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! =)