In: Melbourne Life
8 Jan 2010 9:12 pmStill swirling within that vast spectrum of emotions, I had some final arrangements done to my room: the professional steam cleaner from FastTrack (a wog I believe) dropped by at 7.30am sharp. I had to help him carry some heavy artillery (I exaggerate) to begin that steam cleaning process, which involves spraying liquid on my carpet, and then drying and deodorising it at the same time. A 5-minute task for an obscene AUD$45—but better than paying $75 to the management for a work not done (my housemate Jessica, who has now left for the summer hols, had told me once how when the previous tenant of my room left, they didn’t even steam clean my room even after he paid the required $75. Apparently they only steam clean the rooms once a year -__-).

And so today I woke up at about 7.30am, slept back, rinse repeat till about 9.30am and left to pick up Estee from the Flagstaff Railway Station. She came over to meet me for a final time, as well as to copy some pictures from our recent trip (and a few others), and then produced two packets of the Homebrand French Onion soup that Esther, Auntie Betty, and I had bought for our Great Southern Touring Route trip. We cooked one packet for breakfast, and we both had expected a creamy texture, but still, the end product was surprisingly delicious despite how quick it was cooked (5 minutes) and the way it looked.
In: Melbourne Life
7 Jan 2010 12:10 amI cling and uncling to what I’m about to exit. I’ve begun packing most of my belongings—mostly apparel and souvenirs—on Monday, a day after I returned from my Great Southern Touring Route trip with Esther, Esther’s aunt, and Estee, and I felt ready to leave. But as usual my heart oscillates between a rank sadness at having to leave a place that opened up sights, experiences, and friends from around the world I otherwise wouldn’t have, to a dimmed excitement of being back to my home country again, meeting family and old friends that I’ve always been close with, and getting to play me and my brother’s PlayStation 3.
Home country—now that’s a phrase I’ve been using as of late when talking to NAB’s staff when I opened a bank account with them, and with Optus when enquiring about my 1-year contract. Malaysia is a home to me, but simply living here for just 6 months enlightened me to how indifferent and apathetic most of us are—we take things for as they are, with our infamous phrase we apply to any and every situation, whattodo, and we leave things the way they are and have been—corruption, backwards societal mindset, etc—where we’ll forever remain at the back of this race for improvements, achieving nothing that a developed country is supposed to have.
It angers me always, at how people utilise religion as an answer to everything people are afraid and insecure with. We pride ourselves of being multicultural, and having been part of this brainwashing agenda, this is what I always tell foreigners when they asked about Malaysia: we have 3 main races in our country and we co-exist peacefully. I’ve recently read something that sounded so true I’m shocked I never thought about it: the government desperately want to sell an image of a harmonious nation, and the way they maintain that harmony is to issue silly decrees to not discuss anything “sensitive”, but doesn’t that impede on our freedom of speech? That’s almost a laughable thought—”freedom of speech” indeed. And the truth is, most of us from the minority races are deeply unsettled and hate the injustice levied against us (that said, I believe we mostly hate the government’s policies rather than the people who prolly have nothing to do with them). I’m surprised we’ve never been up in arms over this—other countries would’ve revolted since time immemorial and exact change—but we’re all taught to be afraid. Joining a peaceful candlelight vigil? Crazy ah, you’ll get thrown into jail under the ISA!
And that is what I hate to be returning to. The first time I saw a peaceful demonstration in Melbourne, I remember feeling excited and euphoric. Professors from universities went on strike (mine included); firefighters demonstrated as they demand for more firefighters, not less!; the same-sex marriage rally in Federation Square; countless of anti-racism peaceful demonstrations flooding down the streets of the city; a small protest group against KFC for their alleged cruelty towards animals; a socialist group protesting at the corner of Bourke and Swanston Sts demanding to be heard.. they let off some steam, and have all been heard. But in Malaysia where we pride ourselves with faux racial harmony, a small voice of dissent will be stamped out swiftly with fines, police abuse, and jail sentences, and so we let things be. We’re far too afraid, that a revolution has never begun.
And so Esther leaves tonight, or rather, in about an hour’s time, and me, in about 3 days. The very act of getting a professional steam cleaner to steam clean my carpets tomorrow morning essentially sealed the fact that I’d be leaving.
This must be real, I thought to myself. I try to erase all sense of familiarity and longing with this place—there won’t be any “I’ll meet you at Swanston St / La Trobe St later” over the phone or a text message or a message on MSN, no more “This stop is William St” announced from my rides with the free City Circle Tram, no peaceful demonstrations, no multicultural crowd as vivid as Melbourne, and most importantly, no more interaction with the Walsh St Boys. Ivan and co from unit 5 of Walsh Main recently acquired a new housemate in the form of Rob the American, and I wished I could be part of that fun. Watching at 12am last night with utmost incredulity at Youtube videos of (crazy) people lighting their hair on fire, had us laughing at the stark stupidity of it all—and I’m struck at the same time with the reality of leaving.
And so here I am. In this vestibule of clinging and unclinging. Packing and unpacking. Remembering and forgetting.
I was in front of my laptop at about 8.45pm on New Year’s Eve when I heard my name being yelled from outside my window. Sliding it open, I discovered Ivan literally right in between the birth of a storm, him breathlessly talking about a beautiful sight of a low-hanging moon.
“This is crazy,” I thought to myself, as I put on my three-quarter pants and rushed out with my camera and my keys jingling in my pocket. It was ghastly dark outside, with the wind slowly gathering strength and pace—a stark contrast to the blisteringly sunny and dry afternoon of about 35-37C that I partially doubted the news report earlier that Melbourne was predicted to be hit with a thunderstorm between 9pm and 1am, and as a result, the New Year’s Eve fireworks might be cancelled. I was afraid—there were brief flashes of lightning and the rain was pelting onto us as if the gods were casting eggs towards our direction, but having just read Joey’s rather inspirational post right before Ivan called me out, I’m struck with a brief moment of madness.
We walked towards the direction of the Queen Victoria Market—with me crouching occasionally when passing by trees for fear of being struck by lightning, as if that would help any—and then I saw it: a moon hanging the lowest possible I’ve ever seen in my time in Melbourne so far, radiating in its cool white gleam amidst the storm brewing above us, heading towards its direction.

I wasn’t able to capture it properly, sadly, as I only had my wide-angle lens with me and it wasn’t sufficient at all to snap it.
But it mesmerised me: there is a sense of exhilaration—perhaps the moon does drive men to madness—and then when Adi turned up with Ivan’s six-pack of beer in his bag, we all laughed and turned towards our place, the rain now at its utmost strength.
Read the rest of this entry »Quick and easy pictorial post of what I’ve been up to since it’s less than 24 hours 6 hours till New Year’s.
Saturday, 12th December 2009
I was holed up in the State Library using RMIT’s free WiFi when Ivan rang me up, asking if I’d like to go to join them with a friend of Kelvin’s to explore Monash. Being completely free and having less than several weeks left in Melbourne, I took up the invitation, but not before I had to rush back home to dump my laptop bag and bring along my DSLR—can never miss out an opportunity for photo ops, even if Ivan had asked me to hurry (if only I knew this earlier and not at the last minute) when I declined his suggestion of meeting up at Melbourne Central as I wanted to bring my camera with me.

On the Glen Waverley train.
Two Tuesdays ago (December 8th), Estee and I met up at Melbourne Central in the midst of the heavy rain. The downpour was an unpleasant setback as I was already getting sick, but I donned my waterproof jacket anyway (which proved to be only half-useful, as my trousers were soaked through) and walked to Flagstaff Station before hitching the free City Circle tram.
Don Don was still closed at the time (before 10am), so we ended up at Melbourne Central’s food court where I had mixed rice (with 3 dishes) for AUD$7.50. We quickly took the train to Studio 9 in Richmond to attend as a studio audience for a game show called Millionaire: Hot Seat, a modified version of the popular Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Thanks to a CouchSurfer, Krystel, who works there, I got ourselves two tickets and it was quite an experience considering that I’ve never been to a television studio before—not even in Malaysia.
Security’s rather strict: we had to leave our cameraphones, camera equipment, large umbrellas, etc with the security to be locked up away safely, plus we had to sign a contract stating things like, we’re not to divulge information pertaining to the show, etc. >_>
We were ushered in, and Krystel who was doubling up as an usher brought us to our seats at the back row (and promised to shift us to the front later). Turns out there was a funnyman who kept us entertained throughout with his outrageous, loud jokes, constantly poking fun at a few audiences, before the host, Eddie McGuire, appeared. The funnyman had also drilled into us to be excited and clapped loudly at some signals given by him, and apparently, there’d be some clap track inserted anyway—we just have to look as if we were clapping really loudly.
Most hilariously, when a contestant answered incorrectly, we all had to go, “Awwwwwww” collectively hahahaha.
And as they were recording 5 different episodes that day, we had to sit through 5 hours (an episode only lasts about 26 minutes actually) with some short intervals and breaks in between; we were also given candies, a bun, and a bottle of water too. We were shuffled around every episode so it would appear as if the audience was different as the camera angles were pretty much fixed.
In fact, it was quite cool for this opportunity to take a glimpse at how television programmes actually work—there were prompters for the host at two different angles, some cues for the host to say stuff like “we’ll be back after the break” or “we’ll be back after these national news”. We were also told to not look at each other or shout out answers if we knew the answers lol, and I pretty much don’t know how to answer any of them—even the $100,000 question that I thought I knew: “In 2001: A Space Odyssey, which spaceship does the computer HAL 3000 control?”. I shouldn’t have gotten this wrong as I’ve just watched it a few months ago and I thought it was Voyager, but turns out that the answer is Discovery, and the dude in his 30s walked away with AUD$100,000. Goddamn I’m envious.
Someone else won $50,000 but pretty much after the 3rd episode it went down the hill as people get booted out. It has a different format: there would be 5 people initially with $1,000,000 on the table, but as people get booted out, the money offered would diminish as well.
I was quite exhausted at the end of it all—either it was because I was falling sick, or watching 5 episodes of a game show in a row and clapping a lot, took a toll on me.
Either way, I did fall sick with a flu and a sore throat.

The following day, Estee came over to my place in the evening we discussed briefly our Great Ocean Road trip together, after which I brought her to the Suzuki Night Market (after noticing my newly bald Mauritius neighbour, who was incredibly talkative and bitched about not being able to get a job here as “they’re racist” lmao). The both of us eventually settled on some Persian food—the decision was made quickly as there were far too many people there.
As mentioned previously in my previous post, I’m going to deviate from chronicling my New Zealand trip—if anyone does read them anyway—due to severe time constraints. My earlier plans of gaming like crazy was replaced with a workaholic being, whose daily life here is serenely pleasing with nary an incident—and that, in itself, is its own doom. I go through a routine 12-6 period of working on HS in a library, 7 days a week—and all this assisted by the libraries’ opening hours. My uni’s library doesn’t open on the weekends after our exams, so this is conveniently replaced with a trip to the State Library of Victoria (these 4 words often echo in my head, in that man’s voice booming from the free City Circle Tram whenever it stops at Swanston St) which serves me well, practically a stone’s throw away from my uni’s Swanston St campus.
Since I’m putting my posts on the remainder of my NZ trip in an indefinite backlog, I’ll narrate instead from when I touched down in Melbourne from Christchurch onwards, on the 1st December on Tuesday morning.
My mind was encased in a strange numbing cocoon—I felt tired from my previous night’s somewhat unconventional bed (read: in an airport’s corridor, in a sleeping bag, while trying not to have my bags stolen), and my paranoia of getting through customs kicked in (god knows since when I’ve developed this strange fear), but only in a muted manner. Australian customs have a strict reputation that precedes it—I suppose watching Borders Security almost weekly with my Walsh St Boys has ingrained that fear, even though I wasn’t doing nor bringing in anything illegal.

I found this sign so hilarious I had to snap photos of it: “Channel 7 is filming its Borders Security TV show here today. Please contact the TV crew if you do not wish to be filmed.”. They had it posted at quite a number of places.
In: General| Melbourne Life
19 Dec 2009 3:09 amI used to be able to write so freely—a word will leap from my head, and with utter conviction, I’d think to myself, I have to put this word down, and let the rest of these mini-bunnies spill forth and multiply—but it seems a permanent writer’s block has been festering inside my head. This pus of inadequacy and salient silence hung forth in my blog, but mostly because my studies (during my pre-exam days) and HS (during my post-exam days) have affected so much of my time that I found it difficult to find times as quiet as this when my mind would be cleared from work or studies, that I actually want to blog.
If any, this self-censorship, the advent of Twitter/Plurk, and severe lack of time (or as my excuses would plead) contributed to this. Or the fact that my grades dropped drastically and nearly pulled my CGPA below the edge of 3, that I felt that I’ve disappointed myself or my parents (but mostly myself). Or that I felt that my writing has gone completely sub-par. Or the lack of comments. Or any other self-deprecating thought that seemed to pass through my head these days. I thought I wouldn’t care about my grades—and indeed, a part of me don’t—but I need to maintain a bare minimum of good grades to be even eligible for a post-graduate, which was something that has been in my mind since a few months ago.
Lately I have been pretty much on my own, submerging myself in this truckload of work, but strangely, I found a deep-seating sense of pleasure. Perhaps it’s my own obsessive compulsive nature of collecting data, but being able to present useful information to a wide range of audience and getting some returns in the end felt most satisfying.
As such, I will be taking a break from posting up my journal’s log on my NZ trip and let it sit in a backlog. I have many things I’d like to say or detail menial things about my daily life, but because I’m quite anal about following a system I’ve set up for myself, I let all these details perish with time. Details like how 5 days ago, I was woken up quite rudely by a knock on my door at 8am+ by my housemate, who proceeded to tell me how our electricity is out, and annoyed by this interruption of my sleep, I told her that I slept at 4am last night and hoped she’d take the hint.
Which she clearly didn’t, as she continued to rant there, tried calling Ken, our resident master, but we later found out that he has already moved out, and then she wanted me to go over to the next building of Walsh Main to utilise the free phone to call the management, and I reluctantly relented. They didn’t pick up the phone, and I don’t know if she’s being plain stupid or is a subset of a lesser species but she proceeded to tell me how her ice-cream would melt and “you would be responsible for this”. I told her that since it was still in the freezer, it shouldn’t melt that quickly but she gave me the look that said “no are you dumb or what?”.
Oh yes she was prolly just joking, but that annoyed me so much that I retorted, “I didn’t cause the blackout” and I nearly wanted to slap her mouth shut.
Now you see this is why I don’t talk to my housemates unless absolutely necessary. To think that she’s studying a PhD in cancer research..
Earlier today at my uni’s library, which is where I’ve been spending most of my afternoons and evenings at, I briefly contemplated restarting my Project 365, in which I post up a picture everyday, but I fear that enthusiasm would soon die as quickly as it came.
But most of all, I fear that little piece that held me together has come loose and everything is slowly but surely to unravel in a manner like a roll of fabric would. And as you unroll this bunch of skin and tissues and muscles and bones, I fear you’ll discover nothing. An empty space, a void. Perhaps this downward spiral first began with my arrival in Melbourne, or time is doing this to me.
What happened to that strength of my enthusiasm and little roots of pleasure that grew in me for languages and writing? I brought Carol’s friend, Albert, around in Melbourne just 4 days ago (both whom I haven’t met prior to that faithful Tuesday night—hilarious tale that would come soon in a subsequent entry.. I hope), and when he learned that I wanted to do a Masters in Creative Writing, he asked what sort of writing I like to write about, and I couldn’t give him any specifics. They were vague—fiction, short stories, melodramatic—and that’s because I just don’t write short stories anymore.
I remember how I had once vehemently proclaimed that in the next few years, I’d like to self-publish my own collection of short stories (and no, I don’t remember that title and cover and whatnot I had wanted to publish with), but clearly all that pool of creativity and conviction has dried up, leaving a bubbly mess of turd behind.
I honestly wonder what happened to that me from just a year ago, with my dreams waning away. I seemed to have lost all that stellar confidence and surety of what I want with my life. I do still retain some of it, but right now, I’m inexplicably jaded.
Day 3 – Wednesday, 18th November 2009

I woke up at about 7am plus today to the after-rain wet roads and the sound of tyres kneeling over them. I had previously slept on the upper bunk depicted in this picture, where the Japanese dude slept below, but found it to be inconvenient as I’d like to charge my phone and have it near me. When the Singaporean girls left the day before, I immediately took over the lower bunk from where this picture was shot, even though it meant that I wouldn’t be getting fresh sheets.
Day 2 – Tuesday, 17th November 2009
I woke up at 7am without my alarm clock, which I had set the night before initially for 8am, then lazed around in my bed by drifting in and out of sleep before I finally woke up proper at 8.30am.

I had the free breakfast here—freshly made bread (yes, from hand), plus some free bread I toasted myself with the provided jam and other toppings—in this amazing lounge slash dining room, with the world map pasted against the wall, making a very imposing and grand backdrop.

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