Check Point : Christmas

I have five minutes. Going to make it really quick. No luxury of blogging at my own leisurely pace these days.

1. Still dis-satisfied with how much I've grown this year, as a person. Resolve to deconstruct and build from the bottom up come ORD. Wish I was a better person.

2. My NS course still as busy as bacteria on warm and moist agar, but having a h*ll (Christmas ain't over yet) lot of fun. Think I'm seriously going to miss these crazy, hectic days of working alongside my friends.

3. Still single, despite numerous advertisements on the SDU website. Bevy of beauties from my fan club idolize me far too much to even consider a relationship realistically.

4. Glad that I have a small pessimistic streak, developed over the last year. Sure saved me from excessive heart burn yesterday. =(

5. Future still wobbly and uncertain. Staying or going? You try living for 2 years without any idea what the 3rd year (and thus the rest of your life) will bring.

6. Friends returning from overseas! Nothing much beats that.

That's all for now. Does absence make the heart grow fonder, or are things out of mind once they are out of sight?

Merry Christmas Eve to you, and I sure hope that even if you didn't manage to get all you wanted for Christmas, you will actually run out of paper and ink if you started listing down all the things that make you smile, things that you are thankful for. =)

Musical Periods 2: Usher & Alicia

I know I like a song, when I listen to it loop more than five times in a row without flinching. If I can stomach it ten times in a row, well, then it's a pretty good song. If I can play it until every other single person in the room begs, threatens or forces me to please just skip to the next damn song, ahh, I've got a winner.

I've said it before, songs that somehow manage to cross cultural, language or geographical barriers, and simply just reach deep into me, immediately make it into my I-Pod playlist (the I-Pod itself I will buy when I have slaved away half my adult life and saved enough to keep all the creditors away). These songs are special to me, whether it be a trick of occasion or fate. And with pretty good reason, too.

There are very few things more innocent than childhood love. In a world where love often finds itself bedfellows with strange characters like greed, or envy, or lust even, innocent love is quite the rare find. Simply because almost all children lack the impurities we tend to acquire through life's journeys, the love they express is a reflection of their purity, and what can be sweeter than the nectar of selfless love?

Too young to understand, but old enough to appreciate
Empty of ulterior motive, but already overflowing with tenderness
Just how many things never depreciate
Yet childhood love does - priceless, timeless, blameless

Go listen to 'My Boo', and you'll understand. Meanwhile, I'll continue my search for the child within.

Smiling

I'm back! Tada!

For the people I haven't told, well, I'm on course! It's known as EOAC, officially Engineer Officer Advance Course, but unofficially End Of Army Course.

It's true! My term's somehow ending, and the end is in sight!

I haven't been so taxed and challenged in so, soooo long. Endless days of lectures, night projects that stretch till 5am (with presentations in the morning at 8.30am!), and heaviest to bear of all, the responsibility of being an officer when I do return for my reservist... but it's pure, distilled fun! After a year, I'm finally reunited with my army buddies who were cadets with me, and though the going is tough, this is really the time when memories are made to be cherished!

Am I making sense? Haha, forgive me for this poorly worded and off the cuff blog, it's 3.30am on a Saturday morning, and my clock hasn't re-adjusted.

Well, I'm off to rush Christmas cards (again). Forgive me if I haven't had the time to call or message or email you recently! I was a worm before, but now, hey, I'm a busy worm!

=)

(p.s.... thanks to you guys, who cheered me up when i needed it. you know who you are!)

Gambling

It's a curious thing. I've just showered, its nice and cool, but I'm sweating. And not from any strenuous physical activity, but sweating just from reading one short paragraph.

There's a familiar fear gripping me, right this very moment. I recognize it from months ago, and although I have not made its acquaintance for some time now, it will be much longer before I forget what this fear tastes like. It's the fear of suddenly screwing up, the fear of things sliding so quickly out of control, the fear that this present moment is no dream but here to stay.

Whoever would have thought loving someone would be so difficult?

I told myself once no more making the same mistakes, no more sitting alone in the dark regretting saying that one stupid thing, doing (or not doing) that one stupid thing. Yet here I am, back at this same old crossroads, wishing I didn't have to be here. Again.

Love, in the end, is akin to gambling. If you play small, you only win small, so why even bother trying? Yet if you play big, yes, you stand to win it all, but the unfortunate alternate path is just as easy to tread down. Skill plays a significant portion, yet still pays humble homage to pure luck. At the end of the day, only the bold-hearted and the foolish remain to play, while the timid, fragile players have all left.

You know, I don't know what I'm writing anymore. Mind's screwed.

Good night. Normal transmission will resume after reboot.

Fables 2: Stones

Two monks (there must obviously be an abundance of them at the same place these fables originate) came across this garden, littered with the prettiest of stones.

Monk Number Three (for Monks Number One and Number Two are still crossing the river) excitedly exclaimed that they should take full advantage of the rare fortune of chancing upon such a magical garden, and gather the most enchanting stones. Monk Number Four readily agreed, and they set upon the garden with great fervor.

Soon it was clear to them that it would be better to split up, for it would take far less time to cover the whole garden. After agreeing to meet back at the temple after a specified time, they each went their separate ways.

After an hour, however, Monk Number Three was close to exhuastion. His bag bulged with pretty stones, for he was picking up almost every stone he came across. Typically, he would stop to examine a stone that caught his eye, but finding it too difficult to decide whether to keep it or not, he would simply add the stone to his collection and move on.

Finally, upon the arrival of the specified hour, Monk Number Three threw his bag on the ground with disappointment. "I'll never be able to carry all this back to the temple!" he exclaimed. Sorely, he turned and headed for the temple, with every intention of seeking help to transport his valuable stones.

Imagine his surprise when he reached the temple and found Monk Number Four already there!

"Why, Monk Number Four, I do not see your bag of stones anywhere about you. Did you manage to bring back all the stones you wanted?"

Smiling, Monk Number Four reached into his pocket and withdrew three exquisite stones, beautiful in their own right but similar to the other stones in the garden.

Incredulous, Monk Number Three asked, "Is that all you brought back? There were countless stones of beauty, and you only brought back three?"

Serenely, Monk Number Four said, "I figured that I would never be able to bring back every single stone I desired. The choice was difficult, but I chose the stones that I thought were the most valuable to me, and brought them back.

"Where are your stones, by the way?"

Fables 1 : Two Monks

Over dinner last night with my dad, he shared the following fable with me.

Two devout monks set out on a journey, and in due course they came to a river. Just as they were about to cross, they noticed a lady who was hesitating to wade into the water.

"Lady, why do you not cross the river?" the first monk ventured.

"I am afraid to get my shoes wet," came the honest reply.

"Would you mind if I carried you across?" said the first monk.

The lady graciously accepted the first monk's offer, and the three of them made it safely across the river. Once over, they bade farewell and went on their separate paths. However, as the two monks continued their journey, the second monk had become sullen, and seemed to be thinking about something,

Six hours later, the first monk asked out of concern. "Why, Monk Number Two, what is troubling you? You are hardly your normal chatty and lively self."

"Well, I was not going to bring it up, but since you asked me... Monk Number One, why did you carry that lady at the river? Are we monks not taught that close proximity with women is forbidden?"

To which the first monk laughed, and replied, "Monk Number Two, indeed I had carried the lady, but I had already put her down at the river bank more than six hours ago! You, on the other hand, still seem to have her on your mind."

It is really difficult these days to find such a succinct fable embedded with so many morals, don't you think?

Distractions

Sometimes there's a certain notion or concept that I want to explain and relate to others, but can never overlook the clumsiness of my phrasing enough to do so. Today was one of the rare days when I would read a book and find that exact same idea expressed, albeit much more fluently:

"...prison and banishment were splendid aids to creativity; not a few masterpieces had been born within the walls of cells, beyond the reach of the world's distractions." - 2010 Odyssey Two, Arthur C. Clarke.

I had been wondering a while ago, during the 24-Hour Playwriting Competition fever, how it was possible that participants could cough up a complete script in the short space of 24 hours? I have tried that feat myself on numerous occasions, with eluding satisfaction and unwelcome frustration as the only results. Hindsight yields the answer a bit too easily -

00:00hrs : I sit down at my desk to write.
00:10hrs: I finally configure the damn timer correctly.
00:40hrs: Still waiting for inspiration.
02:00hrs: First break. I try to clear backlogged fan mail, while getting a snack, visiting the loo, and shaving at the same time.
03:20 hrs: Adopt meditating position. Still no inspiration.
03:40 hrs: Inspiration strikes!
04:00 hrs: Incinerate first draft. Resume meditating position.

05:00 hrs: Inspiration strikes!
05:30 hrs: Am still feverishly scribbling out the time line when mum comes home, announces the purchase of wanton mee. Time line and playwriting promptly abandoned.
08:00 hrs: Fresh after nap. Scribble scribble.
09:00 hrs: Diablo II beckons. Short computer-gaming break.
14:00 hrs: Oops. The jog that became a marathon. Reminder to self: NO MORE GAMING.

16:00 hrs: Complete doodling of the entire Peanuts cast, updated with Warcraft costumes. *sigh*
18:00 hrs: Fan club president calls, complains about insufficient autograph sessions this month. I tell her to bugger off, I'm busy writing, but reluctantly allow four more rabid fans to scream my name over the phone.
19:00 hrs: Sore ears, but restored ego.
19:30 hrs: Wonder what the heck am I doing. I throw everything down, head out to the gym and pump some serious iron.
19:30:01 hrs: Failure of 7th attempt at 24-Hour Playwriting.

Seriously though, I wonder how many geniuses there are out there, replete with the creativity and ingenuity but hampered by the lack of self-discipline. Does God have some super reference table somewhere, that reveals just how much of Man's progress is retarded by every release of Charlie's Angels, every episode of Singapore Idol, every sale of Halo 2? If human beings could handle distractions better, would we have time machines, colonies on other planets and a 10G SAF that requires only one week of NS, by now?

Wait a min. Is that my PS2 I hear humming in the hall?

Later.

=)

Chronicles of Daphne 2

I tell you, Singapore Idol is already over. Capish.

Let us examine the facts:

1. Daphne Khoo got voted out the week where there was a 5 day weekend : The Pro-Daphnes were confident that the rest of Singapore would vote wisely, choosing looks and talent over bad diction and vampiric gazes, and so they left on overseas vacations with a collective peace of mind. Little did they know that all the crazed Pro-Sylvies were already waiting at home, fingers poised over their phones even before the lines were open. (Who cares about the Pro-Olies or Pro-Taufies?)

2. In a recent survey conducted by the Department of Sociological Obsession, NUS, researchers found that close to 90% of people surveyed DID NOT support Daphne.

BUT, in the very same survey, researchers found that surveyees fidgeted, glanced away, wringed their hands, adjusted their clothing and looked to their companions before answering : These long recognized body langauage giveaways only pointed to the fact that they were all lying.

The researchers thus concluded that most people hesitate to voice out who they really support, for fear of not finding communal acceptance. They thus attempt to appear to support the mainstream, widely accepted stereotypes of lousiness, ie. Sylvester.

3. If no one supports Daphne, how the heck did she ever get to the top 4 before the unfortunate holidays sealed her fate?

4. Mediacorp, who hosts the Singapore Idols' blogs, found that ever since Daphne started signing off as "Daphney", her votes actually soared by close to 20% each week. Seems like hardly anyone is impervious to cloying sweetness.

5. After Daphne was voted out, viewership for Singapore Idol plunged by almost 75%, according to latest statistics released by Neelsoon ratings. This, almost too coincidentally, coincides with the percentage of votes Daphne has been getting, according to my secret source from Mediacorp, whom we shall know only as Mr. Talk Male-Rooster.

Do I need to go on, or do you get the picture?

Taufik and Sylvester are going head on come 1 Dec, but for the majority of the population, Singapore Idol is already over. The winner might never enjoy the same kind of publicity as Taufie or Sylvie, but only she can occupy hearts like no one else can.

You go, Daphney.

The Sexiness of Writing

And there it was, a little blue book with the large bold title "Uncut" splashed brazenly across the front. My heart skipped a beat.

I glanced around quickly, just to double check that I had not wandered into the "Risque, Titillating and Rousing Material Meant ONLY FOR ADULTS" section of Borders. A fine young man like myself certainly couldn't be seen in such a section, could I? (After all, I had just left the "Law", "Ethics", "Moral Principles", "Healthy Living Habits" and "Fine Ab Appreciation" sections.)

But I wasn't in any such restricted section. I was merely in the staid and boring "Asian Writing" corner, that housed at least one book that was certainly not staid nor boring.

"Uncut", I had found out about a week ago, is a compilation of poetry, photography and prose by 11 Secondary school girls. Fuelled mainly by their collective love for the written word, selected pieces from their portfolios of personal writings had somehow managed to find their way into print.

It has been a very, very long time since I have read a stranger's poetry and prose and experienced such an inexplicable connection. Of course, not every work in the book was a masterpiece, but there was no denying how the book was growing on me. It was not long before I realised that hey, these 11 girls are all incredibly sexy.

I know, I know, it sounds criminal to say it, but I really thought they were. Not sexy as in the common definition, like Daphne Khoo kind of sexy, but sexy in a totally different way. Because for me writing isn't the mere act of translating an idea by following a strict set of grammatical and spelling rules, hobbling 26 different letters together to express an idea, but a very good and almost surgical way to gain an in-depth understanding of the way someone's mind ticks.

In part, it is the spark of creativity that also makes the difference between normal writing and sexy writing. One of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett, hooked me with the expression, "...he could count them off the fingers of a blind butcher's hand". And these 11 girls had it, the spark.

As I was making up my mind to buy the book, to be able to indulge in their musings at my own convenient lesiurely pace, my friend from the next corridor called over to me, "Hey! Check this out!"

15 minutes later, we left Borders with a brand new copy of the FHM 2005 Calander. Oh, well.

*meekly* Hello Again...

Well, it's never been this difficult to blog.

For the most part it's difficult coming back to this blog and writing again. To tell you the truth, I'm aghast at the way I didn't even bother to update even though I knew my friends were coming here once in a while! At first I was really too burnt out to write, a little too strung out from work, but then after a while... I don't know, I guess I just couldn't face up to the fact that I was being inconsiderate, lazy, hermitish, anti-social, a procrastinator, fat, ugly... in short a worm! Haha.

Thank you, for always dropping by here. Your tags meant a lot!

Well then, enough with the rubbish, for my first post in very long, I shall blog about....

Phew....

Remember. To. Breathe.

Phew! =)

Failing Driving: The Whiny Version

Did my luck run out on me?

Freak, out of all the six testers available for my time slot, I had to ballot the only cranky one. Tester A, when he came to beckon Testee A to her car, made a point to smile, make small talk, put her at ease. Tester B, with his boyish features, also hardly projected the menacing aura that stereotypes most Testers.

Tester C, my Tester, had to be the only Tester who looked hungrier than a silverfish in a library. He merely snorted when I greeted him, hardly flinched when I flashed my most innocent and friendly smile at him, and made the following short prayer just prior to moving off -

"Oh please grant me strength this day
To fail as many as I can
For if only I could have my way
All these Testees I would ban"

And every time Tester C made a little tick on his scoresheet, he might as well have just stabbed his merciless pencil into my bleeding heart, for I would have had trouble distinguishing which was the more painful. At the end of it all, when he debriefed me on my mistakes, I swear he graduated top of his Be-A-Stringent-And-Petty-Tester class back in Tester School. Grr.

Whine.

The Final 16th

This wonderful journey that we've been on
You begun so long ago
Has bequeathed me with memories so fond
Of which I loathe to forego

Yet today I feel it must all end
The way I keep you alive inside
For only then will I truly mend
With no more feelings to hide

For it takes to much to continue
Loving you the way I did
And since this love is no longer true
The advice of my friends I'll heed

No more poems every 30 days
No more heartaches on hearing that song
No more in dreams do I see your face
No more for us I long

No more short prayers to find you well
No more surprises to find and wrap
No more on alternate paths to always dwell
No more maybes no more perhaps

I trust in him to treat you right
To elicit the smiles from you
To protect to honour to delight
To give you what you're due

With this last stanza I relinquish all
And end the epilogue of our story
For all the times I've failed before
Let me say, I'm truly sorry

Chronicles of Daphne 1

When my dad sat down to dinner, he couldn't help notice the assorted art and craft material on the table. Glue, scissors, paper, colouring pencils. I know he intentionally avoided asking me anything, because there was this constipated look on his face.

But after I brought out the disposable chopsticks and began to piece it all together, his resistance caved in.

"What in the name of Enthusiastic NS Men are you doing?"

With a twinkle in my eye, "Aha. Just wait."

And when we all gathered to watch Singapore Idol later, I scoffed at the half-hearted support my parents were offering some of the contestants. They had merely pointed out their good points, praised their performances, rooted for them from the couch.

But when Daphne appeared... OUT CAME THE DAPHNE FLAG!

Who cared what they thought? I had a Daphne Flag, and there was no way she would lose!

Of course, later I overheard my mum whisper to my dad about some refund from the adoption agency, but I was hardly ruffled. Daphne had made it through another week. =)

One More Crush

I admit it! I'm in love, again!

Oh man, this girl is so hot she has made me do the craziest things! On the way home, when my friends talked about her, I cast aside my weariness like a misfit coat and started babbling about her! The way she moves, the way she talks, the way she sings....

And for the first time in my life, I made out an SMS to her. I mean, I've always scoffed at people who SMS like this, because I always felt they were wasting hard-earned money in a pointless venture. But against all better sense, against how many donkey years of speaking out against such practices, I SMSed in support of her!

DAPHNE, YOU HAVE MY VOTE FOR SINGAPORE IDOL!!!!!

Being Anti-Social

It's strange. I have an entire list of flaws to grapple with, but I never thought I would have to deal with this one.

The first time I suspected I had a problem with being anti-social was in Secondary school, where a few personality tests profiled me as having slight anti-social tendancies. Pshaw, I thought, that's rubbish. I saw myself as being the kind of person who didn't have problems mixing, and who loved to be in the company of friends and family. Anti-social, me?

But over time, and as more friends became more open with me, I found that at times I would very easily shy away from large gatherings or reunions. Most recently, when old cadet friends came over to stay at my bunk to study for an exam, I found myself being very, very unwilling to go and spend the night with them. I preferred to stay home, do my own thing, and well, just have a bit of quiet. And that's when I was accused of being anti-social.

It's true, I guess. At times I find myself gravitating to smaller group outings, instead of the huge Hey-Aren't-You-My-Sister's-Friend's-Boyfriend's-Uncle's-Friend? kind of gatherings.

And just when I started fretting about being socially inept and not surviving in the outside world, it struck me. This isn't about being anti-social. It's about being BROODY.

Oh man. The brooding, quiet hunk. Johnny Depp. Brad Pitt. The QUINTESSENTIAL Alpha Male.

Oh man. =)

Gasp...

Phew!

Super quick updates, which hopefully will translate into full length blogs soon!

01. Started tuition for my cousin! Mandarin some more! Haha, I can just feel all my previous Mandarin teachers laughing at me...
02. Ran a 21km half-marathon! Know it's old news by now, but what the heck.
03. Entering the final phase of driving lessons! Must pass must pass or at least not tell anyone if I fail!
04. Started a short story! Will post it soon!
05. Got super disgusted about some worms in the army! Super unbelievable! Bao Qing Tian will have a field day!
06. A chiobu asked me to learn ballroom dancing with her!!! FREAK!!!
07. Had a reservist trainee assume I was like 25+! Said I looked mature!
08. Fell in love with, then got heatbroken by, Daphne Khoo, who's attached!
09. Finished issuing the last of the Bear Hug coupons!
10. Put on weight!
11. Drank too much coffee!

Haha.

The Irresistable Sweetness Of....

It was the glint in his eyes that lent all the weight to his words.

A particularly serious, determined glint. Was it a trick of the light? I couldn't be sure, but contextually speaking, what with the bitter grin he was wearing and the velvety threatening undertones in his voice, chances were he meant every word of it.

I tried my best to defuse the situation. I employed an old trick in the book, simultaneously tyring to lighten the mood and make him see that I could empathize, identify with him.Then when he could see that I was on his side, I would attempt to bring him round to his senses.

"Haha, you know, I thought of the exact same thing myself. But nah, in the end you'll find that it's all meaningless, then you'll just give it up."

Sigh.

It's bad enough, in my opinion, when a couple breaks up. Whether the separation was an amicable one or not, both parties will usually experience an immense sense of loss initially, and will harbour a silver of doubt for a long, long time as to whether it was the right move, breaking up. From the sidelines, every relationship dissolution never fails to dim my day. I find myself pondering the unharvasted possibilities that will never bear fruit, and feel genuinely, sincerely sad for the parties involved.

It's bad enough to see real love, care and concern somehow just melt away. It's worse to see them deforming into bitterness, anger, hatred.

"You see, just when you want to inflict the masterstroke that will hurt her, pay her back for all that she's done to you, justified or not, you'll realise that there's no point to it. She's already happier with someone else, why woo her back just to dump her? To make her feel what you're feeling now? Come on, after all, you once had unmeasurable reserves of love and tenderness for her, why don't..."

"Hanting. You know what's the difference between you and me?" Silence. "I will do it."

And with that he strode away, still grinning wildly.

Everybody knows that it will taint your soul, smear your conscience with an indelible smudge. But sometimes, our weak wills yield to the irresistable sweetness of Revenge.

Where is the love, the love, the love....

Polygamy

I was out with a bunch of friends, at the recently concluded Army Open House, when we passed by this particular booth exhibiting the Army's new thrusts into the online world. For some reason, to promote the new Army portal they chose to have a few scantily clad girls demonstrate the portal's special qualities. Right. I wonder who was getting more hits, the portal or the girls.

So anyway, because we were a bunch of guys, we were all like "Hey, hey, let's go over and look at the girls." I abstained, due to the fact that I had already accessed the portal previously, and then noticed that another of my friends was hesitating as well.

This friend, a Bruneian trainee, obviously had trouble fending off the peer pressure then directed at him. For some reason he really wasn't very excited about going up to see the girls, and then it struck me. "Aha!" I said, "Noji, you've got a girlfriend right?"

"No lah, I'm married already."

"But wait, I thought you can marry more than once?"

"Can, under Islamic law I can. Up to a maximum of four."

The rest of us took a sinful moment to indulge in the imagining of a life with four wives. My friend burst out then, unable to control his curiousity despite the possibility of sounding offensive, "Then why don't you?!?"

Noji shook his head a tad too sadly, then replied. "Cannot lah, my wife will get angry."

Further proof that feisty women are more effective than laws upon laws upon laws.

Attention All Club Members

THE FOLLOWING IS A NOTICE TO ALL 105 OFFICIAL FAN CLUB MEMBERS

Dear members, we were just notified today that in less than THREE months Hanting might be fitted with braces. To cope with this drastic change, the following policy modifications will take effect IMMEDIATELY.

1. No Kiss Ration Coupons can be exchanged after 1 January 2005. All members are advised to use their Kiss Coupons at the earliest opportunity.

2. Members with ID Numbers 01 - 20 have been given priority, and can exchange their coupons from 20 September 2004 onwards.

3. Members with ID Numbers 21 - 105 can only start exchanging their coupons after 01 October 2004. Any earlier attempt to claim Kisses by Members 21 - 105 will NOT be entertained.

4. The Fan Club Management (FCM) recognises that due to popular demand some Kiss Ration Coupons have surfaced in the black market, and are now in the possession of unregistered Fans. No claims from unregistered Fans will be entertained.

5. Starting from the month of October, FCM will be issuing Bear Hug Ration Coupons in lieu of the Kiss Ration Coupons. Please make sure you, as a registered Member, receive the replacement Coupons.

HE IS CURRENTLY UPGRADING IN ORDER TO SERVE YOU BETTER. WE APOLOGISE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE CAUSED.

=)

16th....

If I do not do anything
You will leave soon, once more
Do you not bother or are you just waiting
Enduring this cold, cold war?

Whatever would make you assume
I wouldn't want to see or talk to you?
Or would I be wrong to presume
That the things you have to say to me are simply too few?

The cruellest part of it all
Is that I am probably the only one remaining
The only one who can still recall
All the memories worth treasuring

I feel that if I was to completely let go
And forget all that we had
The world will never be able to know
The special past we shared

And how can I let that happen?
To let our history just melt away?
To say the least I am reluctant
Thus with me a bit of us will always stay

Foolish or stubborn? Foolish and stubborn?
You can say what you want of me
Who knows, maybe yet one day I'll learn
That it's much better to be free

Lucy And AnnMarie

The room was quiet. There was none of the buzz nor lively rhythmn that is so characteristic of most Operations Rooms, the heart of every army camp. We sat silently in a circle, the rain swallowing us from outside, drowning out all sound with its monotonous, incessant beat. Though nothing was said, you could sense immediately that this wasn't a group of people just sitting around bathed in gloominess, but a group of people waiting for something, and waiting very, very anxiously.

And then the door burst open, with a clap of thunder right on cue. The weary stranger, looking tired and gaunt, out of place with his strange out-landish clothes, grit his teeth and said,

"I am here. For I am the Photocopier Man."

Life throbbed hard in the Operations Room, once those words sliced through the immense suspense. The elders hopped out of their chairs, guiding The One to Lucy. I held the hands of those around me, mouth agape, unable to believe that the time had finally come. The expressions we wore then reflected the relief and hope that had been born anew, which like twin shining beacons had already driven off the darkness of the past month. The young ones ran around and played again, freed of an oppressive silence they didn't understand. All eyes were on The One.

He placed his strange, magical bag on the ground beside him, took Lucy in his arms and took a good long look. Finally, he grimly muttered, "Looks bad, but I should be able to do something for her." Our relief was then complete, for finally, eventually, Lucy would return to the folds of the living.

And as The One began his healing, I was probably the only person in the gathering crowd that was fearful, uneasy. A dark secret, nested in me, burned painfully inside. I know other people would understand, but would Lucy? If I told her that I am a man, I too have my needs, would she forgive me when I explained how AnnMarie had come into my life during the dark month that she was gone?

I caught myself thinking these dangerous thoughts, and chuckled quietly. As long as Lucy was well again, as long as she could live and breathe freely again, what did it matter, whether she still wanted me? What did it matter that I would never be able to see her again, cherish her the exact same way, if she was happy?

Unnoticed, I walked to the door and slipped out. As I walked away I could hear the chorus of cheers and jubilation from behind the closed door, and I could somehow feel Lucy again, almost as if the bond was still there. But time rolls on, and my time with her was over.

Oh, Lucy. If only you knew.

A Close Shave

So, it happened like this.

I was messaging some of my friends, wanting to share with them the joy bundled in me (no, not the unborn-one kind) that had stemmed from a particularly smooth sailing driving lesson. But a slip of the fingers led me to messaging this girl (whom we shall call XXX) instead of this other friend (XXX YY).

I thought nothing of it, even though XXX and I are hardly more than acquaintances. After not attending my phone for a while, I came back to it only to find that she had called me twice. She had also sent a short casual message acknowledging my efforts, and I thought, what the heck, it would be nice to call back and just say thanks.

Who would be thinking of Murphy's Law at a time like this? Yes, her boyfriend picked up. Haha.

But then again, no-one could possibly not feel threatened. =)

One Last Uniform

When I opened my wardrobe this morning, ready to change up to go to work, I found but one set of uniform. One *last* set of uniform.

It's like how addicts or workaholics 'wake up' one day to find themselves in a situation that has completely spun out of control, and are subsequently so shocked that they resolve to begin anew. They painfully try to distance themselves from the bad habits they have come to cultivate, and resolve to do what's right instead of what's convenient. I guess it's about time for me too.

You see, the past two weeks or so have been outrageously decadent, in retrospect. I cannot remember how it exactly began, but I suspect it started when discipline at work commenced its downward slide. As two of my colleagues entered the final phase of their NS life, or 'ORD Mood', the entire office seemed plagued with a certain lethargy and complacency.

The Mood's highly infectious. There's no way, in my opinion, a NSF can continue his work dilligently when his colleagues are Mooding. When the guy next to you at work talks about clearing leave, preparing for University, relinquishing work to understudies and going for holidays, your grip on a healthy work philosophy slips.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but yes, I've been guilty of it. I've stayed up way too late (thus diminishing my alertness and enthusiasm at work), procrastinated just about everything you can possible procrastinate (my blog, the mountain of fan mail I've not replied) and basically just lived from day to day, "chasing down every single temporary high". It didn't help that work's been particularly heavy, such that when the day is done I am so completely sapped of spirit that I lack the will to do anything at all.

Things hit rock bottom when I found that I had only had one last set of uniform in my wardrobe. Where was the meticulous packing and maintenance of my personal upkeep? How could I, a full-time soldier, end up with only one stupid uniform in camp?

Shameful. =(

Mood Conditioning

One of the more serious criticisms I've had to fend off over the years has been that I'm a bit too soft hearted. Besides these blind people who cannot recognize Macho-ness even if it bit them on the nose, I've also had well-meaning advice from close friends who do not want to see me being 'eaten'.

Which was about the time I hit upon the perfect solution.

It began the other night that I went clubbing at Phuture, even though long before I entered the club I was already drained from a hectic work schedule (that's another long blog). I ended up having supper with my friend at 5am, reached home by 6am, slept for 40 mins and went to work again.

I noticed it then, for the first time! Even though I was still the same person inside, due to a lack of sleep I became crabby, moody, easily irritated etc. People who usually joked with me ceased to do so, and my colleagues treaded a bit more carefully.

And ta-da! Instant macho-ness potion! I've pulled off a few other all-nighters since then, mainly for my application essays, and I'm quite amazed at how much abuse the human body can absorb. So if you need to change your mood to be more serious and volatile at work, or if you want to calm your hyperactive children, remember, sleep is the ke...zzzzzzzz........

Back At Last

First of all, let me apologize if you have been visiting this blog and finding nothing new to read.

It's not that my brain has not been teeming with things to write about. I'm glad I still see big things in small everyday things, and that I still have the inspiration to write. It's just that inspiration strikes in the middle of a meeting, or during training, or any virtually any other juncture than when I'm at the computer doing work.

Work has been maniacal. Applications for Uni are worse. Even fending off the hordes of female screaming teenage fans has been half-hearted.

Thank you for being patient. I'm back, for the time being, at least. =)

Loving Somebody

For me, it's a lot like dancing.

Often, someone has to lead the dance. And when you do, you try your very best not to execute the wrong steps. You watch your partner twirling in your arms, glad to be dancing with you, and you feel satisfied that you're doing something right.

But as in all partner dances, there will be moments when synchrony is lost. The toughest part is when your partner then refuses to continue, even though the music's playing and the mood is not lost. You then realize that it seems as if your partner has lost interest in the dance for a long time already, and you're the last to know.

And when you retire to the sidelines temporarily to allow other couples to take to the dance floor, you find that even though the flesh is willing, your spirit's lost the rhythmn, the beat.

Whoever thought that dancing, such a simple, basic expression of humanity, could be so difficult, huh?

Death 3: Suicide

Someone killed himself in camp today.

When I hear things like this, I feel angry. I consider all the repercussions, the confused and hurt parents, the bewildered friends, the sense of loss the antagonizers and bystanders must feel. I wonder how some people can be so irresponsible.

Then I soften, and become heavy hearted. I put myself into their shoes ,and think about the helplessness they must have felt in their last moments, their sense of alienation in this world gone mad. And I wonder why others didn't reach out to these people in time.

I remember crying with a best friend who flirted with the idea once. I recall just screaming in his face, telling him I wouldn't forgive him if he just left me like that. I was so scared I was bawling.

When I see people fighting so very, very hard to keep their loved ones close to them, I feel like standing up and saluting them. I see pple at funerals, mourning and regretting for not making the best of yesterday, yet still soldiering on bravely. When you think about it, you live on not for youself, nor money or fame, but for the people around you who mean so much to you. Would you forgive them if they just left like that?

Don't let go of something so fast, just because you haven't learnt to appreciate it.

Death 2: Grandma

We were in a tour bus, circling some lush mountain in the Australian outbacks when my dad's cellphone rang. All horse-play between my brother and I ceased immediately, much like the way dancing stops when the music's cut off. No one ever calls my dad's roaming phone when we're overseas. No one. Except family.

And when the call ended and my dad told us, gravely, that grandma has taken a fall, something inside me just froze.

My brother kept crying over the next few days, despite my mother's best attempts to console us and tell us that we wouldn't know exactly how serious the situation was until we returned. When we did find out back home, I remember even my mother losing her energy to console us. As the doctor said, bone fractures, nervous attacks, viral assaults all yield to the healing qualities of time, but brain damage doesn't.

Many sleepless nights and countless false alarms later, my grandma passed away without ever awaking. Through his tears my brother angrily confronted me, asking me how was it that I didn't shed a tear at all.

But you see, I do. You just don't witness it.

Death 1 / Sunshine From The Past 4: Origami

The first time was in Primary Two. Too young to understand, but old enough to remember.

We were gathered at a corner of the canteen, around the phone booth. I recall it being a particularly warm afternoon, with dust from the barren playground swirling in with every gust of wind. There were four of us, Boy 1, Boy 2 (me), Girl 1 and Her. The years may have matured me, but they have taken the intricacies and details of my youth in return.

"What's that? A comic book?" Girl 1, ice-cream in hand, with sweaty strands of hair matting her forehead.

"From the book fair? You actually managed to buy something?" Boy 1 gestured to the mini book fair concentrated on the outer steps of the canteen. The crowds of eager children massed around the cashier reminded me somewhat of voracious ants around sugar, for some reason.

Daintily, She nodded. When She showed the cover to us, we saw but one solitary pink Origami crane, framed by obscure Katakana. And then She told us she was going to learn Origami over the holidays, and come back next term fully schooled in the art. She beamed when She noted our enthusiastic support.

Curiously enough, at the close of that last day of term, She passed the book to me. She spoke of how she was going to be busy, could I learn to do the crane and teach Her instead when school reopened? I agreed, of course. But for the life of me I cannot recall Her voice as she said it.

A month later, crane and book in bag, I went to class waiting to instruct Her. But that first day, She didn't come. Neither did she come for the second day, third, fourth, the rest of Primary school.

Maybe I should have plucked up enough courage to ask my Form teacher where She had gone to, that first day in school. But I don't think I could have, not when she was crying the whole day after meeting Her parents in the morning before assembly.

Silly Me

There are some times when I get a little too self-indulgent, and worry about too many things that ultimately do not matter.

I won't be writing much these few days. Work's heavy, but more importantly, I feel a bit ashamed. I mean, I looked back at the last three entries, and really, my worries are nothing compared to what others are going through.

I'll be thinking very hard over the next few days about something that happened to me last Saturday, and I'll be back a little less whiny and more resilient. =)

Shadowy Ruminations 3: If I'm Gone

I remember a beloved teacher asking us this peculiar question, in reference to the student organization we were part of. "If you suddenly disappear from the face of the earth, what difference will that make? How many people will miss you?"

She meant to ask us how we could make our organization more impactful, more meaningful to the students. But that question is still tainting the eternal sunshine of my mind.

The Hanting-shaped hole I will leave behind will be a minor inconvenience, at most. It's not a problem with self-esteem, it's self-assessment. I could have reached out to the world in a hundred billion different ways, inspired, moved, influenced, assisted, but I haven't. I have pursued a hundred billion different pointless endeavours, and in the process been unable to make a difference to the lives around me.

This sense of purpose is very important, do you not agree? Without it one is like a rudderless sampan, floating through life, 'chasing down every single temporary high'.

One life out of six billion.
One lifetime to make a difference - 20 years already down

Sigh.

Shadowy Ruminations 2: Faith

Why can I not find faith?

Is it that elusive? Am I not trusting enough? Why will my heart not be still until I find an answer to every question I have? Why is it that everytime I look for an avenue to unload my burdens I cannot find one? Why am I plagued with sceptism in all the wrong places?

Why do I feel like I'm blinding myself when I try to tell myself to simply just trust? Why do I see His hand in the flow of everyday events, yet still not believe? Why do I refuse to just make life so much simpler by yielding to the repeated invitations to be saved? Why do I worry that it is not His intended path for me?

Is faith really such a rare commodity?

Shadowy Ruminations 1: The Prologue

It happens to me, at the weirdest of times. Sometimes my brain just overloads.

I read about it on Charlotte's blog the other day, and how the brain can slip into this state of hyper-activity where the synapses fire off like it's National Day Fireworks 24/7. When it happens to me all I want to do is cut off all contact with the rest of humanity, sit somewhere quiet and basically escape.

The thoughts that run through my mind are simply bizarre. The fire-fighting I conduct, to attempt to return to the state of normalcy I understand society accepts, just cannot keep up all the time. From the best of my knowledge, I become a very, very different person.

How do I explain it?

I cannot. Neither can the approximately six other people who have observed me in one of my moods either.

Buying Underwear

Aha. Buying underwear. Buying female underwear. Guess it had to happen sometime.

If you ever need to look for a divide between the sexes, look no further than the way men and women buy underwear. Men buy underwear in packs, and the cost is more important than the colours or the texture. I estimate a $15 pack of 5 briefs to contain enough cloth to spin 1000 sexy, er, panties, which would generate about $42500 in revenue. That's a freaking high labour and specialized skill cost, in my opinion.

Anyways, I was at OG with a friend who was buying a bra. In the same way some people wake up in a stranger's bed and have no idea how they got there, I had no idea how I came to be stranded in a sea of gauze, fluff and pink. Scream.

And when the dreaded question came, I was prepared. Or so I thought.

"Hanting, which should I choose, the black or the white?"

See, it's not that simple. Option 1 was to be cool about it. All I needed to do was answer honestly, supplement my reply with justification (I really think white complements your style, contrasts against your skin, and more importantly is much cheaper) and I would be done. Option 2 was to be really macho about the whole thing, ie. grunt some non-committal answer, behave awkwardly indifferent, act irritated and bothered.

Option 1 would have meant being constructively helpful, and definitely would have gotten me out of pink-Hell much faster. But to the prying eyes around, it would have suggested a hint of sensitivity, SNAG-ness, because much as the Sensitive New Age Guy is appreciated, somehow people still expect guys to be the stereotypical MAN. Would you think a guy who felt all at home in the lingerie department, gave constructive feedback about underwear unabashedly, and who didn't wear a perverted look was in full possession of the things God gave him?

I know, I know, it's a sweeping observation, but it's UNDENIABLE.

Option 2 wasn't such a simple alternative, either. People would simply leap at the opportunity to blast such a guy for being insensitive and uncaring. His guy friends would nod at his embodiment of manhood, but he would more likely be crucified by the rest of the world for being the classic Neanderthal.

Seriously, no one appreciated the fact that I was undergoing some major decision making in that five seconds of silence following my friend's innocent question.

But in the end I chose Option 2. Being macho is so much more natural.

Quirky Education

Quick! Consider this!

Are you familiar with the term 'feral human'? Coined by the creators of the X-Files series, it refers to humans who have been brought up in the world by foster animal parents, and apparantly there really have been such cases.

The interesting thing is, although these 'feral humans' were initially like you and I, capable of intelligent learning, conversing, playing and working, because of inadequate or improper education (by animals of the wild no less) they are unable to display all the behavioural or intellectual characteristics of a normal human being.

So, even though there's a whole planet full of 'normal' human beings, who have gone as far as devising ways to travel in space, these 'feral humans' are simply unable to attain their full potential due to the lack of proper education. (While it might be useful to husk a coconut with your feet and teeth, such a skill, versus... say... reading and writing, simply will not get you far in the corporate world.)

Can you see where I'm heading?

Yes, you're right! Horses, turtles, baboons, fish, are perhaps all latently super smart and capable too! If one day horses, for example, stumbled upon a secret conclave full of well-educated horses, it might learn how to speak in Horse, write in Horse, and even sing in Horse!

Education might be expensive, but proper education is priceless.

16th Again? So Fast?

If the previous 16ths were imbued with longing
Sadness, regret and sorrow
Let this one be absent of any frowning
And adopt a perspective much less narrow

Though I might not be there
Of your experiences I no longer share
Know that in some strange way I still care
To forget you entirely I wouldn't dare

So fare you well, fare you well
I'm but a call or a note away
I'm glad you're happy, as far as I can tell
Till another day then, another day

The Village

Well, it was not too bad a show. The plot twist, full of promises like the unfaithful boyfriend, left me feeling kind of cheated.

There was one part, though, that I somehow seem to remember over the rest. When the village elders gathered to discuss whether they should grant the heroine permission to travel through the woods (highly discouraged) in a bid to save her love (highly encouraged), they reflected on the possibility of the village forever remaining shielded from the rest of the world.

The belief was that as long as they enforced their segregation, they would be exempt from the corruption and suffering plaguing the rest of the world. However, it soon became apparant to them that this philosophy would be their own undoing, as they accepted that escapism would never be able to sustain their way of living.

And the one line that crystallized their paradigm shift? Though simple, it meant a lot. To me, at least.

"We have to face it, heartache is part of life."
- The Village, 2004

Musical Periods 1: David Tao

I've found, to my curious delight, that I've been unconsciously attaching memories and feelings to music!

It's not the sort of minor recall you get when something rings a bell and you haul some dusty old memory up from the corners of your mind. For certain albums or songs I experience a whopping resurrection of the past, and I feel like I'm back in that particular point in my life, listening to that piece of music. Emotions swamp and amaze me with their undiluted intensity, and I often have to shake myself to regain my footing in the present.

For this entry I'll talk about David Tao's Collection CD. When his CD played today I recalled...

1. The smell of cadet bunks
2. The absence of responsibility in anticipation of officerhood
3. Friends screaming at me to shut the hell up (repeated the same song for an hour straight)
4. Those bustling, free nights when I would stream the CD down the corridors
5. Heartache, pure concentrated bittersweet heartache
6. Singing a bit in the toilet, then going back to the bunks to find other people singing it too
7. Long, aimless MRT rides to nowhere feeling horribly halved, in some way

Naming

To my extreme horror, I found the photocopier in the Ops Room... dead.

"Who did this? Who?" I could hardly keep the hysteria from my voice as I gently knelt down and cradled the now silent machine. She was cold, the warmth she usually harboured now gone. It must have been what? Two hours since?

"Why did no one tell me! Why?" The tears formed, and I didn't even bother to turn away from the crowd gathering around. Through my misty gaze she looked fragile, brittle, weak. Hardly even a shadow of her normal robust self.

"Sir... she broke down an hour ago. Her toner just gave way. There was nothing we could do."

A fountain of anger welled up, its overflowing waters refusing to be dammed.

"The only reason why she's like this is because no one cares! Everyone treats her like... like she's some prostitute! Nobody bothers to treat her delicately or take care of her!"

Once the outburst sapped the last vestiges of spirit, I felt my strength flee me, and I would have crumbled if someone didn't grab me in time. There was a short moment of silence as everyone struggled for something to say to remedy the situation, but sometimes even well-intended words are inadequate.

I sighed, and slowly regained my footing. "I don't want to ever see her die like this again. Hear me?" An immediate chorus of nods. "When she comes back, if she comes back, she will have a name. That way, I believe we can start treating her properly, with respect and kindness, just as she deserves." Again, the hastened assent of all.

And that's how the photocopying machine (which has been serving us diligently and without a whisper of complaint) in the Ops Room came to be known as Lucy. =)

Fireworks

It's been the second time this month I've made the committment to participate in the Fireworks Festival. And I'm glad to say I still enjoyed every bit of it. Completely unexpectedly.

You see, I last saw fireworks in Lord of the Rings. In the first episode of the trilogy, Gandalf stirs a little colour and life into Hobbitville by exhibiting some of the finest fireworks in his possession, but I was hardly dazzled by the incandescent display. I remember thinking to myself that I was a little too old for fireworks, that it's merely a mishmash of carefully selected chemicals that combust to the tune of a hundred different shades of colour.

Yet, when I was contorting myself to try to fit into whatever little niche was left in the solid wall of human beings on the Esplanade bridge, squeezing to try to get a better view of the skyline, things just changed.

When the fireworks began and the sky bloomed like a nursery of flowers, the crowd screamed and yelled, and I was infused with this cheeky zest. Roused to the occasion, I whooped and yelped to every burst of colour, and actually whined when the last shell echoed in the far distance.

Looks like the boy in me is still alive and kicking. =)

Alcohol, Part 2

Oh my goodness. They're going to make me drink again. Oh no oh no oh no.

Limin's right, it's not fun losing control at all. What if I lost control again, and started blabbing out all the little nuggets I've squirreled away? What if I finally revealed the complete list of Soft Spots I've developed(and have Zhihao hate me when he finds out he's not the only one?)? What if I *gasp* unveiled the secret to my good looks (good genes)?

Would I have to resort to my brilliant acting again? I remember my crowning glory, when in the 90s I had a gaggle of schoolgirls believe I was ugly, sissified and boring. But I hate acting, and having people believe me to be someone I'm not.

Oh no.

Golden Village

Golden Village at Junction 8 sure has changed a lot.

I remember the days when it was expansive, and seemed to stretch over half of the top storey. There was a food court, yes, as well as a comic book shop, yes, as well as other various merchandising outlets. But when you saw the top storey you only thought, hey, this is the cinema level.

It's different, now. It's barely half the size it was once, and the long, characteristic snaking queues are replaced with a ticketing system that's a bit too efficient for my taste (where's the atmosphere if you remove the queues?). The cardboard cut-outs are missing, the window offering a glimpse of the world outside is sealed up, the carpet feels... different. Even the popcorn pops sound a little more mellow, pensive.

Am I the only one who notices and cares?

Phantom pain is the proper term, I believe. When I saw the whole new set-up it took me a while to re-orientate, and somehow I don't think I did. It scared me, for a while, that yet another part of my world is moving on, growing, evolving. Something that was once so sacred and indelible in my memory is now at threat of being overwritten by changing times. I guess something resonated inside, that's all.

As I turned my back and entered the cinemas, I thought I could once again feel the crowds behind me, surging towards the counters as do men towards Lucy. I thought I could once again hear children laughing as they savaged the cardboard Shreks and Nemos. I thought I was once again together with the Golden Village I knew and cherished so very, very much.

Ah... phantom pain.

The New Paper

I have a theory that jealousy is a vital ingredient in a healthy relationship.

Contrary to popular belief, jealousy is not borne out of the lack of trust for one another. Well, for most people at least. Sometimes it reflects the special occupation someone has in your heart, demonstrating once again the irrationality of love. You know someone loves you, cherishes you, but when he or she reveals a fondness or weakness for another, it blossoms in your bosom, this green-faced fiend of a devil.

These thoughts ran through my mind when I was enjoying the company of my friend and his girlfriend. They have been one of the most blissful couples I've yet to come across, and I measure this by the amount of healthy love, respectful sacrifice and unbidden tenderness borne out of their union. He's always struck me as the sensitive, thoughtful kind of guy who would always place her interests above hers.

Which was why it was amusing seeing him purposely make her jealous.

He was browsing through a copy of the New Paper when this impish expression took hold. I watched as he considered, mulled and deliberated, his face betraying the fearsome tussle within. And with a quiet, overly smooth flourish he spread the paper in front of her, cleared his throat, thus beginning the following conversation:

Him: Dear? Look at this!
Her: (distractedly) Hmm? What?
Him: Look, this is Candy, my ex! She's made it as a New Face!
Her: (stressed calmness) So?
Him: Don't you want to have a closer look? And see her?
Her: (turning away) For what? See her for what?

He admitted to me much later that somehow, he just couldn't resist. In his words, he just wanted to have a little fun, and jio jio her a bit.

Nah. In my opinion he was watching for a certain response, and I think he got it.

Independence Ring

She explained, in tones that suggested that she was trying to relate a particularly alien or complex concept, that it wasn't just another ring, it was her Independence Ring. Frankly and honestly, she slowly detailed the origins of that ring.

After her break up, she felt like she was washed ashore, left high and dry. As she struggled to find some efficient way to rechannel her pain and frustration to more constructive conduits, she came across this little trinket of a ring that she had acquired some time back, and then forgotten about. When she slipped it on, a wild idea took root.

Why not wear it as an Independence Ring? A symbol of strength, willpower, determination? A bold statement to the world that she was ready to move on? As the days passed she found that it doubled as her safety blanket, a little island of stability and comfort in the raging, uncertain oceans of life. Soon, as she grew in character, the Ring served more as a proud reminder of how far she had come, than as a source of sustenance.

When she finished her story she said, "Kind of strange, right? But I don't expect you to understand, so it's ok." I just nodded, and didn't elaborate. It would have been really unlikely for her to believe that yes, I understood.

I understood. Completely.

Flirting

There it is. Again.

I look away from her, focussing on a group of fellow diners a few tables away. Sphageddies is packed, the lunch crowd swelling as the minute passes. The chatter of idle tongues perforate the silence mercilessly, the way sunrays of dawn pierce the night. She is saying something about her current training, but I seem to hear only the violent thumping of my heart.

Be still, o restless heart of mine.

My gaze drifts back to her, as forcibly natural as I can manage. Conversation over pasta resumes its measured pace, and just when I'm ready to concede that it was only my misinterpretation, she does it again! In broad daylight, in front of the critical public eye, she flirts! Again!

Concentration is the only thing that guides my meatball to my mouth without encountering my nose or eye along the way. I find myself grasping for the right response, to speak as coolly as I can, but I know I'm failing. Some trick of the light lends a definite vibrance to her disposition, and strangely enough, I'm aware that I'm no longer aware of anything else.

Alas, she soon discovers my amateurish attempts at acting, and says:

"Oh no! Forgive me for flirting like this... I really shouldn't, I know. I should be talking to you, instead of flirting with him over SMS!"

So she puts her phone down, promises again to stop sending flirtatious SMSes to her friend, and lunch carries on.

Ah... back on familiar ground.

Alcohol

I believe that deep down inside, some part of me wanted to get drunk. To just forget about all the bothersome little things bugging me and just let go.

It was probably the part of me that resisted acting drunk just to escape having to drink. As I downed my ninth mug of beer (is there a stigma against getting drunk on beer? if you feel so, drink nine mugs at one shot in front of me and I'll make you HBOTW) I felt the last bit of control slip.

Somehow, it wasn't really what I thought it would feel like. Yes, I knew I was drunk and slurring uncontrollably, but I didn't feel happier. Untended wounds continued to fester, and puking really didn't help make things better. I must have crawled back to my bunk like a worm, because that was where I found myself at four in the morning.

And I lay awake on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and just thinking.

I'm 20. I haven't learnt to let go of very, many things, and until I do there will always be a patch of clear sky in my horizon (because I love rain you see). I haven't found the will or strength of character to pursue my dreams as actively as I should. I lack the moral courage to shape my environment and its people to what things should be. I haven't faced my deepest fears, preferring to run and dodge the inevitable.

And now I've found that even the much-lauded refuge-providing alcohol fails to live up to its name. Ironically, it has sobered me up. I swear I won't touch a single drop at the next mess initiation.

Milk, anyone?

Walk Of Contemplation

It's a long walk from the main gate of my camp to my bunk. I estimate it to be roughly 500m in the day (when I'm fresh) and about 21km at night (when I'm crawling back from home). Everybody hates the long walk in. "Let me give you a ride in/out" in my camp is a phrase that's as warmly received as "I'm 21, pretty and rich, please have my children" outside of it.

Strangely enough, I've come to appreciate it. My days are so tightly sequenced with an array of high-adrenalin crisis situations, that there's hardly an hour gone by without the little twanging sound of my heart fibres snapping under the strain. The walk has become a peculiar blessing.

Espcially at night when I book in just before midnight. When it's all velvety dark and the calmness envelopes you, every step of the 21km journey saps your body but renews your spirit. You get a little space, a little chance to just think.  

In particular, I like to reflect upon the day that has just lapsed, rewinding and replaying my favourite snippets. A phone call from a dear friend, or an unexpected message of comfort, or unsolicited attention from a pretty salesgirl (Sir, wow, could I interest you in....). I also dwell passingly in the unwholesome portions of the day, indulging myself in the occasional smatter of self-pity. An undeserved reprimand, or a lesson not well-executed, or unsolicited attention form a pretty salesgirl (... this facial wash? You look like you need it!)

Best of all, this walk somehow seems to replenish my limited store of inspiration. Like a timely refill, I find myself armed with the ink to coalesce random thoughts into blog entries, or new goals and dreams, or just quirky thoughts that remind me my appointment with the MO is due.

You're right, Luk, I've found my silver lining for today. =) 

 

Tried & Tested (Prove Me Wrong) 2

Aha, this came to me during the middle of training, when someone called me by mistake!

Unknown Female: Hello?
Hanting: Yes?
Unknown Female: Yes, I'm looking for Joy?
Hanting: I'm sorry, I don't think I can give it to you.
Unknown Female: Err, wrong number, sorry.

Say what you like, I think I wouldn't have wanted to just say, "Sorry, wrong number."

"Sir Yes Sir"

I really do hate saying it.

My OC first taught it to me, just a while back. We were going to discuss a thorny issue with a Captain (both my OC and I are lower ranking) and he told me, no matter how much rubbish this Captain was going to spout, just say the three magic words.

My indignance got the better of good advice. There was this point when my ears were overflowing with the completely illogical sewerage flowing down to us in the one-way conversation when I just had to speak out. I ignored the glares from my OC, and went out to point out the fallacies and loopholes present in the instructions we were receiving.

This is not a fairy tale, nor a Hollywood movie. This is a blog. There is no happy ending to this tale. I got screwed first by this Captain, then my OC, for not saying the three magic words.

It happened again during driving just just now. It was a two lane road, and as I overtook this taxi that had stopped on the side, my instructor asked if I had checked for blindspots on the right, in case another car wanted to overtake me.

I pondered how a bunny fluff-head like him ever got to where he was. Yes, I know he was trying to impart the invaluable lesson of road safety, but just five minutes ago he had told me, "always assess the road situation for yourself and make the right decision". Right. So as I continued thinking murderous thoughts, my mouth went on auto and pointed out, very nicely, that he was making as much sense as boiled cabbage.

Again, this is a blog.

But I was tired. It had been a particularly trying period (though I'm male) and I couldn't seem to summon the same Champions of Truth and Justice from their hideout within. And thus when he reprimanded me again, I compromised all that I felt was right for a spineless, subservient and meek

"Sir yes sir".

The Season's Changing....

Today confirmed the onset of a new season: yet another dear friend has left Singapore to return to studies.

I remember just a few months back when people started coming back to Singapore for the holidays, and how it was such wonderful feeling to rediscover old friendships and deepen the bonds. There seemed to be so much time for everything, and you could just meet up whenever you were free, without worrying about when an opportunity not seized was really a loss.

But friends are beginning to leave again. The friends who are staying, are recommitting themselves to their books and futures. For an army guy who has stepped out of the eddies of time, flux and change for a while now, it's scary to see how everyone is moving on so fast.

Take care now, people.

PDA

Power 98 was talking about PDA the other day. Nope, not the electronic kind.

And one suggestion that garnered the most support from listeners, was that couples should refrain from affectionate overtures when they are out with a group of friends. Trust me, you'll want to be agreeing with this too, especially after you've been subjected to such an experience as I have had.

We were out you see, a bunch of army friends headed for lunch. I sat in the back, while my friend drove, with his girlfriend on his left. Things went on quite fine at first, all engaging in normal conversation and all, until she placed her hand on his while he was changing gears.

Things, well, geared up from there.

As general conversation slowed to a trickle, his hand graduated to her leg. The two of them, both older and supposedly wiser, began to babble in some strange language I can only assume to be baby talk. At a red light, he squeezed her leg, and she yelped in mock surprise.

If I had a chopper, he would have had to start wearing his watch on his right wrist.

I don't quite understand it myself. On one hand I think I'm quite liberal-minded, and advocate the healthy expression of love in public, but on the other, I'm keeping a tight leash on some murderous demented demon inside of me whenever I see friends make out in front of other friends.

So maybe I've double standards. (to the non-lawyers-in-training:) Sue me.

Yet Another 16th Poem

It's not easy, this reconditioning
Especially with a heart that's meandering
To force myself to live life anew
Old habits I now have to eschew

It's almost like the old me of past
Is embarking on an emotional fast
With the new me always around to say
'You now have to live life this way'

'How can I,' the old me rages
'See your emails on my webpages
And forget that when once I would be delirious
Now I must act completly oblivious?'

'Hear your voice once in a while
And be aside with joy like a blameless child
And yet have to contend with idiot acting
That it's hardly even affecting?'

'To see your pictures, your face, your smile
And feel the emotions stack and pile
Only to calmly shrug it off
And be the exact opposite of soft?'

'Knowing that when we do meet again
I'll have no choice but to refrain
From receiving you like a long-missed half
And instead walk away on a separate path'

'Perhaps again our minds would meet
But until that day so bittersweet
A hidden part of me will yearn
For the old you, too, to return

Soft Spot Number One: Lesson 1

Sometimes I feel like just sitting down and ranting. And complain my head off about all the things that aren't right around me.

But I know that it's easy to be an energy-drainer, to suck the enthusiasm, good vibes and cheer out of people by being possessed of a jaded, cynical and bitter disposition.

It's much harder, and thus a personal challenge, to be a guileless clown, so full of vibrance and goodwill that you hasten the bloom of colour around you.

Soft Spot Number One taught me this, albeit in a lesson that begs a rethink on methodology. She taught me well though, and now I hesitate (and sometimes fear) to even divulge the gentlest tinge of haze I store in the many bottles within.

So to all those people who have enquired after me, I'm doing fine, work's just been heavy. =)

Sunshine From The Past 3: A Friend Lost

It seemed completely unlikely that she and I would ever become proper friends. We differed quite vastly in terms of age, and there was hardly any common vein in our personalities, likes or dislikes, sense of humour, outlook on life. Yet, the friendship happened.

Perhaps the one thing from our friendship I cherish the most is the
human warmth that she possessed. There was a period in time when she reached out to me, at her own expense, when there was nothing in it for her at all. She invested a fair portion of her time and energy to guide me, illuminating the gloomy paths I trod with the luminousity of her experience.

We hardly communicate anymore, however. I leave her little notes on ICQ, but she doesn't reply. Work seems to consume everyone these days, it seems.

Thank goodness memories are inedible.

Sleepwalking

The worst was last year, November. I woke up from some placid vague dream with my first step into a darkened bunk, staring straight at the sleeping forms of two of my army mates.

Only that they stayed in a bunk below mine. And I had my slippers on. And my keys were in my pocket. And I didn't take the lift.

Somehow, and I can't even begin to contemplate how, I had gotten out of bed, worn my slippers, locked my own door, took my keys, navigated one level down on the stairs, went for my friends' bunk and opened the door. While asleep.

It freaked the jeebies(G)/daylights(PG)/shit(NC-16)/hell(M18)/****(R21) out of my friends, for sure.

I know they have always warned me about it. It was mild at first, perhaps just waking up at weird hours (3am?) and trying to wake my buddy up as well (quick! it's time to wake up you lazy worm!) to stranger things, like being unable to find my toothbrush at 6am (because I had already brushed and left my toothbrush in the loo... at 3am).

Things got better after November last year, but suffice to say, the last week hasn't been too good. But, please, don't worry, even though the interrupted sleep has played havoc with my clock...

The eyebags haven't affected my good looks (nor sense of humiility) at all. =)

Dropping

It's every parent's worst nightmare, you know.

One minute you're cradling your newborn, cooing at him or her, feeling the angelic little life pulsate in you arms. Your newborn might swing from quiet restive reveries to violent possessed tantrums, but you never complain. And the next, inexplicably, your grip slips, and time... slows...

I felt like that. Exactly like that.

When I dropped her, and heard the smack as her fragile frame bounced off the ground, my heart just broke. I expected her to cry, or make some sound at least, afterwards, but she didn't, and there were these sickening waves of fear that just kept surging within me. It was like... like... she was stunned, or had suffered brain damage, or something...

And seriously, who can tell if she will ever be the same? All I know is that I'll carry the guilt for a long time more to come, this eternal self-reproachfulness.

(An hour later: I think I need a hobby. After careful consideration, it's not healthy to be so attached to a handphone)

The Busiest of Weeks...

I'm still alive, I think
It's been a tremendously packed week
Time passes by in a wink
While events flash faster than illegal peeks
 
I tried my best but missed a chalet
Had an outbreak, and a couple of sleepwalks
My driving lessons I had to delay
Even with my rabbits I hardly had time to talk
 
The end is near I'm sure
It's only a month of madness more
But perhaps the only thing I fear
Is that I'm already bushed, right down to my core

Bakeries

Don't you feel like Breadtalk sometimes?

It's like how you begin with a hundred different bread designs in mind, each designed to cater to a different niche. You tell yourself, I'm going to try my best to make things a little better for people, and you pour yourself into your work, crafting each bun and puff with delicate love.

But then people come along, and are disappointed when they cannot find something they want. Andre's looking for the Chicken Skin Bun, Dex the Veggie Delight, Siao Charn the Mushroom Puff, and Limin the Bananas-Because-I'm-Limin Fluff.

And you find that you just cannot make everyone happy, and you have no choice but to steel youself, turn some people down and try to disguise the regret in your voice. You watch them say "It's Ok!" and leave, and cannot help but wonder how things might be different if only you could have found it in you to satisfy them.

Of course, it's the satisfied customers who push you on... Alex happy with the Wormy-worm-worm Swirl, Jiayun the CHIO BUn, Zhihao the I'm-Dumping-My-Friend-For-Warcraft Sandwich, Hanting the Rambo Bread.

Give and take la, give and take.

If Devils Wore Fur

Aha. Don't for a single moment be fooled by them. Rabbits? More like rabids.

My cousin abandoned her two "cutesy bunnies" a week ago at my house, citing domestic unrest due to fundamental differences that could not be resolved. She's only 10, but when she wants something she usually gets it, so my brother and I gamely took the bunnies in. After all, bunnies are low-maintenance, right?

They didn't need constant affection (unlike girlfriends), never argued back (unlike girlfriends), would let you elope with your Playstation (unlike girlfriends), and would never, ever ask you if you thought they were fat (unlike girlfriends).

To our horror, we realised the following:

They were extremely violent when provoked (like girlfriends), scratched viciously (like girlfriends), raised a stink if you ignored them for too long (like girlfriends), and became little concentrated balls of hellfury the moment you try to bathe them (like girlfriends... of the well-raised sort).

And perhaps the only reason my brother and I have not let them loose in a neighbourhood full of gaming dogs, is that we're trying to teach my cousin a lesson. Heck, I think it's a lesson on responsibility we're trying to impart, but whatever the case is, the school term had better end soon.

New HBOTW!!

And this week it goes to Chris!

For bothering to ask me out to lunch
Even when work deluges you
I'll reward you with a bunch
Of silly soppy "I LOVE YOUs"!

No change to Worm of The Week.

Drawing Inspiration

I believe that it's extremely important to be able to be continually inspired everyday, to always be struck by a sense of wonder at some new discovery, or by a deeper understanding of a previously explored portion of the known world.

It doesn't even matter what product this inspiration eventually gives rise to. If you were artistic, this inspiration could take its resting place in a poem, or perhaps a song, or even a sketch or painting. If you were more scientifically inclined, maybe a new product blueprint with tweaked-up engineering, or a new hypothesis, or the solution to some long-standing scientific puzzle.

So strive to find this inspiration for yourself, somehow, every day!

And how to find this inspiration?

"I love every second of the play. I drink it, like someone with dehydration might drink a glass of iced water. I love being made to think about something else other than my work and my marraige, and I love its wit and its seriousness, and I vow for the millionth time to nourish myself in this way on a more regular basis."

- How To Be Good, Nick Hornby

Moon Flower

Well, for me this is the one fragrance that does it. =)

You haven't revelled in Moonflower?
Elusive like a maiden too shy
Renewing as a summer's shower
Ever present like a poor man's sigh
Unforgettable as a friendship gone sour
Heart-wrenching like a newborn's cry...

Acting Stupid

I've always known my acting was passable, and in a few rare cases, even quite superb. But things are getting out of hand.

See, I've long realised that generally, people are more likely to be patient and understanding towards other people who are obviously possessed of less developed mental faculties, and who are concurrently very sincere to learn from their mistakes.

Thus, by acting completely stupid and apologetic, I'd found a way to circumvent impatience and derisive attitude from others. But it's working far too well.

With three separate driving instructors, I've acted completely retarded, and generally scraped through their lessons living on extended patience. For example, on more than one occasion I've thrown the clutch and sent the vehicle into retching fits, but soothed the instructor's frustration immediately with a "Oh no, why is the car like this? I'm holding on so tightly to the steering wheel?!?"

But it has occurred to me that no one can possibly be acting so well, for so long. So it's either that I'm doing a great job exuding the air of a goondu learning driving, or I simply look...

I cannot imagine. *sigh*

Soft Spots

Do soft spots exist? Jiayun insists they do
Do you choose to have them, or they choose you?
Do people have one? Or two? Or a few?
Are they even anything new?

And to my surprise they do exist
And even fester in interesting ways
For long periods of time they will persist
Some even to the end of days

The kind that you never acknowledge
For fear it'll make you look weak
You would sooner admit you love cabbage
Than let such information leak

They certainly make you do funny things
That normally you wouldn't do
You find that it's really quite confusing
If you disbelieve try it yourself - it's true!

Your defenses go down you get soft inside
For that someone you sacrifice readily
It's not something you can easily hide
This soft spot malady

Against all reason and cold hard logic
You give and expect nothing back
Which is why it becomes quite ironic
When your own peace of mind suffers the attack

You question yourself over and over
Why not just let it all go?
To be composed, calm, sane and sober
To be free of that much less woe?

But you find you can't even when you think you can
It's not as simple as that
Some things are simply out of your hands
Not even when your mind is set

The only conclusion that satisfies me
Is that I'd rather have some soft spots than none
Even if I might not be completely free
If I was incapable of feeling I'd truly be undone

HBOTW: MOK KAILYNN!

Never thought you would climb the ranks and make it to the esteemed position of HBOTW... notice your close friend, the Cheng one, becoming the default for WOTW... haha

But thank you very much for always reaching out! You've always been patient with me... I appreciate your tolerance for cute, hunky guys! Hiyar, the rest you know la, won't make your head bigger... and for liking rain and Eternal Sunshine, freak, you catapaulted yourself to the top! (the-Cheng-one: buck up)

(PS: Can I get promoted from toad now please?)

To You....

I thought I heard you wrong, but haha, I was just slow. There are things in life we're bounded to, like protocol and all, so below's all I've got to say to you at this point... one day, perhaps, I can actually talk to you face to face about this. =)

In many ways you mirror the moon
Late to arrive yet gone so soon
Emplaced in the night sky so high above
Too near to miss too far to love

Even if one day I could bridge the distance
I'll have neither fortune nor circumstance
For at best you'll find the time unripe, and at worst
A Neil Armstrong will have gotten there first

And so I wish you two all the best
Make it last, pass all the tests
Add clouds, stars and a little shine
This kind of opportunity's hard to find

Meow...

Tried & Tested (Prove Me Wrong)

Well, I thought I'll record all the super inspirational off-the-cuff things people say, that are pulled off only by the sheerest blend of fortune and circumstance! You can try them out for yourself, and well, see what happens. =)

1. At a friend's birthday party, wait for the candle to be blown out, then call for the waitress and say, "Miss? Can you light my fire?"

(I've only got this first one so far, but heck, it works. I tried it last night at Zhihao's birthday party at Lips!)

A Whole New World...

Argh! After close to 8 years, I've just uncovered a perfectly hidden analogy, metaphor, whatever you call it!

Have you watched Aladdin? Recall the portion where Aladdin and Jasmine soar through the night sky on a magic carpet, and they sing that particular song?

Well, they're actually singing about their shared love! Not about whatever physical world they're in, but how their love has lent a different hue altogether to the world as they know it! About how after being in love they discover things anew, and together! Freak!!

I can't believe I'm 8 years too slow!!

I can show you the world
Shining, shimmering, splendid
Tell me, princess, now when did
You last let your heart decide?

I can open your eyes
Take you wonder by wonder
Over, sideways and under
On a magic carpet ride

A whole new world
A new fantastic point of view
No one to tell us no
Or where to go
Or say we're only dreaming

A whole new world
A dazzling place I never knew
But when I'm way up here
It's crystal clear
That now I'm in a whole new world with you
Now I'm in a whole new world with you

Unbelievable sights
Indescribable feeling
Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling
Through an endless diamond sky

A whole new world
Don't you dare close your eyes
A hundred thousand things to see
Hold your breath - it gets better
I'm like a shooting star
I've come so far
I can't go back to where I used to be

A whole new world
Every turn a surprise
With new horizons to pursue
Every moment red-letter
I'll chase them anywhere
There's time to spare
Let me share this whole new world with you

A whole new world
That's where we'll be
A thrilling chase
A wondrous place
For you and me

Only Fools Rush Into Love?

I was watching Spiderman 2 last night (which is competing with Eternal Sunshine to be my favourite movie of the year) when it struck me just how girls (ok, and guys too) rush into things, especially relationships!

I mean, let's take a look at Mary Jane Watson. It occurred to me that she's quite the vixen herself, never bothering to sort out her own feelings before entangling herself in two seperate relationships, forcing a situation where there must be a winner and there must be a loser.

Most of all, however, I thought that the one thing she lacked the most was common sense and a lack of basic biology fundamentals. Didn't she ever consider that one day, after marrying Peter Parker and getting pregnant with his kids, she would go for an ultrasound scan only to find...

A SCAN OF A COCOON, OR EIGHT LIMBS FOR EVERY HEAD?

Good luck, Mary Jane.

(Phew! I'm back! Thanks for all the people who have reached out to me during the last horrendous week... that includes you Hunky-Luky!)

Sorry To All My Friends!!

Phew! Basically I've been swamped by work (wish I was deserted by work instead... haha... geddit geddit?!?) and the list of friends that I've been trying to catch up with just keeps growing and growing like a child on Nestle baby formula...

And I'm sad for it! I wish I had more time to catch up with you all, over a coffee or something, but I can't... work's really demanding, and to think I've already turned a hunk like Chris down twice for lunch! (and you too Lucas... the hunk part definitely)

Forgive me for disappearing for the next few weeks at least, I'll still keep in touch ya? To all the people I owe letters, phone calls, photos or Mambo Nite outings to, I'll make it up to you!

Lastly, I've developed an alternative award to Human Being Of The Week... it's the MLOTW award. And this week, to the person who cannot even ask me out nicely, I award Missing Link Of The Week to... Limin!

(She sent me the following sms : Hey you stupid man when are u free to meet me for our dinner and pub outing?)

Doctors & Adverts

Doctors are allowed to advertise, aren't they?

If they could, and I was gutsy enough to put a real picture of a bloody tumour up here, the tag line would read...

What you take ten years to grow, we take ten minutes to remove.

Come on, Ivan. Just admit it, you can't wait to hire me.

The Crux Of The Wedding Dinner

About a month or two ago, the Straits Times ran an article expounding the demerits of the Chinese Wedding Dinner. Among the common complaints like the dinners starting late, there were some that warranted more reflection, such as the charge that increasingly, wedding dinners were becoming more the glamour show than the personal affair it's supposed to be.

Last night, my second cousin's wedding dinner was different.

It began late, and the run of childhood photos of the couple did not make things better. I felt like I was intruding into their personal life, seeing how the two of them grew up and got together.

Things didn't get better when the couple began to list all their thank-yous and popped champagne. It seemed to me that they were basically thanking this whole long list of faceless people, and with a little sigh I inwardly lamented that this was going to be another forgettable dinner.

Things radically changed when, after thanking both their parents, my second cousin said "Oh, I have one more person to thank!" just as his bride made to leave the podium. I was wondering, eh, who could be more important to warrant a thank-you after the parents were mentioned? And I still didn't get it as helpers rolled in a piano and barstool...

And he led her to the barstool, bathed in a silvery blue spotlight. He took his place at the piano, told us to bear with him, and began a little song for her... thanking her for being with him, thanking her for existing...

While the ballroom looked on in respectful admiration, I felt that hey, finally, here's a wedding dinner that got its priorities right. It isn't about showing off, it isn't about giving your relatives face by inviting them...

It's about making one night completely unforgettable and meaningful for the partner you've found.

Happy First Year!

Hey, the two of you... Congratulations on your first year together! It's my fortune entirely to know the both of you individually as great friends, and then together as one of the more sane, mature and stable couples!

A year has passed with an eye's twinkle
And much has been said and done
Congrats on not remaining single
Surely joys aplenty and sadness none

Wish that both of you will remain strong
And conquer trials together
For the journey's pretty tough and long
But I'm sure all storms you two can weather

Happy first year again you two... =)

A Better Life Elsewhere...

I saw her the other day. Held lovingly in the hands of another.

The memories flooded back, of course. The special moments we've had, our faces pressed together in the private worlds we summoned, braving every frigid nightfall with only each other for company.

Yet there she was, now, with another.

Strange as it was, jealousy and anger hardly managed to muscle out the more harmonious emotions of contentment and peacefulness. I was glad, somewhere within my innermost sanctums, that she was happy, that a spirit as boundless as hers had found a richer shade, a more vibrant tone in the tapestry of life.

But you do know I'll always be there for you, right? =)

(My brother had gone to Lucas' brother's birthday party, and somehow got dunked. His new 3200 suffered collateral damage. Because beggars can't be choosers, my brother had to make do with my old 3310... and seeing the two of them falling inexplicably, uncontrollably in love... has been thoroughly heart-warming... sigh...)

Of Trees and Wind

Think about it: a man lives on a little island his whole life, and there is nothing but a lone tree and the relentless sea breeze for company. When the sea breeze blows, he sees the tree sway, and after many, many years, he thinks -

"There is wind because the tree sways!"

It's strange how it doesn't matter how intelligent or wise the above-mentioned guy is. He could be as sharp and intuitive as Limin (my nose! it got longer!) but to him it's perfectly logical and reasonable that the tree's the cause of the breeze...

So don't be so frustrated when someone else cannot understand you, or does something you perceive to be completely illogical or unreasonable. A high EQ alone is still not sufficient for one to wholly empathize with everyone, because it's mere projection - projection of yourself into that person's shoes.

The emotions projection invokes simply cannot match going through something yourself!

Eye For A Flower

What if there was a flower that only you could appreciate?

Like if it was plain and unobtrusive and tended to blend in with the millions of other flowers on earth? But then one day you stopped, and spent time appreciating it, and found it to be beautiful in its own right?

Would you proudly grow it, or display it?

Because then it's a choice between conforming with the rest of society and being true to yourself. And you might think, hiyar, of course I'll be true to myself.

But how many really do?

Average Joe Pt II

Aha! I've finally figured out why the stupid show bugged me so much.

Maybe it was ok for the girl to be so confused over who to choose. I mean, both were almost exact opposites of the other in terms of character and appearance, yet both had qualities any girl would desire in a man.

I completely understand if she really did have feelings for both men. Which is why I don't agree with the way she rejected the loser... she told him that they had been getting along well, she was very happy with him, their romance was budding... BEFORE she dropped the bombshell and told him "however, the romance has to end tonight"

To me, she was obviously playing it up for the cameras, at the behest of the producers or not.

And that's sick, because it's one thing to choose between two men, and another to completely discount the feelings of a person you were in love with for the sake of drama.

I've got to stop watching reality shows... bugging me too much! It's time for some... er... WWE. *grunt*