I read Althusser and I finally understand why I insist on my students continuing to smoke in front of me.

I want to take a week off and spend the days takiing pictures that mean nothing.

Bor Pian, Wa Si Arh Nei Gai

I spent ten very irrelevant minutes explaining the concept of "malu" to my students yesterday because I was determined to use that word. I eventually got them to understand the word, but I don't think they understood why they were being made to understand it.

It was just so I could joke during tutorial, "Don't worry, there are no wrong answers, you'll only malu yourself."

The 'lahs' and 'lohs' are already back, and I didn't realise I had stopped censoring my auxiliary Singlish terms till my students kept giggling at all the lahs.

You may be glad to know the above didn't take place in my English classes - although I did have to do some serious damage control when the phrase "also can" slipped out without me realising it.

Evidently, you can't take the lah out of me.

Because I Really Need To Laugh Today

"And I've decided that when I make a million dollars and can afford to pay for frivolous things like diamond-studded toothpicks or battery-powered underwear that continuously warms the butt, I'm going to hire a team of good-looking men with great hair to stand outside of my shower and applaud when I get out and show them what a great job I did of shaving my legs. And they will be paid bonuses based on how much they make me believe them."

- Dooce.com

Since I don't shave my legs, I'm having some difficulty thinking of an equally significant act which I would like a group of men with nice hair to applaud me for, but I reckon it'll likely be a toss between how I always keep the sink clean and how I've managed to keep my hair frizz-free all through this humid, weird winter.

A Chronological Breakdown of Significant Occuring Events Before and Slightly After the Advent of the Chinese Lunar New Year

• 6 pm -- Get on a rickshaw after a phonecall to parents in the middle of some backlane.
  

• 6.30 pm -- Arrive at supermarket.

• 6.34 pm -- Curse and cry over the price of longans. Settle for mandarin oranges instead.

• 6.45 pm -- Regret the lack of menu planning. Extreme confusion ensues.

• 6.50 pm -- Shrimp or Chicken? Chicken or Shrimp?

• 6.51 pm -- Gets both shrimp and chicken.

• 7.00 pm -- Shakes head as hands reaches for a sorry-looking packet of yucky bean sprouts. Cultural influence via osmosis possible: Theory Proven.

• 7.10 pm -- Call for help to carry bags home.

• 7.12 pm -- Incessant pacing up and down the aisles increases confusion. Again regret the lack of menu planning.

• 7.20 pm -- Five minutes spent deciding between cheese-filled and regular chicken nuggets.

• 7.26 pm -- Hit the checkout lane. Bill comes to roughly 900 takas. Glad to feed four with 20 bucks.

• 7.40 pm -- Arrive home.

• 7.41 pm -- Homesickness sets in. Decides to lock door to indulge in sadness.

• 7.42 pm -- Chinese disco music from 881 soundtrack fills room.
  

• 7.45 pm -- Emerge from room feeling much better.

• [Interlude: JESSICA HITS THE KITCHEN. EVERYONE STAY BACK]

• 8.45 pm -- Collapse on the floor, utterly exhausted.
  

• 8.49 pm -- Engage roommates in a lesson in Buan Lak (Blackjack). Eager to win money.

• 8. 50 pm -- Rice Wine drinking commences.
  

• 8.54 pm -- Gambling commences. Jessica feels the CNY spirit at last. Bets start at 5 taka.

• 9.15 pm -- Bets go up to 50 taka.
  

• 9.17 pm -- Jessica washes hands for the third time to rid herself of bad luck.

• 9.20 pm -- Roommates marvel at how easy it is to win money off the banker.

• 9.21 pm -- Jessica washes face AND hands.

• 9.22 pm -- Heartfelt regret at taking an extra card.
  

• 9.26 pm -- Jessica is down by 200 taka.

• 9.27 pm -- A new banker takes over.
  

• 9.30 pm -- Bets go up over 100 taka. Jessica resists dipping into cash reserves.

• [Interlude: JESSICA DIPS INTO RESERVES AND ALL HELL BREAKS LOSE.]

• 11.30 pm -- Rice wine supply exhausted.
  

• 11.50 pm -- Group decides dinner is way overdue. Eating commences amidst gambling.
  

• 12.40 am -- Jessica has recovered most of her losses.

• 1.30 am -- Some roommates decide to sleep. Gambling continues with only two participants.

• 1.35 am -- Bets go up to 500 taka.
  

• 1.45 am -- Jessica glad that pay day is near.

• 1.50 am -- Losses sustained become unbearable. Jessica resists converting numbers into Singapore dollars.
  

• 1.52 am -- Launch of argument regarding the ethics of keeping money won from gambling.
  

• 1.54 am -- Jessica loses argument. Rent money will have to wait.

Stress

Taking a minute to just breath and say that I really wish I didn't have to be so stressed on CNY eve. So much to do so much to do.

Like Robert Capa, Only No One Died

Would like to credit the author of the quote above - but I can't. Well, I can. But I won't.

Am pretty exhausted today after a particular event the day before that involved me spring cleaning the house (just in time too) TWICE. I'm just glad its over.

Had a tour of the new campus today. Just a stone's throw down the road, but very new and very spacious and smells of paint. Classes start tomorrow. Should rightly be in panic mode, but I suppose that'll set in later.

There are six books on my desk - none of which I've read before. I am effed.

The collaboration between my the two institutions I work for was briefly mentioned in the meeting today. Everything sounds very promising and exciting, and given a couple of years there's just so much we can do together. There are a lot of things I've realised I've missed (such as reading thick books about stuff I forget about a year later) and I just sat there and wondered how I landed in academia.

I always take on too much on my plate - and I've always assumed I like things this way. Mixed and varied and stretching myself all over the place. But for the first time today, I thought of dropping everything else and giving myself fully to this one thing. I feel frustrated I can't spend all of my resources on this, its something I thoroughly enjoy, even if I don't have the results to show for it. For once I would like to be able to spend an entire day reading and researching.

Ah well. Just goes to show Jess really doesn't know what she wants, does she?

Ashura came and left and I haven't had the time to edit anything other than the one above. The whole fire breathing thing got quite tiring after a while because it was basically just guys spitting into the fire, and few could do it with the finesse it requires. Plus was tired of getting the kerosene+spit mix over me and my camera. I'm not smart, but I am pretty sure it would suck to burst into flames.

Had a couple of hands grabbing and groping when the crowd got too packed. These cowards only come out when they know its difficult for you to figure out which one of the 10 guys surrounding you grabbed your ass. I didn't care. I looked one in the eye and contemplated bashing his face in with my camera, but I didn't care enough to do it. It always happens in such festivals and only in huge crowds, and never anywhere else.

Some of the Australian girls had it worse in the crowds, and even those seasoned and older were rather shaken after the experience. At least no one tried to rip my shirt open and put their hands down my pants.

The thing that usually happens is that I always find a young and eager local who's more than willing to act as my guide and protector. Most of the people take care of me anyway, always pushing me to the front of crowds so I can have the best view to shoot. Everyone wants to be in the picture. My camera opens up some pathways even as it closes others. I'm not worried.

Content and The Rest Of It

After seeing a bunch of art photographers have a go at photojournalism - wow. My Mind is Blown.

I am so utterly grateful to them for having opened my eyes. I really needed this.

Too Much Nescafe

Jess has had way too much coffee.

Masud tells me he is 7 but he looks like he's 4. He often stares into space and blanks out, not responding to calls and words. He looks drunk - which is not possible - so I'm not too sure what's going on in his head.

Another child who really doesn't give a fuck what you think.

Cold

So the cold spell shut everyone up about the unusually warm winter. It seems to have lifted over Dhaka - no rain today or yesterday - but the weather's back to what I remember January to be like. Topu and I agreed as we headed out to tea: "This is winter."

The reports came in about people dying of cold-related diseases. Stay back everyone! Old people and children first. And those without the back-up jackets and shawls. Cold is one thing, but cold with rain?

Rajiv and I came out of Coffee World cursing at the weather. He was already having the flu, and the jacket wasn't doing much to keep out the wind. The cold comes in through your ears, someone once said to me. We waited to see if the rain would let up.

The boy came round to us soon enough, trying to sell sweets. Rajiv gave away some chocolate instead. Didn't seem like he preferred it over money.

Some time later, another boy with sweets joined him. The two were unbelievably cold. Hunched over, wet clothes as a second skin, rain drops glistening off their hair. Too cold to even pester us in the way they usually do. They stood there silently, with their sweets in their hands. Maybe we misunderstood. Maybe they were just seeking shelter like the rest of us. The crowd streamed by.

I clumsily took my camera out and started to shoot. No one seemed to care. Rajiv kept whispering tips and advice from the side. Keep it wide. Don't go in too close.

It was an obvious picture. So obvious that I don't even try to get these anymore. The poor and the rich, the cold and the warm, the skinny and the fat. I once said that I don't trust fat people in this country. It's means something to have the ability to be obese in this country. Well, it means something to me and my mind anyway.

Maybe I should save my judgments for myself.




I'd like to keep this pic at 800px wide, but then again we'd all like a lot of things and life just doesn't work that way, does it?

At one point, the boys from two worlds started to talk. "Shoot now now now now now," Rajiv said. I didn't get the shot, but I saw the scene. I wondered what they talked about.

I would like to say how it broke my heart etc etc, but it didn't. We stepped out into the rain and walked home. The two boys sprang to life, and tried to chase after us with the sweets. Their voices cried out from behind while we looked ahead.

I stuffed a 10 taka note into the palm of one before running off with my guilt into the rain, my cappuccino still warm in my stomach.

Rajiv Bites

The following quotes suffer from a serious case of YHTBTism (You Had To Be There).

"Have you watched the movie Ulysses' Guessz?"

"Guessz?"

"G-A-Z-E"

"You mean, Ulysses' Gaze."

"Yes, 'Gaze'. But, it sounds like 'gays'. Ulysses' Guessz."

"I ate a very special thing during Eid. Cow boob."

"New York is like Dhaka, but worse."

"I sympathise with you Jessica. For your empty head with no brain... Jellyfish?"

Random.

I asked him first of course, and he asked me, "Why?"

"Em ni." No reason. I shrugged my shoulders for effect.

He grimly nodded, and neither he nor his friend moved an inch. It was perfect. No rushing to pose together, no 'action-action'.

I walked off after saying thank you, and I heard him call me from behind. I turned around. He beckoned me over with his finger. I cannot remember the last time I obeyed such a command. Anyone else, I would have walked off.

Thus began the usual interrogation. He told me he had been to Singapore when the British was there. Sadly, I couldn't understand much of anything else he said. I wonder how he became blind in one eye. Cataracts? I couldn't ask. I didn't know the Bangla word for it.

His friend, perched high in a rickshaw, never moved from his position. Only once, to wave his hand to shoo off a curious boy that came too close.





A cold spell has hit, something about depression over the Bay of Bengal. The pressure's been wonky all night, and I woke up at 6 am in the morning because my door kept banging open-shut-open-shut.

The electric cables across the street from my office has just exploded with a fiery bang twice. And as a result of watching too many Jason Statham action-bang-bang movies (5-in-1 for your convenience!) last night, I heard him say in my head "Cut the power to the whole block." in that trying-a-bit-too-hard-to-be-gruff voice.

I don't know what's happening, but I know there's a short circuit involved somewhere. Some dude's leaning out of the window with a fire extinguisher trying to put out the burning wires.

And I saw the list of Oscar Nominees, and now feel much regret that I never made it through my discount-copy of McEwan's Atonement that I picked up at some library book sale years ago. I like watching movies based on books I've read.

I tried. It just never hooked me. Maybe I only like the Brit writers that come from the north.

Busy.

I still have time to take my twice-daily baths though. Good news all round, then.

I bathed in the river in Bandarbans when I visited. Well it wasn't so much a bath than a quick soak sans soap. It was effing cold, and I think I inadvertently flashed myself a couple of times due to my inexperience in handling a tami (sarong). But it felt good.

Arjun swam to the other side of the river and got up on the rocks under the river cliff and predictably proceeded to show off some diving thingamajig. I, predictably, wanted to wade out as well to the deep edge ("I CAN SWIM"), and he predictably told me to stay put. I (predictably) did not listen, and held on to my sarong as tight as I could and tried to walk with all this cloth wrapped around my legs.

Did not predict that A. knew what he was talking about and the current proceeded to sweep me off my feet, and if the water wasn't so shallow I probably would've gone downstream - naked.

I blame the cloth. Nosso streamlined in design.

Good News, perhaps.

EU considers banning the import of certain fuel crops

By James Kanter

Monday, January 14, 2008

PARIS: In a sign of shifting attitudes toward biofuels, European Union officials are proposing to ban imports of certain fuel crops whose production could do more harm than good in fighting climate change, according to a draft law seen Monday.

The proposals, to be unveiled next week, are aimed at enhancing the environmental credentials of biofuels like biodiesel or ethanol to counter concerns that European drivers are playing a role in destroying wetlands, forests and grasslands in areas like Southeast Asia or Latin America each time they fill up their tanks.

Sick, Sicker, Sickest

I've had to visit the hospital five times since I arrived in the country. That's probably more than the number of hospital-encounters I've had in Singapore, (delivery of babies DO NOT COUNT).

These are the various reason. Two are mine, guess which?

1. Fucked Up Ankle (duh)
2. Stomach Flu
3. Fucked Up Back (Sorry T.)
4. Congested Lung
5. Non-stop Vomitting (still waiting for blood tests)

The hospitals are fine if you can fork out the money, but even the nicer ones are plagued by total inefficiency and staffed with a flock of very confused staff. (Ha.)

The not so nice ones put the reception area on the fifth floor, make you run out to a nearby pharmacy to buy your own bandages, make you hobble on a bad ankle to another clinic to get an X-Ray done, make you pay first before you get your blood test results back, give you a gas mask that looks like its from WW2 and the last guy who used it died because of all the mucus that was in his mouth/nose.

So there.

I have two sick boys to tend to. I am busy.

Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so.

I've always enjoyed the idiosyncrasies of the English language, although I never made an effort to study it properly and I never bothered about grammar in my life. Shouldn't come as a surprise then, that all my essays, or "compositions" as we called them then, in primary/secondary school were constantly marked down because of errors in spelling and grammar.

But since I had to do a fair bit of research into this unfamiliar territory for my English classes (a great source of mirth for Arjun, who enjoys telling people I am an English teacher who doesn't understand grammar) - I gotta admit this is turning out to be seriously fun stuff.

The highlight of the week was coming across this article in Wired:

Very Short Stories
33 Writers, 5 Designers, 6-word Science Fiction.

We'll be brief: Hemingway once wrote a story in just six words ("For sale: baby shoes, never worn.") and is said to have called it his best work. So we asked sci-fi, fantasy, and horror writers from the realms of books, TV, movies, and games to take a shot themselves.

Dozens of our favorite auteurs put their words to paper, and five master graphic designers took them to the drawing board. Sure, Arthur C. Clarke refused to trim his ("God said, 'Cancel Program GENESIS.' The universe ceased to exist."), but the rest are concise masterpieces.

The title of this blog is taken from one of the entries, written by The Dude Whose Existence/Craft Made My Life More Beautiful.

Speaking of dudes... why, hello there James. It's been a while.

Nothing Ado

Yesterday I tried my best to find a copy of Infernal Affairs. God knows I shouldn't indulge the guys' alpha-male-gangster-bang-bang-hero-honour-brother-brother tendencies (and god knows they really don't need any help in that area), but I personally just want to look at Tony Leung's miserable and tortured face.

They may have all the obscure art flicks, but apparently the only East-Asian thing they stock here is Kurosawa and a whole lotta Jet Li and Jackie Chan.

Have also been trying my best to find a nice 2008 diary that doesn't have the same thickness as some Tolstoy novel. Seems to be an impossible task. Goddamn that MUJI doesn't ship to Bangladesh.

I also know that I need to find that diary soon, because my procrastination indulges itself by being a strong believer in chronology - Diary First, Deeds Next. And so! I will find that damn thing today.

'round the 'hood.

Still nothing to say.

Heading off to Agora to buy some goddamn fish for my goddamn dinner. I found out the hard way - that fish with scales do not good dinner make. It's probably fine if you had one big fish, but it is a big mistake to buy 20 little fuckers (like ikan kuning) and then have to meticulously remove all the tiny slivers.

Also, I have also been consuming waaaay too much muri for my own good.

I Am Intruiged

by Antonio Mancini.

010108

I keep thinking its 2009.

Typed long self-reflective post-NYE post and promptly trashed it. What kind of declarations and statements were you trying to make this time? Really Jess, you should know yourself better than that.

Oh and in case you didn't already know, mankind is awesome and life is great.



Happy New Year to you too.

43TK = S$1

Or This morning I made myself two half-boiled eggs and the taste was closest I got to home since I got here. Not even my Ramen noodles invoked the same sensation. I suppose there's something about black sauce, a mountain of pepper and eggy goo that strikes deep.

This morning I paid my rickshaw wallah 15 takas to cycle me from my house to my office. I would say that would be a locally-acceptable rate, although some may argue 12 would have sufficed. I generally judge how acceptable the payment is based on my rickshaw wallah's face after I've handed it to him.

The locals haggle and deal before getting on the rickshaw. I don't bother because I never win and it takes too much out of me. So I just pay what I gauge would be a price that would make them happy enough not to ask for more.

Sometimes I gauge wrongly and they look at me slightly sorrowfully with their palms outstretched, refusing to pocket my money. I ask them, not enough? And I give more. Sometimes they ask for a lot more, by which I mean asking for 25 taka for something that is usually 15. Sometimes they yell at me even though I've given a reasonable amount, which usually pisses me off and makes me not want to give them more.

I've seen some wallahs get beaten on the back and the legs by policemen wielding unprofessional wooden sticks, trying to herd them back behind an imaginary line. I've seen wallahs get their rickshaws thrown up and over because they crossed imaginary lines. I've seen too many of them getting yelled at by their passengers (then again, it could've been conversation since I don't understand the words exchanged). I've heard of cases of people running off without paying. I have also heard many singing as they cycled, chatting to each other and exchanging friendly taunts and dishing out helpful advice (you go first, quick quick, ok move in front of me here). Some make snarky comments about passing vehicles. Others try to tell me jokes I can't understand. I've had one hold my ankle the entire ride begging me to give him money for his family. Some chat and complain to me when we are stuck in a jam and we heckle at the big cars together. Some question my rickshaw wallah about where he picked me up from. Others don't say a word.

And so this morning I paid my rickshaw wallah 15 takas. What does this mean?

Sacrifice

Won't be having much time to blog these days. Happy New Year in advance, everyone.

Will probably be MIA as everything shuts down during the Eid/Xmas season.

Have fun.

It is only after being faced with a student who constantly questions me and talks back that I realise how fucking irritating I must have been in school.

The Space Between

Happy Victory Day to Bangladesh.

Woke up to a phonecall from Zaid at 4 am informing me that he had changed his mind about going to Savar after all, and would I perhaps like to be ready in half an hour so I may catch a lift from his father's car?

The cold 's inescapable at night, and even after borrowing Arjun's ski cap and jacket I found myself wishing I had a huge jumpsuit of wool or a big fat sheep to hug.

The streets were predictably empty, a couple of people making their way to good-ness-knows-where, and one lone rickshaw ignored my shouts as he hurried by.

It's been a while since I allowed myself to be really, truly alone. The house doesn't count anymore, the space has been marked out by too many. This is why I used to come home late at night, I was claiming my space somewhere else - a space no one else wanted. It could have been anywhere, but anonymity and public-ness usually guarantees my privacy.

Savar was a lot of fun - Bangladeshi press pool is not a pretty sight. Most press groups I remember seeing came across as being hungry and earnest. Eyes wide open, trying to up one on each other. This bunch had a sense of menace about them - like a pack of wolves who knew exactly what would happen next.

Will post some photos soon. Just glad to be out and about and shooting - although the ankle almost gave way after a stupid jump and now I think I may have a long-term injury on my hands and I spent a good deal of time on the bus thinking of all the shots I would never have been able to get if I had this sprain a year ago.

The university has requested I stay to teach a new course during the next Spring semester. Which is really good news because this is how I gauge whether or not I've fucked up yet. The course has too many words and too many syllables in its title and I think I'll be learning as much as my students about the subject.

I have also started saying "too much" when I mean to say "very". This is entirely my roommate's fault.

Also, a certain friend is visiting in a couple of days, during which I will talk nonstop in Singlish and use big and bombastic words. I am too much excited.