infusion

A University Scholars Club Publication

Space

Editors Notes
Part of being a Geography major entails deriving considerable enjoyment thinking about and theorizing space. But arranging and editing space? I had never imagined it. Yet here I am at the tail end of another year of Infusion. I suppose it is only apt for Infusions theme to be of some interest to the editor(s) so that not too much hair is torn out and brain cells are spared from being fried. It was fun, I have to admit. A couple of times, I had to restrain myself from turning some of the creative works into mini academic analyses. Kidding aside, youd be surprised as to how well the pieces bring out the theme. From the comfort of being in place to the liminal feel of being caught between two worlds, as well as the manipulation and interpretation of physical space try and see if you can make the links between pieces as you turn the pages. Huge notes of gratitude go to David, for designing when I definitely could not; Xiang Ling, for always keeping things moving; my dear friends for helping me make difficult decisions. And evidently, this edition of Infusion would not exist without the contributors and the support of the USP. Maybe I will do this again. But right now, even as I feel painfully aware that I should be taking up more space, this is all. Cheers, Jinwen, Infusion Editor

The Bard himself once said that some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them. I believe the same can be said about ignominy, except that in this case, I actually signed up to take on this thankless task of being USCs very own Publications Secretary. Nevertheless, after what seems to be an inordinately long academic year as the Joseph Goebbels of USC, it has been really great to bear witness to our various achievements such as the birth of the USC Newsletter, the rebirth of the USC Website and now the actualization of this, the latest incarnation of Infusion. Be mindful, though, that none of these came easily. Where others shat bricks, we shat entire chunks of masonry and it is a true testament to the skill and dedication of the Publications team that we got anything done at all. In this vein, I would very much like to take the opportunity to thank Yongming, Danielle, Jinwen and Haiwen, my indefatigable editors; Augustin and Kristen, my tireless wordsmiths; Julienne and Charmaine, my longsuffering and brilliant designers; Yun Sian, Mun Hin, Peggy and the rest of the USP admin, for making life so much easier and last but most certainly not least, Xiang Ling, USCs very own Honorary General Secretary, for being the driving force without which none of this would have happened. To the rest of the great multitude who have been involved in this turbulent voyage in one way or another, you have my eternal gratitude (no cash prizes this time, sorry) and as for the rest of you reading this, I hope you enjoy this showcase of the talent and creativity of the USC massive (innit tho?). Cheerio, David, Publications Secretary/Infusion Designer

Contents
4 6 7 8 10 15 16 17 18 19 21 22 24 25 26 28
Art in Cyberspace White Space A Bridge USC Rag 2011 A Part to Place The Same Space, Not the Same Place A Wednesday Afternoon The Room The Waiting Game Sacred Spaces Neat Rows of Files Through the Lens Barriers The Journey to the Stratosphere Finally Family Bliss

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Cover photography by Zachary Kok

If art is the bridge between artist and audience, can it, in this age of unparalleled internet use, exist in cyberspace? You bet. The USP First-tier module Cyberart (UAR2201) introduces students to computer-based contemporary art, challenging and redefining art in this new time and space. Under the guidance of Dr. Daniela Plewe, students learn about the historical background, wider societal implications, and get to create their very own cyberart pieces. Art on the internet is one of the experiences. Tapping on the ability of the cyberspace to bring people from miles apart together, art on the internet perfectly exemplifies transactional art allowing an exchange of (economic, cultural or social) value between artist and audience. Really then, there are no limits to where creativity can go. We feature three such projects (in the conceptual phase) done by past students of Cyberart.

UAR2201 Cyberart is offered in semester 1 AY11-12; for more details, check the USP website

Elite Fetus Financial instruments and bets around the future performances of unborn babies: ambitions, social pressures and the hope for success start early. Class of Semester 1 AY10-11 Ameera Aj, Danielle Koh Weizhi, Dominic Tan Cher Fong and Mohit Singh Kanwal

Starburst Social Networking goes universal: you and your friends can buy stars and form new constellations in the universe. Class of Semester 1 AY10-11

The Artist's Jacket Down-or up-trading fashion items, starting with the artist's jacket as a happening during a vernissage or preview exhibition. Class of Semester 2 AY09-10 Georgina Ng Ee Tien, Grace Kng Li Lin, Neo Rui Yi and Teng Yen Lin

White Space

Chua Xin Rong | Class of 2013 | Applied Mathematics White space, sometimes known as negative space, is the concept of leaving space so that the content of the piece can be more readily appreciated. On first sight then, the title seems to miss the idea, since the image simply depicts white words against a black background. However, interpreting the title literally, the image is exactly what the title says a white 'space.' In addition, contrary to the intuitive application of white space, the white space in this picture is black in colour, while the white object is in the foreground. In short, white space creates an example where white space is white in a literal sense and yet not white in the design sense. This suggests a tension between the literal meaning of the term white space and its conceptual implications, challenging the reader to reexamine the linguistic barriers we unintentionally cast upon concepts.

A Bridge
Abhinav Deshmukh | Class of 2014 | Computer Engineering Ali was one among many street children who frequented the bustling lanes of Colaba in the densely populated city of Bombay. Colaba is known for its fake antiques, its popular cafs, a few relics of the days of the British Raj and its regal charm. It is also a tourist hub; tourists were Alis bread and butter. They felt sorry for what they believed was a condemned life; still shots from popular Hollywood movies would flash before their eyes and tourists would gift Ali a few rupees. That rupee note is a leveler. The transaction of the note from the giver to the acceptor; the buyer to the seller; the creditor to the debtor; the lender to the borrower; and often, with the passage of time, the unwilling borrower to the crafty lender (dont we all have a Shylock in our midst?) is unbiased. The note has the power to make the mighty stoop low and the weak aspire high. It goes without saying that the mightiest financial empires in the world all started with a few pennies and an idea. How we treasure that idea, yet seldom acknowledge the true stimulus to that thought of success: a disc of polished metal, newly minted. Ever seen how a young toddlers eyes light up when you present him with a single rupee? That coin cant buy him an eraser in the neighborhood grocery (popularly called kirana) shops; its monetary value is for all practical purposes naught. The young soul is not oblivious to the fact that what he possesses may only gain value a hundred years down the line when the law of the land deems it to be an antique piece. It is not what the coin can buy; it is what the coin represents that the boy holds dear to heart: a magical land where coins grow on trees and where honey leaves a metallic aftertaste. The only link to the unreal, harsh, cruel reality? A cold, steely sensation in his tightly clutched fist. There are many forbidden places: the place of worship to the unbeliever; the playgrounds of the rich and famous to the poor; the haven of the occupier to the native; and yes, the land where dreams oh so often transgress reality for one who has never seen reason to dream. Ali has just crossed one of those voids.

USC Rag 2011

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This year, the concept for the float is essentially rather simple: based on the unique idea of using connections between float and performers during the performance, we wanted to do something about communications technology. This led to the idea of using web as a metaphor for connections, and a spider that creates the web. The rest of the float has to be a garden to create the context for the spider itself. Since then, the exact details for both float and performance have changed drastically, but the main idea has remained unchanged. The float will be centered around a spider, and the style of the design must reflect the focus on technology, especially the dichotomy between older steampunk technology and newer communications technology. The main ideas about the performance are also retained: adventurers explore the garden of technology, and encounter a spider that captures them in its web. We have several key ideas that we are focusing on this year. The first idea was to have costume-based transformation, mainly, to have what we call techies transforming into butterflies. Techies are kind of like minions of the spider to have the transformation happen on stage unexpectedly is one of the key moments of the performance that will really capture the audiences attention. This is achieved by using wires that work like the sunshades we find in cars. These wires spring back into its original shape despite being twisted into a small circle. As such, the techies wings are folded up on their backs, ready to be released when the time comes. The second idea is to create a kinetic garden. What this means is that we will build an entire garden around the spider, including a variety of flowers, pitcher plants and mushrooms, all of which can move in an interesting manner. These movements will all be linked up during the performance by coordinating them in a sequence. An adventurer will toy with the daisy flower (which is based on the aesthetics of an old school telephone), setting off a chain of movement along the entire float until a flower sends out a trumpeting sound, awakening the spider. The challenge, of course, is to actually create all these mechanisms successfully. If we are able to complete the garden, it will be an extraordinary feat of engineering and design. The third, and perhaps the most interesting idea of them all, is to reinvent rag in terms old school steampunk aesthetics. Steampunk is about putting together old metal bits and gears in an aesthetically interesting manner, which at times will look rather random. Unfortunately, steampunk conflicts with the traditional notion of rag itself. The best hall floats today depend largely on large scale, regular tessallations such as cardboard squares and can drinks. This directly contradicts the essence of steampunk, which lies in the apparent randomness of the arrangements. In our interpretation of steampunk within the Rag context, regular tessallations will be discarded. In its place, we have irregular tessallations that utilises large numbers of gear-like components and circles, arranged together across a large scale. It is certainly a style that diverges from the traditional standards, and it is an experiment in Rag design, but I think that it is an experiment that has every chance of being successful.

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1. A living room. A three-seater wooden sofa in the middle. Three small wooden tables behind the sofa, spread out. Two single-seat chairs at the side. A wooden coffee table in the middle with a tea pot and tea cups. All the furniture is Chinese-styled. A shoe rack on stage right. A three-section standing panel with a Chinese painting depicting a tall mountain, a river and a lone home, with calligraphy on stage left. JONATHAN, holding a console, is seated on the chair on stage right, facing the audience. He is playing a video game. He is dressed nicely, looking like he is going to go out. Sera (offstage) Jonathan! JONATHAN ignores her and continues playing intently, occasionally muttering uh, yes and other sounds that people mutter when playing video games. Sera (offstage, slightly louder) Jonathan! JONATHAN continues to ignore her. Sera (shouting and at the same time, walking in from stage left) JONATHAN! Jonathan Ya? Sera Have you seen Ma? Jonathan Ya? Sera Where is she? Jonathan ..Ya? SERA angrily stretches out her hand to try to take the console from him. JONATHAN lifts his left arm to block her. Jonathan Stop it lah. Im in the middle of a game! I havent touched this baby in two years. Show some mercy Sera! Im only winning by five goddamn Sera (worried, speaking fast while JONATHAN continues to periodically makes gamer sounds) Ma has been gone the past hour shes not upstairs then I went to check in the kitchen and shes not there either even though she left the pot boiling on the stove Im so worried shell faint on the street she barely ate her lunch today so I went to Mrs Lims next door and asked if the maid but she told me she was washing the car didnt see anyone come out from our house that means that Ma must have left the house no later than Jonathan Speak faster Sera, get to the point. Ive only got two minutes before I leave the house to

Sera (frantic) What if something happened to Ma??? Shes been going off by herself lately without telling me or Jonathan OWN!!! (jumps up from his seat happily) STAGE SEVEN, CLEARED! LOOK AT THAT SERA! LOOK AT IT WITH YOUR OWN TWO EYES! SERA looks at the screen, then pauses as something at Jonathans back pocket catches her eye. She frowns. Sera Im looking. Whatisthat? Jonathan PRO-NESS! IM GOD-LIKE! Sera No, what is SERA snatches the Ziploc bag from Jonathans left back pocket. Her jaw drops. Sera WEED??????? Jonathan (laughs) Sera, Sera, sister Sera, how did you even know? Theres a lot more where that came from. Sera What? YOURE SMOKING WEED??? Jonathan How would you recommend doing it then, dear sister? Anal-ly? Sera How did you get it? This is ILLEGAL! What have they been teaching you at Oxford? Have you been mixing with bad company? How does this help you in Medical School? DONT YOU DARE BRING BACK THESE BAD Jonathan Everybody does weed in university sister, but oops! Youre in the National University of SINGAPORE and youre Sera Toh Hwee Ling who is doing her honours in SOCIAL WORK(murmurs) and hence you knew about the weed. (starts putting on his shoes) Last I checked, youre still a VIRGIN who doesnt Sera THIS IS NOT FUNNY JONATHAN. HOW DARE YOU PUT MA THROUGH THIS? YOU THINK ITS BEEN EASY FOR HER EVER SINCE Jonathan Put Ma through what? Mind you, I was the one who offered to da bao2 lunch today while you were busy with your goddamn thesis. I asked her, Ma, what do you want to eat for lunch?, but she ignored me and asked, Where is your result slip Jonathan? Where is your result slip Jonathan?. When I asked her again

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what she wanted to eat, she asked me where are my damn results. Fuck. Sera Why didnt you just give it to Jonathan (starts speaking in sing-song manner) Because Im not in medical school anymore! Im SO not in medical school anymore. See whats Pa going to say about that. Hes a dead man in this living room.(laughs. SERA tries to say something in response but Jonathan quickly starts speaking again.) See you later sis! You should really try to start helping the family by doing something about Pa by doing something about Ma. Oh, and dont worry. You can smoke, eat and even make tea with the weed. Share it with Ma, it might even help her cope better. Better yet, since youre a twenty-two year old lonely virgin, sleep with it. (winks and leaves stage) Sera JONATHAN TOH WE HAVENT FINISHED OUR DISCUSSION, THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE WEED OR MEDICAL SCHOOL OR MA walks on stage from behind the panels holding the handle of a pot with one hand, and in her other arm, carrying an urn. SERA jumps. She panics and quickly hides the Ziploc bag of weed by stuffing it into her pocket behind her back. Ma (walks towards the coffee table and puts down the pot) Jonathan, come, good boy. Have some of your favourite beef stew. Ma knows you miss eating her homecooked food. You know, ever since you started university in Yale, Ma has been (sits down on sofa and looks at SERA) Jonathan? Sera He went out Ma. Ma Hes not having dinner at home? Ohhe didnt tell me. (laughs) I think being in Medical School at Yale has made him develop this habit. Never mind then Pa and I will have dinner together right? (looks at urn and smiles) Sera Ill have dinner with you Ma. SERA sits down on the sofa with Ma. Ma gestures towards her telling her to go ahead and eat the stew. SERA realises there are no bowls or utensils. Sera Ma, I should go and get some bowls and Ma Why are you not eating Jonathan? Why are you not eating? Ma made this beef stew for you! Why are you not eating? SERA looks pitifully at her mother. She picks up the pot and starts eating with her fingers.

Ma Nice? Your favourite food, Jonathan. Same like Pa. Pa loves beef stew too. He used bring us to Maxwell Hawker Centre. The stall was called Jacobs Beef Stew. He always had to have sugar cane juice with it...(goes into a daydream) Sera Uhthats good to hear Ma. (SERA holding the pot, gets up and starts walking offstage) Ma, Im going to go to the kitchen to prepare this Ma Eat more, son. Eat more. Why are you not eating? Sera Ma, Im not (sighs and proceeds offstage) Ma But then when he couldnt walk anymore, do you remember? I had to learn how to make that exact same beef stew. He wouldnt eat anything else...I begged Mr Jacob from that stall to give me the recipe but he wouldntI tried to make it on my own but Pa took one sip and started shoutingthe whole bed shook and shook. The pot dropped on the floor(laughs and looks at urn) Why did you do that huh? I tryI triedI tried to help you. I cleaned the house. I helped you bathe. I took care of your children. Yet you refused to eat my beef stew. You went hungry...you had no energy...you were frail...then you left me... (Ma starts sobbing. She starts walking behind the sofa, and starts talking to the urn) Give me a sign Patell me you forgive me for being so uselessfor making you unhappytell me I have done a good job with Jonathan...tell me that I have gained my redemption now that hes in Medical School, walking in your shoes...(MA puts the urn on the small table in the middle) tell me you forgive me(MA cries, falling to her knees) SERA comes back with a tray with two bowls of rice and beef stew with chop sticks, spoons and two glasses of water. From the panel, she sees MA and doesnt venture forward for a while. Finally, SERA decides that she should make Ma eat her dinner and walks towards her. MA shakes her head violently, lifts her arms and causes the tray to topple onto the floor and runs offstage in a frenzy. SERA stands there, looking dejected. She sighs and starts clearing up the mess. Blackout. 2. SERA is using a cloth to clean the coffee table. JONATHAN walks in from stage right. He looks unkempt and is slightly tipsy. Jonathan Good morrow morning Sis! (takes off his shoes, looks at urn) And look whos here! Hello Pa! Finally out of moms strangling death grasp eh? Sera Youre back early.

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Jonathan (laughs) And youre high from the weed. Who cleans furniture at four A.M. in the morning? Sera Wow you are even aware of the time. Jonathan (laughs) Im not as loose as you think I am you know Sis? Stop projecting your image of me onto me you sick little virgin. Youre the loose one. (JONATHAN walks towards the urn and puts one arm around it) You cant even do the right thing and help Ma by putting Pa in the columbarium where he Sera (pissed) Youve been away for two years, brother. Just because youre back for this one month doesnt mean you suddenly know everything about the family and Jonathan Take a chill pill Sis! (smiles and goes offstage left) SERA pauses cleaning. Sera Five, four, three, two, one(pause) zero point fi Jonathan FUCK YOU SERA! (appears onstage) What did you do with my weed? Do you know how much I had pay to do to get them? Three goddamn essays on urban mirco-climatic changes, the effect of vertical walls on a non-insulated buildings and that damn essay on the population analysis of Sera So you secretly changed your major to Geography, and now youre writing essays for other people for money? Next youre going to grow up and get a job which requires you tell people that their homes dont belong to them anymore and kick them out of Jonathan (laughs) Better than being a doctor like Pa who couldnt cure himself in the end. (laughs) And the best part is? Thats exactly what killed him! Sera SHUT UP JON. THAT WAS OUT OF LINE. KNOW YOUR PLACE IN THIS FAMILY. You have a lot to learn if you want to be on par with the man Pa was when Jonathan Learn how to be expressionless and grunt at his children? Sure, I can learn to be a man of a few words. Until I near my death that is. Funny how there was something about the diabetes, something about being unable to walk that made Pa talk and even raise his voice towards every damn person that came within six feet of his

Sera JONATHAN! This is our Pa were talking about! (points to the urn) That man there! In the urn! He loved you. HE LOVED YOU SO MUCH THAT HE GAVE YOU THE BEST IN EVERYTHING, SENT YOU TO THE BEST Jonathan And here you are holding this grudge against me. We used to have normal conversations. We used to talk everyday when you came back from school...Lets face it Sis, all these years, youve been using the family as an excuse to underachieve. Who the fuck would choose to major in Social Work in uni? Everyone knows its called social work because you actually have to go out there DO some work to help people. Not sit around and write fifteen thousand words on the physical, psychological and emotional effects of domestic violence. SERA falls silent. The two siblings stare at each other. Finally SERA throws down the towel on the chair, and leaves from stage left. After checking the coast is clear, JONATHAN takes out a stash of weed from his pocket and quickly stashes it in the urn. Jonathan Make yourself useful for once, eh Pa? (pats the urn, and runs offstage) Blackout. 3. Right half of the living room remains,on stage left. This half of the stage is illuminated. Ma Good morning Pa. (takes urn and sits on the sofa) Time for your morning bath. (opens the cover, pauses, then shakes some of the weed out onto the coffeetable. Her face brightens.) Sera! SERA!!! SERA!!!! SERA appears from stage left. Sera Ma? Did you...call me? You actually called me? JONATHAN appears from stage right. Jonathan Ma, did you call Sis by her name? MA shows them the weed. Ma Its a sign! Its a sign! Pa has spoken! SERAS jaw drops. She and JONATHAN converse in gestures behind MAS back. Ma I am forgiven! Blackout.

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4. Other half of stage illuminates. A columbarium. Jonathan (pats niche at the very top row) At least now we know Pa will definitely be in heaven. I got him high! Sera Mmm...You really couldnt get a place for Pa at that church nearby? Jonathan Of course I could. But Mandai is further. Ma would need one and a half hours to get here. Sera And now our living room will be a living room again. Pause. Blackout.

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The Same Space, Not The Same Place

Medium: Acrylic on paper Melissa Candrasaputra | Class of 2013 | Environmental Engineering One place can only hold one memory for each person. When the same space holds a different memory, it is a different place.

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A Wednesday Afternoon
Muhammad Farhan B Noor Mohd | Class of 2011 | Life Science and Economics On a bank of soil, Children pick the earth. Red and white shuffle in a foil, As the school bell gives birth. Light brimming, foliage shadowing the pavement; Grass around, all in lament. A trickle of sweat breaks, Some distance slowly covered; Strangers pass by, eyes in reticence. In this languid ambience, Singapore hovers; Childhood memories sweep by, Evoking the innocent conscience. Nostalgic winds singing lullabies, Sweet melodies weaving clouds of reminiscence; Soft beds and dreamy eyes, Gazing at golden sunrays painting the skies. Playful thoughts conjure in the mind, Of Wonderland and the colours of time; With no worries of the troubles of kind, Silencing them into no more than a mime. Letting the creative souls overflow, Without hesitation, that they may end in sorrow. How did it conclude this way, Our innocent lives drifting away? From harmony to melancholy, creativity to monotony, With circumvented hopes and mounting turmoil, And endless bills despite the brooding toil, Maturity has shackled us. Innocence burnt away, tormenting guilt presides, alas. Dragging the feet back and forth in confusion, The body awaits retribution. A bleak future appears in times of respite, For with the crumbled coloured world, All that is left is black and white. Only hazy memories of younger days remain, A past not quite forgotten yet hard to attain. Red saga seeds and white spider lilies afloat, Forlorn reminders swirling about immemorial, Lost in a mist, sailing away in a boat. Grieving the loss of our twinkling bliss, Sadness veer downwards looming in abyss. Reality seeps through, crimson dawn over shadow of night. Children scamper for school, dreams aflutter in coruscate, Yet, eyes tell of future plight. Shaking the head in deep regret, In effect, sealing their fate. Surrounding world moves by, Early days murmur Good-bye.

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The Room
Baey Xiang Ling | Class of 2013 | Political Science She knew my fascination with time. Without fail, I stared at the tiny corner of her laptop each time I was in her room, secretly measuring the amount of time I would allow myself to stay. I was afraid to linger, not sure how strong my self control would last, unclear about the boundaries of this awkward relationship. Sometimes I stayed too long, I was perpetually afraid of being an inconvenience, but time always flew in her presence. I always sat behind her, both of us facing the computer screen. She would type something into it and mutter, I would sometimes reply, staring into nothingness. She noticed how I was staring at the computer clock and asked, "Did you set a time limit again this time?" I mused, averting her gaze and choosing to look out the window instead, "You know, time could possibly be a human creation. We age, animals die, seasons change but these are all based on our perceptions. Which you know, could possibly be wrong. Who's to say in an alternate universe everything is taking place all over again, or at a different pace?" She interrupted, half amused and half perplexed, "Are you philosophising again?" "Maybe I should stop..." came my stoned reply. Closing her laptop with a somewhat smug look, she concluded: "Time doesn't exist in my room now."

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The Waiting Game

Joyce Lee | Class of 2014 | Geography The waiting game Two can play The dots go on The ticks grow hoarse The sun shifts in his seat The black flag post points to the west The fingers entwined in their loving dance Itching in their intimate trance The impatient melodies Of the tapping heel The drumming thumbs And the restless chin You win I lose Im giving up on The waiting game One cannot play

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Sacred Spaces
The Importance of a Tree
Ow Yeong Wai Kit | Class of 2013 | English Literature

It seemed like an ordinary tree.

But here was where the ancient religion of Buddhism began the Bodhi tree that was a descendent of the original, under which Siddhartha Gautama is regarded to have attained enlightenment. I was in Bodh Gaya, India, the very spiritual epicentre of the Buddhist faith, and at the sacred Mahabodhi Temple. The tree was a virtual shrine crowded with devotees, beset by the swirling mass of humanity that flooded the area. Given that an international chanting ceremony was then underway, the chanting of hundreds of monks and laypeople from a dozen countries was all too audible. Sensory bombardment was inevitable: the scent of incense filling the air, coupled by the few deep droning voices of Tibetan chanting which were drowned out by the Pali of the chanting ceremony. Some devotees

walked along in quiet reverence; others sat in meditation, with a few wearing earplugs to keep out the noise. A few Tibetans repeatedly threw themselves upon mats in front of them as if in perpetual prostration. All the while, a motley crew of worshippers circumambulated the temple and the tree: awed Westerners armed either with cameras or Buddhist rosaries (or both); devout Tibetans swinging mandalas; solemn Thai monks with a large entourage of white-clad pilgrims walking behind in neat rows; cheerful Indian Hindus chatting as they observed the tourist; the list goes on. Perhaps for many, being there was akin to being in the very presence of the Buddha, or at least the closest thing to it. As the Bodhi tree spreads its seeds, so does the religion. In Ayutthaya, Thailand, one of the most famous photospots is at the foot of a Bodhi tree, where the head of a sandstone Buddha image is situated. A sign next to the

tree reads, All that remains of this sandstone Buddha image is part of its head, while the body has disappeared. The head is in the style of the Ayutthaya period. It lies beneath a Bodhi tree beside the minor Wihans. Sites and spaces act as crucial markers of memory, and at the Ayutthaya site, the Buddha head is literally embedded in the roots of the Bodhi tree, with the structures enmeshed both physically and metaphorically. It is memories that give sacredness, and as in India, geography takes on a sacred importance. The Bodhi tree is a living metaphor: it has become an organic embodiment of enlightenment. Everywhere, religion provides rich symbols and vocabulary that continue to colour our consciousness, and ultimately, what makes the tree interesting are the pilgrims who venerate it. Every pilgrim has a name and a story to tell; and despite greater mobility today, their purpose has remained the same to fulfill a longing of the body, heart, and mind. Pilgrims inhabit a special position; they are both at home and not at home, for although they venture out of familiar territory to explore unknown lands, they are paying homage to the centre of their spiritual universe. Travelling to sacred spaces brings figures like the Buddha out of the mists of time, revealing him as a person who really existed, and whose feet treaded the paths we walk upon today. I have been part student, part pilgrim both observing and participating in the activities of pilgrims. In a sense, I have been occupying a

liminal state, and it has been a private and often emotional journey for me. Going to places I had never imagined I would ever get to visit, experiencing the culture, meeting the people these are precious memories. This journey has opened my eyes to a new understanding of the sacred and the secular, and the experience has been unforgettable. This has been my yatra, my spiritual odyssey and it all began with a tree. The author participated in the USP Buddhism-in-Asia Global Programme in December 2010.

Neat rows of files

Tan Xiang Yeow | Class of 2014 | Chemistry In a locked room, many files reside. They rest there, undisturbed. Only once in a blue moon will people step within this musty room to retrieve some of these files. -----Ink on paper, just ink on paper. Nothing much, he yawned. Filing day in and day out. Filing yet again, filing once more. To file, am filing, had been filed. Could be filed, should be filed and will be filed. He took out one file and handled it with practised ease. He yawned. More pieces of paper to file. Each piece bored him. His dad had died. Mums debilitated. Three schooling sisters. Sole breadwinner. Hire. Perpetual smiles. Service award. Praise. Slacking in a corner. Rude. Smoke. Excuses for everything. Fire. The file trembled in his hands. He tried to stifle his yawns. Tragedies filed. Compliments filed Complaints filed. Life cant possibly be more organized.

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"Boats, That Repeated Metaphor for Departure"

This picture was taken in Jakarta, Indonesia. Boats have always been highly symbolic a metaphor both for departure and a journey. Here, they evoke something bittersweet alonelinessthat is poignant. I took this at a crossroads in my life, both in terms of being in a transitory relationship, as well as having to make decisions about which path I should take in life. The title of this picture is taken from Cyril Wong's poem Boats, which reflects accurately in tone and description my own artistic intention when taking this picture.

Peace

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Through the Lens

Christel Geralyn Gomes | Class of 2011 | English Literature

Living Spaces
Taken in Jakarta, Indonesia

Flutter
The delicate flutter of soft wings against the hardness of concrete.

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iers Barr

1 ss of 20 es | Cla om ralyn G istel Ge Chr h. di. in Frenc love you went well in Hin ou I y I tell y your da n. ou reply tears in Persia Greek. Y in you me I bleed to hold h, attempt e love in Englis arnt, You just le e mak Then w nglish you have ew words, f but an E you know too ng. f rain. o h to whic stand my loves cry you tears o ith rainbows. w r to unde he desert and I sh your chest you poetry. t s la You are he sky and I sp d my soul bleed ou? t an ar e t ee ve y You blank sh can I lo ou are a ny more ways let me? Y ma you In how any ways will m In how

e iteratur glish L 1 | En

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The Journey to the Stratosphere

Goh Wei Ling | Class of 2014 | English Literature Since that stroke of fire, We realised, that we were filled with dynamite And that we were on our way to the stratosphere. Therefore, with a flourish, she, detonated and dissipated into smoke; but she, erupted into grandiose red and green spokes; and she! showered twirling pinwheels and stars; she whistled off in a pinprick of light, and then and then was heard no more. It basically started, From an equidistance of infinitesimal from each other And then expanding expanding expanding till, even though each pathway contributes to the increasing angle Yet no more can either transverse along the route of the other. It is merely contextual how, We were one And now we are mutual strangers.

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Finally a spark of light that spark of light I've sought for So long It reflects from her black almond eyes Dreams Desires Delights Dreams filled with passion Desires filled with lust Delights filled with flesh Yes, with flesh Untouched Virgin

Virgin. Untouched. Yes, with flesh.

What did you do? Definitely. Was it good? No. Do they know? Where there is lust, there is love. Do you love her? With another man..?

What did you do? I gave in. Was it good? Definitely. Do they know? No. Do you love her? Where there is lust, there is love. Where is she? With another man..?

Flesh filled with delights Lust filled with desires Passion filled with dreams

What did you do? No. Was it good? Where there is lust, there is love. Do they know? With another man?

26

Finally
Ivan John Clement | Class of 2013 | Computational Biology Delights Desires Dreams Her black almond eyes reflects it What did you do? I gave out. Was it good? Definitely not. Do they know? What did you do? Was it good? Do they know? Do you love her? Virgin. But touched. touched.touche.touch.touc.tou.to So long I've sought for that spark of light a spark of light Finally to.tou.touc.touch.touche.touched by Dreams Desires Delights not Passion Lust Flesh the point of no return finally Yes. Do you love her? Where there is love, there is lust. Where is she? With another woman..?

no return of the point no.

27

28

In February 2011, USC Productions was proud to present Nel Cowards Hay Fever, a hilarious comedy of manners set in 1920s Britain centring around the immensely dysfunctional Bliss Family. Recreating a slice of the Roaring Twenties, however, was no mean feat and here we present the dresses - designed and made by the Productions Costume Team - that helped bring that bygone era back to life. Featuring the work of Lin Tong (Class of 2014, Economics), Dominic Tan (Class of 2014, Communications and New Media), Danielle Koh (Class of 2013, Economics) and Joanne Chung (Class of 2014, Sociology); with photography by Enoch Tang (Class of 2012, Chemistry) and Ian Gan (Class of 2012, Mechanical Engineering)

29

You are a fool, a

Natalie Tai is

blind pitiable fool!

Judith Bliss

30

Words! Masses and masses of words!

Naomi Goh is

Myra Arundel

31

Im bent on improving myself

Gwyneth Teo is

Sorel Bliss

32

Appendicitis!
Melissa Lim is

Jackie Coryton

33

/nfjun/

infusion

is a collection of creative works by students of the National University of Singapore University Scholars Programme

infusion is jointly published by the National University of Singapore Students; University Scholars Club and the University Scholars Programme

Some Rights Reserved All constituent works presented herein maintain the copyright of their original authors 18 College Avenue East, Singapore 138539 www.usc.usp.nus.edu.sg | www.usp.nus.edu.sg