The curse of the fountain pen

While in communist Romania and during primary and secondary school, we were forced to write with fountain pens, apparently because fountain pens make for better cursive handwriting? This was a blessing and a curse at the same time. It was a blessing for the above reasons but it was a curse because

• The goddamn things were expensive
• They leaked
• I kept loosing mine, so I always had to buy one and always had to hide that from my mother and always had to make the new nip stop scratching and I ALWAYS (because I kept loosing them) had to buy exactly the same one. Turns out, there were a limited number of blue fountain pens with golden nip that one could buy (that's because my mother wanted to be special and bought the blue one instead of the red one, damn it!)

After secondary school I stopped writing with fountain pens but developed a strong obsession for stationery that has followed me through my (4+5+6 = 15!) remaining years of school. (23 years of school OH MY GOD!) Until last semester, when I bought this beauty:

This has got to be the best color out there and the pen is just fantastic. And then my students gave me this:

I was so immensely touched that I put the ribbon from the pen box on the rear view mirror of Snow White. And. I. really. hate. ribbons.

 And then one day I couldn't find the green fountain pen. And then one of the students sent a silly email that sort of suggested (if you read the email while doing a headstand and scratching your back with your toe, or you were really really really HUNGRY) that me helping them out could be easily rewarded (WTF!?!) with more gifts. The red fountain pen was immediately banished to a place where it would not grade exams as I had been fantasising it would and I went the next day and bought a new Lamy green fountain pen. Although identical with the first one, it was not really the same as i had accidentally bought a medium nip instead of a fine one.

 The exams came and went (and five red ballpoint pens with them!) and the red pen sat in its box right next to my rising star in teaching award. I would see it every day thanks to its bright red color. Until one night when I had ran out of red ballpoint pens and I just had to use it. The students had finished the particular course I was teaching and if I had to wait until they graduated (seeing how I hope some of them would eventually do higher degrees) it would be a looong loong time, so what the hell?! I reasoned. And the next day (I kid you not) I found the initial green fountain pen under Snow White's seat. Scratched and dirty but alive.

Weekend questions

This past weekend we went to Reedy Creek to boulder. D found the nicest problem, I found the most powerful one and M, in true fashion, found the weirdest one (also the hardest methinks)

The greatest mystery remaining is still: while this is definitely the face of happiness:

Is this the face of constipation or extreme focus?

More photos here (also showing Stalin in action).

A story of sorts

My grandmother, in her 80 years of living, had never travelled abroad. She had never boarded a plane either. The only words she knows in English are "OK" and "no". Until a couple of weeks ago when she boarded a plane for Istanbul, and then for Dubai, and then for Sydney, to come to her other grandchild's wedding. I look at her and still can't believe she's here. She looks at us (her two grandchildren), and while she says she's very happy to be here with us, she also says she's sad she can't talk to both of us (my cousin speaks very poor romanian).

She's here in Sydney now and she's having a blast. She is not moving as freely as she used to,  and she needs to do warm up exercises in order to get out of bed, but she remembers what pills she has to take (most of them natural remedies) and now she enjoys shopping at Target and watching the ocean. From Romania, she bought me some acne creams, an electrical ceramic pot*, and a herb-based thingy to improve digestion. For the life of me I can't understand how she made it past  quarantine, but there you have it. She also wrote me a letter detailing a face mask (2 teaspoons of onion juice, lemon juice, and honey) that she found in a natural remedy magazine (Formula AS) and finishing off with "PLEASE make this. Grandma"

*because I don't have time to cook (says she)

One picture Tuesday

A bucketful of stainless steel balls. That's what I need in order to get through that roof. Because you see, I start to lead and then I reach the middle of the roof (2m after the light) and I suddenly get scared and instead of gripping the big big hold I stick my thumb into the bolt hole. And then I can't move anymore and I flail like a wingless chicken and fall.

The story of my life: I could do so many things if only I had a bucket of stainless steel, shiny, balls.

Not drowning

Last year around this time I decided to add further work on my plate and get in touch with my feminine side (snort!). So I joined tango! That turned out to be unfeasible in the long run, because after and during tango I got depressed and then started climbing and then work suddenly went from being busy to being FUCK THIS SHIT WHEN WILL I SLEEP AGAIN?! busy (and has not calmed down) . So then I stopped.

And then a month ago a climbing friend overheard me say that I can swim, if not drowning is considered swimming. And she decided that I will learn how to swim. Or else. She had also been a swimming instructor before getting addicted to climbing, so here I am, going to the Adelaide pool. Three buckets of water swallowed and four sessions later, and I am happy to announce that last night I swam about 1km of freestyle (using fins).

Newsflash:

 If you have friends to support you and tools to make your job easier, things can be quite enjoyable.

One picture Tuesday

Friends, hell has frozen over. This is because over the weekend I went. to. a. spa. Incredible and utter relaxation came my way.

Adult decisions

Apparently one of the things about turning 30 is the fact that you have to make adult decisions. Well, who the fuck would have known?!!!?

That being said, even though I'm 30, I still feel (and act, sadly) like I'm 18. "Nobody tells you", says a colleague, "that you still feel and act like you're 18! It's just that you look old and you act crazy! So damn unfair!"

Anyway, by adult decisions I mean decisions in which I do not get things to go EXACTLY like I want. To the dot.

The first one involves the Adelaide marathon that I was planning on running. It was supposed to be my first marathon on my home turf and I was really looking forward to getting a sub-4 on its very very hilly track. Turns out, I have to go to a wedding in Sydney. My cousin's wedding. Thing is, I would have normally not gone to the wedding, but my grandmother is coming from home. And as such, I have to go. However, I was thinking of flying back immediately after the saturday reception and do the marathon the next day. Not really achievable, at least not properly achievable because romanian weddings tend to be very tiring. So, I'm not doing the Adelaide marathon.

The second one involves my New Zealand expedition. It's going to be a three-week expedition that I will have to break in a two-week trip, followed by a one-week break, and finishing it with the last week. This is because my students have their exam in that period, and I have to be back to grade their exams. I don't have to, as I'm actually not supposed to mark their exams, but I feel so guilty (really, it made me sick to my stomach before I decided on the crazy 2-1-1 plan) for leaving them on their own (?!) that I. just. can't. It's going to probably cost me the Mount Cook summit (planned for the last week), but once I decided on this and emailed the guides I felt incredibly relieved.

To sum it up:

Adulthood, what the fuck?!

One picture Tuesday

But more about adult decisions tomorrow. Today it's all about color!

And so it begins

Come this november, I will be going to an Advanced Mountaineering school taking place in New Zealand. This school is important in many ways, most of which I will not mention here yet, for fear of jinxing them. Nevertheless, I'm going to New Zealand! Again! for an Advanced Mountaineering school!

Rejoice! Wait, no.

Train!

For Aconcagua, i trained twice a week by running uphill on the only hill in Singapore, Vigilante Drive, carrying what seemed like tonnes of water. That training was extremely convenient as the hill was very very close to the NUS campus. This time, there ain't no vigilante drive, and the closest serious hill is 10 km away from school. This means that at least once (if not twice) a week, i will (again) have to wake up at a crazy hour to get my ass out of the bed and house, in order to go walking/running up what is a very gully. 

This would mean that I won't be able to sleep in (i.e. until 7am) on Monday (lecture at 9am), Tuesday (running), Thursday (running), Friday (Chambers Gully), Sunday (running).  Sigh. 

What I would really wish would be for google to have a hill-finding function such that I could locate the steepest hill in the vicinity of the school - i.e. the hill that gives me the best workout / meter. 

High

In the past few days I have been feeling increasingly depressed about two adult decisions that I have to make, where an adult decision is one in which I have to recognize that things will not go EXACTLY my way and that I have to compromise some stuff. Compromise, I hate that word.

Anyway, so I have been feeling down and had been listening to depressing music and brooding and thinking and etc. And last night I went to the climbing gym. On the way there, I resisted the temptation to give in to the "meh" and TURN BACK and go home and lie in a corner. I resisted this temptation three times! I got there and decided two things.

Firstly, I decided to lead. Not on my own, obviously, as we all know what a chicken I am, but somebody prompted me many many times to go.

 Secondly, I decided to lead the roof route. Now the roof route has around 7-10 meters of increasingly overhanging roof, up to the point where the overhang becomes horizontal and then you still have about 5 meters to go. I tried the route once and quit in the middle of the roof, down climbed to the quick draw and hanged.

The second time I led it (without any prompting, I decided this myself!), I got really pumped but also really psyched and in the middle of the roof just went for the next jug. Of course, I was pumped and psyched and did not get it, which resulted in me falling in an empty empty space and swinging like mad about 10-15 meters off the ground*.

IT WAS FANTASTIC!!! The adrenaline rush, the pump and the psyche got me so bubbly last night that I was laughing while coming down and am still living off that high today.

I think I have just found the best cure for depression: adrenaline. Heh.


* there were around 20 kids watching this and I think them and their mothers pissed their pants when this happened (at least judging by the massive shrieking that followed) Sorry!

What's in a name?

... that which we call a rose ...

Talking to my distributed systems class about how naming is an important topic in distributed systems, this phrase kept ringing in my head (i was, I must admit, under the influence of at least two? three? coffees and a couple (four?) panadols).  And it has finally occurred to me just how important names & labels are in my life. And just how immensely powerful a shift from a negative name or label to a positive one can be. And how inanimate objects come to life once named.

Turns out, I name everything.
- school computer: Annapurna; unassuming but deadly mwahahaha
- new laptop: Matterhorn; small and pointy
- ipad: Mont Blanc
- kindle: Hippo
- phone: Gecko
- camera: Tommy
- car: Snow White
- big red suitcase: Boris the Second (after dodo's Boris from switzerland)
- old green crash mat: The Green Lantern
- new black diamond mondo crash mat: Stalin (it's big and it's so goddamn red)
- climbing rope: Sky
- shoes: The Mad Hornets
- myself: Old. Fat. Weak.

Not only do I name everything, but if something remains unnamed, then it also remains unused. Now the only question is ...

.... Can you tell I had a very lonely childhood without many friends?

One picture Tuesday

Australia may not be many things that would make my heart squeal (mountainous for example) but it definitely is the land of the rainbows. Went to the grampians this weekend for a brief stint before lectures on Monday 9-11am and  4-6pm. Got a serious cold and also sent some stuff, which made me tired and delirious for Monday's lecture, but it sure made me happy!

My name is Lian

Du Lian.

It's amazing how absorbed you are with things when you attend workshops - I attended at teaching workshop for the past two days and yesterday i was convinced it was Tuesday! 

Anyway, I bought this smelly frozen goodness yesterday night and we have decided we're going to eat it on Sunday - it is only a thai durian but nonetheless, A DURIAN! On my kitchen top! THAWING! nom nom nom! I can barely contain my enthusiasm.

Yes

I have a life-long rule that requires me always to say  "YES" (convincingly) while going into a hair saloon, regardless of what the hair stylist would propose. This has resulted in some very very interesting cuts, none of which i particularly enjoyed

- In 2008 I wanted something short and manageable such that I could go to South America for two monts and not worry about the hair. I got this, which made me be mistaken for a boy for two months. The series of questions that lead to this was: "Short?" "Yes"; "How short?" "I don't know, what do you think?"; "Three cm short?" "Yes".

- And then I wanted bangs, and Singaporean hair stylists have experience only with cutting straight hair - sadly I can't find the picture to show you.

- Then for the wedding I wanted something fluffy. "Curls?" "Yes." "Big curls?" "Yes"

- When I came to Adelaide I wanted something shorter again, because by then I was carrying around what seemed like 5 kg of hair. The series of questions were: "Short?" "Yes" "This short?" "Yes" "Layered?" "Yes" "Straightened?""Yes". This is what I got. Please note that I really wanted a short hair cut and I really hate any form of hair straightening.

- And then on Thursday I went climbing with a version of this haircut and the hair annoyed the crap out of me, so i went to get it cut. "Short?" "Yes" "Very short?" "Yes" "Can I use the shaving machine?""Yes""I'll cut it to some length first and then you can say if you like it, ok?""Yes"[... cut cut cut]"Do you like it?""Yes". Damn, still no short hair. This one is weird, too!

The good part about this is that nobody has asked if they should die my hair, or shave it. 

A story of defeat in pictures

This week I tried to have my first run after the Goldcoast marathon and after coming back from Singapore (more on this tomorrow). It was HORRIBLE. I could barely run 2 km, and even those 2 with stops and pulls and kicks and walks. A student's offhand comment about my marathon time from last year (I have become an Internet persona - FUCK IT!) got me to look back at the photos from the finish line from last year, and compare them with this year.

2012 Finish (04:00:41): Defeated and almost dead - actually, when the girl just in front of me collapsed, I was seriously tempted :)

2011 Finish (04:07:53): Happy, no pressure.

Sigh. My superstitious self says that it must be the watch, the shoes, or the sunglasses I'm wearing, because other than that I didn't change anything in my outfit.

Shoulder muscles-wise, it's good to see that nothing has changed - they could have gotten bigger.

One picture Tuesday

I went to Singapore last week for Marian's commencement. I will have to come clean and confess that I started eating when I got off the plane, and I stopped eating when i got on it.

I pigged out on durian but not as much as I would have wanted, sadly. How can people hate this fruit?

Good to be back

Having spent the past 3 months travelling through Australia - if numerous work and/or pain visits to Brisbane, Sydney, Goldcoast, Grampians (Horsham!)  can be considered travelling - I had forgotten how absolutely glamorous Singapore is. The first hit of glamour is when you reach Changi airport and everything is shiny and spotless and pwetty.

And then if you happen to have arrived at night and you take a cab in the city, the Singapore skyline leaves you truly and utterly speechless. It's all glass and steel and fancy, funky architecture (well, at least until you reach the HDBs, but then again not many tourists do). I had never realised just how nice this actually is. Alas, while admiring it, it also dawned on me how much I would detest living in a big city again. I must admit I was a bit surprised, as it never occurred to me that I would be such a boring, homely girl. Wait, I'm not!

Anyway, it's good to be back for the besties (more musings on this tomorrow),  for the food (FOOD! FOOD!), but also to see my (former) supervisor, and to realise, just how much of a copy of him I have become*. Let the feasting and the shopping (ahem) begin!!

*minus the sociopathic micro-management issues that is.

One picture Tuesday

Well, I was going to post a picture of a durian seeing how I am going to Singapore nom nom nom! But, I decided for this instead:

Grading exam papers

Some time ago I made the (probably stupid) decision to grade all of my students' exam papers, to give me an idea about how badly I failed as a lecturer. Gah. Of course, it does not help with my general mood that I've been up from five am doing this. Anyway, I've been trying to keep myself fed and watered and coffeed and I'm taking frequent (painful - remember, yesterday's marathon?) walks around the department to try to calm myself down. But what really helps is this:

04:00:41

Oh, the fucking irony. I am sitting in the god damned Brisbane airport and literally crying in frustration (must be because i'm tired but the tears, they are flowing)

It was so fucking close and I made this stupid stupid mistake to start sprinting for the damn finish too early! And then I got a damn stitch and almost didn't make it to the finish...

DAMN! My first sub-4 marathon, so god damned close, yet so fucking far!!!!!!

Fuck it!