybody knows at the end there is going to be one powerful speech – but not for one moment were Mummy and I bored, even after the third time – and that is what is so amazing about the movie. In fact we are trying hard not to consider watching it again so that the urge does not resurface … oh, hang on: Mummy just said to me, “Pending decision”. Well.

One of my favourite moments would be the very beginning when the Duke of York is required to deliver a speech at Wembley. True, it wasn’t a very nice moment, but it was so well-acted that Mother and I actually felt pained to watch the scene (and for me to even recall it), and that’s why I love it: it made us feel the King’s and the audience’s ordeal at having to go through that speech amidst His Majesty’s stammers.

Another aspect that I absolutely adored about the movie: the menswear (!). They were very, very sexy. I have always adored long, thick winter coats on men (not sure if they were frock coats), and to see an upper class Colin Firth in them is a very handsome sight indeed. If the story is not for you, then the clothes should do enough to be your source of entertainment.

Note also the chemistry between Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush. Let’s admit it: when there’s a strong male-male relationship in movies, certain quarters tend to look at it from a different perspective, like how the magazine Galaxie did when Jacob and Edward had to join forces for some nonsense or other in Eclipse. But here, the chemistry is so fluid that there is no other way to interpret it: Mr. Logue and the King are friends. It’s not even like the bad-cop-good-cop sort of relationship – they really are friends! No question about it. I note this with interest because the friendship between them was translated onscreen very excellently. Many male-male relationships either do not work, rely heavily on the easy but weak bad-cop-good-cop dynamics, or are given the ultimate insult of being branded ‘bromance’, which many quarters translate as romance.

Ah, and it is also refreshing to see Helena Bonham Carter in a sane non-screaming role. She should take on roles like this more often, don’t you think?

So what else can I say? The King’s Speech is thought-provoking, witty, and outstanding. A fourth screening is more or less definitely on the cards. God Save The King!

ps: Or Daulat Tuanku, if you like.

Black Swan

2011-02-26T18:28:00.004+08:00

Yes, so I ended up watching Black Swan after all, since Mummy wanted to watch it so badly and I didn't have the heart to insist otherwise in spite of my reluctance. I know I said I didn’t want to watch it, but let me remind you that it wasn’t because I thought it’d be bad. In fact, I admitted that it was probably going to be very good, and when I’d first heard of it, I was intrigued. It was the fact that everyone seemed to have lost their minds over this, and the fact that there was some unnecessary sex slosh involved which repelled me. The same opinions still stand – it has been seriously over-hyped, and there was unnecessary sex slosh involved.

1. Black Swan is a brilliantly directed movie. It all boils down to direction more than the story, really, where a movie like Black Swan is concerned, because honestly, Black Swan is a very simple story about a perfectionist whose balance is disrupted when the director is displeased with her inability to be flexible, with her obsession for precision that totally ignores the importance of showmanship. A perfectionist naturally can’t cope with that. The director thinks he has the solution to her frigidness – she needn’t be afraid of her sensuality, since the Black Swan is someone who isn’t afraid to use her charms to win over the prince. But the perfectionist takes it too far – finding herself unable to appreciate her sensuality, to feel sexy as how the director thinks the Black Swan feels, and unable to find any other way to appreciate her sensuality, she starts cracking under her own demands for perfection, trying to balance precision with showmanship, and finally succeeds through stupid means (it’s stupid to me to discover sensuality through drugs and defying one’s mother).

Aronofsky’s forte are movies like this: the artist who is immersed in his or her career. Hence, he knows how to draw the audience into the movie, how to translate onto the screen the uncertainty and the loss of grip that Nina feels as she pressures herself more and more to feel and be the Black Swan, and he does it successfully. Just look at the way the camera follows Nina, how it bobs up and down when her head bobs up and down, and continues to bob up and down throughout almost the whole movie – naturally it’s going to make some viewers feel dizzy and, coupled with the movie’s moderately fast pace, feel dragged into Nina’s disorientation. Under a different direction, it could have gone a different way altogether.

2. Black Swan’s real beauty and strength lies not in Nina’s loosening grasp on reality and in her inner struggles, but in the details that support the plot: music, sound effects, cinematography, and how the ballet scenes are filmed – again, it’s the directing that brings out the best of Black Swan. I like how every time the dancers move their arms up and down, the sound of birds flapping their wings could be heard, and when the dancers slowly tiptoe on the spot (sorry, do not know what that move is called), the sound of birds trudging is used in the scene. And there’s how the camera focuses on the contour of the dancers’ parts of body. They’re not beautiful at all, and Aronofsky probably wanted to show what a gruelling art ballet is and how difficult it must be for any perfectionist to master it. But the ballet scenes are truly magnificent. After the movie I wasn’t wondering about what the plot signified, and I couldn’t care less – but out of all the moments of madness and violence in the film, it was the ballet scenes at the beginning and at the end that left me dazed. It’s too bad Aronofsky couldn’t spend more time on the dancing.

3. The lack of censorship in the movie really surprised Mother and I. Only the masturbation scene, sex scene and part of a scene on the train when an old man bugs Nina were censored, I believe. Even if there were more, this would only show two things: one, we have excellent people working in the National Censorship Board who censor without spoiling the story and leaving viewers wondering what just happened; and two, those additional censored scenes which Mother and I didn’t notice were probably commercial sex shit to begin with which needn’t be included in the movie in the first place. Other than those three scenes, we gleefully watched everyone grab and caress each other in the movie. Yay.

4. I feel very sorry for Nina’s mother and Thomas. The reviews really put them in a bad light. To me Thomas is not lecherous at all, even though he has a ‘reputation’, but he thought sexual fearlessness is what would make Nina understand the role of the Black Swan better, and so he had to shock her out of her frigidness by taking ‘drastic measures’ and encouraging her to engage in some depravity, but you could see that he was very gentle with her at times. In other words, as my mother said, he’s just a typical theatre director who wants his production to work and his principal ballerina to shine. By the way, he and Lily didn’t sleep together – that was just Nina hallucinating since she was so paranoid about her role being taken over by Lily. And no, I certainly don’t think Lily was really groping the male lead backstage during the performance – that was just Nina’s jealousy and paranoia again.

About Nina’s mother, the woman the reviewers love to hate. I feel very sorry for her, almost sad. If there’s any character who needs a second look and an analysis, it’s her more than Nina, for she has been gravely misunderstood. I strongly believe her story is a combination of both her version and (partially) Nina’s version: perhaps she had a lot of potential, but could never fully realise it (not because she’s without talent, as Nina screams at her), and finally abandoned whatever she had to raise Nina. Of course she’s possessive of Nina and forbids her to go out and to go sleep early instead, of course she gets angry when she discovers that Nina still scratches herself at night and proceeds to cut her fingernails (the only sensible thing to do, and not at all ‘painful to watch’, as one reviewer claimed) – here is her daughter living her dream, being everything that she had always wanted to be when she was younger. Of course she gets anxious when Nina becomes rebellious and refuses to retire to bed early, of course she worries and gets angry when Nina scratches herself – both would have gotten Nina into trouble, and it might have jeopardised her chances of retaining the role of the Swan Queen. Honestly, did she do anything to hinder Nina from being the Swan Queen? Did she do anything that displayed jealousy all over? No, none at all. It was only at the end that she tried to prevent Nina from going to perform, because she saw that her daughter was cracking under all the strain, saw that her daughter had changed for the worse ever since accepting the role, and I’m sure any decent mother would have wanted to stop their child from getting involved in anything that was driving them crazy. And the way she keeps Nina like a little girl, stuffs her room with stuffed toys and calls Nina her ‘sweet girl’? Nina is probably the only one she has in the world. I think the reason Nina begins to rebel against her mother is because she blames her mother for her lack of sensuality, for making her lead a sheltered life, and in consequent wants to break away from her mother’s protectiveness.

And oh yes, Nina’s mother threw tantrums and wanted to throw away the celebratory cake when Nina refused it, but God damn it she’s old. Have the reviewers ever tried living with cranky old people before? Gosh.

5. One thing I absolutely disagree with the whole movie, and that is its sexual nature. To me art can be sensual, but it need not involve sex to be sensual. And I also believe that you don’t have to taste sex to know and appreciate your own sensuality. Why explore the sensual aspect of art through sex? Sensuality can be explored through violence, through thoughts and knowledge. Violence is only featured not as Nina discovers her sensuality, but as she loses her mind, as paranoia and insecurity consumes her; hence, nothing is explored through violence in Black Swan. Did she cut herself or hurt anyone in her quest to ‘live a little’? No, she didn’t. This is why I said earlier that Nina couldn’t find an alternative to sex to discover her sensuality, and also that my initial opinions stand: that the sex in this movie is all commercial fluff. By the way, I am of the opinion that someone pure and innocent can also be sure of her sensuality at the same time, although I understand that Nina was made to be extremely pure and innocent and sexless so that there’d be a story.

6. I think the reviewers have over-hyped the movie, though, despite its strong points. Firstly, it’s a psychological drama, not a psychological thriller. Only one blogger got it right, and she wasn’t even reviewing the movie, she was just saying that she watched it and that she liked it. Secondly, I don’t think this is such a strange story, or one open to various interpretations. To me what it is about is pretty clear. Even the ending isn’t as vague as the reviewers like to make it out to be. I was very puzzled when it ended. What’s so bloody vague about that? I could also tell when she was hallucinating, and when she was not. If you want a movie that really confuses you and makes you, the viewer, also lose track of reality, watch The Science of Sleep. Mummy still can’t get over the movie, and would do anything not to watch it again.

7. A word on Lily. I don’t think that she’d be a very good Black Swan if you were to judge based on her personality alone. She’s not at all classy or graceful, you know. To me, the Black Swan is someone beautiful, proud, confident, graceful, mischievous, but not loose, as how Lily seems to be. Some reviewers like to refer to the Black Swan as “erotic and passionate”, and even Thomas describes the Black Swan as lustful, but I really doubt this. I don’t understand this predilection to stereotype femme fatales as “erotic and passionate” and “lustful”. Why can’t femme fatales be dignified too? Why can’t they know their sensuality and their charms, but put a high price on it? Why is such a concept difficult to grasp?

All in all, Black Swan is a good watch (and I never said it wasn’t!). I liked it (and I never said I wouldn’t!). It’s an eight out of ten. However, let’s be honest: the only thing worth a second watch is the ballet and the ballet only.

ps: I’ve watched The King’s Speech twice (full marks), but I’m not sure if I’ll be publishing anything on it. What I’ve written on it seems a tad too personal for public reading.

2011-02-13T00:10:00.036+08:00

Hello. Forgive me for touching on politics again, but a thought I consider very important flashed through my mind when I saw on the news that everybody’s public enemy number one Hosni Mubarak (when previously they never gave a damn) has finally stepped down after almost a month long of resisting the Voice of the People. No, I will not be discussing my views concerning this issue and certain things I found appalling and disgusting throughout the whole revolution, because I’m pretty sure that almost all my readers know by now that I abhor revolutions, I abhor demonstrations no matter how peaceful they claim or try hard to be, and most of all I abhor the hypocrisy surrounding revolutions and demonstrations, both on the part of the demonstrators and other observers. The same stands apply to the Egyptian revolution, regardless of whom I am aligned to (in this case I am completely neutral, because frankly, I don’t know much about Egyptian politics and how their history has shaped their society today, so I am not going to pretend to know and care about them, unlike other teeny-boppers).

When I saw how jubilant the people of Egypt were, I was puzzled and pensive. There were people dancing, women were crying, children were waving flags and smiling at the cameras (children!) – all over Egypt (it seems) and in Egyptian communities all over the world people rejoiced at the resignation of a ‘dictator’, weeping with relief at their new-found freedom, and looking forward to a more democratic leadership and a dignified life. I was puzzled and pensive because all the while I could not help but think: but why are they so happy? What is it that they want actually? Is it really democracy that they wish for? Do they believe that they will get democracy and a better life after this? Was it really so bad under Mubarak? Is their happiness real and genuine, or is it people getting caught up in populist sentiments, weeping tears of emptiness when previously they didn’t care at all? I saw a photo of an Egyptian lady who is living overseas raising the Egyptian flag, beaming into the distance, and I thought: did she really suffer under Mubarak? Or is she happy just because everybody else is? I thought and thought about it, and my inability to answer any of these questions confused me.

And that’s when the very important thought struck me: I just could not relate to them. I could not understand their feelings. I could not feel their hopes and fears and tears because I have never lived under suppression at all. I have never known poverty or economic instability (but maybe that’s because I still depend on my parents); I have never felt that I was being denied my rights and any form of freedom, be it freedom of speech, of expression, or of self-will. I have never suffered over any faulty foreign policy of the Government (if any, that is), and I continue to lead a dignified manner of life to this day. The only sufferings I feel in relation to this country is the blindness of some of my fellow citizens to many obvious facts, more often than not caused by their own ignorance and disregard for rationale rather than our notoriously ineffective oh so brainwashing education system. But other than that, I lead a peaceful, comfortable life, and I do believe that I represent the majority in this case. If they were to sit down and think hard and properly about their present lifestyle and try to be in the shoes of one of those Egyptians, they’ll find that like me, they too are unable to relate to and understand those tears and the euphoria. And for this we must be thankful, stop whining, give constructive criticism, and stop having grand delusions of throwing a revolution to get to Putrajaya. Malaysia is peaceful enough as it is, a revolution would only destroy our equilibrium completely.

One more thing that I must point out, and that is the shameless ignorance of those ignoramuses on Twitter, Facebook and other social networking sites who cheered the Egyptians on, condemned Hosni Mubarak, and talked bollocks about democracy and such other stupidities. A question for these oh so intelligent ladies and gentlemen: had there be no revolution, would they still have suffered all over the Internet over the ‘plight of the Egyptians’, those poor Egyptians suffering in silence? Just asking! No, on second thoughts I’ll answer my own question, because I just can’t stand the stupidity of it all!: No! Of course they wouldn’t bother! So what anyway it’s just another African country plagued with problems. And there they are believing that they do care, giving thanks to God when Mubarak stepped down, sharing the joy of the Egyptians – when in truth all those care, thanks, and joy are nothing but empty feelings! They just don’t care! They can’t understand what it’s like! And they think they do! They make me sick! Tell me: before the revolution, how many of them knew that the Egyptians were unhappy? How many even knew that the President of Egypt was a man by the name of Hosni Mubarak? How many, give me numbers God damn it! And everybody's so proud that social networking sites played a big role in making this revolution work. A revolution won through these sites where teeny-boppers flock and display their stupidity for all the world to see does not sound like a very promising beginning, truth be told.

So! A short prayer to sign off: Got mittens?

Wake Up, Sleepyhead

2011-02-08T09:34:00.005+08:00

Somewhere in my archives I vowed never to speak about politics here again, but I am terribly upset with the current political scene in Malaysia that I feel I absolutely must say something! It’s not that things have gotten worse here – in fact, things have gotten a little bit better, I should say, but … it’s just that everything seems wrong to me now, both in the pro-Government and pro-Opposition camps. In fact my displeasure has been growing even before my sojourn in London, and I hoped to return to Malaysia refreshed and ready, only to return to more stupidity; and honestly, it’s starting to affect my mental health. Not to say I am going crazy, but being extremely happy (London) and extremely unhappy (bloody politics) both at the same time is bound to display adverse effects sooner or later.

I won’t bother talking about the Opposition, since I am a Government supporter, thus whatever criticism I have of them is not worth mentioning here (the key phrase: I know most of the time they suck, why bother dissing?). I shall instead focus on my dissatisfaction with the Government, which should be more important to any self-respecting Government supporter.

Actually my nagging problem with the Government is the New Straits Times, number one newspaper in Malaysia and my heart, which is also, to quote a yuppie I met at December’s Well Lit. Session, the Government’s main ‘propaganda tool’. I wholeheartedly agree of course that NST is the Government’s main ‘propaganda tool’, and while my honest nature should be inclined to reject NST for the very reason I reject Utusan Malaysia, I did not do so, as I had my own reasons for loving NST so much.

Prior to the 2008 elections it was shamelessly pro-Government, so shameless and gushing that even Government supporters were disgusted and kept their distance; however, after our sixth Prime Minister took over, the editorial team of NST was also changed, along with the paper’s image. Now, we all know what the political scene pre- and post-2008 was like: we were in chaos. Hate-politics suddenly became the new order of the day, championed by none other than the Opposition to get people rioting and hating in order to destabilise society so that they can take over, and ye ole peaceniks, who after years and years of relative tranquil and tolerance, were bewildered by how demonic everybody had become, as if they were possessed. There was bile everywhere, pure undisguised racism and intolerance, mainly on the Internet, and the worse part was that people were getting caught up in the bile – it was appealing to the very stupid young, and the older ones, who should know better after years and years of being alive, for some reason did not act their age and got swept away by the trend of the day, which is to hate and diss the Government even for the stupidest reasons.

The peaceniks were demoralised: could it be that Common Sense is really, truly dead? Will the future leaders of Malaysia be a crop of yahoos who explode at the slightest touch, who no longer know the meaning of civility? Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that if you support the Opposition, you’re stupid and you’re all hooligans. What I don’t like is their blind irrational hatred. They do not sit down and think whether what the Government is doing is right or wrong, good for society or not – to them as long as it’s the Government’s doing everything’s wrong and we’re all doomed. The peaceniks were demoralised: they needed someone, an official body to be precise, to show that Malaysia still had hope, that there were pragmatic realistic intellectuals to lead the youngsters of Malaysia. They needed to know there are influential people out there who will help ensure that Malaysia won’t be led by hatred in generations to come.

And this is how NST became so meaningful to me. Earlier I mentioned that with the editorial team change, their image changed too: from the Government’s lapdog, they became the Voice of Reason, the Voice of Common Sense. In all the senselessness that filled our everyday political discussion, they pointed out the obvious, the no-brainers. They took the Opposition to task for playing hate-politics and for promoting stupidity just so that they can gain votes. They criticised the Opposition for feeding lies to their supporters, for not engaging them in intellectual and civil discussion, and criticised their supporters for blindly swallowing everything they were told. They meticulously discussed issues, tore the Opposition’s case apart by using common sense and rationale alone, and always made a point of reminding their readers to be calm and discerning always. True, much of their criticisms were directed at the Opposition, but at that time it wasn’t only because they were the Government’s paper, but because they were right: the Opposition were promoting destructive values amongst the people, and somebody had to point it out. In fact, they made a point of gushing over the Government only once a week, and that is when Azmi Anshar’s column is featured (our spy in the Parliament). That is how I came to love and respect NST: their main columnists and editorials displayed much-needed wisdom in a time when there was none.

Alas! – all good things must eventually come to an end! It was sometime in November or December last year (might have started earlier) when I began to notice that they now dissed the Opposition on a regular basis for no good reason, politicised issues which should not be politicised, and which I thought were beneath them to politicise, and kept talking about how great our Prime Minister and his Deputy are. Fine, they are great and I like them a lot (heh), but too much admiration makes one nauseous. And fine, NST is a political paper, they are supposed to diss the Opposition, but again, excessive criticism that you know is mere political blah makes one nauseous. Furthermore, they keep going on and on and on and on about rifts in the Opposition camp, and, like the rest, too much schadenfreude makes one nauseous.

I have an honest nature. I am absolutely against this sort of stuff. I don’t mind the occasional admiring article or biasness, but too much is simply too much. I mentioned earlier that I dislike Utusan Malaysia intensely – this is the reason why: they are so extreme in their love for the Government they sound like fanatical boy band fans. I don’t like that. Before the 2008 elections, Government newspapers were drooling away over our Prime Minister, hardly criticising the Government (thank God NST still does this) for the costly mistakes they made. It was a sign of complacency, and look what happened. The current NST is showing signs of following this pattern. We don’t want to know what will happen if they do not buck up.

But let me reiterate that I still love and respect NST very much, for despite their flaws, their common sense is still there and not diminished at all. I just want them to cut down on the excessive Government-worshipping and the spiteful reports concerning the Opposition. I mean, we all know the Opposition suck, there’s no need to keep on harping about it – it’s boring and irritating, and it doesn’t become an intellectual paper like NST.

My, my! – just look at how naïve I am! I claim to be a realist and a pragmatist, but here I am depressed and angry because NST did not live up to my ideals and expectations. It’s not even something to feel strongly about, it’s part and parcel of life, but I, Ivan Karamazov (female) cannot bear it! I’m a fool! I thought I was ideal-free, but now I know my inner Gestapo did not manage to eliminate certain idealist ideas in me. Well, don’t worry, this shall soon be corrected, be assured of that.

ps: Allow me to remind the reader that these are merely my own impressions. Whether it accurately reflects the current political situation in Malaysia and the influence of New Straits Times in Malaysian society is something I cannot claim responsibility for.

pps: The Best Karamazov is Ivan Karamazov. Incidentally, I think so too (but he isn't my favourite character).

2011-02-05T11:06:00.002+08:00

Ever since I got my Moleskine Book Journal, I’ve been wanting to do more and more book reviews due to Moleskine’s limited space and some very inspiring books I’ve read recently … which made me realise that even though my reviews weren’t very well-written, I enjoyed doing (some of) them.

Previously, my problem with doing reviews is that I never knew whether they were actually any good or informative, whether they enlightened my readers (if any) on books worth (and not worth) reading or were mindless rambling on my part, since I never got any feedback (even though the statistics on my dashboard told me that I do have readers). Naturally, I assumed the worst. Mummy told me that if I seek feedback, then I must publicise my blog, but I hate self-publicising even though I love myself very much, and the thought of knowing that I am being dissected by people close to me terrifies me, besides being terribly awkward. It amazes me how friends can read each other’s blogs and then meet up the next day without mentioning or commenting on what the other wrote. I always make a point to talk to my friends about their blogs, or Tumblrs, or whatever medium it is they write on. Nota bene: I hate Tumblr.

However, after writing a particularly satisfying review on Amélie Nothomb’s Sulphuric Acid, it occurred to me to go hunting for other book review blogs, and I was instantly shocked by the quality of these blogs. Here I am, suffering over whether my reviews make any sense, and there they are, giving long synopses and then ending their posts with a phrase or two on whether they liked it or not and one short reason. Then they sign off. And these are blogs that people flock to for recommendations and warnings. Why? Not to say that my reviews are good (I’m still suffering), but if a long synopsis and stars are what makes a book review blog, then I’m a little angry. I feel cheated. I felt inferior, and it turns out that it doesn’t take much to be a reviewer to be reckoned with. Heck, some of them look like the reviews I did for an English folio when I was in Form One (which wasn’t too shabby, might I add, but come on! – that was five years ago). Well, I do have to take into account the mentality group these blogs appeal to and the genre they specialise in, but it seems to me that all book review blogs are like that. Now I feel like a bum. Why did I miss out on this?

Let’s compare the general structures of their reviews to mine.

Them: Long synopsis – verdict – brief to moderately long opinion: style, plus- and minus-points, personal thoughts, characters

Mine: Short synopsis – verdict – long opinion: themes, characters, personal thoughts, things readers should take note of, elaborations on plus- and minus-points, summation of verdict

Some notable reviewers don’t include personal thoughts, and only stick to the synopsis and verdict. Well, mine too varies at times, sometimes missing out on certain aspects, or the structure is not in the above order. What remains is the lengthiness. Based on the above comparison, maybe what I need is conversation and not review-writing.

But why do I suffer! I don’t own a book review blog! And what I really want is free books, that is all. Now that I've mentioned that, suddenly I don't give a damn whether these book review blogs are any good or not. Write away, katze!

2011-02-04T06:24:00.017+08:00

Sulphuric Acid
Amélie Nothomb

I never intended to write about Sulphuric Acid, but it is intriguing enough for me to want to say more on it rather than just settle on giving brief comments about it in my book journal.

As I have mentioned once, earlier, Sulphuric Acid is about a reality television show that centres on a concentration camp, where a few unwilling participants are eventually sent to their deaths every week after being carefully handpicked by the guards – the kapos, as they are called (who the organisers made sure consisted of the vilest losers around). In the book, the show has a name that doesn’t mince words or impressions: it’s called Concentration.

Sulphuric Acid is intriguing not because it was satirical, morbid or freaky (which it wasn’t – the freaky and morbid part, I mean), but because it deals with various themes at the same time – and finally it all comes down to one thing: Sulphuric Acid is a critique of pop culture, its ideals which actually mean to pander to the basest of human interests and emotions, even if it claims to be inspirational (happily ever after, good vs. evil, etc).

At the centre of the story is the heroine Pannonique. She’s quiet, intelligent, beautiful, and from the very moment she was captured by the show’s recruiting crew as she unwittingly lounged in a park, and saw that the panic and anger of those who were captured along with her were being filmed, she knew that behaving in precisely that way would not only be “pointless” but also “telegenic”, and thus, she decided to not make a squeak throughout the whole journey, and also to carry herself as dignified as possible throughout her whole ordeal at the concentration camp so as to not to succumb to the desires of the viewers and the producers, which is precisely to see sheer human desperation, a very real and very public breakdown of a human being. This, of course, immediately captures the imaginations of the viewers, and Pannonique soon becomes the star of the show.

Here’s an example of what sort of social critique you can expect from Sulphuric Acid. The organisers are amazed at Pannonique’s popularity, and how whatever she says or does always attracts the viewers without her wanting to, and they discuss the factors. One put it down to her being “a symbol of good, or beauty, of purity, all that nonsense. They love the battle between good and evil … Innocence tortured!”

His more realistic colleague cuts him off and says it very straightforwardly: “Quite simply, it’s because she’s beautiful. If she’d been ugly, nobody would have cared”. Get what I mean when I say pop culture claims to be oh so inspirational, but it actually panders to the basest of human interests and emotions, and Sulphuric Acid was written precisely to point that out?

These are not the only themes it deals with: it talks about the emptiness of human beings, how many think they have more to them than meets the eye, when they are actually very empty people. One of the kapos, who becomes infatuated with Pannonique, is jealous at how Pannonique always seems to have intelligent conversations with another admirer, and when she (yes, the infatuated kapo is a she) tries to think up of something intelligent to say to Pannonique, she is dismayed to find that she can’t, and is not as clever as she thought she was after all. You just have to browse through the blogosphere to find that many are like this (I may be guilty too). Another theme which I think is worth mentioning, and is personally my favourite theme in the whole book, is how many moralise and scorn the show, but they too watch even if it’s just to tear it apart some more, not realising that by watching the show whatever criticism they may have made is completely worthless, summed up in this short paragraph:

The height of hypocrisy was reached by those without televisions, who invited themselves round to their neighbours' houses to watch Concentration and wax indignant:

"When I see that, I'm glad I haven't got a television!"

Finally, my second favourite theme is how the author challenges the effectiveness of democracy, which I think is admirable of her, belonging to a democracy-obsessed society (Western Europe, although it admittedly not as obsessed as other people). When the show, in order to increase viewership, introduces the SMS voting system (oh, you know) to select who gets condemned to death, the author puts forth the question: can democracy really bring peace, wealth and prosperity when majority of people are morons and fools? Can it really work, is it really better than any other diabolical ideology when our leaders and fates are being decided by ignoramuses? (Food for thought! the author puts in invisible brackets).

There are more themes, but I won’t spoil your fun at discovering the story (even though I suppose I somewhat did by discussing my favourite themes).

All in all, I liked Sulphuric Acid, in spite of the lesbian element that plays quite a huge role in the story, and also the adulation surrounding Pannonique. I was surprised that the presence of these two important elements did not turn me off, but I think it didn’t because I was more interested in the bigger picture, which is the social critique, and also because although it had lesbianism thrown in, it was one-sided, and it was not sordid at all. In fact, I’m even more surprised at the author for avoiding any sexual content. She merely hints at it, she barely even mentions the word sex. Even more surprising is that I really do believe that the author puts a high price on virginity and thinks that free sex erodes at your self-honour. I find this surprising because damn it she’s Belgian! She’s European! I don’t mean to generalise, but let’s face it: in that society, who gives a damn about being a virgin? Good for you if you do.

The reason I was not put off by the Pannonique-worshipping is because it is very obvious to me that it was the characters who were in love with Pannonique, and not Nothomb herself. In fact, I’m quite sure this is because Nothomb recognised Pannonique as a figure of Common Sense, whilst her characters saw Pannonique as someone strange, mysterious and beautiful – the author’s way of saying Common Sense is dead in society, and is out of place in society. There is also the reason that unlike Leo Tolstoy who, when he was still in love with Anna Karenina, went on and on about how beautiful Anna is, she writes simply and didn’t devote much ink to describing Pannonique in all her beauty and perfection, and instead focused on Pannonique’s thoughts (read: Pannonique has thoughts, sometimes vain, therefore Pannonique is human too) and other things, and that gives the impression that Nothomb does not love Pannonique.

Unfortunately, it is Nothomb’s style of writing simply and briefly that brings the book down. The themes that she discusses are some very brilliant themes, but it is under-explored in Sulphuric Acid – she writes too simply and too briefly. Sure, she delivers her message very quickly and to the point, but I think themes this honest and of this magnitude deserve more screen-time and more severity. It makes me wish that Dostoevsky was still alive so that he can write his take on these issues, for I’m sure he and his antisocial Russian melodrama will give me the satisfaction and lengthy descriptions and dialogue that I crave for (but then, who knows what he might be like if he was still alive? I shudder! Stay dead, Fyodor Mikhailovich!).

Another minus-point: the disgustingly idealistic ending. I couldn’t believe how idealistic it was! A brilliant idea, but a wasted ending – why, Nothomb, why?! You already knew what nonsense these pop ideals are; yet you yourself end it that way! Or is it another jab? If it was, then it was an ill-timed jab. It nearly ruined the whole show!

I liked this one very much, but it isn’t sending me into ecstasy since it wasn’t fully satisfying for reasons stated above, which means I won’t be forbidding anyone to read this – in fact if you’re sick of society and are mourning the death of Common Sense at this moment, start looking for Sulphuric Acid! It’s such a pretty title with a pretty cover, no?

ps: I hope nobody in Malaysia finds this … or orders it!

2011-02-01T12:45:00.000+08:00

I am absolutely in love with Lucinella. I'm so in love with it that I am stunned and I can't even recollect my thoughts to begin telling you what it is all about. I'm in love with everything about it, and in it I don't hate anyone at all. I even like Lucinella herself, she's such a lovely heroine (or an antiheroine, as someone called her), which is rare since ninety percent of heroines I've come across are either hateful or dull. I don't admire her, neither do I 'identify' with her – I just like her and everyone else in it, as I would like a friend, which is rare too since with most fictional characters you either grow fond of, are indifferent, hate or fall in love. You're always blushing before them. With them I'm friends, we're in a circle. I can talk to all of them, and I don't blush.

I'm going to try to explain carefully what Lucinella is basically about. It's about Lucinella the poet. In the beginning she writes a poem about life as a poet (she doesn't say so, and she doesn't ever, so I'll tell it to you). The story which you continue to read about is the poem. I didn't realise it when I first began, but soon enough, when she begins to mix in her own flights of fancy with her poem, and got me confused and dazzled, I realise that this is precisely the very poem she sends to her editor at the beginning of the novella. I tell you this even if it's pretty much a spoiler because I don't want anyone reading this at all (spoilers repel?). This story is mine, mine alone. It's surreal. The language is surreal – that's the word. It's so hypnotic, it's like a real drug – not addictive, but mind-altering.

I don't really know why I'm entranced with Lucinella. We started off badly – I couldn't stand the runny, stumbling narrative reminiscent of Fitzgerald (whom I hate) in the first chapter, but when William was introduced in the second chapter, I brightened up considerably. I don't only like William, I really do love him. I just fell for him just like that. I didn't even know I was going to love him – the love just came to me. I was quite surprised, really. What is it that is so attractive about him? He isn't melodramatic. And it's not a possessive sort of love, I'm genuinely glad to see him and Lucinella together. And I'm so glad that in the end they really were and are in love with each other (spoilers repel, I hope).

From William onwards everything was magical. Fitzgerald left, although he left traces of himself. Why do I like this book so much? Story? Character? Concept? Prose? William? It sure isn't any silly 'identification' – that's not my life, and some of those thoughts and feelings are not mine. I felt throughout the whole story. It's been a long time since I've felt this way over anything non-Dostoevsky, non-philosophical, and non-religious (last August). I'm excited. I never intended to write about this here, but my book journal couldn't hold my love in, so I just had to blather here.

Once again my sixth sense is right. This book is amazing. I just knew it had to be amazing. Intelligence turns me on – how could it be anything but amazing? Don't read this.

2011-01-30T11:54:00.004+08:00

I have much to say about London, for there was much that I observed in London, but I don’t know if I’m capable of writing about them. The fact is that I have long ceased to be a writer, and I speak better than I write, although I am much clearer and probably much more coherent when I write (as is anyone, I should think). So for now, I shall settle on what is more easily spoken about: the things I bought (!).

Unlike my school trip to Australia, my brother and I lost our heads over the shopping. We were so shamelessly extravagant initially that even our mother got upset. Once an argument broke out, we were thriftier – I even stopped spending for two days or three – but the moment our mother began to succumb to the temptations of London shopping, we resumed our mindless spending guiltlessly. It’s all the usual suspects: clothes, unbelievable shoes (!), bras, panties, books, cute little accessories courtesy of Accessorize – one of it so cute it became an object of controversy between Mother and me (which is not quite the full story) – and since my brother was tagging along, and since London is such a mind-blowing shopping destination for classical music enthusiasts such as my family, we were practically picking up any CD we liked, and spent plenty of time viewing sheet music. We even got a Grade 8/ATCL version of Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2 (Boosey and Hawkes!), which I now force my brother to play at every opportunity (I play, but I’m no pianist).

I’m more interested in talking about the books I bought. London is really THE place to shop for English language books. Even Australia sucked, damn it. I could find something I liked in almost every corner (even in a toy shop!) – and the temptation grew and grew and grew, so much so that I was too scared to browse through anymore bookstores, and often breezed my way through Charing Cross Road, almost blindfolded. Initially I ordered six books from Foyles, but six soon became seven and eight and so on the moment I saw Foyles itself. Five floors of books and music. Five floors, devil take it, five floors. It was only natural that I couldn’t help myself, plus that fact that Mum casually kept on telling me that all the books were so cheap and she hoped I wouldn’t regret not purchasing anything extra. What was I to do? I had no choice. So I spent.

1. Sulphuric Acid Amelie Nothomb

About a reality television series centring around a concentration camp – how was I to resist? Satire, morbidity, and freakiness!

2. Lucinella Lore Segal

This used to be available at MPH, but one day it mysteriously disappeared (I curse the buyer henceforth under my name! – who is it?! Own up!). I couldn’t forget what was written on the back cover, so I couldn’t forget the book. Very profound words: Intelligence turns me on.

3. The Collected Tales of Nikolai Gogol

First introduced to him through How The Two Ivans Quarrelled, and we were taken in by his charm and theatrics, so I couldn’t possibly pass this on. How The Two Ivans Quarrelled is also featured in this collection, but under a different and hopefully better translation. It should be, it’s the Pevear-Volokhonsky duo!

4. The Boy Who Kicked Pigs Tom Baker

I spent years and years looking for this book after a brief encounter at MPH (yet another book which disappeared into thin air at MPH). Years and years later, I finally got the opportunity to own it. How could I not? Can’t you see that this is the story of my life, except that I’m a girl? I have a pig-brother, I kick him everyday!

5. Rebecca Daphne du Maurier

I’ve read this, but only a simplified version that I found dozing in the school library (here’s a clue as to its subsequent fate: it isn’t in the library anymore). It was so riveting that I just had to own this and read it complete and unabridged. Now I can (but when will I?).

6. Mayakovsky: 22 Postcards

A collection of 22 postcards featuring poems, slogans, art etc. done by the very sexy Soviet Russian poet (and Communist! – hot!) Vladimir Mayakovsky. Published by the very intellectual and eccentric Redstone Press who did my Russian Diary last year, and also an art book called Ants Have Sex in Your Beer (yay, I don’t drink beer, and no, it isn’t ant porn, just in case you got interested and attracted).

7. Redstone 2011 Diary: The Artist’s World

I could only obtain this on my second last day in London, because I could not find it immediately and decided to order it from a prominent London bookstore. I gave this diary up for the dead after days of waiting for a reply in vain, but surprise, surprise! – they confirmed my order and told me it was ready for collection when I least expected a reply: on the day before the second last day. So here it is now, resting on my bed’s shelf, very pretty and clever and unique (books are not lame humans).

8. Penguin Great Ideas

I swore to myself that I wouldn’t buy any Great Ideas in London, but Mother’s casual observation of its cheapness and potential future regrets persisted, so I desisted the resistance. I particularly wanted Friedrich Nietzsche’s Why I Am So Wise – I couldn’t possibly say no to such delicious arrogance!

9. The BBC National Short Story Award 2009

We didn’t buy this actually: Mum got it free when she attended an editorial/printing course somewhere. It’s pretty good stuff, I’ve gone through two, I’m into the third, and the first stunned me. I’m not sure who won, but I sure hope it was the first story featured (the introductory piece revealed nothing, the scoundrel!). Alright, it’s too early to take sides, there are three more to go (five altogether), but oh well …

10. Moleskine Book Journal

Moleskine is overrated, but I simply had to buy this! It’s a book journal for God’s sake, and a bloody expensive one too! Immediately after buying this I felt a pang of guilt, but after completing my first entry, I am glad I bought this. The interior looks like this (not my photo by the way):

And it comes with stickers for you to brighten it up, though I don’t think I will be utilising them since I like stickers and hate using them. With this journal I no longer feel the pressure to babble about the books I’ve read on this blog and try to say something important about them. What? I honestly felt immense pressure to write about the books I read here, even though no one paid attention to them.

11. There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbour’s Baby: Scary Fairy Tales Lyudmilla Petrushevskaya

Mother called the title macabre. Bought this precisely because it sounds macabre. And Russian, contemporary Russian. Better be good.

You’ll notice: where is Dostoevsky?! He isn’t here. Unfortunately, books of his that I have not yet possessed are still unavailable as paperbacks in the UK (Americans, for some strange reason, get to enjoy paperback Dostoevsky first). Spent quite some time sighing over the Dostoevsky hardbacks at Foyles. I only have Crime and Punishment to read at home now. What shall I do when I have finished reading that?

All in all, I’m very happy about and proud of my purchases. All worth every penny, every pound, especially my – ahem – five-inches Stuart Weitzman ankle boots. Shall show them off at February’s Well Lit. Sessions. Can’t wait.

The Most Important Lesson from London

2011-01-29T04:00:00.013+08:00

I have to explain something about myself, just to clear my reputation. I wouldn't have felt the need to do this if it weren't for sister GAS who also got confused about my current stand and beliefs. I suppose some explanation would be needed if even your own sister who's pretty close to you is confused about the way you see things now. I'll keep it short (as I tend to do now for want of diligence).

About two years ago, I revelled in my supposed 'difference'. I was happy to like things that others did not, think the way that others do not, and behave in a way that most do not. I really thought I was different, and I would automatically avoid anything or any behaviour which made me on par with the rest. I used to laugh at the rest. My mum, for some reason, entertained my arrogance, although admittedly she did tell me a few times that I wasn't different at all, only different in this Asian society. I always yessed her whenever she told me this, but it was only last year when I truly realised that she is right after all, and it was only last year when I began to grow sick with this obsession of 'being different', and finally abandoned the childish pride and obsession once and for all.

No, gentlemen, I am not different at all – only, as Mother likes to tell me, European, and, as I like to tell Mother, aristocratic in tastes. I went to London, and this self-definition was confirmed by what I observed there. Things that we liked, that could rarely be found here, were abundant in London, and I suspect that it is also abundant in the whole of Europe. Music shops had row after row of classical music CDs. Two even had half a floor dedicated to drooling classical music fans, and there are most probably more. Sheet music is easily available in most music shops and bookstores – Foyles had a small yet impressive corner storing sheet music. And let's not forget that there are streets specialising in certain fields, be them books or music. I won't even get started on the book market there, or the museums, both significant and (relatively) insignificant. Not to say that my own country is bad, but my country specialises in other things, and not in my aristocratic and European interests.

What I'm trying to say is that in Malaysia, I may seem a little out of place, but in Europe, I am just like any other European with everyday European hobbies. I am not different at all, but I don't care. I no longer put myself on a pedestal. Put together with other people who share my interests, I am just like them, and them me. We may have differing views, but it isn't anything surprising if we both fly into melodramatics when we see a book we like, or when we identify with an article or a writer. It isn't surprising if we one day realise that we are just like one another. Nobody is different. In Asian society, I may be, but in European society, I am not. I will have friends and boyfriends (lots of them, please). Those who still fancy themselves different, wake up. You are not different, and insisting you are makes you lame and pathetic. I was lame and pathetic, that's true, but I've woken up, a year ago. That's what I'm trying to say here.

But I must add one other important thing, absolutely important: I don't hate my country, even if it doesn't cater to my interests. I don't believe for one moment that I am European. I am Malaysian through and through. This is one of the major things that London taught me: it reinforced my national identity. I will never denounce my Malaysian citizenship, or my Malaysian identity. After all, only my interests are European. Other things – Malaysian. My opinions on world politics and history are all based on my Malaysian identity, opined in the interests of my country. This I won't forget, and this I won't ever abandon. There is nothing more hateful than to see a fellow countryman laugh and mock at his own country out of admiration for another country. It is hateful to see a fellow countryman cease to recognise himself as a fellow countryman just because he prefers another country. They are called 'mat salleh celup' – fake foreigners. They are, as the name suggests, FAKES. Whatever my peers may have thought of me, I will never fancy myself a foreigner. I am Malaysian, through and through. After all, if I were to denounce Malaysia, will them Europeans embrace me with open arms? Will I be a truly equal comrade to them, will they see me as a fellow European, a fellow citizen? I don't think so. To them, I will still be an immigrant. What Indonesians and Bangladeshis are to Malaysians, that is what I am to a European regardless of which country I belong to. Europe will never fully accept me, only as a tourist, for all tourists leave, eventually.

Still, I am a snob (another important fact!). In two previous entries, I cursed the masses and their bad taste. Do not mistaken that for 'being different' – it is sheer snobbery, a trait I inherited from Mother, who in turn blames it on my grandmother. It is a trait that I can't shed; it comes to me automatically and even before I can give it any thought. I don't intend to shed it anyway, because snobbery keeps me sane and in some cases objective (only in some).

Glad to clear that up.

ps: Dostoevsky would also like to add that we are all guilty before and for all! Heh heh.

2011-01-13T17:04:00.003+08:00

In recent days the whole world has been buzzing with how stunning the movie Black Swan is. Here’s a stunning poster:

No, I have not watched it, and no, I don’t think I will be anytime soon, not because I can’t but because I don’t want to. Why?

It’s because of the masses. Look at them. They’re all over this movie. They’re fawning over the movie, running their hands all over it, gazing, admiring, hyping. That is precisely the one thing that will put me off anything. Why didn’t I watch Inception? Because of hype. I couldn’t bear it, the way everyone was going on and on about how mind-boggling it was, how unlike anything they’d ever seen it was – and it was with gleeful malice that I greeted my sister’s comment regarding Inception that it wasn’t as intelligent as it everyone said it was. So I never watched Inception. Maybe I will later, but probably in a few months, or years even.

It’s not pride that makes me avoid anything loved by the masses. Perhaps it is, a little, but where movies are concerned, I cannot watch one upon knowing that the masses adore it. If the masses hate it and spit on it, I don’t mind watching; and I don’t mind either if they are indifferent or opinions are very divided at best – but if they love and drool, I stop being interested. I just can't go into the cinema to watch a movie which I know everyone else in the cinema is going to love. I mean it when I said that it's not that childish me-versus-the-world pride. Instead, I want to form my own opinions. The hype hinders me. Not its influence, but by the very fact that the being of hype itself disgusts me. All these idiots gushing their bile out over the movie, and others gushing of how they have to watch the movie upon reading others’ bile – it makes me sick. I don’t want to touch anything that has been run all over by other people’s hands. I don’t want to contract disease.

Another reason why I don’t think I’ll be watching Black Swan anytime soon – or maybe not at all when I come to think of it: masturbation and lesbian sex scenes? No thank you. Though I’m not too particular about sex scenes – I am perfectly capable of taking a huge deep breath and diving into the sea of oblivion when confronted with the possibility of an upcoming sex scene (after seasons of French movies you don't really have a choice), although admittedly I do try to avoid sex nonsense whenever possible – all this talk about masturbation and lesbian sex scenes frankly reeks of commercialism. I hate commercial sex. I pretty much hate media sex, because it’s all so cheap and whorish. Most of the time the sex is there not to support the story but to attract the attention of the cheap, dirty masses, and it’s even more disgusting and repulsive when it’s literary sex, because literature does not need sex – the topic maybe, but not the act. Talk about it, make allusions to it (sensuality), but there is no need at all for it to be described it detail, nor is there any need for it to be shown in detail. Perhaps in Black Swan the sex is important for the director to show the main character’s “loss of identity”, but there is no need to show it in all its glory. Sex is not a glory to be shared with everyone, and it is certainly not a glory to be displayed.

A pity, but these are my prejudices: the hype and the sex, and I’m not really sorry about them. I said a pity because honestly, I thought Black Swan sounded really interesting when a friend first told me of this a few months ago. I might have even probably liked it if it had stayed in the background, regardless of shameless sexual content.

But I’m prejudiced, and I don’t give a damn for popular opinion and the populists.

ps: Now that certainly took a lot off my chest.

pps: Some idiot reviewer noted with surprise that it seemed as though the main character was masturbating for the first time. Oh, so now it's surprising that somebody has never masturbated before? Die, depraved losers.

2010-12-31T02:20:00.002+08:00

2010 is the year I leave school for good (if all goes well that is). I don’t feel sad. Admittedly I will miss school once the school term recommences the following year, but I’d give anything not to set foot there again. I’ve programmed myself to tolerate school for five years. The five years are up, and I’m out for good.

So that is a milestone in my life, but I found 2010 exceptional for more personal reasons.

This year has been wonderful and enlightening spiritually. I learnt about my identity as a Muslim and as a Malaysian throughout this whole year. In fact, my whole self was most of the time filled with thoughts of religion and national identity, which built up prior to SPM, and thank God I have emerged from these thoughts not disillusioned and angry but refreshed and reborn. I can now proudly say that I am a Muslim by choice, and also a patriot and Government supporter by choice. I have made these decisions not because I was born into such and such an environment, but because in spite of the politically-charged and prejudiced society I was born into, I was nurtured to think for myself, I was born with the innate ability to never fear having dark thoughts, I was given the gift of always thirsting to know and understand the world around me – and all these have prompted me to always think, to always read, and to always analyse, which finally led me to make the conscious decision of being a Muslim, a patriot and a Government supporter. My previous entries may not display this, but I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve and let everyone know my very personal thoughts – this post was in fact written very matter-of-factly. I am in fact not letting you know my thoughts, but letting you know the outcome.

And the best part is that I did not have to go through the very stupid ‘soul-searching’ phases of madness popularised by television and all things fluffy. I came to these decisions without having to fly off to a faraway land, without having to abandon my principles, and without having to engage in debauchery, as many characters in silly dramas or novels like to do (to no effect). All I had to do was sit down and think and rationalise. I am truly blessed, and this is not conceit – this is gratitude, gratitude to the One God whom I believe in not because I was taught to believe in Him but because I have found enough evidence to believe in Him. However, let’s not forget that just because I am a Government supporter by choice, it doesn’t mean that I will forever support them. I am not an idealist, and I spit on all idealists out there, more so if they are adults, since they are old enough to know that ideals are balderdash. I just wanted to get that straight. I am not a fool or a fanatic.

By the way, I am aware that many other commoners out there may share the same thoughts as I do when in truth they have not changed at all and are just as disgusting and shallow as they were before their supposed enlightenment, and I admit that I probably am guilty of the same thing. Devil take it, I don’t care about these delusions. I just want you to know that I am not attributing any kind of speciality to myself – this is merely a matter-of-fact recollection of why 2010 is so special to me, and the reason it is special is because I now have a reason for all my beliefs and principles and am not blindly following what I have been taught. All of them.

2011, if God is willing, is going to be better. I just attended the second Penang Well Lit. Session, a reading group organised by the best newspaper in Malaysia (what else if not New Straits Times?), and it was a success for me. I now have a platform to do what I’ve always wanted to do: discuss what I read and my ideas. I have made connections, although we don’t even know each other’s names – we just crashed headlong into discussion – and they told me that they expect to see me again next month (I’m awesome, didn’t I tell you?). What I’m really dreading in 2011 is the month of March, the month when I’ll know how well I did for SPM, and the dread is eating me away (I’ve begun to have dreams). After that there are the scary interviews to attend, and that really depends on my SPM results, which eats at me all the more. 2011, in other words, is going to be either extremely better or extremely worse. Sounds like a silly thing to say at first, as all upcoming years are like that, but when you consider how it’s starting to affect my state of mind, how 2011 fares is really as urgent as I make it sound (and perhaps even more).

Allow me to wrap up this entry with a paragraph on how I was in Form One (2006) and how I am now (2010). In 2006, I was a silly ignorant fool. I had a conscious love for books and reading, but not for enlightenment. If it weren’t for George Orwell, I’d probably be just like any other slightly above average youth – which isn’t very clever even thought it’s slightly above average. I’ve always thought the ‘which-book-has-changed-your-life’ question silly and simply impossible to answer, but now I know that it was George Orwell’s Animal Farm that has changed my life, which I read in Form One. The impact was not felt immediately, but it dragged me into a completely different direction in my life – it opened up a whole new genre and a whole new dimension to me. If it weren’t for this book, I’d be precisely one of those youths whom I look down on today (as described above), and for this I am glad. Animal Farm kick-started everything – my love for enlightenment and intelligence which, catalysed by the 2008 political drama, subsequently paved the way for love of politics and philosophy and psychology, then Fyodor Dostoevsky brought my fascination with religion and its relation to humanities to a whole new different level, and all this was accompanied by a growing self-love and pomposity. So now you know why I absolutely adore and revere Orwell (actually I myself just realised this moments ago). It was he who did this to me; it is him who is my spiritual first love.

So. It’s been a tough five years. Though I am out for good, I am, thank God, leaving as an exceptional individual. And who shall deny me this pride?

2010-12-25T03:08:00.008+08:00

The Corfu Trilogy
Gerald Durrell

This trilogy includes My Family and Other Animals; Birds, Beasts and Relatives; and The Garden of the Gods. It revolves around the life of writer (and also famous naturalist) Gerald Durrell and his family from the moment they decide to move to Corfu in Greece to escape the dreariness and gloom of England and its legendary weather.

Nothing much to say on this trilogy except that it’s damned good stuff. I first picked it up when I was in Form One, then picked it up again three years later, and it still holds me spellbound with its characteristic English charm and wit. It’s just like reading something almost Enid Blyton-esque, the only differences being that this trilogy is a man reminiscing about his childhood instead of a bunch of schoolgirls or toys frolicking in the pool or at the beach (which is probably Blyton’s reminiscences of her own childhood – toys included), and the other main difference being, of course, the extensive ink coverage Durrell gives to describing the beauty of Corfu, both its human and non-human inhabitants and his endless exploration of the island. It amazes me that Durrell can give a very detailed account of his memories as a child. Even if it may have been tweaked here and there, it is still a very convincing account that doesn’t sound at all made up.

When I first read this, my youth and ignorance found the coverage a tad too extensive – I was more interested in his adventures and anecdotes more than his admiring observations of Corfu’s flora and fauna, and often cheated by skipping the long laborious paragraphs of description. For the second and third time, though, at an age when I am more patient, more eager to hold on to anything childish and more appreciative of other people’s obsessions and quirks, I enjoy these long descriptions, and share his delight and awe of the animals and insects he comes across. When I let my guard down I find myself thinking I want to do precisely the things that he did.

While I admit that I am quick to dismiss that thought as soon as it occurs to me, the thought is not entirely untrue. The Durrells hold such marvellous and lavish parties once in a whilst (though of course nothing wild or sordid, and it seems to me the books always end with a party of some sort), and meet such extraordinary and eccentric people that I consciously long to meet equally extraordinary and eccentric people, and just a few minutes ago I suggested to old GAS that we hold a party here just before she departs for Germany (to which she said no). Along with the former wish I begin to wish that I had been more socially outgoing, had made more efforts to meet new people and build up connections, and it makes me feel that I might have to include just that in my list of 2011 resolutions. Really, their acquaintances are all so odd that it forces me to re-evaluate the eccentricity of any eccentric characters I might have met before (probably none, except for a few cats).

I must however warn prospective readers that Durrell’s accounts are not strictly accurate and not wholly based on fact, as you will discover when you research the background of these three books, although his older brother Lawrence Durrell, also a writer (whom I first loved and then later hated for many reasons – do some research and you’ll guess why), described the book as being “very wicked, very funny, and I'm afraid a rather truthful book – the best argument I know for keeping thirteen-year-olds at boarding-schools and not letting them hang about the house listening in to conversations of their elders and betters". For the record, let me note that the books contain more and more sordid talk as it progresses from book one to book three, more so with the introduction of Captain Creech in the second book, a character that simultaneously amused and disgusted me.

The only letdown of this trilogy is that I wouldn’t advise you to read all three in a row, because it can get a little … monotonous, even if you still get this purr of excitement in you when you sense that Durrell is going to relate another hilarious incident or conversation to you, the reader. It’s just like how a friend described the people in Kuala Lumpur recently: everyone is so well dressed that nobody really stands out. The same can be said of Durrell. The tales are all so enthralling and funny that after some time, despite the usual thrill of enjoyment you feel, you begin to feel a little restless by its repetitive pattern (which is probably why the books get thinner as it progresses down the trilogy), and start looking forward to the end of the trilogy so that you can move on to 19^th-century antisocial melodrama (guess who?).

So all in all it is a fine read, a good rest from any strenuous exam or reading material, never failing to make you laugh or chuckle. Always good for the soul right?

ps: If you by any chance fall in love with Gerald Durrell’s brother Lawrence, here’s some helpful trivia about him: his books are awful sex slosh. You have been warned.

TRON: Legacy

2010-12-17T17:23:00.003+08:00

Yesterday my siblings and I went to watch TRON: Legacy with much enthusiasm amidst protests from my little rag-pig (of all the people to protest).

And here is my verdict: TRON does not disappoint. In fact, it exceeds all expectations I had of it. I was expecting awesome visuals and testosterone-laden sci-fi action (reasons why I was looking forward to it), but what I got was so much better.

The visuals were breathtaking, and at many points I had to catch my breath due to its beauty and how stunning it all is. In fact, it was the visuals and the setting of the story which made this movie stand out so much for me. I don't think it was the intention of the movie, but the visuals and the setting delivered home the fact that in this age, the human race is even more reliant on technology, more reliant than we realise it. It delivers home the fact that technology is not the same as it was just a few years back, that it has become such an integral part of our lives that we have no choice but to move forward and discover new technologies, lest we want the human race to perish in our inability to adapt to less advanced technology now that we have come so far. That's all I could think of while watching the movie. So much has happened in the blink of an eye, and when I sit down to consider all the advancements of this age, it leaves me speechless and breathless. It's no wonder that a certain composer went crazy when he couldn't take in all the newly discovered technology of his age – if you're not careful, it can simply blow your mind away.

I don't know how to explain my fascination. It wasn't really the story which brought out these thoughts. The Grid, which is basically the world inside a computer, contributed to it due to its metaphysical nature, but it was mainly while the hero was still in the real world that I saw how dependent we have become on technology, and how it is so intertwined in our lives that going backwards will cause us to perish, as I said earlier. This is really why TRON: Legacy has become so special to me – it wasn't the story that gripped me but the spiritual thoughts it has inspired in me. Coupled with a well-composed soundtrack done by Daft Punk, a soundtrack which complements the movie like sun and day, the movie becomes a moving experience Disney is not famous for.

Not to say that I have not had these thoughts before – I have. But to see it made and materialise on the silver screen brings a whole new different dimension to them – it's seeing your thoughts and ideas in 2-D, and how can that not be a moving experience? It's pretty much the same reason why I like Dostoevsky so much: you have had similar thoughts concerning religion and politics, but to see it written down amidst much Russian melodrama makes it all too real and all too different. Seeing and reading is not the same as thinking.

I have nothing much to say on the story itself. It showed hints of being religious at times, but to me it looked more mocking than serious, since the reference was all too obvious, unlike the recent Narnia movie (The Voyage of the Dawn Treader), where the references alarm you due to its vagueness. There were, of course, political themes as well, the theme being how certain quarters aim for a perfect world when it is actually impractical to aim and work for such an ideal (The Grid even has its own dissenting societies. Makes you wonder what's going in your computers no?). If you're expecting loads of action, be prepared to be let down. TRON: Legacy is not all hormone only – there's much dialogue to balance the action. And the action itself is not all mind-numbing kung fu or bad-ass guns, and there are no girls to ogle. Of course there are girls, but they don't behave provocatively, and they wear clothes. Even the romance is not paid attention to and does not end the way it usually does. TRON wants to be regarded as at least meaningful, and it strives to achieve that aim. I like that.

So, all in all, TRON: Legacy deserves a second watch, which is precisely what I'm going to do (if Mum would allow me that is – TRON is certainly no Sherlock Holmes). A job well done, Disney. For the first time in many, many years, you have inspired me, and not because of your silly, fairytale values.

Mainstream Music

2010-12-15T17:57:00.001+08:00

As some of you are aware of, I don't listen to the radio anymore, and this has been going on for quite some time already. The only time I do is in the morning on the way to school, and that only to listen to the news. Once the news ends, I stop paying attention and either talk to my mum or continue to be immersed in thoughts. So yes, I'm pretty much unaware of new songs, popular songs, and, to some extend, the emergence of new artists. However, recently I finally paid attention to the radio after a long period of oblivion, and I decided that I won't be listening to it anymore until they actually have a good selection of songs to play.

Before I begin on my commentary, allow me to define what I mean by mainstream music: that is the music that is being played all the time on Malaysian radio (which sucks). I am aware that certain songs that are unpopular in Malaysia may be popular in other countries, so it is important that I set the parameters to my country.

There's been a significant drop in quality of the songs that are being produced for the mainstream radio nowadays. It used to be bad enough previously, but now it's all unbearable. It's not really the beats and the sound which is bad, but it's the subject matter and the dumb lyrics which really ticks me off. I am a conscientious listener: I don't go for beats, rhythm, sound and all the external factors which makes a song attractive to the ear. I go for lyrics and subject matter first of all, and it's a habit which has become second nature to me. Sometimes a song may be awful to hear, but because of a few catchy phrases in the song, I have deigned to keep the song on my playlist. On the other hand, there are some songs which many people can't stand, but due to its ingenious song-writing, lyrics and depth, I love it intensely so.

I don't comprehend how people can stand listening to all those soppy love songs over and over again. Not only the love songs are soppy and "noodly", as a friend described it, it all gives a distorted perception on the realities of romantic relationships, and makes it seem as if romantic relationships are the only things that make the world go round, putting silly boy-girl-love on a pedestal, as if that is the only thing that humans need to work for and the only thing our lives should revolve around. Sure, I may not have been involved in a romantic relationship before, but since I have cynical forces surrounding me, and I have keenly observed my peers, I have a clear view of the amount of effort I should put into different types of romantic relationships (though of course it remains to be seen whether I shall apply this knowledge later on), and clearly, the type of romantic relationships Justin Bieber and gang are always singing about are not the type that anyone should be wasting their life and breath over.

Some songs are full of trashy values (many, actually). It beats me how people can listen to these songs and not feel disgusted and appalled at some of the things these songs promote, which is mainly some very bad sexual behaviour. These songs make improper conduct seem cool and fashionable, precisely why I have great dislike for Lady GaGa (and for other reasons too). And what is really mind-boggling and totally irresponsible of her is that after singing all those sex is cool songs, she discourages people from sexual promiscuity, and also to remain celibate if you can. I think her words would actually hit home if her songs reflect her views. As it is, her songs don't, and knowing humans (or at least the common, vulgar, weak, and licentious crowd), they're going to look more to her songs (and her clothes) for inspiration more than her words, unless she's yessing something that everybody wants to yes (like homosexuality). There are more singers like Lady GaGa out there. They may not tell people to be celibate and all that, but their songs are equally horrible. The message is so bad no amount of song-writing talent or catchy rhythm can redeem them. For one, I can't fathom why rappers who sing about rape, drugs and disrespect towards women in a nonchalant way, as if all these are normal behaviour, aren't getting arrested. They should be, they're encouraging moral corruption, and corruption by any other name is still corruption.

I'm not saying that non-mainstream songs are all good and perfect, even though you have to admit that the song-writing is generally better. Take Muse for example. Their non-mainstream songs are all so much better than their songs which get onto radios. Yes, non-mainstream songs have sex, they have stupid love songs, but they also have politics, philosophy and other more important things to talk about (Muse, Muse, Muse). They cover a diverse range of topics which makes them more appealing to me. The ones that I like, I listen to. The ones that I don't, I ignore. I don't have that option with mainstream songs. It's either love or sex. This is my main grouse against mainstream music: its lack of imagination (and terrible lyrics, which also reflects lack of imagination).

My second is the bad values and distorted reality it promotes. To me, it is imperative that mainstream music limits the bad values it promotes, because it has wider range of audience, and it is being played on the radio everyday. Whether you want to admit it or not, these are songs that are going to indirectly influence how a person thinks, particularly a child, who is still vulnerable to the elements he is exposed to. Furthermore, the common Malaysian public always blames our education system for their lack of intelligence, when in truth it is the music they listen to on the radio which contributes more to their unintelligence than our education system. At least our education system prompts students to sit down and think (if they want to that is), but the music on the radio gives no space for intelligent thoughts. It's either love or sex.

I shall conclude this entry with a quote by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, who described true music perfectly, and which no mainstream song has ever achieved with me: "Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies".

Restart

2010-12-12T02:37:00.000+08:00

I mentioned in my final entry before I decided to delete my archives that renovations would be made to the blog. When I wrote that, I meant that certain entries would be deleted, namely the ones that were really ridiculously silly, childish, full of nonsense, boring to me, or made me cringe in embarrassment. Looking through the blog, I found that a lot of my posts fitted into at least one of the categories, and because I was too lazy to actually go through every post, I made the decision to just delete all of them.

In that final post I also mentioned that before my national exams ended, I had planned to make my blog public after the exams. Whether that will materialise or not still remains to be seen, because when I made those plans, I thought I was ready to no longer remain incognito online. It turns out that I am still as adverse to (voluntary) interaction as ever, so now I have doubts. Still, the renovation stands. I hate being childish and silly, and I want to be intellectually perfect always, so the old posts must go. I'm not one to read my old thoughts and think oh my gosh I was so young. Well, I'd probably think that if I did something particularly cute, but if it was something particularly uncute, I'd just feel very insulted and offended.

So yeah, I want to be clever forever, and what way would be more apt and effective than the Orwellian way?