Work work work....or in my case, study study study. It's pretty much agreed that I'll have to spend the first fortnight of my internship just learning the ropes...getting the hang of Unix, learning up on stuff about interstellar dust, figuring out how to use a program used to model interstellar dust (which my mentor co-wrote). As I said, I seem to be a bit out of place in our office, as I'm the only one not hammering away at the keyboard, with lots of intimidating numbers and jumbles of alphabets on-screen.
There are usually 5 of us in the office...Rafael and Esteban from Colombia, Scott, and American, and Tom, the French guy. We were sitting around the office doing our own thing yesterday when Tom suddenly started going 'Grrr...' and clenching his hands. As we looked over at him, he exclaimed 'My machine's hung on me...', he moved his mouse around and indeed the cursor on the screen didn't move at all. As I mentioned before, all the computers in the Institute are Sun workstations running Unix. These machines are almost impossible to crash or hang unlike Windows. Now, Tom is a pretty short guy (about my height), and he is the spitting image of Niles from 'Frasier', both in appearance and mannerisms, i.e. he's a bit stiff and high-strung. So, we were all laughing at this, both at his feat and at his reaction.
A few hours later, Tom went 'Grrr...' again, and to our joy and amusement, he managed to hang his computer again! TWICE IN A DAY! Now, we've a little message written on our whiteboard: 'No. of times Tom has crashed his computer: 2'...
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Monday morning. I dragged myself out of bed at 8.30am, by 9pm I was at the Space Telescope Science Institute where I start work. It was only 5 minutes walk away from my apartment, but I managed to be the last to arrive at the orientation. Orientation mostly involved us filling in forms of various kinds, including two extremely scary forms for our income tax exemptions. It was so intimidating that none of us foreign students have submitted ours yet.
After that, we were brought around the institute building. It's a fairly new building, since the institute was only set up less than 15 years ago to operate the Hubble Space Telescope. The building is within the John Hopkins University campus, and it's surrounded by trees, so at times it seems as if the building is within a forest. There is a room with several computers which is for the use of us summer students, which means that we get to work pretty independently, without anyone breathing down our throats.
I had a working lunch with my mentor, Dr. Margaret Meixner, who is a middle aged, motherly looking woman. We talked about her work and the sort of project that I could choose to undertake. Of course, relevant to this was my own level of knowledge and skills..."Do you know Fortran?" "No", "Do you know how to use Unix?" "No", "Have you done ANY programming before?" "Ummm...just a little bit once". After some discussion it was decided that I should work on a project to create a theoretical model on how dust around a young star behaves (a lot of her work seems to involve dust of some kind or other). To start off, I need to learn Unix and learn up some stuff from a textbook she handed me to photocopy, and report back to her in two days. I'm going to be working on my own a lot, in fact...she will be gone for a total of 4 weeks during my duration here (not all at once though), so I will really have to learn how to work independently.
So, having thought myself freed from studying after finishing my exams 2 weeks ago, off I went to the intern office to try and learn how to use Unix, and cram up about 70 pages of a textbook. So far, that's what I've been doing mostly...what seems clear is that my colleagues, the other interns, seem to have dived right into their work, with reams of data displayed on their screens, while I am staring blankly at the workstation trying to figure out how to open a program within Unix. At other times, I'm sitting there with the photocopies of the textbook, trying to force myself to absorb the stuff. Somehow it's hard to focus, without something concrete to do. In addition, the other guys seem to be pretty well schooled in astronomy, whereas I have done nothing more than elementary astronomy in my university studies.
In any case, tommorow I will be meeting up with Dr. Meixner, and we'll see where we go from there.
After that, we were brought around the institute building. It's a fairly new building, since the institute was only set up less than 15 years ago to operate the Hubble Space Telescope. The building is within the John Hopkins University campus, and it's surrounded by trees, so at times it seems as if the building is within a forest. There is a room with several computers which is for the use of us summer students, which means that we get to work pretty independently, without anyone breathing down our throats.
I had a working lunch with my mentor, Dr. Margaret Meixner, who is a middle aged, motherly looking woman. We talked about her work and the sort of project that I could choose to undertake. Of course, relevant to this was my own level of knowledge and skills..."Do you know Fortran?" "No", "Do you know how to use Unix?" "No", "Have you done ANY programming before?" "Ummm...just a little bit once". After some discussion it was decided that I should work on a project to create a theoretical model on how dust around a young star behaves (a lot of her work seems to involve dust of some kind or other). To start off, I need to learn Unix and learn up some stuff from a textbook she handed me to photocopy, and report back to her in two days. I'm going to be working on my own a lot, in fact...she will be gone for a total of 4 weeks during my duration here (not all at once though), so I will really have to learn how to work independently.
So, having thought myself freed from studying after finishing my exams 2 weeks ago, off I went to the intern office to try and learn how to use Unix, and cram up about 70 pages of a textbook. So far, that's what I've been doing mostly...what seems clear is that my colleagues, the other interns, seem to have dived right into their work, with reams of data displayed on their screens, while I am staring blankly at the workstation trying to figure out how to open a program within Unix. At other times, I'm sitting there with the photocopies of the textbook, trying to force myself to absorb the stuff. Somehow it's hard to focus, without something concrete to do. In addition, the other guys seem to be pretty well schooled in astronomy, whereas I have done nothing more than elementary astronomy in my university studies.
In any case, tommorow I will be meeting up with Dr. Meixner, and we'll see where we go from there.
Sunday, June 13, 2004
So, here I am in the USA. It's Sunday night now, so I've been here for two full days, but I'd better start nearer the beginning...
Friday morning, after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, which usually happens to me before I travel, I had breakfast and leave for Heathrow. The flight itself was pretty uneventful, apart from the fact that we took off 45 minutes late, and I had a rather large Nigerian guy sitting next to me, so it was rather cramped for me (fortunately I was in the aisle seat and not him). In the last hour of the flight, as we were orbiting Baltimore-Washington International, waiting for permission to land, we were just flying inside clouds, without a single glimpse of land or sea. It wasn't until the final 10 seconds before landing that we actually emerged from the clouds. Clearly, it was a rainy day in Maryland. Being from a quasi-unfriendly country, I had to go through a special registration process at passport control. I was half-expecting to get rude and intimidating customs officers, but I got a black lady officer who was quiet but polite, even though there were a couple of officers who were rather unfriendly looking. The process mostly involved her asking me mundane questions and entering it in the computer, and then taking my fingerprints and photo. Nothing big, but merely time-wasting. By the time that ended, I was the last passenger from the plane to pick up my luggage, so there was the rather intimidating sight of a dozen customs officers waiting to inspect my luggage. Fortunately, again I got a friendly customs officer, and he made banter with me while asking me (again) a few questions. I didn't have to open my luggage up, fortunately.
Inside the USA proper, I emerged into the arrival lounge none the worse for wear. The first thing that struck me was the terminal building was LARGE but quite empty. The place seemed almost as large as Terminal 1 in Subang airport, but they handle something like a flight every couple of hours. I got myself a taxi, and it took us something like half an hour to get to the apartment I'm sub-letting, which is just next to John Hopkins University. On the way there, we passed near downtown Baltimore, and I saw the stadium that got nuked in 'The Sum of All Fears'. By the time I got to my apartment, it was about 6-ish in the evening. As I got out of the cab, I saw that there was $25.90 on the meter. I took out $30, and I only just remembered that I had to tip, so I just let the cabdriver keep the change.
I was supposed to get the keys to my apartment from Caroline, a friend of my landlord who's living in the building right next door, so I went over there and rang her bell. When she emerged from her front door, I immediately thought that she must be Eurasian (or rather, Ameriasian). She was chirpy, and she showed me to my apartment, which was one the fifth floor of my building. When I got the front door open, I was momentarily shocked. The apartment was in an extremely large mess. There were boxes strewn about the place, dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, and the floor was ridiculously dirty. Caroline is a very friendly girl, and she gave me some advice on nearby shops and how to get about. I was also somewhat surprised when she offered to accompany me to dinner nearby (surprised because she already mentioned the fact that she has a boyfriend). We went to a diner about 10 minutes walk away, and I greatly enjoyed chatting with her. The level of service I got at the diner was far better than anywhere else I've been, except perhaps Japan. After dinner, I went back to my apartment, and an emergency occured: I couldn't get the front door open. After about 10 minutes of trying, I went over to Caroline's place again and with great embarrassment told her my predicament. She came over to my apartment, and she had no luck either. She used her handphone to try and call the maintenance guy to the building, and after some time she managed to get through to the right person. She handed me the phone for me to speak to the guy, and when he found out that I'm not the official lease-holder of the apartment, he said he wasn't going to travel 25 miles from home to get the door open from me. As I slumped in desperation, he said 'I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you can try using a credit card', before the call ended. So I handed the phone back to Caroline, muttered 'credit card' (this confused her quite a bit), and took out my ISIC card (no point using anything of value). After a couple of minutes of jiggling, to our great relief and amazement, the door opened! Well, it's worked in movies before, but I always thought it was some kind of urban myth...
The next day Saturday was spent mostly in my apartment, trying to get the place cleaned up. My two Spanish flatmates, Gara and Miguel, aren't arriving until two weeks later, so I thought I'd get the place into a reasonably habitable state before they get here. Apart from a quick shopping trip to a nearby mall to get some groceries, the highlight of the day way managing to get my laptop connected to the DSL connection in my apartment, which is a minor miracle considering that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
This morning, Sunday, I was supposed to meet some of the other interns for lunch at a nearby diner. I couldn't get much sleep last night because my body still think it's in London, and I woke up at about 7am. I got to the diner at 11.30, and three of them were already waiting there. There was Scott, a Massachusetts native studying Vassar College, NY; Bonnie, a Pittsburgh native studying in Cleveland, Ohio; and Tom, a French-Brit mix on my side of the pond, at St. Andrews Uni in Scotland. A while later, Marie, a Chinese-American studying in Uni of Southern Cali turned up as well. After brunch, we decided to go and take a look at the Institute where we're supposed to be working. The Space Telescope Science Insitute is inside the Johns Hopkins University (JHU) campus, but it's independent. The JHU campus itself is a very green, leafy place with lots of trees, and the immediate surroundings are a very slightly boring suburban area. After that, we decided to catch a bus to downtown Baltimore.
The bus took it's time to get to our bus stop, and when it arrived it was pretty full of people. I HAVE NEVER SEEN SO MANY OBESE PEOPLE IN MY LIFE. It wasn't a majority in any way, but still there was noticeably a lot more than anywhere else I've been. Another thing that I noticed was that there are so many churches in this place...a lot more than in Britain, I felt. I guess Americans are much more religious compared to their counterparts from across the Atlantic.
Outside the immediate vicinity of the JHU campus, the surroundings immediately took a seedy cast, with peeling buildings and a far more run-down appearance. I hope this doesn't sound racist, but there were a lot of black people, inside and outside the bus. After about 25 minutes, the buildings of downtown Baltimore came into sight, and we got off at the Inner Harbour area. Inner Harbour is the innermost part of Cheasapeake Bay, and there were a lot of boats in the area. The Baltimore aquarium is also situated here, as well as the USS Constellation, the US Navy's last wooden sailing ship. It was pretty crowded as it was a Sunday afternoon, and we took our time going around the place. Nearby, there was an old power plant that is now a Barnes and Noble bookshop, and we spent a bit of time browsing it. By the time we left, it was already about 5.30 pm, so we decided to take the bus back to JHU. When we got back to the campus area, we all went home (all of our places are around the JHU campus area).
So far, it's been a rather disorienting experience to me. It's normal to feel out-of-place when coming to a new place, and not knowing anyone around, but somehow this is different. Americana is so ubiquitous all over the world, so actually getting here and being immersed in it is a somewhat surreal experience. The people here are friendly and cheerful in general, but I cannot help but feel that in general Americans seem to be insular and ignorant of the outside world. Other things also stand out, like their love and obsession with cars (in part driven by necessity), and their liberal use of their car horn when driving! Of course, the incidence of obesity is also rather disturbing. So far, much as I hate to say this, my impression of America is a country without direction, and at siege with the rest of the world.
I start work tomorrow morning. Will keep this updated, and get pictures uploaded as well.
Friday morning, after a sleepless night of tossing and turning, which usually happens to me before I travel, I had breakfast and leave for Heathrow. The flight itself was pretty uneventful, apart from the fact that we took off 45 minutes late, and I had a rather large Nigerian guy sitting next to me, so it was rather cramped for me (fortunately I was in the aisle seat and not him). In the last hour of the flight, as we were orbiting Baltimore-Washington International, waiting for permission to land, we were just flying inside clouds, without a single glimpse of land or sea. It wasn't until the final 10 seconds before landing that we actually emerged from the clouds. Clearly, it was a rainy day in Maryland. Being from a quasi-unfriendly country, I had to go through a special registration process at passport control. I was half-expecting to get rude and intimidating customs officers, but I got a black lady officer who was quiet but polite, even though there were a couple of officers who were rather unfriendly looking. The process mostly involved her asking me mundane questions and entering it in the computer, and then taking my fingerprints and photo. Nothing big, but merely time-wasting. By the time that ended, I was the last passenger from the plane to pick up my luggage, so there was the rather intimidating sight of a dozen customs officers waiting to inspect my luggage. Fortunately, again I got a friendly customs officer, and he made banter with me while asking me (again) a few questions. I didn't have to open my luggage up, fortunately.
Inside the USA proper, I emerged into the arrival lounge none the worse for wear. The first thing that struck me was the terminal building was LARGE but quite empty. The place seemed almost as large as Terminal 1 in Subang airport, but they handle something like a flight every couple of hours. I got myself a taxi, and it took us something like half an hour to get to the apartment I'm sub-letting, which is just next to John Hopkins University. On the way there, we passed near downtown Baltimore, and I saw the stadium that got nuked in 'The Sum of All Fears'. By the time I got to my apartment, it was about 6-ish in the evening. As I got out of the cab, I saw that there was $25.90 on the meter. I took out $30, and I only just remembered that I had to tip, so I just let the cabdriver keep the change.
I was supposed to get the keys to my apartment from Caroline, a friend of my landlord who's living in the building right next door, so I went over there and rang her bell. When she emerged from her front door, I immediately thought that she must be Eurasian (or rather, Ameriasian). She was chirpy, and she showed me to my apartment, which was one the fifth floor of my building. When I got the front door open, I was momentarily shocked. The apartment was in an extremely large mess. There were boxes strewn about the place, dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, and the floor was ridiculously dirty. Caroline is a very friendly girl, and she gave me some advice on nearby shops and how to get about. I was also somewhat surprised when she offered to accompany me to dinner nearby (surprised because she already mentioned the fact that she has a boyfriend). We went to a diner about 10 minutes walk away, and I greatly enjoyed chatting with her. The level of service I got at the diner was far better than anywhere else I've been, except perhaps Japan. After dinner, I went back to my apartment, and an emergency occured: I couldn't get the front door open. After about 10 minutes of trying, I went over to Caroline's place again and with great embarrassment told her my predicament. She came over to my apartment, and she had no luck either. She used her handphone to try and call the maintenance guy to the building, and after some time she managed to get through to the right person. She handed me the phone for me to speak to the guy, and when he found out that I'm not the official lease-holder of the apartment, he said he wasn't going to travel 25 miles from home to get the door open from me. As I slumped in desperation, he said 'I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you can try using a credit card', before the call ended. So I handed the phone back to Caroline, muttered 'credit card' (this confused her quite a bit), and took out my ISIC card (no point using anything of value). After a couple of minutes of jiggling, to our great relief and amazement, the door opened! Well, it's worked in movies before, but I always thought it was some kind of urban myth...
The next day Saturday was spent mostly in my apartment, trying to get the place cleaned up. My two Spanish flatmates, Gara and Miguel, aren't arriving until two weeks later, so I thought I'd get the place into a reasonably habitable state before they get here. Apart from a quick shopping trip to a nearby mall to get some groceries, the highlight of the day way managing to get my laptop connected to the DSL connection in my apartment, which is a minor miracle considering that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
This morning, Sunday, I was supposed to meet some of the other interns for lunch at a nearby diner. I couldn't get much sleep last night because my body still think it's in London, and I woke up at about 7am. I got to the diner at 11.30, and three of them were already waiting there. There was Scott, a Massachusetts native studying Vassar College, NY; Bonnie, a Pittsburgh native studying in Cleveland, Ohio; and Tom, a French-Brit mix on my side of the pond, at St. Andrews Uni in Scotland. A while later, Marie, a Chinese-American studying in Uni of Southern Cali turned up as well. After brunch, we decided to go and take a look at the Institute where we're supposed to be working. The Space Telescope Science Insitute is inside the Johns Hopkins University (JHU) campus, but it's independent. The JHU campus itself is a very green, leafy place with lots of trees, and the immediate surroundings are a very slightly boring suburban area. After that, we decided to catch a bus to downtown Baltimore.
The bus took it's time to get to our bus stop, and when it arrived it was pretty full of people. I HAVE NEVER SEEN SO MANY OBESE PEOPLE IN MY LIFE. It wasn't a majority in any way, but still there was noticeably a lot more than anywhere else I've been. Another thing that I noticed was that there are so many churches in this place...a lot more than in Britain, I felt. I guess Americans are much more religious compared to their counterparts from across the Atlantic.
Outside the immediate vicinity of the JHU campus, the surroundings immediately took a seedy cast, with peeling buildings and a far more run-down appearance. I hope this doesn't sound racist, but there were a lot of black people, inside and outside the bus. After about 25 minutes, the buildings of downtown Baltimore came into sight, and we got off at the Inner Harbour area. Inner Harbour is the innermost part of Cheasapeake Bay, and there were a lot of boats in the area. The Baltimore aquarium is also situated here, as well as the USS Constellation, the US Navy's last wooden sailing ship. It was pretty crowded as it was a Sunday afternoon, and we took our time going around the place. Nearby, there was an old power plant that is now a Barnes and Noble bookshop, and we spent a bit of time browsing it. By the time we left, it was already about 5.30 pm, so we decided to take the bus back to JHU. When we got back to the campus area, we all went home (all of our places are around the JHU campus area).
So far, it's been a rather disorienting experience to me. It's normal to feel out-of-place when coming to a new place, and not knowing anyone around, but somehow this is different. Americana is so ubiquitous all over the world, so actually getting here and being immersed in it is a somewhat surreal experience. The people here are friendly and cheerful in general, but I cannot help but feel that in general Americans seem to be insular and ignorant of the outside world. Other things also stand out, like their love and obsession with cars (in part driven by necessity), and their liberal use of their car horn when driving! Of course, the incidence of obesity is also rather disturbing. So far, much as I hate to say this, my impression of America is a country without direction, and at siege with the rest of the world.
I start work tomorrow morning. Will keep this updated, and get pictures uploaded as well.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
No, I'm not in the US yet. I've just decided to procrastinate just a bit more rather than finish off my packing. After voting today, I went into uni to talk to a prospective supervisor for my research project next year. Dr. Kinwah Wu (following Western convention... his surname is Wu) isn't usually in the Department, because he is based in MSSL (Mullard Space Science Lab) which is outside London. I have emailed him a few times previously (along with a few other prospective supervisors, all from MSSL), so when he said he'd be coming into London, I decided to take the chance to talk to him.
He was at the MSSL's 'branch office' in Taviton St., where I usually have my tutorials there under Dr. Mason, my personal tutor. Dr. Mason let me in, and brought me to the room where Dr. Wu was. I had half-expected Dr. Wu to be a venerable grey-haired Chinese guy...instead, he can't be more than 30 years old. He's short and bespectacled, but the first thing that struck me was his manner of talking...fast, short bursts, words almost rolling into each other in a rather soft monotone. The accent wasn't something I could really place either.
He asked me if I was Korean (my name does sound Korean, admittedly), so I told him I was Malaysian, and in turn I asked him if he was from Hong Kong. He was born in HK, but brought up in Australia. He started off asking what my plans for the future were (I made references to this in my emails to him, by enquiring whether the projects would lead to published papers). I told him frankly, and he said, 'Well, my student Chris, two years your senior, is now is Caltech...', and he mentioned a few more ex-students who are now in places like Princeton, Harvard etc (implicit implication: he writes a good reference letter. He also told me that I'll need to be the 'best of the best' to get into the elite universities.
The trivialities out of the way, he went on to explain the project I was enquiring about. Basically, black-holes emit x-ray radiation, and they are trying to create an accurate theoretical model to explain certain characteristics of the radiation (that's the only way I can explain it without causing mass perplexity). There are several steps to creating a theoretical model: get to grips with the various processes that might be responsible and combine them, put that into a computational model to give predictions as to what the radiation spectra would look like, and then comparing the predictions with the actual observed data. The first couple of steps are being taken cared of by PhD and MSc students, so being merely a humble final-year undergrad, I would, if I choose, be doing the interface between the predictions and observed data.
Dr. Wu also showed me a presentation on the topic which he gave recently, and attempted it to explain to me as best as he can. As he explained, he became visibly animated and enthusiastic...as for me, I was struggling to keep up with what he was saying (and not quite successfully). He made various references to the fact that the stuff was beyond my present understanding (which was perfectly true, of course), and that more advanced projects would await me under his supervision in the fourth year (this project is actually under the supervision of another researcher, he's just the secondary supervisor). When I mentioned that I'll only be doing 3 years, and might instead be doing a MSc in maths, he almost recoiled in horror. 'No, no, no! To get into the top universities you need research projects in your CV. Any bookworm can get a top first-class honours, so they will be looking for something more than just academic results. If you do a maths Master's you won't do any research!'.
He went on a rant on how important research is for a prospective PhD student. In response to my statement that I am crap at maths, he said that he is an arts student in high school, yet his maths skills are the best at MSSL (impressive, but I'm not sure what his point is). He said that in the first couple of years in a US PhD, I will be getting hard maths drilled into my skull anyway, so there's no point wasting a year doing maths. At some point he also mentioned that he used to work for NASA, but didn't go into much detail.
I managed to get a word in edgeways, and mentioned that I will be spending my summer doing research in the Space Telescope Science Institute in Baltimore. He paused for a while and said, 'Oh....were you the one who asked Mark Cropper to write you a reference letter?'. Mark Cropper was one of my first year lecturers, and yes, I did ask him to write me a reference. 'Ah....Mark is one of my best friends in MSSL, and he has mentioned you....', at this point he seemed to struggle for words a little bit, and finally said, 'He regards you as his prize student'.
In any case, all good things come to an end, and I decided to take the project. However, the situation is now interesting: Dr. Wu has, shall we say, persuaded me as to the virtues of staying on for a fourth year. On the other hand, if I stay for a fourth year, I'll only get to do a research project in the 4th year and not in the 3rd year. The only way out: do the 3 years BSc, and do a separate MSc, still in UCL. I will be eligible to apply for full scholarships to cover my MSc, rather than having to rely on the paltry partial scholarship I have now. That's assuming I get the scholarship, of course...
On a more light-hearted note, at my final dinner at Netherhall House this evening (well, the final one for a few months at any rate), we were handed a sad-looking helping of rice and two suspicious-looking pieces of meat, with green salad and COLD chicken soup as sides. As I sat down at the table, I looked at the guy beside me, Fred from Mauritius, and we both couldn't help laughing. Later, I loudly commented that it must be 'Oliver Twist Appreciation Day', because they're making us ask for a second helping of slop, a comment which rather ominously coincided with some rather witch-like laughter from the serving ladies behind the counter. After finishing the food (which didn't take long, despite the dubious quality of the food), I made a quick survey as to the origins of the meat we just ate. Paul K from Uganda said 'Chicken', Alfredo from Mexico said 'Beef', and the most respected Fr. Joe, our resident chaplain said 'It's either pork or lamb'. FOUR different opinions from three people...impressive isn't it? However, as my fellow Malaysian Hon Weng put it, 'Outside, you'd probably have to pay 65 pounds to eat something like this...'
To sign off, let me congratulate my friend Si Xian, who just notified me that managed to win a JPA scholarship to study engineering in France! You go, buddy!
He was at the MSSL's 'branch office' in Taviton St., where I usually have my tutorials there under Dr. Mason, my personal tutor. Dr. Mason let me in, and brought me to the room where Dr. Wu was. I had half-expected Dr. Wu to be a venerable grey-haired Chinese guy...instead, he can't be more than 30 years old. He's short and bespectacled, but the first thing that struck me was his manner of talking...fast, short bursts, words almost rolling into each other in a rather soft monotone. The accent wasn't something I could really place either.
He asked me if I was Korean (my name does sound Korean, admittedly), so I told him I was Malaysian, and in turn I asked him if he was from Hong Kong. He was born in HK, but brought up in Australia. He started off asking what my plans for the future were (I made references to this in my emails to him, by enquiring whether the projects would lead to published papers). I told him frankly, and he said, 'Well, my student Chris, two years your senior, is now is Caltech...', and he mentioned a few more ex-students who are now in places like Princeton, Harvard etc (implicit implication: he writes a good reference letter. He also told me that I'll need to be the 'best of the best' to get into the elite universities.
The trivialities out of the way, he went on to explain the project I was enquiring about. Basically, black-holes emit x-ray radiation, and they are trying to create an accurate theoretical model to explain certain characteristics of the radiation (that's the only way I can explain it without causing mass perplexity). There are several steps to creating a theoretical model: get to grips with the various processes that might be responsible and combine them, put that into a computational model to give predictions as to what the radiation spectra would look like, and then comparing the predictions with the actual observed data. The first couple of steps are being taken cared of by PhD and MSc students, so being merely a humble final-year undergrad, I would, if I choose, be doing the interface between the predictions and observed data.
Dr. Wu also showed me a presentation on the topic which he gave recently, and attempted it to explain to me as best as he can. As he explained, he became visibly animated and enthusiastic...as for me, I was struggling to keep up with what he was saying (and not quite successfully). He made various references to the fact that the stuff was beyond my present understanding (which was perfectly true, of course), and that more advanced projects would await me under his supervision in the fourth year (this project is actually under the supervision of another researcher, he's just the secondary supervisor). When I mentioned that I'll only be doing 3 years, and might instead be doing a MSc in maths, he almost recoiled in horror. 'No, no, no! To get into the top universities you need research projects in your CV. Any bookworm can get a top first-class honours, so they will be looking for something more than just academic results. If you do a maths Master's you won't do any research!'.
He went on a rant on how important research is for a prospective PhD student. In response to my statement that I am crap at maths, he said that he is an arts student in high school, yet his maths skills are the best at MSSL (impressive, but I'm not sure what his point is). He said that in the first couple of years in a US PhD, I will be getting hard maths drilled into my skull anyway, so there's no point wasting a year doing maths. At some point he also mentioned that he used to work for NASA, but didn't go into much detail.
I managed to get a word in edgeways, and mentioned that I will be spending my summer doing research in the Space Telescope Science Institute in Baltimore. He paused for a while and said, 'Oh....were you the one who asked Mark Cropper to write you a reference letter?'. Mark Cropper was one of my first year lecturers, and yes, I did ask him to write me a reference. 'Ah....Mark is one of my best friends in MSSL, and he has mentioned you....', at this point he seemed to struggle for words a little bit, and finally said, 'He regards you as his prize student'.
In any case, all good things come to an end, and I decided to take the project. However, the situation is now interesting: Dr. Wu has, shall we say, persuaded me as to the virtues of staying on for a fourth year. On the other hand, if I stay for a fourth year, I'll only get to do a research project in the 4th year and not in the 3rd year. The only way out: do the 3 years BSc, and do a separate MSc, still in UCL. I will be eligible to apply for full scholarships to cover my MSc, rather than having to rely on the paltry partial scholarship I have now. That's assuming I get the scholarship, of course...
On a more light-hearted note, at my final dinner at Netherhall House this evening (well, the final one for a few months at any rate), we were handed a sad-looking helping of rice and two suspicious-looking pieces of meat, with green salad and COLD chicken soup as sides. As I sat down at the table, I looked at the guy beside me, Fred from Mauritius, and we both couldn't help laughing. Later, I loudly commented that it must be 'Oliver Twist Appreciation Day', because they're making us ask for a second helping of slop, a comment which rather ominously coincided with some rather witch-like laughter from the serving ladies behind the counter. After finishing the food (which didn't take long, despite the dubious quality of the food), I made a quick survey as to the origins of the meat we just ate. Paul K from Uganda said 'Chicken', Alfredo from Mexico said 'Beef', and the most respected Fr. Joe, our resident chaplain said 'It's either pork or lamb'. FOUR different opinions from three people...impressive isn't it? However, as my fellow Malaysian Hon Weng put it, 'Outside, you'd probably have to pay 65 pounds to eat something like this...'
To sign off, let me congratulate my friend Si Xian, who just notified me that managed to win a JPA scholarship to study engineering in France! You go, buddy!
Ah...the irony of life. Not being 21 yet until August, I was not eligible to vote in my own country, and in any case the chances are that the value of my vote would be watered down by gerrymandering, phantom voters and other shenanigans (in any case, my constituency, Seputeh, is a DAP stronghold, so I don't think the opposition needs my vote there!). So, imagine my surprise a couple of months ago, when I received a polling card to vote in the regional elections here in London!
My initial reaction was to throw the thing away (and I did), because I simply could not believe that I, a temporary student in this country, had the power of the vote. As the polling date approached, what I read from the newspapers confirmed the impossible: I am eligible to vote for the mayor of London, the local council members AND the member of the European Parliament (MEP). And what's more, the pot's been boiling like never before. Tony Blair's Labour party (which got landslide votes previously) is suffering from Tony's Iraq policies, and the main opposition Conservative party is ALSO suffering because they supported Iraq, and add to that the emergence of high-profile splinter parties from both the left (Respect) and right (British National Party and UK Independence Party), the plot is REALLY thick this time round. With such split votes and a potentially low voter turnout, each vote counts for more than ever before.
This morning, despite my polling card languishing in a rubbish dump somewhere, I walked to the local polling centre (which was just a few minutes' walk away), told the people running it my name and address (they had my name in a list), and they handed me the ballot papers without even asking me for ID! Being the pinky weak-hearted liberal that I am, I obviously voted for the left leaning parties, the Liberal Democrats and the Greens (I split my votes for them more or less randomly between the different seats up for grabs). I did however vote for Ken Livingstone, the Labour candidate for London mayor, because he was anti-war and has been doing a good job as the incumbent.
Anyway, I fly tomorrow for the US. Surprisingly, I'm not excited about this prospect, considering that I'm usually quite worked-up before I travel. Will keep this updated when I get internet access over there.
My initial reaction was to throw the thing away (and I did), because I simply could not believe that I, a temporary student in this country, had the power of the vote. As the polling date approached, what I read from the newspapers confirmed the impossible: I am eligible to vote for the mayor of London, the local council members AND the member of the European Parliament (MEP). And what's more, the pot's been boiling like never before. Tony Blair's Labour party (which got landslide votes previously) is suffering from Tony's Iraq policies, and the main opposition Conservative party is ALSO suffering because they supported Iraq, and add to that the emergence of high-profile splinter parties from both the left (Respect) and right (British National Party and UK Independence Party), the plot is REALLY thick this time round. With such split votes and a potentially low voter turnout, each vote counts for more than ever before.
This morning, despite my polling card languishing in a rubbish dump somewhere, I walked to the local polling centre (which was just a few minutes' walk away), told the people running it my name and address (they had my name in a list), and they handed me the ballot papers without even asking me for ID! Being the pinky weak-hearted liberal that I am, I obviously voted for the left leaning parties, the Liberal Democrats and the Greens (I split my votes for them more or less randomly between the different seats up for grabs). I did however vote for Ken Livingstone, the Labour candidate for London mayor, because he was anti-war and has been doing a good job as the incumbent.
Anyway, I fly tomorrow for the US. Surprisingly, I'm not excited about this prospect, considering that I'm usually quite worked-up before I travel. Will keep this updated when I get internet access over there.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Cassandra was the daughter of Priam, King of Troy. After 9 years of being besieged by the Greeks, the Trojans woke up one morning to find the Greeks gone, except for a huge wooden horse by the beach. The exultant Trojans decided to drag the horse back to Troy in celebration. Cassandra had a gift, and a curse: she was gifted with the ability to prophesise the future, but cursed so that no one would ever to believe her prophecies. She prophesised that the great horse would spell doom for her city, but the triumphant Trojans refused to believe her. As history and the Brad Pitt blockbuster tells, her prophecy did indeed come true, and at night the Greek soldiers poured from the wooden horse to open the city gates for the Greek army hidden nearby.
For the past couple of decades, modern-day Cassandras have been trying to convince us that breakneck economic development could spell doom for mankind with its potential for climate change and pollution. Even as we revel in our riches and wealth (or at least the few percent of us lucky enough), our detritus and filth slowly chokes our planet. Environmentalists and scientists have been trying to warn us of the potential consequences of our actions, from the ozone layer problem, to the really big cheese, global warming and the little-acknowledged fact that petroleum sources are finite. Of course, the almighty dollar speaks the loudest, and whatever lies in the way of short term profit and gain has to be suppressed. So we have the Bush administration and the rest of the money-engorged US government (the US congress killed the Kyoto treaty even though the Clinton administration was in support) effectively covering their ears even as the climate is already changing around us.
All across Europe, weather patterns are clearly changing. Almost the entire scientific community apart from a few quacks are certain that climate change is anthropocentric (i.e. man-made). This is not a problem that a few magic-pill ideas can solve. It requires a massive change of public opinion, and a complete overhaul of the way societies and economies function.
As if to make things more interesting, last week crude oil prices went above $40 per barrel. The current crisis, like that of the 1970s, is of course political in nature, but it does bring to surface the stark reality that global oil supplies are finite. At current projected rates of increase in consumption, the world's oil reserves are not going to last more than 30 years. Indeed, there's talk that we've already hit 'peak oil', i.e. the amount of oil produced will continue to decrease from now on: gasoline prices are gonna keep going up from now, people. If no new sources of energy emerges to plug the gap, we're going to have economic problems that make the 1930s depression look like a walk in the park. Hell, it's going to be much more than an economic problem...almost everything in our daily lives depends on energy. Worst-case scenario is that all hell breaks lose, and anarchy reigns, with a helping of mass-starvation and war.
Our only hope is in new sources of energy and the new techologies to harness them, and that requires the powers-that-be to take their heads out of their collective asses and realise that much more is at stake here than just money.
On another note, I have added a comment function to this blog, so readers (yes, all two of you...) can add insults or sycophantic praises as they see fit...
For the past couple of decades, modern-day Cassandras have been trying to convince us that breakneck economic development could spell doom for mankind with its potential for climate change and pollution. Even as we revel in our riches and wealth (or at least the few percent of us lucky enough), our detritus and filth slowly chokes our planet. Environmentalists and scientists have been trying to warn us of the potential consequences of our actions, from the ozone layer problem, to the really big cheese, global warming and the little-acknowledged fact that petroleum sources are finite. Of course, the almighty dollar speaks the loudest, and whatever lies in the way of short term profit and gain has to be suppressed. So we have the Bush administration and the rest of the money-engorged US government (the US congress killed the Kyoto treaty even though the Clinton administration was in support) effectively covering their ears even as the climate is already changing around us.
All across Europe, weather patterns are clearly changing. Almost the entire scientific community apart from a few quacks are certain that climate change is anthropocentric (i.e. man-made). This is not a problem that a few magic-pill ideas can solve. It requires a massive change of public opinion, and a complete overhaul of the way societies and economies function.
As if to make things more interesting, last week crude oil prices went above $40 per barrel. The current crisis, like that of the 1970s, is of course political in nature, but it does bring to surface the stark reality that global oil supplies are finite. At current projected rates of increase in consumption, the world's oil reserves are not going to last more than 30 years. Indeed, there's talk that we've already hit 'peak oil', i.e. the amount of oil produced will continue to decrease from now on: gasoline prices are gonna keep going up from now, people. If no new sources of energy emerges to plug the gap, we're going to have economic problems that make the 1930s depression look like a walk in the park. Hell, it's going to be much more than an economic problem...almost everything in our daily lives depends on energy. Worst-case scenario is that all hell breaks lose, and anarchy reigns, with a helping of mass-starvation and war.
Our only hope is in new sources of energy and the new techologies to harness them, and that requires the powers-that-be to take their heads out of their collective asses and realise that much more is at stake here than just money.
On another note, I have added a comment function to this blog, so readers (yes, all two of you...) can add insults or sycophantic praises as they see fit...
Sunday, June 06, 2004
Yesterday, I had a meeting with Neil Pickering, who's one of the chairmen of my halls of residence. He's one of the friendliest people I know, always with a smile and something nice to say. He was a resident here as well back in the 50s, and since then he's been the de facto liaison with other former residents. He's often travelling about, and he goes to Malaysia quite often. In fact, he's very active in the British-Malaysian Society. Which brings me to the point: He's organising a concert by several young Malaysian musicians, and I'm going to be one of them!
There will be four musicians in the concert: Jane Ng, a violin post-grad from RCM, May Yee, a piano post-grad from RCM, and Bobby Chen, who's one of the most prominent pianists to have emerged from Malaysia in recent years, and yours truly of course. Now, playing in the same concert as two music post-grads and a reasonably famous pianist (I've heard of him before this, so...) is no joke when I'm the only amateur among the lot! We won't actually be playing together though...instead, we'll play individually one after another. To make things more interesting, the Malaysian High Commissioner to Britain will be there, along with a host of other diplomats and dignitaries.
It's been decided that each of us will get about 15-20 minutes of playing time, and I'll be playing first. So, the challenge for me is to present pieces which are sufficiently within my grasp so that I won't embarrass myself too much, yet solid enough not to seem too flimsy in comparison with the other guys' repertoire. A wee bit challenging, considering that I haven't been practising consistently in months! Fortunately, the concert is schedule for October, so I'll have a few months to try and bring things up to scratch. This will be by far the biggest performance I've ever had to give.
Oh, and the other day I got back a 2000-word review that I had to do last term. The marker's comments were priceless: 'This is really excellent. Also very well presented and easy to read. Thank you for the pleasure of reading it'. :P
There will be four musicians in the concert: Jane Ng, a violin post-grad from RCM, May Yee, a piano post-grad from RCM, and Bobby Chen, who's one of the most prominent pianists to have emerged from Malaysia in recent years, and yours truly of course. Now, playing in the same concert as two music post-grads and a reasonably famous pianist (I've heard of him before this, so...) is no joke when I'm the only amateur among the lot! We won't actually be playing together though...instead, we'll play individually one after another. To make things more interesting, the Malaysian High Commissioner to Britain will be there, along with a host of other diplomats and dignitaries.
It's been decided that each of us will get about 15-20 minutes of playing time, and I'll be playing first. So, the challenge for me is to present pieces which are sufficiently within my grasp so that I won't embarrass myself too much, yet solid enough not to seem too flimsy in comparison with the other guys' repertoire. A wee bit challenging, considering that I haven't been practising consistently in months! Fortunately, the concert is schedule for October, so I'll have a few months to try and bring things up to scratch. This will be by far the biggest performance I've ever had to give.
Oh, and the other day I got back a 2000-word review that I had to do last term. The marker's comments were priceless: 'This is really excellent. Also very well presented and easy to read. Thank you for the pleasure of reading it'. :P
Thursday, June 03, 2004
I went to Greenwich a couple of days ago. The weather has been wonderful this past couple of weeks, but in the morning, the weather was grey and drizzly. Joy. Anyway, Greenwich is on the outskirts of London, accessible by the London Transport system. I went with my Singaporean friend Guojing and a friend of his, and we took the Underground partway, and the elevated Docklands Light Railway (their equivalent of LRT) the rest of the way.
On the way to Greenwich, we passed through the Canary Wharf area, which was a run-down area before the 80s, but rejuvenated by Thatcherism during her reign, so the area is now a futuristic cluster of gleaming skyscrapers. Pretty reminiscent of Singapore actually. Elsewhere in London, everything is so aged (ESPECIALLY the Underground stations, many of which are older than KL), but in Canary Wharf, there's a sparkle and energy about the place (possibly because everything is so spanking new).
Greenwich itself is just across the River Thames from Canary Wharf, and the waterfront is dominated by the Cutty Sark, which is a tea clipper from the heyday of the sailing ship, and the Royal Naval College, with its Wren-designed buildings. After an abortive start (we 'accidentally' took a long underground tunnel which brought us to the opposite bank of the Thames, saw there was nothing interesting and being lazy bastards that we were, decided to take the DLR back into Greenwich...fortunately there was a station nearby), we went into the grounds of the old Royal Naval College, which is actually occupied by the Trinity College of Music and part of the University of Greenwich these days. We saw the Painted Hall, which was a hall which was quite literally covered with murals on the inside, from all four walls and the entire ceiling. The murals depicts the triumphant British Empire and things like that, just a little bit on the garish side, I thought. Lord Nelson's body lied in state here before his burial in Westminster Cathedral, and a plaque on the floor of the hall commemorates this.
Next to it is the Chapel of the College. As we approached it, we could hear organ music emanating from inside. At the entrance, we saw a sign which defined our lives for the past month or so: 'Exam in progress. Please keep silent'. However, since there was music being played from the chapel, obviously there was no exam going on that the moment. As we entered the chapel, we saw a table near the front with several stern-faced people seated, and looking at the organ loft above the entrance. Wrong. There was an exam, alright. An organ exam by the College of Music! The interior for the chapel was arranged typical of an Anglican Church, but it wasn't very ornately decorated save for a mural at the rear.
After lunch, we visited the Royal Maritime Museum. They had a special exhibition on Tintin, but unfortunately entry for that was not free, so we had to forgo it. Unfortunately, since Tintin was very much a part of my childhood, along with Messr. Asterix and Obelix :). The museum as a whole was quite interesting, with exhibits on the various topics like passenger liners, maritime trade, sea exploration (they had the boat on which Ernest Shackleton made his epic trip across the Southern Pacific). Unfortunately, we were rather pressed for time since we wanted to see the rest of Greenwich, so we didn't spend much time in the Museum.
The Royal Observatory of Greenwich is perched on a hill overlooking the Museum, within a park. It is here where the Greenwich Meridian is situated. Time from everywhere else in the world is measured relative to this location. It was predictably crowded with tourists taking pictures of the long stripe marking the Meridian, and they even had machines dispensing certificates saying that the visitor was at Greenwich at such and such time (for a small fee, of course). From the observatory, a fantastic panorama of London can be seen (albeit somewhat spoiled by a few obstrusive trees). The observatory itself is now mostly a museum dedicated to charting the quest to find a way to find longitude at sea (latitude can easily be discerned by looking at the position of the stars). Initially, it was thought that observing occultations of the stars by the Moon would provide a way of doing this, hence the observatory was set up to measure the positions of stars for this purpose). Later on, a better was found of using accurate chronometers to find the local time with respect to the time in a set position (e.g. Greenwich). As a result, most of the museum is a chronophile's paradise, with all sorts of clocks and timekeeping devices. The latter part of the museum is dedicated to to a few astronomical instruments, which of course is of great interest to me, but I didn't want to delay my friends by lingering too much. Having said that, the Observatory has a 28-inch diameter refracting telescope, one of the largest in the world (most large telescopes nowadays are reflectors, with the largest having a diameter of about 10 METERS, in Mt. Keck in Hawaii).
After that, despite the drizzle, I suggested that we see some Roman Ruins in the park, as indicated in my map. After walking around for the better part of the hour trying to find it, we found that it was no more than a small pile of rocks, to our great disappointment. We were hoping for at least a few pillars or something like that.
Following that, we decided to spend a little more time in the Maritime Museum's exhibits, but it was closing time anyway (5pm), so we didn't get to see much more apart from a whole section on Lord Nelson. So we left back to Hampstead.
It was an interesting day. The Greenwich was where the British Empire was predicated upon (the ability to navigate precisely gave the Royal Navy a decisive edge in the race for control of the seas), and the town still exuded the remnants of its proud history as heart of the Empire, in the grandeur of the Wren buildings in the old Royal Naval College. Standing on the hill of the Observatory, looking across the Thames valley, where the heart of global business still throbbed in Canary Wharf and the City, I felt that the echoes of the Empire could still be heard very strongly.
On the way to Greenwich, we passed through the Canary Wharf area, which was a run-down area before the 80s, but rejuvenated by Thatcherism during her reign, so the area is now a futuristic cluster of gleaming skyscrapers. Pretty reminiscent of Singapore actually. Elsewhere in London, everything is so aged (ESPECIALLY the Underground stations, many of which are older than KL), but in Canary Wharf, there's a sparkle and energy about the place (possibly because everything is so spanking new).
Greenwich itself is just across the River Thames from Canary Wharf, and the waterfront is dominated by the Cutty Sark, which is a tea clipper from the heyday of the sailing ship, and the Royal Naval College, with its Wren-designed buildings. After an abortive start (we 'accidentally' took a long underground tunnel which brought us to the opposite bank of the Thames, saw there was nothing interesting and being lazy bastards that we were, decided to take the DLR back into Greenwich...fortunately there was a station nearby), we went into the grounds of the old Royal Naval College, which is actually occupied by the Trinity College of Music and part of the University of Greenwich these days. We saw the Painted Hall, which was a hall which was quite literally covered with murals on the inside, from all four walls and the entire ceiling. The murals depicts the triumphant British Empire and things like that, just a little bit on the garish side, I thought. Lord Nelson's body lied in state here before his burial in Westminster Cathedral, and a plaque on the floor of the hall commemorates this.
Next to it is the Chapel of the College. As we approached it, we could hear organ music emanating from inside. At the entrance, we saw a sign which defined our lives for the past month or so: 'Exam in progress. Please keep silent'. However, since there was music being played from the chapel, obviously there was no exam going on that the moment. As we entered the chapel, we saw a table near the front with several stern-faced people seated, and looking at the organ loft above the entrance. Wrong. There was an exam, alright. An organ exam by the College of Music! The interior for the chapel was arranged typical of an Anglican Church, but it wasn't very ornately decorated save for a mural at the rear.
After lunch, we visited the Royal Maritime Museum. They had a special exhibition on Tintin, but unfortunately entry for that was not free, so we had to forgo it. Unfortunately, since Tintin was very much a part of my childhood, along with Messr. Asterix and Obelix :). The museum as a whole was quite interesting, with exhibits on the various topics like passenger liners, maritime trade, sea exploration (they had the boat on which Ernest Shackleton made his epic trip across the Southern Pacific). Unfortunately, we were rather pressed for time since we wanted to see the rest of Greenwich, so we didn't spend much time in the Museum.
The Royal Observatory of Greenwich is perched on a hill overlooking the Museum, within a park. It is here where the Greenwich Meridian is situated. Time from everywhere else in the world is measured relative to this location. It was predictably crowded with tourists taking pictures of the long stripe marking the Meridian, and they even had machines dispensing certificates saying that the visitor was at Greenwich at such and such time (for a small fee, of course). From the observatory, a fantastic panorama of London can be seen (albeit somewhat spoiled by a few obstrusive trees). The observatory itself is now mostly a museum dedicated to charting the quest to find a way to find longitude at sea (latitude can easily be discerned by looking at the position of the stars). Initially, it was thought that observing occultations of the stars by the Moon would provide a way of doing this, hence the observatory was set up to measure the positions of stars for this purpose). Later on, a better was found of using accurate chronometers to find the local time with respect to the time in a set position (e.g. Greenwich). As a result, most of the museum is a chronophile's paradise, with all sorts of clocks and timekeeping devices. The latter part of the museum is dedicated to to a few astronomical instruments, which of course is of great interest to me, but I didn't want to delay my friends by lingering too much. Having said that, the Observatory has a 28-inch diameter refracting telescope, one of the largest in the world (most large telescopes nowadays are reflectors, with the largest having a diameter of about 10 METERS, in Mt. Keck in Hawaii).
After that, despite the drizzle, I suggested that we see some Roman Ruins in the park, as indicated in my map. After walking around for the better part of the hour trying to find it, we found that it was no more than a small pile of rocks, to our great disappointment. We were hoping for at least a few pillars or something like that.
Following that, we decided to spend a little more time in the Maritime Museum's exhibits, but it was closing time anyway (5pm), so we didn't get to see much more apart from a whole section on Lord Nelson. So we left back to Hampstead.
It was an interesting day. The Greenwich was where the British Empire was predicated upon (the ability to navigate precisely gave the Royal Navy a decisive edge in the race for control of the seas), and the town still exuded the remnants of its proud history as heart of the Empire, in the grandeur of the Wren buildings in the old Royal Naval College. Standing on the hill of the Observatory, looking across the Thames valley, where the heart of global business still throbbed in Canary Wharf and the City, I felt that the echoes of the Empire could still be heard very strongly.
Friday, May 28, 2004
IT'S OVER NOW. Two months of near-nonstop cramming, 3 weeks of exam pressure....it's all over. In the final analysis, I guess I more or less studied to the level I set out to achieve, and apart from that stupid maths paper, I think I did reasonably well. However, I still have a talk to give and a poster to create, due in a couple of weeks, but in general I can give myself some breathing space. For once, I can ask myself 'What am I supposed to do now?', and answer 'I don't know', rather than 'study'.
I now have my internship in Baltimore to look forward to. I have already paid the first half of my rent for the apartment I'm subletting...I'll be sharing digs with a couple of Spaniards, Miguel and Gara, both from the Instituto Astrofisicas in Canary Islands. I'll be able to prattle away in Spanish by the time I'm done. My flight ticket is also sorted, although I've yet to book my connecting flight back to KL yet. I'm still thinking about it, as I'm worried first and foremost about having my luggage (especially my guitar) making a round-the-world trip without me, and also about missing my connecting flight, since I arrive in London from Baltimore at 9am, whereas the next London-KL flight is at noon, which should be enough time to transfer...in theory.
Anyway that's all for now...I'm too mentally exhausted to write more. Watch this space.
I now have my internship in Baltimore to look forward to. I have already paid the first half of my rent for the apartment I'm subletting...I'll be sharing digs with a couple of Spaniards, Miguel and Gara, both from the Instituto Astrofisicas in Canary Islands. I'll be able to prattle away in Spanish by the time I'm done. My flight ticket is also sorted, although I've yet to book my connecting flight back to KL yet. I'm still thinking about it, as I'm worried first and foremost about having my luggage (especially my guitar) making a round-the-world trip without me, and also about missing my connecting flight, since I arrive in London from Baltimore at 9am, whereas the next London-KL flight is at noon, which should be enough time to transfer...in theory.
Anyway that's all for now...I'm too mentally exhausted to write more. Watch this space.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
My past week can pretty much be summed up with one word: studying. From my waking moment to the second I crash on to bed, it's almost non-stop studying, with the only breaks coming from such obvious things as my bodily functions and the need to eat. I did however, allow myself little things like reading the newspaper, quick power-naps in the afternoon and the jog I let myself have in the afternoon just now...it's either exercise regularly or bloat up quickly from sitting on my ass for most of the day.
Nevertheless, it's never easy to motivate myself into such intense studying. At one level, it's purely egoistic: I did pretty well last year, and the expectation of everyone, including myself, is that I have to perform even better this time round. On the other level, I will most likely be applying for my PhD studentship on the basis of this year's results.
Still, doubts present themselves in my mind all the time. I would not have to work very hard at all to get my 1st class honours and hence qualify myself for most PhD programs. It's for the most elite of the universities that I'm hoping to qualify for, with the amount of work I'm putting in.
I have questioned myself repeatedly on this point: why in the world am I stressing so much over wanting to qualify for the very best. Is it because my self-esteem is so low that I want to prove myself? I'm interested in research in physics, yet I know that I am not a genius. Yes, I can follow and understand that stuff that I'm being taught, but that does not mean that I have the sheer intellect needed to really make a difference in the frontiers of physics. To get a PhD from, say, Harvard or Caltech would look extremely good on my CV, and it will give me a jumpstart in a scientific career, but would it really make a big difference compared with a PhD from a slightly humbler institution?
I am reminded of a Zen parable: There was a military doctor back in the feudal ages of Japan. Day after day, he would treat the injuries of numerous soldiers, only to see them return to battle and get killed. After some time, he is shocked by the carnage and the pointlessness of his duties, and he goes into a hermitage to meditate and reflect. After a long time, he suddenly gets a flash of insight and goes back to his work in the army. When someone asked him why he returned, he said, 'It is because I am a doctor'.
It is almost midnight now, and I need to get to bed. More studying awaits tommorow. It is because I am a student.
Nevertheless, it's never easy to motivate myself into such intense studying. At one level, it's purely egoistic: I did pretty well last year, and the expectation of everyone, including myself, is that I have to perform even better this time round. On the other level, I will most likely be applying for my PhD studentship on the basis of this year's results.
Still, doubts present themselves in my mind all the time. I would not have to work very hard at all to get my 1st class honours and hence qualify myself for most PhD programs. It's for the most elite of the universities that I'm hoping to qualify for, with the amount of work I'm putting in.
I have questioned myself repeatedly on this point: why in the world am I stressing so much over wanting to qualify for the very best. Is it because my self-esteem is so low that I want to prove myself? I'm interested in research in physics, yet I know that I am not a genius. Yes, I can follow and understand that stuff that I'm being taught, but that does not mean that I have the sheer intellect needed to really make a difference in the frontiers of physics. To get a PhD from, say, Harvard or Caltech would look extremely good on my CV, and it will give me a jumpstart in a scientific career, but would it really make a big difference compared with a PhD from a slightly humbler institution?
I am reminded of a Zen parable: There was a military doctor back in the feudal ages of Japan. Day after day, he would treat the injuries of numerous soldiers, only to see them return to battle and get killed. After some time, he is shocked by the carnage and the pointlessness of his duties, and he goes into a hermitage to meditate and reflect. After a long time, he suddenly gets a flash of insight and goes back to his work in the army. When someone asked him why he returned, he said, 'It is because I am a doctor'.
It is almost midnight now, and I need to get to bed. More studying awaits tommorow. It is because I am a student.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Apart from the distraction of having apply for the visa, my week so far has been characterised by almost nonstop studying (attempted nonstop studying, to be precise). I've mostly been crunching the stuff revolving around quantum physics, i.e. bits of my maths course, the quantum mechanics course, and the atomic and molecular physics course. For the former two, I can follow the arguments and derivations, but the challenge is in stepping back and seeing everything as a harmonious whole, which is not easy. It requires a complete divorce from the 'common sense' of what we intuitively feel things work. As Niels Bohr apparently stated, if one is not confused by quantum physics, then one does not understand it. I certainly got plenty of confusion, but it's still arguable if that has anything to do with understanding it!
For my Atomic & Molecular course, I am faced with a nightmare situation: crap lecturer. He has an enormous reluctance of actually writing things down on the board while teaching, so we often have to scribble stuff down while he talks without pause. Even his online notes make little sense, and are (I have since discovered) riddled with mistakes. The course is badly structured as well, although this may not be his fault...what he taught us was a lot of results without the underlying derivations and concepts, which makes it easy to memorise but difficult to understand. I spent over 16 hours in the past couple of days trying to piece together information from the reference books which might lend some sense to what he gave in his notes. And I'm still only half-way through. This is a real pity, because the subject matter of the course is something that truly interests me. Even when I was trawling through the books, trying to make head and tail of things, there was a part of me that was truly fascinated as well.
I just wish I didn't have to put up with lecturers like this. For quantum mech, we're lucky to get Andy Fisher. He makes the subject so clear and lucid, which is important because its a foundation for many fields of physics. He is incredibly knowledgeable, yet he's the only lecturer who's ever been brave enough to say "I don't the answer to that, but I'll think about it and tell you tommorow". When I become a lecturer, I can only hope that I'll be half as good as Fisher is.
For my Atomic & Molecular course, I am faced with a nightmare situation: crap lecturer. He has an enormous reluctance of actually writing things down on the board while teaching, so we often have to scribble stuff down while he talks without pause. Even his online notes make little sense, and are (I have since discovered) riddled with mistakes. The course is badly structured as well, although this may not be his fault...what he taught us was a lot of results without the underlying derivations and concepts, which makes it easy to memorise but difficult to understand. I spent over 16 hours in the past couple of days trying to piece together information from the reference books which might lend some sense to what he gave in his notes. And I'm still only half-way through. This is a real pity, because the subject matter of the course is something that truly interests me. Even when I was trawling through the books, trying to make head and tail of things, there was a part of me that was truly fascinated as well.
I just wish I didn't have to put up with lecturers like this. For quantum mech, we're lucky to get Andy Fisher. He makes the subject so clear and lucid, which is important because its a foundation for many fields of physics. He is incredibly knowledgeable, yet he's the only lecturer who's ever been brave enough to say "I don't the answer to that, but I'll think about it and tell you tommorow". When I become a lecturer, I can only hope that I'll be half as good as Fisher is.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
On Monday morning, I dragged myself out of bed early because I had to go to the US embassy to apply for my visa. Despite getting slightly lost, I still got to the place about 10 minutes before my scheduled 9 am time...as I got close, a enormous queue of visa-applicants indicated where the embassy was, and banished any illusions of actually getting any applying done at 9 am. The embassy itself was in Grosvenor Sq. near Oxford St., and two sides of the square were taken up by the US embassy buildings, with the main one a large and magnificent complex with a statue of a golden eagle topping it. Statues of Eisenhower and Roosevelt were placed in the square it self. Apt surroundings to represent the New Empire, where the Old Empire once reigned from.
There were hundreds of people in the queueing up to get in the embassy, and it was a cold morning. I had a book with me, but nevertheless it wasn't fun because my fingers were threathening to freeze off. After inching a bit closer to the head of the queue, it was clear that the queue was for the x-ray/metal detector procedure. After over an hour, when I actually got into the building, I had to pick up a number and wait some more! This was starting to feel sneakingly like trying to apply for a new IC at the JPN. When finally my number came up after over 3 hours of cumulative waiting time, I went to the Counter 5, where a fairly old lady, impressively, managed to avoid looking bored while flipping through my passport. As my 'interview', she asked me a grand total of FIVE questions: "What are you studying?" "What are you going to be doing in the United States?" "When are you planning to fly there?" (Looking at the list of my educational institutions...) "At what age were you in high school?" "Where did you do your elementary school?". After less than five minutes, she said, "We'll need to do some administrative things before we can confirm your visa...", and told me how to send my passport over to get the visa stamp, hopefully in two weeks time. That concluded, I took my passport with me and left. FIVE minutes of service from the Unites States Government after over THREE hours of waiting. Somehow I felt cheated.
There were hundreds of people in the queueing up to get in the embassy, and it was a cold morning. I had a book with me, but nevertheless it wasn't fun because my fingers were threathening to freeze off. After inching a bit closer to the head of the queue, it was clear that the queue was for the x-ray/metal detector procedure. After over an hour, when I actually got into the building, I had to pick up a number and wait some more! This was starting to feel sneakingly like trying to apply for a new IC at the JPN. When finally my number came up after over 3 hours of cumulative waiting time, I went to the Counter 5, where a fairly old lady, impressively, managed to avoid looking bored while flipping through my passport. As my 'interview', she asked me a grand total of FIVE questions: "What are you studying?" "What are you going to be doing in the United States?" "When are you planning to fly there?" (Looking at the list of my educational institutions...) "At what age were you in high school?" "Where did you do your elementary school?". After less than five minutes, she said, "We'll need to do some administrative things before we can confirm your visa...", and told me how to send my passport over to get the visa stamp, hopefully in two weeks time. That concluded, I took my passport with me and left. FIVE minutes of service from the Unites States Government after over THREE hours of waiting. Somehow I felt cheated.
Saturday, April 03, 2004
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...
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...
Thursday, April 01, 2004
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
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?
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?
Monday, March 29, 2004
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
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...
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...
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