This is the second title that alludes to my masochistic tendencies. I mean, when you go to bed at 10:00 a.m. only to wake up in the afternoon to start the vicious essay-writing cycle again, the repetition is justified. I should teach a class called self-torture for dummies.

The take-home exam I handed in to this illustrious UCLA scholar
was definitely not my best work. Even though I work well under pressure and ridiculous time constraints (um, hello, this essay due tomorrow? Who has started? Not me! Yay!), I just wasn’t in my element. I kept getting distracted by my journalistic writing style. Let’s ramble on about the crappy side of the Make Poverty History campaign that at once shows the typical limits of wealthy Western altruism. Let’s now crappily segue into how that campaign also highlights a shift in human rights discourse and activism that is finally recognizing other perspectives that emphasize social and economic, rather than civil and political rights.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

I should seriously just go into journalism and stop kidding myself about serious scholarship. There must be some kind of New Age practice that will tell me if my parents’ decision to name me after Adrienne Clarkson when she was still a journalist locked down my career path despite all my studies in other areas. Maybe all this edumacation will lead me to be the kind of writer who superficially touches on law and politics with some kind of authority. Who knows? Tarot, numerology, astrology experts, you’re welcome to chime in. Any clairvoyants out there who see where I’m headed?

If I don’t get to working on this essay, I’m headed straight for doom; but didn’t I tell you that I like to torture myself? Doom on a nightly basis! And I’m not talking about the game! Woo!

After this mini-hell of mine passes, I will have two more long essays to write. Before I throw myself into the painful process of writing those bad boys, I’m going to finishing uploading and organizing my photos. Then I can finally commit myself to writing less boring posts that will include photos of cool things that I have done in this part of the world. Yay!

In a weak attempt to make up for this lack of exciting visual stimulation, I present to you the better meme of the week: 5 Weird Things (stolen from all the young pretty Asians who torment and entertain me in times of stress with their exotic writings.)

Note that number 5 was edited because the last 5 was not idiosyncratic enough.

1. I have an extremely sensitive sense of smell that happily contributes to the sophistication of my palate. Miam. It also allows me to drift down memory lane in an unorthodox manner. (Hey! That was the smell of the deodorant I used on vacation in Hong Kong in 1995! Good times, good times.) For all all the enrichment it brings to my life, my nose also causes me to suffer. Sure, if a smell is good, I’ll notice it before everyone else and take it all in happily; but if something’s rank, I’m the first to go running to the bathroom to puke. When I say that certain stenches make me gag, I’m not joking. I have been known to vomit because of the smell of a sour washcloth.

2. I have the tightest muscles known to humankind. Well, maybe to womankind since there are loads of men who share my problem. Even though it’s not that funny for me, I always joke that I picked up the worst genes from both my parents. I got some of the best stuff from each of them, but really, there’s a whole lot of bad in the physical department. Inflexible muscles comes from my father. Even as a small child in gymnastics and ballet class I could not touch my toes with my legs straight. If I don’t stretch regularly, I lose the ability to sit in a pike position. Since I’ve been slacking in that department here in Singapore, sitting at a 90 degree angle, even to get a pedicure causes me some pain. This stiffness coupled with the inheritance of my mother’s bad joints makes for loads of physical fun!

3. I drink litres and litres of water a day. I have never understood why people have problems “getting their water in” because I am constantly thirsty and lose my mind if I don’t have fresh H2o on hand. That is why I am almost never seen outside my home without my Nalgene or in the worst case, a disposable plastic water bottle.

4. I get really bad PMS. I wish that I could be one of those women who jokingly use the PMS excuse for minor bitchiness. My PMS is no joking matter. If you want a good show, tune in once a month to catch my irrational hysteria! Even though I am conscious of the havoc my hormones wreak on my mind and body, I spin out of control. Typically, those closest to me bear the brunt of my PMS-y wrath so they kindly deflect (FELOR, baby, FELOR) my insane attempts to sabotage our relationships.

5. Even though you can’t tell by the condition of my skin, I have a really long bedtime routine. There’s a lot of dawdling involved, but there is also a lot of genuine cleansing, toning, moisturizing, pimple-fighting etc. Someday I will tell you about the many products I smear on my face and body.

And even though there is no official 6, I’ll have you know that I like long walks on the beach. 😀

This entry was posted on Monday, October 10th, 2005 at 2:29 am and is filed under Academentia, The Sacred and Mundane.
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