Morality, ethics and...stuff like that

Dear reader,








My new Moral Studies lecturer thinks he's a philosopher. But that's okay, since I think I'm a philosopher, too. What's not okay is he thinks he's smart. I think I'm smart, but at least I'm aware that I think I'm smart. He, on the other hand, is so unaware. Ignorance isn't always bliss, at least for the people forced to put up with the ignorant one's ignorant, blissful shenanigans. When he enunciates his points--which he does very often...at least once every 30 seconds--he will squint his eyes and cock his head upwards a little. As if he's enjoying the sound of his own voice so much he has to take a moment to savour it. Like you do with really good wine. He speaks with a slight but noticeable accent and sometimes, with mistaken pronunciation, but overall very good English. He just uses too many big words in one sentence; it makes him sound preachy and condescending. 




I don't really like him. He reminds me of this guy who was in the same orientation group as me. Man, was he a piece of work! A over-competitive show off, to put it simply. And he showed off about the stupidest things. For example: during one of the many 'welcome to Swinburne' speeches we had to endure in order to be 'oriented', I was doodling on a scrap piece of paper. As per usual. He spotted me scribbling away and proceeded to whip out his own piece of paper to follow me and doodle. Ah, but that's not all. Another orientation buddy looks at my doodles and says something to the effect of 'nice drawings'. He peers over and says, and I quote, "Oh, she beat me. She drew six and I only drew five." Right. I didn't even know we were in a contest. And the list goes on. He just loves to draw attention to himself. And when he tries to tell a joke or something, it's like watching one of those furry little animals being mangled and devoured by a pride of hungry lions on the Discovery channel. So embarrassing, it's almost physically painful. He was, of course, oblivious to his obviously lame sense of humour. And he had this smug look on his face, like he expected everyone to just burst out in paroxysms of uncontrollable laughter at his comedic genius. And guess what. This undesirable individual happens to be in my group for Moral Studies. Happy, happy...joy, joy.




Right, back to the subject at hand. Moral Studies is one of two compulsory subjects I have to take in order to be eligible for a degree, in Malaysia anyway. The other is Malaysian Studies, pretty much the history and politics of Malaysia. So anyway, I expected this Moral to be like the Moral we learnt in secondary school; memorizing wordy definitions and convoluted answering formulas, pure head-knowledge with no heart-wisdom. And when I say memorizing, I mean word-for-word. One word missing, or even replaced with its exact synonym, and you're outta there! No marks, no cigar. But, to my moderate delight, I was wrong. It's more like a philosophy class than an all-you-can-memorize fest.One downside, though...come exam time, I'll probably be sporting a caffeine-induced migraine, a pimple the size of a golf ball, and a severe case of writer's cramp. There's a lot of heavy stuff to wrap your head around in this subject, no getting away with last-minute cramming. Dang. And the upside? I'll...get to learn something new. And I'll be challenged. Yup. Great.




We'll be covering four topics during our seven whole weeks of intensive morality: Suicide, Abortion, the Death Penalty, and Euthanasia. Wonderful conversation starters, don't you think? I'm just glad a certain debate-crazy, argumentative guy isn't in my group this time. I swear, that boy argues for the sake of arguing. I hope some sort of Argumentative Boy Mach 2 doesn't make an appearance. I don't know most of the people in my class, it's a mixture of different foundation courses. Which should make discussions and such very interesting...or very hazardous. We'll just have to see.




Anyway. The lecturer and the show-offish-orientation-nerd-boy: they share a few common characteristics, disturbingly. They both love the sound of their own voice. They both have a faintly effeminate way of speaking, you know, with that almost-a-lisp thing going on--although the lecturer's effeminate streak is considerably more apparent than nerd-boy's...which is probably a bad sign. They both think they're funny; in fact, they share very similar senses of humour. Brusque, harsh, choppy. Like. This. And they're both Chinese. That's not really relevant, but I'm just listing down all their similarities. Covering all my bases or whatever. So I'm just waiting to see if he's anything like nerd-boy in real life, or if he just comes across that way when he has his lecturer 'hat' on. I have an inkling that it's the former. He claims to be a 'religious man'. No arguments there; Catholic and narrow-minded. Contrary to popular opinion, the words 'religious' and 'Christian' are not synonyms. And you know what the worst part is? He thinks he's open-minded. Of course, I disagree with almost everything he says. Almost.




He gave us examples, you know, to try and explain ethics and morality. One example was, if he left our midterm papers in the classroom accidentally, would we look at them? "Don't tell me you'd be so moralistic and honest to not look" he says, articulating the words as if they were insults. "Because if you don't look at them..." pause for effect "...then you're a fool." Well, it's not a direct quote. I don't recall if he said 'fool' or just 'stupid'. So in conclusion, being righteous is being stupid, is that it? He also said that there is a time to be morally upright and a time to be smart. Sorry, but I disagree. Oh, by the way, do you think it's funny that he said that, dear reader? The whole "if you don't, you're a fool" thing? Because when he did, the class burst out laughing. I didn't get what was so funny about it...I still don't get what was so funny about it.




Ah, another example: a friend dies. Before his demise, he bequeaths a certain amount of money (RM 100,000 or something) to a friend of his, entrusting you to deliver said money to said friend. On your way to deliver said money, you walk by a building. On this building is a poster that says: 'Money urgently needed for tsunami victims. Any cash donations would be much appreciated for us to reach our goal of RM 100,000'. What do you do? Do you ignore the sign and deliver the money like you promised, or do you donate the money to help the hordes of tsunami victims just waiting for a knight in shining armour to deliver them? His answer: both decisions, when you consider all the factors, aren't wrong. Maybe the friend who's going to receive the money is already rich, maybe he doesn't need the money. And by giving it away, you'll benefit hundreds or even thousands of people, not just one. My answer: it doesn't matter. The money doesn't belong to you. It doesn't even belong to the dead friend; it belongs to Mr Lucky, the guy you're on your way to meet. You are a steward, not an owner. You have no say in how the money is used, that's up to the fortunate friend who gets it. Giving it away--even if it's for a good cause--is wrong. If you want to be charitable, do it with your own money.




And so on and so forth. I don't like confrontation, so I just kept quiet during the lecture. But on the inside I was seething. How dare he try to twist and complicate moral principles willy-nilly! Is he serious? Does he even know what he's saying? But then, in the midst of my mental writhing--actually physical writhing, too...the classroom was too cold--the thought struck me: what do I care? So what if he thinks and speaks nonsense? It doesn't affect what I think, what I say. It won't influence me if I won't let it.




So, to conclude: I can't stand him, but I have no choice. I'll just have to deal with it. And get a warmer jacket.


I guess that's it from me, dear reader. I've officially run out of things to say. I'll see you on the other side. Byeeee~












Yours,






Figgy the [Half Baked, Self Proclaimed] Philosopher

I can't dance

Dear reader,

I recently attended an event at Swinburne last Friday, the 'dance party' organized by the dance club to raise money for their new dance studio. I just used the word 'dance' three times in the same sentence. That has to be some kind of personal record. Anyway, about this 'dance party', I gotta say, I was disappointed. The theme was 'Evolution of Dance: What happens when all eras clash?'. There were supposed to be performances with 70's, 80's, 90's and present-day dances--on the ticket it actually said 09's, can you believe it? Not 2009, not even, simply, today but the 09's. But I won't nitpick about that. Even excluding the obviously incorrect year-labeling--is that even a word?--there's no shortage of things to nitpick about. Instead of the most well-known 70's or even 80's dance moves the audience got common b-boy steps set against music from different time periods in history.

Okay, so it went down like this: there was at least one performance for each time period. In between performances, they opened the dance floor for everyone else who wanted to take a whirl...or cut their respective rugs. Or whatever. Let me just say one thing. I can't dance. Period. Maybe if I'm at home, alone, the music turned up so loud I can't hear my own self-conscious thoughts. Maybe. But not in a club-like environment with everyone just there. It doesn't matter if they're watching me or not--actually, I'm pretty sure nobody was watching me. People don't usually notice anything beyond what they themselves are doing. And I'm not exactly noticeable in a crowd. I just can't dance in public. 

Anyway. During these interludes, people were going crazy, like it was so fun. I'm sorry, but I don't get it. What's so fun about flailing your arms around like a wounded animal and making a total fool of yourself? Dancers are show-offs. They dance to get attention. I'm not talking about professional dancers, those who actually get paid to do it, or do it as a job not just as a hobby. I'm talking about the countless, nondescript hip hop crews that come together to practise once a week after classes and hold mini concerts in malls or at school. You know the ones. Show-offs, plain and simple. Of course, this could just be my jealousy at their ability to make their bodies move exactly how they want it to--and my inability to do the same--manifesting itself. You have to be pretty comfortable in your own skin to dance in public. I guess I'm not. And everybody shows off. They just show off differently. I use words, they use dance moves.

Oh, and there was this one guy, a classmate of mine. Apparently he likes me. I'm assured it's a totally platonic kind of 'like', but I don't like the way he treats me. He treats me like a puppy. Or a small child. And he laughs at everything I do, like I'm some kind of pint-sized comedian put on this earth for the sole purpose of amusing him. So. There I was, standing there. Just standing still in the midst of a crowd of dancing people. And I had my bulky, oversized jacket on. I was cold, so sue me. He walks over and goes "You're cold?!" and laughs at me. Typical. But then he grabs my hand and starts coaxing me to dance, as if I'm his six-year-old niece who's being shy and silly. I'm serious. So I start getting even more self-conscious than I already am and dancing--there was a small probability of me swaying a little to the music if he wasn't there--is now a sheer impossibility. I am not a chihuahua, nor am I any other species of toy dog, regardless of what my height may be. I don't perform on demand.

So, in conclusion, the performances were fun, I suppose. But not memorable, or in any way relevant to their alleged time periods. For the 70's, I can't remember what the dance was like.  Hence, not memorable. I expected the dancers to be decked out in full 70's regalia: bell bottoms, love beads, afro hair. Nope. The only 70's thing about the performance was the music. Oh, and that seatbelt-hand-dance-move-thingy. You know, point your finger in the air then down again...whatever. As for the 80's, no MC Hammer moves to be seen. I'm dead serious. How could they not do the 'can't touch this' move? That's a classic 80's dance move! As for the 90's, they did a salsa-ish number to 'Mambo No. 5'. Meh. Not exactly the 90's song I would have chosen to summarize that entire decade in music history. Why didn't they choose a Britney Spears song or Backstreet Boys, even? The answer: they wanted to show off their sexy salsa dance moves. Speaking of salsa, there was actually a real salsa performance after that. I don't remember which time period it claimed to belong to, and I don't really care. I didn't even see the performance, I was sitting in the bleachers in the back of the hall.

I retreated to the loo a few times. Just to get a little peace. I felt like I was handicapped in some way. Like I had this sickness or disadvantage that I didn't want other people to see, so I hid my insecurities in a toilet cubicle. Oh, I didn't cry or anything. I just wanted to sit and be still in a place where no one could see me or judge me. Or worse, feel sorry for me. I guess I was just tired and bored. And frustrated. I don't like not being able to do a certain thing, especially if everyone else is able to do it, effortlessly it seems. I don't like feeling helpless or speechless or unsure of what I'm supposed to do next. I don't like that feeling of floundering, like you're trying to tread water, but you keep sinking. That's why I like guidelines so much. I actually like rules and instructions. Because then you know what to do, you know what's expected of you. I'm not a goody-goody two shoes. And I'm not, like, depressed or anything. I just think too much about how I look like on the outside.

Yeah. The whole thing just wasn't my scene. It was more for the hardcore clubbers or dancers...or people who routinely shed their inhibitions in public, just for the heck of it. So my sister picked me up before the whole thing was over. I was tired and, frankly, a little bit disgusted at all the gyrating body parts by then. We went to a place called Basaga. It's this really cool bistro/cafe that has a whole open air section with wooden tables and little wooden stools instead of chairs--there were no tablecloths on the tables but they had those little candles in glass cups that you get in Italian restaurants. And the atmosphere was great. After the whole techno-music-pulsating-in-my-head atmosphere it was a relief to just chill out there under the stars, and sip on a mocha smoothie. 

Oh, and on the way there I saw these two girls. They were having a picnic, right there on the grass embankment in front of a block of shoplots. At least I thought it was a picnic. There was a cloth that they spread out between them, and they were lying back with their legs in front of them talking and laughing to each other. I like that. Very much. There are different kinds of spontaneity. The 'flailing your arms around like a wounded animal and making a total fool of yourself' spontaneity, and the 'lying down in the grass having a picnic in front of a block of shoplots' spontaneity. I think I'm more inclined to the latter version.

Okay, dear reader. I've said all I have to say. Pretty much. So, til next time, I remain...

Yours,

Figgy: Neither a Chihuahua Nor Any Other Species of Toy Dog

A'commode'ation

Dear reader,

Swinburne has nice toilets. Or bathrooms, rather. Or water closets, depending which side of the Atlantic you prefer. I find toilet cubicles calming places, where you can think in peace, realign your qi, zen yourself out, and rediscover your equilibrium after a particularly haranguing day at school. It's also the perfect place to apply one's make-up. Oh, speaking of make-up, the lighting in Swinburne's restrooms are simply divine, especially the ones on the ground floors. I highly recommend them, you know, just in case you happen to be in the vicinity of the Swinburne Sarawak campus and you're looking for a peaceful place to put on your make-up.

Why, this very post was conceived and partly-composed in a toilet cubicle. [What, too much information?] Actually, I like to just hang out in the restrooms between classes, regardless of the condition of my bladder. Does that make me weird, kind reader? Does that make me a freak, a socially-inept dweeb who ducks back into my unconventional hiding place at every possible opportunity? Well, say what you will, my dear reader, the fact remains: I am a toilet enthusiast. And besides, this is my blog and I'll talk about what I want to talk about. So there.

Oh, I just realized something. This is the first time I've actually come out and said [...typed?] my college's name. Hmm...I wonder if divulging the name of the college where I study is an altogether wise thing to do. You're not a cyber stalker, are you, dear reader? Well, good. That's a relief. Although, if you are indeed a stalker, I don't expect you'd 'fess up to it just like that, now would you? Pffft. Heh. As if. I mean, who would be willing to go to the trouble of stalking me over this pathetic excuse for a blog anyway? I'm probably the safest blogger in the history of safe bloggers, ever.

Oh, on a side note, do you know that when one googles my name, there are actually results? Actual results, for me! My Facebook page, I think, and my DA page. I had no idea I was so cyber-conspicuous. It's cool and scary at the same time. The thought of leaving my footprint on the sands of time is, of course, extremely gratifying. However, it's also really frightening that I could be traced or investigated so easily. Certain aspects of my life can be scrutinised by random--and potentially dangerous--strangers all over the world. There was this one movie I saw, I forget what it was called. Something like 'Untraceable'. Anyway, it was about this serial killer who used an interactive website to murder his victims. The more views the site got, the quicker the poor guys got killed. And he managed to track down an FBI-cyber-detective-guy, lured him to a secluded spot, incapacitated him and transported him back to his (the killer's) house, and subsequently murdered him in public. He didn't stop there, though. Nope. He went after the FBI-cyber-detective-lady next. He had all the details of her personal life at his fingertips. Very, very scary.

Okay, I think I'm about done. Holy cow! My last post was on the 8th of August! Oh...wait. That's not too bad, considering my track record. Hey, just be thankful I bothered to blog at all. I have three assignments due next week, for your information, my dear reader. Well, I should probably stop procrastinating and just do the darn things. And so the truth comes out. Don't worry, my dearest reader, you're not just a tool for procrastination. At least, not all the time. I sincerely missed my one-sided conversations with you this past month or so. Sincerely. With all...sincerity. Ahem.

So, I guess I'll see you in a bit. Til next time, I remain...

Yours,

Figgy the Toilet Enthusiast

Orientation

Dear reader,

Just a quick note to say that I'll be a bit busy for a while. I am currently involved in a three-day orientation program. This is my second day of orientation, and tomorrow's the last day. And on Monday, the first day of school.

It's funny how they call it 'orientation', as if I was desperately disoriented for the entire duration of my early life and have to be adjusted immediately before they allow me to join their university.

Therefore, for the time being, I shall concentrate of my orientation and adjustment into the Uni system. If you feel yourself to be a tad neglected, dear reader, then...too bad! *cue evil laughter* Muahahahaha...ha!

Ahem.

So, til next time...so long, goodbye, auf Wiedersehen, adieu.

Yours,

Figgy the...Orientated[?]