8
Lazy HuiHui
Posted by HuiHui
on
12:36 PM
Just got sms from my teacher that he would like to cancel the piano class which was supposed to take place in 15 minutes time. **sigh** Wasted my crunch practice this whole morning. I’m contemplating to fire him. This must have been his umpteenth time (I’ve lost count) canceling class. Haven’t had class since 3 weeks ago and last week I got a call from him saying that the year end Trinity practical exam is canceled. **sigh** Wasted my whole year practice. I didn’t agree on Trinity at the first place but he said the Trinity exam pieces for this year are easier than ABRSM (Royal), the one that most people, including me usually take. The call brought utter disappointment tainted with some delight. The lazy genes in me rejoice to the temporarily relief. So, to drown my sorrow and celebrate the relief, I lazed at Starbuck last Saturday afternoon, with ~RM100 purchase of books from Borders, all frictions and magazines. Nothing too heavy for my “holidaying” brain.
For the rest of the week, I buried myself into “The Kite Runner” and the drama “Prison Break”. The formal is thumbs up, but the latter is thumbs down. The “Prison Break” is nothing but lots of digging and series of co-incidences to magnify that the world is really small, senseless killings, and not to mention the anti-climax ending to season 1. I think the director just oversold the suspense.
The kite runner by Khaled Hosseini is an unusually eloquent story about fragile relationship between fathers and sons, humans and their gods, men and their countries. Kite-fighting tournament was an old winter tradition in Afghanistan, where the streets filled with kite fighters, jerking and tugging on their lines, squinting up to the sky, trying to gain position to cut the opponent’s line. The author said the real fun began when a kite was cut and the kite runners come in, those kids who chased the windblown kite drifting through the neighborhoods until it come spiraling down in a field, dropping in someone’s yard, on a tree or a rooftop. I don’t remember there is kite running back then in my hometown. We simply will run for our own kite, if it’s been cut off. No touching other people’s kite lest to be beaten.
When the school reopens in the spring, the Afghanistan kids will compare the battle scars with fellow classmate; the horizontal gashes on their fingers from the glass coated cutting line. However, the author didn’t mention how they make the glass coated string. I remember vaguely, a quarter of decade back, my brother and I used to sneak into our kitchen when mum and grandma were taking their afternoon nap, around 3pm. With gasoline stove, we boiled 20 cents worth of starch where we bought from sundry shop nearby. When it was dissolved, it turned into glue which we dipped the string into before coating it with pounded glass. To crush the coca-cola glass bottle, we “borrowed” the mortar and pestle from the kitchen again. Did lots of sneaking when we were young, huh?
The kite runner by Khaled Hosseini is an unusually eloquent story about fragile relationship between fathers and sons, humans and their gods, men and their countries. Kite-fighting tournament was an old winter tradition in Afghanistan, where the streets filled with kite fighters, jerking and tugging on their lines, squinting up to the sky, trying to gain position to cut the opponent’s line. The author said the real fun began when a kite was cut and the kite runners come in, those kids who chased the windblown kite drifting through the neighborhoods until it come spiraling down in a field, dropping in someone’s yard, on a tree or a rooftop. I don’t remember there is kite running back then in my hometown. We simply will run for our own kite, if it’s been cut off. No touching other people’s kite lest to be beaten.
When the school reopens in the spring, the Afghanistan kids will compare the battle scars with fellow classmate; the horizontal gashes on their fingers from the glass coated cutting line. However, the author didn’t mention how they make the glass coated string. I remember vaguely, a quarter of decade back, my brother and I used to sneak into our kitchen when mum and grandma were taking their afternoon nap, around 3pm. With gasoline stove, we boiled 20 cents worth of starch where we bought from sundry shop nearby. When it was dissolved, it turned into glue which we dipped the string into before coating it with pounded glass. To crush the coca-cola glass bottle, we “borrowed” the mortar and pestle from the kitchen again. Did lots of sneaking when we were young, huh?
