Sunday, November 8, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
superiority and all that crap.
there're just so much we haven't seen.
heard.
feel.
but sometimes we forget.
for that,
we need to be reminded.
heard.
feel.
but sometimes we forget.
for that,
we need to be reminded.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Norah Jones and her short hairdo are perfect for each other.
and im certainly too lazy to upload a pic.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
So what's the story, morning glory.
It always amazes me that some people can quote something out from the books that they've read just once. Because i very very very rarely, can.
I rush when i read. A habit of mine that i have had since as far back as i can remember. In fact, most of the time, i feel like i had only manage to gather enough details to link me from one chapter to another without feeling lost. Although this does allow me to read pretty much all i want despite time constraints, i can't help but imagine all those subtle words and nuances that i missed-the little details that makes up the whole story. I feel shortchanged!!
Because reading is not just about finding out the ending. Nor is it just about being able to recount the whole story when someone asks about it. It is about immersing oneself in the language that tells the story, and enjoying it as well.
It is not just about understanding what the writer is trying to tell. It is also about savouring the words that the writer chose to tell her story with.
Imagine if the pages of words is a painting. A quick glance might be able to tell you what the painting is all about- a cottage by a meadow.
But after a closer study, you'll see the peeling paint of the cottage, the weathered roof, the window with one of the green shutters left open and the sheer powder blue curtain that peeks from the openings. And then you'll begin to appreciate how the painter had painstakingly painted minuscule patterns on the sheer curtain and the surroundings of the cottage and how he plays with the colour of the sky so that it would look as if the clouds were illuminated by the rays of lights piercing it.
But the way i'm reading, i might as well have given a sweeping look at the painting and miss that curious looking purple flower by the gravel. Or that tinge of yellow in the sky. Or how bare the meadow would look without that lonely cypress tree at the corner...
shucks. i missed a lot, haven't i?
I rush when i read. A habit of mine that i have had since as far back as i can remember. In fact, most of the time, i feel like i had only manage to gather enough details to link me from one chapter to another without feeling lost. Although this does allow me to read pretty much all i want despite time constraints, i can't help but imagine all those subtle words and nuances that i missed-the little details that makes up the whole story. I feel shortchanged!!
Because reading is not just about finding out the ending. Nor is it just about being able to recount the whole story when someone asks about it. It is about immersing oneself in the language that tells the story, and enjoying it as well.
It is not just about understanding what the writer is trying to tell. It is also about savouring the words that the writer chose to tell her story with.
Imagine if the pages of words is a painting. A quick glance might be able to tell you what the painting is all about- a cottage by a meadow.
But after a closer study, you'll see the peeling paint of the cottage, the weathered roof, the window with one of the green shutters left open and the sheer powder blue curtain that peeks from the openings. And then you'll begin to appreciate how the painter had painstakingly painted minuscule patterns on the sheer curtain and the surroundings of the cottage and how he plays with the colour of the sky so that it would look as if the clouds were illuminated by the rays of lights piercing it.
But the way i'm reading, i might as well have given a sweeping look at the painting and miss that curious looking purple flower by the gravel. Or that tinge of yellow in the sky. Or how bare the meadow would look without that lonely cypress tree at the corner...
shucks. i missed a lot, haven't i?
Monday, July 20, 2009
i started reading Chekhov and knows the meaning of pedagogy because of this man's books.
rest in peace Mr Frank McCourt, sir.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
comfort food vs. er, comforting nicotine ?
personally,
between a pack of cream-crackers and a stick of ciggie,
i'll pick the cream-crackers anytime. obviously.
dependency on comfort food is just another type of addiction. eh?
between a pack of cream-crackers and a stick of ciggie,
i'll pick the cream-crackers anytime. obviously.
dependency on comfort food is just another type of addiction. eh?
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