a life that guides me by the hand, rather than one that grabs me by the neck; a life where a mistake is a means of learning, rather than a motivation for criticism; a life where one can smile without having to hide the daggers beneath; a life without anxieties, stress, pain, regrets


a life that one can actually live. . .


a life i realised i have now lost. . .


but have i ever wanted to live such a life in the first place?

after 3 consectutive morale-sapping losses to 3 of the supposedly biggest clubs in the UK, finally here's a piece of good news for me and all you beer-loving fans out there contributed (unsurprisingly) by huat:


BBC's report on beer-drinking...


if you guys are "too busy" mantaining your facade of studying to click the damn link, here are some extracts from this live-changing article:


"There's no such thing as the beer belly," says George Philliskirk, of the Beer Academy. "But it is an appetite stimulant and it's the fish and chips or curry that round off a night with a few pints that puts the weight on."


"In fact, concerns about alcohol being fattening could be completely off-target anyway. Martin Bobak says there isn't even concrete evidence that the human body can turn alcohol into fat."


Now, if this isn't good news, i don't know what is. well i suppose a perfect CAP score would do, but that won't go very well with fish and chips or curry now, would it?

10 reasons why i love leonard ho khee cong:

(1) He cannot say "shut up", he has to do a Russell Peters-inspired Chinaman spoof and go "shhaaardarp!"


(2) He likes to play as a cleric in Baldur's Gate 2: Dark Alliance and heal my character, and then whine non-stop about how i can do 700 damage whereas he can only inflict 250


(3) He thinks determiners and the word "sheep" can be pluralised, but still got 9/10 for his elang quiz. bitch.


(4) He brings in a PS2, and plays PS2 with me, and then calls me an addict for playing PS2.


(5) He has nice-snacky stuff in his room, like pop-tarts, pringles and a bottle of bailey's, he ONCE HAD a bottle of absolut peach too


(6) He can't button his shirt properly when drunk, especially after trying unsuccessfully to get a chick's no. at Club Momo


(7) He is someone i always ask to sleep with each of the rare times that i stumble back to PGP drunk


(8) He once had gigantic and adorable pimples the size of Bukit Timah Nature Reserve on his cheek, and he put a largely-overexaggerated plaster the size of Mt. Everest to cover it up


(9) He thinks bananas are masculine and bread is feminine


(10) See him when he's drunk. 'nuff said.


So there you go biatch hahah HAPPY 21st!! i will NOT be held responsible for whatever ribbing you get as a result of this blog post, smackdown tonight yea? lol

hey i know i haven't been blogging much these days, certainly not as much as i would have liked to. . . but i stumbled accross this beautiful poem as i was doing some readings on Gen Percicval, the British commander who surrendered to the Japanese on 15 Feb 1942, and i felt like sharing it with you guys. for the 3 years that he was in Japanese capitivity, this was the one poem that Percival kept in his pocket, the one fragment of sanity he clung on to. . . and if you read it closely, i don't think you'll find it hard to understand why. . .

"If" by Rudyard Kipling, "Rewards and Fairies", 1909.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:


If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:


If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

urgh this sem's a bitch. and i do not say that at the back of my zero for my EL quiz (something that i'm still feeling sore about) or the tragic farce that was my military history term paper. its just a combination of everything lah, i'm just frustrated. this sem's going no where. i'm working on getting myself "un-clueless" for most of my mods and i just don't seem to be making any headway. i still got slightly less than half a sem to change things around. . . can one can one. . .


and HCAP's getting to be a royal pain in the arse. imagine trying to host a bunch of delegates coming in about 3 weeks, and we still can't confirm what flights they're on. . . going to harvard was a pretty neat experience, but i never did expect that it would come along with such a high opportunity cost.


oh well at least the Gods of football (or rather, the Newcastle board of directors) have finally, and quite unlike me, come to their senses to fire souness. . . the magpies are flying high at the moment. . . wooo hooo!

wheeee my CAP's gone bungee-jumping!! (hopefully it would come back up again)