Well who loves farewells?
Saturday was such a depressing day, three of my housemates moved out. Two leaving for home and one to Adelaide as a first stop for her tour around Australia. Sounds fun eh. And today another one has left for home soil as well, leaving me alone in my unit.
Well I'd be headed off to Carnarvon for approximately six weeks of grape picking and unwanted sunbathing. Wish me luck. :)
Anyhow, one of my friends here has repeatedly complained about my lack of listening skills - me having missed out on what she said or forgot what was said the day before. Mind you, these are unintentional actions. I suppose I'd never known the feeling one gets when one knows people are listening to her until my housemate gave me a goodbye hug. She told me "I wanted to say 'Have a nice Christmas' but you said you didn't celebrate Christmas."
Isn't that nice? When you don't expect people to remember those little fragments you've said in unmemorable conversations but they surprisingly do. Makes one feel pleasant, doesn't it. If it had been me I would probably have rattled off a "Have a nice Christmas", just because that seems so customary and iterative, and let slip from my mind that she doesn't do Christmas.
Sigh. Well, farewells and missing people are part of life. See you guys in six weeks! I don't know if the farm I'll be at has Internet so my apologies for any lack of updates. People whom I've given my Perth address, tangible mail of any shape or size will not reach me.
To the ten readers I have, Happy Christmas and have a great new year. I'm probably the earliest blogger to send festive greetings. :S What to do, Singaporean, lah.
Saturday was such a depressing day, three of my housemates moved out. Two leaving for home and one to Adelaide as a first stop for her tour around Australia. Sounds fun eh. And today another one has left for home soil as well, leaving me alone in my unit.
Well I'd be headed off to Carnarvon for approximately six weeks of grape picking and unwanted sunbathing. Wish me luck. :)
Anyhow, one of my friends here has repeatedly complained about my lack of listening skills - me having missed out on what she said or forgot what was said the day before. Mind you, these are unintentional actions. I suppose I'd never known the feeling one gets when one knows people are listening to her until my housemate gave me a goodbye hug. She told me "I wanted to say 'Have a nice Christmas' but you said you didn't celebrate Christmas."
Isn't that nice? When you don't expect people to remember those little fragments you've said in unmemorable conversations but they surprisingly do. Makes one feel pleasant, doesn't it. If it had been me I would probably have rattled off a "Have a nice Christmas", just because that seems so customary and iterative, and let slip from my mind that she doesn't do Christmas.
Sigh. Well, farewells and missing people are part of life. See you guys in six weeks! I don't know if the farm I'll be at has Internet so my apologies for any lack of updates. People whom I've given my Perth address, tangible mail of any shape or size will not reach me.
To the ten readers I have, Happy Christmas and have a great new year. I'm probably the earliest blogger to send festive greetings. :S What to do, Singaporean, lah.
... Hope he sees me through til the end."
(Better Days, by Pete Murray)
The thought of not spending Christmas at home sends me into a bit of a melancholic mood. Everyone's is packing up to be home over summer vacation and I'm packing to go up north for harvesting work. Of all the significant decisions I've made over my two decades, I sure hope this is the right one.
Anyhow, on a lighter note, we were at Morish Nuts a couple of days ago and chanced upon Claisebrook Village, a quiet residential area that's so beautiful and typically English it makes you want to get up and move there RIGHT NOW.
It's like a more upscale version of Boat Quay. Excellent, huh. If I could comfortably afford the estimated $1000 per week rent I am so moving there.
(Better Days, by Pete Murray)
The thought of not spending Christmas at home sends me into a bit of a melancholic mood. Everyone's is packing up to be home over summer vacation and I'm packing to go up north for harvesting work. Of all the significant decisions I've made over my two decades, I sure hope this is the right one.
Anyhow, on a lighter note, we were at Morish Nuts a couple of days ago and chanced upon Claisebrook Village, a quiet residential area that's so beautiful and typically English it makes you want to get up and move there RIGHT NOW.
It's like a more upscale version of Boat Quay. Excellent, huh. If I could comfortably afford the estimated $1000 per week rent I am so moving there.
For some unfathomable reason I woke up today, a beautiful Sunday afternoon (yes yours truly slept in), with a huge urge to pack. Pack! A week and a day before I move out of the student kampung and I've already started to pack! I can't believe it myself.
Seems like I have an infinite amount of stuff (read: junk) in my room. I've taken down all photos, cleared textbooks and put away other barang barang I would not need anytime in the near future but a mental roundup just made me realise I pretty much have no idea what to bring home and what to keep in Perth and have not secured a storage space for my things. Pretty screwed, I think.
Seems like just yesterday when I'd moved in to my current room. It's going to sound like a cliche, but time flies, doesn't it? I was asking when everyone is moving out and the Malaysian in room six kinda echoed my thoughts when she added "Now everyone is like, quite reluctant to move out right?" Sigh (because I hate packing, not because I'm moving out).
A friend drove us to another one of those 24-hour cafes in the city yesterday night, or if you want to be anal about it, early this morning. We got back at 4am and apparently, one of my housemates was already up, God knows why. We were having a short conversation over lunch and she commented, "Someone was showering at four this morning. Four am."
Seems like I have an infinite amount of stuff (read: junk) in my room. I've taken down all photos, cleared textbooks and put away other barang barang I would not need anytime in the near future but a mental roundup just made me realise I pretty much have no idea what to bring home and what to keep in Perth and have not secured a storage space for my things. Pretty screwed, I think.
Seems like just yesterday when I'd moved in to my current room. It's going to sound like a cliche, but time flies, doesn't it? I was asking when everyone is moving out and the Malaysian in room six kinda echoed my thoughts when she added "Now everyone is like, quite reluctant to move out right?" Sigh (because I hate packing, not because I'm moving out).
A friend drove us to another one of those 24-hour cafes in the city yesterday night, or if you want to be anal about it, early this morning. We got back at 4am and apparently, one of my housemates was already up, God knows why. We were having a short conversation over lunch and she commented, "Someone was showering at four this morning. Four am."
On life, part 3 -- "Selective attention" does not exist
0 Comments Published Wednesday, 16 November 2005, 10:28 pm
The term "attention" involves focusing awareness on a narrowed range of stimuli or events. Psychologists routinely refer to "selective attention", but the word "selective" is really redundant.
Attention is selection of inputs. If you pause to devote a little attention to the matter, you'll realise that selective attention is critical to everyday functioning. If your attention were distributed equally among all stimulus input, life would be utter chaos. If you weren't able to filter out most of the potential stimulation around you, you wouldn't be able to read a book, converse with a friend, or even carry on a coherent train of thought.
Sounds logical, eh?
Reference: Weiten, W. Psychology: Themes & Variations.
Attention is selection of inputs. If you pause to devote a little attention to the matter, you'll realise that selective attention is critical to everyday functioning. If your attention were distributed equally among all stimulus input, life would be utter chaos. If you weren't able to filter out most of the potential stimulation around you, you wouldn't be able to read a book, converse with a friend, or even carry on a coherent train of thought.
Sounds logical, eh?
Reference: Weiten, W. Psychology: Themes & Variations.
Headed down to City Beach on Saturday for some good ole fun and Aussie bbq - no charcoal neeeded. Weather was hot, got sunburned, so am like a lobster now. Aussie kids are very cute, especially the shy ones. So shy you can barely hear them when you ask for their names. :S
It's that time again. The time where students of all ages look forward to every school year: exams!
Where every blog of almost every student will post a picture to prove to themselves and whatever miserable readers they have that they're studying, cramming, or memorising, or whatever you call reading one's textbooks at a snail's pace.
Though I reckon no one's ever had their plate(s) broken whilst studying, have they?
Frustration. -Shrugs- Does things to you eh.
On a sidenote: Someone turns 20 today. No point naming a name there since she doesn't have a blog anyways. Nevertheless, happy birthday, snail.
Where every blog of almost every student will post a picture to prove to themselves and whatever miserable readers they have that they're studying, cramming, or memorising, or whatever you call reading one's textbooks at a snail's pace.
Though I reckon no one's ever had their plate(s) broken whilst studying, have they?
Frustration. -Shrugs- Does things to you eh.
On a sidenote: Someone turns 20 today. No point naming a name there since she doesn't have a blog anyways. Nevertheless, happy birthday, snail.
And you wonder why I say things like 'Walau eh!'
0 Comments Published Thursday, 10 November 2005, 11:10 am
I reckon my housemates believe in a fairy godmother who comes to empty our dustbin everytime it's about to burst. So this magical lady somehow, somehow, senses our dustbin's cries for help and flies down, from a place only He knows, into unit 29 (that's us), grabs our trashbag and disposes of said trashbag.
That fairy godmother, or magical lady if you'd like, is moi. Oh yeah.
We have cleaning rosters every week. I don't understand why my housemates don't consider the dustbin to be part of the house that needs to be cleaned. Somehow the sight of overflowing rubbish does not disgust them as much as it disgust me. Is it just me? Does everyone believe in this rubbish-clearning fairy godmother too?
And if such a fairy godmother truly exist, why doesn't it visit my house in Singapore?
That fairy godmother, or magical lady if you'd like, is moi. Oh yeah.
We have cleaning rosters every week. I don't understand why my housemates don't consider the dustbin to be part of the house that needs to be cleaned. Somehow the sight of overflowing rubbish does not disgust them as much as it disgust me. Is it just me? Does everyone believe in this rubbish-clearning fairy godmother too?
And if such a fairy godmother truly exist, why doesn't it visit my house in Singapore?
We bought a carton of diet coke (30 cans), mine presumably to see me through late nights studying for that one paper yours truly has to sit for. Mum won't give an approving nod at this, but Mum doesn't have to know...
Anyhow, after Tuesday, 15 November 2005, I shall be a free soul. One exam paper that's only a hundred and forty five multiple choice questions, I shit you not. I've never evar sat for a paper that's 145 MCQs. Is it an Australian thing? You know what's the best part? We've been given answers to 35 of those questions. Again, I shit you not. The Psychology people really want their students to pass.
Other than that, nothing's been up. We went to dinner at an Indian restaurant overlooking the jetty and Swan River and it's buffet style with a eat-all-you-can, pay-all-you-want idea. Don't understand? Eat. All. You. Can. Pay. All. You. Want. My dinner of two helpings (chapati... curry... curry... curry... sorry I don't really know Indian cuisine) was AUD5.00 because that was all I wanted to pay. So it could be 20 cents or 50 dollars, you decide. Great place to go if one has to treat a whole bunch of friends.
I shouldn't be denied of something so heavenly
2 Comments Published Wednesday, 2 November 2005, 10:59 pm
Against my better judgement I visited this website I saw on Lancerlord's blog. Lo and behold, almost all the pictures left me with this WTF!!! expression. But the worst, oh the worst of them all: Do you know that Singapore Airlines serves Ben and Jerry ice cream on Raffles Class?
Here's the link, btw. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I know you can get Ben and Jerry's at the zoo with all your animal pals but imagine that 20,000 feet in the air!!! Imagine that!!!
Other to-die-fors include Singapore Slings, slipper lobsters, lor mai kais, apple crumbles, and much much more. If SIA wasn't that expensive, I would have chosen our national carrier as my plane of choice and fly home like, every holiday. Well of course for the best bits you'd have to fly business class and above but economy fare isn't that bad, at least, much better compared to Qantas. Argh I shouldn't have gone to that site.
Here's the link, btw. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I know you can get Ben and Jerry's at the zoo with all your animal pals but imagine that 20,000 feet in the air!!! Imagine that!!!
Other to-die-fors include Singapore Slings, slipper lobsters, lor mai kais, apple crumbles, and much much more. If SIA wasn't that expensive, I would have chosen our national carrier as my plane of choice and fly home like, every holiday. Well of course for the best bits you'd have to fly business class and above but economy fare isn't that bad, at least, much better compared to Qantas. Argh I shouldn't have gone to that site.
I don't know if Australia's youth are just not very on top of technological trends or if the media has anything to do with their ignorance, but most natives have never even heard of friendster. Here you have people (like me) who are already tired of friendster and there you have people who go "What's Friendster?"
It's a bit hard to stomach, personally.
Then the other day in Psy a group named themselves SPG, after their initials. The first thought that came to my mind was the (infamous) blogger. I whispered "Sarong Party Girl" to my Malaysian friend and she nodded, us sharing a slight grin at that mention. In contrast, my other two Australian groupmates, who happened to overhear, looked at me and asked "Who's that?"
"A well-known blogger who posted nude pictures on her blog."
"What's that? I've never heard of a blog."
"Blog. An online diary."
I can understand, perhaps, if one has not heard of Friendster but blogs? Who hasn't heard of blogs? Even my mum knows the term. And I have seen stuff like Blogwatch on Australian newspapers. Maybe Psychology students don't read newspapers. I dunno. I think the big things in Australia are the soap opera Neighbours and barbie with lots of beef.
Anyhow, recent happenings in the student village--
Halloween, with our very own home-carved pumpkin:
and a very narcissitic housemate who insisted on having pictures of her foot taken (rolls eyes), just because I was playing around with a friend's DSLR:
Disgusting, isn't it. What a sight for sore eyes.
It's a bit hard to stomach, personally.
Then the other day in Psy a group named themselves SPG, after their initials. The first thought that came to my mind was the (infamous) blogger. I whispered "Sarong Party Girl" to my Malaysian friend and she nodded, us sharing a slight grin at that mention. In contrast, my other two Australian groupmates, who happened to overhear, looked at me and asked "Who's that?"
"A well-known blogger who posted nude pictures on her blog."
"What's that? I've never heard of a blog."
"Blog. An online diary."
I can understand, perhaps, if one has not heard of Friendster but blogs? Who hasn't heard of blogs? Even my mum knows the term. And I have seen stuff like Blogwatch on Australian newspapers. Maybe Psychology students don't read newspapers. I dunno. I think the big things in Australia are the soap opera Neighbours and barbie with lots of beef.
Anyhow, recent happenings in the student village--
Halloween, with our very own home-carved pumpkin:
and a very narcissitic housemate who insisted on having pictures of her foot taken (rolls eyes), just because I was playing around with a friend's DSLR:
Disgusting, isn't it. What a sight for sore eyes.
Monday morning always means waking up early for a 45 minute journey to Edith Cowan's campus at a suburb 45 minutes away. Duh. Sometimes I dread it, especially if I've had a late night on Sunday. But sometimes Mondays can be a-ok. I dunno about today. I'll let you judge for yourself.
I suffer from motion sickness. When I get stuck on long car or bus rides the need to puke sometimes arise. On an airplane, however, it is an entirely different story, I will definitely throw up, even for a half hour ride to Kuala Lumpur. Mum has been sympathetic, though, a month before I left she got me pills that supposedly could prevent motion sickness.
Unexpectedly, I felt the urge to spew forth my breakfast (if you could call a banana breakfast) on the bus this morning. Wouldn't have been nice would it. But I managed to control the "urge" til I got off the bus and onto the train. As the train pulled out of Perth city station, I could feel the bile rising. Uh-oh. I nearly had an anxiety attack. How can one throw up in the train on a semi-crowded train?
When it hit, as I knew it would, I pressed my palm on my mouth as hard as I could, somehow it turned into a coughing fit (imagine a coughing fit with vomit in your mouth) and thankfully enough, I managed to swallow it. Yeah I know. I swallowed my puke. Perhaps you can't really call it puke because technically, puke has to leave one's mouth and mine didn't. But it was really disgusting though, to have your food come out and you swallowing it again. Urgh.
The important thing was, I managed to not throw up on the train. So yay for me!
I suffer from motion sickness. When I get stuck on long car or bus rides the need to puke sometimes arise. On an airplane, however, it is an entirely different story, I will definitely throw up, even for a half hour ride to Kuala Lumpur. Mum has been sympathetic, though, a month before I left she got me pills that supposedly could prevent motion sickness.
Unexpectedly, I felt the urge to spew forth my breakfast (if you could call a banana breakfast) on the bus this morning. Wouldn't have been nice would it. But I managed to control the "urge" til I got off the bus and onto the train. As the train pulled out of Perth city station, I could feel the bile rising. Uh-oh. I nearly had an anxiety attack. How can one throw up in the train on a semi-crowded train?
When it hit, as I knew it would, I pressed my palm on my mouth as hard as I could, somehow it turned into a coughing fit (imagine a coughing fit with vomit in your mouth) and thankfully enough, I managed to swallow it. Yeah I know. I swallowed my puke. Perhaps you can't really call it puke because technically, puke has to leave one's mouth and mine didn't. But it was really disgusting though, to have your food come out and you swallowing it again. Urgh.
The important thing was, I managed to not throw up on the train. So yay for me!
