I recognized him the moment I stepped into the Notebook Service Centre. It wasn't that hard, actually. After all, he had the same hairstyle, same uniform, same demeanour as he did, one full year ago.
Even the flow of our conversation barely differed from back then, and I accurately predicted his responses to every question I posed. It was almost as if... he hadn't moved from that spot at all, in all the 365 days that had since passed.
Now that's really scary, and I'll try to explain why.
Between the Thomson Muggers, we always said six months was the sweet, magic number to watch for. Every six months, we agreed, you could look back at the changes in your life and you would be amazed at how many developments were impossible to predict.
We tested it by looking six months into the future, and then trying to pinpoint the major changes that lay ahead. Our awkward, amateur prophecies almost always met with the same results - there was simply no way we could describe, with any hint of usefulness, how our lives would develop in the near future.
Of course, we had rough checkpoints to guide us. We could say that in six months we would begin our exchange programs, for example, but beyond that there was no way to predict what type of problems we would face, or how enriching the experience would be.
The futility of trying to wrestle the future into obediently revealing itself further sank in every time we TMs met. Upon catching up properly I would notice changes both subtle and stark, like how Alex had acquired a refined air of independence after her exchange, or how Ivan was looking more and more like a walking corpse after all his medical mugging. There was always change, and we merely had to spot it.
That's why the Notebook Man unsettled me. How did he progress in that one year since? Wouldn't meeting all the people who had streamed into his office, have changed the way he responded to them? When did his replies even begin to acquire their own stifling scent of routine / formality?
Could he still be an employee here, 6 months later, doing the exact same job? Or how about 5 years later? Would I one day break the TMs' Law of Personal Change too, and end up stagnating in terms of personal growth?
It would be nice to for one to always be able to look back and recognize all the little achievements and positive changes, wouldn't you say?
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Brother
(I must admit, and apologize, for the disappointing quality of my posts these days. Haha, a friend even complained to me that my posts aren't as funny anymore.
Well, I do try! But I think the new direction to my blog is a good one. I will write as much as I can, but in the meantime, I'm more interested in sharing my little thoughts each day with you. :) )
Tonight, I realized just how much closer my brother and I have gotten over the past few years. I think it had to do with us being more open with each other, sharing stories about life, the decisions we made, the choices we faced.
Back then it was a rare moment indeed for us both to sit and talk, but now, like the way tonight played out, it was a very warm familiar feeling to have him walk in and say, "Hey we need to talk."
And tonight was indeed a momentous night. He came in, sat with me, and told me about his breakup that took place mere hours earlier. In a pained yet controlled tone he detailed how he and his ex had come to the decision mutually, and that both parties had parted as very close friends.
What struck me was the clear, rational thought that guided his actions. They were quite precariously enamoured with each other, yet still decided that this was a good time for both to explore life, explore University / Army, explore other people. They recognized too the other hurdles in their way, and had clearly acknowledged each and every one.
I was mightily impressed. He had effectively learnt to deal with his emotions, managed to think more than a few steps ahead, and just saved himself and the girl no small amount of pain later. He may only be 19 years of age this year, but I somehow felt he was mature beyond his years.
So I'm dedicating this post to him, in memory of the night when I felt I no longer needed to guide him quite as closely anymore. You've really done me proud, and very few people can ever do that for me.
Well, I do try! But I think the new direction to my blog is a good one. I will write as much as I can, but in the meantime, I'm more interested in sharing my little thoughts each day with you. :) )
Tonight, I realized just how much closer my brother and I have gotten over the past few years. I think it had to do with us being more open with each other, sharing stories about life, the decisions we made, the choices we faced.
Back then it was a rare moment indeed for us both to sit and talk, but now, like the way tonight played out, it was a very warm familiar feeling to have him walk in and say, "Hey we need to talk."
And tonight was indeed a momentous night. He came in, sat with me, and told me about his breakup that took place mere hours earlier. In a pained yet controlled tone he detailed how he and his ex had come to the decision mutually, and that both parties had parted as very close friends.
What struck me was the clear, rational thought that guided his actions. They were quite precariously enamoured with each other, yet still decided that this was a good time for both to explore life, explore University / Army, explore other people. They recognized too the other hurdles in their way, and had clearly acknowledged each and every one.
I was mightily impressed. He had effectively learnt to deal with his emotions, managed to think more than a few steps ahead, and just saved himself and the girl no small amount of pain later. He may only be 19 years of age this year, but I somehow felt he was mature beyond his years.
So I'm dedicating this post to him, in memory of the night when I felt I no longer needed to guide him quite as closely anymore. You've really done me proud, and very few people can ever do that for me.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Internal Issues
Have you caught Blithe Spirit? It's a comedy drama about a man who accidentally summons the ghost of his first wife, resulting in mayhem as the man, his second wife and the spirit all try to coexist.
And while I was much amused and entertained by the fantastic character portrayals and beautiful language, one underlying theme stood out quite starkly. That of... how it is your perspective / attitude (and not things like wedding vows) that determines how long you can stay together with a partner.
You see, [spoilers ahead!!] when the first wife returned, the husband was ecstatic. They revisited old memories, indulged in long conversations, and rediscovered tender sides to their personalities that had been stashed away.
Yet, within a few weeks, old problems once again reared their ugly mugs. The audience soon saw that their marraige really never was perfect, that it had its own serious flaws, and that there was no way they could have spent eternity together. And eventually, they decided to part again, despite all the good there was to them.
That was a very good illumination of the way people handle staying together, wouldn't you agree?
I'll try to explain. I think it's very very rare for two people to be perfect for each other their entire lives. There are a million other factors, like their stages in life, their needs at that moment, their circumstances. Thus, I always thought it was normal for people to break up and move on, for it is silly to expect life-time commitments all the time.
So, why then is marriage such a big deal? Why is it that at a certain stage, we say ok we will persevere no matter what happens, only upon death do we part?
My point is, I think marriage as a precursor to life-long commitment is an illusion. It is an excuse for people to believe that they have changed for the better, that with the exchange of vows, they will magically keep trying until they die. Marriage does not automatically make you able to commit for life.
Because, if the marriage (after weighing everything, of course, like kids and what not) is not worth it in the end, why should one remain trapped by vows that no longer hold the same meaning?
I’m not encouraging divorce. I’m saying that how one wants to deal with relationships, should come from within, and not from external social obligations like marriage.
I’m saying that at the end of the day, it boils down to what kind of person you are.
If you’re the wanderer sort, who enjoys meaningful relationships but refuse to be tied down for life, no marriage vow will ever chain you. If you’re the other sort, the kind who refuses to leave as long as (in totality) the relationship is worth it, you’ll also hardly need vows to stay together for life.
The couple in Blithe Spirit… they never dealt with surfacing problems, merely sweeping them under. There was no give-and-take. They clearly wanted to pursue their own agendas. It was that which drove them apart eventually.
To end this on a positive note, it is entirely possible for some relationships to last a lifetime. When the external factors are right, and you are ready to commit, you will naturally become the sort of person who is able to last with another to the finish line.
And you wouldn’t even have to have an official marriage to do that.
And while I was much amused and entertained by the fantastic character portrayals and beautiful language, one underlying theme stood out quite starkly. That of... how it is your perspective / attitude (and not things like wedding vows) that determines how long you can stay together with a partner.
You see, [spoilers ahead!!] when the first wife returned, the husband was ecstatic. They revisited old memories, indulged in long conversations, and rediscovered tender sides to their personalities that had been stashed away.
Yet, within a few weeks, old problems once again reared their ugly mugs. The audience soon saw that their marraige really never was perfect, that it had its own serious flaws, and that there was no way they could have spent eternity together. And eventually, they decided to part again, despite all the good there was to them.
That was a very good illumination of the way people handle staying together, wouldn't you agree?
I'll try to explain. I think it's very very rare for two people to be perfect for each other their entire lives. There are a million other factors, like their stages in life, their needs at that moment, their circumstances. Thus, I always thought it was normal for people to break up and move on, for it is silly to expect life-time commitments all the time.
So, why then is marriage such a big deal? Why is it that at a certain stage, we say ok we will persevere no matter what happens, only upon death do we part?
My point is, I think marriage as a precursor to life-long commitment is an illusion. It is an excuse for people to believe that they have changed for the better, that with the exchange of vows, they will magically keep trying until they die. Marriage does not automatically make you able to commit for life.
Because, if the marriage (after weighing everything, of course, like kids and what not) is not worth it in the end, why should one remain trapped by vows that no longer hold the same meaning?
I’m not encouraging divorce. I’m saying that how one wants to deal with relationships, should come from within, and not from external social obligations like marriage.
I’m saying that at the end of the day, it boils down to what kind of person you are.
If you’re the wanderer sort, who enjoys meaningful relationships but refuse to be tied down for life, no marriage vow will ever chain you. If you’re the other sort, the kind who refuses to leave as long as (in totality) the relationship is worth it, you’ll also hardly need vows to stay together for life.
The couple in Blithe Spirit… they never dealt with surfacing problems, merely sweeping them under. There was no give-and-take. They clearly wanted to pursue their own agendas. It was that which drove them apart eventually.
To end this on a positive note, it is entirely possible for some relationships to last a lifetime. When the external factors are right, and you are ready to commit, you will naturally become the sort of person who is able to last with another to the finish line.
And you wouldn’t even have to have an official marriage to do that.
A Little Note
Today marks the end of my exams for Year 2!
Today also marks the day I regained friends I thought I had lost. That is perhaps the most important thing to happen to me this entire Sem 2.
So thank you for being there today. It is nice that I shall have fond memories of today. =)
Today also marks the day I regained friends I thought I had lost. That is perhaps the most important thing to happen to me this entire Sem 2.
So thank you for being there today. It is nice that I shall have fond memories of today. =)
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Rain From The Past 2: Suicide
The first time I remember crying in front of another guy, was way back in 2002. In fact, he cried too. And so did our third and final companion.
We were in the park, all three of us, sitting under a little pavilion. And he had just told us he wanted to commit suicide, because the pain from his break up was unbearable.
The tears... just flowed, from some hidden well within. I was both crushed and furious, and the mix of emotions set me off.
Crushed, because I could empathize with the pain he felt. He and I share many a similar perspective on relationships, and I would be lying if I said that over the last few months I would have done anything different from what he did. He had tried his best, but simply couldn't make it last, and the pain had wrecked him.
But furious too, because he was important to me. I had looked up to him for so many things, and I still do today. And I hated the way he forgot that there are other things worth living for in this life, that we cannot base our entire existence over one partner in life, that there are other friends who need him too.
And so we cried, the three of us. We just let it go, and through the heaving and the tissues and the mucus we managed to remind him that there was more to life, no matter how dark and foreboding the future seemed.
He got better. He picked up the pieces and slowly stitched back a meaningful life. I’m proud of him, quite quite proud. I'm glad I didn't scoff at his fears or ridicule them, that day.
We were in the park, all three of us, sitting under a little pavilion. And he had just told us he wanted to commit suicide, because the pain from his break up was unbearable.
The tears... just flowed, from some hidden well within. I was both crushed and furious, and the mix of emotions set me off.
Crushed, because I could empathize with the pain he felt. He and I share many a similar perspective on relationships, and I would be lying if I said that over the last few months I would have done anything different from what he did. He had tried his best, but simply couldn't make it last, and the pain had wrecked him.
But furious too, because he was important to me. I had looked up to him for so many things, and I still do today. And I hated the way he forgot that there are other things worth living for in this life, that we cannot base our entire existence over one partner in life, that there are other friends who need him too.
And so we cried, the three of us. We just let it go, and through the heaving and the tissues and the mucus we managed to remind him that there was more to life, no matter how dark and foreboding the future seemed.
He got better. He picked up the pieces and slowly stitched back a meaningful life. I’m proud of him, quite quite proud. I'm glad I didn't scoff at his fears or ridicule them, that day.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Easy Way Out
A few years back, I underwent one of the most grueling, challenging camps ever. We called it Council Camp, the rite of initiation into the Students' Council.
The camp was designed to push us to our physical and mental limits, with the underlying philosophy that adversity would bond us all. It was a roaring success. And although I can't really say much else about it here, one lesson from the camp has stuck very hard for me.
And that lesson is, the best lessons are often the toughest lessons.
This exams period, I've had the opportunity to reflect on the years since I left JC. I took a piece of paper, drew big squares to signify every year since secondary school, and basically recounted the things I had learnt in each year.
Not academic things like Pythagoras' Thoerem, or how to detect / uncover a minefield, or how I would structure SMU's Law Degree Program. The life things, the things I had learned about myself, about my relationship with the world, about the people I live with and love.
And I wasn't surprised that the years in which I learnt the most, were also the relatively more painful, angst-ridden years.
It's what most people refer to as the comfort zone. When one is content with life, at peace with the world, inevitably one also becomes a little less striving, less exploratory. I must emphasise here, this is not a bad thing! It is a sublime blessing for one to be at peace with the world, and that feeling is an elusive sparrow that defies even the most dedicated of hunters.
But at 22, an age when I’m supposed to be growing to my full potential, it may not be the best thing for me now.
This current exams period, my usual stress levels were happily quadrupled when I left my comfort zone behind. It happened when I opened my eyes and started thinking, "Where am I in life?"
I reflected upon how I had grown (or not grown) since Law School started 2 years (!) back. I thought about the upcoming exchange year, where I would be quite removed from the friends I draw sustenance from, trying my best to survive in an unfamiliar country.
I freed my insecurities from the cupboard and allowed them to run rampant through the house, as I observed how they had changed during the past year. I also reassessed just how much I impacted the world, what difference it made to the people around me if I continued existing.
Some of you would ask, why think about all this now, just before the exams? Why not wait until after? Well, the answer is two-fold. One, that life often thrusts things upon you, and two, the best lessons are often the toughest lessons.
See, it’s Council Camp working its magic, its long tendrils (yes it was that monstrous) reaching through the years to remind me of the lesson I learnt then. If you have the choice, never, ever pray for the easy way out of things.
The easy way robs you of that opportunity, that chance to learn something. The easy way is less painful, less probing, but it is also less enriching.
Adversity’s such a funny creature, isn’t it.
The camp was designed to push us to our physical and mental limits, with the underlying philosophy that adversity would bond us all. It was a roaring success. And although I can't really say much else about it here, one lesson from the camp has stuck very hard for me.
And that lesson is, the best lessons are often the toughest lessons.
This exams period, I've had the opportunity to reflect on the years since I left JC. I took a piece of paper, drew big squares to signify every year since secondary school, and basically recounted the things I had learnt in each year.
Not academic things like Pythagoras' Thoerem, or how to detect / uncover a minefield, or how I would structure SMU's Law Degree Program. The life things, the things I had learned about myself, about my relationship with the world, about the people I live with and love.
And I wasn't surprised that the years in which I learnt the most, were also the relatively more painful, angst-ridden years.
It's what most people refer to as the comfort zone. When one is content with life, at peace with the world, inevitably one also becomes a little less striving, less exploratory. I must emphasise here, this is not a bad thing! It is a sublime blessing for one to be at peace with the world, and that feeling is an elusive sparrow that defies even the most dedicated of hunters.
But at 22, an age when I’m supposed to be growing to my full potential, it may not be the best thing for me now.
This current exams period, my usual stress levels were happily quadrupled when I left my comfort zone behind. It happened when I opened my eyes and started thinking, "Where am I in life?"
I reflected upon how I had grown (or not grown) since Law School started 2 years (!) back. I thought about the upcoming exchange year, where I would be quite removed from the friends I draw sustenance from, trying my best to survive in an unfamiliar country.
I freed my insecurities from the cupboard and allowed them to run rampant through the house, as I observed how they had changed during the past year. I also reassessed just how much I impacted the world, what difference it made to the people around me if I continued existing.
Some of you would ask, why think about all this now, just before the exams? Why not wait until after? Well, the answer is two-fold. One, that life often thrusts things upon you, and two, the best lessons are often the toughest lessons.
See, it’s Council Camp working its magic, its long tendrils (yes it was that monstrous) reaching through the years to remind me of the lesson I learnt then. If you have the choice, never, ever pray for the easy way out of things.
The easy way robs you of that opportunity, that chance to learn something. The easy way is less painful, less probing, but it is also less enriching.
Adversity’s such a funny creature, isn’t it.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Choice
You sit facing me, a questioning ghost of a smile on your lips. You don't know why I suddenly asked you to be quiet for a while, to give me time to say what I want.
But you suspect you know, and that explains the slight furrow in your brow, the short breaths you are taking. We both know that the next five minutes will change everything.
In five minutes, words that I speak will be more than just gasps of air squeezed through my vocal chords, tempered by my tongue. They will tell you what I've been keeping secret in my mind. They will invite you to partake of my innermost thoughts.
But here I am, looking at you, thinking furiously. If I simply laughed now and looked away, we would definitely still stay friends, for a long while more. That weighs heavily on my mind, but I'm distracted, distracted by the way your hair is tied back, distracted by the shimmering reflection of myself in your eyes, distracted by... you.
I'm considering where we'll go from here. We would forge ahead, candles burning twice as brightly for our union, blazing a trail of potent memories and content laughter. Our mutual understanding alone would spill vibrant dashes of colour across our days, and even the little things would suddenly seem worth doing.
We would plumb depths of affection previously unknown to either of us. If ever the darkness that is ahead seems overbearing, in the tangle that is our hands clasping we would feel our fingers squeeze reassuringly, a silent commitment to braving this together.
That seems… tempting. I open my mouth, and begin to speak.
But! But, spectres from the past reveal themselves from the shadows, and in a cacophony of shrill warnings they bid me stay my confession. And I suddenly recall the other possibility, the other outcome. We might one day part, and we would disintegrate like a spider’s web yielding to a vengeful duster.
Paralyzed, floundering without the support of the other, we would wail and rage against things we could not control. Our bountiful memories would acquire a tint of murderous acidity, our previous laughter echoing hollowly. In the Eden garden of our understanding, there would sprout weeds of doubt, of deceit, of decay.
That seems… mildly unpleasant. My words die in my throat, a guttural sound that could mean anything.
Yet I look at you, and I know my heart if not my mind is made up. No bigger fool would there be if I gave up now, before we even started. Even if later I should despair in an endless, boiling pool of sorrow, I would not fault the me that is looking into your eyes now.
I want those precious days, weeks, months of happiness with you, very, very badly.
I smile, and then I try to speak again.
But you suspect you know, and that explains the slight furrow in your brow, the short breaths you are taking. We both know that the next five minutes will change everything.
In five minutes, words that I speak will be more than just gasps of air squeezed through my vocal chords, tempered by my tongue. They will tell you what I've been keeping secret in my mind. They will invite you to partake of my innermost thoughts.
But here I am, looking at you, thinking furiously. If I simply laughed now and looked away, we would definitely still stay friends, for a long while more. That weighs heavily on my mind, but I'm distracted, distracted by the way your hair is tied back, distracted by the shimmering reflection of myself in your eyes, distracted by... you.
I'm considering where we'll go from here. We would forge ahead, candles burning twice as brightly for our union, blazing a trail of potent memories and content laughter. Our mutual understanding alone would spill vibrant dashes of colour across our days, and even the little things would suddenly seem worth doing.
We would plumb depths of affection previously unknown to either of us. If ever the darkness that is ahead seems overbearing, in the tangle that is our hands clasping we would feel our fingers squeeze reassuringly, a silent commitment to braving this together.
That seems… tempting. I open my mouth, and begin to speak.
But! But, spectres from the past reveal themselves from the shadows, and in a cacophony of shrill warnings they bid me stay my confession. And I suddenly recall the other possibility, the other outcome. We might one day part, and we would disintegrate like a spider’s web yielding to a vengeful duster.
Paralyzed, floundering without the support of the other, we would wail and rage against things we could not control. Our bountiful memories would acquire a tint of murderous acidity, our previous laughter echoing hollowly. In the Eden garden of our understanding, there would sprout weeds of doubt, of deceit, of decay.
That seems… mildly unpleasant. My words die in my throat, a guttural sound that could mean anything.
Yet I look at you, and I know my heart if not my mind is made up. No bigger fool would there be if I gave up now, before we even started. Even if later I should despair in an endless, boiling pool of sorrow, I would not fault the me that is looking into your eyes now.
I want those precious days, weeks, months of happiness with you, very, very badly.
I smile, and then I try to speak again.
Monday, April 23, 2007
SEXY
Within 10 minutes of talking to this new female friend, I could see it written all over her forehead.
"Professional Heart-Breaker", it said.
And as one expert to another, I had to salute her. Her mastery of the art was impressive for a Padawan so young.
Before you get it wrong, she wasn’t trying to charm me. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was trying her best to be warm and friendly, yet indicated very clearly at the same time that she wasn’t interested in anything else. That way, she could be bubbly and spirited and endearing, without causing any complications.
It was in the choice of her words, the tact she employed, her body language… Everything about it screamed ‘control’. This clearly was someone who had played the game extensively, not a social butterfly that flits around unaware of the consequences of its flutterings, but a hawk of sorts, talons sheathed and at the ready.
See, once you know SEXY, then everything’s at your control. SEXY stands for Secrets, Electronic-media, eXchange-your-days, and boundarY-markers. Hee. I know it's stretching it, but still it’s a great abbreviation.
Every once in a while, I find friends in sticky situations of their own doing. Either they liked someone and didn’t know how to get it across, or they were on the receiving end of unwanted affection. The stakes certainly are high, for these things have a tendency of complicating perfectly happy friendships.
When you consider too that you often interact with the better halves of your guy / girl friends, all the more do you want to be sure you’re sending the right messages across.
And since we started this post with the anecdote of that new-found friend, we shall continue and explain SEXY from the perspective of someone who doesn’t want attention.
Secrets
Simply, be careful with the stories you trade. It’s all well and good to revisit old stories with a friend, but you cross the line when you start sharing stories out of the public domain.
For example, you can freely share funny stories about your schoolmates, but start telling stories about recent crushes you’ve had, or detailed accounts of past relationships…
The worst is dredging up secrets that ‘really, no one else knows about’. You see, secrets create confidences, little exclusive pockets to your friendship that the world is not privy to.
Once secrets are traded, the two of you start walking around sharing a little special thing with the other. You two laugh when cryptic references are made to it, and you feel special that someone else confided this to you.
Hence, watch the stories you share. Carefully weigh the urge to reciprocate when someone does share a secret with you, especially if you aren’t interested. Be well aware, this applies even to small groups of friends!
Electronic-media
Let’s not kid ourselves. In this day and age, we’re using electronic communication technologies that our parents never had to contend with at our age. But with this comes new sets of protocol, new rules.
Clearly, for MSN / SMSes, the frequency and speed of your replies say a lot more about you than you think. Even the effort to continue electronic conversation may be misconstrued as interest on your part!
Don’t ever be lulled into thinking the emotional distance afforded by MSN / SMSes allows you to flirt wantonly, or that it doesn’t mean anything if you’re in constant contact with someone online. This is our generation’s equivalent of note-writing, after all.
eXchange-your-days
Every day, our heads fill up with thousands of private observations of the world.
Whether you’re on your way to school, or watching TV, or going for a run, you’re still generating random thoughts. You’re thinking about how that cloud in the sky looked funny, or how you met an old friend in town, or how you wish it weren’t as stormy recently.
This is the stuff of which full-blown relationships are built of. This is exactly the sort of luxury couples are afforded, to share their little perspectives on life with each other without fear of reprisal or judgment.
And it is exactly when you begin sharing the smaller details of your days, that you no longer appear 2D to your friend. You blossom into this fully rendered 3D model in their minds, a real person who is alive every minute of the day, someone with whom they can develop an affection for.
Don’t believe me? Examine your relationship with your closest buddies, friends. You’ll find that no matter how close you are, how long you’ve known each other, how many idiosyncrasies are already revealed, you still don’t share the minutiae of each day with each other.
Seriously, there’s a difference.
boundarY-markers
And here we arrive, at the catch-all category.
Verbal markers are easier to conceptualize. Here, all you need to do is to reinforce certain key ideas by making constant reference to them, subtly of course. Doing it right means that you manage to project a certain image of yourself. For example:
“Oh, I don’t know, it depends whether the bf/gf is free I guess”
“Yea the bf/gf says that movie is good too”
“How many children do I want? I’ve not even earned my first million!”
“Nah, I don’t think much of my ex nowadays, the days are so packed!”
And so on. As simple as this sounds, listen very very carefully to what people are saying. If you know a certain someone is attached, yet never ever makes reference to their partner at all, you know something is not too right already. It’s a very powerful indication, verbal markers.
Physical markers are ironically harder to exert control over. You would think that with language your mind would be in a tangle trying to work out all the nuances, but it is in body language that we reveal the most.
Perhaps the first and most important thing to remember here is, it doesn’t matter what your intentions are in doing something. It’s how the other person is likely to perceive it.
A simple example suffices. Say you appreciate a friend’s company because she is particularly good at something, like appreciating plays or playing basketball. And you always engage in that activity with her because you want to enjoy plays with someone who can understand them, or because you want to learn a thing or two about scoring baskets.
If it continues long enough, it gets really messy, yes? How would she know what you really want her company for?
Conclusion
The above may be trite knowledge to you, but you’ll be surprised at how difficult it is to master SEXY. It’s really about being on your toes all the time, understanding the image you are projecting, overcoming tugs of the heartstrings to do what you believe is best for yourself.
Life really is complicated enough as it is.
"Professional Heart-Breaker", it said.
And as one expert to another, I had to salute her. Her mastery of the art was impressive for a Padawan so young.
Before you get it wrong, she wasn’t trying to charm me. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was trying her best to be warm and friendly, yet indicated very clearly at the same time that she wasn’t interested in anything else. That way, she could be bubbly and spirited and endearing, without causing any complications.
It was in the choice of her words, the tact she employed, her body language… Everything about it screamed ‘control’. This clearly was someone who had played the game extensively, not a social butterfly that flits around unaware of the consequences of its flutterings, but a hawk of sorts, talons sheathed and at the ready.
See, once you know SEXY, then everything’s at your control. SEXY stands for Secrets, Electronic-media, eXchange-your-days, and boundarY-markers. Hee. I know it's stretching it, but still it’s a great abbreviation.
Every once in a while, I find friends in sticky situations of their own doing. Either they liked someone and didn’t know how to get it across, or they were on the receiving end of unwanted affection. The stakes certainly are high, for these things have a tendency of complicating perfectly happy friendships.
When you consider too that you often interact with the better halves of your guy / girl friends, all the more do you want to be sure you’re sending the right messages across.
And since we started this post with the anecdote of that new-found friend, we shall continue and explain SEXY from the perspective of someone who doesn’t want attention.
Secrets
Simply, be careful with the stories you trade. It’s all well and good to revisit old stories with a friend, but you cross the line when you start sharing stories out of the public domain.
For example, you can freely share funny stories about your schoolmates, but start telling stories about recent crushes you’ve had, or detailed accounts of past relationships…
The worst is dredging up secrets that ‘really, no one else knows about’. You see, secrets create confidences, little exclusive pockets to your friendship that the world is not privy to.
Once secrets are traded, the two of you start walking around sharing a little special thing with the other. You two laugh when cryptic references are made to it, and you feel special that someone else confided this to you.
Hence, watch the stories you share. Carefully weigh the urge to reciprocate when someone does share a secret with you, especially if you aren’t interested. Be well aware, this applies even to small groups of friends!
Electronic-media
Let’s not kid ourselves. In this day and age, we’re using electronic communication technologies that our parents never had to contend with at our age. But with this comes new sets of protocol, new rules.
Clearly, for MSN / SMSes, the frequency and speed of your replies say a lot more about you than you think. Even the effort to continue electronic conversation may be misconstrued as interest on your part!
Don’t ever be lulled into thinking the emotional distance afforded by MSN / SMSes allows you to flirt wantonly, or that it doesn’t mean anything if you’re in constant contact with someone online. This is our generation’s equivalent of note-writing, after all.
eXchange-your-days
Every day, our heads fill up with thousands of private observations of the world.
Whether you’re on your way to school, or watching TV, or going for a run, you’re still generating random thoughts. You’re thinking about how that cloud in the sky looked funny, or how you met an old friend in town, or how you wish it weren’t as stormy recently.
This is the stuff of which full-blown relationships are built of. This is exactly the sort of luxury couples are afforded, to share their little perspectives on life with each other without fear of reprisal or judgment.
And it is exactly when you begin sharing the smaller details of your days, that you no longer appear 2D to your friend. You blossom into this fully rendered 3D model in their minds, a real person who is alive every minute of the day, someone with whom they can develop an affection for.
Don’t believe me? Examine your relationship with your closest buddies, friends. You’ll find that no matter how close you are, how long you’ve known each other, how many idiosyncrasies are already revealed, you still don’t share the minutiae of each day with each other.
Seriously, there’s a difference.
boundarY-markers
And here we arrive, at the catch-all category.
Verbal markers are easier to conceptualize. Here, all you need to do is to reinforce certain key ideas by making constant reference to them, subtly of course. Doing it right means that you manage to project a certain image of yourself. For example:
“Oh, I don’t know, it depends whether the bf/gf is free I guess”
“Yea the bf/gf says that movie is good too”
“How many children do I want? I’ve not even earned my first million!”
“Nah, I don’t think much of my ex nowadays, the days are so packed!”
And so on. As simple as this sounds, listen very very carefully to what people are saying. If you know a certain someone is attached, yet never ever makes reference to their partner at all, you know something is not too right already. It’s a very powerful indication, verbal markers.
Physical markers are ironically harder to exert control over. You would think that with language your mind would be in a tangle trying to work out all the nuances, but it is in body language that we reveal the most.
Perhaps the first and most important thing to remember here is, it doesn’t matter what your intentions are in doing something. It’s how the other person is likely to perceive it.
A simple example suffices. Say you appreciate a friend’s company because she is particularly good at something, like appreciating plays or playing basketball. And you always engage in that activity with her because you want to enjoy plays with someone who can understand them, or because you want to learn a thing or two about scoring baskets.
If it continues long enough, it gets really messy, yes? How would she know what you really want her company for?
Conclusion
The above may be trite knowledge to you, but you’ll be surprised at how difficult it is to master SEXY. It’s really about being on your toes all the time, understanding the image you are projecting, overcoming tugs of the heartstrings to do what you believe is best for yourself.
Life really is complicated enough as it is.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Waiting
It's... about 12 hours from my first Paper, and somehow I'm not very stressed out.
For some reason, I find my mind wandering, thinking about today and all the little things I never really noticed.
Things like... the rain. I do like rain pretty much, as the title of this blog subtly hints. But today, after the first drops started coming down, there wasn't the usual plitter-platter I was used to, only this obscene chorus of angry drops upon my roof tiles.
Things like… chips. My parents kindly bought chips of all flavors to tide me through this exam period, but I’ve yet to open a single packet. I came across them today, lying dejectedly in a corner of the kitchen. When my eyes came to rest upon them they danced and cheered and begged me to please partake of them… but I turned away, and they softly sighed and crinkled in disappointment.
Things like… the park. It’s been there all along, but I’ve visited it more often in the past month than I have in the past 11 years I’ve lived here. It’s really a very nice park. It’s cool and shady and it has a swing, on which you can push off and feel weightless for a while.
It’s got to be this exams period. Time flows fast or slow, contrary to your desire at that, well, point in time. The days blend, like a banana-mango-pineapple slurpee, and you mark your progress through them with the stubble on your chin.
But one smiles, and awaits for the end of exams, when one regains a little more control over it all.
* Note: Never really did a rambling post before. It’s cathartic as anything, but also pretty pointless. Haha.
For some reason, I find my mind wandering, thinking about today and all the little things I never really noticed.
Things like... the rain. I do like rain pretty much, as the title of this blog subtly hints. But today, after the first drops started coming down, there wasn't the usual plitter-platter I was used to, only this obscene chorus of angry drops upon my roof tiles.
Things like… chips. My parents kindly bought chips of all flavors to tide me through this exam period, but I’ve yet to open a single packet. I came across them today, lying dejectedly in a corner of the kitchen. When my eyes came to rest upon them they danced and cheered and begged me to please partake of them… but I turned away, and they softly sighed and crinkled in disappointment.
Things like… the park. It’s been there all along, but I’ve visited it more often in the past month than I have in the past 11 years I’ve lived here. It’s really a very nice park. It’s cool and shady and it has a swing, on which you can push off and feel weightless for a while.
It’s got to be this exams period. Time flows fast or slow, contrary to your desire at that, well, point in time. The days blend, like a banana-mango-pineapple slurpee, and you mark your progress through them with the stubble on your chin.
But one smiles, and awaits for the end of exams, when one regains a little more control over it all.
* Note: Never really did a rambling post before. It’s cathartic as anything, but also pretty pointless. Haha.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
While Stocks Last
I grew up with my two little female cousins. Or, as it would be more accurate to say, they grew up around my brother and I.
Our mothers are sisters, and through sheer coincidence their family moved into a house in the adjacent estate. Since then, our two families have spent a lot of time together, even going so far as to have dinners together most days of the week.
And as they grew older, one girl of 12 and the other 8, they began to interact with my brother and I on different levels. I mean, when they were young, interaction was limited to animal noises and peek-a-boo games. But as they got older, they began asking more difficult questions.
Just last week, the older one proudly shared her newly acquired nugget of trivia with us, that the youngest mother in the world is 10 years old. We adults of course shook our heads, saying that she was far too young to be a mother. Shauna (that's the 12 year old) then said it wasn't the girl's fault, she probably didn't even know she had hit puberty, and maybe was just sleeping in the same room as her father.
Cue the uneasy silence.
And then we changed the topic.
You see, it isn't about the difficulty of talking about the birds and the bees. It's having to explain to a child the reality that some people out there abuse their children. It's having to explain that the world is really a very raw place, that not all parents are nice, not all children get to live as happily as you think.
It's even harder with Sophia, the younger one. She's insatiably curious. She's also awfully direct with her questions.
"Kor-kor Honteng, are there any friends you hate?" "Why did Fido (our dog) die?" "Why did you have to break up?" "If Grandma wasn't Christian, then is she in hell now?" “Why are you so pimpley?”
I like it best when after I reply with my most PR, tactful answer, she would just scrunch up her face in concentration, say, "Wa I don't understand a word you're saying!" and then run off. It's an innocence she shouldn't be too hasty to lose.
Shauna, Sophia, if one day you're reading this, it's not that I want to lie to you. It’s just that even I, all 22 years of experience, can't answer some of the questions you're asking.
Why do bad things happen? Are they for our own good? Why do people go out of their way to hurt each other? How does love die? Do things really get better the older you get? Why can't we seem to understand why things happen?
It’s always painful to learn things that rock the foundations of your world. I remember, back when I was a kid, my parents had a fight so bad that I sat crying in my room, shutting my ears out and just praying really hard that they would be nice to each other again. I never took them for granted, after that.
And it doesn’t get easier, the older you get. The only difference is that you can’t really go back up to your room and wait out the storms. Most of the time you’ve got to face the unpleasant realities head-on, and try your darndest best to deal with them.
Hey, go on, find me an adult with no emotional scars, and I’ll give you a 22 year-old with wisdom.
So, my dear cousins, enjoy it while it lasts. The world’s bright and shiny now, with good people walking the streets and bad ones all locked up in jails somewhere, where rain means rainbows, and loss means your sister snatching away your Barbie.
I hope for your sake it lasts just that little longer.
Our mothers are sisters, and through sheer coincidence their family moved into a house in the adjacent estate. Since then, our two families have spent a lot of time together, even going so far as to have dinners together most days of the week.
And as they grew older, one girl of 12 and the other 8, they began to interact with my brother and I on different levels. I mean, when they were young, interaction was limited to animal noises and peek-a-boo games. But as they got older, they began asking more difficult questions.
Just last week, the older one proudly shared her newly acquired nugget of trivia with us, that the youngest mother in the world is 10 years old. We adults of course shook our heads, saying that she was far too young to be a mother. Shauna (that's the 12 year old) then said it wasn't the girl's fault, she probably didn't even know she had hit puberty, and maybe was just sleeping in the same room as her father.
Cue the uneasy silence.
And then we changed the topic.
You see, it isn't about the difficulty of talking about the birds and the bees. It's having to explain to a child the reality that some people out there abuse their children. It's having to explain that the world is really a very raw place, that not all parents are nice, not all children get to live as happily as you think.
It's even harder with Sophia, the younger one. She's insatiably curious. She's also awfully direct with her questions.
"Kor-kor Honteng, are there any friends you hate?" "Why did Fido (our dog) die?" "Why did you have to break up?" "If Grandma wasn't Christian, then is she in hell now?" “Why are you so pimpley?”
I like it best when after I reply with my most PR, tactful answer, she would just scrunch up her face in concentration, say, "Wa I don't understand a word you're saying!" and then run off. It's an innocence she shouldn't be too hasty to lose.
Shauna, Sophia, if one day you're reading this, it's not that I want to lie to you. It’s just that even I, all 22 years of experience, can't answer some of the questions you're asking.
Why do bad things happen? Are they for our own good? Why do people go out of their way to hurt each other? How does love die? Do things really get better the older you get? Why can't we seem to understand why things happen?
It’s always painful to learn things that rock the foundations of your world. I remember, back when I was a kid, my parents had a fight so bad that I sat crying in my room, shutting my ears out and just praying really hard that they would be nice to each other again. I never took them for granted, after that.
And it doesn’t get easier, the older you get. The only difference is that you can’t really go back up to your room and wait out the storms. Most of the time you’ve got to face the unpleasant realities head-on, and try your darndest best to deal with them.
Hey, go on, find me an adult with no emotional scars, and I’ll give you a 22 year-old with wisdom.
So, my dear cousins, enjoy it while it lasts. The world’s bright and shiny now, with good people walking the streets and bad ones all locked up in jails somewhere, where rain means rainbows, and loss means your sister snatching away your Barbie.
I hope for your sake it lasts just that little longer.
Short Stories 1 - We Have No Use For Them
I sat behind the counter, fiddling with the stationery. Ms. Leene sat beside me, papers of the day meticulously folded into a neat square in front of her. She barely made a sound as the papers rustled under her thin fingers.
Barely 3 hours into my temp job here, already I felt I couldn't breathe. It... it was the patients. They would come in sullen, morose, crestfallen, holding a grubby little slip in their hands - their appointment cards. I would tick them off the list (subject to Ms. Leene's approval) and then send them in to the doctor's.
And when they left, they all had the same blank, peaceful, idiotic expression. That was the worst part. Patients are supposed to leave better, not... different.
The checklist of questions was printed out and tacked in front of me. Ms. Leene was very particular about this. "Ask every question there, and be sure you get their answers. Only when you're satisfied then do they sign their forms and go on in. Understand?"
I understood, of course. We had to make sure the patients knew what they were in for, what they were asking for. People who didn't fully understand the procedure tended to get lawsuit-happy afterwards. It's no small deal, you know, having your memory erased.
Swish! went the glass doors as they slid open to present the latest patient. Barely 3 hours here, and we just received our 17th… and 18th patients.
She had her head bowed, standing one significant step behind the man. I couldn’t see her face, what with the hastily-set shawl over her head, but I didn’t really need to look closer to know she couldn’t be smiling underneath.
He stood at the doorway, looking down at his slip again, then up at the clinic’s logo. A man of average stature, he looked not a day beyond 25. But his hands were trembling, his eyes were bleary, his stubble poking up defiantly like spilt ash on pristine silk. Oh, this one had it bad.
They walked over to the counter with surprising resolve, and he wordlessly passed me his slip. After checking it against the records, I flicked the switch to turn on the hidden cameras that would record our ensuing exchange, and began the standard spiel Ms. Leene had instructed me in.
“Good day, thank you for choosing our memory clinic. Now this card indicates that both of you are slated for an appointment, but before you go in, just some formalities, if you please. First, are both of you sure that…”
Ms. Leene pushed aside her papers, leaned forward, and turned the cameras off. “It’s ok,” she said, “the doctor is ready to see you. You may enter together, if you wish.”
They might have been emotionally distraught, but they could still recognize authority when they saw it. They nodded, as one, and shuffled into the doctor’s room. From where I sat, I could hear the doctor warmly, cheerfully greet them, in a tone that was strangely antiseptic and human at the same time.
I opened my mouth, trying to frame my question in the most respectful of ways. After administering 16 painfully detailed interviews, listening to Ms. Leene rebuke me over and over for any mistakes I made, hearing her emphasize how important formalities and protecting our asses were, she actually did something like this?
The whirring sounds began to seep out from the doctor’s room. It had already begun. I wondered who was undergoing the treatment first, him or her?
“It’s ok, I know what you’re going to ask.”
“No, mam, with respect, it’s not ok. You just spent the whole morning telling me we had a job to do, that we had to watch out for them too. That we had to be sure they wanted it too. What if they didn’t want the procedure?”
Ms. Leene returned to her papers, hardly seeming to notice as my angry accusations rolled off her.
“Oh come on now. I’ve heard their stories many times, and frankly, I have no idea how they can get their memories wiped clean, leave this clinic as strangers, and yet somehow fall in and then out of love again within months. Some people should just stay away from each other! I’m not going to listen to their tragic story yet again, not on my last day here.
That’s their fourth time here, together, you know.”
*Note*: Yes, this is a rip-off of Eternal Sunshine, but I like to think of it as a tribute instead.
Barely 3 hours into my temp job here, already I felt I couldn't breathe. It... it was the patients. They would come in sullen, morose, crestfallen, holding a grubby little slip in their hands - their appointment cards. I would tick them off the list (subject to Ms. Leene's approval) and then send them in to the doctor's.
And when they left, they all had the same blank, peaceful, idiotic expression. That was the worst part. Patients are supposed to leave better, not... different.
The checklist of questions was printed out and tacked in front of me. Ms. Leene was very particular about this. "Ask every question there, and be sure you get their answers. Only when you're satisfied then do they sign their forms and go on in. Understand?"
I understood, of course. We had to make sure the patients knew what they were in for, what they were asking for. People who didn't fully understand the procedure tended to get lawsuit-happy afterwards. It's no small deal, you know, having your memory erased.
Swish! went the glass doors as they slid open to present the latest patient. Barely 3 hours here, and we just received our 17th… and 18th patients.
She had her head bowed, standing one significant step behind the man. I couldn’t see her face, what with the hastily-set shawl over her head, but I didn’t really need to look closer to know she couldn’t be smiling underneath.
He stood at the doorway, looking down at his slip again, then up at the clinic’s logo. A man of average stature, he looked not a day beyond 25. But his hands were trembling, his eyes were bleary, his stubble poking up defiantly like spilt ash on pristine silk. Oh, this one had it bad.
They walked over to the counter with surprising resolve, and he wordlessly passed me his slip. After checking it against the records, I flicked the switch to turn on the hidden cameras that would record our ensuing exchange, and began the standard spiel Ms. Leene had instructed me in.
“Good day, thank you for choosing our memory clinic. Now this card indicates that both of you are slated for an appointment, but before you go in, just some formalities, if you please. First, are both of you sure that…”
Ms. Leene pushed aside her papers, leaned forward, and turned the cameras off. “It’s ok,” she said, “the doctor is ready to see you. You may enter together, if you wish.”
They might have been emotionally distraught, but they could still recognize authority when they saw it. They nodded, as one, and shuffled into the doctor’s room. From where I sat, I could hear the doctor warmly, cheerfully greet them, in a tone that was strangely antiseptic and human at the same time.
I opened my mouth, trying to frame my question in the most respectful of ways. After administering 16 painfully detailed interviews, listening to Ms. Leene rebuke me over and over for any mistakes I made, hearing her emphasize how important formalities and protecting our asses were, she actually did something like this?
The whirring sounds began to seep out from the doctor’s room. It had already begun. I wondered who was undergoing the treatment first, him or her?
“It’s ok, I know what you’re going to ask.”
“No, mam, with respect, it’s not ok. You just spent the whole morning telling me we had a job to do, that we had to watch out for them too. That we had to be sure they wanted it too. What if they didn’t want the procedure?”
Ms. Leene returned to her papers, hardly seeming to notice as my angry accusations rolled off her.
“Oh come on now. I’ve heard their stories many times, and frankly, I have no idea how they can get their memories wiped clean, leave this clinic as strangers, and yet somehow fall in and then out of love again within months. Some people should just stay away from each other! I’m not going to listen to their tragic story yet again, not on my last day here.
That’s their fourth time here, together, you know.”
*Note*: Yes, this is a rip-off of Eternal Sunshine, but I like to think of it as a tribute instead.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Her World
Do forgive me if my posts aren't as funny or amusing for a while! It's the exams, and faced with a choice between blogging normal posts and not blogging because my posts aren't amusing, I'll rather blog. =)
Anyways, I was paid a high compliment recently by a friend who said I was one of the more moral people he knew. Interestingly, feedback I've received seem to indicate that my moral convictions manifest overwhelmingly in one facet... in the way I treat girls. Or ladies, if you happen to be a bit older.
This was somehow most apparant in the army. There was once when my OC (that's the senior officer in charge of us) and I went off to comfort a fellow officer who had just broken up. The way we comforted him... you can see for yourself.
Friend: (sobbing)
Me: Hey, you know, it's not that bad... you two can't be together now, but think of all the good times you two...
Friend: (sobs harder and louder)
Me: Er! No! I mean, what you two had was very special, and it's not something everyone gets to experience, so cherish the times...
Friend: (starts bawling)
OC: Hanting what the hell are you doing! Get lost get lost! (turns to Friend) Ok, you listen to me. Did you get to squeeze her ****s or not. Answer me.
Friend: (stops crying for a while, dazed look upon face, nods)
OC: (laughing) Then its ok la! You didn't lose anything, you gained a lot leh! For free!
Me: Huh?!? Sir, what the hell is that type of advice?
Friend: (starts smiling) Thanks sir, feel better now.
Yes. It may have been paraphrased, but that was the gist of the conversation. When they then started chuckling and talking about the poor girl's ****s, I was completely stunned. Ohhhkaaay. I had somehow entered the Twilight Zone, where morals and priorities are wildly different.
But that's me. For the female friends I'm closer to, I've always disapproved tactfully if they behaved wantonly, or if they dressed down too much. I've corrected the way girls sat, gently advised them against fooling around, and never once thought impure thoughts of my female friends.
Suffice it to say I’ve always respected females, and have yet to take advantage of any female, emotional or otherwise.
Apparently, and unfortunately too, it’s not the common standard of decency to expect of most men. I’ve heard of guy friends who push the boundaries with their cavalier ways, and of female friends who have come to expect nothing less. And for the record, alcohol is not an excuse for anything!
But here’s the surprising part. I didn’t inherit these values from my parents, for they are conservative Chinese folks who hardly touch upon these topics. I fashioned them after… the agony-aunt columns in Her World.
(No, I do not spend my money on those mags. Even if I were a girl, paying $10 on mags which are 50% advertisements of things you can’t wear anyway, 40% lifestyle crap you can’t afford, and 10% sex advice you can’t utilize… nuh-uh)
You see, my mum had scores of them when I was younger. (Please disregard the 50%-40%-10% thing with regards to my mum… that’s my opinion, so I have no idea what she wants them for.) And as a curious young lad, I found joy in reading the articles, just to see what the big fuss was about.
And yes, it was the agony-aunt columns that fascinated me the most.
I just couldn’t believe the stories laid out there. Typically, they would be about a girl who’s persuaded into an intimate relationship with her boyfriend, “out of love”, “for him to stay loyal”, “to show that she is true to him”. And then she would get preggers, and the boyfriend would leave.
Or, they would be about their boyfriends / husbands cheating on them. Or about their men abusing them physically / emotionally / verbally. You get the picture.
After a while it hit me that quite a lot of men are bastards. And what was scarier, I found that I could suddenly see the common techniques men use to ensnare their women, that it was suddenly within my power to choose to walk the dark path too.
For example, I shall demonstrate two scenarios in which you, the male, can carry out spousal abuse. One scenario is ‘incorrect’, and would lead to her walking out on you. The other is ‘correct’, and would allow you to happily beat her for years.
Scenario 1 >> You beat her during an argument. She is sobbing in a corner. You beat her again, and again, then you shout that it’s not your fault, and you storm out of the house, telling her you don’t care if she hates you.
Scenario 2 >> You beat her, then when she cries, apologize profusely. Cry with her too, and blame yourself. Tell her you need her to survive, that she makes you a better person. Accept her forgiveness, then hug / kiss her / say “I love you”. Then, repeat from beginning.
Look, if you can’t figure out which scenario is ‘better’, just forget it. I’m not giving the answer here. Spousal abuse is, like, just way wrong, ok? I was just illustrating a point.
As I was saying, I realized then that it was up to me entirely, to choose how I wanted to be. One path meant training oneself to be considerate, sensitive, gentle, if only to make that one girl feel truly special. The other meant dehumanizing girls, honing the art of mind games until you could destroy their self-worth and pillage all you wanted.
And I thought, it can’t be that difficult to be nice and sincere now, can it?
Lest you think this is some ego-stuffed post, about me being some god-like SNAG, it isn’t. I've certainly had my fair share of mistakes, and I admit to them.
But it is a post about how I think more guys should treat their ladies, and how when one partner (guy or girl) begins to trust and depend on the other, the person who’s received that trust should never abuse it.
For goodness’ sake, you’re supposed to be providing.
Anyways, I was paid a high compliment recently by a friend who said I was one of the more moral people he knew. Interestingly, feedback I've received seem to indicate that my moral convictions manifest overwhelmingly in one facet... in the way I treat girls. Or ladies, if you happen to be a bit older.
This was somehow most apparant in the army. There was once when my OC (that's the senior officer in charge of us) and I went off to comfort a fellow officer who had just broken up. The way we comforted him... you can see for yourself.
Friend: (sobbing)
Me: Hey, you know, it's not that bad... you two can't be together now, but think of all the good times you two...
Friend: (sobs harder and louder)
Me: Er! No! I mean, what you two had was very special, and it's not something everyone gets to experience, so cherish the times...
Friend: (starts bawling)
OC: Hanting what the hell are you doing! Get lost get lost! (turns to Friend) Ok, you listen to me. Did you get to squeeze her ****s or not. Answer me.
Friend: (stops crying for a while, dazed look upon face, nods)
OC: (laughing) Then its ok la! You didn't lose anything, you gained a lot leh! For free!
Me: Huh?!? Sir, what the hell is that type of advice?
Friend: (starts smiling) Thanks sir, feel better now.
Yes. It may have been paraphrased, but that was the gist of the conversation. When they then started chuckling and talking about the poor girl's ****s, I was completely stunned. Ohhhkaaay. I had somehow entered the Twilight Zone, where morals and priorities are wildly different.
But that's me. For the female friends I'm closer to, I've always disapproved tactfully if they behaved wantonly, or if they dressed down too much. I've corrected the way girls sat, gently advised them against fooling around, and never once thought impure thoughts of my female friends.
Suffice it to say I’ve always respected females, and have yet to take advantage of any female, emotional or otherwise.
Apparently, and unfortunately too, it’s not the common standard of decency to expect of most men. I’ve heard of guy friends who push the boundaries with their cavalier ways, and of female friends who have come to expect nothing less. And for the record, alcohol is not an excuse for anything!
But here’s the surprising part. I didn’t inherit these values from my parents, for they are conservative Chinese folks who hardly touch upon these topics. I fashioned them after… the agony-aunt columns in Her World.
(No, I do not spend my money on those mags. Even if I were a girl, paying $10 on mags which are 50% advertisements of things you can’t wear anyway, 40% lifestyle crap you can’t afford, and 10% sex advice you can’t utilize… nuh-uh)
You see, my mum had scores of them when I was younger. (Please disregard the 50%-40%-10% thing with regards to my mum… that’s my opinion, so I have no idea what she wants them for.) And as a curious young lad, I found joy in reading the articles, just to see what the big fuss was about.
And yes, it was the agony-aunt columns that fascinated me the most.
I just couldn’t believe the stories laid out there. Typically, they would be about a girl who’s persuaded into an intimate relationship with her boyfriend, “out of love”, “for him to stay loyal”, “to show that she is true to him”. And then she would get preggers, and the boyfriend would leave.
Or, they would be about their boyfriends / husbands cheating on them. Or about their men abusing them physically / emotionally / verbally. You get the picture.
After a while it hit me that quite a lot of men are bastards. And what was scarier, I found that I could suddenly see the common techniques men use to ensnare their women, that it was suddenly within my power to choose to walk the dark path too.
For example, I shall demonstrate two scenarios in which you, the male, can carry out spousal abuse. One scenario is ‘incorrect’, and would lead to her walking out on you. The other is ‘correct’, and would allow you to happily beat her for years.
Scenario 1 >> You beat her during an argument. She is sobbing in a corner. You beat her again, and again, then you shout that it’s not your fault, and you storm out of the house, telling her you don’t care if she hates you.
Scenario 2 >> You beat her, then when she cries, apologize profusely. Cry with her too, and blame yourself. Tell her you need her to survive, that she makes you a better person. Accept her forgiveness, then hug / kiss her / say “I love you”. Then, repeat from beginning.
Look, if you can’t figure out which scenario is ‘better’, just forget it. I’m not giving the answer here. Spousal abuse is, like, just way wrong, ok? I was just illustrating a point.
As I was saying, I realized then that it was up to me entirely, to choose how I wanted to be. One path meant training oneself to be considerate, sensitive, gentle, if only to make that one girl feel truly special. The other meant dehumanizing girls, honing the art of mind games until you could destroy their self-worth and pillage all you wanted.
And I thought, it can’t be that difficult to be nice and sincere now, can it?
Lest you think this is some ego-stuffed post, about me being some god-like SNAG, it isn’t. I've certainly had my fair share of mistakes, and I admit to them.
But it is a post about how I think more guys should treat their ladies, and how when one partner (guy or girl) begins to trust and depend on the other, the person who’s received that trust should never abuse it.
For goodness’ sake, you’re supposed to be providing.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
You Can't Outsmart Me!
Here's something different, for a change.
Last night my brother came over to share a couple of lame jokes with me, wanting to show that he could outdo me in this department. Alas, he left my room a very humbled boy.
HL: Hey kor! Ok you see right, Doraemon was walking down the street when he saw Hello Kitty. Doraemon said "hi", but Hello Kitty didn't reply! Why?
HT: Um... cause Hello Kitty has no mouth?
(short silence)
HL: Have you heard this joke before?
HT: No! You just can't accept that I'm good right?
HL: Ok fine. So then Hello Kitty went home, and sewed herself a mouth. The next day, when she passed by Doraemon, this time she took the initiative to say "hi", but now it was Doraemon's turn not to reply! Why?
HT: Um... cause Doraemon has no ears?
(longer silence, exasperated brother)
HL: Ok whatever! Now the last part of the joke. This guy was walking with the most beautiful girl in the world, when he fell down. What did the girl say to him?
HT: What type of stupid joke is this? Of course she said "Hanting are you alright??"
That was when he left the room. I had to follow him and taunt him for the next 10 minutes about how witty I was.
Pity though, I never got the proper punchline for that last joke.
Last night my brother came over to share a couple of lame jokes with me, wanting to show that he could outdo me in this department. Alas, he left my room a very humbled boy.
HL: Hey kor! Ok you see right, Doraemon was walking down the street when he saw Hello Kitty. Doraemon said "hi", but Hello Kitty didn't reply! Why?
HT: Um... cause Hello Kitty has no mouth?
(short silence)
HL: Have you heard this joke before?
HT: No! You just can't accept that I'm good right?
HL: Ok fine. So then Hello Kitty went home, and sewed herself a mouth. The next day, when she passed by Doraemon, this time she took the initiative to say "hi", but now it was Doraemon's turn not to reply! Why?
HT: Um... cause Doraemon has no ears?
(longer silence, exasperated brother)
HL: Ok whatever! Now the last part of the joke. This guy was walking with the most beautiful girl in the world, when he fell down. What did the girl say to him?
HT: What type of stupid joke is this? Of course she said "Hanting are you alright??"
That was when he left the room. I had to follow him and taunt him for the next 10 minutes about how witty I was.
Pity though, I never got the proper punchline for that last joke.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Famous Amos
Today, I received a very interesting present!
Yes, the delivery man rolled up to my doorstep with a Famous Amos delivery! One jar of chocolatey-goodness! As an exam present!
I got this:
Thank you Mr. J and Mrs. J-to-be-eventually. You two were very very thoughtful. =)
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Badge
It is very common for people experiencing emotional pain, to ask, why?
And it is very common for other, happier, people to tell the sad ones that it was a test, a test for them to surpass themselves, to learn about themselves. That all things happen for a reason, and that this will help them grow and be better people.
That works for a short while. Then, it fails to pacify any further, like a salve that's been diluted too many times over. Because, these sad people start to ask, what are the lessons I'm supposed to learn? What did I even do wrong, to deserve a test of this kind?
Well, I asked that question today too, and the answer I ended up with, was surprisingly refreshing and effective. And I want to share it with you, so that in the event you need to reach out and help someone too, this answer I found might be useful for you.
A caveat begin I continue! I must describe the pain in question, for we all know there are many different kinds of pain and as many different remedies.
This pain in question, is a pain of loss. It's a pain of helplessness, feeling that you have done all you could but still to no avail. It is a pain of crushed expectations, of having the bottom fall out from your plans for the future. It is a pain of unable to recall the good times, for dwelling upon them ironically brings more suffering. It is a pain from affection that has yet to retire, that still urges you in your sleep to love.
What is it not? It is not a pain of regret, a feeling that you could have done something more. It is not a pain of shame or guilt, where you know you did something wrong and you wish you hadn't taken that fateful step that day. It is not a shallow pain, where you merely miss the superficial benefits and you wish you weren't so inconvenienced.
And my answer to someone saddled with that pain, is this.
"Your pain, is a badge that you are wearing. It is a badge that signifies all the things you have done right. You have earned this pain, so be proud to wear it.
Pained because there was nothing else you could do? That's good. You did everything in your power. You never gave up for lack of courage, and you kept at it until you knew you could do no more.
Pained because of crushed expectations? That's good too. You planned for a future. You earned the right to feel stable and secure, and with that privilege you planned the days ahead. Not very many people ever feel safe enough to look beyond the next week.
Pained because you dare not reminisce? You had good times! You managed to make different corners and pockets of the world special with the good times you had there. You took routine, everyday events and infused them all with a myriad of gems and pearls, making them all worth remembering for a long time to come.
Pained because your love is like a cockroach that refuses to die? If your love dissipated like a nervous whisper upon the winds, if it were so unsubstantial and feeble it refused to stand up and be counted, was it any good to you in the first place?
You do not have regrets because you never once cut corners, sold yourself short. You did all that you could do. You do not feel shame, because you never cheated, you never did something for which you have to apologize for.
You earned all that. If this happened and you felt no pain... then nothing meant anything to you. But you do feel pain. So wear it proud upon your chest. Embrace it, and with every pang you feel, remember that you deserve every bit of it."
I hope it works for you, if you should need it, because it worked for me.
And it is very common for other, happier, people to tell the sad ones that it was a test, a test for them to surpass themselves, to learn about themselves. That all things happen for a reason, and that this will help them grow and be better people.
That works for a short while. Then, it fails to pacify any further, like a salve that's been diluted too many times over. Because, these sad people start to ask, what are the lessons I'm supposed to learn? What did I even do wrong, to deserve a test of this kind?
Well, I asked that question today too, and the answer I ended up with, was surprisingly refreshing and effective. And I want to share it with you, so that in the event you need to reach out and help someone too, this answer I found might be useful for you.
A caveat begin I continue! I must describe the pain in question, for we all know there are many different kinds of pain and as many different remedies.
This pain in question, is a pain of loss. It's a pain of helplessness, feeling that you have done all you could but still to no avail. It is a pain of crushed expectations, of having the bottom fall out from your plans for the future. It is a pain of unable to recall the good times, for dwelling upon them ironically brings more suffering. It is a pain from affection that has yet to retire, that still urges you in your sleep to love.
What is it not? It is not a pain of regret, a feeling that you could have done something more. It is not a pain of shame or guilt, where you know you did something wrong and you wish you hadn't taken that fateful step that day. It is not a shallow pain, where you merely miss the superficial benefits and you wish you weren't so inconvenienced.
And my answer to someone saddled with that pain, is this.
"Your pain, is a badge that you are wearing. It is a badge that signifies all the things you have done right. You have earned this pain, so be proud to wear it.
Pained because there was nothing else you could do? That's good. You did everything in your power. You never gave up for lack of courage, and you kept at it until you knew you could do no more.
Pained because of crushed expectations? That's good too. You planned for a future. You earned the right to feel stable and secure, and with that privilege you planned the days ahead. Not very many people ever feel safe enough to look beyond the next week.
Pained because you dare not reminisce? You had good times! You managed to make different corners and pockets of the world special with the good times you had there. You took routine, everyday events and infused them all with a myriad of gems and pearls, making them all worth remembering for a long time to come.
Pained because your love is like a cockroach that refuses to die? If your love dissipated like a nervous whisper upon the winds, if it were so unsubstantial and feeble it refused to stand up and be counted, was it any good to you in the first place?
You do not have regrets because you never once cut corners, sold yourself short. You did all that you could do. You do not feel shame, because you never cheated, you never did something for which you have to apologize for.
You earned all that. If this happened and you felt no pain... then nothing meant anything to you. But you do feel pain. So wear it proud upon your chest. Embrace it, and with every pang you feel, remember that you deserve every bit of it."
I hope it works for you, if you should need it, because it worked for me.
Movie Spoiler 1 - Adam's Apples
A few months back, I caught this movie called Adam's Apples. (Yes, you can click it to read about it.) And I've been mulling over the movie, for the issues it raises are quite interesting.
The movie's a dark comedy, extremly tragic yet perversely funny at the same time. We see a convict called Adam get a chance to do community work at a church, and there he meets a pastor named Ivan.
The thing is, Ivan has a very, very tragic life. We soon learn that as a child he was abused by his father, his mother ran off with another man, his first son was born a quadriplegic, and his wife killed herself in front of him after she could no longer endure caring for their son. And, that he has advanced brain cancer himself.
Yet, despite all these setbacks, Ivan seems fully unaware of his situation! He tells Adam that his wife is merely on holiday, that his son is a sportsman, that his parents are off well in the countryside together. Moreover, the full-blown cancer that the doctors diagnosed doens't even seem to be taking its toll on Ivan at all.
Oh yes, Ivan was waayy deep in denial. His core philosophy, the one thing that carried him through the days and gave him strength, happened to be his faith in God. Whenever our hero Adam points out the obvious, such as telling Ivan that his son was really a quadriplegic, Ivan merely shrugs, saying that God's plan is not to be so easily revealed. "Every day is a day with God's blessings," Ivan reminds Adam.
And so Adam, in a fit of malicious mean-spiritedness, forces Ivan to face reality. Adam not only brings together all the external indicators of Ivan's tragedy (clippings of his wife's suicide, his cancer diagonosis, etc), but also scoffs at Ivan's beliefs, mockingly telling him that the truth was that God had left him, and that God is persecuting him.
Bereft of his faith, Ivan collapses. His cancer wreaks its havoc, and Ivan is fully incapacitated.
But now it is Adam's turn to witness a miracle. Gangsters attempting to recruit Adam back into their fold run across Ivan, and in a scuffle they shoot Ivan point blank in the face. Adam rushes Ivan to the hospital, and learns that the bullet not only failed to kill Ivan, but also blew away all his cancer cells. For all intents and purposes, Ivan survived, and was recovering fast.
Thus does the movie end, with Adam choosing to believe too then that there was something greater than himself, which he could not fully comprehend.
For me, the movie both celebrated faith, and served dire warnings about it. On one hand faith is a life-preserver, helping us achieve our potential in a world that we can't understand with logic alone. Yet, the movie was a cautionary tale too, for faith if ever wrongly channelled, would just lead to a whole life of lies.
I've recently experienced the limitations of logic myself. For years it has served me well, giving me a foundation on which to chart my life. Strange as it may seem, logic can't explain all sometimes, and I'm not even talking about the big mysteries of life. I'm talking about the little things in life, the little occurrences, the little relationships between us humans.
Like Ivan experienced in the movie, it's very strengthening to know that the trials and tribulations one goes through aren't simple caprices of fate, but more of events that help us improve and become 'perfecter', in the words of one of my friends.
I want to see too how far I can go.
The movie's a dark comedy, extremly tragic yet perversely funny at the same time. We see a convict called Adam get a chance to do community work at a church, and there he meets a pastor named Ivan.
The thing is, Ivan has a very, very tragic life. We soon learn that as a child he was abused by his father, his mother ran off with another man, his first son was born a quadriplegic, and his wife killed herself in front of him after she could no longer endure caring for their son. And, that he has advanced brain cancer himself.
Yet, despite all these setbacks, Ivan seems fully unaware of his situation! He tells Adam that his wife is merely on holiday, that his son is a sportsman, that his parents are off well in the countryside together. Moreover, the full-blown cancer that the doctors diagnosed doens't even seem to be taking its toll on Ivan at all.
Oh yes, Ivan was waayy deep in denial. His core philosophy, the one thing that carried him through the days and gave him strength, happened to be his faith in God. Whenever our hero Adam points out the obvious, such as telling Ivan that his son was really a quadriplegic, Ivan merely shrugs, saying that God's plan is not to be so easily revealed. "Every day is a day with God's blessings," Ivan reminds Adam.
And so Adam, in a fit of malicious mean-spiritedness, forces Ivan to face reality. Adam not only brings together all the external indicators of Ivan's tragedy (clippings of his wife's suicide, his cancer diagonosis, etc), but also scoffs at Ivan's beliefs, mockingly telling him that the truth was that God had left him, and that God is persecuting him.
Bereft of his faith, Ivan collapses. His cancer wreaks its havoc, and Ivan is fully incapacitated.
But now it is Adam's turn to witness a miracle. Gangsters attempting to recruit Adam back into their fold run across Ivan, and in a scuffle they shoot Ivan point blank in the face. Adam rushes Ivan to the hospital, and learns that the bullet not only failed to kill Ivan, but also blew away all his cancer cells. For all intents and purposes, Ivan survived, and was recovering fast.
Thus does the movie end, with Adam choosing to believe too then that there was something greater than himself, which he could not fully comprehend.
For me, the movie both celebrated faith, and served dire warnings about it. On one hand faith is a life-preserver, helping us achieve our potential in a world that we can't understand with logic alone. Yet, the movie was a cautionary tale too, for faith if ever wrongly channelled, would just lead to a whole life of lies.
I've recently experienced the limitations of logic myself. For years it has served me well, giving me a foundation on which to chart my life. Strange as it may seem, logic can't explain all sometimes, and I'm not even talking about the big mysteries of life. I'm talking about the little things in life, the little occurrences, the little relationships between us humans.
Like Ivan experienced in the movie, it's very strengthening to know that the trials and tribulations one goes through aren't simple caprices of fate, but more of events that help us improve and become 'perfecter', in the words of one of my friends.
I want to see too how far I can go.
Monday, April 16, 2007
My Conscience, That Didn't Drop From The Sky
One day, eventually, I might have to take up the responsibility of being a father.
Now, the question is, what makes a father worthy of being a father? It can't be an age thing, where if you're 23 you're unfit, but once you're 28 you're magically qualified. No, it can't be that.
What makes a father are his qualities. His character, his personality, his temperament. Without those, how can he expect to guide his children? Of all the various qualities, however, the one I was thinking about recently was Conscience.
Now we all know the difficulties with determining a standard of morals. For the sake of brevity, I'll summarize by saying no one man, country nor religion has a monopoly on morals. Society can have its obvious norms (like you can't kill another human), but in this world you soon find a myriad of circumstances which change the rules (can you kill a murderer? Or someone who is about to kill 50 more?).
In fact, you soon find that it's not just a question of what you personally feel is right, you've got to consider the interests of others. My Law School entrance interview question was, "If you had to legislate for the gays in your society, would you let your personal feelings affect your decision, or would you objectively weigh the interests involved?"
(I had to raise my eyebrow at that question, because I had a sinking feeling my interviewer was gay, and I didn't know if it were a subtle inquiry into my orientation.)
I'm trying to push myself, to learn to be resolved and principled, so that by the time I'm older I'll be strong enough of character to be able to provide for others. Therefore, the test I've adopted for myself, is not only whether I can sleep at night after doing something, but also whether my loved ones can sleep at night, knowing what I did.
Now, this is very tricky ground. Should we do the right things for oneself, or for the sake of others? Where the two overlap it is all well and good, but assuming they do not overlap?
Let me offer an example. Some time back, the papers carried a story of refugees in Thailand (I think) rushing to collect food supplies for their familes, with the tragic result that many died in the stampedes. Now, the father who did rush in, and who managed to get food for his family, may be able to sleep at night. But, would his children agree? Could they still respect him knowing that he contributed in a stampede and killed someone for their food?
The converse is true too. Say the father refuses to go, telling his kids he doesn't want to run the risk of hurting others in a stampede. It is a matter of principle, he says. Would his kids respect him then? Would they with their growling stomachs look at him with moist eyes and say that's the kind of backbone they want to develop? (... at the expense of other vital organs, since nutrition is at a premium)
To make this simpler, we have two broad categories, one where everyone's fundamental survival is assured, and the other, where it is not.
Where Survival Is Assured: Here, where the father's actions either way lead to no dire conseqences, there is no excuse for him not taking the right / principled path. It's a fairly simple scenario.
Say his kids ask him to buy a PS3 for them. He can do so (to provide for them, to reward them etc), or he can choose not to (matter of principle, spending money wisely). Either way, his kids should respect him, because the father is doing the right thing, the principled thing.
Where Survival Is Not Assured: But what about when survival is an issue? Say its food that the father can ill-afford to buy. Does he resort to underhanded means to provide for his family? Or does he live by his principles and seek some other way for his family to survive, hard as it may be?
The answer, unfortunately, can't be found by flipping to the back pages. Life isn't an assessment book. I doubt that society can even come to a consensus as to whether the right to survival justifies all actions.
(When I first explained my views to friends, the lawyers in them rightly pointed out that my refugee-father scenario is too simplistic. There are a thousand other factors involved. Are there other ways of getting food? Could he get the handouts without trampling on others? This made my scenario so simplistic, so black-and-white that it's useless to discuss using it.
Well, THANK YOU. That's my point! In life there are a thousand factors for every decision! You can only expect to find out what my general principles are, and trust that I will make considered decisions whenever I need to, right? You can't expect me to choose a certain path for every choice I'm faced with, right?)
That's why I prefer my simple 'sleep at night' test. Do I wake up feeling I did something wrong? Can I face my family members / friends?
My own moral code is the general one that society adopts, and when it comes to the subtler issues, I always make it a point to consider all the factors very hard. Rare would it be for me to be unable to defend my position.
In a draft of this post I had prepared fully fleshed out scenarios like the refugee-father one above, and I answered every scenario as best I could. But that's far too dry to read on a blog. The point is, if you really want to know how I am as a person, come talk to me.
It's that simple.
Now, the question is, what makes a father worthy of being a father? It can't be an age thing, where if you're 23 you're unfit, but once you're 28 you're magically qualified. No, it can't be that.
What makes a father are his qualities. His character, his personality, his temperament. Without those, how can he expect to guide his children? Of all the various qualities, however, the one I was thinking about recently was Conscience.
Now we all know the difficulties with determining a standard of morals. For the sake of brevity, I'll summarize by saying no one man, country nor religion has a monopoly on morals. Society can have its obvious norms (like you can't kill another human), but in this world you soon find a myriad of circumstances which change the rules (can you kill a murderer? Or someone who is about to kill 50 more?).
In fact, you soon find that it's not just a question of what you personally feel is right, you've got to consider the interests of others. My Law School entrance interview question was, "If you had to legislate for the gays in your society, would you let your personal feelings affect your decision, or would you objectively weigh the interests involved?"
(I had to raise my eyebrow at that question, because I had a sinking feeling my interviewer was gay, and I didn't know if it were a subtle inquiry into my orientation.)
I'm trying to push myself, to learn to be resolved and principled, so that by the time I'm older I'll be strong enough of character to be able to provide for others. Therefore, the test I've adopted for myself, is not only whether I can sleep at night after doing something, but also whether my loved ones can sleep at night, knowing what I did.
Now, this is very tricky ground. Should we do the right things for oneself, or for the sake of others? Where the two overlap it is all well and good, but assuming they do not overlap?
Let me offer an example. Some time back, the papers carried a story of refugees in Thailand (I think) rushing to collect food supplies for their familes, with the tragic result that many died in the stampedes. Now, the father who did rush in, and who managed to get food for his family, may be able to sleep at night. But, would his children agree? Could they still respect him knowing that he contributed in a stampede and killed someone for their food?
The converse is true too. Say the father refuses to go, telling his kids he doesn't want to run the risk of hurting others in a stampede. It is a matter of principle, he says. Would his kids respect him then? Would they with their growling stomachs look at him with moist eyes and say that's the kind of backbone they want to develop? (... at the expense of other vital organs, since nutrition is at a premium)
To make this simpler, we have two broad categories, one where everyone's fundamental survival is assured, and the other, where it is not.
Where Survival Is Assured: Here, where the father's actions either way lead to no dire conseqences, there is no excuse for him not taking the right / principled path. It's a fairly simple scenario.
Say his kids ask him to buy a PS3 for them. He can do so (to provide for them, to reward them etc), or he can choose not to (matter of principle, spending money wisely). Either way, his kids should respect him, because the father is doing the right thing, the principled thing.
Where Survival Is Not Assured: But what about when survival is an issue? Say its food that the father can ill-afford to buy. Does he resort to underhanded means to provide for his family? Or does he live by his principles and seek some other way for his family to survive, hard as it may be?
The answer, unfortunately, can't be found by flipping to the back pages. Life isn't an assessment book. I doubt that society can even come to a consensus as to whether the right to survival justifies all actions.
(When I first explained my views to friends, the lawyers in them rightly pointed out that my refugee-father scenario is too simplistic. There are a thousand other factors involved. Are there other ways of getting food? Could he get the handouts without trampling on others? This made my scenario so simplistic, so black-and-white that it's useless to discuss using it.
Well, THANK YOU. That's my point! In life there are a thousand factors for every decision! You can only expect to find out what my general principles are, and trust that I will make considered decisions whenever I need to, right? You can't expect me to choose a certain path for every choice I'm faced with, right?)
That's why I prefer my simple 'sleep at night' test. Do I wake up feeling I did something wrong? Can I face my family members / friends?
My own moral code is the general one that society adopts, and when it comes to the subtler issues, I always make it a point to consider all the factors very hard. Rare would it be for me to be unable to defend my position.
In a draft of this post I had prepared fully fleshed out scenarios like the refugee-father one above, and I answered every scenario as best I could. But that's far too dry to read on a blog. The point is, if you really want to know how I am as a person, come talk to me.
It's that simple.
Signs
I am always careful when I listen to friends' accounts of how they have received signs, of the divine sort.
It is because I recognize that coincidences do happen, and that the human mind when unguarded will mistakenly recognize the wrong things as positive signs. My fear is that we may sometimes lead ourselves down the wrong paths if we were to give undue weight to certain coincidences or phenomena.
Well, today I received one myself, and I wonder how I will eventually come to acknowledge it. A sign, or pure coincidence?
You see, this morning I couldn't really get to sleep again. There was just this potent sense of loneliness that beseiged me as I lay in bed in the dark, and I thought of how the whole world was sleeping and away. It was like being on MSN when your entire friends list is marked as "Busy" or "Away".
After I had eventually managed to doze off, I awoke abruptly at 6, and simply could not get back to sleep. And so, taking a leaf from a friend's book, I decided to walk out and seek a nearby chapel, one that I've always passed by but never really paid much attention to.
My intention was merely to be in a place away from home where I could think and search for answers, or more accurately, understanding. I had wondered about how I would interact with any church members who might have been there, but in any case it was still early, and the shutters to the doors were down.
So I sat on a little staircase nearby, just thinking about things and searching for the strength and resolve to move on. And, within 2 minutes of me closing my eyes, a mere 120 seconds of me thinking about the horrid lonely night I just spent...
... I felt a cat brush past me.
This orange tabby cat, this majestic looking, sharp-eyed feline, started encircling me. He (I think) first nuzzled my legs, then put its head near my tummy (got space la I know what you're thinking), and basically just threw itself at me, purring whenever I stroked it, nuzzling me all over. He never left me all the time I sat there, and even followed me a little ways when I left for home.
(I wasn't used to this because it was the first time I've had a cat, or an animal for that matter, so unconditionally throw itself at me. Human beings I've learnt to get used to.)
That walk home, I felt at peace again.
Was that a sign, I wonder now. It could be (A), that I attract stray cats, who need a scratching / rubbing post that's warm. It could also be (B), that it was trying to tell me that I'm not really that alone, sometimes.
I'll leave that conclusion-finding till later. Meanwhile, I'm appreciating the respite this brought.
It is because I recognize that coincidences do happen, and that the human mind when unguarded will mistakenly recognize the wrong things as positive signs. My fear is that we may sometimes lead ourselves down the wrong paths if we were to give undue weight to certain coincidences or phenomena.
Well, today I received one myself, and I wonder how I will eventually come to acknowledge it. A sign, or pure coincidence?
You see, this morning I couldn't really get to sleep again. There was just this potent sense of loneliness that beseiged me as I lay in bed in the dark, and I thought of how the whole world was sleeping and away. It was like being on MSN when your entire friends list is marked as "Busy" or "Away".
After I had eventually managed to doze off, I awoke abruptly at 6, and simply could not get back to sleep. And so, taking a leaf from a friend's book, I decided to walk out and seek a nearby chapel, one that I've always passed by but never really paid much attention to.
My intention was merely to be in a place away from home where I could think and search for answers, or more accurately, understanding. I had wondered about how I would interact with any church members who might have been there, but in any case it was still early, and the shutters to the doors were down.
So I sat on a little staircase nearby, just thinking about things and searching for the strength and resolve to move on. And, within 2 minutes of me closing my eyes, a mere 120 seconds of me thinking about the horrid lonely night I just spent...
... I felt a cat brush past me.
This orange tabby cat, this majestic looking, sharp-eyed feline, started encircling me. He (I think) first nuzzled my legs, then put its head near my tummy (got space la I know what you're thinking), and basically just threw itself at me, purring whenever I stroked it, nuzzling me all over. He never left me all the time I sat there, and even followed me a little ways when I left for home.
(I wasn't used to this because it was the first time I've had a cat, or an animal for that matter, so unconditionally throw itself at me. Human beings I've learnt to get used to.)
That walk home, I felt at peace again.
Was that a sign, I wonder now. It could be (A), that I attract stray cats, who need a scratching / rubbing post that's warm. It could also be (B), that it was trying to tell me that I'm not really that alone, sometimes.
I'll leave that conclusion-finding till later. Meanwhile, I'm appreciating the respite this brought.
TOD
It was on some lazy afternoon that I flicked the TV on and caught the opening minutes of ER (George Clooney looked so much younger then!). Now, I had just finished watching Season 2 of House, and was very eager to spot the differences in standards of both shows.
So after the introductory credits rolled, viewers were treated to a scene where this badly maimed child was wheeled in, nurses all screaming, paramedics trying their best to stop the blood squirting out of him.
The doctors played by Clooney and some dude called Anthony Edwards took over quickly, and when they realized the child's heart had stopped, Edwards stuck his hands in his chest and began massaging it. This, unfortunately, went on for an excruciatingly long time.
(After a while)
Clooney: Mark, stop. Just stop.
Edwards: No! Nurse, quick! 10 milligrams of idunnowhatthehellhejustsaid!
(More exciting, 'heart-pumping' moments, hurhurhurhur)
Edwards: Come on damn it! Come on!
Clooney: (grimly, looks at the clock) Stop it Mark. Time Of Death, 1800 hrs, Sunday.....
Edwards: (upon hearing "Time Of Death") Damn it!
Of course, by this time I was almost laughing. I mean, come on! How ridiculous was it for Edwards to keep trying when any doctor could have seen that the child was too far gone? The child had lost so much blood, he had apparantly suffered brain damage too, what was the point?To my mind, Edwards' character was not believable at all, no way.
I turned off the TV, and never thought about that scene until today.
Edwards wasn't exactly wrong, now that I think about it. He was, like any other human being faced with the loss of something dear and precious, was only trying his utmost best to save it.
And he was, like any other human being, sensitive enough to know when it was too far gone, when he had to let go. When false hope no longer did anything but made the pain worse.
He was believable, after all. He has to be believable, right?
After all, I did the same tonight.
So after the introductory credits rolled, viewers were treated to a scene where this badly maimed child was wheeled in, nurses all screaming, paramedics trying their best to stop the blood squirting out of him.
The doctors played by Clooney and some dude called Anthony Edwards took over quickly, and when they realized the child's heart had stopped, Edwards stuck his hands in his chest and began massaging it. This, unfortunately, went on for an excruciatingly long time.
(After a while)
Clooney: Mark, stop. Just stop.
Edwards: No! Nurse, quick! 10 milligrams of idunnowhatthehellhejustsaid!
(More exciting, 'heart-pumping' moments, hurhurhurhur)
Edwards: Come on damn it! Come on!
Clooney: (grimly, looks at the clock) Stop it Mark. Time Of Death, 1800 hrs, Sunday.....
Edwards: (upon hearing "Time Of Death") Damn it!
Of course, by this time I was almost laughing. I mean, come on! How ridiculous was it for Edwards to keep trying when any doctor could have seen that the child was too far gone? The child had lost so much blood, he had apparantly suffered brain damage too, what was the point?To my mind, Edwards' character was not believable at all, no way.
I turned off the TV, and never thought about that scene until today.
Edwards wasn't exactly wrong, now that I think about it. He was, like any other human being faced with the loss of something dear and precious, was only trying his utmost best to save it.
And he was, like any other human being, sensitive enough to know when it was too far gone, when he had to let go. When false hope no longer did anything but made the pain worse.
He was believable, after all. He has to be believable, right?
After all, I did the same tonight.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Ask Me And I'll Tell You
I always get this sinking feeling when people ask my opinion on something personal. Questions like "Does this dress look pretty on me?" or "Is the dish I prepared tasty?" or "How do you like this poem I wrote?"
The dread doesn't come from the thought of having to lie (which I don’t) or from the effort of commenting on things I don’t usually notice. The dread comes from the inevitable response I get from them after I comment.
“Stop lying la! Can you please not be so PR / PC / polite and just tell me what you really think?”
You see, it’s not that I’m afraid of stepping on people’s toes. I know too that by the comments I give, people eventually end up not trusting me instinctively, seeing me as someone who is always guarded and careful.
But it’s a matter of principle, and ironically, it’s only because I’m trying to be truthful! I don’t want to give a flippant answer, I want to put effort into my reply and try my best to be constructive! Using an example to illustrate, compare the two questions below:
Q1: Does this dress look pretty?
Q2: When I wear this dress, do you like the overall look I’m sporting, just yes or no.
For Q2, it’s simple enough. The person is looking for just a yes / no answer, and that’s all I need to say. If I like it 51%, I would say yes, no qualifications needed.
But, for Q1, it’s not that simple. Sure, I could say yes / no for the dress, but I’m thinking a few steps further. I’ve got to imagine the dress on you, then I’ve got to think of the occasion that you’re dressing up for, or maybe how your hair is worn that day. It’s a question that has to be answered in context, right?
Therefore, I reply, “The dress is not very colourful, and the cutting’s a bit old-fashioned, but I think you will be able to carry it off, especially when you wear it to work. Yes, it’ll suit you quite well!” Alas, that’s exactly when I get accused of being too PC.
You’ve got to understand, I’m not out to curry favour or lie to you. But I want to answer in a way that is useful, that is constructive. Would it make sense to tell you right before your birthday party that I personally think your dress looks old-fashioned, when objectively its fine? Is it fair for my single perspective to plant that vile seed of doubt and unrest in your mind?
Maybe the origins of my attitude lie in the way I see the world. I can’t live in a world of black and white. Things are shaded all the way through, and that’s the reality of living amongst other people. The best one can do is to have strong principles on how to handle every situation, and then simply strike out from there. You then assess the circumstances that you're in, and you respond appropriately.
Now, what if my opinion was sought not on something material, something superficial, but about… another person?
Tricky tricky! But again, for me it’s quite clear cut. There are people I like, there are those I don’t. How then, am I to react towards those people I don’t like? On one hand I have my principles of being constructive, of not being mean-spirited, but on the other I also have my conscience to contend with, for I can’t possibly pretend to like people when I really don’t.
I like to do this: for the people I like, I give them my all. I always try to amuse them, listen to them, advise them whenever I can. I look out for them, remember the little things that matter to them, and generally try to make them feel appreciated.
For the people I don’t like, however, I try to live with them. You can call it considered toleration. If I don’t like them for a particular aspect, but they interact with me in a civil way in an unrelated issue, I am civil.
For example, say this acquaintance of mine is an incorrigible playboy. I know he leaps from girl to girl, taking and never giving, breaking hearts left and right. I don’t approve of that. But if he were to ask me which movie playing in town would I recommend to him, I can’t possibly tell him to buzz off, can I?
And if I don’t like them in totality, if all that they stand for is against my principles, I simply will avoid them. If we pass each other in the corridors I might tip my hat in their direction out of respect for the positive qualities they possess, out of civility, but I will never share my thoughts, my feelings, my life, with them.
I’m not out to be popular. I’m also not out to strain my relations with a society I have to live with at the end of the day. What I do want to do, is always to be as constructive as I can, and to bother to think one step further for friends and family.
And I think I can live with that.
To end off this post, and to acknowledge my recent spate of reflective posts, I shall do something unusual. For the next few days, depending on demand, you can leave a request on my tagboard for a SUPER FRANK appraisal of what I think of you. Yes, in case you’re dying to know how I perceive you after all this time, and you dare to read a no-holds-barred post on what I think of you, just tag me and write something unique to our relationship so that I know it’s you and not an impersonator.
I’ll then devote a whole post to explaining how I see you, in my mind’s eye. Haha, I may end up regretting this, but I’m tired of people not believing me.
The dread doesn't come from the thought of having to lie (which I don’t) or from the effort of commenting on things I don’t usually notice. The dread comes from the inevitable response I get from them after I comment.
“Stop lying la! Can you please not be so PR / PC / polite and just tell me what you really think?”
You see, it’s not that I’m afraid of stepping on people’s toes. I know too that by the comments I give, people eventually end up not trusting me instinctively, seeing me as someone who is always guarded and careful.
But it’s a matter of principle, and ironically, it’s only because I’m trying to be truthful! I don’t want to give a flippant answer, I want to put effort into my reply and try my best to be constructive! Using an example to illustrate, compare the two questions below:
Q1: Does this dress look pretty?
Q2: When I wear this dress, do you like the overall look I’m sporting, just yes or no.
For Q2, it’s simple enough. The person is looking for just a yes / no answer, and that’s all I need to say. If I like it 51%, I would say yes, no qualifications needed.
But, for Q1, it’s not that simple. Sure, I could say yes / no for the dress, but I’m thinking a few steps further. I’ve got to imagine the dress on you, then I’ve got to think of the occasion that you’re dressing up for, or maybe how your hair is worn that day. It’s a question that has to be answered in context, right?
Therefore, I reply, “The dress is not very colourful, and the cutting’s a bit old-fashioned, but I think you will be able to carry it off, especially when you wear it to work. Yes, it’ll suit you quite well!” Alas, that’s exactly when I get accused of being too PC.
You’ve got to understand, I’m not out to curry favour or lie to you. But I want to answer in a way that is useful, that is constructive. Would it make sense to tell you right before your birthday party that I personally think your dress looks old-fashioned, when objectively its fine? Is it fair for my single perspective to plant that vile seed of doubt and unrest in your mind?
Maybe the origins of my attitude lie in the way I see the world. I can’t live in a world of black and white. Things are shaded all the way through, and that’s the reality of living amongst other people. The best one can do is to have strong principles on how to handle every situation, and then simply strike out from there. You then assess the circumstances that you're in, and you respond appropriately.
Now, what if my opinion was sought not on something material, something superficial, but about… another person?
Tricky tricky! But again, for me it’s quite clear cut. There are people I like, there are those I don’t. How then, am I to react towards those people I don’t like? On one hand I have my principles of being constructive, of not being mean-spirited, but on the other I also have my conscience to contend with, for I can’t possibly pretend to like people when I really don’t.
I like to do this: for the people I like, I give them my all. I always try to amuse them, listen to them, advise them whenever I can. I look out for them, remember the little things that matter to them, and generally try to make them feel appreciated.
For the people I don’t like, however, I try to live with them. You can call it considered toleration. If I don’t like them for a particular aspect, but they interact with me in a civil way in an unrelated issue, I am civil.
For example, say this acquaintance of mine is an incorrigible playboy. I know he leaps from girl to girl, taking and never giving, breaking hearts left and right. I don’t approve of that. But if he were to ask me which movie playing in town would I recommend to him, I can’t possibly tell him to buzz off, can I?
And if I don’t like them in totality, if all that they stand for is against my principles, I simply will avoid them. If we pass each other in the corridors I might tip my hat in their direction out of respect for the positive qualities they possess, out of civility, but I will never share my thoughts, my feelings, my life, with them.
I’m not out to be popular. I’m also not out to strain my relations with a society I have to live with at the end of the day. What I do want to do, is always to be as constructive as I can, and to bother to think one step further for friends and family.
And I think I can live with that.
To end off this post, and to acknowledge my recent spate of reflective posts, I shall do something unusual. For the next few days, depending on demand, you can leave a request on my tagboard for a SUPER FRANK appraisal of what I think of you. Yes, in case you’re dying to know how I perceive you after all this time, and you dare to read a no-holds-barred post on what I think of you, just tag me and write something unique to our relationship so that I know it’s you and not an impersonator.
I’ll then devote a whole post to explaining how I see you, in my mind’s eye. Haha, I may end up regretting this, but I’m tired of people not believing me.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Baby Steps
As a rule I never repost things I've posted before. But again, now when the exams are looming and my creative juices have dried up, allow me to bend the rules and stick up an old poem I wrote once for a friend.
Oh Father in heaven hear my prayer
For without your guidance I am doomed to failure
Grant me strength to see me through
All present storms and those that ensue
In this urgent time of need
Please, my little prayer you must heed
Blind my eyes to all bad memories
I won't be complete but I won't miss the cavities
I refuse the baggage, the weight
I'd rather grow slower than stagnate
For what use are ghosts of the past
When even the good memories don't last?
Remove my sensitivity!
It's more a curse than a necessity
Consideration for others holds me back
It's strength I desire, hardness I lack
No longer can I suffer for others' sake
From this self-inflicted sadness I must awake
But...
But most of all, for my relief
Please restore my belief
Make me see that people are worth trusting
Make me see that love is worth giving
Even if I may be hurt again
Give me faith that will not wane
Oh Father in heaven hear my prayer
For without your guidance I am doomed to failure
Grant me strength to see me through
All present storms and those that ensue
In this urgent time of need
Please, my little prayer you must heed
Blind my eyes to all bad memories
I won't be complete but I won't miss the cavities
I refuse the baggage, the weight
I'd rather grow slower than stagnate
For what use are ghosts of the past
When even the good memories don't last?
Remove my sensitivity!
It's more a curse than a necessity
Consideration for others holds me back
It's strength I desire, hardness I lack
No longer can I suffer for others' sake
From this self-inflicted sadness I must awake
But...
But most of all, for my relief
Please restore my belief
Make me see that people are worth trusting
Make me see that love is worth giving
Even if I may be hurt again
Give me faith that will not wane
Friday, April 13, 2007
All Things Happen For A Reason
About six years ago, I fell in love, for the first time. About four years ago, I broke up, for the first time.
I remember being very bitter about it then. There was much that I didn’t understand, and the pervasive feeling of helplessness that engulfed me threatened to cast a permanent nightfall on my days.
But time heals all wounds, and as I matured I understood the difficulties that she faced too. And the day that I came to terms with it all, I penned a letter to her. I kept the draft.
Why, you would ask, am I bringing this up only now, after a space of so many years? It is only because many times over the last four years I have had occasion to reread the tattered draft, and now is a time when the Hanting of years ago speaks most directly to me.
The letter is as follows.
Dear S___,
I must admit, it was not easy when you left. There was hardly a moment of rest for my weary mind, as I kept turning the events of the last few weeks around. Oh, how I longed for blissful dreamless sleep then!
But here’s the amazing part. One day, just on an ordinary, common, totally unusual day, it suddenly lifted! The cloud which hung over me dissipated completely, and I suddenly found myself in your shoes, looking out through your eyes, understanding how things must have gone on your side.
I suddenly felt… free.
I see it now. There are some things that are really out of our hands, some things we can’t change by force. Our feelings for each other, for example. When you told me you no longer felt the same about us, I struggled so hard, thinking that by dint of effort we could somehow start afresh.
You must understand, I was aghast at the idea of losing you. You meant so very much. And I thought too that I couldn’t simply sit on the side and watch you make up your mind to leave. If it meant something to me, shouldn’t I do something about it, shouldn’t I exhaust all my options before giving up the fight? I refused to give up until I had seen for myself with my own eyes that it was impossible.
But, as I can understand now, people’s needs change with time. We just weren’t right for each other then, and no amount of long-distance calls could have changed that. Love should come easy, and there was no way I could live with forcing you to love me too.
What does all this say about certainties in life? If this relationship of ours, this rock I had confidently held onto, could slip away in the raging oceans in the twinkle of an eye, what did it mean for life at large? I grappled with this question long and hard, and my conclusion is that… we really can’t do much.
Who can say what happens next? I recall the saying that the only two things certain in life are death and taxes. And that’s right, you know. But since our break up I’ve learnt that uncertainty doesn’t mean I should hole myself up in an attempt to insulate myself.
For me now, uncertainty only means that I’ve got to really treasure every happy moment that I can squeeze out of life. That I cannot take things for granted. That every friendship, relationship, has to be fully, fully appreciated.
The romantic in me likes to think that with sufficient time, we will be friends again, maybe even more. But let that come when it comes. For now, I want you to know that I support you fully in your decision to leave me, strange as it sounds.
You were brave to open your eyes to what we truly were, and not simply settle for an unconsidered relationship. You were strong to choose the path that would ultimately lead to the most happiness for us, rather than simply taking the easy way out.
I will cherish the memories we had together, painful as they might be. For they have forged us into the people we are.
I remember being very bitter about it then. There was much that I didn’t understand, and the pervasive feeling of helplessness that engulfed me threatened to cast a permanent nightfall on my days.
But time heals all wounds, and as I matured I understood the difficulties that she faced too. And the day that I came to terms with it all, I penned a letter to her. I kept the draft.
Why, you would ask, am I bringing this up only now, after a space of so many years? It is only because many times over the last four years I have had occasion to reread the tattered draft, and now is a time when the Hanting of years ago speaks most directly to me.
The letter is as follows.
Dear S___,
I must admit, it was not easy when you left. There was hardly a moment of rest for my weary mind, as I kept turning the events of the last few weeks around. Oh, how I longed for blissful dreamless sleep then!
But here’s the amazing part. One day, just on an ordinary, common, totally unusual day, it suddenly lifted! The cloud which hung over me dissipated completely, and I suddenly found myself in your shoes, looking out through your eyes, understanding how things must have gone on your side.
I suddenly felt… free.
I see it now. There are some things that are really out of our hands, some things we can’t change by force. Our feelings for each other, for example. When you told me you no longer felt the same about us, I struggled so hard, thinking that by dint of effort we could somehow start afresh.
You must understand, I was aghast at the idea of losing you. You meant so very much. And I thought too that I couldn’t simply sit on the side and watch you make up your mind to leave. If it meant something to me, shouldn’t I do something about it, shouldn’t I exhaust all my options before giving up the fight? I refused to give up until I had seen for myself with my own eyes that it was impossible.
But, as I can understand now, people’s needs change with time. We just weren’t right for each other then, and no amount of long-distance calls could have changed that. Love should come easy, and there was no way I could live with forcing you to love me too.
What does all this say about certainties in life? If this relationship of ours, this rock I had confidently held onto, could slip away in the raging oceans in the twinkle of an eye, what did it mean for life at large? I grappled with this question long and hard, and my conclusion is that… we really can’t do much.
Who can say what happens next? I recall the saying that the only two things certain in life are death and taxes. And that’s right, you know. But since our break up I’ve learnt that uncertainty doesn’t mean I should hole myself up in an attempt to insulate myself.
For me now, uncertainty only means that I’ve got to really treasure every happy moment that I can squeeze out of life. That I cannot take things for granted. That every friendship, relationship, has to be fully, fully appreciated.
The romantic in me likes to think that with sufficient time, we will be friends again, maybe even more. But let that come when it comes. For now, I want you to know that I support you fully in your decision to leave me, strange as it sounds.
You were brave to open your eyes to what we truly were, and not simply settle for an unconsidered relationship. You were strong to choose the path that would ultimately lead to the most happiness for us, rather than simply taking the easy way out.
I will cherish the memories we had together, painful as they might be. For they have forged us into the people we are.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
In The Club In The Dead Of Night
She sat at the other end of the bar, hands tightly clasped around her Cosmopolitan, staring fiercely down at the bar top. You could see that she was different, somehow.
The music raged on, trapped notes straining to escape the confines of the large speaker-boxes hanging overhead. Bodies, bodies slick and wet as eels, continuously slithered around the club. Smoke trails flowed through the air, their camouflaged passage occasionally betrayed by the strobing lights. Everything moved, jangled, vibrated, brought alive with the magic of the night... everything but her.
There! A spirited motion, a flick of the hand, and her drink was gone. She brought her glass down, wrapped her hands around it, and resumed her motionless virgil. The bartender tottered over after a while, refilling her glass, careful not to spill any on her hands. And the cycle went on.
If she were quenching anything, it surely wasn't thirst.
The moment I approached her, penetrated the sphere of dead air around her, I could tell she was discomfited. It was the way her eyes twitched, almost as if she instinctively wanted to look at me but then stopped herself. I relaxed, back against the bar, legs stretched out. Two could play this game.
I took my chance when the music lulled, when even the tireless crowd tired of their vain attempts to dance away their worries and cares.
"I wanted to talk to you," I said. I knew she could hear me.
She mulled the request over, but not for long... all her instinctive shackles of caution were rendered useless against the lubricant that is alcohol.
"I don't even know you," she replied, voice tremulous. I was right, then.
"It's better this way, then, isn't it? I don't know you too."
She looked up then, transferring her steely gaze to me, giving sweet respite to that spot on the bar top that had suffered long enough. There was no way she could have seen my puffy eyes or my drained complexion or my uneasy smile in that light, but she must have seen something which told her all she needed to know. And when I recognized that look of understanding on her face, we both laughed.
"You too?"
"Yes," I said, "evidently me too."
She sighed, then after a short comfortable silence, "Makes you wonder how you're ever going to get through it all, doesn't it? Every sunrise seems dimmer, every night seems bleaker. No matter how many times it happens, it's always the same."
"It's never easier, whatever they say. But what can one do? Experience tells us if we keep at it, if we just concentrate on one foot plodding on after the other, there has to be some end to all this... darkness."
"Indeed."
My phone buzzed, and I casually fished it out. I read the message, replaced my phone slowly, and chuckled to myself.
"My friends. They're looking for me. I don't have much time."
"Oh? Then you better go," she said.
"There they are, in fact." I pointed over yonder, and she turned to look. But she was quick, this one. She examined my expression again, noted the grim tight smile I plastered on, and she understood. A meeting of minds.
"She's that one, that red one, over there?"
"Yes, that one. And I'm not even going to ask how you know. We're friends now. Friends. Just friends."
She laughed, a much lighter, tinkly laugh than the one we had just shared. She shook her head, then exclaimed, "Why, thank you, stranger. You made things a little better for me, knowing that there are sorrier asses out there!"
I got up to leave. I smoothed out my shirt, crumpled by this brief foray into the unknown. She had resumed her original hermetic position, and no one could have told that we had just had a conversation. A conversation, an exchange of words that meant something, that was now drowned in a sea of white noise.
I laid my hand on her shoulder. "Strangers we might be, but hardly as alone as you think. That will be nice to remember, yes?"
And I walked away. I never again met my friend in the club in the dead of night.
The music raged on, trapped notes straining to escape the confines of the large speaker-boxes hanging overhead. Bodies, bodies slick and wet as eels, continuously slithered around the club. Smoke trails flowed through the air, their camouflaged passage occasionally betrayed by the strobing lights. Everything moved, jangled, vibrated, brought alive with the magic of the night... everything but her.
There! A spirited motion, a flick of the hand, and her drink was gone. She brought her glass down, wrapped her hands around it, and resumed her motionless virgil. The bartender tottered over after a while, refilling her glass, careful not to spill any on her hands. And the cycle went on.
If she were quenching anything, it surely wasn't thirst.
The moment I approached her, penetrated the sphere of dead air around her, I could tell she was discomfited. It was the way her eyes twitched, almost as if she instinctively wanted to look at me but then stopped herself. I relaxed, back against the bar, legs stretched out. Two could play this game.
I took my chance when the music lulled, when even the tireless crowd tired of their vain attempts to dance away their worries and cares.
"I wanted to talk to you," I said. I knew she could hear me.
She mulled the request over, but not for long... all her instinctive shackles of caution were rendered useless against the lubricant that is alcohol.
"I don't even know you," she replied, voice tremulous. I was right, then.
"It's better this way, then, isn't it? I don't know you too."
She looked up then, transferring her steely gaze to me, giving sweet respite to that spot on the bar top that had suffered long enough. There was no way she could have seen my puffy eyes or my drained complexion or my uneasy smile in that light, but she must have seen something which told her all she needed to know. And when I recognized that look of understanding on her face, we both laughed.
"You too?"
"Yes," I said, "evidently me too."
She sighed, then after a short comfortable silence, "Makes you wonder how you're ever going to get through it all, doesn't it? Every sunrise seems dimmer, every night seems bleaker. No matter how many times it happens, it's always the same."
"It's never easier, whatever they say. But what can one do? Experience tells us if we keep at it, if we just concentrate on one foot plodding on after the other, there has to be some end to all this... darkness."
"Indeed."
My phone buzzed, and I casually fished it out. I read the message, replaced my phone slowly, and chuckled to myself.
"My friends. They're looking for me. I don't have much time."
"Oh? Then you better go," she said.
"There they are, in fact." I pointed over yonder, and she turned to look. But she was quick, this one. She examined my expression again, noted the grim tight smile I plastered on, and she understood. A meeting of minds.
"She's that one, that red one, over there?"
"Yes, that one. And I'm not even going to ask how you know. We're friends now. Friends. Just friends."
She laughed, a much lighter, tinkly laugh than the one we had just shared. She shook her head, then exclaimed, "Why, thank you, stranger. You made things a little better for me, knowing that there are sorrier asses out there!"
I got up to leave. I smoothed out my shirt, crumpled by this brief foray into the unknown. She had resumed her original hermetic position, and no one could have told that we had just had a conversation. A conversation, an exchange of words that meant something, that was now drowned in a sea of white noise.
I laid my hand on her shoulder. "Strangers we might be, but hardly as alone as you think. That will be nice to remember, yes?"
And I walked away. I never again met my friend in the club in the dead of night.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Gambling For Love
For all they say about romantic love being a painstakingly crafted monument, about it being more the product of effort than chance, there are many similarities between love and gambling.
Type One: Puppy Love
Puppy love... is akin to amateur gambling. As someone without any experience whatsoever, you tend to plunge ahead of yourself, betting on the first thing that seems to proffer the best chances. Your bets are either too large or too small, you're not sure how to play your hand, you make mistakes. If you win, good for you. If you lose, burnt by your experience you withdraw from gambling altogether, swearing "never again!"
The more cautious ones would look on from the sides, nervously fingering their betting money and hoping to learn a thing or two from the experienced gamblers in the field. But watch all you want, there are only so many lessons you can learn from the sidelines.
Think... lottery ticket buying, or betting on soccer teams you've never heard of.
Type Two, Subspecies A: Casual, Flippant, Guilt-free Love
What do amateur gamblers mature into? One type is this, the sufficiently well-off gambler who is naturally immune from the agony and woes of losing. It is his luxury, his privilege to flit from game to game, playing whatever takes his fancy at the moment, without worrying about the repercussions or consequences. He delights not so much in the outsmarting of each individual game, but in the conquering of as many games as he can.
Either that or gambling is nothing but a distraction for him, a way to while away the hours as he focusses on the other things in life. If you perchance happen to scream at him in frustration, questioning his cavalier approach to gambling, do not be taken aback if he simply responds with "I do it because I can".
Think... the high rollers who gamble for the momentary thrills, and who never are quite perturbed if they lose.
Type Two, Subspecies B: Cautious, Indulgent, Exclusive Love
After weathering a few storms of your own, losing and winning in more or less equal proportions, you finally begin to develop some technique, some style to your play. You know what games of chance you prefer, where your skills lie, and you calculate odds to a much more refined degree than you ever were capable of before. Even when you think you've find the game that suits you best, that thrills you like no other game can, you still tread cautiously. Painful lessons from the past still linger.
Enter the experienced gambler. You're the one the casinos watch out for, the one card shark who knows what he's doing and does it well. When you finally do settle on a game you fancy, you're not there because you feel lucky. It's because you know what your odds are. Lost the first few rounds? No matter. You bet on, knowing that the odds have to turn in your favour soon. And when they do, you start earning big.
But as with all gambling, you inevitably have to take a certain amount of risk. You're not here to gamble for fun, you're here to gamble for keeps. And the only way to do that is to gamble everything, bet all that you have. You push all your chips towards the banker, seeking comfort in the knowledge that all your calculations have led you down this path.
Who knows how the dice will roll? When you bet big, when you give all you have, you either gain the world or you lose everything. That's how the game goes.
Think... poker, or other high stakes games of calculated chance.
Conclusion
Gambling with spare cash is fun. Gambling with cash you need for something, isn't. You've got to figure out just how much you can afford to lose, really. And my advice is, even when you go for broke, thinking you can win it all, always, always keep an extra $20 or so in your shoes or something.
For gambling is a caprice, an unruly creature of chance. And when the banker grins and pulls your chips towards him, you're left standing there cold, like a fool. One moment you have it all... and the next, when you don't, you'll be glad for that $20 to go home with.
Type One: Puppy Love
Puppy love... is akin to amateur gambling. As someone without any experience whatsoever, you tend to plunge ahead of yourself, betting on the first thing that seems to proffer the best chances. Your bets are either too large or too small, you're not sure how to play your hand, you make mistakes. If you win, good for you. If you lose, burnt by your experience you withdraw from gambling altogether, swearing "never again!"
The more cautious ones would look on from the sides, nervously fingering their betting money and hoping to learn a thing or two from the experienced gamblers in the field. But watch all you want, there are only so many lessons you can learn from the sidelines.
Think... lottery ticket buying, or betting on soccer teams you've never heard of.
Type Two, Subspecies A: Casual, Flippant, Guilt-free Love
What do amateur gamblers mature into? One type is this, the sufficiently well-off gambler who is naturally immune from the agony and woes of losing. It is his luxury, his privilege to flit from game to game, playing whatever takes his fancy at the moment, without worrying about the repercussions or consequences. He delights not so much in the outsmarting of each individual game, but in the conquering of as many games as he can.
Either that or gambling is nothing but a distraction for him, a way to while away the hours as he focusses on the other things in life. If you perchance happen to scream at him in frustration, questioning his cavalier approach to gambling, do not be taken aback if he simply responds with "I do it because I can".
Think... the high rollers who gamble for the momentary thrills, and who never are quite perturbed if they lose.
Type Two, Subspecies B: Cautious, Indulgent, Exclusive Love
After weathering a few storms of your own, losing and winning in more or less equal proportions, you finally begin to develop some technique, some style to your play. You know what games of chance you prefer, where your skills lie, and you calculate odds to a much more refined degree than you ever were capable of before. Even when you think you've find the game that suits you best, that thrills you like no other game can, you still tread cautiously. Painful lessons from the past still linger.
Enter the experienced gambler. You're the one the casinos watch out for, the one card shark who knows what he's doing and does it well. When you finally do settle on a game you fancy, you're not there because you feel lucky. It's because you know what your odds are. Lost the first few rounds? No matter. You bet on, knowing that the odds have to turn in your favour soon. And when they do, you start earning big.
But as with all gambling, you inevitably have to take a certain amount of risk. You're not here to gamble for fun, you're here to gamble for keeps. And the only way to do that is to gamble everything, bet all that you have. You push all your chips towards the banker, seeking comfort in the knowledge that all your calculations have led you down this path.
Who knows how the dice will roll? When you bet big, when you give all you have, you either gain the world or you lose everything. That's how the game goes.
Think... poker, or other high stakes games of calculated chance.
Conclusion
Gambling with spare cash is fun. Gambling with cash you need for something, isn't. You've got to figure out just how much you can afford to lose, really. And my advice is, even when you go for broke, thinking you can win it all, always, always keep an extra $20 or so in your shoes or something.
For gambling is a caprice, an unruly creature of chance. And when the banker grins and pulls your chips towards him, you're left standing there cold, like a fool. One moment you have it all... and the next, when you don't, you'll be glad for that $20 to go home with.
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