Phd

Stole this from the PHD comic, so if you find it interesting, do visit the site itself (and hopefully by this exhortation, the author wouldn't sue me for stealing his comic). http://www.phdcomics.com/





The horrifying truth behind my career move. Or rather, my "non-career" move.

Stand up for yourself

I was at the gym today, doing my lats pull-down, while behind me was a kid, around 18-19 years old, stretching in preparation, I think, for the barbell press machine. This was when suddenly, a stocky man of around 40+ rushed into the gyming area with his bag and everything, threw his towel on the barbell press machine, and rushed off back to the locker area to deposit his bag. He certainly took his time after the act of “chopping” the machine, for he even went to the toilet and sauntered about the gym.

When he returned to the machine, the kid approached him and asked if he can share the machine by taking turns. The stocky bastard refused by saying, ” I am only just starting my sets.” And the stupid kid just stood there and took it. In the end, the kid waited for nearly 30mins, doing nothing much, while the stocky bastard strutted around the gym with his chest out doing one set of exercise here and another there, taking his time chatting with his gym friends, returning only occasionally to use the barbell press, all the while leaving his towel on it to prevent the kid from using.

What’s the use of going to gym if you cannot even stand up for yourself; you are just inviting people to step all over you. The kid should have stopped the man immediately when he was trying to put his towel on the machine saying “Sorry, I am using this machine. And no, you couldn’t share it even if you asked, which you didn’t, because you are such a bastard.” At the very least, the kid could have insisted on sharing, explaining that he was there first.

That’s the problem with Singaporeans nowadays. They have no manners, and they dare not stand up for themselves. If your toes got stepped on in the MRT, you would keep quiet and pretend that you didn’t mind that at all. No one would bother to apologise. And you would pretend that you didn’t mind that either. If some retard blew his stinking cigarette smoke in your face, you would just pretend to enjoy it until he left and you glare menacingly at his back.

In this world, justice only exists if you enforce it. Waiting for divine retribution? Do you think God is going to kick his ass in heaven just because he has no manners? Or perhaps you think retribution comes in more intangible form, like a guilty conscience. Some assholes simply don't have that; they can lead their whole lives out happily cutting queues, happily barfing on your bag, and going around happily beating people up. You can console yourself thinking that these bad actions surely will have repercussions for them in the long run, but it is just going to be pathetic wishful thinking on your part.

Sports injuries

Newly acquired:

1. Left jaw. Got punched in the jaw today in exchange for a punch in the chest. Not a particularly clever exchange.

2. Left knee. Not sure if injured from too much karate or gym.

Old, and healing injuries:

3. Right index finger. Injured while blocking a kick.

4. Right pinky. Injured when my fist and my opponent's fist meet.

Old, and not healing well injuries:

5. Right thumb. Injured while doing finger push-ups for fun. Constantly aggravated while punching.

6. Right big toe. Injured from slipping on opponent's sweat. Really evil, that.

Assorted injuries:

7. There was a bruise on my chest from being repeatedly slammed by a japanese sensei. It's gone now.

8. Abrasions and blisters everywhere on my feet.

Heaven and Hell

An assassin working for an evil feudal lord in ancient times had a wildly successful career getting rid of his lord's enemies, until his lord was assassinated by some other assassin, thus ending the evil reign and his particularly lucrative job. Following the reign of peace brought on by the death of the evil feudal lord, the assassin was sorely out of job, and lacking other skills, he became a farmer and led his life out farming on some desolate plot of dirt.

When he died, the assassin arrived at the gates of Heaven. Nonplussed, he went up to the gatekeeper who was standing behind a podium twenty feet high.

"Excuse me. Has there been a mistake of some sort? I don't think I'm supposed to be here."

The gatekeeper looked up from the huge tome he was bending over, and flashed the assassin a wry smile. "You are worried that you arrived before the gates of Heaven?"

"Well, yes. I don't want to get my hopes high, you know? I mean, there's no way I can be going to Heaven, and I think I'd rather go straight to Hell, instead of lurking around in Heaven for a while before they realize there's a mistake and kick me out. It'll be a double torture."

"If that's the way you would have it," said the gatekeeper. "Your name, please?"

The assassin told him.

The gatekeeper consulted the huge tome briefly, leafing through it with inhuman speed, before finally looking up. "Well it appears all in order. You are due for Heaven, and not too soon too."

Taken aback, though not too unpleasantly so, the assassin was lost for words for a moment.

"And it appears that you have done quite a lot of good too. A well deserved stay for you I must say."

"What?" the assassin blurted out. "Did you know that I was an assassin for an evil feudal lord? I kill people to earn my keep!"

"Yes," the gatekeeper agreed, "an assassin for an evil feudal lord who killed many good people all intent on plotting against the feudal lord.

"Good life." added the gatekeeper.

"What?"

"Very good life in fact."

"Look," the assassin persevered, "Are you saying I am going into Heaven for killing all these good people? Is this some kind of a joke?"

"No, god, no! " The gatekeeper was taken aback by the suggestion.

"Good, I thought that was rather implausible too..."

"In Heaven, we don't joke about such things. You are precisely going into Heaven for killing all these good people."

"What?"

"Let me put it into perspective for you. You have," explained the gatekeeper, "sent a commendable number of people into Heaven. Heaven, as you know it and as advertised, is a place of unlimited or infinite goodness, where only good people reside. By sending people into Heaven, these people get to enjoy an infinity of goodness and happiness. By extension, since you are the one who sent them here, you have generated an infinite amount of goodness and happiness in this world. There is no greater good than that a mortal can achieve. You are, metaphorically speaking, the Charon of Heaven."

A metaphor in bad taste too, thought the assassin. But he was not to be put off.

"You know, that sounds very philosophical and deep to me, and I kind of like it since the outcome of all that is I get to go to Heaven. But seriously speaking, if you ask me, it sounds like bullshit to me, if you don't mind."

"Had you not sent those good people to Heaven when you did," continued the gatekeeper, pretending that the assassin hadn't spoken, "the good people would have continued plotting against your evil feudal lord, and we have very good statistical data that they might eventually succeed in the absence of assassination attempts made on their lives, and replace the evil feudal lord with their own rule, whereupon it is highly probable that they will do heinous acts of the most unspeakable sort. These good people would hence be unable to qualify for Heaven, which is the place for only good people.

"In fact," the gatekeeper continued in conspiratorial tones, "these good people are rather grateful to you for sending them here. I hear they drink an occasional toast to you."

Whatever, thought the assassin, I'm not going to refuse the cake that's dropped into my hands. Particularly not against such a rubbish argument.

"Enjoy your stay," said the gatekeeper, "and don't worry about it. Worrying is outlawed in Heaven." The gatekeeper winked, tapping against a sign which says "Worrying is outlawed in Heaven."

The assassin turned to go, then suddenly stopped. He approached the gatekeeper again, who was beginning to find him an annoyance.

"Where's the other assassin? I've always wanted to meet him, you know? I don't even know who did it."

"Who are you referring to?" asked the gatekeeper.

"The other assassin who killed my evil feudal lord, who ended the evil reign and my job. He's something, I give him that. He must be here somewhere, right?"

"Oh that guy." said the gatekeeper. "He's in Hell."

"What?" exclaimed the assassin. "What did he do?"

"Apparently he sent some evil feudal lord into Hell. Since Hell, as you know it and as advertised, is a place of infinite badness and unhappiness..."

"You know what? I think just screw this. Where're the stairs?"

"What?"

"I said, where're the stairs. I'm going down."

Bugs

There is a dead dragonfly in my room.

Which is weird, considering how dragonflies haven't been seen in my area for the past 5 years. Nor the past 6 years. Or the past 8 years. Actually it has never been seen in my area, and now there's one dead in my room.

What is really weird, is that not too long ago, yifeng gave me a handicraft dragonfly from vietnam, and it is currently sitting on top of my bookshelf. Which is where the real dragonfly lay dead at the foot of, as if it died in the last-ditch attempt to reach my wooden dragonfly. Poor fool. I wonder if it really thought my wooden dragonfly is alive.

Now it lay dead under my bed. I have no idea if I should sweep it away with a broom, or just let it be. It looked so elegant, and fragile--sweeping it away seems a sacrilege, much less dumping it into a dustbin.

Talking about bugs reminds me of the dream I had last night. I have really strange dreams these days. Dreams which involves you randomly teleporting from one place to another aren't the strange ones; what is strange are the ones which almost seem to make sense, but not quite, and you have absolutely no idea what brought them on. Like finding yourself in a study group of five, and a maths professor assigning to you a thick book of maths questions to be finished by group effort.

Which is when I find myself staring at a container (a pencil box?) with a HUGE caterpillar crawling slowly at the bottom of it. My fellow (maths) group mates were freaking out slightly from it, so I reached in, freaking out a little myself, to haul it out. But before I touched it, or rather the paper it was crawling on, suddenly I was beset on by a cloud of little bright red ladybugs, flung on me from all sides, possibly by my group mates. I couldn't tell, all I can see were the little red ladybugs which were landing on me everywhere, humming slightly. Strangely, I wasn't as freaked out by the ladybugs as I was by the giant caterpillar, though I did run about trying to fend them off.

I have no idea what that dream meant, nor how I come to dream of it. Guess it's a absolutely meaningless dream. Just like this post.

rain

It's raining now. It hasn't been raining for a really long time lately, especially this particular kind of rain. It's a kind of mindless kind of splattering rain, not at all like the downpours that fall with a vengeance, nor like the spluttering rain like an engine about to die on you. This is a rain that says "I don't care" as it falls lazily, with sleepy thunder rumbling in the distance, so dense that it could form a curtain obscuring your vision of the distant hills.

This rain reminds me of the time when I was in NS, when we were still in Signals. When I was in NS, we would occasionally get deployed for exercise in our signal vehicles, subjected to the whims of the division commander. There was once I got deployed to Amakeng, which is a restricted army exercise area just beside the Amakeng old folks home. The rain that was falling then is exactly the same kind that is falling now: lazy with a statement.

An interesting side note, my officer told me the restriction on the army area isn't exactly that rigorously being enforced apparently. When we were driving into the area, I could see some villagers looking people waiting before the gate in the rain, waiting for us to open the gate and drive in. When we did open the gate, they walked passed our whole convoy of army vehicles, passed us who were all carrying rifles across our backs and with bayonets on our waists, and walked nonchalently into the restricted army area, disappearing before long into the bushes and trees. My officer told me that these are farmers who grew vegetables inside the restricted area, and they are apparently going to openly harvest them now that we opened the gate. How's that for guts huh? We obviously can't just shoot them, so we studiously ignored them.

Amakeng is really like some rural area, perhaps the last surviving countryside left here. There are even lots of fruit trees scattered around, growing wild. After we set up our vehicles and comms, sometimes we would roam the area looking for durians. We did find some, and they were good, not like the lousy small durians found in Pulau ubin. One of us even plucked a papaya, which unfortunately caused him to sign a lot of extras when he picked it and left in his vehicle, forgotten till it rotted and stank the whole place up.

However, when it is raining like it is now, we weren't able to go booty hunting. For normal army units, raining means a chance of lightning, and if Cat. 1 is sounded, all exercise would be off for fear of lightning strikes. For us signal units, it means hurry up set up your vehicle, put up the 10 stories high antenna and establish communications before you get fucked or struck by lightning, whichever is first.

And establishing communications in the rain is especially hard, if not impossible. For my vehicle, it's worse. My radio sets date back to WW2, and at the best of times, only bloody single-mindedness allowed me to establish comms after hours of tuning and adjusting the antenna. When it is raining like it is now, getting the radio sets to work is like praying for a miracle, which involve alternatingly tuning the radio and going out into the rain to shake the antenna like an idiot trying to get struck by lightning.

Finally after several hours when the comms are established, the rain would disappear, leaving us to steam slightly in our wet clothes under the hot sun. It is entirely more likely that, however, we managed to establish the comms only because the rain is gone.

Bitches and bastards

Today I was going to have my lunch at the Jurong Point food court when I noticed the woman just in front of me in the queue at the food stall has an arm in a splint. She's middle aged or more, with that singaporean auntie look, and she was hogging the front of the stall, moving to and fro inspecting the utensils, and what-nots. When her food was ready, she paid up slowly, and inspected her receipt with deep concentration, frowning at it slightly even though she could probably see quite well. She's not that old, as you might have thought from the description I provided, but she moved with the speed of my grandmother. It is obvious that her slowness is due to slow wits, rather than the injured arm.

Then she tried to leave with her tray of food, trying with obvious effort to rest most of the weight of the tray on her good hand while the other balances the tray from the side. It is also obvious that she can't make it beyond two steps. So I stopped her and offered to carry her tray to her table.

She directed me to a table some distance away. The table isn't empty. Someone, dressed in long sleeves shirt and looking like a yuppie is sitting at the table, punching leisurely at his handphone whilst waiting. He didn't even look up as a stranger, me, set his mom's food beside him. At least, I think she is his mom. (I observed them later; the aunty was chatting lightly, with the guy looking slightly bored. An almost sure mom-son sign.) The fucker just went on punching on his handphone, almost like food service is common at the food court.

I had the urge to grab his collar and shake some sense into him, asking him why the fuck he didn't buy food for his mom, who has her arm in a splint and nearly just spewed her food all over the floor. In the end a stranger has to carry her food which she obviously couldn't handle, and the dressed to the nines son didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed.

The aunty thanked me profusely with another slow-witted look on her face, but I wasn't impressed. It's as much her own fault for producing such a son, and she didn't even look faintly embarrassed by her son's behavior.

Sometimes I really wonder. There are people who look smart, dress well and speak well, but deep within them seems to be devoid of any moral core. These yuppies, and I have seen any number of them, have something seriously lacking in their upbringing. Maybe that's what you get if you spend most of your time deciding what clothes to wear, which cologne to use, and going to facial and spa every other day. Just yesterday I saw a girl on the train, dressed in such a way that a blind man would look twice, seated at the corner seat, staring at a pregnant woman who got in just after the girl sat down. I saw the considering look in the girl's eyes, directed at the pregnant woman's belly, but after a moment, apparently dismissed the woman from her mind. No one else got up to offer a seat either. A thorough bitch. I for one didn't look twice at her.

Vegetarians

Philosophy is the only discipline I know of which has so profoundly and seditiously affected its practitioners' daily lives; of the graduate and undergraduate students in my department, four are vegetarians, two other eat only fish other than vegetables, and this is only out of a grand total of 20+ people in the whole department. And that's not counting my professor who is also a vegetarian.

The interesting thing is, none of them are vegetarians for religious reasons. They cite ethical issues to do with the preparation of meat, the very idea of slaughtering animals just for food, the pain visited on the animals in killing them; the very last reason is also the reason why some only eat fish, since there has been studies done to show that fish don't in fact feel pain. Maybe they can't even understand the concept of death--they don't have a fish brain for nothing.

And I have, at least, seriously considered going vegetarian before. But I love my meat too much, and giving in to irrationality, resolved not to think too much about what I am eating. Besides, I have yet to come up with a satisfying argument for myself for not eating meat, given the fact that many species of animals, including man, are naturally evolved to eat and digest meat. But above all, I have a very practical reason not to go vegetarian: my mum would scream and throw me out of the house, refusing to even cook rice for me if I dare to breathe a word of "vegetarian". And then my dad would follow me into going vegetarian, whereupon my mum will scream and drag me back to claw the hell out of me, forcing me to recant. For the sake of avoiding a family tragedy, I refuse to think anymore about going vegetarian.

So, my friends, if you are thinking that eating vegetarian might be a good lifestyle choice for you, leave me a message, or give me a call--I have altogether five pure vegetarians and two not so pure vegetarians for you to choose from, though one of them should be pretty tough due to age.

Subconscious mirroring

We all do unconscious mirroring, sometimes, to some degree. Some self-help books on imaging, office politics, or interviews recommend doing that in order to build better relationships with your friends, your colleagues and sucking up to your bosses. The general lines to go about doing it is to copy your target's little gestures, leaning back in your seat as he does, crossing your arms if he crosses, breathe to the same rhythm, and pretending to accidentally step in another pile of poo if he did so too.

The danger is that your target might notice your mirroring, and instead of forming a subconscious liking for you, he might be put off, or worse, think that you are mocking him. Hence it is vital, according to the experts, that you keep your mirroring gestures small, natural and entirely unnoticeable. At least to the conscious eye.

However, for the uninitiated, we don't really need to try all that hard. Friends mirror each other whenever they sit and talk, or walk alongside each other. We relax when the others slag visibly in their chairs, lean forward if he does so while talking, and generally walk to the same pace with the same swagger. (This brings us to an interesting observation: if a friend leans back away from you when you lean forward, you have a very clear signal that he/she isn't being very comfortable around you.)

All this is very fine and good, since we want our friends to be comfortable around us, and like us to say the least. However, things can get a little annoying when strangers start to mirror you, also subconsciously. Behold the pedestrian on the sidewalk who obviously was torn between two directions, and just as you were passing him, he would miraculously, and usually to his own surprise too, choose the direction which you are walking in, and walk shoulders to shoulders to you, in tandem, two people crowding a sideway which is empty for miles.

Or the obnoxious smelling man on the train, who seems to lean onto you with every lurch of the train, giving off a smell which only in the best of moods you would call "homely"; each time you lean forward ever so surreptitiously in your seat to escape the smell, he would lean forward after a minute's lag time, totally unconscious that he is doing so simply because his subconscious saw you doing it at the edge of his vision. And if you get up early the moment the train doors closed on the stop before yours, to escape the stench, he would get up early too, ambling along the train corridor after you with that vacant eyed look. All the while his subconscious is spinning up stories why he needed to lean forward due to a creak in the back, or why he needed to get up early due to the crowd in the train. He didn't follow me anymore after we got off the train; I hired someone to take him out.

To the people who know, subconscious mirroring by strangers are irritating, especially since you cannot stop them from mirroring you short of stripping yourself naked and start dancing in the train. Now you know too, being my readers, and I shall gladden my heart with knowing that henceforth I will not be the only one being irritated by subconscious mirroring by strangers.

Brown Belt

I just got my brown belt; now I am 4th kyu! Wahaha.

I have slightly conflicting emotions now; each time I got a double promotion, I feel like my fighting abilities are not worthy of my kyu, but if I merely got a single promotion, I would feel I'm under-appreciated. Guess it's better to feel not worthy though, ahah.

Fire extinguishers

While searching the Net for places to buy fire extinguishers, I come across this description of a website selling them. You know how there are tons of English goof ups available on the Net, many of which are hilarious? I think I might have stumbled upon another:

Fire extinguisher

Special Extinguishing formula to impregnate around minor fires whatever their cause, so as to avoid...

This actually sounds grammatically correct. While it may be alright to impregnate minor fires, it means a different thing to impregnate around fires. In any case, this wonder extinguisher is a must-have for baby-less couples; I just wonder how it is used.

Women

While I'm still rational, I thought it might be best to jot down the things that I look out for in girls, since many have asked, and since it would probably change as the years float by, and it would be a nice comparison to have when looking back at it, say 5 years later.

I've got to stop that, and revise my usage to "women" instead of "girls", since I am at the point in life where to keep on talking about "girls" seems to imply some paedophiliac fetish in me. So what do I look out for in women? As in looking out as criteria for a potential partner, not just idle gazing. (For idle gazing, the criteria is pretty simple, as you would have imagined.)

1. Smart. She's got to be intelligent at the very least. I can't stand bimbos who can't even hold a decent conversation, not even if they got the sexiest body alive. Of course, if she is intelligent then it significantly reduces the risk that she might be unreasonable generally, though I'm not putting any money on that; there is some stubborn streak of unreasonability in most women, and the smartest women is susceptible to some degree of unreasonability at the best of times.

2. Confident. I don't know why, but I like women who are confident, but I suppose this isn't a really big thing to ask for, since most women are confident to the point they are haughty. On the other hand, maybe I am looking not for the over-confident type, but the non-insecure type. That should be harder to come by I should think.

3. Good temper. I have a strange temper. I have an angel's temper up to the point some one flares up at me, then it's all downhill from there. Suppose my future partner has a bad temper, we would simply bounce our tempers off each other until we both reach melting point. Plus I do hate fights, absolutely; I used to have nightmares about having fights with people. (I don't mean karate-y fights, mind.)

4. I used to like long haired girls. I'm not very sure now, since my judgment is a little clouded now, but I think I still do. Not so long that she would look like a pontianak, maybe just around shoulder's length. (So specific? you say. But this is my list, and this is my blog, so I ought to be able to say that, so there.)

5. I like tall women. Probably around 1.65m to 1.7m. I am 1.75m, so that's just a slight difference in height. I don't like to have to tower over her, 'cause I will most probably stoop instead. Too much height disparity makes me feel like a paedophile too.

6. Can't stand stubborn women.

7. Sporty types. I wasn't able to say this in the past, since I wasn't very sporty myself. But recently I have been going for karate, trekking, and... erm... cycling? so yea, I am able to come out and claim I like sporty types now.

8. With a tan, i.e. darker complexion. I never had a thing for fair skin, and darker complexion looks rather exotic too. Plus sporty types are more liable to have a tan. See 7 above.

9. Nice eyes. My eyes are probably the nicest feature on my face (some say the only nice feature), so naturally I look out for women with nice eyes. But I probably wouldn't notice your eyes unless I am already interested in you.

10. I don't like the really skinny types, nor the really chubby types. That said, I prefer fleshier women to the simply lean type. This has got to do with myself; I am too thin myself, and long term self gazing formed a general disinclination for thin women.

11. Cheery. I am just writing the criteria as I think of them, so they aren't in any particular order. In fact, being cheery deserves at least a number 3 on this list.

Interestingly, none of the women I have liked before come close to completely fulfilling the list of criteria here, though I suppose the list might have been different in the past too. And I expect the women I will like in the future might fulfill even less of these criteria; Life has a way of going the exact opposite of what I expect to have.

Animal talk

You know how people would "talk" to animals according to their species? For example, we would "talk" to a cat by meowing at it, growling at a dog, and making chitter-y noises at birds and rodents.

I was just wondering, if aliens were to visit Earth, what kind of noises would they make to "talk" to us? I don't know about other places, but if the aliens were to land in Singapore, they would probably go "la, lah, laaaaahh" at us.

Perfect

Do you know the feeling when after a period of intense work, stress and exhaustion, after spending countless nights wishing that you would get this piece of assignment done, and when it is suddenly over, you feel not relief that it is behind you, but a tiny bit of emptiness gnawing at your heart alerting you to the fact that you have absolutely nothing to do? And if you have this experience, and if you hate it like I do, then retrospectively, it would mean that we actually liked the stress and exhaustion back then, to some extent.

Or it could be just that we like neither feelings. That seems to be much more plausible, considering how humans seem to be beings that are never contented. If we like someone, we would think that this person is perfect if not for some a-factor. If we are enjoying ourselves at the moment, we would think the moment perfect if not for the nagging piece of undone work at the back of our mind. If we were the richest person on earth, it still wouldn't be perfect since we don't have eternity to enjoy our riches. There are always some if-nots in the way of perfect happiness, enjoyment, what have you.

Plus it sounds ridiculous, at least to most people, to claim that you are enjoying yourself perfectly at any one moment, particularly if it happens that the moment is just a simple affair of sipping from a can of tea. You don't know the meaning of perfect enjoyment, that's what these people would say if you were to be so irresponsible as to proclaim your enjoyment to them.

What then is perfect enjoyment? Maybe that is what comes when you get every odious piece of work out of the way, when you have every conceivable pleasures awaiting your whims, when you have everyone sincerely loving you, etc. But maybe, just maybe, at the end of it all, there is just this tiny bit of emptiness lurking, waiting quietly within the recesses of your heart for this mythical state of perfect enjoyment.

Children of the world

Look at all the people who commit these atrocities in the world... they were all cute, little kids once before.

How smart are you?

They say that intelligent people are naturally thinner than most, since the brain uses the largest amount of energy (when used) in the body. No wonder I am so thin.

However, David Hume is fat. My favorite philosopher turned out to be a fat ass, doesn't that just proved my point to be wrong?

Well, Hume famously argued that all deductions and inductions cannot possibly be justified because they all rely on the principle that the past is a good indicator of future events, and this principle is justified only if it is itself true. Hence insofar as all deductions and inductions are premised on circular reasons, they are all unjustified anyway.

Therefore, I must be right when I say all smart people are thinner, since the objection to this (that Hume is fat) cannot possibly be justified according to Hume himself. QED

Tutoring

Last week I concluded what was hopefully the last teaching assignment for my M.A. here.

Why "hopefully"?

Initially I thought that I love teaching, just that I hate the administration that goes along with it. Stuff like preparing for lessons, doing CCA stuff, deal with delinquents, manage the students fan club etc., they really put me off teaching; that's a huge reason why I don't want to join MOE.

But Philosophy is different; there is minimal pre-lessons preparation needed. Or at least, this is the case for me, since I have taken the very same course that I am teaching, and already have a reasonable grasp of the subject matter. Plus, since I am a philosopher by training, I have lots of philosophical anecdotes and interesting side issues that I could engage my students in, and all these just come on to me impromptu, so it wouldn't look faked or deliberate when I lead my students to them.

Still, it didn't turn out to be that much fun in the end. I still enjoyed teaching to some extent I guess; the amazed look on the students' face when you showed them something they thought initially impossible; the look of comprehension that shone through when you explained something extremely difficult; the look of befuddlement after you showed them how wrong they were in some of their claims; the look of "OMG this is a brilliant piece of argument, but I'm sure I can't remember the details later! Argh!"; the laughters that come after you cracked a hidden joke; all the signs that your students are really enjoying your class, these are my motivation and fuel for teaching.

I've always felt one hour per fortnight is not enough for my students. There are always so much to learn, so much they needed to know, so much they were mistaken about, and there is always the feeling that if they know just a little more, they will see the whole point of doing philosophy (and switch major haha). I've always offered to give my students extra consultation if they have more questions, or if they are interested in something I alluded to in class but didn't talk about in details. I would always do a very detailed breakdown for their post-essay review individually, so that they would actually get something out of it, and write better essays generally even if they aren't going to do philosophy. But sadly, not many students took up my offers; either they are afraid of me, or they thought I was just paying lip-service when I offered.

And the attendance was getting from bad to worse. Last semester was okay; one student didn't show up at all, but the rest turned up fairly regularly. This semester is really bad. I have one student who didn't show up at all, and the rest all on-and-off. It could be that it is a 9am class this semester, but it could also be because my enthusiasm for teaching is waning, and they could sense it.

Some of the students are obviously not interested in learning. And this is not just because they didn't attend classes. Some of them did regularly, but their disinterest still showed. It's like they attended my classes for the entertainment and fun you get when you read a piece of "factual information" that claims you can't lick your own elbows--interesting to know, but just that. And I must say I'm rather animated in class, so going for classes might be akin to going to one of those Taiwan variety shows, or to the circus if you like. These students came and went, I'm still unsure what they got from my class. Certainly they thought about the questions I posed, but I'm not sure any of it registered in their minds out of class.

Some are smart. Too smart in fact. Or should I say, they thought they are too smart. Maybe because I am the same kind of person, I didn't really like them at all. They would give answers that they think immediately solves all the problems that we have been discussing in class, with that offhand air they thought to affect. Which I would immediately show to be false, of course. But that didn't faze them; either they thought my reply is stupid, or they think they could come up with a different answer which would be "too complex" for exposition now in class. In the end, these students didn't do well, for they thought philosophy is what they thought it is, despite me repeatedly shouting in their ears that that is all a mistake.

Then there are the excusers. Whenever there are assignments to be turned in, there are sure to be people who claim that they have some issues that prevent them for handing in their papers on time. I believed most of them, but I wonder at times if I am being taken for a ride. There's once that I was glad I believed the student. 5 days after the deadline of a paper, this student replied to my email that he has financial problems, and hence is working instead of attending classes. He asks if he can just get a zero instead, and concentrate on the next paper. I gave him instead a choice to get zero, and a choice to turn up his paper 2 days later which I will deduct just 6 marks. 2 days later, his paper appeared in my mailbox, and it is one of the better pieces of philosophy I have ever gotten from my students, even though he has never attended a single class of mine.

I feel the most for the last group of students, the enthusiastic but just doesn't get it. They are genuinely interested in philosophy, and they want to do well for this module, but they just can't seem to get the hang of it. There is a certain knack to doing philosophy, intelligence aside. I pay the most attention to them, explaining everything over and over again, spending hours after hours in consultation with them, in the hope that eventually something would seep through, and they would suddenly see the light. Words and texts are merely the medium. they can't really provide understanding; no matter how well you explained a thing, there is always something that the student has to do from within herself if she wants a complete understanding. What I can do is merely provide the opportunity for their light to come forth, but I couldn't ever drag it out of them, much as I try to.

Then after one semester of vomiting blood over the students, the feedback came back, and it made it all worthwhile, in a way. Some of them thought I was a passionate teacher, some thought I was brilliant, one suggests that I "not ask too deep questions, since most students don't really bother thinking that much, especially if they aren't planning to major in philosophy". I take the last comment to be a compliment, even though it was specifically written under the Criticism section. Some thought I was very clear in my exposition, some thought I was approachable, and allows for interaction in class, and makes them think. For all these compliments, I here give my thanks to them, even if I couldn't do so personally, though I wonder why none thought I was damn good looking.

This semester is probably the last semester I would be teaching as a M.A. here. I wonder what my feedback for this semester would be like.

The shame

We bow our heads low
hunching our shoulders
against the tedium of the world.

It's everywhere we go;
Everyone keeping their eyes down
like some meek animal
who could only see the ground.

Apologizing for the wrongs we have done,
in shame for what others have done;
we are responsible for the times,
So we keep our heads down.


Burying our faces in the papers,
or in some lousy books;
we can't face the world,
for fear of the world.

And the world doesn't look back at us,
for the world is looking down,
in shame of what you have done,
and what you have not.

It's like we are pulling a cart behind us,
full of manure and smelly stuff,
only by looking forward and down
can we heave the load along
never looking back;
and please, don't look up
for whatever reasons there are.

We are responsible for the times,
and hence we repay in shame.
We are the ostrich,
burying our heads with our necks,
hoping
with all our heart,
that shame is the acceptable stance.

Busy

Sorry, am a little busy, and will be a little busy these days, so no updates!

Looking forward to marking my students' papers... not!

Seats morality

Today while taking the MRT from Boon Lay to Clementi, I saw something interesting. Well it wouldn’t have occurred to me as interesting if I had just simply thought of it, but it was interesting when I actually see it. What I saw was a pretty girl giving up her seat to an elderly woman. What was interesting is that it was only when I see it, that I realized for my life thus far, it was the first time I saw a pretty girl actually giving up her seat.

It’s not like the first time I have seen people giving up their seats though (I do it myself all the time), but those who do are usually men or women who looked pretty casual. It never occurred to me previously, but I had never seen anyone who are dolled up/dressed up give their seats up before. Especially those yuppies, their eyes seem to have an auto scanning mechanism that pass over people who need their seats.

Maybe I just wasn’t observant enough, but I doubt it–I’m always very alert on the MRT, especially nearing the stops. If I was reading, I would put down my book, and scan the entering passengers; if I was talking to someone, I would look away from that someone and scan the entering passengers; if I was doing nothing particularly, I would put off doing nothing particularly and scan the passengers too.

In the best of all possible worlds, I would have you believe that I was scanning the entering passengers for the elderly or the disabled who might need my seat. In the best of all possible worlds, I would retire as a billionaire 1 year ago too. Since this isn’t the best of all possible worlds, the honest truth is that I was looking at the pretty girls. Or would be looking at the pretty girls if there are any. In the best of all possible worlds, there would be.

Which is why, as a concomitant to girls-watching, I usually notice the elderly and disabled, and occasionally offer my seats to them. Only occasionally because sometimes other people will offer their seats instead. But never the pretty girls, and never the yuppies.

Which brings me to my topic today. If you, at this point, felt it extremely unreasonable that I only just introduced my topic so late in the post, then I think you are extremely justified about it, and hence it is also extremely reasonable for you to start smashing your screen in to vent your frustration.

Where was I?

Ah yes, pretty girls and yuppies. Let’s not talk about the yuppies, since I don’t really know who the term is used for, and its about time to stop blaming people I have no idea who.

These days, pretty girls seem to think that they own the world. Or at least, the world owe them something. They expect to be served, but not serve. It’s always about them, never about others. (Well at least, it’s never about this particular someone–me. But that’s generalizable, isn’t it? If you aren’t concerned about me, you won’t be about anyone. Seems a fairly reasonable argument to make.) And they would never give up their seats on the bus, MRT, taxis, what-have-you-s.

I’m not sure what implications I can draw from this. Perhaps this: that some girls, especially the pretty ones, don’t really have a nice character. What they are really concerned about is having fun, and that means other people pleasing them, generally allowing them to enjoy themselves without a care in the world.

One thing I do know though, is that I wouldn’t want to be part of their entourage of entertainers. Let some other clowns dance to their music.