Rain From The Past 1: Friend?

She was, at that point in time, perhaps the closest thing to perfection I knew. She was 4 years older than I, and the first older friend I ever made.

We shared the school bus to primary school, and twice a day, once on the trip to school and once on the way back, the whole motley crew would play games, sing songs and drive the bus uncle mad. Friendships were quickly forged, and to my delight carried over to life outside the school bus.

For instance, on the occasions I bumped into her at the canteen, we would chat and talk about the teachers we had, or the little things that had been going on in class. Days few by that way, and you would barely feel the tedium of school.

Once, however, I was in the bookshop when I noticed her coming in with a bunch of her friends. I waved and said hi, but she didn't respond. In fact, she ignored me pointedly. When her friends asked her who I was, and why I was waving at her, she was icily calm.

"Oh, just some brat from my school bus. Don't mind him."

So saying, they left. I don't remember ever talking to her again, after that painful afternoon.

We all know that it's never a good idea to love people too much. Sometimes, we even make little reminders to ourselves to have restraint, and not give so freely. Often, however, we plow ahead recklessly, unable to stem the tide of feelings flowing inside.

With care I must tread - ironically, a 7 year-old is better than handling such disappointments than a 21 year-old can.

Presents

Spotlight, the Australian chain of stores selling art and craft materials for every occasion, is frequently overwhelmingly populated by females. There's cloth of all varieties, sewing equipment, decorative items, costume jewellery... it's almost a rite of passage for secondary school girls to make a pilgrimage here.

Male minds spin fast, and if by now you are thinking, hey, this is the perfect place to hang out and watch girls, you're generally right. Yet, as I have discovered recently, the people most worth watching in Spotlight, are the guys.

It's a fundamental law of nature that there are only two varieties of guys you can spot shopping. One is the enslaved male, who despite his nonchalence is attached to his girlfriend by an invisible leash. The younger, fresher boyfriends still comment on every item they're invited to evaluate, whereas the older, jaded ones just trail behind, blank-faced and drooling.

The other variety, and the one of interest here, is the guy who's out shopping for a gift. You recognize them by the perpetual state of frustration and anxiety they are in - it's the deadline hounding them. The ones who didn't procrastinate, and planned way ahead, have more time of course... give or take 2 days before the birthday or anniversary.

(I do not deny that there's a variety of males who shop for themselves. However, you usually can't spot them in public, because they move way too fast. Such males are akin to homing missiles, and after the purchase, they do not, ever, think about whether the next shop would have sold it for less)

You see, Spotlight usually smells pleasant. There's a light floral scent in the air, reinforced by the many different perfumes wafting in from their female hosts. But especially around Christmas, the season of giving, there's a sharp, primal stink of male anxiety and worry. The following conversation I overheard sums it all up.

Male A: Quick, what can I get her from here.
Male B: What did you get her last year?
A: A necklace. I can't possibly buy her something again, it's impersonal.
B: Hmm... maybe you could make her something.
A: ... what do you think I am doing here?
B: Err... you could make her a cross stitch.
A: Siao ah. I can't sew.
B: Or how about decorating a jewellery box.
A: Siao ah. I can't paint.
B: How much more time you have.
A: Until tomorrow.
B: Die.
A: Die.

And I don't blame them. As males slowly become more sensitive, they realise that they can't keep buying presents off the rack for their girlfriends. Sooner or later, there's this implicit understanding that a personalized, self-crafted present has to come along.

The thing is, guys are guys and girl are girls because they are different. Let's face it, not everyone is equally talented in the arts. You can't flog a dead horse, and you just can't teach some guys how to paint a jewellery box.

I admit quite openly that I am a doofus at personalizing presents. It's not that I'm not good with my hands, hur hur, but just that there's this entire portion of my brain that's not functioning as it should. In fact, I once dragged a female friend down to Spotlight with me - my Cultural Arts Attache.

Me: Ok, what if I want to get her something to decorate her room with?
Attache: What colour is her room?
Me: Err... blue? I think? So what, I should get something blue too?
Attache: No, you can't. You need something to offset the colour, not complement it, otherwise it's not striking. Not pastel, but not a base colour too. Look for a shade that stands out, but not one that clashes with her room's theme. Are you going for a matt look or a metallic, glossy look? And you want a splash of colours on it too, not just... Hanting?
Me: Hurh?
Attache: (sighs) What did I just say?
Me: Err... pastel? Matt? Not blue?

In fact, if you think about it carefully, Spotlight doesn't really sell crafting materials. It sells hope. Guys see the paints and the decorations placed side by side, and a most warming and lovely present blossoms in their mind. They then buy the stuff home, fiddle around for a few days, chuck the whole lot down the chute, and go back out to buy a necklace.

As a public service Spotlight should have stringent criteria for guys wishing to enter. They could have a little booth at the entrance, where there's crayons and paper, and you're supposed to draw a picture of your family members. You then show your drawing to a six-year old female Tester, and if she laughs, you can't go in, and for your own good too.

Of course, not everyone is as uptight about presents as you think. Whilst shopping yesterday this salesgirl started talking to me (because charm is not something you can switch on and off), opening the conversation with the classic "You look familiar, have I seen you somewhere?". Yes, it can also mean that my face is as common as dirt, but I choose to think it was a conversation starter.

One thing led to another, and soon we were talking about how difficult it was to get suitable presents. When I complained that it was impossible to fathom the female mind, she laughed and said that from a female perspective, all my girlfriend probably wanted was me, wrapped up with a bow around my neck.

Yeah right. It would be suicidal to try that - my girlfriend would not even bother unwrapping me before returning me to the store. She wouldn't even ask for a refund. =(

Seriously though, as Christmas looms, maybe it's a good time for people to sit down and re-evaluate just what giving presents entails.

I personally think that it's not so much of whether you made it yourself, or whether it cost a lot, but rather, how much effort and thought went into it. And even if the ultimate result was still a present available commonly, but you knew that your friend went through 18 kinds of Hell to decide upon it, appreciate it.

Top on my Christmas wishlist is actually a nice, long Christmas card, because in many ways writing a meaningful card is so much harder than buying a present. Sometimes you don't even need a present - something as simple as company is touching enough.

It's going to be a magical season. Treasure your friends and loved ones, and jealousy guard those who mean something to you. And in case I don't manage to blog again in time, Merry Christmas.

Santa's coming!

To Trust

I am, quite unfortunately, a very trusting person by nature. So much so, in fact, that a close buddy in the army wrote me a note once, reminding me not to dispense trust so freely, in case I was taken advantage of.

With a certain amount of disappointment, a casual foray into the past has revealed numerous examples of just what my buddy cautioned me against. The first and probably one of the more painful incidents involved none other, than my very own mother.

You see, I had a favourite purple pillow when I was about four. The covers were made of satin, and it was incredibly soft, cool and silky to the touch. But because young children tend to overcome their teething issues by chewing anything that doesn't chew back, my favourite pillow (Mr. Purple) was also clumpy, fraying and soggy.

In fact, if I still had it now, I daresay if you pressed it against your ear you could hear the germs and bacteria on it playing classical music, on account of the ideal conditions for them to multiply and evolve. After which you would probably need a full-time nurse and daily injections of drug cocktails.

But try as my mother could, Mr. Purple and I were inseperable. "Hygiene" was just this 2-syllable word that meant as much to me as "hedge funds investment", and "Let-me-throw-it-away-or-I-will-spank-you" was easily countered by grabbing my mother's leg and screaming "Mommy-mommy-please-don't-I-love-you-don't-kill-Mr.-Purple".

After threats, cajoling, and reasoning (oh when will parents realize that there's almost no way to reason with children until they're older, say, 25) failed, my mother resorted to... deception.

She bided her time, too. When we moved to a new house, she waited until the moving men left before she told me that we had to leave Mr. Purple behind. There was no more space, the moving men told her, for Mr. Purple on the moving truck. But don't worry, now he has our old house all to himself!

Oh, was I a sucker then. I forgave my mother eventually though - after all, she was only trying to save the whole family from the inconvenience of a premature death through disease.

You would think that from that experience I would grow up to be this hardy, cynical, bitter shell of a man ensconced behind high walls. Oh ho ho. Let's just say that maybe if I figured out the truth about Mr. Purple during my formative years, then yes. Finding out when you're 17 doesn't change anything.

Friends have not spared me from such agony as well. Back in JC1, my dear, charming friend Dot told me that in RGS, every belt was unique to the owner. On the inside was sewn a little tag containing all of the owner's personal information, which doubled as proof of identity in exams. From the first day of school, every RGS girl was bonded to her belt.

Maybe it was her straight face and trustworthy demeanour. Maybe it was my eargerness to consolidate our friendship by not doubting her. Or maybe, it was just plain stupidity. In any case she was tickled to no end, and I contemplated throwing a Mr. Purple at her. (But seriously, it sounds possible, right? Right?)

And I must have repeated this army story a million times, but for good measure, I'll recount it once again. In the first few weeks at a new army camp I kept to myself, mainly because I didn't know anyone else. Then, one night I heard screams, laughter and sounds of determined struggle from outside my bunk - another day, another stripping. I turned back to my book.

"Hanting! Quick! Come help us strip him!" Then, more sounds of struggle and unholy laughter.

Those words set my blood on fire. Finally! I was being accepted! I was recognized as one of the them, what with this most dignified invitation to partake in one of their holiest ceremonies! The joy of conquering loneliness was potently sweet. I threw my book aside, flung my door open... and rushed out into a most despicable trap.

When I joined the guys, I sensed something amiss. There was no struggle. There was a guy on the floor, but he wasn't flailing about trying to keep his underwear on. He was only staring straight at me, grinning this horrible smirk. The decoy.

"He's out! Get him!" The 20+ guys turned on me, and a dozen hands gripped my arms and legs. I shut my eyes. 5 minutes never lasted so long.

Some of my friends find it strange the way I don't seem to learn, and wonder why I haven't become less trusting. And the reason simply is that friendships blossom so much faster when you're not skeptical and cautious and preoccupied with putting all your defenses in place.

Of course, this has to be tempered with a bit of common sense. People who abuse that trust simply don't deserve it, and when I say trusting people is good, it doesn't mean you go throwing yourself at everyone.

You see, things like what Dot and my army friends did, don't really matter. I don't mind being caught up in a little harmless joke (ok the stripping doesn't exactly qualify as harmless), but it's another thing when people abuse your trust, knowing full well what they are doing.

I'm not a perfect person. Though I believe in the basic goodness of man, and I try to reach out to as many people as possible, there are some things I find hard to forgive. Though it pains me to consciously keep a distance from some people, I have no choice, sometimes.

Not everybody has the same benevolent, well-meaning intentions for destroying the Mr. Purple in your life.

Romance

Maybe it's just me, but before you watch romantic movies or read romantic novels, you must be mentally prepared.

You can, if you so wish, jump straight in defenceless. You can sit through Titanic with your mind naked and unprotected, or read The Bondmaid similarly unprepared.

But you do so at your own risk. Don't blame me if afterwards you get bitter, upset, frustrated, or even suicidal.

The problem arises because people tend to take whatever they see in the media at face value. This is the exact reason why little kids with capes jump off tables thinking they can fly, and why ruggers suplex each other thinking no one will get hurt from wrestling.

This, of course, spells untold harm and damage on the state of Romance in Singapore, and the world at large. Basically, what happens is that young impressionable people grow up absorbing unrealistic notions of romance, and when they find out for themselves that romance is as real as Santa Claus or as probable as Moderations of Exam Grades, whatever romance in them fizzles out.

In fact, in today's accelerated world it's not uncommon to find young twenty-somethings with all the cynicism and bitterness, of thirty-somethings.

That's why, you have to be prepared. Instead of starting off overly-idealistic and then crashing, it's generally better if everyone began knowing the truth, and then slowly working to make the world a sweeter place to live in. For the sake of our young, let me dispel some myths that perpetually cloak almost every love story out there.

First Myth: Story couples live happily ever after. Generally, they either die just after they confess undying love (Romeo 'n' Juliet, Moulin Rouge), or the story ends when they get together (Just Like Heaven, Eternal Sunshine). Simply put, you never see how these wonderful couples make it through life together, months after the honeymoon period has worn off.

I mean, look at Moulin Rouge. It's great to have your new lover burst into song every time he sees you, but seriously, after a few months of that, you just want to stab him. Over and over.

Any surviving couple will testify to the immense amount of effort required to keep a relationship alive. When I was younger and captivated by the idea of Romance, I used to think that all you needed to succeed in a relationship was love. Now, older, wiser, I have learnt the distinction between real love, and hormonal love.

Most unfortunately, real love is something of a delicate rose. Cultivating it and keeping it alive takes all the skill, energy and dedication you've got. That said, even cactuses die if you just plant them and leave them alone. Hormonal love, on the other hand, grows as spontaneously and ferociously as foot rot. Often, the bad effects last just as long too.

So don't be fooled. Getting the girl might be difficult at times, but in totality, it's only less than 10% of the entire journey.

Second Myth: That love overcomes every obstacle. You just need to realise that there are some obstacles that are just insurmountable. There are tons of movies out there just raring to have you believe in this, but don't be fooled.

Look at King Kong and his little blonde girl. In that movie love transcends species, communication, religious, financial security and hygiene barriers, and yet people still believe that the two had a chance. It's about as realistic as you falling in love with a hamster and hoping to receive your parents' blessing.

Perhaps that's why parents caution us about rushing in. You need to know what your personal stands are, and assume that your beloved's own views will never change, then ask yourself if you can live with it. All in all, if there's a fundamental issue you two can't agree with, it's really worth a meticulous rethink.

Third Myth: That people never change. The quintessential story that perpetuates this myth is probably Legend of the Condor Heroes - in that story, the lovers are seperated for 16 years, during which time the male hero is assaulted by the fervent and insistent affections of no less than three different wholly approvable girls.

Yes, you guessed it. Said male hero, most probably through the use of heavy drugs, suppresses any semblance of libido and common sense and waits 16 long years for his love to return. Romantic? Yes. Drama? Yes. Realistic? No.

Don't misunderstand, I'm not belittling anyone who chooses to wait for his one true love. It's just that people do change, and it doesn't mean that if two people are right for each other at a certain time, they'll always be right for each other. Your postage-stamp-sized bikini makes you irresistable now (if you're female), but donning it 30 years later will only make your children dig their eyes out.

It's all related to maintaining a relationship. People change, and you've got to keep up. If you stop growing in tandem with your partner, if you neglect to keep connected, you'll wake up to find a stranger next to you.

Actually, now that I think about it, the hard part isn't getting people to know that romance in the media is largely exaggerated. The hard part is getting people to stay romantic, despite all the hard knocks they receive through life.

I'm morphing myself, although I am fighting it every step of the way. I'm slowly changing into this practical, cynical person that is the bane of the Romancing Singapore campaign. You can't blame people, I realize. You can't look into the eyes of a person who's just been jilted, and say seriously, don't worry, love will conquer all.

Maybe that's why romance still sells. Although it's sad that people buy into romance but don't really believe in it, in the same pathetic way students like me buy assessment books knowing I'll never touch them, maybe people immerse themselves in romance to glimpse a better world.

A better world where there's unending energy to pull off romantic surprises, where true love is untainted by the passage of time, where partners or spouses aren't just companions who help you through life, but actually are your soulmates.

I encourage you, if you are a romantic at heart, keep that fire burning in you no matter how hard the storm rages outside. It's like believing in Cho. The world may test your strength in a myriad of ways, but if at the end of the day you manage to keep that little spark of belief alive, I do believe life will be a little brighter, a little sweeter.

Keep the faith alive.

Values

As a kid you grow up thinking the whole world is brought up like you. You just assume other dads are like your dad, scolding their kids for the same things, teaching them the same values, as if there was one big leather-bound "Parents' Guide to Bringing Up Docile and Obedient Progeny" that the government issues to all new parents.

Ok wait, given the PAP that was way too believable. But you get what I mean, don't you?

That's why it's jolting every time I find out that other people have completely different views, about vitally fundamental things, from me.

To begin I must first paint a little portrait of my family. My parents may have embraced modern technology wholeheartedly, but when it comes to values, "conservative" is probably the first word to come to mind. At that, calling them conservative is like calling Lee Kuan Yew "a little strict".

The scariest part is that for all the resistance I could muster, some of their values have slowly seeped into my being. And armed to the teeth with values that I haven't fully indoctrinalized, I had bravely set off to face the world.

Getting married and having children were the twin issues that I grappled with first. This was where my beautifully constructed world of ideals and values began to unravel. You see, growing up I've always envisioned myself, near the end of my life, surrounded by little Hantings and little, er, Hantingrinas.

I mean, no one actually sat me down and told me that unless I had children life wouldn't be complete. I sort of picked it up from what I saw of other families, from the storybooks I read. It seemed as if every adult ended up getting married and having kids.

As I got older, an alternative appeared. Adults could somehow, without getting struck by lightning, have kids and then get married. Before long, adults appeared to have kids and not get married. By the time I discovered adults didn't get married or didn't have kids all the time, I wasn't fazed anymore.

The first time I heard a girl tell me she didn't want to get married or have kids, back in JC, I was shocked. The same kind of complete, mind-numbing shock your grandad would get if he caught you juggling ancestral tablets. Then, I debated with her, arguing why I thought kids and marriage were the keys to a complete life.

The debates have not stopped. Since that first girl in JC, I've engaged many a young lass in similar debates, all of whom seem to have been born without a biological clock. Grudgingly, I've had to concede that their views are logical and respectable too, that at the end of the day it's all simply a personal choice.

Another way of life that took a real flogging, revolved around... Sex. I can't help it if I blush as I type the word, and I know that in the long history of this blog not once have I dared to broach the subject, but no time is more appropriate than now to evaluate how my family tackled sex education.

I mentioned my parents being conservative earlier. Don't get me wrong, my parents aren't fuddy-duddies so steeped in the past that they try to marry you off when you're barely a month old. They are just more conservative than others their age.

Let's just say that the fastest way to stop conversation at dinner isn't by jumping onto the table and peeing into the soup, or by stabbing yourself repeatedly with a fork whilst shouting 'Deliver me unto you oh Dark Prince'.

The simplest way is just to shout, in a droningly piercing voice, "SEXXXXXXXXXXX". Or, alternatively, in an irritatingly chirpy tone, "Sex sex sex sex sex SexSex SEXSEXSEX".

(I disclaim any responsibility for any psychiatric harm you may cause to your parents using any one of the above methods)

I remember vaguely being told some things when I was around 12. Actually, what I remember clearly is my dad clearing his throat, then starting to talk to me in this strangely antiseptic voice before my mum would drag him aside for a lengthy, hushed discussion. Normal conversation would resume, and if you weren't sharp, you wouldn't have noticed anything at all.

And that's why, when I found out an army friend watches pornographic movies with his family, as a means of sex education, I was at a loss for words. My mind just blew, no pun intended. Let's not even go into some of the, uh, more diverse views other friends have on the issue. What can I say? Different people just do things differently.

More recently, I had another pillar of my life torn down when I remarked casually to Girl X that it was strange that so many women refuse to breastfeed when it was clearly the right thing to do. I was flabbergasted when she disagreed with me.

Me: What do you mean, you don't want to breastfeed?
Girl X: I mean, modern infant formula is scientifically proven to be more nutritious and beneficial than the natural alternative.
Me: That's hogswash! Even so, what about all the other advantages, like bonding with your kid?
Girl X: Ewww. That's so gross.
Me: Huh? What do you mean so gross?
Girl X: I mean, do we look like cows to you? Eww.
Me: ...... WHAT ARE YOUR GOD-GIVEN BREASTS FOR?!?
Girl X: Eww. Given a choice, I wouldn't want them. Do you want them?

(At which point my brain shut down and she won the debate. I blame it on the sneaky way she phrased her sentence)

At an age where you begin to reason almost as well as your parents can, you suddenly realise that it's up to you and you alone, to struggle through debates of all kinds, to arrive at answers that no one can say is right or wrong.

That many of the values you hold are unchallenged, merely passed down from your parents or friends, and that before you critically assess them, there's no way you will ever feel strongly enough to fight for or defend something you believe in.

Socrates words' ring true, that "the unexamined life is not worth living for man".

Just be kind. If you want to throw some stunner at me, just because you like to see the way I explode into some apoplectic fit defending some cherished value of mine, do it gently and do it slowly.

Random Thoughts 2

No time to blog. No funny juice too, for that matter. Everytime I get down to writing, I think of how I will be buried alone and destitute.

Blog before exam --> Fail exam --> Lose confidence and friends --> Drop Out --> Get disowned --> Drift around living on handouts --> Die alone and destitute

Yet the random thoughts just keep coming.

1. The term 'love triangle' is misused very often. Often, one party is being pursued by two admirers. That only means (for example) that both Girl A and Girl B like Guy HT. Girl A and Girl B clearly do not like each other. If you draw the relationship out on paper, you get a... 'Love Carrot Sign'.

Thus, very rarely is there a 'love triangle'.

2. I found an old handwritten note I scribbled and stuck in my JC Biology file. It reads "Miss Piggy and Kermit cannot biologically reproduce". I forget the scientific reason why, but it's always sad to see another pillar of your childhood crumble.

3. If human beings never stopped producing CDs or DVDs, eventually we'll run out of sand!

4. The single most important figure in legal enforcement, might very well be Santa Claus. If the legends about him are true, he would have the most sophisticated and accurate surveillance system in the world. Even if we couldn't enlist his help directly in fingering the guilty, all we would need to do is to monitor who gets what present at the end of the year.

A suspect in a murder case, getting say a PSP from Santa for Christmas, might very well be innocent. If he gets assessment books or new underwear, he's probably an accomplice. No one can help him if he gets a Robbie Williams CD.

5. You can spend as much money as you want, exert as much effort as you can, but you won't change the fact that no matter how good looking you think you are now, 30 years later your kids are going to dig out your photos and ridicule you.

Back to work.