Who can say "Fuck you" to the state parliament, and actually get away with it?
Arno can.
Letter to State Assembly
P.S. Can you spot the hidden message in this letter? first letters.every sentence.
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Friday, November 06, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
BNP Nick Griffin on BBC Question Time
I don't know anything about British politics, never heard of the British National Party (BNP), and much less of their leader Nick Griffin and his extremist views that Britain should remain fundamentally white. While white supremacy is nothing new, what is refreshing is that BBC has given him an opportunity to air his views in public. Giving white supremacy any sort of attention, much less on prime time television, is a very dangerous affair, and the controversy was brewing for some time on Financial Times, so I decided to check out what's the whole deal about.
And what transpired from the video I watched was, in my opinion, a triumph of free speech and democracy, where ideologies and arguments are allowed to stand or fall on their own merits. Against a panel of admittedly very illustrious opponents, Nick Griffin, a more oratically gifted one perhaps(an Obama with that Hitler moustache?) could have grasped control of the stage and turned the table against the incumbents. Instead he hemed and hawed, backtracked many times and and was reduced to nervous laughter, which drew swift and sharp rebuttals ("Why are you smiling? It's not a particularly funny matter."). The straw men he built over the course of his political career, denying the Holocaust for example, cosying up to the Ku Klax Clan for example, were admittedly his major liabilities. His rambling ways betrayed a complete lack of clarity of thoughts.
But of course, BBC must have known the outcome in advance. They strategised right down to the last detail--why else invite an American black woman on the panel, who would be both an academic and moral authority to speak on the Ku Klax Clan--to milk maximum humiliation for all Nick Griffin was worth. The trojan horse was delivered, and the bait was taken. The only person there to defray the heat was hapless Jack Straw, UK Home Affairs Minister, who was being blamed for giving birth to the BNP through 12 years of lax immigration laws. So we have a curious case of unwilling father and bastard son, sitting uncomfortably side by side. The 2 women panelists came off with their reputations enhanced. You wouldn't want Sayeeda Warsi sitting opposite you in any debate competition. Eloquent and displaying a sort of economic rationale that is difficult to refute--"this is no longer a race issue, but a resources issue"--she is one daunting opponent. Bonnie Greer, disarmingly humourous and chummy with her snide comments, is just danger.
Add to the mix an engaging and at times emotional audience, and a sprinkling of beautiful people, this is as fun as politics can ever be.
Last note, if the programme had set out to humiliate Nick Griffin, it would have comfortably met its objectives. But I don't think anybody from either side of the ideological divide--liberals and supremists alike--would be convinced to switch camp on the sole basis of a TV programme. Thoughts are entrenched in people over the course of a lifetime. The brain entertains a million thoughts a day, but most of them are just repetitions in various guises, and only reinforce the structure of the brain, compelling the next thought that comes along to travel along well-worn synapses. It is less a philosophical problem than a biological one. It takes enormous commitment and intellectual honesty to come clean with oneself and reorganise our own house of thoughts. Far easier to let the cobwebs manifest themselves in their own ways, rightly or wrongly, and allow ourselves to be forever entangled in our own convoluted web of thoughts.
And what transpired from the video I watched was, in my opinion, a triumph of free speech and democracy, where ideologies and arguments are allowed to stand or fall on their own merits. Against a panel of admittedly very illustrious opponents, Nick Griffin, a more oratically gifted one perhaps(an Obama with that Hitler moustache?) could have grasped control of the stage and turned the table against the incumbents. Instead he hemed and hawed, backtracked many times and and was reduced to nervous laughter, which drew swift and sharp rebuttals ("Why are you smiling? It's not a particularly funny matter."). The straw men he built over the course of his political career, denying the Holocaust for example, cosying up to the Ku Klax Clan for example, were admittedly his major liabilities. His rambling ways betrayed a complete lack of clarity of thoughts.
But of course, BBC must have known the outcome in advance. They strategised right down to the last detail--why else invite an American black woman on the panel, who would be both an academic and moral authority to speak on the Ku Klax Clan--to milk maximum humiliation for all Nick Griffin was worth. The trojan horse was delivered, and the bait was taken. The only person there to defray the heat was hapless Jack Straw, UK Home Affairs Minister, who was being blamed for giving birth to the BNP through 12 years of lax immigration laws. So we have a curious case of unwilling father and bastard son, sitting uncomfortably side by side. The 2 women panelists came off with their reputations enhanced. You wouldn't want Sayeeda Warsi sitting opposite you in any debate competition. Eloquent and displaying a sort of economic rationale that is difficult to refute--"this is no longer a race issue, but a resources issue"--she is one daunting opponent. Bonnie Greer, disarmingly humourous and chummy with her snide comments, is just danger.
Add to the mix an engaging and at times emotional audience, and a sprinkling of beautiful people, this is as fun as politics can ever be.
Last note, if the programme had set out to humiliate Nick Griffin, it would have comfortably met its objectives. But I don't think anybody from either side of the ideological divide--liberals and supremists alike--would be convinced to switch camp on the sole basis of a TV programme. Thoughts are entrenched in people over the course of a lifetime. The brain entertains a million thoughts a day, but most of them are just repetitions in various guises, and only reinforce the structure of the brain, compelling the next thought that comes along to travel along well-worn synapses. It is less a philosophical problem than a biological one. It takes enormous commitment and intellectual honesty to come clean with oneself and reorganise our own house of thoughts. Far easier to let the cobwebs manifest themselves in their own ways, rightly or wrongly, and allow ourselves to be forever entangled in our own convoluted web of thoughts.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Fighting the world is tough
a great story on the struggles of a molecular scientist Ted Steele, who seem to suffer setbacks after setbacks in his quest to convince the world of his ideas.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=830139582673220790#
...and a few thoughts flashed through my mind while watching the vid.
1) Science acts as a very strict gatekeeper between mainstream ideas and everything else on the fringes. With the modern-day rigour now demanded on all research, it is not easy for any new ideas to gain membership. And that is good. If not, we would be wasting valuable resources entertaining all sort of drivels from flat earthers and creationists.
2) If you want to fight the world, be prepared to get hurt. Perhaps a lifetime of torment, and then be cast into oblivion.
3) Not all scientists had it so tough as Ted Steele. Perhaps this is the difference between true geniuses and mere mortals. Geniuses are always recognised early, and worshipped accordingly. Look at Richard Feynman, whose ideas had always tended to be accepted willingly by the scientific community. At age 20, he was already invited to participate in the Manhattan Project. And by age 47, he was already a world famous nobel laureate. That's the mark of a true genius--a blessed life. Einstein had it very tough with his theory of relativity. Perhaps Einstein was right when he said he wasn't a genius, merely someone who thought a lot.
4) Sometimes you bring trouble onto yourself. Ted Steele's uncompromising stance and controversial headlines may have invited the vitrol directed personally at him. In his quest to convince the world of his ideas, he may have allowed his ego to take control of the proceedings. If the key word here is convince, he may do well to adopt a softer approach.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=830139582673220790#
...and a few thoughts flashed through my mind while watching the vid.
1) Science acts as a very strict gatekeeper between mainstream ideas and everything else on the fringes. With the modern-day rigour now demanded on all research, it is not easy for any new ideas to gain membership. And that is good. If not, we would be wasting valuable resources entertaining all sort of drivels from flat earthers and creationists.
2) If you want to fight the world, be prepared to get hurt. Perhaps a lifetime of torment, and then be cast into oblivion.
3) Not all scientists had it so tough as Ted Steele. Perhaps this is the difference between true geniuses and mere mortals. Geniuses are always recognised early, and worshipped accordingly. Look at Richard Feynman, whose ideas had always tended to be accepted willingly by the scientific community. At age 20, he was already invited to participate in the Manhattan Project. And by age 47, he was already a world famous nobel laureate. That's the mark of a true genius--a blessed life. Einstein had it very tough with his theory of relativity. Perhaps Einstein was right when he said he wasn't a genius, merely someone who thought a lot.
4) Sometimes you bring trouble onto yourself. Ted Steele's uncompromising stance and controversial headlines may have invited the vitrol directed personally at him. In his quest to convince the world of his ideas, he may have allowed his ego to take control of the proceedings. If the key word here is convince, he may do well to adopt a softer approach.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
On Foreign Talents
A good friend, with whom I have had a long-running disagreement over the issue of foreign talents, fired the latest salvo by sending me a link to an article published in the Malaysian Star:
http://singaporemind.blogspot.com/2009/09/we-prefer-non-singaporeans.html#links
The Malaysian report purports to report that employers' hiring message in Singapore these days has morphed from the seemingly innocuous "Foreigners welcome" to the downright explicit "Foreigners preferred".
Such an article would have provoked a stir of dispproval among Singaporeans. The argument sounds almost absurd: Where else in the world are citizens increasingly marginalised by influx of minoroties into the country? But reading the article only reinforced my own set of arguments.
1) "Every time such an ad appears, it cuts into the popularity of the government, which won 66.6% of the popular votes in the 2006 election."
The article correctly points out such politically sensitive ads would never have been allowed in other developed countries. But that's only because the citizens in those developed countries know to show their displeasure with their votes. The winds of change has been sweeping across countries more accustomed to long-standing one-party rules. The LDP of Japan has lost power for the first time in 50 years, and UMNO of Malaysia is looking cautiously over its shoulders after a demoralising setback last year. But Singapore? It seems that we are a small island sheltered from typhoons and political winds too. Against the backdrop of a docile electorate, the government is only being rational in putting the rights of its citizens on a backseat. Ask yourself: How many times do you place the concerns/complaints of a more vocal client over that of a more compliant one?
2)"The foreigners, hungrier and without family responsibility here, generally work longer hours for less pay – something that married Singaporeans with a home mortgage to pay cannot possibly match."
While serving NS and having reservist call-ups are valid gripes outside the sphere of control of Singaporean (males), having a family are personal choices. We always forget that the foreigners are also human beings who, by dint of circumstances, have given up the joys of having a family for the sake of surviving in a cut-throat world. And then comes the average Singaporean who, perhaps somewhat complacently, decides to settle down, saddles himself with debt, only to find himself unable to compete with the hungrier foreigners. Is this a case of having the cake and eating it too?
3) Lastly, the problem of foreigners flooding a country or industry is not a uniquely singaporean affair. Just like there is very little Hainan about Hainese Chicken Rice, and very little European about European options, there is very little English about the English Premier League. Foreigners outnumber locals in this highly lucrative industry. Teams like Arsenal frequently boast 11 non-locals in their lineups on matchday. Managers have no qualms going on record stating that they prefer foreigners to English, because they are more talented and/or cheaper. European law makers have been silent on such cross-border employment, because they were the ones who set the wheel in motion, but are now powerless to stop it. So now we have a situation with Singapore fans griping about the flood of immigrants in their country while cheering for foreign players like Ronaldo (Portuguese) and Thierry Henry(French)in the English Premier League. Now this is uniquely Singaporean.
I could go on about the dominance of foreigners in Silicon Valley, Wall Street, and how the centuries-old open-door policies have been the cornerstones of American and French nation-building, but that's another point.
http://singaporemind.blogspot.com/2009/09/we-prefer-non-singaporeans.html#links
The Malaysian report purports to report that employers' hiring message in Singapore these days has morphed from the seemingly innocuous "Foreigners welcome" to the downright explicit "Foreigners preferred".
Such an article would have provoked a stir of dispproval among Singaporeans. The argument sounds almost absurd: Where else in the world are citizens increasingly marginalised by influx of minoroties into the country? But reading the article only reinforced my own set of arguments.
1) "Every time such an ad appears, it cuts into the popularity of the government, which won 66.6% of the popular votes in the 2006 election."
The article correctly points out such politically sensitive ads would never have been allowed in other developed countries. But that's only because the citizens in those developed countries know to show their displeasure with their votes. The winds of change has been sweeping across countries more accustomed to long-standing one-party rules. The LDP of Japan has lost power for the first time in 50 years, and UMNO of Malaysia is looking cautiously over its shoulders after a demoralising setback last year. But Singapore? It seems that we are a small island sheltered from typhoons and political winds too. Against the backdrop of a docile electorate, the government is only being rational in putting the rights of its citizens on a backseat. Ask yourself: How many times do you place the concerns/complaints of a more vocal client over that of a more compliant one?
2)"The foreigners, hungrier and without family responsibility here, generally work longer hours for less pay – something that married Singaporeans with a home mortgage to pay cannot possibly match."
While serving NS and having reservist call-ups are valid gripes outside the sphere of control of Singaporean (males), having a family are personal choices. We always forget that the foreigners are also human beings who, by dint of circumstances, have given up the joys of having a family for the sake of surviving in a cut-throat world. And then comes the average Singaporean who, perhaps somewhat complacently, decides to settle down, saddles himself with debt, only to find himself unable to compete with the hungrier foreigners. Is this a case of having the cake and eating it too?
3) Lastly, the problem of foreigners flooding a country or industry is not a uniquely singaporean affair. Just like there is very little Hainan about Hainese Chicken Rice, and very little European about European options, there is very little English about the English Premier League. Foreigners outnumber locals in this highly lucrative industry. Teams like Arsenal frequently boast 11 non-locals in their lineups on matchday. Managers have no qualms going on record stating that they prefer foreigners to English, because they are more talented and/or cheaper. European law makers have been silent on such cross-border employment, because they were the ones who set the wheel in motion, but are now powerless to stop it. So now we have a situation with Singapore fans griping about the flood of immigrants in their country while cheering for foreign players like Ronaldo (Portuguese) and Thierry Henry(French)in the English Premier League. Now this is uniquely Singaporean.
I could go on about the dominance of foreigners in Silicon Valley, Wall Street, and how the centuries-old open-door policies have been the cornerstones of American and French nation-building, but that's another point.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
This is criminal
After agonising over the almost haphazard notations on the lecture notes provided by my course on Black-Derman-Toy interest rate model, and getting absolutely nothing out of it after almost 2 hours of my life, I decided to appeal to Emmanuel Derman himself.
http://www.ederman.com/new/docs/faj-one_factor_model.pdf
And soon the whole gist of the story became clear to me. It was not particularly because the original paper was well written--and it was sparkling in its clarity, as befits a typical Fischer Black paper--but because the idea was essentially very simple. Add-and-subtract simple. Heartbreakingly simple.
And I looked back to my lecture notes. I was not alone in getting all muddled up reading them, judging from the collective confusion in the class after the lecture. And I had to wonder, and perhaps never getting a satisfactory answer--how could anyone make something simple appear so incomprensible.
Richard Feynman once said, "If you can't explain anything simply, you don't know what you're talking about." Does the guy really understand what he is teaching? This is a complete and systemic breakdown of communication. And we, as the students, are made to pay, with our time, with our money, with our pride. Sometimes, I find no difference between institutional education and institutional abomination.
Post-remark (26/02/09):
Now I realised I had missed the point completely when my rudimentary understanding of the Black-Derman-Toy was cruelly exposed in an exam. In order to back out a r(2,-2) short rate, I had to perform tons of frustrating calculations, which I had later realised was completely unnecessary had I actually understood the powerful concept of state pricing. With state pricing, I could back out short rates, yield curve, and even forward yield curves. And that was what our lecture notes had been driving at all along. I learn, I learn...But the notations are still terrible!
http://www.ederman.com/new/docs/faj-one_factor_model.pdf
And soon the whole gist of the story became clear to me. It was not particularly because the original paper was well written--and it was sparkling in its clarity, as befits a typical Fischer Black paper--but because the idea was essentially very simple. Add-and-subtract simple. Heartbreakingly simple.
And I looked back to my lecture notes. I was not alone in getting all muddled up reading them, judging from the collective confusion in the class after the lecture. And I had to wonder, and perhaps never getting a satisfactory answer--how could anyone make something simple appear so incomprensible.
Richard Feynman once said, "If you can't explain anything simply, you don't know what you're talking about." Does the guy really understand what he is teaching? This is a complete and systemic breakdown of communication. And we, as the students, are made to pay, with our time, with our money, with our pride. Sometimes, I find no difference between institutional education and institutional abomination.
Post-remark (26/02/09):
Now I realised I had missed the point completely when my rudimentary understanding of the Black-Derman-Toy was cruelly exposed in an exam. In order to back out a r(2,-2) short rate, I had to perform tons of frustrating calculations, which I had later realised was completely unnecessary had I actually understood the powerful concept of state pricing. With state pricing, I could back out short rates, yield curve, and even forward yield curves. And that was what our lecture notes had been driving at all along. I learn, I learn...But the notations are still terrible!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
In the midst of rising unemployment rates...
...it's high time politicians, so often convenient targets of the common people's wrath, consider fire-proof vests for personal safety. Because what happens when the economy turns bad? You can get fired.
MP hospitalised after man pours flammable liquid on him, sets him on fire
MP hospitalised after man pours flammable liquid on him, sets him on fire
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Shebab of the Sea
There has been a recent spate of piracy along the Red Sea, which caused considerable disruption to oil transportation routes from Middle East to the rest of the world. The acts drew worldwide condemnation of the pirates, who were portrayed as uneducated thugs who would sooner have caused trouble on land if not at sea. So I was rather surprised when AFP managed to catch hold of a pirate who was in the midst of hijacking some Saudi tanker, and actually coaxed some gems out of the pirate himself.
"We are the Shebab of the sea and we can't be scared of the Shebab of the land. Every Somali has great respect for the holy kingdom of Saudi Arabia. We have nothing against them but unfortunately what happened was just business for us and I hope the Saudis will understand."--Mohamed Said, pirate
How thoughtfully worded. So the hijacks were simply unfortunate incidents which he would rather not have happened but for the economic circumstances of the day. And for a moment, I could just imagine him whipping his fellow pirates into a gleeful song and dance with "We are the Shebabs of the Sea!" These pirates must be delightful company.
And some of the hijacks have turned up interesting returns. A cargo of Ukrainian tanks and missiles bound for Sudan insurgencies have been recovered from the pirates by the US Navy, but that would only mean that the arms smugglers are now cleared to continue their illicit business. "I certainly won't speculate on where they might end up," 5th Fleet spokesman Lieutenant Nathan Christensen says. "We want this to end as peacefully as possible." An absurd job on murky waters, these US Navy law enforcers on the Red Sea.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
My old friend
I don't know exactly when, but I have almost completely lost focus in whatever I am supposed to do. I don't really know what hit me, but it must have been the day i inadventently let my old friend back into my life. I thought it was just a harmless chill-out, to catch up for old times' sake. After all, one needs a breather from time to time. But when the time came to bid goodbye, he feigned ignorance. I shouted at him in desperation. He just smiled.
I should have known better. Procrastination has found me out, and is now clinging onto me with a newfound fervour, as if to make up for lost time. Where once I could spend days poring through stochastic calculus, subscript by painful subscript, and actually admiring the level of mathematical abstraction that is being communicated in written text, I can only now stare blankly back at them. Where once I could eagerly devour technical articles on the complex subjects of financial derivatives, I can only wonder on the meaninglessness of it all. Where once I could wake up afresh in the morning and plan my day in exactitude, now the hours just melt into days, and days into weeks. I grieve at my lack of determination, and he sings softly into the air, "If the days they seem to fall through you, well just, let them go."
It does not help that no less an intellectual authority as Bertrand Russel once said, "The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." In more enlightened days, to idle away was a sure sign of nobility, for only the aristocrats could afford to indulge in their whims and fancies. Lord Byron wrote Hours of Idleness in celebration of slouth. Hemingway and Fitzgerald spent a good portion of their lives frolicking in the French Riveira. But somewhere along the way, idleness fell out of favour--big time. With papers to chase and rat races to run in a never-ending cycle, it's as if all the world's a large treadmill, and we are just going through the motion, pounding away till the day our heart stop. How delightful.
In the midst of it all, it is difficult to say no to this charming blob of consciousness, this Procrastination, whoever he is (perhaps a subconscious rebellion of our modern times). He is an interesting companion, even in the worst of times. He has even equipped himself with a new technological tool, Youtube, which streams whatever video your consciousness demands at any moment. And from there, I was introduced to the comedic duo of David Mitchell and Robert Webb, whose Peep Show provided me with endless hours of laughter and pleasure.
He is an artful one. Music is the headiest of drugs, and he feeds me incessantly with a potent brew of Federic Chopin, Joy Division, and Magnetic Fields. And soon I am possessed with an otherworldly fervour to master the hauntingly relentless Scherzo No 1. And movies! Out of nowhere, I was brutally thrown a copy of Michel Gondry's The Science of Sleep. I don't know, but the spectre of Charlotte Gainsbourg's Stephanie has been lingering in my mind since. Delicately devoid of makeup, she has an indescribable elegance, that certain "je ne sais quoi" that the French would say. Sometimes she looked so fragile and goofy that I wish I could just wrap her around my arms and tell her that everything's all right. But she's an independent spirit--she doesn't need that--and that's what so alluring about her. And she doesn't believe in marriages. There is just this vague familiarity about her where reel and real starts to blur. And that is the beauty of life, no?
Ok, another day gone to dust. Tomorrow will be a brand new day. I will get back my focus. I will rediscover the joys of mathematics. I will immerse myself in my studies. In the background, a familiar voice, ever so languorously, sings, "Yeah, yeah, yeah...tomorrow comes today."
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
The Blitzkrieg
The Eiffel Tower is already in their sight. They have scented blood and are moving in for the kill. In a week's time, they would come with guns-ablazing, and we would know our fate. Resistance is almost futile now. A 5 week onslaught have totally caught us by surprise, and left us bereft of manpower, time, resources and food. Extremely low on morale, the soldiers are bordering on mutiny. Some divisions are even deserting their positions. What's worse, the trail of defeats has left confidence totally shattered. We are only fighting on adrenalin, fighting only because red blood still courses through our veins. The citizens are engulfed in a myriad of emotions, ranging from the defiant, to the fearful, to the desperate, to resentment, and now resignation. Fate is no longer in our hands. The Maginot Line--our sentinel, our saviour, our fortress, which we have painstakingly built up over the past year, has turned out to be a just another cruel illusion. It was never enough. We were totally out of our depth, totally outplayed, out maneuvered, out-thought, and out-fought and now we face the consequences of our CARELESS mis-steps. We only have ourselves to blame for the dire state we find ourselves in. But now is no longer the time to talk of recriminations. The hour has cometh. Make a last-ditch stand. Recall the spirit of Verdun. Fight till the last drop of blood is shed. Fight to reclaim our dignity. Ils ne passeront pas. Hollow words they shall remain to be unless we take ACTION!
Paris,
June 2 1940
Paris,
June 2 1940
Monday, July 14, 2008
The Postmodern Traveller
He cuts through the heart and soul of the city, gliding effortlessly around the urban jungle. He weaves in and out of traffic, at once part of it, at once apart from it. He observes in motion, taking in the vibrant sights and sounds, witnessing a dynamic city life as it courses through the streets, but never lingers longer than his welcome stay. The city appears aloof, yet it is he who has accepted the city for what it is. Trains, benches, subways, bridges, cars, even the dreaded authorities--they are but mere entities that he accepts as part of the landscape. He breathes the city through his skin. He caresses the pavements like a familiar lover, and leaps through obstacles as if they exist in different spatial dimensions. He knows every nook and cranny, every creek and crevice. The city resists, but to no avail. He is an antiauthoritarian, a quicksilver, a free spirit, a loner, a transcendental traveller. He is the postmodern poet on wheels.
I am inspired. But considering my dexterity, I would most probably elicit some headlines that reads:
Boy,29, dies trying blading stunts at HDB void deck
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Last Chance Saloon
For a waiting room of sort, it was a large one. From where I sat, I could only see endless rows of nameless, faceless souls lined up quietly, backs to wall, with their eyes closed. They seemed deep in thought, as if they were keeping a long uneasy vigil, or they could just as well be dozing off to the stultifying boredom. The air was stale with cigarette smokes and broken dreams. The walls, yellowed with age, had seen better times. Grafitti was sprawled all over. Perhaps there was nothing else to do. Perhaps the inmates merely wanted to mark the passage of time.
I looked around me. Sometimes I could make out a familiar face or two. It was all very hazy. There were murderers and drink-drivers who shattered lives--other people's lives--in moments of insanity, doctors and lawyers whose lives did not turn out the way they wanted, engineers and scientists disenchanted with the lousy capitalist world, writers and poets cursed with a chronic discontent they could not identify, and above all, the common people. Yes, common people who yearn for something greater. Common people whose lives had somehow slid out of view. Common people anonymous to all but God.
For all the souls packed in here, the room was eerily quiet. When people spoke, they did so in hushed tones. We all shared a common destiny, but there was nothing we wanted to do with one another. Sometimes we stared, with our glazed eyes, right through one another. It was rumoured that Edward Hopper drew his artistic inspirations from this very spot, but we all know it isn't true. We are better than them--those alienated figures who hung about in the vast emptiness of his canvases. For one, there is still hope. Someone has forgotten to tell us that hope and despair are two sides of the same coin.
A young migrant, as if reading my thoughts, turned to me and said, "If the door is closed on me, I'll just open another one. And if it doesn't open, if I just knock long and hard enough, somebody might just wake up." his dirty face creased with hope as he spoke. There was an unmistakable fire in his belly, an all-too-rare commodity in a place chokeful with cynicism and spite. I was grateful for the warmth, for otherwise we would have succumbed to the cold long ago.
I pressed my nose against the window pane. It was dusk, and the heavy rain in the afternoon had gradually given way to a light drizzle. It was my kind of day. I wished I was out there, out on the rain-scented sidewalks. It always smells like springtime again after a rain. The roads shimmered under the neon lights, and the rough edges were blurred and smudged in fragrant swirls. People and cars zipped about in a kind of absurd hurry, probably with lovers to meet, places to go and parties to dance to till dawn. Looking through the window, darkly, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sad realisation that life was happening elsewhere, and passing me by. Then I remembered the rules, communicated to us with a thinly veiled threat. "One. Check your regrets at the door. Two. Self-pity will not be tolerated. Three. Get lost if you must. "And despite our anti-authoritarian slurs, we all complied. Otherwise we wouldn't have come here. This is no time for wallowing.
One particular graffiti, scrawled in angry red ink, caught my eye. "Fuck you Godot, waited all my life for you!", it spits with no little contempt. I never really understood what it meant. Someone explained to me that it was a reference to "Waiting for Godot", an absurdist play in which the characters waited in vain for a Godot who never arrived. Must be a disheartened religious zealot. Ahh...It's just as well this Godot never arrives. We are all broken souls who have, at one time or another, followed the wrong gods home.
There was Harry Silver, a handsome articulate man in his mid-thirties who had everything going for him till his one-night stands crawled into daylight and wrecked his marriage. Wait a minute. Wasn't he a fictional character from the literary world of Tony Parsons? Kid in tow, I swore he was as real as can be. Pleading under his breath, to no one in particular, he was asking for a second chance. All too easy, Harry, all too easy.
We all know the story of Richard Buckminster Fuller, who was once on the verge of suicide but decided to check himself here. The rest is history, so they always say. He made good his time, invented the geodesic dome, and carved his name into eternity. There is even a soccer ball, the Buckminster ball, named in his honour. He is regarded as a folk hero here but not all are as lucky or as determined.
Jack Kerouac checked in and out oftentimes. A familiar figure, he left after the stunning success of "On the Road" brought him instant fame. He never returned. He was last heard to have drunk himself to death on the edge of town. Could this be the metaphorical Hotel California, where you could check out anytime you like, but you could never leave? Probably not. As perverse as it sounds, Kerouac simply gave up on life.
The world is especially cruel to men of science. The guy who invented the zipper died penniless. I can't even recall his name, but I offer a prayer for the man every time I zip up safely. Georg Riemann, Georg Cantor all had it tough. Born to the wrong centuries and derided despite their immense contributions to mathematics, they eventually lost their sanity. I could name more. Antoine Lavoisier, Alan Turing, they didn't even have chance.
That reminds me. I must return to my task at hand. When I came here with my books, all of them shrouded in an arcane language that speaks of Martingales and Markovs, Measure Theory and the Black-Scholes, I was told they could very well be my ticket out of the godforsaken. My life had never been simpler. All I had to do was to unravel the secrets contained within the tomes. Everything else was noise. Staring at the symbols for the longest time, I was beginning to develop a sense of weary affection for them.
But demons lurk within. Paulo Coelho once wrote, " When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." I'm sure he wrote it just to sell his books, to appease some sort of commercial deity. The parallel universe which I had known all my life is at best merely indifferent, and at worst, it conspires to disrupt you. I come here to concentrate, but I keep losing focus. A slight distraction at the door will have me scurrying to find out what happens, but people come in and out all the time here.
As I am speaking, there is a real commotion now at the door. A group of people, dressed in blue, are awaiting outside. The air is thick with goofy euphoria, the kind which happens only when celebrities are spotted among us commoners. In sauntered a familiar figure, lanky and languid. Thierry Henry! Then I recalled, France was recently humiliated 4-1 by Holland in the Euro2008. It was the kind of things which you thought could only happen to other teams, to other people, sort of like getting AIDS or being struck by lightning. It must have been particularly painful for the French, whose years of strutting about in their cloak of invincibility had come and gone. Now that the cloak is gone, all that is left is ridicule, mockery and disillusionment. But this is no time for recriminations nor self-pity. The French team has decided to check into the last chance saloon.
I wish France all the best.
I looked around me. Sometimes I could make out a familiar face or two. It was all very hazy. There were murderers and drink-drivers who shattered lives--other people's lives--in moments of insanity, doctors and lawyers whose lives did not turn out the way they wanted, engineers and scientists disenchanted with the lousy capitalist world, writers and poets cursed with a chronic discontent they could not identify, and above all, the common people. Yes, common people who yearn for something greater. Common people whose lives had somehow slid out of view. Common people anonymous to all but God.
For all the souls packed in here, the room was eerily quiet. When people spoke, they did so in hushed tones. We all shared a common destiny, but there was nothing we wanted to do with one another. Sometimes we stared, with our glazed eyes, right through one another. It was rumoured that Edward Hopper drew his artistic inspirations from this very spot, but we all know it isn't true. We are better than them--those alienated figures who hung about in the vast emptiness of his canvases. For one, there is still hope. Someone has forgotten to tell us that hope and despair are two sides of the same coin.
A young migrant, as if reading my thoughts, turned to me and said, "If the door is closed on me, I'll just open another one. And if it doesn't open, if I just knock long and hard enough, somebody might just wake up." his dirty face creased with hope as he spoke. There was an unmistakable fire in his belly, an all-too-rare commodity in a place chokeful with cynicism and spite. I was grateful for the warmth, for otherwise we would have succumbed to the cold long ago.
I pressed my nose against the window pane. It was dusk, and the heavy rain in the afternoon had gradually given way to a light drizzle. It was my kind of day. I wished I was out there, out on the rain-scented sidewalks. It always smells like springtime again after a rain. The roads shimmered under the neon lights, and the rough edges were blurred and smudged in fragrant swirls. People and cars zipped about in a kind of absurd hurry, probably with lovers to meet, places to go and parties to dance to till dawn. Looking through the window, darkly, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sad realisation that life was happening elsewhere, and passing me by. Then I remembered the rules, communicated to us with a thinly veiled threat. "One. Check your regrets at the door. Two. Self-pity will not be tolerated. Three. Get lost if you must. "And despite our anti-authoritarian slurs, we all complied. Otherwise we wouldn't have come here. This is no time for wallowing.
One particular graffiti, scrawled in angry red ink, caught my eye. "Fuck you Godot, waited all my life for you!", it spits with no little contempt. I never really understood what it meant. Someone explained to me that it was a reference to "Waiting for Godot", an absurdist play in which the characters waited in vain for a Godot who never arrived. Must be a disheartened religious zealot. Ahh...It's just as well this Godot never arrives. We are all broken souls who have, at one time or another, followed the wrong gods home.
There was Harry Silver, a handsome articulate man in his mid-thirties who had everything going for him till his one-night stands crawled into daylight and wrecked his marriage. Wait a minute. Wasn't he a fictional character from the literary world of Tony Parsons? Kid in tow, I swore he was as real as can be. Pleading under his breath, to no one in particular, he was asking for a second chance. All too easy, Harry, all too easy.
We all know the story of Richard Buckminster Fuller, who was once on the verge of suicide but decided to check himself here. The rest is history, so they always say. He made good his time, invented the geodesic dome, and carved his name into eternity. There is even a soccer ball, the Buckminster ball, named in his honour. He is regarded as a folk hero here but not all are as lucky or as determined.
Jack Kerouac checked in and out oftentimes. A familiar figure, he left after the stunning success of "On the Road" brought him instant fame. He never returned. He was last heard to have drunk himself to death on the edge of town. Could this be the metaphorical Hotel California, where you could check out anytime you like, but you could never leave? Probably not. As perverse as it sounds, Kerouac simply gave up on life.
The world is especially cruel to men of science. The guy who invented the zipper died penniless. I can't even recall his name, but I offer a prayer for the man every time I zip up safely. Georg Riemann, Georg Cantor all had it tough. Born to the wrong centuries and derided despite their immense contributions to mathematics, they eventually lost their sanity. I could name more. Antoine Lavoisier, Alan Turing, they didn't even have chance.
That reminds me. I must return to my task at hand. When I came here with my books, all of them shrouded in an arcane language that speaks of Martingales and Markovs, Measure Theory and the Black-Scholes, I was told they could very well be my ticket out of the godforsaken. My life had never been simpler. All I had to do was to unravel the secrets contained within the tomes. Everything else was noise. Staring at the symbols for the longest time, I was beginning to develop a sense of weary affection for them.
But demons lurk within. Paulo Coelho once wrote, " When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it." I'm sure he wrote it just to sell his books, to appease some sort of commercial deity. The parallel universe which I had known all my life is at best merely indifferent, and at worst, it conspires to disrupt you. I come here to concentrate, but I keep losing focus. A slight distraction at the door will have me scurrying to find out what happens, but people come in and out all the time here.
As I am speaking, there is a real commotion now at the door. A group of people, dressed in blue, are awaiting outside. The air is thick with goofy euphoria, the kind which happens only when celebrities are spotted among us commoners. In sauntered a familiar figure, lanky and languid. Thierry Henry! Then I recalled, France was recently humiliated 4-1 by Holland in the Euro2008. It was the kind of things which you thought could only happen to other teams, to other people, sort of like getting AIDS or being struck by lightning. It must have been particularly painful for the French, whose years of strutting about in their cloak of invincibility had come and gone. Now that the cloak is gone, all that is left is ridicule, mockery and disillusionment. But this is no time for recriminations nor self-pity. The French team has decided to check into the last chance saloon.
I wish France all the best.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Hedging
One of the many financial terms which have been creeping into our daily lexicon
is hedging. While it sounds impossibly arcane, no thanks to the dark reputations that hedge funds have acquired of late, hedging is actually a simple strategy of reducing risk by taking protective, and sometimes painful, measures against our life utility. In finance-speak, hedging must involve taking opposite positions in various products which are correlated. So if we have to talk about hedging, we must have a common platform--utility, which is not a problem since our singular objective on earth is to maximize our utility, according to economists.
For example, paying life insurance premiums is a type of hedge for human capital in the event of death. Wearing seat belts is a matter of hedging comfort for safety. Socialise with a wider network of people. Do not over-commit in a relationship. Never burn your career bridges. All these social rules have their roots in hedging. If you look hard enough, hedging is something ordinary folks--those of the more conservative types anyway--have been practicing all their life.
And it is not unwise to do so. To take an opposite stance from hedging is to go all-in with guns a-blazing, with the all too familiar result of burning out way before your prime.
"This too will pass" is a philosophical hedge against the extremities of the human condition. Whether you be mired in the throes of despair or be lost in the joys of happiness, be awaiting death as a hangman or be sitting on a pile of capitalist gold, be in the company of or be grieving for your loved ones, the simple realisation that the human condition is essentially transitory tempers all sadness and happiness. Congratulations. You are now a Stoic.
I too have been hedging all my life. France vs Romania is those types of matches which I will bet draw, for fear of suffering the double whammy of France dropping points and losing money at the same time. I would much prefer to lose a small amount of cash and see my favourite teams triumph. Obviously the more important the match features in my heart, the larger the hedge needs to be against potential disappointment. I hedged a considerable sum against Manchester United winning the 2007-2008 Champions League, but actually forgot to cover penalty shootouts. Such is life.
And for all the broken-hearted in the world, it's time to learn how to hedge your pain away. Channel your negative energies into activities of the more productive types--the more utility they earn for you, the better. It's easier said than done, but get that first dose of utility in, and savour the soothing effects of utility on your broken heart. So stop spinning songs of nostalgia and start unravelling the secrets of the universe. Or start a veritable porn collection, if you so wish.
P.S.
The idea of hedging is not new. The average German would pay 80 euros to win Euro2008, while the French, averse to such displays of patriotism as usual, would only offer 13 euro.
http://www.lloyds.com/CmsPhoenix/DowJonesArticle.aspx?id=391960
OK! Placed my bet (draw for France vs Romania). Hope I lose.
is hedging. While it sounds impossibly arcane, no thanks to the dark reputations that hedge funds have acquired of late, hedging is actually a simple strategy of reducing risk by taking protective, and sometimes painful, measures against our life utility. In finance-speak, hedging must involve taking opposite positions in various products which are correlated. So if we have to talk about hedging, we must have a common platform--utility, which is not a problem since our singular objective on earth is to maximize our utility, according to economists.
For example, paying life insurance premiums is a type of hedge for human capital in the event of death. Wearing seat belts is a matter of hedging comfort for safety. Socialise with a wider network of people. Do not over-commit in a relationship. Never burn your career bridges. All these social rules have their roots in hedging. If you look hard enough, hedging is something ordinary folks--those of the more conservative types anyway--have been practicing all their life.
And it is not unwise to do so. To take an opposite stance from hedging is to go all-in with guns a-blazing, with the all too familiar result of burning out way before your prime.
"This too will pass" is a philosophical hedge against the extremities of the human condition. Whether you be mired in the throes of despair or be lost in the joys of happiness, be awaiting death as a hangman or be sitting on a pile of capitalist gold, be in the company of or be grieving for your loved ones, the simple realisation that the human condition is essentially transitory tempers all sadness and happiness. Congratulations. You are now a Stoic.
I too have been hedging all my life. France vs Romania is those types of matches which I will bet draw, for fear of suffering the double whammy of France dropping points and losing money at the same time. I would much prefer to lose a small amount of cash and see my favourite teams triumph. Obviously the more important the match features in my heart, the larger the hedge needs to be against potential disappointment. I hedged a considerable sum against Manchester United winning the 2007-2008 Champions League, but actually forgot to cover penalty shootouts. Such is life.
And for all the broken-hearted in the world, it's time to learn how to hedge your pain away. Channel your negative energies into activities of the more productive types--the more utility they earn for you, the better. It's easier said than done, but get that first dose of utility in, and savour the soothing effects of utility on your broken heart. So stop spinning songs of nostalgia and start unravelling the secrets of the universe. Or start a veritable porn collection, if you so wish.
P.S.
The idea of hedging is not new. The average German would pay 80 euros to win Euro2008, while the French, averse to such displays of patriotism as usual, would only offer 13 euro.
http://www.lloyds.com/CmsPhoenix/DowJonesArticle.aspx?id=391960
OK! Placed my bet (draw for France vs Romania). Hope I lose.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
End of the road for an Addict
It's not often that humour can be extracted from a subject matter as heavy as World War 2, but there you go...
Thursday, November 01, 2007
GMAT AWA Samples
All articles here were timed under exam conditions of 30min. So please excuse the typos, grammaticals, and sometimes convoluted logic.
1. Some believe that students are less well-equipped for college than they used to be. They say that present-day students are inadequately prepared to express themselves in writing or perform tasks that entail quantitative thinking. But they do not realise that college-bound students are trained to think creatively, and use resources, like computers, which did not even exist a generation ago.
Which argument do you find more compelling?
A school of thought believes that students are not as good as they used to be in previous generations. They are unable to match up with their previous generations both in language and logic, and are thus not as prepared for college. Instead, I find the counter-argument, that students are actually more creative than ever before, more logical and compelling, for reasons I will elaborate on.
We live in a defining era--the age of Information, heralded by the birth of the Internet. History has shown that whenever there was a breakthrough in the proliferation and dessimination of information, culture and society would blossom. For example, the invention of the printing press in the 1400s by Johannes Guthenburg resulted in the Renaissance. The Age of Information, where we are now, is no less momentous. With such a wealth of resources at the tips of our students fingers, it is natural that they should be more creative and resourceful than ever before. The Internet, together with the immensely rich content of witty blogs, cutting-edge videos and anthemic music, is testament to this fact.
Secondly, we cannot compare between different generations, and then judge them on subjective skills like thinking and writing. It is true the previous generations seemed to be more prolific and creative, but possibly we are looking into the past with rose-tinted glasses. The Jack-Keroac inspired Beat Generation was a movement in response to the 'hippie' culture, but the main reason there is no equivalent Jack Keroac in our present generation is we do not need one. We have instead, technological whiz-kids and scientists who continually define the new frontiers of science. The quantitative demands of a physicist is more gruelling than ever before. It is difficult to argue that the previous generation of students was possessed of better quantitative thinking skills.
In conclusion, the present generation of students are equally, if not more creative than students of the previous generations. And rightly so, for they have so much more resources and information to tap from, unthinkable only one decade ago. Also, we cannot compare between different generations. Each generation had their own demands, the baby boomers with the social issues, and now, our generation, with technology. Certainly, our present generation are well-equipped to tackle college and life after college.
2. Human nature, no matter how selfless is appears, is selfish. Discuss.
The author asserts that there is no such thing as altruism in human nature, and that we are inherently selfish in everything we do. Human nature is too complex an issue to make such generalisations, but upon deeper analysis, with support from philosophy and neuroscience, I agree with the author.
People tend to struggle with an emptiness in life. Philosophers from the school of thought of Kiekegaard term this inherent emptiness "existential loneliness". Some immerse themselves in a religion, start a family, embark on world adventures, while others seek solace in volunteering. All these are alleged to be manisfestations of the phenomonon of "existential loneliness". When we observe a selfless act, we can trace its roots back to the person struggling to find a meaning in life. His act of volunteering or committing altruism is his way of filling that emotional void.
Doing good and selfless often makes one feel good about himself. Developments in neuroscience has discovered that the act of committing altruism may release certain chemicals into the brain which can get people hooked, much like what romantic love does to the brain. So if you need a rush of high, you can always go out and do something good. These chemical reactions are inherent in us, and we are often unaware of them. Once the scientists have pointed this fact, it becomes clear why people are addicted to altruism.
But how about Mother Theresa? Hasn't she dedicated her whole life to helping the underpriveleged in India, so far away from her safe haven in Ireland? Mother Theresa is invariable a shining example of altruism. But people look no further than the 2nd hand accounts given by what the media wants us to believe. Some scholars who have studied her life have controversially pointed out that she was obsessed with her public image, so much so that she only granted interviews to "cordial" reporters. She made timely public appearances in a show of ultimate devotion to her cause. In short, she knew the world needed a "Mother Theresa" figure, and she boldly set out to claim her role as that aforementioned "Mother Theresa", thus writing herself into world history.
In conclusion, there are lots of basis to claim that human nature, no matter how selfless it appears, are inherently selfish. It is difficult, and understandably so, to break away from how we are wired up in our mind and body. Still, altruism can be considered to be a form of benevolent selfishess, definitely more welcome than the strain of selfishness we normally encounter. Be selfish, and help save the world!
3. The study of history is largely a waste of time because it prevents us from focusing on the challenges of the present.” Discuss the extent to which you agree or disagree with the opinion expressed above. Support your point of view with
reasons and/or examples from your own experience, observations, or reading.
The author asserts that the study of history detracts us from our present problems, and is thus largely an exercise in time wasting. While it is true that our attention and resources should be focused on the problems of now, nevertheless there are much to learn from our history. Therefore, I disagree with the strong stance of the author.
History repeats. Much of history is littered with amazing stories and lessons from which our present society has much to learn. The success of UN stems largely from the failures of the League of Nations. Ronald Reagan, probably aware of the doomed appeasement policy to Adolf Hitler, refused to stand down to the Soviet Union's arms race in the 1980s, ultimately culminating in the arms treaty pact signed between the two superpowers.
On the other hand, politicians who refuse to heed history's lessons too often find themselves walking down the slippery path of failure and doom. Geroge Bush has been forewarned of the problems caused by an invasion of Iraq by Vietnam war veterans who knew better. Despite international condemnation and warnings of another Vietnam in the making, he went ahead, and got the US stuck in a largely unsuccessful and costly operation. Ethnic cleansing in history have always been shown to be a disastrous policy, yet in our modern society, we are still forced to witness the horrors of mass slaughter based on racial prejudice from Serbia to Rwanda.
In conclusion, the study of history is still largely relevant in our modern world. A leader who is astute and wise would do well to listen to history lessons and forge policies with history in mind. Otherwise he risks committing the mistakes of his forefathers. For the sake of progress, history is still an important part of our modern world.
1. Some believe that students are less well-equipped for college than they used to be. They say that present-day students are inadequately prepared to express themselves in writing or perform tasks that entail quantitative thinking. But they do not realise that college-bound students are trained to think creatively, and use resources, like computers, which did not even exist a generation ago.
Which argument do you find more compelling?
A school of thought believes that students are not as good as they used to be in previous generations. They are unable to match up with their previous generations both in language and logic, and are thus not as prepared for college. Instead, I find the counter-argument, that students are actually more creative than ever before, more logical and compelling, for reasons I will elaborate on.
We live in a defining era--the age of Information, heralded by the birth of the Internet. History has shown that whenever there was a breakthrough in the proliferation and dessimination of information, culture and society would blossom. For example, the invention of the printing press in the 1400s by Johannes Guthenburg resulted in the Renaissance. The Age of Information, where we are now, is no less momentous. With such a wealth of resources at the tips of our students fingers, it is natural that they should be more creative and resourceful than ever before. The Internet, together with the immensely rich content of witty blogs, cutting-edge videos and anthemic music, is testament to this fact.
Secondly, we cannot compare between different generations, and then judge them on subjective skills like thinking and writing. It is true the previous generations seemed to be more prolific and creative, but possibly we are looking into the past with rose-tinted glasses. The Jack-Keroac inspired Beat Generation was a movement in response to the 'hippie' culture, but the main reason there is no equivalent Jack Keroac in our present generation is we do not need one. We have instead, technological whiz-kids and scientists who continually define the new frontiers of science. The quantitative demands of a physicist is more gruelling than ever before. It is difficult to argue that the previous generation of students was possessed of better quantitative thinking skills.
In conclusion, the present generation of students are equally, if not more creative than students of the previous generations. And rightly so, for they have so much more resources and information to tap from, unthinkable only one decade ago. Also, we cannot compare between different generations. Each generation had their own demands, the baby boomers with the social issues, and now, our generation, with technology. Certainly, our present generation are well-equipped to tackle college and life after college.
2. Human nature, no matter how selfless is appears, is selfish. Discuss.
The author asserts that there is no such thing as altruism in human nature, and that we are inherently selfish in everything we do. Human nature is too complex an issue to make such generalisations, but upon deeper analysis, with support from philosophy and neuroscience, I agree with the author.
People tend to struggle with an emptiness in life. Philosophers from the school of thought of Kiekegaard term this inherent emptiness "existential loneliness". Some immerse themselves in a religion, start a family, embark on world adventures, while others seek solace in volunteering. All these are alleged to be manisfestations of the phenomonon of "existential loneliness". When we observe a selfless act, we can trace its roots back to the person struggling to find a meaning in life. His act of volunteering or committing altruism is his way of filling that emotional void.
Doing good and selfless often makes one feel good about himself. Developments in neuroscience has discovered that the act of committing altruism may release certain chemicals into the brain which can get people hooked, much like what romantic love does to the brain. So if you need a rush of high, you can always go out and do something good. These chemical reactions are inherent in us, and we are often unaware of them. Once the scientists have pointed this fact, it becomes clear why people are addicted to altruism.
But how about Mother Theresa? Hasn't she dedicated her whole life to helping the underpriveleged in India, so far away from her safe haven in Ireland? Mother Theresa is invariable a shining example of altruism. But people look no further than the 2nd hand accounts given by what the media wants us to believe. Some scholars who have studied her life have controversially pointed out that she was obsessed with her public image, so much so that she only granted interviews to "cordial" reporters. She made timely public appearances in a show of ultimate devotion to her cause. In short, she knew the world needed a "Mother Theresa" figure, and she boldly set out to claim her role as that aforementioned "Mother Theresa", thus writing herself into world history.
In conclusion, there are lots of basis to claim that human nature, no matter how selfless it appears, are inherently selfish. It is difficult, and understandably so, to break away from how we are wired up in our mind and body. Still, altruism can be considered to be a form of benevolent selfishess, definitely more welcome than the strain of selfishness we normally encounter. Be selfish, and help save the world!
3. The study of history is largely a waste of time because it prevents us from focusing on the challenges of the present.” Discuss the extent to which you agree or disagree with the opinion expressed above. Support your point of view with
reasons and/or examples from your own experience, observations, or reading.
The author asserts that the study of history detracts us from our present problems, and is thus largely an exercise in time wasting. While it is true that our attention and resources should be focused on the problems of now, nevertheless there are much to learn from our history. Therefore, I disagree with the strong stance of the author.
History repeats. Much of history is littered with amazing stories and lessons from which our present society has much to learn. The success of UN stems largely from the failures of the League of Nations. Ronald Reagan, probably aware of the doomed appeasement policy to Adolf Hitler, refused to stand down to the Soviet Union's arms race in the 1980s, ultimately culminating in the arms treaty pact signed between the two superpowers.
On the other hand, politicians who refuse to heed history's lessons too often find themselves walking down the slippery path of failure and doom. Geroge Bush has been forewarned of the problems caused by an invasion of Iraq by Vietnam war veterans who knew better. Despite international condemnation and warnings of another Vietnam in the making, he went ahead, and got the US stuck in a largely unsuccessful and costly operation. Ethnic cleansing in history have always been shown to be a disastrous policy, yet in our modern society, we are still forced to witness the horrors of mass slaughter based on racial prejudice from Serbia to Rwanda.
In conclusion, the study of history is still largely relevant in our modern world. A leader who is astute and wise would do well to listen to history lessons and forge policies with history in mind. Otherwise he risks committing the mistakes of his forefathers. For the sake of progress, history is still an important part of our modern world.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
A Walking Oxymoron
A walking oxymoron is having an otherwise blissful and much needed Sunday morning sleep rudely awakened by a call from your friendly army officer asking that you be "activated for the Silent MOB" by xxx GMT in some faraway army camp.
A walking oxymoron is an army personnel not really coming to terms with his status as an army personnel (albeit for one day only).
A walking oxymoron is not knowing if a greenish sack, found among numerous other sacks in the forgotten corners of the storeroom, could indeed be the Full Pack listed as one of the major items needed for MOB.
A walking oxymoron is having to confirm the identity of the said Full Pack, standing at a mere 33cm, complete with photos via MSN, with a surprisingly patient friend. Anyway that's what friends are for, helping you sieve through full packs from mere rubbish. Thankfully, his message after seeing the photo was, "OK! All ready to go!"
One can never be too sure. I had always remembered Full Packs to be big macho backpacks modelled after those mountain climbing Deuters. Here, a Full Pack is seen with a shoe and my beloved Crumpler side by side for perspective.
A walking oxymoron is having to spend 1 hour of packing, 30 min of swearing, another 30 min of cab journey, 10 min of trekking through vast army wasteland, before acknowledging and completing your activation in...5 seconds.
A walking oxymoron conscientiously packs all the required items below:
• No 4 shirt/ trousers x2
• PT short/vest x1
• Shoes x1
• Slippers x1
• Green socks x2
• Shoebrush/kiwi x1
• Grease x2 (not too sure the army caller meant briefs instead. Anyway I reckon lubrication to be more important than anything else in the world)
• Toothbrush/toothpaste x1
• Soap x1
• Torchlight with AA batteries x1
• Insect repellent x1
• Field pack x1 (what is that?)
• SBO x1
• Water pouch x2
• Toggle rope x1
• Jack knife x1 (for opening up jackfruits, doubtless)
• Ammo pouch x1 (WITHOUT BULLETS PLEASE)
• Helmet with army camoflauge
only to realise that he could just as well pack pockets of air and nobody would care.
A walking oxymoron prefers to be safe than sorry but ends up feeling sorry for himself, after learning that the "market rate" for a silent MOB with Full Battle Order actually means a half-pack of Full Pack, complete with 8 Days, FHM and an iPod with batteries. No helmets or SBO please, unless you want to look like a moron.
A walking oxymoron is a soldier in peacetime, a weekend activator, asked to be ready for combat at the snap of fingers, tasked to defend his motherland against imaginary foes, and you wonder why he always ends up looking like a moron.
A walking oxymoron is an army personnel not really coming to terms with his status as an army personnel (albeit for one day only).
A walking oxymoron is not knowing if a greenish sack, found among numerous other sacks in the forgotten corners of the storeroom, could indeed be the Full Pack listed as one of the major items needed for MOB.
A walking oxymoron is having to confirm the identity of the said Full Pack, standing at a mere 33cm, complete with photos via MSN, with a surprisingly patient friend. Anyway that's what friends are for, helping you sieve through full packs from mere rubbish. Thankfully, his message after seeing the photo was, "OK! All ready to go!"
One can never be too sure. I had always remembered Full Packs to be big macho backpacks modelled after those mountain climbing Deuters. Here, a Full Pack is seen with a shoe and my beloved Crumpler side by side for perspective.
A walking oxymoron is having to spend 1 hour of packing, 30 min of swearing, another 30 min of cab journey, 10 min of trekking through vast army wasteland, before acknowledging and completing your activation in...5 seconds.
A walking oxymoron conscientiously packs all the required items below:
• No 4 shirt/ trousers x2
• PT short/vest x1
• Shoes x1
• Slippers x1
• Green socks x2
• Shoebrush/kiwi x1
• Grease x2 (not too sure the army caller meant briefs instead. Anyway I reckon lubrication to be more important than anything else in the world)
• Toothbrush/toothpaste x1
• Soap x1
• Torchlight with AA batteries x1
• Insect repellent x1
• Field pack x1 (what is that?)
• SBO x1
• Water pouch x2
• Toggle rope x1
• Jack knife x1 (for opening up jackfruits, doubtless)
• Ammo pouch x1 (WITHOUT BULLETS PLEASE)
• Helmet with army camoflauge
only to realise that he could just as well pack pockets of air and nobody would care.
A walking oxymoron prefers to be safe than sorry but ends up feeling sorry for himself, after learning that the "market rate" for a silent MOB with Full Battle Order actually means a half-pack of Full Pack, complete with 8 Days, FHM and an iPod with batteries. No helmets or SBO please, unless you want to look like a moron.
A walking oxymoron is a soldier in peacetime, a weekend activator, asked to be ready for combat at the snap of fingers, tasked to defend his motherland against imaginary foes, and you wonder why he always ends up looking like a moron.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Random Quotes
On Business Travels
Spend half the time in tedious airport queues, and the other half alone in gawdy hotels...that's business travels for you. But of course, if you're afraid of the dark, you can always purchase some company for a small fee.
On Travel Spending
Consumer habits of tourists are limited not by the buying logic but by how much local currency they have left in the wallet. There is a compulsion to clear the currency to the last cent. If I have HK$18.50 left, and a cheeseburger that I normally wouldn't touch pass by cost exactly that, it represents a huge moral victory to my finances.
The Japs
The Japs infuriate me. They strut about in their business suits and ties, looking so prim and proper under the summer sun, that I am envious while feeling sorry for them at the same time.
On SMSes
Clearing the backlog of SMSes on your mobile is much akin to reliving the past few days of your life, depending on how backdated you are.
On Logistics
Logistics is the Archilles heel of the modern world, and terrorists are fully aware of it. How many more years can they afford to screen through air luggages so thoroughly before one bomb finally slips through?
On Logistics #2
If I miss out on indexing even a single title to my burgeoning DVD collection, it's as good as I had never owned it.
On Gifts
Why do you need to shower your loved ones with gifts? Sometimes that's all they will ever remember you by (if they don't happen to dispose of them).
On Assumptions
It's impossible to make head or tail of the world without making any assumptions. So let's assume assumptions work.
On The Little Prince
The world loves sentimental drivel like the Little Prince and Tuesdays with Morrie simply because they are fantasy--everybody wishes everybody else behaves like this, but nobody dares to make the first move, and risk being labelled self-absorbed and sanctimonious idiots.
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