tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-357958382012-01-26T04:16:29.047+08:00Chi Ling's Blogchanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.comBlogger1381100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-49736653281148722932011-04-04T15:52:00.000+08:002011-04-04T15:53:58.375+08:00

It’s so easy to find excuses for what is really laziness. I’ve stopped writing (in any meaningful sense) on my blog for a few months now, and the repercussions are slowly setting in: words are slipping past me without warning, thoughts worth penned down have been forgotten or become a faint half-comprehended memory, and an acquiescence for things around me is bothering me. It’s not so much a loss

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-37373673487771915622011-03-21T13:04:00.003+08:002011-03-21T13:08:46.866+08:00

I was late. Positively late, and the typical Pavlovian response of mine was to panic. It’s called allegrophobia. My heart starts racing, blood rushing, eyebrows knitting, wrist-raising every few seconds to the eye level to catch a glimpse of the time. Only to realize I didn’t bring a watch – which is not atypical of me. Forgetfulness is my middle name. My eyes darted around in search for watch

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-50756493452774744792011-03-13T13:04:00.000+08:002011-03-13T13:05:25.895+08:00

I don’t remember the word I wished to say by Osip MandelstamI don’t remember the word I wished to say.The blind swallow returns to the hall of shadow,on shorn wings, with the translucent ones to play.The song of night is sung without memory, though.No birds. No blossoms on the dried flowers.The manes of night’s horses are translucent.An empty boat drifts on the naked river.Lost among grasshoppers

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-59480995180774549562011-03-09T21:38:00.007+08:002011-03-09T21:43:05.494+08:00

Tyrants! Bloody tyrants listen! You who are deaf shall hear us a final time and then no more. We the people have risen Broken the silence, the chains, the manacles! Now we walk down the streets, high held our heads. We fear no more. We bow no more. This is no awakening – for we were wide awake When you butchered our brothers, burnt our fathers, Left our mothers to the gutters, We ate

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-45053387016595928022011-03-02T21:42:00.003+08:002011-03-02T21:57:56.314+08:00

Given your amazing stalking ability I'm sure some of you are reading this.Thank you for the lovely birthday card - it's the biggest one I've ever had! Had a wonderful time reading your messages (they really made my day), though I must comment that a particular 'golden rooster' whose name I need not mention does need some penmanship class XD You guys are sweet as peeps... stay that way peeps! See

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-86573269164810318912011-02-20T18:13:00.003+08:002011-02-20T18:16:49.201+08:00

Nothing preoccupies the modern political process more than economic growth does. The very term ‘growth’ and its corollary connotations of progress, improvement and prosperity convinces us – before any argument or debate takes place – that it’s something worth pursuing. It’s only natural that economies ought to grow, just as human beings do (or think we do). Beyond that it is certainly more

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-33217257689837627702011-02-06T09:40:00.001+08:002011-02-06T09:41:49.689+08:00

Spirits of the DeadThy soul shall find itself alone —Alone of all on earth — unknownThe cause — but none are near to pryInto thine hour of secrecy.Be silent in that solitude,Which is not loneliness — for thenThe spirits of the dead, who stoodIn life before thee, are againIn death around thee, and their willShall then o'ershadow thee — be stillFor the night, tho' clear, shall frown:And the stars

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-88215371383331434642011-01-12T12:20:00.003+08:002011-01-12T12:33:32.330+08:00

(passerby reminded me of the doomsayers' and soothsayers' obsession with 2012, so here's something about it:)Many people believe that the world will come to an end in December of 2012. This date marks the end of the Mayan calendar. This date is also tied to an astrological event that is predicted to occur on this date. The predictions show that the path of the sun will cross with the center of

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-77198102043506080422011-01-12T12:14:00.003+08:002011-01-12T12:18:00.820+08:00

Not long ago I wrote a paper on retributive justice, exploring the rational and non-rational justifications for punishment. Throughout history, oceans of blood have been spilled and an endless number of lives ruined in an effort to settle scores – even when nothing good could possibly come out of it. I was interested in why makes people seek justice, where the primal urge of seeing the foe who

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-44519438775980795812011-01-11T19:16:00.002+08:002011-01-11T20:56:11.017+08:00

She is jealous of that mannequin - yes, that one; see what she’s wearing?She wants that little black dress.But then her brown wallet is thinner than she isOr the glass that separates her and her objet du désirInto the boutique she walks, With an air of awkward confidence –Size S, please.And the dress is in her hand, Its smooth satin swimming about in provocative caressHad her skin been less

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-33759246191757736582011-01-04T18:00:00.007+08:002011-01-04T20:43:51.383+08:00

The cancun climate talks were doomed to fail. So said EU president Herman van Rompuy – not openly, of course (it was wikileaks’ doing – again). And so it did. I have come to learn that real UN summits and assemblies are not very unlike the model UN summits we students organize and attend: delegates fall asleep, the president makes or breaks the whole session (and often does the latter), at any

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-69269612797515328192011-01-01T20:08:00.001+08:002011-01-01T20:08:24.720+08:00

What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.No time to stand beneath the boughsAnd stare as long as sheep or cows.No time to see, when woods we pass,Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.No time to see, in broad daylight,Streams full of stars, like skies at night.No time to turn at Beauty's glance,And watch her feet, how they can dance.No time to wait till her mouth

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-33580385937373029312010-12-31T10:53:00.001+08:002010-12-31T10:53:44.343+08:00

Work at the Centre for Public Economics has been fun to say the least, especially with wonderful colleagues and projects I take a personal interest in. (though my friends would probably ask: what has labour economics got to do with YOUR life?) Well it has. Now I know why my mum hasn’t got a significant salary rise in 10 years, why pay always lags behind productivity rise and inflation, while some

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-47818865562826486802010-12-13T15:26:00.001+08:002010-12-13T15:29:15.483+08:00

Well. That did it – after some 8 crazy years in high school and JC all I got was an email: Dear Chi Ling,On behalf of the Undergraduate Admission Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to Stanford’s Class of 2015! Over the past few years I had had to make many decisions. Some more important, some less, but all secretly leading me to a somewhere out there about which I have no

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-72269155854927684562010-12-10T09:50:00.002+08:002010-12-10T10:17:16.996+08:00

Hey readers, thanks for the comments both on the chatbox and on the page and to my email! I'm currently in Hong Kong and will be updating once I'm back in Singapore! :)

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-82276698337630782992010-11-05T08:27:00.002+08:002010-11-05T08:32:15.159+08:00

-----Written by Adrian Tan, author of The Teenage Textbook (1988), was the guest-of-honour at a recent NTU convocation ceremony. This was his speech to the graduating class of 2008.-----I must say thank you to the faculty and staff of the Wee Kim Wee School of Communication and Information for inviting me to give your convocation address. It’s a wonderful honour and a privilege for me to speak

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-19450611539671905512010-10-29T09:20:00.003+08:002010-10-29T09:32:42.746+08:00

"God has not been so sparring to man to make them barely two-legged creatures, and left it to Aristotle to make them rational." Sometimes I wonder what life would be if I had utterly no sense of logic at all; if every thought comes reeling across with complete randomness. Like this:I love cats - No I don't.I feel like shooting them down. Cornflakes are the greatest things on earth.Nothing ever is

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-86940407151805258562010-10-10T23:04:00.004+08:002010-10-11T15:40:39.437+08:00

Every time I come across such a statement the first thought that comes to mind is, BULLSHIT. Here's my rebuttal - ironically through a KI essay (which is sometimes quite full of bullshit too). Unlike in Science where inquiry reaps tangible results that is instrumental to technological progress and the empowerment of human beings in controlling nature, it is not clear at first glance what real

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-15972066134872812602010-10-09T15:18:00.001+08:002010-10-09T15:20:22.519+08:00

The white dust rose in whirls smelling of the ages gone, of forsaken words from a distant somebody who speaks but does not talk. A perduring classic, a touchstone – a stone that one would touch to renew long-abandoned faith in humanity or taste the rawness of what they call the human condition. But there it remained – untouched, sedentary on a shelf, by the day and by the

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-48968644109351466472010-10-07T13:18:00.002+08:002010-10-07T13:20:53.003+08:00

Wittgenstein once noted how his works shows ' how little has been done when these problems have been solved" The reason behind this is simple - they're philosophical problems, and philosophical problems are in effect no problems at all. What he has done is to show that philosophical problems are no problems at all but puzzles believed to be problems - muddles believed to be mysteries - because

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-22314112863802433752010-09-29T17:19:00.003+08:002010-09-29T17:24:21.952+08:00

“The little we know about love does not transcend simple observation, and the little we write about it has been written better by poets and novelists. But of greater concern is the fact that psychologists tend to give progressively less attention to a motive which pervades our entire lives. Psychologists… not only show no interest in the origin and development of love of affection, but they seem

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-8894549093068705682010-09-29T15:24:00.004+08:002010-09-29T17:25:54.077+08:00

To what extent will a person be willing to inflict pain to another fellow human being in obedience to an authority? Milgram's experiment proves: to an extent greater than you'd think. In 1961-1962 a series of experiments were carried out at Yale University, outlined as such: The subject was given the title teacher, and the confederate, learner. The participants drew slips of paper to 'determine

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-21915716706183352552010-09-27T16:30:00.002+08:002010-09-27T22:02:25.608+08:00

Feelings are not as old as time. Just as there was a first instant when someone rubbed two sticks together to make a spark, there was a first time joy was felt, and a first time for sadness. For a while, new feelings were being invented all the time. Desire was born early, as was regret. When stubbornness was felt for the first time, it started a chain reaction, creating the feeling of resentment

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-8953829348037663062010-09-27T13:17:00.004+08:002010-09-27T13:24:28.014+08:00

Once in a while my mom enters my room bellowing that I’m not a girl and never will be. The hangers on the floor. The mess on your bed (are you sure you sleep there?). And look at the trash on your piano bench – like scatology. Would you kill you to make your bed? And neaten your bookshelf a bit? Worms are crawling out from the mugs on your desk. That’s a long-winded way of getting me to start

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-13031674842243657072010-09-26T15:46:00.005+08:002010-09-26T15:53:07.043+08:00

“The song,” I said, “it was called “Never Let Me Go”. ‘ Then I sang a couple of lines quietly under my breath for her. ‘Never let me go. Oh, baby, baby. Never let me go…’…When I watched you dancing that day, I saw something else. I saw a new world coming rapidly. More scientific, more efficient, yes. More cures for the old sicknesses. Very good. But a harsh, cruel world. And I saw a little girl,

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-88257387437672610072010-09-25T22:24:00.001+08:002010-09-25T22:26:01.365+08:00

You know how there’re days when your mind just goes blank, when you’re tired of thinking, of letting any train of thoughts start revving up your mind. You realize you don’t feel like a living thing at all. Everything works – you’re breathing, you see the sky above changing colour, smell the coming of the rain, feel the raindrops falling on your bare skin… but your senses are divided, independent,

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-27368889891169577412010-09-16T20:57:00.004+08:002010-09-16T21:01:11.834+08:00

Out of the night that covers me,Black as Pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods maybe For my unconquerable soul.In the fell clutch of circumstanceI have not winced nor cried aloud.Under the bludgeoning of chanceMy head is bloody, but unbowed.Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the horror of Shade,And yet the menace of the yearsFinds, and shall find, me unafraid.It matters not how

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-25343754228424414762010-09-08T10:42:00.001+08:002010-09-08T10:43:46.439+08:00

O come, come and set me free!There's nothing that closes the mind ever more than exams that are 2 months due.

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-8919651704377632512010-09-08T10:40:00.000+08:002010-09-08T10:41:07.731+08:00

Listen – hush, listen – Do you not hear the sound of the wordsThat the sussurant wind is whispering? Those little secrets brought from far away woods?Woods that I have never seen nor smelt nor danced in,Only those wrapped in mists in fairytales of old,Which must exist somewhere out there where none can seeExcept with eyes closed and minds free, wandering lonely in nowhereland. But I am stuck. My

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-3698093518634931432010-07-18T09:47:00.002+08:002010-07-19T17:29:52.072+08:00

Fri, 16 Jul 2010. Esplanade Concert Hall The last time I heard Stephen Hough was in 2007 October when he played Brahms’ Concerto No. 1 with SSO – one of the first concerts I wrote reviews on. I remembered telling myself then, this is how the piano should be played! About 3 years later, I see Stephen Hough on stage again, walking in with the familiar energy that so impressed me three years back.

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-29360399211187238112010-07-10T11:51:00.003+08:002010-07-10T11:55:56.803+08:00

I read Earnest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms. A story of a young soldier Federick Henry at the frontlines of world war one, falling in love with Ms Barkley, living the world that was then tumultuous and so indifferent to human hope and faith - and longing for peace which he finally gets before losing it the next moment. In a war to end all wars there is ironically no end; any seeming peace is

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-17969110780658272172010-06-02T11:46:00.003+08:002010-06-02T11:48:42.882+08:00

But never either found anotherTo free the hollow heart from paining - They stood aloof, the scares remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between; -But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,Shall wholly do away, I ween,The marks of that which once hath been. (somehow this resonated when i picked up Seth's An Equal Music again)

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-44403397171892454442010-06-02T10:57:00.001+08:002010-06-02T11:53:00.680+08:00

（发表于2010年5月29日的华中论文发布会暨“中国发展与世界稳定”论坛）从汇率争端看中美外交博弈中的社会因素 陈智羚 (25/5/2010) 今年年初以来，人民币汇率问题一度升温，成为中美热门话题。美国要求人民币升值的声音已经超越党派和各阶层，学术界、商界和民众也加入其中，唇枪舌剑愈演愈烈。在国内各种舆论的压力下，奥巴马政府也加入了人民币汇率的“声讨”行列，多次公开表示，如果中方不能允许人民币自由浮动，将采取更强硬的手段。中国则以坚定的姿态重申自主决定人民币汇率走向的立场1。直至五月初，中美围绕人民币汇率问题问题的争论才逐渐降温。 事实上，中美双方围绕人民币汇率问题的争论由来已久，汇率问题是中美长期以来的经济问题，为何在近日又被搬到台前，被推向风口浪尖？ 首先，是受美国媒体宠爱的明星经济学家克鲁格曼（Paul Krugman）在《纽约时报》

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-15469457992578315182010-05-22T22:41:00.003+08:002010-05-22T23:04:52.243+08:00

A lonely bus-stop.People come and people go, only lone souls stay to broodin the mozzie buzz of neon lights,the only accompaniment in a symphony of nothingness.There she sits unmoved by the rush hour,listening to the monotone of speeding carssharply cutting through the air. Waiting for a bus that never comes.A bus that never comes- not even if you break your craning neck.no scorned wrath, just

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-89549456321717697582010-05-22T22:36:00.002+08:002010-05-22T22:41:23.947+08:00

I am too big, too big by far. Pity me. My eyes bulge and hurt. They are my one great beauty, even so. They see too much, above, below, and yet there is not much to see. The rain has stopped. The mist is gathering on my skin in drops. The drops run down my back, run from the corners of my downturned mouth, run down my sides, and drip beneath my belly. Perhaps the droplets on my mottled hide are

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-83275540534193710252010-05-11T10:40:00.001+08:002010-05-11T10:40:05.138+08:00

The artist is the creator of beautiful things.To reveal art and conceal the artist is the artist's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things. The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupted without being charming. This is a fault. Those

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-39342196722725611472010-04-25T10:42:00.002+08:002010-04-25T11:09:59.146+08:00

I sat through some 30 min on one of the recent Britain Elections TV debates starring Gordon Brown, Nick Cregg and David Cameron. It's the first ever in UK (they probably learnt that from US) to place election candidates in such an intense setting where they fight it all out with words. It's exciting, it's nerve-wrecking for the candidates, it makes one think that this IS democracy and public

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-17712091270908302972010-04-25T10:40:00.001+08:002010-04-25T11:11:13.698+08:00

[a little essay i wrote for NUSPA] “I always know my lines.” – Vivien Leigh, Best Actress for 2 Academy Awards. The Singapore Story penned out by our forefathers is a miracle story, and who can dispute that? Out of an insignificantly small malarial swamp, this little red dot that sits snugly at the tip of the Malay Peninsula had independence thrust back upon it in 1965, and in one generation,

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-75595270838368343502010-03-31T11:37:00.004+08:002010-04-01T09:05:56.677+08:00

What is it like?To have a bullet pierce through your skullsplitting up in a splitof a micro-second - like a firework -To have your bloody guts spewedand made an everywhere;Or limbs and arms torn asunderbutchered by metal assailants bare?Oh the heartache! The unbearable heartache,To see a thousand men made brave by false cause,tottering in a rain of bullets showered upon themby an enemy they do

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-32343340098646779302010-03-18T08:26:00.001+08:002010-03-18T08:26:30.037+08:00

He holds my hand as the wind holds my hair,Walking down, walking up in nowhere land.The sky is light and lit with sunless hue,With shades of pink and violet blue,Sheets of white, like snowfields that moveAs zephyr whispers, kisses blow.

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-57222499670604876072010-03-09T11:25:00.002+08:002010-03-09T11:28:48.727+08:00

I can only think of the story – so beautiful, so incandescent, so real – in pure images. For the words served its purpose so well that it conjured in my mind such vivid images that throughout the entire journey I was not reading words, but living lives; lives that are better imagined in pictures and images. Every character came alive, and those that died in the plot died not for the memories of

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-24857073127615900262010-03-07T14:17:00.001+08:002010-03-07T14:17:36.580+08:00

'Tis the last rose of summerLeft blooming alone;All her lovely companionsAre faded and gone;No flower of her kindred,No rosebud is nigh,To reflect back her blushes,To give sigh for sigh.I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!To pine on the stem;Since the lovely are sleeping,Go, sleep thou with them.Thus kindly I scatter,Thy leaves o'er the bed,Where thy mates of the gardenLie scentless and dead.So

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-37487714921466522532010-02-22T19:06:00.000+08:002010-02-22T19:07:01.207+08:00

When independence was thrust back to us in 1965 following Malaysia’s refusal for merger, Singapore was a tinderbox of conundrums. With a land area of 710km, scarcely any natural resources (yes we’ve heard that since our primary school days and it remains a fact of life), a population of less than 2 million, we could hardly be called a state. So small we were – and are – that it would be more

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-36915545259214323612010-02-15T22:27:00.002+08:002010-02-15T22:31:29.460+08:00

Bright lights, convivial music Singing of the same lyrics year on year, the same greetings from kins you never knew existed, the same greetings-in-reply, the same red-packets - (Only that the contents vary with the economy) Babies wailing, toddlers tripping, teens liming like stalactites, desensitized. You see, it’s not the coolest time of the year. Not really. The songs are not to

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-2908900620413635012010-02-08T15:33:00.002+08:002010-02-09T10:40:05.394+08:00

Concerto Competition Prize Winners’ Concert Sat 6 Feb 2010, 7.30pm, Yong Siew Toh Conservatory Concert Hall After numerous long and intensive competitions within faculties, the winner of each category of the conservatory concerto competition finally emerged to play in the Prize Winners’ Concert. Unlike the previous year, there was to be no competition among the three champions, which makes it

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-72987127177020365052010-01-31T22:34:00.003+08:002010-01-31T23:02:13.145+08:00

And we arrive at The Hague, with skifts of snow greeting us...THE WORLD FORUM THEATREAt THIMUN General Assembly Plenary Session... Delegation of Switzerland!THE PEACE PALACE. Road through the woods leading to the Peace Palace.World Forum TheatreTHIMUN 2010 Closing Ceremony!

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-81941391400218282162010-01-31T21:53:00.004+08:002010-01-31T22:25:07.859+08:00

Concertgebouw, Grote Zaal22 January 2010 Lisa Batiashvili, violin - Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra - Markus Stenz, conductor Zuidam –Adam – interludes M. Lindberg – Violin Concerto (Netherlands premiere) J. Adams – Harmonielehre This has got to be the finest concert hall I’ve ever stepped foot into – the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. Tickets are sold at 10 Euros an hour before concert,

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-31303247438336708042010-01-31T21:12:00.006+08:002010-01-31T21:52:53.757+08:00

Saan schans is a pretty little thing – spacious pastures with goats grazing about (and swans sitting about as if they’re laying eggs – to think I always thought swans belonged to the lake and only that; those children storybooks never drew them sitting on the grass), frozen lakes and streams with birds poking about for fishes under the thin layer of thawing ice, and windmills that complete the

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-54927957593568594222010-01-31T20:04:00.000+08:002010-01-31T23:06:38.128+08:00

for MattlinaI see a star, a distant crystal phial. Hearken; it speaks to me, it beckons me forth. We – the star and I – are a common satellite, yet I am wingless, in helpless blight, alone in the wilderness, tottering into nothingness, breathing in the ashen air, as the cold glaucoma dims the world away. They say: Aim for the stars, and if you miss, you might just land on the moon.

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-83907063910806519642010-01-20T10:40:00.005+08:002010-01-20T10:56:27.538+08:00

How easy it is to forget!Under the pretense of amnesiathere is no lie, no motive, no indifference,only disease.No fraud, no dishonesty, no vehemence,only forgetfulness. Words are easily said, and when not set in stoneit is of violent birth - like fireworksshooting high up into the night,loud, kaleidoscopic and brightbut die. They fade into the blanket of darknessand alas! are reduced to

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-44653563852769481792010-01-18T19:19:00.005+08:002010-01-18T19:47:21.787+08:00

A speck of sand called vanity flew into my heart, its oyster.Fed it did on the ocean's richness,which carved and polished it, made it grow and growby the day and by the rind, morphing into a beautiful pearl that shinesin the tranquil darkness of the shrine.In me more flew and more grew,with flashy, ambitious, seductive alluredraw eyes upon themselves, and lure.In tacit hush and shush they line

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-39776198760754892382010-01-15T08:06:00.001+08:002010-01-15T08:06:59.341+08:00

The reference to the European and American continents as the ‘West’ and the Orient as the ‘East’ has always been loose at best; both have come to develop their own associated connotation – such as the West being synonymous with democracy and the East with the lack of it. In Samuel Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations, he expounds the plurality that exists within civilization, and the modern

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-19495420931931108982009-12-18T11:27:00.000+08:002009-12-18T11:30:31.962+08:00

Not too foreign a name eh? Just happen to discover more about this man as I was reading Greek rubbish. You'll see why Pythagoras should be in the 10-most-awesome-man-who-ever-existed list.Let's start with the more prophetic, mystical side of him. Pythagoras founded a religion, of which the main tenets were the transmigration of souls (which sounds very religionish indeed), and the sinfulness of

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-56859480602939958682009-12-15T19:43:00.001+08:002009-12-15T19:51:19.993+08:00

I shattered a plate today. In a most peculiar way. It started with the hunger pangs, which drove me to steam up two little mantous. The best way to forget to watch the fire? Read a book. And read a book I did. So by a simple flow of logic, I forgot about the fire. Well it was all too late when my nose heard the burnt mantou screaming in the air. So off I ran to the kitchen, instinctively

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-22199673879267554052009-12-10T15:49:00.002+08:002009-12-10T15:52:49.800+08:00

Sometimes it's better to just live life as it is, listening to words lovers always abuse - forever, always, never... - but believing it to be true. If only believing is knowing. And to Plato: not every knowledge needs justification.

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-16921044776204868412009-11-25T06:50:00.009+08:002009-11-25T14:10:50.165+08:00

19 November 2009Full school day today, and a very interesting one! Started the day with Reality Store, a financial education activity for senior students of Dominion High. In essence it serves to educate students about financial literacy, budgeting for the future where the reality may be far removed from what we imagine as students. We enter the game with no life at all, and are to assume a

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-52392546846744901572009-11-23T09:36:00.003+08:002009-11-23T10:57:56.450+08:00

Another lovely morning with a good breakfast of cereal with cute Hobo, and we’re off to Capitol Hill of Washington D.C - in the yellow school bus that always reminds me of the magic school bus I used to go crazy over when I was young: On the bus I chatted with Derek and Daniel about the US government, the Democrats and the Republicans, guns regulation in different states, Bush Administration’

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-54375618983384935972009-11-19T13:23:00.005+08:002009-11-19T13:40:48.509+08:00

16 November 2009 Started today ere dawn broke at 4am, thanks to a particular someone, and jetlag too probably. It’s our first school day, and I started out all excited, and fearful of being late, so my roommate and I both got up punctually at 7 plus, changed quickly and were all set to go when… we discovered that schools in US starts at 9am in the morning, and that we live only a stone’s throw

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-45394571963695269772009-11-16T12:20:00.004+08:002009-11-19T13:42:10.064+08:00

15 November 2009 @ Washington DC, Virginia - Sterling - Loudoun County Finally – after more than 30 hours of waiting and flying and waiting plus more waiting, I’m in the Newfoundland of America (well to me it’s new, at least). All settled down in the comfort of my host’s basement room, with all the space I want. No more fidgeting about to find the best possible position that maximizes leg space.

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-23311008087145761222009-11-12T23:13:00.002+08:002009-11-12T23:20:38.874+08:00

There is a song the heaven singswhen nothing, nothing but pestilence rings.When clouds mount upon anotherand weigh heavy on sky's shoulder,it bruises it a steely grey till –broken and helpless it could hold no longerbut to shake it all off in nonchalanceonto the earth so sinless, so innocent.Showering burdens after burdens,silencing sounds of man and beasts,washing away strings and strings of

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-51844395725671299482009-11-09T20:53:00.001+08:002009-11-09T20:58:52.997+08:00

On this very day 20 years ago – Nov 9 1989, the Berlin Wall came tumbling down as mobs from Eastern Germany rushed in feverish frenzy across the border that had separated them from the West for more than 40 years. It was an enrapturing moment that so many had dreamed of, a moment of liberation from the blockade that the Soviet government had imposed in a staunch and unrelenting defend for

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-56035631237019188432009-11-09T18:24:00.003+08:002009-11-09T21:04:13.739+08:00

A music review I wrote a gazillion years ago but cleanly forgot to post it up. Blur me. (sorry to keep you waiting Dr Chang!)Rach2 ORCHESTRA OF THE MUSIC MAKERS Friday, 21 August 2009, 7.30pmVictoria Concert Hall The audiences were in for a double treat that night. If a Rachmaninov’s piano concerto alone could sweep one off his feet, imagine that coupled with another epic symphony by the same

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-62146553464292536782009-11-09T16:04:00.001+08:002009-11-09T16:12:42.105+08:00

There is a reason why kids have no trouble falling asleep. When you start finding it difficult to fall asleep, you know you're no longer a kid.

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-58402474087991726932009-11-09T12:14:00.002+08:002009-11-09T12:18:04.453+08:00

Just read DH Lawerence’s The Ladybird today. Quite a spell-bounding story, nonetheless enveloped perpetually by this veil of darkness, of rather inexplicable human thoughts and emotions. It’s not a conventional ‘love-triangle’, so to speak. It’s not even really about romance or erotic love. It’s a different kind of love altogether, if it may be called ‘love’ in the first place.You are mine in

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-71302928372497679782009-11-08T22:13:00.001+08:002009-11-08T22:13:57.699+08:00

Just how hard is it to do nothing? I recall an episode from Spongebob Squarepants: Spongebob's cousin Stanley Squarepants came visiting, and wanted badly to do something. He tried out a whole slew of various jobs (what they were I couldn't remember, I think it went along the lines of being a waiter in Mr Crab's shop.) In all his preoccupations he did not last long; rather, he didn't even last –

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-35697766615289703112009-10-26T17:55:00.002+08:002009-11-11T10:53:47.014+08:00

Concerto ExtravaganzaBy students of the conservatory piano facultyNUS Yong Siew Toh Conservatory of Music, 25 October 2009， 7.30pmThis year's concerto extravaganza returns with a fantastic five, a dazzling smorgasbord of piano concertos that once again shows us promising talents from the conservatory. It was a night of exquisiteness, fire, colours, romance, blues and jazz, putting together a

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-5894175006077888212009-10-20T20:56:00.001+08:002009-10-20T20:59:41.145+08:00

And then I saw them. My eyes met theirs, that were looking up from below, seemingly seeing me looking at them and yet unseemingly so. I didn’t smile, they didn’t smile, and we simply sat staring as if both were lost in reverie, as if both saw something that each other would never be able to read. They were all dressed in uniform, a pale blue straight down uniform that gives them their identity

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-77087253269430115512009-09-29T17:26:00.002+08:002009-09-29T17:31:23.505+08:00

Yesterday's studio class at YST concert hall with Dr Hecht was simply awe-inspiring - and that by no means is an understatement. To see the fruit of labour - irregardless of how some appears sweeter than the others - of these pianists on stage, to hear such a spectable of sounds and divine music like honey-suckles to the ears, and to witness what in my opinion has proved himself to be the

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-23084922935061053622009-09-15T22:18:00.002+08:002009-09-15T22:25:38.792+08:00

Just two days ago I was talking to my 10-years-old little cousin, chit chatting about school and the latest cartoons he’s watching. And we went on to talk about facebook (and I was actually surprised he knew what facebook is about at his age), and how another 6-year-old cousin of mine is on facebook too, and me being the big sister tried to warn him about being cautious in adding friends online,

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-57200150482810211612009-09-11T23:05:00.004+08:002009-09-11T23:09:43.557+08:00

昨天到国立大学听东亚研究所所长郑永年教授的讲座《全球化时代的中国外交》，终于听到了这位资深评论家的精彩讲述。一直以来都只能在报章言论版上期待着他的言论，昨日有幸在现场听这位大师授课，实在获益匪浅。虽然课题主要围绕着中国外交，郑教授的着眼点实际上是中国的内部发展，毕竟一个国家的内、外部事态是相互牵扯的，也可谓唇亡齿寒。中国如今走的外交战略是开放式的地区主义（Open Regionalism)，与美国和欧洲的外交理论不一样。策略上是有自己的性格，但始终还没有完全形成自己的独特理论。每个国家在与他国交往的过程中都会走出一套属于自己的理念；中国的外交理念未形成不是大问题，关键在于它不能全盘照搬美国理念。国际关系美国化会对中国造成致命的伤害，因为外就关系本续和国家本身的地域政治形成，服务国家利益。将外交理念美国化会使愚不可及之举措。但幸好这目前为止没有发生过，中共是坚持了开放式地区主义的外交方针—

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-39066961743509185322009-09-08T20:41:00.007+08:002009-09-09T09:03:00.037+08:00

最近写了一篇文章给《联合早报》的言论版，果真在九月八日的报纸上登出来了。 因为版面上的限制，编辑修改了原文许多，以下是最初的原稿！艺术、文化的新生代与新声带 陈智羚 邹璐在言论版的“艺术人才引进和本土文化建设”具体地反映了一个是在深刻、同时让人担忧的事实：本地的古典经典音乐观众群正在消失，逐渐让位给流行文化中被商业化的流行音乐。三十、五十年以后，新加坡也许会面临一个‘艺术真空’的未来，完全抛弃具有庞大艺术价值的经典音乐——不仅是华乐，连西方古典音乐也可能难逃被流行音乐完全取而代之的命运。 这并不是夸大其词。走进任何一场古典经典音乐演奏会，就不难发现观众席中的年轻人、学生寥寥无几，成年人和外国人居多。尽管学生享有不少票价优惠（如新加坡赛马博彩局的艺术津贴学生集体购票，可通过学校利用新加坡赛马博彩局的艺术津贴，以补贴票价总值的60%），年轻人的耳朵难以离开似乎较‘酷’的流行音乐。

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-26285075837202031442009-09-02T21:51:00.003+08:002009-09-03T10:51:17.900+08:00

This article is the result of recent reflections on how music has evolved over the years in a way that historians can now demarcate various 'periods' according to the style that characterizes music in the particular era. Am nowhere near a musicologist, and certain premises or conclusions could have been ill-founded, but they represent my personal opinions nevertheless. Comments most welcomed. ON

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-37375398643947297882009-08-27T21:38:00.000+08:002009-08-27T21:42:36.545+08:00

今天在班上看了一部关于农民工子弟的纪录片，突然令我重新看待身边的很多东西。农民工之所以成为农民工，就是因为他们如三文治中的火腿夹在中间——不完全是农民，亦不完全是城市里的工人。他们的身份是有一个制度所决定的，这个户籍制度将他们捆绑于农村，想走出去的农民只能无可奈何地抱住‘农村户籍’在城里生活着。他们身处城市，辛勤地劳动着，城市人嫌脏、溅的工作他们都一一扛上了，为的就是寻求更好的未来。但换来的却是歧视、有色眼光，城市里的生活最终比农村里的生活好不到哪里。他们的子女伴随他们到城里去，却没能享受到城市人享有的义务教育，就因为他们的户籍上写着不同的称号。就在繁荣北京市里，仍存在简陋得不可理喻的学校——没有完善的操场、更免谈实验室、电脑室等设施。课室中的桌椅高低参差不平、破旧得连修理都经不起。学校经费严重不足、师资偏低、学生家境贫穷更使家长频频拖欠学费。学校没有食堂，午膳时间时学生们排队领一个馒头

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-76339606965661263392009-08-07T10:31:00.001+08:002009-08-07T10:37:08.295+08:00

Sleep, baby sleep,Let not the wind wake your sleep.Drift away, to the land of dreams Where stars will shine like crystal phials,Then go and catch the falling star And run, and run to somewhere farWhere time’s chariot may never reach, And lay to spring a winter’s siege. Yet dawn and dusk shall pass the sameAnd morning mists will lift again.Good morrow, says the glorious sun,To wake all slumbers

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-24960525590733041802009-08-05T17:11:00.002+08:002009-08-05T17:15:26.953+08:00

I sit beside the boy. His uniform is starched white, nipped and tucked – his maid must have made sure it is always crease-free by ironing and re-ironing it every time the slightest movement creates wrinkles on it.“Boy take out your spelling book,” said his mother, seated in the front seat. She is a middle aged lady, looking younger than women her age and certainly educated, with a bachelor in

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-84312812390144164132009-08-03T17:36:00.001+08:002009-08-03T17:43:12.714+08:00

That was the immediate question after reading Shawn’s article, which suggests that the two popular justifications – that it has negative health impacts and acts as ‘gateway’ to harder, more harmful drugs – are outright lies. I decided to google it up, and to my astonishment marijuana is indeed one drug that was banned without proper medical justifications. Sure, there were several medical

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-3283674782055654602009-08-02T16:25:00.001+08:002009-08-02T16:25:46.095+08:00

人性是一个好复杂的东西。一层一层地将它拨开，才发现它不象洋葱般简单善于恶好多时候原来是同一样的东西，分不清也看不懂谎言是世界上最沉重的包袱。说出第一个谎言，便难免经意或不经意地说出第三个、第四。。。陷入一个无底洞直到坦率和勇气把我们从深渊揪出来纸，永远包不住火每一个谎言终究会有被彻底烧毁的一天也许不是现在，也许在你有生之年都不会发生但你的潜意识藏有一个精准无比的算盘，你的内心深处心知肚明，哪怕你那清醒的头脑选择完全删除此记忆。但谎言的诱惑有时实在难以抵挡。但这永远解决不了问题，只不过是将问题延期处置罢了。这是一种自欺欺人的行为。突然想，如果有一种窃听器能窃听一个人的内心世界其杂音也许会覆盖一切。

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-82764482499072515232009-07-30T15:18:00.002+08:002009-09-02T22:17:05.063+08:00

--- post inspired by today's econs lesson :) ---BIG IS BEAUTIFUL. And it isn’t too difficult to realize this law actually governs both nature and economies. In nature, it’s about the survival of the fittest; the stronger preys upon the weaker, grows stronger and bigger and more formidable. Profit maximizing firms take over, form amalgamation, conglomerates to get BIGGER. To put it more plainly,

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-50777691089683807292009-07-20T12:36:00.000+08:002009-07-20T12:37:16.220+08:00

President’s Young Performers Concert 200916 July 2009, 7.30pm @ Esplanade Concert HallSingapore Symphony OrchestraDARRELL ANG, ConductorMERYVYN LEE CHENG HUI, PianoANISA KUREISHI, sopranoWhen we talk about what children of ten to eleven years old would be doing at their age, playing a solo piano concerto with a full orchestra would almost certainly be off the list. A rarity it hence is, for

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-56622892829953267942009-06-24T15:30:00.005+08:002009-06-24T16:54:42.974+08:00

This post is to answer kwayteowman's questions, which were pretty thought-provoking. So here goes:On the point " if Singapore has adequate ‘hard power’ already, why not try injecting small doses of ‘soft power’, just to add a little colour that will make our political climate more ‘palatable’?": 1) What the heck for?Haven't there always been concerns about Singaporeans being generally acquiescent

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-21835423834656546632009-06-22T10:41:00.003+08:002009-06-22T11:33:47.736+08:00

The flames lickslowly and lazily, eating awaythe paperous sheets of gold and silver.The hand feeding it likes to think thatevery atom dissolved hereis every atom newly reformingon the other side of the world.If only there are more things to burnbesides these inane currencies,thinks the hand.As sons and daughters kneel solemn on knees,grandchildren and friends take their place,and the lispy

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-58968175272855070532009-06-09T13:04:00.003+08:002009-06-09T13:09:19.095+08:00

That's All You NeedMusic and Lyrics by Jonathan Shin & Chan Chi LingSo often I have pondered, How can we ever thank them enough – the mothers who taught us about love just by showering us with it So often I have wondered, How can we ever repay their kindness – the friends who spurred us on with words be they chidings or cheers or mirth (Bridge) And (what about) the many people

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-55498291800504585732009-05-20T19:44:00.004+08:002009-05-20T19:52:11.793+08:00

[Trust me I have absolutely no intention of transforming my blog into one of political commentaries. Being the new HACAS President just means poking my nose into some history and current affairs here and there, and this article here is for the brand new HACAS blog, which will feature a repository of all things weird and wonderful, including but not limited to intellectual discourse: hacasonline@

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-28138524259218378382009-05-19T15:47:00.001+08:002009-05-19T15:47:59.993+08:00

我们都是城市人，同时也是城堡人。身在城市，心在城堡。自筑的城堡。城市是开放的，城堡时封闭的。我们的行为或许不受约束，心灵却受到禁锢。自我的禁锢。不是吧？想想在所认识的人当中，有几个能够交心？有多少回满是心事却找不到聆听的耳朵？有多少次是自己主动敞开胸怀和别人交往的？多少城市人表面独立其实孤独。不能怪。这种城市怪象，说来是基于不信任所致。也许城市的生存太剧烈、太残酷，相信被人等于放弃竞争的权利和优势，信任的门槛于是越建越高，斩钉截铁，最后高入云端，可望而不可及。所以城市人情愿相信奇迹，却很难相信彼此；所以理直气壮筑墙见堡，名正言顺标榜自我保护 ，反正防备不吃亏、安全不害人。城市的奇迹终究没发生，彼此缺得天天应对，不难看见周围五彩缤纷的城堡在游动。人，面对面；心，背对背。城堡建得越堂皇就越防备，人心也揪得越紧，孤独如影随形。心灵像镜子，久不拂拭准蒙尘。据说古欧洲城堡半年住人不打扫，

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-49458226870677860672009-05-18T22:02:00.003+08:002009-05-18T22:18:11.078+08:00

They know not where to go. Or where this leads.Their feet work round the rough rugged edgesof pebbles puny and boulders beneath,hands clutching for weeds between fluvial, as each tug inches them forth just a little more.So soporific are the songs they hearof the gurgling stream which currents do sing.Their lids weigh them down, eclipses the sun and make them blind. Trip then some will, and

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-38461512384644392282009-04-18T09:53:00.001+08:002009-04-18T09:56:08.044+08:00

From the deepest slumber I awakenAnd lay with eyes open,Dreaming.Lips in delirium, utteringtrivial twaddle in a haphazard streamof consciousnessThe mind wandersfar away from the home of the present,into the vista of the past and the futureAnd in my dreams I sawsome baleful auguriesthat startled me awakeWith a shovel in hand I diga most remote alcove in the mindand buried them there;But still I

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-63995041871156781162009-03-30T12:35:00.009+08:002009-03-30T22:19:24.813+08:00

Been working on a series of articles on the Frankenstein Complex recently, chancing upon many more articles on science and technology that were really quite gripping; from robots to sci-fi to bioethics to transhumans to stem cells to... monkey business. A totally irrelevant article, but one that got me really thinking about mankind's most intrinsic human nature.You've got to read it man.http://

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-42444506860257450672009-03-22T19:56:00.003+08:002009-03-22T20:01:15.591+08:00

A review that should have been posted long ago but slipped my dory-ish mind!T’ang Quartet with Thomas HechtFri, 6 MAR 2009, 7.30pmYST Conservatory Concert HallNot the best way to start a review to yet another astounding performance, but the news that T’ang Quartet founder Lionel Tan is taking an indefinite break from playing the viola due to worsening muscle strains does spell a loss of a spark

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-32903212030490138332009-03-16T16:54:00.001+08:002009-03-20T09:00:08.856+08:00

a book to readi Walkdown the aisle Of the libraryfeeling the cold breaths from abovekissing my skin, combing my fringethese tall shelvesthey loom over like a canopya forest of tomes, a labyrinth of booksits faint papery smell waftsto my nose like a cacophony of whispershearkening meto lay my fingers on their smooth, silvery spinesome books have colours so bright (flirtatiously so)they oft draw

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-15858726454137631842009-03-09T16:24:00.004+08:002009-03-09T22:26:44.241+08:00

On the treetop perches a nightingaleWhich beneath the silver light quietly preensIt loves itself as no one ever willThough it has long lost its colour and sheenAt the buttress below party gathersDancing gigues and singing songs through the nightHere convivial and boisterous air stirsUpwards and upwards it wafts to its hideYet how those melodious notes sting and prickLike sea salt on a raw and

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-43034466982039858902009-02-27T14:36:00.002+08:002009-02-27T14:38:16.464+08:00

My darling I plea to you to yieldto dine with me please on the fieldfifty dollars is all I askto sit for a dinner on the grassPerry! (hehe)

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-58629447507493369782009-02-24T12:53:00.001+08:002009-02-24T12:54:44.512+08:00

This is the kind of crap you'll write when your lit teacher is late by 15 whole minutes.When an ant crawls up your legYou can screamhopefully the vibes blast their antennasparalyze them forever so they wouldlose their bearingsand go for bitter stuff instead of sweetYou can stareat it and if you do so hard enoughit may burst into flames of orange redlike a matchstickan alternative fuel, save the

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-84968822114436413952009-02-16T10:20:00.003+08:002009-02-16T10:51:14.820+08:00

Lessons have finally started, after a long two weeks of orientation that felt like two years. They say orientation's supposed to be the best time you'll ever have in JC life, but I just hope it isn't because I'm anticipating much more from my two years term in HC.Let's look at my timetable for today.7.50 - 9.00 PT (supposed to mean 'Personal Time' but they should really change it to ST, Slack

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-38488925434211432922009-02-06T00:53:00.002+08:002009-02-06T00:57:40.476+08:00

Play onThere you sat erectpoised, hands firm and strongwith a possessiveness and gravitas,as if the black and white ivories beneath those handswere made for you, and you only.Torrents of notes fell and rosewith each dexterous turn of the wrist,each sprint of the fingers.Colours sprang forth, like fireworks in the nightsky;And I marveled with raptureas I did on daddy’s shoulders when I was small

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-42587090564530280222009-01-28T09:19:00.007+08:002009-01-28T22:33:31.917+08:00

Back from Bintan! This is probably the first time we are skipping reunion dinner and spending Chinese new year without our relatives and relatives’ relatives and relatives’ relatives’ relatives… Sandy beaches replaced the claustrophobic hdb pigeon holes, quiet murmurs of the sea breeze replaced shrilly screams of baby cousins, dancing palm trees replaced bright red lanterns and décor hanging

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-66423886637169478342009-01-19T09:32:00.001+08:002009-01-19T09:32:53.806+08:00

Murray Mclachlan Piano RecitalFinal Thoughts: The Last Sonatas of the Viennese Classics Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and SchubertSat, 17 JAN 2009, 7.30pmYST Conservatory Concert HallIt was to be a night of sonatas, seemingly unexciting due to a lack of variety in form. Yet it was most intriguing to hear the final thoughts of four Viennese masters all sung through their final sonatas. The works that

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-75261870461984751122009-01-18T12:10:00.001+08:002009-01-18T12:14:56.527+08:00

Beethoven FestivalSSO 30th Anniversary ConcertWed, 14 JAN 2009, 7.30pmEsplanade Concert HallIt was heartening to witness how SSO has blossomed into a fine world-class orchestra in a matter of thirty years. For the many SSO concerts I have attended, this was to be one of the best ones ever. Perhaps it was PM Lee’s presence; perhaps it was the birthday mood. Whatever it was, it certainly marked a

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-56321964765784611342009-01-14T13:24:00.003+08:002009-01-14T13:29:07.485+08:00

Recently came across the Twelve Tables while reading, and was rather amused by the sheer randomness of some clauses in ancient Rome law, and its (un)soundness in doctrine. The Twelve Tables are the basis of the Roman Republic, and if we compare the evolution of law to the evolation of mankind, then it can be loosely seen as law in its primital ape form. But everything has to start from somewhere,

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-51010625801132016842009-01-09T21:18:00.003+08:002009-01-09T21:32:10.520+08:00

I'm screwed. It's a horrible feeling to know that some screw in some obscure nook of your body is coming loose and there's no way you can find where exactly it lies so you can screw it back up with a screwdriver. There's a faint buzzing sound in my right ear, an irritating, metallic scream of the mosquito. Or a horrendously out-of-tune violin being sawed at the ugliest pitches, with gradations

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35795838.post-17820411412550953512009-01-03T13:06:00.000+08:002009-01-03T13:07:08.205+08:00

Quite unwittingly I have once again neglected this space of mine, committing daily stories into a pen and paper diary instead. For one, you have complete free will and liberty to write what comes to your mind without having to weigh consequences and what not when people read your texts, and two, you can be assured that people don’t doubt your sanity or soundness of doctrine when it so happens you

chanchillahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926143344849209948noreply@blogger.com0