li's blog - excelsior

Temporary Upload

2007-10-30T00:15:00.000+11:00

Im putting these up temporarily for a friend, coz my comp is in safe mode and i cant sent things over web messenger!!

Statement of Intention:

This short piece, set in Venice, is meant to be a humourous read for a teenage audience. The moral story of this piece, fidelity, is enforced through an unexpected twist at the end.

Venetian Rose

Li Mei

And then I saw her.

She was of oriental appearance; her tall slender figure silhouetted against the colourful, striped fabric of the ice cream stand. The morning Venetian sun spilled its golden light on her hypnotizing features: her flawless skin, angelic face and long, black hair. She threw her head back and laughed as she conversed with her two friends. Her laughter resonated in my ears like the chime of divine bells in heaven itself. Her two Italian friends, though they must be Mediterranean beauties in their own right, acted only as foils to the girl’s ineffable charm. She stood out like a majestic rose among a field of daisies, a diamond upon a …

“John! What are you dreaming about?” The irritated face of my girlfriend popped up into my vision.

“Wahh!” I jumped back in surprise, my fantastical thoughts shattered. “Oh, nothing really, I was just…”

“Well, stop thinking about nothing and get moving then!” Ciara angrily cut me off. “There’s only one more week left in our holiday, and we’re not going to waste it cloud gazing.”

A pile of shopping bags was shoved in my arms, and I was dragged along the cobblestone pavement of old Venice into a gondola in the canal. But my mind was elsewhere. I looked back at the ice cream stand, but the merry old man was already serving a mother and her kid. My desperate eyes scanned the river bank, scouring the facades of the 18^th century European architecture to no avail. She was gone.

Ciara sat with her arms crossed, pouting and angry at my diverted attention. The usually talkative Italian rower, dressed in the red and white traditional garb, sensed the hostility and kept his silence.

“I read that there are some great shops near St. Mark’s square. Do you want to go there this evening? The weather looks great.” – My feeble attempt to diffuse the tension.

Silence.

Our holiday wasn’t coming along too well. Ever since arriving from Melbourne a week ago, our days were filled with shopping and sight seeing. Personally, I was never a great fan of such delights and rather preferred a quiet night out back home. But who was I to argue when my girlfriend demanded a holiday in Europe? Ciara was a girl used to getting what she wanted, a trait undoubtedly due to her spoilt upbringing. And having a Macau gambling tycoon for a father didn’t help matters. What do I have to lose? I thought to myself at the time. And who knows what interesting things will happen in Venice?

To my relief, Ciara’s mood improved as the day progressed. We shopped for several more hours – the one thing I hate about girls is their insatiable appetite for consumerism – and visited St Mark’s Bascilica. The august domes and golden arches of the Byzantine edifice instilled a sense of awe within me. No wonder this city was named the City of Light, the Queen of the Adriatic.

Night befell Venice, and to my surprise, Ciara’s temperament had alleviated completely. She even proposed that we go to a bar. Of her choice, of course.

Literally translated , the bar was called “The Green Dragon”. To my delight, its large modern interior with dance floor reminded me of some of my favourite habitats in Melbourne. In fact, it was the only building I have entered in Venice apart from Michael Angelo airport and my hotel that did not resemble a scene from Voltaire’s Candide.

Sipping a mug of beer, I made myself comfortable on a red leather seat by the fringe of the dance floor.

“Don’t do anything stupid now”, Ciara warned me before excusing herself to the bathroom. I watched her disappear through the mass of young dancers bopping to American hip-hop. The music wasn’t my favourite, but it was a pleasant break from a week spent in the Renaissance. My eyes wandered freely among the party-goers: local girls enjoying their break from university, tourists like us enjoying a night out, and the occasional -

My heart froze.

At the other side of the dance floor, the goddess I saw in the morning sat alone. And she was waving to me. An unknown force took control of my legs. My rational mind ceased to exist as I walked trance-like towards her table. Ciara’s warning had been swept from my mind.

My feet reached their destination. Act naturally, damn it! I cursed myself as I finally regained control of my body.

“Hi,” the girl said to me with a heart-melting smile that would instantly immobilise any man.

“H...h…hi, what’s your name?” I managed to stutter back. All thoughts of Ciara disappeared from my mind. The whole world has ceased to exist except for Venus herself sitting in front of me.

Her name was Constanza, and she had come from Tokyo with two Italian friends for a holiday. She was studying for a doctorate in political science at Tokyo University. She didn’t usually visit bars, but came at the insistence of her friends who presumably were dancing.

Her voice was like a chorus of angels and the beauty of her face was intermittently highlighted by the flashing disco lights. I was mesmerised. And I didn’t notice that Ciara had been away for an unusually long time.

“Would you like to dance?” I offered my hand.

“I’d prefer to do something else first,” Constanza smiled devilishly at me. Her face drew closer to me.

My heart raced. I leaned forward and close my eyes. I could feel her warm, soft breath on my cheeks –

BANG

I jumped to my feet, smashing my knee against the table in the process. Constanza had collapsed onto the table, knocking over her cocktail! I was at a total loss of what to do. I looked around; nobody had noticed and the music was too loud to shout for help.

“Constanza, are you ok?” I shook her body.

“No need to worry John.” I jumped, and again banged my knee. Ciara had strode over from nowhere.

“Look, she…she...she’s” I stammered.

“She’s only a robot.” Came Ciara’s cold reply.

“What?” This couldn’t be true. Ciara was just jealous. I looked around in incredulity. One of Constanza’s friends I saw this morning was sitting at a bar stool, waving at me. She was holding…a remote?

I looked back at Constanza. She was no longer unconscious, but had moved over to the seat against the wall and sat staring dreamily into space. I waved my hand in front of her face. No response.

“John, I think we need to have a talk.” Ciara’s frosty tone jolted me out of my shock. And in a flurry of movement she had me by the ear and was dragging me out of the bar.

The Venetian night was cold. “What was that all about?” I asked grudgingly, rubbing my sore ear.

“John, my father was right. He thought you were a dodgy character the moment he set his eyes on you. That’s why he planned this test.”

“What, this was all a test?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, and you failed. That robot was a TX-253, state of the art Japanese technology. It looks and acts like a real human. It cost my father a grand sum, but looks like it was money well spent.”

I could not believe this. The world crashed down around me. That robot must have had hypnotic powers or something, I thought to myself.

“We’re going back to the hotel right now, mister. And anymore antics from you, I’ll have you crying for your mama,” said Ciara coolly.

My mother, I thought to myself as I, dazed, followed Ciara along the stone street. What did my mother always tell me about infidelity? Wild flowers are best left unpicked.

And how right she was.

Statement of intention

This creative piece is set several hundred years ago aboard what appears to be a pirate ship. The intended audience is mature readers ranging from teens to adults. Though the reader may not be able to relate to the setting of the narrative, the epiphany the protagonist experiences is likely to be of a nature common to all of humanity. The piece is intended to invite readers to rethink their goals in life and examine whether their goals are what they really want. The structure of the piece is divided into several short separated scenes, with the last chronological scene placed as an introduction.

Treasure

Li Mei, 12B

A body, or what was left of it, hung atop the ship’s mast. A sabre protruding from his abdomen was silhouetted against the orange sunset. Seagulls circled overhead like a cloud of death, ripping at what appeared to be a captain’s apparel. Oblivious to the putrid stench of rotting flesh, the scavengers fought over the body, their ear piercing screeches carried far by the salty wind.

* * *

“Throw him overboard!” Franks barked, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Please captain, spare me,” the deckhand begged. “I have a wife and two children to feed, I can’t die yet.”

“Sir, please. Sure, Will is clumsy and foolish at times, but his loyalty more than compensates for these inadequacies.” Franks’ first mate pleaded on behalf of the doomed man.

“Enough!” Franks rattled his sabre in fury. “What good is loyalty if it comes without brains? I will not have this moron on my ship.”

Franks turned away and surveyed the damaged sail. The steely glint in his eyes reflected his callosity. Splash! The hardened captain did not flinch.

“Back to work! This sail must be fixed by dusk!” Franks bellowed at his men, who eyed him with disgruntled disdain behind his back.

However, Franks did not notice these looks. No. He was above these petty men. There were more important things to worry about. One of them, he savoured to himself, was the treasure map he had won from the old man at the inn. Having had years of experience on the seas, Franks was certain of the map’s authenticity. Back in the lofty captain’s cabin, his rough hands traced over the ancient, yellowed parchment. A smile spread across his gnarled face, distorting his already grotesque countenance. Riches. Fame. A legacy to rival that of Blackbeard’s. And it was all his, Franks thought, his alone. He looked out the window and saw his men hard at work, repairing the damage that the blunderous Will had wreaked on his ship. The crew can have a share of course, Franks smirked; he will toss them a few gold coins at his disposal.

* * *

Flame from the torches cast an eerie glow on Franks’ face. His steel sabre flashed as he fought to hold off the men surrounding him. His back hit the wooden mast.

Cornered. Nowhere to go.

“Get back, you insubordinate scoundrels!” Franks shouted at his crew for the last time.

“You have ordered us one too many times, captain.” The first mate spat out the last word with obvious contempt. “We work hard for you. Your fortune is built upon our blood and sweat.”

“And yet you, you treat us like mongrels!” a deckhand snarled. The mob murmured in angry assent.

“The treasure,” Franks attempted to barter with the advancing mob, “I’ll give you half – no, three quarters!”

“Too late, Franky. We are going to find the treasure ourselves. And we are going to split it evenly amongst the men. Yes, evenly. You mustn’t be very familiar with that word, Franky.”

* * *

Franks grasped his chest, blood seeping through his fingers. He watched, through his blurred vision, as what used to be his men took over the ship. Their raucous shouts as they plundered the captain’s quarters were nothing but a distant drone to him.

He knew he was dying.

Images of his life played before his eyes. He was a child again, begging on the streets with his mother for food and money. People walked past obliviously, some looking down at them with disdain… He was 14, pleading with a merchant to allow him onboard as a deckhand. The fat man frowned at his skinny build. “You?” The man laughed… He was a young man now, grieving over his mother’s death. He wept for days, but the only person whom he loved and who loved him was dead. The flame of love was snuffed out in his heart…It was a dimly lit room. He and the rest of the ship’s crew were plotting mutiny against their captain. Their conversation was hushed and a cold sweat caused each man to shiver…

Suddenly, Franks did not care about wealth anymore. His life was but an empty shell, filled with the blind pursuit of gold. Love and affection were sated by whores, and friendship replaced by mutual manipulation and distrust. He had never known the meaning of compassion, for he was never shown any. He did not know mercy, nor forgiveness. He was as unfamiliar with many facets of human decency as he was with the father that he had never met. A gradual realisation that he had lived a life of delusion dawned on him. The epiphany struck him like a heavenly light of atonement upon a wayward soul. Franks was joyful in the fact that he had, in his last moments, see through the façade of ostentatious wealth, but was plaintive that he had led a futile life. One could have all the gold in the world, but what good is it if one had lost his humanity? Life, the dying man decided, should be about living out one’s principles and beliefs. But what were his beliefs? Franks could not remember. If I had another life, Franks thought, I’d…

Franks’ head fell on his shoulder as his eyes closed for the final time. A tear drop ran down his face onto his lips, where the faintest hint of a smile had manifested itself.

Frank had lost his quest for treasure. But he had found his meaning of life.

Statement of intention

This creative piece is written for teenagers of upper primary school age and up. Unlike many other pieces of its type, this narrative’s aim is not to pontificate a moral to its readers. Instead, its goal is to entertain, thrill and surprise readers of the aforementioned age group. It attempts to achieve this by being set in a bleak hospital ward in Christmas time, something most children would dread. The macabre ending, left to the reader’s imagination, is designed to be thought provoking even after the reader has finished reading. The language used is for an advanced audience.

I’m not Philip!

Li Mei

“I’m not Philip!”

A boy’s intermittent shouting as he approached my ward compelled me to put down my Gameboy and look towards the entrance in curiosity. The source of the commotion revealed itself as a nurse pushed a scrawny looking boy in a wheelchair into the room. His hair was brown and untidy, his lanky arms gesticulating wildly as he continued yelling at the nurse “You’ve got it wrong! I’m NOT Phillip!” The nurse rolled her eyes; she seemed to have heard it a dozen times. She coaxed him into the bed opposite mine and hung a plastic board on his post. I could make out the letters MAGROIN, Phillip.

“Ring this bell if you need anything, Philip,” she told Philip as she tucked in his sheets and walked to my bed.

“I said, I’m not Philip!” Philip retorted defiantly, casting a sulky look towards her.

“Don’t worry about him, Martin.” The nurse whispered to me as she replaced my towels. “The poor boy is having his leg amputated, and its Christmas Day tomorrow too! He’s been trying to convince us that he is someone else ever since he arrived. You’ll be nice to him won’t, you?”

The boy gave the nurse another vehement cry of “I’m not Philip!” as she exited the ward. It was just the two of us now. I pulled myself up from my bed and in the friendliest tone I could muster, said to him “Hi, Philip. My name is Martin.”

“I am NOT Philip!” Philip shouted at me and ripped the curtain around his bed shut.

Great. Stuck in a hospital with some identity-confused loony on Christmas Eve. I sighed, but was immediately assaulted by a violent seizure of sneezes. I have always been allergic to the smell of hospitals. Although I have been here for a day, the pervading whiff of penicillin and alcohol was still overwhelmingly stimulating for my sensitive nose. The fading sunlight was filtering through the window blinds, lining the whitewashed walls of the ward with stripes of yellow light. A collection of get-well cards from family and friends crowded my bedside table; my sister had even brought me my basketball trophies. Spilling onto my linen bed sheet were my Marvel comics, none of which interested me now.

Philip’s curtain was suddenly pulled back. “My name is Ben,” he said glumly, scowling at me as though if daring me to challenge his words. He must have felt lonely, I thought.

“Err… hi Ben. What are you here for?” I replied warily.

“Nothing really, just a checkup.” He took no notice of the skepticism etched on my face as he twirled his sheet in his fingers, looking preoccupied. “What are you here for?”

“Having my tonsils removed. I can hardly eat because of the pain”.

The room fell into silence again, and night slowed settled around us. “Night,” I said to Philip as I pulled on my orange pyjamas.

“Night,” he grunted back. “And merry Christmas.” I rubbed my eyes. I almost thought I caught a sneer on Philip’s face as he pulled close his curtain.

It was a restless night. I have been scared of sleeping in hospitals ever since I broke my leg in my second year at school. From the creaking sounds of the bed springs emanating from Philip’s direction, it was apparent he was sleepless too. When I finally dozed off, my sleep was pervaded by nightmares. I dreamt of being chased down the hospital isle by a giant bouncing pumpkin, of having my leg amputated, of an evil looking Santa laughing at me at the end of my bed, who then transformed into a smirking Philip…

“Yup, this is Philip,” voices roused me from my slumber. Two men in white robes stood beside me, lifting me into a stretcher bed.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Shocked, I struggled in vain against their unbreakable grips.

“Your operation Philip, it’s in ten minutes” One of them said behind his surgical mask.

“But, I’m not Philip!” I cried, bewildered. “He is Philip!” I pointed to the other bed.

“The nurse told us this will happen,” the doctor sighed. His partner checked my file hanging on my bedpost again. “Yes, you are Philip Magroin. Be quiet now, or you might wake Martin up.”

“NO! You have it all wrong! He is Philip, I’m Martin. He swapped our files in the night! I saw him!”

Dread filled me, creeping across my skin like an icy gel. I shouted and kicked, but to no avail. I was wheeled out of my room to the elevator across the foyer, screaming all the way “I’m not Philip!”

As the elevator doors began to close, I saw Philip’s head poking outside the ward.

He smirked.

I'm not Philip!

2007-09-17T22:23:00.000+10:00

Story time, friends!!! Here is a creative I wrote a while ago as a practise SAC. It's my favourite out of everything I've written. Although, I must say the plot of the story is not original T___T.

Btw, it's a HORROR story!! rawrrrr

Statement of intention

This creative piece is written for teenagers of upper primary school age and up. Unlike many other pieces of its type, this narrative’s aim is not to pontificate a moral to its readers. Instead, its goal is to entertain, thrill and surprise readers of the aforementioned age group. It attempts to achieve this by being set in a bleak hospital ward in Christmas time, something most children would dread. The macabre ending, left to the reader’s imagination, is designed to be thought provoking even after the reader has finished reading. The language used is for an advanced audience.

I’m not Philip!

Li Mei
“I’m not Philip!”

A boy’s intermittent shouting as he approached my ward compelled me to put down my Gameboy and look towards the entrance in curiosity. The source of the commotion revealed itself as a nurse pushed a scrawny looking boy in a wheelchair into the room. His hair was brown and untidy, his lanky arms gesticulating wildly as he continued yelling at the nurse “You’ve got it wrong! I’m NOT Phillip!” The nurse rolled her eyes; she seemed to have heard it a dozen times. She coaxed him into the bed opposite mine and hung a plastic board on his post. I could make out the letters MAGROIN, Phillip.

“Ring this bell if you need anything, Philip,” she told Philip as she tucked in his sheets and walked to my bed.

“I said, I’m not Philip!” Philip retorted defiantly, casting a sulky look towards her.

“Don’t worry about him, Martin.” The nurse whispered to me as she replaced my towels. “The poor boy is having his leg amputated, and its Christmas Day tomorrow too! He’s been trying to convince us that he is someone else ever since he arrived. You’ll be nice to him won’t, you?”

The boy gave the nurse another vehement cry of “I’m not Philip!” as she exited the ward. It was just the two of us now. I pulled myself up from my bed and in the friendliest tone I could muster, said to him “Hi, Philip. My name is Martin.”

“I am NOT Philip!” Philip shouted at me and ripped the curtain around his bed shut.

Great. Stuck in a hospital with some identity-confused loony on Christmas Eve. I sighed, but was immediately assaulted by a violent seizure of sneezes. I have always been allergic to the smell of hospitals. Although I have been here for a day, the pervading whiff of penicillin and alcohol was still overwhelmingly stimulating for my sensitive nose. The fading sunlight was filtering through the window blinds, lining the whitewashed walls of the ward with stripes of yellow light. A collection of get-well cards from family and friends crowded my bedside table; my sister had even brought me my basketball trophies. Spilling onto my linen bed sheet were my Marvel comics, none of which interested me now.

Philip’s curtain was suddenly pulled back. “My name is Ben,” he said glumly, scowling at me as though if daring me to challenge his words. He must have felt lonely, I thought.

“Err… hi Ben. What are you here for?” I replied warily.

“Nothing really, just a checkup.” He took no notice of the skepticism etched on my face as he twirled his sheet in his fingers, looking preoccupied. “What are you here for?”

“Having my tonsils removed. I can hardly eat because of the pain”.

The room fell into silence again, and night slowed settled around us. “Night,” I said to Philip as I pulled on my orange pyjamas.

“Night,” he grunted back. “And merry Christmas.” I rubbed my eyes. I almost thought I caught a sneer on Philip’s face as he pulled close his curtain.

It was a restless night. I have been scared of sleeping in hospitals ever since I broke my leg in my second year at school. From the creaking sounds of the bed springs emanating from Philip’s direction, it was apparent he was sleepless too. When I finally dozed off, my sleep was pervaded by nightmares. I dreamt of being chased down the hospital isle by a giant bouncing pumpkin, of having my leg amputated, of an evil looking Santa laughing at me at the end of my bed, who then transformed into a smirking Philip…

“Yup, this is Philip,” voices roused me from my slumber. Two men in white robes stood beside me, lifting me into a stretcher bed.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Shocked, I struggled in vain against their unbreakable grips.

“Your operation Philip, it’s in ten minutes” One of them said behind his surgical mask.

“But, I’m not Philip!” I cried, bewildered. “He is Philip!” I pointed to the other bed.

“The nurse told us this will happen,” the doctor sighed. His partner checked my file hanging on my bedpost again. “Yes, you are Philip Magroin. Be quiet now, or you might wake Martin up.”

“NO! You have it all wrong! He is Philip, I’m Martin. He swapped our files in the night! I saw him!”

Dread filled me, creeping across my skin like an icy gel. I shouted and kicked, but to no avail. I was wheeled out of my room to the elevator across the foyer, screaming all the way “I’m not Philip!”

As the elevator doors began to close, I saw Philip’s head poking outside the ward.

He smirked.

Life until now

2007-09-08T00:00:00.000+10:00

It has been a long time since I last posted, mainly due to the fact that I cannot fabricate anything to tirade about. Perhaps one can say that I am at peace with the world, for no issue has incurred my wrath or stoked controversy within my haywire brain.

VCE has been a bitch! There's like 6 weeks to go till exams and I still haven't started much of my revision regime. According to my last year's deluded idealitic ideosyncratic plan, I should have done about 10 practise exams per subject already and be owning uni maths. What's happening now? Haven't finished the course for chem or physics, and have NO idea what is going on in uni maths. My only hope is to cram before the uni maths exams, which is after all my others, giving me a week to party/hardcore study. A worry of mine is English. I was just told today at tuition that my text analysises lack the vocabulary and expression needed for 10/10. Woe woe woe. Damn those MHS and Macrob people for their hardcoreness! *cough nerds* =P What must I do now? Read the bloody dictionary to find more words to put in my pieces? Argg

I cannot wait to see the year book which Matt is overseeing. I saw from a sneak preview that even old Schiller injected some humour into his piece. However, I encountered the tyrannous nature of people in power: I had my front cover passage "desecrated" and an anthology of funny Chinese surnames rejected. But of course thus is what editors do and I accept this fact of nature. Although, my dislike for working under other people, especially in my areas of interest, was exacerbated. Hence my ambition in 10 years time, as written in my year book profile, is "TO BE YOUR BOSS". Ok, I can't everyone's boss. But it will be fun being the boss won't it? Another question that elicited consternation from me: What would you eat for you last meal? I finally decided that a letter granting me clemency would be my preferred meal. Yes, as Matt wisely pointed out, people usually do not dine on letters. Well, at least I don't end up getting executed! It's better than eating humble pie, as someone else wrote (one thing good about being on the year book committee is that I got to read everyone's profiles); that'll just be one last degradation before death.

I seriously cannot wait till uni. I plan on joining many clubs (dance, martial arts, whatever else I feel like) and even doing some community work! I remember receiving a mass email from an uni friend once about doing free tuition for disadvantaged children. That sounds right up my alley. I must also find a job and party a lot. ^__^ I will also fulfill all my high school fantasies that I cannot complete now, such as HC GAMING!!! And read a book. =]

I also plan on blogging more. This post must be very dull and boring! Those two words epitomise my life. =]

And sorry Ling for my delayed post! You must be the only person to have checked my blog so regularly, every time disappointed by the desolation and my cowes photos.

Au revoir!

Cowes

2007-02-23T22:50:00.000+11:00

Camp was mootastic. Here are photos!!

Clockwise: Me, Kelvin C, Vincent, Henry (big head)
the only time ever you will see me sad
arr....me and michelle
omg wtf is that...its a cactus...its a monster.....its an Andrew Guo

Someone you dont want to meet

Me and Kelvin

Posing with kenny the malaysian gangster

me and bus buddy elisa

smile! its ann

Me in Kelvin's hat

Christine and I

What u guys gloating about

look at me im elisa

THIS is a real cup cake. Credits to me ^^

Kelvin is licking....something

Andrew eating wood with 3 hands, Dennis's retarded face in background

Me and Anna

me and Andrew,

Ilegal Holocaust denial - denying people of a basic right

2007-02-02T23:59:00.000+11:00

The Holocaust - everyone knows about it. In a society saturated with Western influence, it is hard to find someone who does not sympathise wholeheartly with the Jewish victims of the event. The Holocaust seems to be a fait accompli, set in stone - who would deny that it happened?

However, understandably, there are people who disagree with society's version of events. They believe that the Holocaust didn't happen or that it was an exaggerated event. Now, I don't have a bone to pick with these people. People have the right to believe anything they want. If Ling believes that she's invisible when noone is looking at her and she's not looking at herself, then good for her. In democratic society, we would expect that we are given the liberty of free thought.

BUT NO, in 12 countries in Europe, including Germany, Italy, Austria, France, Belgium and Switzerland, it is a CRIME to not believe that the Holocaust happened. They label these non-believers 'Holocaust deniers' and send them off to jail for their opinions. Yes, the core countries of the EU, boasting themselves to be beacons of democracy and always bagging China for its 'human rights abuses', jailing their own citizens for believing in a different version of history. It doesn't matter whether the Holocaust occured or not. That is irrelevant. The point is that in democratic countries, people are being penalised for believing in something. Imagined being jailed for believing that the Australia is square. OK, Australia is not square, and you would probably offend Australians by saying that. Off to jail, boy.

Enroaching on the freedom of free speech is the worst human rights abuse of all. If the Holocaust is true, it does not need to be enforced by law. Governments should not be so cowardly as to jail people whose beliefs they disagree with. This is sure to raise suspicions in our minds - why are these countries jialing people for being Holocaust revisionists? Is there something fishy about the truth of the Holocaust? Something they are trying to hide?

The very laws that attempt to suppress independent views on the Holocaust undermines the event's integrity. It leads to mavericks like me, who before readily accepted the truth of the Holocaust, to now view it with a touch of skeptism. Perhaps these governments will one day realise that people's beliefs cannot be suppressed.

Truth always prevails. If it doesn't, get over it.

'Selfish antics of selfishly deluded friends'

2006-12-14T00:28:00.000+11:00

Dedicated to Ling who has awaited this post for months to no avail... sorry for my laziness. So begins the tirade...

There are quite a lot of people around, friends, foes or loners, who take a deluded selfish attitude towards the VCE. To them, doing well in the VCE is about undermining their peers, including their close friends, you and me. Their VCE vision is a high score achieved through the sabotage of others. This deplorable mindset about the VCE is completely wrong and vehemently hated by me. And I'll tell you why.

While the VCE does involve a ranking systems that gives you a score according to the results of the entire graduate cohort, success CANNOT be achieved by making sure your best friend gets the shittest score possible. Success in the VCE is built on mutual help. If everyone gets high, then your internal marks will be boosted. Even if there wasn't such a mechanism and there was no benefit in helping your friends at all, people should still help their mates, let alone undermine them. Why? Because they are your friends. I would willingly give up some of my time and effort with no benefit to myself to help a friend who is struggling.

People who try and undermine others to boost their success are cowardly, foolish, moronic, snivelling grubs. All the words containable in a library of books cannot express my contempt towards their actions. Their actions include hiding VCE resources to needy friends, hiding tuition because they don't want others to get tutored, or refusing to help friends in the area of study when they would willingly help in any other area.

And you know the bad thing? People with varying degrees of the abovementioned attitudes are everywhere around us. Some of my closest friends show such symptomes, which is what triggered me to compose this Philippic. In year 10, I asked a friend for a phone number for a English tutor and I was refused. And that was only year 10... And of course, there are the people who asks others for their scores and refuses to reveal their own, especially when it's really good. *cough cough Marco* And people who leeches resouces and information off others and hides everything.

Success in VCE cannot be achieved through mutual sabotage. Let us defenestrate (to throw out a window...first time I used that word lol) our selfish tendencies and remember that the next to zero probabily of gaining measly marks by undermining friends is not worth our moral integrity.

So stop trying to fuck everyone else up!! Hem....yea lol.. ok looks like this is done.

Our Awesome Yr 10 Methods Class

2006-12-13T21:40:00.000+11:00

The excellent academic achievements of our Yr 11 methods bunch...we will continue the legacy of 2006's Yr 12s!!!! Sif we won't out perform them!!! They look like such nerds on the newspaper pic haha.

Here is a summary of Yr 11 people's scores for methods, (out of a class of 20-something)

50

Mei, Li (wheres the Bang?)
Yap, Grace (Presentation night buddy haha)

49

Khav, Nancy (Alumni. Traitor who went to Maccers =P)
Kwok, Man Ho (I win $100 coz of Marco)

48

Cheung, King (ie. Kelvin)

46

Du, Qian

45

Chia, Elisa (Win $20 coz Elisa din come second ^^)
Foong, Weng Sum (fmatt)
Sim, Rachel (daughter of CONSTANCE SIM: Do your wok! =P)

44

Hunter, Edmund (peaches and cream =P)
Pong, Yuk Wa ( no comment @ chinky name LOL)
Sik, Alyson
Wong, Charisa

41

Quach, Henry

The Aboriginal Issue

2006-09-22T23:43:00.000+10:00

The last issue our erudite blogger friends vehemently commented on, the turtle issue, proved to be quite controversial, trivial as it may be. This new issue is most likely a less controversial, but a much more important issue which I feel very strongly about - the Aboriginal issue.

Many people in society sympathise with the Aboriginals and blame their desparate plight on the white people. Yes, that may seem reasonable After all, the English did colonise Australia and proclaim terra nulius. The whites also continued to take black land and sometimes abuse the local populace.

HOWEVER, that is NO justification for the current antics of Aboriginal people.

First, let's have a look at history and see how the Aboriginals weren't as mistreated as they proclaim they were. In the 18th century, the worlded was carved up into empires, for example, the British and French empires. These empires colonised nearly every piece of 'non-civilised' land on Earth, including Africa, the Americas, some parts of Asia and islands in every ocean. So, Australia was colonised like about 100 other nations. Now you don't see the natives in other countries being as well off as our Aboriginals do you? Our Aboriginals have nothing to complain about. English colonials and the early Australian government treated Aboriginals relatively well compared to other colonised nations. In South America, the Spanish slaughtered the Aztecs, Mayans and various other civilisations. In Dutch Africa, the black natives were forced to work as slaves. In USA, the Americans killed local Indians in their various wars. Our Aboriginals were quite well off given the status quo of that period of time.

Of course, the 'stolen generations' has two sides to the story. Most of the children weren't stolen, but given up willingly by their parents who cannot afford to feed them or who wanted them to have an education. The Australia government at that time, deluded as it may have been, acted out of what they considered to be in the Aboriginals' best interests. Yes, in retrospect it was wrong, but it was white mentality at the time that half caste children needed the best that white society could offer them and that they needed to be given a proper education and upbringing.

What about the myriad benefits the Aboriginals receive today? They get more dole than anyone, they get Abstudy, free vaccinations and heaps of other exclusive subsidies. No other race of indiginous people in the world get so much special treatment. They also get into uni easier. We have to work our asses off to get into law or med. They can get into Melb U med with an enter of like 90. And what do they do with all those benefits, all the billions of tax payers money poured into their petties? They SQUANDER it. Look at the squalid camps in the NT. With better social benefits than everyone else, you'd think they'd work harder and be better off. But no, they buy booze and bongs and do nothing all day but fight amongst themselves, all the while putting the blame ON US for their grievances.

Everyday, the Aboriginals are whinging about this and whinging about that. We stole their kids, we killed their culture. Yea, as if culture is killable. When the Manchurians invaded the Ming dynasty of China, they couldn't destroy the culture; instead they were ASSIMILATED INTO the Chinese culture. So, whats happening to Aboriginal culture today? You see that news item about the group of teens who gang raped a uncouncious girl, thinking she was dead? Is it their culture to practise gang rape or necrophilia? Either way, it's pretty wrong. And that recent story about the two boys who were gang raped by 4 males, the youngest rapist being 12? Something needs to be done about the immoral manifestations within the Aboriginal communities, and it most certainly isn't our fault.

The Aboriginals are to blame for their own shameful plight. They need to get off their backsides, clean up their act and become proper, contributive citizens of this great country.

While we have several outstanding Aboriginals in our community, the abovementioned proportion of them are a disgrace to Australia.

And one argument to bring them into the light and bind them...

2006-09-10T00:48:00.000+10:00

You are all missing the point. First of all Kelvin, I am not using 'big words'. If you think a word I use is big you obviously have a very limited vocabulary. Look at Adren's comment and you'll know what inappropriate use of big words mean. This may sound offensive, Kelvin, but looking at your rude slurs at me in your comment, this is very mild in comparison.

Secondly, I've said that Steve was a great guy. I respect him as I respect you and everyone else. Actually, I respect you more, Kelvin, because I know you personally. But placing an emoticon is stupid, useless and pointless. If it was a badge with the proceeds going to charity, then that's great. It's achieving something. The turtle does not do anything. And showing respect. Why don't you keep your respects to yourselves and stop flaunting it in everyone's faces? We really want to see how much you think you 'respect' someone rite? If we don't see it, we will all die from a not-seeing-someone-else's-respect syndrome. I respect things like a normal person, I would think that after knowing me for years I don't appear to disrespect anyone (within reasonable limit), and I don't make banners out of my respect and stick it in people's faces, going HEY I RESPECT THIS LOOK AT ME. Who's pretentious now?

Ok, you may want to 'vent your anguish' when such a thing happens, as you say. Does an emoticon create a cyber-vent that syphons your grief to cyberspace? Surely not.

And who the hell is harry sanditisisdisdopoulousrekanis? lmaoz

PS Tim you said I can turn off the anonymous thing?

Thursday not Friday yet

2006-09-07T23:58:00.001+10:00

Today was probably the best day I've had in many weeks, mostly due to the fact I had 3 SACs yesterday and the physics industrial report due tomorrow as postponed to next week. Therefore, I have hardly any work now.. Such freedom! But I should be doing that methods exam pack ><..

My mp3 headphones screwed up today...gr...

Something interesting is happening in physics...finally. We have to do this group experiment prac thing on aeronautical engineering (i think) and we get to choose what to do. I was thinking of making a hydrogen/helium 'blimp' with a motor with propellers hanging off the bottom. Helium would be much easier if we could buy it from somewhere, or hopefully we can get the chem teachers to lend us the lab for a while =] . Also, we'll prob need STACKS of balloons to support the motor. The larger the balloons, the less we would need and this would decrease the surface area of balloon/volume of gas ratio, thus increasing the lift of the motor and decreasing the amount of gas needed. However, this project is probably too unrealistic, as the H/He would be very hard to obtain. This will prob end up becoming one of my oneoric daydreams... If the chem teachers let me use their equipment, it'd still probably take ages. If I was to make H in the backyard, I'll need find a better bottle than my plastic 1 which has half melted from my previous experiment. Also, there needs to be an effective way of feeding extra metal into the acid without letting air out. Electrolysis would seem an excellent alternative in comparision but it would be very hard to put the gas into a balloon that way. Plus I'll have to prevent O2 from entering the same balloon. Purchasing He is a good idea, but that involves finding and buying haha... So if anyone has any good suggestion please comment! Otherwise we'll prob end up making a glider =P.

That bomb guy from my school is so crazy....still making AP and now trying to make gun powder. But I reckon blowing things up is pretty stupid, theres much more thing to do in chem that are both constructive and fun. Oh yes, if anyone happens to have a bunsen burner/iron rust/metal rods can I borrow/have? = ] =] =]

And I see my previous post was quite controversial...hahaha. I'd like to say that not only is everyone is entitled to their own views, but they are also entitled to free speech, which is essential in every democracy. People can say WHATEVER non-seditious( the non-seditious part thanks to Howards new laws) things they want in Australia, and I think I can write my own opinions, let alone the damn thing is inmy own blog. People are most welcome to comment regardless of their view, but people who are against me posting my views are hypocritic. Why don't they practise what they preach and not put up their views if they don't want others putting up theirs? Also, it would be much better if the people who end up insulting me in their post, eg the 15th comment, put their real names instead of anonymous. You do after all know me, and we most likely get along amiably at school since you are most likely on my MSN, so why don't you stand by your views gallantly and purposefully instead of hurling disparagements at me from behind your facade of anonymity?
Please, comment with your real names.

Turtles in msn names

2006-09-04T23:56:00.000+10:00

The croc hunter's death surprised us all. Of course, everyone is sad about it and would rather wish that he was alive and kicking. However, feeling regretful of Irwin's death does not mean that people should thoughtlessly place turtles, snails, goats and other stupid msn emoticons next to their nicknames to 'show respect'.

First of all, 'showing respect' is moronic. Respect is something you either have for someone or you don't and you can't conjure it out of thin air by putting a freaking turtle in ur msn nickname. 'Showing respect' through a turtle is an idiosyncratic hyprocrisy concoted by some idiot and followed suit by countless unthinking people believing *omg that guy on tv died i should do something isnt that so sad?*. Why do you respect Irwin so much? He's a great character and everything, but do you know him? Does he know you? There's people dying every second, why don't you put a turtle for everyone of them? Or don't you respect them just coz they're not famous?

Secondly, apart from telling other people that you are emo/very very very caring/in a state of mourning (wearing black or a turtle badge?)/ blind sheep, what else do you hope to achieve? Would a turtle bring Irwin back? Does a turtle ease the grief of Irwin's family. Do you see Irwin's family going around on the media toting turtle/other animals emblems? No, they are mourning properly and for a proper reason; their family member has died. What are you doing joining something that is not you business, turning mourning for a dead person into a trivial msn game of seeing who is nicest person by seeing their amount of cyber 'respect' shown.

Thirdly, turtles are ugly. Why not try suns..or other emblems that are remotely related to Irwin's job. I don't think the Croc Hunter became famous from hunting down turtles.

So please, next time someone you don't know dies, quit the puerile stunts and stop fooling yourself, how much do you really respect them?

ultra procrastination

2006-09-04T23:33:00.000+10:00

This is my first proper blog entry! and since i cant be bothered using proper cases i wont.

soo much work! damn VCE. today im gonna relieve all my hw stress on this entry! muhaha

it is nearly 12am and there is an english SAC on wednesday i havent prepared for, and i have no idea how to write a film review T_T. of course, there is the mgm and physics test on wednesday, and also chinese tuition with lots of hw due

its one week til the holz but it sure doesnt feel like it. this is the only time in my life that i havent looked forward to the last week of term. stupid probability sac for methods...and chem poster...and physics oral....and another eng sac....ok i better stop

On a brighter note, Mr Nguyen ( my phyiscs teacher in case u dont go to glennie, hes a short viet guy who is sometimes funny sometimes tightass and every1 makes fun at/with him) said that he'd get me 3 battery holders ( those ones that we used in INT in yr 8 to put batteries in in our lil motor cars). and if i get 95%+ for wednesday's physics test, he'd wire them up for me. ...as if i'd get 95%+ for mechanics test...but i can still wire them up myself if he doesn. =D. Now i can make sum hydrogen and oxygen at home ...muhahah. ok im not a chem nerd. im just into the interesting, practical aspects.xD

anyway, its too late for me to start the film review now.... ill just procrastinate it til tomorrow.

New Blog

2006-09-04T23:18:00.000+10:00

Hey guys,

check out my new blog hahaha. I'm actually gonna post regularly this time ><. Off to edit format, this is only a protoentry.

I just added this pic so i can link it later. Please ignore.