More Singaporeans in H-town
Apparently, there's a guy who is now working for Schlumberger in H-town. Mr Pho, I shall call him.
Have yet to meet him, but will do so sometime soon.
It's getting crowded here in H-town...
Love
I miss being with you while you sleep.
The gentle rhythm of your breathing as you are sleeping, with the stillness of a queen...
I remember thinking, as I watched you sleep, how corny it would be to lip synch to the lyrics of that Aerosmith song, "I could stay awake/Just to hear you breathing", and groaned inwardly at the corniness of my mind.
But then, I found myself doing exactly that.
Staying awake.
Watching you sleep like a baby, listening to your breathing in the semi-darkness as we lay side by side, with me resting on my arm, watching you.
I remember how your face changed as well. From the start of our relationship towards the end.
How you used to have such troubled sleep, waking up tired, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night, having nightmares which caused you to groan.
Later, as the semester progressed, you were sleeping much more peacefully.
I miss so many things about you. Sometimes I remember what it's like to be in a room right when you walk in from the cold, your jacket cold to the touch, your nose a little frozen, or more than once for you to come back with your hair wet, with beads of water or melted snow resting like little pearls on your face, hair and jacket.
I love your nose, you know? Those elegant lines, with your brown smooth skin, and your twinkling eyes.
I've never been happier with anyone else, and I don't want to be with anyone else.
Fellow Singaporeans in H-town
It's damn weird lah.
I meet Singaporeans here in H-town, and on both sides, we simultaneously want to be friendly, and start behaving as though we are strangers on Orchard Road.
I met this family in my usual Vietnamese haunt, The Original Givral's Sandwich shop (also known now as Banh Mi Hoang) in the Hoa Binh hellhole, and from the accent of one of the two ladies (I'm guessing they are either good friends or in-laws), I asked the other if they were from Singapore.
She replied with a English-upper-class-wannabe accent, "Yes. The fault lies with her (points at other woman),
her accent is the giveaway!" which sparked off an immediate mental response in me, that there is nothing wrong with a Singaporean accent if others can understand you, and why should one be ashamed of being from Singapore? But then I just smiled and was polite. She asked me what I was doing here, and I said I was studying chemistry at the local uni in H-town. She heard the name, and was quite impressed, but anyway, I got back to my business of eating and paying my bill.
The other lady then made it a big deal, saying "the question is whether are you (points at first lady) a Singaporean, or are they (points at kids) Singaporean, or am I a Singaporean!" which completely befuddled me. I was like, ok....
I heard one of them talking to the other, telling her something about what I told her, about my major and my school, but I basically just ignored them. My anti-upper-class bias somehow surfaced, and prevented me from talking to them.
Or maybe it was just my old Orchard Road habits again.
Later on, thinking about it, I felt like kicking myself. This was a perfect opportunity to make connections, to find out about potential opportunities, to make new friends, and I blew it.
Oh well.
Off to sleep now.
Future Plans and Dreams
I don't know exactly what is going to happen in the near future, but this much is certain:
- I want to be with the Missus, if possible. Preferably in Sing, but I will try to be with her as much as I can.
- Many possibilities abound. Possibilities include setting up an energy company, or writing a guidebook, or even writing a book on my religion.
- Another possibility is grad school, more specifically Industrial Engineering. That will help give me the exposure and experience in industry or something related, which I need to get out of the narrowing track that is beginning to form around my choice of major... (in retrospect, my parents were right: an engineering degree really does allow you to go places...)
But all the best plans always go to waste. Right now, I'm just trying to make my dreams come true. The only thing that is definitely certain is the first thing, which I will make come true, no matter what it takes...
Speaking of dreams, I am reminded when I was in southern Spain, I met this guy who is a DJ in Queens. He graduated from Columbia with an electrical engineering degree, but decided he really liked music instead.
The first thing he asked me, when we were both standing around the bar, was "What's your dream?"
And right then, the evening before I was going off on my solo backpacking trip, I said, "I'm living it. Right now."
And it's true: I wish I could do that every day, preferably with the Missus on my side.
Fighting the Missus
Am I an idiot?
Of course I am.
Who else will allow himself to cause a relationship to go into a downward spiral, even when he had promised himself and her that he will not do that anymore? All because I missed her. All because I wanted to talk to her more, because I was even obsessive about it, and because I was and still am muddled in the head.
At first, I was feeling a little down about putting down the phone, and she could sense that. So she felt bad and called me back, in her usual sweet way. And I was just feeling basically down, missing her, and a little irked by some of the things she said to me before, like "why are you feeling down?", and then telling me how she feels bad to put down the phone and I make her feel bad that way, and she was a little angered.
I don't remember now what exactly we said to each other. All I remember was that she was becoming extremely upset thanks to me, and was crying at some point, and I was crying at some point, and at the end of it, I just felt like going over somewhere and breaking my own leg or hand. We hung up, I called her back, broke down, apologized, felt like crap even though she said "it's ok, just don't do it again", because I fucking did it again: made her cry, brought down her mood, made her suffer for no god damn fucking reason.
I'm such a fucking asshole. I just hate myself right now, and I want to kill myself.
Sometimes I feel like it will be in her best interest if I just got the balls together and broke up with her, for her sake, instead of having her live with the insane jealous maniac that I am. That gets her mad, but I'm increasingly inclined to think that way. It's a neurotic thought, and ironically enough it is what I am most afraid of as well. But it might be the best for her, for all I know.
I just don't feel like I deserve her at all. All I've done is bring her misery. Pain, misery, and a fucking nuisance on the phone who costs a bomb, arm and a fucking leg to keep happy, and even then I manage to bring myself down into hell without her assistance, dragging her down like the anchor of a sinking ship.
I went to run. Run.
I needed pain. I wanted to feel pain. I wanted to push myself so hard that my body runs itself to bits, to run so hard that all my body parts will become lost in the pain and disappear, to run so hard that the pain overwhelms everything and becomes numb and I do not have to think.
I ran.
Pushed myself.
As hard as I could.
And goddamn it, I'm still alive.
Attitudes about Mr. Chee Soon Juan
I was just reading Straits Times forum online, and was mildly amused by the tirade against Mr. Chee Soon Juan.
Basically, this guy/girl was indignant that Mr. Chee called for a boycott of Singapore.
I think he/she is taking Mr. Chee too seriously, for one thing. If anything, Mr. Chee's comments reveal his naivete: given Singapore's relative importance to western powers in Southeast Asia, does he really think that anyone will boycott Singapore? Boycott Singapore and lose the Southeast Asian market. No company is really that dumb.
And if they think Singapore's human rights record is bad, if you look around the world unfortunately it is a lot better than most other places. Like Mr. Bush's home state, for example, which also has the death penalty (funny, I don't hear Mr. Chee saying that you should boycott Texas oil companies like Exxon Mobil...).
The degree of this letter writer's contempt also makes me wonder about this letter writer:
is this person a PAP plant, writing letters to the forum just so as to put down Mr. Chee in the guise of "an indignant patriotic Singaporean man in the street", to influence the masses? Of course, I agree with a sovereign state's right to make laws for itself, etc., but I also happen to agree with Mr. Chee's take on the death penalty. Killing minor drug dealers will not eradicate or lower the drug problem. I'm not smart enough to tell you exactly what is the right thing to do, but I'm smart enough to tell you that death is
permanent and irreversible: if you kill someone, you are unable to reform the person. From an economic perspective, it is just ridiculously expensive to execute a person, given the administrative costs and issues concerned. You are also removing all potential future economic value of a reformed member of society, and the opportunity cost of that is often forgotten.
I'm now watching
Singapore Rebel by Martyn See on
Google videos, which has been banned in Singapore as being a party political video. It sounds ridiculous, given that it is not about the SDP but only about Mr. Chee Soon Juan.
But watching it, the reason for the ban is not as ridiculous: it IS extremely partisan, and extremely unbalanced coverage.
Don't get me wrong: I'm not a PAP sucker.
But I do take umbrage at a video that portrays Mr. Chee Soon Juan as the hero of Singapore's opposition, as the sole light of Singapore's democracy movement.
That is complete bollocks: the movie makes
no mention of Mr. Chee's political machinations, in which he ousted his own political mentor, Mr. Chiam See Tong from Mr. Chiam's own party. For Mr. Chiam, that must have been extremely upsetting: to be thrown out of the very same party which you founded.
There is no mention that Mr. Chiam sued Mr. Chee. Nor any mention of Mr. Chee's ridiculous glucose consumption while "on hunger strike". Nor did it go into any detail about why Mr. Chee was dismissed by NUS (none of the documentation that was produced in court to substantiate his dismissal were shown).
Instead, the portrayal is of a good guy (the film introduces Mr Chee as a family man, with adorable children, much like many other propaganda films), of a fighter for democracy and rights fighting a horrible state apparat, of the sort which would appeal greatly to human rights activists abroad who do not know any better. And that is just as incomplete a picture as the Straits Times lopsided portrayal of a political clown.
Admittedly, there are some good bits of the film: certain footage which I have never seen before, like a live-recording of Mr. Chee's arrest by the police. But
overall, the film is really flawed. Not least because the initial narrator has an extremely annoying accent: it's the accent of a Singaporean trying to sound like A Cool Dude... or maybe that of A Cool Dude trying to sound vaguely Singaporean.
I think the scope of the film was too narrow. Why focus exclusively on Mr. Chee Soon Juan? There are so many other characters out there in the opposition who are doing good work, and who are also saying much the same things as he is, but who do not get half the publicity that he gets. If anything, Mr. Chee is an opposition lightning rod who has had the unfortunate effect of causing most Singaporeans to equate political opposition with his sometimes-clownish acts.
This, I would say, is just as harmful for Singapore's fledgling opposition as the State's political monopoly.
...F*ck Me
It's been such a bad day today.
In the first place, when did today start? I'm not sure. For one, it sure as hell didn't start when classes did, but way, way, WAYYYY before that...
I finally finished the presentation slides last night at around 9pm or so. Or was it 10pm? I don't remember.
After having wasted some time taking a short break, I proceeded to try doing the homework. Then the quantum exam.
Except, I couldn't find it.
Panic. Adrenalin rush.
I cycled back. Searched through all my papers, all my stuff. Nothing.
Cycled back to the lab, looked through all the papers again. Finally, there it is. After wasting 40 fucking minutes looking for a piece of paper that was underneath my very nose all this time.
I started work on it. Ran into trouble almost straight away. Maybe I was already tired. I'm pretty sure I was, actually. I looked through it, looking for bits which I understood: nothing. I looked through the chapter, read through the materials again.
Maybe it was the panic.
Whatever it was, my mind was a complete blank. Just panic.
I decided to return to the room, to rest and try again afterwards. Came back, washed up, slept for 2 hours, then tried again.
It was better, but by this time I'm feeling like a complete retard.
Actually, that's an understatement. I am feeling like I was back in secondary school trying to understand calculus for the first time, and feeling the same way as when I got 5% on my exams: numbed and dumbed. I refused to give in to that feeling, and kept trying. "Don't give up!" I thought to myself.
I woke up 1 hour later, realizing I fell asleep without knowing it. Crap. Clock read 4am. Ok, try and focus now.
At 4.10, I lifted my face up from the table again. Fucking shit. Maybe I'm just really exhausted.... so I set an alarm and lay down. For another hour.
Woke up, and still wasn't able to do anything at all.
Finally, I just rushed through whatever I could, packed my stuff, headed for breakfast and went for Accounting class.
Nothing big, nothing unusual, except that it's obvious I am super tired.
I was unable to finish the assignment for accounting, in my muddled state, and I was not able to finish my Chemistry homework as well, due to the fact that the accounting prof was staring at me half the time, which made it hard to inconspicuously glimpse at the homework assignments... feigning interest takes quite a bit of acting!
Went to the Kinetics class, handed in my homework, and the class finished with us doing our course evaluations (which I had wondered, but had not said anything), and ended up with me taking it back to the Registrar's for the professor. I'll miss him: he's a good guy, though the course homework grading scheme is really tough. Handed in the homework, and heart dropped when I read the solution: somehow I ended up getting different answers for one of the two questions I did. Once again, I'll be scoring 1/4 or something like that....
Quantum Chemistry wasn't much better. Went there early, was lying there and resting when El Weirdo came in early and once again tried to get my attention again as usual.... making lots of noises, stupid comments. I just ignored him and tried to catch some sleep.
Lunch was a blur: I don't remember much. I think I slept, and waited for Amu to call, but she didn't call until later. Then we spoke for a bit, and I had to rush off to my Leadership Rice Team's presentation. I took pictures of them like a proud father at a child's graduation: I am proud of them. The presentation didn't go super-well, but it went well enough, I thought. They were really nervous, and it showed.
The other teams came on, and I went back to my computer, just in time to see an email from the accounting prof threatening to fail me straight, if I didn't turn up for classes next week. Quite troublesome. And I am glad I only took the class on a pass-fail basis, because I am feeling overwhelmed by everything...
Went back and spoke to the Missus, but not much, because she was feeling down herself. And her roommate's internet connection was making a royal ruckus on the line: she couldn't hear what I was saying, and that kind of pissed us both off, though not at each other. But it succeeded in preventing us from talking.
Then I was preparing for my presentation for tonight, and then I got an email from the quantum prof, saying that he's gonig to give me a maximum of a C- (and he explained everything nicely: he is a very sweet person) given how badly I screwed up on this exam and the previous one.
That just pulled my mood down: at this rate, I am never going to graduate with any sort of honors at all. At this rate, I am going to end up nowhere... I felt like I squandered my parents money. And I probably have, by coming here. I felt like I was stupid, doing a major in which I'm not particularly good at, which isn't going to give me many opportunities in the future.
But then after I put the phone down on the missus, I decided I had to redeem myself with my presentation, so I forced myself up and practiced with it a bit, going through mentally the entire sequence.
The actual presentation went well: there was a initial bit of a mixup. I was originally scheduled to go first, but ended up going third because the advisors of the other students were there. The feedback I got from J., my friend, was that I was extremely enthusiastic, and bits of my "silly humor" made me likeable. On reading the actual feedback, that seems to be the case: I got a number of "good use of humor" comments, and a surprising number wrote "10^13!" (because I had pointed at that thing on my slide on the Raman enhancements in SERS, and said, "that's an exclamation mark, not a factorial" which cracked everyone up...). I made a lot of "umms" which was more than made up for by my apparent enthusiasm, and I got tripped up by some questions (a very good one from Sculley, about the possibility of trapping other molecules resulting in an overly complicated SERS spectra), but all in all it went well. J said I was funny, because I said stuff like "SAM is not 'surface to air missile' but 'self assembled monolayer' ", or "the substrate acts like a violin to a violin string" or "a SAM is like a mattress of single chain molecules".
The presentation is about the only good thing. At the end of it, I arranged to meet my quantum prof (who also runs this Honors research seminar) tomorrow afternoon, and immediately felt the same dread and sinking feeling....
I came back and immediately wanted to go sleep, but my suitemate's girlfriend and her friends were making a ruckus, watching TV and playing loud music, which made it impossible to sleep early.
So now it is close to midnight, I'm tired as hell, depressed, and want to sleep.
What a fucking day.
Honestly, I think I'm not cut out to be a scientist. I'm wondering whether I should now take on an engineering job instead. It seems to me that an engineering are might be interesting, though I might not necessarily be good at it. Industrial engineering will have an interesting design element to it, coupled with a study of management that I am quite good at.
I'm not thinking straight. Sleep, please take me...
The lab at night
It's really nice and peaceful at night, here in the lab.
For one thing, I don't have to deal with crazy roommates like the one living opposite me, who is a voluble Greek-American bubbling with exclamations and damnations ("Fucking shit!" he'll sometimes say. Or his favourite roar: "BALLSS!!!").
For another thing, I don't have to fall asleep on my face just because my stupid desklamp blew out on me, because it is bright as daylight here. The labs are always well-lit, to accomodate crazy grad students who come in anytime to do their work (and having run into Felicia here at 11pm at night, that is definitely true!)
The lab is here, and it is well-lit, and I know it well. Everything I need is available: power, wireless internet, lots of light. Heck, even the chairs here are much more comfy than what I have in my room; my room chair always gives me a backache.
The only downside tonight is that I wasted two hours finishing reading a totally irrelevant book: "Seabiscuit". Given the proximity of the end of the book, I couldn't put it down after finishing my dinner. The book makes for really fascinating reading, though. It's a romance, in the classical sense. A hyped-up version of the grimy reality, with a hyped-up version of the grime: no matter how the book tries to convey the brutality of the races, or of the dirt of the poor living in those times, or the stench, it just doesn't compare with the real thing, as I discovered when I went to India and got hit in the nose by the stench.
The book is brillant, though. It successfully conveys the spirit of the horse and the team, but in particular, I identify with Seabiscuit himself: he liked to eat, and sleep, and was extremely antisocial until he found a best friend to settle with. Yet when push came to shove, he was able to bear down on his opponents and wear them down: I'm not quite that brutal yet, I think.... so maybe that's where the resemblance ends.
I finished my presentation, though I think it wiser to keep it for now, and to send it off to Dr. Johnson only tomorrow.
So now I have to "enjoy" the lab, and finish up the Kinetics homework and Quantum exam, neither of which I have even touched.... hopefully I now have some of Seabiscuit's grit through having read the book, and will survive the long night ahead...
Tired again
Do I sound like a lame loser or what?
But can't help it lah. Kenina.
I've wasted away a large part of the weekend, spending yesterday with Z for his birthday, which was worth it, since it was his 21st birthday. I treated him to lunch at the stinky Vietnamese place: obviously, he really digs it, because he went there again today! He really liked the food, because the food is really much better than anywhere else in H-town by far: the best banh mi (the meat is not too sweet, the fillings are all fresh), the best Vietnamese coffee (super strong, super gao, just the way limpeh likes it...), and the best bun hue noodles (spicy beef noodles with lemongrass: basically like asam laksa!).
Coming back I went to the lab to get some work done: ended up chatting for the most part with Qiang's gf. The lady has some troubles, and gentleman that I am (and a nosy parker too), I had to lend a listening ear.
After that, I went to play basketball with Z. We played a 1-on-1 for a bit, then a 2-on-2 with these two guys who were taller than I am, and much fitter: I was way out of my league. Z was still able to keep up (a Diver is always a Diver... same way that an OOC is always a bai kah!), but I felt like throwing up half way: super shacked man! Almost dying from a heart attack!!
We then went for a beer afterwards at the Gingerman, which is one fine pub: I never knew the Gingerman had a cask-conditioned ale, btw, and really enjoyed a pint! Man, I really dig that stuff. It's a pity there isn't more of that around... the only cask-conditioned ale they had was a St. Arnold's Amber ale from cask, and it is very hoppy and bitter, and very much an acquired taste: Jude tasted it, and made a yucky face. The rest enjoyed their offerings: Z had a pear ale, Josh had a Riesling, and Jude had an Old Speckled Hen.
Jude and Josh had to go off somewhere else, so Z and I headed to Two rows for dinner. The food sucks, and the beer was appalling, especially after what we had in Gingerman.
This beer thing really convinced me that a beer is one of the best post-workout drinks: usually, after a strenuous game of b-ball, I'm essentially invalided-out the next day. But today I was perfectly ok when I woke up to talk to the missus (though I was really tired out: dusty room). A little soreness on the small of the back, but otherwise perfectly ok. The only difference was the beer that we had... that's how I like to think of it anyway.
Wasn't able to concentrate today at all. Was just super horny for the most part, kept thinking of the Missus and felt horny. I really miss her, though, in a non-sexual way. It is what-can-be-called "romantic longing".
But only started work on Sunday, instead of Saturday.... sigh.
Gay guys again
But this time it is different.
I was walking back to my room, when this gay couple walked by holding hands, on an evening walk.
It was extremely sweet: some people actually get killed for showing their homosexuality.
I was touched. It made the day seem human again.
Love
I am in love with someone.
No, not myself, but someone else.
It's a funny thing, love. As far as I can remember, I spent all my time daydreaming when I was younger, wishing I was in love with someone. I was a bore, a romantic bore who wished to spend all his time being with someone who would love him back as much as he would give.
I remembered thinking stupid thoughts to myself, like "I might look androgynous, even feminine, but deep inside there is great husband-material waiting to be shown", or "I am a very good love-theoretician: still a technical virgin, but give me the chance and I will prove myself to be the best lover (in a romantic sense, of course) you have ever had".
But overriding such stupid thoughts that came mostly during puberty, I wished there was someone who would understand me, love me almost unconditionally, and whom I am absolutely crazy about.
The older I became, the criteria for this dream princess expanded, to include an aptitude in science and mathematics together with a love for the arts and humanities, a down-to-earthness, a sincerity for helping, a sense of humour, a caring side. I need someone as all-rounded, someone who is direct to a fault.
As I told the Missus many times, I have never been in love with anyone the same way that I have been with her: it has never been this... perfect. Has been, and still is, except for the distance between us.
But the fact that the closest parallel that I can compare my current relationship to is my childish dreams of the past indicates that my dream has come true: I longed to be with a beautiful princess, with a kind heart, gorgeous, sexy, someone who is a perfect fit.
Man, do I miss her right now... living with her changed my life. I've never been happier.
How I wish I was with her right now...
To complicate things there is another girl here who looks and resembles my loved one quite a lot. I can't help looking at her, or wishing that she was around for me to look at.
But I know she is a different person. And in desiring this new person, what I am really looking for is the real McCoy, my partner, the Missus.
Why the hell do they have to look alike...? Is this some kind of warped purity test for me that someone else arranged for my benefit? If it is, I'm fucking failing it.... though not completely!
I like the picture with this blog: there is a purity to it, almost an innocence, like the sort accompanying a high school date. It is a very sweet picture, and I wish the Missus was around for me to snog her like that too... Nowadays everything is so sexually charged, love has changed from an analog of emotions into a digitalized porno. Doesn't help that "Sex and the City" perpetuates the blurring between sex and love.
Me, I am clinging on to the dream of romantic love and of the ideal. Who happens to be too far away right now, bloody hell...
Annoying guy in the closet... or is he out already?
Gay guys really don't bother me in general.
But what has been bothering the crap out of me recently has been this idiot, who doesn't seem gay on his facebook profile, but whose body language has been threatening, to say the least.
Don't get me wrong: one of my best friends is gay, and we are like brothers. I've nothing against gay guys or homosexuality in general.
I'm just disturbed by this ONE guy right now who, a) seems to be acting gay towards me and b) seems closeted, which makes it even more worrying, and c) whose intensity is really rubbing me the wrong way. Not that I like to be rubbed, unless it is a certain someone in a certain somewhere (sorry girls, I'm offlimits to everyone else).
He looks at me very much in the same way that I've seen other guys look and stare at hot chicks across a room. It's the same stare a hunter gives to a deer in his sights. Couple that with a really annoying tendency to want to attract my attention (overexaggerated gestures in my presence, a certain degree of anxiety, and a tendency to sit really close to me when I want to be left alone in the eating area), it translates into a really annoying motherfucker. Or fatherfucker. Whatever.
It's disturbing that I actually HAVE to behave in this way, because one time I was friendly and trying to be normal with him, the fucking idiot took advantage of me, entering my room, asking for the remote, turning on the fucking TV as though we were best buddies. As friends of mine know, I am very particular about space and distance. Maybe it's my upbringing, maybe it's genetic (my mother has the same tendencies), but I hate it when people lack discretion in such a way, and end up imposing on others.
In this case, this moron got the point when I purposely left the room, and shut myself somewhere else until he left.
Why the fuck do such idiots not get the picture, that I'm straight and I don't want to be their best friend?
This idiot is equally annoying elsewhere: likes to show off in class (I happen to be in the same huge class as him) when the rest of the class is floating around in their fantasies, El Weirdo raises his hand to ask a question, "Isn't this blah blah manifold blah blah blah particular case to the Kruschevskian integral yadda yadda yadda da?" and everyone in the class exchange looks and roll their eyes...
Tired
I don't know about you, and you are probably not a psycho-masochist-weirdo that I am.
But it is quite interesting to deprive yourself of sleep, and to observe your mind when it is fatigued.
It is almost like a video game, or like "Being John Malkovich", looking through your eyes and seeing the same things, but feeling very distant from yourself. It is as though you are a director inside yourself, controlling a puppet which you can feel, touch, sense and empathize with to a personal extreme.
When I'm tired, and exhausted to the extreme, my perception becomes heightened and deadened at the same time: I become much more sensitive to sound and images and movement and color. But at the same time, everything seems to zip by, as though I was moving in slow motion.
Sometimes, the longer I stay up the more tired I feel. Othertimes, I get more tired, but then past a certain hour of the night, I become wide-awake again (though usually, this means I will crash the next day).
And then I become repetitive without knowing it, using and re-using key words like "anyway", "sometimes", et cetera.
I'm tired.
A Chinese novel lost in translation
It is a pity that there are very few good translations of modern Chinese novels: I once encountered a few English translation of Qian Zhongshu's "Fortress Besieged" (钱锺书先生的《围城》), which is by far the funniest and wittiest Chinese novel I had ever read in Chinese.
The translation seemed the product of either a schizophrenic translator or of a class of English-speakers of various degrees of proficiency: it was tortuous plodding through the translation, which seemed to alternate between a literal translation and a figurative one.
Worst of all, it plainly lacked the style and effervescence of the original Chinese version: the humor and humanity of Mr. Qian was throttled, stifled and buried by the translation efforts of a couple of seeming Chinese bureaucrats.
It is a pity, for the book is one of the best I have ever read. For the longest time, I was extremely averse to reading Chinese, not because I hate the language or the culture, but because there was absolutely nothing in modern Chinese which was not filled with cliches and hackneyed phrases. In the case of the mainland Chinese publications, my experience was that they were filled with politically-correct phrases and sentences: thus, a history of Tibet invariably starts off with a description of "Tibet's backward feudal system" before the "liberation by the heroic People's Liberation Army", followed by a boast of their current state of advancement.
This book, though, is written in flowing Chinese prose that can only be described as beautiful, lyrical and light-hearted. Mr. Qian is perhaps closest to Roald Dahl in writing style and to P.G. Wodehouse in wit and brillance.
The English version feels dead in comparison, especially when the translators do a literal translation of a paragraph or when they try to explain a certain proverb or idiomatic expression: the narrative quickly runs into quicksand and becomes a very dead Swamp Thing.
I remember reading Alastair Reid's translation of Pablo Neruda's poems, and he quoted the great Chilean poet as saying, "I want you to
improve my poems, not just translate them." Many translators would do well to heed this advice.
Hence, I argue, it is very important for a translator to have a similar mindset and outlook as the original writer, for they're not just translating the words, but also relaying the meaning and spirit of the work: it is through having a similar mindset and outlook that the same intangibles will be able to come across.
I highly recommend readers to try this book out, if they can handle Chinese. If not, take Chinese classes, but avoid the English translations in the market right now...
That said, a translator faces a peculiarly unique problem in translating Chinese prose: Chinese is extremely succinct and concise, which adds to the poetic effect in the language. This effect can get lost, though, through translation which is necessary to prevent losing the audience.
Everything is lost in translation.... unfortunately.
Kena sai!!! Setting up blogs and stupid GREs...
Chao chee bye, this damned blog is so difficult to create! What's with all my favourite blog names being taken up??? All these unoriginal disingenuous (*GRE word alert!*) mental retards who are copying my favourite names!! May they go to Southpark Hell! ("Saddam, you really hurt my feelings...")
Anyway, all I wanted to say initially was that I just realized I really like Prokofiev.
Am now listening to the ending music of "Romeo and Juliet", but instead of feeling tragic and soppy, I'm feeling extremely pissed off with this damned blog... such a freaking hassle to come up with a name nowadays!
-huff, puff, huff, puff-
Anyway, it's good that I get a chance to vent. For far too long, I've been keeping all this tension within myself, with the result that I'm developing peptic ulcers. Then I take Mylanta, and end up burping mint-flavored burps, and I feel like a toilet freshener.
I'm just going to use this blog to babble whenever I can: the rest of the time in my actual life, I'm always so careful about writing, so detailed and particular about my grammer, my spelling, my vocabulary... it's hard being anal retentive. You just end up being full of shit.
I am making excellent use of my time right now, typing this blog when I should actually be grading physics homeworks for freshmen...on a related note, undoubtedly most of the freshmen whom I'm grading officially hate me by now. A lot of times I give very low grades, but I hope they will understand that it is really not my fault if the grading scheme is as bad as it sometimes gets.... I really make an effort to be as generous as I can, but this is always subject to the constraints of the given grading scheme, which ranges from being ridiculously strict to ludicrously relaxed.
Anyway, before this, I filled my tummy up with lots of sushi. US$1 a piece for nigiri sushi, US$3 for hot sake, pretty good deal! Especially since H-town is finally becoming cold like it should be: yesterday's summer has become a crisp winter's day today. Not that I was too happy with that as I was biking to TSU for my GRE... speaking of which, I am extremely happy I got 680 for the verbal and 720 for the Quantitative section! The new computerized GRE scheme is really a bitch, and in my opinion, your gut feel about how you did on the exam is completely unrelated with your actual performance: I was fully expecting to score 500 on both sections, based on my gut feel, and my jaw hit the ground when I saw my actual scores on the computer screen.
