“I am on my lunch break but I don’t have money to buy lunch.” It was a shocking revelation from not a predictable homeless figure, but a friend working in financial services industry who earns a what would be an estimated 2.5-fold of my present annual income. 

What has gone wrong? I asked curiously, not intended to pry. Deposit, rent, council tax, gas, flight ticket to Egypt, amongst other items which their presence are deemed absolutely normal and familiar in anyone’s financial list. Alright, maybe not the last one. Bewildered, I wondered have prices shoot up uncontrollably like they never should be due to the persistent inflation rate at worrying level?

Having discussed the issue with my other friends, whom of all are receiving considerably bigger paycheck than me, I discovered that having personal finances going astray is apparently not uncommon, and is certainly independent of one’s earning level. I am aching to uncover the root of the problem. After several discussions, it was dawn on me that all the patients of finances health problem share a common attribute – the endless desire to spend (carelessly) and the derisory determination to save.

Sounds like a cliché I know and I am convinced that you would probably argue that everybody knows this. You may even fight and complain who doesn’t want to save but our earning is just unfairly less and disproportionate to today’s basic expenses. But then again, who doesn’t want a big pay check, bigger bonus, and the smallest tax?

Everybody likes to spend, including myself. However, being brought up in a financially deprived family, I learnt as the first lesson in my life, if you fail to take charge of your personal finances, you are destined to fail. However, to my delight, I also learnt that the key to successful personal finances, or more accurately the secret of successful spending, is no myth and surprisingly simple. It all lies in the state of mind and is resembles to the simplest and most primitive form of trade – barter system.

It is not as intelligence-demeaning as simply comparing prices among similar items, for instance, the difference between tuna from two different brands, although I would definitely argue that price comparison is the fundamental step to successful spending. As we compare prices, we become smarter in familiarising ourselves with marketing and packaging deception. And listen to me, if your tongue can’t distinguish the taste between two seemingly identical products, go for the cheaper one.

Back to the barter system, it requires one to achieve a paradigm shift in their mind when he/she spends, it educates one to distinguish between needs and wants, and most importantly, it frees up individuals by eliminating their desire to purchase and make them recognise the potential of not spending.

Sounds vague, let’s look at an example. Say you walk into a supermarket and pass by the juices aisle. Pick up a carton of orange juice, start asking yourself: Do I want this juice or do I need this juice? The answer is most definitely want. Now think of what you can buy if you swap the orange juice with something else? A loaf of bread which you probably need to make sandwiches for lunch. You will be amazed if you repeat the exercise throughout the entire shopping session and come back home realising that you have bought only what you need but not what you want.

Stretching the paradigm shift to beyond grocery shopping, walk into a fashion store, styling yourself with a £30 blouse or a £50 pair of jeans. Now start questioning yourself do you want or need them? The fact is you want them. Now think of not buying the clothes, what could you spend on using the money? That is one-fifth of a return flight ticket to Egypt. Now the real trick kicks in, weighing between a new piece of garment and an Egypt travel, which one is more enticing to you?

If you choose the former, go for it. There is nothing wrong in wanting a pair nice jeans instead of travelling to Egypt because that is what you want. The example I am giving here is for you to recognise what is the potential of your money, or in other words, the value of your money. It is imperative that we appreciate the value of our money and not its face denomination – the key to barter system.

We save ourselves from purchasing certain items because we realise we don’t need them. At other occasions, we save ourselves from purchasing certain items because we recognise the money is valuable for something that will supply greater satisfaction to us, although it could mean a repetitive exercise before the goal is finally achieved. But the ultimate winning recipe to successful spending control is to save, and recognise how often the word save has appeared in this paragraph.

Possessing a conservative mind, I am a firm believer of saving before spending. My ultimate advice to my fellows: Save at least 3 months, although it would be better 6 months, of your current salary before you start spending. This would serve as a crucial financial buffer if things go sour. And if could achieve a paradigm shift through barter system, congratulations, you are on track to your own finances recovery.

Note: Advice given above is based purely on personal experiences.

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(Note: Click on all images to enlarge.)

It is condemnatory that the hefty investment of my camera gear has not turned into a wise one due to severe practice shortage. Deterred by wintry blizzard earlier of the year, I am now excuse-less since the summer has been blistering hot. Encouraged also by my imminent travel to Egypt, I dusted my camera and headed to Greenwich Park earlier this week with a purpose – to shoot bracketed photos for HDR, or high dynamic range images.

HDR image is a photographic technique where three or more images taken under different exposure settings are combined to form a single picture, in a scene where the contrast is starkly different for it to be properly exposed by the camera.

However, as I was editing post-processing my photographs taken under a mildly disappointing and thus less dramatic weather, I couldn’t help but began to wonder, how much control do we have to perfecting our images before they become, erm, unrealistic?

The first of the three photos above was the ‘correctly’ exposed photo as interpreted by the camera. It is evident that the foreground (the building) in this photo was underexposed and the background (the cloudy sky) was washed-out. In order to preserve both the dramatic sky and the details of the building, a HDR solution has to be summoned.

So by combining the normally exposed photo, with one severely underexposed (for details in the sky) and another extremely overexposed (for the details in the building) photos, the following HDR image is produced and is compared to its original image on the left.

It is undoubted that the HDR image was processed compulsively. Nevertheless, very few people will deny that such an image is actually very pleasing to the eyes and even when they do, they are often amazed by the details preserved in a picture using HDR technique. However, here comes the question: When it comes to photography, are we striving to capture a photo that could genuinely represent a real scene even when the end result is slightly disappointing, or are we trying to gimmick-ly processed photos and so the details are retained?

Challenging question. But what if we tone down the processing method and produce a closer-to-life image that is capable of preserving details? (Take a look on the following photos.) Now we notice that the sky is less dramatic but the clouds are clearly distinguishable from each other as opposed to the original image. The details of the building has also become sharper. The overall tone of the image is warmer and thus eliminated the hazy feeling of the original image due to perhaps incorrect white balance setting.

Now another question: If presented only the lightly HDR image, will you suspect it is processed? And if given the last couple of images, which one would you have preferred in general?

I understand and share the same perspective as many of you, photos are best left untouched. But what if HDR image, if realistically processed – if that ever exists – could significantly enhanced the details of an image and bring it closer-to-life, which is highly impossible to be captured using a camera solely? Take a look on the following example, could you tell it is processed?

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Fiona, my best friend in London, challenged me to post an entry without the assistance of a dictionary or thesaurus. Instead of accepting the challenge with an open arm, I went on instantaneously wondering her discovery. Was it the bombastic words heavily deployed in my recent updates that revealed a rather forceful English composition? Or has she secretly installed a pin-size camera in my room perversely obtaining pleasure through spying on my every activity? Well, at least I am flattered if it was the latter.

Her comment, however, weighed more heavily than a silly spying  joke. It reignited a particular concern I have had recently – the lack of proficiency in written English, which unfortunately has cost me an employment offer I have longed for. And as the comment came amid my concerted effort to improve on my writing via frequent practices, it sparked my worry that perhaps I have gone overboard and become trying too hard.

Nevertheless, I accepted the challenge eventually. As I began thinking of my options, my first thought, a skilful trick to bypass the challenge with an one-sentence-entry which probably says “Fiona, this is my update without the use of a dictionary,” entered my mind with an evil grin. Even when I think the entry is unquestionably eligible for the challenge, it wouldn’t do me a glorious favour. And so it was aborted.

My second option, based on Fiona’s profound interest to unveil my not so secret talent to (frequent) random hook-ups, was to reveal the raunchy conversations I have had with my rapidly changing sexual partners. While I started recollecting the images of these people through a lighting speed image flashing, the thought of me being stabbed to death by not one, but the many former brief encounters, after a potential detrimental public humiliation to their openness in sex-hunt via the revelation of supposedly discreet conversations, cooled my sharing excitement.

Moving on, I pondered if it would be more appropriate in this particular circumstance, where English language itself is the focus point, to adopt a more formal channel by sharing my limited experience in English literature. I can and will of course draw your attention towards the only short story I have remembered from my high school English literature classes – The lotus eater. I believe when the discussion developed, I would probably dwelled into the simple but effective style of writing and bla bla bla, which will undoubtedly encourage you to close this window at the soonest with just a click on the finger. 

After careful consideration to keep this post slightly amusing, I, still revolving around the English language, was inspired to discuss the inability of most Malaysians to pronounce the last alphabet of English words, which of course has inevitably landed me in many humiliating occasions. And I will most likely share with you one of the most classic examples of my personal experience – a grocery shopping in a Norwegian supermarket with my European and other Asian friends when I have had to spend half a day explaining my desire to purchase half a dozen of egg. The obstacle I faced in pronouncing the ‘g’ in the simplest English word has literally made me spelt the word out before my bewildered friends were finally enlightened with hysterical laughter.

Just when I thought that this indeed could be a potential blog entry for this English challenge, I realised the thought process itself has utilised the words limit I normally allocate for an entry. Despite my keen desire to continue, I conclude my current entry prematurely with massive regret by saying: Voila Fiona!

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Directed by David Cameron and supported by the coalition production crew, with Theresa May as the lead female verbal puppet, set off by muted Nick Clegg in the name of comprises-made-to-coalition-government, together had presented the latest episode of the long-winded austerity drama, Cut in what most business leaders and political correspondents are at odds over – the immigration cap (on highly skilled and skilled workers).

They claimed it as a vital approach to curb the country’s rising unemployment rate currently stands at 7.9% or 2.5 million and a patriotic move to return British jobs to British workers. They further emphasised the imposition will duly reduce the pressure exerted on immigration-related social welfare including schools, hospitals, council housings and other public services, which will ultimately helps the coalition government to achieve its target on fiscal tightening policies.

Undeniably the Tory has been charged with the duty to materialise what it promised in the general election – to reduce net immigration. But, in my opinion, the proposition serves not as an effective formulation to deal with successfully the upward spiral of immigration but merely a brainchild of political gimmick.

Firstly, the cap was ill-targeted. A friendly reminder to my dear readers, the cap is aimed at reducing the admission of non-EU economic immigrants under the Tier 1 (highly skilled) and Tier 2 (skilled) points based system, which represents a derisory 27,000 out of all the massive 406,000 approved visas, or 6.5% in the first three months of 2010 (Source: ONS). I am bewildered. Just how significant the impact of a cap like this will have on improving the jobless figure and on easing the pressure of public services? Neither.

Under the point based system invented by the Labour government, Tier 1 visas are granted to migrants without a guaranteed job because they are likely to generate wealth and expand the economy. And my profound confusion expands uncontrollably over the logic to restrain workers of this type to enter the country and to stimulate the growth of, if not rescue, the economy from the aftermath of an unprecedented economic disaster. And for no other reason, highly skilled workers are imported for a good cause – to fill up the talent fissure the country has failed to seal. The saying on returning British jobs to British workers is thus simply ill-founded and unjustifiable.

And the ability of these talented individuals to secure employments leads me to question on why they are blamed as the parasitical recipients of social welfare including social housing. If we scrutinise the provision of social housing and other welfare benefits currently burdening the indebted government, it is not challenging to realise the claimants are, of course the British, and an enormous population of Eastern European moved from their respective countries under the European Free Trade Agreement after being enticed by the UK’s generous welfare system. And in fact, immigrations within the EU forms more than a third of the total immigration into the UK each year.

But then of course, many would argue since British are allowed to purchase assets and take up employments in mainland Europe, it is only fair if their European counterparts enjoy similar privilege. Moreover, for jobs which the British deemed themselves to be too conceited to commit, for examples, construction, cleaning, or even in coffee shops, which in my humble opinion are all British jobs, the reliability of their European peers is indisputable. So will tossing them back when you are in the midst of a crisis sound a tad inglorious?

On the topic of an effective (cost) cut, I compare it with domestic cost saving and corporate restructure. If you want to save on domestic expenses significantly, you do no bet on reducing the purchase of food that supplies you with immense energy to work, you move to a simple and crude house in tinier size. If you plan on downsizing an organisation, you do not only reduce the amount of workforce, but also make non-contributory departments redundant via corporate consolidation. And if you are BP endeavouring to contain oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, you know in the long run, the more effective and permanent solution is not to capture oil spilled through containment cap but to seal the source with relief wells.

So now, if you were the leader of the coalition government, and you were determined to reduce net immigration, are you going to eat your own words and go around violating your own promise for the creation of an open business environment  that would help stimulate economic growth, by limiting the import of highly skilled and skilled workers this country badly needs? Will you revolve around the peripheral of immigration border? Or will you contemplate a more radical reform that may allow a generous chuck of unmanageable immigrants?

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The roasting summer heat currently permeates the streets of London accentuates the obscenity of remembering the prolonged winter blizzard just a couple of months ago. And just when my body is teetering on the brink of a complete melt, the merciless human-induced heat wave originated from down under engulfed my struggling effort to stay intact and had completely liquefied me.

In just a night, my already cruising prevailing neighbourhood was bombarded by the most blatant and effective advertising agenda I’ve ever witnessed. And just when I confined the coverage to the vicinity of my gay-dominated village, Aussiebum, the international underclothing manufacturer from Australia famous for its broad gay fan base, and evidently also the mastermind responsible for this sexually unreserved campaign, has erected identical advertisement literally across the entire London town. 

Leaving aside the discussion on whether the company has pushed the boundary too far to challenge the legal allowance for public display of raunchy images, I doubt if anyone has failed to notice, let alone to resist the erotic temptation to follow the hunky model’s chiselled chests down to his washboard abs before reaching at the dangerously skimpy black swimming trunk that houses almost unsuccessfully his well-endowed manhood that is screaming noisily to escape from its casing. Ugh, I need a napkin to wipe the saliva drooling down my chin off!

Despite of all the careful nurture of conservative oriental virtues, I give no reprimand to this unpretentious marketing campaign. In fact, for no other reason, I welcome it with open arms for it has at least motivated me to go out from my house more often than I would be. A minor but significant gesture that might help trimming away my body fat and fit myself into one of these trunks.

But do I want to rush my head to the departmental store immediately for an impulsive and lustful purchase? As much as I am lubriciously seduced by the model, I remain adamant that there is ought to be mega body sculpting construction before my confidence braves me for an equally impactful public showcase of my own shell.

Nevertheless, I suspect there are already plenty of advocates. And to be honest, I can’t wait the sights for sore eyes. Summer days are too warm to stay indoor but we all need a reason to stay out. And if there is no other reason, perhaps a vain hope in meeting a guy as in the advertisement who will make you scream out: f**k me!

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I love Sex and the City the series and have been replaying the series for numerous times. So I was ecstatic when the first Sex and the City Movie was released. Despite the frenetic buzz, I thought the movie was a tad overrated. Bearing the disappointment from the first movie, however, I still devoted my most ardent support and reported to the cinema at the quickest possible pace upon the screening of the sequel.

The frantic (negative) reviews on the movie probably have convinced you that the movie is fairly disposable. However, I personally see it as a quantum leap from the the first movie, with reservation. At the very least, the entertaining value of the movie deserves compliments. Nevertheless, it doesn’t discount the movie from criticisms.

First of all, suggesting the workaholic Miranda to quit her job was an insane idea. Remember the witty utterance by bewildered Miranda when she discovered that she has got pregnant by Steve: “I don’t have time for this baby. I don’t even have time to schedule an abortion.”? That is was how Miranda loves her job. Even though scripting her resignation over a no-talking hand gesture by her superior was a little insulting to audience’s intelligence, one must admit that the related scenes were rather amusing. Furthermore, characters evolve.

Talking about the evolvement of characters, when the shift of Miranda from career-centred to family-centred was further emphasised by Charlotte’s motherhood distress, I was jittery that the film will risk draining drastically into the gully of  Desperate Housewives’ style dull and dramatic domestic affairs. However, one must then again admit that the heart-to-heart conversation between the two mothers, at the presence of cocktails of course, was an intelligent and humorous plot. Honestly, who will be able resist the urge to laugh out hysterically when Charlotte confessed “How could I lose the nanny?”

Perhaps the only character that didn’t evolve was Samantha. She, inherited her sexual adventurer spirit repeatedly highlighted from the series and the first movie, was indeed the focus point of the movie. Although separated the “girls” from their familiar New York streets (and the tantalising men) was again intolerable, the scene where Samantha’s unreserved seduction on hunky architect Rikard, which caused the latter to demonstrate an obscene erection in public that offended a conservative Arabian couple, was immensely entertaining. And although the condom scene where the eccentric Samantha irrationally provoked the conservative Arabian (men) community was slightly exaggerating, it was again a highly entertaining plot.

However, I struggled to remember anything in particular when it comes to Carrie, except that the rapid ageing of Sarah Jessica Parker had caught my undivided attention. Did you notice how her fake-tanned skin looks rugged like a dried mussel and the sagging muscles around her arms? And it really was hurting the eyes to watch how Aiden swallow his saliva forcefully signalling he was sexually aroused by the apparently old Carrie’s presence in her lustful outfit. And to be honest, her marriage crisis with Mr. Big was just lack of intensity. It really was sad that the centre character has lost her charm.

When it comes to the supposed dazzling array of outfits, I thought it showcased a severe wardrobe malfunction throughout the film. Did you see what Charlotte was wearing when the four characters emerged from a hill of Arabian desert? It was spandex yoga outfit, disastrously sewn using leftover pieces of cloth decorated by some vast pieces of carelessly picked material more suitable to be used as curtain.

To wrap things up, I stick to my view that this isn’t Sex and the City since there isn’t much about the city but plentiful of Arabian desert. Nevertheless, who would have cared when the comedy element never failed to fill the two hours up with almost constant laughter? And just why was the rating worse than the first movie when it was much more enjoyable to watch?

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“I can see you have changed a lot: from enthusiastic those days to dull at present,” a recent count from my ex-course mate which had stunned me greatly.

Something which I hate to admit, but the nasty politics at work that threatened my existence, the stress to excel in the only job interview from more than 100 job applications, the pressure from an expiring visa and the stringent requirements for an extension, the envy of peer success, the uncertainty in my future path, and the 5 break ups with the same person in 6 months have really worn me down.

I am exhausted and now I want to return to smiles, joys, energy and ambitions. It is time to change for good.

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After winning the most number of seats in the recent election but not a majority to form a government on its own, the Conservative is now forming the first coalition government in 70 years with the Liberal Democrats. By having Nick Clegg elected as the Deputy Prime Minister, it is undoubtedly the Tory has generously compromised to its former opposition. But what a Cons-Lib government could possibly mean to general public? And most importantly to desperate immigrant like myself?

From a foreigner’s perspective, raising the income tax threshold from £6,500 to £10,000 is undisputedly the most exciting present brought by the newly formed coalition government. This, although translate to a £17bn loss to the government, results in near 50% saving to me. However, the plan will only be introduced by 2011. I look to live a London life long enough to taste the political sweet.

Secondly, the stringent austerity measure campaigned by the Conservative before the election – to significantly reduce public spending by £6bn in one year – has been approved. I smell an imminent flood of workers into the job markets. God bless me please to find another job before the already stiff competition gets even more grievous.

On the other hand, both parties agreed to cap on non-EU immigration. Hello? Already I’m required to earn a minimum of £30,000 annually before qualifying for my next visa  under the newly “revamped” immigration requirements, I wondered what this new agreement would translate into the potential hardship awaiting me in the near future. Nevertheless, it is not entirely hopeless. But looks like it is time to prey on a suitable candidate for marriage.

Following my discussion with an English friend earlier arguing if I am a Tory’s supporter, I think I finally have the conclusion – a political marriage that put an apple on a table too high for me to reach.

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I wondered if I’d just ventured on the well-trodden path of everyone living in London, or was I just a greedy-guts who was never contented with what was presented. Regardless of the examining result, it has now become my strongest devotion to believe that if you are not committed to one of the three searches – the search for the perfect apartment, the search for the perfect job, and the search for the perfect Mr/s. Right or Mr/s. Right-now – then you are not exploiting the immense opportunities this city is offering.

After having hunted on the snowy properties wilderness for an entire bitterly cold winter, after battling my physical and mental endurance against the frequent bombardment of disappointing photo-decent-reality-disastrous apartments, I was eventually rewarded with a sparkling property jewel at an ideal location, excellent transport links and reasonable space with high ceiling – a property nirvana.

However, the search for the perfect apartment wasn’t an easy stroll along the journey. Firstly, it of course has to be tailored on my seemingly shrinking financial physique, or more accurately, the generosity of my flatmate to make up the missing rent not affordable by me, which unfortunately in the eyes of many estate agents, was impossibly derisory for our specifications.

Right, earning a shameful emolument that is only one-third of my flatmate, I must endure the guilt for exacerbating the already challenging flat-hunting spadework crucial to the construction of a shelter we both would like to call home. But believing (that our budget wasn’t an insane optimism but a sane possibility) was the key to success, although it was righteous to say that I had unwillingly pushed my budget to the brink of landing myself on a socially paralysed and financially handicapped future living.

Nevertheless, the satisfaction when I was welcomed by an impeccably cleaned apartment during check in was absolutely insurmountable. I knew, despite all the cumbersome requests to gather sufficient financial references, the numerous unsolicited phone calls that interrupted my work and the intrusive questioning into my background more stringent than applying for a visa from the Home Office, it was worth it.

However, as uncomfortable as securing the flat, the check in process was an equally eye-popping experience. A non-exaggerated hour was required to run through the three-page long inventory list that was so detailed and precise up to the point where a magnifying glass was literally deployed to spot a less than 1mm thick scratch mark at one foot from the bottom left corner on the chest drawer, which of course had been clearly defined on the list.

Undoubtedly, the carefulness of the landlord with regards to the inventory and maintenance of the property deserves esteemed compliment if not a ceremonious gold medal. But the surmounting pressure to maintain the flat in its upmost pristine condition is now inevitable if not overwhelmingly excessive, otherwise the risk of losing a handsome deposit is surely going to escalate wildly, which of course is not desirable.

But then again, believing is the key to success. With two perfectionists living in the same flat, I am confident that maintaining the flat would be a cakewalk. However, two-perfectionist living also entails complication of harmonious living. But that of course belongs to another entry.

In conclusion, from Canada Water to Oval, from Southeast to Southwest, from Southwark to Lambeth, from SE16 to SW9, I am now officially in my second lodging along my London adventure. Time to say: Welcome home baby!

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They didn’t come when I was dismissively rejected on Friday.

They didn’t come when I received your final words on Saturday’s morning.

Three hours later, it marked the end of your mourning when you moved on to the infamous source started looking for alternative. They still didn’t come.

They were absent on Sunday, and Monday.

But this evening, after finished reading the little history book, I unconsciously picked up the book again and flipped to the page where you left the message. Staring at your handwriting, I could no longer restrain my disturbed emotions.

They – the tears – came.

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