Warcraft Fever

Everybody has their weaknesses. A lot of people try, but very few ever achieve perfection. The few who have, inevitably end up living shorter lives. Not many people can stand a perfectionist, much less a perfect person, amidst them.

I'm an ordinary man, I have my fair share of weaknesses. I procrastinate, I occasionally indulge in chocolate, I make good-looking people insecure about their looks. And, as I found out recently, I am also still very much a sucker for computer games.

Seriously, I thought I had outgrown this phase in my life. Games used to take up so much of my life that my parents often had to arrange for elaborate exorcisms every time they found the Playstation possessing me.

Then after a while, games began to lose their appeal and grip. So many other priorities came into the picture that I just couldn't seem to muster the same fervor I had for games anymore. Indeed, for a while I even found games boring and mindnumbing.

Ah, I thought, so this is what it feels like to be a man.

But the demons lurk closest just when you think you are rid of them. Enter Warcraft, the marijuana of Singapore's youth.

Everytime I told myself that there was work to do, worlds to save, I'll have some bit of media shoved into my face about Warcraft. Newspapers, magazines, posters, commercials, pop-ups... everywhere I turned I would find further temptation.

It's seriously no joke. For the girls out there, who at this point might think that guys are so childish for playing games, just remember that for a guy, Warcraft = Mango. Now tell me, if you went out, and every poster you saw from home to town carried the words "Mango Sale 70% off!", tell me with your hand over your heart that you wouldn't feel a single tinge of temptation.

I'm not alone, I know. Just look to the newspapers to see what I mean. Increasingly, countries are sounding off alarms as millions of youths get dangerously addicted to computer games.

On the flip side, I think it's much cheaper to bring up boys than girls, thanks to computer games. I was stunned when a straw poll revealed that most girls spend close to $100 - $300 a month on clothes, shoes, and other accessories.

Man, that's 2 to 6 freaking games a month!

Let us make a case for games, against clothes. A game can last you for months on end. There's no worry at all about what people will say if they see you playing the same game again. Games don't get accidentally torn or ripped in the wash.

A game fits all occasions. Games are never too revealing. While game malfunctions do happen, you don't shoot to infamy if a game fails on you. People don't judge you by the games you play.

(Well, actually they do. It's soo much cooler to play Warcraft than, say, Puzzle Bobble.)

Back to my main point. Girls, for the sake of the men in your life, do try to understand how guys go hand in hand with gaming. Share our joy. Don't say hurtful things like, "Why are you still playing games at your age you overgrown dependent baboon?"

That's the equivalent of us pointing out your new dress and saying, "Hey, my grandma wore something like that the other day too!"

Oh... Warcraft...

Up In Arms

It's the special kind of lecture that everyone has been part of before. The type of lecture that would have everyone wishing education wasn't compulsory and that they had chosen to be a child labourer instead.

The kind of lecture where the material is dry, the preparation tedious, the tension palpable. The lecturer's firing questions faster than Wei Chin can say something objectionable, and all too often there's an excruciating silence as everyone wonders what the hell is going on.

Then comes the inevitable threat, the one that brings to mind Russell Peters - "If no one volunteers to answer my question, I have no choice but to start picking people. Somebody, somebody, is going to answer."

Pause. Let's talk about the mechanics of this threat.

Why should one feel intimidated by this threat? Why is there this immediate shrinking of the spirit, this cowering of the soul? Don't lie to yourself now, no matter how impervious you think you are to threats, do you not feel this sudden wild panic?

Inspired by Daryl's application of mathematics to uncover the principles of life, let's examine the numbers. If no one volunteers, and he's forced to pick someone, the chances that it will be you is probably 1 in 100. That's 1 percent.

Now, if you cave in to this threat, and volunteer, that probability of it being you shoots up, to roughly, give or take a bit, 100 percent. Not an unsubstantial increase.

At this point you're probably thinking, haha, thank goodness Hanting's not doing a course related to maths. I say, wait, let's go beyond the maths and examine the social repercussions of this revelation.

It is clear that if people volunteered, the lecturer would be happier at the end of the day. Even if he picked you, he wouldn't be so upset at the lack of response that even if you said something that would trigger off a tightening of the entry criteria next year, he wouldn't be mad.

Conversely, if no one volunteered, and he picked you, you better start praying he has children of his own and appreciates the virtues of mercy. When the lecture concludes, you can be sure a reprimand is in store for the entire cohort.

How does one apply this knowledge?

Simple. Everyone, everyone should raise their hands once a question is asked.

Just think about it! The probability of you being picked is now effectively the same as when no one volunteers! Since the chances of you being called out is the same, and there is the added advantage of the lecturer being happy at the end of the day, isn't this a whole lot better?

Never underestimate student power.

Do I Know You?

The lecturer began quite innocuously, citing examples in Contract Law where a contract can be deemed void. One instance, he said, was when there was a mistake as to identity of the parties involved in the contract.

"Consider a marraige where the wife discovers that the person she has married, is actually not the person she thought she had married. Would the marraige be voided by this?"

Quite quickly, a girl in the front rows quipped, "Doesn't that happen all the time?"

Everyone laughed. Then, the painful reality of it hit, and everyone sighed.

It's strange though, when you put some thought to it. Whose mother has never cautioned them before, not to rush into relationships? That one must spend time getting to know the other party before taking the plunge?

Yet, anyone can tell you that no matter how hard you try to get to know another person well, no matter how hard you try to figure out if you're compatible before you get attached, most of the discovery only takes place after.

One of the innumerable mysteries of life then, I guess.

Soft Spot, Revisited

Her name is Rei, which in Japanese means gratitude.

Rei's less than a year old, and so you would be forgiven if you couldn't distinguish her from the rest - all young look the same. She's less than a year old, but already she's developing a personality of her own.

Rei's as pretty as other girls of her age are. She loves to play, just as much as the rest. She's innocent, quiet, enquiring, endearing, charming... but I know, Rei will never grow up to be like the rest.

For Rei came into this world slightly different. For the rest of her natural life, Rei will lack the mental quickness her peers enjoy.

I know, because for the past few days I've been trying to troubleshoot and figure out what in blazes in wrong with her. I don't understand how a laptop with superior specs can still end up being laggy and slow, compared to the other brands my friends are using.

For two nights now, I've gone to bed all weary and drained. No matter what settings I try, I just can't seem to fix her. I hate the way I see other laptops doing so well, when I can't help Rei overcome the problems plaguing her.

Strangely, even though I've had to deal with much disappointment and frustration over her condition, I can't seem to get mad at her. At the end of the day, when she quietly powers down and hibernates next to me, I gaze at her... and magically, any anger inside melts away.

Is it a weakness, to lack the capacity to remain upset and angry at some people for a significant amount of time?

My brother and I go way back, almost 17 years now. Throughout the years we've done things to each other that would set any child psychologist on edge, persuade newlyweds to consider sterilization.

He's attacked me whilst I was recovering from an appendectomy, pushed me head-first into a glass table, bit me, lost my CDs, misplaced my handphones, mangled my favourite clothes, driven me up the wall during important exam periods.

I'm no saint though, I admit.

In return, I've guided him, patiently pointed out the error of his ways, indulged his tempers and idiosyncracies, given him as much leeway without spoiling him, and expected nothing more from him than I would of a peer of like age, intelligence and experience.

Yet, for some strange reason, even after he's done the most outrageous things, I can't help but laugh it off and attribute his follies to a temporary condition of childhood and sublime idiocy. I hate to admit it, it goes against all principles of machismo, but I guess a soft spot exists here too.

Yes, my dear... this applies to you too. In more ways then you think.

Ahh... love truly is a most impenetrable and unfathomable thing. Just like Singapore Legal System lectures.

Fashion

I've talked about this before - it's highly regrettable that schools and parents are hardly able to teach the young even half of what they need to know, in this big, bad world of ours. What children are not formally taught, they begin to pick up on their own.

So maybe it's high time that Fashion Sense became a compulsory topic at school. Right after Maths and before P.E. If not for the girls, then please, let's have the lessons for the guys.

Because guys have it much worse than girls - society's demands and pressures somehow predispose guys to developing very strange ideas about fashion. In fact, so rare is the guy who possesses a keen sense of dressing that he is instantly celebrated as a Metrosexual, a Fashion Designer, or an Open Gay.

Perhaps it is the different way in which fashion sense penetrates the male and female worlds. Females rely on discussion groups, Think Tanks and voluminous magazines to efficiently disseminate the latest trends and styles. If a fashion revolutionary like Madonna changed her hair today, a tribal native in Africa would hear about it by next week.

Males don't do that. Fashion sense evolves slowly, within small communities of males, much like the way gene pools work. Only upon mixing with males from a different community does peer pressure set in, and a brand-new fashion equilibrium actualize.

Don't believe me? Just look at how RI boys and ACS boys match socks with black shoes. While the RI boys will happily wear white socks with black shoes (a fashion by-product of the Prefects' attire), the ACS boys would rather amputate both legs than go out in public dressed like that.

I should know how it feels to be the unwitting victim of a fashion faux pas. I've walked into a room, wearing my jeans the same way I've worn them for years, to the reception of shocked gasps and transfixed gazes of horror. Kind people would then sit me down, pat me on the head and tell me they understand how it all isn't my fault, it was the unfortunate way I had been brought up.

Jeez, I might as well have walked into a room full of vegetarians, dressed in a costume of a headless, bleeding cow.

Sometimes, all it takes is flair and charisma to make the difference between a fashion pioneer and a fashion disaster. Carry it off with enough panache and people will actually emulate you, rather than crucify. But be warned, if you're someone like me, just give up. 10 years later the memories will be less painful.

I know to give up because of a pink shirt Haoyun convinced me to buy. It's the only pink shirt I have in a wardrobe of blues and blacks, and every time I wear it I attract criticism like Law Faculty attracts pretty girls.

It doesn't matter if Metrosexuals are accepted and no longer stoned in public. It doesn't matter that I have good looks, great skin and abs to crack eggs on. Once I don the accursed shirt, I become Pin-Up poster material. For throwing darts.

One last tip for the guys for now. Wear Your Pants Low. Any girl secretly crushing you would have "all the magic sudddenly disappear", if ever they find out your wear your pants high.

Trust me, I swear.

Time

I've never had my hours fill up so fast before!

Just about a month ago, rare was the moment when I was occupied for more than an hour at a shot. Life then was just flitting from whim to fancy like a carefree jellyfish.

Now, if I have the time to brush my teeth three times in a week, it means I've been juggling my time well already.

The funniest thing is how you peer into the future and initally determine, say, Friday's a free day. No appointments, no deadlines, just a calm, peaceful day with one lecture and one tutorial.

Come Thursday night, you'll have lessons in the morning, frantic last-min readings before noon, lunch appointments with different groups of friends at the same time, tutorial drafts before 3, more social gatherings by six, salsa at night, followed by a slumber party.

Oh yes, and saving the world before midnight.

Really, life seems so short now. It's a pity the way priorities shift too, and how you know you just can't hold on to the things you so very dearly love and treasure, just as tight anymore. It breaks my heart.

The true test begins!

Be A Man...

Another stab at tackling the great unknowns of life, at 5 am in the morning. Haha, bye-bye body clock.

I've always been taught to do the right thing. After a certain point I no longer needed my parents by my side to remind me - every conscious action on my part reflected a sincere desire to simply do what was right.

Most of the time, temptation was kept at bay by the glowing satisfaction of knowing I had made the better choice. For example, I never had problems returning money I had found, I've never cheated in a test, I've never torn a page out of a library book.

But has it occurred to you, that as you grow older it gets harder and harder to do the right thing?

Perhaps it is because the morally right choices are often made at one's expense. And as you mature you realize that no one's there to protect your interests for you - it's often a one man show. If you yourself don't seek what's best for you, who will?

Recently, I discovered that a friend was undergoing punishment for misplacing his belongings. Somehow, it had gotten lost a few months back, and for the life of him he had been unable to locate it. Into thin air, it had gone.

That night, on the spur of the moment, I decided to check my cabinet to see if his belongings were with me. The logical part of me acknowledged the low probability, but there was something at the back of my mind, nagging away at me...

Lo and behold. His items were actually with me.

I will gloss over the pros and cons of confessing. In the end though, after almost 2 sleepless hours in bed, I messaged him and apologized profusely, taking all responsibility for my honest mistake. Fortunately, there was a happy ending. Of sorts.

And tonight, yes, just tonight, I had to make just such another choice.

It was a choice that messed my insides up completely, keeping me awake until now. I will always remember pacing my room, asking myself why should I not be selfish and just do what I wanted. The morally right choice suddenly seemed too exacting, too painful to make.

I almost succumbed. I almost made a choice that I am sure I would be ashamed of in time to come. In the end, as heart-rending as it was, I made the better choice.

The dust's slowly settling. How will things turn out? Will it all be worth it in the end? What if I realize, a few months down the road, that I was much better off just watching out for myself, instead of always having to keep others in mind?

If you haven't been to such a crossroads before in your life, I wish you strength of resolution and clearness of mind. For it is then that you will see, truly, how difficult it is to -

"Be a man, do the right thing."

Uncommon Problem Solving

As children mature into adults, they slowly begin to assimilate lessons no teacher can pass on in a normal classroom. For example, they learn to react to different social stimuli, and as experience accrues so do they react faster and better.

Let's say you introduce yourself to a stranger - chances are, he/she would react accordingly, and an exchange of names and pleasantries would ensue. This is simply because that particular social exchange has happened so often both parties respond almost instinctively.

Now, isn't the converse true? That if someone has not been exposed to a particular social exchange previously, wouldn't the response time and quality of response be so poor as to leave that person like a stranded fish gasping for water?

Knowledge without application is about as useful as using sandpaper for toiletpaper. Let us explore the possibilities.

Scenario 1: Stuck in a holding area

Course of Action: Get a female to approach the ushers, preferably the male ones, to urgently plead to leave to use the bathroom. Scream "I NEED TO PEE NOW!!" until effect is achieved.

In my opinion, guys will balk at having to deal with such a situation and simply acquiesce.

Track Record: Almost worked once, defeated by a male who thought commendably fast on his feet. Oh well. Not all males think so fast.

Scenario 2: Getting scolded by your parents

Course of Action: Rush up to the miffed parent and hug tightly, cooing "Mum, Dad, I love you so much! Thank you for always being there to guide me."

Track Record: My mum's immune already. Only worked once, but that's probably because I wasn't exactly a very cute or heartstrings-tugging kind of kid. Works best for kids under 16.

Scenario 3: Having a stranger jump your queue at a foodstall

Course of Action 1: Grab the nearest child and pinch hard. When the queue-jumper turns to look, comfort the child loudly, "It's ok, I know you're very hungry, but we've got to wait until queue-jumping worms like this man next to us get their food, ok? Hush now..."

Course of Action 2: Direct a nearby child to repeat loudly, "Mum is it ok to jump queues? I thought you said if I jumped queues I would go to hell? So is this man going to hell too?"

Track Record: Untested, nearby children not as handy as you think. For best results rehearse your own children.

Scenario 4: Your boyfriend/husband/father is not giving in to you

Course of Action: Whine and whine and whine. Follow up with excessive pouting and threats along the lines of "I refuse to bear you children/grandchildren!". Yes, it's sexist, but you're a fool if you're not going to use every weapon in your god-given arsenal.

Track Record: Wait a minute. Isn't this what every girl does already? All the same, works with 95% of males. The remaining 5% are just too young or too old.

Bleah. More scenarios the next time I max out on adrenalin doing an assignment past midnight and cannot sleep.

Karaoke 3: Guidelines

I have done it. After sitting through yet another karaoke session today, I have determined the elusive exact social composition of a successful karaoke party.

50% Enthusiasts - Clearly, you need as many enthusiasts as possible. These are the people who are not going to be shy about belting out their favourite songs, and who basically queue up every single song three times over on the system. Basically, the backbone of the party.

20% Singers - A karaoke session subsisting purely on well-meaning enthusiasm, without the occasional dash of talent, will drive people to turn to an ascetic solitary life of prayer afterwards.

Therefore, always include a few trained or gifted singers to inspire and to entertain.

20% Reserved Ones - These are the people who will patiently, gracefully wait their turn. They serve as the obligatory bunch who need goading from the Enthusiasts before they pull off a One Hit Wonder.

Why have this group when the Enthusiasts suffice? See, once they cave in to social pressure, a general sense of accomplishment and brotherhood will come to exist amongst the rest, thus improving the mood of the party.

10% Clowns - No party is complete without these people. They will sing in monotone, shout words instead of sing, resort to drama mama antics to distract from their lack of singing, and basically serve to ameliorate those awkward silences.

So why is all this important?

The next time you karaoke, observe your friends carefully. Identify a certain niche or class that is missing from the above formula, then fill it - consider it your duty to help make the session a fun one.

Caution though, there are many pitfalls to avoid. If you are an Enthusiast, please keep an eye out on the mood of your fellow karaokees. Dilated pupils and frothing at the mouth are common signs that you should shut up and pass the mike on.

Singers, please do not take things so seriously. Sing for fun, damn it, it's not Singapore Idol, if you forget lyrics or sing a boo-boo please don't repeat the dang song. Or curse. Or cry.

For the Reserved Ones, be a sport, don't make the whole world beg you on their knees before you agree to croon a number. Know when to stop playing hard to get, and in the event that a rock with lichen growing on it has more talent than you, when it's your turn to sing, morph into a -

Clown. Notice the singular form of the word. No party is large enough for multiple clowns, so stop competing to see who can throw more face away. Gags are usually only funny the first 50 times, after that it's mitigating grounds for 1st degree murder, so don't try too hard too.

Ah. My first semi-exhuastive guide to having the perfect karaoke experience.

Muggers

Law students, it has been said, follow a set pattern to studying.

At the beginning of their course, they inevitably pounce upon their newly acquired books with the ferocity of a teenage girl at a Mango sale. With no regard to personal health or social standing, they mug like there's no tomorrow.

5 pages into their textbook, they can barely disguise the anxiety eating them from within, as they struggle to catch up with their fellow classmates.

50 pages into their textbook, a glow of smugness spreads over them, much like the way pregnant women seem to radiate vitality. They know they are ahead of the class, Hallelujah.

500 pages into their textbook, they pause. They awaken from some crazed stupor. They proceed to contemplate the meaning of life.

5000 pages - they quit law and open a bakery.

The above anecdote, related to me by a senior, prompted me to delve into the world of muggers and relook at conventional perceptions that hound them.

The first thing that struck me was how contradictory our views of muggers can be. On one hand, muggers are to students as Brad Pitt is to people aspiring to look good - muggers are the epitome, the very essence of studenthood.

On Day One of Primary school, mothers start pointing out the muggers to their children. "Look", they say, "there goes a mugger toad. Your only responsibility now is to study hard - if your myopia doens't worsen by the end of this year, somebody's gonna get a-hurt..."

Yet, muggers are also scornfully despised. They are characterized as selfish, kiasu, socially inept Anti-Christs. Openly declaring yourself a mugger in school has the same effect as wading into a crowded pool and admitting you have a fungal infection of the groin.

Public persecution of muggers has birthed a caste system of sorts, comprising of the Mugger (M), the Closet Mugger (CM) and the Non Mugger (NM). Like any other caste system worth its salt, once you are discovered to belong in a certain class it is very difficult to change your lot.

And of the three, it is the CM who attracts the most contempt, for who appreciates a traitor amongst your ranks? The Ms hate CMs for not being proud of who they are, and view the latter's lack of disclosure as a sign of cowardice.

Whereas the NMs, who have treated the CMs as one of their own right until the truth is revealed, cannot get over the fact that they have been lulled into a state of complacency whilst others have been racing ahead.

To me, Ms and NMs (sounds like chocolate) represent the tension between two ideals, namely, the ideal of complete studiousness and the ideal of education outside books. Wouldn't life be much simpler if we all recognized a nice balance is the best?

My friends, please, tolerance and understanding. If you pass a M today, don't jeer at him. Spare a minute to emphasise the value of life beyond the boundaries of books.

If you pass a NM, don't ask him whether he has been retained before. Spare a minute to remind him of the importance of being consistent in school work.

If you spot a CM though, don't show mercy. Spare a minute to bite him.

Ah... life would then be so much happier.

End Of Days

And there it is again, this queer insatiable longing lodged right in the centre of my being.

I walk past the places where we used to rehearse our dance, and stagger at the realization that there is nothing in the world that can bring back those times.

I spot all of you, the Presenters, now disbanded and slowly reintegrating into mainstream Law society, and ache inside. What I would give... oh, but it is foolish thinking.

It's been too long since I've gotten so involved in a group activity. In secondary school I envied the school teams, no matter their choice of sport, and I envied them for the way a common goal could unite so many disparate hearts, could elicit such a strong sense of belonging.

And I felt it that day, the day we finished the dance. It didn't matter to me if we won or lost, really. Just completing it with all of you, doing one perfect run with all of you, it was magical.

Thank you every single one of you. John's right, there's no better way to start Law school.

Hiding

When things go blue, out of the blue
When troubles are so numerous they have to queue
You pause and you stop and you contemplate
And you're sure that if things went on at this rate
You'll simply burst

Who can blame you then for wanting to retreat
To keep from dealing with more defeats
No more misunderstandings no more losses
No more struggling against unseen forces
Lifting of a curse

I only doubt how far one can possibly run
Away from the fact that damage is still being done
So is standing one's ground the right thing?
To find a solution whilst persevering?
Not easy at all

In either case one needs much strength within
To bear it all and continue to grin
Whilst searching for a solution to set oneself free
... I just hope it wouldn't be
A demand too tall

Whither Identity

When I saw the Caucasian couple approaching, I leapt at them, charm bursting out of every unblocked pore I had.

The fake smile I bore was threatening to slide off my face, severe cramping being the primary reason, and it had been such a tedious and disheartening morning that I had at most only 1 minute's worth of good will Hanting left. Failure was not an option.

"Good morning! I'm from NUS! Would you like to make a donation?" The tin can I thrust out rattled, and I could hear the spiders inside artfully dodging the few pathetic coins rolling about.

Town was currently host to a thousand parasitical students doing community service, and you couldn't sneeze without spraying a student volunteer or two. Truth be told, this couple had probably already been approached and bugged so many times I should be happy if they didn't immediately assault me.

You can therefore imagine my surprise when they actually began to engage me in lively conversation, skyrocketing my status as Portable Spare Change Receptacle to Intelligent Human Being. I fielded questions regarding our current collection drive, as well as queries about student life in Singapore.

They left soon after, visibly pleased by the informative exchange we had, but not before donating a respectable amount and rendering a bittersweet praise.

"Why, we think it's amazing that you can speak English so well! Keep up the good work!"

Yes, I'm aware of the myopic view that Singaporeans, hailing from a country that is part of China, all speak Mystic Oriental Tongues and have specially evolved hands to manipulate chopsticks. So I closed one eye and graciously accepted their compliment.

Now, the above incident alone wouldn't have provided enough impetus for this post. The following incident in conjunction to the first, does.

A while later, when a Chinese couple I had approached returned puzzled blank looks, I rattled off my introduction in Mandarin instead. That seemed to do the trick - once the language barrier was overcome, they warmed up to me and we started chatting.

It turned out that they were tourists from Taiwan, and were just as inquisitive about Singapore as the earlier Caucasian couple was. Our encounter ended much like the first, with a generous contribution and a particularly unsettling compliment.

"Why, we think it's amazing that you can speak Mandarin so well! Keep up the good work!"

Right. I guess I must look like a veritable monkey to foreigners, master of an extensive vocabulary consisting of "Ook", "Oook" and "Ooook".

Upon reflection, I came to the conclusion that our national identity simply needs a more emphatic definition soon. Our young are growing up in a time when Singapore's truly beginning to embrace globalization, and foreign cultures have penetrated into our lives so deeply it's hard to tell where our own unique identities truly begin and end.

How much longer before the outside world stops mistaking us for always being part of another country? Will the next generation of Singaporeans be more confident in assuming a united identity? Or will they be a rush-job patchwork of borrowed cultures, of American MTV and British humour and Finnish technology?

In the meantime when I'm in town I'll be wearing a placard that says -

'Hi! My name is Hanting. I speak English and Mandarin. Please do not feed.'