The Jack-Jack-O-Lantern

I finally did the unthinkable - I stuck my fist into the hole and explored the soft, gooey insides, then dug out the sticky mess. Carving Jack-'o'-lanterns, an age old tradition for Halloween, was a treat denied to me (and my Singaporean friends) for most of my life. How do they expect kids to grow up normal when we're not even allowed, once in a while, to use big sharp knives to stab at helpless fruits and mercilessly gut it, then carve sadistic pictures on its cold, dead face. So, naturally, when the opportunity came to carve pumpkins with the PiLam guys, I just knew I had to jump right in and completely devote my soul to the art of fruit-mutilation. 

I had a long debate with the voices in my head whether pumpkins are vegetables or fruits, but since they grow on vines and have seeds, I'm gonna go ahead and call it a fruit. 

A little folklore before we dive into the actual carving: There's some ridiculously long winded story about how a peasant thief called Jack managed to trick the devil into not killing him, so when he died, he wasn't able to go to heaven cause of his thieving, sinful ways, but was not allowed into hell either cause the devil's just that kinda vengeful bitch. So Jack went to the ball and met the prince, but had to leave at the strike of midnight before his pumpkin-coach turned back into a useless regular pumpkin. 

Wait, I have a feeling I'm getting stories mixed up. So the pumpkin-coach turned back into a pumpkin while Jack was still riding in it (with his one glass slipper), and he was squashed and trapped in there and became a Jack-lantern? Ah, whatever.

So we all claimed our giant pumpkins, and gathered around the table (momentarily an abattoir) like a devil-worshiping cult ready to commit mass murder. We all stabbed our pumpkins with the cute little saw as Thriller played in the background, and proceeded to saw out a little circle around the stem as the cap. Yup, cause we're that kind of sadistic - we'd cut off a piece of you, then still use that bit to close you back up and complete the monstrosity. We'd then have to use a tiny plastic scooper to scrape the insides of the pumpkin and yank out all the gunk and guts of the poor fellow. I would have preferred a garden spade for this activity, but nope, a two inch piece of plastic is all you're getting.

Then comes the heart of the operation - the carving of the face. Now some of us like to just start stabbing and sawing, and see where it takes you, but I'm the sort who needs a clear plan on how my pumpkin is gonna turn out to be. I'm not about to let my pumpkin-virginity stand in the way of a good pumpkin-frolic. The plan was for my fruit to eventually resemble Jack Skellington from Nightmare Before Christmas, and after much hard work and alcohol-induced artistic abilities: 

 

It could have been better, but considering how I did it free hand, cause of the lack of markers, I'm pretty proud of it. The mouth is slightly too big and the wind kept blowing the candle out, so it's a real shame people couldn't get to enjoy this work of pure genius for extended periods of time. But it is what it is, ya know. 

All the 20 pumpkins were lighted up and put on display on the roof outside the house, including the Pi Lambda Phi letters, a weed leaf, a midget, the UW logo, and a leaking penis. Very classy. 

 

'Tis the Season to be [Retrospective and Insightful with a touch of Sardonicism]

Ah fall.. Probably my favorite season of the entire year, right behind Spring, Summer and Winter. There's this indescribable air of romantic atmosphere, as you watch leaves turn yellow and red in their suicidal efforts. The air's just the right blend of chilly and breezy, you can start wearing chic coats and boots without looking like a runway-reject, and you don't have to pile up that many layers 'till you start looking like you've never had an eating disorder in your life. Fallen leaves can be raked up and made into little soft mounds, where adorable teensy children can jump into the pile of dead leaf carnage and roll among the last reminders of the sacrificed.

Sacrifice - that's the beauty of trees shedding their leaves for winter. People always look upon winter with that disdainful air of contempt, scoffing about how the bare twigs of the trees give an impression of death and gloom, with their skeletal structures waving so feebly in the frigid air. I, of course, being much more insightful and wise-ified, see it as a symbol for what we all have to go through in life. The trees didn't shed their leaves to die in winter - they did it to live. In rough times, we shed what we don't need, with no regard to how it makes us look, and we toughen it out till we find solid footing. So rather than a sign of death, it's much more a symbol of perseverance, and doing whatever it takes to keep going on cause there are things in life worth fighting for. I don't know what the trees are fighting for, though. Perhaps there's a pension for those that live beyond 200, I dunno. 

People love it when the leaves change, but dislike the balding of the trees, something that inevitably follows. It's so typical of people, innit. They always want you to change, to be a certain way- listen more, dress this way, change that habit, develop this one, scream the right name in bed, all that- but refuse to handle what comes as a by-product of that change. Hasn't everyone had that "You wanted me to call more, which is why all my money went into paying for my phone bill, and hence I'm broke and left with having to substitute plastic wrap for condoms, and now that I've developed a cellophane fetish, you're leaving me?!" argument? No? Right, right, me neither. 

I may come to regret saying this now, but I'm quite excited for winter to come, bringing with it lots and lots of fluffy white snow to blanket the rooftop terrace. Imagine waking up to that. Sure it's gonna be so cold that I lose the use of some limbs, and I'll probably start cursing the goddamn snow after the 15th time I slip and bang my malfunctioning arm on the ground and it snaps clean off like an experiment with liquid nitrogen, and.. That's it, I'm on the next flight to the Maldives. 

- The lake frozen over in Madison -

"The Theatre is a Temple of the Arts"

Fifty-five. That's how many days it's been since I last breathed the air in Singapore (which I'm told now is once again filled with ashes, courtesy of Indonesia, so good thing I'm not there inhaling it with my stately, ample lungs. That's right, I'll find anything to boast about.). I don't know what's there to say about passing a fifty-five day mark, except that life for me is all cheerios and candy-cane. Each day lives like a fantasy, each sound's like a symphony and all that, as I skip along to class, birds sing to me and strangers cartwheel as they high-five. It's just not humanely possible for anything to be even more perfect than it is. 

Okay, I can't do this. 

It'd be lovely if I could really say that everything's sunshine and daisies and butterscotch muffins with juicy blueberry centers, just for the purpose of incurring everyone's envy and poisonous hatred, if nothing else. On the surface, it does look as if everything's fine, and I'm going along with the motions as though I've always been a cog in this smoothly operating wheel. I live in a lap of luxury with a doorman, marble lobbies and concierge, thanks to dad's money, I don't have to think before making purchases because I know I'm always supported, and there's no lack of social activities with all the guaranteed weekend (sometimes weekdays, cause they don't call it Wasted Wednesdays for nothing) partying. It looks so perfect that even I've been fooled by it for a while.

I don't want to sound like a supremely unappreciative brat, because of course I'm thankful for all I have going for me right now. I know I'm among the rare minority that gets such opportunities, and I'll be the first to say how grateful I am to Papa Almighty. But in trying to get my life together by myself, pushing myself every day to do something I couldn't, or wouldn't have before, and maintaining that strong exterior you need to survive in such a solitary environment, I feel as though I've neglected myself. I've heard stories of how studying and living in a new place can be tough, but this was totally different from their kind of difficult. For the ones I've heard, mainly, are those that steadfastly refuse to integrate into the society, choosing instead to remain in gangs of their own race or background, so it becomes more and more comfortable for them in their little 'pseudo-homelands', and each time it just gets harder to break out of it. 

In my case, the difficulty is finding something here that's really 'me'. Something that appeals and speaks to my loves and interest, something I can call mine. I feel really displaced, somehow, like I'd be having fun and enjoying myself somewhere, but at the same time, I know I'm half a beat off from their rhythms. It's not as easy as 'similar interests' = 'instant chemistry', for I've seen people in singing groups that I just get the yeack-vibe from. Sure, I can put up a front and seem like I'm really into whatever it is we're talking about, but somewhere in the back of my mind I'm thinking, 'Why am I saying stuff that sounds so out-of-character for me."

Do people really adapt to their environments, or do we seek out environments that can adapt to us? I'm finding myself a little more emotionally unstable these days, I guess from the lack of honest, introspective, face to face, personal interactions that I used to enjoy with my inner-circle in Singapore. Not the pathologically disturbed kind of unstable, just that I find myself more susceptible to welling up at TV shows or stuff like that. Like my emotions are just bubbling at the surface, waiting for that one dramatic 'bawling in the shower' scenario that everyone should try at least once in their lives. It's efficient cause you're already wet, just use the shower-head to conveniently wash off the salty fluids.

I guess a plus point to living in America is that stuff you've once only heard about are now very much within grasp. Just last week I went to watch that amazing musical Wicked, when it was playing at the Overture Theater in Madison. It's probably around a fifteen minute walk from my Palatial Dorm. To see performances of songs like Defying Gravity and For Good, songs we've known and have been singing for so long, presented right in-front of you by a green witch is beyond amazing. I won't go into too many details, for I've already written them in an email to Damian, and I don't like stealing words from myself. All I'll say is, it's everything you can possibly imagine, and more. And then probably even more than that. (You are absolutely right if you think I'm doing this to make you jealous.) The main point is, watching Wicked, even though I had to watch it alone cause no one else would pay $150 to watch it with me, was the first 'truly me' thing that I've done since arriving here, and I finally felt reconnected to the person that matters the most to me - Jesus. 

HA wouldn't that be hilarious. Just kidding, I meant myself. 

Next up at the Overture - Joan Rivers, 23 October, and I can't wait to scrutinize her wrinkle-less face from my Row B seat. 

Student Orgs

As they say, the first step to a wonderful college experience is to join a student organization. Actually, I've always thought that the first step is getting accepted to a wonderful college, but if they wanna lead an alternative lifestyle, by all means. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm the least judgmental person around, when it comes to matters concerning me, anyways. So I'm gonna ask you to read the rest of this post without any trace of judgment (read like an unfeeling, insentient, self-unaware robot), because trust me, it's gonna get controversial. Almost like the amateur lesbian sex video from that Sweet Holy Mother of God Junior College, except in my case it doesn't feature amateurs.

The Student Organization Fair, put simply, is a fair about student organizations. I know, the title doesn't explain anything at all. You go to the Kohl Center, and thousands of SOs, or CCAs, as faux-British types like to call them, have their tables set up on two levels in the sporting arena. They don't actually set it up inside the arena, but on the corridors surrounding it, so to see them all you have to make two big rounds around the place. People are acting as if they've never seen student orgs before - there's literally tens of thousands of crazies just going rabid with ecstasy as they sign up for as many things as possible. I made my first round without actually signing up for anything, mostly just doing some recon. Also, I've been conditioned with that negative stereotyping of Greek organizations (fraternities and sororities, unfortunately, not real Greeks), so I didn't stop at any of the tables with the funny looking alphabets. 

There were so many "Asian societies", just filled with Asians trying to recruit more Asians for their little re-creation of 'what we left back home in sweet Asia'. It felt totally discriminatory, not to mention shallow, so I avoided eye-contact with them as much as possible, in case they tried to suck me into their little games of Let's Avoid Locals. I love the people here so much more than the rude service-staff in Singapore, why would I want to keep limiting myself to that? Also, why are minority groups allowed to have single-race groups, when a majority group doing so would be considered racist? Segregating themselves from the local population is one form of racism, and this would just make others think it's okay to group 'all you minorities' as one collective, since you're doing it such a bang up job labeling yourself.

I do feel better after venting.

So there I was, wandering about the place and being disappointed when all the groups with the cuties and candies and beautiful people are dead-boring stuff like Business Advertising and Something Else Equally Dull. I was making joining a student organization a completely superficial event, and the forces of the Universe are just dead-set on foiling that for me. (I'm getting a tad worried how many times I've said 'dead' in a paragraph.) I also want to be part of a group that I have an interest in, and since the Madhatters so forgetfully left my name out of the callback sheet (that's the story I'm sticking to), and I short-sightedly only signed up to audition for one vocal group, I was sorta at a loss at what I was gonna join now.

This story may come to be told differently years later, but that instant where I signed up with a fraternity didn't feel like my proudest moment. I felt as if I was betraying what I used to believe, and that I had lied to my friends when I said I would never associate myself with a fraternity. I believe the exact words I used were ".. and join a bunch of assholes drinking themselves silly? Over my dead body!" (There it is again) How it went down exactly is a little blur to me now, seeing how it's been almost a month since I first signed up. I believe one of them (perhaps the VP, I'm not too sure) started talking to me and asked me if I had an interest in Greek life. Of course I said I didn't, but a little part inside me was dying (I sure am morbid today) to know what it really was like, and to take that step into badboy-dom. I guess that's why it had been so easy to convince me to leave behind my contact details. 

So what I went for, and eventually signed a bid with, was Pi Lambda Phi. They had explained to me at the SO Fair that it was the first non-sectarian fraternity ever founded, meaning it was the first to break the religion barrier. Being one with an unconventional faith system, I was most impressed that I had coincidentally (or did I?) stumbled upon the first frat that valued character over religion or race. I was now hooked, and was ready to explore what being in a frat really meant, as opposed to the typically portrayed idiots on TV. 

I am now two weeks into the new member process of learning the ways and history of PiLam, and I'm sure any Brother reading this would start feeling very anxious that I'll begin spilling all the secrets, from the Naked Lunar Worship during the Sabbath of Diana to bug eating competitions (I'm kidding, it's the Sabbath of Samhain). I'm personally not extremely sure about what can or cannot be said, so I'll just provide some general myth-busters. Do the American Pie type of frats and behavior exist? Yes, I've seen them, and boy are they disgusting to look at. Is PiLam one of them? No. These guys get really serious about the actual projects and training for the new members, and I've not worn formal attire that many times since my stint at SIMUN.  There is a very distinct structure and ExCo that keeps things in check, but at the same time, they know how to let loose and have a good time partying. Everyone I've met since are all very different people, and are really quite decent. And as much fun as it sounds, no, I have not been sexually mistreated. I'm hoping there's a big 'yet'.

So I'm hoping to learn from it, grow with it, support it, feed it, bathe it, clothe it, suck the juicy goodness out of it like a hard candy with gummy insides, and basically enjoy as much as I can. There is responsibility to be had, of course, totally reminiscent of my bad-ass days at JJInteract. Like Travis on Cougar Town says, "a quiet bad ass, like Harry Potter." 

- The madness of the Student Org fair -