... Everything is Permitted?

“Nothing is true; everything is permitted.”

Those are the words of the Assassin Order, a fictional organization from Ubisoft’s successful Assassin’s Creed franchise. For the layman, the Assassins are a group of individuals engaged in an ideological and physical war with a rival group called the Templars. The struggle stems from the two groups’ contrasting beliefs: the Assassins believe in the free will of man, whereas the Templars believe in a man-made utopia created from control and man-imposed order.

Even at first glance, it’s easy to tell that the Assassins are the designated protagonists of this struggle: fighting for a world free from oppression and tyranny. The games themselves enforce this assignment of roles by portraying the Templars as corrupt and power-hungry, more motivated by selfish greed than the desire for order. For example: the Templar Rodrigo Borgia, the primary antagonist of Assassin’s Creed II and its spin-off/expansion, Brotherhood. Borgia is portrayed as a scheming, despicable individual, using lies, coercion and murder in pursuit of his goals. He exploits his position in the Templar Order to improve his own financial and political standing, eventually gaining enough leverage to become the Pope*!

[*One key characteristic of the Assassin’s Creed series is its co-opting of actual historic figures in its storylines; such figures are often embellished for that purpose, and are rarely (if at all) portrayed accurately in terms of character and personality. Rodrigo Borgia, an actual Pope during the Italian Renaissance, is one such figure.]

On the other hand, the Assassins are primarily portrayed with traditionally heroic traits and backgrounds. Ezio Auditore da Firenze (the protagonist of AC II and its spin-offs) is the righteous survivor of a betrayal that left most of his family dead, seeking justice against those responsible. Connor Kenway (from AC III) is the defender of his Native American people, against the encroachment of British (and later American) settlers on their ancestral land. To be fair, there are exceptions to this rule: Altair Ibn-Lahad (from the first game) is initially arrogant, self-absorbed and reckless, and Edward Kenway (from the most recent Assassin’s Creed IV) is greedy and materialistic. However, those characters eventually realize the errors of their ways and achieve redemption through their actions. The same cannot be said of the Templar characters.

In my opinion, that has resulted in a dull, one-dimensional narrative that has so far failed to capitalize on the promising main conflict of the series. The ideological conflict between the Templars and Assassins is a very intriguing one: which is more precious? Is it free will? Or is it order?

A bystander (perhaps even you) might ask, is it impossible to have both? An optimist would answer in the affirmative, but I beg to differ. From my personal experience, freedom will almost always result in chaos.

My reason for that is simple: man simply cannot always be trusted to regulate his own actions. Left to his own devices, man will follow what he wants. Morality, faith and laws may give him pause, but they are far from perfect as deterrents to undesirable behavior. We can see that in the events around us, from the mundane (thievery, reckless driving) to the more exotic (murder, rape). Crime, misdemeanor… they stem not (as people would have you believe) from the lack of education, the corrupting influence of the media, the failing morality of the increasing self-centered capitalistic society, etcetera, etcetera, but from free will: the ability to do what you desire, no matter how harmful or disruptive.

Man cannot always be trusted to regulate his actions. We are slaves to our desires, wanderers in a wasteland where the only sustenance is the flesh and blood of our companions. A morbid metaphor, but an apt one:  the people around us are almost always victims of our desires, sacrificed so that we may have our satisfaction.

Last year, I was plagued by bass noise from a next-door neighbour’s sound system. Eventually, I approached the proper authority and lodged a formal complaint. That problem has (so far) ceased to exist. I do not mention this to further antagonize anyone, or to reopen old wounds. The purpose is to introduce an authentic example in which I have observed my argument in practice. Both the actions of my neighbor and I were motivated by personal wants: his was the want of listening to music, while mine was to have my rightful peace in my own residence. Arguably, I was in “the right”, being the “victim” in this situation. And yet, because of my complaint, he received a warning and can no longer listen to music as he used to. Now, the tables have turned, with him as my victim, being denied what should be a right. And so the conflict continues, without a satisfying resolution (which I doubt exists).

And that, patient reader, brings us to the crux of my argument: free will is chaos, because man is compelled by desire, and is therefore selfish. How can there be order, when every man and woman is competing for what they believe is their due? How can there be peace, when one man’s belief is another’s taboo? Whether we admit it or not, we are locked in mutual conflict, desperate to advance our own goals, like drowning sailors pushing and tugging, biting and scratching to be the one who gets the next breath of air.

Still. What is the alternative? Order is desirable, but how can it be achieved without sacrificing free will? How can quarreling cousins come to an accord, without either side having to concede their stand? I have no answers to that question. Evidently, neither do the professional writers employed on the creative teams behind the Assassin’s Creed franchise, or else they might have portrayed the Templars in more positive and nuanced manner.

With that, I conclude this piece of written thought in the most abrupt and unsatisfying of ways: unresolved. Thank you for indulging me and my rambling thoughts. I hope they at least provoked some thinking on the matter.

Staging Macbeth: A Reflection

Okay. So I'm back. After 2 whole months. I don't really have anything noteworthy to say, so here's my reflection for Macbeth to keep busy while I come up with something interesting to post:

“Macbeth is said to have been written some four hundred years ago, in 1607. Since then, it has been enacted countless times by actors and actresses beyond count, most of whom were professionally trained and well-versed in the art of stagecraft. So imagine my reaction when I was told that my Unit has to produce a full version of the play, together with our friends from K11.

Staging one of Shakespeare’s most famous plays without proper knowledge of stagecraft is already a challenge. But what worried me was having to work with members of another unit, whom I had rarely spoken to in the past before we had to share classrooms for the current semester. But surprisingly, fortunately and almost miraculously, we pulled through. And I discovered that I was wrong to ever doubt we would work well together.

After being briefed on the details of this assignment, we had our first meeting on the 22^nd of February, to elect a leader (or director) and to divide the work that will go into making our production of Macbeth a success. We decided to have Lydrielyn Koh from K11 and Lee Kaw Siang from my own unit, K10 to be our director and co-director respectively. It was the first good decision we made, in my opinion. Koh and Lee quickly took charge and soon we had several working committees set up, each responsible for a facet of the production. Having a relatively good command in the language, I volunteered to be in the Scriptwriting Committee, responsible for modifying Shakespeare’s Olde English script to better suit a modern audience. Working in tandem with me was Eugene Wong, who was responsible for the conversion of the text in Acts 1, 2 and 3, while I worked on Acts 4 and 5.

I started work on my end during the March holidays, working in the comfort of my room back home. What I had anticipated to be a simple task of swapping out archaic words for modern ones quickly turned out to be more challenging than expected. I discovered that some words, long discontinued from use since Shakespeare’s time, were crucial to retaining the original meaning and flavor of the text. To change them would be like to take out a small but vital gear out of a machine; the meaning of the text would be lost. Another problem was Shakespeare’s application of imagery and metaphors: some are long and elaborate verses, while others are simple but effective phrases. While beautifully written and stirring, they felt out of place in my revised, modern-language version of the script. Yet I was reluctant to change or omit them, because to me, they are the magical components that make Shakespearean literature so unique. So I was caught in a difficult dilemma: do I sacrifice what has made Shakespeare such an endearing read to scholars around the world for the purpose of a simpler, more audience-friendly script, or should I preserve Shakespeare’s unique flavor and risk leaving the audience dumbfounded by the archaic language? To borrow (and blatantly bastardize) the most well-known line from another Shakespearean great: “To cut or not to cut?”

In the end, I settled for the best of both worlds: to preserve the original meaning of the text, while presenting them in modern English instead of Shakespeare’s Olde English. The process was grueling work, as every word I chose to take, together with the words that I used to replace them with, might potentially twist the intended message of the text, thus making my work inconsequential. I consulted websites with modern-day translations of the text and cross-checked my work with their versions of the text, debating with myself the best choice of diction. It was frustrating work, and I was tempted to take down whatever I find on the websites and to claim them as my own work. But I realized that to do so would be tantamount to committing academic suicide: plagiarizing is akin to signing one’s own death sentence, as my lecturers have drilled into me again and again. So I forced down my festering resentment for Shakespeare and his long-winded, flowery language and slogged on. Needless to say, my relief was immense when I finally hammered in the last nail into that particular coffin. Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived, as I discovered upon returning to class after the holidays and comparing my Acts with Eugene (Wong)’s.

In contrast to his concise and simple revisions of the script, mine was long-winded and dragging. I was so focused on preserving the original meaning of the text that I had fallen into the same trap that I set out to avoid: a long and unnecessarily tedious script that dragged the length of the play into an unacceptable length. We were given only two hours to perform the play, and my script simply could not fit into that limited time. Without question, further revisions had to be made. Unfortunately, the plan was to start rehearsals after the holidays, and without a proper script, rehearsals could not be held. I had to hurry or risk delaying the entire production. With a heavy heart and a crippling weariness for Macbeth, I started work once again, this time making immense, drastic changes to the script. Act 5 was completely transformed into a more fast-paced, action-oriented piece than Shakespeare originally intended. In my version, the scenes where Menteith, Caithness and the other Scottish nobles converge to meet with the English army were removed, because I felt they added little to the overall story and could be cut with minimal impact to the story. In addition, Malcolm, Macduff and Siward’s meetings before the final battle at Dunsinane were revised and amalgamated into the original Scene where Macbeth recites “Life’s Brief Candle”. The intention is to create a better flow of the action, with Macbeth lamenting the death of his wife (the pen-ultimate loss of his life) before meeting his end at the hands of Macduff. The double tragedy (Lady Macbeth’s death and Macbeth’s own defeat) was intended to highlight how evil must ultimately pay its price. While it was a hurried, frenzied effort, I still found it to be satisfying. In the end, I was fortunate enough to have the script ready for inspection by my lecturers before the rehearsals were scheduled to begin. My work was, thankfully, done.

But while it was mostly serviceable, there was a part of the end-result that I personally felt to be disappointing and weak. There is a Scene in Act 4 where Malcolm and Macduff convene in England that, in my opinion, took too long. Its significance to the play is to underline Macduff’s loyalty to the true heir of Scotland, Malcolm, but its length and tedious language made it distractingly dull. The cast and crew even took to calling it “the Boring Scene”, and though I am fairly certain they did not say it as an insult or a mockery of the Scriptwriting Committee, I still found it to be a personal failure. I should have done a better job reviewing my work, but too much effort went into making Act 5 better that I neglected the equally important (if less climatic) Act 4. It is a lesson I will carry for some time: to always look at the bigger picture instead of the little details.

Also, in hindsight, the process of converting the script could have been easier had I worked more closely with my partner. We should not have delayed it until the holidays, and instead should have started work together in late February. Two heads are better than one, and the chances are we could have produced a more cohesive script in terms of tone and language had we worked side by side and compared our work between Scenes. While it is admittedly too late for regrets, the silver lining of this particular cloud is that I can always use this experience to better work with others in the future.

With the script ready, we could finally start rehearsing. Even before the script had been prepared, we had already decided on the cast of the play. I was to play Macbeth, the titular character. Thinking back, the best word I can use to describe my feelings at being chosen for that role would be “conflicted”. There was something glorious about being picked for the main role. I was not, and still am not, sure what appealed to me more at the time: that my lecturers and directors had faith enough in me to let me carry that role, or that I will be the centre of attention during our actual performance. Both thoughts were equally uplifting and terrifying. I was proud to be Macbeth, proud to carry the main role. But I was also aware of the heavy responsibilities that came with it. My performance would make or break the play; I had to convince the audience that I am an honorable general turned evil and brought down by his own greed… but how? My previous acting experience was limited to two dramas during my Secondary School years and a role as the Beast in our class’ production of Beauty and the Beast for the TESL Night earlier this year. Compared to Macbeth, those parts were like tiny stars in the sky, insignificant beside Macbeth’s shining full moon. But despite the pressure to perform, I welcomed the role. I believe that my lecturers and friends’ trust in me to be Macbeth somehow gave me conviction and confidence in myself. They did not openly praise my performance during our rehearsals, but I think praises were unnecessary then. They had already shown their belief in me, and that was driving force enough. Oddly, I did not realize that until this very moment, writing this.

Of course, preparing for the role was not exactly an easy stroll in the park. I had little problem in memorizing the script, as it was in simple English and was easier to commit to memory than it would have been had it been in original Shakespeare. It was emoting my lines that I found to be a constant obstacle during our rehearsals. Macbeth is a heavily conflicted character, prone to excessive and extreme mood swings throughout the play. And of course, there is his metamorphosis from loyal servant to bloody tyrant to take into consideration. All those changes in mood challenged my abilities to the limit; they were exhausting physically and emotionally. I found it hard to express Macbeth’s amazement and shock upon seeing the floating dagger in Act 2. It was even more difficult to portray him mortified reaction after seeing Banquo’s ghost in Act 3. I felt stiff and self-conscious during those scenes, and I was worried that my performance would cause the play to suffer. I was also frustrated at myself for being unable to strike the correct chord with my acting. I quickly grew weary of the rehearsals and dreaded those demanding scenes, growing quietly resentful at my directors, whom I unfairly saw as the cause of my discomfort. But I understood that I could not allow the strain to break me, and although I cannot claim to be the most happy camper during rehearsals, I think I can at least allow myself the concession that I was also not the worst behaving member of the cast. It was difficult, but I slowly adapted to the role, and I found myself being able to express my lines more effectively as time passed by. No doubt this was the result of the many rehearsals we have had. Practice makes perfect, as they say, and our directors made sure we had plenty of practice.

It is unfortunate how under-appreciated they are by the rest of the crew, me included. If it was hard for me to act, it must have been equally taxing for them to have to manage the entire play, if not more. So what I can say I took away from the rehearsals is how no one is the centre of the universe; everyone has their own responsibilities, and while some may have it harder than others, that does not take away the fact that everyone contributes to the greater scheme of things in one way or another. I was not the only one toiling to make the play a success, nor was I the most pivotal figure in the production. In short, I learned humility. It was an unexpected lesson, one that I did not take to well initially. But I have come to accept that my own significance is perhaps not as huge or as vital as I had imagined.

Another hurdle that I had had to clear while preparing for the play was having to work with Bernadette Hyacinth Vincent, my “co-star” who played Macbeth’s wife, named (rather unimaginatively) Lady Macbeth. The problem did not lay with her; she was a pleasant friend to work with and rarely complained. But I found the close proximity we often had to work in to be uncomfortable. The reason for this is because I had spent my recent five years in an all-boys school, where I had limited contact with the female gender. To have to work with girls again, even after a semester here in the Institute, felt strange and alien. And if one has to be brutally honest, Bernadette’s good looks did not help to make it feel any less weird. Luckily, she was patient enough to allow me the chance to acclimatize to my role as her “husband”, and we were able to work rather well together after the initial awkwardness had faded away. If this experience has taught me anything, it would be the importance of staying objective and always having my sights set firmly on the proper goals.

As we neared the day of the play, I slowly began to warm more and more to my role. I loved Macbeth’s scene with the murderers, where he plots the murder of his friend Banquo. It allowed me to channel a menacing aura around myself that I found appealing, and I found myself likening that performance to that of actor Tom Hiddleston in the movie Thor, which I enjoyed very much. Drawing comparisons of my performance to other characters in other mediums not only helped me to act more effectively (as they provided models which I could mimic), but also made the entire process more interesting. Macbeth’s fall from grace and subsequent loss of sanity I likened to the character of Norman Osbourne (better known as Spiderman’s most famous foe, the Green Goblin) from Marvel Comics, whose rise to power and subsequent fall in the story arcs “Dark Reign” and “Siege” mirrors that of Macbeth. Relating my favorite characters from other works of fiction to Macbeth definitely gave the experience a breath of refreshing new air. Now that I had accepted my role completely, there was only one last obstacle barring the way to a perfect performance: my confidence on stage.

I know from my previous escapades on the stage that I am not entirely impervious to stage fright, and I must admit that the realization did plague me for some time before the performance. Luckily, my friends from the Costume and Makeup Committee swooped in for the rescue. The costume designer, my friend Atikah from K11, designed for me a simple outfit that nevertheless helped boost my confidence considerably. Her biggest triumph is the bright red cape that she had personally made, which I adored very much. Wearing it gave me an inexplicable boost in confidence; I was less fearful, more sure of my lines and gestures. Perhaps it should come as no surprise that the character Thor, from the movie of the same name, also wears a red cape as part of his costume. I would think of his unshakable confidence and might in battle as I wore the cape, and all my fears would dissolve like… “breath upon the wind”. Additionally, my friends Shadiqin and Belinda, also from K11, took it upon themselves to be my “personal makeup assistant”, styling my hair and applying my makeup before the play and during rehearsals. Everyone agreed that Shadiqin did a great job on my hair, and that somehow made me more confident to perform. I guess my Social Studies lecturer, Mr. Earnest, was right: looking good is half the battle won, although he would call it having “persona”. Still, it is odd how little gestures like adding a piece of costume and a new hairstyle can dramatically change my bearing and help raise my confidence up to new, previously unreached heights. But I am grateful for the help they rendered, and they have showed me yet again the importance of working as a team.

So with the script memorized, my acting perfected to the best level possible and my hair sticking up like the proud crest of a magnificent peacock, we came at last to the day of the play. Strangely enough, I was uncharacteristically serene throughout the day, although that may be on account of being in shock at the prospect of performing later that day. Still, I remembered my training, recalled every step I took to get there and brought it all to the stage. Of course, there were minor hiccups in the play: my friend Zulhelmi forgetting it was his scene caused panic to the entire cast onstage and shortened the years of my life considerably. But overall, we came, we performed and we conquered.

There is still so much more yet to be said about the production of our play: how Nita (Macduff) and I spent an entire afternoon and sacrificed a pair of pants (his) to choreograph and perfect the final, climatic end battle between Macbeth and Macduff, how hilarious the Makeup team’s first efforts on me looked, how we laughed and reveled in the success of our play... Every memory is priceless, though they may not always be pleasant.

Has the play had any significant effect on me? Yes. Will it drastically affect my future? Probably not. We may have been poor players that strutted and fretted our hours upon the stage, never to be heard of in the years to come, but was our tale one full of hollow sound and fury, that signified nothing?

Absolutely not.”

From Life to Eugene:

“ 难过，是因为闷了很久，
是因为想了太多，
是心理起了作用。

你说苦笑常常陪着你。
在一起有点勉强，
该不该现在休了我？

不想太多，
我想一定是我听错弄错搞错。
拜托，我想是你的脑袋有问题……”

I don't get you, Eugene. I don't get you at all. You have an easy life: you don't have to struggle through every lesson, desperately trying to understand what the lecturer is saying. Compared to those who do, you have it easy. So why are you not content?

Why do you mope and say that your life is without purpose, when your purpose is clear? You're here to study. Nothing else. There's your purpose. Don't deny it just because it doesn't appeal to you.

I know lessons bore you. You pick up on them quickly and with minimum effort, because they're mostly what you have already learned before. That's the reason you complain. The lack of a challenge makes you restless. You feel like you're wasting your time and your... "talents". You yearn for a challenge.

And yet, when it comes to assignments, you don't perform. You're perfectly willing to just produce an adequate piece of work, when you could have done something better had you put in more effort and enthusiasm. Living the easy life has only made you more lazy, it seems. You think just because something is beneath you, it's not worth your effort. And thanks to your ego, everything is beneath you, isn't it?

Stop this behavior. No purpose? No goal? No motivation? 拜托，我想是你的脑袋有问题…

A Thought.

I must have squandered away my enthusiasm in the first two days of class, because I just feel wretched today. But I don't have a reason to. Compared to other people, I really should count myself as lucky to be where I am now. But the "normalcy" (read: blandness) of IPG life just gets me down sometimes.

I guess that means I still haven't grown up much since my Primary School years.

Back in the day, I was an avid fan of Harry Potter. My friends from school didn't care much for the novels, though I'm sure they saw some of the movies. But I still didn't have anyone else to share my passion with but with myself. So I did. Secretly, without telling even my closest friends, I imagined that I was studying in Hogswarts, pretending my teachers to be those from the novels. I had a Science teacher that was almost exactly like Severus Snape: he was strict and uncompromising when it comes to schoolwork, but deep down he has a great heart. Of course, I didn't know that Snape was a good guy then ("The Order of the Phoenix" was still one year away at the time), so I drew the similarities between them based solely on how they seem to enjoy seeing their students squirm. :P

What I'm trying to say is that even then, all those years ago, I was letting my imagination live for me. I'd spend hours after school hours (my mum was the headmistress there and had meetings after school, so I had to stay back with her) exploring every nook and cranny in the school grounds. I knew about the hidden storeroom behind the Year 6 classrooms, a place filled with junks, antiques and trophies abandoned by who knows who ages ago. I've braved the "haunted" passageway behind the school hall (so called because it bordered a spooky-looking palm oil plantation) countless times, scurrying along it with my ears pricked for the faintest sounds of anything "unnatural". I spent afternoons combing the grounds for secret passageways, even though I knew there were none. I even interviewed my friends and seniors for anything "strange" or "out of the ordinary" that were worth investigating during my private scouting hours. The school grounds were a treasure trove filled with little details that piqued and stimulated my imagination, and I would explore every corner of it like Indiano Jones explores a lost Mayan temple.

By now it should be clear that even as a child (or maybe because I was a child), I refused to see the world for what it was. Reality was boring, and still is. My imaginations (or daydreams, honestly speaking) allowed me to escape to a place where possibilities were endless. In that time, and at that age, I suppose there was no harm to live in daydreams everyday. But sometimes, I wonder if I have truly left those daydreams behind when I left school, or am I still lost in them, trying in vain to find a way out?

There are times when I wonder about my worth in the world. Even if I were to one day disappear off the face of the earth, nothing would have changed. The world would move on, lives would continue. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm troubled by my own insignificance in the grand scheme of things that happen in the world, and I use those daydreams or delusions of grandeur to distract myself from the fact that I'm no more important than the next man.

Sometimes I envy the comic superheroes that I idolize. They have powers and abilities that make them stand out in a world full of 'normal' people. They could make a difference. Captain America is the idealistic warrior fighting the unjust and the corrupt. Tony Stark makes the world a better place with his Arc Reactor alternate energy source. Compared to them, I'm almost nothing. And that's a hard pill to swallow.

No, my point isn't that I'm envious of people that don't even exist. What I'm trying to say is that reality is harsh. Reality is unforgiving, and most importantly, reality doesn't give a s**t about what you want. I think that's what sent me on my Hogswarts fantasy all those years ago. It may even be why I have never really left those fantasies, despite what I tell myself. Dreams are always easier than life.

That's not a lament. It's even a complaint. It's a fact.

Zzz... =.=

Now, more than ever, Social Studies is becoming a lesson in boredom. And Language Development isn't the most fascinating subject either, and has never been. But I like Language Description. And English Studies.

The reason I enjoy those subjects is simply because they allow for more participation than the other two. English Studies is especially fun, because learning "Macbeth" is actually a very stimulating experience. There is so much going on between the lines, hidden messages secreted away to be found. Finding them is very rewarding. Maybe it's an ego thing: I feel happy because I see things that no one else in the class does. So I'm delusional as well as egotistical. Good to know.

Of course, just reading the text itself and appreciating the unique way Shakespeare wrote his lines is an enjoyment by itself. There's just this indescribable and inexplicable joy that comes from reading a particularly poetic line. It's like listening to a song with lyrics that you can really relate to. There is a connection that somehow makes the text more intimate and enjoyable.

Language Description, on the other hand, is fun because it's the most "intellectual" of my four Majors. There are just so many rules and nuances to grammar that mastering it becomes a challenge, albeit an interesting one. Like with E.S., there's something to be said about discovering a particularly well-hidden mistake that everyone makes without noticing. I think it's the joy of learning something new, a new... spin/take on what has already been established. Grammar is both fixed and in flux, and that makes learning it extra interesting, because you never know what is coming around the corner... (But it can still get boring sometimes... Tenses. Urgh. ^^)

I guess the point of this post would be to say that I'm enjoying my studies here. Nothing is too taxing, thanks to my history of using the language. It's been said before by my friends, and I agree with them that yes, I'm truly fortunate to have been streamed into the TESL unit.

Imagine if I had been sent to the Chinese unit. Or worse: Bahasa Melayu. That's a nightmare I would not wish on any English-speaking, B.M.-inept person. Except maybe Claire.

Well, well...

I must be the Undertaker of blogging: I show up for a few posts, fiddle about a bit and then disappear for months. Then I show up again, like nothing's changed.

Wait, I guess I'm not the Undertaker of blogging after all. I'm more like the irresponsible-boyfriend-who-makes-you-fall-for-him-but-turns-out-to-be-playing-with-your-feelings of blogging (IBWMYFFHBTOTBPWYFOB for 'short').

It's been an age since I was last here. A lot of things have changed. I'm no longer the Eugene Lee who wrote so enthusiastically on "Video Games that Changed My Life", but that doesn't mean I'm an entirely different person. A lot of my previous "jerk-ocity" still remains. XD

I guess the best thing to do would be to relate everything that's happened to me since my last post. To bring you readers up to speed with what I've been doing during my... "hiatus". But I'm not going to. Because that's just cliche. And besides, that's an entire year's worth of life stories. I don't think my keyboard can survive me typing everything out. Nor do I think I can remember everything well enough to do those memories justice. So let's just have a poem, one that I'm making up right this moment and has no sentimental value whatsoever.

An Ode to 2010

January was peaceful,
Easy and slow.

February was the same,
Until the day March came:
When I received at last,
Results from exams past.

Through April and through May,
I tried to find my way.
But my future I couldn't see:
Nothing here would suit me.

But June arrived soon,
And granted me a boon.
I was to be a teacher:
A most wise and learned creature.

With a heavy heart I started anew,
In a place where friends were few.
But life is in no way cruel,
And soon I found my Friends List full.

To say the road was easy is a lie.
But it brought us together,
You and I.

United under the bright blue sky,
Whatever challenges we will try.
Never again shall we cry,
And our friendship is the reason why.

No, I have no idea what that was about, either. Let's move on. ^^

Video Games that Changed My Life Part 1

Okay, I realize that I've been neglecting this site for a long time. I could apologize and beg for your forgiveness ('you' being the non-existent reader base of this blog, as well as the blog itself) , but that wouldn't have changed anything. So let's just forget it happened, and move on with today's post*!

Video games are as a part of my life as sleeping and eating (not to mention farting, but let's not be rude). Since finishing (read: completely messing up) my SPM exams, and even way before that, I've been munching through games by the hundreds, something which doesn't really qualify as a groundbreaking achievement (like curing cancer), but I'm still flaunting it about anyway. If you're going to spend 12 straight hours thwarting the Collector threat, you might as well tell somebody about it. So they can ignore you.

Sigh, the solitude and isolation of the gamer life! But I'm straying off-topic.

Of course, having played games for nearly a decade now, I can't be expected to remember every single title I've wrapped my keyboard pounding/mouse tapping fingers around. There are however, a few titles that stand out among the rest. These are games that, looking back now, really brought me to where I stand today in the world of gaming. Although whether if that's a good thing still remains to be seen... (Please don't let me have failed my SPM!!!)

Anyway, now that I've wasted several paragraphs covering absolutely nothing, it's way time we went into the topic. So here it is, complete with glorious screenshots*, the list of Games that Changed My Life:

#1 Aladdin (1993)
by The Walt Disney Company

I never saw the movie. Yes, shocking, I know. The only thing closest to the original media that I've had experience with was the audio book, which was still able to get me hooked despite the lack of any visual presentations because of its wonderful narrating. As a plus, it carried over all the voice actors and songs right from the movie, which was awesome. I can't tell you how many times I've listened to it again and again on tape, and it definitely helped the tedious thrity minutes' ride to school every morning.

Anyway, Aladdin was one of the first games I'd ever played. Originally made for the SEGA Genesis, it was later ported to the PC, which is where I played it. The game itself is a pretty basic hack'n'slash sidescroller, with ample of 2D platforming thrown into the mix. It mainly follows the plot of the movie, meaning you first start in the streets of Agrabah and later move on to other familiar locations (familiar to those who actually saw the movie, that is) like the Cave of Wonders and the royal palace. Combat is simple but gets the job done. You have a single melee attack with your scimitar, and can pelt enemies at range with apples. Your opponents never die violently, instead vaporising into smoke when defeated, as fitting the tone of the game.

I've forgotten what the ropes in the jars are for...

The game's highlight is its tone. Aladdin never forgets its Disney roots, looking and sounding uncanningly alike with its movie counterpart. The music that accompanied the game was the same as the songs in the movie (only without lyrics), and it was something I could really attach to more than the graphics, as the songs were easily more familiar to me than the character art. The game's rendition of 'A Whole New World', played in the Main Menu, had me in shivers every time. I loved that one. Also, the in-game animations and art were all done by the same team that worked on the original movie, so fans shouldn't find it too alien.

This is a particularly nasty mission that has you zooming about the Cave of Wonders while avoiding falling rocks and gushing lava. I absolutely hated this.

To finish up, Aladdin was a rare gem of a game for me at the time. I had some similar titles then, like The Lion King and that Power Rangers Zeo game, but neither of them are as memorable as this one. Which is odd, since I saw and loved The Lion King. But we'll put off my fanboy gushings for another time.

Here is a link to a video on Youtube showcasing some of the gameplay. (If you fast forward to about the ninth minute mark, you get to listen to 'A Whole New World' at the end! )

Another link, this one a Youtube vid exclusively devoted to 'A Whole New World'.

*Screenshots courstesy of games4win.com

#2 Starcraft (1998)
by Blizzard Entertainment (Duh!)

Starcraft is a legendary name in any circle of gaming. Everyone has heard of it. Its main source of praise comes from its three unique, vastly different races: the human Terrans, the buglike Zerg, and the enigmatic yet strangely noble Protoss. Now, I'm not a strategy person. Tactics is to me what a real vampire (read: not R-Pat) is to Twilight. They just don't fit. I've always found myself drawn more towards action and role-playing games, due to their more hands-on approach to gameplay. Also, I don't believe in assigning miniature units to commit mass murder for me when I could quite easily do it myself. Provided I have the constitution of a tank and the arsenal of the entire North Korean nuclear division strapped to my back.

So why is Starcraft so special to me then? I risk being labelled a blasphemer and a heretic by saying no, it's not the gameplay. In fact, I couldn't care less about the gameplay. When you have god mode on for the duration of the level, strategy ceases to matter. All that is important is churning out the cooler units and watching them stomp your enemies to death.

What I loved about Starcraft was its setting. Three vastly different spesies duking it out in an all out war for survival? What's not to like? Did I mention one of the three races has basic units with lightsabers strapped to their wrists? Or that the Terran battlecruiser eats tonnes of Awesomeness for breakfast and then vomits it out its Yamato Cannon in a wave of devastating Pure Awesome? And has any of you ever seen the rabid intensity of a zergling rush, tearing away defenses and disemboweling Terrans and Protoss alike? It doesn't hurt that the game is stylishly graphic for its time: units explode in gore and visceral when killed, and one of my favorite pastimes in the game was to build a nuclear missile (nuclear missile!!!) and then dropping it on a cluster of my own Marines, just to see them explode in a red fountain of blood and to hear their sweet, sweet death howls. Sick, disgusting, pointless, and undeniably awesome!

Boom!

Ahem. Now that we have my psychotic, mass-unit-genocide tendencies out of the way...

Another thing I liked about Starcraft was its story, packed full with twists and great dialogue. The voice acting is exceptional, and really helped establish the characters as persons rather than just some weird, talking portraits. I especially liked the voice acting for the rebel leader, Arcturus Mengsk: smooth but not quite silky, with enough steel in his tone to convey his determined personality. His subtle charisma was the reason Episode I's (Starcraft is split into 3 episodes, one for each campaign, one campaign per race) climatic plot-twist worked extremely well for me, springing a sudden and unexpected betrayal from the charismatic Mengsk, who makes a sudden turn from heroic 'rebel-crusader' (Raynor quote!) to the self-styled Emperor of the Terran Dominion (Youtube vid; watch it and tell me you didn't get the shivers!).

Starcraft was the first game I played with a real story, a concrete narrative that helps move the campaign along. In fact, the only reason I played it was to further the story, because even though mass murdering helpless marines with nuclear weapons is fun (Starcraft 2 vid), it eventually does get old. The story in Starcraft, as I've mentioned before, is full of twists and turns and loads of xeno killing. The cinematics in the game are nothing compared to today's standards, but some were exceptionally well done, notably Emperor Two-Face's inanugaration speech and that marine expedition onto a deserted science facility.

All in all, Starcraft is a remarkable title, regardless of whether you're merely here for the cheap action, deep story or the strategic gameplay. Me, I just like a good story. And to blow things up.

**Screenshot from www.eliteownage.com

#3 Warcraft 3 (2001)
by Blizzard Entertainment

Warcraft 3 was the first game in my list to demand a computer upgrade. The game refused to run on my obsolete, dinosaur-era graphic card, and I had to badger my poor mother for an upgrade. I'm not ashamed to admit that several underhanded tactics were employed, including threatening suicide by covering my head with a plastic bag. Don't ask.

Like with Starcraft, it was Warcraft 3's story that held me, along with its colorful and vibrant graphics. And its cinematics too. Boy, oh boy, the cinematics. Starcraft had some competent pictures back in its day, but Warcraft 3 completely blew them out of the water.

Gameplay wise, I can't comment much because like they did with Starcraft, Blizzard conveniently and very thoughtfully provided me with cheat codes that allowed me to breeze past the missions like a breeze on a breezey day. Not the most perfect analogy, but we're not here for poetry or any of those actual literary stuff. That'd just outstretch my limited abilities and highlight the fact that I'm nothing but a useless meatbag whose sole contribution to the world is game piracy. Anyway, back to the point: you build stuff, you kill stuff, and then you do it all over again. Of course, there's this enigmatic and elusive (as far as I'm concerned; haven't actually seen it yet) element called strategy involved, but I don't try to be Sun Tzu and just cheat my way through.

Now the reason Warcraft 3 held such a special place in my vile, shriveled up husk of a heart is because it was the very first 3D game of my life. Granted, my 8mb video card didn't pack enough of a punch for me to appreciate the game's graphics properly, but even at low settings the game looked beautiful and inviting and all those colorful big words that I'd like to use to dazzle you right now but sadly can't because I've spent too much time on games and too little time memorising the dictionary. One other thing about Warcraft 3 I enjoyed were the neutral monsters (or 'creeps' as the game called them; I thought creeps were people like me who spy on little girls building sandcastles at the beach so that we can stomp on them the moment they finish) that guarded specific locations like gold mines or neutral shops and dropped treasure when killed. That lent the game a very refreshing RPG flavor that I found myself gravitating more to than the actual strategy aspect of the game. In fact, I would sometimes just load up a huge 8-player map, let the computer fight among themselves and go treasure hunting with my cheatcode-enhanced, one-hit-kill-dealing Paladin. The bright and cartoonish palettes used in the game made in so much nicer to just walk around and taking in the sights instead of amassing an army of bloodthirsty cowmen hellbent on whacking your enemies senseless with massive, elaborately decorated telephone poles. Which begs the question: why can't we all just get along and have a massive summer beach bash at the local Fountain of Health?

Because that would go against the whole point of the game and completely mess up its name, dumbass!

******

I think this might just be my longest post ever, and it's not even finished yet! I've spent the entire day on it, starting in the afternoon and it's now 10pm at night! Most of the time were spent looking for the outsource materials to supplement this post (meaning that if you didn't click on the links above, you're wasting my time! Bad! Go click!), and while this isn't Shakespeare, I think that I've done something rather remarkable here (Which is creating an excessively long post about something people won't care about and probably won't read, for my own amusement).

Will be back with Part 2 tomorrow. Also, long due reviews of Mass Effect 2, Dragon Age: Origins and other recent gaming gems.

EDIT: Sorry about the alternating font. I tried to uniform it, but somehow Blogger rejects my changes and reverts back to the previous settings.

New Year Resolutions...

So, it's the second week of the new year already, eh? How time flies. I'm still not a doddering old man though, and unlikely to die of age in the next 24 hours. Sorry to disappoint.

Anyway. It's a new year, so I suppose I should set myself some goals and then forget about them.

Goal No. 1: Do Not Fall For Anyone
This is a biggie. The biggie, really. Ever since Maker knows when, yours truly has been falling for girls right and left. Guess I'm no champion of fidelity. It's gotta stop. Pining for someone all the time is not the way to live.

There are happy endings; I've seen them. Just not for me. Even Morrigan dumped me, and she's not even real!

Goal No. 2: Do Something With My Life
That is to say, do something other than a) saving the world from darkspawn, b) fighting for the lost, and c) annoying people. Tough list. But I'm just going to forget this anyway, so no harm done. ;)

Goal No. 3: Write A Novel/ Create A Dragon Age Campaign
Okay, so this should be grouped with "living like the average boring meatbag" in Goal No. 2, but since this is something that I'm willing and hoping to see it through, I thought it deserved a special mention. A career in writing is what I'm looking for. So I guess I have a year to practice for it.

Before I head onto the real thing and fail spectacularly. Y'all are welcome to visit me at my place in the gutter, by the way.

'ey!

"Well, lookee 'ere chaps, seems like we got ourselves a Grey Warden 'ere..."

Maker's breath, fellows! How long has it been? Two months, creeping onto three? It's been rather a long time, eh? Bet you guys missed me.

No, really, it's alright. I know how much you must have missed bashing my blog and laughing at everything I put up here. Not without good reason too, I might add.

Anyway, while you've been pining away for my ridiculous musings, I've been quite busy with... stuff. Important stuff. Like saving the world from Darkspawn and having a blast while at it.

But before that there was, of course, the wretched SPM. It was a surreal experience, to be completely honest. I spent half the time scrambling (in vain) to catch up with the work that I'd neglected for the past two years, and there were some sleepless nights too. Not something I want to go through again. In the end though, I'm not quite sure I did okay. At all. But that's something I'm going to have to face up to. In three months. Can't wait. Mum is going to murder me.

Thankfully, the guys from school organised a trip to Genting right after the SPM, which helped considerably in taking my mind off that gloomy subject. It was fun all the way through, though the knowledge that this was the last time I would ever see some of my friends was a sobering one. Still, it's hard to dwell on the negatives when Cho's cracking jokes (and also a few ribs) right and left. I also had the chance to try my hand at archery, which was a fun but slightly frustrating experience as I struggled to grasp the techniques. Rather unfortunately, Chee Keong, who happened to be standing beside me at one point, did not end up skewered on one of my 'stray' arrows. Oh well.

We stopped by Times Square on the way back. Acquired The Saint and Dragon Age: Origins!

The latter is a mixed bag. Sure, it's true Bioware with the characters, dialogue and the fleshed out setting complete with extensive history, but it's also a rather more complex and frustrating experience that any of Bioware's previous titles in my opinion. Combat is trying in almost every encounter, even on Normal setting, and I find myself constantly gasping for air everytime I have to unsheathe my sword (Which incidentally has 1.5 armor penetration, spell resistance and +4 Electricity damage; ownage!). Maybe I just haven't grasped that winning technique yet.

Plenty more to talk about, but I'll leave it here for now. Expect to see me back soon. Some time. Maker's blessings*.

*Or 'the Emperor protects', if you prefer that one.

Like Elvis, Eugene Has Left the Building

Starting tomorrow (20th Oct), I will be handing over my PC's power cables to a close friend for safekeeping. Have decided that I can never truly study with my PC sitting so tantalizingly close nearby.

Do not despair, for I will be back! In two months. So I suppose you have a call to rejoice now? :D

Until then... be nasty, and insult anyone who strikes (or rather, doesn't strike) your fancy. The Emperor protects!

Dawn of War... and Possible Friendship?

Let me make something clear: I'm not a multiplayer person. Even back in The Day, when I used to play World of Warcraft (private server, sadly), I was a loner. That made Raiding impossible, but missing out on mobbing a particularly nasty... well, mob wasn't exactly a great loss in my book.

Then I played Dawn of War 2's first official DLC, The Last Stand. And it sucked. For those of you who aren't aware (that's almost everyone reading this; no offense), The Last Stand is a special multiplayer mode that pits a team of three Heroes (the Eldar Farseer, the Ork Mekbo and the Space Marine Captain) against 20 waves of assorted mobs and minibosses. The goal is to simply survive, but like everything else in this cold, cold world, that's easier said than done.

I barely made it past the third wave in my first game before getting hacked into pieces. My following forays into that arena of no uncertain death weren't any better, with my personal best being only 7-8 waves before being sent merrily on my way to the Golden Throne. And yet, somehow, I found myself enjoying it.

In some strange, totally obscene way, there was fun in losing three consecutive games with two other complete strangers who happened to be my teammates. I think it was their sense of humor that got me. I honestly can't say that anyone else had ever laughed at my idiosyncratic "Dakkadakkadakka!" or "For the Emperor!" 'battlecries', other than dear, dear Kok Yang. It's a refreshing change. And they were nice even though we lost, never shifting the blame onto anyone even though there were scenarios where I think I was the cause for our defeats. So there was much pleasure in playing with them. Would that there were more people like them. Friendly and polite, even to complete strangers.

Proud to call them my comrades, and to have fought with them for those three gains in level.

Emperor guide your blade/bolter/shoota, my brother(s)/sister(s) in arms!

Onward, to Glory!

Oh, I'm really feeling the heat now. Between my mum nagging for me to study every five seconds, and my teachers breathing hellfire down my flabby neck in school, I think I've finally come to terms with the fact that the SPM is just around the corner.

About time, eh? :P

I'll say. Did you know heat capacity is the energy needed for an object to gain 1 degree celcius in temperature, regardless of its mass, whereas specific heat capacity is actually the energy needed for x kg of an object to gain x degree celcius in temp? I didn't. Not until today. Which, seeing how it's a F4 topic, is a bit disturbing. I haven't even grasped Waves, Electricity and Radioactivity yet, and they're supposed to be topics still fresh and vivid in my mind! Unless by vivid you mean foggy and obscure as a... foggy and obscure thing, I'm just not there.

"My grave opens up before me like a... big hole in the ground." Thanks, Blackie.

So like Mr Ong pointed out to me today, this is it. The final leg. As KY's father would wisely put it: "the ball is in court now." Now we have to grab it and run, while hoping to whoever's listening upstairs that we don't trip and break our necks. Or I don't, anyway. I have this uncomfortable feeling that almost everyone who's anyone in academics are at the very least partially prepared for the Great Storm. Oops, straying into whining territory here!

Am trying to make up for all those lessons spent daydreaming last year with some private tutoring with a few teachers. Mr. Teng, thank you so much; I could actually do that salt question Pn. Hizanty gave us today for our Kelas Terancang (although I had trouble with balancing the equation.) Mr. Lim tries his best, but lack of practice is still my number one deterrent from scoring in Add Maths. Physics is being remedied by way of weekly revision classes with Mr. Ong T.C.. I wish I'd paid more attention last year; his teaching does work. But his car engine impersonations are still as goofy and pointless as before. Vrrroooooooom!!!

Academics and looming gruesome death aside, life still goes on as usual. I've recently fallen back in love with Oblivion; am playing a female Breton Spellsword now, and while not an unstoppable powerhouse, the experience isn't too hard to distract me from having fun. Haven't got to play today; had absolutely no time to spare.

The quest for the fair lady's hand still continues. Am having problems with obtaining the next Quest Item though; I just can't find it anywhere. Besides, I don't even know if finding it would (thankfully) end the quest. These things are never certain. What if it turns out to be a lifelong questchain? What if it's a Fallout 3 collection quest?! Why do the Outcasts need so much Scrap Metal anyway?

Oh wait, I think I have an idea. Note to self: do not wear Outcast armor.

Oops, it's nearing my bedtime. Gotta go, can't function without sleep. Good luck y'all, with the SPM!

"The Lightspeed Experience"

Wrote a story in tuition today. That's what tuition class's for: to write stories while the teacher potters about in front. Anyway, here it is, if you don't mind reading it:

"The Lightspeed Experience"
by An Idiot

I clambered into my seat, settling down gingerly on the worn leather. My hands found their way to the metal handholds built into the car, feeling the sticky legacy left behind by who knew how many pairs of sweaty hands that had been on this ride of doom.

'The Lightspeed Experience', they called it, possibly alluding to how fast it can make you lose your lunch if you had the guts (or few enough brain cells) to risk your life on this deathtrap. A network of rails elevated high above the ground, complete with horrifying drops and death-defying (I hope) loops, the Experience was one mean roller coaster.

You couldn't tell that from the faces around me, though. Excited anticipation was plastered onto every face but mine, and I noticed that some were even eying the closest drop with what can only be described as crazed, insane longing. But I had to do it; I had to somehow survive this hellish ride with my lunch intact, because even though I couldn't see them, I knew my friends were watching nearby, perhaps even filming it with Kat's new camcorder. It was my rite of manhood, they insisted. Do it, and I would be a man.

Personally, I thought they were more keen on uploading a new video onto YouTube, aptly titled "Chicken-Guts Teen Loses It on Roller Coaster" than actually seeing me complete my "passage into manhood".

"Everything okay?" a cheerful voice asked, and I turned to see the ride attendant grinning down at me, checking to see if I had my safety belt engaged. I did; the worn fabric hanging loosely around my waist boosting my confidence substantially. I could almost feel the air rushing past me as I plummeted to the ground... thrown free from the speeding train to meet the ground in a personal, and fatal way...

Despite that, I nodded a silent yes, and felt the grim touch of despair as the attendant walked over to a control panel, her high heels sounding ominously on the metal platform.

"Here we go, guys!" she called enthusiastically from her post, and the train gave a sudden lurch forwards, clunking down the railway admist the cheer of my compatriots. I resigned myself to cruel fate and offered a prayer to whoever might be listening Upstairs.

Slowly, but all too surely, the train pulled out of the station, and we emerged into the brilliant sunlight. The sun hung resplendent in the all-too-blue sky, looking too cheerful to fit with my current mood. We approached the first rise, and as the train strained up the incline, all I could see was the ocean-blue sky, clear and beautiful; a sick, false promise of calm. The upbeat mood of the other passengers had mellowed into silent waiting, their previously animated chatter reduced to a hushed reverance as we moved inexorably towards the apex of our climb; the calm before the storm.

A small breeze brushed against my face, somehow syphoning away a part of my senses with each soft caress, until only a cold, dead numbness remained. Vaguely, I noticed that there was a void where my stomach used to be.

And we fell.

"Ghaaaaaaaargh!!!" I yelled as the train thundered down the rails, the mighty iron serpent curving around the tracks, clinging onto the thin metal miraculously as it twisted and turned. Friction held no sway here, and inertia gleefully took charge, propelling us ever forwards like a hyperpowered missile.

The world came past in flashes: the blue sky, twisting metal tracks and glimpses of ecstasy on delirious faces of screaming passengers. Howls assaulted my ears, not just from the rushing wind, but ululating from the throats of the feverish fanatics waving their arms in the air. My heart leapt and fell, flew and crashed with every descent, the buffeting wind beating my eyes shut and forcing the air from my lungs.

But despite the wild discomfort, a strange feeling trickled into my consciousness. Nerves numb with terror suddenly leapt back into life, sparking a fire that burned throughout my body with frightening intensity. I could feel the blood pumping through my veins, could see the world dancing by in vibrant colors as if through a kaleidoscope, and I felt the strong buffet of the wind. Strong and animalistic, spearing through my hair as I hurtled through the air.

I forced my head back against the wind, raising it towards the heavens, and bellowed a primal roar. Adrenaline coursed through my body, a raging fire unquenchable by fear or disquiet.

Not to be outdone, my fellow passengers screamed hoarse warcries of their own, shaking the very air as we roared down the tracks, past terror and doubt, onwards to death or glory.