More fun and games

Games:
+ Throw paper in waste-bin game
+ Lemmings game, which I've never heard of before, but is apparently a very old, classic game.
+ And for a whole Host of games in different categories, including Streetfighter II, we have funnygames.nl.

Check this out

I spent half my day piloting a helicopter in class today.

"A day in the life" (Abridged version)

I don't want to be a weekend writer. I want to write every day about what I am seeing, learning, experiencing daily.

But my feelings are like an out-of-control rollercoaster car, careening wildly through the air, almost veering off its tracks. One day I am in bliss: buoyant that I am in my field, convinced that I will love my job with a passion, confident that I will be able to withstand the pressures and stresses that it entails, conjecture that I will indeed thrive under pressure! Then an experience or thought will strike me, and I am hit with a blow: I worry that I will turn out to be inept, that I will be terminated after one, two years, if not a mere six months into the job, I wonder if I have over-estimated myself.

And hence, it doesn't seem worth my while to write at all. What I feel one moment may be the polar opposite of what I feel the next. I will seem like a frenetic, confused, hyperventilating, schizophrenic with a case of multiple-personality disorder. And really, I dislike inconsistency.

I shall put some of my jumbled emotions down to the stressors that have been present in my life, some to the state of transition that is in my personal, as well as work life, and the residual down to hormonal imbalances.

And for now, I think I can say that some things have settled into a bit of a groove. For one thing, the entire Class is now in, and we're also now settling down into a slightly more regular schedule of classroom training. To my delight, I discovered today that I am seated next to one of my Top 5, and we will be sitting together for the next 4 weeks. A pleasant constant in my life for the interim period between now, and me joining my team (another disaster story that I want to avoid thinking about).

My weekday life will consist of a plodding, uninspiring, and yet soothing routine of homework, studying for the FSA exams, and getting my room into order. My weekends will be admin days: laundry and ironing to be done, planning for the week ahead, more room-transitioning, maybe some studying and revising.

I want to fit exercise into my daily routine. I want to find a way to fit various parts of my life into a compact time frame and still get enough rest and sleep. I want to obtain peace of mind. Think through more clearly my 5, 10-year plans for my personal life. Plans B,C,D,E... for my work and personal life, and work out the logistics of it. I think I'm being a little ambitious right now, and not really thinking clearly about implementation. I need to be super efficient to get everything right.

I didn't do all that I wanted to do today. But I feel happy with what I've done. I feel happy that now my new room is becoming a little bit more of my personal realm. I now have 5 posters, a newpaper article, and black-and-white print in my room. Every wall is covered with at least one item. I am creating and building up my own universe. I have a lovely double bed. Space to dr my clothes. Two tables to spread my things around. Decent wardrobe space. A place to put my shoes. A room with a view.

That's how I feel for now at least. I wanted to write in a more organised manner. But Mozilla blinked and shut down twice while I tried to write this. Also, I wanted to write more. Not just this one piece, but four or five small pieces. There are so many things I want to daydream about, muse upon. But there is that trade-off between having a fulfilling personal life (eg. writing) and getting rest (sleep). I have traded off some sleep for my personal life (I had wanted to sleep at 11 -- It is now past midnight.). So now I shall trade-off personal life (more writing) for sleep.

Good night, my world.

Friday night

In the course of an evening's informal social, which started at a few of the guys' apartments and ended in an unknown bar/club, I got:
- bitten on the shoulder
- two offers to show me around when I visit Switzerland and Germany (weekends can be co-ordinated)
- charming, if extravagant, gestures by a frenchman and an italian in kissing my hand
- two requests for lapdances
and
- bisous from three guys and a girl

No I wasn't the most attractive, or wildest girl on the scene. On the contrary, I was one of the most reserved girls among those who stayed long enough to go to the club:
- Quite a few girls got bitten on the shoulder.
- I am fairly confident that the frenchman and italian go around attempting to charm the pants off every girl with their elaborate, enchanting quirks.
- I got lapdance requests because I was one of the maybe 2, or 3 conservative (prudish??) girls who went to the club who didn't go anywhere near giving any of the boys anything remotely resembling a lapdance. I like my space when dancing.
- And all the girls got bisous when they left.

Yes, over here, if you're flamboyant enough, or have enough flair, everyone is everyone's good friend for five seconds. Smile, laugh, be beautiful and/or dirty dance, and you're gain acceptance into the "in" crowd, and will never lack guys waiting on you hand and foot.

Despite accusations by an American, I don't believe I'm a prude. I think I am very open-minded, liberal, and progressive for having lived in a conservative Asian society all my life. At most levels, I don't mind the whole dirty-dancing, grinding thing at a nightclub. But I do feel uncomfortable seeing it being done a lot of the time, and it's not at all my thing. At least never with guys. And only with girls if I have been forcibly pulled in and don't want to embarrass the girl.

Tonight, I saw such things going between guys and girls, some of whom I have heard have girlfriends/boyfriends/wife. That really shocks me. And now I am seriously reconsidering dating any Continental Europeans at all. (Maybe I should just strike out the French and Italians - historically the ones I most preferred, being sexy and passionate. The Germans all seem proper and orthodox, if possibly boring, enough.)

What I saw made me think: I'm not saying that sexual discrimination doesn't exist in banking. I think despite the official line, sexual discrimination is alive and well - the invisible glass ceiling, boys' culture etc.

But I'm wondering if some of the recent big hoo-hah in the press, with million-dollar class action suits against investment banks for alleged disrespect of women, is overblown. Perhaps some of the blame lie with the women?

Fun is all well and good. And behaving intimately with male friends isn't at all a problem with me. But is it really wise to engage in intimate behaviour with male colleagues who you will be seeing maybe for the rest of your life? I mean, if they later turn around and treat you almost as a sex object, can you blame them? Given that you have had a history of such friendly behaviour with them. They might just get used to it, and treat it in the spirit of good fun, which may become detrimental later in your career when you have to assert your authority and exude control. Boys being boys, or really, humans being humans, people will talk. Word might spread around your peer group, if not trickle down to subordinates.

All in all, I enjoyed myself. I'm glad I forced myself to go out, when I was sorely tempted to stay home, surf the net, and be depressed and anti-social. Plus, I really enjoyed dancing. I haven't in a long while.

Still in flux: new/old, big/small, reality/expectations

I am now sitting in front of the big desk facing the big window, in the big room that I will be henceforth be staying in.

After moving my physical self (but not all the physical stuff) from my cramped, grossly overcrowded room to this pleasant, spacious room overlooking the garden, with its nice big double bed - a room that I had set my heart on the moment I saw it, I find that I'm feeling a bit lonely. It feels slightly empty.

(But that might all change when I move all my Stuff over)

Who said only Males are Alphas?

Throw at least two Alpha Males and one Alpha Female into a group of achievers with competitive instincts, and you have chaos, tension, and misery. And I have a dreadful foreboding that I am experiencing only a teaser of the hell that may lie ahead.

Emotions ran high in the group today. A mini witch-hunt persecution took place, and: defensiveness, boredom, anger, frustration, disappointment, and disengagement were on display.

And this was only a Group Exercise in a controlled, real-life simulation, learning environment.

Welcome to the Rest of My Life?

Graduation

Today was a big day for me: graduation, birthday, end of the first week of 'work' (which has really been a week of classroom-training prior to the official start of the official training programme. and even then I skipped work for my Graduation.) A kind of symbolic climax of the fluctuations that have dogged my life in the recent past/present.

I've never really been keen on attending my Graduation Ceremony. If my parents hadn't insisted on making the long inter-continental flight to witness the culmination of all their years of effort and anxiety, I certainly would have happily attended the last day of my pre-week course, taken the mandatory test, collected my nifty gadget, and take an introductory Excel course. Having attended previous Graduation Ceremonies as a part-time steward/usher, as far as I was concerned, it is nothing but a boring time-waster.

In the process however, I found that I enjoyed myself, even though I felt silly in the graduand's robe which kept slipping off my rather narrow shoulders, and the over-large hat which fell off my head more often than stayed on. Among other things, I got to shake hands with LSE's Director Howard Davies, an ex-chairman of the FSA, the regulator of the other LSE, who turned out to be an amusing and natural speaker as well. Also, I got to meet fellow schoolmates who I barely speak to in normal circumstances, but, too-heavily-made up, over-dressed, robed in fashion-disaster gowns, with emotions running high from undergoing the time-honoured ritual of symbolically passing through the portals of learning into some kind of realm of Knowledge (and Wisdom?), all parties engage in warm, nostalgic leave-taking, all bad memories supressed, as the past is captured through soft-focus lens. Cameras are whipped out, photos taken, news shared, plans discussed, numbers exchanged.

It is good to hear news, plans: where who's going, when, what. Graduating from university means embarking on a new stage of life, because this is when the paths start diverging for this class. Friends and acquaintances are scattered across the City, UK, Europe, and the globe like dandelion seeds. It means anxiety and excitement. For a few, uncertainty. I wonder when I'll see some of them again, recall their hopes and fears then and now, and wish them well, in all the different ways they need.

A girl who I hugged outside class one day, both of us seeking reassurance that our studies will go well. Some girls I know, finding various ways to stay on, still job-hunting. A guy who finally secured a job, starting Monday. A girl going to Paris for business school. Someone who's trying to stay on to be with someone she loves. Friends who are returning home because of commitments.

That I don't usually talk to them suddenly doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is that, on our own, and sometimes shared, we've all essentially been through the same process: had broadly similar experiences, hopes, dreams, fears, tribulations. And which side of the line one falls on seems almost more a matter of luck than anything else. I feel very lucky and fortunate, and today, I fervently hope for the best for every one of us. Because I am in every one of them, and every one of them is in me. So today I feel strongly the urge to keep in contact with them. When I give and take phone numbers, I am genuinely hoping to hear from them, and fully intend to meet up with them some time soon.

-- the end --

Londontimes 2004: Portobello Market

10th July: Antiques-browsing in Portobello Market

Jumping beans

I'm sitting in front of my laptop in my room, with one shoe on my left foot. It is a rather generic black leather heeled shoe with a square toe and white-thread detail for interest. I am trying to season it: the left shoe more than the right shoe, because the right side was used as display, and hence already slightly seasoned.

I start work tomorrow. And with classic, impeccable timing, I found this - not to say perfect - but definitely in the realm of acceptable, pair of shoes for work yesterday after maybe half an hour or forty-five minutes of breezing in and out of two department stores and two shoe stores.

I don't really like shopping. Or at least, I'm not in the habit or shopping, or even window-shopping. And I'm not at all a savvy shopper - I have no patience for Sales, the highlight of every shopper's life. Popping in and out of a few stores without finding what I'm looking for infuriates me, and I almost never make a shopping expedition (of the window kind or otherwise) unless I have a specific goal.

In this case, I needed a pair of shoes.

Over the past few months, people have asked me: "So how do you feel about starting work?"

About six months ago, I felt relieved that I had a job offer, but I was rather dreading the start of work itself. I wanted the last five, six months of my student life to stretch out interminably. Time: the elastic band with length 6-mois.

Over the past couple of months however, I have been feeling edgy. I feel like there's a little Mexican jumping bean inside of me. What cause: Exam-craze? Roadtrip-fever? Work-anxiety?

The past fortnight, I have been feeling even worse. I am gripped by a kind of numbness. I feel almost shell-shocked. I want to write, but the ideas come and go, without me being able to hold on to any one thought long enough to transcribe it. The emotions and motivation I feel flashes intermittenly. Like one of those hand-powered film reels with flashes of black between each frame if you don't turn it quickly enough.

Again, I don't know how much of it is due to my own confusion, how much to a post-adventure depression, how much of it is attributable to the stress of having my parents here, and how much of it is work excitement-anxiety.

I just want the days to pass quickly. Day one of work. Then the ticking clock and soon my life will resume a kind of normalcy.

Londontimes 2004: Covent Garden

9th July: An afternoon in Covent Garden

Londontimes 2004: F1 Parade

The blurb from TimeOut London:
"Just prior to the British Grand Prix at Silverstone, there's a chance to see Formula One cars up close in the West End as teams including BAR Honda, BMW, Williams, Ferrari, Jaguar and Jordan drive a circuit that will begin north of Oxford Street and continue down Regent Street, around Piccadilly, down Lower Regent Street and into Waterloo Place, returning up Regent Street via Hannover Street to Oxford Street. Spectators are strongly advised to wear earplugs."

Never an F1 racing fan, I decided I absolutely had to attend the Parade to see the F1 cars with my own eyes, and take dramatic photographs of the race cars as they blaze through the streets of London.

End result
Number of F1 cars seen with own eyes: Zero
Greatest amount of time spent: Pushing through crowds
Photos taken of: People

Pictures ---> Here

Londontimes 2004: Speaker's Corner

After almost three years in London town, I'm finally doing the tourist thing as I bring my parents and my nifty little camera around London.

Expect random London shots, as well as uber touristy ones.

For now, pictures of the Speaker's Corner at Hyde Park on July 4th, the epitome of tolerant religious diversity.

A little sip of Inspiration

When I was a younger: a little girl, then a not-so-little girl, or even on rare occasions over the past couple of years, I used to be, in my own way, a happy girl.

I used to be starry-eyed, dreamy, easily dazzled. I retained a kind of childish innocence, with the facility to feel awe and happiness at simple things in life.

I had broad dreams that went in all directions. Even though I was in a place where my dreams seemed remote and unattainable then, I sat there determinedly and BELIEVED.

As I grew older, my dreams came closer into focus. I was slowly achieving my dreams, or at least taking steps in the right direction. My childhood dreams became less unattainable, I can see them there, just beyond my grasp.

One would expect me to be happier. And yet I find that this is not so. At some point, my dream-list of things to do before I die, has turned into a stressful list of chores that seem to boom out to me in the imperative.

I had come up with the list to ensure that I live life to the fullest according to my own philosophy of life and raison d'etre that I arrived at after much soul-searching at the grand old age of 14. I didn't want to miss out on the knowledge and experiences that life had to offer, so my list was a way of ensuring that I broadly cover all the bases.

In the recent years, my attitude towards the list has been: tick tick tick. Okay, been there, done that, next. Thus, in wanting to ensure that I make the most of life, I find that I have ended up missing out on life. Because life is not only about going places, doing this, experiencing that. It's also about living spontaneously, going with the flow, and enjoying the state of Being.

Then again, those who know me would probably think I'm crazy: "You mean you haven't been reckless enough, haven't taken enough risks, lived 'spontaneously' (read: insanely) enough??!!"

The story behind their attitude has a short history. One example of my recklessness happened three years or so ago and has to do with my education. Another example of my risk-taking attitude happened half a year ago, and has to do with my career. The most recent, and wildest example of my insanity happened slightly over a month ago.

You see, I took off on my Great American Roadtrip with this boy I barely knew. Yes, I had been IM-ing him intensely for something like two months before an exam-hiatus. We had even talked on the phone 5 times, for a total of less than 10 hours. But I had never seen this boy in real life. And online personas are easily created.

Almost everyone I know was against it until they gave up on me with my wild arm-waving and passionate, if not at all well-thought-through arguments. It was something I felt had to be done. Something that the part of me that is more heart than brain, called out for. As in all the more momentous decisions of my life, I chose to heed the voice that calls from within me, rather than the voice of reason.

So maybe I'm not so messed up after all. - Or maybe I AM messed up, if I think that acting on impulses that defy all rationality is a good thing.

To go back to what I was saying, I seem to have become quite the efficient, bureaucratic box-checker of late: roadtrip, one final reckless deed before work starts, summer entanglement. Tick tick tick, went I.

I don't know how much of my decision to take that leap of faith was from listening to my heart, and how much of it was seen by me as an opportunity seized to fulfil one, in my long list of tasks.

I forget how to enjoy life, to kick back, relax, and just be. I have become the kind of girl who asks people to bring work home: "Why don't you work on that document over the 3-day weekend?", disrupting the home: a safe haven to relax and be at ease. Yes, in my own way, I am a home-wrecker.

Worst of all, I have forgotten how to believe.

In my worse times, when my dreams were distant, I found it easier to close my eyes, grit my teeth together and believe. Does it seem silly that I believe that my blind, ferocious determination must have somehow shifted the cosmos in my favour and brought those dreams closer to home? The strangest thing is, now that happiness is closer, the person that I am seems to repel me from that light, and drive me further away. The closer I am, the more difficult I find it to believe.

The stars have left my eyes. I am more cynical and jaded. More than one person has said to me: "You are so bitter, especially for a young person.", "Why are you so defensive?", "You have very high walls."

Over the past three years, I have lain the blame at the door of my first relationship. My excuse for not believing was that the love of my life had failed me. He had given up on us. On our future. On forever-ever-after with two kids (me) or four kids (him).

And yet, if I stop to think about it, why should the most beautiful experience in my life cause me to lose faith, to stop believing? There is something seriously wrong with that idea.

The last three years, I have been in a funk. I have been searching for a way to reinvigorate myself. To renew my passion for living. In that quest, I have turned to external sources, my internal spark having been buried under layers and layers of history.

I scour the web for inspiration. I read blogs of people further along the journey of life: I am searching for a hint, a guide. Is there happiness up ahead, or is misery all that I can look forward to?

I like reading the blogs of people in love: they give me hope, because people in love are usually happy and full of hope. But even more so, I like reading the blogs of people who have moved in together, or are married: I want to see what marriage has to offer. How they write before and after. Are they happier or no? But of course, ultimately people hide and keep secrets. It is their life after all. So we can never know the whole truth. But I am desperate: I am looking for scraps really. Anything that will give me even the glimmer of a hope. I also like reading the blogs of parents, who go one step beyond marriage. Parents are perhaps the happiest. They seem to radiate with quiet joy and give off that warm, contented feeling, even with post-partum depression and the daily frustrations of dealing with babies. I want to look ahead and whizz through that tunnel of time and space, and get in a sneak-preview of what is to come.

My life is currently a tightly-controlled lab experiment. At least that is the way I feel. I feel controlled, restricted, by what I allow myself to feel. I think that is the itch that I must scratch: I want to feel, to reel with reckless abandon.

I know, ultimately, that happiness is about choice. But it is a fact I often forget. I often forget how easy it is to be happy. I forget how important it is to choose. We can choose not to let the past, or others affect us. We have the power to choose how we live our lives, what we believe, how we treat others, and how we feel.

A couple of days ago, I found another external inspiration. I stumbled across the website of a girl who seems to know how to be happy, appreciate the small things in life, and live spontaneously. But I guess she's in a funk of her own too, because she won't accept emails for now. But I am inspired today. So today I want to write this, before I forget tomorrow what the secret to being happy is. Because I think I am not ready at this point in my life, to grasp that happiness just yet. It is enough that she reminded me at least for a while, of how beautiful life can be. Thank you.

Wish

I want the earth to crack open like an egg
and I want to slurp up all that the world has to offer