Failure is the mother of Success

Failure does not mean that you are a failure,
It means you have not yet succeeded.

Failure does not mean you have accomplished nothing,
It means you have learnt something.

Failure does not mean you have been a fool,
It means you have a lot of faith.

Failure does not mean you don’t have what it takes,
It just means you have to do it differently.

Failure does not mean you have wasted your life,
It means you have reasons to start afresh.

Failure does not mean you should give up,
It means you must try harder.

Failure does not mean the God has abandoned you,
It just means that God has a better idea.

10/06/09

I almost die in KTM

Happy 1st Birthday Blogspotty

I've mixed feelings about her turning 1. And yes, I've decided on a sex for it. Blogspotty seems too funny a name. But anyway, I started this month with the intention to close this blog and migrate to a new one - perhaps one on TypePad or LiveJournal or something of that sort. But then looking back at some of my posts, and comparing them to the two previous blogs which I still sustain for memories' sake, I can say that my writing style and frame of thought have changed (marginally). And I like keeping track of this development. But that doesn't answer why I want to continue here. Hmmm. Let me distill my thoughts for a bit. Oh yes. I now know why. The reason I wanted to first change blogs is because, increasingly, my posts have been becoming more personal lately. Pretty much like this one where my conscious self steps into what I write and addresses issues confrontationally. My posts here used to be as detached as I can make it to be, but this being a blog; the tendency to "customize" it - to use a blogger vocabulary - is inevitable. I'm not sure still if I'd start a new one. But for now, this will pretty much stay.

Quite surely though, my blog will never be one of great design and musically accompanied for reasons that I love to blog because I love to write. It is true, that customization and personal design asserts the individuality and personality of the author - but for me, I prefer that my words speak for me. They may be uniform fonts of a certain size and shape, but that is not what that will speak. What speaks, I hope, as I pen my thoughts down here is that voice that seeps through them. My voice. My individual assertion. The ebb and flow of my word, my style, my thoughts. Mind you, to have to read these sentences is a privileged peek into my mind.

It's interesting to revisit the question of how a blog can give a person so much confidence in physicalising his or her innermost thoughts and feelings. At least that's what it's turning out to be. People are less afraid to post a blog than to write into a diary. Having given this much thought, I come to a very Freudian conclusion. Perhaps our need to blog is subconscious for the very fact that our subconscious is aware that the words we type here are non-existent. What's interesting about blogs is that they physicalise thoughts - but only to an extent. These thoughts are actually coded in some form of computer language (which I think they call HTML) and they remain so - abstract, almost intangible. The reason why there's so little responsibility and discretion on the computer (and thus online) is the absence of true identity. Anonymity. And the subconscious has captured that.

Oh well - I promised this would be a whiny rant of birthday greetings. And I will not bore you with more speculations - toddles!

Krispy Kreme

Krispy Kreme is overrated - as said by three food critics, your truly included

one

I have of late been thinking about numbers quite a lot, the number one in particular. The abstract quality of numbers fascinates me, and I have been trying to relate them to other abstract concepts, like wholeness and love and perfection.

For example, a glass – Glass A. If Glass A has a small chip in it, it isn’t less than one glass. If it has a small lump on it, it isn’t more than one glass. The glass is still one; it is one of itself. It is a perfect Glass A.

This inspires further thought. It is impossible ever to have duplicate Glass A’s. The ideal glass exists only in theory. How, then, can two things ever have enough in common to be called two? Put two glasses together and all you have is two ones. The ideal two does not exist. There is no such thing as the ideal two.

I found this concept very disturbing. The ramifications of the nonexistence of the number two would be extensive. How could there be true love without two? I asked friends, teachers; no one had the answer.

Fortunately, I came across a solution to this problem just recently, in e. e. cummings’ poem, “if everything happens that can’t be done,” He sets up the idea of the individual one with lines like “there’s nothing as something as one” and “one’s everyanything.” He then reveals that two ones are involved with each other – in love. He unites these ideas, wrapping it up beautifully in the last stanza:

we’re anything brighter than even
the sun
(we’re everything greater
than books
might mean)
we’re everyanything more than
believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we’re alive)
we’re wonderful on times one

One times one! It makes so much sense. We don’t generally think of multiplication using two objects. Usually, we think, “One apple one time” – equals one apple. However, Punnett squares have shown that multiplying one horse by one donkey will yield one mule. Decidedly different from either of the originals, it nevertheless combines characteristics of both into one being.

So it must be with people. The love of two individuals, while independent of one another, blends together to form one love – their love. People speak of “our love” or “the love between us” or “the love that we share.” The two ones multiply to equal one, but that final one is different, seems richer, fuller than either of the originals.

The implications are intriguing. I had no idea that numbers could mean so much. It’s paradox, because mathematics is the ultimately logical system, totally intolerant of interpretation, I think these ideas merit further development – after all, I haven’t even begun to think about zero.

coloured

Written by an African child. I like.

*****

When I born, I black

When I grow up, I black

When I go in sun, I black

When I scared, I black

When I sick, I black

And when I die, I still black

And you white fellow

When you born, you pink

When you grow up, you white

When you go in sun, you red

When you cold, you blue

When you scared, you yellow

When you sick, you green

And when you die, you gray

And you calling me coloured?

growing out

I keep asking myself if I will outgrow blogging. And for a moment, I thought I did.

Blogging is really something I will always enjoy doing. And it has transformed from being a conduit to voice out my thoughts for people to read to something which I just do when I feel like doing it. Like reading. Or thinking. Or staring out the window.

I don't know. I don't blog to tell the world what I think anymore. My creative energy is now put into other pursuits, which I hope to continue at a later date and time. Right now, I have rock-climbing, backpacking (from KL to Phuket and to Bangkok and back to KL), dancing classes (popping, breakdance or hip hop?) and cooking lessons (I need to inherit my mum’s culinary skills before I leave) to think of. And they are most probably few very important and exciting things for me in these two months.

don't know why

i



don't

understand

why

people

put

so

many

photos

on

their

blogs

Welcome to Perak's Circus

I'll go to Ipoh to watch a clown-act the next time I need a laugh...

Susan Boyle, from Shrek to My Fair Lady

Is dubbed "The Woman Who Shut Up Simon Cowell"

“I know what they were thinking, but why should it matter as long as I can sing? It’s not a beauty contest”
The Sunday Times

“A role model for everyone who has a dream”
Elaine Paige

“Britain's newest pop sensation”
ABC News

“We are in critical condition in facilitating Boyle’s rapid rise to fame”
YouTube, Facebook, Twitter

“Modern society is too quick to judge people on their appearances. [...] There is not much you can do about it; it is the way they think; it is the way they are. But maybe this could teach them a lesson, or set an example”
The Washington Post

“It was a victory for talent and artistry in a culture obsessed with physical attractiveness and presentation”
Entertainment Weekly

“Boyle's performance was a triumph for "women of a certain age" over a youth culture that often dismisses middle-aged women”
The Huffington Post

“She's an everywoman as opposed to an untouchable fantasy goddess, so maybe that's why people react to her. [...] They say, 'She's one of us, but look how talented she is”
Los Angeles vocal coach Eric Vetro

“The biggest wake-up call ever on hearing her sing”
Amanda Holden

Boyle became known when she sang "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Misérables in the the first round of the third series of the show. She is on her way to superstardom!

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high,
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.

Then I was young and unafraid
When dreams were made and used,
And wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung,
No wine untasted.

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hopes apart
As they turn your dreams to shame.

And still I dream he'll come to me
And we will live our lives together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms
We cannot weather...

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seems
Now life has killed
The dream I dreamed.

I dreamed a dream

Les Miserables