just my ducking luck

what do you call a duck that refuses to be called a duck?

I here refer to that popular line, if it sounds/walks/looks like a duck to end.

Real ducks don’t talk back (at least not in a language we humans can comprehend) so it really doesn’t matter what they think.

But what if said duck finds the term ‘duck’ offensive, and reacts violently to its use?

Placating terms like ‘waterborne fowl’ or ‘creature rendered yellow in popular culture’ are too weak and take too much time to get to the point.

I suppose silence is an option. We could all pretend nothing’s quacking

provincial Melbourne

a Westpac document calls Melbourne a ‘provincial global community.’

I would say I’m inclined to say the same, being here for some time now.

Melburnians are proud, with a very strong sense of identity, which is good.

They take the city’s issues to heart and there’s a strong sense of responsibility expressed.

This pride can feel a little inward-looking though.

Melbourne invites people from all over the globe to work, play, and study here.

As long as they don’t disrupt the city’s look and feel too much. A tall order when you consider the number of people who come here every year.

Melbourne gladly opens its doors to the world; perhaps it’s time to open its heart too

i like what you say but since no one else will, I disagree with you

even conformists will come across people who disagree with them at some point.

It is impossible to live a life where everybody agrees with you all the time.

My personal feeling is that a conflict-free life breeds complacency, and its malformed cousins like entitlement, idiocy, etc.

Healthy conflict is, well, healthy.

Repressing all conflict is sick. It also makes you weak

drone driving

good drives are meditative in a way.

You pretty much sit still, but you see the earth move around you.

Faster and faster it goes, but you don’t

'in slavery time'

Harriet Smith used to be a slave, but you wouldn’t know if she didn’t tell you.

You can listen to her in the interview above. She sounds old but cheerful, sharing stories from her life just as any grandmother would.

NOrmal, except for the fact that someone used to own her.

If slaves talk just like any other people do, how do you know you’re not one?

No one may own you, but if you think and act like someone does, well, is there a difference?

everything can change in an instant

life is short

time and energy is finite

in a perfect world, all good work is automatically rewarded

but the world isn’t fair. More often than not you’ll have to fight for appreciation

that being said, pick your fights

don’t go into a battle you can’t win. That’s just stupid

young, free, curious: there's still time for risks guys!

 a few years ago, experimenting was everything anyone ever talked about. Talk was always about places to go, things to try, people to see, the smoke of optimism wafting above the crowds at the uni cafeterias and coffee places, always tempered with the slightest urgency from knowing that this feeling would not last. Even so, it seemed like a time for adventures and to us then, it seemed like there was a lot of time

my thoughts often return to those times these days. Each time I hear a new tale of frustration, or sadness, or regret, I try to remember, what did we do when we were unhappy then? Most times we just jumped out and did something else, the idea that there are better things out there as real as the sun's heat on your face

of course, no one remembered to inform us that it wasn't the next one, or the next, next one, or the next, next, next one that was going to be what finally works for us. Sure, some people are lucky, and some get by with lower standards, but time and again we found ourselves against another wall

fatigue could be what it is. Mountains are tiring to scale up, and each mountain presents yet another possible round of challenges that would need great time, effort, and strength, like in the last unsuccesful assent. So we look at our calloused hands and wonder, 'Do I really want to go through all that again?' and ponder in this wasteland we've slid down into

we hate it here, but we might die climbing yet another mountain, or find that the other side is just as bad, or lose a limb from falling down the side. The thrill of finding better greater things now overpowered by the reluctance to lose the game again

don't you find that boring?

the Egyptian thugs forget that the revolution's not only in Tahrir Square

excerpt from Mariam Mokhtar's article (via Dr Dzul)

They see a land which has few opportunities to offer, and where only the elite enjoy power.

Sounds familiar? I was describing Egypt but I could just as easily be describing Malaysia.

The Egyptians are fighting the government mainly for financial reasons. Its people face economic gloom, rising prices, rising unemployment, poor living conditions and the breakdown of law and order.

the Cairo revolt from this point forward will be remembered as what happens when people realise that their poverty does not make sense, and illustrates just how far desperate despots are willing to go to maintain their grip on power, with no regard for public opinion or sanity

2011 looks set to be an interesting, if violent, year. Even if the year's fireworks ends with the petrol bombs in Tahrir Square, the flames are sure to be seen around the world for a long time to come. No way is this going to end quietly and quick

Happy Year of the Rabbit folks

I am the ninja in your dreams

try explaining this one doctor

this might be a metaphor or five

sometimes you have to do boring mindless work.

because practice makes perfect, and practising is never fun, because all you do is chop chop chop, trying to clear what seems like an endless forest.

then the clock tells you that it's already 6pm, and you go home.

then you wake up, pick up your axe and start swinging again.

time passes.

you're hard at work, someone passes by, comments,
'what happened to all the trees?'

:)

my muse Disappoint

You know what I like to think about at midnight?

A lot of things actually. A little bit of those, a flash of that, a feel of this.

It's midnight, it's time to be undisciplined, and wander.

But inevitably I end up at the same door night after night return to contemplate only one thing: disappointment.

It's strange how you can learn to accept that failure is as plausible an outcome as any, and then you learn to think and strategise for success, and then you learn to do because it needs to be done according to the plans, and you would think after all that mental prep you won't be disappointed if plans don't work.

But the fear remains, to create a reluctance that holds you back however lightly.

It's irrational fear that's what it is. Trust your rational plans enough to ignore it so you don't end up in the same spot worrying when you wake up.