Voice

Apart from facial features, the most conspicuous properties that we, human, often exploit to advantage to recognise different people are our voices. Different people have different voices although there are selected few that have exactly matching frequency of sound. The human voice is a product of nature and nurture, shaped both by the power of genetics and influence of the environment. Today, I would like to talk about my voice.

Andrew (a friend of mine) told me that my voice is unique in the sense that only very few people possess such voice. He said it is natural for the range of men's voice to descend by one octave from a typical lower treble range of a pre-pubescent boy. As a result, the voice becomes deeper and more suited for purpose involving baritone and bass singing. Some men have their voice pulled down by a few notes, resulting in a a higher, sexier tenor range. A few like me, have the lower half of their range being dragged down all the way while the top half remains high in pitch. The upper half is the falsetto voice that is often airy and tiresome to make when sung by normal men but for me, it comes out effortlessly and is considerably richer as well as "rounder".

It is not that my voice is very nice to hear since it sounds much like scratching the blackboard with the fingernails. However, what intrigues (and saddens me) is that i am able to sing soprano, alto, bass and become completely helpless when it comes to the tenor range. It is like losing one whole range of notes that are often utilised by male pop singers when performing a hot and hip song. When I first sung in soprano and alto, it sounded very weird since it is as though my voice has undergone a significant overhaul to sound very much like a woman. Most of the time, i find it easier, more relaxed to sing many pop songs in falsetto than in my normal voice.

The relevation of the nature of my voice comes with a mixed feeling. I feel quite at ease to sing high notes that are out of reach for most guys and some girls. However, I so lament the fact that the quality of my tenor notes is lousy that I sometimes question my sex. There are simply some notes in between that i can't possibly reach. I have to thank the choir M.M for putting me in Alto 1 though so that i can challenge myself to sing in upper area of tenor. It is strenous at most time and tiring.

Sometimes, I think that everyone should explore and understand their voice. It is after all the vehicle with which we communicate, transfer information and express emotions to one another. For people who can recognise notes and vocalise them, it is an opportunity to use their voice to sing. And singing, i admit, is tough, tiring and most importantly, practice oriented. Nothing is easy.

P.S: For your information, the pitches of the voice ranges, in descending order, are soprano, alto, tenor and bass. The traditionally masculine man's voice is that of bass.

Rotten Heart

What if i have a rotten heart, one that seeps evil into my action? Can I turn back from such addiction of maleovolence? Or submit to the profanity that a mortal soul cannot help but indulge in?

Late for EG1413 exam

How does it feel like to wake up and find yourself one hour late for a two hour paper? Well, I am a "lucky" one to experience the adrenaline of the rushing and puffing and stressing and pulling hair and everything that is not so pretty.

Well, the night before, I had set my alarm clock to 7.30 AM with the full confidence that it would ring. Well, it didn't. So I slept on and on until I felt the bed was a little too warm for me to settle in. So I open my eyes and looked at the clock. The visual impulse shot into my brain and registered 8.42 am. It's okay to have 18 minutes to prepare. Test is at 9 and the venue of examination is but 5 minutes away.

Wait, why isn't there a double "O" stacked on one another to form the typical eight we see? somehow the left part of the lower "O" has chipped off to resemble yet another number I am very familiar with. It is a lucky number for those born in the Dragon year since a dragon has 81 scales, which is the square of the that number.

Oh no, it's 9.42am! I was seriously late, so late that I was already crying in my heart. 10 minutes later i was already at the exam venue furiously flipping the examination paper for the question and reading through the text I was supposed to critique on. The examiner refused to give me extra time so I had to make do with whatever I have, which was approximately one hour.

There I was, scribbling away as fast as I could. At 11 am, when the examiniation was supposed to end, I have completed 780 words with citations. I submitted the paper, went back to my room and started blogging, which is what I am supposed to do now.

All the time, the breath was short, the forehead was creasing, the heart was pumping and the adrenaline, yes that damn thing that is supposed to trigger your survival instinct, was seeping through every blood vessel in my body. Thank god I didn't sweat; otherwise, my exam sheet would be smudged beyond recognition with all the sodium chloride-charged fluid issuing from my face.

At least I finished the paper though. That is what I care about first. I'm happy that I'm given a chance to do what is best under such circumstance. Fate is kind sometimes.

Simon

Hi, I would like to introduce you guys to my most recent adoration: Simon. Well, I love him a lot that I would spend hours, literally, staring at him. That charming young lad is so captivating that I can't put my mind off thinking about him even in the midst of exam. Everyday, I would find every single excuse to see him and play with him. And he peed on my cheet sheet that I was supposed to bring along for my Math examination. Well, that is Simon - a bubbly hamster which I had procured two weeks back. Here is a photo of him in his sleeping den, fashioned out of a tissue toilet roll and cushioned with well, more tissue:

My bad. The photo quality is at best, inferior to any camera-phone but you still have a good idea of how he looks like up front, right? 2 minutes of wiki-searching has revealed to me that he is a Dwarf Winter White Russian Hamster but visual inspection suggests more gray fur area than white. It can't really be helped though since the dull coat is what these hamster sport during the summer season that is perpetually never-ending in the Singaporean context.

Anyway, isn't he just cute? Measuring at a respectable 9 cm, he is one of the most quick-witted dare-devils I have ever met. There is no opportunity lost in trying to get out of my hand (despite my best effort to sanitise every inch of the palm and fingers with soap before-hand) and into every nook and tiny dark slit of the room.

With an overpowering claustro-philic tendency, Simon manages to find himself in the most unusual places behind the fridge, under the bed, in the narrow slit between the photo frame and wall and worse, in a printer. Of course, I don't let him run wild all the time as he has a cage of his own. On top of that, he has this irresistible urge to leap of chairs, tables (and hands) regardless of whether what is awaiting him below is a cold, hard tile.

When it comes to eating, his favourite is sunflower seed kernel, which will be the first items to vanish among the variety of food he is offered everyday. With all the high content of saturated lipid in the seeds, it is no wonder that he looks much fatter than he was when I first brought him back from the pet store.

Yup, so much about Simon for now. See you then.

Reunion

No, I am not talking a small piece of terra firma jutting out in the middle of the Indian Ocean to the east of Madagascar a.k.a Lemur Country. I am talking about:

I know, I know. Beh, Chia Wei, Junyi, KC and Mun Hon are not present but at least, there is enough of the old guards to conjure the feelings of the past, the memories buried beneath the piles of university courseworks and co-curricular activities, the togetherness that is forged by the virtue that we used to be under one roof: McNair Lodge.

The thought of it almost makes me laugh. Now that we are all languishing in far more spacious rooms that what were offered in McNair Lodge, it is almost incredulous to the foreign ear to actually grasp at how five people managed to squeeze in a tiny windowless cell with bunker beds for two years only to come out alive and kicking.

Remember those times when the caterer thought dried chillies were on the vogue and started blending them in every dish we had? Remember the times when the boys enjoyed 24 hour air-conditioning so much that some of the girls actually got jealous? Remember how every birthday celebration was an opportunity to be creative and spoon out weird (and at times, not so tasty) recipes, and then to sing our hearts out to the birthday person? And remember...

Now that I am already in NUS burning the midnight oil for the upcoming test, I find it amusing to actually recount the nolstalgic moments in the past, especially those in McNair Lodge. Back then, the stress of A-Level preparation was gnawing away our brains but there were always people to look forward to for badminton games in the evening. The night was always bustling with activities as friends chatted, gossiped and pulled each other's tail (well-mannered way, of course) till the guards came to chase us away. Although we knew that post A-Level also meant the time for parting, we decided to pull together for one last activity, as a group, and used the pool to our benefit as a station to recharge our water guns and pails.

Those were the merry days. We are all growing up, aren't we. We have come to understand the world is not as simple and innocent as we once thought. Friends are almost impossible to make, what more genuine friends. Beneath the smiling facades of people with whom you mingle, some harbour the intention to exploit your goodwill to their benefits. In university, you are basically on your own, having to watch out for yourself despite having people to say "hello" to. It can't be helped. With each person taking different courses and having incompatible schedule, it is difficult to find common time to share and develop friendship further.

University opens a door to the adult world, although the scheming, conniving, and plastic expressions are toned down a little. Everyday, we are faced with moral decisions so complex that what were black and white now diffuse into one another to form a gray area. We only convince ourselves that our course of action is the most acceptable one especially in terms of self-preservation. It is difficult to trust another person and even more difficult to differentiate friends from adversaries.

My uncle used to tell me that of all the friends one make in his or her lifetime, childhood and school friends are the most genuine. At such age, we were still young, simple-minded and were capable to put all our faith in one another just like loyal comrades in battle. As we grow older, the we are "hardened" by so many ordeals to the extent that we become insecure about the world we live in and the people we mingle with. Perhaps, that is the nature of man.

Yup, McNair is a memorable experience. Pui Kheun-Samantha joint birthday celebration came close to reliving the atmosphere I once felt back in JC. Honestly, it felt so good that I am at a loss of words to describe the totality and intensity of it. You guys present at the birthday, do you feel it too?

Ten Reasons Why We Are Hypocrites.

1. We backstab others almost guiltlessly and get pissed off when we are being backstabbed.
2. We complain that life is unfair when asked to do a little more for others while for most of the time, we let others do the work for us.
3. We strive to make our achievement "known to the four corners of the world" when we are cynical about what others can do.
4. We judge our friends and refuse to be the subjects of judgement.
5. We feel entitled to call others liars when we ourselves lie a lot.
6. It is okay for others to sacrifice for us but not the other way round.
7. Each of us behaves as the centre of "all affairs big and small" when it is obviously an illusion.
8. We think it is okay to take advantage of the miseries of others but not okay to be betrayed.
9. Friendship is just a Machiavellian tool to achieve our personal goals.
10. "Hey, why is Mr X not joining us? Is he weird or what? Lets gossip!"

Love

What is love? Is it the worries over a father who has a close brush with death, a man whose role is no greater than to conceive me, a person whose physical inadequacy and lack of education has delegated his chilrearing responsibility on me to my uncle and aunt? Is it the tears that have fallen from a well long thought dry to a father risking to lose his limb?

True, he is the most stubborn man i have ever seen. So stubborn that he has grappled with the edge of life and awaits the verdict of doctors to amputate his leg. Then again, the blood that runs in him flows in me. I inherit his fury, his infectious laughter, his inclination to mingle with people....

In the face of mounting homework and assignments, busy practices for the grandiose event of Raffles Hall Concert, this is a big, if not paralysing blow. No, I'm not paralysed. I have the capacity to make decision. The ability to juggle all things at once. I'll persevere. That my presence with him I will assure yet I will not despair my cast mates, fellows of raffles halls, and assignment project buddies.

But love comes first. Papa, I'll come.

When there is nothing to say

Enough with the fancy words of "meritocracy" and "equal opportunities"! With everyone chasing after what makes them good on the outside, have they forsaken to cultivate what is inside? In this harsh reality, everyone becomes an unwilling slave to the pursuit of superficially "physical" success since it is what defines them in the broader context of the society. Everywhere is a pitching ground for competition, and every moment is deep breath, hold, slow release only in preparation for another deep breath and the cycle goes full circle again.

Suffocation

I wonder how the hall people can juggle so many activities and still study? Perhaps I'm just incompetent...

Recollection...

Remember how I used to complain about the assignments? To date, I have already submitted two assignments: the Critical Thinking & Writing Critique and the Biochemistry Essay.

Three hours ago, I had just downloaded the programme required for the Biochemistry Short-Answer Assignment and it took me a dreadfully long two hours period just to complete the assignment. That aside, the programme is really fun to use since you can turn, twist, shade and do all sorts of manipulative things on a protein model. Moreover, the longest "short-answer" is 5 words long so the assignment name is undisputably appropriate after all.

For more information, the protein in question is a chicken lysozyme which is found in the chicken egg we eat all too frequently. The complexity of the molecule is astounding given the myriad of intricate bondings and linkages that "mould" an otherwise random assemblage of linear chain in a oval-shaped structure. Adding to that, it is even more amazing to see how human ingenuity has managed to unravel the mystery behind the workings of the enzyme. All that has to be done is to insert a certain molecule into the active site of the lysozyme (the part responsible for chemical reaction) in such a way that the two molecules are permanently locked in that way. It is as though time "freezes", allowing scientist to study the nature and mechanism of the active site and hence attain useful knowledge regarding the biological processes occuring in the chicken egg we take for granted. So "chim" a revelation in a seemingly unremarkable thing...

Didn't know there is such thing in a chicken egg...

Reeling back from the digression, I have only two major assignments ahead of me. The 5000-9000 Physics assignment is crawling almost imperceptibly since I have only managed to produce 1500 words out of the verbosity with which my friends have consciously, willingly, and enjoyably characterised me. In project work, I am the slacker...I admit, haha!

That's all for now from the rambling thoughts of Ryan Hee. Adios.

Tiring Week

Everyone deserves a chance to complain. Apparently, some people of the similar character as I have a higher propensity to do so.

This week is rather draining to my mind and body. There are two submissions of major assignments so I have been having butterflies in my stomach for being nervous about making small but incredulous mistakes related to grammar and the use of diction. On top of that, I have received yet another short-answer assignment that requires me to download a program about protein modelling. I don't even know how to design a simple chair, what more a complex macromolecule like a protein! I know A Po is gonna kill me for complaining about this.

I have also had my athletics training this week. I had barely run 6 rounds before I started puffing and panting for air. Bad stamina.... need to train more i guess.

In choir, I am the only guy in the Alto 1 voice range. All the other guys are in Tenor and Bass, wondering what is this gender-confused kid doing so high up the voice range (Phew, thank god i heard that another guy is a soprano in NUS Choir). I mean, at least Alto 2 (which is only one step higher than Tenor 1 in the case of our choir group) would be more fitting ... but I'll just take what is offered. Ryan, start singing like a girl...

Lastly, the concert training has only gone two-third full throttle and I am already skipping morning lecture on the next day. Dancing is tiring (I admit I am a dancing failure) and acting, as a whole, is not on par with the expectation of the director, Clara. And it hurts having to see Clara managing the entire team alone since her co-director, Eileen is down with chicken pox fever.

Tomorrow, a tuition awaits me and I have yet commenced on designing the appropriate test question.

Well, end of complain session.

Assignment Comes, Assignment Goes

Lets do a count on the number of "big-time" assignments that I have to complete this semester:

1. Critical Thinking and Writing (EG1413) Critique
2. Critical Thinking and Writing (EG1413) Position Paper
3. Biochemistry (LSM1401) Essay
4. Biochemistry (LSM1401) Short-Answer Questions
5. Great Idea in Contemporary Physics (GEK1510) Essay between 5000-9000 words.

Item 1 literarily tests how well you criticise the article which is written by a gay author. Oops, no personal attack since that would be fallacy. It is pretty much completed.

Item 2 is about Saving Gaia. It harks back at the useless assemblage of writings that is produced over the 8 "fruitful" months for PW in JC1. I wonder whether any suggestion we make would make the Earth a better place (Gaia is Earth in Greek by the way). It is sort of a group work, and we have barely started on data-mining.

Item 3 is practically a feat of squeezing so much information in response to two central questions in 1000 words. The essay was soo overflowing with words that even after several attempts of succinct rephrasing, I had to resort to omitting words like "the" and "a". Thank god it is just 997 words in total. (Maybe I should add, "No more essay" as a three-word remark to the lecturer?)

Item 4 has not revealed by the lecturer for the time being and this sets me thinking on how short a short-answer should be. Are ten words too many?

Item 5 is what you call "Mission-Nearly-Impossible" when you have to write that much for questions like "What is a photon?" Maybe I should go into unraveling the origin of the word "photon", which is in Greek, and from there, talk about Greek culture, and then, Greek mythology, and then, Disney Hercules, and then, media industry and finally, the up-and-coming Wall-E. Should be enough for 5000 words, eh?

So much for now. Adios!

Mound, Hill and Mountain

Remember how your primary teachers used to tell you that life was smooth sailing after UPSR? Remember how your secondary teachers used to tell you that life was smooth sailing after SPM? Remember how your JC teachers used to tell you that life was smooth sailing after A-Levels?

I feel deceived. For all this while, they have insinuated in me the belief that after each academic hurdle, the burden of studying would simply evaporate. For all this while, I have held hope of a comfortable, easy-paced life following each major exam.

Apparently, all these are lies. The teachers are not entirely blamed though. It is my assumption that forms part of the illusion. It is a naive longing for dry land after sailing through stormy seas, only to find that the next day holds an even more unpromising weather.

Welcome to university life. Loaded with lecture notes of almost incorrigible sentences, voluminous textbook that banishes you to the realm of snores and dreams, the three compulsory hall activities that must be taken if you wish to stay on in hall (apparently, the minima may rise to four given that people are overloading...), and the headache of trying to organise these within a 24-hour time scale.

Since I have been passive for so long, I guess it would be just to update the post of my latest doings. I am acting in the Raffles Hall Musical entitled " Rendezvous" as the butler. Small role... Practice spans from 8pm to 12 am very weekday. However, practice is good since it is an avenue to unwind after a full day of lectures, tutorials, and practicals.

From my most humble, scrappy experience of daily affairs, be they large or small, life itself is like pushing a boulder up a mound and down, only to behold in dismay, a hill, then up the hill and down again to face an even taller mountan. Yup, the never-ending cycle of viciousness. That's life.

Family

Beside all our aspiration for greatness and success, dream to soar onto the pinnacle of material wealth and naughty inclination to court and be courted, there is another humble yet equally important thing in our life: family. Somehow, in all our undertakings, we can rest assure that if we were to fail, our family would be there to cushion our fall from grace. Or is it so?

As I grow older, my perception of family is a sacred if not ideal, representation of human compassion and trustworthiness, has changed, unfortunately to a darker shade. What was once held as an unconditional giver, free from self-interest, I have now doubted. Somehow, there is a feeling that every member has a personal agenda in exploiting the virtues of the family to achieve his or her own end. Almost unbelievable as it seems, we often come across news such as that of children squabbling for inheritance, attempting to alter the will of their deceased parents to their own interest at the expense of others.

Then again, backstabbing is far from being uncommon. Sentences like,"Your cousin is a liar. Don't you listen to him!" seems to flow effortlessly from the mouth of the subject's own blood brother. What sort of folly is this?

Time and again, perfection is but an ideal in this world. Family, despite being the venerated building block of the society and nation, is flawed in its own way. Man is doomed in his achievement. His darkness is upon him. In the modern world where individuality prevails over common interest, the bonds between family member is further attenuated. Sons leave their mothers to decay in old folk's home at the behest of jealous daugthers-in-law. Mother discards newborn baby in trashcans so that she can pursue her dream without being "tied" down by the responsibility to a child.

I am a conditioned pragmatist. Man is turning into machine to such cold brutality that he treats family with increasing indifference. Here ends my indictment, a painful memoir of the foreboding to come.

The Extraordinary Tale of Eight Teens and the Mad Lady

Heeding the special request (or demand, as she puts it)by a friend(Pui Kheun) and the express recommendation of another (Christopher), I would like to recount the extraordinary tale of our encounter with a mentally unsound lady and the comical consequences that follow.

It all began on a cool Tuesday morning, at about 5.45 am, in the old town section of Kuala Terengganu. As the hour was too early for any productive activity to be carried out (except pacing up and down the road if you fancy that), we decided to settle ourselves in a rather run-down bus stop while waiting for the jetty gate to open. Being an individual (more like a monkey) of inquisitive nature, I decided to approach the jetty gate to see whether the jetty guard would allow us in earlier. Instead, I stumbled upon a haggard-looking woman with an extraordinarily large stomach who was avidly "searching" for some "treasure" in a nearby dustbin.

Trusting my instinct that the person may not have a sane mind, I gave a thought about turning back. Just as I was about to do so, the lady turned around, waddled towards me and raised one of her hands in my direction. In the hand was a crumpled up plastic with presumably some mouldy substance, the details of which I could not perceive further given the dim light of the surrounding area. With a booming but clear voice, she said,"Take this! Ambil ini!" I bolted off to the bus stop where the bulk of us were waiting.

Having elaborated on the account of my encounter to the rest of us, I realised that all along, she was following me. At first, we saw a small figure but as time went by, it became bigger and clearer to form the physique of the same mad lady. She was ten metres away, then eight, six , four, two, and finally, ground zero. Somehow, as though some primordial instinct had taken over us, we froze like statues as she approached us. She went around us and through the gaps between us. She looked at our face and bent down to "scold" a cat which had coincidentally sleeping near us. At times, she would walk away but like a spring attached to a hinge, she would faithfully (faithfully i tell you!) come back. She opened her mouth and declared (with some beeping music as a pretext): Ding, Ding Deng Dong, sekarang sudah pukul sembilan. It is now nine o'clock. The intonation was so unaccented compared to that of a typical Malay that I swear she'd be a telecast reporter if she hasn't gone haywire in the inside!

Biding our time and waiting for her to get far enough from us, we made our escape. Clutching our bags and heaving heavily, we ran away from her as a prisoner would from Azkaban. We stopped in front of the jetty gate, screaming, yelling and begging for the gate to open but we were not answered. To our back, the "faithful" lady was in hot pursuit of us. Already buckling under the heavy luggage in our hands (poor Lizzie with his big suitcase bag), we paced away quickly to the direction of a row of shophouses ahead of us. There was a bend in the road and we turned in, hoping to evade the lady. I remembered that both Shean and Sam were so freaked out that they would scream if the lady were to put her hands on them.

It happened that a small food stall was conveniently located near the bend. Time for breakfast (and the "faithful" lady was not invited), we desperately agreed. Having settled at one long table, we realised that there was still one vacant chair so we took it away so that the "faithful" lady would not take her seat among us to "grace" our breakfast. I must say that that lady was one hell of a stubborn hound for she somehow sniffed our scent and make her way to the stall, only to sit one table away.

Breakfast was a terrible ordeal, I tell you. Every scoop of nasi lemak tasted bland, as though the rice beads themselves were making ridicule of my frightened state. The lady ordered nasi lemak and what was allegedly known to her as "kopi super power zam zam a la ka zam". After she finished whatever morsel was on her plate, she tooked out twenty dollars and boomed,"Ambil wang ini! Saya belanja semua!"Billy turned around in surprise but the shop lady shooked her head in disapproval. Thereafter, the "faithful" lady was gone like the aether wind of autumn.

Making over way back to the jetty gate, we finally understood why it was closed initially. They wanted to keep the lady out of the jetty. If she were to get herself onto Redang, that's gonna be a "bye-bye" to the tourism industry that has been cashing in money to the local population. Too bad she'll never get to see Redang. Zachary, there is one other thing in map that isn't told: mad wandering people (Maybe you should invent a technology to pinpoint these people on Google Earth. It'll be a hell of a profit to make).

Anyway, my account ends here. Two lessons are to be garnered. Firstly, a journey is always packed with surprises. Secondly, mad lady can prompt you to have breakfast. The end.

Nostalgia

What do you get when you mix a village boy who has lost contact with his rural legacy for two years and a serene, peaceful tropical island setting? I finally got to know the answer when my friends and I embarked on a holiday escapade to Pulau Redang, a small island surrounded by fringing coral and separated from the Peninsular Malaysia mainland my a long stretch of deep blue sea.

To boy whose first 17 years of life was spent in a beachside village that has none of the towering skycraper, sprawling shopping malls and ornate architecture to boast, the visit was absolutely nostalgic. Threading on the fine, sun-bleached coral sand of Pasir Panjang beach reminded me of the a 10-year-old Ryan who used to chase ghost crabs on the sandy beach in his front of his house. When I immersed my whole body in the crystal clear water of the Shark Bay, the first thing that popped up in the my mind was me piggy-backing my uncle while we floated in the sea that flanked one side of my village.

A child-psychological analyst would point out that my anecdote lacks a crucial factor - other children to play with. Yup, I rarely had the opportunity to play or hang out with other kids save in school. When I got back home from the half day worth of dozing off in classroom and shouting at other kids during recess, I was left with only one playmate - Nature. Somehow, I have been unnaturally bold to do all sorts of funny things like falling off the balcony. During free flight, I thought I was a cat and would land on all four without any trace of injury. I was wrong but it didn't matter. The less painful, more rewarding activities that I had engaged in were to keep pet, grow vegetables,build sandcastle and collect seashells at the beach. All these were done alone under the benevolent auspice of Mother Nature. Hence, it is no wonder to see me doing this when I got to Redang:

Mother Nature is very much a teacher to me as those who have taught in school. Any close encounter with Nature has never been boring for she has many things to show and tell. Building the dam, as shown in the previous photo, is a nostalgic moment of me returning to my alma mater, practicing what I could not have done in Singapore.

Two years in Singapore studying A-Level had changed me, but not to the extent that I have lost contact with my past. The natural instincts that has been honed through many trials and errors i.e. doing wacky things and getting injured had not failed me. When I decided to strip off the safety jacket and dove down into a 10-metre deep sea water of Redang, I was unafraid for I knew Mother Nature was there to look out for me. Another four years of study in Singapore awaits me but I have a feeling that these four years would not do much to change me into a city person. The attachment with nature is omnipresent, unhindered by forces of any sort.

Ultimately, the trip to Redang Island was a journey of rediscovery. I am happy that my identity i.e. my behaviour, demeanour and attitude has not been compromised during the two years of city life. The "sixth" sense perceives strongly and keenly. To best capture this meaning, I have no other words to offer but a plagiarised section of shean's post:

"i was always impressed by ryan's incredible familiarity and passion for the nature"

I Have Stepped Into A New World, And Out Of It.

With the string of lamentations over leaving McNair v 2.0 buzzing among some of our blogs, I can’t help but hop into the bandwagon. True, my stay cannot rival that of billy’s or most of the permanent residents and there will be no pictures to embellish the paragraphs of words that follows – both of which may suggest that this post is shallow and boring. So, don’t read it…don’t read it.

Ah, why am I doing myself such “favour” – engaging in a voluntary, self initiated instance of self-denial? Anyway, there are much that have been garnered over the relatively brief stay that I have in McNair v 2.0. Firstly, that nothing in this world is for sure makes life all the more exciting.

Having read the previous line, a layman would be clueless about what I have said. It is this: there is always an interesting, unpredictable twist in life that can take you on an experience of paradigm-shifting proportion. Take this example: I took a brief five minutes on deciding to forsake my unremarkable life of decomposing at home as a post-A-Level activity and to find a job in Singapore. It is a decision that has swept me off my feet, carrying me to a house for which I have to pay rent, a place where I have to look for a job, and new groups of people whom I have to work with. These first-time experiences are definitely what I have not envisioned at the point of making that decision.

A situation of volatility has evolved out of a decision to get away from a relatively dormant life since I not only have to support my own living expense, but also to form a good rapport with a workmates instead of schoolmates. No longer am I cradled safely in school life for I have chosen to indulge in a radically new sphere of environment: the career world. You see the big leap?

Obviously the “big leap” was more gravely anticipated that it really was. I had a (bad) hunch that it is gonna be tough and I have to work my ass off in a torturous environment of constant bullying and reprimanding just to make both ends meet. However, it turned out to be more symphatetic. Workmates at the Japanese restaurant, where I worked as a part-time waiter, were nice, genuine and cooperative enough to pull me out of a quagmire whenever I get into one.

School was always compassionate to me, whether I wear a student uniform or a teacher’s attire, since my colleagues were always out there to clarify my doubts over difficult Chemistry questions, encouraged my feeble heart to take charge of several boisterous classes and gave me a smile as and when needed. Money was good to earn and accumulate (since I did not spend much until the onset of GSS and the shopping fever.) In sum, working and living independently were much more satisfying than grueling.

Also, I have learnt that money is not everything but it is most of the things. I, however, am not alluding to any sort of avarice on my part or that of the permanent residents. It is more along the line of money being the test of integrity. Berate me for being so unforgiving but I find it difficult to pardon the act of leaving friends in financial difficulty at the spur of the moment. In a country whereby honest money is generously given as long as the will to work exists, it strikes me odd for one to quote money shortage as an excuse to forsake an oath of staying together, for the purpose of keeping the house rent affordable, that is sealed by the word of friendship.

The matter had been settled but I suppose it came about two months late, two months of living everyday with the frustration of friendship betrayal. At this juncture, I apologize for the cryptic manner of writing but nothing else is clearer when this is combined with the pre-existing knowledge in the minds of the permanent residents. Then again, there is another unsettled score over a certain deposit which can only be retrieved in the presence of some individual of Indonesian nationality.

Last but not least, I’ve finally felt how it is like to live in a different sort of family, one which is composed of individuals which are non-related by blood. Undeniably, there are always profuse complaints about one another and occasional emotional flares between members of the house. These, however, are not signs of a deteriorating social relationships but portrays a deeper mutual understanding amongst the permanent residents of the house.

We have learnt to tolerate and put our trust on each other in the belief that there will not be betrayal of any sort, except that which has been aforementioned. We have learnt to tap on each other strengths and compensate for the individual weaknesses. A long day of hard work is not a reason to go home and throw ridiculously childish tantrums in front the other housemates. When one has an intractable problem, the others will offer their helping hands. We have developed a deep respect of each other’s privacy, taking care not to use each other’s things unless permission is granted. With all these combined, there is no other word more apt to describe us but a family, a family formed out of volition rather than DNAs.

I guess the verbosity of my writings can but capture a miniscule part of the collective experiences of staying at McNair v 2.0. The place may have switched tenant-ship but the memories of that particular niche indefinite. To Billy, Chia Wei, Lizzie, Mui Hwee, Mun Hon, Shean and Xin Lin, you have turned the two-and-a-half month stay at McNair v 2.0 a life adventure unparalleled by any which I have experienced before. Love you!

Home

Among the 06-07 Malaysian ex-McNairian, I supposed I am the least wieldy with putting up pictures on the blog. So here is a change:



Haha, the picture is somewhat blurred (damn you, Google Earth!) but yup, that is the map of my neighbourhood. Do note that the map itself is oriented to the east at its top such that north points to the left while south and east are to the right and the bottom respectively.

My house is denoted by the marker "Home" (it seems that the marker is bigger than the house, so funny!), sporting a square red roof. It is not exactly very big but it is home nonetheless, a cozy place filled with salty, tangy air from the sea.

The thought of home conjures memories of old. It was the only home I knew of since birth until the age of 17, a place that taught me more things than school did. It was a nursery of my childhood, where my imagination exploded very much like the Big Bang that gave rise to our universe. I remember as a child, I used to imagine my house as some sort of fortress beseiged by ogres, vampires, titans, werewolves and other hideous members of the mythical bestiary. I was then the guardian of the fortress, wielding a "magic staff" fashioned out of a broken broom, casting wondrous spells that only my eyes could perceive, and warding off these demonic powers from overtaking my home.

There was once a handsome pine tree that used to grow close to the balcony outside my room. I could recall having secretly fed a civet which used to climb up the tree onto the balcony, and admiring the agility, not the mention the grace, that was portrayed through its motion. Then, there is the main balcony from which I get a clear view of the azure blue sea, dotted by white plumes of waves. Here, at McNair v 2.0, all i can see through the window are ugly stands of cranes and messy construction sites that emit the most horrible noise all day long.

Behind my house, there is a rectangular-shaped fish pond which i used to jump into during the monsoon season because the water was then crystal clear, cleansed by the heavenly water dropping from the sky. The fish would all swirl around me, nipping at my skin and giving me a ticklish feeling. Now, the pond is leaky so the fish and water plants are all transferred into a big black water tank. The reminiscent of the pond's past beauty still lives though,my mother told me, since the water lilies continue blooming every week or so, emitting a clean, light fragrance that is a aromatic delight to any passerby.


Oh dear, I have drifted too long in the memories of the past. Anyway, we will be dropping at the "Drop-off Point", then making a journey of 100m or so to my house. Haha, can't wait for Redang!

Redang Update

NOVENA, June 26 - In response to the doubt expressed through a published post at http://ambiguitytheories.blogspot.com/, another statement has recently been released. The departure and estimated arrival time for the bus journey between Ryan's place and Kuala Lumpur is 10.00 am and 4.00 pm respectively. Apology is made for the failure to disclose the estimated arrival time although the departure time has been ostensibly written out clearly in the previous statement by Ryan. At this juncture, credits ought to be given to Mr Zachary Kok, Director of Transportation, Redang Trip, for his meticulousness in pointing out this lack of crucial information in the previous statement.

Guests to the all-exclusive Redang Trip are kindly reminded that their first departure point is Perhentian Putra in view of the fact that there are several bus terminals in the Malaysian capital and to avoid misunderstanding that may lead to an irreparable delay in the entire trip. Also, in the interest of protecting the physical health of the guests, guests are strongly encouraged to bring along sunscreen lotion. Studies have shown that over-exposure of unprotected skin to intense sunlight, which is common on a tropical island, may lead to severe third degree burn or worse, skin cancer.

Finally, the Board of Directors would like to express its gratitude to the guests for their unwavering support and ever-ready cooperation towards realising the Redang Dream. The Board of Directors, whom themselves are simultaneously the guests, would also like to wish the entire Redang contingent a wonderful, fun-filled holiday adventure worthy of a dignified place in one's memory.

Nothing to say

Yesterday was slightly more interesting in this period of mental and physical hiatus now that I belong to the class of the unemployed. I paid a visit to the National Library again, where I was able to build a steady pace of progress in my research. What I read from the reference books was astounding - do you know that Southeast Asia was intermittently "drowned" for several times before it emerged as the geographical landscape as we see it today? This allowed marine sedimentation to occur, without which the rich reserve of petroleum underlying part of Malaysia would not have formed. In that case, our country would have a less affluent post-independence history and no Petronas Twin Tower to brag about as the various economic developments in our country were very much dependent on the investment generated by oil revenue. In hindsight, it is interesting to see how subtle non-anthropogenic activity in the distant past could have such profound impact on the fortune of a country.

Speaking of research, I'd better rev up and go full throttle into digging for information, writing the content of my paper and and putting some aesthetic features such as colourful pictures as well as snippet of easily-digestible information in the fancy so-called info-box. Although I have covered quite a lot yesterday, completion of the entire project is still distant beyond sight. Now, what am I doing here, wasting time by blogging? Got to go!

I Am Tired and Hey, Let's Go Out For Lunch!

Has it ever occurred to you that after a long week of week, you decide to take a long break and realise that after one or two days of rest, you actually feel more tired than before? Whether it is a variant of the Delayed Onset of Muscle Strain, better known as DOMS, or a sort of psychologically-induced sensation, the weariness has certainly taken a toll of me. In actual fact, I am merely one day and a half into my rest period and have already felt the lethargic pain eating into the flesh and joints, not to mention how tired I have become the longer I sleep.

My project has not progressed in any direction since I am stuck at pondering over the organisation of my written content so that it is more coherent and reader-friendly. Ironically, I am too lazy to come up with a mind-map either to solve this issue although i know that this is a good method to unclutter the mess of tangled-up ideas hanging in my head. Right now, I feel like a pinata. Someone hit me and wake me up from this excruciating hiatus!

Anyway, I was thinking that it would be nice for us, Malaysian ex-McNairians who are on Singaporean soil on the 4th of July to go out together for a lunch. Chuck away the idea of settling for a food court, ordinary buffet restaurant or Morton Steak House for we are going "latino" with a patronage to a brazilian semi-buffet restaurant. It is called Vibe Restaurant at Negara@Claymore and it serves excellent Brazilian cuisine for its price. At $35++ per person, you get to enjoy a buffet lunch serving food that is a fusion between Brazilian local produce and continental Europe cooking style. For the fickle-minded, do checked out http://yum.sg/restaurants/vibe_restaurant for independent reviews by diners themselves. That said, I would require your confirmation regarding this matter by the end of this week since I need to make the necessary reservations early.

After all the talk about food, I am feeling hungry already. Better start cooking lunch.

Immortality

On one fateful day, I was discussing about the issue of immortality with a close friend of mine. We finally arrived at the conclusion that immortality is more a bane than a blessing to the extent that he himself personally resented the idea of being immortal. Yet, many great rulers and kings, including the ruthless Qin Shihuang Di, the first Emperor of a united China, had sought immortality. Why has this idea of transcending death so bewildered these leaders to the effect that their obssession was actually written down in history?

True, immortality allows man to escape death and the pain that comes right before it. It enables a king to get a grip on his power perpetually, at least until he is toppled by an opposing faction. However, being immortal means seeing all the things around you and all the people, including your friends and loved ones, fade away and die, thus a heart-breaking experience. Immortality dooms one to the prospect of weariness of his or her perpetual existence, that is to be tired of being around in the world too long. The elves of Tolkien's magical world suffered that way until they finally decided to leave for Valinor, an alternate form of heaven. Time becomes immaterial when one is immortal thus the value of every minute becomes meaningless as he or she loses the appreciation of time.

Somehow, being immortal means that one becomes ever present in a changing world, a constant that opposes the dynamic cycle of creation and destruction that has defined almost everything in the world. Age old continents will be destroyed some day, swallowed into the bosom of the earth while new continents are constructed by volcanoes spewing forth the raw material to make new lands. Even the seemingly unchanging stars will die in a grand explosion of dazzling light and far-strewn debris, which will be the basic materials to form even newer stars. By becoming immortal, one suffers no destruction and rebirth, thus defying this basic law of nature. In effect, immortality is a mere imaginative fabrication of the human thoughts that can never be materialised in the real, physical world.

Even if man cannot be immortalised in flesh, he strives to be immortalised in name. Whether it is out of coincidental circumstances or due to egoistical pride, these "immortals" have made a deep dent in human history. Several noteworthy ones such as Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Mother Teresa are hailed in the international arena as great individuals who have opposed colonial authority, racial oppression and poverty to bring the certain communities to a better state of living. Others including Nero Hitler, and Stalin are publicly shunned for causing misery and death amongst mankind. The similarity between these groups is that they are widely known and recognised for their deeds, whether good or evil, to the extent that they post-humously "live on" in the minds of the millions of people. In effect, they have become "immortalised" to the generations to come when they read about these "immortals" in the history books.

This historical construct of immortality, however, is subjected to the persistence of human civilisation. Should civilisation ever crumble and its knowledge becomes lost, the aforementioned "immortals" would lose their "gifts" and would in a way suffer a second "death".

Ultimately, immortality is an impossibility. Even Qin Shi HuangDi, who dared to put himself equal to the gods by calling himself "Huang Di", a title traditionally ascribed to the deities, die eventually and have his flesh eaten by the transcience of time. We are born mortals and we should die mortals.

Overview on Redang

The mere thought of Redang evokes an almost unrestrainable feeling of excitement. The calm blue sea, white sand, colourful fish and a lucky encounter with a turtle are the few things that should be running about our heads (while the prospect of getting drunk is blinking at the top of my to-do list, hehe!). Then again, there are few things that have to be settled before we dive into the holiday mood. These include accommodation, means of getting around, necessary items to pack into our luggages (condoms?), and money to spend (or splurge).

Some of these matters have been settled while others are still left in doubt. Nonetheless, it is good to go through, in chronological order, the itineraries that are in place for us so that there is a smaller chance of messing up. By the way, i would like to thank Ms Lim a.k.a Ah Xiang a.k.a Lizzie's Darling for initiating the idea of the holiday trip, getting the best bargain for the holiday package and ardently pushing for the realisation of our island get-away. Credits to Mr Kok a.k.a Walking Encyclopedia a.k.a my ex-room buddy for his unparalled coordination of our transportation between KL, KT, Redang and my place.

First up is departure. We will be leaving Hentian Putra at 10.30pm, 7th of July 2008 so it is highly advisable that we get to the boarding terminal at least 15 minutes before departure. It is never a good experience to miss the bus and potentially ruining the holiday. Mr Kok has informed me that the estimated arriving time is 5.30 am in the morning of 12th of July 2008 at Kuala Terengganu express bus terminal (judging by the timing, we should be "greeted" by the call for morning prayers when we arrive in KT). Upon arrival, Zachary will purchase our bus tickets to my place at the terminal itself.

Once there, we will have our breakfast in a nearby restaurant (the pulut lepa and roti jala is a must-try!) and linger around for a while before we start hunting for the Shahbandar Jetty, from which we depart to Redang Island. The boat leaves at 8.30 am and the "check-in" period of 30 minutes prior to boat departure is to be observed. We should get there by 7.50 am or we will have to wait till 1.00pm, when the next boat trip leaves for the island. The boat ride should take around 1.5-2 hours as an internet source suggests. For your information, the two-way boat rides between the island and mainland are included in our holiday packages so kudos to Shean (otherwise, a transportation fee of 100 ringgit will be levied on each of us for that purpose only)!

Upon arrival, the usual procedure of checking in applies and after that, you guys will be playing until you drop dead. Mr Chin a.k.a Billy a.k.a Workaholic will be organising some games for us to play in case we suffer from snorkelling-overkill. There is also a jungle trail to explore in case corals and fish aren't your fancy. Additionally, alcoholic drinks are sold so the prospect of getting drunk is never too far away..... hehe. Guys, if you suddenly think of losing your virginity, please be responsible - a condom pack isn't that costly, is it? Girls, it is high time wear bikinis if you want to (that's as far as you can go since going topless is not permissible). Since we will be exposing a significant area of skin most of the time, it is strongly encouraged that we arm ourselves with sunscreen lotion.

11th of July 2008 will see the end of our redang excursion as we will be packing our bags and getting ready to leave the island. The return boat leaves at 11 am so 10.30 am is the latest we can get to the jetty.

We will be transferred back to KT and from there, we will make our way to my house via bus. Traditionally, my place holds two pasar malam's respectively on every Friday and Sunday. I think it's a good idea to get a feel of how a night market is like in an East Coast countryside setting. There will be a lot of local delicacy for you to pick, mix-and-match and munch down for dinner.

On the next day, 12th of July 2008, you guys will savouring malay breakfast (a night stay at my place comes with free breakfast, no worries!). I am afraid I am unable to disclose the names of the dishes that will be served but they are gonna be delicious (nothing beats Terengganu malay food cooked by my neighbour!).

Your bus to KL will be making a stop near my house at around 10 am but it is best to get to the pickup point at least 15 minutes earlier. After that, adios to you guys and safe journey! Speaking of journey, thanks a million Zac, for helping us to get between so many places.

Speaking of expenditure, the KL-KT bus trip costs 30 ringgit per person and this amount is payable Zac. On the other hand, the KT-my house bus transfer cost is still tentative (it is definitely way lower than RM30) since the tickets have yet been purchased. The return bus ticket to KL costs RM25.85 per person and is payable to me. Moreover, we have to pay for the snorkeling equipment rental, which will strip us of RM15-RM30 depending on the number of equipments we want to attach to ourselves (sounds Frankenstein-ish). Having taken into account the miscellaneous costs, i guess you are in better position to decide on how much money to bring along with you.

P.S: I am not sure whether this overview is sufficiently detailed to dissipate most of your doubts so do give feedbacks.

Ingenuity

Resources abound in this world to supply our wants. We are capable of producing fivefold the amount of food that our medieval forefather once did but hunger continues to be a pressing global issue. We have the technology to make car run alternative fuel yet it has never been successfully implemented at a large scale to replace the conventional petrol-driven vehicles. We have choice to live in harmony and common understanding via globalisation and the increasing linkages between sovereign nations, yet terror instigated by extremists still walks upon this planet. Ironically, the resources, despite their availability, have not been optimised to cater to our intentions. Something appears to missing - a "key" to unlock the gate that stands between the two aspects.

Yesterday, I made a call to the National Library at Bugis to source for materials for my recent research on a Cambodian lake. The library itself is an astounding feat of assembling and cataloguing millions of books for the public use. The cumulative knowledge contained within such large voluminous quantity of reading materials is so astounding to the extent that almost any question in mind has an answer tucked somewhere among the neat, orderly rows upon rows of shelves. Acting as an archive, the library plays the final resting place of many collections of old colonial-era newspapers, unless if they are interred by young minds eager to look into the events of the old past. Adding to that, the library boasts a virtual, user-friendly catalogue database that allows users to locate the desired material by entering a related keyword.


Making use of the last mentioned amenity, I punched in "hydrology, tonle sap", hoping that this intellectual warehouse will supply me, in abundance, with the much needed information about the nature and processes occurring and around the lake. To my dismay though, the several seconds of waiting only yielded a few items, which had much more to do with the inhabitants of the lake than the lake itself.


I stopped for a while, calming the storm of anxiety that brooded over the question of whether my research was ever successful. I closed my eyes to the outside world and opened the ones that glimpsed inside. There I saw it, among the chaotic disorderliness of thoughts, a spark of inspiration. Immediately, I typed in "hydrology, Cambodia". It worked out just right as a long string of name of relevant books began to pop up. Looking through all these books, I felt satisfied for I have found the much-needed information to feed into my research blueprint.


I was a fool in my first round of book search. "hydrology, tonle sap" was too parochial for a keyword. Moreover, if someone were to write a full length of literature regarding tonle sap, my research would be void since I would end up plagiarising the same lines from the book itself. Why would I want to write about something that has been written before? Instead, the second keyword granted me a vast collection of data snippets that I can string together to form the framework of my research paper. The day was saved thanks to the timely arrival of ingenuity that sparkled in my mind then.


I am not alluding to any sort of self-glorification through this anecdote; we all have a genius in each of us. It comes in many forms, very much like the different talents that distinguish an individual from another. However, we often suppress our ingenuity in our endeavours by shrouding our thoughts with anxiety, fear, arrogance, pessimism, overconfidence and almost-unreachable expectations. The self is not the only enemy to ingenuity as some people try to stifle the works of ingenuity produced by others. There have been hearsays that large oil conglomerates deliberately pay a ransom sum of money to inventors of alternative fuels to shelve and hide their findings away from the public. As a result, many products of man's ingenuity have never found its way to doing good to humanity and some which did were abused, as in the case of atomic bombs and nuclear weaponry.

Excellence can be forced through intensive training but ingenuity is a spark of inspiration; it comes and goes as it will, unbidden by another and favours a mind of tranquil harmony. It is emotionally neutral and does not precipitate out of sheer will, nor does it emerge from abject desperation. It is a free entity, as though taking its own form of consciousness and choosing whoever it pleases to confer its power to. If we were able to sum up all of man's ingenuity and to channel it to the betterment of our society, we would have long lived among the stars.

Singaporeanisation

I love the rain. It cleanses the air so that every breath you take is so refreshing and rejuvenating to the mind. It is during the rainy days that imagination flows out like an endless torrent of water. So today, i have given a little about "Singaporeanisation".

I have come to ask myself this: how far have I changed to resemble a typical Singaporean? True, I have developed an accent that is indistinguishable from the locals with the constant usage of "ma" and "la" as and when needed. My lust for material goods have grown over the two years and so have my addiction to shopping. Being sarcastic and critical in everyday speech and activities is no longer an alien thing to me. In view of the changes to my personality and behaviour, have I become "Singaporeanised"?

Again, the changes are superficial - they merely represent the external adaptations to the materialistic, narcissistic and complex nature of the city environment. Deep down inside, the yearning for home still calls me back to a small, quiet town in Malaysia and a cozy, white-washed building i call home. It echoes my past, reminding me of rural simplicity and of the nice, genuine villagers who live by the principle of honesty and sincerity. It calls out me, telling me that once a person is a Malaysian, he is always a Malaysian. Forget all the racial discrimination, high crime rate, and relative economic bawkwardness compared to Singapore, and remind ourselves of our birthplace, of a place which nurtures us.

In retrospect, it is the unfairness that we, as non-Malays, have suffered in Malaysia that makes us stronger (no pain, no gain). It strengthens our resolve to look for better opportunities in life and makes us unshaken by the same failures that would crumble the Singaporean hearts. The difficulty with which we shake loose of the oppresssive Malaysian education system and bravely step into the academic world of Singapore is something worthy of a round ovation. Nonetheless, our turbulent pasts remind us of the value of humility and perseverence that are lacking among Singaporeans, who feel so arrogant about themselves despite the ostensible reality that their tiny island hangs precariously upon the thin thread of economic stability. Should trade and commerce in both Singapore and Malaysia ever cease, it is obvious that the latter country would be a survivor since Malaysia can still feed its people while Singaporeans would starve in the absence of imported food sources.

Paradoxically, it is the racial disadvantages which we suffer that makes us a stronger breed compared to Singaporeans. We are groomed by great adversity to face even greater adversity while Singaporeans only know to complain profusely at a sight of a tiny obstacle. The diamonds in rough, we shine more radiantly that the synthetic glass that mirrors the Singaporean nationality. That's why I never shy away from saying,"I'm a Malaysian," when asked about my origin.

Friends Forever

There is no way to forget the climate of anxiety that lingered over most of us early last month. With only few of us who actually received offers from the local universities to pursue their intended undergraduate courses, the rest were left in a state of uncertainty that grew ever more uncomfortable as time crept to the middle of the month. Some of us lamented over the undesirable action of rejecting US universities offers as the acceptance datelines drew nearer and no news were heard of corporate scholarships. Pessimism began to rub its poison into our minds, whispering in our ears that the stiff competition and the need for discretionary interview, which has supposedly reserved for marginal students, would, at best, deny us our prime choice of study and, at worst, deny us the chance of admission.

Things are different now as the "apparent" sunset of most of our futures becomes a sunrise. Offers for both undergraduate degrees and Asean scholarship began to pour as one by one, we proudly announce that winter is finally over and spring has set the bud of hope ready for blooming. Good news abound this month when they were almost unheard of last month. The striking change of fate has taken hold, reminding me of what Xin Lin used to tell me: fengshui always changes and sometimes we have ten years of bad luck superseded by ten years of good luck.

However, this is no reason for round-the-clock, overt expression of our happiness to the extent that no room is set aside for the observation of the code of silence, which is to bear all feelings, be they joyous or sorrowful, with quiet dignity. At this juncture, it is good to remind ourselves that the climate of anxiety has not lifted for some of us, who still experience difficulty even to get into the local universities. I believe that most of them will choose to appeal against the decision made by the offices of admission in hope that they could pursue their undergraduate degrees in this small, crowded country to which they have a sense of belonging.

The best we can do now is to pray that the courses which they have chosen will be rejected by a great number of applicants to give more space to appeal candidates. Gone are the academic rivalries, competitive desperation, and personal grutches that have shaped our relationships since day one of stepping into McNair Lodge as they are all outshined by the strong friendship bonds that have been built throughout two years of our studies.

Harking back at the days when we used to sit on long benches, have dinner together, and chat away about the critters of life, it is heart-warming to observe how we manage to put our difference aside, or to complement our differences with each other, to form a group of people with the same experience and sense of belonging to one another. It is high time to uncover the reality about how much we have changed over the two years, not only due to our own decisions, but also because of the actions of our peers that unwittingly altered our perception of the self identity.

In the spirit of pure, unfrivilous togetherness, I toast (holding a long island tea in my hand) to a long lasting, unbreakable friendship that would do all of us good so that at the end of the days, when we grow old and weary of the world, there is still a story worthy of mention to our sires, grandsires, and so on, that is none other than the story of our friendship. I also toast to the loyalty that we have for each other to not wane and wax like the moon, but shine uninterruptedly like the sun, so that we would gladly extend a helping hand to our peers who are suffering or in need of counsel. Last but not least, I toast to how honoured I have felt and will continue to cherish for having met and made friends with you guys. Although we will eventually go our own ways, I am confident that our paths would meet again. Haha, so crappy! How could Ryan say this kind of things?

Geography: What About It?

Today marks my last day as a relief teacher! Originally, it was supposed to be Wednesday but due to some administrative insolubility - and why does this word strike a chord with the subject of Chemistry -, it has been decided that I'll bid farewell to the career on this fateful day.

As customary of a person forsaking a sedentary(relatively, since it was just a three week stint) place in search of a greener pasture (not so green for me since waitering will be my call for the next few weeks!), I respectfully informed a number of teachers, whom I have studied under or worked with, that I was saying goodbye. On one occasion, I spoke to my ex-Geography teacher, who happened to be the kind and enthuasiastic Ms Seow.

Progressing from the usual "Goodbye" and "Good luck", she talked about my consistently excellent performance in the subject of H1 Geography back in my JC years. "We are still using your answer scripts as model answers for the current batch of students, you know!" she said unhesistantly (At that point of time, I regretted for "donating" everything that had to do with H1 geography to the dustbin as a "post-A-level exercise"). Typical of a conservative Asian, I tried to tone down the praise by regurgitating cliched phrases of humility such as, "no la, not really that good la." To my surprise though, I topped the act of modesty with a straight-from-the-heart, unscripted, unmoderated, spontaneous confession: "Actually, I love Geography more than I am good at it".

Harking back that the previous statement, I realise that of all the subjects that I have taken in A-Level, nothing beats Geography. Both Physics and Chemistry are easy-to-tackle and interesting subjects, but I guess there is too much of science stuff in my brain that it creates an imbalance with respect to the more artistic realm of knowledge. Mathematics is all about formulas and application, which is not appealing to a person whose life is overly-cluttered with practicality. GP somehows screws up my writing skill and logic, so it is definitely out of my list of likable things. Removing other auxiliary subjects, all that stands alone in the limelight is Geography, the passion for which is both insatiable and unwithering.

As a young child, I had freely embraced Geography by reading innumerable volumes of geography books, playing around with the flow of tidal streams during the ebb of the sea tide, bending down to examine random stones in my uncle's oil palm plantation and leaping with estatic joy when I had found the source of a particular stream. Somehow the flame of passion is carried all the way to my junior college years as evident through my choice of Geography over the more popular Economics as a contrasting H1 subject.

The modern life demands a great measure of practicality to the extent that even the subjects we choose to read must be of some practical use when it comes to degree application or career search. Frankly, subjects such as Physics and Chemistry grant a wider access to different university courses such as Medicine, Engineering, Science, Business and Dentistry that, in the long run, insure a person with many career opportunities and good income. Geography, on the other hand, has limited practical value and person studying it would most likely wind up being a teacher or at best, a university lecturer.

However, Geography is my ideal brain food. I have never studied a subject with as much interest and commitment as I did with Geography. Partnering with Billy, I pursued the completion of two Geography case study projects with so much unabated fervour, intimate meticulousness and irreproducible ingenuity that I doubt I could do a better job given a second opportunity. My love for Geography is ineffable - I just love it as though that feeling has been hammered to my basal instinct.

Perhaps, I should read a minor in Geography while studying Chemical Engineering. Perhaps....

The Beauty of Blogging

I have spent the last hour skimming through friend's posts, reading interesting posts and chuckling at the various comical video clips that have been put up, and smiling at the common passion that embrace most of us: blogging.

Blogging is in vogue nowadays as both normal citizens and political heavyweights have indulged in the activity to rattle out anything that forms the part and parcel of their thoughts and reflection. Suddenly, in the world of advanced information and communication technology, you feel left out if you don't blog. There is always something to belch out from our mind onto this open-for-all journal that is free of charge and is easily accessible with a computer and the internet.

I am not here to argue against the deliberate loss of privacy as bloggers consciously and willingly reveal their private life for the public viewing of the Internet community. Instead, I am eager to examine the root of the blogging "craze" - why do people blog?


It is easy to discern political, economical and social motivations of blogging. To politicians, blogging has turned out to be an effective tool of mass appeal and a means to garner votes. Popular bloggers, not excluding Kenny Sia, benefit financially from blogging by earning commision via various advertisements that have been put up on their blogs. Additionally, the use of links to connect to other blogs has expanded the purpose of blogging to creating a large social network, whereby bloggers can read each other's blog and interact with one another.


However, I have little interest in the "shallow" reasons in the previous paragragh. I have sought for a common, deeper purpose that unite all blogger in urge to scribble out something on the "online paper". It is something that reaches out to the most secluded corner of our heart and rake the very foundation of our emotions.

Upon the examination of so many posts, i conclude that it is perhaps human nature to tell his or her story. Man is a social animal, Socrates once quoted. This behaviour is responsible for the urge to interact with one another through the recounting of events, experiences and reflections that we have encountered. Thanks to the advent of communication technology, we are able to bring about the fulfillment of such desire via web blogging. Blogging provides a platform whereby we can freely write about anything between heaven and earth and to share with other blogging mates. Though some are content with setting up a private blog accessible to selected few peers, the purpose of telling one's story does not fall short of meaning since there is still a transfer, though in smaller traffic, of such information between individuals.

We are all great storytellers and writers. It doesn't matter so much about the truth of our story; what matters most is how we tell it by weaving in hyberboles, acting out a drama on it or even putting down that account in pen and pen. Contradictory to the "conventional history" of old textbooks, our "personal history" is one which is compelling, emotionally touching, life inspiring and ultimately communicating with the core of humanity that lies deep within us. Kudos to the creative intellect of mankind!

Time

It has been a relatively long time since I have updated my blog -actually, it had only been four days since something was put up on my blog but the duration felt like a lifetime of a sage, if not longer to an incessant person who simply cannot keep his thought within the confine of his brain.

Anyway, I can only attribute my four-day absence from blogging activity to the enormous workload and lengthy hour demanded of my current job, though it sounds ironic since teachers are perceived to have among the shortest working hours and may leave school when lessons end. To give a clearer picture of the current state of affair, I left school only at 6.30pm yesterday hence clinching a personal record of 11 working hours as a teacher.

As always, I'm currently at work. Given the multitude of interruption that a poor relief teacher can get, there is little time to commit uninterruptedly to producing a coherent mindpiece. Always about time.

Qualifying English Test

Sometimes, your past can come back to haunt you. The clattering sound of the chains of regret would issue from the near-forgotten memory, to remind you that the past misery is all but dead.

When I penned down my last word in A-Level General Paper examination last year, I was overjoyed to believe that the subject, which was a pain in the neck, would never appear again in my life. Yup, I was not deeply shocked when I saw the letter D aligned to the right of "General Paper" upon receiving my result slip earlier this year. All would be fine, I told myself.

So persisted the illusion until today, when my dear friend Billy gave me a shocking revelation. "If you get into NUS and score below C for General Paper, there is this Qualifying English Test (QET) that you have to sit." My heart skipped a beat as I took up a QET sample paper and flipped through the pages. In the essay section, I caught sight of a phrase that goes, ".... Do you agree with the statement?"

Now, doesn't that sound argumentative and to a large measure, GP-ish in nature? To make matter worse, I am taken back by the reality that I will still have to take English as course at undergraduate level after studying the subject from kindergarten. Frankly, what is so wrong with my English? I do confess that it is not perfect - i occasionally commit grammatical errors at odd times - but it is still fair. I don't speak with a broken English and I certainly don't write in the same dilapidated manner. Getting a D in GP is lamentable but is it necessary to use that as tool of judgement to include me in the QET? Billy said that taking QET was degrading to our command of English.

I am saddened by the new reality that is suddenly thrust into my life. Initially, I thought that I could exempt myself from QET with my SAT scores (i took SAT as a backup anyway). However, it was shocking to note that NUS requires at least 750 for critical reading and writing (it am not sure whether whether this is the combined score or the minimum score for each section) and a score of at least 10 for essay. Anyway, I fall a little short of achieving the requirement by scoring 730, 700, and 9 for critical reading, writing, and essay section respectively. If tears cannot roll down from my eyes, then they would roll all the way into the deepest corner of my heart.

All I can tell myself is,"Ryan, buck up your spirit and sit for the test on July the 18th. All will be fine, God willing." All will be fine, I pray.

First Day as A Relief Teacher

Here I am, sitting in the cubicle-dominated staffroom of SAJC and bending the limit of professional ethics by indulging in blogging at workplace. How interesting!

Anyway, here is a little background on my job scope:

Sitting in for every JC1 chemistry lecture (if you call that work!)

Tutoring several JC1 classes which I refuse to name.

Aiding in some administrative work including paper marking (paper marking suddenly sounds like a clerical work).

Attending Chemistry tutor meetings every Wednesday and Thursday.

Helping out in the administrative matters relating to Science Fair.

Doing other menial tasks that are thrown upon me ad hoc.

Pretending to be professional while my inner self is quivering at the sight of tutors and students alike since I am not of the “professional clan” (frankly, this is by far the most difficult!).

Anyway, I am grateful to end up relief-teaching in SAJC than in any other school. I am familiar with the environment, system and people. I know my whereabout on the first day itself since it is impossible for an ex-Saint to lose his orientation in the sprawling labyrinth of the school compound.

Sitting in for two tutorials and invilating a mock test is truly an eye-opening experience since they have revealed to me a different perspective of the school, from the vantage point of the teachers of course. Frankly speaking, you are in a classroom wearing an attire that is so totally different from your students and screaming at the top of the lungs just to pull the strings of their attention to me.

Another point worthy of mention involves my observation of the chemistry tutors. Apart from teaching the same subject, they appear to be highly interested in the same thing: fashion. There is always an impeccable sense of style which underlies their conversation (like one teacher saying, “Oh, I went to Zara the other day and had a mini shopping spree” only to be joined in by another teacher who claimed, “Ikea has so many nice furniture, so irresistable to buy!).

Hah, first day at work as a teacher is not bad. At least, I have done well in avoiding stupid mistakes that would have betrayed my childishness.

Wasting Time

These days, I have been living in a frugal manner, always thrifty in the matter of money-spending andcooking my own meal (often two meals at one time, that is one meal to be eaten immediately and the other to be kept for future consumption) to avoid the expensive food outside. However, today is slightly different as I made a pilgrimage to Donut Factory (don't remind me about how gastronomically delightful the doughnuts are) for breakfast.

Well, neither was breakfast the raison detre - I went there for better internet access - and nor was I alone as Alice came trudging along (she is the one giving the idea of breakfasting out). She needed my help for her Preliminary Idea or PI (guys, have you forgotten the misery that was Project Work in JC1) so as a responsible "mum" to his/her "Maria", I can't really leave her in deep shit right?

$5.50 was worthily paid for a fine breakfast consisting of two doughnuts, one Double Chocolate and the other Mocca something..., in addition to a cappuccino (though I was said that they could have brewed the coffee better). After munching down breakfast, we set off to summarising Alice's PI from a hefty 900 words to a lean 520. Time spent was two hours and mission was accomplished.

Then, I setted my vision to my right upon a group of young students who were occupying a long conjoined table with books and notepads. They were doing homework, or so it seemed. A little past five minutes after they sat down, murmurs were heard from the table and two hours later, it became a full-blown chatting about trivial matters, gossips and the latest hip in pop industry. No longer did I see the fingers scribbling on paper as the youngsters turned to talking as their main activity. Eyes began to stray from the textbooks as they affixed themselves on irrelevant things like passing people and each other.

I don't mean to eavesdrop or spy on them but the attitude that was abhorrently displayed depicted how youngsters in Singapore take comfort for granted. You have a fine environment to study: an air-conditioned lounge-like setting with food and drinks, little noise except the sound of sipping coffee and light footsteps. Yet, you exploit it by socialising unnecessarily when homework piles before your eyes. Okay, it's good to get together as a means of group study but please don't turn this initiative into a senseless chatting session. Save that for MSN tonight!

I must confess that in our work, Alice and I did talk but the content was more pertinent to the matter at hand than to anything else. Only when we had completed the self-assigned task did we invest our interest in gossips and hearsays.

There was a distinct line between work and relaxation though it has become more and more blurred these days. Work is often interrupted by leisure even before it is completed, hence the waste of precious time and energy. Most often, the product of work lacks quality since there is little commitment put into making the best of the available resources and distraction deprives the mind of full, undivided concentration.

Why, in the luxury of opportunities and resources in abound, do man choose to slack? Perhaps, that is man: he who does not appreciate until all is lost.

Anxiety Issue

Guys, I am in great jeopardy here. Friday will be my first day at school and i have to transform from this (my head is in the red elipse):

...to this:

Actually, exclude the tie, coat and spectacles(since my eyesight is still fair and is insufficiently crippled by long hours of staring at the computer screen to merit such "accessory") to get be an idea of my dressing on Friday. The all-too-common anxiety prior to a new experience is taking its toll on me as I constantly worry over the many possibilities, most of which are negative, that would follow relief teaching in SA. Heck, I look like a kid and to dress up so formally will undoubtedly make a funny-looking person out of me.


Moreover, there is this uncertainty gnawing at the base of my heart whether I can handle such big group of students in a class (not excluding the posssibilities of several encounters with spoilt, lazy, unattentive and rude students). True, there will be someone to guide me on the first day, but I will eventually have to teach alone, projecting my voice to the back of the class, putting on a mask of mature wisdom and being wary of making mistakes that reveals the child-like side of me.

Anyway, there is not much to do in allaying my anxiety but to confidently step into school on Friday 7.15am sharp and report to Madam Lee, the Senior Head of the Chemistry Department.
Meanwhile, I will parade with all the formal clothes on to get use to the attires' feel. So narcissistic, ain't I?

Why Inagiku Rocks!

My patience with the tardy, interrupted internet coverage in this house is nearing its limit, very much like a wood splinter lodged in the flesh. However, the connection is good today allowing me to indulge in blogging again.

Anyway, this fine Wednesday will be my last day at Inagiku restaurant, at least until the school holiday jingles its way into the calendar. It will be a heartfelt and memorable day as I'll be leaving a world unique in itself. Unique because in no other place can you find uncensored straightforwardness in full-fledged display as you get screwed, trashed and yelled at the commission of even a single mistake. There is no room for cynicism, sarcasm (except for one arrogant manager who struts around with a self-imagined pomp), and scheming. It's whether "I like you" or "I hate you" verbally expressed in sweetness and vulgarity respectively, as simple as that.

Waitering at Inagiku is also unique because everyone there is family. Perhaps, the bond among us develops from the need to put trust on one another in coordinating the myriad of tasks from taking order to cooking to serving. Otherwise the elaborate chain of action that is necessary for the smooth running of the restaurant would simply break down. As such, we develop a formidable sense of comradeship amongst ourselves with the commitment to help each other out for the common good of the restaurant. Ironically, it is the harshness and volatility of the circumstances there which force people to express goodwill towards one another to create mutual respect and harmony amidst the excruciating and stressful working environment. To cite an example of us being family, a Japanese manager personally encouraged everyone to call her "Mama" (I guess there is no need to elaborate on what it means). And yesterday she bought us cakes from Prego as a treat after a grueling day of work. How sweet!

In a way, some sort of loyalty towards Inagiku has found itself stubbornly lodged in my heart. I love Inagiku not because of the food or the classiness of the venue, I love it for its people. Thanks a lot, people of Inagiku! Muah!

A Change In The Path I Tread

A new day commences with me waking up from an uneasy slumber, which for some inexplicable reason is not caused by a dreadful nightmare. The sky is gloomy as dark cumulunimbus clouds race to block off every shard of the golden sunlight and to call the sky their dominion, for the moment at least. My back is aching as it was yesterday and the day before yesterday due to the heavy and exhasuting waitering chores at Inagiku.

Nonetheless, the same pain will not be visiting me for some time in the future since I have secured a relief teaching position back in SAJC. Credits to Mr Mannan for helping me out otherwise I would still be running around picking up dirty plates and delivering sashimi to the front counter. For the time being, I will be aiding a pregnant tutor in her Chemistry tutorial (and not in her labour, mind you!) and doing some administrative work.

Oh dear (such a cliche), time is running late and i myself should be bolting off to work! Will talk more about the post tonight.

8 minutes of crapping

Well, I have only 8 minutes to type out something in this post since I have to rush to work later. Actually, I have no idea the sort of cognitive substance that I should mould into letters and words. It is just this "blogging" addiction that has taken a toll on me, taunting my poor soul to tell something about myself, today, people, events, actually anything that is perceived through the senses or arises in the mental activity of the organ that lies within the cranial cavity.

Anyway, I am here to express just how tired I have become these days, due to work. Everyday is a struggle to defeat the ever-growing laziness, to drag my feet to the restaurant, and to kickstart some actions that are needed for work. However, it is strange though, that when the working shift is over, I feel happy, yup happy. Happy because I have achieved something in my life. Happy because I have lived another day as a person of some use. Happy because I am able to sustain myself in the costly setting of Singapore.

Oh dear, 1 minute left. Anyway, I better slap myself out of this post-sleep hiatus and be the enthusiastic Ryan again.

Anne

There I am at it again: blogging in the middle of the night when everyone else is already in deep slumber (well, almost everyone since one must acknowledge the existence of nocturnal subspecies among mankind).

Today, I would like to talk about a part-time colleague at Inagiku restaurant. Lets call her Anne although it is obviously an awkward name to give to a girl of Burmese ethnicity. Since I have no knowledge whatsoever of the Burmese language, lets be content with the mock name "Anne".

When I first met Anne, the first impression that lighted up in my mind was that she was a typical international student whose parents were rich enough to pay for her bills to study in the local polytechnic. I assumed that she resorted to working simply because she spent all her allowance and her parents refused to send her more. In fact, I had little opinion of her at all since I myself was busy with the demanding chores that a runner was entasked to carry out. We chatted mostly about trivial stuffs and did our own things, though we occasionally helped one another out when need arose.

Then, on one fateful day, I made a call to my employment agency to book for my working slot in the restaurant. The exact wordings of the dialogue with the agent are lost in the shrouded messiness of my mind but here is the gist of the talk:

Me: Hi, is there any (working) slot for coming Sunday(at Inagiku Restaurant)?

Agent: I am sorry there is none. The slot has been taken by Anne.

Me: Who? Can I change slot with her? Can you move her slot to some other time?

Agent: She is studying and that is the only time that she can work.

Me: What about moving her slot to some other day?

Agent: Look, she is motherless and must partially support her family back home while studying here. She really needs this job and the money that comes with it. I don't want to fiddle with her working slots.

Me: Oh, ok then.

The conversation, though short, is more than enough to deal a shocking blow on the nexus of my mind. All the sudden, I feel a sense of awe and guilt. Awe, because she is not some wealthy international student, rather a cash-strapped one who is determined to believe that the education here would provide her and her family a better state of living. Guilt, because I was trying to wrestle away her opportunity to earn the much need income that would go into supporting her family. Whenever I now look into her dark brown eyes, I know better than to judge a book by its cover.

In reality, we are surrounded by individuals, each of whom has his or her own poignant story to tell, unyielding resolve to inspire and amazing contradiction to astound. From the bubbly student on her way to school to the smiling cashier behind the convenience store's counter to a sleepy executive sipping coffee, each is a person unique not only in oneself, but also in one's predicaments and more importantly, one's will to challenge all odds. Anne inspires me.

Why Study History?

History is arrogantly selective and deliberately parochial in its study. First, because it only chronicles the accounts of selected few individuals, whose "decorated" stories are deemed worthy, appealing and meaningful compared to others. Two, because it grossly leaves out many details, even in the accounts for the selected few, and chooses to tell a limited perspective and supposedly "main" ideas. As a consequence, most of our stories, despite their potential life-changing impacts on ourselves and on others, go unpublished as they are alleged of being too personal, too emotional, too dramatic and more.

After all, it is this personal touch, this emotional encounter, and this dramatic enactment that drive the passage of our lives as we largely depend on how we feel and what our personal takes are on a particular issue, rather than pure cold logic, to make our decisions. If life were pure cold logic, this would be a dull and selfish world indeed. Dull, because the chain of occuring events is highly predictable given that it follows the flow of logic. Selfish, because altruism and love will perish, replaced by the overt display of self-preservation and cold-heartedness that are increasing evident in the modern society.

As such, history in its grand attempt to tell the story of mankind ("history" is "his" story, right?) falls short in achieving its purpose due to its philosophy of high selectivity and parochial reporting. No wonder, history has failed to impress on the younger generation the same fascination that the latter has for story books and movies.

Waitering: Not Easy

Yesterday, to be technically correct since I am reporting this account past 12 midnight, has been dishevelment, or more aptly a waitering disaster, at an unprecedented scale.

The new caller, due to her being inexperienced regarding the setting of the dishes as well as the order in which they are delivered to the customers, was obviously disoriented when she was hit with a barrage of orders. This, coupled with a record high number of walk-in customers, provided the ideal setting for a catastrophe of volcanic intensity. A small error, on the part of the caller, was sufficient to initiate a chain of errors and disorganisation from preparation to serving. Cooks began to screw up their recipes, and had to prepare the order all over again while servers outside were screaming for orders that took far too long for the diner’s patience to bear.

As a result, we had managers barking madly at us in a vain hope that this would somehow restore the smooth flow and impeccable perfection of work that was expected of the main kitchen. Runners, like me, were bound to suffer as we had to coordinate between sending ready dishes out to the servers, preparing special orders and desserts, topping up plates, cups and cutleries that were fast dwindling in the full-house restaurant, and not to mention, clearing mountains of used plates and cutleries

I don’t really blame the new caller entirely though; the girl is new to the task appointment and provision must be given for errors and setbacks. After all, the duos are among the best ways for one to learn the art of self-improvement as well as to gain invaluable experience and wisdom in carrying out the said task. The managers are forgiven for their ire, although unjustly unleashed upon us, since they are ultimately responsible for bearing the brunt of dissatisfied customers who are either irritated by a slight change in food taste or the unexpected delay of their meals. As for the waiters, one must understand that putting on a fake smile, supplicating to pernickety whims, saying nice things to nasty customers takes up a lot of patience, leaving little to spare when to interacting with the other staffs.

The experience of part-time watering has revealed to me a world that I had never ever seen. Behind the perfection of food, quality of service and extravagant setting in an expensive restaurant are the sweats of cooks, short and puffy breaths of waiters and the thumping hearts of managers. In other words, so much physical duress, mental effort and emotional resilience are involved in providing the near-ideal dining experience. I occasionally gave some time to self-thought, questioning whether such big sacrifice on the part of the restaurant sevice providers has to be made simply because the customers paid for it. Indeed, money can buy many things but should we use money to put others under such great ordeal to the extent that it almost bordered on a voluntary torture? Are we entitled to put the entire kitchen into havoc because we are unhappy with how the food is presented, despite that it is palattable?

It is true that as customers, we reserve the right to demand for the best quality of goods or services as our money can buy. However, as human beings, we should also understand that sometimes, money can bring unnecessary harm to the state of happiness of others and in this scenario, breeds suffering among the restaurant service providers. So, calling out to all consumers:

“Avoid being too demanding, be patient and close one eye to minor mistakes as they are not purposely meant.”

The waiters, especially, will appreciate this a lot.

Note: A caller is a person who receives orders from waiters, then informs or “call” the chefs to prepare the corresponding dishes. A runner serves as a “middle man” who delivers dishes from the kitchen to waitering counters outside, delivers special orders and clears out used plates and cutleries that are sent in by the serving waiters. A server, as the name implies, “serves” the guest by attending to their needs, taking down orders, serving ready dishes to them, and in some cases, doing cashiering work.