Haoxuan  is born in Singapore in 1982 (she is perpetually 18 :)) and is the eldest in a family of 2 children. She moved to Western Australia (Perth) a couple of years back and  graduated from the University of Western Australia (UWA)  with honours in Electrical and Electronic Engineering.  She had a smashing time there, especially in her final year where she worked under the extremely talented and good looking Dr Crebbin in the Visual Communications Research Group.   Here are  some of the pictures she took while in Australia. Currently she's back in Singapore pursuing her master degree from the National University of Singapore (NUS) and am stationed in the Centre for Wireless Communication(CWC). One of the perks of being in CWC is definitely the free cappuccino, tae tarek (a kind of delicious frothy milk tea), hot chocolate etc etc - you get the picture.  Her research scope includes the issue of QoS (Quality of Service) in MANETs ( Mobile Ad hoc NETwork) which is actually very much more interesting than it sounds. To find out more about her research,  please visit  her MANET webpage.

Other than her academic pursue, she is interested in

My Favorite Poem

(a bit depressing but what can I say? I hate war)

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

- Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.*