on education, and this profession of mine.

education,
it is of course not giving you a durian every day,
for when I am gone, how would you get your durian?
it is better to teach you to pick and open a durian
so that in my absence, you can still enjoy your own durians
still, that's no enough, for what happens when you
too are gone? who will provide durians for the world?
Hence, I need to teach you to open durians, and then
guide you to teach others too.
And how would I know that I've done my part?
--only when you aspire to teach others better
   than I've taught you.


KEY: we don't just make excellent students out of our students, we need to make great and willing teachers out of them.

early days of local teaching Part 1.

My life as a university lecturer in Malaysia started last week.


It's been quite a ride so far.

My class began with too many students, like 25% more than the maximum number allowed. After my first lecture, the number dwindled down to a dramatic 50% of initial registration. Of that 50%, half were students who registered after the 1st lecture due to the sudden availability of vacancies. That means of the initial students who registered, only 25% remained after having a 2-hour session with me. Then overnight the number went up again to reach the max cap, only to drop within a few days.

Currently, my class size is <50% of the initial. All the first-year students left, and I pity the only guy in the class--he had like 15 other XYs in the class just a week ago. Then again, he's in an enviable position...the lone guy in a class of girls.

I am not complaining. This is the class size that I love to work with, and for all purposes it is often the ideal class size. Small enough to pay ample attention to every student, and big enough to do group projects of various kinds.

I am however, kind of sad that I failed to convince more students to stay in the class. I can't tell why the students who left did so because I couldn't pull them back for a survey. If I have to guess, and because I am not stupid, these would be intelligent guesses, I would say that they were 1. unconvinced that I will deliver what I promised; 2. uncomfortable with my question-based learning/teaching; 3. unwilling to suffer a course conducted almost completely in English; 4. time-conflicts with the class.

I can't do anything about the last factor, but I tried my best to make the 1st to 3rd factors invalid. Over the past 10 days, I have given so many motivational talks that I am quite sick of myself already haha.

What's a college education? Speaking from experience, I believe that whatever we are supposed to acquire in college/university, memorization of facts and data is DEFINITELY NOT it. On the other hand, one should strive to learn to connect the dots to lines, cross lines to make webs and fold webs to build structures. In college, one must acquire the skills to communicate effectively. Communicate your ideas and your questions, and not just to your peers but also to anyone, everyone.

Just today alone I told my students thrice in a row to challenge themselves by teaching what they have learned to another person, be it a roommate, sibling, lover or parent. I looked at them in the eyes (my two eyes quickly but strongly scanning theirs) and told them in my "when I say 1+1 =2 that means it equals 2" voice that if they can't teach it, they haven't learned it.

Although I must admit that having lost >50% of the initial class size prompted me to question my teaching philosophy and teaching methods. In this case, only one question mattered.

"Is this good for the students?"


*to be continued...*

a disguised wolf

Since I got back from California, all my time at work has been spent preparing the lecture materials for my upcoming course. It was fun 'relearning' entomology but I really dislike sitting in the office. After a week, I was beginning to feel deflated.

I needed something else.
I looked at the books in the cabinet across from my desk. Excellent selection--animal behaviour, R, philosophy of science, teaching methods, environmental history, parasite ecology, insect mythology etc. I would love to read them, yet I really needed to get my lecture materials set up first.

I thought of the two undergraduate students whom I will be mentoring for their final year projects. Sadly for them, I have no funding for any projects. In fact I wouldn't even say I have any solid project in hand for them. I had to think of something. That something needs to fulfill only four criteria:
1. It is of interest to both them and me
2. It is publishable in a journal of good standing.
3. It fits within their schedule
4. It will lead to further studies (my future work)

My mind began to do the waggle dance, from cabbage to diamondback moth to competition to beet armyworm to... to... you know, this and that. Scribbled lines on a piece of paper and happily inserted it into the same envelope with the rest of the final year project information.

Boost!

The best boost of the day has yet to come.

We have a scale insect problem on of our plants in the garden. Out of the blue, scale insects infested the plant, literally covering it in white fluff. As the scale insects stay protected and hidden under their white fluff cover, they sap the plant vigour away. Some ants tend to the scale insects too, getting paid in honeydew excreted from the scale insects in return for their bodyguard services. Mom and dad (and grandma recently) were complaining about these scale insects. I told them I don't know what to do because I couldn't find a single ladybug in our garden to eat those scale insects.

Lo and behold, guess what I found today on the plant? Small white beads on stalks on the plant. Like the picture below.

My first thought? Lacewing eggs! I know that lacewings lay their eggs on stalks, a strategy that protects their eggs from predators by preventing easy access. Lacewings are known predators of scale insects, vicious ones too. Excitedly, I began to scan the plant for lacewings.

I found more eggs. Even if I didn't find any lacewing larvae, I knew that there would be some a few days later when the eggs hatch.

I wondered how would the lacewing larvae look like? How big? I needed a search image. I recalled that some lacewing larvae have a cool strategy to prey on the scale insects while avoiding the nasty attention of the protective ants--the larvae cover themselves in a layer of white fluff too. The title of the article was "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing". So aptly named :).  It was mentioned in Thomas Eisner's book "For Love of Insects" too.

Could these lacewing larvae be utilizing the same strategy, and that I needed to look for disguised lacewing larvae?

Wait..that scale insect was moving faster than the usual scale insect! Hmm...I scrutinized it, and yes, it was behaving weirdly for a scale insect--moving a lot instead of staying put and feeding. I grabbed my small microscope-eyepiece (kept it from Davis...knew it would come in handy one day!) and checked the suspicious scale insect.

Ha! Oligopod larvae, body form like that of a typical lacewing larva. Without doubt I must be looking at a lacewing larva with white fluff on its back.

 The insect on the center of the fruit was a scale insect, whereas the white fluff to its upper right corner was the lacewing larva (hidden under the white fluff).

The scale insect was on the center of the fruit, with the lacewing larva to its lower left (white fluff). You can see a lacewing egg on a stalk on the fruit (lower left).

Lacewing larva hidden under the white fluff. You can see that it's radically different from the scale insect. This was the 'wolf' in a sheep's clothing!

I never thought that I would see one of these disguised lacewing larva, and yet here they were, in my garden! I was very excited. Eager to check on the population dynamics of the scale insects and the lacewing larvae on the plant over the next two weeks.

Such is the wonder and beauty of nature--you can see it as long as you care to look.

departure

相见时难别亦难，东风无力百花残。

I left
for the West
from whence I came
so unexpectedly
the gathering
made sweeter by the surprise

Now
I am chasing the setting sun
with every step
my heart falters
my breath comes short
What will I then carry
to the west of the ocean?

nails in the wall

I am mere human, and I have erred many times.
Of those countless mistakes, two have haunted me particularly viciously, injecting my oft strong heart with so much guilt so vile that life stops whenever the memories fleet back into my mind.
I understood perfectly why I committed those mistakes, and I believe that it would have taken a person much much more compassionate and patient than me to have avoided those mistakes.
Yet, the guilt has ebbed little in the years gone by, despite all the joys that I have shared with others, and my utmost effort to not repeat those mistakes again.

Some mistakes, once done, are tattooed into your skin, etched into your bones, burned into your heart and molded in the many slippery folds of your brains. You live most of your life without noticing them again, but every now and then you do, and you wish you never did.

Today I committed a mistake of such magnitude, and my only solace is that he might forget it a lot sooner than I will. My guilt however, is born of the realization that he was hurt, that it wasn't the first time he was hurt that way, and that it will bear on him for some time. A seemingly small nail can break a stone wall, for the narrow crack gives space to a small devilish seed that would soon grow into a monster and trample the wall.

I was typing a text while walking to the ATM to deposit a cheque. I was jovial in the cool night air. A black truck suddenly pulled up slowly next to me, and then stopped in front of me. The truck was now between the ATM and me. The driver talked to me.

"Hey brother..."
"Hey, yes?"
"Can I ask you for some help?"
"Oh...erh....no."
"What? You thought I was asking you for money?" He started to reverse his truck.
"Oh, oh sorry! So how may I help you?"
"I want to ask for the directions to Oakland."
"Not sure myself, but I believe you take I-80 west and you will see signs for Oakland."
"Okay thanks."
"So sorry about that."
"Not all black people would ask you for money..." He reversed his truck and was going to drive away.
"No, that wasn't what I meant."
"But you didn't give me a chance." And then he drove away.

He was right, I didn't give him a chance to explain what help he wanted from me.
He was right, I presumed that he wanted money.

He was wrong that my presumption was because of his skin colour.
I wanted to tell him that even if he was white, I would have responded the same because I was startled by his truck driving in front of me, by his opening line of asking for help, and that I have had more white people asking me for money than black. Almost all the people who stopped me on the street and asked for money used the same line "Hey sir/mister/brother/man, can you help me?"

Yet, those were all excuses on my part. I should have known better than to jump to conclusions. Rationale lost to reflex reaction. He was obviously hurt by my response, yet he needn't be because his skin colour wasn't in my mind. If he was hurt that I judged him by his truck-driving or his opening line, then I wouldn't feel bad--but he was hurt because of something that wasn't there--colour discrimination.

I wanted to explain...but I wasn't sure if it would have eased the situation. I let him go. After I deposited my cheque, I looked for his truck. I really wanted to apologize, I really wanted to treat him to a bubble tea. He had left of course, and I was left with a guilt that I couldn't shake off, that I can't shake off, that I know will haunt me for a very long time.

For the shame that he had to suffer and the guilt that gnaws me from within, I wish that I will never ever commit such a mistake again.



On the other hand, I think he and I must have had some really bad experiences in our past lives. I mean, so much bad karma that the first time we met, and it lasted a mere 15 seconds max, and we have hammered a nail into each other's heart. I will pray for him tonight, in what is a helpless attempt to ease my guilt.

first, be respectful, then be open-minded.

the diversity of people's opinions of the same thing, and their refusal to even rationally and (for a brief moment) objectively consider the opinions of others, is truly unbelievable.

Education of the mind and heart, that is the ability and willingness to be respectful and logical, it seems, falters under the invincible crush of beliefs rooted deeply in the mind.

To solve problems, we first need to identify and acknowledge the problems.
Then we need to consider every plausible solution, and decide on the most suitable ones.

If it's my own problem, I can label it any way I want, and I need only find my own solution. I needn't consult others or consider their needs. Easy enough, except that there is no such problem--unless you are living alone on an island, and your problem is 'when should I sleep tonight?'

If it's a problem that concerns others, and (almost?) every problem in the world falls into this category, then it would be very un-civic and extremely selfish of me to deal with it as if I am the only one that matter.
I would then need to ask the others who are involved to participate, voice all our concerns, see all perspectives, and try to understand the fear and hope that are within each of us.
I would then need to acknowledge the equal right of each individual involved to contribute to the solution of the problem, and I must respect each individual's standpoint.

Of course I will have my own personal bias due to my unique upbringing that will differ from the others, but we must all remain logical and open-minded as best as we can.
We discuss in cool tones, we debate in fiery words.
Our fists don't clash, our ideas do; our identities aren't destroyed, but ill-conceived ideas are.

I think civilized, intellectual discussion that caters to the emotional shades of our beings must be taken as the first step in addressing conflicts. It must be the first step and all will must be taken to retain it as the only step.

That is, until some parties just cannot hold discussions without discrimination, without bringing in prejudice and refuse to be open-minded. You can be as patient and as witty as you can be with these people, but in the end, we have to accept that there is not ONE way that leads to all nice endings.

Then time for words around the table has come to a sad end, and time for words through action has come.
There will always be people who would condemn peaceful gatherings, people who would hate violent uprising, people who would rather remain in the status quo because they think they can afford to do so. Risk-averse, most of us are by nature.

It's impossible to label any view right or wrong per se. Yet (most of us) we live in a democratic society where each of us has equal rights to our views and to determine our own fate. So, no matter which side you are on, which part of the picture you choose to be, I implore you to at the very least, be open-minded, be respectful, and be brave in defending your stance and the right of others to practice their freedom.

And oh yeah, since you are undeniably a small part of a much larger picture, PLEASE TRY TO SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE. damn it.

Reunited with assassin bugs!

In two posts ago, I mentioned that I found assassin bugs in a rosemary bush outside my favourite Chinese restaurant in Davis, right? I was very excited then. Today I finally had time and the good opportunity to collect them. I had dinner at the restaurant again, and I excused myself for like 4 minutes, taking leave from my friends to head out to the bush and find them assassin bugs.

There were quite a handful of them two weeks ago. Today I only found two after 4 minutes. Not bad, I am sure I could have found more with more time, but it wasn't nice to keep my friends waiting...certainly rude to forsake them for some insects!

Fondly fed them fruit flies back in the lab. I collected a nymph and an adult. Couldn't really tell if it was a female or male...I would lean toward female though, based on the curve of her ventral side of the abdomen. In any case, she wasn't pregnant...at least not yet. Perhaps she has already mated and will develop eggs soon. I can only hope. Perhaps sometime this weekend (Monday is a holiday, July 4, Independence Day in the USA) I will go collect more of them.

Love me for the whole package that I am

When I was traveling in Tamil Nadu, India, my local friends in Chennai told me I was a genius.
Their argument was that I knew several languages, had a Ph.D., could take good photographs, and perhaps most importantly, I learned Tamil which many of them didn't know.
I told them I was definitely no genius, and that in many aspects, I wasn't even close to their standards. My friends were mostly artisans who made a living selling their craft, and therefore became masters in their respective arts. There was Sushil who was good with beads and necklaces, Jogi who carved wood and sculpted stone, Prakesh who won awards for his beautiful palm leaf carvings, Pramod who sew bags (you definitely couldn't tell from looking at him haha...with his beer belly and what not), etc.


I don't think I am stupid, and I certainly never thought I was smart.
I am quite a silly person, really. I did silly things, many irrational stuff, and then when it was best to be irrational, I was too rational. I am quite silly in those ways.
Whatever I was, however others choose to describe me, I have always liked myself.
No, I am not self-obsessed [though once in a blue moon I do look into the mirror and go 'ah hello handsome~'].
I just feel good about myself--my receding hairline, my aging skin, my voice with such a narrow range, my 185cm height, my feminine hand gestures when I give a speech and that I can't whistle or wink sexily.
I am very happy with myself--my easy take on life, my 'who cares?' attitude toward issues that I can't control, and my 'I would do it even if nobody else wants to' approach to many challenges.

Still, there were times when I felt as if I should, or could have been better.

I was a Ph.D. student, and my responsibility as far as my sponsors were concerned was to do good research, to make the most productive output from their financial and intellectual input. One of the most useful advice I received was this golden line: "From now on, nothing else--not your grades, not the courses you take, not the diplomas--matters anymore, only the quality and quantity of your publication. Publication is your currency as a grad student and as a researcher."

So for quite sometime, I judged myself in that light. How many publications could I churn from my Ph.D.? How good were they? Good enough for Science, Ecology Letters or Ecology?

In my department, there was no lack of outstanding graduate students based on publication and quality of research. Stretch out a weenie bit to include the Ecology and Evolution group, the CPB group and the Animal Behaviour group, and WTH~~~!! Everywhere I turned, there was one grad student who was more than qualified to don the crown of "Genius".

For me, there were surely many moments of guilt. When I left the building eager for two hours of badminton, I saw my colleagues working. When I was watching Netflix on my bed, I imagined my colleagues ploughing through their data and doing crazy meta-analysis. When I was enjoying a book on "Tigers in India" in the library, my colleagues were sweating in the field gathering data.

By the time I published my first paper, one of my cohort members had already published two with more in prep/in review. And I wasn't slow by any standards, just slow by theirs! Hahahaha.

My supervisor never once nudged me to work harder, never once told me that I could do more. He seemed to know how I worked, that I myself knew what was in store for myself, and for that I was very grateful. Even though he never questioned my work ethics, I myself did. I wondered then, just as I had wondered more than once since I returned here, "Could I have done more and better research? Was I slacking? Was I not good enough?"

*********Intermission***************

The answer to my questions was a definite YES.

Of course I could have improved on my research. I could have dedicated more time to it, and easily churned out at least two more papers (no kidding). It was all in my mind, I could vision it. In that sense, I was slacking because I wasn't doing the best I can to be a 'productive and good' grad student.

And following the same train of thought, I came to the same conclusion every time. Then, and now.
I am what I am.
I am not one who is motivated by channeling all his effort into studies/research, and not even into teaching which is easily my first and foremost love.
I like to do many things at once, and I find no waste in not pursuing any of them to their ends.
I am certainly not the best researcher out there, and I never aimed to be, if only because it requires too much sacrifice of other wonderful things in life.
I like to think that I am a good teacher, but I will never be the best, because of the same reason above.
I am however, without doubt, certainly and surely, the best me you can find out there.
I am one whole package which cannot be taken apart and assessed individually.
If you are going to judge me, you better take me as a whole, else you would just be wasting your time.
[though most would be content just to admire my looks]

A while ago I wrote the piece below:
你说  你爱我
没有我 你不知怎么活
我说  我也爱你
只有你  我一切都给你
可是  告诉我
你爱我
是爱我的一切
还是一些？
关了灯， 另一些不在了吗？
一切，  是现在的一切
或是五年后的一切？

Most might think it was inspired by a love relationship. Well, it was, partially, but even more so by my thoughts when I compared my life to those of my colleagues.


Sometimes we are envious of others, though we have so much that others envy us in return.
Sometimes we are ashamed of ourselves, though we are so beautiful to many others.
During those times, we ought to slap ourselves across the face (HARD), and appreciate ourselves for the ugly short man that we are.
Oops, I meant myself.


I miss my Rajastani friend, Sushil. I hope he is in good health, and that he's enjoying time with his wife and son. I remember the first time I walked to his stall where he sold his craft, days after I had befriended the other artisans. He looked at me and said "This is the first time you come to my shop and talk to me." I didn't know why, and I still don't, but I felt so much sincerity in his voice, that this guy was just waiting in silence for me to talk to him. I liked him immediately, and we had many many more wonderful chats after that.

3 nice conversations make a nice day

Today was an interesting day.
It was a very nice day, for a guy.

I had lunch with a colleague, and he invited his friend. His friend turned out to be a common friend of ours...somewhat. Okay, I was stretching it a bit. She worked as a waitress at a restaurant that my close friend and I used to go often, even after we broke up. So she knew me and my close friend. She had a lively adorable personality with an adorable face to match. Lunch was very enjoyable, with my colleague sharing with us his immense knowledge on different cultures, and she and I sharing our travel stories and experiences of migrating/living overseas. Lunch took like 1.5 hours longer than I expected, also because my colleague took us to check out the decor of Tower Cafe, quite a unique cafe in Sacramento, but I very much enjoyed the time spent with them.

Back at work, I was tending to my insects (oh, united again with my beloved bigeyed-bugs...this is awesome joy itself!!) in lab and started chatting with an undergrad assistant. She worked with me last year, so we knew each other very well. In other words, we understand each other's sarcasm and way of speech well. It was after 5.30pm, and we were the only ones left in the lab. I stayed back because I had insects work, and I had a dinner appointment later at 6.30pm downtown anyway. She stayed back because she was a workaholic. I asked her about her boyfriend, started boring into the details of their relationship, and we got some funny lines going. She shot back at my own romance stories, congratulating me on a new adventure, and suggested that perhaps a girl liked me because 'you played smart in badminton, you had a strategy...'. That was her way of trying to cheer somebody up. It was just a 20-30 minute long conversation that carried on as we both slaved away on our insects, but it was very enjoyable too. I definitely missed such conversations with them. Them being my research team members of several summers. Oh, those long drives up and down I-5 filled with unbelievable romance stories and discussions of 'what if...'!

6.30pm rolled by and I biked over to downtown, to my favourite Chinese restaurant in Davis. I tried to control the number of visits by limiting it to at most twice per week, but days before I go, I already knew what I want to order. Red bean black tea is definitely on the list. Waiting in front of the restaurant, I was very surprised to find at least 5 Zelus renardii nymphs on the plants outside the restaurant, and was so keen on finding more that I didn't notice my dinner companion had showed up behind me. Well, she was 3 minutes late! After ~8 months absence, the waitress recognized me immediately. She asked where had I gone, and said 'hey, you still like our red bean black tea!' No kidding. On my way flying across the Pacific Ocean, that red bean milk tea was on my mind. This friend with whom I had dinner with was a relatively new friend. Very new friend actually--we haven't spoken for more than 5 minutes before this, but I guess we do share some common background and we never lacked topics for good conversation. There were two very cool things that I found out over dinner. 1) She speaks my dialect, and that is rare among young people, even in Malaysia, not to mention here in Davis; 2) She actually has quite some similar views/thoughts with me. One thing that surprised me was when she asked me how did I finish my Ph.D. in 4 years instead of 5, she listed some possible reasons: fast-track program, easy program, hardworking etc...but she never said 'smart'. Most people always say 'wow, you must be very smart'. When I asked her why she left out 'smart' (yeah, I am so egoistic) , she said it was because she doesn't give much credit to intelligence, that she believed that hardwork can compensate for lack of intelligence, that hardwork will eventually lead one to success. I definitely share the same idea, and personally, I am not so happy when people praised me for my intelligent instead of my hardwork, especially because I lack the former and I do have some of the latter. After listening to her answer, I regarded this friend in a new light.

So I had enjoyed three conversations with three very different girls (and interestingly, of increasing age in the same order too). It was a nice day.

Oh, should add that my research started today, finally! And I got to practice some Tamil with my close friend and her Indian housemate. Life is good.

An assassin bug adult found in my garden, Malaysia. Not the species I studied, but heck did they look alike (other than coloration)! And this assassin bug preyed on the adult of the beetle I plan to study. Promising!

There and back again

 

I am back in the place that changed my life. 

A wonderful place.

More than once I had asked myself if it was the weather, the trees, the tranquility of the place that was somehow dynamic and vibrant, or was it just the people?

Yet the answer matters not, for one way or another, it doesn't change the fact that I really love this place and all that it entails.

It is now getting warm here, and soon my fieldwork will bring subject me to conditions drier and hotter than those in Malaysia. Others might complain, but not me. There is much to be enjoyed in this place, and the searing heat of a wide-open cotton field in summer is itself a valid entry on the list.

I am very glad to have made it in time to attend my friends' commencement. I skipped mine, giving little appreciation to the hardwork invested in my undergraduate education. Back then, I'd rather return to Malaysia earlier with my mom. I was happy for my friends though. They certainly tossed their hats into the air with much more enthusiasm than I did during my Ph.D. graduation! Congratz to them. Now please contribute to better our country!

A friend who did her Ph.D. commencement told me before the event that she felt normal. She was worried because she wasn't excited. I told her that I was like that too--too many affairs to deal with leading up to the commencement that one really had no time to be excited--but during the commencement, she would pick up the emotions. And she did. Sitting in the hall among a couple hundreds of graduating graduate students, many of whom invested much more time and energy than us did, it's difficult not to be moved by their tears and disbelief painted across their faces. I remember that a woman who sat two rows in front of me broke down and cried, needing her professor who was sitting beside her to calm her down. More powerful than Oprah, I guess, as I haven't watched Oprah before.

My first few days back here were surreal. Walking on the same streets that I thought I wouldn't see again for some time, eating at the same restaurants where I had several of my 'last' conversations with dear friends, and being back in the same lab that I left hurriedly just half a year ago. That moment standing at the junction of Sycamore Lane and Russell Blvd, waiting for that familiar traffic light to turn into the much-missed green bicycle, that moment was utterly unreal. I felt as if I shouldn't have been there, but I was there.

Within a few days of my unexpected return, and particularly after I ran my fingers along the shelves of the university library and walked across town alone at night, I seriously asked myself why I left in the first place. This place is undeniably more comfortable than back home (but not home itself of course), and professionally speaking, this place is Mecca for my field/industry. 

Rationally, my decision to leave was a foolish one, especially since I had a job offer for two more years here. Personally, I knew that that it couldn't have been otherwise. If I had not left, if I had stayed on for two more years, I doubt that I would still have the will to leave. McGill University was an excellent school too, and Montreal was beautiful--crude and elegant, just the way I like it--but I left because I didn't want to risk my roots growing so deep that it hurts to unroot them. My family, and all my very beloved friends back home, they played a huge role in luring me back. To jest and curse in a slang known only to my highschool friends is definitely every bit as priceless as the independence and freedom I can find here. However, there is something more, something bigger, something more ambitious, something that I must do.

The thing is, UC Davis wasn't always as great as it is now. It took many people and at least two-three generations to build UCD and Davis to be what they are today. Heck, UCD is even older than my country. If every Davisian had left Davis to carve a niche in Oxford or Harvard, we wouldn't have the UCD which we are all so proud of today.

Thus, the least I can do is to try. To try to pave the road to a future UCD in my country, to build an institution better than UCD in my country. I cannot just give up the idea without trying, can I? Well of course I can, but that wouldn't be me. 

I am very happy to be back here.

I am also very glad that I left here.