I love this post.
Yes, I read Dooce. I know that makes me uncool. But what's worse is I read it because her small daughter reminds me of me. Esp. post linked above. LSB would be very familiar with that reaction of mine. Thankfully I also have this other strategy - the talk in most reasonable tone strategy: "But LSB, I'm very tired now, and won't be able to work anyway. Why don't I just take a short nap and you can wake me up later? It's much more efficient that way." (LSB is this big efficiency freak. I know, he's strange.)
I'm also in my desperate early hours of the morning work rushing thing again. Sighz.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Celebrity Collage 3
MyHeritage: Celebrity Collage - Geneology - Vintage photos
Hmmm strangely enough I seem to score high on the Northeast Asian types. LSB is going to have a fit. I think some of these rank high in his idol list. Ah what can I say? I'm very cute.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
A dash of hope
I might as well come right out and say it, since so many of you know already - I'm finally doing what everyone said I would do in the end.
Ok, so it's been a secret too long, and I just can't bring myself to say it out loud. Shoot me. The rest of this post should make it obvious anyway.
In the course of doing what everyone said I would do, I went back to one of the old papers I wrote during my undergrad, and I was truly, truly ultra-genuinely shocked by the standard of the paper. I know it seems like I'm blowing my own trumpet announcing this on my blog, but I don't think anyone realises what a basketcase I am when it comes to academia, and therefore nobody truly realises what a shock this is to me.
For emphasis: BASKETCASE.
I've always been an insecure, neurotic nutcase when it comes to academia. I have never felt I was good enough, despite what my lecturers have told me. It is for this reason that I've always felt somewhat ambivalent about my grades.
I think maybe some part of me still retains that slacker/ invisible student/ hated by all teachers identity I had throughout my teenage years. I recall fondly when I had to apply for the humanities scholarship, all 3 of my secondary school humanities teachers refused to write a recommendation for me. I remember especially clearly my History teacher expressing doubts about my ability, and then asking how I did for my history prelims. To which I replied '93/100'. (Yes, I remember the exact figure till now.) She was not convinced by my score however, and after muchos begging, I managed to hound my Geography teacher into recommending me for a History-Literature course. I suppose it was revenge for not participating at all in my classes, and basically ignoring my teachers as best I could (and I was better at my humanities too. I can only imagine what my Maths & Science teachers thought of me.) But you see, that's how it's supposed to work. That's how the teachers and I hang. I quietly ignore them and they quietly detest my pretty ass. That's the way the world works.
Anyway, back to the main point. I've always taken any compliments I received in the course of my studies with a huge pinch of salt. How could it be that I deserved any of it? I was fairly convinced that all my lecturers were delusional or they didn't mean what they said, or maybe they just didn't expect much from their students, and I was always scared of being exposed for the fraudster that I thought I was. It was partly for this reason that at times I just felt miserable. I was carrying on in academia, pushed forward by the momentum of grades, encouragement and people's expectations, but not believing that I could progress much further. I mean, how long more before somebody pointed out my abject ignorance of what I was supposed to specialise in? And this was also partly why I wanted out. The pressure and emotional rollercoaster I went through was just too much for me. I didn't believe any of it - the encouragement, the compliments, the future in academia.
I don't know if that old paper of mine is accurate or true in any way, I truly don't. But I can say now that the level of sophistication (or sophistry, if you like) is not something I would expect from an undergraduate, or even a Masters student. I cannot believe that I wrote that paper. I remember I was very stressed out by that paper. This was a paper meant to be completed in a semester, and I remember that by the mid-term break, when my supervisor still hadn't received a proposed topic from me, he called me up and asked me if I would like to withdraw from the module. In the end I managed to convince him that I could finish the paper, and, as is usual for me, rushed the paper in a day. (that was just the writing of course. The research was done, albeit a little hastily, before.) When my supervisor returned the paper to me, he told me that he believed he couldn't have written a paper like that when he was a student. I didn't quite shrug that comment off, being absolutely flabbergasted that he could think so highly of a hastily put together argument that was full of holes and of doubtful veracity. But I was convinced that he probably knew too little about the topic, or was just being nice. Basically my reaction was 'Yeah sucker!' (Ok I pray my lecturers never read my blog.)
Now I have to say I agree with him. At the risk of sounding like I have an ego the size of North America, I have to say that I don't think any of my classmates could have written a paper of that level of sophistication in that little time (with that little knowledge, I might add). In fact, I have never seen another undergraduate paper that showed an equivalent level of analysis. That paper was like advanced-level intellectual kama sutra. I sound like an ass, but I genuinely think it was that good. Again, I have to emphasise that what I am so obviously impressed by is not the accuracy of the paper, or the truths revealed by my brilliant analysis (haha) but the level of sophistication (i.e. it might be bullshit but it is damn good bullshit).
So now I'm thinking, maybe I deserved all of it. Maybe even if I don't have the ability yet, I have the potential to pursue a career in academia. Maybe I can be successful academically, even if that might not mean professional success. Maybe it's just about finding the confidence and motivation and drive and environment in which I can do well. Maybe it's all possible, perhaps not this year, but maybe next year, or the year after that, or some year down the road. Ya' know?
And that means so much to me.
Ok, so it's been a secret too long, and I just can't bring myself to say it out loud. Shoot me. The rest of this post should make it obvious anyway.
In the course of doing what everyone said I would do, I went back to one of the old papers I wrote during my undergrad, and I was truly, truly ultra-genuinely shocked by the standard of the paper. I know it seems like I'm blowing my own trumpet announcing this on my blog, but I don't think anyone realises what a basketcase I am when it comes to academia, and therefore nobody truly realises what a shock this is to me.
For emphasis: BASKETCASE.
I've always been an insecure, neurotic nutcase when it comes to academia. I have never felt I was good enough, despite what my lecturers have told me. It is for this reason that I've always felt somewhat ambivalent about my grades.
I think maybe some part of me still retains that slacker/ invisible student/ hated by all teachers identity I had throughout my teenage years. I recall fondly when I had to apply for the humanities scholarship, all 3 of my secondary school humanities teachers refused to write a recommendation for me. I remember especially clearly my History teacher expressing doubts about my ability, and then asking how I did for my history prelims. To which I replied '93/100'. (Yes, I remember the exact figure till now.) She was not convinced by my score however, and after muchos begging, I managed to hound my Geography teacher into recommending me for a History-Literature course. I suppose it was revenge for not participating at all in my classes, and basically ignoring my teachers as best I could (and I was better at my humanities too. I can only imagine what my Maths & Science teachers thought of me.) But you see, that's how it's supposed to work. That's how the teachers and I hang. I quietly ignore them and they quietly detest my pretty ass. That's the way the world works.
Anyway, back to the main point. I've always taken any compliments I received in the course of my studies with a huge pinch of salt. How could it be that I deserved any of it? I was fairly convinced that all my lecturers were delusional or they didn't mean what they said, or maybe they just didn't expect much from their students, and I was always scared of being exposed for the fraudster that I thought I was. It was partly for this reason that at times I just felt miserable. I was carrying on in academia, pushed forward by the momentum of grades, encouragement and people's expectations, but not believing that I could progress much further. I mean, how long more before somebody pointed out my abject ignorance of what I was supposed to specialise in? And this was also partly why I wanted out. The pressure and emotional rollercoaster I went through was just too much for me. I didn't believe any of it - the encouragement, the compliments, the future in academia.
I don't know if that old paper of mine is accurate or true in any way, I truly don't. But I can say now that the level of sophistication (or sophistry, if you like) is not something I would expect from an undergraduate, or even a Masters student. I cannot believe that I wrote that paper. I remember I was very stressed out by that paper. This was a paper meant to be completed in a semester, and I remember that by the mid-term break, when my supervisor still hadn't received a proposed topic from me, he called me up and asked me if I would like to withdraw from the module. In the end I managed to convince him that I could finish the paper, and, as is usual for me, rushed the paper in a day. (that was just the writing of course. The research was done, albeit a little hastily, before.) When my supervisor returned the paper to me, he told me that he believed he couldn't have written a paper like that when he was a student. I didn't quite shrug that comment off, being absolutely flabbergasted that he could think so highly of a hastily put together argument that was full of holes and of doubtful veracity. But I was convinced that he probably knew too little about the topic, or was just being nice. Basically my reaction was 'Yeah sucker!' (Ok I pray my lecturers never read my blog.)
Now I have to say I agree with him. At the risk of sounding like I have an ego the size of North America, I have to say that I don't think any of my classmates could have written a paper of that level of sophistication in that little time (with that little knowledge, I might add). In fact, I have never seen another undergraduate paper that showed an equivalent level of analysis. That paper was like advanced-level intellectual kama sutra. I sound like an ass, but I genuinely think it was that good. Again, I have to emphasise that what I am so obviously impressed by is not the accuracy of the paper, or the truths revealed by my brilliant analysis (haha) but the level of sophistication (i.e. it might be bullshit but it is damn good bullshit).
So now I'm thinking, maybe I deserved all of it. Maybe even if I don't have the ability yet, I have the potential to pursue a career in academia. Maybe I can be successful academically, even if that might not mean professional success. Maybe it's just about finding the confidence and motivation and drive and environment in which I can do well. Maybe it's all possible, perhaps not this year, but maybe next year, or the year after that, or some year down the road. Ya' know?
And that means so much to me.
Monday, December 08, 2008
A perfect morning
It's one of those mornings with a good-tempered rain and light, cool breezes and chirping birds (strangely enough) and an all-the-earth-is-verdant-and-growing vibe AND that happens to be a public holiday. It's the kind of morning you stretch luxuriously and wake and look out of your window into the garden with the flowering shrubs and birds jumping in and out of tiny puddles and think, damn I need more Mozart in my music collection. In fact, it's the kind of morning for which this would be the perfect accompaniment:
Just look at how happy the pianist is!
Just look at how happy the pianist is!
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