Seymour Cakes

Thoreau [Eulogy, 1862] by Emerson

2008-08-06T10:14:00.000+08:00

Thoreau [Eulogy, 1862]

Henry David Thoreau was the last male descendant of a French ancestor who came to this country from the Isle of Guernsey. His character exhibited occasional traits drawn from this blood, in singular combination with a very strong Saxon genius.

He was born in Concord, Massachusetts, on the 12th of July, 1817. He was graduated at Harvard College in 1837, but without any literary distinction. An iconoclast in literature, he seldom thanked colleges for their service to him, holding them in small esteem, whilst yet his debt to them was important. After leaving the University, he joined his brother in teaching a private school, which he soon renounced. His father was a manufacturer of lead-pencils, and Henry applied himself for a time to this craft, believing he could make a better pencil than was then in use. After completing his experiments, he exhibited his work to chemists and artists in Boston, and having obtained their certificates to its excellence and to its equality with the best London manufacture, he returned home contented. His friends congratulated him that he had now opened his way to fortune. But he replied that he should never make another pencil. "Why should I? I would not do again what I have done once." He resumed his endless walks and miscellaneous studies, making every day some new acquaintance with Nature, though as yet never speaking of zoölogy or botany, since, though very studious of natural facts, he was incurious of technical and textual science.

At this time, a strong, healthy youth, fresh from college, whilst all his companions were choosing their profession, or eager to begin some lucrative employment, it was inevitable that his thoughts should be exercised on the same question, and it required a rare decision to refuse all the accustomed paths and keep his solitary freedom at the cost of disappointing the natural expectations of his family and friends: all the more difficult that he had a perfect probity, was exact in securing his own independence, and in holding every man to the like duty. But Thoreau never faltered. He was a born protestant. He declined to give up his large ambition of knowledge and action for any narrow craft or profession, aiming at a much more comprehensive calling, the art of living well. If he slighted and defied the opinions of others, it was only that he was more intent to reconcile his practice with his own belief. Never idle or self-indulgent, he preferred, when he wanted money, earning it by some piece of manual labor agreeable to him, as building a boat or a fence, planting, grafting, surveying or other short work, to any long engagements. With his hardy habits and few wants, his skill in wood-craft, and his powerful arithmetic, he was very competent to live in any part of the world. It would cost him less to supply his wants than another. He was therefore secure of his leisure.

A natural skill for mensuration, growing out of his mathematical knowledge and his habit of ascertaining the measures and distances of objects which interested him, the size of trees, the depth and extent of ponds and rivers, the height of mountains and the air-line distance of his favorite summits,--this, and his intimate knowledge of the territory about Concord, made him drift into the profession of land-surveyor. It had the advantage for him that it led him continually into new and secluded grounds, and helped his studies of Nature. His accuracy and skill in his work were readily appreciated, and he found all the employment he wanted.

He could easily solve the problems of the surveyor, but he was daily beset with graver questions, which he manfully confronted. He interrogated every custom, and wished to settle all his practice on an ideal foundation. He was a protestant à outrance, and few lives contain so many renunciations. He was bred to no profession; he never married; he lived alone; he never went to church; he never voted; he refused to pay a tax to the State; he ate no flesh; he drank no wine; he never knew the use of tobacco; and though a naturalist, he used neither trap nor gun. He chose, wisely no doubt for himself, to be the bachelor of thought and Nature. He had no talent for wealth, and knew how to be poor without the least hint of squalor or inelegance. Perhaps he fell into his way of living without forecasting it much, but approved it with later wisdom. "I am often reminded," he wrote in his journal, "that if I had bestowed on me the wealth of Crœsus, my aims must be still the same." He had no temptations to fight against,--no appetites, no passions, no taste for elegant trifles. A fine house, dress, the manners and talk of highly cultivated people were all thrown away on him. He much preferred a good Indian, and considered these refinements as impediments to conversation, wishing to meet his companion on the simplest terms. He declined invitations to dinner-parties, because there each was in every one's way, and he could not meet the individuals to any purpose. "They make their pride," he said, "in making their dinner cost much; I make my pride in making my dinner cost little." When asked at table what dish he preferred, he answered, "The nearest." He did not like the taste of wine, and never had a vice in his life. He said,--"I have a faint recollection of pleasure derived from smoking dried lily-stems, before I was a man. I had commonly a supply of these. I have never smoked anything more noxious."

He chose to be rich by making his wants few, and supplying them himself. In his travels, he used the railroad only to get over so much country as was unimportant to the present purpose, walking hundreds of miles, avoiding taverns, buying a lodging in farmers' and fishermen's houses, as cheaper, and more agreeable to him, and because there he could better find the men and the information he wanted.

There was somewhat military in his nature, not to be subdued, always manly and able, but rarely tender, as if he did not feel himself except in opposition. He wanted a fallacy to expose, a blunder to pillory, I may say required a little sense of victory, a roll of the drum, to call his powers into full exercise. It cost him nothing to say No; indeed he found it much easier than to say Yes. It seemed as if his first instinct on hearing a proposition was to controvert it, so impatient was he of the limitations of our daily thought. This habit, of course, is a little chilling to the social affections; and though the companion would in the end acquit him of any malice or untruth, yet it mars conversation. Hence, no equal companion stood in affectionate relations with one so pure and guileless. "I love Henry," said one of his friends, "but I cannot like him; and as for taking his arm, I should as soon think of taking the arm of an elm-tree."

Yet, hermit and stoic as he was, he was really fond of sympathy, and threw himself heartily and childlike into the company of young people whom he loved, and whom he delighted to entertain, as he only could, with the varied and endless anecdotes of his experiences by field and river: and he was always ready to lead a huckleberry-party or a search for chestnuts or grapes. Talking, one day, of a public discourse, Henry remarked that whatever succeeded with the audience was bad. I said, "Who would not like to write something which all can read, like 'Robinson Crusoe?' and who does not see with regret that his page is not solid with a right materialistic treatment, which delights everybody?" Henry objected, of course, and vaunted the better lectures which reached only a few persons. But, at supper, a young girl, understanding that he was to lecture at the Lyceum, sharply asked him, "Whether his lecture would be a nice, interesting story, such as she wished to hear, or whether it was one of those old philosophical things that she did not care about." Henry turned to her, and bethought himself, and, I saw, was trying to believe that he had matter that might fit her and her brother, who were to sit up and go to the lecture, if it was a good one for them.

He was a speaker and actor of the truth, born such, and was ever running into dramatic situations from this cause. In any circumstance it interested all bystanders to know what part Henry would take, and what he would say; and he did not disappoint expectation, but used an original judgment on each emergency. In 1845 he built himself a small framed house on the shores of Walden Pond, and lived there two years alone, a life of labor and study. This action was quite native and fit for him. No one who knew him would tax him with affectation. He was more unlike his neighbors in his thought than in his action. As soon as he had exhausted the advantages of that solitude, he abandoned it. In 1847, not approving some uses to which the public expenditure was applied, he refused to pay his town tax, and was put in jail. A friend paid the tax for him, and he was released. The like annoyance was threatened the next year. But as his friends paid the tax, notwithstanding his protest, I believe he ceased to resist. No opposition or ridicule had any weight with him. He coldly and fully stated his opinion without affecting to believe that it was the opinion of the company. It was of no consequence if every one present held the opposite opinion. On one occasion he went to the University Library to procure some books. The librarian refused to lend them. Mr. Thoreau repaired to the President, who stated to him the rules and usages, which permitted the loan of books to resident graduates, to clergymen who were alumni, and to some others resident within a circle of ten miles' radius from the College. Mr. Thoreau explained to the President that the railroad had destroyed the old scale of distances,--that the library was useless, yes, and President and College useless, on the terms of his rules,--that the one benefit he owed to the College was its library,--that, at this moment, not only his want of books was imperative, but he wanted a large number of books, and assured him that he, Thoreau, and not the librarian, was the proper custodian of these. In short, the President found the petitioner so formidable, and the rules getting to look so ridiculous, that he ended by giving him a privilege which in his hands proved unlimited thereafter.

No truer American existed than Thoreau. His preference of his country and condition was genuine, and his aversion from English and European manners and tastes almost reached contempt. He listened impatiently to news or bonmots gleaned from London circles; and though he tried to be civil, these anecdotes fatigued him. The men were all imitating each other, and on a small mould. Why can they not live as far apart as possible, and each be a man by himself? What he sought was the most energetic nature; and he wished to go to Oregon, not to London. "In every part of Great Britain," he wrote in his diary, "are discovered traces of the Romans, their funereal urns, their camps, their roads, their dwellings. But New England, at least, is not based on any Roman ruins. We have not to lay the foundations of our houses on the ashes of a former civilization."

But idealist as he was, standing for abolition of slavery, abolition of tariffs, almost for abolition of government, it is needless to say he found himself not only unrepresented in actual politics, but almost equally opposed to every class of reformers. Yet he paid the tribute of his uniform respect to the Anti-Slavery party. One man, whose personal acquaintance he had formed, he honored with exceptional regard. Before the first friendly word had been spoken for Captain John Brown, he sent notices to most houses in Concord that he would speak in a public hall on the condition and character of John Brown, on Sunday evening, and invited all people to come. The Republican Committee, the Abolitionist Committee, sent him word that it was premature and not advisable. He replied,--"I did not send to you for advice, but to announce that I am to speak." The hall was filled at an early hour by people of all parties, and his earnest eulogy of the hero was heard by all respectfully, by many with a sympathy that surprised themselves.

It was said of Plotinus that he was ashamed of his body, and 't is very likely he had good reason for it,--that his body was a bad servant, and he had not skill in dealing with the material world, as happens often to men of abstract intellect. But Mr. Thoreau was equipped with a most adapted and serviceable body. He was of short stature, firmly built, of light complexion, with strong, serious blue eyes, and a grave aspect,--his face covered in the late years with a becoming beard. His senses were acute, his frame well-knit and hardy, his hands strong and skilful in the use of tools. And there was a wonderful fitness of body and mind. He could pace sixteen rods more accurately than another man could measure them with rod and chain. He could find his path in the woods at night, he said, better by his feet than his eyes. He could estimate the measure of a tree very well by his eye; he could estimate the weight of a calf or a pig, like a dealer. From a box containing a bushel or more of loose pencils, he could take up with his hands fast enough just a dozen pencils at every grasp. He was a good swimmer, runner, skater, boatman, and would probably outwalk most countrymen in a day's journey. And the relation of body to mind was still finer than we have indicated. He said he wanted every stride his legs made. The length of his walk uniformly made the length of his writing. If shut up in the house he did not write at all.

He has a strong common sense, like that which Rose Flammock, the weaver's daughter in Scott's romance, commends in her father, as resembling a yardstick, which, whilst it measures dowlas and diaper, can equally well measure tapestry and cloth of gold. He had always a new resource. When I was planting forest trees, and had procured half a peck of acorns, he said that only a small portion of them would be sound, and proceeded to examine them and select the sound ones. But finding this took time, he said, "I think if you put them all into water the good ones will sink;" which experiment we tried with success. He could plan a garden or a house or a barn; would have been competent to lead a "Pacific Exploring Expedition;" could give judicious counsel in the gravest private or public affairs.

He lived for the day, not cumbered and mortified by his memory. If he brought you yesterday a new proposition, he would bring you to-day another not less revolutionary. A very industrious man, and setting, like all highly organized men, a high value on his time, he seemed the only man of leisure in town, always ready for any excursion that promised well, or for conversation prolonged into late hours. His trenchant sense was never stopped by his rules of daily prudence, but was always up to the new occasion. He liked and used the simplest food, yet, when some one urged a vegetable diet, Thoreau thought all diets a very small matter, saying that "the man who shoots the buffalo lives better than the man who boards at the Graham House." He said,--"You can sleep near the railroad, and never be disturbed: Nature knows very well what sounds are worth attending to, and has made up her mind not to hear the railroad-whistle. But things respect the devout mind, and a mental ecstasy was never interrupted." He noted what repeatedly befell him, that, after receiving from a distance a rare plant, he would presently find the same in his own haunts. And those pieces of luck which happen only to good players happened to him. One day, walking with a stranger, who inquired where Indian arrowheads could be found, he replied, "Everywhere," and, stooping forward, picked one on the instant from the ground. At Mount Washington, in Tuckerman's Ravine, Thoreau had a bad fall, and sprained his foot. As he was in the act of getting up from his fall, he saw for the first time the leaves of the Arnica mollis.

His robust common sense, armed with stout hands, keen perceptions and strong will, cannot yet account for the superiority which shone in his simple and hidden life. I must add the cardinal fact, that there was an excellent wisdom in him, proper to a rare class of men, which showed him the material world as a means and symbol. This discovery, which sometimes yields to poets a certain casual and interrupted light, serving for the ornament of their writing, was in him an unsleeping insight; and whatever faults or obstructions of temperament might cloud it, he was not disobedient to the heavenly vision. In his youth, he said, one day, "The other world is all my art; my pencils will draw no other; my jack-knife will cut nothing else; I do not use it as a means." This was the muse and genius that ruled his opinions, conversation, studies, work and course of life. This made him a searching judge of men. At first glance he measured his companion, and, though insensible to some fine traits of culture, could very well report his weight and caliber. And this made the impression of genius which his conversation sometimes gave.

He understood the matter in hand at a glance, and saw the limitations and poverty of those he talked with, so that nothing seemed concealed from such terrible eyes. I have repeatedly known young men of sensibility converted in a moment to the belief that this was the man they were in search of, the man of men, who could tell them all they should do. His own dealing with them was never affectionate, but superior, didactic, scorning their petty ways,--very slowly conceding, or not conceding at all, the promise of his society at their houses, or even at his own. "Would he not walk with them?" "He did not know. There was nothing so important to him as his walk; he had no walks to throw away on company." Visits were offered him from respectful parties, but he declined them. Admiring friends offered to carry him at their own cost to the Yellowstone River,--to the West Indies,--to South America. But though nothing could be more grave or considered than his refusals, they remind one, in quite new relations, of that fop Brummel's reply to the gentleman who offered him his carriage in a shower, "But where will you ride, then?"--and what accusing silences, and what searching and irresistible speeches, battering down all defences, his companions can remember!

Mr. Thoreau dedicated his genius with such entire love to the fields, hills and waters of his native town, that he made them known and interesting to all reading Americans, and to people over the sea. The river on whose banks he was born and died he knew from its springs to its confluence with the Merrimack. He had made summer and winter observations on it for many years, and at every hour of the day and night. The result of the recent survey of the Water Commissioners appointed by the State of Massachusetts he had reached by his private experiments, several years earlier. Every fact which occurs in the bed, on the banks or in the air over it; the fishes, and their spawning and nests, their manners, their food; the shad-flies which fill the air on a certain evening once a year, and which are snapped at by the fishes so ravenously that many of these die of repletion; the conical heaps of small stones on the river-shallows, the huge nests of small fishes, one of which will sometimes overfill a cart; the birds which frequent the stream, heron, duck, sheldrake, loon, osprey; the snake, muskrat, otter, woodchuck and fox, on the banks; the turtle, frog, hyla and cricket, which make the banks vocal,--were all known to him, and, as it were, townsmen and fellow creatures; so that he felt an absurdity or violence in any narrative of one of these by itself apart, and still more of its dimensions on an inch-rule, or in the exhibition of its skeleton, or the specimen of a squirrel or a bird in brandy. He liked to speak of the manners of the river, as itself a lawful creature, yet with exactness, and always to an observed fact. As he knew the river, so the ponds in this region.

One of the weapons he used, more important to him than microscope or alcohol-receive, to other investigators, was a whim which grew on him by indulgence, yet appeared in gravest statement, namely, of extolling his own town and neighborhood as the most favored centre for natural observation. He remarked that the Flora of Massachusetts embraced almost all the important plants of America,--most of the oaks, most of the willows, the best pines, the ash, the maple, the beech, the nuts. He returned Kane's "Arctic Voyage" to a friend of whom he had borrowed it, with the remark, that "Most of the phenomena noted might be observed in Concord." He seemed a little envious of the Pole, for the coincident sunrise and sunset, or five minutes' day after six months: a splendid fact, which Annursnac had never afforded him. He found red snow in one of his walks, and told me that he expected to find yet the Victoria regia in Concord. He was the attorney of the indigenous plants, and owned to a preference of the weeds to the imported plants, as of the Indian to the civilized man, and noticed, with pleasure, that the willow-bean poles of his neighbor had grown more than his beans. "See these weeds," he said, "which have been hoed at by a million farmers all spring and summer, and yet have prevailed, and just now come out triumphant over all lanes, pastures, fields and gardens, such is their vigor. We have insulted them with low names, too,--as Pigweed, Wormwood, Chickweed, Shad-blossom." He says, "They have brave names, too,--Ambrosia, Stellaria, Amelanchier, Amaranth, etc."

I think his fancy for referring everything to the meridian of Concord did not grow out of any ignorance or depreciation of other longitudes or latitudes, but was rather a playful expression of his conviction of the indifferency of all places, and that the best place for each is where he stands. He expressed it once in this wise: "I think nothing is to be hoped from you, if this bit of mould under your feet is not sweeter to you to eat than any other in this world, or in any world."

The other weapon with which he conquered all obstacles in science was patience. He knew how to sit immovable, a part of the rock he rested on, until the bird, the reptile, the fish, which had retired from him, should come back and resume its habits, nay, moved by curiosity, should come to him and watch him.

It was a pleasure and a privilege to walk with him. He knew the country like a fox or a bird, and passed through it as freely by paths of his own. He knew every track in the snow or on the ground, and what creature had taken this path before him. One must submit abjectly to such a guide, and the reward was great. Under his arm he carried an old music-book to press plants; in his pocket, his diary and pencil, a spy-glass for birds, microscope, jack-knife and twine. He wore a straw hat, stout shoes, strong gray trousers, to brave scrub-oaks and smilax, and to climb a tree for a hawk's or a squirrel's nest. He waded into the pool for the water-plants, and his strong legs were no insignificant part of his armor. On the day I speak of he looked for the Menyanthes, detected it across the wide pool, and, on examination of the florets, decided that it had been in flower five days. He drew out of his breast-pocket his diary, and read the names of all the plants that should bloom on this day, whereof he kept account as a banker when his notes fall due. The Cypripedium not due till to-morrow. He thought that, if waked up from a trance, in this swamp, he could tell by the plants what time of the year it was within two days. The redstart was flying about, and presently the fine grosbeaks, whose brilliant scarlet "makes the rash gazer wipe his eye," and whose fine clear note Thoreau compared to that of a tanager which has got rid of its hoarseness. Presently he heard a note which he called that of the night-warbler, a bird he had never identified, had been in search of twelve years, which always, when he saw it, was in the act of diving down into a tree or bush, and which it was vain to seek; the only bird which sings indifferently by night and by day. I told him he must beware of finding and booking it, lest life should have nothing more to show him. He said, "What you seek in vain for, half your life, one day you come full upon, all the family at dinner. You seek it like a dream, and as soon as you find it you become its prey."

His interest in the flower or the bird lay very deep in his mind, was connected with Nature,--and the meaning of Nature was never attempted to be defined by him. He would not offer a memoir of his observations to the Natural History Society. "Why should I? To detach the description from its connections in my mind would make it no longer true or valuable to me: and they do not wish what belongs to it." His power of observation seemed to indicate additional senses. He saw as with a microscope, heard as with ear-trumpet, and his memory was a photographic register of all he saw and heard. And yet none knew better than he that it is not the fact that imports, but the impression or effect of the fact on your mind. Every fact lay in glory in his mind, a type of the order and beauty of the whole.

His determination on Natural History was organic. He confessed that he sometimes felt like a hound or a panther, and, if born among Indians, would have been a fell hunter. But, restrained by his Massachusetts culture, he played out the game in this mild form of botany and ichthyology. His intimacy with animals suggested what Thomas Fuller records of Butler the apiologist, that "either he had told the bees things or the bees had told him." Snakes coiled round his legs; the fishes swam into his hand, and he took them out of the water; he pulled the woodchuck out of its hole by the tail, and took the foxes under his protection from the hunters. Our naturalist had perfect magnanimity; he had no secrets: he would carry you to the heron's haunt, or even to his most prized botanical swamp,--possibly knowing that you could never find it again, yet willing to take his risks.

No college ever offered him a diploma, or a professor's chair; no academy made him its corresponding secretary, its discoverer or even its member. Perhaps these learned bodies feared the satire of his presence. Yet so much knowledge of Nature's secret and genius few others possessed; none in a more large and religious synthesis. For not a particle of respect had he to the opinions of any man or body of men, but homage solely to the truth itself; and as he discovered everywhere among doctors some leaning of courtesy, it discredited them. He grew to be revered and admired by his townsmen, who had at first known him only as an oddity. The farmers who employed him as a surveyor soon discovered his rare accuracy and skill, his knowledge of their lands, of trees, of birds, of Indian remains and the like, which enabled him to tell every farmer more than he knew before of his own farm; so that he began to feel a little as if Mr. Thoreau had better rights in his land than he. They felt, too, the superiority of character which addressed all men with a native authority.

Indian relics abound in Concord,--arrow-heads, stone chisels, pestles and fragments of pottery; and on the river-bank, large heaps of clam-shells and ashes mark spots which the savages frequented. These, and every circumstance touching the Indian, were important in his eyes. His visits to Maine were chiefly for love of the Indian. He had the satisfaction of seeing the manufacture of the bark canoe, as well as of trying his hand in its management on the rapids. He was inquisitive about the making of the stone arrow-head, and in his last days charged a youth setting out for the Rocky Mountains to find an Indian who could tell him that: "It was well worth a visit to California to learn it." Occasionally, a small party of Penobscot Indians would visit Concord, and pitch their tents for a few weeks in summer on the river-bank. He failed not to make acquaintance with the best of them; though he well knew that asking questions of Indians is like catechizing beavers and rabbits. In his last visit to Maine he had great satisfaction from Joseph Polis, an intelligent Indian of Oldtown, who was his guide for some weeks.

He was equally interested in every natural fact. The depth of his perception found likeness of law throughout Nature, and I know not any genius who so swiftly inferred universal law from the single fact. He was not pedant of a department. His eye was open to beauty, and his ear to music. He found these, not in rare conditions, but wheresoever he went. He thought the best of music was in single strains; and he found poetic suggestion in the humming of the telegraph-wire.

His poetry might be bad or good; he no doubt wanted a lyric facility and technical skill, but he had the source of poetry in his spiritual perception. He was good reader and critic, and his judgment on poetry was to the ground of it. He could not be deceived as to the presence or absence of the poetic element in any composition, and his thirst for this made him negligent and perhaps scornful of superficial graces. He would pass by many delicate rhythms, but he would have detected every live stanza or line in a volume and knew very well where to find an equal poetic charm in prose. He was so enamored of the spiritual beauty that he held all actual written poems in very light esteem in the comparison. He admired Æschylus and Pindar; but when some one was commending them, he said that Æschylus and the Greeks, in describing Apollo and Orpheus, had given no song, or no good one. "They ought not to have moved trees, but to have chanted to the gods such a hymn as would have sung all their old ideas out of their heads, and new ones in." His own verses are often rude and defective. The gold does not yet run pure, is drossy and crude. The thyme and marjoram are not yet honey. But if he want lyric fineness and technical merits, if he have not the poetic temperament, he never lacks the causal thought, showing that his genius was better than his talent. He knew the worth of the Imagination for the uplifting and consolation of human life, and liked to throw every thought into a symbol. The fact you tell is of no value, but only the impression. For this reason his presence was poetic, always piqued the curiosity to know more deeply the secrets of his mind. He had many reserves, an unwillingness to exhibit to profane eyes what was still sacred in his own, and knew well how to throw a poetic veil over his experience. All readers of "Walden" will remember his mythical record of his disappointments:--

"I long ago lost a hound, a bay horse and a turtle-dove, and am still on their trail. Many are the travelers I have spoken concerning them, describing their tracks, and what calls they answered to. I have met one or two who have heard the hound, and the tramp of the horse, and even seen the dove disappear behind a cloud; and they seemed as anxious to recover them as if they had lost them themselves."

His riddles were worth the reading, and I confide that if at any time I do not understand the expression, it is yet just. Such was the wealth of his truth that it was not worth his while to use word in vain. His poem entitled "Sympathy" reveals the tenderness under that triple steel of stoicism, and the intellectual subtility it could animate. His classic poem on "Smoke" suggests Simonides, but is better than any poem of Simonides. His biography is in his verses. His habitual thought makes all his poetry a hymn to the cause of causes, the Spirit which vivifies and controls his own:--

"I hearing get, who had but ears,
And sight, who had but eyes before;
I moments live, who lived but years,
And truth discern, who knew but learning's lore."

And still more in these religious lines:--

"Now chiefly is my natal hour,
And only now my prime of life;
I will not doubt the love untold,
Which not my worth nor want have bought,
Which wooed me young, and woos me old,
And to this evening hath me brought."

Whilst he used in his writings a certain petulance of remark in reference to churches or churchmen, he was a person of a rare, tender and absolute religion, a person incapable of any profanation, by act or by thought. Of course, the same isolation which belonged to his original thinking and living detached him from the social religious forms. This is neither to be censured nor regretted. Aristotle long ago explained it, when he said, "One who surpasses his fellow citizens in virtue is no longer a part of the city. Their law is not for him, since he is a law to himself."

Thoreau was sincerity itself, and might fortify the convictions of prophets in the ethical laws by his holy living. It was an affirmative experience which refused to be set aside. A truth-speaker he, capable of the most deep and strict conversation; a physician to the wounds of any soul; a friend, knowing not only the secret of friendship, but almost worshipped by those few persons who reported to him as their confessor and prophet, and knew the deep value of his mind and great heart. He thought that without religion or devotion of some kind nothing great was ever accomplished: and he thought that the bigoted sectarian had better bear this in mind.

His virtues, of course, sometimes ran into extremes. It was easy to trace to the inexorable demand on all for exact truth that austerity which made this willing hermit more solitary even than he wished. Himself of a perfect probity, he required not less of others. He had a disgust at crime, and no worldly success could cover it. He detected paltering as readily in dignified and prosperous persons as in beggars, and with equal scorn. Such dangerous frankness was in his dealing that his admirers called him "that terrible Thoreau," as if he spoke when silent, and was still present when he had departed. I think the severity of his ideal interfered to deprive him of a healthy sufficiency of human society.

The habit of a realist to find things the reverse of their appearance inclined him to put every statement in a paradox. A certain habit of antagonism defaced his earlier writings,--a trick of rhetoric not quite outgrown in his later, of substituting for the obvious word and thought its diametrical opposite. He praised wild mountains and winter forests for their domestic air, in snow and ice he would find sultriness, and commended the wilderness for resembling Rome and Paris. "It was so dry, that you might call it wet."

The tendency to magnify the moment, to read all the laws of Nature in the one object or one combination under your eye, is of course comic to those who do not share the philosopher's perception of identity. To him there was no such thing as size. The pond was a small ocean; the Atlantic, a large Walden Pond. He referred every minute fact to cosmical laws. Though he meant to be just, he seemed haunted by a certain chronic assumption that the science of the day pretended completeness, and he had just found out that the savans had neglected to discriminate a particular botanical variety, had failed to describe the seeds or count the sepals. "That is to say," we replied, "the blockheads were not born in Concord; but who said they were? It was their unspeakable misfortune to be born in London, or Paris, or Rome; but, poor fellows, they did what they could, considering that they never saw Bateman's Pond, or Nine-Acre Corner, or Becky Stow's Swamp; besides, what were you sent into the world for, but to add this observation?"

Had his genius been only contemplative, he had been fitted to his life, but with his energy and practical ability he seemed born for great enterprise and for command; and I so much regret the loss of his rare powers of action, that I cannot help counting it a fault in him that he had no ambition. Wanting this, instead of engineering for all America, he was the captain of a huckleberry party. Pounding beans is good to the end of pounding empires one of these days; but if, at the end of years, it is still only beans!

But these foibles, real or apparent, were fast vanishing in the incessant growth of a spirit so robust and wise, and which effaced its defeats with new triumphs. His study of Nature was a perpetual ornament to him, and inspired his friends with curiosity to see the world through his eyes, and to hear his adventures. They possessed every kind of interest.

He had many elegancies of his own, whilst he scoffed at conventional elegance. Thus, he could not bear to hear the sound of his own steps, the grit of gravel; and therefore never willingly walked in the road, but in the grass, on mountains and in woods. His senses were acute, and he remarked that by night every dwelling-house gives out bad air, like a slaughter-house. He liked the pure fragrance of meliot. He honored certain plants with special regard, and, over all, the pond-lily,--then, the gentian, and the Mikania scandens, and "life-everlasting," and a bass-tree which he visited every year when it bloomed, in the middle of July. He thought the scent a more oracular inquisition than the sight,--more oracular and trustworthy. The scent, of course, reveals what is concealed from the other senses. By it he detected earthiness. He delighted in echoes, and said they were almost the only kind of kindred voices that he heard. He loved Nature so well, was so happy in her solitude, that he became very jealous of cities and the sad work which their refinements and artifices made with man and his dwelling. The axe was always destroying his forest. "Thank God," he said, "they cannot cut down the clouds!" "All kinds of figures are drawn on the blue ground with this fibrous white paint."

I subjoin a few sentences taken from his unpublished manuscripts, not only as records of his thought and feeling, but for their power of description and literary excellence:--

"Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout in the milk."
"The chub is a soft fish, and tastes like boiled brown paper salted."
"The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length the middle-aged man concludes to build a wood-shed with them."
"The locust z-ing,"
"Devil's-needles zigzagging along the Nut-Meadow brook."
"Sugar is not so sweet to the palate as sound to the healthy ear."
"I put on some hemlock-boughs, and the rich salt crackling of their leaves was like mustard to the ear, the crackling of uncountable regiments. Dead trees love the fire."
"The bluebird carries the sky on his back."
"The tanager flies through the green foliage as if it would ignite the leaves."
"If I wish for a horse-hair for my compass-sight, I must go to the stable; but the hair-bird, with her sharp eyes, goes to the road."
"Immortal water, alive even to the superficies."
"Fire is the most tolerable third party."
"Nature made ferns for pure leaves, to show what she could do in that line."
"No tree has so fair a bole and so handsome an instep as the beech."
"How did these beautiful rainbow-tints get into the shell of the fresh-water clam, buried in the mud at the bottom of our dark river?"
"Hard are the times when the infant's shoes are second-foot."
"We are strictly confined to our men to whom we give liberty."
"Nothing is so much to be feared as fear. Atheism may comparatively be popular with God himself."
"Of what significance the things you can forget? A little thought is sexton to all the world."
"How can we expect a harvest of thought who have not had a seed-time of character?"
"Only he can be trusted with gifts who can present a face of bronze to expectations."
"I ask to be melted. You can only ask of the metals that they be tender to the fire that melts them. To nought else can they be tender."

There is a flower known to botanists, one of the same genus with our summer plant called "Life-Everlasting," a Gnaphalium like that, which grows on the most inaccessible cliffs of the Tyrolese mountains, where the chamois dare hardly venture, and which the hunter, tempted by its beauty, and by his love (for it is immensely valued by the Swiss maidens), climbs the cliffs to gather, and is sometimes found dead at the foot, with the flower in his hand. It is called by botanists the Gnaphalium leontopodium, but by the Swiss Edelweiss, which signifies Noble Purity. Thoreau seemed to me living in the hope to gather this plant, which belonged to him of right. The scale on which his studies proceeded was so large as to require longevity, and we were the less prepared for his sudden disappearance. The country knows not yet, or in the least part, how great a son it has lost. It seems an injury that he should leave in the midst of his broken task which none else can finish, a kind of indignity to so noble a soul that he should depart out of Nature before yet he has been really shown to his peers for what he is. But he, at least, is content. His soul was made for the noblest society; he had in a short life exhausted the capabilities of this world; wherever there is knowledge, wherever there is virtue, wherever there is beauty, he will find a home.

Generally, this is where I am

2008-08-06T09:13:00.003+08:00

As anybody who knows me, I do get knots over my own depression and general lack of well being. Well, just in case you are waiting for this, go pop a beer or something cause I am writing stuff that laid stiff inside for many months now.

Ok, lets start with work. Work to me is career. And career is working for fun. Fun to me is ... generally speaking I get ant-size thrills everytime I learn something new. Now in my line of work -- which is software development -- I learn something new almost everyday. So those tiny bits of fun I collect over the weeks and months makes me very happy.

But there are also days where I get smashed by customers, poked by big boss, and pissed over program that won't run. (I do get to extreme shit-piss-mode over my stupidity when I wrote some dog-poo grade code). So nothing is perfect, and until today I would leave jobs but I don't think I am going to leave software development yet.

When it comes to family, it's actually pretty daft sometimes. Mom would yell if I stay up late or don't finished my dinner. I mean, how old I am now? :-D

fuck.

Still it's nice to be close with my parents and siblings. But I am not build for that. I need to be on my own and do my own thing. The independence I seek cannot be found at home. This would of course naturally means that I will leave home very soon. :-)

On learning new things -- I took some time to get all the books I bought and read over the last 24 months. It was a mess, my books were everywhere -- kithen, toilet, living room, parent's toilet, etc... but what is interesting the subjects I was into and how much have change (or haven't change).

I read about (in no particular order):

Buddhism
Meditation
Mindfulness
Business presentation
Writing well
Java
Software development
Project management
Marketing
NLP
More conspiracy theories
Environment care
Being friendly
Being happy

On happiness -- the confusing thing about buddhism is about its laborous attempt to make you realize that the world and our life in it is really about suffering. If you are a true buddhist, you'd understand that pretty quickly -- everyone suffers, but we should be happy. Well technically I may not put it right that way, but yes.

First understand that we suffers and will continue to suffers until we die (and repeat again). Second, regardless we must be happy, or keep trying.

And how did Buddha suggest we do that? By being mindful about our daily thought. Self-awareness. If you notice each breath we take in like noticing a single drop of rain fall from the sky and splits into pieces of silvers when it hit your window -- that's mindfullness. Do that every second.

On relationship -- nothing. There's nothing complicated about being in a relationship. Give all but demand none, appreciate and treasure, love and let be loved. If I die today I will thank God for who He put in my life.

(I'm a practicing buddhist but I do believe in God -- that's the another suffering point to those who love to reason in either black or white)

On death, dying and life -- I deal with deaths and mortality a lot lately. Well mostly only in my head. To live and die, what does it mean? Our lifespan is so short, so minute that we barely makes a difference in the course of history of time. My take is this; we are afraid of death because of things we did not do when we are alive.

Why ask why?

" Tiger got to hunt,
bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder,
'Why, why, why?'
Tiger got to sleep,
bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand."

And so it all comes a full circle. Work, family, learn new things, love, happiness, and dread of the boring days. Be happy, because that's all we got.

Do you understand what Thoreau mean when he spoke of "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"?

Penang Free School is about the pursuit of excellence * Updates*

2008-01-05T08:49:00.000+08:00

I have been thinking about my old school a lot lately, and this is not about the good old days.

My uncle, who is an old frees himself, told me about the dire situation in Penang Free School now. The current Head Master once made a remark that he will only allow 50 Chinese students to be in the school. For the pass few years, I have heard numerous disturbing news about the current affairs in the school. Posting like these is common. I and my old classmate, have written few times about the crazy things that happening in there.

Is that racist? Well, no it is not. It is stupidity. Plain and simple. Racist is mostly educated people who knows the difference.

But, at the end of the day, it begs NOT the question, why a primer school could be headed by such incompetent Head Master, but what happened to the priorities? Are we here to produce world class mediocre students or are we here to inspire the next generation for the better?

Penang Free School inspires all who loves quality achievements. You don't go into a school to read text books and submit homework. You go to a school to learn, and to be inspired, to be taught and one day teach the young again.

What can I, as a old frees do? I don't know yet, but the thing I will not do is giving up. I learned that in my high school.

If you are old frees -- or even young frees -- and you have something to say, or suggestion for improvement, please drop a line in my comment.

I have never let my schooling interfere with my education - Mark Twain

*Updates:
2 years has passed and more disturbing news came to light. So there was a change of Headmaster but the rot continue on. A parent alleges that there's a ratio of 2 to 1 of Malay students to Chinese students. That's really fine if these kids got i by virtue of their UPSR results. But wait, isn't the UPSR in such a low standard now that almost anybody will get straight A's? KUDOS to those in power.

So now what? Ask DAP to save PFS?
Read this, http://blog.limkitsiang.com/2007/12/22/unfree-penang-free-school/

Good bye Mr. Kurt Vonnegut

2007-06-18T11:46:00.000+08:00

I was in Borders @ Wheelock Place and was surprise to see A Man Without a Country. Damn, I have been waiting for that book ever since it was announced. I regret not buying it then and there.

This morning I read from Wikipedia that the great man has gone to the happy hunting grounds. I was, "WTF". How come nobody threw some big headlines about it?

Well I think I wasn't really paying attention. We all will miss him.

"Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder, 'Why, why, why?'
Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand."

Terror bombing in Pudu KL?

2007-06-16T22:19:00.000+08:00

Just saw the news on Channel 5 on my way back to Dovers Road -- there was an explosion and a 11 year old girl is badly hurt. Read the Bernama news here. This is scary shit!

Me and Vanessa

2007-05-15T21:02:00.000+08:00

Gong Xi Fa Cai

2007-02-17T19:09:00.000+08:00

Fund raising 2nd hand book fair for Mount Miriam Hospital Penang

2007-01-29T15:29:00.000+08:00

Mount Miriam Hospital Penang will be organizing a fund raising 2nd hand book fair somewhere this coming march.

They are looking for donors for decent books that are in good condition
(novels, fictions, non-fictions, motivation, reference, biographies,
autobiographies, children books, educational, decent magazines, etc.)

You can get in touch with Keith Tan to arrange for the drop off of the books, and closing date
for drop offs will be 15th february 2007.

Keith Tan ( k e i t h @ m o u n t m i r i a m . c o m )
Community Relations
Mount Miriam Hospital Penang
Tel ; 04-8907044 ext. 236
Direct : 04-8932236
Fax : 04-8901583

Video conf galore

2007-01-08T23:52:00.000+08:00

I think I must have blogged less and less, and instead chose the lazy man's blogging method: post up pictures. Well, I'm posting pictures of Vanessa on our first video chat. Well I know I know, some of you guys probably have done these stuff way back when I just started to wipe my ass. Well whatever smartass, this is our first and you can go wipe your crack.

This was somewhere around when she is unsure if I can see her. Well I can but she can't see me. My budget exploded for the past few months so much so that I can't afford a cheapskate web cam. Well no worries you guys can see me at my flickr. Heh
I think we all go through those lets-make-funny-faces-on-the web-cam. She is obviously having a go at that. Yay, go Venessa.

This is where we were both talking. Priceless.

Back to the usual "lim teh" days

2006-12-29T17:37:00.000+08:00

Still alive

2006-12-18T12:47:00.000+08:00

Racist Malaysia

2006-07-20T12:05:00.000+08:00

This just happened recently at UPM.
This is disgraceful.

Though others has been more polite to say that it's a problem of "mob rule", gangsterism, or childish bully, I will call a spade as a spade. I see this as another incident of racial discrimination.

BUT, this is where I draw the line. We MUST not generalized that all Malays are like that.

If you surf around major forums and blogs, we get equal criticism from all races in Malaysia. Nobody really approves of such stupid act.

But I'm happy, in a way. While reading around, I have seen more people are willing to be "bridge builders" -- regardless of their race and political forums they are from.

I urge my blog reader not to incite racial hatred by your comments, but instead try to see this as a calling to devote yourself to build briges among the races in Malaysia.

As a side note, I read from somewhere that, on the May 13 incident, Malay were helping their Chinese neighbours from burning buidings. After all, you and I, Malay, Chinese, Indian, or any colors, we just human.

Just back, and going ...

2006-07-05T08:52:00.000+08:00

I just came back from my 3 days 2 nights trip to Langkawi. You can see the photos I took here. Well it was fun, but doesn't as fun as I anticipated. But anyhow, I'm packing and going back to Penang later today. Gonna catch up with you guys in Penang. :)

(All smiles)

Calling all bridge builders, we need you to rebuild Malaysia!

2006-06-27T22:29:00.000+08:00

You know, there was a time when Malaysia racial ties were much much better, in the older days. Now, no one can or want to deny that we living in a very racial society.

Between the politicians racial slurs and the imbalance helpings, our society is becoming more fragmented. One might think that in situations like this, we need one more ethnic champion. One more person to fight for whatever perceived rights. Some chose the callings to bring us closer -- Malay, Chinese, Indians, and the other races in Malaysia -- to be united again.

I do not want to be the ethnic champion. I want to be a bridge builder.

"What we need today are more bridge builders, not ethnic champions." Datuk Khoo Kay Kim, one of the Rukun Negara architects.

I am setting up a new forum at www.jambatan.org, as a place for all of us Malaysian to discuss and resolve our differences, and in hope build bridges across the many races in Malaysia. If you believe in unity among races in Malaysia, then please consider joining.

I am open for suggestions and even donations for the server hosting service. Leave your message in the "comment" section. And I hope you will join me soon.

Happy happy happy

2006-06-24T22:57:00.000+08:00

The Fools' Parliament

2006-05-10T16:24:00.000+08:00

"You went into the elections as a candidate for the party and you must remember that. You must always toe the party line", said Datuk Seri Nazri Aziz.

So looks like we have lots of "Wakil Barisan National" and very little "Wakil Rakyat". I always thought democracy is about "... for the people, by the people".

This is a strong message that Barisan National can do what they want in the Parliament. Is this right?

"I believe that the country should have a strong government but not too strong. A two-thirds majority like I enjoyed when I was prime minister is sufficient but a 90% majority is too strong. ... We need an opposition to remind us if we are making mistakes. When you are not opposed you think everything you do is right."
Tun Dr. Mahathir

What kind of idiots are running the Parliament?

2006-05-05T10:04:00.000+08:00

Big kudos to Shahrir for quiting the chicken-shit-nest, and about time too that you see what kind of idiots running the Parliament.

“It is not that we disagree with Shahrir but it’s an opposition motion and we usually reject their motions.
Minister in the Prime Minister’s Department Datuk Seri Nazri Aziz

Just because they are apposition so you reject them? What happen to your thinking skill? Your fair judgement? And the responsibility to the rakyat?

Why should Malaysian worry about FTA with the US?

2006-03-28T00:33:00.000+08:00

I know you are lazy to read so the summary is, FTA IS BAD. See what others are saying about the perils of FTA.

http://ftamalaysia.org/index.php

Nightout with the gang at SOHO, Penang

2006-02-19T21:43:00.000+08:00

.. part of the gang

... notice the thoughts in their heads

Seymour discovers Del.icio.us

2006-02-17T07:04:00.000+08:00

I just found out how useful del.icio.us is and I can't stop tagging since last Wednesday. I suggest you check this tool out.

Thinking about Lunar New Year

2006-02-05T20:20:00.000+08:00

I note that people -- blog readers mostly -- expects blog updates on Lunar New Year, or Chinese New Year, sometime around now. Be it about the dinners, the old friends, or how it suck to have stayed home instead of the road trips. I just came home from Penang and found my computer monitor went to the digital happy hunting grounds. I want to blog about my monitor.

First thing first: I didn't expect that monitor to last for so long, 4 years plus to be exact, when I lugged it here from Penang. That explains why I am happily blogging about this with my new 17" monitor.

The thing with computer monitor is that, we don't really care what features it has as long as we can use it. We would pay more for a processor chip with the latest technology than we would for a monitor with the latest technology. I know this is the case for me here. A LG Flatron T711S cost me about RM 360. I didn't bother much with the features as long as I have more than 15" viewable area. An AMD64 3000+ and a 3200+ processors on the other hand, will cause me some slight sleepless night. This might sound boring but it actually has something to do with the Lunar New Year; it is about the holidays and I don't care about the occasion.

Thinking about the celebration, I find that I miss the holiday more than the family dinners, the road trips, the Chinese New Year foods, and the ang pows. And just like the computer monitor manual, I forgot to check my ang pows.

I drove to work today.

2006-01-20T10:10:00.000+08:00

I left the house at 7.35 am and drove my brand new white Kelisa to work. The exprience is seriously underated. The jam was a bad lemon but I actually enjoyed driving to work. (Yay)

I reached office about 8.20 am with plenty of time to eat breakfast and check e-mail. (Yay)

Things I did while stuck in jam:
1. Check all the car radio/cd player buttons.
2. Check my cup holders -- put my hands into it and around it, pull here there.
3. Touch my seat here and there, I was reaching under the car trying to grab something.
4. Reset all the radio channels.
6. Look to the back trying to spot something out of place -- all is okay (weee)
7. Off the radio and trying to listen for any abnormal sounds coming from the car.
8. On back the radio.
9. Make a note to bring some CDs to test the CD player.
10. Spray some Fabuloso on the seats -- must be weird to the motorists at the traffic light.

BTW, my car plate, WNS 2084.
"YEE LENG FAT SEI"

muahahahaha ...

AdSense and Me.

2006-01-20T10:06:00.000+08:00

Adsense and Me.

What the

2005-12-31T19:53:00.000+08:00

I considered my first real job to be in Tokuii Corp. The office is in Mont' Kiara, about 40 minutes away from my home. Usually we leave about 7 am and ate breakfast in the mamak shop before 9 am. Me and Keith, his first job and mine first real job.

And in my first real job, I learned that people there use "what the" instead of "what the fuck?". I mean, what the.

By the grace of God I survived a long seven months in that company -- more than enough time for me to learn how to curse without the "F" word. I mean I tried many times to be more fucking polite, but I am just not cut out to be that nice a person, verbally at least. But I do give seats to the blind, the pegnants and the old in LRT. Sometimes I offer seats to the teenage girls. I don't know why.

Oh, my mom is calling. We are going to new year dinner now. I can see Happy waiting by the door. She is not going. She will be pissed.

ahahahaha...

Bye.

New Year Resolution

2005-12-31T10:10:00.000+08:00

I was going all my friends' blog last night. Everyone seems to be keen on telling their 2005 confessions, new year sound bites, and pot jokes about what happened in the last twelve months. Everyone has something to say about their life in 2005 that it almost appear to be too damn mainstream (which is my kinda camp).

Anyway I am overwhelmed.

David annouce to the world that he is engaged. Well, he actually blog about it weeks ago but what the heck.

Jon is getting married end of 2006. (But not in his blog la, he told me when we go yam cah yam cah time)

Errm.. what about Neotrax and Siew Mun ah??? (Helllo?)

Janice leh?

hehehe... just kidding just kidding.

Happy New Year 2006.

2005-12-29T18:01:00.000+08:00

The new year is just a few days away, and one of my new year resolutions is to improve my English. Yes, I suck in English. And I need to improve my speling too. Other than that, I just want to buy more books and have more money to spend on foods, books, and flower pots.

Erm... whatever.

Anyway, I was going to blog about what the heck I have been doing for the past twelve months. Frankly, 2005 is just like 2004, just that I have more bills to pay and more birthday parties to avoid. There are things that I always wanted to do but turned out to be no big deal, and things I didn't want to do but which now that I have done it, I want more. Yeah, bastard I hear you say. Well, I like fishing less and I want to do more Java.

I also met a special girl. Very.

Anyway you guys heard about Oil Peak? No? Well it's probably nothing, I love
walking anyway, and I am sure you will come to enjoy it.

I have a friend. We know each other since high school and we went to the same college. He recently started to comment on my blog so I thought it will be nice to give a shoutout to him. Yeah, he is a funny guy man, his Jesus vs M. Manson jokes was hilarious. And he acts funny, still is today. I tried many times to tell him to grow up. Darn, how can you not love those craps.

Anyway, I believe in honestly and integrity but well, I lied. Sorry, but I have lots of friends. Have you counted your friends? ahahaha... just joking.

Anyway this year I actually spent less time doing Java and those geeky stuff and more time surfing net. Wait a minute, Java, surf net, geeky stuff, ... ah damnit. Never mind.

Next year my fuckup friends are coming to KL. No, they are my very good old
friends. We call each other "fuckup" friends because it sounds cool. Yeah, it's cool being fuckup okay. They told me that they are coming this January 6th 2006. I can't wait. (yay)

Anyway, while writing I suddenly remembered what my big boss said to me on my
interview, it was many moons ago. I particularly enjoy listening to him because he has this peculiar Brit accent that I can't hear anywhere else. He is a British. (Resolution #n: Need to be less informative)

"Do you know the difference between activities and destination?"

Well, do you?

Company Christmas dinner

2005-12-28T16:47:00.000+08:00

My teammates.
(Missing in action, Lincoln and Keith)

hmmm

2005-11-28T23:38:00.000+08:00

Haihhh...

The Tokuii story

2005-11-22T13:34:00.000+08:00

Someone was searching the net for blogs that contains the word "tokuii". And the person found me here. Oh well...

Looks happy ....

2005-11-06T17:28:00.000+08:00

Happy

2005-11-04T19:43:00.000+08:00

I love this girl, she has all the freedom she can have -- the door is open anyway -- but she sits there patiently for my dad or my mom to come home to take her for a walk. Picture taken by my brother, who is back for a long holiday.

The Sea by John Banville

2005-11-04T19:05:00.000+08:00

I read The Sea brief review in the Star newspaper few weeks back. The book got pretty good ratings and so I make a point to look for that book in Kinokuniya or Borders. Today I finally found at Kinokuniya, hidden at some spot that I never been to.

This book is special in the sense that it impressed me, felt like the first time I read Thoreau's Walden. John Banville's words are arts. If I could describe prose as shape, John's paint in strokes of curves and waves, wherebys Emerson brushed in bold abstracts. I love Emerson's stuff. Today as I finished The Sea, I love John Banville stuff too.

The Sea is a potent dose of misery and melancholy read. Very. The Sea grabs you by your seat and throw you to a stillness of a beach walk, waves washing up words that paint blue, grey, hollow smiles, and meaningful spaces. I hate this heavy desolation swelling inside. I could not finished this book, not yet. Perhaps I will soak up the rest tonight.

*Yes I'm spending my holidays here with 2 great books, and programming my DHCP server.

The October people.

2005-10-14T21:23:00.000+08:00

Wow, I was really hands full lately and I really missed a lot of updates here. Well I was out with Sexybabe pretty a lot during these times and of course I got my full time job.

Anyway, a big shout out to David Lim and Ruben who I just noticed that they have been visiting my blog quite often, and also to Janice. We the past and present Tokuii people have strong bonds eh. hehehe...

Yeah, DH.net is so not happening right now, re-working on the template is worse than I thought. And lately I have started to delve into game programming. No seriously, game programming. But for you would have to read my Shitmores blog.

Look I'm so lazy right now I don't even bother to put the links to David, Ruben and Janice blogs. Well I come to it eventually. :-D (Sorry ah guys)

Ok, I'm back to my game programming. :-D

Please be a damnhappening.net beta tester.

2005-09-25T13:22:00.000+08:00

*UPDATES* Beta testing is closed, thanks everyone.

DH.net site is up and running fine now. The configurations are pretty much settled. We will just need to get a better logo and maybe another skin. But functionaility wise, it's all there now.

DH.net site is an idea cooked during one of those yam cah chui sui session, where we think that everyone should take some happening photos and post it up here for all to see and share the happening groove -- esspecially those who sits at home and surf blog on weekends (like me) -- and hopefully will coax you to come out more often. Other than that, DH.net will be the perfect excuse to go clubbing more often. weeee

Please be a damnhappening.net beta tester now by registering and start uploading your happening pictures today!

Damnhappening (Updates)

2005-09-24T09:13:00.000+08:00

Hi guys,

DamnHappening.net is progressing well.
Check out the beta site now at:
http://coppermine.damnhappening.net/index.php

Thanks to Jon. :)

My ranting on technology and software engineering

2005-09-20T13:54:00.000+08:00

Guys, I just want to introduce my other blog, Shitmores.blogspot.com. That is my blog for technology and software engineering rantings and stuffs.

Take a look when you have the time. :-D

What is the one goal next ...

2005-09-17T15:52:00.000+08:00

1. What is the one goal you want to achieved today?

2. What is the one goal you want to achieved tomorrow?

3. What is the one goal you want to achieved this month?

4. What is the one goal you want to achieved this year?

5. Do you plan for your birthday party more than you plan your life?

Finish each day and be done with it

2005-09-16T13:08:00.000+08:00

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

(Dedicated to Sexybabe)

Happening Wantans

2005-09-15T13:12:00.000+08:00

The Wantans just got a better site up, blog and macam-mnacam there, visit http://www.peachjon.com NOW.

I said now u damnit, now now now!

Just blardy click here, http://www.peachjon.com!

Sexybabe car got banged

2005-09-14T09:17:00.000+08:00

Aiyo Sexybabe car got banged ... accident happens. ~~I hope~~ She is alright. :-)

Damn happening

2005-09-12T21:47:00.000+08:00

www.DamnHappening.net

(Watch this space)

Children Story writing competition!

2005-09-12T14:08:00.000+08:00

Alright listen up guys, there will be a children writing competition. The rules is simple, write a short story for children in less than one thousand words. You can put in illustrations or pictures.

So all you blog-reading lusers, come write a short children story and I will post a link to ya story here. Mr Wantan and I gonna start first.

Sey

The shortest love story.

2005-09-11T20:59:00.000+08:00

"So how about it?" he is talking to the wind again. He stared into the empty spaces and imagine talking to an old friend. The old friend has no name.

"... well I know. I know" he began again after a long pause, "I know I know...I know."

"You know, ... how can you even begin with someone who is so unsure and, and ..." and he closed his eyes and whispered something so soft the winds came and took the words away, like a jealous lover.

David believes that life is good, and though bad things happen, the bad things are here for reasons. He believes that God works in mysterious ways. The Bible says so too.

David still didn't open his eyes when he pull out both his hands from his pockets and put them behind his head. His feet began to move forward. Less than two feets away he stopped again. And he smiled.

"Breath. Breath. Breath." he told himself.

He inhaled three times. He imagined all his worries, his sadness and the lemons inside melt away with each exhale of dirty air. The winds pass through his hair and took away some warmth into the night.

From a distance away the forest see the little boy started walking again. The owl ask the old tree what the boy said. The tree said he didn't quite catch it.

"I think he said something about ... 'I should be angry damnit' or 'I am fucking hungry damnit'", said the tree next to the old tree. Then the trees and the owl laughed and continue to dance in the dark.

What a week

2005-09-11T00:00:00.000+08:00

I still remember reading my September astrology forecast last week. I was a bit concerned because in the past, what the astrologer said always has some truth to it, and more often than not the things in the forecast was accurate.

According to the forecast, the early part of this month is not good for me. And for the pass week so far, things really wasn't easy on me.

I fell sick. I fell into a hole. I fall down and bleed my knees. It rained and it rained on me. The astrologer said I would be taxed emotionally as well as physically. I guess she is right.

But last night was great. We had pool, we had laughers and get-together. Not to mention the cool business plan born on the table of the mamak stall. And the Monday night dinner with Sexybabe.

There are defining moments in life -- sheds in color of greey and black -- where you laughed it off and continue walking. Come rain or shine, life goes on. Come rain or shine, life goes on.

Sick

2005-09-03T21:03:00.000+08:00

I was very sick this morning. My body was burning and my throat was swollen. So I stayed in bed for a while before I got up and boiled some water. The raw honey and hot tea helped. I popped two Panadol before I left the house. Came home in the early afternoon and was all by myself for the rest of the day. It's sucks to be ill.

I reckon being ill as one of the great pleasures of life, provided one is not too ill and is not obliged to work till one is better.
Samuel Butler, The Way of All Flesh, 1903

A life worth living.

2005-08-31T13:43:00.000+08:00

There are times in you life when you want something more than just Starbucks on weekends and dining at fine places. And there are certain times in life when you just want to cut off whatever is old and dead to something breathes life every moment into it.

My goodness, this guy inspired me so much I have set one of my immediate goal for this year. Heheh, not gonna tell it here.

Something gotta change.

I was saluting under the flag.

2005-08-31T12:02:00.000+08:00

My high school years are filled with crap stuff like scouting and dreaming. I dream in school's classes and I continue to dream on Saturday morning in scout meetings. Funny thing is, I eventually became an ASM, Assistant Scout Master.

Hahaha... nah I don't think I earned the ASM post but since they are short of "senior" members to fill the shoes so I became the convenient victim. But it was really fun -- honestly, scout's word of honor.

My tenure as ASM saw me going through many bittersweet experiences. Some are memorable and some are just plain boring. During camps, we would do many stupid things and as an ASM I get to made junior scouts do even more stupid things. However there are things you wish the young ones would know, that certain silly things are too important to ignore.

As a scout and as a leader, we raised and saluted to the national flag in the morning and pull the flag down before sunset. A very elaborate ceremony to respect the flag if you ask me. But what I failed to see as a young scout then I came to realized later when I became a leader.

When I salute to the national flag I saw the past leaders saluting the same way. I looked at my juniors and I was aware that sometimes ago some young men took on the leadership role to guide the young scouts, to manage the scouting activities, to have sacrificed and labored for the passion of scouting. They have done all that with a genuine heart and with honors. I felt privileged to be given the chance to contribute to something bigger than one individual.

When I salute the flag, I salute to all the past, the present, the future leaders, and the followers; for their contributions, their spirit and cause for the greater good. I respect them for the fact that they understood we are all brothers under the sun.

When I salute the flag, I salute to the men and women who did something more for everyone.

When I was saluting under the flag, I was standing on the shoulder of giants before me.

Happy Merdeka Day.

I Killed Wampus within 40 seconds

2005-08-29T10:35:00.000+08:00

(10:29:26) wumpus.game@gmail.com: HUNT THE WUMPUS

YOU ARE IN ROOM 10
TUNNELS LEAD TO 2 9 11

SHOOT OR MOVE (S-M)
(10:29:31) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: m
(10:29:31) wumpus.game@gmail.com: WHERE TO
(10:29:32) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: 8
(10:29:32) wumpus.game@gmail.com: BAD MOVE, TRY AGAIN.
WHERE TO
(10:29:35) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: 9
(10:29:35) wumpus.game@gmail.com:
I SMELL A WUMPUS
BATS NEARBY!
I FEEL A DRAFT
YOU ARE IN ROOM 9
TUNNELS LEAD TO 8 10 18

SHOOT OR MOVE (S-M)

(10:29:39) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: s
(10:29:39) wumpus.game@gmail.com: NO. OF ROOMS (1-5)
(10:29:45) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: 5
(10:29:46) wumpus.game@gmail.com: ROOM #
(10:29:48) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: 5
(10:29:49) wumpus.game@gmail.com:
(10:29:52) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: die
(10:29:52) wumpus.game@gmail.com:
(10:29:52) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: die
(10:29:53) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: die
(10:29:53) wumpus.game@gmail.com:
(10:29:54) wumpus.game@gmail.com: ARROWS AREN'T THAT CROOKED - TRY ANOTHER ROOM
(10:29:56) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: 5
(10:29:57) wumpus.game@gmail.com:
(10:29:59) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: die
(10:29:59) wumpus.game@gmail.com: ARROWS AREN'T THAT CROOKED - TRY ANOTHER ROOM
(10:30:00) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: die
(10:30:01) wumpus.game@gmail.com: ARROWS AREN'T THAT CROOKED - TRY ANOTHER ROOM
(10:30:02) seymores@gmail.com/Gaim: 5
(10:30:02) wumpus.game@gmail.com: AHA! YOU GOT THE WUMPUS!
HEE HEE HEE - THE WUMPUS'LL GET YOU NEXT TIME
SAME SETUP (Y-N)

August's last Saturday

2005-08-27T22:57:00.000+08:00

Today is the last Saturday for August. I was looking out the windows before I thought of this Saturday. I am pleased with the clean window panes. I had cleaned them in the morning before I left the house. They made me think that I have done something useful today.

It is 20:46 hours now.

I went to see my brother in the afternoon, had lunch with Keith -- he bought an sexy Samsung MP3 player, then we went to Borders' Starbucks, bought a few VCD, and headed home. On my train ride home, James Blunt's songs played in my head. One song stick out more than the others. I don't know why.

Far, far away; find comfort in pain.
All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble.
It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.

I reached home around 6.30 pm, but I am not sure because I didn't wear my watch. Some days will be more grey than the rest -- on those days, I don't want my watch to tell me the time. Right now, I want to do nothing more than stayed home, with my coffee and my books, and of course James Blunt playing in the background.

Today, my good friend is James Blunt. James Blunt is telling me stories of lonely lives, life's hesitations, forgiveness, being sad, being brave, fears, love and quiet desperation. I am crying on James's shoulder and I found a new friend. On any given Saturday, that is pretty fuckup.

And if you want to talk about it anymore,
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,
I'm a friend.

At 20:40 hours, I am reading On Writing Well by William Zinsser. My green tea is on the table, my fingers in the keyboard, and my mind is miles away.

How was your August's last Saturday?

I Killed Wumpus

2005-08-25T13:50:00.000+08:00

I killed wumpus. Yay!!!

Dr Lim Keng Yaik, my hero

2005-08-15T23:10:00.000+08:00

To reach a great height a person needs to have great depth.

I salute you as a man who speaks with integrity and courage. You are a true Towering Malaysian.

So am I dying.

2005-08-10T01:35:00.000+08:00

"Everyone knows they're going to die," he said again, "but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently."
Morrie in tuesdays with Morrie.

My grandmother passed away when I was very young, but I remember it clearly. My dad cried. My dad's brothers and sisters cried too, but I don't remember seeing my grandfather crying. I heard the sobbing and saw the flowing tears. Their eyes were red and puffy. I was playing water pistol with my cousins, making the floor wet. We ran down to the streets until my uncle came looking for us with a cane.

Death, to me then, was about some kind of weird celebration. But at that young age, death and coffin are scary things. I, as a boy then, was afraid to die. I did not want to turn into a ghost.

Every Soul Day or "Ching Ming", all of us -- my parent, my uncles and aunts -- would be busy cleaning my grandmother grave site. My grandpa will just stand there, mostly acting like a supervisor. Sometimes he helped a bit with the light stuff.

"Clean the grass on the sides, ... throw the rubbish away, ... we ought to bring a cangkul next time we come." he would commands us around.

Even I was young, I could see that everyone loved my grandmother dearly and it showed on every countenance except my grandpa's. Living and dying probably means the same to a man who seen it all. At the age of eighty four, my grandpa certainty seen a lot.

"Preparing to die actually makes you more involves in your living."

I have had the fortune to know a few old friends. They are old, retired men, who once lived their lives the best they know how. They continue to live as men who are ready to face life callings. In between the conversations and laughters, there will be a silence pause of a split seconds where I ponder about my own decay. One day I will be old, retired too -- and dying.

I wonder when I face death one day, will I finally understood what my grandpa felt on the day my grandma passed away.

Morrie is right, when I accept that I will die one day, I did do things differently. The solitary gaze on a beautiful flower will be longer. The stars seems brighter. Every breath fills the spaces in the lungs. Every handshake follows a genuine smile. I think less of God's punishment and more of His love.

I think a lot less actually.

So I am dying; but have I lived to the fullest?

I want to be a good writer.

2005-08-07T11:09:00.000+08:00

I always wanted to be a writer. There seems to be a lot of stuff in my head that I wanted to put down in words. But those stuff I want to write about doesn't usually turned out to be interesting at all once I finished the first paragraph. Damnit.

I always wanted to write about catfish. I am always fascinated with catfish. You know, the typical fish with whickers on their mouths. The catfish common to Malaysia streams are those that dark brown in color with white dots on its smooth slimy body. They have small eyes and large mouth. The common name is Walking catfish. Walking catfish is a hardy fish. Take it out of the water and it will breath air. Put it in a small stream, and it will crawl out to bigger river. Put it in big river, and it grows bigger than your leg. Walking Catfish is aquarium-friendly with other fishs. It won't eat its' friends. That is catfish, the symbol of strength, adaptbility, independence, and compassion. Do you know that early Pisces zodiac sign is depicted as two catfish swiming in opposite direction?

Well, I guess I just fulfilled another one of my childhood dreams, writing about catfish, the Walking catfish. Yeah since when I were old enough to fishing without my parent permission, I wanted to tell my classmates, my teachers, and my aunties and uncles what a cool fish in those small rivers in Balik Pulau, Penang. And now I am telling you! :)

I love to write a bit here and there about software engineering, Linux, Unix, and ofcourse Java programming. But those doesn't seems to have the zest to go anywhere. Already those online magazines are doing a good job. Looking back, I guess my favourite topic is life observations. Most of them are useless musings which I hope somewhere and somehow, someone understood. I hope that someone laugh a bit because I usually want to write about stuff that makes people smile.

Okay okay, I do realized that I am actually not a good writer at all. But I will just write anyway. I don't think I am going to write to sell. I will write because I love writing. They say avid readers usually are writers -- though whether it doesn't says anything about being a good writer. hehhehe...

Anyway, I think I am going to join this NaNoWriMo. Looks cool.

Is being depressed and angry a cool thing?

2005-08-07T02:02:00.000+08:00

Depression is a sickness. And I am just too pissed by all the depressive blog entries I read everyday.

We have too many rules that say, "... because of that and this, we should not be happy." Well, it's time to change your rules!

We have become so artful at making depression something fashionable. Just look at the images in our movies, posters, books, poems, and yes web blogs. We have made depressive maniacs looks so cool that already it is uncool to be happy and cheerful.

It is just not worth it. And it is uncool. It is very uncool when someone try to make depression and angst into a cool thing. I have read so many bloggers going crazy with I-am-depressed-fuck-the-fuckup-world. I see more copycats now, each trying to outdo each other with mis-guided adventures in sex, drugs, and alcohol.

Heroes in movies seems to be perpectual sorrowful warriors. How does that help explains a heroic character I don't know. I watched Path Adams and I thought, "Wow, they should made more of this kind of movies, ... and less Batman."

No, you do not have to be some happy tree-hugging fools. Bad things happen and I am not going to hold ya hands and tell you everything is going to be alright. We make the best of what we can anyway. There are times when the world seems to be on my shoulders. So what? Go blogging about what a fuckup world this is doesn't help at all.

The best thing you can do for yourself is probably not giving up -- on yourself, and on the hopes that there will be a way. Somehow, somewhere. And that might have make the world a better place, despite what Michael Jackson song says.

My Happy!

2005-08-06T19:21:00.000+08:00

My Happy. I don't know how old is she now but she was way smaller when I first saw her inside my parent car many months ago. Since then I guess all meatballs, sausages, and leftover steaks really fattened her, a lot.

She is smart, loyal, snobbish, and extremely playful. She do not eat foods that fell on the floor, and she do not drink overnight water left on her drinking bowl. I thought this is the most ridiculous dog I ever know. And she will not stand being left alone in the house. She is afraid to be to be lonely it seems. She knows when we are going out. She would run outside and stand besides the driver side of the car, waiting for somebody to open the door. Once inside, it is damn difficult to coax her out. Often we closed all the doors, let her enjoy the short moment inside the car, then we open on the other side and call her out -- that usually does it.

Now that I am back for a short holiday, every morning she would jump to my bed, roll here and there and pushes her body to me -- it's her morning walk time you see. If my sister or dad is too busy to walk her, she will be looking for me then in the evening. If she is not hungry enough, she would be sleeping under my parent's bed, else you can see her loitering in the living room looking for our attention to get her meal.

The thing that amuses me most is that she will wait for my mom and sister to come home from work. Nah, she don't wait for my dad cause he takes her everywhere he goes.

Being Happy.

Simplicity of being happy.

2005-08-02T02:12:00.000+08:00

Being happy. Just how difficult can it be?

My dad bought me this book, Being Happy!. It's was somewhere in February ten years ago. I was plain boy and the only thing I am unhappy about was that my parent couldn't buy those toys I want. And instead of some cool action figures, I get this "Being Happy!" book. What a joke man.

Inside the book has cartoons and simple paragraphs. A serious manual for living happily. Funny thing is, I was too young then to understand the book in whole. For example, I wasn't earning my own money then so I do not care about the money part, but years later I understood when I have to fork out almost all my money to survive for another month. I smiled then, knowing I am taught how to be happy with less.

Sometimes I would give some advice I learned from the book to my friends. I wish someone was there when I was down, but it's okay, if I can help out then I will.
It works for both the care taker, and also the giver -- me. Sharing makes a person happier.

There are days when I am very down, and as like other we learn to cope in our own ways. I usually re-read the book again in those cloudy days. The book is well worn now with coffee stains and crumbled pages here and there. It has been my good friend, a good cheerleader.

As I turn the pages, I see my dad and my mom, I see my younger years -- taking bus to school rains or shines, I see my exams the straight A's and the painful failures, I see the girl I fell in love and the mending of broken heart, I see my dreams come true, and more dreams to come after, I see the college life I came to love and hate, I see career life and what ambition can do, I see that time and time again I can forgive and forget, and I see there will more to come. How can a small cartoonish manual on how to be happy invoke so much mental images?

Just how difficult can it be, to be happy? For me, a simple book does it.

My First Grado

2005-07-29T23:29:00.000+08:00

I went to the KL International AV Show 2005 at JW Marriott Hotel last week. It took me a while to realized that all the AV shops within Bukit Bintang were closed that Sunday. Fortunately one shop had put up a notice on their door, "Find us at KL international AV Show, JW Marriott".

I head for the exit immediately.

I reached there around 11.50 am. Only a small crowd then, mostly middle age men with their wives. The show looked like it was meant for rich retired people or big company managers. I saw a couple walking down the stairs towards the show entrance. He was wearing some glittering gold watch. They dressed casually but their shoes speak of wealth and high taste. I am already a bit embarrassed by my dirty jeans.

I was there to look for Grado SR60 I will not go into how good the headphone is except that it is something that once I put it on, I do not want to take it off. It is that good.

The reason why I wrote this blog a week late is because I want to wait for my headphone to "break in" to taste the optimum sounds the SR 60 can do. It happened and I can't believe how good a under RM 300 bux headphone can be.

Anyway, I was going through the corridors, with all kind of Audio and Video vendors demo'ing their wares inside; I am looking for the elusive black and clumsy looking headphone.

One room was playing beautiful drum play. One vendor with Chinese names printed on the banners -- was playing somekind of Chinese drum music. It sounded so real like the drummers were right in front of ya, except that I saw nothing but beautiful glistening brown wood speakers and few silver boxes of CD player (or somekind of sound system). Turned out that the drumming was played on a turntable. Wow.

I'm no audiophiles so my descriptions will be rough and inaccurate. I hope you get me anyway.

The show is divided into few floors where each floor displays different category of hardware -- from DVD player, HDTV, and high end speakers to home cinema system. It was a real PITA sqeezing through from room to room.

After going to what seems like few floors of expensive and oversize speakers and audio systems, I finally got into a room that is more quiet than the rest. A few elder men was taking turns to try out what seems to be a old fashion looking headphone.

"SR 60", reads on the brochure on the display table.

Finally found it!

And even better, I found Grado SR80 on the table too! Oh boy oh boy. Immediately I ask to try out the SR80. The guy took one out from a new box. Grado headphone box looks cheap -- like it is made in China and cost Rm 0.50 a piece.

When I pressed the "Play" button, heaven. I played a few songs then I took off the headphone and ask the fella to bag it. SR 80 is a better model than SR60, but both are just as good. However I am not interested in very good headphone that day. I am going to get the best available.

"Sorry, it's reserved to another customer."

What the fuck? I looked around and saw this man standing besides me, obviously waiting for me to finish testing the SR 80. Damn, no choice. I was reluctant to give in. I looked at the saleman. I looked at the man beside me. I let out a silent sigh and passed the headphone to the saleman.

I ask to test the SR 60 instead because there is no damn way I am walking out without any Grado headphones. That guy ask me to test out the SR 60 by the doorway. It is the same one where the elder men were playing with when I walked in just now.

Before I putting on the SR60, I notice that it is plugged to a Apple iPod Shuffle. Holy cow man, the SR60 sounds amazing on even a iPod Shuffle. Less than 30 minutes later, I swapped my Mastercard and ask them when will they restock the SR 80. Yes, I plan to buy the SR 60 and SR 80.

There is no way I am going anywhere long without a SR 80, so I will be getting my SR80 sometime soon. Very soon.

That was my first Grado.

Anyway, if you are interested to buy SR60 or SR80, go here:

Music by Design,
Lot T110, 3rd Floor,
City Square,
Jln Tun Razak,
Kuala Lumpur.
Tel: 03-21664 8818

Moving here soon ...

2005-06-26T10:43:00.000+08:00

Time to move my blog here I guess ... lots of changes coming soon... hmmm. This is a test post anyway.