Sunday, December 28, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Comments on the Prince of Tides
I'm currently reading The Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy and hating it. Then again, I've only read the first 100 pages detailing endless descriptions of how depressing his family is. I truly don't see the point of using a page to document the fact that a woman is sitting silently in a mental hospital and what that possibly might mean.
"My sister did not move. Her spirit had been subtracted out of her flesh. There was a mineral stillness to her repose, an immaculate divinity to the black ensemble of her catatonia... There is integrity in the vow of silence and something sacred in the renounciation of movement. It is the quietest human drama of the soul undone, the solemn dress rehearsal for death itself. I had not seen my sister not move before...blah blah blah... And, she had added, she could not hurt herself when she was not moving"... and only a page more of the description of the fact that his sister was silent and not moving.
I hate pointless reiterations, especially in the type of language he uses.
Why?
1) Is he showing off the fact he can string together stuff like "an immaculate divinity to the black ensemble of the catatonia"? Not only is this a gross exaggeration of the simple point he wanted to convey in the first place, it becomes meaningless junk after the 2nd page of this stuff.
2) Why does he need to even talk about this pointless scene for a whole page? He could have easily said:
"She was huddled into the corner of the white-washed walls of the hospital. Silent and unmoving, her blank expression stirred in my mind the impression of the dead."... or something to that effect.
3) Though his flowery language is nice to read once in a while, it detracts from the possible influence it could have had, had it been used sparingly and at a point that deserved such a description.
In addition, I especially hate the unrealistic nature of his characters. Take this for example:
Tom (the main character) has just been informed by his wife that she is cheating on him.
This is his reply: "May I please know who it is?"
And this is coming from a person who's self-admittedly cynical and tremendously contemptuous of others due to the fact that his sister is a suicidal maniac and his father is in jail for murder. Not only is he often disrespectful to others, his ego is impossible to deal with. Soaked in self-pity, he believes that his miserable life deserves much more attention than what others are giving him.
This is his thought process (I made it up) --> "Oh my god! Our family was so dysfunctional that my sister had to move to New York, the most detestable city in the world! You can just see how bad my family was to push her to such a drastic action!"
I can't handle Conroy's meaningless babble anymore. The only interesting parts are when he's (Tom) recounting the story of his childhood to a psychiatrist and using a lot less adjectives. Had the characters been alive and real, I'd fully understand why his sister would go mad in this family - the narrator is simply too much to listen to.
- Keep in mind, however, I've only read 100 of the 650 pages, and he hasn't even begin explaining why his whole family is in this outrageously depressive and homicidal mood.
"My sister did not move. Her spirit had been subtracted out of her flesh. There was a mineral stillness to her repose, an immaculate divinity to the black ensemble of her catatonia... There is integrity in the vow of silence and something sacred in the renounciation of movement. It is the quietest human drama of the soul undone, the solemn dress rehearsal for death itself. I had not seen my sister not move before...blah blah blah... And, she had added, she could not hurt herself when she was not moving"... and only a page more of the description of the fact that his sister was silent and not moving.
I hate pointless reiterations, especially in the type of language he uses.
Why?
1) Is he showing off the fact he can string together stuff like "an immaculate divinity to the black ensemble of the catatonia"? Not only is this a gross exaggeration of the simple point he wanted to convey in the first place, it becomes meaningless junk after the 2nd page of this stuff.
2) Why does he need to even talk about this pointless scene for a whole page? He could have easily said:
"She was huddled into the corner of the white-washed walls of the hospital. Silent and unmoving, her blank expression stirred in my mind the impression of the dead."... or something to that effect.
3) Though his flowery language is nice to read once in a while, it detracts from the possible influence it could have had, had it been used sparingly and at a point that deserved such a description.
In addition, I especially hate the unrealistic nature of his characters. Take this for example:
Tom (the main character) has just been informed by his wife that she is cheating on him.
This is his reply: "May I please know who it is?"
And this is coming from a person who's self-admittedly cynical and tremendously contemptuous of others due to the fact that his sister is a suicidal maniac and his father is in jail for murder. Not only is he often disrespectful to others, his ego is impossible to deal with. Soaked in self-pity, he believes that his miserable life deserves much more attention than what others are giving him.
This is his thought process (I made it up) --> "Oh my god! Our family was so dysfunctional that my sister had to move to New York, the most detestable city in the world! You can just see how bad my family was to push her to such a drastic action!"
I can't handle Conroy's meaningless babble anymore. The only interesting parts are when he's (Tom) recounting the story of his childhood to a psychiatrist and using a lot less adjectives. Had the characters been alive and real, I'd fully understand why his sister would go mad in this family - the narrator is simply too much to listen to.
- Keep in mind, however, I've only read 100 of the 650 pages, and he hasn't even begin explaining why his whole family is in this outrageously depressive and homicidal mood.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Couch Potato Conglomerate
This is the essay that was published in Challenge the Experts. It's a variation from my usual form of formal writing, and I only had two hours to work on it. The topic is: Many experts believe that voter turnout continues to decline because people have lost faith in their political leaders. Do you agree or disagree? and Why?
Couch Potato Conglomerate
By: Annie Li
Theodore Roosevelt once coined the phrase “A vote is like a rifle; its usefulness depends upon the character of the user.” Neither the target nor the rifle has changed, so the fault is ultimately bequeathed to the user. The 1960s marked the gradual decline of voter turnout, and statistics reveal that the waning is predominantly determined by young voters. In a decade that saw mankind extend its fingers to touch the moon, it is necessary to recognize the debut of the tributaries of technology. Media propelled the debutantes of society onto a world stage and assumed the directorial position to advertise the indulgent behaviour that keeps voters grounded at home. This time, it is not a struggle against the red flags of foreign powers or their axes of evil to preserve democracy.
Instead, it is a fight against the couch potato conglomerates. Modern political leaders continue to trudge solidly along the steps hollowed out by the dedicated individuals who first intoned democracy. It is the masses that constantly writhe in fevered inconsistency, easily influenced by remote obligations and heedless of the ramifications of their conduct. The youths of today are confined within the materialistic ventures of Ipods and MP4s, spending 25 hours of their 24 hour day tapping away at computers. The immature citizenry tolerate extravagant lifestyles that far surpass society’s romantic view of civic duty. Every action is first evaluated against the effort and energy consumed as opposed to the consequences. In this case, though the leaders have not lost their appeal, it is simply too much of a hassle to vote.
Indifference and apathy are also major contributors to a declining voter turnout. Throughout the history of democracy, the value of one vote is often regarded as insignificant when placed adjacent to the whole. Though this fact will never change, when it is coupled with the belief of a ballooning population, it is much too discouraging. It is not the loss of faith that stimulates a conscientious voter to maintain sufficient distance from a ballot. There is no lack of remarkable political leaders, nor is there a lack of political passion. In this day and age, the enormous time commitment essential to understanding the party platforms and the candidates themselves is too expensive for many to consider while maintaining a fast-paced lifestyle.
The overexposure of the electoral campaigns to the public years before the actual election is another disincentive. On the other hand, while smear campaigns and attack advertisements aimed to reduce candidate credibility does trigger a loss of faith in the government, it in turn encourages the public to take action. To uphold the standards of democracy, it is necessary to utilize a more dramatic approach to resolve the conflict. Perhaps Australia’s compulsory voting system should be adopted - a breath of fresh air to poke fun at the idle clouds.
---
Some parts are quite awkward when I read it now - but I suppose it's because I never had the chance to let it sit and then go back to it. I wrote it in one setting without doing a proper rough copy and hardcopy edits. The last sentence is a specific example. I was actually trying to link the image of clouds with the image of potatoes (which then links to couch potatoes) in the readers' minds, but I don't think it was as effective as it could have been.
However, I do believe the essay discusses several issues regarding the decline in voter turnout, none of which is caused by the lack of faith in political leaders. If you didn't believe in the person who was representing you, wouldn't you do something to change that state of disatisfaction? You'd want to be more involved, as opposed to staying away. In addition, I don't believe that our current political leaders are necessarily less capable of fulfilling their duties than previous leaders. In the end, everything really depends on public image.
Couch Potato ConglomerateBy: Annie Li
Theodore Roosevelt once coined the phrase “A vote is like a rifle; its usefulness depends upon the character of the user.” Neither the target nor the rifle has changed, so the fault is ultimately bequeathed to the user. The 1960s marked the gradual decline of voter turnout, and statistics reveal that the waning is predominantly determined by young voters. In a decade that saw mankind extend its fingers to touch the moon, it is necessary to recognize the debut of the tributaries of technology. Media propelled the debutantes of society onto a world stage and assumed the directorial position to advertise the indulgent behaviour that keeps voters grounded at home. This time, it is not a struggle against the red flags of foreign powers or their axes of evil to preserve democracy.
Instead, it is a fight against the couch potato conglomerates. Modern political leaders continue to trudge solidly along the steps hollowed out by the dedicated individuals who first intoned democracy. It is the masses that constantly writhe in fevered inconsistency, easily influenced by remote obligations and heedless of the ramifications of their conduct. The youths of today are confined within the materialistic ventures of Ipods and MP4s, spending 25 hours of their 24 hour day tapping away at computers. The immature citizenry tolerate extravagant lifestyles that far surpass society’s romantic view of civic duty. Every action is first evaluated against the effort and energy consumed as opposed to the consequences. In this case, though the leaders have not lost their appeal, it is simply too much of a hassle to vote.
Indifference and apathy are also major contributors to a declining voter turnout. Throughout the history of democracy, the value of one vote is often regarded as insignificant when placed adjacent to the whole. Though this fact will never change, when it is coupled with the belief of a ballooning population, it is much too discouraging. It is not the loss of faith that stimulates a conscientious voter to maintain sufficient distance from a ballot. There is no lack of remarkable political leaders, nor is there a lack of political passion. In this day and age, the enormous time commitment essential to understanding the party platforms and the candidates themselves is too expensive for many to consider while maintaining a fast-paced lifestyle.
The overexposure of the electoral campaigns to the public years before the actual election is another disincentive. On the other hand, while smear campaigns and attack advertisements aimed to reduce candidate credibility does trigger a loss of faith in the government, it in turn encourages the public to take action. To uphold the standards of democracy, it is necessary to utilize a more dramatic approach to resolve the conflict. Perhaps Australia’s compulsory voting system should be adopted - a breath of fresh air to poke fun at the idle clouds.
---
Some parts are quite awkward when I read it now - but I suppose it's because I never had the chance to let it sit and then go back to it. I wrote it in one setting without doing a proper rough copy and hardcopy edits. The last sentence is a specific example. I was actually trying to link the image of clouds with the image of potatoes (which then links to couch potatoes) in the readers' minds, but I don't think it was as effective as it could have been.
However, I do believe the essay discusses several issues regarding the decline in voter turnout, none of which is caused by the lack of faith in political leaders. If you didn't believe in the person who was representing you, wouldn't you do something to change that state of disatisfaction? You'd want to be more involved, as opposed to staying away. In addition, I don't believe that our current political leaders are necessarily less capable of fulfilling their duties than previous leaders. In the end, everything really depends on public image.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A Little Philosophy
I stayed up all night yesterday (for the first real time ever), and I feel absolutely horrible. But as feeling hung-over as it goes without alcohol, I felt a little burst of inspiration this morning. Some sort of chemical combustion happened, and next thing I knew, I was spouting a whole bunch of random stuff about the meaning of life and happiness and who-knows-what. I wrote it out on paper (wow, that's a rarity), and decided to discuss it at this site. So here's my little philosophical outburst.
As humans, it is impossible for us to be in a constant state of happiness or satisfaction. Every once in a while, life happens, and it is our response and reaction to these circumstantial events that make us grow. It is during these trials of life that we are given the biggest opportunity to prove ourselves, and to fulfill our capacity as individuals.
I doubt that there is any person in this world whose life isn’t defined by the ups and downs of action and consequence. To achieve anything, may it be the acceptance to a good university or the promotion to a higher position; we must first establish that we want it - that it is a goal in our life. But what is “want” when what we “want” is almost disconcerting in its frequent appearance in our minds? It is here that we make an either conscious or subconscious decision that not only do we “want” it, we “need” it.
The higher the object is on our list, the better the chance of us obtaining it. Why can we change our chances simply by associating a different word with the object of our desire? Because whether we know it or not, it signifies our willingness (however reluctant we provide that willingness) to sacrifice for the achievement of our goal.
Now I find myself repeating a concept that has been reiterated boundlessly, but it never detracts from the truth of the statement - that though thinking and speaking is significant, it is our actions that matter. Following through with what we decide is just as important, if not more, than making that decision in the first place. Putting words down without a plan for action is a representation of irresponsibility and in my opinion, even a display of the lack of morals.
It is here where we can find a definite distinction between those who succeed and those who fail. When your work is deemed more substantial in comparison to a competitor’s, it is a testament of your will and human capacity. Standing out – that is success. Yet at the same time, failure does not mean the eradication of the opportunity to obtain what it is that we “need”. It simply means that due to some circumstance, we’ve now been pushed out onto the long road from the short. It is too much to expect an individual to be perfect, as much as we strive toward it, and sometimes the long road ends up teaching us more than what we could have gained otherwise.
Sometimes we fall. It is not an uncommon sight. There are many reasons – from our inability to fulfill expectations to unforeseen circumstances. This is when we hit our lowest, when the word “happiness” ceases to exist in our dictionary. But what can we do except move on? As much as we’d like to change the past, the sun will continue to rise every morning, and the world will continue to rush past, with or without us.
I also believe, however, that without the lows, we wouldn’t be able to truly experience the highs. That without the contrast of life slapping us in the face and then shaking our hands, how would we be able to determine that we’ve achieved happiness?
Isn’t this what life is about, the pursuit of happiness? Every action in our lives is a contributing factor to our progression towards an intrinsic sense of deep satisfaction. As much as we’ve accomplished in our lives – with the establishment of goals and the fulfillment of our dreams, we yearn for that few moments of ecstasy.
Happiness is when after studying four years in high school at the expense of a social life, the student receives an acceptance letter from Harvard. But as high as that letter pushes him or her up, humans, like everything else, eventually fall down. Once we’re on the bottom, we restart our climb up, gradually accumulating more knowledge and experience. We make another goal, we place it on our “need” list, and we set ourselves up for another taste of that sweet ambrosia.
In contrast to the focus on “achievement equals happiness”, we must also realize that no matter where life takes us, the levels of happiness are the same. A rich millionaire isn’t necessarily happier than a poor individual whose goal in life is to see his kids grow up healthy and strong. There is a common misconception that the higher you are on the food chain, the happier you are. Happiness is determined by the set of individual values that only pertain to the individual.
I must ask you this: have you ever laughed while watching a dog chase its tail? You have. In a way, you’ve been laughing at your self. At the end, when we look at life as a whole, it is a never-ending cycle that doesn’t have a definite beginning or an end with the inclusion of a purpose and a checklist for the fulfillment of that purpose.
Can we ever truly experience the question of why we’re here on earth; with the feeling that we’re searching for something? No. But perhaps our closest guess is that we've got to take life as it is, and enjoy it while it lasts. Therefore, humans must take up every opportunity; every chance that makes an appearance as a fork in our road.
In the expansion of our capacity as individuals, in the impact we deliver to our surroundings, in our pursuit of perfection, maybe, just maybe, we can find happiness.
- Annie
~~~~~~~~
The Pursuit of Happiness
Annie
As humans, it is impossible for us to be in a constant state of happiness or satisfaction. Every once in a while, life happens, and it is our response and reaction to these circumstantial events that make us grow. It is during these trials of life that we are given the biggest opportunity to prove ourselves, and to fulfill our capacity as individuals.
I doubt that there is any person in this world whose life isn’t defined by the ups and downs of action and consequence. To achieve anything, may it be the acceptance to a good university or the promotion to a higher position; we must first establish that we want it - that it is a goal in our life. But what is “want” when what we “want” is almost disconcerting in its frequent appearance in our minds? It is here that we make an either conscious or subconscious decision that not only do we “want” it, we “need” it.
The higher the object is on our list, the better the chance of us obtaining it. Why can we change our chances simply by associating a different word with the object of our desire? Because whether we know it or not, it signifies our willingness (however reluctant we provide that willingness) to sacrifice for the achievement of our goal.
Now I find myself repeating a concept that has been reiterated boundlessly, but it never detracts from the truth of the statement - that though thinking and speaking is significant, it is our actions that matter. Following through with what we decide is just as important, if not more, than making that decision in the first place. Putting words down without a plan for action is a representation of irresponsibility and in my opinion, even a display of the lack of morals.
It is here where we can find a definite distinction between those who succeed and those who fail. When your work is deemed more substantial in comparison to a competitor’s, it is a testament of your will and human capacity. Standing out – that is success. Yet at the same time, failure does not mean the eradication of the opportunity to obtain what it is that we “need”. It simply means that due to some circumstance, we’ve now been pushed out onto the long road from the short. It is too much to expect an individual to be perfect, as much as we strive toward it, and sometimes the long road ends up teaching us more than what we could have gained otherwise.
Sometimes we fall. It is not an uncommon sight. There are many reasons – from our inability to fulfill expectations to unforeseen circumstances. This is when we hit our lowest, when the word “happiness” ceases to exist in our dictionary. But what can we do except move on? As much as we’d like to change the past, the sun will continue to rise every morning, and the world will continue to rush past, with or without us.
I also believe, however, that without the lows, we wouldn’t be able to truly experience the highs. That without the contrast of life slapping us in the face and then shaking our hands, how would we be able to determine that we’ve achieved happiness?
Isn’t this what life is about, the pursuit of happiness? Every action in our lives is a contributing factor to our progression towards an intrinsic sense of deep satisfaction. As much as we’ve accomplished in our lives – with the establishment of goals and the fulfillment of our dreams, we yearn for that few moments of ecstasy.
Happiness is when after studying four years in high school at the expense of a social life, the student receives an acceptance letter from Harvard. But as high as that letter pushes him or her up, humans, like everything else, eventually fall down. Once we’re on the bottom, we restart our climb up, gradually accumulating more knowledge and experience. We make another goal, we place it on our “need” list, and we set ourselves up for another taste of that sweet ambrosia.
In contrast to the focus on “achievement equals happiness”, we must also realize that no matter where life takes us, the levels of happiness are the same. A rich millionaire isn’t necessarily happier than a poor individual whose goal in life is to see his kids grow up healthy and strong. There is a common misconception that the higher you are on the food chain, the happier you are. Happiness is determined by the set of individual values that only pertain to the individual.
I must ask you this: have you ever laughed while watching a dog chase its tail? You have. In a way, you’ve been laughing at your self. At the end, when we look at life as a whole, it is a never-ending cycle that doesn’t have a definite beginning or an end with the inclusion of a purpose and a checklist for the fulfillment of that purpose.
Can we ever truly experience the question of why we’re here on earth; with the feeling that we’re searching for something? No. But perhaps our closest guess is that we've got to take life as it is, and enjoy it while it lasts. Therefore, humans must take up every opportunity; every chance that makes an appearance as a fork in our road.
In the expansion of our capacity as individuals, in the impact we deliver to our surroundings, in our pursuit of perfection, maybe, just maybe, we can find happiness.
- Annie
Monday, September 15, 2008
A Short Story
Like I promised, here is my fictional short story.
I spent my flight to Korea reading a short story called “100% Perfect Girl” by Haruki Murakami. I found it absurd – how two people could simply pass each other on an ordinary April morning and assume with utter conviction that the other was their soul mate. I was mildly irritated. Could love be so fickle?
During my few months as an international exchange student at the prestigious CheongShim International Academy, I spent my weekends exploring the city. A blue cloudless Sunday saw me getting lost in the backstreets of Seoul, but I soon found comfort in the discovery of a small café half-hidden behind a busy market square. Relaxing on the patio, I noticed a young woman not much older than myself sitting a table away. She was not particularly pretty, nor did she possess any outstanding features. It was the expression on her face that caught my attention, a forlorn and desolate look that betrayed the playful tug of the warm breeze. I could not see how such a fine day could cause the little furrow between her eyebrows or the severity in the set of her chin.
My journalistic mindset shifted into position and I initiated a conversation. She was reserved at first; somewhat alarmed at the audaciousness of a foreigner who only knew a handful of stuttered Korean words. Thankfully, the girl, whose name I gathered to be Ae Sook, made up for my incompetence with her English. It wasn’t long before I found out the reason behind her melancholy. She had just rejected her childhood friend, “a boy I’d known ever since I was still wriggling in my crib,” she said. He was from a good family – “rich, intelligent and good-looking,” she described, losing herself in the stirring of her juice. I was most curious, unable to understand why she had not given him a chance. She glanced at me at this point, saying bitterly that she would give anything to love him. Her frustration irked me, and I felt clumsy in my attempts to console her as I watched her fingers curl into her palm. “I hate love,” she told me, “it has a mind of its own, and reciprocates with a disregard for convention and logic.”
To make her feel better, I shared with her the stories of my parents and grandparents. I assured her that she was right to have rejected her friend, because who knew if he snored in his sleep or spent all his time partying at night? If he was as great as she depicted, he could very well have fifty secret girlfriends on the side vying for his attention. Though she didn’t understand, I felt the need to quote Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, “love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit”. I liked to think that my words brought her some semblance of comfort.
She asked for my email and phone number, promising to call and schedule a lunch. However, as she stood up to leave, she accidentally tripped on her jacket sleeve that had gotten caught beneath the chair. It was a waiter who went to her rescue, settling her back onto her feet. Had I seen a slight blush appear on her cheeks? I cannot remember.
I forgot about her for a while. My life was overwhelmed by my studies, and with the addition of new friends, I spent more time at Karoke bars than being alone in sidewalk cafés. It was five weeks later when she called me. We met at the same café on a Saturday; this time the sky was tainted with shadows of grey clouds. Rain was inevitable. Her appearance, once again, contrasted with the weather. There was a remarkable smile on her face that stretched to the corners of her eyes. I began to see why her friend liked her. She pulled me to sit down as she went to call on a waiter. To my surprise, Ae Sook pulled a familiar waiter to our table and introduced him to me. “He’s my boyfriend,” she told me proudly. “We’re in love.”
I would have laughed at such absurdity had I not caught the look that passed between them at those words. Her smile and the soft touch at his elbow bade me to reconsider. I hardly paid attention to the conversation that followed. I knew a few details - that she had gone back to see him, that her parents disproved and that he had dropped out of college. Though she never once reiterated the word “love”, I could see how very much in love she was.
I left when it began to rain. I had not brought an umbrella with me, and the rain that slid into my eyes blinded me. In my moments of sightlessness, I could see how love itself was just as blind. This profound feeling was not governed by direction or the need to reciprocate, and it hid the truth as much as it revealed it. If society was a room, then love was a window – it did not facilitate conventional ideas. I walked forward in the soft pitter-pattering of the rain, finding myself richer in my belief of love and acquiring a poignant sense of hope.
- Annie
~~~*~~~*~~~
Blinded by the Rain
Annie
I spent my flight to Korea reading a short story called “100% Perfect Girl” by Haruki Murakami. I found it absurd – how two people could simply pass each other on an ordinary April morning and assume with utter conviction that the other was their soul mate. I was mildly irritated. Could love be so fickle?
During my few months as an international exchange student at the prestigious CheongShim International Academy, I spent my weekends exploring the city. A blue cloudless Sunday saw me getting lost in the backstreets of Seoul, but I soon found comfort in the discovery of a small café half-hidden behind a busy market square. Relaxing on the patio, I noticed a young woman not much older than myself sitting a table away. She was not particularly pretty, nor did she possess any outstanding features. It was the expression on her face that caught my attention, a forlorn and desolate look that betrayed the playful tug of the warm breeze. I could not see how such a fine day could cause the little furrow between her eyebrows or the severity in the set of her chin.
My journalistic mindset shifted into position and I initiated a conversation. She was reserved at first; somewhat alarmed at the audaciousness of a foreigner who only knew a handful of stuttered Korean words. Thankfully, the girl, whose name I gathered to be Ae Sook, made up for my incompetence with her English. It wasn’t long before I found out the reason behind her melancholy. She had just rejected her childhood friend, “a boy I’d known ever since I was still wriggling in my crib,” she said. He was from a good family – “rich, intelligent and good-looking,” she described, losing herself in the stirring of her juice. I was most curious, unable to understand why she had not given him a chance. She glanced at me at this point, saying bitterly that she would give anything to love him. Her frustration irked me, and I felt clumsy in my attempts to console her as I watched her fingers curl into her palm. “I hate love,” she told me, “it has a mind of its own, and reciprocates with a disregard for convention and logic.”
To make her feel better, I shared with her the stories of my parents and grandparents. I assured her that she was right to have rejected her friend, because who knew if he snored in his sleep or spent all his time partying at night? If he was as great as she depicted, he could very well have fifty secret girlfriends on the side vying for his attention. Though she didn’t understand, I felt the need to quote Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, “love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit”. I liked to think that my words brought her some semblance of comfort.
She asked for my email and phone number, promising to call and schedule a lunch. However, as she stood up to leave, she accidentally tripped on her jacket sleeve that had gotten caught beneath the chair. It was a waiter who went to her rescue, settling her back onto her feet. Had I seen a slight blush appear on her cheeks? I cannot remember.
I forgot about her for a while. My life was overwhelmed by my studies, and with the addition of new friends, I spent more time at Karoke bars than being alone in sidewalk cafés. It was five weeks later when she called me. We met at the same café on a Saturday; this time the sky was tainted with shadows of grey clouds. Rain was inevitable. Her appearance, once again, contrasted with the weather. There was a remarkable smile on her face that stretched to the corners of her eyes. I began to see why her friend liked her. She pulled me to sit down as she went to call on a waiter. To my surprise, Ae Sook pulled a familiar waiter to our table and introduced him to me. “He’s my boyfriend,” she told me proudly. “We’re in love.”
I would have laughed at such absurdity had I not caught the look that passed between them at those words. Her smile and the soft touch at his elbow bade me to reconsider. I hardly paid attention to the conversation that followed. I knew a few details - that she had gone back to see him, that her parents disproved and that he had dropped out of college. Though she never once reiterated the word “love”, I could see how very much in love she was.
I left when it began to rain. I had not brought an umbrella with me, and the rain that slid into my eyes blinded me. In my moments of sightlessness, I could see how love itself was just as blind. This profound feeling was not governed by direction or the need to reciprocate, and it hid the truth as much as it revealed it. If society was a room, then love was a window – it did not facilitate conventional ideas. I walked forward in the soft pitter-pattering of the rain, finding myself richer in my belief of love and acquiring a poignant sense of hope.
- Annie
Monday, September 1, 2008
Letters to Myself
Have you ever felt alone... like really, really alone?
Like the whole world doesn't really understand you or the problems you face?
It's often difficult to find someone you trust and spill everything, which is what you want to do in this circumstance, but there's just nobody out there.
When you're sad, or happy or simply content, and at the same time you feel lonely, write a letter to yourself.
I was reading an article from Marie Clare and the article gave me this idea.
Pretend you're old - maybe in your fourties and assuming the position of yourself in that specific age, write a letter to who you are now. Then you'll feel like the whole world is totally alright.
My imaginary 42 year old self has two kids, a good job and a caring husband. I'm a successful business woman who is very happy with her life. Looking back, what would I say to my teenage self? I'd tell her to keep on studying, and always be tenacious in chasing after her dreams. I'd tell her to continually work on her novel, and forget everyone who tells her that she can't do it or that marks are everything.
I'd tell her that one bad hair day isn't something to fuss over, nor is one bad test score. I'd tell her to look after her family and friends, as those people are what matters the most at the end of the day. I'd tell her to enjoy life, and that people only have one youth. Stop and smell the roses! Is what I'd say to her.
And I'd tell her all of this in a letter. And maybe, if my teenage self feels indulgent enough, she'd reply to me with a letter asking for advice, or simply sharing her troubles and successes with me.
Because then, neither of us would ever feel lonely again.
- Annie
Like the whole world doesn't really understand you or the problems you face?
It's often difficult to find someone you trust and spill everything, which is what you want to do in this circumstance, but there's just nobody out there.
When you're sad, or happy or simply content, and at the same time you feel lonely, write a letter to yourself.
I was reading an article from Marie Clare and the article gave me this idea.
Pretend you're old - maybe in your fourties and assuming the position of yourself in that specific age, write a letter to who you are now. Then you'll feel like the whole world is totally alright.
My imaginary 42 year old self has two kids, a good job and a caring husband. I'm a successful business woman who is very happy with her life. Looking back, what would I say to my teenage self? I'd tell her to keep on studying, and always be tenacious in chasing after her dreams. I'd tell her to continually work on her novel, and forget everyone who tells her that she can't do it or that marks are everything.
I'd tell her that one bad hair day isn't something to fuss over, nor is one bad test score. I'd tell her to look after her family and friends, as those people are what matters the most at the end of the day. I'd tell her to enjoy life, and that people only have one youth. Stop and smell the roses! Is what I'd say to her.
And I'd tell her all of this in a letter. And maybe, if my teenage self feels indulgent enough, she'd reply to me with a letter asking for advice, or simply sharing her troubles and successes with me.
Because then, neither of us would ever feel lonely again.
- Annie
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Six Words
Can you tell a short story in six words?
I recently read a Times article that reminded me of an English class last year. Our teacher asked us to write a short story using six words. Why six? Because Ernest Hemingway once wrote this sentence:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
After reading it, I'd say most people's initial confusion would eventually give way to profound understanding (or supposed profound understanding, as the name 'Hemingway' insitutes a direct correlation between awed admiration and the need to associate oneself with such ingenuity, even when personal opinion might differ).
Either way, this short story is a great representation of his literary creativity. It provokes boundless questions from readers - why is someone selling baby shoes, especially ones that haven't been worn?
Could it be that a baby had passed away? Perhaps a woman had miscarried?
And along it, a sense of nostalgia and insight. Six words, and a world of feelings.
I guess I should contribute personally to this discussion by providing my own six words. I would, but I really haven't been able to come up with something worth posting. When you try it yourself, you'll realize how difficult it is to tell a whole story in such a short number of words.
However, maybe I can take a stab at 8 words:
In winter dreams, down summer lanes, sayonara blue.
Can you guess what I'm trying to say?
- Annie
I recently read a Times article that reminded me of an English class last year. Our teacher asked us to write a short story using six words. Why six? Because Ernest Hemingway once wrote this sentence:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
After reading it, I'd say most people's initial confusion would eventually give way to profound understanding (or supposed profound understanding, as the name 'Hemingway' insitutes a direct correlation between awed admiration and the need to associate oneself with such ingenuity, even when personal opinion might differ).
Either way, this short story is a great representation of his literary creativity. It provokes boundless questions from readers - why is someone selling baby shoes, especially ones that haven't been worn?
Could it be that a baby had passed away? Perhaps a woman had miscarried?
And along it, a sense of nostalgia and insight. Six words, and a world of feelings.
I guess I should contribute personally to this discussion by providing my own six words. I would, but I really haven't been able to come up with something worth posting. When you try it yourself, you'll realize how difficult it is to tell a whole story in such a short number of words.
However, maybe I can take a stab at 8 words:
In winter dreams, down summer lanes, sayonara blue.
Can you guess what I'm trying to say?
- Annie
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Published Again!
Hehehe.
I'm happy to say my essay regarding the decline in voter turnout, which I submitted to Elder and Leemaur Publishing, was among the top 3% of over 5000 essays submitted. It was a competition open to high school and university students in the whole of North America.
What does this mean? I'm getting published for the second time! :D
It's going to be in a book called Challenge the Experts, and it will be viewed by an individual panel of judges in late September to determine whether or not I deserve to receive the possible $1000 scholarship.
I'll post the essay on here sometime after it gets published. It's called Couch Potato Conglomerates.
Hehehe.
I'm happy to say my essay regarding the decline in voter turnout, which I submitted to Elder and Leemaur Publishing, was among the top 3% of over 5000 essays submitted. It was a competition open to high school and university students in the whole of North America.
What does this mean? I'm getting published for the second time! :D
It's going to be in a book called Challenge the Experts, and it will be viewed by an individual panel of judges in late September to determine whether or not I deserve to receive the possible $1000 scholarship.
I'll post the essay on here sometime after it gets published. It's called Couch Potato Conglomerates.
Hehehe.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Complete
My goodness.
The deadline I gave myself was Friday. Wait - today is friday.
Well, it feels like I finished early.
Exactly 337 pages. Of my novel. Completed. From prologue to epilogue. Three years.
Completed.
Finally.
The deadline I gave myself was Friday. Wait - today is friday.
Well, it feels like I finished early.
Exactly 337 pages. Of my novel. Completed. From prologue to epilogue. Three years.
Completed.
Finally.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Young Voices
I'm getting published in Young Voices! Cool, isn't it?
My short story - A New Face in a New Country won the entitlement. To be honest, I wrote this between the summer of grade eight and grade nine, so it wasn't exactly my best piece ever. However, when I thought about stories I could send to the Toronto Public Library annual young adult magazine, this was one of my only stories that delt with a topic that seemed appropriate.
I think you can guess what the topic is about just by looking at the title. It's very short (approx. 500 words) detailing the first day of school for a Romanian girl who just arrived (in Canada?)... it really could be anywhere. She goes on to being humiliated, but in the end finding a good friend.
Cheesy, huh? Well, it's not my usual cup of tea, but my fingers were itchy to try out a lot of stuff back then. I've explored a variety of genres since then, including an awesome love story that all of my friends like. It just goes on to show how I've changed.
On another note, this is my first time being published (I think... if you don't count letters to the ed. and all that stuff). I'm looking forward to seeing it in print.
My short story - A New Face in a New Country won the entitlement. To be honest, I wrote this between the summer of grade eight and grade nine, so it wasn't exactly my best piece ever. However, when I thought about stories I could send to the Toronto Public Library annual young adult magazine, this was one of my only stories that delt with a topic that seemed appropriate.
I think you can guess what the topic is about just by looking at the title. It's very short (approx. 500 words) detailing the first day of school for a Romanian girl who just arrived (in Canada?)... it really could be anywhere. She goes on to being humiliated, but in the end finding a good friend.
Cheesy, huh? Well, it's not my usual cup of tea, but my fingers were itchy to try out a lot of stuff back then. I've explored a variety of genres since then, including an awesome love story that all of my friends like. It just goes on to show how I've changed.
On another note, this is my first time being published (I think... if you don't count letters to the ed. and all that stuff). I'm looking forward to seeing it in print.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Q&A
I came across these questions a while ago. They were interesting so I stopped to answer them.
1. Do you have any fixed time to write your stories?
Nope. Though I like writing in the morning and working throughout the day as opposed to starting at night. However, that can't really be helped with school work and stuff like that.
2. Do you need any special stationery or type of paper for writing purposes?(maybe ink, stone, wood, cloth etc... to each one's own devices...) OR, do you use the laptop/ desktop, instead?
Hardly. I write on anything and everything. My writing is scribbled all over the place and it's hard to find them afterwards. I love using the laptop, but i type faster than the speed my ideas come to me. That's a problem because half the time I'm just sitting there and thinking. And when I'm just sitting there, I get easily distracted. So oftentimes, I write on paper and then transfer it onto the computer.
3. Do you any beverages/food to accompany you during these times?
A can of sprite is awesome.
4. Do you use music? or Is music your main influence?
No, I find it's distracting sometimes. I like the quiet, so I can focus on what's happening in the story as opposed to what the lyrics are. I have tried it many times... I find that my work quality decreases in those cases.
5. Do you need to write everything down in one sitting or more?
Never. Unless whatever it is happens to be due the next morning, I don't usually do everything in one sitting. I usually do a rough, look over it and leave it for a while. I'll come back to it with a fresh mind for the good copy.
6. Do you have your own muse?
He/she (transvestite, I suppose) lives in my head. Heshe doesn't come out often, but if there's some food and a sprite nearby, Heshe takes over and pours out ideas on every writable surface. No.
7. Do you keep a notebook/diary for listing any sudden inspiration?
Most of the time no. However, if I do happen to come across something amazingly interesting, I will find paper and pencils to record it down. I don't walk around with a pad of paper in my hand (though I bet I'd be more productive if I did).
1. Do you have any fixed time to write your stories?
Nope. Though I like writing in the morning and working throughout the day as opposed to starting at night. However, that can't really be helped with school work and stuff like that.
2. Do you need any special stationery or type of paper for writing purposes?(maybe ink, stone, wood, cloth etc... to each one's own devices...) OR, do you use the laptop/ desktop, instead?
Hardly. I write on anything and everything. My writing is scribbled all over the place and it's hard to find them afterwards. I love using the laptop, but i type faster than the speed my ideas come to me. That's a problem because half the time I'm just sitting there and thinking. And when I'm just sitting there, I get easily distracted. So oftentimes, I write on paper and then transfer it onto the computer.
3. Do you any beverages/food to accompany you during these times?
A can of sprite is awesome.
4. Do you use music? or Is music your main influence?
No, I find it's distracting sometimes. I like the quiet, so I can focus on what's happening in the story as opposed to what the lyrics are. I have tried it many times... I find that my work quality decreases in those cases.
5. Do you need to write everything down in one sitting or more?
Never. Unless whatever it is happens to be due the next morning, I don't usually do everything in one sitting. I usually do a rough, look over it and leave it for a while. I'll come back to it with a fresh mind for the good copy.
6. Do you have your own muse?
He/she (transvestite, I suppose) lives in my head. Heshe doesn't come out often, but if there's some food and a sprite nearby, Heshe takes over and pours out ideas on every writable surface. No.
7. Do you keep a notebook/diary for listing any sudden inspiration?
Most of the time no. However, if I do happen to come across something amazingly interesting, I will find paper and pencils to record it down. I don't walk around with a pad of paper in my hand (though I bet I'd be more productive if I did).
What Makes a Good Book (Part 1)
What makes a good novel? When I was young, I would read anything. Anything and everything. Basically, I've seen my share of books. Then... I became picky. I would no longer read works of fiction that wasn't good in a way I liked. I'd rather not waste my time reading stuff that I'd be unsatisfied with in the end. So what do I look for in a novel??
Characters:
I look for someone who I can relate to. Once I've attached myself to him/her, I'm basically inseparable. So I get pretty heartbroken if the character suddenly changes into a bad guy. Like Nathaniel in the Bartimaeus Trilogy.
I look for someone who is realistic. No matter what world or story it is, there are always imperfections. Or else it would be a utopia... and they all end up burning into ashes at the end anyway. So I like my characters REAL. They've got a real life, real friends, real problems, among others. They make mistakes, but they also learn. They succeed and they fail. I like it when they're not completely perfect.
Plot:
I like a plot that goes my way (as superficial as that sounds). When people end up the way I want them to or when the right side wins in a competition. It gives me a warm feeling inside. I'm not talking about one that's so expected that you know how the book is going to end after you've read the 3rd page. I enjoy one that has lots of unexpected twists and turns, but I like it when I keep on having to guess and then not being too far off the mark.
I really dislike books that the author forces. Let the story flow and take the reader on a spin. Don't make everyone walk one way just because this was how the author planned it in the beginning!
I like most closed endings with the hero prevailing. I know that makes me seem extremely shallow... but I can't help it. Really, it's just because I don't want to cry over a random book I decided to read or spend one night before my exams wracking my head over what could have happened next. I know if these situations do happen to befall me, the book must have been good. However, I just don't like them much. And I avoid them whenever I can.
Climax:
(Yes... it's got its own category. That's because it's really important for me. The climax of a story is when everyone in the story is standing on their tippy toes at the edge of a cliff and waiting for your little finger to push them over. From there, you can basically expect to either find spread wings, broken bones or cracked heads at the base of the cliff.)
I like drama, and I like it when things are fast and exciting. I don't like it, however, when the climax is so fast that it's over before you've even blinked your eyes. I mean, the whole introduction and rising action is supposed to be building up to the climax... how can it end in 2 seconds?? I shall not discriminate and name any books here.
Pace:
I like a pace in which I don't get bored or disinterested. One way to tell if a book's got a good pace is to close your book at a random page and ask yourself if you want to keep on reading if your friends are calling you to go out. Some might think that it's really the content of the story... but I disagree. Every book's got its own good points and interesting parts. It's just the location of these interesting parts that separate the good from the bad. So... if they're perfectly located, you should want to keep on reading.
Conversation/Dialogue:
(Some books don't have conversation. It's rare, I know but take a look at The Little House on the Prairie series. But most books do, and it's also something I look for in a novel.)
I like communication between people that is natural and has a purpose. Let me tell you, every good writer has a purpose for the words they make their characters speak to one another.
Take this for example:
"Have you seen Isabella? Did she leave?" asked John.
"I last saw her at the coke machine. She was talking to Jason, I think," replied Lianne.
This is sort of obvious. The writer might want to use this convo to insinuate that Isabella was with Jason. The way John asks the question also conveys a sort of urgency that sets the mood and tone.
But you might think that you've read some convos that seem completely unnecessary.
Take this for example:
"I've always liked dandelions."
"Is it because you're like one? I prefer roses myself."
Usually, this type of communication is used for character development or to progress the story in a way that's hard to detect. Perhaps the author is using it to expand the relationship between two people or in reference to a hidden symbol.
I don't like trashy stuff that are filled with convos with no meaning. Dialogue that is both witty and requires reader involvement is something that can only be achieved through practice.
There's a lot more to consider for WHAT MAKES A GOOD BOOK, but those are saved for later.
Characters:
I look for someone who I can relate to. Once I've attached myself to him/her, I'm basically inseparable. So I get pretty heartbroken if the character suddenly changes into a bad guy. Like Nathaniel in the Bartimaeus Trilogy.
I look for someone who is realistic. No matter what world or story it is, there are always imperfections. Or else it would be a utopia... and they all end up burning into ashes at the end anyway. So I like my characters REAL. They've got a real life, real friends, real problems, among others. They make mistakes, but they also learn. They succeed and they fail. I like it when they're not completely perfect.
Plot:
I like a plot that goes my way (as superficial as that sounds). When people end up the way I want them to or when the right side wins in a competition. It gives me a warm feeling inside. I'm not talking about one that's so expected that you know how the book is going to end after you've read the 3rd page. I enjoy one that has lots of unexpected twists and turns, but I like it when I keep on having to guess and then not being too far off the mark.
I really dislike books that the author forces. Let the story flow and take the reader on a spin. Don't make everyone walk one way just because this was how the author planned it in the beginning!
I like most closed endings with the hero prevailing. I know that makes me seem extremely shallow... but I can't help it. Really, it's just because I don't want to cry over a random book I decided to read or spend one night before my exams wracking my head over what could have happened next. I know if these situations do happen to befall me, the book must have been good. However, I just don't like them much. And I avoid them whenever I can.
Climax:
(Yes... it's got its own category. That's because it's really important for me. The climax of a story is when everyone in the story is standing on their tippy toes at the edge of a cliff and waiting for your little finger to push them over. From there, you can basically expect to either find spread wings, broken bones or cracked heads at the base of the cliff.)
I like drama, and I like it when things are fast and exciting. I don't like it, however, when the climax is so fast that it's over before you've even blinked your eyes. I mean, the whole introduction and rising action is supposed to be building up to the climax... how can it end in 2 seconds?? I shall not discriminate and name any books here.
Pace:
I like a pace in which I don't get bored or disinterested. One way to tell if a book's got a good pace is to close your book at a random page and ask yourself if you want to keep on reading if your friends are calling you to go out. Some might think that it's really the content of the story... but I disagree. Every book's got its own good points and interesting parts. It's just the location of these interesting parts that separate the good from the bad. So... if they're perfectly located, you should want to keep on reading.
Conversation/Dialogue:
(Some books don't have conversation. It's rare, I know but take a look at The Little House on the Prairie series. But most books do, and it's also something I look for in a novel.)
I like communication between people that is natural and has a purpose. Let me tell you, every good writer has a purpose for the words they make their characters speak to one another.
Take this for example:
"Have you seen Isabella? Did she leave?" asked John.
"I last saw her at the coke machine. She was talking to Jason, I think," replied Lianne.
This is sort of obvious. The writer might want to use this convo to insinuate that Isabella was with Jason. The way John asks the question also conveys a sort of urgency that sets the mood and tone.
But you might think that you've read some convos that seem completely unnecessary.
Take this for example:
"I've always liked dandelions."
"Is it because you're like one? I prefer roses myself."
Usually, this type of communication is used for character development or to progress the story in a way that's hard to detect. Perhaps the author is using it to expand the relationship between two people or in reference to a hidden symbol.
I don't like trashy stuff that are filled with convos with no meaning. Dialogue that is both witty and requires reader involvement is something that can only be achieved through practice.
There's a lot more to consider for WHAT MAKES A GOOD BOOK, but those are saved for later.
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