Interesting day...

You know... I was feeling a little blue this evening...
Life happens that way sometimes eh?
But I have my own ways of coping...
At least... I think I'm coping...So I made this dictionary...
It was kinda mini... kinda cute.
Well... I thought so.
But the amazing thing was...
As I turned from blue to shining gold...
In temperament that is...

I noticed something about the dictionary...
Besides the brilliant, golden aura...
Do you see what I see?
I was left lost for words...

Had to find a real dictionary...

Addition...

Can you solve the following problems?

My Stationery + The Lamb =

Hijack

My Breakfast + The Cat =

Sinister

The Salmon + My Hungry =

Zero

Hare-raising...

...is actually theoretically, relatively, Einsteinally easy. Find a hare in a burrow and poof it with a smoke machine! The burrow, not the hare. Needless to say the hare will be out in a hair's breath. I mean a hare's breath. But then again it probably isn't going to breathe much if it sees the smoke coming in... Poor hare. How dare you! You monster!

Who, me?

YES, you!

But after that hair-raising adventure, or hare-raising if you prefer, is over, just lie back and watch the laundry peel and the paint dry. Darn, it works with the paint either way but the laundry is a one way street. Laundry dry, paint peel. Paint dry but laundry no peel. Orange peel. Citrus goodness. Tastes terrible though.

But suppose, my feathery friend that you were a duster... would you dust blackboards or board the Black Dust? Go on an Atlantic cruise... cross the Atlantic with the Titanic... what do you get? I wonder...

Halfway.

But anyway, whole or half-heartedly, the chickens wait for no man. Like time... but chickens would probably eat thyme. Wouldn't they be happy hens then? And what happy happy hens they'd be. Probably go on a hen's night after that. Come back married the next morning. The morning after! JENG JENG JENG. Take a vapodrop, clear your throat. Hem hem. Koff koff.

It's cold tonight. But don't worry, it's not stormy though it surely is dark. Ever heard of a bright night? Ever heard of a bright knight? I didn't think so! Typical, stereotypical, pitiable, mythical stupidity. Horse poo, I say! Flying horse! Load up the scalpels, pack up the bags, pick up the trucks and rearrange the sentence. It still won't make sense.

My fingers flow across the board at the speed of fingers flowing across the board at the speed of fingers flowing across the board at normal speed. No error there. None I say! It's actually quite hard to type fast when you're cold. That's because I'm warm blooded! If I was cold blooded... no difference. Possibly slower. Reptilian even. Eggs. Chickens. Circle of life. Asante sana squash banana. Puree.

Pisang kemek goreng or pisang goreng kemek? One is a squashed delicacy, the other is road-kill. I can't tell the difference either. Like a multitude of untold stories. The secrets of the world unfolded! They're important! I know it! And I care... just as much as this:

*ppptt*

Dammy.

Woohoo!!

Whee!!

The swine return! No pool of water or legion of demons can hold us back from proclaiming the good news that Mr. Yap Wei Xiong has quoted a certain Mr. Khoo Teng Xiang on his xanga page. Intriguing no? Check it out: www.xanga.com/ahxiong (not ahxiang har... don't go and spell wrong).

Well, if you don't check out what the quote is you will never know what the tribal council has spoken. Yes I am a council in myself. Aren't I just the greatest?

Apparently, what I said sums up the whole First Year Vet community. Perhaps perhaps. I was quite honest about it when I said it. Bleah.

So anyway, exams are coming and we're all freaked out by anatomy! Joy... You know... this is possibly the first "normal" blog post I've ever posted... that's amazingly... sad. But anyway, where was I? Toothpicks, that's right. Dog's made out of skinny purple toothpicks appeared on Flinders Street just after a man was electrocuted from train surfing. Or was it surf training? I don't right know... I don't rightly appear to be in my right mind...

Pika infiltration!! Eek. Eek. Eek. Eek. Eel. Eek. Eek. Bet you missed the slippery blighter in there! Then again maybe you didn't. Watch out for his bite. The sun don't shine where the eels bite fishing line. Or so the saying goes.

Stay away from my coffee!! How else am I going to do my exam paper? Eat it?

Which reminds me ... 2 weeks till exams!! Awesome!

All the best to everyone! May the hogs be with you...

Another Boar??

Not really... more like a totally different journey.

Check it out and say what you think.

http://toddlewithgod.blogspot.com

Oh and yes I have accepted the Lord in my life.

Swine will not be affected by this! No Legion shall drown my herd of pigs!! GRAARRGGHH

Back In Action

It's been a while since I picked up my pace and set myself back to the keyboard for some blogging. But now the keyboard is back:

The keyboard returns...

And I'm back if my life doesn't spiral out of control:

Tightly, neatly bound...

And if my notes are in order and all the studying doesn't wind me up so tight I snap. Unlikely... since the pen is mine and not the other way around:

The Xiang is mightier than the pen...

Let me tell you about vet school.
There is this guy.I guess he's average:
Good-looks: average
Intelligence: average
Compassion: average
Faith: average (but he believes)
Everything else: average
Humility: average (?)

That guy is me. It's been a long slog from the 3rd of March till the 25 of April (today) but there is nothing else I'd rather be doing. And no matter the circumstance I will be loving animals and loving working with them till the end of days:

Then end might come and might look like this but the veterinary profession will stand in me...

But let me sketch a day in my life...

Apart from those days of being dragged around by horses, seating sheep and straddling pigs, it's been theory, theory, theory. And more to come. How I relish those days out at the clinic just having my hands on the furry/wooly buggers, my hands in the mouths of "awd bovines a'slaverin."

The phrase 'information overload' is an understatement in some senses but the odd case study always serves to wake you up in a jiffy. Content-wise the material is understandable and interesting though cramped and tinned like sardines. The years are packed, they say. Believe it.

On any normal day we bumble into the VRI and sit in the lecture theatre for another four-hour series of lectures. Lecturers shuffle in, deliver and leave. We're stuck, pigs in the mud, thrown into the deep end right from the start. Aorta, pulmonary artery, erythropoiesis, the enteric nervous system, Angus cattle, Herefords, Holstein-Friesians, a bay, a roan and Thoroughbreds abound. Sometimes it feels like a noose, the knot ever ready to drop:

Care to stick your head in there?

But it's not so bad really. Friends are around to lend a hand, lecturers are nice and the coffee is free. Get on top and get ahead. The kinks smoothen out then... otherwise it's rough and tough like a bad beef cow.

Keep the work up and the sailing is smooth...

So we sit there frying our brains, evaporating the useless, digesting the 'nutritious' and on flows the morning. Do I keep writing though I'll miss most of the speed-lecturer's information? Do I draw this? Do I not? Do I need to know this? The questions pile up on the patient in the consulting room. The going is slow but steady and lunch is round the corner.

And then it's here. The hour of relief. Our kiosk opens and instant noodles flood out of the cupboard. Our source of stomach-fill. Like grass to a cow. Cheap, unhealthy goodness. Alternatively there's the food you bring for yourself, more expensive and out-sourced:

Prawn rolls anyone?

And many do just that. Microwaves and toasters run like food production factories, churning out lunches, pre-packed, to the masses. But suddenly the hour is over and all that is left are the remnants of meals and relief:

Is it over already? I haven't finished my chilli...

A four hour lecture chain means a practical class in the afternoon. A dissection, a nerve preparation, a muscle stimulation or an afternoon staring into microscopes getting dizzy. The last of these is often the most tedious though eventually any of the practical classes begins to get on your tired nerves. And the nerves of the dog being dissected:

One wrong cut and this dog's a nervous wreck...

Don't get me wrong, the practical classes are most definitely exciting and beneficial. Often enjoyable. But after a whole day of class, I begin to feel my brain lagging behind my eyes. At about 4.30, patience can wear thin but we all bear with it and go on. For the betterment of ourselves and the animals we'll one day treat. But before leaving the dissecting theatre one more thing must be done. Wash your hands and dry them because:

And you better believe it...

Finally the day is done. Lab coats are ripped off and sighs of relief accompany the cacophony of moaning and groaning. Bags are zipped up conclusively and determinedly. Time to go.

All packed and ready...

One final step. Out to the tram stop to wait. The day draws to a close. The sun sets as I wait for the tram thinking of the day. Wondering what tomorrow will bring. Because I can't remember my ever-changing timetable.

The end...

Watching...

...the little sparrow as it flits and flutters along the street. I sit, watching the little sparrow, hopping, skipping, jumping from bread crumb to bread crumb along the sidewalk. What can you do but admire the beautiful creature, striving to live in the face of adversity? And yet is it not expected of all creatures save certain men to continue one's existence in this world? All save certain men.

But this sparrow is a special one. Mingling in the crowds of people. Socially active. In and out trying to find it's niche in the rush of everyday hustle and bustle. Along the street it dances, weaving in and out, avoiding the stamping feet, the black leather shoes and high-heels, sneakers and slippers. Dancing. Once in a while it chirps its little call, almost shyly, raising its head, opening its beak in small song. It has often walked down this street before. Yet the song it sings everyday is a new one and the dance of life is strong. It dances for joy, it sings with faith that today it will find bread. Or rice for that matter.

And suddenly this sparrow has an identity, a face, a body, a gender. She flutters around, sometimes half-heartedly but always with a distinct purpose, with determination. Perhaps she has been in courtships uncounted for such is the way of life. Yet these things cease to matter when I look upon her so joyful and free. Always free.

Today the weather is good, her feathers remain unruffled, preened and prissy. Though tomorrow might be wet and gloomy, always she lives through and through. By and by her luck will change and the sun will shine again. The sparrow has been through harder times and never was she broken and defeated beyond revival. Yet always the little figure evokes a sense of want. The want to show special care and attention, to cater for her every need, her every feeling, her every desire. But who am I to know a sparrow's heart's desire or to boast of it if I did. Who am I to put words in her beak. Nought but a simple boy.

My eye is on her. The sparrow. And I watch as she comes closer to me, coming to receive the bread I give with love and care. She comes so close, away from the crowds in which she mingled, to take the little comfort I offer. The temptation is to keep her, to feed her till she stays, for I would give her security in this harsh world. Yet how can one chain this little creature, so joyful, so amiable, adorable with any bonds of metal, string or worse. Bonds of love. But the sparrow chirps its delightful song again and my heart is filled with joy. Had I my flute I'd play Mozart with definite pinkness in my music.

But again I sit and I watch and I think. I wonder if she'll fly away, to mingle again and never return. For how could one cage this beautiful thing when so joyful it is, so free. Always free. Always free.