Am reading a short story book call Bloodletting and Miraclous Cures. It's a pretty good book, written by a Chinese guy call Vincent Lam. So far the only story I finished was How to Get into Medical School both parts.

My favorite part of the story so far is a scene Fitgerald imagined while waiting for Ming after breaking into her apartment a few hours after a successful intervew to get into UoT's Faculty of Medicine.

CHEN: So you're the loser who keeps hounding her. Get a life!
CHEN, who is secretly a kungfu master as well as a brilliant medical student, suddenly breaks the headlock, flips FITZGERALD on his back, and pins him to the ground with his legs while he calls the police using a tiny and very fashionable cellphone. With a quick flip of his knee, CHEN knocks FITZGERALD unconscious. FITZGERALD wakes up in prison, in a cell with three smiling, burly men.

Poor Fitzgerald, so innocent as to believe love can transcend cultures, distance, everything else, he makes me want to laugh, albeit rather cruelly...

Wait a minute, why the hack am I that cynical about love anyway? Where did by this skepticism come from if not from sour love - since I never experienced one nor did I witness one?

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