I went for my lesson at Carlos' house in Highgate, and we went through my lack of finesse in my control. After I told him my situation of having to cram for my exams, he told me that the best thing to do is not to practise when I pick up the guitar, but rather just play simple pieces for pleasure. He also told me that he had just finished recording ALL the 80 exam pieces for the Trinity College of Music music exams, from Grade 1-8! ("Ok Carlos, that's 60 pieces done...only 20 more to go...", "GROAN....").

At night, rather than force myself to study physics, I decided to read about a physicist! I'm reading a biography of Andrei Sakharov, a Soviet physicist who went from being the 'Father of the Soviet H-Bomb' to a dissident who later got exiled from his country. It's a really interesting narrative of the circumstances in which he lived...born soon after the revolution, lived through Stalin's purges, got thrown into the turmoil of the Second World War. But what really interested me was the fact that even though he created doomsday weapons, he believed that it was to defend his country He was extremely concerned about the effects that the fallout from nuclear tests would have, and went to loggerheads with Kruschev to reduce the number of tests. Later on, he started to write in underground publications in criticism of the communist government.

An interesting thing is that his criticism of his government would not have had carried as much weight if he was not already reknowned for his work in nuclear weapons. This has a resonance in my current situation: I have been in turmoil over the ethics of doing something I am passionate about when there is so much trouble in the world. Perhaps this is some message that I should concentrate on science, build up a reputation and THEN only use that reputation to write and try to influence things? Of course, this pre-supposes that I am talented and brilliant enough to achieve a reputation of any sort. It is a field saturated with geniuses, and I don't know if I can make significant contributions.

Nevertheless, my biggest talent does seem to be in this field, and if I want to make a difference in the world at large, I should try to follow my talent first. Which means I'd better go back to my books now...

Today, after cramming for the whole day (with surprisingly little actually done in the end, quantitatively at least...), I decided to get some practise, as I have a lesson with Carlos tomorrow. Maybe it's the fact that I've been practising very little in the recent months (hell, I've been practising little over the past YEAR), but I'm hitting the musical doldrums. My fingers are not producing the notes they are supposed to, and I realised just how little control I have over my playing. I've heard people say that spruce guitars are more difficult to play than cedar ones, and as I develop the more I realise this is true. I have a choice: to slowly take in the nuances of guitar, push my playing to a level where it can do her justice; or continue making a travesty of my instrument and the music. I have a friend who said that the more he plays the guitar, the more he realises quite how difficult it is. I think this reality is hitting me like cold water on a winter day.

I don't care when people say that I am a good guitarist. I know that I am not doing justice to the music I am playing. A few years ago, I was delusional enough to think I can be a professional guitarist, and that gig I had in the Swiss Garden only reinforced my folly. I don't want to be a guitarist, I want to be a musician. I do not ask for much, I do not want to travel around the world performing in great concert halls. I do not want to be exalted by critics and aficionados alike. I just to be able to use the guitar as a vehicle for my own expression.

As I sat alone in the empty auditorium, with my guitar in my lap, my fingers sore from my tense playing and poor stamina, I seethed in frustration at my lack of talent. Everything is going wrong, I cannot even play relatively easy stuff comfortably. I reflected on the years I have been playing, of the hundreds of hours I have poured into this. It would be so easy to just give it up. Why do I keep coming back? I have sacrificed what vestige of a social life I had for it. I hardly even play much for people, and when I do I get praise which I feel borders on the facile, for they praise me for the finger gymnastics I can do. I will never be a musician until the day I actually touch someone inside with my playing, which is something I don't think I have been able to do up to now. Yet, with my glaring lack of talent and ability, I can't even get the notes right, let alone get into the nuances of the music.

I don't know. I may complain and rant and despair now, but there are days when I just sit with my guitar, and we will produce music. There would be absolutely no one within earshot, but my entire being would be lost in the music flowing out. It's almost like a torrid love affair. If this analogy holds true, I hope that there's a happily ever after.

And I just discovered today that yesterday's run has caused a recurrence of my old ankle injury. Joy.

It was a lovely spring day. The sun was shining radiantly in a cloudless blue sky, suffusing everything in a beautiful golden sheen. The flowers were starting to bloom, dotting the roadsides with pastel colours, even as teeming humanity rushed pass on their business, carrying out the mundane in a day that was anything but. A cool wind was blowing, making the tree leaves rustle amidst the hubbub of the greatest city on Earth (one of them, at any rate). It was perhaps slightly unfortunate, then, that I spent most of my day at a little desk within the dark depths of the DMS Watson Science Library, trying to coerce my brain into letting in the intricacies of statistical mechanics. Yup, spring is here, but cramming season is here too!

On my way home, I miraculously managed to find a seat on the no. 13 bus. I took out my library copy of Joseph Conrad's Nostromo (superb book so far), and kept myself occupied. As the bus passed through St. John's Wood, I raised my head from the pages of the book and looked at a building along the road. Something, something suddenly clicked inside me. I realised: I pass through this place on my way to uni almost every day, and I never noticed that building has round windows!

I started to look out the window and see. Certainly, I've lived in the area for almost a year, taken the same bus routes for scores of times, and the images of most of the things around there would have passed through my retinas many times. Yet, my eyes were open, but they did not see.
How often do we really use our senses? We can taste, but most of the food we eat is hurriedly shoved into our mouth and swallowed. We can hear, but most sounds, even music, is ignored in the bustle of our daily lives.

We go through the daily motions of life, in a cycle of days and nights, but most of the time we keep our perceptions reigned in. Perhaps one cannot always be in a state of constant wonder (in one of Terry Pratchett's books, there is a character - I can't remember his name - who's suffix is 'the Perpetually Surprised', expressing wonder at the most mundane things)....experience is the raw matter of life, certainly, but one needs introspection as well.

I've heard it said that the world is an ugly place. One thing I've noticed is that we often notice the ugly, but not the beautiful. We automatically shun the beggar on the streets, but how many of us notice the laughter of a toddler, and hear his giggles?

I was in the newspaper room reading the drivel in the Daily Telegraph @ the Daily Torygraph (alas, the Guardian isn't published on Sundays). Yeah, so I WAS supposed to be studying, but there's a world outside as well, y'know...

While I was snorting at the right-wing nonsense, a new resident I haven't met yet came in and started reading the papers as well. After a few minutes, he asked me in a very strong American drawl, "Do you know who 'Gan Lee' is?". I raised my eyebrows, "That's probably me. I'm KHEE Gan". "Oh, I saw your guitar in the lounge and I was wondering whose it was...". The 'I-know-you, you-know-me' atmosphere of Netherhall House makes it probably the only place in the world apart from my house back in KL I would leave my guitar lying about, albeit in its case tagged with my name.

When he found out that I was from UCL, he suddenly said, "Wait, you're a friend of Taha's right? He mentioned to me that there was this guy in his corridor who could play classical guitar really well". Yes, I was in the same corridor as Taha last year. I mentally wondered how he managed to make such a tenuous connection. Admittedly there aren't that many classical guitarists around, but it's still one hell of a conclusion to link the fact that I could play CG to Taha. "I think I've seen you play before...Taha once brought me to a recital in which you played". Ah, that explains it.

We continued chatting, and I learnt that Nima was not only not an American, he was ironically an Iranian. When I mentioned the fact that I am Malaysian, he said, "You've got some pretty good universities in Malaysia, don't you?". I was momentarily stunned, for it's the first time I've ever heard anyone describe such esteemed institutions as UM and UKM as 'good'. I then remembered that a lot of students from the Middle-East and other 3rd World countries consider Malaysia as a destination for higher education. "Yeah, well, we do have colleges in which you can get twinning degrees from universities in the US or UK, but I wouldn't really regard them as more than degree mills", I said. We had a pretty interesting discussion about higher education. Basically, I hold the perhaps slightly idealistic view that higher education should involve more intellectual work and research than merely churning out fodder for the job market. He, on the hand, thought that even a less cerebral education still has plenty of merits.

He then talked me into letting him watch me practise, so I grabbed my guitar from the lounge and we went to the auditorium (yes, we have one in the residence). After hearing me play for a couple of minutes, he said, "One of the first things that I noticed when I heard you play last year was that you breathe rather heavily when you play...". I was torn between surprise and embarrassment. A couple of years back, in a masterclass, an American guitarist called Michael Chapdelaine had mentioned this exact same point about my playing. Michael had described my breathing as "as if you're in labour". Nima, rather more charitably, described it as "It's as if you're trying to breathe the music into yourself". It's something that I do sub-consciously, I told him, and I never actually notice it when I play.

He's pretty interested in the classical and flamenco styles, and he's a self-professed beginner. Yet, the comments and questions he posed to me showed that he was actually listening to my playing, and he showed a remarkable sense of musical insight. After I played him my current work-in-progress, Regondi's Reverie Nocturne, I mentioned to him that the composer was obscure even among classical guitarists. He said, "I think you are playing a lot of music from more obscure composers, why's that?". I prefer to avoid music that's being played a lot, because there's a lot less scope for discovery, and I prefer going down paths which are less well trod. "Have you tried playing nuevo flamenco music like Paco de Lucia? How about improvising or composing your own music?". I think that to improvise and compose, one has to feel inspiration, and that is something I have never had. I would compare myself to a landscape artist, who tries to paint his own interpretation of something that is already there.

"Look man, I've got to go now, but I think you rock, man! Keep up with it". When he left the room, I felt as if I was the one who just received inspiration. That conversation dredged up to the surface the things that has kept me going back to my instrument in the face of a million other commitments, but which I've never consciously been aware of. It's been an interesting day.

I was in the newspaper room reading the drivel in the Daily Telegraph @ the Daily Torygraph (alas, the Guardian isn't published on Sundays). Yeah, so I WAS supposed to be studying, but there's a world outside as well, y'know...

While I was snorting at the right-wing nonsense, a new resident I haven't met yet came in and started reading the papers as well. After a few minutes, he asked me in a very strong American drawl, "Do you know who 'Gan Lee' is?". I raised my eyebrows, "That's probably me. I'm KHEE Gan". "Oh, I saw your guitar in the lounge and I was wondering whose it was...". The 'I-know-you, you-know-me' atmosphere of Netherhall House makes it probably the only place in the world apart from my house back in KL I would leave my guitar lying about, albeit in its case tagged with my name.

When he found out that I was from UCL, he suddenly said, "Wait, you're a friend of Taha's right? He mentioned to me that there was this guy in his corridor who could play classical guitar really well". Yes, I was in the same corridor as Taha last year. I mentally wondered how he managed to make such a tenuous connection. Admittedly there aren't that many classical guitarists around, but it's still one hell of a conclusion to link the fact that I could play CG to Taha. "I think I've seen you play before...Taha once brought me to a recital in which you played". Ah, that explains it.

We continued chatting, and I learnt that Nima was not only not an American, he was ironically an Iranian. When I mentioned the fact that I am Malaysian, he said, "You've got some pretty good universities in Malaysia, don't you?". I was momentarily stunned, for it's the first time I've ever heard anyone describe such esteemed institutions as UM and UKM as 'good'. I then remembered that a lot of students from the Middle-East and other 3rd World countries consider Malaysia as a destination for higher education. "Yeah, well, we do have colleges in which you can get twinning degrees from universities in the US or UK, but I wouldn't really regard them as more than degree mills", I said. We had a pretty interesting discussion about higher education. Basically, I hold the perhaps slightly idealistic view that higher education should involve more intellectual work and research than merely churning out fodder for the job market. He, on the hand, thought that even a less cerebral education still has plenty of merits.

He then talked me into letting him watch me practise, so I grabbed my guitar from the lounge and we went to the auditorium (yes, we have one in the residence). After hearing me play for a couple of minutes, he said, "One of the first things that I noticed when I heard you play last year was that you breathe rather heavily when you play...". I was torn between surprise and embarrassment. A couple of years back, in a masterclass, an American guitarist called Michael Chapdelaine had mentioned this exact same point about my playing. Michael had described my breathing as "as if you're in labour". Nima, rather more charitably, described it as "It's as if you're trying to breathe the music into yourself". It's something that I do sub-consciously, I told him, and I never actually notice it when I play.

He's pretty interested in the classical and flamenco styles, and he's a self-professed beginner. Yet, the comments and questions he posed to me showed that he was actually listening to my playing, and he showed a remarkable sense of musical insight. After I played him my current work-in-progress, Regondi's Reverie Nocturne, I mentioned to him that the composer was obscure even among classical guitarists. He said, "I think you are playing a lot of music from more obscure composers, why's that?". I prefer to avoid music that's being played a lot, because there's a lot less scope for discovery, and I prefer going down paths which are less well trod. "Have you tried playing nuevo flamenco music like Paco de Lucia? How about improvising or composing your own music?". I think that to improvise and compose, one has to feel inspiration, and that is something I have never had. I would compare myself to a landscape artist, who tries to paint his own interpretation of something that is already there.

"Look man, I've got to go now, but I think you rock, man! Keep up with it". When he left the room, I felt as if I was the one who just received inspiration. That conversation dredged up to the surface the things that has kept me going back to my instrument in the face of a million other commitments, but which I've never consciously been aware of. It's been an interesting day.

Woke up at noon, and decided to study for an hour before going to get my lunch at the dining hall. At 1pm I went over to the dining hall, and to my mild surprise, there was only Alvaro and Jason outside the dining hall, when there should be a horde of starving students waiting to get their chow. I stood by while they were discussing about procuring some new musical instruments for the hall (trivia: the cheapest pipe organ (!) you can get costs around £10-20,000). After waiting outside the dining hall for 10 minutes, I distinctly felt something was wrong. I asked Alvaro for the time, and he said '2.10'. My jaw flung open, and I realised: I FORGOT TO TURN MY CLOCKS TO SUMMER TIME. When they realised my gaffe, I was treated to uproarious laughter from Alvaro and Jason. So off I stalked to ruminate on my own stupidity.

Now it's about 4pm (British Summer Time, not Kheegan's Time), and all I've had all day was a cereal bar, a packet of nuts, some hot chocolate and a large helping of quantum mechanics stuffed down my own throat. Will probably go out for a jog....as I burn about 70kcal per km (7 x 70 ~ 500kcal, DEFINITELY more than what I've had to eat so far), that means that I'll probably be running (no pun intended) on a energy deficit until I get dinner.

I'm considering hitting Chinatown for dinner, and then popping down to the Royal Festival Hall to catch a concert by the Philharmonia Orchestra and some pianist I've never heard of. The centrepiece is Chopin's 2nd concerto, which I don't like as much as the 1st, but I haven't been to an orchestral concert in ages, and anyway I've somehow managed not to see the Philharmonia playing yet...