'Tis a good age we live in.
Sunday, 23 January 2011
Good Times Abound
Professor Whitekettle teaches theology at nine in the morning.
I went for a walk in the snow.
Melissa puts the finishing touches on her literary masterpiece.
Out and about with the Agents in White.
Melissa has a crazy bookcase.
I visited friends in Sweden. 
My Christmas present. A leather bag bought in a secondhand store. Can it get better?
I put cloves into oranges.
I decorated the Christmas tree.
We hiked into the woods.
and we found our uncle's gray house by the gray sea.
I love my sister.
We blew our breath out frosty inside the gray house by the gray sea. 
I warmed myself in the car...
...and put my feet on the dashboard.
We visited my grandfather's grave.
Sofia took a bath.
I flew in a small propeller airplane from Toronto to Grand Rapids.
It snowed in Amerikat.
I wore my retainers to bed.
Erin visited. And apparently, so did Beckham.
I cleaned the kitchen
Thumbs up for John Lennon
I met John Lennon. He is a fifteen-year-old kid who lives in Grand Rapids and goes by the name Jack. He dances ballet and is learning to fly an airplane. He takes today's title for most eclectic personality.
Sundays are wonderful. Weekends, in general, are wonderful. I like knowing on Friday that I'll have a few days to do whatever I want--in this case, I baked cakes and cleaned the kitchen and watched Voyage of the Dawn Treader and sliced my thumb open--in no specific order.
Bell peppers are slippery suckers.
Sundays are wonderful. Weekends, in general, are wonderful. I like knowing on Friday that I'll have a few days to do whatever I want--in this case, I baked cakes and cleaned the kitchen and watched Voyage of the Dawn Treader and sliced my thumb open--in no specific order.
Bell peppers are slippery suckers.Thursday, 20 January 2011
Sister Sofia
In other news, my sister has made it into Västerbottens-Kuriren, a local newspaper in Sweden. I am so very proud of her. The title reads, "Her guiding star is love."(P.S. We were learning about hyphens in school the other day. Västerbottens-Kuriren is hyphenated.)
Fish-brushing and Sail-filling
I have had a good day. It wasn't particularly filled with exciting and exotic experiences, but rather good friends and pleasantness. I went to grammar class for three hours, worked out in the gym (I ran for a total of twenty-three minutes! (a new record for me) And I also worked on some of the machines. My brother is always telling me to work my core muscles to improve my posture, and as I wield control over ten whole, unspoiled followers, I can spread the message to further heights and greater depths. Working back muscles and abs will help your posture significantly, and prevent future back injuries. I've been lifting weights for only three weeks, and I can feel it already. In short, I am a beast. You can be one too.
Now I am sitting on the couch, quite content with myself. I stopped in to talk about Singlish and other world languages with Michael and Doug, who live in the same building, and then I went back home and finished my grammar homework. I have but to shower, brush my fish, and feed the teeth, and then I'm off to bed!
My spirit is growing restless again. I am in the mood for adventure, for travel, for swashbuckling and sailing the seven seas.
Now I am sitting on the couch, quite content with myself. I stopped in to talk about Singlish and other world languages with Michael and Doug, who live in the same building, and then I went back home and finished my grammar homework. I have but to shower, brush my fish, and feed the teeth, and then I'm off to bed!
My spirit is growing restless again. I am in the mood for adventure, for travel, for swashbuckling and sailing the seven seas.
Come, winds, and blow! Fill these sails and take me far from here.
Follow Me
I have ten followers! How exciting! That's a nice, round number. Jesus had twelve. I only need two more!
Monday, 17 January 2011
Andy Says Goodbye
I watched Toy Story 3 with my flatmate Melissa (who is currently in the kitchen making curry pasties), and it occurred to me that it was speaking of a lost age. I remember watching the first Toy Story in Singapore sometime in the later 90s--a badly pirated copy on VHS that we had most likely bought in Malaysia. It was a new world to me, and, in fact, to everyone, as Toy Story marked the first full-length, computer-generated feature film. When the film came out, I was was roughly the same age as Andy, and I had always secretly hoped that my toys came alive when I left the room. And, of course, the animation was fascinating. But in the end, it wasn't the graphics that got me, but the story! Oh, the story. Didn't I know those toys? Didn't I have my own Woody and Buzz Lightyear of sorts? I know well the cherished fixtures of my childhood, most likely sitting lined up on my top of my bed.
But, as you know, everything changes. We grow up. We have to say goodbye. It's not a bad thing, mind you, but it can be painful. And as I watched Toy Story 3, I realized that it spoke not only of letting go and passing on our beloved playthings (if you will allow me to wax Biblical for a moment, we "put aside our childish ways"), but also of the world at large and how it has changed with the times.
The importance of toys has diminished. We introduce children to technology much earlier in their lives, which on some level, replaces the old ways. And so this Last Toy Story is, ultimately, a reckoning with this new future and a poignant send-off to those times when our imagination made our world, which we populated with our toys and filled with adventures of our own choosing.
It was a looking back and a looking forward, a wistful glance at the days we left behind and a hopeful look into the future.
(P.S. My duck Macaroni still sits on my bed. He has traveled with me all the way to college.)
But, as you know, everything changes. We grow up. We have to say goodbye. It's not a bad thing, mind you, but it can be painful. And as I watched Toy Story 3, I realized that it spoke not only of letting go and passing on our beloved playthings (if you will allow me to wax Biblical for a moment, we "put aside our childish ways"), but also of the world at large and how it has changed with the times.
The importance of toys has diminished. We introduce children to technology much earlier in their lives, which on some level, replaces the old ways. And so this Last Toy Story is, ultimately, a reckoning with this new future and a poignant send-off to those times when our imagination made our world, which we populated with our toys and filled with adventures of our own choosing.
It was a looking back and a looking forward, a wistful glance at the days we left behind and a hopeful look into the future.
(P.S. My duck Macaroni still sits on my bed. He has traveled with me all the way to college.)
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Winter Cleaning
Over the past week, I have had several opportunities to clean. I cleaned the entirety of the apartment--granted it's not very big, but it took me a good two and a half hours. I vacuumed the living room and the bedroom, cleared away any bits and pieces lying around, swept the kitchen and went over it with a Swiffer mop, rubbed down the counters, cleaned the bathroom sink and mirror, cleaned the toilet, and scrubbed the shower walls and tub. (While I did the last of these activities, I backed into the faucet and have been left with an unhappy blue bruise.) It's all good and well to type it out, but I tell you, that stuff takes time! (And unfortunately the chemicals I use leave me with very dry hands.)
But still I like cleaning. It's poetic, really, akin to a beautiful movement from disarray to perfect order. There is something satisfying in putting everything in its place, in fluffing a pillow and arranging it just so on the sofa, or clearing the living room of things. Tidying up. It's as if the house breathes a sigh of relief, as if everything has been put right, as if that worry at the back of the mind has at last been stamped out.
However, in tidying up the flat, I realize I have a growing desire to have my own place. As of right now, I seem to have none at all. Amerikat, though a wonderful place for study, has never quite felt like home, and my apartments on campus have never been anything but temporary lodgings--though you mustn't think I haven't enjoyed my time or looked to get away at first chance. When my parents still lived in Singapore, I knew I had a room. But since they have moved, I have none. In Umeå, my belongings are patiently waiting boxes. Over the last few years, I have gathered together an odd collection of books, which I am quite proud of--they are my books, and as silly as it seems, I want to see them put into a bookshelf, all of my own.
I want to put apples in a bowl on a table.
I want to water the plants I have placed in the window.
I want to fill my house with furniture of my own choosing.
I want my cat to sleep on embroidered sofa cushions.
I want to invite people in for tea and bring them sweet things from old cookie tins.
But still I like cleaning. It's poetic, really, akin to a beautiful movement from disarray to perfect order. There is something satisfying in putting everything in its place, in fluffing a pillow and arranging it just so on the sofa, or clearing the living room of things. Tidying up. It's as if the house breathes a sigh of relief, as if everything has been put right, as if that worry at the back of the mind has at last been stamped out.
However, in tidying up the flat, I realize I have a growing desire to have my own place. As of right now, I seem to have none at all. Amerikat, though a wonderful place for study, has never quite felt like home, and my apartments on campus have never been anything but temporary lodgings--though you mustn't think I haven't enjoyed my time or looked to get away at first chance. When my parents still lived in Singapore, I knew I had a room. But since they have moved, I have none. In Umeå, my belongings are patiently waiting boxes. Over the last few years, I have gathered together an odd collection of books, which I am quite proud of--they are my books, and as silly as it seems, I want to see them put into a bookshelf, all of my own.
I want to put apples in a bowl on a table.
I want to water the plants I have placed in the window.
I want to fill my house with furniture of my own choosing.
I want my cat to sleep on embroidered sofa cushions.
I want to invite people in for tea and bring them sweet things from old cookie tins.
Monday, 10 January 2011
Power Play and Other Things
Dear nephew,
You've asked me before and I have been slow in answering. How exactly does on conquer the world? In bits, of course. Piecemeal, my boy. Nothing is ever done all at once. I suppose I have always been attracted to power. In the movies, when the guardian comes back to find his house taken over by unruly teenagers, all in the rhythmic throes of dance or other general indulgence, he immediately springs into acting. He strides to the circuit breakers and with the flick of a switch, plunges the whole house into darkness. A collective groan is heard from the gathered infidels who immediately begin to vacate the premises. The intention is, of course, that one sympathises with the young host of the event who has suddenly been found out and stepped into a world of consequences regarding his aberrant behavior.
Not so, I say. I never wanted to be that unfortunate soul, but rather the one who pulled the plug. The young host had no control over the situation--people were using and abusing his home willy-nilly for their own purposes--throwing furniture, kitchenware, and pillows about, destroying property, undoing weeks of carefully trimming to the garden, wreaking havoc on the rooms, the yard, etc. He is completely powerless to stop whatever acts should happen under his supervision. The power, rather, lies then with the one who put an end to the whole matter. In one swift movement, he brought everything to a stand-still, a screeching and obvious halt to the festivities.
But how does on achieve such power? One must first begin to think of the world in terms of power play. Extend the concept to the everyday. Take the classroom for example. When you arrive late, you not only signal your own ineptitude, but disrespect for the teacher and the institution. If there is one thing you must know, it is that one cannot climb to the top of things--be they pyramids or ladders--if one does not believe in them. If one wants respect, one must first give it, however temporal and transitory the pretense.
Even more so, be the first! I'm sure by now you have experienced an ill-timed entry. Though not late, you are one of the last to enter the room, only to find rows upon rows of bright, inquisitive eyes staring at your from their sockets, looking you up and down and boring holes through your self-confidence. There is nothing wrong with such malicious gawking, provided you are the one to do it. Be sure to be the first in the room and find a seat in the front, preferably right in front of the teacher. (It demonstrates tenacity and bold presumption.)
Furthermore, never underestimate the power of impression. The clothes you wear determine how you carry yourself. Do not seek to impress, but rather intimidate. My friend has told me she does not like to wear shoes with a heel, as they click on hard surfaces. The horror, she says, of having people hear you. I say, let it be so. Enjoy the moment. As you walk down the empty corridor, the sound of your steps will precede you, alerting anyone within earshot of your presence. It creates intrigue. The moment lengthens. People crane their necks to see. Of course, if you are to attempt such a feat, you had better be sure that you are truly as impressive as your footsteps claim.
That is all I have for now.
Write me again soon.
Your Aunt with the Iron Pen,
Ima Dragonclaw
You've asked me before and I have been slow in answering. How exactly does on conquer the world? In bits, of course. Piecemeal, my boy. Nothing is ever done all at once. I suppose I have always been attracted to power. In the movies, when the guardian comes back to find his house taken over by unruly teenagers, all in the rhythmic throes of dance or other general indulgence, he immediately springs into acting. He strides to the circuit breakers and with the flick of a switch, plunges the whole house into darkness. A collective groan is heard from the gathered infidels who immediately begin to vacate the premises. The intention is, of course, that one sympathises with the young host of the event who has suddenly been found out and stepped into a world of consequences regarding his aberrant behavior.
Not so, I say. I never wanted to be that unfortunate soul, but rather the one who pulled the plug. The young host had no control over the situation--people were using and abusing his home willy-nilly for their own purposes--throwing furniture, kitchenware, and pillows about, destroying property, undoing weeks of carefully trimming to the garden, wreaking havoc on the rooms, the yard, etc. He is completely powerless to stop whatever acts should happen under his supervision. The power, rather, lies then with the one who put an end to the whole matter. In one swift movement, he brought everything to a stand-still, a screeching and obvious halt to the festivities.
But how does on achieve such power? One must first begin to think of the world in terms of power play. Extend the concept to the everyday. Take the classroom for example. When you arrive late, you not only signal your own ineptitude, but disrespect for the teacher and the institution. If there is one thing you must know, it is that one cannot climb to the top of things--be they pyramids or ladders--if one does not believe in them. If one wants respect, one must first give it, however temporal and transitory the pretense.
Even more so, be the first! I'm sure by now you have experienced an ill-timed entry. Though not late, you are one of the last to enter the room, only to find rows upon rows of bright, inquisitive eyes staring at your from their sockets, looking you up and down and boring holes through your self-confidence. There is nothing wrong with such malicious gawking, provided you are the one to do it. Be sure to be the first in the room and find a seat in the front, preferably right in front of the teacher. (It demonstrates tenacity and bold presumption.)
Furthermore, never underestimate the power of impression. The clothes you wear determine how you carry yourself. Do not seek to impress, but rather intimidate. My friend has told me she does not like to wear shoes with a heel, as they click on hard surfaces. The horror, she says, of having people hear you. I say, let it be so. Enjoy the moment. As you walk down the empty corridor, the sound of your steps will precede you, alerting anyone within earshot of your presence. It creates intrigue. The moment lengthens. People crane their necks to see. Of course, if you are to attempt such a feat, you had better be sure that you are truly as impressive as your footsteps claim.
That is all I have for now.
Write me again soon.
Your Aunt with the Iron Pen,
Ima Dragonclaw
A First Week
My first week back has been very eventful. A most exciting first has never been had. I flew in from Sweden on Tuesday and arrived tired, but--if I do say so myself--looking pretty snazzy in my high-waisted skirt, gold necklace, and green scarf. (I looked exactly like I would expect a frequent flyer to dress--mysterious and perfectly assured.) I had actually left Umeå on the 3rd, flying down to Arlanda in Stockholm, where my wonderful grandparents picked me up and swept me off to their apartment. Before I fell asleep, I spent an hour or so sitting on their sofa, eating Aladdin chocolates and watching a British cooking show, starring Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. (How's that for a posh name?)
The next morning, I flew from Stockholm to Heathrow, London (where I had a lovely, though short chat with the man who made my iced chai latte) to Toronto, Canada, from whence I flew to Grand Rapids in a small propeller airplane. (For this last new development I was quite unprepared. I suddenly found myself walking out on the runway and waiting my turn to climb the tiny steps up to the airplane. There were about twelve seats in the entire airplane.)
Since arriving back in Amerikat, I have managed to go grocery shopping, running in the gym (in my fancy Duke Nukem singlet that my friend sent me from Australia) and impressed everyone in the near vicinity with my strength and endurance, have ridden a horse--which went from a walk to a canter, all on its own volition (such insubordination was at once suppressed with a tight hold on the reigns), played Mad Gab with new-found friends, and attended all my grammar classes.
It is good to have time. For interim, I am only taking one class a day. I have grammar lessons from eight thirty to twelve (lessons taught by the impeccable Professors Vanden Bosch and Vande Kopple), after which I do grammar homework for two hours, and then go to the gym. My friend Alicia and I are keeping each other accountable. What's that? You don't believe in me or my efforts? You'll eat your words when I'm a mountain of muscle, outrivaled only by the Incredible Hulk. Unlike last term, I am not flying from task to task, rushing to fit homework into a merciless schedule. (All right. Perhaps not as merciless as others', but busy enough for me.) The other parts of my life are not being pushed to the wayside. I now find time to cook at a leisurely pace, read a good book (currently working on The Scar by China Mieville), and do some scheming in the shadows. The world isn't going to conquer itself, you know.
I find more to do when there is less to be done.
Yours faithfully,
Bob the Cork
The next morning, I flew from Stockholm to Heathrow, London (where I had a lovely, though short chat with the man who made my iced chai latte) to Toronto, Canada, from whence I flew to Grand Rapids in a small propeller airplane. (For this last new development I was quite unprepared. I suddenly found myself walking out on the runway and waiting my turn to climb the tiny steps up to the airplane. There were about twelve seats in the entire airplane.)
Since arriving back in Amerikat, I have managed to go grocery shopping, running in the gym (in my fancy Duke Nukem singlet that my friend sent me from Australia) and impressed everyone in the near vicinity with my strength and endurance, have ridden a horse--which went from a walk to a canter, all on its own volition (such insubordination was at once suppressed with a tight hold on the reigns), played Mad Gab with new-found friends, and attended all my grammar classes.
It is good to have time. For interim, I am only taking one class a day. I have grammar lessons from eight thirty to twelve (lessons taught by the impeccable Professors Vanden Bosch and Vande Kopple), after which I do grammar homework for two hours, and then go to the gym. My friend Alicia and I are keeping each other accountable. What's that? You don't believe in me or my efforts? You'll eat your words when I'm a mountain of muscle, outrivaled only by the Incredible Hulk. Unlike last term, I am not flying from task to task, rushing to fit homework into a merciless schedule. (All right. Perhaps not as merciless as others', but busy enough for me.) The other parts of my life are not being pushed to the wayside. I now find time to cook at a leisurely pace, read a good book (currently working on The Scar by China Mieville), and do some scheming in the shadows. The world isn't going to conquer itself, you know.
I find more to do when there is less to be done.
Yours faithfully,
Bob the Cork
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