“Sometimes to enjoy an end-product means deliberately avoiding seeing the process of making it. If you want to truly enjoy a sausage, try not to witness the process of making one.” A (1972 - )
They were here, in my house, all 9 of them, R and his parents and three of his four siblings plus their spouses. Despite drowning slowly in the buzzes inside my own head, I could hear his mother said something about “future arrangements” which “is really up to the children” but “the sooner is the better, don’t we all think?”
I heard my dad said “Of course” and his eldest sister went up to me asking whether I had talked with R about the “exact time”. Like a very nice and obedient Oshin I told her “No, Teh”, trying to slip my cellphone into my jeans pocket, in it an explicit message which mentioned a very specific body part was displayed.
The next evening when he called me saying that he and his family actually gathered after that visit and “discussed things,” I couldn’t help but say that all these sausage-making process was kinda scary.
“Sausage,” he took a breath. “You said sausage?”
“Yes, the making of a sausage. You stuff minced meat, blood-dripping minced meat, only it’s not all meat, there could be anything in there, all dripping with blood, into an elastic wrapping – “
“Morbid kid,” he laughed.
“ – and after seeing the process of making it, eating it will be an effort, I guess – “
“I told them you said that I was the one to decide the time,” he said, “And I told them and they all agreed with me that – that it would be in June.”
It was by far the longest telephone conversation we ever had – he didn’t even stay silent for two whole minutes at a time like his usual self. He talked so much about so many things, during which I was the one who stayed silent – a picture of myself stuffing ounce after ounce of blood-dripping meat into an elastic wrapping materializing inside my head.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
PUZZLES
It’s past the mid-semester, and more and more often everyday, I ask myself which precise malfunctioning part of my brain is responsible for letting people from the office sending me back to school. My typical day is now waking up at 6, hours later than the time I woke up during working-days (Is it really only 3 months ago that I actually had a place to call an office?) Then coffee – shower – and worrying about the rest of the day. I have to show up in campus only on Wednesdays and Fridays, so in the rest of the week I sometime choose to work at home.
“Working” nowadays means reading scientific journals till I get blue in the face, or swearing uncontrollably, or blue in the face in addition to swearing uncontrollably. “Working” so far has yielded:
(1) a 27 pages unfinished research proposal,
(2) a 42-pages unfinished book on Digital Coding,
(3) a page of “extended abstract” on God-please-tell-me-what-I’m-writing-about, which I submitted to a conference in a purely delusional state of mind,
(4) a 23-pages presentation file which I first presented last Friday.
“Working” this way makes me much more nervous than regular lecturing, because there is so much to do, and too much of it is still unclear. I myself am not sure how to best approach my research topic: reading the foundation has taken me almost a year now, and I still seem to be going nowhere. Trying to come up with a simulation? But how can I, if I don’t have very strong background knowledge on the theory?
But, but. Last Friday after I presented my research topic for the first time in the research methodology class, the professor gave me an applause. He had never applauded after any of my classmates’ presentation before, so I took it with a start. But the next thing coming my way was actually a compliment, not snide remarks, and I was left wondering how on earth did I manage to fool the whole class, the professor included.
One classmate who is a seasoned lecturer mentioned that it was obvious that I had a very clear idea on what to do in my research, another said I seemed to be the one with the most convincing progress in class.
Oh God. Was it the sweater I was wearing? Could it be a lucky sweater? Sheesh.
I guess what they say is true, just bravely march ahead and may the fortune be with you.
Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat.
“Working” nowadays means reading scientific journals till I get blue in the face, or swearing uncontrollably, or blue in the face in addition to swearing uncontrollably. “Working” so far has yielded:
(1) a 27 pages unfinished research proposal,
(2) a 42-pages unfinished book on Digital Coding,
(3) a page of “extended abstract” on God-please-tell-me-what-I’m-writing-about, which I submitted to a conference in a purely delusional state of mind,
(4) a 23-pages presentation file which I first presented last Friday.
“Working” this way makes me much more nervous than regular lecturing, because there is so much to do, and too much of it is still unclear. I myself am not sure how to best approach my research topic: reading the foundation has taken me almost a year now, and I still seem to be going nowhere. Trying to come up with a simulation? But how can I, if I don’t have very strong background knowledge on the theory?
But, but. Last Friday after I presented my research topic for the first time in the research methodology class, the professor gave me an applause. He had never applauded after any of my classmates’ presentation before, so I took it with a start. But the next thing coming my way was actually a compliment, not snide remarks, and I was left wondering how on earth did I manage to fool the whole class, the professor included.
One classmate who is a seasoned lecturer mentioned that it was obvious that I had a very clear idea on what to do in my research, another said I seemed to be the one with the most convincing progress in class.
Oh God. Was it the sweater I was wearing? Could it be a lucky sweater? Sheesh.
I guess what they say is true, just bravely march ahead and may the fortune be with you.
Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)