London has seen it’s fair share of protests and strikes over the years, but while sitting in a cafe and watching the drama unfold on the 9th of December, it occurred to me that I had never been in a city with proper protest taking place before. I guess this has to do with the marvelous job social studies has done to indoctrinate Singaporean youth, as the many Singaporeans whom I have spoken to all agree that a) protesting in Singapore is futile, and b) the Government is doing a decent job anyway.

As an international student in London, I can feel the passion that British students have against these cuts. Yet, I find it hard sympathize with them, especially when they behave like hooligans and vandalize historical monuments, such as the statue of Winston Churchill. Do these ‘students’ deserve to be subsidized for a university education when they are showing themselves to be utter morons?

Their main complaint concerns the increase in tuition fees. Apparently, the government aims to soften the blow of this increase by handing out scholarships to poorer students, meaning they would pay less than they do now, while the richer students would pay the increased tuition fees. Those in the middle might be caught in between; unable to apply for the scholarships, but keenly affected by the increased fees. However, student loans are available which can be repaid after graduation (I think). After saying all this, I should admit that I may have misunderstood the policies, as my information has been gathered from newspapers lying around the Tube, and from other foreign students.

In essence, their unhappiness stems from a localized outlook, where they (the British students) are only interested in protecting their own welfare. This outlook pervades British society, from striking tube workers to students. These internal struggles distract the UK from the more pressing problems such as keeping itself competitive internationally, and maintaining it’s status as an important player in world politics. I feel that there should be limits on welfare, be it in subsidizing education or health, rather than living in a bubble and ending up like Spain. The students yesterday do not think so though, instead opting to argue that education was cut as it was easy to, while others (Defence?) should have been cut.

I think that people are mistaken when they say the Government should do what the people want as they were voted in by them. Firstly, a few thousand protesters do not represent the Will of the People. Secondly, the Government was elected because the People trust them in making the right decisions to bring progress, not necessarily the popular ones.

Besides the students, the Metropolitan Police were also under the media’s microscope yesterday. In October, they dealt poorly with the protesters, with a fire extinguisher being thrown off a building, among other acts of hooliganism. This time, they again managed to royally mess things up (haha). Why was there no change in route direction for the PoW’s vehicle? Also, why were they so inappropriately prepared… where were the tear gas and water canons which other police forces use to ensure crowd control? I guess they could learn from the SAF as well- if protesters get near enough, fire your weapon into the sky as a warning shot. They can even use rubber bullets instead of real ones.

Ah well, after being in the UK for 3 months, one learns to pause, take a breath, and go, “sigh, its the UK la, what to do”.

I passed my first exam in university. It doesn’t sound much, but it means the world to me. Thanks God!

Now I just want to go home and have a merry christmas.

They’re here again. Too much to study, and too little time. My body hasn’t come up with an immune response to stress yet, neither has it come up with negative feedback.

I’m hoping the examiners don’t come back to me with negative feedback either. ha.

why did i tell mel woo i’d gladly cook dinner for them. WHY?

nevermind, i’m going to make:

starters: pumpkin soup
mains: random roast of something, salmon wrapped in filo with chive butter, hot gratin with potatoes
dessert: poached pears, ice cream

pkl’s making a pasta in case all goes wrong, but it won’t cos i’m damn zai.

worst case add a dash of truffle oil… everything tastes good with that stuff. haha.

I always thought satellite was a dave matthews song. and the moon.

now i know:
macrosatellite dna: extragenic. tandem repeats:repeated unit tens to hundreds of base pairs. total array 100kb-Mb. often found near centromeres.
microsatellite dna: extragenic. tandem repeats:repeated unit <10 base pairs, often 1 or 2. total array 100 bp. found throughout genome.
minisatellite dna: Extragenic. Tandem repeats: repeated unit 10-70 bp. Total array: 0.1-20 kb. Often found near telomeres.

not forgetting satellite cells which are glial cells in the PNS. along with schwann cells.

Transposons: Long Intervening Nucler Element (LINE): Extragenic sequence that is repeated many times within the genome, but not tandemly. Encodes reverse transcriptase.
Transposons: Short Intervening Nuclear Element (SINE): Extragenic sequence that is repeated many times within the genome, but not tandemly. Does not encode reverse transcriptase.

may i never forget this. at least until the end of year 1.

certainly feels real enough. can’t escape! >.<"
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Why can't we have a reading week like everybody else?!? Medicine in Society is interesting enough, but I don't want to spend a day in a GP clinic one day before my exam!

This is the long-delayed post on the medical mission trip I went on, from 8-21st April 2010.
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In a Holland Village kopitiam at 3am, over cups of milo and teh peng, Ken Tay and I watch Man Utd race towards qualification in the Champions League, until Robben’s cunning and Rafael’s inexperience lead to a sickening loss. Leanne and Emmanuel are seated nearby, and wish me journey mercies when I leave for some last minute packing.

0530, and mother dear dutifully wakes up to her chiming iPhone alarm. Aaron and Bryan, my companions on this trip, are picked up while on the way to the airport, and the journey begins.

Our flight to Kathmandu transits for just over an hour at Bangkok International Airport, and Bryan, the officer one in the group, decides that we should go for a Thai massage near our gate. While heading to the parlor, I recall the news that Bangkok is in a state of emergency, and observe that around me, the only emergencies that are seemingly taking place involve travelers rushing late to their gate. The parlor itself is situated along a busy corridor, with the massage chairs at the shop window, in open view of all passersby. I suppose this arrangement serves to promote the parlor’s services to weary and dishevelled travelers, while also differentiating itself from the seedy massage parlors Bangkok is known for. We have half an hour, enough time for a shoulder and foot massage, and I am expectant, having heard the wonders of a Thai massage. Unfortunately, my masseuse appears disinterested in her skill, her fingers weakly nudge against my shoulders, tired from the messaging she had been doing. As her fingers move from one area to the next, I brace myself for that feeling when firm hands force resistant muscles to relax. I am continually let down. Aaron and Bryan seem unimpressed as well. Our masseuses begin chatting to one another; this does not look like a good advertisement, especially when potential customers can observe your efforts from the window. Perhaps we should have been warned by the empty parlor before stepping in. Once the sessions ends, we hurry on to our gate. Hopefully our disappointment in Bangkok is not an indicator how things will turn out in Nepal.

I had always dreamt of traveling to Nepal. The land of Everest and the Himalayas (Sanskrit for ‘the abode of snow’), where yak and Sherpa survive despite the ice and snow and chilly gusts. Oh, it was a rude shock to arrive into hot, hazy Kathmandu. I had expected this, having looked at the packing list that specified shorts and t-shirts, and from my glance through Lonely Planet, but I could not imagine Nepal being anything other than snow and high mountains. I stare down at Kathmandu from the airplane window in some disbelief.

Kathmandu International is a charming airport from a bygone area; you step off the plane, walk from the tarmac into the brick building, pass bored customs officers and detectors (which are clearly not working), and are finally greeted by throngs of crafty taxi drivers. We politely refuse their offers, and wait for our contact, Gopal Sebastian, to arrive and pick us up. GS, as he is affectionately known, arrives an hour late, but fortunately does not come empty-handed, providing us with slices of pizza as we make our way to lunch at Jars of Clay. GS is a broad, well-built man who is very much to-the-point. I have a hunch that he might have been an army regular in the past, and this is confirmed on our trip to lunch, when he launches into a brief on himself, his mission, and what is happening ‘on the ground’ in Nepal. He is also interested to hear about our journey, as well as our plans after the medical mission. While the conversation is going on, I cannot help but notice the lack of traffic lights, as well as the two big cows lazily grazing on a patch of grass at a busy roundabout. I am still surprised by chaotic, polluted Kathmandu.

An hour later, we pull over next to a side street and make our way to Jars of Clay, a restaurant run by GS and his wife, Jacqueline. Aunt Jacq comes across as a quiet, determined and sensible lady, managing a family (with three kids!), business and ministry simultaneously, without fuss. She also makes a fantastic teriyaki sandwich. As Aaron, Bryan and I dig into our first proper meal of the day, we are joined by a group who arrived a day earlier. Becky, Charlotte, Ruth, Stacey, and Ian (the guy), are eager to catch up and enlighten us on the luxuries of water rationing and power shortages. Their extra day has made them old heads, and they sagely dispense advice such as, “shower quickly before power is cut” and “use no more than one pail of water, or there won’t be enough for the rest”.

After lunch, GS brings us to Pastor Erick’s house, where we will stay for the night. Pastor Erick stays in a lovely three storey house in the Jawalikhel district. Once freshened up, we head downstairs to begin some serious pre-mission medicine packing. Labour is divided into sorting, labelling, and packing of medicines and the production line continues for three long, back-breaking hours. Aaron’s handwriting has visibly degenerated over the hours, and on some labels, ’3 tablets a day’ has become ’2 talets day’, or something like that.

Once the final boxes of medicine have been sorted and kept, it is time for dinner. Pastor Erick takes us to the restaurant he runs, Singma. I learn that Singma is not some play on the word ‘Sigma’ but means ‘Singapore-Malaysia’, reflecting the cuisine served. Dinner is a quick affair, as the three of us who arrived today have not had time to rest, and so an hour later we are back in the house preparing to bathe and go to sleep. When it comes to my turn to bathe, I arm myself with a torch and head to the bathroom. This turns out to be a good decision as while I wait outside, power is cut and I hear a scream from inside the bathroom. When it comes to my turn, power is restored (thankfully), and my time in Sai Yok camp is relived by bathing from a pail filled with icy water.

The room is quiet, and everyone is weary. The adults will be arriving tomorrow and we will be moving to the town of Dhulikhel, where we will set up base for the medical mission. My imagination is running wild again, and I can hardly wait to go to this rural town in the mountains. For now though, rest is in order.

While sifting through the notes on my phone, I found these notes taken at JFK international airport:

27th November 2009, JFK
2045- Cynical Brits talking about their Armenian cab driver. They’re discussing about how he came to the USA aspiring for a better life when all he’ll ever be is a driver ferrying people who have more money than him.

2145- Missed out on an upgrade to premium economy because I didn’t know what skin hangs off a turkey’s neck. Stupid Christmas quiz questions.
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Terrible, cynical Brits.

learn French,
learn photography,
learn cooking,
read more,
visit South America,
visit Africa,
visit Russia,
visit Pakistan, Iran, and Central Asia,
and climb Mount Kilamanjaro.

But most of all, I want to trek to Annapurna Base Camp, and walk the Tibetan Plateau to Everest Base Camp.
I’ll see the unconquerable, and feel the majesty of the mountains. I’ll never get to the top, but then even those who reach the peaks never conquer the mountain, fortune favours them.

Selfish ambitions; God has to come first, hard though it is. But do I find Him first before venturing onto the road, or may I seek Him while I’m on it?

Oh and my time abroad in medical school begins soon. The first steps on the road are to be taken. I prayed for spiritual maturity at YAM camp, may it be granted so my walk never falters.

The best is yet to be!
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I recently read a post from an old teacher who brought to my attention these frightening words:

All men dream: but not equally.
Those who dream by night
In the dusty recesses of their minds
Awake to find that it was vanity;
But the dreamers of day are dangerous men,
For they may act their dream with open eyes
To make it possible.

T E Lawrence, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, 1922

Frightening because I believe that I have been dreaming at night, but now wish to become a dreamer of day. Maybe I will become one tomorrow, or perhaps the top will still be spinning.
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I have yet to blog on the trip to Nepal which started this obsession with the mountains. My notes are lying around somewhere.
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Inception was a good movie. Toy Story 3 was better. The final 10 minutes of both films decided it for me. While Toy Story 3 had a bittersweet ending which English A1 students would term ‘opening out rather than rounding off’, I felt the cliffhanger ending in Inception was simply a cheap stunt to get people to talk about the movie afterwards, and possibly get them back in to try and resolve the mystery? Perhaps the film studio wanted some room for a sequel? Or maybe I just didn’t ‘get’ the artsy ending.

sucked into the world of flickr. help!
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did the safra singapore biathlon on saturday. didn’t bother to train for the 1.5km open sea swim, figuring that it would be way different from training in a pool. practiced running 2 weeks before the biathlon itself. in short, i was a lazy bugger. thankfully, i completed it in a respectable time of 1h35min (would’ve been shorter if not for a loose championchip and the massive number of people swimming in the sea).

technology played it’s part in this performance. an hour before leaving for east coast park, i decided to motivate myself by watching navy seals videos on youtube. i later spent the run telling myself that ‘the only easy day was yesterday’. so guys, before your next run, go and watch these vids, they’re guaranteed to get you focussed:

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