I Is Bimbo

Okie. Tht day I wuliao nth do so I find readibility test 4 blog. N hw I noe my blog score tiok Post Grad ei. Scary man. Even I oso shock tiok my hair stand up thn chao da lyk kena electric shock lyk tht. So lyk tht la I don lyk to speak so keng wan english. I try write lyk ahbeng/xiaxue!

Come out showr take picture! Hahaha! Lolx! Try bimbo blogging! Eeee! Nice wor! =)

Haha! Is me!

Is also me!

Is me again!

lolx!!

No towel! hahahaha lol!

Is look emo! Is cute? Hahahaha!

Lol hahaha! I smile!

Wish you all happy everyday! Muaks!

Note: This is satire. I am not responsible for any brain damage caused by this post. If you wish to see more, head over to Friendster and knock yourself out.

Reunion

I was the first to arrive. Slept the whole day from a running nose, woke up, showered, drove to Westwood. A wonder I didn't hit anything along the way.

A recap: the 8 musketeers (ignore the corny name for a second here, it stuck and I won't swap it for another) were a bunch of people who organized children church events in St Faith from 2004 to 2005.

We're pretty damn close, as a group. And we're also leaving.

Amanda was raving about this Lifehouse skit her CF did in KL. I watched it on Youtube a couple of days before, and I have to admit the entire thing's brilliant in its conception.



"Guess who I was playing?" she said, looking up from her food.

"The ... main character? The girl?"

"Yeah ... I wanted to be the drunkard, but -"

"Hah! As if you could ever look the part!"

Mandy's the one in the middle

And ... we caught up with each other. It felt good. They teased me on my as yet uncured revulsion to girl contact ("Boo boys' school boo!") and then teased each other with suggestive eyebrow movements (in reference to significant others, lah).

Adele and Rachael have both finished their SPM examinations. To Rachael, who arrived earlier, we asked the required question every fifth former would be asked this time of the year: "Where next, huh?"

"Oh, squash ... in KL."

"And ... after squash?" I asked.

Rach took a deep breath.

"I'm getting married to an old man on a respirator and when he dies I'll inherit all his money."

"Huh?"

"Oh," she replied, pointing to something behind me. "The wall is orange!"

I think this was during one of the blonde jokes. But I'm not really sure.

So on to Lynn, who amazed us all with talk of modulators and MP3 players in cars. "What you doing now?"

"Work! Toyota, Pending!" (I took the opportunity to filch two leaves from her Caesar's Salad. Knowing me and all ...)

And then she just had to make us all look bad by giving us little presents.

Adele was the last to arrive, having come direct from the airport. She waved, hugged the girls in order, and then proceeded to squeal at a PDA. And ordered fish and chips. I stared at the fish and chips. They looked good.


Amanda and Elaine were the hardest to get hold of. Elaine is doing nursing in KL, and Amanda has 4-5 years to go before becoming a fully fledged doctor. Between them they managed to collectively disgust us with talk of urinating and drug doses. Rachael is still going "What reflex?" in my mind, but that is imagination and it was about cadavers.

Not. Good. Combo.


After finishing steaks and chips and a sandwich the waiter christened 'cock' (crocque monsieur, but nevermind), we proceeded to torture Aaron. We sang Happy Birthday and made him practice kissing. For, you know, future reference.


And the ever necessary group photos:


I enjoyed myself. It's been what? 2 years? And soon we'll be all grown up.

What a thought!

PS: The night could've lasted longer, had we listened to JJ's suggestion of going open air earlier. That boy is a genius, I tell you, with or without painted nails.

Photolog - Nickki's Christmas Gatherings

2007 In Review

When I was small I remember mum wringing her hands in exasperation at my grandfather: "He cannot sit still wan! Always tinkering around with the house!" This was, mind you, despite of his old age: my grandfather seemed to be forever welding and laying brick and putting together some new frame for orchids or flowers or mango trees.

That eternal itchiness to create something, to turn your house into an ever changing project, to cement and lay brick and pane glass ... is hereditary. I am myself eternally itchy, and my paws are too frequently involved in creating rather than finishing my work.

2007 is a year described in fragments. Projects. Still-lifes painted in erratic intervals.

Most of those fragments went uncaptured.

One example: The Square. The role of chief editor was shoved onto my plate; Ravin disappeared to prepare for the STPM and I was left with exactly a month to push one bloody issue out. Thank God for Jylene and Tay, and the Form 3s who had gone around collecting reports in September.

My design sketches of The Square.

The final product: Tay's handiwork.

There are other get-togethers that I have pictures of but did not get down to write. Here are some of them:

The Children's Bible Camp

Where we got bombed for sleeping with each other (or not being gender segregated lah, but that's a long story).

McD get-together

With Josh, Andrew Ho, Aileen and Tay. Classic line from that gathering:

"What religion are you?"

"Christian!"

"What denomination?"

"Buddhist!"

Tay's and Andrew's birthday

Where we went to Bing and made Nickki die of manboobs laughter.

Relationships

2007 reminded me we all fall prey to our hormones. It's pathetic, it's downright frightful, and very often the object of your affections may turn out to be the exact thing you should stay away from.

2007 taught me to value the old friendships I have, to deepen a few with people I didn't know that well, and to recognize the inherent differences between our egos.

2007, ironically enough, has loosened the Internet's hold on me.

Sacrifices

The past two weeks have been spent studying like mad throughout the afternoon and then driving to the dojo for hard Judo training. I went through my fair share of injuries: a strained back muscle, a swollen foot, bruises where you don't want bruises to happen. Sukma is during the mid term holidays next year, with the STPM not too far behind, and this means two very big things:

1. I can no longer go online as much as I would like
2. I can no longer attend UGS gatherings

It's hard, it's sad, but to do reasonably well in both studies and sport something has to go. That something is my social life.

This also means I can't spend as much time as I like maintaining my online presence(s). I am tired of playing two people, and keeping some projects secret. For those of you who wonder why I'm often distracted during chatting sessions: this was the centre of my attention. I've to slow down the thinking and writing there, but I'm thankful for the people I met through it.

A Birthday To Remember

I've no time to blog about this in detail, but I am very, very blessed to have friends that pulled my birthday off:

• To Sam, Jylene: thank you for organizing the whole damned thing.
• To Amanda: thank you for the midnight call (and birthday song).
• To Nickki (and Jyl): thank you for the cake.
• To Tay, Max, Paul: thank you for the presents.
• To Vivian, Kenny, Andrew, Danny, Sean, Dwen, Aldrin, thank you for being there and witnessing my stripper humiliation coming of age.
• To Ruby, Jason, Aaron, Janice, A. Wendy, U. Albert and the teens: thank you for the singing.
• To Zhe Rong, Elaine, Wen Qi, Tze Lun, Garrick, thank you for the well wishes.
• To Hrafn, thank you for the points.
  
• And to countless others who have wished me, slapped me, thrown me, and said Happy Birthday: you guys rock.

2007 was pretty cool, overall. There's so much to talk about, and so little online time to do it. Here my pen stops, and I let this post slip from my fingers and onto your screens, wishing you Merry Christmas and may you have a great year ahead!

Photolog - Trouble

One Of The Worst Matches Ever

Photolog - Piala Presiden

The Piala Presiden

We knew it was bad the instant Sensei sat us down.

It was a semicircle in a corner of Chung Hwa No.1's multipurpose hall, and he gestured for even the girlfriends of the judokas to have a seat. "Come come," he said, "You're all involved in this together." They sat. We stared.

He began with a frustrated sigh. "I really don't know what to say. I am very glad you people are not representing Penang."

Penang was Sensei's hometown. It was where he originally played Judo. We kept dead quiet, heads bowed.

"Now, there was a stage where I was very frustrated in Penang ... I could defeat everyone in Malaysia, but I couldn't get anywhere in SEA. So my instructor said, 'I've taught you all I know, maybe it's time for you to go somewhere else.' And that's why I went to Japan. And now here I am, trying to teach you all I know, and how am I going to do that if you keep giving me this kind of shit?!

"I got back from Japan ... the Germans came and invited me to teach at one of their Junior Olympic training centres. Germany has quite a few of those, you know, to train people up for their sports ... Judo, football, you name it. But I thought for awhile ... and I said: well, my mother is here, my country needs me, and I was in the Kodokan so long because they (the Japanese) wanted me to raise the level of Judo in Malaysia. So I declined. And now I wonder why I don't leave Malaysia. It's so hard to train Malaysians! Heck, if I'd accepted I'd be earning three thousand Euro instead of two thousand seven hundred shit here!"

This was made with a gesture much resembling taking off a cap and throwing it on the ground. It was frightening, seeing this side of Sensei. He didn't look angry ... but his words and his tone of voice betrayed his emotions. Disappointment. Frustration.

"I sometimes don't know what to do with you people ... how to push you people. At first I did light training, then I pushed and made it harder, and y'all couldn't take it. So I went back to light training. How to motivate you? A good example is some of you telling me you're going to your church camp. You are representing your state here. All the people of Sarawak ... and you tell me you want to go to a church camp last minute?! Take representing your state seriously ... I understand about studies and exams. I've already given you much leeway in that aspect. But when you're free don't go out for birthday parties, go dating your girlfriends (and here he gestured at the GF group), or having a good time! Studies first, that I grant. Judo second. Everything else later.

"Now you look at the Malaccan group. They are not as good as you are technically. Physically they are not stronger than the sports schools, and to top that off the sports schools play a very strange form of Judo. They don't have the facilities, and they're even banned from participating in the Nationals because of a political problem. And yet ... did you see how many of the sports school people that were taken out by the Malaccans?! They just refused to give up! That match between Nurul and that Malaccan green belter ... do you know who Nurul is?! She is a National Champion, for goodness sakes! The match was impossible! And that 15 year old green belter, what is she?"

"Nothing." mumbled Max.

"Exactly! Nothing! And she refused to give up! And eventually Nurul started to slow down and that 15 year old attacked, and - whup!" He didn't need to say any more. All of us could still remember the throw - a fast standing seoinage, perfectly executed to the right. It was breathtaking ... beautiful.

"So ..." He paused and looked at each of us, one by one. "I come to Sarawak expecting to bring up a pool of strong athletes. And then I find out that the men here ... are women! Some of you did worst than the girls! You girlfriends over there, I don't know who is with who, the boys you are dating here are not men ... they are women!" Sensei chuckled to himself, and some of the judoka secreted a sideways look at Gan. His girlfriend was sitting two rows behind him.

"Joking aside," Sensei said, " Why are the Malaccans better? Why are they tougher, so spirited? Is it because their parents pamper them less? Why? Why? Keep asking yourself that."

He paused here, letting us mull over the question. The shadows were growing long by then, and the lights to the multipurpose hall was off. Dank and grey - a perfect complement to our mood.

When Sensei started again he was on a new tack. "Back in Penang my instructors told me there are two kinds of Judo players: the normal, average Judoka, and The Fighter. The Fighter never gives up. Even with the odds all stacked up against him he just keeps on going at it. This Fighter, when he fights, he fights to the death. I've never seen a Fighter cry when they got injured. I really dislike it when I see somebody crying when they sprain an ankle or tear a ligament or what. Real fighters don't do that. Normal Judoka okay la ... understandable ...

"Even the Senseis I had in Japan made the same distinction. Two kinds of Judo player. And this is something I have only begun to understand recently.

"Oh, and do you know that if you can feel pain in a match something is wrong? When you're really fighting, you're so pumped up you don't even know what happened to you. I remember one tournament where I injured my ankle. I didn't even feel anything! I finished the match and then only when I stepped out of the arena I collapsed. And then I was wondering what is wrong with my legs? And I looked down and it was -" Here he curved his hands over his ankle to indicate the seriousness of the swelling "- that big. So they pulled me out and sent me to the hospital and I had to rest for 6 months.

"You need to be so pumped up that you can't feel pain. And The Fighter knows when his confidence is slipping, and he pumps it up when that happens. There are actually people that can maintain that same level of confidence no matter what. And you can't!

"Christina, when you were fighting that first match, you gave up so fast. She was just pushing you away ... all you had to do was to take that arm out, and keep doing it! Instead you slowly gave up on taking the arm out, and the match was hers.

"Cedric, when you entered that match with the Under-15 boy your spirit was very strong ... even higher than the boy, in fact. But then as the match dragged on and your techniques failed, then your spirit dropped, dropped, until it was the same level as his. And the match went from your hands and into his!

"Heng Lim, Enoch ... same goes for you. You started off at around the same level, but then as the match went on one of you rose and one fell. So Heng Lim won.

"Are any of you Fighters? I can see some of you can be, and also some that just isn't made out for this. And this applies to every sport, not just Judo. Badminton ... ah badminton."

Badminton

"When was it that Rexy Manaiky wanted to quit coaching that Malaysian doubles pair - was it last year?"

"This year," I said, quietly. The irony of my reply struck me: if it hadn't been for UGS and all the badminton freaks there I wouldn't have heard of this. And the last person I expected to talk about badminton and Judo in the same sentence was Sensei. Sensei, of all people!

"Well, Rexy is my friend. He's Indonesian, and we went to the SEA games together. And he said Malaysians have no fighting spirit. Oh, when it's easy the Malaysians are happy. But you stretch the badminton match a little bit and they give up. And all the other countries walk all over us. What is wrong with Malaysian culture? Why do we keep on producing such weak people? Is it because your parents pamper you so much?"

Sensei shrugged. "In Japan you can probably find 3 Fighters in every 10 people. And in Malaysia? Probably only 1."

Spirit

I don't remember all the things he talked about. But Sensei closed with this:

"Have you heard of Talent Scouting? No? We have this in Malaysia: those people will go from school to school and they will measure your arms, your legs ... they will go 'oh, this boy is tall, he'll be good for basketball' and 'oh, this boy has strong legs, he'll be good for athletics' and 'oh that boy has strong arms, he'll be good for shotput. And come a few months they'll take this boy and place him for shotput, and take this boy for athletics ... and take that boy for basketball.

"So this German consultant came and he told us that this wasn't 100%. It wasn't effective. There is one element we cannot measure. So he told us to send the boy for competition, and watch him. If he wins, don't need to watch. He's happy, everyone's happy. If he loses, however, now is the time to watch closely. Do you get a knock on your door the next day, that boy at your doorstep telling you he wants to train harder? If you do you've found yourself talent."

By then the gold slits of sunlight were long, and the caretaker of the school was impatiently jangling his keys. Sensei looked around the semicircle again. All of us here had represented Sarawak today, and most of us here were guilty in one way or another of not giving our best. We were upset, and we were tired.

Sensei took a deep breath. "Are there fighters in Sarawak? I need to know, because we need them. I need tough people. This doesn't mean you have to be muscular. You can be like Max, who has more fat than muscle. The toughness I mean is up here ..." And he tapped his forehead.

"That is something you can keep all your life, because - face it - real life is a lot tougher than a Judo match."

We went over the minor details of the day again, that the Junior Circuit in Terengganu wasn't confirmed, that there would be no joint training on Monday because Malacca wanted to go shopping (hah! he said, look at our Malaysian spirit!).

And then we got up and we left, and the hall was empty in its darkness.

Under 15 Team Competition (Piala Presiden 1)

When I got to Chung Hwa No.1 Sarawak was already involved in the messy affair of losing. They told me Chong was thrown as he tried to get up, and the ref didn't do anything about it. Chong is one of the first Under-15s to have joined Sarawak Judo. He has a wicked Seoinage like you won't believe, only he had no chance to use it.

I sighed.

Both Sarawak teams were up against Malaccan Central judokas. They had cute girls like you won't believe really good spirit. One Malaccan ah mah was in the front all the way through, yelling at her boys.

Rough translation from Mandarin: "You wait fiiiirst! Wait fiiiiirst then enter! Don't simply waste energyyyyy!!!"


Our judokas were better. Stronger. Faster. I know that from personal experience - having sparred with the U-15s. But the Malaccan judokas made up with their sheer spirit. They had a drive to win, and you could tell that from the look on their faces as they stepped onto the mat.


One in particular looked like a gangster out of control.

Charlton was glowering by the time that match ended. "That green belter play like c**** wan. You know before, my leg injured, their coach come and say 'No worry, you'll be alright.' Then when we play, he tell them to kick my leg. And they keep on sasai that leg only!"

"Hey, you didn't do so bad wad ... there was one part in the match where you went into guard position -"

"I know! He press down on my leg then lah!" Charlton spat. "You think I care so much? I don't care shido or disqualify, I feel like letting go and punching him in the face ..."



The Malaccans won, of course. There was one match where it was Malaccans vs Malaccans, and one side completely ipponed the other. For points. Which was really smart of them.

"What are they doing? Practicing how to fall, izzit?" Frankie said. He collected his team's forms from the official table, laughed, and went off with his back to the mat.


Whatever it was that happened you had to give the Malaccans some respect. They played well - rather defensive, but when they saw the opportunity they went in for it. And their spirit was astounding. The tiny ones didn't even flinch when they had to go up against a Sarawakian Goliath. (That was Brendan, if you're wondering, who can throw even me. Whoosh.)

And us Sarawakians weren't completely bad. After losing the first round they went up and pulled off a number of fantastic throws. Ali did a nice Uchimata, and Chong did two beautiful Seoinages (one of them in the video below):



We gathered in the Chung Hwa dojo for the weighing-in ceremony for tomorrow's match. Sensei came in and sat us down in a circle, and he spoke.


"When I saw some of you laughing out there on the mat, I felt like crying."

As he continued we grew quiet. We looked at the floor, wiggled our toes.

"When I first saw Douglas, Chong and Ali, I thought to myself: 'Ahh. In a few years time this will be the people who will clean all the medals.' Back then if I saw potential I would train them. Try to turn you people in champions. Now? Now if you come I'm already very happy."

Tang and I shot glances at each other. As first gen under Sensei we knew what he was talking about, and it wasn't nice to hear.

"Back in my time it was a big thing to represent your state. A huge responsibility. Now it seems Church Camp is more attractive, even when you've already signed up for the Piala."

"Church Camp got pretty girl." said Max.

We sighed in unison.

The Thomians, plus Tim, Benjamin and Brendan

Tomorrow is the senior's turn, and we intend to do our very best.

Tagged by Max (and others)

Rules: Do this tag and answer all the questions into your own blog. Delete one question from all the questions and add one of your own questions, make sure it is 20 question. Tag 8 persons.

Questions:
1. What was your dream when you were a small kid?
That I would be a scientist, and build Big Robots to kill other Big Robots. Or maybe it was a nuclear bomb. I can't remember.

2. What is the happiest thing in your whole life?
At my current hormonally charged state, many. I could break down at a movie, or a sunset, or when someone chokes me and I see reverse ferris wheels ...

3. If your life is a song, that song will be ...?
Sæglópur by Sigur Ros. Life, while beautiful, can also make no sense.

4. How should the world be seen?
Such an open-ended question. How should I answer?

5. What have you realized recently?
Against a left handed opponent it is safer to play one arm judo.

6. What is the bad habit that you cannot accept the most?
Procrastination. Which is me.

7. When you have something which you are unhappy about, what will you do?
Shout into the pillow. Then I write.

8. Are you afraid of losing?
All the time, until when it matters most.

9. Do you think that you feel helpless, or useless sometimes?
I am at that stage of human development where many would consider me a hormonally charged zombie. What do you think?

10. When you meet someone that you like, will you profess or hide your feeling?
I suppress, and then let it fade away.

11. List out 3 kinds of people you hate the most.
Those who cannot stand creative output from their peers, and do all in their power to rob them of such joy.
Those who believe happiness must be bought.
Those who are loud and empty.
But then I understand them, and I hate no more.

12. What is loneliness?
Imagine in your mind's eye the Earth. And then let your mind travel away from it, further and further away; past the asteroid belts of Jupiter, past the icy rings of Saturn. The earth is but a blue speck in the horizon. We live on that blue speck: we fight and kill and shout ideas at each other, and when the other side rejects our ideas we kill some more. That blue speck is loneliness.

13. Are you satisfied with your life now? Do you think any changes should be made?
Many. Ambition is, after all, an indicator of current failure.

14. When was the most recent time you felt touched?
I believe I was watching Hotel Rwanda. Halfway through the movie I found myself fighting a lump in my throat. Had I given in I would have burst into tears. Weird.

15. Where is the place that you visited and you felt the most beautiful?
The dojo.

16. Use a song to describe how you've felt recently.
Reckoner, by Radiohead.

Because we separate
it ripples our reflections
Because we separate
it ripples our reflections

Reckoner

Did I cater to all you
All your needs?

17. If you have one wish that'll come true, what is it?
That I can sit myself down and actually study.

18. Do you have anything to worry or to be scared about recently?
Ya think *points at blog post preceding this one*

19. If the World is going to end, what will you do?
I would either pray or go to sleep. It depends.

20. Your biggest fear now?
That Osotogari will fail me.

Collapse collapse

In three days I will be fighting national players in the Piala Presiden. To say I am scared is an understatement. They are Mongolian style players; we are Jap style. They are very strong. Malcolm has to lose 1 kg in that time, Tim has to rest his injured neck muscles, and I have to stop thinking so much.

Purple

It's a good thing I haven't been going everyday for the past two weeks - Sensei has been on a weight loss regiment for all those near the lower boundaries of their weight categories. Not that I might need it anytime soon: my new judogi is a sauna, and I frequently throw it off during training. It is bloody uncomfortable, bloody hot.

Red

The under-15s will be playing this Saturday. For them it is a team event. I've a feeling I'll be going to watch and get a feel for our opponent's technical range. Sensei says they'll be slower than us, but this is made up for by their immense strength. They are sports school boys, and they train everyday.

Yellow

It's at Chung Hwa No.1. If you want to see the Sarawakians get thrown us playing, come on Sunday. 9 a.m. Note to self: Lose the defeatist thinking, you idiot.

Blue

I am afraid.

Green

Did I mention that? I think I did.

I am afraid.

PS: Fitting, isn't it, that of all the colours kodokangear could pick for their shirts, Osotogari is green. Fate, I tell you, fate.

Finding My Words

My pen feels like an old friend, one that I haven't met in years. I pick it up and put it to paper, the grip so familiar, the words choked and tumbling from the nib, spilling out, clumsy on the page. My desk is once again my window to distant worlds, to people and events I have never seen before. A girl is crying on the other end today, she is in her brother's room - what is she thinking? Her thoughts are no match for my window, I put them down to paper.

Sentient sounds from below, some snippets of a pop song my sisters must be listening to, and the window disappears, abruptly. I am back at my messy desk, the light from the table lamp pooling onto my page, and the girl crying is a distant dream. I look around: there's a mountain of newspaper cuttings on the floor, a judogi reeking of sweat from last night's training, and my books have made their godforsaken pilgrimage onto my bed, hidden beneath the pile of clothes I've yet to fold.

I have started writing again. My window is grimy, the images sometimes distorted after long neglect. A very unproductive post-SPM phase is now over.

Tomorrow I will have some glass cleaner. And that world will be clearer. Why is that girl crying? I will soon find out.

On Blogging

When I was 15 I remember reading a Star Education feature called World Wide Writing, published 30th May 2004. That was a long time ago, and I was a very different person: I hadn't yet joined Judo, I thought the PMR was the worst thing to have happened to me, and I thought Avril Lavigne sang art of a very high order.

This article featured what Star Education thought was the best of Malaysian student blogs. Here I pause in writing this post - I ran upstairs, opened my inspiration folder, and started entering the links of the blogs from that article. Most of them no longer exist: Daisy Boo (baabaablackcitysheep.blogspot.com), C'est la vie (gonzalos.blogspot.com) and William Fong (williamfong.theuseless.com) are all 404 page not available. The only blogger from that article whom I still read is Edrei Zahari, and with 1000++ posts in his archive he's still going strong.

A few months later, on November 17th, I started this blog.

It was a nicer time to begin blogging. Blogging wasn't mainstream yet, so nobody was there to tell us what to do and what not to do. None of that "OMG the whole world can read what you're writing about my school" garbage had started, and only Dooce had been fired for blogging about work. Heck, it was a grand time for all of us. It was like the 70s all over again (make love not war, at least not blog ones), corporations wondered what the heck blogging was for (now we get corporate blogs ... so go figure) and we made up the rules as we went along.

Today we have spite wars and people blog for the strangest of reasons. They actually do it for money, can you believe it?! Ohmigosh - money!!! Others blog for readers. Back then we neither had money nor readers, and if you told people you had a blog you'd have probably gotten a stare for all your efforts.

"Block hia? Ohhh ... that one I know I know. I use got Vitamin D wan, can prevent skin cancer! You lerr??"

So here I am, scratching my head and wondering why I'm still doing this most arcane of Internet activities. It's been a great journey, sure, and I'm certain the million or so teenagers out there ranting and venting their feelings would say the same (oh, you mean it's 2 million now?! It was a million the last time I checked ... like, oh, 5 minutes ago ...).

Why Do We Blog?

Which, come to think of it, is one very important question. I've given my reason quite a few times before: I blog because I want to keep a record of my growth. When I'm old I would want to sit down and go through my archives, and laugh at my thoughts; laugh at my antics. It's a picture that keeps me going: in my mind's eye I have kids, and my wife will be chucking a frying pan in my direction over a sexist remark I made back when I was - what? - 16?

Ahh, good times lie ahead.

I am convinced that people blog for many reasons, and some reasons are more fulfilling than others. If you want to blog for popularity ... fuggedaboutit. You may very well get popular, but that's by far a long shot, especially if you've got the writing skills of a rock. More often than not you'll get disillusioned and stop blogging, and then - this is bad - let your writing pollute the already polluted blogosphere. And if you get popular - cool. But I've seen too many cases where bloggers have their blog define their self-worth, and their egos inflate over something as unsubstantial as reader numbers.

Others blog for money. Now, I've got no problem with that, but I can't stand blogs who blatantly splatter ads all over their layouts without giving you quality of any sort. I'm happy if you give me writing that'll move me, and I'm happy if you give celebrity gossip or well picked fashion photos or just brilliantly composed photographs. But God please save your readers if you're blogging for Pay Per Post, or if you've just put up a Beowulf review with 6 pictures and less than 100 words.

Please God in heaven help me.

The thing about blogging is this: it's a very unfulfilling, boring hobby if you don't do it for the right reasons. Do it for the people you'll meet, rather than the fame you'll get ... do it for the feedback and the support you'll receive, rather than the money. Some do it for therapy - they spill their guts out on the digital page - and that's perfectly fine. Only often it's so unreadable only people who really care about them read it ... and even then sometimes not. But so what? You're writing for therapeutic reasons, and nobody has to read it to make that kind of writing effective!

Different people have different ways of blogging. I've friends who let their pictures do their talking for them, and I've friends who rant a lot, eventually letting 1000 words or so make their point. And I read them because they're my friends. Nothing to it.

But it's reaching beyond our circle that's tricky. It often calls for us to really improve the way we write. It means being honest, being clear, and - occasionally - being funny. And this is the good stuff - it means we're churning out real quality ... and that can only mean a better blogosphere.

There is a phrase in Stephen King's On Writing that applies to blogging as much as it does to writing:

Life isn't a support system for art. It's the other way around.

If I ever (God forbid) let my blog take over my life, it would do me well to remind myself: it's just a blog. On the Internet. That's probably read by less that 0.1% of the world's population. Blog well, blog good, and for all our sakes do it for the right reasons.

Our eyeballs will thank you for it.

Also related: Mark Bernstein's seminal 10 Tips on Writing the Living Web.

Update: I removed a sentence from the 14th paragraph, reading: 'In doing so, however, you're lowering the quality of writing out there. There's nothing much we can do about that.' It doesn't make sense, and even if true, doesn't contribute anything to the point I'm trying to make.

Intelligent Dinner Conversation

tay said:
could u ever be interested in a nice phone?

Dienasty said:
well
if i throw it and drop it and it still works
yes

tay said:
mine does....
i droped in in the toilet
it was in my pocket
i took my pants off
for some reason
i flung my pants
just to straighten it
den it flew out
directly to the floor
so it's fling + gravity
and the best thing
the camera had a black spot on it b4
i was going to send it to fix

Dienasty said:
and now
it has brown spots

tay said:
den after it floored
the spot disappeard

Dienasty said:
O.M.G.

tay said:
fixed it

Dienasty said:
i. touched. your. phone.

tay said:
not toilet bowl
i mean
in the bathroom
on the floor
not toilet bowl!

Spirit Or Stupidity

My last conscious thought was "Thank God it's not Osaekomi."

And then there was a bright rush of colour and an absence of sound, and I was free and it was peaceful and I was not on a mat. I was flying: that was it ... that was the only explanation. There was a bright light; heck, there were lots of bright lights, and then the images started, flashing sepia and beautiful. Most were too quick for me to snatch and hold, to remember, but there were a few: one was a ferris wheel, swinging in reverse; and then a city at night, from above; and feet ... moving feet, to and fro. To and fro. Sensei's face broke in. To and fro. What is he doing here? To and fro, interrupting my peacefulness? To and fro.

I was brought up to my feet, my vision of the dojo swimming. The green was too green, Max was too round, the voices rushing back into my head.

"What happened?" I croaked. My throat felt raw. It hurt. I realized the match wasn't over, that in all probability I would need to fight again. My shoulders tensed ...

"He choked you. You blacked out."

... and relaxed. I had lost. Lost, and gotten a hell of an experience in the process.

Stumble, stumble, back onto the floor, the solid, solid ground, and then Tay was next to me, one of those rare times I've seen him worried, his voice gentle: "Are you okay? Your face blue."

I waved him away, ("Okay, okay.") the pain in my back excruciating.

Opinion on what happened was split two ways: people like Tang and Tim (who choked me) thought my spirit was amazing, that I didn't want to give up in the middle of a choke. Others like Frankie and Vivienne thought I was stupid - "Kenapa tidak tap out?"

And you know what? I don't know which one I was. Maybe I was strong, never wanting to give up, wanting to win. But the truth was that it felt more like I was stupid. Pick up and move on.

The pictures in my head, though, were quite something. A ferris wheel in reverse? Something is miswired up there, I swear.

Why We Fall In Love With Sports (And I Didn't)

I have always thought of myself as an anti-sport person.

I found myself more in love with books and computers than the great outdoors ... a geek lah, in simpler terms.

I did not (and probably still don't) understand the joys of running after a feathery nub with a ridiculous looking netted stick, or of bouncing an orange ball through a forest of tall people, with the eventual aim of shooting it into a hoop. But hundreds all over the world do love these weird concepts, don't they? And to hear Sam and Jasper talking of badminton would be to think it was a religion, rather than a sport.

I did give badminton a try. I was in primary 3 and I played at the youth and sports hall near Jalan Kereta Api. It didn't go well. I missed the shuttlecock 90 percent of the time, and soon I got sick of running after stray shots. There just wasn't any fire to get better at it - I was told to practice serving against a wall ... and pretty soon all my shuttles ended up on the roof.

I stayed away from badminton for a long, long time.

Running to me is a sport more understandable than most. Who hasn't played cops and robbers in primary school? I loved the thrill of ducking left and right, spinning to dodge oncoming hands, and the shortness of breath you get after outdistancing and outwitting a potential captor. Yalah, athletics might not be like that, but I know the pleasure involved at beating time - be it personal or recorded. And having a friend like Paul helped a lot in understanding some of the nuances: the pain, the mental state, the windbreaking strategy.

Running wasn't a sport for me, though. After discovering my speed the bullies in primary 1 took me to their pet chase victim. I quickly learned to read at recess.

So I grew up sans sport for many years. I took up swimming, but only to prevent myself from a wet and unhappy death, and then I tried basketball in PJ, where Kenny remarked that the ball played me better than I played it. Which is, of course, a sad and sorry truth.

I think the main problem with me and sports is that there is this period of unbearable rote before you become any good at it, and I just couldn't bring myself to get past that stage. What? Hit a shuttlecock against a wall for 4 months?! You crazy ar?! Don wanna go liaw! Add to that the hundreds of kids who are so much better than you are, and despite being younger are all the more ready to laugh at you. You ask them for help and they look at you as if you have five legs.

Looking back at all of this I wonder, sometimes, at what made me love Judo. It isn't very different from other sports: you still get players that are egotistical, and there is this period of unbearable rote before your technique works. But instead of turning me off these elements in this sport pushed me on further. Like fire. Or weed. Or rum, whichever vice you prefer.

But I suppose Judo's appeal to me lay in its practical applications. You got to defend yourself, while learning throws and locks. And there is this important tactical side of it, which is lovely to me as a geek: combos, counters, styles (Mongolian vs Japanese), specialties. It requires you to think, and to think a lot. It was very much like a Tekken video game. Or Soul Caliber. Or Mortal Kombat. And that everything was open to your imagination: you could create whole new ways of doing techniques, if you wished.

Yes, I know much of this does not make sense, but I have gotten past that period of unbearable rote and am now finding myself at a stage of competence, where it is easier to love a sport you are good in (funny that applies for the reverse scenario: that it is easier to be good in a sport you love ...) Very often I feel like a sheep in wolves' clothing. Me? Okay at a sport? Impossible!

And then I remind myself of all those things I have yet to master, and the minor details of me going up against real wolves fall to the wayside.

We sheep have our moments, once in a while. I intend to enjoy them.

You've Got To Love Andrew Ho

From my phone inbox:

I hate you ced, you could hav established better friendship if we are to go for the same math tuition for like more than a year. Now u chose to leave, when i see your name and think back, i wont hav much memory of u, n u r just another name.

Roughly half a minute later:

See its one year we could have spent together, the whole 2008, but you just blew it off like how someone would do with a fuel powered leaves blower in canada during fall.

Two days on:

I am having a great time without you in math tuition, don you ever come back to distract me. I bought a new dog.

Wonderful sense of humour. He didn't mean any of it, of course, but it was a good chuckle all the same.

I can't wait for him to come back to the blogosphere.

The PLPB Open (Psst: I Got The Shirt!)

I lost my first match.

It happened so quickly: one moment I was upright and taking an inside grip, the next I was on the ground and staring up at the ceiling and hearing Sensei call out ippon!

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Forgive me this swearing.

Shit.


Let's take a look at it before continuing any further:



The throw Gan pulled off on me was an Osotogari. My throw. I can handle losing, I can handle doing my best against a left hander (left handers always have the advantage in Judo), and coming out second. What I cannot handle is being thrown by a throw I know inside out.

Alright lah, not inside out. But a judoka takes pride in his specialty, and we don't usually like been thrown with the one throw we feel is ours. Logical, correct or not? You've practiced that one technique over and over again for two years, and slowly you'll get to know everything about it: the possible combos, counters, how to pull it off, and how to stop it.

I was beyond pissed.

I sat down next to Malcolm, simmering in this pot of self hate. And he turned to me and said something that changed me; changed my view of the entire competition.

"I think you think too much. In the match. Stop thinking."

Click. A row of windows aligning themselves in my head. I look out from one end and there is light somewhere beyond, and I examine these windows one by one.

The first is Malcolm's words, but they are already echoing in my head, and I understand them.

The next is Jasper telling me not to respect my opponent. That the laughter and friendship kicks in only after a match, and to hell with them while you're in the middle of a competition.

Gary talking: "In Judo competition anything can happen, no matter how good you are. This is just the way it is. Split second and bam."

And the last window, where I decide for myself that I want something from this competition. And that whoever gets in between me and that prize will have to pay the sorry consequences.

Then these thoughts clear themselves away from my head, and I spend the rest of the competition not thinking at all.

My sister calls this picture sen. I was not responding to conversation.

I lost my first match, and so I am entered into something called Repercharge. If the person you lost to reaches the semis you'd be entered into something called the Loser's Pool (hate the name) with the ultimate aim of third place. Any loss along the way means elimination.

It was obvious that I could not afford to lose any of the matches I was going to play.

My first repercharge match was against Vyneriddo. I threw him in a minute or so with a perfect Osotogari, though I had to make two tries at it. I was pumped up, my movements were fluid, and I was keeping my mind empty.

But my heart fell when I saw who I was up against next. It was Enoch, the same guy who had defeated me with a koka in the State Selections. My Osotogari had a curious history of failing around him - he was taller, and he was heavier, and damn his legs were long.

Here's what happened:



An explanation: that was an Osotogari, which was overdone and made him fall on the back of his neck. I scored only a yuko for it, and then he attempted an armlock. A few seconds after this video ends I threw him again, this time with an Osoto-makikomi. I then dragged out the match, messing with his shoulders (and quickly losing whatever stamina I had) for 4 whole minutes.

I won with two yuko. Enoch didn't manage to score.

And the worst was over. It was with a cruel sense of irony that I fought Tay for third place, since he was doing wonderfully outside the Losers' Pool. Tay insists he was lucky to go that far, but I disagree. No amount of luck could've helped him if he hadn't been training for the past few months.

Here's our match, all 22 seconds of it, ending with an Osotogari:



And that was that. I got 3rd, Tay got 4th (woohoo for St Thomas'!). Tim got 1st, Aby got 2nd, Jerom got the other 3rd position, under me in Repercharge rankings, and Gan got 5th.

Oh, and one last thing:

The dojo is in that happy state of chaos after a competition, and I head for Sensei, catching him before another official asks for his help.

"Sensei!" I say, grinning.

"Yes?"

I take a deep breath. "Now, about that shirt ..."