Pete Goes Walleting

So... After a bit of engineering and re-engineering, I designed and prototyped a mini-version of this wallet for a homework assignment in Business Creativity and Innovation.



Features:

• Elegant view of 2 full-view pictures IDs
• MagicLock panels: capacity = 8 cards + business cards
• Anti-theft retractable high-tension wire (for traveling in crowded places)
• MagnetiClean: Kills germs that live on paper money
• SafeTrack: Alarms when wallet is too far from a set reference point

Brain-storm                                                                                           Design

Prototype

The Secret Secretary

I didn't get into this whole "smart phone" business until this past January. I gave it a try after my faithful  and tank-proof Nokia went M.I.A on my way home for Christmas. Ever since then, my phone is on me almost 24 hours a day... minus the time I spend in the shower.

One of the great features about smart phones is their Wifi capability. I'm sure this is a feature we've all appreciated at some point. For those of us who's made the leap of technology, WiFi, in a way, brings us to a new dimension when we are in need of a change in time and space; be it on a bus, a café, or at the airport as you ponder about how your life will unroll in the next lil while.

But, I like the Wifi feature for a completely different reason; it quietly records my life, where ever I go.

Every time I connect to a network, my phone makes a note of the network name. Scrolling through the list, I recalled the places I've been to. I put myself back in the times I've wanted to reach out to someone or something through the World Wide Web. From JP's hostel in Taipei, wpa.mcgill.ca at McGill, Athletic Lobby in Guelph, Megabus42450 somewhere between Toronto and Montreal... those places, those times...

As life continues on and more places I go, the number of "D-Links" and "FreePublicInternet" and "Starbucks WiFi" piles up and overlaps, and someday, I will no longer remember which name belongs where. I'll forget where "ICOFFE" is at, or whose apartment "BELL242" belongs to.

But my phone will.

One day, the little bars in the WiFi icon will light and tell me: I was here. And someday, it'll let me know I'm home before I realize it.

A Father-Son Rivalry

I recently did some counting, in the last 3 years, I've spent about 3 weeks at home with my family. Time has the sort of power to create distance between people. But ever since the beginning of summer, my father and I have gotten quite close. As I've written before, we'd go fishing almost every weekend and once in a while during the week, after we get off work. The fishing trips near and afar bonded us as father and son.

But something else came out of those good times - a rivalry. Dad and I have been competing to catch the biggest, rarest fish. The score goes back and forth, but on our last trip, which was the day before I departed for South-East Asia, I took the lead - I thought that sealed the deal, like scoring in the final period of Stanley Cup Game 7.

But apparently not.

Since then, mother has taken my place in the shot-gun seat of the car. They've been going to cottages and lakes as the Canadian summer rolls into autumn. Last weekend, I got an email with a photo attachment. With a single line, our rivalry renewed.

Nope. It doesn't end.

Next week I'll start my travels in Vietnam;
I've got some "catching" (up) to do ;)

Autumnic Romance

A blast from the past, here's my first piece of writing from 2008. Hong Kong is currently stuck in late summer. I miss Canadian autumn.

Littered with gold are the trails and roads… falling leaves, scattered bits, displays of nature’s flamboyancy, I silently observed as they are swept afloat by a light autumn breeze. As a whole, these piece together a picturesque scene, as though painted to the perfection on God’s canvas. Admiring nature's dazzling paint, as I strolled down the trail.

Pretty as it is, layers of golden leaves layered the bare ground, providing warmth to the cold earth, like the soft, tender blanket covering the sleeping child. Sights of such steer away any burden on the mind, so light, so peaceful. So tender, so lovingly…

It takes away the need to ask “when and where”, it takes away the answers to “what and why”, it takes away the meanings to all the numbers and figures, and it takes away the differences between “this and that”. No more worries, just let things be. On a larger scale, just how small we are?

In the midst of all that’s ahead, I stopped and lost in the Autumnic Romance; entrenched by its ultimate beauty that is simplistically pure, purely simplistic.

O let the tempest blow, drifting away are my spirit and soul...

Post 9: Full-Moon Party, Koh Phangan

A couple of decades ago, some tourists held a party at the beautiful beach of Haadrin on a night of full-moon. The tradition continued since then.

The journey to Island Phangan is a long one. We arrived in Chumphon at around 7 in the morning, hopped on an over-booked bus to the port, and from there, a 3-hour ferry to Koh Phangan - the home of the Full-Moon party. A minimum of 3-night stay is usually required from the hostels, especially the ones dotted along Haadrin beach - where the party takes place - and you might have to over-pay due to supply and demand.

The nightly waterfall/jungle/beach parties kept most of us up till sunrise. And during the hot and humid mornings, we retreat to our hostels while the beach undergoes a clean-up. Afternoons are ideal for beach activities or road trips around the island. Once the sun sets, you do it all over again...

Make some friends, and go grab a beer.
Oh the wild wild south, stories of which I will not share here.

The Three Musketeers and D'Artagnon Left-to-Right: Pete (me), Dan, Paul, Flo

Post 8: The Paradox of Giving Up

I thought when I open my eyes, I'd be in Chumphon. But the coldness of the train cabin and the frequent stops woke me up consistently throughout the night. Fortunately, the second-class seats were much more comfortable than the wooden seats we had earlier in the day. The over-night train was surprisingly full; walking to the train washroom, I did not find a single empty seat!

Now that's a pattern I've seen repeated in Thailand and other developing nations, a significant portion of the local population relies on public transportation to get from one place to another. To meet the high demand, the transportation authority increased the frequency of service - usually there is only a couple of hours between long-distance transportation services. And when this is not sufficient, we end up with overloaded trucks and crammed buses - they make Montreal metro during peak hours look very spacious.

But that's just it right? The solution would've been simple: increase the fare prices. Yet people chose to give up comfort and personal space so that more people could share the ride. Creating more from less? That's beautiful.

#HaveFaithInHumanity

Update: I'm Being Lazyyy and I Apologize

I must admit that I’ve been lazy with the blogging. I have some notes written on paper, but they remain unfinished bits and pieces.

The last week I’ve spent most of the time at Koh Phangan, the lovely island home to the original Full Moon party. The party itself was epic, on par with the days leading up to it. The people I met? Even better. Day times were occupied with my #MotorcycleDiary and evenings were...well, spent with my new friends and good laughs.

I’ve now reached Phuket, just spent a day on the sea fishing – my new summer hobby. The tuna I caught was quite nice, weighs just over 1kg. Tomorrow I’ll be off canoeing in and around James Bond Island and exploring a few caves. In the evening I’ll catch an over-night bus to Hat-Yai, and from there, a morning train into Malaysia and be one step closer to reaching Mount Kinabalu.

I apologize if I’ve disappointed you with this terribly quick post.

I’ll have my classic thematic writings coming up on during the longgggg hours on the ship/bus/train/truck en route to Singapore.

P.S. Follow me on Twitter for picture updates @Pieconomics

Post 7: South-bound and Pride

The rain delay in Ayutthaya forced us to change our plans a little. Instead of being back in Bangkok in the mid afternoon, we arrived when the sun was barely over the horizon. We took a sunset "cruise" to get to Khao San Road. The sky slowly faded black, and on came the urban lights of Bangkok that casted the shadows of the city's modernity. This was the peak traffic hour for local Thais, so the ferry was very crowded. Nevertheless the cool breeze over the river made the tight space unnoticeable.  river b with a day's stress and fatigue.

Khao San Road is what I refer to as the Backpackers' HQ. On this busy pedestrian street, you'll find many backpackers from everywhere in the world. Along the side of the road are restaurants, bars, and shops. And in the middle of the road, there are small street-food vendors. I've particular good and bad experiences with spicy mangoes and coconut-mango-rice puddings - I'll let you decide which is which.

The shops on Khao San Road are far from ordinary, here you'll find all sorts of things being bought or sold, including identities. I've seen driver licenses from a few dozen countries, FBI badges, journalist passes, McGill student ID and even university diplomas. Interestingly, the dealers do not sell any Chinese-issued identifications. I wonder why...

Without the "harassment" from tailors trying to sell you a set of suit, or a masseuse ready to please you in every way imaginable, you can walk Khao San Rd. in under 7 minutes from end to end. At both ends of the street are - you guessed it - tuk-tuks. Of course, getting picked up here by a tuk-tuk driver likely means that you've just overpaid twice the amount to get to your destination.

To save a night's accommodation cost, we decided to take whichever train that's available to head south, as this will give us an advantage over the masses of travelers converging at the Full-Moon party. But with a day's accumulation of rain and sweat, mixed with the night's humidity, I was not looking forward to the long train ride. Weighing all options, I got undressed and got under a "shower" at an extremely unclean public bathroom. I slipped on a set of clean white Tees and pulled up a pair of blue jeans. I felt I was ready to take on the world.

That moment, I realized I was not only surviving; I was living.

The train left at exactly 10:45. I reflected on the images of Ayutthaya and scribbled down some thoughts for this blog. But it wasn't long before fell asleep to the rhythmic chucka-chuckas of the train wheel.

Post 6: Witnessing Ayutthaya

With the arrival of Paul, we made a spontaneous decision to make a trip north of Bangkok, to visit the ruins of Thailand's ancient capital Ayutthaya. A 70KM trip took 3 hours in the shaky third-class train, which felt even longer in those rock-solid, right-angled wooden seats. Though the contrast in comfort made our arrival celebratory.The train station offers storage services for backpacks. A lightened load gave us the necessary mobility to maximize our exposure to the wonders of Ayutthaya.


The best way to tour Ayutthaya is by bicycle, you can rent one of these transportation mechanisms across the train station for 40 baht a day (US $1.30) - unlimited mileage, zero gasoline consumption, environmentally friendly, so why not? The rental shop will even provide you with a set of locks so you can make appropriate stops without worrying about loss or theft. A ferry took Paul and I and our bicycles across the river and into the town of Ayutthaya. And there we were, free to wonder in this magnificent town.

I stood on the edge of the platform, stunned. Perhaps it was the thunder or the lightning or the fearless rain that awakened the Ancient Wonder, as time relapsed and history brought alive. Visions engineered and self-assembled in my head. I felt the wealth and the glory of the kingdom that once were. I pictured the vibrant colours of the court. I visualized the power of the commons, erecting the palaces and the temples, layering the walls and the courtyard, stone by stone, brick by brick. Pride and power lifted Thailand to its height. This was the center of South-East Asia, where I stood.

...

Yet in front of me lies pieces from the past: dulled-shine, weathered-rocks, fractured-braces, featureless-sculptures, aggregating to a fictitious-reality and a palpable-dream. All the life left are that of the wild dogs - sniffing, searching.

Ayutthaya collapsed under the prowess of the Burmese in 1767.

Even the great  f
                            a
                              l
                               l

Post 5: Inconveniences

As I stepped out of the Bank of Thailand Museum, a man approached me. His name is Chae. A brief greeting evolved into a casual conversation. This was one of my first encounters with the locals in Bangkok. What I thought was an outgoing man turned out to be a mastermind behind an intricately designed scam.

At some point, visitors to Thailand will be asked to visit some sort of gem or silk store in return for a discounted taxi or tuk-tuk ride. Of course, once you're at the store, you'll endure high-pressure sales tactics. As far as that goes, $10 US and half-an-hour of your time make up the upper limit of your loss.

So of course, clever men like Chae devised cleverer schemes.

Thailand is known as the "land of smiles". People are very friendly, or appear to be very friendly. Chae introduced me to 5 "touristy" spots. He even hired a tuk-tuk to take me to those places, all for 20 baht (60 cents US) because there was a "government promotion". At each of these spots, his men were waiting for me. They were coordinated to initiate casual conversations. And in each of these conversations, would be something in common: something about a duty-free purchase on jewelries. At some point, there would be a man - like a designated hitter in baseball - poised to hit a home-run.

At one of the temples waiting for me was a banker claiming he works in New York. I guess this is the perfect way to grab my attention - after all, Chae did see me walking out of the Bank of Thailand Museum.

Unfortunately, my interest in banking dictated most of the conversation, and this "Thai banker" named Tanin Boonma very soon blew his identity (or lack thereof). Nevertheless, he fulfilled his duty by telling me about the duty-free jewelry purchase. Without paying 195% in luxury tax, one could purchase, say, a $5,000 jewelry set then sell it in the US or Canada or triple the amount. Of course, the jewelry set would come with some certificate and insurance. Mr. Boonma explained in details how in the past 15 years he shipped the jewelries to US, and how he sold them to Tiffany & Co. for triple of what he paid for. At last, he pulled out a receipt dated yesterday.

Home run.

Curious of the scheme, I played along, returning him a little inconvenience.

At the jewelry store, everything the sales manager told me corresponded with what I learned earlier from various people, making the scheme more believable. There was the usual sales pressure tactics, and other "customers" who are more interested in talking to me than looking at jewelries. When I felt I understood the scam, I looked for a way out. I asked to take a picture of a pair of earrings. The manager flat out rejected my request, and I used that to reject her offer and walked out.

Impressive. Con-artists like Chae found a way to turn our greed into the upper limit of our loss.

The next day, I went back to the corner where I met Chae. And there he was again, busy on his cell phone, co-ordinating his men. The same tuk-tuk driver hang around, disappointed at yesterday's loss.

Andrew and I negotiating with tuk-tuk drivers

Post 4: In and Out

Yesterday I caught up with my friend Andrew from college. Though our time was limited to a day, as he was concluding his month-long journey in South-East Asia, we had a grand time exploring Bangkok. Our improv traveling put us on a commuter boat to East Bangkok, where we discovered a part of Bangkok that is more honest with prices. As I shipped him out last night, I picked up my childhood friend Paul from the airport. What better way to catch up on the lost times over the open road?

In the next little while, we'll be very mobile. Our plan is to tour Bangkok in 4 hours, hop on a train to the Thailand's ancient capital of Ayutthaya some 70km north of Bangkok. We'll return by dusk to catch the sunset ferry. And have a few drinks to cool off at the night market.

To save a little bit of time and money, we'll take whichever train over-night train that's available to get closer towards Surat Thani. It is now 6:43AM and we better go.

Epic journey time? I think so.

Post 3: First Things First

What’s the first thing you should do when visiting South-East Asia? Different people will tell you different things, depends on who you ask. It usually boils down to ‘how to say something’ in the native tongue - “Fuck off!” if you’re American, and “Sorry” if you’re Canadian...

Just kidding. And excuse my language.

But before you learn the “Hello’s” and “Thank you’s”, and “Where’s the washroom”, what I think is the most important first-lesson is how to cross the road. You are bound to have to cross a road at some point during your travels, and this isn’t so straight forward in South-East Asia. There are two “unconventional” problems. First, not all roads have traffic lights with a little green dude that lights up and tell you when to cross. Second, even if the lights are in place, not all drivers follow those signals. Avoid getting killed is probably everyone’s top priority.

Crossing a road is more complex than it appears; I think of it as in terms of game theory and amateur psychology. The game is played many times per second throughout the walk. It only ends in the top-right quadrant when the person crossing the road walks and the driver stops. Of course, both players need to co-operate to win!

The most interesting outcome lies in the top-left quadrant, which is a high-risk situation where both the driver and the walker stop. The game then becomes a signalling game based on amateur psychology. The person crossing the road needs to analyze whether the driver will slow down or stop, and the driver needs to decide whether the person will move or not. They make their decisions based on the signals they observed. Since the foreign traveler and the driver are both unfamiliar with interpreting the other’s signal, they may be stuck in this outcome. As we all experienced before, indecision in the middle of the road is a dangerous business...

So to cross a road safely, it starts with observation – watch how the locals do it, study their body language or any other signal they may send. If there’s no one around, then create signals of your own that are obvious to the human race, such making eye contact with the driver and pointing in the direction you’re going before you move.

Stepping off the Bangkok Sky-train yesterday, I crossed my first 6-lane Thai road in under 8 minutes. It’s all part of the journey.

Pedestrian bridge near Pantip Plaza - Bangkok, Thailand

Post 2: Dimensions

Some people say lightning doesn't strike twice... I recently found out that it does. Last night, I missed my flight again. I planned to have breakfast in Hong Kong, dinner in Bangkok. I guess I'll have to save that for another time. The city doesn't want me to leave just yet. There is something magical about Hong Kong. Often we travel to places in our dreams. This morning I woke up in a 19th century castle by the sea. For a moment I wasn't sure whether I'm in the dream world or the real world. The word "deceptive" describes Hong Kong pretty well for me.

There is an age old problem of representing 3D space on 2D plane. People try to do this more often than you'd think. The obvious example is the map. On a piece of map, Hong Kong looks incredibly small and easy to navigate. In reality, this is the farthest from the truth. The uneven geography and mountainous terrain added many layers and complexity to the city. The curvy streets and intertwining roads made navigation less boring and mistakes more frequent. What appeared to be a 10 meter walk turned out to be a long climb along a steep slope!

Certainly there is a vertical dimension to Hong Kong that is often misrepresented. Those who have been to Hong Kong can attest, the city taller than it is wide. Hong Kong is densely planted with skyscrapers. The list below may come as shocking, the list ranks world's cities by the number of skyscrapers. Hong Kong tops the chart with over 2,300 buildings over 100m, totaling 333km!

1	Hong Kong	2354	333,836m
2	New York City	794	109,720m
3	Tokyo	556	73,008m
4	Shanghai	430	59,958m
5	Dubai	403	66,248m

14

Toronto

216

27,867m

48

Montreal

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Backpacking through the financial district of Hong Kong earlier this evening was awe-inspiring, yet I've only scratched the surface of this magical city. In the next four months I'll look deeper and unravel dimensions beyond the physical space.

Three outstanding buildings

Post 1: Windy City Warm-Up

Athletes don't compete without a warm-up. As a mid-distance runner, I find my warm-ups longer than the race itself. After all, a proper warm-up tunes the mind and the body for optimal performance.

Before my expedition South-East Asia even began, my stop-over in Chicago turned into a legitimate day-trip with hell breaking loose. But between the lost baggage and missed flight to Hong Kong were some grand times. I felt the strong wind in Windy City, it prepared me for the storm I'm about to experience in the next few weeks.

"Probability" is a funny thing. Mathematicians say it always evens itself in the long-run, but economist will tell you we're all dead in the long-run. Somehow, on August 21st, the unthinkable happened; the metro broke-down in the middle of a tunnel while on my way to O'Hare international, causing a delay. I missed Flight UA895 to Hong Kong. Unbelievable. Have I actually met the end of my journey before it began?

I did not get furious, nor was I upset. I sat at the O'Hare airport waiting area like a piece of wood and watched thousands of travelers pass by in front of me, trying to figure out a way to "even out" the probability. Newtonian physics predict classical dynamics, and the breakage of trains, the only thing unpredictable is people. So I that's where I placed my chips.

I walked over to Air Canada counter and explained my situation. The counters are quiet, as usual. The Air Canada agent put aside her Fifty Shades of Grey and listened to me attentively. She was very understanding. We began discussing various options, and even that of flying somewhere else and get a transfer to Hong Kong. But in the end, she looked at me, looking sadder than I was she told me there is "absolutely nothing" she could do. I nodded and thanked her for all her help. I thought about turn around and start hitch-hiking back to Canada, yet that's when probabilities evened itself out. The Air Canada agent checked the screen one more time. There was a cancellation.

Air Canada flew me back to Toronto, arranged pick-ups and accommodation, provided meal vouchers, and shipped me off to Hong Kong the next morning all for free.

It's going to get windy, and there'll be storms ahead. So what do we do?
Never ever EVER give up. Ever. Especially on humanity.

Intro: Expedition South-East

It's the kind of summer that are so eventful, that it seemed shorter with each memory. I enjoyed the family times, beer and friends, guitar and bon-fire, and weekend trips in the midst of a hard week working at the factory, and a few other bumps on the road...

Three years ago I took you along with me to the French countryside. Two years ago, it was South Africa. And in the next month before I start my exchange term at University of Hong Kong, I'll be writing about my travels in South-East Asia. Major destinations include Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Mount Kinabalu, and Hong Kong. Please feel free to email me your address, I'll be sending post-cards!

After a turbulent first half to 2012, I feel that this is a journey I need to make; on the road, discovering the wonders of the people and places, seeking truth to matters of life, jumping hurdles... and growing, as the person I am to become.

Something is only worthwhile when we do it with a purpose. Below is a list I made the top 10 things I'm going to accomplish:

• Hike half-marathon (21km) on foot
• Spend a full day and night on the beach
• Train with a Muay-Thai boxer
• Watch a cock fight
• Swim beneath a waterfall
• Spend a day on the sea with fishermen
• Visit remote villages and tribes on bike/motorbike
• Mediate at a monastery
• Dive in the Indian Ocean
• Watch sunrise from the peak of Mt. Kinabalu

Let the summer begin.
Friends, I'll see you soon.

A One of a Kind Religion: Fishing

This summer I picked up a new hobby in fishing. I've gotten so into it that I'm considering upgrading my "Conservation" fishing permit to a "Sport" license. In my countless fishing trips near-by and afar, I'm starting to grasp the spiritual aspect of fishing.

Fishing is like a religion, it starts with faith. You've got to believe without seeing - the same mystery force behind the kind of blind love, unconditional help, and reasonless pursuit. Despite the stories you hear, the fishing signs you see, the articles you read, or whatever Google Image brings up, and even your own experiences, the thought of "maybe there are no fish here today" somehow always come across one's mind. Believing is the hardest part; it's the part that defies human logic and principles of experimental methods. To fish is to take this leap of faith. It starts the moment you believe that there ARE fish in the lake.

The ritual aspect of fishing is more clear-cut. The way a fisherman preps his tackle box and hooks his bait is as consistent as any celebration. As a church-goer gives all his attention to the priest, eyeing him, carefully listening to his words,  through him he connects with God. And the fisherman? His eyes are locked on the float, hands tight on the fishing rod, trying to "feel" the perhaps-non-existent-fish through the subtle movement of the fishing line. Each vibration, each shock gives him new hope. Then comes patience... perhaps one's worst virtue, denies church-goer entry to heaven, and fisherman his catch.

Religion is but a back-and-forth rally between faith and reality.
I guess the only way to understand it is to be at the lake every Sunday ;)

Sunrise Drive

In a trade-off between sleep and punctuality, I’d always choose the latter. But there is a fine line for how much sleep I’m willing to give up. So every morning, I’d pull out of my driveway before sunrise, and makes it to work just briefly before the factory bell sounds.

Before the red of the sun, faintly, the red of the stop signs, the red of the traffic light, and the red of little icons on the speed dial all glow in the greyness of dawn. There are very few people out at this hour. This makes the reds pretty insignificant.

The beats of the turn-signals turned my car through the gentle bends; winding suburbian streets soon turned into laser-straight country road. 70-90-100 I went. The engine rev’d like an angry bull as it charged through the fjord between walls of fog. Two worlds crossed into one; the North-bound Highway 6 seemed like a stair-case to heaven.

I’d rolled down the windows, and pop-on the radio for some morning tunes. My body came alive to the oxygen-rich air and the oomphs of the bass stereo. The sky became bluer, brighter. Over the corn fields, the sun appears in bright orange. Two skies, one above, one in my mind. This is my way to embrace freedom, before the crisp morning air turn into crisp sounds of metals clashing. I press down on the acceleration pedal, as if I were escaping the infinite shadow cast from the horizonal sun.

PicStory: Many Uses of Gum

Picasso's Guitar

The security guards must’ve chuckled between themselves. “That guy has been there standing for hours like a tree.”

If I were a security guard at the Ontario Art Gallery, I’d probably make a joke about it too. After all, my job is to browse/examine/study people, while they browse/examine/study Picasso’s paintings. I never understood what is it about art that encapsulate a person’s thoughts like a mind magnet. And I still don’t understand it, but I surrender before the power of art nevertheless.

This afternoon I lost myself in front of a Picasso painting that supposedly a guitar. I like guitar. Except I don’t see the guitar. I see rectangles, triangles, angles with no names. I thought, perhaps I should see it from a different angle. I bent over, looked under, turned sideways, back and forth. Looking closer, I see the fine lines and edges and marks and cracks. Still, no guitar.
The harder I look, the more I see, yet the less I see.

People came and went. I stood there. The Picasso’s guitar disguised itself behind episodes of confusion and obstruction.

My vision blurred from the mid-afternoon dreariness. My mind began to drift. I still stood there. For minutes, maybe hours. I stopped looking, but kept my eyes fixed on the shapes and let my mind wander.

I saw Picasso’s guitar.
Beautiful.

My Pops

Today is the day we celebrate the fathers in our lives.

Though there are many, I'd like to write about three particular "Fathers" in my life. Not all of which are my biological father of course! I've left few clues to let you figure out their identities.

The first is a man who taught me the ingredients of success: talent and hard-work. In my days as a semi-professional mid-distance runner, he unleashed my competitive spirit, a hoard of energy that I did not know existed. Talent, I didn't have much of; hard-work made the difference. To my coach, I was never strong enough, quick enough, nor was I ever good enough... Everyday is a defeat. But he instilled something in me that turned me into a monstrous machine on the track:

As the world blacks-out, as I turn deaf from the fanatic cheers from the stadium, I only see him. I know exactly where he is. He'd be there glancing at his stopwatch, then me, then back to his watch. I'd shut-off the blaring alarm going off throughout my body and push microns beyond the length of which my legs could extend. I'd shut-off all sounds but tune in his instructions, followed by a split-second loss of consciousness that felt as long as the age of universe. The machine finally falls apart at the finish line and I, struck by the reality of pain and suffering, embrace the taste of defeat. Through him, I grasp along the fine line between breaking-point and break-through.

I lived and breathed the vapour of synthetic rubber, a scent of which still triggers an unexplained, explosive rush of adrenaline. Yes, everyday was a defeat; a defeat of my body to complete exhaustion. Next day, I'd do it again. But coach showed me a new way of looking at it: I am my biggest enemy. I have to defeat myself.

The second "father" is my source of intellectual inspiration. A conversation with him is never boring, we can talk for days and nights without ever running out of topics. When we talk, the process is mentally exhausting because of the depth and breadth of our discussions. Though it is his criticism of my work that empowers me to be an even more critical thinker. Yet as much as we attempt to bullet-proof arguments, no idea can be without flaws. But I think we can inch near the level of perfection through meticulous attention to details. A father, this man sharpened my mind.

The third man is my father. He is the basis of my characters. My father isn't without flaws in personality, and he knows it. Growing up, my father had never encouraged me, nor ever told me he's proud of me. But lately, that has changed. He defined my characters, through what he is and what he isn't, what he can and what he cannot do.

Given enough pressure, ordinary graphite into extraordinary diamond.

Short Prose: Roads

I write, as I'm on the road.

Before we had roads, we traveled across wilderness on foot or by horse. When those paths are traveled over and over again, they become trails. And when many many people go through it many many times, we built a road over the trail to smoothen our journey. We've came up with various "roads" to overcome various terrains and obstacles -mountains and valleys, desserts and forests- so we can get anywhere from Point A to Point B. All we need is a map or perhaps a GPS, for those of us who are directionally challenged!

But even with roads, maps and GPS, a journey can still be difficult and unbearable. Sometimes, we'd have to travel on gravel and dirt road because there simply isn't an alternative. Other times the road could just be too long to walk, the destination too far. Our shoes wear down, as do our spirits. Fatigue sets in and frustration seeps out. And of course, there're also the occasional thunderstorms and snow blizzard, or perhaps a traffic jam that robs away any remaining positivity we have...

But hey, as long as we are on the right road! Just take a look back, and we'll find ourselves coming a long way from where we started. We just need to re-focus and think about our values; we chose to go on such journey because we believed in greater things in store at our destination; this makes everything else secondary.

Whether you are walking down the asphalt road or the metaphoric road of life, remember to take breaks, and perhaps wonder off a lil to explore the peripherals.

So, let's take a walk...

Quickie: The Two Lines that Changed the World

If I may do the unthinkable, to simplify the complexity of the world into two simple lines, I'd draw an utility curve, and a budget constraint line.

The utility curve outlines our tendencies to make one decision over another, in the realm of our imaginations.
The budget constraint brings us back to earth, limiting what we can and cannot do with what we have.

The differences in our perception of these two curves allow us decisions, interactions; they trigger passion, ambition, innovation... they also lead to peace, conflict, and war.

Simplifying complexity...a beautiful concept isn't it?

Short Prose: Mayfly

Springing into summer, my daily runs along the canal drew my attention to a special insect: mayfly.


Not much of an entomologist myself, but I do find mayflies to be some fascinating creatures. If everything in this world serves a purpose, then mayfly may just be one of nature's most wise professors. It gives us a worthwhile perspective to life that we may otherwise under-appreciate. Oh the forces of divine nature... Surreal.


Mayfly spends 1 or 2 years growing, spending most of that time in water. But once when the temperature is right, it matures to be an adult; how glorious and long-waited?! It dances and it swirls and twirls around and around like a child on the playground. Yet...that clock is ticking, ticking down to its death hour, or death minute to be more precise. An adult mayfly’s lifespan lasts as short as 30 minutes, that is, under normal circumstances. 


Such is our mayfly. And such is the wisdom of mother nature.
As Diem puts it, “It lives, breeds, and dies all in one day.”


That, ladies and gentlemen, is beautiful.

Quickie: Possibilities and Mysteries

Too often, possibilities remain mysteries...because one doesn't make an initiative to "say hello"
I didn't say "hello", but I said "Thanks" and passed this note to the girl as I was leaving the cafe.
I wonder if I will ever hear from her...

Short Prose: D-Day, A Tribute to Canadian Troops

Let's go back to 68 Years Ago today.


War is like a game, but not so much fun to play, especially if you’re a young soldier walking on a thin line between life and death on the front line...


June 6, 1944. Normandy, France.


It’s the early morning of D-Day. Operation Overlord, the turning point of WWII, officially began with rounds of aerial bombardment. Following suit, on the Northern coast of France, allied troops, under the command of Dempsey and Montgomery, initiated a surprise landing on the beaches of Normandy. The 3rd Canadian Infantry Division, 2nd Canadian Armoured Brigade received the call of duty. Objective: Juno Beach.


Brutality begins... A storm of machine gun bullets swept through, a wave of soldiers fell. More shells exploded, blasting human flesh into thin air. Half of our men in the first wave were lost in between the rounds of gun fires, lighting the Northern sky.


The second wave of landing initiated. Tanks advanced fearlessly to clear the paths, infantry followed, running and crawling to dodge bullets from afar. The troops moved in further, closer to the base of the seawall where the German batteries rooted atop... More explosions.


As you are familiar with the outcome of the story, Canadian army was the only division to reach the objective and had penetrated deeper into the German territory than any other on D-Day. 


13,000 brave souls lived to tell the tale.
31-Million are living to tell the tale.
This is only one of them.

Age of Algorithm

Summer nights cannot go by without music. So last night, a friend and I attended a feature presentation on the Science of Opera. We got a taste of top-notch research as well as several soul-chilling musical performances.

I’ve noticed this trend in our society, that we’ve entered an age of algorithm. From business, to finance, to internet, to genetics, and now music, quantitative models have overtook our lives with  efficiency and accuracy.

Anyone who had ever worked at McDonald’s can certainly relate to this transformation. Not only has the art of cuisine been boiled down to an algorithm, so did the details of running the business. In the fast-food industry, everything an employee ever need to do has been thoroughly thought through, from the cashiers to the cooks, from the supervisors to managers. Algorithms are used to find the perfect store locations, hire the exact employees, and put out just the right amount of advertisements.

Yet we are far from the limit; science and numbers have just gotten more powerful over the years. The super-computers on Wall street eliminate (and profit from) arbitrage opportunities. The efficiency of Google’s search algorithm brings us information in fractions of a millisecond. The map of human genome tells us the types of diseases we are susceptible to, how intelligent we will be, and what kind of careers best suit us. And last night, I learned that our enjoyment of music is related to the physical characteristics of our brain, and how music gives us pleasure.

As great as our achievements in understanding music, I think we can do even better.

We’ve placed so much emphasis on the “science of art” in recent years, perhaps now is the time that we should shift the paradigm back to appreciating the “art of science”. If only we can go back to the realm of non-exact certainty, if only there lies a unconventional probability that is against all odds.

We call this hope.
I find it truly beautiful.