THE SHIT IS BANANAS
I am blonde.

A year and a half ago, I identified this man as Samuel L. Jackson.

Today, I went through 40% of my final exam commenting on a quote by Mahatma Ghandi, thinking that he was a chick. Somehow, I had a little brain fart and was under the impression that they were talking about his daughter, Indira.

Today, I learnt that Indira has no relation, whatsoever to Mahatma.

Today, I made soup without water, and burned it.

Some of us have infinity planted in us in odd ways. Yesterday, Today, Forever, I will ever be blonde.
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I am a flower quickly fading, Here today and gone tomorrow,
I want to breathe in the open wind
A wave tossed in the ocean, A vapor in the wind.
I want to kiss like lovers do
Still you hear me when I'm calling, Lord, you catch me when I'm falling,
I want to dive into your ocean
And you've told me who I am. I am yours.
Is it raining with you?

Stepping out from my Chinese final was a less-than-triumphant moment for me. Travelling purposefully down the halls of the Buchanan B block brought surprising tears to my eyes. I am finally done with Chinese, academically speaking at least. I found myself quaking with irony and fear, recalling the exuberation I would feel at the end of each passed exam in Singapore. It meant a year less of Chinese and as I worked my way toward the AO levels when it would all

Stop

I didn't think I would ever need to touch the loathsome language. ever. again. But somehow, deep in my bones, I always knew that God would call me back into the Sino world again. And here I am, three years later with twelve credits of upper level Chinese courses under my belt.

But no, no joy in completion or renunciation of learning. But rather, a tender sort of nostalgia in understanding that in taking ludicriously difficult chinese courses filled with native speakers, in White Land Canada I have brought to the battle front of my identity. Who am I as a Canadian Born, Singaporean-bred, Anglo-speaking, Protestant, Straits Chinese Girl?

In wrestling with my ethnic and cultural identity, these courses have imbued in me a burning desire to be more Chinese, to speak, think and be Chinese. And ending my courses have filled me with fear that this will be the last strings of contact I will have with the Chinese culture before giving it all away.

But perhaps, as God would have it, this is only the beginning.
Where are you taking me?
Give me strength to go. Alone.

Tomorrow will be better.
...fo' shizzle




This made my evening.

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I remember the June of last year, over lunch and agony, with you holding on to an iPod that you had no intention or means of using.

Today, I realise that since then, I've been trying to understand that nothing you would ever hold in your hands (or heart) again, would be for me.

Oh how I am weak!
And how we have been foolish.

Intertia Crepes, moving up slowly

Warm and sunny today. Glen and I sat for two hours in the blazing evening, him with a crepe and me with chinese take-out. We had our annual meeting of catching up and talking of life, school, Jason and future summers. We should meet more, and do more then just talk. I think there's a reason why we meet once a year - with the amount of intellectulized talking, there's only room for so much. We need to diversify our relational economy.

But since we're going places, and doing wildly different things, I'm sure we'll have plenty of material to work with. I'm quite pleased with the proposition of a an extra-annual meeting - In Tanzania.