I feel confused about several things. Maybe it's true that I keep things to myself. Eventually when it gets too much, I parcel them off bit by bit to different people. Everyone only knows one part, and when the totality of it has been diffused, I'm okay again. No one is told the same thing, no one knows the whole story. Maybe because of that, I am spent when I speak. I don't feel any further urge to tell it to anyone else.

I don't know what went wrong, that things are the way they are now. At some point, something broke, and I stopped wanting to care. Now I am content to be passive. I don't know how to want to care again. I used to care so much that I would get so upset, but not anymore.

Why do you insist on doing so many things for me. I have nothing to give you.

Maybe I just can't love so many things at once.

I shot this set last weekend at Pfannenstiel, which is a small mountain near Zurich. Lots of fog rising from the valley, but it cleared around one or two when the sun came out. I like this set of photos very much. I listen to Erik Satie's Gymnopedie No. 1 when I look at the images.

I enjoy being in transit. Till now, a lot of my excitement for going abroad stems out of the plane ride (the longer the better). I like being on the train, one hour and ten minutes, to Basel and back twice a week. I like sitting on the tram, and the Polybahn, and buses—I love bus rides. I would take a bus rather than the MRT to get somewhere.

I like it, perhaps because it is a state of not being anywhere.

Give it your best, and 120% more.

It just occurred to me that if I choke on one of my multivitamin pills (they are quite large), I will probably die here in my room.

You'd think I'd be able to handle homesickness by now. This year I was really only at home for June and half of August. And even then not really, because I was working on so many things only my body was physically at home. Actually I am not really homesick I guess, just yearning for the familiar.

I'm not homesick for Singapore. Everything over here works well enough (or better) for me to not miss the conveniences at home. I'm used to cooking at least one meal a day. And I'm getting used to the prices (2 francs for chocolate? That's okay.)

I think at the heart of it, I miss being able to express myself. I feel repressed here, mostly because I cannot speak the language well. I've told myself that I will speak as much German as I can, so I will improve. Funnily the problem is not that I can't formulate the sentences—it's that I don't understand the replies. I want to strike up a conversation, but I can't unless I do it in English. I want to befriend someone, but they're kind of wary. And for once I cannot blend myself into the local landscape (in China even if I speak they still can't tell, sometimes), because I am the conspicuous Asian (and the one with too much clothing on).

Also because I don't always know how things work, and how to react to situations, I end up stepping into the back to see how others do it. I become quiet, because it's easier to keep quiet and smile and nod. At that moment, I can feel myself folding into my body, like a wound-up spring. There is so much tension in my body, because I'm thirsting to burst out, to communicate, to comprehend what's going on.

I want so badly to know what they're saying! I was at a really interesting lecture on Friday (or at least I think it was interesting, because I only understood 30% of it). The lecturer was talking about Renaissance architecture, and about Brunelleschi, and all these places I was at a month ago. And it looked like he really loved what he was talking it. Had it been in English I think I would have thoroughly enjoyed it. But I just didn't know what he was saying most of the time. It's so frustrating to listen to a passionate lecturer, but not being able to partake in that passion.

I called home the other day, when I was feeling really down. I actually didn't want to call because it wouldn't make me feel any better, but my mum had messaged me to call the day before, I had to do it before it got too late. It went okay for the most part, but I think my mum noticed that I sounded really down, and at the end she told me that I could call home to talk and not to keep to myself when I'm upset, and I just started crying at that moment.

It's not actually specific to being overseas. I once burst into tears one weekend while I was working overnight in school and couldn't go home and couldn't sleep, when my mum called. I think they worry about me, because I've never been one to tell them when I'm under duress. I'd unload on anyone I can find, but never to them, because they'd worry. But this is something I believe in: you choose your load to carry and you carry it to the end with no regret.

I've always wanted to be strong and competent and infallible and in control. I've always been able to talk myself out of a bad mood. I'm rarely in situations where I am helpless. So in times of weakness, I steel myself, I learn to deny loneliness, I keep all the emotions at bay. I have worked and fought so hard to get where I want to be: I am hardly going to stop here.

So I have to admit that actually it's pretty lonely out here. Mostly because I'm the only Singaporean in my course, in my year, taking my classes. Also because my spoken German is not exactly top-notch, it's hard for me to get to know the other students here. I know some people, but I don't really hang out with them. I'm not sure how to get through to people, because there's a cultural difference I don't know yet a lot about.

Also I feel slightly down that something I wanted to do didn't manage to go through (to quote Chen Bin: "You always want to break the rules, don't you." No I don't, but.) Anyway this has had an impact on the studio I'm doing, and I still don't know how this will be sorted out, but I hope it will, eventually.

I spend six hours a week travelling between Zurich (where I stay. Well not exactly, I live outside Zurich) and Basel (where my studio is). I actually find it amazing, the ease with which one can move through a foreign land, without really understanding what is going on. I'm getting used to listening to High German now, but I really need to concentrate (and have a dictionary at hand) to understand it properly. I get maybe 60% of what is said, so I know roughly the theme of the discussion, but I can never say for sure what's been said.

It's easy to fall into a pattern of go-to-school-then-go-home when you're lonely and you're in a land whose language you don't speak. I can see why international students at NUS can completely do their four years without having been anywhere in Singapore. I could very well do this, especially with the excuse of studio, but honestly what's the difference from being in Singapore then.

I'm rather disappointed with the outcome of my studio, after two weeks of negotiation (and frustrating attempts at contact) with various agencies in NUS and here. Not that I am disappointed with the studio in itself (it's very interesting), but with my ability to participate. But you know, to put things into perspective, it is probably more interesting that what I might be doing right now at home, and I just have to make sure I don't forget how to design.

I have to make a list of things to see, things to do, things to achieve. Very goal-oriented, but I think necessary to establish some discipline and consciousness of what I'm doing, and to stop wallowing in self pity. I hate that line about making lemonade out of lemons, but I think it's true that experiences are neutral, it's just whether we assign a negative or positive value to it.

I've been getting a lot of love and encouragement from people at home. So thanks to all the people who talk to me at unearthly hours, because I still haven't managed to find that sort of conversations here.

In case it sounds like I've been having a miserable time here...I'm not. It's been fun, and I enjoy this city so much. I just need writing as an outlet when I'm down.

I made a series of potentially regrettable decisions lately with regard to school. Maybe I am inherently bad at decision-making. I have narrowed this down to several factors:

1. Rationalising through all the choices, but not being able to decide, i.e. sitting on the fence
2. Not completely logical link in reasoning, i.e. making assumptions that don't check out fully
3. Dawdling on checking out information, i.e. laziness

So how. What do to do now? There is actually nothing I can do within my power to change the situation right now. There is something I might be able to do to improve it, but it is kind of drastic. Which is exciting, but also expensive.

And I'm getting discouraged by the conversations I've been having with people about this. And getting skeptical of a decision I cannot reverse now anyway. And so I made this list to make myself feel better, and to stop making stupid decisions.

Moral of the story: if you start out doing something thick-skinned, you have to be thick-skinned all the way.

I cannot hold on and I cannot let go.

I am standing on the cusp of something. Oh the suspense!

How strong do you have to be, to carry the heavy things in your heart?

I'm living in Zurich right now, for four months. I have a one-room apartment in a student house called a Wohngemeinschaft. It's three stories and I share it with about thirty exchange students. So far only my level is kind of full. Housemates are a pretty fun bunch. There's Nick from Hong Kong but who studied in Singapore, with whom I walked around Zurich with today. There're the Spanish who are always ready to party, and who remember my name. There's the Swedish guy who speaks perfect English. There's the Norwegian guy who's built like a quarterback. And the Finnish guy whose name is really hard to pronounce. And the German girl who cooks the healthiest out of all of us (real vegetables—the rest of us just eat bread with cheap cheese, and pasta).

Dear Yeye is in Konstanz now, so it'll be awhile before I see him again, but maybe we're used to being apart for months at a time anyway, usually. So I think this will be okay.

I said some pretty awful things in Rome, at the al fresco restaurant, and on the Spanish Steps. Part of it is because I'm afraid of undue expectations of me that may lead to disappointment eventually, so sometimes I'd rather there be no expectations at all of me. But then it feels terrible to not be expected of anything. The conversation went on through Venice, and...it was just awful I guess. With the heat, and the crowds of tourists on crowded vaporettos and long walks that never end, and an awful conversation and a heavy heart.

Sometimes I don't know what I am saying. There's a heaviness that's been weighing on me for ages, without me knowing how to communicate it in a way that won't make everything collapse inwards. So I finally said it, but it wasn't really what I wanted to say, and it hurt people. But it helped to clarify what I wanted. I still don't know what I should have said, or maybe I don't know what I want still. But I feel better now. Probably you feel worse, and I'm sorry for that. I don't know how to make amends for things I didn't mean to do. It's like walking along an aisle in a supermarket and knocking things over; I didn't mean to knock things over and I thought it'd be okay; I was just trying to get across the aisle, but shit happened and things broke.

Maybe a bit of distance is good. It helps to clarify. It's good to think with some space, because I am taking this very seriously, and I take you very seriously. It's not a game, there are responsibilities. I'm trying to do my best, and maybe I am still inadequate.

Be that mountain behind me, that stands patiently, unshaken.
I am the lakewater lapping at your shores: unsteady but yearning to calm.

I've been listening to this clip of I Will Follow Him from Sister Act, because it's such a nice arrangement and wakes me up. There's this point (1:01 min) in the video where the camera pans across the cathedral from the gallery, and slowly reveals that the Pope is present. It's quite a moment in the movie, because it affirms what Whoopie Goldberg and the nuns have been doing.

Usually I don't watch the video; I just listen to it when I do my work. But I've noticed that that moment at which the camera pans around is perceptible from sound alone. There's actually more echo to it, which makes you perceive the singing as being IN a large cathedral, some distance away from the immediate action.

It's interesting how distance and space can be implied through sound. There was an interesting article on BLDGBLOG awhile ago about the sound of space. We associate sounds with places, and one day we might produce sounds and music to evoke a space, even when we are not there physically.

-

I've always been slightly sad that photographs and film can never adequately capture the beauty of a place. Perhaps not beauty, but its spirit—genius loci if you will. In Taroko Gorge in Hualien, Taiwan, I wanted to be able to photograph and film the crisp coolness of the air, the sound of the stream a hundred metres down the steep cliff and the unbelievable blue of the water, the narrowness of the path: the beauty of it all. I wanted people who couldn't be there to be able to see what was so wonderful about it. Of course I couldn't. The photos just didn't feel right, and it just looked so normal in videos.

The same thing occurs to me when I watch 1 Night 2 Days. Landscapes and scenery never seem that great on television, unless you take great care to choreograph the shots and have some very high quality images. Being there is never the same as seeing it in two dimensions.

This isn't very surprising, but it made me feel a bit sad sometimes because of my inability to catch and enshrine that spirit in images. But then it occurred to me that this is precisely why architecture is valuable, and why as architects we have value in this world.

If the spirit of a place can only truly be felt when you are in a space, then as shapers of that space there is so much potential in what we can do. And so much responsibility. A bad space might not ruin someone's life, but it's never a pleasant experience. Similarly a good space will not dramatically improve someone's living experience, but it will provide moments of inspiration and beauty.

I remember sitting in St. Paul's Chapel in Melaka one cool morning, before the tourists arrived. A busker was singing Angel by Elvis Presley in one of the two-storey-tall chambers, and his soft sad voice echoed off the high ceilings. It was moving, almost otherworldly, and it was a remarkable experience.

-

Photos! Some of the better photos from my adventures in Taiwan and mainland China:
Chiufen
Kaohsiung
Beitou, Taipei
Hangzhou

Why do you keep talking about buildings and structures, as if that is all architecture encompasses?

Architecture is not about buildings, it's about SPACE and PEOPLE.
Other things that annoy me:

1. People who act like gurus, just because they know a bit more, who then go around trying to tell the whole world what to do. Even if they are well-meaning.
2. People who are all, been there done that, when they have not.
3. People trying to be ironic in a bid to appear witty.

知之为知之，不知为不知，是知也。

This summer has been shaping up beautifully. I don't think I've loosened up this much for several years. Maybe since I was fourteen even, which was the last time I lived irresponsibly and had fun and truly did not care about finishing (real) work. Since then the stress just crept up slowly. The uptightness is like my shoulders, which are permanently stiff (according to every person who's given me a shoulder massage).

I've been trying to find a solution for the school-related stress-misery the last two years, to little avail. Going to Europe didn't help, working at the Expo didn't help, beach holidays didn't help, going to competitions didn't help. Whinging most definitely didn't help, because I've whinged for four semesters already.

I think the problem is that, even though during holidays I could virtually laze around all day doing nothing, or I could go out with people and have fun for a couple of hours, it's frankly just escaping from the other reality of school. Even now I don't really like to talk about school, and I can't bear to go over the experience of the first semester in my head because it was traumatic for me. Which sounds kind of silly and weak—who on earth is traumatised by school? It's even weirder to say that I'm barely coping with school when I'm not doing that badly with my results.

Very strangely enough, taking on this project will probably turn out to be one of the best decisions I've ever made. Apart from learning how to design and becoming better at drafting and modelling, it's almost like therapy for me. It really makes a difference to do all these without the pressure of school. There's feedback all the time, so I'm not lost and floundering, which is usually the case during school time. It's all very encouraging, and the conversations are really interesting and insightful. I'm beginning to remember again why I love to design.

I think, also, that I'm the sort of person who needs to be shown how to do something once correctly. I don't need to be given some kind of definite or specific answer key, but I work much better when pointed in the correct direction. This reminds me of the first GP common test we had, during which I completely flipped out and wrote an incoherent answer. That was pointed out afterwards, and I don't think I've made the same mistake again.

The downside is naturally that my scope of working might be limited by that direction, missing out on everything else. But in this case I think I've learnt to loosen up and stop being anal, and to think more. It almost makes me look forward to school again—and I should, it's ETH!

Next adventure in a week! SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER I CAN'T WAIT!

Going to the Philippines didn't turn out to be as dramatically life-changing as I'd imagined such a trip might be. I did not break down at the sight of slums. Maybe it's because I was never completely unaware that there are people who have to live in squalid conditions, so it didn't come as that much of a shock. And maybe it's because it was just a passing glimpse into it, and not actually living in there.

It makes me wonder though: do we need—as Slumdog Millionaire critics termed it—poverty porn to understand and empathise with the poor? Now that we see these images in so many forms in the mass media all the time, and are "made aware" through education, have we become used to the idea of poverty somewhere in the world and desensitised to it? It reminds me of Andy Warhol's Death and Disaster series, which was a critique of mass media images and their desensitising effect.

The rich-poor gap is very apparent. Incredibly, outside the village we stayed in, there were multiple gated suburban communities. Many of the houses were, frankly, mansions, with gates 4 or 5 metres tall. The village doesn't receive municipal water and sewage systems, because it used to be a dumping ground that turned into a squatter settlement, and hence isn't acknowledged to even exist officially. So it depends on water and sewage trucks that come in everyday. Sometimes these are delayed when the gated communities make things difficult by claiming that no village exists inside. In the end the trucks (or the villagers) buy their way through by greasing some palms.

We visited San Agustin Church in Makati City. It's located in a historic area called Intramuros, a 16^th century Spanish walled city. The area is littered with monuments and is kind of touristy—a strange Southeast Asian-European hybrid. You might even forget that you were in the Philippines, in Manila. It's easy to become a tourist there, as you have been a tourist in many other grand old cities. Yet suddenly when you turned a corner, an urban slum sits between two old Spanish buildings. It's surreal, because it's as if it doesn't exist. The old colonial walled city ignoring the pressures of reality. The slum doesn't exist anywhere, although it's sitting right there, whether in official acknowledgements, or the consciousness of the people and of the tourists. It's not visible.

Funnily someone remarked, "Hey it smells like the village." And not in a bad way. All of a sudden, that urban slum felt more like home, and the 500-year-old Spanish monuments, with their tourist trappings and UNESCO World Heritage Site certifications, felt more alien. It's as troubling as it is ironic—how can you not see, or choose not to see, such hardship and struggling right in front of your eyes? And it's not the locals, it's not the Filipino government, it's us. Our eyes that cross from one building to the next, glossing over the teeming life in its midst.

So many people will never see this. Most of us will shuffle on with our lives, with our Starbucks, laptops, internships, shopping. It's almost gross to consider our consumption now. These revelations will never reach the majority of us, leading our trivial middle-class urban lives. There are a million and one reasons (and valid reasons) to not take this step, and hence we will never see. This is what troubles me the most. That these people will always remain at the back of our consciousness and consciences as a distant reality, virtually invisible. How do you tell the world that they exist, when the world does not want to acknowledge it in the flesh?