Why...?

To be given too much time to do something, to procrastinate by doing this totally unrelated to the given task, then kicking it into superhigh gear to only barely finish the assignment and recieve a lower than desired mark. Yes, that is my destiny.

I have a qwerk. I have a tendency to see something, to be immensely passionate about it for roughly.... two weeks. Then, my interest evaporates like ethanol on an Egyptian sidewalk. This is known to be a trait of Geminis (to all you Geminis out there saying "hey, that's not true...", I'm not stating this to be Gospel truth. My Horoscope has been wrong more than it's been right). It is also a trait of the people born in the Lunar Year of the Horse. Unluckily, I happen to be both. That's a double threat, kinda like spraying NH3 onto a stale piss soaked rag, and then letting it air-dry. Indoors. With no fans.

A good example of the qwerks I get is the time when a few of my friends and I decided to make a whole deck of playing cards from thin cardboard, art bloc, masking tape and clear tape. Suffice to say that as soon as the tedious treating of the individual cards began, we quickly dropped the project. How did we do it? It's quite simple, really. Just draw the card's face on the artblock, get some school glue, glue those together, put masking tape on the other side of the cardboard, and put clear tape on both sides to protect it. Refer to the below diagram.

The next obsession I had was writing a novel. I actually got to the 50th page before running dry on ideas. The actual contents still play in my mind once in awhile, and I intend to finish that, more for myself than for others. That being said, in this small period of self-awareness, doubt that I will ever get myself to sit down and write. It is with some deliberation that I bring your attention to my newest passion.

Paintball.

Yes, paintball. It hurts no more than a rat tail and is loads more fun. I have scoured the Internet and have spent hours researching everything there is to know about paintball. Positions, terminology, styles of competitive play, equipment, rules in competition. The list goes on. My idea to build a bolt action paintball marker to increase effective range, speed and accuracy was, as I believed, new. However, even on Youtube, I've found no less than 4 bolt action paintball markers, just for the cool factor. The engineering aspects of the changes to the usual marker that I had planned were physically sound. The main problem was that all guns have to be capped at below 300 feet per second. What this meant was that despite my want to create a paintball sniper, and ability to, I would not be able to use it, because of regulation of maximum speed. Now, some of you may be going: "Why?" Well, because of the extreme nature of paintballing, everyone has to wear goggles which protect their eyes and face. The goggles are only rated for 285 feet per second, so any faster than that, and the paintball could shatter the goggle and hit you in the eye. Thus, even adding a 64 cubic inch tank, rifling, a bolt action reload mechanism and a scope will not make it any more accurate than it already is because of the speed limit (except maybe the rifling).

So, with my dreams dashed, all I have left is the know-how to play basic paintball. I could still potentially go and play it.

Keep your feet on the ground!

-Gabe

Musically, ...

To each his own; different strokes for different folks; one man's poison is another man's meat, all of these signify taste. While there are some who blindly cling onto what they believe is the best, I find it is always good to take a walk and see life from the other side of the fence, to walk in another's shoes.

As per the title, I will divulge in my personal musical preferences and other things musical, from Avenged Sevenfold to Bach, from Metallica to Beethoveen, from Louis Armstrong to Switchfoot. You can probably already tell my taste in music is... wide. Personally, the music I listen to is influenced by many factors, friends for example. The more modern music was introduced to me by my friends. However, I can scarcely imagine anyone under the age of 26 who likes Satchmo' or Arty Shaw. In that respect, I am something of an anomaly. Classical music is timeless, yes, but Jazz is somewhat an aquired taste. At first, I myself did not like it, perhaps because of its over rambunctiousness. Soon, though, I came to see it as lively, and energetic without all the rage of rock music.

Maybe, just maybe you did not notice any pop music or R&B. While I do not find them offensive or inappropriate, the styles just don't possess any sort of hold on me. The obvious beats are good for dancers, whom rely on the beat of the music for timing. Pop music, on the other hand, has improved. I don't object to the music itself, but it's the performers whom I dislike. Too much time and money has been wasted on reporting on every single qwerk of theirs, from winks to eyelash flirts to who is dating whom, and so on and so forth. It's appalling how the young generation (that's mine) fawn over the singers of today.

Classical music is, without a doubt, the most beautiful of the styles of music. Rock will cause your head to bob up and down, and Metal causes blood to rush through your veins as if you hooked your heart to a 747 engine. Jazz will lift you out of a deep dark hole of depression and somber you up. However, only Classical can show you a piece of your soul, no matter who the composer is. Somehow, if you stop, listen, and look within, you come into contact with a part of you that perhaps you didn't know existed. Bach's Tocatta and Fugue in D minor for Organ summons the sinister, which is not entirely evil, however; instead of being wholly evil, it is a complex characteristic, with darker motives. Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmuzik brings forth the gentleman, the formal socialite. He creeps me out. Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus" in his Oratorio "Messiah" evokes the image of salvation and light, themes that I personally love. Beethoveen's 9th Symphony "Choral", more commonly known as "Ode to Joy", is about how all men are brothers. I can't name the feeling that is brought out by this. The music is both majestic and humble, both magnificient and yet simple enough for the uninitiated to appereciate. The original version in German is not coarse as the language is; it is forceful without being overbearing; harmonious and accented.  It is one of my favourite pieces.

Whether or not you agree with me, let us agree on this: music is inseperable from the world from which it is wrought. With the world as it is, is it any surprise that popular music is about almost nothing but sex, drugs, and the overemphasis on having romantic relationships? It is a world that must be changed by us, the youth of today, the kings of tomorrow.

The pen is mightier than the sword, and it is the pen I wield. . .

-Gabe

The MSFI

You may have noticed my irrational and unexplained disdain of the MSFI. If you went to school with or as the same place as me, you'd understand. To all you else, however, there is explaining to be done.

You see, education (I'm using the politically correct term here) is compulsory in Malaysia, with every parent having to enroll their child into primary school at the age of 7. It is also not uncommon for parents to enroll their children in pre-schools or kindergardens. My parents did so, and I was more or less used to being away from my parents by the time I got into Primary school.

That's right, primary school. That's sorta a combination of Elementary and the first two years of Middle school to anyone who doesn't understand that.

So, Primary school was terrible, if you wanna know. Why? Well, that's for me to know and you to try to pry it out of me. Either way, I got out of Primary school and into Secondary school. Kind of a 'duh' transition, isn't it? Anyway, Secondary school was a crapload more fun, mainly because of the freedom I got, in more ways than one. School was fun. Wow. I can't believe I said that.

Back to the reason I don't like the education system. I enjoyed myself as much as possible in school, but the classes. Holy crap, you cannot possibly imagine the depths of idiocy of the people I have had to call 'teacher'. Don't believe me? Try this. A Physics "teacher" who doesn't teach Physics, instead rants about how we don't give him enough respect, how we should save the world by turning off the fans while in sweltering heat, the lights before daybreak, to somehow "save diesel", and that the resources used are not renewable, and how the world is going to be destroyed by energy shortage. All this in the space of an hour and fifteen minutes. "Oh, I was just about to start teaching, but my time's up! See you next class!" It's no wonder everyone, even the bootlickers, boycotted his class.

That might have been an extreme case, but there are other reasons. Racist teachers, for example. I, personally, have never gotten less than an A in English. The first 3 years secondary school I kept my record. Then, when I was in Form 4 (age:16), I got perhaps the most discriminatory teacher I have ever faced. I wrote an essay, and when I had it returned, I was in for the shock of my life. A 'B'! I've never gotten a 'B' for English before. I complained to her, showing her my supposed 'bad grammar' that was in actuality only in intransitive passive voice. As if she needed a reason to rob me of my 'A'. I looked at my classmate's papers, people who had never gotten a credit for English before. Lo and behold, it had an 'A' on it. I read through his essay; it was incoherent, laced with grammatical errors like poison in a cyanide pill, and the spelling almost lead me to believe that truth was spelled with two 'H's, so frequent was the mistake. And yet, only the most severe and unmistakable of the errors was pointed out. The difference between him and me? The day we pray, him on Friday and me on Sunday.

 At first, I thought that she was only dangling a carrot on a stick, attempting to drive me to excel. It is worth noting that at this point, my Asian friends had the same grades as me. I read their's over, as well. Although I agreed with the mistakes made grammatically, I did not agree with the grade. All thing through time, they say. In time, I saw what it was: a personal vendetta against all who prayed to a different God or had a different tone of skin. Some people really just can't see past the things that divide us and look at the things that unite us instead. It's really something I can barely wrap my head around.

However bleak I have depicted it, the MSFI has employed some good people. Even fools must sometimes be right by mistake, I suppose. Some of the teachers I've had are intelligent, willing to share knowledge and passionate. It's not good to lock any group into a stereotype, because stereotypes destroy individuality. 

All that is yours is rightfully mine, and mine it will be. . .

-Gabe

Examinations

Ah, the bane of my existance, woe of my eternal soul. Of what do I speak? Of the undeniable effect exams have on both my schedule and my confort zone. Even worse, with me in college and having new courses every semester, things go even further out of the bounds of familiarity.

But enough of these heavy matters! Let us now turn to more heartening things. The past semester here has been mighty fun, I must say. College is, in a word, different. However, it is different in a good way, a way that both sets challanges before me and is kinder than its younger, Malaysian counterpart, the Malaysian school system, or as so labeled by yours truly, the Ministry of Shit-flinging Imbecilles (MSFI).

The past semester I have taken four courses, namely Chemistry, Pre-Calculus, Academic Writing (English), and Basic Japanese. Of the four, Academic Writing is the hardest, and the rest are fine. Academic Writing is also the only University level course I'm currently taking; hence, any judgement on the difficulty of the courses may or may not be biased.

So, as time goes on, I draw closer to my exams. I have probably close to no doubts about my Chemistry and Japanese courses right now. Math is not very challenging, which is probably why I'm slacking in that respect. English, there is no written test, but a final argument paper to hand in. Research, writing and printing are all done unsupervised, but there is a deadline to be kept. This is perhaps the one paper I am fretting over. Not concerned about the others, because procrastination does not affect those courses (as much). As some of you may know, I have a saying: "Why leave to tomorrow, what can be done the day after." With that philospohy in mind, you can easily see why this might be a problem. Research and writing of the essay must be done over time, not simply scribbled over a short period of time. This plays on my greatest weakness: laziness.

Okay, so I've done fairly well in the past semester. This final exam will decided my GPA outta the gates. This is what will show my progress. All hopes rest on this.

May the stars guide you

-Gabe

In Service of My Nation, Part 2

After the brief respite the holiday gave me, I felt ill-prepared to face the horrors that were the days to come. We had left camp with a good spirit. However, the balance in power violently shifted as the newly appointed platoon, company and battalion commanders exterted their newly earned powers on us. As per a revelation told by a friend who had not went home, much had changed in my absence. Sides were taken, and hostilities aggravated. There was a power struggle, though the authorities in camp did their best to integrate these almost alien divisions in the dorms, much still happened when our handlers were not looking.

I found respite in the weekly excursions to a church, where I was surrounded by people who shared my faith. Here was where I made one of my closest friends in NS, Eugene. We were good friends, shared beliefs, related and non-related to our faith, and opinions. He was frequently missing from camp to have interviews with would-be scholarship-givers. He was determined, however, to finish NS, and I was no different in my resolution. I attempted to drown the anxiety of seperation from my parents by immersing myself in any and every activity I could. And to boot, Gene was there doing the crazy stuff with me. However, whatever hope I had of braving the storm that NS was quickly evaporated.

During the second month, Gene got a reply from one of the people who interviewed him. It seemed that he had gotten the scholarship, and that he was going to France. I congratulated him, and he continued to say that he needed to leave NS to learn French so that he could understand the lessons. I understood the logic, but for some reason, emotion is not subject to reason. From that point on, all went downhill.

The group I hung around (lets call them the English speakers) were comprised mostly of Chinese and Indians. Being English speakers, a grand majority of them scored quite well in their SPM. When the time rolled around, and the STPM offers came out, the grand majority from earlier used it as tickets out of camp. They abandoned (for lack of a better word) me in there. With our numbers severely diminished (there were originally 26 of us, but of the 26, only 4 remained), we were quickly demoralised. Demoralised in that those who vowed to stand with us till the end have so quickly and easily walked away. I, myself, was able to do just that, for I, too, had an offer. However, I am a man of my word (though some may deny that), and I promised to myself to finish it. I had few companions, some that, like me, had either the gall to reject the offer or the poor foutune to be excluded from the STPM offers. It was lonely.

Despite whatever hardships that NS brought, I think it taught me several things. First, some people are just spoiling for a fight, and will say or do anything to try and provoke you. It's almost funny how pitiful their insults and taunts become. Secondly, some people are just plain ignorant. It's funny how every single Chinese guy in the dorm is 'Chong'. Last, but not least, never be too high-strung to sell Maggie Mee (that's instant noodle to all you non-Malaysians). Because Maggie Mee is the currency of NS.

I hate NS

-Gabe

In Service of My Nation, Part 1....

Okay, to you who may or may not have noticed, I mentioned National Service in my first post. Yes, I was one of the [un]lucky few whom were chosen to partake in the glorious country of Malaysia's very own National Service Training Program (which I shall now refer to as NS).

It was a quiet afternoon I was spending in my friend Hadri's house. We had been informed that the postings of the candidates (victims) of NS were up. As the nervous wrecks we were, we stuck on the computer checking if our names were among the dreaded list.

My friends were fortunate. My fate was not theirs. They had the luxury of not being drafted into the army (whatever twisted version of it we were conscripted into). I was the last one to check if my name was in the list. Before that, I had been indifferent to the prospect of going to NS. I had heard the stories of it bringing the best and worst out of people. On one hand, this was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. On the other, it was a balant waste of my time, time that could be devoted to the furtherment of mankind (playing WoW). Once my name turned up on that list, perhaps, my indifference morphed into seething hatred. Not instantly, but over the course of my first 3 weeks in camp.

Another factor was my (then undetermined) imminent move to Canada. My parents had planned for us, the entire family to get our landed immigrant status. If I had somehow been unfortunate, the term of NS would clash with the planned flight and trip and so many things would have been different. However, for whatever brief moment, fate smiled apon me, and they worked out. I went to Canada for 3 weeks, getting things set up for my second coming (I hear a voice from high up say, "that's copyright infringement!").

On the last day, as in the day before my flight home, I visited the high school to clarify certain things. As it turned out, I could have attended high school in Canada. So, with 3 hours, I had to decided between staying in Canada, and doing Grade 12, and never return home for fear that the government would flag my passport and get detained for not going to NS, and the worst part was staying away even before I said goodbye to my friends.

Now, I'm not a very sentimental guy, but my friends deserve at least a goodbye, right?

The second alternative was the one I chose: I still debate internally about the decision. To return home, and deal with the consequences of lacking a Grade 12 education. This would basically put me in the predicament I described a few posts back, where I had to take 3 courses that do not really exist in the University.

But, I digress. Back to NS. So, when I return, I had 2 weeks to enjoy the comforts of home before I was thrust into the internment camps fashioned from whatever scraps the government could salvage from the surrounding villages. I was unimpressed. I quickly made alliances, however. Unlike most, I did not discriminate race, and was civil to everyone in my dormitory. However, I found friends in those I share most in, namely proficiency in the English language. Within the week, I returned home for a short while, and resteeled my spirit for the ordeal that was to come.

More to come, soon.

-Gabe

More on life in Canada

To all you Malaysians, perhaps the concept of volunteering is foreign just as I am foreign to what the Korean kids in the back are saying (annoys me to hell that there are Asians that I can't understand...). 

As I'm told, the gist of this concept is that I go to someone and work for free. Yes, work for free. In return, when I am applying for a job, my potential employers may call the people whom I volunteered for. They have a brief chat about my personality, dependability and work ethics. Other than that, having at least 2 references (that's what they're called) is one of the requirements to applying for a job.

So, as I carry on my life in Canada, I'm constantly told, nay, hounded by my family to get started with volunteering. According to my niece, a sufficient amount of volunteer hours are also a requirement to graduate high school. I have never felt fresher off a boat than the second this facet of Canadian culture was revealed to me; I had originally intended to apply for a job here to at least supplement my parents monetary contributions (they gimme money, okay?).

With the current price of college tuition even in Malaysia, some of you might be wondering how I might be able to support myself with a part time job. Well, with regards to that, I assume those who think so are ignorant of the minimum wage law of Canada, which states that the minimum wage an adult may be paid for work is CAD 8 per hour. Multiply that by 3 to convert to ringgit. Now do you understand?

As far as this matter goes, working with strangers in a foreign place is further out of my comfort zone that I would like. However, listening to their statements, opinions and such, I have applied (albeit reluctantly) to volunteer for the city. However, after attending one information session, I have been swamped with work (read:stuff that I can't stop doing) and exam tension (read: sleep). Hence, I have not followed up with them since. I do suppose, however, that I am somehow obligated to at the very least show some closure; either give them the nessesary documents and get an interview, or tell them that I am not interested.

Deliver me from procrastination

-Gabe

Got tagged again...

Sigh... It's like my name is flaming bright with neon arrows pointing to it that say "TAG ME!!"

1. If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be? Take revenge?

Well, since I'm thinking about it, I don't know what I would do with all the adrenaline and such.

2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?

Hmm, it's complicated, but something along the lines of reversing the current e=mc² reactions.

 

3. Whose butt would you like to kick?

I have no idea.

4. Do you cry yourself to sleep?

No...

5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?

Which one? Would not with the majority of them, seeing as I don't swing that way.

6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

Loving someone. While it might be one-sided, some people love for the sake of loving.

7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love?

Forever.

8. If the person you like is already attached, what would you do?

If she's happy, then wish her the best. If she's mistreated, beat the shit outta the guy who's doing it.

9. If you were to die in two weeks time, what would you do?

Go to confession and stay in church.

10. Are you a giver or a taker?

A giver. OF PAIN. Heheh.

Again, my principle stands. Do it yourselves if you want to.

-Gabe

I got tagged

1. Name one person who made you laugh last night:

Don't think I laughed last night.

2. What were you doing at 0800?

Sleeping. It's a Saturday.

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?

Starting up my blog.

4. What happened to you in 2006?

The SIC Youth Rally Outreach Team.

5. What's the last thing you said out loud?

See ya later.

6. How many beverages did you have today?

One if water doesn't count and hot chocolate does.

7. What colour is your hairbrush?

Skin-coloured. It's my hand.

8.  What was the last thing you paid for?

A 1/4 pound cheese and bacon burger with curly fries.

9. Where were you last night?

At home.

10. What colour is your front door?

Mahogany.

11. Where do you keep your change?

On top of my clothes drawer.

12. What's the weather like today?

Sunny, with highs of 9 degrees.

13. What's the best ice-cream flavour?

I'm kinda torn between vanilla and cookie dough

14. What excites you?

World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King

15. Do you want to cut your hair?

Don't want to, but I have to.

16. Are you over the age of 25?

No.

17. Do you talk a lot?

Yes, perhaps too much for my own good and the good of everyone else.

18. Do you watch the O.C?

Only on a map.

19. Do you know anyone named Steven?

Yep.

20. Do you make up your own words?

Yep. Eg, humunginormous.

21. Are you a jealous person?

Nope. Envious.

22. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter 'A'

Aaron[s].

23. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter 'K'

Kathleen. She tagged me.

24. Who the first person on your received call list?

Don't have a phone, but my skype has a call list, in which case it's Aaron Max

25. What does the last text message you received say?

msg me when you get back - Aaron Max

26. Do you chew on your straw?

Only when drinking limau ais to prevent on me drinking lime seeds.

27. Do you have curly hair?

No.

28. Where's the next place you're going to?

Bed. Then bathroom. Then kitchen. Then church.

29. Who's the rudest person in your life?

That's a toughie. I'm thinking a primary school teacher of mine whose name I can't recall.

30. What was the last thing you ate?

Fried Fish.

31. Will you get married in the future?

That remains to be seen...

32. What's the best movie you've seen in the past 2 weeks?

Hmm. Haven't seen any new movies of late. Most recently, Ironman.

33. Is there anyone you like right now?

No. It's a character flaw.

34. When was the last time you did dishes?

This morning.

35. Are you currently depressed?

I wouldn't call it depressed. More of... unenthusiastic.

36. Did you cry today?

Nope, but I just suffered from a WoW-burn.

37. Why did you answer and post this?

I got tagged, and the tagger would hunt me down and kill me if I didn't.

38. Tag 5 people who would do this survey.

Hmm.

Okay, since I'm adverse to forcing my will onto others, here's the deal. After reading this, if you decided to do this yourselves, go ahead. If you don't, you're in no way obligated.

Truthfully

-Gabe

.. and on the other hand...

I've been in Canada for a little less than 5 months now. Getting used to the climate isn't as hard as getting used to the culture. The culture of "pedestrians having the right of the road", for example. What this means is that if a car and I reach an intersection, the car has to stop and wait for me to go first, BY LAW. I kid you not, were I to get hit by a car when crossing the road, I could sue. If I got hit by a car crossing the road in Malaysia, I'd probably have to pay the guy damages I caused to his bonnet.

Another thing I'm trying to get used to this whole college thing. It's weird, in that I only have to do what I want to do. It seems too good on one hand. Then again, it's a combination of things I like to do and things I have to do to get to my goal, that is, to get into UBC's (that's University of British Columbia, www.ubc.ca) Engineering Program, which I hear is Hell On Earth. Huh.

One of the things I boned by is the fact that most of my SPM stuff is only equivalent to Grade 11. What that means is that I can't take 1st Year stuff straight away (except English, I took an exam that proved it to them), and that I take a one-semester course that basicly covers all the Grade 12 stuff. I waste cash for 3 courses. Better than spending 2 years in STPM. Morons.

Either way, I've been in rigorous planning for the next semester, and wouldn't you know it, Murphy's Law kicked in. According to their schedule, they would offer a Physics course in Summer, which is what I planned to do. They generally give schedules 2 semesters in advance. And there it was, plain as day. My course was not offered. I immediately e-mailed the Physics chair. Not the chair(furniture), the chair(chairperson in charge of Physics department). As it turns out, they had originally planned to offer it, but due to budget cutbacks, they had to cut the course. Whoop-tee-doo.

So, a few days back, I was stressing on this, but have come to realise this: Whenever my plans seem perfect, that son of a bitch Murphy will send his law from whatever hole in hell he lives in right now to screw me up the ass. It's kinda sad, but yet! I quote a intelligent person when I say this: "When you fail to plan, you plan to fail." So, I fight against the tide of things being messed up.

Okay, to those of you who have actually read this far without knowing what Murphy's Law is, I salute you, and think you deserve this at the very least. Murphy's Law states that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.

Das Vidanya!

-Gabe

It burns....

Okay, to some of you who know me, you know I am an avid gamer. Some of you may say: "Huh? Whazzat mean?" It means you can group me with those crazy kids in Korea that die after playing too much Starcraft and those parents who played so much their kids die.

To those of you who know me better, you know that I play a very famous MMORPG (That's Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game) named World of Warcraft. I have been for two years now. Had a slight hiatus with it last year, due to my SPM (I needn't translate this acryonym; those of you who know it already don't need it, and those who don't know it don't need to know) results, or rather, lack of. Yes, this game consumed so much of my time that my grades were slipping. I have an IQ of roughly 130, means I'm gifted, but I was scoring low-averagely. When it came down to it, I knew I had to take a break.

With those exams and National Service out of the way, I thought that I could restart the experience. Then, I had to go to Canada to further my studies. Once here, I discovered that my uncle, whose house I live in, has no Internet connection. Imagine my joy.

Recently, he has bought high-speed Internet. I rejoiced. I thought: "Finally! It's back to WoW(that's World of Warcraft)!" Hence, I bought the newest expansion pack, Wrath of the Lich King. 

However, being in college, and remembering the side effects of WoW, I wisely (read:painfully) put the game aside, into a drawer. However, a few friends of mine and my brother are currently playing, leaving me in the proverbial dust.

How I wish I could start playing now. Every time I talk to them about it or hear news, something inside just beings to burn like a million suns. I then take out the box from my drawers, take a nice, long whiff, and think about a 4.00 GPA.

Have Mercy

-Gabe