Forget Dream. Love Paris

It was a cloudy morning in Paris. The magnificent tower stood still, overlooking the excited tourists, the hopeless romantics, and some of the local Parisians who did not give a damn of the metal structure anymore.
Many camera stands were set up, waiting for the right moment to take a snapshot of the beautiful city. You were holding a book, flipping over a few pages during the wait. At the same time, you were scrolling through a few chapters of your own memory too. Nothing went into your mind, totally nothing. Soon, you realised the moment has gone by. You then took out the illustrated map given by the lady in your hostel, somewhere near Montmarte. It was a beautiful map, but it didn't lead you to the place you wanted to go so badly. You found yourself got lost in the streets. Strolling along Boulevard Saint-Germain, you tried to trace back the conversations you once had with some of the strangers, who were interested in Hemingway and Fitzgerald. It reminded you of the scenes in Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris". There was a downpour, in the evening. The drizzle, after the short downpour, gave the city a misty feeling. Every step you took is a step back in the classy, elegant Jazz Age in the '20s. While you were forgoing the dream of having a romantic encounter with your destined lady in this majestic city, you found out that you were lost in time. And at that instant, you fell in love with Paris.

伦敦男孩：追逐纽约

那是一个需要越过北大西洋（North Atlantic Ocean) 的梦想。

就像在1912年启航的铁达尼号，一个希望能够去探索纽约市的儿时梦。因为，人人告知他，纽约是个成就任何理想的梦幻城市。

而靠着政府奖学金和暑假工所存到的储蓄，伦敦男孩，就这样独自飞往北美洲去了。

到了那里，看见人类战胜环境的毅力。处处都可看见高楼大厦，是个名副其实的钢骨森林。其实，也是到了那里才发现到，纽约不仅是个让你实现任何理想的地方，也是个让你梦想破灭的地方。

奇迹，在那里，就算你相信了，也依旧是个奇迹。那是个很奇妙的感觉。在纽约里，你突然会觉得你变得很渺小。可以是被压力逼迫着，也可以是被伟大的梦想吓唬着。坦白说，一时之间，也说不清楚。

很多时候，坐在纽约地铁 (Subway) ，由于要回去86街 (West 86th St) 的路途遥远，都会习惯性地观察四周的乘客。在地铁车厢里，觉得能够装着的梦想是多么的脆弱，在人挤人、人比人的社会里，很多梦想都会像泡沫般破掉。

这种感觉，在纽约42街的中央车站(Grand Central Terminal)里，特别深刻。

到了晚上，纽约特别热闹，就是所谓的 “the city that never sleeps”。可是，那些热闹，与许多在黑夜里默默为理想耕耘的灵魂，形成强烈的对比。站在第5大道(5th Avenue)上，看见的，满是绚丽和繁华的象征，但是当你爬到帝国大厦(Empire State Building)，黑夜笼罩时，俯瞰着纽约城，你会看见满街都是疲惫、落寞的市井小民。

走上Harlem，遇到了些年过六旬的黑人老伯。十几年前，这里是非常出名的爵士(jazz)社区，现在，也只有往事只能回味。有些望着关闭了的爵士会所，喃喃自语，不断地叙说着当年的场景是如何的华丽。一个过气社区，在岁月的流逝中，慢慢接受着被世人遗忘的悲惨命运。

然后，从112街搭地铁到Brooklyn。在河岸边，也看见了一个社区在迎接新时代的诞生。说真的，在那里观赏黄昏，会觉得非常浪漫。金黄色的夕晖，徐徐地照射着Brooklyn 桥和曼哈顿 (Manhattan)的大厦。或许这是纽约市，唯一拒绝变得现实的地段；而纽约，也认同了现实的紧迫，需要美好的夕阳来调剂一下。

这城市，让伦敦男孩见证了成就梦想的辛酸和代价。很多时候，梦想就像一个来自小市镇的舞蹈者，拼搏多时来到百老汇(Broadway)，却因为竞争异常激烈，所以被丢弃到时代广场的路旁。为了实现一个梦想，就注定了毁灭成千上万的梦想。

这是纽约。一个全世界都围绕着她的城市，资本和现实的代号。

The Curious Case of Coffee Shops- Conjuring Spaces and Imaginations

A year ago, a friend introduced me to some of the arguably best coffee shops in London,  like Prufrock Coffee, Monmouth etc. The coffee was pretty good, but what really struck me over there was- neither the single origin filter coffee, nor the amazing flat white or latte brewed behind the elegant Lavazza coffee machine.

They were actually the spaces, the interior designs, and the people over there.

I noticed the creative usage of space- not just to attract more customers, but to display the imaginations of a barista. He is the 'Architect of Spaces', constructing what he wishes to see in his own shop, eg: the interaction and the flow of the customers, and whether there's enough privacy for everyone in the public space, but at the same time, doesn't stop everyone from talking to anyone if he/she wishes to.

The unique design has created an intriguing meeting point for those who genuinely enjoy coffees, those who are there to be pretentious ; those who are there to escape from the real world; or those who are there to simply embrace the spaces.

Although it's a place which tends to move on a slower pace than the outside world, many ideas, emotions, and conversations appear more frequent to inspire the people in the coffee shops. It's like a microcosm of the entire dynamism of a big metropolitan city, but in a contradictory manner.

A little cup of flat white and a relaxing ambience in a quaint surrounding are pacing themselves towards forming an idea that was once scattered pieces of fragments, or brewing a casual yet meaningful conversation that you never thought you would have in the midst of a bustling city life.

Therefore, during my trips to some of the most vibrant cities in the world, I have taken some time out to visit some cafes and photograph some of the sights and scenes which I personally feel, have inspired me to appreciate life from a more beautiful perspective, in one way or another.

Prufrock Coffee, London

Workshop Coffee, London

Association Coffee, London 

Monmouth Coffee & Co, London

Sight Glass, San Francisco

Market Lane Coffee, Melbourne

Stumptown Roaster, New York

Monocle Cafe, London

Sight Glass, San Francisco

Thinking Cup, Boston

Fazil Bey, Istanbul

Prufrock Coffee, London

Flat White, London

Monocle Cafe, London

Approaching quarter-life, where are the dots and how to connect them?

Seriously, I have no idea. 

There are so many articles out there, circulating around telling you what you ought to do in your 20s, what you should not do in your early 20s, what you wished to know in your 20s, and bla bla bla... and it gets repetitious after some time.

I came across this line a while ago. 'The best way to get life experience is to go out there and live'. The best advice to build your own future has to come from yourself. You have to observe how to observe, to learn how to learn, and to fail how to fail, in order to succeed. 

Then I started to find the dots and tried to connect them by travelling.  (p/s: But then again, this is not the only way, or the best way as implied by those articles on the internet. )

There was a time in my university life when I suddenly realised that I haven't seen the world enough. London is the only big city I have lived in throughout my life. Being a metropolitan city, London has provided me many great opportunities and occasions to see things from various perspectives, as well as amazing experiences that I have never come across before. 

From then onwards, I chased after big cities. From London to Paris, to Berlin, to Amsterdam, to New York, to San Francisco, to Istanbul and to Melbourne. Some of them carry a baggage from the past, some of them carry a mission for the future, while some of them carry a lifestyle of the present. So, I thought I would be able to find some extraordinary dots to connect. 

Truth to be told, those cities were really captivating, offering many answers, yet giving more questions at the same time. However I couldn't connect the dots that I found along the way. The journey is akin to looking into a very unique kaleidoscope- beautiful, yet so perplexing.

When I was in San Francisco, I had the chance to get down to some of the tech clusters in Palo Alto and Mountain View. The dynamism is off the chart, and the contradictory traits are so profoundly true. I tried to emulate parts of them, but to no avail. It gets so unreal and psychologically difficult to maintain. 

I took some time out after graduation, so that I will have the time to understand those dots that I found along the journey, before starting a new chapter in life. The observations, feelings, and thoughts which appeared serendipitously in the quest for connecting the dots were thrown out to see the connections between them.  

Few months later, nothing came out of it. Many lines were drawn, many shapes were formed, and even more were erased and remained as dots, as they were before.

So, sometimes I wonder, where are the dots and how to connect them? (blame Steve for this. oh maybe Apple gonna patent this up too! )

 

回国后

四年后的故事，原来，早在四年前已经被命运编写了。那剧本，现在才呈现于眼前。

回国前，你告诉自己要重新适应，因为熟悉的一切，都已经变得陌生。回国后，结果你觉得，很多东西都没想象中改变得那么快。人也一样，地方也一样。陌生的，原来是你自己。

殊不知，当起了本国的外地人。暗地里，别人或许觉得你高傲，你也或许觉得别人卑微。什么都没变，只有你自己变得陌生罢了。

本国的外地人，这是一个所有浸过洋水的学生都向往的身份。否则，当年为何你嚷着要出去看世界？可是，站在这个平台上，那身份，又和你的所在地，显得格格不入。

别人看到你，觉得你既陌生，又熟悉。你看到别人，既熟悉，但陌生。

结果，唯一能做的是，寻找曾经在海外一起念书的朋友，或者和你拥有相同经验的人。在某种程度上，开通的思维，始终敌不过陌生的环境。

心理上，我们还是会惯性地去寻找有过类似经验的群众，以得到慰籍。

与其说被社会排斥，这是另类的自我放逐。你选择了一条开拓视野的路，翱翔世界，你已经成为真真实实的地球人 （global citizen）。放逐了自己，是时候调适一下，落脚于稳定的生活。

开始规划，开始看物资，开始看房子。

很多时候，在亲朋戚友的聚会上，你会很自然地说，我们在英国时，是怎样怎样的； 又或者说，你在外面是如何度过那四年的，世界是如何的大等等。

当你说完后，抬头一看，原来你已经回国了。

On the Bridge, Castle in the Air

So, there I was, strolling on the Millennium Bridge for the last time-with the magnificent St.Paul's cathedral overlooking me from behind, and the amazing view of the River Thames on both sides of the bridge.

All of a sudden, there's this weird admiration, deep down, towards the architect behind this bridge. It seemed to me he must have thought that such beautiful scenes shouldn't be enjoyed separately by the people on two different islands.

People should be able to share the scenes together in the middle of the river. Well, that's just what I thought. Maybe that's what a farewell tribute to a city does to my imagination.

This reminds me of the many beautiful bridges that have laid before my eyes, when I was travelling around the world. Some of the notable ones are the Tower Bridge, The Golden Gate Bridge, and the Brooklyn Bridge.

If you look closely enough, they are like the modern castle in the air, an impossible piece of art in the middle of a river stream.

And what they do is to bring people from different sides of the islands to meet each other in the eyes. Well, sometimes it could lead to more than meeting the eyes.

Some encounters are for the sunset of today, while some are for the sunrise of tomorrow. We never know.

What we do know is that, if you don't cross the bridge, you will only see half of the scenery, and the other half could just lie right at the end of the bridge.

Note for London #003 - Imperial walking tour, Down memory lane

I was telling myself this, when I was resting at a small park near St.Paul's Cathedral.

"Imagine yourself doing a walking tour from Earls Court to Imperial College. How would that be?"

I always have this crazy dream, that one day if I become famous, the route from where I lived in London to the college I studied in would be a path that people would love to retrace and visit.

This is exactly like what I did in Paris. To follow the route where Hemingway went to Shakespeare and Co. to borrow the books he wanted and went to La Closerie des Lilas to have a cup of coffee.

And so, the journey begins at 15, Longridge Road, somewhere near Earls Court.

A short walk along Cromwell Road, and we will arrive at Lexham Garden. It will then lead us to this small lane, somewhere between two old white houses, right behind the private garden in the middle of the neighbourhood.

Come autumn season, the Cornwall Garden Walk will have colourful leaves that fall from the trees. It's as beautiful as the flowers that you see in the summer, as if the flowers bequeath their wonderful colours to their counterparts. 

Oh, don't forget about '50G, The Little House'. A cute and memorable name for the tiny house. It's just located at the top of the slope, after the Cornwall Garden Walk.

You will also see the 'Babboe Big' children cart at 66, Cornwall Garden. The children cart is attached to a main bicycle, just like those that you see in Amsterdam. Probably a Dutch family, I guess. 

Pay a visit to the Kynance Mews too. It's like a hidden garden, shying away from the hustle and bustle of Gloucester Road during the day. Some of the houses are painted in different colours, similar to the houses in Burano or Cinque Terre.

Towards the end of the road, you will see an arch covered by vines, as if the plants are welcoming you into a hidden tunnel, to a different world.

Then, there is this Cafe Deco at 62, Gloucester Road; where students will buy the 1 pound baguette every weekday after 6pm. Well, given the price, the quality is largely compromised.

Or, the students will buy the lamb briyani or chicken curry rice from The Sandwich Shop, at 54 Gloucester Road.

In between these two shops, you will find a small, modern french art studio, displaying some of the most stunning and impressive arts at 58, Gloucester Road.

Can't really believe that I will somehow miss the route to college.

Note for London #002

I go on the same route, back to college, and see what have I missed along the way.

Nothing much. I wondered, whether there isn't much to see along the way to college, or is it that my eyes have lost the ability to spot the hidden beauty?

Post-college life is a complete chaos of mixed feelings. Part of myself feel out of place, with this familiar route that I have taken everyday back then.

So familiar that now it's so strange to retrace the path.

The Queens tower is still there. Standing tall, overlooking the freed men, and those who are still chained to the slavery of courseworks.

Many things happened in the past 4 years. Some relationships are still there, some are not, some you are not even sure what have they turned into.

That's Imperial College for you. Many from the outside would like to enter, and many from the inside would like to escape from it. Can't believe we have been living with the irony for 4 years.

Note for London #001 - The Beginning of an End

Very often I get this question from my friends, "Since you travelled quite a lot, which city or country do you think is the best? "

And, I couldn't find an answer for that. Because I think, the more you travelled, the more you realise that the world is so diverse, that each city or country has her own beauty.

There isn't one best city that everyone should live in. But there will definitely be one city that can accommodate you, and make you happy.

Today, my supervisor asked me something different, "After travelling to so many cities, which one would you return to?"

This prompts me to think very hard. I couldn't answer it immediately. However, after giving it some thoughts, the city that I will return to is London.

Yes, it's London.

Well, maybe it could be part of the graduation goggles, that I think I won't be coming back anytime soon. Hence, I miss it even more.

Or,

It could be this is the only city I have stayed for so long, other than Seremban. 4 years- a period of time which is short enough to leave, but long enough to miss.

This place used to be a dreamland, when I was younger, singing along with the London Bridge nursery rhymes; and then it becomes a reality, and takes part of my heart away eventually.

From Seremban, to London; and from London, to the world. The exposure, the people, the experience- they are just so great.

The best thing a city can offer is to give you space to explore more rooms for yourselves. And, London has managed to do that.

From science to engineering, to politics, to writing, to banking and finance, to entrepreneurship, to art and design, to coffee and to travelling.

Truly a melting pot, of thoughts and cultures.

Thank you London, for the amazing 4 years. I will miss you dearly.

10 quotes that will change your travelling perspective

1. You will have a tinge of regret, when you are about to board the plane at Gate 56. Like why I didnt visit this particular place or do particular thing. But, somehow tell yourself that it's fine, because that tinge of regret is the reason that you will come back to this place again. You will miss it dearly, and that's simply beautiful.

2. Constantly moving around in a city as a stranger will only see as much as your eyes can see. Take a short break at a local coffee shop which shies away from the crowd, and you will see more than your eyes can see.

3. Put a globe or a world map in your bedroom, and your dream will be bigger than the world that you have seen.

4. Challenges are in abundance when you are in a foreign land. The nature will challenge you spiritually, the city will challenge you intellectually, at the end of the day, it's not so much about overcoming the challenges, it's about stretching yourself to a new limit that matters the most.

5. Sometimes, we tend to force ourselves to feel differently about different cities. I do that too at first, and I found out that is harmful to ourselves, because the travelling objective has changed from observing a place to observing ourselves. This is not good.

6. Be a traveller, and not a tourist; for a traveller will tell his story with his eyes closed, but with his heart opened; while a tourist will tell his story with his eyes opened, but with his heart closed.

7. As much as we are changed by the cities we visited, the cities are changed by our perspectives as well. It's like the butterfly effect. You smile to the city, and the city will hug you back. One traveller can change another traveller, and it all started from just a warm hello.

8. Always remember the random routes, the random conversations, or even the random sights you randomly encountered at a place. These are the most random, yet most precious souvenirs you can get from a place.

9. Rather than listening to the stories from the sailors, sail out to the sea like the message in a bottle. Travelling is a voyage that will make the message meaningful.

10. Carry the dreams of your younger self while you are travelling. It could be - to see the starry sky in the desert or to hike the mountains like Indiana Jones. It helps to rediscover your dreams in life, and to answer the curiosity you once had as a kid.

Of dreams and reality

As usual, I did my random read on my Facebook news feeds today. And I stumbled upon this line in a piece of article.

"You need to let your dreams change your reality; don’t let your reality changes your dreams. " 

As I am reading this line, many things seem to be running through my mind. It's nothing special, let alone being profound. Nevertheless, it's such a simple fact that we usually overlook or that we conveniently choose to use the latter as an excuse for the former. 

It has been a good 4 years since the day I hopped onto a plane to fly from KLIA to Heathrow. So many things have changed since the day I dreamed of coming to the UK, till the moment I feel heavy-hearted to leave this country. 

This line resonates very much with me because the exposure, the experience and the perspective that I am having right now, are pretty much a manifestation of many small, little dreams. Those small dreams are like the 400+ tiny bridges in Venice, which connect me from one place to another. 

And, many of those journeys and detours that I have made, are not plans that I have outlined before I came here. All of them happened in a pretty random manner, looking back in hindsight. 

Back in 2010, I didn't even know whether I would survive my time here in Imperial, and now I am few weeks away from leaving this institution. 

The people and the incidents that occurred to me are like stamps given by the border officers on your passport when you are travelling across the countries. 

An indelible mark of rewards for the decisions that I took, that was once backed by so much fears and one "you only live once" thought. 

You have to move across the boundaries, to get to another places.There's no way you can change your reality by talking about dreams. You can only change it by dreaming of changing it.  

Before I came here, the reality that I once had, is so real that you hardly even believe that you are able to do what you have been dreaming all day long. 

Thinking of going back to the reality I once had is not terrifying, but it feels strange whenever I start to think about it. It's like going back to home, but it has a tinge of distant feeling towards my own home. 

Maybe, reality and dream, after all, are at different sides of the same coin, that you need to turn over once in a while to not let your dream slip away, thinking that the coin has only one side that is valuable to your life. 

The Tales of the Desert

When I was younger, my mum told me about the stories of Aladdin and the Magic Carpet, Alibaba and the 40 thieves, as well as the smart, little girl who managed to tell a story to the king for 1001 nights.

As I grew up, I got a chance to read the book The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, a Brazilian author. I read about snake charmers, fortune tellers with orbs, gypsies and many other mysterious characters that form part of my childhood experience.

The tales of the desert thus began.

So, it started with a camel. At first, I thought that the 'ship of the desert' would give you the ride of your life, like a pirate ship that sails across the Caribbean, just like how Captain Jack Sparrow did it. Instead, riding on a camel that kept on bumping, to get deep into the desert was kind of a pain in the ass, both literally and figuratively.

Well, it's still a ride of your life anyway.

Looking at the vast desert, I got excited. Sitting at the sand dunes, counting the stars. The sky was magical, full of stars and constellations. I started counting them, then I realised that it's better to just leave them alone. 

Ibrahim, the stargazer came. He told me about the Big Dipper and Small Dipper, the Draco (dragon), which consists of 25 stars and the Scorpio. Since young, I have always wanted to get a telescope, but living in a town with light pollution calls off the whole idea. So, I read the stories of constellations from books instead, and get to know how the Scorpio fights with Orion in the sky and hence they never appear together in the night sky.

We shared stories. I shared my Greek mythology and he shared his wisdom on stars. The hours went by, and he told me that they normally forget the hours in the desert. Living your life without counting the hours, and just follow the stars.

I also met a person who sold carpets. I asked him 'why is carpet so important to you guys?'

He told me that there are 2 versions of  the stories. One, is that it represents a book or a diary to them. They put the messages or wisdom that they want to tell on a carpet. Or it could also be a condensed memory, to preserve what you have experienced on a carpet. 

The other one is about the Moroccan girls. They use the carpets as a welcoming gesture, to give a warm hospitality to the guests that come to their houses. At times, it could also be a silent protest. If you see a camel on the carpet, it might mean that the girl is complaining that even camels have more freedom than them. 

I also met the snake charmers and the fortune tellers with cards in the market. Just like those Arabic tales, you feel a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, in the lifestyle of these people. But those depictions of stealing your money with black magic are not true, maybe there are, but I haven't met any of them. I only gave them some dirhams to snap some pictures. 

Sometimes, I do have this wild dream that one day, my experience could become one of the Tales of the Desert. You know that type that you carry on a camel and walk across the dunes, and spread it to other people in the oasis. 

Or it could be a story that people string them together behind a group of stars in a night sky, far away from the Earth, and travels in the speed of light to another galaxy. After a lightyear or so, the generations to come will listen to this story, like how I listened to my bedtime stories from my mum.

Either way, I am happy to see that the 12-year-old me, is watching the sky in awe, while lying on the sand, bare-footed, but with a mind full of imaginations.

Thank you, Strangers.

We are all strangers. Before we give each other a smile, before we say ‘hello’, before we walk into each other’s life. To pay our gratitude to someone we know is hard enough, let alone saying thank you to someone whom we have just met for once and parted ever since. 

Who we are today, to a certain extent, is related to some strangers who have crossed our path at some points in our lives. It’s this unfathomable, weird and random intertwining of fate and luck that brings us together and teaches us something that nobody we know can teach us.

I have met many strangers along the way, especially through my travelling here in Europe and in the States. For me, travelling has enriched my life in an unprecedented way, but the strangers who appeared along the journey meant much more. They are like a small cup of espresso, or a pint of Stella that gives my trips a refreshing breath.  And now, those moments remain as a lifetime of scenic fragrance in my memory.   

Hence, to some of the strangers that I have met, I would like to thank you.  

There was a time when I was on a flight back from Berlin and out of shear misfortune; the flight was delayed as it ran out of fuel. This was all due to the massive air traffic queue at Gatwick airport. So, the pilot flew from Gatwick to another airport (Stansted), got refilled, and landed at Gatwick again. After the delay, I missed my bus back to Central London.  

My first thought was that I had to spend the night at the airport. So to pass the time, I started talking to the stranger next to me. Turned out that you are a British businessman who works at London and Berlin. The best part was that you live so close to my place at Central London. So, you fetched me home with your BMW Z3. On the way home, we talked about Berlin history, the Berlin weekend nightlife which goes all the way till 11am the next day and the start-up culture in Berlin.

To the middle-aged, hospitable Norwegian hostel owner at a small town called Hellesylt in Norway.  You knew how much I wanted to visit the Geiranger fjord, but there wasn’t any ferry service around that time. You then drove me with your beige 1965 Chevrolet Suburban, to a spot where I could overlook the fjord.

While I couldn’t thank you enough for your kindness, you only replied me this.

“I was there once. I was young before”.   

Also, to the German guy who told me you were doing you internship at Audi in Chicago, thanks for being my bike partners while I was cycling at the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. You told me how much you missed your school teacher girlfriend in Hamburg, and how much I should treasure my dreams and my loved ones, for they are the only things that we will think of in front of a beautiful sunset. That, is indeed true.

To the Spanish guy who couldn’t speak English at all, and represented your district for a martial art competition in Porto. We spent the whole half an hour talking, by just using our gestures. You taught me that languages are not as important as the intentions when we want to communicate with each other.  Ironically, it’s that when we have common language, we complicate our speech; but when we don’t get each other’s words, we become more patient.

And, to this Brazilian lady at the Le Regent Montmarte hostel in Paris, thank you for teaching me that travelling is the only thing that makes us rich, after we have spent all of our money. Oh and the samba dance moves with the red wine. Your gesture was so friendly, so much so that it kept me warm, from the ice-cold weather outside the hostel. 

Thank you to all of you. For without you guys, I wouldn’t know that sometimes, being a stranger is as good as being a friend. We were friends once, and became strangers after that. Probably, leaving it as how it is gives a better definition for the encounters. 

Do not be a stranger that gives people a cold shoulder, but be one that lends a helping hand and brings joy to others. One day you will realise that you might be in one of those thank you cards which are pinned on the boards, at one of the youth hostels, somewhere in this world, with the kind words,

“The best stranger I have ever known”

5 Things you realise after your final exam is over

So, the four, long years of college have finally come to an end.

The exam is over. So, what's next?

1. The exam is over. But the department loves you so much that they tell you "boy, dont rush off to enjoy in the big big world, you still have your final year project waiting for you." So, it's not really over yet. The euphoria that bursts out into the thin air just gets deflated like a party balloon. You then realise you are in this weird limbo, between celebrating the end of college exam, taking a break, and doing your project. Then, you crawl back to your desk and look up to the Queen's message : Keep Calm and Carry On.

2. The library is getting quieter. So, this is pretty weird. Library is at the peak of its noise level when everyone is preparing for the exams. And, library is turning back into a library, after exams. Where you don't get people eating, where you don't get people making noise, and where you don't get people reserving for places. Oh. and we don't sleep in the library anymore.

3. The weather. There's a famous saying about London weather: "If you don't like the weather, just wait for a few minutes". Before that, you were in the library 24/7, (well dont take it literally, while for those who take it literally, god bless you) so the weather didn't really affect you. Now, you have a couple of minutes to spare, and you start realising the weather is not as sunny as 2 weeks before, and you start questioning, "where did the sun go?" And, the sun leave a message on it's unreachable cellphone: "i am on a summer vacation, will be back soon. ttyl"

4. The room. Your room is the one single place you are most afraid of after exams. It's full of small, little hills built out of your notes, past year paper exams and text books. Then, looking at them, with your mouth wide opened, you don't know where to start to tidy up your room. Then, a brilliant idea came into your mind. "Oh, I still have a final year project to do."

5. The notes. Should I burn it? Should I throw it away? Should I bequeath this treasure to the juniors? Or should I bring it back to my home country? With so many questions running in your mind, saying a yes to the 2nd question is the usual option. One, you recycle and help the nature. Second, you save the troubles for yourself to keep thinking about it.

      

被遗忘的热血政治

似乎很久了。那感觉，像个被放置在垃圾堆里的弃婴，被遗忘，被放弃。

四年前，还未到英国就读时，因为有常阅读报章的习惯，所以也就喜欢起写作来。后来，慢慢的，开始想以文字，为别人打抱不平。 这，开始了投稿到星洲言路版(Letters to The Editor)的旅程。

当你越写越多时，很自然地你就开始对政治产生兴趣。那时候，SPM毕业后，得不到JPA的海外奖学金。一气之下，把所有的怒气和埋怨，用文字大吐苦水。开始关注起教育课题，开始去阅读专业政治评论员的文章，开始去想到底如何利用文字改变大马人的思维，如何推动国家改革。

一个十七岁的少年，为了热血政治(和赚多一些稿费)，什么时事课题都拿来臭骂一顿。这是我最早期对于"个人利益离不开政治,政治也离不开个人利益"的切身体验。满腔热血，还曾一度想去报读 Political Science。

后来，到了吉隆坡去读 A－levels，认识了志同道合的朋友。开始出席MSLS，开始浏览Recom。然后，觉得只用华文来谈政治，始终无法和更大的朋友群辩论和沟通。这也开始了我为Berita Harian, Dewan Siswa, Malaysiakini书写的路程。后来想到,将来要去英国读书，所以也开始留意英文报的评论文章。

 然后，得到梦寐以求的奖学金。为了保障自身和奖学金的安全，我停止去写一切有关政治的文章。 这些年的夏季，都有回去马来西亚。出席了一些讲座，很多都是没有建设性的意见。你要讲话的平台，政府也给你。但是，你所说的东西，他也不会去听。

渐渐的，我开始对大马失望。对着一箩箩的旧问题，更是反感。大二时，为了让更多的年轻人明白到现实和实际的残酷，唯有做好自己的本分，才能够让自己的声音被听见，就像潘建成那样，我投稿去Malaysia Insider。 然后就有位学生大力抨击，说大马才独立５０多年，民主化需要时间，急不来。

 我顿时失望透顶。决定不再写政治文章了，因为那时候觉得，写了一大堆，政府依旧我行我素，问题依旧没有解决。大家都不明白，再等下去，国家就会完蛋了。

就这样，我变成了，十七岁的自己反感的那种人－开始对政治冷感。 在大三时，我的室友对政治很有兴趣。只可惜，我已找不回年少的热情。每每提起一些课题，我都哑口无言。因为我已经改变初衷了。

我相信，行动胜于言语，甚至文字。

 现在，看着身边的亲朋戚友都对政治感兴趣了。大家都看到希望，大家都热血起来了。 这让我很感动。看着海外和国内的朋友也不断呼吁大家投票来改变历史，拯救国家未来。国家兴亡，匹夫有责。我们看到了我们的责任，我们的能力，我们的理想。

一个大选，让一个政治冷感的年轻人，感到热血起来。这好象突然回到１９５５年，我们全国上下决定反殖民的那个时刻。

Of Exam, Optimisation and Dreams

Exam sucks. The preparation is even worse.

People said that graduation goggles might help to relieve a little, and fuel your drive and motivation, but in fact, looking at my current progress, this revision isn't going anywhere. With the current speed, apparently it's not optimised enough to prepare for the Optimization exam this coming Thursday.

All the past year papers, notes and some random sheets of formula are secretly forming a maze on my table. Hence, while I can't search for my missing calculator, I turn to my blog, and decide to write something totally random.

So, I am sitting at a random space in this stress-packed central library, facing some computers and people, or zombies, I am not too sure. But yeah, at the very least, they are still breathing. More like gasping for air, I suppose.

After you exit the library, you will see the Queen's Lawn. Sometimes you don't know why the lawn is even there at the first place. Most of the time London is so cold, so that means most of the time you don't use it. When the warmth and sun are out, they build some temporary buildings on the lawn. So, you don't get to use it as well.

When are we supposed to use it then? Since young, I have always thought that a university without a beautiful lawn ( to use) is incomplete. Now, getting closer to graduation, I sigh for myself and hope for the best for the juniors.   

I think this Optimisation subject really intends to optimise your brain power. You know the scientific study that says you only use 5% of your brain? Yes, this subject is pushing the boundaries. The notes are from some research labs on Mars, and the past year papers is the only source of information to keep hypnotising yourself that this is the subject that will be beneficial for your future.

Well, that's the only reason I took it few months back anyway.

With intense pressure, comes great daydreams.

Time to sign off. May the luck be with me, and of course us. 
 

On the 7th Street, I saw a coffee house.

It was a foggy, wet morning in San Francisco. The streets were crowded with the absence of people, and some cars would pass by occasionally to get the street to cheer up a little under such weather condition.

I walked down the street. Some old theatres and neon signs can be seen, struggling to withstand the flow of time and people, from the yesterdays. It was said that in situations where the time passes and history stays, the memory lingers, like an old man who walks up and down along Bridge Theatre on 3010 Geary Boulevard, reminiscing the past like his own baby in the cradle.

So, I was looking for this independent coffee house. It was posted by a photographer in San Francisco on Instagram. Many hotel receptionists around haven't heard the name before. This intrigued me, even further.

Usually, miracle happens in a minute or two when you're about to give up. Then, I saw the coffee house.

The cashier took my order, after recommending me one of their house coffees. A pretty simple layout, with some gunny sacks and boxes around. The Californians love the green concept, and hence they practice it in their daily lives as well. Most of the things in this coffee house are recyclable.

One thing I love about being in an independent coffee house, is to be able to observe the world of personalities. I saw an Asian-American couple, each taking a mug of coffee, sitting down on a bench, with some cute algae-like decorations behind as the backdrop, watching the world goes by.

Then I saw a grumpy designer, with his metallic grey MacBook Air, staring into space while developing new ideas for his project. And of course, the calm artist, who sat at the lower floor, looking out to the street, while sipping the coffee from his mug.

I was told that the coffee house used to be a neon signs manufacturing factory. Now, the neon signs business is gone, hence they try to make something out of this empty warehouse. It's quaint and hippie, like an outcast from the elegant Starbucks chains.

As I stepped out, I was thinking, 4 years ago, when I started writing, I wished that one day I can do these three things all at once -- travelling, photography and writing. Each of them is like an element in an equilateral triangle, fuelling each other with different perspectives, but of equal importance. I am thankful for having the opportunity to do that.

Of course, a cup of latte from an artistic coffee house will always be the best fuel for all three of them, to continue the journey of  globetrotting. 

Afternoon by the Bay

I saw this bookshop, stood right across Columbus Avenue. The light turned green, and I crossed the road. They said it carries a baggage, full of history, of pain and victory. I stepped into it, and felt a rush of freedom, breezing through.

There were some words, written by Shakespeare and Co., hanging on the wall of this bookstore. Shakespeare and Co. has fed the Lost Generation, and the Beats generation was fed by City Lights. Two bookstores, carried the same duty on their shoulders, during different times. And now, I am browsing the history of major literature movements like never before.

That afternoon, I was reading Howl, by Allen Ginsberg. And, as I was trying to hide away from the sunlight, I saw a lovely, young couple, sitting at the rocking chairs, right at the opposite corner of the 3-storey bookstore.The boy was reading a poem to the girl. The girl smiled occasionally, while the boy was looking at her constantly.  A soft, yet passionate recitation,  together with the warm Californian wind, gave you a perfect afternoon that you could never have in London, at this very same moment.

I almost dozed off, with a beautiful dream began to set up its own stage in my mind.

Rain at Earls Court

He came down to the doorstep at 15, Longridge Road. He looked out to the same pathway that he has been taking since Autumn.

It's still as wet, as it had been, months before.With the same backpack, and the same old black umbrella, he went onto the same pathway.

He knew that he won't be able to see the rainbows. The rain always comes early, and lingers; while the sun never comes, or it sets early.

The only rainbows that he can probably see these days, are the colourful umbrellas that he sees on the street. Maybe that is as close as the Londoners can get to cheer themselves up, when they are looking up to the sky, under the colourful umbrellas.


Many people who were on the same pathway, stopped by at Bencho, the local coffee house. The warm, cosy couch, coupled with a cup of hot chocolate, perhaps according to them, is the best way to sip through the rains and smell a rainbow. 

The door opened, many people came, and some left. Some were on their luggage, some were clearing their baggage; all under the same roof, same rain, but different moods.

"Is this what March's having for us?" he wondered.

He continued his journey, to the place with a confined green lawn, where the Queen's Tower was erected, and the place where demanding courseworks meet with reluctant students. 

It was a surreal night

It was a surreal night. There was only a star, twinkling from a distant reach.

Since young, you were taught to believe that the stars are amazing. They are the souls of your ancestors, blessing you from afar. Whenever you have something to say, but no one could understand, you talk to the stars. They are the best listeners.

At times, you thought that you were looking at the lights of an airplane. Someone told us that it was beautiful to pretend that the lights of an airplane were like shooting stars. But, it was not moving. The lonely star was stationary, shining dimly.

It was sometime ago, that you had this thought that ran through your mind. - Is it better to believe that the sky is not the limit, and reach to the star, or simply lying down on the green lawn, and look into the night sky?

You knew that was an empty question that won't return any answers, unless you have done both of them.

Flipping through some of the photos you took in Berlin, you got curious, what did the Jewish people, who were trapped in the war ghettos, think about the stars? At desperate times, uncertainties looming in. Maybe many stories were revealed, but more wishes were unheard.

Stepping back on the Parisian streets, it was another image that came into your mind. Many lovers came to make a wish, for a dream to come true. How many wishes have actually reached the tip of Eiffel tower, where action meets words?

Your mind was doing weird imaginations at such times in the night. It reeled back and forth.

It was a surreal night.

Of Coffee Beans at Fitzrovia

He walked into the bubble. A bubble which was filled with the exotic aroma of the Square Mile coffee beans, near no. 66, Great Titchfield Street.

There, he ordered a cup of cafe latte. After a small sip, he realised that the beans were mixed with some cherry and almond grains, which gave the latte an unusual fragrance that a normal coffee will never have. The bubble got more colourful, like a baby unicorn running on a rainbow track.

It was a Sunday afternoon. The shop was full of people. Many people were talking or playing with their phones, with some smooth jazz playing from the silver radio, on the vintage cupboard.

The bubble is an easy formation, but everyone was too busy staying in his or hers. The shop seemed to be a good place to make new friends, but in fact, it was the hardest place to say hi.

Occasionally, the hinge of the door would voice out its dissatisfaction, when the place got too crowded.

Half and hour later, he walked down the street. He was looking for Fitzrovia.

Stood as the century-old bohemian quarter, this place was once frequented by Charles Dickens and George Bernard Shaw-as told by the factually correct Wikipedia webpage on his phone-not to mention the visits by John Lennon and Paul McCartney back in the '60s.

The street was pretty old, zig-zagging in a way which you could easily get lost in this square. Like all bohemian centres, it was surprisingly quiet, with some old-fashioned street signs imprinted on the buildings. It reminded him about the Montparnesse or the Montmarte areas in Paris.

The streets here were pretty similar to the streets at the 18th arrondissements in Paris as well. He wondered how would the bohemian quarters across the Atlantic look like.

It was a landmark which has hosted a few decades of art, literature and pop cultures. Walking out from the area, he suddenly thought about this.

"In decades to come, how will the future define this time of us, this generation in the history?Will harlem shake and  gangnam style be part of the cultures of today?" 

10 things Swedish House Mafia Malaysia Tour and Snowing in London have in common

So, on this very auspicious and memorable day, two continents and two countries have two incidents which surprisingly have something in common.

Here we go!

1. It's the SHM one last tour in Malaysia, and it happens that the snowing in London is the last snowing for us. So, as much as you guys miss the DJs, here in UK, we are blanketed with the white snowy graduation goggles.

2. The excitement has been building up, to prepare for the snow, to dance in the snow, since last December; while back in Malaysia, the period taken is roughly the same, but it's to dance in the sweat, of yourself, and other people, that you might know, or you might not know.

3. The people who went to SHM concert, all of a sudden became the small little fanboys/fangirls who saw their idols! And everyone there definitely got reassured when the song 'Dont you worry child" was played. Meanwhile, in London, the magical snow brings you back to your childhood immediately, and you become like a kid once again!

4. So, I heard it was raining over there. Here, snowing. Same, droplets of waters fell off from the sky. Just that it's much colder.

5. Everyone became voiceless after the concert. Over here, people became voiceless after shouting like a jakun. (last year-mah)

6. We looked forward to the concert, but the aftermath, ohmygoodness, nobody wants to get near to the place. Here in London, after feeling so happy walking on the snowy white road, the last thing that you wanna see is the aftermath as well. When white turns to brown and to black. Yikes!

7.  Your eyes definitely will go blind momentarily after the intense light movements, while at here, a wide park covered up with snow will give you a short moment of blindness, and you thought you are in a wonderland. And yes, both sides are in a wonderland indeed.

8. Many people putting up their hands at the concert, hoping that the DJs will throw something at them;  however the people here put up their hands as well during the snow, but they are trying to say " Don't throw the snowball at me! "

9. The fun is to be there with friends, same for snowing, the fun is to be there with friends as well, especially when it's the final showdown.

10. Last but not the least, it's the day to be remembered for the KL folks who went there; meanwhile in London, it's definitely memorable as it's the first day of the last snow for the graduating London peeps.

:D

The Vague Dream of A City

It was a warm night. He woke up on the bed, with a sweaty forehead. The dream was real, so real that he got confused whether he was waking up, trying to remember the bits of the dream, or he was feeling amused, laughing at the boy who got confused in the so-called reality.

He was talking to a cat. A small, black cat.

"So, why are you here? Why do you come into my dream?"

"No. You brought me into your dream. You dreamed about me."

That was weird. How was it possible to talk to a cat. "Oh, this is a bad omen", he thought to himself. A black cat. He went and checked the calendar. 

"Oh thanks god, it's not Friday the 13th. But, talking to a black cat is equally bad as well. "

He went down from his bed, to the small, brown desk in his bedroom. He switched on the study lamp, and he saw the set of photos that he had taken, for the past four years. 

He smiled to himself. The set of photos, when combined, it would be a story akin to the Aesop Fables. The dream that he dared not wish before that. 

The years had gone by. The dream is still there, sitting there like a demure, young lady, smiling back to him.

He decided to take her out for a date.

The city is beautiful. He noticed that, for countless times in the past four years. To him, the city's like the sweet girl that he loves all this while, revealing different sides of her for the past four years, and yet, still so captivating everytime he sees her. 

This is not exactly how he pictured the city, before he arrived. Just like how you thought your perfect girlfriend would be, she would not be the same girl in your mind, but you would treat her as though she is the angel falling from heaven. 

Many poets, photographers, artists talked about this city. Some came here to stay for a couple of years, to immerse in the culture, and to find inspirations among the crowds. 

"So, do you like this place, after living here for the past four years?" The dream asked.

"I am really not sure. It's pretty. So stunningly beautiful, but in a silent way. I can't say that I like which part of the city, but the city is just perfect as a whole. "

The conversation died there. The emptiness was replaced by the autumn leaves and the cooling breeze. He continued his journey, feeling nervous at times, for he couldn't find any words to describe the place.

He walked past the bridge. The two towers were standing there, mocking at the bridge which is located right opposite them. He couldn't help but laughed on the scenery, and his stupidity. Before he came here, he was a strong believer that the bridge with the two towers is London Bridge. 

"Blame the nursery rhymes." Both he and the dream had a good laugh on that. 

As he was walking down the riverbank, he suddenly knew that what was so special with this place. 

"I think I know why I like this place. "

"Oh, you do? Why?" the dream curiously asked. 

"You see, walking down the Thames riverbank is like a scene from a timeless movie.  Each steps of your walk will transmute into a part of your memory. "

"And.. when you have the chance to come back to this place, you probably find that your memory of this place is like a beautiful mess- of leaves, flowers and snowflakes. At that time, you know that you have never left this place." 

The dream put a smile on her cheeks. She is happy that she is his dream, that comes true finally, and he is happy that he is kissing his dream.

Sitting on a bench near the London Bridge, he saw the red neon light under the bridge. And, the same black cat in his dream, appeared again. This time, he was not afraid to talk to the cat anymore.

"Pussycat pussycat, where have you been?"

"I've been up to London to visit the Queen"

"Pussycat pussycat, what did you do there?"

"I frightened a little mouse, under her chair."

"I have been to London too."

Piecing the irregular beauties in Barcelona

Unlike other European cities, it gives me an impression of a mischievous kid, who doesn't obey the rules, who runs around drawing random pictures on the street, and who still smiles to you at the end of the day.

It's definitely not classy, not those where you drink champagne and eat a three-course meal. It's ordinary, but it radiates the unexpected beauty through its paella, tapas and sangria.

Walking down the La Rambla, the famous boulevard in the city, you feel like moving through a crowd in a concert or the countdown at Westminster. The constant pushing and pulling are exactly the forces which keep you going back to the main street. Oh yes, and the occasional friendly warm smiles by some pretty Spanish girls. The street is as if the main aorta of Barcelona, pumping a blood flow of people into the city centre. 

The sketchy alleyways, some of them are painted with unknown street arts, while some are sitting there quietly, trying their best to keep the Catalonian history in a safety box. You couldn't help but to feel amazed by the beautiful street arts and spontaneous skateboarding, because they are the masquerades of the unorthodox creativity of the young folks. 

Sipping a cup of cortado, a local coffee similar to latte but with less steamed milk, with a slice of apple cheesecake at Artisa, you would be able to observe the people in the Sunday market near Placa Reial. A bunch of old people will gather at the market square, to sell or exchange vintage photos, stamps, and old wine caps. 

Some said that the city is clean but not their kind of city, some said it's just nothing much to do in a city like this, but i said, it's like a hodgepodge. A place which mashes up the culture, the arts, and the food. You gotta piece up the beautiful parts yourself.

It's a piece of messy art, not a piece of pretentious kiss-ass.

It's a unique city. It truly is.