Whistle while you work

Dear reader,


A grievous fact has recently come to my attention. I am lazy. Abominably, insufferably, hopelessly lazy. I'd even go so far as to say I'm slothful. That's right. Slothful. Wasn't that one of the seven deadly sins, sloth? Along with lust and gluttony and all those other things.

Yes, that's a sloth. Creepy as all hell, isn't it?

You know, these seven particular vices were never actually listed in the Bible under the category 'Seven Deadly Sins'. Not even as 'Seven Sins That Happen To Be Slightly Deadlier Than All Other Sins'. It was all the result of a man, and his very human need to rationalize, categorize and bullet-point everything into nice, neat groups for the masses. A certain Evagrius Ponticus--occupation: Roman monk, 4th century--is responsible for the original deadly sins, the 'Eight Evil Thoughts'. About 200 years later, this list was simplified by Pope Gregory I, becoming the more popular 'Seven Deadly Sins' we have today.


Anyway. Now that the brief (and uncalled for) history lesson is over, let's get back to the matter at hand: my inability to function in any productive capacity. No more, dear reader. I pledge to stop frittering countless hours away being idle, wasting my precious time accomplishing a big, fat load of nothing. I want to do stuff, make stuff. Get stuff done, like a normally functioning adult!


So, I put a little list together containing all the tasks I want to accomplish before my classes start again in August. I'll try not to put anything too idealistic or ambitious on it. I mean, the only thing that's worse than disappointing someone else is disappointing yourself.




List of stuff I want to get done/make:

1. Clean and redecorate my room.
• Con: It's a big room. With a lot of stuff in it. Dust-collecting type of stuff, with numerous nooks and crannies that just magically attract all sorts of creatures of the creepy-crawly variety.
• Pro: I won't be doing it alone. My sister and cousin share the room, so they'll help me. (I told you, it's a big room) I'll just have to clean up my part--read: the messiest part--of the room.
2. Complete at least one DIY project a week.
• Con: I have no self-discipline whatsoever.
• Pro: My inherent need for pretty and artsy things might overcome my lack of motivation. Emphasis on might. And I'll just do little things, like cards or collages or bookmarks. Nothing too fancy.
3. Complete at least one short story.
• Con: I haven't written anything in over a year, not counting blog posts, of course.
• Pro: Getting started is the hardest part for me. I just have to write something, anything, and things take off from there.
4. Sketch and draw more.
• Con: Again, lack of self-discipline.
• Pro: I need to improve. Not want, need.
5. Catch up on my reading.
• Con: I tend to get distracted and start another book before I've finished one.
• Pro: I miss reading. It'll be nice to read just for the sake of reading again.

Yup. I hope I can get everything done. Things seem so much easier and more clear cut when they're all jotted down in lists, don't they? That's why I love lists. I guess Brother Evagrius loved lists, too.

Anyway. Have you ever noticed how Disney characters manage to stay annoyingly cheerful despite being born into varying degrees of drudgery, squalor and inevitable cleaning up? They're always cleaning. Snow White, Cinderella, all their furry little friends. Even the enchanted, inanimate objects look cheerful as they're scrubbing or dusting or sweeping. How do they do that? Is it really that enjoyable to clean stuff up?

Louisa May Alcott wrote a poem about cleaning stuff up. It's in 'Little Women'. Despite reading and rereading this book as a child, the habit of enjoying making things clean hasn't taken over me quite like it took over Jo March. It'd be nice if it had, though.

A Song from the Suds

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,

While the white foam raises high,

And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,

And fasten the clothes to dry; 

Then out in the free fresh air they swing,

Under the sunny sky.

I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls

The stains of the week away,

And let water and air by their magic make

Ourselves as pure as they; 

Then on the earth there would be indeed

A glorious washing day!

Along the path of a useful life

Will heart's-ease ever bloom; 

The busy mind has no time to think

Of sorrow, or care, or gloom; 

And anxious thoughts may be swept away

As we busily wield a broom.

I am glad a task to me is given

To labor at day by day;

For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,

And I cheerfully learn to say,

"Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;

But hand, you shall work always!"

         - Louisa May Alcott

My mother used to say something to me when I complained about having to do my chores: "do it in love" or "do it with joy" or "...and rejoice!". Or something equally annoying.  So anyway. I shall strive to work hard, metaphorically whistling as I do. I'll be bugging you with constant updates, so you'll be able to look forward to that, dear reader.


Oh, look! It's a heartsease flower!

Bet you weren't expecting that, huh? I love the name: Heart's Ease. Lovely name for a flower, don't you think? Oooh, and look at the pretty leaves and colours. I'm not really a flower person; I always get them mixed up or forget the names or whatever. And I can't take care of them. I once made a cactus die. Seriously. Just like that Demetri Martin joke. "Damn. I am less nurturing than a desert."

So I guess this is it. What an abnormally long post. I'll be seeing you later, dear reader. Til next time...





Yours,


Figgy the [Soon-to-be-Reformed] Sloth

No clouds above thee

Dear reader,




Wow. Last week was one of the most stressful weeks of my entire adult life. Considering I haven't even been an adult for very long, I can only assume that I'm going to face many more stressful weeks exactly like it in the future. Not exactly a comforting thought.

Why was it so stressful, you ask? Let me break it down. I had three assignments due that week. And an exam.


Assignment #1
Graphic Design: rushed to hand in the visual diary--basically a record of our tutorial exercises and the design process we went through for our other assignments--on time. Had to rush all over town to the printer's, just to get some coloured printing done.


Assignment #2
Design Studies: had to resubmit assignment. But I'm glad I got a second chance at it because, frankly, it was crap. Still, watching all my other classmates (besides me and my group mates) finish theirs was pretty stressful.


Assignment #3
Drawing & Illustration: ha. This one was the hardest to deal with. The deadline was moved up, from the 13th of July to the 6th. And this was one heavy-duty assignment: 12 pieces for Drawing, 12 for Illustration. Although the lecturer was merciful and reduced the minimum required number to 10 each. Still. I think this one assignment shortened my life span by about 6 months.


Exam
English: meh. It was an exam, albeit an easy one. I hate exams.


To top it all off, I lost my wallet. Let me repeat that, dear reader, to emphasize the enormous significance of that phrase. I lost my wallet. My wallet, containing my IC (Identification Card), ATM card, driver's license and some money, the exact amount of which I can't recall at the moment. I'm just glad my student ID was in my bag and not my wallet; I couldn't have sat for my exam without it. And so, I had to make a police report, apply for a new IC and cancel my ATM card. I still have no idea where it could possibly be. I don't think I'll ever find out.

And so, in summation, I don't know how I made it through last week. All I know for sure is it's finally over, and I'm still in one piece. Barely.

Going through the unfortunate series of events that was last week, I realized something. I cope with stress by sleeping. Avoiding the issue, hoping it will magically disappear on its own. I know that's not a healthy thing to do, but I can't help it. I hate confrontation. I had to call the bank to get my ATM card cancelled. On the phone. It wasn't easy. I hate that I can't talk to strangers on the phone without feeling extremely uncomfortable. Like their muffled, disembodied voices are judging me. I stared at the telephone for a full five minutes before finally dialling the stupid number. The funny thing is, I have no problem talking with people I'm familiar with; friends, family. But mostly family. I still hesitate before calling any of my friends.

Anyway. Everyone has their own way of coping with stress. Some eat their weight in Twinkies and cheesecake, some people--like me--avoid the issue entirely. Then there are some people whose coping mechanisms are actually somehow productive. They go for a jog, reorganize their CD collection, create thought-provoking, stimulating pieces of art. I wish I were one of those people.

Alas, I am not. Obviously.

I was lying in bed just now, thinking and listening to music. This song came on, and I decided I wanted to share it with you. I needed a boost in spirits after last week, and this song did it for me. I hope it has the same effect on you, dear reader. Enjoy.

If it wasn't for my pain 
Then I wouldn't know my strength
If it wasn't for my future
Won't be fightin' here today
And of course, I know my way up
'Cause I fell the same way down
What matters is what you do 
When the trouble comes around

Take a step now
Get up on your feet
Gotta be brave
No clouds above thee
Follow your heart
And then you will see
There's always a way
Hold on tight
Tomorrow will bring
Every key to every locked dream
It ain't as hard as it seems

[Chorus]
Baby, don't cry
Things are about to change
Baby, don't cry
Things are about to change
And all the hurt and the tears
Will be just history
And all the doubts and the stress
Will be just history
And all the hurt and the tears
Will be just history
And all the doubts and the stress
Will be just history

Your mind carries a heavy weight
And your knees are kinda weak
You wanna run and fly away
But you hurt, the wound's so deep
You feelin' like it's time to give up
When your soul is cryin' loud
Nothing lasts forever
You will find your way out

Take a step now
Get up on your feet
Gotta be brave
No clouds above thee
Follow your heart
And then you will see
There's always a way
Hold on tight
Tomorrow will bring
Every key to every locked dream
It ain't as hard as it seems

[Chorus]

I only wanna be a real man
I already got a real plan
I ain't gotta be rich
I ain't gotta have wealth
I just do the best I can
'Cause the life of a child
Innocent, worth more
Than a ring and your new jeans

Got love in my life
And that's all that I need
You believe and you succeed
And through the pain and the hard times
We push on with our head high
Each one reach one clothe one feed one
Do it right now, its time

Things are about to change
Oh yes, they can
Things are about to change
Yes, yes, we can
[repeat x3]
[Chorus]

I love that part, Hold on tight/Tomorrow will bring/Every key to every locked dream. The imagery of it gets to me every time. Every key to every locked dream.


There was this one line that seemed a little off to me, though. No clouds above thee. I felt like it didn't really belong there, like it was quoted from somewhere else. So I Googled it, and came across an Emily Brontë poem. I don't know if that line was really inspired from this poem, and I'm not saying that it is, but it seems likely.

The Night

THE night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me

And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending

Their bare boughs weighed with snow,

And the storm is fast descending

And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,

Wastes beyond wastes below;

But nothing drear can move me;

I will not, cannot go.

Emily Brontë

Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go. Can you just imagine it? That feeling, that sense of helplessness. You can see the trouble coming, but you just can't do anything to avoid it. Maybe because you know it's pointless. Maybe because you know, even if you outrun the storm now, it'll still catch up with you sooner or later. All you can do is endure it and hope it passes.

But what does it mean to have no clouds above you? No clouds means no chance of rain. It means a clear view of the sky. A clear view of all possibilities, without limitations. There's nothing to overshadow or obstruct your vision. Freedom, as limitless and expansive as the sky.


I remember how it used to feel. Back when I was young and naive and still placed implicit belief in my own potential. I hope I feel the same way again, and soon. I'm not old enough to be jaded.


And so, I'll just end here, before I bore you to death with any more of my ranting. I'll be seeing you, dear reader. Til next time.




Yours,



Figgy.

I'm poor, don't sue me!

Dear reader,


So you know about the super secret, awesome, special project I worked on last March? Yeah. I was the only one who could draw (period), so I was assigned the task of illustrating a few of the legends in our book. I've decided to share them with you, dear reader. I just hope the organizers don't find out about this. It's scary. All that junk about how they own the 'intellectual property' we churn out for the project. It's like they control my thoughts or something. Like they're the aliens in all those body-snatcher type movies. We're in your head, you can't escape our clutches. Resistance is futile!


Anyway. Here they are. Enjoy.

Aaaand...that's it. Not much to look at, are they? But I'm proud of them. Especially the second one, with the girl crouching behind the bushes. I love her lines and her expression. The rest are kind of so-so.


So, I think that's enough for one day. I'll be seeing you next time, dear reader. Til we meet again.

Yours,

Figgy the Financially Destitute College Student

P/S: If you're curious about what the stories behind the pictures are, feel free to ask. I'll summarize it for you. Summary is not plagiarism. As long as you paraphrase and cite your sources. Ha. So there.

Mixing things up, take 2

Dear reader: yup. Changed the layout, yet again.

I'm watching the Michael Jackson tribute on TV as I'm typing this. You know, 'This is It'. You can't help but say that phrase with emphasis. This is it! This is IT! THIS IS IT!

Anyway. I can't believe it's been a whole year since he passed away, can you? How time flies when you're...living your life. I'll be graduating from Foundation--and will be moving into into Degree--this August. I feel so old. But I'm really looking forward to being a Degree student. A whole new world of unexplored possibilities awaits. No, that's not sarcasm. That's just how I talk when I'm excited. Seriously. You shouldn't overuse exclamation points. Mark Twain said we shouldn't use them at all, cause that's like laughing at your own jokes. So there.

So. Oh! There's this MJ song that caught my attention. I like the beat, the lyrics are meaningful. The effects are kind of cheesy, though. But it gets the message across, so it's okay. You should've seen the screaming part in the 'This is It' version. He was on stage, at the end of the dance sequence, and he just cried out. I didn't expect it, I'd never heard the song before. His back-up dancers and singers joined in and their collective battle cries gave me goosebumps. You know, MJ was a pretty wild guy, for his time. I mean, you'd have to be really inventive and creative and out there to come up with the stuff he came up with. It's not like I'm a crazy, hysterical, "OHMYGODILOVEHIMSOMUCH" Michael Jackson fan or anything, I'm just acknowledging his obvious talent. He was not without his flaws. Heh. Boy, he had some flaws. But, of course, we're all flawed and weird in our own way; we just don't have cameras recording our every movement.


Anywaaay. Here's the song. Enjoy.

Okay, so I'm done. I like this layout better than the pink one. But not quite enough for it to be permanent. We'll see. Til next time, dear reader, I remain...





Yours,



Figgy: Mixing Things Up Since 1991

Mixing things up

Hey, guess what. I changed my blog layout, you know, to mix things up a little. What do you think? I'm not too sure I like it, actually. It's really...pink.

Anyway, I'll probably change it again in a few days, so don't get too attached to it. Oh, just so that this isn't a totally pointless post, here's something to look at.

That's right! It's Elizabeth Taylor. She's beautiful, isn't she?

Okay, so I'm done. I'll see you next time, dear reader, when I come up with a real post.

Cry Baby

Dear Reader,

I have a shocking confession to make. I am a cry baby.

No, but seriously. I cry over the silliest things. And the funny thing is I don't cry when I'm sad, not usually. I cry when I'm...touched. Or whatever. I cry over certain movies, but only when I'm alone. Or in a movie theatre, because then it's dark and nobody can see me. I cry over songs, not necessarily sad ones. Honest, well-written songs, or songs about love; family love, love love, love for a pet. You know, love. I cry over concepts. Abstract, wishy-washy stuff that can't really be explained in words. I cry when I realize something deeply shattering and true. I cry over photographs or pictures. Thought-provoking paintings and stuff like that. I cry over books. Oh man, do I cry over books. I balled my eyes out when Beth in 'Little Women' died, and then again over Jo's poem about the three sisters. I didn't just sniffle or tear up or anything. I sobbed. I practically wept.

Anyway, the list goes on and on. I even cry when I'm embarrassed. Well, not cry cry. I just get a little teary-eyed. Then I have to avoid eye contact so that nobody sees the tears. Reminds me of that line in that Harry Potter movie (don't ask me which, after the second one they've all blurred together in my mind) when that sleazy reporter interviewed Harry and printed something atrociously untrue about him. Something like 'his eyes swimming with the ghosts of his past'.


Wow. Having a blog is really emboldening. I'd never say something like this to anyone, not even my mother. I'd probably start to, but then inevitably chicken out at the last minute and perform an Abrupt Topic Change to cover my tracks.

So yeah. My point is, I cry way too much. As in, above average. Why is that? I hardly ever get emotional. I think I might appear cold or detached to other people because I never really react the way any normal person in that situation would. Like at my grandfather's funeral: I didn't cry (not really anyway), but I wrote a blog post about him. It's like my emotions quota is lopsided. Like I have more than the average amount of resources set aside for 'Cry Over Silly Things', and because of that, I don't have enough left over for 'Cry Over Things That Actually Make Sense'.

I stumbled across a song recently--a friend posted it up on Facebook, I think. It's an oldie, but new at the same time. It's a cover of Don McLean's 'Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)' by Joanna Wang. I wish people paid as much attention to the lyrics as they do to the music these days. They just don't write songs like these anymore.




Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colours on the snowy linen land.

And now I understand what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in
Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colours changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

And now I understand what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night.
You took your life as lovers often do;
But I could have told you, Vincent
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

And now I think I know what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
They're not listening still
Perhaps they never will.

This song almost made me cry. Almost. There were other people in the room, so I contented myself with just staring intensely at the computer screen while the song played. I usually look down on covers--lack of originality and all that--but, I have to say, I think I prefer Joanna's version to the real one by Don McLean. Don't get me wrong, I love McLean's music. He's an amazingly skilled songwriter and singer. But Joanna managed to capture more of that sadness and tragedy in her voice and in the music than McLean did. Her voice suits the mood of the song perfectly, and slowing down the tempo made a huge difference.

Anyway, this song just touches me so much. Hopelessness, despair, insanity, beauty. All in one song. Can you imagine what Van Gogh had to go through? How would he be treated if he were born in this era? He'd probably be prescribed all sorts of antidepressants and things, and spend the rest of his days in a doped-up, diluted state of existence. If he were 'cured', would he still manage to create such great works of art? Do you think he was talented because of or despite his mental disorder? Sometimes the ones we deem insane are actually more in tune with reality than we are. It's like they got too close to the truth, and it scared them so much that they just broke down. Are we the crazy ones, and are they the sane ones?

So, yeah. I think I've nattered on quite enough for one day. I'll be leaving now, I've got an English report to write. Til next time, dear reader, I remain...

Yours,

Figgy the Cry Baby

Pick a category

Dear reader,



I am, as of this very moment, sitting on my extremely crowded and cluttered bed. And since I am overwhelmingly dispirited, hot, hungry and narcissistic, I shall bore you with a list. Yes, dear reader, a list! An inventory of items that have recently--and not so recently--come to reside upon my mattress.


The List of Things that Happen to be on My Bed:

1. 8 stuffed animals of assorted shape, size and species. Namely;
• Eeyore the donkey (from Winnie the Pooh), minus the tail.
• Thumper the rabbit (from Bambi)
• 3 teddy bears, 2 of which are mine and are, consequently, nameless. The other belongs to my older sister who is an advocate of all things cutesy and adorable, and has therefore been lovingly dubbed Mr. Strawberry.
• An elephant, belonging to my younger sister. If this one has a name, I am unaware of it.
• A dog of unknown origin and identity.
2. A water bottle, in case I get thirsty in my sleep.
3. My phone. Which is in desperate need of charging at the moment.
4. A black ponytail holder.
5. A stapler. With precisely 4 staples left in the chamber.
6. 7 books. Most of them I have started but haven't finished. I aspire to finish reading them soon. Eventually. In my lifetime.
• Reader's Digest (the October 2008 edition): Finished
• Alligator by Lisa Moore: Started, haven't finished.
• Lion Boy by Zizou Corder. Taken from my school's reading corner and never returned. I am such a rebel: Finished. One of those books you'll never lend out, in case you never get it back.
• Don Quixote by Cervantes: Yeah...started, not even close to finishing.
• A lovely hard cover of R.L. Stevenson's Kidnapped and Treasure Island, which I bought the last time the MV Doulos docked in Kuching: Finished Kidnapped, but Treasure Island is hard to get past, for some reason.
• The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster. Another book we stole rescued from the school's reading corner: Finished. A great read.
• What Your Teacher Didn't Tell You: the Annexe Lectures Vol 1 by Farish A. Noor: Started, am definitely going to finish. Definitely.
7. A denim jacket.
8. A really soft, really small pillow for my head.
9. A bolster. I never use it, but it is kept on my bed for easy access, you know, in case of any emergencies requiring the use of bolsters. They're more handy than you think.
10. A plastic bag containing 5 tubes of acrylic paint: black, white, red, yellow, blue. Used for a stencilling project.
11. An empty pillowcase.
12. A blanket.
13. 2 CDs, with the titles Romantic and Pop Tunes 1 scribbled on them in black marker. I have no idea who they belong to, where they came from, or what convoluted chain of events brought them to rest upon my bed.
14. An assortment of files and papers, from an assortment of donors. My older sister and my cousin, as well as myself.
15. A cutting mat.
16. A yellow lanyard, belonging to a friend. She dropped by our place for a while after we went to the Youth Dialogue and left her name tag behind...on the 8th of February 2010, according to the date printed on it.
17. A pair of stripey socks, belonging to my cousin who resides on the top bunk. It must have fallen down this morning.
18. My laptop.
19. Me.

Well.

I have nothing left to say. I'm sorry for the rushed goodbyes, dear reader, but I have to go now. There's a Club meeting I have to attend and I'm already late. So, see you round the bend. Til next time, I remain...

Yours,

Figgy the Clutter Monger