Rubénerd!

So we're moving house again, and it's a lot of work. My first task, cleaning out and throwing away more of my stuff.

I'm certainly not at the level of a hoarder, but I'm a "collector". Coins, stamps, computer cables, business cards... and for some reason thoroughly-washed beverage containers. Most of them have a history that are either far too personal or embarrassing to impart here! XD

As with my old display, I find taking pictures of things renders them easier to dispose of. Perhaps immortalising them on my Flickr feed means they're still with me somehow. I'm a weird person.

From top left to bottom right, immortalised forever here on Rubénerd.com:

1. An IKEA apple cider can
2. Two Starbucks coffee cups from my first year back in Sydney
3. A "Drink Responsibly" coffee cup from the Coffee Club
4. Two Starbucks Yuletide-themed cups
5. Two cans of Mr Potato, my favourite snack from Malaysia as a kid
6. A Starbucks cup with an earlier logo sleeve
7. Two years of The Rocks Aroma Festival cups
8. A carton of Paul's Egg Nog I took to an Anime Club event
9. A Maxwell Coffee can from one of my earlier dates with Clara
10. A Selamat Wafer, which is far too bagus to mention!

I am fully aware of the (albeit reversed) insinuation kaeru on Pixiv was... insinuating. Still, after a full day of heat in Sydney yesterday, and a terribly hot sticky night (I'm not doing anything to help this insinuation), the late morning was positively refreshing by comparison.

It's amazing how one merely has to spend a day being blown at by nature's hair dryer to render an otherwise normal summer day with a gentle sea breeze feel so wonderful.

The WordPress ID for this entry is 10707, the ending of which was Boeing's first commercial jetliner. I'm going to pretend this was done on purpose somehow to coincide with my passing mention of breezes. That made sense in my head.

My first reaction when I saw this Hatsune Miku figure in 2011 was "jeepers, you'd get a twisted back doing that!" Today, I feel like an idol who's spun too far, though there's nothing virtual about MY neck!

"A curved spine is The Devil's roller coaster!"

As a young, healthy, immortal person who's only health issue is recurrent family headaches every few weeks, when I do get sick or have pains hit me from out of nowhere, I take the opportunity to complain about it whenever and however I can.

Since this morning, the back of my neck towards my spine has been in such horrid pain it's indescribable. I've had neck pain before, often when I've slept in an awkward position or that time I fixed a computer tower under a desk rather than bothering to lift it up and work on it where there was plenty of light and space.

This pain is different through. It's as though someone has a drill and is boring a hole into the top of my spine. As long as I sit perfectly still with perfect posture (the latter is probably a good thing to do anyway) the pain is dulled, but the instant I turn my head or eat or sneeze, I'm suddenly a drunk sailor.

My mum's cancer treatment often left her immobile for many days, and as a result I'd help her perform exercises to release tension in her joints and muscles. A common one we did for her neck was to have her stand in the corner of the room with her arms on each wall, and leaning as far forward as she could before the pain set in. Years later, I found myself doing the same thing this morning. I could feel (and, gulp, hear) things happening with my body, and afterwards the pain was slightly more tolerable.

Not the French bread kind

I'll be heading to the GP first thing in the morning to see what I should do. I've never done this before, will I get a referral for a physiotherapist? And while I'm on the subject, what's a physiotherapist?

If anything, this is a wake up call. I'm not a teenager any more, and can't afford to take things like my posture and ergonomics for granted. I liked to think I do the right things for my back and neck, but there are probably many more things I could be doing.

Thank you for letting me whinge ^_^;

Forgive me for this post, I haven't written anything like this before!

So I was stressed from assignments. The subjects I have this semester combined have more workload than I had when I was working full time in a corporate office. I'd say almost double, as a conservative estimate. You can tell from the sudden drop off in the frequency of blog posts here!

Clara saw that I was stressed out, so she drew me Yuki and emailed it to me. A few days ago, she gave me the original in a little wooden frame to keep. She's sewn me plushie whales, snow bunnies and birds. She's held my hand, squeezed my arm and given me hugs. She's pretended to find my jokes hilarious! She's written me letters, typed me emails, and commuted from Hornsby to Bardwell Park to see me. She's shared udon with me, and long evening walks. She's gentle with me, loves me and respects me, no strings attached. At times, I wake up and can't believe it.

I can tell she's stressed now too, so I'm posting this here to say what a wonderful, talented, creative, smart, generous, considerate, cute, beautiful person she is. Regardless of whether she believes me or not, I'm the luckiest guy in the world.

I'm so excited to be spending my future with you, Clara. I love you.

It's fascinating how the exact same space can feel so different simply with fewer people!

It was just over a month ago now when I ventured into my university's inner city library to work on several group assignments. We'd met up several weekends in a row, filled up with coffee from the stand downstairs, and converted caffeine to code and UML. Despite being a "library", it was buzzing with activity, so much so that often we had trouble locating desks to sit at! Packed, noisy, hot, and with internet slower than a busted toaster oven.

Memo to UTS: more group work areas.

Fast forward to now. Given the weather in Sydney over the last few days, I can only assume our local ancient phone exchange was flooded again, rendering our home internet as reliable as a toaster oven door built with slabs of cheese. Where in the hell are theses analogies come from? I was already in town attending various banking duties, so I figured I'd afford myself the use of the university's wireless, and head to the library for a few hours.

Entering the building, the first thing I became aware of was I could still hear the sound of podcast chatter coming through my headphones. It was... quiet. Really, really quiet! As I identified myself to the gate machines with a swipe of my student ID card thingy, I noticed most of the desks were empty. There were computers free. Books were on shelves, not on tables.

Going upstairs and sitting in my favourite couch by the window I used to sit at before I had friends (shaddup!), it struck me just how empty the place was. The people didn't make much of a difference, it was more the complete absence of sound. It was eerie.

Of course, none of this is unexpected, with exams and the semester winding down and with most people heading out for holidays and such, clearly most people weren't as nerdy as me and thought they'd spend a couple of hours there just hanging out! Maybe the [very!] recent memory of all the brain cramming and 11th hour assignment work scared the rest off.

Whatever the case, I've always been fascinated with giant spaces with no people. Maybe it appeals to the introvert in me, but abandoned buildings, or buildings at odd times without occupants... there's just something profoundly different about them that can't just be explained as being an absence of people. Like school during the holidays, or offices on Sundays.

There's something else about empty places that usually have people. And I have no idea what it is.

Normally my train heads through the Airport Line tunnel to Green Square, Mascot, Domestic and International. Today, it bypassed the tunnel completely, passing Redfern and Syndenham without stopping before heading to Turrella and my stop at Bardwell Park. What's usually a 20-25 minute train ride was over in less than 15!

I have no idea why it did this (and why TwitPic refused to upload the image above!) but I wasn't complaining!

All this violent weather in Sydney reminded me of an experience I had years ago with loud noises, avoiding talking to people and the like. Many facts have been admonished, embellished or made up for convenience. Enjoy!

Rowan of Brethrin

Despite having neither the licence nor the skill to operate a motor vehicular device, I piloted the nimble automobile down a lonely, dark stretch of road towards somewhere. A guy's house flew past me on one side, and presumably someone else's house on the other side. The road felt like a tunnel with large, overgrown canopy trees stretching out from the footpath and reaching across to touch the branches of their brethrin on the other side. A rather rude display to be performing in public, if you ask me. Which you didn't, so I'll shut up.

As I was attempting to avoid a fork in the road lest it puncture one of my tyres, I heard a loud crash so loud it crashed. Just like that description.

Bolting out of my chair like a spring loaded... chair, I thrust the headphones I was wearing onto the table and hit the spacebar on the keyboard to pause the simulator. I'd paused it many times before, but not under such frigtening circumstances. Frankly, I was surprised the keyboard had absorbed the impact of my keysmash as nonchelantly as it did. I suppose it had plenty of practice from when I'd been debugging Java late at night. ExcessivelyCamelCasedException THIS!

When I'd calmed down from the shock, I adjusted my invisible tie and strained my ears to triangulate where the sound had emanated. The room was dead silent, save for the oversized cooling fan in my primary desktop computer system which ironically was positioned below my desk.

Just as my blood pressure had returned to as normal a state as caffeine normally afforded me, the crash sound thundered across the room again. This time, with my full and undivided attention, I realised (HEY, AN ANIMATED GIF OF A CAT!) the sound was coming from the front door.

Who's to say front doors aren't side doors? Isn't the front a side?

On my tippy toes, which was rather difficult in awkwardly fitting slippers in the masculine shape of bunny rabbits, I inched towards the door. Croutching on the bunnies, I peeked underneath as I'd done so many times before while attempting to avoid contact with people, but to my surprise I saw none of the telltale signs of a human presence. Feet, mostly. And shoes. None. Neither!

Relieved I wouldn't have to actually speak to anyone, I fumbled with the door knob then inched the door aside.

Laying in front of the door was the unmistakably wooden shape of a tree branch. As thick as a tree branch, and nearly as long, it lay there with a freshy snapped section on one end, suggesting it had snapped off from the tree of which it had branched from at some point. How it had sailed to my front door in the dead of night without human assistance baffled me to the extent that I couldn't figure it out. Unlike all those other times I was baffled, mind.

Still, where did that second bang come from? Oh wait, it did make sense, there was a second branch there. Almost as massive and menacing as it's brother, assuming they branched from the same tree.

Another loud bang, and I took an involuntary nap on the welcome mat. Surprisingly soft, though a little muddy for my tastes. For the next few hours, I supposed it'd have to do.

A migraine today made me think. This is never a good sign!

After a surprising and welcome dearth of the ghastly things, I had another of the Family Migraines this afternoon. Both dad and mum suffer[ed] from them terribly, so my genetics didn't offer me any escape from either chromosome! My mum colourfully referred to hers as a vice slowly gripping and crushing her skull; my dad described the sensation of seeing a kaleidoscope across his eyes before finally blacking out. Mine could be best described as a kaleidoscope in a vice, surprising though it may seem.

Lying on my bed this afternoon with a cold compress on my forehead and several layers of quilts, I got to thinking about a lot of things. As is the case with insomnia, thinking when you have a headache is bad enough let alone when you have a migraine, so I attempted several things to calm my mind down. Concentrating on my breathing, making sure to take breaths deep down near the diaphragm rather than having my stomach rise and fall. Despite the freezing weather, I tend to have a fan gently blowing away from me next to the bed for whitenose (a necessity of growing up in an Asian city where whitenose is everywhere!), so once I got my breathing under control I focused on that.

Initially I was angry and scared that a precious day before exams and assignments are due was being wasted, but those five hours or so just lying there in a state of forced meditation calmed me down. It also helped to put my current worries into perspective a bit.

I realised worrying about whether recovering from a migraine was going to affect uni work... was utterly pointless. In fact beyond pointless, it was detrimental! If I was worried about the work I wasn't doing, that would only fuel the pain and prolong it. A vicious cycle of fail!

We've all had to endure different levels and types of worrying at some point in our lives. Some are more primal and necessary for survival in the here and now, some are existential. I worry that things back in Singapore change so fast than when I finally go back there I won't recognise it. That I'll finish my major only to discover my ideal career path needs something else. That I don't have someone to fall asleep next to. That coffee will be discovered to contain a long-term negative neurolytic agent that affects those who stare at LCDs in humid climates. That I'm lonely, and scared. That I'll be disappointing my young self who first stared at a blinking DOS cursor and tried to imagine all the things he could be with those machines. That my shy awkwardness will only get worse over time, not better. That I'm worrying too much, or not enough, or about the right things, or the wrong things. That The Bird might not be The Word.

I loathe the term "at the end of the day", but in this rare circumstance it fits. At the end of the day, if we're lucky enough to be able to lay our heads on pillows and dream, worrying doesn't accomplish anything. It's pointless to anything we want to do. In fact beyond pointless, it's detrimental. So there's no point doing it ^^.

It's just funny that I only remind myself of this when I have a migraine. Tomorrow, I'll probably forget again.

Keith Olbermann, Twitter:

If you're not planning on overdoing it for your Mom today, overdo it for all the rest of us who would give anything to overdo it for ours

Hey Mummy, remember that Mother's Day I carried a tray of food into your bedroom loudly singing Dean Martin, and you threw a book at me in horror? Or the time you flipped an entire plate of mie goreng onto your head on our last holiday, only to have you say in a sheepish little voice "oh... shit!" Or the time we just sat at that Starbucks in Paragon giggling for hours on end while people around us tried to figure out why? Good times! :)

I love you Mummy. Being silly just isn't the same without you.

So I was making my way home one evening when I was studying in Adelaide. I wasn't in a hurry because the train back to Mawson Lakes wasn't due for another 45 minutes, so I was walking at a casual speed. I had my laptop bag with various anime badges slung across my shoulder, and was listening to some Michael Franks and some light J-Pop to calm myself down from a long day.

As I was making my way through a shortcut towards North Terrace, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. Before I had time to react, I was spun wildly against my will with enough force to knock the wind out my lungs.

I was 19 at the time, and the man standing in front of me was in his mid 20s. I don't remember much about his face other than his piercing eyes, and the fact he had a black shirt on with some obscure band I'd never heard of scrawled across it in grey writing. All he would have needed is an obvious scar across his face or a limb, and a black ute with rims parked next to him and he would have been a walking cliche!

Needless to say, realising the girl with long blond hair he'd touched was actually a guy, my look of surprise was met with one of horror mixed with disgust. He made a loud "OH!" sound, then turned the other way and ran.

I stood there for what seemed like an hour, my mind still racing trying to figure out what I'd just experienced. When I made it to the train station I realised the whole ordeal and my standing there couldn't have lasted for more than a few minutes. Racing through my mind the whole time were thoughts of how I'd narrowly avoided something nasty. Had I been a girl, would I have been less lucky?

That's the first time I've ever made that experience public. Back then I was terrified, now I just wish I'd have taken a picture of him so I could do a TinEye, found his Facebook page and got revenge on him Nerd Style.

All this came flooding back a few days ago, when I was walking home with a close friend from my new university in Sydney. Suffice to say, she was hugged against her will by strangers. I attempted to fend them off, but not before she'd been made to feel vulnerable and scared.

My sister has told me plenty of tales of when guys have leered at her and her friends, and the number of times she's narrowly avoided confrontations.

Around the world and particularly in Australia, sexism and abuse are still rampant. If you don't believe me, chances are you've never been the victim of it, or you're wilfully ignorant. I myself confess I had no idea how bad it was until I experienced it myself, and saw it happen to my sister and friends.

During my Long Hair Days, I was mistaken for a girl all the time, and no less than three times it got physical. I've been whistled at many more times, by people who clearly need better glasses. Interestingly enough, I grew up in Singapore and only ever had problems when I came to Australia. Go figure.

Maybe it's my relatively petite build in proportion to my height, my hair, perhaps I have an effeminate swagger, who the fuck knows? I suppose the fact my favourite colour is purple and I have cute anime girls on my backpack may send mixed signals. Still, a person's gender or appearance shouldn't be an excuse for any behaviour. I suppose that was what those Slutwalks were all about.

Men are vulnerable to different kinds of sexism, but I think it helps to remind ourselves that our female friends and loved ones go through a different kind of hell on a regular basis. And again, I only know it because I've been mistaken for one.