"...oh shame! Where is thy blush?" - Hamlet

Love

2009-01-06T21:09:00.000-08:00

Love, like the fleeting winter sun, will tease you with its warmth, wet your dreams, and encourage your fantasies, before leaving you to rot in the cold and eternal dark of the winter night.

Sonnet for Dulcinea

2008-10-05T01:14:00.000-07:00

There be a time when springs will come and forget to bring the summer.

Yet sweet soundless music will whisk the air as if lover’s summer feign,

Until the blossoms die and Apollo grows cold, his warm love for mankind wanes,

Passing by the golden leaves and fields of green, returns the linens of winter.

Yet Dulcinea, thou stand so still even amidst the cold and wintry groves,

Dressed only with Psyche’s dress and Evie’s robes -

I longed to drape you with my words of love as clothes.

But no fire could thrive in Apollo’s wrath, and somewhere, sometime, I lost my guide.

Alas, if only thou hast an ear for me, I would my heart break asunder,

Basked in the golden sun, recite to you these words from Eden I have plundered,

“Sweet Dulcinea, thy image trapped within my heart’s lament,

Fairer than Helen, sadder than a withering rose, and more than Paris content,

Fading away into the Evergreen, and ne’er shall I find a face so serene,

Than yours asleep in the autumn scene.”

Tribute to Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye"

2008-10-05T01:04:00.000-07:00

I peeked around the corner, and craned to see
If down the street, there really were
An elephant white, and filled with glee
hopping, with wings at its rear.

I looked under the couch to verify
If, my dad really kid not I,
A great red wall with mice and all,
With murals of great kings in awe.

I pressed my ear against his chest,
To hear the deep tumtum of his heart,
And know that of all the children he loved me best,
Even though I spilled the milk, a whole one quart.

But all I saw ‘round the corner,
Were men in white and black,
Yelling, pointing, yelling pointing.

All I found beneath the couch,
Were dust, foods, and rats,
Scurrying, squeaking, scurrying, squeaking.

And all I heard from his chest,
Was silence. Silence. Silence.
So I wondered, and wandered,
Until I came across a peculiar cliff asunder,
I thought then, skies all blue, below a field of rye,
That maybe I could fly.

So I ran towards the edge.
The clouds appeared, and the sky turned red,
I tried to stop, but my feet tread forward,
I tumbled over, falling ever lower.

I closed my eyes, and began to cry,
Damn the mice, Damn the elephants,
Damn the silent heart that sucked me dry.
I closed my eyes, and felt the end,
Life suddenly seemed so bland.

But then a voice called out, “Hold on tight!”
And his arms caught me right.
The clouds died away, and the sun shone through.
He set me down, and said, pointing, “over there look!”

And I saw…Ah, but alas,
The image is different each time.
But perhaps that is for the best, my lass,
For ‘tis not my images that’ll last,
But yours, dearie, my lovely dearest,
And when perhaps you find one day,
That falling is the only way,
I’ll be there, in that field of rye,
Catching you, whispering “hold on tight!”
And show you the world, in this same light,
Right now, and forever,
Yes, that’ll be how it goes,
A thorn, a rose,
A journey, an everlasting flight,
Through white clouds and blue skies.

Dec. 14th

2007-12-15T00:13:00.000-08:00

I turned 18 yesterday. It was rather interesting, lots of highs, a few lows: that's okay, it's my perogative as a teen. Oh shoot, I can't quite say that anymore!

Today there was a World Music festival. The guitarist there was phenomenal.
Anyway, he wasn't very happy about the term "World Music."

But I thought about it, and realized I couldn't care less. It was the evocation of...I don't know what. The evocation of something: as long as it stirs. In a meaningful way of course.

It's funny though, isn't it? Futility. The only way to overcome inevitability is to strive on futility. To always be bigger than life, and life is immense. You're expected to save the world. I'm not sure what from.

I believe the average man can make a difference on his own. I believe that the average man can rise above and become and extraordinary man.

Are we fated to family life? Not that I don't enjoy settling down.

This isn't angst. I don't think so anyway. Maybe a kind of...like being lost with a map in your hands. Or having written directions, but all the signs say the same thing.

Invisible, anonymous readers! Isn't that interesting? I write for a blog that no one really reads. But I still do it! I don't know what compels me to do so. I wanted to write this article with all the sophistication of a university student writing an essay. Actually, it really isn't an article at all.

My train of thought is a mess. Maybe you understand. Sometimes, you have so much to say, but can't? And then you have less and less to say, until conversation dies out completely. You result to nods and then eventually things come to a halt. What if you said those things? Do you think it'd make a difference? Or will it all eventually lead to silence? Apathy? Is this boring?

Have you ever watched a ceiling fan before? It's enchanting. It goes round and round. But sometimes if you stare hard enough, it begins to turn back. Like winding time backwards. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to turn back time? You'd be able to fix all kind of things. Is regret part of the human condition? I suppose a little regret wouldn't be too bad though. It comes hand in hand with guilt, and that seems to have a rather big effect on people. Guilt.

I think I understand a little about the nature of pop music nowadays. Sure, the harmonies and content may lack any real substance, but it certainly strikes a note. Elitism.

I have to admit though, until the bus ride home, the World Music Festival was extremely enjoyable. I loved all of it, except maybe for...the Capoeira. The final concert was really fun: conga line and all! I tried to get a friend of mine to crowd surf, but we were all too afraid of what our I.B. coordinator would say if we commited such atrocity. I call it atrocity because...well we are I.B. students!

The bus home was the same as the morning bus; however it was very uncomfortable. I found it hard to breathe and my heart rate was jacked. I tried to sleep and turned up the music rather loudly. I'm glad though: it was just loud enough to block out the chatter. I could "lose myself," if you will.

It's 12:37 now. I didn't think I'd still be up at this time! I was really exhausted today. But I suppose that 3 hour nap from 6-9 didn't help very much. Very tempted right now to shove some left over birthday cake down for some dinner. The same song has been looping over and over again for the past hour. Birthday cards are sprawled all over my desk.

It would be so much more simple to be a character. Like, a character someone write about, you know? Everything would be determined for you, and you'd still have the illusion of choice! I write plenty about the ability to choose nowadays. Sometimes I hear poetry in my head, but I figure it's better not to write them down now. I haven't folded origami for weeks now too. I've tried writing, in this tone too, but nothing seems to come out. Well, nothing that would be befitting of a fiction.

I swear it's not hormones: it can't possibly be hormones that make people act this way. And it can't just be teenagers who experience this: it must be everyone of all ages. There's always that sense of desperation, of nearing the edge. If only there was a catcher in the rye...If only I was that catcher in the rye you know? But there it is again! The futility of it all! Everyone has to take the tumble one of these days. And maybe, even if you catch those unfortunate children before they flew off that ledge, they would kick you and bite your hand, free themselves and jump off anyway. Such is the spirit of a child. Maybe the only way to catch them is to let them fall, and soften the blow. But what does that mean? If saving the world is catching these children from tumbling, softening the blow wouldn't do anything. Would it?

Last night I had a dream about falling. I didn't jump, you know? No jumping. I just found myself falling. It was so surreal and peaceful, free falling with nothing but a shirt on my back and a pair of pants. I was looking up, and the sky, it seemed to reach forever, getting darker and darker as I fell further and further. The ground, it felt like paper: I tore right though it, falling into...Well it seemed like darkness, but all around me were glittering lights. I saw the big dipper and the small dipper. Andromeda smiled and Orion...he just had his belt.

I guess, maybe, I'm just in over my head. Head over heels.

Ha! I used to balk at cliches! But here I am! I guess you can never quite truly know yourself!

I'm hesitant to press "Publish Post." I'm sure that there will be people who read this. But who? I will never quite know! It's not something I would really like people to read. This seems like something I usually write but keep to myself, you know? I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for here, but here it is, and there you are. I'll write it anyway! It seems like the right thing to do, especially at 12:59am. This seems like an awfully nice way to begin a fiction anyway, don't you think?

Now...if it only it was snowing...the atmosphere would be perfect.

The Meaning of Life

2007-09-18T22:34:00.000-07:00

In essence, is not life ultimately the untimely end of a poorly paced interview? To be born, only to die. What possible meaning is there to strive for? A momentary happiness. The pursuit? It is a never ending road. In the distance you can always see those giant gates of gold, the stream as blue as the sky and rolling hills of evergreen. And the path is always laden with footprints. Dirt, mud, windstorms, rain. But what they don't tell you is that along the way, there is a spot where all footprints disappear. A giant quicksand. And the stars burn out, the sky blackens and everything seem to swallow you up into a vortex of emotion so strong that your breathing becomes shallow, and your heartbeat becomes unbearable. You shout, or you may want to, but your voice is sucked away by the gust of inertia carrying you down and down into the swirling whirlpool of styx. A flowing red vortex of death awaits all those who are naive enough to pursue that deceptively close apple. The reach of an arm. My fingers were so close, my reach so far, my arm extended so much so it felt like it was going to tear off. That branch.
"A shadow of a cloud...and she could see the river."
A stream of consciousness.

Goals of the Summer

2007-06-25T01:04:00.000-07:00

Goals for this summer:

Do lots on my Extended Essay.
Review Math.
Finish IA.
Lots of CAS.
Excercise everyday.
Eat Healthy.

Learn to Moonwalk. EDIT: Learned.
Learn to Airwalk.

Dude

2007-05-25T01:20:00.000-07:00

Dude:

Pronunciation: Dood

Definition: an inexperienced cowboy.

Hmm...

...and I said to myself,

2007-05-08T15:04:00.000-07:00

Playland sucks! :D

Nott's Berry Farm really ruined things for me today.

Oh well, I still managed to escap Ms. Walker's clutches for a day.

I must then decide whether or not to procrastinate on my Logic Project.

I think I will :D

Claire de Lune, Jeux D'eau.

2007-05-08T00:48:00.001-07:00

It makes me weep. It gives me peace. Nostalgia. It makes me remininsce, and then dream of an exciting and breathtaking future. When I close my eyes, it lifts me up. Takes me into the clouds, past the stars, and into a vast emptiness filled with everything yet devoid of all sensations. When I reach out, I could reach anywhere, everywhere, but never to the end. And then, just as quietly as I had been lifted, it lowered me down gently on a soft fluffy cloud, giving me a teasing and fleeting look at infinity. Revealing something to me, but never enough for me to grasp completely. Its elusive quality transcends me.

Then the babbling brooks sweep me off my feet, and I float away into the adventurous seas. The sea is filled with mystery and imanent danger with every tumble. In the distance I sense...I sense...and then it's gone. I tumble and roll, and then float lightly, then repeat. Small fish tingle my feet, my toes and fingers. It sends strange shivers down my spine. My heart beats, and suddenly the flower blooms. The waves blow me upwards as a whale exhales. The current increases speed, and I am sent sliding and slushing on the ever changing surface, tossing and turning. And then I am returned to the brook. It tingles.

I wake up suddenly, but immediately drift back into sleep. The playful brook returns...it...something...I remember...Do I remember?

Daniel Craig: Why the hate?

2006-12-30T04:24:00.000-08:00

After being absolutely blown away by Daniel Craig's performance in the new 007 movie, Casino Royale, I was thoroughly disappointed to read some of the reasons why people disliked the new bond film. There were the usual complaints, such as "No one beats Connery," or "Brosnan is god," but then criticism got more specific, and it disappointed me through and through to finally understand what modern audiences look for in an "action" film.

Top 10 reasons to not watch the new Bond.

First reason: Daniel Craig's not "hot" enough.
Second reason: There were no explosions.
Third reason: Where were the Gadgets and Q?
Fourth reason: What's with Bond having emotions! Eww!
Fifth reason: The Aston Martin had no weapons!
Sixth reason: A Bourne Supremecy Rip-Off
Seventh reason: Craig doesn't look MI6-ish. (What the hell does that mean anyways?)
Eighth reason: James Bond is not godly in this movie.
Ninth reason: There was no "Casino Royale" in the title theme You Know My Name by Chris Cornell.
Tenth, most quoted reason: This is just NOT a "Bond" film, and is way too long.

My responses to those complaints:

1. There is a point when bad casting can hurt a movie. But there is also a point where disliking an actor's appearence instead of watching his performance becomes despicable.
2. Explosions are generally reserved for shallow, plotless movies that are used to create adrenaline rushes and keep the audience dazzled and distracted from the crap it really is. Sure, good movies have explosions too, but does that mean movies are bad if they don't have explosions?
3. There were gadgets. Watch closely. And Q? He didn't appear in the book Casino Royale, so he wasn't included in the movie. All's fair game. After all, James Bond IS based off of Ian Flemming's novels.
4. Seeing a realistic hero is so much more meaningful to a sleazy, high class, pun spitting player. I can't understand why a stale, flat hero is so attractive among Bond fans. I understand class, but not watching a film because a character has "emotions"? What kind of bullcrap is that?
5. Again, this is the early Bond as described in Casino Royale. Not all the cars in 1953 had missile launches and machine guns sticking out of doors.
6. All movies with hand to hand fighting are now Bourne rip-offs? Better sue Jackie Chan too.
7. Bond in Casino Royale is not all class. The description is clear: he isn't an english playboy model, he's ruthless, cold, a killer. Craig plays Bond like he's supposed to be played. A Killer. And honestly, what kind of complaint is "He doesn't look Mi6-ish"? Secret Agents don't all have to look like over-the-hill forty year olds carrying pp7s.
8. He wasn't godly to began with. High-budget, technological-extravaganza films of the 90s made Bond CG-ed and godly to compete for viewers.
9. This isn't the first film to do that, and people didn't have a problem with it when it first happened. Besides, the song kicks ass, and it only lasts about 2 minutes of the opening sequence. Deal with it.
10. This is a Bond film. You notice how the character is titled James Bond? Oh, and look, the movie title is identical with Ian Flemming's novel! Oh my lord! Does it lack smooth talking? No, it has that. Does it lack explosions? No, it has that too. Does it lack character? No, Daniel Craig made sure that Ian's "James Bond" didn't go silently into the night. Aren't those all elements of Bond? Huh? And by the way, this film is only two hours and twenty 4 minutes (2:24), about 18 minutes longer than The World is Not Enough.

So why all the hate? Daniel Craig may not be the most handsome man, but his appearence gives no credit at all to his ability, and the aura that emenates from him throughout the film. His James Bond is a man, an agent in training, who has not yet learned the hard ways of being a spy. He demonstrates his melee techniques like a Secret Agent should (what secret service don't teach basic combat anyways? It's the most basic self defense!) and in the process, makes mistakes. The idea that realism has turned off people from watching movies is appalling. If you want superstitious, pure adrenaline rushes, watching Mission Impossible 3 or King Kong.

Don't diss Craig.
Don't diss the new Bond.

R.O.C. and Its Media.

2006-09-08T18:27:00.000-07:00

Maybe a bit of current events may help explain the topic.

1950s: Due to corruption in the Nationalist party, Mao establishes his power in the Republic of China and successfully overthrows the Nationalist hold in China. He renames R.O.C to the People's Republic of China.

Chen, leader of the Nationalist Party retreats with his troupes to the Islands of Hainan. There, he re-establishes his government, claiming Taiwan (Hainan Islands) to be the temparory capital of the Republic of China.

For years afterwards, until the 228 Incident which was repressed by the army, the taiwanese folk had been wanting autonomy. The 228 incident however has caused civil unrest for decades.

Years later, the real truth about the 228 incident is revealed, much to the distress of most. The true recounting of the incident was done by the great-grand daughter of the woman who was supposedly "pistol-whipped."

The soldier was buying cigarrettes, not confiscating them.
There was no pistol whipping: the soldier had pulled his gun out in self defense after the Taiwanese folk started to gather in protest due to an accusation of injustice and abuse.
The shot fired did kill a citizen in the fray. Who pulled the trigger is still in question.

The government, in order to stop the revolt used military force.

There were several other incidents which caused the emersion of the People's Democratic Party.

Years later, this issue has spread into the Political world. The current president, and the one preceding him both wished for the "independence of Taiwan."

Are we not independent? Do we not have our own government, do we not sustain our own economy? Is changing the name of a country going to get it recognized in an international scale? We are the Republic of China, not the People's Republic. We don't believe in Communism, and we live by a complete different set of principles.

By causing such a ruckus over the "independence" of a country means nothing unless you can actually support such a claim. Right now, our "country" has become the biggest laughing stock in the world. We used to be technologically advanced, we used to have an economy. Even Taxi Drivers used to have attitude because the people had so much funds to spend.

Now?

Now students are committing suicide not because of bullying, but because their parents can't support them. Parents are committing suicide because they can't feed their children. And all the while the "President" who has done nothing for the past 6 years is spending all the tax money and funds used to help promote and better the country on an international platform is being spent on jewlery for his wife, dinner party for friends, inside stock deals with his daughter's husband, and shopping mall gift certificates. When will it be enough?

There was a time when governments cared about the betterment of their country, even if some of its means were of an unethical nature. And even after numerous protests and criticisms, the president remains untouched, unaffected. He stands defiant like a martyr preparing for death. But what he fails to understand is that there is no decency, none at all in refusing to admit one's at fault, especially for something of this magnitude.

I talked to numerous people over the summer, both Chinese and Taiwanese. Both had a dramatic influence over my opinions. "To get things done, one does need power." said a Chinese businessman. Even though China is still a Communist country, it has grown significantly over the past decade. And Taiwan? We are still the same as we were when I was a mere child of four. We have not progressed, and that is the worst failing of the human kind: the act of becomming stagnant.

There is nothing honorable about it.

On that point I was disputed on several times. When I described the progress China has made, no one believed me. So many people are so ignorant of the outside world, so absolute and blind about the faults about their country that any implication of higher life was not improbable, but impossible. For example, when I spoke of the quality service at a restuarant in Shanghai, and how each table has their own waitors, and managers for the waitors, they responded with "Oh, it's because the working standards there is so low that they need so many people! I heard that from my third cousin in law, he's such a ....etc."

One might wonder "How in heaven's name could such a resposne come from a country that used to be so well spoken?"

The problem lies not only within the revised system of education created by the Democratic Progressive party, but within the media as well.

The news plays all day in Taiwan: the content is however, quite questionable. Instead of news relating to international affairs, or even national affairs, the news reports celebrity gossip, or just gossip in general. These tabloids perse sometimes even make celebrities out of the most talentless of people. A prime example is the headline news for over a month: the love life of a very old and ugly heiress with a young handsome man. And when the material which belonged more in "Entertainment Tonight" failed to play, the news display thinly veiled propaganda or clips of corrupt politician trying to cover up their dirty tracks.

Meanwhile on other channels, game shows are on replay all day, and the students who are hardpressed at school everyday by teachers, exams, and extra study blocks, canonly find relaxation and relief in the nonesense of the pop-culture-driven shows and teenage singers, which, in my eyes, all look and act exactly the same. And as their kids fall hopelessly into oblivion, the parents of said teenagers also fall into the ignorance and brainwashing provided by the money-making media.

The rich gets richer, and the poor gets poorer. And those who're poor are too powerless to do anything, and those with the power is too lazy to do mind. Besides, they're making all the money, what need is there to help out the others?

Some may say that my opinion is inaccurate, that it's biased, and unsupported. But throughout the years of watching Taiwan shrivel from a country to an island no one wants to have anything to do with both from the outside as well as the inside, I cannot stand by and do naught. I can't stand by and not disagree with all the nationalistic claims that has been produced because of ignorance. I can't stand by and watch the president continue with his senselessness, his cowardice, and his selfishness, but most of all, his refusal to do what's right. He is not ignorant, and he is not stupid. He is inept, childish, and unresponsible. He has done away with all the culture that should've been passed down from generation to generation, and now he's trying to do away with the language that has been spoken since the olden times. Is it so wrong to have originated from China? Are we not Chinese by ancestry? What culture does Taiwan have? A mixture of Pop from America, and a dose of Japanese humor and television shows. Instead of focusing on more important matters, like the fact that the island of Taiwan is literally sinking into the sea, and the pollution of natural environment, President Chen is still making remarks about how sick his wife is, what his trips out of the country mean, and why he cannot reveal the source of his jewlery because it's a matter of "national security."

And for those who still support him: is it worth it? What reason can you produce? Will you not listen to other people's voices? Are you so easily blinded by patriotic and nationalistic speeches? Can you not see, hear, and look for yourself? And if you can, if you say you can, why are you still standing on the sidelines after six years of corruption, ten years of falling from grace?

In the end, I think it comes full circle and returns to the people. Decades ago, an event triggered the rage of an entire island. That grudge has been carried all the way, through all the generations till now. And like a child unable to comprehend why he can't fly away, or why he can't have that lolipop behind the glass pane, the mindset of the people has remained on the same level of intellect for over fifty years. They refuse to believe reality, clouded by a vision of themselves years ago. Years ago when...yes, when we were deserving of a "country" status, when we were considered an economic "miracle" because of our size.

But now...What is there to be proud of? Can I still say proudly "I am Taiwanese!"

Tell me please, can I?

Steve Irwin: The Crocodile Hunter.

2006-09-04T01:36:00.000-07:00

Steve Irwin died today at the age of 44. He was filming his new documentaries about creatures 20 thousand leagues below the sea, where he was impaled by a provoked stingray, fatally, and instantly ending his life.

I've known Steve Irwin's face and voice since my childhood. His jovial mannerisms, and energetic presentations of the wild were, if not mesmerising, induced the greatest degrees of awe and suspense. In some ways, I guess I always saw him as someone who always succeeded, like the heroes read about in fairy tales, and fantasy books. The man who always came out on top, even against nature itself. So when I heard the news about his passing, I was in shock. The Crocodile Hunter was dead.

I was reminded of his battlecries, his "Crikeys! That's a big one mate!~" before lunging forward, fearless, grappling and wrestling with the fierce crocodiles, who stood no chance as it submitted to Irwin's strong arm strength. And then I re-read all the news reports, and I just simply cannot believe how such a man was killed by something so small and usually safe.

But then I think about all the people I know, and how aimless one can be, I think in many ways, Steve Irwin has lead a wonderfully fulfilled life. He has a family that loves him and shares his interest, a job he loves to do, and a quick goodbye doing it. He has kept the Austrailian Zoo, his great love alive with his money, providing the animals he loved better homes and better lives.

Irwin was a man of action, but also one of inteligence. He didn't just wrestle crocodiles, and chase down reptiles, he understood them. He made contact with nature instead of hunting it down, and from these experiences, he opened up doors everywhere for laymen to delve in, to understand with him. He spoke up politically for what he believed in, and did so no matter what the public may think. And even though people may just call him a Crocodile Hunter, in my mind Irwin was an eccentric, jolly, courageous and honest man, that is deserving of all the respect we can give him, for dying on the job, doing something he loved.

And really, isn't that what we're all trying to do? Finding a job that suits our passion, and using it to help for a cause, or an organization, your relatives and family, or even that poor slob sitting two blocks from where you go to work, who happened to gotten the cold slap of unemployment after years of service. Maybe even use it to help yourself define who you really are.

R.I.P. Steve Irwin.

Caught Between a Rock, and a Tough Place.

2005-11-16T19:45:00.000-08:00

Dealing with moral dilemas have never been part of my strong suit. And yet that is exactly what I need to do. The reflection of my past actions towards my accademics have led me to believe that for the time being, the blunt expression of opinions should be perhaps put on hold; that I should succumb to the temptations of a better letter grade. But by doing this I will have gone against my ideals of free-speech. I need my voice, but it has not done me any good. For the first time in a long while, I was on earth again, feet planted, feeling the pressure of reality and society, slowly crushing me bit by bit. And as the days drag on I find myself unable to come to terms with such injustice, further increasing my urge to rebel against such incredulous hypocracy that exists in my English classroom.

But is that all it is now? Am I solely writing for the sake of a rebellion of vanity? Does my writing really, truly mean anything, or is it all the work of a man clouded with his own folly and pride?

I am caught between a rock, and a tough place, with no levers to help roll the rock away, or guts to pass through a direct confrontation. I have no where to go, and am simply turning round and round in a vicious cycle of self pity, delusions and utmost loathing.

I am caught, with nothing but the act of treachery. Treachery upon myself.

Structural Obedience

2005-09-28T21:47:00.001-07:00

What is it about something mechanical, something square, that delights the human mind?

Why is it, that mass produced products are valued beyond items of intensive human artistry?

Why is it, that the younger teachers of today allow themselves to fall into the trap of academic dullness? That takes away from the independent voice of individuality that existed only just yesterday, or the day before?

To write a teacher-friendly essay, is to dull oneself. To write, so that your views do not differ from the norm is the best way to gain yourself an undeserved "A". And yet that is the circumstance facing young people of today, who are supposed to be the "voices of tomorrow". How can they be, when their educators won't allow them to voice their thoughts, and when everyone is afraid to be the odd man out?

But the most horrid quesiton of them all is this: Is voicing yourself worth a "Fail"?

Under such pressure, how can people be free, to use their rights in so clearly stated in the Charter of Rights?

They can't.

Gossip

2005-09-22T21:13:00.000-07:00

I don't think I ever quite understood why people, including myself, enjoy gossiping so much.

I never considered myself a gossiper until last night, when I had nother better to do but to think. To think about nonesense, and to mock the ironies of life in general. Inevitably my mind traveled back to a certain conversation I had listened to and participated in. The subject was about a relative of mine, who unfortunately lives in a very dysfunctional family.

The trouble with this is the fact that conciously, I detest gossiping, and yet I seem unable to not do it. It is one of the fastest conversation starters, most dramatic topics to talk about, and most of all, it somehow made people feel better about themselves.

I guess that's really the trouble: gossip allows us to feel better about ourself by secretly agreeing with others about how so-and-so is such a screwup.

This brings up an interesting point: when is it really gossip? What is the line that separates gossiping from story telling?

This is a question I have yet to understand. The answer eludes me whenever I seem close to grasping it, and unfortunately, this is one question that might prove too difficult for me to answer.

Sequence

2005-09-15T20:29:00.000-07:00

I have recently realized how annoying speech with others can be when the speech itself is absolutely in shambles in terms of sequence. The kind of sequence I am talking about is not the random insertion of thoughts that completely stray from the topic, but a converstation that goes constantly around an enormals circle: and when it seems like one's finally broken from it, one is slammed in the face with a single sentence which could have resolved the converstaion about, what, five minutes ago.

Then you think: there goes five minutes of my life.

The thing about it all is that most of the time, these people are relatives, which is a very unfortunate thing. These relatives are perhaps cause the most anguish when you talk with them, simply because of the fact that in one way or another you are infact connected by blood, and that their stupidity must also, in one area or another run through your now polluted veins.

If being related at all isn't bad enough, here's something else: you care for these relatives, these people who constantly humiliate you both mentally and physically. Therefore you have but no choice but to put up with all the constant noisy chatter that never stops. You have to put up with the converstation that goes nowhere, the interruptions that will not cease, but most of all, the repition, the sequence, the sequence!

For example, I called my cousin today, who, god bless her heart, is a wonderfully talented girl. Unfortunately, she is all confidence and no awareness of herself, of circumstances, and of others. My motive to call her was out of worry: I had just recieved news that she had joined her school band, with the teacher believing that she could not only play the piano very well, but also that she was a very good at reading music.

In her mind of course, she absolutely believed she could play the piano: and technically, yes, she could. She could play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. One thing she did admit though was her ineptitude at reading music. So I warn her about the difficulty of even a simple band score, and erged her to pick up a music book and start learning with a small guide I had made her the last time I visited.

But that's my sister's, she says.

No, I gave it to both of you.

She's stored it away in her bedroom.

Then go get it.

But it's hers!

No, it belongs to you both!

At this point I decided to speak with my cousin's sister, who was about seven. Within a minute, I had the whole matter resolved: or so I thought. When my dear cousin returned to the telephone, we at once begun another dialogue which only ended with a shockingly stupid phrase:

Wait, I think we've already lost the paper.

My god! The Sequence! The Sequence!!!

My Bike Seat

2005-09-10T00:10:00.000-07:00

Someone stole my bike seat.

Despite this sad turn of events, I find myself taking a curious, and almost optimistic view about this incident. The first things that passed through my mind were the thoughts of anguish and mainly, surprise. After a while of self pity I came to quesiton the reason behind this theft.

Why did they want my bike seat?

The first answer to this quesiton came to me as I was walking home from school, while my good friend rode my bike for me: perhaps this thief was a victim. Maybe this thief has had a previous encounter with a thief as well, and therefore decided to replenish his/her stolen items by stealing from others.

There was also the possiblity that the person who stole my bike seat was simply a prank-pulling teenager with nothing better to do with his life at the time.

With a mind full of drama however, I pursued the first train of thought. What I didn't know was that both trains would have eventually came to the same station:

Why steal at all?

The first stop I made was at the monetary issues. Maybe this thief was poor, and did not have money to replace whatever item that is no longer in his possesion. But then I thought about it some more and realized that this was not only a theft, it was a symbol.

This thief was a symbol of abuse, of parental neglect, and of simply bad education. Through years of being the victim, this thief now takes pleasure in confounding and causing misery to others. The objective is to allow him/herself to be able to forget his/her aimless lifestyle for just a precious moment before he returns to his/her heartless house of harrassment, of torture, and sometimes absolute ignorance.

And after making this significant discovery, I found myself sitting back into my comfortable armchair, soaking in all the good things I have around me. One thing is for certain though: there will come a day when my bike seat will be unmovable.

~Kit Han

Summary Piece: The Great Depression of Canada

2005-09-07T20:52:00.000-07:00

The post-World War One period, or so-called the Golden Age, proved to be a great economic success for both the Americans and the Canadians. During the next decade, both countries experienced immense wealth, with a low unemployment rate, a higher ratio of profit vs. losses, and a basic rapid growth in the economic status. However, this short time of prosperity all came to an end in the October of 1929, when the mighty Wall Street Stock Market crashed, and burned.

In one night, companies all across the North American Continent fell into bankruptcy and debt, creating an all time low in income, and stock value. Many shareholders were left with little valuable stock and simply sold what little they have left in hopes to diminish their losses.

During this period (which lasted a decade, from 1929, to 1939), the Canadians suffered mass unemployment, 50% reduction in stock values, and national productivity diminishing to a phenomenal 43%.

The most affected, however, were the Prairie Provinces, where the main business was agricultural trade. With consumer consumption low, and cheap labor, due to the cause of the market-crash, trade with foreign countries also fell to an all time low at a reduced rate of 50%.

Unlike the American government, the Canadian government did not intervene in the original process of creating profit, therefore, was not blamed for the depression, while in the U.S. government officials were being blamed for not controlling the rapid economic rise. But, one thing in common with both countries was the fact that neither was prepared, or really thought that a market-crash such as this could ever exist, and that it could ever happen in their countries. After the Great Depression, the Canadian government changed its policy, and took control, creating minimum wages for workers, safety nets, and standard work schedules.

The Depression did improve around 1933, but continued on until 1939, with Hitler's declaration of war. With World War Two on the rise, a sudden need of war materials sprouted, thus saving the North American Economy from total oblivion.

~Kit Han

Sources:

Stock Market Crash, Government Canada, 2005/9/7

http://canadianeconomy.gc.ca/english/economy/1929_39depression.html

Stock Market Crash, Government Canada, 2005/9/7

http://canadianeconomy.gc.ca/english/economy/1929stock.html

The Great Depression of Canada, The Educationally Funkalicious History page, 2005/09/17

http://www.yesnet.yk.ca/schools/projects/canadianhistory/depression/

depression.html

Welcome!

2005-09-06T06:54:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Kit's Shorts, a small Journal dedicated to my short stories, essays, oppinion pieces, and general feelings towards the world.